#photo sky change services

[outsourcerightchoicesolutions]

Real Estate Photo Sky change and replacement services

[saintescuderia]

pancakes (pt. 1)

welcome a new multi-chapter fic. enjoy.

AKA - the story of how the naive australian rookie befriended the gym junkie F1 hospitality worker with the shoe collection - and inadvertently broke the grid's most treasured and unspoken rule: you don't go for y/n.

series masterlist here :) // the pancakes recipe here :)

P1 - bulgarian split squats

Really, the only way to survive Formula 1 was by going to the gym. 

The gym addiction was something that had existed long before joining the circus of a motorsports paddock filled with politics and rumours, as well as the slim fitting uniforms that always seemed to be accompanied by, in your opinion, ugly ass shoes. 

Sure, Puma was the offical sponsor but couldn’t they get anything other than the Speedcat? And what even was that name? Speedcat? It was on brand, sure, but at what cost? Really? If Formula 1 was trying to grow its popularity they could honestly start with their dress code. Seeing Christian Horner in Skechers really took the intimidation out of him when you served him his double espresso during the Spanish Grand Prix that one time last season. 

One of the perks of working in Hospitality - and there were very few far and in between - was that uniform was not so strict. F1 Hospitality only required an all black service with ‘comfortable shoes.’ This you took for interpretation. Dunks. Jordan 4s. Maybe 1s. Never 13s. Forces were good for a night race - that usually meant more stairs - and Vans were what you reached for in the morning when you knew you’d be working the barista shift. Converse were for ‘throw away’ races.

These were the races where you knew the shoe-care was not important. For example, Silverstone with its torrential UK drinkers who were likely to throw up on your beloved sneakers. Alas, you had learned the hard way when you almost lost your job by rushing to the kitchen to start scrubbing the vomit off your blue and red Cortez during peak lunch.

Never again.

Admittedly, you did try to keep at least one pair of Converse in good care since they were the renowned shoe come leg day. 

Another perk of working in F1 Hospitality was that every circuit’s map layout had been drilled into your head. Meaning you always knew exactly where the communal driver’s gym was located at and could therefore get your daily dose of dopamine before dealing with… well, everything.

You silenced the shrill horror that came from the iPhone alarm. 4:00 read the lockscreen, the light shining brightly into your face. It didn’t help that your wallpaper had a photo with a clear blue sky, making the light even harsher in the darkness. You could’ve very well changed it and avoid the pain you routinely go through every morning. But it was this very photo that reminded you why you were getting up in four in the morning in the first place. 

You had snapped it during a free practice in Italy that had miraculously lined up with a break in your shift. The sky was clear and the red car was small, but clear on the circuit. Ferrari, of course. You still remember the buzz that circled around the paddock staff that day. No matter who you routed for or whatever bias you had, there was a unanimously acknowledgement that Ferrari winning at Monza was special. He was special. 

Then again, you’ve known that long before he stood on that podium in Italy and was given his infamous nickname. 

It didn’t even take you ten minutes until you were out the door. Your gym clothes (pump cover included!) were on the one limpy chair that decorated your poor little hotel room, your shaker sat on top of your gym bag with you black high top Converse right beside it. By the time you had made it to the gym, it was a little past 4:15 and you had already scooped in pre-workout into your mouth ready to get through the oncoming pain. 

Your hips were a little tight, as per normal. The left side even more so. The hood of your hoodie was up, headphones on and blasting the hardstyle house music that would see you through the next two hours. You went through your usual stretches but with today’s added focus on the lower body. 

And then you went about destroying your legs. 

It was about an hour or so that Oscar finally sleepily arrived. You weren’t actually sure what time it was but you were up to doing bulgarian split squats - and hating life - and that was usually at the hour mark. You gave him a curious once over, noting the odd choice of clothing. It was a little odd to see a driver in the paddock wearing athleisure that wasn’t their team uniform.

“Bro, it’s five in the morning.” Oscar groaned, shuffling over to come and sit on the bench next to you. You gave another three more reps - Oscar silently watching you groan in pain through the last two - and then finally dropped the dumbbells. You reached over to take a sip of water and checked the phone for the time.

“It’s five thirteen in the morning.” You corrected. It had been just about the hour mark. “Are we training today or?” It wasn’t the first time Oscar had joined you. The reason his neck was getting stronger was because of you. In your opinion, the trainer Alpine had assigned Oscar was a fucking idiot.

“You’re doing legs.” Oscar pointed out, as if that was enough of an answer. He leaned to lay back down on the bench and stared up as he continued to speak. “Drivers don’t need bulky legs. We’ve been over this.”

You had. Many times. You knew he was right. It still would be nice to have someone to go through legs with you, though.

“So train with light weights.” You offered, trying. Oscar just gave you a look that made it clear he was not picking up any type of weights. You shrugged, not deterred. “I’ll do calisthenics with you. Or we can work on plyometrics.” Oscar’s response was to close his eyes and let out a deep sigh. “Fuck it man, do some cardio.” You came to the last resort, coming to kick his legs as you walked past to load up the smith machine with some different plates. 

“Piss off Tezza.” The Australian-ness continuing to shine through with the nickname that Oscar had specifically designed for you in respect of your shared citizenship to the ‘land down under.’

Except unlike the blond caucasian boy who loved AFL, grew up in Brighton East and attended Haileybury, your Australian-ness was less obvious. Your accent, for one, wasn’t as prominent since your parents were African immigrants. This, of course, didn’t just influence your speech patterns and accent.

Dark skin, dark eyes and dark hair, you weren't exactly the picture of a 'true blue Aussie.' The rite of public school bullying from those who did look 'Australian' (whatever that meant) had you scoffing at vegemite and preferring to follow EPL and La Liga than whatever the fuck was Aussie Rules Football.

Why is it called football if the players pick up the ball?

Still, when a homesick Oscar Piastri overheard one of the Hospitality staff yell out that that they were going for a 'Macca’s run' between the practice sessions on his very first F1 race weekend, he instantly picked up on the Australian-ism. And he didn’t let it go. And cue the beginning of a friendship that had Oscar Piastri calling you ‘bro’ and shortening your last name as per Australian rite.

Even if you had sworn off that sort of thing.

“Oscar, man, if you ain’t here to train then why are you?” You said, locking the plates in place on the smith machine. You lifted up your hood up and ducked under the bar to rest the metal against you shoulders, the hood acting as a cushion. The starting weight was light enough that you wouldn't have to worry about music for your first set. Besides, if Oscar was here, he could be the entertainment for this set. “You forget that this is a driver’s only gym. You could get in trouble." The sarcasm was all too clear in your voice.

No one used the ‘drivers-only’ gym. It was something that every Grand Prix had set up. Mobile, communal and high-end, it had enough equipment to rival the local 24/7 studio franchise gym that seemed to exist in every neighbourhood. Despite the fact that every driver preferred to train at their own motorhome gym - or that every team had their own mobile gym set up in conjunction to the motorhome - F1 still went about packing up and moving their own studio gym to every single location come race weekend.

If anything, it was a nice stop during the presentation walk during the sponsorship lunches where good old Stefano Domenicali would show off all the amazing resources that the Grand Prix space has to offer. 

So, no. F1’s Driver Gym was not used.

The only reason it wasn’t gathering dust was because every weekend it was packed up and moved. That and you woke up at 4am every weekend to destroy your muscles in the familiar red and black equipment.

"You're here." Oscar reminded you. "And not a driver."

You ignored him and just kept up with your repetitions, focusing on engaging your glutes and keeping your core tight. Oscar was silent as you finished your first set. When you finished your last rep, he stood up and came round as you locked the machine. He knew you well enough to pick up the 10kg and help add it to the sides.

"Thanks." You said. Oscar nodded and added the weight to the other side. There was a quiet air for a moment and you went to pick up your headphones to put them back on. Things were getting heavier and you would need music to get through the next few sets.

“I might be leaving Alpine.” 

You looked up at Oscar who dropped the bomb and then looked back at your headphones. You sighed and then dropped the headphones back to land in your gym bag. Headphoneless, you went back to the machine and Oscar took your invitation.

“Zak Brown approached me yesterday and suggested something about picking me up for next year.” Oscar said.

You just kept squatting. Oscar was far too removed to yet be aware of - well, everything.

“And with talk of Fernando quitting, I know that Alpine will be calling me up but do I trust that? Honestly Lando has been doing so well and Ocon has always pissed me off.” Oscar watched as you started to struggle.

He stood up and came around to help you but you just shook you head. You pushed through one more rep and then called it. 

“He does have a punchable face.” You said, now out of breath. Esteban had always annoyed you and before meeting Oscar, you used to dread the weekends where you were put on Alpine.

Your friend handed you the water bottle sat beside your gym bag before you could even ask. You gave a two finger salute in thanks as he continued on.

“And Lily and I got into this massive fight again! Apparently I don’t communicate enough!” He huffed. “But I sent her flowers and chocolates because she’s going through finals and she likes daisies and Cadbury."

“Yeah, but is that her love language though?” You asked, dropping your bottle and going to stack up the final set of weights on the smith machine. Oscar stood up again to help you.

“Her what?” He asked, handing you the plate.

“Love language.” You answered, still panting, and explained, “You’ve got physical touch, gift giving, quality time, words of affirmation and acts of service.” 

“Are you saying people love in specific ways?" Oscar asked, quick to process new information as always.

“Exactly. You did something nice for her, an act of service. Maybe all she wants is a nice, long phone call or maybe some texts complimenting her or something.” You shrugged and then brought up your headphones.

Oscar accepted this, knowing the last set would require music.

He watched you as you settled back under the smith machine bar and went on squatting more than his body weight. He shook his head and ran a hand over his face. He really shouldn't have been surprised at your lack of surprise. Little shocked you. That or your might’ve already known and just kept it to yourself. F1 Hospitality were a part of the Formula One Group and, therefore, were not associated to any one team. They had rotations across all teams and, therefore, every member of staff were required to sign an NDA. Not that ever did anything in this damn place.

Still, Oscar knew that you were one of the few genuine people left in this place.

He knew that there would’ve been so many opportunities where you could’ve easily done something for yourself by recounting something you had overheard while pouring Toto Wolff his coffee or serving Mattia Binotto his lunch. It was the reason why so many teams hired their own internal hospo staff.

It was also the reason why Oscar felt comfortable coming to tell you about Alpine and McLaren before he had even told his own parents, or Lily. The argument with his girlfriend had prevented him from getting any sleep, mulling it over in his mind for hours. Oscar knew you would be able to help him through it all.

And that you would be the only one awake at this godforsaken hour.

By the time you had finished your first set, he was Googling love languages and having a quick read through. 

By the time you had finished your second set, he was halfway through doing the love languages quiz.

By the time you had finished your third and final set, he was seeing what the problem was between him and Lily.

“I think Lily is words of affirmation and I'm acts of service." He said, coming up to the machine as you stepped back and pulled down your headphones. You blinked and nodded, still put of breath. "I think I forgot to check in with her and send her some compliments. Tell her I'm proud of her for getting through exams. Especially because she never is one for gifts, really."

You held out your hand to him. "There you go. Growth."

"I don't know what to do about Alpine."

"Call a lawyer."

Oscar pursed his lips and then considered this. That wouldn't be his first move but thinking about it, it was probably for the best. "That's actually a good idea."

"Isn't that why you're here?" You retorted. "Since you're not here to train. Speaking of which, the fuck is that?"

“What?” He asked and realised you were looking at his feet.

“Zak Brown isn’t going to hire you if he finds out that you’re wearing fucking thongs with socks.” You said, finally recognising the flip-flops he wore with some white socks that really needed to be washed. 

“You’ve been a great help, thanks.” Oscar smiled. You rolled your eyes and went to your gym bag. Pulling out a pair of white Adidas Sambas, you tossed them to Oscar.

“Put these on.”

“Is my footwear really that offensive to you?”

“We’ll go run the track.” You said then gestured to all of him. “It’ll help you burn all of this off.”

Oscar sighed and did as he was told. He laced up the shoes you'd given him that surprisingly fit his large feet and followed you out to the track. He used his pass to get through since a driver running the track at 5:30 in the morning would just be seen as the dedication to the grind. A Hospitality staff member would just be accused of breaking in. 

“Maybe it’s a good thing you’re going through a crisis. I’ve always wanted to do a morning run on the track.” You said with a grin as the pair of you came to the starting line that, in a matter of hours, would be full of mechanics, engineers, reporters, camera crew members and, of course, drivers.  

“If I get a seat at McLaren, you can be my trainer.” Oscar said as you both started warming up into a light jog.

"Ha." You snorted. "As if you could afford me, bro."

next ch [2] >

[idkwhatimdoinghere1655]

You're Late - Max Verstappen

<word count - 787>

The midnight moon was high in the sky as the rain gently pattered on the apartment windows in Monte Carlo, Monaco. This was the perfect setting for you. You were in bed, cosy and warm as you listened to the rain on the window as the moon peeked through the curtains. However, there was one thing missing.

Nearly a week ago, Max had left for a race, and you weren't able to join him. You never really cared for the nitty gritty details, you just cared that Max was safe and happy. Every day, you had talked on the phone at any given opportunity. 

You talked about anything and everything, from serious conversations to mumbling sweet nothings as you fell asleep was still on the phone. On nights such as these, you would normally be fast asleep in Max's arms, but he still wasn't there.

He was supposed to be home a few hours ago, but he wasn't. You had stayed up all night, waiting for him to come home, but you were always met with silence whenever you heard a car drive by the apartment complex.

He hadn't returned a single one of your calls or texts, and you were naturally worried. Max would always respond to you, no matter where he was or who he was with. You were priority number one, and he always had time for you.

You glued your eyes to the raindrops racing down the window panes, hoping it would take your mind off the worry for Max. They zigzagged down the glass, leaving beads of water behind them as they travelled. It was a peaceful sight to look upon, and it would normally serve as the relaxant you were looking for. 

But not tonight.

Every drop that fell was an extra moment of time that Max wasn't there, and an extra morsel of worry added to the pile. You checked your phone, but all you saw was your own face staring right back at you on the screen.

The photo was of you and Max, just as he had picked you up while you were holding one of his trophies. He had taken you by surprise, the look of complete shock on your face still making you fondly smile at the memory. 

After what had felt like a lifetime of thinking, and reminiscing, you heard your apartment door quietly click open, and Max's steps slowly approached your room. Max hadn't switched any lights on as he travelled through the apartment, so he couldn't see a thing.

You heard him wobbling around, guiding himself by holding onto the walls. Just before he made it to your bedroom, he knocked an ornament off of a table in the hall and froze for a second, hoping he hadn't woken you up. 

As soon as the ornament clattered down to the floor, you heard a whispered yet panicked, "Shit!". You giggled, trying not to let Max hear you. You listened as he fumbled around, trying to put the ornament back in place, but he gave up.

Max then crept through the room, and shuffled around as he quietly got changed. He crawled into bed and wrapped his arms around you. "You're late," you whispered as Max groaned in disappointment. 

"Did I wake you up?" he winced as you turned in his arms to face him. You were just glad to see his face, some of his features illuminated by the moonlight. "No, I've been waiting for you to get home. Why did it take you so long?" you asked, affectionately cupping his cheek with your hand. 

"My flight got cancelled because of the storm, and the rain meant no service, so I couldn't text you and tell you, sorry," he smiled, not wanting you to worry. He wanted your life to be as carefree and relaxed as he could make it.

"Don't worry about it, you're here now, and that's what matters to me," you told him, maneuvering closer to him. It was nice just to feel him there, to have him home. "I missed you," He said half-asleep, burying his head into your neck. 

"I missed you too, Maxie. Now I think it's time for you to get some rest, you're tired," you softly chuckled as his eyes fluttered open and closed. "I missed you too, and I completely agree, it had been a long day," he sighed, holding you as close as he could. 

"Goodnight, Max. I love you," you said, tangling your hands in his hair and gently massaged his scalp. "I love you too," he yawned, swiftly kissing you on the neck. He let his eyes close and fell into a peaceful slumber with you, listening to the sound of rain pouring over the city you called home, together. 

A/N - Just a short little something to hold you guys over until I get something longer finished! Keep the requests coming, I'm loving them! Enjoy your evening/day, love you loads 💖

|masterlist|

[yogrtshake]

caught in the rain ( jaemin ) genre : fluff word count : 0.9k summary : your plans with jaemin change due to some gloomy weather

—

“yaaah! go, go, go!”

jaemin’s voice bounces off the brick alley walls as you two try to escape the sudden heavy rainfall, hopping over puddles as if you were avoiding landmines in a battlefield. rain falls from the sky angrily, but you both giggle joyfully, finding your situation reminiscent of a rom-com you once watched. jaemin reaches back for your hand, not daring to leave you behind, and tucks you under the side of his jacket.

you two were off to visit the park and take photos together, but you hadn’t made it very far from home before the sky opened up, dampening your plans — and yourselves, of course.

after finding solace on the porch of your apartment complex, you admire jaemin’s (now drenched) appearance. droplets of water form constellations in the dark fringe that hangs in front of his forehead. you watch as one trails down a strand of his hair, eventually falling onto his nose then pooling in the dip of his cupid’s bow. you think he looks gorgeous, and by the way his eyes take you in adoringly yet speechlessly, you know he feels the same about you.

