#turbulent cow escape

[googleplaysore]

A selection of escape games from JRK Games.

[kingofbodyrolls]

My Heart's Home (m) | pjm | eight

🐴Chapter summary: with Jessi in a wheelchair you’ve taken on every task around the ranch, and finally realize how hard it is to run. But it’s a welcomed escape from Jimin, though it doesn’t help when Jungkook tries to push you two together again. 🐴Chapter title: Love You, Hate You 🐴Pairings: jimin x reader (main), jungkook x reader (only happens once in the first chapter), jungkook x OC (jessi), namjoon x OC (jessi), yoongi x hoseok, namjoon x oc, seokjin x oc, taehyung x oc 🐴Characters: female reader (isn’t mentioned by name and no “y/n”), Jimin, Jungkook, Namjoon, Yoongi, Hoseok, Seokjin, Taehyung and four female original characters. 🐴Genre/AU: ranch!au, slice of life!au, soulmate!au, cowboy!au + smut, humor, fluff, romance, slow burn and angst 🐴Rating: mature/explicit/R18 – this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact!

🐴Disclaimer: I do not own BTS or know them personally and this work of fiction is purely fictional and for entertainment purposes only. The actions and personalities described in the story do not reflect those of BTS— it’s just fiction. Also, if you would kindly read the tags/warnings before reading, that would be lovely: and if you don’t like whatever is described in the tags, just hit return and find something else to read. Thank you 🌸 🐴Chapter warnings: mention of blood from a head wound, some blood from a cow giving birth and otherwise the standard angst and angriness. Yep, sorry again 😭 Things will somewhat start to look up in the next chapter!! ☀️ And if you feel like you need a reminder where the story is heading, read this spoiler 🫶 🐴Status: completed 🥳 🐴Word count: 9.5k

🐴Taglist: @kookswifesblog, @kiki-zb, @babejinnie, @ownthesunshine, @allie-is-a-panda, @glllhjh, @bergandysam, @13-manggaetteok, @jeonsbabygirlsworld, @antisocial-mochi267,

*tumblr isn’t letting me tag you! There could be a lot of reasons for that, check out this lovely post about it.

🐴Now playing 💿 “Love You, Hate You” by Rebecca Lavelle. [Wanna listen to the serie’s playlist?] 🐴Author’s note: I really feel like I’m putting my characters through hell 😂 I really do feel bad for Jimin and MC — but we’re almost there!!!! (also, when do you think one of them will snap and finally talk to each other???). 

It’s been cross posted to AO3 if you prefer to read there. Wanna see the book cover?

wanna read a teeny tiny teaser for the next chapter? [here]

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“Hate you, love you, want you and I need you It’s not easy It makes me cry Need you, want you, hate you Love you, need you, want you Gotta go, say goodbye, say goodbye” - ‘Love you, Hate you’ by Rebecca Lavelle

Once more, Jungkook propels the car with an urgency that flirts with recklessness, yet you refrain from voicing concern. The unspoken agreement between you acknowledges his competence behind the wheel. Witnessing the transformation, his tears replaced by a steely resolve as he assumes control, leaves you in awe. The shift in his focus is palpable, a laser-sharp intensity that cuts through the emotional haze.

The familiar road unravels beneath the wheels, leaving a veil of dust in the truck’s turbulent wake. Your gaze fixates on the passing landscape, a silent witness to the gravity of the night. The realization dawns that informing the girls is not just a practical idea; it’s a lifeline to assuage their likely anguish. Retrieving your phone from the snug pocket of your jeans, you declare your intention, fingers poised to bridge the distance between uncertainty and reassurance. “Just gonna inform the girls.”

Jungkook nods, his gaze unwaveringly fixed on the road ahead. You embark on a mission, fingers dialing Soo-ah’s number with a determined precision. The phone ascends to your ear, the ensuing silence pregnant with the unspoken gravity of the message you’re about to deliver. 

The moment Soo-ah’s voice resonates through the phone, an undertone of anxiety and fear punctuates the connection, mirroring the collective uncertainty that binds you all. “Jessi’s been in a car accident, and we’re en route to the hospital,” you disclose, your voice carrying the weight of recent tears. However, amid the distress, you impart a tentative reassurance, “She’s alive, but there’s something off—her words were slurred. I think she hit her head. But we will know more when we get to the hospital.” 

Turning to Jungkook, you observe the fierce determination etched in the pallor of his knuckles, a testament to the vice-like grip on the wheel. Traces of dried tears mar his cheeks, a visual echo of the emotional tempest that has swept through him. In that moment, a palpable lump lodges itself in your throat, an involuntary response to the profound vulnerability laid bare in the silent interplay of clenched fists and tear-stained faces. 

The remainder of the journey unfolds in stifling silence, the cabin suffused with an unspoken tension that hangs thick in the air. The specter of fear, like an insidious intruder, stealthily reclaims its place within the confines of your bones. 

Anxiety courses through you—for Jessi’s well-being, for the unknown revelations awaiting, for the uncertain terrain that stretches beyond. The all-encompassing fear becomes an insidious force, its weight rendering the atmosphere within the confined space utterly paralyzing.

The hospital materializes on the horizon, a beacon of both hope and trepidation. Jungkook, propelled by urgency, deftly navigates the maze of parking spaces, abruptly silencing the truck’s ignition before catapulting out of the vehicle with a sense of purpose. 

In tandem, you and Jungkook storm into the emergency department, urgency pulsating with every step. As you approach the desk, a receptionist greets you with a smile—her eyes, pools of warmth and empathy, mirroring the softness of her welcoming expression. 

“We’re looking for Jessi,” Jungkook declares, a pillar of tension leaning against the elevated desk. 

The receptionist’s nod is both swift and affirmative, a reassuring beacon in the sea of apprehension. “Room 134340,” she utters, the numeric sequence hanging in the air like a lifeline. 

In unison, you and Jungkook practically bolt towards the imposing doors, a shared urgency propelling you forward. The corridor becomes a labyrinth of tension as you navigate the sea of room numbers, each passing moment marked by the thunderous cadence of your hearts echoing within your chests. 

Please let her be okay.

At last, the numbers the receptionist shared come into view, and with a delicate touch, you ease the door open, unveiling a serene image—Jessi, reclined on the bed in peaceful sleep. Your gaze lingers on her slumbering form, taking in the telltale signs of the ordeal she endured—bandages encircling her head, a cast cradling her right arm, and another enveloping her left leg. 

The scene before you paints a grim reality, a tapestry of injuries that whispers tales of struggle. Yet, in the midst of this stark portrayal, the ember of relief flickers—she’s alive. 

A lump lodges in your throat once more, and with teardrops poised in the corners of your eyes, you approach your sister. Jungkook follows in your wake, settling on the bed. Leaning in, he tenderly caresses her cheek, mirroring the gentle touch that first bridged the gap between his fingers and her skin at the scene of the accident. 

Your gaze lingers, capturing the rivulets of tears tracing Jungkook’s expressive contours once more. In the soft luminescence of the room, his eyes shimmer with a profound mixture of emotion, fixated on your sister. 

A hush descends as the door swings open, ushering in a figure clad in the sterile garb of a doctor. Your attention pivots, fixating on this harbinger of information. 

“Hello. Are you Jessi’s family?” The doctor’s gaze oscillates between you and Jungkook, and your response is encapsulated in a silent nod. Words seem to elude you once more.

“Yeah, This is her sister, and I’m her friend,” Jungkook affirms, his voice carrying a burdened undertone that hints at the unspoken complexities and tensions simmering beneath the surface—an emotional undercurrent that has woven its threads through the past weeks. 

The doctor’s nod carries a weighty reassurance as he imparts the diagnosis. “Alright. Jessi has a minor concussion; the impact against the steering wheel caused some bleeding. She’s also dealing with a broken arm and leg, along with a few bruised ribs. Thankfully, that’s the extent of her injuries,” he imparts. 

“When can she come home?” Jungkook’s voice, simultaneously textured with rough edges and a tender timbre, resonates in the room. He reaches for Jessi’s hand—the one untouched by the cast—infusing the question with an unspoken urgency and a touch of vulnerability. 

“As a precaution due to the concussion, we’d like to keep her under observation for a day or two. After that, you can take her home. However, she’ll need to use a wheelchair, and rest is absolutely crucial,” the doctor informs you, leaving a weighty prescription for recovery in the air. With that, he departs, leaving the two of you alone with Jessi, still in the embrace of a healing slumber. 

Your gaze locks onto Jungkook, and as Jessi’s fingers stir against his, a soft gasp escapes you. Jungkook, attuned to the subtle movements, shifts his attention to your sister’s face. Her eyes, a slow dance of reawakening, flutter open, and she casts a weary but genuine smile at both of you. “Hi,” she utters, and the simplicity of that greeting carries a profound weight, a testament to resilience and the indomitable spirit that endures even in the face of adversity.

A shared chuckle resonates between you and Jungkook, but he takes the lead, concern etched in his question, “How are you holding up?” 

“Everything fucking hurts,” she confesses, the words escaping through gritted teeth, and a wince that lingers in the air. 

As you observe, her speech is no longer marred by slurs, and a glimmer of hope flickers within you. Offering a gentle smile, you cling to this positive sign, a fragile beacon of recovery in the aftermath of the accident. 

“We were worried there for a second,” you admit with a smile, your heart still tethered to the lingering uneasiness. 

“I’m fine. I’m gonna be fine,” she reassures with a languid smile, her eyes retaining a drowsy allure. 

Jungkook continues to tenderly stroke her hand, a lone tear betraying his emotion as it slips from the corner of his eye. 

“Why are you crying?” Jessi inquires in a weary tone, her question carrying a subtle mix of curiosity and fatigue. The fatigue in her tone, juxtaposed with the curiosity in her eyes, creates a moment of vulnerability and curiosity, inviting the reader to delve deeper into the emotional intricacies of the scene.

“Because you look so bad,” he chuckles through a teasing sob, a bittersweet smile dancing on his lips as he attempts to lighten the heavy atmosphere with a touch of humor. 

Jessi scuffs, “If I could slap ya, I would,” she drags out, a playful smirk tugging at her lips, “Sis, can you do it for me?” 

You shake your head, a fond smile playing on your lips as you observe their usual teasing banter. Despite the ordeal, the fact that she can still summon her playful spirit brings a sense of relief, a small but reassuring glimmer in the midst of uncertainty.

Your laughter lingers in the air, but a subtle sadness creeps into your voice as you inquire, “What happened?” 

She groans, eyes rolling in frustration as she recounts, “There was this red car that appeared out of nowhere in the turn, driving on the wrong side of the road.” 

Your eyes widen with concern, a gasp escaping your lips. “What happened to the red car? Did it just drive off?” 

“Managed to dodge the car, but ended up colliding with a damn tree instead,” she says, a hint of frustration in her tone. 

“And to top it off, the guy just speeds away like nothing happened!” she scoffs, her irritation palpable and echoing the injustice of the situation.

“Do you have any idea who that was?” Jungkook demands, a mix of curiosity and sternness in his gaze, his fist clenching at his side as if ready to confront the reckless driver.

“Some arrogant city slicker. Never seen that car around here. Clearly not a local,” she scoffs, disdain dripping from her words as she curses the reckless driver.

“Can you call Namjoon for me?” she suddenly requests, locking eyes with you. You find yourself curious about why she specifically wants to talk to Namjoon at this moment.

When you shoot her a quizzical look, she adds, “I want to tell him something.”

“Can’t it wait?” you counter, not quite grasping why it’s so urgent for her to speak with Namjoon right now.

“No.” 

Fine. You reluctantly pull out your phone and dial Namjoon. Describing the situation, you implore him to come as soon as possible, and he assures you he’ll be there swiftly.

As the minutes tick by in the hushed room, the tension thickens, yet an unspoken understanding binds you, Jessi, and Jungkook together. Silence reigns, pregnant with the weight of shared concern, creating a strangely comforting atmosphere.

The hospital doors burst open, revealing a disheveled Namjoon sprints in, clutching a bouquet of flowers. His eyes scan the room, taking in the sight of your sister lying on the bed, and his breath catches in a mix of relief and worry.

His voice laced with concern, Namjoon places the bouquet on the bedside table, his eyes fixed on your sister. “It looks bad. Are you okay?” he inquires, his worry echoing in the sterile hospital room.

“Fuck you. I’m fine,” she retorts, a smirk playing on her lips. The room fills with laughter, and seizing the moment, you gesture to the couch on the other side of the room, silently signaling to give Jessi and Namjoon some space. Jungkook rises from the bed, joining you on the couch.

Without a hint of preamble or consideration for the weight of her words, Jessi suddenly declares, “I want to break up.” Her words echoing through the room with a weight that sends a jolt through both you and Jungkook. You exchange a glance, realizing you’ve stumbled upon a moment too intimate for your presence.

Namjoon wears a puzzled expression, questioning, “Are you sure about this? Is it the concussion talking?” 

Definitely, she shakes her head.  “No, my mind is crystal clear.”

Regret lingers in her eyes as she confesses, “I’m sorry, but I can’t be with you anymore. I want to break up.” Her gaze, tinged with sadness, speaks volumes as she nervously bites her lip, the weight of her decision palpable in the room.

Namjoon nods thoughtfully, “Okay. No hard feelings. I understand.” His gaze shifts to Jungkook, a hint of unspoken understanding passing between them. “You can always call me—whether it’s just to talk or if one of the animals gets sick. Friends?” The air seems to lighten with the sincerity of his words.

“Friends,” she breathes out, the words carrying the weight of a burden lifted from her heart. Her gratitude spills forth, a sincere “And thank you, Namjoon,” echoing in the room.

She shares a smile with him, and his response mirrors the sentiment. From your perch on the couch, the intimacy of their moment feels oddly intrusive, and you can’t shake the sense of being an unintended witness to the delicate unraveling of their relationship.

Namjoon pivots, offering a parting nod and a soft farewell before gracefully exiting the room.

As his presence fades, you exhale the breath you’d been clutching, the room finally free from tension. “Well, that was uncomfortable.”

Jessi chuckles, seemingly unfazed by the awkwardness you just witnessed, her laughter echoing through the room.

You rise to your feet, stretching your tired body, and with a gentle tone, you ask, “Do you want to head home now, Kook?”

Jungkook remains seated on the couch, exchanging a meaningful glance with your sister. “I was actually thinking about staying and bringing her home tomorrow,” he says, his voice carrying a quiet determination.

Your eyes flicker open, but you quickly compose your expression, offering them both a gentle smile. “I’ll call Soo-ah to come pick me up then,” you say, your voice carrying a mix of understanding and reassurance.

Jessi doesn’t possess a single bone wired for relaxation. Despite the doctors’ earnest advice to take it slow and steady, does she heed it? Absolutely not.

With determined grit, she maneuvers the wheelchair around the house with one hand, attempting to shoulder every task single-handedly, only to find herself faltering at each turn.

In her quest for a simple glass of water, disaster struck – the glass slipped from her grasp, dancing precariously on the edge of destruction before miraculously escaping the fate of shattered fragments.

Your sister’s unwavering stubbornness has sparked numerous discussions, leaving you weary from the incessant cycle of repeating yourself.

“Why can’t you just stay put and let me handle it?” you groan at her futile attempt to set the dinner table. Exasperated, you snatch the plate from her hand and expertly arrange it on the table.

You’ve relocated all her belongings to the guest room, a practical move given her current inability to navigate the stairs. It’s a convenience for everyone, yourself included.

Exasperated, you burst out, “Sit your ass down!”

Her laughter rings through the room as she retorts, “I am sitting.” You can’t help but roll your eyes at her playful defiance.

Kneeling down, your eyes lock onto hers, a plea in your gaze. “I can take care of everything for you. Pushing yourself too hard will only slow down your recovery. Is that what you really want?”

Her gaze shifts away, words escaping in a soft mumble, their meaning lost in the air between you.

“What was that?”

Her response is a defiant whisper, almost a rebellion against her own vulnerability. “No. I don’t want that. Fine. You can do everything. It’s just not in my nature to let everybody do everything for me.”

When you told your sister you could handle everything on the ranch, little did you anticipate the relentless demands that awaited. Now, sweat beads roll down your hairline, and sticky shirts cling to your fatigued body—your new normal. Soreness and exhaustion threaten to overcome you, yet you persist. The unwavering support of Soo-ah, Ara, and Ha-rin becomes your lifeline, and you find yourself profoundly grateful for their presence. Without them, the daunting tasks ahead would be impossible.

Despite the relentless physical and mental demands, there’s an undeniable love that fuels your every effort. It’s in the rhythmic cadence of working with the horses, the joy of discovering ripe veggies in the garden, the satisfaction of feeding the cattle and horses. Cleaning the stable, tending to the yard, and meticulously fixing the fences become more than just chores—they’re threads woven into the tapestry of a passion that now defines you.

As if the outside challenges weren’t enough, the list of tasks inside the house seems never-ending—cleaning, organizing, tackling taxes, and conjuring up dinners that dance on the taste buds. The sheer magnitude of it all makes you marvel at Jessi’s ability to juggle these responsibilities, leaving you to wonder how she navigates this intricate dance without succumbing to the relentless rhythm of exhaustion.

In the whirlwind of responsibilities, Jungkook offers to lend his hands in fixing one of the fences on your property.

The anticipation of Jungkook’s assistance becomes a beacon of relief in your hectic schedule, and a mischievous thought flits through your mind—wondering if you could sweet-talk him into tackling the entire task, granting you a rare and much-needed moment of respite.

In the driver’s seat of your brand-new pickup truck, a lustrous shade of dark purple that gleams in the sunlight, you reflect on its arrival, replacing the ghost of the white one marred by Jessi’s unfortunate accident. The former wreck, irreparably damaged, made way for this sleek, modern model, boasting enhanced comfort that transforms every drive into a genuine pleasure.

As you turn the key in the ignition, the hum of the engine beneath you, and shift the truck into first gear, anticipation courses through you. The Eastern paddock awaits, its fence in need of repair, and Jungkook has promised to join you. The radio provides a lively soundtrack, and you find yourself singing along with joy, only to fall into a hushed silence as the familiar silhouette of a blue truck comes into view, neatly parked beside the fence.

Cursing under your breath, frustration seizes you as you realize Jungkook— that damn traitor, has sent his brother to handle the job he promised to do. 

The betrayal stings, especially considering the current strained terms between you and Jimin. Anger simmers within, escaping in a low, gritted scoff as you pull your car up beside Jimin’s.

Jimin dives into the task at hand, effortlessly measuring wire lengths and expertly cutting them to fit the fence. There’s no denying it, not that there ever was – Jimin is undeniably attractive. As you observe from the comfort of your car, your gaze lingers on his sweaty forehead, his biceps flexing beneath the rolled-up shirt. Another curse slips from your lips; why does he have to look this good?

A whirlwind of emotions courses through your veins – desire entangled with frustration. Jimin’s effect on your mind is infuriating. Yes, you still crave him, but the bitterness lingers. He chose someone else without engaging in a conversation about what transpired, a choice that feels painfully immature.

Relaxing your crossed arms, you swing the door open and step into the sweltering air. You circle the car to grab your tools and approach Jimin, who doesn’t bother to cast even a fleeting glance your way.

You scoff and roll your eyes. No greeting? This is a new low. You expected, at the very least, a bit of small talk. Seems like even that was too much to ask for.

“Hey, Jimin,” you say, attempting to mask the tension growing thick in the air. He remains silent, his focus fixed on his strong and calloused hands diligently working on the fence.

At least you’ve chosen to be the bigger person, maintaining your politeness. You dive into the task at hand, assisting him in measuring, cutting, and applying the new wire. The absence of conversation hangs heavy, a stifling silence that feels more like a heavy weight on your chest. It’s uncomfortable, this void between you two, and you can’t help but despise it with every fiber of your being.

In the suffocating silence, you realize that attempting conversation is futile, as he remains resolute in ignoring your every plea. Determined to endure the unbearable tension, you find yourself silently cursing Jungkook in your mind for orchestrating you into working with Jimin. There’s no question about it— you’ll have a serious talk with him later about this stupid plan of his!

Your hands accidentally collide with Jimin’s a few times, and the contact sends a jolt through you, a sensation you hastily withdraw from as if burned. The lingering touch awakens something buried deep within, a sentiment you’re determined to suppress. Those residual feelings must be banished, relegated to the recesses of your heart.

You can’t help but notice Jimin’s persistent gaze fixed upon you, and it’s disconcerting. The emotions swirling in the air are indescribable, leaving you puzzled about the cause of his intense scrutiny. Yet, the expression etched on his face is far from one of happiness or satisfaction; instead, it bears the weight of pain and unresolved sentiments.

The realization hits hard—there’s no denying it now. You and Jimin let your moment slip away, a truth that’s crystal clear now.

As a heavy sigh escapes your lips, you find yourself yearning for a past rewritten, a canvas of memories painted with different hues.

“It’s official!” 

In an exuberant burst of joy, you proclaim the moment, your voice echoing in giddy celebration as you sit on the grass. Beside you, Yoongi chuckles, and the tranquil scene unfolds with Holly and Marshmallow leisurely grazing on the grass.

Ecstatic, he declares, “We’re in business, baby!” His laughter resonates, and his radiant smile competes with the brilliance of the sun. You join in the laughter, though the pet name doesn’t quite sit right with you.

Playfully, you groan, “God, please don’t call me ’baby’,” as laughter continues to ripple between you. His response is a simple, hearty chuckle.

As the sun dips below the horizon, a serene quiet blankets the hilltop, providing a perfect backdrop to absorb the significance of the moment. You and Yoongi, now proud business owners of a wild horse gentling venture, revel in the excitement of the journey ahead. The prospect of working with more horses and bringing joy to people through these extraordinary animals fuels your anticipation.

With a hint of emotion in his voice, a touch of longing, Yoongi shares, “I’ve already found our inaugural customer.” Intrigued, you turn to face him, your eyes prompting him to reveal more about this exciting news.

With a weighted voice, laden with deep emotions, Yoongi reveals, “There’s a guy not far from us. He’s taken an interest in Holly.” Your gasp resonates with the dread that settles in—oh no, not Holly.

“But isn’t she yours to keep?” you ask, a tinge of sadness reflected in your eyes. Expectations of Yoongi keeping Holly for himself, the first horse you both worked on, echo in your question. The bond he shares with her seems uniquely special, so why part with her?

“I truly adore her, but she’s just a horse. And this is business,” he sighs, his voice carrying the weight of the decision as he gazes at the sunset. A lump forms in your throat, and tears well in your eyes. The thought of selling Mikrokosmos, your horse, feels almost impossible. She’s not just a business asset; she’s a part of you, and the idea of parting with her is heart-wrenching.

“Well, I hope she’ll love her new home,” you say with a bittersweet smile, gently shoving him playfully on the shoulder. The mixture of emotions swirls between you two, acknowledging the business aspect while secretly hoping Holly finds as much happiness in her new home as you both found in each other’s company.

“I hope so too,” he murmurs, his lips pressed into a tight line. The deep affection he holds for the horse is evident, and you sense the internal struggle he’s facing. This decision weighs on him, and you find yourself sharing in the silent understanding of the emotional complexity tied to their parting.

As the sun dips below the horizon, casting hues of warm orange and pink across the sky, you remain on the hilltop, sharing the tranquil moment with your horses grazing beside you. In the company of Yoongi, your best friend, you reflect on the genuine bond that has grown between you. His presence is a comforting constant, a reliable listener, and a confidant you deeply appreciate.

In a moment of vulnerability, you confess, “You know... I’ve never really felt at home anywhere since I left the ranch.” The weight of emotions settles over you, and tears threaten to escape. 

Sensing your need for comfort, Yoongi turns to you, wrapping you in a gentle hug that speaks volumes without uttering a single word.

Amid the hues of the setting sun, Yoongi poses a poignant question, his voice laden with a mix of emotion and weariness. “Do you feel at home now?” he asks, and a soft chuckle escapes your lips, a response teeming with a complex blend of gratitude, uncertainty, and the subtle realization that ’home’ might be more than a physical place.

“I actually do.”

Words tumble from your lips as you gaze over the ranch from the hilltop, the golden glow of the sun casting a warm aura. “I never thought I would feel at home again. But this place has a way of working its magic on everything,” you confess, a testament to the transformative power your surroundings have woven into the fabric of your heart.

His smile echoes the sentiment, and he envelops you in a tight hug, as if the embrace itself is a testament to the enchantment this place has cast upon your lives. 

“That it sure does,” he murmurs, a shared acknowledgment of the profound connection you both feel to the land beneath your feet.

In the vast expanse of uncertainties, you shudder at the mere thought of navigating through the challenges without Yoongi by your side, a reliable anchor in the unpredictable sea of life. The gratitude for his friendship lingers in your heart, a sentiment too profound to be expressed in mere words.

“Will you come over tomorrow? The guy that wants to buy Holly will come and pick her up in the morning…” You discern the unspoken plea in his eyes, and with a tender smile, you draw closer, seeking solace in the warmth of his presence.

“Of course I’ll be there, Yoon.”

After the sun’s final bow, Yoongi rides back to the Park ranch, and you descend the hill towards your home. The term ’home’ once felt foreign, but now it wraps around you like a familiar embrace, an unwavering truth – your refuge, always and forever.

The next day, fueled by a hasty breakfast, you dash to the stables, the eager anticipation of your visit to Bell Ranch propelling you forward. Your task at hand: preparing Marshmallow for the journey ahead.

In the quiet embrace of the barn, you exchange a warm greeting with Marshmallow, ushering him into the center of the space. There, you deftly equip him with a saddle and bridle. As you guide him outside, the crisp morning air envelops you, and the gentle caress of the early sun bestows warmth upon your skin. A deep inhale fills your lungs, and with a graceful exhale, you mount Marshmallow. With a subtle nudge, you prompt him into a rhythmic gallop, traversing the lush expanse of green that unfolds before you.

The journey feels fleeting, far too brief for the solace it provides. Arriving at the stables, you swiftly dismount and tenderly remove Marshmallow’s tack. Leading him to one of the paddocks, you release him to the embrace of the open space, allowing him a well-deserved respite while you prepare to work with Yoongi.

You make your way to the pen, where Yoongi bids farewell to Holly. His arms envelop the brown mare’s neck in a tight embrace, soft pats accentuating the silent conversation between man and horse. Tears trace a path down his cheeks, and unexpectedly, you find your own emotions stirred, empathizing with the bittersweet parting, even though Holly isn’t your horse.

You acknowledge him with a quiet nod, hesitant to disrupt the tender moment between him and Holly. Leaning against the fence, you observe the heartfelt exchange. Holly emits a deep, resonant whinny, and for a fleeting moment, it feels as though she comprehends the impending separation.

As the sound of a truck pulling a trailer draws near behind you, the realization dawns—it’s time. Yoongi lifts his head from its resting place on Holly’s neck, offering her a final, affectionate pat before reluctantly stepping away.

With a heavy heart, Yoongi guides Holly towards the waiting trailer in the yard. The man has preemptively opened the trailer door, and as Holly steps inside, Yoongi closes the latch with a palpable reluctance. Standing on the sidelines, you observe the exchange—the man handing Yoongi some money, their handshake resonating with unspoken emotions. As the man returns to his car and drives away, Yoongi walks over to you, a profound sadness etched on his face.

“It’s okay,” you offer a comforting reassurance to Yoongi, wrapping him in a gentle hug.

He shares a bittersweet acknowledgment, a tinge of sadness coloring his smile, as both of you reluctantly shift your focus away from the departing car.

“Do you want to work on Mikrokosmos? I feel like I need something to do to keep my mind off Holly,” his request hangs in the air, laced with a subtle vulnerability as he looks at you with a sheepish smile. A shared understanding passes between you, and you nod in agreement, both silently making your way toward the stables, seeking solace in the comforting routine of working with Mikrokosmos.

With a confident stride, you retrieve Mikrokosmos from her stall, guiding her down to the pen without the need for a rope or halter. Yoongi walks beside you, a wistful smile playing on his lips.

Swinging the gate wide, you usher Mikrokosmos into the pen, her graceful steps echoing within the enclosure. Yoongi assumes his customary perch atop the fence, his observant eyes tracking the movements of the spirited mare.

Allowing Mikrokosmos to explore your scent, you initiate a tactile connection by stroking her forehead, tracing the path down her elegant neck, and along the sinewy contours of her shoulders. As your hands ascend to her back, you apply a gentle yet firm pressure, echoing the techniques you observed from Yoongi weeks ago, establishing a silent rapport with the magnificent mare.

Feeling the mare’s ease under your touch, you gradually increase the pressure, traversing her back with a comforting rhythm. When your eyes seek Yoongi’s for guidance, a silent understanding passes between you. Without a spoken word, he reads your unspoken query. “She’s ready,” he asserts with unwavering confidence, his voice a testament to the bond you’re building with Mikrokosmos.

Emboldened by Mikrokosmos’ serene response to your touch, you decide to take a daring leap, mimicking Yoongi’s approach with Holly. With a sense of excitement and trepidation, you pull yourself up onto her back. To your delight, she remains unfazed, allowing you to settle in, planting your bum securely on her back. It’s a moment of triumph, a testament to the trust building between you and the spirited mare.

In a breathless moment, Mikrokosmos stands still, and then, breaking the silence, she releases a soft whinny. Your heart swells with a mix of wonder and joy. As you pat her neck, a gentle coaxing with the press of your legs encourages her to move. Together, you embark on a slow journey around the pen, a newfound connection unfolding beneath you. From atop the fence, Yoongi grins widely, witnessing the magical communion between rider and horse.

A surge of pride and accomplishment courses through you. It’s a defining moment, a testament to the progress made. Confidence radiates from your every move as you navigate the pen on horseback, a triumphant smile adorning your face.

As a sudden pressure builds in your bladder, frustration wells up internally. Of all the moments, it has to be now. Succumbing to the inevitable, you voice your discomfort, “I need to use the restroom. Can you look after Mikrokosmos until I return?”

Yoongi acknowledges with a nod, and you smoothly descend Mikrokosmos’ body, grounding your feet in the sand. With a burst of energy, you vault over the fence, sprinting all the way up to the main house.

You forgo the courtesy of knocking, opting to swing the door wide open as you make a beeline for the bathroom.

As your fingers extend toward the door handle, it unexpectedly swings open, catching you off guard and sending a jolt of surprise through you.

As the door swings open, you’re met with the unexpected sight Deiji, draped only in a towel. Her damp hair and glistening skin hint at a recent shower, and the small droplets of water sparkle in the light. A startled shriek escapes her lips as her gaze locks with your equally surprised and wide eyes.

Panicking, you blurt out, “Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” Your words stumble over each other as the sound of approaching footsteps from upstairs adds to the awkward tension in the air.

Down the stairs descends Jimin, clad in nothing but a pair of snug grey joggers, his feet bare, hair wet, and your jaw practically hits the floor.

“What’s the matter, babe?” He queries, running a hand through his damp hair. His eyes find your startled form, and he instantly eases into a more relaxed demeanor.

You’re caught in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Your heartbeat skyrockets, and you’re torn between the urge to look away and the magnetic pull keeping your gaze fixed on Jimin. Every contour of his physique, from well-defined pectorals to a happy trail of natural brown hairs leading down to his crotch, leaves you both captivated and flustered. He is everything you imagined and more. 

A sudden wave of heat engulfs the room, making you feel as if you’re suffocating. You become acutely aware that you might have been staring for too long, as both Jimin and Deiji shoot you concerned glances, their eyes filled with a mix of curiosity and apprehension.

“What are you doing here?” Jimin inquires, casually flexing his abdominals with a smirk playing on his lips. It’s a dirty move, and he knows it. Why does he have to look so devilishly good, practically flaunting something you can’t have? It’s not fair—Park Jimin is a temptation, and you can’t help but feel he might be your downfall.

As realization dawns, you suddenly recall the purpose of your intrusion. “I have to pee,” you blurt out, a mixture of embarrassment and urgency in your tone.

Amused laughter fills the room, and Deiji graciously clears some space, saying, “You can use it; I’m done anyway.”

Nodding, you flash her a grateful smile, a strange mix of nerves and curiosity swirling within you. As you pass her, a trail of her sweet floral scent lingers, enveloping you. Just before slipping into the bathroom, you steal a glance at Jimin. His face wears a smirk you can’t decipher. 

Suddenly, it dawns on you - this is the first time he has spoken to you in weeks.

Basking in the midday sun, a gentle breeze toys with your hair, allowing its tender touch to dance across your neck as you gallop through the undulating hills astride Marshmallow.

Thundering across these expansive landscapes, a spirited gallop grants temporary solace to your heart, momentarily eclipsing the tumult within. Damn Park Jimin and his angelic and devilish looking face. The ache intensifies witnessing him with his infuriatingly perfect girlfriend; a pain that lingers, leaving you uncertain if you’ll ever get over him.

