#my daughter egg n her brother cheese :)

[froggydraws]

Filling out the Pokédex 📝

[ghostlyfrog-413]

my daughter egg n her brother cheese

[cameronspecial]

Thorn In My Side, Rose In My Hand (Part 5)

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings:  Under Age Drinking, Swearing and Making Out

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 3.4K

Summary: Y/N’s confusion causes her to ignore Rafe after their midnight McDonald’s run. Midsummer brings about some upsetting conversation and sights.

Masterlist

Y/N lies in bed looking up at the ceiling after getting changed into pyjamas. She and Rafe have just gotten back from McDonald’s. She goes over the day’s events in her head, trying to figure out why she feels the way she does. Her date with Wilson was boring, but the time she spent with him was decent. He didn’t seem to really understand her. However, Rafe took her to the most mundane place in the world and she had an absolute blast with him. He could read her body language and understood what she needed. How could she be feeling this way about Rafe when Wilson is the one she is dating?

She shouldn’t feel this way towards Rafe. It must be a fluke, so she should ignore him until this feeling goes away. She should focus on her relationship with Wilson because it is the one with the potential to turn into something more. He is the one Y/N needs to be with. With the decisions made, she turns to her side and goes to sleep in hopes that she will stop thinking about him. 

———

Y/N wakes up to a silent house, which is unusual when both Mason and Rafe are home. If it’s not music blasting from somewhere in the house because of them, then it is the shouts from whoever is losing at the game they are playing. She lazily strolls her way into the kitchen to see her mother at the kitchen island untying a take-out bag.  It’s no surprise Cassie bought something to eat; she is just as much of a disaster in the kitchen as her daughter. “I ordered us some breakfast. Since your brother, Rafe and your dad are going for a morning surf and then to the country club for breakfast and golf, I thought you and I can have a girls’ day. I got some eggs benedict and after, maybe we can get our Midsummer dresses?” Cassie suggests while giving the food to her daughter. Y/N nods in agreement, “I love that idea! Could I invite Lace to come dress shopping with us?”  

“Of course! She’s practically my other daughter. So… I saw you come home last night with your date and then a few minutes later, I see you leave the house again with Rafe for like an hour. What’s up with that?”

“Ummm, I was going to make a grilled cheese. Rafe suggested we go to McDonald’s and we went. End of story.”

“It can’t be. I saw the way he looked at you, Y/N/N. Before we left for Bali, you never wanted to be alone with him and now, you are going out with only him at midnight. Something has changed between you two.”

“It can’t be different. Nothing can happen between Rafe and I, I’m dating Wilson.” 

“Whatever you say, sweetie. Are you going to ask Wilson to Midsummer?”

“Yeah, I can’t wait for you to meet him. He is a big fan of your earlier works.” 

———

Y/N stands in front of the mirror looking at the dress she is wearing. Her mother picked this dress and Y/N is not exactly feeling this colour. It is a green asymmetric ruffled silk-satin maxi dress; the colour reminds her of puke and the ruffles made Y/N feel like she is a flower girl for someone’s wedding. Lacey, Y/N and Cassie come out of their respective changing rooms to show off the dresses they found. It looks like Lacey and her mom have both found the perfect dresses for them. Lacey is wearing a jaffa orange asymmetrical open-back midi dress and Cassie is wearing a light blue chiffon dress with a ruched waist, shoulder-wide straps, and a flowy skirt. When the other two look at Y/N’s dress, they both realize how wrong the dress is for the girl. Seeing their faces, Y/N immediately goes back inside to change into the dress Lacey chose. 

The dress Lacey picked out is a pastel yellow halter-neck open-back dress. It is a pretty dress, but it is a little plain for Y/N.  She goes out to show her other shopping companions. “No, it looks a little boring for you,” Lacey confirms Y/N’s suspicion. “Agreed. I don’t have any other dresses to try on though.” At that moment, Cassie returns with a blush dress in hand, “Here, try this on sweetie.” Y/N thanks her mother and goes back into the changing room to put it on. She looks at the blush cover dress on her. It is a blush chiffon lace midi skater dress, so it reaches just below her knees. Her straps are flower lace and the top is pleated a little so it forms a little v-shaped valley on her chest. It is simple, but the pleated and lace elements add the much-needed oomph to the dress. 

She walks out of the changing room with a little twirl to show off her dress. This is the one. The smile on Lacey’s and Cassie’s shows their agreement with her thoughts. “Sweetie, it’s perfect. The colour complements you so much,” Cassie praises. Lacey nods her head, “You look so hot. Like damn girl. And we can make a flower crown with pink flowers to match with purple flowers to add some variety.” “Oooh, I love that idea. You can make an orange and blue flower crown. It would be so cute!” Y/N continues. Cassie’s mom beams at the excitement of the two girls, “We can go to the florist next, but right now, I need you both to change so we can pay for the dresses. 

———

After finishing off a day of outdoor activities, Rafe decides it is finally time to go back to Tannyhill. Rafe wanted to go back to the Y/L/N’s house with Marvin and Mason, but he is running out of clothes and he knows he has to face his father eventually. The particular reason why he has been avoiding Ward Cameron this time is that Rafe had finally told his dad that he wasn’t considering being on the swim team when he is in university. Rafe wants to focus on school and intern for his dad during the semesters, so he thought that not joining the university swim team would help him find a good balance between the other two commitments he wants to prioritize. 

Rafe enters the house as quietly as possible in hopes of not alerting his father to his arrival. However, he failed at doing so as he hear his father’s heavy footsteps come towards him. “Look who finally came back home. I was beginning to think you ran away from home,” Ward says harshly. “I just came back for more clothes,” Rafe grumbles, trying to get past his father. Ward stands in his son’s way in front of the stairs, “No, you aren’t going back there. We are your family, so you need to live here. Plus, we need to finish our conversation because you are going to join the swim team and intern for me at university.” 

“You don’t treat me like family. You are too busy treating Sarah like a princess to even remember Wheezie and I exist. The only time you pay attention to me is when I fuck up. As for the swim team thing, I’ve already explained everything I needed to. I want to focus more on my studies and work. I can’t prioritize those things if I have to worry about getting to swim practice.” 

“Don’t talk back to me! Sarah would be able to balance school, work and the swim team; you’re older, so you should be able to do the same! I worked my ass off to get to where I am now; I expect you to do the same too.” 

“I’m sorry I’m not perfect Sarah but you have to stop comparing Wheezie and me to Sarah. I know how stressed I get with trying to balance the swim team and school work in high school. I’m trying to look out for my mental health and set my boundaries. Why can’t you just accept that I’m trying to be better mentally? Because a lot of people older than me would never try to do what I’m doing even though they need it way more than I do.” 

Ward grew frustrated at his son as he realizes Rafe is actually making valid points, “Enough! I don’t want to talk about this anymore! Go to your room! You aren’t going back to the Y/L/N house any time soon.” “You’re the one who wanted to talk about his,” Rafe grumbles, shoving past his father to go up to his room. 

———

Y/N and Wilson are sitting in her theatre room watching The Civil War: The Postage Adventure by Timothy Satonis. As one may guess, it is a documentary about the postage system during the Civil War. Y/N could not be bothered to really pay attention to what the boring narrator is saying because his voice is so dull and she could not care less about the postage during the Civil War. Wilson chose the film. Y/N tries cuddling herself into Wilson’s side because of how cold she is, but Wilson would not let her so she resorts to using a blanket and holding his hand. 

Y/N speaks up to try to add some excitement to the movie, “So… Midsummer is coming up soon. And I was wondering if you would be my date?” “Yes, but can we finish watching the movie please?” Wilson answers. She listens to what he requests and scrolls on her phone while the movie plays. Once the movie is finished, Wilson and Y//N go upstairs to make something to eat. Y/N starts making grilled cheese for both of them. “I already picked out my dress. Mine is a blush colour, I can send you a picture if you want to match with me,” Y/N tells Wilson, buttering the bread and adding the cheese before putting it in the pan. 

 “No, I prefer to go for a plain black suit and tie with a gray handkerchief. It looks cleaner like that.” 

“Okay, if that’s what you want.”

“So where is your mother? I have not had the chance to introduce myself to her yet.”

“She’s on the main island for a work meeting. You should be able to meet her at Midsummer.”

Wilson nods in understanding at the girl. The conversation can’t continue because Rafe and Mason enter the kitchen too. “Y/N/N, can you make me one too, please,” Mason asks as he sits beside Wilson on the island stool. “Yo, Y/L/N can you make me one too, please?” Rafe chimes. “Of course, Mace,” Y/N responds to Mason while ignoring Rafe. This doesn’t go unnoticed by Rafe so he tries asking again, “Y/L/N, can you make one for me, please?” She ignores the boy again and continues to make the grilled cheese for the other two boys. She finishes up cooking and hands it over to everyone, but Rafe. After realizing she isn’t going to give him one, Rafe leaves the kitchen and goes up to Mason’s room. Mason could see the upset on Rafe’s 

Mason eats his grilled cheese without engaging in conversation with the other two and goes upstairs to check on Rafe. “Why is she ignoring me?” Rafe complains with sadness in his voice. “I don’t know, dude. When did she start ignoring you?” Mason inquires. Rafe looks at him with an almost puppy-dog look in his eyes, “I’m not sure, I haven’t seen her since last week because my dad has been forcing me to sleep at home. But I know she was talking to me then because I took her to McDonald’s.” “Maybe she just had a bad day and she reset to before you started trying to befriend her. She just needs time,” Mason reasons. Rafe mumbles a sad maybe as he hopes what Mason says is true. 

———

Midsummer. The excuse the elite use to display their wealth through clothes and to come together to brag about themselves. It is where young lovers will announce their courtship to the rest of the Kooks just to make other people jealous. Y/N is helping her mother get ready for the event by helping her with her hair and makeup. “My love, have you seen my tie?” Her dad inquires as he walks into his bedroom with a misbuttoned shirt and suit jacket on. Cassie looks up at her husband through the mirror and laughs at his dishevelled state, “Vin, it’s right here. With my dress, remember?” She gets up from her vanity and grabs the tie that matches her dress. Cassie rebuttons Marvin's shirt and then ties his tie for him. “You are the smartest person I know, Vin. But I swear, if I wasn’t here to screw you head on every morning, you’d forget where it is.” She finishes up the tie and gives him a kiss on the cheek before going back to her daughter. 

As Y/N watches the domestic scene before her, she can’t help but wonder if she’d ever have moments like this with Wilson. She can’t imagine he is the type of person to ask for help if he needed it. Rafe would though, at least from her he would. Even if he didn't need it, he would still ask because he knows it makes her feel needed and happy. But Y/N and Rafe would never get moments like this. She shouldn’t want to have them with him. “Sweetie, did you hear me?” Cassie says, breaking Y/N out of her thoughts. 

“No, can you say that again, please?” Y/N mumbles while focusing on her mom’s hair again. 

“Are you driving with us or Wilson?”

“Wilson, he’s picking me up in 30 minutes”

———

Y/N answers the door when Wilson knocks. He is wearing exactly what he said he would, “You look beautiful, Y/N. Where are your parents? I should say hello before we go. ” “Thanks. And they are already on their way to the club with Mace,” she gives him a tight-lipped smile, making her way to his car. “Oh, I guess I will meet them there.” 

During the ride to the country club, it is mostly silent until Y/N breaks the silence with an idea she had. “I was thinking of starting a YA book club at the country club. Would you like to join?” Wilson glances at her with a funny look on his face, “Do not be ridiculous. You know I do not read those silly books.” Y/N’s shy smile turns into a frown and she slowly slumps in her seat, turning towards the window. “All you had to say was no. You don’t have to be so rude about this.” Wilson sighs at this, “I am sorry. I did not mean to offend you. I just do not understand what you find so entertaining about those books.” “It’s fine, I get it,” she brushes it off curtly. 

After a silent car ride, they finally make it to the club. They find Mason and Rafe near the bar upon entering. “Hey, Mace. How has everything been going on here so far?” It doesn’t go unnoticed by the boys that she is still ignoring Rafe. He wants to speak up but is afraid of being turned down by her and being embarrassed. He quickly looks away to not make her uncomfortable. “Hello, Y/N/N. Wilson. And it’s been okay. Hey, look you and Rafe are matching,” Mason points out after Wilson says his hello. At this, Rafe’s head turns to see what she is wearing. It’s true, she is wearing a blush dress that perfectly matches his blush suit jacket, which he definitely didn’t pick because it reminded him of her. She looked incredible in the dress. The way it kissed the bottom of her knees. The way the lace on the shoulders teased at the skin below. The way the pleats draw attention to her breast.  The way the bright colours of her flower crown match the joy on her face. This may be his new favourite dress. 

“Come on, I see my parents over there,” Y/N announces, ignoring Mason’s observation, as she drags Wilson over to Cassie and Marvin, leaving her brother and his best friend behind. “Mom, come meet Wilson.” The younger couple approaches the older one quite quickly.

Rafe stands near the bar with Mason, watching the scene with jealousy. Even though he’s known Cassie and Marvin for around 12 years now, he wants to be the one being introduced to them as Y/N’s boyfriend. Mason pats Rafe’s back in a comforting and sad manner. “Let’s go see if we can find that bartender that doesn’t check for id,” Mason suggests in hopes of cheering his friend up. 

Meanwhile, Y/N is introducing Wilson to her mom. “Dad, you’ve already met Wilson. So mom, this is Wilson. We’ve been seeing each other. Wilson, this is my mom, who you might’ve noticed is Cassie Y/L/N.” Wilson eagerly reaches his hand out for Cassie to check, “It is lovely to meet you, Mrs. Y/L/N. I love your early works. Your daughter is also great.” Cassie finds it odd that Wilson would mention her books before her daughter but says nothing about it. “Thank you. I’m very proud of both, but especially my Y/N/N.” At that moment, Y/N’s favourite song started to play. “Wilson, will you come dance with me?” He shakes his head, which again causes a frown on Y/N’s face, “I am sorry. I only dance to jazz or classical music. I will request one of my favourites so we can dance to that later.” “Oh okay, I’ll just go dance with Lacey,” Y/N reasons as she goes to find her best friend, while Wilson is talking to Cassie about her writing. 

Rafe had been drinking to forget. Forget that all the progress he made with befriending Y/N had gone away for some unknown reason. All he wanted to do was forget about her and what a cliche way he decided to do it. He decides to hook up with Elizabeth Huntington to make his troubles go away. In hindsight, that is a worse idea because of who he decided to try to hook up with. Elizabeth is Y/N’s classic rival. Both girls are vying for the spot of valedictorian this year. Even though Y/N is much more introverted than Elizabeth, she couldn’t help but be a little jealous of Elizabeth’s life of the party personality. Rafe and Elizabeth are in a supply closet heavily making out and trying to rid each other of clothes. Elizabeth’s hands shoot to tangle in his hair. She gently tugs on it which causes him to groan out a name, just the wrong one. “Y/N.” Elizabeth immediately stops her assault. “Seriously? You’re just using me to forget about her,” she grumbles. She readjusted her dress before leaving the closet. Rafe groans again and runs his fingers through his hair. He leaves after fixing himself up, not realizing that Y/N is watching while she dances with Wilson. 

Elizabeth leaving with a huff is what first caught Y/N’s eyes. She was curious about who Elizabeth was in the closet with. However, when Y/N sees Rafe exit the same closet as Elizabeth, her heart sinks. Rafe knows how she feels about Elizabeth and she thought he felt the same way every time they had a moment together. But she now sees she is wrong because if he did feel the same way, then he wouldn’t be hooking up with the person that makes her feel so insecure. 

Rafe spots Y/N dancing with Wilson and he feels a pang shoot through his heart. Guilt about what he was about to do immediately washes over him. If Y/N had seen him, it could’ve been the end of anything they could’ve been. He knew she felt the same way as he did during their moments; if he ruined that, he’d never forgive himself. Little did he know it was already too late. 

Taglist: @itsalexwin @sublimepenguinpeach-blog  @gillybear17​  @terraeluce

[kagamineheritageposts]

my daughter eggs n her brother cheese

[stusbunker]

Laws Unspoken

A Supernatural A/B/O Fan-fiction

Featuring: Omega!Teacher Reader x Alpha!Lawyer Sam

Written for: @calaofnoldor​​ for my 1k Jam Basket Fic Exchange

                :  @spnabobingo​​​

                : @supernatural-jackles​​​ Tell Me a Story Bingo

A/B/O Square filled: Daisies/Fresh Bread/Pine

TMASB Square filled: Quote C “Yeah, that’s it, baby, just like that.”

Word Count: 9908

Rating: Teen to Explicit real fast

Summary:  You’re a single Omega whose mother lost her mate early. She always warned you to never let a mate determine your life. Your grandmother, your favorite person in the whole world told you different, spun tales of romance and everlasting love of a bonded pair since you were very young. At 30 you were ready to give up hope, until a dashing lawyer, and widower, Sam Winchester agrees to help you petition to save the local wetlands.

Warnings: Death of a spouse, mild angst, fluff, drunk Sam, protective brother Dean, hinted masturbation, smut, knotting, Hallmark level plot and gooey-ness.

A/N: Sweet, sweet Cala. I am so incredibly sorry this took me MONTHS longer than I had intended it would. I really hope you find it satisfactory and that enough of your jams were included. Thank you for putting up with me! xoxo Thank you to @cracksinthewalls​ @rockhoochie​ and @lastactiontricia​ for helping this in all its various forms!

    Sundays were the best day of the week. A day of relaxation and reconnection. The day you set aside to visit your grandmother for brunch, no matter how busy you got, you made time for her. She was your favorite person, and though she’d never admit it to your cousins, you were hers too.

    You arrived just after ten, having spent the night before out with friends. The house smelled of eggs caked in cheese and freshly baked bread, warm and as inviting as ever. She hollered at you to join her and soon you were wrapped in the comfort of her embrace. You were at once five and fifteen and the thirty year old you presently were; her love and your bond were timeless. 

    You ate while telling her about your previous week and catching up on the gossip from her neighborhood. Her crass talk was only equaled by her compassion and it was such a relief to feel her acceptance after your last phone call with your mother.  She grinned at you in a way that only meant trouble.

    “How ‘bout we forget the dishes and get some fresh air?”

    Sam Winchester didn’t exercise as much as he’d like. On the off chance he didn’t have work overflow onto his weekends, he made sure to get a long run in. Sundays were best because they were quiet and the trails were nearly empty. It gave him time to think, to breathe and to feel alive. Something he would never take for granted again.

    He began with a rushed stretching session, however thorough. The gravel was still wet beneath him from the nightly spring dew. Sam inhaled, letting the cool air clear his head. He checked his watch and started down the eastern trail that looped around the entire wildlife sanctuary. Sam had the whole day and he wasn’t going to waste a single second of it.

    By his third mile he was rounding the bend, returning to his starting point, the juncture of all of the trailheads. Just as Sam turned to take the smaller inner loop, for a more picturesque route a gravelly feminine voice huffed out conspiratorially, “now that’s an Alpha.”

    Sam looked back to see an older woman with her daughter or granddaughter turn and giggle. Embarrassed at their acknowledgement, and perhaps a little empathetic for the younger woman, Sam grinned, but didn’t reply. He continued to run, but his mind was elsewhere. Something about the women’s blatant objectification of his sweaty self gave Sam pause. It had been a long time since he thought of himself that way. It almost felt like a joke. But the longer he thought it over, the longer he felt flattered. 

    He slowed to a walk for his cool down, again taking the outer trail with deliberate hope that he would run into the women. What was he doing? Going out of his way for a chance at an ego boost? Real mature, counselor. But he couldn’t help it. Something about the brief encounter made Sam curious. And that was not something he ever left unfulfilled.

    Forty minutes later and Sam had given up on seeing the pair of catcallers again. It was a silly venture anyway, but it had given Sam such beautiful scenery along the way. Which only reinforced his drive for the coming work week.

    The town council meeting was scheduled to begin at six thirty on Thursday the twelfth. You arrived at six fifteen, hoping to get a good spot, skipping dinner in the process to make it in time after work. The meeting hall was already half filled, while the council member chairs were empty. Security casually stood at each exit, giving the air of formality you weren’t used to. You swallowed and held your bag close, filing down the center aisle to an open spot in the third row. You didn’t recognize anyone from the school you worked at or from growing up in town. Suddenly you felt very out of place. 

    Out of habit you scrolled through your phone until a quick gavel knock and amped voice announced the start of the meeting. You soon realized it had become standing room only. Making the reason you were there all the more desperate, because if all of these people had an opinion, you wanted to make sure your concerns were heard at the very least. 

    They read the minutes from the previous month’s meeting and did some other formalities until the council chair began to read the agenda for the evening.

The development proposal for the wetlands was near the end of the list, which meant if enough people spoke, it would be pushed to next month. Something that would plague you for the interim, you needed to shut it down as soon as possible to stop the greedy bastards from pushing their agenda any longer.

    Two hours and only three topics had been voted on. Leaving you and twenty or so others crabby and vocal about the remaining agenda items. It was then that a tall, well-dressed man stepped out of line and spoke to the council out of turn.

    “I’d like to move for the Morningstar Wetland Development to be discussed next.”

    “You can’t just cut in line, Sam.” The man heading the council reprimanded. “We’ve got protocols for these things. What kind of lawyer are you?”

    The man ducked in front of the microphone at the front of the line, whispering his apologies to the grumpy Karen type who had last aired her grievances. “Sorry, Bobby, it’s just a big deal. And not just to me, but it was to Jess.”

    The entire room was silent. Clearly, the two men knew each other. The councilman looked empathetic. You didn’t know who this Jess was, but it touched a nerve. There were whispers throughout the room as everyone waited for the man to reply.

    “Yeah, I know it was. But we’ll hear your pleas next meeting.” Bobby then spoke to the whole room, “we will hear all of your pleas next month. Thank you, but this meeting is adjourned for time. Good night and drive safe, folks.”

    The room erupted in protest, but logical brains won out. Letting the outrage simmer as everyone gathered their belongings and slowly moved to the exits. You knew the parking lot would be a mess, so you stayed put, hoping to catch up to the disruptive attorney. You potentially had someone on your side and you couldn’t lose that hope.

    As the room cleared, you spotted him deep in conversation with another Alpha, also in a well tailored suit. You inhaled deeply and marched up to the men, determined to get to the bottom of your suspicions.

    “Hey! I’m curious, what is your stance on the wetlands development proposal? Because that was what I wanted to speak on, not that I got the chance,” you interrupted the conferring men, both a little wide eyed at your brazenness.

    “Decidedly against,” the towering Alpha with long hair replied. Something told you that you knew this guy, but you couldn’t place him. Meanwhile the man beside him was not so discreetly eyeing you suggestively. “Sam Winchester, and you are?”

    You introduced yourself, taking his large hand in a firm handshake. “Now, I’m no lawyer, but my grandmother lives in The Veil Villas and I can’t stand to have some shopping monstrosity built next door.”

    Sam looked at the other man and chuckled before returning his earnest gaze to you. “The kind of grandmother that catcalls younger Alphas out on a morning run?”

    You instantly blushed, the heat and revelation coursing through your veins. “Maybe. Oh Christ, that was you?”

    “Guilty.”

    “I’m gonna go find Bobby. Talk to you later, Sammy,” the other Alpha bowed out respectively. Which oddly made you feel more comfortable, being one on one.

    “I’ll see you at home, Dean,” Sam answered without breaking eye contact with you.

    Once the other man was out of earshot, “I don’t know many Alpha couples,” you pointed out fondly. 

    “Me neither. He’s my brother,” Sam replied glibly. Again, struck with embarrassment, you found yourself shifting on your feet.

    “Look, I’d love to get your help on this. Want to grab a drink and discuss what we can do before the next council meeting?” Sam offered just as your stomach growled audibly.

    Sheepishly you giggled. “Make it dinner and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

    “Deal,” Sam promised with another firm handshake.

    Sam couldn’t help watching the clock on the wall. He hadn’t hated that clock until now. But tonight, it wasn’t moving fast enough. He waited in his office after work for a strategy meeting on community organizing against the recent wetlands project. With a very particular Omega that had thrown him for a loop. 

    Why was he so nervous? It wasn’t a date. Even when you two had gone to dinner after the previous week’s town council meeting you had been painfully professional. He didn’t want to lose your help, but he could feel his feelings rushing past attraction and straight to affection for you. It was unsettling to say the least. Sam hadn’t had feelings like this in so long. Not since Jessica. 

    It had been over two years since her death and Sam had forgotten the thrill of getting to know someone that made him like this. This being internally flustered and outwardly excitable. Eighteen minutes, Sam just needed to keep it together for a little longer. He didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. After all, you had work to do.

    Once Sam had his desk reorganized and his tie and jacket resituated, he heard a gentle knock on the doorframe. 

    “Hey, Sam,” you called out, smiling bright as Sam stood hastily, knocking back his chair. “Whoa, everything alright?”

    Sam, obviously flustered, righted the chair. “No---- it’s fine. I’m--- good. You? How are you?”

    You chuckled at his awkwardness, it was actually pretty cute, not that you were letting yourself think that. “Good. Tired. Same old, same old. Whatcha got for me?”

    You eyed the stack of manila folders on the side of his desk, hopeful you could be of use. Sam smirked and sat back down, trying not to breathe in your scent too deeply. “Lots. How do you feel about canvassing?”

    And he did his best to convince you to join him on the huge undertaking of collecting signatures of the people living around the wetlands. It wasn’t a struggle exactly, but you had a lot of questions. Questions that often came when Sam was looking into your eyes instead of listening to your words. He was doing his best, he really was. At the end of it all, the entire proposal and explanation, a mere thirty minutes had passed. 

    “When are we going to do all this?” You asked, slightly flustered, eyes wide with the reality of your already limited free time.

    “Whenever we can. I know my work schedule is a little demanding, but I try really hard to keep my weekends open. I was hoping we could start Saturday. If you’re free.” Sam raised his eyebrows and almost puckered his lips. Hoping you had the time to spare, for saving the wetlands, of course. He only needed your help, he didn’t need to see you. At least that is what he told himself.

    You exhaled through your mouth and opened your phone’s calendar. “I have to drop off some things for a fundraiser Saturday morning, but I should be done before nine, since that’s when the event starts. I don’t have to be there in person, per se. But it is for work.”

    “The school is having a---?” Sam asked, curious and slightly impressed by your generosity.

    “A bake sale and rummage sale, nine to three,” you explained with a sigh. 

    “Why don’t we do a booth? I mean, if that’s okay? I can have information printed and that way you’re there, you’re supporting the school and hopefully getting some signatures. If it doesn’t work, we can go out for real on Sunday?”

    Sam internally kicked himself. He just asked you to spend your entire weekend with him. 

    “You’d do all that?” You asked, clearly surprised by the lengths he would go.

    “Absolutely. Besides, I have a brother who eats pie by the tin. I owe him after ditching him last week. And what better way than a trip to a bake sale?”

    “So, Dean will be there too?” Sam caught a touch of disappointment in your voice.

    “I doubt he’ll stick around. But he’ll help us set up. So? What do you think?” Sam was earnest, the possibility was intoxicating. Both of spending time with him again and of stopping the development.

    “I’ll check with the PTA, but since we’re not asking for anything monetary, I think we should be good. I’ll text you when I hear from them?”

    “That’d be great,” Sam smirked. “But for now? Let’s just plan on me picking you up on Saturday morning around 8:30.”

    “Let’s say 8, we can stop for coffee on the way.” You returned his easy smile.

    “Deal.” Sam had to look away, the butterflies in his stomach were beginning to give him false hope.

    You made it inside your apartment and exhaled, for what felt like the first time all day. Seventy-two signatures and seven and a half hours after Sam picked you up, you were exhausted. You don’t think you had ever talked so much in your life and all you wanted to do was relax. But instead you had to shower and get ready for dinner with your mother, who had called in the middle of the day nearly demanding to see you.

    Might as well get it over with.

    It wasn’t that you didn’t get along with your mother, but as an only child you had dealt with her every expectation and worry for as long as you could remember. And the interruption of your day by her phone call had put a definite kink in your momentum with gaining support and signatures. It would be good to see her, it would. You just needed to psych yourself up for the task.

    An hour and a half later she was buzzing to be let in. Her timeless Omega beauty still notable into her fifties, she smiled softly at your frenzied appearance. 

    “Is everything alright?” She just had a way of reading beneath the surface, especially yours.

    “Yup! Just had a long day is all,” you answered, slipping into your light jacket before grabbing your keys. “How’ve you been?”

    “Oh, you know me, nothing too pressing. Ready?” She hugged you and kissed the side of your head. 

    Dinner was decadent, the restaurant your mother had suggested was new and certainly lived up to the hype you’d seen on your friends’ socials.

    “Isn’t this great? All locally sourced and owned and operated by people who get what the town wants,” your mother conspired over her entree.

    “Funny you should say that, I’m working on a new project.” Your mother’s face lit up, she always liked to hear that you kept busy. “Community focused. I’m working with a local lawyer gathering signatures to stop that awful development from going in by Grandma.”

    She barely paused. “When’d this all happen?”

    “Last week, but we just started the petitioning today. That’s why I’m so tired--- lots of talking.”

    “Who’s the lawyer?”

    You started to fidget. “Um, younger guy, but also local. Though I don’t remember him from school. Sam Winchester?” You took a drink of your water, trying not to make a big deal of it. Praying your mother didn’t deduce how impressed and invested you were becoming with Sam himself and not just the project.

    “Winchester, sounds familiar. But I can’t place it. When do you need to gather the signatures?” She was clearly working out a timeline for following up with you. Not micromanaging at all.

    “Next town council meeting we hope to present them. Though we’re not sure it will even make a difference. That’s a lot of revenue the town could lose if we stop it before it starts.”

    “Well I’m glad to hear you’re being level-headed about it. You know I hate you to get your hopes up.” She seemed to miss her cue for encouragement.

    “Of course,” you added shortly.

    “And it’s not interfering with work?”

    “Not at all. Sam works even more hours than I do. We agreed to keep it to nights and weekends.”

    “So, it’s only the two of you?” Now she was really sinking her nails into this thing.

    “For now. I suppose we should discuss recruitment when we get together tomorrow.” Why hadn’t you thought of that?

    “I see. That’s an awful lot of time to spend with someone. Is he an Alpha?”

    “Mom!” You huffed in annoyance.

    She raised her hands in mock surrender. “I just want you to be safe---.” She stabbed at the last bit of her meat. “And smart.”

    “Yes, he’s an Alpha. But he’s a widower, so I don’t feel like I have as much to worry about, overall. You know?”

    Your mother froze midchew, giving you a wet grimace. She didn’t have anything more to say on the matter. It was a low blow for you to use Sam’s loss against her, but it was the clearest path. She could understand his situation in a way no one else could. Your father had died when you were a toddler and, as your mother always told you, you were the only thing that kept her going. The loss of a mate was unbearable for her and so she raised you to be independent, to never let an Alpha try and solve your problems.

    She had your best interests in mind, but it left a lonely life path laid out for you. You’d dated Beta’s, but they always grew too insecure in the end, your Omega needs and tendencies too overwhelming when you’d let your guard down. You didn’t want to end up like your mother, especially without pups of your own. But you didn’t dare disappoint her either.

    She changed the subject once the emotion had left her features, and the rest of the meal went smoothly, however clouded.

    In the end, recruitment hadn’t been necessary, not once you had revealed your plans to your Grandmother during your weekly brunch. So, that is how the following weekend Sam was stuck playing twenty questions with her while they canvassed her neighbors. You were paired with Tonya, a fellow teacher from your school. You went door-to-door along the manicured lawns of the houses on the far side of the nature preserve. There weren’t as many people home as you’d hoped for a Saturday, but you still managed an additional two dozen signatures.

    “Ninety-seven?!” You gaped at your grandmother over lunch. You looked to Sam for confirmation.

    “It would have been ninety-eight, but Glen Wilson died last week,” she clarified. “But got his wife to sign anyhow.”

    “You’re cruel,” you teased.

    “She’s vindictive,” Sam pinpointed it. Everyone laughed.

    “Tonya, honey, maybe we should partner up this time? Us pro’s ought to show the slow pokes how it’s done?”

Vindictive isn’t the only word you wanted to use for her. Your grandmother was none too shyly playing matchmaker and it instantly made you warm in the cheeks.

“Samuel, you’ll have to teach my granddaughter some tricks. Those puppy dog eyes are a real clincher.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Sam agreed, grinning bashfully.

Two hours and Sam and you had already matched your morning total.

“And I thought it was just schmoozing old ladies! You really know how to say what people want to hear,” you praised in near dismay.

