#also i love drawing food but its covered bY THE BIKE

[svnnnne]

🌼 see you in the country🌼

[roxineedstosleep]

Can you make a soulmate au one shot with yandere Peter Parker where the reader is not his soulmate.

So, I'm sorry for the delay, but I loved the idea, although I had to put together a good structure… and find an English translator.

I hope you enjoy it a lot.

(Also, I can of bit make it a bit little to much large: TW to much text!!)

____________________________________

Soul mates were wonderful but complex things.

Nobody knew how people began to connect with others in a magical and powerful way. But they didn't question it either.

Why do it if you were predestined to someone who would allow you to find happiness? Full development?

The person who would encourage you to be 100% happy and vice versa, the one who would adore you and you that other person.

Everyone had a soul mate, connected in some way to their other half.

It could be on the way to a tattoo, a phrase, name, songs or "Magic Clicks"

Always personalized, even if the method was similar to other people.

There could be different methods, millions and millions of ways to be able to say that one had a soul waiting for one. But regardless of the method or means of recognition, it was ALWAYS the same within the couple.

For example: If person A had a soul mate mark on his arm, and this mark was a drawing or a phrase, his soul mate B would also have the same mark shape. If X listened to the same song, Y would have the same song and they would both tune into a beautiful melody together when they met.

They all knew about it.

Peter knew he had a soulmate out there. Waiting patiently for him.

When he was younger, he used to marvel at how Aunt May and Uncle Ben used to sing the most beautiful melody in the world in unison. And sometimes, he looked hopefully at the drawing on his arm, thinking that his soul mate was seeing his own mark and thinking of him in some way.

Somewhere, waiting for him.

He always saw couples on the street, with matching brands, unison songs, discovering colors together. Always together, always in tune, always loving each other. But he also saw uneven pairs.

Unfair and selfish people. If you asked him.

Couples in which one had someone else's name on their arm, while the other sang a beautiful solo song; couples in which one saw in gray, and the other had his arms full of rainbow drawings.

At first he did not understand. He guessed that he was still too young to understand.

He did not understand why others would not look for their other half, Why they would stay with another person who did not fully understand his soul and his way of thinking? What happened to his other half? Would he be waiting for them forever in solitude? Had they gone to heaven and that's why they couldn't be together? What if the other half was sad that they couldn't find them?

There were so many doubts and so many unknowns that he simply avoided thinking about the odd couples.

In his fantasy, Peter believed that he would see another person with the same drawing on his arm. They would meet, fall in love, and start simultaneously living alongside each other for the rest of their lives.

Until he met you.

It was by chance, if he was honest.

He was wandering around the city, looking for a good place to keep watch after a long day at school; when you crashed into him after a bunch of kids had to swerve their bikes to avoid crashing into you.

They greeted each other, and as if Peter didn't have a mark on his arm, he felt a click in his mind at the sight of your grateful eyes. Beautiful eyes covered with thick dark glasses; that even half covered could dazzle more than one person with the beauty of these.

After that not much happened. Or at least, nothing really scandalous.

They started to talk.

They chatted a bit while they both went to the train station to return to their respective houses.

They talked about the city, its weather, their neighbors' pets, street gangs, pigeons, statues, popular songs, their favorite foods, their favorite classes, their clumsiness and your families.

When he saw that you had to get off at the next stop, surprisingly for him, he took all the nerves out of his excited heart and asked for your phone.

"It's just... you're great, I- I wanted to know if we could keep talking" he told you, when you were finishing packing your bag.

"Oh sure!" you replied, completely excited by the idea of having a new friend "Give me your phone, to have you added"

And after a few mistypes, You managed to save his number to your phone and vice versa.

And then everything was wonderful.

Do you ever remember that feeling of a beautiful day? You know, when you wake up on the right side of the bed, breakfast tastes delicious, there's no traffic, and you're in time for that awful test, where everything you've read about just so happens to be.

Yes.

That's how Peter felt when he managed to chat with you. No texts, no audio, only long drawn out phone calls or video chats.

They both went to different schools, but within nearby school districts. So they had started using the same train route to get back home.

You always waited for him, on the same corner, with the same thick dark glasses and you always hung on him when you walked.

And he loved that you hung on him like a lifeline.

He loved how you asked him for a little help choosing the right subway card or reading the distant signs.

He loved it when you grabbed his arm and didn't let go until he reached your whereabouts.

When you called him at night and they stayed late.

Chatting with you had been the best part of the day for Peter.

They were always laughing, always joking or crying (because of some cute video of a baby kitten)

Always supporting each other, always helping each other in the sad moments, in the moments of difficulty, in the moments in which each one felt that they couldn't take it anymore.

Being there for each other, being like a constant of happiness within sadness.

Be the happiness and joy of the other.

And the more you got to know each other, the more Peter began to consider that there would come a time when you and he would have to formalize things more.

Show each other your identical marks and more appropriately come out as soul mates to the rest of the world. Being able to say that you were his, how he belonged to you.

Being able to get all those emotions full of love and passion for you without having to receive uncomfortable questions. To be able to love you with every cell in his body and show you all the things he was capable of doing for both of them.

Then one day, when they were both eating Aunt May's cookies and watching a movie, Peter decided to ask the biggest question.

I was so excited to see your soulmate mark.

“You know, my soul mark is a drawing” he mentioned, as casually as he could he showed you the intricate drawing on his arm; but he didn't notice how you felt a little bit the surface of the drawing with your fingers, almost drawing it “What about yours? Can I see yours?

"A drawing? She must be a cutie Peter” you said, without stopping eating the biggest cookie that Aunt May had left on the plate “But I'm afraid I don't have such a beautiful drawing”

"Your drawing should be- Don't you have a drawing?" he asked, his heart beginning to pound heavily, and his lungs drained of air. "How so?"

"Yes well, I don't have a drawing, my parents have one, but my soul mark is different" you said calmly "I'm afraid my soul mark is a bit more physical"

Physical? Aren't the drawings?

"It's not very common for marks to take on the vitality of a sense, but that was my case" you continued, as you took off your thick glasses and rubbed your eyes a little "Legally I'm blind, I barely see more far from 1 meter ratio, since the doctors discovered that my soulmate distintion is to be able to see in all my capacity when I find my soulmate”

And Peter saw Red, Blue, Black and Yellow.

Peter saw tears fall from his own eyes and from his soul.

Peter felt his drawing burn painfully on his arm. Mocking him.

But the worst of all, or the best (he doesn't know yet), was that you couldn't see him destroying himself in front of you.

Because you couldn’t.

Was that his karma?

When he was young, he always complained about couples who were with others who were not their soulmates, who did not desperately seek their other half to be together all their lives.

Was that the price to pay for not being more flexible?

His punishment for being so prejudiced and closed was to love someone who wasn't his half?

But how was that possible?

It’s because he sin with those closed mind thoughts?

How was it possible that I couldn't love you if you were so perfect?

How could I not adore you when it seemed like you always had the answer on the tip of your tongue when he was confused?

How not to want you when you managed to get smiles and laughter out of them?

How not to love you when you were the reason, the only one, why he still had faith in others?

How not to consider yourself his half when you seemed to be designed specifically for that?

When their souls seemed to dance together and connect deeply to unimaginable limits?

And you came, in a machine gun way, to tell him that they were not designed to be together.

"Wow, it must suck not to be able to see" he managed to say "Does it bother you?"

“Can't see? At first, yes, but you get used to it over time” he heard you say, now the only thing he could hear besides your voice were the sounds of cookie bites and the background movie “The good thing is that, being a mark of such a strange soul is pretty strange, this and anyone who generates a disability must be registered… in the city there must be at least 6 cases similar to mine… in the country there must be a total of 40. All of them registered for matchmaking”

"Oh," he said, "so, it's-"

“I'll be able to see after my birthday anyway” you cut him off “Two other doctors have registered three marks very similar to mine and we will have a meeting with the individuals to see if we are soul mates or not. Since blindness is a fairly heavy inconvenience and affects us all. All the cases that are similar to mine just want to be able to see, after all"

After that he didn't listen anymore.

He do not speak more.

He thought of no more.

When the movie finished you had received a call from your mother and you had to leave in order to get home on time.

Apparently, it had something to do with a possible Match within the city and they wanted to coordinate the meeting.

How dare they?

How did they have the gall?

How could they even do this to you?

How could they even think that you could be with another person when you were already with him?

Was it because of his blindness? He could help you with things.

Was it because you didn't have a drawing? You probably couldn't find it yet; it must have been hidden somewhere.

Why should they break their happiness?

It was his Karma; he had already discovered it.

It was her punishment for thinking soulmates were destined just because of a stupid identical drawing or mark.

It was his cross, because now that he had found you, you would be completely separated from his side.

It was his sin, having believed himself more intelligent and he sees it for being so stupid for that reason that souls meet by a fucking identical mark.

And now… what would he do?

He couldn't sit idly by.

I couldn't see you smiling at someone other than him.

I'd rather drink bug spray than have to see you in someone else's arms. He would rather lose his powers, take off an arm, throw himself into the void than have to lose you that way.

What if you really fell in love? I would be alone.

And he couldn't live without you anymore.

So, he made the decision to be selfish and fight for both of them. Fight for the love he felt for you, for the future you both deserved.

He didn't care if you couldn't see, he would be your eyes.

It didn't matter if you couldn't walk straight, he would be your cane.

It didn't matter if you needed to read the signs, he would be your interpreter.

He would be the light of your path, he would be your firm hands in moments of doubt, he would be your support in the heaviness of the crisis, he would be your smile, your voice in moments of protest, he would be your comfort in times of pain.

If you needed a voice of comfort, he would be a choir of love.

If you needed a helping hand, he would be a pair of arms ready to work.

If you needed a caress, he would adore you with all his being.

Because it didn't matter that their markings were different…they were destined for each other.

Because now Peter was meant for you and you were meant for him.

Every fiber, every hair, every cell, every neuron, every muscle, every ligament, every spider web… Everything. Everything inside of him was designed to adore you, love you, support you, care for you and desire you.

So, if the first thing you could see with, after that stupid meeting, was him… no problem.

He understands that you were a little scared. He doesn't blame you.

How could he?

If the first thing you could see of him, with your now healthy eyes, was that he was completely covered in blood.

Drenched in blood, and at his feet, was that despicable rat who had had the audacity to approach you with the idea of stealing you from his side.

You would obviously be scared. He do not blame you.

It was a scary scenario, isn’t it?

But it didn't matter right now. Why would he?

If you were scared, he would be your comfort.

If you were crying, he would be your handkerchief.

If you wanted to break down, he would be your support.

There was nothing to worry about now that you could see him and get a chance to see the future he had planned for both of them.

[shemarmooresfedora]

Rebuilding Family

Summary: Y/N and Spencer were college sweethearts at Cal-Tech but once Spencer got accepted to the FBI Academy, he ended things deciding it was not fair to make Y/N wait for him. When they meet again years later, he discovers something unexpected.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Content/Warnings: pure fluff and a happy ending as promised :)

A/N: the final chapter 😭❤️ see my full note at the end

Masterlist

Chapter 37

“What’s your location? Over,” the walkie talkie on the kitchen counter crackled.

“Dino chicken nuggets are coming out of the oven as we speak. Over,” you replied back.

“Roger that. Over and out,” Jo stated and the walkie talkie went back to static.

Spencer got them as a gift for her and she would constantly have one with her, giving the other to someone before leaving the room so they could talk through it.

You headed out to the back porch and down the steps into the yard with a big plate of nuggets and dipping sauces as well as some juice boxes and applesauce for the twins.

“Coast is clear. Do you copy? Over,” you spoke into the walkie talkie.

“Affirmative. Bring ‘em up,” Jo exited the main part of the treehouse and you saw her on its little porch.

Spencer had built her a little pulley system with a basket and rope so she could lower or raise items up into the treehouse instead of carrying them up the ladder.

You placed the food and drinks inside and then made your way up the wooden ladder.

“Thank you, Mommy,” Jo smiled as she bit into a nugget.

“No problem, Cadet Jo,” you ruffled her hair up a little as she giggled.

You ducked to get through the door of the treehouse and sat down on a cushion on the floor next to Spencer who had both the twins in his lap.

“What are we watching?” you asked as you clipped the twins’ bibs on.

“Cars!” Jo cheered.

“I wanted to watch a subtitled Russian film but I was ‘boo’ed when I made that suggestion,” Spencer grinned as he grabbed the spoon to start feeding the babies.

“Hm I wonder why,” you teased.

Once Jo got the movie playing on the laptop, she took a seat in your lap with the plate of nuggets and took turns eating one, then handing one to you, then Spencer.

Once all the kids were fast asleep in your laps and the credits were rolling, you turned to Spencer.

“You and Derek really did a good job building this treehouse, love,” you complimented him.

“Anything for my family,” he smiled, then leaned over to kiss you.

-

It was the morning of Jo’s 8th birthday party. You wanted to make it extra special in light of what happened at her 7th birthday party.

Spencer kept reminding you that it wasn’t your fault a psychopath shot you and sent you to the hospital but you just wanted to give Jo the party she deserves.

You rented a bouncy house and an inflatable water slide. Spencer was doing a magic show and Penelope was doing face paintings. You baked a huge stegosaurus-shaped cake from scratch. No kid would be bored and Jo would have an amazing time.

You settled for having it in your backyard instead of the park now that you had plenty of room. The whole team came over earlier to help set up.

Penelope got all her paints organized on the porch table as Spencer set up his mini stage for the performance. Hotch and Derek filled the slide with water while you and Emily carefully brought the massive cake to the table outside.

Jo came running outside already in her swimsuit, eager to get the first splash in the water slide.

“You have to come with me, Uncle Derek,” she insisted.

“Jo, I don’t have my swimsuit on,” he replied.

“You’re in athletic shorts. They’ll dry quick,” Savannah, his girlfriend, yelled from where she was setting up the food table.

Derek looked to Hotch to help him out. Hotch pointed back to Jo who was giving him puppy dog eyes.

“Fine,” he groaned, taking off his shirt which elicited a holler from Penelope.

Jo made her way up the steps with Derek right behind her.

Jo sat down in Derek’s lap and then turned around to face him.

“Okay, ready?” she asked him.

Derek nodded and then pushed off, sending them both down the slippery slide.

“Weee!” Jo exclaimed as they slid down.

“Again,” she demanded, “Where’s Daddy?”

“He went to put his swimsuit on, Baby J, so he can go with you,” you told her as you set Ollie down next to Ophelia in the playpen outside.

“Coming, Princess!” Spencer ran outside and scooped the little girl up in his arms as he trekked up the steps.

“How about we go down like a penguin this time?” he suggested.

Jo nodded enthusiastically as Spencer got onto his belly and Jo laid on top of him and wrapped her hands around his neck.

“1…2…3!” Spencer pushed off and they raced down the slide again, Jo giggling the whole time.

“Again!” Jo said.

“I think we are going to have to buy one of these, love,” Spencer called over to you, laughing and running up the stairs right behind Jo again.

-

“Please welcome my lovely assistant to the stage,” Spencer spoke in his magician tuxedo.

You waved as the audience clapped. You were wearing a sparkly red sequin dress to compliment Spencer’s bow tie.

“I am going to make my assistant…disappear,” he stated.

The kids in the audience gasped.

Spencer took your hand and guided you to the big black box in the center of the stage.

“Just like we practiced,” he whispered to you as you stepped inside.

You winked and he kissed your hand as he let go and closed the door.

Spencer knocked on the door a few times and wiggled his hands for some showmanship.

“Okay, on the count of 3. We’re all going to yell ‘Abracadabra’,” Spencer explained, “1…2…3!”

“Abracadabra!” all the kids yelled.

Spencer set off a small smoke bomb and quickly opened the door, revealing an empty box.

The kids all screamed in wonder.

“Bring Mommy back!” Jo yelled.

You had to stifle your laughter from behind the fake wall in the box you were hiding behind.

“Your wish is my command, Princess,” Spencer closed the door again.

“To reverse the spell, we need to say the exact same word,” Spencer stated.

“Abracadabra!” the kids yelled once again.

This time, you opened the door and the kids clapped enthusiastically.

“For this next trick, I need a volunteer from the audience,” Spencer smiled.

All the kids’ hands shot up in the air.

“I’m going to have to go with the wonderful birthday girl right in the front row,” you took Jo’s hand and escorted her up onto the stage.

“Jo, I need you to pick a card, any card. Show the audience but not me,” Spencer fanned the cards out in his hands and closed his eyes.

Jo picked the ace of hearts and showed the audience.

“Now, put it back in the pile,” he said.

“Alright,” Spencer opened his eyes and began to shuffle the cards, “Is this your card?” he asked, holding the eight of spades.

“No, Daddy. Try again,” Jo said.

“Is this it?” he questioned, holding the queen of diamonds.

“No, Daddy.”

“Oh,” Spencer smacked his forehead, “I know where I put it,” he pulled off his top hat.

Spencer then proceeded to pull a bouquet of flowers, an endless handkerchief, a rubber chicken, and many other silly things out of his hat that had the kids in tears from laughing.

Finally, he pulled out the ace of hearts, “Is this your card, Princess?”

“Yes, Daddy!” she beamed, hugging him.

-

Jo’s birthday was a complete success. She was completely worn out by the end of it and slept in late the next morning.

But when she did finally wake, she was eager to try out her gift that you and Spencer had gotten her: a big kid bike with no training wheels. It was purple which was her favorite color with a white basket on the front and a little bell on the handlebars.

You and Spencer were going to teach her how to ride it today. She padded up with some knee pads and elbow pads and her helmet.

You had the twins in their double stroller with mini bucket hats on to protect them from the sun.

“Okay, Jo. Me and Daddy will run with you for a little but then we’re going to let go but you’re going to keep pedaling,” you explained to her.

“I’m scared,” she replied, looking at the street in front of her.

You were practicing in the street in front of your house because it wasn’t very busy and it was flat. Plus, you could leave the twins in the stroller in the driveway.

“It’s okay, Baby J. You’ve got all your padding on so even if you fall, it won’t hurt at all, I promise,” you assured her.

“I believe in you, Princess,” Spencer kissed her helmet-covered head.

“I’m ready,” she nodded, moving her feet to the pedals.

“That’s my girl,” you smiled.

You and Spencer began to jog alongside her as she pedaled.

Spencer looked at you, “Okay, Princess. We’re letting go.”

You and Spencer both removed your hands from her bike and she continued to speed forward.

“Yes, Jo! You’re doing it! ” you encouraged her.

“Princess, can you turn around and come back to me and Mommy?” Spencer asked.

Jo carefully steered her bike and headed back to you both with a massive smile on her face. You and Spencer were loudly cheering her on.

“Okay, try to brake,” you said.

Jo slowly came to a stop right in between you both.

“You’re a pro!” you grinned as you both knelt down to hug her.

-

Jo had been biking for the past hour and she was still having a blast.

You and Spencer were laying in the front yard with the twins in your laps.

“Mommy, Daddy! Look!” Jo exclaimed as she did donuts on the bike.

“We’re looking, Baby J,” you laughed, “Great job!”

You leaned your head on Spencer’s shoulder.

“Y/N…” Spencer began.

“Yes, Spence?”

“Thank you,” he replied.

“For what?” you looked up at him.

