#white trimmed shed window

[berrybobs]

Patio Outdoor Kitchen in Jacksonville

Inspiration for a mid-sized timeless backyard brick patio kitchen remodel with a gazebo

[beellette]

Houston Traditional Landscape Image of a traditional, medium-sized front yard with partial sun landscaping using concrete pavers.

[sorryclarence]

Exterior Siding Los Angeles Mid-sized contemporary green one-story mixed siding exterior home idea with a shingle roof

[zerudaswonderland]

Contemporary Exterior in DC Metro

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Fun, lively 1912 home in Los Angeles, CA has 6bds, 6ba, $3.2M.

Spacious living room has orange walls, a pink ceiling, and white trim.

Not every room, however, is bright. The dining room is a sophisticated gold with white trim.

The pink kitchen was redone with new cabinetry, although, even though I love pink, it just doesn't seem to do them justice. There's a little sitting area part of the kitchen, but I wouldn't call it a family room.

This apricot room is more of a TV room. If this home is cute, but if it wasn't in LA, it certainly wouldn't be worth $2.3M.

There is also a home office with a piano and a really big fan, which is unusual.

This 1/2 bath is a very fun space. I like this.

This is a main floor bedroom.

It has a renovated shower room done in retro tile.

This bedroom is large enough for a sitting area and it also has a stained glass window behind the bed.

The bath has access to a narrow outdoor area and it's got a nice mural on the ceiling.

In the pink hall, the doors are blue and the newel post is white w/blue trim.

The primary bedroom has an artsy headboard.

This bath has the same retro tile, but they painted the sink vanity yellow and lined the top of a cabinet in turquoise to give it a pop of color.

This bedroom has an interesting ceiling.

This bath was renovated, but has plain white tiles and is decorated with plants that I think are fake.

Of all the bedrooms, this yellow one with the purple and blue door is the most colorful.

The exterior of the home is special- there are movie themed murals on the fence, plus a patio with lots of plants.

It also has a nice pool surrounded by art.

This is so pretty and there's a little shed that could be a guest house and b/c it's possible to be outside most of the time in CA, it's not unusual to have beautiful exteriors.

The lot is .26 acre.

https://www.trulia.com/home/1701-n-orange-grove-ave-los-angeles-ca-90046-20794972

[impala-dreamer]

The Beat Of Your Heart

A Supernatural Story

~ Friends become lovers who turn into the darkest evil that one can endure... ~

Dean Winchester x F!Reader; Michael!Dean x F!Reader

8,587 Words

NSFW, Fluff, Cute Banter, Friends To Lovers, There Was Only One Bed!?, All the Sex, Passionate Love, Hope, *record scratch*, Extreme Angst, Violence, NonCon, Torture, Blood, Major Character Death

For @jacklesversebingo “Friends to Enemies to Lovers” square

JacklesBingo Masterlist

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works

She wasn’t bound by metal or rope. He hadn’t held her down with force or threatened her obedience with a blade. He had simply invited her to sit in the plush white armchair in front of the large wall of windows and she’d complied. 

As the sky darkened over the Chicago skyline, she sat with a blank expression, utterly frozen by fear. Her legs were crossed at the ankles and she held her hands clasped in her lap. She waited for him to speak, to move, to attack- she had no idea what was coming and it terrified her more than the icy flight he’d taken her on. 

Ripped off her feet in the middle of the street, he’d wrapped an arm around her middle and taken to the skies. The air was frigid; his grip unyielding. She’d hid her face from the cold, cringing into the lapels of his coat, and held on as tightly as she could. 

Minutes? An hour? A Day? She had no idea how long they moved through the clouds, but it was long enough to say a prayer and beg for help. 

There was no answer except his callous laughter in her ear. 

“They’re not coming to save you.” 

Those were the only words he’d spoken before and since. 

Y/N watched as he got comfortable. He took off his cap and carefully shed his coat. The ensemble was strange and only added to the unease in her gut. 

Dean would never wear something so tailored, so proper. 

Michael wore it well. 

He paid her no mind while walking around the posh suite. He hung his coat in the closet and placed his cap on the empty shelf above the rail. He checked his countenance in the mirror and ran a hand through his hair, setting it back in place after the long, windy flight. 

Y/N let her eyes turn to the room. Despite his seeming familiarity with the area, the place seemed untouched. The bed was made with crisp corners and perfect lines. Every fiber of the white carpet was fluffed and in place; every pillow on the couch was plump. The walls were paneled in dark mahogany wood, interspersed with calming muted blue trim and highlights. Prints of black and white cities hung catty corner on the walls by the door, and dual vases of tall white orchids framed the large bed. Everything was in perfect order, fit for a celebrity in residence.

The seating area she occupied held a bar to the left and Michael busied himself there, filling two crystal glasses halfway with scotch. 

He held one up to the window, letting the evening sun shine through. He turned it slowly and a tiny rainbow swept across his cheek. 

She couldn’t take her eyes off of it, or him. 

Michael’s eyes turned to her and narrowed. He rounded the bar and offered her the glass in his right hand. She hesitated but ultimately took it. One last drink for the doomed. 

“I’ve never had a taste for alcohol,” Michael said, settling into the chair opposite her. “But Dean’s… tongue seems to enjoy it.”

She shivered at the name, at the idea that Dean was sitting there but not. That Dean’s voice was speaking to her but not. She raised her glass and mustered up the courage to go down without giving him the satisfaction of seeing her fear. 

“To your health,” she toasted. 

He grinned and lifted his tumbler. “To yours.”

Michael took a delicate sip, but Y/N drank hers down in three hard gulps, hoping the sting would clear her head and the alcohol would steel her nerves. 

“Gluttony… How quaint.”

Michael never seemed to blink. His eyes stayed clear and focused on her face no matter how she reacted or moved. 

“Yeah, well, I was thirsty.” She clung to the glass as if it were the only thing holding her together. Her fingers tensed so tightly over the intricate designs cut into the sides, she wondered if she would bleed. “So, this is your… lair or whatever?”

He laughed gently at the term. “It’s just a room.”

Y/N nodded and looked away as if scanning the decor. “You bring all your victims here?” 

Michael took another drink. “Only the special ones.” 

“I’m special?” Y/N managed an impressed laugh. “Well, at least I got that goin’ for me.” She went to take another sip and remembered she was out of scotch. Holding up the glass, she shook it a bit and nodded towards the bar. “You mind?” 

Michael nodded slowly and Y/N managed to peel herself off the chair and walk on shaky legs to the bar. 

“Do you not think you are special?” he asked, not bothering to look over his shoulder at her. 

“Not at the moment, no.” Y/N unscrewed the bottle and tipped it into her glass. She drank it down quickly and refilled. Drunk was better than feeling the pain of whatever was coming. 

“Dean certainly believed that you were. He… begged me not to harm you.” 

His words stung her deep and she knocked back a third shot. 

“Oh?” 

“He’s… struggling even now.” Michael rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck. “He’s screaming… beating his fists… ordering me to set you free.” 

Y/N swallowed back the hurt and guilt. “Yeah, that sounds like Dean.” A fourth pour filled her glass. “He probably won’t stop, so maybe you should just vacate and go about your business in another suit.” 

Michael exhaled sharply and the lights flickered. His hand opened and closed over the arm of the chair, tensing over the fabric in an attempt to calm himself. 

He growled. “Come sit, Y/N.” 

She grabbed the bottle and followed his command. 

Michael set his unfinished scotch on the glass coffee table next to them and sat back, his spine straight, his face a cool mask of authority. 

“You need to contain your… attitude.”  

The sharpness in his voice forced fear to coat her skin. Goosebumps rose on her arms and chest as she sat down, pressing as far into the back of the chair as she could. 

“Hard not to be sassy when you’re on your deathbed.” She hid her shaking hand by gripping the glass and taking a heavy sip. “Kinda wanna go out with a bang.” 

She expected anger to follow, but Michael tipped his head to the side, curiously staring at her. 

“You are special, aren’t you?” He leaned forward a bit, peering deeper into her soul. 

Y/N could feel the prying gaze as if he were methodically peeling back her being layer by layer. A tightness closed around her heart and she held her breath for fear of crying out. 

“Dean was right in that assertion.” Michael dipped his chin and his eyes glowed a faint blue as a trickle of his Grace seeped free. “I have no concept of physical beauty, but… your… soul is quite intriguing. Your mind…” 

The intrusive feeling worked its way up to her head and Y/N felt as if her brain were swelling. A migraine-like throbbing began at her temples and she shut her eyes tight. 

“...Very impressive…” He licked his lips slowly as if tasting her essence. “Not overly intelligent, but you do make up for it in… what do they say? Personality.”

She wanted to snap back with a witty dig, but the pain worsened. His Grace prodded her mind and the throbbing grew worse, spreading across her scalp and localizing between her eyes. The bottle and glass fell to the floor as she grabbed her head. The amber liquid ran free, soaking into the pure white carpet. 

Pain spread like fire through a labyrinth, following the pathways between the gray matter of her brain.  “S-stop!”

Impressed, Michael’s mouth turned up in a half smile, and he dug in deeper. 

“The way your human brains work is so… fascinating.” 

Y/N’s eyes rolled back, unable to focus. She clawed at the sides of her head, desperate to ease the pain or at least divert it. 

“Electrical impulses shoot through every cell, keeping the brain alive… controlling the body… but the real you- your… soul… is in there as well.”

Nausea struck her and Y/N doubled over, dry heaving with her head between her knees. “Please! Stop…”

“What you perceive as ‘You’ is crammed up in the folds and crevices of your physical brain and yet… If I take you away… The brain still functions.” 

She hit the floor with a trembling cry. The vice in her head was tightening and she was sure she’d be gone in less than a minute. 

“So what good is your soul, Y/N?” he asked, falling to one knee and hovering over her. Curled in the fetal position, she had no defenses against his hand, or the Grace he pushed harder into her skull. “What are you if not a heavenly battery?” Michael traced a finger slowly down her cheek and the pain stopped. 

With a gasping breath, she sat up and scrambled away. She coughed hard, blinked to clear her vision, and tried to stand. Her legs were numb, her arms practically useless. “Why are you doing this?” she asked, barely a whisper above her tears. 

Michael spread his hands in a holy gesture. “Because I can. Because it’s slowly killing your lover.”

Her eyes went wide. Tears stung but she refused to look away. “Dean?” 

“Yes.” Michael smiled softly. “He’s fighting me. Clawing at me.” He sighed. “He wants you safe but… I think this is more fun.” 

Her stomach churned. “This is fun for you?” 

He shrugged. “Not really, but it is amusing hearing him beg for your life.” Michael closed his eyes for a moment, listening to Dean plead and threaten. “So sad.” 

Panting, Y/N fell forward onto her hands and knees. She was as close to him as she dared get, and she grit her teeth, hoping Dean could hear her. 

“Fuck. You.” 

Michael laughed. 

“You pathetic excuse for an archangel.” Her body ached but she pushed on, watching the twitch in his jaw as his anger surged. “I’ve met angels. Hell, I fucked one once. But you- you are no angel…” 

Electric blue flashed through his eyes and Michael sucked in a deep breath. “Are you sure you wish to continue?”  

Y/N pushed herself up, rising as he did. “Oh, I am. You distorted, alternate universe, bland Xerox copy of an angel.” She swayed on her feet but defiance kept her upright even as Michael towered over her. “I’m amazed you can even possess Dean, you weak excuse for the Commander of the Holy Hosts.”

Having had enough of her, Michael lifted his left hand and sent Y/N flying back towards the window with a burst of ethereal strength. Her scream echoed through the room, covered only by the sound of glass as it shattered around her. 

Pushed through the window, Y/N felt a moment of pure weightlessness before gravity took hold. Her body was pulled by the ground and she began to plummet the twenty-seven stories to the cement below. 

She held her breath against the rushing wind and the sting of a million shards of glass cutting into her flesh. 

She stared up into the pink dusk of sunset and said goodbye to the world, to Dean, to everything above and below.

“Holy shit!” Y/N doubled over, hands clutching her knees as she panted, amazed and out of breath from the fight. “That was insane.”  

Dean rushed up behind her. His boots came into view and Y/N looked up in time to see him collapse against the Impala’s hood. He leaned back and exhaled heavily. His face was splashed in blood; the left pocket of his green canvas jacket torn by fangs.

She cringed and reached for his pocket. “Did it bite you?”

Swallowing hard, Dean shook his head and reached into the canvas. “No. Just took a chunk out of my damn phone.” He pulled the useless thing out and flashed her the screen. It was punctured by a single hole that shattered the glass in a thick web. 

“Well, it’s… just a screen,” she said hopefully. “They can replace it.”

With an annoyed brow lifted, Dean flipped the device over and showed the three additional holes piercing through the phone.

“Oh.” 

“Yeah.” 

She laughed. 

He rolled his eyes and shoved the ruined cell back into his pocket. “Fucking dogs.” 

Y/N’s initial shock returned and her jaw dropped. “Right? Have you ever seen a pack of demon-possessed dogs before? How- What?”

Dean laughed this time. “I have not.” He scrubbed a hand down his face and pulled away a glob of fur and blood. “Ew.” 

Y/N tried to politely hide the fact that she nearly gagged as he flicked the muck aside. 

“You’ve got a bit…” He pointed at her throat and then gestured to his own, showing her where to search. 

“Oh, come on!” She beat at the side of her neck and smacked the mess away. “So gross!” 

“Could be worse.”

“How?”

Dean looked from her to the house they’d left behind and shrugged. “Yeah, I don’t know.” 

Laughter trickled between them. 

“I’m glad you called,” Dean said offhandedly as his gaze returned to her. “I’d hate to hear through the grapevine that you’d been ripped to shreds by a pack of wild purebreds.” 

Y/N ran a hand over her hair and tugged at her ponytail, tightening the elastic. “I’m so confused. Why purebred poodles? Why?”  

Dean shook his head and bit his lip, just as confused. “Wish I could tell you I understood this shit. I don’t. I just kill it.” 

She let out a heavy breath and lay a hand on her chest. “Fuck, my heart is beating so fast!” Amazed, she took a step closer to Dean. “Feel it-” Taking his hand, she covered her heart. 

He could feel it pounding, racing to restore blood flow to the proper areas while her muscles relaxed. “Damn…” 

He didn’t move to pull back and she didn’t cringe. They stood in the newborn quiet for a moment, just enjoying the fact that they were alive and the problem had been solved. 

When awkward struck hard, Dean smiled shyly and took a step back. 

Y/N coughed a bit under her breath and looked away. 

He cleared his throat.

“So, yeah-” 

“You wanna-”

He froze. “I’m sorry?” 

She laughed. “I was just gonna ask if you wanted to go grab some food. I’m strangely starving.” 

Dean exhaled away a breath of worry and licked his lip. “As long as you’re buyin’ I’m eatin’.” He fished the car keys from his pocket and walked around to the driver’s side. 

“Me?” Y/N followed to the car, yanking open the passenger door with a loud creak of metal on metal. “I saved your life in there, man. I think you owe me.” 

He paused with one foot in the car and squinted over the roof. “Who saved who now?” 

“I saved you,” she said again, hopping in. “That hair-bowed bitch had you by the short an’ curlies before I got to you.” 

The leather crackled under his weight and the door eeked shut. “I had it under control.” 

“Sure you did.”

He turned the key and shot her a look over his shoulder as she settled into the seat. She was sassy and cute, and only slightly annoying. He liked hanging out with her, so he’d give her this one. 

“Well…” The engine roared to life and he cranked it into gear. “Thanks.”   

Y/N rolled down the window and took a breath of fresh air. A smile lit her lips and she sighed happily. He was fun. Annoying and stupid at times, but brave and kind. She liked being around him, so she decided not to push it too far. But a little never hurt anybody. 

“You can thank me with extra cheese.”

Dean laughed. “Deal.”

Y/N woke with a gasping scream, finding herself safe on the plush mattress and not splattered like a bug on the Chicago pavement. 

Michael was nearby, tinkering with something on the dresser by the foot of the bed. 

She cleared her throat and felt each rip her screams had caused. “What happened?” 

Michael turned his head, slowly looking over his shoulder at her. “You were angering me, so I stopped you.” 

Her heart was racing, terror pulsing through her limbs. She sat up against the pillows. “You- You pushed me out of the fucking window!” 

The glass-less window showed her the truth, letting in cold streams of air and the faint sounds of traffic below. 

“I did warn you.” 

The icy air hit her skin and Y/N looked down to see that she was naked. A hundred tiny cuts marred her arms and neck, but they no longer bled. Michael had healed them enough to keep her alive. He’d saved her from being crushed by gravity and concrete, but for what?

Y/N hugged her chest and crossed her legs, hiding her body as best she could. 

“Why did you save me?” she asked, calmer yet trembling. 

Michael turned around and she saw that his clothing had been reduced to a simple white t-shirt and plain white boxers. She shivered at the sight. Dean’s broad shoulders, muscular arms, thick thighs- but it was wrong. So wrong. 

“I wasn’t finished with you,” he replied simply. “I’m not through… examining you.” 

Her stomach flipped. “Examining me?” 

“Studying… observing… experimenting.” 

The word dried her mouth, tugged at her heart, flashed horrific scenes behind her eyes. “What- what are you going to do to me?” 

A bit of metal flashed in his hand as he approached. He held the scalpel tight between two fingers and knelt on the bed. The mattress dipped beneath his weight and Y/N cowered higher up against the padded headboard.

“I’ve looked into your mind, Y/N.” 

He came closer and fear blurred her vision. 

“I’ve tasted your soul.” 

Unexpectedly, he reached over and set the blade down on the nightstand. Y/N held her breath as he bridged over her body, refusing to sully the memory of Dean’s scent. 

“Now I want to know the rest of you.” 

Her brow furrowed with question but it was soon answered. Michael lay his palm against her cheek and Y/N shivered at the cool touch. Slowly, he dragged his fingers down to grip her chin and lift it upward. 

“I want to know… why Dean thinks you are so… incredible that he’s willing to trade his life… for yours.”

She shook her head. “He wouldn’t.” 

Michael grinned devilishly and pressed his lips to hers. 

The intimacy was torture. 

She remembered the push of Dean’s lips, every line of his chapped skin, the rhythm, the taste. Michael’s kiss was different. There was no swift breath escaping to float across her cheek; no desperate pressure behind it, no hunger. It was clinical, as if Michael had studied a textbook explaining the basic mechanics of the act. 

When he pulled back, he cocked his head and peered down at Y/N as if she had done something wrong. 

“It’s… rather… pointless, isn’t it?” he asked. 

Y/N stiffened and tried to squirm away, but Michael placed a heavy hand on her stomach, halting any movement. 

“What is?” 

“Kissing,” he clarified. “It’s crude and unsanitary.” 

She couldn’t help but laugh under her breath. “If you think that’s unsanitary, you should try oral.” 

His eyes widened with the sparkling idea and Y/N shook her head quickly. 

“No. No. It was… just a joke. You’re so right. Kissing is disgusting. I hate it. I hate kissing.”

“Dean recalls that you enjoyed it.” He bent down again, this time letting his breath coast across her lips. “He has many memories of your body, your… lips… the way you kissed him. He appeared to savor it.”

Again, he kissed her. This time, he drew from the memories he had stolen from his host, and the kiss was warmer, deeper. She shuddered when his tongue pushed through her lips, cringed when he licked the roof of her mouth. She wouldn’t engage, refusing to kiss him back. When he wouldn’t relent, she shoved at his chest and he pulled back, eyes bright with rage. 

“Did you not learn from your skydive earlier?” He grabbed the offending hand and twisted her wrist. The bone cracked and Y/N screamed as he shoved her arm into the pillow by her head. “Do not resist me.” 

Pain splintered up her arm and heat swelled around her wrist. She had felt worse before, but it had never been his hands, never been his face. 

“Please…” 

She cried through a heavy sob but Michael was unmoved by her pain.

Continuing his investigation, Michael licked at her lips once more. His lips trailed across her jaw and settled on her throat. “You will not fight me,” he warned. He pressed his lips against her pulse and closed his eyes, listening to the artery work. “You will submit.”

Y/N’s skin crawled and rebellion raged inside her. Dean wouldn’t want her to lay there helplessly whimpering. He’d tell her to fight no matter what. 

“If you gotta go, go down swinging.”

She took a breath and brought her knee up as fast and hard as she could, jamming it into his crotch. 

The angel fell back, not in pain, but surprise. 

He straightened up and grit his teeth, seething. The lights flickered and Y/N braced herself for whatever punishment she had coming. 

Instead of widespread pain doled out by invisible force, Michael balled his fist and swung at her. Unprepared, Y/N didn’t even attempt to move out of the way, and his knuckles sunk into her cheek. 

Another jolt of pain, another snapped bone. She screamed behind the hand he closed over her mouth. 

Leaning back down, Michael inched close to her face, green eyes twitching over the skin, watching as the blood vessels ruptured and oozed beneath the surface. 

“Miraculous…” 

It wasn’t just the pain, she could handle that. 

It was the way his eyes ticked over her face. The eyes that she loved, now utterly corrupted. 

It was the way his knuckles broke through her bones. The knuckles she had so often kissed, now brought devastation. 

It was the way his face contorted with clinical interest; the way words fell from familiar lips with otherworldly cadence. The voice she had loved her whole life, the lips she had kissed a thousand times, the face she dreamt of every night: it was infected with all the evil that Heaven could produce. 