Sam waved off your compliment with the clipboard. “Comes with the territory. Knowing how to lead a witness or sway a jury---,”

“I thought you handled corporate law?” You stopped in confusion.

“I do. It’s--- I--- I was a prosecutor. Almost the next Assistant D.A. actually. But someone I got locked up killed my wife.” You gasped. “It’s okay. I mean--- it’s not--- it will never be okay. But, anyway, I switched focus after that. I couldn’t do it objectively anymore. I just kept seeing monsters instead of people.” Sam exhaled and started moving once more. 

“Sam, I’m so sorry! I had no idea,” you apologized for bringing up such a dreadful subject.

“I know. Jess is why I had to get this thing stopped. She loved this place.” Sam turned, sighing as he looked over the sunkissed pond. “We used to come out here when we were kids. ---- Dean and whoever his significant other was at the time, Me and Jess, our friend Garth and his Alpha Bess. Just spend the day.---- The trails are all I use anymore, but there’s lots of love left behind here. I can’t lose that too, you know?”

Hearing Sam talk about his late wife hit you with a wave of emotion, sympathy, awe and that forever present loneliness. Which then made you feel guilty and ashamed. He’d been through such horror, you couldn’t envy him his memories. They were all he had left. 

“My father died when I wasn’t even three.” Sam inhaled audibly. “I don’t remember him, it’s okay. But my mother--- from what I gather--- was never the same. So--- I just wanted to say that I think you’re an amazing man, Sam Winchester. Losing your Omega so young and working to preserve her memory---- I’m glad we’re doing this. I’m honored to help.”

You didn’t realize you had grabbed Sam’s arm until he leaned into your touch. He bit his bottom lip before he started to speak,” Thanks. And I’m sorry for your loss too.”

You gave him a gracious smile before turning to head back to the sidewalk, but Sam didn’t follow.

“It’s--- I--- well, Jess wasn’t my Omega. Yes, she was my entire world. But we fell in love before either of us presented. She never did. Jess was my wife, but she was a Beta. So--- whatever your mom went through--- it was probably a lot different.”

You took that all in, nodding dumbly as he caught up to you. Sam hadn’t been mated, he’d only been married. Only?! But your mind wouldn’t stop playing with that part of his story. What kind of person were you, feeling something akin to relief in someone else’s tragedy?

“Shall we?” Sam gestured you to the next walkway. You stepped forward to lead the way, still lost in your own thoughts.

    One thousand eighty three signatures, seventeen walked miles, two late night dinners turned philosophy sessions, and several blisters later, you and Sam arrived at the town council meeting, together. Dean escorted your grandmother in on his elbow, while Tonya and your mother promised to meet you there. It was show time. Sam had filled you in on how he knew Mayor Singer, a crotchety family friend who won his position as a write-in candidate. Which gave you hope that he’d be lenient to your pleas. But the unamused look on the man’s face as he took the center seat made you rethink all of your aspirations. He didn’t seem like the type to suffer fools.

    The meeting began, much like the previous month’s, except this time you were on the edge of your seat. Sam looked over everything, whispering under his breath as he reread his proposal. If anyone could get this thing stopped, it was Sam. You had seen his brilliance and his tenacity in action. Your faith in him, in his abilities, had only grown over the past few weeks. 

It was the “it’s just business” defense that you were banking on plowing over everything you all had worked for. Because no matter how many people were on your side, or how many more you could still gain, money always spoke first and loudest. Dean cleared his throat and nodded Sam toward the back entrance. Sam’s face dropped and a deep growl escaped his chest. Taken aback, you spun to see who had set him off. A smarmy looking man, maybe ten or fifteen years older than you swaggered in late. He was blonde and he looked like he felt he was too good to be there.

“Morningstar himself,” Dean muttered for your benefit.. The competition had arrived.

Your mother mouthed at you down the row, ‘who is that?’. You just shook your head, a clear ‘not someone we wanted to see’. This shifted your agenda and Sam turned and whispered in your ear. “I want you to open. We’re going to make this about the town, about regular people.”

You looked at him in panic, but he only gave you a wolfish smirk. He shouldered out of his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves, showing off the bottoms of his upper sleeves of tattoos. The cords of muscle on his unmarred forearms drew your focus and you had to swallow the drool that had filled your mouth. You closed your eyes against the pleasing sight and willed yourself to focus.

You looked over your shoulder, passed Dean, to your grandmother, she gave you an encouraging, if knowing smile and two thumbs up. You rolled your eyes playfully but held her gaze. She believed in you, even if it was for an entirely different reason than the one you were looking at her for. It was enough. 

You were ready. You followed Sam into the aisle and queued behind three other citizens waiting to bring their items before the council. Many of the attendees had returned from last month’s meeting, their familiarity gave you the clarity to speak candidly. All too soon, it was your turn at the mic.

    You introduced yourself and Sam, stating your addresses and occupations before you truly began. “And we’re here to ask the town council to deny the rezoning plea for the Wetlands and to stop the negotiations with Morningstar Investments for their proposed commercial developments of the area. It is not right for this town and it is certainly not right for the pond and the countless species that call those acres home. My grandmother included.” You earned a few laughs, of which you knew one was from Dean. You looked up at Sam and he gave you a mischievous dimple.

    “In all seriousness, for those of us who grew up here, who can remember a summer without a dip in Crowley Pond? Or a spring without a class field trip to collect tadpoles or a founder’s day picnic before the weather turned each fall? That land is as part of this town as the people are, because it helped make us who we are. We can’t give that up for the sake of progress or more buildings. Buildings and jobs don’t make a town. Memories do. People do. Those connections with the natural world keep us human. Don’t let big city money come in and try and change us, just so they can use us for more tax breaks. Please, Mayor Singer, council members, my fellow citizens, please deny their rezoning application and stop these absurd negotiations.”

    You paused long enough for a barrage of applause to rage around the room. Sam grabbed your shoulders encouragingly and you stepped to the side to let him close.

    “Over the last few weeks we have gathered over one thousand signatures from voting citizens who agree this deal needs to end now. I present them to the council in good faith.” Sam held up a manila folder and Mayor Singer waved him forward. They shared a brief exchange, but each man kept his poker face. “We’d like this item to be voted on tonight. But are prepared to come back until the council is ready to take this issue seriously.”

    The room stood silent as the mayor glanced through the collected petition. He passed it to the alderwoman on his left and let them each assess the presented information. You felt your entire body thrumming in suspense. 

    “For the record, I’ve known Sam Winchester since before he was born. So I’m airing my biases for public transparency. I’ve also been fishing at Crowley Pond longer than that. And I’ll be damned if I see it turned into a hoity toity boardwalk with designer shops that I can’t even pronounce the names of. But it’s not just up to me,” Mayor Singer explained honestly.

    Another alderwoman in the last seat at the right end of the council stage spoke into her mic. “I represent 70% percent of the residents that live on or near the wetlands. The amount of calls I’ve received, both on my home phone and my office line, over this deal have tripled over the last month. The vast majority, upwards of 4 out of 5, do not want this thing to proceed. Call it N.I.M.B.Y or just plain stubbornness, I don’t care, but I am prepared to call this item to a vote, Mayor.”

    “Thank you, Jody,” Bobby obliged. “Alright, seconded?”

    The lone black man on the council leaned forward and replied. “I second this motion.”

    “Thank you Rufus,” Bobby continued. “All in favor?” Five more alderpeople spoke up. “All opposed?”

    A single voice spoke up. You won, it was seven to one, not counting the Mayor’s vote. The room erupted in triumph. You jumped into Sam’s embrace, feeling his strong arms jostle you in victory. “We did it, huh?” His voice rumbled through his chest into your very being.

    The gavel silenced your celebration, causing you to break apart from Sam’s hold. “On the second item. Ceasing any and all negotiations with Morningstar Investments on a proposed commercial district within town limits. I believe it is too early to vote on this matter, as the petitions were about the aforementioned wetlands. Anyone else think we should table this for future discussion?”

    The council members whispered among themselves, hands over their microphones. Sam’s arm hung heavy over your shoulder, but you faced the deciding members head on.

    “I move that we wait for more information, sir. It is too early in the process to stop any sort of deal with Morningstar or their subsidiaries. We have no clue what else they could propose,” the lone dissenter pressed. 

    “Seconded,” Linda Tran, your alderwoman agreed. The crowd murmured, but the council moved forward with the vote. Five to three the council voted to table ceasing the negotiations. It took the wind out of your sails a bit, but it wasn’t the crux of the battle for you. Sam thanked the council and you both returned to your seats, and the flood of congratulations from your ragtag group of supporters. 

    “I think the tats sold it, Sammy,” Dean teased, flicking Sam’s tricep.

    “Whatever, it was all Y/N,” Sam argued, giving you a proud smirk. You felt higher than ever, too excited with your combined success to feel self conscious over his praise.

    “We did it, all of us,” you affirmed with a stage whisper.

    “Harvelles’ to celebrate?” Dean asked Sam over your head.

    “Definitely.”

    You rolled out of bed the following Sunday morning feeling the twisting ache of an upcoming heat. You’d been on suppressants for years, so they didn’t come regularly, but you never were completely free of them. You mentally started making plans for your usual substitute teacher as you got dressed to go to your grandmother’s. It was one of the perks of working for a small school district, knowing the entire pool of substitutes and being able to have your pick. It kept things consistent for your students and smooth for both you and the sub. 

    After sending out an email to your principal, you made your way across town. You were a little late, so you didn’t notice the familiar Charger parked near the end of the street, but you certainly smelled Sam the moment you opened your grandmother’s patio door. He had always smelled good to you, but it was thicker today, like he was excited about something. Once you calmed down your body’s response to Sam’s scent, your mind caught up. What was he even doing there?

    “Hi?” You called out as you slipped into the breakfast nook, keeping your distance.

    Sam looked up from his coffee nervously, a tee shirt clung to his chest and everything clicked into place. He hadn’t been expecting to be there, but your grandmother had dragged him in off the trail to have brunch. Talk about pushy.

    “Sorry?” Sam sifted in his seat, visibly breathing shallowly through his mouth. He could already smell your simmering heat.

    “It’s okay. I mean, who could have known?” You offered, tugging your cardigan tighter around your neck.

    “Known what?” Your grandmother made her appearance. “Young Omega, you did not show up here on the cusp of a heat. What are you doing out?! We have a guest!”

    You rolled your eyes. “I see that. MAYBE I wouldn’t have come over if I had known you were going to force feed Sam breakfast.”

    “That’s the hormones talking, she doesn’t get lippy with me like she does her mother,” your grandmother explained to Sam, who looked more uncomfortable by the second, with his large body overflowing her tiny chair.

    “Sorry, Grandma,” you acquiesced. “Can I help with anything?”

    She looked between you and Sam and sighed. “How about we eat on the veranda? Samuel, think you can manage the table?”

    Fifteen minutes later and everyone was something closer to relaxed. The spring breeze was strong enough to keep your mingling scents from becoming too powerful. Your grandmother led the conversation, asking Sam about his family, his summer plans, his work, always working in an anecdote or a sly boast about you in the meantime. 

    “Grandma, when does your shuffleboard league start up again?” You started off diplomatically enough. “I think you have too much time on your hands these days.”

    Sam choked on his French toast.

    “What about yourself? Now that this wetlands ordeal is over with. You going back to your usual nightly Netflix binge?” You should have known better to even question her; fire with fire was one thing, but she was a blow torch.

    “This is an amazing recipe, I bet Dean’d love it. Would you mind?” Sam started asking your grandmother, but she was not amused by his segue. He promptly shut up.

    With little fanfare, your grandmother stood and collected her place setting. “Look, I think you two need to talk, so I’m going to start the dishes. I do not want nor do I need your help. There are a lot of them. Take your time. Do you understand?”

    You squirmed under her directness, but you nodded as you nibbled on a slice of bacon. Sam mumbled a ‘yes ma’am’, which only earned him your side eye. Once she was out of earshot, you drooped against your seat back.

    “Again, I’m sorry for intruding on your meal, I just ---- I wanted to check in after you ditched us at the bar,” Sam began.

    “I didn’t ditch you, it was a school night! Tonya left too,” you deflected.

    “Totally understandable, but I haven’t heard from you since--- I kind of thought--- did I do something wrong?” Sam soldiered on.

    “No, of course not, it’s just---.” You didn’t know how to explain your upbringing without insulting his Alpha status or making assumptions about where this conversation was going.

    “Just, what?” Sam looked at you with a soft curiosity and you pinched the inside of your knee to stop yourself from getting too comfortable under his gaze.

    “I guess, I didn’t know what this was? Now, you know? Now that we accomplished what we set out to do. I didn’t want to make you feel obligated to my friendship or---,” you talked with your hands, thoughts and words stumbling over each other.

    “Hey, no one is obligated here, okay? I enjoy spending time with you,” Sam said it like it was easy, simple even. You sighed at his certainty.

    “I like--- spending time with you too,” you agreed, a bit fuzzy. He smiled shyly and looked away.

    “You know, this doesn’t have to be just friendship, right? If you’re interested, I mean, of course,” Sam didn’t quite meet your eye. Damnit. He was leaving it all up to you. Of course you were interested, but it didn’t mean you could do anything about it.

    “I really wish it was that easy,” you whispered, dejection hugging you tight. “But I can’t exactly let an Alpha in, not with my mother and not with my mind so fuzzy. I know you’re a good man, Sam Winchester, but I don’t want to be the next woman you lose.”

    Sam’s eyebrows shot to the sky, his face dropped at the rough path your words cut through him. “Well, I guess we’ll just have to stay friends. For now.”

    “Sure, if you’re going to be okay with that?” You were surprised by his olive branch.

    “I am if you are,” Sam looked you straight in the eye, silently pleading for something you didn’t know how to give.

    “Good,” you broke off, almost like a question. Even with the warm wind, you found the air to be stifling on the porch. You quickly cleared yours and Sam’s plates, leaving him to his thoughts for a few minutes of reprieve for you both.

    Your grandmother was scrubbing a glass pan when you brought in the last remaining dishes. She didn’t have to look at you to know something was wrong. “Please don’t lose this one. He’s good for you, sweetheart.”

    You hadn’t realized you’d been silently crying until you sniffled. “I can’t have an Alpha, not after Dad, Grandma, you know that.”

    “Can’t or won’t?” She turned, leaning her sudsy hands against the lip of the sink. “Your mother filled your head with only the worst case scenarios. There is so much more to love than loss. It’s just a part of the journey. Sam knows that and if he’s willing to try again, you’ve got to be brave enough to try at all.”

    “You act like this is easy! Like taking a dive into Crowley Pond on a dare! This feels like suicide, like I’m digging my own grave.” You screech at her, gasping when a sudden wave of cramps knocks on your heels. 

    “Now’s not the time to be too rash. Let’s get you home? Do you think you can drive yourself, yet?” She quickly wiped her hands on a dishtowel and looked around for her purse.

    You nodded, too afraid to answer as you worked to gather your emotions. 

    “Okay, let’s just take Sam the leftovers and call it a day?” Your grandmother had bundled all of the extras for Dean afterall. But when you both had made it back to the patio, Sam was nowhere to be seen.

    You didn’t know which emptiness was worse, the one in your core, or the one in your chest.

    You didn’t remember answering the phone, but suddenly, in your hormonal haze, Sam’s voice was in your ear. 

    “I’d be able to protect, you know,” Sam sounded off, a bit slower and gruffer in pitch than normal. 

    “Sam? What time is it?!” You squinted in the dark of your bedroom, knowing it was the middle of the night.

    “It’s late. But I just needed you to know--- that. That I’d be a good Alpha. I’d take care of you. I wouldn’t let you get hurt, I’m stronger now. Since Jess.”

    Oh, boy. 

    “How much have you had to drink?” You sat up, swallowing against a sudden wave of nausea.

    “Some--- and then some more. I’m fine. Dean’s here. He says hi. He’s got a black eye, but it’s my life, you know?”

    “Hey, Sam?”

    He hummed in pleasure. “I like the way you say my name.”

    He’d be really annoying if he wasn’t so adorable. “Can I talk to Dean for a second? Just a quick sec, then we can talk some more.”

    “Dean didn’t want me to call you, but sure, go ahead, talk to my brother, why not, right?! It’s not like you’re my girlfriend or anything, can’t get jealous over nothing.” You had a growing suspicion that Sam was going to regret this phone call in the morning.

    There were some muffled voices and something that sounded like a struggle, but soon Dean’s voice came on the line, smooth and placating, “I’m really sorry about this, but the fucker cold cocked me when I went to hide his phone.”

    You laughed at the grown men behaving like teenagers. “How long has he been in the bottle?”

    “Since I got home from disc golf around 3. I know it’s not really my place, but what even happened?” Dean’s big brother worry was endearing, but you really didn’t want to embarrass yourself or Sam any further.

    “Let’s just say I messed things up and now Sam thinks I think he’d let me die--- or get hurt--- or something if we were together,” you hoped that made any sense whatsoever. You covered the mic on your phone as a sudden cramp made you groan, gasping, you tried to catch all of Dean’s response. 

    “--- a big baby. I don’t know what you know about Jess’s death, but you gotta know he did everything he could. The low life was never gonna stop. He got the death penalty. He’s never coming back. Anyway, just know that my brother is the best there is. And I hate seeing him like this. So either state your case or make a clean break, because I am not putting up with him like this for long.”

    You rolled over and reached up to turn on the bedside light, vertigo slowing your movements. You didn’t know where to go with this conversation. “Understood. Can I talk to Sam again? If he’s lucid enough, I mean.”

    You heard Dean bark at Sam to take the phone. You tried to breathe through your pain.

    “Y/N? You there?” Sam sounded panicked.

    “I’m here. How you feeling Sam?”

    “Sleepy. How are you feeling? Are you okay all alone? Does it hurt? They always say it hurts. But I don’t know if it’s worse or better than a period. God you guys really have it bad. All we get is ruts, and that’s not even that bad. Just messy and---,” 

    You interrupted before you started down a path from which neither of you would be able to resist continuing. “I’m fine, Sam. I’m used to being alone for this.”

    “Oh, yeah, I guess you’re right,” Sam conceded. “Dean says I should let you go. But I don’t want to.”

    Your heart crystallized inside your chest. “He, uh, I think he means to hang up, Sam. You don’t have to let me go-go.”

    “Yeah?” He sounded almost euphoric.

    “Yeah. Hey, I’m going to call you tomorrow. I’m not sure when I’ll be up. But I’m guessing you’re going to be calling in sick for work anyway. Is that okay?”

    “You calling me is okay, but I don’t understand why you can’t just talk to me now,” Sam had a point.

    “Because, one, you’re drunk and two, I really need to take care of things here before I can talk to you again.” You laid into the innuendo.

    “Okay, sure, yeah, you go take care of things. I’ll--- I’ll, uh, talk to you tomorrow,” Sam chuckled. You could picture his face, eyes slightly unfocused, but still earnest, still sweet.

    “Okay, goodnight Sam. Drink lots of water for me, okay?” 

    “Dean’s already got me covered. Sweet dreams, Y/N,” he sounded more alert than he had the entire call. You tried not to feel good about turning his mood around, since you had sent him into this spiral in the first place.

    “You too,” you hung up just in time for a chill to run down your spine. You reached for your side table and prayed you had enough batteries to last you the rest of the night.

    Sam knew this was a bad idea, showing up at your place. But you said you’d call and you never did. You hadn’t answered your phone, from either his or Dean’s number. He just had to be sure that you were okay. Once he reached your apartment door he could barely stand from all the blood rushing to his groin. Your all too familiar scent of daisies, fresh bread and pine had sweetened with your heat and  permeated the entire hallway. With a quick glance around, Sam adjusted his hardening cock in his pants before he knocked.

    With his ear flush to your door, Sam listened for signs of life. He heard something vaguely like footsteps and a groan. He tried to remember if you had mentioned any pets, but before he got too far into his guessing game, the door opened a crack. Your scent was so powerful, he could taste your slick through the four inch window your chain lock granted him. Sam couldn’t move, he was struck dumb by your needy stare.

    “Al---What are you doing here?!” Your voice was rough as if you’d just awoke.

    “You didn’t call.” Sam shrugged, trying to be casual. “I thought I’d check on you.”

    You had forgotten about your promise, the mindless hours between sleep had left you barely human. You tried to remember where you’d set down your phone. You shifted and then said the first thing that came to mind. 

    “Do you want to come in?”

    Sam swallowed and tried to stop himself from breathing. “If I do, I’m not going to leave.”

    You shut the door in his face. Sam closed his eyes and accepted your rejection. Before he could turn to leave, he heard the scraping of the chain unlatching and the door reopening before his very eyes. “By all means.”

    He had no idea how you sounded so strung out and sexy at the same time, but his feet followed while his brain was left in the hallway.     Sam was on you before you could relock the door, one hand on your jaw and the other gathering you to him at your waist. He stopped just short of kissing you blind, needing to see the consent in your eyes first. You whined against his lips and pecked at him, once, twice until Sam could do nothing but open up for you. Your kiss was everything he had been missing, hot, sweet and unbelievably soft. 

    Your body melted into his as you stood on your tiptoes, letting him feel the hard press of your nipples through your thin cami. He reached lower to grab a handful of your ass, hauling you tighter against him. His fingers instinctively curled into the crease of your thigh, teasing the hem of your ruined panties.

    You broke the kiss in sudden panic. “Sam! I’m so sorry. I never thought you’d get me hurt. That’s not what I meant when---- I can’t lose you. Please!” You kissed him again, desperate and sputtering. When your voice grew too tight with want and you breathed out a choked, ‘Alpha’, Sam set you back on your feet. He exhaled and looked you in the eye, hands cupping your cheeks.

    “I know, Y/N. Let me take care of you and we’ll figure the rest out?” You pouted your kiss swollen lips and nodded up at him, eyes at half mast. Sam smirked down at you and kissed you again. He chuckled at the lazy purr that left your mouth once his lips slithered down your jaw and onto your neck. “Why don’t you show me your room, Baby?”

    You hooked your index finger around Sam’s and dragged him pointedly down the hall. Sam would have been able to find it blindfolded, the sheets were so sullied with your slick. But he wanted you to let him in, in every sense of the word. He was the sober one tonight and he would only give you what you asked of him and nothing more.

    You tugged at his coat, and then his shirt. Your hands roamed his body with enthusiastic admiration. He rubbed your arms, feeling the skin pebble from his touch. When your tiny fingers started undoing his belt, Sam let his head fall back, letting the sensations rush over him. Soon enough you had freed him from his shorts, your warm palm stroking him to full hardness. God, your hands were so soft, he shuttered from it all.

    “They weren’t kidding about how big you guys are,” you whispered conspiratorially. 

    “Not all Alphas,” Sam cracked, but stopped once you reached down and cupped his balls. “Omega, please, let me?” 

With the most willpower Sam had ever used, he unfurled your grip on his dick. Slowly, Sam dragged your wrist above your head while walking you backwards toward the bed.

    You giggled once he dropped you onto the tangle of sheets and pillows, your pathetically erected heat nest soon demolished by the frenzy of his touch. Sam took notes, watching as you shivered or moaned. He kissed every place he could reach until you were completely bare to him. He took in every gorgeous inch of your flesh, hot and shuttering, glistening and firm; his eyes devoured you. Then his mouth did too.

    Sam knew Omegas were made to be the most desirable, the most fertile of partners, but when he finally, truly tasted you on his tongue, he forgot everything he’d ever learned. It was as if you were made for him, there was simply no other explanation, no other thought besides pure bliss. He lapped up your juices, sucking on to your clit for dear life only to delve back into your sopping cunt at last. Sam tongue fucked you as you mewled somewhere above him. He had no bearing on what was up and where was down, there was only you. And he needed all you could give.

    You came in a shocked gasp, once his fingers had started to work you open. He growled at the sound and the fresh taste of you. He wanted to make you do it again. Your hands found his hair, tugging you struggled to get him to face you, to tear him away from his new mission.

    “Alpha, please!” You begged.

    Sam soothed you, rubbing up your sides as your body calmed from the onslaught. “It’s okay, Baby. Just tell me what you need.”

    “Knot me, Sam. God, I need it so bad,” you croaked, face contorted with both pleasure and pain. Sam crawled up your body and kissed you, shoving his slick covered tongue nearly down your throat as you hummed in thanks. Spreading your legs, you cradled his body with yours, bucking against his weeping tip as he continued to dominate you with his kiss.

    Sam pulled back, shaking his hair out of his face as he watched you grind up into him. His sack dragged against your tightest hole, as his shaft slipped through your messy folds. “You want me to knot you like this? So I can watch you come for me again? Or do you want me from behind, so I can be as deep as possible?”

    You moaned and Sam couldn’t help but chuckle at your neediness.

    He brushed his hand down the center of your chest, feeling the steady thrum of your heart as he teased you stupid. He waited for your decision, holding you each in place, with only the slightest room to rock back into him.  Your eyes were hooded and your bottom lip was pinched under your front teeth, plump and inviting.

    “Tell me what you want,” Sam tried to get you to use your words. You whined, twisting against the sheets, arching against him with the little strength you had left. Sam chose the merciful path and sank back onto his haunches. Carefully, he lined himself up. “Ready for me?”

    You nestled into him, rolling your hips to accept him. Sam breathed out and then entered you, inch by inch. He watched you, needing to make sure you were okay as he filled you. You took him so well, Sam had to remind himself to breathe or else he’d pass out from the sheer overwhelming feel of your walls hugging his dick.

    Slowly Sam pulled out, but slammed back harder than he’d meant to.

    “Yeah, that’s it, Baby, just like that. Fuck! You feel so good,” finally your words returned to you. That was all the encouragement Sam needed, because now he was released from the tempered pace. Now, he was unbridled, an untamed Alpha taking what was his. He thrust into you, again and again, rocketing you up the bed until there was nowhere left to go. He braced his massive hands on your headboard and found the leverage he wanted, only to pound you from a muttering heap into a howling mess.

    Your thighs trembled along his hips, but still he fucked you. You came, gushing hot and loud, and still Sam fucked you. He’d never felt so fucking free in all his life, the way he could give and give and you just kept on taking him, harder, faster, deeper, longer. As his knot started to swell, that old worry crept back into Sam’s mind. He was used to stopping, to pinching himself tight and pulling out. But when he tried he felt your fingers cuffing his wrist. He looked down to see you challenging him.

“I need that, thank you very much,” you huffed, grinning at him defiantly. Sam melted instantly, shoving your thighs impossibly wider until he felt the unmatched ecstasy of your cunt choking on his knot. He thrust into you, as his orgasm hurled through him. He snapped his hips one final time and came with abandon inside of you. You snarled his name and yanked him against you, claiming him with a heated kiss. Sam couldn’t think but to nip back, more teeth than lips as your body took all he had left to give.

Ten minutes later and you both were more or less sane, yet definitely sated. Sam brushed the sweat from your face as he took in your calming features. It was like he was seeing you for the first time, but he was only experiencing this small part of you for the first time. He wondered what other pieces you’d share with him, if he’d ever get the full picture. He couldn’t wait to find out.

“You okay with this? With everything?” he asked, voice deep and scratchy.

Your face softened. “Okay? Baby, I’m stuffed full of your cock, I’m beyond okay here.”

Sam huffed at your bluntness, smirking at your saucy side. “Just checking.”

“Hey, you okay?” You asked back, sensing his deeper worries.

“Yeah, I just didn’t mean this to happen like this, you know?” Sam, ever the gentleman, wanted you to know you were more than a quick fuck in a hormonal cloud.

“Yeah, but I’m kinda glad it did. Otherwise who knows how long we would have worried ourselves out of it. I’m really glad you showed up tonight, Sam.” You always gave him an answer he wasn’t expecting. 

“Me too.” Sam smiled down at you, still in awe he got to have you at all. You leaned up and kissed him firmly. All too soon, his knot receded, releasing him from your embrace. He blindly gathered discarded clothing and cleaned you both up; your heat had zapped any remaining energy you had. Sam carefully drew the sheet over your exhausted form.

“Stay?” You asked, without opening your eyes. “Please?”

It was the only time you ever had to ask.

Six months later

    Sam held the keys above your head, tauntingly. Unworried, you pinched his side, forcing him to double over from ticklishness and allowing you to steal the keys to your new townhouse.

    “Alright, break it up, I don't want the neighbors calling to complain about the newlyweds going fisticuffs on moving day,” Dean demanded.

    “Sorry, Dean,” you apologized to your brother-in-law turned realtor. The Alpha instantly softened. 

    “Ready to do the honors?” Sam asked, gesturing Vanna White style to your new front door. Giddy, you pranced forward and unlocked the heavy oak door. You stepped inside, the smell of freshly finished floors, paint and warm apple pie welcomed you home. 

    "I really thought you were joking when you said you baked for all of your clients," you gushed over your shoulder at Dean.

            "I'm hurt that you thought I would ever joke about pie," Dean replied dramatically as you marched to the kitchen to inspect his efforts. 

            Sam laughed at yours and Dean's antics. "Alright, guys, we've got the keys. Why don't we start moving things in?"

            You turned in annoyance as you licked the finger that had grazed the pie filling which had oozed over Dean's lattice work. 

           "First we toast, Sammy, then we move," Dean interrupted with a surprise bottle of champagne. "To new beginnings, to my oversized little brother and his Omega. I wish you both all the happiness in the world. Thanks for trusting me to find you your first place."

        Sam's hand curved around your waist, tugging you to his side as Dean spoke. You looked up at him and back to Dean, nothing short of joy filling both of their faces. Until Sam pointed out the obvious, "we don't have anything unpacked, how are we going to drink that?"

        Dean popped the cork, "I guess you'll have to figure it out!" He then showered you both in foam. You shrieked and backed away, while Sam ducked and tried to catch some in his mouth. It was so silly and messy, but it was hilarious. Soon Dean took a long pull off the bottle and handed it to you. 

       You gingerly took a sip and wrinkled your nose. "I'll just take some pie," you decided aloud.

       Sam chuckled, taking another drink before handing the bottle back to Dean. Then he leaned in and kissed you on your temple."We did it, Baby. We're home," he whispered, hugging you close.

       It had been a whirlwind the past few months, but you wouldn't change anything for the world. Sam and you had tried to take it slow, but you agreed to let him claim you after only three months of dating. The following morning he proposed, ready with a custom made ring on your kitchen floor. 

      The wedding was small, but neither of you needed big. You had found each other, you didn't need anything else. Your mother walked you down the aisle. After seeing how happy Sam made you and how supportive he was of your career, she had finally learned to let go.

      After some maneuvering, Sam had dug through a few boxes marked kitchen and found enough forks for the three of you to devour Dean's housewarming gift. It was the perfect start to an exhausting afternoon. That night, Sam carried you bridal style into your bedroom, gently kissing the scar he had given you as he went.

       This was not the life you thought you'd have, but you were all the more grateful for how that had changed and where it was going. You had found the love of your life, and Sam had found a new kind of love. You both couldn't be happier.

Tell me what you think?

Tagging: @flamencodiva @dolphincliffs @dontshootmespence @thoughtslikeaminefield  @fangirlxwritesx67 @dawnie1988 @mrswhozeewhatsis @cosicas-cuquis @foxyjwls007 @tumbler-tidbits @defenderrosetyler @ericaprice2008  @awesomesusiebstuff @akshi8278​ @peridottea91​

Masterlist

[bbrandy2002]

Happy Birthday Burnsy!

The Country AU -- I'm Gonna Live Where The Green Grass Grows

Pairing: Drake x Alyssa, Liam x Riley, and a whole host of other TRR characters.

A/N: This was a silly little idea I had months ago for an AU built around the places and people where I grew up. I never had plans to actually write it, but I mentioned it to Burns, and well ... she wanted it lol so here we are. And she’s already read half of this and is the one who made the mood board for it and the song inspo hahaha. Thank you to @mskaneko for the edits of our OTP’s, and @charlotteg234 for pre-reading the first half of this.

Trigger warning: Gun usage, hunting, mild language ... I think that’s it

@burnsoslow

My dearest friend, when I think back at where we were one year ago, I can’t help but be reminded of the vastly different world we live in now. On February 5, 2020, there was no covid keeping us sheltered and fearful, families were complete, jobs were stable, and so many of the things we worried about then simply pale in comparison to now, Life wasn’t so bad. But here we are with all these new changes and mindsets. Through it all, one thing remained consistent: YOU. You have been my strength, my rock, the anchor that grounded me. We have cried together, laughed a lot together, worried for each other, and celebrated those small victories that were important to each other. And I get so happy when someone comments about how much they love the friendship between Riley and Alyssa because it's the most real part of Fearless. If anyone ever wanted to know what we’re like, it's all written out in that story. I’ve got your back, and you have mine. You’re my best friend and I just love the hell out of ya! I hope your birthday is amazing and that this fic is everything you wanted for this AU.