“All this,” he motioned to Jo, the twins, the house, the yard, the chalk drawings on the driveway, the rocking chairs on the front porch, the doormat that said ���The Reids’, everything he ever dreamed of, “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” you kissed him, “I’d give you the world if I could.”

“You already have,” he smiled.

A/N: thank you everyone so so so much for reading, commenting, reblogging, etc.! i love you all so much. i’m probably going to miss this too much and do one-shots of this series in the future. also, this series hit 14,000 on ao3! that’s crazy that that many people read my work. thank you, just thank you! -dory <3

main taglist (just ask to be added/removed!): @samuel-de-champagne-problems @g0lden-cth @spencerreid9 @averyhotchner @coldlilheart @k-k0129 @ickleronniekinsemotionalrange @harrystylesandthegoobs @cmily @jswessie187 @rem-ariiana @hoodpankow @mochionly @spencerreid-187 @babymetaldoll @fics4arainyday @ssavanessa22 @all-tings-diego @idonotexiste @beepbooptoop @tvandfanfic @mggsprettygirl @big-galaxy-chaos @navs-bhat

series taglist: @doctorreiding @reidsfish

[soobmint]

paper hearts | choi soobin [f] ; [c] 80s! au, 9.6k words

s u m m a r y ; if there was one thing you wanted to avoid on valentine’s day, it was running into your ex best friend, choi soobin. but when a series of unfortunate events involving too much purple eyeshadow, drunken punches, and one stolen bicycle leads you right back to his side, you begin to realize that maybe you truly belonged with him all along.

c o n t e n t s ; soobin x fem!reader, 80s! au, valentine’s day, ex best friend! soobin, rich boy! soobin, but he’s a major dweeb and the biggest softie, yeonjun is a major prick (i’m so sorry junnie), reader is a part time worker, soobin is best friends with lee felix of stray kids, some themes of social classes, roughly inspired by the 80s movie “pretty in pink,” mentions drugs, alcohol, and single parent households, mostly just fluff, fluff, and more fluff, with a hint of crack/humor

n o t e ; hello friends! this was a very quickly planned, last minute valentine’s day idea, and it’s actually a collab with one of my dearest friends, @chanluster ! she posted her piece of the collab as well, you can check it out by going to the collab masterlist here! this was so much fun to write and i think that 80s! soobin was just too good of a concept to pass up! anyways, happy valentine’s day, i hope you enjoy this oneshot! do leave a like, reblog, or comment if you could, it really helps so much <3

[back to my masterlist] [oneshot playlist]

IF ONE MORE CUT-OUT, CRAFT-PAPER HEART HIT YOU IN THE FACE, YOU WERE GOING TO QUIT YOUR JOB.

Of course you would never actually quit. With your mother out of the picture and your father working nonstop overtime just to barely have enough cash to put food on the table for the both of you, you had come to rely on your minimum wage part-time hours more than you liked to admit. However, the handmade strings of paper hearts that hung from wall to wall throughout the entirety of the record shop you were employed at was enough to make you consider it; not to mention the Phil Collins record that had been spinning all day, filling your ears with melodies embodying the very air of romance, and the embarrassing pink sweater your boss had forced you to wear. You mumbled curses beneath your breath as you pulled at the collar, itching away at your neck.

When you made a step towards a crate full of records, ready to tidy it up after a customer had rummaged through it leaving it a mess, you were met with another face full of cheap red construction paper. With a large growl of exasperation, you swatted at the hearts and accidentally caused the entire string of them to fall to the ground. You cleared your throat, glad that no customers were present to see your little outburst.

Your boss, Jen, still saw it all.

“That’s not very festive of you, kid,” She said, taking a drag on her cigarette. “It’s Valentine’s Day! Lighten up.”

“Ah, my bad. I forgot that I was supposed to be overjoyed on the day honoring the execution of St. Valentine,” You said as you gave her a sarcastic smile. “I’ll make sure to smile at the next couple that walks in and ask them how they plan to contribute to the commercialization of a martyr’s death.”

“You must be real fun at parties,” Jen mumbled. She shook her cigarette at you from behind the counter. “You’re just bitter because you don’t have a valentine. I can’t blame anyone for giving you the cold shoulder with that attitude of yours.”

You scowled, picking up the string of hearts that you had sent crashing to the floor. “I’m not bitter, and I don’t want a date. Also, I told you to stop smoking inside! It smells awful.”

“Last I checked, this was my shop, not yours.” You rolled your eyes as you approached the counter, handing the discarded string to Jen so she could throw it in the trash. “Now you’re making me do chores for you too? You’ve got some nerve, I’ll give you that.”

“Jen, please, I’m really not in the mood for this today.”

Jen shrugged, bending towards the trash can to throw away the string of hearts when she paused and pulled something from the bin. You glanced over your shoulder and gasped when you saw what she held in her hand—a small red envelope with your name scrawled across the front and a pink heart-shaped sticker stuck on the back.

“What’s this?” Jen asked, opening the envelope and shaking out the contents. A single slip of paper fell out, landing atop the counter. You rushed to grab it, but Jen snatched it up just before your fingers reached the countertop.

“Give me that,” You insisted, face growing warm. “I threw it away for a reason!”

“It’s an invitation to a party?” She seemed beyond surprised, glancing back and forth between you and the paper several times. “You got invited to a Valentine’s Day party, and instead of going, you asked me to give you extra hours? Why?”

You looked down at your feet, digging the toe of your sneaker into the blue carpet. There were, in fact, many reasons why you did not want to go to that party. They were as follows:

One: Choi Yeonjun was the one who had invited you. After you had rejected his offer when he asked to take you to a basketball game a month before, you could barely make eye contact with him in the school hallway without feeling guilty. That and the fact that he was one of the richest preps in the school, you knew he had just been asking you out for some sort of prank or dare that you preferred to not potentially fall victim to.

Two: you needed to work as much as you could. Money, as always, was tight for you and your father. There was no way you would sacrifice precious hours to go to a party full of rich kids where nothing but humiliation was sure to await you.

Three: your old childhood friend and the one person you couldn’t bear to see was probably going to be there—Choi Soobin.

You had barely spoken to Soobin in the four years you had been in high school. Crossing paths with him in the cafeteria, turning down the same aisle of books as him in the library, all those tiny stolen glances and accidental encounters were the only bits of interaction you had kept throughout all that time. The worst part was, he hadn’t done anything wrong.

It was nothing but your own cowardice that had driven the two of you apart, and you were still too afraid to own up to it.

Instead of explaining all of this to Jen, you simply shrugged and said, “I dunno. It just sounds lame.”

Your boss sighed, holding the invitation out towards you. “Okay, I’m letting you off early. Go to the party.”

With wide eyes, you shook your head immediately. “Absolutely not. Why in the world would I go?”

“Well, first of all, it’s a once in a lifetime opportunity for you. Who knows when your next chance to go to a party will be.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at that.

“Second, it’s a holiday! The only reason I even opened today was because you were begging me for hours. I thought it was because you were bummed about having no plans, but clearly it’s because you wanted an excuse to be a recluse.”

“Hey, I’m not a recluse.”

“Clearly.” She shook the invitation at you once more, brows raised. “If you go, I’ll raise your pay by fifty cents for the next month.”

Your ears perked up at that.

“Well?” She asked, well aware that she had hit the jackpot. “What'd ya say?”

Weighing the risks against the benefits, you bit the inside of your cheek.

“Make it a dollar and you’ve got a deal.” 

-

“HAPPY VALENTINE’S, CHOI.”

When Soobin heard the sarcastic remark coming from his best friend, Felix, he had to fight back the urge to burst into tears then and there. He still wasn’t quite sure how Felix had convinced him to come, but he was already regretting it. The last thing he wanted to do to celebrate the day dedicated to love was spend it at a house party—or, as Soobin preferred to call them, any outcast high school kid’s version of hell on earth.

With a quick peek between his fingers, which he had used to cover his eyes immediately upon arriving at the site of the Valentine’s party, Soobin caught another eye-full of couples getting all too familiar with one another out in the open. He gulped, letting his hands grip the handles of the bike as he averted his gaze, choosing to cast his best glare at Felix, who was busy adjusting his ever-present beanie.

“Shut up,” he murmured, slowly sliding off the seat of his bike. He dusted off the worn, tearing cushion, glancing around the area. “Now quick, we gotta put our stuff somewhere safe.”

Felix looked aghast, making no moves to help Soobin in his search for a hiding spot. “What are you doing?”

“Tryna find a safe place for my bike?” He thought the answer to be somewhat obvious, but clearly Felix wasn’t on the same track of thinking. “You don’t know today’s world! Anyone is willing to steal nowadays.”

“Soobin, your bike is coughing up oil from its chains. It should be in its own care home at this rate.”

“I don’t wanna hear your slander, skater boy,” Soobin retorted, eyeing Felix’s ebony skateboard that he refused to be seen without. As if on cue, when he pushed his bike forward, the chains squealed, drawing the attention of a pair of particularly passionate individuals who had been wrapped up with one another moments before. Soobin ignored their annoyed stares, feeling his ears burn from embarrassment. He glanced back to Felix. “Help me find a hiding spot.”

Felix was anything but enthusiastic, but he began to help Soobin search nonetheless.

“Slide it in here, Soobs,” Felix called a few moments later. He was pointed to an empty space between the home’s perfectly trimmed bushes. Soobin pursed his lips together, pushing his large glasses further up the bridge of his nose—a nervous tick of his. Felix groaned, rolling his eyes. “Or you can leave it out in the open so it’ll spit more oil on the passersby? Is that what you want?”

“Fine, fine!” Soobin huffed, wheeling his bike over to the shrubbery, chains squeaking all the way. He carefully laid it beneath the brush and moved a few branches to cover it up nicely. He stood up straight, dusting his hands on the front of his loose blue jeans. “What about your skateboard?”

Felix gave the board a pat, awarding his most prized possession a dazzling smile one would expect to see a proud father giving his beloved son. But in reality, it was the school’s stoner grinning ear to ear at his old, dusty skateboard. “Nightrider stays with me.”

Soobin scrunched his nose, cringing on instinct. He still calls that thing by that stupid name?

Felix clapped him on the shoulder before he could make a remark, catching him off guard when he said, “Right. Let’s go and get your girl.”

There was nothing Soobin could do to stop the flush that rushed to his cheeks right away. Images of you, his ex-best friend and the only reason he had even come to this party in the first place, flashed through his mind. Had he not overheard Yeonjun invite you earlier that morning and then casually mention the encounter to Felix, there was no way he would have even stepped foot out of his house that night. Part of him was peeved, wishing he had never uttered a single word about you to his overbearing friend. Yet, deep down, there was hope within him—the tiniest sliver.

If there was even the slightest chance that he could talk to you that night, he would do anything. Even if it meant dealing with a stupid party, and the never-ceasing teasing he was bound to continue receiving from Felix.

“Don’t even say that,” He said, emphasizing each word as they walked up the front steps. Soobin had to glance down at his much shorter friend to see the devious grin on his freckled face.

“Say what? That she’s your girl, your woman, your one and only?”

The blush must have been creeping to his neck by that point. He could feel it. “I. . .” There were many things Soobin wished to say; angry words that would hopefully shut the blonde skater boy up real quick. But he couldn’t bring himself to say a single harsh word, so he sighed in defeat. “I can’t even say it.”

“That you hate me?” Felix only grinned even bigger, and Soobin couldn’t help the tiny defeated smile that slipped over his features. “Oh, I know. It’s because I’m too good of a best friend.”

They stepped into the house then, instantly being overwhelmed by loud music, boisterous laughter, and drunken yells echoing throughout the halls. Soobin latched onto Felix right away, gripping his friend’s sleeve as someone stumbled into him, a bit of beer spilling from their cup. He pushed his glasses up, only for them to slide right back down as he began to sweat.

“Maybe we should go home, Lix!” Soobin shouted to be heard over the noise as they travelled further into the house. “We can always try next year!”

“Stop being a scaredy-cat!” Felix shouted back, and Soobin thought he might actually begin to cry as they squeezed their way into the living room. Soobin nearly gagged at the strong smell of alcohol as it burned in his nose. The scene was nothing short of a nightmare to Soobin—loud voices, smoke rising in the air, vodka assaulting his nose and sweat beading on the back of his neck. He had never been one to drink, and he didn’t plan on starting that night; but he was beginning to understand what Felix meant when he had once told him it was nearly impossible to get through one of these parties sober.

He was about to make another complaint and beg to leave when someone from the crowd hollered his name, causing him to wince when he recognized that voice as the one that belonged to none other than Choi Yeonjun.

“Soobin! Where you been?”

Soobin smiled nervously at the school’s heartthrob—and textbook snobby rich kid—before he turned back to Felix. He didn’t want to leave his friend, but he knew that he would never hear the end of it if he ignored Yeonjun’s persistent calls. “I’ll be right back,” He promised Felix, still holding onto his sleeve.

“No, no,” Felix assured. “You go. You’ll probably find her around that place anyway.”

Soobin wasn’t so sure of that. You were definitely not of the right social standing to be caught amongst the circle of the school’s rich boys—which was why it had surprised Soobin that Yeonjun had invited you to the party in the first place. Your high school had its own caste system, and you were near the bottom of it.

And, as much as it pained him to admit it, Soobin was stuck at the very top with all the other rich snobs who cared about nothing more than their daily allowances that came straight from their daddy’s bank account.

“What about you, buddy?” He asked Felix, desperate for any excuse to remain by his friend’s side. He would have tried to bring Felix with him, but his friend was in an even worse social standing than you were—he was poor, and he was most known for being the school’s pothead. There was no way Soobin would willingly drag him into a situation where nothing but slander and torment awaited him.

“Me?” Felix shrugged, gripping his board tighter. “I’ll just smoke away the night.”

Soobin pouted, glancing back at the group of preps as they called for him once again. He sighed, clapping Felix on the shoulder. “Just make sure you won’t smell too much of it when I come back.”

Submitting himself to his doom then, he turned on his heel and slowly made his way to where the group of  boys sat near the sofa, giving them a half-hearted wave.

“Why were you hanging around that Felix guy?” Yeonjun asked once Soobin had reached their circle. “Did he blackmail you or something?”

Soobin frowned, pushing his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “He’s my friend.”

Yeonjun rolled his eyes, brushing a hand through his perfectly-straightened ebony locks. “Sure he is. Tell me, do you see every kid you find on the streets as some sort of personal charity project? Or is it just Felix and—what was her name—” He snapped his fingers then before he said, “Y/N, right?”

Soobin didn’t respond—well, it was more like he couldn’t respond. By nature he was a very passive being, but nothing drew him closer to bouts of anger than when the people he cared about were being insulted right before him.

Especially when it came to you.

Yet, as much as he wanted to tell Yeonjun off or give him a nice shove into the smoke-stained walls, words failed him. They always did. Perhaps this was why you had abandoned him all those years ago. Nobody knew him better than you did, so of course you were able to see what he truly was beneath all the expensive clothes and nervous laughter—a coward.

He figured that he’d probably have left himself too.

“Drink up, buttercup.” The chipper voice that belonged to the other Choi in the small gathering of socialites, Choi Beomgyu, thrust a plastic red cup towards Soobin’s chest. 

He shook his head, throwing another wavering smile in his direction. “No thanks. I don’t drink.”

Yeonjun rolled his eyes. “Of course you don’t. Why are you even here then?”

Once again, Soobin chose silence as his only response. He swallowed, patting the front pocket of his denim jacket. As the group of boys began conversing once more, he couldn’t help but let his eyes wander around the room, searching every drunken face for the features that belonged to you, trying to hear your name in every conversation, desperate for your voice to break through the blasting music and shouting voices.

“Who ya looking for there, Big Choi?” Soobin grimaced at the nickname. He was skinny, but incredibly tall, and nobody would let him forget that. “Big Choi” was one of his most common nicknames among the elitists. He despised it, but of course, he would never voice that aloud.

He glanced at Beomgyu and smiled nervously again, shaking his head. “Nobody.”

His eyes met Yeonjun’s and he gulped yet again as the latter eyed him with suspicion. It wasn’t as though he had anything to hide, but something about Yeonjun’s calculating gaze made his skin crawl.

He needed to escape. Just for a moment, at least.

“I’ll be right back. Going to find some water.”

He slipped out of the living room then, apologizing profusely to each couple he accidentally bumped into, bowing in remorse to each person’s toes his big feet happened to stumble over. He ached to be by Felix’s side—the stoned skateboarder had become somewhat of a security blanket to the taller of the duo—but his blonde friend was nowhere to be seen.

After snagging a bottle of water from the kitchen, Soobin managed to slip into an empty bathroom. He slammed the door shut and wasted no time in locking it. Letting out the biggest sigh of relief, he closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the door, taking a big gulp of the ice cold water.

He set the bottle on the counter and carefully reached into the front pocket of his jacket, his fingers finding the piece of paper he had been storing there all evening. He pulled it out and let his eyes wander over his middle school creation. It was a big heart, cut out from a scrap piece of red construction paper. Scrawled across it in his eight-grade handwriting were the words, Be mine this Valentine’s! His name was etched at the bottom, and at the very top, delicately printed in hot pink glitter glue, your name was written as well.

He had planned to give this to you four years ago on Valentine’s day. Everything had been planned out perfectly; he was to pick you up on his old, trusty bike. It wasn’t really made for two people, but the two of you had fashioned a makeshift extra seat for you to sit upon whenever you went places together. 

He wanted to take you to the Dairy Shack, which was the local ice cream shop where the two of you spent the most time together. You always got a large chocolate shake to share, playing a quick game of rock, paper, scissors to decide who got to eat the cherry on top. He was going to order a shake and specially ask for two cherries that time, and planned to give both of them to you before he would bravely present you with the handmade card he had spent all day working on.

However, when he waited for you outside your house that day, the red dusk turned to pitch black night, and you never stepped foot out your door.

He had even gone up to your door a few times and knocked, but there was no answer. Eventually he pedalled off into the night, back to his house. He was disappointed, of course, but more worried than anything else. He had hoped you weren’t sick.

But when he saw you at school the next day, he knew that hadn’t been the case.

And when you ignored him calling your name as you passed by him in the hallways, he knew that something had drastically changed.

For weeks, Soobin was in great turmoil as he replayed your last few encounters together before you had stood him up. Perhaps you were angry that he had won the last few games of rock, paper, scissors? If he had known, he would have given you all the cherries for the rest of time if it meant you would still talk to him. He didn’t care about them—he cared about you.

He missed you.

And as weeks turned to months, and months turned to years, you still barely spoke to him, and he missed you more and more. The best friend he had wanted to take a step closer to had taken a thousand steps back from him, and he still had no idea why.

But that night, he was determined to find out.

Well, if he could muster up the courage to get a single word out, of course.

He folded the heart back up and stuck it back in his pocket, taking a deep breath as he observed himself in the fogged-up mirror. He fixed his bright blue hair that Felix had helped him bleach and dye, making sure the pieces fell over the corners of his eyes just right. He straightened his white turtleneck and cuffed the sleeves of his denim jacket until he was at least somewhat content with his appearance.

“You can do this, Soobs,” He told himself, adjusting his big round glasses further up the bridge of his nose. “That’s what Felix would say.”

“Hey, rich boy!” A loud scream came from outside the bathroom door, accompanied by harsh knocking that sent Soobin stumbling backwards until he fell in the shower, pulling the curtains down with him.