“rainy day in today then, yeah?” he smiles.

after shuffling off your squeaky shoes at the door, you gravitate toward the space heater, wasting no time to seat yourself in front of it and absorb its warmth. jaemin hangs his coat on a clothing rack to dry before he catches a glance at you, chuckling as he finds your crouched form adorable. he grabs a throw blanket from the couch and stretches it across his arms-width, wrapping you in it from behind and squeezing your shoulders gently in a hug.

“you warm enough, love?” he frowns, concern evident in his tone. you're sure he can feel the slight shiver dancing over your body.

“i’m okay, jaem,” you assure him, leaning back into his embrace. “how are you, though? you took most of the hits from the rain out there.”

“had to keep my angel dry,” he assures with another squeeze around your shoulders. jaemin stands, leaving the blanket draped around your shoulders. he wipes a few stray raindrops off his neck and cheeks and you spot the dark splotches of water that paint his clothing.

it's almost ridiculous how handsome he still looks despite the downpour he was caught in. he shakes his head and combs his fingers through his hair, styling it almost flawlessly, as if the rain was a professional hair gel product.

“i’ll go get us sweatshirts, yeah? then let’s cook something to warm us up," he suggests.

jaemin retreats into his room and reappears with two of his crewnecks. still sitting on the floor, you look up at him with doe eyes. he leans over you and motions for you to raise your arms, cooing at you, then pulls the sweatshirt over your head. jaemin loves to treat you like royalty, performing even the smallest acts of service to make you comfortable. and it makes you melt every time.

once he throws on his own sweatshirt, he takes your hands and lifts you to your feet. together, you pad into the kitchen, splitting apart only to gather the various ingredients and utensils you need to make your favorite stew. you're filling a pot with broth to boil when jaemin snakes his arms around your waist, pressing his body to yours from behind and lightly kissing the sensitive area on your collarbone.

“i’m sorry we didn’t get to go to the park today, baby,” he mumbles into your shoulder. once he notices you’ve set up a cutting board on the counter for him to help dice the vegetables, he detaches himself from you and begins working promptly.

“we can always go another day,” you smile, bumping his hip with yours as you let the sound of chopping fill the space between you.

after a few moments, you notice the sound get significantly quieter. with a quick glance up, you notice jaemin has stopped cutting the vegetables to stare at you. his eyes are wide and the corners of his lips are pulled upwards in an adoring grin.

“jaemin, you’re going to hurt yourself if you aren’t paying attention,” you scold him earnestly, but your cheeks still heat up with his unwavering gaze.

“i’m being careful, i just wanted to look at your face,” he hums. “you look so cute when you’re focused.”

finishing the meal preparation with a blush painting your cheeks, you set the table and light a few candles while jaemin separates the steaming stew into two dishes — he always insists on being the one to plate your meals.

you never notice, but every time he secretly gives you a bit more, always wanting to make sure you’ve eaten enough.

sweet talk and the heavy rain thumping on the windows make up the soundtrack to your dinner. jaemin’s hand rests on your knee while you enjoy your meal together, and you feel so at peace in your kitchen — the warmth radiating between your loving gazes is enough to make you forget about the cold, gloomy weather outside.

[mama2bears]

Starting Over Again Chapter 9 - Final Chapter

Catch up here, starting with Chapter 1

Back to Chapter 8

Warnings: Violence, angest, injury

Chapter 9 – FINAL CHAPTER

Lee was staring angrily at the computer screen, then he spotted a new post.

“Look who's in Galveston! Are we expecting bad weather?” The post was followed by a video of you with Tyler in the truck.

“Maybe you can run, but you can't hide.” he seethed, grabbing his truck keys.

* * * *

It's been a week since you and the team arrived at the beach house. Everything was quiet, almost normal. Normal except that none of you were chasing storms. You weren't doing your job and everyone was itching to get back to work.

“There's going to be a big outbreak this weekend back in Oklahoma.” Boone stated.

You take Tyler's hand in yours, “If you are feeling up to it, I say let's go.” you smile.

He took a deep breathe. They couldn't run forever and they couldn't hide forever. They WOULDN'T. He wasn't going to let this asshole run your life. They were going to live their life and if Lee dared show his face again, then Tyler would beat his ass. Besides, it would be the whole team together. Six to one put the odds in your favor. Finally he nodded, “I say let's go.”

“Alright!” Lily cheered. Everyone had enjoyed their week at the beach. It was a much needed little trip to rest and recharge after everything that had happened, but now, they all were more then ready to get back to what they loved...storm chasing.

Tyler sucked in a breath and stood up, taking your hand in his, “Wanna go for a midnight walk on the beach?” he smiled. Maybe it wasn't midnight, but it was close enough. It was cloudy and dark, a cool breeze was blowing in off the ocean. From the house you could hear the crashing of the waves on the shore and the rustle of the palm trees. A storm was blowing in from the sea.

“I'd love to.” You smiled, standing next time him. He wrapped his arm around you, pulling you into a hug, “Alright guys, we'll be back soon. We'll head out tomorrow.”

With that, he lead you out the door and across the beach. Tyler was about out of breath by the time you made it to the water's edge. His leg still felt like it was on fire every time he walked more then a few steps and his ribs still hurt with every breath he took.

“You sure you okay to go back chasing?” you asked, concerned.

“Yeah, maybe we won't be driving into any tornadoes or anything like that for a few more weeks, but I am good to sit there and drive. We can chase, relay the information to the weather services, get videos and photos and help where we can. We don't need to be wild and crazy just yet.”

“I've really enjoyed our week here.” you sigh, holding his hand tightly and turning as the cool ocean breeze blew though your hair. “I really have missed the beach.. This was the perfect week to recharge and figure out where I want to go next with my life.”

Tyler was silent for a moment before asking, “And where do you want to go next?”

“I want to be with the team. I want to be with you. I want to pursue a career in storm chasing. I not only want to chase after storms, I want to chase after us. I think we have something special here. I can't say I have ever loved anyone like I love you...and I know it's quick. It's been less then two weeks...but I can't imagine a life without you in it.”

Tyler smiled, stopping and turning towards you, “You don't know how happy that makes me, Y/N.” he breathed against your lips, tenderly kissing them. “I love you. I have never been so sure of anything in my life. Sure, I've dated a lot, but I have never felt this kind of connection. It's like we were always meant to be together. Like...” he paused, “I don't know, like we knew each other in another lifetime and are soul mates. I know it might sound stupid or whatever, I just feel like I have always known you.”

The wind picked up and seemed to change directions causing both of you to look up. Thunder rumbled in the distance and lighting streaked across the sky. Tyler looked at you concerned, feeling the pressure drop. You felt it too. “Were they calling for anything bad tonight?” you asked.

“No..just some storms that may roll in from the sea. There were no super cells or anything.” Tyler said slowly, “but this don't feel right. Let's head back to the house.”

He squeezed your hand tighter, turning to hurry back to the house, his breathing becoming raspy and heavy as his ribs protested to the quickened movement.

“Here, take the keys to my truck. If a tornado comes, my truck will be the safest place. You and the team get in the truck. I'll be there in a minute.” he gasped, “I can't run,” he gasped.

“I am NOT leaving you!” you stated.

You and Tyler were too focused on the approaching storm to notice someone in the darkness behind you on the beach. They were quickly approaching and you turned at the last minute as a rough hand grabbed your arm.

“Well ain't this just sweet..” the man snarled.

Tyler didn't think twice, he spun, pulling you from the man's grasp and placing himself in front of you.

He heard you gasp, “Lee...what the hell...”

Rage flashed across Tyler's face as he narrowed his eyes at Lee. “Y/N...run” he yelled then charged for Lee, “son of a b...” he yelled as he tackled Lee to the ground, his fist connecting to Lee's right cheek. Tyler didn't stop there. He continued punching Lee with both fist. “How dare you lay hands on a woman...you chicken shit coward!” he yelled.

“Ty!” You yell, fear filling your voice. “Ty, let's go...he's not worth it.”

“Get....help.” Tyler yelled at you. He was already gasping for air, pain raged though his chest. He didn't know how long he could continue the assault on Lee, but he was going to keep up as long as he could. He needed to know that you were safe. “Get...to the...house.” he gasped.

Suddenly, Lee grabbed Tyler by the neck and threw him to the ground. Lee kept pressure on Tyler's neck, choking him.

Tyler struggled to breath, fighting to push Lee off of him. “Once I kill you...I am gonna get that bitch wife of mine and fuck her real good...then I'll beat her ass and then choke the life out of her...just like I am doing to ...”

Tyler brought his knee up and kicked Lee in the stomach, breaking the hold on his neck. “I'll kill you before I let you hurt her again.” Tyler gasped, grabbing Lee's throat. His lungs burned for air, pain raked though his body, but he wasn't going to give in. He wasn't going to let Lee go until he knew you'd be safe.

Lee grabbed a handful of sand and threw it in Tyler's face, breaking his concentration just enough. Lee grabbed Tyler around the neck again, slamming him to the ground.

Tyler yelled out in pain as Lee slammed his weight into his chest. Tyler was left gasping for air. Lee kept a strong hold on his neck and Tyler felt the life slipping from him. He gasped, but couldn't get air.

“TY!” You screamed as loud as you could, not sure if the others could even hear you from the house. You took off running and slammed as hard as you could into Lee, knocking him off of Tyler.

The sound of your voice made Tyler focus again, fight against the unconscious that threaten to overtake him. Y/N...no. You aren't suppose to be here. You should have went to the house. He struggled to focus his blurry vision. He saw you just a few feet away from him. You were on Lee's back, your figures digging into his eyes.

Vaguely, Tyler heard tornado sirens blaring. “Y/N.” he rasped out, “Go..” he struggled to get to his feet.

Lee threw an elbow into your side, knocking you off of him, and he spun sending a kick into your stomach. “Get off of her!” Tyler yelled, throwing his body weight into Lee and struggling to hold Lee down, praying to whatever God there may be that you would take that chance to run to the house. He knew couldn't hang on much longer. His lungs were burning for air as he struggled to get a breath, “I love you, Y/N.” he rasped. If this was it, then he wanted those to be his final words to you.

“Ty! No!” you screamed, seeing his body go limp on top of Lee's. You struggled to your feet and were about to go after Lee again when someone grabbed you from behind and you screamed.

“It's okay. We're here.” Dani said, holding you tightly. From out of the darkness Boone ran over to where Lee had shoved Tyler off of him and was starting to stand. Boone threw him to the ground and threw punches to his face, not letting up until Lee wasn't moving anymore.

“We've got to go! Tornado!” Boone yelled, grabbing Tyler and slinging him over his shoulder.

The wind was roaring and sand swirled around you stinging your eyes. Dani and Lily were on either side of you helping you fight against the wind towards the house. Boone and Dexter were close behind struggling to carry Tyler into the house. You glanced behind you, half expecting to see Lee charging at you again...but what you saw instead was a body being pulled from the beach into the tornado. Strangely, you felt relief, if not a bit of happiness.

Dani pushed the door open and everyone practically fell into the door. Boone slammed the door closed and ushered everyone into the master bath that you and Tyler had been using. It was the only room on the lower level of the house without windows.

Lily and Dani leaned against the bathroom door as Boone carefully laid Tyler's limp body down. The tornado roared outside and you heard glass shattering throughout the house. The walls shook under the power of the winds.

You threw yourself over Tyler's body, doing your best to protect him from any debris that might fall, while at the same time checking for pulse and breathing.

“Hang on, baby.” you whispered, feeling his chest rise slightly. He took a rattling raspy breath. His chest seemed to be barley moving, but he was breathing and there was a faint heartbeat. You laid over his body, covering his head with your arms, “I love you.” you whispered into his ear.

Boone was already on the phone to 911 telling them the address and nature of emergency.

“It's over.” Lily breathed a sigh of relief.

You laid next to Tyler, head resting lightly on his chest, listening to his uneven raspy breathes, feeling the slight rise and fall of his chest with each breath. You drowned out all other sounds, all other thoughts except his breathing. Breathing meant life. Life meant hope.

“I am here, it's okay. Hang on Ty.” you sobbed.

You heard a slight gasp from Tyler and his chest stopped moving. “TY! Guys, he stopped breathing!” you cried.

Boone was instantly at Tyler's side. Sirens could be heard approaching from the distance.

“one...two...” Boone started the compressions. You pinched Tyler's nose closed and tilted his head slightly back when Boone reached 30. You breathed two breaths into Tyler's mouth and Boone started pumping his chest again. You checked, still not finding a pulse or breathing, and repeated the steps.

Lily and Dani left to go flag down the ambulance and lead them in the right direction. Tears streamed down your face as you breathed air into his lungs again.

Suddenly there was a gasp as Tyler took a breath. You waited for what seemed like too long, but then there it was. A second ragged breathe.

“What happened?” A medic yelled rushing into the room.

You told them of Tyler's previous broken ribs, and the fight on the beach and the stitches in his leg...you broke down in sobs. So much in such little time. You couldn't help to think maybe it would have been better if you never came to Oklahoma to start with. At least, if you hadn't came, then Tyler wouldn't have suffered so much. His life wouldn't be hanging in the balance for a second time in as many weeks.

You watched as they placed an Ambu bag over his face and started pumping air into his lungs as they loaded him on a stretcher. “I am staying with him.” you told the medics and they motioned for you to follow them as they quickly loaded the stretcher into the waiting ambulance.

“We'll meet you there!” Lily called and the team stood with tears in their eyes as the ambulance disappeared into the night.

It was only minutes until the ambulance arrived at the hospital. Tyler was whisked away behind a pair of swinging doors while a nurse lead you to the waiting room, and that's where you were when you saw Dani and Dexter rush though the doors. You stand to give them a hug, “Where's Boone and Lily?” you asked concerned.

“They'll be here soon. They stayed behind to talk to the police. The police are searching the area.” Dani said, “We told them it was Lee. I recognized him from the hospital attack last week. They haven't found him yet.”

“I think he might have gotten sucked into the tornado.” you told her. “When we were going to the house, I looked behind us and saw a body getting sucked up. I couldn't see any details, but as far I know it was only Lee and us on the beach.”

Dani and Dexter sat next to you, each holding your hand, “If that's what happened to him, it couldn't have happened to a better person. They'll find him.”

Boone and Lily entered a little while later, quickly making their way to you.

“Any word yet?” Boone asked.

You shook your head, “No. What did the police have to say? Did they find him?” you asked. A little voice in the back of your mind wondering if Lee somehow survived and was still out there.

“No. They didn't find him yet. With him being on the beach during the tornado and not likely that he got to any indoor place, the police think he was killed in the tornado. They just didn't find the body yet.”

“They might never find him.” Lily said, “You know sometimes things are dropped miles away from a twister. He might have gotten thrown into the ocean a few miles out.”

“Good food for the sharks.” Boone shrugged.

“Who's here for Tyler Owens?” The doctor called. You all stood up. “Two of you can come back here with me.” he stated.

Boone took your hand and you both stepped forward and followed the Doctor behind the swinging doors.

“He's going to be okay.” The doctor started off, “His left lung collapsed due to the broken ribs. I understand he had broken ribs last week? He should have been resting and not getting into fights.” the doctor was stern, “We were able to repair the damage. He hasn't woken up yet, but we expect he will soon. We have him on oxygen for now until his oxygen levels return to normal. His lungs are still struggling to work. It's been a lot of trauma on his body. I'll allow two at a time to sit with him. Once he wakes up and his vitals are steady we will release him, but he must take it easy for six weeks. No heavy lifting, no strenuous activity, nothing of the sorts.”

“Yes doctor. Thank you.” you nodded and Boone pulled you into a hug. “Go sit with him. I'll give the news to the others and we'll take turns coming in checking on you two.”

“Thank you.” you hugged Boone as tightly as you could and followed the doctor to Tyler's room.

Tyler laid motionless in the bed. An IV, breathing tubes, and various other wires were attached to him. Monitors sent out a steady beep. The sound of the oxygen machine hummed. You couldn't hold the tears. Sitting next to the bed, you took his hand in yours. His hand felt cool to the touch...not the warm strong hand that was like a rock when need be, but touched you with such a tenderness, as if touching a delicate flower.

“I am here,” you whisper, “Everyone is okay.” you squeeze his hand, “I love you.”

Boone came in for a few minutes, followed by Lily, Dani and Dexter. Each stayed for a few moments and promised they would be out in the waiting room before leaving you to have some privacy.

“I am sorry for everything.” you said, not even knowing if Tyler could hear you. “You are the best thing that has ever happened to me, but I almost wished I never found you.” tears started to fall as you kissed his hand lightly, “If I never joined the team, then you would never have been stuck protecting me during that tornado. You would have never gotten hurt. Lee would have never found you. You wouldn't be here now, fighting for your life.” you bit your lip.

