#man if youre on a computer turn your brightness up its BAD here folks

[hellspawnmotel]

Puppet/Cat

[darling-cas]

Hoax (an original story)

I amaze myself sometimes. 

My therapist says I need to go back to things that bring me joy, says I need to find happiest in life again. During one specific session, I was asked to name a time when I was truly at peace, a time I felt moments of pure joy outside of my partner and friends. The first thing that came to mind was a time years ago, when I would post stories here, on this website, for you all to see.

This surprised me honestly, because if you knew me personally (*cough* hi @ilikebigbooks-and-icannotlie *cough*) you would know the amount of stress and pressure I put myself under when it came to writing We Are Young, Whatever It Takes, etc, etc, etc. But despite all the negative emotions, the moments that always stand out to me is sitting on my laptop after I clicked post, watching all the love and adoration pure in from each and every one of you.

I say this monthly but, I really do want to get back into writing. Thanks to my therapist and business major partner, I’ve been dipping my toes into editing for others as a side job. But I want to make my way back to writing my own stories and sharing them with even the smallest corner of the world. This story, Hoax, I wrote actually one year ago, when I first started therapy and after a hard heartbreak. It helped me feel like myself again and lifted me out of the darkness.

I hope, for even the smallest number of you, it does the same. I hope you can feel the same magic that I felt when I wrote it. Take this as a thank you for, years ago, bringing me such joy and happiness.

Until next time...

Cas.

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

The air was midsummer sweet.

It was an Indian summer of blue sky dreams and late evening tears, with the weather shifting moods in the blink of an eye. Grey clouds would eclipse the setting sun with their mighty fists, soaking up the colour of the earth like ink drenching a cotton ball.

And with the continuous alternating weather came the busty smell of sunblock and wet grass. Summer scents combined with the salty air and pungent fish that cling to Jake’s senses from the moment he started his journey along the coastal towns.

His mountain travels started just mere days ago. The task of hiking the grand peak was something he was finally going to cross off his bucket list. Dipping into his savings and requesting a week or two off work was a small price to pay when it came to the tranquility and beauty laid bare before him.

Born and raised on the outskirts of the city, there hadn't been much nature for him to appreciate and admire growing up. But from the moment Jake entered the first small, close-knit fishing town, all he could seem to do was appreciate and stare in outright awe.

The land laid undisturbed all around; the mountains, the trees, the ocean, they had all planted their roots, dug in their heels, and refused to surrender. Cities had been conquered, the vast expansion of country fields and towering summits were placed in chains, forced to give themselves to man. But here, on the coast of fishing villages, it seems as if Land and Man came to an agreement, a compromise, an understanding, to live in peace as one. 

Roads of all kinds swerved, twisted, curled up and down along the coast, between the trees. Houses of unnaturally charming bright blues, yellows, oranges, and greens sat gracefully against the mountain rocks, climbing up the forest-speckled cliffs. Homes and buildings of sea-weathered colour rested on the broken shoreline. Boats bobbed in the water, their docks reaching out towards the horizon like fingers longing to reach and touch a disappearing lover.

In the coastal towns, driving along the sunset stained ocean, Jake swore he would never see true beauty again.

Even now, when the sky wept tears of sorrow, its beauty never vanished.

The weather came on suddenly, as he passed the welcoming sign for Higdon's Harbour. The roads became slick, a  ghostly fog settled in, and the colours were muted a few shades darker by the clouds above. Rivers trickled down the mountain side, disappearing into shallow ditches. Waves started to leap and jump to catch the increasing wind. All while the sky cried on and on.

Jake drove on through the town. Classic rock thumped softly in the background and raindrops tapped on the roof of the car. He had planned not to stop for the night until the next town over. He had driven through several rain storms since the start of his trip, and this was nothing.

But the cracks in the sky's broken heart continued to grow with exceptional pain. Tears of despair quickly turned to tears of anger. The beating on the car became more aggressive as the wind wailed daunting threats and the ocean frantically waved its arms.

It became too much, too quick. Jake was used to driving through bad weather, but not seaside storms. Not gusting winds and sideways rain. Plus, he decided, he was already making good time. So when the flashing green neon sign reading Beaumont Motel came into view, he didn’t hesitate to pull off the road, into the parking lot, and turn off his car.

A bell jingled above as Jake pushed open the door. He stepped into the warmth of the lobby, drenched through his clothes and soaking the carpet under his feet.

“Turned nasty out there real quick, didn’t it?”

Jake threw off his hood, shaking out his damp, blonde hair as he caught sight of an older woman with long grey hair smiling at him from behind a wooden desk.

She pulled her beige cardigan closer around her, brown eyes crinkling in the corners. “Looking for a room, hun?”

“If you happen to have one available,” Jake replied, walking towards the desk and setting down his backpack. Judging by the lack of cars in the parking lot, he was more than confident there were plenty of empty rooms. Still, he glanced at the woman’s name tag and flashed her a smile. “Vera.”

“Oh, hun,” Vera chuckled. Her fingers tapped away on the computer that looked too new to be in the small, tacky, lobby with flower-patterned wallpaper. A lobby that was decorated with simply a small sitting area off to the side, a dusty fireplace warming the room, a dark wooden desk, rouge carpet, and outdated lighting fixtures. “I think I have one or two available. For how long will we be seeing your handsome face around?”

“Only a night,” Jake said. “I’m just passing through.”

“Storm pushed you off the road, huh?” Vera turned around and grabbed a key off one of the hooks on the wall. “It should only last the night. Nightly storms are common for us during this time of year. Here you go, hun.”

“Thank you!” Jake took the key before picking up his bag once more, throwing it over his shoulder.

“If you’re looking to warm up a bit, Kay & Elle, the pub next door, is open for a few more hours,” Vera informed him, fixing her wool cardigan on her shoulders. “A lot of the locals inhabit the place, but we’re friendly folks here. I’m sure they’ll keep you entertained for a bit.”

“Thank you for the suggestion!” Jake pulled his hood back over his head. “Have a good night, Vera.”

She waved him off with a dazzling smile. “Enjoy your short time at Higdon’s Harbour.”

Rain beat down around Jake as the lobby door closed behind him. The sticky air promised an onslaught of thunder and lightning, but it had yet to develop. With a glance at the metal key in his hand, Jake made out a marked 9 engraved at the top. His toes were cold as he quickly made it to the door and inserted the key before pushing the door open and stepping into the musty smelling room.

It was just as drab as the lobby. The double-bed was dressed in off-white coverings. Cream walls, dark carpet, and tacky seaside pictures. Along with two side tables by the bed, a small TV on top of a mini fridge, and a bathroom door on the far wall.

It wasn’t the nicest looking room he’d ever stayed in, but he would also be lying if he said he hadn’t stayed in worse before. 

With a tired and uncomfortable sigh, Jake tossed his bag onto the bed, peeled off his wet coat, and padded off into the bathroom.

He never really thought of going to the pub Vera had mentioned. His only plans that evening consisted of taking a scalding shower before crawling into bed. Maybe watching some TV or reading the book at the bottom of his bag to spice up the night.

Yet, once the two former items on his agenda were checked off, an uneasiness fell over him. Neither the TV nor his book could hold his attention. The bedsheets itched his legs. His heart thumped in his chest, just fast enough to be noticeable. He couldn’t sit still.

Lightning flashed outside and Jake’s head whipped in the direction of the window. The pub came into view; the two porch lights twinkled in the dark and laughter sounded in time to the pounding storm. It shimmered in the lightning’s afterglow, the rain creating a silver mist of magic around the stone building.

Jake tossed off the sheets and threw on some clothes and his damp jacket. The pull in the pit of his stomach pushed him towards the front door without Jake even really realizing what he was doing. But he chalked it up to boredom and the anxiety of being knocked off his schedule.

He left the warmth of his room behind, almost crashing into a figure as he gently closed his door. An apology was on the tip of his tip tongue when a feeling of nausea washed over him. He felt dizzy, stomach turning. But it was gone between one blink and the next, along with the person. Jake got a glimpse of red hair out of the corner of his eye followed by bells and laughter as the door to room 8 snapped closed. 

The thunderous weather started to overload Jake's senses and the urge to get to the pub was greater. With his head down, the figure fading from his memory, Jake made his way across the parking lot.

A drink or two would kill some time, he thought to himself. At least it would help settle the uneasiness and put him to sleep.

The mist around the pub seemed to glow as Jake drew closer, but he was too busy keeping the rain out of his eyes to pay much mind to it. Warmth shot up his arm as he pushed the door open, a jingle filling the room.

The smell of liquor and smoke tainted with the slight scent of sweat greeted Jake as he stepped over the threshold of Kay & Elle. The low rumble of a banjo filled the space, bouncing off the wooden rafters, mixing with the low mumbles and chuckles of the clusters of people scattered around the room. It wasn’t a full house, but crowded enough given the storm outside.

With his footsteps sounding off the wood floors, Jake made his way to the dark-oak bar. He received a few stares and nods of acknowledgment as he walked by men and women alike, sitting at tables and standing by pool tables. As he walked past, he took in the stone walls, the empty stage in the back, the shimmering yellow lights, and the photos of fishermen, smiling ladies, and vast landscapes littered throughout the walls. 

He took off his jacket, his heart having settled from the moment he entered the pub. Jake wasn’t a man who believed in faith, but in his bones, deep in his marrow, he knew this was where he was meant to be, for whatever reason.

“Well ain’t you a fresh face,” the elder man behind the bar remarked as Jake sat in one of the barstools, just a few seats down from a hunched over figure nursing a glass of whiskey.

Jake placed his wet jaket on the chair beside him as he chuckled. “Hard to be a stranger in this town.”

“Small-town life, my boy. Everyone knows everyone.” The man threw a towel over his shoulder, his dark hair pulled back in a low pony-tail, causing the wrinkles on his slim, tan face to be on full display. His green eyes sparkled in welcome and his smile pulled at the faded scar on his left cheek. “Passing through?”

The dim lights jumped and danced off the many bottles lining the wall behind the bar. A muted glow hugged the bar, the music changing to the beat of a fiddle.

“I am, but the storm took me off the road for the night,” Jake explained.

“You staying at the Beaumont?”

Jake nodded. “The woman, Vera, recommended I stop by for a drink.” 

The words tasted bitter, full of half-truths and false tales. But Jake wasn’t sure why, just as he wasn’t sure how to explain his need to be sitting in the pub at that particular moment.

“That woman,” the elder man chuckled with a shake of his head. “She sends more business this way than any billboard ad ever could. Well, have a drink while you’re here…"

“Jake.”

The music skipped a beat as the fiddle played a harsh note. The air turned bitter and cold. Jake’s limbs urged him to run, screamed that he made a mistake, scolded him for giving his name so willingly. But it was a reflex; the word leaving his lips before he understood what was happening. An impulse came over him, the same one that pulled him to obey the man's demand and order a drink.

No one seemed to notice the odd behaviour, aside from the hunched over figure a few seats down. His depthless brown eyes flashed to Jake, grey hair falling across his pale, sweaty forehead. There was a look of pain and madness in those eyes. Jake opened his mouth to say something when a draft of beer appeared in front of him. And suddenly he couldn’t remember why his limbs felt tense or why there was a cold sweat on the back on his neck.

“Nice to meet ya, Jake,” the bartender smiled with a gleam in his bottle-green eyes. “Name’s Murphy.” 

“Likewise,” Jake raised his drink before bringing the glass to his lips, downing half of it in a few gulps.

The hunched man tipped back the last of his whiskey, slamming the glass hard on the bartop.

“Murphy,” he spoke in a husky voice, like the sound of asphalt and gravel.

A flash of irritation, with just a hint of sadness, came over Murphy's face. He didn’t say a word as he quickly prepared another glass, sliding it gently in front of the stranger.

“Take it easy, Harold. That’s your third now.”

Harold grunted, shooting back half the glass without a word.

Murphy sighed, every other emotion but worry washing from his face for the smallest moment, before he turned back to Jake with a smile on his lips.

“So, where were you headed before the rain knocked you off track?”

After another smaller sip of beer, Jake explained his mountain travel plans and his desire to reach the great peak that waited for him at the end.

“Good on ya. Do it all now while you’re still young and can move about,” Murphy said with a chuckle. “This a solo trip? Or are you with someone special? Perhaps they’re waiting for you back in your room?”

“No,” Jake chuckled, ignoring the grunt of clear annoyance from the man a few seats down from him. “Just me.”

A glimmer appeared in the old man's eye. “So no one speical then? No sweetheart waiting for ya?”

Glass rattled as Harold slammed his empty drink back down on the bar.

Jake cast a sideways glance at the stranger. Restlessness rushed through him as he slowly sat up straighter. Tension gripped his limbs as Harold turned to look at him. Those unnaturally dark eyes shined with intensity. They held so much knowledge, so much pain, so much fury that Jake couldn’t look away. 

“Don’t waste your time with such things, boy,” Harold grumbled, voice rough and firm. His brows were pulled together so tight they were touching, as the bar cast his face in shadows of back and grey. “Love is pointless.”

He said the word love with such hatred, Jake felt as if the stone structure surrounding them would cave in and collapse. 

Murphy, for his part, looked just as on edge. It was a fact that did little to calm Jake's sudden nervousness. 

“Harold,” he sighed. “Let’s take a moment-”

“There is one thing that is certain when it comes to love,” Harold continued, eyes gazing unblinkingly at Jake. “It is nothing but pain. Love is made up of pain and heartbreak and bitter ends. It is a useless and pointless part of the whole damn human existence.”

A hush fell over the bar, as if even the other guests could sense the mood Harold had brought about. The upbeat tone of the fiddle suddenly switched to a soulless wail. . A shiver ran up Jake’s spine and he begged his body to turn away, to dismiss the man and be done with it. But he couldn’t. His unmerciful gaze pulled him in and suddenly Jake was drowning in the scent of liquor and smoke and dead leaves and depthless seas. 

“You fight so hard." Harold gripped his glass, and a crack started to appear. “You fight with all you have and give yourself completely and it's no good. It doesn’t matter. Nothing you do is good enough. Love is about fighting a losing battle and in the end, only one person suffers the consequences. And it's usually the one who fought the hardest.”

“Harold.”

Murphy’s voice was firm, loud, booming over the music as Jake jumped back in his seat. He didn’t realize how intently he’d been listening to Harold. How he was hanging on to every word like it was air. Or how, while talking to the terrifying man, for the first time since entering the town, Higdon’s Harbour glowed with colour.

An angry, remorseless, pulsating red colour.

Harold held Jake's gaze for a moment longer, intense eyes cast in complete shadow, before turning back to the bar.

“Thanks for the advice,” Jake found himself saying, voice shaking more than he'd like to admit. He didn’t mean to speak, the words simply rushed out of him with an aftertaste of smoke. 

Clearing his throat, Jake downed the last of his beer before pushing the glass towards Murphy for a refill.

A hush fell around them for just a few moments, the tension already starting to subside. Jake felt his shoulders drop as he slowly sipped his beer and Murphy slid Harold a glass of water. After some small talk with the old bartender, Jake felt himself able to breathe once more. His body started to relax, the fog lifting from his head. He was breaking the surface and forgetting all about the darkness of the ocean and the murdered limbs of the trees on the forest floor.

While on his third drink, Murphy started to get busy with the other parties of the bar. Tables started to ask for refills, and drenched couples walked through the door, the wind roaring behind them. He drifted more and more between the bar and the tables. And it was about that time that Jake decided he would soon be calling it a night.

“You shouldn’t have stopped, boy.”

Ice crawled up Jake’s spine at the sound of that sandpaper voice. Murphy was off to some seemingly remote corner of the bar. Jake couldn’t help but notice that every new body who walked in stayed far away from the bar, from him, and from Harold.

Jake gripped the tall draft in his hand, foam and condensation running through his numb fingers. 

He turned to face Harold, those black soulless eyes dragging him into the abyss. He was in a freefall, too much rushed through him all at once. A thumping started at his left temple and his heart dropped to his stomach as he fell and fell and fell from the bowels of the sky through the open arms of the corpse-like trees.

“You shouldn’t have stopped,” Harold spat, teeth clenched and head hung low. “You should get out of this cursed town before they get you too. They know you’re here. They knew you’d be here before you knew you’d be here. They got to the rest of this damned town. They got her. Get out before they get you too, boy.”

Fear rooted Jake in place. Fear for what, he couldn’t tell. But in the back of his mind, in the depth of his soul, he knew Harold was right. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t have stopped. Yet, the thought of leaving caused his heart to clench and spots to form behind his eyes. Without his control, he found his lips forming the words - 

“Who are they?”

The lights flickered with the time of the thunder clashing outside. The fiddle faded out and the haunting strings of a violin floated through the room, accompanied by a soulful woman's wail.

He knew he shouldn’t have asked. He shouldn’t provoke this man. He should just pay his tab, get up, and leave. But it was unexplainable, much like the whole night had been. He simply couldn’t help himself.

Harold completely turned to Jake. The harsh lines on his face caught the glow of the dim lights. His eyes burned with unattainable wisdom and passion. Jake's heart started to race, limbs locking into place as he noticed the music slowed. Along with, somehow, every other body and soul in the bar. A haze filled the room, a mist blurring and engulfing everything that was not Jake and was not Harold. Even the storm seemed to hush, with only the woman's cry continuing on.

“Let me tell you a story, son.” Harold’s voice turned mystical, the words floating in the air between the two. “Cause I’ve lost my friends, my family, this whole damn town, and yet no one will believe me. They think I’m a nut-case, a man full of grief. But I ain’t, you hear? And maybe you’ll believe me. Maybe you won’t. But they took my wife-”

“Your wife is missing?”

Jake’s pulse jumped as Harold leaned in close, his blood-shot eyes burning crimson red. “For years now. Cause they took her.”

“They?” Jake repeated, feeling physically ill.

Harold nodded. “The fairies.”

He should have laughed. He should have backed off. His mind should have been yelling at him that the man was senile, crazy, insane. He should have bid him goodbye, called over Murphy, and been done with this place, this man. This man who was staring at him with all the earnestness in the world.

Fairies.

The word danced around in his head, bells and whistles suddenly joining in with the escalating violin. Suddenly, the whole town made all the sense in the world and yet, none at all.

“Fairies?” Jake spoke slow and steady. “They’re just folklore. A myth.”

Even as he said it, the words turned to dust on his tongue. He wanted to wash the taste out with his beer, but found he genuinely couldn’t move. 

“The Harbour Fairies,” Harold whispered. “Nasty creatures. And if you believe they’re just a myth, you’re as foolish as the rest of them. If you believe there isn’t more to this world, that we’re the only beings here, you’re blin. These aren’t just some little buggers who pick your berries and sprinkle dust. They are savage, mischievous demons.”

Jake started to shake his head, mostly to clear the fog that had started to form. “I don’t-”

“We here grew up wearing our clothes inside out and carrying bread in our pockets to stop the little people from leading us astray,” Harold spoke with more urgency than Jake had heard all night, “But little good it did. Everyone was blinded by what was right in front of them. These creatures play tricks. Oh, they love tricks. And not the fun kind. No, the kind that leads you over a cliff or dead at the bottom of the sea. They are unpredictable forces of nature who lead you in the woods, and suddenly you're never heard of again.”

“And they got your wife.”

“They stole her,” Harold spat the words into the air. His gaze flicked towards the red-head who walked past them, beer in hand, before he spoke again. “They took her from me. Everyone here believes she ran away, but I know. I caught them you see, I saw it with my own two eyes. One day she was in the garden, the next…”

… she walked into the woods, never to be seen again. Jake knew because he saw it himself. He watched it play out in Harold’s aged eyes. And suddenly he was inserted into a story that was not his. He didn’t feel right; too tight in his skin, eyes unable to properly focus on the greys, blacks, and whites of the world. But he still watched.

A grass-stained seven year old boy cradled the arm of a pretty girl with messy blonde hair. They sat in a treehouse, feet dangling over the edge, kicking at the clouds. The girl had tear-tracks running down her cheeks and dead flowers stuck in her hair. She was biting her lip, nodding as the boy spoke.

“I told you not to make your papa mad,” he whispered sternly.

“I didn’t mean to,” her lips trembled, gaze moving to anything but the boy before her. “It wasn’t my fault.”

The boy shook his head as he ran his hand over the forming bruise. “You gotta be more careful Cathy. What if something were to happen to ya?”

“Then let's get out of this town, Harry,” a seventeen-year old girl twirled in the headlights of an old pick-up truck. The waves crashed against the shore in the distance, the sun tenderly kissing the horizon goodbye. The girl’s blonde, messy braids whipped around her shoulder, dress bunched at her ankles. She stood before a brown haired boy, grass-stains on his jeans, leaning against the red truck. “Let’s pack up and leave after graduation next week.”

“And go where, Cathy?” The boy shook his head. “I have a job lined up on the boat and you have-”

“Nothing! I have nothing!” She threw her hands in the air. “I ain’t got nothing lined up. Just my next shift at the diner. I want to go to school, you know I do. But papa-”

“Don’t worry about your father,” the boy grabbed at the girls skirts, pulling her so close their hips touched. “I told you, I’ll protect you from your papa.”

The girl bit her lips, forest green eyes glancing over the boy's shoulder. Her face was tender but the look of caution never left. As if she wanted to believe the boy holding her but her heart refused to pay heed. “Promise?”

“I do.”

Applause thundered across the crowd, the waves beating against the rocky cliffs. The man lifted the woman's veil, tucking a piece of messy blonde hair behind her ear before gripping the back of her neck. He leaned in and placed a kiss on his lips. Whistles and wails filled the air, a screaming violin starting to play as the newly-weds walked down the aisle.

She held on her husband’s arm like a life-line, biting her lip as her father clapped the bride-groom on the shoulder. Her eyes darted around the crowd, the same look of caution from five years ago still masked her face.

It was a look that never left her face, a look that was forever present in the back on her eyes. It was the only thought Jake found he was able to form; the look of a woman who was scared. The look of a woman who was holding a secret.

And maybe she was, for that look stayed with her for all the years to come, Jake noticed. He watched Harold's and Catherine’s life play out before him, just as Harold described. The twenty plus years together. The moments of tender love, the moments of bitter fights. The squealing laughter and howling sobs. The funerals and the weddings, The slamming bottles and doors leading to nights together and alone. It wasn’t the best marriage, but what marriage is, Harold said.

They never had kids, their life centred around just the two of them, their fading love and the growing tension. Every second leading up to that moment, in a garden of muted yellows, reds, and oranges.

Flowers in her messy hair, a near fifty year old Catherine knelt before a bed of dirt. Sunglasses covered her eyes, dirt stained her knees, finger nails, and cheeks. She was silent as she worked.

A door slammed in the distance. “Catherine!”

The tension became electricity in the air. Catherine’s head snapped up as footsteps made their way to the backyard.

Jake noticed it at the exact moment she did. The wind switched directions, bells jingled off the tree tops, mystical laughter floated out from the forest on the other side of the garden.

Catherine turned slowly. The flower fell out of her hair. She tossed the sunglasses onto the ground and her bruised, deep green eyes glowed against the muted world. She walked towards the tree line, footfalls light. Laughter bubbled past her own lips and, between one step and the next, she was gone.

“... the forest swallowed her up and I knew they got to her.”

Jack was back in the bar. Everything rested as it had, and he himself wasn’t even sure if what he had just witnessed was real. Surely not, but the description and details felt real, tangible. As if, for a moment, he truly stood in Harold's memories.

“The forest was the only way out,” Harold’s eyes were wide, urgent, and the brightest things in the whole bar. “It was either through the house or the forest. And she’d been acting out for years. Always in the garden, out on her own. They got her, it's the only answer. But,” a pause, eyes shifting. “I know where she is.”

Jake swallowed, throat dry as sandpaper. “You do?” 

“An island just a few miles out in sea. A rocky cliff, that's where they stay,” Harold nodded, talking more to himself than Jake. “She's there, with them. I’m taking my boat out tomorrow morning. I’m going to get her and-”

“Harold.”

Murphy’s voice was enough to make Jake jump back. He never noticed how close he had been leaning towards the old man. Just as he never realized how tightly he was holding his warm, untouched third glass of beer. He pulled his hand back, wiping it on his jeans as the pulsing in his left temple grew stronger. 

As he looked around the pub, Jake took in all the faces looking his way. Eyes bounced between him and Harold, whispers and murmurs accompanying the flute and violin pair. It was only when Murphy loudly, purposely, cleared his throat that the inhabitants of the bar started to look as if they weren’t listening. 

“Harold,” Murphy spoke softly, placing a hand on Harold’s tense shoulder. “I think it's time to head home, friend.”

There was a fight in Harold’s eyes, Jake could see it. That bloodshot, haunting, soulless gaze held a fire and life to them, ignited by the hatred for creatures that couldn’t exist. But the moment Murphy spoke, the moment Harold looked around the pub and saw all the eyes on him, the fire vashined. It was as quick as releasing a breath, there one minute and gone the next. 

Harold held Jake’s gaze. There was still so much left unsaid, unanswered, and Jake found he didn’t want him to go. His mind and soul craved to know more about fairies and their secret world.

A laughter echoed off the rafters, and Jake realized for the first time that night how terrified and exposed he truly was.

“Tomorrow morning,” Harold grunted as he stood, the invitation loud and clear. Jake didn’t understand why Harold was inviting him along but it somehow made all the sense in the world.

With no other parting words, with not so much as a glance at any other living soul in the pub, Harold walked out. Back hunched as he disappeared over the threshold, rain and wind howling as they swallowed him whole.

A hush carried on throughout the pub for a few heartbeats. Until the flute faded back into the plucking of a guitar. Someone cheered, laughter followed, and soon the lively atmosphere of the bar was back once more. As if the haunted man with an implausible story wasn’t present a few moments before.

“Is it true?” Jake found himself asking, tongue sliding across his chapped lips. He turned in his chair, facing Murphy, who now stood behind the bar. He hoped his shaking hand wasn't noticeable as he raised his beer to his lips. “About those… about the fairies.”

The word tasted like strawberries and metal on his lips.

Murphy glanced up for the glass he was cleaning, scar strained across his cheek as he pursed his lips. “They’re urban folktales. Myths passed down through all the generations of the Harbour.”

“And his wife?”

Murphy paused. He let out a sign, placed the glass under the bar before turning to Jake. Worry and concern shinned in his eyes.

“She left him,” he explained softly, mindful of the ears around. “Packed up and left, just like that.”

“Just like that?” Jake raised an eyebrow at Murphy’s hesitation.

“There were… rumours about cheating and drunken fights but…” Murphy took a breath, crossing his arms on the bartop as he leaned in close. “Look, Harry's a good guy, difficult but good. Our families know each other well. And Cathy… well she had a hard life with her father. She wasn’t all there before she left and Harold took it hard. He still won't get help and has himself convinced the Harbour Fairies are behind it. Says he’s seen things with his own eyes that explains it.”

Jake swallowed, leg bouncing restlessly. “He’s going out tomorrow morning-” 

“Yeah,” Murphy nodded solemnly. “We’ve tried to stop him, talk sense. But he won’t listen. And he’s at the age and point now where we've given up - what can ya do.”

A lot. Jake glanced around the pub, taking in the numerous people laughing, chatting, drinking. He didn’t know these people, he shouldn’t judge, but they could be doing something to help that man. He may be talking crazy but… was he? 

The more Jake studied the bar, the more it felt like a fog was lifting. The pieces were falling into place. The math was suddenly starting to make sense. And Jake refused to acknowledge the answers that were before him.

“Where is she then?” Jake asked, breathing through his nose to calm his racing heart. “His wife. Catherine.”

“No one knows,” Murphy admitted. “She got out of this town, that's for sure. And no one has heard from her since.”

“No one checks in?” Jake couldn’t hide the disbelief from his voice. “No one’s tried to find out where she is or what happened.”

Murphy watched Jake for an uncomfortable moment. His eyes looked him over, mouth twisting as if to say something. But then his lips shut, he blinked, and he shrugged before pointing to the still full glass in front of Jake. “You want another?”

Jake's breath caught in his throat. Claws bit into his spine. His skin felt too tight as a breeze brushed the back of his neck, red flashing in his vision. The room was too small and too big all at once. He didn’t know why he was feeling such a way or what had brought it on. But his gut knew it was because of this town.

And he knew he wanted to get out.

The door to the pub shut as a couple walked out, but the noise still rattled against Jake’s bones as he shook his head.

“No,” he stood up, hand shaking as he pulled out some bills and tossed them on the bar. “I think I’ll call it a night actually.”

Murphy picked up the money, either not noticing the odd behaviour or choosing to ignore it as he smiled. “Well, Mr. Jake, I hope you enjoy the rest of your short stay. Maybe someday we’ll get to see you passing through the Harbour again.”

“Who knows,” Jake gave a nervous chuckle, “It seems anything is possible.”

He left the pub in shambles. The smell of ashes and fowl fish followed Jake as he made his way to the door. Tables were knocked off centre, chairs were tipped over. The banjo played too loud and slightly off key. Men and women alike stumbled over one another, drinks spilled onto the floor. Even Murphy’s slicked back pony was a mess, falling into his dark, sweat covered face.

The illusion was breaking, the corners being pulled back to show something ugly and monstrous. Something those who inhabited Higdon’s Harbour refused to acknowledge.

Jake stepped over the threshold, blood pounding through his veins. He welcomed the rain beating down on his face, the wind biting through his damp jacket and nipping at his icy skin. The door to Kay & Elle closed with a thunderous bang. The banjo and hysterical laughter was replaced by sorrowful wind and wailing rain.

He stood there for a moment, face turned towards the sky as he tried to will air into his lungs. 

He needed to get out of this town.

Whatever force pulled Jake towards the pub earlier was controlled by a demon. He didn’t know what purpose it served him, to hear about Harold and the fairies… fairies that shouldn’t, didn’t, couldn’t exist…

Someone squealed and giggled across the parking lot. With a jump, heart in his throat, Jake started to make his way back to the safety of his room.

And he was almost there, just a mere few steps away, when his body suddenly felt as if it were stretched too thin. Nausea overcame him and his head spun. The rain pierced his skin like devilish needles and the wind sang a woman's lullaby in his ear. He could hear his blood pounding in his ears, thunder crashing as someone bumped into his shoulder.

It was an innocent tap, the woman clearly too captivated by the lady on her arm to notice him. But it did all the damage in the world.

“Oh!” She gasped, the sound like a thousand bells. She grabbed his arm, full-lips pulled back in an apologetic smile as all the air vanished from Jake's chest. “I’m sorry.”

He couldn't breath, the pulsing in his left temple was suddenly magnified by ten. The warmth of her hand on his arm spread through his whole body. He no longer felt the wind and rain beating against him, he was too allured by her auburn curls, high-cheekbones, and hazel eyes that glistened like moss coated in morning dew. 

She was the most hauntingly beautiful creature he had ever beheld. And every part of his being begged him to run.

“Are you okay, Jake?” Her partner spoke up. They were holding one another so close, arms locked tight, it was as if they were one. Gravity pulled them together; where one moved the other followed. A simple stranger such as himself could not doubt their adoration and love.

Jake ripped his gaze away from the red-headed woman and looked at her partner. He took in her slim face, the dirty dress, and messy blonde hair pinned back with a flower.

It was then that Jake noticed that both women were completely dry.

It was then that Jake realized they knew his name.

It was then that his eyes met the blonde’s green ones, and he saw it all.

“I told you not to make your papa mad,” a seven year old boy with grass stains on his knees told the six year old girl with a bruised arm.

“I didn’t mean to,” she trembled, and Jake realized she wasn’t avoiding the boys gaze. She was looking at someone else. She was looking at the young auburn haired creature standing a few feet away, invisible to the boy and eyes tense with worry. “It wasn't my fault.”

