#my old backpack was canvas and it let in less water

[uraandri]

y'all remember how i bought a new backpack? well i got caught in the storm this morning and when i got home i thought that the water repellent fabric let in water a little bit on the top which is, you know, no big deal, it happens, whatever, EXCEPT this cunt of a fabric managed to just distribute water all the way around meaning even the shit that was next to my back was wet, which included my documents, and i didn't notice cause the outer shell is dry. i am going to kill myself

[cryptidcircuslife]

Hi unofficial compilation of Getting Away From A Place tips

this is tailored to a specific situation so please do your own research for stuff more specific to you

running away tips subreddit

Short Term Preparation:

These are the things you can prepare now if you have to get out fast and unexpectedly

Do not tell anyone about your plan other than those directly involved in helping you.

Make a plan for your cash. You don't want to access an account your family can access or freeze. Slowly withdraw money and hide it if it's at risk of being taken. Withdrawing it all the day you leave will raise a red flag and have you on camera (atm or bank), if you even have time. As a legal adult, you may be able to get away with this because you aren't doing anything against the law. Just make sure to do it before your family finds out about you leaving. When you leave, if you don’t want to be traced- don’t use cards.

For hiding paper cash- you know your house and its occupants best. Determine what objects you have that won't be thrown away or tampered with by someone, and if they have a hollow space, store it. I used to use opaque pill bottles, hidden pockets or bindings in notebooks, the linings of old dvd or game cases, water bottles, gum cases, (all of these put in clothing or backpack pockets), opening the lining of coats and backpacks and hiding it inside of that, inside of hygeine products like the hollow part of a deodorant stick. Inside old electronics. in the stuffing of a plushie. Underneath the insoles of shoes you dont wear often.

Even if your money isn't at risk of being taken, store some of it separately anyway for emergencies.

I heard the bare minimum for running away with no destination or job is $1k. Judge for yourself your needs.

Get a backpack. Waterproof/resistant is better, but any is good. Don't pack it yet, so you don't arouse suspicion. But test out packing it to see if everything fits, and unpack it. Modify some hidden compartments so that when you travel, you will have places to hide your IDs and Cash- it's necessary so no one steals it. You want to travel light, regardless of your situation, because packing and carrying a ton of stuff takes time and you don't always have time on the day you leave.

Get a secondary bag. I learned the hard way that a backpack doesn't fit everything you'll need. Especially with amenities, food, clothing, personal possessions.... A duffel bag, one of those canvas grocery bags. A tote. Something to hold by hand.

Packing lists for running away are surprisingly similar to emergency evacuation pack lists.

Clothes to pack: 1 short sleeve shirt. 1 long sleeve shirt. 1 pair of pants. 7 sock pairs. 7 underwear pairs. 1 jacket. Some winter gear if you can, because nights will always be cold especially if you are stuck outside.

Hygeine to pack: deodorant. toothpaste. toothbrush. floss. baking soda if you’ll be on the road for a long time. Special products you may need- cream for a skin condition, sunscreen. I recommend a small essential oil bottle as a bug repellent, and some have antibacterial properties to help you/your clothes not smell musty af, and they're safe on the skin.

Must-haves to pack: you should have your social security card and another form of ID, like a state ID or drivers license. Pass port if you have one, and birth certificate or a copy if you can. Your cash. A map of your state/region.

Valuables to pack: bring a few things to keep you entertained that are small. A small book, or a notebook and pen. Try not for anything too heavy or bulky. Any survival gear you may own (sewing kits, first aid, multitools, matches, lighters).

If you will be staying outside, get a sleeping bag. Thermal blanket for cold temps.

Food to pack: bring healthy nonperishable food. Junk food won't do much for you on the move. Go for granola/protein bars, dried fruit, meat bars, jars of nut butters, canned food. A water bottle. Bring all medication you need.

Stuff to wear on you: go for baggy and multi-pocketed stuff. Don't wear your favorite clothing if you don't want to be identified, and make sure they blend well into the environment. Grey is the most unnoticeable color, then black, then neutrals. If identification isn't a problem, only wear and pack your favorite things. Wear comfortable and travel safe shirt and pants. Wear a hoodie or tie it around your waist so it doesnt take up bag space. A hat. Keep some cash in a hidden pocket if you can. Wear comfortable sneakers you can move around in for a long time and is good for the weather of where you live. Keep your self defense on you - knives, pepper spray, etc. (and learn the laws for those in your area)

Note: Storing some of these supplies around or in hiding places won't be too weird. Keeping the 'valuables' in the backpack won't be too strange to anyone either. Keeping everything nearby so you can quickly dump everything in the bags and go is a good idea. But Do Not Pack the clothes until the day you leave. clothes are a warning signal for leaving. And you cannot let them find out about your plans, especially if you are in a dangerous place.

Last note: know these are flexible to you. You can add or change stuff, as long as you have the most important things.

Long Term:

These are the things you can prepare for better

Save as much money as possible. You can secretly sell things.

Research more about what you may experience, be that attaining financial independence or how to train hop and live on the streets temporarily. Look at other people's tips for running away, or their experiences. Research moving out tips. Research specific to your area or where you will be headed. Libraries, shelters, charities, support organizations, 24-hour restaurants and locations. Research ticket prices, gas prices, etc. Apartment search. Be sure to remove those from your history. Cleaning it entirely may be suspicious if someone monitors that.

Build a budget and a food plan for how you will use your savings on the road.

As an adult, if you manage to get hired secretly for a job in your target location, you can apply for housing there, too. You will get set move-in dates and can give dates you can start working that work with your runaway schedule.

If you're running away as a minor, you can't stay with friends. However, as an adult you can. If someone is trying to find you, you'll have to be careful still.

If you need to leave fake trails because someone might search for you, there are some excellent resources by people trying to hide from domestic violence. The main tips are leaving fake trails in cities far away from wherever you will be- job applications you have no intention of following through on, apartment applications, phone calls, internet searches, purchases, etc. These can go more in-depth.

If you will be tracked, figure out how to get a burner phone. These are pretty cheap, and so are their service plans. You may want to consider this anyway to pay for your own service if your phone is taken off the existing one. Write down phone numbers you want to keep.

Make sure you have the proper amounts of medications you will need.

Be careful with this one, but figure out if you have any smaller hard-to-replace valuables that you want to bring to your new life but can't pack for your method of travel or might get stolen. Only do this if you have a place you are going to, and are going to get a job and housing there. Make a plan with a trusted friend to hold on to a few things you cannot carry in your bags and arrange for them to be mailed or picked up later. Only do this with one or two things that are easy to carry, because you will need to get it to them somehow, right? dont do this if you don't have the methods or the time before your runaway day. A good example is that I don't want to replace my laptop but I can't tow it through town and across state lines on a train. my friend can take care of it until I am settled.

Tie off any loose ends that you need to. This can be waiting for a responsibility to be gone, waiting for a last paycheck, or attending something you wanted to go to one last time.

Delete old accounts, and eventually deleting your emails and social media associated with your identity.

Note: The best thing you can do with time is make your supplies as efficient as possible, and plan. plan plan plan.

Schedule your leave date. or a range of leaving dates. But know sometimes it can be unpredictable. Make it a day when no one is home- especially if it's a dangerous situation.

On Runaway Day:

Hopefully you have a small window of time where you are alone.

Make sure you’re wearing all your runaway clothes you have prepared.

Pack your backpack and duffel bag quickly.

Leave a note, even if you don't want to. This is important, because you don't want a search for you because someone thought you were kidnapped or murdered. This way, officials can pretty much ignore it since it was voluntary.

Don’t look nervous or afraid while you are out, since that’ll draw unwanted attention.

If you made a plan for someone to pick you up, or to meet someone, make sure they are punctual. Don't meet right in front of your house if possible. Go a few streets away or somewhere less noticeable. Again, make sure whatever you bring is easy to carry so you move fast and no one tries to steal it.

If unfortunately you have to leave very quickly and haphazardly, leave anything not immediately important to survival behind.

Buy your burner phone with cash. Add your written numbers to the contacts. Create your new email and social media from there. If you're hiding, don't take pictures of yourself. Don't use your real name or information. Keep private accounts, and don't interact with anyone who will give you away.

If you have other travel plans, make your way there. Head to your safe places, your shelter, wherever you have planned. You are in your new life.

Once You Are Out:

Take care of your immediate needs. Find resources for food, water, and shelter.

Start accessing any support resources, regardless of what your situation is. In a town I lived in, there was an LGBTQ+ resource center that had entertainment/food/clothing/education clubs/showering/laundry/other amenities and programs for both lgbtq+ and homeless youth. I also took part in a gift drive for a specific minority that I qualified as, which gave me a lot of food.

Start working towards your future goals. Start job searching, and from there being able to secure housing. Start making friends. build a support structure. i hope it goes well

Rebuild your supplies and closet when you have the location security to do so.

[boymeetsweevil]

SS6 - MYG, FLUFF, 2900w

For @bangtancentricsblogsmain​ because i wanted her to suffer :)

At 3pm, on a Thursday, there’s a knock on Yoongi’s bedroom door. He had come through that very same door not an hour earlier to lock himself away from the world after a particularly draining day. After dropping his bag somewhere on the ground, he showered, removed his contacts, and pushed the laundry waiting to be folded over to the other half of his bed in record time.

Normally he would have joined his roommate and their mutual friend circle who were seated on the couch in the communal living room, eating snacks and watching a game. But this time he begged out with a quiet mumble about needing rest.

When Hoseok knocks, Yoongi makes a feeble sound to signal he’s still, unfortunately, awake.

“What,” Yoongi grumbles. 

He attempts to sit up on one pale elbow and then decides against it. Hoseok’s lips twitch up at how cranky Yoongi is pre-nap before sinking back down as his expression darkens into a pitying and somber mix.

“She’s here. And, uh, she’s asking for you.” Hoseok’s eyes dart back to some unseen spot in the living room.

“Tell her I’m asleep.”

“I know you’re not asleep, Yoongi!” Your voice rings from outside the bedroom and Hoseok cringes sympathetically.

“I’ll just leave,” Hoseok says when you shove your torso through the crack in the doorway.

You wait to start speaking until the bedroom door is shut and the noises from the TV outside wash away.

“Why haven’t you been answering my texts?”

“Sorry, I’ve been busy,” is all you get.

The backpack you carry drops unceremoniously to the ground with a thud and any dregs of sleep cloying to Yoongi’s brain vanish with the sound. It’s with a valiant effort that he shoves his face deeper into his pillow. You cock your head to look at your best friend and snort at him.

Yoongi’s glasses are skewed across his face. There are thin pink lines marring the left side of his face from lying pressed to the wrinkled sheets with glasses on. The platinum blond waves of his hair, normally coiffed styled, are squashed flat against his forehead. Rarely ever does he look this rumpled and it’s hilarious.

“That’s okay, I’ll just tell you what I wrote in the texts,” you say as you make your way further into Yoongi’s small room. 

A look down at your feet shows him that you’ve shoved your feet into the pair of bunny slippers he got for guests you when he and Hoseok first moved in almost a year ago.

“Basically,” you continue. “There’s good news and there’s bad news. Pick one.” You help yourself to his desk chair and swivel it so it faces him.

“Bad news first,” Yoongi says after some deliberation. He pulls the covers up to his chin more securely.

“Smart choice,” you nod sagely. “The bad news is I’m gonna have to paint your face.”

“What the hell,” Yoongi barks.

“But the good news is that I have a new job as a face painter at the kids’ section of the farmer’s market this season!”

“How is that good news for me?”

“It means I’ll be slightly less broke and I can stop asking you to buy me breakfast before our 9am.”

Yoongi doesn’t really know whether to laugh or to cry. Firstly, there’s no way in hell he’s letting you paint his face. You’ve always been shit at drawing and letting you showcase that on his skin doesn’t do him any favors. Secondly, he’s in his twenties and he doesn’t even go to the farmer’s market. There’s no reason for him to set foot on the town commons during sunny Saturdays for local produce, much less to get his face painted next to a pen full of smelly goats and screaming kids. He’s just not seeing the connection between you getting this job and him getting his face painted. He stares at you with the hope that you’ll back off but he finds that you’re just blinking back at him with a huge, proud pretty grin.

For a moment Yoongi wants to smile back like things are normal. He wants to put on a groan and act like he’s annoyed that he’s been “forced” to order you sugary coffee drinks and muffins using his own money for longer than he can remember. He wants to gently muss your hair to see you make that cute shocked face you always make. But he can’t. 

Because if he does all that, he might slip up again like he did last weekend. 

At 10:24pm, Friday of last week, Yoongi told you he loved you while one small bottle of liquid courage was sloshing away in his stomach. After seconds of silence ticked by like the bangs of a gong, you replied. A sing-songy ‘Aww. I love you too, Yoongi’ and a light pat on the arm. Your words were basically the mirror image of his, but somehow also starkly different. Disappointment walked him home early that night and embarrassment laid him low the following week.

But it was just a week, he’d reasoned with himself, you’d hardly notice anyway...

“Yoongi? You okay?”

“No,” he hisses and shakes his head gently to dislodge memories of that pathetic weekend.

“Are you sure?”

“Why do you need to paint my face?”

“For practice! The market doesn’t open for another month but I need to get good. Jungkook said that if I do it really well the parents will leave bigger tips.”

“So Jungkook is behind all this.”

“Yeah,” you chirp. “He’s been really helpful in the last week. Usually I’d vent to you about how broke I am but since you were so busy, I ended up hanging out with Kook. He’s honestly really resourceful and he got me the job really fast.”

The hairs on the back of Yoongi’s neck bristle at the mention of the younger “peer”. Jungkook was a constant presence at group hangouts for a long while but Yoongi could only ever think of him as a friend of a friend. There was something smarmy about the guy’s smile that he didn’t like. And the way he was always draping himself over you, teasing you, buying you food that was all his job. He can’t put his finger on what it is exactly, but something about Jungkook always put Yoongi in a shit mood.

Yoongi curses under his breath. “Why couldn’t he get you a job at the cotton candy station or managing the photo booth or something?”

“What’s up with you lately? Do you really hate the idea of helping me that much?”

“It’s just annoying,” Yoongi huffs childishly from under the blanket.

“Fine, I’ll just ask Jungkook, then.”

“No! Wait!” Your eyes flash with hope. “I’ll do it. Just—don’t bother him. Since he already gave you the job, I mean.”

“Oh, thank god. I felt really bad about asking him for even more help.”

You turn around and pull out a face painting kit from thin air and begin scooting the desk chair towards the bed. When you’re close enough, you frown.

“What?” Yoongi sniffs at his sheets for good measure. All clean.

“Nothing. It’s just...” You look down at the ground and then the chair and then at Yoongi before looking at the chair again. “I usually practice on shorter surfaces so I can get used to working with the kids.”

“Oh, just pull the little lever underneath the chair. Raising and lowering the chair is Hoseok’s favorite thing to do when he comes in here, I swear.”

You reach under the seat like Yoongi instructed, find the little lever, and tug. There’s a low hissing sound before the seat suddenly drops 5 inches. You let out a yelp while Yoongi tries to stifle a laugh at your terrified expression.

“I guess—I guess Hoseok pulled the lever too much,” Yoongi’s voice creaks with laughter. Even when you flick him in the forehead he keeps laughing.

“Yoongi, this isn’t funny. I need to practice.”

“Just so you know there’s no way I’m getting on the floor. I’ve changed my clothes and I’m actually in the bed.”

He knows he’s being a bit of a dick at the moment, but he’s only trying to rile you up. He’s not expecting you to start to get up on the bed after flipping him off. The laundry he placed on his bed that morning to force himself to fold now laughs at him from its position shoved against the wall.

“W-what are you doing?”

“I need to be higher than you to paint your face. And you’re not getting up, right?”

“Well, no. But—”

“So this is where I’m gonna work.”

You shrug like it’s not a big deal that you’re straddling him. Like it’s not a big fucking deal that your soft thighs now rest on either side of his torso, that you casually rest a hand on his ribcage while setting up the painting kit along his sternum. He hopes your hand stays further south only to prevent the rapid beating of his heart from being discovered under your palm.

“What design do you want,” your voice is quiet now that you’re closer. 

Makes sense. No need to yell. But it still drives Yoongi crazy that you’re basically whispering in his ear as you lean over him to grab at the unused cup of water behind the bed frame. You revive your paints with the water while he tries to keep his breathing in check, lest he cause your paints to tumble off his torso and stain his sheets in a pastel rainbow.

“Uhh, how about an old style tiger?”

“Really,” you deadpan, “I tell you I’m just starting to learn to paint and you ask for a tiger?”

“Fine. Stars, then.” He gulps when you look right at him, face flushing to create the perfect pink canvas.

“Oh, I can do that. No reference needed.”

It seems deadly quiet in Yoongi’s room. The sounds of the living room long since died down when a crowd favorite started playing and captured everyone’s attention. Now there’s only yours and his intermingled breathing and the sound of your brush tinkling against glass.

You lean down from your perch to focus on carving out a swatch of night sky to blanket Yoongi’s stars. Your breath softly puffs low against his left cheek at the same moment the wet tip of the paintbrush hits his skin. His breath hitches a little and he’s not sure which is the culprit.

“Hold still, okay?” Your words come out in a whisper. 

“Okay,” he whispers back.

Minutes pass and two shaky stars are born on Yoongi’s cheekbone. You shift around on his chest to stabilize yourself and in your movement you lose your footing a little, your right leg slipping off the edge of the mattress.

“Ah—”

“I got you,” Yoongi grunts a little as his hands fly to your hips.

He easily stops your momentum and your paints, clutched desperately in your hands, remain safe from the ground. The pads of his fingers are still dug lightly into the meat of your hips and waist. In that moment you remember just how big Yoongi’s hands are.

“T-thanks.”

“No problem.” 

A slow grin spreads on Yoongi’s face when he notices that suddenly you can’t make eye contact like you were just a few moments prior.

You do your best to continue, but your gaze keeps flitting to his, only to find that he’s already looking at you. It sets something hot aflutter in your chest. The points of the stars that you thought you had a handle on turn soft and wobbly once more. 

“Look up,” you ask when you’re out of other options and keep having to paint over your work.

Yoongi has to bite his tongue to keep from chuckling at how jittery you seem. It feels good to know that the effects of this proximity are mutual, that you’re feeling just as lightheaded from sitting in his lap as he is from having you sit in it.

“You almost done?” He drawls. He’s been counting the small irregularities in the paint on his ceiling to keep entertained.

“Uh, yeah, almost.”

He feels the cold kiss of the brush tip once, twice more before it returns to its makeshift home of the water glass with a clink.

“Do you...wanna see what it looks like,” you sit up then. 

There’s a small hand mirror across the room that you’re eyeing. But he stops you with a squeeze to your hips, reminding you that his hands have been resting there this whole time.

“Just use my phone,” he nods to the device lying abandoned in the sheets. “Take a picture.”

“Okay.”

For some reason, your hands are shaking even with the paintbrush gone and the need for focus lifted. Mechanically you wake Yoongi’s phone from sleep and access the camera app to take a photo, shifting your weight to your knees to get above him and snap a pic. Curiosity makes you open the photo album app to see the photo you just took instead of showing it to him first. The result takes your breath away. 

Yoongi looks blissfully content, almost smugly so, as he gazes up at the camera. The stars under his eyes and on the bridge of his nose look like glowing yellow freckles amidst the banner of deep navy and rich purples you used to craft the sky across his cheekbones. The paint looks good and it’s probably even your best job yet, but you can’t help yourself from looking elsewhere.

Yoongi’s tousled bed head, soft sleep shirt, and dreamy eyes bring a cloud of butterflies to your stomach. The final killer touch of the photo is the fact that your knees just barely enter the bottom of the photo. Yoongi’s hands rest on each one like they belong there.

“Yoongi.” You breathe his name like a sigh and that’s when he surges up, as if to catch his name on your lips.

The kiss takes you by surprise and you tumble down to him in a soft pile of limbs. He hums a long, pleased sound when your weight settles on top of him. The hands he had on your knees suddenly grow restless and they amble up your thighs, up your waist, around your back. His hands are ever busy gliding over as much of you as they can in the moments that you let your lips press firmly against his.

Idly you pick out the details you notice with your eyes drifting closed. Yoongi’s breath leaves his nose in puffs against your face and his sighs echo quiet in your ears. His hair is soft between your fingers and so is the collar of the worn shirt that he’s wearing. The sheets that have raised around you like makeshift linen mountains smell just like Yoongi’s sweet soap, warmed with sleep.

“Shouldn’t we—”, he plants a kiss on your mouth, “shouldn’t we talk about this,” you mumble against his lips.

Yoongi’s hands stop in their tracks along the midpoint of your spine. The sigh he lets out is long suffering.

“Sorry. I just—I got carried away.”

“I mean, you don’t have to apologize for it. I just...thought you saw me as a friend.”

“Do friends confess their love for each other? That’s new.”

“L-love?” Your eyes turn wide and starry. “When have either of us ever confessed our love?”

“Well, I did. At the bar. Or did you have to block that memory out?”

Your brow furrows at the self-deprecating turn his smile takes and you clasp one of his still-wandering hands.

“You mean—Yoongi, I thought you were just being mushy. I thought you meant, like, ‘I love that we’re all here together as friends right now’. If I had known that was a real confession,” you trail off.

“You what?” 

Yoongi’s mood elevates once more, enjoying the sudden turn your rambling is taking. Teasingly he bucks his hips under you, startling you out of your bashful silence and forcing you to press two hands to his chest for balance. A cute little sound leaves your lips and he’s tempted to do it again.

“You were saying,” he grins up at you and his hands start to wander once again.

“I would have—”

“Baby, speak up.” He’s all coos but there’s a little venom in his voice. He likes how embarrassed you are.

“I would have left with you that night. If I had known.”

His shirt wrinkles up where your fingers twist anxiously. Normally you trample through Yoongi’s space, no shame or hesitation in the way you leave him on his toes. It had always been a fun game for you to see how close you could get before he’d have to draw a line, before his besotted smile would become too hard to hide. But now you’re not so sure you can handle it directed at you in all its glory.

“That’s a nice idea,” he says. 

In one moment he looks like he’s really weighing the idea, serious in his appraisal. The next moment he’s tugging you down when you least expect it, bringing a corner of the blanket to envelope you both. Under the cover of weak darkness, he threads a hand through the hair at the base of your neck. 

“Why don’t you tell me about it?”

[youwerenevermeanttofeelalone]

Phosphene | Damian Wayne

✦ pairing — older!Damian Wayne x Plus Size Reader (she/her)

✦ word count — 6k

✦ summary — Damian’s plans are never bad; one of them even found the cure to your insomnia.

✦ warnings — mentions of the experience of being fat but not in a bad way, hints of angst, insomnia, anxiety, a little jealousy sprinkled there, Damian being petty, mostly fluff; this was an excuse to write Damian fluff.

❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎

The plan was simple according to Damian, you would have to visit the area where the type of flora the imported species that was causing people to hallucinate lived and wait there until people went to retrieve it in order to catch them.

You had thought he was joking at first, but there were no records left of the shipments that had brought the flower to the country. Without them, catching whoever was behind this would be impossible.

“What if it was your mom again? No offense.”

“None taken.” He swatted a hand. “It wasn’t her, I’ve never seen that type of flower near any of the League’s headquarters.”

“Well, you should take someone else.”

Damian lifted an eyebrow. “Raven will drive me insane, Blue Beetle is unbearable, Beast Boy doesn’t take anything seriously, Flash is...” He saw you wince as he mentioned your ex-boyfriend, “Well, you know how he is.”

“But he’s fast. You could send him on his ow—“

“Absolutely not. I am the leader of this team.”

Ah, yes, you forgot about his stupid pride for a second there. “Cyborg?”

“Busy with The League.”

You groaned. “I will slow you down.”

He now lifted both eyebrows, glaring at you.

“That wasn’t a joke about my weight,” you defended yourself. “I’m... tired.”

“Because you need fresh air and this mission is perfect for that,” he insisted. “It’ll be fun.”

“You hate having fun.”

He ignored your comment. “Don’t make me force you by saying it’s an order.”

You knew he’d never do it. You gave in, everyone around you did so all the time and you weren’t immune to his stubbornness.

The problem with the stupid mission, apart from how drained you felt, was knowing there was nothing you would really contribute. Everything would be easier if Damian would just take Wally, he would save you from endless headaches AND finish the mission quicker.

Damian was already in the living room, waiting for you with his duffel bag in hand and backpack hanging off his broad shoulders. He opened his mouth, about to ask if you hadn’t forgotten anything, when Wally’s voice interrupted.

“Can we talk before you leave?”

You shook your head at Wally’s question. “I would appreciate it if you covered for me with my family, though.”

“We’ll talk when you’re back?”

“Yeah,” you promised. “Be safe.”

“You too.”

Damian pushed the button to summon the elevator, impatient to leave already. You followed him inside as the doors slid open, silently standing beside him.

His glance shifted between the buttons and yourself throughout the elevator ride. He looked like a child who wanted to ask something they knew they shouldn’t.

In your experience, knowing he shouldn’t do or say certain things had never stopped Damian. After three years of being around him almost every day, you were used to his bluntness. You had been told he used to be worse as a teen, but you didn’t really understand what they meant.

Traveling by bus wasn’t something you ever imagined Damian doing. He never had enough time for that, and with the amount of wealth his family had it was also pointless. He had explained it was to go unnoticed with less hassle.

“Are you sure no one will recognize you?”

“Relax.”

Yeah, you wished you could. You had a bad feeling, Damian would dismiss it because you were tired so you kept it to yourself throughout the ride.

As the bus made the first stop, he asked if you wanted anything from the gas station store. Shaking your head, you took time to look out of the window.

As a sheltered kid, you had never been out that much. You had stumbled into being a superhero by mistake, when you discovered you were decent at fighting while at work.

Your family had owned a shop for a while, a client had gotten too aggressive and you broke his nose almost as a reflex. You started training boxing soon after; your mom thought it would be a chance for you to lose weight.

The weight loss didn’t occur, your body type would only change through surgery and you didn’t have the desire to get a procedure. You were fine with your body, and with your personality for the most part.

Something cold fell onto your lap. Looking down, you found your reusable water bottle. When had he snatched it off your backpack?

Damian took his spot next to you. “You look worried.”

You shifted your head to face him, grasping the bottle in your hand so it wouldn’t fall as you shifted your body too. “I’ve never been around nature that much,” you confessed.

“I’m with you.”

That was oddly comforting. Scratch that. It was comforting, period. Damian knew how to do everything, you would trust him with your life and your loved ones’ safety in a heartbeat.

A yawn broke through you. Not now, you thought. Rolling your head to the other side, you rested it on the window, the light would keep you from falling asleep.

Giving in to your exhaustion was tempting, after many long sleepless nights anything would be helpful. You were on a mission, Damian needed you to be alert; that was why you were there, not to fall asleep.

And who even feels the need of falling asleep in a bus but not on the comfort of their bed?

You let the desire of closing your eyes win. Familiar splashes of color appeared against the dark background, slowly fading as they molded with the pitch-black canvas.

Your head bounced as the bus followed what you assumed to be a bumpy road. Your first name was whispered softly, in a tone no one else had ever used. Blinking to adjust to the light, the first things your eyes could make were grey cloth and olive skin.

Lifting your head, you found Damian’s eyes on you. “We are about to arrive.”

”I’m sorry for falling asleep on you.”

He allowed a pause to linger between you. “It’s fine, you said you were tired earlier.”

Rubbing your eyes, avoiding Damian’s face at every cost as you tried to guess what time it was, you found yourself wishing you would’ve bought a watch for these types of scenarios — then again, you weren’t the adventurer from the team.

The place was packed. Couples and families alike were out and about all over the area, Damian had said they would, but you had underestimated how many people he was talking about.

“Wouldn’t it be better if we slept in tents and wore our suits? There’s a lot of people around.”

“That would look more suspicious. We’re here vacationing like everyone else.”

Lifting both hands in mock surrender, you walked past him and into the building.

You let him chose whether he wanted the bed closest to the door or not. He did, throwing his belongings onto the mattress to then pull out a map.

Approaching him, you leaned over to look at what he was seeing. He explained the path you would have to walk through to find the flowers. The hotel was too far away from the area.

“We should sleep. We’re waking up at dawn.”

