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philliamwrites · 2 years ago

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SWYAATL 10: The Forest of Hands and Teeth (pt.1)

Pairing: Eren Jaeger x fem! Reader

warnings: DARK CONTENT! READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. Minor character death, blood and gore, attempt at sexual assault (male —› female), implied child abuse, implied childhood sexual abuse

Summary: It wasn’t common for you to doubt or question Emil. You trusted him with a ferocity that was nearly dangerous: if he’d said “Jump, I will catch you,” you’d jump and perform a pirouette mid-flight. Yet, this was different. This felt like a secret with sharp teeth and gnawing starvation for freedom. And it would wreak havoc. You didn’t know why, but you felt it. You felt it would destroy everything like the earth rumbling and splitting open, the very foundation of everything that you had known crumbling.

Notes: [01] || 09 | 11

Words: 8k

A/N: thank you so much @samsaurwrites for beta-reading!

This might be the last update for a while because I need to take a break. Writing this chapter has been so difficult, not because I don’t want to write but because there is so much I need to think through and outline to tell the story I want to tell. If there is no update in 2 weeks, you know I’m MIA until mid-July (I might keep updating short headcanons on Tumblr though, I don’t want to lose feeling for these characters). Thanks for everyone who’s still reading this, leaves comments, likes and reblogs!! You guys are the world to me! Stay safe!

Chapter 10: The Forest of Hands and Teeth (pt.1)

“Truth or Dare?” Jean asks for the third time.

“I’m not playing,” is your answer, for the third time. Your steed, a strong chestnut-coloured Hanoverian, shakes her heavy head and you have to agree. He really is annoying.

It’s surprisingly warm for an autumn day—perfect for a long excursion outside. The season has lit the trees around aflame. The blaze of colour—tawny orange, sulphurous yellow, arterial red—makes it look as if you’re riding towards a wall of roaring flame in the distance.

“Oh come on, it’s so fucking boring out here,” Jean whines. “Entertain me before I fall asleep.”

“Wouldn’t that do us all a great favour,” Connie mumbles, riding a few feet ahead while slumping in his saddle. His hair has grown out a little and he spends every free minute raking a hand through it, mumbling how bad he needs a head shaving soon.

Jean ignores him. “Truth or Dare?”

“Fine, Truth!”

“Which one of us male cadets is the best marriage material?”

You don’t even hesitate with your answer. “Marco.”

“Marco,” Mina agrees to your left.

“Marco!” Sasha whoops to your right.

“Marco!” Connie shouts from the front.

Jean clicks his tongue. Marco, who’s taken off his jacket an hour ago and wears it tied around his waist, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows showing his strong arms, gives a wobbly grin, red dusting his freckled cheeks and though you thought he’d be shy about it, what his expression says is clearly, Why thank you.

“I thought we were friends,” Jean grumbles, sticking his heels into his horse’s sides to give you the slip—where to, you don’t know, since your group had been instructed to stay together or else your record-keeper, Armin, has to write that down.

“We are.” You reach over before the gap grows and pinch his clothed thigh. “And you taught me honesty weighs more than gold.”

Jean tries to kick you but misses. “I’d rather be rich right now.”

“Ohhh, are you going to invite us to fancy restaurants and drinks when you get into the MP?” Sasha asks, clutching her reins to her chest. “I heard there’s this amazing steak house in Yarckel District where the meat is so tender it melts in your mouth.”

“Sure, I can put in a good word for you sorry lads when we’re all on break from duty.” Jean smiles with all the satisfaction of someone checkmating a king. He’s been standing his ground as rank number seven for months now, and from what you’ve heard the instructors say, he’s good on his way to climb even higher. “No one can say I’m not all for doing my friends a favour.”

“Then do me a favour,” Eren’s voice calls from the very front, “and keep your mouth shut. You’re annoying as hell.”

You cut your gaze to Marco, your group leader, but he’s already looking at Armin riding beside him, one hand clenched tightly around a thin wooden board where he’s carrying the records on him.

It’s one thing you’ve always liked a lot about Marco: that he wears his heart on his sleeve; that his face is an open door, never closed, and he is not afraid to show what emotions are living inside him. Right now, it is one of clear, unabashed unwillingness to deal with whatever storm is brewing between Jean and Eren.

Uh-oh, you think. It takes some time for Marco to be annoyed or angry, but when he draws the line, he draws it hard.

“Ohhh, I’m annoying? Who’s been the one whining about how much he wants to hurry up and go ahead as if he’s shit his pants?” Jean laughs at his own joke. “As if this waste of an excursion does anything for us,” he adds, his smile turning sour.

“It should be good for team building, if anything,” Armin pipes up. He’s put a pencil behind his ear, and now it sticks out from the curtain of golden hair falling into his face.

“Exactly. Team building.” Marco bends the weight of his heavy gaze on Jean and Eren. “So, for the love of God, get along, you two. Just until this is over.”

“Marco, when he’s angry,” Mina whispers into your ear with a sheepish smile, leaning so far out of her seat you’re worried she’ll topple off her horse any second, “is kinda hot, isn’t he?”

You almost choke a little on your spit, but allow your eyes to discreetly rake over Marco’s broad, rigid back as he gives Armin instructions.

“I suppose,” you mumble, your sight swivelling back to the road before you, and inevitably settling on Eren’s tensed shoulders, his fists holding onto his reins tightly enough the knuckles have turned white.

One evening, you made a revelation you never thought you’d make over hash browns: Eren has beautiful hands. Maybe not ‘beautiful’ in a way of the imagination of an artist, but beautiful as in active and alive. His palms wider than the length of his fingers, they are a worker’s hands, calloused and rough, restless even when the rest of his body stands still. As if they are his most honest part and therefore unable to stay silent.

For the pleasure and safety of his family, those hands work very hard; the marks and signs of that are his scarred knuckles because his hands are his weapon of choice—the only weapon he trusts to find the means to an end; to protect those he loves.

All that had occurred to you when you’d joined Armin to discuss a few things for the group task you were assigned to for Assault Tactics on 15-metre Titans. Mikasa and Eren had joined you around dinner time, and when you’d asked Armin to pass you the salt shaker, it was Eren who’d moved, silently, still chewing. You were pretty sure he was paying more attention to Sasha’s hunting story where she almost shot an arrow into a villager’s bum mistaking it for a boar than realising what he was doing. Which gave you plenty of time to study his veiny hand and his broad fingers, and since then, whenever he’d touched you by accident, skin brushing against skin, his thumbs digging a little too much into your arm, your shoulder, the back of your neck during hand-to-hand practice, your brain short-circuited, any thought whipped clean like a white board.

Since then, you’re very, very careful and make sure that you don’t touch him.

“I’m on horse face’s page, for a change.” Victor’s voice from the back cuts like metal striking stone. “This is a fucking waste of time if it doesn’t go into the overall evaluation.”

If Jean’s mood has been sour ever since your departure at the crack of dawn, Victor’s been foul and rotten like a fruit basket left outside in the sun long enough that maggots made it their home. You wish he’d been assigned to Thomas and Mikasa’s group, and you had gotten Reiner or Bertholdt instead. At least with those two, you don’t have to worry they might stab you in the back.[1]

“Don’t call him that,” you snap at him. It’s different with Eren and Connie, where there is clearly no malicious intent, but you wouldn’t trust Victor to tie his own shoes without causing damage left and right, like a coiled snake lying deceptively still before it strikes with venomous fangs. Just a few weeks ago, he had nearly cracked and broken open a female cadet’s face like an eggshell with a stone during combat practice.

“Accident,” he had said, face hard and blank like a marble statue. He’d gotten three days of suspension for that, and you had gotten three days of nightmares because neither you, nor Mina, had missed the fact that his victim, with her dark brown hair tucked in twin tails that day, had looked a lot like Mina.

Jean doesn’t seem fazed, but you can clearly see how he draws up his shoulders, puts on an armour. “Get your own opinions, Hoffmann,” he grunts back, and to Eren he says, “And you just go ahead and see how far you’ll come until one of us has to get your ass out of whatever disaster you get yourself into next!” He pushes out his chest, that insufferable smirk cuts into his face that you’ve grown to understand means he’s particularly proud of some, mostly misplaced, mature behaviour—a paragon of his kind. You want to smack that haughty expression off his face.

“Oh, go fuck yourself,” Eren calls back.

Armin’s hand is halfway up to the pen tucked behind his ear. “You can’t say that, Eren. That’s against Article 23, Humiliation of a Soldier by Another Soldier and I have to write that down.”

Marco groans. “Wait, don’t write that down. Eren, just apologise to Jean.”

“Fine.” Eren turns halfway around in his seat to face Jean. “Unfuck yourself, or whatever.”

“Eren,” Armin whines.

“Would it physically hurt them to get along?” Christa, bless her kind heart, asks genuinely.

“I think,” you answer, “they might legitimately combust if they’d have to be nice to each other.”

“And I’d like to see that,” Sasha croons. There’s something else she wants to say, but her attention rivets on a green-scaled iguana, as big as a dog, slithering through the shadows of sharp rocks, its stumpy legs easily keeping up with the slow pace of your group. Its head twitches sometimes, indicating that it’s keeping its eyes on you.

“Damn, look at the size of that thing.” Connie lets out a low whistle. “Think we can eat it?”

“What, like peasants?” drones Victor’s comment which everybody ignores.

“You can!” Sasha doesn’t disappoint when it comes to food, as always. “It tastes like chicken. High protein, low fat, and you can throw in some grilled mushrooms, it’s great.”

“Well then, don’t mind if I do.” Jean draws his blade and spurs his horse onward, chasing after the animal that scurries wildly in a zig-zag pattern across the dry desert ground.

“No, just … leave it!” you call after him, dread churning your stomach. “We have enough rations with us!” But Jean doesn’t hear or ignores your call, and surges ahead after the iguana.

The active hunting part has never been something you felt comfortable with, and so far you were able to skip that for a whole year. Seeing Jean now lunge after that poor animal with the vigour of a starved man even though your rations are enough to get you through the night is like watching a child plunge its hand into a half-full glass container of sweets and take out a fistful of candy even though the sign beside it says Take one only, please. It disgusts you.

You decide not to watch as Jean lifts his blade high above his head and strikes with a viciousness your body reacts to automatically by flinching as it remembers facing him in Swordsmanship practice. Jean doesn’t swing and hit hard, but he knows how to strike when his opponent least expects it, and now that he’s found another discipline apart from Hand-to-Hand combat he’s better at than Eren, he practices it like a man who has tasted success for the first time and immediately became obsessed being drunk on it.

But instead of sharp blade cutting into yielding flesh, the blood-churning rasp of metal against metal pierces everyone’s ears. When you look up, Eren has his own blade crossed with Jean’s, and the iguana quickly scurries away under a jagged set of cliffs towering to your side.

“What,” Jean says, “the fuck, Jaeger?” He looks like he is gearing up to take a swing—not with his fist but his sword.

Eren tightens his grip around his reins as his steed huffs and paws the ground nervously. As military horses, they are tougher than their civil breeds, yet you’re sure even they aren’t used to facing off against their own kind.

“Leave it,” Eren says, his bright eyes disappearing behind the thick fringe of dark lashes as he looks down at their crossed blades. “Stop acting like this is some kind of game.”

“I don’t get what your fucking problem is.” Jean jams his blades back into their sheaths. He looks like he’d rather jam them somewhere else. “If hunting for food is part of the exercise, then what’s better than getting that lizard?”

“Oh, now you care about the exercise?”

“Guys, break it off.” Marco sounds like his patience is teetering dangerously close to the edge and all hell will break loose if it falls off. “You keep holding us back like that and we won’t make it to the meeting point. Shit like that gets reported.” There’s no other greater evidence of Marco being serious than him swearing.

“If you want to report something, write that down, Armin: Jean Kirschstein tries to find food during the exercise, but gets interrupted by Eren Jaeger. He deserves to be discharged for that.”

“Dude, what the hell—”

“Guys, stop acting like brats,” you call over a half-hearted attempt to make them stop.

Jean’s response comes immediately. “I don’t wanna hear that from you!”

“Come on guys, we should move on,” says Christa, and you believe if anyone can talk some sense into them, it’s her. “The sun will set in a few, and we should have reached the forest by then.”

Eren and Jean share a loaded, razor-sharp glare that should be enough to slice Marco’s head in two. You doubt they’d have any luck though, not with Marco’s will of untarnished steel tempered in his resolve not to deal with their bullshit.

When your group finally moves on, Eren lets himself fall behind enough for you to catch up. You can feel him resisting the urge to finish that argument with Jean. He is practically vibrating with the effort.

“Not much into lizards?” you ask to get his mind off it.

The deep scowl he’s wearing softens slightly like someone smoothed wrinkles out of a blanket. “You just seemed like you hated the idea of hunting it,” he says, looking ahead.

“Oh.” You stare at him for a long minute, like there is anything subtle about that, then give yourself a shake. I need a mug of the darkest, bitterest coffee I can find, you think. Or maybe a real punch to the jaw. To him, you only say, “Yeah. I don’t like watching animals getting hurt.”

And to your surprise, Eren answers, “I know,” and that is all he says, two words that open up twenty questions in your head with no time to sort through which to tackle first.

When you finally reach the forest, the sun is dipping behind the horizon, casting soft pink and vibrant orange over the ground and setting the sky ablaze. It doesn’t take long to build camp with the little you have on you: a few provisions get distributed and your sleeping bags strewn around a small fire where potatoes wrapped up in tin foil roast in the gleaming ambers. The horses had water and now they graze contently on top of a narrow hill where you tied them to trees.

Marco has spread a map on the ground, heavy stones put on each corner before a sudden gust of wind can steal it. He’s marked your group’s travel progress along the way, and now his finger tracks that path once more.

“I still can’t believe we managed to catch up to where we’re supposed to be,” Marco says. He’s sitting cross-legged opposite from you, precariously balancing a half-full cup of coffee on one knee while twirling a pen between long, slender fingers. You stare at them for a long moment. Maybe it’s a hand thing you got going for you, and not specifically tied to Eren. “We should meet up with the other group around forenoon tomorrow if we keep that pace.”

“That is, if they managed to get there on time.” Jean stretches his long legs and kicks your feet out of his way. He keeps an eye out for Sasha in case she decides to snag a potato before anyone else can.

You’re scribbling an iguana on the drawn rocks and cliffs of the wasteland you’ve traversed, knees tucked up to your chin. “Are you really thinking Mikasa, Reiner and Annie would have the group slacking behind?”

“Well, not Mikasa—” Jean sputters.

You’ve already stopped listening. “As long as we don’t get lost in the woods,” you say to Marco. He nips at his cup’s rim, eyes flitting over to the fire.

“I don’t think we’ll have to worry about that with Sasha here.” He smiles a little at the sight of your iguana drawing. Because his map is the same you had used half a year ago during the other overnight camping, the mapped out woods in the east are full of your drawings of owls and herons and other forest animals you had seen that day.

Jean calls your icons hellish. Marco finds them endearing. You just want to keep one of your father’s cartography techniques alive since he had no chance to properly teach you anything.

“Guys, food’s ready!” Christa calls. She and Connie have been assigned to distribute rations, and as you walk over to fetch your and Jean’s share, you don’t miss Christa turning her head in search of someone.

“Have you seen Victor?” she asks, handing over your food. A quick scan around camp shows no sign of him, and you can feel your heartbeat skip, the dread that claws its way from the pit of your stomach all the way up to your throat. You don’t want to deal with this; with him.

Connie looks up from where he’s stoking the embers, keeping the fire alive. “Maybe he’s gone into the woods to take a piss,” he offers.

“Let’s hope he doesn’t return,” you mumble, and you don’t miss Christa’s face battling between looking dreadful at your proclaim and hopeful that you might be right.

Quiet blesses your group as everyone is busy wolfing down their steaming potatoes and dry crackers. You return to Jean who’s settled for a calm spot a little apart from the group, leaning against a broad tree. Holding his food in one hand, his other flies over an open page of his sketchbook. When you take a look, you see he’s finishing a drawing of Mina and Marco sitting together playing Red Hands.

“You’re still keeping that thing around?” You don’t remember when you’ve last seen him drawing. He gives a noncommittal grunt, tilting the sketchbook sideways to change the angle. You watch him put light into Marco’s soft, kind eyes, catch the elegant curve like a swan’s neck of Mina’s wrist—and get an idea.

“Can I take a look?” You reach out your hand, palm out open. Jean eyes it warily as if it might bite him, and you placate him by shoving the rest of your potato in his mouth and deftly pluck the book from his hands.

He’s honed his skills to a level where his drawings are more than just presentable. Every page holds a detailed sketch of your friends captured in mundane tasks: Mikasa raising her face skyward, squinting up at something only known to her; Marco leaning over an open book, balancing a pen on his upper lip—you don’t miss how many pictures of Mikasa and Marco there are—one half-finished sketch shows Armin’s head in the process of turning, and Jean has captured Armin’s little charming quirk where his eyes move faster, how they’re already looking at whoever he’s talking to before he’s fully turned around. He wears that surprised but wakeful expression whenever he hears something new, something that might satisfy his voracious appetite for knowledge.

There are even small, cartoonish drawings of Eren where he’s going off in a temper tantrum or sulking, donkey ears on his head that make you smile, and on the next page, a full colour study of his vibrant, teal eyes that drops your mouth open in awe.

You gasp.

Jean gasps.

He lunges for you, but you’re quicker, already rolling away before he can get his broad hands around your throat and strangle you to keep you silent. Clutching the closed sketchbook hard to your chest, you’re ready to clamber to your feet and race through the forest if you must.

“Not. One. Word. About it,” Jean hisses. Even in the encroaching darkness that wafts at the borders of where the soft fire’s light reaches, you can see two vivid red spots glowing on his cheeks, as if he’s had his face rouged by a child who has no idea how much was too much. He points a long finger at you like the tip of a spear he’ll chuck at you if you so much as move a hairsbreadth towards his unexpected muse.

You draw a zipper close over your mouth, and wait until he settles back against the rough bark of the tree before you dare to return to your seat beside him.

You steal his pen and open a brand new page. Tongue tucked between your teeth, you begin your sketch, turn the book this way and that way to hit the right angle. Almost ten minutes after you’ve started, Jean decides to take a look, and chokes on some potato that’s lodged inside his throat.

“W-what is that?” he asks, rapping against his chest with his fist, struggling to breathe.

Your lower lip juts out. “A hand, obviously.”

Jean laughs. “Why does it have six digits?”

“That’s his wrist.”

His grin immediately turns into a scowl. “His? Whose hand are you drawing?”

You snap his book shut and throw it in his lap. “No one’s.”

Jean gives you a long, scrutinising look, one you don’t meet in worry he might see right through you and figure out something you’re constantly banishing to the far confines of your mind.

The saving grace arrives in the form of an appalled shout from across camp. A shadow staggers out from thicket, swaying like a spectre clad in nothing but shadows. When the fire’s light falls on Victor’s slack face, the black circles under his eyes thick smudges, all muscles in your body go tense like a coil spring.

A bright gleam of light draws your eyes to his clutched hand when he staggers to camp, and for a second you think it’s the sharp flash of a knife—but no, the sloshing amber liquid gives away the true nature of a half-empty bottle he’s carrying with him. Before he has even opened his mouth, you know that he is drunk.

“This is a joke,” Marco voices everyone’s thoughts out loud. “It has to be a joke.”

“Your face’s a joke,” Victor slurs, then quietly laughs to himself. When nobody joins him, he does a spectacular job at rolling his eyes and nearly losing his balance. “Oh, stop looking as if you’re about to piss yourselves. There are no instructors out here, ‘s nothing wrong having a little fun.”

“Fun.” The word is just a hissed sound like steam blowing off from a kettle—and capable of doing just as much damage. Even from here you can see Eren clenching his fists so hard his arms are quivering. Armin shifts to his feet, too agitated to stand still. Marco leans forward, like he is ready to throw himself between Eren and Victor if he has to. “What’s so fun about breaking the rules? They’ll throw you out as soon as they smell that shit on you.”

