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kojinnie · 4 years

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Flirted With You All My Life | Erwin Smith

Tags & Warnings: Erwin Smith x Reader | canon universe | deep, deep angst

Word Count: 1K+ (I know you said drabble, but I couldn’t help myself. I need SALVATION)

A/N:

Dear anon, it seems you like to hurt yourself, so I couldn’t help myself to take the liberty in twisting your request into something even more painful. I’m so sorry to disappoint you, I’m just in the mood to write a really painful fic rn 🥺

But please! Send me more of your ideas, I hope I’ll be able to stick to the script for next!

There was only the look of agony in your eyes, hidden by the dark of the night underneath your cape, and it only became obvious once you stepped into the light of Trost District’s streetlamps.

The messenger noticed your bloodshot eyes and the hoarse voice as you spoke to him, “Please deliver this letter to the Commander.”

With shaky hands, the meek and timid cadet quickly took your letter and kept it secured in his horse’s tack room, alongside with other letters to be brought to the frontline. He nodded earnestly and strode away in his horse as the dawn started to crack.

The young cadet was in the last squad to depart for the frontline battle. A reinforcement squad from the Garrison to strengthen the Survey Corps’ defense against the horde of titans that appeared out of thin air inside Wall Maria. The Corps had set-up a retreat camp by the Wall, and a season had passed, neither news nor dead body ever came back anymore. Just reinforcement by reinforcement, dispatched under the supposedly request of your newly-wedded husband, the Commander Erwin Smith.

The reinforcement would bring ration, medicines and clothes, yet none were to ever return. At first, there was grief hanging in the air as the people assumed everyone in the troops to be decimated to death by the titan’s might. The idea of complete destruction left wailing to be heard all through the cities. People’s morale was at all-time low. But then, one by one, letter would arrive, delivered by a lone soldier. The letters, sealed with a wax and signed with the name of their deployed husbands and sons, said the same thing: We’ll be back soon. Please pray for us.

You’d spend the day waiting for a letter from your husband, yet while everyone rejoiced as they receive the letters from their loved ones, you were left with nothing but growing pains.

Soon became later, and later became never. Another season had passed yet the only one coming back was another lone soldier requesting for more reinforcement to the Royal Government. And the letter that arrived became less and less; and there was none for you.

With the incomprehension came the murmurs, that said the military was no longer fighting titans, rather they were establishing new colony beyond the wall, with indulgences and whores. What could there be beyond the wall?

Ignorance labors evils, and mighty was the devil to turn your night into a battlefield of sorrow. Your mind fought between what’s left of your trust towards your husband, against paranoia, jealousy, agony of being kept in the dark for months without any trace left from him. How hard could it be to write a letter?

The thought finally came to your mind. The memories of your husband – the tall, handsome, and commanding figure of a man. With a deep, contemplating voice, and the eyes as deep as the tale of a vast prairie of water called ocean in the world that had gone by.

You thought of him, and how he’s warm to the touch, and how soft were the kisses he left on your skin. You thought of him and you had realized, how painfully plain and mundane you were in comparison to him. How utterly expendable and replaceable.

The thought became nightmares, of Erwin’s flirtation with strange women in places less than sacred. The nightmares grew to be persistent and eventually it drowned you into false conviction.

“Am I a widow?” you asked the empty sky one night, “’Lest I’ll choose to be.”

So, finally you wrote that farewell letter. It said: “I will not be home when you return, for journey is where your heart lies.” Final letter sent for a man who was never yours to begin with, for his heart was devoted to humanity, and humanity was too vast for the acres of the home he made with you. No matter how warm, no matter how safe.

There was an eerie silence as the horses rode through the plains before reaching the Survey Corps camp deep in the forest past the Wall. The meek and timid cadet navigated his horse closer to the main formation, as fear crept down his spine. He looked ahead and there he saw what’s left of the camp: A vivid picture of desolation.

He rode pas through countless of nameless mounds; men and women with blank expression scattered around the wage tents – wounded and helpless. The uncanny smell of rotting flesh, and the atmosphere of despair, filled up the lungs of the cadet that he couldn’t bear to let down a tear.

He climbed off of his horse and walked through the path of the camp. Beside the fire, sat two men writing down letters by letters, muttering the names of their death comrades. The lights of the fire gave the cadet a peak at what they were writing: “We’ll be back. Please pray for us.” It became clear that the letters were nothing but an empty, false hope – for it was better for the people to cling on to hope as long as one could, rather than to be devoured by grief and pain.

He walked through the paths and finally found the largest tent of them all, one where he was told he could meet the Commander. The cadet pulled out your letter and held it close to his chest, as he entered the dilapidated tent to deliver the Commander the letter that was meant to break you free from the shackles of endless suspense in waiting for a man whos heart no longer home.

As he stepped in, a body immediately blocked him from gazing further into the tent that was partitioned into several areas. Section Commander Hange Zoe stood tall before him, “What do you want?”

“I came from Trost District. A letter for the Commander from home.” The Cadet could feel his voice squeaked in fear.

There was a breaking point of Hange that the cadet never knew before, for their face was immediate to become wearied. Hange quickly took the letter and fiddled with it in their hands. It was obvious that Hange was torn on what to do, before a grim voice asked from an area veiled with a thin curtain that one could almost see through inside, “Hange, what’s that?” The voice of Captain Levi Ackerman seeped through.

“It’s, uh… A letter for Erwin. From home.”

There was an immediate silence gripping the tent. The cadet could hear a creaking sound of movement from a mattress behind the veil. To his surprise, he saw the Commander laying there.

“Bring it to him, Hange,” Levi muttered, there was a pain in his words, so real that it felt almost tangible.

Hange stepped aside and let the cadet came in and walked through the veil to where the Commander was. With no warning, the cadet gasped in a discernible shock as he saw what’s left of the great Commander. There was no color to his face, his blue eyes had gone dull half-opened, his mouth murmuring incomprehensible words in a state of delirium. Commander Erwin Smith had lost all of his limbs, with the dull ends of where his limbs used to be blackened by gangrene. The cadet finally saw the horror of war that the military had tried to suppress from the civilians’ knowledge: an outbreak of plague at the end of the war against titans.

Levi took the letter from Hange and knelt beside where Erwin laid, “Erwin. It’s letter from home. She must have missed you so bad.” There was a dim smile on Levi’s face. A smile seemed foreign on the face of the captain who was long hardened by war, and it became even stranger given the situation.

Levi knifed through the wax, and tore the letter open. But suddenly, a sense of misery deeper than the trenches engulfed the tent as he read through the letter in silence. The faint smile on his face was quick to freeze into a palpable agony as he closed his eyes. The letter hung in the captain’s hand. His fingers were trembling with anger and despair.

“Levi?” Hange cracked their silence in obvious worry as the captain broke into a deep, soundless wail next to Erwin. Something that no one had ever seen before, “Levi...?” Hange called for the captain’s name in an increasingly agonizing anxiety.

With what’s left of his heart, Levi gasped for air, trying to muffle the sound he never thought would hear coming from his words. Hange cupped their face with their fingers, left not knowing but painfully distraught upon seeing the struggle Levi was in as he tried to straighten his voice.

“Commander,” Levi said, looking into the tiny slit of Erwin Smith’s eyes, one that was strain opened by what’s left of him – a painful longing to hear from home, “she misses you. And she’ll be home when you return.”

The Commanders’ murmurs stopped, and he nodded his head solemnly.

“You may go now.”

The only time he had ever flirted with anything other than you was with death and the flirtation finally bears fruit as death finally takes him home.

As if he finally heard the words he had been waiting for, the Commander let out a deep sigh, before he slipped into the eternal cold. His blue eyes stared, but he was no longer seeing. The Commander had succumbed into a painless death.

For the first time in years, Levi Ackerman sobbed in sadness and anger. Looking at the man who had bathed with the fury of war; all he wanted was to bring peace to home, only for his home in the heart of a fickle spouse be anguished by the long wait. How selfish, how cold, Levi thought.

Maybe you were right, maybe these soldiers were not meant to live a life in the safety of a warm house in the town. Maybe they thrived while flirting with death and bruising dangers against their skins. Maybe it's all they knew of. But for better or worse, Erwin once dreamed of coming home to a feeling other than grief, and he had found it with you.

Levi reached for the pocket inside Erwin's jacket, and pulled out a letter yellowed with time. His heart broke to see that it was an old letter from you, one Erwin held close until his last day.

The most painful realization was not that Erwin died in vain, neither because his wife chose to leave him in the day he died. It's the realization that Erwin fought and died for someone and something that never belonged to him to begin with. There was no you nor was his home with you. Erwin's home was here, with his comrades, amidst death and wrath of war. You let him fought and died for a false hope.

Levi grazed the Commander's eyes close with his fingers as he finally murmured to the lifeless body, "Erwin, you're home already. With us."

Inspired by Vic Chestnutt's 'Flirted With You All My Life'

#erwin x reader #erwin smith #aot erwin #snk erwin #erwin angst #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #aot fanfiction #anon requests #requested

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c4pricornc4ts · 4 years

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Where are Your Parents? - Sbi Au Chapter One

Also on my ao3

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Wilbur, Techno, and Tommy decide to run away. Tommy is an optimist, Techno likes to disappear for days at a time and Wilbur is just trying to keep his makeshift family together.

Philza notices a struggling teenager and tries his best.

Wilbur crouches lower behind the forest shrubs and holds his breath waiting for the rabbit to come close enough to the trap. The sun was beginning to set and he was having a hard time dealing with his frustration for having such a pathetic amount of food to bring back to his brothers.

Techno would understand that with winter approaching the food was more scarce but Tommy was only ten, and the last thing the brunette or his twin wanted was to have their little brother be anxious about the lack of food. They’d just have to work harder in town.

The animals were hiding quickly, winter was going to be cold this year. Wilbur wasn’t sure they were prepared for that.

For starters, they’re not really brothers by blood, but runaways living in an abandoned shelter right outside a town. Techno and Wilbur were teenagers and had realized their chance of finding a family was with each other. After talking it over, they decided to run from the orphanage a few months ago, and Tommy had stupidly run after them.

Whether the blond boy regrets his choice to chase his two brother figures into uncertainty or not is up to him, and this winter might decide it.

Wilbur had no regrets. He gathered his basket of herbs and the fish from earlier. The trees were golden and he knew his brothers would be back from their respective jobs soon.

--------------

He nudges the fence door to the side and slips into their makeshift home. He can’t help but be concerned when he sees Tommy already asleep curled under his thin blanket. The younger always waits for at least one of his brothers to make it back. He ran his hands through his hair and set down the basket before heading over to check on Tommy. There’s a moment where the brunette hesitates to wake him up. with all that’s happened to the boy he only looks at peace when he sleeps.

There’s bags under his blue eyes, there's scrapes on his arms and face from being pushed around in the streets. Techno always gets so angry when Tommy comes home hurt, but there's not much they could do besides steal from the men who do. Wilbur brushes his shoulder and Tommy flinches awake.

“Wilbur? Why are you waking me up?” he mumbles while rubbing his eyes.

“Tommy, is your shoulder okay?” Wilbur holds his arm away gently and pushes his sleeve down to reveal several small bruises, as if someone had grabbed him. “What happened?” He searches the sleepy boy’s face for any kind of answer.

“Just another person who was tired of seeing street boys. It’s nothing really. It’s fine Wilbur.”

He’s a little more awake now.

The older one takes a deep breath trying to choose his words very carefully. “No it’s not fine, I should be able to protect you from those people. Letting you get hurt should never be okay.” Honestly, what he decides next has been a long time coming. “I’ll go with you tomorrow morning, see if anyone messes with you then, yeah?” He smiles and hopes he looks reassuring.

“Wilbur, it's okay really-” He’s cut off by the sound of the door moving. Both boys turn to see Techno come inside.

He takes off his work clothes, and puts away his earnings for today.

“Techno! You’re back.” Tommy is sitting up now, tiredness forgotten and replaced with excitement. “How was the farm?”

Techno glances to Wilbur to answer for him, He’s always tired after he gets back from one of his trips. Wilbur hunts and gathers, Tommy goes into the town and asks for money, and Techno…

Well, Techno takes any job he can find. He switches between taking letters faraway, to helping on the larger farms. Wilbur always makes him promise he’ll be home before it's been a week. Or else he’d assume the worst.

“Let him go get clean before you bother him Toms.” Wilbur whispers as Techno shrugs off his red coat and leaves for the river.

Tommy nods, and settles on the wood floor. Wilbur shrugs off his coat and lays down next to Tommy, blocking the blond from view of the door. He shivers and curls up tighter to try to block it out. He wants to stay up and wait for Techno, but he knows he needs to sleep if he's gonna be in town pickpocketing while Tommy distracts people.

Tommy is out cold once again and Wilbur is facing him trying to keep warm when Techno finally joins their makeshift bedroom corner. Which, with it being a few blankets and pillows, looks more like a nest.

Knowing both of his brothers were here, and safe, Wilbur finally sleeps.

-----------

The sun starts to shine through the cracks and creates golden rays in their house. They shine right across Wilburs face and the discomfort wakes him up. He looks to his right to see Tommy against the wall, his arms hugging his knees and looking right back at Wilbur.

The sun always made Tommy’s hair look so golden, seeing it makes Wilbur feel selfish for not turning Tommy back into the orphanage. He knew someone would’ve adopted him, kept him safer than the brunette ever could.

“We have to go to the part of town with the market today, I went to the park yesterday.” Tommy tells Wilbur as he gets up to find his day clothes.

“I like working there better, you pull off a great lost child ruse. Plus all the crowds make this much easier.’ Wilbur smiles and gets himself dressed. Techno is still sound asleep, recovering from being away so they leave without him. With Tommy dressed in his overalls with a soft white striped shirt underneath, making him look younger than he already is and Wilbur lacing up his boots, they walk towards town.

Tommy wants to lead the way, as he’s used to it far more than Wilbur who avoids going into town at all costs. But Wilbur was coming today to make sure Tommy didn’t get hurt.

“Stay close to me yeah? I don’t want you to lose me by walking too far ahead.” Wilbur knows he sounds ridiculous but seeing that bruise last night made WIlbur very anxious about leaving Tommy alone for a few days. Once someone knows they won’t fight back, it can turn into a regular thing.

They all know that fact from experience.

They arrive and head straight to an alleyway by the market. Since it's still early, the sun hasn’t made it warm enough for many people to be here. Wilbur and Tommy decide to use the morning to look around. Tommy goes straight to his friend Tubbo’s booth, where they play around with his family’s farm animals they bring to sell.

Seeing how happy Tommy is to see someone his age, to act his age, is another weight to the guilt Wilbur feels for keeping Tommy with him. There've been so many hard nights where Wilbur has told Tommy he could go back to the orphanage, that he could say Wilbur and Techno forced him to leave and he finally made his way back. He wanted Tommy to know they would understand if he wanted to at least try for a good life.

Tommy being the optimist he is, always said things would get better. That they could get an apartment together, and he could go to school with Tubbo sometime. Wilbur and Techno would exchange a small uncertain look before agreeing with Tommy. Till Tommy’s perfect plan fell into place however, they needed to get their story straight. Wilbur walks over to greet Tubbo’s mother while their boys play.

“Hello Mrs. Smith, how’s the farm been doing this winter?” He tilted his head, and smiled knowing how much it charmed people when his curls bounced. He really needed the farmer to like him for Tommy’s sake. Didn’t need her finding out that Tommy didn’t just live on the other side of town.

“Oh it's been well, Tubbo complains about the cold so much it's driving me up the wall however” She laughs as she tugs on her gloves before glancing back at him. “I wish he’d be like your brother, never a complaint out of him when he’s over.”

That comment stings him, he knows May didn’t mean to. She doesn’t know that he doesn’t have anything to complain about when Tubbo invites him to stay at their farm. It feels like she’s saying he doesn’t do enough when he knows that’s not what she meant.

He always feels like he’s not doing enough.

“Well, I’m sure he’ll get used to it soon. You know how boys are.” Wilbur forces a small laugh.

He hears Tommy tell his friend he’ll be back soon, that he and his brother had some shopping to do.

“Wilbur can we please go look around now? It’s getting crowded, we need to see everything before it's gone!” He tugs on Wilburs shirt gently and starts pulling him away from his conversation.

“I’m sure we’ll see you soon Mrs. Smith, perhaps I'll bring Tommy back here this afternoon, our Mother wanted him to pick out some warmer items.” He resists Tommy pulling at his shirt long enough to hear her respond,

“See you both later then. I’ll tell Tubbo.” She waves them off.

“You’re being so pushy, what's got you so excited?” He asks the blonde as they walk down the rows.

“I want to get the y’know- stealing stuff over with.” Tommy whispers.

“Alright then, see that lady in the blue dress? Go tell her you’re lost. Sell it too okay? Get her to set down her purse and I'll take her wallet and go stash it.” Tommy nods and Wilbur separates from him.

They both amble for a few minutes, making sure no one in the area would think they were together. Tommy catches his eye and Wilbur gives him the signal to start.

He keeps feigning interest in the different satchels and bags the booth in front of him had to display, while watching Tommy pretend to sob.

Wilbur doesn’t know what he said, but as soon as she sets the bag down and kneels in front of the small boy, he’s shuffling through her purse for a wallet. He feels something leather and grabs it before dashing to the alleyway from earlier.

This would’ve been the end of it, he would have pocketed it and went to another part of the market and waited for Tommy to pretend to recognize him and thank the kind woman for bringing him back safe (and for the money).

Little did the boys know, a man had been watching Tommy for a few weeks now. He had been growing concerned with how he’d seen the small boy run off to the woods when he was closing his bookstore. A bookstore on the street Tommy frequented for selling newspapers or whatever he could find.

So when Wilbur hears a stranger shout and start to run towards him, he does what any animal would do when chased.

He started running down the alleyways trying to throw the stranger off his tail, but the man was insistent on catching the 16 year old. He makes a right turn where he should’ve made a left and ends up backed against a brick wall. Breathing heavily, Wilbur can’t climb the brick wall, so he decides to face the man and prepare to apologize and give the wallet back.

The man looks about in his 30s and is blonde like Tommy. He pants and puts his hands up placatingly. “Hey uh, I’ve just- I own a bookstore and your boy, he sits in front of it a lot. Alone might I add, and now I see him helping you steal a wallet-” He takes a step forward.

Wilbur takes a step back, shaken from all the chaos. “W-what about it.” He glares, frustrated to have been cornered like this. By a bookstore owner no less.

“Where are your parents? He runs off towards the goddamn woods every night, unless I'm mistaken there’s nothing out there. And now I see him stealing with some teenager… ” The older man sounds like he's trying to put together the pieces as he says it.

“Look- I- he doesn’t have any. He has two older brothers though, and we manage.” He spits defensively.

“Clearly not if you have to steal” The man tries to keep calm as he says it, Wilbur appreciates it as he’s scared enough for the both of them right now.

“Can I just go back please? I don’t like leaving him out there alone. I’ll give the lady back her wallet it’s fine just please-” Wilbur was stupid to tell the stranger as much as he did, but there’s no taking it back now.

“That’d be nice of you, but I have a question for you,” Wilbur stands up straighter, curious and really antsy to stop being in a dirty alley. The man continues.

“Are you okay?”

#c4pricornc4ts #sleepy bois inc #tommyinnit #wilbur soot #philza #1940s #runaways au #where are your parents?#fanfic

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bella-caecilia · 4 years

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#22 for Cobert please! Love your writing so much

Oh, thank you! That’s so lovely to hear! <3 I hope, you’re enjoying that one too :)

I decided to go pre-series with that prompt... but take a look yourself.

22 – kissing someone’s cuts/bruises/scratches

Her lady’s maid was adjusting the last pins in Cora’s hair and Cora dapped a bit of her flowery perfume behind her ears. It was then that she heard the muttering next door. Her confused expression turned away from the mirror on her vanity and she shot the adjoining door a contemplative look. What was Robert up to?

“That’s all right, Turner. I can take it from here”, Cora advised and put on the selected necklace on her own.

The lady’s maid nodded and left the room silently. Cora was prepared for dinner. She wore a mint-coloured gown and slipped on matching gloves. She brushed over the fine fabric at her waist to remove the non-existent creases. Then she finally approached her husband’s dressing room. The tones of heated discussion had not ceased.

“It’s alright…”, Robert’s voice muttered.

“But if I daresay, milord, dinner’s starting soon. I’m not sure you can go down like this”, Cora recognized Robert’s valet answering insecurely.

Her knuckles knocked on the hard wooden door. The men on the other side fell silent.

“May I come in?”

…

“Robert!”, his wife’s slender frame appeared in the threshold, her eyes wide, her mouth slightly agape. A whiff of her well-known jasmine scented perfume reached him before she did.

He knew why she reacted in that shocked manner, for he was covered in nasty scratches. His cheek had hosted a blood trickle moments before and he was glad his valet had removed it before Cora had entered his room. Robert’s sleeves were rolled up and he’d opened the first buttons on his shirt. Smith, his valet, had tended to a scratch that reached across his clavicle.

“What happened, dear?”, Cora inquired unsurely and smoothed her fingers lightly over his collar. He longed to feel the skin of her fingertips on his own skin but two layers of fabric divided them.

“Oh, it’s nothing really”, Robert stated dismissively, “Smith is taking care of everything. Would you go downstairs now and excuse me? I’m following as soon as possible.”

“Of course not! Would you sit down, please, Robert?” she asked but there was no question in it.

Smith had retreated idly to a corner of the room. Robert complied and slumped down onto his untouched bed.

“Would you mind telling what got you in that state?” she continued concerned and took his chin in between her thumb and index finger gently to turn his face from side to side to examine the extent of his injuries.

“Well… if you have to know,” he started muttering, “Pharaoh doesn’t seem to be as simple and easy-care of a puppy as expected.”

Cora had to contain herself to not show any emotion but his grave voice and dead-serious look amused her. Pharaoh was his new puppy of a few weeks and Robert was totally absorbed in this dog. Any difficulty that appeared made him downcast for days. Cora couldn’t help herself but imagine the small boy Robert once was, pouting when he found out something didn’t go as easy as he thought.

“But he really messed you up. Does it hurt bad?”

“No, it’s alright, Cora. I told you,” he countered but made no effort to move. Her soft touch bewitched him, even if it was her gloves he sensed and not her sweet skin.

“Stop fussing!” he added when she touched every scratch lightly. But actually, he basked in her tender attention.