“Darling,” Tyler's voice was all but a whisper, his figures moved slightly against your hand. “This is where...I need you. With...me.” his voice was weak and he fought to open his eyes, looking at you. “I love you Y/N.” he took a few raspy breaths, his chest rising and falling heavily. “I wouldn't change a thing...other then meeting you sooner and getting you away from that asshole sooner.”

“Ty.” You lean over, kissing his lips softly. “How you feeling.”

“Like I've been ran over by a truck.” he gave you a smile, “Are you okay?” he asked, his eyes full of concern.

“I am fine.” you promised him, “Thanks to you, and Boone, and Dani and everyone else. You all were there for me.” you whispered.

“Why didn't you run? I told you to run.” Tyler gasped, his lungs straining for the air he needed the more he talked. He started coughing, his chest heaving as he gasped for air. The machines started beeping and in a moment the doctor rushed into the room.

“Mr. Owens, calm down. Calm down...your lungs are still weak. Calm, slow breaths.” he encouraged. Tyler nodded taking deep calming breaths until his breathing evened out a little bit. The doctor increased the oxygen level. “Alright Mr. Owens...I am glad to see you are awake, but you've got to rest. Try not to talk too much or get upset, okay?” he said. “We can have you out of here in a few hours if your vitals become steady.”

Tyler nodded his agreement and took your hand once more when the doctor left the room. “So, why didn't you run?” he asked.

“Shh...you need to stop talking so much. You heard the doctor.” you squeezed his hand. “I didn't run because I wasn't about to leave you. I don't care what we face, we face it together. If it's Lee, a tornado or anything else. I will never leave you and I know you would never leave me. We're in it together.”

Tyler gave you a weak smile, “What happened with...him.” he studied you with worry in his eyes.

“I am not sure. I think he got sucked up by the tornado. When he was choking you, I attacked him. He gained the upper hand.” Tyler got a pained expression on his face at the sound that Lee had gotten the upper hand on you, “Boone was there. He tackled Lee and they fought. We ran when the tornado was closing in. Boone carried you. The whole team was there. I didn't see Lee get up, but as we approached the house, I saw someone get sucked into the tornado. Lee was the only one I know of left on the beach. The police have been looking, but he hasn't been found.”

Tyler nodded, “How did he find us?”

“We don't know...and it doesn't matter.” you say, leaning over to kiss him softly. “He's gone now. We are free to move on with our lives. I am just so sorry that you have went though so much pain because of me. I am not worth it.”

“Shh..” Tyler reached up and touched your face gently. “You are more then worth it. I love you with all my heart. You're worth it.” he whispered, his eyes growing heavy. “Now that I know you're safe...I am going to rest a bit.” he muttered, drifting back to sleep.

The door opened slowly and Boone quietly walked in, “We got a few hotel rooms for tonight right down the road.” he said, “Dani and Dexter are at the house packing everything up. Some windows got blown out and the roof is damaged so it's not safe to stay there.”

You nodded, “Thank you, Boone.”

“No problem. Lily and I will be in the waiting room. Once Tyler is free we'll take you guys to the hotel and I guess discuss what we're doing come tomorrow.”

Tyler opened his eyes, hearing Boone talking. “Hey man..thank you.” he said. “Thank you for being there.”

“No problem man. You just rest and get better. We've got ya.” Boone came over and gently patted Ty's shoulder and gave you a hug.

“Why don't you go to the room and get some sleep. Can't be good for you sitting in the chair.” Tyler said, squeezing your hand.

“No, I am not going anywhere without you. It shouldn't be too much longer before they let you out.”

Tyler sighed, knowing he was defeated. He didn't have the energy to argue and he know if the tables were turned, there would be nothing on this earth that would get him to leave your bedside.

* * * * *

The next morning you awoke in the hotel room, Tyler was sleeping, propped up on several pillows next to you. He had both his arms protectively wrapped around you. Your head was resting on his shoulder and he had his head leaning against yours. You shifted in the bed to move and get up for a cup of coffee. Even though you moved slowly and carefully, Tyler still awoke at the first sign of movement. “Morning beautiful.” he smiled.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you. Want some coffee?” you asked.

“Yeah. That sounds good, and you didn't wake me. I was already awake.” he grinned, reaching over to the bedside table and picking up the IPAD, looking to see what the weather was going to be.

“So what's the plan for today?” you asked.

He put the IPAD down and gazed at you as you fixed the coffee, “I'd like to take you back to my hometown.”

You turned and looked at him with surprise.

“I have a little farm in Arkansas, right across the state line. Looks like there's going to be a few big cells out that way. We can make my house base for a few days and I can show you around while we chase.”

“Tyler...I would love to see your hometown, but the doctor was very strict. You need to take it easy. You can't get hurt again. I can go with the team and chase while you take it easy at home.”

“No...I don't want the team, especially you, out there without me.” Tyler said. “I'll take it easy. We don't need to get close. We can just track the storms, document them, and report our findings to the weather service. Nothing crazy or dangerous. I'll stay in the truck. I'll even let you drive.” he grinned.

“Alright, but at the first sign the storm is getting too close, we are out of there.” you kiss him softly and hand him coffee.

“Deal...he smiled, pulling you down for a tender kiss. “This is the first day of the rest of our lives together.” he whispered, “And I swear to you I am going to give all I've got to give to make all your dreams come true.”

END STORY

Tag List

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[urbanism-and-transit]

Minnesota has been a hot spot for Urbanism and Public Transport progress for the better part of the last couple of years.

I-35 is being removed and is now in the process of designing what the new stretch would look like, and if you want to read more on how and why they did this, I will drop their mission statement below

Olson Memorial Highway has been granted the funds to convert into a Boulevard

Lastly to take more about Minneapolis proper, a report done by Fortune in 2023 showcased that the removal of single house zone restrictions and building more mixed used housing that had a percentage carved out for lower income people, was the main reason Minneapolis was about to cool off inflation and basically stop the nation wide rental spike from hitting the cities.

To add on, HF 4009 is a bill that will shore up multifamily zoning and make sure towns and cities use the ground when they are available.

Minnesota is also taking a huge step, with a new law introduced last year to ban parking minimums state wide. Parking minimums are one of the main reasons single family homes take up so much space, and the large, dead parking lots that every shopping center has

And for the final thing, and the most important in my view, the Northern Lights Rail last year had funding allocated from the state for the project and are now waiting for the release of federal funds to complete the last 80% of the funding

Even though Minnesota is seen as a more quiet state where nothing really major happens, it goes to show that when the a group of passionate people gather and want to make a change, and are able to convince a state body to throw their weight around to get the grants for it, the sky's the limit on what can be done for communities

-Wamter

[andofone]

SNS fic rec

I have found lots of SNS fics that I think deserve even more love and recognition, so buckle in and here we go!

-PS, if you don’t want your fic on this list, I will take it off.

---

O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou an idiot? by Skyheaven

Naruto thought he could impress his crush by landing the role of Romeo in their school play. With Sakura playing Juliet, it would be the perfect way to get close to her. So how is it that he ended up being forced to play the modern version titled Romeo and Julian with his arch rival Sasuke instead?

(It’s a full, flushed out fic. It was a joy to read through)

-

(This is part two - a POV change to see what Sasuke is thinking, I strongly recommend reading after the first.)

And Julian is the moon by Skyheaven.

Ever wonder what Sasuke went through when he got stuck playing the romantic lead together with Naruto in their school play about Romeo and Julian? Here's the answer.

A pov change of the fic 'Oh Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou an idiot?'

---

The Frog Dealer by lilypheria

Naruto’s trusty frog wallet breaks down after years of faithful service, and someone delivers a new one to his office. Naruto is elated, not caring if it’s proper for the Seventh Hokage of Konoha to wander around with a wallet like that. But then he starts to get even more deliveries to his office—frog-shaped keychains, fridge magnets, everything you can think of.

Naruto has no clue who has found out about his affection towards frogs. But the gift giver is closer than he thinks…

(It’s a adorable one-shot. What else could you possibly want.)

---

Unrequited: sometimes it is, and sometimes it isn't by KizuKatana

Naruto hates to hurt people's feelings. So when Hinata puts him on the spot about dating her, he doesn't want to come straight out and tell her he doesn't like her that way. Instead, he comes up with a poorly thought out idea to tell her he is dating someone already. All he needs to do to convince her is to show her a photo of the guy. He just needs to get a picture of someone so ridiculously hot she will know it's hopeless. He actually has someone in mind, a guy he'd had a one-sided thing for from his gym. Although, the guy is sort of an ass and probably wouldn't agree to posing for a picture. Naruto decides to ask him anyway. What's he got to lose?

(Another wonderful, simple one-shot. Easy and very nice to digest.)

---

In Good Company by weialala

This will sound a little ridiculous, no matter how Sasuke phrases it. I see dead people is embarrassingly tacky, and I'm half-spirit seems like something Sakura might say when she's stoned sky high. So he settles for a shrug.

(This is a gem of a fic. Highly recommend.)

---

Iced coffee with extra base by Dotec_1

Working in a cafe certainly isn’t the worst thing, that is if you find a certain raven a few tables down.

(Not too long, just 25,000 words and a good plot.)

---

Fire & Wind by Cyllia

Wind and fire: it's the most powerful combination of elements there was. So when Sasuke, the most talented fire elementalist in his year, pairs with Naruto, who has the greatest air element seen in centuries, they should've been the most formidable team in history. Yet they can't seem to win one match.

(OH MY GOD, okay, this has got to be one of my favorites on this list. And these are all some of my favorite.)

---

all i want to do, just like this by lunoiere (aeon_uriel)

"Good morning," he whispered, content, and peaceful. 

Naruto's nose twitched, still asleep. His lips were pursed to form a pout that somehow looked even more childish in this state. 

Sasuke's smile got wider and wider and something in his chest bloomed and exploded.

 Unbidden, a thought passed by: he loved that man so much it was unreal. 

Sasuke gets another reminder that waking up with arms around his waist and the smell of sunshine filling his lungs means opening his eyes to yet another good dream.(Because Naruto is there and he’s never leaving.)

---

 I hope this gives you some good reads!

And if you want more, check out another SNS rec I created here

[sashi-ya]

🌸 ▹𝙱𝚢𝚊𝚔𝚞𝚢𝚊'𝚜 𝙼𝚒𝚗𝚒 𝙱𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚑𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝙲𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝐇𝐂𝐬: 𝐁𝐲𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐲𝐚 𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫

▹ headcanons of our sweet noble being a dad. tw: well, pregnancy of course. careful a little spoiler, if you don't know who Ichika is, then just ignore this, please. sfw. these are simple headcanons, the way I imagine Byakuya be with a baby and based on how Kubo addressed he acts with and towards Ichika ▹ wc: 800

Byakuya would like to have just one child. Is not he is not interested in having a million with you, but, he knows that he wants to give that baby all the love and attention as possible, and sharing isn’t an option. At least during the first years of the baby’s life.

He would, for the love of God we all know he would, ask for his servants to craft the exact replicas of his own attire in baby size. From kenseikan (which you will have to remind him that babies have no long hair), a mini gimpaku (mint green, of course) to tiny, tiny white gloves embroidered with the Kuchiki clan symbol.

Speaking of the Kuchiki clan emblem, everything in the baby’s trousseau will have it on. White, pure cotton, hypoallergenic, as expensive as ten manors. You told him it isn’t necessary, but you know it’s futile. Nobody deserves the best than his own family, and he will give you even more.

You will wake up one day, and you will see your son/daughter dressed in some kind of green blorb attire; yes, Byakuya design an onesie with Wakame Ambassador for his baby. No, you aren’t taking it away. Yes, he will hire a photographer to make a special photography session with his descendant dressed in that. A photo he will put in his own office next to an Ichika one he took one day when they were training with their Zanpakuto. Cause proud uncle, always.

And Wakame Ambassador will be present everywhere too. From plushies, the first one personally sewed and embroidered by him. The baby, carrying the Kuchiki blood, will obviously cling to it for dear life. And you couldn’t ask for more, seeing baby and dad sleeping on your bed with the plushie in between them? Yes please, someone draw it.

He won’t be an absent nor cold father. Contrary to what many people might think, Byakuya is a person who really takes time to be with his family. Same as he attends the many events and reunions when his sister isn’t able to attend, he will be there for his baby. Since the Quincy invasion, he has changed for the better, and the moment his dark sky eyes meet his newborn’s he will melt, to the point of showing the sweetest smile you’ve ever seen drawn in his lips.

Byakuya will lift his baby in arms, with utmost care and pure delicacy. He would look, inspect every corner of his own blood, and then snuggle the baby in his arms. The moment he feels the chubby cheeks of his newborn against his chest, it will mark the start of the most pure bond nobody will dare to break nor even threat. He will swear -in silence- that will protect his descendant with everything it takes.

The noble will try to train his kid since baby, but he won’t be able to be really strict. Same as happened with Ichika, his child will become his weakness. Some times you will have to scold him for letting the kid do whatever he wants with him. Byakuya looks like a cold one, but in reality he would count the hours all throughout the working day to go back to you and his baby. He wants to play, to laugh with you two… he might not tell you, and probably he will never do, but with him words aren’t necessary.

Then, when the baby becomes old enough to attend the academy (cause of course the next head of the Kuchiki clan is not only strong as hell, but also has inherited dad’s sense of service, responsibility and novelty) there will be some weeks of pure chaos. “NO, HE WILL BE HOME-SCHOOLED!” Byakuya will shout. “Honey, he needs to make friends. I know you’ve been home-schooled, but, don’t you think he/she/they deserves to experience the academy, make new friends and perhaps even found a lover?” the last part was just to tease him, but, after so many nights discussing (and perhaps so many kisses to convince him) he gives up. His baby is gonna attend the Shinigami academy, and he wouldn’t be more proud of everything his son/daughter does.

Oh, and speaking of which… he will pick up, personally, his little bundle of joy. Some people will feel a little intimidated that the sixth captain of the Gotei 13 is there with his cold stare and his golden noble things, but he is gonna become an active member of the organization just to make the academy an even better place for his child. (And also, because he has met the joy of gossiping with other parents while waiting for his child to get out of class)

Byakuya will be the happiest man in the world. The proudest father. His baby, his weakness and also his strength. His genes will run stronger in the kid, and, some afternoons you will be happy to see through the window at both battling with wooden swords, with smiles on their faces and a happy ending with no end for a soul who suffered so much… 💖

[talonabraxas]

The Knight of the Flowers, 1894, by Georges Rochegrosse. Detail and photo by Paul Perrin. The Knight of the Flowers — Georges Rochegrosse

Some paintings exist only to be admired.

This is the case of The Knight of the Flowers by Georges Rochegrosse, a painting that explodes visually and seeks no other pretension than the admiration of beauty.

The scene painted by the French artist belongs to an opera by Richard Wagner, Parsifal, which adapts a medieval epic poem dated in the 13th century, written by Wolfram von Eschenbach and entitled Parzival.

The painting refers directly to a passage in the opera’s second act. The protagonist, an Arthurian knight called Parsifal, is in the magic castle of Klinsgor (the evil one of the story); he has defeated the knights in the sorcerer’s service and continues on his way to defeat the enemy.

At that moment, he enters the garden of flower maidens, who seduce him and lament the knights defeated by Parsifal, for they were his lovers. The young protagonist lets himself be loved and bewitched by the beauty surrounding him until Kundry (a magical being invoked by Klinsgor) appears and brings a series of revelations that will change the destiny of the young protagonist.

Later Parsifal will reject her attempts at seduction, and she will curse him for the rest of his days.

This painting focuses on aesthetics, leaving aside the symbolism to focus on capturing a specific passage of the Germanic poem.

There is no other intention beyond capturing the concept of classical beauty since the fundamental canons that were already used in Antiquity and rescued in the Renaissance are observed.

Rochegrosse uses a very soft palette of colors, following the garden shown in the painting. The sky has pastel tones, as well as the flowers and the characters. The strokes are soft and, in some moments, flirt with impressionism, mainly in the elements of the landscape.

[dc418writes]

What Big Eyes You Have

✨Pairing✨: lumberjack!Ari Levinsonxblack!Reader

Summary🪄: Your knight in shining armor might not be as noble as you thought

⚠️: MINORS DNI!!!!, Ari (always first and foremost), hunter/prey chase situation, mention of an injured body part, partial memory loss, mention of unprotected adult fun times (wrap it up guys and gals, get tested, and pee after sex ladies!), semi explicit smut (at least I don’t think it’s fully explicit), nudity, body worship (f), allusions to oral (f), biting, mention of blood (small amount), violence (man-man)

A/N🎙: Hey guys! Really quick just wanted to say how this is my first time trying my hand at something smut related/adjacent (then again maybe it’s just full smut?? Idk, can you tell I’m nervous!?! Lol), and I just hope it’s ok. If there’s any warning I missed please let me know, and as always I hope you enjoy☺️!

Disclaimer!: although collage was created by me, I DO NOT OWN NOR CLAIM OWNERSHIP of photos as they were all found on Pinterest

“You sure you alright out there?”