Be more careful, the boy told her at the exact moment the creature met the girl's gaze and said, I know. I’ll protect you.

“I told you,” said a seventeen year old boy as he gripped a sixteenth year old's skirts. “I’ll protect you from your papa.”

You know he can’t, Cathy, The auburn creature said, standing over the boy's shoulder as she held the girl’s green-eyed gaze. I’ll protect you from them both.

The blonde trembled. “Promise?” 

With all the power of the forest and the sea. I promise.

She was there, always there. She did all she could to keep her promise. But it seemed even she was limited in her abilities.

Jake watched Harold and Catherine's life play out once more. As the twenty plus years faded together, the moments of tender love vanished. The fights were more frequent, more aggressive than Harold let on. He stumbled home in the dark more than once, eyes bloodshot and words slurred. There were many years of fights and screams. Fists were thrown and bones were broken. And the red-head was there through it all, helping as best as she could. She cared for Cathy, tried to protect her, but it wasn’t enough.

Run away with me, Cathy. It's the only way.

And run she did.

It wasn’t a laugh that called Catherine to the forest that day in the garden as Harold’s raging voice bellowed off the walls of the house. No, it was not a laugh at all, but her name, spoken in bells and chimes, love and warmth.

Catherine stepped over the threshold of the forest, laughter on her lips, as she jumped into the arms of the beautiful red-headed fairy.

She didn’t leave, wasn’t taken. She willingly left her delusional old life for one of magic and wonder and respect.

Jake stumbled back a step, shaking off the hand of the creature before him. His head was spinning, his stomach turned and his vision blurred as he truly saw the two ladies before him. As he noticed the glow around them, the electricity that danced in their wake. 

This town, these people… how could anyone let a woman suffer as Catherine did and not do anything? How could they not see what was right in front of them?

And these creatures, the fairies, Harold painted them as the demons and yet, this fairy was Catherine’s saving grace, her lover, her protector...

They shared a look, the two lovers, before turning back to him. They didn’t say another word as the fairy smiled at Jake, white teeth flashing, and blew him a kiss. They turned to leave, Catherine giving him a wink over her shoulder, before disappearing into their hotel room. Right next door to his.

Jake stumbled as fast as he could to his room, slamming the door behind him as he tried to catch his breath and will his mind to understand what the hell was going on.

It took him a few moments to realize, for the first time all night, he was completely dry.  

----------

Light had yet to transform the morning sky when Jake sped out of the Beaumont Motel parking lot. The rain had stopped and the winds were whisked away. Grey clouds lingered in the sky, suffocating the rising sun on the horizon. 

What was once a piece of art to Jake was now the ugliest thing he had ever seen. 

The mountain reached its claws to the sky, holding all the trees and buildings in the palm of its hand. The roads swerved in and out of its fingers, weather-worn homes running up the forest-speckled hills, trying to escape. The ocean leaped for joy as it played with the rocky cliffs, trying to capture and destroy anything it could reach. The boats bobbed in the water, begging to be let free, while the docks pointed their fingers to the open sea, luring in any desperate and lonely souls to the corrupt town. 

The ocean was painted an angry blue against the grey light. The white-capped waves pounded against anything in their way. What Jake once thought was a place of harmony, he realized now, was an illusion.

The image had been shattered, broken beyond repair.

The land had won after all, he realized now. It had conquered Higdon’s Harbour and all within it. There was no agreement, no compromise to live in peace. For nothing could truly defeat nature.

The land cackled against the last remains of the raging storm winds. For it knew the game it was playing; it knew who truly ruled the town. And it was not man.

Jake made it out before the first kitchen light flickered on. Before the inhabitants of Higdon’s Harbour woke and started about their delusional lives. His heart pounded in his chest the whole way, hands shaking as they gripped his steering wheel. Even when he passed the city line, his body refused to relax. Not as the sound of chimes echoed on and on and on in his head.

By the time Jake remembered Harold, he was long gone. And he was too far out to turn back. Too far out to hear the news, or see the headline of the Higdon’s Harbour newspaper that morning. And to hear the otherworldly laugh that accompanied it.

Man Crashes Boat Off Rocky Cliffs In Desperate Search Of His Wife.

[sad-sweet-cowboah]

Among These Pages

Summary: After a painful breakup, you move to a new town and you’re instantly attracted to a small bookshop near your new residence. The new owner has definitely caught your eye.

Warnings: Smut and mild cursing

A/N: So this idea originated from a Discord chat (again) in an Arthur specific server. Needless to say this one was fun to write.

The hot sun beat down amongst the worn cement and faded asphalt of this little town you now called home. Bright and sunny, though a little bit too hot for your taste. You quickened your pace to seek the shade of a tree, careful to keep out of the paths of others.

Having slight relief from the blistering sun, you squinted around for another view of your surroundings. A small, quaint village bustling with its inhabitants. The streets were lined with independent shops, restaurants and cafes. The buildings and walkways were splashed with brightly colored plants and paint, immediately setting a cheerful vibe in the atmosphere.

After spending the first day moving in and unpacking, you decided to take a break and explore your new residence. You’ve only really experienced it through your car windows, and stopped in one of the cafes once or twice. However, you now wanted the full experience. Though with how sweltering it was, you were probably better off driving.

You fanned yourself for a moment and cast your attention down the length of the block. More food, smoothies, coffee, ice cream, except you weren’t all that hungry at the moment.

However, another sign caught your eye. Though too far to see, your curiosity spiked and you walked forward. As you drew in closer shapes began to appear, along with letters. Morgan Books, painted in gold lettering in a distinctly Western styled font. Underneath was a stack of books with one opened on top. A bookshop. Being from where you were, you were used to the large corporate bookstores. You hadn’t come across an independently owned one in years.

Checking this place out was a perfect excuse to get out of the sun for a bit. You increased your pace until you were standing at the store front. The building like the others surrounding had a somewhat rustic appearance, part of the charm that attracted you to living here. The windows were dusty and the inside was fairly dark, but you could make out the silhouettes of shelves. You approached the entrance and pulled open the door, ringing a bell overhead. You stepped across the threshold to be greeted by a cool breeze of air conditioning.

You sighed in relief and looked around. The shop itself was fairly small, or at least appeared that way as it was full of multiple bookcases, all of which were stacked floor to ceiling with books. The floorboards creaked elsewhere, and you turned to see someone appear from around one of the shelves.

A man, tall and broad-framed. He offered a quick smile. “Hey there, welcome!”

“Hello.” You greeted him politely.

He stepped closer, allowing a better view of his face. You couldn’t help but to notice how handsome he looked. “Need help findin’ anything?” he asked.

You shook your head. “Nah, just exploring, really. I saw this place and I wondered what sort of treasures lurked within.” You lightly joked.

He chuckled. “Well, you’ll find plenty here. Got new n’ used, so feel free to look ‘round.”

You nodded in response, and turned your attention toward the endless amount of books. You scanned the shelves, following along with the signs marked on top of which cases held which topics. You found that he had a little bit of everything; from encyclopedias to New Age books, to computer guides (from the early 2000’s) to conspiracy theories. You had to giggle to yourself upon reading some of the synopses for a collection of the more esoteric pieces.

Time soon became lost to you with more exploration. All the while the man who greeted you earlier moved through the shop occasionally. After a while it felt like you’d been here for ages. When you checked your phone, you’d realized nearly a half hour passed since first walking into this place. You blinked in surprise. You hadn’t anticipated spending that much time here.

As you were putting your phone away and moved toward the front of the shop, the man sat at his register and caught your attention.

“So, find any treasures?” he casually asked.

You paused to turn to him. “Guess I did, you have a…uh, an interesting collection.” You responded, tilting your head back toward some of the shelves.

He nodded in agreement, offering you a half-smile. “You’d be surprised what people come in askin’ for, or what people come in to sell.”

“Well if I needed a how-to book on Windows 2000, I’ll know where to stop by.” You said with a giggle.

He shook his head and smiled even more. “See? Those books have been on them shelves for years. Ain’t sure why I still keep ‘em ‘round.”

“Antiquity value perhaps?” you joked.

He gave a small, hearty laugh. “’Spose so. Guess I should get rid of ‘em, they belong in a museum at this point.”

His laughter made you smile. “Anyway, I should be heading back home and unpack some more…”

His expression changed to curiosity. “You jus’ move here?” when you nodded, he asked, “Where from?”

“Couple hours north,” you answered. “Needed a change of scenery, you know?”

He nodded in understanding. “You’ll be glad ya moved here. This lil’ town has its charms, folks here are nice too.”

“I’m glad, believe me,” you sighed. “It’s a nice change of pace. I’m glad to have found this bookstore too, it adds to the charm.”

He grinned at you. A cute, slightly lopsided grin that somehow made your heart flutter. “Glad you think so.”

---

The next two days was spent unpacking the rest of your house, keeping yourself focused on it to have everything organized before the first day of your new job. It was Sunday, and by noon you’d finally unwrapped the last of your décor and placed it accordingly in your living room. You smiled to yourself as your eyes panned across the room, proud of how much you’d accomplished in just three days. Sure, you didn’t have too many possessions, yet it was a relief to tackle the largest of chores.

Though you hadn’t expected to finish this soon. With only half the day gone, you wondered what else to do. You supposed you could explore more, and that little shop on the corner popped up in your mind, along with the image of the handsome owner…

It wouldn’t be a bad idea to stop by again.

After a quick lunch break and heading outside, it was only fifteen minutes of walking before you reached your destination. It wasn’t as hot out today which you were thankful for. You strode up to the door and pulled it open, the bell once again alerting your incoming presence.

As soon as you stepped in, your eyes darted to the shopkeeper who sat behind the register. He peered up at your entrance.

“Hey, welcome back!” he greeted with enthusiasm.

You blinked in surprise. “You remember me?”

“’Course, when ya live in a small town, you tend to remember faces,” He explained. “Y’back to find more treasures?”

You smiled. “In a way, I finished unpacking earlier than expected so I thought I’d come back into town for a bit.”

“So you’re all settled in then?” he asked.

“For the most part. I start my new job tomorrow, so I’d figure I use my free time productively by…looking for more old computer manuals.”

He chuckled at that. “Now that ya mentioned it, I think I better do some inventory o’ the place. Might as well get rid of the useless stuff,” He spoke while standing up. “I won’t get in your way.”

You nodded, sidestepping as he rounded from around the counter to move past you. As he passed by, a short whiff of his cologne wafted through your nostrils. He smelled good, and you briefly turned your head to take a look as he walked away. He was certainly broad, almost too broad to fit in this little shop. Yet he moved between the bookcases with ease.

He turned a corner, obscuring himself from your vision. You turned your attention back to the books, looking for the topics that would particularly spark your interest.

It’d fallen quiet, aside from the creak of floorboards and sliding of books across wood. Out of the corner of your eye you saw him pass back and forth with a few in his hands, carrying them towards the back. You’d sneak another glance or two without him looking, appreciating his physique.

After a little while, you found yourself poring over a book on the religion of Wicca. It was something that piqued your interest in your earlier life, though never had a chance to really learn about it. You’d only just began to skim through it, although the content was interesting enough that you started to read.

A loud crash emanated elsewhere in the shop, causing you to jump in surprise. The shopkeeper hissed out a curse, prompting you to peer around in search of the source.

“You okay?” you called out.

“Yeah,” he replied with a sigh of annoyance. “Jus’ one o’ these shelves fell apart.”

You listened to the sounds of him attempting to clean up the mess, and followed it through the narrow aisles until you found him. He was bent over, attempting to collect the disheveled books spilled at his feet.

“Here, let me help.” You said, automatically starting forward.

“No, you don’t have to –” he began, glancing up at you.

“There’s a lot here.” You stated, gathering a few into your arms.

He didn’t argue further, and together the two of you managed to collect them all. He nodded in thanks and headed toward the back once again, with you on his heels. He led you to an open door to reveal a small back room. From over his shoulder you spotted a chair and desk, and a pile of books placed haphazardly on top of it. He placed his armful on an empty space and gestured for you to do the same. Once you emptied your arms and exited the back room, you turned to him.

“Thank you.”

You nodded to him. “You’re welcome…” you glanced around the shop again, and an idea struck your mind. “Need any more help?”

“Nah, jus’ ‘bout halfway done I think.” He answered, placing his hands on his hips.

“I could help with that though,” you pointed out, though surprised at yourself for even offering. “Kinda curious what else you got that’s ancient and obsolete.”

“Oh there’s plenty…” he responded, rubbing the back of his neck while he peered around as a thoughtful look painted his face. “Tell ya what, if ya find anything interestin’ that need to be off the shelves, I’ll let ya keep it for free.”

Bewilderment crossed your mind. “Wouldn’t you be losing money then?”

“A couple of ‘em won’t hurt business,” he said. “Better n’ throwin’ ‘em out or puttin’ em in storage, ya know?”

You didn’t want to decline his offer since he had a good point, yet you still felt bad regardless. “Alright, fair enough.”

And so you set to help him. All the while you two held a casual conversation. You learned his name was Arthur, and that he owned this place for a few years. Other than running this store he lived on a small ranch on the edge of town. You shared a little bit about yourself, including your career and a couple of shared interests you had with him.

Surprisingly enough, you’d pulled out many more old texts than you anticipated. Some were so worn and dog-eared that there was no resale value, and Arthur told you to just throw them away. Throwing away books? You instead convinced him to give them away, and he found an empty box and labeled it “Free Books”. You skimmed through them briefly to see if they caught your eye, yet none did and they ended up in the box.

After a little over an hour passed before the both of you picked the place clean. You dusted your hands off after placing the last few in the box. Arthur picked it up and carried it outside, placing it on the sidewalk. We walked back in and said, “Hope that gives ‘em some good use.”

“Hey, people will take anything free,” you pointed out. “Maybe even pull in more revenue for you.”

“Well here’s hopin’,” he sighed, briefly glancing toward the floor before meeting your gaze with a small smile. “Thanks for the help again, I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome Arthur, I actually had fun helping you.” You answered with a grin.

He chuckled softly. “Fun, eh?”

You nodded. “Sure, you’re a nice guy and fun to talk to.” You answered.

You weren’t sure, but his face reddened a touch as he ducked his head. He laughed again, shy and…cute. “Thank you, though I ain’t that much of an interestin’ person.”

“Nah, I beg to differ,” you argued lightly. “Either way, I think I’ll be coming back. I like it here, and if you’d need any more help…”

“You’ve been more than helpful Y/N,” he answered, waving his hand as if trying to flit away your words. He then paused, realization crossing his face. “Actually…no, never mind.”

“What is it?” you pressed.

“Well,” he released a heavy sigh. “I’ll be honest, business ain’t as good as I’d hoped. I’ve been tryin’ to think of new advertisin’ strategies, pull in more customers. Problem is I ain’t too good at it.”

“So…you’re asking me to help you advertise? Or create one for you?” you questioned.

“I know it ain’t fair to ask,” Arthur answered quickly, his face shadowed with a look of guilt. “We hardly know each other and you jus’ moved here –”

“I’ll do it.” You softly interrupted.

He blinked, staring at you in surprise. “Whuh?”

“I said I’ll do it,” you repeated, smiling at him. “Luckily for you, I took a few advertising arts classes in college.”

The surprise remained on his face. “Uh –” he huffed, and cleared his throat. “I don’t want ya to feel pressured or nothin’ –”

“I’m not, Arthur,” you assured him. “You were gonna ask for a reason right? I don’t mind. Besides, I haven’t used my art skills in years. Might as well put them to use again.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.” You affirmed. “Don’t worry about it, okay? It’ll give me something fun to do after work.”

Arthur was silent for a moment. He finally nodded and spoke, “Alright, as long as I ain’t troublin’ you with it.”

“No trouble at all,” you replied with another smile. “I’ll come up with something good, I promise.”

His smile matched yours. “Then I look forward to it.”

---

The next few weeks kept you busy. After settling in at your new job and coming home to sit at your computer to design flyers didn’t leave you much time for other activities. Still you stopped by the bookshop to plan with Arthur and discuss strategies, or suggested many ideas that he seemed to like. You laid out a few thumbnails of different designs for him to pick and choose, narrowing it down to two that he really liked.

You stopped by every day to update the progress, even when you didn’t have to. Admittedly you were enjoying his company, and you had a feeling he liked yours as well. After moving to a town where you knew no one and were far from your family and old friends, you were just fine with considering Arthur as one. As time passed on he’d become friendlier and more open to you, offering you a drink or snack even when you’d come by for a few minutes.

Sometimes you’d stay longer just as an excuse to be close to someone other than your new coworkers, and to admire how nice he looked. He always dressed in either button-up shirts or a nice T-shirt and Wrangler jeans like a cowboy, the fabric accentuating his broad frame in all the right ways. His sandy hair was trimmed neatly, and he kept his face somewhat clean shaven, although something about having stubble lined across his sharp jaw set a spark within you.

A relationship was the furthest thing on your list at the moment, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t admire how attractive he was.

Soon after you produced a finished product, and quite proud of the result after not having designed anything since your college days. It was a weekend which meant you were free, and upon printing out a nice colored version, you headed to the bookshop almost instantly.

Arthur loved it, as you had hoped. He paid for multiple copies to be printed and distributed around the town, and you spent the afternoon stapling them to telephone poles and handing them out in some of the shops. You thankfully had gotten a positive response from most of those you’ve spoken with, which gave you hope. You wondered how Arthur was doing on his end.

After a few hours you’d met back up at the shop, tired and arms empty, but Arthur looked as pleased as you did. You settled down in the back room while he handed you a water bottle from his mini fridge. You took it gratefully and gulped a swig, sighing in relief.

“I think we did good.” you said as he settled across from you.

He nodded in response, followed by taking a drink from his own bottle. “I think so too, lotsa people seem interested.”

“I would figure more people would come in here often.” You said thoughtfully.

“You’d think, but this place is more of a tourist trap than anything,” Arthur responded. “Can’t complain, but I understand. Ya get used to one place, it gets borin’ after a while.”

“Well, hopefully this will be the beginning of a new era for this place.” You enthusiastically gestured to the surroundings with a flourish.

Arthur smiled at you, chuckling as he took another drink of water. He didn’t speak, however your eyes met his. You’d never noticed before how absolutely gorgeous his eyes were. From a distance they appeared blue, yet you could detect hints of bright green surrounding his pupils. You wanted to view them even closer. Somehow you couldn’t tear your eyes away.

The entrance bell however sounded, pulling your attention and his toward the front of the store. The telltale signs of potential customers. Arthur glanced out in surprise, and immediately stood up to greet the newcomers. You stayed in the back room while he dealt with the customers, listening to their voices with a smile on your face. Who would have thought it would work that quickly?

You left shortly after, catching Arthur’s eye briefly as you walked by him helping out a young couple that wandered in. A gaze that lingered a second longer than you intended, however you felt it was best to leave him to deal with his shop at the moment.

—-

Two weeks passed and you hadn’t stopped by Arthur’s shop, mainly because each time you passed by, the building seemed to be teeming with customers. You felt more than happy, and proud of yourself that you helped a business owner earn more revenue after a dull streak.

You did find yourself missing his company. Each day he hung in your mind like a cloud. You certainly liked him enough to call him a friend, yet those gorgeous eyes of his would meet you in your dreams.

That following Saturday evening, you received a text from him.

Hey, would you mind stopping by?

He was vague yet direct. Perhaps he was going to ask you another favor? Either way you were excited to see him again, and to inquire how everything was going. You headed over just minutes after responding to his text, hoping your eagerness didn’t overflow into your phone.

The first thing you noticed was the closed sign hanging in the window, which explained the lack of people this time. It was just past 7 pm, and you walked up the door and knocked. Movement shadowed behind the glass and Arthur’s silhouette appeared just a moment later, meeting your gaze between the glass and smiling wide. He opened the door.

“Hey there, come on in.” He stepped back and gestured.

You walked in and turned to face him. “So, I’ve noticed business has gotten better recently.”

“All thanks to you,” he responded, the grin on his face only growing wider. He then lifted his hand to reveal he was holding a bottle of whiskey. “I wanna thank ya.”

You blinked at the alcohol, surprised by this but you didn’t have any objections. You smiled and nodded in approval. “You don’t have to thank me Arthur, but I’m not about to turn down a good drink.”

He chuckled heartily. “Sure I do, the booze is jus’ a bonus. C’mon.” He waved toward the back room and strode for it, and you were right behind him. Once he stepped inside he grabbed a couple of plastic cups, and filled the both of them with a few cubes of ice. He then poured in the whiskey before topping them off with some soda. He handed a cup to you, and then held up his own.

“To you, for your design and advertisin’ skills.” He said, although rather awkwardly. You figured he wasn’t good at that sort of thing, but you didn’t mind. Bringing your cup to tap against his, you smiled again and took the first sip simultaneously with him. The sweet soda tinged with the smokey bitterness of the alcohol was a pleasant mixture against your tastebuds.

It was quiet for a moment, and Arthur took another sip before drawing in a deep breath. He focused on you. “Drink’s good?” He asked.

You nodded, taking another sip of your own. “Very. Haven’t had a chance to have a good drink since I moved here. Had to resort to a few gas station beers.”

He snorted softly, a small smile of amusement appearing on his face. “Gotta introduce you to the good bar in town sometime.”

This piqued your interest. “Oh? There’s a bar here?”

“‘Course, every small town has a bar,” he pointed out. “It ain’t on any of these main roads though, it’s closer to the outskirts. I imagine ya probably didn’t explore that much.”

“Can’t say I have,” you said thoughtfully. “But I’ll take up the offer of you showing me.”

“Jus’ name a time, ya won’t be disappointed.” He confidently replied.

You finished your first drink after a little while and Arthur poured you a second to which you were not opposed to. The effects were taking hold of you before you knew it. Your lips were looser with each sip you took, and you found Arthur was the same way. The two of you spoke about random topics, anything ranging between favorite colors to what you cooked yesterday. Things that were otherwise too boring to discuss, yet somehow with Arthur they seemed more interesting.

A little while later, the conversation became deeper. Arthur spoke some about his earlier life and what kind of environment he was raised in, and how his teenage years were spent bitterly. You shared the reason why you moved: you were previously living with your significant other, only to find your shared bed occupied by two bodies when you arrived home early one day when you weren’t feeling well. The reveal absolutely crushed you, which led into an emotional spiral and you looking for a new place to live the next day.

It’d been a little over a month since then. Your mind was still heavy on the breakup until you stopped by here the first time. Arthur and his charming little shop seemed to absorb any lingering sadness you had. Seemed like both yesterday and ages ago.

Regardless of the story, the pair of you were chortling in good spirits. You ranted about all the negatives about your old partner, releasing the leftover bitterness you’ve suppressed and turned it into humor. It only heightened your mood more, and with each drink it only increased.

After a few more minutes it quieted down again, though the smiles remained on your faces. You since became immune to the sting of whiskey, immensely enjoying the flavors and the inebriation that accompanied it.

Arthur reached over and poured himself another helping. His sigh caught your attention. He stared down into his cup, fixated with a thoughtful expression.

“I gotta say, I’m glad you wandered in here that day.” He murmured, peering at you with a sidelong look.

“Yeah?” you chirped.

He nodded slowly, taking a swig of his drink before focusing onto you with a serious gaze. “I’ll be honest, I was thinkin’ ‘bout closin’ up.”

You were taken aback by this statement. “Why?”

“You saw for yourself. Hardly any business. Shelves lined with books decades old,” he snorted without humor. “Truth is openin’ this place ain’t even my idea.”

“Then whose was it?” you pressed tilting your head in curiosity.

“My fiancée’s,” he smiled bitterly, gently swirling his drink. “Eh, ex-fiancée. Had the grand idea to run a business together. Picked out this place herself. N’ like a fool I fell for it.”

Ex-fiancée. Your heart raced upon learning this new information, and you wondered what happened between them. Would it be too prying to ask? “So…what changed?”

Arthur shrugged. “She found someone else more interestin’. Said we had too many differences in our lives to really enjoy each other…” he trailed off to take another sip, his eyes shifting to gaze in the distance.

Your heart broke for him. Rather than wallowing in those feelings, you instead asked another question. “But why hold on to this place if it was her idea?”

His gaze pulled back to you. “Guess for a while I was hangin’ on to the dream that she’d come back n’ pick up where we left off. Obviously that didn’t happen. Stupid, huh?”

You frowned at this. Hell, you understood that pipe dream all too well. There was a brief time where you wished your ex would come after you like in the movies in some dramatic fashion, pouring out apologies and begging you to come back. Wishful thinking.

You noted his hand was resting against the table. In a quick movement you reached over and placed your hand comfortingly on his forearm, and offering him a sympathetic smile. “It’s not stupid at all. You loved her and you held on to the one thing that you knew she loved too.”

Arthur’s eyes dropped to your hand. “For too long,” he sighed. “After a while I knew there was no chance. Still I continued, kept this place open for my own sake. Came here every mornin’ with a rock in my stomach, least until recently.” He explained, his voice softening towards the end. He peered over to you again.

Your heart raced once again. The way he was looking at you… it was obvious as to why he mentioned that last bit. Hell, you knew for a while. He wasn’t subtle about trying to steal glances your way these past few weeks. As attractive as he was, you were denying yourself of your own feelings out of protection. It felt too soon after your last relationship, although it seemed Arthur had been single for a while. You were afraid you’d change your mind. “And why is that?” you asked, wanting to play dumb to hide your initial hesitation.

His arm moved – at first you thought he was pulling away, until his hand met yours. Palm to palm, skin rough but warm. His fingers entwined with yours and you automatically did the same. “I think you know,” he murmured.

His thumb smoothed against the back of your hand. Your eyes bore into his. Such a gorgeous light blue, glistening in the lamplight of this tiny room. Despite the table in between the two of you, it was hardly an obstacle to view him in better focus. Upon closer inspection, you could detect pools of green surrounding his pupils, reminding you of tropical beaches.

His lips were parted, wafting his gentle breath against your face. Scented with alcohol and the sweetness of soda, he seemed to be growing closer.

You closed the space immediately, the booze flowing in your system offering a boost of confidence. His mouth was surprisingly soft against yours, and within seconds he returned the favor. Your free hands joined, mirroring their counterparts with ease. He pulled you closer with no effort.

After a moment, he pulled back slightly to stare at you with a soft expression. He released your hand to cup your cheek gently, and you leaned into his touch with a smile.

“You don’t have to hold on to those thoughts anymore.” you sighed to him.

His smile mirrored yours. “Neither do you.”

---

It was nothing but pure bliss following that night. You’d fallen into a routine to spend some time with him every day, even when you had work. Arthur was such a sweet lover and was not hesitant to hold you whenever he had a chance. His arm around your waist, or pulling you into his lap. You helped around the bookshop more, even when he told you that you didn’t have to. Yet you insisted, and redecorated some of it to give a new energy while keeping its rustic look. It certainly attracted even more customers.

He took you to the bar as promised, and it quickly became a regular spot for casual dates. It was just as charming as he explained, accompanied with lovely patrons and entertainment. You were soon completely comfortable with this small town, completely integrated into its community thanks to Arthur. People often recognized your face from the bookshop, and the praise following was something he was elated to hear about.

A couple of months have passed, and you swore Arthur’s smile grew bigger each and every day. He looked forward to running the business again, and left those bitter thoughts of his ex behind with the help of you.

One particularly slow weekend day, you were spending time in the shop as usual. It was late afternoon and the last customer left an hour ago, thus creating a quiet and relaxing atmosphere. Closing time would be in less than an hour, and you just assumed no one else would be wandering in.

While Arthur manned the register, albeit with boredom, you began to observe some of the newer inventory. The shelves were thankfully lined with more recent texts to fill in the gaps of what you’d sorted through previously. Once again you found yourself coming across the book of Wicca again, the same one you were skimming through just months earlier. You were surprised no one purchased it with the heavy amount of traffic that passed through.

The book served as a better distraction than you realized. You pored over it, so focused on the information that you didn’t notice the presence that loomed over you until gentle hands found your waist.

“You can keep that if ya want.”

You blinked in surprise, turning your head to look at him. “No, I’d feel weird about it.”

“Why?” he asked.

“It’s still your store, I just can’t take it.” You pointed out.

He shook his head and quietly laughed. “Ah, it’s alright sweetheart. I know you were interested in that. ‘Sides, it’s been sittin’ here for months, n’ I can always order more if people want ‘em. Pretty sure it’s here for ya.”

“I still feel like I should pay…or something.” You murmured, placing the book back on the shelf.

“Now I don’t wanna hear none o’ that,” Arthur lightly chided you, despite wrapping his arms around your waist. “I never did properly thank you for all the help you’ve given me.”

You turned around in his grip, giving him a playful smirk. “As if all this affection wasn’t repayment enough?”

“’Course not,” he snickered, and leaned in to place a chaste kiss on your lips. “Think I got quite a while ‘fore I’m even,” he reached over and plucked the book from its spot, and pressed it into your hand. “Until then, take this.”

Your fingers instinctively wrapped around the spine, and you sighed again. He was adamant about you keeping this book, and there was no use arguing with him. No point in denying a free gift anyway. “Alright, I’ll keep it.”

He smiled in response. “Don’t ever think y’gotta pay for somethin’ in here. If ya like it, then help yourself.”

“You tell that to all the girls?” you asked.

“Only to the ones I like.” He replied with a wink.

You giggled, stepping back to lightly slap his chest with the book. “Alright you, I’m gonna head home. See you tomorrow?”

He nodded, drawing you back in for a hug and another kiss. “See ya tomorrow, darlin’.”

Breaking from the embrace, you headed toward the exit. Somehow you hadn’t noticed how much darker it got outside until you saw the iron-gray storm clouds through the door. You opened it just as a loud thunder clap rumbled through the air, vibrating the floor beneath you. A split second later, rain began to fall.

Well shoot, you walked here today.

Arthur’s low hum sounded behind you. He stepped up beside you to observe the weather. “Guess you ain’t goin’ anywhere for a while.”

“Guess not.” You agreed. You weren’t opposed to staying longer, however you were hungry and some leftover pizza at home was calling your name. Hopefully this storm would be quick.

Arthur seemed to have read your mind. “Got some snacks in the back, c’mon.” He said, reaching your free hand and leading you through to the back room.

The two of you settled at the table with a shared small helping of cut fruit. While it wasn’t much, it was enough to curb your appetite for the time being. It was quiet aside from the raging storm, which settled to an even calmer atmosphere. You popped a grape into your mouth, peering over at Arthur as he munched on an apple slice.

His eyes met yours. “Somethin’ wrong with my face?” he asked jokingly.

You snickered, scooting closer. “Yeah, a whole lot of handsome.”

He snorted and shook his head with a dejected smile. You learned early on that his self-esteem was low, even though he hid it fairly well. Any comments toward his physical appearance was usually deflected.

“It’s true, you know.” You insisted. “You ever see how some girls stare at you when they’re here?”

“Nah, only ever got eyes for you, darlin’.” He answered.

“It’s pretty obvious,” you continued. “They’re not so subtle with their googly eyes, even when they try to be.”

Arthur laughed again, his voice tinged with disbelief. “Guess I’m blind to it.”

“You must be, if you can’t tell how sexy you are…” you stood up briefly to slide into his lap. Your hands cradled his face. “Probably the most attractive man in this town.”

His cheeks flushed with a light shade of pink, ducking his head slightly to avert your gaze. “You’re jus’ bein’ sweet.”

“I’m being truthful,” You corrected, slipping your hand beneath his chin to tilt his face back up. Once he was looking at you again, your hands moved to his shoulders, down his arms and to finally take his hands. “I could stare at you all day, you know.”

He chuckled in response, entwining his fingers with yours. “I could say the same ‘bout you.”