She huffed a sigh and retreated her hands. Then, she turned around and faced an unsure Smith.

“Smith, would you excuse us downstairs and tell the kitchen we take our dinner upstairs?” she gave him a sweet smile of hers. Her festive attire seemed utterly misplaced in the situation. She took of her silk gloves and watched the broad-shouldered valet disappear mumbling a “Very well, milady.”

“Was that really necessary?” Robert inquired annoyed.

Cora set down beside him, just smiling appeasingly, and waited until his expression softened.

Then she asked, “So, Pharaoh isn’t behaving? What is it exactly he has difficulties with?”

“He takes no orders at all. Just running around like a wild animal. The worst thing is, he doesn’t even take to cuddling and patting,” Robert instantly jumped into recounting his miserable day with his beloved young dog.

“I assume your scratches are coming from the latter,” a smile played on Cora��s lips. Her intense look was set on Robert’s wounded figure.

“But, Cora, I’m sure he’s just still too excited and fidgety. You’ll see, soon he’ll be my lapdog.”

“Oh, is it really a lapdog you need?” she raised her eyebrows and grinned widely now.

“Well…” he started but blushed after a moment. He patted her thigh and tried to continue undisturbed by her cheeky comment.

“Pharaoh may need a bit more time but he’ll learn everything eventually.”

Cora got up and turned towards the bandages and antiseptic Smith had left on the bedside table, “I’m sure, you’re right, my dear.” She grabbed the utensils and approached her still sitting husband.

“Oh, please, Cora! I told you not to fuss!” he grumbled as he saw what she was up to.

She stopped in her tracks and evaluated his appearance. No, maybe bandages weren’t necessary. Without comment she set the equipment back down and Robert awaited what might be coming now. He needn’t wait long.

“Alright, but will you grant me another, well, favour?” she demanded. Her chest rose and fell with every breath as she waited for his response. Robert’s focus turned from her sweetly encased bust to her rosy lips. Her expression was free of emotion. He sensed she wouldn’t specify her demand and he couldn’t help himself at the sight of her plump lips.

“Of course, darling” his voice was low and soft.

With a pleased smile she took a seat beside him, much nearer than before, and her fingers encircled his wrist and elbow joint with a feather-light touch. Her gaze was set on the scratches that decorated his lower arm. She lifted his arm and placed the breath of a kiss on a tiny mark. Robert didn’t notice that he held his breath as he watched a trifle mesmerised Cora’s procedure. Her lips wandered up his arm, nearly never really touching his skin. When he didn’t flinch, she became more confident to press real kisses to his skin.

“It’s not fair, the puppy is treating you like this,” she reasoned in between kisses, “You’re so patient and good with him. I don’t know where you’re taking all this endurance from.”

“But…” Robert started but thought better of it. Now, she ceased her kisses and looked at him awaiting.

“But you don’t think me foolish for it?” he asked softly after a while.

She thought about his question. To be honest, his infatuation with dogs wasn’t something she was able to comprehend completely, but she knew her Robert. He wasn’t acting foolishly. It was his way to show his faith in the good.

She shook her head softly, “No. No, I don’t think you foolish.”

His face took on an expression of ease and a gentle smile grazed his lips.

“I think I have a really bad scratch here,” he pointed to a spot on his cheek very close to the corner of his lips.

“Should I tend to that one too?” she asked with raised eyebrows, a slight nod of her head and in mock innocence.

He only nodded in response.

When she was about to press her lips to his cheek, he turned his head to capture her lips with his. She should have seen this coming but was caught slightly off-guard. The determination he poured into their kiss caused a pleasant flutter in her lower abdomen.

They presented a most strange sight. With growing entanglement, they sank back onto the duvet. She was in her mint evening attire and he was already slightly dishevelled and half-undressed, but still wore parts of his walking outfit. They were surrounded by bandages and antiseptic. Her gloves fell to the floor when she gave her husband her full attention.

#cobert drabble #cobert fluff #cobert #cora crawley #robert crawley #downton abbey drabble

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tisfan · 4 years

Text

For Want of a Nail

Title: For Want of a Nail Written by: @tisfan 3023 and @27dragons 3033 Tony Stark Bingo Square: (tisfan) May Adopted: Centaur AU Fantasy Bingo (both): Magic is Mundane Rating: teen and up Pairing: Winteriron Triggers/warnings: human/demi-human relationships Tags: centaur au, meet cute, culture discussions, references to abuse Created for: @tonystarkbingo, fantasy bingo

Word count: 3909

Summary: The centaur, Bucky, is traveling to the witch coven to get the herbs needed to alleviate his herd-mate’s cough. On the way, he throws a shoe. Centaurs don’t usually associate much with humans, but what choice has he got?

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24928297/chapters/60328990

If it had been any other day of the year, Bucky might have been enjoying the weather. It was warm, but breezy, so sweat dried on his flanks, cooling him as soon as it formed. The sun was out, there were some light clouds, and it had rained the night before, so everything smelled sweet and clean.

But it wasn’t any other day of the year. It was two days before the Summer Solstice, he still had more than fifty miles to go, and he’d just thrown a shoe.

He picked the shoe up from the side of the road where it had landed when that last dubious nail had gone wobbly.

The shoe itself was not in terrible shape, but even if he had a hammer and nails -- which he didn’t -- there was no way he was flexible enough to shoe his own rear hoof. He was bendy, but not that bendy. He didn’t even think Natasha was that bendy.

He’d passed a small town about a league ago, and he was pretty sure he’d seen smoke when he passed it, which usually indicated a smithy.

Centaurs didn’t spend a lot of time in human towns, unless they had to. So Bucky had never stopped at the myriad villages and townships along the path from where he and his herd lived in Brooklyn, all the way out to the coven of healers and witches, even though he made the trip four times a year. The herbs Steve needed to calm his cough were rare, and preparing them was even harder. It required a witch. And a sacred holiday.

But there was no way he could run another fifty miles while missing a shoe. He was just going to have to hope that the town did have a blacksmith, that the blacksmith knew how to make shoe nails, and that he knew how to put a shoe on a centaur.

“Haybales,” Bucky swore. He tucked the shoe into his satchel, turned around, and limped back the other way, trying not to put too much weight on his left hind leg, and taking care to not stumble on his right front leg. It was like trying to canter and eat apples at the same time. Possible, but not recommended.

Almost an hour later, he managed to stagger into the village.

People stared at him, and no wonder, as he was moving like a horse with tetany, limping hard to one side, and then to the other.

“Blacksmith?” he demanded of the nearest human who got close enough to him.

“Down that street,” she said, pointing. “Toward the end, you can’t miss it.”

“Thank you,” he said, offering one of the small metal things that humans used. Coins, Bucky’s herd stallion called them. Centaurs didn’t trade in things so useless, so he really didn’t remember the value of them.

Her eyes widened as she took it. “Thank you, sir.”

Right. Bucky shrugged. Apparently the yellow ones were the higher value coins. Stupid, human things. Bucky took a deep breath, trying to ignore the aching in his hocks, and thudded down the human road. It would have been easier to walk in the grass, but humans didn’t put much value in grass. Follow the smoke. And as he got closer, the ringing sound of metal on metal.

Finally, he made it, and all but started to cry of sheer exhaustion, but he wasn’t a colt to cry and wail, so he settled himself as well as he could. “Ho, the blacksmith!”

“Two shakes!” The hammer kept ringing, a slow, steady beat, for another minute or two, and then Bucky heard the loud hiss of hot metal that had been quenched. Another thud and some clattering, and the smith emerged, wiping the sweat from his face. “Aye, what’s the-- Oh!” He stared up at Bucky with suddenly-wide eyes. “Hello, stranger.”

Bucky huffed. He wasn’t so very strange. If anything, the tiny little human who emerged from the smithy was strange, with his goggly eyes stuck in his hair, and the smears all over his clothes and skin, and… well, there was no denying that clothes were pretty strange, in and of themselves. But humans were always wearing clothes, so maybe, to them, centaurs were the odd ones.

“I require the services of a blacksmith,” Bucky said. “And perhaps a farrier.” In centaur herds, the job was the same; work metal into shoes and nails, attach them for their herdmates. But Bucky had heard that some humans worked metal for other things. The centaurs often had to trade for more specialized metal parts and pieces.

“I can fit shoes,” the smith said. He looked Bucky over, sharp-eyed, zeroing in on the unshod hoof. “How long have you been walking on it like that?”

Bucky scowled. “It was loose when I left the herd, but our blacksmith was away. It only kicked free maybe three or four miles ago?”

The smith grunted. “Not too bad, then. Do you need a new shoe? That might take me a little while; centaur hooves are wider than most of the dumb stock our farmers keep.”

“I found it,” Bucky said. He couldn’t have left it behind. Among the herd, he and Steve were the lowest ranking, had the least amount of grazing space. If he’d lost the shoe, he would probably have had to hire the smith to remove the other three and gone shoeless for a season or two while they scavenged for cast off human made items to melt and trade. Steve had nailed the right front shoe on for him a few times when it came loose. He pulled it out of the satchel he wore across his chest. “I have human coin.”

The smith shook his head. “Don’t worry about it; cost of a few nails won’t set me back too far, and you’re pretty enough to be worth it.” He flashed a grin up at Bucky as he took the shoe, running his hands over its worn edges with practiced ease. “What depth?”

Bucky held out one hand, showing off a broad thumb. “The length between this knuckle, and that one.” He kicked out with his left hind leg, groaning a little. “I think the frog’s bruised.” Stupid human roads and their stupid human rocks. He’d known a few of their herd who were able to afford fancy shoes, with a cover that kept rocks and dirt out. But then, some of them ended up lame anyway. Normal shoes did all right for him, and for Steve.

The smith frowned at that. “I’ve got some cream I can put on it that’ll help with the pain. And a pad, too. Come on into the shop, let’s get you fitted. Name’s Tony, by the way.” He glanced at the human-sized door he’d come through, then jerked his head and led the way around the side of the building, to where the smith’s forge was set under a roof with no wall. A hitching post stood to one side of the yard and the dirt had obviously been well-trampled by numerous hooves.

Tony. Huh. Bucky wondered if he was named for how tiny he was. But then, most humans were tiny, comparatively. “Bucky is what I am called.”

Tony twisted past the forge and reached into a barrel to draw out a handful of horseshoe nails. He held them up against Bucky’s shoe to check the fit, one by one. One nail got tossed back into the barrel and another selected. When he was satisfied, he held them out for Bucky’s inspection. “All good?”

Bucky swallowed. “You have a whole barrel full of nails?” Tony must be rich. He’d never selected nails before. They’d usually been made on the spot, the day he needed them, and sometimes driven red-hot into the hoof. Which didn’t hurt, not exactly, but it wasn’t comfortable.

Bucky took up one nail and looked at it. It looked like a centaur shoe nail. “I-- I can’t tell,” he admitted. “I don’t usually look at my own nails.”

Tony shrugged. “Okay. Speak up if it doesn’t feel right, and we’ll figure it out.” He grinned again. “At least I can trust you not to try to kick me.” He reached up on a shelf and grabbed a jar. “This’ll help that bruise.” He tucked the nails and the shoe into the pocket of the leather apron he wore and made his way toward Bucky’s rear, one hand running lightly along Bucky’s side.

That was twitchy, and Bucky found himself flicking his tail at the light touch, as if Tony were a fly he could shoo off. Except, he didn’t really want the light, ticklish touch to stop. Not really.

“I’m not used to humans being so close,” Bucky complained. “But no, I won’t kick you.”

Probably. Assuming Tony didn’t do anything horrible, like pull his tail.

“Oh, sorry!” Tony jerked his hand away. “Habit, that. You have to let horses know where you are if they can’t see you. I’ve only met a handful of centaurs before. Sorry. I, uh-- Okay, can you lift the foot for me?”

Bucky twisted around, trying to see. Tony was right in that blind spot of his, where his own rump got in the way of seeing what was behind him. “Is there a stump?” He usually rested his leg against a leather padded tree stump so the smith could work on it. He picked up his leg, sighing with relief as the pain eased, and was shocked when Tony grabbed his hock and rested it against-- Bucky twisted further, trying to see-- it looked like the human had Bucky’s hoof held between his own thighs.

“Is that how-- you usually do this?”

“Sure,” Tony said easily. “Horses do not like having their legs held up; have to brace them somehow so they stay put while I put the shoe on. Which, now that I think of it, doesn’t make sense for centaurs for like four different reasons. What are you used to?” Bucky couldn’t see exactly what he was doing, but he touched the bottom of Bucky’s hoof, little points of soreness where he was testing the bruise, and then there was something cool on it, like he’d stepped into dewy grass.

So Bucky found himself talking about the smith in his herd -- Rumlow, a big, brawny centaur with a liver chestnut coat. “It’s considered bad manners to kick another herd member,” Bucky told him, matter of fact. “And cowardly to move your hoof while the smith works.” He didn’t mention that he sometimes thought Rumlow took advantage of both of those things to be cruel. Getting shod didn’t have to be painful, even if it was never exactly pleasant.

Case in point: Tony, who rubbed the cream into Bucky’s bruised frog, then carefully fitted the shoe. “First nail’s the hardest,” he said. “I need three hands, I swear-- Okay, going in now; speak up if it doesn’t feel right.” The shuddery jolt through Bucky’s leg as the hammer struck home, the pressure in his hoof from the nail driving into it. But it wasn’t painful; the nail stopped well short of the sensitive places covered by the hoof. “Okay?”

“Quite well, thank you,” Bucky said. Tony might have needed three hands, but Bucky needed eyes on his tail, he could swear.

“Great!” Tony wiggled the shoe a little, testing its position, then placed another nail. “Off we go, then.”

It didn’t take nearly as long, Bucky thought. Although he wasn’t sure about that; he couldn’t see the sun, so it was nearly impossible to judge the time, but no more than a finger’s worth of shadow had grown before Tony was letting his hoof down with a cheerful, “how’s that feel?”

Bucky took a couple of tentative steps. It was always those few steps that had made him want to kick Rumlow. Hard. In the chest. But everything felt… pretty good, actually. No limping home and getting Steve to bring him a bucket of ale.

He could still use a drink, really. The whole thing was nerve-wracking and made him feel twitchy and shuddery like he’d gotten bitten by flies and needed a spare tail, or some mud to roll in.

“Very well, I thank you again,” Bucky said. He reached for his satchel and pulled out the handful of assorted coins. Sometimes humans would give them to the herd for pieces of their tail. Powerful charms could be made from them, Bucky understood. One winter, when things had been very, very bad, Bucky had plucked almost his entire tail bare to get enough herbs for Steve’s salve. He still had a few coins left from that. “Here, I-- I don’t know what these mean, but humans like them.” He offered the handful to Tony.

Tony shook his head. “It’s fine, really. Save them for the next time you need to trade with humans. The conversation was worth the price of a few nails.”

“You must be very wealthy,” Bucky commented, looking around the shop now that he was shod and feeling better. He probably wouldn’t go completely lame, which was good, and maybe the witches would let him rest at their coven before the long trot back to the herd. There were piles of tools, and stacks of bars. “Are these pure iron?” He touched one of the bars tentatively.

“Those, yes. Those over there are steel.” Tony nodded toward another stack. “Is that what your people trade in? Iron?”

“Iron, yes,” Bucky said, even if he’d never seen so much iron in his life. “And leather. Special wood for our bows. Iron is good. For arrowheads and tools. Awls and hammers and dig-rods. There’s a tool, we have one in our whole herd, that cuts wheat, swish, just like that! With an iron blade.”

“You’re using an iron-bladed scythe?” Tony said. “How... Even our poorest farmers at least have steel scythes.” He glanced around the shop, then stepped into the shadows and came back with a wheat-cutter. Its handle was shaped a little differently than the one the herd had, but the blade was much the same, except for being bright and silvery. “Steel doesn’t wear down as fast as iron,” Tony explained. “Stays sharp longer.”

“Ours--” Bucky said, reaching out as if to touch the shiny blade, but not quite daring to do so. “Ours is dark, and red, and the surface is… has little dings in it. It’s very old. Our herd stallion took it as a trophy of war, some two decades ago.”

Tony sighed a little. “Yeah, that’s not surprising. And if it’s red and pitted, it’s not going to last much longer. Take this one.” He held it out, then frowned and pulled it back. “Actually, I could lengthen the handle, since your shoulders sit a good three or four feet higher than a human’s. Be easier to use with a longer handle.”

“I couldn’t possibly trade for that,” Bucky whispered. “Not even if I picked my tail bare for three seasons.”

“Picked your-- This is a common tool,” Tony said. “Three gold coins -- well, four, if I’m going to change out the handle.”

Four. Of the yellow coins? And Bucky could have a tool that would make him rich-- a wheat-cutter, long enough to use comfortably? He could clear the fields in mere weeks, before the grain rotted and the bugs infested the stalks.

Bucky found a clear space on one of the shelves and started pulling things out of his satchel. A packet of clay-made arrowheads -- Steve had made those one year when they’d had a good fire going -- and several balls of thread, his trail rations, which were mostly just berries and honey, dried until they were sticky bars. There. At the very bottom, he had what was left of the coins, twelve, altogether. “This is what I have.”

Tony leaned in to look. He plucked a few coins out of the small pile, and then picked up the arrowheads, pulling one free of the packet and testing its edge with his thumb.

“Steve usually makes beads,” Bucky said, as if apologizing for the work. “Beads for luck, and beads for good harvest… beads.” He touched the one in his hair that hung there, tiny and beautiful, that was charmed to keep away owlbears, one of the centaur’s greatest enemies. The better the carving on the bead, the better the charm worked, and Steve was an expert carver. “These were-- because we need to eat sometimes, too.”

Tony frowned. “Why wouldn’t you eat? Especially if your Steve makes beads for harvest. Our hedge-witch, who blesses our harvests, she gets a share of every crop as soon as it comes in. More than she could eat in a year, truth told. She gives a lot of it to the orphans’ home.”

“Steve’s-- well, Steve is bad luck. Born under an ill-omen, too early. Sickly. He coughs a lot and has trouble breathing. He’s very slow, too. His legs don’t always work right. We have to pay the herd stallion just to stay in the herd. We wouldn’t be safe, alone. I’d have to leave him alone to hunt and to harvest.” Bucky shuddered. Rumlow had tried a few times to convince him to let the runt go, to leave him behind. But Bucky wouldn’t do that. Couldn’t do that. Steve was his best friend.

Tony looked shocked. “You have to pay to-- That’s awful. You and your-- what, brother? Mate? -- you need a new herd.”

“Steve’s my best friend,” Bucky said, a little defensively. “I don’t even know--” He knew there were other centaur herds, but getting taken in as two unmated males, one of whom was sickly? He doubted it would be easy, and Steve probably wouldn’t live long enough to find one, anyway. As it was, Nastasha and Sam took turns watching Steve when Bucky couldn’t be there. “Maybe next year. I still need to go to the witch coven and get herbs. We’d need a good, long, dry season to even start looking.”

And that didn’t even consider the possibility that, separated from their herd, the owlbears would come. Centaur meat was their favorite, and the owlbears were predation hunters. They would just keep coming, long after a centaur had gone lame.

Tony’s face twisted. “I suppose that makes sense. Still, if you and your friend wanted to come here, we’d help you.”

Bucky blinked. Live among humans. “Why?” he asked cautiously, his tail flicking a few times and his whole lower body sidled a little bit away from Tony.

“Why not? I like you, you seem like a good person. Your friend obviously has some real skill--” Tony held up the arrowhead he’d been fiddling with. “--and the town could always use another good hunter. And, quite frankly, your herd stallion sounds like a dick.”

It wouldn’t take nearly as long to make the trip from the herdlands to the village, Bucky thought. “I will ask Steve what he thinks,” he said. Because Steve had been very outspoken against the herd stallion -- which probably had added to their burden of tithe. And because Steve wasn’t going to live much longer if things didn’t change. Maybe this would be a good change.

“Are we allowed?” Because a human would never be allowed to live among the herd, even if there wasn’t precisely a rule against it.

“Of course,” Tony said. “We’ve got a couple of elf families, and there’s a satyr who works for the tanner, and there’s a clan of dwarves who-- well, they don’t live in town, but they’re pretty close by; they come in all the time to trade with us.” He cocked his head, considering. “Might cause a few problems because the buildings aren’t really designed for anyone with four legs, but we can probably work around that.”

It was worth considering. Bucky nodded. “All right.” He eyed the scythe greedily. “How long will it take, to make these changes? I must be to the coven by the Solstice.”

Tony looked down at the scythe thoughtfully. “You’re on your way out to the coven? Stop by on your way back and it’ll be ready.”

“I shall, then,” Bucky said. He sniffed a bit, and located a bucket of somewhat dirty water. He grimaced, but it was probably better than trying to drink out of the human’s trough they kept. “Can I impose further on a bucket or two of water?”

“Sure, water’s easy,” Tony said. He edged past Bucky to a small covered pit in the yard. He pulled the cover away to reveal a deep well, water sparkling at the bottom. Tony lowered a bucket on a rope and then hauled it back up and offered it to Bucky.

Bucky peered into the well. “Did you-- make this?” Humans were perhaps not so stupid after all. The herd drank from the river, and rainwater when it could be caught up in woven straw buckets.

“Well, not me personally; that well’s been here since before I was born. But I helped one of the farms dig a new well a few years back, so I know how.”

“I don’t think we could do that,” Bucky said. He wouldn’t fit in such a small opening. “But it’s amazing. How convenient for you.”

“Important to have water close by the smithy,” Tony said. “Fire being what it is. I have some ideas for ways to make it easier to lower and raise the bucket, when I have time to build it. Maybe over the winter.”

Bucky drank from the bucket, almost thirty swallows exactly, before handing it back, empty.

“You’re very kind,” Bucky said, “and very clever. Beadwork is not what I do well, but--” He plucked out one hair from his tail and wrapped it several times around his finger, rolling it into a ring. Closed his hand around it and concentrated. It wasn’t much, a simple cantrip that anyone in the herd could do. But when he handed it over, it was a shiny, slender band, the same deep red as Bucky’s coat. “If you have need of my aid, hold this ring and think of me, and I will hear you, and come.”

Tony’s eyes widened as he took the ring. “You’re really-- I mean, this is. I didn’t do that much, you know.”

“It’s cantrip magic,” Bucky said, closing Tony’s hand around it. “Any colt in the herd can do this much. If I show up and you’re facing a parliament of owlbears, I will probably not help you.” He laughed at that joke. No one would want to face a parliament of owlbears.