“Yes I’m fine,” you giggle. “I’m in a completely renovated and furnished cabin with internet and surprisingly good service-,”

“That’s in the woods with no one else,” Selene, your best friend, adds making you roll your eyes. She, along with your parents, tried getting you to change your mind about journeying up to those foreign woods inhabited by dangerous animals and who knows.

None of this made you falter though, still eager to get to the waiting rental home surrounded by trees and much needed quiet.

The daily cycle of work, home, then work again was weighing on you enough that you knew a break was needed. Especially before the quickly approaching holiday season filled with the unnecessary stresses of gift shopping and visiting family member after family member. And yes you easily could’ve opted for an ornate resort on a warm island with endless sun and salt in the air, but there was also something beautiful—and highly undervalued—about having a front row seat to experience fall, and all it’s adjoining accessories, in such a raw setting.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine,” you state sliding your backpack on your shoulders as you head towards the door. “Call you when I get back, okay?”

“You better.”

Leaves and Earth crunching below your sneakers, you allow your mind to let go of any stresses currently plaguing your mind and aim your focus on what’s around you. Oaks and pines seemingly touching the heavens, while the sky begins its shift from serene blue to a mixture of pink and orange creating a golden hue to shine on everything in its wake. Birds soaring high as the squirrels bound from branch to branch either playing with another or in search of tonight’s dinner.

A small smile even spreads across your lips catching a small, beige rabbit planted in a patch of grass as it’s jaw twitched chewing on the dandelion partially hanging from its mouth.

“Aren’t you cute,” you whisper crouching down to find another dandelion beside you. “This your favorite? Hm?”

Keeping your hand as steady as possible, you slowly try to approach the woodland creature being as gentle as the breeze. It’s long ear flicks as it’s head turns. Little paws close to its white chest while it stands peering at you with beady eyes.

“It’s okay. Here, I’ll leave it. Don’t wanna make you nervous.”

Squat down with knees pressed against your chest, they cover your mouth helping you to contain your excitement watching your new bunny friend inch closer cautiously sniffing the ground. It’s nearly in range to bite down on the dandelion’s stem before the loud snap of a twig has it quickly hopping away and your head turning in every direction as you stand. Silence returns but only for a few seconds before there’s another snap along with the rustle of leaves.

Throat turning dry and heart thudding in your chest, your hands instinctively wrap tighter around the straps of your bag. “H-Hello?!,” you call out into the open air.

It’s quiet again. Eerily so as you take a slow step backwards in the direction you came from still actively searching all around for the culprit.

Maybe it was just a deer?

A deep growl tells you otherwise, giving your legs all the motivation they’d ever need to move.

The designated path is forgotten letting your feet carry you in whatever direction felt right, weaving around thick trunks and trying to evade the extra set of steps crunching close behind. You dare not look back, simply focused on getting away from whatever was breathing just as hard behind you, and hoping your stamina didn’t run out anytime soon.

Then you’re stuck.

Your ankle tightly bound by a rope trap cleverly hidden among the dirt and fallen leaves that yanks your leg so hard you fall back with a scream. Head thudding against the cool ground before your body is dragged and pulled upward along an oak until you’re helplessly dangling upside down. The ringing in your ears and pounding of your head make it hard to fight for escape, or fight the impending unconsciousness creeping in no matter how hard you tried to keep moving.

You can only whimper briefly meeting the golden eyes and sharp teeth bared as it snarls mere centimeters from your pained face. The warm air from its nostrils fanning your across your skin before all you see is darkness.

-

When you come to, you’re body is covered in a thick blanket as you lie on a foreign dark brown couch in an unknown living room. From what you could see, there was nothing lining the walls besides the dark wood planks that made up the home. No framed pictures, no decorations. Just a lone clock that ticked with every passing second.

It’s hard to sit up from the soreness in your back and slight dizziness in your head making you wince as you hold the cool rag to your head.

“Hey, take it slow,” a deep voice instructs startling you deeper into the couch’s back cushions.

Almond strands resting at his nape, his deep blue eyes were concerned as his muscular body neared closer to you. His large hands in front of him in surrender seeing you unsuccessfully try to scurry to the other side of the couch.

“I’m not gonna hurt you. My name’s Ari, I found you in the woods and brought you back here.”

You’re quiet as you study him. His burgundy flannel tight on his arms and opened to show the white tank underneath. His dark jeans over his equally thick thighs and cuffs resting over his work boots.

“Can you tell me your name?”

“…Y-Y/N.”

“That’s very pretty,” he smiles, and you could’ve sworn the room doubled its brightness.

“…w-what happened? And where is here?,” you shyly ask.

“Looks like you got caught in a hunter’s trap. Your ankle’s a bit scratched up and I’m guessing you knocked your head pretty good too. May I?”

Gently kneeling, he searches your nervous eyes for permission before reaching for your ankle to check under your bandage. His palms are rough from handiwork, but touch surprisingly careful and smooth like a feather caressing against one’s skin. You can’t seem to look away from his rugged face concentrated on dressing your wound, and his long lashes beautifully resting on the tops of his lightly freckled cheeks.

“And here, is my cabin. Where are you staying?”

“A cabin,” you answer, wincing as he carefully placed your ankle down. “Can’t remember the number though.”

“Are you up here with someone?”

“No, i-it’s just me.”

Ari lightly nods meeting your eyes again before standing to retrieve a backpack from the far corner of the room, “You had this on when I found you. Maybe there’s something inside that might help.”

Unzipping the front pocket, you find a set of keys and your cellphone displaying unread messages and a couple missed calls from your parents.

Hey it’s been over an hour, everything good? (sent 7:53 pm)

Y/N? Cmon this isn’t funny (sent 9:10 pm)

Ok, for my sanity I’m assuming you ate then went to bed and forgot to text me you got in…again😒 (sent 9:27 pm)

If I don’t hear anything by tomorrow afternoon, I’m calling the cops I swear to God (sent 9:28 pm)

Looking at the time, it’s a little after 10 the next day.

“Okay?,” he asks setting a bottle of water down on the table beside you.

Nodding, you turn your phone to show him the address sent in one of your earlier messages. “This is where I’m staying. Cabin 535.”

“You’re just a ways up the road then,” he softly smiles. “We can leave in a few minutes.”

-

“Don’t ever scare me like that again!,” Selene speaks through the phone. As soon as you entered the foyer, with the help of Ari’s thick arm around your waist, your phone vibrated with an incoming call showing the picture of you and your best friend laughing side by side.

You’re honestly surprised you weren’t already met with at least one squad car knowing how worried sick she was.

“I was minutes away from calling the cops and driving up there myself.”

“I’m sorry. I meant to call but then I hit my head-,”

“Wait, hit your head? What happened? You okay?”

“Yea I’m fine. Apparently there was a hunter’s trap-,”

“Apparently? You don’t remember?”

There’s a few seconds of silence as you bite the nail on your thumb looking down at your lap before a soft “no” slips past your lips.

“Okay, probable concussion. Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“Just sore on my back. My ankle’s scraped up a little. I promise I’m okay though! Ari found me and brought me back to his cabin-,”

“Ari? Who’s that?”

“He’s a guy that lives a few minutes away,” you answer turning to gaze at the man standing on your backporch leaning against the wooden post. His back facing you as smoke wisps from his lips to the cool air following the latest drag from his cigarette.

“And this guy just miraculously found you?,” she asks with a twinge of skepticism.

“Well yea, he said he was on a walk and I was just hanging there unconscious. He seems really nice.”

“So did Ted Bundy and Jeffery Dahmer,” she replies under her breath. “Listen, stay in your cabin alright? I’m gonna try to get up there to bring you back home.”

“Selene-,”

“Nothing you say will stop me from coming Y/N. You’re hurt with amnesia, you don’t need to be alone.”

You knew her words were true. And with her mind set, there’s nothing more you can do except sit there in silence until she was done.

“And don’t let him back in. Hear me?” It’s ironic how at that same moment, his large figure steps through the sliding glass door returning to your kitchen. He lifts the corners of his mouth in a soft smile causing your own to follow shortly after.

Ari had taken care of you, bandaged your wounds, and made sure you were comfortable since finding you. How could someone so sweet possibly be bad?

“You say it like he’s bad,” you mumble loud enough for only her to hear.

“Because he might be! For all we know, he’s the one who set that trap.” Again, then why treat you so nice? “I’ll call you later okay? Be careful and stay inside.”

Setting your phone down, your fingers meet your temples trying to rub away the little ache forming as you quietly grimace. How long was this supposed to last? It was gonna be a bit difficult trying to do for yourself when you could hardly keep your eyes open for too long.

“You should rest,” Ari says handing you a bottle of ibuprofen, which you graciously took. “Someone coming for you?”

“My friend said she would try.”

“Well, I’ll tell you now, if she’s not here by the weekend she’s not makin’ it,” he states stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets. “Storm’s headed this way, which means the roads are gonna be flooded or closed.”

“Oh..”

He barely knew you, but watching the worry set in your body as your arms wrapped around your middle brought this protectiveness out of him wanting to take away your fears any way he could.

“You’ll be fine,” he speaks trying to ease your mind—and that little voice in his own concerned about you being alone in your condition.

“Stay inside, and if things start looking bad the day of, get to your bathroom and lie down in the tub.” Nodding your head, he can still see how uneasy you are from the way you chew on your plump bottom lip.

He has to mentally check himself that he doesn’t stare too long at such a simple yet distracting habit that had him shamefully curious if it tasted as good as you made it seem.

It came to pass that Selene wasn’t able to make it to you in time due to work and the incoming weather, as Ari said. So the days that followed, you heeded their instruction on staying in. You’d wake up, eat breakfast, then watch tv until Ari would knock at the door announcing his presence. He’d always hand you a bit of extra food from what he’d made the night before—making sure you had something to eat for the day—stored in a medium sized Tupperware before going to the bed of his truck to unload more firewood for you. You were pretty sure you had enough since you didn’t use the fireplace every day, but you were still thankful for his generosity.

Admittedly, you didn’t believe him when he first told you he was a lumberjack, never having met one in real life. You’d only ever heard of them in fairytales and the occasional ad for the newest pick-up truck with all wheel drive and other irresistible features every man just had to have.

He deeply chuckled when you told him that, flashing his pearly whites as the corners of his eyes wrinkled in the cutest way.

“Well, I’m your proof we’re definitely real sweetheart.”

It was the first time he’d used the term with you, and the way it sparked tingles through your body and warmed your cheeks had you addicted already.

He’d stay for a while talking with you and making sure you were okay before leaving close to nightfall with the promise of returning the next day if he could. It was like clockwork how he’d gather his things and put on his coat just as golden hour had dimmed from its brightest hue. Then you were back to the silence of the two story cabin with all its creaks and echoes of the whistling wind.

Something that was once craved now unwanted wishing for the extended company of your rescuer.

-

“What’s this?” Following you inside, he notices the table set for two with dark green bowls neatly sat on chocolate brown placemats. A spoon besides each along with a folded napkin and glass, while steam twirled from the bubbling pot partially covered on the stove.

“Well you always bring me food, so I thought I’d return the favor,” you smile shyly motioning to everything you set up. “And it’s my thank you for everything you’ve done.”

By the weekend you were much better. Your ankle now able to move without any sense of pain and only lightly bruised along with your back. Your headaches—although still plaguing—not as frequent, allowing you more hours in the day that you could comfortably be up and out of bed.

Ari was happy to see you walking about with the help of his healing hands. Plus that twinkle in your eye as you proudly showed him the fading marks had him smiling brighter than he had in a while. Deep down there was an ache in his heart though knowing soon you’d have to leave; possibly never returning.

The first person he’d actually connected with gone seemingly just as soon as you came. Lips curling into a small smile as you place the full bowl in front of him, he ultimately knew that’s how it had to be. Why it had worked all these years and continued to do so.

It was safer.

“You didn’t have to go through all this trouble.”

The tomato base of the vegetable stew was the first to find home in his nostrils making him pleasantly hum. It’s added spice of pepper, and maybe cayenne, wasn’t overpowering as it tingled his tongue and caused his mouth to water. Vegetables fresh as if you’d picked them this morning, it was the best dish he’d tasted in years.

“It was no trouble, I just hope it’s fit to eat,” you nervously giggle sitting beside him with your own filled bowl.

Fit to eat? If he was by himself, he’d shame the wildest of dogs from how quick his face would sink into the bowl loudly chewing and slurping; surely spilling juice everywhere that he’d happily lick up later.

“It’s perfect.” Just like you. “Thank you.”

-

Throughout the day, more and more bulletins flashed across the television screen and your phone regarding the incoming storm. Warnings of definite wind damage and flooding along with lightning as they urged those to be effected to stay safe and make sure they had their needed supplies. The wind already picking up and moving the trees with more force as sprinkles of rain tapped against the window and roof.

By sunset, roads were closed and those nearby were encouraged to head inside, if they hadn’t already, and not leave unless in the event of an emergency. You watched, with disheartened eyes, Ari sigh as he stood knowing what would come next. The words that would slip from his pink lips you didn’t want to hear, especially not tonight.

“I uh better get goin’. Before it gets too bad,” he states walking towards the door with you on his heels.

“Y-Yea, okay.”

Your quieter tone catches him first before he turns to find you downcast with arms securely wrapped around you.

“What’s wrong? Is it your head?”

“No no it’s fine. I just..” The back and forth in your head was tiring debating on whether it was best to say something or leave it be.

“Just what sweetheart?” God, the power of his drawl.

“I…I don’t wanna be alone tonight,” you whisper. He sighs once more scratching his smooth beard. He shouldn’t stay. He can’t stay. No matter how much his heart willed him to take off his boots and join you on the couch or wherever you wanted to be.

“..I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he whispers back. Your gaze falls to the floor making him so badly want to lift your chin and bring you closer. Instead, he stands there watching you awkwardly shift from one foot to the other as his rejection sinks in.

“Oh…I understand.” You didn’t. And it made him all the more frustrated he couldn’t explain. “I-I’m sorry I didn’t mean to-,”

“You didn’t. Promise.” His hand itches to reach out to you—even slightly twitching at his side—but he figures it’s best to keep to himself.

The silence is nearly deafening as you both stand there not really sure of what to say or do next. It’s not until the distant rumble of thunder that you get the push you needed. Shoving the embarrassment of potentially looking pushy deep down while moving towards the kitchen to retrieve the Tupperware bowl filled with leftover stew.

“In case you get hungry.” Your small smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes as you hold out the warm container towards him.

At first he doesn’t move, just continuing to peer at you with those gentle yet piercing cerulean gaze and making your heart begin to sink until his palm hesitantly hovers over the side of your neck. Your own lack of movement or protest tells him it’s okay to make contact with your skin as his thumb grazes just under your bottom lip. Then he steps closer. Leaning in until his nose gently brushed against yours to finally meet your lips.

It was like he was testing the waters from how his lips slowly glided along yours; taking his time to truly savor your taste and the feel of your mouth on his. Your arms around his neck invite him closer pressing his brawny body against yours. His hands cautiously wander until they can grip your bottom making you softly gasp and lips part enough that his waiting tongue can explore as well.

His hands pull your legs to wrap around his hips carrying you to the couch after the bowl is long forgotten on the counter. Your lips left swollen as he moves to your neck sucking and nibbling the heated flesh there as you try to catch your breath. Sat straddling his lap, you easily feel his bulge crying to break free against your throbbing center causing your hips to gently buck and grind needing more.

From his muffled groan and hands gripping your hips tighter, so did he.

A quiet whine emanates from your throat when Ari pulls away with swollen, red lips himself. His eyes shades darker from his blown pupils as he’s quick to remove his red flannel and then his white tee to expose his sculpted chest and arms etched with hidden tattoos.

You can’t seem to look away from the large laceration on his left pec though, spanning from his collarbone to the tip of his sternum. Now a mix of pink and red with scar tissue, your finger slowly slides over the slightly raised skin before looking up with curious eyes.

He shyly grins massaging your thigh with one hand as the other caresses your cheek. “Bar fight much younger and dumber me just couldn’t walk away from. Didn’t realize he had a knife until I was down on the ground with a sliced and bloodied shirt.”

It was possibly a dumb question, but you had to ask, “Does it still hurt?”

“I’m fine sweetheart,” he smiles. Thumb gliding along your lips again before you lean down to peck along the curved marking as far as you could reach. Ari’s soft hum as he rubs your back, and your lips creep along his skin, is as soothing as the ocean’s waves having you wanting to stay in this little bubble of intimacy with him for as many days to come.

Your top is next to go, then your jeans with the help of his pretty fingers you couldn’t wait to have on you again. He takes his time tracing from the dip at the bottom of your throat down your sternum and across the top lace of your bra, leaving shivers down your spine, until his fingertips tease the band of your panties noticeably soaked at this rate.

“Is this okay?,” he asks pausing to look in your eyes. Head tilted down slightly to make sure he didn’t miss any cues. You gently nod your head as you unhook your bra, letting Ari slide the straps down until you’re completely exposed.