“Hurry up in there! I’m about to piss myself!”

Soobin let out a shaky sigh, scrambling to his feet as he rushed to fix the curtain he had torn down with his clumsiness. “Sorry,” he mumbled, though he doubted the person on the other side of the door could hear him.

He realized then with an ever growing dread that it would be a miracle if he survived the night long enough to even find you, but it would take the work of God himself for him to actually speak to you.

He figured it was time for him to start praying.

- 

YOU KNEW IT WAS A MISTAKE TO LET JEN DO YOUR MAKEUP.

When she had stopped you on your way out the door with a compact of bright purple eyeshadow, you had turned her down right away. No way in all of creation were you walking in a party with such an atrocious color caked up to your brow bone.

“How can you say it’s gonna look bad if you haven’t even let me try?” Jen had asked.

You had given her a once-over, your lips pressed into a thin line. “If it’s gonna look anything like the way you do your own makeup, I’m gonna have to pass.”

After that snide remark, she had threatened to fire you if you didn’t let her apply the makeup. And so you obliged, though you didn’t have much of a choice.

The booming sounds of the party hit your ears before you had even reached the lawn. Screaming teens—well, there were probably some adults thrown in there as well—and the sound of music spilled through the open windows of the home. Couples and singles alike were scattered throughout the perfectly kept lawn that was now littered with empty cups and other assortments of garbage.

You looked down at your patchwork jeans and pink sweater, certain that you would be underdressed compared to the rest of the partygoers. But from the looks of things, as you carefully squeezed your way through the front door and into the home, everyone was probably too wasted to even notice your arrival, let alone care about your looks.

You caught a glimpse of your face in the hallway mirror, cringing at the sight of your eyeshadow. You had tried to wipe some of it away before arriving, but it simply smudged, giving you quite the shocking smoky, purple eye look. For someone who didn’t even know the difference between a paintbrush and a makeup brush, it was a bold look, to say the least.

If Soobin saw you looking like this, he’d probably have a heart attack.

Soobin.

In the midst of all your frantic preparation, you had nearly forgotten about the main reason why you had planned to avoid this party at all costs. With a quick glance around the room, you realized that he was nowhere to be seen. You wouldn’t have been surprised if he hadn’t shown up at all. He was never a fan of parties, anyway.

You crossed your arms over your chest and slowly slipped past the couples crowding the hallway with their limbs intertwined, mouths practically swallowing one another whole, until you reached the living room. Surprisingly, it was less crowded in here than you thought it might be. A few minglers were scattered about the room’s perimeter, but they all kept away from the center of the room, which was occupied by none other than Choi Yeonjun and all his brainless, rich-boy worshippers. You quickly scanned the group, not able to make out Soobin among them. When you realized he wasn’t there, you were partly relieved and partly disappointed. If was to be anywhere at this party, it would probably be with these guys.

With a quick turn on your heel, you planned to make your way out of the living room before Yeonjun could see you. The last thing you wanted was for the boy with a bruised ego to see you, regardless of whether or not he had been the one to invite you.

“Y/N? You came?”

Too late.

Plastering a forced grin to your face, you slowly turned to face Yeonjun, who had just called your name. He was eyeing you with slight surprise, but soon, a smirk slipped across his lips as he motioned for you to come over. You had to hold back your sigh, wishing there was some way for you to get out of this situation. It was all Jen’s fault that you had to show up in the first place. You decided you were going to demand an extra ten cents be added to your raise the next time you saw your pushy boss.

“Hey Yeonjun,” you said once you had walked over to him. “I figured I’d stop by for a minute or two, since you were kind enough to invite me.”

He smirked, glancing at a few of his friends. They shared a knowing laugh with one another, but the meaning of it was lost to you. You wanted nothing more than to get away from them, but that wasn’t an option.

“You’re too busy to go out with me to a basketball game but free enough to come to a party, huh?” He asked.

You blinked, digging your nails into your arms. “I’m sorry?”

“It’s fine, really,” He drawled, swirling his plastic cup of beer in his hand. “You didn’t think I’d be upset or anything did you? I only asked you out because I was dared to shack up with you. But I’m guessing you already knew that, since you’re so smart and all.”

Your eyes went wide, but you managed to control the rest of your expression. It was just like you had guessed—Yeonjun had invited you to the party with the sole purpose of making a scene.

If you survived the night, Jen was never going to hear the end of it.

“You’re not gonna say anything?” He asked, pushing himself to his feet. You could tell by the slight stumble in his step and his hooded eyes that he had quite a bit to drink. He took a step towards you, causing you to back up immediately. Your back hit the wall, and you placed your palms against it as Yeonjun towered over you. 

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I know why you’re here anyways.” He leaned forward, his lips hovering near your ear. “You’re here to see Soobin, aren’t you? Since he’s the only one here willing to waste his time on filth like you.”

Your blood boiled, and you had to clench your fists at your sides to control your anger.

“Don’t,” You seethed, “Call me that.”

“Call you what? Filth? Or sweetheart? Why, is that something good old Binnie used to call you—”

He never got to finish that sentence, because with one big burst of anger, you stomped on his toe as hard as you could with your worn-out platform sneaker.

“What the hell!” He screeched, drawing the attention of several others in the room. His outburst even caused a few of the couples to pull away from each other’s faces long enough to eavesdrop.

Before you could even say anything back, lukewarm liquid was splashed up in your face, burning your eyes and nose. You gasped, running your hands over your eyes to see Yeonjun with his now empty cup of beer pointed towards you.

“Think twice before you act out against me next time, sweetheart. Never forget your place.”

Tears of anger burned in your eyes, and you scanned the room to see several people exchanging whispers and giggles as they glanced in your direction. You pushed past Yeonjun and quickly made your way out the back door of the house, unable to stand the humiliation for a moment longer.

Soobin arrived in the living room just in time to see you leave.

He wasted no time in rushing towards Yeonjun, grabbing hold of his arm. “Yeonjun, was that Y/N?” He asked, eyes quickly taking in the puddle of alcohol on the floor and the empty cup in Yeonjun’s hand. “What happened?”

“Nothing you need to worry your pretty blue head about, Big Choi. I just put her in her place is all.”

Soobin’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean you ‘put her in her place?’”

Yeonjun laughed, giving Soobin a nonchalant pat on the back. “Just drop it, would you? It has nothing to do with you.”

“What did you say, Yeonjun?”

Yeonjun was growing irritated now. He huffed out a breath, crossing his arms over his chest. “I said it has nothing to do with you, Soobin. I know you like to hang around people like that pothead Felix, but the rest of us live in the real world, where we’d rather not waste our time with those who have no future anyways. I bet he’s the one that got you to dye your hair that god awful blue, isn’t he?”

Soobin bit the inside of his cheek. He so badly wished to rip Yeonjun to shreds then and there. If he had Felix’s courage, the cocky bastard would have been knocked to the ground ages ago. But if there was one thing Soobin was sure he could never be, it was brave. And so, despite his rage, he remained silent, his eyes practically burning a hole through Yeonjun’s chest from how intently he was glaring.

It seemed as though Yeonjun was about to say something, but his eyes landed on the bit of red that peeked through the front pocket of Soobin’s denim jacket. Before Soobin had time to defend himself, Yeonjun had reached forward and snatched it from his pocket, revealing the large paper heart—his valentine for you.

“So this is why you care so much,” Yeonjun said, laughing as his eyes scanned the glittery words that decorated the page. “You want her to be your valentine.”

“Give that back,” Soobin said quietly, his hands beginning to shake.

Yeonjun instead lifted his eyes to Soobin, gave him a sickly sweet grin, and ripped the heart straight down the middle. He let the two pieces fall from his hands to the ground, and with them Soobin’s heart went also.

“You’re really willing to try and go against me, and for what? For the sake of a girl who can’t even afford a new pair of jeans and a boy that smokes his life away in the bathroom stalls?” Yeonjun took a slow step towards Soobin, his eyes glinting with a sinister determination. “You may be rich, Soobin, but if you choose to lower yourself to their standards, you may as well be dirt poor just like they are.”

With his hands clenched into tight fists, his glasses sliding down his nose, and his heart quite literally in two pieces on the floor below him, Soobin decided that he had had enough.

“I’d much rather be associated with people who are kind and have actual depth to their character than be lumped together with a bunch of pricks like you with no real personality—because that’s something you can’t buy with daddy’s paycheck.”

He had to physically restrain himself from slapping his hand across his own mouth in shock. It was as if the spirit of Felix himself had possessed him to say such harsh things. He wondered where Felix was then, wishing more than ever before to have his best friend by his side as he began to tremble from either the rush of adrenaline that coursed through his veins, or from fear. Or perhaps it was both.

He didn’t have time to ponder it any longer before Yeonjun’s fist collided with his nose, resulting in a sickening crack as pain echoed throughout his face in tidal waves.

He stumbled backward as people began to shout, raising his hand to his nose and gasping when he saw that his palm was covered in blood. 

Beomgyu had his arms wrapped around Yeonjun, who was desperately trying to lunge towards Soobin once again.

“Knock it off, Yeonjun!” Beomgyu shouted, pushing the elder back. “His dad is on the school board! Are you trying to get expelled?”

Beomgyu looked over his shoulder at the still stunned Soobin, who was gaping at the blood that now stained his once white turtleneck. 

“Get lost, Soobin,” Beomgyu said, to which Soobin only blinked in reply, his ears ringing.

“Now!”

Head spinning, Soobin picked up the two halves of his paper heart, stuffed them into his jeans, and stumbled out the same door he had seen you go through just minutes before. After checking to make sure his glasses were still intact—they were, thankfully—he shook his head in an effort to clear his mind of the static, eyes scanning the front lawn looking for any trace of you.

It didn’t take long for his eyes to spot you among the now dwindling crowd of partygoers. Your bright pink sweater stood out against the darkness, so he was able to recognize you even with your back towards him. He sniffed, wiping the back of his hand against his dripping nose as he slowly made his way to where you sat on the curb, your feet planted on the asphalt street. He wished that he looked a bit more presentable—when he played this scene out in his head over the years in which he would finally reunite with you, he never imagined himself dazed and covered in blood.

Desperate times called for desperate measures, he supposed.

When he reached you, he simply stood beside you in silence for a moment, unsure of what to say. He could tell that you sensed his presence, but you refused to look up at him as you kept your face buried in your hands. He could have sworn he heard a few muffled sobs slip through your fingers, but of course, he wasn’t going to bring that up.

Eventually he decided to slip his jacket off of his shoulders, leaning down to drape it over you. You still kept your head down as he sat beside you on the curb, but he watched you grip the jacket and pull it tighter around your body. He smiled a bit, holding the collar of his turtleneck against his throbbing nose.

“Thank you,” you muttered, wiping your hand across your eyes. You finally looked over at him, and when you did, you couldn’t hold back your gasp. “My God Soobin, what happened to your face?”

“Oh, well, I might have gotten punched,” He said quickly, trying to wave off your concern. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Punched? By who?”

He looked down at the ground, sniffing as a drop of blood hit the pavement. “Yeonjun,” he muttered under his breath.

“I’m sorry, did you just say Yeonjun? Are you insane? Why on earth would you butt heads with the Choi Yeonjun?”

Soobin didn’t say anything in response, he simply stared at you, eyes wide with beer dripping off the ends of your hair, makeup smeared across your face, your sweater stained down the front. It didn’t seem to take long for you to put the pieces together, as the shock left your face and was replaced with something akin to guilt.

“Oh,” You said, looking back down at your shoes.

“So she knows that I did it all for her,” Soobin thought.

For some reason, the idea of that both terrified and excited him.

A second later, he glanced over to see you ripping one of the hand-sewed patches of fabric off your jeans, leaving a square of your skin exposed to the chilly night air. You leaned towards him, pushing his hand away from his nose so you could use the patch to clean up some of the blood on and around his puffy red nose.

“Y/N, your pants!” He exclaimed, trying to push your hand away. “They’re ruined!”

“I’m not worried about my pants, you idiot,” You said, swatting his hand away as you continued to press the cloth against his skin. “You got punched in the face because of me, this is the least I could do.”

“That was my choice though,” He muttered, although he stopped trying to resist your touch. He ignored the way his heart thrummed harder in his chest, hoping that you couldn’t hear.

“Well, this is my choice too.” Your eyes flicked to his for a brief moment, your bottom lip pulled between your teeth. “Why did you do it, by the way?”

“Do what?”

“Stand up to Yeonjun for me and get a nasty nosebleed as a result.”

“Oh.” He blinked slowly, keeping his eyes fixed on yours. “Just ‘cause.”

“Because . . . ?”

“Because of you.” He blurted, causing your hand to go still against him. He swallowed his fear, braving the best smile that he could. “Just you. That was my only reason.”

You didn’t say anything as your hand fell from his face, the cloth clutched between your fingers. The anxiety he had tried his best to suppress came rushing up all at once, and he was surprised that his ears didn’t begin to squeal like a tea kettle from all the pressure. 

“Y/N,” He said, gently placing his hand over yours despite how his fingers trembled. “Why did you pull away from me?”

“What?”

“Four years ago. Why did you stop talking to me?”

You were quiet for a moment, digging into the ground with the toe of your sneaker. Soobin held his breath until you finally replied with, “I was afraid.”

“Afraid? Of what?”

“We were getting older, Binnie,” You said, and his heart skipped at the use of your old nickname for him. “You and I, we’re from very different walks of life. You get to hang out with people like Yeonjun, whereas I get a cup of beer poured all over my face just for existing, and you get a fist to the nose for trying to stand up for me. We’re from different sides of the track, one might say.”

“So?” Soobin asked, his hand tightening around yours. “Did you really think that would affect us that much, Y/N?”

You frowned, glancing down at his hand over yours.

“I thought you’d be embarrassed of me,” You said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Embarrassed?” Soobin’s eyes went wide as he gripped your hand tighter still, pulling it into his lap. “Y/N, I would never, ever be embarrassed of you. Besides, have you seen my best friend? He’s on a first name basis with the principal because of how often he gets written up for smoking behind the school. If I’m not embarrassed of him, why would I ever be embarrassed of you?”

You laughed, wiping the back of your hand across your eyes once more. “I guess I was worried about nothing, huh?” You sniffed, giving his hand a squeeze. “I’m sorry, Soobin.”

He shook his head, squeezing your hand right back. “Don’t apologize. You’re here now, that’s what matters. Do think we could—you know—”

“Pick up where we left off?” You smiled, nodding vigorously. “I’d like that very much, Binnie.”

He beamed then, almost pinching himself to be sure that he was not dreaming, but the pain in his nose was real enough to remind him of that on its own. He jumped to his feet, pulling you right up with him.

“In that case, how about we finally go on that Valentine’s date I had planned all the way back then?”

“Date?” You asked, a brow raised. “Is it really considered a date if two friends are just hanging out?”

He didn’t respond as he pulled you along behind him towards the bushes where he and Felix had hidden his bike. He crouched down and moved the branches aside, feeling his heart drop to his stomach when he realized that his bike was, in fact, no longer there.

He shot up, turning to face you with eyes wide. “Felix—that bastard took my bike!”

You were quiet for a moment, but then, you burst into boisterous laughter, leaving Soobin utterly confused.

“It’s not funny, Y/N!” He whined, shoving your shoulder lightly. “I was supposed to take you to the Dairy Shack on my bike!”

“It is funny,” You said between bursts of laughter. “Only you would get such a rusty old piece of metal stolen from you.”

He pushed his lips out in a pout, sliding his glasses up his sore nose. “It’s a good bike, don’t make fun of it.”

You grinned, interlocking his fingers with yours, which was enough to instantly wipe the pout right off his face. 

“Let’s just walk, Binnie. The Dairy Shack isn’t that far anyways.”

You were right; the walk to your favorite milkshake place was very close to the house where the party had occurred. Although Felix stealing his bike had thrown an obvious wrench in his plans, it was a minor hiccup, and one he could most definitely handle. Besides, he wouldn’t have to see Felix until the next day anyways. He could deal with his frustration then.

At least, that’s what he thought anyways, until the two of you spotted Felix at the skatepark on your way to the dairy shack.

Soobin’s eyes took in the deplorable sight before him—from where he stood on the dimly lit sidewalk, he could see Felix and a girl he had never seen before, their faces nearly pressed together, and most importantly, with his bike discarded a few yards away from them.

“Soobin,” You said, tugging on his arm. “They look like they’re busy, let’s just go—”

But Soobin, who had little patience when it came to Felix messing up his plans, didn’t let you finish before he screamed, “Give me back my freaking bike!”

You had to hold back your snort of laughter at his choice of words. Even when he was trying to sound angry, he was undeniably adorable.

Soobin watched as Felix startled, clutching his spliff between his fingers as he glared daggers back at his friend. Soobin gulped, trying not to let his fear show on his face. What did he have to be afraid of, anyways? He was the victim of thievery, and his best friend was the offender.

Felix took a big step towards him, but he paused, his eyes landing on your interlocked hands. Soobin glanced down as well, his face growing furiously warm as he realized the situation he had gotten himself into. 

He decided to divert the subject before it could even be brought up by saying, “I can’t believe you stole my bike! All this time I was trying to hide it from strangers, but you, my best friend! I should’ve been hiding it from you!”

Soobin noticed Felix’s female companion step off the skateboard and walk over in his direction, and for a second he felt bad for possibly ruining her night with his best friend. However, his frustration was more prominent in the moment as he fixed his gaze back on his best friend, who had fixed a mischievous smirk upon his face that made warning sirens blare in Soobin’s head right away.

“Now, now, buddy,” Felix said, his voice calm and carefree as ever. It probably had something to do with what he had just smoked, but Soobin didn’t care all that much. “You’re just gonna have to let me borrow it for a little longer.”

Soobin nearly laughed at the audacity of such a statement. “You are gonna give me the bike, or—”

“How about this, Soobs?” Soobin’s lips clamped shut at his friend’s interruption, as the thief in question gestured with his joint to where Soobin’s fingers were locked with yours. “You let me keep your bike for the night, and I don’t tell your dad about you hanging out with the opposite gender.”

Unable to control yourself, you let out a big laugh. Soobin would have felt betrayed, but he was more terrified than anything else at the idea of his father finding out that he was taking a girl out without his permission. He would be grounded for weeks—no, months.

“You wouldn’t.”

Felix’s lips curled up even more into a twisted grin that Soobin wished he had the guts to slap off his face. “God, just imagine the look on Mr. Choi’s face. Imagine him finding out about your premarital hand holding.”

No. Not the hand holding.

Soobin almost felt faint, but he steeled himself to the best of his abilities as he cleared his throat. “One night, Lix,” he warned. “If I don’t see it on my porch in the morning, you’ll be sorry!”

“Oh, I’m so scared,” Felix teased. His expression changed a moment later though, when he finally noticed Soobin’s swollen nose and blood-stained turtleneck. “Wait, Soobs, the hell happened to you?”

Soobin, however, had already taken his first steps away from the skatepark, pulling you along behind him. “I’ll tell you later, bud. Enjoy your spliff with that kind girl who you probably don’t deserve!”

“Hey!”

Soobin couldn’t help but laugh as he swung your interlocked hands together, grinning as you let out a laugh as well. The anger that had seeped through him seemed to melt away in an instant as the two of you continued your journey to the Dairy Shack.

“Would your dad really be that upset if he found out about this?” You asked.