“Ah, but this is about you…” you spoke softly, pulling his hands up to your mouth, placing soft kisses on his knuckles. “From your gorgeous eyes to your sexy jawline to your absolutely stunning body. And the way you dress? It’s like you do it on purpose just to make me feel all hot and bothered.”

“I don –”

You gently shushed him by planting your lips on his. Tasting faintly of fruit, your tongue swiped out to steal the flavor from his lips. You pulled back to see the flustered expression on his face, his mouth betraying a slight smile tugging at the corners.

He released your hands to wrap his arms around your waist, pulling you even closer on his lap. “Guess I can’t complain if you like it all.” He murmured.

“And then some.” You added, wrapping your own arms around his neck. He drew you in for a second kiss, softer and sweeter than the previous. He held you close to him, his body warm and solid against you. Seconds ticked by as it gradually grew deeper and more fervent. His tongue slowly invaded your mouth which you happily accepted. His large hands smoothed up and down your back, both soothing and igniting your body. A soft moan slipped from your mouth, unintentional yet you didn’t regret it.

This caught his attention. He paused and parted the kiss, confusion plain in his expression. His eyes however betrayed his thoughts, aquatic pools shining brightly in the lamplight. He wanted more and was held back by his hesitation. It seems like you would have to take the lead.

You offered a soft nod to him, a silent acquisition of permission for his unmentioned desire. Removing your hands from around his neck, you reached down and peeled your shirt off, tossing it to the side. Arthur’s eyes widened, staring without shame at your chest, only reflecting the hunger in its prominence. He moved then to attach his mouth to the crook of your neck, kissing your skin lovingly. Your head tilted to allow him more access, quietly encouraging him to explore more of your body.

He did just that. His calloused palms roamed the expanse of your back. His fingers trailed with feather-light precision up your spine. You shuddered in his grip, arching your back and pressing against him even more. He rumbled softly in appreciation while his other hand found the zipper of your jeans. You anticipated feeling him venture further, only for him to grip your ass. He stood up, catching you off-guard and you expelled a yelp. His journey with you was short as he brought you back down, resting your back on the table before him. You locked eyes with him as he smiled down at you, reaching up to caress your cheek. He dragged his fingers down your midline to the hem of your pants, gripping them to tug them straight off.

You were now down to your underclothing while he was still fully dressed. He was certainly moving fast. “You’re gorgeous too…” he muttered, his gaze scanning you up and down with great interest. He rested his hands on your hips, standing in between your legs. He leaned down to kiss your collarbone, moving his lips in a steady line following his trail from earlier. Looping his fingers through your underwear, he pulled them down just as his face reached just below your navel.

He tossed your panties with your other discarded clothing. As exposed as you were, you didn’t feel embarrassed. Your yearning for him was driving you wild. He kissed your mound before taking his spot in the center, and a split second later the wet presence of his tongue appeared along your slit, searching for his target until he honed in on it.

Good lord, who knew he was so good at oral?

You covered your mouth while he worked his magic against you, moaning quite loudly through your fingers. He held your trembling legs tightly against his shoulders, occasionally peering up at you for validation. Your other hand carded through his soft hair, allowing your touch to encourage him further.

He toyed with your entrance, exploring your inner walls. It wasn’t long until he hit that spot, a toe-curling and edge-gripping sensation that had you squealing his name. You were thankful this place was empty for once. He rubbed your inner thigh, offering his own encouragement. Your climax was arriving almost too quickly for you to comprehend. “A-Arthur,” you gasped. “God –“

You could barely utter another word as your pleasure washed over you like a powerful tidal wave, snapping your legs tightly to him while he lapped at you, drawing it out until you were writhing and whimpering from overstimulation. He broke free from your grasp with ease, standing back up to stare down at you.

As your breath evened out, you sat up slowly. “Where did that come from?” you asked.

He chuckled, offering you that crooked smile you loved so much. “I do have some tricks up m’ sleeves.”

You giggled with him, reaching out to wrap your arms around his neck. He leaned into your embrace, joining his lips to yours for a short kiss. You brought yourself to your feet and pressed closer to him, highly aware of what rested against your thigh. Sliding your arms off, you knelt down. “I got tricks of my own too.”

Before he could speak, you palmed him through his jeans. He took a deep breath, easing out a quiet moan to you. You nimbly unzipped his confinements, reaching in to fish out his already hardened manhood. He was larger than you anticipated, but not enough to intimidate you. You wrapped your hand around, finding him thick in circumference. To describe him as well-endowed would only serve him some justice. Your fingers couldn’t touch.

You peered up at him. He was staring at you with curiosity, the rosy tint in his cheeks only increasing. There was still a hesitant energy to him, enough to not push you further.. You offered him a slow rub, memorizing every inch in your hand from root to tip. He released a shuddering breath, his eyelids fluttering slightly.

A soft smile crossed your lips, and you brought yourself forward to kiss his hot skin. You parted your lips to slowly engulf him, keeping your eyes locked to his. Your tongue slid languidly along his silky flesh, drawing along the thick vein that lay on the underside. Soon you had a set rhythm, bobbing your head in an undulating movement. He moaned deeply, breaking his gaze to tilt his head back. His fingers tangled within your hair, a gentle hold that prompted you to take more of him.

The sounds he made were glorious. Guttural groaning with your name, pet names, wrapped with his pleasure. His palm pressed against the back of your head. As gentle as he was, you sensed an urgency behind it. And so you dove further, swallowing him whole with some effort.

“Oh –” he huffed, his hips shuddering with a small buck. “Shit, darlin’. S-sorry.”

You uttered a soft hum and rubbed his thigh soothingly in response. Pulling your mouth back, you deep throated him again. He swore out loud a second time and gripped a nearby chair. You repeated a third time, raising your hand to fondle his balls through his jeans. His breathing became erratic the longer you pleased him, taking him whole with long swallows and a wiggle of your tongue. He gripped your hair hard, though he broke any direct contact with your head, too lost in his ecstasy to aid your movement.

Though hardly any time passed when he spoke your name. “Sweetheart, ain’t g-gonna last.” He gasped out.

You stopped immediately, pulling your mouth off him with a pop of your lips on the tip, swiping off a small pearl of precum that formed. You sat back quietly on your knees as his breathing regulated, and he was able to straighten up and focus on you again. “God damn, your mouth…ain’t no other like it.” He sighed.

You smiled smugly and stood up, closing the space between you with a swagger. Your arms slung around his neck again while you gave him a sultry look. “Didn’t want to be done yet.”

Arthur caught on immediately, pulling you in closer with an iron grip. He ground against you, his rough jeans on your soft skin felt wonderful. His erection rested between your thighs, just inches of where you wanted it to be. “Didn’t think so.” He growled, setting a shudder through you.

With one swoop he propped you back onto the table. His lips hungrily latched to yours while his hands explored every inch of your bare body. His fingers found your center with easy, relaxed strokes. Your moans silenced in his open mouth. You could only hold on while he pleasured you with his hands, though your patience for all of him was wearing thin. His shirt balled up in your hands, fingernails digging deep into the fabric and against his skin.

You pulled back to gasp out. “Arthur, please!” you panted. “I need to feel you.”

He paused his ministrations, bringing his gaze to you. A sweet smile touched his lips and he moved to grip your hips, shuffling slightly to align himself to you. His hips rocked forward, allowing himself to poke between your folds. He invaded you slowly, inch by inch and spreading your inner walls. You hid a wince, underestimating his thickness. He watched your face intently as if to note any discomfort. Soon he was completely joined with you.

He caressed your cheek, asking a silent question of your comfort. You nodded to him and kissed his palm, then trapped his thumb between your lips to suckle on it. Out of the corner of your eye you could see the faint surprise on his face, and you couldn’t help but giggle.

His hand left your face to take place once again on your hip. He brought himself back and forward in one smooth motion. The discomfort dissolved almost instantly as your body accepted him, soon replaced with waves of pleasure. You moaned loudly, gratefully, hanging on him while he rocked you to the very core.

He murmured a breathless swear, gripping you tightly while he continuously thrust into you. You were enveloped by your own ecstasy, whispering his name into the air. Lost in your pleasure, you almost didn’t feel him lift you from the table. He held you without effort, driving himself even deeper. His grunts and groans vibrated deep in his belly, vibrating against you.

“Sweetheart, ya feel so nice.” He crooned.

You couldn’t form a coherent response. You could only muster up a long moan the more he fucked you, the further he reached and the harder he rocked. He paused briefly to move from the little room out into the main area. You felt him press you against a bookshelf. The books housed in it shuddered and some fell.

“A-Arthur?” you panted in question.

“Scientology books, no one reads ‘em anyway.” He quickly answered.

You couldn’t help but to laugh, a hearty giggle that switched to a squeal once he pounded into you again. The bookcase creaked behind you, tapping against the wall. The small aware part of your brain wanted to be careful, that is until Arthur shifted to snake his hand between you, his fingers once again toying with your clit.

You stifled another squeal, keeping yourself from becoming any louder than you already were in case any passerby somehow heard you, despite the storm still raging outside. Arthur seemed to have other plans, ramming himself so hard that you could only shout his name. His mouth latched to your neck again, not hesitant to mark and abuse your flesh. He growled with a nearly animalistic tone, echoing deeply throughout the shop.

Your second was on a quick ascent, peaking and surging through your center and radiating through your muscles. You cried out his name, your walls clenching around him. He grunted, unleashing a shuddering breath.

“Jesus, gonna finish soon.” He huffed to you, and caught your lips for a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss. He held you again with both hands. His pace hastened and his hips became erratic, unshamefully moaning against your tongue.

Every one of your senses was overwhelmed in the most wonderful ways. Your taste and smell were overwhelmed with his essence, your nerves tingling as you came down from your high. Nails dug into his flesh, spurring him to finish even sooner.

The clear ringing of a bell pierced your otherwise distracted attention. The bell indicating the store’s door opening, followed by faint footsteps. It brought you back to reality quickly. Ripping your mouth from his, you tried to gasp out his name, only to have him nearly slap his hand over your mouth.

“Shh, nearly there sweetheart. Jus’ be quiet.” He grunted quietly.

Part of you was nervous about the idea of being caught by someone, yet another side seemed to enjoy the thrill. You barely managed a nod while he somehow quietly fucked you, keeping you pressed against the bookshelf and undulating rolling his hips. You locked eyes with him, hyperaware of the creak of the floorboards that sounded as if they were growing closer. Your heart raced despite the endless amount of pleasure racking through your body.

It almost seemed as if he wouldn’t finish in time, until he pulled out of you and stifled a low groan. Hot trails of his spend painted your bare stomach. His entire body shuddered and he eased your legs to the floor, planting a quick kiss on your forehead before ushering you to the back room.

Your legs felt like jello, but you managed to scurry back into the room, ducking from view of the shop while Arthur stuffed himself back into his pants and hastily adjusted his appearance before disappearing from your line of sight. You heard him greet the newcomers, his voice cheerful and not a hint of what just happened a moment before.

You swiftly and silently closed the door, cleaned yourself up, and redressed. A few quiet minutes passed by before Arthur opened the door back up. He smiled at you and let out a sigh of relief. “They didn’t catch us,” he announced.

“I thought it was closing time,” you said.

“Close, had ten til,” he rolled his eyes. “Usually how it goes…”

You sighed heavily. “Of course…” You stepped up to him, wrapping your arms around his neck. Despite the fatigue that took hold of your body, you felt energized from the whole ordeal. “You sent them on their way?”

Arthur took a hold of your waist, pulling you flush against his torso. “Once they found what they were lookin’ for, though they did hear us a lil’…I had to tell ‘em I was rearrangin’ some o’ the shelves.”

You snickered. “Gotta say, it was a little bit of a thrill feeling like we were gonna get caught. Like we’re teenagers sneaking around or something.”

Arthur snorted and grinned at you with a sly smirk. “Yeah?”

“Sure, but let’s wait until after closing time. Don’t wanna scare off the customers.” you amended.

He nodded, his face twitching thoughtfully. “Next time, I think my house is more suitable,” he laughed. “More comfortable than a bookcase.”

“Oh I’d hope,” you replied, arching your back and feigning a look of pain. “Pretty sure that threw out my back.”

Arthur’s eyebrows raised in surprise, though quickly realized you were joking and shook his head. That same adorable crooked smile returned to his face. “How ‘bout I massage ya to make it up?”

“How about we do that at my house?” you proposed with a cheeky wink.

[katehuntington]

Title: Changes - part two Word count: ±3000 words Summary “Changes”: Huntress Zoë Sullivan (OFC) crosses paths and swords with the Winchesters, when the brothers stumble on a case she’s already working. When complications arise, they are forced to work as a team. Summary part two: Four years after the demon attack, a young woman is playing a cat and mouse game with another supernatural creature. Only this time around, she’s the hunter. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures. Demon possession, supernatural creatures/entities. Smut, swearing, alcohol use/addiction. Kidnapping, mentions of torture and murder, illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks.  Music: About A Girl - Nirvana Author’s note: I couldn’t be more excited to share Supernatural: The Sullivan Series with you. @coffee-obsessed-writer​, @soupornatural​ & @mrswhozeewhatsis​, who edited the early drafts, and my girls @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish​ & @winchest09​ who are deciphering the recent version; thank you for helping me with this story and for taking it to a higher level. Everyone who encouraged me to go for it, you are awesome!

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist 01x01 “Changes” Masterlist

     Rochester, Minnesota      November 24th, 2005

     Rain falls during a chilly night in November. Thunder rumbles in the distance, as heavy showers dim flashes of lightning that jump from one cloud to the other. Several miles outside of the city in the wide-open spaces, the world seems deserted. The atmosphere is threatening as nature shows her power. Straight roads cross the farmlands, not a living soul using them. No one is on their way home or driving away from it. Then again, in this weather, who would want to be out on the road? 

     In the distance, a light appears and steadily approaches. A bright shimmer reflects in the water on the asphalt, the sound of an engine building as the vehicle gets closer. It’s not an ordinary engine, not even close to the sound that modern cars produce these days. Actually, it’s not even a car.      A black Harley Davidson cuts through the night, roaring like a lion. The classic motorbike leaves a spray in its wake, the water catapulted from the back tire. The polished paint job shines proudly, catching even the smallest glint of light. Raindrops try to cling to waxed metal, failing miserably. It’s obvious the owner of this beauty takes good care of her. It’s the type of bike you would expect an old rocker to ride. The kind that listens to Metallica and is a member of a biker gang. A tough guy with a beard and big sideburns, who rides from roadhouse to roadhouse, consuming nothing but steak and beer. Nevertheless, this lucky Harley is ridden by a young woman. 

     The rider seems to be in a hurry; despite the slippery roads; she’s speeding down 75th street NW at ninety miles an hour. This woman and her Harley have reason to haste. The biker tries to focus on the road ahead, yet glances in her side mirror frequently, checking if she’s being followed. The sharp pain in her abdomen keeps her awake. She mutters to herself, biting down the pain. How could you be so fucking stupid? It’s your job to know what you’re dealing with, and yet you were caught off guard!

     The suburb of Rochester appears in the south; she’s almost there. The rider bends over her bike, clamping one arm around her waist and applying pressure.       “Fucking hell,” she curses.      She refuses to look down at her injury and keeps herself together. Hopefully, it’s not too bad, she doesn’t have time to get stuck in the ER. It’s during moments like these she regrets falling in love with her ‘94 Harley Davidson Road King, because a faster bike like a modern Kawasaki sports bike would be much more convenient right now. 

     She follows the road, which is shadowed by trees on both sides, until she passes through a small town, called Douglas. Again, she checks her mirrors, but there’s nothing on her tail. In front of her, several cars and trucks are driving up route 52. A sigh of relief escapes her mouth; back in the civilized world.       After turning right just before the highway, she speeds up again on the road running parallel to it. Finally, the motel appears in the distance, a building with a large neon number ‘6’ on the roof. The female biker parks her Harley in front of the motel and turns the ignition. Not nearly as graceful as usual, she gets off her bike and heads toward the entrance of the motel. With her right hand on her bleeding wound, she stumbles across the parking lot as she takes off her helmet. 

     A flash of lightning cracks the sky and reflects on the cars parked in front. For a split second, she thinks she sees a shadow standing in the rain. Quickly, she turns towards it, but it’s gone, yet her hand goes for the gun tucked behind her waistband, instinctively. On high alert, she scans her surroundings, her intuition telling her she’s not alone. Is she getting paranoid? He wouldn’t come out here and follow her by car, would he? That would be insane, he’d be too exposed.      Her hand slips from the grip of the weapon and she makes a run for it. After hastily entering the motel, she closes the door behind her. It’s warm in the lobby, country music playing in the background, a huge contrast to the chilling weather outside. Standing in the bleak light instead of mysterious shadows makes her feel a bit more at ease. 

     The old man behind the counter looks up from his paper, peaking over his reading glasses. An empty soda bottle decorates his desk along with some paper wrappers which once held a Wendy’s cheeseburger. She stares at the wrappers for a moment. Fuck, she would kill for a burger right now.      “You’re behind on your payment, Mrs. Johnson,” the old man remarks.      She throws a Mastercard on the desk while closing her coat around her body, hiding her injury and keeping the hand she used to staunch the bleeding firmly against her side. The motel manager thankfully doesn’t seem to pick up on anything out of the ordinary and takes the card without thanking her.      “I’m afraid I’ll have to charge you the extra night, too. It’s way past check out.”      “No worries, book two more. I’ll be sticking around for a few more days,” she returns.      “Business taking longer than expected, huh?” he assumes, while working the computer.      “Something like that, yeah,” she answers shortly, not willing to elaborate.      “Those two nights were the last slots. It’s busy this weekend.” The man behind the desk hits the enter button. “You’re in luck.”      She frowns at the comment. Right, luck. Looks like luck got me fucking shot. Thankfully he doesn’t have any further questions, she’s not in the mood for a chit-chat with the fossil. 

     The restless woman scans the parking lot outside for the third time, slightly out of breath, her face tense. Every once in awhile the motel manager glances over his screen, observing his client. Her black leather biker jacket is soaked through, but it doesn’t seem to bother her. Brown hair falls down her shoulders, the tips escaped her helmet drenched from the rain. Her dark eyes seem worried, makeup slightly faded. A young woman, who - according to the information he got from her when she checked in - married early, apparently. How old could she be? Twenty four, twenty-five, maybe? She doesn’t really seem like the marrying type, and he has seen many folks come and go. The poor girl looks pale, too, as if she’s ill or carrying a heavy weight upon her shoulders. A lot of shady business has happened in his motel, so he knows the signs. Maybe it’s drug related, maybe she’s fleeing from an abusive relationship. Who knows? He doesn’t bother to ask anymore. It would put him out of business if he would. Besides, she doesn’t seem like the person anyone would want to mess with. He does make a mental note to keep an eye on her and make sure his motel doesn’t turn into a crime scene.      “Here ya go.” He hands her back her credit card. “You know the way.”

     The mystery woman nods, picks up her helmet from the desk, and turns down the hallway. While entering room number 82, she takes off her jacket together with her tartan wind scarf and strides to the bathroom. Looking at her reflection in the mirror, her gaze drops to her abdomen, where a bloodstain has darkened her grey shirt. She lifts it up, the fabric sticking to the punctured skin. Fuck, that feels anything but pleasant. She reveals the bullet wound underneath, several inches to the left of her belly button.      “Shit, shit, shit.”       Carefully she takes off her shirt, her breasts only covered with a bra. Still staring at her reflection, she ponders on her next move. Maybe paying a visit to the hospital isn’t such a bad idea after all. That bullet could have ripped through a number of organs. The small intestine, descending colon, she remembers clearly from the books and lectures. The inferior mesenteric artery branches out there too.       “Would’ve been more blood if it was an artery,” she mutters to no one but her own lonesome mind.

     The fact that the bullet bounced off the wall before it hit her, could mean that it didn’t sink too deep into her skin. She decides to give it a try and fish it out herself; if she can’t solve the problem, a doctor’s visit is always an option.      The young woman grabs a clean towel and wipes away the crimson around the wound as she moves back to the bedroom. She takes a small briefcase from under the bed, putting it down on the table in the corner of the room. A sigh falls from her lips when she sits down on the chair, then opens the lid, revealing a wide range of surgical instruments and medical supplies. Gauze, suture thread, sterilizers, tape, syringes, catheters, and several small bottles with different substances ranging from morphine to epinephrine; enough gear to do minor surgery.      She swallows apprehensively; this is going to get nasty.      “Hell, I’m not doing this alone.”      Next to her bed, a bottle of whiskey beckons her. With a moan, the injured woman gets up, grabs the Johnny Walker and the glass next to it. She turns on the radio on the cabinet, twisting the volume button all the way, and walks back to the table, halting to face the mirror inside the briefcase. Filling up the glass with alcohol, she grabs gloves, forceps, and other supplies she is going to need. In the background, the first tones of About A Girl by Nirvana comes through the small speaker. With the bottle of Johnny’s Black Label on standby, she clears her throat while putting on the blue latex gloves. Here goes nothing. 

     There is a sharp increase in pain as the forceps slowly enter her body. With her eyes focused on the reflection in the mirror, her jaws clamp together as she tries to reach the bullet. She groans, fighting the intense agony that almost seizes her attempt, struggling to contain herself and steady her breathing. Not wanting to draw any attention is the only thing preventing her from screaming at the top of her lungs. Finally, the forceps touch something solid. With tears burning in her eyes, she succeeds in getting a hold of it, then carefully pulls back and drops the bullet into the glass. Quickly, she grabs the whiskey and takes large swigs, wincing at the afterburn.      “Fuck, that hurts,” she hisses, placing the bottle back on the table with a loud bang.

     The worst part is done, but it’s not quite finished yet. Shaky hands reach for the disinfectant, but unfortunately, the bottle of chlorhexidine is empty. Stupid, she should have stocked up immediately after she used it all last time. Oh well, whiskey will have to do then. And so she takes the Jack and pours the last bit of whiskey over the wound. The alcohol needs only a second before taking effect. But when the stinging pain does come, she’s unable to tone down the growl leaving her throat. But you know what really pisses her off? Now she’s out of whiskey, too. 

     Frustrated, the young woman clenches her fist, waiting for the pain to fade until it’s bearable. After several minutes, she has finally calmed down enough to proceed. She takes the thread and stitch scissors and finishes the job. The pain from the stitching needle piercing her skin isn’t too bad; it almost feels like a tickle compared to the forceps. After ripping a sterile wound pad out of its package with her teeth and soaking it in betadine, she places it over the wound and tapes it to her skin. All done. Unfortunately, she will live to see another day.

     With a sigh, she strolls over to the bathroom while pulling her latex gloves off her hands. Again, the woman - who basically just performed surgery on herself - looks in the mirror.      “Well hello, gorgeous,” she mutters sarcastically, registering the bags under her eyes, the run-down mascara and messy hair.       She looks like a train wreck and that’s an understatement. But considering recent events, she's lucky to still be standing. After opening the faucet, she bends over the sink. The water feels refreshing on her skin as she washes her face. With her hands on the edge of the sink, she closes her eyes. Time for a moment to stop, debrief, and take a breath.

     The fucking night she had. 

     What the hell happened out there? Where did this go wrong? She found a pattern, located the next victim. At least, she thought she did.       Burdened, the brunette turns around and slowly walks back to the main room. The interior of the motel is rather boring, but the bed is comfortable enough and there’s a television. Normally she insists on more luxurious hotels, but with two big events happening in the city, this was all she could find. 

     By the bed, she halts. A puzzle of newspaper articles, pictures, books, and blueprints lay spread out over the mattress as some sort of mind map. An outsider would think this so-called Mrs. Johnson might be a special agent. That, or a psychotic killer, but neither is true. In fact, her name isn’t even Mrs. Johnson. 

     Biting her lip, she narrows her brown eyes and tries to find some sort of link, an explanation for what happened tonight. Terry Cliffer, the guy she expected to be the next target, turned out to be the bad guy. The bastard who shot her certainly looked an awful lot like Cliffer. Somehow the suspect was on to her and made a change of plans, but what was the trigger?      She picks up two articles, both from the local paper, the Post-Bulletin. One is about a murderer with an ironclad alibi, the other a tiny report of a strange robbery. Both incidents took place during the same night, both suspects were caught on surveillance cameras, both claimed to be elsewhere at the time of the crime, and neither fit the profile of a killer or a thief. Two separate mysteries for the local police, one crystal clear case for a hunter. Until now, that is.

      She mutters unintelligibly, annoyed with the fact that she’s one step behind. There’s another question poking at her subconscious, maybe one of even bigger importance: how the hell did it shift so fast? She picks up a book from her bed and rereads the passage she labeled ‘Shapeshifting’.      ‘Shapeshifting is a common theme in mythology and folklore. In its broadest sense, it is a metamorphosis (change in the physical form or shape) of a person. Shapeshifting involves physical changes such as alterations of age, gender, race,  general appearance, or changes between human and animal form.’      Still standing up, she leafs through the book, trying to find what she’s looking for.      “Forms of shapeshifting, powers, punitive changes, needed items, yadda yadda yadda. Damn it, where is it!?” 

     Throwing the book back on the bed, she sits down, wincing, and pulls her MacBook closer on the table. Focused, she fires up the hard drive and opens her archives. After a bit of searching, the screen finally shows the information she’s been looking for.      “Shifting process: The shifting process takes several hours, but can be hastened by the shapeshifter itself, by tearing off its own flesh - Oh, that’s just gross.” She shivers, disgusted, staring and rereading the passage just to be sure.      It might be gross, but this is what’s happening. Something disturbed the monster she’s hunting, but did she mess up this job or did someone else blow her cover? 

     She has to go back to the roots of this case for everything to make sense. At least three people are connected to each other. Three people who don’t work together, who don’t live close by, but there’s one thing they have in common: they’ve all been seen at 110th Ave NW just outside Rochester this month. Traffic cams confirmed this, so the shifter must be hiding somewhere along that road. But where?      She opens a satellite picture of the area on her Apple computer and observes the houses alongside the road. The estates are spread out and have long driveways. It would take months to figure out where the shifter’s den is, and the creature will be long gone by then. Yesterday, she thought she had a lead. She discovered the thing uses the sewer system to travel. More than fifty percent of the houses out there aren’t connected to the sewer system, but have their own septic tanks, so she could scratch those off the list. Only nine of the remaining houses are empty. The problem is, she already checked those homes and ended up with nothing.

     “C’mon, what does your gut tell you?” she mumbles to herself.      One house, deep in the forest, captures her eye. It’s not connected to the sewer system, but on the last drive by, she saw a ‘for sale’ sign by the side of the road. Good chance it’s empty. It wouldn’t make any sense for the shapeshifter to hide out in the woods, miles from the sewer, but she has a feeling something’s going on in that place. Her intuition is the only thing she’s going on, since there are no leads left to investigate. Why is a voice in the back of her mind telling her to go there when it makes absolutely no sense?      “This is fucking insane,” she states out loud as she gets up to put on a new top.      Insane, maybe. But she is not going to sit on her ass and watch this monster get away with more abductions. What concerns her, is the people of which it stole their identities, are now missing. They could be dead for all she knows, but they could also be held some place, and in that case, every second counts. This stops tonight; she has been hunting this fucker for way too long. Determined, she gathers her stuff and leaves the room, heading back to the hunting fields.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to reblog my work or buy me coffee (Link in bio at the top of the page)

Read chapter three here!

[tgai-spock]

A sharp intake 12

Triggers: like some bruising but nothing big or bloody, just letting you know

Listen, the sentence introducing the gym is my favourite, and I just think... you should know.

Remember theres a tag on my tumblr blog where you can easily find all the chapters if you get lost 

Chapter 12

That morning Spock stood on a step Jim had brought him so that he could brush his teeth while looking into the mirror. He was due to visit to McCoy that morning. That had been the deal that allowed him to sleep in his own quarters and he much preferred it, away from the prying eyes of nurses. McCoy seemed to feel better with Spock in his own quarters with the knowledge that Kirk’s bathroom was shared with him. So there he was, brushing his teeth with a green paste tasting like sour green tea and lemon. No mint for him. He spat the froth from his mouth, and he looked back up to examine his face. His teeth pearly white and his face almost as white. Deep green marks began to flesh out from his nose, and grey bruises began to seep around his eyes. The rest of the marks on his body were gone, but recently they’d been targeting his face, and there was nothing he could use to cover it. Today he didn’t have a choice. The doctor would notice anyway.

There was a coo of awe’s and cute’s from the med bay room which led McCoy into awakening, which subsequently led to his bad mood. Why the man didn’t have a real sleep schedule was currently beyond Spock. McCoy pulled on his jumper from off the desk, rubbing his hand through his soft hair as he walked out his office to greet Spock.

“Good Morning Spock” McCoy said gently moving the nurses out his way.

“Morning” Spock replied showing off his bruised face.

McCoy sighed grabbing his medical scanner “alright, off with you all, I don’t pay you to stand around. Especially not to coo at injured patients.”

“You don’t pay us at all. Sir.” One of the nurses said slyly.

“Get out.” McCoy grumped leading Spock to a private area of the med bay. Spock sat on the end of the bed as McCoy scanned him.

“What happened to your face?” McCoy asked.

“I quickly became acquainted with the floor” Spock replied placing his hands on his knees. A tiny smile tried to claw its way on to McCoy’s face as he spoke again.

“Which means?”

“Ah, I fell over.”

McCoy shook his head the smile having made it’s way out “okay let me go get the kit for that bruise. Does that hurt?” McCoy asked with concerned eyes.

“No.”

With the bruise soother retrieved (a mechanic device that pointed and glowed like a pen.) McCoy turned it on and carefully scanned the light over Spock’s face. Over his cheeks and beneath his eyes. The bruises slowly began to fade from his pale skin before they were completely gone.

McCoy picked the grey scanner back up again and began to scan him again. A few lights flashing. He was just about to put it down when he saw bruises blossoming on Spock’s face again. Like a fungal disease that refused to settle down, they scarred across his nose.

“Hey, are you okay?” McCoy asked worried his heart panicking in his chest. He was aware this sort of thing could have happened, yet he found himself helpless to heal a wound being made.  It stopped and the guise settled on Spock's face, almost exactly like the one before it, but different enough. McCoy sighed picking his bruise soother back up.

“You know, I’m a professional Doctor Spock-”

“It would not make sense for you to be a novice Doctor-”

“I know you didn’t get this falling over.”

“Perhaps, now you’ve voiced that some of my respect can be restored to your work.”

McCoy began to heal the bruises “Spock I don’t mean to pry, and I don’t want to make things weird for when you’re an adult again, but, if this is what you are currently experiencing I need to know if you are okay.”

“I am adequate Doctor” Spock said “judging from the fact I become an adult, I think we can both confirm, I am in fact fine.

“Who did this to you?” McCoy asked.

“What are you going to do?” Spock grinned as he tried to move off the bed “hunt down a now 30 year old man and beat him up?”

“Oh come on. I need you to know so I can treat you” McCoy said holding his hand up and stopping Spock from running off “you tell me what I want to know, and logically you will be able to go sooner.”

Spock chewed at his own teeth staring up at McCoy “Stonn.”

“Stonn? Is he-“

“Classmate.”

“Vulcan?”

“Obviously.”

“Can I ask why he’s attacking you?”

“I presume it’s because of the evidence I showed him.”

“What evidence?”

“Stonn implied that due to my ‘half breed’ status I was physically weaker than all vulcans and a crippling to vulcan-ity. This happened on a rare occasion when he did not have any supporters with him, so I presented him with thirty-seven situations that proved I was stronger than my size and age would represent, and certainly stronger than him. He was hospitalised for a month and appears to be seeking revenge despite that being most illogical of him.”

McCoy frowned with a hand to his face “thirty seven situations?”