Sick with pain, but flooded with spirited, dumb courage, Y/N pulled back her lips and sank her teeth into Michael’s palm. 

The punishment was severe. 

Another broken bone, another prodding investigation as the welt blossomed on her nose and her right eye sealed shut.

“You will behave.” 

Out of hope, Y/N agreed. “Yes. I’m- I’m sorry. I’ll behave!” Her voice sounded foreign, so defeated and raspy she barely recognized herself. 

Michael’s eyes glowed a bright, piercing blue. “I know you will.” 

She felt it again, that startling and somehow arousing burst of sensation as his Grace flowed into her. It worked on her instantly: stretching her arms out across the bed and spreading her legs wide. It locked her head in place and pulled her jaw slack. Not a muscle could move by her will, not a sound could be made except the quick, panting breaths that left her lips. 

She was frozen, held captive by his heavenly magic. 

Her eyes filled with tears as he straddled her hips, making himself more comfortable now that she was agreeable. 

The blue faded back to green, but the Grace stayed inside of her, holding her still. Without her resistance, Michael was free to inspect every inch of her body, inside and out. 

He reveled at the length and thickness of her eyelashes, plucking one from each open lid and tested them against each other. 

He pulled her lips further apart and ran his fingers through her mouth, feeling each minuscule bump on her tongue, the cut of each tooth, the strands of muscles lining her throat. 

Horror flashed through her eyes, unable to swallow or gag as he forced his hand deeper down her esophagus. With the passage obstructed, her breathing became heavy and labored. Her heart struggled and Michael counted each tick of the muscle. 

“So… intricate.” His wet fingers traced her collarbone. “So mechanical, every bit of you.” Scooting down, Michael set his sights on her chest. He ran his palm across her right breast and marveled as her nipple hardened at his chilly touch. “Humans truly are works of art…” He toyed with it, pinching and flicking, tugging hard and rolling gently. 

Y/N couldn’t shy away or even close her eyes as his unwanted touch continued. 

Fascinated, Michael swirled his tongue over her nipple. Her skin warmed and he felt the faint increase in temperature. Moving to the left side, he bit down on her tit and watched as blood met the indentation. He groped both breasts, kneading and pinching like he’d seen Dean do in his memories. 

Y/N couldn’t help the automatic flush of her body or the way her pussy throbbed and leaked. She could only pray that he wouldn’t notice, that he wouldn’t understand. 

Michael felt everything. He heard the blood as it rushed to her sex, smelled the arousal, and sensed her heat rise. 

“I have watched humans for eons… but never have I observed a body so… closely.”

Her eyes burned. She screamed inside. 

Michael slid a hand down her body and pressed it flat between her thighs. 

If she could have moved, she would have fought. She would have raged and kicked and thrashed at him. She would have fought until her body gave out and she had no choice but to jump through the broken window. She would have fallen happily. 

His touch was worse than death.

The wetness he touched made his eyes widen and his lips curl into a rapt smile. He dipped his fingers into her cunt, pulling out the warm slick and examining it closely. 

“How… wondrous.” 

Falling down, Michael jabbed his tongue between her folds and lapped at her hole, sucking the wetness and swallowing it down. His angelic mind calculated every molecule, sorting out cells and mapping its creation. As he licked, he saw her pussy respond. Blood filled her clit, making it hard. The skin of her lips darkened. He watched the muscles clench and heard the blood pump. 

“Blood… is everything, isn’t it?” He floated back up to look into her paralyzed face. “It is in every part of you, controlling your muscles, allowing your mind to churn, your cunt to ache. It’s… the perfect fluid.”

Y/N prayed for release. She called to Castiel, to Gabriel, to any and every angel she’d ever met and those whose names she’d only read on the thin pages of her father’s bible. 

Michael wiped a tear from her cheek. “They cannot help you, Y/N.”

She called to Rowena; she screamed for Jack. 

“No one can hear your prayers. You’re with me and I am hidden from all.”    

He held her gaze, listening to her thoughts. In one final, pathetic attempt for help, she cried for Dean. If he was in there, if Michael could see Dean’s memory, then maybe Dean could see through his eyes. 

Help me…

Michael laughed softly and kissed her forehead. “Nice try.” 

Her heart beat against its cage, thrumming faster and harder as she realized there was no end to the torture and no cavalry on its way to save her. 

Distracted by the pounding beat, Michael dropped his hand to her chest, covering her heart. He closed his eyes and felt each thump, heard the valves opening and closing, allowing the sacred wine to flow through. 

“Blood…” he whispered, entranced by the rhythmic palpitations. “Each beat keeping you alive… and for what?”

“I’m so glad you called, Dean. It’s really nice to see you.” 

Her whisper invaded his senses, making him temporarily forget that they were trapped in a closet together with death tiptoeing beyond the door. Dean held his breath when she looked up at him. In the dark, she looked so small and delicate, like a thing he needed to cradle and protect. The light streaming in through the seams of the door struck her face in the most beautiful ways, highlighting the curl of her lashes and the turn of her upper lip. She pressed in closer, simply trying to readjust herself in the cramped space, and Dean found himself against a rock and a soft place. His blood surged south and he had to shake the idea away lest she feel it too. 

He cleared his throat gently and stood up straighter, hoping to give himself an inch or seven. “Yeah, well, you could have ignored the call.”

She let out a faint laugh. “I could have. But then where would we be?” 

“Not hiding in this closet, that’s for sure.” 

Y/N bit her lip and stared up at him as he squirmed. The light was hitting his chin and the long line of his neck. She could see the hint of a scar by his ear and the shadow of a beard creeping up. He looked so big like this. So broad and muscular, safe. She swallowed hard and prayed he couldn’t feel how hot she suddenly was. 

“Jokes aside,” she whispered. “I am glad. I missed you.” 

Her smile was soft and he wanted to press the tips of his fingers to her lips and feel the pull. 

“Me too…” 

Realization struck them both like lightning and for the first time in years, they were on the same page. Attraction hit like a tidal wave and they both jerked back as far as they could, taking to the tiny corners of the dusty old closet in the back of that long hall in that big house on a hill in Tannersville. 

“Um… Dean?” 

He breathed in deeply, instantly regretting it as the sweet perfume of her shampoo flooded his brain and made his mouth water. “Yeah?”

“I was thinking, maybe- I mean if we ever get outta here-”

An inconvenient fact reared its face and broke the moment. The witch they were dealing with threw something against a wall nearby and the closet shook. Her wretched screech echoed through the darkness and Dean jumped, pressing one hand to his ear and the other to his gun.

“How ‘bout we, uh- put a pin in this. Yeah?” 

Y/N winced at the sharp pitch of the witch’s scream and nodded. “Yeah, yeah. Murder first, chat later. Gotcha!”

“Hey, it’s not murder if she’s an evil bitch.”

“Let’s debate semantics later, shall we?” Y/N gripped her blade tight. 

He grinned and reached for the doorknob. “After you…”

“Such a gentleman.” 

“Always.” 

The witch went down with more than a bit of a fight and the friends were too tired later for anything more than a drive-thru burger and a side of aspirin. 

They stuffed their faces with grease and questionable meat; washed it all down with a few warm beers. 

Dean managed to somehow smear ketchup on his ear and Y/N wiped it clear with the only remaining clean napkin. 

Y/N burped so loud that it shook the bed and sent Dean into an impressive fit of laughter.

They took turns showering, and when Y/N was done, she found Dean setting up the couch like a bed, spreading out a spare blanket, and beating a pillow into submission.

She rubbed her hair with the shitty motel towel while watching him. He was down to a single layer of light blue boxers and a tight black tee. His hair was still damp from the shower and spiked up on the top like an early 2000s flashback. She stared a bit too long and was startled when he turned around. 

“Have enough hot water?” he asked. 

Y/N shrugged. “You didn’t quite use all of it. Most. But not all.” 

He grinned and let his eyes fall down her body. She was ready for bed- braless in a purple tank top and loose cotton shorts. She flipped the wet towel onto the floor and Dean realized he was staring too much. 

“You sure you don’t wanna get another room?” she asked, moving over to the bed and tugging the sheet down. “You shouldn’t have to sleep on the couch.” 

A dangerous idea sparked in his brain, but he pushed it away. Sure, he could insist on sharing the bed, but there was a line he was too afraid to cross. They’d been friends for so long, sharing thoughts and dreams over text messages. There had been hundreds of video calls late at night when the world was crashing down around them; casual meet-ups when monsters brought them to the same part of the country. Despite how he felt, she’d never given him a hint, so he kept his feelings to himself. 

If he shared the bed, he knew he’d try something. 

If he tried something, she’d have to respond. 

If she rejected him- well, he wasn’t ready to ruin a friendship over a shitty motel room with only one bed. 

“Nah,” he replied, turning back to the sofa. “I’ve slept on worse.” 

Y/N shrugged as if she didn’t care where he slept, but inside she crumbled a bit. It was dumb to assume he’d want to share a bed with her, but she had hoped he might. Hope wasn’t a bad thing, just an annoying inconvenience that generally left her unsatisfied and listless. Hope kept her dreaming that someday he’d finally recognize the chemistry between them. Dreams made her long for his touch, praying that he’d rush at her, scoop her into his big arms, and kiss her so hard the whole world would fade away. Sure, she could make the first move but rejection was worse than hope.

“Cool.” 

Dean hung his head. “Cool.” 

Sleep was a lofty goal that neither could achieve. 

The alarm clock on the nightstand was buzzing slightly as if electricity was leaking out of it and sizzling in the air. Y/N tried to ignore it, but the irritation kept her from shutting her brain off. 

She rolled onto her left side and tucked the blanket between her legs. In the darkness, she could see Dean stretched out on the sofa. He was facing the door but she could make his perfect profile in the shadows. One hand was tucked beneath his head and the other rested on his stomach. Y/N watched it rise and fall with each breath, wondering what he was dreaming about.

She sighed and he shifted a bit, readjusting his hips. 

Her exhale rang in his ears and Dean chewed his bottom lip as he stared at the ceiling. He’d fallen asleep twice, but each time his imagination pushed him awake. He wasn’t sure if it was a dream or his mind running wild, but he saw Y/N lying in his arms, face shimmering and lips wet. He felt her legs quake as he tasted her sweetness. Each time, he’d wake up with an aching cock and unrequited desire.

He huffed gently and she sat up on her elbow. 

“You up?” she whispered, squinting at his silhouette. 

Dean smiled to himself and waved at her over his head. “Why are you?” 

“Dunno. Brain won’t shut up.” She threw back the blanket and the bed creaked as she swung her legs over the side. “Why are you?” 

“Same.” He scrubbed a hand down his face and scratched at the tiny hairs on his jaw. “You wanna get a dr-”

Y/N was at his side before he knew it, biting her lip innocently as she knelt on the sofa. 

His eyes went wide and he sat up a bit. “Hi.”

She smiled. “Hi.” 

Without asking, she turned and moved to lay down beside him. Dean shifted, pressing himself into the back of the couch to give her room.

“This OK?” she asked, already settling down. 

Dean cleared his throat. “Uh. Yeah…” 

She grabbed his hand and tugged his arm to fit around the curve of her waist. 

“And this?” 

He lay down and curled up behind her. “Yeah.” 

“Good.” 

It took a moment for their bodies to relax, for their brains to interpret the closeness or register the meaning. Y/N nearly kicked herself for taking such a chance, but when she felt Dean relax against her back, she smiled. He pressed his face into her hair and took a breath, nearly moaning when he exhaled. 

Y/N rolled her ass back just an inch, but it was enough to set him on fire. His mind was racing with a thousand imagined scenarios, all ending with her brilliant smile and his name on her lips. His fingers tensed on her stomach and she let out a tiny whimper. 

Slowly, Dean dared to press his cheek against her ear. His hand moved up a fraction of an inch and Y/N dragged a finger across it, caressing his hand and up his arm. 

He kissed her cheek. 

She threaded her fingers into his. 

He breathed hot against her ear. 

She dragged his hand up her stomach, leading him up higher. 

He sucked her earlobe between his lips. 

She shivered and closed his palm over her breast.

He moaned. 

She twisted her neck and found his lips, breaking their friendship with a deep kiss. 

Dean licked into her mouth and his blood boiled, pushing every sensation into hyperdrive. Her lips felt like heaven, her touch was like fire. He palmed her tit, rolled her nipple gently, nibbled on her ear. 

Y/N melted for him. Her body went soft and pliable; her pussy dripped, her breath grew heavy and fast. She could feel how hard he was, pressing into her ass. She snuck a hand between them and rubbed at the tip of his cock. 

Dean hissed and groped her tits a little harder. 

Her fingers snuck into his boxers and she traced a gentle line down his shaft, teasing him. He pinched her nipple hard and her gasping moan filled the room. 

“Fuck, Y/N…”         

Her fingers closed around his thick cock and she arched her back, laying her throat bare for him. 

“You know,” she whispered, “the bed is bigger…” 

Dean turned his wrist and dragged his hand down to her shorts, gently teasing at the elastic hem. “True, but then we wouldn’t be so close.” He kissed her neck.

Her jaw dropped when his warm hand slid down, covering her pussy with light pressure. “Good point.” 

She stroked him slowly as he rubbed her cunt. He licked at her pulse while she caressed his sack. 

When his breath grew hot and fast, Y/N spun around and attacked his lips. She held his face in her hands and pushed every late-night dream, every lonely fantasy into her kiss. She wanted him to feel it. Wanted him to know how long she’d waited to touch him like this; how desperate she’d been to feel his hands on her. 

Dean tried to keep his eyes open, wanting to remember every second and sear it all into his memory, but her lips tugged them closed. Her kiss was so deep, so devastatingly perfect that he couldn’t hold on. His will vanished in a rush of lust and he grabbed at her soft flesh, plucked at her sensitive spots, rolled his hips against her wetness. 

“God, I wanna fuck you so bad,” he groaned, fingers digging into her ass while she bit down on his shoulder. 

Y/N hummed and licked at the bite marks she’d left. “Me too. Fuck, Dean…” 

He pulled her closer and she sat up, straddling his hips as she pulled her tank top off. Dean gripped her hips and stared in awe at her beautiful body writing above him. She rocked down onto him and he had never hated cotton so much. The layers between them prevented his cock from sliding in, but Y/N didn’t seem to mind. She rubbed her slick cunt up and down his shaft, driving them both insane. 

When he couldn’t take it anymore, Dean sat up and wrapped his arm around her back, holding her tight. He tried to stand but stumbled and Y/N laughed softly while fumbling for balance. 

They made it to the bed without injury; shed their clothes without hesitation. 

Dean pushed her onto her back and licked deep into her mouth. She moaned into him and scratched a hand through his hair. Her legs spread wide for him and Dean kissed his way down her body. She held her breath when his lips pressed into the softness of her inner thigh. 

“Always wanted to taste you,” he breathed, running the tip of his middle finger down her slit. 

Y/N’s legs shook and her fingers tensed over his scalp. “Please…” 

Dean smiled and exhaled gently while slipping his finger into her. She was wet and warm and he hummed darkly. 

“So fucking beautiful…” 

His tongue pressed flat over her pussy and then slid inside, swirling around her clit like a spiral that entranced her body and mind. Y/N squirmed against his mouth, held her breath when the pleasure spiked, tugged on his hair. It was as if her dreams were seeping into reality and God was answering every blasphemous prayer. 

Dean was ravenous, licking her hard and pushing his fingers deeper with each thrust of his wrist. He closed his eyes and listened to the hitch of her breath, the exquisite moans she set free. Every pulse of her cunt on his fingers made his cock twitch. Every buck of her hips made him suckle harder. He wanted to drown in her juices, happy to let this be his last act on earth. 

She came hard and fast, leaking pleasure onto his tongue. 

Dean pushed back enough to see her face. He kept his hand in place, fucking her through the throbbing orgasm even as she tried to push him away. 

“Dean… please…” 

Her brows creased and her lips pushed out in a pout that nearly broke his heart. He floated up to her, climbing up the mattress and shifting his right thigh between hers. She pressed down on the thick muscle and rocked hard as he kissed her again. She tasted herself on his lips and moaned. 

“You’re amazing…” 

Dean’s heart raced at the whispered praise and he kissed across her jaw and down, lapping at her throat and sucking a tiny mark on her shoulder. She scratched a hand down his back and grabbed his ass, tugging him forward. He fell down, his full weight crushing her into the bed. 

Y/N wrapped herself around him, arms and legs holding on tight. With every bit of strength she could muster, she rolled him onto his back and popped up, sitting on his stomach. 

Wide green eyes fell down her body, soaking in the perfect view. 

With the tables turned, Y/N followed his previous trek, laying kisses down the length of his torso and biting his inner thigh. Dean jumped at the sting and then relaxed into nothingness as she licked the head of his cock. 

She kissed and hummed at the peak of him and a drop of precum zinged her taste buds. Enthused, she took him in until she gagged and then pulled back with tightly sealed lips. 

Dean let out a moan that she’d remember until the day she died. His big hand fit against the top of her head, gently guiding her up and down until he was curling in on himself and fighting to hold back. 

“Fuck, Y/N/N… Ya... ya gotta stop or I’m done…” 

She retreated with a loud pop of her swollen lips and Dean reached for her face. He dragged her up and kissed her hard while rolling her back onto the pillow. 

“Want you, Dean…” 

He hummed and shifted between her legs. “Yeah?” 

She nodded quickly and clung to his broad shoulders. “Yes. So fucking bad…”

He nudged at her cunt, dipping his cock in only an inch. She shuddered and her nails sunk into his arms. 

“You OK?” he asked, watching her eyes flutter and her mouth go slack. 

Again, she nodded; her face washed in frustrated agony. “Please…”

He kissed her gently and then set his arms aside her head. 

When he pushed fully in, they both stopped. Time froze around them and for a long moment, there was nothing else in the world. She could feel him trembling and lay her hand on his cheek. He turned towards her hand and kissed her palm. 

There was no banter, no salacious teasing, no further begging. Dean fucked her slowly, taking his time to wind her pleasure back up to the highest point before they both gave in, breaking in each other’s arms and stealing the air from the rest of the world.  

When his pulse steadied, Dean rolled onto his side and held his head in his hand. He couldn’t stop looking at her, couldn’t stop smiling. 

Y/N felt a wave of shyness as he stared but it was the good kind. She wanted him to keep watching. She reached for his free hand and brought it to her lips, carefully kissing the pads of each finger. 

He sighed happily. “You know… I really think… I mean…” His stomach flipped with nerves and he bit his lip, holding back everything he needed to say.

She laughed gently. “What?” She kissed his middle finger again. 

He took a deep breath. “I think I could really fall for you.” 

A soft smile turned her lips. “I’m pretty sure you already have.” 

His cheeks burned. His soul felt at ease. Dean laid his hand over her heart and felt the steady beat. 

“I’m pretty sure you’re right…”

Y/N felt each swipe of the scalpel, every drop of blood that leaked from the wounds. Locked and awake inside her immoble body, she tried to think of other things, to keep her mind away from the torture. She called up old dreams, sacred poems, and blissful moments with Dean. 

Whenever she drifted, Michael pulled her back. 

He kissed her again and again, breathing more Grace into her body to keep her alive. The deeper he cut, the harder his magic worked. The wounds lay open and he dipped his fingers or tongue inside, learning her flesh, tasting, feeling everything. 

His expression was crazed but childlike. He truly wished to understand everything about her, to figure out why she was so important, why God loved his pathetic creations more than his firstborn sons.

Most of all, he marveled over her heart. He listened closely to the flow of blood, trying different techniques to make it quicken or slow. If he stopped her breathing, her heart would race and then halt. If he cut an artery, it would slowly pump her life force out onto the crisp white sheets, staining the bedding in deep crimson. If he stimulated her sex, it would race and skip, meeting his touch. 

Twice, he’d killed her only to bring her back. He wanted to hear the absolute death of her heart and before kicking it back into motion. 

Y/N remembered every second, felt the pull of his Grace waking her back up. She had long ago given up on prayer, and sank into the pain, letting it consume her soul. She deserved to bleed. She couldn’t save Dean, couldn’t help him in any way. She deserved the torment. 

“Human skin is so… delicate,” Michael mused, running the razor edge down the length of her chest, splitting the flesh wide. “So… easily broken…” Again, he dragged the blade through her, deepening the gash until he saw a peek of white bone. “Like your hearts.”

Y/N screamed as intense pain shot through every bit of her. 

Michael pushed the bleeding meat aside and exposed her ribcage. 

She felt every touch and her vision faded. Consciousness was slipping away and she welcomed the darkness like an old friend. 

“No, no, Y/N,” he whispered, laying a hand on her cheek. “Stay with me.”  

Grace jolted her awake and she cursed him with everything she had. He heard her silent blasphemy and smiled. 

“Don’t you understand? You’re doing a good thing. You’re helping me.” 

Digging into her chest, Michael wrapped two fingers between the fourth rib on each side. 

“You’re teaching me.”

He pulled his hands apart and her sternum splintered. The cage tore open and Y/N felt the terrifying sensation of cool air on her lungs. 

“You’re teaching Dean that I will always win.” 

He ignored her screams and pressed his fingers to her exposed heart, observing the blood pumping from the source.

“No matter how he screams, how he… begs, claws, fights… I will always win.” 

On a whim, Michael shifted to sit between her legs. Watching her heart, he pulled his cock free and tapped her clit with the tip. 

Y/N struggled to break the spell, to move, to scream, but there was no escape. Her fate was sealed. 