Granting Marshmallow unrestrained freedom, you traverse diverse landscapes—dense forests, the serene lake, and finally, the ranch’s Eastern expanse. Yet, an unsettling discord interrupts the tranquility, an eerie cry that echoes of an animal’s distress. Tensing the reins, you guide Marshmallow toward the source of the ominous noise.

Arriving at the scene, your eyes widen at the sight of a cow standing in the paddock, its posture awkward, and a pair of feet protruding from its laboring form. A gasp escapes you as the realization dawns – the cow is giving birth.

Dismounting from Marshmallow, urgency propels you toward the struggling cow. The rhythmic movement of the legs suggests the birthing process, something doesn’t seem right and you don’t know what to do. In a quick reflex, you pull out your phone, dialing the only person you know what to do.

The ringtone echoes anxiously, each second an eternity as you plead silently for the familiar voice to answer. The urgency in your chest intensifies with each passing ring. Please, just pick up, dammit!

Relief floods over you as Namjoon’s voice resonates through the phone, a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. “This is Namjoon,” he declares, and in that instant, it’s as if the universe aligns to bring order to the chaos around you.

“Thank god! Can you come and help? There’s a cow giving birth in the Eastern paddock, and it sounds like she’s in distress!” Your urgent plea pierces through the phone, echoing the distress emanating from the laboring cow.

“You know these animals can handle calving by themselves, right?” He chuckles on the line, and you roll your eyes, dismissing the notion with a hint of impatience. There’s no time for a history lesson; immediate action is what you need.

“The baby cow’s legs are moving back and forth—is that normal?” Your voice carries a hint of sternness, convinced that this situation isn’t within the realms of normalcy. Silence greets you on the other end, and for a brief moment, you fear he might have hung up.

“I’ll be there as soon as possible!” His voice, once calm, now carries a sense of urgency and stress, and in that moment, you grasp the gravity of the situation.

“Try to see if you can pull the calf’s legs out until I arrive, okay?” His urgent plea echoes in your ears, mingling with the distant sound of a car door opening and closing on the line, signaling hope that he’s racing to your aid.

“Pull its legs out?” Your frantic voice echoes into the void as the call disconnects. A heavy sigh escapes you as you gaze at the distressed cow. Uncertainty clings to you like a shadow; you’re torn between the fear of causing harm and the weight of Namjoon’s expertise urging you to act. He’s the vet, after all, and if he says it’s the necessary step, you steel yourself for what needs to be done.

Rolling your sleeves up, you step forward, determined to help the distressed cow. Your hand rests gently on its back, employing the same calming touch you would use with a wild horse. Slowly, your hand traverses down its body to its hindquarters where the legs protrude awkwardly. With a careful grip, you attempt to pull, but to no avail. It becomes apparent that the helpless calf is firmly lodged inside, presenting a daunting challenge.

Beads of sweat mingle with the dust on your brow, the relentless struggle to free the trapped calf becomes a desperate dance. The distant hum of an approaching engine brings a surge of hope, and relief washes over you as Namjoon’s truck roars to a halt behind you. Oh thank god!

With a swift, purposeful stride, Namjoon emerges from his truck, the familiar cadence of urgency echoing in each step. In his firm grip, the vet bag swings like a lifeline as he hastens toward you and the distressed cow.

Apologies linger in Namjoon’s voice as he swiftly dons a pair of absurdly long, cerulean gloves from his well-stocked bag. His keen eyes scan the scene, assessing the situation as he poses a question that cuts through the tense air, “It’s still not out?”

Retreating to give Namjoon the space he needs, you watch in awe as he envelops the tiny legs with his gloved hands, channeling the strength of his entire body into each determined pull.

“It normally doesn’t take this long to birth a calf…” sweat beads on Namjoon’s forehead as he exerts more effort, a hint of concern in his voice. With a final determined tug, the calf emerges, first the legs, then the head and the rest of its body. Namjoon carefully lowers it to the ground, leaving the newborn covered in a mixture of slime and blood.

Namjoon discards his gloves into a wash bag, his eyes shifting from the exhausted cow to the newborn calf finding its bearings on the grass. “Calling me was the right move; it didn’t appear the cow could manage to push the calf out on her own,” he remarks, a touch of relief in his voice.

Gratitude fills your words as you express, “Thanks for rushing over and handling everything – I mean, doing the heavy lifting for me.” A soft chuckle escapes your lips, acknowledging the reality that pulling out a calf was far beyond your strength.

“No problem,” his response is accompanied by a warm, bright smile, radiating reassurance. As he stows away his bag in the truck, he turns to you, locking eyes with you.

“How’s Jessi doing?” His question comes with a warm smile, yet beneath it, a subtle dance of curiosity and nervousness in his browline. A soft chuckle escapes you as you contemplate the enduring care he holds for Jessi, even after the end of their relationship. It’s nice that they are able to stay friends and still care for each other like this.

Your smile mirrors his, genuine and bright. “She’s holding up well, still bossing everyone around. Though she’s confined to crutches for now, the silver lining is that the casts are scheduled to come off in just a few days.”

His smile widens, and he nods appreciatively. “Well, that’s a relief to hear.”

You chuckle again, the sound echoing in the air. Namjoon, a genuinely good guy, radiates warmth, and it’s a bittersweet realization that things didn’t work out between him and your sister. Deep down, you silently wish him a future where he finds someone who can fulfill the desires that shimmer in his eyes – a quest you sense he’s earnestly pursuing.

“I’ll get going then. Everybody needs my help today.” He chuckles, his robust frame resonating with the warmth of his laughter, and Namjoon announces his departure. Acknowledging his unwavering commitment to helping others, you nod in farewell, watching as he steps into his truck and drives away.

You return to Marshmallow, your hand gently caressing his neck in appreciation before seamlessly mounting him. With a swift swing of your leg over the saddle, you guide him on the journey back home.

“Why are we subjecting ourselves to this culinary chaos again?” you groan, placing yet another dish onto the grand table in your dining room, glancing at Jessi for an answer.

Jessi gracefully moves around the table, lending a hand in setting up while ensuring everything is perfectly in place. “It’s all in celebration of liberation from the cast!” She jubilantly shakes her once-encased arm and leg, now liberated. You can’t help but roll your eyes; your sister’s idea of a celebration might be a bit eccentric, but it’s her party after all.

In the bustling kitchen, Ha-rin and Ara work tirelessly to craft an array of delectable dishes, infusing the house with a symphony of tantalizing aromas. Meanwhile, you, Jessi, and Soo-ah engage in a meticulous dance, setting the table with precision and placing each carefully prepared dish, allowing wisps of steam to rise and tantalize the senses.

As the feast approaches, your sister has extended invitations far and wide, and that inevitably includes Jimin and his girlfriend. The mere thought of encountering him again prompts a preemptive groan, and you find yourself yearning for a way to evade the impending interaction. Alas, with him being your neighbor and frequent collaborator on ranch-related endeavors, avoiding him proves to be a challenging feat. You scuff at the predicament, silently longing for a different reality.

With an audible clunk, you assertively place the plates on the table, the reverberation echoing the intensity of your emotions.

“Easy there!” Your sister scolds, her tone a playful warning, as she delicately places the glasses in front of the plates.

You chuckle, a lightness returning to your mood, and set the plates down with a flourish before heading into the kitchen to collect the utensils.

Anticipation gnaws at you as you set the table, a desire to get through this dinner quickly, fueled by the looming presence of Jimin. His silence has become a heavy weight, and ever since that unexpected glimpse of him almost naked, unwanted thoughts and vivid images intrude your mind. You scold yourself, reminding that he isn’t yours to entertain such thoughts about. It’s not fair to him or Deiji, and you need to push these images aside.

As you mope around the dining room, preparing for the gathering, the atmosphere shifts with the arrival of guests. Jungkook bursts in, enveloping your sister in a warm embrace before turning his attention to you. His hug is almost too tight, prompting a small squeak to escape your lips, and he responds with hearty laughter that fills the room.

As Jimin and Deiji make their entrance, you acknowledge them with a subtle nod, instinctively creating a bit of space between you. The air seems to tighten with unresolved tension, and you navigate the space carefully, aware that every step brings you closer to a rendezvous with emotions you’d rather keep at bay.

Hoseok strides into the room, with Yoongi next to him, he’s the first to envelop you in a warm embrace, a radiant smile on his face. He peppers you with questions about how you’ve been, and with a reassuring nod, you assure him that everything’s going well. Then, seamlessly, Yoongi joins in, encircling you with his arms, a reassuring and tight embrace that momentarily eases the complexities lingering in the air.

“Missed you,” he chuckles, his arms refusing to release you as you playfully roll your eyes. Amidst the friendly banter, you can’t help but notice Jimin’s intense gaze fixed on you. His eyes darken, and the once bright smile on his face transforms into a subtle frown, leaving you with a sense of unease.

Your heart sinks, the realization hitting you like a ton of bricks. Does Jimin not know that Yoongi is gay, and that his kiss was merely his attempt at figuring out his sexuality? It occurs to you that he probably doesn’t. After all, Yoongi hasn’t openly shared his sexual orientation, and you’ve kept it confidential as well. The pieces start falling into place, and you comprehend the anger simmering in Jimin’s eyes. If he assumes that you and Yoongi are a couple, it would explain the tension and frustration etched on his face.

How do you convey to Jimin that your relationship with Yoongi is nothing more than a deep, platonic friendship, without revealing Yoongi’s sexual orientation?

And in the grand scheme of things, does any of this even hold weight now? With him having a girlfriend, laying the truth bare seems futile. Why would confessing change a thing? He’s maintained radio silence for months, a streak of silence that shows no signs of breaking, so why break it now?

Yoongi releases you, and you respond with a playful slap on his shoulder. As he steps back, falling in line behind Hoseok, you can’t help but catch the subtle way his gaze traces Hoseok’s figure.

As you glance over, you spot Namjoon and Seokjin in the hallway, each holding a bottle of wine. A smile plays on your lips as they make their way toward you, meticulously placing the bottles on the table before joining in the gathering.

Namjoon envelops you in a warm, tight hug, his curious voice breaking through the buzz of the room. 

“How’s that calf doing?” he inquires, while Seokjin raises an intrigued eyebrow at him.

Gratitude warms your voice as you assure Namjoon, “He’s doing fine with his mother and the rest of the herd. Thank you so much for helping.” A warm smile accompanies your words, and you motion for them to take a seat.

“That’s great,” he remarks, pulling out a chair and settling in beside Seokjin.

Ha-rin and Ara make their entrance into the dining room, their foreheads glistening with the sweat earned from their hard work in the kitchen.

You take your seat beside Yoongi and Soo-ah, casting a glance across the table where Jimin and Deiji have settled. Jessi and Jungkook, positioned next to each other, are engaged in a playful banter that echoes the dynamics of a married couple, the subject revolving around trucks and bikes. Despite your eye roll at their antics, a sweet smile tugs at your lips, warming your heart with the familiarity of their friendship.

Ha-rin’s exhausted yet earnest voice scolds gently, pointing with pride at the array of delectable dishes that have emerged from the depths of her labor in the kitchen throughout the day. “Please, eat your heart out. I’ve practically lived in that kitchen to create this feast,” she urges, her eyes reflecting the passion poured into every culinary creation with the assistance of Ara.

Expressions of gratitude fill the air as your entire group starts delving into the carefully crafted dishes before you. The aroma is irresistible, and your anticipation intensifies as you eagerly anticipate the first savory bite, your hungry stomach protesting its emptiness.

Savoring the heartiness of the meal, you indulge in a bit of everything, each mouthful a symphony of delectable flavors. A wave of gratitude washes over you for having Ha-rin on the ranch, as her culinary skills elevate the dining experience, compensating for your own culinary shortcomings.

Seokjin, caught in the rapture of each bite, pauses to express his culinary admiration. His eyes gleam with appreciation as he licks his lips, savoring the flavors. “Ha-rin, this is truly incredible. Would you mind sharing the recipe later? I don’t want to miss out on a single secret behind this delightful feast.”

Ha-rin’s laughter, a melodic accompaniment to the clinking of cutlery, fills the room. A subtle blush tints her cheeks, and a bashful yet confident smile reveals her teeth. “Thank you,” she responds graciously, “I can send you the recipe later, no problem.”

You can’t help but chuckle, observing her graceful gesture of tucking a strand of short, black hair behind her ear. Her eyes, adorned with a spark of admiration, linger on Seokjin as he savors every bite.

As you glance around the table, a warmth spreads through you, witnessing everyone relishing the moment. Namjoon gracefully pours wine for those seeking a more refined sip, while others opt for the familiar companionship of beer or the simple refreshment of water.

You relish a small glass of red, a rare indulgence that harmonizes beautifully with the culinary symphony on your plate, you’re about to shift your attention back to the feast when you feel the weight of Jimin’s gaze. His eyes pierce through the air, intense and fervent, as though etching a connection with the depths of your soul.

A nervous gulp courses through you, a fleeting warmth that fans the flames of self-consciousness. Your throat tightens imperceptibly, a subtle reminder of the unspoken tension in the air. Summoning courage, you lock eyes with Jimin, your gaze unwavering. The question lingers in the charged atmosphere – why is he studying you with such intensity?

Deiji’s laughter echoes, a stark contrast to the storm brewing in Jimin’s eyes. With narrowed gaze, you shoot back a piercing stare, mirroring the frustration and pain you’ve bottled up. Unnoticed, your fingers tighten around the utensils, and red begins to flare behind your eyelids.

“Calm down,” as frustration tightens your grip on the utensils, Yoongi’s calming whisper in your ear nudges you back from the edge. With an exasperated huff, you release your clenched hands. Jimin’s persistent gaze lingers, a puzzle you can’t decipher. Annoyed, you shoot him a furrowed frown, determined to focus on your meal. If he has something to say, he can use words instead of cryptic glances. You refuse to grant him more of your time without a proper conversation.

You practically spear the defenseless food on your plate, the residual anger simmering within. Beside you, Yoongi chuckles, a sound that offers a glimmer of solace. In the midst of your inner turmoil, it’s a relief to know someone can find enjoyment in this tense dinner.

Throughout the remainder of the dinner, laughter dances in the air alongside light-hearted conversations, a melody you struggle to fully engage with. Purposefully steering clear of Jimin, you catch his occasional glances in your direction, each one like an unspoken question lingering in the room.

As the final bites are savored and the dinner concludes, a collective effort ensues to tidy up the remnants of the feast. While some bid their goodbyes and disappear into the night, a handful remain, drawn to the allure of the terrace to indulge in leisurely drinks before ending the day’s festivities.

Soo-ah, Ara, Ha-rin, Yoongi, and Hoseok gravitate towards the terrace, creating a lively ensemble beneath the canvas of a sky painted with the remnants of a sunset that bid its farewell just hours ago. The air, now a gentle embrace, cradles the warmth of the departed sun, fostering an ambiance ripe for drinks and smalltalk.

You cradle the red wine in your hands, the rich hue mirroring the depth of your thoughts. It’s only your second glass, but who’s keeping track anyway?

You exhale with a profound sigh, sinking back into the chair, as if the weight of the day is lifting off your shoulders in that single breath.

Hoseok gazes at you, concern etched across his face. “What’s eating at you?”

You let out a frustrated groan, a desire to yank at your own hair bubbling beneath the surface. Uncertain about revealing the source of your vexation, you debate whether to open up about what’s truly bothering you. Given that your friends are well aware of your feelings for Jimin, it’s not as if you’d be sharing some profound secret.

“I’m just tired of Jimin,” you confess with a deep exhale, absentmindedly twirling the wine glass in your fingers, the crystal capturing the soft glow of the terrace lights.

Yoongi chuckles knowingly; he’s been a willing listener to your rants and frustrations about Jimin countless times. The girls exchange sympathetic glances, silently urging you to share more of your feelings.

“It’s frustrating, really. He hasn’t spoken a word to me since that awkward encounter when I met him and Deiji coming fresh out of the shower. The only thing he did say was to question why I was there. And now, he keeps looking at me with this strange intensity and weird look and I just can’t figure out what’s going on in his head,” you confess, letting out a heavy sigh.

Hoseok bursts into laughter, breaking the tension with his infectious humor, “Maybe he wants a threesome?” Your eyes roll at his playful comment, appreciating how he effortlessly lightens the mood, a skill he seems to master whenever things get awkward.

“I’m sure he doesn’t. Not that I’m interested!” Laughter ripples through the group, a collective release of tension that eases the weight on your shoulders.

“Maybe he just wants to talk then?” Hoseok suggests, his eyes holding a glimmer of hope beneath the terrace’s soft glow.

“If he wants to talk to me, he should just do it instead of giving me those fucking angry eyes,” you scoff, the frustration and deflation evident in your voice.

“I’m just so angry!” you declare, your body tensing with each word before finally releasing the built-up tension.

“We get it,” Soo-ah remarks, her voice understanding and sympathetic.

“Love is hard,” she adds with a touch of melancholy, her gaze lingering on Hoseok. You know that she likes him, but you don’t know if Hoseok feels the same for her. 

You let out a bitter, angry chuckle, the sound escaping from deep within as a manifestation of the frustration and tension bubbling inside you.

“By the way, does his girlfriend look familiar to any of you?” you inquire, turning to face them, only to be met with a chorus of laughter. Their unexpected reaction leaves you bewildered and searching for answers.

Ara quirks an eyebrow, suppressing a smile behind her delicate hand, and gently teases, “You haven’t realized yet?”

You shake your head. Realized what?

“She looks like you.” Ha-rin’s revelation is like a sudden thunderclap in the midst of a quiet storm, her words hanging in the air with a weight that sends a shiver down your spine. 

She looks like you? 

Every fiber of your being comes alive, reigniting the small fire you had extinguished for Jimin. The embers, once dormant, now glow and dance, casting an unexpected warmth that spreads through the chambers of your heart. The uncanny resemblance between you and Jimin’s girlfriend becomes a flickering flame, illuminating the shadows of your emotions and casting doubt on the carefully constructed walls you’ve built around your feelings.

Could this mean what you think it does?

Fuck.

Author’s note(2): Thank you so much for reading! 🌸 I would very much appreciate it if you reblogged the chapter, if you liked it ✨ A small review or a comment would also mean a lot to me, and even a like. But please, don’t be afraid to let me know what you think; your kind words makes me extremely happy 💜

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[ekmosteresi]

the children of cronus and rhea

they were all close once, the godlings, in a time long forgotten. A time when air was limited and light was unknown. The only constant things were the blindness and the warm of the others.

Sweet Hestia was the first to fall, her burning soul gave Cronus heart burn. Her fire was always burning, her rage was all demanding. But like every flame, without air they flicker out

Mourning Hades was the next to join Hestia in the depths of their father. His quiet words were his only gift to the little flame. He could not provide comfort for long, every word he spoke left him gasping for breath, later all that he could give was his presence, to let her breathe.

Blessed Demeter joined not long after. Her arrival brought new life, a new dash of hope. She offered little plants to the elder siblings, and for a while they grew. This gift of hers let them rest without worry, but the turbulent stomach of their father quickly destroyed them

Volatile Poseidon was the fourth child to be consumed by their father, and like the others he was not happy about it. His moods went by quickly, his rage could only be tempered by the embrace of another. The eldest brother was a silent figure, but a warm one. The sea could do nothing but cry in his arms for their dreadful fate.

Cow eyed Hera was the last. By the time she arrived, her siblings were fully grown. The others had accepted their fate, and so all they could do was hold little Hera in their arms. She did not grow quickly like the others, she did not embrace this prison as their only future like them.

The stomach of Cronus was not a pleasant place to be, much less live. It was hard to breath, impossible to see, difficult to live in. All that could be done back then was sit, sit and cry and mourn. They all dealt with their fate differently. Some raged but eventually were silenced by dread, some hoped for escape but drowned that believe with acid in their lungs.

The siblings only had each other. There were no warm hugs of a mother to ease their mental wounds, there were no gentle yet stern words of a father to guide them. Only a hushed flame, a silent shadow, a dying flower, and a Dead Sea. The only light left was kept in a child’s eyes, the only ones that would not remember this dark time in the future.

While they did not know much, they knew they enjoyed the gentle touch of hestia, hesitant but a constant presence. they welcomed the embrace of hades, a soothing place that let them rest. the presence of demeter always invigorated them with life, let them escape from the toxic fumes. poseidons words had granted them the desire for vengeance once more. the appearance of hera had let them grow once more, fueled their plan for escape.

[nathanielgmooreart]

WINNER! 2014 ReLit AWARD (NOVEL CATEGORY)

Nate’s nervous mother chews gum at warp speed and has a bob that resembles Darth Vader’s helmet. His icy father dabbles part-time in the death trade at a funeral home after working for a decade in the insurance racket. His older sister Holly is always lurking in the shadows or away at school. Nate, a creative, messy, and anxious teen, has chosen Randy Savage as his hero. As he finishes high school, the world to which Savage belongs is quickly waning in popularity, and Nate begins to see the wrestler’s downfall mirrored in his own life. But not until the family dismantles for good in 1994 does Nate’s life truly begin to fracture.

Savage 1986-2011 chronicles the middle-class implosion of Nate’s nuclear family, bracketed by July 1986 — when he first saw Randy Savage in person — and the wrestler’s sudden death in May 2011. When Savage dies, Nate is freed from beliefs — once a source of beauty and escape — that had come to constrict him, fusing him to a moribund past.

The novel is about the blurred lines between child and adult roles and the ever-changing landscape of interior heroism. Whether dealing with a family’s economic turbulence, the scarring effects of teenage love, or creating a new family order, Moore revisits, remasters, and repackages a twenty-five year family odyssey with guts, honesty, and love.

ADVANCE PRAISE FOR SAVAGE 1986-2011

“This is Running Backwards with Scissors in Leaside. Nathaniel G. Moore’s emotional atomic drops and body slams in Savage (1986-2011) put the nuke in nuclear family. Moore writes in Technicolor™ — he’s a poet of fractured reality, minstrel of meltdown, clown prince of sad suburban absurdity.” –Zsuzsi Gartner, author of Better Living Through Plastic Explosives

“Moore does something quite large here. He builds that cardboard box in your basement. The one filled with things you’ve forgotten, or tried to. You don’t want to open it but once you do you find it quite impossible to close or to forget. Much like the too tight, just right words you’ll find in Savage 1986-2011, reflecting a world which now cannot be unbuilt. This is familiar country visited in a brand new way. Open the box.” –Michael Blouin, author of the award-winning Chase and Haven

“Author Nathaniel G. Moore presents an inter-generational family saga so remote from the tropes overworked by fellow Canadian authors that one hesitates to even label it a ‘novel’ – a word, for me, poisoned by too many visits to the cow barn (and the silent, fraught-with-baking-eulogies kitchen table).” –RM Vaughan, author of Spells

“Like one of those albums you can’t stop playing, Savage is immediately catchy, thrilling and electric with an honest beauty and wild energy. Nathaniel Moore brings us on a journey into a hidden world of secret lovers, cool sisters, morgues, wrestlers and exorcisms that shimmers and ignites behind the facades of ordinary suburbia. This book is a great read, but it’s also an insightful, moving look at a family and society on the verge of collapse.” –Rebecca Godfrey, author of The Torn Skirt

REVIEWERS ON SAVAGE “…cringe-inducingly honest and uncommonly brave … Savage succeeds best as a showcase for Moore’s convulsively unbridled prose acrobatics. Like a punch-drunk anti-Hemingway, he tosses around verbiage like Pollock flung paint: promiscuously, recklessly. … There’s little joy in what he describes, but much joy — and improbable gobs of humour — in the describing.” –Broken Pencil

Publication: Fall 2013

ISBN: 978-1-927380-55-0

Pages: 280 pp

Size: 5.5 x 8 inches

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[sylvanfreckles]

No Second Act

For @deanseyes for the @dcanniversaryexchange!

Also read here on AO3 (I'm sorry I couldn't find your username there!)

Summary:

Dean nearly deflated in relief. The plane was steadily climbing now, which should mean a lot of the big problems were behind them. Landing would be another story, but once they were in the air at least they were going somewhere. The pilot had successfully navigated his dark bargain with the forces of gravity and they were flying. And no, Sam, all the stories of pilots who got their planes to safety after one or more engines failed weren't comforting. They just made it sound like airplane engines were designed to fail.

He flexed his fingers to loosen them, and realized belatedly that the armrest on his right side was warm and...holding his hand oh god oh god this was it he was dying of embarrassment before he died of plane crash.

And that was just the beginning....

(AKA the strangers-to friends-to fake dating-to arrested-to lovers AU. With a side of angst!)

Dean stared down at the ticket in his hand, then up at the little sign over the airplane's seats in disbelief. When Bobby had said he'd gotten Dean's economy-class ticket upgraded to first class, he'd been grateful. More leg room, better seats, better in-flight service to battle the in-flight jitters. Except....

Except Bobby had upgraded Dean's nice, cozy aisle seat for a window seat. No strangers in between him and the view of certain death below them. No easy escape to the bathroom to hyperventilate when his nerves got to be too much. Nothing but a tiny airplane window that looked like it could shatter if he breathed on it too hard.

He realized was blocking the aisle when someone bumped him as they walked past. Dean muttered a few choice words under his breath and shoved his backpack into the overhead compartment before shuffling into his seat and fastening the belt as tight as it could go. It had seemed like such a good plan...just fly out to Stanford a few days early to surprise Sam, who'd been able to skip a couple of his finals and was expecting Dean and Bobby to arrive this weekend. He could handle one flight, for his little brother's sake. One seven-hour voyage in a gravity-defying metal tube that was probably only airborne through some kind of dark magic.

He sat ramrod straight, palms already sweating as he rubbed his hands against his knees. Dean barely noticed the rest of the passengers boarding, the man sitting in the aisle seat beside him, the flight attendants doing a last sweep of the cabin before takeoff. He stared resolutely ahead as one flight attendant held up the safety manual to explain all that stuff about seat belts, oxygen masks, inflatable seats, turbulence, the fasten seat belts sign, and, probably, how more people died from being run over by cows than in plane crashes or whatever Sam was always saying.

Too late to get off now. It had been such a great plan...Sam would be surprised to see him so early and impressed that Dean had conquered his fear and flown all the way from South Carolina to Stanford, he'd get to ruffle the kid's hair and tease him about his grades and get eyes on whoever Sam's newest puppy-dog crush was. They'd have a couple of days of just the two of them before Bobby arrived to drive them all back home, just like old times when Dad left them alone for too long.

The captain announced takeoff and Dean squeezed his eyes shut, his hands moving from his knees to the armrests. There was the rumble underfoot as the plane rolled to the runway, then the turn of speed that should have been exhilarating if he hadn't known that they wouldn't make it off the ground if they didn't hit one-fifty or more, and it definitely didn't feel fast enough for that. And then...liftoff. That awful, weightless feeling when the landing gears left the ground. That moment—the worst moment—when he was sure the plane was about to slip backwards and crash back down to earth before the wings seemed to catch something and they rose into the air.

Dean nearly deflated in relief. The plane was steadily climbing now, which should mean a lot of the big problems were behind them. Landing would be another story, but once they were in the air at least they were going somewhere. The pilot had successfully navigated his dark bargain with the forces of gravity and they were flying. And no, Sam, all the stories of pilots who got their planes to safety after one or more engines failed weren't comforting. They just made it sound like airplane engines were designed to fail.

He flexed his fingers to loosen them, and realized belatedly that the armrest on his right side was warm and...holding his hand oh god oh god this was it he was dying of embarrassment before he died of plane crash.

He looked over to apologize and immediately met a pair of the brightest blue eye's he'd ever seen, accented by dark lashes and faint laugh lines, in a handsome face that seemed so genuinely good-humored and kind that he was at once relieved and more embarrassed, somehow, that he'd grabbed this man's hand mid-takeoff.

“Feeling better?” the man asked after Dean had been staring for a little too long.

“What? Yeah, sorry.” Dean rubbed his hands on his knees again, wincing a little at the rasp of his calloused palms against his jeans. “Sorry about that.”

“Nervous flyer?”

Dean let out a shaky laugh and scrubbed one hand through his hair. “That obvious?”

“Well, I normally don't let strangers hold my hand, but you seemed like you needed it.”

Shit. Shit damn son of a bitch. Was that flirting? Were they flirting? He was still so keyed-in to his imminent and all-encompassing fear of immediate death-by-flying that all other senses were on standby. And yeah, the man was hot, and that deep, raspy voice was his type, but he was about three seconds away from panic-sprinting to the bathroom to lock himself in until they landed in California (or until the air marshal dragged him out and handcuffed him to the door).

“Castiel.”

It took a second to realize the man next to him had said a name and was holding out his hand—his right hand—for Dean to shake. “Dean. Winchester.”

“Nice to meet you.” And, yeah, there was definitely something adorably awkward with how sincere Castiel was with this introduction. Like he was a kid practicing for his first job interview.

“I'm sorry, I gotta ask...Castiel?”

Castiel sighed and folded his hands in his lap to stare down. “My parents had this thing about angels...they ran out of ideas when they got to me, and since I was born on a Thursday they went with this. Everyone calls me Cassie.”

“Doesn't suit you,” Dean declared with a shake of his head. “How about Cas?”

Cas tilted his head and squinted up at Dean. “You would shorten my name to one syllable?”

“Makes it easier to remember,” he joked. “Cas. Rhymes with sass, you know?”

“Cassie rhymes with sassy, which makes more sense.”

Dean waved a hand vaguely. “Sense, schmense. I think Cas sounds perfect.”

Cas smiled now and, damn, but those were dimples. Someone must really be on his side to put the perfect man next to him on this death trap. “I don't suppose Dean is short for something equally hard to explain?”

“Oh, sure,” Dean stretched out as much as he could and twisted in his seat so he could keep up the eye contact with Cas—and that man was into the intense eye contact, which he didn't really mind as it meant he could stare into those blue eyes as much as he wanted. “It's short for 'Dean, leave your brother alone and get back to work'. It's a family name.”

The other man actually laughed at that. Big, wide smile, eyes crinkling closed...perfect. Dean wasn't a real believer in love at first sight, but he could definitely enjoy what was in front of him.

“So, Cas,” Dean leaned in a little, resting his hand on the armrest between them. “Now that we're not strangers, can I hold you hand again if I need to?”

And yep, there was a blush. Just a delicious little dusting of pink on those cheekbones as Cas nodded.

For the first time in his life, Dean prayed for turbulence.

…

By some miracle, Dean had managed to fall asleep. The flight attendants had come around with drinks and snacks, then Cas had pulled a tablet and headphones out and started watching a movie, so that put an end to their conversation. Oh well...they still had hours to go, and unless he was doing a serious marathon there'd be time to talk later.

He was pulled out of his sleep by some intense whispering beside him. He tried to ignore it, give Cas a little privacy, but something in his seatmate's voice caught his attention.

“...please, I said no.”

“Come on, sweetheart, you know how it is,” the other man crooned. “Pretty little thing like you, all alone out here? You're just asking for trouble.”

Dean cracked one eye open. Seriously? They were all on a plane, not some sleazy dive bar. Fun place to flirt, sure, but it wasn't like Cas could just walk out if he didn't like the company.

Then he got a good look at his seatmate. The way Cas was trying to cringe away from the man leaning over him, without actually crossing over into Dean's space. The stranger's hand on Cas's arm. The way Cas was holding onto the armrests with a white-knuckled grip as though actually afraid this guy would drag him off.

Dean let out a loud, fake yawn and stretched his arms over his head, looping his right arm around Cas's shoulders to tug him close. “This guy bothering you, babe?” He met the creep's eyes, glaring right up at him, daring him to say another word.

The guy met his gaze, fury radiating out of pale gray eyes. Cas was stiff against Dean's shoulder, staring down at his own knees, color high in his cheeks. Dean leaned in over him, wishing he had enough room to shove Cas behind him. Because yeah, he'd been thinking about how hot Cas was, but he knew how to take a no. He'd been thrown out of his fair share of bars for picking fights with guys like this, he wasn't afraid to spend the rest of the flight handcuffed to the air marshal or whatever if it meant this dude left Cas alone (though he doubted the air marshal would hold his hand).

“Really?” the stranger sneered at Dean, looking him up and down. “Thisis your type now? I heard you'd fallen pretty far, Cassie, but this?”

Shit, this guy knew Cas? Though, seeing the way Cas shrank even further from him, Dean was sure it wasn't a fond memory. “Can't recognize class when you see it, huh?” he retorted. “Must be hard, seeing what you look at every time you see a mirror.”

