prettypinkguns

[prettypinkguns]

how could you not love the guy

[prettypinkguns]

TAILSPIN. ‖ ghost x soap

[dragon rider au]

✎ cw: Alternate Universe - Fantasy / Medieval, Dragon Riders, Military Inaccuracies, Military Training, Military Ranks, Mentor/Protégé, Teacher-Student Relationship, Power Dynamics, Power Imbalance, Size Difference, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Claiming Bites, Animalistic, Animal Instincts, Scent Marking, Nesting (No Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics), Swordfighting, Bondage and Discipline, Size Kink, Soul Bond, Top Simon "Ghost" Riley, Bottom John "Soap" MacTavish, Simon "Ghost" Riley is Bad At Feelings, Touch-Starved, Touch Aversion, Sexual Tension, Jealousy, Possessive Behavior, Denial of Feelings, Control Issues, Hand & Finger Kink, Loss of Virginity, Rimming, Finger Sucking, Fingerfucking, Anal Sex, Roughhousing, Play Fighting, Porn With Plot, Getting to Know Each Other, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Daddy Issues, Other Additional Tags to Be Added

AO3

Only royalty could bond with a dragon. That is, until a shepherd’s boy does what was once thought impossible and claims a dragon for himself. Now the shepherd's boy must undergo training and learn the ways of dragon-riding. Under the strict tutelage of a mysterious masked man known only as Ghost who was as stern just as much as he was difficult to please. But as the training progresses, only does disdain turn into curiosity. As the shepherd’s boy becomes more… inquiring. There was more to Ghost than meets the eye and the shepherd’s boy was determined to find out more.

[1]

No one knew where dragons came from, or how long they coincided with humanity for that matter. Or even how humans were able to bond with them. Souls bound, intertwined like woven thread. There were many tales, many explanations. But none were conclusive or universally accepted. But his favorite one was told as such:

There was a time long past where fantasy and reality were one in the same. Where one’s wildest imaginations were not contrived from a mind’s eye but were recounts of experiences, lived and learned. Myths were not misconstrued, legends were not just tall tales. A time where man was not on top of the food chain. Mythological creatures of yore and yonder were a part of the natural ecosystem. Trolls, golems, mermaids, goblins, centaurs, unicorns, basilisks, dragons — all were not fiction but fact. They walked amongst men, they hunted men. They were magical and fantastical — for their origins were magical and fantastical; primordial. They were here before mankind. Appeared right when the peridexion tree did, in the far past where time was once obsolete.

On the verge of extinction, humanity sought sanctuary. Deep in the forests where the peridexion tree grew. In its shadow, underneath its canopy, only did mankind find safety, find shelter in such a hostile world. Fed by the fruit it borne, fueled the man-made fires by the sap it bleed, supplied weapons carved from its branches, and clothes and textiles woven from its leaves. From the wind that rustled the tree’s canopy, did the susurrations whisper to humanity  —  knowledge: language, mathematics, alchemy, and sorcery.

In the peridexion tree’s embrace, by its generosity, only did humankind learn, survive and thrive. Only under its canopy, did mankind advance. They developed the fundamentals of a firstborn society: a common tongue, written language, trade, architecture, agriculture — the domestication of unicorns —  and art. Humankind built communities then cities and then kingdoms. Developed social systems and political structures. Now such mythical beasts, once worshipped and feared, were slain as just any other animal. They became delicacies, alchemical ingredients, cataclysms, and trophies. Rites of courage and trials of cowardice. 

But not all had humble beginnings nor did they live an honest life. There were beings of opportunity and overabundance; greed. Dragons. Who gnawed at the roots of the peridexion tree, over-plucked the tree’s fruits, used its branches and leaves for nesting material, and endlessly snacked on mankind. Worst of all, they burned down and destroyed mankind’s developing cities, and humankind with it, into nothing but ash and cinder. It was nothing but sport, for fun. Once again, putting humanity at the verge of endangerment.

It was underneath the same canopy, where the winds tousled, that the peridexion tree whispered to humanity an ancient ritual. A blood ritual that would be powerful enough to bind a dragon’s soul. It was here that a great reaping was sown. Where a sea of blood was spilled. And the dragons were punished and tethered to humanity for eternity; their souls bound and linked. But such powerful creatures that were an embodiment of magic themselves, were not so helpless against such a ritual. Though still bound to humanity, they only bonded with those deemed worthy enough. Those that could handle a draconian soul. Those chosen by dragons lead their fellows to greatness.

Soon servitude turned to companionship. Only with their help did humankind recover and blossom further. Built kingdoms and societies bigger than before. That spanned far beyond the tree’s reach. Towards lands untouched and divided by great seas. There was peace and prosperity for a time. From which dragons and mankind, as one, were maintainers of the natural order. But it was through that time, with souls intertwined, that the dragons' greed and destructive nature had influenced the hearts of mankind, for the hearts of mankind were, too, just as wicked. Peace turned to war, cooperation turned to bitter rivalry, humility turned to selfishness, and the maintenance of nature turned to the conquering of land, sea and sky.

Once mere companions, now dragons were weapons. Proprietors of death and fire.

A great war started. Turning order into chaos, men against men, dragons against dragons. The world burned, and with it, so did the peridexion tree. Until it was nothing but ash and cinder. Magic was gone, and the magical creatures that once roamed the world seemingly disappeared. Unicorns lost their horns, turning into what were now simple horses. Alchemy and sorcery became meaningless. 