Spock nodded.

“You punched him thirty seven times?” McCoy asked shocked, his eyes widening.

“Thats a crude way of putting my evidence, but yes.”

“Was he alright?”

“It was only a minor skull fracture, though I do think he lost some of his already limited brain capacity.”

“Jesus christ Spock. Uh. Well. Isn’t there someone you can tell to stop this ‘Stonn’ guy punching you? He shouldn’t be doing this. Even if you did attack him”

“The situation has it’s complexity’s.”

“So, If I heal your bruises-”

“It appears that in the short term these will keep reappearing” Spock replied.

“Are you sure you’re not feeling any pain? I don’t really want to let you out of here.”

“The bruises do not hurt. I have control of the pain and I choose not to feel it.”

“Right. That sounds like your in pain-”

“I am not. Besides you already said I could leave if I talk.”

“And I would give you something for the pain.. but I might just make you feel worse so, if you say you’re okay-”

“I am okay.”

“Then fine. Now I know I haven’t told you yet but I had arranged for you to do some fun exercise today in the gym. Considering what you just told me I want you to go easy on Jim.”

“Okay..” Spock said clearly not understanding. McCoy pressed his comm unit.

“Jim, Spock’s ready for you.”

“Oh, sure send him down then” Jim’s voice said.

“Do you know where the gym is Spock?” McCoy asked. Spock eyes widened as though he was talking to a mad cat.

“Obviously not unless you tell me” Spock said, despite knowing where the gym was, and only mishearing as to the position of the Jim.

“I’m sure you can ask the computers to lead you there.”

“I can?” Spock asked surprised.

“Yeah, off you go now” McCoy said. Spock frowned but followed McCoy’s advice. As soon as Spock left the room McCoy commed Jim.

“Jim, you’re going to want to clear the room out.”

“Why whats wrong?”

“Spock’s a little beat up. There are bruises on his face but it might be best if the whole crew isn’t there to stare."

“Understood I'll make most people leave, there’s a few folk I want to stay around. Think that will be a problem?”

“Thats down to you Jim.”

The gym. Half a bucket of sweat mixed with the motivation you lost in your boots last week, followed closely by panting, regret, confidence and tiredness. Horrifyingly sponsored by a pair of shockingly bright red trousers. Kirk wore the pants with a tight white top, showing muscles, and the becomings of a belly. Spock had put on a pair of baggy jogging bottoms (black, and elasticated around the feet) and he wore a thin black jumper, that kept him fully covered.

“A jumper Spock?” Kirk asked spotting him as he entered.

“It is… somewhat colder here than on vulcan.”

“Oh right, I forgot- are you warm enough here?” Kirk asked concerned, the room which could give a human failing to exercise goosebumps would suddenly hurt him.

“It is sufficient.”

“Ain’t going to get hyperthermia are you?”

“It would take nineteen hours before hyperthermia would begin to be a problem for me.” Spock said.

“Nineteen?” Kirk frowned with a raise of his eyebrows “well s- sugar, lets hope you never get stuck in here. How long would it take before it urm-”

“Killed me?” Spock asked.

“Well while you’re sharing thing information-”

“Between thirty eight and fifty six hours.”

“I feel this is something I should have been made aware of a long time ago. Maybe I should put a heater in here incase the ship brakes and you get stuck here. Anyway. I was thinking, how would you like to try your hand at fencing. I’ve message Sulu, so he’ll come down and fence with us later. But thats only if you feel like it.”

Spock looked up to Kirk, he now only had a lightly bruised face “I don’t feel anything.”

‘If you have, a logical reason you don’t need to share with me for not wanting to do fencing.”

“What is fencing?”

“It’s like sword fighting but it’s fun, and no one gets hurt. You and Sulu would occasionally fence when you were adults. But right now, we’re going to be warming up.”

Kirk grinned “this is going to be fun, trust me.”

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2]        [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4]        [Chapter 5]

[Chapter 6]     [Chapter 7]       [Chapter 8]   [chapter 9]   [Chapter 10]

[legitlaur]

Golden Hour part 3 // p.p

Peter Parker x Reader

Word Count: 2.2k whoops

Warnings: Cheesy, awkward social encounters, the occasional swears, not edited (very well)

Summary: You didn’t think having photography with Peter Parker would be of any significance to your life, that is until you were with him at Golden Hour.

Note: sorry its legit the slowest story ever, im working on cutting down the fluff so it finally gets good. anywho thanks for reading, much love.

PART 2

not my gif

Monday after school you had a job interview at a bookstore near the school. Before that you were supposed to meet up with Jonah to exchange phones.

“I wish you had a picture of this kid. Or a last name. We can’t even find his instagram.” Mimi complained during lunch.

“Speaking of instagram. Has there been any activity on my account? I didn’t change my password so he has access to it.” You explained.

Mimi turned on her phone, “I’ll check. This is perfect, we can use this as a trust exercise.”

You moved closer to Mimi, both of you looking at her screen. As you searched through your instagram there weren’t any recent likes. The memes Mimi had sent you remained unopened.

“Wow. This kid is golden. You better go out on a date with him,” Mimi popped a piece of cantaloupe in her mouth, “When are you seeing him again?”

You checked the time in her phone, “He said he’d be here right after school. I told him I have a job interview at 3:45 that I can’t miss.”

“Let’s meet up after school in the bathroom by physics and fix you.” Mimi suggested.

“Fix me?” you asked.

“Oh y/n. If you want a boy to like you, you’ve gotta do something about that hair.” She sighed.

You fought back, but Mimi was resilient. You agreed only to shut her up.

When the bell rang to get out of your last class, you slowly made your way to the science hall. Mimi would come find you if you didn’t meet her there. As you walked through the hall you noticed Peter and his friends. Ned Leeds and Michelle Jones. The perfect way to get out of meeting up with Mimi.

“Hey Peter.” You shouted as you walked into their small circle.

He smiled, “Hey y/n. This is Ned and MJ.”

“It’s Michelle, only my friends can call me MJ.” Michelle glared at Peter.

You frowned, “So what's up with you guys?”

“We are planning our next movie marathon. Lord of the Rings or Star Wars. We did Star Trek last month so I was thinking Lord of the Rings because its not space.” Ned excitedly explained.

You laughed, “I personally like The Hobbit more than Lord of the Rings,. So that's what I would watch.”

“No way. I love The Hobbit movies. We are definitely doing The Hobbit.” Peter exclaimed.

Ned looked at you, “Y/n you should totally come. Its great. We all wear pajamas and Peters aunt orders tons of food. We watch all day.”

Peter gave Ned a weird look, “Or, um I bet you have something better to do on your weekend.”

You wrapped your arm around Peter, “Actually no, I don’t. I’ll be there. Someone just text me the details,” You dropped your arm and started to the bathroom, “I’ll see you guys later.”

Mimi was leaning on the wall outside the bathroom, “Hurry up. My mom needs me home and I’m trying to help you. But you’re off socializing with,” She gestures towards Peter and his friends, “them.”

“Sorry. Let’s get this over with. I need to go meet Jonah.” You look at the phone in your hand.

You follow her into the bathroom where she wets your y/c/h. She brushed, and brushed.

“My goodness Mimi. I’m not gonna have any hair left.” You yelped.

“Sorry,” She patted it down one last time, “You’re good to go. Call me after. I wanna hear everything,” she ran out of the bathroom.

You fix your shirt, and look in the mirror. If Jonah didn’t like you when you liked like this, then he wasn’t the right guy for you. You sigh and head to the front of the school. Jonah wasn’t there yet. You sit down on the stairs and check the time..

3:10pm

You text him.

Where are you? Remember I have my job interview?

He didn’t respond, you sat with nervous knees.

3:20pm

You couldn’t be late for your interview, you texted him again. You sat patiently hoping he’d show.

“Y/n? What are you still doing here? Don’t you have a job interview?” Peter came and sat next to you.

You moved closer to him, hoping to use his body heat to get warm, “Yeah,” You shivered, “You know this phone,” you held out the Iphone X, “Well it’s not mine. It’s a kid named Jonah’s.”

You then went on to explain the whole story to Peter. Even Jonah’s good looks, and the butterflies in your stomach.

“So you’ve got a crush on this Jonah?” Peter smirked.

You pushed Peter with your body, “Shut it. I doubt it’s gonna go anywhere.”

Peter laughed, “I, I’m pretty sure it will. Just let things play out.”

You smiled, “Parker you know you give really good relationship advice.”

He shrugged, “It's what I do.”

You checked the time.

3:30

“I guess I’m walking. We love that.” You got up.

Peter stood up, adjusting the grip on his bag, “Want me to walk you?”

“No. You’ve gotta get to your internship. I’ll text you later and let you know how it goes,” you reached up and wrapped your arms around Peter, embracing him in a hug, “Thanks. I’ll see ya later.” Peters body was stiff, he raised his arm and patted your back awkwardly. You let go, Peter ran the other direction, you texted Jonah.

I’m leaving for my interview. I’ll call you after. You better answer.

Disappointed you ran from the school to the bookstore. The welcome bell rang.

“My name is y/n y/l/n. I’m here for a job interview.” You panted.

The cashier spoke into his earpiece, “Andrews your interview is here.”

Moments later a man came out of the back door, “Y/n?”

You nod, he comes to shake your hand, “I’m Alec Andrews, lets go into my office.”

He led you into a room behind the register. There was a small desk, and a few chairs.

You sat down and smiled.

“I hope you know you were late.” He sits down across from you.

You look at the time on his computer.

4:00pm

“I’m so sorry. I have a really good explanation. So I accide-”

“I’d rather not hear it if that's okay. I understand life happens.”

You went through the interview process, he asked you lots of questions. You happily answered them.

“Everything looks good, we will get back to you shortly.” Alec put your resume on top of a pile, you assumed were other resumes.

You thanked him and left. Once you got outside you checked Jonah's phone, there were six missed calls. You clicked one, waiting for him to answer.

“Y/n? I am so sorry. Can you please forgive me? I had to help move my grandma into an old folks home, and I wasn’t paying attention to the ti-”

“Its okay, are you free now? I’d really like to get my phone back.” You barked.

“Yeah, where are you? I’ll come to you.”

You told him the address of the bookstore, he said he would be there shortly. You were instructed not to leave for any reason.

Leaning against the wall of the bookstore you waiting patiently. Constantly looking at the people in the streets, hoping to see the blonde haired mystery boy again. A bright red Lamborghini zoomed past, only to make a sharp illegal u-turn. Pulling over, the window went down, “Hop in.”

You looked closer and saw Jonah. You threw your bag over your shoulder and ran into the street, he opened the doors. You carefully crammed in.

“Sorry about that. I thought this place was further down.” He turned on his blinker.

Still flustered you nodded, “So is this your car?”

“Cherry? I wish. Nope she’s my dads. It was the only car out and I needed to get here fast.” He chuckled.

“Where the hell were you? I was late to my interview. Wanna know why? Because of you. I just want to you know that when I don’t get that job it’s gonna be on you.” You screamed.

Jonah's face went pale, “y/n calm down. I have reasons.” “Helping your grandma? Please, that's the best you can do?” You interrupted.

“I also got you a coffee,” He help up a starbucks coffee.

You took it gingerly, carefully sipping, “You’re lucky I like all coffee.”

You saw your phone in the cup holder, you pulled Jonah's out of your pocket and switched them back.

Looking at through your notifications you smiled, your instagram hadn’t been touched. As for your messages there was a recent text. The contact read Jonah with a pink heart.

“Woah you assume because you caught me on the subway that I actually fell for you? If I recall there’s nothing going on between us.” You asked.

Jonah looked into your eyes, forgetting that he was driving a $200,000 car, “Yet,” he turned the radio down, “I kinda was planning a really cheesy way to ask you out.”

“Let's hear. How cheesy can it be?” You laughed.

His cheeks went bright pink, “It’s pretty bad. Let's just say it included me dramatically running to you at your school. Something about getting on my knees, offering your phone to you as a token of my loyalty to you if you would go on a date with me.”

You were wheezing, “Oh man. I definitely would’ve said yes. Now, I’m not so sure.”

He pulled over, and put the car in park, “y/n, I don’t know your last name.”

“y/l/n.” You informed him.

“Okay. y/n y/l/n, will you do me the honor of going out on a date with me?” He gave his best puppy dog face.

You took his hand and grasped it tightly, “Jonah?”

“Jonah Richardson.”

“Jonah Richardson it would be my pleasure to go out on a date with you.” You giggled.

Jonah was laughing too. His blonde hair moving everywhere. He looked so precious when he was laughing, not trying to impress anyone. He looked truly content.

“You’re cute when you laugh.”

Jonah looked startled, then he turned into his weird flirty self, “So you do find me attractive?”

“Cute and attractive are very different,” You covered your face hoping to hide your blushing cheeks.

Getting a little too close to your face he smirked, “You’ll find me attractive soon enough.”

You pull back, “I’m harder to impress than you think.”

He took your hand, and intertwined it with his, “Are you free now?”

You blushed, relaxed your hand, and answered, “Yeah.”

Jonah’s smile widened, “Let’s go now then.”

“Go where?” You asked.

He turned onto a street you’d never been on, “On our date, silly.”

You ran your hand through your hair, “Oh.”

Jonah parked and led you to a Mcdonald’s, “I know it’s not very classy, but Mcdonald’s hash browns are the only ones I’ll eat.”

You took his hand, and swung it as you walking into the fast food chain, “Mcdonald’s is perfect.”

You ordered and sat across from from each other.

“So you live in Queens?” You asked.

He took a bite of his hash brown, “Born and raised.”

“Where do you go to school?” You continued.

“I go to a private school part time, my dad wants me to learn the family business. Says it’s more important than a high school diploma.” He shrugged.

You dipped your fry in ketchup, “Family business?”

“Richardson Science and Technology. Ever heard of it?” He asked.

Your mouth dropped, “Your dad owns RST?”

He sipped his milkshake while nodding.

You only knew about the company because you saw Peter reading articles about it in photography, you’d asked him about it. They were some huge corporation that started up not to long ago, it was getting as big as Stark Industries.

“So what do you for fun?” You changed the subject.

“Drive, box, and watch a good movie.” His eyes were wandering.

You looked around to see what he was looking at, everywhere seemed normal.

He brought his attention back to you, “So, y/n what about you?”

You shrugged, “Not much to say. I’m a 16 year old, a Junior at MSST, my mom expects perfection so that’s what I give. I guess?”

Jonah grabbed your hand, and gently kissed your knuckles, “You are perfection.”

The night went on and you learned more about each other, finally Jonah looked at the time.

9:40

“Crap,” He threw his trash in his bag and stood up, “I gotta get you home.”

You followed him and ran out to the car. He took your hand again in the car. You smiled and explained how to get to your apartment.

He parked, opened the door for you, and even walked you up to your apartment.

“So,” he rubbed the back of his neck, “I’ll text you later, if that’s okay.”

You turn the key in the lock., “More than okay,” you turn to face him, “Thanks for the ride home.”

Leaning up you kissed his cheek, “Night.”

He leaned against the doorway, “Good night y/n.”

You closed the door smiling.

TO BE CONTINUED

Tag list: @victorianfatmycroft @laurrenhawker

[nitewrighter]

Family Reunions and First Impressions

Since “Main Fic Continuity” won out for my 3k Followers Fic, I decided to finally buckle down and write the “Hanzo Breaks onto the Watchpoint” fic!! Alternatively titled “Hanzo Makes Everyone on the Watchpoint Hate Him within Seconds of Meeting Him.”

----

It was three in the morning when the chainlink fence surrounding the watchpoint rattled softly. It was quiet enough so as to be attributed to the wind, not the black clad figure that had vaulted over the fence and landed soundlessly on the ground. The figure rose up to a low position and surveyed his environment. He had a rough idea of the layout of the Watchpoint--in being a mothballed UN facility, satellite imaging of the place was fairly accessible to the public, but not a lot to give him a good idea of the scale of its security. From what information he had gleaned from various crime rings, he knew that the current splinter group calling itself ‘Overwatch’ had some Omnics in its ranks---a heavily modified OR-15 and a decrepit Bastion unit--those wouldn’t need to sleep and they would likely be serving as Watchpoint security, but any other information he could try to gain seemed ridiculous or impossible. He had been observing the Watchpoint for several days, and had been able to estimate the largest gaps in perimeter security---enough to bypass the Bastion and OR-15′s rounds, of that he was sure. He couldn’t trust what information he had gained about the Watchpoint’s residents, so the second he had gone over that fence, he had to be ready for anything.

 He slipped into the shadows of a large hangar before scrambling up its side and slipping through an open window in it. From what he had seen of the Watchpoint’s satellite imaging, it would be faster than circumventing the building. He landed soundlessly once more on the cement floor and looked around the cavernous hangar, lit up in the dim orange of hazard lights. He drew himself up a little taller as he walked through the hangar, frowning. All things considered, for the Watchpoint being overseen by, what he assumed were a crew of murderous squatting war criminals, they seemed to keep the facility in remarkable condition. He had only passed below an upper floor walkway when suddenly a searing burning sensation hit him in the shoulder and a loud “FFZZZZHHHHHHH” sound broke the silence of the hangar. He moved to leap back but found that the same searing burning pain seemed to latch onto him like a tether. His eyes fell on the source of the tether-like laser beam, a rather unassuming looking little sphere for something that was causing him so much pain. Grunting, he seized his bow off of his other shoulder, nocked an arrow, drew and fired it. The turret didn’t break but rather burst and disappeared, leaving no broken pieces behind it. 

“Hm,” the figure quietly ran up the wall and grabbed his arrow where it was embedded before continuing on his way through the hangar---slower this time, keeping an eye out for more of the odd little sphere turrets.

----

Satya’s prosthetic buzzed on their nightstand.

“Satya... arm,” muttered Pharah, not opening her eyes.

“Mm,” Satya’s face was buried in the point where Pharah’s neck joined her shoulder. Satya’s prosthetic buzzed again and Satya muffled her own groan into Pharah’s baggy shirt before breaking away from Pharah and picking sleep from the corner of her eyes and looking over at the prosthetic buzzing on the nightstand. She pushed off of Pharah and got to a slightly upright sitting position in bed and awkwardly reached over and grabbed her prosthetic arm off of the nightstand, she gave a slight start as the nerves connected at her shoulders as she clicked the prosthetic on, then sleepily wriggled and gestured with her prosthetic fingers to make sure it had come on properly, before opening her palm flat and seeing it project a slightly reddish light.

“...it doesn’t say anything,” mumbled Satya.

“Headpiece,” murmured Pharah, half-muffled into a pillow. 

Satya yawned and nodded before grabbing her headpiece off of the nightstand as well. Her blue visor flickered into existence in front of her eyes and as she squinted at the bright blue she read the notification from her prosthetic.

“Just a turret destroyed...” she said, her eyes closing and her head slowly nodding down again before she suddenly jerked into alertness, “Turret destroyed!” she blurted out.

“Whuzzabout the turts?” said Pharah, pushing up slightly from her pillow and rolling over onto her back, but Satya was already hitting a button on her headpiece.

“Winston--? Wins--” Satya started but sighed, “Athena, wake Winston. I do not have time for this,” she said, touching the panel on her headpiece again, “Orisa--? Are you there?”

 “Agent Vaswani? From what data I have obtained on your circadian rhythms, it is inadvisable to be awake at this hour.”

“Orisa--Can you investigate the...” Satya brought up a projection of the destroyed turret’s location on her prosthetic, “...the Watchpoint’s Southern Sector Hangar? A turret’s been destroyed.”

“That does not compute,” Orisa said, clearly a bit frustrated that something may have slipped past her defenses, “I will investigate.”

“I’ll be sending backup your way as well,” said Satya, rising out of bed. She glanced over at Pharah, “Who’s in the southern Sector of the watchpoint?”

“Jesse’s still in the hangar dorms, I think?” said Pharah, sitting up in bed and scratching the back of her head, “You think it’s bad?”

“If it is, Orisa should be more than well equipped to deal with it, but caution doesn’t hurt,” said Satya, pulling a robe on over her satin pajamas. 

---

McCree’s comm buzzed and he choked on his own spit mid-snore and grunted, his hand blindly flailing out grabbing at the comm on the footlocker next to his bed.

“Whozit?” he said, pressing the comm to his cheek, only to have the comm buzz against his face again then he grunted and actually opened the call, “G’mornin’?”

“McCree, we need you backing up Orisa in the hangar,” Symmetra’s voice sounded over the Comm, “You’re the closest to where we first picked up the breach. Sending the coordinates to your comm.” 

“Mm-hmm,” said McCree, pretty much rolling out of bed, “Jus’.. jus’ gonna... get some pants on...”

---

Orisa pushed open the door to the hangar. “Hello?” she said, trotting inward. The intruder watched, hidden in the shadows of the upper walkway as the large omnic paced across the cement floor and around the various shipping containers. “Hello?” Orisa lifted up a massive shipping container with one arm and then gingerly set it down again. 

Just a machine, thought the intruder, nocking an arrow.

“If there are any authorized personnel in the area, I would ask that you make your presence known,” said Orisa, “Continued concealment and evasion will force me to register you as hostile.”

Orisa heard the creak of a bowstring and hear head swiveled in the intruder’s direction, her eyes going red to register a low-light environment. The intruder was armed with a bow, pointing an arrow at her.

“Please lower your weapon,” said Orisa.

“Where is he?” said the figure.

“You are unauthorized on this Watchpoint, please lower your weapon,” Orisa stated.

The figure fired an arrow and Orisa quickly put down a barrier. The arrow embedded itself in the wall of blue light, Orisa noted from its position that it would have whizzed past her shoulder.

“A warning shot?” said Orisa.

“Where is Genji Shimada?” said the figure, nocking another arrow.

“I am not at liberty to state the locations of---” Another arrow embedded itself in the barrier and Orisa’s optical receptors narrowed.

“I am not here to negotiate with a glorified security drone,” said the intruder.

“Ah, understood. You are being non-compliant,” said Orisa, “Engaging countermeasures.”

“Counter--?” the intruder started, but Orisa fired off a graviton charge several feet below the walkway. He suddenly found himself yanked off of his feet and tumbling off of the walkway towards a bright green light. In the midst of his fall, a blue energy suddenly spiraled around his arm and he rapid-fired off several arrows without drawing a single one from his quiver.

“What--?” Orisa started as the bright blue arrows embedded themselves in her barrier before the the last one shattered the barrier. The figure landed with a grunt on the cement floor, the graviton charge the only reason why his fall didn’t break any bones.

“Stop--!” Orisa started and fired off another graviton charge, but the intruder lunged right and fired off one last arrow. “Defense Mode Acti--” it struck her in the side, “AAAHHH!” She shrieked as her eyes flickered red and yellow and green wildly before she collapsed where she stood.

The intruder took a moment to catch his breath. Now that that business was over with, he could find Genji---

“What in the goddamn--?”

The intruder heard the click of a revolver and turned on his heel to see another man in a grubby tank-top, well-worn hat, and sloppily belted jeans. McCree frowned as he looked over the intruder, dressed all in black, with some light armor, a bow and quiver, and a tight hood and mask that covered his face from just below his eyes.

“Ninjas. Of course it’s gotta be ninjas,” McCree muttered, itching his temple, “’Risa, you got his ba--?” McCree caught himself, “Orisa?” he called again. The intruder looked over his shoulder at the collapsed modified OR-15 unit.

“...You named it?” said the intruder.

“You hurt her?” said McCree closing the distance between them to look past the ninja to see Orisa’s collapsed form. Her optic receptors were dark. McCree’s stomach dropped. “Shit--” he leveled his gun at the intruder. Instinctively the intruder nocked and drew his bow at McCree in turn.

“...kinda stupid, ain’t it? Bringing a bow to a gunfight?” said McCree.

“You’d be surprised,” said the intruder, keeping the bow drawn.

“Don’t know who you are, but I don’t take kindly to folk who hurt my friends,” said McCree.

“I did not ‘harm’ your security drone,” said the intruder, “My sonic arrow is equipped to overwhelm electrical systems should it come in contact with them. A few hours and it should reboot just fine.”

McCree’s brow furrowed. “She’s not,” he clicked the hammer back on his peacemaker, “An ‘it.’”

“I don’t care,” said the intruder, “Tell me where Genji Shimada is and neither you nor any more of your compatriots will be harmed.”

“You ain’t in a bargaining position,” said McCree.

“I beg to differ,” said the intruder.

“Lower your weapon,” said McCree

“You first,” said the intruder.

“Tried bein’ reasonable,” muttered McCree under his breath before he fired. The intruder loosed his arrow.

Both shots grazed each other in mid-air, the bullet sparking along the steel shaft of the arrow. The bullet blasted through the arc of the bow and the intruder found his ears ringing as it whizzed past the side of his head and the bowstring snapped and lashed across his cheek. The arrow knocked McCree’s gun from his hand and McCree winced hard, looking at the gash that now traveled down from the gap of his thumb to midway down his forearm. There was a beat as both tried to simultaneously understand what had happened, and decide their next move.

“Goddamn...” McCree was gripping his bleeding hand with his prosthetic one when he glanced at his peacemaker on the ground. The intruder, still holding the broken bottom two-thirds of his bow, followed McCree’s line of sight. In a split second the intruder knew trying to run now would likely end with a bullet in the spine or worse. He acted. McCree’s prosthetic hand flung out for the peacemaker on the ground only for McCree to find himself knocked hard from the side by a flying kick from the intruder. The intruder himself scrambled for the gun only for McCree to tackle and elbow-drop him with his prosthetic arm. The intruder’s breath was knocked out of him and he felt a rib crack as he was slammed against the cement floor of the hangar. McCree was reaching for the Peacemaker again, using his weight to keep the intruder down. One of the intruder’s arms was pinned beneath him. In desperation the intruder whipped his head back and knocked McCree hard on the jaw, before flailing out with the broken bow and knocking the gun away from both of them. He’d have the advantage in hand to hand combat, he was pretty sure. McCree recoiled back from the pain in his jaw and the intruder managed to struggle onto his back to try and get a punch in on McCree, when McCree’s hands flailed out, catching the intruder’s wrist with his organic hand while his prosthetic fingers gripped the tight cloth of the intruder’s mask, and tore it off.

 There was a beat. 

Both of their eyes were wide at the intruder’s face now revealed. The hangar was dark, but McCree could make out prominent cheekbones, an artfully arching nose, a carefully trimmed beard, and familiarly thick eyebrows. And then there were the eyes---sharp, furious, somehow both so tired and so restless. Beautiful.

And then he punched McCree hard across the face.

The world slowed as McCree reeled back from the blow, his mind half a blur and half racing.

That face... Looks almost like... Genji, he realized, He wanted to find Genji. He’s...

The face clicked into place in his memories as McCree stumbled up to his feet---the rescue mission all those years ago---a person of interest. Genji’s Would-be murderer. He couldn’t let him get to Genji. McCree rubbed his jaw 

“You must be Hanzo,” he mumbled, moving his jaw a bit to make sure it wasn’t broken by the blow.

The intruder visibly tensed, then appeared to compose himself with a breath.

“If you know who I am, you know you’re out of your depth,” he said, assuming a ready fighting position.

McCree put up his fists. “Dunno about depth, but I know you’re an asshole. And I know you ain’t getting to Genji.”

Hanzo gritted his teeth and huffed, then launched himself at McCree.

----

A hand gently touched Mercy’s shoulder as she was slumped over her desk.

“Mm? Genji,” she sat up slightly, rubbing her eyes, “What time is it?” 

“Time for you to get some sleep,” said Genji, “You did say you were coming to bed.” 

“I was, just...” Mercy yawned, “Just....had some colleague’s lab reports to leaf through... and I was... resting my eyes...” she glanced at the clock on her tablet and blinked. “Oh dear--” she said, getting up.

Genji chuckled and kissed her on the cheek as she got up from her seat. “Don’t worry, the world’s not going to come crashing down just because Angela Ziegler got some proper rest,” he said, tucking her hair back as they walked from her office into the bedroom. She all but flopped onto the bed and cocooned herself in their sheets and Genji himself stretched a little as he rounded the bed to the other side, pulled back the sheets and..

His comm buzzed.

“Nnh...” Mercy stirred a little.

“I’ll take it, don’t worry,” he said, bending and kissing her on the temple, “Just sleep.”

“Come back snn...” Mercy apparently meant to say ‘Come back soon’ but was pretty much out before she finished her sentence. He walked out of the room and answered his comm.

“Shimada,” he said, rubbing his eyes.

“This is an automated message from Athena’s security network. Agent Orisa has been incapacitated and Agent McCree is not reporting in from investigating the southern hangar.”

“Kuso...” Genji rubbed his forehead, “Athena, can you override McCree’s comm? Get me an audio feed? I should know what I’m dealing with before I rush in if it’s given McCree and Orisa this much trouble.”

“Attempting Overrides...” said Athena. There was a brief pleasant chiming music, and then Genji had to hold his comm away from his ear.

“GODDAMN NINJA PIECE OF SHIT---GOT SOME NERVE COMIN’ ONTO MY WATCHPOINT, HURTING MY FRIENDS---GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE! OOF! GAH! GODDAMN MOTHERFU--” 

Genji clicked the comm off. “Southern hangar then,” he said, grabbing his swords off of their stand.

-----

“This is ridiculous,” muttered Satya,

“Satya, I can handle this,” said Pharah, pushing her hair back.

“We both got the automated call from Athena,” said Satya, “And I want to see whoever has the nerve to destroy one of my turrets.”

“Habibti!” a call came out from across the Tarmac and Ana in a thick fluffy bathrobe rushed over with Reinhardt wearing a grubby sweatsuit and his lion buckler close behind her. Ana put a hand on Pharah’s shoulder, “Are you all right?”

“We’re just answering Athena’s call, same as you,” said Pharah.

“Have you seen Reaper?” said Jack, running up alongside the rest of the group, also in pajamas, but also wearing his visor and carrying his rifle.

“We don’t know that it’s Reaper,” said Ana, as the five of them closed in on the hangar.

“Who else could it be?” said Jack as they opened the hangar door to see McCree and Hanzo beating the everloving shit out of each other.

“...Oh,” said Jack.

“’Bout---Oof!” McCree got socked in the stomach, “Goddamn time y’all got here!” Hanzo stopped and looked over his shoulder at the mass of pajama-clad-but-still-armed-Overwatch members and froze and McCree quickly broke away from him. Reinhardt brought up his shield, Ana and Jack raised their rifles. Pharah brought up her sidearm and Satya tossed out several turrets to maintain a perimeter before bringing up her own photon projector. Pharah gave a glance to Jack. “I’ll take point,” she said, stepping forward past Rein’s shield, her sidearm leveled at Hanzo.

“Jesse---” she called, “Are you all right?”

McCree spat out some blood. “Relatively,” he said, rubbing at a black eye.

“Who are you?” said Pharah, narrowing her eyes at the intruder, “Why are you here? Did Talon send you?”

“That is none of your---”

“It is very much our concern,” said Pharah, furrowing her brow as she continued moving forward, “Did you come alo--” Instinctively Pharah’s eyes flicked left and right with the question as she continued moving forward, but rather than possible backup for the intruder, her eyes fell on Orisa’s collapsed form, previously obscured by some of the hangar’s shipping containers. “Oh no---” she hurried over to Orisa’s side. Hanzo knew he couldn’t take advantage of her distraction with three other guns pointed at him.

“What did you do?!” said Pharah, touching at Orisa’s faceplate.

“Oh for--What is wrong with you people?! It’s just a security drone!” snapped Hanzo.

An icy silence settled over the entire group, and within a few seconds, Hanzo realized that he had just managed to make everyone in that hangar hate him with only five words.

“Orisa,” Pharah stated calmly, “Is a part of the team.”