“I’m not tired anymore,” you assured him.

His eyes lingered on you, silently asking if you were sure. When your only answer was the tilt of your head, he shook his own. “Then rest some more.”

You walked back to your side of the room in order to find some clothes to change into. You hadn’t really packed pajamas, but a pair of leggings and a t-shirt would be enough and had more utility.

You saw Damian pull a pair of sweatpants out from your peripheral view which prompted you to grip your clothes and get into the bathroom so he could have enough privacy.

He was already in bed when you came out, the only light left was the one emanating from the lamp at your right. Dropping the clothes you had taken off into your duffel bag, you turned the lamp off as silently as its switch made it possible.

You laid on the bed with your legs stretched out. The silence, comforting and mildly warm, was your only source of entertainment. It didn’t cross your mind to bring a book or something to pass the time so you would have to make do with your own imagination, the ceiling fan, and the silence.

Exploring the area didn’t sound so bad, but you would attract too much attention by walking around the trees with a flashlight in hand in the middle of the night. Besides, you didn’t know which kind of creatures could be lurking around in the darkness.

You needed a better plan to locate the flowers, and Damian’s permission.

He huffed on his bed. Turning around to lay on his side in hopes to finally fall asleep. He was thankful over the fact that you didn’t need to keep the lights on like Reyes, but frustrated by the fact that he couldn’t sleep anyway.

Groaning, he sat up. “Let’s go for a walk.”

“How did you know I was awake?”

“Your breathing is too even for you to be asleep.”

You sat up on the bed too, looking for your sneakers. Once you had tied the shoes on, you stood up.

Damian threw a sweatshirt on, groaning as his left shoulder cracked.

Seeing you go through your backpack, he placed a hand on your forearm to stop you. “Only bring some water and a flashlight, no knives.”

Quirking an eyebrow, you looked at him through your eyelashes. “You are the one who trained me to use knives.”

“That’s exactly why I know when you should or shouldn’t carry them.” There was a hint of lighthearted teasing in his voice.

Under your feet, the old floor creaked. Walking down the hallway and crossing the lobby had been a cringing nightmare.

The two of you walked in verbal silence, letting the whooshing of the wind and the crickets’ chirping mix with the crushing leaves.

Damian would check the compass from time to time, making sure you were following the right path. The action reminded you of the reason you were there in the first place.

The soothing smell of earth made you feel like you were far away, perhaps in a dream.

Damian burst the soothing bubble by breaking the silence with a question. “Why did you refuse to speak with West?”

“Some things just don’t work out the way we want them to.”

Wally had been a good boyfriend, sweet and goofy. He always cheered you up when you were sad and took you out on cute dates. You had innocently assumed it would be enough forever, how couldn’t it be when he treated you so well?

Sadly, he wasn’t what you wanted in a partner anymore. You wouldn’t call him immature because he definitely wasn’t that; Wally was too... lively, too chirpy, somewhat hyperactive. You needed peace, enough stress knotted your muscles already without the headaches he triggered.

“Sounds like you don’t want them to work.”

“He gets on my nerves sometimes, I think it’s fair to say it doesn’t matter if I want things to work or not.”

“And you wanted me to take him with me instead.”

“He’s better at this than me.”

Damian lifted his bottle of water, lips grazing the edge of it as he said, “You sell yourself too short.”

You opened your water bottle too, shrugging. “He’s the sporty type.”

“I would hope so.”

You laughed against the lip of the bottle, “Why did you ask?”

“I imagined you wouldn’t like to get mauled by a bear without talking to him.”

“Are you saying you will let a bear maul me?”

He turned serious. “You know I would never.”

Silence fell between you again, as comfortable as always.

By the time you arrived at the point where the specific kind of flowers bloomed at, the sky was starting to appear dark blue instead of pitch black.

“Why don’t we steal them and then track whoever comes looking for them?”

“Because we wouldn’t have proof they’re the ones doing it.” Damian added, “But we should be closer, you were right.”

“Say that again?”

Damian rolled his eyes. “Don’t get used to it.”

Smirking, too pleased with yourself to ruin the moment, you asked, “What are we going to do?”

“Have you ever camped?”

You shook your head.

“Okay. Stay here and make sure no one gets close, I’ll make a phone call.”

“I didn’t bring my knives,” you reminded him.

Pinching the bridge of his nose with a hand, he sighed deeply. “You have your fists.”

He walked past you in the direction you had come from together. Before he could be too far away, you called for him, “And if I’m overcrowded?”

He craned his neck backward to give you a smirk. “Choke some of them with your thighs.”

Looking down at your thighs, you frowned. What was that supposed to mean?

You never found out what Damian meant by that. No one came near the area, seemingly due to how early in the morning it was. If you were to steal some flowers, you would personally do it at night when tourists were busy partying or sleeping.

Then again, stealing flowers wasn’t your expertise.

Damian took longer than you felt comfortable with, but he brought yours and his belongings with him alongside a few other things.

In silence, he slanted his head, motioning for you to follow him.

You snatched your duffel bag from his grasp. “What did you do?”

“I bought the camping essentials I found at the store.”

“I told you I’ve never gone camping!”

“I haven’t forgotten. But last night you wanted to sleep in a tent, didn’t you?”

You shook your head. “I said it because I can stay awake for long periods of time.”

“We’ll take turns.”

You would rather not. Camping as a fat person was a no-no. Well, not really, but many factors could ruin the experience for you and in that case for Damian.

The last thing you wanted was to put up his grumpy version.

You avoided him throughout the day, exploring the area near where he insisted on camping.

He really should’ve listened to you and taken someone else. Someone who wouldn’t get nervous. It wasn’t his fault, he couldn’t have known the reasons behind your reluctance.

Calling it insecurity would be reductive when you were comfortable with yourself. It was annoyance over not having control of the circumstances in which you would go camping for the first time.

“I think we should get some sleep,” he said from behind you.

You would only trouble him. There was only one tent, you didn’t know how narrow it would get and for the past four months, there hadn’t been a single night in which you didn’t end up tangled in the sheets over how much you twisted in attempts to find a comfortable position.

Sleep had become elusive even before you broke up with Wally. You tried every treatment in existence with no positive results, there was simply something wrong in your brain.

Damian was sure you wouldn’t come in if he didn’t force you, expecting otherwise would mean not being familiar with your antics. He didn’t want to pressure you, but he wouldn’t be able to sleep knowing you were out there alone.

You could defend yourself rather well, it was irrational on his behalf to be so worried. His brain chose to nag him about it still so he listened to it.

He found you with your feet in the river, looking at the rippling water as you made slow movements with your fingers.

“It’s nice out here,” you commented, feeling his presence.

He hummed softly, taking a seat next to you. It smelled like a proper river, unlike Gotham’s.

“Did you get some sleep?”

“No,” he admitted, using his fingers to make movements in the water too.

“Do you have a lot on your mind?”

“Yes. Do you?”

“No.”

He hummed again. Your peaceful semblance was a nice addition to the scenery, with the moon shining in your eyes.

“I can take care of the morning roundabout if you want.”

“You should sleep a little first. We can set schedules later.”

You could’ve sworn his voice carried worry.

His sloppy steps halted as he held the tent open for you to get in. With a sigh, you complied and kneeled on the sleeping pad. At least he wouldn’t force you into a sleeping bag.

When he didn’t make a move to lay down, you begrudgingly did so. His ability to bend you to his will was annoyingly astounding — or astoundingly annoying, it changed day to day.

Damian immediately laid down next to you, facing the ceiling of the tent.

Your hand brushed his by mistake. “Sorry,” you whispered. Damian didn’t answer, he was already asleep.

❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎

Mission briefings were everything but fun. Damian’s dry orders always made someone complain — or worse, they sometimes forced the leader to repeat himself.

You were dreading this particular one. Everyone was in a prickly mood due to how much the flower thing was stretching and you could only assume this mission would be part two to stopping whoever was placing the orders.

Damian handed you a large box. Opening it, you found a deep red dress in your size.

“Where are ours?” Jamie asked.

“You are not attending the party as yourselves. (Name) and I will tell you when it’s safe to get in.”

“Why (Name)?”

“Would you prefer I take Raven?” Damian mocked.

Garfield shook his head. “But you don’t need a date to go to a party.”

Wally shifted in his seat.

“You want Bruce Wayne’s son to attend a party by himself without raising suspicion?”

Snorting, you only stared at him in hopes he would give more details. Of course he would say that.

You had to give it to Damian, he had good taste. The dress fitted you perfectly, it hid your thigh holster better than you thought it would when you took it out of the box which was a relief.

He had told you to not carry them, but the knives surely would come in handy if something went wrong.

With his hand on your waist, he guided you into the venue. People, eager to impress him, swarmed around him to compliment him and yourself. Their eyes would linger on you, but you didn’t care about what they could have to say; they wouldn’t dare to say it in front of him either way.

You leaned to speak into his ear, “Have they approached us yet?”

“Let’s dance.”

You both made your way toward the dancing area, inpatient for his answer. There was something off about that place and you couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was.

Now with both hands on you, he leaned forward so only you could listen to him. “Are you uncomfortable?”

“I have a bad feeling.”

His touch turned into a grip as the words left your mouth. Your body responded to it by pressing closer to him, hands firm on his shoulders as you searched for his eyes.

“I’m with you.”

Nodding, you barely mumbled, “I never said I was scared.”

His mouth twitched upward. You tilted your head as his gaze fell on your nose. If his eyes continued the path...

Damian was pushed off you. As a reflex, you withdrew a knife from your holster and pointed it at whoever had interrupted.

“Woah,” Wally exclaimed, “It’s me.”

You turned to look at Damian but he was focused on the railway. A gun went off outside, prompting Wally to run in aid of your friends.

You slipped your knife back into the holster before it would grab anyone else’s attention. It would be hard for Damian to explain why his date had been carrying a weapon and you didn’t want to get him into trouble because you hadn’t listened to him.

Approaching him, you wrapped an arm around his waist. “Did they escape?”

Throwing his arm around your shoulders, he answered with another question, “Are you injured?”

“No.”

If looks could kill, Wally West would’ve fallen dead in the middle of Damian’s office thirty seconds ago. Not only had he made Damian look like a fool, but he had also let Marconi’s men escape.

Loosening his tie, he didn’t even try to control his voice. “What the hell was that?”

“Oh, you’re mad because people might know we are acquainted?”

“I am angry because you almost got (Name) hurt.”

“She’s the one who carried knives!”

Damian inhaled deeply, holding his head higher than usual. “There was no need for you to intervene.”

Wally gritted, “You don’t get to decide that.”

“I am the leader of this team.”

“You were flirting with her.”

Narrowing his eyes, Damian placed both palms on the desk. “I’m going to ask you to leave if you can’t separate your obligations with my team from your personal life.”

“So you weren’t flirting?”

Damian shook his head, exasperated.

He left the office before his head would explode. He was supposed to talk to the others too, but he didn’t want to.

His insomnia was getting worse, between his responsibilities at Wayne Enterprises and the newfound ineptitude of 70% of the team, he was close to combust.

Damian was confident in his leadership, he was more skilled than the team could even imagine. If he wasn’t so fucking tired, he would’ve solved this problem all by himself.

His legs carried him to the bedroom area. He had the intention of taking a shower and trying to get some sleep but they went out of the window when he heard your laugh.

Pushing your door open, he stuck his head inside. You beckoned him in, following his movements with your tired eyes.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

You nodded. “I didn’t hurt myself. And I’m the one who carried the knives...”

Damian set his jaw. Sitting down on your bed, he nodded upward at the TV. “What are we watching?”

“The cooking channel.”

“You hate cooking.”

“I hate following recipes for things that don’t need measurements,” you clarified.

He kicked his shoes off, swinging his legs onto the mattress as he rested his back against the bed frame.

Knowing he wasn’t a fan of cooking shows that didn’t entail some type of competition, you surfed through the channels in search of something that wouldn’t warrant you a whiny Damian.

His whining was fun, but you were too tired to not punch him. Remembering what you had wanted to ask since he entered, you breathed in. “Did you fight with Wally for not following your orders?”

“Something like that.”

His dry tone made you shift so you could gaze at him. Apart from his tiredness, he looked really angry still — the frown hadn’t disappeared from his face, his clenched jaw could’ve popped in front of you and you wouldn’t be surprised.

“We’ll catch them.”

Damian stared at you for a prolonged moment, mapping out the shape of your nose and how sunk your eyes were. Your blinking slowed down to a passive rhythm and he felt himself focusing on his own rhythm to mirror yours.

You bit down your bottom lip, gnawing on it. Stretching his hand, he stopped you from drawing blood by pulling your lip out with his thumb. He breathily concurred, “Yeah.”

Your eyes followed the movement of his hand as he withdrew it. Silently handing him the tv remote, you laid on your side, curled up as you went back to stare at the tv screen.

Damian allowed his body to relax as he skipped channels. Growing bored, he switched to Netflix.

You sighed deeply beside him, humming to yourself. He turned the lights off, then the TV.

Harsh knocking against the door woke him up. Looking down at the weight on his chest, he felt his breath hitch.

Whoever was knocking got fed up and forced the door open themselves. “Hey, (Nickname), have you seen Rob—“

Damian placed a finger against his lips, motioning for Raven to shut up.

She nodded enthusiastically, surprised by the tenderness of Damian’s touch as he lifted your head off his chest and placed it onto the pillow.

He left the bed slowly, picking his shoes from the floor and using them to gesture for Rachel to leave the room. He followed her, putting his shoes on once away from your bedroom.

“Did you need me?”

“Is there something going on between—“

Damian cut her off, “You were looking for me. Tell me what for.”

“Victor found a lead.”

Your bedroom door creaked open. Damian turned around to see you tumbling towards the kitchen, undoubtedly in need of some caffeine.

Glaring at Raven, he ordered, “Tell everyone to get ready.”

❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎

Damian deviated his eyes to the side in order to rest them, placing a bookmark on the page. Logan was soundly asleep, with his head against the window like you had been that time on the bus.

He remembered vividly the tremble in his fingers as he moved your head to rest on his shoulder so you would be more comfortable, and the way his heart skipped a beat when you sighed contently against his skin.

Turning to the other side, he saw your hunched over form, hovering over the small table in front of you. How you could have the patience to fill a coloring book in the middle of a flight after such a tiring fight was a mystery.

Wally beside you caught him staring, again.

Damian thought he couldn’t dislike the mission more; oh, how wrong had he been. First, he hadn’t been able to bend the plans this time, the only thing he could do was give orders and split the team in the most efficient manner.

And it had worked, but at the cost of his sleeping pattern getting worse. The mission served two purposes, the first was obvious; the second one was more complicated, he came to a few conclusions — they made all the sense in the world in his opinion, but sense wouldn’t change the fact that he couldn’t sleep without you.

There was something in the heady smell of your shampoo that his monkey brain found soothing. He needed to sneak into your bathroom and check which brand you used. Or ask you. Yeah, that.

You were probably making up with your ex-boyfriend while he longed for sleeping next to you. And he hated it.

Moving your head left to right as you scratched your itchy nose, you found yourself wafting Wally’s sweet cologne.

Wally awkwardly nodded upward. The two of you hadn’t spoken much throughout the mission. You nodded back before scratching your nose again.

“Bored?”

Looking down, you shook your head. It wasn’t even worth mentioning at this point, or feeling some kind of shame for it — what embarrassed you was the conclusion you had come to a few mornings ago.

You couldn’t sleep without Damian. There was something about him, maybe his stillness, that relaxed you to the point of being able to sleep eight hours. Your pre-insomnia self had never slept more than five.

“Then?”

“Lots in my mind. I’m worried about—“

“Robin.”

You whirled your head to look at him, wide-eyed.

“I’m not surprised.” Hurt laced his hushed voice. “There’s always been something going on between you two.”

“That’s not true. And I’m worried about a lot of things.”

“He’s been staring at you the entire mission, he hates me, you said you didn’t trust Alexis and he broke up with her, you always give him the benefit of the doubt when his ideas are bad... I could go on and on.”

“Well, Damian’s ideas are never truly bad...”

“You call him Damian.”

“So?”

“No one else from the team does. He’s Robin to us, we are our superhero aliases to him and nothing else.”

“It’s not like you guys have ever tried to see him differently!” Your indignant whisper-shout surprised you while Wally hadn’t even flinched.

He hung his head backward. “You’re defending him again.”

“He’s my friend.”

“Is that why you worry about him to the point of no sleep? Because I know you never cared about me that way.”

“I don’t like what you’re insinuating.”

“I’m not saying you didn’t love me, I know you did.” Wally gave you a sad smile, “But if I made you choose, you would pick him.”

“I wouldn’t pick someone who makes me choose between them or a dear friend.”

Shaking your head in frustration, you picked another marker and went back to your coloring book.

He had been the first relationship you took seriously, the first person you had truly loved in a romantic sense. How could he say those things? Even if they were true, they were uncalled for.

Wally leaned closer to you. “I won’t get mad, just stop lying to yourself.”

You were the first one to leave the plane after landing. Wally’s words made all the sense in the world, that didn’t mean you wanted them to.

No. The truth was that you wanted them to make sense and that bothered you more. You wanted to believe you weren’t the only one in a dilemma.

A stupid dilemma at that. Damian was your friend, you could tell him you needed him in an entirely platonic way — it would be a nice compromise and a pathetic cop-out at once.

Damian placed a hand on your shoulder as you passed him on your way to the living area. “Can you come to my office?”

“Just let me check my phone.”

Nodding, he slowly slid his hand back until it fell onto your arm for a fleeting second before he withdrew it.

Your skin buzzed the entire time it took you to answer texts from your family. Now that the mission was over, you would be able to see them — and to put up with their reaction to your break up with Wally.

Telling them that you had feelings for someone else wasn’t an option, and explaining it was Bruce Wayne’s son would make you sound insane to them.

Sat directly on his desk, with his cellphone in his grasp and frown upon his face, Damian was waiting for you.

From the doorway, you asked, “Are you okay?”

He didn’t look up. “No.”

The answer took you aback. Without invitation, you entered the office. Closing the door behind you, —carelessly and louder than you would’ve liked— you approached him.

He looked fine. Tired, but fine. You knew for a fact he hadn’t been injured, and the mission had been a success so his crankiness was worrying, to say the least.

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like I’m worried?” You saw him nod. “Do you want me to scoop my eyes out?”

“Do you look at other people like that?”

“Yes.”

Damian huffed.

“What’s your problem?”

“Nothing.”

“Stop acting like a brat with me, Damian.”

He put his cellphone to the side, finally lifting his head.“Is that really what you want?”

“Preferably. Your act, whatever thing you come up with on the next minutes, won’t push me away.”

“You are driving me absolutely insane!” He wiped his mouth after having spoken so abruptly. “You distract me, I can’t sleep without you next to me, your stupid ex-boyfriend being so close to you killed me the entire mission—“

“Three days?”

He glared at you. You said it so easily, like three nights of no sleep and headaches were pleasant.

You rested a hand on each of his shoulders. “I can’t sleep without you either.”

He opened his legs for you to stand between them. You did so, feeling his hands on your lower back. “Is this awkward?”

Shaking your head, you wrapped your arms around his neck. “We’ve been in more awkward situations.”

His arms snaked around you, pulling you flush against him. You inhaled the smell that lingered on his clothes, vanilla and almonds with a hint of something earthy.

“Couldn’t you tell me this in my room? Or yours?”

Damian rested his head on your shoulder. “I wasn’t going to tell you.”

“What did you want?”

“To keep you from spending more time with West,” he mumbled the admission.

You shouldn’t have found it so funny, but there you were shaking out of laughter.

He whined against your neck, “Don’t laugh at me.”

You slipped your fingers into his hair, massaging his scalp. “It’s silly, though, he’s my teammate.”

“And your ex-boyfriend who wants you back.”

“Not anymore.” Feeling him tense under your touch, you elaborated, “He knows I like you.”

Damian’s embrace tightened. He hummed on your skin, nuzzling against your t-shirt. You played with his hair for a few more minutes until he started to get heavier against you.

“Don’t fall asleep,” you warned.

He hummed again.

“Damian,” you tried to make your voice come out sternly, but you couldn’t bring yourself to be harsh. “You’ll wake up sore. At least let’s go to the living room.”

Reluctantly, he pulled away from you. He couldn’t contain a whine as your fingers slid off his hair, making you giggle. He grabbed said hand, practically dragging you out of the office.

Thankful for not bumping into anyone, you made it to his bedroom. You imagined he had stopped there because it was the closest one to his office.

He didn’t let go of your hand as he sat down on the bed and kicked his shoes off. You had to wiggle your fingers off his to round the bed and lay down without pulling him with you.

As soon as your back touched the bed, Damian rested his head on your chest, sliding his hand between the mattress and your back.

Your fingers went back to his hair, which was what he had been seeking in the first place, massaging circles on his scalp. It didn’t take much for his breath to even out.

When you woke up, Damian was laying on his side, hugging you tightly from behind with his other arm. His light breathing fanned on your shoulder, tickling up to your neck.

Torn between leaving the bed to follow your routine and staying in the comfortable position against his chest, you shuffled as slowly as you could until you were facing him.

Damian had never looked that serene. Anyone who didn’t know him would have assumed he didn’t have a single responsibility or weight on his shoulders if they could see him at that moment with his mouth ever so slightly parted.

Your heavy eyes lid closed. You weren’t sure as to what time it was, you only knew that the light of the day was gone already, but the comfort of Damian’s frame and his light breathing was better than anything you had to do.

Nestling your face on his chest, you felt his hand move down your back.

Sleepily, he said. “We could go out to dinner.”

His deep voice made you feel more awake. Draping an arm over his torso, you joked, “Are you asking me out?”

Now with his hand on your thigh, he spoke more seriously. “More than that. But first things first.”

You hummed. As nice as it sounded, you didn’t want to get up.

Damian pinched your thigh. “Come on, I’ll give you an excuse to wear the red dress again.”

You lifted your head off his chest. “Do you have a fixation with that dress or something?”

“I mean, I bought it for a reason...”

You playfully hit his chest. He smirked, fingers trailing up your thigh, giving you goosebumps.

You sighed, “Do you think the team will say anything?”

“It’s not like I care.”

You knew he cared deep down, but fighting him on it would be losing your time. It wouldn’t affect him either way, not like it would to you if they looked at you differently or judged you.

Damian left a kiss on your forehead. “I’m with you,” he reminded you.

[tsukishumai]

Date Night w/ Atsumu, Osamu, Suna

Warnings: Drinking, Smoking (weed)

A/N: repost bc I checked and my posts weren’t showing up in the tags 😭 sorry if you’ve seen it already.

Pls enjoy (ㆁᴗㆁ✿)

Atsumu

“Where are we going?” “It’s a surprise!”

Whenever Atsumu said those words, it meant one of two things: he’s put a lot of thought and effort into this and you’re about to have the best night of your life... or he’s done nothing, is winging it and kinda hoping for the best.

It’s been about a 50/50 success rate so you really don’t know why you’re gonna get.

“Tsumu, I swear to god, if this is like that one time by the beach...” “shut yer trap! We’re almost there!”

He opened the door to a small, studio like space, waving his hand and motioning for you to enter. You rolled your eyes at his theatrics but let out a tiny gasp once you were able to take in your surroundings.

Canvases perched up on easel stands lined the room, chairs set up in front with a little table next to the easel topped with paint supplies and wine glasses.

You turned to him excitedly. “Paint and wine night!?”

“Paint and wine!” Atsumu exclaimed, “Ya been complaining bout how ya miss doing art, so I thought we could do it together. I would’ve liked a private class, but they only did group sessions.”

“This is perfect,” you said, taking a seat and inspecting the supplies. Atsumu couldn’t help but puff out his chest in pride.

The room soon filled out with the other guests, the instructor coming in a few minutes after everyone’s arrived.

Atsumu chose a red wine, you chose a white. You were only supposed to be served by the glass but he insisted on a bottle each, and you weren’t the only one that has a hard time saying no to him.

“Babe,” he slurred halfway through the night, “is mine supposed to look like that?”

“Tsumu, we’re supposed to be painting an ocean... where did you get that red paint?” “I dunno, I just found it.”

The instructor tried to ignore the both of you giggling like idiots, but they had to step in when Atsumu started flinging paint at you with his brush.

“Miya-san, please stop chugging the wine.”

You chuckled at Atsumu grumbling next to you, trying to steady your hand while adding in your final details.

“Aaaand done!” Atsumu beat you to it. You take a second to glance at his canvas.

“Atsumu... what the hell is th-“ “it’s called abstract art, okay?! Ya normies wouldn’t get it!”

Where the hell did he learn ‘normies’ from?

You laughed at his canvas the entire way home, much to Atsumu’s chagrin.

Still, you hung it up on the wall by your bed, just so it could be the last thing you saw every night before you drifted off to sleep.

Osamu

“Where’d you hear about this?” Osamu asked reluctantly.

“I saw a post about in on Insta! My friends went last weekend, and they said it was amazing!” “I didn’t know you had friends?” “You know what, Samu...”

When you arrived at your destination, you couldn’t help but smile at the wide-eyed expression on your boyfriends face.

Hyogo was hosting a food festival, encouraging up and coming chefs to rent out booths and test out any and all unique recipes they could think off.

Booths on either side lined the road, crowds of people holding plates of food that Osamu didn’t even know existed.

“Which one should we try first?” You asked, but Osamu was already walking up to stand claiming to sell “Sushi Burritos”

“We have to do this strategically,” Osamu said, looking at the paper pamphlet he received from one of the information stands, “We should only get one thing from each stand so we have room for dessert. It looks like all the dessert stands are on this end, so we’ll just do one big circle.”

You nodded and gave him a salute, happy to be dragged around by the hand.

You’d never seen Osamu so animated, eyes darting from one booth to the next, ears practically steaming.

Your favorite was watching him take his first bite out of whatever creation you bought from the stall in front of you, his eyes would flutter close and the satisfied hum slipping from his mouth always brings your lips up to a smile.

“Let’s try this one next,” he said, leading you up to an onigiri stand.

The worker handed you a plate with three perfectly formed onigiri, your mouth watering at the scent wafting into your nostrils.

You took a bite... and another one... but your brows knitted together together after each chew

“Something wrong?” Osamu asked

You shook your head. “No, nothings wrong... it’s just, ever since I’ve had your onigiri, nothing else can really compare”

Osamu desperately hide the blush that was quickly spreading across his cheeks. “Oh really?”

“Yeah! You know, Samu, if you opened up an Onigiri shop, I bet it would be the best one in the country.”

Osamu laughed, slinging an arm around your shoulder as he lead you to the next destination.

“You think so?” “I KNOW so.”

Osamu shook his head. “I couldn’t pull something off like that.”

You stopped in your tracks, tugging on his hand and forcing him to face you. “Osamu, I think you could do absolutely anything you set your mind to,” your tone was serious for a second before shooting him a wide grin, “and you would do it better than anyone!”

Osamu smiled, watching you run off to the next booth, thinking that if he had you by his side, then he could probably rule the world.

Suna

Suna has never ever striked you as the “hiking” type

So when he said he wanted to take you to a spot he used to frequent in high school, you were surprised, but oddly excited.

“How’d you find this place?” “You know... exploring.”

He took you to a park that was a 20 minute train ride from his apartment. The park was situated at the base of a mountain, and further back behind a canopy of trees was the beginning of a trail that you wouldn’t see if you didn’t know it was there.

Suna walked ahead, extending his hand behind him for you to take. He laced your fingers together, trudging along the path side by side.

The trail wasn’t really much of a hike as it is a walk. The terrain was relatively flat most of the way, green leaves bordering each side of the path.

Suddenly, Suna stopped, pulling you over to the side and moving aside branches and leaves.

“Rin? What are you doing?” You asked curiously, but he just said, “Trust me.”

Past the foliage was another trail, one that looks like it wasn’t meant to exist in the first place, formed only by repeating footprints that climbed up the slope.

Suna held out his hand for you to take, looking like he had every intention of climbing up the side of this muddy hill.

“Uhhhh, Rin, I don’t think we’re supposed to -“ “I said trust me, didn’t I?”

You grumbled at him, throwing snide remarks and thanking god that you wore an old pair of sneakers today.

It took about 10 minutes of climbing until you reached the top, walking past a couple of trees to reach a clearing.