Without the peridexion tree, what was left of civilization could not recover fully. What remained of humankind struggled to survive; beset with such that were never experienced before under the peridexion tree’s canopy; plagues, pestilence, famine, drought, earthquakes, hurricanes and flooding. Even dragons, once plentiful, were on the verge of extinction. Never to fully recount their numbers over the ages past, not like humankind did. What remained of them were only bonded to those deemed worthy, divine. Those chosen few became royalty, ruling over their land. Dragons were symbols of power, of prestige. And only through the royalty’s conservation efforts did dragons not completely die out. 

But even then, eventually, dragons, too, will cease to exist. With the death of the peridexion tree, came the death of magic. And with the death of magic, bore the slow death of dragons. For they too were entirely magic.

Or... so it was told. 

More so, it was what his grandfather had regaled him as a young boy through his storytelling. Of a time long past where fantasy and reality were one in the same. Where one’s wildest imaginations were not contrived from a mind’s eye but were recounts of experiences, lived and learned. Myths were not misconstrued, legends were not just tall tales. A time where man was not on top of the food chain. Mythological creatures of yore and yonder were a part of the natural ecosystem. Perhaps it was derived in truth, perhaps it was not. Perhaps it was to explain the unexplainable. Why such unnatural creatures were common in heraldry and old texts. In culture and tales. Perhaps like any other, it was a way to explain origins. Why dragons lived amongst men in the past and now, in the present. And why such fearsome and ferocious beasts became scarcer and scarcer. Only reserved and kept by the chosen few.

But such thinking was beyond his necessity, beyond his purpose. Such questions were reserved for the philosophers and priests to mull over and find meaning. For he was nothing but a simple shepherd. And all that was needed of him was to tend to his family’s sheep, lead them to grazing grounds and protect them from predators. A simple living for a good and honest son. So with his shepherd’s crook in hand and his farm hound at his heel did he lead his herd of sheep out to pasture on top of a hill by the forest’s edge.  

There, he would rest under the old oak tree on top of the hill and eat his lunch while his sheep grazed as always. A filled water skin and a small satchel where a wrapped handkerchief held nuts, strips of venison jerky, dried fruit, and ewe cheese for him, a bone for his hound, all packed by his mother.  Then under the oak tree, would he rest. Lay in the cool shade, daydreaming, with his hound curled near his feet; sometimes even a few sheep joined him. All while he filled the pages of his journal with sketches of all kinds and strings of written text. An activity far above his stature. Too sophisticated for a shepherd, his father would say, one he had no business indulging in. 

All he needed to know and do was to take care of the sheep, for without them, the family would lose everything. So he did what was told of him, what was expected of him. He led the sheep back onto that overgrown hill, had his lunch, and yet sketched in secret while the sheep grazed. 

But today was different. It had been hotter these past few days with the onset of summer. The heat made him more exhausted and sleepy. Underneath the shade of that old oak tree, in the flitting of the summer insects and warm breeze, did he find himself falling fast asleep after his afternoon meal. It was only by his hound’s incessant barking that the shepherd woke up. Begrudgingly and groggy, he stirred and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He sat up, wide-awake now, looking down the hill for the grazing sheep. Only to see that they were all gone. The shepherd stood up, approached his hound barking over the other side of the hill. There at the hill’s bottom and near the forest’s edge, was a wide patch of blackened, scorched earth.

And within it, were his sheep. Dead. 

Not just dead but burnt and charred by… by fire? A wildfire? Arson? A lightning strike from a passing storm? Even from where he was at, he could feel the immense emanating heat. As if it was still fresh, as if it just happened. He ran down the hill, tumbling down more like. But his hound did not follow along, still barked hoarsely from the hilltop. Slowly and cautiously, the shepherd stood and entered the burnt area. Disbelieved, shocked. It was like stepping into a hot bath or a blacksmith’s forge. Immense heat engulfed him. Smoke filled his lungs, ash coated his skin. The tears at his waterline began to evaporate on his cheeks. The shepherd dropped to his knees, amongst the charred remains of the family’s sheep. Hands found the earth, grasping at cracked bone shards, shriveled sheepskin, and bits of glowing ember sizzling still. All but a burning ash pile in his clammy, callous hands. 

He had failed his purpose. He had doomed his family by his negligence. 

It was then that the earth shook beneath the shepherd. A deep echo in the ground, like an earthquake. A low bellow, like from a crocodile or an elephant. A powerful vocalization that shook him to the core. He looked up to the forest’s edge. Where a massive shadow crept low. Large burning eyes stared at him from the treeline. He froze, heart stopped, as what he thought was a massive shadow only grew that much bigger. Another bellow emanated, shaking the forest. Something moved, something approached. The towering trees of the forest began to bend, snapping easily as if they were nothing but twigs. And all he could do was watch. 

The treeline split open and a creature burst through. But not just any mere creature. A dragon. One that towered immensely over him, as big as his farmhouse. With a scaled body colored a dark cobalt and orange, smoldering slit eyes that burned like the sunset. And were trained on his kneeling figure among the smoke and ash. Its muzzle was stained in boiled blood, gore hung from teeth that were as long as short swords, as its lips curled with a snarl. It emerged more from the forest, catching the sun. Its horned bony crest, wing bones, and spinal scales shone like smelted copper. Even its leathery wings, partially unfurled, burned bright as copper. A contrast to its primary color of dark cobalt. It would be beautiful, if not for its terrifying appearance.