The man's lips curled in a sneer and he leaned in even closer, but Dean heard a faint tone overhead as the sea tbelt sign turned on. One flight attendant was announcing that they were approaching some turbulence, while another was hurrying toward them to usher the stranger back to his seat.

“Saved by the bell,” Dean quipped as the man was hurried away. His stomach lurched a little as the plane rumbled, but he tried to put all his focus on Cas. “You okay?”

Cas nodded, folded into himself so tightly he actually looked small...which was certainly something, when he was pretty much the same size as Dean. “Could you...um...you arm?”

“Oh! Yeah, shit, sorry,” Dean pulled his arm away and settled back in his own seat. “Sorry...just didn't like that guy hassling you.”

He shook his head and offered Dean a weak smile, though he still looked shaken up by the encounter. “Friend, uh, friend of my ex's. Caught me in the airport bar. Didn't think he'd be on this flight.”

Dean nodded and crossed his arms over his chest. “Recent breakup?”

Cas shrugged, his left hand rubbing over his right forearm, probably trying to shake the feeling of that creep's hand on him. “Few months. Just wasn't...it was mutual.”

Well, he'd had a few of those. Unexpected breakup, still loving your partner, trying to convince yourself it was better to move on than pine. He happened to glance at Cas's tablet on his tray table, where the movie was paused on a scene of a man and woman talking on top of a building, the city skyline behind them. “Well, hey, maybe this is just your second act.”

“What?” Cas stared at him, his hand stilling on his arm.

“You know...rom-coms,” Dean gestured at the tablet. “Two people meet, hit it off, but they always have to have some big, relationship-shattering fight in the second act so they can come back together in the third. Maybe this is just what you need for you and...and him to reconcile.” He was guessing, hedging his bets on the way the other guy had been leaning on Cas.

Cas was still staring at him, but now he was squinting and tilting his head a little. “I don't understand.”

Dean let out a long sigh. “My kid brother—he's at Stanford, I'm flying out to see him—he's been taking this class on storytelling in film and he talks about it every time I call him. Rom-coms have, like, three acts: the meet-up, the breakup, the happily ever after. I'm just saying, man...if this was a movie.”

His seatmate actually shuddered at the thought. “I hope not,” he whispered. And...damn, but that sounded bad. “I don't think...I don't want to go back.” His hand was rubbing up and down his arm again, and Dean was starting to get some serious bad vibes.

“Wanna switch seats?” he offered. “If assface comes back, he'll have to go through me.” And Dean would get his precious aisle seat...but that was just a bonus. He hated seeing people made uncomfortable like this, and if he could do anything to help, no matter how small, he would.

Cas's shoulders relaxed fractionally. “Would you mind? I'd hate to pull you away from the window, but...”

Dean looked up at him and caught the edge of teasing in Cas's eyes. “Hey, I might not need to hold your hand again if I'm on the aisle,” he joked, standing up to shuffle around Cas so Cas could slide into his seat. He waved the flight attendant away when she made a step toward him and dropped down into Cas's seat as soon as it was empty.

The color was still high in Cas's cheeks, but his expression looked a little less pinched and worried. “It might be okay...if you need it.”

Right. This wasn't the time to flirt. Not with some asshole bringing up bad memories and putting his hands all over Cas without permission. Dean picked up the tablet and handed it over. “So. What brings you out to sunny California?”

“Oh! I have a job interview,” Cas actually smiled now, and Dean felt his heart skip a little. Damn, but this man was handsome when he smiled. “I'm going to be a teacher.”

No way. “Stanford?”

“What?” Cas squinted at him. “High school...English and social studies, probably some history. Why would you think I had an interview at Stanford?”

Dean shrugged. “If this was a rom-com,” he said, gesturing to Cas's tablet. “You'd be my little brother's new professor, I'd finally move out west like he's always pestering me...we'd have our second-act breakup before living happily ever after.”

Cas smiled politely, though it was clear that Dean's joke had fallen flat. Damn. “I'm...not a fan of that. The breakup part.”

“Separation, then,” Dean added hurriedly. “I'd have to move back home to help my uncle sell his house, or whatever, and we'd spend a few months apart. Absence would make the heart grow fonder, then bam! Happily ever after.”

The other man nodded, though Dean was pretty sure he wasn't buying it. And, yeah, bringing up something like this right after a confrontation with his asshole ex's asshole friend was probably going a little too far. “Okay, forget the rom-com,” Dean gestured toward the tablet. “Sammy's filled my head with all kinds of film theory stuff. What other movies do you like?”

Cas relaxed a little and twisted in his seat to face Dean. “Are you looking for another genre to put us in?”

Us. That was a good sign. “Why not? Come on...sci-fi? Fantasy? The one with the cars where they go to outer space?”

Leaning back to study Dean's face, Cas gave a serious nod. “Jane Austen copycat historical dramas.”

“I thought you said no rom-coms!” Dean protested.

“They are a cultural phenomenon, and much more than a romantic comedy,” Cas replied, tapping his tablet with a stern expression...though his lips were twisting at the edge. Right. Dean could play along.

“Oh, phenomenon!” Dean exclaimed dramatically. “Why didn't you say so? Well, let me tell you all about...about...about feminism and hemlines and the pocket handkerchief, or whatever.”

Cas finally laughed and Dean leaned a little closer, careful to still give the other man his personal space. “Settle in, Mr. Angel-of-Thursday. I'm about to blow your mind with my brother's patented comparison of Heathcliff and Darcy.”

And okay...Dean hadn't understood half of his brother's essay but had happily read it, if only to enjoy just how damn smartSammy was. And it did the trick, as Cas's eyes crinkled up again when he smiled and he settled back in his seat as Dean launched into a fractured retelling of Sam's latest A+English paper.

…

Their conversation had lapsed into a comfortable silence somewhere over the Grand Canyon, and Dean was already trying to figure out how to ask for Cas's phone number without trying to sound like he was hitting on him. Of course he would love to hit on him, but the one time he'd gone to the bathroom he'd seen the creep from earlier watching him, and had to hustle back to his seat before Cas could get harassed again. So maybe not the time for serious flirtation, but they could still be friends.

Now they were approaching the airport, the seat belt sign was on again, and Dean had a white-knuckled grip on the armrests. Landings were even worse than take-off. It always seemed like the pilot, having once escaped gravity's grasp, was having a hard time convincing it to reassert its hold on them. The plane jumped and fought, battering its way down through the layers of atmosphere. This was too rough, right? Landings were supposed to be smoother, right?

“Hey,” Cas's quiet voice to his left caught his attention, and he looked over to see the other man holding out his hand. “We're gonna be okay.”

Dean grasped his hand like a lifeline, his cheeks already heating up from embarrassment. So much for all his tough-guy posturing earlier. Thankfully, Cas just chuckled softly and squeezed his hand.

He held on through the worst of the landing. The horrible jolt as the wheels touched the ground. The drag of speed. The feeling they were never gonna stop in time, they were all gonna pitch forward and slam into the front of the cabin.

“It's okay,” Cas murmured again, rubbing his thumb against the back of Dean's hand. “We're almost there, and you'll be on solid ground again. Everything will be all right.”

Dean tried to relax, to soak in Cas's wonderful voice. He wanted to enjoy the moment of this gorgeous man holding his hand, but he just kept remembering how shaken-up Cas had been when that creep had been looming over him. What would happen when they separated at the airport? Was anyone meeting Cas?

He almost didn't notice when the plane finally slowed enough to feel normal again, taxiing up to their gate so they could disembark. Cas had pulled his hand away to pack up his carry-on bag and gather his trash, and Dean's mouth started moving before he could fully filter his words.

“Wanna get dinner? With me?”

Cas stared at him, wide-eyed, still holding a little plastic cup with a couple of napkins stuffed into it.

“Just for fun!” Dean added. He was aware of the people around them shuffling off the plane, but it seemed more important to hold Cas's attention right now. “Unless you have somewhere to go, or have a schedule or something, but I thought it might be fun? I'm probably not heading out to see my brother until tomorrow anyway, and terror always makes me so damn hungry, I just wanted...to ask you to dinner.”

And make sure he got wherever he was going safely...it wasn't so much as date as it was a 'keep Cas away from the creepy stalker on the plane' dinner, but still. Dinner with Cas.

Cas's eyes softened. “All right. Did you check a bag?”

“What? No,” Dean glanced around, realizing the plane was quickly emptying. “Hang on.” He stood up, braced against the flow of humanity, and retrieved his backpack from the overhead compartment. “Always travel light. I'm ready to get out of here.”

Now Cas's eyes were twinkling as he smiled that dimpled, eye-crinkling smile up at Dean. “Except I didcheck a bag, so I have to get that first.”

“Yeah, right, of course.” Dean craned his neck around, checking for the creeper from before. No sign of the guy, which was probably a good thing. He stepped to the side to let Cas out ahead of him, and trailed the other man out the plane and down the departure gate. “Ever been to this airport before?”

“I don't travel much,” Cas admitted, pulling back a little at the sight of the terminal that awaited them. “I'm not sure....”

“Hey, baggage claim's this way,” Dean said, gently bumping Cas with his shoulder to get his attention. Cas was looking a little overwhelmed at the mass of humanity milling around in the airport, and Dean couldn't really blame him. The San Francisco airport was enormous, with flights coming in and going out from all over the country, and the entire world. “Just follow my lead, man, we'll find it.”

Cas still looked a little unsure, so Dean held out his hand. “Trust me?”

There was that smile again, though it was a little subdued, as Cas took his hand. “I'm not too good with crowds,” he admitted.

“I won't let you get lost,” Dean promised. “Come on, we can just follow the signs.” Projecting a confidence he didn't really have—and double-checking Cas's ticket stub for the right baggage area—he lead them through the airport terminal. It seemed like a few other flights had arrived at the same time, and they were jostled along through a sea of humanity. It was bad enough that Cas let go of his hand to wrap his arm around Dean's, like he could tuck himself in behind Dean's shoulder and pass through the crowd invisibly.

They finally reached the baggage carousel, suitcases already rolling around to be claimed. Dean recognized a couple of faces from the flight, but he stopped short when he saw the man standing a few feet away from the carousel.

It was the creep from the plane. Arms crossed, suitcase by his feet, glaring daggers at Dean and Cas. Dean tried to walk them toward the carousel but Cas tugged on his arm to stop him.

“I think that's my suitcase,” Cas whispered.

Dean rolled his eyes, because of course it was. Because this asshole couldn't take no for an answer, he'd gotten to the baggage claim ahead of them to grab Cas's suitcase and force a confrontation. “Stay behind me,” Dean murmured back and strode toward the asshole. “Hey, I think that belongs to my boyfriend.”

The creep's eyes narrowed and he tried to look past Dean, but Cas had shrunk down behind him. “You mean my boss'sboyfriend. What kind of tales have you been telling, Cassie?”

Cas's breath hitched behind Dean, and he felt a cold fury grow in his chest. “I think you should give us the bag.”

“I wasn't talking to you,” the man snarled. “You know how much Ishim hates it when you pull stunts like this. He wants you to come home.”

Dean filed away the name Ishim for later. There couldn't be too many guys with that name running around back east, shouldn't be too hard to find Cas's ex and key his car or whatever. “Cas can decide for himself, and he decided he wants to be here.”

“Let him say it, then!” Creep spread his arms, gesturing to the space around them. “Come on, Cassie. Out with it. You want to come home, right?”

“Cas?” Dean turned his head just enough to see the man behind him. It gave him a heavy feeling in his gut, how the guy who'd been so open and charming on the plane had been reduced to hiding behind Dean at the mention of his ex. “I've got your back, man. Trust me.”

Cas met his eyes and nodded, carefully moving around so that he could see the creep but still with an arm wrapped around Dean's. “I don't...no. I don't want himto...no.”

“You heard him,” he took a step forward, keeping himself between Cas and the asshole. “Gimme the suitcase. Or do we need to call security?”

The creep snarled—actually snarled, like a cartoon villain—and shoved the suitcase toward Dean so hard it toppled over and scraped across the ground. “Have it your way.”

“I will, thanks,” Dean called after him as he stormed away. “Asshole.”

Cas had retrieved his suitcase and was inspecting it for damage, tugging on the simple luggage lock that kept it closed. He looked better already, more sure of himself without that jerk present. “Thank you, Dean,” he breathed out, looking up at Dean.

Dean coughed and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. “Yeah, 'course. How about that dinner now?”

Standing up, Cas pulled the suitcase's handle out and strapped his carry-on bag on top of it before turning to back to Dean. “Lead the way.”

…

Dean didn't really know this part of San Francisco, but their taxi driver did. Cas relaxed more and more as they got away from the crowd at the airport, heading for a diner that was close enough to Dean's hotel that they could walk there after dinner. Cas's cousin, who'd apparently been too busy to meet him at the airport, wouldn't be available until evening, so they made plans to hang out in Dean's room until then.

Much as Dean would love to wine, dine, and...otherwise with Cas, his reaction to the mention of his ex earlier still stuck in Dean's mind. He could do this as a friend thing. Just a good dinner, maybe a movie or some more talking back at the hotel while they waited for Cas's cousin, typical hangout stuff. No need to put pressure on this guy already.

And if part of him was starting to wonder how much an apartment in the area would cost him, well...Sam really had been pestering him to move out here for the last two years. Maybe it wouldn't be too bad to start over on the west coast, and Bobby would support whatever he wanted to do.

But it was stupid to contemplate changing his life after one plane ride with the guy. Maybe after dinner.

“Thanks, man,” Dean leaned in to pay the driver and turned around to find Cas staring at the sign for the diner. It looked homey, down to earth, the kind of place Dean was used to after growing up on the road like they did. His dad had worked in construction and had dragged his boys all over the country from job to job, never staying in the same place for too long. It was a miracle Sammy had managed to scrape together enough education to get into Stanford...and another miracle Dean hadn't ended up a drunken mess like their father.

“I haven't been to a place like this in a long time,” Cas commented as they walked into the building. It was a little early for dinner here, though Dean's stomach didn't agree with the time zone change. It wanted a burger, and it wanted one now.

“These places are always great,” he explained as they sat facing each other in a booth near the back wall. “You can count on them to have a couple of specialty dishes that are the best thing on the menu, and you've just gotta go with it. Always ask the waitress for recommendations—unless they have one of those daily special boards.”

Cas twisted in his seat to squint at the counter. “And the pies in the glass case. Do you actually eat those?”

“You've never had diner pie?” Dean looked over his menu, scandalized. When Cas just shrugged he shook his head. “What kind of a man never eats diner pie?”

“The kind of man who wasn't allowed to go to places like this.” When Dean met Cas's eyes he just shrugged again. “After the stuff with Jonathan at the airport...you've probably got questions.”

Dean set his menu aside and reached across the table, holding his hand out palm-up in clear invitation. He kept it there, even though Cas didn't reach for him, as he spoke. “Cas, man, you don't owe me anything. I'm curious, yeah, but your past is your business. You can tell me or not tell me...I've still had a great time hanging out with you on the plane. And, yeah, I feel a connection here, and I think you do too, but we don't have to do anything about it if you're not up for it. This isn't a rom-com, there's no writers pushing us together to pull us back apart, it's just you and me. And pie.”

Cas laughed sadly, but he still didn't reach for Dean's hand. Dean eventually pulled it back and snapped his menu open again. “So. I'm thinking burger...what about you?”

“Oh, Cassie doesn't eat red meat.”

He jerked his head out of the menu at the new voice, and could only stare as an older man slid into the booth next to Cas and put a possessive arm around his shoulders. “Who the hell are you?”

The man smirked, dark eyes alight with confidence. “I should thank you for taking such good care of him. He doesn't always do too well when he travels alone. Guys like him, they pick up all kinds of...scum.”

Cas had frozen, retreated back into himself. Folding himself in as though to make himself smaller, less threatening. Hands in his lap under the table, eyes fixed on some invisible spot on the table cloth. He risked a glance up at Dean through his lashes then looked back down as soon as the older man turned his attention on him.

“Lemme guess,” Dean cut in, before the man could say anything to Cas. “You're Ishim.”

It was a long shot, but the guy smiled in his direction. He had brown hair that was graying at the temples, and a neat beard also shot through with threads of gray. “Did he tell you about me? That's sweet.” Ishim hugged Cas a little closer, and Dean couldn't miss the way Cas tensed under his arm.

“He told me enough,” Dean growled. “Get your hands off him.”

Ishim threw his head back and laughed. “Are we playing that game again, Cassie? The poor, misused lover running away for a better life? Let me guess,” he leaned forward to pin Dean with his eyes, his expression intense. “He said he has a job interview out here, but he didn't give you many details on it. Acted all skittish and shifty if anyone else came close. Fed you some story about the ex he didn't want to talk to.

“It's his little game. Every time he thinks I'm not paying enough attention to him he takes off, flies across the country, finds a new sucker to take him under their wing. He'll spend a few days living it up in a new city, until I track him down and bring him home again. There's no job interview, no old roommate waiting to pick him up, no poor, heartbroken Castiel who just needs a big, strong man to take his worries away. There's just little Cassie and his little games.”

Dean found his gaze drawn to Cas's face, but Cas still wasn't looking up. It couldn't be true. He'd seen the way Cas had responded to that creep in the plane, when he thought Dean was asleep. The way he'd folded in on himself when Ishim was mentioned. And he hadn't asked for anything...Dean had been the one asking. It couldn't be...this couldn't be right.

“Well?” Ishim demanded, shaking Cas a little. “Tell him. Now.”

Cas shuddered and flicked his gaze up, catching Dean's for a moment. The misery and fear in those eyes struck Dean to his heart, but Cas was already shaking his head again.

“Cassie.” Ishim's voice took on a harsher tone. “We talked about this. You're getting too old for these little pranks. Take some responsibility for everything you've put me through. Apologize to this nice man, and come home with me.”

His stomach was sitting in his feet by now, but Dean didn't know what to do. Cas was an adult...he could decide what he wanted to do, couldn't he? He didn't have to go back with Ishim if he didn't want to...right?

“I'm sorry,” Cas finally whispered. He managed a smile, but it was nowhere near as breathtaking as the one he'd given Dean just hours before, in those first class seats on the plane. “It was nice to meet you, Dean. I had...fun today.”

“There, you see?” Ishim replied before Dean could say a word. He started sliding out of the booth, taking Cas with him. “You'll feel better when you get home. You always do. Here, for your trouble.”

Ishim dug in his wallet and pulled out a handful of hundred dollar bills, slapping them down in the middle of the table. “Try the pie.”

Dean could only stare at the money as Ishim steered Cas out of the diner. This wasn't...wasn't right. Cas had been happy...he hadn't wanted to go back to Ishim, Dean was sure of it. This was something else, something darker.

Then he shifted and his knee caught something under the table. Cas's suitcase. If Ishim had really come to get him back, like he'd said...if this was really some kind of complicated, codependent cat-and-mouse game between the two of them, wouldn't they want the suitcase? And why hustle him away like this? Why make some big, humiliating show out of grabbing Cas at the diner instead of waiting until he was alone?

“Screw this,” Dean muttered, scooping up the money and shoving it into his pocket. They hadn't ordered anything, so they technically didn't owe the diner any money, but he waved one bill at the waitress who was just coming over to take their orders. “Family emergency. Can you hold onto the bags for now?”

With her promise to keep the bags behind the counter, he trotted back out the door. Damn, he hoped Ishim hadn't come in a taxi...the man could be practically anywhere by now if he had. He scanned the street up and down, looking for anything out of place. There were shops on either side of the street, and a big parking lot for one of those ride-share programs. He started jogging toward the parking lot—if nothing else, there were other people milling around there. Maybe they'd seen something.

He heard the sounds of a scuffle as he approached the alley that ran beside the diner. Then men's voices, low and angry. Dean slowed his pace and carefully edged toward the alley entrance, craning his ears for any indication of who was down there.

“...like last time,” someone hissed, a voice that sounded an awful lot like Ishim's. There was more scuffling, rustling fabric, sounds like something heavy being dragged around. “Don't make me break it again, Cassie. Just get in the car.”

Dean stormed around the corner to see Ishim pressing Cas against the trunk of a car, one arm twisted up behind him. The creep from the airport, Jonathan, was standing nearby, with another man a little further into the alley. Ishim twisted around to glare at him and yanked Cas around to shove him back toward Jonathan.

“This isn't your problem,” Ishim warned. “Just back off.”

“Yeah, I don't think he wants to go with you,” Dean drawled in reply. Ishim wasn't a small man, but he wasn't quite a match for Dean. Or Cas, really, for that matter...not that that made any difference. There was more than one way to control somebody. He locked eyes with Cas, who had backed right up into that Jonathan creep.

“Dean,” Cas shook his head. “Don't. Please.” He was pulling in on himself again, curling down as small as his six-foot frame would allow. To see him go from the charming man who'd been so compassionate with Dean's fear on the plane to someone too afraid to speak up for himself made Dean want to throw up. Or throw a punch, for that matter.

“You heard him,” Ishim spread his hands. “Not your concern.”

Dean paused, hands in his pockets, and nodded as though he was considering Ishim's words. He eyed Jonathan for a moment, then the third guy in the back. Then Cas. No matter what he did here, if he didn't walk away with Castiel it was almost certain the blue-eyed man would be facing some kind of hell under Ishim's thumb.

He turned as if to walk away, then held one hand up and turned back. “I just have one question.”

Ishim cocked an eyebrow at him, and Dean lunged across the space in between them to sucker-punch him across the jaw.

…

“All right, Winchester, let's go.” The uniformed officer who'd first showed him to the holding cell was at the door again, jerking his thumb toward the lobby. “Brother's here to pick you up.”

Dean gingerly shoved himself to his feet, cradling his bruised ribs. Picking a fight with Ishim and his goons hadn't been the best idea, even if Cas had done his best to help him out in the end. Thankfully, the diner's kitchen had a door that faced the alley, and as soon as the cook had seem them brawling she'd called the cops and gotten all five of them dragged downtown.

On the one hand, Dean could be facing a fine, jail time, or whatever else they wanted to throw at him for starting a fight in the street (if he couldn't convince them that he was doing it to protect Cas). But on the other, the cops had hauled all four of them in, which meant Cas hadn't been dragged off to god-knows-where in Ishim's hands. And maybe, just maybe, it meant he could stay away from him.

But first...there was a tall, floppy-haired brother with a disappointed expression Dean had to face.

“Hey, Sammy,” he said, letting the kid wrap his arms around him gently. “Damn, but you're still tall.”

Sam just shook his head. “You flew all the way out here to see me, and I have to pick your ass up at the police station? What the hell, man? You could've just driven out with Bobby!”

“Yeah, but now you have something to talk about with your little nerd friends,” Dean retorted. He elbowed Sam in the side as they settled into chairs at the officer's desk for the final paperwork. As far as he could understand it, they were just giving him a ticket now and he had to show up in court in a few weeks to plead his case. And hell, Sammy was pre-law, he could almost definitely help Dean get out of this, right?

Cas, too, maybe. And speaking of...Dean spotted a familiar head of dark hair across the room and pushed himself away from the desk. “Be right back,” he commented to the officer, who just stared blandly at him. Waving Sam's protests away, Dean shouldered his way through the room. Cas was leaning against one of the other desks, talking to a blond man who was standing close to but not leaning over him. Not one of Ishim's goons...someone unfamiliar.

“Yo, Cas!”

Cas turned around, eyes crinkling up with a smile when he saw Dean. Well...eye. When Cas had tried to pitch in during the fight, Jonathan had knocked him around pretty hard. Dean hadn't seen most of it, but one of Cas's eyes was swollen shut and he was standing pretty stiffly as though it hurt to move certain parts of his body.

“Dean.”

“That's me,” Dean quipped. “You okay?”

Cas nodded. “This is my cousin—Balthazar.”

“Ah, you're the one who has little Cassie all in a flutter,” Balthazar grinned at Dean, resting one hand on Cas's shoulder. “He's been singing your praises.”

“Has he?” Dean felt his face heating up, and a look at Cas showed the other man reddening as well. “Hey, just happy to help. You're not gonna let him go back to that asshole, right?”

“Dean.”

“Look, man, I know it's not my business, but you can't go with him, Cas. Whatever he has on you, whatever's going on...we'll fix it. You don't need to go back to someone like that.”

Cas was shaking his head, and Balthazar had folded his arms across his chest to smirk at both of them. “Oh, he's lost, Cassie. Head over heels, I told you.”

“Bal,” Cas hissed, kicking at his cousin's leg. He took a deep breath and looked up at Dean. “The truth is,” he started, though he seemed at a loss for words.

“The truth is Ishim ruined a very lovely plan to move Cassie right out from under his nose,” Balthazar cut in. “He shouldn't have been able to figure out anything until Cassie was safe with me and the restraining order was nailed to his door. Now my dear cousin thinks he dragged this nice man he met on the plane into all his troubles and everything is ruined.”

“Balthazar!” Cas's face was blazing red now and he he brought his hands up to cover it.

“I don't think anyone ruined anything,” Dean teased, leaning up against the desk to nudge Cas's shoulder. “But seriously...you gonna be okay?”

Cas nodded, glancing up to meet Dean's eyes. “Thank you.”

Dean felt his throat close up a little. He'd barely known this man twelve hours now, and he felt like they'd been through everything together. His own fear on the plane, Ishim's attempts to take Cas back, and now...now it just seemed like all they had to do was walk out into the sunset.

“Dean!” Sam was shoving his way through the crowd now. “You can't just walk away from—Professor Milton?”

“Winchester!” Balthazar pointed at Sam, eyes lighting up. “I thought your name sounded familiar. I should have known.”

“Yeah, uh,” Sam shifted awkwardly, fidgeting with the hem of his jacket (and damn, the kid still couldn't get clothes that were long enough). “We've gotta, uh...Dean still has to talk with the officer over....”

“Oh, I can clear that up,” Balthazar strode off in the direction Sam had come from, catching the younger Winchester by the arm along the way. “Your brother was acting in the defense of another, let's make that clear, shall we?”

Dean bemusedly watched them go, then turned back to look at Cas. Cas was watching him, that faint smile still teasing at the laugh lines around his eyes. Dean held out a hand. “Shall we?” he asked, mimicking Balthazar.

Cas took it, lacing their fingers together. “To new beginnings?”

Dean winked and tugged him forward, following in the others' wake. “And no second-act breakups.”

[slashingdisneypasta]

Ram Sweeney x Reader || Headcanons

Topic: Dating HC's

Notes:

*Sigh*... I write regularly write for creeps like Freddy Krueger and Offenderman... and am one of the few tumblrs that write for Sheriff Hoyt romantically... and yet Kurt and Ram are my real guilty pleasure characters.

Anyway I hope someone other then me wanted this XDD I'm gonna do a Kurt one too.

Warnings: Some NSFW but not explicit.

Your song: The Way I Loved You (Taylor Swift)

He respects my space and never makes me wait

And he calls exactly when he says he will

He's close to my mother, talks business with my father

He's charming and endearing and I'm comfortable

...

But I miss screaming and fighting and kissing in the rain

And it's 2:00 a.m. and I'm cursing your name

So in love that you act insane

And that's the way I loved you

Breakin' down and coming undone

It's a roller coaster kinda rush

And I never knew I could feel that much

And that's the way I loved you

You two as a TV/Movie/Book couple: Bianca Piper and Wesley Rush (The DUFF)

Having the kind of relationship that no one else understands at all. Like, you have nothing in commen except commen history and your feelings for each other (Which are, on the other hand, totally clear to everyone) but when you're together you're always laughing and being affectionate.

Being in an on and off relationship throughout middle school and highschool- but never and I repeat; Never, is anyone permitted to mess with you at all. Because Ram always considers you his, even when you arent together.

So yeah, you always have 2 (Ram, and Kurt) large football star bodyguards at your disposal.

Being very playful together.

SOOOOoooooo much PDA. Including: Making out in the hallways and at school events like football games (You dont care who sees), sitting in his lap or at least squished close to his side at lunch, him throwing you over his shoulder to carry you places, him giving you piggy back rides, him picking you up and twirling you around, him just standing behind you with his arms around your waist and his chin rested on your shoulder when he's bored (With everything but you), his arm being over your shoulders as you walk together, you wiping peanut butter on his nose to get a rise out of him and then running away so he'll chase you, you peppering his face with kisses to make him laugh, etc.

Having a turbulent relationship. Because while, when all is well you two are like peanut butter and jelly and seem like the perfect highschool sweethearts, when you arent it's because Ram has gotten really jealous over something and called you a terrible name (Skank, whore, slut, bitch- any of those) or you understandably got irritated by his bullying and/or being a perverted, sexist asshole and you have huge, blow out fights in the middle of school and by the end of the period the whole student body knows about it.

You give him the silent treatment and the cold shoulder after those (If you didnt break up, that is) and he sends Kurt to give you messages.

When you make up its because he sincerely apologises although he doesn't 100% understand what he did wrong which becomes part of the next fight.

As you've been together so very long, he is basically part of your fucking family. He's so familiar and casual with your parent/s and/or sibling/s. They love him so much that, whether you're with him at the time or not, they allow him into the house and your bedroom with a cup of tea and snacks. (Its the 'American dream' popular-boy / football-star thing.)

So yeah, sometimes when you're mad at him or he wants to get back together (Which generally you want to do, to. You honestly have the same biological timer. Its like, 3 weeks pass by of being broken up and then ding ding ding! You both get the feelings its time to get back together and start sharing grins in the hallway and talking to your friends about eachother) you'll just find him waiting for you in your room when you come home.

Hanging out a looooooot with Kurt. Movie nights at your place, hanging out at the mall together on weekends sneaking out to see them at the football field at night time, etc. When you're sad, they'll both turn up wherever you are to cheer you up, too! Goofballs.

This does not mean there arent times where Ram shoo's Kurt off, though, when you two want some alone time together (*Eyebrow wiggles*) because of course. I'm just saying, you're a close-knit group.

When you are alone together, not much changes from when you're around others honestly XD You're still just as playful and affectionate. You just, you know, also have sex.

When he's down, you rusk your graceful image and climb through his bedroom window to be there with him. You dont fuck, you dont even really kiss. You just climb into bed with him and he'll tuck you under his chin and close his eyes. Legit old married couple. And you two sleep- by morning, he usually feels better and refuses to let you get out of bed with him.

"Five more minutessssss, babe!" He whines, holding you against him and pressing kisses to your head. You know he'll just say that again in 5 minutes time- and over, and over, and over again.

"Oh- no. I've been caught in this trap before Ram. We have school, so we have to get up. Come on!" You push firmly at his stomach (or abs) with your fists; not that that does much as he just just groans or gathers your little wrists in one big fist to stop you (Either way he certainly doesn't even flinch). His eyes are still closed. You sigh.

Now you have two choices, you can either give in and snuggle back into him for the rest of the morning, or threaten to send an attack towards his groin and he'll literally fling himself outta bed. Like "OH LOOK AT THE TIME- Kurt's gonna be waiting for us outside. Lets go!"

There are also mornings that you wake up with him (No sad Ram the night before necessary) and are all too happy to stay there with him. You just adorably nod into his chest, eyes still closed and making the cutest half-asleep morning sound when he asks if you wanna stay here a bit longer and he happily pulls the blanket over both your heads; shielding you both from the real world for a while.

OKAY MOVING ON FROM THAT FLUFFINESS.

You are also the only person who has any sort of control over him and Kurt. Like you can take them down a few pegs with just a look.

You two do date other people when you're broken up but its clear to anyone watching that these are just nice place holders for eachother. Neither of you are ever as happy with others as you are with eachother. You're ridiculously in love, actually.

Ypu were the first one to say I Love You, and he immediately called Kurt for guidance XD

Places you've had sex (Because it is always the full monty with Ram): Both your bedrooms so so so many times, the school bathrooms, his car, Kurts car (Kurt was NOT pleased.), the back of the football field, under the bleachers during a game or pep rally (he was benched for being too violent) + under the bleachers during practise + under the bleachers when the football field is deserted, the back of the school, the faculty parking lot at school, Kurts and Heather Chandler's houses (Parties. Basically a Westerburg High party is not complete without Y/N L/N and Ram Sweeney breaking in someones bed), his parent's car, the woods, cow pasture (a picnic blanket was used), and finally some mall changing rooms.

You leave him messages on his answering machine. He listens to every one of them (Which means something because he doesnt listen to anyone elses, unless he's gotta get through them to get to yours).

Him being SUCH a jealous asshole (With everyone except Kurt).

HIM STANDING UP TO THE HEATHERS FOR YOU.