In the middle of the clearing was a tree stump, different logs of various sizes encircling the stump. You rolled your eyes, knowing exactly what it was you were looking at.

“You brought me to your old high school smoking spot?” “Hell yeah, I did.”

Suna walked ahead of you, sitting down on one of the logs and digging through the backpack he was wearing.

He stood up, and laid down a small blanket on the log, sitting back down and patting the spot next to him. You chuckled, taking a seat next to him.

“If you wanted to get high, we could have just done it at the apartment?” You said, but Suna just shrugged. “It’s nice to have a change of scenery once in a while.”

He dug out his bag, zipping it open and setting his grinder, blunt wraps, and weed on the tree stump.

You’ve always liked watching Suna prepare your blunts. He’s let you try doing it once or twice, but you could never get it to roll as tightly as he does.

You hear the telltale click of a lighter, Suna dragging the flame across the seam of the wrap before bringing one end to his lips, and lighting the other.

Once it was lit, he took a few deep drags before passing it over to you. You brought the blunt to your lips, taking in a deep breath, holding it until you felt your lungs burn, and letting out a big puff of smoke.

“Whoa there,” Suna commented, and you laughed in between fits of coughing.

“It’s been a tough week.” “Yeah? Tell me about it.”

The two of you sat there, you weren’t sure how long, exchanging stories about your week, making each other laugh with corny jokes you read online, showing each other tik toks and just enjoying each other’s company.

The blunt was finished long ago, and you notice Suna’s shoulders were much less tense, his facial features finally easing into a calm expression.

“Practice has been tough, huh?” You asked, and he let out a big sigh.

“Yeah... but it’s alright. S’long as we still get to do stuff like this, I’ll survive.”

You tilted your head as he stood up. “Where you going?”

“Let’s go, it’s getting cold and I got the munchies.”

“I am way too high to climb down that slope right now.”

And that’s how you got Suna Rintarou to give you a piggy back ride down the side of a muddy hill.

A/N: also sorry for the shittt format I’m on mobile :(

[kyber-kisses]

Southern Nights

Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: cursing, angst, sad!boi dean hours, very slight canon divergence.

Summary: When the British men of letters start killing American hunters, Dean panics for the readers safety.

A/n: had this idea tumbling around in my head for awhile and finally decided to write it. Hope y’all enjoy and feedback is greatly appreciated! (I also based this off of Flower Power by Greta Van Fleet so go and give it a listen!)

Things had not being going smoothly to say the least. Not smoothly at all.

Taking a deep breath Dean rested his body weight against the drivers side door of Baby, hands shoved deep into his pockets as he waited for Sam to finish up his phone calls. Thirty minutes ago they had walked out of the morgue from seeing Eileen's body and now apparently their mother was missing.

“Are you done yet?” Dean sighed, holding up his wrist to check his watch impatiently. The only answer he got from Sam was a finger being held up, telling him to give him another minute.

Another groan and Dean was letting his head fall back against the roof of the car. A minute later he heard Sam saying his goodbyes followed by a click and he was lifting his head up again.

“Well?”

“So, yeah- I’ve finished calling around about all the hunters who’ve died in the past few weeks. And um-“

“And um what?”

“They’ve all had years of experience. If this really is the British men of letters, I think their trying to wipe out American hunters.” Sam explained, watching Deans face for a reaction. The older Winchester pinched the bridge of his nose,eyes squeezed shut, no doubt frustrated with the whole situation.

“Oh well that’s just fan-freakin-tastic.”

Another few seconds past and then Deans eyes snapped back open, Jade irises now wide as he pushed himself away from the car.

“Shit, Y/N.”

Immediately understanding where Deans mind was going, Sam was already rounding the side of the vehicle to get to the passenger door. “When was the last time you talked to her?”

“I don’t know, four weeks ago- maybe five?” Dean spoke quickly, yanking open his own door and quickly sliding in, keys already in the ignition. “Try calling her. We need to make sure she’s alright.”

Tapping furiously at his screen, Sam nodded as he pressed the device to his ear. “Already on it.”

Dean was back on the road and driving before he even had a destination, his eyes darting between the asphalt and Sam as he waited for an answer.

“Anything?”

Shaking his head, Sam pulled the phone a away from his ear, flinching when Dean let out a string of curses. “Damn it, here-“ taking a hand off the wheel he fished his own phone out, tossing it across the seat towards his brother. “Try mine.”

The hunter waited in agonizing silence for another minute or so before Sam shook his head once more. “Nothing again.”

It took everything in Dean not to hit his head against the steering wheel in frustration in that moment. He needed to know that you were safe. That you were still alive and well. “Fuck- okay. Um, try calling Jody. She might know where she is.”

You and Dean were complicated to say the least. The two of you had crossed paths and become friends a lifetime ago and nothing had ever been the same since. It was easy to see by anyone that You and Dean had feelings for each other, but even after years of friendship neither of you had ever truly acted on it. Sure there were the knowing glances and smiles, and the occasional instance where the two of you found your fingers tangled together, but that was it. No more. No less. Probably because internally you both knew that this life wasn’t made for romance.

But that didn’t stop Dean from loving you. Not at all.

Dean focused his eyes back on the paint strips in the center of the road, trying to ease himself. It wasn't unusual for you to go radio silent for weeks on end. You had a busy schedule, never quite standing still enough to catch a breath before rushing off on another case, but with everything happening, Dean was worried.

Dean considered you to be a wild, energetic type. You were the type that loved diving head first into anything you found interesting. Sometimes you decided to learn a new language just for the hell of it or pick up a random hobby like archery. There was something about moving that you had always loved. You were drawn towards instability the way magma's drawn through cracks in the earth. Even when you were younger, you had had a quality that sucked people in, made people flock to you as if you were some emissary from the land of glamour. (Dean knew that truth though, you like most hunters came from a shrinky dink town in the middle of nowhere USA. . . The farthest thing from glamour.) Dean remembered when they had first found the bunker and offered you to stay with them. You had hissed a little through your teeth, before politely declining. Sure, you stopped in every once in awhile and stayed a week or two but never longer.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean watched as Sam talked softly to Jody on the phone, his brother letting out light hums and nods as he jotted some stuff down on the back of an old fast food napkin. A moment later he was thanking the sheriff and hanging up.

“She got anything?”

“Kind of. She says she hasn’t heard from her in a few weeks either, but last time she checked Y/N was hunkered down in some place outside of Fairhope, Alabama. She had been working a rugaru case but that was the last she heard of her.” Sam explained with a light shrug.

“Okay, alright.” Dean nodded, glancing back over at his brother. “What do you have written down?”

“An address. Jody said if we go looking for her to start here. She thinks this is where she was staying.”

Leaning slightly over, he read the messy scribbles on the napkin before nodding and looking at the clock. “Alright, if I gun I think I can get us there by evening tomorrow.”

His brother gave him a solid nod before plugging the coordinates into his phones GPS, and giving him the first set of directions. The only thoughts running the older Winchesters head being please be alive. You need to be alive. Because if the British men of letters found you and did something to you, he would never forgive himself.

*. *. *. *. *. *. *.

Dean managed to hit it spot on because a day and a half later he and Sam were quickly lurching to a stop at the end of an old dirt driveway as dusk began to settle. The sky turning to a deep shade of blue as the sun went down, taking the dusty pinks and oranges of the sunset with it. The first fireflies could be seen through the trees, and Just beyond the house, the grass sloped down to the calm waters of the Mobile bay.

The tires crunched loudly against the gravel before Dean slammed the breaks and threw the impala into park, practically vaulting out of the vehicle at the sight of your car.

“Y/N!”

For the past several hours fear had begun its agonizing and chilling climb up Deans spine and now that he was finally at the end of the GPS route he was terrified of what he might find.

No answer.

Dean was frantic as he and Sam bolted up the steps of the massive front porch, throwing open the old screen door probably with enough force that it should have been pulled from its hinges. “Y/N, Dammit!”

luckily the open layout of the house was easy to navigate and Dean quickly found no signs of forced entry or a struggle. All your stuff was still here though, he recognized your backpack and laptop along with one of your canvas jackets.

That’s when he saw the flicker of firelight just beyond the window, music seeping through a partially open one. Quickly pushing past Sam he kicked open the back door and rushed out.

unfortunately the sound scared the hell out of you and you were falling out of your hammock, hand flying to your chest as if to stave off a heart attack.

“What the fuck?!’

“Y/N!” Instant relief rushed over Dean at the sight of you unscathed before him, sitting startled in the grass, the firelight from the pit giving you a sort of glow. . . but that feeling was quickly ripped away and replaced by anger as he clenched his jaw and walked closer. “What the hell Y/N?! You ever heard of picking up a damn phone?!”

On top of being startled to death you now had to add confusion, your eyebrows raising as you pushed yourself off the ground and crossed your arms, watching as the elder brother stormed across the grass, Sam slowly following behind.

“Excuse me?”

“Both Sam and I have been trying to call you! The least you could do is call us back if you don’t pick up originally!”

Holding a hand up in defense you stared down the jade eyed hunter. As surprised as you were to see him, you were beyond confused at his rage. “Woah, calm the fuck down. What the hell crawled up your ass?”

“Do you have any idea what’s been going on these past few days?!”

You gave him one of your famous are you kidding me looks before moving down a step. “I’m sitting in a hammock and drinking, Dean. Does it look like I fuckin know?”

“I was afraid you were dead!”

“Well clearly-“ you gestured time yourself. “I am not, now you mind calming down and telling me what’s going on and how the hell you found me?”

Deans jaw clenched before he sharply inhaled through his nose, whipping around to look at his brother as if saying “can you believe this woman?” As much as he loved you, you could be infuriating at times.

“Only if you tell me why the hell your playing house in some small ass southern town!”

“Fine, fine.”you nodded, raising your hands in defeat. A moment passed before Dean let his shoulders fall and walked closer, only to sink down onto one of the wooden seats of the picinic table, Sam close behind. Leaning against the trunk of the tree besides you, you let an uncomfortable silence fall between you and Dean as he looked around at the surroundings, Sam unfortunately caught in the middle of it.

“Sorry, Y/N. I have no idea why he’s in such a mood.” Sam tried.

“It’s fine, Sam. It’s not like I haven’t dealt with an angry Dean before.” You gave him a small smile before reaching for your glass of peach whiskey.

“Really, Alabama? Alabama?” Looking back towards you, Dean gave you weird look as if judging your taste.

“What? I like the humidity. Plus, this place is quiet.” You shrugged. “Now please fill me in on why you felt the need to track me down and check in on me, because dudes, you’ve never once done that before.”

The two shared a look before Sam let out a sigh, crossing his hands as he rested his elbows on his knees. “It’s the British men of letters.”

“Oh fantastic, what do those tea sipping idiots want now?”

“It’s not what they want, it’s what they’re doing.”

Another wave of silence.

“Okayyy. You care to elaborate?”

“They’re killing off American hunters. Hunters with years of experience under their belt. They’ve already killed Eileen, and we think they might have mom.” Dean explained.

“Shit.” You paused, finding the proper words hard to find. “I’m sorry.” You shook your head, suddenly feeling extremely guilty for not keeping in touch. “And you thought-“

“They were gonna come for you next. Yeah.”

“I should have called you guys when my phone broke a few weeks ago just to inform you that you wouldn't be able to reach me that way anymore. I’m really sorry.”

Dean looked like he was on the verge of another fit but luckily Sam caught it and stepped in before anything could escalate. “It’s fine Y/N. What matters is that your safe.”

“I know, I know. I just- I feel bad. You guys are welcome to spend the night here instead of in some cheap motel room, and tomorrow If you want I can help you guys figure this shit out. Get coordinated. It’s the least I can do to make up for being a shitty friend and making you guys worry.”

“If you have enough room we’ll gladly take you up in that offer.” Sam smiled, rising from the bench before pulling you into a hug. “How’d you even come by this place?”

“One of my families old hunting safe houses.” You shrugged, pulling away. “And don’t worry about room. There’s a bedroom and a pullout sofa in the sun room to the back of the house. Perfect amount of space for two grown ass men.”

“Oh no, we’re not taking up your space like that. I can sleep on the floor.” Dean shook his head as he now stood in front of you, the anger and annoyance seemingly gone. (Dean never could stay angry at you for long.)

“Dee, it’s fine. Really. I usually fall asleep in the hammock anyways. I find it more relaxing than any memory foam mattress.”

“Seriously?”

“yeah, seriously.” You shrugged with a light grin. Dean let out a soft chuckle before the two of you fell into silence once more. This time finding it to be acomfort. You both watched as Sam walked back around the side of the house, no doubt heading back to the car for their bags.

“I’m sorry for getting angry earlier. I was jsut super worried-“

“I know, I get it. It’s not the first time you’ve done that.”

You observed as Dean looked down at his hands, the hunter clearly ashamed of his earlier actions. Somewhere in the grass crickets began chirping, a bullfrog adding into the sound every once in awhile. As you watched him you could see the bags under his eyes, the heavy slump of his shoulders. Your usually vibrant Dean wasn't shining like usual.

A deep sigh left your lungs as you found your hand moving to cup the side of his face, his head lifting just enough to see the sad smile on your lips. “You look tired Mo ghraidh.”

Dean let out a soft chuckle at the words (even if after years he had yet to figure out what they meant. Once again, you and your eagerness to learn random languages), his eyes crinkled as he returned the same smile, leaning into your touch. “Oh I am tired.”

“You've been busy.”

“that's a fucking understatement.”

“Well,” You sighed, lightly patting his cheek before leaning in to press a kiss to where your palm had been. “You can tell me all about if over breakfast tomorrow, and then you can get my rundown.”

“sounds like a deal.” He swallowed, almost losing his words as he took you in. The firelight dancing across your skin and making your eyes blaze to life. God, you were beautiful. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, Dee.” Your smile slowly grew as you pulled him into a tight hug, feeling him bury his face in your neck. Hugs like this felt like home. It felt peaceful and calm. . .something you hadn't been in a very long time.

*. *. *. *. *. *.

Dean woke slowly the next morning, the house eerily silent as he threw back the sheets. Either you and Sam were stealth artists in the morning or he’d slept like the dead. The sunlight made the hunter squint as he trudged tiredly towards the kitchen, his eyes not used to seeing sunlight in the mornings after getting so used to a dark bunker. Sam was seated at the kitchen counter, an empty bowl of cereal next to him as he spoke softly to someone on the phone, probably Jody or Donna.

“Morning.”

“Morning.” Sam slightly lifted the phone from his ear. “Y/N poured you coffee. It’s on the table.”

Mumbling a tired thanks, Dean used the heel of his hand to rub at his eyes, yawning as he moved passed Sam to wrap his hand around the mug you had left. It was only when he was sinking down into one of the vacant seats did he let his eyes search the room for you. It was easy to see that you weren’t there though. The only occupants in the house being him and his brother. Slowly sipping on the coffee in his hands he waited patiently for Sam to finish the call. When he hung up he finally allowed himself to speak.

“You seen Y/N this morning?”

“Yeah, I think she’s out back.” Sam grinned over the lip of his own mug as he watched Dean turn his head to look out the back windows. “Surprised the two of you weren’t snuggled up last night with each other.”

“Stop it.” Dean warned, turning again this time to glare at his brother.

“What? Isn’t that how it is?”

“No! And you know it. And don’t give me the whole but so many people can see it crap. You know this lifestyle aint built for romance . . .or whatever.” he muttered the last words before suddenly pushing himself up from his seat once again and heading towards the back door, coffee still in hand. Eager to leave the conversation behind.

in truth Dean wanted nothing more to be with you, Truly be with you. To hold you like you were meant to be held. To tell you he loved you. To drown you in kisses. But this life wasn't built for it. You both knew that, that was why you didn't make any bold moves towards each other. Arms length away meant safety and safety meant living.

In the morning light it was much easier to take in the surroundings, the steps to the back porch ended at the grass before the partially overgrown lawn went down to the waters edge, a weather worn dock leading out onto the blue waters. It took him a moment for his eyes to find you but when he does hes almost taken back. Your laying on the dock, one foot tangling over the water while the other was tucked up, your sunglasses perched on your nose as you hold an open book above you, clearly reading.

It’s a sight to say the least. You look calm. Content even. And that’s a very rare thing to see on you. For as long as Dean has known you, you have always been a person in motion, always busy with something, wether that be pacing the bunkers library nose deep in a lore book or swinging a machete at vamps. It’s a foreign sight to see you doing something that doesn’t involve monsters in any aspect. He pauses for a moment where the grass ends and the dock begins before stepping out onto it, the light creak making you look up from your book as he walked towards you.

“Hey.”

“Hey, Sam told me I would find you out here. You get up early?”

“I’m always up early. You know that.” You smiled, closing your book and dropping it onto your chest. “I’m surprised your up. You looked tired last night.”

“Yeah, well. My sleep schedules kinda fucked already.” Dean sighed, crossing his arms before deciding to sit down next to you.

“You look grumpy. What happened?”

“Sam happened. It’s nothing.”

Swinging your other leg back onto the dock you slowly sat up. “Doesn’t sound like nothing. You wanna talk about it?”

“Oh ho, no way.” He shook his head, leaning back on his palms and tilting his head up towards the sun. 

“Well alright, fine.” You shrugged, You knew when it was a good time to prod and when it wasn't. This was one of the latter.

“What are you doing out here anyways?”

“Reading, what does it look like?” you quipped, popping to your feet before bending down to pick up your book. “plus, I need the sun. Hunters tend to get pale when they only work in the dark.”

“maybe i should lay out her then.”

That got a laugh out of you.

“What?”

“Dude, you lay out here for an hour and its gonna look like you got bitch slapped by the sun. . .no offense.” You joked, holding out a hand to hoist him up.

“Nah, you're probably right.”

“I would pay good money to see that though.”

“You're such an asshole.”

“I know.” giving him a pat on the shoulder you began walking back towards the house, the hunter watching you closely as you retreated.

There was something different out you. The way you carried yourself and the way you spoke. Most people wouldn't catch on but he did. Something was off. He could practically feel it radiating off of you in waves, even if you were acting like everything was normal. You were acting uncommonly lighthearted.

“You said last night you were gonna tell me why you're all the way out here in some small town USA. Care to fill me in?” He suddenly spoke, following you off the dock.

There was silence for a moment, almost as if he caught you off guard. “I told you, it’s a family safe house. I was staying here while hunting the rugaru. Just needed a week to rest up before I headed out again.” You shrugged.

A week to rest up? When Sam has talked to Jody she had said you had been out here for almost five. His eyes narrowed slightly as he watched you walk up the back steps. There was something else you weren’t telling him.

“You found a new case yet?”

“Oh uh. . . No. No I haven’t.” Shaking your head casually before holding the door open for Dean and stepping inside.

There was his second hint that something was up. You were the type of hunter that was always on their toes, looking for the next case before one was wrapped up. Dean didn’t know how you did it. Sure he could do some cases back to back, but he needed breaks every once and awhile.

“Rugaru case must have whipped your ass, huh?”

“Yeah, yeah. Sure did.” You mumble.

Dean opened his mouth to speak again, but was cut off when you beat him to it. “Let’s get to work on figuring out how to handle these British bastards, okay?” You gave Dean one of your soft smiles, running a hand through his hair as you passed by and entered the kitchen.

Watching you go, Dean felt a new sense of worry grow in his chest. You weren’t acting like you. Something was eating at you, and the thought of you being in pain broke his heart.

SPN Taglist:

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[awkwardplant]

Sci-fi/Misc Short Story: Diorama

Weary travellers entered a building to escape from the zombies that had been chasing them. Night-time drew closer and only a little bit of sunlight filtered through the large dusty windows at either side of the room. Despite the dust, everything here looked pristine, unsurprising as it didn't seem the materials here were much use to survivalists.

"Is that an easel?" Johnny the Veterinarian wandered over to the contraption, lifting away a greyed cloth covering it, revealing a canvas with a few marks of brown oil pastels.

A younger member of the team who refered to himself as the Tailor (everyone else called him Ed, or the Cosplay Guy, or That Teenager) dove into some drawers and boxes. "Please tell me there's a non electrical sewing machine, or fabrics, ooh I'll even take sequins at this point! Anything I don't have to make from scratch."

"Don't think this type of place will have those kinda things, Ed. Looks like a kindergarten's arts and crafts room." said Johnny. "Might have glitter though."

Paul the Farmer rolled his eyes at his group. "No point lookin round 'ere, let's settle down, find somethin soft, and kip for the night." He shrugged off his backpack which carried the all the bare essentials it could hold, and popped his spine with a groan. "Food chain these days is all outta whack I tell ye."

At the entrance, Melissa the Engineer boarded up the door with some convenient planks of wood, nails, and a hammer she carried everywhere. "Oughta keep them out. Phew. Bit cold in here isn't it?"

Melissa's daughter, Isla the six year old, stood in the middle of the art studio, eyes filled with wonder at all the creations. Clay sculptures of graceful torsos, pencil drawings of still lifes that looked more or less exactly like the sketches, completed oil paintings of landscapes hung on the wall next to colorful, abstract ones.

Isla spied a light still on behind a door to another room left slightly ajar. "I see a light, do you think someone lives here?"

All the adults tensed and raised their weapons, eyes peering in the direction Isla curiously tiptoed towards. Paul hissed at her to slow down, firmly grabbing her shoulder and pulling her back behind him as he stared ahead. The air was silent aside from the floorboard's weak groans that sounded like a sigh of relief at the return of humans gracing its surface.

Johnny tapped lightly on the door which opened without any creaks or spooky noises, and revealed a warm orange glow of a desk lamp. The desk was cluttered with tiny objects you would expect to see at much bigger sizes such as doors and furniture. Several drawers of multiple sizes surrounded and sat on the desk filled to the brim with paints, glue, craft knives and other materials. A single mug rested on a green cutting board with some stale coffee inside.

Isla squeaked in delight as she darted across the room. "Mommy! There's dollhouses here!"

Melissa strode towards her daughter, blinking in surprise when seeing there was in fact what appeared to be multiple dollhouses meticulously displayed in glass cases on many shelves.

"Some strange looking dollhouses," Ed said. "Why would a kid want to play with a dollhouse that looks like a swamp?" He tilted his head, narrowing his eyes at the minature shack on stilts that sat atop fake greenery and resin water.

Paul chuckled. "And this ane's even got tiny critters from my farm! Now tell me that isnae just the spittin image of my wee goat." He tapped the glass of a mini farm with toy animals placed in the field.

"I think, uh..." Johnny clicked his fingers, brow furrowing. "I swear I remember... Ah well, I don't know the proper name of them but I've seen train sets that have these kind of things, do you know what I mean?"

"Yeah!" Melissa chirped. "This is how they used to make movie sets isn't it? Because back then they didn't have CGI to make places they couldn't afford to go to when filming."

"And humanity has reverted back to that time period." sighed Ed, who greatly missed his Friday night Star Wars rewatches with his friends. "Maybe even further back than that. Losing the internet was like losing the Library of Alexandria."

All of them wandered around the shelves to look at all the miniature sets. Mountains formed purely by plastic foam, a landscape of a picnic inside an open altoid tin, a greenhouse cluttered with plants no bigger than a pinkie finger. Some miniatures sat on the floor, the ones that were massive compared to the other sets yet still very tiny versions of medieval castles and gothic architecture.

Melissa stopped in front of a small library room that had holes in the ceiling with trees growing beneath them, books and furniture meticulously littered everywhere. Flashbacks to her days studying in her hometown's library filled her mind.

"This is what they thought the apocalypse would look like." she said, with tears welling up in her eyes. "They thought- they- they made art of stuff like this because they imagined it would look beautiful. How could they romanticise such disaster?"

Johnny walked up next to her, crouching down to see inside the library. "Hauntingly beautiful, maybe. I do remember certain types of people were fascinated with the idea of nature reclaiming the lands that humans built on."

"And that idea was dumb," said Paul. "Because now the deer are overpopulated and they destroyed the forests, and who knows what other animals are causing chaos without conservationists."

"There are pros and cons to everything that happens." Johnny replied. "But yes, it doesn't help that the handful of humans that are left don't know how to handle this... resurgence of nature."

Isla looked around, peering back through the door to the main room of the art studio. "This library dollhouse looks just like real life doesn't it? It's like we're little dolls too."

Melissa smiled sadly, stroking her daughter's hair. "It does put things in perspective." She hoped things would settle down enough for her to be able to teach Isla things she had learned in school at her age.

"The Earth is the size of a pinprick compared to the sun and we're all just ants in the grand scheme of things." Ed said, and one could guess he was trying to imagine how small he was compared to the Starkiller base.

Paul snorted. "But bigger than regular old ants and smart enough to put together nicknacks that make ladies cry." He nudged Melissa teasingly.

Eventually, the group finally realized that the lamp was connected to a solar powered generator with a back up of energy reserved and they attempted to recharge their walkie talkies. After a few near-electrocutions, they finally connected to a radio station broadcasting a rather laid back distress signal.

"This is DJ Smooth calling out to anyone, God, just anyone out there, from the abandoned military base in Alconbury. Been out here for uh, 3 months now, there's not been any zombie sightings for a while and I have been sooo bored. Come find me and we can hang out, maybe fight over my remaining supplies so I can remember how to feel something that isn't dissociation. Stay tuned after this music break for the co-ordinates to my location, and my heart. See ya soon cuties. Over."

Later that night everyone created some makeshift beds out of the cloths that had covered some artworks and easels, which Ed would repurpose at some point during their travels to make some new socks. They all lay on their backs in the dark, close to each other to conserve warmth. If there were any zombies outside they didn't hear them, only the rush of wind and rain pattering on the windows.

"Mommy," Isla whispered. "I liked the song that the man on the radio played."

"Yeah sweetie, I liked it too. It was... something from the 90's? I think? Probably not age appropriate but you didn't understand it so it's fine, I guess. Something funny to look back on one day."

Isla rolled over onto her stomach to look at her mom. "When we go back to Paul's farm I want to play the guitar we found."

"We can't go... Tell you what Isla, we'll go see the music man from the radio, and he'll help us cure the zombies, and then we can get everyone an instrument and all make music together."

"Yes! That's a good idea!"

"And we can do plays in theatres and make movies again." Ed added shyly.

"Movies that don't involve zombies and will make us forget this shitshow ever happened." Johnny sighed, unable to close his eyes and dreading the nightmares.

Paul growled and hushed the others, but then he said "Doesnae matter if zombies are out for us and we've got no artsy stuff, we can still sing."

They all sang Country Roads quietly (Isla could only sing the chorus yet sang with such sincerity), with gentle echoes of their melody bouncing off the walls of the art studio until they fell asleep.

The next day they left to find the military base and made up new songs along the way, with renewed and desperate hope that they might find a cure for the zombies someday soon.

The end.

[rosegoldannie]

"Here, at least drink some-" "I'm fine" "No you're not. You're too busy to drink water you're not fine" Or something along those lines for like college au Feysand? Please!

AAAAAHHHHH!!!!!! Thank you so much!! I literally started happy dancing in my room when I got this, thank you! 

And seriously guys, please, I love answering asks like these. They let me know what you all want to read in the fandom, and I’m more than happy to write it!

masterlist

Rhys’s heart clenched as he entered the living area of their small, studio apartment. Countless sketches littered the floor, accompanied by an ungodly amount of pencils, charcoals, and pens. He knew something bad had happened when his eyes snagged on the tub of caramel ice cream in the garbage bin. And instantly knew what had happened: critique day.

Stepping around the coat rack which obscured his view of the rest of the room, he found Feyre half-crouched on a tarp, sketching on a canvas, that hoodie she had stolen from him after their first date, which was so covered in paint that you couldn’t see the logo, draping over her thin frame.

He cleared his throat loudly, raising an eyebrow at the mess surrounding her. “Busy, aren’t we?” Teasing, always teasing.

Feyre flushed a bright red, having jumped slightly when he cleared his throat. “I’m so sorry, I have a big project coming up, but I’ll clean everything, I swear.” her hair was up in a messy, messy bun, held in place by a paintbrush, which was dripping blue paint into her hair.

He grinned softly, carefully making his way to their bed, and dropping his backpack. “No, don’t worry about it. You don’t freak out when I make a mess with all my papers. This is nothing.”

She gave him a grateful smile, and went back to glaring at her artwork.