Tony laughed, too. It was a nice sound. “If I’m facing an entire parliament of owlbears, then I expect I’ll be lunch long before you get to me. Luckily, there aren’t too many near here.”

“No, perhaps not,” Bucky said. “Again, I thank you. I will return for the wheat-cutter in… four days time, barring unexpected delays.” He bowed, hand over his heart, extending one foreleg. Very formal. He rarely bowed to the herd stallion so low, but Tony wouldn’t know that.

Tony echoed the gesture, as well as a being with only two legs could. “It has been my honor to meet you, Bucky.”

“The honor is mine.”

A/n - Grass tetany is a horse illness that causes them to have muscle cramps, general lack of coordination, and “staggering.” It’s usually caused by a nutritional imbalance, or too much time being transported, or stuck in a small stall. Horses need to MOVE AROUND.

#tonystarkbingo2020 #fairytale bingo #winteriron #centaur AU #magic is mundane

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nctzendreamz · 5 years

Text

HOMECOMING — PART lll

Prologue / Part l / Part ll / Part 3

Summary: The year is 3030, and the divide between the rich and poor couldn’t be greater. Wildwood University is the most prestigious school in the entire world, but it isn’t only because of the impeccable flying cars that can be seen best during the fuchsia lit nights, or the dexterous education everyone receives. It has secrets. A lot of secrets—the biggest being that Taeyong is going to kill you.

Genre: Gang!AU, Futuristic!AU, Dystopian!AU

Warnings: Vivid descriptions of violence, abuse, foul language, drug use, and murder.

“Y/N?”

Kun was always so gentle when he spoke to you compared to the rough and hard exterior he possessed. Ever since you were children, he was seen as the bad boy and everyone was scared of him. Everyone but you, and that’s why he fell for you so hard even in his adolescence years when he wasn’t supposed to know what love was—or care. On the days where he would come outside to play, covered in bruises, the others would run away claiming they didn’t want his bad luck, but you would run to him in your dazzling yellow dress that you refused to take off and hug him. You would remind him everyday that he was important and protected him from his bullies even at the age of five. You never treated him like the damaged flower he was. You instead watered him and continued to do so until he sprouted into a college boy and ruined it all.

“Hey.” Your eyes are looking down, trying to find comfort in the laces of your boots. The wood flooring was shining so brightly at you—it was newly polished after all, but the scent of this room is engraved into your entire existence. It’s him, and it’s making you feel sick. “Excuse me.” You manage to utter, never forgetting your manners. You don’t even want to brush against his strong shoulder or touch him. You’re weaving through and walking through the door as it fogs from the motion.

Taeyong watched this whole thing go down, and if he didn’t know for sure that Kun was your ex boyfriend, he knows now. The man was mimicking your previous actions—eyes locked on his striped socks. He’s taking deep breaths in and out.

“Um...I’m your roommate.” He places his hand out, but Kun doesn’t move. “Lee.” He introduces. Just when he thought his mission would be slight work, this had to come up. Taeyong wasn’t stupid. He knows that this Kun guy is going to be watching him like a hawk, as well as you, and they live together. What would he be doing while Taeyong was in class? He clearly wasn’t stupid either just from first glance, and mistrust was thick in the atmosphere of their dorm.

“Kun baby!”

The voice is booming and deep, but Taeyong doesn’t jump from it. He’s used to constant yelling and unnecessary cat calling. Indigo may have blinded your senses, but it enhanced your hearing. He heard them coming seconds before Kun did and he could tell it was more than whoever was screaming at such a peaceful hour—the afternoon.

Taeyong expects Kun to take a moment to open the door after what just transpired, but he doesn’t have to. Taeyong can’t take his eyes off of him. It’s the same tall and diesel boy that dropped you off this morning. Johnny, followed by six other boys, all in athletic clothing or school paraphernalia meaning they must have just got out of practice.

He was able to get into this room with his finger print? Fuck! It had to be because he was the president’s son. Which means you can do it too. He didn’t like the way he was being set up—I mean, isn’t that something he should’ve known?

“Turn around—oh.” Johnny’s mouth follows the pronunciation of his words before his lips go fish and makes a spitty noise at the sight of the lanky. Even with the little steps he takes he has some pep in his step. He seemingly knows who he is, and he’s proud of it. The other boys behind him don’t seem to be far off, but the way their faces look flushed indicate they possibly didn’t want to be here. They are probably tired, although Taeyong couldn’t understand how driving cars could make you this exhausted. “Hey roomie.”

He’s speaking to him, and Taeyong determines that keeping it cool was the best approach. He sadly envisions his own boys’ faces into their unmatching bodies as he knows this is the only way he won’t combust. He really hadn’t lived a life outside of his place of stay if it wasn’t a murder and he didn’t want it to show.

“What’s up.” He decides on, and they don’t speak to him again. They obviously think he’s irrelevant—some skinny kid who has books shoved up his ass at all times.

“Why the long face?” One of them steps up. He’s quite short, but his eyes read menace. They’re cat-like, and so is his approach. His right side is in synch as his foot and hand moves simultaneously to Kun’s shoulder.

“Y/N was just here.”

Kun trusts them. He trusts them heavily. He didn’t hesitate in the slightest to tell them the truth even while he was standing right there.

“I’ll leave.” He prompts, but Kun’s arm is stopping him—his grip extremely rough.

“No, stay.” The gentle tone he used with you has completely washed away, and if looks could kill, and Taeyong wasn’t the invincible bastard he was, he’d be dead. “She was in here with him.” Kun tells, looking at his friends for guidance. If Taeyong didn’t know any better, he would assume they were in a gang. The sight infront of him was all too familiar—the solid stares trying to get him to crumble without even having to touch him, the eerie silence that was filling the room.

But then it all stops. They’re laughing now minus Kun who only let out a little chuckle, with Johnny being the loudest.

“He didn’t even flinch.” The cat-eyed one speaks.

“There was nothing to be scared of.” Taeyong says with his chest secretly out. If this was their definition of intimidating, he couldn’t imagine how they would survive in NEO. Everyday you got cornered into giving something up. The question was how well could you defend yourself? “I’m Lee.” He finished coolly.

“Ten.” He responds, putting his fist out. Taeyong bumps it.

“Johnny.”

“Hendery.”

“I go by YangYang.”

“Xiaojun.”

“Sicheng.”

“And Lucas.” Lucas is a big man, just like Johnny. His hands are large as he moves to shake his hand and he seems the most tired—actually, now that he can take a closer look at him, he recognizes this look. This Lucas guy is high as a kite. He seemingly notices Taeyong’s observations and lets out a little chuckle followed by a deep cough. His finger rests on his lips as he purses them to shh. “Snitches get stitches.” He lets out.

He’s joking, but at the same time he’s not.

“Don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

“I like him already.” He prompts, slapping him on the back with a loud slap. Taeyong winces from this.

Although Johnny was laughing the loudest when it came to their previous antics, anyone who had ever came across him knows he doesn’t play about his baby sister. He’s watching his brothers talk to this new kid, but he’s not listening. He’s instead looking all around the room trying to see if there’s anything abnormal. The main point of his arguments with you was that you were way too friendly with people who didn’t deserve it—you always tried to rush a process that would be much more easy to deal with had you gave them just a little more time to prove themselves.

He’s going to talk to you about this Lee, and he’s going to completely fry you for coming into his room so soon. You had known him for a measly three hours assuming that he was in your first class, and Johnny wouldn’t accept that. You could be so fucking naive sometimes, and it was him who always had to wipe your tears from your faults. The only one he couldn’t blame you for was your relationship with Kun.

“Well, Lee—we’re going to get out of your hair.” Johnny prompts, and although mentally all of his friends are questioning the sudden prompt to leave, they know better than to do it out loud.

“Oh...alright.” He says, but Johnny is a human lie detector. That tone is so fake and maybe this Lee is antisocial and doesn’t like to talk to this many people at the same time, but it was rare for a new student at Wildwood to not want to ride the crew. Everybody wanted to know them, and he wasn’t being cocky about it—it was just the facts.

The all step outside one by one, walking in a line of eight through the spreaded hallway.

“He’s a fucking weirdo.” Sicheng speaks as his hands in his pockets guide his legs to move forward. He’s also very high—probably more high than Lucas.

“Agreed.” Yangyang seethes. Recently he was trying his hardest to control it, but he was a smart mouthed little rascal, and anybody could get some.

“I wouldn’t say so.” The eight of them are out of the building and getting tingled by the stairs now as they return to the fresh air. The campus is what it always is—exciting and full of new adventure as the open space sets the scene perfectly. The baby blue sky adds onto its perfection, although they were all very accustomed to this. Outside of this dormitory is a statue of Lobos Smith. It’s a golden brown tint and it features him, as well as hovering light bulbs above his head. At night, water shoots from the bottom and the bulbs illuminate something beautiful—a combination of radiant colors that were created to inspire and soothe, as it reads on the plate. They all touch his enlarged hand as they pass by him.

Even when high, Lucas was still knowledgeable. “At the most I would give him emo, but weird? Didn’t get that vibe.”

Ten, Hendery, and Xiaojun seem to be neutral on this, always wanting to see more before they made such conclusions about people. They had met plenty of people on such a large campus that didn’t have the worst of the worst intentions for them, although it easily could’ve seemed that way on first glance.

“You’re not looking deep enough, Lucas. We talked about this.”

Kun wholeheartedly agreed with Johnny, Sicheng, and Yangyang. He was fully expecting to walk into his dorm room and be greeted by the typical Wildwood boy—either a rich dick, or a nerd, not that he believed this to be a negative adjective, that would stay out of his way and only ask did he want to hang out when he was extremely lonely and bored. Lee, on the other hand, seemed to be trying way too hard.

“But he barely spoke.” Ten speaks up now.

They’re walking past all of the different social groups as they continue their disagreement—the green grass providing means of peace between them. Regardless, they would never let things get out of control anyway. They were allowed to disagree, fight, they were even allowed to give a good punch sometimes too, but they would quickly be pulled apart. They were boys, and that’s what boys did.

The bench that is unofficially marked as theirs is open as it should be, and they take their normal positions. Half on the bench, and the other half sitting on the ground in front of them. Ten presses the button that was hovering beside him from the left, and an umbrella reveals itself to cover them from the yellow sun. It really was a beautiful day, but they had things to discuss and they weren’t asking for a tan.

“But notice how he said everything right.” Sicheng reveals. This seems to get his brothers thinking, and he can see their opinions changing just that quick. That was the effect he had on everyone. He was the quietest out of all of them unless they were together like this, and although Kun was labeled as the menace of the group, it was actually him. His thoughts could get absolutely deadly sometimes, and his facial expressions always read what he felt. His built figure didn’t help his case, but the ladies loved it. He never had a night where he couldn’t get someone in his bed.

“Exactly.” Kun finally speaks. “It was almost too perfect. And the way he reacted when Y/N ran out...it was almost as if he wasn’t that shocked.”

“You know how Y/N is.” Xiaojun says. Johnny immediately looks at him with sharp eyes from his spot on the grass. His legs—even through their long nature are tucked in his chest while his hands hold them in place. “Not saying that in a bad way, Johnny.” He hurries. “She just makes friends easily, and she can sometimes—

“Talk too much. I know.” Johnny finishes for him, eyes locking back to the ground now. The more and more they verbally observe this kid, the more eerie he feels about him. He usually didn’t mind when his boys talked about you either, as they never disrespected you. They just spoke facts, and regardless of how they felt about your decisions they would always protect you. “I’m sorry.” He says—and it’s not something he speaks often. “You said nothing wrong. I think we just need to eat.”

“Agreed.” They say in unison, Yangyang taking his phone out to hit up the campus delivery service, but haulting when he hears the same notification being recieved on all of their phones.

“Never mind.” Johnny sighs—him, as well as the rest of the boys rushing to get up and get on the move.

“Why didn’t you tell me that Johnny has friends? And why didn’t you tell me that Y/N has an ex boyfriend that is still madly in love with her? And that he is apart of Johnny’s friends. It’s your fucking job knit-wit.”

Taeyong is seething on the phone, although he does feel bad. Poor Jaemin didn’t have a clue as to why he was currently being scolded, as he did the research he was asked to do. Nothing more, nothing less. At this point he had been tuning the harsh words out—too high in this moment to give a fuck about anything his leader was saying.

“Look, I already told you what the deal is, hyung.”

Taeyong can picture him now, smoking his Indigo. The younger members seemingly preferred this method for whatever reason, and he finds himself to be correct when he can hear a cough erupting from the boy’s throat over the device.

That excuse is good enough for Taeyong, but he doesn’t want to stop this passion just yet. Even now he could tell his high was finally wearing off similar to how it did a few weeks back, and it’s scary, but it’s good. He’s feeling anger, nervousness, although he was sure the lather would wear off rather quickly. How would it feel to kill in such a state?

“Whatever.” He shooes. “Get Sooman on the phone please.”

“Sooman? You sure you don’t mean daddy?”

“Very fucking funny—put him on the phone.”

He sits on hold for about five minutes, and during that time he decides to finally lay down on his bed. He hadn’t had the opportunity to go shopping for something a little more his style, but then again was it even worth it? Once he killed you, he would be gone.

God, it’s so comfortable. The bed he was accustomed to was so hard and he would always wake up with back pain that would last for the majority of the day, although he would never really feel it. You didn’t feel much of anything in NEO. He could emphasize this fact all day long.

Around the room aren’t ripped and hole-punched walls. They’re clean and polished an angelic white color—clashing way too much with the seeming inside of him. He deserves this luxury, but at the same time he doesn’t, yet then again, that made him deserve it even more. Kun’s belongings are still ragged all over the room, but even with Taeyong’s clean freak nature he can’t freak out about it. He doesn’t care right now. He lifts his leg to observe his chosen clothing; all black just incase someone attempted to compliment him. He realizes while he sinks into the the bed that he hadn’t done this at all, even if he had only been here for less than a day. He takes a deep breath—the kind that rushes to your toes and comes back up your body with a magical touch. The kind where you feel every problem and obstacle in your life haulting even if for a short moment. A short moment it was indeed.

“Tell me everything.”

It’s Sooman, and all the stupid doodles he was currently having would have to be put to rest, at least for now.

Taeyong explains in detail everything that had went down in the past couple of hours—even him meeting Mackenzie.

“You can use her as a free kill if you want. If the urge is strong.”

“Oh, trust me when I say she’s already on my list.”

And then he continues. There’s actually only so much detail he can give considering he is only seeing black and white for now, but he describes you. He doesn’t know why or how, but he finds himself imagining you in a lot of different aspects. What would you be wearing tomorrow? Would you completely change and end up in sweatpants and a hoodie similar to your brother a few moments ago? Or did you dress like such a superstar all the time?

“She’s pretty, isn’t she?”

“A pretty face only gets you so far.”

“But remember what I told you. She’s not just a face, boy. If she’s like anything I’ve experienced, she may rope you in without knowing. You won’t even see it coming. That girl is smart, and she’s something you’re not used to. Stay focused.” The man instructs, “Also, keep working on her. You also need to be gaining the trust of her family members as well.” He finished before hanging up.

Taeyong didn’t appreciate that exchange. He didn’t even get a chance to ask the real questions, obviously in a much more respectful way than he spoke to Jaemin. That was so unsual. He’s about to call back before he feels his phone vibrating in his hand. It’s Jaehyun, this time.

“He’s getting some right now.” Jaehyun confirms, his laugh erurupting from the predictable darkness of their side of town. He can picture the pretty boy now—perched up on his bunk as he always wanted the top anyway. He’s probably been having an amazing 48 hours all alone, free to blast as he pleased without interruption.

Taeyong doesn’t know why he didn’t put that together. As unfair as the rule was, it was a rule that stated only he—as he is the boss, could bring woman into the building. When it came to them and their rendezvous, it had to be in a dark corner, an alley, or if they got really lucky—the wife’s home while her husband was busting his ass to bring in some income, or for some members the husbands while the wife was begging the convience store to let her get dinner for the kids.

Good ole’ NEO.

“Fucking great.” Taeyong rolls over on his side, his black hair covering his eyes slightly. He doesn’t even try to move it away as he finds himself dozing off just a tad. He has never been this comfortable in his entire life.

“Tell me. I know you, brother. You need to get it out.”

“I don’t know. There’s just a lot of missing pieces of this puzzle that I don’t know. I’m sure Jaemin told you everything.”

“Mhm.” Jaehyun agrees, knowing his member would continue. He was always such a great listener, and he frequently had to deal with this. Never in such a setting, but even with his kills would Taeyong talk his head off about what he wanted to try next, and a lot of blabber. He listened because he cared about him.

“She has an ex boyfriend, and he doesn’t like me. They were all smiling and happy, but I could see how fake it was.”

“Well, you are trying to fuck, and then kill his love. And for the brother—his sister and his whole family.”

“But they don’t know that. They don’t know any of it.”

“Then they’re probably just being protective. I mean, how did you find out about the girl and Kun in the first place?”

“She was in my room.” He admits, silently slapping himself on the forehead. “And he’s my roommate. The shit was so dramatic, Jae. It looked like a soap-opera.

“I’m not saying don’t keep your eyes open. Trust me, me of all people would never be so stupid, but if you have your guard up openly, and so does he, how are you going to get close to them? Hm?” The indigo was talking, not Jaehyun. “I mean, you don’t have a choice but to switch it up.”

“You sound like me.” He chuckles.

Taeyong was the leader for many reasons, but truthfully more because he was incredibly scary. As he does a little crunch, he sees himself in the mirror and he doesn’t know the person he’s looking at. This isn’t the menacing, ruthless Taeyong that made his youngers practically pee their pants if they made a remote mistake. This was the boy that liked to explore, and he doesn’t like it. He feels sick, actually. He smile is wiped off, and he hits the bed again.

“Thanks for listening.”

“Of course.”

The hang up is quick from his side.

Taeyong needs to sleep. He needs to sleep a sleep better than any sleep he has ever experienced, and when he wakes up, he’ll have some of his real vision back.

“You’re home late, what happened?”

It’s your fathers voice, and as always it’s soft and comforting. Even at such a late hour. You always find it amusing that even when he should be sleeping, or perched up on his very expensive recliner channel surfing for sports, he’s instead in a suit ready for work. Usually you would make a joke about this, and he’s waiting for it—you can tell by the way his eyebrows that match yours are slightly raised; his mouth slightly agape in anticipation, but you’re not in the mood.

“Just an interesting day. That’s all dad I promise.”

“Well, my ears are open. I was about to respond to some emails, but you know I always have time for you sweetheart.”

Your father, as well as your brother were the two men who you could never doubt. They loved you, and they meant everything they said. Others couldn’t necessarily relate.

Your home hasn’t changed much since you were born. Well, at least design wise. Of course coming from a family who was the lead cause of the new world we lived in, you had all of the new gadgets and furniture. You were always the taste test for practically every invention after the dangerous trial and error was over.

Your tan colored ceilings were practically in the sky. And similar to Wildwood, the ceiling was open, although it was better worded see-through. You also had the option of closing it, and your father hits the switch as you follow behind him to go into his office. You only see half of the pink night being closed before the door is clearing.

His office was surprisingly simple considering all the resources he had access to. There were two family portraits that rested above his desk—one of the four of you, and one of all of the boys and men your father had in his life. “Uncles” you had never met. Johnny and his friends. The sight of Kun in the photo; his smile is bright and you can actually remember the day that photo was taken. He was so nervous about the whole ordeal. He couldn’t understand why he was chosen to be in such a photo with so many great men, as well as his knucklehead friends, but Johnny really wanted it. Those were his brothers, and your father had always been a believer of sticking together. He was a mentor to so many, and Johnny, Sicheng, Ten, Yangyang, Lucas, Xiaojun, Hendery, and Kun had all been friends since birth. Your father had practically raised them. It was actually quite a weird ordeal, but it made sense to you all. Fate worked in mysterious ways.

There’s a loveseat on the side of the semi-large room, and you sit on it. You expect him to sit in his leather chair, but he nudges you over with his knee. He puts an arm around your shoulder, and kisses your forehead as you move to his shoulder. This was him telling you to speak.

“I saw Kun today.” You mumble. You didn’t want to be having this conversation with your father. Especially about someone you know he saw as such an ideal man for you.

“How did that make you feel?”

“Bad.”

You know he’s trying to scrounge up his thoughts. You told your father everything, and every night you found yourself thinking about his reaction that night. Barely a reaction, at first.

An alarm is blaring at Taeyong. He doesn’t understand why, because quite frankly, he wasn’t planning on going to class today. He wasn’t here to be educated in the slightest, although he was very much so looking forward to his futuristic science class where he heard you did a lot of cool experiments in. He unconsciously takes a deep breath, and he smells something. It’s not strong, but he can smell it. It smelt of something sweet. Like vanilla or something if that nature.

The alarm is still blaring, and with closed eyes, he’s beating around trying to locate the button to turn it off.

“You have to speak.” A voice whispers from the other side of the room. Kun decided to sleep here last night—quite a surprise.

“Okay.” Taeyong speaks.

Snoozing. The robot woman follows

“You have to say ‘I’m awake’.”

“I’m awake.” Taeyong rips out, very done with this whole ordeal. He had never been more annoyed in his life. He’s also very shocked that Kun even cared enough to help him, but then again it was interrupting whatever he was doing.

He slowly rises off the bed, looking quickly to see if he has on any pants. He settled in boxers last night he notices, so he throws the sheets off of him before taking one last deep breath and wiping his face before opening his eyes. It’s like a flash of light does he see the same pastel and dirty vision just as he did when he tried this the first time. His pupils are moving from side to side, trying to see the splurts again. They’re evident and he can also see now very clearly that Kun has black hair just like him. He’s also shirtless as he’s on his phone most likely scrolling through nothing. Kun must have changed his sheets while he was in a deep slumber. It screamed money. It was a mixture of black, red, and blue; striped. They seemed to be comfortable enough.

“Goodmorning to you too.” Kun says, removing his eyes from his phone to Taeyong’s pitiful look. “I would’ve thought you’d look less tired considering how long you’ve been asleep.”

“How do you know how long I’ve been asleep? You were gone.”

“Look up.”

And he does. Above his head is a clock that reads the exact time he put his head down to rest, the time he actually fell asleep—5 minutes later, and how long he stayed that way.