“In that case, let him chug that whole bottle,” Jean says next to you. “Might get alcohol poisoning, if we’re lucky.”

Victor’s gaze glides over Jean as if he’s less than air. You hold your breath when those dark, scrutinising eyes settle on you for a moment—you can feel Jean’s leg tense where it’s pressed against yours—but ultimately they land on Armin. As if his, and only his reaction matters. You’re still not sure what it is that Victor wants from him, and at this point it could be anything—damnation or absolution.

“Well, that’s the best part about group missions, isn’t it?” he says slowly, and the teeth-flashing grin that slices across his face is downright horrible. “We’re all in this together.”

He moves frightfully fast for someone drunk, straight like an arrow clear of its target towards the pile of knapsacks, sleeping bags and ODM gear you’ve discarded for the night. His arm flies in one wide arch, and the bigger part of what’s left inside the bottle pours over your stuff, filling the air with the unmistakable sharp—and even stranger: familiar—stench of alcohol.

That’s whiskey, your brain provides, from where you don’t know. But you recognise the grainy, woody fragrance, rich and heavy with a slightly fruity note to it.

Anger and fear and fury rises in your like a wave, sweeping every other thought away. You didn’t think it was possible to despise him even more than you do, but now your hands are shaking with a desire for violence. You want to take his bottle, break the glass and use it to slice open his face.

Connie is on his feet, face white as a sheet and swaying as if he’s shared a slug or two with Victor. “Dude. What the fuck?”

Victor’s laugh is vicious, the force if it knocks him off his own feet and he crumbles to the ground before anyone can reach him and do him the honour with an uppercut. And Eren is of course the first. Fingers clawing into Victor’s collar, he hauls him back on his feet and shakes him as if he can force common sense into his brain.

“Just what the fuck is your problem?” Eren’s face is so close to Victor their foreheads could touch. “Leave if you don’t wanna be here. But don’t drag everyone else in your sick psycho games.”

“Leave?” Victor echoes, and he sounds like he’s choking up on an emotion he’s carried for so long he’s starting to cave under its weight. “You think I can just leave?” He spits the last word and Eren shoves him away, swiping a hand over his face to wipe it off.

This time, Victor is the one clutching onto Eren’s shirt, hands fisting the fabric hard enough it pulls at its seams. It’s like Eren has loosened a tiny stone keeping Victor together and the consequential rockfall you’re facing is unstoppable. “You think people want to be here? That everyone’s got a self-righteous, noble reason like you? Some of us don’t have a fucking choice, you buffoon.”

Eren tries to wedge himself free but Victor has an iron grip on him. “The fuck are you talking about—”

“What would your alternative be? Go back and pick some grass and live your life in comfort? Would that really be so bad?” There’s a desperate tone to his voice now, like someone trying to make sense of a fever dream but any resemblance of logic slips right through his fingers like water. “I don’t have something like that waiting for me, I don’t have the luxury to think my life will resemble anything close to normal. Because for some of us, there is no choice.” He isn’t talking to Eren anymore, you realise.

Victor is pleading his case to Armin, eyes wide, fear-crazed—and you realise you’ve seen that look on his face before: when he’d attacked you on the first snow fall in your first year. When he had talked about his father.

“You don’t know what it’s like,” he had said, voice dropping so low you had barely understood him. “If I don’t get where he wants me to be—He’ll kill me if I don’t—” Don’t what? Take care of anyone standing in his way? To what end? Just to be in the Top Ten and get into the Military Police Brigade?

It feels like there’s one big piece missing in a puzzle you don’t know how to assemble—never mind that you don’t even know what the picture will show by the end.

Armin must understand too, that on the day you were sitting together on the porch, Victor had eavesdropped on your conversation. Something flickers in his eyes, turns them unbearably bright, and you hate to think it might be regret of all things.

“So, you’re just going to accept whatever fucked up situation you’re dealt with?” Eren yanks himself free with enough force that he manages to hurl the nearly empty bottle out of Victor’s grasp. It smashes against a jagged edge of a rock and bursts into thousand pieces, a little meteor shower of sharp crystals that glint like dying embers in the fire’s light.

Victor stares at it for a long moment before his pale brown eyes return to Eren. He wavers a moment as if he might collapse after all that pent up rage and anxiety is finally out.

Instead of answering Eren, he just shakes his head. “What a fucking waste,” he says. You don’t know if he means the booze or the actual opportunity to overturn his fate.

It’s strange to see him deflated, like one of those training dolls your instructors sometimes use, that are beat up beyond repair and unable to prop up on their own. Just like one of those crumbling to the ground without anything holding them up, Victor manages to drag himself over to his chosen spot for the night and then plops down like a toddler losing his balance. He ignores Christa’s tentative request to eat a little, lest he wake up sick in the morning, and simple turns on his side with his back to you, one arm wedged under his head as a makeshift pillow.

“We’re done for tonight,” Marco says, exhaustion evident in his voice as if he’s been awake for seven days straight. You can see the tension drain from his shoulders, and now they’re drooping like he’s taken one too many hits. “The night watch stays the same. Christa, Sasha, then Connie and I’m the last one. Any wishes, complaints and suggestions you better keep to yourself. We’ll figure it out in the morning.”

“That’s what I call an announcement.” Jean stretches out his long limbs, and you admire how he can act like nothing just happened. “You gonna stay here or move over to Mina?”

You don’t reply immediately. Instead, you look over to the broken pieces of Victor’s bottle, at the dark patch of liquid soaked into the earth. Someone ought to put the bigger shards away before they get hurt—is your initial thought before it is driven away by that strange feeling of remembrance once more.

“That whiskey brand,” you say out loud. “Wasn’t that one our Dads used to drink together? When we came to visit you. It smells familiar.”

“Really?” Jean sniffs the air, then scrunches up his nose. “I don’t remember. That shit stinks though, I can’t believe Victor almost drained that whole thing by himself.”

He goes on about some other things, but you aren’t listening anymore.

Strange, that this smell is so familiar but you couldn’t place it. Stranger yet, that this smell fills you with dread and anxiety. There’s this foreboding feeling creeping up the back of your neck, on scrawny legs like a spider you only notice when you’re already caught in its web, that nothing will be alright.

❀❀❀

It was well within a year into your friendship that Emil, sitting on the lowest stair leading up to the cooper’s shop while polishing his marbles with a stained, dark cloth, had asked: “Those bruises. Where are they from?”

You had looked up at him, from your own teal coloured marble the size of your thumb’s nail. It was your favourite of the whole bunch—a present from your father from one of the inner Districts. It wasn’t your birthday, it wasn’t any special occasion. He had simply seen it in a toy shop, thought of how green was your favourite colour, and decided he’d bring it back as a present.

“For my little princess,” he’d said, and you remember his eyes were red-rimmed and shiny from unshed tears. He’d been away for a long time, he must have missed you so, so much. “You keep it safe and always with you, promise?”

Nothing was more sacred to a child than a promise, everyone knew. So naturally, you’d said, “I promise.”

“And you won’t tell your mother, right?” Your father had leaned towards you, brushing hair from your face, his thumb resting gingerly against a scab on your cheek you’d gotten after stumbling over your own feet in chase after your dog. “You know how she gets when I coddle you too much.”

“Promise.”

Fond were those memories, sweet like cotton candy but luckily not as rare. Thoughts only clinging to the tenderness of your father, you didn’t waste time wondering about that peculiar tone in Emil’s voice when he’d asked you. As if he did not dare ask such a simple question for the myriad of unfortunate possibilities it might open.

But the thing is, you had not known. Until that moment, until you followed his inquisitive eyes to your arms donned in red and purple and blue like the flowers from your meadow, you had not known your skin was a canvas of hurt and violence.

“Huh.” You inspected them one by one, pushed your thumb into a blackish blot that stung and made you wince—a still fresh bruise barely a day old. “Must be from playing with Marianne and the others.”

Emily met you with a level, calm gaze, his eyes the colour of a frozen lake in mid-winter though it felt as if he left a physical touch on your skin and that felt anything but cold. “You should be more careful,” he said, returning his attention to his marble. It was beautiful, shining and glittering in the early morning sun as he held it against the light, checking for any missed murky spots. A beautiful ruby-coloured little orb, and sometimes when you’d ask, he allowed you to play with it and it made you feel all warm and fuzzy because so far, you’d been the only one he’d shared his marbles with.

“Be careful, or you’ll really hurt yourself,” Emil continued.

“I’m not a little kid anymore,” you said, jutting out your chin as if that would underline your statement, with the naivety of a child that dreamt of being all grown up, being an adult in the unfounded imagination that everything would be easier once you were older. The irony that children dreamt of being adults, and adults dreamt of being children once more because they yearned for simpler times.

Emil gave you one of his funny, little looks. As if he were indulging a little kid playing pretend, and you wanted him to teach you that look. It made him look so much older than he was. “I didn’t say that,” he said. “I only said be more careful. I don’t like seeing you in pain.”

“Oh.” Of course, he cared for you. Worried for you. You could try to slow down a little, to stem the fire that’s started to burn in your heart after you met him. You can’t even tell what it is you’re running towards, only that a small, dark part in your heart is afraid you might lose it if you don’t catch up quickly enough.

“Mr. [Last Name],” Emil said suddenly, and your head snapped up at that, your heart slamming against your ribcage, thumping wildly, a small creature caught in a snare. This was panic—skittering, mindless panic. Why? There was no reason to be afraid of your father. But when you didn’t see him anywhere, you turned to Emil. He was watching you. “When is the next time that he leaves for work to another district?”

Something like dread pricked like pins and needles up your spine. “Why are you asking?”

It wasn’t common for you to doubt or question Emil. You trusted him with a ferocity that was nearly dangerous: if he’d said “Jump, I will catch you,” you’d jump and perform a pirouette mid-flight. Yet, this was different. This felt like a secret with sharp teeth and gnawing starvation for freedom. And it would wreak havoc. You didn’t know why, but you felt it. You felt it would destroy everything like the earth rumbling and splitting open, the very foundation of everything that you had known crumbling.

Emil simply smiled, placidly. Like he didn’t have a care in the world. “Your father’s work is exciting,” he said, barely able to contain the awe in his voice. “He’s joining the Scouts sometimes, isn’t he? To map out the areas beyond the Walls.”

“Yeah.” Your eyes drift over to Wall Maria throwing a colossal shadow over the roofs and crenellations of Shiganshina. “He hasn’t been out in a while now, though.”

“Would he tell me something about his work, if I’d ask?” Emil’s hands fell into his lap, and his crimson marble rolled in his open palm as if it might fall any second. “I want to hear more about it.”

“I’m sure he would,” you said, and at the clear sight of your puzzled expression, Emil laughed. It was your favourite laugh—clear and sound, brighter than the first morning sunlight stealing through the curtains on your window. The sun rising over the wall, warming your face. The cool breeze picking up and caressing your warm cheeks. All life and love and everything in between that was worth fighting for.

“Maybe I just need an excuse to spend more time with you,” he conceded quietly, breathlessly.

“You can just ask, it’s that easy,” you responded just as quietly. “There’s no need for an excuse.”

He smiled at that, a private, withdrawn smile that teetered to wistfulness, and looking at this dream from an outside perspective—from some distance—you’re finally able to properly read his expression for the first time: Emil smiled as if to say: If only things really were this easy.

❀❀❀

You don’t come awake screaming for Emil, the way you sometimes do—but your heart is slamming in your throat like it’s trying to choke you. Your skin is slick with sweat, cool. Your limbs shake but not because of the cold.

I wonder, you think of all things, where my marbles went. If they’re still back in Shiganshina where your house once stood. But that thought bursts into a thousand pieces at the sound of loud voices. A confusing buzz as night still renders the forest dark and barely lit by the silver moon peeking through the trees—voices that belong to your comrades, and unknown, harsh voices. Deep, and commanding. Men’s voices.

Your eyes spring open, and stare right into the round, black hole of a barrel pointed at your face. A huge shadow looms above you, a monster you think at first for its head is nothing close to the shape of a human—that is until your eyes make out the potato bag covering the person’s head with two huge, black holes serving as visors.

“Don’t move, sweetheart,” a deep, raspy voice rumbles. There is no air in your lungs, it’s stuck somewhere in your throat. “Wouldn’t wanna have ta blow up that pretty face.”

Every muscle in your body freezes, paralysed from shock, from fear. Maybe this is the actual nightmare and you haven’t woken up yet. Your eyes move around, recognising your comrades and friends in mirror positions: held at gunpoint, threatened by an unknown group of bulgy, tall men covered by different headwear so their faces remain hidden.

“Now, you’re all going to behave,” the man above you—maybe their leader—says out loud so everyone can hear him, “while we collect your ODM gear. And all’s gonna end well for you, I promise.”

“And what,” says Marco, quietly and with a voice that’s slightly trembling as he tries to stay collected, in charge of a situation that’s blown way out of proportion for anything the instructors could have ever prepared you for, “will you do with them?” He has his hands raised above his head, eyes swerving from the nuzzle to his captor.

“We got certain people that’ll pay handsomely for these. ‘S not like yer gonna use ‘em since there’s no beatin’ the Titans anyway, right?”

You stare up at him, shell-shocked, an unpleasant ringing buzzing in your ears. Throat tight, the cold sweat sensation of dread spreads slowly through your limbs. There’s a tingling in your fingers, either because you can’t feel them anymore or because you’re clawing them too hard into the cold, solid ground.

Multiple things happen at once. There’s a shout, a quarrel—Eren, of course, is fighting off his attacker. He grabs the barrel and shoves it away from his face. Their struggle unfreezes everyone from their petrification, but it’s like coming up from a deep, freezing lake and gasping for air first, limbs suddenly granted to do everything so that you’re left unable to do anything.

“NOW!” is the last thing you hear from Eren, an uncoordinated command to attack, but the rest of you: you’re all scared. Nobody moves. Except Jean, who’s diving towards the forest in an attempt to flee.

The shot rings out into the night, waking birds from their peaceful slumber and setting them out into the darkness. For one short, horrible moment you imagine Jean falling, lifeless like a puppet with cut strings, blood seeping out from a hole in his head.

A cry pierces the quiet, a sound so horrid it raises the hair at the back of your neck. Someone is screaming his name, and it takes a moment to realise you are the one who screams for him. But Jean remains standing. Standing, yet shaking, he turns slowly and reveals a narrow cut running along his cheekbone where the bullet has grazed him.

The relief is only short-lived. You try to go for him, to see if he is all right, you have to touch him and be sure that his life isn’t in danger, feel his solid flesh, his warm skin.

Halfway across camp, you don’t see how Eren’s captor whacks him across the face with the grip of his pistol. You don’t see their leader dive for you until you feel his brutally hard grip in your hair. He yanks your head back, bares your throat and you have to grit your teeth together not to make a sound. A second before, your eyes caught the sharp flash of something between dirt and dried leaves, and now your hand moves over the forest floor, feeling for the cool shard.

“Are ya deaf or just stupid?!” the man holding you roars. “I said don’t. Fucking. MOVE!”

His flat backhand cracks across your face, white-hot stars burst through your field of vision, and pain hits you like a battering ram. Jean and someone else shout your name at the same time but it sounds as if their voices come from behind a rushing waterfall. You clutch onto something sharp before it slips loose from your fingers, feeling it cut deep into your hand as you fall backward onto your elbows, blood gushing from your nose like someone has turned on a facet.

Something cool presses hard against your collarbones, right where your skin shows under the open buttons of your shirt. Your heart stops.

“Ya want me ta give ya a lesson? A lesson how to fuckin’ listen?” The nuzzle drops lower, catches against the closed button. One hard pull would be enough to rip those buttons off and open your shirt. “I can give ya a good lesson, sweetheart, and after that yer not gonna misbehave ever again, y’ know.”

Warm drops trickle into your slightly open mouth as time stops. Unwinds. Kicks you back into a dark room with green wallpapers and golden fleur-de-lys that you’ve counted every time you’ve been locked in there. Every time, the number changed. Every time was one too many.

“You will not misbehave any more when I am done with you,” a voice—a male voice, foreign—echoes in your head.

And you, hammering against a locked door as a wide, big hand seized the back of your neck. “I’m sorry Daddy, I’ll be better from now on, please get me out!”

The figment flashes and disappears so sudden, like lightning, and settles somewhere deep between your ribs, dark and murky—there and gone, was it all just your imagination? A nightmare from long ago?

Your mouth is moving, trying to say something as the man above you keeps shouting and barking orders—more voices join, unfamiliar voices “That is enough, we didn’t come here for this, man! Get your finger off that fucking trigger!” and your comrades’ voices, “Don’t touch her, don’t you fucking lay a hand on her or I will kill you, you fat pig!”

And then another sound, non-human, the ear-piercing screeching of a banshee as it heralds the Grim Reaper’s arrival. The man above you whirls—the pressure on your chest disappears and you’re finally able to take a deep breath—and the second shot rings out that night, loud enough to rupture your eardrums.

Anxious flutter raises a barn owl up from the ground. It disappears behind the safety of the trees’ canopy, just before a dull thud sounds as the body falls hard. All eyes are on Victor’s lifeless body. Where his face used to be is now nothing but shreds of a head, malformed and torn apart. Bits and gory pieces stick to the ground, the side of a tree. His head looks like a squashed, overripe fruit, the fleshy insides now strewn over the forest floor.

It could have been you. Any second longer, that could have been you. Without the distraction of the frightened owl, that could have been you.

The silence is deafening.

Somewhere to your right, you hear Connie being sick. Mina is sobbing quietly, a pale face under dark, untamed black hair.

“Fucking hell…” Another man steps to your side, wearing a white bed sheet over his head. He yanks the gun out of his comrade’s hand and gives him a hard shove. “That wasn’t part of the plan.”

“Wasn’t my fault that fuckin’ bird scared the shit outta me,” the other replies, but there’s a tremble to his voice. His legs are shaking.

“Doesn’t matter now. Round the kids up and tie them to a tree. We take one of ‘em as leverage. Hit them if they give you trouble, but keep the finger off the trigger. I don’t wanna see any more brain splattered around, ya hear?”

The men set out to move, ready for any resistance but the only person they have to worry about is Eren who’s struggling with a new-found vigour that’s missing from the rest of you.

You still see him before you: Victor, showing his toothy, wolfish grin and now half of his head blown away. Dead. Just like that.

They push someone against you, and when you raise your head you look into Jean’s frightened, blown-out eyes. The moonlight leaches the colour out of them, making them appear more silver than gold.

“Are you okay?” he whispers, flounders, forgets how words work.

You try to speak, but your mouth is full of iron, blood dribbling down your chin, soaking the front of your shirt. You try again, spitting out a glob of blood. “Jean … Jean.” You claw at his shirt, and he tries to catch your hands but they’re slippery from blood. There’s something hot on your chest—the ring, it feels like it’s pulsing. Like a second heartbeat. “Jean, my Dad … was my Dad a bad person?”

He freezes, fingers curled loosely around your wrists. There’s a frantic look in his eyes, and you don’t know if it’s because of this whole situation or your question.

“And my Dad,” you continue since there is no stopping now that you hurl down the path, burning and hurting like a shooting star. “My Dad … did he … did he ever hurt me?”

Jean turns away, his fingers slipping away from your skin and with nothing holding you, it feels like you’re falling into the void, because he doesn’t say, “What are you talking about?”

Jean says, “How much do you remember?”

taglist: @arisu003, @brooki

A/N: I’ve thought long about Reader’s past and if I want to write the things I’m going to write and my conclusion is that I want to be a bold writer who isn’t scared to put my characters through painful things to see them come out strong. All I will give you as trigger warning is: Past sexual abuse and sexual childhood abuse (NOT BY HER FATHER). There will be nothing explicitly written about that, but it is a very important narrative device (inciting incident/motivation) for a certain character, so I decided to stay on this path of story. So reader’s discretion is advised and if this isn’t up your alley, please don’t read stuff that makes you uncomfortable. Tags will be updated accordingly. And to end stuff on a lighter note before I disappear for some time, tomorrow is my birthday so please be nice and send me love 🥺.