The shepherd remained still, breathless and motionless, as the dragon drudged forward. Balanced on its wingtips with smaller back legs like a monstrous, scaly bat. It snarled again, teeth glinting as it looked him over. The dragon extended its long neck down until it was relatively face-to-face with him. Those smoldering eyes looked into his own. A rush of moist air hit his face as its nostrils flared, taking in deep inhales then, just as quickly, exhaling. Seemingly smelling him. It let out a low rumble, then turned its head. Uninterested, it turned its back and drudged aside to where more of his dead sheep lay. Its long tail left deep grooves in the charred ground as it walked away. Then it began to feast. Swallowing one of the charred sheep down in a couple bites. 

He clenched his fists on his lap, bits of cinder smearing over his skin like chalk. Sulking, no. He was simmering. His fear turned to anguish. Then with anguish came desperation. And with desperation was misplaced courage, sacrificial in nature. Though his legs wobbled, the shepherd forced himself on his feet. Breathing hard and heavy as anger burned. In front of him lay a piece of a broken femur bone. Sharp, charred, and pointed at one end like a curved dagger. Uncovered by the dragon’s tail sweeping side-to-side. He grabbed it, clutching the makeshift weapon tight in his hands. The shepherd turned, watching as the dragon gorged itself on his family’s livelihood. With his judgement clouded, he ran forward. Towards the closest part of the dragon by him; its long swishing tail. Yelling in mourning, he stabbed as hard as he could into the tail. Right between two overlapping scales. The dragon cried out. But before he could assess the damage, the tail flicked and he was thrown on his back a few feet away. 

The dragon turned around. Attention back to the shepherd who laid supine in ash and cinder, watching as the dragon walked forward until it stood over him. It opened its maw. There, cradled in its throat was a growing flame. Like looking straight into the opening of a furnace. The shepherd forced himself on his feet again, feeling the emitting heat of the burning flame in its mouth. He faced the dragon, angry. Angry at himself, anguished at the end of his family's lifeline. Just as the dragon opened its maw wider, did he as well. Closed his eyes shut and opened his jaw until it ached at the joint and roared. 

He expected death, he expected to burn like his sheep had. But the heat of flames never touched him. The shepherd opened his eyes slowly and met the flaming pits of the dragon’s eyes. Staring straight at him, as if into his soul. The ground beneath his feet rumbled once more as a deep grumble came from the depth of the dragon’s chest. He watched frozen as the dragon crouched down to its belly and bent its neck to him. 

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

He had just come back from training when the news got to him. He was exhausted and sweating, on his way back to his room for a much needed bath and rest. The place was busier than he expected. Maids and servants ran through the halls and down staircases. Guards were frantically marching towards the Nest where the dragons – both claimed and unclaimed — resided. He had thought nothing of it at first, brushing it off as the rush of the afternoon. But soon he saw the Captain amongst the guards. It was then he knew something was amiss. 

He stood near the wall and the Captain locked eyes with him.

“Ghost.” Captain Price nodded in greeting, his voice low and laced with exhaustion. He was on edge, Ghost could tell. On the verge of blowing a casket if he were to guess. He only wondered who or what had completely ticked him off this time.

“Price.” He rumbled back.

Without a word Captain Price left the rest of the group of gathering guards and ducked away to a secluded part of the castle. Ghost followed diligently, silent as a shadow. Price let out a heavy sigh and leaned on the railing of a small balcony overlooking one of the many central gardens. The flowers were in full bloom now. Pops of color among verdure. The soft scent of them carried by a warm breeze. One to be enjoyed, if not for the circumstances.

Ghost stopped near the corner where the shadows were darkest. Leaned himself against the wall by the shoulder, arms across his wide chest.

“One of the unclaimed dragons escaped.” 

Ghost remained silent and stoic, even with the news. It wasn’t unheard of. Dragons, even claimed and bound, were still in essence animals. Most did as they pleased when they pleased, especially those unclaimed and riderless. Some had more free-spirited personalities than others. Others craved a chance to spread their wings. More often than not, without interference or guidance, such freedom would encourage them to seek out an area to rest, thus finding themselves a new nest. 

Ghost then let out an acknowledging hum. Expecting a command from Price to gather a group and go fetch the escaped dragon before it could settle down and claim new territory – thus making it more difficult to bring it back. Or worse, prevent it from causing any major damage. But Price grew quiet again. Strangely so. It seemed there was something more to it. Ghost remained patient, letting silence come between them. A long beat came and went before Price let out a heavy sigh and turned towards Ghost. With a strange intensity that burned in his blue eyes. 

“A shepherd’s boy has claimed the dragon.”