“What the—

“You can turn it off. I mean, they’ll still know, but I won’t.” Kun points to his own clock that read he only got two hours of sleep before he shuts it off.

“Thanks.” Is all Taeyong can fathom. Usually more words would flow from his mouth, but Kun is a stranger. But usually that wouldn’t matter? He doesn’t like to be awkward like this. He doesn’t even know what he needs to take a shower here, but he’ll figure it out he assumes. There’s a machine in the large release area that gives you the option of what soap you want to use unless you have your own, in which Taeyong doesn’t. He decides on the Sea Breeze soap, as it seemed to fit the mood he was trying to set.

When he gets out, Kun is still in the room, but he’s clothed now. He’s once again dressed in some sweatpants, and a Wildwood shirt. He did change up his shoes though, switching his slides for sneakers.

“Don’t know if you care or not, but we have a race tonight.” He speaks up. “We’re going against our rival school—the jets. Big game and a good way to make friends.”

It was sly shade, but Taeyong catches it. That was his polite way of saying to get the hell away from you, but he was awake now. He should’ve said that when he was still drowsy because Taeyong was about to play him like a guitar. He’s throwing his book bag over his shoulder as he talks.

“Oh yeah I’ll definitely be there. Me and Y/N are going together.” He pretends to feel bad at the mention of you—giving his eyes the innocent and awkward stare, but he sees the way Kun practically blows up from your name coming out of his filthy mouth.

“Cool.�� Is all Kun can gather. He’s throwing his own belongings in a duffel bag that resembles the one Taeyong put his weapons in, except he’s throwing shorts and extra jackets in there. He’s doing it quick and fast indicating that Taeyong already got under his skin and all he had to do was say your name. Maybe it would be easier to get him out of the picture than he originally thought.

Taeyong was secretly super excited about the race. He had never seen anything like what it was described to be, but most importantly it was a great opportunity to talk your pretty little head off and try to get more answers out of you. And let’s not forget the fuchsia nights. He was so ready for that.

When he left his dorm, it wasn’t exactly light, but it wasn’t dark either. After a long day of classes he didn’t care about, and classes you didn’t show up to, he had eaten a little meal from the cafe that he got very lost in before heading back to his dorm to change. Since he got a little of his colored vision back, he decided on a blank orange shirt that had to be curtesy of Mark. Mark really was an angel, yet, that made all of them be even more of a dick to him because he could be so soft sometimes. I mean, to Wildwood’s standard of soft he would be a hell raiser, but back home he was a sweet little thing. His pants stayed the same—black cargo looking pants with his signature boots.

The track was indescribable. I mean, the open space was so beautiful; the grass seemed to be the original green he expected even if it was dirty and blurry to him. He looks up for sky, but half is gray, and half is a darkened blue. Almost navy. The sound of engines going off and reviving is white noise for him because he had never heard this. There’s already a big crowd of students from both schools with their faces painted, some with shirts off, but all ready to cheer on their schoolmates. The track is basically a smaller NASCAR track—it’s too bad they got rid of that decades ago.

“Taeyong!” He knows this voice. It’s tiny and squeaky and annoying and as he looks in her direction he can’t deny he’s impressed. She really did change her look. Her hair was still raging white, but it was curly and she actually sported an outfit similar to yours yesterday. She was surrounded by boys just as you predicted, but they seemed to push him to the side.

“What’s up, Mackenzie.” He smiles, but it’s so fake. And the fact that she doesn’t see it just proves she’s a fucking blonde. “You seen Y/N?”

“I saw her earlier. She was here with Johnny and they were talking, but not for too long. Johnny practically ignores everyone on race days. Any distraction can make them lose and Johnny doesn’t like to lose.”

“You seem to know a lot about him.”

“We’re going to get married one day.” She dreams towards the sky.

“Right...” He whispers to himself, before turning around. As such awful story telling would do, you’re right there as he turns around. How long had you been standing there? God, he had to clutch his heart—something that he never had to do. Technically you just ran up on him and he didn’t hear you. He’s glad his boys didn’t witness that,

You look more beautiful than you did yesterday, not to say you didn’t look beautiful yesterday. You did change up your outfit a tad; a long sleeved v-neck crop top covering your chest, although he sees the cleavage. And you’re wearing high waisted mom jeans with some matching white sneaks on your feet. They’re giving you a little height. You have glasses on the top of your head, but he assumes you’re not in such a bad mood that you don’t want to see anything right now.

“Hey.” He smiles, and he doesn’t have to fake this one. It’s coming out naturally and it’s pissing him off. Yes, you were pretty, but you aren’t roping him in. He doesn’t feel things for people he only wants to hurt them.

“Hey.” You smile back, punching him in arm lightly. “I like your outfit. I was expecting you to be wearing all black again.”

“What? You thought I was some emo boy?”

“Well, I still think you are. I think you added a dash of color to impress me.”

Oh, you were good.

“Do you think you’re that special?” His tone is taunting, but not disrespectful.

“I know I am.” You turn around promptly, and he feels his feet running towards you to catch up.

It seems like you’re going to a more secluded area where there are less people who are prone to screaming and yelling inappropriate things to the opposing players. There’s a hologramed fence that seems to be where you’re headed, but you keep walking.

“Y/N you have to watch the race. Your brother is in it.”

“Oh, I’m watching the race.” He doesn’t even have to see you to know you’re smirking. It’s the sway in your hips. You’re walking to seemingly nothing, but as Wildwood does, there’s something hovering where you’re headed. It’s a button, but he doesn’t know what’s its for.

“You coming?” You tease.

“I—can I?”

You take his hand in yours—an unfamiliar feeling to him. Even so he doesn’t let go. You press the button and hologramed box is shielding the two of you before you’re shooting in the air.

“What the!” He screeches, unconsciously squeezing your hand too tight.

“Ow ow.” You laugh loudly. “Are you trying to break my hand?” He knows he hurt you, but even so you’re still laughing.

“I’m sorry. That just scared me.” He finds himself being shy now as the two of you are still holding hands. He slowly lets go, but not before caressing your mangled bones.

“It’s okay, newbie. When I was a little girl I almost had a panic attack the first time I did this.”

This, was the view. It was amazing, and it was secluded from the rattled teens and young adults who were passionate about their school. There were seats made for two, and Taeyong assumes that the box registers how many people it holds, and makes the seats according to that.

“There’s no one else that can do this, right?” He’s fascinated. You’re high up enough to where you can’t be seen unless someone was looking very hard, but at the same time you can see the track perfectly.

“Nope. Just my family.” You point to the other side of the track, and he can see another one hovering holding what seems to be a man and a woman—possibly some others behind him. Your father and mother although he can’t see their faces. “I’m a privileged girl.”

He’s trying to find something snarky to say back at you, but the confidence he had before is slipping away. He even finds himself shaking slightly, but he decides to just ignore it. “Nothing wrong with being that way.” He whispers. That’s all he can think of.

The two of you are sitting very close right now. He really had only known you for a measly 24 hours, but it felt like an eternity and he didn’t like that. He didn’t like the power you obviously held. And now you were scooting closer to him and his heart is slowly racing when that wasn’t supposed to be happening.

“How was your day today?” You question, but you’re not looking at him. Maybe he makes you nervous. You’re both watching as the cheerleaders are doing stunts to get the crowd pumped and the band is starting to warm up for the team. It almost seemed like football, but that was irrelevant these days.

He hadn’t had someone ask him that ever. It was so strange to him how every little thing you did was so original, even though back in the old days it was common curtesy. Back when the world wasn’t so split up.

“It was good.” Is all he can form. He relaxes back in the seemingly invisible chair, and it’s comfortable. “Finally made it to the cafe.”

“Do you always whisper when you talk.” You taunt him in his same tone.

You get a smile out of him. You were pretty funny. He could admit that.

There were a lot of things he could’ve said, but he remembers his orders “keep pushing it” or whatever Sooman said. He was trying so hard to keep his wall up, when his mission was to make you fall in love with him. He felt so guilty about it, but he didn’t have to. It was what he was instructed. “I’m just—you make me a little nervous.” He slips, knowing your heart beat is probably increasing.

“Me? Why?” And now your head is on his shoulder.

“Because you do things like that.” He speaks. He doesn’t know what to do with his body. Affection was something he had no idea how to handle or give back, and this was going to be his biggest weakness when it came to getting your head.

“My day wasn’t good.” You switch the subject, although your head stays in place. “Yesterday wasn’t good either.”

“Why?” He whispers. “Is it because of that Kun guy?”

“You catch on quickly.” You chuckle, making his shoulder vibrate. “But yeah. We have an interesting history. I was just so surprised to see him. It was so weird.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Taeyong needs to do something. He needs to touch you in a way that shows you he’s “interested”. He sees your hand dead on your lap, so he decides to interlock your fingers just as you did to him a few moments ago. He can’t lie—this feels nice. He knows it’s not supposed to, but no one else is here to tell on him. He could enjoy this, right?

“Nothing to say.” You mumble. “Just caught me off guard.”

There’s the wall. He was hoping you’d start venting, but he’s not surprised when you hault. I mean, the two of you had just met yesterday, although it wouldn’t seem like it based off your current position.

“I know we just met yesterday, but can we stay like this?” Your tone is hushed as you speak, and your voice is wavering just a tad. You probably feel stupid for even asking that.

“Of course we can.” He accepts, and he feels the way you lightly graze your thumb on his own at his acceptance. It relaxes him in an odd way, although it also triggered something weird in him. He had never felt it before, but he just assumes it’s the indigo shaking him up and begging him for more.

“Ladies and gentleman—introducing the one and only Wildwood Jaguars!” They’re running through the banner, funny enough the most non-futuristic thing here. The crowd is going wild and here you and Taeyong are, lost in your position.

Game on.

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dedicateyourheartsforhumanity · 4 years

Text

@angryheichou some of Scarlet's back story I wrote in my Erwin fanfic.

Where her relationship with him starts.

Scarlet sat in the corner, cold, hungry, and alone. The little bit of bread she had received was old and stale, and the water was hot. As she pulled her knees to her chest she closed her eyes, thinking of home. She missed her mother's home cooked meals, her warm, soft bed.

How did she end up here, in Undercity? Why was it that the very people her parents tried to help were the ones who took her away? It wasn't fair.

Life inside wall Sina was easy. Money was never an issue, food was plentiful...Her thoughts were quickly pulled away from those warm memories as she heard the shouting from down stairs. Perhaps another drunken fight...She didn't really pay much attention anymore. All she knew is that sometime soon, someone would come up to blow off steam

As a man burst through the doors she quickly attempted to shield herself from whatever blow he may have throw at her. Instead, he pulled her hair, forcing her to stand to her feet as he looked into her eyes.

The man was angry and from all the other times Ashaani had encountered this man in particular, he had never been known to show any other emotion. His eyes frightened her even more than usual and she let out a whimper as she held his hand that pulled her hair. "Who did you tell?!" He shouted at her as he shook her. His other hand grabbed her arm, squeezing it tightly.

"Who did you talk to?! I know you must have, how else would they have known where we are?!" He asked again, this time shaking her more violently than before. He raised a hand to smack her as she moved her hands down in attempt to block it. "I haven't talked to anyone! Please!" She tried to explain before his hand came down to her. A wave of pain flew through her body as she was thrown to the floor. As Scarlet curled up into a ball and closed her eyes, trying to ignore what would come next. Shaking uncontrollably, she waited for another wave of pain to surge through her body but it seemed like forever.

Was he teasing her?

Had he decide not to hurt her?

Slowly she opened her eyes, afraid of what sort of sight might be before her. She could only watch as he struggled with hooded men as they placed him in cuffs. One man turned to her and watched her for a moment before walking closer to her. She crawled back, cornering herself between the walls before he finally kneeled down to her level.

The blonde man's eyes scanned her as he noted the scars and bruises that covered her malnourished body. She too studied the man, trying to decide if he was good or bad.

Erwin Smith, a young Squad Leader of the Survey Corps watched the girl as she cowered away from him into the corner like a frightened animal. He took in the sight before him, careful not to show any sudden movements towards the girl. She was already shook up and by the looks of it, she didn't have a choice to be here. He wondered what she knew, if perhaps she could be of use to them. Surely she would know something that would help their cause. As he kneeled down to her level his expression was one of sympathy. Something about this girl pulled at his curiosity, so he acted on it.

"It's ok." He said softly.

"Do you have a name?" Erwin stayed still as he waited for the girl to answer. Scatlet didn't move as the stranger's gaze dropped.

"I see." Erwin stood back up and whispered something to one of his comrades and as the man left the room, Erwin turned back to her. Kneeling down to her level once again and held out his hand. "I want to get you somewhere safe, somewhere we can take care of you, away from this place..."

As she flinched the Squad Leader moved closer to her. "I'm not going to hurt you." After looking back and forth between the man and his hand Scsrlet tried to weigh her options. She didn't trust him at all, but if he was taking her away from this place, it might be worth it. Quickly thinking, she decided to take the chance as she slowly reached for his hand, placing hers in his timidly. Erwin gave her a soft smile as he helped her up. She stumbled over and as the man caught her in his arms before he picked her up to carry her out to safety.

As Erwin stood in the doorway he watched the girl curiously. Surely she had to know something...His thoughts were interrupted as his fellow comrade questioned him about her. "Do you think she'll talk? I mean..." He put a hand behind his neck as he looked back at the girl. "She hasn't even said a word to the doctors..." The man was doubtful they could gain her trust, especially after all that had happened to her in Undercity.

He couldn't blame her though, being in that situation would make it difficult to trust anyone. Erwin sighed as he too wondered if he could get her to speak to him. As he walked in Scarlet sat up in her bed and rubbed her eyes. Squinting up at the man who had saved her she gave a small smile as she watched him sit down. He offered a smile in return as he spoke softly to her.

"Aren't you hungry?" He asked noticing the tray of food was left untouched. The girl seemed to shy away from him as she lifted her knees to her chest and pulled the covers closer to her. Erwin took the cup of water and handed it to her gently as she only watched his motions. Finally the girl slowly seemed to relax and took the cup as she kept her eyes on him. As she began drinking the water he sat back.

"Do you have a name?" Erwin attempted the question as he gaged her reaction. "Scarlet..." She said quietly after a moment of silence. A small smile reached the Squad Leader's face as he watched the girl open up to him. He didn't think she would speak to him so quickly. He repeated her name before giving her his own. As she sat the cup back on the table beside the bed, Scarlet examined the man carefully. Though he had saved her from the awful place she was in, she wasn't sure it was enough to trust him. The constant abuse had made her distant to people and Erwin was no exception.

As he leaned forward to stand Scarlet flinched and instinctively put her hands above her head, shielding herself from whatever violent move he may have made. Erwin was quick to pick up on her distress as he quickly apologized.

"I'm not going to hurt you..." He started, before he moved his hands to the button that clasped his cape across his shoulders.

"Here.."

He took off the green cape from his shoulders and fastened it over her's.

She grabbed the warm fabric and pulled it close to her as she gave Erwin a confused look.

"Thank you..." She said a bit awkwardly. She wasn't used to these acts of kindness, making it hard for her to react to him.

"That symbol...I've seen it before." She said shyly as she noted the same symbol on the back of the cape was on his jacket as well. Erwin took a seat on her bed as he pointed to the symbol on his jacket. "This?" He asked. Scarlet shook her head as she shied away from him. Erwin, watching her as she studied the patch. "It's the symbol of the Survey Corps..." she said as her blue eyes went back to Erwin's. There was a long pause between the two and Erwin could tell there was a question burning behind her eyes.

"What is it like...outside the walls?" Erwin smiled at her question and looked to the door. "I have a few things I need to see to but, if it's alright with you I'd like to come back and visit you. Perhaps I could tell you about it then?" He watched as her gaze shifted.

"Scarlet?" Erwin moved his hand to her shoulder gently. "I'm not going to hurt you, ok? I promise." He looked into her own blue eyes as he waited for her to answer him. She softly nodded her head in a manner Erwin assumed was more obedience than understanding.

#oc #aot oc

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msjr0119 · 5 years

Text

The Greatest Show

“The Other Side.”

A new 9 part series- all chapters are based on each song from ‘The Greatest Showman’

Characters belong to Pixelberry except MC - Amber Smith-Beaumont

Warnings: Swearing, sarcasm, stubborn Dramber

Tags - using combined tagged list, if you want to be removed please let me know 👍🏼

Catch up on the previous chapter here

@annekebbphotography @burnsoslow @drakesensworld @ladyangel70 @kingliam2019 @bbrandy2002 @butindeed @bascmve01 @drakewalker04 @pedudley @captain-kingliamsqueen @duchessemersynwalker @insideamirage @of-course-i-went-to-hartfeld @kozabaji @texaskitten30 @ibldw-main @kimmiedoo5 @nikkis1983 @dangerouseggseagleartisan @gnatbrain @walker7519 @lodberg @cmestrella @hopefulmoonobject @addictedtodrakefanfic @angi15h @liamxs-world @rafasgirl23415 @notoriouscs @yukinagato2012 @dcbbw @qammh-blog @nz1091 @beardedoafdonutwagon @cordonianroyalty @custaroonie @indiacater @seriouslybadchoices @rainbowsinthestorm @princess-geek @jared2612 @desiree-0816

I was going to do the songs in chronological order, however this song is apt for this chapter.🙌🏼

******

Amber woke up with a slight headache- not knowing if it was due to the jet lag or the full bottle of whiskey she had downed with Drake in such a short time the previous night.

Wrapping herself up in the luxurious duvet, waves of nausea suddenly hit- adding to her misery regarding being here ‘against her own free will.” Amber turned her phone on, as it ‘pinged’ with message after message, notification after notification- she regretted turning it on in the first place. Brett. Brett and his usual abusive threats were many of the messages. After no response from her, the usual apologies began- ‘Baby I’m sorry. I love you, just let me know that you are alright?’ The room began spinning, dehydration was now too obvious to ignore- grabbing a glass of water and painkillers, she had hoped that she would recover even the slightest before seeing Bertrand.

Quickly getting showered and dressing in comfy clothes- she had decided to go for a wander around her new home for the next month or so. Knowing that it was the Derby later on today and that Maxwell had already prepped her outfit, she knew she had time before needing to get ready. Leaving her phone, she text Brett lying saying signal was rubbish.

*****

Maxwell and Bertrand woke up and immediately headed towards Amber’s room. Bertrand had decided to give her a quick refresher lesson to help her ‘fit in’.

Opening the door, she wasn’t there. Bertrand became panic stricken mainly due to his house’s reputation, Maxwell was the opposite- assuming it was due to Brett.

“Where the hell is she? Was she okay when Drake saw her?”

“Yes! He said ‘She’s fine, no need for babysitting. I’ve left her now. See ya tomorrow Beaumont.’ I know Drake is miserable and seems not caring. But he wouldn’t leave anyone alone if they weren’t fine. Well...he may do that to Madeleine or Olivia- but with other people he has a heart under that gruff interior.” Heading two doors down, they knocked on Drakes door- hoping he would give any indication regarding Amber’s state of mind. Opening the door in response to the loud banging, he would berate whoever created this rude awakening.

“Do you know what time it is?” Drake snapped, whilst yawning.

“Yes 7.30. It’s late for me! I’m like the walking and talking alarm clock. Have you heard from Amber?”

“No why would I hear from her?”

“Well you probably have spoken to her more than anyone here. She’s not in her room. I’m worried that she’s runaway to go back to that arsehole.”

“She was fine when I left. We spoke about the states, realised we have a few things in common. One of those things was riding- I said I’d take her for a ride one day. I wouldn’t have left her if she wasn’t okay- mainly due to you two possibly murdering me.” Mainly due to me falling fast for her. I wouldn’t want to see her hurt. “What’s this arsehole done to her anyway? Cheated on her?”

“I wish! No I don’t mean it like that, I meant I wish that was the only thing he has done to her. Do you remember us sneaking off to New York a lot? That’s the reason why- she’d insist to not come but she’s family.”

“Many times myself and Maxwell had tried to convince her to come back. She’s afraid of what he may do next, what more he is capable of. I’m surprised that she’s here now. Maybe if she feels safe here she may stay?”

“I’ll use my persistent charm to convince her.” Maxwell winked at them both.

“I’ll go and look for her. You two look for her as well.” Bertrand exited the room, Drake’s mind was racing - wondering if the two brothers were over exaggerating the facts regarding Amber’s boyfriend.

“What has he done to her Max? She didn’t explain anything to me. I know it’s none of my business and that’s probably why.”

“Black eyes, bruises, broken arm, skull fracture. There’s no getting through to her buddy. I just wish she would find someone who would love her and that would treat her like a princess. I know she’s sarcastic, a bit dim at times- but she’s an amazing girl.” I know Max, she is amazing. That bastard, she doesn’t deserve that. No one deserves that. I’d treat her well. I’d take her on dates, spoil her, love her. She won’t see you in that way Drake, she’s far too good for you- so stop thinking like that. Brett is her boyfriend, and she’s Liam’s suitor. The prince could sway away from Liv, I mean Amber seems so much better than the ice queen. Shaking his head, he left his thoughts locked away- for the mean time.

“Let’s hope she enjoys her time here then, and that you can convince her to stay. Keep her safe. Does he know where you two are from?”

“No. He doesn’t know we are noble. Good job really.”

*****

Amber was in a gaze, walking through the courtyard lost in thought.

“Lady Amber are you lost?”

“Hey ‘Zimmer’. No. Well yes. I just needed some air - to clear my mind. I didn’t want to be a burden to anyone.”

“Remember what I threatened you with ‘suture’. Well if you insist. I’m sure the Beaumont’s are panicking about your whereabouts, Bertrand had a face like thunder.”

“Shit! He’s going to kill me. He’s going to yell at me. I better go back in.”

“And where the hell have you been?” Clearing his throat after seeing Leo, he returned to his usual manners by bowing to the prince. “Your highness.”

“Bertrand for fuck sake just call me Leo.”

“As you wish. Amber you look a mess, you’re one of Liam’s suitors. Get inside now and get ready! I’ll bring you some breakfast up to your room. We don’t have time to dilly dally. You’re a Beaumont act like one!”

Amber mouthed told you to Leo who just laughed. Storming through the doors with Bertrand high on her heels, Maxwell and Drake were waiting in her room after not finding her themselves.

“What are you two doing here?”

“Where have you been?”

“I went for a walk, I’ve got a banging headache- a hangover because of him.” Pointing to Drake, his face dropped knowing he would be in the doghouse with the brothers.