#aot x reader #aot x you #aot x y/n #snk x reader #snk x you #snk x y/n #eren jaeger x reader #eren yeager x reader #eren x reader #eren x you #eren x y/n #swyaatl

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findingjoynweirdstuff · 3 years ago

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Dream SMP Recap (July 25/2021) - The Wilburger Ranvan

Wilbur comes up with his new calling: selling burgers in a burger van! At Phil’s suggestion, Wilbur teams up with Ranboo to do so, setting up their new business on the outskirts of Las Nevadas.

A brief summary of the week’s total events can be found at the end of the post.

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VOD LINKS:

Wilbur Soot

Captain Puffy

BadBoyHalo

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- Wilbur and Phil hang out in the Arctic. Wilbur has a proposition for Phil

- He says he met up with Quackity and it was a nice time. The one conclusion he came to is that Quackity is very resourceful

Wilbur: “As much as I may disagree with your views on anarchy, I must say, it’s pretty harmless. I -- I can’t hate you for it. I can’t hate you for enjoying literally living in a peaceful little village in the snow, I mean the server’s never been this peaceful since -- since all the countries and nations and cities and everything is gone. So Phil, I came to you with one question, one question...do you think Quackity should be allowed to be left unchecked?”

- Phil says no. The issue is, there’s no government, no police force. What Techno’s done is left a power vacuum and now Quackity’s come in with an unethical establishment, gambling...

- Wilbur wants to make a burger van

- They get interrupted by an Enderman ascending from the basement

- He knows there’s a bit of déjà vu, but the difference is that the burger van isn’t going to sell drugs this time. He wants every steak to have a name

- He’s done with being a source of authority, a president. His calling is just burgers, no ulterior motives

- Phil knows someone who would help out: Ranboo. The richest, most knowledgable man on the server, and he’s run out of things to do on the server

- Wilbur doesn’t want to play with Ranboo, but Phil threatens to kick him out if he doesn’t so he does, annoyed at being treated like a child

- Wilbur gives Ranboo his proposition

Wilbur: “I like to think, you know, let bygones be bygones, let’s bury the hatchet, let’s be -- Ranboo I’m gonna go out on a limb here...do you wanna be friends?”

- His next progression, after being a dead-terrorist-president...is to be a chef. Ranboo is onboard

- They start walking over. Wilbur asks if Ranboo’s heard of Las Nevadas, and Ranboo mentions their abandoned cookie post that was causing trouble. He wants to create competition for Quackity’s business. Eventually, maybe Quackity will have to make a deal with them, maybe even be their friend

- Ranboo wants to keep it respectful. Wilbur assures him that they already has the land necessary

- Wilbur wants to pick Ranboo’s brain and asks his thoughts on Quackity. Ranboo says he just hasn’t seen him in so long. Their last interaction before everything else happened was just that they were in the same cabinet of New L’manburg

- Wilbur didn’t know that Ranboo was part of L’manburg’s government

- Wilbur asks if he dislikes anyone. Ranboo says not too much, just people that he doesn’t agree with. Everyone is just a product of what they’ve gone through, so if you understand that, you understand the person

- If you align yourself with everyone, isn’t that more complicated? Ranboo says that’s why he’s just been living with Phil and Techno away from everything, trying not to involve himself in much, but he has a terrible radar on what’s involving himself and what isn’t

Wilbur: “What about Dream?”

Ranboo: “Well that’s -- well, with Dream it’s kind of like...all I’ve heard of Dream, all I’ve seen with Dream is just been like the really bad things that he’s done and everything, so I would say that I -- yeah, I don’t really like Dream, but I mean, he’s also not really someone that it matters whether or not I like him ‘cause he’s just away in that prison for a really long time, so I mean...”

Wilbur: “No trial?”

- They reach their competition and go into the fast food restaurant

- He peeks into the casino, but holes it back up. This building doesn’t benefit the consumer

- Wilbur places down some signs insulting Quackity’s burger place, guaranteeing those signs will never leave since they don’t care about the customer

- Wilbur shows Ranboo his area, which he's thinking of naming “Paradise.” Ranboo says it could be a neat play on words...pair-of-dice

- Wilbur and Ranboo decide to make the place red and white, retro-themed. Ranboo gives Wilbur Ranord and Wilbur goes off to gather some red

- Wilbur likes Tubbo since he’s strong-headed and doesn’t let people push him around

- Ranboo says when you can’t change someone’s mind, it’s no use to needlessly argue. Wilbur points out that Ranboo seems to be a bit more dynamic than a purely neutral, peaceful force. He’s somehow appeared in almost every conflict the server’s had since Wilbur died

- Ranboo says it’s because he’s bad at discerning things, but he’s been doing alright with his situation recently. He wants to help people, and sometimes he lets that desire to help people get in the way of what he says about himself

Wilbur: “Ranboo...why did you help to help me?”

- Ranboo needed something to do, and he also thought that Wilbur’s an alright person, so he wants to get off on a better foot because he doesn’t like having people not like him

- Wilbur asks why he doesn’t think Wilbur’s a bad person. Ranboo says he did bad things, but also went through things that made him that way and now he’s changed as a person since he died. He’s optimistic in that

Wilbur: (sniffs) “Good, uh...that’s nice. Thank you. Uh...I think I needed to hear that.”

Wilbur: “Can I be real with you man? ...I think I scare people.”

Ranboo: “I mean...yeah, I do the same thing.”

Wilbur: “No, not in -- no no, I mean I...I don’t think I...I think a lot of people share your idea, but they share your idea in trying to -- trying to keep me from hurting them, you know? Like they’ve seen what I can do and they don’t want me to do it again, so they adopt your emotion in order to do it.”

- He demolished Jack Manifold’s house twice, he completely ignored him in the war, and what it took for Jack to forgive Wilbur was just a sorry.

Wilbur: “And I know -- I’ve spoken to Tommy about Jack Manifold! And Jack Manifold is not the sort of person to forgive someone like that with a sorry! Imagine if Dream said sorry to Jack Manifold! What’s Dream done to Jack Manifold, huh? Barely anything! I imagine if Dream said sorry to Jack Manifold, Jack Manifold would ignore him. Do you know why? Because DREAM’s in prison, and I’m not!

“Dream is -- he’s had his comeuppance and I’ve not! My comeuppance was apparently not good enough for these people! They’re just waiting! Waiting for the next thing for me to slip up on them -- Ranboo, I’m not gonna fucking slip up, Ranboo, I’m different. I’m not Dream...god, I wish I was! Sometimes I wish, I wish I’d gotten that comeuppance but Ranboo, I’m not Dream. And I’m not gonna be Dream, and that’s...”

“I’m living in eternal Limbo...again. I’ve been through Limbo. I’m out of Limbo. And socially, I’m still in this Limbo, and man, Ranboo, hearing you say those words that you said to me? Do you remember what you said?”

Ranboo: “Y-yeah, I do?”

Wilbur: “You said...(sniffs) I think people can change, that’s number one. And number two, you said you’re scared that people don’t like you.”

- He tells Ranboo that they’re kindred. They have the same neuroticism, their strongest point. But anxiety is not their downfall. Wilbur’s parents are alive because they were anxious and didn’t let anything take them down

- Ranboo says they’re both thinkers. They may think in different ways, but they think at the same level

Wilbur: “I think you might be a bit braver than me in showing your true colors. I feel like with you, Ranboo, I never have to be guessing your next move. I never have to be guessing your hand, you know? I feel like life dealt us the same cards, and the difference is you build your trust by showing people your cards whilst I keep them close to my chest, and I feel like that might be the big difference.”

- He asks Ranboo what he feels about thievery. He’s going to steal Las Nevadas’ cows to make into burgers

- Ranboo makes some concrete and starts building the van. Wilbur rides off on a horse looking for some sheep

- Wilbur asks Ranboo about Tubbo and Ranboo talks a bit about Snowchester. Wilbur thought Techno was successful at getting rid of all the nations, but Ranboo says it’s not a nation. Wilbur doesn’t know about Kinoko Kingdom either

- Wilbur gets to the spider farm, which has Kanye West in it

- He heads back and they discuss names like Paradise or Wilburger

- Wilbur asks Ranboo’s opinion on Tommy and Ranboo thinks he’s great. Tommy’s gone through a lot, but it’s made him a good person.

Wilbur notes that he seems to think that everyone’s gone through something. Ranboo says yes, the only bad people are those who are evil without a reason why, but there’s not many people like that

- Wilbur names the first burger “Wilburger Vol. 1″ and puts a watermark on it

- Wilbur wants to ask Ranboo one last make-or-break question

- Chat suggests the “Wilburger Ranvan” and they like it

- They go to Quackity’s restaurant and Wilbur wants Ranboo to smash the windows. Ranboo does

- Wilbur goes inside and places TNT. He hands Ranboo the lighter and tells him to detonate it

- Ranboo does so. Wilbur tells Ranboo to go back to the van. He’s passed the test

Wilbur: “Ranboo, I’m proud of you man. You’ve -- you’ve taken a side.”

- Wilbur goes back and places a sign at the crater:

---

***** Wilbur + Ranboo Did this together

*****

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“I love that guy.” (laughs) “I love that guy.”

END OF WEEK RECAP:

7/19 - Nothing much happens.

7/20 - Sapnap and George speak with Mexican Dream

7/21 - Foolish creates Philzavilla and breaks into the prison

7/22 - Nothing much happens.

7/23 - Nothing much happens.

7/24 - MCC, no updates

7/25 - Wilbur and Ranboo make a burger van

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Upcoming Events:

- Captain Puffy’s Lore Stream

- Wilbur’s 11 planned streams

- Egg Finale Stream

- Tales From the SMP: “Space Race”

- Ponk’s prequel stream

- Ponk’s current-day lore with Sam

- Puffy’s Lore Cast

- Sapnap’s lore

- Dream’s lore video

- Quackity’s casino opening

#dream smp #dream smp recaps #long post #long posts

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the-real-tc · 4 years ago

Text

Fic UPDATE! Wide River to Cross: Chapter 23

A.N.: This chapter took way longer to churn out than I expected, and there will be another update very shortly. We're moved into Episode 713 territory now, so you know that means things are getting even closer to where they are supposed to be. Enjoy!

Chapter 23: Chance Encounter

The drive back from Moose Jaw on Tuesday was its usual eight-hour, mind-numbing slog for Tim Fleming. Shane and Miranda seemed to be doing fine without him, though something in his gut warned Tim there was something going on neither of them wished to speak of in his presence. The visit started off on a positive note. Shane excitedly asked about Pal before politely moving on to inquiring about his half-sisters. By the actual Thanksgiving Monday, Tim knew he was wearing out his welcome, as if Miranda could not wait to be rid of him. Yes, it was true they had called it quits, but there was a distant air about her that Tim could not put his finger on. When he mentioned he would like to come out in a month for the Remembrance Day holiday, he was met with a non-committal sort of answer, but not an outright "no". Shane's sullen resentment over the absence of a father-figure in his life was still brewing beneath the surface. Tim recognized the signs; he just had no idea what to do about it, especially since Miranda was apparently hedging about the next time he could visit his son. How was he supposed to be a father to Shane if he was not even permitted to see him on a regular basis?

By the time Tim reached Hudson, he was exhausted both physically and emotionally. He had half a mind to drop in at Heartland and stick around long enough to invite himself to dinner, but he was not in the mood to hear Jack complain about the sheep again, which he was sure to do. Instead, Tim pulled into the local McDonald's Drive-thru and ordered something he knew he would barely taste, but would otherwise tide him over until the next day. On Wednesday morning, Tim regretfully realised he was completely out of supplies and would need to head into town for groceries.

He was still contemplating what to do about convincing Miranda to allow him to visit again in a month's time while grabbing some steaks from a refrigerated shelf in the Deli section. Maybe the boy could come out to Heartland instead, Tim pondered. After all, Shane was still obviously interested in riding Pal. Amy and Lou would be happy to see their half-brother, of course. Tim also had a feeling Shane and Georgie would get along just fine, if given the chance.

What would he think about Tricia? Tim suddenly wondered as he mechanically loaded his groceries into his truck before starting the drive back to Big River.

What would Tricia think about Shane?

When is the right time to tell her about my "illegitimate" son?

Are we serious enough for that yet?

Those thoughts quickly fled as Tim did a double-take at the unexpected sight of an oddly familiar auburn-haired woman. She stood at the bank of green community mailboxes on the side of the rural road, unaware of his scrutiny. The presence of her nearby silver-grey Porsche SUV confirmed it: the usually blonde Lisa Stillman had returned to Hudson. Tim pulled his truck to a stop—he simply had to get the low-down on this. Lisa was the last person he expected to see here, especially after Lou bought back her share of the Dude Ranch so many months ago. Jack's continued silence on Lisa's whereabouts and the status of their relationship compelled Tim to approach. After all, Lisa was godmother to his granddaughter Katie. It would be impolite to drive past her without a word, he reasoned.

"Hey, Lisa!" he called when he was within earshot.

Her shoulders jerked slightly, causing Tim to feel slightly guilty for startling her when he caught the stunned expression on her face. She recovered in time to respond, though somewhat hesitantly. "Oh. Hi, Tim!" she called back with forced brightness. Her smile, too, was forced.

"Wow, I didn't expect to see you back in town," Tim said as he neared. "How ya been? How was France?"

"Busy. I've been really busy," she replied hastily, closing her mailbox door and snapping the lock shut before stuffing her envelopes into a side pocket. "Um, France was fine. Sorry I can't stay and chat. I just got back from dropping off my sister at the airport, and I've still got lots to do today. As a matter of fact, I have an appointment with someone in less than half an hour."

"Your sister was visiting?" Tim echoed. "Huh. That's nice. Don't think I've ever met her. The appointment wouldn't happen to be with Jack would it?"

Lisa's spirits sank at the mention of the man she loved but was avoiding. She wondered if Tim did it on purpose—honing right in on a person's vulnerable spot and then exposing it.

"Uh, no. No, I'm not meeting Jack," Lisa's voice faltered.

"Then who are you meeting?" Tim pressed.

Lisa felt cornered now. Knowing the news would eventually get out, anyway, she decided to be straight with the man. "A real estate agent," she answered testily. "I've put Fairfield on the market."

Tim's face betrayed mild surprise. Wow, he thought. She really is making that move to France permanent. "You're selling Fairfield. Whoa. Does Jack know about this?"

Lisa exhaled. "Jack knows I love France," she eventually responded as she averted her glance. "I tried to share that part of my life with him, but it didn't work. He hates France, and there's no changing that fact. It's best I make a clean break. For now, he doesn't even know I'm in Hudson, and I'd like to keep it that way, please. So don't tell him you saw me, okay?"

Despite not quite receiving a straight answer to his question, Tim nevertheless made a zipping motion across his lips. "O-kay."

"You promise you will not tell him I'm here?" Lisa said, eyeing him now with skepticism.

"I promise I will not tell Jack you're here, Lisa," Tim proclaimed, raising his hand in a Scout salute.

"Good. Thank you," she said, making her move back to the Porsche. "Now, I really have to go. Take care, Tim. 'Bye."

"Yeah, 'bye," Tim said, absently securing his hat on his head.

Without bothering to look back at him, Lisa raised a hand in a farewell gesture as she climbed into the driver's seat.

Tim called out: "But you are gonna tell him eventually, right?"

The motor roaring to life drowned out the question, causing Tim to frown. Aw, man. Something's gotta be done about those two before it's too late, he thought. I just need to figure out what.

Lisa pulled away from the mailboxes in a daze. Now that Tim had seen her, it was only a matter of time before Jack found out she was in Hudson. Of all the people I had to run into, why did it have to be Tim Fleming?! she fretted. And once Jack does find out, what will I do? Guess I'll have to cross that bridge when I get to it.

The real estate agent warned Lisa from the outset her asking-price was high, given the current slump in the market. While she knew this, it was a tactic she hoped to use to her advantage. It was intended to weed out a bulk of potential buyers who would only waste her time. Genuinely interested buyers would be savvy enough to try to negotiate a lower selling price they would both be comfortable with. Lisa was ready to play that game. Besides, if someone did agree to the initial price, the agent stood to make a fantastic commission.

There would be no way to hide the signs or the real estate listing, of course, so even if she never laid eyes on Jack, he would eventually find out about the sale. She was plagued with feelings of guilt. Was it really fair to avoid him? How difficult would it be to make a quick call to say: "Hi, I've returned to Hudson to sell the old place. Thanks for the good times we had; I'm moving to France for good."

Very difficult indeed.

Those thoughts were quickly dismissed when Lisa reached Fairfield and business concerns once again consumed her mental energies. Among those concerns was the sale of Cinders, a horse for which Lisa felt an uncommon fondness due to his resemblance to her long-ago cherished Silver. Riding Cinders out to Lookout Point every morning was part of her daily routine when in Hudson, so she was reluctant to part with the animal. I have Indigo back in Toulon for my morning ride, Lisa thought practically, knowing one fewer horse to transport to France could be good for cost-saving in the long run.

A buyer from Montana was interested; Lisa was awaiting the finalization of that sale before booking transport. Three other horses would be going to buyers in Alberta; two to British Columbia, and one to Saskatchewan. That left several other horses that might eventually need to be auctioned, including the pregnant Rhapsody. The broodmare's pregnancy and the subsequent weaning process once the foal arrived meant travel any time soon would be ill-advised, so having her remain in Canada to be sold made sense.

The clone of Fairfield Flyer—when it arrived—was still a question mark. Dan seemed overly confident it would help them make their mark once they launched their breeding business overseas. Lisa was more cautious and hesitant about the whole idea; in time, maybe she would feel differently about the situation, as her sister Rachel had predicted.

And I'm still quite angry Dan did it, Lisa realised, almost feeling her blood pressure rising just thinking about the whole mess. Why am I even still in business with him? The answer she always arrived at whenever she pondered that question was that they still made good business partners, despite their failed marriage. This time, though, Lisa wondered whether business success in partnership with Dan was a good enough reason.

I have spent more than half my life doing this, Lisa said to herself. I've achieved a lot in that time. I would like to think I have made my father proud of the 'Fairfield' name. That alone should be worth it, right? And it's like I told Rachel: the money I've earned has made it possible to realise a lot of dreams, do things I wanted to do, and see the world. But at the end of the day, I go home to an empty house. What dreams am I chasing now? I always dreamed of retiring to France. And then Jack came into my life.

Lisa reflected fondly on that day at Heartland when she encountered Jack at the Open House barbecue. Amy had just awed the crowd by showing off her work with Promise, and with the way she had risen to Val Stanton's seemingly impossible, impromptu challenge to fix the hundred-thousand-dollar horse that refused to jump.

"You're doing a really good job with her, Jack," Lisa recalled telling him. What she didn't tell him was that she had inquired discreetly about his fifteen-year-old granddaughter after being impressed by her during their first meeting at Fairfield. Since Nick Harwell had sung Amy's praises regarding her work with Star, Lisa called him up. She hoped to find out a little more about this Amy Fleming, daughter of the late Marion Fleming. She had a vague recollection hearing about Marion and Heartland since returning to Hudson from the 'States. Even so, she had at least known of the existence of 'Heartland Ranch' in the same sort of familiar way Hudsonites would know of the existence of any other ranch in the area.

"I read in the Hudson Times about Marion Fleming's passing and how Amy's grandfather is a rodeo legend," Lisa had told Nick during their conversation. "What else should I know about this family?"

"Yes, Jack Bartlett is pretty well-known for his rodeo days. And Marion... Marion was something else," Nick had stated. "And I really think Amy has the gift, too. What did you think of her?"

"It's too early to tell," Lisa had replied honestly, "but I like her spunk. I had my reservations about Promise going under the care of a fifteen-year-old, but she won some points with me. She set me straight when she told me her mother didn't 'whisper' to horses; she listened to them."

Nick had chuckled. "Whatever you want to call it, Marion sure worked magic with horses, and Amy can, too. You just have to sit back and let the magic happen."

"How is Heartland Ranch doing?" Lisa then inquired. "Are they going to be okay without Marion working with troubled horses? That was their main source of income, wasn't it?"