“Interesting…” 

The muscle pumped faster. Michael narrowed his gaze on the aorta and slipped his stiff cock into her vagina. Blood moved quicker, the aorta swelled, the beats quickened. He grinned. 

“How exquisite.”

The faster he fucked her, the harder her heart beat. He watched like a scientist, tracking individual blood cells as they moved through her system, rushing through the expansive highway of veins to visit every part of her body. When they returned to the heart, he chose another part to focus on until he had learned all that he could.

There wasn’t much left of her mind, only a fading memory of her first kiss with Dean. That single, exhilarating instance when friends became more, and this vile moment was far, far away. 

Michael knelt between her thighs and straightened up, fully filling Dean’s impressive form. He looked deep into Y/N’s frozen face and felt a surge of pride and understanding. 

“Thank you, Y/N.”

Inside, Dean was fighting. He tore at his cell, screamed and cursed until his throat filled with blood and then started all over again.

Michael leaned close and kissed her lips, retrieving his Grace and setting her free. 

Her shrieks shook the room, but Michael had no pity for her. She was simply a thing to him now. A toy made of cells and air and blood. 

He snapped his fingers and her neck, finally giving her peace. 

Dean had seen every moment, felt his hands digging into her chest cavity, tasted her blood on his lips. 

Insane with grief and enraged beyond what he could truly feel, he let out a surge of strength that tickled Michael’s insides. 

“Calm down, Dean. It’s over.” 

You fucking monster!

“Now, now… Relax.”

I’m going to kill you. I’m going to rip you apart.

Michael wiped the blade clean on the ruined bedsheet and smiled. 

“Good luck.”  

[ratzquantum]

𝐒𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒

— a teeny tiny bit angsty but big fluffy peeta mellark x reader blurb

mornings waking up next to peeta still feel a little uneasy after the rebellion. fortunately, you know just how to fix that.

the mornings were always difficult, especially when every morning was a different surprise. sometimes it felt like finally reaching the top of a tall mountain, then other times you felt like the mountain. he treated you like some barrier, a big obstacle. it was not a practice either of you had wanted to fall into—though you were also aware it could not have been avoided.

the fried egg you had been tampering with sizzled between two crusted bread buns. butter oozed off of the sides, dripping into a puddle of gooey, leftover residue. the egg's edges had been trimmed (burned) to a crisp, toasty brown. it definitely smelled good, even if the image itself looked shriveled and overcooked. peeta would enjoy the thought you put into the food, that enough was guaranteed. but everything about that idea in itself bothered you.

ever since peeta was rescued; ever since peeta was abysmally brought back to his conscience, food had lost its taste and peeta had lost his touch. peeta had lost much that he could not recover, but specifically his baker's touch. it was as if the capitol had drained him of his joys—his skills and prides—just because they wanted to. you despised it. baking was one of the easiest crafts, and they took that from him because it entertained them.

you baked bread for peeta because he could no longer bake on his own. you baked breakfast and dessert for peeta to recoup old emotions he hesitated to feel. even so, it bothered you that your baking was never good enough to bring back peeta's bubbly laugh; the crinkles in his eyes when he smiled deep enough. never good enough to rid peeta of that long, distant stare; the ache in his muscles; the gentle shake in his fingers when they engulfed your own.

you plated the fried egg sandwich atop the cool white kitchen countertop and reached up to release the window shades in front of you. rays of sunlight dripped into the room, glimmering off of the eggy-residue. if he did not enjoy the food today, especially after you managed to not burn the whole egg to a crisp, you might as well faint there and then.

the sun gave way to speckles of dust in the air, peppering the house with that unusual feeling of 'comfort'. you were never too sure of what the meaning of home was, but sometimes you could believe you were living in it now.

you ambled your way past the sun, past the dust, and through a small hallway into the bedroom you shared with peeta. the door was partially opened from your escape earlier, revealing the crumpled bedsheets on your side of the bed. you nudged the door open further with your foot. blonde tuffs shed themselves from behind heavy sheets. a smile seeped into the cracks of your lips. his nightmares were subsiding.

the fried egg sandwich was abandoned on a nearby dresser. you were clambering into bed beside peeta without any hesitation, leaving the lights dim and the sheets scattered. his warmth had found yours and engulfed you whole.

your arms stretched out to meet peeta's waist, fingers digging gently into his loose shirt to draw him back to you. he let out a soft groan, eyebrows deepening at the sudden movement. cloth tangled between your fingers as you lifted his shirt just enough to press two fingers against the low end of his back. peeta shifted against your chest, murmuring a ghostly whisper.

"y/n?" his lashes fluttered open as your fingers tenderly kneaded his back, massaging circles into his skin. his lips parted to sigh deeply in response to your touch. your fingers traced along his spine, soothing his woes. peeta's head fell back and bumped into your forehead, earning him a soft giggle.

"breakfast is ready," you cooed, planting a kiss on the back of his head.

peeta hummed dejectedly, turning over his shoulder to face you. "told you not to make me breakfast anymore," he huffed. his face painted his voice, squinted eyes and crinkled brows gazing at yours.

it did not take more than a minute for you to change his mind. his eyes found your unchanging smile, and those sullen wrinkles softened up.

"but you won't stop, real or not real?" he whispered, a brief chuckle paired with the usually solemn question. your eyes glimmered against his stare as he drowsily smiled at you.

"real."

you reached the top of a particularly lucky mountain this morning.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

By His Command 1

Summary: you arrive at your new household to serve. (Handmaid AU)

Warning: this series will contain violence, dystopian aspects, rape and noncon, blood, coercion, possible pregnancy and other dark elements. Please read these warnings and beware.

Character: Lloyd Hansen

Note: you're screaming at me, why are you starting another AU and I got my fingers in my ears like na nana boo noo.

Oh and there may be more commanders to come...

Anyway, thoughts and prayers welcome for my lost soul. Also feedback and comments if you dont mind. Maybe a reblog. 💕💕💕💕

You watch the cloud of your breath in the cold air. The grey sky stretches endlessly on, as flat as anything else in this pallid world. A white blur trims the edge of your vision, that every present brim, a facsimile of a halo. You are not a fallen angel but a disgraced sinner, sentenced to penance, fated to serve another's salvation.

You clasp your hands together, red gloves chafing roughly, wool scratching your raw skin. You look down at the scarlet ripples, the endless crimson that marks you for exactly what you are. You pull at a stray thread and let it fall away.

You raise your head and stare at the opaque screen that separates you from the man in black. The guardian drives on across the fields paled by an early frost, dried grasses wilted beneath the premature winter. You take another frigid breath and lean forward, hovering your hand before the small vent in the door. Nothing.

You sit back. You know better than to complain. There is no one for you to complain to. No one who cares. You are not a person with feelings and thoughts. You are a vessel, to be filled and emptied over and over. You repress a shudder and keep your welling eyes aimed out the tinted window.

You dip your head and hide beneath the broad brim of your white bonnet. You clutch your hands tight and wade through the mounting panic in your chest. The women who left the centre didn't often come back, and when they did, it was never pleasant. Still, you would give anything to go back. There you know what the worst and the best is.

You don't know much of what awaits you, only that it floods you with dread. A commander and his wife, but what else? Will he be cruel? Will she hate you? Will you be able to do what you were trained to?

You part your hands and bring them up your arms, hugging yourself. You can't remember the last time anyone held you. The last time anyone dared touch you. Even when you laid screaming before the other handmaids, hands bloody, back welted, no one dared come near you, no one thought to comfort you.

The SUV turns and you force your eyelids apart. You sniffle and wipe your nose with the coarse wool glove. There is a low stone fence that trails the long winding road towards a tall gate. The tires slow as your heart piques and you choke on terror.

At a halt, you hear the man's voice in the front seat, through the barrier that divides you. For order, for chasteness, for your debasement. You are not worthy. You are emblazoned as a blasphemer.

The car rolls on, jerking you back against the seat. A slow draw that brings into view shedding hedges, stone benches, a fountain, a lawn that expands before you. You watch the birds flutter, marveling at their peace, and a leaf drifts down in a calm path to the ground. A serenity that so starkly counterbalances the chaos blooming in your chest.

You veer around the curved arm of the driveway and once more stop. The engine rolls over and quiets. The front door opens and you flinch. Steps tramp and come around, a shadow awaiting you on the otherside as the locks slide back.

The guardian opens the door and you grab the red valise on your feet. You turn your legs over the side of the seat and step out, heels clacking off the hard stone. The man steps back, gripping the strap of his gun.

"Go," he nods his chin in the direction of the house.

You look over at the grand facades, stone and mortar in a centurion style, rooves high and looming, a balcony with a naked trellis below. You gulp and march forward, grasping the round handle of your bag with both hands. The man trails you, keeping you on course as his steps echo your own.

You get to the first step and raise your foot, setting in on the stope edge. The front door opens and steals your attention from the hem of your skirt. You look up as a Martha emerges in her green smock and apron. Her faces is blotchy and her grimace is deepset.

"Come, OfLloyd," she beckons you with a curt wave, "we must prepare for the Commander's return."

[fruitymocha]

The Rose

Starring: Ammon as The Garden Keeper, and You as The New Estate Owner

Warnings: tragic death, minor psychological stuff and dubious mental stability, general angst, I DO NOT CONDONE ANYONE’S ACTIONS IN THIS STORY. THIS IS PURELY FICTION AND SHOULD NOT BE EMULATED. DNI IF YOU ARE YOUNGER THAN 16, ARE EASILY FRIGHTENED, OR DO NOT LIKE DARK/YANDERE THEMES.

A/N: Hey, I know this is much later than I’ve done in past years, but I had some burnout issues. Now I’m back and we’re about to see what I can pull off for this short story, even though it’s kinda rushed.

…hopefully it won’t become a novel

But I still would like to acknowledge that my other two Halloween posts have both surpassed 100 likes, and I’m so grateful that people like them so much! I hope this one lives up to the hype, and without further ado…

Round and round we rewind the reel…

Last month, you had received a letter in the mail stating that an estranged relative passed away. And with any direct descendants also dead, that left the inheritance of the estate to you.

It was decrepit and clearly not maintained when you arrived. The house itself looked worse for wear, with rusty gates, dirty windows, and an old shed with wood that looked a bit decayed.

But the courtyard looked to be in order. Grass mowed, topiaries trimmed, and roses growing in perfect condition.

You questioned it, but there was no one to ask about the strange discrepancy between the state of the house and the state of the courtyard. Plus the trip from your old home to the estate was a tiring one, and you no longer had the energy to think too hard about these things.

Maybe someone was halfway through restoration. Sure. Let’s go with that.

You brought your stuff inside, and set up your room. But as you looked out the window, you swore you saw a glimpse of white hair. Then it was gone, and even after you gazed into the courtyard view like a hawk for the next few minutes, the white hair you saw did not reappear.

Maybe the air was doing things to you.

After about a few hours of settling in, you took a walk in the courtyard, admiring the roses that were well cared for. Then you saw the white hair again. You approached the person, and came face to face with a man tending to the roses. His white hair had a reddish pink tint on the ends, and his eyes matched that reddish pink color.

“Who are you?” You asked him

“A pleasure to meet you. My name is Ammon Lead, and I am the gardener here at the estate. What brings you to the property?”

“Well, I’m Y/N and I just moved in here. I’m the new owner of this estate,”

“Forgive me for not figuring it out earlier, Master. It’s been such a long time since anyone new has taken over the estate,”

“Well the old owner died recently, so…”

“Ah yes, a devastating loss indeed. They must’ve been a relative if the estate was passed to you…I’m sorry,”

“You don’t have to apologize. I wasn’t close with them,” you reassured him.

“It’s a loss all the same,”

“…is there a reason for all these roses?”

“Roses are notoriously finicky and difficult to grow. It’s a show of talent for the gardener, gives the estate a more luxurious air, and roses happen to be my favorite,”

Given the fact that his outfit had rose and thorn motifs on them, plus the fact that the courtyard was filled with roses, it wasn’t too hard to figure out.

“Yeah, roses are nice. Definitely fits the aesthetic of this estate,” you agreed.

“I would hope so. I’m the gardener. Have to have an eye for these things,” Ammon chuckled.

If you looked closely, you could see what you assumed to be some kind of tongue piercing. For a staff member of the estate, he sure had a more modern, edgy style.

But you were more than fine with it. You thought he was kinda cute, actually. You couldn’t help but watch him with intrigue as he tended to the roses in the courtyard. Never did you think it would be interesting to watch a gardener tend to flowers, and yet Ammon made it look fascinating.

As the days passed, you continued to come out to the courtyard during the day to talk to Ammon and watch him work. But you never saw him at night. Strange, considering he’s apparently a part of the estate staff. You’d think his living arrangements would be on property or something. But he never made any mention.

One night, you woke up in a cold sweat. So, to get your mind off the dreams and get some fresh air, you decided to leave your quarters with nothing but a flashlight and take a night walk in the courtyard.

Bathed in moonlight, the roses had a strange glow to them. They were red roses, and were striking enough during the day, but despite the silver moonlight glowing across the property, the roses still looked red under the moon.

You could hear soft weeping, and as you turned a corner, you saw him.

Ammon.

Glowing silver under the light of the full moon.

“Ammon…”

“…Y/N…you shouldn’t be out here,”

“…you look like a ghost,”

Ammon looked at his body, nearly sheer under the pale glow of the moon. Ghostly thorns were tangled around his appendages.

“I know,”

“…what happened?”

At first he remained silent. Then eventually he spoke.

“One member of the family…attacked me in a fit of hysteria. I don’t know why, or what caused it. All I know is that I ended up in the thorns, and couldn’t get out…”

“I suppose you hate roses then,”

“No,” Ammon replied. “I still love them. It’s complicated,”

You didn’t know what to make of all this.

This was all so much to bear.

Ammon was a ghost.

He was murdered who knows how long ago.

It was an accidental, frenzied attack.

The roses finished him.

You felt floaty. Distant. Lightheaded.

And before you knew it, you tripped.

Into the rose bushes.

“Y/N!”

In this state, Ammon could barely touch you. If you moved an inch, it would hurt. You were already bleeding from your arms and shoulders.

“Ammon…I’ll be okay,”

That was more a reassurance for yourself, as you tried to somehow get out of the rose bushes.

It hurt. But you painstakingly made it out of there. Though you were still bleeding. Perhaps it was lucky of you that that particular bush had some of its thorns removed. Or at least that’s what it seemed. You couldn’t be sure if it was that or a worse outcome you didn’t even want to entertain.

As you sat on the ground, Ammon hugged you. Or, he tried, anyway. He was all the support you had, even if he was technically dead.

You needed him.

As you stayed in his ghostly embrace for a bit, you gazed at the roses. One redder than all others. As if stained with blood. Perhaps yours. Or his. Or you were losing your mind.

The rose.

The damned rose, taunting you with tainted petals.

You held onto Ammon tighter. You never let go.

Never.

You couldn’t.

~Fin~

[paisholotus]

ᑕᕼᗩᑭTEᖇ FOUR

༄ؘ ۪۪۫۫ Capture The Flag Buddy۪۪۫۫? ༄ؘ

Percy's Pov

Once I got over the fact that my Latin teacher was a horse, we had a nice tour, though I was careful not to walk behind him. I’d done pooper-scooper patrol in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade a few times, and, I’m sorry, I did not trust Chiron’s back end the way I trusted his front. We passed the volleyball pit.

Several of the campers nudged each other. One pointed to the minotaur horn I was carrying. Another said, “That’s him.” Most of the campers were older than me. Their satyr friends were bigger than Grover, all of them trotting around in orange CAMP HALF-BLOOD T-shirts, with nothing else to cover their bare shaggy hindquarters.

I wasn’t normally shy, but the way they stared at me made me uncomfortable. I felt like they were expecting me to do a flip or something. I looked back at the farmhouse. It was a lot bigger than I’d realized—four stories tall, sky blue with white trim, like an upscale seaside resort.

I was checking out the brass eagle weather vane on top when something caught my eye, a shadow in the uppermost window of the attic gable. Something had moved the curtain, just for a second, and I got the distinct impression I was being watched.

“What’s up there?” I asked Chiron. He looked where I was pointing, and his smile faded. “Just the attic.” he mumbled. “Somebody lives there?" I asked, looking up at him.

No,” he said with finality. “Not a single living thing.” I got the feeling he was being truthful. But I was also sure something had moved that curtain. “Come along, Percy,” Chiron said, his lighthearted tone now a little forced. “Lots to see.” We walked through the strawberry fields, where campers were picking bushels of berries while a satyr played a tune on a reed pipe.

"Where's Selene? I haven't seen her today." I asked, him, but mostly mumbling to myself. The brown skin girl stayed on my mind, the fact that she was a full Goddess and chose to be here, confused me. I know some of the campers had to not like her, because she's a Goddess. But, she told me she wanted to be here because she wanted friends. But, she couldn't seem to make any real ones, due to everyone treating her as something higher than them, as then their equal. But, to be honest, it's probably not easy being friends with a Goddess.

"She's in Olympus with her parents. But, your little girlfriend will be back later on today." He mocked, as he walked forward, not looking back. I glared at the back of his head, and smack my teeth. Nobody, asked you to be a asshole, gramps.

Chiron told me the camp grew a nice crop for export to New York restaurants and Mount Olympus. “It pays our expenses,” he explained. “And the strawberries take almost no effort.” He said, Mr. D had this effect on fruit-bearing plants: they just went crazy when he was around. It worked best with wine grapes, but Mr. D was restricted from growing those, so they grew strawberries instead.

I watched the satyr playing his pipe. His music was causing lines of bugs to leave the strawberry patch in every direction, like refugees fleeing a fire. I wondered if Grover could work that kind of magic with music. I wondered if he was still inside the farmhouse, getting chewed out by Mr. D.

“Grover won’t get in too much trouble, will he?” I asked Chiron. “I mean…he was a good protector. Really.” Chiron sighed. He shed his tweed jacket and draped it over his horse’s back like a saddle. “Grover has big dreams, Percy. Perhaps bigger than are reasonable." He murmured, rolling his eyes slightly.

"To reach his goal, he must first demonstrate great courage by succeeding as a keeper, finding a new camper and bringing him safely to Half-Blood Hill.” he said, folding his arms, frowning.

“But he did that!” I yelled back at him. I didn't like how he was insulting my friend. Grover may have lied to me about what he was, but he's always been there for me. And, I wasn't going to let this old gass bag down talk him, like he was nothing. Grover tried his best!

Chiron huffed and started walking again. "Come, along Percy, we have much to discuss."

-Time Skip-

“Clarisse,” Annabeth sighed. “Why don’t you go polish your spear or something?” Annabeth, tiredly crossed her arms. “Sure, Miss Princess,” the big girl said. “So I can run you through with it Friday night.” Clarisse threatened. “Erre es korakas!” Annabeth said, which I somehow understood wasGreek for ‘Go to the crows!’ though I had a feeling it was a worse curse than it sounded.

“You don’t stand a chance. We’ll pulverize you,” Clarisse said, but her eye twitched. Perhaps she wasn’t sure she could follow through on the threat. She turned toward me. “Who’s this little runt?” she said, glaring me up and down. “Percy Jackson,” Annabeth said, “meet Clarisse, Daughter of Ares.” I blinked. “Like…the war god?” Clarisse sneered. “You got a problem with that?” “No,” I said, recovering my wits. “It explains the bad smell.” I said, trying not to chuckle.

Clarisse growled. “We got an initiation ceremony for newbies, Prissy.” she said, walking towards me, smirking.

“Percy!" I corrected. “Yeah, whatever. Come on, I’ll show you.” she said, devilishly low. “Clarisse—” Annabeth tried to say. “Stay out of it, wise girl.” Clarisse yelled out.

"Clarisse, must you terrorize every person you see? I mean really, you don't have anything else better to do?" A familiar voice said behind me. I turned around and gasped seeing Selene walking up behind me. She turned to me and gave me a gentle smile, I felt my cheeks get hot as I looked into her deep brown eyes, that seem to sparkle gold.

Clarisse glared at Selene and walked towards her stopping five inches away from her. "Why, don't you go do what other Gods and Goddesse's do, and mind your business." Clarisse said, threatening low, making the other Ares children shift uncomfortably.

I sorta held my breath watching them. Selene really didn't seem scared or bothered by, Clarisse's presence. She looked her directly in the eyes.

"Clarisse it's seems you have a terrible notion that I'm afraid of you. You may can scare everyone else here, but I can assure you, I am not one of those people. I do not fear you." Selene said, confidently and strongly.

I looked at Clarisse's now balled fists, she clenched her jaw giving Selene deadly glares. Which I know if looks could kill Selene would be dead, maybe that would be the case for normal people. But, I don't even think deadly glares could kill a God or Goddess.

"You don't belong here. Why, don't you go back to Olympus and sit on your throne. Nobody wants to be your fucking friend!" She seethed out. I felt myself get angry all of a sudden, I didn't like Clarisse talking to Selene like that.

Selene gave Clarisse a gentle smile back, "no, sweetheart, nobody wants to be YOUR FRIEND! The reason I have friends is because I care, and despite me being a Goddess, I win and lose. I show SPORTSMANSHIP! People aren't afraid to come up and talk to me. Can people say the same about you? You think these Ares kids in this cabin love and respect you? THEY FEAR YOU! And, that's how we're different Clarisse."

She said, walking towards her so there was no space left.

