#mykee

[shepscapades]

I didn’t mean to put this much effort into this but this bit from Bdubs’ birthday episode really really got me LOL

[roysgirl4life]

I'm really needing this right now...come home soon sir...

[myketheartista]

hello gamers of the zedango community. is there any factual video evidence of tango calling zed buttercup or is this just a nickname a lot of authors write into their fics?

[roughridingrednecks]

Myke

[nenan]

Chillevera and Theo Myking photographed by Matthew Avery Thompson

[tunastime]

Restful Dreaming, Mr. Freelancer

hi everyone :3 so um. I may have gotten very much into rvb smiles. and you know what happens when I really love something! and when I really love some guys from a something! yeap. here we go again. I just think caboose could be friends with everyone. I'm a caboose enjoyer what can I say. I love him.

Washington follows the Blue Team back to Valhalla, where he tries to get some much needed rest. Emphasis on tries. (3828 words)

When Tucker and Caboose find the unused, fourth room in the base, it’s Tucker that sweeps his arm out and gestures grandly to the room around them. It’s not very large—bed, closet, table, desk, bathroom. Enough space to walk around in—enough blue-white light to make sure nobody goes insane in somewhere so dark. Caboose goes on about how they’re almost neighbors, listing off what they could do being so close, gossip and sleepovers and the like, and Tucker goes on about how that’s nice, Caboose, and sure thing, buddy, and both speak to a Wash that’s not listening. He’s looking over the room, filtering in through a fine layer of yellow, just enough to change the hue from cool to warm, and something settles in the slope of his shoulders. He turns after a beat, folding his arms.

“You’re certain I can stay here?” he asks. Tucker shrugs.

“Yeah, I mean…” he starts, in the way that Tucker always seemed to do when he was on the edge of a decision that ultimately made him uncomfortable. “Just repaying the favor. Plus you’re the only one who really knows how to get Church outta that thing.”

“Epsilon,” Wash corrects. “And it’s a memory unit, not a thing.”

“Sure,” Tucker shrugs. “Whatever.”

“We still don’t know where that thing is,” Wash says, but it’s without any of the usual bored sting he might’ve normally laid on. He can feel the worry in the room like water around the ankles, like it invaded his boots. He steps side to side for a moment, trying to shake the feeling.

“We’ll find it!” Caboose pipes up, nodding several times. “We’ll find Church. I know we will.”

Wash sighs. 

“Yeah,” he says. “I hope so.”

There’s a beat of silence. Wash feels his lungs work against the tight feeling in his shoulders all the way up until the point where Caboose breaks the silence.

“I’m going to go make lunch,” he says. “I’m starving.”

“Good point, Caboose,” Tucker agrees. He turns to Wash as he adds: “You, uh, let us know if you need anything. You’ve got the tour, now, so…”

Wash nods.

“Right,” he manages. “Thanks.”

“Sure thing.”

The silence leftover is mostly full of the sound of air circulating through the room and pulling into his helmet. Washington stands in the room in that long moment, finding his head spinning just enough to rock his balance. He’s not so sure he should even be standing, but Tucker had handed him enough med-kits to keep him running, and his bones felt mostly in place, despite some nasty bruising up his shoulder and back, all the way down his right hip and thigh and knee. He pulls himself from his stuck spot, finally gathering the strength to unlatch his helmet. Both thumbs hook under his chin until it clicks, and he sets it in the armor stand. 

The thing about the armor is that they’re not necessarily supposed to take it off. It does come off, huge chunks of titanium alloy perfectly compressed to fit each wearer, to sit comfortably against layers of computer arrays and magnetic fasteners, bolts and straps and sealers. As soon as he starts pulling, chest pieces and arm braces come loose, and he sheds the exosuit slowly. Underneath is the cool-black bodysuit. That’s the part that really shouldn’t come off. It did, every once in a while, when there was enough time to spend recalibrating, readjusting, resyncing. The suit and all its layers, down to the skin, down to the channel of his spine, from tailbone to nape of neck, aligned with sensors and biocomponents along a fine, white scar to a thick, but equally healed one at the base of his skull, took time to adjust to. That time was precious.

But it didn’t matter with this suit. There was no connection. The suit would simply communicate without having to know, would respond to forces it knew best, and rely on what he had without a physical, grounding connection. He was free of it. The scar and its components would fade from his body. They’d be nothing but a memory.

Carefully, Wash dissects the titanium bodysuit—kevlar—coming apart at the seam, carefully fastened, skin-tight. It’s uncomfortable at first, adjusting to the air of the base, without the suit’s micro-adjustments for temperature and humidity, but he eventually shirks free and places everything in the armor compartment. 

He feels light. He also feels exposed and a little small. He searches for any sort of replacement, sleeping clothes, uniforms, anything plastered with UNSC across the arm or chest or back. When he does find it, he’s quick to pull it on and over his head. The shirt falls crooked across him, pants similarly too large, and he has to wonder what sort of Spartan these were made for, knowing how he certainly wasn’t the smallest soldier he’d met. It’s something, though, and he doubts he’ll be wearing it for very long. In fact, he finds himself tugging it off as soon as he figures out the shower, and douses himself in hot water long enough to get the plastic smell off his skin. 

Without the shadow of the day, his reflection in the mirror takes on a sunken quality. His eyes are dark and tired, lines stretching out underneath them, and the already-pale, now-bony quality of his face does little to hide it. He’s turned all sharp angles all too quickly. But if he’s got anyone to bitch to it would be himself. Well, maybe Caboose and Tucker would listen. But they probably wouldn’t understand. Epsilon might’ve ratted out his bad sleeping habits to Caboose, were he still around to actually see them. But he very well was half the reason they existed, so, touche. 

Besides, now Wash was looking out on a bed that was impossibly too big for him. He pulls back far too many layers of blankets and pushes aside pillows and makes himself a space between it all.

The lights are dim, casting long, fine shadows in the cool light. They dim further to a blackness as he settles, lying back in the few pillows and pulling still-starchy sheets around him. His tired body all but sinks into the mattress, body aching at every joint from overuse, begging to stay and to be comforted. It's there he lies for a moment, adjusting to weight and pressure, air and texture around him. He sighs. It’s the longest exhale in what feels like a very long time. The back of his throat, up through his nose, starts to burn. 

He squeezes his eyes shut. He takes a sharp breath in.

Washington’s hands come up on instinct, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes as he fights back a sound from deep in his chest. It’s hard—it feels so stupid to call this hard, because he could just crack, just for a second. Just for a moment of relief, and—he does, shutting his eyes tight still and willing in a breath through his nose as he turns his face into pillows that he hopes were nobody else's and probably never were and never would be again. Nobody knows he’s alive. Not Command, not Project Freelancer, not the Meta—Maine. Not even Epsilon. For now. The weight off his shoulders was so instant it nearly winded him, on a bed seemingly too large. It was simply him, unshackled, and the blue-white armor in its case, and Caboose, and Tucker. And the base around him was quiet. 

Washington lets his body relax. Sleep comes like a heavy blanket.

His second week’s worth of sleep doesn’t go as well. Tonight, Wash is still awake. It’s not of his own choice—if it were he’d already be asleep, curled into the plush pillows and firm mattress. He stares up at the ceiling. His eyes are dry, and it’s not all that comfortable to blink, actually. He’d prefer to focus on sinking into this nice bed, but he’s having a bit of a hard time. What he means by nice bed is that he’s gotten so used to sleeping on the ground or in the back seat of a moving Warthog or the jet or his cot so folded and unfolded that it stopped being comfortable, or the bunk that was just the right size but not nearly deep enough to fit him without moving, that having actual room to move around is really good. It’s really good, actually, and he’s not sure when the last time he had such a nice sleep was. 

He’s not even sure when he woke up that first day, aside from the fact that it was Caboose waking him up and it was still dark out—or had just gotten that way. Maybe he’d slept that whole day. But he wandered around the Valhalla base instead, swallowing down the ache low in his spine. He mapped the rooms in his head, twisting around the circular hallways. Kitchen, armory, five rooms, garage, a small central living quarters that remained barren and empty, aside from bits of broken computers, radios, and robot parts. The floor still smelled like cleaner, remnant from the UNSC’s thorough cleaning.

Anyway—he’s still awake in his own room. His eyes hurt. He’s looking into the dark grey ceiling and wondering if sleep might crawl its way back to him when there’s a knock on the door. There’s a brief pause before it happens again. He frowns, scrubbing at his eyes as his brain fights the fog settling over it.

“Agent Washington,” a voice says, feigning a whisper through the sliding door. 

“Caboose?” he whispers back, furrowing his eyebrows. Isn’t it late? He looks over to the bedside table, reading the dull red numbers on the clock—yeah. Late. “What are you still doing up?”

He hears Caboose sigh. If he thinks hard enough he can imagine him leaning against the metal frame, cheek pressed against the door, looking about as pathetic as he sounds.

“I can’t sleep,” he says, part tired and almost part sad. 

“Why’s that?”

“I—” Caboose lowers his voice even further. “I had a nightmare.”

Wash blinks slowly, sitting up, eyebrows still furrowed as he frowns. He counts himself lucky that his head isn’t spinning from lying down too much. Sighing, he presses his fingers to his eyes, rubbing the sleep from them, trying to make the blurry room come back into focus.

“You—” he tsks as he words jumble in his brain, hazy with sleep. “Why did you come here?”

“Can I come sleep with you?” Caboose asks, completely ignoring the previous question. Heels of the hands to his eye sockets. Alright. Fine. He waves uselessly at the door, knowing full well Caboose can’t see him. Then it clicks in his brain: response. Right.

When Wash goes to give him an answer, it’s replaced by the sound of his bedroom door sliding open and shut and Caboose wandering in. The muddled dark obscures his silhouette more than usual and the normally wide slope of his shoulders was much more drawn in than Wash was expecting. He’s partially shrouded by his own blanket, wrapped around him as he steps in. 

Wash feels something rolling around in his chest as he watches Caboose shuffle over, like his brain isn’t absorbing the situation properly. He mostly just feels lost. He’s still sitting up, slouched forward, mouth a fine line. His arms pool in his lap, head tilted just so as he observes Caboose in front of him. This is weird, right? Not in a bad way. It’s just weird. 

Caboose stands there, frowning just a little bit, enough to almost be a pout, mostly looking at the bedside and not at Washington.

“I—” Wash starts, trying to protest. Caboose looks up at him for a moment with wide, brown eyes, and Wash feels his chest tighten. He shuts his eyes, sighing out of his nose. Then he pulls the covers back, gesturing vaguely to the space next to him as he lies back down. If there was one thing he’d learned from Caboose, it was that there was no arguing a point once he’d made his mind up. He was as stubborn as he was strong, and the man wasn’t slight. 

There’s a beat of silence as Washington gets comfortable again against the mattress again, feeling Caboose move to his left. He worms around a bit, knee bumping the outside of Wash’s leg, elbows knocking together as Caboose makes more of Wash’s bed his own space. With Caboose’s arm now pinning his own, he clears his throat.

“Caboose,” he says firmly.

“Washington,” Caboose says, like his name holds the same weight as it did so long ago. At least someone’s impressed.

He sighs. Caboose is a heavy, warm weight against his side, and although he clings to his left arm like his life might depend on it, Washington couldn’t necessarily call it bad. 

“You can either get comfortable,” he says slowly. “Or I’m going to ask you to leave.”

“Okay,” Caboose says quickly, wriggling further over. As his head lolls, it falls against the bone of the high of Wash’s shoulder. He ends up curled up in the space Wash’s side leaves open, head on his shoulder and arm over his ribcage. He’s heavy, holding himself and Wash to the mattress as he relaxes. Wash’s arm ends up pinned under him, bendable at the elbow, enough to shift around and find a comfortable spot to rest it. Caboose manages to pull the blankets over them both haphazardly, lying part on him and part over Washington’s torso. He squeezes his eyes shut. Caboose cannot be serious. This can’t be his solution, right? He takes a long breath in. Caboose finally says:

“Thank you, Washington,” in a soft and sleepy voice mostly muffled by his shoulder.