“Hey! I didn’t force you to drink the whiskey. It’s not my fault.” Amber laughed, then the both of them averted their gaze. Maxwell noticed the two of them blushing. Wondering what exactly happened last night between them both. He had noticed that Drake hadn’t been as withdrawn as he usually is since Amber had been there. Believing he was overthinking the situation- he did need to mention something important.

“Amber, he’s been ringing you whilst we’ve waiting here. What’s up?”

“Oh the usual threats. I made my bed Max so I’ll lay in it. Anyway- get out I need to get dressed, I don’t want to give Drake another heart attack. Then we have a Beaumont meeting downstairs, Bertrand is waiting for us.” Using the ‘finger gun’ gesture mimicking a handgun, he knew it was important to get to Bertrand quickly- the sooner this ‘meeting’ was over the better.

*****

Pacing the room, Bertrand was impatiently waiting for his family members to attend. He had spoken to Liam prior, to ask that no one disturbs them.

“Lord Beaumont. Lady Amber. About time that you both arrived. You both need to be punctual with court events. Now we have around an hour before we have to head to the Derby.” Amber rolled her eyes back, whilst Max sniggered- knowing she really didn’t give two damns.

“Bertrand. I know how to be noble. I spent all my childhood summers surrounded by you guys. I’m a good actress don’t worry.”

“Right here, right now. I put the offer out,I don't want to chase you down. I know you see it. You run with me and I can cut you free. Out of the drudgery and walls you keep in.”

“What the hell is that meant to mean?”

“That you can stay here with us, not go back to your hard boring life in New York. So trade that typical for something colorful. And if it's crazy, live a little crazy.... you can risk it all and see”

“Don't you wanna get away from the same old part you gotta play 'Cause I got what you need, so come with me and take the ride. It'll take you to the other side” Max butt in, hoping that she would listen to their plea to stay.

“Okay, my friend, you want to cut me in. Making me a fake princess, a noble. Well I hate to tell you, but it just won't happen. So thanks, but no I think I'm good to go. ‘Cause I quite enjoy the life you say I'm trapped in. Now I admire you, and that whole courtly show you do. You're onto something, really it's something....I got what I need and I don't want to take the ride. I don't need to see the other side. So go and do like you do. I'm good to do like me. Oh, damn! Can't you see I'm doing fine. I don't need to see the other side”

“Now is this really how you like to spend your days? Whiskey and misery, and parties and plays?”

“If I were mixed up with you, I'd be the talk of the town. Disgraced and disowned, another one of the clowns.”

“But you would finally live a little, finally laugh a little. Just let me give you the freedom to dream. And it'll wake you up and cure your aching. Take your walls and start 'em breaking. Now that's a deal that seems worth taking. But I guess I'll leave that up to you...” Hoping she would listen to their words, she didn’t need to become a full Beaumont- a lady of their house, but if she moved to Cordonia full time they knew she would be safe- and have a better future. Amber remained silent, not knowing how to respond. Obviously leaving Brett would cure all the heartache she had gained in New York. But she knew of how vicious court could be especially with her being ‘common’.

“We’re going to the other side, as a team. Until the Coronation- then I’ll consider my options. And for your information I enjoy whiskey and misery! And parties. Does this social season include an infamous Beaumont Bash?” The two brothers smiled at each other, knowing she would possibly consider staying. Not wanting to push it any further, they had decided to continue with the noble refresher course. Bertrand went through things such as how to use cutlery correctly, whilst Maxwell helped her with the Cordonian waltz.

“I know you don’t want to be here, but make an effort with Liam. Especially if Connie is watching. I heard that Drake that offered to take you for a ride. What kind of ride did he mean?”

“Horse ride. Dur! What other kind of ride?”

“Ohh you were both blushing before.”

“So?”

“Well he’s your type, tall dark handsome.”

“He is not my type! My type are arseholes. And he isn’t an arsehole.”

“But his looks are your type.” Amber knew she couldn’t lie- especially to Max. When they were younger, they would tell each other their deepest, darkest secrets.

“You two! Concentrate! I know I said you could live a little- but we need to get this right before the next ball.” The two of them danced, Maxwell didn’t see the point- he knew that Amber was an elegant dancer anyway. Picking up the moves straight away he knew she would piss the social season without even trying. Bertrand was impressed with the progress that they had completed in such a short time. There was a hesitant knock at the door- Liam, Leo and Drake wondered if they were all ready to go to the derby. Whilst Bertrand spoke to the Princes- Drake went over towards Maxwell and Amber.

“How’s the hangover m’lady?” Drake asked sarcastically.

“It was better until Bertrand forced us to dance- giving me more of a headache. I’m not noble but I know how to dance. My forte is the slut drop back home- but I don’t think they’d all appreciate me doing that here?”

“Hey, seen as though you’re such a good dancer- why don’t you teach grumpy here? He’s useless with those things.”

“Beaumont! I’m not useless- I just choose not to involve myself with shit like that.”

“Come On Drake, you’ve lived here your whole life and you’ve never once danced with a lady here. Even when Kiara tried to force you.” Kiara, she’s the intellectual one apparently- why would he refuse to dance with her?

“I would dance with anyone but her. I’d even dance with you Max over her.”

“So dance with Amber now then. She needs as much practice as possible.”

“I don’t need anymore practice thank you, MAX.” Why am I refusing to dance with him? It’s just Drake, my cousins friend.

“You heard the lady.” Drake stated before Bertrand came over, wondering what all the commotion was about.

“What’s the matter?”

“I suggested that Drake and Amber should dance together. To get more practice for her. But they are both being stubborn.”

“I think it’s a splendid idea. Maxwell, Liam wanted a word with us anyway. We will be back in five minutes.”

*****

“How about we just not dance. I can tell that you feel uncomfortable about it. What they don’t know won’t hurt. We could just lie, I’ll say I couldn’t teach you because you’re a rubbish student.” Smirking at him, she had hoped that he knew she was joking.

“I don’t actually know how to waltz, I’ve never been interested and I never will be, especially dancing with some noble girl who drools all over me at any given opportunity.” Amber bit her lip, attempting to prevent herself from laughing. “I know you’re trying not to laugh- but it’s true.”

“What the issue with Kiara? She’s beautiful, intelligent, from what they’ve said she’s nice enough.”

“She’s all that.”

“Well then. Maybe you should give her a chance- I’ll teach you to dance the waltz and then you can ask her for a dance.” For god sake Amber, I don’t want to dance with her. Maybe I would with you though.

“Fine. I’m going to lose this argument anyway aren’t I?”

“Yes. My family have a persistent side to us.” Getting into position, she could tell he was tense. Rubbing his arms, she had hoped to loosen him up a bit.

“Do not tell anyone about this.” Drake begged, putting all his trust into a woman he had known for all of two seconds. In the back of his mind he was hoping that he wouldn’t make a fool of himself.

“Don’t worry, you’re secrets save with me. I accept bribery in the form of whiskey.”

“That’s my girl.” Realising what he said, he immediately regretted it. “I didn’t mean it like that... I meant... because you like whiskey... oh just ignore me... I’ll buy you some whiskey to keep my secret safe.”

“That’s my man.” She winked, mimicking him. Taking one of Drake’s hands, she guided it around her waist, before putting her hand on his shoulder gently. Placing her spare hand into his- she noticed that it was slightly clammy. Looking into his eyes, she smiled softly- reassuring him that it would be fine. Shit I can’t do this, that wank last night was a one off- but having her this close to me is making me want more. Think that you’re dancing with Maxwell instead. After a while, Drake glided through the steps effortlessly, keeping his arms and chest out.

“Hold your hand up, and I’ll spin underneath it.” Finishing the spin, he held her close- both just staring at each other. Their chests rising in unison, Amber averted her gaze, and removed herself from his embrace.

“That’s it. You’ve done the Cordonian Waltz. I’ll buy you a medal. See, dancing isn’t that bad.” Maybe not with you in my arms- shit. Stop thinking about her like that.

“Maybe not. I don’t need a medal, I’m not a kid. I’ll share that whiskey I owe you instead.”

“It’s a date. Come on. Let’s go and find the others.” Drake blushed, knowing the word ‘date’ didn’t mean anything. But how he wished it did, he wouldn’t admit that to anyone.

*****

After finding the others, they headed towards Honeyhill Downs. The suitors all gathered in the tents. Amber kept herself to herself- not really wanting to form any friendships until she knew what her future held. Olivia abruptly dragged her to the side, out of view from the others.

“So Amber, Liam told me about your little plan.”

“With all due respect your grace, it’s not a plan. It’s what Prince Liam will be doing. He wants you to become his wife- so what’s stopping him just following his heart?”

“But the King said....”

“What the King said is something he hopes for. Doesn’t mean it will become a reality - he shouldn’t control Liam’s mind. Liam is the future king.”

“So you don’t find the Prince attractive? You wouldn’t want to be future Queen yourself?”

“Fuck no!” Composing herself, she coughed before acting more ‘lady like’. “What I mean is no, I do not want to be Queen. Not now. Not ever. He’s all yours, don’t worry your grace. The only time I will spend with Liam will be an act. He’s not my type anyway.”

“What is your type then?”

“Someone who’s tall dark and handsome. And someone who is usually an arsehole. Liam has lovely baby blues, but I prefer dark eyes.” Olivia laughed, knowing who her perfect man would be- unaware that Amber was already in a relationship.

“Oh someone like Drake Walker then?” Blushing, she needed to think of an excuse to avoid people realising she had a slight crush on the commoner.

“Drake, is a lovely guy. The only love we will share is for whiskey.”

“If you say so Amber. I’m starting to like you. Stay in my good books or I may threaten you with a dagger.”

*****

Liam, Leo and Drake sat in the royal tent- all scrutinising the suitors tent from a distance. Whilst the two brothers compared the suitors, they noticed Drake in a trance- his eyes following every move that a certain lady made.

“Earth to Drake?” Liam said in a concerned voice, whilst shaking Drake.

“Sorry, what’s up?”

“Why are you gawking at Amber?” Shit!

“I’m not, I’m looking at them all- wondering why the hell liam is still insistent on choosing Olivia.”

“Now I know you’re lying Walker. You wouldn’t look at Kiara like that. You hate her.” Leo raised his eyebrows, waiting for Drake to lie through his teeth.

“I think Amber is a lovely girl, she’s got a great sense of humour. That is all.”

“Dude, you need to tell her how you feel.”

“For fuck sake Leo, I don’t know the girl. There’s nothing to tell her. I’ll go and grab some more drinks.” The two brothers laughed, both knowing Drake was hiding his true feelings.

“Do you think he will ever confess to her?”

“No.”

*****

Walking over to the bar, Drake thought about leaving Cordonia for a while to convince himself that he wasn’t falling for the new girl. If it was that obvious that both the princes knew, who else knew? How long would it be before Amber knew?

“I’ll have a whiskey if you’re buying. You owe me remember- or I may just spill your little secret.” Turning around, he couldn’t get away from her- not that he wanted to.

“I have many secrets, I suppose that one isn’t one of the worse for you to spill. Are you enjoying the Derby?”

“Ohh there’s more secrets? You have to tell me now, I’ll pinky promise that I won’t tell anyone. About this Derby- I’d rather be riding, but hey this is all just for show. In a month I’ll be out of here, living my old life.” Drakes heart sunk, now he knew that he needed to prevent his premature feelings from growing.

“I don’t trust anyone, so I wouldnt trust you with all my secrets.” One secret being that I like you more than I should. “I don’t blame you for wanting to escape. I’d be doing the same if it wasn’t for Liam.”

“I’m hurt that you don’t trust me- I’m joking. Are you sure you’re not a closet gay?”

“I’m positive! I meant Liam has always had my back. Even when my dad died, and my mom left us- the royal family took us in and made us part of the family. Most nobles were ready to cast us out.” Placing a comforting hand on his arm, she felt guilty.

“I’m sorry Drake. I didn’t know. I was only joking you know? I better get back. Thank you for the drink.”

“No problem. Your round next time though.”

“Definitely. By the way, I’m glad you’re not a closet gay. That would just be a waste- you’re too handsome. See ya.” Shit why would I call him handsome? I mean he is, but I shouldn’t have said that. Why is it that I’d prefer to hang out with him over the women? I need to go back to New York as soon as possible- I’m damaged goods, he wouldn’t like me in that way.

Too handsome? She’s just being polite. Don’t think too much into it. You’re just a commoner. Once this event is over, I need to book a flight to Texas- I can’t fall for a girl who will never return the feelings.

#theroyalromance #choices trr #drakewalker #maxwell beaumont #olivia nevrakis #liam rhys #leo rhys #drake x mc #trr amber beaumont #trr the greatest show #trr fan fic

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dfcfanfics · 5 years

Text

Stranger Than Fiction, Pt. 4 (Miraculous Prompt)

Gabriel Agreste sat quietly for a moment, listening to the small radio Nathalie had brought in... then turned to Nathalie with a bemused smile.

"I do not know whether to send an Akuma after this man or offer him a job," he said. "He is a braying idiot; of that there is no doubt, but he is doing my work for me today. If the people of Paris start considering Ladybug and Chat Noir charlatans and performers, that will make manipulating them far easier. How delightful!"

"You may want to hold your applause, Sir," cautioned Nathalie. "We have had run-ins with him before -- that ridiculous rumor that we had to squelch? If he is targeting Ladybug, he is likely not sincere about it, and may shift gears to other targets in a heartbeat."

"Very true. He is coming back on now..." Gabriel shushed her. "Let us see where he goes with this."

...

Outside the studio, Ladybug shook her head in disbelief. "I cannot believe that we just did that," she lamented.

"I cannot believe that you just did THAT," echoed Chat, his eyes big. "I have never seen you slap away someone's handshake before."

"The man is a PIG!" shouted Ladybug, oblivious to Chat's attempts to get her to lower her voice. "I cannot believe that he tried to 'make nice' after what he did on the air!"

After the segment had ended, Alain had approached the two of them in a very different, friendly manner. "I am so happy that the two of you could be with us today," he began, extending his hand towards Ladybug...

A hard swipe by Ladybug ended that attempt. "How dare you," she snarled. "You insult us to our faces -- on live radio -- and then try to pretend that it never happened?"

"Oh, it happened," shrugged Alain, unfazed. "But I assumed that neither of us had taken it seriously."

"And why in the world not?" Chat exclaimed.

"Because this is all entertainment," said Alain. "I do shows about demon-possessed guinea pigs and lizard people and how President Macron has a radio transmitter embedded in his skull. I'm an entertainer, not a reporter."

"You do realize that many people don't know that, don't you?" Ladybug demanded. "That they treat much of what you talk about as being true."

The man gave her a guileless smile. "Some of it is. We mix in a little insight with the insanity to keep people guessing. Just enough to keep them honest, you know?"

"You have just put people's lives in danger," insisted Ladybug. "You need to address that."

"I don't need to do anything, except to get back on the air. I'm due in about thirty seconds. Au revoir!"

...

"And there you have it," the radio host's voice declared. "We gave Ladybug a chance to come clean and admit her impressive role in Paris's most exciting ongoing stage show... but she and Cat-Man refused to break character."

Gabriel smiled again. "I am almost starting to like this fellow..." he noted.

"Besides," Alain continued, "we didn't even address the most ridiculous aspect of the entire so-called superhero thing. The VILLAIN!"

Gabriel stopped in mid-motion, then turned back towards the radio, listening intently.

"I just do not understand why they keep using this 'Hawkmoth' character," laughed Alain. "He's repetitive. The writers for him are extremely lazy. Millions of people in Paris, and he's already re-using villains? Half of them are children, for crying out loud! And the heroes _themselves_ are children, and yet they own this so-called criminal mastermind every single time!"

Nathalie shifted uneasily. "Sir... I can turn this off immediately, if you are--"

"No, Nathalie. Let him prattle," intoned Gabriel as the host's ranting continued. "I am a professional, am I not? I can swallow a bit of bruised dignity when it serves a purpose."

"And if there's one thing that stands out the most... remember when Paris's Master Villain finally made a public appearance? He looked ridiculous! Like an accountant and a lucha libre wrestler had a love child," cackled Alain. "And it got dropped on its head at least four times."

"I am... a professional," repeated Gabriel, trying to convince himself.

"Absolutely no sense of style whatsoever! It was like someone dressed him in the latest from our old friends Agreste Fashions. You all remember them, right?" Alain pressed a button on his end, and a fake commercial jingle featuring a pleasant singing female voice blared forth:

"♪ Agreste Fashions... Couture That the Homeless Won't Wear! ♫"

...

A word from Gabriel stopped Nathalie before she could reach the door. She froze in place and faced him once more, cursing her own insufficient reaction time.

"Nathalie..." Gabriel said, "I need you to take on a special project for me. Gather however many interns you need; I would not make you listen to this disturbing man yourself. But you will hunt down all information that can be obtained about Mister Smith; his past, his family, his interests, his address. Anything and everything."

The tall man laced his fingers together, looking thoughtful. "This is not a particularly clever man. He will make a mistake. He will rise to anger, or he will grow fearful of some bump in the night, or he will fall prey to greed. Or he will stub his toe and cry out in pain. I do not particularly care which. But he will make a mistake... he will exhibit some negative emotion... and I will be ready for him."

"And on that day... his ass is MINE."

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous #fanfic #prompt #the truth is out there... somewhere else #stranger than fiction #THAT line is not crossed lightly

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bunny-banana · 5 years

Note

I'd love to hear a director's commentary on La leggenda di Niccolo please :D Have a star as well ⭐

HA! Okay well, I’ll talk about the sections that I actually wrote so here it comes:

Chap 1

Engulfed in the never ending masses of water, he reckoned one should feel intimidated. No ground under his feet, only limited amounts of air to his disposal, and the uncertainty of what lies within the darker corners of the ocean should normally frighten you. And yet, he never felt more at peace than when he was floating so freely in the sea, almost as if gravity and the world outside didn’t exist

the fucking IRONY of me writing this while being deadly afraid of deep water. its honestly like “yeah,,,,, lemme list all the things i personally hate about deep sea…. and lets add ‘well, but theres something good too about that for sure,,,i guess,,,, ”

But what was more important for me was this contrast to what Ermal dreams about, his lowkey fantasy - and where he is irl, the icy south pole. I’m rather fond of opposing things/contrasts.

The soldier breathed heavily in and out, but there was no time to rest as the next blaze of fire was aimed at him.He countered and evaded but his opponent was more forceful, his flames harsher, faster until the soldier’s back hit the cold railing. He was caught, and when his opponent mercilessly stroke once more, he knew he had to save himself by escaping into the cold water.The man remaining on the top deck smirked. Ah yes, he’d almost assume those new soldiers were just too easy to take on even if only for practice reasons, but it pleased him more to say that he still got it.

i really hope this introduction just tells you everything you need to know about Renga’s character.

How much sooner the war could have been won had it not been for the Poles!

While actually reflecting on the universe, i realised, it must be incredibly difficult for firebenders on the poles. like, I just assume they really, really arent fit for the cold which would make invading incredibly difficult for them. also lol, renga hates it at the poles obviously.

Shaking so hard that kids ran towards their mothers and the watchtower fell over and when the fog cleared up, Ermal felt his stomach drop. ”No.”

Nothing, absolutely, nothing in that universe is more frightening than seeing the Fire Nation military pull up to your doorstep.

Also, lmao, love to imagine Rinald quietly going “oh nooo my watchtower D:”

Ermal pushed himself through the crowd until he was right in front of everyone, until he was the last barrier between the Fire Nation soldiers and the village.

Ermal has Strong Opinions™ about the Fire Nation, with reasons of course, and seeing them here is the absolute nightmare to him.

“You mean the Avatar that disappeared off the face of the Earth? The one that nobody has ever seen and that was probably never even reborn? That Avatar?”And if his cockiness gave off a certain invitation to smash his face in, then this was perhaps a little bit Ermal’s fault.

to quote the Smiths: Bigmouth Strikes Again!

“B-but he’s- he’s so young? I swear to the Fire Lord, if this is yet another trick then-”

Chap 2

Niccolò had always been in awe of the Fire Nation’s advanced industrial sector. The machinery that originated from the Nation had always had cutting edge quality which no one in the world could quite imitate nor match. This ship however was beyond anything Niccolò had ever seen. This ship was fully steam-driven with the powerful motors roaring under his feet. And those weren’t the only novelties.Steel processed so professionally that it makes impenetrable walls and doors which opened and closed only through quite sophisticated lock mechanisms. It all looked so modern, it all looked so futuristic.

so the idea was, since Nic had missed an entire century, the ship looked super modern to him. while its a canon fact that the FN is quite advanced with machinery, the ship itself is just to an up-to-date standard. But to Niccolo personally it seemed futuristic. i like the idea of him being amazed at things he has never seen in his life just to find out they’re pretty common in the current timeline.

There was not much time left, Niccolò had to think quickly. Extremely convenient how his nose started tickling right in that moment.The powerful sneeze that followed had two consequences: One, the guard in front of him was catapulted straight into the metal door of the cell, rendering him unconscious.Two, Niccolò and the guard behind him were also forcefully pushed back to the other end of the corridor, crashing into the hard wall.Well, at least the guard did. The young airbender was spared that fate, by that nice pillow the guard turned out to be, so he quickly got onto his feet and ran as fast as he could with his hands tied behind his back.

so yeah ngl, this was just copied from the OG ep

Now that his hands were freed, he opened the first door that presented itself to him, but in front of him, he simply saw the quarters of General Renga who stared at his now roaming prisoner in shock. Okay, time to turn around, it seems.

listen, i just love the thought of overconfident General Renga being so shellshocked to see his prisoner escaping that he just gapes at him. And ofc Nic slamming the door shut immediately jsfkld

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Niccolò cursed as he evaded a burst of fire that was aimed at him before taking the next corner “Where’s the exit?! Where’s the goddamn exi- AH!! A DOOR!!” He pulled it open to reveal a startled guy sitting there just minding his own business. An unexpected sight, with an even more unexpected odor following. “Oh? uhm- Sorry man! Just- just take your time! Also, perhaps light a candle when you’re done. Bye!” The young Avatar swiftly apologised as he closed the door of what was most definitely not an exit.