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

On Sunday mornings in southern Georgia, you did one of two things: You woke up early for church services or woke up late to watch NFL football.

Some people figured out a long time ago how to do both.

Sitting in the back pew of the First Cordonian Church of Everlasting Peace, Alyssa Walker sat quietly with the sweetest southern belle smile, nodding her head along to the beautiful words spoken during Pastor Hakim’s sermon and hiding a pair of earbuds lodged in each ear. 

She and her husband, Drake, had laid claim to the pew when they were teens trying to sneak a kiss or two during prayers. After ten years of marriage, they no longer needed to sneak kisses but stayed in that same seat, believing the biggest sinners should stay as far away from the minister as possible. Why be the barrier that may prevent the spirit from reaching the rest of the congregation? The couple felt it was the least they could do.

They were actually pretty good folks and well respected in their community. Alyssa had taught first grade for eight years at the local elementary school, where her two children, nine-year-old Audrey and six-year-old Patrick, also attended. Her best friend since third grade, Riley, was the art teacher there. 

Drake worked nearby as the lead mechanic at Rys and Sons Chevrolet out on North Ramsford Avenue. Constantine had owned the auto dealership for 35 years before passing it down to his sons, Leo and Liam, when he ran for and became the town's mayor. Leo peaced out, heading to South Florida, while Liam took on the sole responsibility of ownership himself. 

And while most people in this sleepy little town of Cordonia were Falcons fanatics, Alyssa grew up rooting for the team where her parents were born and raised before settling in Georgia as newlywed lawyers: The Chicago Bears.

With the game against the Packers blaring into her ear, she kept a keen eye on the rest of her fellow parishioners. When they clapped, she clapped. When they sang, she sang. She raised her hands in hallelujahs when they did. She had learned to read lips and could “Amen” and “Praise God” right on cue with the rest of them. All the while, she sat in contentment, listening to her weekly football games. 

“The score with 14 seconds left in the second quarter is Chicago -- 14, Green Bay -- 17. The Bears have the ball on the 5-yard line. It’s third and goal. If Trubisky can score here, they’ll go into the locker room at halftime with a lead for the first time in this game, or possibly tie it all up with a field goal after this down. This is a huge, HUGE play, Jim ...” 

Alyssa twined her fingers together and lowered her forehead onto them as she waited with bated breath for the announcer to call the play-by-play. As far as anyone else knew, she was praying fervently for the Hebrews crossing the parted Red Sea away from Pharoah's army that the pastor was chronicling.

“And here comes the snap. Trubisky backs up. He tosses to Robinson in the end zone. OHHH! So close… batted away by Alexender …”

“JESUS!” Alyssa yelled out in anger. With earbuds in, she didn’t realize how loudly that just came out of her mouth. Drake nudged her in the thigh. She glanced over at him for a second before he nodded to the 123 pairs of eyes that had all turned at once in her direction. It instantly dawned on her that everyone in the congregation heard the outburst.

Feeling the color drain from her face, Alyssa placed a hand over her chest and addressed, “I am soooo into this sermon, Hakim. Woohoo! Go, Jesus, go!” She pumped her fist in the air like she was rooting him on.

Drake dropped his face onto Patrick’s shoulder, who was sitting on his lap, to cover the incessant laughter that threatened to spill out of him. He was doing a terrible job of it, as a momentary burst of muffled snickers could be heard through the sound of the game playing in Alyssa’s ear. Her husband was nothing but a big kid himself -- she wouldn’t change that for anything.

“Mommy,” Audrey whispered next to her. “It’s about Moses. Not Jesus.”

Alyssa smiled, patting her daughter’s knee. “Same thing, baby. They both performed miracles.” She cut her eyes to the phone hidden under the cardigan draped across her thighs. “And the Bears need a miracle right now, guys,” she muttered, “Part those shithead Packer’s defensive line, Lord. It’s time to help my Bears get to the promised land.”

“Going for it on fourth down, Trubisky drops back. The Packer defense is putting a lot of pressure on the Bear’s offensive line. Every man is covered in the end zone. He has no one to throw to, Jim. They’re running out of time. Four seconds left. And, NOOO, they sack Trubisky on the 10-yard line ��� WAIT THE BALL IS LOOSE … THE BALL IS LOOSE ... he fumbled the ball. The Packers are scrambling to get it. There are green and white jerseys all over that ball. BUT LOOK … Green Bay’s Klark picks it up. He’s running the other way … and he just slipped … he just slipped, and the football fell right into the hands of Chicago’s Robinson --”  

Alyssa grabbed Drake’s thigh, her fingers digging deeply with hope and panic. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” her stressed words weren’t audible to the crowd, but they were speaking volumes in her heart.

“--Robinson’s on the 20, now 15, he’s sweeping past the defense to the 10 -- 5 -- TOUCHDOWN, CHICAGO!!!”

"FUCK YES!" Alyssa jumped up, her arms outstretched in a V shape. “Hallelujah. Holy shit. Thank ya, Jesus.” She let out a huge sigh of relief, feeling nothing short of elated, not concerned in the slightest by the heads that twisted around again.

Hakim stood slack-jawed from the raised platform for a moment, his tallish physique slouching on the pulpit, before adjusting the microphone and clearing his throat deeply. "I'm certainly glad, Sister Alyssa is ... feeling the spirit this morning."

"I am feeling it, Brother Hakim," She shook her head profusely. "I. Am. Feeling it." She shot him a dimpled grin.

Drake snorted loudly, covering his face with one hand and grabbing the side of her dress to pull her back down with the other.

They turned to each other, neither one able to control the snickering and shaking of their bodies. Drake lifted a sleeping Patrick over his shoulder while Alyssa grabbed Audrey's hand; the Walker couple decided they were too immature for church this morning.

They laughed all the way to the parking lot.

"It's never a dull moment with you, baby girl," Drake chuckled, turning over the ignition.

"You know me …” She blew on her nails before rubbing them against her chest. “... just doing the Lord's work." 

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

It was customary in Cordonia for families to gather together each week for a big supper after church. 

The Walkers traditionally took turns hosting with Liam and Riley, and Constantine and Regina. This week's meal was at the elder Ryses.

Sitting down at the dining room table, everyone licked their chops, hungry and ready to dig into all the made-from-scratch southern goodness Mrs. Regina had prepared: Fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, coleslaw, macaroni and cheese, green beans with hamhock, corn-on-the-cob, deviled eggs, biscuits, sweet tea, and coffee. It was all accompanied by two containers of broccoli salad, Alyssa picked up from the Piggly Wiggly deli after church, and Riley's lopsided carrot cake.

There was always a lot of food, a lot of love, and what would it be in a small town without a little gossip here and there.

"Regina, you've outdone yourself on this meal," Liam raved while placing his five-month-old son in a high chair and fastening the clasps. "If it tastes as good as it smells, we're all in for a big treat."

Everyone agreed as she sat down, Constantine pushing her chair in with a peck to the top of her head. "Thank you, Liam." She looked up at her husband with a sincere smile, rubbing his arm. "Only the best for our family."

She meant every word of that as she and Constantine glanced around the table at all the cheerful faces of the people they loved most — that included Drake and his family. 

Drake's father had been the sheriff for many years before his untimely death, while the younger Walker was a teen. Connie had never met a braver, more hard-working man than Jackson; the now mayor stepped in after that death to be the father figure in Drake's life. Drake was already best friends with Liam, and over time, the family just considered him one of their own. Drake and Alyssa's children referred to them as Mamaw and Papaw Rys.

As everyone settled in and passed the food around the table, the doorbell rang; 7-year-old Ellie -- Liam and Riley's oldest -- jumped up to answer it. With everyone focused on getting their helpings, Riley leaned over and whispered to Alyssa, "Any more scoop on Savannah?"

Alyssa passed the potatoes to her and answered in a hushed tone, "I drove past her house yesterday ... Chuck was there. His big rig was backed right up into the driveway. They're not even trying to hide it anymore."

"I knew it." Riley slapped a scoop of potatoes onto her plate, passing them across to Liam. "When does Bertrand get back from that Bankers Convention in Atlanta?"

"I think Max said on Tuesday. And I guarn-damn-tee, Chuck will be there until then."

"Of course he will. Have you told Drake yet?"

Alyssa shook her head, peeking over at her husband, who was in hog heaven, dousing everything on his plate with white gravy, blissfully unaware of their idle chitchat. She turned back to Riley. "Not yet. You know how protective he is. I'll need to hide the gun cabinet keys when he finds out ... if he finds out. You remember how upset he got when Bianca got caught at the Love's Truck Stop with Landon Ebrim over the summer. His mama can do what she wants, but not with a married man."

Riley agreed with a nod before taking a sip and swallowing her sweet tea. "Ya know, I've never seen sweet Emmaline that angry."

"Yeah, me neither. She sure whopped ass that day." They both giggled lightly. "Landon's dentures flew clean across that truck lot."

"I saw her the other day at the Food Lion, grinnin' like a baked possum. Got that ol' dog for everything he had."

Alyssa huffed, "Cept' his nuts."

Ellie ran back in and hopped in her chair. "Miss Olivia is here!"

Alyssa stiffened, clutching her fork a little tighter before letting out a faint groan. Not that she didn't like the Assistant Principal of Cordonia Elementary -- she was her boss, after all, and they grew up together -- she could just be a little off-putting, sometimes with her treatment of Drake. In light of Olivia's recent divorce, she had, however, started directing most of her scorn on her ex-husband, Anton.

Everyone greeted Olivia as she strolled in behind the youngster, shrugging her jacket off and tossing it on a counter with her purse. "I smelled your chicken and taters all the way from Lythikos Drive, Regina. You know how I love a good rib stickin' meal."

"Is Travis and Waylon here?" Patrick piped up eagerly from the children's table, hoping to have some boys to play with rather than the three little girls who kept ganging up on him.

Olivia pulled out a chair and started loading her plate down. "They're with their daddy this weekend, sugar. I'll tell them you asked about them."

Drake lifted his coffee mug, not making eye contact with anyone. "Speaking of ... I saw Anton yesterday at the Dollar Tree ... with someone." He smirked into his drink. While everyone else knew who and was trying to avoid the elephant in the room, he owed her for years of squabble.

"Who? Madeleine?" Olivia spat, adding heaping spoonfuls of sugar to her already overly sweetened tea. "Bless her rotten heart, he was seeing her before our break up. Moved in with her right after the divorce was final, so I hope she's enjoyed cookin' and cleanin' after my youngins' all weekend, cause she's gonna be doin it a hell of a lot more now that she got herself fired."

Madeleine was a bank teller in the drive-thru at First Cordonia and also Leo's ex-fiancee. 

"Madeleine got fired?" Alyssa asked in surprise. "She's been there for years."

The redhead swirled the sugar around in her tea with a spoon before licking it off and continuing, "Mmm-hmm. Bertrand caught her on video, stuffing her gaudy drawers into the vacuum tubes at the bank and sending them to that bastard when he drove through to make a deposit. He was making deposits alright. Right between her scrawny, cankled ass --"

"Olivia!" Liam quickly interjected, knowing once she got going, it would likely turn R-rated with several little ears listening. "I'm dying to hear how the Christmas Festival for next Saturday is coming along." He shot a look across the table at Drake for getting her worked up. Drake simply grinned.

By late afternoon, supper had been eaten, dishes cleaned, and pants unbuttoned. After a couple of hours of chatting on the back porch and watching the kids play, the two younger couples packed up leftovers Regina insisted they take home and were ready to hit the road. 

Liam and Riley lived next door and walked out with the Walkers who were making their way to the Tahoe parked on the street.

Alyssa bounced and cooed over baby Jacob before handing him back to Riley and getting into the vehicle's passenger seat. 

Liam was leaning into the driver's side window, having a casual discussion with Drake about the opening day of deer season next Saturday and asking what time he wanted to head out.

Alyssa was half-listening and half-working the stereo when an idea popped into her head. "You know what would be fun?” Both men stopped talking and glanced over at her. “We should all go?”

Drake knit his brows. “Go where?

“Hunting. We can make it a double date. You and me, Riley and Liam. The great outdoors. Some quality time together. I’ll even make snacks for everyone. It’ll be fun,” her voice was chipper. She was excited about it. 

She was also deadly serious. 

So were the dubious looks Drake and Liam gave each other over the thought of taking their wives on the most important hunting event of their year. Not that either didn't enjoy spending time with their significant others, but hunting was a whole different world. It was a one-person sport where you spent the day away from reality and responsibilities and just enjoying the great outdoors —a place to be alone and experience the thrill of a good hunt.

“Guys, I’m serious. We go fishing together, and I’ve shot targets plenty of times. I really wanna go hunting with you. Riley wants to go too, don't you?” She cast an inquisitive glance out her window at Riley, who glared back with the biggest what-the-fuck look she'd ever made. “See, she wants to go too.”

“Baby,” Drake began softly, giving her knee light squeezes. “I don’t mind taking you, but this is opening day. We’ll be in the woods for hours, in the cold. It’s not really what someone would consider a ‘date.�� And we’re going to the Festival that night … we’ll get a chance to spend time together there.”

She held his gaze as her lips began to quiver. “I understand. You .. you need time to be away from me, and it was a dumb idea anyway --”

“No,” Drake cut in. His heart plummeted from the sadness in her voice and eyes. “That’s not it at all. I love spending time with you. And if you really want to do this, then … let’s do this.”

“Really? We can go together?” Drake nodded with a smile before she squealed in his ear and pulled him into a tight hug. “I can’t wait! Thank you!”

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Liam let out a heavy breath as he looked over at Riley -- The woman he knew would not be a fun hunting partner next week -- still standing on the sidewalk, appearing like she might faint. “Yeah ... I can’t wait either.”

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

Saturday. 5:15 a.m. The cellphone alarm on Drake’s bedside table let off a series of rhythmic beeping sounds and vibrations. 

The alarm wasn’t needed. The man had been awake for hours, listening to his wife's gentle snores; the anticipation of bringing home at least a 12-pointer keeping him from falling back asleep. 

Letting out a ferocious yawn and a hearty stretch, he picked up his phone to dismiss the alarm and rolled over to wake Alyssa.

With her ass perfectly curled into the space between his stomach and thighs, his hands settled on her curvy hip, jostling her slightly. “Time to get up, my little peach. We gotta get crackin’ before all the good deer are gone.”

“I just need one more hour, okay? Thanks,” she protested with a drowsy murmur, pulling the pillow over her head.

Drake chuckled, rubbing soothing circles over her back. “No. We have to get up now. We’re wasting time, sleepyhead. Unless … you don’t want to go.”

Alyssa’s heavy eyes stung as she tried to peel them open one at a time. “No, I wanna … go ...” she trailed. Her eyes slowly shut again, and she was out.

On a day like today, Drake was usually up and ready in ten minutes. Once he could finally get his wife out of bed, dressed, and back awake again from where she fell asleep on the toilet, it was close to 45 minutes. 

Maxwell, who was also a childhood friend and the music teacher where Alyssa taught, rented the room over their garage. He agreed to come down that morning and watch the kids while the pair spent their morning in the woods. Bianca used to help out in that regard, but the kids complained she slept the whole time, and Alyssa was pretty sure her mother-in-law smoked pot around them.

Drake loaded up the truck, placing his rifle and a smaller .22 caliber for Alyssa behind the seat. Dragging herself slowly to the vehicle, the night sky still pitch black and her breath turning to thick vapors in the frigid air, she listlessly tossed a Taylor Swift tote bag on the floorboard and climbed in.

Drake looked at his phone after everything was packed up to see if Liam had sent a message about being late. It was unusual for him not to be there already. Typically, his best friend was up and at his house before Drake was even ready. He sent off a quick text to check.

Drake: Where you at, man?

Liam: Running late. Riley had to put makeup on and do her hair. 

Liam: I’m having so much fun already 😑

Liam: snark

Drake: Lyss couldn’t decide which gloves looked the best with her orange vest. I guess she wants to impress the deer before she kills them.

Liam: We’re not catching deer today. We’ll be lucky if we catch a cold. Be there in 10.

Twenty minutes later, Liam’s gray Silverado pulled onto the Walker’s gravel drive. Riley had wanted biscuits and gravy from McDonald's, and she had to run back inside to pee, so that set them back. But, with everyone now there, they were finally ready to head out.

Just down the rural road from where Drake and Alyssa lived, the current sheriff of Cordonia, Bastien, owned several acres of unoccupied land that he used for recreation. He had been a close friend of Drake’s dad and agreed to let Drake and Liam hunt and fish on his property whenever they wanted.

Turning onto the dirt road and opening the gate, the four friends arrived at their spot just as dawn was breaking. 

No one spoke much as they trekked through the mud, sticks, and brittle fall leaves that littered the path to the deer stands. Riley and Alyssa were too exhausted to say anything. Drake and Liam just weren’t used to talking at all.

"Riley, love,” Liam whispered softly. “Can you watch how you’re walking? The noise is going to scare the deer away.”

“I can’t help it if … " She reacted loudly in frustration before Liam placed a finger over his lips, and she resumed speaking more quietly. “I can’t help it if there're leaves everywhere. I’m walking on them as delicately as possible.”

“How much further? I think my toes are frozen and I need coffee.” Alyssa bemoaned while walking on the balls of her heels. Drake was basically dragging her sluggish body by the hand. Her eyes were still drooping from exhaustion with every careful step.

“Just over yonder of that fence row is our stand.” He pointed out.

Alyssa aimed her flashlight around the woods in several spots. "And where do we pee at?"

Liam lightly snorted as Drake answered matter-of-factly. "Just over yonder of that fence row below our stand."

"Oh ... " her tone was small and apprehensive, "... I guess that's ... okay." She glanced back timidly at Liam, who was following close behind.

He shielded his eyes from the beam of her flashlight in his face and frowned. "I'm not going to watch you pee, Alyssa."

Riley gasped, "Eww! I don't want Drake watching me pee either." 

"Shhhhh." Liam was quick to remind her again of the volume of her voice.

"Stop, shushing me, Liam! Those deer don't know I'm out here."

Drake grunted, then whipped around to face the three of them. "Would you keep your voices down? No one's watching anybody take a piss," he whisper-yelled. "Lyssa and I will be at least a hundred yards away from ya'll. Riley, I promise you can piss your little heart out, and I won't see it."

"We're separating?" Alyssa asked wistfully. "What if I need to ask Riley something, and she can't hear me yelling across to her?"

"You'll just have to ask her when we're done, baby girl. And ... please don't yell questions to her while we're out here. Low voices."

They continued on with their noisy hike.

"Having so much fun," Liam grumbled to himself.

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

Liam and Riley headed to their tree stand as Drake helped Alyssa climb up the ladder to theirs. 

The stand and ladder were made of plywood -- chipped and faded from years of exposure to the elements -- and were attached at the apex to an oak tree about twenty feet off the ground. At the top it had enough room to take a step onto, with a wooden seat just wide enough to accommodate them. One plank rail came out on both sides. 

Alyssa plopped down onto the seat, clutching her tote bag of goodies on her lap. She lifted the brim of the orange beanie she borrowed from Drake -- that smelled of animal carcass and gun powder -- above her eyes and peered out to the wilderness spread monumentally below. She closed her eyes and slowly inhaled the fresh, dewy air, taking in the sounds of twittering birds, branches clashing from the nearby squirrel frolicking on them, and the rippling of a bubbling brook streaming down the hill. 

A pleasant warmth overcame her as Drake's much larger body sat down next to her and protected her from the frosty wind blowing in from his side.

Alyssa wrapped her arms around his waist, snuggling into him. "I can see why you like this so much. It's so quiet and peaceful ... look how purty it is out here, Drake. It's just real purty, isn't it?"

Working diligently on getting their gear together, he stopped briefly to look out; affection glowed in his eyes. “It sure is, darlin’. Almost as purty as you ... and notice I said 'almost.'” He winked, and Alyssa blushed, feeling that same love trickling up inside her she'd had since they were teenagers. Drake could charm the pants off a chipmunk, but she was thankful he only used that gift on her.

"Sooo ... " She drawled in her thick Southern accent. "How long will it be before the deer start coming out?" 

Drake drew the barrel of her gun back after loading it with shells and explained, "Don't know. It could be minutes. It could be a few hours. Just whenever they head this way, I reckon."

Perplexed, Alyssa nodded slowly. "A few hours? I s'pose that's okay. What do you do while you're waiting?"

He shrugged, passing a gun to her. "You just ... sit here."

"You just sit here and do what?"

Drake leaned over to kiss into her orange cap and replied, "Wait."

"Wait." She acknowledged. "I can do that. I'll just sit here ... and wait."

Several minutes had passed, and Alyssa was already bored with listening to nature, Drake's gurgling stomach, and sitting quietly with nothing to do. Every so often, a shotgun blast was heard in the distance, signifying either someone out there had gotten their prize or Riley had driven Liam insane. It was the only break from the monotony that came with the boredom of sitting in a tree for who knew how many hours.

Letting out a giant exhale that caught Drake's attention, she propped her rifle against the railing and pulled the cloth tote that was sitting between her boots into her lap. Rummaging through the bag, she pulled out her phone and began thumbing out a message.

Drake furrowed his brows and asked, "What're you doin'?" 

"Just texting Riley,' she answered dismissively. He shook his head and leaned it back against the tree while she formulated her message.

Alyssa: You still alive over there? How's it going?

Riley: This is boring as shit.

Riley: And now my texting is apparently scaring away the deer. F the deer Liam. F all the damn deer!!!! What were you thinking, Lyss?

Alyssa: I was thinking we could spend quality time with our husbands. The men we love and cherish with all of our hearts. I’m having a great time with Drake so far 😍😘

Alyssa: And no one twisted your arm to come bitch.

Riley: Liam's just staring through binoculars. He hasn’t spoken in 20 minutes except to tell me to point the gun away from him or to quit moving. Let’s go get our hair did at Adelaide's.”

Alyssa: OHHH Yes! And get Chinese food ... CRAB RANGOONS!! I'll have Drake drive us back. Girls Day Out. Love you!

Drake let out a belch and blew it away when Alyssa turned to him with a dazzling smile and a sparkle in her blues. "Can you drive Riley and me back to the house?"

"What? Right now?" he shrieked. She answered him with a cheerful nod. "What happened to all that talk about wanting to spend quality time with me?"

"I still do. But ... we're just sitting here, not really doing anything. I could be getting my hair done for tonight's festival. I also have a ton of laundry to do, some papers to grade, and I’m supposed to be making the Devereaux’s famous peach cobbler for the raffle. If I leave now, I’ll have time to do all of it.” Alyssa knew she probably wouldn’t do half of that, and Audrey would likely make the cobbler, but it made the situation sound more urgent.

"It's opening day, baby. I'm not leaving this spot." He reached into the pocket of his overalls and pulled out his keys. "If you and Riley wanna take my truck, I'll ride back with Liam."

She gave him an exasperated look. "I don't know my way back to the truck. And I sure as hell know Riley doesn't."

He smirked, stuffing his keys back. "Then you're stuck."

The next hour was brutal. Alyssa texted Riley to alleviate the boredom for several minutes, but there had been no responses in a long while. She wasn't aware that Liam tossed her friend's phone over the hill when she started making TikTok videos of her plight -- Liam took his deer hunting seriously: No noise meant no noise.

Drake wasn't much better; he was quieter than his usual self. It wouldn't have been so bad if she could at least talk. An occasional whispered word was not going to cut it.

Alyssa sighed heavily. She wiggled around for comfort. She unwrapped a Nutty Bar. She crunched. She opened a can of pop. She tapped her fingers. She flipped the pages of a magazine. Each one got that look from Drake that let her know it was too loud. If she ever made it out of there, she planned to jabber and stir until she couldn't do it anymore.

After another half-hour of stewing quietly in her thoughts without a sign of a deer anywhere, Alyssa decided now was the time to finally just talk. 

"Do you ever think about having another baby?" It was a topic that had been on her mind for a while. To her surprise, Drake didn't give her a look or even freak out the way she anticipated. Despite his own rule of silence, he even responded in kind.

"Yeah. Kind of a lot."

Her right brow darted up. "Really?" 

Drake took a breath and shifted the gun across his lap. "I mean, of course. It's always been my dream to settle down and have a bunch of youngin's with the woman I love." He studied her lit-up face; he'd swore she'd gotten more beautiful with age. That's why he hesitated when he added, "But ... "

Her shoulders slumped at his words, and a deflated look impressed upon her face. "But ... " The word barely made it past her lips.

Drake reached for her hand and gripped it tightly. "Lyssa, we have so much going on right now. You're working on National Boards, Audrey has piano recitals and basketball, Patrick has peewee football and Boy Scouts. We barely have time -- except for right now -- for just ... us. I'm not saying,"never"... just that right now ... isn't a good time."

"I understand that, but ... we've always made it work. And don't you miss those tiny little fingers wrapped around yours? And the way they smell fresh out of the bath? And those chubby little cheeks pressed up against yours?" she goaded.

“Of course I do. I remember the first time I held Audrey and PJ in my arms -- there’s just no better feeling in the world than ...to look down ... " Drake paused as his voice cracked, and his brown eyes glistened like glass. " ... and to see someone so small ..." When she sniffled, it made it that much harder for him to speak. "... that you created with the woman you've loved since you were 16 years old. But I like who they are now, and watching them grow, and doing things with them ... And, well ... there’s no shit clean up.”

“You obviously haven’t washed Patrick's clothes in a while,” Alyssa retorted with a chuckle that brought out one in her husband.

"I’ll have to talk to him about that." He gazed deeper into her eyes. "But I do love you ... more than all the peaches in Georgia, Lyssa Claire.”

Alyssa smiled.“That’s what you said to me when you promised to marry me when we were teens.”

Drake returned his own smile. “I did. I remember like it was yesterday too. Sitting in your parent’s basement, watching Friends reruns, eating pizza, making out. And hell, it’s still as true today as it was then. Somehow, even more."

Their cold lips parted and joined halfway for a fervent kiss, with Drake's hand meandering around the subtle groove at the junction of her waist. Just as it became more intense and desirous, a rustling of twigs off in a nearby thicket caught Drake's ear, and he broke away, his eyes scoping the perimeter. Alyssa wasn't offended, she heard it too, and her heart raced with excitement.

Lifting the binoculars hanging from his neck, he spotted two deer eating from a blackberry patch some thirty yards away. He pointed in their direction; Alyssa gave a quick thumbs up, letting him know she saw them too.

Drake carefully lifted the rifle resting in his lap as Alyssa leaned forward and squinted to get a better visual. "Is that a buck and a doe?" she whispered, not moving an inch.

"Sure as fuck is." He mounted the stock of his .30 caliber, Winchester, just beneath his collarbone;  the rush of this moment coursed ravenously through his body. He lined up the scope and placed a steady finger on the trigger -- his thumb pulling the hammer back.

“Wait.” Alyssa loudly whispered. “You can’t shoot him.”

"I'm gonna. Better cover your ears."

"No, Drake. There's a doe with him. What if that's his wife? You can't just leave her all alone without him."

"Lyss, this is the whole reason we're out here."

"So you can make a widow out of her?"

"No ... so I can make deer chili out of him."

Alyssa's mouth flew open. "No. No. RUUUUUUUUN! RUUUUUUN!"

Drake pulled his face away from the scope and fired her a look. "What the hell are you doing? They're getting away!"

She tilted her chin boldly. "I don't care. That was her husband, and they're in love, and you can't take that away from them. I would be so sad if we were just out eating berries and someone came up and shot you, ALL SO THEY COULD EAT DRAKE CHILI!". 

Drake dropped his head. He knew there was no point in arguing with her. As long as he’d known her, she was stubborn, and at that moment, she was dead set in believing those two deer were living out the greatest romance of all time. Nothing he said or did would change her mind on that. 

A thought emerged while he attempted to comprehend the logic of the situation. Those deer ran off in the direction where Liam was set up. Maybe if he could give his friend a heads up, it was still possible at least someone would leave those woods with the prized buck.

Turning his back from Alyssa so that she couldn't stop him, he pulled a small walkie-talkie from his pocket and radioed Liam. Alyssa knew what was up and jumped to her feet, thrusting her arms around him in an attempt to stop the travesty.

"You can't do this, Drake," she hollered, "That’s her soulmate. And why don't I have a walkie-talkie? I want a walkie-talkie!"

While seated next to Liam, Riley was swinging her legs, purposefully making the soles of her boots scrape against the platform. Liam tried to ignore her; maybe he had been a little too uptight about every little noise and utterance she made. But this was playing a whole different ballgame now: she was now making it her mission to piss him off.

Prepared to pound his head against the tree, Liam gritted his teeth, skimming his eyes in her direction. "Love, do you have to do that?"

"Did you have to throw my phone in the woods?" She spat back.

Liam rubbed his hand over his face. "No, and I am sorry that. I apologize for all of eternity. I promise I will get you another one as soon as we get back, okay?”

Riley huffed. "Fine, but that phone had all of my contacts on it. It had our babies' pictures and videos on it ... our vacation photos. I can't get those memories back ever, and I have to find it, and God only knows where it landed. It could be ..." She stopped rattling on when she caught sight of the distressed look Liam was giving her. Knitting her brows, Riley asked, "What?"

"Nothing ... just ... can you lower your voice a little? You're gonna scare the deer away," 

He regretted it as soon as it came out. 

“LIAAAAM!”

He saw the steam gushing out of her ears. There was no time to answer the incoming call on his walkie-talkie from Drake.

Belting out a furious screech, Riley jumped up and tried to jerk the gun from his hands. There was no question she wouldn't shoot him, but she'd sure as hell shred his favorite gun apart piece-by-piece and toss them all the way to Portavira Lake on the other side of town.

Riley tugged with all of her might. "I have HAD IT with being quiet for those damn deer, Liam. HAD IT!"

"Sweetheart, you need to calm down ..." He stood up in front of her, pulling back on the rifle even harder, surprised -- and not pleasantly so -- his considerably smaller wife had this much struggle in her.

"Don't you sweetheart me. You have shushed me for the last time, Liam Preston Rys!"

“Okay, I’m sorry! But can you at least admit us fighting over a gun is dangerous? Somebody is going to get seriously hurt, and I don’t want it to be you, Riley. Please. I won’t shush you anymore, I promise.” His face softened, eventually adorning a loving smile at his wife, who, with a sigh, was unable to resist that handsome face and relaxed her grip. 

Riley gave him a half-smile in return. “I’m sorry, too. I’ve ruined your hunting trip.”

“Yes ... you did.” Liam agreed, dodging the playful slap she nearly made to his upper arm. “But I don’t want to fight anymore.”

With the War of the Ryses finally over, they went in for a makeup kiss until Drake’s voice called out to Liam again through his walkie talkie. Liam set the gun down on the bench and leaned it against the tree before he started digging into his pocket to answer the device. Riley dropped down onto the seat, her elbow brushed against the rifle and caused it to slide away until the barrel end hit the railing and set off a powerful blast.

When the ringing in both of their ears subsided, and the smoke had cleared, Liam and Riley collected themselves from the sudden spine-gripping explosion that shook them both. While Riley explained to Liam what happened, a hysterical sounding Drake came back over the walkie-talkie, wailing, “Alyssa’s been shot! Alyssa’s been shot! Help me!”

__________________

Later that evening, in the courthouse square, the street was lit up with zig-zagged rows of red, green, and white lights. Strands of garland were wound around every lamppost in perfect spiraled loops, and red bows hung and waved with the wintry breeze.

With traffic rerouted away from the area, vendors lined sidewalks selling local goods to put the town's citizens in the festive spirit. What would this small town in Georgia have been without boiled peanuts, low country boil, fried green tomatoes, barbecue, and peach everything? 

Once Constantine had lit the 30-foot spruce, surrounded by hundreds of merry people from all walks of life that made up this small community, the festival was officially kicked-off.

In a large tent set up on the square, Liam and Riley laid out styrofoam containers and drinks they’d purchased from a barbeque vendor on one of several picnic tables inside. With their two young daughters munching away on their meal, and the stroller with their sleeping son beside them, they both sat down with heavy hearts and restless minds.

Liam bit into his barbecue sandwich, noticing Riley only prodding at her mac-and-cheese while staring off into the distance. He didn’t have to ask what was wrong; he knew what happened that morning was bothering her with guilt and worry. It wasn’t every day she accidentally shot someone.

“Are you going to be okay?”

Riley shook her head slightly with a sad look. “No. It’s just not the same without Alyssa here. You know how much she loves Christmas and the festival. She was so looking forward to it too, until --”

“You shot her.”