#PromKingAndQueen

Having Kurt "Smartest guy on the football team," Kelly be your (Occasionally, live in- yes, he has slept over with the two of you on the floor so he could break up fights) couples councellor. Often his advice is 'fuck it out' but he also comes up with oddly wise shit sometimes. Mostly he's just very exasperated though. Like, its obvious you two are gonna end up together- stop bothering me with this shit. Let me get some pussy for myself guys please-

You two getting a bit frisky on movie nights with Kurt and he throws stuff at you. He just starts bringing a pool noodle (That he drew an angry face onto) along with him and hitting y'all with it whenever he feels its necessary. Cuz I mean, on one hand, of course he's happy for his bro Ram that he's getting his dick wet, but on the other- ITS FUCKIN MOVIE NIGHT, PULL YOURSELVES TOGETHER FOR T W O S E C O N D S (Oh the irony- it does indeed escape him). He'll park his ass right in the middle of you two if you keep it up.

If he had survived, you and Ram would have broken up after graduation and spent college apart, before bumping into each other again back home as new (Improved. Especially him) people that fit together better now and ended up getting back together for good.

[behindheremeraldeyes]

damirae week 2021 Wednesday, May 5th - holiday & vacations title: love is in the air summary: When his brother decides to mess with him as a Holiday prank, Damian ends up having to travel in coach like the rest of the mortals. Eventually, though, he learns that turbulence can strike even before the plane takes off.

.

“What do you mean by coach class?”

His brows are furrowed when he asks her that, a puzzled expression taking over his face. Expectant, green eyes are on the flight attendant in front of him, as he waits for her to provide him a little more information on the matter. She’s growing anxious the longer he stares at her, a nervous tic making her left eye tremble whenever she tries to maintain eye-contact. Apparently, she knows who he is— of course she does— therefore; he believes it’s safe to presume she understands why he’s so confused.

“I’m really sorry, Mr. Wayne, but that’s what your ticket says.” She explains, her voice laced with nervousness as she shows him the printed paper with his name written on. Damian is not blind— far from that, actually. He can see all the information written on that paper, but no matter how much he tries, he still can’t comprehend the ‘coach’ part. He has been traveling by plane for as long as he can remember, and never once has he deliberately chosen a seat in coach— in fact, never once has he chosen a seat at all, since he has a secretary of his own. A very competent and well-paid one, for the matter.

Such a primal mistake like this has never happened in all the years they’ve been working together. Something must have happened, he knows.

“I believe there must have been some mistake.” He states calmly, his demeanor unaltered. “Could you please check it again? The people at my company would never make such a trivial mistake.”

“Of course, I understand completely. I’ll try checking it on the system to see if I can find anything.”

Her fingers move rapidly across the keyboard, and he studies her face, looking for a hint of what’s actually happening. She’s still nervous, he can tell, and if anything, that’s not a good sign. It means she’s not finding the problem in the system, and if she’s not finding it, it means the said problem doesn’t exist. And if it doesn’t exist— well— something must have happened at Wayne tech.

How odd, he ponders.

“I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Wayne, but there really has been no mistake. Your ticket was ordered last Wednesday night, and it is as I’ve told you, see?” She turns the monitor so he can see, probably so he won’t hold it against her or anything. “You know, it’s quite common for some of our clients to make this kind of mistake. Perhaps you forgot to select the first class? “

“Highly unlikely. My secretary always double-checks everything.”

“Well, both the coach class and the seat were chosen by your secretary last Wednesday night. Are you sure nothing unusual happened when he ordered the ticket for you?”

“I’m positive. It was a normal Wednesday and— wait.” He suddenly stops. His emerald eyes blink once, twice and a third time, a blank expression taking over his handsome face. ”Did you just say he?”

Once he allows her words to sink in, Damian questions the integrity of his ears. Perhaps, after all of those years fighting crime and handling explosives, they might not be working as perfectly as they are supposed to.

He must have heard it wrong because, last time he checked, Mrs. Miller was not a man. She’s a conservative woman who’s around her 60s, and even if that doesn’t mean a thing anymore, she has never once told him anything about switching genders. If anything, she’s always the one lecturing Jason about finding a kind woman such as herself.

Still, a stranger such as the woman standing in front of him could never know such personal things about Mrs. Miller’s life. Things are not adding up. And for he is his father’s son, he wants to know why.

“Oh, yes. I presume the name Richard belongs to a man, no? It’s the name of the account who’s booked you this flight.”

“Richard?!” He questions, and it only takes him a second to put all the pieces of that silly puzzle together.

Grayson, you bastard.

Now it all makes perfect sense. Of course he had to be behind this childish act. Who else would have enough free time to waste before the Holidays just to prank a busy, young man such as himself? His older brother might be respected by many of their super friends, but more than anyone, Damian knows he is but a child filled with hormones. He probably thought it would be funny to make his little brother travel for hours in coach as a commoner, where he would have to sit next to a stranger.

That worthless manwhore.

However, he won’t let his predecessor have the last laugh. Grayson did this solely to piss him off and throw him out of his comfort zone, therefore, the best revenge should be handling the situation without creating a fuss. Damian is going to accept the conditions without putting up a fight, and his brother’s victory will have a bitter taste.

Yes, that’s how a real man gets his personal revenge. He will endure a six-hours flight home in coach class like a pro, and he will show the first Robin not to mess with the newest generation.

A proud smirk, then, takes over his lips. That certainly should teach him a lesson—well, that and the explosives Damian plans to hide in his brother’s bedroom, of course.

“Mister Wayne, I’m terribly sorry about all this. I—“

“No need to be sorry. In fact, I should be the one apologizing for all of these questions now that I know what happened.” He starts, placing his hand on his chest as an apologetical gesture. “You see, Richard is my older brother. He’s not as smart as the rest of the family, so it’s highly likely that he’s made this mistake.”

“Oh, I understand. I guess every family has one of those, right?”

“You have no idea. Now, Karen.” He says, finally paying attention to the name written on her uniform. “I’m incredibly sorry for wasting your time. Without further ado, I will head to my seat.”

“Mister Wayne, you’re very kind, indeed.” She starts, a blush tinging her cheeks. With a staple, she makes small holes on his ticket before handling it back to him. “I hope you have a safe flight to Gotham.”

“Yeah, me too.”

His voice doesn’t sound as irritated as he feels, and that alone is a big victory. Without wasting more of his precious time, Damian walks towards the jet bridge so he can finally board the plane. A couple walks behind him, chuckling as they talk about how much fun it will be to go back home for Christmas.

Going home for the Holidays, huh?

An entire week at the Wayne Manor with his brothers and his father, sharing meals together and trying not to murder each other during their morning exercises. Though Gotham could not get any safer since the whole bat-family will be together, it is also the one time of the year when his murderous instincts are at their peak.

A tired sigh escapes his lips. That’s a problem for another time, he thinks.

Once inside the plane, his eyes search for the signs that will take him to his seat. For the first time in his life, he turns right instead of left— coach instead of first class— and suddenly, a small corridor is in front of him. For a moment, he feels like a cow heading for the slaughterhouse, as many other people are forming a line in front of him.

It’s hard to breathe and even harder to walk with all of those people trying to put their bags inside the upper compartments. He checks his ticket again. D21. According to the numeration pattern, he’s almost there, but he’s still not moving fast enough. All the simultaneous talk is driving him insane, and now he understands why some people choose to dope themselves as soon as they get inside the plane.

He doesn’t have any sleeping pills with him, but maybe if he punches himself with enough strength…

No. He can make it. Things will get better once he sits down and they take off. It can’t possibly get any worse than it already is, right?

Right?

A curse is muffled under his breath, and finally, he reaches his seat. For he knows how to travel light, Damian is quick to place his bag where it belongs and now he can establish himself. It’s a window seat, he notices, which means that soon there will be another person next to him, too close for his own liking. He knows there’s no use in picturing what kind of person it will be, but he can certainly hope it’s a nice one who knows how to respect his personal space.

If he or she doesn’t have vocal chords, Damian definitely won’t complain.

He closes his eyes for a moment, then, allowing himself to settle down and get used to his surroundings. It’s chaotic, he thinks, and he knows chaotic. Children are crying, some people are on the phone and others are just breathing too loud. He knows he’s whining like a brat, but it’s stronger than him. It’s annoying, and he swears if that lady keeps on talking about her 3 cats, he’s going to—

His inner monologue stops, his eyes widening for a moment. At last, he hears the one thing he hates more than Joker’s maniacal laughter. That unbearable sound that makes his head throb and makes his lips turn into a deep frown.

“Is that Damian Wayne?”

Teenage girls. And they know him.

Perhaps it’s the annoying giggle or even the way they keep on getting bolder every time they meet him, but Damian can’t stand them. They’re just too obnoxious— a real pain. He honestly doesn’t know why on earth they tend to approach him whenever they have the chance, especially since he’s sure he has never once paid them any attention. In fact, chances are he has even been rude to them on more than one occasion.

Trying to understand a teenager’s mind is beyond his capacity. Ignoring them, though doesn’t prevent them from returning, is the easiest way out, and when they come— because they will come— that’s exactly what he’s going to do.

“Excuse me, Damian Wayne.” One of them says, her voice laced with excitement. Two more stand next to her, but he can’t really tell them apart. “It’s you, isn’t it? “

Jesus, can someone please knock him out already?

He crosses his arms at her words, his brows now knitted in annoyance. He’s pretty sure there’s nothing welcoming in his expression, but that won’t stop them from continuing. It’s not like they actually care about his feelings or anything.

“Oh, my god! It really is you!“ She claps her hands, biting her lower lip. “Can I get a selfie? Can I?”

“God, Mary. Can you be any more inconvenient?” The one on her left asks, pushing her friend away so she can take a step closer. “Forgive my friend. She can’t read the atmosphere like I can. If you want, I can send her away and keep you some company during the flight.”

“Ugh, get out of my way, both of you!” The third one pushes through, using her elbows to force her way forward. “Hi, I love you and I really mean it, Damian! I love you so much that, if you want, we can meet at the bathroom cabinet and I’ll show you.”

His eyes widen in horror at such proposal, and he’s almost sure this girl isn’t old enough to be saying such things. From the corner of his eyes, he watches as a bunch of people lift their phones to point at him, all of them waiting to hear his final answer so the dirty press can judge him.

Grayson is going to pay dearly for this.

This girl is insufferable. All of them are.

They’re causing all of that commotion, preventing people from walking down the small corridor and embarrassing him in front of all of those eyes. They can’t possibly think it’s okay to do or say those things so openly like to a man they know nothing about. Though the initial plan might have been for him to at least talk to them, Damian can’t bear any more hatred inside of him than at this very moment, and if looks could kill, those three wouldn’t be breathing anymore.

His hands turn into fists and he closes his heavy eyes so he can stop himself from committing a murder. Justice, not vengeance. His father’s words echo inside his head, and he’s having a really hard time trying not to think only about the second part. He really just wants to go home right now. And thankfully, he’s not the only one.

“Hum, excuse me…”

His ears detect a fresh voice, calmer and more mature. Instinctively, he opens his eyes to look at this new stranger, and he’s impressed by what he sees. She’s beautiful, he notices. Dark hair, violet eyes and ivory skin, all together to form an ethereal beauty like he has never seen before. Damian can’t help but keep looking at her, curious to know what she’s going to say on this matter.

“Hi!” She continues, her thin lips turning upwards in a smile. “I know you’re all busy trying to seduce this man with your oozing pheromones and irrefutable proposals, but in case you haven’t noticed, there are people trying to get to their seats here.”

“So what?” One of them says, a hand on her hips and a lot of attitude in her high-pitched voice. She’s trying to be intimidating, but it’s clearly not working. “Can’t you see who he is, you emo? He is—“

“I couldn’t care less about who he is.” The raven-haired girl cuts in, clearly not in the mood for that drama. “He could be Superman or even the president himself, for all I care. My problem is with you three airheads who are interrupting the flow. There are people trying to walk here and the airplane hallway is not a place to flirt with strangers who won’t even remember your face once we take off.”

“What!? Of course he will remember!” She glares. “We are—“

“Annoying the hell out of him? That you are. I mean, just look at his face! He looks like shit!” She points at him, violet eyes now meeting emerald ones. Her though expression suddenly melts into a softer one, her head tilting a bit to the right. “No offense, though.”

“None taken.” He answers, an amused smirk now taking over his face. She nods at him before returning her burning eyes to those three girls.

“Like the rest of us, this man just wants this damn plane to get him where he needs to be so he can move on with his life and get drunk during the holidays. We don’t want to be here. So, without further ado, could please you get the fuck out of the way before I lose my temper? ”

He doesn’t know what happens next or even how a small girl such as herself could be so intimidating, but at her words, he notices his three fangirls flinching. They’re avoiding eye-contact, and for the first time, one of them seems to grow aware of the crowd staring at them. The one standing in the middle starts to tremble, and though they’re looking at him as if searching for some sort of support, Damian can’t bring himself to offer them anything slightly remote to that.

In fact, if he has to pick sides, he wouldn’t need to think twice before taking the brunette’s.

“I-I… I—“

“You what?” She asks, arching an eyebrow and crossing her arms over her chest. Her pose holds no hesitation as she stands her ground. “Do you need me to spell it out for you? “

With a 'tch’, the three girls finally walk away, returning to their respective seats with their heads hanging low, and he can’t help but feel incredibly satisfied by that. There’s a victorious smirk on her face, and it’s safe for him to assume she’s also feeling pretty good about what she just did.

What an interesting woman, he thinks. All that sass and eloquence are certainly eliciting his curiosity, and though he doesn’t want to admit it, he can’t help but feel slightly turned on by this stranger.

Interesting, indeed.

While Damian is still trapped in his thoughts, a round of applause takes over the airplane, as people congratulate the raven-haired girl. They pat her shoulders, thank her for getting rid of those girls, and she even laughs once the old lady behind her tells her they don’t make girls like her anymore. For a quick moment, she becomes the hero they didn’t know they needed, and for sure, this is going to be a pleasant story to tell during Christmas dinner.

They will portray her as the girl who saved their flight.

Damian, however, will portray her as the one who told his fangirls to fuck off.

He really needs to thank her for that. Fortunately, he will have over six hours to do that.

Before the Wayne heir can bring himself to form the words in his head, the girl is placing her small bag in the compartment above their heads. As she lifts her arms, her shirt lifts, momentarily exposing her belly. Even if it was just for a brief second, she catches him staring, and once their eyes meet, he looks away, his cheeks growing slightly warmer.

He sees as she slowly shakes her head before sitting next to him, and though he was not expecting a girl such as her, he’s currently thanking the superior forces for the partner destiny has chosen to be his seat-mate. She’s beautiful, her voice is not annoying, and the best part is that she doesn’t seem to give a crap about who he is.

Maybe he’s finally going mad because of— well— everything, but right now, Damian trulls believes that he might even fall in love with this girl.

A sly smirk takes over his lips, and he can’t help but stare at her for a little too long. She watches as he does so, and as expected, she doesn’t feel embarrassed or inhibited at all. Instead, she stares back, eyes squinting a bit in sheer mockery. A questioning look spreads across her face, and he decides that he should be the one saying something. Anything, really.

“You’re mean.” He states, as if that’s the biggest truth in the world. She tilts her head, but his words don’t seem to affect her.

“So what?” She asks, not really caring about his answer as she fastens her seatbelt. ”If you didn’t like the way I talked to your fan girls, you can go and apologize to them, be their hero or whatever. Though, if you’re really gonna go meet them at the bathroom cabinet, I suggest we switch seats so we don’t bump knees every time you have to go.”

She’s a spirituous one, he notices. And if he’s not careful, he might be the next victim of her graciously rude words. “Nah, don’t worry about it. As you’ve pointed out before, I don’t even remember their faces anymore. Your knees can rest assured.”

“Thanks, I guess?” She lifts her brows, not bothering to spare him another glance as she adjusts her dark clothes. There’s a book resting over her lap— Christmas Carol, for what he can see— and she uses her small fingers to tug a strand of her hair behind her ear.

“Yeah…” He shakes his head, forcing himself to focus. “By the way, I don’t think I’ve introduced myself. I am Damian— “

“Save it. I know who you are, Wayne. I might not be the most updated person in this world, but even Eskimos know your family. Don’t worry, though. I promise I’m not a disguised reporter or an annoying fangirl.”

“Not with that attitude, you’re not. Your clear lack of interest in my personal life can only be matched by only one other person I know.”

“Oh, really?” She asks, her eyes now turning to face him. Now that they’re so close to each other, he can see how bright they really are, and for a moment, he thinks she might even have hypnotic powers because he just can’t look away. There’s a curious tone lingering over her words, and he wants to believe she’s actually paying attention to him this time. “And who would that be, if I may ask?”

“My father.” He answers bluntly, and he notices as she she chokes back a giggle. There’s a soft smile decorating her lips now, and the surrounding atmosphere feels a lot lighter.

“Rachel Roth.” She sticks out her hand to him, and without hesitation, he shakes it carefully. Her hand is soft against his calloused one, and he notices the way she brushes her thumb over his skin. It’s a delicate and pure gesture, so fleeting that makes him wanting more as soon as he releases her from his grip.

“Well, Rachel…” Her name rolls out of his tongue as he tests the sound of it. It has a nice ring to it, he notices. “I think I need to thank you for saving me from a huge headache back then. Seriously, I owe you one.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it. I didn’t really do it for you, so you don’t need to thank me or anything. I just wanted them to get out of my seat, that’s all.”

“Selfish or not, you still got rid of them, so… thanks. “

“Well, if that’s the case, you’re welcome, Damian.” Rachel nods at him, the same smile still decorating her face. She picks up her book, then, flipping through the pages so she can pick up from where she had left. The way she says his name— so simple and unpretentious— makes his lips curl upwards, and all the bad feelings from before disappear.

This girl— Rachel— she’s showing what a life away from the streets and the business meetings must feel like. The conversation flows easily and effortlessly, to the point where it’s hard to believe they’ve met not even 30 minutes ago. It feels natural in a way very few things in his life do, and though he knows it’s not meant to last, at least he will cherish this moment before it turns into a fading memory in the depths of his mind.

Moments of pure joy shall fade into oblivion, that’s one of the most important rules of his life.

Thankfully, the internet is forever.

An unexpected buzz inside his pants breaks his train of thought. At first, he decides to ignore it, but after the third time, he gives up on the idea. Silently, he scoffs in annoyance, fishing his phone from his pocket. He presses the side button, then, the screen lighting up to reveal a couple of notifications. His eyes, though, land on three particular messages from his family’s group chat:

Grayson: I ship it

Drake : what happened, Damian? Are you okay?? Todd : hot and feisty. The best kind of girl, little bro

His brows furrow in confusion at his brothers’ messages. For what he can conclude, they’re talking about a girl he knows and has interacted with, but that’s pretty much it. The only female human in his mind right now is Rachel, and there’s no way for them to be talking about her. He’s not being followed or bugged, for all he knows— and he knows.

Something strange is happening, and he wants to know what. The youngest Wayne, then, texts them a single ‘?’ and almost immediately, Dick sends him a link to an Instagram page. He’s growing more confused with every additional information, but figures it must be just another one of Grayson’s stupid pranks.

He sighs at the thought. Isn’t he a bit too old for that?

An annoyed pout takes over his lips as a clear sign that he just wants to get this stupid thing over with. Once he taps on the link, though, it takes less than a second for his eyes to widen and his bored expression change into a surprised one. The video playing is muted, but he doesn’t need any volume or subtitles to know what the raven-haired girl in it is saying.

Oh… That angle does make her look nice.

He blinks twice as he allows the whole thing to sink in. Apparently, all of that show earlier was recorded by some cameras and posted all over the internet. There are many posts about it, with all possible captions and comments about them, and he has to admit some are quite creative. Apparently, they’re the new internet hits, not that Damian really cares about it. He’s used to all the lies and overreacted dramas, but if he were to be honest, this one is making him quite intrigued.

Not by the gossip itself, no. That would never happen.

This time, he’s intrigued by how the girl next to him will react as soon as she finds out.

From the corner of his eyes, he watches as she’s calmly reading her book, waiting for the plane to take flight. She’s immersed in Charles Dickens’ words, and it’s like the entire world around her can’t interrupt her. It’s just her and the book, and for she hasn’t touched her phone since her arrival, he’s quite sure she doesn’t know what’s happening in the digital world.

At least, not yet.

He’s definitely going to tell her.

“Uh… Rachel? ”

“Yes, Damian?” She answers, her eyes not bothering to leave the pages of the book.

“Just a quick question… How do you feel about being the center of attentions? “

“I hate it. Why?”

“Well, you might have to reconsider this…” His voice falters and he slowly massages the back of his head.

“Oh, and why would I do that?” She looks at him, at last, her brows now arched. Her expression is blank, and he suddenly wants to laugh because she has no idea of what’s coming.

“Here, check this out. ”

He gives her his phone, a smirk decorating his face. Slowly, he watches the video playing once again on the small screen, all life slowly fading from her pretty face. Her eyes widen, her lips part, and she places her fingers on her left temple. Her cheeks are growing redder than a tomato, and once the video ends, she is completely dumbfounded.

“Wha-what the hell!?“ A couple of seconds pass until she says something, her voice a little too loud, and her eyes filled with a mix of anger and embarrassment. “What’s the meaning of this, Damian!?”

“Well, I think people enjoyed your bossy words from many different angels”” He starts, taking his phone back and scrolling through his time line. His voice sounds too excited for her liking, and it’s easy to tell he’s trying to hold back a laughter. “You went viral, Rachel. ”

“No no no no.” She repeats, slowly shaking her head in denial and taking her own phone in hands. With trembling fingers, she opens her Instagram page and a rush of follows and mentions makes her eyes widen even more. “I can’t believe this is happening. ”

“Oh, come on, it’s not that bad.” Damian tries to calm her down, but the joy in his voice takes all of his credit away.

“Not that bad?!” Her eyes are glaring at him now, cheeks puffed in pure anger. “I got remixed, Damian!”

A sly smile takes over his lips, and he’s]really trying not to laugh in front of her. “And it’s a good remix. Besides, for what I can see, most people are on our side.”

“Our side? I was just trying to reach my seat. There’s no our side, Damian.”

“Well, apparently, there is. Look.” He leans towards her, absentmindedly, until he’s close enough to feel her embarrassment exhaling from her. Their knees are brushing, but neither of them seems to be aware of that closeness right now. He shows her his phone one more time, a couple of comments now displayed. “Some people are even shipping us already. #Damirae.”

A defeated whimper escapes her lungs, and finally, she locks her phone-screen. Apparently, Rachel can’t look at all that anymore, and decides to just sink into the seat. Her hands are covering her face, and her voice is muffled when the next words come out. “Ugh, this is a nightmare.”

“Try looking at the bright side. This video can make you famous. I’m sure the media already loves your sarcasm. “

“If you haven’t noticed, Wayne, I’m a goth.” She spreads her hands across her face so she can look at him through the space between her fingers, and he can’t help but find that utterly adorable. “I don’t do bright side. ”

“God, you’re so dramatic.” He also locks his phone, placing it back inside his pockets. His torso turns around so he can face her properly, that same smirk still planted on his lips. “It’s just a video, relax. Most people will soon forget about it.”

“Some people? And what about the others?” Her voice is lower now, shier, as if she’s really seeking some sort of comfort— not that he’s even trying to offer her any.

“Oh, we will remember this forever, don’t worry.” A dry chuckle escapes his lips, and he notices the way her expression melts in response, tension and nervousness now gone.

Damian is having the time of his life, not only because the video was, indeed, funny; but also because he’s getting to see another side of this interesting girl who’s sitting next to him. Even if she really is bothered by the whole thing right now, eventually, he trusts that she will get over it and realize that no one gives a damn about stuff like that.

It’s just a temporary thing. A funny story for the future.

Rachel will survive it. And he—well…

He’s just found himself an excuse to follow her on Instagram.

“You jerk.” She chuckles, finally placing her hands on her lap and adjusting her posture. She takes a deep breath, then, as if she’s trying to recompose herself, but he notices the way she shrinks a little once she realizes the couple next to them are staring. Her body turns towards his, a sign that she feels somehow safe with him.

And for that, he’s extremely glad.

“That’s a new thing.” Damian states, mockery no longer lacing his voice.

“What is?” The girl questions.

“You’re laughing.”

“So what?”

“It’s nothing, really. It’s just… cute.”

Her cheeks grow red once more and she bites her lips. For a fraction of a second, she turns away from him, but soon, her amethyst eyes are once more looking into his emeralds ones. “Shut up, will you? You’ll need more than that if you want your Damirae fantasy to come true.”

“Oh, so are you saying I have a chance, Rachel?” He teases, knowing very well she didn’t mean it like that. Still, he figures he can’t waste this opportunity. “Are you sure you’re not a disguised fangirl? “

“You wish, Wayne.“ She smirks, offering him a side glance as she picks up her book again. “And I never said that.”

“You didn’t say the other way around, either.”

“Good point.” She nods, acknowledging his words instead of trying to deny them. “I guess you have the entire flight to make sure I keep it that way…”

There’s a flirty tone in her voice, and instantly, the Wayne heir is up for the challenge. Their eyes meet again, and for a moment, he thinks she’s checking him out. They smile at each other, exchanging that you-know-what look, and right now, he doesn’t think this flight will be long enough.

He wants to know more about her. He wants to play this push-and-pull game, and more than anything, he wants her phone number. And Damian Wayne win’t stop until he gets what he wants.

At last, the pilot makes his announcements, and for once, they break eye contact when the flight attendant passes by their seats, closing the compartment above their heads. Seat-belts are fastened, tables are up, and the crew is ready. They’re ready to take off.

fin.

-----

a/n: Well, there are not enough words to describe how much trouble I had with these prompts. I gave up on so many ideas and got so mad at everything that I’m impressed I even managed to write something in the end. Still, I’m glad to have written this one. I had a lot of fun with the dialogues and with every smirk I wrote! Hope you’ve enjoyed it, and please, tell me what you think!

[ashestoashesjc]

A Necromancer & His Zombie Boyfriend Take A Hike

Short Story 1/2/3/(4)/5/6/7/8/9/10

Relax. Relax. Inhale, exhale; you know the routine. This isn’t the first time you and Sett have been alone with unsuspecting humans. Just the first time where the goal has been for everyone to leave as alive as when they arrived. Simple.

Jen had texted the directions to The Goovenmeyer Hiking Trail, a public entrance to Goovenmeyer Forest, days before the planned excursion was to take place, and so Ulrick had just as much time with which to let his irrational worries ferment. 

In the logical portion of his elixir and glyph-addled mind, Ulrick knew there was nothing to worry about. That forming normal, healthy friendships was good for Sett. Good for both of them. But a nagging splinter dug at a place he couldn’t reach. 

He tried to disguise his busy hive of thoughts, but Sett, of course, caught on to the minuscule valley made from his dipping eyebrows, the tightness of a face steeped in sullen contemplation.

"You seem stressed,” Sett signed, retrieving a sealed, plastic package from his bomber jacket. “Beef jerky?"

"Where'd you get beef jerky?" asked Ulrick. He took a short pause. "And you don't eat?" 

"Yeah, I know," Sett signed. "It's more for the atmosphere." 

Sett stabbed one of the leathery sticks at his masked mouth, but seeing it fail to improve Ulrick’s mood, returned it to its pouch and put an arm around his shoulder. 

“Really, what’s up?” signed Sett with his available hand. 

“It’s stupid.”

“It never is.” 

Ulrick let out a rolling sigh. He stood from their seat at the bench and paced about the entrance of the hiking trail. “Supermarkets in the dead of night, deserted movie theaters, dates on moonlit rooftops. I did those things to protect us, yes, but it was also because…” He looked to Ulrick. “I like when it’s just the two of us. I’m selfish that way.” 

The mask covered Sett’s face, but Ulrick could imagine the goofy, tilted grin underneath from the light shining in his eyes. It urged half a smile out of him before his paranoia could steal back its throne. 

“That’s changing now, and that’s fine, and I’m happy for you. But a small part of me can’t help but wonder…” 

“Wonder...?” “What would they do if they knew?” 

“Knew what?” came a familiar voice from behind them, where a small parking area accommodated an RV, the boys’ rusted red jalopy, and a newly arrived blue sedan. 

It was Jen, followed closely by a backpack-lugging Diane, looking equally curious. 

"That..." started Ulrick, feeling the vacuum of space closing in around him, sucking the air from his lungs. 

"That we've never been hiking before,” Sett cut in with lightspeed fingerwork. “Didn't want you to look down on us rookies." 

Ulrick could not have managed to look at Sett with more gratitude. "Cat's out of the bag, I guess." 

"Ha! Don't you pink bellies worry about that. Everyone's a first timer once,” chortled Diane. 

“Yeah, except you, Di. You were born an outdoorswoman.” 

Exaggerating a shocked expression, Diane said, “That ain’t true! I was born a Led Zeppelin fan, and everything else has been window dressing.” 

Then Jen snorted, not dissimilarly to the way Diane had when the four had met. Ulrick wondered who’d picked it up from whom. 

“Well!” Jen said, clapping her hands together. “Di might have a compass for a brain, but I have something just as good.” She reached into a pocket of her explorer shorts and brought out a smartphone, plastered in psychedelic peace-symbol stickers. “A compass on my cell phone.”

“And I’ve read about a few sights off the beaten path that we’ve just got to check out,” she said. “Y’know, time permitting.” 

“Oh yeah, wandering blindly into the unfamiliar wilderness. That’s never gotten anyone brutally murdered,” scoffed Ulrick.

Jen suddenly placed her hands on Ulrick’s shoulders and looked him dead in the eyes, her voice silvery and therapeutic. “I see you, I hear you, I feel you,” she said, each emphasized syllable accompanied by a gentle shoulder clap. 

A stammered “Uh…” was the only response Ulrick could muster. 

Turning back to the trail ahead, she began marching. “And we’re off!” 

Irregular stone slabs acted as their guide into the forested incline, but it wasn’t long before they and the beaten path were old acquaintances. Really, it seemed like they’d forgone any path at all, intended or otherwise, as they squeezed past vine-twisted tree trunks, maneuvered around prickly poisonous bushes, crossed rushing, turbulent streams. 

From the clearing at which they found themselves, the whispers of fast moving water could be made out. Jogging up to her position at the head of the group, Sett tapped Diane on the shoulder. “I’ll race you to the next stream,” he signed. Diane agreed with a haughty laugh as the two took off in a sprint. For having only a fraction of the functioning tendons, Sett kept up remarkably well but Diane’s calves were pistons. Jen and Ulrick shared in the rolling of eyes, and after they and Sett had all caught up to the race winner, their spirits were high. On their way over the stream in question, however - wide and deep, nearly a river - Ulrick’s foot missed its landing on the collapsed tree the group had fashioned into a bridge. 

Before he had time to fully assess the situation or Sett’s hand had time to make contact with his, his mouth was flooded with water, and, as the remaining trio stood, frozen in shock, he was shooting rapidly down the violent torrent toward a sound of rushing water so massive, it took not a woodswoman to know what awaited him. 

But it was their woodswoman, Diane, who ripped herself from her jacket, and dove into the frigid gnashing. Her legs beat with a polished verve that contrasted Ulrick’s desperate flails more strongly with every inch of the gap she closed. Then she’d passed him. Her legs kept pumping. 

Only flashes of vision stolen between each blinding crash of the waves revealed to Diane the rock jutting up at her left. She paddled toward it as best she could, knowing she’d made it only when her hand was secured around firm granite. 

She gasped for air, bobbed above and below water level, but managed to swing around with fingers outstretched nearly as far as they would go. 

Wait. Wait. Wait. Now!

She grasped just the slightest bit further, used her legs to propel herself forward. For a microsecond, she was sure she’d waited too long, and then, almost in answer, felt her hand clasp around something bony and warm. “I got you!” she shouted over the scream of the rapids. 

Diane, grip on the mossy boulder growing ever more tentative, soon found a hand around her own wrist as she and Ulrick were dragged, dripping and shivering, onto the gravelly shore. 

The two gave haggard, drained, heaving breaths as Sett ensured they were entirely out of harm’s way, and Jen, sobbing, wrapped her arms around Diane’s neck. 

“This better have been worth it,” Ulrick said when he was dry and warm enough to say anything at all. But when, at the supposed end of their expedition, Jen pulled aside a curtain of vines, what unfolded before them convinced Ulrick it just might have been. 

Ahead, a narrow cavern, lined virtually floor-to-stalactite-riddled-ceiling with glowing, blueish-green mushrooms, tinted each of the four’s awe-stricken faces the very same alien hue. The spotted fungi curved up proudly from their places inset in the stony walls, as if to say, This is our home, and you are right to be astounded. And they were. 

Their jaws were still slack as they made their way out of the small, magical cave, crossed the fallen tree over angry waves, avoided the alluring embrace of stinging nettle. It was by the third time they’d encountered the same twisty, knotted elm, however, that their wonderment had begun to give way to weary impatience. 