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

[prettypinkguns]

for study... of course

[prettypinkguns]

HOARFROST. ‖ poly!141 x reader

[wolf shifter au]

✎ cw: Wolf Pack, Wolf Instincts, Werewolves Turn Into Actual Wolves, Pack Hierarchy, Pack Bonding, Werewolf Courting, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mating Bites, Mating Bond, Scent Kink, Scent Marking, Marking, No Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Polyamorous Task Force 141, Military Inaccuracies, Military Backstory, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Possessive Behavior, Protectiveness, Knotting, Eventual Smut

AO3

Named in a will of estranged grandparents that you never met, you bequeathed a generous inheritance and a property out in Alaska; in a small town called Coalition. With city life slowly whittling away at you, you decided to take time off of work, flying out to Alaska. Partly to prepare the property to be sold before winter and to enjoy the wilderness in the meantime. There you meet four mysterious ‘bachelors’ of the town who not only took interest in you, but you in them. But you soon realize something wasn’t quite right about those men or the pack of wolves, with their strangely intelligent eyes, that frequented the woods surrounding your property. Curious, you're determined to get to the bottom of it. But as the saying famously went… curiosity kills the cat.

[1]

Sometimes, you wished life was simple. 

Where the world was nothing but a simple place with simple people who lived nothing but simple lives. Where there were no complexities, no complications, no corruption nor any suffering. A symbiosis, a balance. Between individualism and culture, nature and civilization, necessities and consumerism. Yet, life was anything but simple. And to long for such simplicity was nothing but wishful thinking. 

Like many, you felt crushed by the hustle and bustle of modern life. From which everything was autonomous, automatic. Where an individual’s entire life revolved around their jobs and whose personhood was defined by market value. To capitalism, a person was nothing but a commodity to be exploited and to maximize profits. Passion was snuffed out like a flame or squeezed and squeezed until it was nothing but rind. In which pastimes and hobbies were too much effort to keep; a common sacrifice. Just another stepping stone on a long career path, just another rung on the corporate ladder. Now only an emptiness remained from the smothering of both soul and spirit. Until you were nothing but a husk, an empty shell of a person. 

But such was life. And who were you to want simplicity?

But unlike you and a majority of the population, there were outliers. Others that weren't partaken with conformity or willing to settle for such a thing known as ‘normality’. Mostly nut jobs, based on personal assumptions. Or even religious cultists and doomsday preppers. Or people too consumed with conspiracy theories and antigovernmental beliefs. The black sheep of the family. But among it all, you didn’t know where your grandparents aligned. Didn’t know if they were a little bit of the above or none at all. They were never heavily involved in your childhood or your teenage years. You had no memories of them. Only knew what was whispered between the adults. Questions brushed off when you got too curious for your own good. Denial when you happened to remember something small and stray. A fleeting memory, that was like sand grains in your palm. Rendered as nothing but a child’s wild imaginations or vivid dreams.

Or even the feign of ignorance when you found a Purple Heart behind a delve of old photographs. All collecting dust in an old shoebox when you were helping your parents go through old boxes for a spontaneous spring cleaning. You remembered your parents’ faces when you showed them the shoebox. Purple Heart in your palm, black-and-white photographs rifled through by your curiosity. They had a look of complete fear; wide-eyed, color drained from their faces and frozen in place. Before the shoebox was yanked from your hands and you were sent away to your room, excused from helping out. 

That was the last time you saw the shoebox. 

You remembered one time when you tried to sneak into their bedroom to find it, but to no avail. But that fear on your parents’ faces was unforgettable. As were the old monochrome photographs of blurry faces, of strangers. Just like the weight of the Purple Heart in your hand and the stain of grime and dust on your fingertips. Sometimes you wondered about the significance of it. Wondered why your parents acted the way they did that day. They never did answer your questions about it, told you they didn't know what you were talking about when you would bring it up.

And soon, just like many things in your life, it became nothing but an odd occurrence in your past. Something you tossed around your head before shrugging your shoulders and worrying about other things. But one thing stood out to you, one thing was certain as time passed. Those strangers in the photographs weren’t just some random faces in a crowd. They were your grandparents. Those unspoken, estranged family members scratched out in the familial records. And even more interesting, they were former military. 

Now, you were sitting in your break room. Mentally exhausted, physically tired. Ready to go home and snuggle underneath your bed covers, scrolling through your phone until bedtime. It had been a long and draining work week. More than you had thought possible. But it wasn’t unusual. The holidays were coming up which only meant more strenuous work and more tedious responsibilities -– but such was life was it not? Luckily, you were the only person in the break room. Able to take a breather and actually enjoy your break by yourself. Your social battery was completely depleted, and you were in no mood to socialize, let alone tolerate another presence in the same vicinity as you. 

Quietly brewing in your own thoughts, you thumbed against a piece of paper in your hand. One that had been just another envelope lost in your endless pile of mail on your side table: bills, notices, magazines, and flyers. You had stumbled upon it a few days ago when finally getting the motivation to sort through the accumulating pile. Inscription of a legal notice was across the front that made your heart drop into your chest, fingers shaking as you carefully tore the seal to fish out what was inside. A will, and all assets and inheritance named to you. From your supposed grandparents. The call that followed was interesting… for lack of a better word. You were the sole inheritor, no one else in your family was named. But none of your family had contested it. Not even your parents. Upon their death, your grandparents’ bodies were already taken care of; cremated and buried in a private graveyard in their hometown.   