"I'm not sure," Nick replied with a sigh. "Jack does have a herd of cattle, but it's small. His adult granddaughter Lou is back in town from New York to help, but who knows how long she plans to stay... And Jack's wife, Lyndy, died a few years ago. I heard through the grapevine Amy and Lou's dad is a rodeo legend too, but he's also a total deadbeat. So now Jack has got to raise Amy by himself. It's not going to be easy for them. I do believe Amy has her mother's gift, but she's still so young to be taking on the 'family business', if you know what I mean. Jack has his work cut out for him."

"Yes, I guess he does," Lisa had remarked thoughtfully, imagining an elderly man all of a sudden saddled with a responsibility he did not anticipate in the wake of his daughter's tragic death.

To see Jack Bartlett in the flesh was a revelation. The man was nowhere near the 'elderly' grandfather Lisa had envisioned after speaking with Nick. He was tall, fit, and grizzled with irregular features, yet handsome in an unconventional way she found attractive. She would almost have guessed he was Amy's father had she not known any better. So this was the man who was taking care of his teenaged granddaughter. This was the man who had clearly taken the responsibility very seriously, and was succeeding at the task despite the burden of loss and heartbreak. This man, a salt-of-the-earth type, exuding quiet confidence and strength—this man she simply had to get to know better.

He was the first man in a very long time Lisa felt the urge to flirt with; the first man she felt comfortable sending out signals she wanted to know him on a deeper level. Their first real conversation was brief. She paid him a compliment about the burgers he was grilling up, then added she thought he was doing a great job with Amy. She mentioned her own situation with taking on her nephew following his parents' divorce. As they parted company that evening, she brushed her shoulder against his after his offer to help with Ben, hoping the message was received.

Bringing up those old memories of the weeks and months that followed the Open House was bittersweet. Back then, it was Immediately clear to Lisa that Jack was nothing remotely resembling a social butterfly. He was never at any of the parties she attended, nor was he known to folks in her Hudson social circles. She would have to ferret out what his interests were and meet him at that level if she wanted to get closer to him. Lisa would be forever grateful to Maggie for suggesting Amy have a look at the traumatized Gallant Prince, as it provided more opportunities to visit Heartland—and to see Jack.

And then I asked him to accompany me to that auction... and his truck broke down.

It was a deviation in her plan she had not expected, but rolled with it by suggesting they eat right then instead of after the sale. They discussed nothing of consequence during that interlude while they ate turkey-and-swiss sandwiches, but Lisa enjoyed every minute of it.

"Aren't you something?" Jack had asked, clearly not expecting anything like this when she told him she made coffee for him; that she had planned a picnic treat from the very beginning.

The early fall weather was pleasant, a soft breeze fluttering through the leaves of the trees that surrounded them. She seldom had a chance to pause like this, sitting in the company of just one other person, undisturbed by the rest of the world. He complimented her on the coffee, subtly making her realise he had strong opinions about the beverage. Time slipped away much too quickly. After a particularly long stretch of silence between them after the last of the coffee had been drunk, Jack finally spoke up: "Well, I guess I should probably see if that old truck of mine is ready to start. Can't have you missing that auction, can we?"

Reluctantly, they tidied up and trekked back to the stalled vehicle. It started without complaint, bearing them safely to High River for the auction. Lisa mentally skipped over the part when they encountered Dan, knowing what she knew now about how he had the temerity to tell Jack she was still his wife. Lisa remembered her acute disappointment upon discovering Jack had abandoned her there without a word. Something about that scenario did not sit right with her, as she was quite certain he had enjoyed their picnic.

Perhaps another woman might have dismissed him for that perceived slight, Lisa reasoned, but I knew I couldn't let him go that easily. Fortunately, a good friend she ran into at the close of the auction was willing to give her a lift to Heartland so she could retrieve her Porsche. At the time, she was tempted to knock on Jack's door to demand an explanation, but something told her that would be the wrong move. Let this thing play out, she remembered thinking. Let him come to you when he's ready.

And the explanation did come out, confirming for Lisa she made the right choice by not blowing the situation out of proportion, though she had every right to be upset. Handling it with a dose of humour had de-escalated what could have been a very uncomfortable situation. After all, Dan had just sourly peeled out of Heartland, having been told off by Jack, and after being rebuffed by Lisa.

"Well, since men keep driving away on me, would you mind driving me home in your truck, please?" she remembered asking with a smile and a good-natured chuckle. Of course Jack had not minded one bit. She had noticed the look of gradual, earnest relief on his face once he realised she was not married to Dan any longer; that she had not been playing with his emotions or leading him on.

"Jack, I'm sorry for the misunderstanding with my EX-husband," she said contritely during that ride back to Fairfield. "He had no right to do that, and I want to make it very clear I—"

And he had broken in gently then, telling her she had no need to apologize; that he was the one that needed to do the apologizing for abandoning her at the auction.

"Hmm," she had said playfully. "I suppose you have a plan in mind about how you're going to make it up to me?"

"Well, as a matter of fact... I was wondering..."

After a few seconds of tense silence, he had asked if he could have the pleasure of her company at his private cabin in a few weeks' time. She could tell it took some effort on his part to ask the question, but she readily accepted his invitation to try a little fly fishing, despite the lateness of the season, as he told her.

"I would love to, Jack," she had replied, grinning from ear to ear, thinking this reconciliation had gone miles better than she hoped.

Maggie had helped her pick out all the requisite equipment after she realised she would actually need hip waders and rods for the date. Expensive hobby, she remembered thinking when her friend rang up all the purchases at the cash register.

"I'd better catch something, huh?" she had ruefully asked.

"I think you already did," Maggie had quipped.

At the time, the meaning of those words had not been lost on Lisa. Now, after all the time since those early days when they were still practically strangers, Lisa wondered if he was still on the line, or if Jack had pulled loose. Severed from her life, he would be pulled away from her shore, lost to the currents of the passing world.

Despite never using the equipment again since that first date, Lisa had never availed herself of Maggie's promise of a refund.

I always hoped we would go fishing together again, Lisa mused. Why is it we never did? Maybe it's high time I got rid of all that stuff; I certainly won't be doing much fly fishing in France.

Lisa shook her head slightly, knowing she had to cease thinking about such matters and concentrate instead on getting her Fairfield business in order. As if on cue, her office line rang, its call display revealing a Montana area code.

Looks like I have an answer about Cinders, she rightly guessed.

"Lisa, hi! It's Wayne Mosley. I'll make this call short and sweet: We have a deal on your horse. I can have the funds wired to you today."

"That's great, Wayne," Lisa replied, squelching the sentiment that unexpectedly sprang up at the thought she was really going to be parting with the animal for good. "I can get transport booked for Cinders as early as Sunday."

"Perfect. Thanks, Lisa."

"You're welcome. Glad we were able to work something out."

"It's always a pleasure doing business with you. Take care. 'Bye."

"Likewise, Wayne. 'Bye."

Lightning almost as bright as day flashed, visible even through Lisa's closed eyelids. That alone might have been enough to awaken her, but the following crash of ear-splitting thunder made it impossible to remain in the land of dreams.

Lisa rolled over in bed, gradually becoming aware of the fact of the storm raging outside. When she cracked open an eye to check the time on the bedside digital clock, she could barely make out a blank display screen.

Have we lost power? she wondered groggily. Another flash of lightning briefly illuminated the bedroom. Her ears picked up on the wind-driven rains beating against the windowpanes. A quick glance outside confirmed Hudson had indeed lost power. Seconds later, the Fairfield generators kicked in, bringing to life the security lights outside. The numbers on the clock now blinked '12:00' a.m. in a rhythmic pattern, its green glow a slight irritant.

With a sigh, Lisa let her head fall back onto one of the many the pillows scattered about the mattress. Installing those generators had come at some expense, but she was grateful for them now and in times past when an outage occurred. She listened to the sounds of the storm, unable to fall back asleep quite yet. Some of the horses in the stables would be restless, and she wondered if Rhapsody was okay, given her expectant state.

Harry and the rest of the hands are going to be dealing with a few grumpy, skittish equines in the morning, she thought as she finally sat up to re-set the time on the clock after consulting her iPhone.

The lightning flashes were less frequent now; the answering thunder a distant rumble. The storm was either moving on or its intensity petering out.

Oh, no. Things are going to be a mess out there tomorrow, this new thought entered her mind, as it dawned on her the power loss was probably caused by downed tree branches. The trees around Fairfield were never spared damage in such instances in the past. The real estate agent would expect the property to be in pristine condition if there were going to be any showings.

Better call the landscaping company first thing... It was the last thought she remembered thinking before drifting off again.

Clean-up the morning after the storm that knocked out power at Heartland occupied a fair chunk of the Bartlett-Fleming-Morris family's time. Branches lay haphazardly about the yard. Piles of scattered leaves and twigs littered the ground, blown off by the earlier violent winds.

Tim pulled up in his truck uncharacteristically early to lend a hand, though he certainly had ulterior motives. Lisa made me promise not to tell Jack she was back in town. She didn't make me promise not to tell anyone else, though... He approached Amy, hoping to determine if Jack was wise to the situation of Lisa's return to Hudson.

"Guess who I saw in town yesterday?" he asked his daughter, unable to keep a lid on the information bubbling up to the surface.

The surprise that registered on Amy's face told him everything: Poor Jack was clueless.

Lisa's backside smarted. That's going to leave a bruise, she thought ruefully as she checked herself over for any other potential injuries after being unceremoniously dumped to the damp ground by Cinders. But no, every other part of her body seemed just fine. No broken bones or sprains, thank God. That's the last thing I would need right now just as I'm trying to get things sorted out at Fairfield. Now where has that horse trotted off to, and what the heck happened?

Lisa's brow creased as she recalled a sudden uncomfortable, intense buzzing sensation right before being tossed from the saddle. Her eyes sought and quickly spotted something that confirmed a dim suspicion: a downed tree tangled up with the line from an electrical fence erected around the slough Cinders had stepped into.

So that's what that shock was, Lisa realised.

"Cinders!" she called, hoping the sound of her voice would bring the horse back. It was usually an exercise in futility; Cinders was not trained to come when beckoned as a pet dog might. A careful inspection of the sod around her revealed hoof prints.

I hope that horse hasn't gone too far, Lisa thought in irritation. In truth, she was more annoyed at herself for not noticing the downed line. Fortunately, she spotted the dappled grey horse not too far away, pulling at some vegetation.

"Hey, you," Lisa softly chided as she approached him with deliberate caution. "What was that all about? Did you get spooked by that silly electric fence?"

Cinders seemed to bristle slightly when she neared, but he did not refuse when she took hold of his bridle. "Let's go home, huh?" she said, placing her right foot into the stirrup to mount up. With a squeeze of her calves, Lisa cued the horse to begin the return the way they came. Ahead, she could see the muddy banks of the slough along with the energizer and tangle of electrical wiring and branches.

Everything about the ride seemed normal until they were a few feet away from the water. Cinders stiffened as soon as he sighted the pond, stopping dead in his tracks. He balked when Lisa urged him on again; a snort of terror issued from his nostrils before he reared up in protest.

"Whoa, whoa!" Lisa called out, barely avoiding another fall as she regained her balance. "What's the matter with you?"

Without being commanded to do so, the horse backed away, giving his head a few contrary shakes.

"Come on, Cinders," Lisa coaxed, applying more pressure to his sides with her legs. She clicked her tongue loudly twice. The horse eventually got the idea, and he sidestepped the muddy bank, pacing off to the right, giving the slough a wide berth.

"Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Scott," Lisa said.

"You've always been one of my best clients, Lisa," Scott commented warmly. "Happy to be of service. I was surprised to hear from you, to be honest; I haven't had a call from Fairfield in months."

"I know," she said vaguely, "being in France and all meant I wasn't as hands-on here as I have been in the past."

At that moment, Ty ambled in to the holding area. If he was surprised to see her there, he hid the emotion well. "Hi, Lisa," he said casually, as if this were any other normal visit.

"Hello, Ty," she answered back with a wan smile. Kicking herself mentally, she now knew she should have counted on the possibility Ty would be on duty at the clinic today. Oh, shoot. First Tim; now Ty. It's going to be impossible to keep my being in Hudson from Jack.

"I noticed the 'For Sale' signs up at Fairfield," Scott continued. "Don't tell me you're thinking of leaving us for good?"

Lisa bobbed her head, still wary of Ty's presence. "Yeah, I've had a good run here," she replied. "I'm looking at a new opportunity in Avignon."

With that short answer, both Scott and Ty understood she was not going to say anything more on the topic.

"So what's going on with this guy?" Scott asked, looking now at the horse. "You said something about an electrical fence?"

"Uh, yes," Lisa spoke up, re-organizing her thoughts to focus on the reason for her hasty appointment. "Meet Cinders."

The horse's level of agitation had come down since the earlier ride, but Lisa caught subtle cues that told a different story, making it clear to her Cinders was not over the sudden electrical shock they had experienced at the slough. She explained the whole episode while Scott examined the animal, inviting Ty to do the same as a learning exercise.

Presently, Scott declared: "In my medical opinion, there's nothing wrong with him physically, Lisa."

"That's good," Lisa said in relief. She rubbed Cinders' forehead. "It's just that he now absolutely refuses to go near water, Scott. The shock was pretty intense. Even I felt it right before I ended up on my butt. I'm afraid he thinks he's going to get zapped every time he steps into a puddle."

"I wish there was a magic pill I could give him to cure aquaphobia," Scott said with a smirk.

"Yeah, I know," Lisa sighed. "I just sold him yesterday to a guy in Montana. He's being shipped out on Sunday. I can't sell a 'defective' product."

"Want me to ask Amy if she can take the case?" Ty interjected, sympathetic to her situation.

Lisa contemplated. Involving Amy came with a risk. If Jack found out... She was grateful Ty had not asked any prying questions, seemingly aware the topic of her reappearance was verboten, but his suggestion was her best chance at fixing the problem.

"Okay," she eventually replied. "But could you—could you please tell her to keep it confidential...? Jack doesn't know I'm back, and I mean to keep it that way."

Ty nodded at her with understanding; Scott looked at her quizzically, but wisely held his tongue.

"Thanks," she said, blowing out a breath. "I hope she can figure him out before Sunday. But then again, she's always come through for me in the past. Go ahead, Ty. He's all yours."

"I'll get Cinders trailered out to Heartland right away," Ty said, taking hold of the lead rope.

Once Ty was safely on the way back to Heartland, Lisa carried on with some additional errands. As she drove, she came to the conclusion she was simply prolonging the inevitable. Even though I've sworn Scott, Ty and Tim to secrecy, walls have ears. Jack's going to know I'm here before the day is done, guaranteed.

Jack's sleep had been restive and uneasy. Katie's fright over the storm in addition to her irritability at missing Lou had not made for a peaceful night. Pete had sheepishly apologized for the toddler's cries, but the older man sympathized. He had been through those same parenting woes when Marion had been a baby, though he had admittedly missed months at a time of her growing up due to being on the rodeo circuit.

As Jack drove out to the town Yard Waste and Recycle Centre to deposit their dead branches and leaf sweepings, he wondered what his grandson-in-law was going to do if Katie continued to regress in her potty-training regimen. Clearly, these new parents had not counted on a lengthy separation between child and mother during this crucial time. Pete was doing his best, but it seemed not to be enough at this time.

He was still pondering this problem on his return trip to Heartland, slowly coming to the realisation there might not be any easy solutions. He was so engrossed in this mental exercise he had a double-take when he spotted a woman he thought he recognized on the side of the road.

Lisa?! he thought in a daze. It can't be.

But his eyes were not deceiving him. This was no case of mistaken identity as in times past when he thought he saw her in town. This was his old flame, quietly checking her mail like any other person. Only she was not any other person. She was the one who somehow managed to slip through his fingers. A subtle heat burned in his chest as he brought the truck to a slow roll before setting the brake.

Lisa is back. What is she doing here? Why is she back? Lisa is here.

Jack very nearly stumbled over his two feet on his approach. He could tell she heard his footsteps though he was trying to be stealthy.

"Hi, Lisa," he uttered, unsure of what to say now that he had been presented with this unexpected opportunity to talk with her.

She looked up almost guiltily at him.

Busted, Lisa thought. Here I am, trying to avoid Jack this whole time, and he has to spot me getting the mail. How silly is that?

Yet, her heart swelled at the sight of this cowboy, dressed as usual in his boots, jeans, plaid-patterned shirt, coat and hat. He looks healthy. I'm so glad. And now that she had seen him, every word she had once hoped to speak to him fled from her mind, leaving her tongue-tied. Her first instinct was to bolt from the scene rather than try to explain why she had not told him she was in Hudson. That same reticence seemed to be reflected in Jack's eyes; this unplanned encounter thoroughly throwing them both into an state of confusion.

They both mouthed meaningless words to each other, clumsily working through some semblance of a conversation that lasted less than a minute. Twin coals that once burned as one had turned stone cold, the former lovers behaving more like passing acquaintances. Absent from this meeting was any sense of excitement or jubilation; no crushing embrace or feverish kiss.

Jack's heart sank perceptibly when Lisa admitted she had been back for maybe a week—and that she was selling Fairfield.

"Well, I guess that was always the plan, wasn't it?" he spoke with an air of indifference, despite the chill brought on by the revelation. Yes, you always said you wanted to retire to France, Lisa. I never figured it would be so soon; and not without telling me, first.

Rather than prolong the sheer awkwardness of the encounter, Lisa excused herself, claiming—truthfully—she had a busy schedule to keep.

"'Bye'," she said, before turning to climb into the SUV.

"'Bye'," Jack managed to articulate, a lump forming in his throat watching her hasty retreat.

No "See you later" or "Let's catch up soon", and certainly not anything close to "I'm ready to make up".

Jack looked on a second or two while Lisa drove away, struck by the memory of another similar departure over a year prior, the one that had come as a sort of coda to their "break". Attempts had been made back then to repair that break; circumstances had not been in their favour.

"Not goodbye," he had corrected her at the time, a sad smile creasing his face. He remembered being heartsick at the prospect of suffering another lengthy separation from her, especially when their relationship was still so fractured.

"'til next time," she had repeated, her eyes misting, almost as if she sensed it could very well be the last time they ever saw each other.

The fact it almost was the last time they ever saw each other was not lost on Jack. His brush with death brought her rushing back. Now, he considered something new: Would she ever have come back if I had not had the heart attack? She did write that letter... But no. Just as swiftly as she had arrived, she had left him.

And now she's driving away again. For a fleeting moment he entertained the notion of chasing her down. No, that would be foolish, Jack thought, idly scratching the side of his face. She gave no indication she was happy to see me; let it go. That whole meeting went over like a lead balloon. Dejected, he paced back to his truck, trying to stem the flood of old memories of happier times with Lisa.

We're driving off in opposite directions. I'm going to Heartland, and she's going to Fairfield. She's selling Fairfield. I must have missed the realtor's signs, somehow. Jack knew how he had missed them, however, as he had taken to deliberately avoiding looking at Lisa's property any time his course took him along the stretch of road bordering it.

He could not help but remember the first time he had seen Fairfield up close. I was driving Lisa back after I told off that jerk of an ex-husband of hers. I was so happy that she still wanted to talk to me after leaving her stranded at the auction. She's so forgiving. Why did she give me a second chance? She accepted my apology so easily. I thought I had blown it.

His brain had been spinning at top speed throughout that drive, reaching for some way of asking her out on an honest-to-goodness date, but could think of no simple way to bring up the subject. Thank goodness she had provided an opening when she playfully asked if he had a plan in mind about how he was going to make it up to her. He had always felt comfortable and relaxed at his cabin, so before he even knew what he was saying, he asked if she was free to go fly fishing with him in a few weeks.

"Well, as a matter of fact... I do have something in mind about how to make it up to you..."

And she said "yes" so quickly, I almost couldn't believe my ears. What was I thinking asking a woman like Lisa out to a ratty old fishing cabin for a date?

Presently, Jack pulled back into Heartland. The sun was starting to go down, splashing golden rays across the open fields, highlighting the tops of the trees. He noticed Amy and Georgie in the jumping pen; the former taking a new horse around the course over what looked like empty liverpools. Heart and feet heavy, he dragged himself onto the porch and sank heavily into the bench, mind still full of that first date with her.