“A part of the family,” Ana added.

“Not like you would know much about family, would you Hanzo?” said McCree, who had now walked over and picked his peacemaker up from where Hanzo had knocked it away.

“Hanzo?” said Jack, “Hanzo Shimada?”

“He’s been below the radar for years...” muttered Ana.

“Said he was lookin’ for Genji,” said McCree, furrowing his brow.

“Wait!” Genji burst in through the door and sprinted in front of Reinhardt’s shield, “Wait! It’s okay!”

“Genji, it’s not safe---” McCree started.

“Brother,” said Genji, coming to a stop in front of Hanzo, “What are you doing here?”

“You told me it was time to pick a side, so I came to see the side you picked,” his glare panned across all the Overwatch members aiming their weapons at him, “The side of fools seems fitting for you.”

“You broke onto the Watchpoint! The hell were we supposed to do? Just let you waltz in and kill Genji?!” shouted McCree.

“I did not come to kill Genji!” snapped Hanzo.

“Sure, because those are friendly arrows on your back,” said McCree.

“Jesse,” Genji put a hand up and McCree lowered his gun, but continued glaring at Hanzo. “I can handle this,” said Genji. He turned to Hanzo. “Are you all right?”

“Despite the best efforts of your oafish cowboy,” muttered Hanzo, examining his own bruised and bloody knuckles.

“Oafish--!?” McCree stepped forward but Genji put a hand up again and he just seethed and stood his ground.

“Hanzo,” Genji spoke calmly, “I am glad you are here. And I understand you wanting to come here on your own terms, however, my teammates acted in accordance to what they knew of the situation. We do not need to escalate the situation any further.”

Hanzo’s eyes narrowed. “And what would you have me do? Trust the people that are currently pointing guns at me?”

“I trust these people,” said Genji, “I’m asking you to give them reason to trust you.” 

Hanzo’s eyes narrowed. “And how am I supposed to be sure you haven’t been... conditioned by these people? That you aren’t their loyal dog?”

Genji sighed wearily. “Hanzo, if you came here to learn of my situation with Overwatch, I would ask that you actually open your mind to that learning.” 

Hanzo frowned and gave a cold sidelong glance to Pharah and the others, still standing with their weapons at the ready. But then he glanced back to Genji. The reason he came. The only family he had left. Hanzo’s brow went from furrowed to crinkled.

“Please,” Genji said, very softly.

Hanzo’s lips parted, Genji’s stance slipped from guarded to open. He was his brother. He had come here for a reason.

“Hmph,” McCree spat, “I wouldn’t bother with him, Genji.”

Hanzo’s eyes widened and the coldness swept back over his face swiftly and easily.

Oh no, thought Genji. “Jess--” Genji started.

“How dare you,” said Hanzo, turning on his heel to face McCree, “You have no idea how much grief or how much pain I have gone through for what I have done. I know your kind. All you have ever been in your life is a thug, serving the word of whomever’s most convenient to you. You haven’t the faintest idea what it means to---”

There was a high pitched ‘Thwiift’ sound and Hanzo suddenly flinched and gave a glance down at just below his collarbone, where a little dart was embedded. He turned his sights back at the group of five people hiding behind the old man’s shield, where a little old lady was holding some kind of pistol-like gun.

“Captain!” Genji blurted out.

“Ana...” Reinhardt said in shock.

“Whuh...” Hanzo gave another bewildered glance down at the dart embedded in his chest before dropping to the floor unconscious.

“It is three in the morning,” Ana said flatly, holstering her sleep dart gun, “He was an intruder on the watchpoint. He was subdued. We’ll question him and figure out what to do with him when we’re actually equipped to do so.” 

“But... what will he...?” Genji looked at Hanzo.

“He hurt Orisa, Genji,” said Pharah.

“And he made a point of sneaking past the Watchpoint’s other defenses,” added Satya.

 “I know he’s your brother, but we can’t be sure of his motives,” said Pharah.

“There’s a containment cell near the Watchpoint’s central hub,” said Jack, “It’s got a bed. Rein, you and me can get him there. Jesse, you get yourself cleaned up and...” Jack gave a glance over to Orisa’s collapsed form, “She’s too big to move for now. We’ll get Brigitte to take a look at her in the morning.”

“Regroup at 0800,” said Ana.

Reinhardt nodded, brought his shield down, then easily slung Hanzo over his shoulder and walked off with Jack.

“Well that was... certainly something,” said Pharah, holstering her sidearm.

“And I thought your family was dramatic,” said Satya, setting up a new turret in place where Hanzo had destroyed the other one.

Pharah snorted as Satya hooked her arm in hers and they walked off together.

Genji gave a glance over at McCree, who was sorely circling his wrist.

“I... I am sorry for all this,” said Genji.

“Don’t feel like you gotta do the ‘Brother’s keeper’ thing with all the shit he’s done,” said McCree.

“But he is still my brother,” said Genji.

“Well Genji,” McCree looked up from his wrist to Genji, “Your brother’s a dick.”

[kurly-quill]

Hiya, hon! Ask, and you shall recieve <3 (when I get off my ass anyway)

Robin’s Nest Cafe Part 2

Pairings: DickTim, JayDick, JayTim, future JayDickTim

Rating: Mature for Language 

Coffee Shop AU (sort of), Civilian!Tim (mostly?) Part 1 - Part 2 

(2) The Nest

In the past four years or so, it became a well-kept secret in East End, that if you ever needed a safe place to shut your eyes, you might find it at The Nest. They don’t take names. They don’t ask any questions, and will take in anyone of any age. You’ll get a clean room, with a clean bed, and a square meal. Rumor even has it that folks sometimes leave The Nest with things like new job prospects or that last refill of medication you couldn’t afford in your pocket.

It’s not a long-term arrangement, but it helps when the winter rolls in and  you don’t want to freeze to death.

The shop is quiet. But then, it’s never particularly busy either. Like, ever. She spends more time practicing her latte art than taking orders (“You’ll never get paid to doodle cats, young lady!” they used to tell her in high school. Well joke’s on you, Ms. Maximoff)

Tim is standing beside her at the counter, carefully wiping down the espresso machine like it’s his baby -- kind of accurate, since the only thing he loves more than that machine is her, obviously. Maybe. He better, anyway, if he knows what’s good for him.

It’s midway through her shift. Idly, she stacks the little espresso cups into a pyramid, knowing that Tim is silently judging her for it (“You realise we can’t use the cups now that you’ve touched all of them, right?” “So narrow-minded, Timmy. We can definitely use them for shots later!”).

Like Tim can’t afford the cups or something. But, appearances are still important for a place like this, she supposes. Barely getting by, but passed the health inspection! - that’s the look they’re apparently going for to the public eye.  She gets it. Robin’s Nest cafe isn’t supposed to be high profile, or else The Nest loses its purpose. She flicks at her tower of espresso cups, leaning over the counter with her chin propped up on her hand, musing.

She thinks of a few years ago, remembers being at the end of her rope. How she had been ignoring the rumors about The Nest, passing them off as bullshit, until a cold front hit Gotham so hard it even had the Gotham-grade criminals running for cover. She remembers  finally caving to the rumors, looking across the street at Robin’s Nest, brightly lit compared to the sorry excuses for street lamps that lined the sidewalk. Shivering, blue-lipped. All of the closest shelters were full, and the last time she’d slept in one, she’d woken up to a man reaching under her sheets, so like hell was she going back to one if she had other options.

She remembers her vow to herself-- that whatever happened, she wasn’t going back home.  She would have frozen in an alleyway somewhere before that happened.

She remembers jaywalking across the icy street to the sidewalk just outside the shop window. But, as soon as she had gotten there, had taken a better look at the interior, she’d hesitated. A sort of hipster-industrial look with some hodge-podge, DIY-esque decor that’s not too shiny and clean and just worn enough to seem lived-in and welcoming-- It was that last part, of all things, that had made her clam up inside. Made her turn around to find some alleyway to go lose some toes in.

She probably would have, she muses, wiggling her toes around in her Adidas, if Tim hadn’t caught her just as she went to turn around the corner of the block. He’d ran out of the shop in nothing but a long-sleeve “World’s Okayest Barista” shirt, skinny jeans, and converse, all messy dark hair and pale blue eyes, and he had looked about three seconds from turning into an icicle. But in his hand, had been a drink.

“What d’you want,” she demands, defenses up on autopilot.

The barista fairly skids to a stop on the icy sidewalk, breath coming in visible plumes. The drink is shoved in her face-- she can see that it’s piping hot, and she’s suddenly acutely aware of how her nose and lips ache with cold.

“Take it. It’s hot chocolate.”

“Wow,” she deadpans, quirking a brow, “this is, like, a classic case of stranger danger.”

She notes how hard the barista is beginning to shiver, and wondered if he’s just an idiot for running after a homeless person on the wrong side of Gotham in ass-degree-and-dropping temperatures. (And in that getup, too, that screams: “please, oh please, ma’am, rob me, I’m a little nerdboy!” She could do it, probably, if she really wanted to.)

The barista grins sheepishly at her, shrugging.

“Okay, fair. I can make you another one back at the shop and you can watch me to make sure it’s safe to drink, if it makes you feel better.” She blinks at him. An idiot, definitely.

“Hate to break it to you, dude, but I’m broke.”

The barista holds up one finger. He fishes around in his pocket, pulls out his wallet (an open invitation to snatch it, that), and tugs out a little card. He holds it out to her, and she watches him carefully before taking it and reading-- she frowns. Flips the card over. The little card is small and sleek-- heavier than paper, PVC?-- and has a single bird-like symbol on the front. The back only reads:

For One - Redeemable at The Nest

“It’s a coupon.”

She swallows. No way.

“For a drink?”

The barista tucks his hands into his pockets. She wonders if he’s doing it because he thinks it looks cool or if it’s because he’s lost feeling in his hands. When she meets his eyes again, though, she’s distracted by how they sharpen with focus, flashing with a secret.

“Sure,” he concedes, shrugging again, “Or a room, if you want it. On the house.”

She blinks at him once. Twice. “You’re fucking nuts, aren’t you?”

The barista lets out a startled laugh, one hand coming up to cover his mouth. It shouldn’t be cute, and she really shouldn’t go there, but there it is. She’s officially the type to be charmed by dorky, early 2000s, sk8er boi aesthetic.

“Jury’s still out.”, then holds out a hand that’s white with cold, “I’m Tim.”

She notices that he doesn’t ask for her name, and she thinks over whether she should even tell him. After all, she’s only about 85% sure the guy’s not batshit crazy. But then, she’s probably in good company.

Oh, what the hell, she thinks, letting herself smile back at him. She takes his hand, and can’t even feel it with how numb her fingers are.

“Well, it’s Gotham, so crazy’s just the status quo around here. Also, name’s Stephanie,” she pauses and adds, more quietly, “And I think I’ll take you up on that room”

Tim shakes their hands minutely, and the movement has pinpricks of pain shooting up to her elbow, but already she somehow feels warmer.

“Oh, thank God,” he sighs, relieved, already turning to walk back towards the cafe, “I can officially no longer feel my ass. I barely had one to begin with. Please, let’s go inside.”

And, despite how cold she is, and how she aches, and how absolutely, completely shitty her life is right now, she bursts out laughing, nearly doubling over. It’s a miracle that she doesn’t fall over, considering she can’t feel her legs.

“I feel that. Not so much the last part though. My ass is great,” she snickers, trying to regain her composure. She sidles up just behind Tim’s shoulder to follow him back down the block.

“But, hey, you know, I’ll still take you up on that hot chocolate if you’re still offering.”

“I think I can manage that.”

She’s jarred from her reminiscing by the bell above the shop door. In an instant, she’s baring her teeth in the default hello, I work in food service, so please don’t be a prick!! smile.

“Hello!” she sings, upbeat, “Welcome to Robin’s Nest!”

Behind her, Tim’s got his back turned towards the entrance, wiping down the back counter and pointedly leaving her to do the customer servicing. She hopes he can feel her glare. Asshole.

She then turns her head and wind up locking eyes with a man in uniform. She balks.

Oh damn, says one part of her brain, because wow that’s a nicely-fit uniform.

Oh shit, says the another part of her brain, because that’s a police uniform.

Oh fuck, says the rest of  her brain, because that’s Richard Grayson in a police uniform.

No, like, the fucking Richard Grayson™ .

Richard-fucking-Grayson gives her a smile that’s whiter than bleached tile floors, brighter than the goddamn sun in Metropolis. Stephanie’s missing all of her customer service cues and she will blame it entirely on that smile in the future if Robin’s Nest gets a bad review.

“Uh,” she says dumbly, standing up straight so fast she manages to knock all of her espresso cup pyramid over. She makes an aborted movement to try and stop them, realizes it’s a lost cause, so instead just stares Richard-fucking-Grayson in the face and lets them all fall in a tragic, drawn-out cacophony of noise as they clatter, one-by-one to the floor. Total power move.

The noise has Tim whirling around towards the front -- “Steph, what the-” -- but then he falls mute as he gets an eyeful of Gotham royalty in a police uniform. Yeah, same here, dude.

The silence goes on for so long that it’s become decidedly uncomfortable, so Steph tears her eyes away from glances in Tim’s direction --

And yep, that’s the creepy Tim.exe has stopped working stare of death that happens when his brain goes full-on computer mode and he forgets how to emote (It’s either because he’s worried there’s a cop in The Nest, or because Officer Grayson is just that hot. Actually, it’s probably both). Christ, he’s not even blinking-- they’ve had a talk about this, Timmy, get your shit together. “Hello! Hi!” she says, too loudly, diverting the officer’s (increasingly growing) concerned gaze back to her, “Can I take your order?”

The last cup makes a final, agonizing descent to the floor in the beat of silence that follows, while Richard Grayson blinks, a little amused but not overly surprised by the fact that he’s apparently been recognized.

“Hi,” he replies, too-bright smile back in place, “Sorry if I surprised you?” “No worries, Mr. Grayson. Just don’t usually get celebrities on this side of town,” Steph leans against the counter, falling back into her default teasing, “Just tell me you’re here cause of a good Yelp review or something, cause I plead the fifth if it’s for anything else.”

“Just call me Dick, please,” Dick chuckles, “And I just happened to be passing through. A friend told me that this place serves the best hot chocolate this side of Gotham.”

Tim twitches. “Bullshit,” Steph quips, “We serve the best hot chocolate in all of Gotham. Total, unbiased truth!”

Dick grins, “Then I guess that’s what I’m having.”

Steph smiles wide, making a show of punching the buttons on the register system, “I’ll be gentle with you, since it’s your first time -- Tim, one classic chocolate, for the man in blue!”

. . .

She looks again to her left when there’s no movement. Oh for the love of Wonder Woman--

“Tim.”

Tim snaps out of it with a visible jerk, blinking wide eyes as the past five minutes seem to play at hyperspeed through that ridiculous brain of his, and he opens his mouth.

“Right, yes. Okay. I can, that. Chocolate, sure. Hot. ” is what comes out, even as Tim’s eyes widen in horror at himself, the skin of his neck and ears beginning to flush red with embarrassment.

Steph’s jaw drops, because she’s never seen Timothy Jackson Drake lose composure like this in all three years she’s known him (not even counting that one time sex turned into a trip to the hospital that they both agreed to never speak of again). And well, she had never pegged Tim for a fanboy of all things, let alone of Dick Grayson, but there he is, moving through the motions of making his signature hot chocolate with the grace and poise of a robot chicken.

Dick, for his part, is looking at Tim in the bemused way one tends to look at a toddler that’s doing something a little bit weird but otherwise harmless. Steph is the best wing-woman ever, because she clears her throat to try and get his attention again instead of the other barista.

“Sooooo that’ll be 4.89,” Steph declares, “Will that be cash or card?”

Her tactic is thwarted -- Dick continues to look at Tim in mildly amused fascination as he digs around in his pocket before pulling out a few rumpled bills and, like, six Jolly Rancher wrappers. She tries not to judge too hard when the whole wad is pressed into her hand, even though they’re a little sticky.  

She hands him his change before turning to see that Tim has finished the hot chocolate, complete with the snowflake-covered cup sleeves that Steph spent nearly three hours doodling that morning with a silver Sharpie (“Starbucks makes festive cup sleeves, Tim! We can’t be beaten by the competition!” “Why do I even pay you?”). However, Tim is just staring at the cup like it holds the solution to world peace and also this painful interaction. Steph clears her throat, and he flinches again. He slides the cup to the edge of the counter, way too slowly, like he’s thinking about it too hard, and Dick reaches for the cup in the way someone might approach a skittish animal. His hand closes around the cup and he lifts it, watching Tim’s face as he lifts it to his mouth. “Thanks,” he says with a gentle smile, but Tim steadfastly refuses to look the police officer in the eye. Arguably, this is worse, because instead he’s staring at the guy’s pecs. The barista then retreats from the counter, takes a full step back, mumbles something that was probably a “You’re welcome”.

“Well come on,” Steph interrupts, “I reserve the right to see you take the first sip.” Dick raises an eyebrow at her, teasing, “I’ll have you know that the Wayne butler makes some really great hot chocolate. It’ll be tough to beat.”

“Quit stalling and drink the liquid diabetes, Grayson.”

Without breaking eye contact with Steph, he does just that. Steph’s smirk grows when the man’s eyes grow wide.

He swallows, the flavor washing over his tongue, and looks down at his cup in amazement. Takes another drink, and groans. It’s a sound that Steph’s sure she’s heard on one of the more trashy pornos on her laptop, and knows it’s not just her mind going straight to the gutter when she sees Tim’s ears go bright red. “Wow.”

Stephanie grins, smug, “Like I said -- best hot chocolate in all of Gotham”

“I’m a believer now,” Dick says solemnly, taking another long sip. “God. Tell your management to open a store in Bludhaven -- I could single-handedly keep the business afloat if I could drink this every day.”

Steph snorts, jerking her thumb at Tim, who’s staring resolutely at the far wall.

“Tell him yourself, maybe then he’ll listen. I keep saying we should expand! If you ask me, every shithole town with a Robin running around the streets deserves Robin’s Nest to go with it.” Tim breaks his stupor to glance at Steph in a way that she’s come to learn is a warning, which she resists the urge to roll her eyes at.

Dick outright laughs. “Heh, well these days I’d say Bludhaven sees just as much of Robin as Gotham” Dick chuckles, “Might need to relocate entirely with criteria like that.”

He slides his gaze to Tim.

“Not that it’d be a bad idea to move shop. Seriously, Bludhaven has a lot of up and coming neighborhoods -- You would get more customers than you probably get in this area, and if the rest of your menu is as good as this hot chocolate, you’d be pretty popular.”

At this, Tim freezes, then turns, his face twisting into a slight frown, “Robin’s Nest belongs in Gotham,” he says, clipped, “Besides, we do just fine here.” The officer blinks, suddenly looking into sharp, ice-blue eyes that until this moment had refused to look at him.

“I’m sure you have some faithful regulars, around here,” Dick says slowly, a bit placating, “but I know Gotham pretty well, and a bit about business,” he pauses and says, not unkindly, but it nonetheless has Tim’s spine going rigid, “You’d get more revenue if you relocated down to somewhere in Midtown, even the residential areas. Why don’t you?”

Tim’s eyes flash, but nothing else gives away his irritation. Instead, he tilts his head in a curious gesture. “Well,” there’s a calm lilt to his voice as he asks, “Gotham pays its officers a higher average salary than Bludhaven. Why don’t you move?”

Dick’s jaw drops for a second at the barb, blinking. Then, his brilliant blue eyes light up with humor, and he laughs, long and loud. Even that sounds attractive, which is so unfair that Steph glares at the dangerous tilt of his take-away cup, willing it to spill on his uniform. The officer regains his composure, chuckles dying down as he regains his composure. “Woah, okay, touché then!” he acquiesces with a shrug, “But on that point -- It’s not really about the salary, the job. I work in Bludhaven because I’m needed there.”

At that, Tim’s blank face slips into a smirk. Steph sighs as he unties his apron and slips off his ball cap, clearly deciding that he’s done playing Customer Service for the time being. That means Steph is going to be manning the counter alone for the next few hours. Thanks a lot, Grayson. Steph doesn’t miss the way Dick’s gaze flicks interestedly to Tim’s fingers sliding through his too-long hair, brushing back and it away from his face. Steph feels the need to nod in solidarity. She found that move kinda hot too, once.

For a second, it’s not Tim the Barista standing there. Instead, it’s Timothy Drake, and Dick seems to stand straighter in attention. “Then maybe, Officer Grayson,” he surmised, in that slightly condescending way that Steph reckoned only those bred in high society could recreate, “Robin’s Nest is exactly where it needs to be.”

At that, Dick hums in what is more a surrender than an agreement. Wise, Steph thinks, to keep his mouth shut and spare himself the verbal lashing. Dick doesn’t seem to look very cowed, though, she notes, so much as intrigued.

Satisfied, Tim carefully lays his apron and hat on the far end of the counter, and passes through the front counter’s the swing-gate. He gets to the door at the far wall that Steph knows leads up into the stairwell that connects the rest of the building’s floors, Tim’s attached apartment included. Dicks eyes follow him all the way there.

“Hey Steph, can you hold down the fort for awhile while I go up? I need to do the ordering for next week.”

Steph sighs dramatically, gesturing to Dick. “What, and leave me alone with all these customers?”

Tim rolls his eyes. “Just pick up all the cups off the floor -- and no more building towers with the espresso cups!” Steph sticks her tongue out at him before he closes and locks the door. “Spoil sport.”

Dick is quiet for a few seconds, before he sighs, “I feel like I should apologize for pushing.” Steph stands up from where she’s crouching on the floor, her arms full of fallen espresso cups. Dumping them into the recycling bin under the counter, she huffs her hair out of her face, humming thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t take it too personally -- Tim just gets pretty touchy about the shop,” she hesitates, before continuing a bit more quietly “It was important to him, growing up. He bought the place after his parents died.”

At this, Dick’s expression falls, and suddenly she’s being hit with the most beseeching blue eyes she’s ever seen. Jesus H. Christ, those have to be against the Geneva Conventions.

“Would you tell him I’m sorry?  I didn’t mean to offend him. . .” Steph physically resists the urge to wince at the intensity of the look, waving him off, “Yeah, sure, fine, I’ll tell him. Just jeez, quit it with the eyes.”

The eyes are still in the realm of small kicked animal, but less Sarah McLachlan, so Steph manages to survive as Dick’s expression turns thoughtful.

“Thank you.” A beat, then, “I think I’ll order another hot chocolate, actually, if you don’t mind.”

At that Steph raises an eyebrow, “For the road?” Dick clicks his tongue. "No,” he says, blue eyes twinkling with something like mischief, his grin suddenly sharp. His eyes, however, turn to the door that Tim had disappeared behind.

“It’s for a friend.”

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To be fair, Steph lasts a whole 23 minutes.

“Hey, I mean, Timmy didn’t say anything about building towers with any of the other cups.”

[thehomierobbstark]

Teach Me Part 3

Part 1 Part 2

Pairing: Erik Killmonger x Reader [#TeamErikDon’tDateWhiteChicks]

A/N: Strap in, because this chapter is about to be long. Almost 4.5k long. Continues on from last chapter about meeting Erik. Also…. I don’t wanna give nothing away but… I think yall gone be happy with the way this chapter ends… ;-) 

Sorry for all the weird breaks, I tried not to get too wordy with the parts that didn’t matter too much.

Warnings: Cursing ofc, more sass, probably more bad humor. Fluff?

I forgot to include pictures last time for the folks like me who enjoy visuals. So peep the links!

This is for all my lil cute ass black gorditas out there rockin back fat, belly rolls and thick ass thighs that touch!!  x Reader is always gon be black, chubby, and sassy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ya outfit.

With Mr. Stevens trailing behind you, you headed back down to the first floor to print out another copy of the report to take with you out to lunch. You made him wait by the front desk while you dashed back to your office, hoping Christianna hadn’t been out looking for you since you’d been gone longer than you expected. Seeing her face as you walked to your office, though, you realized there was no such luck on that front.

“Girl who is that FOINE ass man you got out there waiting on you?!” Christianna said, arms crossed and face curious as she leaned out your office to look at him. There was absolutely no shame in her game as she observed him from the doorway, taking note of his height and muscular physique. You were thankful the office was mostly cleared out for lunch, and luckily for you, the man in question had been too interested in his phone to notice your friend oogling him.

“If you don’t get your nosy ass back in here!” you harshly whisper, snatching her arm up to pull her back inside and closing the door behind you. You spoke again, this time trying to keep the slight hysteria out of your voice so as not to give you away.

“He’s here to go over the budget, so we’re headed to lunch.” You primly state, turning towards your desk to get started on printing the file. You didn’t want her jumping to conclusions, but more importantly, you didn’t want her harassing you and distracting you from keeping a clear and level mind. You were already anxious enough, and you really didn’t need her adding to it.

Unfortunately for you, she didn’t give a damn about your anxiety.

“Oh uh uh, you bout to tell me all about this nigga. I wanna know names, ages, and,” she stopped, taking a second to peer through the blinds of the window, “where he works out, cuz I need to find me a nigga like him, gahDAMN.”

“Really!?” you suck your teeth, walking over to pull her from the window, the blinds snapping as her fingers detach. You really wanted to laugh at your friends extra ass antics, but you also didn’t want to encourage her to carry on her line of questioning.

You type in a few key strokes on the computer and hear the printer start whirring, hopping up from your desk to head to the corner with the printer.

“Bitch, I know you hear me,” Christianna says, leaning back on her own desk and watching you, crossing her arms again. “Is this a date? How’d y’all meet?”

You were SO grateful that your office had a door attached to it, because otherwise, with the way you both talked to each other, there was no way you wouldn’t have already gotten reprimanded and/or fired.

“Its not a date, alright? He’s partnering with the museum with the Wakandan Outreach Program and Dr. Butler had an emergency, so she asked me to help. Ok?” You hoped that was enough information to keep her satisfied for the moment. You knew she’d have a barrage of questions once you got back, and you needed a full stomach and at least one drink to prepare for that.

“He’s from Wakanda?! Ooo girl.” You glance up interestedly at her as you stack the completed report in your hands, grabbing a manila folder. “I bet he’s one of them mountaintop niggas. You know, I heard they got some of the biggest di-“

“GOODBYE CHRISTIANNA” you say, tuning her out. You grab your purse and coat from the back of the door and fling it open, heading back out to the front desk.

“Wait!” she called after you.

“So should I tell Chad you’re taken?!”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Mr. Stevens volunteered to drive you both to lunch, suggesting you go to The Capital Grille, a place he’d found while you were busy in your office. You agreed, texting the information on to Christianna while you walked out to the parking lot. It was a beautiful day in D.C., and the bright sun gave a warm contrast to the cold air around you as you walked across the pavement. You heard the chirping of a car alarm and you looked up from your phone, trying to guess which one belonged to him.

“I’m right here,” he says, pointing to a black 2018 Cadillac Escalade parked near the front. Somehow, while it wasn’t exactly what you expected, it also didn’t seem entirely out of his character, what little bit of it you knew. Still, you chuckled as a weird sort of familiarity ran through you.

“Somethin funny over there?” He asked, eyebrows raised in curiosity.

“Nah,” you answer, trying to loosen up a bit. “Just thought I remembered something.” you say, smiling a little to yourself.