You had taken note of the information given to you and made arrangements for your appointment with an attorney in regards to the probate. You had gone early yesterday morning, all legalities and protocols were explained to you. And in the following afternoon, with a few signatures, all assets and inheritance were now legally yours. Namely, and more intriguingly, a property out in Alaska was now under your name. Now, you eyed the document again. Still in disbelief. It all felt too good to be true. As if any second, you would wake up from a dream to a snoozed alarm and indentations on your skin from your sheets. Your eyes went to your blaring watch, realizing that your break was over. You folded the document, tucking it away in your pocket. Letting out a deep sigh, you forced yourself on your feet. It was going to be a long day…

Back at home, you collapsed on your couch. Bag, keys, and all. Too tired to walk to your bedroom. Too tired to even think. But underneath it all, there was relief as well. Not only from finally being at home after such a long and grueling day. But also from your time-off being approved. Which was surprising given such a short notice and the upcoming holiday season. You remembered the nervousness. The shock you felt when you got that approval email. Things were going too well for your liking. But there was no time to question it or mull over it. You supposed ‘urgent family emergency’ had been sufficient enough. Which was accurate, but you knew it would serve partly as much needed time away from life.

You didn’t know how long you stayed there lounging on your couch. But eventually, like you had in the break room, you forced yourself up on your feet to get ready for bed. You had another long work week ahead of you. All you needed to do was to tough it out and get through it. Then it was packing up and heading to Alaska to see that estate for yourself. Do some upkeep and maintenance if necessary, take time-off as you did so, and then simply sell it — land and all. Then it would be a piece of cake from there. A straightforward plan; a solid course of action. 

Now all you needed to do was book that flight.

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

From above, the town of Fairbanks was a spectacle among all the wilderness. And, after hours of flying, it was also a sight for sore eyes. Fairbanks was much more than what you expected for a city out in the Alaskan frontier. With high-rise buildings, arching bridges, highways, downtown areas, residentials and beautiful wilderness just beyond. A beautiful city just waiting to be explored and experienced. But it was not your destination nor was there any time to tour it. You had another flight to catch immediately after yours landed. The property that was left to you was out further, in the outskirts of Fairbanks. In a small town; more rural, more remote. Driving there was feasible. The main highway went near enough to the small town, but it did not go thoroughly. Renting out a car and driving there was an option, but not something you wanted to do after such a long flight. The next best option you found was to take another plane there. And luckily, the town had an airstrip.  

With all your luggage behind you, you went to find the right terminal gate and the pilot that would take you there. The terminal was surprisingly busy. But expected given the upcoming season and it being in such a huge city. Though it wasn’t the worst, not too overcrowded or hectic, as it wasn’t a hindrance to walk around. You eventually found the terminal gate on the other side of the terminal, opposite to where your plane landed. The sitting area for the terminal gate was completely empty, save for a couple workers behind a tall desk. The sight of it made you double check that you were in the right area. But soon after checking, you sat down and waited for the boarding call. Which didn’t take long to be announced. 

You walked forward with your luggage. Confused when the workers didn’t take it to be packed away onto the plane. Instead you were escorted onto the tarmac and towards a noticeably small conventional aircraft ahead of you. There was a person near the wing of the plane in the distance. Rendered into a blurred figure in the sun, no matter how hard you squinted to make out any noticeable features. But as you grew nearer, the clearer the figure became; as did the plane. A man stood against an old Beechcraft. Wiping along the wing tips so affectionately that it made you feel that you were stumbling into a private moment. But as you approached, his head lifted up and the man’s focus waned. Attention now on you. 

His face immediately lit up.

The man gave both of the workers a nod and a grin. Immediately, your ears perked up at the rhythmic lilt of a Russian accent as the man introduced himself as Nikolai. He took your luggage from the workers and you, stacking it away into the underside compartment of the Beechcraft. You couldn’t help but notice how casually the man was dressed for a pilot. Clad in jeans, a plain T-shirt, a brown leather jacket and boots. Finger length raven hair was slicked back neatly, curling naturally at the bottom of his neck  and emphasized his widow’s peak. A Cuban gold link chain hung around his neck. Apprehension prickled down your spine, suddenly unsure. More so as the workers left you alone with your supposed pilot. You eyed the man as he stacked another one of your suitcases inside the belly of the aircraft. 

“So you’re a pilot… sir ?” You asked. Trying to sound polite, conversationalist even, only for the skepticism to peek through and waver your voice. But if your pilot was bothered by it, you couldn’t tell. He only gave you a warm smile.

“Call me Nik, please.” He said, stuffing your duffel bag away. “And yes. Your pilot to be exact.” 

 “Well… Nik . How long have you been a pilot for?” 

“Nearly two decades.” With your luggage and bags all put away safely, Nikolai shut the underside compartment closed with an audible click. “But don’t worry. You’re in good hands.” He patted the side of the plane. “Katyushka and I will get you there safely.” 

You blinked at him. “ Katyushka.. ?”

The edges of Nikolai’s lips twitched as his smile widened. Obviously finding your butchering of the Russian word funny.

“Yes.” He leaned against the Beechcraft. “Well, to me. But to strangers, it’s Ekaterina .” The drawl of his accent made it sound so sensuous that you couldn’t help but shift your weight on your heels. “Built her from the ground up years ago. She’ll take you where you need to go, no problem.” He affirmed that notion with a gentle patting on the metal body again.

“Ok.” You nodded, your concerns not diminished in the slightest.