“Yeeeeeesssss,” she cried out. Liam reached across the table and gave her hand a comforting squeeze, his thumb caressing her smooth skin. Riley continued to sniffle as she grabbed a handful of napkins and wiped the barbecue sauce off Liam’s sticky fingers that were now smeared all over hers. “I didn’t mean to, I swear it. And the way … and the way Drake cried. It broke my heart. Now he has her on bed rest AND house arrest. He won’t let her take calls. I’ll never see or hear from my bestie agaaaain.” The tears continued to flow in steady streams.

Liam stiffened, feeling the eyes of everyone in that tent, gawking at his overly-dramatic wife breaking down. He started to tell her to lower her voice, but after the gun battle in the woods, he thought better of it. “Riley, darlin’, you know Drake is really overprotective of Alyssa. And as scary as what happened was, she only needed the one stitch and band-aid for her graze wound. Something tells me Drake won’t be able to keep her down long.”

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

Liam was right. As much as Drake tried to keep her in bed so he could wait on her hand and foot, protect her from the careless friends of the world who could inadvertently do his baby girl harm, and check to see if she needed a new band-aid every few minutes, he could not keep her down. She had been far too excited to hang out with the people she loved so much and celebrate at one of her favorite festivals.

Maxwell had left for the events with Audrey and Patrick an hour ago; they were part of the children’s caroling group and needed to be there early. Against Drake’s wishes, Alyssa showered, got dressed, and made sure he knew in no uncertain terms would he be able to prevent her from going. The only thing he knew to do was to go, follow her around the entire night, and make sure she wouldn’t get shot again.

They circled the block where everything was held several times, but spaces to park were impossible to find. Three blocks away was the church where they attended, and the parking lot was completely empty. Drake didn’t like the fact that Alyssa would have to walk so far in her debilitated condition and was prepared to haul her piggyback style if he had to, but this was the best spot he could find.

Drake moved the gearshift into park and reached over to grab Alyssa’s arm, who was already bounding out the door. He pulled Alyssa back inside, the chilly air blowing through her open door swept her straighten hair this way and that way. 

She cocked her head to the side and exhaled, “Drake, I can open my own door. I’m not broken. It’s just a scratch. I’m fine.”

“I know.” He smiled that tenderhearted smile only Alyssa had ever seen. The same one sending a shudder through her already chilled body. “I changed my mind,” he replied simply

Alyssa slammed her eyes shut and groaned. “I just told you I was fine --”

“No, no,” He shook his head. “About having another baby. I want to start trying.”

Saddled with curiosity, she slid back into the truck and shut the door. “But, I thought you said we didn’t have time for that --”

“Yeah, I did say that. I still believe it. But … today made me realize that yesterday is gone. Tomorrow has not yet come. We have only today …”

Alyssa’s hand flew to her mouth as she laughed out loud. Drake gave her a confused look before chuckling awkwardly to himself, “What’s so funny?”

She lowered her hand, still laughing. “You got that saying from a quote on a poster in my classroom. You’re the one who hung it up for me.”

The memory dawned on him, and he lowered his head, attempting to cover the guilty grin that spread over it. “Well, hell. Here I was trying to make you think I was all insightful and smart and stuff.”

Alyssa’s hand splayed across his rugged chest as she leaned over to kiss him.“You are very insightful and smart. You know I never settle for anything less than the best.”

“I s’pose.” he said, forking his fingers through his hair. “But … I guess what I wanted to say was … I know that bullet missed you, barely … but what if it hadn’t? What if I’d left those woods without you today? Just like you were afraid that doe might. Time wouldn’t matter anymore. There will NEVER be enough time with you. You’re my life, Alyssa Claire. You’re my lover, my friend, my heart, my confidante, my soul, my everything … my little peach. I want to experience all that life has given me with you as my wife … and forever make time with you.”

“DRAAAKEY!” she bawled, spreading her tiny arms wide around his bulky body. Alyssa drew him into her so hard it nearly crushed the wind right out of his lungs. “I -- love -- you -- so muuuch!” Drake patted her back and kissed into her hair as she sniveled into his shirt. He hated when she cried, but damn if this didn’t feel good to him. Anytime she was happy made him that way too. 

They took a moment to kiss and pet each other a little before Alyssa sat up and asked, “So … when do you want to start trying for a new baby Walker?”

He shrugged. “Whenever you want, baby.”

Alyssa looked through the back window of the truck and scanned the parking lot. She bit her lip and looked back at him impishly. “What about … now?”

Drake’s eyes flew open wide. “In the church parking lot?”

Pursing her lips, she affirmed, “Yes. We’ve done it behind the Piggly Wiggly plenty of times. And let's not forget the ‘Great Ass Blow-out of 2019’ in the Atlanta Convention Center parking garage.”

“I will never forget that.” Drake shook his head as that momentous sexual experience replayed in his mind. “Mmmm, you performed magic that day, woman.”

She raised a brow and coaxed him on, “So? What’dya say?”

Drake took a tentative look around at the dark, empty lot, then back at her. “We’re so going to hell, but I’m in.”

“Eeeeeee,” she squealed, jerking his arm around in excitement. “Try to keep your ass out of the window this time, okay?”

Thirty minutes later, Pastor Hakim pulled into the church parking lot with Mara, the game warden, following behind in her truck. There had been several reports from passerby’s of loud animals howling and screeching behind the church. The stray cat population was out of control in that area, and several cats had burrowed their way inside the church on occasion. 

Hakim parked his car, with Mara pulling in beside him. They both got out simultaneously and listened quietly to see if they could decipher where the commotion was coming from. 

Within seconds, a load moan roared out, followed by several consecutive whimpers that were hard to make out by the duo.

Mara listened intently, then gestured with her flashlight to an area near the back of the lot where clusters of shrubs and dry brush bordered. Hakim ambled behind her, the noise getting closer and closer until the pastor's brow furrowed at the shaking of a nearby truck.

“Damn, teenagers,” he grumbled as they tipped toed discreetly.

Mara crouched down by the truck's tailgate, Hakim bending over while she duck-walked toward the driver's side door.

The game warden turned to the pastor and instructed, “On my three. 1 -- 2 -- 3.” They both jumped up at the same time, flashing the light inside the cab. “HAHA Caught ya! OH MY GOD!”

Alyssa, who was on top of Drake, completely naked except for the band-aid on her left arm, looked up in utter humiliation and shock. She crossed her arms over her chest to cover her breast, feeling like she might faint. Not knowing what to say at that moment to rectify their actions or why those two were still staring inside the truck, Alyssa smiled sheepishly. “I’m still feeling the spirit, Hakim.”

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

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[angst-fairygodmother]

Hot cocoa, Mittens, or First Snow for Diego and his little family? I love those fics so much they make me want to cry with how cute they are.

A/N: It wouldn’t be a new set of prompts/requests without at least one Dad!Diego fic. I hope you enjoy it. (Sorry it ended up being literally the last of my winter prompts, I think it’s worth it?) Word Count: 1084

“Daddy! Daddy! DaddyDaddyDaddy!” Diego awoke with a groan to his daughter's excited shrieks. 

“Shh,” he grumbled, reaching out to place a gentle hand over her mouth. “You don’t want to wake Mommy do you?”

It was a familiar ritual. He was the first to bed, he was the first to rise, making your daughter breakfast (eggs were cooked before consumption these days) and helping her to get dressed before your son’s cries made you stir. But he also often tried to pat her on the head as if a three year old had a snooze button or silence her with a soft touch, especially days like today where he had slipped out after the children had gone to bed, helping his siblings out on the rare vigilante mission that they had all taken back up as a team.

“No, Daddy, I don’t wanna wake Mommy but you gotta come see,” she pleaded, voice barely muffled. 

“See what? Is something wrong?” Terrified parental adrenaline shot through him as he sat bolt upright in the bed, swinging his legs off the mattress to face Maggie. 

“Nothing’s wrong Daddy,” she sighed, rolling her eyes and reminding him so much of you that it almost hurt. “It snowed! It’s so pretty. I wanna go play. And build a snowman as big as Uncle Luther. And a fort. And have a snowball fort with Eugene!”

He laughed softly, reaching past her to drag a shirt out of the drawer. 

“Well, baby girl, Eugene is only a few months old, so he’s too little for a snowball fight,” he explained, trying not to laugh harder at her pout. Of course she was upset she couldn’t pelt her little brother (who she loved much more now than she initially did) with snow. “How about instead, you and I go have breakfast and then we can have a snowball fight and leave Eugene in here with your mom?”

She seemed to consider this, face twisting in epic concentration. “Do you promise you won’t cheat?”

He faked an appalled gasp that she would even suggest such a thing. 

“Pinky swear, I won’t,” he promised solemnly. 

“Cross your heart?”

“Cross my heart.”

“Okay!” Her shout was loud enough to wake you and you whined, rolling over toward the pair of them.

“Diego?” you mumbled sleepily. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing, babe,” he murmured, leaning over to give you a quick kiss. “Just discussing the terms of war with our daughter.”

“Hm?” you raised an eyebrow in question even though you still hadn’t opened your eyes. 

“It snowed last night. Maggie wants a snowball fight after breakfast. I agreed to be her opponent in place of her brother.”

“Oh.” Your tired mind didn’t fully process what he was saying, but still you trusted him and accepted him at his word. 

“Go back to sleep, you’ve still got an hour.”

You mumbled an agreement, snuggling back down into the blankets, resisting the urge to try and pull him down with you. His heart fluttered, even after all this time, and he brushed another kiss across your forehead before heading for the kitchen, your daughter close behind in his wake. 

~

You smiled, watching out the window of your little house, bouncing Eugene on your hip, as Diego and Maggie waged a fearsome, snowy battle. Although, you also noticed that most of Diego’s projectiles were somehow missing your daughter and instead splattering into the face of their giant snow entity. (You couldn’t quite call it a snowman but you weren’t sure what it was either, possibly a yeti?) You smiled. Of course he would be using his powers to make sure she was at no risk of harm, and winning the fight. 

The clock on the wall chimed. 

“Well, ‘Gene, it’s nearly lunchtime,” you said to the boy, kissing the top of his head. “Shall we see what to make?”

He babbled incoherently, smashing one hand into your cheek with surprising power, while the other remained firmly rooted, elbow out (nearly digging into your jugular as you turned your head to look at him) and index and middle fingers sucked into his mouth. 

“Oh excellent idea, I’ll also put on the kettle so there’s hot cocoa ready when those two nuts come inside all frozen and wet.”

As if they could sense it, your husband and elder daughter tumbled through the front door, soaked to the bone and giggling mere moments after you had finished setting out bowls and forks for the baked macaroni and cheese that was reheating in the oven. 

“Mommy!” Maggie shrieked, darting toward you, babbling excitedly about how much fun she had out in the winter wonderland of your backyard.

“I see you had so much fun that you didn’t even notice you lost a mitten,” you pointed out, hands on your hips in playful scolding. 

“I didn’t lose it. I hid it. It was a game, Daddy found it, but it got all wet so he told me to come inside instead of putting it back on.”

“Well that was very wise of him. Especially since it’s lunchtime.”

“Something smells delicious,” Diego said, coming up beside you and planting a kiss to your cheek that made you shiver (from both the cold and the tenderness of the contact). 

“It’ll be ready by the time you both go change into dry clothes instead of dripping all over my kitchen,” you told him, a little more sternly than you had spoken to your daughter, and he grinned at you sheepishly.

“Daddy, can we go back out and play more after lunch?”

“We’ll see, baby girl.” He said and you rolled your eyes affectionately at him, knowing that he couldn’t ever say no to her, no matter how much he pretended he could.

With a wave, you sent them off to change and then returned to the counter, sprinkling a perfect ratio of mini marshmallows into the steaming drinks, and giving one little white puff to your son to gum at. 

The sound of Maggie’s chatter drifted down the hall, asking Diego if he had seen the way she dodged his snowballs and if they could build an igloo, telling him how much fun she was having.

“I love you, Daddy,” she exclaimed loudly, calling it over her shoulder as she pranced back into the kitchen.

You smiled, picturing the look on his face, and leaned down to plant a kiss to the top of the little girl’s head before lifting her up into her booster seat.

[taetaesbaebaepsae]

Villainous

A/n: This is a commission that spiraled out of control, omg, there’s so much angst and backstory I hope anyone reads this oof

Summary: It infuriates Yoongi, that the hero has something he doesn’t, and he takes it for himself, planning to use you for bait…but he hadn’t counted on how you’d affect him.

Warnings: oh boy, a lot of angst, abandoned boys, a little violence, some involuntary manslaughter (don’t judge listen I love my ragtag villain boys), mention of some emotional abuse, mention of sexual abuse (in a backstory), there’s just a lot going on here, I have 545 ideas for one shots in this universe

Word Count: 4586

He finds out that you're his arch nemesis's new squeeze by accident.

It wasn't as if any of his crew remembered you, he'd made sure of that before he'd gone to prison.

It was the new kid, Jungkook who'd told him, almost as an afterthought. "Shin has a new girl."

Yoongi had been playing cards with Seokjin, appearing to barely listen, but he's hyperfocused, tuning in on everyone's thoughts..

"In his crew?" He asks finally, discarding the 2 of clubs.

"I must be crazy, playing rummy with a mind bender," Seokjin mutters in a disgusted tone.

Yoongi's mouth turns at one corner. "Sometime today, Jeon." He snaps.

"N-no." The kid stutters. "His girl."

Yoongi snorts. "Poor soul."

He's only half paying attention, but then a pair of familiar doe eyes flash through Jungkook's mind, and Yoongi falters, dropping the wrong card in the discard pile.

"Yes!" Seokjin crows, picking it up. Then he narrows his eyes. "Are you letting me win?"

"Shut up," Yoongi mumbles, rubbing at his temples.

He'd been in prison less than six weeks. Less than six weeks, and already….

"Her name is Y/n," Jungkook continues dreamily, and Yoongi barks out a bitter laugh.

It wasn't surprising, how much of you Jungkook had taken in on his short scouting trip. The kid had always had a little crush on you, ever since the first day he joined the crew, when you'd been in the kitchen, and looked back at him over his shoulder.

"You like grilled cheese, kid?" You'd asked, and that'd been it, Jungkook had stars in his eyes every time he looked at you.

Yoongi had thought it was cute, then, but now, it makes his chest tight, makes his stomach roll, how Jungkook is thinking of the outer swell of your breast, your hair bouncing against your throat, and when Jungkook thinks of Shin's big forearm around your waist, Yoongi tosses his cards down on the table.

"Aish!' Seokjin protests, but Yoongi stands, nearly knocking over the chair, and Seokjin clams up.

Jungkook is almost wringing his hands, and Yoongi knows he's worried he's done something wrong, can see it in his thoughts, so he puts a hand on the kid's shoulder.

"New plan. Bring her to me."

***

Jungkook does what he's told. And fast. Of course, that's what he does, he's fast and eager and he'd run the 55 miles from Busan to Daegu in fifteen minutes when he was 14, away from home over some stupid fight with his dad. He'd been too scared and lost to find his way home and Yoongi and Taehyung had found him sniffling in the back alley behind the abandoned building they'd been living in.

It's sad to think about how Jungkook could've just called home, how his parents might have understood and accepted him, but it's not like they don't all have sad stories, Yoongi's crew.

Yoongi had met Taehyung first, in the psych ward when Yoongi had been 10 and Taehyung 8 and he'd been all big eyes and snotty nose, asking Yoongi a hundred questions, holding his hand tight when he realized he could, realized Yoongi could suppress that part of his brain that triggered his super strength. The part of his brain that had let him crush his baby sister when he'd hugged her, when his parents had let them hold her after she came home from the hospital.

Taehyung had never been more than a hundred feet from him ever since, even when Yoongi told him why he was in the psych ward, because he'd written a poem for a girl he liked in school and when she'd laughed in his face he got so mad and humiliated he wished she were dead and then ...she was, from a brain aneurysm, seizing on the floor in front of him.

He'd stopped talking for two years.

They met Jungkook by accident, and when the three of them got raided by Shin and the few boys he'd recruited, when their girl with the banshee powers burst out every window in the building they'd been living in and their invisible boy had stolen all their food and money, Yoongi decided to start his own crew.

Seokjin had been next, in a juvenile detention center because that's where they all ended up, eventually. He was in for arson but the papers said the dorm containing Seokjin, his girlfriend, and his best friend had burnt to ashes, almost like it had been napalmed, with Seokjin escaping without a single burn.

When Jungkook zipped Taehyung and Yoongi inside, the tall, broad shouldered boy had been in a steel room with smoke boiling from under the door.

Luckily, Yoongi knew what part of the brain to suppress and Taehyung could bust the hinges on that steel door and Jungkook was quick enough to whisk them all out of there.

Turns out that girlfriend had been fucking his best friend and Yoongi thought they kind of deserved it, anyway, but it still took months to talk Seokjin into using his powers again.

Then Jungkook told him about this boy he'd met in Busan who he swore had changed his eye and hair color in an instant when they had gotten caught shoplifting.

His name was Jimin and when they found him he'd been on the streets and instead of a boy he'd shifted into a girl, specifically his foster father's dead daughter so that he wouldn't hit him so much. But when he'd come into his bedroom late at night, Jimin had stabbed him in the jugular with a ballpoint pen.

Jimin had been the slowest to trust them but they'd gave him a bed and no one tried to touch him and it was the closest thing he'd ever been offered to home.

Then Hoseok, who'd come right to their door, wearing dark sunglasses and barely making eye contact. He'd seen the papers where they'd had a skirmish with the heroes and fancied himself a villain because he'd come into his powers late, killed his fiancee in her wedding dress when he'd been unable to control his joy and beams of electricity shot from his eyes and stopped her heart.

Hoseok had been difficult at first, breaking down when he clipped a security guard while shooting electricity into the keypad lock, but Yoongi had set him straight with a bitter laugh.

"I killed a fucking nine year old just because I thought about it, Hoseok, and you can't take a fucking security guard with a burn on his arm? Fuck you. You get to wear a fucking pair of sunglasses and forget about it, yeah? I get pissed off at one of you for cheating at rummy and have to focus not to burst a blood vessel in your fucking brain. Tae could kill you during fucking flag football. Seokjin could burn this whole place down if he has a fucking bad dream. Get your shit together."

After that, Hoseok kept his mouth shut, did the exercises to stay focused, quit complaining.

Namjoon was the last to join the crew, having been Shin's biggest weapon for years, ever since Shin had found him sleeping on a park bench in the rain, totally dry because he could control the clouds.

After a big battle in which Namjoon had flooded parts of the city, Yoongi spat out something that made Namjoon think twice about his loyalty to Shin.

"You don't have to steal. You don't have to hurt people," Namjoon had said in his even, calm voice, and Yoongi scoffed.

"At least we only hurt people who deserve it. How many innocents do you think drowned in this flood today, Namjoon? How many in that earthquake last month, trapped under the rubble?"

Namjoon couldn't shake the way it made him feel and he'd gone to Shin, who'd just shrugged.

"Gotta break a few eggs to make an omelette, Joonie."

So Namjoon left, came to Yoongi with intel because people aren't fucking eggs and at least Yoongi could help him focus it with his mindbending.

They'd become more brothers than a crew by the time you came around, and everyone was wary at first because you didn't have any powers.

Yoongi understood but he could read your mind, knew there was no ill intent and maybe he was a little naive to think it would all go smoothly, that Shin wouldn't find out and try to use you.

And use you he did, trying to woo you to his side but you, Yoongi's smart girl, you'd used that to your advantage, batted your doe eyes and pretended to be interested.

Yoongi hadn't liked it, not even a little, had been anxious for you and, if he were honest, a little jealous, when he saw in your mind how you'd smiled and cooed at Shin.

But it got them the right intel for the biggest heist they'd done yet, Shin's personal bank, where the so called "heroes" kept all that money they spent on fucking penthouses and caviar or whatever the fuck they ate.

Yoongi doesn't know where it went wrong but he'd heard sirens and called his crew to him, given himself a nosebleed erasing every memory of you so that no one could beat it out of them.

He'll never forget the way you looked at him, eyes wide, forehead pressed to his.

"Don't, Yoongi. Not me. Don't make me forget you, please."

He'd stroked your hair, twirled a curl between his fingers. "I'll make you remember again, doll. I'll make you remember just as soon as things are safe."

"What if things are never safe, Yoongi?"

He'd smiled at you, kissed you soft, not even realizing his nose was bleeding until he saw the blood smearing your mouth.

He'd watched the light of recognition fade from your eyes, and it'd hurt so much more than he'd expected.

It hurts worse, now, with you panting, your curls sweaty and sticking to your forehead, you banging against the glass and glaring at him with absolutely no recognition at all.

You'd been kicking and screaming when Jungkook brought you in and Yoongi hadn't know what else to do but put you in Tae's room.

The creation of Tae's special room had been necessary after an unfortunate incident with one of Shin's girls a couple of months back, a room that was made of the strongest, reinforced glass, like the glass they used to make shark tanks.

Taehyung was standing next to him, biting his nails down to the quick. "Yoongi...what if I need the room while she's in there?"

Yoongi rolls his head on his shoulders, frustrated. "You won't, Tae."

"You don't know that! I might! What if something happens, like it did with…" He trails off, face almost pained, and Yoongi softens.

"I know. I know, Tae. You don't have to say her name." He takes Taehyung's hand where he's worrying at his cuticles and holds it, squeezes it to ground him.

Taehyung sighs and leans into him a bit, and Yoongi feels a wave of affection for his touch starved friend. 

"I'll calm her down, take her to my room if it comes to that, yeah?"

Taehyung nods, squeezes his hand back so gently anyone but Yoongi might not notice.

Yoongi is watching you, watching you sit down in the one metal chair in the room, crossing your arms over your chest and sulking, and suddenly he wants so badly to tell his best friend. Suddenly he wants his advice, wants to talk things out, ask Taehyung what he should do next.

Something pulls in Yoongi to make you remember, look you in your eyes and watch the light and love come back into them, but another part of him, the cunning part, the villain part, knows that you’ll have intel on Shin, deep intel, things he’d never been able to know before. That intel will hurt, like how you know where Shin’s bedroom is and how he sleeps, how he fucks, probably, and he knows that and if you remember, you’ll know that too, and hide it from him in that little part of your mind you’d created when you’d been together, keep your secrets.

And of course it’s Taehyung he wants to ask, sweet Taehyung, his best friend for all these years, but he also knows Taehyung might not react well to remembering...to knowing someone he trusted with his mind for all these years had altered his memories.

In the end, he decides to start small, to reverse the memories for Taehyung and Namjoon together, so that maybe Namjoon’s calming voice can help him understand.

He knows Namjoon will understand, knows Namjoon will understand more than anyone that sometimes you have to do the wrong thing for the right reasons.

Yoongi calls them both into his office and he hates how nervous Taehyung looks, how he’s fidgeting. Namjoon just stands there, hands behind his back, steady, as always.

“I needed you two because I need your advice...and I want to say I’m sorry that I had to erase your memories.”

Namjoon doesn’t react, but Taehyung blinks, startled.

“You...you did what?”

Yoongi sighs and closes his eyes, turns it back on, focusing on that one section of memory he’d boxed up in each of them, and then Namjoon does react, taking in a sharp breath at the rush of memories.

Taehyung sits down hard in the chair opposite Yoongi’s desk, hands tight on the arms of the chair.

“Tae Tae-” Yoongi stands, comes around the desk. Namjoon looks over at Taehyung, alarm evident on his face.

“Don’t,” he says, voice shaking. “Don’t you fucking touch me, Yoongi, you know better, you know you can’t touch me when I’m…”

“Hey, bubs, it’s okay,” Namjoon says, softly, and Taehyung jerks his gaze to the taller man. 

“Don’t tell me it’s fucking okay, Joon. It’s not okay. Don’t you get it? He’s already in our heads, all the time, and I thought...I thought it was to help us but-”

“It is! It is, Tae, I did it so that they couldn’t get information from you, so that-”

That’s when Taehyung breaks the chair, it bursts under his hands like it’s made of popsicle sticks when he stands up.

“I would never give up one of our own! Never! They’d have to fucking kill me first, and you know that!”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” Yoongi says, softly, and something in Taehyung’s face softens.

Namjoon makes a mistake puts a hand on Taehyung’s shoulder too soon and Yoongi winces when he hears it pop.

Namjoon cries out, but only for a moment, and Taehyung’s face...it’s a knife in Yoongi’s gut, every time this happens.

Taehyung crosses his arms over his chest, trapping his hands under his armpits, shaking all over, and Yoongi comes toward him, trying to find that switch in Taehyung’s brain to calm him but he’s all over the place and he can’t.

“Joonie, I’m sorry,” Taehyung sobs, fat tears streaming down his face. “I’m so sorry.” He looks to Yoongi, eyes wild and wet. “I need the room.”

“Tae, you don’t, we just need to calm down-”

“I need the fucking room!” He yells, and Yoongi nods and leads him there without touching him, feeling like shit for all of this, for any of this. God, it’s so fucked up that he’s able to do any of this, that he’s been given this fucking curse…

And then there’s you, there’s you with your chin jutted out defiantly but he knows you’re scared, can read it in your mind how terrified you are, how Shin’s told you over and over what a monster Yoongi is, how he’ll leave you drooling and helpless with no memories and no way to ever make new ones, and he hates Shin and he hates himself when he hauls you out of there into his bedroom, when you fight him and he has to shove you in the bedroom and lean his back against the door, breathing hard.

Turns out Namjoon’s shoulder isn’t broken, just dislocated, and Hoseok pops it back in while Namjoon bites down on his belt and after that it’s just a handmade sling for a few weeks.

Yoongi thanks God for Hoseok’s EMT training prior to joining, and goes to tell Taehyung the good news, but Taehyung isn’t listening.

He's balled up in the corner of the room and humming to himself, and Yoongi is so fucking tired when he comes to his room that you almost barrel right past him.

He catches you by the shoulders and you struggle and he looks you right in the eye.

"Shin told you what I can do, yeah? You know I could paralyze you with a fucking thought. So calm. Down."

You freeze, and he hates the flash of fear in your eyes but he can still see you back behind your eyes, how you're still defying him even as you sit down on the bed, crossing your arms.

"I'm not telling you anything."

Yoongi fights the smile that tugs at the corner of his mouth. "You don't have to, doll. I can read your mind, you know."

You shake your head. "He taught me how to compartmentalize. Just in case this happened. I can fight you until he gets here."

Yoongi barks out a laugh at that.

"You think he'll come for you?"

Something flashes in your eyes and your lip trembles, just for a second. "H-he loves me."

Yoongi knows that shouldn't make him angry. He knows he did this, that you'd begged him not to and he'd done it anyway but even so blood rushes to his face and he slams his hand down on his nightstand and you flinch.

"Let me tell you something, sweetheart. Shin Junyoung has never loved anything in his whole miserable life except himself. And he never would have had a chance with you if-"

You shake your head, put your hands over your ears. "He loves me and I love him. He loves me and I love him."

You chant it over and over, like a mantra, so much that he can't even read your thoughts and he wants to scream, has to leave the room before he jerks your hands from your ears and makes you remember, breathing hard.

He's fucking mad, he could burst Shin's brain with a single thought right now but there's broken glass in his chest because some part of that was true, he felt it coming off you in waves and every single bit of this was his fault.

He spends the night on the floor next to Taehyung's room with a bottle of bourbon, and wakes up with a pounding headache and Tae knocking on the glass softly.

"I'm ready to come out now," he says hoarsely, eyes red rimmed, and Yoongi's so grateful he feels tears welling in his eyes.

Taehyung cleans up and comes down to breakfast and Namjoon is in the kitchen, pouring coffee with his good arm.

Taehyung takes in a deep breath and leans his head against Namjoon's shoulder, gently.

"I'm sorry," he says softly, brokenly, and Yoongi watches, feeling a wave of affection for his friends, his brothers, when Namjoon flashes a dimpled smile and pats Taehyung on the top of the head.

At breakfast,Yoongi can't eat, feeling like there's rocks in his stomach.

"So, from your drunken ramblings last night, I take it you haven't given her the memories back yet?" Taehyung says, almost casually, popping a slice of bacon into his mouth.

Yoongi shakes his head. "There's so much intel we could get," he mumbles.

"You know if you weren't my best friend, I'd snap you like a twig for saying that."

Yoongi blinks at him, a little shocked.

"I remember everything now, and I know how much she loved you, Yoongi. You're telling me intel on Shin is more important than that?"

Yoongi frowns. "No. No, I just…" he sighs and puts his head on the table. "I just feel like if I don't get something, all of this is for nothing."

"She'd tell you anyway, Yoongi. You know she would."

"Not the good stuff," he mumbles. "Not where he sleeps, or how he sleeps…"

"What, you want her to tell you how he fucks, or…" 

Yoongi lifts his head to glare at his friend, and Taehyung just smiles, lifting an eyebrow.

"Do what you want, bubs, but you're gonna snap and make her remember and it'd be easier if you were calm when you do it."

Taehyung takes his plate to the kitchen and leaves Yoongi alone to think about how the fuck to do any of this.

**

It's not Yoongi but Hoseok who brings you breakfast. In fact, you don't see Yoongi alone for two days.

Shin had told you about all of them, made you read about them, sitting you on his lap with a big binder with blurry photos of them and their powers, their weaknesses.

You never thought much about it, assumed it was for your protection, but the more you're away from him, the more you wonder.

Hoseok's nice to you, has a bright smile when you thank him in a small voice, and were it not for the dark sunglasses and the way he wouldn't meet your eyes, you'd never notice anything out of the ordinary.

The kid, Jungkook, he had been nice too, apologizing over and over for having to hold you tight and restrain you.

It's the shapeshifter, Jimin, or the snake as Shin called him, and Taehyung, the one Shin had said could snap your spine, who bring you lunch.

They sit for a while and talk with you, and you find yourself laughing at something Taehyung said and wondering how this puppy eyed man could be as dangerous as Shin had said.

There's something almost familiar about all of them, and they're all so much more handsome than the blurry pictures had shown, and maybe you felt like you knew them because of how much Shin had forced you to study them but….

Everything was different, here. They all seemed so close, no stiff shoulders and "yes sir, no sir," and even when Yoongi gave an order, they discussed it.

There were times, in that couple of days, when you could have escaped, although you know the kid could catch you easily, or Yoongi could stop your brain from speaking to your muscles, but you don't feel like a prisoner.

You hear arguing amongst them only once, and you think it's the one with the fire, although you don't know why, since you can only hear his voice.

Your ear is pressed up against the door but you can only catch a few words..

"You fucked with our memories? We all-"

Then Yoongi opens the door and you fall forward into his arms, your nose brushing against his.

You can't say why your breath catches in your chest, why his hand smoothing the curls at the back of your head feels so familiar and soothing, but it makes you feel guilty, remembering Shin kissing you goodbye on that last day before he left that you shove him backwards and retreat to the bed.

Yoongi's eyes flash and you think idly that you should be afraid, but you aren't.

"Y/n, I need to tell you something."

This is when it happens. This is when he brainwashes you, this is what Shin had warned you about and he'd told you over and over that if it happened, he'd kill you because you wouldn't be you anymore. Because you wouldn't be his.

You clap your hands over your ears and start the chant again but it's too late, you'd neglected to hide your thoughts and Yoongi climbs onto the bed, taking your hands in his own, glaring at you.

"He said...he said he'd kill you?" His voice is firm but also calm, he isn't raising his voice.

In fact, he hasn't raised his voice to you at all, not like Shin…

You're still spewing out thoughts, you can't help it.

"He yelled at you? Y/n...baby...did he...did he ever hit you?"

Tears are threatening at the backs of your eyes and you shake your head fiercely, trying desperately to stop your thoughts, trying to remember that you love Shin, remembering his eyes and his smile.

Then Yoongi puts his forehead to yours.

"I'm sorry," he says, voice cracking. "I'm so sorry."

You feel something like fingers edging into your mind, and then everything changes.

**

At first, Yoongi is just mad because he's jealous and because he misses you so fucking much, but when he reads your thoughts and you're more afraid of Shin than Yoongi, more afraid of your so called boyfriend than the man you thought kidnapped you, the rage he feels is unbelievable.

If he'd been Seokjin, the whole room would've burst into flames.

But it gives way to sorrow so fast when he sees the tears in your eyes, when he realizes he did this, and he's not even surprised when you remember and burst into tears, pummeling his chest.

"Fuck you, Yoongi! You made me forget! You made me forget you and he-"

He tries to hold you but you push him so hard he almost falls of the bed and eventually he leaves the room, slides down against the door and puts his head in his hands.

He sits there all day, waiting for you, waiting until your thoughts turn from a rolling sea to a calmer lake.