Fav OC so far! That simple FN dude was just trying to take a dump in peace but who would have known that all hell would break lose and the goddamn Avatar of all people would walk into him smh. Also, I really enjoyed the thought of while this is all hectic and dangerous, Nic still being human enough to go like “oh, my bad! sorry dude!” at this random soldier. Who knows, maybe we should bring that one back some time later. And i kinda wanted the whole escape to be funny, since its Nic’s POV, and it just wouldnt suit his carefree spirit to make this super serious (yet).

“I’ll give you that, hiding for so long was sort of impressive.” Niccolò heard Renga’s voice behind him as the General had caught up with him.

almost wrote “century” there but then remembered nah omg he can’t know yet

A piece of ice may or may not have also hit Renga straight into the face but nobody would complain about that anyway.

yeah i just love the thought of this super dramatic scene of Nic entering the Avatar State and then theres a chunk of ice knocking Renga unconscious lmao get fucked, dude

“Nic!” Ermal ran towards the slowly decreasing water pillar to catch the unconscious airbender in the last second, dropping to his knees in the process. That was beyond anything anybody of that age should normally be capable of. That was beyond what any waterbender could ever be capable of. And yet, lying in his arms, Niccolò looked so exhausted, so weak. Just like any other kid. Not a trace from the sheer force that was unleashed moments earlier.

I think this was really the moment Ermal started feeling real responsibility over Niccolo. Just seeing him do all these crazy things and yet being reminded that this huge burden of being the Avatar is literally thrusted upon a simple kid. Also, this is the first time he called him “Nic”

Various noises and sounds buzzed through the air that afternoon: The loud shoveling of snow from the bow, the quieter crackling emerging from the hands of the firebenders who were melting their frozen compatriots, the fast steps rushing left and right over the ship. All these different sounds were heard, but none of them were chattering. Nobody dared to chat. Not after this disastrous defeat. What a disgrace that had been, General Renga thought grinding his teeth.

Everybody on this goddman ship is just scared shitless that Renga will roast them if they so much like whisper. they know he moody, they know he’ll blame them for the avatar’s escape. so lets all just work and repair shit and keep quite.

When he found consciousness again, he was left with not only one horrendous purple bruise on his face, but also with a half destroyed ship.

jdsfksajfklf OK SO YEAH, my first intention was “lmao let a piece of ice hit him” but then i realised “oh wait he’d have a bruise afterwards” and then “LMAOOOO he’d be like Zuko, how perfect is that” ok so granted, unlike our dear fire prince, Renga’s bruise is only temporary, but i really hoped someone would pick up the connection to Zuko

Whatever had happened to the Avatar earlier, it left a colossal mark on the ship, and secretly, on Renga personally too. He might have gotten fooled once, but he wouldn’t get fooled again.

basically, he feels personally insulted about being beaten by a kid. what a loser lmao

“Martino!”

“Y-yes, General?” stuttered the lanky assistant with the askew glasses, clenching his hands around his writing board. One would think you’d get used to Renga’s harsh tone over time, but that was simply not the case..

rip martino but renga absolutely needed a poor anxious assistant whom he could terrorise

“We need the best of the best to defeat him. And I just know the right choice for that job…”

heeeeheeee ….. no comment ..for now. but im curious to what you guys think about that

Thank you so much! this was a lot of fun to do ! :)

#ALLDN #my fics

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marvelmadam08 · 6 years

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The Captain & The Culprit (10)

After escaping from a Hydra lab you’ve been running and hiding since. Afraid of your abilities and your forgotten past, you keep away from people until The Avengers come and find you.

Summary: During your first mission, everything goes wrong.

Warnings: Violence, brainwashing and facing a past abuser

You sat up high, watching various people, mostly rich ones who had nothing better to do, boo and hiss at the cage fighting going on in the middle of the room. Natasha was at the bar, charming The Seller with a bright smile and flirty eyes. Bucky wasn't far from you, per Steve's orders, but his focus seemed fixed on the fight. When one guy was dragged out, all bloodied and bruised, a new one was thrown in.

"How can people watch this?" You whispered

"With low morals." Bucky growled "And rich benefactors."

The two of you continued to watch between the fight and Natasha’s flirty advances. The Seller had the case handcuffed to his wrist, and despite your suggestion to take both of them and run, you weren’t here for The Seller. Dr. Smith was the goal, the man with the dark eyes and even darker motives. You shudder thinking about coming face to face with the one who caused you so much pain.

The new fight was over in record time, only this time both fighters left the cage and a man dressed in black slacks and a dark red shirt stepped in with a microphone in hand.

"Ladies and gentlemen, you've witnessed these meek mortal men fight for your entertainment, now are you ready for main event?"

Everyone screamed and clapped with excitement, you watched people over at the bar wave bills and rolls of cash in the bartenders’ faces, placing bets on the upcoming fight. Your stomach turned and you went back to watching Nat discreetly roll her eyes whenever the guy leaned in to whisper in her ear.

"Place your bets people because these next fighters are no joke. These enhanced humans are bound to make your wallets fatter than Tony Stark's." A few people laugh at his joke, you hear Tony through the earpiece scoff sadly "Let's get this going!"

The lights in the cage went out you could see the guy move to a safer location outside the cage, and two people were pushed in.

Letting your eyes adjust to the darkness, you scan over the room again waiting for Dr. Smith to make his appearance or for The Seller to get up from his conversation with Natasha. The tension was building up in your body.

"(Y/N), the comms are going in and out. What's going on?" Steve asks

"Sorry, nerves." You grit your teeth as the lights in the cage came back on and two enhanced fighters were in the middle ready to claw and beat each other possibly to death.

"Guys, he's on the move." Natasha told you

You find The Seller approaching a staircase, being lead by two men, going up to an office room with a large glass window, overlooking the crowd and the fight. You and Bucky make your way over, Steve drops down from an opening in the roof, on top of the office room. He carefully climbed down next to you and Bucky, the three of you knelt by the window quietly and listened.

"Where's the serum?" One of the guards ask

"Where's the payment? This stuff isn't easy to come by, had to pry it from some scientist's cold dead hands in Sokovia."

"You'll get the money when we get the serum."

"Bullshit, I only make the deal with your boss. Otherwise this goes to the next highest bidder."

"(Y/N)," Steve whispered "take out the lights in the office. I'll drop in and get the case, on my signal."

You nod and lay your hands on the circuit box right beneath the window. The door in the office opens again, your veins turn to ice when you hear the voice.

"Charles, do you not trust me?" Dr. Smith ask

"Smith, if I told you to watch a rock drown, you'd teach it to swim."

"(Y/N), do it now." Steve told you, but you don't move

Dr. Lewis Smith laughs, you feared that laugh. You felt yourself being tied down to the table again, Dr. Smith standing over you. Two probes pressed against your temple while he repeated several words over and over in german.

"813, Ihr Vorgesetzter hat eine Bitte." (813, your superior has a request.)

"Nein." (No.)

You screamed when the electric shock attacked your brain.

"813, Ihr Vorgesetzter hat eine Bitte." He repeats, his voice sounds more distant now

"......bitte töte mich." (....please kill me.)You cried

It's like that again for the next twenty minutes. Electrical torture every time you would talk back to him or refused to break. Increasing the voltage until it blew the power in the entire lab. The back up generators kick on, you were sitting up now, the metal clamps on your arms broken by your own doing.

"813, Ihr Vorgesetzter hat eine Bitte."

You pant, exhausted and spent. He readies the probes again.

"Wie kann ich Ihnen helfen?" (How may I assist you?) You comply

An arrow lands right between your fingers on the circuit breaker and pulls you from your horrid thoughts. The lights in the office go out, the men inside scrambling to grab the serum and the money. Steve launches through the window, Bucky was right behind him. You ducked further down to protect yourself from the broken glass. Katniss(Clint) hurries over to you and he bends down to help you.

"You okay?" He asks, pulling you away by your arm

"I'm fine." You snatched away and tried to clear your head

"Get her back to the jet!" Steve demanded, still fighting off the guards

"I said I'm fine." You push Katniss away, the blue smoke rises from your fingers

"Maybe you should listen to Cap."

"Maybe you should back off, Katniss." You push him back further until he slams against the rails of the rafters. You climb through the broken window, stepping on someone's hand.

"I said go back to the jet!" Steve yells at you “Duck!”

You drop down to the floor in time for Steve to swing back and clock the guy behind you. Your eyes frantically search in the dark for the smooth metal case, you find it laying next to The Seller, who was clutching his shoulder with a gunshot wound.

A hand pulls you back to your feet, assuming it’s Steve you turned to yell at him. The emergency lights kick on bringing you face to face with Dr. Frankenstein himself. Your voice gets caught in your throat, only shaky breaths leave your lips and a pain in your head adds to the panic.

"813?" He grins, your stomach churns “My darling girl, you’ve returned to me.”

He reached up to stroke your cheek with the back of his hand. You snatched away from him, things around you seemed to stop, focusing on Dr. Smith and your interaction.

"Don’t be rude 813, Father would be disappointment. Working with the Avengers now?"

Out the corner of your eye you see the case with the serum in it, Dr. Smith sees it too along with Steve and Bucky.

"Is that what you're looking for?" He taunts you "813, you will answer me."

You force yourself to remain quiet. Steve and Bucky stand behind you working out how to take in Dr. Smith and grab the case without you getting caught in the crossfire.

"Ooh no clever comeback? They've got you well trained haven’t they?" He scratches his chin "But you can’t forget who you belong to.”

"St-" you struggled to speak

"813,” he locks eyes with you “Ihr Vorgesetzter hat eine Bitte."

The last thing you remember was the distant echo of your voice.

"Wie kann ich Ihnen helfen?"

#captain america x reader #hydra #steve x reader #steve rogers #mcu #fanfic #avengers endgame #natasha romanoff #tony stark #bucky barnes #hawkeye #chapter 10 #tesseract #super soldier #stucky

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 6 years

Text

I Won’t Tell ‘Em Your Name

Summary: After a failed attempt on her life by her husband, the reader is forced into witness protection and a new home where she meets her new neighbor, Dean Winchester, who may be exactly what she needs...

Pairing: Neighbor!Dean x reader

Word Count: 7,200ish

Warnings: language, lil bit of violence, mention of injury

“Hi, I’m Y/N Smith,” you said. “Hi I’m Y/N Smith. I’m Y/N Smith. Y/N Smith. I’m Y/N Smith...and there’s no way I can do this.”

You groaned as you sat down on the new couch, looking around the nicely furnished home. It honestly was very nice, pretty new and in a normal situation, you were sure you would have loved it.

Except for the fact you were stuck in witness protection and your whole life had changed overnight.

Well, not overnight. It’d been about three days since your husband had snapped. He was convinced you were having an affair that you weren’t. You were angry with yourself for not saying anything sooner. You’d seen him grow more agitated, easily upset, controlling you for the past year at least. But he told you to leave it be so you did because deep down you probably knew you’d get to the same place, only faster.

Walking into the kitchen, you grabbed the roll of fresh bandages from the counter. The one on your arm hadn’t been changed since lunchtime at some highway pitstop and the other one not since you woke up several states ago. It took a moment to find the downstairs bathroom.

You nodded when you found it cleaned and stocked, much like everything else you’d come across in the house. The bandage on your arm was easy to do on your own, the stitches not too bad looking but you’d have a scar. Hopefully you could find some cream at the store tomorrow.

If you could remember which way you had to drive to get out of suburbia that was.

When the arm was finished, you peeled off your shirt, wincing as the tape tugged at your skin. You peeled back the big square sticky bandage on your chest, just above your heart apparently. The area was bruised and you had a gash there as well but you got lucky. The knife hit your rib cage and took the hit for you. A little more either way and it would have slipped and gone plunging in.

“You always did have terrible aim, Shane,” you mumbled, slapping the new bandage on. You wanted a nice long and hot shower. But it was getting late and you couldn’t take one of those until your cuts healed some more.

Besides, tomorrow you were supposed to start you new life as Y/N Smith and you still hadn’t memorized anything about who you were supposed to be.

You woke up to light filtering in through the windows, a nice warm bed and the sound of glass shattering. You bolted up in bed, rushing to the bedroom door and locking it. The doorbell rang about twenty seconds later. It rang again and you grabbed the bat from the closet. Your phone was sitting conveniently down on the kitchen counter and even though the alarm system was hooked up, you didn’t think it’d do you much good.

The doorbell rang again and you took a deep breath, gripping the bat tight as you sprinted out of the hall and down the stairs, ripping open the front door.

The guy at the door looked you up and down, noticing your bandages as you noticed the little boy standing in front of him. You dropped the bat behind you and shoved it aside, giving him a smile.

“Hi. I’m Y/N Smith. Can I help you?” you asked. The man smirked a little but reigned it in, giving you a friendly smile in return.

“I’m Dean, Winchester, and I live just next door to you on the right. This little dude is my nephew, Tim, and Tim wants to tell you something, doesn’t he?” said Dean, nudging the boy’s shoulder.

“Uncle De…” he whined. Dean nudged the boy again, a long exasperated sigh leaving the eight year old’s tiny body. “I was playing in Uncle De’s backyard and I hit a ball and it went through your window. Sorry.”

“I’m sorry, I know you must have just moved in last night,” said Dean, rubbing the back of his neck. “Your homeowners is kicked in, right?”

“Uh,” you said, assuming there was something in this type of incident and how to react at the bottom of your very important binder you had yet to finish reading.

“Here,” said Dean, reaching into his wallet and handing over all the cash he had in it. “That should cover it and hopefully not mark me down on the shitty neighbor list already.”

“Uh, thanks,” you said, the boy looking up at Dean.

“Can I have my ball back?” he asked.

“Why don’t you ask Y/N politely?” asked Dean.

“Can I have my ball please?” he asked. You spun around, looking for wherever it wound up. You spotted it in the back near the kitchen, walking there as you slowly heard the boy step into your foyer and Dean scold him. “Sorry.”

“It’s no problem,” you said, bending down and grabbing it, spotting the broken window in your side hall. You gave him the ball back, the boy taking off down your front porch and to the house to your right.

“Sorry about that…and the waking you up...and scaring you,” he said, a light pink making its way to his cheeks.

“Oh, I was fine,” you said, waving him off.

“You always answer the door with a baseball bat then?” he teased, biting his bottom lip when you looked down. “This is a safe neighborhood. I wouldn’t worry about anything.”

“Yeah,” you said, starting to feel his gaze on your bandages again. “I should clean up that glass.”

“Okay. Like I said, I’m right next door if you ever need something,” said Dean, rocking back on his heels once before turning around and walking across the lawn. You locked up tight after him, leaning your head against the door and taking deep breaths. You barely had the glass swept up when the doorbell rang again. The mailman was delivering a package it looked like, your gaze squinting up at the muscular man behind the dark shades.

“Your silent alarm was tripped,” he said, handing you the box. “Are you-”

“Neighbor’s nephew threw a foul ball through the window,” you said. “Agent.”

“In the future please remember to carry your phone on you at all times. We tried calling but could not reach you. We deemed it was a neighbor issue and not a threat so we didn’t intervene,” he said.

“How long are you going to sit outside my house?” you asked.

“Technically this is the government’s house,” he said.

“Oh lovely. Another one of you with a stick up your ass,” you said.

“You are no longer on surveillance after this morning. You will receive daily phone-”

“Phone calls from my handler. Yes, I remember from the crash course. How about you guys focus on catching my soon to be ex-husband instead?” you said.

“Have a good day, Ms. Smith,” he said, leaving you with the box. It was heavy and you brought it upstairs, a photo album and fake things that were supposed to be personal items inside.

“How am I supposed to do this?”

“Argh!” you shouted. You spent your first few days inside mostly, running to the store once. A part of you thought maybe they’d find Shane and arrest him and you could go back to your old life. The life filled with Shane and Shane’s friends and Shane’s family and doing what Shane wanted all the time. That’s when you got pissed off and decided you were going to go wash your new car like a normal person did on a Saturday morning.

Only, you didn’t have a nozzle for your hose.

“Everything alright?” shouted Dean, waxing his car in his driveway. He was definitely a car guy, single too from what you could tell. There wasn’t a whole lot to do but people watch on your neighbors.

“Yup. I’m awesome!” you called back, kicking over your bucket of soapy water in the process. You heard Dean laugh behind you, something thudding onto your driveway. You peeked your head around the car and saw a nozzle laying on the ground, Dean back to waxing. You opened your mouth to say something but he was humming along to his radio, not paying you any attention.

After attaching the nozzle, you quickly washed the car, grumpily too, trying to get back inside as fast as possible.

“Thanks,” you said, walking across the yards and holding out the nozzle, Dean popping his head up from the end of the car.

“No problem,” he said, frowning slightly when you raised an eyebrow. “You can just set it down. My hands are covered in this stuff.”

“Ok,” you said, squatting down too fast, landing flat on your bottom. Slow, you knew you were supposed to go slow. The medicine you were on could mess with your balance if you didn’t.

“You okay there?” he asked when you took your time getting to your feet. You nodded as you stood up, Dean glancing back at your house. “You live alone right? Take my number. Give me a call if you ever need help.”

“I’m fine,” you said, blood pumping in your ears. You hadn’t realized he’d left until he was shoving a cold bottle of water in your hands, ordering you to drink. “Thanks. Sorry.”

“Moving is stressful in addition to…” he said, not quite saying he’d seen your bandages a few days earlier. “Better now?”

“Yeah,” you said, getting to your feet with his help. “You’re strong.”

“You gonna be okay to go back to your house yourself?” he asked. You let go of his arm and nodded, giving him a smile.

“Thanks for the nozzle, Dean,” you said, Dean walking carefully back to your yard and tidying up before hiding away for the rest of the day.

Around dinner time you went out to your back porch, wishing you had your favorite flannel or sweatshirt to wrap around yourself. Stuff was just stuff after all, it shouldn’t bother you that you didn’t have it anymore. You had plenty of new things, new clothes, a new flannel on.

It still all felt so off.

There was a mug in the kitchen you’d take a liking to. You’d been drinking coffee out of it the past few days and now you were sitting on the back porch, sipping on a cup of hot cocoa from it. That part felt a little bit normal at least.

You heard a pair of laughs to your left, Dean standing over a fire pit with a hot dog on a stick, someone taller than him drinking a beer. You watched them for a while as the sun started to set, the man with the beer eating a few hot dogs and talking with Dean for a while until he left. You were starting to feel chilly and went to head inside when you heard a whistle.

“Y/N! Come here!” said Dean. Turning around you pretended not to hear him. “Come on!”

You grumbled as you padded over the dew covered grass with wet feet, Dean chuckling when he saw you wrapping your arms yourself.

“You like s’mores? My brother had to head home but I figured why let the food go to waste,” he said.

“I should…” you said, taking a deep breath, remembering your briefing. You had to act normal, let people know Y/N Smith. “Why not?”

“Grab a chair,” said Dean, nodding back to a lawn chair a ways off. You dragged it over close to the fire, warming up some before Dean handed you a hot smore.

“Thanks,” you said, blowing on it before taking a bite. It was warm, gooey and not burnt. You gave him a thumbs up and he made one for himself, taking a seat beside you.

“Your window got fixed I saw,” he said, poking at the fire. “Sorry about that.”

“S’okay. No one got hurt,” you said. Dean hummed, continuing to play with the fire. “You live alone too?”

“Mhm. My brother was out of town on a business trip this week and my sister in law was stuck at a work conference so Tim was staying with me a few days. But other than that, I’m normally on my own too,” he said.

“I like your house. The style I mean,” you said.

“Yeah. It’s nice. Big for one person,” he said, giving you a smile again. “I don’t remember ever seeing an open house for yours.”

“Oh it was in the family. It was left to me,” you said.

“Really? A young couple lived there a few years ago. I thought they moved,” he said.

“Oh they did,” you said quickly. “It actually belonged to a family friend and they were letting their nephew stay there for awhile.”

“But didn’t they have that house built?” asked Dean.

Shit. You couldn’t remember the right answer to give.

“They had a lot of input but it wasn’t really theirs. Our family friend had knee issues pop up and the stairs would have been too much and I got it for a decent price since the other guys left,” you said. Dean seemed to buy it, stopping with the line of questioning.

“Did you move for work?” he asked. You could tell he wasn’t trying to be nosy, simply get to know you better.

“I work from home,” you said.

“Lucky,” he said with a teasing grin. “No traffic for you to deal with.”

“What do you do?” you asked, rubbing your bare legs, inching closer to the fire.

“This and that,” said Dean. “I’m working in a garage at the moment. I do construction on the side occasionally for some spending cash. I’m like the red headed step child of the neighborhood.”

“Everyone seems friendly,” you said, Dean snickering.

“I don’t mean to give you the impression that people here are assholes. I’m just a bit of an oddball living on the fancy street with the accountants and real estate agents and lawyers and doctors. S’just not where I thought I’d end up,” he said.

“Me either,” you said, pulling your knees into your chest, tugging your flannel over your legs. He stood up and went inside, exiting his back door a minute later with a pair of beers and a thick fleece blanket. He handed it to you along with the beer. He didn’t make idle chit chat, didn’t ask anymore questions. He just sat, watching the fire, watching the stars start to peak out, watching you.

“You okay?” he asked. You turned your head towards him, wondering what he meant when your cheeks felt cold. They were wet, your tongue darting out and tasting the salt from dried tear streaks.

“Yeah. It’s just been a really long week,” you said with a smile. “I should get going. I have some chores I wanted to take care of in the morning.”

“Alright,” he said quietly. You gobbled down the last of your beer, neatly folding up his blanket and handing it back. “Go ahead and keep it. It gives me an excuse to come bother you again.”

“You don’t bother me,” you said softly. He smiled, nodding for you to keep the blanket.

“Walk home safe,” he said. You let the blanket wrap around yourself and went back to your house, making sure all the doors and windows were locked, the silent alarm system on. You curled up in the blanket on top of your bed, sighing comfortably.

You woke up late the next day, the blanket smelling smoky and warm and pleasant the night before lulling you easily into sleep. You liked it. It was something personal and you had half a mind to keep it for yourself.

You heard a crash downstairs and you jogged down there, the doorbell ringing as you hit the bottom step. You padded over, Dean with his hands on his face, the tall man from the night before with him.

“Hi Y/N,” said Dean, his face red. “So uh…”

“Did Tim hit a baseball through my window again?” you asked.

“No. His dad did though,” said Dean, pointing at the tall man. “This is my baby brother, Sam.”

“Tim broke a window?” asked Sam, momentarily distracted before he was reaching into his back pocket. “I am so sorry.”

“Maybe you guys should play baseball in the other direction from now on?” you asked with a smile. Sam continued to pull out his wallet, handing you a few hundred dollars.