Washington sighs.

“Sure, Caboose,” he says, resigned. “Glad I could help.”

Caboose hums, sounding comfortable. In the time it takes for Caboose to finally knock out, how short of a time that was, Wash finally relaxes. He lets the weight around him settle him on the mattress, tired and heavy, and lets his eyes close. He can’t catch the edge of sleep just yet, but he can lay here, quiet and still, so that Caboose can sleep. He matches the slow rise and fall of Caboose’s shoulders, feeling his muscles slacken as he drifts off. Maybe it’s nice, actually. The weight against his side, pressure to the muscles that ache, warmth and heavy comfort. He can’t remember the last time someone shared the same bed space as him—those bunks were too small to really fall asleep next to somebody in, and sleeping in shifts wasn’t the same as someone sleeping against you. 

He can faintly feel where Caboose’s cheek is crushed against his shoulder, where his arm rests over his chest, hand tucked against his other side. When he looks over, Caboose’s eyes have shut, face relaxed in sleep. There, he leans, pressing his cheek to the top of Caboose’s head, squeezing his eyes shut. Maybe it is nice. Maybe being needed for something so innocent as comfort could be nice. His chest twists, something as painful as it is warm weaseling up next to his lungs. 

It reminds him of Invention. Nobody really wanted to leave York alone after the accident on the training room floor. He could fall or trip, he could miscalculate and hit into something harder than expected. They spent time crammed into the bunk spaces, shoulders to shoulders, to hips, to legs over knees, trying to catch sleep in between missions, how little time that was. Washington found himself in these moments more often than not, and now more than ever it seemed that touch was a thing not often disseminated. But he had it now, and he let himself have it. He let Caboose snore into the hollow of his shoulder and tuned it out as he tried to rest.

In the morning he’ll ask him what bothered him so much that he couldn’t sleep, or why he thought Wash could help. It wasn’t important now. 

For now, he just tries to sleep.

Wash feels heavy. 

He blinks his eyes open, the world coming to in barely-there light and soft blankets. There’s a weight over him, warm and solid. Caboose still sleeps soundly even as Wash shifts to stretch pins and needles from his left arm. The world stays still, held in a quiet balance. In it, Caboose breathes slowly and evenly against his shoulder, torso still haphazardly thrown across Wash’s chest. He’s curled his hand in a loose fist, snagging part of Wash’s shirt. 

Washington sighs. There lingers a heavy, groggy feeling over his mind that he thinks he’ll have a hard time shaking, remnants of running too hard, too fast without stopping. He fought so hard only to again come up empty handed, aside from the now-bitter taste of his freedom. But for now he focuses on this moment. He rests his cheek against the top of Caboose’s head. 

As he does, Caboose hums, waking enough to tense and relax again.

“Good morning, Caboose,” Wash manages tiredly, lying still. Caboose doesn’t move either, except to shift his cheek to a more comfortable position.

“Hello, Washington,” Caboose says, slow and sleep-thick but cheery. “You let me stay!”

Wash huffs out something, maybe a laugh and maybe a sigh.

“You’re surprised?” Wash asks, staring at the ceiling. It takes a minute for Caboose to answer, and in that time, Wash’s eyes shut, too heavy to hold open. Caboose draws his arm back from his chest.

“Tucker’s not very cuddly,” he says, only partially answering the question. “I can’t really judge if people will like it.”

“I take it not many do?” He asks. Caboose shrugs, somewhat stilted, speaking in that long, sighing way that he does.

“It varies.”

Wash hums.

“Right.”

In a beat of silence, Caboose unravels himself. He sits up, swaying a bit, shuffling around. It leaves a cold hollow where he used to lie, and Wash pulls his arm back from where it used to curl around him. He folds his hands over his sternum as Caboose sits up and shifts back.

“How did you sleep!” He asks, leaning forward, arms resting on his knees. Wash nods, finally blinking his eyes open.

“It was fine,” he says slowly. “How did you sleep?”

Caboose shrugs again.

“I slept okay—” he says. “You scared off all my bad dreams I think.”

Wash snorts, furrowing his eyebrows. Caboose blinks down at him with wide eyes. It’s almost catlike, the way he watches over him, like he’s waiting for Wash to reach out and force him to move out of his space. He’s still slightly blurry, courtesy of the sleep in Wash’s eyes.

“I did?” Wash asks. Caboose nods, looking sincere

“Yep.”

Wash looks away, huffing out. Something turns in his chest, warmly at that.

“Well that’s good,” he says. Caboose nods again. He’s just far enough away that in the dim lighting Washington can’t really read his face, but it seems soft and comfortable and Wash tries to remember if that’s a good thing. There’s only so many times you see someone’s face while being out in the field that you sort of just learn reactions based on tone and less on body language. After a beat, Wash says, haltingly, brain trying to find the words:

“Caboose, what… what is it that you had a nightmare about? What—why did you come to me?”

Caboose shrugs, waving his hands back and forth. He’s not looking at him.

“Oh, you know, just about Church and Epsilon, and Tex, and you, and everyone dying and exploding and dying again,” he sighs, shoulders falling, looking distinctly less bothered than Wash expects him to be. It puts something cold-to-cool in the pit of his stomach. “But it’s okay, you’re still here! And nightmares are afraid of you.”

Wash swallows.

“Oh,” he says lamely. It doesn’t feel right, all of a sudden, to just be sitting here. Caboose tilts his head at him.

“Did you have a nightmare, Agent Washington?” he asks, leaning forward a bit. He squints at him. Wash stares back, eyes wide. “You look kinda pale.”

“Um, no,” he says plainly. “No I don’t… normally dream.”

“Oh,” Caboose says. His face drops. “That sounds sad.”

Wash shakes his head.

“It’s fine.”

Caboose hums, tapping his hands on his knees.

“You can tell me if you ever have a nightmare,” he says, smiling, a pleased look crossing his face. “I can come and scare it away.”

Wash snorts, a smile creeping onto his face. He folds his hands together, tracing out the edge of his thumb with his other thumb. He furrows his eyebrows as he looks up at Caboose.

“Are you looking for an excuse to sleep next to someone?” He asks, a curious lilt to his voice. Caboose blinks, eyes falling to his hands. He shrugs.

“No…” he says. Then, “Maybe.”

“Well it…” Wash sighs, shutting his eyes again. “It was nice. Thank you, Caboose.”

“Mhm,” Caboose says sleepily.

There’s a moment of silence. Wash moves to get more comfortable, shifting back to rest his head properly on the pillows. He can feel his body sag as he does, that tired tug pulling on his shoulders and hips and eyes. He drums his fingers against his sternum, watching Caboose. Caboose’s eyes slip shut for a moment as he leans hand against his hand. 

“I’m uh…going to try to get some more sleep,” he finally manages, clearing his throat. Caboose stays still, as if he’s fallen asleep again, shoulders weakly rising and falling as he breathes. “Caboose?”

There’s no answer. Caboose leans sideways as Wash goes to reach for him, folding like he’d lost all his core stability. As he crumples, he falls forward, half onto Wash in front of him, half into the bed itself.

“Caboose,” Wash tries again. Caboose doesn’t move, sinking further into his side.

Wash sighs. Caboose stays, solid and heavy and thrown over his chest. He feels like a little kid again, sharing a room with his sisters, or he feels like it’s some time back in training, both cats making their home on his chest. Caboose was kind of like a cat. If a cat were a dog, were late to the punch, were the same level as unable to catch the joke as he was. It was kind of sweet. Wash shifts him ever so slightly, until he’s leaning into his side again, head against his shoulder.

Caboose yawns, sighing out against his shoulder, shuffling to get comfortable. Wash curls his arm over his back, hand cupping around his shoulder, smoothing his thumb over the seam of his shirt. Caboose makes a little noise, a little sigh, and falls quiet. The world, too, is warm and quiet. Somewhere in that warmth, a soothing feeling washes over him.

Just a little more sleep, he thinks. Then he’ll get up.

[markerofthemidnight]

Finally finished some old art of Myke (my Veldigun OC)! Look at the creepy boi!

This took me about 2 hours, and it’s… honestly probably my favourite piece of art I’ve made so far? I honestly don’t think there’s much I can do to improve this!

[ask-fazbearnfriends]

a question for Glitchtrap / Malhare, what steps have you taken to keep your identity a secret following the fiasco of the five "no masks" asks that you and Penny endured in August 2020, which saw you find multiple ways to keep your face hidden? (second ask here, thank you mods for the work you do!)

Malhare: SOOOO Annoying! You brats can't just take no for an answer! learn a little something called CONSENT! *walks off to kill people* EDIT: I FORGOT TO DRAW IT BUT THE LAST ONE WAS A PIZZA BOX IT COMPLETELY SLIPPED MY MIND THAT I ONLY DREW 4 OF THEM. here's a compliation of WA in the no-masks-asks in the moment

(They weren't posted because my old fanon-version of Vanny was in 4/5 of them)

Bonus: (another ask out of context I didnt post but unrelated to the no maskness)

[shepscapades]

14. Lucky Girl Syndrome — ILLIT

Perfect weather, perfect playlist Today’s selfie, I say, “I’m lucky”

A little silly one that I couldn’t resist drawing to :D I got on a bit of kpop kick at some point in the summer, and these songs just make me so happy, it seemed fitting to draw me and my friends’ mc sonas being silly pop idol stars to try to warm up drawing again after a couple of weeks of irl busy stuff!! :]

[revnah1406]

MASON'S LEGACY

Chapter 7: The beginning of something new

<- previous chapter

Words: 10.131

(this chapter was inspired by a videogame. Can you guess which one it is? Hehehe. Also there are small hints form another famous black ops fic from a friend and mutual of mine 🤭)

"At least we know where to start." Weaver mentioned crossing his arms. His hip was resting on the table, his old bones complaining from having been on his feet for so long. Technology had advanced enough to bring him back to life but not to take away his back pain. Ironic. 

Hudson put his sunglasses on the table. He sighed exhausted. 

"We can't take chances and keep moving forward. At least not here." Hudson put both fists on the table. "The last thing we need is for Langley to happen a second time." 

"What do you suggest?" 

"A safehouse. Somewhere remote in the country. Far away from all this chaos." 

"Northward?" 

"It is an option." 

"So what happened in Berlin is happening again?" 

"Same story in a different era." 

Suddenly the office door burst open. Adler stormed in. Hudson straightened his back and took a breath. Here it comes… 

"Where is she?" Adler demanded, approaching the table. Completely ignoring Weaver. 

"What are you talking about?" Hudson pretended not to know anything, ignoring him as he sorted the papers on his desk. 

"Don't be an idiot, Hudson. Where's Abigail?" Adler slammed his hand on the papers, forcing Hudson to stop his actions. "I left you alone with her for two days and she already ran away from you again?" 

Hudson took his time answering. He looked up to look Adler in the eyes. 

"She didn't escape. I let her go. I ordered her to leave the facilities as soon as possible" 

Adler almost laughed. He rested both hands on his hips and paced around the office. 

Sims appeared at the door.

"Organize a search party." Adler ordered. 

Sims nodded but Hudson stopped him. 

"The girl is no longer in Chicago." 

"Where is she then? Huh?" 

"I hope far enough." Hudson answered. 

"Are you aware of what you have caused?" Adler pinched the bridge of his nose. 

"Are you aware of what you would have done if you had tied that girl to that chair? If you had filled her arms with needles and IVs?" 

"That girl is hiding valuable information."

"She's a Mason, Adler" Hudson didn't hesitate to approach Adler. Imposing his point of view.

"Everything has its price. Stopping Perseus has its price." Adler wasn’t intimidated by the other man. 