You're sniffling when you open the door and he almost falls backward inside.

"Come and kiss me, you idiot," you say, and your voice is broken and hoarse but it's the most beautiful sound he's ever heard.

Your mouth on his is like coming back home, hands in your curls tight like he'll never let go, and when you murmur his name he feels like his heart will break.

Later, after you're lying with your head on his chest, you tell him everything, even the things he doesn't want to hear, even the things that make his chest ache and his stomach roll and he knows part of you thinks he deserves it for making you forget.

He does, after all, he does deserve it but when he covers his face with his hands after you tell him about the first night Shin got you into his bed, you roll on top of him and move them away, kiss his eyelids where he’s got them screwed shut and his pouty mouth.

“You did this for a reason, yeah? You didn’t want me hurt but you also needed the intel, and I’m giving it to you.”

He’s still pouting when he opens his eyes, but a smile tugs up the corner of his mouth. “You got my intel, all right, my tough girl.”

You smile back at him. “Damn straight, I did. I got everything you need to take him down, and how I did it doesn’t matter, right?”

He nods, smile fading a bit, and then you kiss him again.

“I love you. Even when I thought I loved him, I loved you. You can read my mind to see that’s true.” You say, staring down into his eyes fiercely.

Yoongi searches your face and then smiles. 

“I don’t have to,” he says, and he kisses you over and over until there’s no trace of Shin in your mind at all.

[kohanayaki]

Caught in the Middle (Steve Harrington x Reader x Billy Hargrove) Ch 4

Links: Ch 1   Ch 2   Ch 3  Ch 4  Ch 5  Ch 6  Ch 7

_____________________________________________________

Ch 4 .:A Date?:.

Sunlight streamed in through your window, ribbons of light cascading across your bed sheets. You could hear the faint sound of birds chirping as the morning greeted you.

And you felt like complete and utter shit. 

You groaned, your head pounding, as you tried to block out some of the light with your pillow. You'd gotten home last night at 2:00 on the dot, feeling fine. In fact, you even caught up on some homework before you went to sleep. Now you just felt like you'd been hit by a truck.

You looked over at the time, reluctantly getting out of bed when you saw how late in the morning it was. The kids were biking over in half an hour to go to the mall and you looked like hell.

You padded down the hallway, mustering up a weak laugh when you saw your brother passed out in his room, knowing he'd probably wake up to the same fate as you. 

As you made your way downstairs the smell of breakfast food made your stomach rumble on instinct. You were 'hydrated' plenty last night, but there wasn't much actual food. Your eyes lit up as you rounded the corner and saw your dad plating up some eggs, bacon, and pancakes. He grinned as he saw you, setting the plate down on the table in front of you. 

“And how is my daughter doing this fine morning?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“Swell,” you said sarcastically.

He laughed, walking over to the cabinet to get you some Tylenol and a glass of water. 

“Trust me, I know the feeling,” he said, “I can't really say anything on this one, I'd be lying if I said I haven't done worse when I was your age. That hangover is punishment enough. Just drink water throughout the day, and go on and eat something greasy while you're at the mall too. But get your blood sugar up right now, I don't want you back in that car until your head's clear, you understand?”

“Will do,” you said, already stuffing your face, “Thanks, dad.”

“You're welcome,” he smiled, “Love you, drive safe.”

“Love you too,” you said through a mouthful of bacon. 

As he retreated back into his office you savored the taste of the feast he made for you. You smiled fondly as you did. Your dad didn't really cook until he became a single parent. When he took on the full responsibility of raising you and your brother, he tried his best to fill your mom's role, following the old recipe books she'd left behind. His first attempts were a general health hazard, but as time went on he actually turned out to be a great cook.

The sudden ringing of bicycle bells outside your house made you scarf down the rest of your plate, snatching your car keys off the table. 

You opened the front door to see the whole gang waiting for you.

“I swear, the only time you guys are on time for anything is when you're leeching off of me,” you said, unlocking the car and leaving them to figure out the seating.

“You know us so well,” Dustin said, hopping into the shotgun seat before anyone else could take it. 

“I forgot to ask earlier, but how was that summer camp you went to, Dustin?” you asked, turning on the engine.

“It was so cool,” he beamed, “Our counselor taught us how to make all kinds of inventions. I made a self-nailing hammer, a wind powered clock, and a radio tower so I can talk to my girlfriend whenever I want since her parents monitor her phone calls.”

“Girlfriend?” you turned to look at him. He smiled back at you, bright as anything.

“Yeah, we were surprised too,” Max said from the back.

“Although we're not sure she actually exists,” Mike chimed in, “Apparently she's as hot as Phoebe Cates.”

“Hotter than Phoebe Cates,” Dustin corrected, “And she's a genius too.”

“Riiight,” Lucas said. 

“Well I think she sounds great, Dusty,” you said, “It's pretty romantic you built that radio tower just to talk to her.”

“It's the strongest communications network in Hawkins across 150 channels,” he said proudly.

“Well, that's certainly impressive,” you grinned, ruffling his hair. 

Soon you pulled up to one of the many entrances to the mall, stopping at the curb. 

“Well, this is your stop, guys,” you said, “What are you gonna see?”

“The Stuff,” Mike said excitedly. 

“Isn't that rated R?” you questioned, a brow raised. 

All of them looked at each other, slightly panicked.

“Well, we'll see you later, (Y/n)!” Lucas said, flinging open the back door and getting out as fast as he could. Everyone else quickly fled after him, running towards the theater. You shook your head. They got themselves into a lot of shenanigans, but admittedly you were the one instigating it most of the time when you were younger, even if you were the babysitter. 

However, as soon as the kids left for the movie you were painfully reminded of the throbbing headache you had. You groaned as one of the strobe lights around the movie theater glared in your face, not helping matters in the slightest. 

You knew eating a bunch of greasy food technically didn't do anything for a hangover, but it sure made you feel a hell of a lot better emotionally. With that in mind you decided to walk over to the Burger Chef located inside the mall for a little pick me up. 

Luckily for you there wasn't much of a line. Only a few people were scattered around the seating area at the food court. You were looking over the menu hanging on the wall when a familiar voice broke your train of thought.

“(Y/n)?”

You looked around at the sound of your name to see Steve looking back at you, just as surprised. 

“Hey,” you said. You took a moment to look over him. He looked just as awful as you did, if you were honest. The deep-set bags under his tired eyes aged him an eternity, and he looked a bit green as well. 

“You too, huh?” You bit back a grin as you gave him a short laugh through your nose.

“Yeah,” he admitted, “In hind sight I probably shouldn't have mixed liquors, but hey, there's nothing I can do about it now. Figured some fries might help.”

“They always do,” you said, “What are you doing here, anyways? Aren't you on your shift at Scoops?” You noticed he was still in his work uniform.

“Lunch break,” he explained, “I don't really have long, but we can grab a table if you want.”

“I'd like that,” you smiled.

Steve was a little surprised at his own forwardness. Apparently he was hungover enough to not overthink everything that came out of his mouth. However he was even even more surprised at you agreeing to sit down with him. He didn't know why his brain was making such a big deal out of this; you ate lunch with him every day and hung out together all the time, but then again that was also including a group of other people. You and Steve had never really spent time together when it was just the two of you, except for when you iced his busted face after the basketball stunt, which hardly counted as a first date. 

He felt uncharacteristically nervous as he slid into the booth next to you. A year ago he would have been pulling out all the stops to make you his, but now he just wasn't so sure anymore. He was never afraid of rejection before, but when he thought of you as the one rejecting him he figured it would be better to not say anything at all. 

'Get yourself together,' Steve thought to himself, 'It's just lunch with a friend. Friends do that!'

“Penny for your thoughts, Popeye?” you said, flicking the fabric of his sailor hat. 

“Huh?” Steve said, snapping out of it, “Oh, nothing, just, uh. . .” he quickly picked up a menu, hoping to cover the majority of his reddening face with it, “Looking at the XXL Supreme. 2Lb beef patty with bbq sauce, ranch, fried pickles, beer cheese and. . . yeah, that sounds pretty gross.”

“I'll probably stick to a regular burger,” you laughed, glancing at the menu over his shoulder. 

You were so close he could feel the heat coming off your body and smell the sweet scent of your perfume. He scolded himself for being so weak, forcing himself to concentrate only on the food. 

Right at that moment a waiter strolled up to you, writing pad in hand. 

“Hi. Welcome to Burger Chef,” he said, sounding just as dead inside as he looked, “How may I serve you today?”

“A double patty melt with cheddar,” Steve said, “And a coke, please.”

“I'm trying to decide between-” you stopped yourself as you looked up, staring at the waiter. You thought he looked familiar and it was then that you realized he was one of the guys that bullied your brother in middle school. Your eyes narrowed as you recalled how he and his friends cut the strings on Kyle's guitar when he brought it to school one day. 

You saw a flash of recognition in his eyes and your lips curved upwards.

“The classic burger, simple,” you said, the fakest smile you could muster on your face, “But on a sesame bun instead of the brioche, no mayo, extra mustard, add caramelized onions and extra cheese, and don't forget the pickles. If you could add shredded lettuce instead of the whole leaf that'd be great. Oh, and a Neapolitan shake with chocolate syrup and no whipped cream.”

“We don't have a Neapolitan shake,” he said irritably and slightly panicked, trying to write everything down. 

“Well I heard in your commercial if you just ask, an employee would be happy to mix any of the milkshake flavors together,” you said, your smirk widening. What could you say? Being a bitch was fun sometimes- especially when the person on the receiving end was a total dickhead. 

“Coming right up,” the waiter said through his teeth.

Steve looked between the two of you before the waiter stormed off to the kitchen window, slamming his hand down on the bell with more force than necessary.

“So, what'd he do?” Steve chuckled.

“Bullied my brother really bad in school,” you said, “What goes around comes around, though. In a few years Kyle will be off to LA to start touring with his band and this guy will still be here covered in fry grease wearing a burger shaped hat.”

“Well I hope that's not my fate,” Steve said, only half joking as he took his uniform hat off, twirling it in his hands. 

You could tell even though he tried to hide behind the humor it was something he really was concerned about. 

“Hey, don't worry about it,” you said, nudging his shoulder lightly, “You're not an asshole. . . anymore.”

You managed to get a laugh out of him at the end and you smiled, glad you were at least able to cheer him up some.

“Seriously, though, it's fine to not know what you want to do with your life yet,” you said, “Hell, I know grown ass men who still don't know what they're doing. You don't have to go to some fancy college to do something great.”

Steve looked at you, thinking over your words. He thought it was crazy how you were his age but you were so much more mature and optimistic than he was. The way you thought was unlike anyone he's met before in Hawkins, and it only further intensified his wanting to get to know you.

“Thanks, (Y/n),” he smiled.

Meanwhile, your little crew of gremlins had finished their film, now making their way to the food court for lunch.

“What do you think The Stuff tastes like?” Lucas asked to no one in particular.

“I bet it's like Betty Crocker frosting,” Dustin said dreamily.   

“Um can we not talk about how sentient parasitic goo tastes? Because we're literally about to go eat,” Max said.

Suddenly Dustin stopped in his tracks, making Will run into his back. 

“Dustin, what the hell?” Mike said, screeching to a halt before he could collide with Will. 

“No way,” Dustin said, staring far off some place the others couldn't see.

“What's wrong?” El asked, confused. 

Dustin pulled his friends behind the shrubbery next to the fountain, ducking in the cover as he peeked his head out slightly. 

“They're on a date!” Dustin said, a little too loudly. He ignored the stares he got from passersby as he continued to watch you and Steve laugh over your burgers in your shared booth.

“(Y/n) and Steve?” Mike said, “I thought he was still hung up over Nancy breaking up with him.”

“Well clearly the man's moved on,” Lucas said.

Max rolled her eyes, hitting him on the arm.

“Ow!” Lucas exclaimed, turning to her, “What was that for?”

“Just because a guy and a girl are hanging out doesn't mean it's a 'date',” she pointed out, “Maybe they're just good friends. I've seen them around each other a lot at school.”

“I think he finally worked up the courage to ask her out for real,” Dustin started theorizing, ignoring Max completely. 

“What do you mean for real?” Will asked.

“It's so obvious he's into her but he's scared of striking out,” Dustin said, “That whole Nancy situation really struck a blow to his self confidence.”

Mike tried to get a better look at what you two were doing, leaning over El's shoulder and squinting at the burger place. Suddenly his footing slipped from under him as he accidentally took a step on the wet tile near the fountain and fell on his ass into a bush. 

“Shit!”

You and Steve stopped eating your burgers and turned around at the sudden noise, but saw nothing but a ruffle in the plants nearby. 

“That was weird,” you said, looking around. 

“Yeah,” Steve said, “Well, it's bear season, you never know when they'll sneak up on you.”

You laughed at that, the sound making Steve's heart flutter. He loved your laugh, even more so when he knew he was the cause of it. 

Suddenly Steve remembered his shift was probably starting, his lunch break was less than an hour long.

“Shit, I should've been back ten minutes ago,” Steve said, looking down at his watch, “My shift already started.”

“Oh, sorry,” you said, “I didn't mean for this to go on for so long.”

Steve looked surprised, shaking his head vigorously. 

“No, no, I liked it,” he said, not fully registering how the sentence sounded out loud until your cheeks flushed.

“I-I mean-”

“I get it,” you laughed softly, “I liked it too.”

Steve felt like his heart was just shot through with cupid's arrow as you smiled up at him and offered to walk him back to Scoops. He hadn't felt this way since Nancy. After she broke his heart he was convinced he would never get over her, but now you were here, occupying all the free space in his mind despite only knowing you for a short while. What the hell was going on with him?

His mental debate came to an unceremonious stop when he realized you were already in front of the ice cream shop.

Steve turned to you and did his best to sound indifferent. He had a really good time, but he didn't know if you felt the same way.

“Well, I better get back to it,” he said, clearing his throat awkwardly, “You know, suit up, sling ice cream, appease the masses-”

“We should do this again sometime,” you said, effectively flipping the 'off' switch on his rambling. 

Steve seemed to freeze in this plane of existence, staring at you with wide eyes.

“Yeah! I mean, that's what I was gonna ask you, but I didn't know if you wanted to, and. . .” he trailed off, kicking himself again.   

'When you talk you just make it worse,' he mentally scolded himself.

You laughed a bit at his flushed face.

'Adorable,' you thought. For being the former king of Hawkins High, he was still a giant dork.

“Well I'll definitely see you around this time, then,” you smiled, reminded of your first day back. Things were different between you two now, but that wasn't a bad thing at all.

You walked out of Scoops Ahoy feeling lighter, a smile on your face and your headache long forgotten. With your disastrous dating history, maybe Steve Harrington was the kind of guy who could be good for you right now.

The very thought made you feel giddy inside, but as you said yourself before, life had a funny way of changing your plans completely.

Read Chapter 5 here!

Taglist: @in-my-dreams-2000 @ggclarissa @iris1697 @5sosxgrethan @ohnoniella @sarcasticalphaofthelooserspack @aspiring-fangirls-world @wow-im-so-tired @hopesxxhigh @justanothercrazyassfangirl @too-many-lanes @whimsylavender @bish-ima-clown @amarachoren @mosiacbrokenheartstf @mcuvlxgs @xapham @metuel18 @immirandaq @nellaphine @multi-madison @gingertalksshit @jojo-buttercup @kyberhearts @mvdelaine @minnie-marvel @caitlin-rose28 @zandaleekrz @r3inventedd @void-fire-rose @macymafia @wanna-be-idle @newtsshelbys @kimmydespell @weyheyokay @r4ttusr4ttus @cynthianokamaria

[deathvalleyqueen]

Cute, domestic. Foofy John/Mary Jane HC - 

+ Neither of them are morning people and John will find any reason to keep Mary Jane in bed with him longer (because she is still the first one up) because he doesn’t want to share her with the world. 

+ On the rare occasion John is up before her, he will absolutely make breakfast for her and the girls and IDK why but I feel like John just makes the best french toast... this is HC I will die on hill for... 

+ John does not know how to do laundry properly... he has... at one point in time or another... he has... in fact put one of their girl’s red shirts in with whites by accident. Then when MJ is upset... he tries to fix it... but really just makes everything worse. 

+ Mary Jane is the one who does most of the cooking, but their daughters swear John makes better scrambled eggs and Mac-n-Cheese than Mary Jane... 

+ John spoils his daughters... to the point that Joseph actually points out it’s becoming a “Problem” and John dismisses him just stating “They are my kids, I will give them whatever I want to give them...” John doesn’t want his girls to want for anything in their life. 

+ Mary Jane spends most of her days on the Ranch with the girls, they actually live a fairly peaceful, almost normal life outside of the confines of Eden’s Gate. While there are parts of it that are present in their everyday life, Mary Jane tries to give the girls as “normal” as an upbringing as possible. 

+ While John says he dislikes Boomer, even on many occasions kicking him out of their bed because he hates the idea of a dog sleeping in their bed with them... Mary Jane has come home with the girls from running into town on more than one occasion to find John asleep on the couch with Boomer curled up at his feet. John likes Boomer... even if he won’t actually admit it. 

+ John and Mary Jane absolutely hate if the girls see any of the more violent side of Eden’s Gate and does everything he can to keep it hidden from them. 

+ Mary Jane will bring John his dinner in his office when he is going over whatever paperwork he is that night, just like she did back when he was lawyer. John will always stop what he is doing to sit and talk with MJ while he eats.

+ Family dinners are important, particularly Sunday dinner... usually everyone will gather at the Ranch for MJ to cook some big dinner for the whole Seed clan... (and MJ’s brother’s that are still in Eden’s Gate..) 

[toddlazarski]

The Best Bites of 2019

Shepherd Express

2019. The year before, hopefully. The prologue to 2020’s change, maybe. God or Kali or whomever you wish to charge with these sorts of responsibilities, willing. The end of the beginning of the end of discord, the endless fire, the storms and dread, the corruption of soul we’ve all learned to live with over the past few years that feel like a lifetime.

In Milwaukee, 2019 was the year we were rewarded the Democratic National Convention, and the year we immediately tried to grapple with how we would handle hosting the Democratic National Convention. It was the year, as if we were Austin, as if we were Portland, as if we were ourselves a plucky place of progressivism and forward-thinking, our very own food truck park opened. And, at the same time, it was the year it became impossible to log onto any social media without being inundated by hems and haws and shouting-at-cloud mewls that the city suddenly had legal electric scooters on the street. It was the year Syrian civil war refugees opened a Mitchell Street gem of kefta and baba ghanoush and good nature at the most destination-worthy restaurant in town. And it was the year a racially-charged acid attack occurred against a Latino man entering a southside taqueria. It was the year Sherman Phoenix rose, literally, out of the ashes of the 2016 Sherman Park riots. An opening that barely preceded Milwaukee becoming the first city to name racism a public health crisis.        

For me, calorically, it was also a calendar stretch of one step up and one back. It was a time of too many fancy burgers, of swearing off fancy burgers, and then reading about The Diplomat’s Diplomac, and then the Birch & Butcher happy hour special, and then the other one with the ampersand (Glass & Griddle). It was the time of swearing off meat entirely, tempering that to limiting meat, trying to go “Impossible” meat, then realizing my daughter had never been to Sobelman’s. A frigid Monday, empty dining room, impossibly cheery waitress and a jalapeno and three cheese-smashed double patty was all that it took to fall back off the wagon. Or is it on the wagon? Either way, it was also the summer that felt like I spent half of, at least, inside a car with intermittently functioning AC, pit-sweating, contemplating which tiny to-go plastic container of bright green or dark red or burnt orange sauce to douse on yet another pastor taco. I ate at every taco truck in the city in ‘19, or tried, or got close, maybe. Out of curiosity. Out of assignment. But as much so out of moral obligation, as some kind of personal corrector to the current tenor of division, of strife, of unease. And as a reminder of comfort, of the spicy, dangerous, gaseous whiff of hope.  

Here are some of the other ways I’ll remember ‘19.    

13. Italian Beef - Rosati’s

I grew up in the hyper-regionally-specific sandwich heaven of Buffalo, NY. There a “beef on weck” order from near any corner bar or grocer or butcher will yield a horseradish-spiked roast beef stack piled within a crusty German baker concoction known as a kimmelweck—a roll topped with caraway seeds and coarse salt grains of the likes you might use on your sidewalk in February. Whether it’s a little bit drippy or dry, it will likely singe sinuses, bloviate with beefiness, finish with unnecessary and addictively enjoyable sodium-ness. Everywhere that isn’t there, you can find Western New York ex-pats gathered in some corner of some bar, Bills hatted, commiserating, whispering of favorites from places with foreign-sounding names like Schwabl’s, bemoaning the wonder of why it’s so hard. But there’s a difference between hard and unknown. 

Here, Chicago’s Italian beef is another simple, but under-served regional sandwich delicacy. Offering even an apt representation of the au-jus-dripping bombs that can be found on every other corner in our big city neighbor to the south would be itself somehow singular. Rosati’s is a Chicago chain that serves just such a purpose. 

Of course, aesthetically or on paper, there’s not much list-worthy about a soaked Italian hoagie roll, barely holding it’s earthy contents, leaking greasy debris all over wax paper like it was an old Saab who’s main attribute was character. But then you get closer: it’s a living sandwich form of a closeup on an Arby’s commercial, with infinite folds of beef wedged like an overfull linen closet, so bursting with folded towels you’re afraid to open the door. The thin rug of plasticky, half-melted mozz is optional. Though the glossy, shimmering hot giardiniera should be mandatory, with its oil-slickening and bright, peppy pickled punch.   

But this is still a package of lizard brain enjoyment, of Ditka-esque machismo, with an essence and soul that is all two-fisted, garclicky pigout. It’s the perfect brown meal when you’ve had too many, when it’s too cold, when football is on, when it is followed by a slice of either thin or deep dish—both also apt Chicago representations here. Enjoy life and don’t be ashamed. You can love an Italian beef and still, later, after you swallow, sing along to “the Bears still suck.” 

12. Sloppy Johnny - Boo Boo’s

A 6-buck price tag and a name that harkens cafeteria appetites and Adam Sandler jams doesn’t really inspire notions of much other than a nostalgic budget lunch.    

But then you see one on the table in front of you, alongside the inspired rotating roster of obscure hot sauce bottles, and ideally next to a steaming bowl of creamy onion-cheddar soup. The sandwich, which derives from a New York City bodega specialty known as a chopped cheese, comes in a fresh-baked, beautiful baguette—crusty outside, pillowy inside—which houses barely visible meat, all the scrags seductively tucked under blankety rivulets of piping white cheddar and pickled peppers and rumors of mushrooms. While I used to come to this address for whiz-spattered ribeye, the Johnny is a bit perplexing in its polish. It is fat guy food all cleaned up, as button-down and put-together a presentation of chopped beef indulgence as might exist in town. 

Giving the flat-topped package a second to cool off is the only challenge. Along with the lack of alcohol to wash it down, or assuage said wait. But there seems to be no other shortcomings to the lunch, or anything about the quirky, aggressively friendly spot that replaced and immediately made us all forget the Walker’s Point Philly Way. The sister biz of nextdoor Soup Brothers, Boo Boo’s shows the Milwaukee Soup Nazi’s comfort food flavor rigor and peculiar touch extends neatly to the realm of sandwiches. 

11. Carbonara - Zarletti

It’s hard to balance summer in Milwaukee. There’s an at-once need to makeup for six months of living in a place where it hurts your lungs to breath natural air with an overwhelming roster of stuff to do. Of stuff to do outside. One solution might be doing something of calendar noteworthiness with a level of relaxed removal. For me I’ve found an annual tradition of attending Bastille Days’ nighttime 5K. Yet instead of stretching and putting on too-short shorts, I park myself at a table on Milwaukee Street, sip a Negroni, spoon roasted lamb and perperonata onto charry bread, and await a big, hearty pasta while watching the more ambitious sweatily charge toward a finish line and away from their true appetites.  

Zarletti’s sidewalk cafe on a summer night can feel very European, very sophisticated, well-heeled. But the carbonara is at it’s core quite basic. Yes, it is the embodiment of those aspects of Roman food anyone recently back from the Old Country will annoy listeners with: simplicity, freshness. Egg, Pecorino Romano, garlic, onion. Here too there is a vomitorium-like abundance of sauteed pancetta. And a reminder of how that perfect deep bowl of al dente can somehow hit all the comfort points of all the different life epochs: childhood mac n’ cheesiness, first apartment spaghetti nights, that trip to Italy. And now, in the night’s growing darkness and fanfare, it’s a special new tradition to feel apart from the race, and part of a different one—finishing every last salty morsel of piggy meat before my stomach says to stop.

10. Tacos de carbon, desebrada, chorizo, pescado - El Tsunami

I’m not entirely sure the silky, sour creamy, Serrano-based light green emulsified salsa found about so many southside taquerias is homemade—such is the ubiquity. And, at this point in our relationship, I’ve gone too far to ask. So, I will continue to happily, ignorantly, scoop and spurt over every possible meatstuff served between National and the Airport, from 35th to the Lake.  

Of these, the fare at El Tsunami holds a special sort of siren song sway, pulling me past La Canoa, away from my beloved Chicken Palace. In fact, of the two locations of Tsunami, this is the one without alcohol. And the fact it is still somehow preferred should be all the endorsement necessary. The petite counter-focused diner always feels like a happier, spicier Edward Hopper vision, especially with snow falling and cozy smoke plumes billowing about from the flattop that seems to be always full of approaching-happy meat. 

In taco form, an order of carbon yields smoky, charcoal-forward, tiny-diced and juice-spurting nodules. The desebrada is a chocolatey, shreddy deep-stewed beef, with the depth and earthiness of the kind of thing grandma might cook when it’s cold out, when she hasn’t seen you in a while, when she got up real early, even by her standards, to start. The chorizo balances salty, greasy, satisfying pork bombast with foodie subtlety—what is that? Cinnamon? The pescado makes fish fries seem benign, lacking abundantly in tortillas and salsa. 

There are other routes—the diablo sauce, a color only seen in dangerously fast and tiny sports cars, is a special coat for any fish dish. But it is the tacos, cilantro-y and satisfying, that remain the supreme vessel for green salsa dousing. And, either way, I’m leaving with some to go: a few containers of verde, just enough to carry a little Tsunami with me back home, to the fridge, enough to pull me through the far too many non-taqueria meals of life. 

9. Any pizza - San Giorgio

Maybe it’s because I’m not a car guy, and get no thrill from “peeking under the hood,” and not enough of a cook to have much interest in “seeing how the sausage is made,” but I’ve never cared a great deal about the concept of “open kitchen.” They wear aprons, can handle industrial-grade pans, are comfortable working close to a flame—I get it.   

But then I found myself for the first time at San Giorgio’s “pizza bar,” contemplating how beautiful a concept, how perfect a term, when I heard one pizzaiolo, upset about peel placement or arugula quantity or something or another say to the other, “I’ll kill you.” Huh, I thought. They really care. 

While few inside the scene seem to put any stock in the VPN certification (the official delegation delineating true Neopolitan style pizza, regulating everything from oven type, to temp, to how much your dough balls must weigh—yes, it’s a bit ridiculous, and, yes, it’s a cost), all aspects of the pizza pedigree of San Giorgio show just such immense, aggressive, sure, threatening, pursuit of craft. In the Sopranos sense of the word, all ingredients, all dishes, seem to be worthy of respect. 

Try the Quattro Formaggi, a delightfully oily meld of mozz, provola, fontina, and gorgonzola. Or the San Giorgio, bright with arugula and fennel, salty with crispy pancetta, topped, almost unnecessarily, somehow cohesively, with a sunny side egg. Pay plenty of appropriate focus on anything featuring San Marzano tomato carnage. As a gravy it goes well with anything from basil to spicy soppersata. As Instagrammable goopage, it is bright and popping, with no need of a filter, reminiscent of all things you picture of Italy in your mind.   

It all still ties back to the beating heart. And by that, I mean the 900 degree Stefano Ferraro oven, hand-crafted, of course, in Italy. It is a muscular, room-dominating hulk, a ravishing blue-tiled beauty, fire-kissing, turning doughiness halfway to toast, letting the Maillard Effect do its enzyme action work, warming, blackening, making a messy marriage of tomato and cheese. Airy corpuscles form around the crust edge, yielding heartening bites of carb char. It is quick cooking, piping hot delivery for all satisfaction points. What pizza was for us as children, pizza can be for us again, here, downtown on a classy wine-soaked date night or pre-Giannis show.  

On subsequent visits I’ve found myself, while pulling away the first slice, lifting the edge and checking  the undercarriage to admire the cooking and note the sweet char. Each pizza pattern is unique from the last, like the spots on a Jaguar. So, maybe I am into looking under the hood afterall.   

 8. Burger - Foxfire

The last thing anyone needs from the internet is another burger list. Or even a list with burgers on them, ranked, in some kind of personal application of rules and regulations that strives toward objectivity, scientific method, a justification of juiciness pontificating. 

Yet, in 2019 arriving on a listicle is the only validation. And the burger at Foxfire, served Thursday’s out of the back of Hawthorne Coffee, deserves to make listicles that aren’t even covering burgers. So, while Palomino griddles the best sit-down double-digit-dollar burger in town, and Kopp’s remains the heavyweight of gluttonous eat-in-your-car, American Graffitti old-school comfort and mouthfeel joy, Foxfire strikes the perfect balance between craft and simple. The double patty package is reasonably affordable, is cooked basically to temp, is coated with unfussy American cheese. But the availability is limited, enticingly so. It is topped with only pickle and onion. But the counter is suggestively stacked with esoteric hot sauces. It is what to have for workday lunch, generally, in a coffee shop. But the meat crust and luscious give are worthy of foodie discourse, elevated terms like elevated. The duality in a microcosm: the fries here are reminiscent of the stringy, crispy spuds found at McDonald’s; but they can be topped with little-seen Aleppo pepper.    

My grandfather used to say that it is impossible to declare a “best,” that such distinction has to be qualified. He lived in the innocent era before internet lists. And, unfortunately, before being able to try the burger at Foxfire.  

7. Chicken 65 and Garlic Naan - Cafe India

My wife often jokes that I only want to eat food in taco form. And they say all good jokes are based in truth. So it came in handy that my natural instinct for bread-as-vessel kicked in when, aggressively, irresponsibly, I ordered my Chicken 65 “extra hot” at the Bay View Cafe India. Within two fork bites it became clear something, anything, more than water, was needed to extinguish, to buffer, to assuage boiling buds. Garlic naan was handy, was originally used like a starchy tongue sponge, and then, somehow inspired, I packaged all subsequent chicken bites within the cozy, garlicky, craggy confines of the bendable bread. Thus my version of Indian tacos was born. Built out of necessity, maintained out of deliciousness.   

The Chicken 65 has long been my Indian deep-menu go-to. Huge-bite, deep-fried chunks of tender boneless chicken, bathing in fiery, oily, red-orange stew chocked with hunks of pepper and onion and curry leaf. With its shimmering finish and intense afterburn, it’s a dish that often feels like a turmeric-laced Southern Indian version of Nashville chicken. 

Apparently nobody really knows where the dish name came from—some claim the number just refers to the birth year. Others, to either the number of chile peppers or the number of pieces of chicken. It doesn’t matter, historians likely have just had too difficult a time stopping eating, or slurping water, or fanning the mouth. But now at least we all have documentation of the dawn of the Chicken 65 taco.   

6. Chicken Shawarma, Kufta Kabob Sandwich - Pita Palace

Sometimes go-to’s are made by convenience, sometime laziness, maybe it's economics, every now and then it just comes from plain exceptional, ceaseless taste, of the kind you never tire of, week after week, appetite after appetite. When I became Iucky enough to stumble into a house purchase a pita toss from this sprawling Layton Ave chateau of Mediterranean comfort food, the “go-to” calculus began to spin endlessly, like a slowly turning vertical rotisserie.   

From hummus to arayes to lentil soup, all of the counter service spot’s dishes ring true. But it’s the sandwich section that brings me back, never wears out, with cheap, voluminous meat torpedos nestled inside tender, stretchy shrak bread. They are made of tight, but ambitious construction, braced by pickle buttons, onion and tomato wedges. The chicken yields variable cubes and scrags of spitted meat, some crisp, some soft, velvety garlic sauce making the bundle swim, sing. Or there is the kufta kabob, two skewers-worth of beefy, grainy-textured links, slicked with creamy tahini, the whole deal rife with mint, parsley, sumac, and the kind of otherworldliness that you watch Bourdain for a taste of. Kick either up with a side of the piercing, pungent Thai chile garlic sauce, a sauce with a confrontationally acidic spice profile, a flavor reminiscent of little else at all, just this side of a manageable amount of mother-in-law spleen.  