“Dean said your insurance isn’t kicked in yet,” said Sam. “Sorry. Again.”

“It’s okay, really,” you said. Dean rolled his eyes at Sam before hanging his head low. “Dean, it’s okay.”

“Hey, we’re having a cookout around lunch if you want to swing by for some burgers,” said Sam. “It’s our treat.”

“Sure,” you said, Sam pausing a beat before he turned and jogged down the steps, Dean shaking his head. “So...is everyone in your family bad at baseball?”

“It must be a recessive gene,” he said with a smirk. “I couldn’t believe he did that. Your window is like two days old.”

“Yeah well, crappy luck is all I seem to have lately,” you said with a smile, leaning against your doorframe. You saw him tense up for the briefest of moments. “Well, not all crappy.”

“I’ll see you soon then,” he said, looking you up and down. “Weren’t you wearing those clothes last night?”

“I might have fallen asleep in that blanket last night,” you said, rubbing the back of your neck. “I can bring it back over later.”

“Nah. You seem like you’re going through something right now. Hang on to it. It’s good for when you’re feeling like shit,” he said. “Trust me.”

“I don’t feel like shit,” you said. Dean raised an eyebrow, eyes darting to your arm and chest where he knew you were injured. “I was in a car accident recently.”

“You really are having crappy lucky lately,” he said with a teasing grin. “Keep the blanket. You up for trying a Winchester deluxe at the cookout?”

“Sure?” you said, Dean chuckling.

“One Winchester deluxe coming up,” he said, hopping off the porch. You shook your head as you went to the hall, cleaning the glass again and putting in a call to your handler to have it fixed.

“Are you guys any closer to finding Shane?” you asked, the handler going quiet. “Is that a no?”

“You will be informed of any changes. Please speak with your neighbor about refraining from breaking any more windows. It comes out of the taxpayers pockets,” said your handler, hanging up before you could get in another word.

“Will nice talking to you too, Agent,” you said, rolling your eyes. You shoved Sam’s money into the drawer where you’d tossed Dean’s, figuring having a few extra bucks laying around in case you had to run was a good idea.

“Hi,” you said, poking your head in Dean’s backyard a few hours later. There were a few small kids playing, the adults standing around talking and drinking, Dean giving you a wave. “I made cookies if that’s okay.”

“Aren’t you supposed to make her the baked goods, Deano? Not the other way around?” said a big guy, nudging Dean with a laugh.

“I just break her windows,” said Dean, taking the plate from you. “You didn’t have to do that. But I appreciate it.”

“It’s no problem,” you said, Dean going through a quick run through of names, your brain finally clicking into overdrive. A lot of new faces. A lot of new people that would ask questions.

Nothing like trial by fire.

“Beer’s in the cooler and I think the girls have wine inside?” asked Dean, a tall blonde woman grabbing your arm. “Don’t get her loaded before food, Jess.”

“I’m just getting a refill,” she said, laughing once she’d showed you through his back door, opening up into a kitchen and family room. “You have to excuse my brother in law. He’s acting a bit shy today. Our money’s on you being the reason why.”

“He doesn’t seem all that shy to me,” you said, watching as she grabbed a bottle and refilled her glass, moving around the kitchen to get one for you.

“I think he was more nervous that you’d hate his guts about the windows,” she said. “Oh you got a little smudge.”

She ran her thumb over her jaw and you did the same. She contortured her face before looking away.

“Oh, that’s a bruise,” she said.

“I was in a car accident recently,” you said. “Just a few minor things. I’m fine.”

“I’ll make you a double then.”

“Dean, what the hell is that?” you asked when he carried over your food to the table.

“A Winchester deluxe,” he said, the huge burger covered in cheese, bacon and a week’s worth of grease staring you down. “It’s amazing.”

“It really is,” mumbled Benny, already chowing down on his burger. You braced yourself and took a bite, tasing the heat from jalapenos on there, mouth watering as you shot him a thumbs up.

“S’really good,” you said, Dean sitting down with a smile. It’d been a long time since you enjoyed spending time with other people. Dean’s friends were nice, personable, inviting you in like you’d known them for years. It was starting to get dark out by the time you’d realized you’d spent the day there.

“Alright, alright. We all got work to get to in the morning. Get out of here you rascals,” said Dean. People lingered for a little while, saying their goodbyes until it was just you and Dean. “Y/N, you too. Get out of here.”

“I can help pick up,” you said.

“You don’t have to,” he said.

“I want to. You fed me, introduced me to some new friends today...it’s the least I can do,” you said. Dean shrugged, thankfully mostly collecting a few stray bottles and cans, helping Dean carry them into his garbage and recycle bins.

“Thanks,” he said, walking back through his house, smirking as you took it in. “You got a bit of sunburn today.”

“Yeah,” you said, Dean chuckling as you followed him into the kitchen, taking a bottle of aloe from him. “Thanks.”

“That’s a little funny,” he said.

“What is?” you asked.

“A girl from Arizona doesn’t know to put sunscreen on,” he said, crossing his arms.

“I forgot,” you said with an easy shrug.

“You’re from New Mexico. Not Arizona,” he said. “Or did you forget what state you’re from too?”

You swallowed and lifted your chin up, setting the bottle down on the counter.

“I only saw you slip up the once today,” said Dean.

“I’m tired and was drinking and I made a mistake,” you said, reaching for his backdoor when he moved in front of it.

“Maybe if you weren’t so...I would have believed that. But you’re hiding something. I know it,” he said.

“Don’t talk to me anymore,” you said, turning to go for his front door.

“I didn’t say you have to tell me. Something is going on with you. I think you’re a good person. But whatever you’re hiding from...just be careful,” he said.

“I’m not hiding anything,” you said.

“Right. Of course you aren’t,” he said, leaning back against his counter. You rolled your eyes and went out his front door, wondering if you could just stay inside for the rest of your life.

“What?” you asked when your doorbell rang the next day near dinner. Dean looked tired but he had your clean plate, holding it out to you. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, turning and leaving, stopping when you sighed. “I’m guessing you don’t need anymore crap in your life, right?”

“Stay away from me Dean. It’ll be better for you that way,” you said, Dean turning back up the steps.

“Do you want me to stay away from you?” he asked, cocking his head. “We were starting to become friends there for a minute.”

“I don’t have a good life and I want you stay out of it and be happy, okay?” you said, Dean tsking you.

“I mean, I’m in your life and I’m awesome so how can you not have a good life?” he asked with a shit eating smile.

“You…” you said, hating that somehow he managed to put a tiny smile on your face.

“Take it from someone who knows how it feels to be alone, to think you’re alone...it’s easier when you have a friend,” he said. You gave him a nod. “I’ll see you around. I hope.”

“Maybe you will,” you said, Dean giving you a smile, good enough for now.

You kept things friendly with him, saying hello when you saw him outside, talking for a few minutes as he did odds and ends after work. You were starting to enjoy the house apart as you spent more time there, apart from how big it felt at night.

It was Friday night and you just couldn’t bring yourself to fall asleep all by yourself again. You had Dean’s number and his lights were still on so he probably wasn’t in bed yet.

“Hello?” he asked, answering the phone.

“Hey,” you said, feeling your face get hot even if you were alone. “It’s Y/N.”

“What’s up?” he asked. You swallowed and hung up, curling up on your couch with his blanket. Three minutes later you heard a loud banging on the door. You got up and turned on the light, looking down as you answered the door to Dean. “What was that?”

“I don’t know,” you said with a shrug.

“Well thanks for scaring the shit out of me. I thought you were getting murdered or something,” he said. “You owe me a beer.”

He slipped inside, your head resting against the door as you locked up again. Dean found your kitchen easily, walking into your family room with an unopened bottle.

“What are you scared of?” he asked, running a hand over your head as you sat again.

“Nothing,” you said. Dean walked around and sat down at the other end of the couch, setting the beer aside. “Could you just…”

“I’m gonna make you something to eat,” he said. You groaned but he got up anyways, fussing around in your kitchen, returning later with some chicken noodle soup.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, taking a sip from the thermos he handed you.

“I like you Y/N Smith,” said Dean, sitting back down. “There’s something I can’t put my finger on what it is but I like you.”

“I’m married,” you said. Dean gave you a long stare before he lifted his chin.

“So?” he asked.

“Dean,” you said, putting the thermos down.

“You’re good, most of the time you are very good at pretending you’re okay. But it doesn’t take a genius to figure out why a married woman would move into a new house by herself, never wear a wedding ring and look the way you did when we first met,” said Dean. “You left your husband and he didn’t like that so he hurt you.”

Technically he tried to kill you so you left him but Dean didn’t need details and you needed him gone before something happened to him.

“I need you to go,” you said.

“I’m not scared of him,” said Dean. You ran your hands over you face, shaking your head at Dean.

“You don’t know what you’re getting involved in,” you said.

“I don’t care. He’s not going to hurt you again,” said Dean. You shook your head, Dean giving it right back. “Y/N. I won’t let him hurt you anymore.”

“I want you to leave,” you said.

“I’m not going. You should call the police,” he said. “They can arrest him and-“

“I did call the police!” you shouted at him, taking a deep breath. Dean stayed still, waiting for you to calm down. “He didn’t just hurt me, Dean. Two weeks ago tonight, he tried to kill me. He is after me and he will always be after me.”

“Oh,” he said, giving you a sad smile. “You...you’re in that protection program. That’s why you forgot what state you’re supposed to be from.”

“I just broke the biggest rule there is,” you said. “I need to call my handler and get relocated now.”

“Why?” asked Dean.

“You’re in danger, that’s why,” you said.

“I already told you, he doesn’t scare me,” said Dean. You scrunched up your face.

“I have to go. I’m supposed to go if anyone finds out,” you said, standing up, moving to your hall closet to grab your emergency bag.

“I won’t tell. I promise,” said Dean. You shook your head as you felt him rest a hand on your arm. It took a minute to realize you’d let him turn you around to bury your face into his chest, soothing shushes falling from his lips.

He didn’t try to stop you from leaving but you didn’t really want to go either. For some reason or another, being around him helped calm you down, made you feel safe again.

“Do you want me to go?” he asked softly. You shook your head, Dean resting his chin on top of it. “Okay. I’ll stay.”

Dean put you to bed after you eased up some. You knew he was curious, about everything, but you also knew he’d never ask. He’d simply be there and for now, that was all you wanted.

“Need anything?” asked Dean, setting some water down on the bedside table.

“No, I’m okay,” you said, fixing your blankets, giving Dean a brief glimpse of the scar on your chest. “Is it that noticeable? I got medicine to help it heal but it looks the same to me.”

“I think it looks perfect and you shouldn’t worry about it,” said Dean, tucking your covers up. You opened your mouth to ask him to stay but nothing came out. “I’ll be downstairs on the couch.”

“Thanks,” you said.

“S‘no problem,” he said. “Try to get some sleep.”

The next morning you woke up feeling refreshed. You’d had one of those dead sleeps where not a single thing woke you up all night long. After getting dressed, you spotted Dean passed out on the couch, leg hanging off the edge.

“Morning,” you said, ruffling his hair, Dean groaning awake. “Do you want some coffee? Breakfast?”

“Yes and yes,” he grumbled, grunting as he let out a big stretch. You went to the kitchen, Dean slowly making his way in and settling on a barstool. “You look like you slept well.”

“I did,” you said, sliding a cup of coffee in front of him, Dean taking a long sip.

“Have you ever gone fishing?” he asked.

“When I was a kid,” you said.

“Let’s go fishing today. Fresh air and all that,” he said, running his hand through his hair, sticking it up even further.

“Why would we do that?” you asked, pulling out eggs from the fridge, getting to work on heating up a pan.

“It’s fun. You are allowed to do fun things you know,” he said, yawning and wrapping his hands around the mug.

“Alright, we can go fishing, even though it’s boring,” you said. Dean scoffed, putting a hand to his chest. “Drama queen.”

“Maybe today you’ll remember your sunscreen,” he teased.

“You’ll put the worm on the hook for me?” you asked. Dean hummed, taking a plate of scrambled eggs from you when they finished.

“We’ll pack up a cooler with a few sandwiches and head out in just a little while.”

“Hey,” said Dean, turning down the radio on the drive home. You lifted your head up, the breeze from the window lessening as you turned to face him. “You looked happy today.”

“I was,” you said. “I like fishing more than I thought I did.”

“Is your real name Y/N?” he asked quietly.

“They let me keep my first name. It was the only thing they let me keep,” you said.

“Well, Y/N, you’re very good at fishing,” he said. You rolled your eyes but smiled at your lap anyways. “So ordinarily I wouldn’t ask a married woman such a question but given the circumstances I think it’s okay for me to say, would you like to go on another date tomorrow?”

“Dean. I like you. But you have a family. You have a young nephew that stays over at your house sometimes. If you start to get anything more than friendly with me and Shane finds out-”

“Is this one of those witness protection rules or a Y/N rule?” he asked.

“I don’t want anyone to get hurt because of me,” you said. Dean hummed and tapped his fingers against the steering wheel.

“Y/N. I will gladly get hurt for you because that is not the way you treat a woman, or anybody, ever. If you’ll let me, I got your back,” said Dean. “If you want me to, I’ll back off, just be friends. You don’t have to go through this by yourself, whatever you choose.”

“You know you’re like too good to be true, right? You’re sweet, you don’t push, you’d put yourself in danger for me,” you said.

“And I happen to be an excellent kisser,” he teased.

“Everyday they don’t find him makes it more likely that he’ll find me Dean,” you said.

“You ain’t scaring me off, sweetheart so you can stop trying,” he said. “So we got a date?”

“Yeah, you got yourself a date, Winchester.”

“Thanks for today,” you said, lingering by Dean’s door when you got back to his house. “And what you said.”

“Anytime,” he said. You smiled and leaned up, kissing his lips quickly and pulling back. “So I suppose you made up your mind about what you want then?”

“Yeah. Something tells me you’ll work out better than the last one,” you said.

“I can guarantee it,” he said, dipping his head, delivering an actual kiss, letting you feel the softness of his lips. He was gentle, not like you would break if he put more force behind it but he was perfectly content with going slowly for you.

“You are pretty good at that,” you said teasingly, Dean grinning hard. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“Mhm. Have a goodnight. Call if you get scared over there,” he said.

“I will,” you said, another kiss landing on your cheek before you grabbed your backpack and walked across the yard. You jogged up to your front porch, slipping inside. You did a quick check of the doors and windows before you went upstairs and showered, laughing to yourself.

Maybe you could get something good out of this whole situation.

You left your damn phone in your backpack.

Downstairs.

You looked around the dark room, staring at the window in the bathroom. You jogged inside and opened it as quietly as you could, sneaking out through it, stepping onto the roof of your back porch. You tried to keep low and out of view, stilling as you got to the edge on the roof.

“Please don’t break anything,” you whispered to yourself, jumping off and landing on the grass. You had a few new bruises but you felt intact and were sprinting across the yard into Dean’s before you knew it. You banged on his back door, cursing when a light flicked on, a shout coming from your open bathroom window.

You saw Dean through the window panes, a confused and sleepy look on his face as he realized it was you. He quickly ran over and let you in, locking up behind you.

“What’s going on?” he asked, pulling you with him.

“He’s-“ you said, glass breaking behind you.

“Upstairs. Hide. Call the police,” said Dean, dragging you with him up the stairs. You could tell Shane wasn’t far behind, Dean grunting when he threw his weight against his bedroom door and he had to fight to keep it shut. “Y/N. Call. Now.”

You dialed and barely told them you needed the police before Dean was asking for your help.

“I have a gun, in the safe in the closet. Get it,” said Dean. You scrambled over there, trying to concentrate as Dean told you the code. You just had the door open when you heard Dean grunt loudly. You grabbed the gun and saw Dean on the ground, panting as Shane stood over him, a blade in his hand.

“You been sleeping with my wife?” he asked.

“No,” said Dean. “She never slept with anybody except for your pathetic ass.”

You saw Shane raise his knife, Dean rolling and kicking it out of Shane’s hands. You watched them wrestle for a few moments, Dean looking like he was getting the upper hand until Shane hit him in the head. Dean slumped down, trying to get back up as Shane hit him again.

“Hey!” you shouted, Shane turning his attention on you. Dean shook his head and shot up like a bullet, putting Shane in a headlock.

“Y/N, move that knife away from him,” said Dean, Shane growing lax as Dean held him. But then he lifted his arm and popped Dean in the face, crawling out of the hold. He grabbed the knife and brought it down hard, straight for Dean’s chest.

You squeezed the trigger, a splash of blood hitting Dean’s white bedspread. Dean wrestled the knife away from Shane, shoving him aside as he got to his feet.

“I’m gonna kill you,” Shane spat out, hand clutching his shoulder. Dean walked over and took the gun from you, taking a deep breath.

“You move and I guarantee, I’m going to kill you,” said Dean, cocking the gun. “And It won’t be a shoulder hit either, buddy.”

“So…” you said, leaning against the back of an ambulance, wrapped up in a thick blanket as Dean groaned on a gurney. “I guess I owe you one.”

“I have a concussion. You’re driving my ass everywhere the next two weeks,” he said, a smirk tugging it’s way onto his lips. “You could have warned me he was built like the hulk.”

“But I had the amazing Dean Winchester watching my back. I knew you could handle it,” you teased.

“I so had it covered,” he said with a smile. “Thanks for stopping me from being Swiss cheese back there.”

“S’no problem,” you said, running hand through his hair, Dean’s eyes closing. “No. Paramedics said you have to stay awake. We’re going to the hospital real soon.”

“It’s three in the morning, I want to go to sleep,” he said.

“Sorry. We have to make sure you’re alright first,” you said.

“You alright?” he asked. You hummed and Dean nodded. “Then I’m good.”

“Okay. Tell that to the doctor,” you said, a paramedic walking back over, shoving his gurney inside. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Hey,” you said the next day in the late afternoon. Dean was sporting a few bruises but otherwise looked okay. “How are you doing?”

“Good. Come on in. You can make me dinner,” he said.

“Oh really? Is that how this is gonna go?” you asked, Dean chuckling.

“Nah. I was going to order pizza,” he said. “You’re welcome to a slice.”

“Thanks. I heard there was an incident at the hospital with Shane,” you said.

“A med student didn’t restrain him properly and I think he wanted to finish the job. A lot of anger issues with that guy,” said Dean.

“I heard he was-“

“You don’t have to worry about him anymore. Just be happy about that,” said Dean. “How’d you even end up with him?”

“I went out one night with a friend. She started talking to Shane’s friend and that left us two alone. We sort of just stuck together. My friend broke up with Shane’s buddy but we just stayed together. By that point I...I don’t know. I didn’t want to know what happened if I made him mad I guess. Turns out I made him mad anyways,” you said.

“Just so we’re clear, you are free to leave my ass anytime you want,” said Dean.

“I’ll take that under consideration. But I wouldn’t worry about that happening,” you said.

“Why would I? I mean, I’m awesome after all,” he said. You rolled your eyes and took a seat on his couch, Dean looking like he’d spent most of the day crashing there. “I’ll grab a menu.”

He came back a minute later, sitting down beside you with a sigh, curling you into his side as he let you pick out what you wanted. After he called to order, he sat you up and pulled you back into his chest.

“Hey,” you said tilting your head back. “I’m Y/N Y/L/N.”

“Nice to meet you, sweetheart,” he said, giving you a big hug. “It’s very nice to finally meet you.”

@baconlover001 @emilymorgan1994 @jensenackesl @captainemwinchester @imissyoualittlemoreeveryday @xfanqirlinq @anokhi07 @akshi8278 @fandom--shipper @xxwinchester-22xx

@zeusmyster @atc74 @aingealcethlenn @pillow223 @alilianamendez @dancingalone21 @smoothdogsgirl @docharleythegeekqueen @jaelami @roxyspearing @kickasscas67 @gallifreyansass @untitled39887 @charliebradbury1104 @quiddy-writes @arryn-nyxx @poukothenerd @feelmyroarrrr @mrsbatesmotel53 @idalinette @evyiione @jayankles @samisimportant @maddieburcham1 @demonic-meatball @hey-um-misha @flufy07 @its-not-a-tulpa @whit85-blog @mrswhozeewhatsis @extreme-supernatural-lover @spn-ficfanatic @starry-chaos @blushingokoye

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fuckyeahrebelfinn · 6 years

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@captainamericagf

Amanda I wanted to clear upa few things about IX’s shooting and John’s post ect and it’s going to be too damn long for your inbox, so here’s to hoping tumblr’s tagging decides to work.

(Also @vaderey)

Re: the tag FN2187 on John’s photo.

I’m sorry to say that that “only” signifies that it’s about Finn. John is a very inconsistent tagger who rarely tags at all and only at times where he finds whatever tag very central to the post. FN2187 have been his go to tag for Finn since TFA came out, probably because it’s the only truly unique identifier for Finn. If he just tagged #Finn it would drown in the thousands upon thousands of other Finns on Instagram, but there’s only one FN-2187.

So I hate to rain on everyone’s theories about a Stormtrooper uprising - including my own - but all that means is that whatever badassery was going on Finn was central to it, but with no indication of what kind of badassery it was.

Finn’s injuries:

As for the lack of plasma burns indicating anything can I just remind everyone that lightsaber injury to hands tend to result in not plasma burns but lost hands?

I mean look at all the plasma burns that Luke got in his duel with Vader at Cloud City?

Oh wait, that’s more cuts and bruises because Vader was throwing shit at him. Not to mention all we’ve seen was John’s hands. Nice jumping to conclusions there Anon.

Finally I have a very hard time seeing John being excited for a scene that kills off Finn. Not to mention, they’re nearly done shooting and given JJ’s preference for shooting as chronologically as possible this is likely something at the end of the movie. That John is still this excited about it all makes it look like IX might treat Finn well. Obviously nothing is certain and JJ may still end up butchering Finn’s storyline as much as Rian did, but that John even dares to display this level of confidence this late in the game make it seem to me that we may get an Episode IX that’s worth watching.

Re: Yavin IV.

Here people are really beginning to pass of complete speculations as facts :/

Yes IX is currently shooting at Cardington Air Sheds which was used as the sound stage for the Rebel base in both ANH and RO because it’s the biggest damned sounds stage in the UK and they needed the cavernous feel of the big interior of the Massassi temple. All them being at Cardington means it that they need a huge freaking sound stage, which given that all we’ve heard is that the sake on IX is massive doesn’t sound unlikely for say a really big battle.