He knew better than to interrupt her by trying to make conversation; she would be nice, would humor him, but would likely be counting the seconds until she could shrug, and return to her canvas.

Rhys propped himself up, content to ignore his work in favor of watching her work. She was magnificent, truly. He would never understand how she managed to take a pencil and paper, and turn it into such an incredible thing. 

Hell, he didn’t understand why she loved art so much, only knowing that it made her happy, and he really didn’t care about the why. Knowing that those small, wooden brushes brought her so much joy was more than enough to banish any lack of understanding on his part.

Sighing, he relegated himself to working on his essay, which was due in a few weeks, and dragged his attention from the girl who had captured his heart.

They were nearly in the home stretch, graduation only a few short months away. And he couldn’t believe it. That cold, rainy night he had spotted her across the room at Rita’s had been nearly four years ago, and yet it all passed by in a flash. So much had changed, that he didn’t believe it some days. They had gone from semi-strangers, to two people who would one day get married.

Marriage. It was a topic they discussed often, and shared the same opinions on. They both wanted to marry, though they knew they were way too broke. But one day. One day, when they had enough money, and weren’t living practically paycheck to paycheck, he was going to get down on one knee, and ask her to be his wife.

Hours later, the sun had set and he at last looked up from his laptop to find that Feyre had barely moved, still in that strange crouch. His heart gave a warm tug, and he had to fight the urge to go over and wrap his arm around her. 

Again, he cleared his throat, artfully dodging countless paintings and sketches on the floor, as Feyre had a system he didn’t want to disturb. “Darling, what would you like for dinner?” He called, rummaging through the kitchen cabinets.

“No thanks!” She replied after a few moments. “I have to work on this.”

Rhys frowned, sticking his head out into the main room.

She glanced up, giving him an apologetic smile.

And again, his heart tugged at the sight. She had ink smudged across her cheekbone. And Rhys couldn’t stop himself from making his way to her, kneeling down, and pressing a kiss to her lips. “Alright,” He murmured, thumb wiping away that ink, “just don’t work yourself too hard, alright?”

Feyre nodded, giving him a chaste kiss, and humming to herself.

Sighing to himself, he made his way back to the kitchen, and made a dinner of champions: scrambled eggs. He made sure to make more than necessary, before heaping them all onto a plate, and plopping down near his girlfriend, content to watch her work. 

She glanced up, eyes lingering on his plate. She licked her lips, and glared half-heartedly at him. “I know what you’re doing,” She hissed, slowly migrating towards him, “and it’s not going to work.”

Hiding his smirk behind a mouthful of eggs, he replied, “Am noff doon amyfin. Promith.”

Feyre scoffed, taking the second fork he had hidden under the plate, and began helping herself to his food.

She wound up finishing most of it, but he didn’t care, only kissed her forehead, and began preparing to take a shower, then go to bed. As he scrubbed himself clean, he took far less time than normal, eager to hold her as he fell asleep.

When Rhys returned, hair damp and clad in only boxers and an old t-shirt, he was disappointed to find Feyre exactly as he had left her, crouched over that canvas.

But he simply slid under the covers of their bed, and watched her sketch and paint until his eyelids grew heavy, and he succumbed to the warm grip of sleep.

*****

He awoke to bright sunlight streaming in through the blinds, letting out an undignified groan. Rolling onto his side, he threw out an arm to seek out his love. It hit nothing but cool sheets.

Eyes remaining closed, he groped around the bed, trying to find her.

Then his hand smacked into something cold, and wet.

He groaned, still half-asleep, assuming that something had been spilled on the bed, and raked his fingers through his hair, and rubbed at his face to wake himself up.

When he opened his eyes, it took every ounce of strength to resist swearing ferociously. His hands were covered in blue and yellow paint, courtesy of the pallet resting on the edge of the bed.

Rhys shook his head, fighting to keep the annoyance out of his voice. “Hey, Archeron, can you come here?” he called. The bathroom door creaked open, and she tiptoed out. Clad in leggings and a tattered blue shirt, he nearly forgot what he was going to say. At last, coherent thoughts return, as Feyre lets out a horrified gasp.

“Oh gods, I am so sorry!” She said, hands coming up to cover her mouth. “I-I didn’t think you were going to wake up, and I didn’t have room to put it w-”

Sighing, he held up a hand. “Don’t worry, alright? Just, please, can we agree that there’s no more paint in bed?”

She nodded, turning towards where she had left her backpack the day before. “Alright. I’ll clean up after class, I promise. But I’ve got to go, okay? Love you.” With that she was slipping out of their apartment.

Rhys groaned, but slipped out of bed. He was fully aware that she would most likely forget to clean once her classes ended. After a long shower, spent mainly trying to scrub the paint from himself, he slipped off to his first class.

Already, he was planning what he could bring Feyre for dinner. He knew she was busy, and likely would be for at least the next week. But that didn’t mean that he couldn’t bring her some foods that he knew she liked.

*****

He returned to their apartment long after dark, to find her in that strange crouching position. Carrying a bag of takeout chinese food, he held it up victoriously. “I have returned!” He cheered.

Feyre didn’t even glance up, only giving a small wave.

His smile vanished. “Aren’t you going to eat?”

Again, she didn’t look up. “I’m busy, Rhys.” She almost snapped.

Something within him crunched, but he forced his feelings down. This was Feyre, and she loved him. Rhys knew she wasn’t trying to hurt him, she was just busy. He sighed, but made his way to the kitchen, to dish himself up some food.

He muddled around slowly, making a large mug of peppermint tea, which he knew to be his girlfriend’s favorite. When he brought it out to her, she simply waved it off, muttering something about being busy, and having to work on her painting.

And again, he made his way back into the kitchen, sitting at the table and slowly eating the plate full of delicious food. Rhys didn’t taste anything other than dirt. His eyes lingered on her, watching as she moved back and forth over that damn canvas.

He loved her, so much that it hurt.

And he wanted her to be happy. More than anything.

Painting made her happy, and so he supported her endeavor to become an artist. He knew that came with many big projects that were very, very important. He also knew that she was a perfectionist, and sometimes became too involved in her work; to the point where she would forget to eat or sleep for days on end.

He was worried that she was falling into that pit, becoming too absorbed in her art. That was why he decided to test her.

So he stood from the table, and prepared a large glass of ice water, before carrying it out to her. “Feyre,” he said, holding out the glass to her, “I brought you some water.”

“No thanks.” She replied, not looking up at him. “I’m busy, Rhys. I really, really have to work on this.”

He slowly knelt down beside her, careful to not disturb the canvas. “I know you do, and I understand that. All I’m asking is that you take a break to drink some water.”

She huffed, glaring at him. “I said I’m busy. Please, just let me work on this!”

He held her gaze unflinchingly. “I have known you for almost four years, Feyre Archeron.” He said, daring her to huff again. “And I have hardly ever asked you for anything, now have I?” When she opened her mouth to object, Rhys gave her a stern glare. “I have never seriously asked you for anything. Have I?” 

Feyre shook her head slowly.

“All I’m asking you to do is to please just take a drink of water. Please, darling. I’m worried about you.”

“I’m fine!” She insisted, rolling her eyes. “I’m just busy, Rhysand.”

“Too busy to stop for water?”

“YES!” She snapped, making to return to her work.

He stopped her with a hand on her chin, turning her head back towards him. “Then you’re not fine.” He said, daring her to disagree. “I understand that you’re busy, love. I do, I know. But this isn’t healthy.”

Eyelids drooping in defeat, she reached for the glass, and took a long sip. “Alright.” She murmured, moving towards him. “Maybe I’ve been a bit hard on myself…”

Arms moving to scoop her up, Rhys chuckled as he carried her over to their bed. “Maybe just a little.” He tucked her in gently, and quickly pulled up Netflix on his laptop, setting it in the middle of the bed. “Now, I’m going to get the takeout, and we’re going to spend tonight in bed, relaxing.”

She looked up, alarmed. “Rhys, my project-”

He smiled warmly down at her. “I went to talk to Mrs. Ressina today. She said that this is an extra credit project, and that it isn’t due for almost a month.” Again, Feyre looked like she wanted to protest. “Darling, I’m no artist, but I know that you can take one evening off.”

Feyre huffed, but didn’t disagree.

He took that as a good sign, and went to fetch their dinner, which was mercifully still warm, along with her tea.

When he returned, she was sound asleep, The Princess Bride playing quietly from his laptop. Rhys smiled softly, setting her tea on the bedside table, then putting the food back in the fridge. He gently changed her out of her paint-stained clothes, into a pair of his sweats and t-shirts, and cleaned her face, before crawling in next to her, and drawing her to rest against his chest.

Immediately, she moved to snuggle closer, and he smiled softly.

With one hand, he typed out a few emails on his phone to their professors, explaining that they both had wicked colds, and would not be able to attend class the next day.

Professor Ressina replied within minutes, her email pulling a dry chuckle from his lips. You seemed very ill today, almost bedridden. Make sure to drink plenty of fluids, and let Feyre know she is excused from the rest of the week. Have fun, kids.

He placed his phone on the headboard, and pulled Feyre closer, drifting slowly off to sleep.

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[sidereal-fantasies]

Sincerely, Not You

[Choi San]

03: Transparency

WARNING(S): None (just one curse word)

College AU in which Choi San and many others receive letters that threaten to break their already fragile hearts

“Patience and pride have never worked together nor will they ever give you the answer you are searching for.”

A few days has passed since the rather coincidental meet up between you and San. With the new revelation that you had also received a mysterious letter, the aspiring writer has made it his mission to meet you again to inquire about this predicament. However, for as thoughtful as San can be, his plan only consisted of patiently waiting until you hunted him down yourself if the letter was deemed to be so significant to your being. A hopeless yearning to satisfy childish meddlesomeness, one would have told him. A death wish if that letter seemed important, another would have warned. Yet, San stayed determined to pull himself out of the ambiguity that he was left with in this situation even if your lack of reaction from the first morning class you two shared appeared a little discouraging.

“Maybe it wasn’t that important then,” Yeosang concluded as San and him strolled the streets in search of a quick bite between classes.

San hummed. “Maybe you’re right, but I say otherwise,” he retorted, causing the brunette to raise an eyebrow.

For as long as Yeosang knew San, any doubt that crossed San’s mind only meant that a reckless plan was brewing inside the depths of his ever-so-busy mind. Any effort to steer him towards a path with less collisions in the near future would be useless at this point. He was silently stubborn, as Yeosang had learned over the years. Too stubborn to move away from the daydreams that sometimes distracted him from reality. Too stubborn to step away from the harsh truth he presents himself with in a quiet manner. Disaster only waited for San if he continued on with this skewed perception.

“By the way, Mingi said something about [Name] the other day,” Yeosang stated.

“Mingi knows [Name] as well?” San began, “I didn’t know they were that popular.”

“It’s not really that they’re popular, but Mingi said [Name] and him actually used to attend the same school, which is odd if you ask me,” Yeosang explained.

It was indeed a little peculiar for San remembered that Mingi hailed from a well known dance academy. Though every school still had its general subjects, he knew that many who chose to attend any performing arts school were specifically set on committing to an unknown future filled with obstacles that would challenge faith, devotion, and work ethic for the field always remained unpredictable in a plethora of ways. Performing arts school was a place where many were able to unleash their creativity freely with no worries about the future however, and yet here was [Name], a computer science major who expressed no fantasy or daydream and who continued on with a plain lifestyle, contempt in the box they built around themselves. In the mind of San, [Name] was someone who struggled to grasp the concept that art is another world of its own that is meant to be explored with passion and fervor. A blank canvas ready to be splattered with unpredictability. [Name] couldn’t have come from any performing arts school.

“If they came from the same school, then how come one ended up as one of the top dance majors and the other didn’t pursue anything similar?” San inquired.

Yeosang shrugged his shoulders. “I’d ask the same thing. I left it at that, though, because I wasn’t entirely invested in the idea that Mingi and [Name] had attended the same school before.”

San let a soft sigh pass his lips. Every unanswered question will eventually seek out its response. It just takes a little patience, which San was all too familiar with not possessing as much as his friend beside him.

“Another story to be unraveled, then—“

“Choi San!”

San immediately scrunched his nose in displeasure at the sudden echo of his full name.

“Seems that I need to take my leave now,” Yeosang teased. San rolled his eyes at the brunette before he stopped and turned to face your approaching form.

Your face remained impassive as you immediately extended your hand out to the ravenette. “I know you have my letter, so can I have it back?” You asked. A tiny simper pulled at the corners of San’s lips.

“You mean this?”

San held the envelope addressed with your name in front of you. “Quite an interesting thing to receive. Admirer?”

“No,” you answered bluntly, causing San to chuckle slightly. Your eyes quickly scanned over the envelope before you began reaching out to retrieve it only to have San hold it out of your reach. “What are you trying to do this time, San?”

It was a risky thought, for sure, but San craved to satisfy the ever increasing curiosity that plagued his mind. So, San held your letter in front of you with one hand before he began to rummage around his backpack with his other hand. He then pulled out a similar envelope with his own name scribbled in the middle of it.

“Seems like I got the same thing. How about we open it together?” San suggested.

You pressed your lips together, contemplating the offer as your fingers slowly wrap around your own envelope. Neither of you knew what the contents were inside, leaving endless possibilities of what it could be. Yet, it surely could be just that; admirers that felt the need to go the old fashion route to reveal a loveless confession. There was nothing wrong with writing a letter for it was a completely normal gesture of those who idolized the idea of cheesy romance built upon the everlasting influence of rom-cons, drama shows, and coming-of-age films. A waste of paper, you would have scoffed. But, perhaps it could turn into an inside joke, or another step into a steady friendship, granted you and San had a similar response to romantic gestures like love letters.

At least, that’s what you kept telling yourself.

“Okay,” you responded, “we’ll open it and if we want to, we can talk about it.”

San beamed as he immediately ran a finger under the flap, ripping it open to reveal a similar off-white piece of paper folded inside. You carefully tore your’s open, pulling the flap gently before slipping the letter out of the confinement with a great amount of care.

“If it is just… admirers, what are you going to do?” you inquired. Out of your watchful gaze, you saw San’s broad shoulders shrug in response.

“Who knows,” he spoke as he quickly unfolded his letter. “Will you let me read your’s if it’s just that?”

“Who knows,” you mimed as you unfolded your letter as well.

An uncomfortable silence ensues within the first few lines of each letter, leaving you and San struggling to formulate any sentences as your gazes continuously scan over the letters. Visible gulps, shaky hands, and plastered frowns were the only things that your bodies could do to communicate that these letters were certainly not love letters. With just a few words, it seemed that the invisible pride you both held on for so long crumbled into dust.

“Did… did you write this?” You questioned in a low tone. San vigorously shook his head as he bit down on his lower lip. “Of course not. Did you?”

A shallow laugh escapes you as you crumple the letter into a ball suddenly. “That’s a lame question considering you’re the one who called me out for my lack of ability to even type an essay.”

Former romantic sounds just like you, though, San wanted to voice, pressing his lips into a thin line. For the ebony-haired student, it wasn’t hard to guess what kind of view you had on things that you would possibly deem as trivial and not worth the time to ponder over. As complicated as you presented yourself as, San knew for a fact that the mere idea of fidelity stirred a deeply rooted discomfort within you. Yet, you were so narrow minded when it came to a simple essay the other day. Doubt suddenly crossed his mind as his grip tightened. It makes perfect sense, he thought. The restrained view, the subtle dislike towards anything that could be understood as pushing the boundaries as friends; it had to be you.

“Will you still let me read that letter?” He carefully asked.

You peered down at the crumpled ball of paper in your hand before handing it over to San. “Do what you want with it. I have to leave now.”

“[Name]!”

You immediately turned back on your heel the moment San’s hand grips your wrist.

“Do you know who Song Mingi is?”

Well, shit. Your eyes shift elsewhere for a quick second before meeting San’s stern gaze once more. “He’s one of the dance team captains along with Jeong Yunho and Jung Wooyoung—“

“That’s not the answer I wanted,” San interrupted, gaze never faltering for even a second. “Let me try again. Do you know who Song Mingi is?”

A lump started to form within your constricting throat. “We attended the same high school, more or less. Why?” you asked as your free hand rested on the back of your burning neck.

“Do you want to tag along with me this weekend and meet up with him?”

You hesitated for a moment, debating whether or not you wanted to rip your wrist out of San’s iron grip. Your conscious was dancing on thin ice by now, carefully testing which idea would keep you from falling into the freezing water. It’s been a little over a year since you’ve last seen Mingi. It was unpredictable knowing how the dancer would react to seeing you on the same campus as him for you took so much caution to avoid the fiery haired man as much as possible. Fate, as it seems, had a way with making your future unclear.

“I’ll… I’ll give you my number then,” you finally answered.

San’s hand slipped away from your wrist just as the two of you breathed a sigh of relief.

“I’m sure he’s been wanting to catch up with you for the longest time,” he assured you as he held his phone out to you. You could only force a polite smile though as your fingers reluctantly wrapped around San’s phone. Your patience was already thinned out as it is and your pride was shot, yet the universe remained unsatisfied with your pitiful state of mind. Hopelessly, you found yourself tumbling down a path full of misfortune and misery with San being the cataclysm of it all.

“It’s easy to tell you’re upset,” San noted as he took his phone back from you. You arch your eyebrows in response before motioning for the genius writer to continue.

“Stop worrying about it if it’s the letter. I’ll burn it if it makes you happy,” San chuckled softly.

“I… Look, I’ll just get going to my next class. Text me the details later and then I’ll decide whether or not I want to go,” you exhaled.

San remained wordless as he watched you scurry off with a frown etched into your features. He didn’t dare to say anything afterwards, knowing that it was probably best to leave the bitterly frustrating conversation unfinished. It was for the best, he noted. For both you and himself as he looked down to the creased paper known as your letter. Boundaries were tested and San had to face the fact that he may have pushed them too much for comfort. Nevertheless, he could say that he had, at least, tried. However, his curiosity remained and thrived, buzzing like a swarm of bees within his inner thoughts and consciousness.

The mysterious ink that stained your crumpled letter and caused your internal conflict was eventually shoved into the front pocket of his bag without another thought being dedicated towards it. His own letter followed suit with an exhausted breath escaping his lips. Perplexing, he would have remarked. Perplexing for a person who’s feelings are as transparent as glass.

“Let it be a mystery, then, [Name]. For both you and me to solve.”

[todragonsart]

Oasis

This is my Art-trade piece from November I totally didn’t have time to post here yet :’DDD <3 It’s written for the lovliest Cero! I knew she enjoyed it, haha. 

About 16 pages of Maverick/Nomad, it’s sweet, I swear! <3 Hope you enjoy!

Erik Thorn struggled with sleeping for most of his life. His problem wasn’t insomnia, or some mental illness, it was just his brain functioning as it did. Starting from a very young age, most of his nights were one of these two: either sleepless tossing and turning, or strange dreams about emotions, colorful storms and a few times even nightmares. It would have been strange or even scary for anybody else, but for Erik, it was just… life.

During the day, his brain was working on high; during the night, it needed a fast and efficient way to store all the information he received - and for a boy who was barely allowed to leave his backyard, the amount of input was- surprising. Being homeschooled for most of his childhood, never having a chance to explore, make friends or just learn to climb a tree- it was not an easy way of living for a kid, especially when the child in question was energetic and interested in everything.

Being closed in and supervised, shielded from even the wind with such a lack of stimulus would have made any grown up go crazy. Having all the time in the world, and still nothing to do, no way to process, could push the brain into overdrive; and in order to protect one’s sanity, the mind would try to tire itself - mainly with asking every question, or opening every trauma; thinking about things a normal person doesn’t have time to think about on a regular day.

Experiencing something similar for just a few months made adults develop depression and other issues, so it was expected that a child would not be able to bear with years and years of the same cabin fever. But Erik - being as resourceful as he was - developed a way to manage. Instead of trying to escape his prison all the time, he decided to store these desires in his heart for later use. He was a smart boy and he knew more than enough that his parents wouldn’t be able to shield him for all his life, so he turned to learning. And by learning, he meant books, and by books, he meant all the books he could put his hands on, not caring if it was about tales, science, culture, languages, geography, animals or history - he wanted to read all.

And since he had all the time in the world, with nothing to do, he did indeed read all the magazines, plays and books he could reach. When other children were hanging out in school, he was reading about space and stars. When boys his age were playing hide and seek on the streets, he learnt about ancient Greece; and when they were making friends, he was making plans. After all his parents were able to keep his body in one place, but they had no power over his mind wandering to the fantastic castles of Russia, the beautiful seas of Australia or the endless deserts of Africa.

Books gave him so much inner freedom he was able to completely shut out the fact that he had never experienced a true childhood, and he was happy. At the age of 15, instead of chasing girls like a normal boy would, he spent his days reading and learning about everything, and during the night he lied restlessly, dreaming about the places he wanted to visit, things he wanted to see, goals he wanted to achieve. The images were so vivid in his head, he sometimes thought he could just reach and touch them.

He read all about the wonders of the world and, while patiently waiting for his turn to decide, he planned fantastic journeys to places his parents would never even dream about. He locked all these desires deep into his heart until he finally became old enough to choose his own path, and by the time he got asked ‘What do you want to do with your life’ he already had an answer ready.

He knew his parents wanted to keep him safe, that they wished him to become a lawyer, stay close to them, have a peaceful career, with a silent family of his own and die after a long, successful and very boring life - so of course he did the exact opposite!

Signing up to military training was his way to rebel, and soon he discovered that it was the best decision he ever made.

By the age of 25 he was able to travel to countless countries and cities with the army. Becoming an Intelligence Officer was the most suitable for his abilities and desires, and after learning Dari and ending up in Afghanistan he finally - for the first time in his life - found his place and purpose. For a while. He had all the time in the world to explore the colorful culture, the traditions, the good and also the bad sides of Kabul, and he fell in love with the city in no time. He could say that he was finally living all his dreams, but Erik still struggled with sleeping.

He was busy with all the work, all the information, all the responsibility day after day, yet it was just not enough for his brain to get tired - or this time maybe it was too much. During his childhood, the lack of input kept him awake; when he was a teenager, the fantastic future was not letting him have his rest. And when he was just fulfilling the dreams he always had, working for greater good and helping others and living in a different country, it turned out to be a bit too much to handle. It was without a doubt pretty ironic.

As the situation in Kabul grew more and more tense, he got less and less sleep. He needed to work 48-72 hours in one go, and when he finally had a few hours of peace, he fainted. It was sleep, but not rest. Both his mind and his body were strained to their limits, and as the tension collapsed in the city, so did he. He arrived at a crossroad, and in order to survive, he took the harder path and cut every connection that tied him to the outer world.

After he escaped Kabul for the first time in 8 years of active service, he felt- hopeless. Lost. Weak.

Relieved.

Relieved?

Relieved like a man who just cut all the chains that held him down would be. For the first time in his life, he had nobody to tell him what to do. No parents, no commanders, no nothing. When this realisation washed over him, he felt exhausted and energetic at the same time.

For a few days, he had been wandering close to Kabul to see if anybody would come after him, but when nobody arrived after two weeks, he understood the gift that fell into his lap.

It wasn’t simply about shaking all the chains of command off himself, but it was true and total freedom. He had the power to forget his original culture, his ways of living, his career, his belongings and even his name. He got the chance to peel every layer of paint, and start with a blank, white canvas if he wanted- and oh he wanted! He wanted to escape from his previous life.

The next day the first thing he did was to sell every item he owned, even his watch. He got so drunk on the newly discovered freedom, he allowed himself to get lost in time as well. With nothing but the money he got, a small backpack and water, he started his aimless journey around the country, and for two whole years, he didn’t even look back. Without doubt, that was the happiest time of his life… or so he thought.

He spent his days wandering from town to town, exploring more and more of the rigid beauty of Afghanistan. He was living from one day to another: when he found work, he got paid, when he gambled, he lost his money, and when he couldn’t find any food, he didn’t eat. All of his previous life experiences were stripped off him, and he became a man whose only purpose was to satisfy his needs. He fought for food, water and shelter, like an animal, and it was just such an easy way of living for him that he was able to shut his brain out for a while and live for the moment.

During his second year of complete isolation, he travelled through the Dasht-e Margo desert in order to get to Lashkargah for his next Buzkashi tournament. Crossing the endless sands on foot was a challenge on its own, and he wanted to try it for so long now.

Before he started his journey, he planned his route and scheduled in a few extra days as well. He wanted to allow himself the luxury of getting lost. He packed all the water he could and got on his foot to conquer the grim dunes of The Desert of Death .

As he arrived at the Dasht-e Margo, he allowed himself a minute of silent appreciation. He knew that it was one of the deadliest deserts of the globe, and he knew that he needed to respect it. He felt that if he could cross these sands without getting lost or going insane, he could do anything, so he set foot in the desert, having no idea about the way it would change him.

The first day and night went as peacefully as possible, but the next morning he discovered a very important factor: There was nobody here to talk to . He was completely alone, with nothing but the sea of burning sand under his feet, the september sun on the sky and his own thoughts. He couldn’t remember when was the last time he only had his mind as company, and getting deeper into the desert, he wasn’t even sure if he wanted to open Pandora’s box, yet it was too late to turn back now.

By the second night came the realisation of the parallel between his childhood and this desert. His body might have not been confined in a house, but wherever he turned there was nothing except the sand and the sun. It was a physical jail in a form, with his mind having all the time to think - and as a good cabin fever worked, soon he started to ask every question, open every trauma and think about the things he didn’t have time to think about in one and a half years.

By the third day, he opened up every shut door in his soul, and gave himself into the unspeakable amount of remorse he felt for his parents and the army. He knew that he was being selfish when he cut his ties, and truth to be told, he missed his previous life. He knew that everybody thought he was dead, and he didn’t go back to tell them otherwise. He simply didn’t want to. He wanted to be alone, he wanted to do whatever he wished for, so he just did that without thinking twice. He lied to himself that it was for his survival, but it really wasn’t. He just saw the opportunity to disappear from the radars, and he took it.

He allowed himself to be dead, because death meant free from the burdens, but it also meant being free from all the good he had in his life, the things he missed! For example, he missed his friends from the army, he missed calling his father on a silent sunday evening, and he missed having people ready to catch him if he was falling. He missed being alive.

Four days into the desert, he felt the worst he had ever felt in 33 years. His body was burning, his heart was breaking, his mind was ready to shut down. He couldn’t shake the memory of his own betrayal out of his head, no matter how he tried. Even worse, every time he closed his eyes, he could imagine the worried face of his father, and the tears of his mother as his colonel told them he disappeared. He knew he needed to go back, but still wasn’t ready to accept his failure.

On day five, he couldn’t take a step. He just sat for hours, looking into the mirages the sun created, thinking about his decisions, and where he turned wrong. He shouldn’t have left Kabul, he shouldn’t have learned Dari, he shouldn’t have signed up for military training. He should have stayed home, to not disappoint his family like this. He should have listened to his parents.

The sixth morning came with a short rain, and he just stood there, eyes closed, shoulders dropped as the water was sinking into his hair, beard and clothes. It was a perfect match to his also cloudy mood. He felt like the worst shit the world has ever seen. He planted his face into his hands and let himself be weak for just a second, the rain was there to hide the pain anyway.

He didn’t know where to turn or what he wanted from life anymore. He was ready to give up. The Desert of Death was getting the best of him, yet his legs were still moving, his lungs still filled with air, and his heart still pumped blood. He felt like dying, yet he kept going on, for reasons unknown.

On the seventh evening, he reached both the breaking point and the oasis. He felt the same when he escaped Kabul, only this time, it was all his fault. All the betrayal, all the pain, all the selfish decisions were on him, there was nobody else to blame.

He dropped his bag in the sand and, collapsing next to the shallow waters of the oasis, he simply pushed his head under in an attempt to calm his storming mind. Since he was here, in the oasis, he got less and less rest, and by this point, his whole body trembled with every step he took. He wasn’t even sure if he would be able to cross the desert anymore.

He pulled his head out of the water, taking big gulps of air and he just stared at the small waves he created. He wanted to fix it. He wanted to fix everything. He took a deep breath, and lied on the ground, turning towards the sky. The sun was just about to set, he could already see the first stars of the night.

He kicked his boots down, and pushed his burning legs into the chilly water, waiting in silence as the last rays of the sun disappeared. He wanted to fix it, yet he wanted the freedom. How would the two of these meet..? How could he make it work?