Soobin grimaced. “We should probably wait til next year to tell him about this outing. Or maybe the year after that.”

When the two of you had finally reached the Dairy Shack, you waited outside for him while he went in to order your drink. A large chocolate milkshake, with two straws, just like you used to get every time before.

When he had the drink in hand, he walked back outside and sat down beside you on the curb, smiling as you wrapped his jacket tighter around your shoulders. You smiled back up at him, your eyes creasing from the expression. Your smile had always struck him right to his core; he had missed seeing it every day.

He hoped he could see it every morning and every night from that day onward. There was no way he would let you go this time.

He just had to muster up the courage to grab hold of you first.

“You know what, Binnie, you turned out to be a lot taller than I thought you ever would be,” you said as you took one of the straws from his hands. “You’re actually enormous. It’s shocking.”

“Should I find that offensive? It sounds kinda like an insult.”

“Take it however you will,” You teased, leaning over as he popped the plastic lid off the milkshake. He grabbed the cherry by the stem and held it towards you.

“What are you doing?” You asked, holding out your fist. “We have to rock, paper, scissors for it. Remember?”

Soobin laughed as he shook his head. “I’m giving it to you this time. It’s what I planned to do all those years ago, when I asked you to hang out on Valentine’s.”

You seemed to be taken aback, but you simply shrugged as you plucked the cherry from his hand and pulled it from the stem with your teeth, glancing back over at him. It was silent for a moment, but then your eyes landed on the pocket of his jeans, where you could see a bit of red paper poking out. You leaned over even further, reaching your hand out to snatch the paper.

“What are you—hey! Give that back!”

Soobin desperately tried to take his Valentine back from you, but it was too late. You held both halves of what used to be a whole in your hands, your eyes scanning the words as you pieced them together.

“Soobin . . .”

He held his breath. Had his act of young love left you completely speechless? Were you so touched that you would burst into tears?

“This looks like a middle schooler made it.”

He let out the breath in the form of a long, long sigh.

“That’s because it was made by a middle schooler,” He said as he set the milkshake down beside him. “I made it back in the eighth grade. I planned to give it to you that Valentine’s.”

“Oh.” You ran your finger along the card’s surface, the smallest smile creeping across your lips. “Well in that case, it’s not half bad. Why’s it ripped though?”

“Ah—well, Yeonjun . . .”

You nodded, taking another glance at his swollen nose. “No need to elaborate. It seems you had a lot planned for our Valentine’s Day back then. Is there anything else you wanted to do?”

His mouth went dry at that, and he wished that you couldn’t see his face because he was sure that his expression was quite comical. All the way back then, four years prior, he had in fact planned the perfect, ideal day in his head. Picking you up on his bike, giving you the cherry from his milkshake, and presenting you with his hand made card.

There was only one thing left on his list.

He didn’t move at first, willing himself to have enough courage to even look back in your direction. But when he finally did allow his eyes to meet yours, he felt his shoulders relax and his heart rate became more manageable.

He took a deep breath, leaned forward, and pressed his lips against your cheek.

He lingered there for only a moment before he pulled back, daring to pry one of his eyes open to take in the look on your face.

The disappointment was palpable—from the way your brows furrowed together and the way you pursed your lips. His stomach dropped, and he scooted the tiniest bit away from you.

“I’m sorry,” He blurt out, his face growing warmer by the second. “I shouldn’t have done that, I just—”

“Is that all?”

Your question stopped him mid-ramble, his eyes growing wide. “Huh?”

“Is that all?” You repeated, closing the distance between you that he had created. “It’s Valentine’s Day, Soobin. I think we can do better than a peck on the cheek.”

The implications of what you were saying didn’t register with him right away, but when it finally did, he could have sworn his heart began to beat loud enough for the entire town to hear. His hand curled into a fist as he gripped the denim of his jeans. He leaned forward, keeping his eyes open just enough to watch you as he brought his lips closer to yours. He could feel your eyes on him all the while, causing his heart to pound fiercer still within him.

When he was just a breath away, he whispered, “Can you close your eyes?”

“Hm?”

He lifted his hand, gently placing it over your eyes. He leaned closer then, filling the space between you both as his lips met yours. You tasted vaguely of cherry and strawberry slice soda, and he found it quite nice the way his lips seemed to fit perfectly against your own. As the seconds drew on, your hands slipped around his neck, pulling him closer. He slowly let his hand fall from your eyes, tracing lines with the tips of his fingers down your cheek before he cradled your jaw, letting his lips part just enough to taste the sweet sugar on your lips once more.

He thought in a haze that it was a good thing he didn’t drink anything at the party, as kissing you was proving to be intoxicating enough on its own.

When you finally pulled away, leaving your forehead resting against his, he let his eyes flutter open enough to see the euphoric smile that adorned your features. He grinned as well, gently running his thumb against your cheek.

“I think that back then, I had planned to ask you this before kissing you,” He whispered, “But Y/N, will you be my Valentine?”

Instead of a spoken answer, you laughed, leaning forward to capture his lips with yours once again, and that was the only answer Choi Soobin would ever need.

-

WHEN SOOBIN ARRIVED HOME THAT NIGHT, HE WENT STRAIGHT FOR THE TELEPHONE.

It was kept upstairs at night right outside his parent’s door, to keep himself and his brother from using it in the late hours. Of course, this never stopped Soobin from sneaking it downstairs to his room in the basement to make late night calls to Felix.

And that particular evening, he really needed to give Felix an update.

He grabbed the phone from the small table in the hallway, carefully tiptoeing towards the basement stairs. Before he had even taken the first step down, the bathroom door creaked open. Soobin whipped his head around to see his brother Kai standing there, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he raised a brow at his older brother.

Soobin froze, blinking slowly as he realized the incriminating situation he found himself in.

“Please don’t tell mom,” He whispered, his eyes pleading with his younger brother.

Kai nodded, although Soobin wasn’t quite convinced that the boy was even coherent enough to understand what was going on. Soobin offered a rushed thank you, and ventured his first step down the stairs.

Well, he tried, anyways, and ended up missing the first step. He tumbled down the rest of the stairs, landing on his butt at the very end.

He winced in pain, glad to see that the phone was still intact in his hands. He glanced over his shoulders to see Kai staring down the stairway with wide eyes, his lips parted in shock. Soobin quickly put a finger to his lips, begging his brother for silence.

Kai simply shook his head and walked away, allowing Soobin the freedom to breathe out a sigh of relief.

He quickly ran to his bedroom and shut the door, collapsing onto his bed with the phone as his breaths came in ragged gasps as an aftereffect from his tumble down the stairs. He figured he should have dialed Felix’s number right away, but he couldn’t help but brush his fingers against his lips, remembering the feeling and taste of having yours pressed against them.

He was so caught up in his daze that he didn’t notice Felix calling until the third ring.

He picked it up, breathing heavily into the speaker as he rubbed a sore spot on his lower back. 

“Please tell me that panting is from running a marathon, and not what I think you’ve successfully tried.”

Soobin nearly gagged, holding the phone away from his face as he coughed, flustered by his friend's crude words. He brought the phone back to his face and said, “No, you sicko, I just fell down the stairs.”

“How the hell did you manage that with those long legs?”

“That’s not important, Lix!” He laid back onto his pillows then, twirling the phone cord in his hands as he stared up at his ceiling, the memories of his adventure with you that night flooding his mind once more. He couldn’t help but smile from ear to ear as he said, “Look, I need to tell you something important.”

If he didn’t know any better, he would have thought that he could hear the smile in Felix’s voice too as his friend replied.

“Well buddy, I got something to tell you too.”

[kamotoshi]

reminders [fushiguro tōji x reader]

pairing: fushiguro tōji x fem reader

genre: fluff

warnings: a bit of swearing; brief mentions of past trauma, manipulation, and financial instability/struggles

word count: 2.3k

overview: a sunset picnic reminds him to stop for a moment and remind his wife how he truly feels about her

note: just another fic to serve as evidence for my obsession with making big, beefy 2d men with tough exteriors completely soft for their significant others (wives especially)

“Aren’t we just the cutest couple ever?”

Tōji’s eyes move from the spread of food laid out across the patterned blanket beneath the two of you over to either side of him, where a few other couples and families have set up their picnic spots for the evening, then, to your phone. A glance at the screen displaying the timed photo you’d just spent the past five to ten minutes setting the scene for and perfecting brings a smirk to his face.

“Just the right amount of nauseating.”

“Like, to the point where people are a little envious, but they don’t think we’re being too over the top, right?”

“Right.”

You hum in understanding as you pop a piece of fruit into your mouth.

“But, I would say err on the side of caution and don’t post the super lovey-dovey ones. Actually, please don’t. That’s a request now.”

Your hand flies to your chest to match the look of feigned shock on your face at his words. He doesn’t miss how the diamond on your finger sparkles in the amber glow of the setting sun. The thought crosses his mind that he wants to buy you a bigger one when he has enough money to set aside—something that would shine just a bit brighter. Almost as brightly as that beautiful smile of yours he had the pleasure of seeing each day, if he was lucky.

“You mean… I can actually post a picture that I took with my notoriously elusive husband?”

With a nod, he shifts his gaze to the horizon—or whatever he can see of it peeking around the sides of each building—for a moment. “Just know it’ll probably end my job,” is his response given with a sigh, “Nobody’ll fear me after they see that I enjoy sunset picnics with my adorable wife, now, will they?”

“Or,” you offer with a grin, scooting closer to him so his arm can snake around your waist, “it could give you an advantage, people thinking you’re kinda sweet. Like, oh, he’s a cold-blooded killer who takes care of business, but he’s got a soft side, too. And then, bam! You swoop in and they’ll never even know what hit ‘em.” Sweeping a hand dramatically across the landscape in front of you, as if you want him to picture the scene in your head, you add, “Suddenly, you’re the talk of the town. Women want you. Men want to be you. Hell, they’d probably want you too.”

“And that’s the story of how I end up on the front covers of magazines, right?”

“Exactly. This is just the start of your success story, baby.” Tenderly, you place a hand on the side of his face to bring it closer to your lips. After pecking him on the cheek, you whisper, “Just try not to forget about me when you’re famous, okay?”

He turns to look directly at you, his eyebrow raised with incredulousness in an expression you’ve seen many times before. “You kidding me? I would never. Be famous, I mean.”

The teasing smack you land on his chest doesn’t deter him from leaning down towards you to press a kiss against your lips that you readily return in spite of your complaints at his devious comment. He relishes in the sweet taste lingering on his tongue when he pulls away, and the affection present in your half-lidded gaze brings a comforting warmth over him akin to the feeling of finally crawling into bed after a long day. In his moment of distraction, you’re able to sneak in another meeting of your lips before grabbing one of the snack boxes you’d meticulously crafted and dropping it into his lap.

“Since I’m nice, unlike you, I’ll still let you eat the food lovingly prepared by your loving wife.”

“C’mon, baby,” he murmurs, giving your thigh an appreciative squeeze, “You know I love you.”

“I mean, I hope you do. You did marry me, and stick with me all these years, after all, you weirdo.”

He chuckles and pats your leg before shifting his attention to the delicious food you’d put together for the two of you, and you settle down beside him after collecting your own. His free hand plants on the ground beside your opposite hip, closing the gap between you.

Each day that he gets to spend with you he’s thankful for. But there’s something different about those where the sight of the sun slowly descending toward the horizon is beautiful enough to draw both of you out of the house to sit and watch it. He can’t quite explain it, but everything about these days feels different. The harshness of the city seems to fade away for a bit. The air smells sweeter. His breaths come a bit more deeply. The absence of your body against his in some way is felt more intensely.

In between gazing ahead at the sunset—allowing his eyes to flicker to his meal, the kids zipping past every now and then on their bikes, or other passersby—he finds his attention being drawn back to you. Each feature of your face bathed in the golden light of the sun’s last rays brings an unexpected flutter to his heart. He’s never surprised by how gorgeous you are, but, still finds himself in awe of just how lucky he is each time he stops to take it all in.

Lucky that he gets to wake up next to you and see you in those quiet moments of the morning when your eyes are still struggling to focus and your cheek is stamped with each wrinkle of your pillowcase, but you look beautiful all the same. Lucky that the arms and legs he has draped around him until you both wake up sweaty in the middle of the night are yours. Lucky to be offered a refuge wherever you are. Lucky you’re one he promised to love for the rest of his life.

In the busyness of your days, sometimes things are assumed rather than said. He assumes the parting kiss he presses to your lips each time he leaves the house translates into a small, “I love you, I’ll be back soon.” Just like he assumes the way he pulls you onto his lap while you’re sitting together, watching a movie, sends a small message of, “I need you here, close to me.” Or the pause he takes to gaze into your eyes after your more passionate displays of affection means, “I love you more than I know how to say.”

He realizes, given the risky nature of his work, that thought alone isn’t enough, though. Maybe he’s too afraid of saying something that’ll curse you for his lips to form the words he’s thinking as often as they should, but if he was one to let his life be ruled by fear, he wouldn’t be sitting with you in the first place. He would’ve let his family wreak havoc on him for the entirety of his life, weighing it down with constant reminders of his failures. He would’ve let his fear of being vulnerable keep him from getting close enough to you to fall in love with you.

Yet, here he is, making relaxed conversation with you—his wife—as the two of you sit together beneath a sea of brilliant oranges, candied pinks, and the gentlest hues of lavender. With the way you use your steadily built and strongly maintained trust in him to speak so freely and be so vulnerable without fear of judgment, he feels it’s only fair that he shows his trust in you by doing the same. That he reminds you of his feelings rather than lets the implications behind his actions speak for him.

When he decides to mention it, most of the sky has lost its fire and quite a few of the other picknickers have packed up and returned home. But the two of you choose to remain out just a bit longer in the warmth of the summer night, bathed in the sound of cicadas chirping incessantly. “Hey babe?” he calls, giving your hand resting in his a gentle squeeze as his cheek drops to the blanket so he can look at you.

“Mm?” You shift onto your side and scoot closer to him, moving your interlaced hands to your chest, holding the back of his against your gently beating heart. On instinct, your other set of fingers find his face to brush a few strands of dark hair away from his eyes, and he presses feathery kisses to your palm.

Sighing against your skin, he asks, “Do I tell you I love you enough?”

Without a moment’s hesitation, you assure him, “I know you do.”

“Because I say it?”

You hum with uncertainty, fingers gliding from the scar at the side of his mouth down his neck, and to one of his broad shoulders. “More because I can see it in the way you look at me. But, then again, I also see you look at a really good meal the same way. Makes me kinda jealous sometimes,” is your answer given with a small, teasing smile, “Besides, I feel like I can safely assume that you’ve stayed with me all these years because you love me, right?”

“Of course,” he says, the strength in his voice contrasting the subtle, pained look behind his eyes, “But I don’t say it enough, do I?”

There’s a short pause before you murmur, “Not usually unless I say it first. But it tends to be more of a reflex for both of us, anyway. Like, ‘I’m heading out now, love you!’ or, ‘Goodnight, I love you,’ y’know?”

A gentle tug on your wrist pulls you towards him, until you’re propped up on both elbows, body leaning over his. Wrapping an arm around your waist brings your chests flush against one another and your faces mere centimeters apart. The way he’s regarding you as nothing else is as important as you are to him in this moment has you melting into the kiss he plants on your lips.

“You’re the love of my life.” Heat radiates from your chest all the way up to your face at his tenderly spoken words accompanied by his thumb skimming along your cheekbone. “And you deserve to hear me tell you how much I care about you more often because you’re the only person who’s made me feel deserving of love.”

The hand on your back slowly moves up and down, his fingers tracing along your spine. It was once deemed as a mindless behavior in your eyes, but after many years with him, you’ve come to learn that sometimes it’s a means of comforting himself or finding the courage to speak about something that’s been on his mind. To reassure him, you place a soft peck against the corner of his mouth and run your fingertips across his jaw.

He seems to find the strength he needs to speak the rest of his truth, since he continues, “I remember being terrified when I first realized how much I loved you. Because here I was, thinking I was only gonna marry someone as a way of erasing my connections to my family, and that falling in love would weaken me—make me easier to be manipulated—but you changed my mind. And I don’t think there’s a damn thing that could ever happen to make me wish I did things differently, even though we got married young, when we barely had enough money to our names to get ourselves through the week.”

A pang of somewhat bittersweet nostalgia ripples through you at the memories of sleeping on the floor, clinging to one another to keep warm during the cold, winter nights. Of how you’d both worked so tirelessly to make a living that sometimes all you’d do was cry into his shoulder when you got home. But soon, there was a couch. A bed. A table. A lamp that didn’t flicker. Then, a new place in a safer part of the city, filled with all the furniture and appliances you could need. Jobs that paid enough for the tears to subside.

The impulsiveness the two of you had displayed in your early twenties had gotten you into a lot of sometimes unbearable situations, but you wouldn’t have changed a thing had you somehow been granted the power to alter the past. While unpleasant, those events had helped the two of you get to where you are today, happier and more in love than ever.

“After all we’ve been through, and that you’ve stuck with me through, I at least owe it to you to remind you how much you mean to me instead of just assuming you know. Because you really do mean the world to me. So, this is me telling you that I love and appreciate you a lot more than I might feel capable of saying sometimes, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try.”

With that same, bright smile of yours that he adores, you take your weight off your elbows to wrap your arms around him while he gives your body a tight squeeze in return. “I love you so much, Tōji,” you hum, heart swelling with joy.

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

There’s a few moments of peaceful silence while the two of you remain wrapped up in a tight and much-needed embrace. Eventually, a deep exhale fans across your neck before he mentions, “That was pretty cheesy, huh?”

“Just a bit. But I promise not to tell anyone you’re secretly a bit of a sap, okay?” you comment, sending the two of you into a small fit of snickers. Your tone is more serious, however, when you mention, “It made me really happy to hear, though.”

“Good,” is his response as he moves his head so he can press his mouth to your temple. His next words are spoken quietly, as if just to himself, and nearly lost beneath the layers of environmental noise surrounding you, but you’re glad you hear them.

“That’s all that matters to me.”

[brattyfics]

drunk dialing | writer wednesday

Pairing: Angel Reyes x Black!OFC

Summary: Angel's ex-girlfriend gives him a call one night when she has too much to drink.

Tags: Angst, Toxic!Angel, Unresolved Feelings, Alcohol Consumption.

Word Count: 1.5k

1:16.

“She doesn’t need anymore.”

The words barely register over the hustle and bustle of the packed sports bar. Basketball reruns play on the television, old school r&b blaring over the loudspeakers. The bartender takes one look at Summer and the way her frame is slumped over just slightly, the way her dark brown eyes have glazed over, and nods his agreement. From their places on barstools, her friends thank him, not-so-subtly sneaking glances at Summer from the corners of their eyes. She can’t bring herself to care. They don’t understand. She’s drowning in the liquor but also an ocean of misery. The waves steadily pull her down further at each turn.

No one understands, so she takes special care to savor the dark amber liquid as it burns her from the inside out.

2:29.

Last call in the state of California is 1:30 am for any establishment that sells alcohol. Businesses like the bar that so graciously hosts Summer and her friends can stay open later, and they usually do. Most patrons abide by state law, using the time to sober up by stuffing themselves with greasy foods-- pizza, fries, chicken wings. Instead of drinking, they make plans to come back and meet up with the strangers they have become fast friends with or say goodbye to their college buddies in town for the weekend.