Also the shooting at Cardington is done by Vic which means it’s scenery shoots or big battle panoramas, which again fits with the only named actor being spotted at Cardington being Joonas, the Finnish guy who’s inside Chewie.

And everything we’ve heard from Kevin Smith’s visit to the IX set as well as a goodly assortment of rumors says that IX is huge even for Star Wars, that we’re looking at something at a heretofore unprecedented scale. So big panorama shots and overviews of a gigantic ground battle does not sound implausible. It may or may not involve Yavin but we don’t know either way, personally I think it doesn’t and it’s all about size :P (for once).

Re: Rose and Loan.

This one is purely on that Anon leaping to the assumption that she’s not important, especially as John said “the entire crew” and they automatically assumed that wouldn’t include her. I know there’s not been much reports on her, but lets be real it’s because both fandom and media couldn’t care less about her or any of the characters of color. Come on, the only reason we occasionally hear anything about John is that he’s the only one still on social media apart from Mark (who for the record appears to have a minuscule role in IX) because media and fandom could on the whole not give fewer shits about anyone who isn’t Rey or Kylo.

That said I finally managed to dig out a good source of info on Loan and her movements on twitter (for those interested it’s named @dailytranloan). Between that and my own Googlemancy this is what it looks like:

Loan was spotted on multiple occasions in London in August and September, i.e. while IX was shooting at Pinewood. She drops out of sight about the time where the shooting moved to Wadi Rum but we have no clue if she went with them or not. She was only spotted in London once after the return of the shooting to England and New Year, but have been confirmed seen (photo evidence) three times between New Year and today.

So it looks like Rose may have a much bigger role in IX than anyone suspected and that she’s making it all the way to the end and beyond it.

I think that covers most of the things your anons have been throwing at you.

tl;dr John have been excited about IX since they started shooting, in fact before they started and his excitement and enthusiasm have only gone one way, up. If people are disinclined to trust him I’m not going to argue with them further but I’m beginning to believe that all those doomsday anons are not all in good faith and that a certain group of someones have begun trolling because it’s becoming increasingly clear that Finn is going to be the male lead in IX and be treated as such by the story. Which spells nothing but doom and judgement for a certain other character and we know how much they all only tolerate Finn when he’s safely ensconced as a side character.

I understand being worried about IX, damn bitch me too, but this constant cry of doom when we get something positive rings false to me.

Personally I’m going to take John’s word on it unless we get solid indications otherwise.

~Mod Mara

#john boyega #episode ix #rose tico #rebelfinn #kelly marie tran #loan tran #star wars: episode ix #star wars episode ix #jj abrams #vic mahoney #mod mara #epix #spoliers #jb #lt #jja #vm

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futurestrong · 3 years

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Recognizing the Face of Trauma

Like classroom interactions and behaviors, trauma comes in all shapes and sizes. There is no 'one size fits all'.

How do we know if extreme childhood behavior is caused by traumatic events, anger, frustration, or the children just learning to self-regulate?

In this article we explore what trauma is, how it might look, and the impact on a child’s social, emotional, physical, and cognitive abilities as you read on.

Trauma has always existed, and now it’s time to share how we can support children who have been traumatized before, during, and after a pandemic.

What would you do in this real-life situation?

Charlie is an outstanding third-grade student—he excels in his assignments, loves reading, and easily makes friends in the classroom. Ms. Smith, his teacher, calls Charlie one of the “best” students she has ever had in class throughout her teaching career.

Over time, however, something changed—Ms. Smith notices extreme changes in Charlie. He has become extremely aggressive towards her, and his classmates. He lashes out with his fist, words, non-verbal gestures, throws things and no longer participates in any group learning sessions. His whole personality has changed.

Finally, after Charlie physically bruises two of his classmates during an outdoor time, and lunges at Ms. Smith in an overaggressive way she knows that something needs to be done. As what she feels is the last resort, Ms. Smith speaks with a school counselor concerning the patterns of behavior she has observed in Charlie for the past month.

Mrs. Blue, the counselor, speaks with Charlie, who remains silent.

After several weeks of silence, Charlie shared something with Mrs. Blue that explains the aggression—Charlie saw a relative shot in front of him and watched him die. He has been struggling to process this incident.

The trauma and the child

This story is true.

While many educators see varying classroom behavior, misbehavior is hard to ignore. Discovering the “root” cause of the behavior is essential as Mrs. Blue demonstrated in the story.

Trauma can take many forms that can include:

a change in social behavior – keeping to themselves and not playing

becoming overly quiet

uncharacteristic boisterous behavior

aggressive behavior – shouting, hitting, throwing, punching

running away

crying without an obvious reason

being clingy to familiar people

being distant from familiar people

looking sad

emotional outbursts

taking things that don’t belong to them

Although this list may leave us thinking that the outward evidence of trauma covers all behaviors, there are ways to identify when a child is enduring the pain of trauma and find the “root” of the problem. Has the behavior changed recently, is it uncharacteristic, do we have a feeling that something is not quite right?

Behaviors can be induced by primary or secondary trauma. In the story, Charlie wasn’t the one-shot but his witnessing the incident produced traumatic fallout that was exhibited in the classroom.

Primary trauma can occur if the child is personally threatened and is frightened, becomes sick, goes to a hospital, or worse, thinks they may die. This is trauma that impacts the child in a real and personal way. We hear of veterans experiencing Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) for years after the traumatic events of war where they are literally in a life or death situation (Gluck, Mercado & Myers, 2016). This is the effect trauma can have on an adult’s brain. Imagine how that is for a child.

Secondary trauma can be triggered by observing others being hurt or feeling the fear of violence not associated with the child. Recently triggers could be the impact of COVID-19 on the family. Unemployment, financial stress, at home for extended periods during the lockdown, relatives that may have passed away because of Covid. Again, there is tension, residual grief, the lack of social interaction, isolation, and more (Motta, 2012).

The brain and trauma

Trauma affects the brain in several ways. One of these ways is that the fight, flight, or freeze responses are heightened. Children are on ‘high alert’ assuming danger will take place at any time. This can be exhausting, and children may feel tired, irritable, and unable to focus or function well.

The fight (yell or hit), flight (run away), or freeze (can’t speak or move) responses occur when the mammalian part of the brain, which includes the limbic system takes control. Emotions are stimulated in this part of the brain with links to the brain stem, the survival part of the brain. If a child feels frightened the brain stem gets the legs moving to run away from the situation to survive (Nagel & Scholes, 2016).

Imagine being in this state all of the time - the brain can’t relax, regulate or work out if it is safe or under threat.

The teacher

The classroom climate or tone that the teacher sets is important for establishing an environment in which children know they are safe, feel accepted, and can engage in learning. Some ways to create a positive classroom space includes:

Keep firm but fair routines and structures and give a warning about any changes

Instill calmness into the classroom by using a calm and quiet voice

Include nature – bring plants into the classroom or include cane baskets

Take some learning activities outside

Use a visual timetable so that children can see where they are in the day

Allow children to work alone or in well-chosen pairs

Provide smaller spaces in the classroom so children can have some ‘me’ time

Having fun in the classroom, sharing a joke, laughing, playing a game before recess, sharing personal stories helps to lighten the tone of the classroom and build connections between the children and teacher. This promotes a sense of belonging and security and calms the brain.

The needs of the teacher cannot be overlooked in this context either. Taking care of self is of utmost importance. It’s like when traveling on a plane – the safety warning is to first put the oxygen mask on yourself, then others you are traveling with. It is the same concept here. Self-care and self-love are important for everyone. Take time out in nature, listen to music. Do what makes your heart sing.

The parents

Parents may be undergoing the same types of primary and secondary trauma as their children. As a teacher, assuming that parents can take over once the children go home could be very short-sighted. Many of the same support processes mentioned above for children apply to parents too. Ensuring that parents have a support network, interact socially in non-threatening spaces, have a routine, and don’t take on anything that causes stress is important. Maintaining regular communication with families not only offers support but also allows the teacher to see warning signs of needed further help.

The outside agencies

Social workers, counselors, members of the faith (priests, rabbis, ministers), psychologists, guidance counselors, and other support personnel can support traumatized children and families in various ways. Each support person has their own unique approach. Having a team approach to alleviate the effects of trauma before, during, and after the pandemic is under control, is a priority to ensure that children grow into healthy, happy, and productive adults. Teachers involved in a team approach feel supported and part of a community. Therefore, additional support can be provided to the professionals involved, the children, and families.

As teachers, our overall aim is to provide an environment in which children feel safe to allow them to thrive in our classrooms and perhaps have some respite from the outside world. This means taking care of ourselves first, so we can take care of the children.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Who is Dr. Kathryn Murray?

Dr. Kathryn Murray is an early childhood pedagogical expert and creator of the Brain-SET Formula© for Classroom Design. She is the CEO of Future Strong Education - a global early childhood consultancy organization based in Australia. Kathryn supports educators and parents to give children the best possible start in life. Find Dr. Kathryn Murray at www.futurestrongeducation.com or connect with her through [email protected].

Who is Dr. Sharon Little?

Dr. Sharon Little is an early childhood program lead and faculty in North Carolina. She is also a project coach, trainer, private early education consultant, speaker, and strong advocate for early childhood education. Sharon supports early educators, the community, and other early childhood professionals in trauma-informed, developmentally appropriate practices, diversity, and higher education subject matter. Find Dr. Sharon Little at Linkedin here.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ References:

Gluck, M., Mercado, E., Myers, C. (2016). Learning and memory: From brain to behaviour (3rd ed.). New York, USA: Worth Publishers.

Motta, R. W. (2012). Secondary trauma in children and school personnel. Journal of Applied School Psychology, 28:3, 256-269.

Nagel, M., Scholes, L. (2016). Understanding development and learning: Implications for teaching. Melbourne, Australia: Oxford University Press.

Suggested Resources:

Nicholson, J., Perez., L, and Kurtz, J. (2019). Trauma Informed Practices for Early Childhood Educators. New York: Routledge, Taylor & Francis Group. ISBN 978-1-138-30639-4.

#learningathome #educationmatters #educationisthekey #earlydevelopmentchildhood #earlylearningchildhood #earlychildhoodeducation #earlychildhood #education #learning #earlychildhoodeducator #trauma #childhoodtrauma #signs of trauma

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shirlleycoyle · 4 years

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Meet The Genetic Sleuths Solving Decades-Old Trans Murders

On the blustery morning of November 26, 1983, a beachgoer spotted a still-warm body in Half Moon Bay, California. The victim, who looked about 20 years old, had been stabbed more than 20 times and left in the sands near Pillar Point Bluff. Their wrists were slashed, their face bruised and swollen. (Out of respect for the victim’s unknown gender identity, Motherboard is using they/them as a pronoun.)

At their time of death, the person was presenting as a stylish, slender woman. They were 5-foot-10 inches tall, wearing an auburn pixie cut and casual clothes: yellow capri pants and a turtleneck over a foam-form bra, fishnet hose, and two pairs of feminine underwear. A Madonna-style white metal crucifix hung around their neck.

When taken to a medical examiner, the victim's body was misidentified as male, and nobody ever came to claim it. In an effort to identify the individual, cops dubbed them “John Doe #83-26” and released a crime sketch depicting a man. It failed to convey their gender identity or expression, including that they were likely wearing makeup and going by a woman’s name.

The case of Pillar Point Doe soon went cold and their identity remained a mystery for 35 years—until two genealogy sleuths recently cracked the case. The trans couple, who specialize in cold cases involving trans and gender non-conforming people, found the forgotten victim’s birth name through an online DNA database, reviving the hunt for their killer.

“I would work until I passed out”

Lee and Anthony Redgrave traced Pillar Point Doe’s relatives from Wales to Utah using the family history site GEDmatch, known for its role in finding the notorious Golden State Killer. The search was close to home for the Redgraves, who toiled obsessively for months without pay.

“I would work until I passed out. I’d cry myself to sleep at night, and have dreams where I was woken up thinking that [the victim] was telling me their name,” said Anthony, who along with Lee, ran a small team for the DNA Doe Project, a non-profit that identifies deceased people through forensic genealogy.

Lee added: “There are a lot of factors—and homicide detectives have absolutely no idea how to do this.”

The Redgraves were inspired by personal tragedy to help solve the case. In January 2018, a transgender friend of theirs, Christa Steele-Knudslien—a beauty pageant organizer and trans activist—was beaten and stabbed to death. The attack, which came after another friend’s suicide, sent Lee spiraling into a depression.

“It really tore my brain up,” said Lee, 41, a non-binary night owl with arms full of tattoos. “I got depressed, and when that happens I usually throw myself into a project.”

Anthony and Lee Redgrave

When a true crime-loving friend recommended they volunteer for the DNA Doe Project, it seemed like a good distraction.“Partially, I’m sure, it was her being like, ‘You have to stop being in a funk,’” Lee said. “We both felt really helpless about Christa—and this was something we actually could help with.”

They had plenty of experience with genetic genealogy, but they knew the limits of DNA and family tree matches for transgender victims. Database searches often lead to “dead names”—birth names victims no longer use, and aren’t known by in their communities. And most law enforcement systems don’t allow searches across sex marker categories, blinding them to some gender non-conforming folks.

A “trans-informed” perspective could shed some light, considering trans people are more likely to be the target of violent, unresolved crime. “Being a trans person, I know I’ve been incredibly fortunate not to have had a bunch of horrible things happen to me,” said Anthony, 38, a soft-spoken Civil War buff with a long ginger beard. “That was a driving force.”

When the Redgraves first heard about the Pillar Point Doe case in July 2018, they knew almost immediately it was ripe for a genetic gumshoeing.

An Unlikely Partnership

The victim, who was carrying no identification, had been found only two hours after they were stabbed in the neck and chest, allowing cops to collect a piece of blood-soaked blotter paper known as a “blood card.” This meant Pillar Point Doe’s DNA didn’t have to be extracted from bone, a longer and more expensive process. And yet it would likely show a complete picture of the victim’s entire genetic makeup, one that could be extracted in a lab and uploaded to GEDmatch, they said.

But the couple still had to convince the San Mateo County Sheriff’s Office to hand over the blood sample—and to team up with them on the investigation.

The Redgraves had a hunch cops would be willing. Their request came on the heels of the Golden State Killer’s arrest a few counties away, and in a section of northern California that tends to be queer-friendly.

“The thought was it was a good case because it was the Bay Area. We expected there would be more friendly law enforcement and a LBGTQ liaison in the Bay Area,” said Anthony. “We had to give an elevator pitch to the department, like, ‘This is why we want this specific case, and this is how it will benefit you.’”

The cops, it turned out, were game. The Redgraves signed non-disclosure agreements and— in a rare move—police released Pillar Point Doe’s private case files, including the blood card along with crime scene and coroner photos.

The Redgraves agreed to do the genetic sleuthing, then pass off next of kin matches to police, who would talk to relatives, collect DNA samples and handle the investigation from there.

It was an unlikely partnership. Many trans people refuse to work with cops since law enforcement has routinely targeted the community, trans activists and experts said. According to a 2015 survey, at least 57 percent of trans respondents said they would be afraid or uncomfortable going to police for help.

“It comes from being abused or not taken seriously by officers who historically have been disrespectful or dismissive of trans people,” said Rodrigo Heng-Lehtinen, a policy expert for the National Center for Transgender Equality. “There’s a real stigma. Sometimes just being visibly trans in public is enough to get stopped or harassed by police on suspicion of being a sex worker—whether or not you actually are.”

Cases with trans victims have long been de-prioritized by cops, who assume victims are sex workers, living a “high risk” lifestyle or are “disowned” by their families, Heng-Lehtinen said.

But a lack of trans awareness is bad for police, too. Detectives who are ignorant about the community are more likely to use a transgender person’s dead name because it was printed on a government-issued ID, or to seek outdated information from estranged family members who knew them pre-transition, he said. It keeps those investigators from understanding the whole picture.

“If you’re an officer who’s asking around for Mark Smith and everybody in the neighborhood knows her as Marcia, that’s not helping anybody,” Heng-Lehtinen said.

Lee chalks it up to lack of education and training. “If you look at popular media over the past 20 years, the characters that are dressing opposite of what they’re ‘supposed to be’ are usually trying to trick somebody or get away with something—the end of ‘Ace Ventura’ is a classic example, or ‘The Crying Game,’” Lee said. “You get a lot of that mentality still in law enforcement, just because they haven’t had an alternate education.”

Identifying Doe

The Redgraves quickly got to work on creating a more gender-accurate forensic sketch of Pillar Point Doe. In the 80s and 90s, at least three drawings had been made of them, all wildly different.

One showed a “partially-Asian goth” guy with boxy slicked-back black hair, Lee said. Another depicted a shaggy-haired Val Kilmer look-alike with almond eyes. All were of men, and none were quite right.

“It seemed like [police artists] were trying to make this person look male,” Lee said. “Considering they had natural hair, not a wig, and were wearing pants with multiple layers of hose and underwear, it’s likely that they were tucking to have a more female appearance,” Lee said, citing details about the victim's outfit.

“They were probably attempting to pass as female as opposed to someone who was [a] drag performer or engaging in prostitution while cross-dressing.”

Based on those clues, the male sketch on fliers would have likely been lost on Pillar Point Doe’s queer “chosen family”—or anyone who saw them the night of the murder, the couple said. So using crime scene and coroner photos, the Redgraves and an artist came up with a new sketch that depicts the victim with a more feminine look, a yellow outfit and natural-style makeup.

In March 2019, Pillar Point’s blood card came back from the lab. It showed Pillar Point Doe’s entire genome sequence on a huge hard drive.

From their cozy home office in central Massachusetts, the Redgraves and a small team plugged those chunks of genetic code into GEDmatch, which compares DNA from testing sites like 23andMe and ancestry.com to find possible relatives with similar genetic makeups. Unlike law enforcement’s Combined DNA Index System (CODIS), the site can pinpoint distant ancestors, not just immediate family members.

It works like this: Say you find a painting in a park with no signature and you want to learn the name of the artist. If you could somehow scan the piece’s complex colors and brush strokes into a massive database of art, you might be able to match it to the person who made it. Other paintings by the artist with similar patterns—a distant cousin, in this analogy—may also pop up.

In general, DNA evidence is only as accurate as the people who collect and analyze it. Technicians have been known to misinterpret samples, and police have submitted tainted or mixed genetic material. But Pillar Point’s blood card appeared to be a solid sample, the couple said.

The search led the Redgraves to a small town in Wales, where Pillar Point Doe’s distant relatives once worked at a glove factory. “We kept finding people who descended from this really specific family, but then finding the right branch turned out to be really hard,” Lee said.

Scores of unwed mothers hailed from the town for unknown reasons, leading to frustrating genealogy dead-ends. “It happened over and over again in this one little town,” Lee said.

The couple built a massive family tree and cross-referenced names with public records. They traced that to a group of relatives to a Utah pioneer community with roots in the Mormon Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. “When you work on someone’s genealogy, you get to know them in a really intimate way through their ancestors,” Lee said. “You know you’re getting close when they start looking like who you’re looking for.”

The couple soon discovered Pillar Point’s cousins belonged to an intermarried clan of families. Some men had multiple wives and children, amounting to a genealogy headache. “It’s a problem that’s common in isolated religious communities. The fancy word is endogamy,” Lee said. “You end up with a whole lot of half-relations and unreliable predictions.”

Setbacks

Then a fiasco unfolded. The arrest of the Golden State Killer in 2018 had sparked privacy fears from critics who claimed GEDMatch could be used for nefarious reasons. When a criminal case centering on a minor stirred up more controversy on the site the next year, the owners abruptly purged the “law enforcement matching” section of it in May 2019, according to the Redgraves.

With no warning, it left the couple with only about 20 percent of the genetic clues they’d had before. “Think of it as the number of letters turned around on your ‘Wheel of Fortune’ puzzle. [Afterwards] there were 80 percent less letters, and we still had to guess the phrase,” Lee said.

The setback forced them to get creative. They sought uploads from people who descended from early settlers in Utah, along with the Mormon church, and mapped out “clusters” of potential relatives.

Anthony spent hours tinkering with DNA Painter, a tool that helps genealogists make sense of matches. Eventually, it led to Pillar Point’s possible great grandfather.

During an all-nighter in October 2019, they had a breakthrough. When they got to one of the possible great grandfather’s relatives, they checked records for proof of the person’s life after 1983, and found none. Lee pulled out Pillar Point’s crime scene photo and checked it against a high school yearbook photo of the grandchild.

It all added up: Here was the long-forgotten face of Pillar Point Doe.

They both burst into tears. “There were periods of crying and shaking for a few days afterwards. It was really intense,” Lee said.

The team then sent Pillar Point’s birth name to cops, who collected DNA from a relative to confirm the match, reinvigorating the investigation.

San Mateo County police have since declined to release Pillar Point Doe’s birth name—or to allow the couple to—saying it could hurt their hunt for the killer. “This homicide is actively being investigated. Unfortunately, disclosing information about the details may hinder our investigation,” Sergeant William Young, from the San Mateo County Sheriff’s Office, told Motherboard.

Cold Case, Close To Home

Now, the Redgraves want more answers. “Ideally, police will find the perpetrator,” Lee said. “[Cops] definitely want to tell us something but they can’t. It makes us feel hopeful.”

Not long ago, Lee got a tattoo of poppies in Pillar Point Doe’s honor. It was inspired by the California flower bloom that could be seen from space in March 2019, the week the couple began searching for the victim's identity. “I am absolutely forever changed from working on this case,” Lee said.

Ultimately, the Redgraves hope Pillar Point Doe will be remembered for who they were—a complex and loved person, not a forgotten John Doe. “Hopefully someone who loved them will carry on their memory,” Lee said.

The couple now runs the Trans Doe Task Force, a research group that helps police and medical examiners with transgender and gender-expansive cold cases. Recently, they launched a database that allows for DNA comparisons across sex marker categories. They also founded their own firm, Redgrave Research Forensic Services, and Anthony has helped train law enforcement departments on five continents.

These days, the couple has a small framed high school photo of Pillar Point Doe in their home, near portraits of other people from cases close to their hearts.

“Pillar Point has become part of our family. I feel like we are basically like their foster parents,” Anthony said. “I’m going to feel that way until I know exactly how this case ends.”

Meet The Genetic Sleuths Solving Decades-Old Trans Murders syndicated from https://triviaqaweb.wordpress.com/feed/

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