“It’ll be smooth sailing, I promise.” Nik opened the passenger side door. Offering his hand out to you as you reluctantly stepped forward and into the aircraft. Then took his seat in the pilot seat afterwards. 

Curious, your eyes wandered around the flight deck. At the various knobs, levers, buttons, and dials. Blinking displays and flashing lights that grabbed your attention, wondering what they all were for. Nikolai grabbed the aviator headset from its perch, placing it on top of his head. Then looked towards you, gaze meeting your inquisitive one as he tapped against the earmuff. 

“Headset – put it on.”

You nodded, looking around near your seat aimlessly before a hand darted in your vision, grabbing the other headset next to the side of your seat. Though Nik’s smile remained, you grabbed them sheepishly. Putting them on then fastened your seatbelt. Nikolai flicked a few switches and pressed more buttons before the Beechcraft sounded to life. The engine revved as the propeller began to spin faster and faster. Until the twisted nose blade was but a blur. 

“She purrs like a dream.” The static voice of Nik surprised you as it hummed through the intercom. “Hope you’re not afraid of heights or get motion sick. Ran out of emesis bags months ago.”

You swallowed, putting on a neutral expression. “I’ll be fine. Already came this far, didn’t I?” 

You didn’t know if you were trying to convince him or yourself but either way Nikolai moved the plane down an unoccupied part of the airstrip. Away from the other larger commercial planes, one of which you had arrived on. He stopped just at the end of the tarmac where it ended at the tree line. Slowly and steadily, the Beechcraft went along the airstrip before Nikolai increased the throttle, making the Beechcraft pick up more speed. Until the wheels hovered above and the aircraft soared. The worst part of the plane ride came and went. The Beechcraft cruised at a comfortable altitude. But your nails were dug into the leather of your seat still and you released the lungful of air you repressed. The Russian man found it amusing it seemed by the way his grin only widened. Which made you force yourself to ease your grip on the seat and relax. 

There was a silence between you both, more comfortable than awkward which you appreciated after such a long day of traveling. You settled back into your seat, arms across your chest as you leaned to your right. Stared out of your passenger window to the sight beyond. All you saw was a clear blue sky and the tufts of clouds floating on by, whipped around by wind. Before you knew it, you were starting to get drowsy. Your aviation headset blocked out the sound of the plane and the propeller, only emitting white noise from an open radio line. You decided to lay down your head for a while, letting your eyelids flutter close as you snuggled against the side of the plane’s interior and into the leather seat. But soon just resting your head turned into you dozing off the rest of the way there.

A sudden turbulence made you bolt you awake, panicked as your stomach dropped. Hands gripped around the armrests as the plane shook as it began to descend. Your wide eyes darted to your left, catching the Russian pilot’s apologetic smile.

“Sorry,” Nik said over the headset, “Didn’t mean to scare you awake.”

You were groggy, still rubbing the sleep away from your eyes. Not lucid enough to consciously hide the scowl on your face. You relaxed a little, arms across your chest as you peered through your window. You weren’t surrounded by an endless sky anymore, having decreased in altitude. Below you was the Alaskan frontier in all its glory — alpine mountains, wide lakes and winding rivers, overgrown grasslands, open fields and thick woodlands.

You couldn’t help but admire the beautiful view, disregarding all that second guessing that occupied your headspace since your first flight. For that moment, all worry and regret was gone, and you felt at peace. Enjoyed all the scenery for a while, but it wasn't long before you were near your destination. From above, the small town of Coalition was a strange sight in the surrounding frontier. A smidge of civilization in all that untamed and untapped Alaskan wilderness. 

"Hold on."

The fuzzy words of your pilot came through the aviation headset that you both wore. 

On cue, Nikolai eased the Beechcraft lower and the cabin of it shook as it began to descend downwards, making you clutch against the armrests. Your pilot aimed towards the landing strip on the outskirts of the town where its fetal airport, paling in comparison to a commercial terminal, settled in a manmade open field. When the plane's wheels safely kissed the ground, you let out a rush of air. Relaxing into your seat as Nikolai slowed the acceleration until the aircraft began to lose its speed and rolled off into a slow and easy cruise.

He drove it towards an overarching steel hangar, coming to a stop just at the threshold. When the engines were cut off, you were quick to pull your aviation headset off and hop out. Stretching away the ache in your limbs and breathing in deeply for once as crisp air filled your chest for once rather than city smog. You took in the sight of the trees in the distance. Already their canopies were just beginning to lose their green pigmentation, right on the cusp of turning into shimmering gold and auburn. 

Fall was imminent. Thereafter, winter. Ideally, the land you inherited would be sold before then with a bit of luck on your side. But for now, you would enjoy your time off in such beautiful surroundings. 

“See. Told you it would be smooth sailing.” Nik smiled with a lean against the right wing of the plane.

“What about when you scared me awake? What was smooth about that?” You asked.

But he only shrugged. “Can’t tame the wind.”

Nikolai began to pull your luggage out of the holding compartment – one by one. Quicker he was retrieving it out than he was when trying to stack them inside like Tetris pieces. When you grabbed all your luggage, you and Nik exchanged your farewells before sauntering off and tended to the plane. His ‘ Katyushka’ , whatever that meant. But it was only when you grabbed all your luggage, struggling to carry it all as you walked, when you realized how far the town was from the airstrip. And how you didn’t have a designated ride there. You stood there for a moment, contemplating on what to do next. With such a small town, you doubted there were any taxis or any sort of paid ride shares. It seemed your predicament wasn’t as internal as it seemed when Nikolai soon approached you, concern etched on his smiling face.