You hop in the front seat, closing the door and turning to buckle up. As Mr. Stevens leaned down to start the car, you thought you could see him from the corner of your eye, smile a little, too.

~~~~~~~~~~~

The drive to the restaurant was short and a little awkward, but the music from the radio helped to fill the silence. You tried not to panic fidget and instead opted to look out the widow, watching downtown D.C. whiz past you.  Once you got to the restaurant, he pulled into the parking lot, driving up to the valet station. Putting the car in park, he hopped out, as did you, thanking the valet as he held the door open and helped you out. You thought it was a little extra that he was valeting the car for a simple business meeting, but you decided not to question it.

You started walking up the steps into the restaurant, so you didn’t see it when Mr. Stevens leaned down and whispered something into the valets ear while he handed him the keys, and slipped what looked like a few bills into his other hand. When you glanced back, you did, however, see the valet give a huge grin while he looked between the two of you, then excitedly walk to the other side of the car, getting into the front seat.

You give Mr. Stevens a measured look as he makes his way up the stairs towards you. “Should I be concerned?” you say, cocking an eyebrow at him. You made a mental note to download the Uber app when you went to the bathroom, just in case you got any weird vibes during lunch.

“Nah, we good. C’mon, lets go inside.” He let his hand hover above the small of your back while he gestured toward the door with his head. You look at him for a few more seconds before turning to go inside. He opens the door from behind you and you walk in, going up to the hostess’ booth and greeting her.

“Hi, can we get a table-“

“We have a reservation for two. Under Stevens?” he interrupts you, his big frame gently pushing you aside to stand in front of her. Your patience starts to grow a little thin, but then he lowers his voice as he leans forward and says, “..and do you have those accommodations I requested?”

His eyes have a look of slight hopefulness in them, and you can’t help but be incredibly curious at this point. You can tell he’s trying hard not to give in to his facial expression, but he almost looks like a little boy with the way his big brown eyes look so innocent in the moment. Again, a weird feeling of familiarity runs through you as you look up at his face. You can’t exactly place it, but you almost feel as if you’d seen that look before somewhere…

“Absolutely Mr. Stevens. Right this way.” she answers smiling. She steps from behind the podium and begins leading you both to your table. You don’t really know what to feel in the moment, but you heart does weird leaps of joy as if you’re excited.

Your table is located all the way in the back of the restaurant, away from the rest of the patrons, and through a pair of double doors that open up to what appears to be a private dining room. The room is pretty big with dark wooden panels that cover the walls, with paintings on each of them. Two pendant bowl chandeliers hung from the ceiling, the yellow light giving the room a warm and cozy feeling. A box window opposite the door gives the room a beautiful second story view of the city. The room looks big enough to fit at least ten guests, but theres only one cloth covered table in the center. As you get closer you see that on both sides of the table there’s already a drink, with what looks like a blue colored frothy soda with whipped cream on top and two cherries.

You look at the drink oddly before realization starts to hit you. Holy shit.

The hostess pulls your chair out for you before handing you a menu. “Enjoy your lunch, Miss Bubbles.”

Holy fuck.

Your jaw drops as your eyes go wide, and for a moment you’re just speechless. You watch the hostess as she leaves the room, then turn to look at the drink in front of you. Finally, you look up to Mr. Stevens across from you, and see him smiling uncontrollably as he watches you, pulling his hand up to cover his mouth as he starts laughing.

“Oh my god. Huey?!!!” you scream, hands flying up to your mouth. You push yourself out of your chair and run over to Erik, slamming into him while flinging your arms around his neck and hugging him hard, almost causing his chair to tip back. He catches the both of you, bringing the front legs of the chair back to ground, as he wraps his arms around you and just holds you, both of you laughing together.

“Finally nigga!” he says into your ear, smiling hard.

“Why didn’t you fucking tell me nigga!?” You yell at him, breaking away for a moment to punch his arm before burying your face back into his neck.

It all made sense now. His weird personal space issues, why he kept giving you those goofy ass smirks, his joking about you being short. It was Erik fucking Stevens! Way back from elementary school in Oakland. Ya’ll would barely ever use your real names when you were around each other back then, instead using nicknames based on tv shows you’d both watch together after school. Thats why you hadn’t realized who he was until just this moment.

Yours had been based off of the kids show Power Puff Girls, which had been one of your all time favorites. When it came to dealing with the boys on the block, you were Buttercup to a T. Always full of mean ass comebacks and overt aggression, you learned early on that you had to hold your own when it came to dealing with the guys, especially because you were one of the only girls on the block. You didn’t miss out on any fun activity that was going on in the summer just because you were a girl, and you made sure all the boys knew that too. Basketball on the courts at two? You were there. Video games and Street Fighter at one of your friends houses? You were there. Even during school, you made your presence known during any and all “boys” sports activities, like kickball and touch football, because you’d be damned if you were going to be excluded. Almost no boy would dare to mess with you, except Erik.

After his dad died when you both were around nine, your parents offered to lend a helping hand in making sure he was taken care of since he was new to the neighborhood, having been left in the care of an elderly aunt that lived in your building. You both had grown incredibly close during those years, given that Erik was constantly over your house studying after school or playing video games. Because of this, he was one of the only friends who could see right through your tough girl facade to the mild, even tempered good girl that you really were. When it came to your teachers and parents, you had an almost angelic like behavior. Even at your young age, you knew that there was a time and place for acting out, and the house and classroom were not one of them. You were raised better than that. He’d caught on to the game that you were playing, though, and once he did, he never let you live it down. Thus, the nickname Bubbles was born.

His nickname was Huey, based off of the intellectual and wise beyond his years character from

The Boondocks. Ya’ll were far too young to be watching the show when you were younger, but that didn’t stop you from sneaking in an episode or two at your house when your parents shifts would run late. You were mostly relegated to the comic strip section though, which both of you would enjoy together on your walks to school in the morning. Erik was one of those boys that knew his history and culture, and would waste no time in letting you know it either. Whether he was correcting teachers in class about the real history behind the Native American genocide, or speaking on the horrors of the Atlantic Slave trade with his friends, more than one phone call had been made home on behalf of Erik and how he’d interrupted class yet again to educate the masses.

After his aunt had died when you were thirteen, Erik had moved away to another country to live with an uncle and cousin. You’d lost contact with each other after that point, and even though you’d tried looking him up on Facebook a few years after, you were never able to find him. Other than the occasional inquiry from your parents, you hadn’t thought about him in years, and you’d chalked him up to just another fun childhood memory you’d revisit every now and then.

But now, not only was he back, but he was here. In the flesh.

You pulled back again to look Erik in the face, trying to find some semblance of the little boy you’d known back then. Trying to figure out how you didn’t realize that it was him sooner. But all you could see were his eyes. His big, beautiful brown eyes. And just like that, it all came rushing back to you.

You were so caught up in slowly piecing his features back together that you didn’t realize you were basically sitting in Erik’s lap at this point.

Erik realized it, though, and his eyes flicked down to his arms wrapped around your waist and back up to you before he began to tease you.

“You gon eat lunch in my lap, or you want your own chair?” he asks, face splitting into a wide grin.

That was one thing about Erik you’d never forget. He could always find a way to get you flustered with his damn charm.

“Oh, shit, my bad!” you gasp, hopping up so quick you almost lose your balance. You can feel the heat start to spread across your face but try to ignore it while you fix your dress.

“Its alright ma, I could be ya chair if you wanted. Truss me, I do not mind.” He sits back in his chair and proceeds to give you a long look from head to toe, biting his lip. You almost can’t believe how bold this nigga is being right in front of you, especially after all these years, but then you remember the way you looked at him when you first saw him in the Rotunda that morning.

You put your hands on your hips and cock your neck. “Is this payback for earlier?” you ask, narrowing your eyes at him.

“There’s that attitude I remember.” he says, smirking at you. “And ion know. Maybe.” He shrugs, raising an eyebrow back at you.

You open your mouth to say something, then close it, making a choice not to read too much into that statement. Instead you give a little grunt and pop him on the shoulder, turning to make your way back to your own seat, and hear him chuckling behind you. You pull out your chair and point at the drink on the table, plopping down in the seat.

“Big Blue float?” you ask.

“You already know,” he says softly, a slow smile forming across his lips.

“I haven’t had one of these in years, oh my god.” You smile, stirring it with your straw. You lean forward and take a sip, and the delicious carbonated vanilla and syrup flavor floods your mouth. You close your eyes, and you can almost see the summers you spent hanging out on your balcony with Erik sipping the drink, watching the neighborhood kids play ball down below while you listened to the radio.

You break from your trip down memory lane and look up to see Erik doing the same, smiling and staring at his drink, eyes distant, and you wonder if he’s remembering the same thing.

“How did you know it was me?” you ask him, brows furrowing in confusion and curiosity. Theres no way he immediately could have known who you were, especially since he didn’t even learn your name until after speaking with Dr. Butler. Plus, if time had treated you the same way it had Erik, and you were really hoping it did judging how he looked, you probably looked almost nothing like you did when you were a kid.

Well, at least you hoped you didn’t. It was a long shot wishing for that last part though, because you’d been mistaken for a high schooler more than once during your first month at the museum. It had become such a hassle being mistaken for an intern by security that you began incorporating eyeliner and mascara into your daily routine just to look a little older.

“You must’ve forgot how well I know you, girl. You the only one I know that be lookin at other people live their lives and have the biggest fuckin smile like you livin it with them.”

Your people watching. So he did immediately know who you were. That was the one thing you loved doing most on that balcony during those summers, and Erik had commented more than once how weirdly happy you always looked while you were watching the neighborhood.

You smile wide at the memory, nervously biting your thumb as you look at him.

He grins back. “Yeah, that one. Right there. I couldn’t forget that smile, even if I tried.”

You drop your smile and roll your eyes, kissing your teeth at him.

“Shut yo ass up.” you mumble.

You’d be lying if you said that wasn’t some cute ass shit he just spit, but you didn’t want it getting to his head, even if it did have you feeling some type of way.

“Don’t be rollin ya eyes at me. And who you think you cursin at?” He questions, eyeing you playfully from across the table.

“Yeah, whateva. Corny ass nigga…” you laugh, picking up your menu to shield you from his stare.

You hear him push back his chair and make a move to get up, but the waiter walks into the room, stopping him. You almost thank the waiter for their timing, because you really didn’t feel like roughhousing with Erik in this restaurant in your heels.

“Aiight, keep playin wit me Bubbles. You gon see.” You giggle as you peer over the menu to look at him.

~~~~~

It was amazing how quickly the both of you fell right back into the motions of your old friendship, as if almost no time had passed at all. Lunch flew by as you caught each other up on what happened in each others lives over the years, and how you’d both ended up in D.C.

Turned out that the uncle and cousin Erik had moved out of the country to live with were royalty. The King and Prince of Wakanda, to be exact, which made him a Prince himself. He’d come back to the states for college after he turned 18, graduating two years early and going straight to MIT for Grad School, which he also graduated early. He returned to Wakanda to work in the Science and Technology field with his younger cousin, helping her to create Wakandan Outreach programs all across the U.S. since revealing their technology to the rest of the world. So, deciding he needed a change of scenery and to get away from his “annoying ass know it all cousins” (his words), he packed up and moved back to the states, starting his work with the Capitol.

You balked at his accomplishments, almost feeling bad that it had taken you four years just to complete your undergrad. And that was something you were really proud of. But more than anything, you were floored that he was actually Wakandan royalty, and related to King T’Challa, the Black Panther himself.

You were so engrossed with the details of his story, that you completely forgot all about the budget meeting the lunch was intended for until you got back to the museum parking lot two hours later, the manila folder still in your purse, untouched.

“Ah shit, we forgot about the budget!” you exclaim, giving yourself a face palm before blowing a raspberry. You had quite a tendency for being forgetful that day, and you didn’t want to get on Dr. Butlers bad side as a result of it. You were doing well in your new job, but you still felt that you had so much left to prove.

“Forget allat. I can go over it myself before the next meeting.” he says, dismissing it with a wave of his hand. You almost give him an incredulous look before you remember. Oh yeah. MIT. He can figure it out.

“I wanna show you something tho, close ya eyes.” His smile turns goofy and childlike again, and you give him a wary look before doing what your told.

You hear him reach in the back seat and hear the rustling of a plastic bag.

“Ok now hold out ya hand.”  You do, and he plops something into it, the weight of it a little heavier than what you expected. You feel it between your hands first, and you can feel through the bag that whatever it is, its a bunch of small, squishy pieces, but it also feels a little gritty. You start to get grossed out, but when you open your eyes and look down, you laugh at what you see.

“How the fuck you find this!?” You ask, and you’re both laughing now. In your hand is a small ziploc bag filled with koolaid gummy bears, the dyed sugar covering the tops, giving it an encrusted look. You hadn’t had koolaid gummy bears in YEARS, and your shocked he managed to find some given neither of you were in school anymore.

“Apparently they sell them at corner stores now. I asked the valet kid if he could score us some.” he tells you.

“Oh, so thats what ya’ll were whispering about. Thought ya’ll was planning on kidnapping my ass.” You laugh, giving an overly relieved look.

“Never know. I still might.” he says tilting his head at you, the playfulness back in his eyes.

You give him a look before scoffing and rolling your eyes, but before you can turn to open your door he grabs your face in his hand and brings you close to him, so close your foreheads are almost touching. You brace one hand against his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath his shirt.

“I told you to stop rollin ya eyes at me.” his voice is low, almost a whisper, and he’s looking you right in the eyes. Something in the bottom of your stomach turns, making you squirm in response. You glance down nervously, but bring your eyes right back up when you look at his full lips.

You get a little bold. “No.” you say, raising a brow and putting a little bit of force behind your words. You can hear your blood pumping in your ears as your breath gets shallower.

“Always so fuckin stubborn.” He smirks at you, swiping a slow finger across your lips.

Before you can process whats happening, he kisses you, soft and slow, and you swear time slows down for a second. He starts giving you soft licks, and you moan a little into his mouth, your other hand dropping the ziploc bag and wrapping around his neck. He pulls away after a moment and nips at your bottom lip, looking into your eyes.

“Been wanting to do that since I was thirteen,” he tells you, breath a little ragged.

You smile and look down, closing your eyes while you shake your head. You’d wanted the same exact thing, but you really didn’t need this kind of distraction. Not with half a work day still ahead of you.

“I um, I think I should go now.” You say, looking back up and chuckling at him so he didn’t feel like you were just blowing him off. “If I don’t go now, I don’t know if I ever will.”

“I’m alright with that.” He says, gently stroking your jaw with this thumb.

“Yeah, but,” you pull away, “my rent isn’t.” he laughs, and you begin collecting your things before popping open the door.

You hand him the folder, and give him a quick peck on the cheek before turning to get out.

“You gone call me when you get home, Bubbles?” he asks you, leaning over and cheesing at you.

“No,” you say, and before he can say anything you close the door and head into the museum, a huge goofy ass smile spreading across your face.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fun Fact: I had a bet with this boy in 3rd grade that when I grew up I’d own a Cadillac Escalade. Y’all can incorporate that in this story if you want lol.

As for the bet....lets just say I owe that nigga $100 😂😂😂

[whispersandwhiskerburn]

An All Hallows’ Haunting

Summary: Dean, Sam, and Reader take on a case featuring one of America’s oldest ghost legends: the Headless Horseman...who rides on Halloween. Pairing: Dean x Reader Word Count: 6,745....holy shit, how did that happen? Warnings: A few pieces of language, a bit of suspense...nothing really. Author’s Note: I tried to make this extremely canon-style in characterization, plot, everything. This is a late contribution to my dear friend @plaidstiel-wormstache‘s Halloween celebration (thanks for the prompt, patience, and proof-reading!). I actually met her last Halloween when she asked me to beta a The Nightmare Before Christmas x SPN fic , so when she hosted, I had to get a TNBC prompt for this fic: “She’s the only one who makes any sense in this insane asylum”. Look for it along with some familiar characters from Burton’s animated holiday classic. Feedback is always appreciated!

“Seriously, you guys don’t do anything for Halloween?”

You had found the Winchesters on a hunt back in January, and you and Dean had officially gotten together in April… this was your first fall with them and you couldn’t believe what you were hearing.

Sam and Dean exchanged looks. The younger one smiled wryly, “let’s just say it carries its own brand of nightmares.”

“Yeah, once you’ve dodged Samhain himself, the whole idea of celebrating the season kind of loses its shine…plus, you know, we’ve been kind of busy.”

You nodded, understanding. In the past few months you had been there as Dean darkened under the curse of the Mark and had helped the brothers patch it up after Sam had gone behind both of your backs to get it removed by Rowena. You understood why he had done it… and you couldn’t feel bad about it, no matter what happened with Amara.

You were thankful to have Dean back. You weren’t ashamed of that.

You tried to get them back to the lighter topics—a role you were used to filling with the Winchesters. “Come on! Costumes, candy, trick or treating, pumpkins… pie?” Dean chuckled, and you smiled, “fall has its plusses. Halloween’s only a few days away, and we haven’t made any plans!”

“Don’t get me wrong, Y/N, if you’re planning to dress up, I’m all in for that.” Dean quit wagging his eyebrows long enough to dodge the French fry his brother tossed at his head.

“Sorry you two—your dress up activities are going to have to be postponed. It looks like we might have a case.”

Dean sat up, and so did you, ready to be a bit more serious. Sam was scanning the computer screen in front of him.

“Charlie” Sam struggled with her name and all three of you flinched, “flagged this when she uploaded the men of letters files and a bunch of the hunter’s journals that we pulled out of Bobby’s storage—a reoccurring haunting. Dean, you remember the Morton house with the janitor guy who showed up every leap year?” Dean nodded, and you shrugged.

“Kinda like that. Except the pattern on this one is much more spaced out, which is probably why no other hunter has ever caught it. Apparently, every 24 years there’s a rash of beheadings on Halloween near a place called Tarrytown, New York, about a half hour north of Manhattan. The residents link it to a local legend and get this—the spirit of a headless horseman.” Sam scoffed the last words and Dean shot a quizzical look at you.

“You mean the dude with the pumpkin chasing the goofy looking guy in the cartoon?”

“You’re talking about the short story by… Irving, I think?” You thought back to your community college English class— “’The Legend of Sleepy Hollow’. You’re telling me it’s real?”

Sam nodded, closing his computer. “According to Bobby, which is good enough for me. Looks like the horseman’s due to ride this year, so I’ll see you in the garage in ten?”

You slid back your chair, standing up at the same time Dean did. As Sam stalked off down the hallway, you pulled Dean close for a quick kiss.

“I’m taking a rain check on that dress up challenge, Winchester.”  

He settled his hands at the nape of your neck, his fingers threading through your hair.  “Oh, really? Have you got a French maid costume lying around somewhere?”

You kissed him again, then leaned back as your hands slid down his back to land on his narrow hips.

“Maybe. But now that you’ve put the idea in my head, I’m not gonna rest until I see this ass,” you squeezed his cheeks, and he settled his hips closer into yours, “in cowboy chaps.”

He was already leaning in for another kiss when he processed what you said, and leaned back to laugh—one of those good belly deep laughs that crinkled the corners of his eyes and brought an involuntary smile to your face. With everything going on, it was good that you were still able to make him let loose like that.

“Now come on, Cowboy. Let’s go take care of this horseman.”

He gave you a good ol’ boy wink and drawled, “yes ma’am.”

Trailing the Impala through the northern part of the country on your motorcycle had been a visual treat. You’d always enjoyed a long ride, the music in your one earbud the modern kind that Dean hated, and you could never get enough of, and the fall colors in the trees were just incredibly gorgeous.

They’d stopped a little way past Chicago for the night, and despite the good food, Sam and Dean had been in an irritable mood. Dean hated traffic and Sam had been trying to do research on the case, and had found that separating the fact from the fiction when it came to this famous ghost was a bit of a headache.

“It’s like researching Bloody Mary all over again,” he grumbled as they set off in the car again the next morning. You were relieved to get back to the drive—the brothers were less likely to be whiny when they actually got to the job.

You were surprised when you saw Dean flash his blinker, signaling a turn when the sign you just passed said Tarrytown was straight ahead. When he slowed at the next stop sign you pulled up beside driver’s door as he lowered the window, putting one foot on the ground as your bike idled.

“Sam’s found a current address to a contact from Bobby’s journal—a guy named Jack Bones. He lives kinda off the beaten track, but since we’ve only got two days till Halloween, we figured we’d stop there, see if he could fill in any blanks.”

You nodded your agreement, and Dean pulled out on the road again with you following.

It wasn’t a full ten minutes later when you reached the end of a rough driveway and found a huge garden, overflowing with pumpkins, complete with a sign detailing prices. You smiled, looking around to find the rustic house and it’s wrap-a-round porch. You decided immediately that you liked it, and whomever had decorated the porch with fall mums.

You had parked closer than the boys and you were already leaning down to smell the bright flowers when you heard the door slam on the Impala.

“Hello, there. Are you here to buy a pumpkin from the Pumpkin King?”

You looked up to see the skinniest man you’d ever laid eyes on—his eyes were sunken in, and for a moment, he seemed more like a walking skeleton than a human being. Then he stepped out into the sunlight, and you could see his bald head and wide welcoming smile.

You returned his smile, “no, sorry.  I’m looking for a Jack Bones, not a Jack-o-lantern.”

You saw Dean and Sam out of the corner of your eye as they walked up behind you and you stood up.

“That’d be me—call me Jack. Doll?” He called back through the screen door into the house, “were we expecting company?”

“Not to my knowledge.” The feminine voice was followed by striking older lady with shoulder length auburn hair wearing a colorful sundress despite the chilly October air.

Sam took a step forward, smiling disarmingly. “Hi, my name is Sam Winchester, this is my brother Dean, and this is Y/N. We heard your name through Bobby—”

“Singer. Yeah he mentioned you two boys as well.” The smile was gone from the old man’s face and he rubbed the back of his neck. “Where is he? I’ve been expecting him for days.”

Sam and Dean exchanged looks and you saw a hint of pain flash across their faces. You took Dean’s hand on instinct, squeezing it in support. You saw Mrs. Bones walk closer behind her husband, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Jack, but Bobby died almost three years ago.” You kept your voice gentle, sad to give the news. You’d never met the man who had helped raise the Winchesters, but you knew he had been a great man.

Jack nodded, his smile tightening to a thin line. “I thought that might be the case. It sure is going to make this thing harder though.”

The silence then was thick and awkward until Mrs. Bones stepped in front of her husband, “I’m sorry for your loss. My name is Sally. Would you like to come in? I’ve got an apple pie cooling off—and I’ve always found that hard news and hard times are made lighter with good food.”

Jack seemed to shake off his melancholy and turned to look down at the woman beside him, smiling. “Thanks, Sally.”

He turned to face us, “I always listen to her--she’s the only one who makes any sense in this insane asylum of a town. You folks come on in and we’ll talk about what Bobby left you to do.”

Sam stepped up on the porch and Dean followed, your hand still folded inside his.

“Local tales differ on who the Hessian is—it gets tangled up with the Sleepy Hollow legend that made the town famous, but Irving didn’t write that story until 1819, after the Horseman had already ridden once twenty years before that.

“The real story gets mixed up with that quite a lot.”

Jack was leaned back, having swallowed his slice of pie in about four bites, and seemed ready to tell a story. Dean had scored two slices with a compliment to Sally’s cooking, and she looked on him fondly as he obviously relished every bite. You and Sam were more interested in what Jack had to say than the pie, but you were both taking small bites to be polite.

“I noticed—trying to separate fact from fiction online was difficult. If it hadn’t been for Bobby’s notes, I wouldn’t have believed there was really anything supernatural here.”

Sally laughed at that, “oh, there’s definitely something supernatural here. The Hessian’s ghost gets hyped up for the tourists, but we grew up here—we know the truth. The Hessian is the boogeyman that parents frighten their kids with…until the 24-year mark get close, then the newest generation gets told the truth.”

You put your fork down, sliding what was left of your pie towards Dean. “That was delicious, Sally, thank you. Can you two tell us what you actually know for sure about this ghost?” Sally nodded, then gestured to Jack to do the talking.

“Well, what is generally known by everyone who grows up here and who is willing to believe is fairly straightforward. The horseman, we call him the Hessian, was 24 years old when he was executed by beheading. The man was a murdering coward in life: he killed his superior officer to advance in the ranks of the British army, but when the battles started to get heavy with the Continental Army, he deserted his men. Most of his battalion died. He was captured, tried, and found guilty before being executed on Halloween in 1775.

“Except he comes back every 24 years—this will be his tenth visit. It always starts on the full moon in October when the Hessian rides away from where the battle was fought and into the woods. He rides again every night after that, retracing his desertion. And on October 31st, at least one person in the surrounding area loses his head, quite literally. Then the Hessian vanishes for another 24 years.”

Jack gathered up the empty pie plates after Dean scraped the last of yours clean. He moved to the sink to wash them off and Sally picked up the narrative with the smoothness of a couple who has been together for a long time.

“It’s not the full story, but it’s enough detail to convince most kids to stay out of the way of the Hessian. Not that it does much good. The victims of the horseman are found along his ride, but most of them go missing from their homes, and sometimes they are tourists.”

Dean spoke up for the first time since the pie appeared: “there’s got to be something connecting them.”

Jack turned around, wiping his hands on a towel as he smiled, “yeah, Bobby said the same thing. I didn’t believe in the Hessian at all when I was a kid, but that ended when I saw him myself.”

“Well, aren’t you Mr. Unlucky.”

Sally muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “Mr. Stubborn maybe.”

Jack came back to his chair, either not hearing or not acknowledging his wife’s comment. “I’ve been around for three visits from the Hessian so far. The first time, I was barely a toddler, so that one probably shouldn’t count…but growing up hearing the stories, I always assumed they were complete crap. So, when the next visit was due when I was 26, I decided to find out the truth for myself.”

“And I told you not to. ‘It’s a mistake, Jack!’ I believe were my exact words.” Sally’s voice was scolding, and you couldn’t help smiling at Dean. They were honestly shaping up to be relationship goals.

Jack still pretended not to hear her and soldiered on.

“That year, ’67—the same year as that car of yours, I think—the full moon was early in the month, more than ten days before Halloween. After hearing so much about it my whole life, and then watching the whole town close up early superstitiously for six days in a row and the bars filled with gossip and whispers, I went out to see for myself what was going on.”

He went silent again and his eyes took on that look that older people always have when they look back on the past.

“We’ll leave it at the fact that I saw him that night. If you three are going after the Hessian, you’ll see him for yourself, and you’ll understand why I don’t try to describe him now.

“In 1991, the town prepared to weather the Hessian’s rides and kills again the best way they knew how—spread the truth to the next generation, close up the town early, laugh it off to the tourists… the usual.” Jack shook his head, his face grim.

“Three people died that year. I knew the Hessian was real, that he was coming, and I did nothing, we all did nothing. And three people died. When Bobby Singer showed up a few days into November and started asking around, it didn’t take him long to find me.

“He sat where you are right now,” he gestured to Dean’s chair, “and the two of us talked about the Hessian and ghosts and the supernatural until he convinced me that the victims had to have something in common.

“So, we started digging. And we didn’t stop until we figured it out. Bobby promised he’d be back this year, or he’d send you boys to finish the job. The horseman’s been riding the past two nights, and the night after next, anyone who has ever ducked a responsibility that resulted in the death of someone else is going to end up as headless as the Hessian.”

You and Sam looked at each other wide-eyed. You hoped you heard wrong, “you mean the horseman goes after cowards?”

Jack made a face like he didn’t know how to word something. Sally stepped into the silence, “not really. The horseman’s victims all have something in common—they had willingly chosen to do something, then failed, and their failure resulted in at least one death. One woman who was beheaded last time was a foster mom and the child accidently drowned when she wasn’t paying attention, another was a safety inspector who signed off on a building that was structurally unsound and collapsed on three people a year later.

“We think he’s not just reliving his failure when he rides away from the battle every night after the full moon. We think he’s also administering the same judgment he received against anyone who committed his crime, since so many died because he abandoned his post.”

The tenseness of Dean’s shoulders wasn’t something you’d seen since the Darkness had been released…which was probably part of the problem. His mind was at the same place yours and Sam’s had gone—Dean, having lost the Mark and released the Darkness on the world, was exactly the type of victim the horseman would go after.

“Are you three okay?” Jack was quick.

Dean stood up from his chair, nodding to Jack and Sally, “thanks for the pie and the help.”

Then he turned and walked out. You shot another look at Sam, gesturing to the older couple, hoping he would come up with some kind of explanation, then you followed Dean outside.

He was leaning against Baby, his eyes on the trees across the road, but much further away.

“Dean, you okay?”

Dean’s eyes didn’t even attempt to meet yours. “Oh, I’m awesome. It’s just been a long two days on the road, and apparently, we’ve got to find a way to kill a ghost when we don’t have a body to salt and burn. And, oh yeah, my neck’s on the chopping block, or Sam’s might be, depending on who this horseman decides to blame for Amara.”

“Hey,” you cupped his cheek, waiting for him to look at you. “Even if that’s all true, we’ve faced lots worse and come out on top. We’ll get through this too.”

You heard the door shut and Sam was walking out to you. Dean shifted slightly, and you backed up, giving him his space.

“I made our goodbyes and got directions to the place where the horseman rides. I also got Jack’s number in case we run into any trouble, or so we can tell him when the job’s done.”

Dean nodded, opening the car door and sliding in. “Let’s go find a hotel and make some kind of plan then.”

He slammed the door shut in a way that telegraphed that his head was still up his ass, so you walked towards your bike. You shrugged at Sam’s raised eyebrow, knowing he’d probably get an earful on the way into town.

As much as you loved the man, sometimes Dean spent too much time and effort dwelling on guilt and things he couldn’t control.

It had been a tense night. It had started as a somewhat reasonable discussion of possible solutions and past cases—everything from a woman in white, to a racist truck, to apparently even a ghost ship that hunted down people who killed family members… the Winchesters really did have quite a resume on spooks.

Soon it had devolved into sullen silences as Dean’s mood continued to worsen as he dwelled on the Amara situation and the guilt he and Sam shared for releasing her. You felt a part of the guilt, but not as much as the boys—it always seemed to you like, ever since they saved the world the first time, they could never get that weight of responsibility off their shoulders.

You had a different outlook. You did what you could, while you could, and let the rest take care of itself.

In the end, it was a grim group that headed out after sunset. According to Jack’s information, we could count on the Hessian to ride tonight, and he only ever appeared along the same path, but not always at the same spots along that path—apparently, he would vanish and reappear as he went.

Sam had gotten a map, and the plan was for the three of you to spread out along the line Sally had drawn, since the ghost wasn’t attacking anyone tonight or tomorrow, and try to spot him. You’d meet up after midnight when the ride was over and compare notes, and, hopefully, figure out a way to gank the bastard tomorrow night.

On the television, Janice Huff had predicted 56° F temperatures tonight, so you had dressed accordingly as the boys suited up in their flannels. Dean was staying with Baby, you took your bike, and Sam was dropped off in between the two of you. He was the fastest runner of the three of you, so it was the most logical way to go, but you could tell it only worsened Dean’s mood.

Something else for the man to worry over.

You were brooding over Dean—his weird connection with Amara, the guilt and pain inside him, his stubbornness—when you realized that a mist had crept over the ground.

That had not been a part of Huff’s weather forecast.

You gripped your salt-shotgun tightly in one hand and opened the video group call you’d set up between you and Winchesters with the other.

“Guys, you seeing this?”

Static.

“Dean? Sam?”

Nothing.

Awesome.

You tucked the phone away and straddled your bike. The mist was getting thicker and the temperature seemed to have dropped at least five degrees in the last few minutes.

You started the motorcycle, and instead of reflecting the light from your headlamp, the mist seemed unaffected by the bright light, but the darkness above the mist was pierced, letting you see nearly 20 yards away—just in time.

He was taller than you expected.

The horse was more shadow and mist than real, but the horseman on his back was much more substantial… or as substantial as a spirit ever seemed to be.

The shoulders seemed far too broad without a neck or head on top. His uniform was mostly navy blue, but covered in mud and scratches. The sound of hooves was thundering, drowning out the growl of the bike between your legs and the pounding of your pulse in your ears.

You raised your shotgun to your shoulder, the hair standing up on your neck as he drew closer seeming to aim straight at you, even though you knew you were several yards to the side of his path. You calmed yourself with the knowledge that the Hessian was only going to ride straight by. He was going to keep going. He was not going to attack you. He was—

He was right on top of you.

And he knew you were there.

It was an unnerving sensation—he had no eyes, no reaction, he didn’t once break stride, but he was aware of you. And his awareness was cold, cunning, and powerful.

You pulled the trigger without any conscious decision to do so.

The shot seemed deafeningly loud to you, as if everything else in the world had been muted. Your aim was dead on, and the ghost vanished immediately following your shot, leaving you alone on your bike.

Alone except for the lingering malevolent feeling of being watched and the slowly dissipating mist.

It took a lot to shake you up, but you were officially dreading this hunt. Despite your attempts to make light of your encounter with the Hessian, the boys, who hadn’t seen him last night, had picked up on the fact that something was off.

It might have had something to do with the new screaming nightmare you had added to your collection. It was part of the job, but, somehow, this hunt was different.

Sam was trying to be logical and supportive—asking details, treating you like a witness or a victim on a case in an attempt to gather information and help you get past it.

Dean was playing the part of angry-protective lover.

“If he’s intelligent, and capable of deviating from his pattern, that might be a good thing. It means we can distract him from his pattern, agitate him. We’ll get him to chase us across running water or onto hallowed ground—either one should be the same as salting and burning the bones.”

“Good. This son-of-a-bitch has got to go. But no more splitting up.” Dean had nearly had a heart-attack after hearing your shot last night and not being able to get a call through to you.

You were glad he had gotten over his brooding spell, but this suffocating over-protectiveness wasn’t really an improvement.

“We’ll get the job done, Dean, whatever it takes. I definitely got the feeling he’ll remember me after last night, and we all know that you two will make tempting targets for him considering his preferred victims. I agree that drawing him in shouldn’t be too difficult.” You fought back an internal shudder at the thought of being in that presence again, then scolded yourself internally.

You’d faced so much worse than this ghost.

You realized that you had been pacing the small area between the beds and the door in this crappy motel when you saw the worried glance the brothers traded.

“Guys, I promise, I’m fine. He didn’t touch me. I’m just…antsy.”

“Maybe you should stay behind, Y/N—”

“Dean—” Sam tried to warn his brother off… rather pointlessly. Dean was nothing if not stubbornly protective.

“If this thing has singled you out, maybe it’s not such a good idea.”

You stopped your pacing with your back towards Dean, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath as you focused on the thought, he means well, he means well, he means well.

“And when you thought you or Sam might be the natural target? Did you think about tucking tail and running? Were you willing to take the coward’s way out and risk other people’s lives because of a possibility that you might be in danger? Be like the Hessian, you mean?”

You turned around to see him shifting uncomfortably on the bed and avoiding eye contact with you, because he knew that he would never have backed down from a hunt for that reason. Sam was pointedly looking at his computer and pretending he couldn’t feel the tension in the room.

Tonight was the last night the Hessian would ride without killing someone, at least traditionally. You had a feeling that your attack on him last night might have changed the status quo, but you didn’t have time to cajole Dean with reason.

Sometimes, the man needed to just be told what was what.

“I was on the job before we ever met, Dean. We all know the risks.” You gentled your voice, feeling guilty; you knew his reaction was instinctual and not intentionally insulting, “besides, we know the Hessian isn’t actually limited to his path—his victims get taken from their homes and hotels and left along the way. Staying away wouldn’t keep me any safer, and it certainly wouldn’t help gank this bastard.”

You went and sat next to him, and he finally made eye contact with you.

“So, let’s work together and figure out why he felt so much stronger than any other ghost I’ve ever tangled with. Sam? Any ideas on that?” You turned to face the younger Winchester as you threaded your fingers with Dean’s squeezing in confirmation that the two of you were okay.

He squeezed back.