"To whatever it is," she had toasted them, a spark of warmth bursting in those blue eyes he already loved so dearly.

Whatever it was, Jack now thought with a doleful shake of his head. She didn't even tell me she was back in Hudson. After all we've been through, she didn't see it fit to tell me she was selling Fairfield. I deserved that much at least, didn't I?

But the more he tried to take umbrage at Lisa's lack of communication this time around, the more he was convicted of his own behaviour the last time they were together. She doesn't want anything to do with me after that falling out we had over that ridiculous hospital bed. The spark in her eyes was gone today. I never thought those eyes could look so cold... And sad.

It tormented him to know he was the proximate cause of that sadness and cold, impersonal reception.

Of all the dumb luck. I can't believe after all that avoidance, I had to run into Jack at the mailboxes. Lisa replayed that disappointing encounter, analysing each careless word spoken, wondering what she might have done differently. I honestly have no idea how to interpret how that went down back there, she thought. I don't know how to read that expression on Jack's face. Was he happy to see me? He didn't sound like it. And he certainly didn't sound surprised when I told him I was selling my place. What did I expect, anyway? That he would break down and beg me to stay? Oh, no. That's not Jack Bartlett's style. In fact, I have no idea at all what he was thinking. It's like we were almost strangers by the way we talked.

Lisa pulled onto the access road to Fairfield, flashing by the 'For Sale' sign. Her heart throbbed after concluding that might very well have been the last time she ever saw Jack. What a sour note to end things on, she mused bitterly. What a wasted opportunity.

Business concerns soon took over once again as she was obliged to inspect the clean-up job done by the landscaping company. Everything looked ship-shape; Fairfield would be more than ready for prospective buyers the realtor wished to bring for a viewing.

Out of nowhere, a distant memory of Val Stanton's mocking voice surfaced. "So, you'll be living at Fairfield, then?"

Lisa paused in her tracks, swept up in the residual irritation of that long-ago exchange. "Jack did hit the jackpot, didn't he?" Val had teased, though she seemed to know she was poking at one of Lisa's private insecurities. "I'm sure you'll have an ironclad pre-nup."

Val's thinly veiled antagonism stirred up feelings of resentment now. Jack and Lisa's hasty engagement was over just as quickly as it had begun, all because they truly had not seriously considered how their lives would come together in a practical sense. Oh, we had the romantic side figured out, Lisa acknowledged, but now even that's gone. No engagement, no marriage. We'll never be together at Fairfield now, and we certainly won't ever have France. Our relationship is officially road-kill, and I'll bet Val the Vulture is still lurking around, just waiting for an opportunity to pounce.

Next Chapter: Chapter 24: Things I’ve Been Meaning to Tell You

#Heartland #Heartland fanfiction #My Fanfiction #wide river to cross #Chapter 23 #Chance Encounter #Jack Bartlett #Lisa Stillman #JISA #Tim Fleming #Amy Fleming #Ty Borden #Scott Cardinal #Val Stanton #Maggie Duval #Nick Harwell #Fairfield Stables #Cinders

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gerec · 4 years ago

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AU-gust 2020 Prompts

AUs 1-10 on Ao3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/25749364

11. Farm/Ranch AU - Cherik Xavierine, Cherigan?

A day late but I did get it finished! Based on an actual place in Colorado, the Dunton Hot Springs which seems to be very cool and very expensive lol :D

----

It’s an hour’s drive from Telluride to their designated home for the week, a luxury ranch slash resort nestled in a picturesque valley in the San Juan mountains. Charles is still in shock that this is the place they’ll be spending their vacation this year, given Raven’s (and Charles’) tastes and their penchant for more cosmopolitan locales or beach-y destinations. But Raven insisted that they were overdue for a change in scenery, and so Charles caved dutifully to her sisterly demands, and set her loose to do all the necessary planning.

Now, as he’s pulling up in front of a few scattered log cabins (and tents!) surrounded by a sea of green, Charles thinks he should have fought much harder for that villa in Capri.

“Isn’t this view magnificent?” Raven says, throwing the passenger door open and taking an exaggerated breath of fresh mountain air. He concedes that the scenery is quite beautiful, in that ‘rugged old west’ kind of way, though he’s not ready to pat her on the back yet until he gets an actual look at the lodgings and the amenities.

So far…he’s not all that impressed.

“You know this place used to be an old mining town? Some of these cabins are originals from the 1880s—”

“Oh my god, Raven, please tell me there’s indoor plumbing here? If you tell me I have to do my business in an outhouse I’m turning this car around and taking the next flight home.”

Raven laughs, shoving him good naturedly as they grab their bags out of the trunk of their rental SUV. “You are such a snob, Charles—”

Charles snickers. “You’re one to talk.”

“Anyway, this place has been renovated and updated from top to bottom with five star amenities. En-suite bathrooms, Wi-Fi, gourmet meals and our cabin has a private soaking pool with a view of the mountains! I think I know you well enough to know your minimum threshold for ‘roughing it’ in the woods.”

Charles shrugs, smiling as he follows Raven up the path and towards the main lodge for check-in.

“Nothing wrong with having standards, darling.”

Charles’ opinion of the place goes up a bit once they get to their cabin, which is a one bedroom + one loft that used to be the town’s General Store. It’s quaint, and more than a little kitschy, complete with old John Wayne movie posters on the wall. The décor is a little (a lot) more rustic than he’s used to, but he’s willing to give it a go solely on the presence of running water and a bathtub, and being steps to the ‘Saloon’ where the bar and restaurant is located.

His opinion goes up even more with the quality of the food available, when he and Raven sit down for dinner that evening, to a splendid meal of smoked pork tacos, lamb loin and huckleberry turnovers with whipped cream. It goes a long way to appease the part of Charles that preferred a less isolated vacation spot, or at least somewhere with a lot more people to flirt with and share a drink. Most of the other lodgers here are couples or families with kids, which is a little disappointing, especially compared to last year’s trip to Rio…

All of that changes once Raven heads off to turn in, leaving Charles to nurse a whiskey at the bar, the ambient chatter of the other guests lulling him into a state of relaxation. Though the peace only lasts for maybe twenty minutes, before the door to the Saloon swings open, and two very handsome, very fit specimens in plaid shirts and tight jeans saunters in. One has hair that’s a bit wild and muscles practically straining his sleeves, while the other looks equally dangerous and sexy, with sharp eyes and an almost feral smile.

The bartender Kitty – a lovely young lady Charles has been chatting with about the activities available at the resort – looks up and snorts, just as the two men turn in their direction, their gazes landing squarely on Charles.

“Well that’s gonna be trouble,” she says, smirking at Charles’ gobsmacked expression (because oh my god so hot) and the very intent looks he’s suddenly getting from the objects of his overwhelming lust. “Look at those two competitive idiots over there, ogling you like you’re a juicy piece of steak.”

Charles swallows, trying very hard not to drool at the very finely toned biceps and chest muscles he can see even from across the room. “Do they work here too?”

“Sure. Logan and Erik. They take the guests out on excursions; horseback riding, hikes through the mountains, rock climbing, rafting. Whatever’s on the day’s schedule. I think they’re taking the horses out again tomorrow.”

Suddenly, the itinerary Raven’s planned for them this week looks a hell of a lot more appealing, with Charles intending on making the most of the incredible views and the very fine amenities.

“I think I should probably turn in,” he says with a grin, downing the last of his drink and licking his lips just a little, just to see if he gets any kind of reaction (he does). “I’ve got to get up early and sign up for some horseback riding.”

#gerec writes #cherik #xavierine #cherigan #ranch au #au-gust 2020 #august writing challenge #day 11 #this is dumb crack #that i did way too much research for lol

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rubymoon-snape · 4 years ago

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Disclaimer: I don't own Voltron Defender of the Universe.

Summary: Lotor has a new plan to take over Planet Arus and make Allura his bride, and this new plan involves...Keith?

Author Note: This is Kallura and one sided Lotura.

Warning! This is a darker story than I usually write. There is graphic depictions of violence and gore and character death (only one major character).

"The Lure of the Moon"

Keith slowly came to, a couple things becoming clear. He was tied to a chair and was in a dim, dirty dungeon. Then, the aches and pains started. He gritted his teeth, not wanting to cry out, especially since he didn't know exactly who had captured him, though he had a pretty good idea.

"Good evening, Commander."

Keith didn't respond. The pain was too much to allow him to reply to the prince as much as he wanted to. Lotor stalked forward and grabbed a handful of Keith's hair, yanking on it and causing Keith to involuntarily cry out. Lotor smirked. "That's better."

He yanked Keith's head to the side and ripped the white collar of Keith's uniform off, exposing his neck. He withdrew a syringe and injected a serum into Keith's neck. Keith's eyes rolled back into his head, and he fell back into unconsciousness.

Lotor grinned. This plan was going forward without a hitch. Now, it was time for the next step. He untied Keith and dragged him to a command ship, throwing the unconscious body of the commander into a fighter. Lotor ordered the robots to fly to Arus but not enter the airspace. Once they were close enough, Lotor ordered the fighter Keith was in to be ejected and fired upon but not destroyed. Lotor watched as the fighter plummeted to the ground near the castle. He quickly flew away when he saw a figure on horseback emerge from the castle.

%%%

The cameras showed that the fighter that entered their airspace had crashed near the castle. Lance looked at the members of his team; they had been his team since Keith had been captured. Speaking of which, they had been trying to put a plan together to rescue their commander. It was strange that Lotor hadn't used Keith's absence as a chance to launch an attack on the planet, but they couldn't dwell on that now, especially since someone needed to check who was in the downed fighter. Even though Allura wanted to go, Lance shook his head. "As much as we're sure that Lotor has left the area, we can't risk your safety. You know that's what Keith would have wanted. I'll go."

Lance left the castle on horseback, racing to the site. He knew the princess was hoping that it was Keith who had crash landed in the fighter; everyone was, but there was no reason for Allura to risk her life for Keith, especially since Lotor knew of her affection for their commander and had no qualms about using that to his advantage as he had done before.

Lance arrived at the crash site, dismayed at the wreckage. He dismounted and started searching for whoever was there. He didn't want to get his hopes up, but when he saw it /was/ Keith, he immediately radioed it in.

Keith managed to open his eyes a little, long enough to see the familiar face of his best friend and second-in-command. He breathed a sigh of relief, catching Lance's attention. "Lance."

"It's okay, buddy. I got you." Lance wasn't that concerned that Keith's eyes rolled back into his head, but what /was/ concerning was that Lance swore Keith's eyes were gold for a second. He shook his head. 'It must have been a reflection,' Lance decided as he lifted Keith into his arms before settling him on the horse he rode from the castle. He mounted the horse, sitting behind his unconscious commander and put his arms around him to keep him steady as his gripped the reins. The trip back to the castle was quick, but Lance hoped the jostling Keith received didn't aggravate the injuries the commander received during his brief capture.

%%%

Allura was sitting outside the infirmary with her head in her hands while Lance was pacing. Hunk and Pidge were sitting beside the princess, trying to help her feel better with little anecdotes from their time at the space academy. The misadventure tales were nice to hear, but Allura couldn't bring herself to smile at them. Keith had escaped Planet Doom a second time and was recovering in the infirmary. However, the team didn't know his condition. Doctor Gorma shooed them out before they could get an update.

"Lance, please stop pacing. You know Keith will be fine."

"I can't help it, Hunk. He's my best friend, so it's rough to see him like that."

"You're not the one who usually paces. That's Keith's thing, especially when he's trying to think things through," Pidge pointed out.

"Well, he's not in any condition to pace right now."

"Now now, lieutenant. The commander's condition is not as dire as you think." Doctor Gorma stepped out into the hall. "His injuries were strangely superficial, and he is due to regain consciousness any moment now. You may see him."

Allura and Lance hurried to Keith's room with Hunk and Pidge right behind them. Keith was laying on his back and was dressed in a pair of near white hospital pajamas (since his uniform was torn and dirty). Allura reached out and attempted to brush Keith's hair out of his face, but his locks were about as stubborn as the rest of him and bounced right back into place.

The light touch of Allura's hand was enough to coax Keith back to consciousness. His eyes slowly opened, only to be snap shut again. "Wh-Why are the lights so bright?"

The Force exchanged confused looks. "Uh, Keith, the lights aren't any brighter than normal."

"Can they be turned down until I readjust?"

"Readjust?"

"You know how dark Doom is, Lance."

Lance dimmed the lights down until Keith opened his eyes again and sighed. "That's better. Now..." Keith scrunched his face as the scents of the infirmary hit him. They were much stronger than usual, which was strange, but Keith didn't know how to phrase it. He let his muscles relax and opened his eyes again.

"Are you okay, Keith?"

"Yes."

"That remains to be seen, Commander." Doctor Gorma entered the room and checked his vitals, comparing them with the chart that was filled out when he was admitted to the infirmary. "Since you all have seen him, I want you to leave, so he can get some rest."

"I'm staying here," Allura announced.

"We figured." Lance placed a friendly kiss to Allura's cheek.

Keith saw that and growled, but the growl was more animalistic than should have been possible. Lance heard the growl and stepped away from Allura, causing Keith to cease growling. Lance raised an eyebrow at his best friend. "Dude, are you okay?"

Keith shook his head like he was trying to clear it. "Yeah. I'm fine. When can I go back to my room?"

"Tomorrow, provided you rest tonight."

"All right." Keith leaned back against the pillow. He gently grasped Allura's hand as Doctor Gorma left the room.

Allura kissed Keith's cheek. "I'm glad you're back safe and sound."

"Me too, Princess. Me too."

%%%

Keith was released after breakfast the next morning with a clean bill of health, even though one of the blood tests showed a strange substance in his blood stream. However, since it didn't appear to be dangerous, Doctor Gorma had no reason to keep Keith in the infirmary.

Hearing that the commander had been released from the infirmary, Nanny prepared a delectable lunch, of which the entree was steak cooked to order. Keith surprised his team by ordering his rare instead of medium.

Once Nanny left with the orders, Lance turned to Keith. "Rare?"

Keith stared at his best friend. "What?"

"In all the years I've known you, you have /never/ ordered your steak rare."

Keith shrugged. "I felt like trying something new."

After that, lunch was relatively quiet. Lance couldn't help but stare at Keith as he ate his rare steak. His best friend had been acting strange since he escaped from Planet Doom, and he was sure /something/ had to have happened since Lotor would /not/ take advantage of having Keith in his clutches. Lance was in such deep thought that he almost missed Keith asking him a question.

"Hey, Lance, you wanna spar?"

"Wha-oh, yeah. Sure, but are you okay to spar?"

"Yeah. Doctor Gorma doesn't have me under any restrictions."

%%%

Lance hit the mat again, breathing heavy. Normally, he was a good competition for Keith, but today, Keith was wiping the floor with him.

"C"mon, Lance! Let's go again!"

"I'm...beat...Keith. Why...don't...you ask...Hunk?"

"Good idea." Keith left the training area.

Lance fell back onto the mat, still breathing hard.

%%%

Everyone was gathered in the lounge. Lance, Pidge, Hunk, and Allura were sitting on the couches and Keith was pacing. Keith was still restless, even after sparring with both Lance and Hunk, both of whom were still breathing hard.

"Dude, how...can you...still be restless?" Hunk asked.

"Yeah. Neither...of us...could keep up...with you!" Lance added.

"I know it's weird, but I can't explain it," Keith said.

"Look at the moon! It's so big and full! How beautiful!" Allura exclaimed.

Everyone turned and looked. Keith stopped pacing, his eyes locking onto the moon. He felt his heart rate increase the longer he stared at the moon, but he couldn't stop. Just as he felt like his heart was about to burst out of his chest, he fell to his knees, gasping in pain.

"Keith?" Lance was about to step over to him, but something made him stay put. Keith's gasping worried him, his worry increasing when Keith's screams caught in his throat, coming out as whines and growls.

Fabric ripping and tearing was expected as he felt his body changing. His bones felt like they were breaking and reforming simultaneously. His fingers lengthened, and his nails grew into sharp claws. His jaws and nose pushed forward into a lupine like muzzle. His mouth fell open, which showed his sharp fangs, as another whine escaped him.

His insides felt like they were melting as black fur sprouted all over his body. He couldn't hear anything over his pounding heartbeat and his whines and growls, but he felt a wolf like tail sprout at the base of his spine. His ears grew pointed and moved to the top of his head. His legs bent into the shape of a wolf's, and his feet changed into paws with exposed claws. His eyes changed into a solid yellow with no iris or pupil. His mind shattered, leaving only a couple of details. He knew his name was Keith and that he was a werewolf, but there was something else too, something just out of reach, but it didn't matter at the moment as his instincts took over. He threw his head back and howled at the moon.

Keith narrowed his eyes at the glass and metal separating him from the openness of the outside world. He growled and backed up to give himself enough room. He got down on all fours to allow himself to get enough speed and started running towards the window. He bursted through it and landed a little roughly on his feet, but he was finally free and thirsty for blood. He howled again and took off, running away from the castle and towards the villages.

%%%

Lance couldn't believe what he just witnessed. He knew what happened. Keith, his best friend and commander, just transformed into a wolf-like creature, a werewolf. He wondered what Keith was up to now, having just escaped the castle. It looked like he was headed for the village, but just beyond the village was the forest, where the Green Lion's den was.

"Wha-what just happened?" Allura asked, collapsing onto the couch.

Lance turned to face her. "Somehow, Keith is cursed. I suspect Lotor and Haggar. They cursed Keith."

"He didn't look like a wolf, not all the way at least," Pidge mentioned.

Lance shook his head. "He's a werewolf, and we need to keep an eye on him to see what he's doing, where he's going, and if he can transform back. To the lions!"

The four pilots dashed off to and launched their lions.

"Pidge and Hunk, comb the forest and keep an eye out for Keith. He may have been heading that way."

"Roger that," they chorused.

"Allura, stay with me and let's make sure the village is safe."

"Surely Keith wouldn't harm my people."

"Commander Keith wouldn't, but we don't know what his mental state is right now."

%%%

Keith dashed through the streets on all fours, driven by his instincts. He could smell the people in the houses that lined the streets. He howled and charged at one of the doors at random, crashing through it like it was made of paper. He growled and stalked through the house, looking for his prey.

He found his prey in the same room. The woman was still on the bed, but the man was standing with a gun pointed in his direction. However, the man's bravery faltered as he came face to face with the werewolf that invaded his house, his hands shaking in fear. The man still shot at him but missed, and that gave Keith the opening he needed.

He slashed his claws across the man's throat, catching the carotid artery and causing blood to spurt and spray from the wound. The woman screamed, sending Keith further into a rage. The sound was too loud, and he had to make it stop. He clamped his teeth around her neck and ripped her throat out, silencing her forever. He loved that he had a relatively easy time finding and killing his prey. With the threats taken care of, Keith took his time eating his fill. Once he had eaten their livers, kidneys, stomaches, and intestines and lapped up a lot of the blood, he licked the blood off his muzzle. He calmly stepped back through the demolished door, standing mostly upright. A dual roar from overheard drew his attention, and he watched as two things landed not too far away, joined shortly by two more.

%%%

Lance spotted Keith first, exiting a house via a busted door. He was worried about the owners of the house. He hoped they were out visiting friends or something, but he feared that they were dead. "Allura, Pidge, Hunk, keep Keith distracted while I check the house."

"Keep him distracted? How?" Pidge asked.

"Anyway you can, but don't let him leave." Lance stealthily exited his lion, not attracting Keith's attention and stole into the house via a window in the back. The scent of spilt blood assaulted his sense of smell the second he entered the house, but he still had to confirm it with his eyes. He wished he hadn't. The sight of the carnage was almost too much for the Red Lion pilot to take. He quickly exited the house and spent a couple minutes heaving into the bushes outside. He hoped none of the others had to see this.

%%%

While Lance was sneaking into the house to check on the owners, the three remaining pilots had to keep the attention of their commander turned werewolf on them.

"I could just trap him in a net," Pidge suggested.

"No. He's still Keith. Let's try talking to him," Allura rebuked.