It’s the kind of place you spot from the air on approaches back to General Mitchell, a giant red neon glow of ‘Welcome Home;’ the kind of place your realtor might not mention, but you find it and know your property values will sustain, that it will also salve rote Mondays of yawns and kitchen ennui for years to come. It’s the kind of place you are endlessly happy to live near by, for when you don’t know what to cook, or, really, even when you do.  

5. Xiao Long Bao Dumplings - Momo Mee

“Eat with care” the menu warns, an enticing challenge, like something you might find on a waiver from a restaurant you learned of from “Man vs. Food.” To me it reminds of an internet-learning wormhole of food blogs and Youtubes on where to find the Shanghai delicacy in a back alley shop in Chicago’s Chinatown. And then, more challengingly, more importantly, how to actually eat a dumpling filled with soup. As an experienced Xiao Long Bao taster—twice—I can state the process is mostly so: Put a drop of soy sauce in your soup spoon, lift the dumpling from the top, place in the spoon, nibble a tiny hole in the top as a steam valve, slurp some broth out, and then, when the temp feels right, shoot it like an oyster. Then you sit back and feel worldly, self-satisfied, sated. 

But as long as you don’t puncture and spurt, or, really, as long as you “eat with care,” you are bound to end up happy, letting umami zest and warm salty pork wedges in hand-crafted dough baste the tongue. The disparity of eating this, here, in the base level of a building seemingly still warm from the factory, hits with the arrival of the steaming bamboo basket. Or, really,  with the Schezuan wontons, or the Cantonese claypots—anything you can order amidst the plasticizing Walker’s Point condo sprawl. As the neighborhood loses its soul, it’s character, one more hastily constructed Millennial molehill at a time, Momo Mee more than holds the line.   

4. Alambre - La Flamita

Certainly one of the buzziest events in town this winter would have to be a recent Ash Kitchen takeover, featuring James Beard-nominated Minnesota chef Jorge Guzman. The spot, an open hearth concept from Dan Jacobs and Dan Van Rite, is the new restaurant of the Iron Horse Hotel. The event spotlighted Mexican street food. Yes, at one of the priciest hotels in town. Black beans were $6; rice, a cool $5. And while probably delicious, probably well-intentioned, it sounds a bit like paying Fiserv prices to see a really great high school team: gimmicky at best, condescending at worst, and to any that spend time contemplating what and how we eat, a bit puzzling. If you want taco truck fare, why don’t you go to an actual taco truck? 

That very same Sunday night anyone with the hankering could have taken a short cruise west, on National, and subjected their appetites to La Flamita’s weekly special of one-buck pastor tacos. Cut by a big man with a large knife, direct from the trompo—one of the few of the Lebanese-rooted vertical spits in town—greasy, salty, piggy turns of earthiness are spiked by pineapple hunks, upped by arbol salsa that pokes through each bite like it has something to prove. Or, even better, it being Sunday and a day of fun after all, you could have an alambre. Mix your pastor with asada and with chorizo and with gooping, melting queso, the whole thing congealing into a warm, grandmotherly embrace of a taco mix mash, everything punctuated by peppers and onions. Plopped on top is a steaming baked potato, because they want you to be happy, full.   

It is the ideal meal for someone who can’t decide, yes, but also who wants it all, who won’t settle, who wants to soar, like Costanza on the wings of Pastrami, to an Epicurean taste fete of grease and meat sweat pleasure. But you can also stay comfortably on the street, barely 12 bucks in the hole, with leftovers certainly, alone in the car, beyond judging eyes or the formalities of waiters, to ponder life and appetite decisions, and wonder how many more you have room for. 

3. Tlayuda - La Costena 

If you have little kids you probably go to the Domes 300 times or so per year, or so it seems; and because it’s there, you probably go to Honeydip Donuts across the street maybe just a few times less. Heading south then, passing La Costena and it’s beckoning redness, the HGTV optics of an A-frame mini house-cum-taco truck is refreshing, promising in its cutesiness, alluring if only for the hope of something different. 

And different it is. Start with a pastor, my personal barometer of a taqueria’s worth. So often simple scraps of salted pink pork do the trick, but here it is decidedly less piggy, moister, deeper, somehow more seasoned and cheffy. Or try the asada, a 100-level taco order, but here redolent of butcher freshness, liberal salt, flattop love. Really you can tell from “hola,” by the friendliness, by the slowness, by the perfectly-quoted wait times from the counter man: Costena may well be the premier taco truck in town. 

Then, working your way through the menu, you get here, to a Mexican pizza, a NYC-slice-consistency, corn-shelled ship of salty flavor. The tlayuda is basically begging for you to take a picture, posturing with the bright allure of the flag of our neighbors to the south, popping with the reds of tomato and chipotle salsa, the greens of lettuce, avocado, the whites of queso, svelty sour cream, it all kept grounded by a swab of creamy refrieds, topped by a generous smattering of your carne of choice. Objectively, that choice should be chorizo, the grease-running ground sausage bits so rife with garlic, so equally charry and wet, that it makes any other kind of meat cover seem a bit tepid, a bit too-healthy.   

And sometimes this is how traditions are born, out of a need to get a little person out of the house, out of a desire to let them sleep off dreams of cacti and sausage fruit trees from Namibia in the backseat while dad sates creeping hunger and insoluble curiosity. Such is the joy of family, when you realize even proximity to Sobelman’s, to Oscar’s, can be beat, by this, a whole new world of car-meal, of pizza-esque joy, of something different. Long live the Domes.  

2. Brisket Burger, Hot Chicken Sandwich, Pimento Cheese, Cheese Curds - Palomino

It’s hard to keep track: Where are we all now on Palomino? Are we still mad they raised prices? Disappointed that it’s less bar and more restaurant? Stuck in a provincial mode that makes us yearn for cheap frozen tots and Bingo? Are we upset that they took a look in the mirror, didn’t coast, made an effort, and made their food much, much, much better? Or have we all just kind of forgotten it?  

Maybe I shouldn’t question. Just appreciate the fact I can walk in on a Friday night at 8, find whatever table I want, or a spot at the bar, and order any one or combo of my favorite things to eat in Milwaukee.  

There’s no better way to ruin an appetite and a doctor’s wishes than starting a feast with the curds. Elongated oblong bricks of a battered, sheeny shell, barely housing liquefying magma ooze, seem to get almost transported from fryer to wherever I’m sitting and leaning forward. Such is the temperature, the still oil-shimmering, post-bath promise. Stretchy and rich, airy and crispy, endlessly goopy, it’s a snack only matched in Southern-leaning decadence by the pimento cheese. This is piquant-popped velvetiness, the dream of what grown-up grilled cheese can embody, when plopped atop the accompanying charred toast.  

It takes will, recklessness, irresponsibility to keep going at this point. The hot chicken thigh, barely saddled inside a buttery brioche, is helped by two things: greasy slicks of mayo and house hot sauce aid gullet passage; also the heft is constructed so that if you put it down, it might fall apart. One must push forth, in delicious punishment. Then there is the brisket burger. No other burger in town is so good at avoiding overtopping, overhyping, overpricing, a balance of kitchen art and pleasure. Like it is no big deal: fresh ground meat, American cheese, onion, pickle, silky mayo-y special sauce. Here is what it would feel like if you could sit down at a Bay View bar and eat a Kopp’s masterpiece sided by an IPA on a chill Friday night, where you can also remember your growth-spurt 16-year-old appetite, even while pushing 40.

If there were ever a case to be made for it being OK to find a rut, to never stray or explore, to find your caloric Cheers and never think about going anywhere else, Palomino would lead my argument. 

1. Bahn Mi - Pho Hai Tuyet

There’s rarely a person that borrows my phone that doesn’t make the comment, the note: “You have a Pho Hai Tuyet app?” It’s there, near the front, proudly prominent, a bit out of place near Lyft and Instagram because it’s a by-the-airport dive in a converted fast food shack with endless out-of-commission fish tanks, and, for some reason, a stage. It is also known, has garnered a bit of a cult following for a fat guy sandwich of near-perfection. Or, it was, actually. 

Pho hai shuttered quietly, but inevitably, to anyone who’s been recently, sometime between this past spring and the future of our discontent. Still there was shock to those of us who thought the sandwich would always be there: the big French baguette bed, crispy, succulent pork scrags, garlicky mayo, heaps of cilantro, crispy jalapeno punches.    

To write about it hurts, like a eulogy, where you need to remember the bad and mix it with the strange to paint a picture. As it happens I have a friend who informed me that, once, while eating inside, he could hear something audibly scampering in the ceiling panels. Out of loyalty, out of sandwich-love, I practiced willful ignorance. I have another friend, a writer sort, who sports a Pho Hai polo shirt in his author bio pic. It seems like some sort of hipster ironicism, unless you know how much he loves—loved—the sandwich. And, really, what are we but not physical manifestations of our past meals and meal memories? A collection of those calories and reminisces.

Even as we look ahead, to more eating, to big city, big event pedigree, to maybe ending the national embarrassment, to 2020, to a promise of new vision, as we yearn for responsibility and reason, to, well, to... who knows? Whatever happens, whatever is next, I will never delete my Pho Hai Tuyet app.

[theycallmebeccawrites]

Perfectly Imperfect: Chapter 8

With Tumblr holding my original writing blog @beccaheartschrisevans captive (aka flagged as explicit), I have made a secondary writing blog and may end up closing the other all together. In the meantime, I am reposting all of my stories on my new blog.

Pairing: Chris Evans x Wren Arnold (OFC)

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: n/a

Disclaimer: This work of fiction is not to be reposted, used or translated without my permission.

Perfectly Imperfect Masterlist | Chris & Wren Masterlist

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

New Year's Eve 2020 - April 2021

It was nearly midnight on New Year’s Eve when Wren carried a tray of cookies into the living room of her landlord's house. After putting the tray down, she surveyed the room taking in the almost odd reality that was the merger of her life in Albany with reminders from home. Her parents had arrived on Christmas Eve and Heidi had surprised her by showing up the day after Christmas. They would all be leaving in the morning, but she had loved spending time with them and introducing them to her new life.

Sitting on the couch talking to her parents was Josephine Whitaker, Wren's landlord, and the first person that she had met on the day she moved to Albany. The 75-year-old woman had been an amazing landlord, but an even better friend. She had given Wren that first month in Albany to feel sorry for herself and lick her wounds, but then the older woman had stepped in and had forced Wren back into the real world.

Making friends had never been hard for Wren; so when she had actually opened herself up to making friends, it had only been a matter of time before she and the school's other kindergarten teacher, Shania Larkin, had become friends. Shania was in her early thirties and had moved to Albany a couple years earlier after splitting up with her fiancé.

After Wren had told Jo and Shania why she'd come to Albany and what she had left behind, they'd both taken two very different approaches to helping her mend her broken heart. Jo had taken it upon herself to set Wren up with blind dates; none of which had been successful. Meanwhile, Shania had decided that Wren needed to live and embrace life, which led to them taking weekend and evening workshops and classes on everything from cake decorating to a beginner’s class on car maintenance.

There had been no blimps on the romance radar until Wren literally bumped into a tall, good looking guy with dark brown hair in her own driveway on Thanksgiving Day. Of course, he'd turned out to be Jo's nephew Adam. They had hit it off right away and he was everything she was looking for in a partner. There was just one little problem: she felt nothing for him. She had tried for a few weeks to see if something would change, but then they'd kissed and it had ended with them both laughing and agreeing that romance wasn't in the cards for them.

A smile stretched across Wren's face as she spotted Adam sitting in a quiet corner with Shania, their bodies bent towards each other as they talked quietly. She had accidentally set them up together when Shania had asked her to take a scuba diving course with her and Wren had turned her down, but Adam, who'd overheard the conversation, had expressed interest. Looking at them now, Wren wasn't sure why she hadn't realized how perfect the two of them were together.

Chris would love her new friends.

The thought came from nowhere and Wren let out a shaky breath. Suddenly needing air, she slipped into the kitchen and went out to the back patio. Taking a deep breath, she looked up at the sky. She'd been plagued by little thoughts or reminders of Chris and Addy ever since she'd come to Albany. The worst of the moments were when something would happen and she'd think 'I need to tell Chris about this' before remembering that she couldn't.

She didn't regret coming to Albany; she had needed to remove herself from the impossible situation she'd been caught up in. However, she did regret how she'd left things back in Sudbury. She hadn't gotten to say goodbye to Addy like she had wanted to. Then there was the last time she had talked to Chris as well as the days leading up to it. Just thinking about it all made her sick to her stomach.

"I thought I'd find you out here," Heidi said, coming out of the house. She was carrying a blanket with her and she handed one end of it to Wren to wrap around her shoulder and held onto the other part to put over her own shoulder.  "You ok?"

"I had a random thought that Chris would love Jo, Adam and Shania," Wren said as they stood close together to ward off the chill. "Which led to thinking about leaving Sudbury and you know." She took a deep breath. "I really made a mess of things, didn't I?"

"It wasn't pretty, but it wasn't all on you either," Heidi said with a small smile. "Did I tell you that Scott came to the apartment on Christmas Eve?" Wren shook her head. "I think he was there looking for you, but he did tell me a couple things."

Wren didn't say anything. She didn't feel like she had a right to know what Scott had told Heidi, especially since she was the one who'd chosen to leave Sudbury and remove the Evans family from her life. At the same time, however, she wanted to know that Chris, Addy and the rest of the family were ok.

As if sensing her friend's internal battle, Heidi continued. "He told me that Chris hired his neighbor to help with Addy and it's working out great."

Wren smiled at the news. She'd known that Miss Loretta would be the perfect person to help Chris. The older woman had volunteered in Wren's classroom a time or two when her grandsons had been in the class and all of the kids had loved her. Wren knew that Addy would thrive under her care.

"He also mentioned that he told Chris that you're in love with him."

Wren's smiled slipped from her face and she nodded solemnly at that statement, she’d known he would tell his brother eventually. She couldn't help but wonder how Chris had taken the news.

"There is something else you should know," Heidi said, interrupting Wren's thoughts. "Scott didn't tell me this part, but it feels like a good time to tell you this. A few weeks after you left, Chris called and asked me for a recommendation for a therapist."

"He did?" Wren asked, looking up at her friend. "What for?"

"He and I didn't talk about that part," Heidi said. "But he's getting help. Maybe your outburst and departure made him realize that something wasn't right?"

"Maybe," Wren nodded. She certainly hoped that her leaving had done some good for him even if it led to him eventually falling in love and marrying someone else. Again. Her eyes welled up with tears at the thought and they started rolling down her cheeks as the backdoor opened.

"There you two are," Shania's voice carried from the steps. "Come on, the ball's about to drop."

"You go," Wren told Heidi. "I'll be ok."

Heidi went into the house with Shania, leaving Wren in the backyard wrapped up in the blanket. Fireworks lit up the sky a minute or so later as 2021 arrived.

"No more sadness," she told herself aloud. "From this point on, if you think about Chris, you will smile. Yeah, those last couple days were shitty, but why should that overshadow twenty plus years of friendship?"

With her New Year's Resolution made, she went into the house and put a smile on as she wished everyone a happy new year. The party didn't last much longer and people began to leave. She said goodnight to her parents, who were staying in one of Jo's guestrooms, and then she and Heidi went out to the guest cottage.

The next morning, with her parents and Heidi due to leave, Wren got up early and went into the main house to make them all breakfast. She was just sliding the breakfast casserole into the oven when her dad came downstairs.

"Something smells good in here," he said with a smile. "Smells like your mom's breakfast in a pan casserole."

"That's because it is," Wren replied. "I made some coffee if you want some."

Side-by-side, father and daughter doctored their cups of coffee and then retired to the table on the far side of the kitchen.

"I'm proud of you for stepping out of your comfort zone like this," he said after a few minutes of silence.

"Thanks, dad," Wren replied. "I like it."

"All I want for you is to be happy," he continued. "And I'm sorry that it's been a solo journey to this point. But I know there is a guy out there for you and you're going to knock his socks off."

Wren smiled as tears pooled in the corner of her eyes. She leaned over and rested her head on her dad's shoulder. Her parents were the only family members she had and she wished that she lived closer to them.

"I love you, dad," she said.

"I love you, too, kiddo," he replied.

They sat quietly for another ten minutes before her mom and Jo came downstairs. Heidi arrived a few minutes after that and then the timer went off on the oven. Wren got up and took the casserole out and everyone dished themselves a large helping of the eggs, cheese sausage and potato breakfast.

Before Wren knew it, she was saying goodbye to her parents and Heidi, an hour or so later, as they got ready to head back to Massachusetts. She and Heidi made plans to get together during spring break and her parents told her they'd plan a long weekend soon.

School started again, a few days later, and Wren threw herself back into the job. Teaching was her passion and she loved seeing her students' faces light up as they learned new things. The first week or so back was rough, but once the five- and six-year-olds were back into the routine of being in school all day, their learning speed only increased.

Even though Shania was too busy with her scuba training and dating Adam to take classes, Wren continued to sign up for a workshop here and there and just enjoyed the opportunity to learn a new craft or skill. It was usually just her taking the course, but sometimes Shania, and occasionally Adam, took a class with her.

Before Wren knew it, spring had arrived with a beautiful showing of flowers and blossoming cherry trees. It was similar to spring in Sudbury, but different at the same time. She and Shania had jokingly started a countdown to spring break on the chalkboard in the staff room, but all of the other staff members had taken a turn (or more) to update the number of days left.

For Shania, spring break would be spent scuba diving with Adam in the Bahamas since they had both just passed their scuba course. While they were soaking up the sun, Wren planned to spend the week in New York City with Heidi as their school districts had the same week off.

An in-service day had been scheduled for the Friday before spring break, meaning that the students had the day off, but the staff had to come in. Taking advantage of the relaxed nature of the day, Wren showed up in jeans, sneakers and a hoodie. She spent the first part of the morning in her classroom and was on her way to her first meeting of the day, when her cell phone rang.

Taking the phone out of her pocket, she saw that it was her mom. Curious as to why her mom was calling in the middle of the day, Wren answered. "Hi mo-"

A sob met her ear and dread filled every inch of her body. "Mom?"

"You need to come home," her mom said in between sobs. "And hurry."

Chapter 9

Want to find me off tumblr? I'm @beccatheycallme on twitter. I also post my stories on AO3.

My tag list is always open, just let me know if you'd like to be added!

[pengychan]

[Coco] Heaven and Earth - Coyote

Title: Coyote.   Summary: The first time Héctor saw someone die up close, he was grateful to have Ernesto and Imelda by his side - and failed to heed the warning. [“I like her, she’s got the heart of a lioness. It’s your friend I dislike. Eyes of a coyote. No, don’t like that.”] Characters: Héctor Rivera, Imelda Rivera, Ernesto de la Cruz, Chicharrón, Óscar, Felipe

Other fics from the series can be found here.

A/N: This one took a while, but it's finally done. Héctor is still a crushing puppy. Shame the current situation is far from romantic. (Also I seem to be making a habit out of posting stuff from the airport right before boarding a plane)

***

As the Revolution went on, the arrival of men on horses meant bad news for Santa Cecilia.

Federales were the worst thing, of course: they would come like a swarm and make demands – for shelter, for weapons, and for food if they were lucky. They’d give what they could, and the men would again be on their way. But sometimes they would come with more horses than men, and that was when every boy and man in town had to hide – when they would demand for men to join them and replace their fallen comrades.

Young, old, little more than boys – it did not matter. They were deaf to pleas of mothers, sisters, daughters. To refuse to join meant siding against them; to side again them meant death. Héctor hoped he would never understand that, never find out how a man’s view of the world could become so narrow: with us, or against us.

How many of them had been forced to join either faction in the first place, as they were now forcing others to? When that war ended, for it had to end one way or another, how would the survivors ever return to a normal life? Could they? He hoped so. The world seemed to have gone insane, with factions tearing into each other like wild beasts. Such deep wounds don’t heal without scars.

Sometimes, Héctor pitied them. Most times, he was just terrified – and that was one of those times.

“They’re coming! I saw them from the top of the hill. They will be here soon.”

“Empty horses?”

“A dozen. Maybe more. They were still far away, watering them before going up the hill.”

A heavy silence fell, and Héctor swallowed. There was a weight on his shoulder, and it was his father’s hand. He turned to meet his gaze. “Go hide,” he said, his voice quiet.

Héctor was barely fourteen, but they both knew that, as far as they were concerned, he was old enough to hold a gun and fire. Still, he shook his head. “I can’t leave you--”

“That was an order, Héctor. I’ll get you some food so you can keep away for however long it’s needed. They stayed three days last time, and almost found you in the basement.”

“What about you?”

“I’m too old to be of any interest, mijo,” he said. It was a lie, and a bad one at that. He wasn’t so old he couldn’t hold a gun. He, too, could be taken. “It will be all right.”

The thought was like a vise around his chest, and a sick feeling at the pit of Héctor’s stomach told him that no, it wouldn’t be all right, not that time.

“Papá, no. Come hide--”

“And leave your mother alone when they come to take what they wish? No.”

“She can also hide! We can all--”

“If they find no men at all, they will know people are hiding and start searching. And if they search, they will find you,” his father cut him off. “Why do you think so many of us stay in plain sight? So many fathers with sons to protect?”

Realization felt all the world like a punch in the gut. “Papá--”

Ricardo’s hand held his shoulder a fraction tighter. “Héctor, listen to me. If they take me, I may yet live. At worst, they can take my life. But if you die, they will have taken my future and that of your mother. She can do without me, but not without you. If anything happens to you, we…” he paused and his features twisted, as though it was something too horrible to comprehend. “It would be the end of everything. Do you understand?”

Something painful seemed to be stuck in his throat, and Héctor could only nod to say that yes, he did understand. His father reached to hold him close and for a few moments he lost himself into the embrace, praying whoever may be listening for it not to be the last.  

***

“I’ll get you a fresh eggs, just laid. Take the bread. We have some hard cheese and cold cuts, in case they stay longer and… for the love of God, stay hidden, all right? You have the map your father gave you, don’t you? Good. Don’t come out until the food is finished and even then, be careful. I’ll hang the sheets outside, you should see them from a distance, I will take them off when it’s safe to return--”

“Mamá,” Ernesto called out, and reached to put a hand on his mother’s shoulder. That caused Adela to still for a long moment, falling silent, and then let out a long sigh. She turned to look up at him - she’d had to look up at him for a while now, she was so tiny, how had he ever been so small himself to fit into her body? - and smiled weakly, reaching to cup his face.

“Right. You’re a grown man now, and you’ll be fine,” she said, brushing her thumbs over his cheeks. “I keep forgetting that, Tito. It’s what mothers do.”

Ernesto grinned down at her. Truth be told, he wasn’t nearly as sure of himself as he wanted to seem, but he’d pull his teeth out with pliers before he showed how scared he was. To her and, most of all, to the cabrón standing in the doorway, looking at them with sullen eyes.

“It will be like a vacation. I’ll lie low and do nothing but eat until they’re gone,” he said, then, “I’ll take those eggs. I’m probably going to need the oil lamp, too.”

As his mother nodded and went to fetch the lamp, Ernesto sighed and patted his pocket, where a map of the old mining system was; the best possible hiding place at the moment, his father had told him as he drew that map entirely from memory. He would know; he’d worked as a miner there for twenty years, from the day he’d turned thirteen until the explosion that left him maimed, and he’d known it like the back of his hand.

Ernesto didn’t much like the thought of venturing there, given how he’d almost drowned in it during a sudden flood five years earlier, but there wasn’t  a cloud in the sky and the soldiers were a far bigger danger. He would take the food and lamp, and go pick up Héctor - because of course he would go with him; his father could grumble all he wanted on how a man hiding on his own was safer. Wherever they went, they went together.

Plus, he’d made a promise to old Ricardo. Héctor didn’t know that; he’d never seen nor heard his father turning to Ernesto and putting a hand on his shoulder, back when the subject of hiding away should more soldiers come had come up.

“If they come, keep him safe,” he said, staring straight in his eyes. “Whatever you hear, whatever happens, stay hidden. Promise me you’ll keep him away until it’s all over, Ernesto.”

He had promised, of course. He was Héctor’s brother in all but blood, and older; it was only natural he would look after him. And plus he had a debt to his parents, who had let him stay at their place without a single question more times than he could count, sometimes for days at end, when things at his own house became rough.

“Ernesto.” Estéban’s voice rang out suddenly, snapping him from his thoughts, and Ernesto made a face. He turned to ask him what he wanted, but words died in his throat when he realized he was handing him something - an old handgun, and ammunitions.

His father had had that gun for a long time, but before the Revolution Ernesto had only seen it used once - on a small stray dog, a pregnant bitch who had come scavenging for scraps around their house when Ernesto had been five years old. He’d thrown food at her whenever he saw her and she’d gradually come closer and closer, until he could almost touch her.

Maybe eventually she’d let him, he’d thought. Maybe when she had her puppies she’d let him pet them. Maybe they could keep them, he’d thought, and had begun thinking of names - but then his father had shot her, for no reason. He’d had one of his episodes, those that had started after the explosion in the mine, and the dog - Ernesto had taken to calling her Zita by then - had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, too close to the chickens. There had been a bang, nothing like those of the fireworks he so liked, and then a scream that had sounded almost human.

When Ernesto had ran outside Zita was in the dirt by their porch, still kicking weakly, in a pool of blood. It was as though one of her sides had burst open and through that hole he’d seen… he’d seen what he had seen. Why his father had done that - he of all people, who’d often downright panic if he heard a bang - he’d never know. There had been no reason for it.

He didn’t remember much else of that day, but he did recall crying a lot while his mother tried to calm him down; he remembered his father yelling for him to stop wailing and for his mother to stop coddling him before he’d limped out, to return only three days later.

It was the accident, Ernestito, he recalled his mother saying, like it was supposed to matter, like he was supposed to care. He wasn’t like this before the accident. It will get better.

Not a single word had been spoken of the episode since, as far as Ernesto could recall. The gun had never come out again, until the Revolution had first reached Santa Cecilia and the soldiers had almost taken him away; that was when his Estéban de la Cruz - now with a wrecked shoulder as well as a lame leg - had decided he should teach his son how to shoot.

“I don’t like it,” Ernesto had said, and it was true. He hated the weight of it in his hand, the kickback, the thought he might have to use it on someone. He’d killed before - not that anyone but Héctor and Imelda knew that - to return home, but it had been something he’d had to do, and he hadn’t had to look at the men dying after he’d lit up the gunpowder.

The thought of having to stare at someone and shoot them dead - watch them bleed - made him feel queasy. There was a reason why he’d let Imelda keep the rifles they’d taken from the soldiers when they’re made their escape; he was meant to hold a guitar, not a gun.

“You don’t have to like it,” his father had said. “Just know how to use it. A few sleepless nights are better than a funeral, and I refuse to bury you because I sent you out there without defense. Now pretend you’re a man for once, and see if you can hit that goddamn target. If you can waste your time with that damn guitar all day, you can aim and pull a trigger.”

He hadn’t been good at it at first - and he hated not being good at something - but his father, despite growing paler with each bang that rang out, had refused to let him stop until he could at least hit the target most times. And now he was handing that gun to him, expecting him to shoot men if need be; he would if forced, sure, but he didn't like it, didn't like it, didn't like it.

“Don’t forget this,” his father was saying, and for all of his distaste, he took the gun. It felt heavy in his hand. “I hope you remember how to shoot. If you see an uniform, shoot first and ask later. Don’t hesitate. Don’t ever hesitate, because they won’t. Understood?”

“Sí,” Ernesto said stiffly, and turned to leave. A weight on his shoulder caused him freeze. He didn't like that, either, and he was about to shake it off when his father spoke.

“Be careful, mijo,” he said. He hadn't called him that in a long time; it caused Ernesto to pause, and look at him over his shoulder. He was paler than usual, stone sober for once, and scared. They’d always looked very much alike, but at forty-seven his father seemed old, his beard graying . Ernesto, who would never get to turn forty-seven himself, scowled slightly.

I will not end up like you, he thought, but what left his mouth was something else.

“I will, papá,” he said, then, “Try not to piss off anyone this time. If you get my mother in the line of fire again, I’ll shoot you myself. Not in the shoulder.”

That got an odd smile out of Estéban, one that seemed almost sincere.

“As long as you come back,” he said. Ernesto de la Cruz - who would walk out one day seven years later to tour Mexico and never return - smiled back and said nothing.

***

“Why the long face, chamaco? Lighten up, it will be fine. We'll have some fun time between amigos and come back to find our old men still there.”

Ernesto sounded so sure of himself as they crossed the stream, hopping from rock to rock with practiced ease, that Héctor found himself almost believing him. Only that he’d known him all his life, as far back as he could remember, and heard him uttering the most absolute bullcrap with that same iron-clad certainty.

“Easy for you to say. You know they’d never take a lame guy,” Héctor muttered, and of course he regretted it as soon as it left his mouth. Ernesto just laughed before he could apologize.

“Hah, if only! If they took in cripples, they’d find my old man tied up right on their path with a big red ribbon and a side gift of tequila,” he said, and Héctor laughed a little - not because he found it funny, but out of sheer relief that Ernesto wasn’t angry at him.

“Shame we couldn’t bring a guitar, but I guess that would lead them right to us,” his friend was saying, and Héctor raised an eyebrow, eyeing the holster at Ernesto’s hip.

“Not that it would be a problem, Tito. With your marksmanship, you’d take them all down in a minute. Or shoot yourself in a foot,” he said, gaining himself a scoff and a shove.

“You wouldn’t even know how to hold it, chamaco. And I was always the best with the slingshot. It makes little difference.”

“Says the one who broke the Delgados’ window.”

“Says the one who got the Guzmans’ bull in the rump.”

“That was… totally on purpose.”

“If almost got us, pendejo.”

“But we were too fast. You especially,” Héctor pointed out, and returned the shove. “Who says you’re not going to run off on me if the Federales find us?”

“That entirely depends on how annoying you’re going to be now,” Ernesto shot back, but laughed, and ruffled his hair. Héctor never noticed the way his jaw had clenched for a moment. “Don’t worry, it won’t come to that. We-- I won’t need to shoot anyone. No one knows we’re here, and--”

“Hey, that’s Héctor!”

“Hi Héctor!”

“And... Ernesto?”

“Hi, Ernesto!”

“... Aaand now someone does.”

Héctor turned to see Óscar and Felipe barrelling towards them, their legs almost comically long for their thin frames - something he could relate to all too well, really. As they came to a stop before them, they squinted a little.

“Oh, it is you!”

“We weren’t entirely sure.”

“We can’t see that well from far away.”

“Mamá says we need glasses.”

“She’s saving money, but we’re gonna build our own!”

“Once she gives us back our tools.”

“Which is never, at this rate,” a very familiar voice rang out, causing Héctor’s heart to seemingly jump in his throat. He turned to see Imelda - because of course she would be there, the twins wouldn’t be out there on their own - standing a few feet away, with a bag over one shoulder and, on the other… wait, was that--

“Is that a rifle?” Ernesto blurted out, eyeing it cautiously, and Imelda nodded.

“One of the ones we took from the soldiers, yes. I wanted to be prepared,” Imelda said, matter-of-factly. “After what happened last time, my mother didn’t want me or the twins to be anywhere near town when the Federales arrived. But we could still run into some.”

Ernesto frowned. “Do you even know how to use it?” he asked, gaining himself a scoff.

“Better than you can use that piece of rust,” she muttered, eyeing the old gun at his hip. “Does it even work, or is it just for show?”

“Of course it works!” Ernesto protested, suddenly defensive over a gun he clearly hated handling anyway, but Héctor paid him no mind.

“Do you have a place to hide?” he asked, and Imelda shook her head. Her braid hung over her shoulder.

“Not really. We heard of the old mines, though.”

“That’s where we’re heading!” Héctor exclaimed, and smiled. He entirely missed his best friend’s grimace. “Ernesto has a map. We can all go hide in there. This way, no one gets lost. And we’ll have two guns, just in case.”

“I could defend us both just fine,” Ernesto muttered, and Imelda glanced at him only briefly before looking at her brothers - “Can we stay with them? Please! They’re fun!” - and then finally back at Héctor. She smiled, and his heart skipped a beat.

“It sounds like a good idea. We did well last time,” she added, and Ernesto didn’t seem inclined to argue against that. He shot another look at the shining new rifle - it seemed to displease him greatly, and Héctor wasn’t sure what that was about - before he nodded. When he spoke, his voice was perfectly normal.