He must be a mind reader how quick he whispers, “You’re so beautiful. You know that right?,” as if sensing how being under his intense gaze in such a vulnerable position made part of you want to shrink away. Long harbored insecurities beginning to creep along the dark corners of your mind even though you eagerly wanted the man below you.

He doesn’t take kindly to your silence this time meeting your lips a tad rougher than before as he stands from the couch to carry you towards the bedroom. It’s as if he was trying to transfer all the adoration he had onto you to erase the words of whatever idiot made you unsure of yourself.

To stop you from ever questioning yourself again.

As soon as your back hits the colorful quilt, his mouth is journeying along the map of your body taking detours here and there as he enjoys each and every stop until he’s satisfied and sure he reached each spot of its surface. Being so close to your center, your scent overpowers his senses snapping something in his brain that has him easily ripping your cotton underwear and the prettiest moan he’s ever heard slipping past your lips as your fingers tangle in his hair.

His skilled tongue and thick fingers have you embarrassingly close already unable to do anything but moan and whimper as your back begins to arch. The added vibrations of his grunts and own moans against your sensitive bundle pushing you closer and closer until he’s drinking down everything your body has to give while you pant, trying to catch your breath as you scratch his scalp.

Ari’s not done though, sinking back in needing more of you on his skin, his beard, practically flooding his nostrils with your essence so he’d never go without.

“Sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted,” he mumbles against your thigh as his fingers pick up their pace until you’re back where you started.

The way he was able to manipulate and shift your body to different positions, he could’ve easily sought out only his pleasure not caring if you were satisfied. But this was the same man who brought you back to his cabin to care for your wounds. Made sure you were safe and closely monitored your progress coming to check on you everyday. You’re not surprised how he listens to your body creating a personal relationship with it just as he did you.

He took in every clench and shudder. Every clutch of your hand around his bicep and fiery scratch left by your nails. Even every curl of your toes leading to the cutest “o” of your full lips to have you a babbling mess and body wrung to exhaustion. Strings of “please”, “don’t stop”, and “right there” the only words dripping from your lips followed by chants of his name.

And how could he not comply when you asked so nicely, and with twinkling tears of ecstasy flowing from your eyes? His numerous praises only adding to that pleasure referring to you as “perfect” and, your favorite, “his pretty girl”.

You can tell he’s close when his relentless pace stutters. His mouth on your shoulder to muffle the curses and animal like growl that overtakes his body as he holds your sweaty back close to his front. A sharp prick breaking your skin makes you cry out in pain before it’s quickly soothed by his warm tongue. His release—strangely lasting longer and thicker than you’ve ever experienced—steadily warming and filling you until you’re tensing again for the third, or fourth, time tonight before you’re body feels as if it would float away if not for Ari holding you to him.

You feel his wet lips on you again showing just as much attention to your back, shoulders, and further south that he did to your front before the bed gently dips and his footsteps pad towards the bathroom. The last thing you remember being his gentle hands cleaning you with a wet rag as your hazy mind fought to squirm away.

“I know, I’m sorry. Promise I’m almost done,” he whispers before his lips sweetly find yours again. Then you’re pulled into his warm chest as his muscular arm drapes over you like a weighted blanket further bringing you closer to the sleep you needed.

-

Your incessant shivering is what ruins your once peaceful rest, making you rise prematurely. It’s definitely too early for your liking still seeing the moon occasionally peek through in the onyx sky. Heavy rain continued to fall as gusts of wind knocked against the newly placed French doors making them shake ever so slightly.

Reaching behind you, you don’t feel the body once there causing you to sit up clutching the thin sheet to your bare chest pebbled and covered in goosebumps. It feels as if it’s getting colder by the second leading you to believe the storm must’ve knocked out the power. Maybe that’s where he went?

Scooting closer to the side of the bed, you crane your neck trying to listen for any sign of movement but everything in the house is still.

“Ari!?,” your strained voice calls, but you get no response. Just a flash of lightning and rumble of thunder that’s gotten closer since earlier this evening. You gingerly slide out of bed—still sore from your earlier rounds—to get a pair of your sweats and a sweatshirt to cover yourself before moving towards the living room.

There you find the same; more silence as you carefully maneuvered about the dark space confused and concerned. A particularly intense draft catches your attention turning your head towards the flowing sheer curtain and cracked door leading to the porch now partially slick with water as it continued to be battered. “Ari?,” you called again from its sheltered portion now armed with a flashlight that shined outward to the trees swaying and shimmying in the rough weather.

Maybe Selene was right all along about Ari. That he couldn’t be trusted, and you should’ve just kept the door locked forbidding him passage into your residence let alone your heart. And maybe you weren’t the first helpless stranger he’s offered his assistance to? Instead now a number on a list spanning however long as he charmed his way to his next victim.

“No..h-he wouldn’t,” you whisper to yourself feeling a crack begin to extend along the surface of your heart.

Your pity party is cut short hearing the crack of a tree limb before it eventually fell to the damp ground with a thud. Another snap and you’re scanning the small yard hoping it’s just the storm causing these sounds and nothing more.

Then your blood is running cold and air hitching in your throat seeing a set of glowing red eyes staring directly at you. They only seem to follow as you slowly try to retreat back inside—hand tightly gripping the door’s handle—until you see what looks like the menacing smirk of the creature in question. It’s ash grey fur weighed down by the rain and paws firm against the ground as it creeped closer towards the light with teeth gleaming and some form of liquid dripping from its curled lips. You’re not sure if it was rain water, saliva, or maybe a mix of both.

You try to will yourself to run inside and lock the door behind you but with the wolf-like being’s height reaching up to your waist and both legs and arms protruding large masses of muscle as it stepped closer, you were sure it could probably tear down any door or wall in its way.

You crouch down accepting your fate just as the nails of its paw are about to tap against the wooden deck when a fast blur shoves it into the dirt. It snaps and growls inches from the other’s face before they’re wrestling on hind legs. Swiping and biting as they seemingly compete with the thunder on who could be loudest.

Finally your legs are able to move, helping you quickly crawl into the cabin on the safer side of the door. Back pressed against the side of the island, your chest heaves as you struggle to calm your breathing. Could you even call for help? The roads were blocked and or flooded with all the rain, so no one could come up even if they tried. Then again, would they even believe you? They’d probably laugh in your face or tell you to stop wasting their time before angrily disconnecting.

Although frightened, you can’t look away from the two beasts rolling around and surely drawing blood from the other as they compete for dominance. Eventually, you see this new creature—larger than the other in both height and muscle—standing over its competitor’s weakened form before it’s snarling a last bite into it’s arm making it yelp into the surrounding forest with an echo. It rises shortly after growling lowly and slowly sauntering back in the woods where it came from.

Whether it wanted to or not, it had no choice but to surrender.

The victor keeps its eyes trained on the path making sure the other doesn’t try to come back. It’s body still tense and ears pointed ready for another bout if needed. Then it’s turning towards the cabin with eyes on you.

Those same golden eyes bringing you back to your hike all those days ago, finally able to remember everything. Your chase through the woods. The rope against your leg before you were upside down practically bait for the animal now outside or any other that passed by.

It’s features are softer now—dare you say apologetic or sorrowful even—taking one hesitant step forward then retreating back two. A small puff of smoke cast from its nostrils as the warm air meets the cool night. It’s head nods upwards a couple times making your own tilt in confusion.

Was it…telling you to go?

Turning it’s head with a twitch of it’s ear, a sinking feeling forms in the pit of your stomach noticing the all too familiar scar on it’s chest. Though surrounded by more hair, it was unmistakable with its placement and nearly crescent shape.

“Nonono that’s crazy,” you think to yourself slowly scooting towards the door placing your hands on the cool glass in front of you.

It made sense though the more you thought.

How Ari knew where to find you even though you were well off course from the designated trail in the middle of nowhere, and possibly why he’d been so nice and caring these past few days.

Turning back towards you, it’s as if he knows what you’re thinking seeing the conflict in your deep brown eyes and across your brows as he steadily steps forward until he’s on the deck leaving paw prints in his wake. His nose tapping the glass where your hand sat, smearing it with the water from its surface.

“Ari..”

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Brozone & Acquaintances: Fame and Blunders (The Rise And Fall, The Epic Highs And Lows Of Trolltwt) Part Six

split into a new post bc the last one (parts 1-5, crossposted on ao3 (including intermission)) got too long. as always, cowritten by the evil genius @squirrelpatties

cloud guy: infamous leaktwt contributor, with a specific fixation on branch (and to a lesser extent anyone close to branch, but branch is his #1). he got his hands on several embarrassing baby photos of branch, which even jd was concerned about, because "we never published those ones, they were just for grandmas wallet". some of his most well known leaks were "barb was admitted to rehab" "creek got a BBL" and "smidge had a miscarriage" (the latter overshadowing the other two by a significant margin)

sky toronto: egotistical millionaire who bought twitter and changed the logo into a tie. whenever creek posts a new off-the-wall conspiracy theory to his impressionable audience, sky replies that hes "Looking into this..." (theyre oomfs). many of his experimental party supplies have killed a disgusting amount of animal test subjects but that doesnt mean hes not willing to test on trolls. branch almost dies when hes hit by someones neuro-mind-link party popper.

smidge vs barbtwt: several influential barbtwt members with a tie to a certain infamous leaker who shall not be named (they paid him. he didnt need the money he just likes messing with people) get their hands on smidges medical records, initially to prove shes trans (shes not) but they instead learn about her miscarriage. instead of backing off, showing her sympathy and feeling guilty about this disgusting breach of privacy, they coordinate to make this public knowledge the next time smidges name trends. twitter is divided into "smidgetwt supporting her wholeheartedly through this horrible situation" "smidge antis who think 'she had it coming'" and "barbtwt happy that smidge is suffering". this sparks a debate on the ethics of trolls smoking while with eggs, with pro-egg-smokers saying its their body their choice and anti-egg-smokers saying "are you out of your damn mind". this is how smidge reveals she is simultaneously pro-egg-smoking and pro-life. its a bloodbath. she drops off the face of the internet never to be seen again........ unless 🤔

cloud guy (part 2): after years of providing the public service of "making branchs life miserable", cloud guys twitter account (and IP) is sadly permabanned when poppy demands sky toronto take action the third time branch is doxxed. sky toronto originally didnt care but after a solid week of her pestering him, he gave up, but only because he forgot to take "no doxxing" out of troll twitters TOS, and the backlash would be worse than hes willing to deal with right now. sleep well, soldier 🫡.

dante vs poppy: dante is branchs stalker. routinely stakes out by branchs pod to take photos of him for his shrine. its not a sex thing but whatever it is is way weirder than a sex thing. branch has moved pods 3 times but dante always manages to find him. perhaps he has friends in high places? regardless of the "how", the "what" is poppy wants him fucking Gonezo. unfortunately dante, as an ambassador for classical trolls, is not under poppys jurisdiction of pop trolls. she decides the only way to deal with the "rando stalking my partner" situation is to catch him with one of branchs traps. except, dante can fly, so rope traps arent effective and poppy needs to get creative and potentially very violent. she asks branch if he still has those spikes she begged him to take down. he does but he repurposed them as hat racks. now he needs to find somewhere else to put his hats!

gus tumbleweed: lowtiergod-esque fighting game streamer whos known for yelling and screaming at his opponents when he loses. he goes into long, drawn out, nonsensical similes and metaphors to describe how much he wants the player who beat him to kill themself or otherwise die painfully

tiny (in game chat): git rekt f4gg0t gus (on mic): someone outta hog tie ya and hang ya up in the middle o town like a pinata caught sleezin with the mayors daughter tiny (in game chat): bro

is invited to take part in a tournament for charity during pride month. when beaten by a gay guy he regresses to violently homophobic hatespeach. youd think thisd be a career ender but its amazing what "pretending to be attracted to your fellow straight male friends" can fix! he makes a halfhearted comment about thinking one of his streamer friends is handsome and/or has a nice ass and everything is back to normal, and he faces zero consequences for his actions.

holly darlin: fellow twitch streamer, although in different circles to gus tumbleweed. she is undefeated at chess but otherwise unremarkable, yet because shes a woman everyone hates her. after a year or two or constant hate she decides "fuck it" and commits to selling snake oil. the hell are they gonna do? call her a whore? shes already got every variation and misspelling caught in autofilter, buddy. she peddles for the same company that supplies the diet pills satin and chenille hype up on their podcast. its how she and satin meet. theyre lesbians now. it makes the hate holly gets SOOOOOO much worse but satins used to it so shes unaffected. chenille gets no say in the matter

synth: third and final twitch streamer (...so far). the gay guy who beat gus in a tournament for charity and was met with violent hatespeach. beforehand was one of the smaller creators in the tournament but afterward he blew up a lot more. he does a lot of charity streams, mostly for the benefit of disabled children, out of the goodness of his heart and NOT the glory like some OTHER trolls mentioned two paragraphs previous. hes just a good guy! also almost had a thing with branch when they were both confused about each others identities.

synth: today marks a year since i almost kissed a very attractive twunk in pop village and then found out he was a lesbian who thought i was a lesbian minuet: gay culture

broppy: theyre doing great! absolutely NO problems whatsoever! im sure it will last forever!

[callsigndragon]

Desperate times, desperate measures | ch. 4: Writer's block

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x fem!writer!reader (Most of the times, she will be called Page)

Word count: 2k

Warnings: mentions of death, and food, jake and page are being civil (and cute), and it's still a slowwwwwwwwww burn, (they might be in good terms now but things are going to get... interesting soon)

A/N: i had planned a chapter before this one but i ended up changing the order lol (i just want the next one to arrive so BAAAAAAAAAAAAD)

It's okay if you like it and all, but please... a comment is also welcomed and if you reblog it? I'll kiss you on the forehead.

If you want to be added, comment down!

Masterlist

It’s been a week since you got Emma back. It would be nice to say that things have been easier since then, but there was something else that you and Jake didn’t think about.

You two had to prepare a service. 

It was hard, and it was the final goodbye. It seemed like no matter how many times you came to terms with it, there was something else to be done. Another event. Another goodbye. But as soon as the service came, it was gone. 

It’s all gone now. 

Jake asked for parental leave, so he could get used to this new life. Jake didn’t think it was fair that he continued with his life and you had to stay at home all day taking care of Emma. At least he wasn’t a complete jerk. 

Little by little, you have been replacing some of the pictures in the house. Not all of them, because you and Jake want Emma to grow up knowing that Anne and Luke were, and still are, family. However, one of the photos Luke took on Emma's first birthday a few months ago has replaced the large family portrait that they once had atop the fireplace. It didn’t feel right, but you had to do it. Make that house feel like a home again. 

Just in case child services decide to show up unannounced. 

“Hey, you need to eat something.” 

Jake sits next to you on the porch, watching the afternoon sky and its orange colors. You look at him, processing his words. “‘M not hungry.”

“Page,” he mumbles, offering you a sandwich. “Eat.” 

Your eyes move from him to the sandwich. “Why are you being nice?” 

“I’m not being nice. I just don’t want you to die of starvation, leaving me alone to raise Emma.” He jokes, and you accept the sandwich. 

“I want to do that again.” You mutter, munching on your sandwich. 

“Do what?”

“Joke,” you simply respond. “And laugh.” 

Jake sighs, knowing how hard it is for you. “You’ll laugh again, Page.” 

“When?” 

“When something is really, really funny.” He assures you, and you see Gabby’s car parking in the street. “You called her?” 

“No, I didn’t.” You are about to leave your sandwich on the small table when Jake raises a finger. “What?” 

“Don’t even try to leave that sandwich there.” 

“Or what?” 

“I’ll have to feed you like I do with Emma,” he says, and his words make you feel like he’s joking, but you can’t find in you the ability to laugh. 

Jake looks at his hands before getting up. “I’ll leave you two alone.” 

Gabby watches him open the main door and calls him before he enters the house. “Don’t go, Jake. This concerns you, too.” 

The male turns, looking at you with an interrogative expression. You shrug, not knowing what this is all about. “What happens, Gabs?” 

“Well,” she starts, sitting next to you and opening your Instagram account. “You see that?” 

“Yeah, it’s my Instagram” 

She points to the name. “You haven’t changed the surname.” 

“Oh…you’re right.” 

Jake looks at you two, not understanding anything. “What does it matter?” 

“Jake, Page is famous. She’s been since I invited her to the Grammys and she came with me.” 

“You’ve been to the Grammys?” 

You roll your eyes. “Remember when Anne was in labor and you and Luke had to take her to the hospital because we were in Los Angeles?” 

“Oh, right. I remember now.” 

“Anyway. Since that night, she’s been somehow a public figure, she has a lot of followers, and fans. ” Gabby keeps going on and on, and you can’t believe that people aren’t posting about your recent marriage. 

Jake crosses his arms and looks at the phone. “Okay so why I’m hearing is that you need to prove to your followers and the paps, right?” 

“Basically.” Gabby confirms. 

You look at them, almost hearing the wheels in their heads. “Okay, we’re going on a trip.” 