"If you think so, Princess. We'll be by your side in case he attacks."

The three pilots exited their lions, Allura in the lead, but Hunk and Pidge were less than a step behind her.

"Keith, I know you're in there! Please come with us back to the castle!" Allura pleaded. Keith looked at her. He felt like he knew her, but why and who was she?

"Allura! Get away from him!" Lance ordered, coming from behind the house. "He killed the two people inside. He's dangerous."

"No. He's still Keith. I don't know what Lotor did to him, but-" Allura started.

"We /know/ what he did to him! He's a werewolf!" Pidge cut in.

"He's killed and will kill again if we don't take him down. If Keith were himself, he'd tell us to do it in order to save the people," Hunk added.

"No." Allura couldn't believe the boys were willing to kill their leader.

"Now, get away from him, Allura!" Lance ordered again, having skirted his way around the werewolf, and was now standing with the other pilots.

"No!" Allura stood with her back to the black werewolf, showing that she trusted him.

He tentatively took a step forward and sniffed in her direction. The scent she carried made him pause. Her scent screamed 'mate.' He dropped to four legs and carefully started to edge closer, wanting to be by her side, to protect her if need be.

"Allura, watch out!" Pidge called out.

Allura turned to see Keith take another step towards her, bringing him close enough to bite or scratch her, but to her relief, he did neither. He stood by her side, his fur pressed up against her leg. She reached down and stroked his fur. He allowed her touch, relishing in the feeling of being near her.

Allura smiled. "See, boys. He's still Keith inside. He recognizes me."

Lance looked at the calm werewolf at Allura's side. "I don't know, princess."

"What do you mean, Lance? He's so calm and sweet right now."

"I have a theory. Come here, Allura." Lance held a hand out in her direction.

Allura paused, looking from Keith to Lance's hand. She started walking slowly towards Lance, and Keith started growling, teeth bared in Lance's direction. Allura stopped and headed back over to Keith, who stopped growling. He gently grabbed Allura's jumpsuit with his teeth and led her away from the group. He nudged her to sit down and laid down next to her but kept an eye on the other three.

"Yup. I was right. He doesn't recognize us."

"But why is he being protective over me then?" Allura asked.

"His instincts probably see you as his mate."

"His mate?"

Keith lifted his head at the word 'mate.' He looked at his mate, thinking she had called him her mate as well. She would make such a pretty werewolf if he turned her, and she could be with him forever. However, if he did it right now, the three men would probably kill him, and then, his mate would be alone. No, he had to wait to do it; had to wait until they were alone and hopefully could do it without her screaming.

%%%

Allura absentmindedly stroked Keith's fur as she thought. She needed to get Keith back into the castle as she was certain he would transform back when the moon set and wouldn't want to be outside and without clothes. She nodded and stood up, drawing Keith's attention. Where was his mate going?

"Come on, Keith." Allura gestured at the black werewolf. "Let's get you back inside. It'll be much better in there."

Keith looked from his mate to the open doors of the castle and back as if asking if she was going to be in there as well.

Allura smiled. "Yes. I'm going to be inside as well."

Keith stood up but remained on all fours as he padded alongside Allura. Lance watched as the duo entered the castle. He wasn't sure what was going to happen. He just hoped that this wasn't permanent and the curse could be broken.

%%%

Allura escorted Keith back to his room and sat down on his bed. She patted the bed, and Keith jumped up next to her. She stroked his fur. "I think you should get some sleep, Keith. I will be by to check on you in the morning, when you're feeling better."

Keith reached out and caught the sleeve of her jumpsuit with his claws. A whine slipped from his throat. He didn't want his mate to leave.

Allura stopped when she felt a tug on her sleeve. She saw Keith's claws caught in the flowy sleeve and stepped closer, allowing his claws to disengage from her sleeve. She kissed the top of his head between his ears. "I will be back in the morning. I promise."

Keith realized that when his mate returned, it would be the best time to turn her. When she stepped away again, he did not reach for her. He remained on the bed, watching her leave. Once the door closed, he closed his eyes and thought about the next morning when he would turn her.

%%%

The next morning, Allura left her room, heading for Keith's room to check on him as she promised. She knocked on the door and was surprised that the door was still unlocked, sure that Keith would have locked it once he was human again. She stepped into the room far enough to allow the door to close behind her.

Her blue eyes landed on the bed and was dismayed at what she saw. Keith was still a werewolf. She sank down onto the bed. She had been so sure he would be human again in the morning.

%%%

A scent wafted over to Keith's nose, which twitched as he recognized the scent as his mate's. She was back! He opened his eyes and chuffed in her direction. However, she didn't understand the command to come closer, but he didn't take offense to that. She would understand once she transformed. Speaking of which, it was finally time. He raised up from his prone position to a reclined position, startling Allura and causing her to stand up.

He wasn't going to let her get away again. He lunged forward and sank his teeth into her left forearm. Her scream was cut off by Keith putting one of his hands over her mouth. He growled at her to be quiet, eyes flashing. Allura whimpered but didn't make another sound. Keith removed his hand and released his mate's arm.

Allura grasped her arm, staring at Keith in shock. The black werewolf licked the blood off his teeth, pleased with himself. He then gently nudged her to sit down on the bed. Once she transformed, then she would understand that they were mates. For now, he wasn't going to let her out of his sight. He curled around her, his tail coming to drape over her legs.

%%%

Allura couldn't believe that Keith bit her. Now she was going to turn into a werewolf, but no one would know it was her as Keith wasn't letting her leave and no one would come looking for her in Keith's room.

However, it was hard for her to keep her eyes open with the warmth curled around her and the lack of sleep she got last night from worrying about Keith. Against her will, her eyes fluttered closed, and her breathing evened out as she fell asleep.

%%%

Keith would have grinned if he could. He could tell his mate was tired, and it was his job to take care of her. He wondered if she would be too tired to go out hunting after her transformation that night.

He laid his head down with his muzzle almost buried in her hair. He loved her scent, especially since she was his mate. He didn't sleep but was on alert in case the door opened while his mate was sleeping.

%%%

Allura yawned and stretched as she opened her eyes, which were met with a strange sight. She wasn't in her room. Where was she? She sat up, and her eyes fell on a tall bookcase, its many shelves housing books from many different genres. The only person who would have this bookcase in his room was Keith. Allura smiled before that morning's events came rushing back. Her smile fell, and she started shaking. She didn't know what the future was going to bring, and it brought tears to her eyes.

%%%

Keith raised his head when Allura sat up. She looked around the room for a moment before she started shaking. He could practically taste the fear rolling off of her and was surprised when he detected the scent of tears. Was she so frightened that she was crying? That wouldn't do, especially with moonrise so close.

Keith shifted positions so he could comfort his mate. He gently rubbed his head against hers. He was surprised when she grabbed fistfuls of his fur, almost tugging him closer. He could feel her tears wetting his fur and nosed her hair.

"Why is this happening to us? Why couldn't we just live in peace? What right did Lotor have to ruin our lives?"

Keith didn't know what she was talking about, but he let her cry as he did his best to comfort her. Her fit only lasted thirty minutes, but she continued to cling to the black werewolf until Keith saw the moon rising. He gently grasped Allura's sleeve and tugged her over to the window, which gave her an unobstructed view of the night sky.

Allura let Keith tug her over to the large window. She didn't know what he wanted her to see, but she lacked the energy to resist. She lifted her head to take in the beautiful view, and her eyes locked onto the moon. She felt her heart rate increase the longer she stared at the moon, but she couldn't stop. Just as she felt like her heart was about to burst out of her chest, she fell to her knees, gasping in pain.

Allura's gasping didn't worry him, but Keith felt bad that his mate had to be in pain. His slight guilt increasing when Allura's screams caught in her throat, coming out as whines and growls.

Fabric ripping and tearing was expected as she felt her body changing. Her bones felt like they were breaking and reforming simultaneously. Her fingers lengthened, and her nails grew into sharp claws. Her jaws and nose pushed forward into a lupine like muzzle. Her mouth fell open, which showed her sharp fangs, as another whine escaped her.

Her insides felt like they were melting as blonde fur sprouted all over her body. She couldn't hear anything over her pounding heartbeat and her whines and growls, but she felt a wolf like tail sprouted at the base of her spine. Her ears grew pointed and moved to the top of her head. Her legs bent into the shape of a wolf's, and her feet changed into paws with exposed claws. Her eyes changed into a solid yellow with no iris or pupil. Her mind shattered, leaving only three of details. She knew her name was Allura, that she was a werewolf, and that she and Keith were mates. Her instincts took over, and she threw her head back and howled at the moon.

Keith looked over his mate. He had been correct that she was indeed beautiful and just a little smaller than him. This would allow him to protect her if and when the opportunity arose. This was a very wise choice. He was quite pleased and responded with a howl of his own.

Allura heard another howl in response. She turned in that direction and saw a larger, black werewolf, but instead of being frightened, the sight soothed her. It was just her mate. She dropped to all fours and walked over to him. He dropped to all fours and rubbed his head against hers before she tucked her head under his.

Keith loved how close his mate was, but he could tell she was tired and hungry. She wouldn't have enough energy to hunt, so he would have to bring back prey for her. He gently urged her to lay down. She whined when he didn't immediately join her. He gave a short bark like sound, indicating that he would be right back and she was to wait for him. Allura laid her head down, not liking that her mate was leaving but trusting him all the same.

%%%

Keith quietly padded out of the room and down the corridors. He would kill the first person he came across and take the prey back to his mate. He just hoped it wouldn't take long.

Just as Keith turned around the corner, he came across a potential meal. His prey was so frightened that he lost his footing and fell to the floor. Keith growled before he pounced. He ended the prey's life before it could make a sound. He grabbed the body and carried it back on two legs. It wasn't as fast as running on four would have been, but this way there was less of a trail to follow should someone discover the guard was missing.

%%%

The door opened, causing Allura to get to her feet. She was prepared to defend herself in her mate's absence. She was quite capable of defending herself, but in the end, she didn't need to. Keith had returned with prey. He laid it down away from the door, and the two werewolves ate their fill, enjoying the organs and lapping up any spilled blood.

After their meal, both were tired from the events of the evening, so Keith curled around his mate to protect her while she slept and ended up falling asleep too.

%%%

Keith yawned and stretched. Before his eyes opened, he could tell something was wrong. His mate's scent was stale like she had left the room. Did something happen to her while they slept? He opened his eyes and frantically looked around the room. There wasn't anything out of place that he could see.

Then, screams from outside the room caught his attention. Apparently, his mate decided to go out, possibly to hunt. She needed to learn her place, which was by his side. He didn't want her going off on her own. They /were/ mates after all. He tilted his head back and howled before taking off on all fours, following her scent.

%%%

The blonde werewolf had cornered a couple of maids and was about to pounce on them, when she heard the howl. She paused, recognizing the howl. It was from her mate, who had been sleeping when she left. Her ears picked up the sound of his paws hitting the floor. She turned, dropped to all fours, and looked at the black werewolf. His golden eyes locked onto hers, causing her to duck her head in submission. He chuffed in her direction, a sound telling her to come to him. She slunk over and tucked her head under his. He rubbed his head against hers, letting her know he wasn't angry at her.

Suddenly, the alarm went off, and the ensuing chaos allowed Keith and Allura the opportunity to slip out of the castle unnoticed, where they ran across a most unwelcome visitor.

%%%

"Voltron Force to Castle Control!"

Lance, Pidge, and Hunk entered and approached Coran. "What's going on?"

"Lotor's flagship has entered Arus's airspace."

"Since it's Lotor, the princess should stay here, so we'll take the lions out to investigate," Lance ordered before the three launched their lions.

%%%

Lotor stared at the two werewolves exiting the castle. He recognized the larger, black furred one as the commander, but who was the blonde one? He stared at the smaller werewolf, his eyes hardening in anger when he realized what happened. "You were /not/ supposed to bite the princess!"

Allura hid behind Keith, who raised up on two legs. The larger werewolf growled at the man, who kept trying to get closer. "I might be able to get Haggar to reverse this, but you must come with me, princess."

Keith growled louder at the strange man, baring his teeth. Allura was still hiding behind her mate, trusting him to protect her. When the man reached out towards Allura, Keith snapped his teeth, almost catching the man's hand.

"Now, now, Commander. You need to stand down. Allura needs to come with me." Lotor stepped forward and reached out once again.

Keith didn't waste anymore time. He lept at the man trying to take his mate from him and grabbed his throat with his muzzle and ripped his throat out. Keith let out a triumphant howl, pleased that he dispatched the threat to his mate. Allura licked the blood from her mate's muzzle in thanks for protecting her.

Just then, familiar roars from overheard drew the werewolves attention from the most recent kill. Keith's fur bristled. The men that tried to keep his mate from him were coming. He started running away, knowing his mate would follow without question.

%%%

Lance saw the fleeing werewolves through his view screen. He knew one was Keith, but who was the other one? The blood drained from Lance's face when he realized that no one had seen Allura since the previous night. Keith must have bitten her, transforming her into a werewolf with no memories of her previous life.

He turned his head to look where they had come from and saw the dead body of the Prince of Doom. He zoomed in and saw that it looked like his throat had been ripped out. Lance zoomed back out and looked back in the direction Keith and Allura had run. He could just barely make out their tails disappearing into the forest. He sighed. This was not how defeating Lotor was supposed to go.

Fin

Author Note 2: The entire planet held a memorial for Princess Allura and Commander Keith. The populace were informed that the two leaders lost their lives defending the planet, and their bodies couldn't be recovered. A couple days later, Coran made a planet wide announcement about two wolf like creatures (one black and one blonde) living in the forest and about how they were dangerous and not to be approached for any reason. While Coran was making the announcement, Lance had to contact Galaxy Garrison and inform them of the demise of Keith and Allura. Space Marshal Graham was saddened by the event and agreed to send two replacement pilots to fly the lions. He even promoted Lance to commander, but Lance insisted that he stay with the Red Lion. He did, however, agree to be the in flight commander.

#voltron #voltron dotu #dotu keith #dotu allura #dotu pidge #dotu hunk #dotu lance #dotu lotor #dotu coran #werewolves #blood/gore/death warning #@dotuindex #80s voltron #kallura

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wolfpawn · 5 years ago

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I Hate You, I Love You, Chapter 96

Chapter Summary - Danielle and Tom go for lunch with Kenneth Branagh.

Previous Chapter

Rating - Mature (some chapters contain smut)

Triggers - references to Tom Hiddleston’s work with the #MeToo Movement. That chapter will be tagged accordingly.

authors Note - I have been working on this for the last 3 years, it is currently 180+ chapters long. This will be updated daily, so long as I can get time to do so, obviously.

tags: @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @jessibelle-nerdy-mum @nonsensicalobsessions @damalseer @hiddlesbitch1 @winterisakiller @fairlightswiftly @salempoe @wolfsmom1

If you wish to be tagged, please let me know.

“Ready?”

“Tom, I am having kittens, of course, I am not ready,” Danielle informed him as she walked up the steps of the central London hotel.

“Why do you say such peculiar phrases?” Tom laughed.

“It was either say that or go for a non-PG comment.” She stated.

“Fair enough, it does not make it any less odd of a statement.” He pulled her to him. “Kenneth is a lovely man, honestly, just be yourself, don’t fret and it will be fine.”

“He is the one that got you the Thor gig, isn’t he?”

“Yes, I was fortunate to get Wallander with him, then he directed Thor, he told me the job and I applied, as Thor, but as soon as he saw it was me, he gave me Loki’s script, and the rest, as they say, is history.” He grinned. “Wouldn’t it be odd if he is the one that gets you the ability to do as you wanted and work for yourself?”

“We’d owe him a lot.”

“Everything.”

“Not everything, I mean, if you did not put your heart and soul into Loki, then it would not have mattered, as it stands, your performance has made him the undeniable King of Marvel villains. You did that, but yes, without Branagh saying to take the script, it would all not matter.” She pointed out. Inhaling deeply, she stopped outside the restaurant. “Jesus, this is hard.”

Tom watched as she readied herself, breathing deeply to try and prevent her nerves showing. “Elle,” She looked at him. “You are incredibly dedicated and you have had nothing but amazing things said about you by your previous employers, you will do wonderfully at this.” He smiled encouragingly.

“I know, but this is big. I mean Game of Thrones is big, obviously, but a war movie, Tom, you did War Horse, think of that with more weapons, it’s going to be a logistical and hazard shit-storm, if I get it right, I am leapfrogging steps again, if I get it wrong, it is actually dangerous.” She paced slightly. “What is wrong with me, I was never this anxious before.”

“I don’t know, but you have no reason to worry, just breathe.” She did as he instructed. “Ready?” She nodded slightly. Taking her hand in his, Tom walked into the restaurant. The Maître d’ smiling politely at them as they did. “Branagh table.”

“Of course, Mr Hiddleston, this way.” The man brought two menus and a wine list and escorted the pair to a small alcove in the very corner of the restaurant, slightly hidden from the rest of the patrons.

There in the corner was Branagh, a thick file in front of him, as well as a tablet, looking over something. As though sensing someone was approaching, he looked up from his work. It took only a moment for him to recognise who it was and he rose to his feet. “Tom.” He walked around the table and embraced the younger man fondly. “How are you?”

“Great, it’s great to see you, you look well, what’s new with you?”

“Well, getting this off the ground.” He pointed to the file in front of him before looked to Danielle, “I can assume you are Ms Hughes?” he reached out to shake her hand, his face one of politeness and friendliness.

“Yes, thank you for considering me, Mr Branagh.” She took his hand and shook.

“You’re Irish?” He seemed somewhat surprised.

Remembering that she had read somewhere that his family came from the North during the Troubles, Danielle was worried for a moment that her Southern accent and nationality would be an issue. “Yes, Galway.”

“Lovely spot, went there on holidays a few times, especially Connemara, never could understand a word they said, most of it was in Irish, I loved it, never got to learn it though.”

“I grew up there, it’s taught from preschool when it’s all you hear six hours a day, it becomes second nature, I still do sums in Irish in my head.” She admitted, relieved that he seemed to be unbothered by her nationality.

“Fair dues, well, let’s order something to eat and talk business then, alright? Order whatever you want, the studio is paying.” He winked.

“Dangerous words.” Tom joked as he and Danielle sat down and looked at the menu. As soon as he read the first main course, he knew what Danielle would have, he smiled when he glanced to the side to see her focus on that order and none other.

“Stop, we could get you the side of a cow and you’ll still be as lithe as you are.” Kenneth dismissed. “There’s nothing on you. We were in Sweden, filming Wallander, and he put away a 14-ounce steak, honestly.” Branagh explained to Danielle.

“I remember, when I first came over, he was at his mam's, and I had cooked a lasagne, I cook big meals and freeze them, handier, and he polished off half a family-sized dish of it, then an hour later, I swear to God, comes in and grouses to his mum that he was hungry,” Danielle added.

Branagh nodded. “I’d well believe it. So, you know each a while then?” He looked between the pair interestedly.

“Six years.” Tom answered, “we finally only got our acts together back in October.”

“Well, better late than never,” Kenneth beamed.

The waitress arrived and both men paused for a moment, silently expecting Danielle to go first. She had read before that politely yet firmly assuming control was a coveted trait in set personnel of higher roles, so smiling courteously, she looked to the waitress. “May I have a goat’s cheese to start and then the duck, all the trimmings please and I am fine with just water, thank you.” The waitress took her menu, then looked to the men.

Tom grinned, knowing Danielle would never decline duck. He ordered his own food as well as a sparkling water before Branagh ordered his own.

“Good to see someone in film not afraid to actually eat,” Branagh commented. Danielle said nothing back, “I don’t mean that in an offensive manner.”

“I assumed not,” Danielle smiled. “My mother would go insane if she thought I had started starving myself.”

“All Irish mothers are prone to that.” Branagh agreed. “So,” he turned on the screen of the tablet. “The general premise, as you can imagine, is fairly simple, planes, tanks, guns and ships, ground soldiers and civilians; what I wanted to do, and that is why I was hoping for Lucas, but am very relieved he sent you to me since he is otherwise disposed of, is I want to perform a series of shot that incorporates the city bombings also. So…”

“St Pauls with the incendiaries, Balham station, the parts of London that nearly were burnt away, general destruction, and if I am not mistaken, you even mentioned Belfast and Dublin.”