He knew that he needed to go back, he didn’t know how, but he knew that it was the right thing to do. But how would he still keep his independence? How would he still travel and live his dreams? He didn’t want to be stuck in the same place for eight years without change. He was still in love with Kabul, he could imagine himself living there, but not as an intelligence officer, just a native. He still wanted to travel, and explore and live his life.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He needed to solve this somehow.

He needed to let go of everything one more time, and start with a blank canvas yet again, but this time, he needed to make it good. This time, he needed to make his decisions based on his happiness, not out of rebellion or fear. He needed to keep himself and his well being in the focus, while still satisfying others.

He took a deep breath, wiggled his cooling toes and slowly, opened his eyes, to be greeted by the clearest night sky ever seen. When he was a child, and he read about space, he always wished to see the stars and the Milky Way in person, and now that he was here, he simply didn’t know how on Earth did he miss this until now?! What a fool he was.

Watching more and more stars lit up, one after another, he suddenly felt small… insignificant. His problems were gone as he was drinking up the fascinating view.

After a week of feeling down and tense, he suddenly felt calm, even happy. From this perspective, his problems seemed as small as he was at the minute. His lips pulled into a smile and closing his eyes, he fell into a gentle, deep sleep, for the first time in his life. That night, there was nothing in his mind, no storms, no emotions, nothing. He felt empty and peaceful, and he slept like never before.

It was the most fucked up feeling ever; spending seven days breaking down all the walls he built around himself just to end the terror fulfilling a childhood dream that washed tranquility over him, and the next morning he woke up refreshed, relaxed.

He sat next to the water and refilled his bottles, letting his mind wander again. This time, it wasn’t about hatred and remorse, but ways to fix this. He counted the memories from all across his years that he considered happy, and analysing them, he set foot on the sand to finish the journey.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Erik spent approximately two whole weeks in the Desert of Death, and this trip on the endless sands turned to be his personal El Camino . The Erik who entered the desert died on the way, and the Erik who left was a different person. From the next day, he started to work on his return, thankfully he didn’t need to wait for too long. When Nokk found him, he was more than ready to live.

To his biggest surprise, getting into contact with the military again was easy. His knowledge and input about the country and the people came in handy, and even though he wasn’t completely off the hook because of this whole disappearance act, his help with dismantling a major insurgency operation was his testimony of loyalty, and without a doubt, he excelled. He even got the attention of a whole new circle, and when Six reached out to him, he accepted the opportunity with gratitude.

Arriving in England opened a whole new chapter for him. He never imagined living in this country, it wasn’t too appealing for him; but as he learnt more about Team Rainbow and  his new teammates, he decided it was worth every rain-soaked shoe and shitty weather. Being selected into a group with such amazing soldiers was a blessing and a curse at the same time.

Here he needed to fight to prove that he was worthy of his place, and the others kept challenging him all the time for the first few months. They wanted to see if the new guy could handle the weight or not. It was hard, but he kept pushing against them, and soon, they welcomed him in the team with open arms.

He also realised how terrible he was in social interactions. He was just so bad at making friends, he worked so much different than the others, it was madness. For the first few weeks it seemed that he always spoke before thinking, he kept hurting people, making the others mad at him. It was very similar to a bunch of kids in the playground, but since he never experienced that, he had no idea how to make it work, but eventually he started to change. Slow and steady, he learnt to listen, think and answer. The team started to get used to him, and soon he was an anchor for everybody. They came for his insight and advice, and friendships started to form.

By the time the two new teammates arrived, he had already carved his name in the marble side by side with Morowa. They had been in active duty for almost three months now, and he was satisfied with how his life was going.

Both his mind and body were equally tired most of the days, he was able to rest. It was still not the same as in the desert, but he was getting there. He called his mother every week, and he actually told her stories about the places he visited and the things they worked on. He also already had a few vacations planned to countries he had yet to visit, so all in all, it was a decent way of living. He didn’t have any reason to complain, until- until the two new arrived.

He heard a few rumours about them from Mike and Jordan. He knew that one of them is some old, experienced captain of a fortress. He also heard that the other was an adventurer, and he was already excited to hear their stories in exchange for his own. He really wanted to have a friend who would be as invested in traveling as him. He couldn’t wait to meet them.

On the morning of their arrival, he had been hanging out with Yumiko, testing a few new breaches for Jordan in the workshop. When they got back to the canteen, there were the two newcomers. The old man with white beard and a real sword tied to his side, and the other was- um...

Blinking, Erik stepped next to Jordan, to get a better look at the other newbie. He felt his mouth dry, his knees weakened. The other newbie - a lady - was just- she was so beautiful. Her darker skin, her curly black hair, her features, her everything. He never expected to see something this mesmerizing in the middle of Hereford.

Around him, everybody was moving to greet the duo, and he was just standing there, questioning the existence of God.

Jordan looked up at him and slapped his upper back gently. “You are drooling, pal.”

His eyes snapped at the man. “No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. Come, pretty boy, let’s greet them!”

Nodding, Erik followed Jordan, and soon he was shaking hands with both the old man - Jalal - and the woman - Saana. She even had a pretty name. That was just unfair. She also had a firm handshake, sparkling eyes and a sassy smirk hiding in the corner of her mouth. Erik already knew that she was amazing.

“Oh, are you really Erik Thorn? I’ve read about your work in Kabul, it sounded risky.”

Erik’s heart skipped a beat again as he nodded. “It was risky, yes. Especially keeping the tourists alive!”

Saana’s lips pulled into a wide smile hearing that, and that was the end of Erik. He felt his hands shake so he let go of Saana’s hand and looked away. He felt his face warming up. It was- it was the most embarrassing thing ever. He was 36 years old, the Afghan ladies loved him, and he had plenty of experience with them, but this- this was a whole different deal. He felt like a little boy all of a sudden. He felt so stupid. Thankfully Saana didn’t seem to notice, or she was decent enough to pretend not to notice his obvious longing. She looked up at him once more, and stepped away, to greet Mike instead, leaving Erik just enough time to slap himself in the face mentally.

He hoped that this sudden interest in Saana would fade after a few days, that it was just the excitement of something new, but he couldn’t have been more wrong. After bumping into the woman in every goddamn place possible, he realised how small Hereford base really was. His life turned into a hot mess and suddenly he missed his good old hermitage very much, thank you.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like Saana - it was the exact opposite. Erik found her fantastic. Sanna was not only very attractive in appearance, no! She had the audacity to be smart, funny, interesting, gentle and on the top of it an excellent soldier! She got the hostage out, she solved the team dynamics, she was flexible and confident, and she was everything Erik has ever wanted to be. Saana made life look so easy, but Erik knew that it wasn’t, even for her. He has heard about the adventures of the woman, and he couldn’t imagine how hard it was to keep everything in order, but Saana made it work and he just wanted to learn from this amazing woman.

He found himself wanting to be around Saana, not just in the terms of friendship. He wanted to show her Kabul, and he wanted her to guide him through all her own adventures. He wished to be by her side, but he had no idea how to approach somebody so perfect. He was afraid that he would mess it up, so he didn’t do anything for a while.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

His lucky day -or maybe lucky night- came on a stormy Friday in early March. The base was still freezing, and he couldn’t for the love of god fall asleep. They had a big mission going on soon, and he was lying in bed, eyes open, thinking about the new triggering mechanism for his torch, when the first lightning hit the ground. It was so loud he winced in his bed. He looked out of the window as the first drops of rain started to fall. This weather reminded him of his childhood; during storms his mother always made a cup of tea for him, and they stayed up late, cuddled in a big blanket, talking.

He scratched his beard and glanced at the other bed, where Olivier was sleeping peacefully. With a small smile on his lips, he got to his feet and put on a sweatshirt. A cup of tea sounded nice, especially in the cold. He left his room and headed towards the cafeteria. When he turned into the corridor that led towards his destination, he was surprised to see light inside. Shrugging it off, he walked to the door. His hard guess was Ryad or Timur wandering around, or maybe Dominic trying to steal some of Adriano’s delicious biscotti. Without thinking twice, he pushed the door open and stepped in, only to be greeted by Saana, hunched over something at a table.

Blinking a few times, he bit his lips. Nobody was around, just the two of them, he wasn’t even sure if that ever happened before. “Good evening!” he greeted gently, but when no answer came, he stepped closer to the woman, to notice how her eyes were shut. She fell asleep on top of her papers and notebook, hand still holding the pen. He couldn’t hide a smile. Oh, so amazons still needed rest.

He watched her sleep for just a few seconds, and went to the kitchen to put up a kettle of water to heat. Then he left into the common room, to get a blanket from one of the armchairs. Arriving back, he made two cups of tea. He placed both mugs on Saana’s table, and unfolding the blanket, he gently covered the woman with it. To his touch, Saana winced and looked up at him. Her face was wrinkled, hair messy, eyes tired. Nobody was in their best form two seconds after waking up, but Erik still found her perfect.

Saana rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, and pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulder. “Thanks. I was working on our next mission, but I guess I fell asleep.” she smiled. “Thank you” she took the mug Erik offered her, and when the man gestured to the place next to her, she nodded.

Sitting down, Erik smiled at her. “Do you always work during the nights?”

“Only when I can’t sleep!” Saana smiled and glanced down at her work.

Erik lifted an eyebrow and followed her gaze to the maps, and weather forecasts and notes. “You sure take this seriously,” he said in amazement.

Saana nodded. “I have never been to this side of Chile, and we are approaching a fortress in the mountains. I just want to make sure that we will come back in our original packages.”

“And I thought I did my homework!” the blonde snorted. He then looked at the leather covered notebook by Saana’s left. “Can I?” he reached out and with an approving ‘sure’, the woman handed him the book.

Erik opened it gently and started to scan through the pages. There were notes and amazing sketches about the places Saana visited before. He couldn’t hold back a smile as he slowly shook his head.

“What?” Saana asked, embarrassed.

“It’s just- I’m just wondering, how are you even real!”

Blushing, Saana placed a hand on her chest with an almost offended smile. “Excuse me?”

“Oh nothing, nothing! It’s just that you exist only to selfishly humiliate us, normal human beings, with this amazing, sassy elegance you have!” Erik smiled at her.

With mouth falling open, Saana rolled his eyes. “I- I will take that as a compliment!”

Tilting his head, Erik smiled. “Good. It was a compliment.”

“Oh, so you compliment every lady like this?”

Erik stuck out his bottom lip and shook his head. “No, not at all. Just the special ladies!”

With a soft giggle, Saana placed her hand on the notebook, trying to pull it away from Erik. “You are horrible!”

“Oh no, no, no! Please! I will behave! Please let me look at your amazing pictures!” Erik did not let go of the notebook just yet.

Saana shook her head. “Okay, okay, fine! But only with one condition.”

“Which is?”

The woman let go of the book and instead, she pointed gently at Erik’s tattoo. “I would like to hear about Afghanistan a bit more.”

Erik glanced down at his tattoo, then back at Saana. “Well… if you want to hear everything, one night is not enough time. I’ve spent ten years in the country.”

With a cheeky smile, Saana nodded. “I don’t think that we will be able to get rid of each other soon anyway.”

His lips pulling into a smile, Erik said. “That is true. In this case, I would like to hear more about your adventures, starting with how you lost your fingers.”

Saana looked down at her hand, and up to Erik again. “That is a gory and disgusting story.”

“I’m all ears!”

Saana poked his side with her elbow gently. “No! You owe me a story about Kabul for now!”

With a resigning sigh, Erik nodded. “But Kabul might not even be that exciting! You can’t build up my interest like that, and then leave me hanging!”

“You are such a- so we are playing mind games now, hm? Emotional blackmailing, hm?”

Erik glanced in her eyes with a pout. “Only if it's working…?”

A good hearted laugh burst out of Saana, filling the canteen with life. “I can’t believe this! Okay, let’s make a deal. You will tell me a story about Kabul now, and then we will go to have some sleep, and tomorrow, I will tell you the story of how I lost my fingers during dinner?”

The blonde shut his mouth immediately, looking the other in the eye without blinking. He considered every possibility and outcome thoroughly and started to nod furiously. “Yes, I would love that very much!”

Satisfied with herself, Saana produced one of those fantastic, bright smiles. “It’s a date then. You pick the restaurant.”

Now it was Erik’s turn to get flushed. A date-a date-a date- adate . He felt his mouth open, but the sound didn’t come out. He was shocked. “A date?”

Saana smirked at him. “You didn’t think that I would invite you to steal food from Adriano and eat it surrounded by the others, right? So it’s a date. If you want it to be a date too!”

Erik looked at her, and started to nod furiously yet again. “Yes, I would love that very much!”

The woman next to him laughed again, and turning towards Erik she waited patiently until the man’s head cleared out just enough to start one of the Kabul stories. He didn’t plan this to be so easy, but he was undoubtedly happy with the sudden turn of events.

The next day, they accidentally stayed at the restaurant talking and exchanging stories for so long, the main chef needed to warn them that they were about to close. Erik knew he would remember that day until the end of his times.

During the dinner, Saana mentioned that she never visited a planetarium, and Erik discovered that despite his undying love for space, he neither set foot into one before. With that, their second date was decided.

They spend the third date in one of Maxim’s hunting huts, eating cereal out straight out of the bag, talking about their life in the army. Erik asked what was the worst thing that happened to Saana, and in exchange, he told her about the day he disappeared. He felt insecure at first, talking about his biggest shame, but Saana just lied there next to him, in the dirt, and listened to his every word without a single word of judgement. When he finished, the woman propped herself up on her elbow, and touching his face gently, she kissed him. It was the best date of all his life, and he already knew that he wanted more. He wanted it all.

For the fourth date, Erik planned a trip for them to Arthur’s Stone, which was just about 20 kms away from Hereford. When they began their journey in the morning, the sky was clear, the sun shining bright, but in a few hours the weather turned upside down, bringing an earth shaking summer storm with it. They were in the middle of nowhere when it hit, and both of them were soaking wet in just a few minutes. He was so angry and disappointed, he could shout. He knew that there was a National park near the Stone, and Saana loved forests, yet they were stuck on a plain field, drowning in mud.

When he opened his mouth to say his apology to Saana, the woman just hugged his neck and gave him a kiss, getting him even more wet, than he was before. She then smiled at him, with that amazing, bright smile of hers and pointed at a barn in the distance. “I bet, you can’t outrun me, Erik!”

She let go of him, starting her race towards the destination, and with that Erik’s anger was gone.

They spent the night in the barn, accompanied by a few horses, cuddled close to keep each other warm, talking about the places they wanted to visit. Until this point both of them planned for only themselves, but soon, their separated trips merged into shared ones. Saana - with all honesty - told him that even though she would never want to leave Erik behind, there were still a few places , like Antarctica, where she wanted to go alone. Understanding what this meant to Saana, Erik obviously accepted her decision, and asked if he could wait for her at the end points of those trips.

With sparkling eyes, Saana put her head on his shoulder, caressing his cheeks with her gentle fingers. “Yes, I would love that very much,” she whispered.

Erik smiled at him, and hugged her close, planting his face into her naked shoulders. “I will wave you goodbye, and I will greet you again, after the 50 days.”

Saana chuckled. “You mean 52 days. The first guy who crossed Antarctica on foot took 52 days.”

With a smile, Erik looked at her. “Saana, I think both of us know that you will never be satisfied with a second place.”

Laughing, the woman nodded, giving him a kiss yet again. “I guess you are right!”

Erik placed a kiss on top of her forehead and hugging her waist closer, he closed his eyes. During that night, in a shitty barn, surrounded by horses, cuddling naked next to one other, Erik found his deep slumber again, just like back at the oasis.

The next morning, he thought it was just one occasion. He was most surprised when, during their fifth date, he fell asleep just as easily as the last time, with Saana pressed against his back, hugging his waist.

They had spent the day in a small Welsh village, exploring the history of it together, then they had dinner in a fantastic little restaurant, and arriving back to their hotel room, they spent the next hours making love to each other. He planned all these outcomes, but he was sure, he won’t be able to sleep, so waking up in the morning, to Saana’s ice-cold feet pressing against his upper thighs, was both a pleasant and an unpleasant surprise. He opened his eyes with a loud yelp, and when he turned to the woman, she just smiled at him innocently. “What happened darling? A bug bit you?”

He wanted to make a smart remark, but before he could open his mouth, he decided to look the woman up and down. Her hair was messy, her eyes sparkled, she was covered in the soft sheets of the hotel, and he knew his future was next to her. So instead of commenting on her being a mountain troll, he gently cupped Saana’s face in between his hands, and gave him a soft kiss. Giggling, she hugged his neck and pulled him closer. As they parted, he pressed his forehead to the woman’s, eyes closed, caressing her arm and that was it. He never looked back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Slowly their relationship got stronger and stronger, and they spent more and more time together. Erik found true rest only with Saana sleeping next to him, and couldn’t have been more grateful for it. It was clear as day that they were happy together, and as he discovered more about Saana, he fell deeper into the pit.

It wasn’t easy all the time, there were days, even weeks, when both of them were stressed from work, and he started to see how Saana - despite being a goddess in his eyes - was just as human as him. She was messy, she spent way too much time working, and when she was stressed she sometimes took it out on him. He soon understood her struggles with always trying to be the best and that she often forgot that she could count on him as well.

To his greatest surprise, the biggest discovery was that he didn’t mind any of this. He wanted to be there for Saana, even if his only job was to make her a tea and cover her in a blanket, when she worked. He never asked her to change, and just as easily as he did, Saana accepted his own strange bits as well. She was by her side, when he was angry, when he was broken, when he was weak, always holding him together with all the love she could give.

Both of them listened when the other needed them to, and they knew how to help. They were not afraid to ask for help and let the other close, because both of them knew that they were just meant for each other, and that after the storm, there will always be able to see the clear skies again.

Their days together turned into weeks, the weeks into months, and the months into years, and they never stopped to love and support each other.

Erik was there, when Saana was shot during a mission, sitting sleepless next to her hospital bed until she woke up. She was by his side, when his father got sick, holding his broken pieces together, shielding him from the world. And, as he promised, he was the last one waving goodbye when Saana started her journey across Antarctica, and he was the first to greet her by the goalline.

When Saana was not next to him, because she was on a mission alone, he tended to go back to his old habits of lying in their empty bed, thinking about his previous life. He got himself remembering his childhood, the early years of the military practice, Kabul, his two years long runaway, and that first date with Saana. He found himself smiling, because after all, every struggle he ever had was worth it in the end. He was happy, he loved like never before, and he was loved just the same.

He sometimes got himself thinking that what if it will be over one day? What if, Saana will get to her sober senses and just leave him behind. He wouldn’t blame her, he was not a Prince Charming on a white horse. He wasn’t rich, he wasn’t perfect, he still didn’t know how to say her mother’s name correctly, and he always left the toilet seat up. To his luck, Saana didn’t care about any of these, and she was not afraid to tell that to him over and over again, if she saw he needed it.

Saana had an inhuman sense to read his mood, even when he turned inwards. She always knew what he needed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For example, now, on the evening of the 6th of May, mere minutes before midnight, just as his insecurities were about to rise in him about their wedding tomorrow, Saana sensed his distress and waking from her sleep, she placed her hand on the sides of his face. “You are not sleeping, my love,” she whispered.

With a low chuckle, he pressed a kiss in her palm. “Yes, but you can rest, I’m all good.”

Saana yawned and fidgeting, she rolled him over gently to be able to press against his cooler back with her chest. She hugged his waist, pushing her warm cheeks against his skin. “You are not, I can tell. Let me guess… You are afraid that my father will not accept you in our family. You are sad, because your dad can’t be with us tomorrow. And you are thinking that after eight damn years of strong and stable relationship, I still deserve more than what you are able to give me.”

Erik bit into his lips, listening to Saana with a wide grin on his face. “You know me.”

“Of course I know you. And I know that my father will love to have you as his son-in-law. I also know that even if your dad will not be able to be here physically, he will be looking down at us from Heaven and he will be pretty damn proud about your sexy little wife. And for the last part- Erik, I know you love me, you keep telling me every day. Not with your words, but with your actions. For example how after eight years, you still bring my morning coffee to bed in my favourite mug. How you only fill the rows of the newspaper crosswords I have no idea about but leave the rest for me because you know that I love them. How you suppress your muffled screaming every time, I press my cold feet against your skin… These are small and insignificant to you Erik, I know! Trust me, I know! But I also know that I would never want to press my feet against anybody else. I will press them against your skin for the rest of our lives, and if you have any complaints, I don’t care!”

Erik closed his eyes, listening to Saana, biting the inside of his mouth to hide a soft sniffle. He lifted one of the woman’s hands to his lips and pressed a kiss into his palm. “Have I ever told you about the Oasis in the Desert of Death?” he whispered.

He felt Saana’s lips pulling into a small smile against his back. “Only a few hundred times, why?”

“Because you are just like that Oasis.”

At that, Saana propped in her elbow to get a better look at his face. “Elaborate, please, my love.”

Erik looked up at her, with a soft smile on his face. “When I arrived at that oasis, I was nothing more, but a broken man. I was depressed and weak, I was barely able to stand. I just realised how big of a fool I was for running, how wrong I was. I collapsed on the sand ready to die, but by that oasis I found a piece of myself I lost during the years. I was just lying there, looking up at the sky, and I suddenly felt light and calm. By the water, I realised everything I did wrong, and the ways to fix it. That oasis gave me new life, and you are just the same. You are always there to help me, always there to catch me, always there to remind me why I want to keep going on. You bring me peace and rest, and for that, I love you more than I have ever loved anybody else. You are my present and you are my future.”

Now it was Saana’s turn to hide a sniffle. She rubbed her nose, and took a deep breath glancing away. After a few minutes of silence, Saana looked back at him and clearing her throat, she smirked. “If this is not your goddamn wedding vow for tomorrow, I’m going to be very disappointed!”

Laughing burst out of Erik, as he hugged Saana close to himself, pressing soft kisses on her neck and skin. Shaking with laughter as well, Saana hugged his neck and pulled him into a deep, loving kiss. Parting, she placed her hand on Erik’s face and smiled at him. “I love you so much Erik Thorn. I would not give you up for anybody or anything. You are mine, and I’m yours. And nothing can change it.”

The man looked up at her, eyes sparking with love and hope, and after a gentle kiss, he hugged Saana close to himself. They fell asleep, holding onto each other like they usually did, and that was it. That was true happiness.

[polesupplierswell]

Trekking pole manufacturer/supplier

Millet mountaineering bag measured experience, a century-old outdoor brand

Today I will unpack this Millet PEUT INT 35+10 outdoor hiking bag.

Let’s talk about this outdoor brand! Millet was originally a canvas bag company. It sprouted in Lyon, France in 1921. Since the company moved to the foot of the Alps in 1928, it began to produce professional mountaineering backpacks in the 1930s. The two sons also inherited the family business and further cooperated with mountain guides to jointly develop higher-level and professional mountaineering backpacks.

Millet products are divided into six series, namely, Alpinism-Professional Mountaineering/Climbing, Climbing-Rock Climbing, Trekking Hiking-Hiking, Mountain lifestyle-Leisure Life, Ski-Skiing, TRAIL-Wild Running. And this backpack out of the box today is designed for year-round mountaineering. In addition to basic mountaineering settings, a lot of thoughtful designs for ice climbing or skiing are added to the details of the backpack. Let's take a look!

35+10 liters of flexible large capacity

I like this kind of backpack with elastic capacity the most, because storage is really hard work, especially in the mountains, it is inconvenient to pack, and some items that are light and need easy access (such as raincoats, down jackets, mobile food) sometimes I'm really too lazy to organize it. With flexible capacity, I just throw it all in.

The design of the bag is exquisitely equipped with a harness configuration at 35 liters and an additional 10 liters. With or without the 10 liters, the equipment can be compressed into a fixed shape. Although it seems to be a small design, it is not in use. It is very intimate and can feel the fineness.

In addition, there is another setting that has to be praised, see the picture below.

(The middle picture is taken from Millet's official website)

Because it is designed for year-round climbing and climbing, a rope storage system is specially installed inside the top bag, which solves the inconvenience of rope storage at one go; at the same time, even if there is no ice climbing requirement, this buckle can be used as The secondary compression, or the perfect fixation of any equipment that needs to be fastened here (the Hanchor CINDER 18L top bag is shown on the right above), really greatly improves the storage performance of this bag!

Straight bag type

I didn't pay special attention to the shape of the bag before. Anyway, it is normal to occasionally hook on branches and get stuck on the path. But when I came back to do my homework, I found out: this bag is too thin!

The above picture is not obvious, please see the official website product photo below.

Maybe it’s because of the women’s backpack. It is also narrower in the shape of the backpack to match the shoulder width. The advantage is that when drilling some narrow mountain roads, it is not easy to get stuck on nearby branches or affect activities. Recall that when I was drilling before, I would be hitting everything. This time it seemed to be really unimpeded.

Since the backpack is a bucket type, a double-end zipper is opened on the side of the backpack to improve the convenience of picking up items. You need to make a small hole where you want to take the equipment, and you are not afraid that it will all fall out once you open it. (Later after thinking about it, I found out that it was this way that I used a double-end zipper, so sweet~)

Comfortable carrying system and super breathable back panel

Let's talk about the most important carrying system.

Because my favorite bag is the adjustable back length Mystery Ranch, this bag without a back length adjustment system may make people a little uncomfortable, but in fact, as long as the weight is fixed in a labor-saving position on the body, the carrying is very comfortable of.

At the beginning, I adjusted the elasticity of the strap with the tightness that Mysterious Farm is used to. After more than an hour of departure, I started to have waist and back pain. Later, on the suggestion of a friend, I tightened the belt and pinched my waist (more than when I was carrying Mystery Farm. Tight), so that the waist belt can be locked and fixed to the hip joint, and it will be improved immediately, and there is no back pain at all during the whole trip, which is very powerful in the carrying system!

Although many people admire Mystery Farm’s excellent carrying and user-friendly adjustment system, the empty weight of the backpack is indeed quite heavy. The choice of backpack still depends on the different needs and physical conditions of each person. This time I use Millet to find fun. PEUT INT, it is indeed obvious that the weight on the body has been reduced a lot, and when the backpack is back on the body, it is not as difficult as before. It is a very comfortable carrying experience.

Chest buckle with elastic rope track and adjustable position.

Millet's secret weapon is super breathable back panel!

then! What I want to introduce is the breathable backboard that I feel very good this time.

As a Virgo with a lot of sweat and a bit of cleanliness, at first a large part of the mountain climbing is not able to adapt to the sweat, wet and sticky, and can not take a bath. Every time the backpack upper body will obviously feel a whole piece of sweat on the back, It's terrible. But this bag won't!

Millet's Ariaprène Back technology, I don’t know how to translate it. In short, it looks like it’s hollowed out a whole piece of foam in a special form, so that the back panel foam can take into account comfort and breathability at the same time. The triangle doesn't look much, but it's a peach blossom on the back! Before starting to use, I did a little homework on this backpack, and I noticed the ventilation system on the back. I didn’t think much about it at the beginning, but it was really super comfortable to use. It was sunny and sweaty for three days and two nights. , When I go home and smell the backboard, it is still fragrant (I just smelled it again, um, it is still fragrant), this ventilation system I give a super high evaluation!

Magic large space, large top pocket and storage space

Do you like to keep holding things when climbing a mountain?

Can you take a trekking pole for me, can you take a fur hat for me, in the side pocket, wait a moment, I want to wear a coat, I am hungry, I want to eat... That’s right, it’s that annoying, but I’m lazy to take off the backpack , It’s the kind that when you’re shopping on the street and want to take things, you will reach out to the back to dig out your backpack for a long time, and you will always want to take things. How can you get it in the main bag?

This top bag is basically a big space, super three-dimensional square compartment, no problem to put a bunch of things, if you want to, you should be able to put a total of nine uniform big pudding in three rows, plus a raincoat in it. My own storage habit is to put all the rainproof equipment in the top pocket, which is the most convenient to take, and is not afraid of getting the equipment wet. Also, because the shape of the compartment is almost a cuboid, the shape of the top pocket still won’t run after stuffing so many things. It will even make it look better.

Top pocket, top pocket inner layer, side pockets, large main pocket, thick storage deep pocket on the front side, and water bag hanging ring.