Hudson could see the obsession growing behind those sunglasses. That was no longer just for work, or for a need to do justice or save the world. This had become personal for Adler. Why? Maybe because he couldn't kill Perseus with his bare hands. And now he had been given a second chance to try again. Adler wasn't going to waste it. 

"And everything has its limit, Russ." Hudson answered very coldly. 

Adler spent a few long seconds, looking Hudson in the eyes. 

"Organize the Search party." He ordered Sims again without taking his eyes off Hudson. "Find her." 

And without saying another word Adler left for the office, leaving Weaver and Hudson alone again. 

He sighed, rubbing his temples. There was a long silence. 

"Should we contact Woods?" Weaver asked. 

"It's not possible. He doesn't carry any type of radio. It was better this way, we minimized the risks." 

"Then let's pray that they don't find them." 

Hudson sighed again. 

“Call Mason.” 

____________

"Mom." Abby looked away from the window, watching the rain fall heavily outside the hospital. 

"Mmh? Yes honey?" Alice closed her eyes, she was tired, the chemotherapy robbed her of all her energy. She looked like she was about to fall asleep in that chair. But her daughter woke her up. 

"What is a legacy?" Abby asked curiously. 

"Where did you hear that?" Alice opened her tired eyes. 

"On the news, a politician was talking about our country's legacy prevailing." Abby pointed to the small television on the wall. 

"Well... A legacy is what you leave in this world after you die." Alice explained, settling down on the couch. 

"Our corpse?" The twelve year old girl raised an eyebrow. 

"No, no. It's something more metaphorical." 

"Like what?" 

"Mmmh... for example, you are dad's and my legacy. You are what we leave in this world when we die. Dad is grandpa's legacy, and I am my parents' legacy." 

"I see��" 

"A legacy can be more complex, like an idea, a philosophy, a way of thinking. It can also be something very important that you have done that has affected other people." 

Abby walked over to her mother and sat next to her, resting her head on Alice's shoulder. 

"Will I leave a legacy someday too?" 

Alice smiled with her eyes closed and stroked her daughter's hair. 

"We all leave a legacy, honey."

Abby opened her eyes slightly. She took a deep breath and frowned. She blinked a few times trying to get used to the low light. The sun had not yet risen. It smelled like cigarette smoke, she was still using Woods' jacket as a blanket. It was cold. She stretched her arms and legs, trying to relax her stiff muscles. She lifted her cheek from the cold car window. She looked around. How long had he been driving?

Woods took his eyes off the road for a moment and glanced at Abby. 

"Look who's awake." Frank greeted. "Did you sleep well Abs?" He asked, looking back ahead. 

"My back hurts." Abby answered in a sleepy, hoarse voice. 

She sat up better on the seat. Feeling her bones creak. She left Woods' jacket on her lap, covering her legs. The poor girl was still trying to wake up. Her eyes were half-closed, her brow furrowed, and her hair was completely disheveled. Woods chuckled at Abby's expression.

"What are you laughing at, old man?" Abby groaned as she rubbed her eyes. 

"With the sleepy face you have, I'm sure you reached fucking Nirvana while you were taking that nap." Frank joked. 

"Well maybe I'll go back to that Nirvana again." Abby settled in better, sinking into the padded seat of the truck. Closing her eyes again. She covered herself with Woods' jacket again. The smell reminded her of home. 

"Come on, don't leave me alone again. It's boring to drive in silence for hours." Woods complained. 

He waited for a response but when he looked at Abby again he realized that she had already closed her eyes again. 

"Hey." Woods took one hand off the wheel to pat Abby's shoulder. 

She simply shook her shoulder in protest. 

"Are you listening to me brat?" Woods started pulling on Abby's ear. 

Abby growled. 

"Leave me alone." She complained, shaking her head. 

Woods laughed, satisfied with his work. 

"Give me some conversation, c’mon. This looks like a fucking funeral." 

Abby thought for a moment, she remembered the dream she had. She looked at Woods, taking in his profile. 

"What has been your legacy?" She asked. 

The older man frowned in confusion. 

"My legacy? What's with that question?" 

"I don't know. It just came to mind." 

"Mmmh..." Woods thought for a moment "I haven't had children, I haven't gotten married either. I guess my legacy is what I've done." He paused. "Although… it could be that my legacy was David. And you, of course." He looked at Abby for a few seconds. 

The young woman seemed satisfied with his answer. 

"I don't know what I will leave as a legacy." Abby asked, looking at the road. 

"You're too young to worry about that shit Abs." Woods replied, trying to take away Abby's worry. 

"I guess you're right." 

There was silence. It was comfortable.

"Where are we?" Abby asked looking at the landscape where they were. 

"On the way to Fort Wayne. Maybe an hour left. We've had to take several detours." 

It was true that from Chicago to Fort Wayne it was only a few hours of travel, but due to the war and the years the roads had deteriorated and they had to constantly take detours, looking for new safer and more hidden routes. If you travel on the main roads or highways you are cannon fodder for looters. So Woods did not hesitate to take precautions. 

A Pat Benatar song was playing on the radio. For a moment Abby wondered how it was possible if radio stations no longer existed, let alone music stations. But her question was answered when she saw an old cassette case resting on the glove compartment. 

The rattle and sway of the vehicle due to the deteriorated road rocked Abby gently. She never felt so relaxed since she arrived in Washington with David, hells, she didn't even remember the last time she could let her guard down like that. Maybe it was the effect that Woods had, that long-awaited familiarity, that feeling that transported her home. Abby leaned her head back against the window, blinking slower and slower until finally her eyes closed again. 

Woods glanced at the young woman when he noticed that the silence lasted too long. One of his corners tugged up, Abby's completely relaxed face was a little hard to see. The last time he saw her like this, Abby was unconscious, in serious condition, and tied to the hospital stretcher. It was nice to see her being able to rest properly. So he didn't bother her anymore, he looked back at the road and with one hand he placed his jacket on the young woman's lap and slightly lowered the volume of the music. 

That time Abby didn't dream, she simply let herself be embraced by Morpheus's arms. Abby didn't know how much sleep she got that time either. It was one of those naps that felt like they had knocked you out and couldn't wake you up even if they screamed right next to your ear. But the sound of the truck door closing jolted her awake. Abby raised her head, completely disoriented. She looked around, Woods was gone. She yawned and wiped away the trail of dried saliva that descended from one of her corners. 

She heard someone open the trunk while muttering curses, taking out a couple of things and closing it again. She unbuckled her seat belt and got out of the truck. The sun was already high in the sky, there were no clouds, the light shone on the snow and made Abby's eyes hurt, forcing her pupils to shrink as quickly as possible. 

Woods appeared to be packing a few things in his backpack, supplies, ammunition, and a gasoline canister. 

“Did we run out of gas?” Abby asked, closing the vehicle door. 

“Hudson gave me the fucking truck with the tank half empty.” Woods replied grumpily. “Luckily the city is a couple of miles from here. We can go on foot. Find gas and return. It will take us a day at most, maybe half a day if we are lucky.” 

Abby handed her his jacket when she saw him start to look for something. Woods grabbed it and put it on. 

“Grab your things, kid. We’re leaving." Woods ordered, slinging his backpack over his shoulders and holding the rifle in one hand. 

Abby obeyed, and grabbed her backpack and the rest of her things, leaving nothing valuable in the car. Someone could steal from them in their absence. 

They began to walk along the half-ruined road, covered in snow and ice, she couldn't even see the asphalt. They preferred to take the risk of being ambushed in the middle of the road than to walk along a secondary path. The fluffy snow and frozen grass could make them go too slow. It was still quite early in the morning, Abby was hoping that the raiders in that area weren't early risers. 

They were silent, listening carefully for any suspicious noises around them. Luckily there was only the singing of birds, the leaves of the trees swaying lazily and the wind raising powdered snow that had not yet frozen and stuck to the ground. The sun warmed their skin and the snow kept their boots cold and wet. A strange feeling. 

Woods walked a couple of steps behind her, checking the rear from time to time. He also kept an eye on Abby, she seemed to be lost in thought, staring at the snow. Woods noticed the hunting sniper hanging from her shoulder. Guns and Abby… it was a combination he had a hard time imagining. Well, Abby had changed a lot in those last few years. She had changed but she was still the same. Woods didn't know how to put it. It didn't matter how much Abby grew, how much she cut her hair, or how much she changed her clothing style. Beneath those green eyes he continued to see the little Mason who begged him to read books about astronauts and trips to the moon. 

“Do you know how to use that rifle?” Woods asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“Mhm.” Abby made a sound of affirmation without even turning to him. 

"Who taught you?" 

"Dad." She responded simply. 

Woods snorted and nodded. Obviously it had been Dave. 

There was silence. 

“And you're good with that?” He asked again. Five years had passed that had felt like an eternity. Woods had to catch up with her. 

Abby finally turned to Woods. The sun illuminated those green eyes with a light so warm that they almost seemed to have turned gold. She smiled sideways. 

“You'd be surprised, old man.” 

Woods rolled his eyes but didn't hide his smile. Knowing what Abby managed to do to Adler, that response didn't surprise him. Abby paused for a moment so Woods could catch up with her so they could walk side by side. 

“How things have changed, huh?” Frank sighed, looking up, towards where some little birds had taken flight from the top of a tree. It was amazing how despite how broken the world was, things always found their way again. Abby nodded. “Do you miss the good ol' days?” 

Abby nodded again. 

“Things seemed simpler.” She answered nostalgically. 

“They looked like it, but that doesn't mean they were.” Woods corrected her. 

There was another silence. 

“And tell me…” Woods looked at her, earning a curious look from the younger girl. “How did that story end with that girl?” 

"What a Girl?" Abby wrinkled her face not understanding what he was talking about. 

"You already know. That girl from your school. What was her name…Martha?” 

“¿Mary?”

"Yeah."

“Oh god, Frank…no…” Abby chuckled as she shook her head. 

"Huh? How bad was it? I remember you liked her a lot.” 

“She… just wanted to know what it felt like to kiss a girl. Nothing else." Abby gave a sad smile, pursing her lips and raising her eyebrows. “I guess I was the one who misinterpreted the signs.” 

“Abs… you were thirteen, you were too young to understand those things.” He put his arm over the shorter girl's shoulders and gave her a gentle squeeze. “Besides, first loves don't always turn out well.” 

“If you talk so much as if you were the most experienced person in the world, then tell me about your love life.” Abby gave a little smile and wiggled her eyebrows. 

“My life isn't full of romance Abs.” Woods rolled his eyes. 

“And what about that girl? The one in that photo?” Abby remembered when five years ago she found an old photo in Woods' room. A woman talking casually to Mason, as if they didn't realize their photo was being taken. 

“She is… Long story…” Frank sighed as he remembered those times. 

“Well, judging how long it will take us to get to Washington, I think we have plenty of time.” She shrugged. 

“I'm not going to tell you the whole story like it's a fucking gossip session.” He defended himself. It's not that he wanted her to know that part of his story, like many others. 

“Pfff Boring... At least tell me how it started. Where did you take her on the first date?”

Woods thought for a moment whether or not to answer that question. He grumbled a little but eventually gave in. 

“Burger Town.”

“To fucking Burger Town?! Are you serious Woods?!” 

"What? It's good, and cheap. You say that as if you didn't enjoy it every time I took you there when you were little.”

“But you can't take her there on the first date! Oh my goodness Woods…” Abby shook her head. 

“She was a woman who knew how to appreciate the simple things in life.” Woods answered. 

“I feel sorry for her. If putting up with you as a grandfather is already torture, imagine having you as a lover, pff…” Abby pretended to be tired. 

Woods opened his mouth in surprise, clearly not expecting Abby to make fun of him at that moment. 

“You little piece of shit.” Woods put his arm around Abby's neck in a headlock and rubbed his knuckles hard over her head. 

“Hahahaha! Hey!" Abby tried to get out of Woods' grip. 

“You think it's funny to laugh at me, huh?” Woods was infected with the youngest's laughter. 