“Yes,” Branagh beamed, elated that she seemed to get his idea. “You did your homework.”

“Didn’t need to, my father was an avid history lover and I spent most days he had a few hours off watching documentaries, willingly or otherwise.” She admitted. “I have to confess I still watch them now.”

“Brilliant, then you know the scale we are talking about.”

Tom knew a lot about film, RADA taught him more than just acting, it taught him a plethora of behind the camera work also, directing, producing, camera work, and such things, but what Danielle was talking about, the detail and her terminology made him realise he knew nothing of her job. He remembered the times stunt coordinators were working with him in different shows and movies, they were meticulous yet focused on the task, in truth, he rarely heard of safety officers before, they were simply just there. Danielle’s pace of talk and her focus on what Branagh had said he wanted showed she was incredibly capable and astute to the details of her job.

By the time the food came, Branagh had declared that he would have the studio send out her contract and that she need not worry about flights and accommodation, she was sorted where needed. “I am delighted that Lucas told me about you, you have no idea the sheer level of naysayers there are that will not even consider such ideas.”

“Probably frightened of the paperwork,” Danielle commented. She had noted such working with others, the loathed the paperwork, she thrived on it, used to having to go into detail with being a paramedic.

“I think so.”

“Excuse me a moment please.” Danielle rose from her chair and walked to the bathroom. She had not wanted to go, but she could tell that Tom was somewhat lost in the conversation that was taking place and she wanted to let him speak with his friend, so she went away for a moment to allow it to happen. Standing in front of the mirror in the women’s bathroom, she checked her hair and makeup. She had not done much, just put her hair back in a clip and made sure her face was somewhat tidy. She smiled at the outfit she had chosen, neat and yet not making her seem like she was in her fifties, Tom had looked at her with a surprised, yet approving smile when she came down after her shower before they left. Satisfied that she had left it long enough, she turned to return to the men.

"I don’t think I have heard of you being serious with someone since Thor,” Kenneth noted after Danielle left the room.

“I have not been,” Tom admitted.

“I take it she is someone very special then.”

Tom couldn’t help but smile. “She is.”

“How do you feel about her leaving for work?”

“What can I say, I was gone for three weeks not too long ago, I am leaving again in April and will be doing other work this year. It would be a tad rich of me to be against her leaving for work. Besides, you have not seen how hard she works, Danielle is dedicated to her work and loves it, I could never even consider asking her to stop and she would be the same. We have to juggle it, the same as everyone else in the business.”

“It’s not easy, but it can work; as long as you don’t do what I did and mess up,” Branagh warned. “I screwed up before.”

“Most everyone has,” Tom pointed out. “I spent so long pretending I didn’t love Elle, that I almost lost the chance to ever have her.”

“Well, it worked out in the end.” Branagh smiled. “Lucas Waters is a very hard man to get approval from, why do you think your girl has him ringing me demanding I take her?”

“Elle apparently made him feel foolish, she tore his work apart.”

“I am aware of that, but this is a closed shop Tom, our side of things has limited breakouts but behind the scenes, you have to all but sell your soul to breakthrough, what is it she has that made a man who has crushed many a dream and studio’s hearts ringing me and tell me no one else is worth my while?” Branagh looked to Tom for the answer. “What about her makes you want to be around her?”

“She is incredibly strong-willed, not in a stubborn manner, though she can be when needed, but when others would have shied away, she kept going. She is intelligent, as you have seen, she is an avid reader, so her knowledge about what you need for this movie, that is all her, no brown-nosing, she genuinely reads that much.”

“Shakespeare?” Branagh asked with a smile.

“Yeats, Shakespeare, Wilde, all of them and more, she will check the documentary channels long before she ever looks at anything else on TV other than sport. She has self- motivation, she does triathlons as well as work. When she injured her wrist at Christmas, she did not let that hamper her, she went straight to studying for this, in under two months, she went through a six-month course.” Branagh nodded. “She is an incredible person, she does not alter herself for others, the woman you have been sitting across from for the past hour is the same woman that will sit on the couch beside me later with our dog watching TV talking happily about the show she recorded last night at some obscure hour of the night.” Tom smiled as he recalled the excited squeak Danielle had made when something she wanted to watch was on late last night. “She is not afraid to be herself and sometimes that means not agreeing with you, she will fight for what she believes in, even if it means risking things she loves because it is right.”

Branagh noticed Tom swallow at that. “What did she do?”

“Made me see sense, but to do that, she had to risk everything, but she did it, hurting herself to do so.”

“It was worth it though.”

“I think so.” Tom smiled. “You won’t be disappointed, you’ll see that this Lucas guy saw, what other people she has worked with have seen. She is amiable, hardworking and will not disappoint, I promise.”

“Any woman that has you speaking about ‘our’ dog must be something serious and special.”

“Are you happy with what she is talking about?”

“I trust Lucas, I have worked with him for years when he said this is the person, I trusted his instincts, having met her, I can see she is incredibly able. Her line of work is male-dominated and she is better than most every one of them.” Tom smiled proudly. “So, how is Loki these days, I read he is coming out again this year?” Branagh asked, a smug smile on his face.

Tom parked the car in the driveway, they had said hardly anything since they had left the restaurant, but the mood was pleasant. He took the keys out of the ignition and looked at Danielle, who was staring straight ahead. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” she nodded, not looking at him. “Just daunted.”

“What do you mean?”

“Everything he wants, rubble, flooded tube stations, the weapons,” She started laughing slightly. “I am going to go grey.”

“You will not, you heard him, you will have your own team.”

“I cannot believe I am heading a team,” she shook her head in disbelief before the smile fell from her face. “What if they don’t respect what I say because I am a woman?”

Tom’s brows knitted together. “You know that’s not going to happen; if it does, there are protocols to go through.”

“I know,” she leant in against him “I am just wondering how I will make their murders seem like an accident.”

Immediately Tom started laughing. “Yes, that can be bothersome.” He kissed her temple. “Come on, Mac is not best pleased.”

Looking at the window, the pair laughed at the indignant look on Mac’s face inside the sitting room, looking out at them. “No, he does not, he probably wants to go to the bathroom.” Danielle got out of the car and went into the house, Mac dancing around her feet, leading her to the back door, where he stared between it and his owner, trying to explain to her his issue. “Alright buddy, here you go.” She opened the door and Mac ran out immediately. Shaking her head as she closed it again, she walked to the hallway just as Tom closed the front door. “The poor guy was bursting.” Tom rushed forward, putting his arms around Danielle’s waist before kissing her almost ferociously. “What has gotten into you?” She smiled against his lips.

“You are incredible.” Tom pulled her right in against him. “So fucking incredible.” His voice almost three octaves lower as he kissed her again.

“Did me talking shop turn you on?” Danielle seemed to realise what it was that had Tom so frisky.

“Mmhmm….” His hands made their way towards her ass, hoisting her up as he pressed them into the hallway wall. “You know I have a thing for your incredible brains.”

Part of Danielle was about to make a quip about Swift, but she decided it was not worth it and thought of something far more pleasurable instead. “Bedroom?”

“We haven’t christened the hall.” Tom reminded her.

#I Hate You I Love You #chapter 96 #Tom hiddleston fic #tom hiddleston #wolfpawn

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kscriba · 5 years ago

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About Me Tag

Thank you for the tag @blackcatsims!

Nickname: Natty, Tasha, + about 20 others Zodiac: Gemini Height: 5′6″ (~168cm) Last Thing Searched: "flights from Tokyo” as I’m trying to plan some trips in advance around Japan :) Favorite Musicians: P!ATD, FOB, but I’m more of a soundtrack or one-off kind of person Song Stuck in Head: Thankfully none If you had a time machine, would you go back in time or visit the future? I’ve never had a terrible amount of interest in the future, so likely travel back to 14th century & get the plague Do I Get Asks: Nope Following: Only a handful as I like to follow story blogs & don’t want too many updates per day so I can easily catch up Would you rather be rich or famous? I’d take either, depends on the amount and type, both have their perks but money would be more helpful Amount of Sleep: I aim for 8 but my body prefers 9 Lucky Number: 11 What I’m Wearing: AEO denim shorts & AEO shirt, which I’m lucky enough to be allowed to wear to work on the daily Dream Job: Fiction/Fantasy author Dream Trip: Been looking at Orient Express, European grassy fields and the like, but right now I miss Canada a lot If you were an animal, what would you be? Horse? Owl? Fox? No idea, really Favorite Food: Steak What are some of your favorite books/films/shows/games/etc? HP, The Agency series, Phantom of the Opera, B99, Seinfeld, Dragon Age series, Mass Effect, Studio Ghibli, Disney, Food Wars, One Punch Man, Nana, Princess Jellyfish, Ace Attorney, Professor Layton, TWAU, Fables, Heavy Rain, & D:BH but I’ll stop here lol Play Any Instruments: Cello & some piano Language(s): English, French, some Japanese. Describe Yourself as Aesthetics: Writing out my novel in a Studio Ghibli-esque environment where my little farmhouse is the only home in the surrounding 2 km radius.

I’ll tag @bubble-sims @cherrylattesims @treason-and-plot @hallucinosims & @ghostrait

#get to know me meme #text post

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podcastpalace · 3 years ago

Audio

Luxury Lounge- Pool Chairs & Horse Problems (@carlyaquilino) by The JTrain Podcast ....

Comic Carly Aquilino joins Jared in the Luxury Lounge this week to hear your complaints about the lack of steak fries at Yankee Stadium, not having A.C. in an Uber, the lack of chairs at pool, homeowner problems, being tired from riding horses, & too many shipping updates. Check it out and Enjoy!

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Subscribe to The JTrain Podcast on Apple Podcasts: itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/

By: Jared Freid

See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

#Podcasts #Audio

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chinad · 7 years ago

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bliss in new Asus flip chromebook

Apr 10, 2018

dreamt with my Tibet artist friend, Benba Chungdak, and his friend. we together build a company. the enterprise grows with our ages. in handling developing issues we stepped into middle aged and each have child. I saw touching moment daughter with dad. This week quite boring, for I relentlessly need assured our ordered Asus chromebook smoothly delivering to us, evade PRC customs’ deter or domestic censorship. Life can be easier with help from our dorm canteen’s aid, the woman loaned me ￥700 to pay alipay credit debt yesterday. It not only remove the tension, also let my ability to handle something in failing prison of PRC economic winter. Yesterday I also seeking equip our usb-c reader a tf card for data transferring and storage. woz's coming Asus chromebook has 2 usb-c ports while normal usb only one port, so I preparing shifting my usb and usb-c reader stick to him, now that his Intel NUC shifted to me and equips me a build-in card reader. We are migrating from usb stick to sd card. I long time intending upgrade our backup card storage, but always felt economically unfit for it. Now I am almost assured worthily to invest it. I also intended shift our old Dell notebook to my son’s mom, the small man long time complained her notebook I left her without battery, even I told our notebooks’ battery were shits. I even guessing she brought Trojan horses from PRC surveillance into the dell notebook my son and I used to play steam games, for she insisted worked on the notebook even she already had an old Hasee notebook I left her, after all my warns not to mess with our dell notebook. Now she can has a taste of her own bait. I felt glad to rip off the dell notebook, for it frequently refused windows’ patches. It also lagging in booting up, even running programs OK. After move it away from my son’s bedroom, my son will has a new desk to work on. I long time preparing my son an office space, but the dell notebook always occupied one. So my son usually wrote homework on a cheap table his mom used for her profiting tutoring. Now with 2 light chromebooks, my son has 2 fix computer desks to work on. that’s I long time intended, against his cheap mom's efforts to put him and her students in slavery situation, where only main business is tutorials, like in Mideast or Islamic. God, dad, its a yellow morning now. Sandstorm more and more common scene now here. Looking into future, so many holy discipline including severe genocide ahead. Quite some races deserve no future but hell. God put the chosen breaks through hardship and wasteland, and deserted. Bring rest to breed racing. Bring me my Royal China, my Crown Queen from Japan, Asoh Yukiko, into tangible world. God, dad, bring me to top view of the canyon.

Apr 6, 2018

first dreamt kill a bear. I don't want to hunt but soon I slayed it in fear of prey. then dreamt in my hometown just after wedding. I enjoy enviable sexual life with my bride, each time I never anxious but just insatiable intercourses. yesterday is our monthly cinema time with my son, woz. we watched blockbuster "ready player one". we almost missed it with fake Russian product, snow queen 3 which mimics frozen 3. we watched frozen 1 and 2 and impressed, and without hesitation we chose the snow theme movie, till 2 days before the lunar Mourning day I found we cheated by the Russian title. my son soon accepted my suggestion of change. and that's rewarding. I think "ready player one" is quite impressive in visual presentation. before the movie, I told my son my decision to put investment before deposition, in risk of CCP tyrant seizure. we never felt unease upon saving woz some pocket money via alipay's yuebao, till last Sunday we found yuebao restricting our automatic deposit, delayed more than ￥800 in cash account without profit for months, due quota restriction new CCP puppet financial regulator setup aiming to disable or malfunction the world largest fund. then I saw PRC tyrant relentlessly constrains civilian's cash flow while under table covertly leaks into its underground reservoir. I felt threatened and need to take action rather than passive been robbed. also in past months, our intended purchase, convertible chromebook, turned more dearer and scarcer on amazon China. we need response swift. my son agreed. after movie we ate hotpot near the cinema. the peanut sausage ran short, and a neighbor cheap mid aged man occupied himself unnecessary a full bowl of it against shortage. we used groupon and additional cash for more mutton. after returned to my dorm, I felt the rich meal let me energetic and delayed to sleep. I checked my purchase target monitoring and amazed by new chromebook on sale. I at once ordered it and paid by my deposit money for woz in last half year, near 2000 CNY. its so satisfying that I watched lately another episode of "the office" for completion of the wonderful lunar Mourning holiday. now last night dream is so sweet that I never know aging. God dad, bring me sooner my Royal China. bring me my Crown Queen from Japan, Asoh Yukiko, for I waited decades. grant us one more child for prosperous Eastern Asia. thx God, in this sedative morning.

Apr 2, 2018

dreamt history creation by 2 pals in three kingdoms period Chinese well known. one of them is Yuwei, with his family ie. his mother and young wife, forging his southern China country from scratch. I witness his charisma, his conquer over territory he bestowed. another guy's expanding his national border near southeastern China also in details in dream. its a sandstormy morning. last week I ripped one of zhone cms, https://agarten.in ,replace it with a tool site, a project management site. even still in experimental phrase, I already felt satisfying. my son last week installed an old famous file explorer on his android. I deleted it at once, and warn him the dangers of PRC government overtaken tool softwares. the file manager was a wonderful tool, but now manipulated by PRC government for large scale surveillance, like it purchased hundred of once perfect software tools mostly created by individuals or small enterprises, esp rooting tools. my son nodded. in night we co-operated online to assure his google voice forwarding phone enabling. but it turns out his forwarding phone consistently working for I called his google voice last year more than once, unlike my google voice never received phone call in last year, hence google require to re-verify to enable it. I told my son we should soon seek a grocer near our public spa so as not to lack fruits on our diet. I pray God grant me budget for the delicious food. my son now a considerable smart teenage, but he still hijacked by his sinful mother, who relentlessly challenged me and my parenthood. I warned my son not to frequent hospital, but last sunday soon after we returned from spa, he was arbitrarily brought by his mom left their house, left me alone updating his linux. they likely haunted eye hospital for my son's sight, on which the small woman recently fantastically obsessed. I told my son I day by day upset by Chinese teachers. they killing creativeness and smother orthodoxy. what a low moral they wholely obtained! even worsen than PRC government employee! God, dad, a new month starts yesterday, when we enjoyed downtown hostel pork steak so much. this month my credit debt again near 600 CNY. help me clear our debt and deal our daily budget lightly. bring me sooner my Royal China, my Crown Queen from Japan, Asoh Yukiko, for spring 2018 just budding new life and hope of life. bring my son his enjoyed game and ready office space he will step in with affirmative. thx God dad.

Mar 23, 2018

dreamt tutoring a kid playing game, in which there is a scene of lofty gate, player has to climb up to get reward to continue the game. later dreamt of math exam, on which I always reluctant to touch while my son seemingly excels in dream. its a pale morning. after a busy week preparing migrate my work space from acer chromebook to dell chromebook, this week I mostly resting. the solution expanding chromeOS side by side with linux works perfectly for me, with installing a tool crouton under chromeOS dev mode, I now enjoy security of google ChromeOS and versatile open world of linux, which so powerful and robust. Reviewing my clumsy linux experience so far, I see clearly windows losing. Bill Gates in half century spend half world wealth to improve world health and poverty is invalid. Its no hatred, but discipline or natural giveup Holy spiritual glad to see. Now Trump sees it, and Gates persuading USA president to continue to adopt the fake savior. God, world at large, esp abnormal humans desperate for their abnormal world staged so many ugly shows including obesity, LGBT, anti-society, etc. there are so many abused food/drug eaters in developed countries while average people encounter hanger everyday. Killing in mid east mostly exchange for food, but so many unfair between healthier living and sick food/sex/drug addictive. God dad, the Earth citizen needs merit based cleanse, like Trump’s new migration law. If man can’t live a healthy life, lives him hell. So does to drug esp opium takers, and breed racers. US entertainment circle stealth too much applause and selling too much cheap and unhealthy idols. USA esp weak democrats promoted too much cheap democratic notion upon world among which quite some disqualifies, esp hate culture and competing in breed nations, like Africa and Mideast. World crisis now mostly due to cheap human cattle, which noway to preceding nor prioritize animal and grand nature. cheap hurts but decency nutritious. A society can’t self-rely nor self-sufficient, a nation wiped from its land like Mideast. But Europe and USA still missing rule Israel learns thousand years, they let enemies inside. God dad, its a new salary day now, but yet QRRS release my salary so far. Yesterday I review my near 2 decades in QRRS Dorm, my youth and loving among PRC most exciting era, so called open policy period when PRC penniless but polite peasants adopted to work mills by Capital American buyers, on the land my ancestor bestowed. I saw my old friends here and found their hidden gay. I found my seeking family esp offspring efforts in all my half life, on this fresh land I chosen to pick up and grow upon to polarize. God dad, bring me sooner my Royal China, bring me sooner my Crown Queen from Japan, Asoh Yukiko. Grant us offspring new to Royal China. Blessing me new monument to develop zhone web. After workday I will fetch my son visiting my dorm monthly, permits us joyful reuniting this afternoon. Thx God dad.

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#Blogger #AsohYukiko #dream #God #life #love #benzillar #benzrad

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galadrieljones · 7 years ago

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OC Info Meme: Sene Lavellan

tagged by @silent-of-spirit. thanks, babe!! <3

GENERAL

name: Isene “Sene” Lavellan alias(es): Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste, Marquise, the Tall Red Elf, Princess (compliments of Varric) gender: Female age: 19-21, for the duration of the Inquisition and The Dead Season. I have headcanoned pieces of her life up to about the age of 30. date of birth: 9:22, the 5th of Cloudreach place of birth: Ansburg, the Free Marches (on her clan’s farming compound) spoken languages: Elvhen, Common sexual preference: Straight occupation: Inquisitor, Marquise to the Imperial Court (as of 9:44), Diplomat, Philanthropist, former Head Huntress to Clan Lavellan

APPEARANCE

eye color: green hair color: red and very curly height: 5’10” scars: little things here and there, plus one rather deep scar, on her lower back, right side (courtesy of a Red Templar, Emprise du Lion) burns: None overweight: No underweight: No? But she has very little body fat. She’s like a rail of lean muscle. Very lithe and “elfy” but just...tall. Like a tall ballerina.