In addition to the top pocket, other storage spaces are also worth mentioning. Excluding the oversized top pocket, there is also a small zipper pocket on the inner layer of the top pocket, which can hold some smaller items; the front side is a thick and deep pocket for ice climbing to place crampons, which is very high and stiff enough. You can also put some small flat objects without crampons; the inside of the bag has a water bag fixing ring configuration, which is quite intimate.

Infinitely possible plug-in settings everywhere

Did you discover it? His external ring is invincible!

As a professional camel beast, one of the bad storage habits is to love plug-ins. Some hiking bags don’t pay much attention to the external system (after all, I’m not happy to see crazy external systems, haha). Although they can be placed in the main backpack of the backpack, they don’t need external ones. (Such as camping lights, stereos, slippers, hats) hanging outside is a kind of hardcore game, handsome~ Then there are really a bunch of loops on the outside of this backpack for me to hang out, satisfying my little vanity.

(Do you know why I can’t resist the modular system of Mystery Ranch 2 Day Assault)

Did you find that even the top pocket has four loops? Because of those four loops, Zhi Jiayang can put the tent on top of the top pocket

Not only the webbing loop, but also because of the needs of ice climbing, there are additional straps, ice axe straps (trekking poles can also be used) and storage compartments. Take a look at the picture below. If it really looks like the right one... . It's too hardcore! ! !

Use experience sharing

It’s almost here when I open the box. Overall, I’m very satisfied with the use. Although some of the features are spoiled by the love bag: adjustable back length, three-way full-opening zipper, and many internal interlayers, which make it uncomfortable at the beginning. However, after these two uses, I can get started slowly, and PEUT also has some comforts that the love bag cannot provide (such as breathability, light weight and large capacity), and the carrying system is indeed no less than the love bag. In fact, after weighing it down, the longer reloading trip should still choose to take PEUT up the mountain.

The most obvious experience of this experience is probably the intimateness of the backpack design. In many cases, I have made thoughtful ideas for the inconvenience and discomfort of mountaineering. It is worthy of a century-old mountaineering equipment brand. There are many ingenuity in product design and delicate attention. Accompany us through every mountain.

Because I have not experienced too many mountaineering bags, I have only used Decathlon, Mystery Ranch 2 Day Assault and this Millet PEUT INT 35+10, plus the positioning of each bag is different, so there are not many here. Make a comparison~ I like it and recommend it!

The above experience is all sincerely shared and recommended. Although the speech is a bit exaggerated, it is really good to memorize it.

[brainsdivided]

Shattered Hearts and Broken Dreams - Chapter 1

Trigger Warnings: Vomiting, Parent death, Child endangerment/sickness

15 August 2293

Nearly motionless laid a young boy. Bundled in a faded green blanket, he laid on his back with his hands by his sides.

Watching from his desk was an old man, bound in full-body bandages and dressed casually, minus the SWAT vest that shielded his torso. The rhythmic clicks of .45 magazines being removed and reinserted into place made up for the silence. His eyes, while focused on his work, often fell upon the sleeping child. He mentally recalled the boy’s arrival.

A couple days ago, a scout had carried the boy into their camp, reporting that he and the kid’s backpack were fished from a little ways away from near the Eastern Virgin river. When the child had arrived he was soaked and unconscious. Sunburned, blistered, malnourished, and dehydrated. Thankfully, the defacto leader of the Sorrows tribe was familiar with medical treatments. After a thorough medical assessment, it had been determined that the boy was terribly ill, having been suffering from radiation poisoning for at least a few weeks. He was given all of what remained of their radaway stock, and yet it didn’t seem like it was enough. The Sorrows leader had changed the child into dry clothes and left the backpack in the cave in which the Dead Horses often guarded. The older man sighed knowing that the child had practically been asleep for a couple days, barely waking up enough to take care of his needs himself.    

A hefty breath escaped the boy, bringing the man’s attention to the child.

The child gasped for air for a moment and brought his hands to his chest, the blanket folded in his grasp. Opening his eyes slowly, he couldn’t see much at first. As he regained consciousness his eyesight grew less hazy. His skin felt hot and he felt a nauseated lump in his throat. As his vision cleared, he glanced around the cave. Briefly, he made eye contact with the figure at the desk. The bandages covering the man’s face and the menacing environment made him feel uneasy. He responded with a troubled whine.   

"You and your belongings are safe and being looked after.” The voice of the unknown man was rough and deep.

The boy’s voice broke into a frightened and meek cry, "How do I know that I am safe? Where am I?"

"You are the safest you could possibly be. The home of the Lord and his worshipers, Zion Canyon. We are peaceful people, traders, hunters. We follow the path of God here, and helping those in need is something we try to engage in." The pistol in his hand was placed with the others on the table. He moved over to the field bed, taking the backpack with him. Sitting by the bed on a stool, the backpack rested in his lap. "We did not look through it, son. Whatever secrets you may hold within, they are yours to keep, or reveal."

The child narrowed his eyes up at the bandaged man. “Am I really safe here?” He questioned, “Home of the Lord? Dad believed in that stuff, too. But, when they came…if God were real, he wasn’t there for us. Not then.” The boy’s dark eyes watered. “I’m not safe here. No one ever is, and neither are you.” 

"We have driven the demons from our valley. We have had our blood, our wars. We may be peaceful but we are not resting upon it. Tell me, son, who are you?" The mysterious figure scooted the stool closer to the bed.

The boy coughed into his arm. "Ezekiel Cassidy. I’m 11 years old and I have a twin brother. His name is Isaac Cassidy, but he was captured. I'm from Goodsprings..." Ezekiel's voice went quiet for a moment then he continued, "... My parents…They were so great. My father would tell us stories and call himself a Mojave legend. Now, he really is one, I think. A ghost story.”

"A legend, hmm? And from Goodsprings? Reminds me of a man I once knew. A good, God-fearing soldier I served with. But it is very unlikely that we are speaking of the same person." The older man took a long look at the boy whose face looked tired and pale. Dark circles lined Ezekiel’s eyes and his lips were dry and cracked. His hair appeared copper even in the dim light but it too looked faded and lifeless.

His own eyes followed the boy’s hand when the child leaned off the side of the bed to reach for his bag.

"Dad’s gun... He always kept it on him. Dad... told to find Joshua Graham, the Burned Man." His eyes beaded tears as he pulled a pistol from the canvas bag.

 The old weapon was taken from the boy and the inscriptions on the side of it were read aloud. "The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it." The magazine was pulled out and taken a look at. The bandaged man spoke smoothly towards the boy, "You say your father has been slain?"

Ezekiel was silent for a moment, his tired eyes falling upon what visible skin there was on the man’s face. "Both my mother and father. I don’t understand…” His voice began to quiver as he thought of his dad. “My dad would take us shooting and he'd hit every target, would look Fiends in the eyes. Fearless and strong, sure. But when the bad men came, it's almost like he froze and couldn't act the way he said he did in his stories. What if they weren’t true?" Ezekiel started to cry and he put his hands over his eyes, "His stories were just made up. What if the Burned Man isn't real, what if I ran away for nothing? I should’ve just let myself be kidnapped, too!"

A bandaged hand was put on the boy's shoulder. "Your father was a lot of things, but he was never a liar. I knew him. The Courier. A good man. Together we fought, bled and killed in the name of our tribes and our God. You see, what he told you, it was not a mere bedtime story. I am what they call the Burned Man. Joshua Graham, ex-Legate of the Legion... and a nightmare of an enemy."

The boy's body twitched with the start of a dry heave and Joshua responded with swapping the bag in his lap out for a nearby bucket. Once the twitches stopped, Ezekiel rubbed the tears from his eyes to look at Joshua. He almost couldn’t believe it. Ezekiel felt a surge of relief. “You… you are real?”

"As real as night and day. I am saddened by the demise of your father but... for now, I am worried about you. We do not have enough of the medicine you need.”

Ezekiel sighed, his body feeling heavy with exhaustion. "I need to save my brother…” He heaved again and Joshua held the boy’s head towards the bucket as he wretched into the container.

When the boy finished and laid back down, the bucket was set aside. "Do you know who attacked your family?” The bandaged man was holding the boy's hand between both of his to comfort him, but his eyes displayed a deep seated rage.

Ezekiel wiped his mouth with his other arm and cleared his throat, "I think it was the Legion? They wore skirts. Like, leather skirts? A lot of red. But if Dad's stories were true, wouldn’t the Legion be defeated?” 

"Defeating a nation in one or two battles doesn't mean winning the entire war, son. It sounds like the Legion. Small groups penetrate deep into enemy territory, wreak havoc in the rear, exhaust people of the war. It is a tactic I devised for them, a long time ago. It also sounds like an assassination party. We will find out who's doing it was, son."

"I'm lucky to have found you." Fatigued, Ezekiel began to quiet down "I miss my Dad.."

"We shall avenge your father and rescue your brother. We will deliver every single one of those heathens to God and let him judge them accordingly." Joshua had his fist clenched as he glared at the boy, then at the dusty cave wall behind Ezekiel. 

The boy's pale hand gently pat his guardian's arm. His mind grew foggy."You aren't too old for that are you?"

"I will never be too old to perform my duty for the Lord." He took the pistol once again and held it up. "Do you know how to use this?"

Ezekiel nodded. "I had to use it a couple times to get here."

"Very good. I will clean it and take good care of it for you. I would like to look into making a few additions."

"You would? That's nice of you..." Ezekiel’s eyelids fluttered, as though he were falling back asleep.

"You have some rest now. I will take care of your pistol." Joshua turned away from the bed and went back to the table, the Courier was in his thoughts and a mental prayer went through his mind for his old friend. To himself, and to the Courier, he promised he’d help to finish his job in looking after Ezekiel and help him grow into a fine young man just as the Courier once was. 

[frangipanidownunder]

Alright, Archaeologist AU, for the X-Files, of course.

1

He wasn’t going to go, but Phoebe insisted on putting his name down as a volunteer over the summer. Besides, it was preferable to going home.

“Imagine holding the femur of a 1500-year-old man in your hand,” she’d said as she stroked his cock and he felt himself harden despite himself.

Perhaps he should be going home.

And, then, she’d taken off at midnight, leaving him a scrawled note about ‘having to do some research’ she’d meet at the dig. She signed it with a love heart stabbed with an arrow

           He drove to the site where some renowned archaeologist whose name escaped him was conducting works to excavate an Iron Age hill fort.

           There were a dozen mud-splashed cars parked in the small clearing at the side of the narrow road. His stomach roiled at the thought of having to spend time with so many new people but it was probably better than having to wait for Phoebe to return from her ‘cat-feeding’.

2

A Land Rover pulled in and parked wonkily next to his car. A pair of women got out, one wearing baggy tie-dyed pants, a woollen midriff sweater revealing a belly-ring and a knitted scarf keeping her red dreadlocks off her face. Her DMs were purple and instantly sunk into the soft earth. The other wore a chambray shirt loose over darker denim jeans, neatly braided hair and work boots.

           “I told you we’d be late,” the hippy girl snapped and marched off.

“Your crystals are no match for an up-to-date AA atlas, Missy.” Braids swung a backpack over her shoulder and huffed. She grabbed another bag from the back.

           “Can I help?” he offered.

But Braids shook her head and shucked the bag to the crook of her elbow. “I’m fine.” He fell in beside her and she side-eyed him, taking a few more steps before she asked, “Do you know this Professor?”

           Phoebe had mentioned the name in passing. Ray something. He wasn’t listening because she was distracting him while he was trying to study. The usual thing. He turned up at hers with all good intentions but she connived some way of getting him to drop everything and go on an errand, or help her with some assignment that was already overdue, or challenged him with some ridiculous dare after one too many Snakebites. He hadn’t worked out how to say no and half of him was more than willing to jump in or experience the thrill of a brush with danger or the law.

           “According to my sister, Professor Monica Reyes is the pre-eminent voice in her field. A world expert on burial mounds and tumulus. And a fellow American.” She smiled then and he felt a bloom of camaraderie in his chest. “Missy is treating this dig like she’s going backstage at a Duran Duran concert.”

           He chuckled, relaxed. “An archaeological groupie, now that’s a credential.”

3

Missy was chatting with a tall, dark-haired woman, at the entrance to a khaki canvas tent. They blew smoke rings away from each other’s faces and laughed. Beyond, there were pits and ditches, mounds of rubble, wheelbarrows, a couple of small tents, flapping in the breeze. The volunteers were grouped along the edges of the pits, digging or making notes on clipboards. Mulder was impressed by the view. Especially when Braids walked in front of him and he watched her confident strides as she approached her sister. He was also relieved that there was no sign of Phoebe.

           “Are you coming?” she called back to him. “I’m not breaking up the love match of the century by myself.”

           As he approached, he heard a familiar voice coming from the tent.

           “Mon, I think that’s my jacket you’re wearing.” Phoebe emerged from the darkness, holding a similar black leather biker jacket in her arms.

Missy coughed into her hands and stubbed out her cigarette. “Let’s find our team, Danes.”

“Fox, you made it.” Phoebe grinned at him. “Mon, this is my friend, Fox Mulder. He’s being a good egg and helping today. Fox is the smartest person I know.” She held his gaze but linked her arm through Professor Reyes’ elbow. “Aside from you, of course.”

“Clearly, you haven’t met my sister,” Missy said.

Braids blushed. And Mulder felt in good company.

4

His knees creaked, his back ached, his temples throbbed. He hadn’t got used to the humidity in late summer in England. The effects of last night’s alcohol and lack of sleep had caught up with him and he sunk down into the shade of one of the marquees and closed his eyes.

           “Water?” Braids handed him a plastic cup and he skulled it. “I’m Dana Scully, by the way,

“I’m Fox ‘World’s Dumbest Smart Person’ Mulder.” He tried to laugh but everything hurt.

Dana sat next to him. “If it’s any consolation, I think Missy is just as humiliated as you. She’s been writing the Professor for months. This dig was going to be the beginning of an enduring romance that would see her travel the world excavating fossils and reconstructing the events of the past.”

“Sorry,” he said. “Phoebe is…” He couldn’t even think of an appropriate descriptor.

“Her chi has taken a hiding.” They both looked at Missy, slumped under a tree, fanning herself with a wad of papers. “And she’ll probably throw out her Tarot deck when we get back. The Queen of Hearts was wrong.”

He dug out a smile. “Isn’t it the High Priestess in Tarot?”

“Whatever it is, I told her not to get her hopes up but she’s always so positive.”

“The Yin to your Yang? The Teller to your Penn?”

That earned him a toothy grin and a giggle. “I’m more logician than magician.”

“So you’re studying mathematics?”

“Physics, actually. And you? History? Archaeology?”

He shook his head. “Psychology.”

“Oh,” she said, looking over at Phoebe who was draped over Professor Reyes. “And yet you haven’t worked that out?”

5

Missy insisted they go for a drink. The thatched pub had a shady garden and served a good Ploughman’s. He ordered a pint of Old Peculiar and savoured the bitter sweetness as it coated his throat. Gnats buzzed in the steamy final hour of daylight.

           “She’s not what I expected,” Missy sighed, then sat upright, twirling the thin leather bracelet around her wrist. “But that just means I need to spend more time understanding my own path.”

           “Missy,” Dana said. “Your own path is as complicated or as easy as you make it. Destiny just makes people less accountable. Isn’t that right, Fox?”

           “Mulder, please.” Her cheeks were flushed and he wondered if they should call it quits at this round. “You don’t believe in fate, Dana?”

           “Scully, please,” she said, shaking her head. “Life isn’t written in the stars.”

           “And it’s not written in science journals either. That’s just the mechanics. Life, real life, happens between the equations, sister of mine. I’m going back to the motel. Don’t leave on my behalf. You two should fuck.”

           “Missy!” The blush burned deeper. Mulder let out a surprised laugh but there was a tingle in his groin. “Sorry,” Scully said, sipping her cider. “She can be very…”

           “Honest?”

           “I was going to say crude, but okay.”

           He swatted a gnat away. Its whine fading into the distance. “I should probably go too.”

           Her hand covered his. “Why?”

Yeah, why?

“Maybe Missy is right? Instead of digging up the past, we should do some living between the equations?”

The future was looking bright.

[sketchesbydean]

A Book I’m Writing: The Island Crown Ch. 1

I.

A day would come when the tide might drop like the sky from above and vanish you in the closing mouth of a wave. Then the earth would turn black and dark with stillness, the light never to be seen again. That day was tomorrow for all Bali could see.

A sudden crackle spit white light across the gray-washed horizon and Bali grimaced. Then, like the two had corroborated together, a hand whacked her shoulder and sent her pencil in a jagged scribble down her brown page. But her string bound notebook laid unmoved on her lap, so she continued to write.

The hand came from a looming figure behind her. It crouched down again and delivered a series of whacks to her shoulder, knuckled and quick as to result in a mess of graphite punctures on her page. It was not enough to harm her, but irritating enough to enlist a response. Without a sigh, without a glance up, Bali slides her pencil into the book like a bookmark and confronts the horizon once more.

The unseen person had no effect on her, but the expanse of water was worrying. This time the figure nudges with their knee, leaning their weight on and off her back.

“Bali. Ba-li. Baa-li,” the figure whines.

She breathes in deep, mind nowhere near the interaction.

“Dinner’s ready.”

Bali gets up, as if she meant to do it of her own will all along. She turns to face Dewa, who towers over her like he does over everybody. Time had curbed her pride of being outgrown by her younger brother, but the thorn that said to splinter any challenge to her authority remained unmoved.

She walked towards land from the wide platform of the bamboo dock without acknowledging him, watching her feet land as a solid color beside the ever-shifting ripple of water.

As they walk back, Dewa nudges her with his shoulder again. It became bothersome and she tried with every ill-tempered cell in her body to remind herself that it was a coping mechanism. His behavior was affection that is not to be misinterpreted as malice, because although no one kept track of it and no one mentioned it, he knew about tomorrow too. Tomorrow was the day another sibling was sacrificed to the fairies.

Nine siblings had been sent to Nusa Irian to be fostered. Two were already gone, put on a ship and sent to the First Land where the fairies would eat their hearts for breakfast. Jusuf and Wayan had been gone nearly a year and no word reached the younger siblings of whether they had survived the journey. The seven remaining on the island thought about them everyday, waiting scared and silent for their turn to be taken away. Bali wondered what the ship that carried her tomorrow would look like.

The fifty or so meters went quick and before Dewa could adjust to the solidness of dirt at the end, Bali suddenly nudges him back with more strength than he knew she had. He stumbled towards the forest but stayed off the ground, smirking at her and resorting to words instead.

“We’re going to be late. Nearly an hour’s ride and you’re slow. A fallen tree in our path sends you around instead of over,” he said.

“That’s Suri, you idiot. I can ride.”

 Bali slides her notebook into her back pocket and uses the dock’s railing as a pedestal to get on her horse. Dewa pushes at Bali’s horses’ shoulder to stir it awake before getting on his own. 

“Ugh. I have too many sisters, that’s a fact.”

They chuckle only to realize they had it wrong. A quiet moment. 

“Tomorrow, there’ll be one less,” Bali whispered. 

Dewa raises a sarcastic shrug, “Heartless. You’re heartless leaving me like this.” It’s a coping mechanism indeed. 

“I’ll be the one without a heart soon, stabbed or eaten no less.”

“Good, Suri is definitely the better rider.”

“Rude! You can’t talk to a queen like that.”

“You can if you’re a king!,” Dewa is off into the woods. She watches him for a moment, a flash of competition in her eyes, but the quiet creeps in again. Bali turns to squint at the sea. Beyond the horizon, hidden by the clouds, was a place she didn’t allow herself to think of. Tomorrow she would cross the water to set foot there, once there the First Land would be the only thing on her mind. Everything in Nusa Irian, including her six younger siblings and her foster parents would be only a dream.

The next time her younger siblings see her would either be at their coronation or her funeral. Bali turned to the trees and rode forward. She thought she heard another crackle but could not distinguish it from her breaking heart. Her stomach sunk into a chasm she didn’t know existed and her mind told her why: there would be no farewells after dinner, the events of her last night as a child would start and end as a blur. Then, the next day would appear swiftly, and she would walk to the ship as a blank canvas, without a thought in her mind. Her body would move by its own volition to the Main Shore.

And she was right, the next morning when she left, she had no recollection of leaving her bed or walking out the front door. All she knew was that she took a small backpack and fit inside it a single book, praying there would be paper wherever she ended up. In her head, she listed the names of the siblings she would leave behind on Nusa Irian: Tanu, Dewa, Asia, Merah, Suri, and Java. This might be the last time she ever saw them.

Outside, the air felt tight and humid at first, but as the sky lightened up, a freshness and clarity came to her breath. That is all she remembered from her walk to the house to the shore.

The ship was sitting silently by the wooden dock, not to be spotted in yesterday’s horizon but now monumentally present. Mugi Rahayu was painted in golden cursive on the ship’s side. The Captain of the Mugi Rahayu was a man of shorter than average height with skin like coffee and white hair. He dressed simply and had a red headwrap protecting him from the heat. Bali noted the most jewelry she had ever seen collected on his fingers, arms and ears. Nothing ostentatious with pearls or colored gems, only bands of silver and gold. But for all of this he was barefoot. His name was Nyoman.

Nyoman sat on the railing by the plank that served as a stairway up. He saw her and croaked in the voice of an avid sailor with never enough water in his throat, laughed at by the salty sea. 

“You’re late.”

He waved at the plank and waited for her in his seat. She climbed up, peaking at the deck. The Crew sprawled playing cards, they didn’t even look up when her head bobbed into view. It was clear to her from then that she wasn’t royalty to them, not yet. Nyoman beckoned her over, he had twisted around, legs now facing the Crew. 

“Bali Batavia?”

She nods. Bali bit her lips from inside her mouth, unwilling to let her mouth open. Any word to come would crack in half and tears would stream out before she would have the chance to blink. Nyoman figured as much. He jumped off his seat, held a steady hand on her arm and walked her to the middle of the deck where a cluster of wooden crates were.

“Sit.”

She does.

“Two nights. Three days.”

She nods.

“When we arrive, I will give you some information. The same information I give to all the siblings that have ever made this journey. We will not anchor when we reach land, you will step off a moving ship and you will not turn around to watch us leave.”

Bali opens her mouth to ask a question, but he cuts her off.

“Yes, I sent your brother and sister. They came just after midnight on their seventeenth birthday. Which makes you late.”

He saw her eyes plead for more.

“I have known all the siblings. You parents and their parents. I send you to the island as an infant and I take you away from it. And when the Old Kings and Queens die, I will be the one to deliver you to your coronation. This was my job before you, it will be my job after you. That is all.”

This is what he said when the ship lurched forward and left the island, Bali hasn’t moved since. She learned that the crew was pleasant enough. They brought her food and asked her to join the card game or dance at night. She supposed they knew something about living quietly before abruptly being called into service. Just like Uncle Wayan and Indra, the Crew inherited this ship. The Mugi Rahayu and its Crew was married at birth. Most jobs were inherited in their history.

But islanders were a distinct creature, they were forced by the sun to take on their true colors inside and out. Dark with warmth and freckled from dappled rays obscured by formless clouds. And their hair was always tinged at the ends, like the sun was slowly creeping its way in from outside. The blonde mess of tips appeared on braids and dreads, curls and locks. It’s an agreement the sun had with the sea, these people were theirs and it would show. Meanwhile the fairies turned red in the blistering shine, and their skin began to peel. 

Night one came and went, the time between sunrise and sunset a mere breath. Night two was the same. Bali couldn’t talk if she wanted to, it would have come out as a whisper. She felt that if she held all her thoughts inside her, she kept something from snapping. If she talked now then the chances of this being a dream came to an end. Hands worked all around her while she read the only book she brought once, and then again. She had overheard several conversations during the course of the second day, but only one was of any import to her. The first sailor whispered in the same croaking voice the Captain had,

“So there are six siblings left?”

“Yup, there are nine siblings inheriting the Thirtieth Reign,” the second sailor replied, “She’s the third, and the other six are waiting to turn seventeen. At seventeen they become property of the crown, before they are called into service as Rulers, they must sacrifice themselves to the fairies..”

“The fairies don’t tolerate anyone but their own people, they wouldn’t be safe there. They could die!”

“That is how they prove themselves worthy to be crowned the New Kings and Queens of the Nusa, that’s why it’s called a sacrifice. If they can live long enough for the crown to call them home, we will sail them home.”

“But how long must they be sacrificed to the fairies?”

“That’s easy. When the Old Kings and Queens die.”

They both shrug and so the conversation ended, Bali left contemplating her fate once again. It seemed everyone knew what the future held for her except Bali herself.

At the helm, Nyoman watched her and croaked to the crew around him.

“She’s so damn quiet. Don’t know if it’s retardness or poise.”

“Cap, they’re getting more and more aloof this Ruling Family. I’m not even sure we’ll have anyone to sail back to the coronation,” a sailor said.

“Traitors. fairy lovers,” piped another man.

“No,” Nyoman croaked, “Free.”

Bali read on though she heard every word. Then it was the third day and by midday she saw the island running towards her. The Crew’s eyes made their way towards her, waiting for any reaction. They wanted fear or delight, hate or wonder. So she gave them nothing. They saw her eyes peer up at the horizon and back down onto the page without even a sigh. Uncle Wayan and Indra taught her exactly one thing, every lesson, lecture or yelling fit all boiled down to a single fact. They raised her to know they were equal. Kings and Queens or not, fairy or not, Islander or not, neither was superior. Words still wouldn’t emerge from her lips so Bali hummed, it was just another island, and if the fairies were to enforce their superiority over her, she would relay the lesson. 

That was the last time she looked up until she saw bare feet approach from the side of the page she was reading. Nyoman stood in front of her, his fingers outstretched. Bali glanced at the varying bands, then at his face.

“Your silence discomforts me, girl.”

She only looked back. Nyoman huffed and wiggled his fingers nearer to her face. Bali inched back.

“Pick one for fuck sake!”

All Bali could do was stare at the rings. Nyoman huffed again and she pointed quickly. He twisted a small ring off his left middle finger, the ring had rested just above his nail. Bali outstretched her palm and he dropped in. It was a small thing, thin and braided together from three smaller bands of silver. Bali quickly found that it fit snuggly only on her right pinky. 

“I’ll be wanting it back.”

She squinted at him.

“When it’s time for your coronation. I’ll be having it back,” Nyoman growled. He couldn’t stand her silence any longer and walked away. As he left her view, the land of the fairies appeared, covered in thick mist.

Bali frowned. The docks were dirty and dark. No mountains stood behind them and as their ship came closer, all she saw was dirt and cobble stoned streets. Low rise buildings filthy with dust. Ships and boats of all sizes cramped and tied onto the deck with rotting rope. This couldn’t be where the fairies lived, this couldn’t be the First Land. 

The fisherwoman who had braided and cut her hair appeared by her side. She handed Bali a bundle of cloth, a dark grey cloak that Bali put on. Then a cotton pouch filled with bread. 

“Thank you,” Bali said.

The woman nearly dropped the bread, startled to learn this silent child spoke.

“I never got the chance to ask, what’s your name?,” Bali asked.

“Bajau.”

Bali smiled a thanks and walked over to Nyoman. He stood at the side of the ship, holding a rope in one hand. The mist was worse now, Bali was lucky to see the dock. Nyoman held up a piece of paper.

“You don’t talk, so I figured writing would save any misunder- standings,” he croaked.

Bali took the paper. She couldn’t see the ships around them though she knew there were plenty, she couldn’t see any people in the thick white smog. But she saw the dock inch closer and Nyoman handed her the rope.

“Much luck, Queen.”

She took it. It felt heavy and rough in her hands, dampened by the misty air. But it was real, like a sip of water or a slap on the face, she felt its weight. The dream had ended and the tide came rushing in. She stepped on the boat’s railing and held onto the rope with both hands. Her body awoke after three days of stillness and her back flexed, stretching itself ready. Bali smiled, and the words felt like morning air in her mouth.

“Why doesn’t the ocean laugh at jokes?,” she asked.

Nyoman’s fingers twitched, confusion trickling from his brow but not reaching his tongue.