Gabby looks at him, arching her perfect eyebrow. “The fuck you mean you’re going on a trip.” 

Jake sits next to her. “My parents have a ranch. I grew up there. We can go there, take some family pictures, you post them, we hang some of them in the house, and the problem is solved.”

You place a hand on his shoulder, getting his attention. “Jake, if you go there, you’ll have to tell your parents that you got married.” 

“Shit, you’re right.” 

Gabs notices your worried expression and decides to step in. “Let’s start with the wedding pics. We need you to post some of them on insta.” 

Sighing, you get up, shaking your head. “This is so wrong.” 

You pace around the porch, thinking of all the possible ways you can get out of this. Maybe you can tell the truth and hope to still be able to get Emma’s custody. Yeah, sure. As if. There’s no way to get out of this. 

“Page. Page, come on, you’re gonna make a hole in the floor.” Jake jokes, and you’re really tempted to throw the sandwich in his face. 

“How are you so fucking calm?” You raise your voice, standing in front of him. “You’re proposing to lie to your fucking parents, Jake. And you don’t care?” 

“It’s only a year, Page. I don’t see my parents that much.” He admits, looking away. 

“But… we were only supposed to lie to CPS. Not our families. Or the world.” You stop your rambling for a second and turn to Jake. “You don’t see them?” 

“No, we’re…not on good terms.” He confesses, and you frown.

“Maybe we shouldn’t go there.” 

Jake shakes his head, getting up from his chair, when he hears Emma crying inside. “We need those photos. And being away from this place for a few days will help us. All of us.” 

He walks inside, closing the door softly behind him, and Gabby takes your hand between hers. “Breathe, honey. It’s gonna be a long year.” 

“No, Gabs,” you sigh, looking at the now dark blue sky. “It won't end in a year. Not for me.”

Gabby has a plan. And it’s a good plan. So good that the next morning you find yourself standing in a venue with a wedding dress and being the main character of a wedding photoshoot. 

The place is beautiful, filled with flowers that decorate the first of each row of white chairs. At the end of the aisle, the same white flowers decorate the arch under which, in ideal circumstances, you would have married. Jake is stunning in his black suit, and little Emma has a beautiful white dress. You don’t want to show her face in the pictures; she’s too little to be exposed to the public eye. 

After a few hours of posing and being blinded by the camera flash, the photographer requests a break to go over the photos and determine whether they need more. You sit down with your laptop, watching Emma and Gabs sleep in the back of her car.

You need to write.  There’s a deadline that you need to respect. And deadlines can’t be pushed forward just because your best friend died in an accident. But words seem to have abandoned you. Maybe you don't have anything to say anymore. Have you run out of stories? Do you really want to spend the rest of your life hiding behind a screen and living through your characters?

Life can change in a second. Your current situation is proof of it. You don't want to regret not having lived enough experiences once your time comes, whenever that is. 

Jake sits next to you, closing the laptop. It turned off a while ago, due to inactivity. "You'll find your voice again, Page. Your mind isn't in the right place." 

"Why do you always seem to know what I'm thinking?" You groan, looking at him. 

Jake smirks, raising his eyebrows playfully, while he unties the bowtie and the first buttons of his shirt."I can read you like a Page of an open book." 

You snort, laughing at the stupidest joke Jake has ever said. It's not funny. It's terrible. And yet, it makes you cry with laughter. Jake joins, a genuine smile spreading over his face. A weight leaves your shoulders, and your soul. And all thanks to, weirdly enough, Jake. 

None of you seem to hear the click of the camera capturing the moment, or Gabby asking the photographer to hide that picture from you two. She will show you this picture. When the time comes.

When the laugh dies down, you look at him, biting your lip. "Can I tell you something?" 

Jake nods. 

"I-I don't know if I want to keep writing." 

"But... that's what you've always wanted to do." Jake replies, not understanding your sudden change of heart. 

"I've been... living through my characters. I don't have a lot of stories to share or memories to go through when I'm old," you start rambling, feeling like you need to let it all out. "I don't want to regret it in 30 years."

Jake remains silent, going over your words and the meaning behind them. He knows that Anne's death has changed the way you look at life, but he can also say that choices made in the heat of the moment only end in regret. Writing is your life. "And if you don't want to write, what are you going to do?" 

"Anne... wanted me to act in her next movie." 

"The one based on your first script?" Jake asks, remembering a conversation he had with Luke not so long ago. 

"Yeah, that one. That first script was more... personal than everything I’ve ever written. She said that the only one who could act as the main character was me."

"She's based on you, right?" When you look at him, surprised that he knows about the character, he raises a hand. "Luke told me. He read your script and said that he would even watch the movie.”

"Anyway, the new director of the movie called me a few days ago. He found the annotated version of the script, and apparently Anne refused to direct the movie if I wasn’t in it." 

"But, do you know how to act?" Jake questions, playing with the ends of his bowtie. 

"I... graduated with a major in theater and a minor in writing." You confess, and he seems surprised by this new information. 

“And you chose to write rather than act?” 

“Yeah. It was easier for me.” You shrug, not caring too much about it. 

“So... Here's what I think. As your hot husband,” you snort, and he chuckles. “I see that you have two choices. You can keep being a writer, and wait for this writer’s block to go away, or you can use this week off in my parents ranch to think about the future, what you want to do with your life…” 

You place your head on his shoulder, closing your eyes for a second and enjoying this calm moment. “Thanks, Jake.” 

“We can only survive this year if we help each other.” He says, using the same words you used a few days ago.

The photographer approaches you and informs you that there are enough pictures and the photoshoot is over. Jake offers you a hand to get up from the chair, his hand lingering on yours a few more seconds than necessary. “I have to go with the boys today, you think you can handle Emma on your own?” 

“Yeah, don’t worry. Gabby is staying, I won’t be alone.” You smile a bit and pat his chest. “Don’t go around flirting with people, please. It might come back in the future and bite us in the ass.” 

“Page,” he mutters, a solemn tone in his voice. “This marriage might be fake, but the consequences aren’t. I won’t do anything that risks Emma being taken away from us.” 

“But… it’s a year.” You emphasize the last word, so he realizes that it’s a lot of time. 

“I’ll worry about that when the time comes.” He takes off the suit jacket and looks at you. “I’ll see you tonight, okay? Call me if anything happens.” 

You nod, and watch him walk away, thinking about his words. There’s no way that Jake can keep it in his pants for a year.

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[becomingkatie]

anniversary trip to the mountains

Friday we left work a little early to drive down near Shenandoah National Park. We stopped in Sperryville to go by a brewery we used to like to go to after hikes in the area. They were in a totally different building, and when I asked when they moved they said October 2020! Which shows how long it's been since our hiking days! Yikes - we used to casually do hikes that required hours-long drives to the trailhead just on a regular weekend, but now we've fallen out of the habit. We'd both like to do it more, and were excited to hike this weekend.

After beers we got pizza (at a restaurant we've been to before that had also changed significantly since 5 years ago) and then checked into the house we were renting near Luray.

Saturday we did the Strickler Knob hike. In the photos of the sky (view from the house we rented) where the mountain does a lil step up to the right of the sunset - I'm pretty sure that's the peak/overlook we hiked to. The hike was pretty miserable, but in that way where being miserable with someone you love is kinda funny instead of just shitty. The bugs were awful and we didn't think about bug spray, just sunscreen. And I chose the wrong shoes instead of my hiking boots and suffered. It got rocky, and most of the rocky section was like the picture I posted, but there were a few "climb up this 6ft boulder" moments where I felt like I was at the climbing gym but with real life consequences if I messed up. The peanut butter sandwich at the top was great though.

We got cleaned up after hiking and then checked out Luray Caverns. We have driven past the highway signs for it so many times over the years, so it was nice to finally see it. Was it worth the $34 apiece to get in? Eh, maybe. I'm glad we saw it. It was bigger than I expected - like a longer walk to get through the whole thing. And there's an organ inside that vibrates the stalactites to make music, and it played "A Mighty Fortress is our God" and I cried despite not being religious. I grew up in a church with really old/traditional hymns and a very solemn service, and that music still makes me so emotional even though whenever I read the Bible I am like "boy this is FUCKED up."

From the caverns we got dinner at a little diner spot, then ice cream and cocktails before heading back to the house. The distillery had a dog who enjoyed greeting all of the patrons. I enjoyed being greeted by a dog. But it wasn't climate controlled inside so the 90+ deg outdoors was more comfortable than inside.

Lastly, we stopped by Patty O's cafe on the way home. There's an inn with a very fancy Michelin starred restaurant in Washington, VA, and the chef there opened up this more casual cafe across the street. It's super cute and I really wanted to try it, but the vibe was better than the food. There was a live bluegrass band playing, and although I was bummed at first because it made it hard to hear each other talk, it was a nice atmosphere. The food was good but not mind-blowing. We also got some treats from the bakery to take home, and they were similarly good but not amazing. Except the chocolate mousse. That was mind-blowing, as much as a simple chocolate mousse could be.

Overall it was a really nice weekend getaway a few hours from home!

[talia-rumlow]

Home Sweet Home (AU Brock Rumlow/Original Female Character) 18+ Chapter One

WORDCOUNT: 6267

TRIGGERS: Age Gap, 911 Call, Police

CHAPTER ONE - SOMETHING JUST LIKE THIS!

The blistering Texas sun beamed down on the pavement, smothering downtown Mansfield in an oppressive heat wave. The cloudless sky stretched on in an expanse of clear blue, offering no respite from the sweltering 93°F temperature. The only escapes from the relentless rays were the shady trees in the parks or the cool relief of air conditioning indoors.

As Calleigh locks the office door, she feels the heat radiating in from outside. Having worked in her dad's delivery business for a little over three months now, she easily navigates the building, double-checking that everything is secured for the weekend. Approaching the exit, the intense heat worsens. Calleigh lifts her shirt, revealing a cute pink butterfly piercing on her belly button - a small act of rebellion she got after her first visit with her dad following her mom's move to New York with a new boyfriend. Pushing aside thoughts of New York and the boyfriend she detests, Calleigh fans her exposed stomach with her shirt in a futile attempt to withstand the heat on her way out, silently thanking the universe for Fridays and weekends.

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

Brock backs his day-old black Chevrolet Silverado 1500 as close to the garage door as possible. Searching for the key to turn off the engine, he suddenly remembers this truck has a keyless start/stop system—all he has to do is push a button. Brock chuckles a bit of his lack of knowledge about his new car, before he makes a mental note to get used to the new feature.

Though the car met all his needs, Brock struggled to adjust to its high-tech features. While he wanted to embrace the smart house, smart phone, smart car lifestyle, at heart he was old-fashioned. To Brock, a car should just be a car, and a phone just a phone. These days, cars were becoming more like living spaces, packed with extra gadgets and gizmos; and those new phones were multipurpose devices that served not only as phones, but also as calendars, alarm clocks, cameras, journals, and computers. He almost felt that he was too old to keep up, with his 46 years, Brock started to feel that his youth had passed him by long ago.

Placing his toned muscular forearm on the center console; Brock looks over the dashboard. The car's built-in entertainment system was bigger than his nephew's tablet. The right side of the screen informed him that the temperature was a scorching 94°F and climbing; moving over to the left side, where he could decide on what radio station to listen to, operate the car's cameras, use the built-in GPS system, connect his phone via Bluetooth and a bunch of other stuff he'd probably never use.

A quick glance at the clock told him that he had to get to work. He had promised Jack ages ago that he would fix the Oil leak, change the filter, the camshaft belt and do an overall service on the car. But the parts he needed weren't always easy to come by. So here he was, grabbing his mechanic's creeper off his truck, to finally do the job; four months behind schedule.

Brock swings open the garage door, revealing the stunning 1967 Chevy Impala. The sleek black exterior gleams in the sunlight, resembling a rare diamond. Despite its age and need for repairs, the Impala exudes charm, blending masculinity and nostalgic charm. Like Brock, Jack shares a fondness for vintage cars, true American muscle cars such as this. The old cassette player still hums within, and Jack hasn't altered a single detail on the car. There's a palpable sense of trust between them as Brock cherishes the responsibility and level of trust Jack has placed in his hands.

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

Calleigh frowned at her license photo. At only 20 years old, she had not yet grown comfortable with her appearance. She felt her nasal bone was too thick, making her eyes seem too far apart. Makeup helped camouflage this to some extent, but no amount of makeup could alter her height. At 5'10", she was taller than average, which made finding flattering clothes a challenge. She often wished she had her mother's petite 5'3" frame, having clearly inherited her stature from the Rollins side of the family. While she could live with her blonde hair, she wished it had more volume. Her lips were too pale and thin for her liking, though makeup could fix that as well. Unlike her mother's ocean blue eyes, Calleigh had green eyes, another Rollins family trait. Glancing in the rearview mirror, Calleigh took stock of herself - blonde hair, blonder in summer; green eyes; lightly pinked lips with distinctive dips cupping her nose; a high forehead. She was a harmonious blend of both parents.

Calleigh connects her phone to the car's entertainment system, the little screen in the middle of the dashboard makes it easy to navigate through spotify to find her song, Coldplay and The Chainsmokers with Something Just Like This. It’s a song that seems fitting for her life right now.

Ever since she moved back to Texas, and Mansfield, she felt like her whole life was already planned for her.

She would get a seat at the board of directors alongside her dad and her grandfather in the delivery business on her 21st birthday in December. It would give her a comfortable and financially steady life, but very few choices.

With an exasperated sigh, Calleigh places her purse in the passenger seat. The black leather seat had small stitched details, a lighter shade of burnt orange in color, along the sides, giving it a more luxurious look.

When her dad had offered to buy her a new car, Calleigh had opted for the Mini Cooper, a car she felt was more suitable for her needs. But Jack had his mind made up on a 2020 Chevrolet Impala, black of course, to have it blend in with the other cars in the garage. After a bit of discussing back and forth, Calleigh had just given up. A car was a car, and she needed one. Although she would have given almost anything to have a convertible right now.

She was thankful for the car, it was nice and spacious with its four doors and five seats, it had room enough for both Calleigh and her friends.

The trunk suited all of her needs with enough room for both grocery shopping and a shopping spree at the local mall. The black leather seats with the burnt orange stitching offered comfort with their user friendly adjustment mechanism. The center console, designed with faux wood, held a spacious storage compartment and a double cup holder, one of which now held the almost empty Venti iced caramel latte that Calleigh got from Starbucks this morning.

The comfortable, highly equipped steering wheel made it easy to answer the phone, change songs, adjust the volume, as well as the heat in the winter. The 2020 Chevy Impala did indeed deliver a luxurious and comfortable driving experience.

She grew up in a well off family, both of her parents came from money. Both the Rollins Delivery Service and the Lewis Jewelry line had been around for generations, earning themselves a good reputation and money to live a more than comfortable life. Despite all of this, Calleigh had never seen herself as spoiled. She knew nothing came for free, that she had to work hard in school, and she had to earn her allowance. Her parents, even if they were never together, had made sure of that.

The drive from downtown Mansfield to South Pointe was roughly 10 to 15 minutes long, depending on traffic. But in this heat, Calleigh feels that it took two hours. Her shirt is sticking to her back, and her throat screams for water to the point where she's about to chug the last of the latte that had been sitting in her car all day. All she wanted was to change into a bikini and spend the rest of the weekend relaxing by the pool in the backyard.

Despite having to spend the weekend alone; without her two best friends. Jessica was preparing for her undergraduate degree, and Molly had been assigned to take a HR Masterclass in Seattle. Her dad was away as well, having a tiny legal crisis in Chicago, he had decided to fly over there himself, to oversee the negotiations. Calleigh looked forward to a weekend by the pool.

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

As Calleigh approaches the house, she notices the black Pickup truck that's backed all the way into the now open garage door. Not a truck she recognizes, and they rarely had any other unannounced visitors other than her grandparents or Brock from time to time. But Brock was on a work spree these days. Calleigh hadn’t even seen him since she moved back home; which was strange, because in summertime he practically lived in the garage. Fixing her dad’s various vehicles, as well as his own; whilst sharing some beers with her dad. It was almost so that she thought that they had fallen out. But the legal crisis in Chicago had occupied her dad for quite some time, so that might be it. The two men simply didn't have time for social get-togethers these days. Even Friday Night BBQ was put on hold for the time being.

The Friday Night BBQ was one of Calleigh's most cherished traditions. Her dad and Brock manned the grill while she and her friends frolicked in the pool or yard. As they aged, they took on more duties. Molly routinely brought her signature focaccia and salad— a recipe Calleigh unsuccessfully tried recreating time and time again. Jess handled dessert; her Texas-style peach cobbler was unrivaled, the moist and buttery delight created a sweet symphony on her pallads, and topped with a scoop of peach ice cream, it became unresistable no matter how much anyone had for dinner. Occasionally Molly's mom and Jess's parents joined, packing the expansious backyard with joy, nostalgia, and hearty laughter.