“Are you waiting for someone?” 

“Not really.” You said, trying to sound unbothered. “I was just going to walk.”

“All the way to town?!” Nikolai eyed all your bags. 

You couldn’t help but feel bashful, feeling a need to dissuade and not draw attention to yourself and your little predicament. “Yeah. I need to stretch my legs anyway after the back-to-back flights.”

“It’s a two mile walk into town.”

You nodded, nonchalant about it. But internally you were screaming. “That’s not too bad.”

By the look on his face he doubted your words. “Do you have anyone you can call to pick you up?”

“No.”

He was quiet for a long moment. Before saying, “Wait here.”

You watched as Nikolai jogged towards the hanger then went around the side of it. Less than a minute later, a loud engine roared to life. Revving in the distance before a vintage four door sedan appeared from behind the hangar. And around the landing strip, following a gravel road along the perimeter. The car stopped at a junction just off the runway, where the gravel merged into a dirt road and then stopped in front of you. Nikolai emerged from the driver’s side, trunk already popped open as he went for your bags.

“It’s ok, Nik, really. I don’t mind walking. It’s not that far.”

But he only shook his head at you. “It’s no problem to me.”

“But the road leads straight to the town, right? I think I can manage it fine.” 

“With all these bags? You won’t make it there by sunset.” Nik said right as he stuffed one of your duffle bags into his trunk. Ignoring your pointed stare. “Besides, we got some wolf sightings recently. Not good to let you wander about.” 

You widened your eyes at him. Your skin began to prickle. “Wolves? Aren’t they usually too scared to be so close to people?”

“Usually, yes. But this pack’s the bold type. They like to sometimes wander the outskirts of town, too close for people’s liking. But for the most part, they mainly stick to the forest.” Nik huffed as he picked up one of your heaviest suitcase. “Which is why I don’t want to let you walk all the way to town. If you get lost in the trees and end up as their dinner, I don’t want to have that on my conscience.”

You let out a sigh, an almost laugh that made you ease up. You watched him a moment before deciding to help Nikolai put away your luggage in his car. Despite his insistence for you to let him do it. 

“Is it a big pack?" You asked, putting your bag into his backseat. Mostly for conversation but also to feed your curiosity. 

Nikolai loaded the last suitcase and closed the trunk with a loud click. Then shook his head. “It's only a few of them.”

You hummed in interest. Went around the car and opened the passenger side door. You settled yourself in the leather seat, putting on your seatbelt before the car went driving down the road. A silence settled between you and Nikolai once more, much like the one during the flight here. You occupied yourself by leaning on the car door armrest, looking out the window to the surrounding trees. But as the road turned uneven and rough, the car rattled over holes and bumps. What was a nice cruise down turned to slow and steady driving as Nik carefully tried not to scratch the paint or get his car stuck or scraped. And the lowered suspension from the added weight of  all your luggage didn’t help the effort of getting over potholes and elevated ground. 

You sat back in your seat, arms across your chest. But nonetheless grateful for not walking, experiencing just how bad the desolate road had become. Soon Nikolai was on a paved road again, leading into civilization. The town of Coalition was about what you expected for a small, rural town in the middle of nowhere. Small facilities here and there, the necessities needed to sustain and maintain a population. You noted some of them as the car drove by: a small general store, a local grocery store, a doctor’s clinic, a post office, a community center and a gas station. And all in a centralized area. 

You guided Nikolai towards where the property was, having written the directions just in case. Nikolai knew the roads by heart and nodded along, already knowing where to go. The property was on the outskirts of the town, more situated within the forest. But it wasn’t uncommon, there were other properties that did the same. It was late afternoon, by the time the vintage sedan rolled up to the property, following an off road dirt roadway leading between a dense thicket. Soon you saw a cabin, unassuming in the shadow of the pines and evergreens and all by its lonesome in a clearing in the forest. It stood on a few acres of sundered land – your land – that endured against the fickleness of nature. Slowly and steadily, the forest encroached – brush, young tree saplings and briar that creeped into the clearing and towards the cabin. 

Nik stopped just short of the gravel driveway where a tree had fallen and blocked the path. Roots uprooted, sticking out of the end of the trunk. It was a young tree, properly too weak to hold its canopy during the winter. The hole where it grew from was already covered up. And the tree was already cut up and sectioned in logs by a chainsaw, its branches rotting in a heap thrown aside towards the forest. You wondered if your grandfather had done it. The thought sat like a stone in your mind, it made you recoil. Trying to imagine the grandparents you never met, never saw. But still gave you this property after their passing. One that you looked up at now with curiosity and… fear, comprehension? 

Too many questions, too many thoughts. You dismissed it all away.

You expected Nikolai to stop right then and there and park. But he only drove around the logs, crushing the vegetation underneath as he went. The sedan stopped in front of the cabin. He left the car on but in park as he hopped out, wasting no time in unloading all your luggage with your help despite his disapproving frown. It was easier taking it all out than it was loading it, and before you knew it all your luggage and bags were on the front porch. And with a wave and smile from Nikolai, and sincere gratitude from you, you watched as the sedan drove away until it disappeared between the trees. 