“Because it hates dry humor,” Bali said in a voice older and clearer than she had owned before. Then she leapt into the fog, landing on the small chunk of dark wood she could make out as the dock. She let go of the rope quickly fearing it would snap back and bring her into the water. Her legs buckled against solid ground and a knee fell to steady her landing. An odd cackling croak echoed in the mist behind her, it cackled and cackled without apology. Then the sound sank away and the only safety Bali had left disappeared. 

She tidied her cloak and stood up, the cool air brushed her cheek and she tugged her hood overhead. She would need warmer clothes and her normally white attire would have to be put away. Bali took her first step forward and the mist began to fade. 

More and more of the dark wooden dock became visible and noise broke through. Men yelling, the thumping of footsteps carrying crates and barrels up and down planks from ships, and the waves hitting shore. Everything was grey and brown from the street to the buildings. People wore ragged clothes and stood on old wood. For the first few steps, Bali didn’t look anywhere but ahead. But then she began to see the pale faces of the fairies. 

Their skin was fair, white and hidden from the sun. Their noses were pointed and thin. Their eyes big and blue, staring well past your face and into your soul. And their hair was all light, the color of the sun but void of all warmth. They moved like her and she understood them thanks to the mentoring of uncle Wayan and Indra. She admitted that their language was stupid, full of arbitrary excetions to grammar and spelling. They looked human to her eyes, but it wasn’t what they looked like that scared her. 

Bali froze. She awaited for an attack of any kind but the fairies stood still. She had been taught of their danger, but perhaps it is not as visible as they would have her believe. Maybe the fairies posed a threat that could reach further and harm deeper than a physical blow. Whatever it was, it was not here yet.

She saw people who weren’t fairies too, lands bordering water had the wonderful feature of bringing in all manner of life. Dark and tan skinned sailors and fishers walked the dock, unbothered by the fairies. 

Another step would land her at the end of the docks and onto a street bordering buildings of the dock-dwellers. She stood against a fishing house and took out the sheet of paper Nyoman gave her. It provided a single address and a name, she knew then what her exact route would be. It was getting dark and she meant to reach her new home before daybreak. Bali kept her head low and walked with a sure foot. She walked along the street until she found a path leading into the land at a steep incline, she took it.

Java loved breakfast, simply because everyone was together at the table. And the first few days after a sibling had to leave were the most critical.

On an occasion as Bali’s sacrifice, or when any older sibling was shipped away, their chair at the table was removed to the basement and the younger siblings were given a little more room for their elbows to rest. It was a small victory and Java didn’t get many. He was the youngest on their island and he had come to accept that.

 For the first few years of his conscious life here, Java had hoped he would not be the last, that he would spot a ship from the tower and a guard would come ashore with another baby brother or sister. At four, he sulked and cried in fear of being the last until Jusuf picked him up and sung him to sleep. At five, he would wait in the moonlight by the beach before Bali, having scoured high and low for him, dragged him home by the ear. And at six, Wayan was tasked with the gut-wrenching job of telling him that his future was set in stone, six years was too long a gap to hope another sibling was on its way. It marked something for the older siblings too, their wait was over and their safety taken.

He was the youngest sibling on their island, the one to be left behind slowly as everyone grew old enough to leave. This was why they didn’t celebrate birthdays, and even if no one kept track of anyone else’s, everyone knew when their time came to vanish, to live or die by the fairies. 

By eleven, Java was a master table-setter, breakfast-cooker, and sibling-wrangler. The reason being this: he couldn’t keep track of everyone’s birthdays, but if someone was leaving he needed to be the first to know. The first time an older sibling left, he was the last to wake and the last at the table. The discovery of Jusuf’s departure was made without him and he felt all the more abandoned. He set upon the task of calling everyone to breakfast from then on. 

The first time he called out to an empty room that breakfast was ready, he had run back crying, Wayan had left. But practice breeds expertise and soon he was top pick as deliverer of bad news. In fact, after Wayan left, he managed to core strawberries and whip cream as consolation for their loss. 

Today, he chocolate-chipped the pancakes and honey fried the bacon. Sided with mango smoothies and spiked coffee for the adults. He removed Bali’s chair and rearranged the seats. It was perfect and he didn’t even have to look at the clock to know it was time to go from room to room with a glass of fresh orange juice.

Only he didn’t have to. They were all still feeling the loss of their sister. Suri and Asia walked in, they never awoke early and so their eyes were puffy. Then Merah walked in. They must have slept in the same room because Merah did wake early, but her eyes were puffy too. They slumped in their seats. Tanu appeared next. A deranged arrangement of wrinkled scowls and reaping glares. Uncle Wayan and Indra strolled in a little easier. The slowest footsteps were Dewa’s. They knew he would take it the worst. 

Of all the siblings, Bali and Dewa held the most resemblance, which is to say that they came from the same parents with warm caramel skin and dark hair, wavy and thick. Of course many had caramel skin, but it was also something in their eyes, slanted but bright like honey. Suri had the same slant but her eyes were dark, her hair the color of her caramel skin. Java had those bright eyes but his skin was like brewing coffee. 

They all had their theories of who was directly related to who, but it made no difference. They were siblings by virtue of being marooned on the same island and sharing the same fate. In reality, they were cousins. And in the years to come, they were to be crowned the New Kings and Queens of the Thirty-first Reign of the Nusa. Their parents would then become the Old Kings and Queens of the Thirtieth Reign. And that was how it had always been, the children never meeting their parents, and the parents never raising their children.

Dewa sauntered in, half asleep and his eyes a puffy, ugly thing. He stood in front of his chair, incapable of sparing muscle movement. Java moved with the tray of orange juice to the table. He had prayed to have a seamless transition, he thought it would be one less voice to block out. Only, he misread the importance of his sister.

Bali was wise. Not with books, though she read and wrote endlessly, but with understanding. Her mind grappled and grasped for novelty and individual responsibility. She was aware of how monumental everything was, that there was a bigger picture. This crown confined her to think one way and for one purpose. Some people shouldn’t be kept from seeing the world, they were meant to free it and be free of it. That was the hope that rested in Bali, and if she had to leave, then no one else had a chance. 

Jusuf was loyalty and honor. Wayan was brain and duty. Bali was heart and perspective. And it felt, to Java, and the rest of the six younger siblings, that they fell short of any valuable qualities to compare. They waited for Dewa to stumble into his chair. The room stood still, there was that creeping silence again. Finally, Uncle Wayan spoke,

“Eat. We have things to do.”

But the food was sour to the taste, Java’s efforts were met with anxiety and sorrow. So the siblings ate in silence. Java’s mind did the only thing he told himself not to do, he remembered his older siblings and how they all came to the island. And from the faces on the table, everyone was doing the same.

They knew the current Rulers, their parents, were a reign of five people: Sula the Good, Oto the II, Adonara, Timor, and Tagalaya the Small. Of those five, only three of them got married. The siblings were the children of those three. Jusuf was the first child, and he was sent to the island by his parents with Uncle Wayan and Indra. One baby was easy enough for the two to foster, but then the children came like clockwork. 

Every several months, a ship with white sails could be seen from the tower. A basket would be left at the main shore with some trunks of supplies. The first basket held Wayan wrapped in a dark blanket. Laid side to side, Jusuf and Wayan did not look alike. Jusuf had chocolate skin and hair to match, a nappy, tangled puff on his head. Wayan was the color of wholewheat bread with straight, pitch black hair. But though the lids that hooded their eyes folded differently, the irises stared back in the same amber glaze, like pools of honey.

Bali followed. Then it was Tanu, who looked like Jusuf in every way but the hair which was a mess of loose curls, sprouting from the roots dark and growing the color of toffee. When Dewa came along, there was no question that his parents were Bali’s parents, they looked exactly the same.  Asia and Merah were brought together as a pair. Both had a fuzz of curls on their heads, one was dark and the other a brown on the verge of orange, they were both caramel skinned and honey-eyed. All of them were shades of brown, told to be so by the sun.

The ships slowed after that, Suri came a long while after, and then Java a longer while after that. Uncle Wayan and Indra knew then, things had to begin and they were eager to start. Their role as the Fostering Family was inherited, just like an isolated childhood in Nusa Irian was the inheritance of the ruling family. Common sense and life skills, domestic and otherwise, was left to Indra. Books and arts were left to Uncle Wayan. He wasn’t an uncle, he wasn’t even uncle-aged, but there had to be some distinction between the man and the child. Uncle Wayan and Indra were in their thirties. They would have preferred the title of professor, but having cared for the siblings since infancy made it hard to deliver any hierarchical suffixes without giggles from both parties.

There were, at their peak, six babies squealing in one household. The wooden walls didn’t do much to silence cries. Wailing would domino from room to room and no one would get any sleep. Indra used to joke that she would bring everyone on to the sun deck and let everyone tan, dehydrating in the sun until the point of exhaustion. Then they could all sleep and silence would befall the tall wooden house. But that restful silence had left with Jusuf, now the only silence that would ever be heard was a threat.

 Java peeked around the table, no one would look up. He was pretty sure he saw a teardrop fall into the scrambled eggs on Suri’s plate. Breakfast, which was supposed to be a moment of togetherness, uniting them in the endeavor that dictated their childhood, was now the first funeral of many to come.

Nevertheless, the empty plates came piling into the sink and the siblings slowly migrated into the study. They filed in and sat at their desks from oldest to youngest, all except for Asia who crawled in last and glared at the chalkboard to the front of the room. Then, the lesson began.

Asia hated that chalkboard and she was sure it hated her too. The white that dust infiltrated her nose and the chalk’s screeching squeak. Asia wanted to throw a javelin at it and crack the surface unwritable, no matter how pretty it looked against the book filled shelves. Asia’s head wandered as she settled into her desk, she knew she was the only one deep in thought because everyone else dutifully wrote notes as Uncle Wayan lectured.

In her mind, she saw Bali on the bow of a white sailed ship. She saw her covered in mist and muddied in damp dirt. The warmth of the sun couldn’t find her and that was as good as dead. Asia imagined her climbing steep steps and nearly slipping in the rain, cold and wet. Bali fell and scraped at a wall for support. Her ring scratched at the crumbling cement, creating a long scar on the wall. Bali took a moment to catch her breath, she looked at her scratched hand. She noticed two more scars beside, precisely like the one she made with her ring. Bali smiled and continued on. In Bali’s mind was a vast library on top of a hill. At this image Asia snorted. 

“Yes, Asia? Something funny?,” Uncle Wayan paused with incorrigible eyes, his chalk pressed halfway into a word.

Asia came back to the room and sat up. She shook her head. He continued and Asia went back to daydreaming. She thought of Wayan, their older sister. Her older sister if Asia was allowed to bet on it. Wayan would write endless notes during class but Asia couldn’t distinguish important from boring. But that wasn’t the convincing factor in Asia’s argument that they had the same parents. It was because of the beauty marks that spotted their bodies. Every year or so a new little dark dot would appear on her nose or back, ear or toe. Studiousness didn’t constitute genetics, but the beauty marks did. Here they called them tai lalat, or, fly poo. She snorted again. The whole room turned to look at her.

“What now, Asia?”

Uncle Wayan had endless patience. They were going over the transatlantic trade and it was not a laughing subject. She allowed a small shrug of apology, but Uncle Wayan put his chalk down anyway.

“I suppose three days isn’t enough time for grief,” he said, “But you all know the history, this is how it’s done. The Ruling Family is given their title for this very reason, they are sacrificed to the enemy to prove themselves worthy of the crown. It just so happens that our current enemies are the fairies of the First Land. If it came to war, we have the lower hand, we are a thalassocracy. Write this word down: tha-lass-o-cra-cy.”

A hand raises.

“Why don’t we infiltrate allies?,” Java pipes.

“We have none left, the fairies conquered them all. Now, a thalassocracy rules over more sea than land, both are territories that make up a country but they cannot be ruled in the same way. How do you rule an archipelago? Can anybody guess?”

“You keep the peace on the water between islands,” says Tanu.

“How do you rule a population of different islands?”

“Equally,” the words came out of Asia’s mouth like melting butter. 

“Good. It’s time for your ride,” Uncle Wayan sets the chalk down and the siblings push in their chairs. They leave one by one, arguing about something or other. Uncle Wayan places the book he was teaching from in its slot on the shelf. Not far from it was an empty space, a book had been misplaced and he knew exactly who took it. From a window, Uncle Wayan saw the siblings take their horses by the rein and walk into the woods, disappearing from view.

The woods of their island, Nusa Irian, were varied, but the ones to the north, the ones that surrounded their house, were tall and thin. The leaves grew towards the tops and made helpful shade during the day. Their barks were white and smooth. It was easy to spot everyone on their horses, only Suri was trailing behind.

Suri was easily the neatest rider. Her posture was pristine-- arms straight, heels pressed, shoulders back, but this meant she rode slow. She didn’t like going fast anyway, wind would splinter against her cheeks and dry up her eyes, she shuddered just thinking about hitting a loose rock and tumbling off the horse. 

The siblings headed Northwest towards the pink beaches below Cliff’s End, where waves crashed into caverns when the tide rolled it. Suri would surely take the longest so she didn’t bother moving fast. She walked her horse, waking up its muscles and stretching its legs. Ubi was a yellow mare with white hooves, whose legs would prance in a pretty step if you tapped at her feet. The others rode ahead until Suri saw Java’s chubby belly disappear in the distance.

Suri found the tropics an odd place to live, and even though she didn’t know what it was like before the water rose, she knew the speed with which the air moved was strange. Days would be hot and nights would be cold, rain would turn into snow, and wind would crystalize into fog, all within minutes. Perhaps the most alarming part of island life was the visible rise of the ocean. Whenever the tide rode in, it left behind a drop or two more water at the shore. A day would come when the creeping beach swallowed Irian entirely, the earth to renew itself below the water and the island would break free of the nail that kept it in its place. Suri giggled at her preposterous imagination, this kind of thinking would land her washing duty at home.

Uncle Wayan was ever the scholar and he taught them to believe in rational, historical patterns. He paid close attention to human tendencies and massive movements of people or practices, how a mindset was produced or which reoccurrences convinced a stereotype. He liked natural thinking, where one thought follows another, proving facts from visible progression. Suri understood where he was coming from, it had to do with equality, looking at the bigger picture and understanding all of it to understand bits of it. He fought, most often, with Asia who believed the opposite, that to understand everyone else, she needed to know herself. Because it was impossible for anything in her not to be in anyone else, and anything in anyone else not to be in her. 

Bali and Indra were of the same thinking, they loved tall tales and unpredictable stories of great valor through humanity. Often their discussions revolved around Greek mythology, beings that were superior to humans but even more fallible. The two side’s arguments made Suri sensitive, it wasn’t tangible and as much as it had to do with people, it didn’t require interaction with people. Suri thrived on interaction, people simply liked her, though all she had to go on were the few on the island. But she considered Ubi a person, and Ubi liked her too. A snap sent her head towards a section of trees. Something had broken a branch. 

Suri turned Ubi towards the noise, holding her reins short. She saw movement in the brown of fallen leaves, a small flash of white dots. Suri smiled, it was only a mouse deer. She turned away only to hear another crackle of twigs. 

“Foolish, child. Never mistake what it looks like for what it is,” a voice sneered playfully.

Suri froze, a cold sweat broke down her neck. She tugged Ubi around again with the slightest tension of her ring finger to the reins. Where the deer had stood was a boy with tan skin and hair dabbling between grey and brown. He grinned and Suri saw sharp canines, like those of a mouse deer. 

“Are you scared, child?”

“I- I’m not a child.”

“You’re all children to me, I’m Kan.”

“Sang Kancil is a folktale.”

“So you do know my name.”

“You’re a trickster.”

“A trickster? Try again.”

“You’re the trickster.”

Kan snickers, he walks in a circle around her. 

“Well, if you say so,” he says, “Here is my trick. I will disappear, and one day soon you will need to find me. Ask her.” Kan points. 

Suri follows his finger to a puddle that has seemed to appear out of nowhere. She looks to him in confusion, only he is no longer there. Suri digs her heel into Ubi’s rib to nudge her forward, she glances into the puddle but sees only a reflection of herself. A stillness fell upon her surroundings then, the crickets chirping felt a world away. 

“Suri!,” Java comes trotting in from behind her on his dark pony, “Come on, you gotta see it. The Komodos are out!”

Suri is still stuck in the moment from before, did she fall asleep and dream it all or what.

“It’s not Komodo season.”

“I know! Come on!”

Java canters away. Suri follows in a fast trot, but a shiver travels down her shoulder as she recalls Kan’s grin.

They reach Cliff’s End in the next half hour and Suri spots the siblings low on their bellies, sneaking towards the edge of the rocks where the grass grew thin. Java jumps off and joins them in a hurry. Suri walks softly, staying on her two feet. She peers from a safe distance down the cliff to Pink Beach. Asia is to her side, muttering a low hush to group.

Below, large black lizards settle in the sun, soaking it up in peace. The Komodos flick their long tongues in and out, ever so often swaying their tails. One of them stood up and that was sign enough for Suri to crouch down low, she whispered at Java on her other side.

“Why are they out so early?”

Java only points to the greenish blue water some meters away from the pink sand. A large white mound sits unmoving in the water. Suri squints to make out the figure, she snorts, having had enough fun with her imagination today.

“What did our island have a baby?”

Asia whacks her and gestures her head towards the white hill. Suri takes a closer look. The mound didn’t have the texture of smooth sand, it had a pattern that looked like the bubbles in boiling water, and it was shiny. Then, the white hill moved. It turned a full circle and Suri could see it turn into a pointed shape, the circular mound transformed into an island the shape of a carrot. Suri nearly shrieked. Java punched her arm to keep her quiet. She heard Tanu’s voice.

“It’s a white crocodile.”

“It’s the size of our kitchen,” Dewa whispered. 

The slithering white mound splashed into the deep waters head first and disappeared.

“It’s just an albino croc,” Merah said.

“Did you miss the part where I said kitchen-sized?”

“It’s not albino,” Java cooed, “the eyes were black.”

“Aji Saka,” Suri said simply, “If the giants are coming out of hiding then we’re all in danger.”

“Shut up with your Aji Saka,” Dewa snapped, “Raksasa are myths from before the water rose. They’re human constructs like religion and culture. Not real.”

“Fairies are real.”

“They’re our enemies not stories, Suri. Grow up,” Dewa ups and gets on his black gelding, he gallops into the white woods. Suri turns to Tanu.

“It’s just like spotting a whale, or dolphins, right?,” she asks.

“Yeah, pretty cool huh,” Tanu chuckles unconvincingly, “Alright, fun’s over. Back to studying.”

The siblings smile, happy at their adventurous discovery. A giant white croc was a rare yet rewarding sighting even in island life, but a shape-shifting mouse deer might be more cause for concern then Suri thinks. She kept quiet the entire ride back, and when they sat back in their desks ready for another lecture, Suri found herself daydreaming about Kan. 

Uncle Wayan had assigned presentations last week. He gave out a list of historical events and allowed them to pick whichever one interested them most. By the time Suri lifted awake from the daydream, Merah had taken the stage.

Merah began reciting the history of the Nusa and she wondered if Uncle Wayan could see the paragraph of notes she had inked onto her palm the night before. Every time she snuck a peek at her cheat sheet, her siblings choked down a laugh. She was a great story teller, but historical accuracy was a demanding burden.

“The Old Kings and Queens of the Seventh Reign were assassinated before the New Kings and Queens of the Eighth Reign had grown old enough to be sacrificed to the First Land,” Merah said, taking a deep breath before continuing.

Merah peeked at her palms, if she sweat anymore her writing would smudge. Uncle Wayan was behind her, listening for accuracy while sitting on his armchair. Dewa stifled a snicker and Tanu glared at him with laughter in his eyes too, both of them resorted to biting their lips.

“Nusa Raja, where the Old Kings and Queens resided, is the most densely populated island in the Nusa,” Merah continued, “it is also the largest with the hoarder’s pick in natural resources even after the water rose. The--”

Uncle Wayan lifted his hand up, “Name the resources.”

Merah obliged, “Wood, coal, and minerals. Not to mention manual labor. Now, the assassination plan began with the Rulers of the Fifth Reign who, to this day, gave birth to the smalled number of siblings to be sent to Nusa Irian.”

Uncle Wayan lifted his hand again, “Name the four.”

Merah bit her tongue, this wasn’t in her notes. From the back of the room, she saw Suri pantomime the names. Merah squinted and listed for the room to hear,

“Rach...malia. Rachmalia was the eldest. Then...then it was…,” she tilted her head to decipher Suri’s hand gesture, “To...ba, no! Samosir. Samosir of Lake Toba. And tw- twu- two- twooins! The twins! Moa and Morotai. The four rulers of the Fifth Reign.”

At the back of the room, Suri broke a sweat. 

“Anyway, the Sixth Reign saw the largest number of siblings sent to Nusa Irian, twenty-two siblings. No one knows what happened during their near twenty-five years sacrifice in the First Land, but only ten siblings sailed back for their coronation. Twelve siblings were lost to the fairies. Twelve--”

A piercing snore came from the room. Java had fallen asleep on his desk and he snorted air out every few seconds. Uncle Wayan sighed sadly. He gestured a circle with his finger,

“Well done, Merah. Wrap it up. The assassination itself, please.”

“The rumor is that those twelve divulged secrets under torture. Secrets that led the fairies to the Nusa, and to Nusa Raja. In a short time, a drug sneaked into the Nusa market. And by the time of the Seventh Reign, it became prized in island to island trade, sickening the minds and bodies of many islanders.” Merah was into it now, her voice high and low in suspense. 

She was about to jump and yell to a climactic end when Uncle Wayan cleared his throat. Merah paused abruptly, and in the silence Java let out a roaring snore. The room exploded in laughter. Dewa and Tanu were near tears, and Asia was on the floor. Merah frowned and finished her story quickly, hurt that no one was paying attention.

“People began disappearing in flocks. Then fruits that should have been in season were gone before harvest. Oil and coal began to leak out of their holes and caves. And trees were cut down at their roots. 

The Rulers were tirelessly scouring the seas, but that’s the problem with a thalassocracy. Communication came slow, and travel from island to island could not be overcome by breeding the fastest horse. 

Then, an offer came. It came through an emissary with pearl-white skin. They promised payment enough to restore all the islands for a settlement on land. The Rulers refused, and now, knowing the cause of their problems, they built a barricade. A thick fog began covering the horizon of the Nusa, nothing came in and nothing came out.

 On the third week of the barricade, the fairies could not hide any longer, the sun had burned their skin to a crisp and they scurried out like ants. And we killed them, we burned their war ships and we killed them. The--”

“Dinner’s ready!,” Indra’s shout rang through the study and a cheer erupted. Merah frowned some more. Java stirred awake,

“Is it over?,” he asked. 

“It will never be over,” Asia grunted.

“Continue, Merah,” Uncle Wayan said calmly.

“But dinner!,” Dewa protested.

“Do you want to finish it then!,” Merah shouted, frustration finally boiling over. 

“Yeah! Before we caught all the filthy fairies, one of them named Flinder disguised gunpowder as ash in the chimney where the Seventh Reign met. They lit a fire and scorched to their deaths, leaving a wing in the palace destroyed. There. Done. Dinner!,” Dewa left.

Chairs scooted and footsteps hurried out the door. Merah sighed and stumbled to the kitchen, she felt a hand on her shoulder.

“That was really, really good, Merah. You should write if ever you find the time. The Poet Queen, it has a nice ring to it don’t you think?,” Uncle Wayan smiled and ushered the now beaming girl out of the study. He turned to stack away books. Indra walks slowly to his side.

“Dinner was a distraction,” she said to Uncle Wayan’s surprise, “A disease has spread through Nusa Raja. The Old Kings and Queens are in the hospital.”

Uncle Wayan’s mouth went dry. Indra lets out a shaky breath.

“They’ll die within a month and...,” she trails off and gives his arm a squeeze. Wayan finished her sentence for her,

 “The siblings have been called to their coronation.”

Outside the study, Suri had stayed behind to tell Uncle Wayan about her shape-shifting mouse-deer. She was not prepared to hear this.

[spazzbunn]