If You Think You’re Lonely Now plays as patrons began to shuffle out. Summer hums along.

If you think you’re lonely now, huh

Wait until tonight, girl (If you think you’re lonely now)

I’ll be long gone (You just wait until tonight girl)

And you’ll never find another man that’ll treat ya’ right

And then there are the lonely.

The ones at the bar every evening without fail, using it as home in place of the one they lack. They slide the servers bribes, crisp and crumpled twenty dollar bills across the bar top. She watches with tired eyes as they slide shot glasses back in exchange. Summer thinks she would try her luck if it weren’t for the mother hens watching over her with careful eyes. Her friends-- Aliyah, Jasmine, and Nia already think she’s a ticking time bomb. The last thing she needs to do is give them the ammunition they need to call her an alcoholic.

3:34.

It takes a while for the bar to clear out. Nia has to use the bathroom at the last minute, complaining about it being filthy when she returns. Jasmine mutters an obviously while Summer pitifully sips the last remnants of her drink. The melted ice cubes ruin it, she can’t taste the bourbon at all, but every little drop counts, right?

Summer refuses the hand offered to her by Aliyah as they stumble out into the parking lot. Aliyah hovers with her arms poised to catch her just in case. Nia absentmindedly plays a card game on her phone behind them, and Jasmine heads up the group, her keys noisily jingling as she swings them back and forth. She’s the designated driver and the only one sober enough to drive.

It’s a typical summer night in California, dry but cold and windy, so they quicken their pace. With every step, Bobby Womack’s crooning is stuck on replay in Summer’s mind. The lyrics resonate with her…

When it’s cold outside who are you holding?

...and she’s about to voice her thoughts when she sees it.

“Is that a phone booth?!” The words come out more hysterical than probably they should. Sure, it’s been like ten years since she’s seen one in person, and she didn’t know they still existed, so she’s a little excited and a lot drunk, but it’s just a phone booth. One that’s narrow and brightly lit in the midnight blue of the night. Aliyah, who forgot her glasses at home, squints at the white blob until she can make out its shape.

“I think it is.” She sounds a little mystified herself, and that’s all the encouragement Summer needs in her state. One minute she’s cheesing wide, and the next, she’s sprinting across the street towards the phone booth, giggling and tugging her short dress down the whole way.

The girls yell after her, but she tunes them out, snatching the ice cold phone off the hook. She’s even more enamored when she pulls the heavy metal to her ear and hears the dial tone.

It works!

High heels click loudly behind her. Summer turns just in time to see the girls come to a stop behind her, out of breath and unamused. Jasmine leans over and rests her forearms on her knees. “What the hell?” She hisses, glaring daggers at her friend. Summer ignores her, punching the chunky silver buttons like she’s in a trance. Even inebriated, she knows them by heart. One number after the other, she dials the one person she knows she shouldn’t.

Angel Reyes.

She vaguely registers her friends telling her to put the phone down. She knows that she’s making a mistake, but the armor she wears to protect herself from the world is too heavy. She strips it away, her inhibitions lowered. All she wants is him.

Ring...

“She’s been drinking. We should do something.” Sweet Aliyah is always the voice of reason. Nia sounds bored and over the situation. “This is so dumb.” Jasmine tugs on her arm. “Come on. You’re drunk.”

Ring…

“There’s no harm in a phone call, right?” Aliyah says, but her voice is shaky. She’s wrong, and they all know it.

Ri--

“Hello?” The reception is shitty, and the volume in the earpiece low, but with one word, Summer’s hooked all over again. She doesn’t say anything for several moments, the sound of her harsh breathing the only thing that transmits. There’s a long, tense moment where Summer tries to convince herself to hang up, but then Angel says, “Baby, is this you?” She hates the sob she releases into the phone from the simple words. She draws her bottom lip into her mouth to quiet the sound. Her girlfriends freeze, unsure of what to do.

“Y-yeah, it’s me.”

“You been drinking, mami?”

“Maybe.” Summer sways, and Aliyah is there, using her arm to prop her best friend up. It’s a silent act of support, a reminder that Angel isn’t and shouldn’t be the center of her universe. She has supportive friends, a loving family. She doesn’t need him.

“Where you at? I’ll come get you.” She doesn’t need him, but she’s tempted to tell him to meet her back at Jasmine’s place. It’s only a ten-minute ride from his place, five minutes if he speeds the way she knows he does.

Speeds the way he did when she caught him at Vicki’s with Adelita. He had been acting shady for months, whispering on the phone, keeping odd hours. She had felt like a crazy woman when she put the tracker on his bike, but her intuition was validated when she saw his location. She followed him, expecting to find him with one of Vicki’s girls. Instead, she found him there with Adelita and her protruding belly, rubbing it with his large, ringed hands like a doting father. Like they were some happy fucking family.

Summer had nearly lost her mind, knocking over furniture, breaking bottles from behind the bar. Luckily for them, EZ caught her wrist and restrained her. The sight of Angel shielding that woman, protecting her when he hadn’t protected her feelings, was ingrained in her mind. Realizing that all the men she regarded highly and looked up to as older brothers and uncles had been lying, and helping Angel hide his cheating, was something she would never forget.

Being betrayed like that should have been enough to make her stop loving him, but... it just wasn’t. Summer often found herself wondering what was wrong with her. Why did she pine after a man that hurt her so badly? Sure, Angel’s handsome, and funny, and sweet, and really, really good in bed, but he’s not good. Not for Summer.

She sniffles into the phone, “I don’t want you to. I don’t want you.” She tries to will the words to be true, but the tears gliding down her face tell a different story.

“Why call me then?”

“Too much liquor.”

He snorts out a laugh but then pauses as if considering something. “Yeah, me too.” Summer swears she can make out the sound of Gilly shouting something in the background, but maybe she’s so drunk that she’s imagining things. Maybe she’s making it all up in her head because she longs for their relationship back. She always finds herself back at square one when it comes to Angel, wishing things could go back to how they were, that she could erase all the bad and keep all the good.

You see the night's the time when the needs come out

When your needs come out to breathe

And the jonesing starts and there ain't no way you can sleep, ooh

“You hurt me.” Summer doesn’t bother to hide her bitterness. She knows Angel won’t acknowledge the words because the only pain he can recognize is his own.

“Summer, why are you calling?” His voice has an edge to it this time. He’s daring her to make a decision, pick a side. Either she wants to be with him, or she doesn’t. His gruff tone, the callousness with which he says the words should make her want to turn away from him.

Instead, it makes her heart lurch.

She feels desperate to hold onto him, so she says, “'Cause I-I...I love you.”

Notes: The prompt is from @autumnleaves1991-blog Weekly Writing Challenge. Summer Walker - Drunk Dialing...LODT & Bobby Womack - If You Think You’re Lonely Now inspired this fic. Let's all pretend you don't have to pay to use a pay phone lol. Do you like to see moodboards/covers for fics? Please let me know. Hope you all enjoy!

General Taglist:

@woahitslucyylu @briannab1234 @sheeshgivemeabreak @breakingnewsin-no-oneasked @angelreyesgirl @blessedboo @glimmerglittergirl @apantherinmypastlife @brownsugarcoffy @marvelmaree @starrynite7114 @scuzmunkie @thewarriorprincessxo @sadeyesgf @pearlkitten33 @imanerdychubbyqueen @literaturefeen @ourlittlesecretsoveragain @everyhowlmarksthedead @yourwonkywriter @trulysuccubus @sparklemichele @luckyharley1903

Angel Reyes:

@claytoncardenasbabymama @adaydreamaway08

[crackinwise]

If I could still draw, I'd make an art series showing Taka wearing or using all the Monomono Machine gifts you can give him. But I'll have to settle for uselessly pointing and talking about them, because some are like "ah yes," while others...

LOVES:

Mac's gloves: A pair of boxing gloves infused with a staggering amount of passion and effort. Wearing them makes you want to throw a thousand cross-counters.

We know the reference (Punch-Out) but is it just the passion and effort Taka likes? Taka only mentions kendo, I think, but maybe he also takes boxing for exercise and last-resort self defense. Middle school was rough on him for unknown reasons. Whether he picked up boxing for focus or just learning to dodge a punch, it's cute picturing Mondo holding the punching bag for him or them sparring in a ring with very different fighting styles.

Red scarf: A scarf belonging to a certain masked hero. It's tattered and worn due to the countless battles it's been through.

I... don't know the reference. I couldn't find it either. Does anyone know? Strider Hiryu could fit, but Taka thinks games are a waste of time when Makoto talks to him. Red is very much a hero color in Japan as well as associated with deities and protection. Does Taka like the certain hero? Does Taka want to be seen as a hero or protector as well as a good leader?

Ya know what? I've read like two fics where Mondo is a secret superhero--where are the superhero!Taka fics and pics?! (No official art of Taka in a red scarf either makes me boo.)

Adorable Reactions Collection: A DVD that contains footage of people reacting to various pieces of art.

Your guess is as good as mine. For the culture of it? Studying reactions/expressions of others? Maybe he likes seeing people learn of things for the first time? That'd be very wholesome of him.

Chin Drill A fashion accessory that allows you to equip a drill on your chin. It is said to represent the idea of "spiral energy".

Okay. Okay, what? Either we're doing a Gurren Lagann joke--spiral power gets stronger thru generations (Taka's stronger than his grandfather) and causes people to be blindly driven towards their goals--or we're referencing spiral energy in mysticism: all stages of life and rebirth going for infinity. For spiral symbolism, there's "spirals represent evolution and growth of the spirit." But this is... Dude, this attaches to your chin. And he LOVES it. Dafuq.

LIKES:

[sakura bouquet, math problems, & handheld console cut for image limit]

Overflowing Lunchbox: A lunch box stuffed with rice, ginger, carrots, peppers, mushrooms, and more. It's meat-free, so you vegetarians out there are covered, too.

"Give the poor kid a generous meal." Just punch me in my chest. This gift is why I made the post about Taka and Mondo gifting food to each other.

G-Sick Watch: Most people consider it a "throwaway watch" due to its poor quality. Still, it enjoys massive popularity thanks to its low price.

"Give the poor kid a watch he could afford." Ya know what's weird? This watch is in Hina's Love category. Does she break watches in the pool a lot because she forgets to take them off?

Leaf Covering: A loincloth meant to emphasize one's manliness. Its simple design features a single leaf overlaid on white cloth.

I mean, it's... it's self-explanatory.

Quality Chinchilla Cover: A dark red seat cover. Its refined design is intended for only the most elite clientele.

My dudes, this is a fur motorcycle/bike seat. It's on Mondo's Love list, obviously. Why is it in Taka's Likes? Does he like soft things? Is he envious of luxury items maybe he remembers his grandpa having? Does he just want a really plush seat as he rides with Mondo? (Idk, man, but chinchilla farms are cruel.)

Cherry Blossom Bouquet: A collection of branches from a sakura tree. In the language of flowers, cherry blossoms represent "a woman of superior beauty".

Every other character Likes or Loves this too, including Mondo. As for flower language, I can't find that definition at all. I do find it meaning love, general beauty, renewal/new beginnings, fleeting life/mortality (ouch) and imagery tied with samurais because of that short life.

Berserker Armor: Donning this armor bestows the wearer with immense power, but at the cost of their soul and senses.

Uh. Ishida? Actually, even for Ishida that's a bit intense. The cost of their soul? Taka's/Ishida's whole thing is preserving his soul & Mondo's together. Unless he silently wants his soul out completely because it's causing him so much pain, and only Mondo's should live on in him. Maybe this item is leftover from the early code where you could interact with Ishida in Free Time at least once.

The only other person that likes it is Jack/Jill/Syo, so I assume this is a joke about personality switches (for two different mental health reasons) to their less stable selves, who go berserk.

Millennium Prize Problems: These seven important mathematical problems were posted by the Clay Mathematics Institute, with a reward of one million dollars for each one solved.

"Give the poor nerd a way to pay off his family's debt!"

The Funplane: The newest popular portable game system. It has a hi-def touchscreen, and can also play music and videos, making for the perfect all-in-one media machine!

Now, this is another gift you can give to everyone and they'll at least Like it. I guess Taka could use it for educational videos, or "studying" pop culture with Professor Makoto.

And just because we're here, can I just...

MONDO LOVES: sonic cup-a-noodle, quality chinchilla cover, fresh bindings, and

Roller Slippers: Slippers with a small wheel installed in each heel. They were invented to move easily around the house, but there is absolutely no demand for them.

Mondo. Mondo, your taste, hun. No. I want to see Mondo rolling by on these in their house and Taka going apoplectic.

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

EARLY BIRD

Angel Reyes x Reader

Anon asked: could you write an imagine with angel Reyes in which you think he’s gonna break up with you because he’s been distant with you.

Word Count: 1.9k

Thanks to my lovely beta reader @starrynite7114 ​ ✨

Author comments: I'm sorry it took me so long! I just needed some time away from my phone, 'cause I was feeling somewhat sick, but I'm back! I hope you all enjoy. Gif isn't mine, credits to the author.

Tag list: @starrynite7114 ​ @chibsytelford ​ @dazzledamazon ​ @mara-mpou ​ @sammskellington ​ @gemini0410 ​ @1-800-imagines ​ @briana-mishell24 ​@sassymox @whyisgmora @aquamento @sadeyesgf @viviansafizada @samcrobae @jade770 @witchy-wish @rebel-without-cause-x ✨ (if you wanna be tagged, send me a message!)

Another morning, waking up in an empty bed and the next side to yours totally cold. You snort turning your body above it, pulling your hair away from your forehead with a hand. There's any noise outside of the bedroom, the one you were supposed to share with Angel because, probably, he left the house stealthily some hours ago. You don't know what's going on. You don't know what's happening between you. And at any time you have tried to talk with him about it, he only says that everything is okay and you're just a little paranoid. You want to believe him. You really try with all your efforts, but there's a bunch of insecurities getting stuck inside your chest oppressing it, that doesn't let air through.

✉: “hey, early bird”

You haven't thought about it, grabbing your phone to know if he is still alive, leaving it on the pillow where your head is resting. Some minutes laters, when you're almost falling asleep again, the advice dings turning on the screen.

✉: “eh”

That's all. And he keeps saying that nothing has changed. For sure.

✉: “you free 2nig?”

✉: “i think so”

      “y?”

✉: “we could have a night in”

     “dinner and movie”

     “hang out for beers”

✉: “am into first”

✉: “k! 7? 8?”

✉: “8 good”

✉: “k! ily”.

✉: “back”

You know he's not going to come, but at least you try it.

When the night is about to fall down plunging Santo Padre into the darkness of the desert, you begin to set up ready in case a miracle happens. Putting the steaks you bought at pops, in the pan with some oil and salt over low heat, you leave the kitchen to change your clothes. Wearing nothing but his favorite shirt, you spread on your neck and collarbone that fruity and fresh perfume he loves the most. And picking up your hair in a ponytail, you walk barefoot back to the kitchen. It's flooded by the delicious smell of the meat cooking slowly, turning them to the other side when it's getting golden. Leaving the food in the background, you go next to the freezer checking that the cold beers are ready to be drinked. You have popcorn, candies and chocolate for later. Everything is on point, even if you don't have much faith that he's going to come.

You weren't wrong.

At half past nine you're sitting on the couch, eating the cold steak you cooked and drinking the third beer. Angel didn't answer any of your messages, nor your calls. So, after trying to contact him for almost one hour, you decided to have dinner alone.

Another night.

The desire to cry floods you with leaps and bounds, grabbing the last piece from the fork in a bad mood before leaving the dish on the table and drinking your beer till it's empty. You fall asleep on the sofa some minutes after with your eyes filled with tears.

Although the door closes silently, you open your eyes getting up, stretching once you sit up. Angel looks like shit, tired and upset with his hair made a mess. Noticing sideways that the sun is almost shining, you don't say anything when he's about to apologize. Leaving him alone with the word in his mouth. You don't even pick up dinner stuff, going back to bed and throwing away the shirt you're on to wear yours. Covering your head with the blankets, you can hear Angel's heavy steps following to the bathroom to get locked in. The water running down the shower.

A fist hitting the marble.

And finally, a weary snort when the mattress sinks a little next to you.

“I was arrested.”

No words from you. He knows you're awake. Once your eyes are opened, it's impossible for you to fall asleep again.

“I really wanted to spend last night with you, mi amor.”

Nothing.

You don't even move.

“I'm so sorry.”

You try to get up, pulling away the blankets tired of hearing bullshit. Not understanding why he just doesn't tell you it's all over, assuming he doesn't because he hates loneliness and no matter how much he despises you, that you're going to come back once and again like a beaten dog faithful to its master. He never was like that, he just changed from nothing. From being the loveliest man to a ghost in your life. Angel grabs your wrist, stopping you from leaving him alone, but you can't look at his face.

You can't fall again.

“Stay, please.”

“I needed you to stay a lot of times, and you weren't even here.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Yeah, you already said that.”

With a heavy snort being spitted by your lips, you sit on the edge of the bed rubbing your face with both hands. Getting up and holding your phone in a hand, you guide your feet to the door looking for some coffee in the kitchen, to serve it inside a big mug.

“Emily is back and I am just trying to save EZ's ass. I didn't see I was abandoning you.”

Sounds like an explanation, but you don't really care. This hole between you two isn't going to get closed with some apologies and some kisses. He's going to have to make it up to you.

Hard.

“And when I’m saying I’m sorry, it's because I'm really sorry (Y/N).” He takes three steps closer towards you, with his hands keeping down inside the pockets of his short sweatpants. “I fucking love you. Nothing and nobody could change that. I swear on my mom.”

You have a sip of your coffee, closing your eyes when he names his mother for the first time in that way.

“Listen, I got to be back at the scrapyard in four hours. But this afternoon we're gonna go to a place.”

“Which place?”

“You'll see. And I know you're gonna like it.”

“But?”

There's always a ‘but’.

“But first I have to pick up a buddy, I promise him that he could stay with us”.

“What the fuck, Angel?!”

You're drowning in coughs, leaving the cup to hit your chest with a palm.

“(Y/N), trust me, okay? You will love him.”

“You're a fucking jerk.”

“Mi amor, listen.” He grabs your forearm, stopping you. “Trust me”.

“I can't fucking trust you. Not today. Not after telling me you were fucking arrested, and now telling me you're gonna bring a ‘buddy’ to our fucking house without asking me.”

“You're gonna regret those words this afternoon.”

“Yeah, but for that, you have to be here and you're not gonna come.”

Letting go yourself, you walk away from him. You can't believe this is truly happening, getting worse as the minutes go by.

Driving through the desert, you don't know where the hell you're going, hoping he's not bringing you to Vicki's place because one of the girls needs to hide. Even if he talked to you about a guy. Angel is giving you the directions you have to take, making your blood boil whenever you ask him about it and he just smirks at you with that kind of smile you would like to punch out.

And yes, it's a surprise when you reach Grace's kennel. Frowning at him as you stop your car, you try to keep calm.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Am I a fucking joke to you, Angel?”

“What?”

“I'm not gonna fucking bring a junkie to my house!”

“We're n— We're not he—”. He can't even talk, breaking into laughs stirring on his seat. “Step out of the car, mi amor.”

“No! You know what? We're fucking done! I can't! I can't handle it!”