FAVOURITE

color: yellow hair color: ?? her bald-headed elven man ?? eye color: she likes Morrigan’s yellow eyes music genre: She would not know what a music genre is, lol. She likes the Chargers and their drinking songs? movie genre: I don’t think she really understands much about theater, but she would entertain the notion for a friend. tv show: see above food: a big fat steak, bacon drink: coffee, rosé book: Her father has written several books of fairy tales that she does like to revisit (despite her genuine annoyance with him, as a man), and she also likes Andrastian history, and human folktales that she learned and read about while hanging out with her friend, Sam Hart, the blacksmith of Ansburg, when she was a teenager.

HAVE THEY

passed university: ...no. had sex: Yes had sex in public: ...yes? Not in front of a public audience, but in public places, yes. gotten pregnant: Yes kissed a boy: Yes kissed a girl: Yes, but not romantically. Platonic kisses. gotten tattoos: Yes (simple Mythal vallaslin, pale green) gotten piercings: No had a broken heart: Yes (though only very young). This is not a canon Sene, mind you. been in love: Yes stayed up for more than 24 hours: Yes.

ARE THEY

a virgin: No a cuddler: With Solas? Sure. Though she’s a heater, and he runs cold, so at night, in the bedsheets, it’s usually Solas who’s the cuddler, not Sene. a kisser: Yes? What is a a kisser? Someone who kisses or likes to kiss? Yes on both counts. scared easily: No, though her startle reflex is strong. Don’t startle her. You may get an arrow in the knee or eye or punched in the face. jealous easily: No, not really jealous. Insecure and self-questioning, but not jealous. Or, maybe a little jealous, but only of Mythal, and she’s aware that it’s entirely irrational, but Mythal is this gorgeous, tiny little woman with a great big power who had her boyfriend first, and he like, ended the world for her and all that. So. Yeah. It’s kind of hard to ignore if you ask Sene. trustworthy: Yes. She literally can’t lie without turning red and either starting to laugh or cry. She’s also a good secret keeper. dominant: No. Not really. Or, only on the battlefield and as a huntress--these are her specialties, where she is ultimately on her own. But she does not have a strong or dominant social personality. She prefers to observe, and to let others take the lead--particularly Solas, who is socially confident, charming, and secure. Much of her social submission is based on a touch of anxiety, which makes her awkward and insecure. submissive: As a partner, yes. She likes when Solas takes control. But they switch, and they have different roles. Solas is most certainly the dominant partner, socially and sexually. But Sene has had to take control emotionally many times. She is far more emotionally agile than Solas. in love: Yes, with the bald elven man. single: No

RANDOM QUESTIONS

have they harmed themselves: No thought of suicide: No attempted suicide: No wanted to kill someone: Yes drove a car: Lol no. Just a horse. And maybe a carriage? Though she’s probably really bad at steering. No patience. Would just ask why someone whose better can’t steer for her. have/had a job: Yes have any fears: Yes, losing people that she loves, because she has never really lost anyone? But the people around her have lost a great deal. Like her mother, and Solas, and many of her friends. So she always sort of fears that her number is still destined to come up, and that she will lose somebody close to her.

FAMILY

sibling(s): None. Though her cousin Terys is her same age, and they were raised in the same household. So he is sort of like a brother to her. parents: Rasha Lavellan (mother), Revasan Lavellan (father). Rasha was once a huntress but now does a great deal of the bookkeeping for the Lavellan clan’s estate. Revasan is a historian, a writer, and the clan Archivist, as well as Deshanna’s First. He is highly intelligent and eventually allows himself to be recruited to the Inquisition on a consulting basis after Sene and Solas are married, as the organization withdraws most of its ruling factions and instead serves as a vessel for peace-keeping, elven rights and social mobility, and historical reference. His main job is basically to work with Solas over a lengthy period of time to update, clarify, and slowly redefine current knowledge and Dalish beliefs pertaining to Elvhenan. children: None as of now, but eventually, she’ll have four (one daughter and three sons) with Solas pets: a milk cow, a mabari, and a bunch of stray cats that sort of just hang around their property in Crestwood

tags for @thevikingwoman @silent-of-spirit (right back at you!!) @wrenbee @ladylike-foxes @idrelle-miocovani @fadedforyou @5ftgarden @solverne @elfsplaining @dreadhobo @hansaera @adventuresinastrangeworld @buttsonthebeach <3

#oc info meme #sene lavellan

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hollygopossumlovesj2 · 7 years ago

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Jackson Wyoming, Part 2

Characters: Jensen Ackles x Reader; Mention of Jared Padalecki

Rating/Warning: NC-17 because apparently I’m incapable or writing anything else; Watch out for explicit sexual content, a tiny bit of angst, and whole lot of cliched (hopefully enjoyable) fluff

Word Count: 3,243

A/N: This is the Part 2 to my entry for Lau’s Summer Escape Challenge that the lovely @dancingalone21 put together. There will be more in this verse but I’m not sure when as I have a crap ton of updating to do on on going stories.

Summary: Jensen starts to act strange in the middle of your vacation with him and you begin to assume the worst.

Jackson Wyoming Part 1

Hollygopossum’s Master List

Even though the vacation had gotten off to a rocky start, like always, you and Jensen were able to make the most of it. Since the fiasco at Hunting Island, Jensen had been working really hard on adapting and letting some things roll off of his back.

You’d both been able to explore Jackson with very little disturbance. You’d walked through the downtown area, shopped at the all of the quirky little shops along the way. You’d stopped at a quaint cabin style restaurant that had a steak that was to die for, to eat lunch. Food was a big focus because Jensen had sworn off watching what he ate and that he would do a juice cleanse with Jared when he got back.

Did it bother you that Jensen had a best friend that he did pretty much everything together? No. You were glad that he had such great support while he was away from home. Did you find yourself getting a tiny bit jealous on occasion? Maybe a little, but it was usually fleeting at most. Jensen was very good at always making you feel special, even when you didn’t especially feel special.

In your explorations, you’d stopped at a bakery named Cocolove and taken some pastries and chocolate delicacies for later consumption. Maybe you’d eat them with Jensen on the quiet wrap around porch the next afternoon. Or maybe you’d find out what each sweet tasted like directly off of Jensen’s beautiful, freckled skin that night.

The possibilities were endless.

You were able to enjoy the horseback riding that followed a beautiful trail through grassy plains and around tall plateaus. The sight of Jensen in a pair of dark wash jeans that were heavily worn in a way that wrapped deliciously around his thighs was practically mouthwatering. The way he sat with absolute confidence on his buckskin Quarter horse was a sight you wouldn’t soon forget.

That had only been the first few days of your vacation together and there was a week and a half more of it to go. It might’ve sounded a little jam packed, but there was plenty of time spent around the cabin, too. You’d spent hours in the hot tub, wrapped around each other, sipping on chilled champagne. One evening you’d both fallen asleep in front of the lit fireplace.

It was all more than you would’ve ever expected or hoped for. Jensen had been so excited to explore and try new things that you couldn’t help mirroring his enthusiasm.

However, when Jensen said that he would be preparing a meal on his own Friday night you were a little suspicious. Not because he wanted to try his hand at a recipe, because occasionally he just wanted to try something new. No, it was more that he seemed nervous, which wasn’t a trait that you’d experienced with him very often.

Yes, he’d been nervous before when he’d asked you to go on a date with him, oh so long ago. You’d seen him be nervous about a part or maybe a difficult script. But this… this had you watching him carefully.

You’d watched him become more and more jumpy as the week had progressed. He would sneak off for an hour or two to be off on his own. Often you’d find him behind a locked door in the bedroom, his voice a low rumble as he spoke to someone on the phone. You could never make out any words, not that you were one to eavesdrop, but he now had you extremely worried.

What had he worried about in the past few years that he hadn’t been able to share with you?

You’d gone back to the couch by the time he emerged, looking like he’d nearly ripped his hair out by the roots.

“I’m gonna get started on dinner, so…” His eyes darted to land on anything in the room but you.

You finally couldn’t keep the concern to yourself anymore. “Are you okay, Jensen?”

It was then that your eyes connected, a deep blush settled on his cheeks and the smile he gave you was breath taking as always. “Yeah.”

“Do you want any help?” Baffled didn’t even begin to describe how you were feeling.

“Sure.”

*^*^*^*^*^*

It turned out that Jensen’s version of ‘help’ was keeping your hands off of everything and keeping him company instead. Which, to be honest, didn’t bother you too much because you were shit at putting anything together that was even remotely edible and Jensen knew it.

One of the many things that made you crazy about the man was that not only did he not mind that you were shit at domesticity, but that you marched to the beat of your own drum. He didn’t question when you were able to fix things for yourself, rather than come running to him for help.

You’d learned to be self-sufficient as early as possible. Because of that, you’d run into many men who had a problem with the fact that you wanted them in your life, but didn’t necessarily need them. You thought it was ridiculous to have to shove yourself into some mold so that some man would love you.

But after a slew of horrible relationships, Jensen had literally fallen into your lap.

No, really. You’d been having breakfast with a friend, opting to dine outside because the weather was nice in the early Fall in Austin, TX. There had been a light breeze blowing through the leaves beginning to change in the little trees that lined the main road.

He had come out of nowhere, it had seemed, tripping over his own feet. The Americano coffee in his hand had spilled all over your clothes, but was luckily not quite scorching. However, you hadn’t really been able to focus on your uncomfortable state because you were a little (a lot) entranced. Jensen was balanced precariously, with his ass on the table and his hands on your thigh. His eyes were level with yours, bright green and wide with surprise and a healthy dose mortification when the shock wore off.

If you’d heard the story from Jensen’s point of view, he’d be sure to tell you that it hadn’t been about his clumsy feet, but more about Jared’s big hands that had pushed him. It had been the second time they’d walked past and Jared had noticed the way Jensen’s eyes paid more attention to you than where he was headed. They’d been on hiatus and making their way back home from getting a coffee from the Starbucks on 6th St.

God bless Jared Padalecki.

He’d offered you the use of a clean shirt he had in his gym bag in his car. You hadn’t had the heart to tell him that your bra, soaked in coffee, was going to be seen through the white t shirt he offered. But, you’d taken it, because it might’ve made the walk to your studio apartment a little less uncomfortable.

There had been awkward exchanges and a meeting to return the shirt and grab a cup of coffee. I mean, you were there anyway, right? Then there was mentions of making it up to you with dinner and well… As the saying goes, the rest is history.

Jensen was used to you spending most of your time with your head in the clouds. (Hello, writer here.) So, he hadn’t said anything about you being abnormally quiet as you watched him fidget with something in his pocket while he worked. So far, you’d spent most of the time seated on the kitchen island, legs swinging back and forth with the extra nervous energy Jensen’s behavior continued to contribute to.

He’d poured a glass of spicy merlot that you’d both been heavily sipping on, trying to muscle through the intensely uncomfortable atmosphere created by whatever was bothering him. In spite of all that, it was fun to watch the blush caused by the alcohol travel from his neck, to his cheeks and then the tips of his ears while he worked.

Occasionally, he would stand between your legs and feed you samples of the sauce he was putting together, his eyebrow arched in question for your opinion. When he was close, you would try to pull him in closer. You’d try to work your fingers into the tense muscles of his shoulders. But he wouldn’t stay still long enough for it to do any good and you were running out of patience.

“Okay, Jay. What’s going on? You know you can tell me anything, right?” You tried to make eye contact with him, but he was very good at avoiding. Especially when he could turn his back to you and pay attention to the pots boiling on the stove. “I mean; I can tell something’s wrong…” You trailed off, trying to deny yourself the urge to chew on your finger nails. “Is it something with us? Have I done something wrong?”

You were at a point in your life that you weren’t too keen on changing who you were just to make some man happy, but Jensen wasn’t just ‘some man.’ In fact, he’d effortlessly broken through all of your misgivings. So, if there was something in particular that he’d found offensive, there was a chance that you’d consider changing things around.

“I just… We were having a good time at the beginning of the week. I know I had that stupid headache, but I got rid of it and I thought that things were going well…” You were rambling and utterly pathetic. Not to mention so wrapped up in what could be going wrong and so focused on what was going on in your own head that Jensen suddenly being in your personal space was a surprise.

“Hey, no. It’s not that at all.” His hands were immediately reaching out to touch. To smooth over your shoulders and down your arms before he held your hands in his. After a deep sigh and the roll of his eyes he muttered, “I’m ruining it.”

You were stunned into silence. All self-involvement forgotten as you registered the miserable look on Jensen’s face. “What?” You were reaching out to pull him closer, to get your hands on his warm sides before you even registered what you were doing. “Jay, what are you talking about?”

His small laugh was humorless, “I thought about this so much. I figured that if I went all out and made a ginormous deal about it that you might be intimidated or even scared. So, then, I thought we’d spend a night in with just the two of us because you seem to like to spend time with me in this way. I thought…” His eyes finally connected with yours as he reached out to touch your cheek. “I thought I’d do something nice for us and then casually ask you.”

You were confused and utterly terrified. If he had been trying to communicate something without completely rocking your world, he was failing. This had to be it, then. The moment when all of your weird quirks and extreme independence had finally gotten to him. Plus, the invisible destruction of migraines couldn’t be helping matters. Shit.

“I didn’t want to put any pressure on you and now I realize that I have without even having to try so hard. So, I’m just gonna ask, right now. No matter what your answer is, we’ll have a nice dinner and we’ll forget this entire awkward night even happened, okay?”

He seemed desperate for your compliance, and who were you to make Jensen desperate? So you nodded slowly, watching as the green of his eyes changed shades with the lighting in the room.

He was even closer now, wedged between your thighs with both hands on your face, his lips soft on yours. He didn’t pull back very far, the soft pants of his breath gentle on your skin. “Y/N, will you marry me?” You knew his smile was bashful and a little self-deprecating. “I promise I don’t want you to be barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen. We can get a cook or something so I know you’re getting some nutrition but… I don’t care how we do it. I just want you, with me. Always.”

The soft, sweet words were like a glancing blow. The hit wasn’t direct or nearly as painful as you’d geared yourself up to receive. The question terrified you, making your heart thunder in your chest, your flight response kick in, making your breath choppy and your skin sweat.

But, that wasn’t all.

There was a surprising amount of giddy happiness bubbling up from your chest and threatening to come out as a laugh that you knew would be misinterpreted. You’d dreaded but simultaneously dreamed of this the moment you realized that Jensen was not just a fling. When you’d realized that you loved this man with all the stupid, damaged bits of your heart.

You pulled away, needing to see the sincerity that you knew would be radiating from his eyes like the man was made of all things good in this world. He didn’t disappoint, but you also saw the suffocating fear that made his pupils dilate and your heart ache.

“Yes, Jay. God, ye-.” His lips were on yours before you could finish saying the words. His body and mouth were crushing against yours with all of the pent up anxiety and fear that Jensen had been putting you both through for the past couple of days.

Your arms were around him, just as crushingly tight as your hands thread through his hair to angle his face so that you could kiss him a little deeper. So that you could get just that little bit closer to the warm, solid, (and so damn good smelling) form of Jensen in your arms.

He whispered curses with each gasped breath between kisses before he was able to pull the ring he’d been hanging onto for months, out of his pocket. He wordlessly slid the precious metal, warmed by the time it had spent in his pocket, onto your ring finger. You marveled at it only long enough to think fleetingly that it was gorgeous before you were kissing him again with every molecule of love and happiness you had in your body.

You slid to the edge of the counter, wrapping your legs around his hips and could feel that Jensen was hard in his jeans. The firm pressure caused him to grip the back of your shirt in his fists and groan into your mouth. He pressed in closer, his hands pressing in to grip your ass, rocking his hips against you in a move that made him growl. “Fuck, that ring looks so good on you.”

You found that you were skilled in pushing your hands between the two of you and pulling the button on his jeans loose. You dragged the zipper down slowly, relishing in the rapid increase of Jensen’s breath as the tiny vibrations against his dick made him squirm.

Everything progressed rapidly after that. Jensen dragged your shorts and panties down in one move, letting his jeans fall to his ankles. He didn’t even pull his boxer briefs down below his ass before he was pulling you to the very edge of the counter and lining himself up. The coolness of the granite beneath your bare ass cheeks barely registered before he was sliding in.

The slow push and immediate feeling of ‘full’ pushed the air out of your lungs and you clung to him just to stay upright. He was so wound up and so were you. Who knew that agreeing to marry someone sometime in the future could be such an aphrodisiac.

He had his hand in your hair and every time he thrust his hips, he tugged and sent a hot blaze of pleasure straight to your core. You could hear things being knocked off the counter, loud crashes of glassware falling to the ground, but none of it mattered. All that mattered was that Jensen was nailing you to the counter like his life depended on it.

It was all over rather quickly when Jensen’s thumb squeezed between your bodies to rub your clit in time with his thrusts. His breath was ragged and humid as he continued to press in close, his lips resting against your ear.

It rarely ever happened this way, but the desperation of the moment had you both orgasming at the same time. You vaguely recognized that he was shaking apart, the gasped sound of your name muffled tightly against your neck.

You were still coming down, your breathing still heavy in your chest, when Jensen chuckled. The sound was rough and that combined with the absolute fucked out tone of his voice when he said, “Well, there goes the deposit,” caused latent pleasure to shiver in your belly.

You took a moment to compose yourself, the flood of pleasure giving way to absolute wonder in the moment. You leaned your face away, unwilling to move the rest of you and lose the connection of every part of him possible. “You really wanna marry me?”

“Yeah,” He gently grazed your nose with his, breaths still tickling your face, before he rested his forehead against yours. “I really wanna marry you.”

There would be time for you to freak out over your quick response. For you to think through every little thing Jensen said to look for clues that he wasn’t being honest. You’d probably have to ask him every now and then, even after you were married to him, if he was sure he’d made the right choice. But for now, you let him slide you off the ruined marble counter top and carry you off to bed.

It would be about ten minutes into a well-deserved cuddle that Jensen would realize he’d left dinner to ruin on the stove. He would return in only moments, after turning the burners off and taking a second to look at the ruined pots, to curl around you. “Well, I guess we’d lost the deposit anyway… How do you feel about pizza from town?”

You could tell that there was an underlying tension from things not going as Jensen had planned. Maybe he was even feeling a little guilty, as crazy as that sounded, for ruining dinner and having to do something like grabbing a pizza last minute. However, you could also tell that he was trying his best to let it go. How could he not know that these little imperfections were what made this special?

You rolled around to face him, feeling all of his warm, soft skin against yours since you’d ditched your clothes on your way to the bedroom. “Pizza sounds amazing.” You held his olive green gaze a little longer than was strictly necessary, but he seemed to get what you were trying to communicate. That, it was alright that things didn’t go as planned. That you were just grateful as fuck to be in his arms and be able to share a moment like this with him.

Maybe you’d have a chance to put this into words soon, but it would have to be after this nap because you were completely pleasure dazed. Just maybe, it would be over the first slice of pizza since you’d agreed to marry the best man you’d ever known.

Tagging: (Forevers): @perpetualabsurdity, @maileann, @daydreamingintheimpala, @gecko9596, @gemini75eeyore, @jotink78, @dancingalone21, @tas898, @winchesterprincessbride, @sandlee44, @exploratiionist, @arryn-nyxx, @littledarlinhavefaithinme, @feelmyroarrrr, @raeganr99, @ruprecht0420, @anokhi07, @letsgetyourdeanon, @sis-tafics, @jensen-gal, @theoneandonlysaucymo, @27bmm, @callmesatansprincess, @hbenth, @atc74, @ryansgirl5509, @mysteriouslyme82, @notnaturalanahi, @keepcalmandcarryondean, @sea040561, @just-another-busy-fangirl, @spn67-sister, @uniquewerewolfsuit, @ria132love, @mrswhozeewhatsis, @pretty-fortune, @butiaintgonnaloveem, @justanotherdeangirl, @weasleywinchester-blog, @easelweasel, @akshi8278, @mandymoiselle1970, @glendagiggles

Thanks for reading! I’d love to hear what you think. I haven’t given up on my other stories. My brain just works in stupid and mysterious ways...

#Lau's Summer Escape Challenge #jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles x you #jensen ackles reader insert #jensen ackles smut #jensen ackles angst #jensen ackles fluff #spnfanficpond #guppy fic #jensen ackles fan fic #jensen ackles fan fiction #hollygopossum writes #jensen ackles rpf #jackson wyoming part 2

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