"And, that's why I'll rise above you each time." She said, proudly, holding her head high. For some reason, that made me smile. The way she stood up for herself was admirable.

Clarisse looked like she about to hit her this second. But was stopped.

"HEY, HEY! WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON!?" Mr. D said, walking towards us. Clarisse backed away, turning her glaring eyes away from Selene and now glared at me.

"She can't save you forever." She said, to me walking away with the other kids.

Mr. D, shook his head and walked away too.

I felt a tug on my shirt and turned to see Selene now in front of me. "Percy how would you like to be on I and Annabeth's team for capture the flag?" I looked into her eyes and froze.

"S-sure." She squealed, and laced our fingers running us to a different direction.

"Let's practice then."

[boygiwrites]

Harley D. Dixon 16

An amazing edit inspired by this story! (Cred to Cora_Line99) Harley D. Dixon's Pinterest Board! Harley D. Dixon's Playlist!

📖Chapter List.

Author's Note. This is the longest chapter yet! Just shy of 10,000 words!

For the first time in forever, we're blessed with a slow day.

The sun crests over the clouds in the early afternoon, glazing the Greene house and its golden paddocks in a soft, buttery glow. Slow once meant boring, but now it means peace. My Dad's awake now, albeit bed-bound, but he's more or less as healthy as a horse. I don't need to keep glancing at his pale form anymore, watching for disaster. Not having that threat of death lurking around the farm makes the air feel so much clearer. I can finally relax a little. I think everyone feels the same relief. There's one less problem ready to strike at us.

Maggie lets me use the guest bathroom to take a hot shower in the afternoon.

After helping me tape a scrap of plastic over my stitches to ensure they stay dry, she lends me some fruit-scented shampoo and body lotion, assuring me she'll be right downstairs if I need anything else. I luxuriate under the warm water for some time, suds-ing up my dirty blonde hair and scrubbing the dirt form underneath my fingernails. I feel my muscles let go of all my tension in real time. It's the best feelin' ever.

I tweak the water off and step out onto the green bath-mat, face to face with my reflection in the mirror.

Last time I got a proper look at myself, I was dying in the back of the RV. I look at myself again; at my healthy, clean complexion.

"Hey," A girly voice calls out gently from behind the door — Beth, I think. "I got you a spare shirt, if you want. Is white your color?"

I look down at myself. "I'm more of a beige color."

She laughs. "No, silly. I meant... never mind. I'll leave it here for you."

After her footsteps recede down the corridor, I fetch the shirt, close the door, and hold it up in front of me. It's a tight, white blouse with frills down the front of it, and two, tiny puff-ball sleeves that each look a little like a lily-of-the-valley flower. I peel the plastic off my side and pull the shirt on — almost a perfect fit, but a little loose — combined with my blue jean-shorts, socks, and yellow rain boots.

I clomp back downstairs and into Dad's room, where he's trying to read a book he found in the bedside drawer, but failing.

It must be a romance. He hates that sort of thing.

I ask him if he wants to do my hair instead, and he agrees to the distraction right away.

With the window wide open to the smells of sweet pollen and farm life, I sit between his legs as he brushes my hair. I'm just so glad he's alright. He gives me two neat braids, ties them off with my hair lackeys, and then I ask Maggie for a pair of scissors so Dad can trim my bangs up a little. She's hesitant at first, but I tell her that my Dad's been cuttin' my hair since, well, I had any hair to cut, and that he's actually not half-bad.

She lends me some kitchen scissors, and I happily thank her.

I make myself comfortable on the bed, on top of a towel to catch the clippings, and I snack on a red apple as Dad cleans up my out-grown, wonky bangs. He tells me he's rusty, but he does a good job. They'd gotten long in our weeks on the road, but they look much better now.

After my hair's done, I kiss his cheek goodbye and head outside.

I find Carl over by the shed. He's playing on the swing that hangs from the burly tree growing beside it in a ray of sunlight.

"Hey, Harley." He greets me, digging his heel in the dirt to slow down. "Want me to push you?"

I smile, "Yeah, okay."

We exchange places, and he gives me a gentle push.

I can see Rick over by the tents, talking to everyone. He's probably sharing the disappointing news that it really was Shane that shot my Dad, so that everyone's on the same page. We're not supposed to tell the Greenes about this discovery. We need to make a good impression, and having a trigger-happy murderer in our group ain't the best way to achieve that. It's better if they continue believing it was Otis that caused all this, otherwise we're gonna get booted to the streets again. I never wanna go back to living that way. We need this place, for Sophia.

I don't wanna talk about Shane, so I won't bring him up.

Nobody's told Carl about any of it, anyway.

"I didn't even know this swing was here." I say as I enjoy the breeze on my freshly washed skin. "This is just like the one I used to have."

"I never had a swing." He muses as he pushes me again. "I miss playgrounds."

"Betcha don't miss school, though."

"Eugh. No." He exclaims. "My Mom still makes me do homework sometimes. It sucks."

I remember doing all those spelling quizzes and math problems back at the quarry. I don't miss it one bit.

I ask him, "What grade was you in, before?"

What grade 'were' you in, Lori would correct me, not 'was'. It always annoyed me when she did that.

"Sixth." He answers. "What grade were you in?"

"I was in second grade."

"Second grade?!"

"Yeah. What grade did you think I was in?"

"I dunno. Five, maybe?"

"I'm eight." I giggle. "You're twelve. We can't be in the same grade."

"But we're friends." He counters. "I've never been friends with someone outside of my grade before."

"Well," I sing-song, "Now you have."

"Even my cousins were the same age as me."

"Mine were all older."

I haven't thought about my cousins in forever. They're all on my Momma's side, from her two brothers. There was Vicky and Tobias, the twins. They were super old. Like, fifteen. Then there was Hunter, and Lillian, and Georgia. I miss them the most. They always treated me nice.

I've never had friends or family younger than me before. I've always been the baby. Even here, that still hasn't changed.

As I'm gazing out onto the distant cornfields, swinging back and forth relaxingly, Maggie approaches us with a friendly wave.

"Hey, y'all." She smiles. "Havin' fun out here?"

We both notice her, and answer, yeah, at the same time.

"Who built this swing?" Carl asks her. "It's awesome."

"My Daddy built it, a long time ago," Maggie fondly says. "When I was just a little girl. Nice to see it gettin' some use, again."

"I reckon I could touch the sun." I hum to myself, looking at the sky.

She chuckles. "Don't go testing that theory. Your Dad would kill us all."

"You wanna play with us?"

"I actually wanted to ask you guys somethin'. I heard from Daryl just now that you found a walker in one'a our wells today?"

Oh, yeah. That ugly thing.

Carl corrects, "Technically, I found it."

I roll my eyes. "Don't be a smart-ass."

"Hey. That's a swear word."

"It's fine. My Daddy don't care 'bout swears."

"I was just wondering which well it was." Maggie interjects. "We've got quite a few around here, and I don't wanna search them all."

"Oh, it was the one near the barn." Carl says, pointing in that direction.

I ask her, "What are you gonna do with it?"

"I talked to Rick about it, and we reckon we're gonna try using a winch to pull it out. Can't have it dirtying up the water."

"What's a winch?"

"It's like a really long, metal rope you can attach to a car." She explains. "We've had ours for years, and luckily for us, it hasn't rusted."

I bring myself to a stop, widening my eyes. "Can we come watch?"

"Yeah!" Carl enthuses. "Can we?"

"Sure ya can. I don't see why not."

With a small cheer, we abandon the swing and follow Maggie across the field, rambling about all the gross stuff we think is gonna happen.

Everyone pitches in to help clear the well, except for Shane. He's off somewhere, brooding.

At first, we try dangling a chunk of canned ham over its head to see if that'll get its attention, but since canned ham don't bleed, kick, or scream when you bite into it, the walker doesn't want anything to do with it. We realize we'll need live bait, and for some reason, everyone's eyes fall onto Glenn. He thinks that's super unfair, but he is all better now, and he does have the fastest reflexes out of all of us.

"Have I mentioned that I really like your new haircut?" He smiles lopsidedly at me, thinking I'll save him. "Really suits your face."

"Don't worry about it." Rick reassures him. "You'll have four of us on the rope. We're gonna get you outta there in one piece."

"One living piece." He emphasizes. "The living part's important."

Dale drives over the car they're gonna use for the process, while Andrea retrieves a thick coil of rope, making Glenn go pale at the sight of it.

Rick and Jacqui start wrapping it around his body.

"We'll give you the winch." Rick says. "Just try wrappin' it around its neck."

He sighs in defeat, "Let's get this over with."

As soon as he's in the well, he's screaming bloody murder.

If not for the suspenseful atmosphere, it would be super funny. Me and Carl watch from the sidelines as Rick, Maggie, Andrea, and T-Dog work together to lower Glenn into the well with nothing more than a rope looped around his midriff to keep him from falling to his death. Dale sits in the driver's seat of Maggie's Subaru, waiting for the signal to start reversing. There's a mechanical lookin' thing attached to the bumper. It looks like a garden hose, but it's made of metal. It must be the winch. The end of it leads into the well.

"You people are crazy!" His disembodied, terrified voice shouts from below. "This is crazy!"

"We got you!" Andrea calls out.

Rick grunts, "Give us an eye, Maggie."

At the front of the line, Maggie peers in. "Doin' okay?"

"Can't believe I'm saying this," His wimpy voice echoes, "But I need to be lower."

"Lower." Maggie parrots.

They all shuffle forward a couple steps — a couple too many steps, apparently.

"Higher!" He shrieks. "Higher!"

The rope strains against the cobble as it's tugged again, backwards this time.

I chew my fingernail nervously.

"Can you get it around that thing?" T-Dog asks, sweating. "Sometime today, please?"

"Fuck you!"

Me and Carl exchange glances, biting down shocked giggles. This is the first time I've ever heard Glenn say, Fuck.

"How's that now, Glenn?"

He takes some time to answer, grunting, "Living the dream, thanks."

"Just get the winch around its neck." Rick coaches calmly, "Easy as pie. Then clip it onto itself, and it should secure."

We wait with bated breath as he wrangles the walker.

After about a minute, he calls out again.

"That's it! It's on! Pull me up! Pull me up!"

"Get him up!"

"Pull! Pull!"

"Come on!"

They wrestle with gravity to lift him back out the well, struggling in unison as Dale reverses. The winch immediately pulls taut. It creaks loudly, mixing with the sound of the engine and Glenn's panicked screaming to create the worst, most cacophonic song I ever head, and I've had to listen to my Dad's favorite music all my life. We cheer them on anxiously, watching closely in anticipation. The grass begins to split under their boots from the force. Just as the rope is about to give way, T-Dog gives one last powerful tug.

"That's it!" He says, "Come on, grab him!"

Glenn scrambles over the lip of the well, panicked, as me and Carl rush forward to help everyone pull him out.

"You okay?!" I ask him.

"God, get me out." He cringes. "Get me out."

As he lands on his ass, soaking wet from being splashed, the walker is next in line to be pulled from the depths.

It gets caught on the edge of the wall like a thousand-pound pinata.

"More force!" Rick orders.

Dale stomps on the gas, making the tyres squeal.

"Come on, you ugly thing." He goads. "Come on."

As the winch begins to cut into the walker's neck, the growling is hitched suddenly, replaced by choking.

Its eyeballs bulge under the pressure.

The engine revs once more, and Rick ushers us out the way. "Get back! Get back!"

All of a sudden, the well cracks and breaks apart around the walker's fat body as it's dragged out onto the grass. Rick's on it before I can even blink. He unsheathes his knife and sinks it into the mushy, water-logged skull with a satisfying squish. At last, the darn thing goes limp.

We all catch our breaths as he stands.

Dale turns off the engine.

"It's uglier in the sunlight." Carl muses, revolted.

No doubt about that. It's disgusting.

Eventually, Glenn deadpans a celebratory, "Anybody thirsty?"

There's a weak chorus of laughter amongst us.

I stand next to Dale and Glenn, watching as Rick and T-Dog drag the walker off the property.

"You know," Dale ponders aloud, "Did they ever mention how that thing fell down there in the first place?"

Mmm... Nope.

No, they didn't.

"This whole farm is fenced off." He continues, thoughtful. "How could a big thing like that just wonder in?"

"Maybe it's been there since before the fences." Glenn guesses. "They might've put them up after everything."

"No," Dale hums. "I was talking to Herschel about it yesterday... He said it was all built in the seventies and they do maintenance every month."

The walker is silently dumped on the ground.

All Dale muses is, "...Strange."

"And then it exploded!!"

My Dad's eyes widen.

"Just kiddin'," I giggle. "Rick stabbed it in the brain."

"I was gonna say." He scoffs. "Explodin' walkers? That'll be the day."

Dad missed out on the action of the well today, so I decided to recount the whole thing to him after. I left out the part about Glenn screaming like a baby goat, though, 'cause I think he'd appreciate that. He's already got enough humiliation for a lifetime with the whole jerky fiasco.

"You really believed me?" I grin, shaking my head. "Actually, I ain't surprised. If you believe in chupacabras, you'll believe anythin'."

He smirks, "Watch yer mouth, girl."

"Whatever." I keep giggling. "I gotta go now, Dad."

"See ya later, baby. Stay where people can see ya."

Carl uses the situation to convince Rick to let him carry a gun. I don't know why he wants one so bad, but he sure is stubborn.

"What if another walker gets in?" He needles. "I need to be able to protect myself."

"Under different circumstances, I'd consider it." Rick explains. "But for starters, I promised Herschel no firearms on his property."

"But—"

"I've also been reassured that this was a one-time thing, Carl. Nothing else is getting onto this farm anytime soon. You don't need to worry."

"I'm not worrying." He argues. "I'm just tryna be smart, like you guys."

"You are smart. I know you are. That's why you're gonna let this go."

With a great big groan, Carl rolls his eyes.

From over by the campfire where he's polishing his pistol, Shane throws in his two cents. "Might not be a bad idea, Rick."

He looks over at him. "What?"

"You know we're both certified instructors. Plenty of land 'round here that ain't Herschel's. We could set up a shooting range, see how it goes."

I scoff hearing that, anger rising up inside me.

"Yeah, you'd know all about shooting things, wouldn't you, Shane?" I snarl sassily.

There's a very stiff, very awkward pause between us all. It's lucky it's just us around, and not any of the Greenes. I guess I wasn't thinking, but when my temper flares up, I never think before I speak. That's how you know I'm my Dad's daughter, I suppose. Shane stares at me like I've just slapped him sideways across the face. I glower at him; a seething, hurt look I've never directed at him before, one I know will pain him. He knows he's broken whatever it was he'd built between us with this stunt. He's damn right I don't wanna be his friend anymore.

It's so frustrating that we all know what he did, but none of us can do anything about it. He gets away with everything.

At least I can hurt him with words.

Rick sees that I'm getting angrier by the second and puts a comforting hand on my back.

"Huh?" Carl asks, confused. "What do you mean?"

"Carl." Rick warns.

"No, I wanna know. What did you mean?"

"He shot my Dad, is what I mean." I exclaim, heated. "He was gonna leave him out in the woods to bleed to death. Ain't nothin' more than a murderer."

Carl's gaze snaps onto Shane, a look of betrayal skirting over his features.

"It was you?"

"Carl, it's already been discussed." Rick tries calming him down. "What's done is done. It's over."

"Why'd you do it?"

"Listen, buddy," Shane placates, for some reason looking at me when he does. "Sometimes things just happen. Heat of the moment."

"Weren't no 'heat of the moment'." I shout. "You followed him through the woods for hours!"

"I didn't—"

Carl taunts, "You gonna shoot my Dad next?"

"This is gettin' outta hand." Rick intervenes, standing up from the picnic table. "Come on. Let's go cool off. Both of you."

"I hate you." I call out to Shane as I'm pulled off the bench. "I fucking hate you!"

He doesn't even have anything to say. There's nothing he can say. He ducks his head, unable to look my way, and once Rick gets himself in my line of sight, I can't see his guilty expression anymore and I don't care to. I shove Rick off. He respects that I don't want him crowding me so much and opts for just holding my hand, instead, telling me everything's alright. My eyes well up, lip wobbling. I hate people seeing me cry, but Rick's probably seen Carl cry a whole bunch of times. I don't need to be too embarrassed. He would never judge.

He guides us both toward the side of the house.

"Here." He gently says as we approach a trough of clean water. "Wash your face off a bit. It'll feel good."

"I can't believe you didn't tell me." Carl frowns. "Were you ever gonna?"

I splash some water onto my already wet cheeks, catching my breath.

"Shane's been with us for a very long time." Rick confesses, "I didn't know how to break somethin' like that to you, but yes, we were going to."

"What does Mom think?" He pouts.

Rick nods. "She's disappointed."

I dry my face off with my shirt, mumbling pettily, "Murderers go to prison, y'know. They don't just sit around, cleanin' guns."

"What are you gonna do, Dad? Is he just gonna stay here?"

"Do you want him to?"

Carl seems torn on how to answer. "W—Well, yeah, but you don't usually get to choose, right?"

"We do now." Rick tells us both. "Lots of people make mistakes. Shane's definitely made a mistake by doin' this. I recognise that. But things are different. We need each other to survive out here. We need this place to survive. Putting that at risk will be hurting us, too."

"He's sorry, right?"

Rick doesn't know how to answer that one.

"I hate him." I sniff, miserable. "I can't look at him no more."

He gives me sympathetic look, rubbing my back.

"We can't kick him out." Carl worries. "He's our family."

Everybody is someone's family. My Dad's a murderer, and he's my family. That's why I forgive him. I guess that's why Rick, Lori, and Carl forgive Shane, too, even though they're angry like I am. I wish I could have that gene for moving on, but I just don't. Shane ain't my blood.

"Things are weird right now." Rick admits. "I know. But we just have to stick through it for a while."

"Until when?" I demand. "When's it gonna be okay that he tried to kill my Dad?"

"Never." He appeases. "You have every right to be upset with him. I just want to secure our place here, first."

"How you gonna do that?"

"I'm going to talk to Herschel tonight."

"And then what?" I spit sarcasm. "My Dad can have at him?"

"It's tricky, Harley. I can't kick Shane out. I can't kick you an' your Dad out. I can't have you around each other. There's no good option, here."

"When my Dad's all better, he's gonna kill him." I grind out. "That's a good option."

"No, Harley, it's not." He sighs patiently. "Two wrongs don't make a right."

"Why the Hell not?"

"Because I will not allow murder within the camp. That's a line we do not cross. Ever."

"Then kick Shane out!" I scream in his face, as if that'll make him listen better, turning on my heel and storming away.

With anger coursing through my veins, I search the farm for Shane.

He made himself scarce after Rick forced us to give him some space, but I'll find him. I don't know what I'm gonna do once that happens, but the first step is to find him. Maybe I'll shout at him. Maybe I'll punch him in the face. Yeah, that's good. I'll do that. I'll break his nose, just like my Daddy did. I ask Jacqui if she's seen Shane anywhere, and then I ask Andrea, and Beth, and even Jimmy. They all give vague, unsure answers, but they all mention the direction of the back gate, so that's where I go. I'm an arrow, soaring toward its target.

Sure as shit, I find him on the outskirts of the farm. He's sitting in the neglected, tall grass, staring out onto the distant sunset.

When I see him rub the heel of his palm over his eye, I realize he's crying.

I approach him from behind, not caring how loud my raging footsteps are.

When I'm within ten feet of him, he starts to turn around, sighing, "Rick, listen—"

"It's me!" I shove him harshly, surprising him. "And yer lucky it is, 'cause if I was him, I'd kick you out right now!"

Shocked, he faces me with wide, wet eyes.

"Scratch that, I'd kill ya!" I seethe. "Just 'cause my Dad survived, don't make you any less of a murderer! That's what you are!"

"Harley—"

"I don't wanna hear nothin' you have to say, no more." We're nowhere near the main part of the farm. From here, the house looks like a miniature. The sky is open wide. I can scream all I want, and nobody will be the wiser. "I don't care. You can't say sorry for somethin' like this! Everybody knows what you did, Shane! Rick knows, Carl knows, Lori knows, I know!" My voice cracks. "I gotta live with it! With you!"

I don't care that he's been crying. He could cry an ocean of tears, and I still wouldn't care.

"When my Daddy comes for you," I shout, "I won't stop him. Ya hear me? I won't!"

As soon as my Dad's better, this place will become a hunting ground. As long as one of 'em is alive, the other won't stop 'till they're dead.

A flash of violence glints over his eyes when I say this. This was never his plan. If he had things his way, not only would that bullet have gone straight into my Dad's head, but I'd also probably be mourning in his arms right now, letting him replace what he'd made sure I'd lost.

"I did what I did for you." He snarls, offended. "I did it to protect you. You think this is what I want, Harley?"

"I know it's what you want. You're a fucking murderer."

"Yeah? I want my best friend lookin' at me like he doesn't even know who I am, anymore? I want you tellin' me that you hate me?" His lip curls around his biting words. "That's what I want? I'll let'chu in on a little secret, here, Harley. I don't. This is Hell for me, too!"

I shove him again, but he doesn't retaliate. He takes it; deserves it, even.

"You can't protect nobody!"

I smack him again.

"Nobody!"

"Harley—"

"I was your friend!"

"Fuck!"

I punch him square in his stupid face.