“I only speak the truth!” Abby continued laughing. "Let go! Hahaha!” 

They continued talking and catching up as they walked. In the end they arrived in the city earlier than expected. The skyline of Fort Wayne was what you would expect from any city. Demolished, a set of ruins. The few skyscrapers that had fallen like defeated giants. The shorter buildings threatened to fall as well. Debris everywhere, huge holes, streets sunken into the ground, leaving huge holes and uncovered sewers. It wasn't a very big city, but Abby had heard rumors that it was one of the hardest hit during the war. Now she had been able to verify it. 

“What a sight…” Woods murmured, observing how gloomy everything looked. 

“Is this the first time you've seen a city like this?” Abby raised an eyebrow. 

“No, but never as destroyed as this one.” Woods replied, shaking his head. 

“Fort Wayne was one of the first victims of the Cordis Die drone attacks. There were rumors that this was hell during the first year, and not precisely because of the drones.” Abby began to explain as they both walked deeper into the ghost town. 

"How was it? The beginning of Cordis Die, the war…” Woods asked. 

“Haven't they told you what happened?” Abby turned around with a face of confusion. 

“I know the official version. But I want to know yours.” 

Abby was silent for a few seconds. It was difficult for her to remember those years. 

“When… Menéndez committed suicide after…” Abby pointed at Woods, implying that she was referring to the incident at The Vault. She didn't even dare mention it out loud, her stomach turned just thinking about it. Furthermore, it was a delicate topic that she had not yet discussed with him. 

Frank nodded understanding what she was talking about. 

“After Menéndez's death, we thought everything was over. Cordis Die had been stopped. The happy ending we were all waiting for.” Abby began to narrate. “A month later, a group of anonymous terrorists called the new Perseus appeared. They hacked all public television channels and social networks. They assured that they would make a better world for everyone, far from corrupt governments, famine and wars.” 

They were both walking through the alleys, searching every gas tank of every car they found. All empty. Woods listened to Abby as he watched the windows of buildings and possible ambush sites. 

“At first no one paid attention, they took it as a joke. But then they continued sending messages saying that the revolution had already begun in Eastern Europe and South Asia, sending images of revolts and violent demonstrations. Perseus was trying to convince people to rise up against governments, to demand answers. Many believed the lie, and the same thing happened. Attacks against the government, demonstrations, barricades, homemade explosives, robberies, murders in the middle of the street... The country became an anarchic place. And from what we saw on the news, the same thing was happening in the big cities of the rest of the countries.” Abby sighed and rubbed her face. It was difficult for her to remember those years, it was as if her brain was determined to forget. 

Woods remained silent. Abby's expression was gradually darkening. He was beginning to regret asking.  

“That freedom, revolution and knowing the truth were children’s dreams. A simple strategy to keep us messy, separated, like headless chickens. Perseus took advantage of the chaos to hack all the military systems of international powers. The United States, China, Russia... I don't know how they did it. Somebody made a deal with the fucking devil or something like that. Because the next thing we knew was hell on earth. All the military drones of the army were thundered against us, both by land, sea and air.” Abby sat on the hood of a burned-out car. Her hands had begun to shake. “The military drones in the streets of our neighborhood, I still remember when they entered our home. Dad and I miraculously came out alive. They shot anyone in sight. It was... like a swarm of drones that destroyed everything. There were bombings that destroyed the city. We had to take refuge in the subway. The number of deaths that occurred each day was enormous. The government tried to stop the drones with tanks, fighter planes... but it was useless, they didn't last even six months, then they disappeared as if they had never been there. Abandon us to our fate.” Abby gave a bitter laugh. “I guess you were right when you said that technologies were going to destroy us one day.”

“Abs…” Woods called after her. 

The young woman made a gesture with her hand. 

“The first year was the hardest of all. I guess I wasn't used to so much chaos and death. The few of us who survived were trapped in the city all that year, traveling through the subway tunnels so as not to be seen. Going to the surface only to look for supplies, clothing, weapons, medical supplies... We created a small underground refugee camp. We were busy healing the wounded, feeding the children, and creating a small oasis in that horrible place. By then I was already fifteen years old, I was no longer considered a girl. “I went out to the streets on expeditions with Dad, to look for food or survivors.” 

Abby frowned and thought for a few seconds. 

“I still don't know if it was my fault or not…” She paused, trying to find the right words. “One day dad had to stay in the refugee camp because of a problem with one of the hydroelectric turbines. So I had to go on an expedition alone.” Abby swallowed, trying to lighten the weight she felt in her throat. Lost in her thoughts and memories, trying to relive that event, looking for some detail that had been overlooked. “Maybe… I left the subway gate open or some emergency exit… I don't know…” She shook her head. 

Woods waited patiently in silence. 

"I was happy. I had found several boxes of insulin syringes and antibiotics at a pharmacy on the other side of town. When I returned... Everything smelled of gunpowder, gasoline and blood. There were corpses everywhere. Women, the elderly, children... There were also destroyed military drones. Luckily I found dad and a few survivors.” Abby sighed as she swung her feet that dangled over the side of the car where she was sitting. “Some blamed me for it. Dad said it wasn't true, the drones had appeared through the western tunnel and I had left through the eastern one. Whatever the story was, they were mad at me, and banished me from the refugee camp. Obviously dad came with me. We spent two years wandering the country, traveling with other nomads. It was better to go in a group than alone. Then we found a little hunting cabin in the woods and Dad and I stayed there for six months. I must admit that I liked it, it was a quiet place. But one day we heard some robbers in the area and we had to leave. It was a matter of time before they found us. We heard rumors that things were calmer in Alaska, that people had begun to organize to build small towns and return to normal, and that there was a smuggler pilot in Washington DC who could take us to Fairbanks.” Abby looked up at the sky. “We arrived in Washington, we found the Guerrillas called The Wolves, we discovered that it was a cover for the government that was still working in the shadows, the Hyenas attacked us, President Bosworth gave me the pendrive, they kidnapped us both, and well… You already know the rest of the story.” Abby looked at Woods and smiled. A smile that didn't reach her eyes. 

Woods was silent for several seconds, taking in everything Abby had said. He could see the weight of those hard years in her eyes. In a way she reminded him of him when he was young, when he spent his youth on the streets of Philadelphia. 

“Some busy years, kid.” Woods ruffled Abby's hair. “We will find your father, don't worry.” 

“We will have to hurry. I don't know how long he will stay in Washington. Or is he even still alive.” 

“Well we better find some gas soon.” Frank nodded for Abby to follow him. “Come on Abs.”

Abby nodded and followed him. 

They walked through the streets of Fort Wayne, watching each other's backs with every step they took. The place seemed completely deserted, there wasn’t a single soul in the place, nor signs that people had passed through there. Fort Wayne was so dilapidated that perhaps people thought it impossible to repopulate. 

They arrived at an abandoned square, with a small playground buried by snow and fallen trees. Woods put his arm on Abby's chest to stop her and pointed to some large boxes next to some trucks in front of a church. Before Abby could look closely, he grabbed her shoulder and pulled her to the corner of a building so they wouldn't be so exposed. 

"Over there." 

Abby peeked around the corner and looked into the distance. She analyzed the place for a few seconds. 

“There seems to be no people.” 

“Oh yeah?” Woods wasn’t convinced. The signs of nearby human activity made him tense, you never know who you might encounter.

“Look at the snow accumulated on the roof of the trucks, they haven't been moved in days. There are also no tire marks in the snow, nor footprints. The windows of the vehicles are frozen, no one has used these vehicles for at least weeks.” Abby deduced. She craned her neck a little to see a little better. "Look. Over there." 

Abby pointed to some gas cans next to some cargo boxes. 

“Looks like it's our lucky day.” Woods said when he saw them. 

"What are you saying? Shall we risk it?” Abby asked, looking at him. 

Frank thought about it for a moment. He didn't like the idea of ​​interacting with people. And much less risk being ambushed. But they couldn't waste much time, they had to hurry and get gas soon. And if Abby was right and those canisters were full, they would have enough for quite a few more miles. So he sighed and nodded. 

“Okay. Let's go, grab the gas and leave. But you stay behind me, understand? come on." 

Abby nodded. 

Woods took the rifle from his shoulder and began walking in the direction of that half-demolished church. He didn’t hesitate to monitor possible places where there could be people hiding, he didn’t like that place, he had a bad feeling. 

Meanwhile, Abby kept an eye on the rear and the windows of the tallest nearby buildings. 

When they reached the collection of trucks and cargo boxes, Abby tentatively kicked one of the gas canisters, which fell onto the snow without any effort. 

“Fucking empty…” Woods growled in annoyance after checking that the others were also empty as well.

 Abby looked around trying to find something else. “Maybe there's something in the trucks' fuel tanks.” Suddenly she realized something. “Hey, old man.” Abby called Woods and pointed her chin at the church door.

“Mmh?” Woods looked up at where Abby pointed. 

Right next to the door there was a sign that said: “DANGER: flammable material.” Woods signaled for Abby to stay where she was and he approached the door. He stuck right against the wall next to the door, waited a few seconds in silence trying to hear something, but there was only silence and wind. With the rifle raised he slowly opened the door and looked inside to investigate. He made sure the place was empty and then with a nod told Abby to follow him. 

They both entered the church and Abby closed the door behind them. 

“Oh wow.” Abby was amazed to see the place. 

It was a small, ordinary abandoned church. The wooden benches were broken, as were the windows, and there was debris everywhere. The roof had holes and let in light and snow, giving the place a magical atmosphere. 

“Hey Abs. It seems that not everything is lost.” Woods snapped Abby out of her shock. 

The girl looked in the direction where his voice came from. In one corner were more supply boxes and a fuel tank. 

“Do you think there will be gasoline inside?” Abby asked, approaching her grandfather. 

“Let's find out.” Woods put his backpack on the ground and took out the fuel bottle. 

“maybe the gasoline has frozen.” Abby commented watching what Woods did. 

“Gasoline freezes at -60 degrees Celsius. There’s no way it can be that cold here.” Woods moved the canister to the opening of the fuel tank and opened it.

“Well, it's too damn cold.” Abby rubbed her hands in a vague attempt to warm them.

“Oh hell yeah baby.” Frank smirked.

“Hey, watch your language. This is the house of God.” Abby pretended to scold him.

“We got some gas.” Woods informed. 

“Oh fuck yeah!” 

“Bring the other jugs from outside, we will fill them and take them too.” Woods ordered, after he had filled the jug and put the cap back on. 

Abby brought them and they filled them all. They had three 20 liter drums, that added up to 60 liters in total. With that they could fill the car's tank. 

“Do you think you can carry one in your backpack?” Woods handed her a jug. 

Abby put her backpack on the floor and checked the extra space inside. 

“I think I can carry one.” She answered.

"Good." 

They kept the gasoline cans in their backpacks. Woods carried one in his hand. 

“Aren't you carrying too much weight?” Abby asked, raising an eyebrow. Her backpack was beginning to weigh quite a bit. 

“I've carried your grandfather on my shoulders for hours. Believe me he weighed more than this.” Woods responded by slinging the backpack over his shoulders again. 

Abby raised an eyebrow. “I will remind you of those words when you start complaining about back pain.” 

Frank rolled his eyes. “Come on, let's go, I think I've seen a couple of buildings where we can take a shortcut.” 

They both left through the back door of the church. Always making sure no one was around. Although the city seemed more than abandoned. They crossed the street quickly and entered a large building which seemed to be in much better condition than the rest. 

They found a large hall, with a polished marble floor and high ceilings. 

“This building seems to have been preserved quite w—OH MY GOD!” Abby exclaimed suddenly. 

"What? What's happening?" Woods didn’t hesitate to put himself on guard and look in all directions. Danger? A corpse? Explosives? A trap? 

"Look!" Abby pointed to a sign on one of the walls in the hallway. 

On the poster he could read in large blue letters: “SCIENCE EXHIBITION: FROM THE DINOSAURS TO THE MOON”

Woods read the sign several times and then looked at the girl with a serious expression. 