“Right. I do have a map,” he said, and pulled it out of his pocket. It wasn’t really necessary, because they hadn’t even reached the mines yet and they knew the way up to there, but for some reason he puffed out his chest while doing so, and Héctor decided to say nothing. “Follow me,” Ernesto added, and he seemed really pleased when they did.

*** 

“... Tadpoles in the holy water font, really?”

“Yes, people at the parish weren’t too pleased.”

“I do wonder why,” Imelda said drily, and Ernesto shrugged.

“We caught so many, may as well put them somewhere. I also put one in his glass,” he added, causing Héctor to scowl. Sitting cross-legged on the ground, with his back against a wall of the old mine shaft, he scowled.

“I remember it all too well, thanks. So, this other time--”

“You didn’t realize until after drinking it.”

“I remember. Thanks,” Héctor gritted out, hoping against hope the heat on his face did not mean he was blushing. He wished he could kick Ernesto without being obvious, and instead he reached behind his back to pinch him. That only caused his friend’s grin to widen.

“You cried,” he muttered. The twins laughed, and Imelda… Héctor wasn’t sure, he didn’t dare look at her face. If he died right there and then of sheer embarrassment, he told himself, he was going to haunt Ernesto’s nightmares for the rest of his life.

“Because you told me it was going to grow into a frog in my stomach!”

“So gullible.”

“I was six!”

“And gullible,” Ernesto repeated, but he seemed to take notice of the desperate expression on his face, because he finally changed subject. “Oh, tell them about the church rooster!”

One of the twins blinked. “Church rooster?”

“Oh, you didn’t live here yet, but it was the talk of the town for weeks! We set a rooster free in the church on Sunday - they never knew it was us, though.”

“Which is why we’re still here to tell the tale.”

“Sister Gregoria would have strangled us. So, old Pedro had this rooster, right? I caught the rooster--”

“Hey now, I caught the rooster.”

“But I drove it to you.”

“Right. Let’s say it was, uh…”

“A coordinated effort.”

“Yes, that. A coordinated effort to get the rooster. It didn’t make it very easy.”

“And it kept trying to peck your eyes out. Good thing your nose was in the way.”

“Gee, thanks. Anyway, we had the rooster, so we put  it in a bag and headed to church.”

A small hand shot up. “I have a question.”

“Yes, er…?”

“Felipe,” Imelda spoke up for the first time in several minutes. She was sitting across them in the tunnel, the oil lamp casting deep shadows on her face, but Héctor could tell she was smiling. He smiled a little himself.

“Right. What is it, Felipe?”

“Actually, he’s Óscar,” his brother spoke up. “I am Felipe.”

“Oh! Sorry, I thought--” Héctor began, only to trail off when Imelda’s hands smacked both twins on the back of the neck. It wasn’t too strong, but it caused them both to yelp.

“Don’t listen to them,” she said, humor plain in her voice. “They try to pull this trick on everyone. This is Óscar,” she pulled the ear of the boy at her right, “and this is Felipe,” she added, pulling the other’s ear as well. As the kids protested, Héctor grinned.

“Got it. Well, we did it because… er…” he paused, and turned to glance at Ernesto. “Help me out there. Why did we do it?”

Ernesto shrugged. “It seemed like a good idea at the time. Anyway, we went to Mass, got the chicken in and somehow no one noticed. I left the sack behind a confessional--”

“I did that,” Héctor pointed out. He normally didn’t mind at all when Ernesto got mixed up over who had done what, but now that Imelda was smiling over the tale of their caper years ago, he found he wanted full credit for that. It had been a risk, after all.   

Ernesto rolled his eyes. “Fine, fine. Héctor left the sack behind the confessional, and Mass started. It... took it a while to break free, really. We had to sit through most of it.”

“It got out of the sack just as the priest pulled out the holy bread,” Héctor said, with no small amount of pride. As Óscar and Felipe leaned forward, faces split in identical grins, he shot a glance at Imelda. She was trying not to smile too widely - after all, he was telling her about something they definitely were not supposed to ever do, setting a rooster free in a church - but her lips curled upwards anyway. “It went straight for it.”

“Took it right out of the old man’s hands,” Ernesto confirmed, and folded his hands in front of the oil lamp, casting a shadow on the wall that could have been a very misshapen bird. He crooned, and the shadow on the wall attacked Héctor’s, who flailed his arms like Padre Edmundo had back then, throwing holy bread and wine everywhere.

“God in Heaven!” he cried out in a near-perfect imitation of his voice, and the twins doubled over, howling with laughter. Héctor joined them, but laughter died in his throat when Imelda spoke suddenly.

“Not so loud! We’re hiding, remember?” she hissed, causing her brothers to fall quiet and Ernesto to scoff.

“Are you allergic to fun all of a sudden?”

“Someone could hear us!”

“We’re pretty damn deep in the mine. It’s not like someone is going to just be taking a stroll here to hear us--”

“Yowchgoddammit!”

The voice that rang out was one Héctor had never heard and, as it reverberated down the shaft of the mine, it seemed as loud as a gunshot. Several things happened almost at the same time: they all jumped on their feet, the twins stepped behind their sister, and both Imelda and Ernesto - she handled the rifle with more ease than he did his gun - pointed their weapons towards the source of the noise, which had come from behind a bend. Not knowing what else to do, Héctor picked up the lamp to hold it up… and then they were all still and silent for several moments, barely daring to breathe.

“Hijos de-- de--” there was a groan and, right afterwards, the sound of something dropping not too far way. Of someone dropping.

Instinctively, Héctor took a couple of steps towards the sounds - only to stop short when Ernesto held out one arm, holding him back. “Don’t, chamaco.”

“But someone is hurt--”

“He’s right,” Imelda cut him off. She was still holding up the rifle, eyes fixed on the bend. “Might be a trap.”

“It could be someone from town…”

“That’s not a voice I know.”

“But--” Héctor trailed off when another muttered curse rang out, followed by a choked-out cry of pain. It made him shudder. “We can’t just stand here!”

“Watch me,” Ernesto muttered, but Imelda seemed to hesitate before nodding.

“I’ll go have a look. You stay here.”

“What?”

“No!”

“Don’t go, Imelda!”

As the twins reached to grasp her gown, and Imelda looked down at them speechlessly, Ernesto let out a groan. “Uuugh, fine. Fine. I’m going,” he muttered. “Not like I can go back and tell my old man and let a girl go ahead.”

Imelda narrowed her eyes. “I know how to use the rifle.”

“But the tunnel is narrow and my gun is easier to handle,” Ernesto retorted, and she fell silent, grudgingly conceding the point. Héctor tried to step forward, but Ernesto held out his arm again. “You stay here.”

“But you’ll need the light--”

“To make me an easy target?” Ernesto snapped back, but his expression softened when he looked down at him. “Stay here, hermanito. I promised your old man you’d be safe. That’s what big brothers are for, no?”

Something in Héctor’s chest hurt, but he knew Ernesto was right. He didn’t have a weapon, didn’t know how to use one, and he’d be worse than useless if something happened. He was always worse than useless. He was lucky to have Ernesto looking out for him.

“Be careful,” he could only whisper through the lump in his throat, and Ernesto gave a convincing enough grin before slowly heading towards the sounds, gun in hand.

***

Please don’t be a soldier. Please don’t be a soldier.

Don’t ever hesitate, because they won’t.

I don’t want to. I don’t like it. Why the hell would they even come here?

If you see an uniform, shoot first and ask later.

If only I could see a damn thing.

As he turned the corner, walking silently and crouching behind every broken cart and rock he could find as his eyes adjusted to the dim light, Ernesto sort of wished he’d let Imelda go ahead as she as about to, since she thought she was so great with her shiny rifle and whatnot.

But he couldn’t, because he’d never hear the end of it and besides, Héctor would have insisted to go with her - and it wouldn’t do because Ernesto was supposed to look after him. Him, not some little girl who had  turned fifteen just a couple of months earlier. Héctor was his little brother and he couldn’t leave his safety to a twig who’d probably be thrown back by the recoil if she tried to shoot, likely without hitting anything.

Even back in the hills that night, when they’d taken care of those soldiers, she had given orders… but Ernesto had been the one to set the gunpowder on fire. It had been one hell of a feat, and sometimes he wished he didn’t have to keep it a secret. Maybe it would finally teach the old cabrón that he was no longer a kid who’d sob his eyes out over a dead dog.

Now pretend you’re a man for once and see if you can hit that goddamn target.

You don’t know me, old man. You have no idea.

His father’s voice echoing somewhere in the back of his mind, Ernesto scowled and finally peered over the rock he was crouched behind. Now that his eyes had grown used to darkness, he could see a form on the ground - a man, whether in an uniform or not he couldn’t tell. He was motionless and, when Ernesto picked up a small rock to throw it past him, he didn’t move.

… Well, look at that. Maybe he was dead, and no one else was in sight. Now that would be a problem off his back. But why had that guy gotten all the way in there to die…?

Gun still in hand, Ernesto left his hiding place and went to kneel next to the man, the unpleasant smell of dried and fresh blood filling his nostrils. Yes, it looked like his new friend had dragged himself in there to die. An odd place to pick, but to each their-- wait, what was that on his back?

Ernesto ran a hand over the object. It felt oddly familiar, and he was taken aback to realize it was a guitar of all things. And a pretty decent one, by the feel of it.

Well, finders keepers, Ernesto thought, and went to undo the strap when, suddenly, something moved… and a hand seized his ankle, causing him to let out a loud, startled scream. He fumbled to pick up the gun - why why why had he put it down - but he lost his balance and fell back.

There was a cry somewhere deeper in the mine, a familiar voice calling out his name and footsteps, and suddenly there was light; enough to see that the man - cursing and swearing, face to the ground and trying to move weakly - was wearing an army uniform after all.

“Ernesto! Are you all right?” Héctor asked, lifting the oil lamp. Ernesto turned to see he was staring at him with wide, worried eyes.

“I… I’m fine,” he croaked, and stood quickly after picking up his gun. “He just-- I thought--”

“A soldier,” Imelda spat, rifle pointed at the man, then looked around. “Where is she?”

Héctor and Ernesto exchanged a glance before blinking. “She?”

Imelda returned their gazes with an equally confused one. “I heard a woman’s scream.”

Ah. That.

“I--” Ernesto began, a sudden sense of heat on his face - he had a powerful voice, all right, and it could get high-pitched when startled, nothing he could do about it - but Héctor got there first, sparing him the pain of explaining as much.

“Oh, that was a grito!”

She blinked. “A grito, now?”

“It’s a code between me and Ernesto. So that I’d know it was him,” Héctor said quickly and, thank God, Imelda seemed to buy it. Ernesto gave a silent sigh of relief, patting Héctor’s shoulder briefly - ay, hermanito, what would I do without you? - before turning his attention back on the fallen man.

He was groaning, trying to push himself up on his elbows, and glared at him. He was a short, sturdy man with a bald head and jutting jaw, looking up at them with red-rimmed eyes. His skin was ashen gray, shiny with sweat, and it didn’t take much to guess that he was on his last leg.

“Hands off my-- my guitar, hijo de--” he gasped, then his gaze found Imelda, and shifted towards Héctor. He looked surprised for a moment, then he made a noise that sounded more like a bark than a laugh. “Hah! Kids! Hiding away from the Federales, eh? Smart of you. Should have… done the same when I could.”

There was a moment of silence, then Imelda slowly lowered the rifle, though not by much. “You were drafted,” she stated.

“Of course I was. They were picking kids off the street, if they didn’t take me it would have been one of them. But I ran off, you know? To go back home. Or I tried to. Some hijo de puta managed to shoot me.” The man grimaced, and Ernesto frowned.

“What are you doing here?”

“Waiting to die, what does it look like?” was the reply, and he lifted an arm to show something clutched in his hand - a bottle. “Made it through the desert and thought I could get help in this town, but no. Federales everywhere, damn it. I didn’t… didn’t escape my regiment to end up in the hands of another. Turned away just on time before being spotted. Let my horse go at the stream. A good horse, but I won’t need her where I’m going, you know?”

Imelda gave a slow nod, and finally lowered the rifle before stepping closer. “Where were you shot?”

“Leg and lower back. Nasty business, señorita. I’m not going to make it. Best if you shoot me. Would do it myself, but I ran out of bullets.

I have some, Ernesto almost said, but Héctor spoke first. “What-- no! You-- maybe you’ll be fine, señor. We can get you a doctor after the Federales have left.”

Another sudden, barking laugh. “Hah! You’re an optimist. I hate people like you,” the man muttered, and made a face. “Ah, but I’d like to return home. There’s someone I want to see before I kick it.”

“You will,” Imelda said suddenly, stepping forward, and Ernesto was reminded of something Héctor had mentioned - that her father had joined the revolutionaries and had never returned, killed in a skirmish.

When Héctor handed him to oil lamp and moved in to help her carry the guy - who kept wincing and cursing like they were poking him with hot irons with every move - he wasn’t especially pleased… but not surprised, either. Héctor had always been such a bleeding heart.

With a sigh, Ernesto put the gun back at his belt, lifted the oil lamp, and led the way back.

***

“Does it hurt?”

“Mph. It did, but now I can’t feel a thing.”

“If you let me take a look--”

“Not taking my shirt off in front of a señorita,” was the dry reply. “You’re no doctor and no nurse. Nothing you can do about it. Spare my dignity,” the man added, and turned to the side to spit before bringing the bottle of something that smelled like very bad alcohol to his lips.

That had been it: Imelda had just nodded, and moved to the end of the tunnel with her brothers, likely to spare them the sight; they had been staring at the man with more curiosity than fear, as Héctor supposed was normal for kids. He sort of wished he could go with them, because he didn’t want to watch a man die, but he didn’t want to leave him alone either.

… All right, so there was Ernesto, but the guy - he kept refusing to tell them even his name - didn’t seem to like him at all. “You keep your eyes off my guitar. When I die, it comes with me,” he snapped, holding on the instrument he’d put across his knees after being leaned against the wall. He was glaring at Ernesto, who sat on a rock right across him. It was hard to tell if he was actually looking at the guitar: his eyes were difficult to see in the trembling shadows cast by the oil lamp. For a few moments it was as though there were no eyes at all; only the dark, empty sockets of a skull.

Héctor shivered, and forced himself to chase the thought away. He wasn’t a little kid anymore - he was almost a man - and that was a stupid idea. Of course Ernesto’s eyes were just fine; he was letting the dark get to him, that was all.

Unaware of his thoughts, Ernesto was shrugging. “I have a better one at home,” he said. It wasn’t true, really, that guitar looked better than Ernesto’s old one, but Héctor said nothing as his friend reached into a bag to pull out a bottle. “Better tequila, too. Whatever you’ve having smells awful,” he added, and took a swig before he held out the bottle to the man. “Come on. If it’s your last drink, let it be a decent one.”

The guy looked at him with narrowed eyes, suspicion plain on his face, then his jaw slackened just a bit and he took the bottle. “... Gracias.”

“De nada,” Ernesto muttered. He’d avoided to look at the blood soaking the uniform’s left leg, but now that it was covered by a blanket he seemed… oddly at ease, sitting across a man they knew was dying. But then again, he was older. A man.

And Héctor… he still felt like he was just a boy. “Is that better?” he finally asked as the man put the bottle down and smacked his lips. He grinned weakly.

“Not bad at all. You have taste, I’ll give you that.”

“You could say my old man is an expert,” Ernesto said with a shrug, and lit up a candle before he stood. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

The thought of being left alone with a dying soldier, Imelda and the twins some distance away, made Héctor’s stomach clench. “Where are you going?”

“Answering nature’s call, chamaco.”

“Ah. Right.”

As Ernesto left - Héctor could see him turning left after leaving the gallery, further down in the earth - the man spoke again. “Your hermano?”

“Huh? Oh, sort of. He’s my best friend,” Héctor said, relaxing a little. It was something closer to casual chat, and it was better than talk about holding onto one’s guitar in death.

“Mph. And the adelita?”

“Adelita?”

“Hah! Don’t you call them that around here? The soldadera.”

“She’s not a soldadera. She’s just…” Indescribable. Amazing. Brave. Fierce. Loyal. Funny. Clever. “... Just Imelda. She’s a friend, too.”

The man guwaffed. “Well, she handled the rifle so well, could have fooled anyone,” he muttered, and smiled. “I like her, she’s got the heart of a lioness. Reminds me of someone I knew.”  He paused to rest a hand on the wound on his leg through the blanket, then grimaced. “It’s your friend I dislike. Eyes of a coyote. No, don’t like that.”

Héctor frowned. Now that was just unfair, and even if the man was dying he felt it was his duty to argue. “Ernesto is all right. A good friend. You don’t even know him,” he replied - and yet, something about his choice of words bothered him. Somewhere in the back of his mind a memory resurfaced, he and Ernesto looking at some mariachis performing in the local cantina from their hiding place, when they’d been only children.

He remembered Ernesto saying they were going to make music like that one day, he remembered the hungry look on his face and he remember, vaguely, thinking that he reminded him of a coyote staring at chickens from the other side of a fence. Then he shook his head, chasing the memory away as the man spoke again.

“If you say so,” he muttered, then. “Don’t let him take my guitar. I want to be buried with it.”

“He wouldn’t steal from a dead man!”

“Oh, he was about to. Just like a scavenger. Eyes of a coyote, I tell you.”

“He-- You’re not dead!”

“Ah, but I’ll be soon. A shame. I really wanted to make it back home,” he added, and sighed. For the first time, his rough features twisted in sorrow.

Héctor had to swallow a lump in his throat as he watched him turn the guitar in his arms and strum softly. He tried to imagine what his mother would do, what she would feel if his father was taken by the Federales. Once again, he prayed no such thing would happen - prayed he would return to the surface to find them both still there. “Is someone waiting for you at home?”

“Hah! I sure hope she is. But she’ll stop waiting eventually,” he said, and began playing, his thick, roughened fingers surprisingly delicate on the strings. He was not supposed to do that - even if they were pretty deep underground, it was best for them not to make noise - but he couldn’t find it in himself to say anything… and neither did the others. Héctor was aware, vaguely, of Imelda’s presence by his side, of the twins behind her, of Ernesto’s steps as he approached. None of them said anything.

“There’s a song she loved, you know? She always said it sounded like it was written for her,” the man was said, then he chuckled and sang, his voice weak as the music was gente.

“Everyone knows Juanita,   Her eyes each a different color Her teeth stick out and her chin goes in…”

There was a word or two there that children were definitely not supposed to hear, but neither of the twins said a word and even Imelda stayed silent. The song came to an end, the notes faded and so did his voice. The man let out a long sigh before leaning his head back against the wall, still holding the guitar, and closed his eyes.

He did not open them again.

***

They took him into another tunnel, and buried him under earth and rocks, along with his guitar; Ernesto clearly thought it a waste, but didn’t argue too much once Imelda weighted in. Once the deed was done, no words were spoken. They each took a long swig of tequila in a silent toast - he could hold it a bit better, now - and in the end Héctor put the empty bottle down on the grave, as a marker. He really wished they had known his name.

But he has left them a song and that, Héctor supposed, was better than nothing at all.

***

“Ernesto!”

“Hola, mamá.”

There had been a time when his mother’s embraces had felt overbearing, trapping him like a snare. Now the hold around his neck felt like nothing; her entire weight, and he picked her up and spun, felt like nothing. He laughed like an idiot and she did, too, before he put her back down.

“Ay, Tito, I was so worried. I thought they would never leave,” Adela exclaimed, kissing his cheek, and finally pulled back with a laugh. “You’re prickly as a cactus, mijo.”

“I do need a shave,” Ernesto grinned, and looked up to see his father standing a few feet from them; not quite sober but not drunk, either. “Papá.”

A nod. “They didn’t find you.”

“No. Who did they take this time?”

“Sebastián and Alejandro, that I know of. Surely other people,” he said, and shrugged. He didn’t seem to care too much. It had happened, same shit as always, so they may as well just be glad it hadn’t happened to them and carry on. “Did you need to use that gun?”

“... No.”

“I hope you never do. But keep it, just in case.”

He did keep it, but he never had any reason to use it. He never had a reason to kill, until a fateful night in Mexico City - but even then, there was no bang or gunpowder or blood.

There are cleaner ways to kill a man.

*** 

“Mamá! Papá!”

“Héctor!”

“Mijo!”

Throwing himself in his parents’ arms, the dread in his chest melting away, Héctor was vaguely aware that he was crying and he didn’t care. All that mattered were the arms around him, the tearful voices, the scent of home. He was there, they were there.

Surely other people had been torn away from their homes; maybe even people he knew, because he knew almost everyone in Santa Cecilia. Héctor would ask, he would mourn, he would pray for their safe return - but that would have to wait. Right there and then there was only place for one thing in his chest: the simple, uncomplicated joy of being home.

“A few of them passed by, but it was to demand food, thank God. We gave what we could, and they left.”

“Not without taking a good look at this gorgeous woman.”

“Ricardo!”

“One almost walked into the closed door on his way out. He was in love, I tell you. Good thing I snatched you first.”

“Haha! He’s exaggerating, mijo. As always.”

“Exaggerating, me? When do I ever!”

There was laughter, some tears, a home-cooked meal - and Héctor found himself unable to ask who was missing, unable to mention the man who had died in the mines. It would have felt like inviting the cruelty of the outside world within those walls, and he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to think of a woman who, somewhere, would wait in vain for a nameless soldier to come home - wait in vain to hear their song again.

“I love you,” he said suddenly, and his parents - who had little less than one year left to live - held him in their arms for another long minute.

[foofygoldfish]

meeting the family part 2! part one is here

aka: the rye family barbeque, the infamous runny mac n cheese, and jacob builds some shelves.

somewhat abrupt end, but  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ (apologies to anyone on mobile, this is long)

Mary May was amazing at telling Alice when things were happening: for example, the bartender had known about the Rye family barbecue for weeks, but only told Alice the morning of, while Alice was eating breakfast after Pastor Jerome’s sermon.

Now, Alice was sitting in her truck at the end of the Rye's driveway, trying to work up the nerve to actually go to the barbecue. She knew Mary May would be there, and Pastor Jerome, and, well, the Ryes, but… She still didn’t want to go and deal with all the ‘Oh what have you been doing’s and ‘Oh you’ve grown so much! How old are you now?’s from the people who knew her dad.

She almost turned to leave when a familiar car parked behind her. Sheriff Whitehorse climbed out, followed by who she thought was his daughter and her twins. With a sigh, she slid out of her truck and waved at him.

“Hey, Sheriff.”

“Alice!” The Sheriff smiled at her, and then grunted in surprise - one of the twins had run up to him, trying to drag him towards the barbeque, the other close behind. “I’ll… See you there.”

His daughter laughed, moving to walk next to Alice. “They’re excited. Nick said he’d take them up in Carmina.”

“Carmina..?”

“His plane. You’re new here, aren’t you?”

“Yes and no? I grew up here, it’s just… been a while. Forgot the Rye’s named their plane.”

The other woman nodded. “Oh, right, you’re… Alice, right? The new recruit. I’m Erin. I’m in the day shift.”

“Yup.” Alice nodded, listening to Erin ramble on about the department and the town, and then froze in place at the end of the driveway when she saw the full extent of the barbeque. It seemed like Nick had prepared for everyone in the county to be there, and most of them had actually shown up. People were streaming in and out of the hangar closest to the house, most carrying plates loaded with food, and Nick… Was nowhere to be seen. She could see Grace, though, and her dad, hugging the wall by Nick’s arcade machine, and the Fairgraves had assigned themselves to the food - Mary May and Drew watching the buffet line, their mom at the bar (only punch and beer it looked like, much to Alice’s disappointment), and their dad… Somewhere. Probably by the grill, critiquing whoever was cooking there, if he was anything like he used to be.

Erin tapped Alice’s shoulder, and pointed in the direction of the runway. “I’m gonna go find Nick, I’ll let him and Kim know you’re here!”

She sighed. There were so many people here. None of them peggies - or at least, the ones that wear the cult’s “uniform.” It was weird, really - pretty much everywhere she had gone since arriving back in Hope County, there had been a peggie or five or ten. The general store (buying, of all things, toilet paper - she had laughed at that, you would think the cult would go to Costco or something for that), the bar (demanding the Rye’s stop selling liquor), the gas stations… Everywhere. This was nice. Normal.

Logically, she knew she should go and mingle, but honestly? Being around this many people in Hope County was weird. Instead, she placed her bowl of mashed potatoes on the table next to Mary May, and slinked off to lean against the wall. She spotted who she thought was Nick, giving piggyback rides to one of Erin’s kids while being chased by the other, and laughed, before feeling a wet nose press against her knee. Looking down, she saw a grey and white dog looking up at her, tail wagging at what seemed like the speed of light.

“Hey! Sorry about Boomer, he’s a little excited today.” A blonde woman walked up to her, grabbing the dog’s collar. “Lots of kids spoiling him! I’m Rae-Rae.”

Alice bent down to pet Boomer, then looked up at Rae-Rae. “You own the pumpkin farm, right?”

The other woman nodded. “Yup. Been in my family for decades.”

“I loved going there when I was a kid!” She grinned, then laughed as Boomer plopped down, begging for a belly rub.

“You’re a local?”

“Yeah, grew up here. Just moved back.”

Rae-Rae smiled. “Hope to see you at the farm this fall!”

“You bet! I miss good old-fashioned pumpkin patches.” Alice nodded, laughing as Boomer darted off to say hello to someone else. She waved as Rae-Rae sighed, following the excited dog.

It didn’t take long for the Sheriff to come up to her, forcing her to introduce herself to the people of Hope County, those around her age in particular - there was Elizabeth, the self-proclaimed “Horse Girl,” Stella the lumberjack (who protested that name - she made a point to tell Alice if she wanted fresh eggs, her chickens laid the best in the county), a “proper” introduction to his daughter and grandkids, and so many more.

She liked people, yeah, but… There was no way she was going to remember 90% of the names. Or faces. Both of those together? Absolutely not.

//

“So. You look as miserable as I feel.” Alice leaned against the wall next to the eldest Seed brother, carefully holding her bowl of food. “I mean, I like all the people here, it’s just… A lot. And I’m fu..freaking tired.” Jacob snorted. At her statement, or at her remembering she shouldn’t swear around toddlers, she wasn’t sure. “Well, at least someone brought mac n’ cheese. Everything’s better with mac n’ cheese.”

She looked at Jacob, and then out over the crowds, missing the momentary flash of worry that came over the man’s face. Nick was in a heated discussion (? hopefully.) with John about… Something, Joseph and Faith were sitting at a picnic table outside, eating and talking to Erin (she’d have to ask her about that later - she either had the patience of a saint or was genuinely interested in what the two were saying), Elizabeth and Stella were off playing fetch with Boomer while Rae-Rae ate, and… There were still a lot of people who she didn’t know. At least the Sheriff had stopped introducing her to people - he was a few beers in and telling stories to a group of kids that had gathered, with full sound effects and arm motions. Distracted, she took a bite of the mac n’ cheese.

“Oh, god.”

Jacob looked at her.

“This is horrible.” Alice blanched, setting the bowl down on the table beside her. “It’s an insult to mac n’ cheese everywhere. It’s like… Soup.”

“Is it that bad?”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Do you want to try it?”

“...No.”

“Yeah. It’s that bad. I almost want to find who brought it and teach them how to make proper mac n’ cheese.”

Jacob chuckled. “Are you really that insulted?”

“Yes!! I have a lot of feelings about mac n’ cheese. It’s not hard to make, you just --- Oh god.” She gaped at Jacob. “You brought it, didn’t you. I mean, it wasn’t here when I got here, and you guys were the last ones -- Shit.”

He laughed again - Alice took that as a sign that the man wasn’t insulted. Thank God.

The conversation was easy from then: talking to him was so easy, not something she would have guessed from his gruff appearance.

“Hey.” Alice looked over at Jacob. “Do you… Wanna get outta here or something? I mean, it looks like your brothers are pretty, uh, distracted right now --” She looked over to the airstrip, where Nick and John’s debates had turned into a full-on literal flying competition, “So we could go into town or something, not like…”

“Sure.”

Alice looked at him, startled. She didn’t think he would actually say yes, but then again, he seemed like the type that would like parties like this. “My car is here, or  --”

“Let’s…” He looked around. “Let’s walk. Need some air.”

“Oh. Sure. Uh, I’ll just drop my keys with Mary May. She can bring it back for me.” He nodded, and Alice darted off to find Mary May.

Her friend was standing on the outskirts of the crowd, shaking her head at her brother’s enthusiastic cheering. It took her a moment to catch her attention - the noise from the planes overhead was so loud - and when she did, she dragged her to a nearby tree.

“What?” Mary May looked at her, raising her eyebrow when she saw Alice’s expression. “What did you do.”

“Uh, I haven’t done anything yet, but --” She took a deep breath. “I might be doing something stupid?”

Mary May rubbed her forehead, sighing. “How stupid?”

“Uhm, can you drive my car home?”

“Alice.”

“Please?”

“Why aren’t you taking your car?”

“Uh, I’m walking back?”

“By yourself?” Mary May frowned when Alice shook her head, “Who are you going with?”

“Uhm… Jacob?”

“Jacob….?”

“Seed?”

“Fucking hell, Alice.” Mary May grabbed her friend’s arm, turning them away from the crowd. “What the fuck are you thinking?”

Alice shrugged. “Uhm. I’m… He seems --”

“Don’t say it.”

“He’s not as horrible as John?” Alice winced. “I know, I know that’s bad but -- I’ve been talking to him and --”

“You were - how long were you talking??”

She gulped. “Like, two hours? You were busy, and I don’t really know anyone, and we started talking before I really knew who he was and --”

“Alice. You --”

“We’re just going to walk back to town and, I dunno, I’ll give him a tour. Of town. I just don’t want to walk back.” Alice squirmed under Mary May’s gaze, “Look, I’m not going to do anything --”

“Alice!!!” Oops. “I wasn’t thinking you were going to -- god, please don’t fuck him. Please.”

“I promise!! Can you please just bring my car back? Uh, and my bowl?” Mary May squinted at her, then gave her a slow, reluctant nod. Alice hugged her, shoving the key in her hands. “Thank youuuu. I can pick them up from your place or whatever, just let me know when you get home!”

Turning towards the driveway she parked on, Alice saw Jacob leaning against a tree.

Silently, they walked to the main road together.

This was a mistake.

This is a mistake.

Why do I feel safe?

I’ve heard the rumors, I’ve heard of what he can do - why do I feel safe?

They chattered aimlessly as they walked to town - it was a surprisingly long walk, just over an hour, with stops by the stream and to watch (too-friendly, too at ease around humans) deer.

Jacob told her stories of his family - happy ones, silly ones, a story of John trying to teach Joseph to fly, of Jacob taking Faith hunting. Alice told him about trips around the Southwest with her brother, misadventures from college, all the weird pieces of Americana she saw on her drive back to Hope County.

He laughed when, after finally arriving at her house, he saw her tiny little mini cooper.

“Shut up!” Alice groaned. “Look, my brother drove with me, we took turns with the moving truck, it’s --”

“That thing won’t last the winter.”

“My dad’s old truck’s at the shop.” She nodded her head in the direction of the mechanic’s shop, shrugging. “I fucking hate driving it, but…”

“It’s proven?”

“Yeah. I guess. Mary May laughed at me too.”

“The bartender?”

She nodded. “Yeah. We’ve been friends for years. As long as I can remember. Her folks live - well, they all used to live next door. She told me they had issues with the house so they’re all above the bar now.”

Pausing at the front step, Alice turned to Jacob. “Uh. Do you want to come in? We could, like, uh… The creek’s nice to walk --” He shrugged. “Oh. Okay. Uh. I have two cats.”

“And?”

“Uh, I didn’t know if you’d have an issue with them. They like meeting new people.”

Another shrug. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door. She could hear a soft pitter-patter from upstairs turn into a small stampede down the stairs, and she almost pulled Jacob inside before the cats could make a break for it.

He seemed amused.

That… Was a good sign? Possibly?

Her cats liked him, too - also a possible good sign. The little assholes loved to rub up to people, begging for pets and treats (she wasn’t kidding when she told Jane that Data thought he was a dog), then, after time had passed, they’d show their actual opinion of the new person.

Jacob did pet them - that was a good sign. Crookshanks was happy with her chin scratch, and Data wove himself between the man’s legs.

“Do you, uh, want something to drink? Or we could watch a movie or something - and fuck, sorry about the mess,” How did she forget about that? Boxes everywhere, piles of stuff that were half-unpacked…. “It’s been a busy few days, I was going to do some more yesterday, but my sister hijacked my plans and made me go to that thing out at the Teller’s, and uh…”

Was that a smile?

It was close, at least.