With a heavy sigh, you turned and faced the door to the cabin. The house key felt heavier in your pocket. Overcome with a sudden hesitation that prevented you from moving. As if you were a vampire needing permission to enter a home. You took a big step back, sitting on one of the wooden chairs out on the patio. Next to dead perennials and other potted plants grouped along the railing where you assumed the early morning sun concentrated. You took in the fresh air. The smell of the forest and soil that felt cleansing for your lungs, accustomed to the fumes of pollution. After a few minutes you stood back up. Facing the door once more, you placed your hands upon the wood. Feeling the cool, smooth surface. You grabbed the key, turning the lock and with a squeak, you opened the cabin door and went inside. 

You stared into darkness. Only a rectangular strip of light extended into the cabin from behind you. Enough for you to distinguish the shadowed shapes of furniture and decorations. Your footsteps echoed against the wood flooring, reverberating through the dark as you grabbled around for a light switch. 

“Let there be light.” You mumbled to yourself and flicked on a light switch. 

Immediately the house flooded with warm lighting. You walked further in, hit with the layered smell of dust and must. The cabin was a bit smaller than it looked from the outside. With a small yet open kitchen that led directly to a living room. A singular hall divided both, leading to the back of the cabin where a bedroom and bathroom were. You took a second to wander and take in the inside. It was what you expected a grandparents’ house to be like. Rustic and vintage. With old furnishings, knickknacks, and décor. 

Various art pieces, landscape paintings and nature photographs hung on the walls. 

A cross-stitch sampler of the wild Alaskan landscape full of grazing deer and songbirds in the treetops was next to the front door, right above a small table where a wilted plant sat. Plush couches overstuffed with not matching throw pillows huddled around a wood-stove in the living room. A large bookshelf stuffed full of old books and films lined along the wall, away from the wood-stove, and next to an antique grandfather clock. Ticking away, louder than your footsteps as you went to the window. Pulled the drapery and opened the window to air out the house and get rid of the stench. Dust motes danced in the sun streams, floating and falling slowly like fall leaves.

Everything felt lived-in and loved. How peculiar.

You made quick work in bringing in all your luggage and bags. Collapsing on one of the couches and into the pile of pillows, some tumbling onto the floor from your impact. But soon the smell of dust from the cushions invaded your nose and you quickly got up, making a mental note to deodorize the couches. You grabbed your suitcases and bags, taking them down the hall past the other bathroom and a closet to where the master bedroom was at its end.

The floor creaked as you stepped foot inside. Sunlight filtered through the drapery as you pulled it aside and right onto the handcrafted quilted duvet of a queen sized bed in the center. It was a decently sized room with a small connecting bathroom. Compared to the rest of the house, it was decorated minimally. With only a bed, an armoire, and a lamp. A small vanity desk near the window. Some novelties here and there. You lifted the window latch and opened the bedroom window to get rid of the stuffiness in the bedroom and continue to air out the house. You rummaged around the room, finding clean sheets, pillowcases and blankets in a plastic tub underneath the bedframe. 

They were still fresh and smelt of detergent, better than the duvet and pillowcases that have been sitting in a stuffy room for who knows how long. You quickly changed the bedsheets, pillowcases and duvets. Throwing the stripped contents aside on an end-of-the-bed bench to be cleaned later. You brought all your luggage inside, the entirety of it cluttered a majority of the space. Only giving you one way to get on and off the bed and a path to the bathroom. You cleaned up as much as you could, a shallow cleaning: sweeping and wiping away the gathering dust; taking up the rest of the late afternoon that turned into early evening.  

Now, the only thing left was something to eat. You walked into the kitchen, looking around. The fridge was filled with expired and molding food. And nothing appetizing. You looked into the pantry cabinet, seeing a lot of canned foods and sealed, labelled mason jars. One of the labels reading ‘chamomile’ caught your eye. You grabbed it, looking inside to see the dried flowers of chamomile. Deciding that tea and that bag of chips in your handbag from your flight to Alaska would be your dinner. You found an old kettle and searched through the kitchen cabinets stacked with mismatched dishes, old tea cups, novelty mugs, and glassware. You grabbed one of the mugs, noticing it was hand-painted with a howling wolf. After a few tries, you managed to light the propane stove, filled the kettle with water and began to boil it. You filled a tea ball you found in one of the drawers with the tea, letting it seep once the kettle whistled and you filled up your mug with boiling water. 

You enjoyed what you could of your…dinner. Deciding to peruse the bookshelf for something interesting to read as you began to settle. But soon, you felt your entire day weigh down on you; the entirety of your day filled with travel. You closed the living room window, noticing the waning gibbous moon between the sliver of clouds. You pulled the curtain closed and went to the bathroom for a much needed shower. When you finally collapsed onto the bed and sunk into the quilt, you tried to get some rest. Only to toss and turn for hours, not being able to get comfortable. Soon there came a recognizable sound. Between the doldrum came a cry, the howls of wolves in the distance. It was a night’s call, a symphony. Haunting, beautiful. You couldn’t help but tilt your head, trying to hear it better. Memorized by the harmony. 

You snuggled underneath the covers, listening to the howling until it lulled you to sleep.

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