You're getting so nervous you don't know what you are saying. Collapsing. Exploding. But seems like the oldest Reyes doesn't give a fuck if you are on the verge of an anxiety attack, when he takes off your seat belt before grabbing the keys of your car. Angel doesn't say anything, getting out of it and walking to your side. After opening your door, he holds your hand pushing you into him. And you just let him do what he wants with you.

“You ok?” Grace asks you somewhat confused and worried, looking at your pale face. Pursing your lips, you shrug your shoulders.

Seems like you're in shock, not understanding anything that is going on around you while your boyfriend guides your steps to the backyard of the kennel. You find a big black dog lying on the ground with a plastic cone covering his head from his neck and some bandages on his paws and his tail. Tail that he begins to move full of happiness walking with some difficulties close to Angel.

“See, buddy?! I told ya I was coming back for ya'!” Your boyfriend squats towards the dog to hug him, whilst the animal is crying a little, stirring and trying to lick his face.

“What? What's that?” You point at the dog with a finger.

“I was driving on my way back home, and I saw a fuckig shithead dragging him by the paws with a bike. I was arrested because he ended up unconscious”.

Pursing your lips, you can't help but cry slightly bending over the floor and stretching a hand on air, just wanting that he can smell you to see you don't want to hurt him. The dog brings his snout closer, sniffing your fingers for some seconds taking two steps next to you. His tail starts to move again, imagine that he's also smelling Angel's scent on your clothes.

“Hey, buddy. Nice to meet you”. Using a soft and low tone, the dog shortens the distance licking your face without expecting. That makes you laugh loudly.

“I know you feel alone when I’m riding and he doesn't have a home.” Angel says, waiting for you to finish spinning the matter by yourself. “See? I knew you were gonna regret your words.”

“Ugh, shut up.” You growl, drawing a smile to your new friend with his head rested on your chest, as you caress one of his sides.

“Is he okay?” Your boyfriend asks Grace, getting up as he does, being followed by the dog.

The women nods.

“He's strong. But I'll give you some pills for pain, in case he complains. And you should change the bandages every day. Bring him back next week and I'll check him.”

“Done. How much do I own you, sweetheart?”

“Nothing. Just take him to his new home.”

“Thank you, Grace.” You say before hugging her tightly.

“Call me if you need anything, okay?” She said then, nodding at her.

“So, what's his name?” You ask Angel, walking back to the car with the dog practically glued to your legs.

“Caco”. He answers holding your hand, leaving a kiss on the back of it.

“So, I'm assuming the place where we’re going next is a pet shop, to buy him a lot of things.”

“Shit, mi amor, I got fucking horny every time you show me how smart you are.”

[galadhir]

Today I feel as though I'm making some sort of progress on the 'novice gardener attempts to plant food forest' front.

This morning I went out and picked myself a pot of tea. I took a few flowering heads of lavender, two peppermint leaves and two lemon-balm leaves, put them in one of those individual tea-pots that comes with a cup and had three cups of tea out of it. Very fragrant and lovely it was too!

It hadn't occurred to me that I could grow my own tea before reading Martin Crawford's Creating a Forest Garden about a month ago. But I had space for more plants, so as soon as I did, I ordered a chocolate mint and an anise hyssop plant. And on Monday I was in town at the bulk buy shop and discovered a very bedraggled, unhappy lemon balm plant in their ‘please take these away because they’re dying’ bin, so I brought that home in my bike pannier too.

The lavender and the peppermint were already in place.

Having tried for a couple of days now, I discover that there is something very special about being able to start the day by picking your own tea blend from the garden. It's a revelation almost on a par with how much difference fresh herbs make to the taste of your cooking. They give much more satisfaction and pleasure than it seems like they ought to.

Other successes--there are slugs in the slug trap. The little bastards have been chomping their way through three quarters of the tender baby plants I put in. I fully intend to let thrushes and toads deal with them later on when things are established, but for now I have neither of those things, so drowning in beer it is.

I had a bit of a paradigm shifting moment as regards the lawn this time last month. I had very much been of the 'lawns are a waste of space' persuasion previously. But we have one. We may not always have one, but while we have one, it finally occurred to me to treat it as an area of soil covered with a ground covering plant.

Namely--not as a waste of space, but as an area of soil that also needed its soil carbon levels building up via nurturing and encouraging the soil lifeforms.

So, two weeks ago, I raised the cutting height on the lawnmower to 6.5 cm and put on it one of those plug in things that cuts up the grass cuttings and scatters them on the lawn behind you. I'm no longer removing the nutrients from the soil by taking the cuttings away to go in the compost bin--I'm letting them accumulate and feed the soil.

I also scattered some chicken manure over the whole garden, and watered it in with some powdered mycorrhizal fungi in solution. If I'm improving the soil, it doesn't really matter so much what's growing on top of it, right? It's still drawing down carbon dioxide and breathing out oxygen like a tree.

And I've got to say, two weeks and two cuts later it's noticeably thicker and lusher. It's still full of wild flowers and weeds, of course, but that's a bonus imo--I have a prairie.

I also have clouds, absolute effing hoards of hoverflies, bumblebees and ladybirds. I like to think it's a sign that the biodiversity is improving. As is the fact that there's a frog in the pond, and that five of the golden-rod sticks, two of the skirret sticks, and one of the perennial kale sticks seem to have taken and sprouted.

[rosevanhelsing]

Wendigo

Ch. 18

James had walked through all of Manx's ancient caches, noting that they had all been emptied and some even burned. The old fox had come forward.

- You are a very clever man, Mr. Charlie Manx. - James said to himself - As they say in some countries, "the devil knows more for being old than for being a devil", but even the devil can be fooled. Sooner or later I will catch you.

James got into his massive Peterbilt 359 truck, which he affectionately nicknamed-"HUNTER," and drove down the road. A plan was beginning to hatch in his mind to trap these two creatives. They were going to be his main hunting trophies, but he had to know them better. Knowing the enemy was the priority, both intrigued him a lot. How the hell had Manx managed to become immortal? And what power did Victoria Mcqueen have? If he devoured them, will he acquire their enormous powers? Would he finally be able to become a creative? Why could he only glimpse his previous landscape but not access it?

James stopped at a truck stop outside of Haverhill for his statutory break and went to the gas station store to buy food and a few other things. He grabbed some cans of Red Bull, non-alcoholic beer, and sandwiches. When he passed by the bookstore section, a book caught his eye. A children's activity book, illustrated and designed by Victoria McQueen. James leafed through it carefully, it was very nice and original.

"Sir, do you want to buy it for your children?" Said a female voice.

-Sorry, what did you say to me? -Said James

- You cannot browse without buying.

- Ah, excuse me. Yes, I'm taking it.

- Well. Shall I gift-wrap it?

- It's not necessary, I'll do it. Do you know that the illustrator is a distant relative of mine?

- Really? Oh well she makes some beautiful and super original books. My daughters love those books. The next time she stop by Haverhill to sign copies, I'll take my girls….

James was playing along with the clerk without thinking and suddenly the clerk said:

"… .I think she'll be back here for Thanksgiving, I think." Her mother lives here.

- Wow. Maybe I'll have to come back here around that time.- James took note, maybe it would be a good time to catch Vic Mcqueen. He paid for the purchase and went back to his truck. On the way, he stopped to talk to a couple of acquaintances. One of them named Fred said:

- How about my new truck? - He said pointing to a red and blue Peterbilt. James was familiar with having seen that color pattern in some movie and he was thoughtful, Fred saw James's expression and tapping the nose of the truck he said:

- Say hello to my new partner: Optimus Prime.

 - That's why that color pattern sounded familiar to me. Is beautiful.

- You guys are stupid. Cars and trucks are girls. That's why I call my precious "Christine" - said Bob.

- Well guys, I'm going to rest for a while. See yaJames lay down on his seat to rest for a while and had visions. In these, he saw a girl of about six or eight years old, blonde and running with her parents with a stuffed rabbit, suddenly in a nearby tree a hole was opened and the girl entered that hole, just like Alice in Wonderland was going into the White Rabbit's den, and he saw the name of the town Libertyville near the park. James woke up, started Hunter's engine, and set off in pursuit of his next prey. A small and very tender prey.

Hundreds of miles away, Vic dreamed of the same girl and that a dark shadow with horns on its head loomed over her. Vic awoke with a cry and sobbing, scaring Lou to death who was suddenly awakened.

- My God, he's going for her, he's going for her….        

- Excuse me, what are you talking about? - said Lou

- The Wendigo. She goes for a girl. He will kill her and eat her… I have to rescue her!

-Vic, Vic ... you can't go find this girl and take her away ... How do you explain it to her parents?

"They'll probably be dead and gutted by the time I get there." I will save her and take her to the police for protection.

-  Ah okay. You already scared me. For a moment I thought you were going to take her to Christmasland so the Wendigo wouldn't catch up with her

Vic had that idea crossed her mind for a split second but she said:

- Don't say crazy, Lou ... I would never give her to Charlie ...

Vic got dressed quickly and ran for the bike.

At Christmasland Charlie was fast asleep and he was having the same visions as Vic, he got up, got dressed and went to the Wraith.

-We have to find a litlle girl, a creative ... -he said stroking the steering wheel of the Wraith- And I know that Vic is also going to rescue her, but we will not let Vic take her, that girl deserves to be in Christmasland. Safe from that savage Wendigo ... and who knows what foster family ...

 Vic had reached Libertyville thanks to the Shortcut, she saw a huge black truck in front of a house and there was screaming inside the house, as well as a couple of shots. She gulped, hoping she wasn't late. Suddenly, a litlle  girl ran out of the house, whimpering in fear, she was the one she had seen in her dreams.

"Little girl, come with me!" Vic yelled, roaring the Triumph and drawing her attention with the lights.

The girl froze for a moment, but she went to Vic.

- Come on get in, I'll save you from that monster ... - Vic said, putting her on the Triumph, and turning around.

At that moment, James came out fully dressed in Wendigo's outfit and covered in blood and shouted:

- That girl is mine, Victoria. Give she to me.

- Fuck you!

Vic accelerated the Triumph, almost making it do a wheelie.

- Hey yo, Silver- thought Vic.

James grunted and leapt into Hunter's cockpit, to chase them. He started  the engine and it roared like a fierce beast, blowing copious amounts of smoke from it’s tailpipes and coming after her. Vic saw the huge truck behind her chasing her, she revved the Triumph to full throttle and said:

- Hold on…

The Shortcut  appeared before her and she crossed it without thinking. On his side, James grunted and stopped Hunter before he hit a wall and said:

- So that's your power, how interesting ...

When Vic came out of the Shortcut she sighed in relief and said:

- Well, now we will call the Police and they will take care of you ... What's your name, little girl?

- Alice ...

- You don't have to call the police, Vic. I'll take care of her.- Charlie said coming out of the shadows.

[hectabdr]

Dragon Raja IV - Chapters 3 & 4 (Abridged)

Hi everyone, continuing with today's chapters, these are centered around Nono and Caesar and their lives after he returned from Japan.

Previous chapters

Chapter 3

Mediterranean Sea, Republic of Malta.

The Island of Frefra is mostly an ecological reserve, there is a white building on top of a natural harbor with luxury yachts and sailing boats. Tourists and locals have always been interested in knowing more about its residents, but the government is very secretive about it. It is well protected against binoculars and often, music can be heard coming from the inside. Girls in white dresses walk around it and they're known as the "Iris girls".

At 5:45 am, a rotating alarm clock started playing a terrible heavy metal song, making its way through fashion magazines and snacks, it ran around the bedroom of Chen Motong, who finally trapped it and took its batteries out.

She slept for another 20 minutes and woke up in a hurry. She had classes to attend. Cooking lessons, Japanese tea ceremonies, British literature and music appreciation, amongst other things. This was the Golden Iris Shuyuan Academy. It was meant to educate Nono on how to live among nobility.

She arrived late at the breakfast table only to realize the other girls were betting on her punctuality. After she accepted Caesar's proposal, he took her to Rome to meet his relatives, some of which were more than 300 years old, they left their cryogenic beds and unexpectedly blessed their marriage (after evaluating her from head to toes). Nono's own family was rich and powerful, known as the Black Prince Group. After both families signed the marriage contract, they agreed to make Nono drop out of Cassell to take a years-long bridal training in the Shuyuan Academy.

During her dancing lessons, a yawning Nono was the only one who couldn't keep up with the rhythm, prompting her teacher to whip her foot.

At her cooking class, she kept eating bits off her dish, leaving almost nothing for the teacher to evaluate.

She managed to succeed on her tea ceremony while her boredom made her toes fight each other behind her back. She was distracted during literature and used her profiling skill to cheat on her analysis of classical music.

She unwillingly started regretting the moment she accepted the marriage proposal, but not because of Caesar, it was all about the life that awaited her. The lessons were relentless and the academy was isolated from the outside world. She didn't sleep enough because she used her Cassell training to sneak out at 10:00 pm to swim by the beach, that was the only time in her day when she felt truly free.

She toyed frequently with her obnoxious alarm clock, it was a gift from her old classmate, Luminous. On her last birthday, he casually carried a backpack with him all day, it was pretty obvious that he was preparing to give her a gift, which he nervously did, and he was the only person who dared to do so, as everyone else felt intimidated by Caesar.

She knew about Luminous's feelings for her. All of the male classmates who liked her could easily fill the whole cafeteria. Luminous was just one of them. She considered herself a passer-by in his life, thinking some girls of his age (like Zero) would be a better match for him. One day he'd mention it as a thing of the past and they would both laugh about it.

She hoped to finish the bridal course in months, but it had already been a year. She brought mostly books but she quickly ran out of things to read.

Suddenly, she realized someone was hiding in her bedroom, right after the cleaning lady left. The intruder took one of her books and a bag from her secret stash of potato chips. She turned off the lights and grabbed a knife, more excited than scared, she searched for the thief.

After finding nothing, she remembered her bathtub, and there he was, asleep with the missing book on his face and a bag of chips in his belly. She punched him in the stomach. A patrolling Nun showed up, concerned, Nono hid the intruder in the tub and pretended to take a bath. If someone found Luminous in her room, they would accuse Nono of having an affair.

The nun searched the whole place with a revolver but couldn't find anyone, before leaving, she had a conversation with Nono about her situation in the academy, specifically her wish to leave. In the lady's words, "Her soul seemed to lag behind her body". Luminous finally understood that she was there to become the perfect bride. When the nun left, Nono scolded him for his presence, she realized he looked different, he was clearly taking care of himself, better dressed, he definitely had a better haircut. He also thought she looked somehow different, more elegant, but exhausted.

His stomach roared, breaking a long awkward silence and she took him out to steal some food for him. They took wine from the cellar, along with some ham and cheese.

-Sister, do you know Johann Chu? -Maybe, was he your boyfriend or did he just owe you money?

Luminous explained his situation to her: he decided to go with the school's psychologist, professor Toyama, who diagnosed him as schizophrenic. Toyama attempted to erase Johann off his memory, but Luminous responded by making a scene and drawing out his desert eagles. He tried to track Johann in everyone else's memories but his missing classmate didn't have many friends.

Anjou couldn't remember him either. Back during Luminous's second year, there was no trial against a Blood Rage user, Frost Gattuso only accused the principal for his terrible administration. The rollercoaster incident happened way after they finished their ride with Shavee. Anjou gave Luminous the location of Chen Motong, telling him to use her profiling ability to find some clues.

However, Nono also believed Luminous had schizophrenia and convinced him to stop his search and look for treatment instead. Luminous lamented his condition and how he couldn't trust the world he lived in anymore, however, despite how enticing it was to forget Johann and go back to the real world, he felt his brother was still out there, waiting to be saved, but everyone forgot about him. Nono couldn't do much for him in his situation.

-Years ago, you were not the president of the Student Union, but a scared boy that I rescued from a theater. Now that you don't trust the world anymore, you came back to me. How many more times do you think I'll be here to save you?

Suddenly, a security guard noticed the candle they lit in the cellar. Nono didn't know how to react, but someone broke a bottle of wine on the guard's head and knocked him down. It was Finger, who informed Luminous that now he was wanted by Cassell, as they thought he was an undercover agent sent by the Dragon Raja.

Apparently, on the same night that Luminous left the college, someone entered the Ice cellar and stole Constantine's skeleton, severely injuring principal Anjou in the process. The only student with such clearance and power was the S-Rank himself.

Agents of the Execution Bureau went looking for Finger in Cuba, so he buried them in a tobacco field, with their heads out, of course.

Nono urged them to understand the seriousness of what it meant to be hunted by the secret party, which essentially made them targets of the whole world. They could leave no traces for Norma to track down. She considered there were three possibilities:

1- Luminous was insane.

2- He was an undercover agent sent by the dragon raja all along.

3- He was the only person in the world who was't hypnotized.

The only being who could be responsible for the third option is the white dragon king. Its skeleton was never recovered. Their only option was to travel with Luminous in secret to track down any trace that Johann might have left in the world before he disappeared.

-I really hope my brother is alive... -True Love! Said Finger and Nono in unison.

Finger then urged them both to leave and "go save the world" but Nono refused to leave. She had a responsibility with her family and with Caesar. As Luminous turned around and started walking, Finger stunned her, urging Luminous to help him carry her outside.

Chapter 4

Caesar Gattuso was sitting down in a church. This was the anniversary of his mother's death, so he wore a suit, drove a Harley Davidson motorcycle on his way there and brought her a bouquet of white flowers.

When he was younger, she bought him a miniature bike, she also loved to see him wearing little suits. Most of Caesar's style was based on her taste, he thought that would please her while she watched him from heaven.

The first time he had been on the Milan cathedral, he was attending her funeral. The ceremony was presided by the pope himself. Knowing of his family's involvement in her death, he poured kerosene on the coffin and lit a fire on the church. The authorities managed to save the historical building and despite of it all, Caesar was still allowed inside every year to mourn Gulweig, (as long as he wasn't carrying any dangerous chemicals).

Parsi Gattuso arrived in a car to give him some urgent news, his wife Chen Motong had gone missing. He brought with himself a letter that she wrote for her fiancé, it expressed Chen's dissatisfaction with her new life, asking him to give her some time.

Caesar immediately realized the poetic letter was fake, since Nono wouldn't bother to express herself in such a way. According to him, Nono would just write "Caesar, I'm leaving" In a napkin and leave it on top of her bed. The letter was probably written by a narcissistic person like Finger.

However, this left him reflecting on Nono's true feelings towards her future, wondering if all he did was capturing a bird (that he initially admired for its freedom) just to lock it in a cage.

Far away in Cassell College, the elders of the Secret Party reunited for an emergency meeting, the first one since 1961. Many famous individuals that once shaped the course of history were in it, still alive after faking their deaths to cover up their slow aging. In the principal's chair, Leonardo Flammel, the vice-principal and a direct descendant of Nicholas Flammel sat down and started the meeting.

He welcomed EVA, Norma's war personality with 140,000 times her processing power, and asked her to project a life-like hologram of Anjou's assassination attempt.

According to the recording, the previous night, the principal intended to access the ice cellar, but he stopped meters before reaching the entrance. He looked behind and said:

-Is that you?

In a fraction of a second, his access card had left his pocket after something cut through it. His entire body started bleeding from multiple cuts to his skin. He had no time to react and tried to use the card as his weapon, since the attacker didn't give him enough time (even using Time Zero) to draw his dragon slaying knife. It was guessed that his opponent could use Time Zero as well, but was more skilled in combat than the principal himself.