“Well, there’s his age. Very few ghosts we’ve ever met have been haunting for 240 years. Then there’s the fact that he only seems to manifest for a week or two every ten years, which means he’s not really struggling with the pull of the veil and the mortal world the way most vengeful spirits do, so that might explain why he still seems methodical and not…” Sam trailed off, trying to think of a way to describe the average vengeful spirt you hunted.

“A rabid dog? On ghostly steroids?” Dean offered, and the three of you chucked, the tension finally easing a bit in the room.

Sam nodded, “exactly.”

You thought it out a bit, “and then there’s the fact that he seems to be linked with Halloween. If the legends are right, he was killed on the day, which is all kinds of supernaturally significant: crossing into the spirit world on the night when spirits have the easiest time crossing into the mortal world? And the full moon seems to have a role in this haunting and lore from all over the world links the lunar cycle with supernatural events. It’s no wonder he seems so much more than most ghosts.”

Dean squeezed your hand again, and you realized some of your inner dread had seeped into your voice while you spoke.

You forced yourself to sound more gung ho as you pulled your hand loose and clapped them together, “alright then! Let’s find us some old school holy ground or special running water to get rid of this thing once and for all.”

Dean studied you for a moment, and you knew he could see right through your false bravado. He let it go though, pulling out your computer bags from beside the bed so that you could join Sam in researching.

“Sounds like a plan, sweetheart.”

It had taken a few hours, but you had found a suitable plot of holy land: the site of a colonial church. Dean had taken a certain amount of sadistic pleasure in the idea of forcing a redcoat onto that land to kill him, which you had laughed at, telling him that the ghost’s uniform had actually been blue.

It had been the last moment of frivolity of the evening as you headed out to set up the trap.

Dean had wanted to have Sam on your bike and the two of you in Baby for the taunt and chase scene. You had told him that was stupid, and you weren’t letting Moose ride your girl. You had both backed off when Sam pointed out that the best method would be to keep everyone in one place, since the Hessian might have the ability to separate individuals anyway.

No need to make it easier on him.

You took the backseat since Sam had such a hard time fitting back there without laying out like he was going to take a nap. You had decided to start off where you had seen the horseman last night, and you waited with the car off, all of your eyes peeled for any sight of the ghost or of the strange mist that had preceded him before.

It didn’t take long for the anticipation to burn away to the boredom of any other stakeout.

“Here’s what I don’t get. Why did he go to you in the first place?”

Sam seemed almost disappointed, though whether that was a weird type of jealousy for a missed opportunity or just that he was stumped over a thought he’d apparently been chewing on for a while, it wasn’t clear.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Dean turned to look at you, confused at your tone.

You kept your eyes out the window, even though the dark country view and the deserted lane wasn’t what you were really seeing.

“It’s another part of the job. We all accept responsibility when we take on a case. We promise ourselves that we’ll save everyone. We promise we’ll keep our loved ones safe.

“But we’re human. We hesitate. We make mistakes. And in this life, that means people die. It’s always been that way.”

You turned to look at Dean, hoping he would really listen to you. He needed to hear this even more than you needed to say it.

“So, when we lose people—family, like your parents, like Bobby; friends, like Kevin and Charlie, strangers like the ones that draw us to the cases we take on… we feel guilty about it. Even though we do all we can, we still feel like it’s all our fault, like we’ve failed in our responsibilities and someone else paid the price.

“And as long as we’re hunters, it will be that way, until we pay the price ourselves.”

There was a moment of silence in the car, then you continued in a low voice full of certainty. You understood your role in the world, and you understood this ghost.

“That’s why he’ll come after us. Not Amara or the Mark…it’s because we spend our lives taking on impossible fights, and we don’t back down even when we lose.” You looked back out the window, noting what might be the first wisps of mist. 

“This guy ran before the fight and died because of it. Even if we weren’t actively hunting him, he’d probably be coming after us because we’re everything he should have been and didn’t have the strength to be.”

A silence descended in the car again that lasted much longer than seemed necessary.

“Damn, Y/N. Deep much?”

You shot a smile at Dean, then pointed towards the thickening mist creeping over the ground. “Looks like we’re about to get this party started, so the philosophical discussions are going to have to be put on hold, boys.”

A moment later the sound of hooves began to vibrate the frame of the vehicle and the mist parted enough to see the insubstantial shadow horse and the much more intimidating headless rider cantering towards them.

“Go, Dean, now!”

Dean cranked up the Impala and hit the gas, shooting down the road. Despite the growl of the 550 horses under Baby’s hood, the supernatural soldier still seemed to be gaining.

“Dean, he’s gaining, go!”

“We’re almost at the church site, how far off is he?”

“50 yards…45 yards… C’mon Dean… 30 yards… 20…”

Dean’s wheels squealed as he turned almost 180° to stare back at the Hessian. The three of you piled out of the car quickly, Sam passing out the salt guns just in case.

Your heart was hammering, watching the horseman come barreling towards you and feeling that awful intent bearing down on you, calling you.

“C’mon, you son of a bitch, c’mon…”

Dean’s mutter grounded you, kept you from panicking as your pulse matched the pounding of the ghostly hooves—and when the sound cut off, so did your heart.

He was gone.

Barely five yards from the boundary line, the Hessian vanished from the lane.

But you could still feel the eyes, the malevolent power in the air, mixing with the mist and raising every hair on your skin.

“Where is he? Can you guys see him?” Sam and Dean didn’t respond, and you looked around frantically.

You were alone.

You pulled your salt-shotgun up to your shoulder and fought back the fear.

“Dean! Where are you?!”

The mostly full moon cut through the ghostly mist as if it wasn’t there and you turned and twisted, wishing you had your back to something, wishing the Winchesters were here.

Then you saw him, looming out of the mist in front of you.

The Hessian, unhorsed, beheaded, and wielding a one-handed sword and standing stock still. It was impossible to say that he was looking at you since he had no eyes, but every muscle and instinct in your body tensed for the fight you could practically taste in the air around you.

You braced and fired, pumped the gun to reload and fired again, all in seconds, sinking two rounds of rock salt center mass in the spirit in front of you.

“Y/N!” Dean was coming.

The Hessian vanished, but the presence was still there. But now, so was Dean, with Sam right behind.

“Are you okay? He snatched you somehow. The church grounds are about 10 yards that way.”

“He’s here somewhere. I got him with rock salt, but he’s not gone. I can tell.”

“There!” Sam pointed at the stalking figure of the headless man and all three of you aimed, but only Sam and Dean got a shot off this time. The ghost vanished, but the anger in the air seemed to increase, the mist having risen from ankle to waist high.

“Guys, we have to get him closer to the border line, force him over somehow.” You started backing towards the direction they came from and you fell into a familiar formation, you leading the way, Sam watching the retreat and Dean between the two of you, alternating from side to side to cover as many angles as possible.

“He was supposed to chase us over the line. How the hell do we get him across now?”

You could see the car ahead and knew you were close to the boundary line, but Dean had pointed out the main problem now.

“I’ve got an idea. Can you two buy me a few minutes? Keep him distracted.” Sam passed you, heading for the Impala while you and Dean went back to back to narrow the angles.

“C’mon you British asshat! Aren’t you sick of running away like a little bitch?”

You loved the man, but Dean was never good with subtlety.

The Hessian formed right in front of him, sword swinging at neck height for the decapitating blow. “Y/N, duck!” You dropped and rolled, coming up on one knee with your gun up. Dean was blocking the sword strokes with his shotgun, but each hit drove him back a step, the power of each swing enough that Dean was quickly losing ground, the sound of metal on metal clanging through the air.

You couldn’t get a clear shot off, so you got up and ran closer, not knowing what you were going to do, but knowing you had to do something.

“Y/N, take this!”

Sam was there, knocking your gun away and shoving something cold, heavy, and metallic into your hands.

“Clothesline him!” He pointed to one side of Dean who, you now realized, was deliberately losing ground to draw the Hessian closer to the border line.

You ran, gripping the metal in your hands tightly as it dragged then went taunt.

“Dean, hit the ground!” Sam’s voice was loud and just in time to avoid hitting Dean with the chain that you realized was stretched between you and Sam. Dean dropped, and though you expected the chain to go through and dissipate the ghost, instead it hit him square in the back, hard enough that you and Sam both swung closer towards him, your momentum dragging him forward.

The chain wrapped around the horseman, dragging him forward the last few feet and across the border onto what used to be church property in his time, and what was still considered hallowed ground.

The chain grew hot in your hands as the Hessian shook and burned, the air growing sharp as the cold intelligent hate you had felt since his appearance crystallized into a mind-piercing screech of pain.

He flickered, flickered, and vanished.

The chain fell to the ground, the mist vanished, and, most telling of all, the malevolent feeling that had been present for every moment of the Horseman’s presence was gone completely.

You flexed your hands, slightly burned and sore from gripping the chain, as you walked closer to Sam and Dean just a foot away from where the Hessian disappeared.

“You guys okay?”

Dean was standing up, brushing dirt off his knees and his now very scarred gun. He nodded briefly, but couldn’t seem to find words. Sam shook his hands, ran them through his hair then shrugged, “I’m fine. You?”

You nodded then kicked at the heavy chain laying on the ground, “what is so special about this thing?”

Dean leaned over and picked it up. “It was Bobby’s. We used it before on a ghost—a buruburu, actually.”

He seemed preoccupied with his thoughts as he hauled it back to the trunk, so you turned to Sam for further explanation.

“It’s an iron chain etched with spell work. When he didn’t follow the plan, I had to think fast.” Sam shrugged, like it had been no big deal to make that leap. As much as you could admire the looks of them, sometimes, you were amazed by the brains alone inside these Winchesters.

“Yeah, well, I’m glad you did. Anyway, you’d better call Jack, let him know that Tarrytown’s Hessian is gone for good.” Sam nodded, taking his phone out as you walked over to Dean.

He had just finished putting away his gun and the chain, but when he heard you, he turned and pulled you into his arms. You felt the shudder of relief go through him and relaxed a bit yourself now that it was over.

It had been a close one.

You stood up on your tiptoes and found his mouth with yours, pressing a sweet slow kiss to his full lips. Just as it was starting to heat up, you leaned back and gave him your coyest smile.

“And as for you, Monsieur Cowboy,” you said in your best approximation of a French accent, “I believe we have some Halloween plans back at the bunker.”

Dean’s smile was predatory as he pulled you into another kiss, “oui, m’dame.”

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[genocidershodan]

Tagged by @johnandrasjaqobis Probably because she only tags me in hard things.

List the first lines of your last 20 stories. See if there are any patterns. Then tag 10 of your favorite authors!

20 stories? This is gonna require some scrounging. I don’t even know if I’ll be able to even track down 20, but here we go.

Black Horizon (original work) The Noose was a thin stretch of land, barely a kilometre wide, cleanly dividing Great Lake Gresdin. The western edge was a slightly elevated plateau, completely flat over its entire span, with three sets of train tracks running along it. Not often, but on the odd occasion observers might see on the middle track an elegantly ornate train, decorated with gleaming chrome and golden trimmings as royalty travelled to the northern reaches. More frequently a dull spartan train transporting soldiers or equipment for the Toraanim Armed Forces. 

The Altairian Connection (original work) The Winifred Miles Memorial Theatre was one of the main attractions in Stormwise, named after one of the city’s founding settlers. The sprawling metropolis lit the night with colour as tall buildings reached to the skies. The theatre itself was a large artistic construction of steel and glass.

Unnamed story featuring friend’s OC’s Deckard’s basement was fairly large, but quite cramped. Most of the expanse was filled either with plain brown cardboard boxes, or bits and pieces of his stuff stuff. The area was lit by a small yellow lamp in one corner, contrasting with the harsh glow of the computer screens. Bonnie shuffled uncomfortably in the poorly lit basement as her, Francine, and Rowena looked at each other restlessly. The only sound was Deckard, seated at his computer, clickity clacking away at his keyboards, his eyes quickly shifting between the three screens.

Unnamed story featuring the same OC’s The three girls slowly made their way along the sidewalk. The streets were dead silent and just barely illuminated by the street side lights in the early hours of the morning. They were all quite inebriated, Francine more so than the others as she barely managed to stumble along in a straight line as she lead her friends. “Here it is!” She shouted, her gravelly voice echoed loudly in the suburban area, threatening to almost wake up the entire street. They had made it to an intersection of the quiet back streets, the other two girls looked around expectantly. “Where exactly are we?” Inquired Rowena in a more subdued tone, though with a slight slur. The redhead took this moment to rest against a nearby fence. Her bare feet were sore walking on the rocky sidewalk as she had been carrying her heeled shoes for the last thirty minutes.

Short story about a character I roleplayed named Stannis Fairon that I needed to write as part of my application to this roleplaying site Stannis clapped along with all the other men as the bard finished his song. He whooped loudly and raised his mug, slopping the brew all over the table. Ahnolt, one of the soldiers at Stannis’ table, laughed loudly. “That’s it!” He shouted mirthily, “That’s the song I want them to play at my funeral!” The man beside him clapped him on his back. “What, That sad tune? Definitely not!”

Short Story I wrote for the epic Lily and Luffy fight that I was probably really high during writing. Thick clouds shrouded Hyrule temple in darkness as rain poured down heavily in giant drops. Lily lay on the ground. Covered in bruises and breathing in staggered bursts. The bright red flower in hair has long since been lost. Luffy stood over her prone form, face obscured by the brim of his straw hat, lightning flashed in the distance, the thunder rumbled moments later.

But Shadows and Dust (Majesty fanfic) You know, in times when you feel death is certain, it is strange the things that come into your head. 

Like now, as I hear yelling in many directions. From my left I can hear the words "I'm done for!" In the corner of my eye I see a wizard, one whom I have only met for a few moments, fleeing from the three oncoming dragons. He was known as Faldor the Sage, whether or not this was his real name I knew not, nor did I care. I always held little regard for wizards, fighting from afar, and hightailing even when the odds were in his favour. On my right I hear the distinct sounds of a paladin blessing herself. Her, I knew very well. She was known as Dian the Righteous; I turned my head to see that her face betrayed no emotion. It was none too reassuring to know that this powerful paladin was just as scared as I.

Yet, the one thought that is ceaselessly coursing through my head is "I wonder how my brother is getting on?" As I said before, it is strange the thoughts that come into your head when you feel that certain death looms before you. My name, if it's of any importance, is Duric. 

The Cemetery (Harry Potter fanfic written before Order of the Phoenix came out) Drip, drip, drip. It was the only sound that could be heard in green field; it was like an endless flowing river of dark green. Every metre a post was sticking out of the ground with a plaque underneath. The only movement, not including the hard rain, was a solitary figure walking through the field, stopping at each post to read the inscription.

Loud Mountain (A Silent Hill parody I wrote when I was 16 and thought I was hilarious) "Daddy, why does my little notebook have 'codwigr diner' written on it?" "Shut up woman and bake me some pie!" 

It had been three long years since Harry Mason's beloved wife had died. That is probably why he loved his daughter Cheryl so much. "Is my pie ready yet, devil woman?" "No, not yet daddy."

Every year, Harry Mason took Cheryl on a holiday to some exotic location. "As long as it don't cost me anything," he would say lovingly to his daughter, "now where's my pie?" This time, for some inexplicable reason, she said. "Listen daddy, I won't bake you pies, until we go to Loud Mountain, or Alice Springs." At this, Harry said "Alice? Alice? Where the." without having to finish the sentence, Harry consulted the Atlas, finding out that Alice springs was a thriving trade centre smack bang in the middle of Australia, or a run down world war 2 relic twelve kilometres outside Warsaw, Poland. He decided to settle for Loud Mountain, which was a quaint town in Northern Kansas, or an old folks home nestled quietly in the Chicago subway system.

So that’s all I’m really prepared to track down without doing some serious digging. Apart from the really old ones, I think that I do have propensity for laying the scene first and foremost. Where are we? Who is there? Lay down some atmosphere. I don’t know whether it’s a good thing or a bad thing. But one of the first things I do is put the reader in the scene and know what’s around them.

I really don’t know who to tag in this, I’m sorry. But if you see this and want to do it, definitely go for it. And tag me in so I can see your shit.

[mariajharper]

The Elsewhere Child

He was supposed to take my memories when he brought me here, the seelie knight, who had been commanded to escort me home with a simple “take it away, it’s too old now and it bores me” from the noble who had kept me for the past while. I traded him my singing voice for them though, and now where once sweet music poured from my lips only hoarse and untuned notes fall out without any of the tempo or melody they had before. Now I think I made a bad trade. It might have been better, if I didn’t remember, or remembered something else entirely.

I stare at the boy next to me in the circle, I was asked to join this circle as a way to make me feel part of something, part of a circle. They call the circle a support group for abducted children. Children who were abducted and got away, that is, I don’t think there’s a support group for those currently abducted. Their abductors wouldn’t allow them to attend, I suppose. The boy is speaking about the man who touched him, speaking of the horrible way he loved that man, because he was a child, and he had to love someone. Are his memories true? Or is he like me? Did a faerie take him away, and replace the memories from Under the Hill with these tragedies? Why? Did he commit some crime? I cannot say.

I am fascinated by the girl who sits next to the girl directly across from me in the circle. She tells us to call her Angie. She wears ratty clothes, not the sort of poor chic that seems to be an underlying trend, with jackets made of patches and ribbed cloth sold at malls, but real grunge. The tears in her sleeves reveal razor scars, her hair is short, she wants to look tough, she wants people to cross the street to get away from her when they see her coming. She is not tough. She is nervous, always nervous, always afraid, though she hides it well. None of these things are too interesting to me, those things I can see anywhere, but I thought context would be important so that the fact that she’s a pathological liar would not be the only thing you knew about her.

She is a pathological liar.

Her lies fascinate me.

After group chat, I take her aside and we talk, sometimes just for a few minutes, sometimes for hours, and I watch her fabricate thousands of untruths, from tiny white ones to huge fantastical ones as bright and colorful as her life has never been. Some days, I believe everything she says and some days I question each word, trying to figure out her secret.

It’s a strange thing, I was taken before I really knew my name, and each faerie that’s kept me (I was a pet for them) called me something different. Do I even have a true name? I’ve been Jane Doe since I showed up, stumbling barefoot and confused into a police station moments after midnight (at least the knight knew to leave me near a place of authority), so I’ve been introducing myself as Roe, like the deer. They ran my DNA through the missing children’s database (I didn’t understand what that was at first, was shocked at how closely humans had approximated magic with computers), but there was no match. I told them I didn’t know how long ago I’d been abducted, and suggested that it might have been before the database was made. They laughed and said I was eighteen, and DNA technology had been around much longer than me. I tried to explain that time was different where I had been kept, but they simply patted me on my head and told me they were sure that it seemed that way to me at the time.

They stared at me worriedly when one of them brought me a McDonald’s Happy Meal, and I asked what she wanted for it. She told me nothing. No one here ever asks for anything besides courtesy in return for their food, but old habits are hard to break. Even now, in my foster home, I cannot help insisting that my hosts confirm that this food is a gift freely given. They asked me to help them cook and I broke down in tears because there was a cast iron skillet on the stove (“Please don’t make me, iron burns, iron burns, and it gets under your skin and makes you go grey and lifeless like a flower severed from its roots, plea-please, please don’t make me”). It took them an hour to convince me that they weren’t trying to force me to poison myself, and the food burned (“I said I would help you, you asked me to cook and I agreed, but, but please don’t make me, it burns, it’ll burn me!” “It’s alright darling, you don’t have to cook if you don’t want to.” “But I said I would! It was an oath!” “We’re sorry, we wouldn’t have asked if we’d known it would upset you, you can help some other way if you like.” “You… absolve me of my oath?” “Yes, of course we do darling!”).

I am more comfortable with iron now, I am not one of the Fair Folk, after all, it will not harm me. Correction, a blade of iron would harm me, but not because it was made of iron. It does, however, mess with my glamor.

It is a difficult thing, growing up bathed in magic and yet to have none of your own. A pixie once spoke of how she envied my hair, and I said, on impulse, “do you want it?” So a trade was made. She gave me the ability to change my appearance, and she walked away with my hair. I expected my hair to grow back after a time though… it did not. With my glamor I can have the appearance of having whatever hair I please, and sometimes I change it daily, but when I sleep or when iron is near my bare head is revealed. It is assumed by my hosts and everyone around me that I have many wigs, I have told them I do not, but they don’t believe in magic, so they insist on believing this instead.

I hide when I hear thunder, duck into a bathroom and put everything on backward and inside out if I’m in public, or simply sit quiet if I’m home. The first time I did this, it shook me to my core when someone told me “You know, your shirt is on backward.” I started to panic, until I realized that I could see myself too. It was a revelation, discovering that there was something humans could see that the Good Neighbors couldn’t.

It still boggles my mind how much people throw away, tears and menstrual blood caught on napkins, or gifts from that one aunt that they held onto for so long for the sentimental value but can’t keep now because they have to move into a smaller apartment, or the shirt they can’t wear anymore because it smells like their ex. They could trade these items to faeries for so many things, and yet they simply throw them away. What a waste.

My hosts insisted I should have a proper education, and after three years of homeschooling (to get me caught up) I applied to attend the local state college. There I found more people who fascinate me the way Angie does. There’s Lisa, who fights for animal rights, and Kyle, the leader of the Gay Straight Alliance group, and Riley, who’s going into the Peace Corps next year because they want to help the world. I ask them all the time why they do what they do, what they expect to get back, and they tell me that ideally they’ll make the world a better place, and that will pay them back eventually, but that they don’t do it for what they’ll get back, they do it because it’s right. I don’t understand. There’s Cheyenne, who always gets into intense political debates with other people over dinner in the cafeteria, and she believes so intensely about things that don’t even affect her, and she fights for them, and she tells me she does this because it’s right, and I don’t understand. I’ve never met anyone who cared about anything other than themselves Under the Hill. Faeries can’t lie, they can’t go back on their word, they honor their deals and make sure you honor them too, they repay debts and ensure they’re repaid in turn, they amuse themselves playing or squabbling over power, but they do not do things for free. They don’t care about things for free. They don’t defend the innocent, protect the weak, or forgive the ignorant. The culture shock coming here is bewildering.

If I could I’d honor my debts, leave a pile of gold at the doorstep of everyone who’s done me a kindness, but I have not the magic to do so. The drainage ponds hold no sirens, the falling snow has no frolicking pixies between its flakes, there is no magic for me to use here… or is there?

Perhaps I can’t call upon the magic Under the Hill, perhaps I can’t summon gold or make deals with darklings, but I can find magic here, I’ve seen others do it. I’ve seen a moon so beautiful it sends shivers down your spine captured by a little lense-box and put onto thick shiny paper. I’ve seen songs and stories written with such emotion that it moves those who hear them to tears, to laughter, to dancing, to life. I’ve seen kitchen witches cure colds with hot chicken soup, and I’ve seen holy men ward off tricksters they can’t even see with the power of their belief.

Perhaps I can find a way to create my own magic, and do what other people seem to strive to do to repay their debts. Perhaps I can make the world a better place, and learn the magic of humanity. And as for the places where magic does live? Where the boundary between worlds is thin and the drainage ponds and snowflakes carry faerie magic within? ...I think I’ll be staying far away, for my part. I might still have a lot to learn, but I think I like it better here.

[ohdeargodnotyouagain]

I’m An Aspiring Writer...

She sat down at her cheap ply board desk for the third time tonight. That was only after doing the dishes, the laundry, all of her closet organization and brushed her teeth twice. Lara Pendleton bit her bottom lip, staring at the blank document on her computer monitor in front of her. Her mouse arrow blinked at her almost hecklingly at the lack of motivation. “Come on, Inspiration. This has never been an issue before. Right when I need you the most?” The monitor’s glow was practically drowned out by the darkness around her. Personally, she had thought that writing in the dark helped her concentration but her need of glasses was making her think otherwise. Turning in her chair she looked at the board beside her. All of her ideas, story snippets, and little pieces of notebook paper with terrible drawings of scenery on them fluttered with the breeze of the ceiling fan. On the bottom row of the board, in strips cut from magazines were potential offers circled in red market. “Any one of these could really get my name out there.” She muttered to herself, then changed her gaze to the ideas she thought about writing about on a similarly clustered board. She sighed tiredly, “Except I have about twelve percent of an ounce of inspiration and I procrastinated way too long.” “I need to free write.” Lara licked her lips for a second, fingers hovering over the keyboard. She clinched her fists and immediately released them, staring down at the keys. “Okay,” The word was through grit teeth, “Let’s think first, and give me something to write about.” Again the chair turned with a little squeak, the chair was older than the desk that wobbled if not half held up by the many bookcases in the room. After a rather disastrous game of darts with the idea sticky notes, she sat down again in her rapidly deteriorating leather chair. The keyboard glowed ominously in the dim. She could hear crickets starting to chirp outside the window beside her with the blinds firmly shut. Her cat was somewhere lounging on a stack of books that had almost given up on being read one day. Lara shifted in her seat, reaching out her hand a bit blindly. Fingers gliding over the pieces that felt almost soft they were so well read over. “I just need a scene, or an idea.” She almost sounded quite sure of herself. “Just grabbing notes and see what fits.”

She picked up the first one she had mixed into order after she pulled them down, not bothering to look while she was doing it. She read it aloud to herself, “An Atlantean-like race, hidden for centuries, finally loses all its knowledge. They have to get it back. Hero is a girl.” She sighed, dropping it in exasperation. “My first idea is fish people. Off to a great start aren’t I, Cobbler?” The cat sneezed as acknowledgement. Pulling herself up to the keyboard she started to free write. Putting it down on paper, digital or not, would help her get into the mindset of a better idea than this one.

           The city was growing busier every day. For political reasons, this was a good thing in favor of the Ra’Hel Clan- who had been in power for the last several centuries. But a bad thing, for the crown princess that hadn’t slept the night before.                        Ceyda, crown princess and this very night was to be sworn in as Queen. She had reached the age that her great ancestor had achieved the thrown, and thus had set the age for all future leaders of their Clan, and if that Clan was in power, their entire kingdom. Ceyda rose slowly from her bed, eyes heavily lidded and hearing the noise of the visitors from all across the sea- the great Pearl of the Ocean and the landwalkers- though they would never see it, Atlantis.

           She steeled herself to uncover her view of the city. When the waters were calm and the Earth did not breath fire, the waters were perfectly clear and she could see all the way to great divide’s drop. It was breath taking, but she had to pull herself away. There was much to do for preparing for the coronation. Ceyda had large tails to fill.

           She read over it again with a roll of her eyes, then in a mocking tone, “Ceyda had large tails to fill. Why does it have to be about mermaids? It’s overused and I can’t even make them scary mermaids because this is supposed to be family friendly.”

           Lara bit her lip, spinning her chair around once. Her fingers flipped through a few books that lay on her desk, then fished through a few stacks of papers until she found her phone. Her lock code being increasingly simpler by the year, she brought up a dial pad. “I need an opinion.”

           She hit the number two key on her phone, then the speaker phone button. The brightness contrasted with the monitor light and the room was brightened. The screen was a picture of a young man and her on a hike. Covered from head to toe in dirt and grinning like morons, two dogs sat between them looking as proud as their master’s. Jake was a mountain man who had wondered his way into the city long enough to meet her. They had been best friends since the terrible office job back in her hometown a few years ago. After a few dozen misadventures with him, she had ended up halfway across the world from where she had started from. He was more than likely the only one she trusted for advice among her small group of friends she kept.            “Why are you calling me at two in the morning your time?” He answered when she was almost certain it was going to be a voicemail message, but she could tell he was grinning when he spoke.

           She winced to herself catching sight of the computer clock, wondering what time it was wherever he was at the moment, “Oh, you know me, burning the two o’clock oil. Expresso is stronger than I remember. I thought I was going to get your voicemail again. Where are you?”            His voice crackled with static as he shouted over wind hitting the receiver, “Where do you think? Hiking! What’s going on?”            “I’m trying to write something. And I think the beginning is terrible. Atlantean fish folk and a lost treasure basically. What do you recommend? Scrap it?” She shifted the phone now it was between her ear and her shoulder.            “No! Never scrap! Keep it and turn it into something else!” He yelled and she turned down the volume. “You’ve probably got a great start. Just keep building on it until you’ve got something. Nothing great comes easy.” Something sounded like it collided with him for a moment and her eyebrows raised at the silence that followed.            “Don’t break anything important.” She warned softly, hearing him dust himself off.            “I’m fine. Totally fine. Tree got in front of me. You need to see these things yourself! But add mountains. Always add a mountain! And a dog! People love dogs-.”

           She laughed, “Alright, I’ll try to add mountains with my fish people… I might come see you… as soon as I finish this story.” He went to say something else but she told him in quick session, “Love you, don’t die, bye.” And ended the call before he could ask when that would be.

           Lara sat there for a moment longer, plugging her phone in beside her computer. “Keep going. Add a mountain.” Another few moments later, a new piece of paper was in her hand from where it used to be on the wall, “A spy going down a ski slope is an overused trope.” Lara sat back in her chair, trying to think of how a ski slope was possibly be interesting and what had been in her head when she had wrote that down. Jake would definitely like it though when she sent him a copy. “I could make it funny maybe…” She murmured to herself, trying to put herself in the scene.

           The cold would be bitter she’d imagined; but the view would be fantastic. Towering mountains in the distance that were just slightly blurred by sleet- the entire world being a winter wonderland almost. She pictured herself looking down one of those same looming giants, seeing how steep the drop was. “What if someone was chasing me too?” She shivered at the thought and searched around for another note. Something to help her with what might be chasing her? What was chasing her? Who?            “A baking group of grandmothers?” She snorted a laugh, grinning at the note. “I’m a spy, sliding down the mountains while people chase me- with guns. And it’s actually grandmothers because I stole…” She waved the paper to herself like a fan, “Their recipes!” Lara slowed down a moment, “That’s going to be really hard to work into the story.” But it gave her inspiration. Moving back up to her desk, she looks at the papers beneath her.

           She hadn’t been on legs long enough to know how to run, let alone how to slide down a mountain with them. Ceyda bent down while she sped down the path toward the slopes headed down the mountain, bending low enough to scoop the shield off of one of her enemies. The jump over the edge was terrifying, but forced herself forward while bullets carved their way past her body- barely missing in almost a comical way. The fall was even worse than she imagined- but she put the shield underneath her knees just as she hit the snowy embankment and had the ride of her life. Behind her she could hear yelling and she dared look behind her.

           The women from before. When she had first broken into the hide out, against her better judgement but all the information lead here. There were three women, older than god himself discussing their plans for the pearl- the ungodly power they now held between them. It wasn’t a question for her to chase her but she had a small hope they’d think her too insignificant to bother with. Now they were behind her- flying through the air like demons made out of smoke and bone. Their voices cracked and screeching. Her father had been right, their evil was beyond her in every way.

           The pearl bounced around in her bag, flinging itself with almost a musical tinking every time she hit a limb or rock. But she had it. She had the pearl- the world would be safe for another few moments. They closed in on her and she swallowed, shutting her eyes and wrapping herself around the pearl as the makeshift slid hit a rock- and sent her soaring. Three pairs of claws reached out and she took a breath. The world would be safe for another moment. Another moment she’d be here in this moment- another moment she could be with Wilo. If her father knew she had been with a deep dweller like him there would be true hell to pay. It was funny- how of all moments her last thought would be about him.

           Lara practically grinned at that. She liked dramatic scenes for some reason and if one asked her was probably her most favorite part of writing. There had to be a way to make this blend together. Her cat rubbed against her leg after a pile of books oozed itself onto the floor next to another stack that had met the same fate. Though she would never tell anyone, not Jake and certainly not a future editor if she ever got that far, that she had a romantic side too. She took another note off the wall that fit perfectly with that. “A royal ball, dancing and music. A romantic meeting of leaders.”            She put all the notes she had in a row, reading through them one more time. “Now this is going to be interesting.” Lara brushed her hair out of her face, tying it up off her neck and pulled her keyboard closer to her.