He grunts under the sheer impact, his hand going to his nose. He pants, dumbfounded. His fingers come away wet, red; bloody. I stand there, huffing and puffing, my knuckles sore, as he looks up at me like he doesn't recognise me. His eyes are wide pools of incomprehension. I-I just punched him. I have never in my life punched an adult, before. It feels good. It feels really, really good. It feels better than just washing my face off, that's for sure. Sometimes, two wrongs do make a right. I know, 'cause I'm starting to grin, now. Rage, to me, feels like a medicine.

He gulps, blood trickling down into his gaping mouth. He frowns lightly at me.

"That make you feel better?" He asks without venom, as if he's genuinely curious; as if he's got an idea.

"It did." I breathe. "Made me feel a whole lot better."

He pauses.

Then, he mutters, "Do it again."

"What?"

"Hit me again." He shuffles onto his haunches, presenting his bloody face to me like a prize. "Hit me again, Harley. Do it."

I hesitate at first, not believing this is really happening, but then I see that he's serious. He cups his hands around both his knees, ready to be my punching bag. He raises his chin; takes a deep breath. For once, this isn't a trick. This is plain, raw indulgence. The slithering delight of violence is all mine to take. I feel it building up inside of me again, fighting to be let out. I slowly curl my fist again, rearing it back into the air.

I bring it down onto his face again with a dull, painful thud.

He straightens again.

I lay into him for a third time, and a fourth, and a fifth. I think of Dad's unconscious body, the sound of the gunshot, and the way he was tip-toeing alongside death for three whole days. I think about how Shane almost took my Dad away from me forever, and I make him hurt.

By the time I'm done with him, his cheek is already turning an ugly green-brown color, bright blood smeared across his chin.

That's the best thing I've done all week.

He sits back down in the grass, adjusting his jaw, groaning, "Where'd you learn to hit like that?"

"My Dad." I pointedly spit. "Taught me to punch people who are mean to me."

He chuckles weakly, accepting my punishing words instead of arguing. "Well, you got me."

"This don't change nothin'."

"I know it doesn't." He pants. "No matter how many times you hit me, you're Dad's still a fuckin—"

"I told you I don't wanna hear it."

"A fucking asshole." He finishes. "Hell, he's no better'un Ed was. You— You wanna know the difference between him an' me?"

I refuse to answer, glaring at him.

"I have never hit you." He says, knowing I can't argue with a fact. He's infuriating, that way. "Hate me all ya want, but... I've never hit you."

We stay like that for a strangely painful and gaping moment, face to face with each other's honest presence.

In the distance, we hear people calling for me.

He sniffs wetly, bringing his shirt up to clean his face. "Best you get back, now."

"Harley, where'd you go?"

"Harley!"

"Harley!"

As a parting goodbye, right before I walk away, I mumble, "You can't protect nobody."

He doesn't come back to the farm until after dinner.

Rick's a little angry when I return to the farm, but he hears me out.

"I just went on a walk," I fib, hiding my bloody knuckles. "To calm down."

"Are you alright?" Lori fusses.

I smile. "Yeah, I'm... I'm really good."

They glance at each other, but it looks like the matter is already settled.

"Come on, then." He sighs. "Dinner's almost ready."

Lori grabs my clean hand and leads me toward the house.

"You need to reconsider." Rick comes out and says that night, helping the Greenes clear the dining table.

Herschel frowns, "I beg your pardon?"

"Asking us to leave." He sets the dirty dishes down in the sink, and then turns to face him, his arms crossed. "You need to reconsider."

At least he wasn't lying, I think to myself as I finish off the last of my peas. This is him following through on what he promised me he'd do.

"If you saw what it's like out there," Rick continues, "You wouldn't ask. You're a man of belief. If you believe anything, believe that."

"You're putting me on the spot, here, Rick."

He doesn't back down.

"Well, I mean to. Those people out there look to me for answers. I wish they didn't, but they do. That includes Harley."

Herschel glances at me, a soft look in his eyes.

"After everything that's happened," Rick doubles down, "The least you can do is reconsider."

"You're a plain-spoken man."

"I'm just doing what's best for my people." He humbly says. "We've been to Hell and back these past few months. This whole journey started for us when Harley got scratched by one of the dead, right in the beginning. We honestly believed that we were going to have a child's blood on our hands. You don't forget somethin' like that. I know I won't. I know her father won't, either. Now I fear the same thing might happen with Sophia. I know you're a man of good morals, a man of faith. You got two girls of your own. If you kick us out when Daryl's better — before we can have a good chance at finding Sophia — Then this time, I'd say the blood will be on your hands. Not ours."

Herschel is confronted by his words, glancing over at Beth and Maggie, the apples of his eye, as they clean dishes together.

"Will you consider my request?"

"There are... aspects to this." Herschel says. "Things I can't and will not discuss. But if you and your people respect my rules... I will reconsider."

I try not to let my excitement show on my face.

Rick smiles. "We will. You have my word."

Herschel nods. "And you have mine."

Dad's still reading the book when I go into his room that night and change into my pyjamas.

"Dad, guess what?"

He hums.

"Rick got Herschel to think about lettin' us stay longer." I smile, stepping into my sleep shorts. "We might not have to leave."

He lowers the book at that, a sceptical look on his face. "He did?"

"Yeah." I pull on my shirt and hop on the bed, taking out my braids. "You know what that means?"

"What?"

"Shane can get punished, and the Greenes won't care."

As I move onto the second braid, content with this development, I don't notice my Dad looking over me, a dark look in his eyes.

"Baby?"

"Yeah?"

"What's that?"

He grunts as he sits up slightly, reaching out to grab my wrist. I look down at it, only now noticing a tiny speckle of Shane's blood on one of my knuckles. Damn it. I thought I got it all off when I washed my hands this evening, but I must've missed a spot. I lick my thumb and wipe it away.

My gaze averted, I confess, "I punched Shane today."

"You what?" He scolds harshly.

"I punched him a whole heap of times, actually." I say somewhat proudly. "He let me. He said it would make me feel better."

He looks like he wants to strangle something.

He demands, "Who else was there?"

I realize I might actually be in trouble for this, and I mumble, "Uh... No-one."

"Fuckin' Hell, Harley." He groans, rubbing a hand down his face. He drops it, revealing a deep frown. "You stay away from him, okay?"

"But, you said—"

"Don't back-talk me, girl. You know what he's capable of, and ya still went and talked to him."

"I wasn't nice to him, Daddy. I promise. I was real mad."

"A guy like that, it don't matter." He insists. "He gets in ya fuckin' head, Harley. He already has. Do not do that shit again. Ya hearin' me?"

"Yes, Dad."

"Creepy piece'a shit." He grumbles to himself as he sits back, taking a deep breath. "You remember what I did to Ronnie?"

Chewing my lip, I murmur, "Yeah."

"And how you weren't scared of me, after?"

"Uh-huh."

He nods. "Well, keep that in mind."

"Why?"

"'Cause I told you to. Now, c'mon. Time for bed." He lifts up the covers for me, and after blowing out the candle, I wiggle myself in beside him. This will be our last sleep in the house. Herschel reckons Dad will be able to walk tomorrow, and after that, we're gonna get kicked outside with everyone else. I don't mind. I can't wait to sleep under the stars again. Once I'm comfortable, he offers, "You want me to sing you to sleep?"

I nod, closing my eyes.

His soft words begin to fill the quiet room, a pretty echo of an old life.

"Hush little baby, don't say a word... Daddy's gonna buy you a mockingbird."

"He-lloooo, farmer's daughter."

The next morning, I send Glenn an unimpressed look from my seat on the porch.

"Gross, Glenn."

He continues peering through his binoculars at Maggie as she rides up the road.

I roll my eyes and go back to eating my small breakfast of peach jam on toast.

They're going on a run today. Between me, T-Dog, and my Dad's injuries, the painkillers and antibiotics have run out pretty quickly. He's gonna try walking today, so he'll definitely need them more than usual. They're going to check out a nearby pharmacy for more. I asked if I could go with them, but Rick, Dad, and Lori all answered me with a synchronized scolding of, No, so that idea's out the window.

As Lori comes up the porch steps, Glenn startles, trying to hide his obvious spying.

"Oh, h-hey, Lori. Nice morning, huh?"

She raises a brow. "I'm not even gonna ask."

"You got the list?"

"Yeah. Here it is." She hands him a crumpled slip of paper, glancing around, lowering her voice. "And there's one other item on there."

He unfolds it, reading down the scrawled words.

"I wrote it down separately. It's personal. If we could be real discreet about that, okay?"

When he makes it to the bottom, his eyes go wide.

"Uh, s-sure." He promises. "I just need to know where to find it."

"Try the feminine hygiene section."

His cheeks go a little pink, but he nods, "Consider it done."

"What is it?" I nosey.

"Just some lady products." She brushes it off, taking a seat beside me. "Don't worry about it."

Glenn mutters, "Can I ask... Whose—?

"No." She chides.

He nervously gives up on his question. "O-Okay."

Maggie makes it to the front of the house, leading another horse alongside hers for Glenn. He quickly snatches up his backpack and rifle, heading down the steps. We watch as he clumsily mounts the saddle with some coaching from Maggie, which makes us both giggle.

He gets it, eventually.

As they trot down the path together, Lori gives me an amused look. "He's totally sweet on her."

I scrunch up my nose. "Don't put me off my food."

"Sorry," She laughs.

Later in the morning, I join Andrea on the roof of the RV as she stands watch.

Looking through her binoculars, she mutters to herself, "What is he doing?"

I frown. "What is it?"

She hands them to me, and I peer through the lenses in the direction she was facing, met with the peculiar sight of Dale on the border of the farm, kicking a fence post. He continues along the line, giving the next one a firm shake. I lower the binoculars, mildly entertained.

"I think he's investigating." I snicker to myself.

"Investigating?" Andrea looks at me, confused. "Investigating what?"

"He thinks something's up with the fences." I tell her, watching his distant figure move onto the next one. "I guess he means to find out what."

She laughs. "He's gonna break a toe if he's not careful."

I've never known anyone nosier than Dale Horvath.

In the afternoon, Glenn and Maggie return with everything on the list.

Dad insists that he don't even need the painkillers, but he gets forced by Maggie to take 'em, anyway. We wait half an hour for the pills to kick in, and then after some more arguing from Dad's end about how he can do it on his own, he yanks the IV needle out his arm and scoots onto the edge of the bed. With some effort and a few heavy grunts, he manages to get onto his feet, wobbling only slightly.

I cheer him on, making him smile a little.

We trail him out onto the back porch, hovering nearby in case he falters, but he stands strong the whole way.

He breathes in the fresh air. "Almost forgot what real life smelt like."

I pace around the house with him as Maggie and Glenn clear out all evidence of him ever existing in the guest room.

Herschel checks him over one last time and gives him the official green-light to return to life as usual.

We all spend about half an hour pitching a tent and driving over all our chairs, rucksacks, and other belongings to a nice spot on the far reaches of the property, under a patch of healthy, green trees, per Dad's request. It'll make the walk to camp that much longer, but he's willing to deal with it. He makes it very clear that he doesn't wanna be within a hundred fuckin' feet of Shane. Maggie and Glenn express vehement understanding.

"He's like a bomb waitin' to go off, that man." She scoffs, setting the last item, a crate, down in the dirt. "Don't know why you keep him around."

Dad mutters sardonically, "He's popular in the Grimes department."

"Well, if he was in my group," She drawls, "He would've been gone days ago."

"Trust me, I share the fuckin' sentiment." He takes the last bag from Glenn. "I got it."

"You sure, man?"

He grunts uncomfortably as he tosses it into the tent. "Yeah, I'm sure. Don't need no babysitters. I'm fine."

"Well, that's everything." Maggie sighs. "Come back to the house for dinner tonight. We're havin' veggie soup and grilled cheese."

"I think I've had more than enough of that house for a lifetime."

"Half an hour won't kill ya." She rolls her eyes. "Do it for Carol. She made it happen, after all. We'll see ya then, okay? Bye, Harley."

"See ya later." I smile, giggling as Glenn flicks my ear as they both walk off.

Dad settles down in his camping chair, hissing.

I ask him, "Ya feelin' alright?"

"Yeah, baby. Just sore. Start a fire, will ya?"

"Sure thing," I say, turning away into the treeline to search for twigs.

In the afternoon, Glenn and Maggie return with everything on the list.

Dad insists that he don't even need the painkillers, but he gets forced by Maggie to take 'em, anyway. We wait half an hour for the pills to kick in, and then after some more arguing from Dad's end about how he can do it on his own, he yanks the IV needle out his arm and scoots onto the edge of the bed. With some effort and a few heavy grunts, he manages to get onto his feet, wobbling only slightly.

I cheer him on, making him smile a little.

We trail him out onto the back porch, hovering nearby in case he falters, but he stands strong the whole way.

He breathes in the fresh air. "Almost forgot what real life smelt like."

I pace around the house with him as Maggie and Glenn clear out all evidence of him ever existing in the guest room.

Herschel checks him over one last time and gives him the official green-light to return to life as usual.

We all spend about half an hour pitching a tent and driving over all our chairs, rucksacks, and other belongings to a nice spot on the far reaches of the property, under a patch of healthy, green trees, per Dad's request. It'll make the walk to camp that much longer, but he's willing to deal with it. He makes it very clear that he doesn't wanna be within a hundred fuckin' feet of Shane. Maggie and Glenn express vehement understanding.

"He's like a bomb waitin' to go off, that man." She scoffs, setting the last item, a crate, down in the dirt. "Don't know why you keep him around."

Dad mutters sardonically, "He's popular in the Grimes department."

"Well, if he was in my group," She drawls, "He would've been gone days ago."

"Trust me, I share the fuckin' sentiment." He takes the last bag from Glenn. "I got it."

"You sure, man?"

He grunts uncomfortably as he tosses it into the tent. "Yeah, I'm sure. Don't need no babysitters. I'm fine."

"Well, that's everything." Maggie sighs. "Come back to the house for dinner tonight. We're havin' veggie soup and grilled cheese."

"I think I've had more than enough of that house for a lifetime."

"Half an hour won't kill ya." She rolls her eyes. "Do it for Carol. She made it happen, after all. We'll see ya then, okay? Bye, Harley."

"See ya later." I smile, giggling as Glenn flicks my ear as they both walk off.

Dad settles down in his camping chair, hissing.

I ask him, "Ya feelin' alright?"

"Yeah, baby. Just sore. Start a fire, will ya?"

"Sure thing," I say, turning away into the treeline to search for twigs.

We stay in our new little camp until the sun goes down. When I start to notice our people heading inside the house, I put my book down and convince him to come have dinner with everyone. It's only polite. He stomps out the fire, grabs my hand, and we make the short hike back.

When we step inside, the delicious smells of melted cheese, spices, and fresh bread fill my lungs.

"You made it." Maggie's delighted. "Nice walk over?"

"Sure." Dad replies gruffly, way out of his element, here. "This food better be good."

"Harley told me ya like scrambled eggs, so I made ya a portion to go with the rest of your plate. A little present to celebrate you walkin' again."

He seems caught off guard by such thoughtfulness, but he's grateful, anyway. "Thanks."

We make our way into the dining room, where everyone is finishing setting the two tables that they've managed to manoeuvre in here. They've even brought in a vase of wildflowers to serve as a nice centre piece. We take a seat at the table that naturally seems to have been designated the non-Greene table, next to Carl and Lori, who smile when they see us. Conversation is easy amongst our group, but there's not really any cross-contamination between us and the Greenes. This is the first time we've all been in the same room together. It's pretty awkward.

A bowl of colorful, steaming vegetable soup and a side of hot grilled cheese is served in front of everyone.

"We better thank Carol." Jacqui smiles as she hands us some cutlery. "This was all her idea."

"Oh, it was nothing." Carol meekly chuckles. "I just thought it would be a nice way to thank you all for everything you've done for us."

"Well, it looks delicious." Beth says kindly. "I can't wait to eat it."

After Jacqui sits down, Herschel's table join hands and say Grace together. Then it seems like we're in the clear to start eating.

Everybody makes little hums and pleased noises to let Carol and the other women know that the food is good, but nobody is brave enough to try and start a conversation. What do we talk about? The funeral? Shane going crazy? The possibility of getting banished to our deaths?

Eventually, Rick comes up with an idea, 'cause he's good like that. "How about that walker today, huh?"

Our table is clearly up for the distraction, but we're cut off almost immediately.

Herschel frowns. "What walker?"

Oh. He doesn't know.

There's a series of glances thrown around the room.

"There was a walker stuck in one of your wells." He awkwardly explains. "We, uh, pulled it out."

"I'm not sure I appreciate you poking around my property." Herschel says. "You should've come to me."

He nods, looking like he regrets even opening his mouth in the first place. "You're right. I'm sorry."

Another bout of silence falls over us.

Glenn tries next. "Anybody... know how to play guitar?"

"My Dad can play." I offer, poking at my soup.

T-Dog asks, "You any good?"

Dad shrugs. "I'm decent."

"Otis knew how to play."

We all try not to look at Patricia when she says this. She's just made things ten times more awkward for everyone.

It's almost as if Otis' ghost is in the room with us, and we just have to do our best to ignore it.

"Yes, and he played very well." Herschel quietly reminisces, before the silence takes over again.

I take four bites of my grilled cheese before Beth speaks up.

"What happened to your face?"

Shane chokes a little on his spoonful of broth, reluctantly answering, "Oh, uh, it's— I just tripped a little, that's all."

"Looks like you got into a fight." Patricia comments.

"No, that's— That's not what happened at all, ma'am."

Beside me, my Dad glowers across the table at Shane. Rick notices and adopts slightly nervous look, as if he thinks they're gonna jump on top of the food right this very second and stab each other with their butter knives. Honestly, they might.

"You sure?" Dad mocks Shane, a strange lilt to his voice.

"S'what I said, ain't it?"

"What?" He chuckles. "Did ya step on a fuckin' banana peel?"

"Don't start with me, Daryl."

"Daddy, leave it." I grumble harshly under my breath. "Just keep eatin'."

Jacqui suggests a change in subject. "How about you tell us how you learned to play, Daryl?"

"I think I'm good." He scoffs.

The tension grows to be so unbearable that I eventually excuse myself to go to the bathroom.

As I meander down the corridor and pass the empty kitchen, something on the other side of the window catches my eye. I pad over to the sink and go on my tip-toes, peering out into the dark. Over by the barn, there's a short, skinny figure standing in the grass, hunched like it's in pain. My eyes widen. Sophia? Is that her? With a glance back at the dining room, I decide it's best I don't bother anyone, and I head outside alone.

The warm night air surrounds me as I softly call out her name.

The figure groans lightly in response.

I can't see all too well, but I can make out a pair of thin legs, a stringy, knotted mass of hair, and two bony hands that twitch rabidly at its sides. I creep closer, slowly taking in the figure's too-tall height; the way it convulses lightly, unable to keep its balance. The moonlight peels over the clouds, then, splaying out across the silent field. The breath leaves my lungs. The figure is illuminated, revealing itself only now to be someone I don't recognise at all. It wheezes painfully, twisting to look at me with a face riddled in decay. My skin goes cold at the deadly sight.

It's a walker. Of course it's a walker, you stupid girl.

Dale was right. They're getting in, somehow.

I don't get a chance to turn around. All at once, a second body latches itself onto me, knocking me over into the grass. I cry out. Oh, God, there's more than one out here. I try scrambling away, but its cold hands grip my knee and anchor me to the spot. It climbs up my stomach, looking like something out a Goosebumps special. A pair of staggering footsteps approach, and when the second walker appears over the first one's wrinkly shoulder, I let out a blood curdling scream that rings in shockwaves through my skull. I can't take on two walkers. That's impossible.

In the distance, the back door swings open.

"Harley!?" My Dad hollers, echoed by the other men as they bound down the steps.

The walker's large crucifix necklace dangles tauntingly over my nose, shining with the yellowed spit that leaks from the gaping mouth above it.

I grab it, trying at the same time to kick the walker off. Its chiselled edges bite into my skin. Anything can be a weapon.

The walker flails angrily, possessed with hunger.

I drive the cross into its skull. It gives out a gurgling, beaten cry, and I stab it again, and again, and again, only stopping once the bone cracks around the dreadfully blunt end, and it slumps on top of me, dead for a second time. I push the top half of its heavy body offa me, ripping the beaded necklace from its neck with a dry snap. The grabbing hands and loud growling of the second walker quickly replace it.

I ready the crucifix again, but it's hard to aim when I'm seeing two of everything!

Its jaw hinges open above the soft skin of my leg.

Right as it's about to bite down on me, Shane suddenly comes into view.

His knife glints in the moonlight. He rears it back above his head, burying it deep into the walker's face in a swift, brutal motion. Black blood splatters his front as he pulls it out, grabs its shoulders, and throws it angrily into the grass, where it lands heavily, giving out one last croak.

I'm finally able to crawl away, throwing the necklace onto the ground.

Before I know it, my Dad is crouching at my side.

"Are ya bit?" He frantically demands to know. 

"N— No." I shudder. "No, I ain't— I ain't bit."

"What happened?"

"I thought I saw someone, but..."

"You weren't there, Daryl!" Shane laughs loudly, now, still clutching the knife, sounding as if he's just won something. "You weren't there, man!"

"Bullshit, I wasn't!" Dad sneers, standing up. "I was two fuckin' feet behind ya!"

"And that walker's teeth were two hairs away from Harley's leg!" He retorts. "One more second — One second — And she'd be bit right now!"

"You don't know what the Hell you're talkin' about."