The security system identified the situation in time and called the police and medical assistance, otherwise, Anjou would have died. The conversation quickly turned to Luminous's possible involvement in the situation, Flammel had a conversation about it with "Mr. Beowulf", who was also present.

The legendary Beowulf was not an individual but a family of dragon slayers. They had a strong attraction to dragon blood, for them it was almost like drugs to an addict.

They were the most fierce dragon hunters in history, pouring the blood of their prey and drinking it after every successful kill. Their newborns were poisoned with dragon blood and only those who survived the process were considered worthy of living. Their latest descendants were almost dragon-like in appearance, but they were unlikely to turn into death servitors. Whenever that happened, the family killed them immediately.

Considering there's an imminent crisis ahead, the leader of the family showed himself in the table for the first time in a hundred years. That's because he strongly opposed the establishment of Cassell College, since "a true dragon slayer can only be born in the battlefield".

Back in the day, he led the "Action team" of the secret party, which eventually became the Execution Bureau. Initially he was expected to lead it, before he expressed his dissatisfaction with the college. Compared to the Action Team of the old days, the cruel Bureau is almost a charity.

Beowulf immediately started discussing Luminous's background. His parents were apparently in the records of the Execution Bureau, but their achievements are not registered. They never reported themselves and their location is currently unknown.

Caesar Gattuso was responsible for the defeat of Norton, Abdullah for Fenrir and the Gattuso's orbital weapon for the White King. Luminous was present during all of these events, but his actions are not registered either. He theorizes that Luminous is in fact a dragon, taking advantage of the war to slay his fellow kings. Since his use of Yanling was unknown and Time Zero belonged to the King of Sky and wind, the most mysterious of the dragon kings, the elders came to the conclusion that this dragon was none other than Luminous himself.

As soon as Beowulf questioned the absence of Frost Gattuso, Pompeii himself made an entrance by making EVA project his hologram on an empty chair. The man was semi-naked as multiple women applied sunscreen on him, annoying everyone on the room, specially Beowulf. Pompeii focused on the importance of Constantine's skeleton, since everyone else seemed more focused on Anjou's assassination attempt. Those bones contained the power of the king of bronze and fire, who was conformed by twins, so the college kept Constantine's skeleton, while the Gattuso family kept Norton's. In that very moment, Frost was transporting their half of the dragon king to an underground vault in the bank of Rome.

Pompeii linked Frost to the call, who was now 120 meters underground and descending. The vault was heavily protected against Time Zero users.

Just as they were discussing the security measures, the loud sound of an alarm silenced everyone in the room, when the members of the meeting asked about its purpose, they quickly realized that it wasn't coming from Cassell, it came from the elevator in Rome. The intruder was in the vault.

Frost was instructed to forget the original plan and leave with the bones of Norton. His bodyguards quickly mutated into dragon-like creatures to protect him. Corrosive acid and bombs were released as the elevator rose back to the surface, but there was something heating up the place and it was greater than any bomb they detonated.

Every guard stayed behind to guard the doors, hoping to witness the intruder. Finally, one of the doors was blown away. In the fire, there seemed to be dragons and snakes dancing. The mummy-like figure in white robes slowly walked towards Frost, as he exclaimed:

-It that... you? Is it really you? It is you!

EVA instructed him to step back, as he had no chance of winning against this "reaper", Frost took out his phone and transferred control of the vault to EVA before the strange creature reached him. Suddenly, the camera was broken and the visuals lost. The sound of the doors being blown up one by one was heard. Beowulf commanded EVA to close the sole entrance of the vault, which could easily resist ten-million-ton nuclear weapons, (Not enough to contain certain dragons).

Believing this to somehow signal the end of the world, the council awaited quietly. Investors in Rome were ecstatic when the value of gold suddenly increased (Since one third of the monetary gold in the world was just destroyed). EVA used the surrounding cameras to confirm the worst, Frost Gattuso was dead, crystallized by the extreme heat. Their diamond-like statues were left behind and soon collapsed, turning to dust.

The possibility of the resurrection of the black King soon reached their heads, its return would signal the end of humanity.

Caesar soon appeared in the room. He was named the new representative of the Gattuso family, so he ordered EVA to kick his father Pompeii out of the meeting. He defended his education in Cassell in front of Beowulf, saying it made him prouder than his last name ever would. He explained that this dragon was more dangerous than the others due to its ability to understand humans, their organizations and its capability to hide among them. It was more similar to humans than it was to dragons, which was its more terrifying feature.

He impressed Beowulf, specially when he ordered to investigate anyone who had come into contact with his uncle, since he recognized his killer. He then brought up Luminous. EVA explained that his unprecedented progress in combat skills was due to his participation in the Nibelungen project. It allows Luminous to surpass the dragon blood limit without turning into a death servitor. He was an artificial emperor, like Chisei Gen from Japan. Beowulf was enraged, since he considered it was a waste of resources to use Nibelungen on such a weak student instead of picking one of their A-Rank fighters and ordered EVA to put all of her computing power in finding Luminous and Finger. However, EVA found no records of Finger in her database. Everyone concluded that he deleted himself.

Since Luminous already worked for the Executive Department and therefore knew how to hide from them, Caesar proposed to employ a different type of hunter, specifically the ancient creatures that the college kept under the ice cellar, originally intended to be used against the black king. The elders voted in favor, but even Beowulf was frightened by the idea of employing them. Flammel suddenly stood up and contacted Finger, warning him of the impeding threat. Moments later, a veteran knocked him down.

Parsi had noticed a change in Caesar. In years prior, he'd make childish requests, like asking him to empty a restaurant because he wanted to drink tea in peace. It looked like he was never going to grow up. Ever since he came back from Japan, he was far more mature, taking bigger responsibilities and doing most of the work by himself. He asked Caesar about his friendship with Luminous, specifically if he wasn't worried about the beasts hurting him.

-I don't want to harm Luminous, but he made a mistake, he shouldn't have involved Nono.

He seemed extremely silent, stopping in his way out to stare at a decorative kimono, one that he brought from Japan as a souvenir, he was wearing it the day he arrived. He wondered about the weaknesses of the dragons, if Constantine was Norton's, who was Shavee's?

He felt like he was forgetting something.

[pbandjesse]

Today was a better day. I am still dealing with my weird listless and directionless feeling. But I did better with it today. I felt better. I am getting better about using my time. Even if I did end up on the couch a lot today.

I slept a lot better last night. I know that was a big part of it. And James had made me an omelet before they left so I had a nice breakfast. I got dressed and while I didn't feel awesome, I felt okay.

I didmy styling and paid some bills. I would head out pretty early. But I was honestly just a little upset.

I was fine and then James got back from their bike ride and inform me that they messed up some dates and we are going camping at the same time they had tickets for a football game. And they didn't seem to worried, but they wouldn't just say what the plan was. Because if we went on Sunday and did the whole trip and they didn't get to go to their game I would feel super guilty. But if we didn't go on Sunday I would feel a little cheated. But after a few hours of back and forth with Evan and Noelle it was decided we would leave early on Monday and do the things we planned for Monday before we went to the actual camp site. Which saved some time with not backtracking ot the town and it will honestly be okay. Everyone is going to have fun. Even if we lose one night of sleeping there. It will still be fun.

But it was weighing heavily on me while I was out. I tried to not let it get to me but it was hard. I just listened to my podcast and enjoyed looking at the Halloween things at Target. I was trying hard to feel alright.

I got myself a little bag for camp. I love my two leather bags but they can be a little fussy for hiking and I don't always want to wear my backpack. So this little bag was pretty perfect. And its a pretty nice color.

I got a few other little things. And then went to the craft store to get the thing I was actually out for.

I looked at all the scrap books but honestly didn't like any of them. I don't want one so big! And they were $40?? So instead I got a cute little blank page sketchbook and some washitape. I also have stickers and markers and pens. I also got a great deal on these poles for hanging lights for the party. On clearance for $5!! Amazing.

I was ready to go home though. I was kind of hungry but we actually have lots of things I can just grab and eat and that is perfect for me.

So I came home. I had a nice little lunch. It was a little to hot but I was in a better place.

I would do a little cleaning. A little resting. I changed the sheets and took the cover off our couch to be cleaned. Its funny seeing the purple couch again. I am very pleased with the Halloween color bed we have now. I was in a good mood.

I would lay down and just chill. I sorted my bags. I did some internet stuff. I cut my prints I made this week and packaged them. I printed up their poems. I started making some plans and ideas for a larger project I want to do.

Its a little nerve wracking making a large scale 2D project! I always say I don't draw so having this idea is really great. Also its just very out of my normal wheelhouse so its nice to have a plan.

I would take an early shoewr. Wash my hair. Use my new conditioner which smells excellent. And Ive been chilling since then. I had some food. I tried not to be overheated. I have watched a lot of videos. It has been a good night. And now James is done work and we are chilling on the couch eating pesto pasta.

I hope you all have a great night tonight. Take care of yourselves. Goodnight!!

[blueberrypossum]

Wounded Lover

I’M BACK!!!

No one tells you how much college takes up your free time but I’m back with my Mud Dogz content (especially Leonard, my boy). I’ve never posted much on Leonard and Nova’s friendship/relationship so this is how they bounce off each other’s personalities!

⚠️WARNING⚠️: There is usage of inappropriate adult words and sexual comments and insults. 

(Shoutout to the lovely @ultra-gingerlotus   for making me fall in love with the Snow Leopard from the Shiki x Danny reading! Also @greaser-wolf for drawing them on the motorcycle! Go check them out!!!)

“I’m not getting on that if you’re driving.”

“Then I guess you are just like other girls then, huh?”

Nova eyed the ogre in front of her as he once again offered his hand towards her, the motorcycle under him letting low growls of excitement rumble under their feet. 

They had planned to go out to eat and get away from the other members of the Mud Dogz, Leonard explaining that the love flying between the couples was making him sick and he needed a little bit of excitement. 

The mountain cat looked across the bike with her sunset eyes. She never knew that the ogre yokai had this stashed away, never once talking about it.

“I’ve never seen you ride this and then all of a sudden you have a bike? It’s kind of hard to believe, Leon.”

The feline walked around the bike as if it was an artifact on display, her fingers trailing over the front of the bike as she looked at her reflection. 

“You never asked.”

“You never presented.”

The ogre leaned his arm against the handle of the bike and rested his face in his hand, sending a smug smile up towards the feline.

“I mean, if you’re a scaredy-cat-”

“....Scoot.”

The Mountain cat was hesitant at first as she tried to get herself comfortable behind her friend, he boots trying to find their footing as Leonard revved up the beast under them, causing Nova’s tail to spike up in shock. 

“Titans above! I get it, it’s a motorcycle! Let’s just get there,” the cat grumbled, her arms snaking around Leonard’s waist. 

The leader of the Mud Dogz let out a gruff chuckle at the feline’s reaction as his fingers worked on the handles, the soft paws around him distracting him for a split second before he brought the machine under him back to life. 

“Whoa wait, no helmets?”

“No helmets.”

“Oh great, so that’s where you get it from. Nice to know.”

With that comment, Leonard pulled quickly out from the front of the orphanage and sped down the road, the gravel threading under the tires flying up behind them. 

Nova let out a loud meow of alarm and tightened her grip around his leather jacket, the wind whiplashing her hair as she closed her eyes against his back. Usually dangerous things didn’t scare her, but she knew what was coming, she could predict what would happen, but not with this. 

The ogre rolled his eyes as she shielded herself behind him and took a light left. 

“Do you not trust me?” Leonard screamed at her, his voice carrying with the wind. 

“I got on the bike, doesn’t that tell you?!”

“A little!”

Nova let out a gust of air as her curled up hands unclenched from his shirt and she opened one of eyes, the wind fluttering between her eyelashes as she took in the traffic around them. 

The bridge they were crossing was pouring with life, with other vehicles passing by and yokai’s walking on the sidelines, the city lights sparkling over the outline of each individual. The feline couldn’t contain her gasp of wonderment as she steadily rose herself up to get a better view over Leonard’s hair. 

She let the strong breeze push her hair behind her and her claws dug into the ogre as the bike wobbled a little bit, her face snuggling into his shoulder out a sizzle of panic. 

“No wonder you have whiplashed hair!” Nova laughed out as she felt her brown hair tangle within itself behind her, more fits of laughter barreling out of her as the chill of the wind settled in her fur. 

Leonard couldn’t help but feel beyond warm due to the feline’s face so close to his, even with the wind chilling him to the bone, he could feel the slightest bit of warmth against his neck and goosebumps traveled over his skin. 

Her yellow and green eyes shimmered like a sun’s shadow in a pool, the curl of her smile almost causing the sun to set as she turned to look at him. 

She was definitely different from most women he had run into. More brash and overly-confident, but he wasn’t stupid, he knew that there was some dark shit buried within the cracks of the mask she wore. But he didn’t push, he didn’t want to push and make her feel uncomfortable, when she was ready, he would be there. 

He revved up the motorcycle and a squeal purred against his back as more frightful laughter came from his friend and for once the leader of the Mud Dogz felt the tension in his body go dull. The howls that parted from her mouth would make anyone laugh with her, even causing him to release a chuckle or two as he turned the corner and into one of the multiple towns of side door restaurants. 

He parked the machine into one of the parking areas behind a building and he could still hear the upchucks of giggles come from the tabby, her claws brushing through her hair to undo the knots. 

“You take all the girls and boys you meet for a ride?” She asked as she flipped her leg over the side and leaned into the bike. 

Leonard could help but stare at the feline as she presented herself on the metal bike, her wine colored jacket edged over the black lining and her thighs jetted out from the tight leggings. Her leveled out hair was loose over her face and her bangs waved over her face as she looked up at him, a raised eyebrow motioned towards him to show that she knew he was eyeing her. 

“Only those stupid enough,” he replied as he rose from his spot and awaited for the feline to follow him into the busy market, the fresh scent of meats and fried food wafted from the corners of the stores. 

The streets that were decorated with food stands were brightened with lined lanterns and the air was warm due to the passing conversations of the animals and plants and the steam from pots and pans. 

 Nova felt her stomach grumble as her eyes darted between the different food stands, the engrossed horde of yokai buzzing around them as they tried to pick which stand to eat from. As Nova darted over to a stand on the far side to have a natural smoothie, she turned to see Leonard talking with someone, and by his face she could tell it was not a good someone. She quickly grabbed her drink and felt balmy rage hit the roof of her mouth as she caught who he was talking to. 

The feline could feel her extended claws trying to push through her fingertips and she shoved them back as she came up behind the female that was talking to him, a slash of ease crossing the ogre’s dark eyes. 

“How’s the cut in your ear, snow leopard?”

The white and grey cat yokai turned with a snarl, the long tear in her ear flicking as Nova recalled the fight, the tabby’s claws sinking into the grey cat’s face and then ripping into her small ear and creating the new scar. 

The snarl dwelled in her white throat as she sent Nova a cocky smile as she turned herself to face both members of the Mud Dogz, her back up against one of the pillars holding up a snack bar. 

“Oh, you’re here, too? I thought you would be off swimming with the fishes,” the female leopard cooed as she rolled her eyes and turned back to Leonard, her eyelids fluttering her sky blue eyes. 

“The names Serena, by the way.” She purred, her fingers working to pull her shirt lower as if she had forgotten him knocking her out and giving her a bloody nose in their last encounter. 

“Oh because you’re such a saint,” the ogre huffed back as he leaned away from the furry yokai and Nova’s tail flicked back and forth in irritation, her mind seeping with her feral instincts as she almost stalked over to her. 

Sunset eyes and sky eyes met in a battle as Nova stood in front of Leonard, Serena only an inch taller than her and she took it to her advantage as much as she could. The sparehire’s in her head looked down at the tabby’s bruised knees that were light against her dark leggings and the pearly cat let out a chuckle. 

“Are your knees always bruised? I’m surprised that so many men would pay for it from you.”

“At least someone wants me on my knees. Is it fun being a guy’s target practice?”  Nova shot back, her finger pointing to the dark white spot on the snow leopard's shirt and she scoffed, but pulled her green jacket closer as Nova let out a chuff. 

Leonard was a little taken aback by the women’s cruel words, as if it was a normal day to insult one another. Well, for Nova it was at least. But he had never seen her like this before, her form almost covering him as if trying to protect him. 

Her tail was lowered but the fur stuck out of its ends and her shoulders were risen from their usually slacked posture. As they continued to slap slander at each other, the green yokai realized that if Serena would move to make herself an inch closer to him, Nova would move as well, her tail swishing side to side and her ears going flat against her brown hair.

The ogre didn’t know much about cat conflicts, but he wasn’t blind and he could scent the traction that vibrated between the two. 

Nova was being territorial of him. 

And Leonard could feel a feverish desire rise over his body as Nova’s tail curled into his chest. 

“So, are you here to seduce yokai for your boss or to fight us?” Nova asked, snapping the ogre out of his thoughts.

Serena shook her short hair with a feral grin, as if she was trying to hide the fact she wanted to rip the cat in front of her in two. 

“Relax, pretty kitty. I won’t make a scene with you two with the public around, someone here has to have some class.”

The tabby opened her mouth to report back but a strong hand was placed between her shoulder blades and she turned to Leonard, his face now leaning from her shoulder.

“Look, if you want to bother someone, go to the corner, you’ll find yokai’s there that are right up your alley, good-bye.”

Nova let a few snickers carry over to the snow leopard as the snow leopard’s face lit up like a stoplight, her black and white ears going back against her head as Leonard led Nova away. 

“What’s up with you making everyone want to kill you?” The ogre grumbled as he took her over to one of the food stands they had chosen. 

“Guess I’m just irresistible,” the cat purred, her once agitated tail now calmly swayed back and forth. 

“More like irritable.”

“And you love it.”

His hand was still in the middle of her back when he looked down at her, her head barely passing his shoulders even with her boots on. The curve of her smile, the flicker of tease that pounced between her eyes, how she was jealous of Serena, it was a side of her he hadn’t seen before. 

It made his heart go rigged in his ribcage as he moved his arm away from her, the warmth and the yearning disappearing as he went back into his own bubble.

Forget it, idiot, she’s just a friend. Only a friend. 

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

After eating, both of them went back to where Leonard had parked his bike, the once lonesome piece of metal was now surrounded with other types of mobilization. Nova held her fist over her mouth to subside a burp as she crashed onto the bike’s seat. 

“Uhhhhhh, why did I eat that fourth taco?" She groaned out as she bent into Leonard’s back as her stomach felt like it was going to bust past her leggings. 

“Because you didn’t want to waste it.”

“Stilllll.”

 The ogre started up his motor and took things a little slow as he drove from his parking spot and into the silent night of the Hidden City. The once busy streets were now barely rode on and only a few animals walked on the sidelines. The feline’s claws barely tugged on his jean jacket as the food that settled in her stomach made her almost fall asleep on his back, until the bright lights of a car behind them blurred past her eyelids. 

The mountain cat turned around to find a dirty jeep speeding up behind them, the figures driving hidden under hoodies that somehow fought against the thrustful wind. 

Nova narrowed her eyes as other jeeps started to follow the leading jeep, more hooded figures filling in the seats, and then past the yellow beams she saw the small tufts of white circular ears. 

“Leonard, we got company,” Nova choked out as the ogre turned to look at what she was talking about. 