“Abby…” 

"Can we go? Only five minutes!" Abby put both hands together “please please please please please please.” Abby pleaded but was already walking backwards towards the exhibit. “Please please please please please…”

Frank sighed, perhaps this was the first time he had seen her eyes shine like that since he met her again. For a moment he found little Abby again, and perhaps that was what finally softened his heart.

“Okay… but only five minutes.” Woods began to follow her in the direction of the museum entrance. 

"YEAH!" Abby raised both hands in victory. 

As the sign indicated, the exhibition began with the dinosaurs. There were skeletons and fossils everywhere. Prehistoric giants made of bone, it was incredible that all of it had survived the war, there was rubble, cracks and holes in some places but other than that, everything was incredibly well preserved. 

Despite the weight Abby was carrying on her back, she didn't hesitate to run around like a kid. Her inner child was jumping for joy. When was the last time Abby visited a science museum? Not even she remembered. 

She stood in front of a fossilized stegosaurus skeleton and watched it for a few seconds until Woods came to her side. 

“Did you know that this dinosaur had a brain the size of a walnut?” Abby commented. 

“Wow, yours is almost as big as his.” Woods smirked. 

“Hahaha… very funny.” Abby rolled her eyes and punched him on the shoulder, but she was unable to hide her smile. 

Woods chuckled, satisfied with his joke. 

They walked around some more, looking at models and fossils, until Abby found a small reception area, sat down in the chair, and put the phone to her ear as if someone was calling. 

“Oh sorry all the dinosaurs are busy right now so…” she pretended to talk to someone. 

"What are you doing…?" Woods walked over and placed a hand on the table. 

“Oh! It's your lucky day! I have one of the dinosaurs right in front of me.” Abby handed him the phone. “Frank, is for you.” 

“You wouldn't be the funniest person in the world by any chance?” Woods raised an eyebrow. 

Abby laughed and stood up, satisfied that she had returned the joke. “I'm actually quite funny.” 

“Whatever you say, Miss Comedian.” Woods ruffled Abby's hair as he passed her. Abby laughed again as she felt Frank's heavy hand on her head, which made the veteran's smile wider. 

Abby walked over to a model in the center of the room. 

“It's a Mbiresaurus Raathi.” Abby read aloud the name of the dinosaur on the information sign: “It says that it lived about 230 million years ago. The oldest known dinosaur.” Abby whistled in surprise. “He's almost as old as you.” 

“I look better than him.” Frank responded looking at the two meter tall lizard.

“The CIA has resurrected and rejuvenated you almost fifty years; a meteorite fell on him.” Abby raised an eyebrow. 

Woods shrugged. 

“I would call it natural beauty.” 

"If you say so…"

They continued walking through different rooms, Abby was commenting on the things that were on display and Woods joked from time to time. Almost for a moment they both forgot the situation they were in.

“No fucking way.” Abby almost couldn't believe it when she saw a huge model of a space shuttle.

“Big Spaceship huh?” Woods walked around it to get a good look at it.

“It's not a spaceship. It's a shuttle! With this, the astronauts were taken to the international space station.” Abby looked at it like a little child looks at cotton candy, full of excitement and happiness. “This is a model of the Endeavor shuttle, the original is in California, if it is still in one piece. They launched it into space for the first time in 1992.”

“I had almost forgotten that you were a nerd about these things…” Woods walked around the large room a little more, there were more models on display.

"Hey!" Abby complained and quickly caught up to Woods that he seemed to have become interested in another model. “That's the Sputnik satellite. It was the first satellite to be sent into space in 1957, crazy huh?.”

"Sputnik?" Woods repeated. “the Russians sent this one.”

“Yeah.” Abby shrugged. “The Soviets were more advanced than us in space technology. Don't look at me like that, you know I'm right. The Cold War ended almost forty years ago.”

This was a topic on which Woods and Abby had different opinions. But Frank didn't feel like arguing with her and ruining the moment. Luckily Abby wasn't interested in getting into that debate either since her attention was completely diverted when she saw a broken display case with an astronaut suit.

“Hey Frank! Look!” Abby grabbed the helmet and didn't hesitate to put it on her head.

Woods crossed his arms and leaned against the display case. "Looks Good on you. Ready to go to the moon?”

“We're going to have to find another helmet for you. I’m not going to go alone.”

Woods smiled softly.

“Is it comfortable to wear that?” he asked again.

"More or less. It smells like space, or probably like dust.” Abby took off her helmet and turned it over. She watched her reflection in her visor. “I would like to take it with me…”

“Then take it. Who's going to stop you? The security guard?” Woods looked around, implying that they were completely alone. "I thought you were the rebel one who doesn't care about rules."

Abby's smile widened.

“It's better to take the astronaut helmet than that space shuttle over there.” Woods nodded at the model of the Endeavor.

Abby laughed and looked at the helmet for a few seconds, her green eyes turning a little sad. She sighed and shook her head.

“We still have a long way to go and this helmet would only be a hindrance. I don't even know where I could keep it” And she put it in the display case again.

Woods didn't say anything, Abby was right but he didn't want to discourage her further either. But suddenly something shining on the ground caught his attention. He walked towards it and grabbed it. He ran his thumb over it to remove the dust. It was a pin in the shape of an incredibly detailed moon, with its craters and irregularities. It had a phrase written that said “to the Moon and back.”

He returned to Abby and handed her the pin.

“And how about this? It's more practical to carry it, isn't it?"

Abby's eyes lit up again. She grabbed the pin carefully and looked at it for a few seconds. She smiled and clipped it to Woods' jacket, over his chest pocket.

“it was meant to be yours, Abs…” Woods said as he watched Abby adjust it to his jacket.

“I know, but I would be happier if you wore it.” Abby responded.

"Why? I’m not the space nerd here.”

Abby rolled her eyes and looked at the pin on Woods' jacket, it fit him well. She patted his chest and smiled.

“Because I will always be your astronaut and you will always be my moon.”

That response took Woods completely off guard. To say his heart had melted was an understatement. But he'd never been good with emotions, so he simply smiled and pulled Abby's ear affectionately.

“Come on, let's see what's out there.” Woods had seen in the distance an even bigger room with something that Abby would like even more.

They arrived at what looked like the main exhibition hall. Abby found it difficult to close her mouth. The room was huge, there was a glass dome on the ceiling, from there hung a huge model of the solar system. There were walkways and stairs leading to higher floors, probably to other smaller rooms in the exhibition. There were models of rovers, spaceships and meteorite rocks displayed in glass cases. But what caught the most attention was the enormous globe of Mars in the center of the room. An incredibly detailed model of the red planet. 

They both remained silent for a few seconds looking at the enormous planet in front of them. 

"We used to look up at the sky and wonder what our place is in the stars. Now we just look down and bury our heads in the dirt" Abby sighed and shook her head,completely lost in her thought.

"Who knows. Maybe there will be astronauts again one day.” Woods tried to cheer her up. 

“You've seen how the world is, Frank… humanity is not going to recover from this blow for a long time. And I doubt people will ever be interested in what lies beyond the stratosphere again.” Abby was staring at Mars. 

Woods didn't say anything, he knew Abby was right. Maybe humanity had more important things to do before returning to space, who knows, maybe it will never go there again.

“In 2024, NASA managed to send six astronauts to Mars with the intention of starting a colony there.” Abby began to explain. “The mission was a success. But when Cordis Die started and everything became complete chaos, the world forgot about them. They never came back.” 

"They are dead?"

"Maybe yes, maybe no. It's like Schrödinger's cat. They are alive and dead at the same time, we won't know until we see them.” Abby paused. “Maybe they have managed to survive, maybe they managed to create a stable source of water and food, it's pure chemistry, it could be done. Or maybe they died asphyxiated by Martian dust five years ago. We just don’t know.” 

Woods nodded. It must be terrifying to die alone in a place so far from home, he almost experienced it several times. 

“What a terrible way to die. And you dreamed of being an astronaut? Why would you want such a dangerous job?” Woods put the gas can on the ground.

“I could ask you the same thing.” Abby looked up at the veteran. She smiled as a sign that she had no intention of offending him. 

Woods was quiet for a few seconds. He knew Abby was referring to his work at the CIA, and how after he died he could continue working for them.

“...Because it's the only thing I know how to do”

Abby's smile turned a little sad again. 

“That's not true Frank.” 

Again Woods didn't know what to answer. It surprised him how many times Abby cornered him like that. Perhaps in her short life, she had known him more than she had known him. In some ways it reminded him of Mason. 

Suddenly something pulled him out of his thoughts. A red dot appeared on Abby's chest and slowly rose until it was between both eyebrows. 

All his alarms went off. 

“Abby!” Woods forcefully pushed her out of the path of the sniper rifle. The deafening noise of a gunshot was heard, somewhere on the walkways to the upper floors. A sharp stabbing pain pierced Woods' shoulder from behind. 

Frank staggered from the impact force of the shot but managed not to fall. 

“Woods!” Abby grabbed his shoulders worriedly. 

“Don't dawdle now, run!” Woods grabbed Abby's arm and ran until they both took cover behind some display cases. 

Voices and screams began to be heard, people running and shots being fired everywhere. 

Woods grabbed his shoulder and grunted in pain. 

“They hit you.” Abby spoke terribly worried about the sergeant. 

“It's not as serious as it looks.” Woods lied. “Who the hell are these people?” 

“Probably the raiders of this area. The trucks we saw before must be theirs.” Abby responded as she took her rifle off her shoulder but Woods stopped her. 

"Not yet. Let them get closer.” Woods put his backpack down and grabbed Abby's rifle. He poked his head out slightly and quickly counted how many enemies they were facing. “Four, six, seven… seven motherfuckers.” He returned to hide behind the display case just as a bullet hit too close. “I Can handle them.” 

Of course Woods could handle them, he had been in much worse situations than that. The only thing he really worried about was Abby. 

“Abby, leave your things here, just take the gun and the knife.” Frank turned to the young woman. “There is an emergency door in that direction, do not shoot unless strictly necessary, do you know how to use the knife? No, of course you know how to use knives, you stabbed Adler without thinking.” 

“Frank, what are you talking about? I'm not going anywhere."

As soon as Woods saw a shooter lean out to shoot again, he grabbed Abby by the collar of her jacket and pulled her down to hide better. 

“Listen to me for once in your life, Abigail.” Woods' tone of voice sounded authoritative. “You are going to do what I tell you whether you like it or not.” 

Abby's worried eyes traveled back to the gunshot wound in Woods' shoulder. Frank realized this and sighed. 

“I'll be fine kid, I'll catch up with you before you know it. Now go." Woods nodded toward the emergency door. 

Abby wanted to reproach him again but she knew there was no point, Woods was just as stubborn as she was. So she nodded, left her backpack there and when the assailants took their time reloading their weapons, she ran towards the nearest door. 

As soon as she crossed, she closed the door behind her, there was a smaller museum room but she didn't even stop to see what was displayed there. She ran across the room until she reached the emergency door, opened it and found a long hallway where at the end there was another door that surely led to the outside. She stopped for a moment. Maybe there were more people outside, she didn't know how many people were fighting, maybe they were waiting for them outside. 

Suddenly footsteps were heard approaching. Had Woods finished with those bastards? Abby had no way of knowing. But she soon discovered that there were several people. 

It wasn’t Woods.

“Shit…” Abby cursed as she pulled out the knife. 

The footsteps got closer and closer, until they stopped right in front of the door, a tense silence filled the place. 

“She must be around here… Keep your eyes open, boys.”

Abby was on guard. Were those men the same ones who were fighting with Woods? Were they other guys? Had they done something to Woods? That possibility made Abby nervous. 

The door opened slowly, letting some light into the dark hallway. She didn't know how many she was going to face. But no matter what, Abby was going to kill them. She was going to kill them all. 