"We're not lost. I know exactly where we are," Jen said, yanking free her phone from her pocket. She glanced at the screen for a brief moment and then announced, "We're lost. I have no idea where we are." 

She turned the blank screen to the other three, audibly clicking the 'power' button. "My phone must have died."  

“Don’t fret; there’s no guarantee it’ll stay that way,” signed Sett.

“Your optimism is so refreshing!” Jen said with a happy sigh.

A ragged groan escaped Diane. "Why didn't you charge it last night?"

"Why didn't you remind me to charge it? You know I always forget. And you knew we were going on a hike, too. So irresponsible," Jen said, shaking her head. 

"You!" laugh-shouted Diane before she took off to chase a now-squealing Jen through the isolated wooded area in which they found themselves until they’d run out of sight. 

Ulrick rolled his eyes, "God, is that what we look like?" 

Walking over and sitting next to Ulrick on a log, Sett lowered his mask, gnawed a piece of beef jerky, gave a series of loud smacks, and his head a shake. "Gffrrra rmmrrr. <Heck nah. We're way cuter,>" he spat, shooting out dried, fibrous bits. 

Ulrick’s eyes squinted instinctively to avoid the meat spray. I love this man, he thought dreamily.

"Grgrrrgrr. <Wow, this really tastes better raw,>" he grunted, hocking grisly chunks onto the ground. He handed Ulrick the bag of dehydrated cow bits. "Grgrrr rgrrrRRr. <Here. Can't even look at them.>"

"But you know..." said Ulrick, depositing the package into a coat pocket. "Apart from almost going over a waterfall, ending up hopelessly lost, and getting poison ivy in places I’d rather not mention, this honestly hasn't been the worst." 

"GrrrRr? <Great, even?>"

"Let's not get carried away."

Then, a scream. And not of the marital variety. A murder of crows poured out over the treetops. 

Ulrick and Sett looked to each other, and then, at once, took off after the sound. 

What they discovered upon following the shriek was a somewhat cozy recess, marred only by an edge of burnt, toppled trees, the result of a recent firestorm, and by an eight-foot behemoth of teeth and rage that now cornered a comparatively small Diane and Jen, the latter shaking in the protective arms of the former. 

The bear hadn’t noticed their arrival and Sett, without making a sound, used the advantage to pick up a sizeable rock and sneak behind the foam-mouthed beast. He lobbed the stone directly at its head.

“What are you doing!” Ulrick whispered tightly. 

Sett began signing, “While it’s distracted, get them--” but couldn’t complete the thought as a freight train concentrated in the size of a burly paw forced the words from his fingers and sent his body flying like a limp doll into the shattered, splintery remains of ruined trees.

The broken spikes tore through his chest; the bow of a vessel emerging through fog. 

Like a marionette, strings severed, Jen instantly collapsed. 

"Se--!" Ulrick very nearly screamed, before Di's hand clapped over his mouth. 

"Bad time to scream," she whispered, eyes hovering between the bear and Jen’s supine, unconscious form. 

Drool dripped in strings from the bear's growling, vibrating maw as it decided who it would first maul, and Ulrick's eyes zipped erratically from rock to branch for anything to offer aid or solace. But the only thing his eyes fell to were the bits of chewed jerky Sett had earlier discarded. 

By the time the thought had wormed its way into his consciousness, he was already hands-deep in a jacket pocket. When the hand reappeared, it gripped Sett's parcel of 100% American USDA-approved beef jerky. Almost immediately, the bear was rapt.

“Go...” Ulrick said, collecting his indomitable fear and anger into a single swing, “...get it!” 

And then the package was sailing overhead, deeper into the forest, a ton of muscle and fur and claw galumphing off single-mindedly after it.

The moment the bear had trudged out of sight, Ulrick and Diane were on the rush to Sett’s impaled, lifeless body. The jagged, wooden knives protruding through his chest were painted at their ends by a dark liquid that might have been dried blood, but for its smell. 

“I don’t know if we should…” started Diane, but Ulrick was already beneath one of Sett’s arms, knees bent to allow himself leverage and traction. He shoved and heaved and grunted but barely did the large mass of man budge.

Sweat gathered in rivulets at Ulrick’s forehead as his strain and frustration and sorrow mounted. Each push of his feet left a deeper rut in the ground where there’d once been grass.

“Well?” he cried to Diane, still struggling, wet eyes reflecting the falling light. 

Sighing at the futility of it all, she nonetheless took her place under the other of Sett’s armpits. And the two, though it seemed to take a small, tense forever of bone-fatiguing, swear-filled thrusts, hoisted free Sett’s immobile cadaver from the gnarled, blackened teeth of Mother Nature. 

They’d laid him down on the ground, Ulrick himself sprawled out and breathing heavily, not accustomed to the extent of physical exertion, when Diane decided, without Ulrick’s notice, that Sett’s damaged clothes had to be removed, his wounds cleaned and dressed, if he stood any slim chance of recovery. 

Ulrick looked up, but too late, and the expression stapled to Diane’s face as he saw himself through her eyes was one he knew he’d never forget. 

"Look,” Ulrick said, standing but making sure not to venture any closer. “Let's get out of the forest alive and... I'll tell you everything, okay?"

Diane hadn’t peered up at him once since they’d dislodged Sett’s body from the tree, and she didn’t start now. 

"Okay," she said at length.

Polaris guiding her path, alongside the occasional stop to confirm by way of western-pointing spiderwebs her directional accuracy, Diane led the wiped, half-unconscious quartet of hikers back, after an arduous trek through an unkind night, back to their fabled starting point, her carrying Jen bridal-style, Sett slung over her and Ulrick’s shoulders. Woodswoman, indeed. 

"I'd hoped I would come up with a good excuse on the way here, or that we'd just die first, which would have admittedly been easier,” said Ulrick as they approached the entrance, feeling Diane’s eyes wearing down on him. 

"And?” she said. 

"And I didn't come up with a good excuse. There isn't one. You should know the truth. Sett's..."

A grumbling between them alerted them to Sett’s slow reentrance into the world of the conscious, though not of the living. Ulrick clasped Sett's face in his hands, the two falling to their knees. Sett smiled, the black muck smudged about his features like a Rorschach. 

"I missed you, too," Sett signed groggily, bringing tears to the corners of Ulrick's eyes.

"Let's sit him down," Ulrick suggested, wiping water away, a streak of the muck lingering on his cheek.

As they began to lift him away, Sett craned his neck up to Diane and gave a weakly signed, “Thank you.”

On the wooden bench sitting outside the trail’s entry point, Jen and Sett were positioned next to each other, asleep, head resting on head; and farther back, inside the trail itself, where the trees loomed tall and close, where they couldn’t be overheard, stood Ulrick and Diane, the wordlessness tangible. 

Crickets chirped listlessly in the background. Fireflies drew unplanned paths through humid night air. The absence of sound, of chatter, of life, meant to swallow them completely, make the unsaid forever unsayable. 

When Diane, after a silent eternity, uttered, looking at no one, “I know what he is.” 

Nothing moved. 

“I heard about him staying underwater for goddamn near an hour back at the resort. I thought... maybe he's just good at holding his breath." Diane gave a short, mirthless laugh, seemingly at herself. "Then, today."

She paused, and after what felt like a long while, finally said, "That tree should've killed him, and we both know it. And that blood. That…” She stopped.

“Whatever it was, it wasn't blood...”

Pointedly looking to Ulrick, who couldn’t bring himself to look back, she said, “You wondered what would happen if we knew. Well, now I know. I know what he is." 

Ulrick said nothing. There was nothing to say, and his silence was all the confirmation she needed. 

"What I want to know is,” she said, tone betraying no particular emotion, “how you did it."

"What?” Ulrick said, looked up in confusion as if he’d heard the words wrong. “How I..."

"How you brought him back. I want to know how."

"It's... it's an ancient art. You don't just do it. You need years of training."

The response took a second of thought, and then, as if it’d been obvious, Diane said, "Then you do it. Bring someone back for me." 

"That's... not a good idea,” Ulrick said.

She blew air from her nose. "Oh, but bringing Sett back. That was a good idea?"

"That was different,” Ulrick retorted too quickly. 

"How?” She was then looking him gravely in the eyes. “How was it different?"

His gaze darted to the busy forest floor. "It... just was." 

"Huh,” said Diane, a sound and a sentiment. As if the conversation had ended there, she turned and straightened her leather jacket. 

"What?"

"Nothing, nothing. Sorry I asked. Don't worry about it." At that, Diane began to make her departure toward the entrance and the parking lot, where only the red and blue cars remained. 

"You…” said Ulrick to her back, unable to will himself to move. “You won't tell anyone about us, will you?"

Diane paused, pretended not to hear him and then continued to exit when, just before she left the small copse of trees forever to return to Jen, unawares, dozing peacefully on the bench, to her life, to her own devices, Ulrick called out.

"Wait," he nearly whispered, and Diane stopped in her tracks, not turning around. His fists balled at his side. "Okay... fine. I'll do it."

"I'll resurrect someone for you."

[prurientpuddlejumper]

A Deep and Rapid River, Ch. 10

<- Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 ->

Summary: It’s your wedding day. Things are... great. 

Thank you @sexy-opium-ravioli​ for helping beta! This is an important chapter, so I hope it scans! 

Everything feels numb. There is a veil draped between you and the world, even before someone—your mother, perhaps—drapes a veil of gossamer over your face. It’s fitting. You sit behind it and pretend you are not there as the world moves you.

Someone fusses with your hair. Someone dresses you in a gown. Someone takes your arm and you are inside a church. Someone puts a plate in front of you, a rich meal of savory meat that tickles your nostrils—the kind of meal you should expect with a wealthy husband (as wealthy as this small village can offer). But you don’t eat.

It’s funny. You had worried about starving if you ran away with your monster, but now you have food and can’t eat anything.

Where was he at this moment? Far away, you suppose. You broke his heart and betrayed him. You’re marrying a man you despise because you were too afraid to go with him. He always did try to push you away whenever his feelings were too raw—to claim you were better off without him—so you know exactly what he did. He left without you, thinking it was what you wanted.

Or maybe he is close—he loves you too fiercely to just leave, doesn’t he? He might be watching the proceedings from some secret hiding place, weeping and raging, unable to do anything to stop it. It’s not as though he could claim you as his rightful wife. He can never show his face to the world without putting himself in danger; he can’t protect you from the realities of life. He can’t undo your choices.

Then again, he had also told you he was afraid of the evil he was capable of in the absence of love. You spurned him, and threw him back into a loveless world, where all he will ever know is rejection and isolation. Seeing you, who had promised yourself to him, start a family with another could be enough to push him over the edge. You had seen flashes of his anger before, his fits of passion. If Ferdinand had gone though such lengths to reclaim you after you left him, and he is a mere mortal, what is the daemon capable of?

He would never hurt you, you’re sure of that. Or you were sure. You never betrayed him before. What if he hates you, and that hate turns into vengeance? If he burns Ferdinand’s house down with you inside, that might be the most satisfactory ending left to you now. It would be favorable to living as Ferdinand’s wife for the next twenty years, unless you could manage to die in childbirth sooner.

Your mind drifts to that deep and rapid river, flooded with icy spring snow-melt, and you wonder how much trouble everyone would have been spared if the creature had never pulled you from its deathly current. At the bottom of that black stream, you imagine the sheer layers of your gown floating gently above your head, surrounded by bubbles, and the veil pulling off your crown and washing away into the turbid dark. A kind of peace settles over you. You think of nothing else for a long time.

 **********

 The organ plays a funeral march as your father drags you down the aisle, and you find yourself, through no will of your own, standing before an altar with vows being read to you and practically no memory of how you came to be there.

You feel sick.

Perhaps if you throw up on your husband’s shoes it will be some small rebellious victory. You feel your face want to smirk at that, instinctively. It’s what your cheeks would normally do. Yet your facial muscles remain slack and lifeless.

A sea of uncaring faces watch with curiosity from the long wooden pews, with a faded red carpet dividing them in two. Neighbors turn to whisper in each other’s ears with a frown or a smirk half-hidden behind a hand. They all came to watch. None of them had spoken to you in years, but they came for the show.

As the priest makes his pronouncements, your mind swirls with a torrent of self-reproaches. Why didn’t you fight while there was still a chance? You could have screamed and struggled until your parents had no choice but to let you go. Until Ferdinand realized you weren’t worth the trouble. You could have tied your sheets together and sneaked out the window before dawn—the storm had stopped by then.

It’s too late, you gutless fool. You can’t make a scene in front of all these people.

“If anyone knows a reason why this couple should not be joined in holy matrimony, let him speak now or forever hold his peace.”

Someone save me, you silently pray, but the large wooden cross looming above the altar seems to be on their side. Your eyes dart across the indifferent faces of the guests, desperately hoping for a savior, but they were only spectators. They know you’re being forced into this, and they’re complicit. Not that you had fought it either.

Not that you had fought it. The realization breaks upon you like an avalanche in spring. How could you expect someone else to save you when you would do nothing to save yourself from this fate? When you turned down your own best chance of escape because you were afraid? Now it was too late. There was no way out anymore.

Your stomach turns, and a sob breaks through the numbness that had swallowed you. Even through the veil, there was no hiding your tears, or your wail of abject sorrow.

The crowd gasps in unison, but not at you. At that same moment, the heavy double doors of the chapel burst open, banging against the walls in an explosion of splinters and a shattering roar: “I object!”

Standing beside you with a clear view down the center of the aisle, your mother makes a sign of the cross over her chest and points into the doorway, now filled by a massive silhouette. “The demon!”

A wave of reaction spreads through the crowd like the churning of a river around a large rock as the witnesses scream and push each other trying to get away from the enraged monster, flooding toward the back of the church and pressing themselves against the far walls.

He stands glowering in the doorway, eight feet tall and filling the entire entrance that he has to stoop to get inside. His arms spread wide from throwing open the doors make him appear even larger—inescapable. Silhouetted in the light streaming behind him from outside, his face is a vicious mask of cruelty and stark shadows.

Your heart stops beating, or races so quickly that you can’t distinguish one beat from the next, and you feel the blood running from your face. He—he came. He’s here. How can he be here? He can’t be here! Not like this. There was a chance you could have introduced him little by little to people you trusted, like Bess, if she hadn’t walked in with such poor timing. She might have understood. But this? He is poisoning himself to them forever. Why? Has he come to rescue you… or to take revenge?

“It is I—the Serpent,” he snarls in a voice that booms and resonates through the arched ceiling. You haven’t heard this voice since the day you encountered him in the forest and he tried to scare you away. “He who reigns among of the Legions of Pandemonium, sprung from the Deep, through the gates of Hell lays claim upon this woman. All the Seraphim of heaven shall not keep me from my prize!” He raises himself to his full height, scattering guests left and right with his sheer enormity and the terror of his presence. Your mouth goes dry as you suddenly become aware of how much he hunches over when he’s with you to make himself less intimidating. You’ve never seen him like his—his teeth bared and his long black hair whipping around him. The gentle creature who milked your cows and waited patiently for you in the dusty hayloft was gone. A cold shiver runs down your spine.

The demon snaps his huge white jaws at the crowd like a feral beast, lashing out at one side of the aisle and the other as he stalks up the faded strip of carpet. Each crashing footfall shakes the whole floor under your feet and sends dust streaming down from the rafters. With each threatening lunge, fresh screams of panic erupt from the congregants still frozen in their seats, and those fleeing toward the rear of the church now creep along the walls toward the front as he moves away from the broken doors. A trickle of congregants risk sneaking out the doors behind him, and when the first brave group manages to run to freedom without the monster whipping about and killing them, more flood out the doors in a turbulent stream of pushing and screaming.

What is he doing? You spent so much time and care hiding him, and now he’s in the middle of the village, exposed in full view, deliberately calling attention to himself. It’s as if everything you strived for together doesn’t even matter. Is he trying to get himself killed? Does he not even care anymore?

“Your God cannot help you now,” he thunders as he approaches the small wedding party at the altar. “I am the Prince of Darkness, the Morning Star, and a curse be upon any soul who stands in my way!” Your mother takes a quick step backward, then drops to the ground with a thud. Your father turns and runs, abandoning her.

No one is trying to stop him. They’re too terrified. You rip off your gossamer veil and look around the church—those who are not mobbing the exits are fainted or quivering in shock.

Everything you strived for doesn’t matter. All that hiding and pretending didn’t work—if you stay on that road, it leads to you marrying Ferdinand and living the rest of your life in a cold fog waiting to die. It’s time to try something different.

This.

All cards on the table. Winner takes all.

He towers over the trembling priest, and pronounces with a warning glare, “I claim this woman for my wife! No mortal shall touch her; no contract under God may bind her—her soul belongs to me!”

His eyes flit down to you and he stutters in his fierce tirade. Your wedding dress is new—a modestly expensive modern gown purchased by the groom to show off his assets. A taffeta robe the color of summer is pulled back to reveal a bright white petticoat underneath, and a neckline plunging almost scandalously low shows off more of your cleavage than he is used to seeing. His pale cheeks redden at your beauty, and for a moment he looks so much like an infatuated school boy it nearly gives away his act. To you it does, at least. At that moment, you’re certain what his intentions are, and the relief at those loving eyes you thought you would never see again makes your vision swim with tears.

He drops to one knee, sweeping his cloak out behind him, and holds a hand out to you. “Take my hand, and be my bride,” he commands in a booming voice, then adds, softly, earnestly, locking his eyes with yours, “If you will have me.”

You smile and cover your mouth, a warm feeling fluttering through your stomach.

You take his hand.

“I knew it,” growls a voice behind you. “I knew I did not imagine you, fiend! And you,” he shoves aside the preacher, still a trembling mass of robes, so he can grab the hand raised to your mouth roughly by the wrist and pull you back toward him. “I knew you were a whore! I’ll teach you to know your place!”

“Let me go!” you scream and try to twist away toward the creature, but Ferdinand holds on with bruising force. You cry out in pain.

The creature roars in outrage and snatches Ferdinand’s wrist just below where it grips yours. There is a sound of snapping bone as his hand goes limp and releases you, and the giant being of immense strength pulls the smaller man’s arm upward until he hangs off the ground like a limp rag doll. You pivot and join the creature at his side, interlacing your fingers with his.

“Her place is where she chooses. No one shall force her hand so long as I will live,” the creature snarls in the boy’s face, gnashing his dripping teeth. “You should have begged to be worthy for her to choose you.”

A slow, unhinged laugh shakes Ferdinand’s dangling form. “Choice?” he cackles, “She would choose to leave me? For this thing?! Then it is fortunate you have no choice, you filthy sow!” He lashes out with his feet, but the creature whips him away, a symphony of popping joints and screams following, until he hangs limp and defeated again.

“Yes, I do,” you growl. “I always have; you just didn’t want me to see it. But I see it now, and you can never have me.”

“Would you like me to rend him limb from limb?”

“No,” you reply coldly. “He isn’t worth the mess.”

“Disgusting wench!” Ferdinand coughs, wriggling impotently like a marionette on the end of a string. He’s at least learned not to kick. “Your defile yourself in the eyes of God!”

“If God wants me to be with the likes of you, then consider me happily defiled,” you sneer. You’re feeling downright brazen now at seeing your oppressors so weak and helpless—how pathetic they really are. You have every right to be with the one you love, with the one who makes you happy. “There is nothing wrong or immoral about what we have.”

Ferdinand’s eyes spark with rage. “So you admit it, then. All along you’ve made a cuckold of me. You were mine! Corrupting devil,” he spits, “She was the perfect woman when I chose her for my own—meek and biddable—there was no competition for her hand due to her social defects, but I could have tamed those peculiarities in short order. Instead you made her stubborn and willful. I will not forgive you for making her your whore, beast!” His free hand reaches into the lining of his waistcoat, and he pulls out a dueling pistol. “This time my aim will be straight for your heart—die, vile adversary!”

You see him raise the gun to the creature’s chest, and you don’t think. You slam your full body weight against his arm, pushing it out to the side as he pulls the trigger. A shower of sparks erupts from the muzzle with a loud bang, and a lead round embeds itself in the chapel wall. Burning black powder makes you cough. The creature grabs the gun from Ferdinand’s hand and crushes the barrel with a single squeeze, then tosses it and Ferdinand away like so much garbage.

Ferdinand crashes into the altar, candles toppling down over him in a heap.

“Bitch! You bitch!” Ferdinand shouts disparaging swears from his position on the floor. It’s more than the impotent rage of defeat. He pulls the second dueling pistol of the set from the other side of his waistcoat—he was paranoid enough to be wed with two loaded weapons strapped to him—more shrewd than paranoid, considering the outcome. He takes aim at you this time.

He had struck the creature while both were sprinting through the undergrowth of the forest—he was a good shot. At only a few meters distance, he is unlikely to miss. The blood freezes in your veins and time seems to stand still as you watch his finger slowly depress the trigger, millimeter by millimeter. This is what you had been terrified of for the past months, why you had so feared discovery. You squeeze the creature’s fingers, still locked in yours, and you smile. You smile like it’s the last time you will ever get the chance to, because you’re afraid to die.

The flint snaps down onto the flashpan and tiny golden sparks spray out from the top of the pistol. The spark reaches the barrel, but carelessly loaded and ill-maintained, the ball does not fire, but the barrel explodes in his hand, sending shrapnel whizzing past your head and setting the cloth of the altar ablaze. He shrieks in agony, dropping the wreckage of the gun from his mangled and bleeding hand.

The creature pulls you to him in a protective embrace as time starts moving again.

“Goodbye, Ferdinand,” you say through your teeth. “If you ever come near me again, I’ll kill you.” Eyes wide with terror and pain, Ferdinand scrambles away from the spreading flames.

You leap into the creature’s arms, a grin spreading from ear to ear as he holds you in a bridal carry. He smiles back triumphantly, chest heaving from adrenaline. You don’t know how this happened, how everything turned upside down so suddenly, but you’re ready now. You already felt the cold jaws of a living death closing around you, and as the fire begins to spread out from the altar, you feel alive again—truly alive, for perhaps the first time in your life.

The growing fire spurs a rapid call to activity—swooning parishioners startle awake at the smell of smoke, and shake their stunned companions out of their trances. The priest, to his credit, kneels beside your mother and lifts her to her feet. She gives one last bleary-eyed look of confusion at you with your bright wedding gown streaming down from the dark-haired monster’s arms before the priest guides her out a side door.

You clasp your arms around the back of the creature’s neck. His smile has faded to a faraway sort of sadness. “I never meant to hurt you, I just… panicked,” you explain quietly. “I was so afraid of dying with you, but I realized just now, there are worse things. When I resigned to marrying him, I kept thinking of the merciful ways my life might be cut short so I wouldn’t have to grow old in his house. I was afraid of living. You make me afraid to die.” He carefully wipes a tear from the corner of your eye with a calloused thumb. “Can you forgive me for being such a coward?”

“Of course I do. I only wanted to give you a choice. You could have renounced me, and then all would know you were innocent. That none of it was your fault. So disrupted, the ceremony would at least be postponed, and if you cast out the demon, perhaps they would not force you into marriage.”

“That… that was really your plan?” You hadn’t considered for a moment the possibility of turning against him.

“I was hoping you would choose me,” he shrugs sheepishly. “What is your choice, my angel? Do you wish to leave with me?” His question is uncertain and soft and familiar now that you’re alone. You lift a hand to his cheek, and he turns his face to nuzzle into your palm.

“I do!”

Your sweet daemon leans his head down and kisses you before the burning altar. As the church begins to fill with the dry smoke of ancient timber, the creature hefts you in his arms, hugging you closer, and carries you down the aisle.

[reapers-carino]

Ife Mi

Five months had passed since that fateful night and each day had felt like blissful paradise and anxious agony. Akande Ogundimu’s face had been plastered on every news station, domestic and international, for a month after his escape. The news speculated over who broke him out, how or if he was involved in the death of the sketchy Venitian businessman Augustin Venturo, and what plans the man had since he had escaped. You, of course, had been interviewed by several different authorities;  the Numbani Police Department, the Nigerian Armed Forces, and even Interpol. Each interview had ended in failure, however. There was no footage that showed the man at your compound of a home, nor was there any evidence, scenting or otherwise, that indicated that the man had even made contact with you in recent months. So after each individual interview, you ended up back at home, patiently waiting for the signal that you would soon be reunited with your mate.

Sighing softly, your eyes darted away from the news reel that scrolled lazily along the bottom of your vanity’s mirror and up to the picture from your mating/marriage ceremony and celebration. That had been one of the happiest days of both of your lives, the smiles stretched across both of your faces so genuine and gleeful. Akande and you were both dressed in rich, bright reds; your crimson gele and iro embroidered with hand-stitched golden flowers and hundreds of shimmering pearlescent beads. Your buba was a golden cream in color, the beading a softer pink in color with a neckline that showed off your collarbones and shoulders. Akande’s sokoto and buba were the same gold-cream color as your own, his agbada and fila a more masculine version of your gele and iro. You were tucked neatly against his side, his arm wrapped tight around your waist as the both of you stared into one another’s eyes as if you were the only two people that existed in the world. It had been a beautiful day, a mere few months after his accident and subsequent prosthesis installation. Your fingers trailed over the picture in the mirror, smiling melancholy before you remembered why you had initially sat down.

The shea and argan creme that you had been untwisting your hair with laid forgotten, half of your hair had been untwisted, the other half still stuck in those two strand twists that you had patiently plaited your hair into the night before. Dipping your fingers in the creme, you began the dance again; zoning out as you made your way through the rest of your hair. Carefully you pushed the twisted curls up using your fingertips, gelling down your edges and smiling contently as you wrapped a scarf around them.

“Wow...que bonito. But god that took forever”

Your eyes went round, grabbing the blaster pistol that was affixed to the underside of your vanity. There was no one in the mirror and no discernible scent in the air that your nose could catch onto. Jumping up, your vanity seat flew back, almost clattering to the ground as you turned, only to have the seat stop inches from the ground.

“What the--”

The chair slowly lifted up from its impossible hovering position before being stood upright once more.  Pointing your gun in the general direction of the chair, your eyes darted left then right and left again, still unable to see who, or what, was in the room with you.

“You should be careful with where you point that thing.”

You barely bit back a snarl as you twisted to see just where in the hell the voice was coming from, confusion wrinkling your brow. It felt like she was mocking you, playing

“Hey calm down, I’m a friend.”

The voice practically purred from right next to her, a scarf appearing from thin air and dropping onto your chair. The scent slammed into you like a wall, knees wobbling briefly as your grip on the pistol weakened before tightening. Sunflower and nutmeg and amber with the delicious tinge of citrus, the scent of an impending rut wrapping so tightly around your senses you thought you might choke. Tears stung traitorously in your eyes as you slowly lowered your pistol, knowing there was no way anyone would have gotten such a strongly scented item from Akande without his permission.

“There you go…”

A woman glimmered to life in front of you; long, dark hair dyed and side shaven, warm brown skin accented by varying shades of purple, blue and indigo. The mischievous smirk that creased her lips gave you pause before she extended her hand to you, long nails--no gloves, perhaps both--gently scratching the back of your hand as you shook her’s.

“Akande sent me to pick you up”, she said nonchalantly, letting your hand go with a flourish of her hand, turning her back on you. “He said he’d come himself buuut, you know. The whole being wanted thing. Nice place you have here…”

“Who are you”, you asked incredulously as she walked around your bedroom as if it was her own, picking up pictures and objects curiously before placing them down and glancing over her shoulder at you once more.

“You can call me Sombra. So...you going to go pack? We don’t have all day.”

You had stood frozen as she galavanted around the room, before shaking your head as she directly spoke to you once more. This was not the time to freeze, it was finally time for you to unite with your mate and to never be separated from him again. You had packed a bag the night of his initial visit, a small one with a few outfits, your necessary toiletries and an encrypted photo album that held images from the decades you had spent together. You slid a few pieces of sentimental jewelry on before grabbing the bag from the closet and quickly snatching up the scarf. A low purr started in your chest, giving the scarf a gentle nuzzle and a quick sniff. Shiver rolling down your spine, you resisted the urge to close your eyes and lose yourself within his aura before your eyes found Sombra’s again. She looked like the cat that had caught the canary as she sauntered over, patting you on the shoulder sympathetically, you thought, before moving past you.

“Aw don’t look so shy”, she teased, the lilt of a barely contained chuckle in her voice. “It has been a while. Maybe you can help the big guy unwind.”

You could feel the flush climb up your cheeks and down into your chest but you refused to cow to this joker of a girl.

“That was the plan”, you hummed softly, following behind the younger woman as she began to walk out of the door, willing the burn of your cheeks to dissipate. “How do you intend to get us out of here unseen? If you hadn’t noticed, his escape has painted a very persistent target on my back.”

“Oh don’t worry about that”,Sombra dismissed, sliding down the banister and jumping off with a flourish of her fingers. This time they glowed, purple lines running from the tips of her nails up her arms and all the way to the weird contraption on her back. “I have a few tricks up my sleeve.”

Brow furrowing, you weren’t exactly sure you followed, but if Akande had entrusted your trip to this woman...then you would trust him.

“Alright”, you answered confidently, quickly making your way down the stairs and stopping behind her. Sombra held up her hand briefly making you stop short before pulling up a purple-tinted holoscreen. Her fingers danced across the screen, your eyes briefly catching sight of what had to be surveillance of your home from several different feeds before everything froze.

“There we go...okay, keep your head low and let’s go.”

Parked outside of your home was a hover vehicle with one of the gaudiest, obnoxiously loud logo for a supposed ‘DF Pizza Service’. The cartoon lion on the front was holding a ‘thumbs up’ with one paw and in the other it held a very gooey and cheesy looking pizza. You couldn’t help but balk, eyes slowly trailing over to Sombra who was climbing in the back of the van. She actually snorted when she saw your disgusted expression before sweeping an arm out and motioning for you to hurry up.

“Oh god you guys have the same expressions”, she snorted, her nose wrinkling up as genuine laughter bubbled from her lips. “Pobrecito...I promise it’s a short ride and then you’ll get to be in your big, strong Alpha’s arms.”

Her tone dripped with sarcasm before she completely moved back into the vehicle. Huffing softly, you reluctantly climbed into the back of the vehicle, praying that this trip was just as quick as Sombra had implied.

Your stomach rolled as Sombra helped you off of the holo-ship, whether from anxiousness or the turbulence the two of you had dealt with the entire ride, you did not know. After the delivery truck, the two of you moved between two different holo-ships before you were finally delivered to what you could only guess was their current home base. There was an unassuming small building directly in front of you, with a large piece of land attached but much too small to hold more than one or two people snugly. There obviously must be more but first you’d get your solid ground footing back.

“Welcome to Talon HQ”, Sombra said as both your feet finally touched solid ground, you actually squeezing both of her hands in appreciation.

She had loosened up during the ride, sharing a few pictures that had been taken over the last few months. Most of them were candid and goofy, meals being eaten together, awkward exercise angles and even a few face masks. She was a peculiar person but you did not know if you would deem her as a bad person.

“Thank you so much”, you said, taking one unsteady step then another, holding on tight to your bag. Your eyes searched the horizon for some kind of sign of Akande before looking at Sombra confused. You knew he wouldn’t miss a chance to greet you, absolutely knew it.

Tipping her head forward, she silently indicated that you should walk towards the building in front of you. Biting back a soft whimper of disappointment, you took several steps forward before it felt like you had walked through a bubble. Stumbling forward you keened as a scent that smelled of home suddenly slammed into you, strong arms wrapping about you to keep you from falling. Tears sprang to your eyes, your heart jumping into your throat as you tilted your head up and locked eyes with Akande, the soft smile on his lips making your heart soar.

“De”, you whined out, dropping the bag in your hand and throwing your arms around his neck. He lifted you up effortlessly, your arms squeezing even tighter around him, a hiccup of an overjoyed sob leaving your mouth. “Oko mi...I have missed you.”

He delicately crushed you to his body, tempering his strength but holding you as closely as humanly allowed. His scent poured over you as he nuzzled into your neck, ears barely hearing the soft words he murmured as he kissed the top of your head and temples and cheeks. Wrapping your legs around his waist you leaned back slightly in his arms, your hands coming up to cup his face to study it and recommit everything to memory. Those gorgeous high cheekbones and rugged jaw, those brown eyes that shone with absolute adoration for you, the lips that kept interrupting your focus by kissing you once then twice then thrice. You pressed your forehead to his, breathing in deeply to quell your tears.

“Ife mi”, he breathed as he placed both hands snuggly under your ass, pushing you up ever so slightly higher. Your eyes looked into his almost shyly, your heart fluttering like it had the first time you had kissed, the first time you had mated, like every time he looked at you. “I have missed you.”