"All crippled and beaten, bumblin' over here like an old man. This is what happens, Daryl. You can't afford to be slow, no more!"

"I can protect my own!"

A grin splits his face. "Don't look that way from where I'm standin'."

"My own!" Dad growls. "You get that through your thick head, Shane! Mine! My fucking daughter!"

"And what a sad shame that is!"

You can't protect nobody.

Oh, why'd I have to go and tell him that?

The others finally make it over just in time for Dad's temper to snap.

I think my heart stops in this next moment. In a fit of rage and fire that nobody can stop, he pulls his knife from his sheath, jumps forward, and tackles Shane to the ground. I shriek as Rick and T-Dog hurry over to them, shouting at them to stop it, god damn it, stop it. Blades go flying left and right. Shirts are slashed. Curses are bellowed. Dad mounts his squirming body and lifts his knife into the air, making me squeal in horror. Rick takes a big handful of the back of his shirt, and right before he manages to drag him off, the knife comes down into Shane's shoulder. He cries out in agony, clutching the gash. He's lucky Dad missed in the chaos. Otherwise, it'd be in his throat.

Andrea and Lori throw themselves at the ground near Shane, feverishly putting their hands over his gushing stab wound.

"Oh, you're attackin' people, now, are ya, Daryl?" He goads, groaning through the pain. "You've always been a damn feral animal."

"At least I ain't a fuckin' creep! Goin' around, askin' little girls to hit me!"

"Maybe you should keep a closer eye on her, then, huh?"

Dad rushes forward again, but Rick catches him. He wrestles the knife out his hand and tosses it away.

"Holy shit!" Glenn exclaims, pulling on the roots of his hair.

Dale and Maggie rush over to me, their faces pale and panicked at the scene around them.

"That's enough!" Rick grinds out, forcing Dad backward with the help of T-Dog. "That's enough!"

"You say that shit again!" Dad roars over their heads. "Next time, I'm breakin' your fuckin' neck!"

Jimmy stares depressingly at the bodies. I think he must know who they were.

Carl sobs from nearby, "Dad, what's going on?"

Rick gives my Dad a shove, leaving him to stumble, clutching his hurt side. He reprimands, "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinkin' he deserves worse." He groans.

"So, you kill him? That's your solution?"

"Why don'tchu ask him? He knows all about killin' folk, don'tchu, you fuckin' schizo? Betcher sorry I lived, huh?"

Shane tries to make a retort, but the people around him encourage him to stay calm.

Maggie helps me to stand, asking me if I'm hurt anywhere, to which I dazedly shake my head. We watch as Shane gets escorted back into the house, where they'll probably get started stitching him up right away. He pushes them all off of him, enraged. I can't believe that just happened. I don't think anybody else can, either. They're all frozen in place, eyes wide and darting around for answers to questions they didn't even know to ask.

My Dad slumps down in the dirt, his chest heaving from exertion, head hanging low. He cradles his aching stomach.

It finally happened.

"You okay, man?" T-Dog uncomfortably asks.

Dad spits blood into the grass. "I been wantin' to do that for about a month."

"Well, I hope it was worth it." Rick jibes. "We might lose our place here, now, thanks to you. You want your daughter back on the streets?"

"Long as she's nowhere near that crazy son of a bitch, I'on give a rat's ass where she is."

Rick scoffs, completely done with tonight. "You're unbelievable. Both of you, unbelievable, and outta your minds."

Jimmy pipes up, "What did he mean about killing folk?"

"Nothing. Get back inside." Rick scolds, turning away alongside Maggie to go follow after everyone else.

Then, it's just me, Dad, and Dale left out in the field to process everything that just went down. I head over to him, and he wraps me up in a tight hug that I never wanna leave. Shane's blood stains both our clothes, and I'm horrified to learn that it's all still hot and sticky. This was a total disaster. I knew this would happen sometime or other, but I thought I would be prepared to face it. I don't know what happens next.

This might be the push Rick needs to kick Shane from the group. He must see now that they cannot co-exist peacefully.

After a while, Dale inspects the dead walkers and murmurs to himself, "I knew something was fishy."

He paces along the footprints they left behind, following them this way and that, further and further away.

When he comes up just short of the barn, I frown in confusion.

He tugs at a few loose boards, poking around. He makes it to a crate that he pushes out the way, revealing a gaping hole in the wall.

"What the—?" I hear him exclaim, right before a dead hand shoots out from between the planks.

He steps back, astonished.

Dad's hand curls tighter around my shoulder.

When he calls out to us, his voice frail, I feel like I might faint.

"They're keeping walkers in the barn."

Author's Note.

There's a reason Shane rhymes with insane. That's all I'm gonna say about that 😵💫

Also, I rearranged the order of events a little bit for this one. The way I write this story is I bring up a script for the episode I'm following as well as the wiki page for the season, bc I don't have anywhere I can stream TWD. It was a little confusing having to combine stuff from different episodes, but I hope it flows well. I try very hard to mix canon with non-canon things in a way that feels seamless.

Basically, it goes - Walker in the well, shooting lessons are considered, Maggie and Glenn pharmacy run, awkward dinner, someone discovers the barn walkers. Same outcome, just different.

As always, I really hope you enjoyed this chapter. Thanks for reading. Sending love! <3

[thewidowsghost]

Daughter of the Sea (Annabeth Chase x Jackson!Reader) - Chapter 5

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Once (Y/n) gets over the fact that her brother's former Latin teacher was a horse, they have a nice tour, though she is careful not to walk behind him. She and Percy had done the pooper-scooper patrol in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade a few times, and she did not trust Chiron's back end the way I trusted his front.

The two pass the volleyball pit. Several of the campers nudge each other; one of them points to the Minotaur horn (Y/n) is carrying. Another says, "That's her!"

Most of the campers were older than (Y/n). Their satyr friends were bigger than Grover, all of them trotting around in orange CAMP HALF-BLOOD T-shirts, with nothing else to cover their bare shaggy hindquarters. (Y/n) wasn't normally shy, but the way they stared at her makes her uncomfortable. (Y/n) feels like they are expecting her to do a flip or something.

(Y/n) looks back at the farmhouse. It's bigger than she expected, about four stories tall, sky blue with white trim, like an upscale seaside resort. (Y/n) is looking at the brass eagle weather vane on top when something catches her eye, a shadow in the uppermost window of the attic gable. Something had moved the curtain, just for a second, and (Y/n) gets the distinct impression she is being watched.

"What's up there?" (Y/n) asks Chiron.

He looks where I am pointing, and his smile fades. "Just the attic."

"Somebody lives up there?" (Y/n) asks curiously.

"No," he says with finality. "Not a single living thing."

(Y/n) gets the feeling that he's being truthful. But she is also sure that something had moved the curtain.

"Come along, (Y/n)," Chiron says, his lighthearted tone now a little forced. "Lots to see."

They walked through the strawberry fields, where campers are picking bushels of berries while a satyr plays a tune on a reed pipe.

Chiron tells (Y/n) that the camp grows a nice crop for export to New York restaurants and Mount

Olympus. "It pays our expenses," he explains. "And the strawberries take almost no effort." He also explains now Mr. D - sir (Y/n) thinks with an eye-roll - made fruit-bearing plants: they grow like crazy when he is around. It worked best with wine grapes, but Mr. Dis restricted from growing those, so they grow strawberries instead. \

(Y/n) watches the saytr playing his pipe. His music is causing lines of bugs to leave the strawberry patch in every direction, like refugees fleeing a fire. (Y/n) wonders if Grover could do the same kind of magic with his music; then she wonders if Grover is still inside the farmhouse, getting chewed out by Mr. D.

"Grover won't be in too much trouble, will he?" (Y/n) asks Chiron. "I mean, he was a good protecto -" her voice trails off.

Chiron sighs, shedding his tweed jacket and drapes it over his back like a saddle. "Grover has big dreams, (Y/n). Perhaps bigger than are reasonable. To reach his goal, he must first demonstrate great courage by succeeding as a keeper, finding a new camper and bringing them safely to Half-Blood Hill."

"But he -"

Chiron sighs again. "It is not my place to judge. Dionysus and the Council of Cloven Elders must decide. I'm afraid they might not see this assignment as a success. After all, Grover lost Per- your brother in New York. Then there's the unfortunate . . . ah . . . fate of your mother and brother. Also the fact that Grover was unconscious when you dragged him over the property line. The council might question whether this shows any courage on Grover's part."

"He'll get a second chance, won't he?"

Chiron winces. "I'm afraid that was Grover's second chance, (Y/n). The council was not anxious to give him another, either, after what happened the first time, five years ago. Olympus knows, I advised him to wait longer before trying again. He's still so small for his age . . ."

"How old is he?" (Y/n) asks.

"Oh, twenty-eight."

"What!" (Y/n) looks at the centaur, eyes wide. "And he's in sixth grade?"

"Satyrs mature half as fast as humans, (Y/n). Grover has been the equivalent of a middle school student for the past six years."

"That's horrible."

"Quite," Chiron agrees. "At any rate, Grover is a late bloomer, even by satyr standards, and not yet very accomplished at woodland magic. Alas, he was anxious to pursue his dream. Perhaps now he will find some other career . . ."

"That's not fair," (Y/n) replies. "What happened the first time? Was it really so bad?"

Chiron looks away quickly. "Let's move along, shall we?"

"Chiron?" (Y/n) asks after a moment of silence. "If the gods and Olympus are real . . ."

"Yes, child?"

"Does that mean the Underworld is real, too?"

Chiron's expression darkens. "Yes, child." He pauses, as if choosing his words carefully. "Tehre is a place where spirits go after death. But for now . . . until we know more . . . I would urge you to put tha out of your mind."

"What do you mean, 'until we know more'?"

"Come, (Y/n). Let's see the woods."

As they move closer, (Y/n) realizes how huge the forest is. It takes up at least a quarter of the valley, with trees so tall and thick, you could imagine nobody had been in there since the Native Americans.

Chiron says, "The woods are stocked, if you care to try your luck, but go armed.

"Stocked with what?" (Y/n) asks. "Armed with what?"

"You'll see. Capture the flag is Friday night. Do you have your own sword and shield?"

"My own-"

"No," Chiron says. "I don't suppose you do. I think a size five will do. I'll visit the armory later."

(Y/n) wants to ask what kind of summer camp has an armory, but there is too much else to think about, so the tour continues. (Y/n) sees the archery range, the canoeing lake, the stables - which Chiron didn't seem to like very much - the javelin range, the sing-along amphitheater, and the area where Chiron said they held sword and spear fights.

"Sword and spear fights?" (Y/n) asks.

"Cabin challenges and all that," he explains. "Not lethal. Usually. Oh, yes, and there's the mess hall." Chiron points to an outdoor pavilion framed in white Grecian column on a hill overlooking the sea. There are a dozen stone picnic tables. No roof. No walls.

"What do you do when it rains?" (Y/n) asks.

Chiron looks at her as if she'd gone a little weird. "We still have to eat, don't we?"

(Y/n) decides to drop the subject.

Finally, he shows (Y/n) the cabins. There are twelve of them, nestled in the woods by the lake. They are arranged in a U, with two at the base and five in a row on either side. And they are without a doubt the most bizarre collection of buildings (Y/n) had ever seen.

Except for the fact that each has a brass number on the door - odds on the left, evens on the right - they look absolutely nothing alike. Number Nine has smokestacks, like a tiny factory. Number Four had tomato vines on the walls and a roof made out of real grass. Seven seemed to be nade of solid gold, which gleams so much in teh sunlight it is almost impossible to look at. They all face a commons area about the size of a soccer field, dotted with Greek statues, fountains, flower beds, and a couple of basketball hoops - which was more (Y/n)'s speed.

In the center of the field is a huge stone-lined firepit. Even though it is a warm afternoon, the hearth smolders. A girl about nine years old is tending the flames, poking the coals with a stick. The girl looks up, meeting (Y/n)'s gaze, and (Y/n)'s waves, smiling slightly.

The pair of cabins at the head of the field, numbers one and two, look like his-and-hers

mausoleums, big white marble boxes with heavy columns in front. Cabin One is the biggest and bulkiest of the twelve. Its polished bronze doors shimmers like a hologram, so that from different angles, lightning bolts seemed to streak across them. Cabin Two is more graceful somehow, with slimmer columns garlanded with pomegranates and flowers. The walls are carved with images of peacocks.

"Zeus and Hera?" (Y/n) guesses.

"Correct," Chiron replies.

"Their cabins look empty."

"Several of them are. That's true. No one ever stays in One or Two."

Okay. So each cabin has a different god, like a mascot. Twelve cabins for the twelve Olympians. But why would some be empty?

(Y/n) stops in front of the first cabin on the left, Cabin Three.

It isn't high and mighty like Cabin One, but long, low, and solid. The outer walls are of rough gray stone studded with pieces of seashell and coral, as if the slabs had been hewn straight from the bottom of the ocean floor. (Y/n) peeks in the open doorway and Chiron says, "Oh, I wouldn't do that!"

Before he can pull (Y/n) back, she catches the salty scent of the interior, like the wind on the shore at Montauk. There are six empty bunk beds with silken sheets turned down. But there is no sign anyone had ever slept there. The place feels so sad and lonely, (Y/n) is glad when Chiron puts a gentle hand on her shoulder and says, "Come along, (Y/n)."

Most of the other cabins are crowded with campers.

Number Five is bright rad - a really nasty paint job, as if the color had been splashed on with buckets and fists. The roof is lined with barbed wire; a stuffed wild boar's head hangs over the doorway, it's eyes seeming to follow (Y/n). Inside she can see a bunch of mean-looking kids, both boys and girls, arm wrestling and arguing with each other while rock music blares. The loudest is a girl, maybe fifteen or sixteen. She wears a size XXXL CAMP HALF-BLOOD t-shirt under a camouflage jacket. She zeroes in on (Y/n) and gives her an evil sneer. She reminds (Y/n) of how Percy had described Nancy Bobofit, though the camper girl seems much bigger and tougher than Percy had described, and her hair is long and stringy, and brown instead of red.

(Y/n) keeps walking, trying to stay clear of Chiron's hooves. "We haven't seen any other centaurs," (Y/n) observes.

"No," says Chiron sadly. "My kinsmen are a wild and barbaric folk, I'm afraid. You might

encounter them in the wilderness, or at major sporting events. But you won't see any here."

"You said your name was Chiron. Are you really . . . "

He smiles down at me.

"The Chiron from the stories? Trainer of Hercules and all that? 

"Yes, (Y/n), I am."

"So are you . . . immortal?" (Y/n) asks.

Chiron looks at (Y/n), before he nods. "Sort of. You see, the gods granted my wish. I could continue the work I loved. I could be a teacher of heroes as long as humanity needed me. I gained much from that wish . . . and I gave up much. But I'm still here, so I can only assume I'm still needed."

"Doesn't it ever get boring?"

"No, no," he replies. "Horribly depressing at times, but never boring."

"Why depressing?"

Chiron seems to turn hard of hearing again. "Oh look," he says. "Annabeth is waiting for us."

. . .

The blonde girl (Y/n) had met at the Big House is reading a book in front of the last cabin on the left, Number Eleven."

When (Y/n) and Chiron reach her, she looks over (Y/n) critically, as if she is still thinking about how much (Y/n) drooled.

(Y/n) tries to see what she's reading, but she can't make out the title. (Y/n) thinks that her dyslexia is acting up; then (Y/n) realizes that the title isn't even English. The letters look Greek to (Y/n). Like, literally Greek. There are pictures of temples and statues and different types of columns, like those in an architecture book.

"Annabeth," Chiron says, "I have masters' archery class at noon. Would you take (Y/n) from here?"

"Yes, sir."

"Cabin Eleven," Chiron tells me, gesturing towards the doorway. "Make yourself at home."

Out of all the cabins, Eleven looks the most like a regular old summer camp cabin, with the emphasis on old. The threshold is worn down, the brown paint peeling. Over the doorway is a caduceus - a winged pole with two snakes wrapped around it.

Inside, it is packed with people, both boys and girls, way more than the number of bunk beds. Sleeping bags are spread all over the floor. It looks like gym where the Red Cross had set up an evacuation center.

Chiron doesn't go in; the door is too low for him. But when the campers see him, they all stand and bow respectfully.

"Well, then," Chiron says. "Good luck (Y/n), I'll see you at dinner."

He gallops away towards the archery range.

(Y/n) stands at the doorway, looking at the kids. She smiles shyly, and one of the kids, a tall boy with curly brown hair, waves in reply.

Annabeth announces, "(Y/n) Jackson, meet Cabin Eleven."

"Regular or undetermined?" someone asks.

(Y/n) doesn't know what to say, but Annabeth replies, "Undetermined."

Everyone groans, and (Y/n) shifts uncomfortably.

A guy who is a little older than the rest comes forward. "Now, now, campers. That's what we're here for. Welcome, (Y/n). You can have that spot on the floor, right over there."

The guy is about nineteen. He is tall and muscular, with short-cropped sandy hair and a friendly smile. He is wearing an orange tank top, cutoffs, sandals, and a leather necklace with five different-colored clay beads. The only thing unsettling about his appearance is a thick white scar that runs from just beneath his right eye to his jaw, like an old knife slash.

"This is Luke," Annabeth says, her voice sounding different somehow. (Y/n) glances over and she swears Annabeth is blushing. Annabeth sees (Y/n) looking, and her expression hardens again. "He's your counselor for now."

"Until I'm claimed?" (Y/n)'s voice is questioning, and Luke nods, looking impressed.

"You're undetermined," Luke explains. "They don't know what cabin to put you in, so you're here. Cabin Eleven takes all newcomers, all visitors. Naturally, we would. Hermes, our patron, is the god of travelers."

(Y/n) glances around at the campers' faces, some sullen and suspicious, some grinning stupidly, some eyeing her as if they are waiting for a chance to pick her pockets.

"Come on," Annabeth rests a hand on (Y/n)'s upper arm. "I'll show you the volleyball court," her tone is gentle.

. . .

"Monsters don't die, (Y/n). They can be killed. But they don't die."

(Y/n) nods, thinking quickly. "So they're immortal too?"

Annabeth nods. "They don't have souls, like you and me. You can dispel them for a while, maybe even for a whole lifetime if you're lucky. But they are primal forces. Chiron calls them archetypes. Eventually, they re-form."

(Y/n) thinks about the dream she'd had about Percy stabbing the demon. "So if you stabbed one with a sword -"

"The Fur . . . I mean, your brother's math teacher. That's right. She's still out there. He just made her very mad."

"How'd you know about that?" (Y/n) asks.

"You talk in your sleep," Annabeth replies and (Y/n) flushes.

"You almost called her something. A Fury? They're Hades' tortures, right?

Annabeth glances nervously at the ground, as if she expects it to open up and swallow her. "You shouldn't call them by name, even here. We call them the Kindly Ones, if we have to speak of them at all."

(Y/n) goes silent for a moment. "Why do I have to stay in Cabin Eleven?"

"It depends on who your parents are," Annabeth replies. "Or . . . your parent." She stares at her, waiting for (Y/n) to get it.

"My mom i - was Sally Jackson," (Y/n) replies. "She worked at the candy store in Grand Central Station."

"I'm sorry about your mom, (Y/n). But that's not what I mean. I'm talking about your other parent. Your dad."

"He's dead. I never knew him," (Y/n) replies.

Annabeth sighs, but she doesn't look angry. Clearly she'd had the conversion with other kids. "Your father's not dead, (Y/n)."

"He's a god?" (Y/n) guesses.

Before Annabeth can reply, a husky voice yells, "Well! A newbie!"

(Y/n) looks over. The big girl from the red cabin is sauntering towards us. She has three other girls behind her, all big and ugly and mean looking like her, all wearing camo jackets.

"Clarisse," Annabeth sighs. "Why don't you go polish your spear or something?"

"Sure, Miss Princess," the big girl says. "So I can run you through with it Friday night."

(Y/n) raises an eyebrow.

"Erre es korakas!" Annabeth says, which (Y/n) somehow understands is Greek for 'Go to the crows!' though she has a feeling it is worse than it sounds. "You don't stand a chance."

"We'll pulverize you," Clarisse says, but her eye twitches. Perhaps Clarisse isn't sure she can follow through on the threat. She then turns towards (Y/n). "Who's this little runt?"

"(Y/n) Jackson," Annabeth says, "meet Clarisse, daughter of Ares."

(Y/n) blinks. "The war god?" (Y/n) replies.

Clarisse sneers. "You got a problem with that?" she questions.

"No," (Y/n) replies, recovering her wits. "It just explains the bad smell."

Clarisse grows. "We got an initiation ceremony for newbies, (Mean/Nickname)."

"(Y/n)," she replies coldly.

"Whatever. Come on, I'll show you."

"Clarisse -" Annabeth tries to say.

"Stay out of it, wise girl."

Annabeth looks pained, but she does stay out of it, and (Y/n) doesn't really want her help. She was the new kid. She needed to earn her own rep.

(Y/n) hands Annabeth the Minotaur horn and rises to her feet.

The next thing she knows, Clarisse had grabbed (Y/n) by the neck and is dragging her towards a cinder-block building that she immediately guesses is the bathroom.

(Y/n) goes limp, remembering how dead weight was harder to carry, but Clarisse has hands like iron. She drags (Y/n) into the girls' bathroom. There are a line of toilets on one side and a line of shower stalls on the other. It smells just like any other public bathroom, and (Y/n) is thinking - as much as she could with Clarisse ripping out her hair - is that if this place belonged to the gods, they should be able to afford a classier bathroom.