Woods finally managed to shoot the sniper on the upper catwalks. Of the seven men there, he managed to kill three. 

“Not Tommy!” A man was heard screaming. 

That almost managed to distract Woods, out of the corner of his eye he saw someone lunge at him. Frank managed to dodge the knife and hit him in the face. The man staggered back, and Woods took the opportunity to shoot him in the leg with his pistol. The man screamed in pain and before he could react Woods put his arm around his neck and pulled him towards him, using him as a human shield. 

With the man in front protecting him, Woods allowed himself the luxury of coming out of hiding and managing to shoot another man in the shoulder. Frank was about to shoot a second time, this time in the head, when a voice stopped him suddenly. 

“Pull the trigger one more time and I swear to God I’ll kill the girl!” 

Everyone stopped. The shooting stopped and the museum fell silent. Two men appeared, they were covered in bruises and signs of a fight. One was bleeding and limping on one leg, the other was holding Abby by the neck and jamming the barrel of the gun into her temple. Abby locked eyes with Woods, her nose was bleeding and she had a split eyebrow. 

“Let go.” The man holding Abby ordered. “Let him go or I'll stain the floor with her brains.” He threatened. 

Abby shook her head slightly. Woods was breathing hard, it was a too compromising situation, he couldn't risk Abby getting hurt. So Frank reluctantly let the man go. 

As soon as he did, someone kicked him behind the knee and pushed him to the ground. 

“Frank!” Abby screamed. “Let go of memotherfucker! I'll kill you!" 

The man holding her pressed the gun even harder against Abby's head. 

“Abby!” Woods exclaimed worriedly, he wanted to get up but one of the raiders put his knee on his back and the rifle pointed at his head. 

"Wait wait! Don’t shoot!" The man who had earlier been taken hostage by Woods tried to stop his partner. 

“Why?” The other man threatening Abby didn't seem in a good mood. “The girl killed Joe and Billy! She deserves to die!" 

“That girl saved my son.” The man looked at Abby, hoping she would recognize him. “Back in Chicago. Remember?” 

Abby stared at him for a few seconds. She tried to loosen the grip on her neck without success. 

“I remember you.” Abby answered. 

The man nodded and then looked at his companions. “She gave me medicine for little Simon. She saved him. I owe her my life.” 

The man behind Abby didn't look very happy. “They have killed three of our people, they have stolen our gasoline too.” 

“He killed Tommy! My brother!" The man who had his knee on Woods exclaimed. 

“They came from Chicago. They may have valuable information.” The father tried to insist. “She has saved my son. Your nephew, James.” 

The man holding Abby and who seemed to be the leader spent a few seconds thinking. 

He growled in frustration and shook his head. “Knock them out. We’ll take them to camp with us.” 

Hearing that, Abby became upset and tried to free herself even harder. 

“Abby no!” Woods exclaimed. 

But for Abby it was too late, she felt a strong blow to her head and everything went dark. 

____________

David ran to the hospital. The plane had been delayed two hours, since he had received the news he had done everything possible to return home on time, but apparently despite his efforts he didn’t succeed. 

He crossed the hall until he reached the table where the reception desk was located. The receptionist seemed to be typing something into the computer when David arrived.

“Hey.” David greeted, somewhat agitated in an attempt to remain calm. The nurse looked up from the screen and looked at him with a bored expression. “Huh… I'm looking for Alice Mason, her water broke this morning. I am her husband.” he showed the ID.

The woman checked the ID for a few long seconds, looking at the ID and then at David repeatedly. Then she typed some more on the computer. David shifted impatiently on the spot. 

“Alice Mason already gave birth two hours ago, she is resting in her room.” The woman reported. 

“oh…” David realized that he had missed the birth of his first child because of work. He ran his hand through his hair and laughed nervously. “My wife gave birth alone. I must look like a horrible husband.” He smiled sadly. 

The woman changed her bored expression for a slightly more compassionate look.

“I am not the woman who should judge that. Your wife is in room 240, second floor. The elevator is on the left.” The receptionist pointed there. 

David nodded and left with a final, polite “thank you.” 

He took the elevator and arrived as quickly as he could to the room that the woman had indicated to him. Some nurses even called him out for running through the hospital hallways. 

When he arrived at the indicated door David made an effort to calm down. He had just become a father, he was a father. He almost couldn't believe it. He took a deep breath and slowly opened the door. 

As soon as he entered the room he met his wife's tired eyes. She was lying on the hospital stretcher, her hair completely tangled and huge dark circles under her eyes. But still, for David, he still saw her as the most beautiful woman in the world. 

“Hey…” Alice smiled and stretched out her hand towards him. 

David did not hesitate to shorten the distance and take her hand in his. He sat on the edge of the stretcher and kissed her knuckles. 

“Hey…” he said back with a small smile. He placed Alice's knuckles next to his cheek as he stroked the back of her hand gently with his thumb. "How do you feel?" 

“Exhausted.” Alice sighed, her face looked like she hadn't slept in days. 

David leaned towards her and kissed her sweetly. He wanted to kiss her more, with more passion, to tell her how much he had missed her, that the days without her were horrible. But in the state his wife was in he had to be more delicate. 

“You've done an amazing job, momma.” It was the first time David had called Alice that, and he was surprised by how sweet it sounded. They both knew that they had to get used to the life of being parents, but luckily they would do it together. 

“And you're late.” Alice scolded him, but the tired smile indicated that she wasn't really angry. 

"I know. I am so sorry my love.” David kissed her forehead and knuckles again. He wanted to make excuses, that the plane had been delayed for two hours because of a storm, that the traffic jam from the airport to the hospital had been eternal... but David knew that at that moment those excuses were worthless. He made a mental note to make up for it with lots of massages and good food.  

"It¡s ok honey. She has also arrived earlier than the estimated date.” Alice cupped David's cheek with her other hand. 

He looked up. 

“She?” He asked surprised. 

Alice's smile widened and she nodded. "It's a girl." 

David and Alice had made the decision not to know the gender of the baby until it was born. David never had a preference for one gender or another, but upon hearing that it was a girl, his heart skipped a beat. It is always said that daughters have a special place in the hearts of fathers. 

“Have you decided on a name?” David asked curiously. 

Alice stayed for a few seconds looking at her husband. 

“Abigail. Abigail Mason.” She answered. 

That surprised David, it wasn't that he disliked the name either. 

“Abigail? I don’t remember that name on our list.” David remembered that they had a long list of names for their future baby. They never managed to decide on one. 

Alice chuckled. “I didn't name her. It was Woods.” 

“Woods? Are you letting the old sergeant choose our daughter’s name?” He joked. 

Alice rolled her eyes. “He just proposed the name, and I liked it. Do you like it?" 

Dave nodded. 

“And where is our dear Abigail?” David looked around. He noticed that the crib next to the hospital bed was empty. 

“Frank took her to the waiting room for a little while so I could rest a little.” Alice explained. “She has very strong lungs.” She chuckled. 

“Has Woods been with you during the birth?” 

“He was waiting outside. As soon as I called him to tell him that my water had broken, he didn't hesitate for a second to come to the hospital.” Alice answered. 

"And your family?" 

“They said they were on their way but had gotten into a traffic jam.” She sighed. “I guess it's better this way, you know how Woods gets when he sees my parents.” 

David remembered the last family meeting, and nodded. "Then I'll go find those two." David kissed Alice, a slow and tender kiss. “You rest in the meantime.” 

“Yes sir.”

Alice nodded and closed her eyes as soon as David left the room. 

David searched the hospital floor until he found a small waiting room. There was old Woods by the window, sitting as always in his wheelchair, and with a small bundle of blankets in his arms. David approached without making much noise.

“You like grabbing the finger huh?” Woods spoke in a very soft tone, something strange for him. “Yeah, you have a really strong grip, Abs.” 

“Hey old Man.” David greeted, taking care not to scare the veteran. 

“Oh Dave.” Woods smiled as soon as he heard David's voice. Frank looked down at what was in his arms. A small baby's face peeked out from between the blankets, big green eyes that stood out. “Look Abby, your dad's already here.” 

David's heart melted the moment he saw the girl, his girl, his daughter. David had just met her and had already fallen in love with her, that baby had become his ray of sunshine. 

“Do you want to hold her?” Woods asked. 

David was a little nervous but he didn't hesitate and nodded. Woods carefully handed the baby to his nephew. Little Abby stirred at the sudden movement but once she settled into her father's arms she relaxed again. 

"Hi gorgeous." David murmured sweetly. His legs were shaking, his heart was going to burst, and his eyes were beginning to fill with tears. 

Abby opened her small eyes as she recognized her father's voice. David had spoken to her so many times while she was inside her mother's belly. Which Abby didn't take long to recognize. 

That made David's smile wider. And Woods's.

David rocked Abby gently, trying to put her to sleep. 

“So Abigail huh?” David looked at his adoptive uncle. “I didn't know you had a name in mind.”

Woods sighed. 

“Not exactly my idea.” Frank answered, looking at his hands, old and calloused. “More like your parents’.” 

David raised his head curiously. 

“Well, more exactly from Em, from your mother. Although your father also liked the idea.” Woods began to explain. “When Em was pregnant with you, she thought that if there was a chance you were going to be a girl, she would name you Abigail.” 

That caused a wave of thought in David, about his mother and father. He tried to remember moments of his parents together. They were all blurry. 

A whimper from Abby brought him out of his thoughts. David looked down and saw Abby thrashing in her father's arms. Surely she was starting to get sleepy. 

“Abby…” he murmured. "I like it." He smiled at Woods. 

Frank nodded. 

“She has a good father. She will do great things.” 

“Section.” Harper's voice woke David up from his little nap. The lack of sleep had taken a huge toll on David. 

David looked around, they were outside the White House, the Wolves seemed to be reorganizing again. He was sitting on some cargo boxes. Delta was lying next to him, resting his head on David's lap.

“Are you okay brother?” Harper asked, seeing his friend's exhausted expression, he had terrible circles under his eyes. 

"Yes Yes. I just had a strange dream.” He brushed it off as he stroked Delta behind the ears. The dog raised his head, happy to see his owner awake.

Harper nodded unconvinced. “The truck is ready.”

David climbed down from the cargo boxes and picked up his backpack. "Thank you. You didn’t have to do it.” 

“I wanted to make sure everything was in ordert.” Harper guided David to the truck he had mentioned. “Provisions, ammunition, gasoline…. Everything you need to get to Chicago.” He handed the keys to the vehicle to David, who accepted them with a nod. 

David opened the passenger door and with a quick whistle ordered Delta into the car. The dog obeyed without question. He closed the door and sighed. 

“I hope your contact was right.” David looked his friend in the eyes. 

That same morning a group of the Chicago Wolves had arrived. David didn't hesitate to ask about his daughter Abby. The men confirmed that before they left they had heard rumors that someone had brought in an unconscious girl. That only fueled David's hope.

“She will be there. Don't worry." Harper assured him. 

Both friends hugged each other as farewell. 

“Be careful out there. And bring Abby back.”

"I will." 

__________

Tag list: @efingart @alypink @applbottmjeens @justasmolbard @whitewolfmystery @welldonekhushi @sleepyconfusedpotato (let me know if you want to be tagged or un tagged!)

[myketheartista]

Hi everyone!

It’s commission time! I’ve been unable to do commissions for a few years due to college, but I’m trying my hand at them again with some updated prices and information since I’ve graduated :3c

There are 3 slots available. When these fill up, a waiting list will be created and you will be notified of your position until you move into a slot. The average completion time for each commission will be 2-3 weeks! Please DM or email me at myketheartista@gmail.com if you’re interested!!

I will be offering two primary options: Flat colored work and rendered work. Both options have backgrounds/scenes available upon request for an extra cost determined by the complexity. Examples such as the collage of characters on the flats section can be requested for a separate estimated price—I’m willing to work with you if you’ve got a fun idea in mind! Please feel free to run an idea by me if you’re unsure if it fits into my comfort zone. I’m still feeling the waters out myself!