“Do you want help?”

Alice’s eyes widened. “Uh. I mean, if you want?”

Another shrug.

“...Do you want a drink? Only really have water right now but.. Uh…”

A nod, then a glance at the box next to the tv.

“Oh. Uh. If you want? They can go on the shelf right over there. Uh. I’m going to grab… Yeah.” Alice ducked into the kitchen, taking a deep breath as the door swung shut behind her. Fucking hell - this isn’t where she expected any of this to go.

She thought he’d leave after they got to town, chill at the cafe or something until his brothers or one of the peggies picked him up.

Helping her unpack? That wasn’t even on her list of possibilities.

Reaching into the fridge for her water pitcher, she spotted the beer her brother had bought - she thought Caleb had taken it with him, or taken it over to Staci’s house when he visited his old friend, but… Huh.

“Hey, do you want a beer?” She poked her head through the door, holding the bottle up for him to see. “I mean, I can’t guarantee that it’s good, but I might have some liquor in my food box if you want that too, I’d just have to dig…”

“Sure.”

“Beer?”

“Yeah.”

Silently, she handed him the bottle, smiling when she realized that he was alphabetizing the DVDs, then went back to the kitchen to make a drink.

It may have been insanely awkward - but honestly? This was going better than she expected.

Maybe she could talk him into helping put together a bookshelf upstairs? Worth a shot, at least.

--

He did.

The fucking bookshelf was done. Alice thought she would have bribe one of her brother’s old friends, or maybe Mary May or her brother, but… This was easier.

There were a few jabs at the lack of tools in her house - in her defence, it was just a quick jaunt over to her family’s shop, she didn’t really need to keep tools here too (he disagreed) - and at the amount of stuff she had stuffed into her brother’s old bedroom-turned-storage-room upstairs, the amount of cat toys that were already spread around the house...  He was funnier than he looked. Dry humor, but still humor. It worked for him.

The two of them were sitting on her bed now, watching a movie that he’d chosen, both working on their drink of choice.

Her sister would be horrified.

Or not, she thought, if she is fucking John fucking Seed. Though she’d probably think it’s… Not proper or whatever.

She swears - her contempt for her sister had nothing to do with her leaning over and kissing Jacob.

It was a factor - but really? He’s cute.

She’ll never see him again.

No consequences, right?

Jacob kissing her back wasn’t something she really expected - it took a minute, he definitely wasn’t expecting this, but… He did respond.

It moved fast from there - his hand moved to her lower back, then slipped under her shirt -

She should stop him.

But she didn’t.

It wasn’t an emotional night, really, almost a stress-relief thing.

Him spending the night was… Definitely not expected.

Leaving without a word while she was in the shower, though? That was.

[thelastspeecher]

#5, Stana and Angie.

Day 01   Day 02   Day 03   Day 04   Day 05   Day 06   Day 07   Day 08Day 09   Day 10   Day 11   Day 12   Day 13   Day 14   Day 15   Day 16Day 17   Day 18   Day 19   Day 20   Day 21   Day 22   Day 23   Day 24Day 25   Day 26   Day 27   Day 28   Day 29   Day 30

5. Ghosts

I was able to write all of the domestic cute nonsense leading up to the big ghost scene pretty fast, but the actual ghost part itself was…difficult.  I’m not good at fight scenes.  Also, there’s not much of the ghost in this ficlet.  There’s still some cute Lady Stangie, though, so I think I was able to fill out this order all right.  Hope you like it.  

Word count: 1503

Send me a number for a fall-themed prompt!

              Angie pausedmid-chop, the knife she was holding hovering over a large carrot.  Stana looked up.

              “Babe?  Somethin’ wrong?”

              “Why isit so quiet?” Angie asked softly.  Stanashrugged and resumed peeling onions.  “Wehave kids.  It’s never this quiet.”

              “Maybethey’re behaving and playin’ quietly.”

              “All five kids?  All five of our kids?”  Angie set theknife down.  She stared at Stana.  “Darlin’, I think there would have to be anact of god hisself fer all of our children to behave at the same time.”  After a moment, Stana nodded.

              “Yeah,good point.  I’ll check on ‘em.”  Stana stuck her head into the nearby livingroom.  Danny was silently working on herlatest robot, something to do with scrambled eggs, while Emory napped on thecouch.  “Uh, Danny?”  Danny looked up.

              “What isit, Mom?”

              “Whereare yer sisters and brother?”

              “Emmettwent to the bathroom,” Danny answered. As if on cue, Emmett wandered into the living room.

              “Emmett,where are yer pants?” Stana asked.  Emmettlooked down at his bare legs.  Heshrugged.

              “Dunno.  Got my socks, though,” Emmett mumbled.  “So I’m mostly dressed.”  He looked around.  “Daisy ‘n Molly aren’t back?”

              “Pssht!”Danny hissed.  But it was too late.  Stana’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.

              “Emmett,”Stana said shortly, “where are your big sisters?”

              “Oh, um,uh…”  Emmett rubbed the back of his necknervously.  He nodded at Danny.  “R- right there.”

              “Daisyand Molly.  Where are they?”

              “I- um, Idon’t- I dunno.”  Emmett walked back outof the living room.  “Bye.”

              “Son ofa- Emmett!” Stana called.  Emmett didn’trespond.  Stana turned her attention toDanny.  “Danica Viola Pines.”  Danny swallowed and put her hands in her lap.

              “Yes,Mom?”

              “Whereare your sisters?” Stana asked.  Dannygrimaced.  “Young lady, you’d betterstart talkin’ soon, or I’m gonna take away your toolbox.”

              “No!”Danny whined.  She huffed.  “Fine. Molly heard about some ghost while she was at school the other day.  So she took Daisy and they went to ‘banish’the ghost or whatever.”

              “Banishthe- hot Belgian waffles.”  Stana wentback into the kitchen.  Angie looked upfrom the vegetables.

              “Well?”she asked.

              “Mollyand Daisy went to banish a ghost that’s haunting a bridge.  Apparently.”

              “What?!”  Angie dropped the knife.  “Ugh, those girls!  They take after ya too darn much,” Angiesaid, wagging her finger at Stana.  Stanafrowned.

              “Why areyou yellin’ at me?  It wasn’t my idea forthe girls to pull a Ghostbusters.”

              “Misplacedfrustration, dear.  Sorry.”  Angie wiped her hands on her apron.  “Okay, I’ll call Fidds to watch Danny and theboys while we track down our troublemakers.”

              “I canwatch Emory and Emmett on my own,” Danny piped up from the living room.

              “You werecomplicit in lettin’ Daisy ‘n Molly sneak away,” Angie replied.  “Yer notbabysittin’ yer brothers.”

              “I guessI can ask Uncle Fidds how to deal with this weird thing that I’m running upagainst with my robot.”

              “Nuh-uh.  No fun robot lessons.”

              “Oh, boo.”

—– 

              Stana speddown the road.  Angie squinted at thepiece of paper Danny had scrawled the location of the bridge on.

              “Fiddshas been a bad influence on Danny’s handwritin’,” Angie mumbled.  “I can barely make it out.”

              “Or youneed glasses,” Stana suggested.  Angieglared at her.  “You gotta admit, yer oneof the people who can pull off glasses, babe.” Angie’s scowl was wiped away and replaced with a fond smile.

              “So areyou, hon.”

              “Hellyeah.”  Stana looked out the window.  “Oh, there they are.  Hang on. What is Tate doing-”

              “Holycheese, Stana, stop, now!” Angie shouted. Stana slammed on the brakes. Angie unbuckled, threw the door open, and dove out of her seat.

              “What thefuck?  Angie!”

              “I tuckedand rolled!” Angie said, rushing towards the nearby bridge.  “I’m fine! Just park the car!”

              “Angie!”  Stana parked the car and turned it off, thenfollowed Angie.  “Damn that woman ofmine.”  She arrived at the bridge, whereAngie was standing protectively in front of Daisy, Molly, and – Stana groanedsilently – Tate.  “Tate!”  Tate looked over.  He grinned sheepishly.

              “Hi, AuntStana.”

              “God,Fidds is gonna kill me,” Stana muttered. She rubbed her eyes.  “Well, atleast everyone’s safe.  Don’t know why yahad to run from the car like that, Ang, but whatever.”

              “Ya don’tknow why I had to run?” Angie said.  She noddedin front of her.  “Do ya not see thefloatin’ fella right in front of us?” Stana looked over.

              “…Okay,now I see it,” Stana said.  A man inold-timey clothes hovered before them, dripping ghostly water onto thecobblestones of the bridge.  “Uh, hey,man.”  The ghost glowered at her.  “So, uh, we’re gonna just…take these kidsback home and ground them.  Soundgood?  I think that sounds good.”  Stana looked back at Daisy, Molly, and Tate,who were still standing behind Angie.  “Kids,load up.”

              “No,” theghost rumbled.  Stana whipped her headaround.

              “Excuseme?  Did you just say ‘no’?”

              “Yes.”

              “Look,buddy,” Stana started, instinctively adopting a fighting stance.  Angie put a gentle hand on Stana’s arm.

              “Excuseme, sir, but we’re just goin’ to take these kiddos home, okay?” Angie saidcalmly.  “We’ll get out of yer hair.”

              “No,” theghost said again.  Stana scoffed.

              “You can’tstop us from taking our daughters and nephew home.  You’re just a ghost.  Watch.”  Stana picked up a rock and tossed it at theghost.  It went right through him,clattering against the cobbles.  “See?”               “I know I’m a ghost,” theghost said, his voice reverberating ominously. “I also know why I remain tethered to this realm.  I fell over the bridge and drowned a centuryago.  My essence is tied to the verystones you walk on now.”

              “Bit dramatic,”Stana muttered.  The ghost scowled.

              “You havea mouth on you.  It’s not an attractivequality in a woman.”

              “My wifethinks otherwise,” Stana said smugly. The ghost’s mouth dropped open.

              “Mom, don’tpiss off the sexist ghost,” Molly said.  “Hekept sayin’ stuff about Tate protecting us even though I’m older than him.”

              “Sexistghosts are the worst type of ghosts,” Angie muttered.  She shot a look at Molly.  “And watch yer language.”  She looked back at the ghost.  “Sir, don’t worry, we’re just goin’ to headout now.  Thank you fer not killin’ us.”

              “Spoketoo soon, Aunt Angie,” Tate said quietly. He pointed at the ground.  The nearbyriver had risen without their realizing it. Water was pooling around their feet.

              “It’sokay, we can resolve this fast,” Angie said. “Stana?”

              “I’m onit, babe.”  Stana grabbed a small glassvial out of her pocket.  “See ya later,spooky.”  She threw the vial on theground, the glass shattering.  The ghostlet out a hiss of pain and vanished.

              “Mom, howdid you-” Daisy started.  Stana pickedDaisy up.

              “Holywater.  Your Uncle Fidds made us bringsome along when we told him a ghost was involved.  It won’t keep the ghost off our backs fervery long, though, so we need to go.”

              “TaterTot, Miss Molly, come on,” Angie said briskly, leading the way back to the car.  Stana put Daisy into the backseat, then got intothe driver’s seat.

              “That wasanticlimactic,” Molly complained as she and Tate loaded up.  Angie got into the passenger’s seat.  She turned around to face Molly, Tate, andDaisy.

              “No, thatwas easy.  Did the three of ya even think to bring holywater?”

              “We broughtsalt,” Tate said.  Stana rolled hereyes.  She started the car.

              “Salt.  Salt’s not gonna do squat against aghost.  If you guys are gonna bother tosneak to do things, at least bring what you need.  That’s just common sense.”  Stana shook her head.  “Molly, Daisy, I thought I raised you better ‘nthat.  Be a responsible hoodlum.”

              “We’llkeep that in mind next time,” Molly said. Angie frowned.

              “I don’treally want there to be a next time that ya sneak out and bring yer cousinwith.”

              “Yeah,but that’s unrealistic,” Molly said.  “Thebest you can hope for is that we bring the stuff we need to banish the ghostproperly next time.”  Angie rolled hereyes, but with good humor.

              “Fairenough.  Let’s get home and get the threeof ya grounded.”

              “What?  Why?” Daisy whined.  “We didn’t do anything wrong.”

              “Yousnuck outta the house to banish a ghost and got yer siblin’s to cover fer ya,”Angie said.  “I think that qualifies asdoin’ somethin’ wrong.”

              “Also,you didn’t think ahead,” Stana said.  “LikeI said, when you sneak out, you gotta have everything you need.  Come prepared next time.”

              “I don’tthink that’s the lesson we should be teachin’ ‘em, dear,” Angie said.  “We should focus on the lyin’ and sneakin’out.”

              “Sure,sure.  The not being prepared, that can bea sorta side-lesson.”  Angie chuckled softly.

              “Fine.  I’ll go ahead and add ‘not bein’ aresponsible hoodlum’ to their list of charges.”

[thepilotanon]

springbeauty xiii

{masterlist}

ONE MORE CHAPTER ONE MORE CHAPTER ONE MORE CHAPTER ONE MORE CHAPTER.

warning: be ready to get mooshy with feels, my friends.

Clyde usually would sleep on his stomach when he was extremely tired from working at the bar. Usually it was uncomfortable for any guy to sleep on his belly and rest all his weight there, yet that was how Clyde would sleep once knocking himself out once his head hit the pillows. Just a way Clyde Logan liked to sleep after working so hard at a job he thoroughly enjoyed. It had his perks to him that many people didn’t know.

Feeling warm hands touch his bare back and lips kissing along his shoulder, Clyde inhaled slowly out of his dream and hummed in a exhale at the lovely feeling of his woman’s soft hands and mouth waking him. Turning his head to crack his eyes open in time to see her nuzzle to the back of his shoulder, Clyde smiled tiredly when Belle greeted him with a soft kiss to his cheek and whisper to his ear.

“Happy birthday, handsome.”

Forcing himself to roll to his back, the man opened his arms and beckoned her into his naked chest. Belle was more than willing to cuddle into him and straddle his hips while he circled his arms comfortingly around her, earning more kisses to his skin as he purred. She began humming the birthday tune while giving him more and more kisses and snuggles to his neck, making her way to hold herself up with her hands to kiss his lips with a smile. Clyde remained still, eyes closed with a content smile on his face until she finished, his only hand stroking up her thigh lovingly.

“Good morning, birthday man,” Belle spoke sweetly, giving his lips another kiss that he willingly returned with eagerness. “You excited for the party at Duck Tape? Sadie is already sending me texts through Jimmy’s phone about her present. She’s very excited to give it to you.”

“Hmmm,” Clyde chuckled at the thought of his little niece waiting impatiently to give him her gifts (a set of new button up shirts and a handmade bracelet, since she already told him three times). “She’s more excited ‘bout my birthday than I am.”

“Oh, hush,” Belle giggled as she pushed back his messy bedhead from his face. Clyde helped himself to sit up against the headboard to get more comfortable. “Remember, it was your idea to have lunch with your family and have a little party.”

“Because Mellie threatened me to,” Clyde countered and Belle kissed his lips and hummed in disagreement with him.

“To accept gifts,” Belle went on with a grin.

“Sadie wanted to shop with her own allowance.” Another kiss to his lips for his fake pouting.

“Eat some cake of your favorite flavor: chocolate with homemade buttercream frosting and sprinkles? With vanilla bean ice cream?” Belle tried next.

Clyde seemed to think it over, humming as they kept eye contact before he broke first into a grin. “I like chocolate cake and sprinkles.”

“I know you do,” Belle laughed and pat his grinning cheeks with both hands. “Okay, big bear, what would the birthday boy like for breakfast? Whatever you want for birthday breakfast in bed.”

“Mmmm,” Clyde pursed his lips for a moment, his arms coming to wrap comfortably around her back. Belle watched him knowingly, her smile growing bigger as he clicked his tongue and looked away.

“Clyde.”

“Don’t want nothin’ but Belle cuddles!” Clyde declared cheekily all while she shook her head and pat his cheeks again. Snickering, Clyde hugged Belle to his chest and rolled them both over on the bed; pressing small kisses and light nips to her neck, Clyde pinned her down to smother her with love and his playful attitude. “Jus’ wanna kiss ya and get some birthday lovin’, hmm? Could go for some love ya got between your thighs, baby.”

“Why not eat some actual food? I got a whole pack of bacon ready to burn, just the way you like it,” Belle suggested with a raised brow and he shook his head. “Clyde Logan is actually saying ‘no’ to burnt bacon?”

“Some Belle first, then bacon?” Clyde tried before she let out a laugh and pushed his face away when he tried to use his mouth to dig into her little bit of cleavage peeking from the button-up shirt she borrowed to sleep in. “C’mon, baby, just a little bit? I thought I was the birthday boy!”

“Good birthday boys get their special treat after they celebrate with family,” Belle informed him, wiggling out of his grip. When the man made a huge pout and puppy eyes, Belle sighed and gave him a quick kiss to his lips. “Don’t fuss, I promise we will go as long as you want, and even more after that you probably can’t get out of bed tomorrow. How does that sound?”

“Bacon and eggs,” Clyde answered bluntly, making his girl smile and give him another kiss. He broke his facade and grinned into the kiss when she told him how he was being a good boy already. “But I wanna shower with ya. Don’t wanna go anywhere unless I get to shower with my beautiful lady.”

“Well, it is your birthday…”

After getting his breakfast in bed and his shower, Clyde dressed up in his nice dress-shirt and clean jeans while Belle wore a cute blue summer dress and her hair down. Once he saw Belle pull out a sealed gift bag with ribbons on the handles, the man began his rare, mischievous behavior in trying to figure out what was in the bag to tease his lady. Belle managed to move the bag to a point in the car, where he couldn’t reach, and grab his only hand to lock with her own and press against her thigh. She giggled at seeing his focus change on feeling the soft cotton of her dress, jumping a bit when he flipped his hand over to squeeze her flesh with a naughty grin, all while he maneuvered the steering wheel with his prosthetic and knee.

Arriving to the closed bar, Clyde was only able to place the car in park when Belle jumped out of the passenger side and scurry up to the porch. Smiling, Clyde hauled himself out from Belle calling for him and get rewarded with a kiss to his cheek.

“You ready for the surprise attack?” Belle asked with an obvious look in her eyes that made him grin. It was always a habit of Sadie wanting to “surprise” her favorite uncle with hugs and kisses, and Clyde always acts so surprised when she does so. However, with his birthday being today, he was expecting it with every doorway and corner the little girl can squeeze herself into.

“One of these days, she’s gonna knock me off my feet,” Clyde chuckled as he went to open the door, pretending that he didn’t hear the pattering of Sadie’s feet on the floor.

“Happy birthday, Uncle Clyde!” the little girl screamed all while jumping to wrap her arms around Clyde’s neck, being easily caught by his good arm so she wouldn’t fall back. Sadie laughed joyfully before pressing kisses to his cheek and nose adorably while Jimmy began taking pictures on his phone. “Happy, happy, happy birthday to the best uncle in the whole world. I love you, Uncle Clyde!”

“Good job, baby girl!” Jimmy praised as Clyde waddled further into the bar with Belle following close behind with Sadie in his hold. Snapping a couple more, the older Logan brother snickered at how his kid took notice of her uncle’s girlfriend and instantly changed her attention to the other woman.

“Aunt Belle! You look so pretty!” Sadie squealed as she leaned over to be released. As soon as Clyde set her down, the girl wrapped her arms around Belle’s skirt. “You’re always pretty, but you look extra pretty today!”

“What a sweetheart,” Belle cooed, hugging the little girl back and smooching the top of her head repeatedly. “You look extra pretty today, too.”

“Thank you!”

“It’s ‘bout time y’all showed up!” Mellie said as she can from the back kitchen with the chocolate cake on a serving platter. It was smothered with frosting with the top covered with rainbow sprinkles and numerous unlit candles on top, instantly catching Clyde’s attention and making his mouth water at the sight. “Dumbass here thought he could swipe his dirty fingers on my cake without me noticing, so I had to guard it in the back kitchen, and had Sadie keep watch ‘til ya came in.”

“Ya don’t always make chocolate cake, Mel. I can’t help it,” Jimmy shrugged as he saw how his sister angled the cake far enough from his reach. Pouting, Jimmy snapped a few pictures without Mellie’s consent, instantly grinning at how she threatened him to delete the unflattering pictures of her immediately. “So, can we cut the cake now?”

“No!” Mellie shrieked at him as Clyde and Belle approached the bar with Sadie on Clyde’s toes, walking along with him in silly strides as she giggled excitedly. “We’re gonna let Clyde open his gifts first, then eat some actual food before cake.”

“Food?” Clyde raised his brows as Mellie slapped her hand over Jimmy’s phone, pushing it against the oldest face with a grunt.

“Belle gave me the recipe for that pasta dish ya like so much,” Mellie told him with a half-grin. “Wanted to surprise ya with all yer favorite foods; including Mama’s potato salad and Pa’s cheese dip he makes with some alcohol he never told us about, but I got it. It was all her idea.”

Belle refused to look at Clyde as he stared at her, playing with Sadie’s ponytail. “You said you were okay with having a birthday party, so why not make all your favorites to make it more enjoyable? I don’t know if you would want another one, so I’m going all out.”

“You lil - c’mere!” Clyde whined as he wrapped his arms around his girlfriend and peppered kisses to her cheek before going to her neck, aiming at her tickle spot for some affectionate bites.

“Ugh, Sadie, be careful to not catch yer uncle’s damn cooties,” Jimmy teased with censorship to his daughter, all while the child blinked in confusion as being trapped between Clyde and Belle’s hips without a care.

Belle rolled her eyes when Clyde gave Jimmy a sharp glare, giving Belle’s cheek one more kiss while Mellie pushed his shoulder. “Knock it off, Jimmy. Yer jus’ jealous ‘cause Sylvia had to leave town for the week n’ yer all deprived of her cooties,” Mellie snapped back. “Now, come and help me carry plates out here, will ya? Had to buy paper ones on the way here, since ya only got baskets.”

Clyde let out a laugh as Jimmy rolled himself off the barstool and followed Mellie to the kitchen, eyeing the chocolate cake longingly before being dragged back. His own chest swelling with a certain joy of being completely at peace with everything he had in his life. Of course, he was content with what he had before, but now was more evident that he was happy with his life and celebrating his birthday with his family and lovely girlfriend. Clyde felt truly at home.

Of course, Sadie had Clyde open her gift first. He had to model each shirt for Sadie, all while Jimmy took pictures and kept telling him to “work it” every time he turned for the kid to see the back - something that her mother did to her every time they went dress shopping, so she assumed it was suppose to happen in general. The little beaded bracelet Sadie made at school was meant to fit his fancy prosthetic, yet it dangled and fell off the black, metal hand too easily, making Sadie pout a bit that it didn’t work. However, the little girl smiled and promised her uncle that she will fix it as soon as she got home with her dad, getting a big hug and kiss from Clyde for being so thoughtful with her gifts to him.

Mellie’s gift was a expensive bottle of whiskey for his personal collection in Duck Tape and a giftcard to the fancy restaurant he took Belle for their first date with a note stating that it was for the both of them to use for their next anniversary (where Clyde mentioned once he wanted to take Belle). Clyde’s face went absolutely red with embarrassment and gratefulness as he mumbled thanks to his little sister, all while Mellie was being cheeky and telling Belle her ideas on what to do with her hair for date-night.

“I’m taking pictures of yer birthday, ‘n gonna make a scrapbook for ya,” was Jimmy’s excuse, holding up his phone to take a reaction photo of Mellie’s anger and Belle restraining herself from laughing and being irritated at the same time. Clyde only rolled his eyes at his brother’s usual behavior and refused to acknowledge Jimmy’s need for his approval, finding that more amusing when he started whining. “It’s gonna be cute, ‘n yer gonna love it and treasure it for the rest of your life!” he added dramatically, still grinning at everyone as he continued to take pictures.

Belle had secretly bought Clyde a collection set of novels of his favorite authors. A thick book of works by F. Scott Fitzgerald, an older version of Harper Lee’s novel that Clyde remembered having in junior high school, and Truman Capote collection. It was obvious that Clyde adored the gift of his favorite books, reaching over to give his girlfriend a loving smooch on the lips that made Sadie giggle and Jimmy fake-gag. Belle’s cheeks were very pink by the time he pulled back and told her she had to have some kind of secret or black market friends to get all of these classics.

The lunch was more like a banquet, and everyone had their bellies full to the brim and still had room for Mellie’s chocolate cake with ice cream. Sadie ate her cake rather quickly since her father was teasing her on stealing her cake, yet Belle and Mellie told her to ease on the ice cream to avoid brain freeze.

With the little blonde girl in a deep food coma, snoozing away against Clyde and snuggling him, Jimmy eventually decided that it was time to leave after seeing the clock strike well past seven at night. There were a whole lot of laughter and jokes being thrown around the adults while Sadie behaved perfectly before falling asleep on her uncle’s lap. Clyde was very happy seeing the people he cared for most enjoying themselves, being able to feel pampered in his own bar, being given food and drink with a bright smile or a ruffle to his dark hair. There were no negative feelings within his body, and he felt at peace with his little niece snoring lightly against his shoulder, her arms dangling as Jimmy reached over to steal her away to bring her home. Giving his little brother a squishing hug and Mellie and Belle a kiss to their heads, Jimmy carried the still-sleeping child in his arms into the setting sunlight outside.

By the time Mellie was ready to leave the bar, it was dark outside and the moon was high. Mellie made sure that all the extra leftover foods were properly packaged in plastic containers she brought, and took her share. The strawberry blonde gave her brother a big hug and kiss to his cheek, wishing him another happy birthday before cuddling up to her best friend. Belle thanked Mellie personally for all her help in making the party possible, and the Logan sister winked flirtatiously and practically drank in the compliments before leaving. Clyde sighed and shook his head with feigned annoyance while Belle giggled.

“Should clean up, ‘n then head on home,” Clyde huffed with a half smile once Belle approached him, still sitting on the barstool.

Belle shook her head and popped herself on the footrest to be leveled with him. “Let me take care of the garbage,” she told him before giving him a quick peck on the lips. “It’s your birthday, so you chill out until I’m done. Then, we can go home and give you your special treat, if you’re still up for it. I won’t take too long.”

Humming, Clyde pulled her into a long kiss before letting her go to start cleaning up.

Watching her open a trash bag to start dumping the empty paper plates and utensils inside, Clyde’s head tilt to the side with a sort of adoring look in his eyes as he carefully stood up from the stool and cleared his throat. “Baby, I’m gonna be right back, alright? The door’s still locked outside?”

“Mmhmm!” Belle sang as she startled to collect the empty drink cans and bottles. “The recycle is still in the kitchen, right?”

“Right, baby,” Clyde nodded before heading to the small hallway hidden back.

Smiling, Belle collected all of the bottles and cans, emptying them out before sorting them for the recycle bins hidden the back kitchen of the bar. It didn’t take long for her to rinse them out and dispose of them by the time Clyde returned to find her wiping down the counters with a rag and a bottle of Windex, taking the extra mile to make sure everything was clean before going home.

Taking a deep breath, Clyde approached her from behind. “Darlin’?”

“Yeah, Clyde?” Belle responded casually, fixing Jimmy’s chair back properly to the edge of the counter.

“I need to talk to ya,” he spoke carefully, “‘bout the cauliflower.”

Seeing her halt in her ministration of cleaning, Clyde watched her take a deep breath and continue on to clean. “I thought we agreed to not talk about it, Clyde. I don’t want you getting upset and me pressuring you; you said it wasn’t anything dangerous or something to worry about, so…”

“But I wanna tell ya, baby,” Clyde admitted. “For my birthday wish, before we go home, I wanna tell you the truth before I chicken out again.”

“Why would you chicken out?”

“I admit it’s a cauliflower plan, and that it’s not anything to worry about at all,” he offered when she looked over her shoulder for a moment from cleaning. When he gave her a promising half-smile, she slowly turned back to scrubbing a spot where Jimmy placed his dirty hands on the counter. “I promise, it’s nothin’ dangerous. I jus’ wanna tell ya the truth… Please, Darlin’?”

“Okay,” she breathed softly, and Clyde felt his heart speed up. “If that’s what you really want to do, handsome, you can tell me.”

Clyde grinned and approached her, wrapping his arms around her, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple that made her smile, leaning into him. Giving her one more kiss, Clyde took a step back to let her continue on with her task as he pushed his right hand in his pocket.

“I’ve actually been plannin’ this for a year or somethin’ now, but I haven’t really put too much effort into it, ‘Til not so long ago. I asked Jimmy ‘n Mel for help first,” he started carefully. “You know I ain’t the type with all the master plannin’, but I knew I wanted to make sure you didn’t find out right away…

“I had to first talk to Joe Bang ‘bout it, before I would actually start the cauliflower plan, and that’s where I got that bloody nose from.” He didn’t miss the way he saw Belle grumble under her breath, something along the lines of ‘I fucking knew it’, or ‘he’s gonna get it’ made him chuckle a bit nervously - a little bit unsure if it was towards him or her uncle-figure.

Swallowing, Clyde went on. “Joe Bang agreed to it, and I had it all planned out accordin’ to when and where it was gonna happen. It didn’t work out, and I was very tempted to give up on it, until I realized something that I can’t ever say enough.”

Belle waited for a moment for him to continue, yet only heard a shift behind her. Frowning, she let go of the rag and turned around to find Clyde on one knee, his only hand holding a small, velvet box that was propped open. Belle’s eyes widened as she dropped the Windex bottle, absolutely silent; eyes darting between the sparkling ring inside the box to the shy eyes of her loving boyfriend biting his lip out of nerves.

“I love ya with all my heart and soul, Belle, and I can’t see myself being with anyone else but you. You’ve always been there, ‘n keepin’ me strong to get out of bed everyday; ya make me feel like a real man without even tryin’, jus’ smilin’ at me and making my heart feel like it’s flying,” he professed honestly, huffing with a toothy smile. “I never thought I could ever feel so happy and in love with anyone, so I wanna ask ya...if you will marry me.

“I promise I’ll love ya everyday, even when you get moody ‘n probably want to kick my ass,” Clyde said, and Belle covered her mouth with both hands. “I don’t have much of a classy life, like Dayton or some other folks back in Colorado, but I’ll treat ya like a goddess and love ya.

“I wanted to give ya a perfect proposal, but the damn Logan Curse got me a couple times ‘n my own fears,” he confessed. “But I can’t wait any longer with wonderin’ if it could be too late, so...Rosabelle, will you marry me?”

Seeing her eyes fill with tears, Clyde could feel his own starting up as she looked to him. “Are you serious?”

“I can’t ask for a better gift, if it means I can have ya as my wife for the rest of my life,” he laughed when he saw her smile through her tears pouring down her cheeks. “Will ya be my wife, Belle?”

“Yes...yes, yes, I will,” Belle nodded with a sniff, completely forgetting her chore to tackle him into a hug. Falling to her knees, Belle shoved her face into his neck and clung to him as she kept chanting. “Yes, I will. I will marry you, Clyde.”

Feeling his heart soar and the tears slipping down his face, Clyde wrapped his arms tightly around her. Both laughing and crying, neither of them could pull away from each other completely while he insisted to place the ring on her left hand. The simple designed ring was placed on the heartstring finger, fitting perfectly to the point that Clyde couldn’t resist in kissing her hand and trailing it up to find her lips to which she eagerly gave to him with a smile, her hands tangled in his dark curls as he carefully held her waist. Clyde pulled her closer, kissing her more passionately and taking her tears with more gentle ones while she laughed emotionally and excused herself for crying.

“Sweet angel, don’t ever be sorry,” he chuckled tearfully, kissing her cheek again. “Yer still beautiful, even when ya cry.”

“Hush, no I’m not,” Belle croaked a laugh, hiding her face into his shoulder and clinging to his shirt.

Chuckling, Clyde gave her head numerous kisses, keeping her in his hold so she couldn’t get away and hide. “I’m the ugly crier of the bunch, Darlin’. Don’t be embarrassed about it, Belle, I’m jus’ so happy,” he hugged her even tighter, making her laugh and try to hide herself.

“You’re happy? I’m happy!” Belle hiccuped a laugh, pulling back to look at him. “You’re asking me to marry you and it’s making me cry tears of joy. Are you serious that this was your cauliflower plan the whole time?”

“Yes!”

“Oh, my God, Clyde, I love you,” Belle exclaimed before claiming his mouth for more kisses. “I love you so much, big bear. I can’t believe this.”

“Believe it, baby,” Clyde sobbed against her lips, returning them as best as he could while maintaining his own laughter and cries.

Fun fact: I WAS BEING SUPER MUSHY AND SQUEALING WHILE WRITING THIS, GOODNIGHT.

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