Sirens In The Forest

 The sun was starting to come down with dusk starting to appear. I had gotten a late call about some missing hiker. Oddly enough they never gave me a name for the person. Saying that it is a white male in his early 20s with dark brown hair and a scruffy beard. Apparently they were able to see through security cameras that he walked into the Pine Ridge Hiking Trail. We had cameras around incase of any suspicious activities like with arsonists, drug dealers, punks, you name it. The oddest part was the rangers back at the base said they never saw him walking back. The trail has no end. You would have to go out the way you came in. Pretty much everyone knew that around these parts. So we either had someone that was very new to these woods here or he was from another state.I was the one they called since I was the closest to the Trail. So I took my truck and went over to the gate. I parked close to it as I took my keys with me and got out of it. I had no need of locking the doors. Plus I had nothing worth stealing in the car so it would be dumb to try to steal a forest rangers car. I walked forward and I hopped over it. This was more of a barricade to stop any cars from driving. So you had to duck under or hop over it. It was all we could do for now. The budget was tight after all. So me and my other rangers called them gates.With dusk approaching, I had to bring my flashlight and turn it on before I could walk down to the trail. I only brought the flashlight besides a flask and a pack of crackers since I had no need for anything. I didn’t need no gun since I had the knowledge of the animals by heart. It was better to be smart and not cause trouble to them. Especially the bears. Although to add, bears seemed to be less around now that I think about it.Usually we get reports of bears doing the ‘Yogi Bear’ tactic of them stealing food from people’s picnics and scratching and knocking down the signs for the Pine Ridge Hiking Trail and other Trails as well. But something got them spooked. Mainly because I never saw a bear here. Usually when I do, I see a dead one. Gruesome as all hell, but bears do fight after all, and they gotta eat for their cubs. I walked down and followed the trail as he swished my light back and forth slowly to keep track of anything that was moving. Any sign of any animal. Or a person hopefully. I wanted to get home soon and have dinner with my family. I kept forward as I then notice a few steps away was a backpack. A blue canvas backpack with straps being of a light leather color to it. Clearly odd but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. With how rarely people come here during the Spring season, there is no worry of someone taking your bag so obviously, he must have set up a camp close by. People tend to camp on trails like this. Obviously he must have been new to this and most likely someone that knows of our place. I looked into the backpack. Nothing but a map, some water bottles, and a pack of peanut butter crackers. Nothing appeared off. Maybe this was just a hiker and must be either those “influencers” or a nature loving fella. I walked to the left side which continued the trail while I left the backpack where it was. It felt like the barely lively sun was starting to make the scenery dark so my flashlight was working somewhat more efficiently. Yet I also had that feeling of eyes looking at me. Granted, I always remember it is the animals of skunks, squirrels, raccoons that tend to stare at me. The trees were lively. The wind slightly blowing to cause some of them to move their branches full of green leaves, so I had no worry of anyone watching me. Only the animals. I kept going as far away I started to pick up the sight of something. It looked big. It looked messy. I swallowed my fear away as I pretty much was seeing something that looks of a bear having to have had a person for dinner. I kept going though. I had to be sure. As I did, the mess appears to seem too odd. A lot of blood. Yet with big four dashes on the ground. Maybe five. It looked too bloody to tell. I could handle the smell of metallic thanks to my odd young years of sniffing coins in my hands. Yet I felt sick. This wasn’t fresh either. This had been days. When was the last time someone came here? Before I could even think of a theory in the corner of my eye was a bush by my left. It had a torn cloth of a blue shirt stick on its tiny branches. Maybe light-ish blue or aqua. I got no idea. But that made me feel wary of my surroundings. Something felt really off now.The reason was because of the fact that the person I was looking for had a light gray hoodie with his shirt looking green. This was somebody else. Yet again they never did say anything about other people going in. Just this one person who could be a killer. With my determination to see if this was just some prank by fellow kids and cuff them for trying to scare me, I set foot and continued on. I know it had to be a joke. I mean it made sense. It was dark, a missing unknown person, blood stained mess. Yet in my head, I was swimming with thoughts. No one could ever make fake blood looking strong like that. The scratch marks even were deep. No normal shovel or knife could make lines like those. But my mind also was remembering something I heard about.There were reports of missing people in the woods. We haven’t heard of anything happening to our Trails, yet we might have a few people slipping through our cameras or our rangers seem unfit for keeping a watch on things. People rarely come to this one since it is just short with the end being a bunch of trees blocking the way. We never did get the chance, either due to budget or situations that halt us from removing the trees in winter to make a longer trail for people. I kept going until I saw another mess on the dirt wall that the rangers and I made to let people stay on the path and know where they are going.It looked as if it was the same blood smear with claws. The flashlight showed that it was true. In fact the sickening smell of old dried blood was hitting my nose again. The same dashes. The same smell. It looked disturbing to me. Hell, I even felt eyes staring at me. Making me want to keep going as if I was to turn around I would be killed. Something wanted me to keep going. I took a breath and I walked forward with my body starting to shake out of fear. I called to the woods. To see if anyone was here. I could handle a damn killer, I just didn’t want to be alone in these woods. Feeling the eyes on me. Watching my every move. I swear I heard twigs breaking yet I moved on. I blamed it on raccoons, yet my arm was ready to swing on the killer and have my flashlight meet his skull.I turned right and as if I was being messed with I saw another bloody mess. This was was longer and on the ground. Walking closer, I saw the same number of dashes. More longer though. Oddly, it looked as if it was leading me somewhere. I gulped to swallow my worries and fear away. Whoever wanted me to keep going, I gladly accepted their invitation and walked. I felt the feeling of being watched again. I swing my flashlight to shine the light and I was met with just the wooden oak of the trees. It felt like it was getting darker by a couple of steps. It could have been my sanity toying with me. Or maybe my gut, heart, and brain in union was telling the truth. That someone or something was out in the woods stalking me. I heard nothing. I shouted out again to the only response was the wind blowing and leaves rustling. It felt odd. It felt scary. To be alone in these woods now. I usually am around at day time but never when it was close to night. My neck hairs on the back side were up and I never felt more alert. I walked at a normal pace. I was near the “dead end trees” as I nicknamed them. No way someone would go through there. Especially with bears and poisonous snakes roaming around. My light seems brighter. Either due to the strange batteries or how the slowly rising night was taking away every drop of sunlight it had left. I saw the trees. Yet again, my sight saw something not an average person sees. The wood on a couple of trees looked darkly red. As I marched forward with every bit of courage in me, I saw clear as day what the color was. Blood. So much blood. On the trees and on the ground. This was something non-human. Infact, the blood mess on the ground had the dashes again. I knew slowly but surely that no human could do a work like this. I walked closer to be hit with the strong scent of the blood. But yet it smelt worse. Like the blood was rotten. Like raw meat on a hot summer sun. I almost puked from that stench alone. But I aimed my flashlight and eyes down on the ground. There I saw it. A torn apart broken in pieces human body. Some of its skin was ripped off, barely the veins show which were not covered in blood. Barely a broken torn apart arm and scratched up in half leg as all I could see of the limbs. My stomach was turning inside out and flipping upside down. I have seen dead animals torn apart. But that was nature. This wasn’t nature. Not something God would allow. This was unholy work. For a non-human being. I looked to the left side of the unknown torn apart person since it seemed naked with all clothing just ripped apart and bloody. A piece of a light gray cloth. This was the guy. The poor bastard was chased by something. And this was his fate. His guts didn’t even seem there. Like it was all gone. No liver or intenses. Not even a god damn stomach. I had to go. I had to head back to the station.As my body was ready to turn as I was going to make a book to the truck, I heard a noise that slowly was starting to grow in sheer loudness and terror. The sound of a static noise. Like a television acting up when the satellite was out. I turned slowly and pointed my flashlight towards it. All that I was meeting with, in God’s honest truth, was something I couldn't even describe. It was tall. Like, really tall. About the size of a telephone pole. Its body looked like rusted metal. Skinny and dried up like it was mummified. Skinny long arms that were almost as long as its body. Everything looked so off. Its head was the oddest part of this bizarre mass of dehydrated flesh. It was of a siren. Two speakers on the pole that looked to be connected to the flesh and even the veins of this thing. It was still emitting the loud static sound at me. My flashlight looked over at the tilted siren as the speaker was facing me. Pure white human teeth. This was not Satan's work.No God and no Devil would ever make something like that. This was a true monster. A creature with no reason to live. Just to have more reasons of fear. It stopped its loud screeching and started to emit a new sound. The sound of the speakers started to make the sound of a warning weather alert. It started walking towards me in big steps. With my ears covered to prevent hearing damage, I quickly started to run in the right side to avoid its skinny hands. I ran with my tired feet sore and aching as I just kept going. The flashlight was still in my hands, covering my one ear as it was cold and metal as I felt the ground shaking as the creature was slowly but in big steps, catching on to me.My heart, my mind, my everything. It was all rushing in union. But only because as I was running down the path I started to remember that haunting sound. Months ago we heard this sound before. Us rangers weren’t so focused on it. Mainly due to how we knew of an old siren from so many years ago that used to be for signaling big tornados or hurricanes. It would quickly die off every thirty minutes or an hour before it would start up so months later. The pieces were hitting my face like hard bricks. We rarely have people come over here in this trail. Maybe one or two in those few months. We then hear that sound. This thing has been in the forest for an unknown amount of time. Using that deathly howl as a way to block the screaming of its victims. To not have anyone else intervene with it. I looked back and it still was taking big steps to try to get me. I was faster, but it still wouldn’t give up. It started to lower the volume of the alert as I turned my head forward and kept running. I was close to the truck. I could see the backpack from far away now. That is when the new sounds started to startle me. It was one of the most oddest things I ever heard. It started to speak. Not in basic human function. But static like. I couldn’t remember much due to my heavy breathing and my heart pounding but it was shouting words at me. “Don’t” and “Come”. The words were different voices. Like it had no real voice. It either was from radio stations that it was able to pick up and understand or it listened to the victims to gather more information to understand human speech.I was close. I was so damn close. It kept spewing out words. “Do not go”. It wanted to eat me. To tear me apart and slurp up my guts like spaghetti. “Stay here”. I wasn’t going to stay and die. I had to live. I ran past the backpack as I was closer to my truck. I looked back to see it was far behind but still catching up to me. This thing would never stop. I run harder as I see the gate. In one big jump, I was able to hop over the metal gate and be right next to the car door. I opened it in such speed and force as I threw my flashlight and almost myself in. I slam the door and reached into my jacket pocket to pull out the key. I grab and quickly slide the metal key into the ignition and turned it to start the engine. Within seconds I heard the car purring and in a mere couple of seconds I put my foot down on the gas pedal and my car went forward. I drove without ever looking back. I can still hear those voices. That loud alarm. That horrific creature. I still can see it. Can hear it. The back of my brain will always have me remember that monster. Something that will never go away as the years pass. It will haunt me forever in my broken and terrified mind. (Case #19-9-18-5-14) Report: Forest Ranger having to be in his older 30s rushed into police station at around 10:13 PM. Acting hysterical with his body shaking and looking out of the windows most of the time as officers got him to calm down. Saying a creature in the woods had chased him. Tall as a telephone pole with the head being of a siren. After roughly thirty minutes, we drove him off to his home where he exclaimed he would do an interview tomorrow for the sake of the ‘Missing People’ (See Case #8-5-1-4 for more detail) At around 10:30 AM he came down to be interviewed to give more information of what he witnessed yesterday evening (See the ‘Witness Report’ from the Forest Ranger). After about a two hour interview with the Forest Ranger we were able to get him to show us ‘Pine Ridge Hiking Trail’. He did show some hesitation until we were able to persuade him by offering more officers to the scene. He stated ‘With bigger numbers, the creature might just stay far away.” At the crime scene at the ‘Pine Ridge Hiking Trail’ several officers were able to find the clues and pieces told from the Forest Ranger’s story. We took the blood samples of the blood we discovered and some tissue samples from the torn apart body the Forest Ranger had discovered yesterday. A day later at around 1:54 PM the forensic lab was able to confirm that the blood samples and tissue samples do belong to the people in the  ‘Missing People’  case, but also to the person the Forest Ranger was looking for. ( See the Update for Case #8-5-1-4 to see the listed names.) The Forest Ranger was able to provide multiple alibis: - Video surveillance with a timestamp of when the hiker had appeared and seemed to be missing and the time the Forest Ranger had appeared after getting contacted by another Forest Ranger. - Other Forest Rangers were able to show proof as they had recorded audio of him speaking into their radio dispatch of the report of the creature and to not let anyone near the woods. -Gargled audio from the video camera planted by the “Pine Ridge Hiking Trail” sign of the sound of a weather alert system going off as the Forest Ranger had said in the interview. -Pieces of the cloth and of the hoodie showed no DNA of the Forest Ranger’s finger prints. We do know the backpack has the fingerprints of the Forest Ranger, but since he had admitted in the interview he did opened and looked into the bag to see if the hiker had planned to camp out the trail, there is nothing more to further add him as a suspect. -The Forest Ranger was submitted a urine test before he was sent home yesterday night to see if he was under the influence of drugs. The urine had shown that he had no drugs in his system. -The Forest Ranger was also able to give us his medical records to prove to us that he was not acting crazy nor has any mental problems. His medical records show of a clean bill of health which was last checked several days ago. Due to the witnesses and alibi’s, we had to remove the Forest Ranger off the suspect list for now. (Additional Note #1: The blood from the Forensic Lab appeared to be weeks old. The only type of somewhat fresh blood was from the hiker the Forest Ranger was sent to find) (Additional Note #2: The Forest Ranger had exclaimed that he does not want his name to be mentioned nor said in either news coverage or reports. Due to the evidence showing that he was not the culprit of the crime scene and because of how well known he is in town we had respected his command and kept his identity private until further evidence list him as a main suspect.) (Additional Note#3: During the time at the crime scene many officers had reported hearing a faint ‘white noise’ coming from the woods. Several officers checked but saw nothing that could be making the noise. The Forest Ranger explained after the officers and detectives finished up the crime scene that the creature could most likely be asleep.  White Noise is a type of sound that is combined with different sound frequencies together. It is known to help people sleep.)

(Credits)

-Siren Head was created and belongs to Trevor Henderson  https://twitter.com/slimyswampghost Also on Tumblr @slimyswampghost -This story was based on the Siren Head short game  https://modus-interactive.itch.io/siren-head

[i4z-0892-il]

Sweet Like S’Mores

Author: Jena @i4z-0892-il

Summary: Y/n convinces Sam to go Camping with her.

Pairing: Sam x Reader 

Words: 4,104

Warnings: None, it’s disgustingly fluffy

A/N: For @one-shots-supernatural‘s Autumn Challenge, my prompts were: S’mores, Camping and Chilly Nights

If you like my work consider buying me a Coffee, or leave me some Feedback! 

Tag List

Masterlist

It was Y/n’s most favorite time of the year, the weeks where Summer lingered in the heat of the day, and Autumn crept in at night replacing the warmth with a brisk chill. The floral perfume of blossoms in their twilight mixing with the satisfying crispness that loomed in around the edges. It was her favorite time for camping, swimming and partying, then as dusk settles, warming up by a bonfire and telling creepy stories to spook friends. She hadn’t been camping leisurely since college and that was many years ago, but when Sam mentioned it in conversation she couldn’t get the idea out of her head. It settled in the back like an itch until her mind was positively swimming in it and yearning desperately for a much needed break.

“C’mon Sam let’s go, it’ll be fun! Like a vacation.” She pleaded with a pout as he hunched over his desk full of books and papers contemplating whether or not sleeping in the woods, exposed to god only knew what was even remotely a safe idea, let alone fun, and she could read it on his pensive face clear as day. “I’m surprised at you. You’re Sam Fucking Winchester, you don’t think you can survive a few days in the woods?”

“I’ve never been camping, last time I did anything like that we were hunting a Wendigo. Not exactly what I’d call a good trip. No wait I take that back, Dean and I slept in the woods once, without a tent, or sleeping bags, or food. Does that count?” He sassed with a tilt of his head while leaning back in his chair. Camping might have been something he’d have enjoyed were he not bred in the hunters life. There were too many things out there in the dark, and to be out in the open with nothing but a paper thin tarp protecting him from the things that lurk didn’t exactly sound like fun. She shifted on her hips, arms folded over her chest, and lips pursed, it was already a battle she was losing and he couldn’t help but flash a dimpled smile at her in her frustrated state. His grin was quickly wiped away when he saw the light-bulb flick on in her head changing her whole demeanor.

“You’d be with me.” She cooed sweetly as she strut around the desk with cat-like grace, trailing her fingers along the length of his arm and over his broad shoulders leaving gooseflesh and pulling a growing smile to his lips. “We’d be all alone.”

She punctuated her reasoning with ghost light kisses starting from the juncture of his jaw and ear down until there the fabric of his button up got in the way, where she nipped at the sensitive flesh. “No one to bother us, nothing to hunt. We’ll drink, and hike- go skinny dipping in ice cold water.” Her voice was low and intimate and just for him. His eyes fell shut as she ran her hands along the hardened muscles in his back, over his shoulders and down the front of his chest where her fingernails grazed with just enough pressure to send pleasured tingles down his spine. His head tipped back to rest against her shoulder, while giving her better access to the long graceful lines of his throat. “Maybe play truth or dare like kids, and I can show you the proper way to make s’mores.”

“S’mores, huh?” Sam swallowed focused on her hands venturing further down his stomach agonizingly slow, instinctively rolling his hips into her palms. “That does sound fun.”

“It’s settled then, we’re going.” Y/n enthused breaking away with a pat on his shoulder, a quick peck on his cheek, and a victorious grin on her lips. All he could do was sit upright in his chair and watch as she wasted no time skipping out of the War Room to dart down the hall destroying any and all hint of intimacy and temptation; leaving Sam abruptly disappointed, flustered and shifting uncomfortably in his seat needing to readjust and process.

The hike to the spot on the map while long, was beautiful, thick and lush. The changing seasons had only barely touched the trees, still full of multi-colored leaves in every warm shade from golden yellow to rich exotic burgundy. Warm rays of yellow light streamed hazy through openings in the canopy pooling on the ground and ever changing in the shift of the wind through the trees, each one like a surreal portal between worlds.

“You sure you know where you’re going?” Sam quizzed as she paused to look around trying to compare where they were to where they were going. He knew that face, he’d seen it a million times when she tried to work through something in her head, brow knit, lips pursed into a pout, off in her own little world.

“Yeah, yeah I know.”

“Then what’s with the face?”

“I’m not making a face.” Y/n frowned and answered quickly turning on foot and continued, dragging a cooler behind her. He smirked and shook his head adjusting the shoulder strap on his backpack as he followed behind her choosing to trust her judgment, entertained by the scrunch of her nose when she was focused. “Should be around here somewhere.” She muttered to herself. Finally the treeline broke into a small open field lined with dense forest, large Oaks dotting the land sporadically, and a lake with a short sandy beach and a pier. “See? I told you!” She announced triumphant as she marched into the clearing, arms stretched out soaking up the warm sunlight as she pulled in a deep breath of fresh air.

Sam smiled as he watched her enjoy herself, but he still wasn’t as sold on the idea as Y/n, not quite ready to let his guard down. It wasn’t exactly his idea of fun to sit out in the open an easy target for whatever lurked in the shadows, but it made her happy, happier than he’d seen her in years and he figured it was more than worth stepping out of his comfort zone. So long as they made it out in one piece. Following her further into the clearing to one of the giant oaks where she dropped her things he slipped his bag off his shoulder.

“Okay, so first thing’s first- set up camp..” She expressed with an elated and genuine smile, he hadn’t seen her smile like that in so long that it made the two hour hike worth it in an instant and it made his heart skip a beat. They unpacked quickly and made short work of setting up the tent, even though he mostly just watched Y/n put it together providing a helping hand and moral support where he could. Theoretically he knew how to set up a tent- it was simple, but in practicality and having never set one up himself, it proved another story; there were tarps and poles, and stakes and zippers. Instead he put offered to put together logs for a fire.

Y/n knew what she was doing and had no complaints about setting up mostly on her own. It took her back to a time when she was younger, and less angry with the world, back when this was a regular outing for her and her old friends. Set-up put her in a contented place, but how could she not be with Sam looking at her like he was. Soon enough her focus shifted from him, busy humming to herself, bobbing her head happily to the music in her mind as she strung long bendy poles through slots in the canvas, he couldn’t recall a time he’d seen her do that.

Seeing her now in an element more intimate than any he’d ever seen at the bunker or on the road. There were glimpses of it, of her, behind the brave face they all put up daily, little peeks through the curtains to the girl behind. A girl who was in love with the stars who could sit out in the cold with nothing but a beer in her hands mesmerized until the sun began to peek over the horizon. A girl who could live in the trees and be content for the rest of her life, a whimsical and enchanting spirit who should have been something other than what she was. But what he saw there, the wiggle in her hips, and the light in her eyes was pure happiness. Clearly going camping was the right idea, even if it made him nervous, moments like that never lasted, not for them. Everything had an ending, and he knew one day they would too. Maybe it would be him holding onto her too tightly, maybe it would be because she could no longer find comfort in his arms. Maybe it would happen because they were just no longer the people they fell in love with, maybe it would be cut short by something with a price on their heads. The maybe’s drove him mad, and he found them thinking about them most often in the late night hours, her head resting on top of his chest, listening to her breathing. It kept him up like waking nightmares, where he’d pull her just a little closer, hold her a little tighter, breathe in the scent of her hair and commit the feel of her to memory. This he was searing into his brain, the tune she hummed, the sweetness in her face as she worked, the delightful prance in her step as she danced a little to her own music.

Sam pulled his bottom lip between his teeth as he studied her, wanting only to see that look on her face forever but knowing that simply wasn’t a realistic possibility so he’d have to be content with the now. Well as content as he could be sitting out in the open, in the middle of nowhere like bait. But he’d packed for a just-in-case scenario.

The tent was set up, sleeping bags and blankets unfurled, a small bonfire waiting to be lit and the first beer of the evening cracked open.

“Okay, so what now?” He asked taking a bottle from her as she found a place on the ground beside him, his hand coming to rest heavy and warm on her bare thigh. The sun started to set, igniting the sky in a brilliant blaze of pink and orange and red, turning everything golden with evening hue. Y/n dropped her head against his shoulder letting out a satisfied sigh, and he pressed his lips into her hair, allowing himself to relax just enough to appreciate the majesty of just being there with her, and watching the show in the sky over the lake. Just another perfect moment he’d play on repeat in his head forever hoping she would too, and it would be enough to keep her just a little longer, to push that deadline for the back just a little further.

“Now we do whatever we want.” She said with a grin, nudging into his shoulder. “Oh! We can go for a walk, there’s supposed to be an old summer camp not too far from here, hasn’t been used in like thirty-some years. Might find something neat stashed away in there.”

“I’m game.” He answered but neither of them went to move immediately, instead opting to enjoy the ambiance and the sunset for just a while longer, long enough to finish their beers. The flaming red and peach sky slowly began to paint royal purple and blue, and with the sun gone so was the summer warmth, giving way to a chilly autumn breeze.

Y/n tugged a light jacket over her shoulders relishing in the weather still warm enough for shorts, but cool enough for an added layer. It was simply another one of her favorite things and filled her to the brim, she couldn’t have hid the giant smile on her face if she tried. Sam pulled his pistol from his backpack as he watched the grin on her face spread like wildfire and wondered if her smile was a reflection of who she was before. Before she was sucked into the life. Genuine smiles, and pleasure were a rare commodity, they weren’t afforded these little moments of bliss anymore. They had seen and done, and been a part of too much.

“So you really enjoy this camping stuff, huh?” Sam inquired as he tucked the gun into his waistband.

“Yeah, I used to own a whole lot more than this stuff too. And this is my favorite time of the year to go. The air just smells different like its electric and you can just feel it in your bones.” Y/n explained her excitement bubbling over and spilling into her voice. Then she cocked her head and looked at him quizzically. “Wait- did you bring a gun?”

“What? No.” Suddenly he was caught like a deer in the headlights sputtering through his answers. “Yes.” Shaking her head she walked over to his pack and unzipped it to find an arsenal. Salt, salt rounds, a sawed-off, silver and iron bullets, holy water, a silver knife, and her tiny handgun, everything they’d need for whatever came out of the woodwork. Turning  her eyes from his bag to his face, who could only look at her like a kid being caught with a dirty magazine, guilty, and embarrassed, she let out a delighted and amused laugh.

“I didn’t expect you to come naked but don’t you think this is a bit overkill for a three day vacation? I mean, it’s just a campsite, Sam. There’s plenty of empty woods out there.”

“That’s just not our luck, and there’s no harm in being prepared. I brought yours too.” He answered matter-of-factly, reaching in he picked up her pistol and offered it to her. Zipping his pack up she grinned, and traded him a flashlight for her gun. It was just another little thing that she loved about him, his strategic mind and a contingency plan for every possible outcome; it made her feel safe and secure with him, knowing that whatever was thrown their way he had her back, and with Sam at her side she could face anything. She tucked her gun into her the waistband of her jean shorts and turned on her flashlight bringing it to her face.

“Okay Venkman, are you ready to go check out the spooky camp?” Y/n snarked, Sam rolled his eyes and extended a hand for her to lead the way.

“After you, Spengler.”

The further into the abandoned Summer Camp grounds they walked the more familiar it seemed to Sam. His brow knit in thoughtful confusion as he stopped in his tracks his flashlight scanned around him. Y/n turned not hearing the crunching of ground behind he anymore, when her light landed on his face she frowned.

“What is it?” If he felt there was something wrong she’d believe it in an instant, when a Winchester flinched- you fucking flinched too.

“I feel like I’ve been here before.”

“You’ve been to a sleep-away camp? Did your underwear get strung up a flagpole?” She inquired teasing him with a puckish grin and cocked brow, receiving nothing but a bitch face and a quick shake of his head.

“No! “

“Okay! Just asking!” She put her hands in the air defending herself, but the sly grin was still present on her face. That satisfied shit-eating-grin never failed to make him want to take her small frame, slam her up against a wall and tease her as much as she did him. Usually he might have were it not for the distinct nagging feeling in the back of his head.

“Where’d you say we are?”

“Uhhh… Diamond Lake? No,” she tapped her cheek searching for the right name in the archives of her brain. ”Oh- Crystal Lake!”

“Camp Crystal Lake?”

“Yeah? Is there something you know that I don’t?”

“No, I just… I could have sworn I’ve been here before.” He answered still conflicted and unsure, unable to put his thumb on exactly what it was, but brushing it off knowing he’d never heard of it before. Y/n strode to him and took his hand in hers with a squeeze, pulling him back to the current moment, a sweet smile painted on her perfect lips.

“You wanna check out some of the cabins, see if we can’t jog your memory.” She suggested with a mischievous look.

“Or we could go back to the tent and you could show me how to properly roast a marshmallow.” He offered instead.

“Why Sam Winchester, I’m surprised at you. If I didn’t know better I’d say you were scared.”

“Pfft… I’m not scared. But I’ve seen how this movie ends- it’s all fun and games until a some guy in a hockey mask  comes out of the ground and tries to kill us.” He answered good-humored, her brow furrowed taken a little aback by his response.

“Wow. That. Was oddly specific, Sam. It’s also the plot of every Slasher movie ever.” Y/n grinned turning on her heel to comply with his request to go back and toast some marshmallows, which admittedly was a much better idea than sloughing it through some dusty old cabins. Fingers laced in his she continued on her train of thought.“Y’know, If something were to happen I’m thinking more Evil Dead or Cabin in the Woods, less Michael Meyers or that other guy with the machete and the mommy issues.”

“Right, Necronomicon, that’s a much better alternative.”

“Hey, ghosts, ghouls and demons I can handle that’s a regular Friday for me. But if you’re right, you can handle the hulking-psycho-murder-machine. Besides babe, I’m sure you’d just look so good doing it too.” She teased. “Oh I can practically see it now.”

“You’re a regular comedian.”

“I’m serious, you could be in one of those movies, you’d kick it’s ass.” Y/n winked at him, and he shook his head, rolling his eyes, an undeniable heat blushing his cheeks at her compliments.

“Well thanks. You’d make one bad-ass Final Girl yourself.” He offered in response pulling her to his side and draping an arm around her shoulders. A proud and flattered grin crossed her face.

“Why Samuel, you just know exactly what to say to a girl, don’t you?”

Maybe he wasn’t so great at setting up a campsite, but a fire he could do in his sleep. There was no telling how many he’d lit growing up, most of them on purpose but there were numerous times that he and Dean found themselves getting in trouble for being curious little pyromaniacs. The bag Y/n was struggling with finally popped open as he took a spot next to her on the blanket. She speared a marshmallow with a long, thin silver pole and handed one to him, before putting hers over the open flame.

“So my two favorite ways to get a perfectly gooey marshmallow are to either catch it on fire and let it burn enough to blacken and caramelize the outside just enough that you can pull the shell off and the inside is all melty and hot and squishy.” She explained, as she took his hand guiding him to the perfect spot, and he was fixated on her face, lighting up with the flickering fire and beautiful. “Or, you can just hold it over the flame until it’s nice and golden brown.”

Fishing through one of her packs she pulled out a chocolate bar and pack of graham crackers, and two more beers. She cracked one hand handed it to him trading his silver pole for it, the marshmallow on the end catching fire. Pulling it away from the open fire and closer to her face she watched it for a few more seconds until it bubbled black on the edges and blew out the flame. Then she pulled on the charred part the whole outside shell coming off smoothly leaving the soft sticky center. Sandwiching the marshmallows with chocolate and cracker she squished it all together and handed it to Sam. It was sweeter than he was used to, the kind of sweet that could make your teeth hurt, but there was no denying that it was a deliciously decadent treat.

“Wow!” He approved, and she beamed ear to ear.

“Can’t believe you’ve never had one before.” Y/n said popping the top off of her bottle, and making her own S’more. “I remember making these every single time we went camping. It was kind of a special thing we only did went we went, I mean it’s not like we had a whole lot of reason to make them otherwise. Too messy for any other occasion.”

“You used to go with family?”

“Mhmm, used to take a trip once a year to Skyline in the Blue Ridge Mountains. And then when I was in college my friends and I would go practically every other weekend until it got too cold.” Y/n answered. There was a tinge of sadness there, she didn’t speak of her past much, no family left that she knew of. But she would find herself wondering if any remaining friends from her past thought about her, or wondered what happened to her like she did them, too afraid to go find out for herself lest she bring danger to their doorsteps. Things were different now anyway, she had a family with Sam and Dean and Cas now, and that was enough for her.

Sam cleared his throat, he hadn’t wanted to trigger her into taking a sad walk down memory lane, he wanted that beautiful smile back on her face. So he turned eyes up to the sky now dark and captivating with billions of glittering lights.

“There’s Aquarius.” He pointed, her attention following the length of his arm, a grin returning to her lips.

“The red one in Libra is Mars.”

They talked Astronomy for more than an hour, and the fire began to die out but they didn’t care. The chill set in and Y/n curled into Sam’s side, and he held her there tight, her head resting against his shoulder grateful that he just radiated heat. They continued to direct each other to a new constellation, or planet, or shooting star, until the fire had shrunk to practically nothing, serving now only as a source of light.

“Thank you for coming out here with me.” She stated turning her head towards him, breath catching in her throat at the sight of the small fire casting dramatic shadows over his angular features. Sam’s pink lips curling into a smile carving a dimple in his cheek as she tucked a long loose strand of brunet behind his ear. Fingertips tracing a line down his jaw and along the cords in his throat coming to rest at his clavicle. Sam’s large hand slipped around her neck resting at the base of her skull, pulling her close and pressing a kiss to her soft lips.

“I love you.” He whispered into her mouth. Y/n pulled away to look him in the eye, her own surprised and suspended in disbelief. They had told each other in many different way that they loved one another. In fresh cups of coffee, in small touches, in sharing meals and drinks, and laughs. They said I love you by telling each other to be safe, by stitching them back up and taking care of each other. They said I love you without saying the words, having only said them less than a handful of times their entire lives. It was the first time he’d said it out loud to someone other than his brother or Bobby, and she knew that. He was taking a risk saying it, he knew she loved him too, but she was just as battle hardened as he was and he’d never heard her say it, not to anyone, reserving it only to the confines of her mind, and he wasn’t expecting her to say it then. But when he was looking at her in awe, like she was the Sun and the Moon and all of the Stars in the sky…

“I love you.” Y/n answered, throwing her arms around his neck, locking him in a passionate kiss as she threw him off balance and he landed on his back, taking her with him.