The third option I am offering are chibis! These are minimally rendered little guys that are best paired with a prop and some fancy accessories, all included in the price listed! These characters will be delivered as a transparent file and on a plain background, typically grey since that is what I work on, but a different color can be requested before or after the commission is finished. Very simple, graphic backgrounds can be requested as well for free! This would include single-colored, non-detailed floral elements, shapes and patterns, and any symbols that may compliment the character(s).

*For four chibis or more, I will offer a discounted price :D

Terms of Service:

I have the right to decline any commission.

I accept payment in USD with Venmo, Square, and Cashapp.

Payment is upfront for commissions $50 and lower. Anything higher can be split, half upfront and half before the final product is sent.

Updates will be sent throughout the process. Edits to the sketch are free. When the product is completed, two free edits are allowed. After that, each edit will cost $10.

Visual references are a must.

Commissions will take 2-3 weeks. Please inform me if there is a deadline.

The product is for personal use only. Do not use my art for AI, NFTs, or commercial use. Do not resell, copy, or trace my work.

I do not offer refunds unless I am unable to complete the commission.

WILL DRAW: Fanart, OCs, Mild violence, Ships, Anthro/Feral, and Stylized work upon request.

WON’T DRAW: NSFW/Fetish/Gore, Mecha, Realism, Complex Backgrounds, Problematic Content. 

Thank you for reading, and please spread the word! I appreciate any and all support <3

[lightscamerabitchsmileee]

Vote for your fave, reblog & share your thoughts and other faves (even outside of this list) I would love to hear it 😊😊

Check out my masterpost for the other open polls thank you and have fun 😊😊

[thejollyorangeartist]

MF Day #75: Myke

For a city that’s as big and vibrant as Mixopolis, there’s probably a ton of mixed-up stuff going on with the abondance of tribes and the limitless combinations they create. So it’s nice that they have a group of news reporting mixels to help chronicle these events.

While the Newzers isn’t the most imaginative concept for a mixel tribe, I still really like this inclusion nonetheless. Because I could see them as representing the people who are passionate about inciting history, creating interesting discussions, and spreading awareness for meaningful things, even if it’s something as simple as mixing.

Myke is probably my favorite of the group, being a cool combination of a microphone guy and a tripod. And I just love how his headphones are just a major part of his body. Myke’s overall look is a great representation of one of the most crucial aspects of filming/documenting: editing! Gotta give the guy respect for that.

[ghostat7am]

WarioWare Diverged brain finally came back to me. I am not microwaving them in my brain because Mike & Crygor are not microwave safe.

But they are there, rotating. Like rotisserie chickens... I have so much to say about them. The entire cast & au. And no one will be safe.

Once I get the energy to draw again. The fog is coming. And no one can escape.

THE DIVERGED BRAINROT CANNOT BE ERASED. SIMPLY CONTAINED AND IT IS BREACHING ITS CELL ‼️

[tunastime]

Sunset in the Heart of that Green Valley

started drumming up an au accidentally with some input from the mutuals beloved. told myself it wasn't going anywhere but this so I had to stick as much as I could into just. this. I SWEAR. < lying

Bdubs can't remember a part of his life without Etho--no matter the shape or profession, the danger or lackthereof. It was always Etho, and himself, and this wild, wasted world. Or, Bdubs watches his cows on the farm. Etho joins him on his horseback ride around the perimeter fence.

(4111 words)

It's a long, slow ride a mile from the wire fence and sparse tree line that borders the ranch. It's nothing but cool wind and wiregrass for miles, soft green and brown as the spring starts to roll in. Soon enough the field will be full of baby calves and their healthy mamas, big brown eyes and full stomachs. Horses too—lots of 'em, kind natured but tough, enough to fight you but not enough to bite the hand that feeds 'em. He'll be able to lift a foal into his arms to stand it upright and watch its mother nose his armpit and look at him with those soft brown eyes. For now, BdoubleO takes that long ride along the border, listening to cicadas sing in the trees. That's not the only thing singing though. Besides the breathing of his horse beneath him and the cattle dog that runs ahead, is the soft, mellow voice of his partner, Etho, humming indistinctly. 

He has his head turned toward the tree line, eyes scanning listlessly for any sign of movement. Just a couple of weeks ago, they lost a handful of chickens to a fox, a thing neither of them could stand to kill even as they went looking for it. From where he rides next to him, Bdubs can see the holster for his revolver strapped tight to his thigh. He's never actually seen the gun, for what it's worth. Not in action. Not even the smell of gunpowder on Etho's leather work gloves. He's only ever watched his thin, strong, meticulous hands clean the individual parts and put it back together. It makes sense why Etho's focus is so drawn to that tree line. He probably doesn’t want it to happen again.

Bdubs watches the curve of his shoulders under the off-white button-up he's wearing. It's loose at his elbows and under his arms, but from the way he slouches, hat tipped back to cover his neck, it's tight across his back. Bdubs sighs—for a moment, that's the only thing that breaks the silence. Bdubs' longing rings out in the stale air, and a chuckle joins the hum of that wordless melody.

"Somethin' the matter, 'dubs?" Etho says, glancing over. He can just hear him through the scarf tucked around his face, tied behind his neck. His hair is tucked under his hat, tied away nearly the same. Its just his eyes, warm and smiling, eyebrows raised, when he looks over. Bdubs scoffs, rolling his eyes.

"No," he says. "Nothin's the matter. What's it to ya, anyway?"

Etho shrugs. He shuts his eyes for a second when he does. Bdubs can picture the little frown on his face when he does.

"Figured I'd ask," he says cooly. "That was a pretty profound sigh."

"Nothin' for you to worry about," Bdubs gripes. He taps Lacey with his heels and she meanders forward, huffing out through her nose. He hears Etho laugh as he pulls away, and it's only a second before Etho's at his side again. He tugs Bdubs' hat over his eyebrows.

"Don't be like that, 'dubs!" Etho pouts. "You sounded upset."

"Quit teasin' me," Bdubs grumbles, swatting at him with the hand not wrapped around the reigns. Lacey patters to a stop as Bdubs slackens on the reigns, trying to grab Etho's hat. Etho ducks his head.

"Bdubs!" He laughs, pushing his hands away.

"Quit!"

"You quit!"

Bdubs huffs again, shrinking back, then straightens. Etho's turned away from him, all of a sudden. Bdubs goes to speak, but as he does, he hears Etho say something so quiet it's felt more than heard. 

It's sunset, he's just realized. The orange light leaks through gaps in the trees, casting gold bars over the wheatgrass and dry dirt. He can see light blue leaking into orange, pink, yellow, blending into white clouds above him. This time, the profound sigh whistles out of Etho's chest. Bdubs bites his tongue. Haloed by the gold light, Etho looks like the type of things only lonely cowboys dream about. The perfect outlaw, or the hardworking ranch hand, or the kindhearted sheriff looking for love. The things you read in dime novels, no matter the flavor of romance. Bdubs feels his heart squeeze, the want pooling in his elbows and the joint of his hips. He won't sigh again, or make any other sound, not as long as Etho watches the sunset. 

"Wow," Etho mumbles. His horse snorts. Etho huffs a laugh, reaching just far enough to pet between his ears. "Wow..."

"It's gorgeous," Bdubs says. He'd be lying if he said he was talking about the sunset.

Etho turns back to him after a beat. Bdubs's eyes flick up to his face, tilting his head a little as Etho's soft eyes linger on him. He can see the indistinct scarring up part of his face, near his eye and eyebrow. Tugging off his gloves, Bdubs raises a careful hand up to Etho's face. There, he tucks two fingers in the space between his cheek and the scarf over his face, and tugs it down. Etho doesn't stop him. In fact, he's smiling just so when Bdubs does. He's got nothing to hide, really—the scarf is for the dust, more than anything else. He scrunches his nose as the scarf falls around his neck.

"Hey there, sweetheart," Bdubs says softly. His hand cups Etho's cheek, thumb smoothing over the rough, scarred skin of his left cheek. Fire. They're all healed burns. His thumb dances over them anyway, like he'd never seen them or brushed them or kissed them before. Two long strands of hair frame Etho's face. Here, Bdubs tucks one of them behind his ear, still moving to cradle his face. The look that passes over him makes Bdubs' stomach fold over. He's smiling, wide and soft, and his eyes shut as he leans into Bdubs' palm.

"Hiya, Bdubs," Etho mumbles. His voice hits a low octave as he whispers. Bdubs flushes. Etho's hand falls to Bdubs' hip, both steadying for himself and for Bdubs' balance, thumb pressed into his hipbone as he leans forward into Bdubs' space. Etho's hand comes to tip his hat back as far as it'll go before it knocks from his head, scrunching up his nose as Bdubs' flush grows a little warmer, a little further over his cheeks and ears. He's smiling, though, and so is Etho. Bdubs can't help it—he was just so damn handsome, that stupid cowboy. Damn him. He keeps himself lingering in Etho's space for a beat longer, tracing out the high of his cheek with his thumb. The sun's still setting, warm and orange behind him. He can't even see stars yet. 

"Can we stay?" Bdubs asks, sighing out his nose. His eyes flick behind Etho's shoulder for a moment, watching the bars of light through the trees. "Just to watch?"

Etho smiles, his eyes going all soft and round like they do when Bdubs says something he particularly likes. Must've liked that, then. He noses Bdubs' palm just a little, looking up into the sky before settling on Bdubs' face again.

"Sure," Etho mumbles. "Why not? Stars haven't even come out yet."

Bdubs grins, knocking their foreheads together, a soft laugh bubbling up in his chest before it leaves him with his exhale. Etho scrunches his nose. 

Leaning forward as far as he can, Etho kisses him. His warm, gloved hand fits over the back of his neck, brushing through the close cropped hair there. His lips are chapped from the dusty air, but they're dry and warm and Bdubs feels Etho hum against his mouth. He presses back and up into him, free hand falling to his knee to stabilize himself. Etho pulls in a fast breath through his teeth and kisses him again, firm but gentle. Bdubs shuts his eyes and keeps them shut, feeling Etho's hand curl against the base of his skull, feeling them work in tandem with each other. It's nice and easy and tender in a way that curls up in Bdubs' chest and rests there, calmly. It's sweeter than anything else he knows, or damn near close to it. 

He smiles against his lips, dragging his thumb in a slow line across the rippled scar on his cheek. He's so gentle with him, Etho is, as he is with Etho, up until the point of course that they're chasing each other around on foot and on horseback and scrapping in the dirt just to prove a point. But here it's intentional. Bdubs rubs his cheek and that scar so Etho knows he wants to feel it He wants to feel where it starts at the high of his cheekbone and ends just under the low dip of his eye, how the uneven surface gives to smoother skin, how it’s all patches of rough and light. He wants to see that it cuts through his eyelid and eyebrow and that the eyebrow never really grew back and his hearing wasn't always that good in that ear. He wants to. He loves him. To love Etho was to love each thing he called an imperfection. 

"I'll be damned, cowboy," he mumbles under his breath. Etho laughs, just a little, from somewhere high in his chest.

"What's that?" he asks, crushing his cheek into the heel of Bdubs' hand. Bdubs shakes his head.

"Nothin', gorgeous."

"Mmh," Etho agrees. Bdubs can tell his face is warm from more than just the desert heat. 

"You liked that, mm?" he says. He leans up to kiss Etho just once, sighing out through his nose.

Etho nods, stilted, still flushing as Bdubs draws himself and his hand away. There's a moment that Etho's hand stays warm and solid on his hip and the back of his neck. His dark eyes sweep over him, the clouded vision of his left still trying to focus on Bdubs' face. A soft smile lingers on his face, lifting the edges just enough to form the smile lines Bdubs loves to kiss. They're there more often than not, still fading as Etho's face softens, as he takes care to wash the grime off and soothe his skin with beeswax. They linger for a second before they, and Etho, draw away, settling back on his saddle and sitting up. He stretches, screwing up his expression as Bdubs hears his spine pop.