           Wilo was waiting at the end of a wide double staircase that lead to an lower floor, a room that had been designed for the royals to enter only for tonight. The party was grand and in her opinion, overly lavish for their kind. But now the long tables were cleared and open for their people to arrive. This event was open to everyone and many danced with their children and longtime partners. Wilo stood waiting, hands clasped behind his back tightly. He had been given permission by her father, the first of his kind too to be allowed inside their walls. His breath was calm, but his eyes shut trying to remain that way. Deep dwellers were people of the wilder oceans where they had not claimed for themselves. But her opinion of their worth had changed, as much as everyone’s had when they had been the deciding force in this war being won.

           He had been the deciding force in her battle and now he was here. He had a guard with him who nudged him from checking the timepiece he had on him. Wilo grunted at first and then a sharper nudge sent him looking at his man, then in the direction he was looking. The young outlaw prince’s jaw dropped when he saw her- taking each step with enough grace to make him wonder if he was truly awake. Ceyda was already a breathtaking woman in his eyes, but this made him think of her as a queen- his queen.             He cleared his throat, “Enjoy the party.”Wilo told the guard next to him, stepping toward the stairs to meet her at the last step. “Good gods, I must say my lady, the Queen will be here in a moment and I don’t think I could part ways with you. She’ll very upset with me.”

           Ceyda shook her head, “You came.”

           “Why not? I wasn’t uninvited by helping you save the world was I?” Wilo offered his arm to her and she took it as they entered the main door of the ballroom together. It was very Victorian influenced from their brief days above ground.

           “No. I don’t think this place would be the same without you.” She looked up at him, “You will stay, won’t you?”

           “Oh, good lord.” She sighed, reading it over again. That was a god awful romance scene if she ever read one. But she couldn’t help wonder if it was just the thing something like this needed. It was an adventure story and why shouldn’t the hero get the man in the end?

           Those were three big scenes that she could work with. Now all she had to do was fill in the blanks between them to make something fluid. It wasn’t long, but it would do to give her an outline to fit the story to. The plot was quick to jot down after rereading her work. This was almost as good as something she might send out one day as an actual description. It would keep her on point too to have this nearby while writing the entire thing out.

           ‘An Atlantean race of people, long forgotten by those who walk above the surface of the water, has lost their greatest treasure. All of their technology, knowledge, and culture documented on a sacred pearl by ways surpassing our knowledge is a highly coveted artifact. On the night of the king’s ball, where he was to retire and his daughter to take his place, the pearl is stolen underneath their noses. An ancient order of evil that they had thought died out long ago is now back and ready to take their positions as rightful leaders of the world have left their calling card. The three sisters of power hold the secret to defeating this evil- but no one knows where their loyalties lie. The princess, after her men die from trying to take back the pearl, goes herself- using dark magic to allow herself to walk both on land and sea. She discovers a plot to not only use the sea to not only end her people but all those on land as well. With a few unlikely friends; a scientist from deep inside a research base in the mountains, and a deep ocean dweller (sworn enemies of her shallow water people) named Wilo, she is able to defeat the power of three and the order they control. She returns to her people, now queen. She is saddened though, missing those she had been with on that adventure. The princess is a hero, and as she turns to her deep ocean dweller companion there. They dance together at the ball when it is interrupted by a new threat no one saw coming.’

           “I’d read it.” She shrugged, printing it out and sticking it to the side of her monitor as she began to write. Her keystrokes gaining speed as she worked through the story. Sometimes acting out some of the scenes to round out the edges of writing them. It had been hilarious when she had tried to use an arm chair to help her picture skiing away from attacking evil grannies. Cobbler had voiced his concern as she practically yelled with joy when she had found the answer to a difficult kink in the plot of exactly where Wilo was going to wonder across her path. Lara puffed a piece of hair out of her face, reading the last few sentences of her work.            Birds had replaced crickets and somewhere between the ball and the grandmother trying to sell the princess’s love interest a poisoned banana- she had gotten a cup of coffee to help her through the last few lines. Sunlight was shining through the blinds, spreading warmth through the room where she turned them open from where she sat. The hanging plant in the corner of the room, almost forgotten, perked up at the new brightness. Lara took a deep breath and read the entire thing to herself, a now completed piece of work. One of the first of its kind for her. She saved it again, probably for the fifth time since she had finished editing. Then backed it up for good measure.            A copy went to Jake with a sentence instead of a title. “I’m an aspiring writer, and at least it’s not my other sci-fi book.” She sent it and did a few more small changes before forcing herself to say it was done. She knew it would be another month if she kept up with the tweaking- and she didn’t have that kind of time. Lara read over Jake’s insights that came surprisingly quickly back to her and sent the final copy to the company that had asked for a new fiction pieces from writers like her. She would never get anywhere if she never took the step of actually sending in her work.

           Weeks went by and she wondered if it had been worth anything at all as she still kept writing what came to mind. It was a bug to write, something that constantly kept you up and busy. Could she try rewriting this piece again if it wasn’t chosen and try something better? Should she scrap it and try another idea mixed with the myriad of others. Maybe it was even time to clean out the idea board and start over. With a sigh she sat heavily back at her desk in her makeshift office- a long stretch of the day job had made this moment almost like heaven. Cobbler tried to sit on her keyboard before she gently shooed him to a shoebox with his name on it nearby. First e-mails, then another cup of coffee, not espresso, and then on to the next piece. There had to be something she could inspire someone else with- something that someone could feel like they could relate to. Her e-mail page finally opened in front of her, Cobbler settling into the box beside her with a purr. 1 New Message “RE: Congratulations Ms. Lara Pendleton! We have selected your…”

[qualkoesuce-blog]

Internet dating novels

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Books about Online Dating Flagging a list will send it to the Goodreads Customer Care team for review.  This is because many of us don't know how to make our profile stand out on these sites, many.  When you come to this site, may you find novels that will lift your spirit and encourage you on your journey to Heaven.  If you buy it from my website , I will throw in a cool, audio program as a bonus gift — immediate download 3 by Alfred Lansing.  Aumiller Image source: Pinterest Red flags to alert you about whether you are dating a loser.  Who uses online dating: online dating industry continues to offer.

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[toomanysinks]

Transportation Weekly: Uber’s spending habits, Tesla Model Y, scooters and AVs in Austin

Welcome back to Transportation Weekly; I’m your host Kirsten Korosec, senior transportation reporter at TechCrunch. We love the reader feedback. Keep it coming.

Never heard of TechCrunch’s Transportation Weekly? Catch up by reading the first edition here or check out last week’s edition, which offered the gamut of mobility news from Lyft and Bird to Waymo’s laser bears and cybersecurity.

As I’ve written before, consider this a soft launch. Follow me on Twitter @kirstenkorosec to ensure you see it each week. An email subscription is coming!

This week we’ll focus on the city of Austin, gain insight into Uber’s spending habits, do a little scooter number crunching, the Tesla Model Y, and the so-called “race” — an overused and inaccurate term — to develop autonomous vehicles.

ONM …

There are OEMs in the automotive world. And here, (wait for it) there are ONMs — original news manufacturers. (Cymbal clash!) This is where investigative reporting, enterprise pieces and analysis on transportation lives.

Mark Harris is back with new details on Uber’s autonomous vehicle technology program. The upshot: Uber was spending $20 million a month to develop self-driving technologies.

The new information, gleaned from recently unsealed court documents, provides new insight into the company’s past activities and what that might mean for its upcoming IPO.

Harris writes: “The figures, dating back to 2016, paint a picture of a company desperate to meet over-ambitious autonomy targets and one that is willing to spend freely, even recklessly, to get there. As Uber prepares for its IPO later this year, the new details could prove an embarrassing reminder that the company is still trailing in its efforts to develop technology that founder Travis Kalanick called “existential” to Uber’s future.”

This historical look at Uber and its self-driving tech unit, Uber ATG, should be considered alongside more recent news, including that it’s in negotiations with investors, including the SoftBank Vision Fund, to secure an investment as large as $1 billion for its autonomous vehicles unit.

Dig In

After five days in Austin for SXSW, I headed to Los Angeles, actually Hawthorne, for Tesla’s Model Y unveiling. In many ways, this was like all the other Tesla events I’ve attended: the pumpy music and mood lighting, the designed-to-inspire kick off video, the Tesla superfans (pictured below), and the long lines for a brief test ride.

And yet, something was different. The Model Y unveil reminded me of other more traditional automaker reveals. There were mutterings at the event, and wild cries on Twitter, of disappointment (there were plenty of platitudes as well). Many expected something more exciting than this Model 3 doppelganger.

The Model Y is the kind of next act one might expect from an established and more cautious automaker. And while the market’s reaction was negative, there were folks who noted that the Model Y’s likeness to the 3 meant it was getting serious about selling vehicles.

And that’s not a bad thing — accept for two niggling details. First, the Model Y is so similar to the 3 that it could suffer from buyer malaise or cannibalization of one of the two vehicles. Secondly, even if everyone loved this vehicle and Tesla was poised to take advantage of these perceived efficiencies gained from sharing at least 75 percent of the parts with the Model 3, the Y isn’t coming until fall 2020.

That lengthy timeline raises a lot of questions that we’ll be (and surely others) digging into in the coming weeks and months. Where Tesla chooses to produce the Model Y is perhaps the most important, unanswered question.

  A little bird …

We hear a lot. But we’re not selfish. Let’s share.

Welp, we didn’t anticipate this happening. Two tips turned into stories this week: Ford expanding its autonomous vehicle program to Austin and GM Cruise ramping up its hiring machine with plans to hire at least 1,000 more engineers by the end of the year.

What else are we hearing? There’s a new autonomous trucking company coming out of stealth. We’ll share more soon.

Got a tip or overheard something in the world of transportation? Email me or send a direct message to @kirstenkorosec.

Deal of the week

It’s not a done deal, yet. But it’s just an intriguing. Uber is in talks with Softbank Vision Fund and Toyota to raise $1 billion for its self-driving unit Uber ATG. This investment would give Uber ATG a valuation of between $5 billion and $10 billion, WSJ reported. The talks are fluid and could still fall apart, these people warned.

There is a lot of behind-the-scenes investment and partnership activity in the autonomous vehicle space these days. In short, these relationships are getting messy and hard to follow.

Let’s not forget that Softbank’s Vision Fund already has a nearly 20 percent stake in GM’s self-driving subsidiary GM Cruise following its $2.2 billion investment in 2018.

Then there’s Volkswagen AG, which is in continued talks with Ford to partner on self-driving car technologies. The framework of the agreement is expected to include VW making an investment into Ford-backed autonomous vehicle startup Argo AI.

VW already has other partnerships. VW Group, Intel’s  computer vision subsidiary Mobileye  and Champion Motors said in November they plan to deploy Israel’s first self-driving ride-hailing service in 2019 through a joint venture called New Mobility in Israel. VW also has a partnership with AV startup Aurora to integrate self-driving systems in custom-designed electric shuttles for VW’s new Moia brand.

Other deals:

Flight-hailing startup Blackbird raises $10 million

Drivezy, India’s vehicle-sharing startup is raising more than $100 million

BMW i Ventures invested in Bright Machines, a San Francisco-based company that has combined software and robotics to help automotive, computer and electronic brands improve product quality, throughput, and factory optimization.

Toyota Motor, DENSO Corporation, and Toyota Tsusho Corporation made a $15 million investment into connected vehicle services startup Airbiquity. The four parties will collaborate to accelerate the development and commercialization of an automotive grade over-the-air (OTA) system enabling remote vehicle software updates and management.

Freight railroad owner Genesee & Wyoming is considering a sale of all or part of itself, Bloomberg reported

Snapshot

I spent the week in Austin to participate in a number of SXSW-related events, including a couple of panels. As MRD notes in the micromobility section below, scooters were everywhere. And I used them a lot.

Here’s what many might not have considered as they zipped along the streets, and sidewalks of Austin. The new new new thing often kills off something else, or at least forces it to change.

Which brings me to pedicabs. The snapshot below is a long lineup of empty pedicabs in downtown Austin. I saw these pedicabs-sans-riders everywhere in Austin. I remember SXSW just one year ago and the pedicabs were full; I took them several times that week. But now, scooters and bike share are here, and the pedicabs seem to be the ones suffering the most. I hired a pedicab during my stay and the driver confirmed my observations: they’re waiting much longer for customers now.

Sometimes that disruption can hit the new new thing too. Take bike share. The Austin City Council on approved in February 2018 the creation of a “dockless” bike share pilot program. Some companies were already operating these services; this action created a regulatory framework. But then scooters came en masse.

City officials and one dockless mobility executive told me that scooters upended bike share, and prompted companies to take some of their bikes off the streets do to lack of demand.

Tiny but mighty micromobility

It seems like everyone is riding scooters now. Case in point, Austin during SXSW. MRD weighs in on what went down.

I wasn’t in Austin this week for SXSW. And it’s a good thing I wasn’t because there were reports of a tornado! Well, a tornado of scooters. According to The Verge, scooters and bikes were out and about, enabling the hundreds of thousands of conference goers to get from one bar to the next — and from one session to the other.

“Some of the astounding sights I’ve seen in the past few days include multiple vicious-looking wipeouts, a man cranking the accelerator and doing donuts in a crowded parking lot, and scooters littering the gutters of East 6th Street while throngs of people avoid tripping over them,” The Verge’s Nick Statt wrote. “At one point, I read that a man was found riding one down the shoulder of an Austin highway. Riders here are disregarding all manner of street signage and traffic lights; some people flagrantly speed the wrong way down streets.”

In other micromobility news …

Micromobility data platform Populus raised some skrillz — $3.1 million, to be exact. That’s in part because, while cities are down for this new era of transportation and operators are down to share their data, cities still have to find out what to do with this data and how to extract learnings from it.

This is where Populus comes in. Populus raised the seed round from Precursor Ventures, Relay Ventures and others to help cities make sense of the influx of transportation data. This brings the startup’s total funding to $3.85 million.

And  … just because scooters are hot right now, doesn’t mean companies aren’t facing headwinds. The Information reported that Bird has laid off between 4 to 5 percent of its workforce.

— Megan Rose Dickey

Notable reads

Navigant Research released its annual, and often controversial autonomous vehicle leaderboard report, by principal analyst Sam Abuelsamid. The Navigant Research Leaderboard examines the strategy and execution of 20 leading automated driving system companies and rates them based on 10 criteria, including vision; go-to market strategy; partners; production strategy; technology; sales, marketing, and distribution; product capability; product quality and reliability; product portfolio; and staying power.

The leaders, in Navigant’s view are:

Waymo

GM Cruise

Ford autonomous vehicles

Aptiv

Intel-Mobileye

Volkswagen Group

Daimler-Bosch

Baidu

Toyota

. Renault-Nissan-Mitsubishi Alliance

Other quotable notables:

With the rise of autonomous delivery bots — or at least news of all the capital they’re raising — it’s worth revisiting a white paper that KPMG put out in November called Autonomy Delivers: An oncoming revolution in the movement of goods. The report notes how e-commerce is pushing this delivery phenomenon forward. Two forecasts worth noting:

expecting no acceleration in e-commerce adoption trends, KMPG estimates that by 2040 e-commerce will reduce shopping trips in the U.S. by 30 percent. It could be as high as 50 percent.

as a result, delivery vehicle miles traveled will skyrocket from 23 billion annual miles to more than 78 billion by 2040.

Testing and deployments

Ford continues to expand its autonomous vehicle program. This time, the automaker is setting up shop in Austin. During my week in Austin for SXSW, I had heard rumors that Ford was preparing to open an autonomous vehicle program there. A number of Ford executives were on the ground in Austin during SXSW to participate in panels and other events including one I moderated at the Smart Mobility Summit.

That chatter was confirmed by a new job listing for an autonomous vehicles “market specialist” based in Austin. Austin is the fifth city to join the automaker’s testing program, which already includes Detroit, Miami, Pittsburgh and Washington D.C.

Meanwhile, Los Angeles is getting ready for a widespread deployment of scooters. About seven companies already have permission to operate on a conditional basis, according to Los Angeles Department of Transportation’s general manager Seleta Reynolds. Now it’s about to get bigger.

The city recently launched a one-year dockless on-demand personal mobility program. As part of that program, the LADOT accepted applications from companies seeking one-year permits. Eleven companies applied for permission to operate about 38,000 dockless devices. The city is prepping for coming deluge by creating designated parking areas and other signage.

psst. Dress rehearsal is over. Almost showtime for real. Keep it tight out there, my dockless-loving friends. pic.twitter.com/h18H0BEKs5

— Seleta Reynolds (@seletajewel) March 16, 2019

That sounds like a lot; and it is. But it could have been a much higher number. If these companies had maxed out the total number allowed under the permit, it could have meant 160,000 scooters in Los Angeles.

Why wouldn’t Bird, Lime, Spin and others max out the allowable 10,500 scooters per permit? Here’s one thought: cost and supply.

The annual permit application fee is a non-refundable $20,000. Companies also most pay $130 fee per vehicle annually if they’re operating in non-disadvantage communities (DAC). LADOT is allowing companies a maximum of 3,000 scooters in non-DAC areas, 5,000 in DACs in San Fernando Valley and up to 2,500 in DACs in outside of San Fernando Valley. Permits for scooters in DACs are $39 per vehicle, a 70 percent reduction in that fee.

That means if a company could max out and hit the 10,500 scooter limit, which includes DACs, it would be looking at more than $700,000 in permitting fees to operate for a year.

Two car things …

Gridwise, a mobile app designed to increases rideshare drivers’ hourly earnings by helping them find more rides and track their performance, launched in a number of cities, including Austin, Dallas, Houston, Los Angeles, and Phoenix. Gridwise app is already available in numberous U.S. cities such as Baltimore, Boston, Chicago, New York City, Pittsburgh, Philadelphia, and Washington DC.

And Citymobil, one of the largest Russian taxi aggregators, has teamed up with Gazprom to launch a taxi runs on natural gas. About 500 taxi cars that participate with Citymobil have already been converted to work on methane. By the end of the year, their number is expected to reach 10,000.

On our radar

There is a lot of transportation-related activity this month.

Nvidia GTC

TechCrunch will be at Nvidia’s annual GPU Technology Conference from March 18 to 21 in San Jose.

The 4th annualADAS Sensors 2019 conference and expo held March 20 to 21 in Detroit Michigan. See the full conference agenda at: http://www.adassensors.com/agenda.html

Self Racing Cars

The annual Self Racing Car eventwill be held March 23 and March 24 at Thunderhill Raceway near Willows, California. Sign up to participate or drop them a line at contact@selfracingcars.com.

Thanks for reading. There might be content you like or something you hate. Feel free to reach out to me at kirsten.korosec@techcrunch.com to share those thoughts, opinions or tips. 

Nos vemos la próxima vez.

source https://techcrunch.com/2019/03/17/transportation-weekly-ubers-spending-habits-tesla-model-y-scooters-and-avs-in-austin/

[fmservers]

Transportation Weekly: Uber’s spending habits, Tesla Model Y, scooters and AVs in Austin

Welcome back to Transportation Weekly; I’m your host Kirsten Korosec, senior transportation reporter at TechCrunch. We love the reader feedback. Keep it coming.

Never heard of TechCrunch’s Transportation Weekly? Catch up by reading the first edition here or check out last week’s edition, which offered the gamut of mobility news from Lyft and Bird to Waymo’s laser bears and cybersecurity.

As I’ve written before, consider this a soft launch. Follow me on Twitter @kirstenkorosec to ensure you see it each week. An email subscription is coming!

This week we’ll focus on the city of Austin, gain insight into Uber’s spending habits, do a little scooter number crunching, the Tesla Model Y, and the so-called “race” — an overused and inaccurate term — to develop autonomous vehicles.

ONM …

There are OEMs in the automotive world. And here, (wait for it) there are ONMs — original news manufacturers. (Cymbal clash!) This is where investigative reporting, enterprise pieces and analysis on transportation lives.

Mark Harris is back with new details on Uber’s autonomous vehicle technology program. The upshot: Uber was spending $20 million a month to develop self-driving technologies.

The new information, gleaned from recently unsealed court documents, provides new insight into the company’s past activities and what that might mean for its upcoming IPO.

Harris writes: “The figures, dating back to 2016, paint a picture of a company desperate to meet over-ambitious autonomy targets and one that is willing to spend freely, even recklessly, to get there. As Uber prepares for its IPO later this year, the new details could prove an embarrassing reminder that the company is still trailing in its efforts to develop technology that founder Travis Kalanick called “existential” to Uber’s future.”

This historical look at Uber and its self-driving tech unit, Uber ATG, should be considered alongside more recent news, including that it’s in negotiations with investors, including the SoftBank Vision Fund, to secure an investment as large as $1 billion for its autonomous vehicles unit.

Dig In

After five days in Austin for SXSW, I headed to Los Angeles, actually Hawthorne, for Tesla’s Model Y unveiling. In many ways, this was like all the other Tesla events I’ve attended: the pumpy music and mood lighting, the designed-to-inspire kick off video, the Tesla superfans (pictured below), and the long lines for a brief test ride.

And yet, something was different. The Model Y unveil reminded me of other more traditional automaker reveals. There were mutterings at the event, and wild cries on Twitter, of disappointment (there were plenty of platitudes as well). Many expected something more exciting than this Model 3 doppelganger.

The Model Y is the kind of next act one might expect from an established and more cautious automaker. And while the market’s reaction was negative, there were folks who noted that the Model Y’s likeness to the 3 meant it was getting serious about selling vehicles.

And that’s not a bad thing — accept for two niggling details. First, the Model Y is so similar to the 3 that it could suffer from buyer malaise or cannibalization of one of the two vehicles. Secondly, even if everyone loved this vehicle and Tesla was poised to take advantage of these perceived efficiencies gained from sharing at least 75 percent of the parts with the Model 3, the Y isn’t coming until fall 2020.

That lengthy timeline raises a lot of questions that we’ll be (and surely others) digging into in the coming weeks and months. Where Tesla chooses to produce the Model Y is perhaps the most important, unanswered question.

  A little bird …

We hear a lot. But we’re not selfish. Let’s share.

Welp, we didn’t anticipate this happening. Two tips turned into stories this week: Ford expanding its autonomous vehicle program to Austin and GM Cruise ramping up its hiring machine with plans to hire at least 1,000 more engineers by the end of the year.

What else are we hearing? There’s a new autonomous trucking company coming out of stealth. We’ll share more soon.

Got a tip or overheard something in the world of transportation? Email me or send a direct message to @kirstenkorosec.

Deal of the week

It’s not a done deal, yet. But it’s just an intriguing. Uber is in talks with Softbank Vision Fund and Toyota to raise $1 billion for its self-driving unit Uber ATG. This investment would give Uber ATG a valuation of between $5 billion and $10 billion, WSJ reported. The talks are fluid and could still fall apart, these people warned.

There is a lot of behind-the-scenes investment and partnership activity in the autonomous vehicle space these days. In short, these relationships are getting messy and hard to follow.

Let’s not forget that Softbank’s Vision Fund already has a nearly 20 percent stake in GM’s self-driving subsidiary GM Cruise following its $2.2 billion investment in 2018.

Then there’s Volkswagen AG, which is in continued talks with Ford to partner on self-driving car technologies. The framework of the agreement is expected to include VW making an investment into Ford-backed autonomous vehicle startup Argo AI.

VW already has other partnerships. VW Group, Intel’s  computer vision subsidiary Mobileye  and Champion Motors said in November they plan to deploy Israel’s first self-driving ride-hailing service in 2019 through a joint venture called New Mobility in Israel. VW also has a partnership with AV startup Aurora to integrate self-driving systems in custom-designed electric shuttles for VW’s new Moia brand.

Other deals:

Flight-hailing startup Blackbird raises $10 million

Drivezy, India’s vehicle-sharing startup is raising more than $100 million

BMW i Ventures invested in Bright Machines, a San Francisco-based company that has combined software and robotics to help automotive, computer and electronic brands improve product quality, throughput, and factory optimization.

Toyota Motor, DENSO Corporation, and Toyota Tsusho Corporation made a $15 million investment into connected vehicle services startup Airbiquity. The four parties will collaborate to accelerate the development and commercialization of an automotive grade over-the-air (OTA) system enabling remote vehicle software updates and management.

Freight railroad owner Genesee & Wyoming is considering a sale of all or part of itself, Bloomberg reported

Snapshot

I spent the week in Austin to participate in a number of SXSW-related events, including a couple of panels. As MRD notes in the micromobility section below, scooters were everywhere. And I used them a lot.

Here’s what many might not have considered as they zipped along the streets, and sidewalks of Austin. The new new new thing often kills off something else, or at least forces it to change.

Which brings me to pedicabs. The snapshot below is a long lineup of empty pedicabs in downtown Austin. I saw these pedicabs-sans-riders everywhere in Austin. I remember SXSW just one year ago and the pedicabs were full; I took them several times that week. But now, scooters and bike share are here, and the pedicabs seem to be the ones suffering the most. I hired a pedicab during my stay and the driver confirmed my observations: they’re waiting much longer for customers now.

Sometimes that disruption can hit the new new thing too. Take bike share. The Austin City Council on approved in February 2018 the creation of a “dockless” bike share pilot program. Some companies were already operating these services; this action created a regulatory framework. But then scooters came en masse.

City officials and one dockless mobility executive told me that scooters upended bike share, and prompted companies to take some of their bikes off the streets do to lack of demand.

Tiny but mighty micromobility

It seems like everyone is riding scooters now. Case in point, Austin during SXSW. MRD weighs in on what went down.

I wasn’t in Austin this week for SXSW. And it’s a good thing I wasn’t because there were reports of a tornado! Well, a tornado of scooters. According to The Verge, scooters and bikes were out and about, enabling the hundreds of thousands of conference goers to get from one bar to the next — and from one session to the other.

“Some of the astounding sights I’ve seen in the past few days include multiple vicious-looking wipeouts, a man cranking the accelerator and doing donuts in a crowded parking lot, and scooters littering the gutters of East 6th Street while throngs of people avoid tripping over them,” The Verge’s Nick Statt wrote. “At one point, I read that a man was found riding one down the shoulder of an Austin highway. Riders here are disregarding all manner of street signage and traffic lights; some people flagrantly speed the wrong way down streets.”

In other micromobility news …

Micromobility data platform Populus raised some skrillz — $3.1 million, to be exact. That’s in part because, while cities are down for this new era of transportation and operators are down to share their data, cities still have to find out what to do with this data and how to extract learnings from it.

This is where Populus comes in. Populus raised the seed round from Precursor Ventures, Relay Ventures and others to help cities make sense of the influx of transportation data. This brings the startup’s total funding to $3.85 million.

And  … just because scooters are hot right now, doesn’t mean companies aren’t facing headwinds. The Information reported that Bird has laid off between 4 to 5 percent of its workforce.

— Megan Rose Dickey

Notable reads

Navigant Research released its annual, and often controversial autonomous vehicle leaderboard report, by principal analyst Sam Abuelsamid. The Navigant Research Leaderboard examines the strategy and execution of 20 leading automated driving system companies and rates them based on 10 criteria, including vision; go-to market strategy; partners; production strategy; technology; sales, marketing, and distribution; product capability; product quality and reliability; product portfolio; and staying power.

The leaders, in Navigant’s view are:

Waymo

GM Cruise

Ford autonomous vehicles

Aptiv

Intel-Mobileye

Volkswagen Group

Daimler-Bosch

Baidu

Toyota

. Renault-Nissan-Mitsubishi Alliance

Other quotable notables:

With the rise of autonomous delivery bots — or at least news of all the capital they’re raising — it’s worth revisiting a white paper that KPMG put out in November called Autonomy Delivers: An oncoming revolution in the movement of goods. The report notes how e-commerce is pushing this delivery phenomenon forward. Two forecasts worth noting:

expecting no acceleration in e-commerce adoption trends, KMPG estimates that by 2040 e-commerce will reduce shopping trips in the U.S. by 30 percent. It could be as high as 50 percent.

as a result, delivery vehicle miles traveled will skyrocket from 23 billion annual miles to more than 78 billion by 2040.

Testing and deployments

Ford continues to expand its autonomous vehicle program. This time, the automaker is setting up shop in Austin. During my week in Austin for SXSW, I had heard rumors that Ford was preparing to open an autonomous vehicle program there. A number of Ford executives were on the ground in Austin during SXSW to participate in panels and other events including one I moderated at the Smart Mobility Summit.

That chatter was confirmed by a new job listing for an autonomous vehicles “market specialist” based in Austin. Austin is the fifth city to join the automaker’s testing program, which already includes Detroit, Miami, Pittsburgh and Washington D.C.

Meanwhile, Los Angeles is getting ready for a widespread deployment of scooters. About seven companies already have permission to operate on a conditional basis, according to Los Angeles Department of Transportation’s general manager Seleta Reynolds. Now it’s about to get bigger.

The city recently launched a one-year dockless on-demand personal mobility program. As part of that program, the LADOT accepted applications from companies seeking one-year permits. Eleven companies applied for permission to operate about 38,000 dockless devices. The city is prepping for coming deluge by creating designated parking areas and other signage.

psst. Dress rehearsal is over. Almost showtime for real. Keep it tight out there, my dockless-loving friends. pic.twitter.com/h18H0BEKs5

— Seleta Reynolds (@seletajewel) March 16, 2019

That sounds like a lot; and it is. But it could have been a much higher number. If these companies had maxed out the total number allowed under the permit, it could have meant 160,000 scooters in Los Angeles.

Why wouldn’t Bird, Lime, Spin and others max out the allowable 10,500 scooters per permit? Here’s one thought: cost and supply.

The annual permit application fee is a non-refundable $20,000. Companies also most pay $130 fee per vehicle annually if they’re operating in non-disadvantage communities (DAC). LADOT is allowing companies a maximum of 3,000 scooters in non-DAC areas, 5,000 in DACs in San Fernando Valley and up to 2,500 in DACs in outside of San Fernando Valley. Permits for scooters in DACs are $39 per vehicle, a 70 percent reduction in that fee.

That means if a company could max out and hit the 10,500 scooter limit, which includes DACs, it would be looking at more than $700,000 in permitting fees to operate for a year.

Two car things …

Gridwise, a mobile app designed to increases rideshare drivers’ hourly earnings by helping them find more rides and track their performance, launched in a number of cities, including Austin, Dallas, Houston, Los Angeles, and Phoenix. Gridwise app is already available in numberous U.S. cities such as Baltimore, Boston, Chicago, New York City, Pittsburgh, Philadelphia, and Washington DC.

And Citymobil, one of the largest Russian taxi aggregators, has teamed up with Gazprom to launch a taxi runs on natural gas. About 500 taxi cars that participate with Citymobil have already been converted to work on methane. By the end of the year, their number is expected to reach 10,000.

On our radar

There is a lot of transportation-related activity this month.

Nvidia GTC

TechCrunch will be at Nvidia’s annual GPU Technology Conference from March 18 to 21 in San Jose.

The 4th annualADAS Sensors 2019 conference and expo held March 20 to 21 in Detroit Michigan. See the full conference agenda at: http://www.adassensors.com/agenda.html

Self Racing Cars

The annual Self Racing Car eventwill be held March 23 and March 24 at Thunderhill Raceway near Willows, California. Sign up to participate or drop them a line at contact@selfracingcars.com.

Thanks for reading. There might be content you like or something you hate. Feel free to reach out to me at kirsten.korosec@techcrunch.com to share those thoughts, opinions or tips. 

Nos vemos la próxima vez.

Via Kirsten Korosec https://techcrunch.com