Clarisse's friends are laughing and (Y/n) tries to find the strength she'd used to fight the Minotaur, but it isn't there.

"Like she's 'Big Three' material," Clarisse says as she pushes (Y/n) toward one of the toilets. "Yeah, right. Minotaur probably fell over laughing, he was so stupid looking." Clarisse's friends snicker.

Annabeth stands in the corner, watching through her fingers.

Clarisse bends me over on my knees and starts pushing (Y/n)'s head towards the toilet bowl. It reeks like rusted pipes and sewage; she strains to keep her head up. (Y/n) is looking at the scummy water, thinking, I won't go in there. I won't.

Then something happens. (Y/n) feels a tugging in the pit of her stomach. Plumbing rumbles, the pipes shudder. Clarisse's grip on my hair loosens. Water shoots out of the toilet, making a arc straight over her head, and the next thing (Y/n) knows, she's sprawled on the bathroom tile with Clarisse screaming behind her.

(Y/n) turns just as water blasts out of the toilet again, hitting Clarisse straight in the face to hard it pushes her down onto her butt. The water stays on her like the spray from a fire hose, pushing her backwards into a shower stall. Clarisse struggles, gasping, and her friends start coming towards her. But then, the other toilets explode too, and six more streams of toilet water blasts them back. The showers act up, too, and together, the fixtures spray the camouflage girls right out of the bathroom, spinning around them like pieces of garbage being washed away.

As soon as they are out the door, (Y/n) feels the tug in her gut lessen, and the water shuts off as quickly as it had started.

The entire bathroom is flooded; Annabeth hadn't been spared. She is dripping wet, but she hadn't been pushed out the door. She is standing in exactly the same place, staring at (Y/n) in shock.

(Y/n) looks down and realizes that she is sitting in the only dry spot in the whole room. There is a circle of dry floor around her. She doesn't have one drop of water on her clothes. Nothing. She stands up, her legs shaking.

"How did you . . ." Annabeth falters.

"I don't know," (Y/n) replies, staring around at the we bathroom.

They walk out the door. Outside, Clarisse and her friends are sprawled in the mud, and a bunch of other campers had gathered around to gawk. Clarisse's hair is flattened across her face. Her camouflage jacket is sopping and she smells like sewage. She gives (Y/n) a look of absolute hatred. "You are dead, new girl. You are totally dead."

"Maybe you should watch your mouth," (Y/n) replies steadily, meeting the Ares camper's gaze. "Unless you'd like to gargle toilet water again."

Her friends have to hold her back. They drag her towards Cabin Five, while teh other campers make way to avoid her flailing feet.

Annabeth stares at (Y/n); and (Y/n) can't tell whether Annabeth is just grossed out or angry at (Y/n) for dousing her.

"What?" (Y/n) asks. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking," she replies, "that I want you on my team for Capture the Flag."

. . .

Word of the bathroom incident spreads immediately. Wherever (Y/n) goes, campers point at her and murmur something about toilet water. Or maybe they are just staring at Annabeth, who is still dripping wet.

Annabeth shows (Y/n) a few more places: the metal shop, the arts-and-crafts room, and teh climbing wall, which actually consists of two facing walls that shake violently, dropped boulders, sprayed lava and clashed together if you didn't get to the top fast enough.

Finally, they reach the canoeing lake, where the trail leads back to the cabins.

"I've got training to do," Annabeth says flatly. "Dinner's at seven thirty. Just follow your cabin to the mess hall."

"Annabeth, I'm sorry about the toilets," (Y/n) says.

"Whatever," the blonde replies.

"I didn't do it on purpose," (Y/n) says, and had come to the conclusion that this had been her fault, though she hadn't known how she'd become one with the plumbing.

"You need to talk to the Orcale," Annabeth says.

"Who?" (Y/n) asks.

"Not who. What. The Oracle. I'll ask Chiron."

(Y/n) stares into the lake, wishing somebody would give her a straight answer for once. She isn't expecting for anybody to be looking back at her from the bottom, so (Y/n)'s heart skips a beat when she notices two teenage girls sitting cross-legged at the base of the pier, about five meters below. They are wearing blue jeans and shimmering green t-shirts, and their brown hair floats loose around their shoulders as minnows dart in and out. They smile and wave as if (Y/n) is a long-lost friend.

"Don't encourage them," Annabeth warns. "Naiads are terrible flirts."

"Naiads," (Y/n) repeats, feeling completely overwhelmed.

Annabeth watches as (Y/n) visibly sags against the pier railing, the (H/c) haired girl crossing her arms and leaning against the railing.

"(Y/n)," Annabeth says, and (Y/n) looks over at the blonde. "This is the only safe place on earth for kids like us."

"You mean, mentally disturbed kids?" (Y/n) replies.

"I mean not human. Not totally human, anyway. Half-human."

"Demigods," (Y/n) guesses.

Annabeth nods. "Your father isn't dead, (Y/n). He's one of the Olympians."

"Who's your parent?" (Y/n) asks vaguely, but Annabeth seems to understand.

"Cabin Six. Athena. Goddess of Wisdom and Battle."

"And my dad?" (Y/n) questions, though she knew the answer.

"Undeterminded," Annabeth replies, "like I told you. Nobody knows."

"My mother knew," (Y/n) says, turning her head to look back over the lake.

Annabeth gives her a cautious look, as though she didn't want to burst (Y/n)'s bubble. "Maybe you're right. Maybe he'll send a sign. That's the only way to know for sure: your father has to send you a sign claiming you as his daughter. Sometimes it happens."

"And sometimes it doesn't?" (Y/n) guesses.

Annabeth runs her palm along the rail. "The gods are busy. They have a lot of kids and they don't always... Well, sometimes they don't care about us, (Y/n). They ignore us."

(Y/n) thinks about some of the kids she'd seen in the Hermes cabin, teenagers who looked sullen and depressed, as if they were waiting for a call that would never come.

"So I'm stuck here," (Y/n) says. "That's it? For the rest of my life?"

"It depends," Annabeth replies. "Some campers only stay the summer. If you're a child of Aphrodite or Demeter, you're probably not a real powerful force. The monsters might ignore you, so you can get by with a few months of summer training and live in the mortal world the rest of the year. But for some of us, it's too dangerous to leave. We're year-rounders. In the mortal world, we attract monsters. They sense us. They come to challenge us. Most of the time, they'll ignore us until we're old enough to cause trouble – about ten or eleven years old – but after that most demigods either make their way here, or they get killed off. A few manage to survive in the outside world and become famous. Believe me, if I told you the names, you'd know them. Some don't even realize they're demigods. But very, very few are like that."

"So monsters can't get in here?" (Y/n) asks.

Annabeth shakes her head. "Not unless they're intentionally stocked in the woods or specially summoned by somebody on the inside."

"Why would anyone want to summon a monster?" (Y/n) questions.

"Practice fights. Practical jokes."

"Practical jokes?" (Y/n) echoes.

"The point is, the borders are sealed to keep mortals and monsters out. From the outside, mortals look into the valley and see nothing unusual, just a strawberry farm."

"So . . . you're a year-rounder?" (Y/n) asks.

Annabeth nods; from under the collar of her T-shirt she pulls a leather necklace with five clay beads of different colors. It is just like Luke's, except Annabeth's also has a big gold ring strung on it, like a college ring.

"I've been here since I was seven," Annabeth says. "Every August, on the last day of summer session, you get a bead for surviving another year. I've been here longer than most of the counselors, and they're all in college."

"Why'd you come so young?" (Y/n) wonders aloud.

Annabeth twists the ring on her necklace. "None of your business," Annabeth says harshly, but she softens when (Y/n) flinches at the harsh tone.

"So . . ." (Y/n) changes the subject, "I could just walk out of here right now if I wanted to?"

"It would be suicide, but you could, with Mr. D's or Chiron's permission. But they wouldn't give permission until the end of the summer session unless . . .

"Unless?" (Y/n) asks.

"You were granted a quest. But that hardly ever happens. The last time . . ." Her voice trails off, and (Y/n) can tell from her tone that the last time hadn't gone well.

"Back in the sick room," (Y?n) says. "When you were feeding me that stuff -"

"Ambrosia."

"Yeah," (Y/n) continues. "You asked me something about the summer solstice."

Annabeth's shoulders tense. "So you do know something?"

"Well . . . no," (Y/n) replies. "Um, I had a dream. My brother, Percy, overheard Grover and Chriron talking about it. Grover mentioned the summer solstice. He said something about running out of time, because of the deadline. What did that mean? Was the dream real?"

Annabeth nods. "Demigods have dreams that are usually true. I wish I knew what it meant. Chiron and the satyrs, they know, but they won't ell me. Something is wrong in Olympus, something pretty major. Last time I was there, everything seemed so normal."

"You've been to Olympus?" (Y/n) asks.

"Some of us year-rounders - Luke, Clarisse, I and a few others - we took a field trip during winter solstice. That's when the gods have their big annual council."

"But . . . how do you get there?"

"The Long Island Railroad, of course. You get off at Penn Station, Empire State Building, special elevator to the six-hundredth floor." She looks at (Y/n) like she is sure that (Y/n) should know this already. "You are a New Yorker, right?"

"Oh, sure." As far as (Y/n) knows, there are only a hundred and two floors in the Empire State Building, but she decides not to point that out.

"Right after we visited," Annabeth continues, "the weather got weird, as if the gods had started fighting. A couple of times since, I've overheard satyrs talking. The best I can figure out is that something important was stolen. And if it isn't returned by summer solstice, there's going to be trouble. When you came, I was hoping... I mean – Athena can get along with just about anybody, except for Ares. And of course she's got the rivalry with Poseidon. But, I mean, aside from that, I thought we could work together. I thought you might know something."

(Y/n) shakes her head. "I'm sorry I don't know more."

Annabeth looks surprised at (Y/n)'s genuine apology.

Barbecue smoke is coming from somewhere nearby. Annabeth must've heard (Y/n)'s stomach growl. She tells (Y/n) to go on, she'd catch her later. (Y/n) leaves the daughter of Athena on the pier, tracing her finger across the rail as if drawing up a battle plan.

Word Count: 5098 words

[grox]

Whoever bought my childhood home and painted the whole thing white with ugly cyan trim, it was a beautiful green house. Whoever decided to buy my childhood home and replace my beautiful gravel with carpet grass, destroy the shed, fill in my moat, fall my peach tree. Remove half the windows. Paint the whole interior a start, psych ward white. All of it. Not a single ounce of love. Unrecognizable. My bedroom my parents painted yellow with blue trim and little duckies along the walls. It literally feels like my grandmother died. Unrecognizable. Try and sell it for 175,000 I'm serious, will go to fucking hell when they die, and I mean this from my heart, I hope they fucking suffer, I dont care. I'm serious. Id rather they just tear it down and build a fucking new house than see that mockery. The brazen display of, just, god. After I moved it became a crack den but it was at least lived in. Who the hell got ahold of it after. This is a house that got sanitized. What fucking child can grow up there. Who the hell would live there. The neighborhood is where broke latinos live. I seriously hope whoever bought the house and authorized this shit fucking dies. I hope the wood gets eaten by termites and the whole thing dies

[saphira5]

Jordan Parrish x Ghost Rider Reader Part 1

Y/n has gone from town to town, checking on the supernatural creatures. After many years of traveling from town to town, y/n decided to head home to Becon Hills. Y/n birthplace, you want to rest for a couple of years then y/n would travel and check each town again.  

Y/n was riding through the reserves of Beacon Hills to get home, y/n was riding Shadowfax. A Clydesdale that was all black with white eyes, with a white star on his forehead. The moon was shining bright down at y/n, a steady breeze was blowing the limbs of the trees.  

Y/n black wavy, shoulder length hair was blowing a bit in the wind, even Shadowfax was enjoying the breeze. Shadowfax began ascending to the top of the hill, where y/n childhood house lay. Once y/n arrived at the top of the hill, y/n raises your hand and the iron gates open. Shadowfax begins walking past the iron gates.  

Y/n stops Shadowfax, and y/n does a hand gesture and the gates close.  

Shadowfax begins following an old brick path that leads to y/n childhood house, y/n begins seeing the house in the distance. Once y/n got closer y/n saw a white two-story house with a huge porch. A rocking chair lay on the porch and a porch swing gently back and forth with the breeze. Three windows and a screen door on the first story, then three windows on the second, a chiman stack on the roof. On the side was a barn, a bright red color with black trims. Y/n smiles, the house looks great y/n thought.  

Y/n hired a person to keep the house and grounds clean, also to check on the Mechanic shop from time to time. The person that cared for the house had to move back home to care for his sick mother.  

So, y/n had to return home, y/n has Shadowfax walk to the barn, y/n dismounts Shadowfax you walk to the barn door and slide the big wooden door open. Y/n takes a step inside, you look to your left and see a switch. Y/n turns the switch, the lights turn on and y/n sees one big stall, on your left an iron wall that goes from one end of the barn to the other, a large iron gate lies in the center.  

The stall reminds y/n of a upside down U, y/n sees fresh straw covering the floor, l hay rack hangs on the middle of the left wall.  

A water bucket hangs from the open gate. Shadowfax goes and checks the huge stall out, "I am going to check inside", Shadowfax neighs. Y/n walks out and heads to the front door, y/n walks up the three steps of the porch. Y/n moves the rocking chair and sees the key, y/n pick it up and walks to the door.  

Y/n opens the screen door, y/n then puts the key in the old oak door.  

Y/n opens the door, and you reach for the light switch on your left. The lights turn on, a couple of feet behind the door, a staircase leads to the second floor. A rack for clothes and hats hangs near the staircase, next to the clothes hanger lays a mirror. Y/n pulls out the key and locks the door, in the middle of the living room lays a large rug with a coffee table laying in the middle of the rug. Two couches and a recliner lay on the rug surrounding the coffee table.  

In the wall near the couches lay a fireplace, pictures of y/n family lay on top of the fireplace.  

Y/n walks past the couches and into the kitchen, the house was made to be very open, no walls separating the kitchen and the living room. Y/n walks to the back door and opens it, in the backyard a campfire lay in the middle, surrounded by three wooden chairs. 

A little shed lays near the woods, Y/n closes the door and lock it, and you begin walking to the staircase to head upstairs. Y/n turn the switch on for the lights upstairs, y/n then begins walking upstairs, pictures of y/n and y/n family line the wall, y/n arrives at the top of the staircase. Y/n looks down the hallway and only three doors lay, y/n room, the master bedroom and a bathroom with a shower.

Y/n walks to the master bedroom door, y/n stands in front of the door.  

Y/n stood there for a bit, you didn't have the heart to open the door, so y/n heads back downstairs. Y/n turns off the lights upstairs, y/n then looks in the mirror.

A black cowboy hat lays on y/n head, y/n black cowboy boots and jeans have a bit of dirt on them. Y/n takes off the cowboy hat and the black trench coat and hangs it on a hook, y/n is left in a black flannel and a black bandana around your neck.  

Y/n sees your old black bonnie hat, y/n takes it off the hook and puts the bonnie hat on.

Post 9/9/23

[jazzy---j]

Daughter of Poseidon: The Lightning Thief

“even the gods have to bow to fate”

Chapter Summary: A tour turns into a trial by toilet water. They never see the actual orientation film.

Masterlist >>> Read on ao3 (6/23)

My Brother Becomes Supreme Lord of the Bathroom

I still had not gotten over the shock. I had accepted it sure but it still felt like the whole world had shifted under my feet.

We had a nice tour, though I noticed Percy was careful not to walk behind Chiron. I stifled a laugh remembering that he'd done pooper-scooper patrol in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade a few times. And was probably wary of Chirons's backside.

We passed the volleyball pit. Several of the campers nudged each other. One pointed to the minotaur horns Percy was carrying. Another said, “That’s them."

I tried to clamp down on my pride. My brother and I had fought off a monster as frightening as the minotaur and we are still alive. That's pretty freaking cool. But, the following thought of my mother immediately put a damper on my mood.

Most of the campers were older than me and my brother. Their satyr friends were bigger than Grover, all of them trotting around in orange CAMP HALF-BLOOD T-shirts, with nothing else to cover their bare shaggy hindquarters. 

I looked back at the farmhouse. It was a lot bigger than I’d realized—four stories tall, sky blue with white trim, like an upscale seaside resort. I was checking out the brass eagle weather vane on top when Percy nudged my shoulder whispering, "Do you see that?"

I frowned at him and looked to where he was pointing and saw a shadow in the uppermost window of the attic gable. Something had moved the curtain, just for a second, and I got the distinct feeling we were being watched.

“What’s up there?” Percy asked Chiron. He looked where Percy was pointing, and his smile faded. “Just the attic.”

“Somebody lives there?" Percy probed.   “No,” he said with finality. “Not a single living thing.” I got the feeling he was being truthful. But I was also sure something had moved that curtain.

“Come along, Percy, Cassie,” Chiron said, his lighthearted tone now a little forced. “Lots to see.”

We walked through the strawberry fields, where campers were picking bushels of berries while a satyr played a tune on a reed pipe.

Chiron told us the camp grew a nice crop for export to New York restaurants and Mount Olympus. “It pays our expenses,” he explained. “And the strawberries take almost no effort.”

He said Mr. D had this effect on fruit-bearing plants: they just went crazy when he was around. It worked best with wine grapes, but Mr. D was restricted from growing those, so they grew strawberries instead.

I watched the satyr playing his pipe. His music was causing lines of bugs to leave the strawberry patch in every direction, like refugees fleeing a fire.

“Grover won’t get in too much trouble, will he?” Percy asked Chiron. “I mean...he was a good protector. Really.”

Chiron sighed. He shed his tweed jacket and draped it over his horse’s back like a saddle. “Grover has big dreams, Percy. Perhaps bigger than are reasonable. To reach his goal, he must first demonstrate great courage by succeeding as a keeper, finding a new camper, and bringing him safely to Half-Blood Hill.” “But he did that!" I argued. “I might agree with you,” Chiron said. “But it is not my place to judge. Dionysus and the Council of Cloven Elders must decide. I’m afraid they might not see this assignment as a success. After all, Grover lost you in New York. Then there’s the unfortunate...ah... the fate of your mother. And the fact that Grover was unconscious when you dragged him over the property line. The council might question whether this shows any courage on Grover’s part.”

I felt so bad. None of what happened was Grover’s fault.  “He’ll get a second chance, won’t he?”Percy asked hopefully.

Chiron winced. “I’m afraid that was Grover’s second chance, Percy. The council was not anxious to give him another, either, after what happened the first time, five years ago. Olympus knows, I advised him to wait longer before trying again. He’s still so small for his age....” “How old is he?” "Oh, twenty-eight.” “Whoa, wait, time out," I exclaimed, "He's twenty-eight and still in the sixth grade?” “Satyrs mature half as fast as humans, Cassie. Grover has been the equivalent of a middle school student for the past six years.” “Holy... that's- that’s horrible,” I said as a shiver went up my spine.

“Quite,” Chiron agreed. “At any rate, Grover is a late bloomer, even by satyr standards, and not yet very accomplished at woodland magic. Alas, he was anxious to pursue his dream. Perhaps now he will find some other career...” “That’s not fair,” Percy said. “What happened the first time? Was it really so bad?”

Chiron looked away quickly. “Let’s move along, shall we?” Percy's brows furrowed and I found myself doing the same.

For someone who said they would explain everything, Chiron was avoiding answering many of our questions.

“Chiron,” Percy said. “If the gods and Olympus and all that are real..."

“Yes, child?”

“Does that mean the Underworld is real, too?” Chiron’s expression darkened. “Yes, child.” He paused as if choosing his words carefully.

“There is a place where spirits go after death. But for now...until we know more...I would urge you to put that out of your mind.” “What do you mean, ‘until we know more?" My brother pushed.

“Come, you two. Let’s see the woods.”

As we got closer, I realized how huge the forest was. It took up at least a quarter of the valley, with trees so tall and thick. Chiron said, “The woods are stocked if you care to try your luck, but go armed.” “Stocked with what?” I asked. “Armed with what?” “You’ll see. Capture the flag is Friday night. Have you kept the bracelet? 

At first, I didn’t understand until Chiron gestured to my right wrist, and I remember the bracelet that has been stuck on my arm for the past month.

“This a very powerful weapon, use it only in times of severe distress," he instructed seriously, "but it should do just fine for capture the flag this week."

"Umm ok?" I said not mentioning that I had no idea how to use this "weapon." I had not been able to get it off let alone get it to turn back into the spear I used to kill Ms. Dodds.

“Percy,” Chiron motioned “I don’t suppose you have your own sword and shield yet. I think a size six will do. I’ll visit the armory later.”

I wanted to ask what kind of summer camp had an armory, but there was too much else to think about, so the tour continued. We saw the archery range, the canoeing lake, the stables (which Chiron didn’t seem to like very much), the javelin range, the sing-along amphitheater, and the arena where Chiron said they held sword and spear fights. “Sword and spear fights?” I asked enthused. That sounded pretty cool. Maybe someone could teach me how to use the serpent spear thingy.

“Cabin challenges and all that,” he explained. “Non-lethal. Usually. Oh, yes, and there’s the mess hall.”        

The use of the word usually piqued my interest even more. My brother turned to me, knowing what I was thinking, and just rolled his eyes.