The tears returned, calmer but just as meaningful, pressing one small kiss against his lips then another and another before you absolutely melted into him. Warmth burst in your chest, melting down your body and to your toes, pooling lazily in your core. You had missed the softness of his lips, missed the way he kissed you so tenderly as if he worshiped you with each one. Your thumbs rubbed slow circles against his jawline as you tried to pull him even closer, a harsh shiver rolling down your spine at the quiet growl that began to rumble in his throat. Oh gods how you had missed your Alpha. The hand under your ass began to gently massage at the flesh through your shorts, a muted whine caught in your chest as your legs tightened around him. His scent was intoxicating you, his hands and lips and torso making your body feel like it was slowly being pushed towards the sun.

Your lungs began to burn as they demanded air from you, pulling you reluctantly from the kiss, your eyes peering open as you breathed against his lips.

“Gods I have missed you”, you breathed out, pressing a quick brief kiss to his lips before you heard exaggerated gagging from behind you.

“Dios mio”, Sombra ‘gagged’ from behind, your head twisting to more or less pout at the other woman. Her hand was over her middle, making another exaggerated ‘puking’ potion, purple x’d out skeletons ‘falling from her mouth’. “Get a room!”

Rolling your eyes you couldn’t help the small chuckle that spilled from your lips at the ridiculous show, the soft scoff from Akande not going unnoticed by you. Turning back to him, his lips had tugged down in a slight scowl, inching up as you kissed his cheek.

“The suggestion is not a bad one De”, you murmured near his ear, pulling back with a shrug of your shoulder and a suggestive smile on your lips.

The scent of his incoming rut was near overpowering and while you wanted to talk with the man and learn of what he had been up to when you were apart, the need to lay with your mate was even stronger. He smiled at you, the expression smaller but just as meaningful as he placed a gentle kiss on your forehead before gently letting you down. You purred softly as you reached down and picked up your bag, Akande quickly taking the bag out of your hand and giving a soft admonishing sniff.

“What a gentleman”, Sombra teased with a half snort before beginning to take the lead, walking towards the set of buildings that you had completely missed.

The small, decrepit building had turned into a fairly large, stylish pre-fab of sorts; it looked more like a small apartment building versus any kind of ‘villainous compound’. The outside was a simple white, material you did not know; it stood three stories high, was fairly wide and windowless although you couldn’t tell how far back it stretched. You vaguely wondered if it was Vishkar-made, the sharp corners, clean coloring and material screamed their design. Squeaking softly, you chuckled as Akande tucked you into his side, his left arm wrapping around your waist to pull you close.

“Let’s go.”

You nodded happily, nuzzling into the side of his chest, practically chirping with excitement as he maneuvered you forward. He teasingly swayed with you as you walked, the man’s thumb rubbing small circles into your side, a quiet chuckle leaving your lips at the normalcy of it all the. Sombra led the way, walking backwards for a brief moment before scoffing about the ‘lovebirds’ and turning back around. As soon as the three of you made it to the compound, she held up a hand.

“Hold it”, she said, Akande stopping you from pushing forwards, eyes looking at the both of them in confusion.

Sombra pressed her hand to the wall next to the door frame, hand briefly glowing purple before a holo-screen appearing against the surface before an electronic voice requested biometrics.

“Welcome, please look or press hand  onto the holo-pad.”

“There we go”, she said with a small smile before motioning at you, eyes sparkling with mirth. “Gotta add you into the system so the lasers don’t melt you.”

“Lasers”, you questioned as you took a half step foward, Akande’s hand still on your back, and pressing your left hand into the pad.

You flinched as you felt a small prick against your finger, brow furrowing as you looked back at Akande incredulously, receiving a headshake that said he would explain it to you later. Sombra gave a soft snort as the holo-pad gave a soft affirmative beep before the door slid opened, the small hacker walking through the door and not waiting to see if the two of you would follow behind. Akande’s arm tightened around your hips once more, pushing you through the door and leading you into the compound as the door closed with a soft hiss. For ‘international terrorists’, it looks like they lived very cozily.

The entryway had an open design, the sleek white of the outside giving way to black and white swirled marble flooring, two sets of black floating staircases leading to a second floor and a completely open kitchen. Overall it was very ‘modern’ but it wasn’t without its creature comforts. As Akande led you further in you were able to see the recessed living room area filled to the brim with various pillows and handheld gaming systems and a small table in the center had a basket filled with snacks from all over the world. The kitchen’s stainless steel fridge was covered in various magnets and notes with one ‘reminder-chore’ holo-board affixed to the top. You also noticed three different coffee machines, a tea kettle and a tea press along the counter as well as more instant coffees packets/pouches than you think you had ever seen. It appeared that those were Sombra, the petite hacker making her way to them and riffling through until she found one that fit her taste, smiling contently before she went to grab the tea kettle.

Curiosity tickled at your brain, but your need for privacy with your Alpha was stronger, Akande smiling as your fingers lasted with his as he began to climb the staircase to the right and you followed close behind him. The second floor looked extremely unassuming; a plush black rug running along the entirety of the floor, the only hint that there were rooms being the recessed rectangular biometric locks or handles that stood out against the bright white wall. Turning right, Akande went to the room at the very end of the hall, placing his hand against the door and ushering you in before locking the door behind him. You shivered, immediately blanketed in the scent home, the scent of your mate, your knees shaking as you took several steps further into the room.

The room was deceptively much larger inside than you would have guessed from the outside, rivaling the size of your master bedroom back at home. You smiled at the color scheme of the entire room, the rich golds and cremes and tans accented with pops of crimson and jade and deep mahogany. A bookshelf filled with physical books stood in one corner of the room, a large mahogany wardrobe standing on the opposite side, no doubt full of outfits tailored specifically for the well dressed man. Walking further in, you smiled at the limestone flooring under your feet, no doubt from the same stonemason in Ogun that had laid the floors in your home outside of Numbani.

He even had pictures sprinkled around the room; pictures of his parents and his family, pictures of just you, pictures of your mating-wedding day, pictures of his championship win. His gauntlet sat in a clear case, important but obviously not as much as all of the other imagery he had portrayed in the room. Spinning around, you grinned widely at your husband and mate, the man returning the look as he opened his arms wide. You carefully toed off your sandals before running across the room and launching yourself into his arms, Akande effortlessly lifting you up as you buried your face into his shoulder and breathed his scent in.

Your head spun as you were assaulted by his scent once more, sweet spices and citrus and that beautiful floral amber scent twisting around you, making you moan low in your throat. Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, your hands gently traced up his spine as your lips dotted kisses against his deep umber skin, relishing in the subtle taste that was him. You had missed this, desperately so. Omegas weren’t meant to be separated from their Alphas so long, or at least that is what the romantic tragedies would have you think. They wrote of a gnawing emptiness that would ruin you spiritually, leaving you a husk of what you once were before destroying you physically. That or it could drive an omega literally insane and make an Alpha go feral. Of course those were nothing but old wives tales, old superstitions from a bygone time used to discourage breakups or separations. But with the way you clung to Akande, you had to wonder if there was a sliver of truth in the lie.

Your lips continued their journey, skipping over the tank her wore and kissing from where his neck and shoulder met, licking hungrily over his mating mark and smiling lustfully at the full body shudder that rushed through Akande. His hands tightened on your hips, fingers digging into your ass as he began to massage you gently through your clothes, a low rumble of desire starting in his chest. You chuckled breathily as you pulled away from his neck, littering kisses up his neck to his jaw until you could press your forehead against his. His ochre eyes bore into your own, hunger, desire and unbridled need burning a hole into you and sending fire straight into your core.

Akande growled possessively as he pressed a searing kiss against you lips, a low moan catching in your throat before you responded, your hands cupping the back of his head and pushing him closer. Your back arched as he nibbled lightly at your bottom lip, lightning passing from where you lips touched through your nipples and straight into your slick drenched cunt. His tongue gently lapped at your bottom lip asking for entrance, your lips parting instantly to grant him passage. You whined as your tongues mingled, the taste of his morning coffee still lingering on his tongue, clinging to him as he began to walk you towards the bed. Clawing at the back of his neck your toes curled as he explored every inch of your mouth with his own, stopping only when he dropped you unceremoniously onto the bed. Squeaking softly, you bounced off of the bed, Akande still standing and locking you in place with a smoldering stare. You felt so vulnerable and needy at the same time, your hands teasingly tracing up your body and squeezing gently at your breasts to further tempt the man into taking you.

“Please Alpha…I need you…”

Akande sharply inhaled as he pulled the shirt he was wearing up and over his head quickly, tossing it to the side and climbing onto the bed. The bed dipped as Akande trapped you between his knees, the man straddling you as his hands dove under the high cut tunic top you wore, pushing the fabric up and over your head. He wanted, no, needed to see you. His hands returned to your waist, his eyes locked on the rising and falling of your chest behind the thin material of your cup-less bra, your eyes turning up to gaze up at him docilely. His breathing hitched for a brief second before you turned your head to the left and tilted your head upwards exposing your neck to him once more, a silent plea for your Alpha to take you as his once more.  Akande would not wait for another invitation.

His hands smoothed up your sides and over your breasts, crying out as he rolled both your nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. Your hips rolled, arching off of the bed and towards him, whimpering needily as your hands shakily tried to reach back to unhook your bra. The fighter chuckled huskily his hands dragging away from your breasts briefly and yanking the material apart like it was tissue paper. Akande’s hands removed the torn fabric, cupping both breasts tenderly and dipping his head down, his tongue circling around your nipple and suckling hungrily. Stars danced in your eyes, a whimpering cry escaping from your throat as you grabbed the back of his head and pressed him closer. He dragged himself away from your nipple and to the swell of your breast, pressing hard kisses and nips to your heated skin, nipping at your collarbone and kissing his way up to your mark. Your nails dug deep into his shoulders as his lips crashed against your mark, a broken sob tumbling from your lips as his teeth grazed the spot that tied you to one another.

“Please…”

You cried out as Akande pulled away, tears springing to your eyes as you looked to him in confusion, the ferocity his rut making his eyes practically glow, only tempered by the man’s need for control.

“Not yet beloved”, he sighed softly against your lips, shaking his head and pulling back once more.

Akande, even when your heats or his ruts came to pass, was never one to succumb completely to his baser instincts. Whether the man’s decades of training or his own dedication and patience you did not know but he would do thing his way while satisfying the need that ached inside of both of you. Pulling away from you, Akande sat back on his knees and began to completely disrobe you, easily lifting your body up to pull the bra off and sliding your shorts and underwear off in one smooth movement. Quickly he pulled his own loose shorts and and boxer briefs off, tossing them to the side as he loomed over you. Your mouth watered hungrily as you stared as his twitching cock, the head ruddy and dark, glistening with pre-cum that you just wanted to taste. There would be plenty of time for that later.

You whined as he pulled away from you, your heart thundering in your chest as you suddenly felt abandoned again without your Alpha’s touch. A desperate whine began in your throat, hushed quickly when his nails gently scratched at your outer thighs. Your toes curled slightly, back arching as you pressed into his touch and spread your legs slightly, hoping to lull him in with the pure scent of you. His husky chuckle sent waves of pleasure through your body, your heavy lidded eyes staring hungrily, biting your bottom lip hard as your husband, your Alpha moved closer. Yes, this is all you had wanted, had dream--

“O-Oh…”

The gasp that tumbled from your throat was barely audible as Akande didn’t move his body between your legs but instead laid his full body down, his face hovering directly over your dripping mound. Akande gave you a smirk that you knew only a jackal could match before diving in, your back arching off of the bed. Your mate was relentless, his arms wrapping tight around your thighs; both to keep you from moving and to stop you from snapping your legs closed. A sob was wrested from your throat as his tongue licked the soaked lips of your sex, honey-sweet slick quickly dripping to replace it. He drank from you like a man who had found an oasis in the desert, your body quivering as each lap of his tongue and suck from his lips would tear you apart. He was so warm, the silken heat of his tongue making your stomach twist up tighter and tighter, frenzied and needy whines leaving your throat as your hands came to rest on Akande’s head.

You could practically feel him grin against your sex, relinquishing your thighs, one arm wrapping around your hips to lock you in place while the other hand pressed right below your belly button to stop you from grinding against his face. He was merciful, his hand massaging your mons as he suckled at your clit, sending you over the edge as you pushed him even closer to you. He released your clit quickly before he began to drink hungrily from you, making a show of it as finally pulled back. His lips were covered in your essence as were his chin, Akande licking his lips slowly before wiping your juices from his chin and sucking it from his fingers. He was still not done with you however, sitting fully up and on his knees.

Akande’s hands were searing hot as they grabbed your hips and lifted them off of the bed until they were lined with his shaft, your hands balling into the sheets as anticipation churned in your belly. Bending over your body, he held you with his forearm, his hand dipping between both of your bodies so he could line himself up with your entrance, your toes curling and calves tensing as the head of his cock rubbed up and down before slipping in. Sharply sucking air in, gracious tears burning in your eyes and blurring your vision as he slipped inside of you bit by bit, bottoming out with low grunt. Euphoric nirvana made your vision bleary, legs wrapping needily around Akande’s waist to pull him close as he began to thrust into you, arms lifting to beg him to lean down. You were so full of him, his scent potent and desirous, your mind driven to frenzied longing by how he had set all of your senses aflame.  You needed him closer, needed to feel more of him, taste more of him, love more of him.

Akande obliged you, carefully leaning over so he didn’t slip out, your arms wrapping around his shoulders and moaning as he locked lips with you. Akande caught your cries against his lips as his hips pulled back and slammed back into you, his pace tempered but each thrust as ferocious as the last. Your nails dug into his back, lungs burning and stars dancing in your eyes as you finally broke the kiss, the slight taste of you mixed with him lingering on your tongue, turning your head away and gulping air into your lungs. Akande’s breath tickled the shell of your ear, the man’s head dropping next to your shoulder as his pace picked up, all of your nerves throbbing in tune with your quickening pulse.

“Ìfẹ́ mi…how I have missed you.”

His voice growled deep into your ears, a broken sob tumbling from your lips, your slick drenched walls tightening around him. He kissed your temple, the huskiness of his voice making your entire body tense and fall over the precipice of a small orgasm, twitching and crying out for him as your walls squeezed around him. A low rumble of desire started in his chest as he slowed for a brief second, pulling his hips back for a pregnant moment before slamming in, pulling a lustful scream of his name from your lips. You could feel him smile against your temple as his hips continued to pound into yours, kissing several times before his husky voice began to speak again.

“I have dreamed of hearing your voice everyday”,he purred low into your ears, your entire body shivering at the full body manipulation he was assaulting you with. “I’ve thought of nothing but your body beneath mine since we reunited. I have missed you my omega.”

“Akande”, you sobbed, your voice thick with emotion as tears rolled down your cheeks, a low and needy keen for the man humming in your chest.

The man nuzzled against your cheek until you turned your head and captured your lips again, his thrusts growing slower but grinding even deeper inside of you. Adoration and passion and re-attachment and bonding made your body tingle, the two of you breaking away briefly to pull in a breath before hungrily diving back in. Neither of you dared to close your eyes, immeasurable emotions being communicated through look alone, the pains of years long separations mending bit by bit. Despite popular belief and slander, Akande had always been a man that had been open and free with his emotions, tender-hearted, loving and caring.

His ochre eyes communicated a desperation and happiness that he could never put into words, fear and peace fighting in equal measure. Even without his words, you knew what he was feeling and how even in this most joyous occasion he was hurting because your heart ached identically. The two of you had been torn from one another unceremoniously; his attack on the museum had been planned but it going so awry  without backup was not, a betrayal that hadn’t been forgotten.

Even after his trial and his incarceration, they were not allowed the basic right to visitations that mated pairs were supposed to had, the man treated more harshly due to his acts against Overwatch agents. The world’s sweethearts’ had pulled the cruelest of cards, keeping two living mated partners apart, denying all conjugal visitation or face to face communications. The physiological and psychological needs of mates was something that had been studied time and time again and the mental havoc it wrought on those that  were denied one another ranged from mildly inconveniencing to completely debilitating. The both of you had prevailed fortunately and this is where the healing could get started.

Your hands dragged up from his back, cupping his face tenderly and rubbing at apples of his cheeks slowly, peppering dozens of smaller kisses against his lips. Akande’s eyes implored your own, gently bumping your forehead with his and pulling away to take a pant but never looking away.

“No one will take you from me again”, your breathed out, breath nary above a whisper before placing another peck against his lips. “Never again, Ọlọ́kàn mi. I swear it, Alpha. I will burn the world down to get to you…”

Akande’s eyes widened before they softened and calmed, the pure adoration making your body shiver harder as your heart raced. His hips picked up pace but he did not lift himself from you, him needing to feel you as much as you needed to feel him, his forearms bracing himself  right above your curls. His lips crashed into yours, the desperation replaced by loving gratitude, your hands returning to around his neck as his hips began to crash into yours. He quickly devoured every desirous sound that left your lips, his own low, breathy moans mixing with yours. Pointing your toes, you locked your legs around his waist even tighter, whining as you pulled him deeper inside of you. You were drowning in him, so close to plunging  into all that he had to give you, your body shuddering as you tightened around him. The man responded with a low grunt against your ear, your fingers splayed, feeling the muscles in his back begin to tense, his brow furrowing against your own as he drew in shaky breaths. Dragging your nails up his back you rested your fingers gently on the back of his neck as you turned your head and presented your mark to him your tongue darting out to barely reach his.

“Mo nifẹ ẹ”,you breathed out as your fingers curled gently on the back of his neck, inhaling sharply as you felt his lips graze your mark. His thrusts grew even more disjointed but stronger as he lost himself in you, you both absolutely intoxicated with the scent of the other, your love drunk words tumbling from your lips like a prayer. “Mo nifẹ ẹ, mo nifẹ ẹ, mo nifẹ ẹ. I love you Akande…ngh!”

The two of you fell apart in each others arms all at once, Akande biting into your mark as tenderly as he could when your walls contracted around him. Your arms wrapped tight around his shoulders, grounding yourself in his touch as the molten heat of his seed coated your walls, the man’s shoulders and traps tight as he tried not to drop all his weight on you, his hips still grinding against your oversensitive mound. Your entangled scents had completely filled the room; sunflowers and irises like the garden back home, sweet allspice and coconut and citrus wrapped with heady scents of amber and myrrh. Your head was swimming as he finally relinquished your shoulder, tongue gently lapping at the lazily bleeding wound as his knot began to swell inside of you, the man’s full lips kissing the side of your neck and your cheek briefly.

“Hold on”, he breathed against cheek, your body shivering as you gave a brief nod, legs and arms wrapping tighter around him as Akande grunted and flipped over. His knot didn’t budge as you cuddled into his chest, one of Akande’s hands resting on your lower back while the other gently moved to your hair, lightly pulling at the curls that had been flattened during all of the fun. “I love you, awẹ́lẹ́wà mi.”

You nuzzled closer into his chest, your energy absolutely spent but your soul feeling whole for the first time in years. The gods had brought you back to the love of your life, to your one in a billion connection and for that you would be eternally grateful, your mind absolutely positive Akande felt the same. His hands massaged slow circles up and down your spine as he continued to gently and carefully detangle your hair, your face nuzzling closer as sincere peace and love blanketed the both of you. You knew you would never let him go again, knowing he was meant to be in your arms and he in yours.

[alexboehm55144]

Alex Final Wars 2: Dark Alex, Chapter 26 - Respite

Haida and Retsuko were on shore leave, holding paws and taking a stroll down one of the many coastal paths in Zootopia. The reminders of the war were still on their minds, the thoughts of a spy network in the city, and the fact that the wreckage of Chinese and American ships sat just off the coast.

But these thoughts were secondary, the pair were just having fun together, enjoying some ice cream they had bought from a shop.

Retsuko had gotten ice cream with liquor in it, saying she needed it to relieve some stress and unwind.

Haida had gotten coffee-flavored ice cream, and his red panda girlfriend chuckled when the hyena ordered it, citing that his favorite drink was canned coffee.

“What would you like to do?” Retsuko asked, “when this is all over?”

“Well, I think I’ll keep my current job. I assume we are still needed.”

“I agree. It’s the best job I’ve ever had. Of course in my last job, I met you.”

Haida blushes a bit & scratched the back of his head, which was something he did when embarrassed.

The pair found a bench to sit on and stared out at the harbor. Sea birds flew overhead and hunted fish in the water. Engineering crews worked on the wreckage of ships and aircraft in the bay, planning to tow them out to sea to become artificial reefs.

“What else?” Retsuko asked, “I know it might be hard to think about your whole life.”

The hyena was quiet for a moment, prompting Retsuko to speak.

“Don’t feel like you have to answer.”

The hyena’s mind raced. He didn’t know much about what he wanted to do in the far future of his life.

“Well... I don't know everything I'm going to do in my life....”

The hyena struggled with his words, but seeing the beautiful red panda in front of him, he was able to find what he wanted to say.

“....but I do know that I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

A slight gasp escaped Retsuko's lips, as Haida took Retsuko's paw in his own. It felt cold and slightly wet, as she had been holding the ice cream in that hand. But the hyena didn't care, he enjoyed the red panda's touch.

Retsuko looked at Haida's hand and thought to herself. She loved him, and every time the pair was together she was enjoying herself. If the hyena wanted to spend their lives together, then that meant every day of her life would be enjoyable and happy.

“I’d also like to spend the rest of my life with you.”

The red panda stood up on the bench to get closer to the hyena and gently put a kiss on his lips.

Haida blushed and was stunned for a moment. However, he had gotten more comfortable around Retsuko, & was able to regain his composure quickly.

“Come on, let’s go find a karaoke bar around here.”

The red panda smiled, her hyena knew what she liked.

000

ZIA HQ had been targeted by the Chinese during the first invasion, but since then it had been repaired. Bullet holes in concrete had been filled, and shattered glass panes had been replaced. Some ZIA personnel had gotten killed during both assaults on the city, but the agency had since been supplemented with recruits.

Jack and Skye were currently in their shared office, a rabbit & foxed size room with a window that faced out onto a stone pathway outside the building. 2 desks with computers were set up, along with some file cabinets and a few other random bits of furniture. On the wall sat a large conspiracy board with pictures, maps, and sticky notes. It did include the Dark Heroes, and information on the Chinese.

Skye was just returning from a lion run fast food restaurant named burger pride, while Jack had stayed in the office and worked on some things

“How was your training session earlier?” Skye asked, setting a brown paper bag & a drink down on her mate’s desk.

“It was good, although it would have been more fun if you were there.” Jack flirted.

“Ha! Although your accuracy would suffer since you’d just be staring at me all the time. I know you do that.”

“Is it that obvious?!”

Skye laughed, and opened the bag on her desk, taking out a burger covered in aluminum foil, and unwrapping it to reveal the delicious meal. Jack did the same, quickly biting into the burger.

“Is this plant-based?” The rabbit asked, seeing that the wrapping foil had a small green sticker with a plant on it.

Skye nodded.

“The menu said it was a plant-based substitute, perfect for prey creatures.” The fox paused to take another bite of her burger and chew. “Mine is real meat.”

She pointed to a small red sticker that showed an icon of a steak. The burger was made from unevolved cows and provided all the proteins that a carnivore needed in their diet.

Jack took a sip of the Pawpsi cola in his cup, & pondered what the real meat burger tasted like. He stood up from his desk and went over to Skye.

“Let me take a bite of yours.”

“What?”

“I want to see what yours tastes like.”

“Go away,” Skye said playfully, holding her burger up & out of reach.

But Jack just hopped up and swiped the food out of her paw before taking a large bite.

“Mmm... can’t taste the difference. The plant substitute is a very close approximation.”

“Well if you get to taste mine, then I get to taste yours.”

She plucked Jack’s burger from his paw and bit into it.

“Yeah your right, I can’t even tell it’s plant-based.”

“I still want it back.”

The pair playfully tried to reclaim their food from each other, eventually succeeding and laughing at their immaturity.

“I love you,” Skye said with a full mouth.

Her bunny responded, his mouth also full.

“I love you too.”

000

“We’re getting some weird looks,” Eris said, her and Laval walking down a street, through the meadowlands area of Zootopia.

“Toothdee told me this area was mostly inhabited by prey animals. I guess that could explain the weird looks.”

“Or they’ve just never seen an evolved eagle before,” Eris said.

“I don’t know, I’m getting some stares too.”

The pair had wanted to get out and explore more of Zootopia, and toothdee had recommended the meadowlands to them as somewhere to visit. Their current location was comprised of small stone buildings that were overgrown with plants. Not a result of neglect, but instead just attempts to incorporate civilization with nature. Prey animals such as goats walked the streets. While most were too busy to care about Laval and Eris, others found it appropriate to give them weird glances. Fortunately, the 2 would not have to be the subject of awkward looks for much longer, as they left the street and turned onto a trail through a grove of trees. The ground turned from pavement to dirt, and the leaves stretched overhead.

“You notice how lions here have a different style of mane than those in Chima?” Eris said.

“I have, I wonder if it’s a cultural thing or something. Just a different style of mane wearing.”

“Don’t forget Kion wears his in a mohawk.”

“Oh yeah, true. The lions here remind me of my dad. Maybe because his mane is kinda similar to theirs, in that it has more hair.”

Laval paused and then spoke again.

“I wonder what my dad is doing in Chima right now. I miss him.”

Seeing that Laval was feeling a bit sad, Eris reached down and gripped Laval’s hand with her own, making the lion brush a bit and causing a slight smile to cross his face.

“He’s proud of you.” The eagle said. “Think of all you’ve done for Chima and the world.”

There was another pause as Laval thought for a moment, and the smile stayed on his face.

“Thank you.”

The pair reached a large hill, next to a stone cliff, with a view looking out on rolling fields of grass and rivers that stretched as far as the eye could see. The sky was darkened by clouds from an approaching storm, and the wind blew through the grass, causing patterns that looked like waves.

Laval took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the fresh and damp air. Eris stretched her wings, took a running start, and took into the sky. She soared high above the grass and rivers, gazing at the magnificence of nature. The eagle dove down and flew low above the river, looking at her reflection on the water. She reached her hand into the river and created a trail of water as she continued to fly along.

“I wish I had wings,” Laval said to himself, watching Eris dance across the sky.

The eagle soon returned after a few moments, landing next to her lion.

“Do you have to show off, wing girl?” Laval asked playfully.

The pair sat together, looking out at the rolling grass hills, the wavy rivers, and the turbulent sky. It wasn’t sunny or particularly colorful but was pretty in its own way.

“Ok, what’s a prettier view?” Eris asked “this or the view from Spiral mountain.”

“Hmmm... Spiral mountain,” Laval answered. “Of course, nothing is as pretty as you.”

The eagle blushed and covered her face with a wing.

“Do you miss home?” The lion asked, still thinking about his father.

“Yes, I do. But we’ve left our home behind before, to do some good somewhere else.”

“True, plus we have some of the best of friends with us, and plenty of battles to test our skills.”

“See, things aren’t so bad.”

There was a loud clap of thunder, causing both Laval and Eris to look up to the dark skies above.

Raindrops began to pelt down, making the pair groan as the raindrops started to hit. Eris brought her wings up as shields to cover the pair, protecting them from being drenched.

“Let’s get out of here,” Eris said, and the two retreated to the safety of a dry area.

000

“Sure, I got 4 tickets to the Gazelle concert tonight,” Nick said. “What’s it to you?”

He and JayJay were currently alone in a hallway on the typhoon, & Nick had 4 tickets sticking out of his back pocket.

“I want 2 of them,” JayJay said

“Why?” “I want to have a good time with Alex. That’s all you need to know.”

“I don’t know if a concert is his thing, he’s a real introvert.”

The wolf groaned and shook her head.

“Just, name your price for 2 tickets.”

“Well, do you have anything you think I could use?”

A smirk crossed JayJay’s face. She excused herself and told Nick to wait, before leaving him in the hallway. A few minutes later she returned with 2 quivers, one in each hand, each filled with arrows. The wolf proudly held them up, a smile on her muzzle.

“I already have one of those,” Nick said

JayJay rolled her eyes and tilted the quivers so Nick could see the projectiles inside. He took an arrow out of one of them & examined it. At the head, the arrow didn’t widen before tapering to a point. The diameter of the shaft tapered to a point that looked like the head of a bullet.

“Bullet point arrows,” Nick said. “Impressive.”

JayJay nodded towards the other quiver, and the fox put the bullet point arrow back in its quiver & turned to the second one. Removing an arrow from this quiver, he saw that it had a very wide head that was jagged, and designed to inflict as much damage as possible. The arrow itself was also finely crafted, and extremely sharp.

“Death arrows,” Nick said, examining the object. “Expensive, but very finely made.”

“You can have one quiver.” JayJay said, “in return for 2 of those gazelle tickets.”

The fox rubbed his chin & thought for a moment.

“Death arrows”

Nick reached into his back pocket and produced 2 of the tickets. He passed them to JayJay, took the quiver of death arrows, and slung it over his shoulder.

“Front row, Judy and I will be there as well.”

The wolf looked at the tickets to make sure they were genuine, before thanking her ally & walking away. She was giddy with joy and practically jumped in the air as she went down the hallway.

“A pleasure doing business with you.” The fox said, looking at the quiver of death arrows.

JayJay immediately searched for her mate and discovered him in Toothdee’s cabin, the two were playing some game on their computers.

The wolf knocked on the wall, alerting the 2 to her presence.

“Alex, could I see you for a moment.”

The Heroes captain joined the wolf outside in the hall, noting that JayJay had a large smile on her face & was radiating excitement.

“What is it?”

“I have 2 tickets for the gazelle concert tonight, and I was wondering if you’d like to go with me.”

“I don’t know, large crowds aren’t my thing.”

“Please, I’d like to do something special with you, and I’ve told you how much I love dancing.” The Heroes leader thought for a moment, looking at JayJay’s face. She was smiling widely and her eyes were bright. The captain sighed and gave in, he couldn’t resist that adorable look of excitement.

“Ok, fine. If it would make you happy.”

“Yes!” JayJay said, pumping her fist in the air, before giving the human the ticket. “Ok, it’s in a couple of hours, come get me an hour before the show.”

“Will do,” Alex said, looking over the ticket, and returning to Toothdee.

000

A few hours later, it was not Alex who went and got JayJay, but rather JayJay who went and got Alex. She was very excited, and couldn’t wait any longer.

The pair caught a train to the stadium where Gazelle was singing and made small talk as they navigated through the crowd of mammals headed into the building. Out of either affection or not wanting to get separated, the Heroes captain took his mate’s paw in his hand. The female wolf smiled and leaned against the human’s shoulder. As the pair made their way into the stadium, they heard a familiar sound from behind them.

“Well, look who it is.”

Alex and JayJay turned to see Nick and Judy, walking up in the line behind them. The 2 had arms around each other, and both were dressed in casual, light fitting clothes. Even Nick, who usually only wore Hawaiian shirts.

“Alex? Didn’t think you’d be here,” Judy said.

“Well, someone wanted to do something special and fun with me.”

JayJay smiled happily at the comment.

“Aww, is it ok if we join you?”

“By all means.”

The 2 pairs merged into 1 group, but both couples still held onto each other as they continued to walk.

“Thank you for doing this.” Captain Boehm said, turning to the wolf on his shoulder.

“It’s my pleasure,” JayJay responded.

“Say, where did you get the tickets?”

JayJay pointed to Nick, who smiled slyly and played it cool.

“Ah, there we go. That explains everything.”

The arena was circular, with a circular platform at the center that the performer stood on. The platform was surrounded by water, both as a decorative measure, and a security measure. On the walls of the arena were dozens of small open windows, either so people inside could see out, or just part of an interesting design.

The group of four mammals found their spaces, which were in a pit, slightly below the platform where the performer stood. There were many other mammals all around them, but the spots were premium seating, or rather, standing.

After a few minutes, the arena darkened, and everyone grew silent. Water fountains activated, and lights turned on, as the figure of a female Gazelle in a glittering red dress came on stage, lifted onto the central platform by a small elevator in the stage.

“Hello, Zootopia!”

The crowd erupted into cheers, as the pop star began her first song.

Soon the melody picked up, and the 4 young heroes started to happily dance along. Dancing was much like combat, a beautiful display of movement and actions, perfectly in sync.

Just like when they were walking into the building, Judy and Nick danced together, while JayJay and Alex did the same.

The blue wolf was totally in her element, spinning and moving rapidly. The color and speed impressing her 3 companions.

Judy also pushed Nick along, silently prompting him to dance. The fox obliged and smiled slyly whenever he was encouraged to dance.

The 2 boys were not really as into the dancing at the girls, but they were still having fun, which was the most important thing.