With the memories of time well spent, playing like a movie in her head, Calleigh drives past the house at 2 mph as she examines the truck that's parked in front of the garage. A black Silverado, newer model. Having grown up with a father like Jack, with his fondness for cars, she's picked up a thing or ten. Of course it also helped that she spent numerous afternoons at the Rumlow garage in her early teens, when her dad worked late, or her mom spent time with that new boyfriend.

Calleigh's body goes cold when she remembers the 67 Impala in the garage. Jack's favorite car. He spent years finding the perfect one. If someone is trying to steal it, or parts from it; Jack would go ballistic. And given his military background, it'll not be pretty. For a second Calleigh feels like a six-year old, not knowing what to tell her parents when she broke a glass or spilled water on her bed.

Though South Pointe was a gated community, there were no guards on site. To enter, you needed either a code from a resident or a chip that automatically opened the gate. With the recent expansions and the constant flow of workers going in and out, it was easy for anyone to get in, whether they belonged there or not. And with a truck like the new Silverado, you could easily drive in, fill the spacious bed with whatever you were stealing; and then drive back out, without anyone raising a brow.

Calleigh takes a deep breath, weighing her options. Should she call the police or confront the person in the garage herself? Having spent four years in New York, she knows how to handle situations and always keeps pepper spray in her purse, even in Mansfield, where crime rates are lower. Despite the safer environment, she's aware that appearances can be deceiving, and anyone could pose a threat.

Turning her car at the end of the street, Calleigh retrieves her phone from her purse, its cute pink cover with butterflies and faux diamonds contrasting with the ominous atmosphere she envisions in the garage. Without overthinking, she dials 9-1-1.

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” a calm female voice responds after a few rings.

“I'm.…I think someone is breaking into my house,” Calleigh says, suddenly unsure if 9-1-1 was the right choice.

“Are you in the house, ma’am?” The voice persists. Calleigh hesitates, considering whether to hang up and face the intruder alone. “Ma’am, are you inside the house?” the voice repeats.

“N..no. I.. I'm outside.. In my car. I don't know what to do. I… I..” Calleigh is desperate, on the verge of crying. She can't remember the last time she didn't want to be home alone. But this is one of those times.

“What's your name ma'am?” The voice continues, still in that calm tone.

Calleigh takes a breath “Calleigh Lewis Rollins.” She replies, with a shaky breath. Trying to calm down her beating heart.

“Do you know if they're armed?” The woman on the phone continues. Calleigh feels that ice cold feeling in her stomach. Armed? She didn't think about that at all. What if they're armed, what does she do then?

“I don't know. I don't know!” She shakily replies. Her voice on the verge of breaking. Without realizing that she does, she reaches for her pepper spray. The little 3 inch pink container designed as a keychain was easy to carry around, easy to use and it had a neutral design, which made it perfect to carry around for self defense.

“Calleigh, calm down. You're going to be fine. I'll dispatch a unit to your location. What's your address?” The voice continues in a calm soothing manner, which helps to calm Calleigh down.

“2837 Chandler Court” Calleigh replies, happy that she remembered the address. She hasn't lived here too long, and in this particular situation it's things like that that usually slips.

“Do you have any firearms in the house?” Another question about guns. It's not that Calleigh wasn't used to them, it was just that in this situation, guns didn't feel like a safe topic. And this is Texas, everyone has firearms.

“Y..Yeah, we have some. Seven or ten maybe.” Calleigh replies as she does a mental runthrough of the house, trying to remember where Jack keeps all his guns. The gun cabinet in the living room, the hide away cabinet in his bedroom, and the safe in the….. garage. Calleigh takes another shaky breath as she imagines some bad ass crocks breaking into that safe.

“I've dispatched a unit to your location. They'll be there in about ten minutes. And Calleigh, please lock the doors, and stay in the car until the unit arrives.” The voice on the phone informs her, still calm and collected. Calleigh can't believe how they manage to be this calm with people in shock, pain, rage, people who're scared out of their minds. But now, today, she's extremely thankful for it.

Clenching the container with pepper spray in her hand, Calleigh almost whispers into the phone “Yes. Thank you.”

“Calleigh, please stay in the car.” The lady on the phone says again. But Calleigh can hardly hear it. She flips the top of the container in her hand, as she hangs up the phone, and slowly exits the car.

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

With half an eye on the wrench around the unwilling screw, and half an eye on the bucket for the oil, Brock tries to get the screw to give. His left foot firmly planted on the concrete garage floor to steady himself, as he struggles to get the screw loose. His biceps flexing, the veins on his arm popping. His teeth clenched in concentration, and the sweat dripped from his forehead.

Brock applies just a bit more muscle power, determined to get the screw to give. The sweat on his hands makes him lose his grip around the wrench. His hand flies up, hitting the car, as the wrench falls to the floor, creating an echo around the oversized garage. “Aaaa, fuck,” he almost screams, as he shakes his hand to try to ease the pain.

The sound of metal hitting concrete, the echo that follows and the screaming make Calleigh jump. Her heart is beating out of her chest, and that ice cold feeling in her stomach comes back. Yes, the 9-1-1 dispatcher told her to lock the doors and stay in the car. But ten minutes? They should know how much damage that can be done within ten minutes. She had to leave the car. But with the screaming and the noise. Maybe she should've stayed put. Anyway, it's too late for that now.

Calleigh places her thumb on the top of the pepper spray container. “Stop what you're doing I have a weapon!” She yells, surprised by how firm her voice is, she lifts the container, ready to attack.

Brock jumps under the car from the voice yelling, something about a weapon. Startled, he tries to sit up, but since he's under the car, sitting up only serves for him to bang his head against the car. “Fuck! Shit! Don't shoot, I'm unarmed!” He yells back in a haste. Quickly moving the creeper, so he can stand up.

Getting up faster than he's ever done before, raising his arms to show whoever it is that he is indeed unarmed. “Don't shoot! I'm un-,” when he sees Calleigh he stops for a second “armed….” He breathes out in surprise at the woman standing before him. Beautiful. That's the only thing he can say about her; Silently in his mind of course.

Calleigh carefully drinks in the man in front of her. His well-worn jeans sit comfortably on his hips, a cloth tucked into the right side. His V-shaped lower abdomen is unlike anything she's seen before, leading up to a six-pack and impressive pecs that could be straight out of a commercial. The oil stains and sweat on his upper body add a sexy touch. Moving upward, she notices strong pecs lightly dusted with chest hair. As she lifts her face, broad-toned shoulders barely register in her mind compared to the veiny upper arms that make her knees feel weak. Before fully revealing the rest, she takes a breath and discovers a strong jawline, dark facial hair, followed by soft, playful, and kissable lips, a broad nose perfectly placed on his flawless face. As her gaze reaches further, she encounters two soft hazel brown eyes adorned with dark lashes and brows. Calleigh's heart skips a beat, and in surprise, she breathes out, "Brock?”

Brock had never seen such beauty and grace. Calleigh had blossomed into a stunning woman, with shoulder-length blonde locks with a few curls framing her face. Her soft pink lips were slightly parted in surprise, complementing her petite nose and accentuating the delicate curves of her upper lip. Her emerald eyes shone like gemstones, undoubtedly a Rollins family trait.

Brock swallows, his heart does a jump in his chest. “Calleigh?” His voice carried a bit of surprise. He remembered Calleigh as a rebellious 16-year old, getting belly-button piercings without permission. He did not expect this God sent beauty. And he's not sure how he should react. This is Jack's daughter. He shouldn't feel his heart jump like this because of her.

Jesus Christ, Calleigh thinks for herself. Did she just think about Brock's lips as kissable? Brock Rumlow? Her dad's best friend. Naha, no way. Take it back, take it back, take it back; she repeats the three words again and again in her head, like a mantra. It's all in vain, when Brock's lips slowly curl up into a half smile. His upper lip on the left side curls up, revealing his teeth. Calleigh feels drawn to it. It's like magnetism, an invisible force that's dragging her towards him. She swallows in a desperate attempt to keep her heart out of her throat. It's Brock, Calleigh! He's over 40 years old, and your dad's best friend; the voice in her head screams to her at this point.

"What errr..." Brock takes the cloth from his jeans and wipes his hands on it before continuing. "What are you doing here?" he questions, his eyes traveling over her. Her short-sleeved white shirt reveals the small dips by her collarbone, and Brock's fingers twitch as his mind imagines gliding his fingertips over them. He knows he shouldn't feel this way. Why does he feel this way? Further down the shirt lays tight over her breasts, Brock swallows from the sight of them. Jesus, get it together, Brock; he silently curses at himself.

“I live here.” Calleigh replies, before he can take in the rest of her. She rubs her hand on her neck. The garage offers shade and a living temperature, but she can still feel the heat from outside. And looking at Brock all sweaty and sexy isn't helping at all. “What are you doing here?” She continues, she knows that's a stupid question. He was on his creeper, under the car when she came in, and the oil stains are also a big giveaway.

“I'm fixing your Dad’s car,” Brock answers her question with a little smile, and a tap on the hood of the Impala. “How's that neighborhood watch thing going for ya?” He adds with a little chuckle.

“Huh?” Calleigh feels like she just fell out of the sky. And she imagines that it must look that way too.

Brock gestures with his head to the container in her right hand, and Calleigh looks down to see her thumb still firmly placed on the top of it. Quickly putting the cap back on, she puts her hand behind her back. “It's nothing. It's just…” she tries, but the damage is already done. The only thing she can hope for now, is that Brock won't tell Jack about it.

“For protection?” Brock asks, as he wipes his abs with the cloth. When Calleigh doesn't answer, he continues. “New York taught you a few things huh?” He delivers the question with an understanding head tilt.

Calleigh takes a breath “Yeah I guess you could say—“ she’s interrupted by sirens approaching.

Brock lets out a little laugh “You called the cops on me.” It's more of a statement than a question. Calleigh feels a rush of embarrassment, as Brock lets out another friendly laugh.

“Not so much on you.. I..” Calleigh starts, moving her legs nervously. “I.. I thought you were someone else,” she tries, but without any kind of words to complete that sentence.

“Well, guess I can only hope that they won't arrest me,” Brock continues to chuckle, as he swings the cloth over his left shoulder, and walks outside to face the police.

Calleigh stays behind for a second or two before she shakes her head and lets out an exasperating breath. This is too embarrassing. Did she really call the cops on Brock? Jesus, she's never going to hear the end of this. This'll be one of those stories that'll be mentioned in a speech at her wedding. She can just hear it in her head ‘And you can feel totally safe, Calleigh will protect her terf whatever the cost. I remember…’ Shaking her head again, she walks outside as well.

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

Not one, not two, but three units showed up. Thank you so much brain, for mentioning all the firearms in the house. Calleigh thinks to herself. Thankfully the misunderstanding was easy to clear up. Two of the officers knew Brock, which was understandable since Brock owned the only garage around that was certified to work on the police vehicles. And of course it helped that both the Lewis and the Rollins name was well known around these parts.

Just as the officers are leaving, Calleigh spots Mrs. Callahan across the street, coming out of her house with her walker. Mrs. Callahan was this tiny 4’9" little old lady, with long gray frizzy hair, she always wore white compression socks, a skirt with flower patterns on, a white shirt, a home knitted cardigan and brown slippers, she had lived across the street since forever. She was a really nice old lady, but she put her nose into absolutely everything.

“Miss Calleigh.” She yells across the street, with what little voice she has left. “Miss Calleigh, is everything alright?” She continues, as she walks across the street towards them.

“Yeah, Mrs. Callahan, everything is fine. Don’t worry.” Calleigh smiles at the old lady.

“I saw the police. Are you sure everything is alright? How's your father? Jack is such a sweetheart, don't you think?” Mrs. Callahan continues to talk. The thing with Mrs. Callahan was that after her husband passed away a few years ago, she had become very chatty. And if she started, there was almost no way of stopping her.

“Everything is perfectly fine Mrs. Callahan. It was just a misunderstanding” Brock shoots in, sending Calleigh an amused look when he says misunderstanding. “I can assure you that you can sleep safely.” He continues, giving the old lady a protective smile.

“O..Okay” Mrs. Callahan nods to Brock. Then she stops. “Would you be so kind as to walk an old lady back home, Brock?” She continues with her distinct old lady voice.

Brock sends Calleigh a small smile, before he offers his arm to Mrs. Callahan. When they start the short walk over the street, Calleigh can hear her say ‘Such a sweetheart, such a sweetheart’ over and over again. Calleigh can't help but smile. Both from the old lady calling Brock a sweetheart, and from the fact that Brock seriously makes her heart jump, and her stomach swoop. Both of which are feelings she's never had before.

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

Calleigh has just finished maneuvering her car into the garage when Brock returns. Still wearing nothing but his well worn work jeans, with oil stains and rips on them. And then that body. Calleigh swallows hard to not let out any type of sound that can give away how she reacts to this man.

“You want Apple pie?” Brock asks, holding up two Apple pies, one in each hand. “Because I have two of them,” he continues, looking from Calleigh to the pies, and then back to Calleigh again.

Mrs. Callahan might be nosy to the point where Calleigh almost felt uneasy about it. But the old lady did make the most delicious Apple pies. Sweet, zesty and sugary. With the most amazing Granny Smith apples, cooked until perfection, with that sweet taste of cinnamon, a pinch of nutmeg and sugar. Calleigh remembers them from the block parties when she was a little girl. Finishing up her dinner as fast as possible, to make sure she could grab a slice before they were all gone. Her mouth still goes watery when she thinks about it.

“She gave you two?” Calleigh laughs. Smiling wide. Partly for the thought of eating Mrs. Callahan's Apple pies again and partly from the thought that she might sit down with Brock and eat them. Why is that thought so prominent? It's not like Brock hasn't had dinner or food in general in this house before. She practically grew up with him around.

“Two isn't enough?” Brock questions, placing the two pies on the roof of Calleigh's car, before he starts to turn around. “Because I'm pretty sure I can get like five more,” he continues as he starts to leave the garage. Brock chides himself. What the hell is wrong with him? Why is he suddenly acting like a fuckin' teenager? Playing stupid flirting games, so that Calleigh will try to stop him, touch him. Jesus, Brock. He thinks for himself. Calleigh must think he's insane.

“No, no, no,” Calleigh hastily replies, grabbing Brock's wrist. “Two is –,” she involuntarily stops mid sentence from the sensation of Brock's skin against her palm. “Two is fine.. it's –” she continues, meeting his eyes as she lets go of his wrist. One of Brock's fingertips brushes over her palm, sending waves of shivers up her arm “perfect” she breathes out.

“Alrighty then,” Brock smiles, as he once again takes the pies. “Just heat them on 350, for 15 to 20 minutes, and we'll have ourselves a treat,” he continues as he opens the door that leads from the garage into the house.

Calleigh examines his broad and perfectly toned backside. His jeans fit perfectly over his behind. Calleigh swallows again. Stop it, she once again tells herself. “Maybe have a shower first?” She suggests, before she follows Brock. A shower? Really, Calleigh? She thinks to herself, the thought of naked Brock in the shower makes her want to slap herself. Cold shower it is. A really cold shower.

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

Calleigh locks the door to the downstairs bathroom, before leaning her forehead against the door. Oh,God. Is she stupid? It's frickin Brock for God's sake. What is she thinking? Turning around, she leans her back against the door, as she glances over the bathroom.

The bathroom had undergone a luxurious renovation. The once white walls were now covered in sleek black and gold marble tiles that gave the space a rich feel. The wood-look flooring stretched out, making the room seem spacious. Acoustic panels in complementary black and wood tones lined the ceiling. Gone was the indoor jacuzzi that Calleigh loved as a child, replaced by a double waterfall shower. Concrete shelves anchored the masculine vanity area. Perched atop were two oval basins crafted from natural river stone, marrying masculinity with luxury. A sauna for four to six sat in one corner, unused but admittedly stylish. Though unfamiliar, Calleigh had to concede the new bathroom was rather nice looking.

Stepping away from the door, Calleigh removes her work clothes, tossing them in the laundry basket by the door. Before she steps into the shower, she once again takes a look at herself in the mirror. She looks… What's the word? Young and inexperienced. Small breasts, though still firm and pointing the ‘right’ way, they're still small. Narrow hips. Damnit! Why does she care so much about this all of a sudden? Brock.. Like he would ever want someone like her. “Why do you care, Calleigh?” She says to the mirror, before she enters the shower.

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

The guest bathroom upstairs offers every accommodation a guest might need, whether it was a short or a longer stay. The modern design, such as the subway tiles in the shower, the floating shelves for towels and toiletries, the bathtub, with it's spa-like bath pillow, and the shower curtain, resting on a black shower rod, that stretched from one wall to another, mixed with the intricate black and white pattern on the floor tiles it gave the room a contemporary yet nostalgic charm.