Chiron pointed to an outdoor pavilion framed in white Grecian columns on a hill overlooking the sea. There were a dozen stone picnic tables. No roof. No walls. “What do you do when it rains?” I asked. Chiron looked at me as if I’d gone a little weird. “We still have to eat, don’t we?” 

Finally, he showed us the cabins. There were twelve of them, nestled in the woods by the lake. They were arranged in a U, with two at the base and five in a row on either side. And they were, without doubt, the most bizarre collection of buildings I’d ever seen.

Except for the fact that each had a large brass number above the door (odds on the left side, evens on the right), they looked absolutely nothing alike. Number nine had smokestacks, like a tiny factory. Number four had tomato vines on the walls and a roof made out of real grass. Seven seemed to be made of solid gold, which gleamed so much in the sunlight it was almost impossible to look at. They all faced a commons area about the size of a soccer field, dotted with Greek statues, fountains, flower beds, and a couple of basketball hoops.

In the center of the field was a huge stone-lined firepit. Even though it was a warm afternoon, the hearth smoldered. A girl about nine years old was tending the flames, poking the coals with a stick. The pair of cabins at the head of the field, numbers one and two, looked like his-and-hers mausoleums, big white marble boxes with heavy columns in front. Cabin one was the biggest and bulkiest of the twelve. Its polished bronze doors shimmered like a hologram, so that from different angles lightning bolts seemed to streak across them. Cabin two was more graceful somehow, with slimmer columns garlanded with pomegranates and flowers. The walls were carved with images of peacocks.

“Zeus and Hera?” Percy guessed. “Correct,” Chiron said. “Their cabins look empty.” “Several of the cabins are. That’s true. No one ever stays in one or two.”

Okay. So each cabin had a different god, like a mascot. Twelve cabins for the twelve Olympians. But why would some be empty? Percy stopped in front of the first cabin on the left, cabin three. I halted next to him. It wasn’t high and mighty like cabin one, but long and low and solid. The outer walls were of rough gray stone studded with pieces of seashell and coral as if the slabs had been hewn straight from the bottom of the ocean floor.

I felt almost a pull as Percy and I walked toward the cabin and peeked inside the open doorway and Chiron said, “Oh, I wouldn’t do that!”

Before he could pull us back, I caught the salty scent of the interior, like the wind on the shore at Montauk. The interior walls glowed like abalone. There were six empty bunk beds with silk sheets turned down. But there was no sign anyone had ever slept there. The place felt so sad and lonely, I was glad when Percy grabbed my hand as Chiron pulled us away and said, “Come along you two.”

Most of the other cabins were crowded with campers. Number five was bright red—a real nasty paint job as if the color had been splashed on with buckets and fists. The roof was lined with barbed wire. A stuffed wild boar’s head hung over the doorway, and its eyes seemed to follow me. Inside I could see a bunch of mean-looking kids, both girls and boys, arm wrestling and arguing with each other while rock music blared. 

The loudest was a girl maybe thirteen or fourteen. She wore a size XXXL CAMP HALF-BLOOD T-shirt under a camouflage jacket. She zeroed in on Percy and me giving us an evil sneer. She reminded me of Nancy Bobofit, though the camper girl was much bigger and tougher looking, and her hair was long and stringy, and brown instead of red. 

That boy from earlier Markus, who I guess was done cleaning the weapons shed, was leaning on the porch yelling at some of the other boys who were wrestling inside the cabin. 

Suddenly he wiped his head around and looked dead at me sneering. I don’t know if he was trying to scare me or something but I was kind of tired of his attention.

I stuck my tongue out as I flipped him off.

His face morphed from surprised to mildly impressed. He then proceeded to wink at me.

I frowned as my face started to heat up and quickly turned my attention back to Chiron and Percy's conversation. What was that guy's deal?

“We haven’t seen any other centaurs,” Percy observed. “No,” said Chiron sadly. “My kinsmen are a wild and barbaric folk, I’m afraid. You might encounter them in the wilderness, or at major sporting events. But you won’t see any here.” “You said your name was Chiron. Are you really...” He smiled down at us. “The Chiron from the stories? Trainer of Hercules and all that? Yes, Percy, I am.” “But, shouldn’t you be dead?”

"Ummm... Percy, he's right here?" 

Percy huffed a breath looking at me annoyed.

I shrugged, "Just saying."

Chiron paused as if the question intrigued him. “I honestly don’t know about should be. The truth is, I can’t be dead. You see, eons ago the gods granted my wish. I could continue the work I loved. I could be a teacher of heroes as long as humanity needed me. I gained much from that wish... and I gave up much. But I’m still here, so I can only assume I’m still needed.”

“Doesn’t it ever get boring?” I asked.

“No, no,” he said. “Horribly depressing, at times, but never boring.”

I frowned “Why depressing?” Chiron again seemed to turn hard of hearing. “Oh, look,” he said. “Annabeth is waiting for us.” The girl we’d met at the Big House was reading a book in front of the last cabin on the left, number eleven.

When we reached her, she looked over Percy and me critically. I didn't want her to look at us as a threat so I smiled at her in return. She seemed to be off-put even more but her face relaxed slightly.

I tried to see what she was reading, but I couldn’t make out the title. I thought my dyslexia was acting up. Then I realized the title wasn’t even English. The letters looked Greek to me. I mean, literally Greek. There were pictures of temples and statues and different kinds of columns, like those in an architecture book. “Annabeth,” Chiron said, “I have a masters’ archery class at noon. Would you take Percy and Cassie from here?” “Yes, sir.” “Cabin eleven,” Chiron said, gesturing toward the doorway of a nearby cabin with an unordinary amount of mailboxes next to it. “Make yourself at home.”

Out of all the cabins, eleven looked the most like a regular old summer camp cabin, with the emphasis on old. The threshold was worn down, the brown paint peeling. Over the doorway was one of those doctor’s symbols, a winged pole with two snakes wrapped around it.

What did they call it...? A caduceus. Inside, it was packed with people, both boys and girls, way more than the number of bunk beds. Sleeping bags were spread all over the floor. It looked like a gym where the Red Cross had set up an evacuation center.

Chiron didn’t go in. The door was too low for him. But when the campers saw him they all stood and bowed respectfully.

“Well, then,” Chiron said. “Good luck, you two. I’ll see you at dinner.” He galloped away toward the archery range.

I stood in the doorway, looking at the kids. They weren’t bowing anymore. They were staring at us, sizing us up. I knew this routine. I’d gone through it in enough schools.

“Well?” Annabeth prompted. “Go on.” So naturally, I tripped coming in the door and made a total fool of myself. Percy caught me before I could totally faceplant onto the floors. There were some snickers from the campers, but none of them said anything.

Annabeth announced, “Percy and Cassie Jackson, meet cabin eleven.”

“Regular or undetermined?” somebody asked. I didn’t know what to say, but Annabeth said, “Undetermined.”

Everybody groaned.

I just sorta looked around confused.

A guy who was a little older than the rest came forward. “Now, now, campers. That’s what we’re here for. Welcome, Percy, Cassie. You can have those two spots on the floor, right over there.”

The guy was about nineteen, and not gonna lie he was hot. Like really really hot.  He was tall and muscular, with short-cropped sandy hair and a friendly smile. He wore an orange tank top, cutoffs, sandals, and a leather necklace with five different-colored clay beads. The only thing unsettling about his appearance was a thick white scar that ran from just below his right eyebrow, barely missing his eye, right down to his jaw, like an old knife slash.

“This is Luke,” Annabeth said, and her voice sounded different somehow. I glanced over her, with eyebrows raised, and could’ve sworn she was blushing. She saw me looking, and her expression hardened again. “He’s your counselor for now.”

“For now?” Percy asked. “You’re undetermined,” Luke explained patiently. “They don’t know what cabin to put you in, so you’re here. Cabin eleven takes all newcomers, all visitors. Naturally, we would. Hermes, our patron, is the god of travelers.”

I looked around at the campers’ faces, some sullen and suspicious, some grinning stupidly, some eyeing me as if they were waiting for a chance to pick my pockets.  “How long will we be here?” I asked. “Good question,” Luke said. “Until you’re determined.” “Well, how long will that take?” The campers all laughed.

“Come on,” Annabeth told us. “I’ll show you the volleyball court.” “We’ve already seen it. " my brother replied. “Come on," she gritted out again with a little more force.  She grabbed my brother's wrist and dragged him outside. 

I turned to look back at all the kids still laughing at us. 

"Welp... I'm just gonna go now." I said nodding to Luke as I turned right back to the dorm and ran right after my brother.

I could hear the kids of cabin eleven continue laughing behind me.

When we were a few feet away, Annabeth said, “Jackson, you have to do better than that.” “What?” My brother said annoyed. 

She rolled her eyes and mumbled under her breath, “I can’t believe I thought you were the one.” “What’s your problem?” Percy said louder.

I could tell Percy was getting angry now. It may or may not be obvious but my brother has a bit of a temper. So, did I, of course, an explosive one at that. We've both always struggled with controlling our emotions.

“All I know is, I kill some bull guy—”

“Don’t talk like that!” Annabeth told him.

“You know how many kids at this camp wish they’d had your chance?”

“To get killed?”

“To fight the Minotaur! What do you think we train for?”

Percy shook his head. “Look, if the thing me and Cassie fought really was the Minotaur, the same one in the stories...” “Yes.” “Then there’s only one.” “Yes.” “And he died, like, a gajillion years ago, right? Theseus killed him in the labyrinth. So...” “Monsters don’t die, Percy. They can be killed. But they don’t die.” "Oh great!" I exclaimed, exasperated, "So he's like what, still out there?" “They don’t have souls, like you and me. You can dispel them for a while, maybe even for a whole lifetime if you’re lucky. But they are primal forces. Chiron calls them archetypes. Eventually, they re-form.”

I thought about Mrs. Dodds. “You mean if I killed one, accidentally, with a spear—” “The Fur...I mean, your math teacher. That’s right. She’s still out there. You just made her very, very mad.” “How did you know about Mrs. Dodds?”

“Percy talks in his sleep.”

I snorted a laugh, I should have known. I've heard Percy reveal the most ridiculous nonsense in his sleep. From what he's had for dinner to his pet fish named Nemo that I accidentally flushed down the toilet that one time.

“You almost called her something. A Fury? They’re Hades’ torturers, right?” Percy asked miffed.

Annabeth glanced nervously at the ground as if she expected it to open up and swallow her. “You shouldn’t call them by name, even here. We call them the Kindly Ones if we have to speak of them at all.”

"Ummm, Mrs. Dodds was not very kind when I met her," I said.

Annabeth gave me an exasperated look and I only smiled sweetly in return.

“Look, is there anything we can say without it thundering?” Percy whined.

“Why do we have to stay in cabin eleven, anyway? Why is everybody so crowded together? There are plenty of empty bunks right over there.” Percy pointed to the first few cabins, and Annabeth stiffened. “You don’t just choose a cabin, Percy. It depends on who your parents are. Or...your parent.”

She stared at my brother, waiting for him to get it. “My mom is Sally Jackson,” Percy said. “She works at the candy store in Grand Central Station. At least, she used to.”

I stared down at my feet. Every thought, every mention of my mom only made me feel the absence of her even more.“I’m sorry about your mom, Percy. But that’s not what I mean. I’m talking about your other parent. Your dad.” “He’s dead. We never knew him.” Annabeth sighed. Clearly, she’d had this conversation before with other kids. “Your father’s not dead, Percy.” “How can you say that? You know him?”

I looked at him strangely, "Percy of course she doesn't!" “Then how can you say—” “Because I know you. You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t one of us," she exclaims.

“You don’t know anything about me. Or my sister!"

I roll my eyes. Oh my god, please do not bring me into this. Nevertheless, he is clearly freakin so I grab his hand to try and calm him down.

“No?” She raised an eyebrow. “I bet you moved around from school to school. I bet you were kicked out of a lot of them.”

“How—”

“Diagnosed with dyslexia. Probably ADHD, too.” I blinked at her slowly.

"Uhhhhhhhhh... ok that's kinda personal information."

“What does that have to do with anything?” Percy asked testily.

“Taken together, it’s almost a sure sign. The letters float off the page when you read, right? That’s because your mind is hardwired for ancient Greek. And the ADHD—you’re impulsive, can’t sit still in the classroom. That’s your battlefield reflexes. In a real fight, they’d keep you alive. As for the attention problems, that’s because you see too much, Percy, not too little. So do you Cassie. Your senses are better than a regular mortal’s. Of course, the teachers want you medicated. Most of them are monsters. They don’t want you seeing them for what they are.”

“You sound like...you went through the same thing?” Percy asked cautiously. “Most of the kids here did. If you weren’t like us, you couldn’t have survived the Minotaur, much less the ambrosia and nectar.” “Ambrosia and nectar.” “The food and drink we were giving you to make you better. That stuff would’ve killed a normal kid. It would’ve turned your blood to fire and your bones to sand and you’d be dead. Face it. You’re a half-blood.”

A half-blood.

Oh my god, my dad was a God!

I'm related to a god.

I was reeling with so many more questions than before that I didn’t know where to start. Then a husky voice yelled, “Well! A couple of newbies!”

I looked over. The big girl from the ugly red cabin was sauntering toward us. Along with that guy Markus, and three other girls behind her, all big and mean-looking like her, all wearing camo jackets. Excluding Markus in his orange shirt, black cargo pants, and big black combat boots. I also noticed what looked like military dog tags hanging from his neck near the bandolier full of knives across his chest.

“Clarisse,” Annabeth sighed. “Why don’t you go polish your spear or something?” “Sure, Miss Princess,” the big girl said. “So I can run you through with it Friday night.” “Erre es korakas!” Annabeth said, which I somehow understood was Greek for ‘Go to the crows!’ though I had a feeling it was a worse curse than it sounded.

“You don’t stand a chance.” “We’ll pulverize you,” Clarisse said, but her eye twitched. Perhaps she wasn’t sure she could follow through on the threat. She turned toward us. “Who’re the little runts?” “Percy and Cassie Jackson,” Annabeth said, “meet Clarisse, Daughter of Ares.”

Annabeth gestured towards Markus, "You already know Mark."

Markus gives a smug smile and a wink in my direction.

I blinked. “So like your dad is... the war god dude?”

Markus snorted, "Yeah our dad is the war god dude. Can't you see the resemblance?"

Now that he mentioned it there was a sort of hard ruggedness to his features. He was tall and lanky, but a quick look in his eyes showed an intense ruthlessness in them that was a little unnerving for a kid around my age to have.

Clarisse sneered. “You got a problem with that?” “No,” Percy said, quickly interjecting for me. “My sister just means it explains the bad smell.” Clarisse growled. “We got an initiation ceremony for newbies, Prissy.” "Percy.” “Whatever. Come on, I’ll show you.” “Clarisse—” Annabeth tried to say. “Stay out of it, wise girl.” Annabeth looked pained, but she kept her mouth shut.

Personally, I wanted Annabeth's help but my brother probably thought since he was the new kid he had to earn his own rep and protect me by extension. Or some totally dumb crap like that.

My suspicions are confirmed when Percy handed Annabeth the box of minotaur horns and proceeded to get in a fighting stance, but before I knew it, Clarisse had my brother by the neck and was dragging him toward a cinder-block building that I knew immediately was the bathroom.

He was kicking and punching. And I was surprised to see that Clarisse did not seem to be affected at a. I've seen my brother in plenty of fights and they never ended pretty for anyone. Nevertheless, Clarisse continued to drag my brother into the girls’ bathroom.

The three other girls started to converge on me but Markus quickly stepped in and grabbed my arm roughly.

"Go help Clarisse with that dipshit over there," he looked down at me and snorted, "I can handle this one."

Ummm, hello?

One of the girls points a finger at Mark and comments, "That's very sexist Mark, but your right she doesn't look like she'd put up much of a fight." My jaw drops.

All three of them then proceed to follow Clarisse still dragging my struggling brother to the bathroom. Followed by a panicked Annabeth clutching the shoebox.

"Close your mouth you look like a fish."

I whipped my head swiftly to look back at his face as he began to drag me in the direction of the bathroom as well.

"Well... you look stupid!" I respond indignantly as I proceed to try and wrench my arm out of his grip. His eyebrow quirks up in question, as if to say "That's all you got?"

My cheeks burned in embarrassment at the idiocy of my comeback. I really could not have thought of anything better? He looked at me completely bored. "You're gonna have to try harder than that."

"Let go of me!" I scream all my patience gone.

That's right folks, I've had it up to here! I'm done! This dude manhandling me is the final straw!

Markus simply frowned, "Hey I'm trying to help you! So just shut up, keep your head down, and keep walking."

I didn't have time to respond as we finally reached the inside of the girls' bathroom.

There was a line of toilets on one side and a line of shower stalls down the other. It smelled just like any other public bathroom. Clarisse’s friends were all laughing as she dragged Percy over to a stall.

“Like he’s ‘Big Three’ material,” Clarisse said as she pushed my brother toward one of the toilets. “Yeah, right. Minotaur probably fell over laughing, he was so stupid-looking.” Her friends snickered.

Annabeth stood in the corner, watching through her fingers as Clarisse bent my brother over on his knees and started pushing his head toward the toilet bowl.

My stomach dropped at the sight. I bet it reeked like rusted pipes and, well, like what goes into toilets. I started yelling for them to stop and fighting harder against Markus's grasp. Instead of letting me go he just grabbed my other arm to keep me still. 

"Shut up and stop it!" Markus jeered at me. I kicked him in the shin making him hiss in pain but still held firmly onto my arms.

Then something happened. I felt a tug in the pit of my stomach. I heard the plumbing rumble, and the pipes shudder. Clarisse and her siblings started looking around nervously. Suddenly water shot out of the toilet, making an arc straight over Percy's head, and the next thing I knew, Clarisse was sprawled on the bathroom tiles and screaming in front of me.

She moved to stand up again but water blasted out of the toilet again, hitting Clarisse straight in the face so hard it pushed her down onto her butt. The water stayed on her like the spray from a fire hose, pushing her backward into a shower stall.

She struggled, gasping, and her friends started coming toward her. But then the other toilets exploded, too, and six more streams of toilet water blasted them back.  The shower stalls to my left exploded in a huge torrent of water that caused Markus's grip on my arms to fall away as he was blasted into the bathroom wall by the cascade of shower water. Together all the fixtures sprayed the camouflage girls right out of the bathroom, spinning them around like pieces of garbage being washed away.

As soon as they were out the door, I felt the tug in my stomach lessen, and the water shut off as quickly as it had started.

The entire bathroom was flooded. Annabeth hadn’t even been spared. She was dripping wet, but she hadn’t been pushed out the door. She was standing in the same place, staring at us in shock. I looked down and realized I was standing in a circle of dry floor around me. I didn’t have not one drop of water on my clothes. None.

I looked over to Percy and similarly, there didn't seem to be a drop of water on or around him. Percy stood up on shaky legs.

Annabeth said, “How did you...” “I don’t know, " my brother responded.

I looked over to Markus, who looked like a wet cat with his now darker hair plastered to his face, soaking wet clothes, and his mouth wide open gaping at me.

Percy, Annabeth, and I started walking out of the bathroom, and at the threshold of the door I turned to Markus, still gawking at me, and mocked, "Who looks like a fish now." And walked out the door.

Outside, Clarisse and her friends were sprawled in the mud, and a bunch of other campers had gathered around to see what was going on. Clarisse’s hair was flattened across her face. Her camouflage jacket was sopping and she smelled like sewage. She gave Percy and me a look of absolute hatred. “You are dead, newbies. You are totally dead.”

Percy smirked and said, “You want to gargle with toilet water again, Clarisse? Close your mouth.” Her friends had to hold her back. They dragged her toward cabin five, while the other campers made way to avoid her flailing feet.

Annabeth stared at us. I couldn’t tell whether she was just grossed out or angry because she was wet.

“What?” Percy demanded. “What are you thinking?” “I’m thinking,” she said, “that I want you on my team for capture the flag.”

chapter 7 >>>

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Absolutely stunning 1934 Modernist/Art Deco house in Stratford-upon-Avon, Warwickshire UK. 6bds, 8ba, £2.2M / $2.81M.

This is the most original art deco home I've ever seen. This entrance hall is untouched. It could absolutely stunning.

A small door fitting seamlessly in the wall opens to the living room.

The wood walls and fireplace are beautiful. It looks like that's an original light fixture on the ceiling.

Built-in bench by the window.

A narrow door in the hall opens to the dining and is "hidden," blending with the wall.

Just look at these dining room walls and rounded built-ins. Does anyone know what that white door is in the sideboard? It looks like it has a panel with buttons & writing on it.

From the living room, double doors open to the dining room.

A wonderful game room has a door to the patio.

The kitchen isn't bad, but it needs some color to at least bring out the curves in the wall.

The gorgeous stairs.

Beautiful window.

The hall at the top of the stairs.

This bedroom has a built-in armoire. Love that little vanity table.

This bedroom has a pedestal sink and a closet.

And, this bedroom also has sink in the corner, plus a door to the patio.

Bath #1 has original fixtures and original yellow subway tile with yellow trim.

Bath #2 is the opposite with green tile and yellow trim. It looks like the original fixtures are a slightly different shade of green. Not the faucets on the tub.

Beyond the patio is a cute little shed with a basketball hoop.

Beautiful property is 5,217 sq. ft. / 485 sq. m.

https://www.rightmove.co.uk/properties/145599425#/?channel=RES_BUY