All of a sudden, the lovely sound of the music was overpowered by a much louder noise, one that was like gas and sound moving extremely fast. Even Gazelle stopped singing and looked up to the top of the stadium, to see a large ball of fire engulfing part of the arena.

000000000

Sorry it took a while to get this chapter out. Blame my college work. Though I hope everyone still enjoys reading this!

[mechloe-blog-da]

A short extract from a novel in progress. (I apologise for the grammar)

2020, Harrogate, England

“Hey, look what I found”

My peaceful sunbathing is interrupted by a shadow blocking the warm sun from my face. I opened my eyes to find my brother Archie standing over me with something tightly gripped in his fist.

“I found it in the pond. It looks expensive, I think it’s real gold”

He then started dangling a pocket watch over my head, the sun reflecting off the shiny trinket and straight into my eyes.

I let out a frustrated groan and sat up on my elbows, the prickly grass scratching my arms.

On a hot Saturday morning, Archie and I decided to sunbathe in the garden behind our house. Archie got bored after 5 minutes and decided to swim in the pond planted in the middle of the garden. That pond was commissioned by my dad for my mother when they first moved in to this house. He thought the huge back garden needed something to fill up the space.

I suggested that it was a bad idea but my brother has never been a person to follow wise suggestions or use his brain.

“Is it seriously not possible to have just 5 minutes to myself ”

I snatched the watch from his hand and tossed it back into the water. Not interested in knowing what his reaction is, I hauled myself up from the ground and retreated into the house.

It felt good to walk into the air-conditioned house, away from the scolding heat of the sun. My family is lucky enough to afford air conditioning, or should I say rich enough. Finding a house in England with air conditioning is extremely hard to come by, especially since the UK is not known for it’s hot weather.

I found my mother sitting on the breakfast bar in the middle of the kitchen. Her hand wrapped around a cup of tea and a newspaper is in the other hand. Her hair is a light blonde with loose curls, much like my hair except mine is natural and her curls are the result of heated rollers.

I study her face and notice the dark bags under her eyes that are being ineffectively hidden by concealer.

I sat myself on the bar stool beside her.

“Are you still working late? You shouldn’t do that. You need your sleep” I said.

She looked up from her newspaper and gave me a jaded smile.

“You’re the one who needs sleep. Studying medicine is not easy. And it’s not going to get any easier if you’re tired all the time”

I want to tell her that her health is much more important to me than my medical degree, but I decide to let her have her ‘good parenting moment’ since she rarely gets to have one those. Both my parents work at their own company office most of the week so spending time with us is a privilege they only get on the weekends. They do respectable work as lawyers for a firm, but the larger part of their wealth derive from their rich forebears. It is tradition to entrust that money to the next offspring in the family.

“I’m not tired, I’m fine.” I said.

She chuckled softly and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

“It’s so endearing that you care about me but trust me when I say I’m completely fine. Making sure you pass your exams are my top priority. Speaking of which, how well are you doing?”

“Well, you were not wrong about how difficult it is. I always thought it would come natural to me since I’ve been obsessed with biology and the human body for most of my life, but I’m not too sure about it anymore.” A tired sigh escaped my mouth as I close my eyes and rest my head on my palm. I feel my mothers soft hand gently stroke my forearm.

“You are the smartest women I know honey. Everybody knows you will pass those exams marvellously. I’m sure you have nothing to worry about.”

I can feel a small lump form in my throat as she speaks. The praise my mother is giving me should make me feel grateful ,but it only me makes me nervous. As of now, everyone I know assumes I will do extremely well and eventually become a doctor. My expectations are not so guaranteed.

“Hey mum, look what I found!” My mum and I both turn our to the sliding door that leads to the back garden. Archie is standing in the kitchen. His hair and clothes are dripping wet causing a shallow puddle of water to form around his feet.

“What the hell have you been doing!” Mum springs into action immediately.

“Cathy, come here quickly!” She calls to Cathy our housekeeper. She is a stout old woman with streaks of grey in her brown, lifeless hair. She almost looks lifeless with her hollow, tired eyes but that doesn’t mean that she is not always at the ready to clean up any little spill we make.

She comes scuttling in from seemingly nowhere with a mop in her hand and elbows Archie out of the way.

“I had to jump in the pond because someone had thrown my watch in there” Archie said.

“You jumped in that pond for a stupid watch? How injudicious of you.” I spat back at him and crossed my arms over my chest.

“Injudicious? Who are you trying to impress with those “big words” This isn’t one of your fancy college classes you know. There isn’t any professors here to grade you.” He glared at me but there was a look of amusement in his eyes.

“Can both of you take your petty argument somewhere else please. Cathy has enough to deal with already.”

I let out a barely audible scoff and marched out the kitchen. Archie followed close behind, almost tripping on my heel. He followed me all the way to my bedroom until we got to the door.

“Don’t you have anything better to do than follow me around all day?”

“What can be more fun than annoying you?” He winks and I shove his shoulder.

Archie is such a facetious person and because of that, I can never stay angry for long. A brother and sister relationship is often thought of as turbulent and emotional, however, our relationship is more stable and joyful than anything. Once and a while we have our petty arguments only to forgive and forget rather quickly.

“Can I show you my watch now or are you just going to throw it away again?” He said, dangling the watch in front of my face.

“What’s so great about an old watch?”

“Are you serious? It could be an old family heirloom or something.” He replied enthusiastically.

“What would an old family heirloom be doing in the bottom of that pond? Dad hired someone to build that just before we were born. Surely if it was that important, they wouldn’t of just thrown it in there.”

“Ok maybe it’s not an heirloom ,but it must have been thrown in there for a reason. Would you please just have a look at it” He said.

I sighed and took the watch from his hand.

The golden pocket watch glittered as I held it in lamplight. Its aluminium hands were frozen in place, pointing at half past twelve. I flipped it over and saw a name was engraved in cursive writing.

S.M.Parker

“There’s a name engraved on the back” I turned to Archie and placed the watch in his hand.

“S.M.Parker? I’ve never heard of that name.” He said and I hummed in agreement.

“Me neither. It must a relative or an ancestor.”

I took the watch from his hand and inspected it again. There was nothing else out of ordinary about it but for some reason, I was determined to find something. I searched through the names I knew in my head but S.M.Parker didn’t ring any bells.

“We should go to bed, we will ask mum about it in the morning” said Archie as he started towards the door and headed back to his bedroom. I watched him leave and placed the watch onto my bedside table. Grabbing the book that was also on the table, I plopped down on the bed and opened it. It was my one favourite books I always read before bed: Wuthering heights. You must think it’s very strange for 19 year old girl to be slightly obsessed with everything to do with the 19th century, however my interests have never been considered normal.

The history, fashion and politics were also very interesting in my opinion.

A lot of people, especially my brother, find the way I talk very amusing. The students, who I go to college with, also tend to snicker and ridicule me when they hear my voice.

Reading two books a month has extended my vocabulary and improved my knowledge tremendously well. Even though I feel quite proud of my intelligence, I can’t help but feel somewhat dejected and withdrawn.

After five or so minutes of reading, I began to nod off. I closed my book and settled it in its original place on my bedside table. I admired the gold pocket watch next to my book as I proceeded to rest my head on my pillow.

When my eyes began to feel heavy, I continued to stare at the watch as I imagined what it would be like to live in 1865.

The peaceful silence in the bedroom did not last for long. A low humming sound started to emanate from the pocket watch. As the sound increases, the watch begins to jolt and tremor violently. Suddenly, a glaring white light emits and fills the room.

My pleasant sleep was rudely interrupted by a tedious tugging at my hair. My hands tried to bat away the obtrusive attacker. I continued to thrash my hands around aimlessly, until my nose picks up a very putrid scent that smelt specifically like cow dung. I wonder, what would a horrific smell like that be doing in my typically pleasant smelling room? My eyes flutter as they adjust to the light. Wait a minute, it’s light already? It feels like I barely slept 5 minutes. My eyes spring open and I sit up with a jolt. My head spins from the sudden movement and I attempt to take in my surroundings. I’m sitting in, what looks like a grass field dotted with cows, harmoniously chewing grass. My brain struggled to process what was going on. Only a few seconds ago I was asleep in my room, now I’m in a field I am completely unfamiliar with. What the hell happened?

“Lizzie, Your breakfast is ready! What are you doing in that grass you silly-“ A voice called from behind the girl, followed by a loud gasp. My eyes peered over the girls shoulder and saw a stout old women with her grey hair wrapped up in a white bonnet. She was wearing a filthy kitchen apron and a grey woollen dress.

Her shocked expression quickly turned into anger as she darted towards the girl, seized her elbow and pulled her up quite aggressively.

“You are trespassing on private land! So I suggest you sling your hook before I have the coppers ‘round here”

I senselessly gawked at the old woman as my brain attempted to make sense of this absurd situation. Why is the old women shouting at me? Why do I not recognise this place? Where the fuck is my brother? As if on cue I heard a slurred voice that sounded very much like Archie.

“Hey lady, can you shut the fuck up, I’m trying to sleep!”

I turned my head to search in the direction the voice came from. My eyes landed on my brother lying in the grass behind me. His legs are curled up to his chest and his eyes were half closed.

Before I could react, the old woman marched over to Archie with her walking stick in her hand and started beating his head with it.

“You better give me a good reason you two scroungers are sleeping on my lawn before the bobbies get here! Do you understand boy?” She continues to beat him as Archie howls and attempts to fan the stick away.

The sound of my brother wailing causes my protective sister instincts to kick in and I quickly rush to my feet.

“Hey, get away from my brother you old bat. What makes you think you have the right to beat him like that. We have no idea how we got here either and hitting us isn’t going to help.”

Her cane freezes in mid-air and she turns to look at me.

“You don’t know how you got here? Are you simple?” She asks.

“No of course I’m not simple. I’m just as confused as you are. One minute we were sleeping in bed and the next we wake up in this field with no memory of how we got here. And speaking of which, where is here?”

She sighs and lowers her cane before walking towards the little girl who I’d forgotten was stood there. Archie scoffs and hauls himself up from the ground while rubbing the spot on his head previously assaulted with the cane.

“Why the hell was that old woman hitting me with a stick? And why does she look like a extra on ‘Little house on the prairie’? Where the fuck are we?”

“You are in a place I call my home so you better watch your tongue, boy...You are in Hereford.” She said.

“Hereford? But, we live in Harrogate.” I racked my brain trying to find a plausible explanation as to why we are so far away from home, and why I don’t remember anything. There is no possible way we could have walked all the way to Hereford. Maybe we were kidnapped in the night or maybe we were sleeping walking and got on a bus or train. Archie and I were both sleepwalking last night? No. Absolutely not. That makes no sense. Mum would have woken us up or noticed we were gone.

“Archie, what about mum? Surely she is worried sick by now. We need to call her and tell her we are all right. Do you have a mobile?” I turned to the old woman who is still standing there looking very disgruntled.

“A mobile? Never heard of it.” She replied, her brows furrowing.

“Oh, come on. Surely you’re not that old. You must have a mobile or at least a landline.” Archie said still rubbing his head and dusting the grass off his trousers.

“Did you two knock your heads or something? You’re talking nonsense. Since you two seem quite disoriented, why don’t we walk over to my house and sit down. I’ll put the kettle on the stove and we’ll talk over a cuppa tea.

(If you found any grammar mistakes please reply and let me know)

[stardancerluv]

Wild Spirit of Chicago

Part 4

Summary: You escape a horrible marriage in Chicago. All you want now is some peace. But Charlie & Eli Sisters are after you. What will happen when you meet up.

Warning: Unfulfilled desires

You packed a few things to make your stay for the fair comfortable. This would be nice, this year you knew alot more people. Sure, you expected others to still be curious about you but it wouldn’t be as crazy as last time.

It would also be nice to finally have someone other than Turnip to talk to.

Looking in the small mirror, you were happy with how your hair had ended up looking, the interweaving with the ribbon made it look especially good. This would be a treat to look nice. You so rarely did that these days.

*****

When you arrived in town, you happily stabled Turnip, it was midday and the weather was pleasant. Not too hot and sky was clear.

You were warmly welcome by the owner of the hotel and salon. “It is good to have you stay with us, George has said nothing but kind words.”

You smiled, “I have been looking forward to it.”

Soon, he walked you up to your room. It was small but very comfy looking.

“Thank you so much.”If you are in need of anything please ask me or my wife.”“I will remember that.”

Sighing, you closed the door and put what you brought on the bed. You took off the leather gloves you wore for riding the slipped on your lacy ones. In the end, you ate glad you didn’t bring a bustle, would have been too much of a bother.

Leaving, your room you went out to explore the fair. You chose to leave put the back away, was closer to the tents that had been set up.

*****

Holding his hat as he looked up, Charlie smiled broadly. “This is quite nice.” As he and Eli walked in the main entrance.

Charlie, had mellowed as the day rolled put and the throbbing in his head stopped.

He went over to the man who appeared to be the owner. “Hello sir, we are the Sisters Brothers and we would like two rooms.”

“You are in luck, we have only three rooms left. We filled up on accounting for the fair.”

Charlie, nodded. “That is why we’re here. A hood man, from a day’s ride told us about it and we decided to come and enjoy ourselves.”

“That is great, right this way.” The man began to lead them to their rooms.

“Sir, we have traveled quite a bit. I don’t want to be too offensive especially if there are some ladies, can I have a bath brought up?”

“Certainly, are you in need of soap?”

“I have some.”

“I will have it brought up shortly.”

“Thank you.”

Eli, rolled his eyes. Charlie nudged him. “After this scoundrel is done with his, I would like one as well.”

“I will let them know.”

Charlie, “See you out there brother.” The he closed the door to his room.

He dropped his saddle bags beside his bed before laying down on it, the springs creaked. He rubbed his face as he laid there. This would be a nice change of pace, he mused.

Sitting up he pulled off his boots and socks. He couldn’t stop himself as the smell hit his nose. Was a good idea that he was taking a bath. A knock came shortly afterward.

Smiling, he went and opened the door. “Great timing, thank you.” He stepped aside. “Please bring it right in here.”

The short woman, nodded. “We try to keep everyone happy.”

“Always a good thing.” He reached into his pocket. “Here.” He handed her a few silver since they were so prompt. “Thank you, sir.”

Charlie, then locked the door and happily stripped down. He got his soap on out his saddle bag, the brush and with a sigh sat down. “Now this is damn good.” He sat for a bit, enjoying how it felt.

After soaping up the brush, he began to scrub. His pale, clean skin came to the surface from the dust and much he had been over the last three weeks. He soaped up his face and hair next. It was not long before the water was no longer crystal clear. He washed his privates last. He was forever grateful that older gentlemen that they had met going on three years ago had told him about the talc powder to keep things from chaffing and getting sour down there. Before every few months he would break out on riding rashes which felt like they would last forever.

Getting up, he did one foot the other. He felt good to feel clean again. He grabbed the rough cloth he’d use as a towel and dried himself off. The quicker soaped and rinsed out the socks he had just worn along with some under pants. He still had some fresh so he put those on first.

He looked at his clothes, he wanted to look good. Only three outfits, perhaps he’d buy another soon, he had enough money. He put on an undershirt and then put on his black pants then his dark scarlet shirt. With the fresh socks on he finally pulled on his boots which he dusted off a bit. He stretched, letting out a low growl of relaxation.

He slipped a pouch of coin in his back-pocket and headed downstairs. “I am done with my bath.”

“Very good, sir. I will send it along to your brother.” He paused. “Did you want a drink before heading to the fair?”

Charlie, shrugged. “We also prepare warm food here.” “Oh?” @We have some meat, potatoes and vegetables, freshly baked bread and eggs.”“Is there food in the fair?”“Some.”“I will take some whiskey and some bread. Is there butter?”“Of course.”“I’ll have some butter with the bread.”“Right away.”

Charlie, sighed and took a seat at a table. He’d taken in drinks later, this was such to stave off some of his hunger. He happily gobbled down the bread and butter. He was just crusty enough. Feeling content, he got up leaving some silver and wandered out.

*****

You sat in a corner, where someone was playing a fiddle. You chatted with two ladies. They had been hinting in not so subtle terms that it would be seemly that perhaps you should get to know the new banker. He was young and unmarried like yourself. You had inwardly rolled your eyes before you had told them there were more tents you had wanted to look in.

So excusing yourself, on you went. You ducked in to one of them but immediately ducked out when smell of leathering assaulted your nose, you bumped into someone. Turning, looking down embarrassed, you shyly looked up excusing yourself. “I am terribly sorry.” Your voice trailed off as you saw who you bumped into. He was tall, hair black as night and eyes like turbulent water. Your heart skipped a beat as you watched his mouth crooked up at one side. “You have nothing to be sorry ma’am, that tent has quite a stench.”

“Yes, it does.” You said quickly, “well I best be going on.” You hurried away on legs that felt shaky. No one had ever made you feel that way. You glanced quickly behind you. He still looked at you.

“Catch you around.” He called after you.

You stopped looking at him. Continuing, you went to another tent. This one was a good one, it had some nice fabrics. You let your hands trail over some of them, they felt so nice.

Going on, you went over to where a gentlemen had brought some cows. You had always been fond of how cute they were.

“They are very sweet.” You petted one. “Are you the one who sends their milk to George?”

“Yes, I do ma’am.”

“It is quite good.”

“Thank you.”

*****

“Y/N...”you heard your name called, looking you smiled as you saw that it was George. He had taken a seat in the corner of the salon. Smiling, you went over to his table. “Will you grace me with your company?” He stood up as you came over.

“I would love to.”He smiled, pulling out a chair for you. “Thank you.” And you happily sat down. “Did you have a nice time today?”

“I did.” You looked around the saloon, full of people that appeared to be in good spirits. Then you swallowed and turned your attention to George, turning more towards him. You spotted the stranger with hair as black as coal. Just his profile made your heart begin to race. It made you uneasy.

“So try or see anything new?”You nodded. “There was some interesting dishes out there.” Then you smiled. “I met one of the cows, who milk I’ve been drinking from.”George, chuckled at that. “Was it a nice cow?”“Yeah, it was pretty cute.” You, yawned behind one of your gloved hands. “I talked with Margret.” George, rolled his eyes. “Oh that old maid?” He took his pipe out, striking his match he lit the tobacco and took some puffs. “What did she say?””She thinks, I should...” “Excuse me, George...excuse me Y/N....” The hotel keeper looked a little nervous. “I don’t mean to interrupt, a gentlemen brought this bottle for you, to enjoy.”

“Gerard, are you serious? Me?” George asked confused. Gerard, shook his head. “Actually, Y/N but you.””Me?” He nodded.”Who?” “The gentlemen in red.” Gerard set down the glasses, and the bottle. “Shall I pour?”

“Yes, that would be nice.” You tried not to react but you felt yourself flush a little. You took him in as he stood, leaning against the bar smoking a cigar. “What a nice looking young man.” George’s eyes got a twinkle, and you rolled your eyes but shrugged.

“He’s not bad.” You admitted out aloud. “Invite him over to our table.” “George...” then you relented, it would be rude. You stood as he came over. He motioned for you to sit down. “Please, a lady doesn’t have to stand for me.” You sat back down. “We thank you for the bottle. Grab him a fresh glass, Gerard.”

“Your welcome.” He smiled at the both of you making your heart pick up speed. Once Gerard came back and poured some in a glass, the stranger held up his glass. “To happy accidents.”

The three of you clinked glasses. “So, what is your name stranger?””My name is Charlie.” “I go by George.” He gestured to you. You smiled sweetly. “I am, Y/N.”

“Pleased, to finally learn your name.” The smile be gave you caused butterflies in your stomach. George, looked confused, you smiled once again looking his way. “Charlie and I bumped into each other earlier while I was looking around.”

“Ahh, that is the great thing about these fairs. We get to meet new people.”

Not long after the two men were chatting away. You sipped at your first, then second glass. If you had learned one thing, sometimes you just let men talk.

“She is like a daughter to me.” George told the man. You blushed, looking down at your gloved hands. “You are too kind, George.”

As time went on, something about Charlie, kind of worried you despite being incredibly attracted to him. If only your past had been different. Maybe you, flirt a little. He was just a stranger, you’d never see him again, what harm could it do. You went with your instincts.

Following them further, you decided to call it a night. You got up, you felt a rush of the whiskey, it had been awhile since you felt that rush. But it best that you didn’t have any more.

“Gentlemen, you have been a sweet distraction but I feel I better retire for the evening.” “Y/N, I am sorry I got carried speaking with Charlie, we should include you more.”

You waved your hand, “It is perfectly fine. It has been a long day, I will see you too in the morning perhaps for breakfast.”

“That would be nice,” Charlie, spoke up and George nodded.

Slowly, you went over and up to your room. Once there you put the one chair in front of your door. You had to get out. Something didn’t feel right. What if Charlie was aware of your bounty...what if he wanted to turn you over.

You went to your window, maybe you could jump out. Looking out, it was too high...and you would get lost in the darkness for sure.

*****

Looking across the room, you saw her again. Something about her intrigued you. She was quite lovely, almost too lovely to be out here. He was going to talk to you, even if that meant he would have to pull you away from that old man. Damn, he better not be your his husband. You are young, you need someone like him in your life, Charlie mused as he looked at you. Leaning on the bar, he gestured to the owner.

“How can I help you tonight sir?” “I want to buy a bottle of one of the good whiskies.” “Certainly, sir.” “t’s not for me.” He pointed at you. “It’s for her. Bring two glasses.”

He enjoyed watching as you and the man reacted. You smiled and gave a wave before heading over.

*****

You paced back and forth, there was no other way out of the hotel. You would have to wait till dawn.

You went and sat on the bed, if only you had brought the book. After all these years, you finally see a man who is worth the effort to flirt with, and be could be the one hired by that monster to return you. Probably, got some song and dance about how you were some horrible woman.

An image of his crooked smile, popped into your head and your heart picked up speed. Your fingertips tingled at the idea of feeling that inky colored hair. You squeezed your eyes, closed, willing the thoughts to stop. Oh, you’d like to untuck that shirt of his, maybe let one of your hands slid under the fabric and touch the man.

Breathless, you opened your eyes. Stop it, Y/N those thoughts would get you no where.

Gentlemen, you have been a sweet distraction but I feel I better retire for the evening.”

He felt something, he had never felt before...regret at not trying to get you sooner or attempting to talk to you further. Hs hoped you really would meet you two for breakfast and for that he was going to make sure to bot drink too much. Something about you intrigued him and it wasn’t just the stirring you caused in his pants.

Though the conversation with the old man, was nice. Kind of refreshing since for once it did not result in him needing information from him or biding his time to kill him.

“So where do you hail from, Charlie?”

“My brother and I come from Oregon.” He stroked his beard. “How about, Y/N?”

George, beamed proudly. “She is from a big city. Chicago.”

His heart stilled. “Chicago?”

“Yup, she came to us recently.”

Charlie’s heart stilled and for the first time he wavered on wanting to get the bounty. Though he mentally slapped himself, reminding himself of how large it was. Easily he gathered more information about you. In the morning, he. And Eli would take you easily and it would be the end of it. At least, you would be nice to look at traveling back to Chicago.

*****

Finally, the sky was turning a purplish blue. It was dawn. You removed the chair from the door. All you could hear was silence.

Opening the door, you peaked out. No one was around. Creeping out, you headed to the staircase, then down you went. You were relieved that no one was sleeping at the bar or one of the tables. You were able to leave with no fuss.

Soon, you got to the stable. You left the stable hand some silver in his hand as he slept, got Turnip and in no time at all, you were galloping off to your home.

Your heart beat wildly in your chest. Hopefully, you were just paranoid and he was just too attractive and you were not used to it.

*****

Charlie, told Eli all of the details before retiring for the evening. He was smug. Eli, had not wanted to come here and look what it brought the two of you, right to the bounty.

Once alone in his room, he pulled off his boots and took off the scarlet shirt. First, thing in the morning he would come a knocking and surprise you. Maybe he would even catch you in just your undergarments. Perhaps, more of of your soft breasts would be exposed. You wanted to see more of how they rose and fell as you breathed, especially if it was in relation to how he made you feel. Oh, how he would love for you to beg. You’d bid him to enter, maybe you slide down to your knees in front of him.

“Damn, it all to hell.” He muttered angrily. He had grown uncomfortably hard in his slacks. He palmed himself, groaning as he did. “Stop, Charlie.” Save this energy for the job.

*****

By time you reached, home the sun was high in the sky and it was growing hot. You put Turnip in the stable with some cool water and food. Going back to the house, you locked everything down. You changed from your dress to one of your fresh shirts and pants. Then pulled on some fresh socks and your boots.

You were a little less concerned. Perhaps you really had been overthinking everything. If you had, then sure you would regret perhaps not enjoying a little flirtations but at least you would not have to deal with what would come next.

Finally sitting down in your bed with your back to the wall, you dozed off finally from not sleeping all night. You awoke to hearing some rustling. Peaking, as best you could out the back you saw a man gently getting Turnip from the stable, who had already saddled him. So you knew you had been right.

Grabbing an old flour sack, you began stuffing it, your book went in, corn cakes, dried meat, the powder with the tooth brush, a comb, extra bullets, some under garments, riding powder and a pair of socks, then you tucked in a separate small pouch of silver into your brazier. As you hurried about, there was a knocking at your door. You knew it was him before he called out.

“Y/N,” he called out and your heart sank. “It’s me Charlie, we need to talk.

“Charlie?” You screamed back, give me a moment.” You hoped he would. You prepared your rifle.

You quietly as possible opened the back door. You wouldn’t shoot the man but near him enough to startle him. That’s what you did, it worked. Immediately, you ran over, got onto Turnip stuffed your sack away and rifle away and nudging him hard, the two of you galloped away.

Luckily, you two knew the terrain so you could take risky maneuvers. When you looked ahead of you, you grew ill. There was a group of men, not terribly large but big enough and they were moving at good gallop. Looking, back you knew Charlie and that other man were also getting closer.

So you just moved as fast as the two of you could go. Moving off to the left, you thought for sure they wouldn’t want to go into the rocky areas. You saw that other group followed, you knew they they must be after you as well.

That’s when the air was knocked right out of you. You both landed on the ground before you realized what had happened. Pain shot through your side from falling but looking, you saw that your Turnip did not survive. At least he had not suffered. You crawled over him. Not sure if you could stand but because of the pain. You managed to get your sack but then rope twisted about you. Looking up, you saw a man with long ragged bear, leering at you. “Got you, sweet thing.” You froze, something about him made you want to retch and your stomach was empty.

@darknessisafriend

[squiddytentacles]

Tree Trouble

“Sandy and Karen combine minds to help get Sandy out of serious trouble from an experiment.”

Karen/Sandy, Gen, 3,500 words

“Well, shoot,” Said Sandy as she wiped some dust off of her gloves and boots. “That was closer than a bull at a glue convention!” To really get a look at the damage she was talking about, the squirrel had to take a few large steps back.

Her beloved Tree no longer standing. A pile of splintered wood, broken belongings, and branches. She had been standing in the bathroom just moments before she heard an unfamiliar creaking. Upon investigating she found a Nematode, she put two and two together and high-tailed it out of her house. The foundations had been weakened, and chose that moment to completely give out.

Unharmed by the wreckage, her scientific equipment stands still running the tests she’d programmed it to run on some new fauna she’d come across recently. The specimen must have been housing a family of Nematodes. Too blinded by the prospect of a meal to realize they’d dry out without Ocean water, hopping out of the experiment tank, and doing their business before quietly passing away.

Sandy can’t feel too sympathetic, they destroyed her house!

KEEP READING (ao3)

A lifetime of scouting taught Sandy to always be prepared. And growing a new Tree ain’t no thing. The pests hadn’t survived long enough to entirely eat through her valuables. What wasn’t completely wrecked could be fixed. It would be time consuming, and frustrating, but she’s wrangled far worse.

She clears what she can salvage out of the wreckage, buries the Nematodes. She needs advanced hardwear to dig the roots of the deceased Tree out of the ground, but she succeeded - pushed some dirt around, planted an acorn and patted herself on the back. “Nothing can stop this country girl!” She shouts.

One of her experiments is even focused around sped up growth in plant life! With a small flair of dramatics, she pulls out her latest concoction. It glows purple, and bubbles - unleashing a putrid smell. “The Essence of Manure,” Sandy says to herself, grinning. The scent was so awful, it even drove her to put on her Sea Suit. Glass is a blessing.

“Alright, little acorn, bottoms up!” She pours the entire test tube, and takes a few rather large steps back.

Her tail twitches in anticipation.

She wants a place to sleep tonight…

The ground begins to shake and Sandy grins, steadying herself is easy. She plants her feet firmly in the grass. “Grow!!” She shouts. “GROOOOOW!!”

And so it does.

It’s a sapling, and suddenly, the base of the newly sprouted tree widens, and more branches sprout. Their first leaves fall, and just as suddenly, new blossoms appear. The taller it gets the more acorns appear - small, and misshapen. Sandy marvels at the effect, and soon the Tree is looking strong, and mighty.

Sandy sighs in accomplishment. She’d have to clear out the insides while maintaining the structure, but the part that took the longest was already done!

As it grows taller than ever before, though, Sandy questions if ‘done’ was the right word to use.

“What in Tarnation.. That’s enough!!” She shouts, hoping to reason the mutation? “Stop it, you incredible advancement in botany, you!” The leaves brush the top of the treedome, and just as Sandy was fearing. Branches start bending in line with the dome - and Sandy realizes that instead of growing up and breaking through the glass, the Tree was conforming to the space.

Which meant…. The Up that the tree was growing in was going to become Down, and Down is where she is. She sees the branches are starting to cover the door and she doesn’t waste a moment abandoning everything and sprinting to the airlock.

A glance behind her reveals how thick the bark is becoming, how sturdy it is forming as it crawls across the glass dome. A mess of brown and green leaves lay on the ground, but the soil beneath them gives out as the roots grow larger, and soon all Sandy can see is wood..

She thanks Neptune her diving suit is already on. With all her might, she pulls the branches out of the way of the doorknob before everything got entangled. They started growing back without a pause though, and she grinds her teeth. With a Texas sized roar, she heaves a large portion of the mutant tree off the door, giving herself a brief moment to escape the deathtrap her home was becoming.

Metal rings out as she slams the door shut behind her, and she runs through the other front door faster than you can say “is it wrong to play god?”.

From a safe distance, Sandy Cheeks witnesses her Tree completely encompass all the space in the treedome. It even spits out a bit through the door, slowed down, but not stopping. Sandy imagines for a moment that it grows to the size of the entire ocean and her brain scampers away from panic as she tries to think of ways to stop it.

She has tons of ideas, ways to counteract the mutation. The materials she needs however, are crushed in an impenetrable fortress of Pure Texan Bred Treebark.

“Dang nabbit.” She mutters to herself, and thinks about where she can get the items to scrap everything together when the most intelligent thought Sandy’s had all day comes to mind.

Karen has a lab.

--

Winded from how fast she ran, the squirrel has to take a moment to gather herself before approaching the entrance to the Chum Bucket. She knocks urgently. “You gotta let me in, it’s an emergency!!”

The door opens by itself- No, Plankton opens the door, looking irate. “Excuse me, some people are trying to SCHEME HERE.” He bellows as loud as he can, but Sandy rolls her eyes. She doesn’t have time to deal with Plankton’s showboating.

“Not now, Plankton, I gotta borrow your lab!” Sandy says, stepping over the copepod and into the restaurant.

Hopping up on Sandy’s shoulder, rather than running to keep up, Plankton knocks on the glass dome protecting Sandy’s head, “and you think I’m going to allow this... why?”  

“Oh, I’m not really askin’ you.” The squirrel informs him, amused, and leads herself to the back of the Chum Bucket where the action really happens.

In fact, the very moment that Sandy steps foot into the Lab a screen that was showing a rather intense game of solitaire blinked into a pixel smile. “Oh, hey there, Sandy!” Came Karen’s electronic voice, seemingly from the entire room.

As much as Karen would proclaim that machines don’t feel anything, Sandy can’t help but always fixate on how happy Karen sounds to see her. She smiles back, just as Plankton starts grousing in her ear about how it’s HIS lab and so it’s HIS decision whether the squirrel gets to mess with HIS stuff-- and after a while where he won’t let Sandy get a word in edgewise, Karen extends an arm and plucks him off of her shoulder, and then lets that arm keep extending all the way out of the Chum Bucket.

“I’ll see you at dinner, Plankton!” She shouts out the door, and then her arm zips back to her side. There’s a shriek, and then a begrudging mumble of acceptance, and Sandy looks to where Karen has rolled near her, with her arms crossed and a question mark on her screen.