Brock leans forward in the shower, leaning his arms against the wall as he lets the water wash over his neck, dripping down over his eyes and nose. He takes a deep breath. He'd almost forgotten that feeling. Aside from the fact that he'd promised himself to never go down that path again, he had to admit that it did feel good. That warm feeling, that was pumped out in his entire body with every heartbeat. That childish need for physical contact. But no. He couldn't do this. Not with her. Not with Calleigh. He's 26 years older than her, old compared to her. Though he was in good physical shape, he was still older than her. A lot older. After he took his therapist's advice to work out more to clear his head, his workout routine had become his safe place. A place where he didn’t have to think about Iraq or Afghanistan or Taylor. Just thinking about her name makes him feel cold. Calleigh, he thinks for himself. Calleigh with the gemstone eyes and perfect lips. Calleigh with the soft skin he felt when his fingers brushed over her palm. Calleigh… Yeah, Calleigh’s better. Calleigh’s definitely better. Fuck, what is he doing?

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

Calleigh looks between the knee-length tights and the white cotton shorts, weighing her options. The tights that cover more of her body or the comfortable shorts that's more suitable for this weather. God, this is just stupid. And why would Brock care anyway? Why does she care? Since when did what she wore around Brock become an issue? Opting for the shorts, she rolls her eyes at herself and her teenage-like thinking. The shorts fit better with the top anyway, and for some reason it feels important to look good right now.

After meticulously applying her make-up, Calleigh takes a good long look in the mirror. Her white shirt, with the blue and white butterfly pattern on the front sits perfectly on her body, hugging what's supposed to be hugged. Well, more like what's there to actually be hugged. Pouting a bit to her reflection and shaking her head at herself, she turns around checking if everything is in its right place. The straps on her bra are visible due to the shirts open back. After a few unsuccessful attempts trying to fix that issue, Calleigh gives up. Visible straps are better than a bikini anyway. No poolside relaxing today, there's no way she'll be strolling around in a tiny bikini with Brock around.

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

The red light that indicates that the oven has reached its wanted temperature turns off, and Calleigh places the two pies into the oven. Thankful that Brock wasn't done upstairs yet. Those feelings she gets when he's around. They're… Calleigh doesn't even have the words to describe them. Sure she's been in love before, or at least smittened. She even had boyfriends, not too many or to long lasting, but still. But the feeling never lasted. And it was never like this. That feeling of her stomach doing gymnastics inside of her. What is that? Looking at the pies warming in the oven. Calleigh tries to make some sense out of all these emotions.

“Wouldn't it be funnier to… I don't know, watch a movie or something?” The voice suddenly talking over Calleigh's head startles her to the point where she hastily stands up. Banging her head into Brock's chin. “Ouch” Brock breathes out as he lets his hand glide over his chin.

“Oh, God,” Calleigh replies. Her expression is a mix of embarrassment and guilt. “I'm so sorry. Are you okay?” She continues, and without realizing that she does she lifts her arm to touch him where they collided. His rugged facial hair tickles her fingers as she carefully let them glide over his chin.

“I gotta say that your self-defense technique is a little unorthodox,” Brock smiles. “But it works, it definitely works,” he continues. The feeling he gets from Calleigh's touch is unlike anything he's ever felt before. A mix of excitement, guilt and that warm feeling spreading throughout his body.

Calleigh can't help but laugh. Brock always used to be funny, kinda like the cool uncle she never had since both her parents were an only child. She can remember millions of times when she was younger. Brock taking her to amusement parks, Brock dressing up as various animals or superheroes for her birthday parties, Brock letting her ride shotgun with him, even though Jack had told him not to. But for some reason the funny he shows her now, that funny feels different.

Suddenly realizing she's still touching him, Calleigh reatracts her hand, covering it with the other hand as she gives Brock an apologetic smile. What's gotten into her? Why does she feel like this around him all of a sudden?

“Is your head alright?” Brock asks, almost instantly regretting his poor choice of words. “From the… err.. bump,” he adds, when he sees the confusion on Calleigh's face. He lifts his hand, and carefully lets it glide over her head.

“Yeah”, Calleigh breathes out as she once again meets Brock's eyes. “I'm…” she continues, as Brock's hand glides down to her neck before stopping on her shoulder. “Good..” Whispering the last word so low that she's not sure Brock even hears it. It's definitely a connection between them. Or is it? Is she fooling herself? And if that's the case, then why?

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

The evening goes on. With Apple pies, ice cream, a movie on TV and a phone call from a worried Jack.

Mrs. Callahan had called him, and told him about the police being at the house. No surprise there. After about 14 failed attempts to call Calleigh, Jack had resolved to call Brock. Overprotective as he was, he was worried out of his mind. Before Brock explained how everything really went down, Jack was like two seconds away from jumping on the first flight back home. But after some discussion back and forth Brock had told him that he'd stay with Calleigh for the duration of Jack's stay in Chicago. For Calleigh, Jack's overprotectiveness in this situation was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing since this meant that she could spend some more time with Brock, and a curse for that exact same reason.

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

After getting ready for bed, and before she turns off the lights, Calleigh sends a message in the group chat she shares with Molly and Jess.

‘Call me ASAP. I need to talk.’

No matter if there's a connection there or not, Calleigh needs to talk to someone about this. It's way too heavy to carry by herself. And what better people to talk to, than her two best friends.

Next Chapter ------->

@nekoannie-chan @rip1009 @late-to-the-party-81 @ladysif8

[alexandermcrow]

Into The Woods

A Fall in Time, long ago.

Our lives are shaped by the paths we take, whether through choice, or by chance.

Sometimes, this takes the form of the path not taken, sometimes that we follow. Often, both. The idea of how our lives might be utterly different, hinging on just one little thing, is a popular theme, whether in the written word or romantic comedy dramas.

Back in 2010, I was working for the civil service in a northern English city. I had already made some major changes to my life, going through a divorce and trying very hard to rediscover who I was—or perhaps who I thought I should be. But I was not content, nor was I as happy as I felt I should be.

I felt there was something missing, something crucial, a path which lay beyond my reach every morning as I would walk to work, a trail tantalisingly out of sight. I knew it was there, however.

At some point in the summer of 2010, I made up my mind to make some very big changes.

On the 14th of September 2010, a Tuesday, I caught a train just after dawn, after walking the short distance to the railway station, heavily burdened by backpack and shoulder bag, a walking staff I had harvested previously in my hand.

I headed north, initially to Edinburgh, then across to Glasgow, before going still further north.

That evening, after a long day of travel which, in turn, had followed an almost sleepless night before, I walked out from a request stop into the damp of recently-fallen rain, asking the train conductor to drop me off in what on my map looked a suitable location to spend a night or two. I could not walk that far, the weight of my pack was too great, and I was simply too exhausted.

That night, as the sky was beginning to darken, I set up my hammock between two gnarled oak trees, strung my tarp above, ate a quick dinner and fell asleep.

I was to stay out in those woods, alone, until December.

During that time, I cooked over flames every day, had to source, carry, and purify all my water, supplement my rations and supplies with wild food, from the land and from the sea.

Initially, I had intended to follow the coast further north, eventually ending up at my family’s home in Caithness for Christmas, but life didn’t work out quite as planned.

Instead, I built a shelter in those woods, exploring the area around me and immersing myself in all things natural. I slowed down, I listened and scented the air frequently, eventually understanding the language of the local wildlife and surprising myself when I could smell a deer ahead on the trail.

As far as human company went, I was alone the whole time, rarely seeing others apart from on distant boats, or the few occasions I bought some more supplies.

During the months I was out there, I kept a journal in a succession of small Moleskine notebooks, imagining myself the guardian of a tradition embraced by writers such as Chatwin, Hemingway, Laurie Lee, Thoreau and earlier adventurers and explorers.

I also handcrafted blog posts in the notebooks, then photographed the pages on my pre-smart phone, which I charged through a small solar panel. Following this, when the weather agreed, I would hike to find a spot of signal and slowly send them on to my sister, who patiently transcribed my scrawl, before uploading them to her website for others to read. 

A few years later, I shared some of this adventure by way of a now-private and dusty tumblr, uploading some of the thousands of photographs I had taken on my camera, and sharing snippets from those journals.

This year, 2024, I am returning to this adventure and sharing a lot more. Over on my Substack, I will be posting daily Notes and weekly summaries, sharing hundreds of photos, a few videos, and a lot of words and thoughts.

I have created this tumblr to specifically share a few posts and images and to say, if you like these, then there will be a lot more at The Crow's Nest letter. A lot of it is free and, as well as this adventure, I also share nature and place writing, discussion of ancestral skills and bushcraft, thoughts and feelings about those liminal spaces in our world, and also a weekly dose of fiction. I illustrate all of these with original photography or designs. No AI to be seen in that space...

Click below to follow along, I'd love to see you there and, if you do venture from this space to that, please say hello!

[abarbaricyalp]

Written for the @samsseptember prompt Riley // Rated G // CW: death, grief // title from the Laura Gilpin poem "Life After Death"

A Dead Tree Casts a Shadow

"Hey, Rye," Sam greeted as he dropped a backpack full of food to the ground and shook out the blanket under his arm. He laid it on the ground, tamped down the sun dried grass underneath it, and then sat and began to distribute the food.

"I just happened to be passing by and you know I've always gotta stop. I didn't mean to come this way, but I've been following a lead and he's dragging me all over the place."

Sam propped a beer and a Dr. Pepper against the gravestone. The screw top caught on the engraved letters that spelled out Beloved Friend, which was fitting enough. Really, it could have just stopped at Beloved.

"This is a crazy story," he admitted in half a chuckle, even if there was something a little darker, a little more bitter behind his voice. "This guy I'm kinda seeing--you may have heard of him, Steve Rogers, right?--dragged me into this mess. His best friend came back from the dead. Can you imagine? Hey, are you planning on doing that to me?" He reached over to rap on the stone and then smoothed his hand over the ground in front of it.

"Kinda wish you would," Sam admitted. "Even if you came back as much of a pain in the ass as this guy. Hey, you were into Captain America. Who the hell is Bucky Barnes? What kind of name is that? I know he was the handsome one in the photos. The one that died, obviously. I've been trying to do research on him but it would be so much easier if you just info-dumped on me. I know you know useless shit like his favorite record. Come on. Come back just long enough to tell me."

The ground did not part like some great, giving maw and Riley didn't pull himself out, bitching about dirt in his hair and 'why the hell did they bury me in black? I said blue.' Sam still watched for too long and then sighed.

"I guess it's only fair. Barnes didn't actually die. Rogers couldn't go down after him to bring home a body. I had you. I carried you."

The memory had been warped every which way to Sunday. Most of the time, he was saved from the true terror of it. In his memory, that old thing protecting him after all these years, Riley was just a little smokey and dusty, a little bloodied. Just dead enough that Sam couldn't argue about it, even as he begged Riley to wake up. In the nightmares, there was almost nothing left of him. Splatters of blood and uniform. Or a crawling, screaming zombie of bits and pieces. Really, it had been messy and horrifying. Sam hadn't really seen much of anything. Truly couldn't recall the exact state of Riley's body as he carried him away. He'd just known his best friend was dead and there was nothing that he could do to change it.

Nothing evil Nazis could do either.

"I miss you, man," he said softly. He rubbed the lip of his own bottle along the top of the gravestone and listened to the glass catch on the rock. "I'd almost convinced myself I was okay without you, but having friends again just makes it that much more obvious that you're not alone. I almost tried to text you the other day, y'know.

"Hey, you know it took your momma almost a year and a half to pull your number outta service? She kept saying it was the same price just to leave you on. You know how she is about that kind of thing. But I think she was calling you even more than me. Leaving all these voicemails just in case you might ever come back and need to be caught up thirty seconds at a time."

Sam bracketed his knees on either side of the gravestone and laid back in the blanket to watch the sky. There were two birds doing acrobatics on the breeze and, all of a sudden, hot tears sprang to Sam's eyes and choked him down the throat.

"I miss you so bad, man. I'm in the wings again. I kind of stole them back. And I love it. I love it just as much as the first time we strapped them on. And I hate myself for loving it. You're supposed to be here. It's not a solo operation. I look for you before every jump. I think about you every time I see a bird. And you're not here. You're never here. There's a whole empty section on my vital menus where yours are supposed to be.

"How am I supposed to do this, Rye? I'm one of a pair. And Steve, he's great, but he's not my other half. Not when I'm in the air."

He hadn't realized he was sobbing until he had to turn onto his side to avoid choking. The sky left his field of vision, replaced instead by a tranquil cemetery. Well, a blurry cemetery at any rate. There was no one else around, so Sam let himself curl up in the fetal position, squeezed his eyes shut, and tried to pretend him and Riley were twin commas in a huge bed. He hadn't done anything like this in months and months and months but he couldn't help it now. Even if he knew it wasn't going to work. He'd forced himself to stop picturing Riley next to him and now he couldn't make himself do it even under duress.

Of all the emotions he'd thought he'd have to deal with by tagging up with Steve Rogers, this bone deep ache for the things he'd lost hadn't been high on the list. If anyone had asked two months ago, he'd say he had friends. That he missed Riley but life had to go on and Riley wouldn't want him to mope. He hated moping. But evidently none of those friendships elicited the same kind of response that Riley had. Sam had barely known Steve before he started to fall back into old habits. Throw in a dead best friend come back to life and Sam was in further over his head than he anticipated.

There was no way Barnes could have known to drag Sam out here. After the program was grounded, all of Riley's information went behind walls of black marker. And Barnes would only have looked into it if he thought this was a good way to lose Sam's tail, which would imply he'd gleaned some amount of privy into Sam and Riley's relationship. All of it was impossible. Just a horrible coincidence. Or maybe a really good coincidence.

Sam had needed this. He could pretend that holing himself up in DC was actually steps in the right direction, that ignoring the ghost of Riley's presence, always right in his periphery, was the best course of action, that fiddling away time with mindless relationships was healthy, but he knew all of that was a lie. He couldn't just pretend this was fine. That he was fine. He clearly was not.

Man, he'd just jumped feet first into taking down a century old Nazi cult. And now he was hunting down an undead assassin who may or may not still be brainwashed. An assassin who had tried to plummet him to his death.

"He was rude about it too," Sam told Riley. He figured whatever Riley was doing, he could probably read Sam's mind. No need to fill him in. He turned over onto his back again. "He had this grappling hook thing that he shot at me. Why? That's not important. Point is, one second he was down on the ground doing these acrobatic jumps to avoid bullets--the dude can jump out of the way of bullets--and the next he'd yanked me out of the sky. Ripped the wing clean out of the pack. And then the motherfucker kicked me off the landing deck of a huge airship.

"You would've loved this thing, dude. It was like one of those navy jet ships you're so obsessed with, but in the sky. Man, I don't think I could've gotten you back off of it. You would have moved in and never left."

The birds had disappeared, following the current the way Sam and Riley would on the quiet days.

"You remember the first time the wings malfunctioned on us? When we were actually in the air? A whole system malfunction. We both lost control. Had to pull the parachutes for the first time. We pulled them so late. You probably broke your ankle but kept lying to the medical team. God, we were giddy when we landed. That freefall was unlike anything I've ever felt. I mean, it was horrifying, but wasn't there that moment where you just let yourself fall? Just felt the air and your stomach rushing by. The world was so far away."

Until it hadn't been.

"It felt like that again. I remembered to pull my parachute this time. You weren't around for me to fuss over, so I had more time to actually think. But it felt the same just for a second. I was less giddy on the landing. You weren't there to limp over to me on the ground, and I had someone to be mad at this time. But still. There was that flying-falling feeling that I only got with you."

The words ran out then, as quick as they came. There were a million other things he wanted to tell Riley, but nothing was sticking in his mouth. So he just sat up and parsed out the gas station picnic he'd brought. A whole extra meal for a man who couldn't eat it. But Sam would leave it out and maybe a different kind of shadow would take advantage of it before a billion bugs did.

He ate the sandwich and half the bag of chips in silence and had started to sort out a bag of M&Ms by color before he spoke again.

"I think I'm happy. Like, actually happy this time. I mean, I'm exhausted. This superhero thing is no joke. And weirdly lonely? I mean, Steve and me are together most of the time but I haven't met, like, Iron Man or Thor. I hang out with Black Widow though. You never stood a chance by the way. You would literally be like a cute puppy to her. But she's great. She's teaching me a lot. She's hilarious. But she's busier than Steve is. Has a real job in this organization, I guess.

"I forgot how good it could feel to be tired. Full days and new experiences. Chasing this other asshole all around. But, I mean, I'm getting that travel vacation I always wanted. Went to the coolest natural history museum. It was, like, a literal cave. And rock climbing. I had to do some crazy rock climbing. God, I just wish I could be doing this with you."

He laid out all of the yellow M&Ms across Riley's headstone and then leaned over to kiss the stone itself. "I'll see you later, man. Won't stay away for so long this time. Tell my mama and dad I said hi for me and I'll stop by and see your mama, alright? Be good."

He let himself trace Riley's name one more time before he stood up and collected his trash and blanket. He shoved it all back into his bag before casting one more look around. There was no one. No best-friends-come-back, no shadows, no other picnic-ers. Up in the sky, the birds had come back, circling around each other and tumbling down and then soaring back up with joyful little calls.

Sam smiled at them as his heart squeezed in his chest again. "Yeah, I see you, Riley," he said. "I'm right there too."