"Augh," he vocalizes. Bdubs snorts as Lacey does, shuffling her hooves in the dry grass. 

"Let's get a move on then, old man," Bdubs teases, reaching for his reins and to prod the soft of Etho's knee. Etho jerks, trotting his horse a step away from Bdubs hands. There, he sticks out his tongue, fixes his hat, and tucks the bandana around his nose again. There's that familiar shape—sheriff to outlaw, the line of Etho's eyes honing his gaze to razor sharp. Bdubs sighs, letting himself laugh, before he jerks his head forward, pushing his hat back onto his head. He prods Lacey with the heels of his boots and she steps forward into a jog.

Above his head, the wink of stars begin to shine in the dull, pale blue sky. He can still see the lick of orange light like flames above the treeline, cascading over the red-grey and sparse green hills, framing Etho in a delicate picture. Bdubs grins, eyes settling on his partner behind him. He sees Etho's eyes squint as he presumably smiles. Nudging a little more, Bdubs brings Lacey up to a trot, and further to a canter as he hears Etho laugh, loud and clear across the planes, behind him.

In the distance, he can see the warm cast of oil lamps they lit before they left. As much as Bdubs' bones crave the man not even a few yards behind him, they ache for the cool halls of their house, warm coffee, and the light he can just barely catch in the rising night.

Later that night, Bdubs scrapes congealed fat out of the cast iron skillet Etho cooked in. His body and stomach are heavy with the meal they’ve just finished, beans and pork and cornmeal grits, the taste of whatever last few seasonings Etho had thrown in still lingering between his teeth. He scrubs the pan in the hot water, feeling out what were nicks in the pan and what was dirt. He’d hate to ruin the seasoning they’d just built up on the pan. He raises it from the soapy water after a moment, giving it a good shake as his eyes track over the dusty-grey surface. Clean as can be. As he finishes, toweling off his hands as he lays the skillet to dry, he turns back to the room behind him. 

It’s starting to smell a bit like coffee and a bit like woodfire smoke, the embers of their fireplace and stove fire still filling the room. Etho has tucked himself on the couch, knitted blanket draped over his shoulders and a book open on his folded legs. That was one thing about the desert that Bdubs never got used to—it got cold quickly. The air seeped the heat right out of the ground, right underneath your feet, as soon as the lick of sunshine from the day was gone. Etho had the right idea, curling himself into the smallest spot on their worn couch, blanket drawn tight around him, enough to where only his socked feet poked out. He’d tied his long hair up and away from his face, stark white locks delicately balanced on the top of his head. Bdubs hums as he wanders over. 

Etho picks up his head, blinking slowly at him. His gaze seems far away as it pins on him.

“Hi, Etho,” Bdubs says, scrunching up his nose. “You fall asleep on me after dinner?”

“Mm?” Etho questions. He shakes his head. “No, no, never.”

Bdubs snorts. As he stands beside the front of the couch, Etho’s hand comes out, his cold fingers wrapping around Bdubs’ wrist. Bdubs makes a small, startled sound, but lets Etho tug him forward and onto the couch beside him. He was deceptively strong—it was the one thing nobody would guess about him. Well—maybe not the only thing. Etho’s life, much like his own, was so different compared to the docile, almost domestic, ranch life they’d build together. Bdubs sinks into the couch cushions, and not even a beat later, Etho leans his back against his arm. Bdubs’ hum peters into a giggle.

“Y’know,” he starts. “I’m not sure I believe you. I think you might me lyin’ to me, Etho.”

“Mm? About what?”

Bdubs shrugs.

“Dunno, you looked pretty dang tired a second ago.”

Etho shakes his head, leaning back a little further. Bdubs gets the message. He shifts around until his leg hooks under Etho’s arm, until Etho can settle back and rest his head and back against Bdubs’ chest. The book rests on Etho’s shins now, all but forgotten as Etho tips his head back to take a look at Bdubs behind him. He seems satisfied with what he sees, because he shuffles to get comfortable.

“I don’t know about that,” Etho drawls, a smile tugging at his mouth. Bdubs scoffs. He kisses the top of Etho’s head, hands cupping around his ears to hold his head still. He feels that smile tug at his cheeks a little more and nuzzles his head for good measure.

“Alright,” he placates. “I’ll believe you for now.”

Etho hums, satisfied.

“Good.”

Bdubs lets his hands fall to Etho’s shoulders. As Etho reaches to pick up his book from his lap, Bdubs shifts him a bit more, sitting upright. His hands fall to Etho’s upper back, before he starts to shift his hair, unweaving it from where it had balanced atop his head. Etho seems to pick up on his message, sitting forward a bit as Bdubs begins to comb his fingers through Etho’s white hair. 

It’s much longer than it’s ever been, Bdubs thinks—it must be. He doesn’t think it’s ever been past his shoulders when they were together before, and definitely not when Etho was a sheriff. He’d never get away with hair past his shoulders. It was bad enough that he got so many nasty scars from scrapes and threats and whatever people threw at him. Bdubs smooths his hand down the back of his neck, feeling out the base of his skull. It’s painful to think of what Etho had to get through to get here. His hair must be a testimony to that, the fine, white-blond strands reaching to just past his shoulderblades. Bdubs is careful as he weaves his hands through, tucking stray strands behind Etho’s ears, combing back from his widow’s peak to the base of his head. 

He was a criminal before he was a sheriff—Bdubs remembers that. He remembers it because he was one, too. Pretty damn good. It was hard, though. Hard on Etho, who was just trying to do something with his life, to put his artistry to work, his craftsmanship. When he finally landed a job, the gang was already falling apart. He wasn’t even the first to leave—someone left for a damn sheriff. And Bdubs had laughed, then. He watched Etho set his hat on Bdubs head and felt those now memorized, strong hands squeeze his shoulders. 

He found him again when Etho walked past the tiny 3-by-3 cell Bdubs had managed to worm his way into. Wasn’t that a sight for sore eyes? The fine line of Etho’s jaw cuffed by a high collared marshal's uniform, badge and all, hat pulled low over his eyes. He hadn’t meant to lock himself up in there, but as soon as he was out, he promised Etho he’d never go back. And he never did. He sat himself at the strong wooden desk catty-corner to Etho’s and dispensed justice like he’d never done a wrong deed in his life. They were fair, though. Nothing but fair. No blood but on their teeth or nose or throat. No blood on their hands.

Etho sighs warmly as Bdubs starts to braid his hair. He keeps a firm hold on the strands he weaves in and out of each other, working slowly and carefully as he absorbs himself in thought. He was there for a lot of Etho’s life. But he wasn’t there when Etho got his scar. He only saw it afterwards, during that first time he saw him from that cell. 

Etho had described it late one night, after all was said and done between them, their bodies pressed so close in the same, small bed in Etho’s home that there wasn’t a molecule of space left. He’d let Bdubs trace the valleys and ridges of the burnt skin, tucked his face into Bdubs neck to breathe out a wet sigh. Coals and fire—not an accident like Bdubs had always presumed. He’d weaseled himself out of their gang of bandits, but it’s not always that the life of bandits leaves you. He’d messed up an order for another group, he’d said, when he finally got a job as a metalsmith. Too few bullets. It was a lie. He’d known from the shape of the man's mouth as he’d spoken it, but his face found the furnace regardless. Hot ash, coals, smoke in the back of his throat. It had been a long time since he’d been really able to see out of that eye. It hurt to read. It was too blurry to focus. 

Now, Bdubs knows, Etho focuses and reads just fine. And Bdubs drags his fingers over his skin like it were any other part of him to touch. And touch he did. Hey! He wasn’t ashamed of himself! He spent a good few years loving this man and he was allowed to love him right and true. Whatever Etho wanted, Etho could have. He’d build him a terracotta and tile ranch house, with darkened oak and stained wood floors, a fireplace big enough to hang a kettle in, horses, cows, dogs, cats, wheatfields tall enough to lose himself in. The rolling hills of the valley were endless. They’d find a homestead, a life, friends, family, anywhere they went. And so they went. And they found the ones they’d loved all along just as they thought they would. 

Bdubs cards his fingers through the braided hair for a final time, letting it hang loose and wavy around Etho’s shoulders. He instead maps the rise of his spine with his palm, listening to Etho hum and feeling his heartbeat.

“How’s your book?” Bdubs asks softly. Etho nods.

“Good,” he says, just as quiet. “It’s a real tough read, ‘Dubs.”

Bdubs glances over his shoulder as Etho leans back into his chest, trying to catch a glimpse at the cover. Etho’s tucked the book under his knee, though. He can’t even peek at the type of book it is.

“Mm?” he says. “Is that so?”

“Mmmhm,” Etho drawls. “I’m real deep into some equations that I can’t wrap my head around. It’s this long complicated thing that’s supposed to help determine scale and size of the fractal-izing of light, and how we can use planetary distances to figure it out.”

Bdubs blinks, scoffing. 

“Etho,” he hums.

“I’m trying to figure out how this could be relevant for our growing seasons and how I can best predict rainfall in the valley—”

“Etho—”

“And I’m sure Tango will want to know all about it considering he’s making that huge telescope, don’t you think—”

Bdubs thwaps his head laughing.

“Quit!”

Etho laughs, reaching back to grab at Bdubs hands on his head. They swat uselessly at each other for a moment.

“You think you’re so smart, don’t you, Etho?” Bdubs grumbles.

“You’re just jealous because I understand math,” Etho jeers. “It has nothing to do with how smart I am.”

“Sure it doesn’t,” Bdubs huffs. “I bet you read the almanac in your spare time!”

Etho gasps, but the gravitas and dramatic turn he does to worm away from Bdubs is enough to hint that he’s doing it for a reason. He scrambles back, tucking his book behind him as he does. Blue cover. Bdubs doesn’t know many books with a blue cover. Maybe it is the almanac after all.

“How dare you insult my knowledge of flowers, Bdubs!” Etho gasps. “I just know all those things.”

“All those things about the regional weather, too?”

Etho nods, trying to hold back a smile. Liar.

“Mhm,” he says. “All of it. I’ve known it since I was a wee little boy, ‘Dubs.”

Bdubs rolls his eyes.

“I’m sure,” he placates. “Nothin’ to do with how we just moved here a year and a half ago, no?”

Etho shakes his head.

“Not at all. I’ve known it all my life,” Etho says. He can’t fight the smile this time, or the way he draws out the a of his word, his smile growing with it. He finally cracks enough to giggle and Bdubs swats his knee. Etho sticks his tongue out at him.

“And what’s the almanac say about me?” Bdubs asks, watching Etho shuffle back into his corner, looking comfortable. He tilts his head a little, eyebrows furrowing.

“You?” Etho says. “I don’t know. Nothing—I’ve never read it. I doubt they put people in it.” Then Etho smiles, adding: “I can check my book on 100 facts about B-double-O, though.”

Bdubs startles.

“Your book on what?”

Etho snorts, tipping his head back, laughter bubbling out of him. Bdubs jabs him with his socked foot and Etho curls further into himself, still giggling. Bdubs can’t help but smile, though, watching Etho break into a giggling fit over his stupid comment. He rolls his eyes as he peels himself off the couch and over to their bookshelf. Standing there for a moment, feeling the cold seep slightly into his clothes, Bdubs scans for a book. He isn’t sure what he’s looking for yet, but he’ll know it when he sees it. 

In the meantime, he halfway searches for that obviously fake book Etho had mentioned. He snorts, just to himself. A hundred facts, huh?

Plucking one of his well-worn novels from the shelf, Bdubs turns back to the couch. He drops a kiss to the crown of Etho’s head as he passes and Etho is quick enough to pull him down to kiss his cheek. It’s worth it, though, as Bdubs tucks himself back against the other side of the couch and Etho’s legs tangle with his. He loves the stupid smile on Etho’s face too much to care about much else.