“What, your lab at home not good enough for ya all of the sudden?” She asks,

“There ain’t no you back home.” Sandy says with a weak laugh, partially to counter Karen’s dry tone, and partially in truth. Karen’s screen fizzles slightly, but Sandy misses it. “But I got a real problem growin’ back home.” She says, already running to gather the materials from Plankton and Karen’s impressive stock. “And I mean really growin’.” She fixes Karen with a wide eyed look to prove her point.

Then, she dives into a thorough explanation of what she needs to counteract the growth mutation the Acorn absorbed. Karen processed everything quickly, and even gave a few tips on things she could cut out of the formula to make the process go faster. Plankton may claim the lab is his, but it’s always been maintained by Karen, and she knows the place much better than he ever could.

With Sandy and Karen working together, they finish in two shakes of a cow’s tail. Sandy says as much, which gets a small laugh out of Karen. Sandy’s house might be destroyed, but it’s hard to feel bad after hearing a beautiful chime like that.

Together, they rush out of the Chum Bucket, over the sand hills over to the tangle of wood that was once the Treedome.

The glass had since shattered, and the Tree was growing every which way. She hopped on Karen and they rolled around the radius of the thing - to find that it was mighty close to Spongebob’s house a similar fate to hers at the beginning of this mess. Still rolling, she points to a branch extending tall enough she can climb on.

Karen, seeing the direction, speeds up, rolls in close, and then tosses Sandy up on the branch. The squirrel wasn’t expecting that much help, but she catches herself with two feet on the branch, and flashes Karen a thumbs up.

She starts climbing upward - the Tree from a distance looks more like an Urchin than anything else. Sandy wants to get as close to inside the center as she can - to find the heart of the Tree. Theoretically, pouring the new solution there would be a key to ending her mistake.

Her diving suit is holding her down, as much as having pockets is a major boon. She needs to go faster, so she shakes the suit off - it sinks into a tangle of branches and gets enveloped in the wood. The bottle is held tightly in the curl of her tail, and she uses her natural born talent as a climber to get to the very top of the mass.

The ocean is more turbulent the higher you go, and Sandy has to really hold on to not have the current carry her away. She tries pouring a bit of the serum on an outermost branch, and it withers away, but only that branch, until it reached a connecting mass and nothing happened. She’d have to make the amount she had count at the best possible place.

She has to go inside.

She hears static coming through her helmet, her rarely used communicator coming to life. “If you’re thinking about going in there, Cheeks, I would think again.” It’s Karen, voice comforting if tone abrasive. Or maybe it’s worry? “I’ve been scanning the way your Mutation grows, and 70% of it’s energy is spent compressing, and moving the older branches within.”

It’s not exactly reassuring. But Sandy is nothing if not confident. She huffs a laugh, knowing Karen will hear her.

“There is probably another way to stop it.” Karen states.

Sandy looks to where a branch spears through the innocent pineapple home. Gary could be in there. The squirrel doesn’t want to imagine what she’d do if something actually got hurt from her experiment.

“Thank you, Karen.” Sandy says genuinely, even though the computer has said nothing optimistic. The fact that she reached out was enough for Sandy in that moment.

There’s a pause before Sandy hears. “You got this, girl.” rattle around in her helmet, and she smirks. With a shout, she slinks downward into the tangle.

She chops the foliage trying to constrict her away. It’s like being attacked from all sides, being closed in on by walls on every plane of existence. Sandy’s no wet blanket, though, and she spins through the branches like a hacksaw. A similar sound even ringing throughout the ocean to drive home the effect.

The dome of her helmet is getting thoroughly scratched. She will admit to herself, damage to her personal helmet wasn’t something she accounted for. There’s no time to worry, though, and summons all her personal stamina and adrenaline to force her way through the very mistake she wrought to it’s heart.

The largest circumference she’s seen out of all the branches and possible roots so far. It creaked with every move it made, thrumming with energy and only one way to spend it. As Sandy had bellowed mere hours ago, it must Grow.. it must…….--

Sandy dumps the entire content in her container on what she hopes and prays is truly the root of the mutation. It sizzles against the wood, any splash back makes her fur tingle, but she is otherwise unharmed by the substance.

The churning and twisting of branches grinds to a halt - very literally grinding and shaving itself into pieces. The sound of creaking branches stops echoing around the scientist from every direction.

“By Neptune’s Laptop.. You did it Sandy! It’s completely stopped! Fantastic!” Karen sings through her speakers.

Pride and something mushy wells up in Sandy’s chest, and she sighs through a very wide smile. She’s always been pretty good at fixing her own messes, not just other peoples’. She allows herself to breathe without a metaphorical ball of stress blocking her lungs. What she just did was outlandishly dangerous, but she’s survived.

Now she just has to get out…

Sandy tries to move her limbs, and finds they crumble right through some of the weaker branches.

In that moment, the entire structure loses its shape - and much like her original Tree weakened by Nematodes - the mutated bundle crushes down into a disheveled pile. One which Sandy very suddenly finds herself on the bottom of.

She hears Karen’s panicked shouts echo in her helmet, and Sandy finds herself answering with a scream of her own as a particularly heavy piece of deadwood falls on her left leg and tail. The more the wood decays, the more water it absorbs. It’s agonizing, but Sandy uses her arms and free leg and is able to slowly push it off. The damage is done, and she whimpers as she curls around her limbs.

“Medic.” She whimpers, and as much as she fights it the pain overwhelms her senses and she passes out.

…

Karen immediately faxes emergency services, after Sandy’s cry for help. Her processors feel like they’re spinning a mile a minute, but Karen is able to compartmentalize it into a megabyte of data. “Sandy are you with me?” She asks, to no response, but she can hear the soft wheeze of her mammalian lungs. “I’m gonna get you out of there,” She reassures unaware ears - and rolls toward the Chum Bucket.

Then, takes a sharp turn towards the Krusty Krab. The doors slam open as she rolls exceedingly fast through them. Right to where Eugene Krabs is clutching a defeated looking Sheldon J. Plankton. She snatches her roommate, then continues on into the Kitchen.

Spongebob stops whistling, a little startled at the entrance. A small part of Karen’s programming urges her to take a Patty right off the grill. She reaches her free hand out and instead grabs the frycook himself. “Sorry, buster, I’m gonna borrow you for a minute.” She says, unapologetically.

"Okidokie!" The sponge answers happy-go-luckily.

Wasting no more time, she zooms back out the front entrance. She passes Mr. Krabs, who angrily yells, “Get back here with me Employee-r!!” He doesn’t give chase, though, and instead turns to his other employee who’s yet to do anything even during Plankton’s attack. “Mr. Squidward, after that CPU!! That’s an order!!”

“No,” Squidward responds - and that’s all Karen hears from them, because she’s out the door. She explains in curt words what’s happening to Plankton and Spongebob and rolls over more hills to the pile of soaked rotting wood that was keeping her clearly injured friend trapped.

“We have to save her!!”  Spongebob cries, eyes actually tearing up from Karen’s description of the events and worry for his friend.

Plankton however, is still stinging from the embarrassment Krabs just dished him, and says mockingly, “Whatever plan you THINK is going to work, probably ain’t likely, sister.”

Karen feels her fans kick in as more heat builds up in her processors. She’s been monitoring Sandy - broadcasting everything she says as well - only to thankfully steady breathing. “Unlike you, I am asking for help, peabrain.” Karen answers flatly.

They’re close to the wreckage which hasn’t seemed to diminish in size, even as some wood floats away - taken with the current. Karen immediately scans it’s infrastructure, and it’s not looking good. She knows the heavier things will eventually gravitate down and fall through the weaker branches that hadn’t disintegrated. Karen doesn’t want to consider the chances of more things falling on Sandy, but she’s a computer and the calculations come naturally.

“How can we help..?” Spongebob clenches his fists, ignores that he’s sniffling, instead feeling fired up to help save one of his close friends who risked her life for his house.

Karen rolls to a stop and drops the men on the ground. She rolls back and forth like a drill sergeant and explains in great detail how she wants Plankton to use size to his advantage and climb through the gaps in the wood. Karen, using her scanners, will direct Plankton to Sandy.

He is to have a cord wrapped around him to pull him out if he gets stuck, but more importantly, to tug Spongebob into where he is. Karen rationalizes that Spongebob wouldn’t be able to actually maneuver himself through the wood, but with enough strength could be dragged through.

“... If you can’t manage it, big guy, you’ll have to wake up Sandy.”

There’s not even a moment given to think over the plan before the shortest of their party rolled his eye. “Ugh! No!”

Karen crosses her arms, not wanting to prolong anymore time, but unable to stop the buzz of annoyance toward her ex-husband. “You’re not going to wake her up?”

“I’m not doing any of it!” Plankton stomps his foot, then points dramatically at Karen. “You want me to risk being crushed into a Plankton Pancake for your little girlfriend, and I am not having it!!”

Spongebob picks Plankton up gently, causing the restaurant owner to yell profanities at the frycook, which get muffled as Spongebob cups Plankton inside his hands. “What are we gonna do once I’m inside??”

While she’s yet to make any expressions appear on her face throughout her description of her plan, she sounds extremely self assured, likely from her plan being statistically sound, but it’s a good feeling. Like when she hangs out with Mrs. Puff and Sandy and feels proud to be herself. “The Fire Department will arrive, and I will direct them to hose the pile - I’m 97% certain that you will absorb the water, expanding enough to jostle the cluster free.”

Plankton squeezes his head through a small gap in Spongebob’s makeshift cage. “Why not just wait for them to axe it all down?”

It’s something she has considered, and is certain that the foundation wouldn’t be able to handle such physical forces without possibly unleashing something on Sandy, buried so far in the center. Karen feels her vocalization banks far away, and as she leans her screen closer to the man who essentially gave her sentience her voice cracks. “Sheldon… Please.”

Plankton’s eyebrow furrows, struck silent by what could only be described as the emotion in Karen’s voice. He glances behind him, to the pile, considers the plan, and sheepishly looks back to his ex-wife… they somehow parted on goodterms…… He can’t keep letting his other failures get in the way of that.

“Fine.” His attempt at sounding grouchy comes off a bit emotionally shaken, but neither Karen or Spongebob say anything. The three of them get to work, quickly, but extremely functionally.

“Hang in there, Bushy-Tushy…” Karen directs to the still unconscious squirrel through her microphone. “We’ve got’cha.”

--

Sandy shudders into consciousness in the back of the ambulance. She doesn’t speak, or groan, just hangs in the moment. The ride isn’t particularly wild, but she’s jostled none the less. One particular sharp turns makes her very aware of the pain in her leg - and the fact that she couldn’t at all feel her tail.

She whimpers, and clenches her hands - then realizes one of her fists aren’t empty. She’s clutching onto something metal, yet warm - like a phone running too many apps. The hand is holding her back gently, but the presence feels so solid to her… She squints open an eye - stunned for a moment at the stark bright lights. She blinks, and through her scratched up diving helmet she can see Karen. She almost mistakes her for a life-support monitor, but Sandy knows better.

She smiles, and before her eye slips shut, she sees a beautiful smile appear where a horizontal line once sat across the AI’s face.

“I’ve got you, Sandy,” Karen’s voice crackles through the white noise of the ambulance.

Sandy Cheeks has lost a lot today, however - she can’t help but consider that maybe she’s gained something. “I know,” she whispers fondly - giving the metallic hand a squeeze not influenced by pain before letting the painkillers lull her back to sleep.

[geethedentist]

The Sassenach Warrior

Catch up on the Chapter 1 here! 

Chapter 2: Not Alone Anymore

Three Months Earlier 

It’s odd how quickly one’s life can change, not that mine had gotten off to a swell start anyway. Happenstance and fate become intertwined to create what you never thought possible. For years I clung firmly to the belief that I was a walking attraction for rotten luck. It took a fair bit of time, but much later I realized I was wrong. 

I had been walking relentlessly for three days, feet throbbing with each step. The rolling, rocky hills now behind me, I had entered an expanse of forest. Sheer exhaustion necessitated an overnight rest in a large, green glade. I had all but collapsed onto the soft grass the previous day. There was a small pool of water, and it was warm and peaceful. But it was time to get moving. An uneasy twinge of fear lurked at the back of my mind. I packed up my tiny camp, glancing nervously over my shoulder like a skittish animal. It was eerily silent, which could only foretell yet another (possibly deadly) predicament. I still needed to put a bit of distance between myself and the last village, where I had almost received a thorough beating for continuously refusing to give up my horse to a ragged group of men calling themselves The Watch. 

They took my horse. 

After my especially hasty retreat out of England, and riding through nearly half of Scotland, I had heard there was a port in the Highland town of Inverness, where I could finally board a ship again. The minor issue of financing this voyage remained firmly in the back of my mind, for I had nothing. It was strange being this destitute, not knowing where the next meal was coming from or going days on end without human interaction. I supposed I should be accustomed to it by now, it even gave me an odd thrill at times. 

I was reluctant to go, to leave this momentary peace and venture back into the unknown once more. Here, nobody chastised me for wearing trousers or carrying a sword. Sometimes I believed myself a traitor to womankind. Other times I thought perhaps I was its savior. Too often I had been on the receiving end of outright anger. Others merely stared in shock, content to observe from a distance as if watching some sort of exotic show or attraction. Many laughed at me. Of course, my nature is not what one might deem “typical.” My breech of the status quo is offensive to many, but it only served to fuel my passion for fighting, adventure, and knowledge. I thought of Uncle Lamb, who had gifted me all three of these things, so woefully unattainable for countless others. He always knew dolls and lace never satisfied my spirit. He gave me my first bow and taught me how to use it. The only thing I had left of him was his ring, which I kept on a chain around my neck. It gave me comfort, having him close. 

A twig snapped. My reverie dissipated like a fog. I was on my feet in a second, ears strained, listening for more. My breath caught as voices materialized out of the trees. I became completely still, perhaps I’d be swallowed by the shadows, be granted invisibility. I saw a flash of red. 

Oh God. 

I snatched the bow off my back and made to run when I heard, “Oi I found one!”

I had remained frozen and indecisive for a beat too long. 

My heart was threatening to burst out of my chest. I felt my pulse everywhere at once. 

“Where's the rest of your lads huh?” the redcoat continued, having fully entered the clearing. He was a short man, with a thick neck and a pink face. His teeth were badly stained.  

His small beady eyes nearly popped out in surprise as he took in my pants, boots, and weapons. 

“You're a lady!” He sputtered. 

“Very good! Your eyesight appears to be functioning normally.” I shot back with a sneer. 

Another soldier had entered the glade. A bit taller than his companion, he seemed much more able to prevail in a fight or a chase. His face reminded me of a rabbit. “Lady or not, she and her company raided our stores!”

While it was completely within the realm of possibility for me to have done this, I stood there wide eyed shaking my head. Plainly, a bunch of hungry and fed up Highlanders had attempted to nip a bit of food and perhaps a cow or a horse from the English stationed in the small town I had avoided the previous day. 

“So you’re just out here all alone, right after we discover the Scots robbed our depository?” He said it in a tone that conveyed he obviously didn’t believe that this was as coincidental as it appeared. 

“Yes! Precisely!” A jolt of anger and desperation shot through me along with the reality that they were not going to believe me no matter what I said.

The rabbit faced man was advancing menacingly while his partner prepared his rifle. I didn't like the hungry, animalistic way their eyes traveled over me. Suddenly, rough hands grasped the front of my shirt and I felt rotten breath on my face. “Boy she’s a pretty one.” He breathed. 

“How dare you!” I could not bear to imagine how many others he could have done this to, and his feeling of contentment knowing they could do nothing to stop him.

And then, in my typical fashion, I proceeded to ruin any chance I had of a peaceful escape. Grasping his shoulders, I drove my knee up as hard as I could. The building adrenaline caused me to be shaky and clumsy, and I missed my mark. The man looked stunned as we glared at each other for a second. The next thing I registered was a fist colliding with the side of my head. I half dropped to the ground as I felt warm blood oozing down my cheek. Panic rising, I scrambled away on my knees, grabbing the bow off my back. 

“You little bitch!” He shouted. “Who do you think you are?” 

“Not your plaything!” Shaking from anger now rather than fear, I had made my decision. Arrow in place, I slowly pulled the string back. 

At that moment, the sound of running footsteps became apparent behind me. A small squeak of fear threatened to escape my throat. I was surrounded. My mind was frantically working out some fantastical lie to tell if they decided to take me and question me. A petite, innocent lady shouldn't and wouldn’t be pointing her lethal homemade arrows (lovingly sharpened to perfection) in a good Englishman's face. There is most definitely something amiss with that.

“Surely ye don't mean the lass any harm? She isna with us. She travels alone.” 

My shoulders slumped in relief at the unmistakable Scottish voice behind me. My accent had earned me mistrust from many of the Scots I had met since arriving here. But overall I found them to be very kind and hospitable people who placed a high emphasis on family. The man behind me was undoubtedly one of the raiders that I had been mistaken for. I was thankful he had done what my less than rational mind had conveniently chosen to leave out before I raised the bow. At least now the fact that I had never seen these men before was now out in the open. 

Behind, I heard the unmistakable sound of a sword being drawn. He knew as well as I  that this had no chance of ending peacefully.

     “No harm at all.” The soldier said, a nasty smile creeping up his face. He stepped closer, rifle now raised. I stepped back. 

    “I dare you to try that again.”

“Now what would an English lady be doing out here in the mud with a bunch of filthy Scots, pretending to be a man?”

The man spoke from behind me again, “I tell ye she had no part in this. Let her be.” His voice was deep and soft, but not void of threat. I wanted to turn around to see who the voice belonged to, but I also didn’t want to turn my back on the redcoats.

“I am not pretending to be anything. What you see before you is simply a woman who happens to despise corsets. Dreadful things in my opinion. Trousers enable much more movement and freedom don’t you agree? I wouldn’t be able to do this!” 

I was only vaguely aware of my fingers releasing the string. Moments like these always seem to happen in slow motion. I heard a sharp inhalation from the Scot at my back.

The plump man screamed as the arrow pierced his boot. His gun fell to the ground. The other dropped his rifle in surprise. Fuck. I had only meant to shoot the ground near his feet to scare them a bit. Perhaps my aim was a bit too good. I was in big trouble now, and I could only dig myself a deeper grave from here on out.

I turned and ran . . . 

. . . right into a very large, very red-headed Scot. 

“Ooof!” The sound of the breath exiting my lungs all at once. 

 He was so solid. 

“Come on!” He said urgently. I staggered back, reeling from the impact as he caught me by the wrist and began towing me along with him. I allowed a glance back. It appeared that two more soldiers had reached their comrades, apparently unlucky in their search for the missing goods and the thieves responsible. One had stayed behind with the injured man, who was now writhing on the ground. It didn't take long for the other two to begin their pursuit, running to mount their horses. 

We were both sprinting now. The trees whipped past and my blood pounded in my ears. Suddenly he gave a high pitched whistle, and then I heard great hoofbeats from somewhere off to the right. A giant black stallion came trotting alongside us. We stopped and he quickly swung onto the horse and began to pull me up. 

“I can do it!” I said hotly, yanking my hand from his grasp.

  "Are ye sure about that lass?” He raised an eyebrow questioningly. But of course just to spite me, the horse proved too massive for my short stature. I saw that the side of his face had lifted in a smirk as I settled into the saddle behind him. Soon we were galloping through the forest, me haphazardly clutching this stranger's waist with my hair flying wildly in my face as the turbulence increased. His own shoulder length auburn curls flew out behind his head. I still hadn’t gotten a decent look at his face.

The horse jumped a large fallen tree trunk and I suddenly became airborne in the saddle. I blindly groped for a handhold and grabbed his kilt to anchor myself. He looked back in surprise; his ears tinged pink. I felt a flush up my neck as well, in spite of the wind whistling in my ears. I had been in Scotland long enough to know what a Scotsman wore under his kilts. I was about to mumble an apology when he jerked the horse sharply to the left and began to ride back the way we came, like a giant circle.

“And just where are we going?”

“Doubling back. They think we still ride ahead of them. We’re going to find the others and ride back into the Mackenzie lands.” he said in concentration, steering the horse away from more fallen trees.

“We?” I’d known him for a good five minutes. I had no idea who he was with, or what he thought he was going to do with me. He was speaking as though none of this mattered. The soldiers were now riding well ahead of us. They hadn't seen us turn. I thought I heard him sigh in relief. He slowed the horse to a walk and I relaxed my grip on his waist. My hands were clammy.

“I, um, thank you.” I told him, swinging my leg over the horse. Determined not to have any help with the dismount, I slid gracelessly off the horse’s back and almost pitched forward into the mud.

“No problem at all,” he too, had dismounted. I now saw that his eyes were the clearest blue, like the sky on the brightest of days. He had strong cheekbones and a prominent forehead, over which hung a mess of red curls. I then began to register the events of the past ten minutes.

“Allow me to clarify however,” I said indignantly, “that I don’t want you thinking that I was too scared to kill them. This arrow could have easily went straight through his eye had I told it to! And furthermore, I could have escaped without help. I am not some damsel in distress.” I crossed my arms.

I was babbling.

“I dinna doubt it, Sassenach.” He smiled. 

Sassenach. I’d heard that term before. But when he used it, it sounded different. It didn’t sound discriminatory or mistrustful, but endearing. 

Suddenly, I became aware of the absence of the comforting weight around my neck. My hand flew to the spot, finding only bare skin. Uncle Lamb’s ring was gone. It must have fallen off. I cursed quietly. 

“Will ye tell me your name?” 

“I - It's Claire.”

“Claire.” He smiled, as he said it in his odd Highland way. “I'm . . .”

“Jamie!” came a cry from someways off. “We thought we lost ye lad!”

Another kilted man was riding toward us. He was short, with a big brown beard. 

“My godfather, Murtagh.” Jamie murmured to me. 

Murtagh raised an eyebrow at the sight of me. He looked me up and down for several seconds. “Ye've found yerself a lady then?” He said finally. 

“I - she, redcoats . . .no!” Jamie stuttered, face flushing scarlet. 

I must have made a face for Murtagh laughed loudly and said, “she doesna seem too taken with ye does she?” 

I heard more riders approaching and decided the time had come to take my leave. “It was very nice to meet you both,” I attempted to mask the anxious tone in my voice. “But I had really better be going.” I began to back away slowly.

“And who might this English lass be? Following us were ye?” A new, accusatory voice asked. He was tall, as tall as Jamie. He didn’t have much hair on his head but made up for it with a dark brown beard streaked with gray. His emphasis on the word English did not go unnoticed. Annoyed, I exhaled loudly and ran a hand over my face. I should have run the second Jamie stopped the horse. But first I needed them to tell me the way to Inverness, and then I could put this whole little hiccup behind me.

With as much politeness as I could muster at this point, I tried to seem as innocent as possible. “Please sir, I was just trying to find my way to Inverness. Could you help me?” 

“Inverness. Is that where your consort is waiting?” 

So he wasn’t going to make this easy. I glanced helplessly at Jamie and Murtagh, as the last two riders of their company had ridden up behind them, watching with interest. “Uncle, Claire means no harm. She almost killed a redcoat!”

“Aye but what is she doing wandering these woods alone? She may be a pretty lass, but she’s also an English lass Jamie lad.” 

Jamie had gone red in the face once more as my last shred of patience disappeared. “What exactly do you mean to say?” 

“What I mean to say is that I canna be takin’ any chances letting ye go free should ye be an English spy!” His voice had risen considerably. 

“What I’m doing here is none of your business! Although I can assure you I have no interest whatsoever in your activities and I am most certainly not a spy!” 

“Rupert, Angus, have you ever seen a woman quite like this one?” He switched his gaze from me to the others. 

“That I have not.” One of the men answered. He was round but strong, with long light brown hair and a beard to match. “I suppose it’s wee bit suspicious.” 

I scoffed at him, and he shrugged. “Why should you be so nervous that I was a spy anyway?” I said, testing him. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jamie bend to pick something off the ground and a gasp escaped my throat. It was my ring. 

My accuser stepped forward and snatched it from him. 

“Dougal!” Jamie tried to snatch it back. He looked at me apologetically. 

An insincere smile appeared on Dougal’s face. “’Tis evident this trinket is of great importance to our new guest. I think I shall hold on it for a while.”

“No please!” I begged. 

“It would be foolish of ye to attempt an escape lass,” he said. “At least now I am guaranteed ye wilna be leaving us. Show’s over lads, we’d best be on our way back to Leoch. The Sassenach will ride wi’ Jamie.” 

And that was that. 

I stuck my arm up in the air with a scowl. Jamie’s large warm hand wrapped around mine and hoisted me up onto the monstrous horse yet again. 

“I’m sorry about my uncle.” He said as we began to ride behind the others.

I didn’t answer him, but pressed my lips together and folded my arms like a child. We swayed back and forth with the horse’s movements. Ahead, numerous pairs of eyes that thought they were being discreet stole glances back at us. 

“He won’t keep me here you know.” 

“Ooch I think ye’ve made that much clear, Sassenach. Give him time and no cause for suspicion aye?” 

“He seems a very difficult man to budge.”

“That he is. Will ye be getting on to Inverness then? After ye leave.” It sounded as though he expected me to elaborate on this. 

“Yes.” I said shortly, hoping my tone relayed the fact that I was not about to volunteer any information about my plans or reasons. There was no one left on earth who I would trust. He seemed to get the message. 

“That’s a handsome sword,” he commented with admiration. “I’d wager it does well in combat.” 

That was the moment I took a liking to this Scot. His remark was made in reference to the weapon itself, rather than passing judgement on me for wielding it. 

After that, we talked pleasantly. We discussed his sword as well, an extremely heavy thing that was not quite as agile as mine, but ruthless in a fight. 

“Do you use it much?” I asked excitedly, hoping for a story. 

“Oh aye this hunk of metal saved my neck numerous times while I was fighting in France.” 

We passed the next hour or two in companionable conversation. We talked of his time in France, and he spoke of the clan culture which dominated the Highlands. I’d always found upon first meeting somebody new, I draw conclusions and pass judgement subconsciously. I had been prepared to lump Jamie together with Scots like his uncle and the other Mackenzies, as he told me they were called. However, he lacked much of the narrow-mindedness and superstition I had previously encountered, not limited to Scotland. He was educated, like I was.

As the sun dropped and the shadows lengthened, Dougal declared that Leoch must wait until tomorrow. 

I was rolling out my thin blanket away from the others when Dougal, seemingly more calm than before, spoke to me. 

“I know ye said ’tis none of our business, but that answer wilna be accepted by Himself. He’ll want to know what an English lady was doin’, roamin’ around so close to the Mackenzie lands.” 

A small jolt of dread. He was right. If I was going to be questioned by their chief I had better come up with some believable excuse. I would make up a story then, and pray I’d be able to look the laird dead in the eye when I told it. Restless sleep overtook me. 

[lettersnorth]

Prompt #21: Crunch

Music Theme

She was jolted awake by the floor beneath her shaking and rumbling. Not just the floor, she realized as she stirred, the entire building. Aislinn sat up looked around but her small, barren cell gave no clue as to the cause of the disturbance. The only window, barred and barely as big as her head, sat higher up than she could reach. 

A sudden, booming explosion sounded from somewhere beyond that window and again the building shook in protest. She sat there, on that flea-infested pile of straw and tried to make sense of it. Cannon fire? Thunder? Another and another in rapid succession brought her scrambling to her feet in alarm. Debris shook free and fell from the ceiling above her. She heard screaming out in the street now. She peered up at her pathetic excuse for a window, frustrated. 

Beyond the screams she heard a high-pitched whistle that grew gradually louder. Some long forgotten memory caused her to fling herself to the furthest inside corner of her cell, her body seeming to remember what that sound heralded even if her mind did not. With a sudden crash something hit the outside wall of her cell and rocked the gaol in an explosion of light and sound. Aislinn cried out in fear and tucked herself into a tight ball, certain the walls were about to come down around her head.

When the worst had passed, she lifted her head and gradually rose to her feet. A thick cloud of dust and smoke hung about the small cell in a haze. The screaming in the streets sounded louder now. Peering through the gloom, she saw a small corner of the cell had been blown in by the impact. Small, but just large enough for her to fit through if she laid down and wriggled her way out. She wasn’t about to question Nymeia’s grace and wasted no time squeezing herself through the small opening, clambering out onto the rubble and to freedom. 

Standing unsteadily to her feet, she was greeted by a sight of pure chaos. In the distance she heard the city bells ringing out an alarm. People streamed down the street in a panicked, frantic rush. The night sky was lit up by fire, smoke billowing high into the air as the city burned around her. And above all of it, Dalamud breaking apart, shards of the great star falling to the earth in a blaze of destruction. It was as if the world was ending. 

For a moment all Aislinn could do was stand there, refusing to believe what her senses told her was the truth. It was simply too overwhelming a reality to take in, but soon some dormant instinct took over and she sprung into action. Her mind caught up as she ran pell-mell down the street, dodging people and falling debris. She needed to get to her father. The city was coming down around their ears. They needed to escape. Fast. She needed chocobos. Turning down a side alley, she cut her way through the city towards the cartel’s stables. 

She found the pens deserted when she arrived, most of the stall doors swinging open wide, their residents gone. No doubt the stablehands had already made a run for it, leaving the birds to fend for themselves or to be stolen by enterprising individuals like herself. All that remained was one skittish young pullet and, at the end of the row, mean-tempered Barnabas. Of course. He had likely charged at anyone who came and tried to get a saddle on him. 

Given no choice, she calmed the pullet, speaking to her in soothing tones she hardly felt as she readied her for departure and then grabbed a bridle and entered Barnabas’ stall. He had been lying in wait, striking out at her the moment she entered his domain, her quick reflexes being the only thing that saved her from his sharp beak. 

Frazzled, filthy and scared, Aislinn was in no mood for one of his tantrums and she glared up at the great bird. 

“Now you listen to me, you mean son of a bitch. The city is burning down around us and I am your ONLY chance to escape. Nymeia help me, I will leave you here to burn with everything else if you give me any more attitude.” 

The soot-gray bird ruffled his feathers and stared down at her from his great height, a haughty arch to his neck. She narrowed her eyes as if daring him to test her. After all she’d been through she wasn’t about to be cowed by a damned bird. After a brief but silent battle of wills, he relented and lowered his head. 

“Good call, bloody bastard.” she muttered as she slipped the bridle over his head. 

Hurrying to the tack room, she grabbed one of the remaining saddles and a set of saddlebags. After equipping these to Barnabas, she ran around the stable grabbing anything that looked like it could remotely be of use and stuffed her findings into the bags. Vaulting up into the saddle, she steered him down the line of empty stalls, grabbing the reins of the second chocobo on their way out into the burning night. 

They raced through the chaos, having to turn back several times due to rubble or fire making a certain road impassable but in the end she managed to make her way to the hovel she and her father called home. 

“Da!” she called out over the roar and fury going on around her as she brought Barnabas to a halt. 

Jumping off his back, she ran to the small home, stopping short in the doorway. The back end of the one room home had fallen in, a pile of stone where the meager furnishings had been, and  there on the floor at her feet lay her father, face down, covered in dust and blood. 

With a cry, she fell beside him and shook his wide shoulders but there was no response. Giving a great push, she rolled him over and found herself looking into his fixed, unseeing eyes. Dead. The anguish of the sudden revelation tore a sob from her throat and she collapsed, her form draped over him in defeat. She would have stayed like that, lost to her grief, but the rumble and shaking of the ground beneath her as another shard of Dalamud hit the earth prodded at some primal instinct within her to survive and reminded her she needed to move. 

Hauling herself up, she forced her emotions down in a sharp exhale of breath. She would keep moving but she wasn’t leaving him here. Not like this. In this callous, snake pit of a city that had crushed them both beneath its heel. She’s still not sure how she managed it but she dragged him out of the house and, lowering Barnabas, hauled his body onto the stout bird’s back, wrapping it in a blanket and securing it down with rope from one of the saddlebags. 

Focusing entirely on the task at hand, Aislinn swallowed the hard lump in her throat and lifted herself into the saddle of the smaller chocobo. Nervous and agitated, the young bird hopped and shied, not liking that she was now the lead. With some effort Aislinn got her under control again and urged her through the turbulent city that teetered on the edge of destruction, Barnabas and his grim burden in tow. 

At the city gates, she joined the throng of people rushing to escape, the guards had long since stopped trying to keep order, abandoning their posts for more pressing emergencies. She pushed her mount through the crowd, forcing people aside until she and her birds broke through the other side. With more space, she gave the young chocobo her head and let the bird race out into the desert night, the alarm bells of Ul’dah fading with every ground-eating stride. She gave one last look over her shoulder and saw the great dome and towers of the palace etched against a red sky, still intact but presiding over a city in flames beneath its graceful lines. It would be the last she saw of Ul’dah for many years.