“Shit, who is it this time?”

“Well, you did say that I make everyone want to kill me,” she nervously chuckled, and then gave him a nervous smile as he narrowed his eyes at her. 

The first jeep was at the edge of the bike’s bumper now and Nova could see the snow leopard clearly now and the snow cat was sending her own confident smirk as the car hit the edge of the bike. 

Leonard’s lips were slipping curse words as he sped up, his bike roaring to life as it gave it all it had and went further down the highway, the group of jeeps racing after them. 

“Did she really send a whole army after us?!” He hollered as he took a hard right, cutting a car off as he intersected onto another road. 

“She sure does want your number,” Nova joked as her grip on him tightened as the wind pushed against her.

‘Oh I’m so going to have a talk with her later,’ he thought as he opened up a secret compartment on the side of his bike. 

“Here, take this.”

Nova couldn’t help but gasp as the gun was placed in the palm of her hand and she darted her eyes from him and to the gun. 

“YOU HAD THIS THE WHOLE TIME?!”

“It’s for emergencies!”

“HOW LONG DID IT TAKE YOU TO REALIZE THAT THIS IS AN EMERGENCY?!”

“JUST SHOOT!!”

Nova let out a hiss of displeasure as she checked the rounds in it and then once he slowed down for the next turn, she flipped in her seat, her body now facing the rows of vehicles. 

She took aim and shot at one of the jeeps on the left, taking out two of its four tires and watched as the ruined rubber rolled over in its spot and then caused the vehicle to crash into the side of the bridge, the large explosion giving a wave of heat over them as the chase continued. 

“Alright, one down, four to go,” the tabby whispered to herself as she aimed at the next jeep, her eyes widening as she saw them take aim with their own rifles and guns. 

“Len! They got guns as well! Bigger ones too!” She screamed to him as she shot at them to keep them from firing at them. The leader of the Mud Dogz let out a growl of frustration and  turned the bike into a narrow alleyway, the closest jeep coming to a screeching halt before reversing and faded away. 

The feline on the back of the motorcycle let out a sigh of joy as she leaned her back against Leonard’s, her free hand gripping the seat she sat on as they turned back onto a new street, not a jeep in sight. 

And then one crashed right next to them, sending both of the friends screaming in shock as Serena’s jeep closed in on them, her handgun taking aim towards them. 

“Alright, leader, got any plans?”

“Not really!”

“Okay, don’t wait up for me then!”

Leonard turned to question her but the feline had shoved the gun back into its box and lifted herself up into a crouch and once the jeep got close enough, she launched herself onto the hood of the jeep. 

Serena pointed her gun at the feline but she quickly knocked it over, the driver receiving the bullet into his arm and a loud scream echoed through the night. Nova then lifted herself over the mudded window and slammed her boot into the snow leopard’s face, sending the white cat into the back seat. 

Nova then punched the driver in his wounded arm and used the chair and the window panel to hold herself up and used both of her legs to kick him out of his seat, the male yokai rolling out onto the street with a thud. 

In the span of five minutes the mountain cat had taken over the car and was then turning the wheel to strike the jeep next to her, causing the vehicle to rock and the yokai’s in it to lose the grip on their weapons. 

‘I can’t tell if I should confess that I like her or am terrified of her.’

But the ogre swallowed and pulled the gun out she had put back, taking aim to the leftover jeeps and shot into their tires, redirecting the muddy piece of metal over the ledge of the new bridge they were on, the thunderous splash of water the only thing left of them. 

They both turned and surprise watched as the last jeep turned off onto a different road as if giving up on the hunt.

Nova sped up until she was right next to Leonard, a smug smirk crossed her face as they turned a corner, the next bridge they would take would have them home free. 

“You act like you’ve done this before!” Leonard laughed at her and she shrugged her shoulders with a confident flip of her hair.

“Mess with the kitten, you get the claws!” She joked as she tilted her head to laugh at her own joke and then white paws like snow were over her chest to hold her place. 

“Now! Come now!” Serena screamed into a radio she held in her hand. 

Both Leonard and Nova turned to see the last jeep come from its hiding place, like a predator staying in plain sight for its prey. 

“Leonard!”

Nova elbowed the snow leopard in the face and sped up the jeep, the hunk of metal taking the hit as the ogre’s motorcycle got out of the way. 

Nova held onto the wheel as the jeep t-boned in the passenger seat, rocking the car onto its side and then into a roll onto the bridge until it rammed up against the stone railing, the girl’s heads inches away from making contact with the rocks. Serena was pushed into the ground while Nova’s seatbelt held her in place, cuts now sliced into her skin and she had bitten her lip hard enough to cause it to bleed. 

She could faintly hear her name being called out but it almost seemed like everything was fuzzy, her vision, her hearing, even the blood that was trickling down her throat was fizzy like pop. 

The leader of the Mud Dogz had left his motorcycle on the side of the bridge and was racing over to the wreckage, but had to take cover behind a pillar as the last standing jeep started to fire at him. 

The tabby released a groan and spat up a few drops of blood as she felt the spark of flame flicker next to her, instantly waking her to her full senses. 

‘Come on, can’t I catch a break?!’

She lifted her hands up, her digits and elbows ached with pain but they weren’t broken as she undid her seatbelt, her arms barely supporting her as her shoulder slammed into the concrete. The snow leopard was motionless next to her and a big gash was bleeding from the back of her head. 

The mountain cat grunted as she pushed past the wheel and watched as the fire started to creep around her like a nightmare come to life. Her now stained paw pushed the small roped door of the jeep and crawled her way out, the broken up cement tearing into her elbows and forearms as she made distance between her and the fire. 

Leonard had taken out two of the yokai’s, the last of them ever so slightly getting closer with their larger rifles with more ammunition than his small handgun. He turned back to the rubble of metal scraps and raised his eyebrows in horror as the red hands of death started to consume the fire as its own, a barely breathing creature laid in a pile next to it. 

Leonard felt strength and courage rise in him as he turned back to his two main targets, giving it all he had so they wouldn’t see her trying to get away from the burning debris. 

Nova wheezed in the fresh air into her bruised lungs as she tried to get onto her hands and feet, but a pair of hands engulfed her hair into a bundle and had her rise to her feet. 

“Hey, hey! Only my dominatrix can do this!”

“Ugh! Do you ever shut up?!”

Serena dragged the feline out into the edge of the bridge and threw her down, a few strings of hair pulled from Nova’s hair and hung off of the leopard’s nails. The leopard's face was painted with blood from her wound, the only white that shined against it was her fangs that gleamed in the city lights. She bent down and dug her hand into Nova’s skull and pushed her face into the ground, the red liquid dripping onto the side of Nova’s face. 

“Y’know, your type always acts like they’re so strong and confident with themselves,” she snarled into her ear, her knee digging into the tabby’s scarred back to keep her in place. 

“But we all see that you’re just sad and scared. That when moments like this come all you can do is joke and hope that your charm can save the day.”

“I didn’t know that villains actually monologue like this! What’s next? You’re going to tell me how mommy didn’t love you and daddy left once he knocked her up?!

Serena let out a fake roar and slammed Nova’s head into the cement, the feline letting out a wail, causing the other fight to look over. 

In Leonard’s fight the guns had been dropped and there was nothing left but fists and kicks, his knuckles busted and split open, unfortunately the bad guys had gotten a few hits in his face and over his chest. 

The snow leopard lifted Nova’s head up towards the ogre with a sinister smile as her nails dug into her scalp. 

“Take a long look, ogre, because this pretty face will be at the bottom of this bridge before I’m done with it!”

Nova let out a cargled laugh as she looked up at the snow leopard and then back at Leonard. 

“Hey Len, she’s got an extra stain on her shirt. Which goon do you think it was?”

“Really Nova?! Joking now?!”

“Well, it distracted her.”

The mountain cat had wrapped her claws around Serena’s ankle and used it to flip herself over and with her feet now placed into the snow leopard’s stomach she lifted her over her and straight into the gushing river below, the feline letting out angrish cries as she was swallowed by the dark liquid. 

Nova rose to her feet and looked at her friend and then to the last standing bad guy, her large eyebrows raised in annoyance. 

“Can you, uhh, finish your fight so we can leave?”

The ogre raised his fist and made contact with the yokai’s face, knocking her straight out as he came over to where Nova was limping, his arms barely coming up in time to catch her as she leaned into him. 

“Did you know that snow leopards aren’t the best swimmers, so she’ll be at the bottom of the bridge instead of me,” The feline joked into his chest, the dots of blood that were spilled on her face smearing into his dusty shirt. 

Leonard pushed her away with his hands on her shoulders and he brushed a few loose strands out of her face and Nova believed that the heat of the crash was making her sizzle like a fryer. 

Why was he staring at her like that? The worry that burned in his face was unmistakable as the feline felt like she might pass out due to his comforting touch. 

“Are you okay?”

Nova’s tail curled against her back as she couldn’t help but lean into his hand, his calloused and strong hand that seemed to hold her effortlessly. Blame it on all the adrenaline or the loss of blood, but she let him hold her as she finally let the throbbing pulse of her wounds settle. 

“Yeah. Yeah I’m fine. You?”

“One kicked me between the legs and I’m screaming on the inside.”

“Don’t worry, your future children will be fine. Somewhat if they turn out like you.”

The mountain cat hissed as weight was placed on her right leg, a long gash on her calf making her come to a halt. 

The ogre turned to her and let her go from his hold, only to bend down and wrap his arms around her thighs and throw her onto his back,a smile breaking against his lips as she let out a small mew of surprise as she gripped his shoulders for support. 

“You know the bike is only a few feet away, right?”

“You know you’re still irresistible.”

“What?”

“Irritable. I said irritable.”

[heartofsnark]

This Is Love (Chapter Eleven): Angels of Doubt, Bearing Broken Halos

Notes; The chapter title is pretentious as fuck, but I don’t care. I’m very happy with the beginning of this chapter so I’m very excite to finally let y’all read it fully. Overall, this chapter definitely is more of the build up that this uhhhh nice little religious family mayyyyyhaps be a bit less nice than originally thought.

Word Count:  10451

Chapter Warnings: Cult Angels, Animal Death (in the context of dangerous wildlife needing to be put down), A Judge Wolf, Indoctrination, Assault, Me Awkwardly trying to write himbo Nick Rye for the first time

For chapter one and the warnings about this fic’s overarching themes, please click here!

For the previous chapter; click here!

They don’t go to The Spread Eagle that night, staying too late making plans. But it’s all for the best in the end, Casey would be more busy in the evening and if she’s interrupting his work, he’ll be less likely to listen. It’ll be easier to talk to him tomorrow just as the bar opens, before anyone arrives and during down time. Regardless, when she comes back to the trailer park. She breaks next to the registration building, checking her mailbox in case Cassie or Joseph had wrote her back, but no such luck. Maybe it will take a while for them to even get it?

A breeze passes through as she leaves the building, that familiar flower smell itching at her nose. The trailer park has fields of those white flowers surrounding it, the delicate petals seem ghostly in the moonlight. Moonflowers, the trailer park has to be named after them, these flowers that haunt her in her dreams. A shift of movement, far back in the expanse of flowers catches her eye. Someone tending to the flowers with a hoe, but she doesn’t know anyone in the trailer park who takes care of the flowers. Surely, if they had a grounds keeper, they’d start with the trash within area; not the flowers surrounding it. 

Dahlia decides to park her bike before investigating, not wanting to leave it in the open while she journeys through the flowers. She pulls out her phone once she’s parked, tucking one earbud in. If only to ease her nerves as she walks to confront the odd stranger. 

“When you told me I should text your brother.

I was walking with a blunt in my hand.

Double Jameson was in the other.

I was drinking like a spiritual man.”

She stands at the edge of the field of flowers, little the scent tickle her nose, watching the…person in the distance. Their gender, or at least presentation of it, unidentifiable. She blinks her eyes, when did she start seeing spots? Her tension eases, body and mind relaxing. 

“I was just talkin’ to Jesus in my hotel room.

I was just talkin’ to Jesus in my hotel room”

And she walks further through the flowers, brushing through them, fractals blurring her vision with every step. Her head swims and floats away, fuzzy as the smell surrounds her. She drags her fingers along the blossoms as she walks, grounding herself with their velvet touch, the contrast of her black painted fingernails against them. 

“And I could barely stand

He said, "Get some water, man"

'Cause they don't understand

I'm not what they think I am”

As she nears them with every unsteady step, she sees them more clearly. And truly they’re a ghastly sight. Shaved head and dirty white clothes; the smell of the flowers strengthens as she nears them, turning acrid with an edge. That smell comes from them, like they’d bathed in chemicals infused with the flowers. The mask latched around their grime coated face, covering their mouth is marked with the Eden’s Gate symbol. They pay her no mind, focused on tending to the moonflowers, their eyes are glazed nearly white and milky. Like Dahlia’s eyes looked her first night in Hope County, when she dreamed of Faith despite having never met her. 

“They can never ever understand me, no

What I came from, what I was before”

“Are you…okay?” She asks them, despite her own swimming vision and weak knees. 

“HelpmeFaithhelpmeFaithshieldmefromsorrow.” 

They grumble, not sing, the lyrics to one of Eden’s Gate’s songs. Their voice a rasp as if they can hardly breathe, each word running into the other, energy manic.  The moonlight shining on gaunt cheeks and white eyes makes them look dead, a walking corpse before her. She reaches out, gingerly touching their shoulder, hoping touch can break through whatever state they’re in. 

And then they scream, swing the garden hoe and bashing it against the side of Dahlia’s head. She’s knocked to the ground, head hitting rock and dirt. The creature screams out and jumps on her, trying to maul her. Vacant eyes staring down at her, her body and head too fuzzy to even give it the reaction it deserves. She should be scared, she should be terrified, but she isn’t. 

Gently, she puts her hands on each side of the person’s neck, applying pressure, not enough to strangle but to hold it at slight distance. It tries to dig dirty fingers into her flesh through her jacket, screaming mangled cries of pain or anger, she can’t tell as she looks over its face. The haunting glow of moonlight on their dirty face. 

“How you get to heaven with a broke halo?

How you get to heaven with a broke halo?”

“Help me, Faith,” Dahlia sings the song it used to soothe itself, “help me Faith, shield me from sorrow… From fear of tomorrow…”

And a switch has been flipped, it stops screaming. Body going lax, fingers no longer trying to tear her apart as she sings the church song, own voice overlapping the contrasting melody of her music. 

“Help me Faith, help me Faith, shield me from sadness…From worry and madness…” 

And it’s slipping out of her loosening hold and climbing off her, resuming it’s gardening work, as if she never existed at all. On trembling legs and with her vision still blurring, she leaves, not sure of what else to do. A part of her knows she should be more panicked, more concerned, more anything, but then she takes another inhale the floral scent around her and she can’t find the energy. It fades as she leaves the flowers and their scent behind, vision steadying as she enters her trailer, the full reality dawning on her just as she shuts the door behind her. 

“What the actual fuck!?” She screams at her empty living room, because what the actual fuck did she just see?  Her mouth is dry and her brain a mess as distress finally shines through the haze. 

Dahlia digs her phone out, shutting off her music and doing a search. Her vision is still fuzzy with prisms of shifting colors, body still light and floaty. They were there the first time she saw Faith, they constantly itch her nose and make her eyes see things. The church compound was covered in bushels of them.  

Moonflowers, she searches, and sure enough the images show the white trumpet shaped blossoms. Also called datura, angel trumpets and it’s down a rabbit hole. They’re toxic and hallucinogenic, can be harvested for either medication or poison. Scopolamine and atropine are in them; Dahlia does not even remotely know jack shit about chemistry. But a quick search shows scopolamine has been used in everything from nausea medicine to truth serum. So…she may have just hallucinated the person? From the flowers… but when she touches her forehead, where the person stuck her, blood stains her fingers. She really did get hurt…

Dahlia grabs her sketchbook, sitting down on the floor before her coffee table as she’s done so many times before, and she draws what she saw. Painstakingly she tries to recreate them, to draw the gaunt of their cheeks and the grime on their skin. To catch the white emptiness of their eyes. And she dates the drawing, scratching out the date in as neatly as she can. And on the next page she draws her first weird dream, sketching herself vomiting flowers and blood, those moonflowers. She adds the rough date she remembers it happening in the corner when she’s satisfied. Then she draws herself burnt and marred with flowers blooming from her mangled remains, hand moving of it’s own accord to match the details, shutting out the rest of the world as she works to carefully craft every line. She dates it as well and then draws the newest one, smears of ink on bare skin with flowers blooming from them. 

Once each image is created with a date etched in its corner, she sits back and rakes a hand through her hair. She’s had nightmares before this, certainly, but never as frequent or vivid as these. Flowers are the recurring theme and she’s not sure why; maybe the datura are doing it? The scent of them always present, making her sleeping brain conjure odd images. She already has a list of things to do; the apple festival is the highest priority, but she still wants to know what each flower means and what on earth is working in those flower fields, what connection it has to Eden’s Gate. 

She’s exhausted, graphite from her pencil smudged and sticking to her hand. But she feels more at ease having put her demons into art, having created something out of this. There’s still a lot of questions in her mind. This constant back in forth of trusting the church only to doubt them again is frustrating. 

Dahlia barely manages not to fall asleep in the shower that night, exhaustion clinging heavy to her leaden muscles and pulling at her eyelids when she lays down on her couch. 

The junior deputy is running on two hours of sleep, coffee, and an energy drink the next morning. But that doesn’t stop her from swinging into The Spread Eagle as soon as it opens, Pratt in tow since they’re technically on shift. 

“Something wrong, deputies?” Mary May asks when they stride in, Dahlia can already see Casey through the kitchen window, prepping food for the later in the evening. 

“No, we actually just wanted to talk to you and Casey about something.” 

“What’s up?” Mary May raises an eyebrow and the chef’s head perks up. 

Dahlia explains Debbie and Doug’s situation, that John is trying to buy them out, at the very mention of the Seed sibling’s name she can see Mary May tense. But the tension lessens, smiles on the bartender and cook’s face when the deputy mentions their plans for an apple festival. 

“I know we could use more cooks selling food there and Debbie mentioned you work with the Testy Festy, Casey.” 

“Plus, figured the band that plays here, might be willing to work a night or two if you talked to ‘em Mary May.” 

“Look, you had me at pissing off John Seed,” Mary May says, grinning, “I’ll talk to the band and Casey, you damn well better help them out.” 

“Come around here, sister,” Casey calls out, voice deep and booming as she walks around into the kitchen already warm as starts prepping food, he spares her a glance as he minces vegetables, “your destiny hangs off you like a coat, the soul of a warrior, and the heart of a hero.” 

Dahlia blinks, taken aback by his unabashed and weirdly soulful compliments. She doesn’t really believe in destiny nor does she see herself as a warrior or hero, but she certainly appreciates the thought. Her heart, that of a hero apparently, warms and she smiles after another second.

“So…you’ll help?” 

“It’s important for people to gather, to bond, and feel a sense of community.  I’ll call Deb and Doug to offer any help I can.” 

“Thank you so much!” Dahlia grins: Casey is definitely an odd duck, but he cares about the community and willing to help. So, a fantastic guy in her book. 

“Happy to help, sister.” 

First two people dragged into their plan, Pratt and Dahlia give some friendly goodbyes before being on their way. This is already coming together and Stray is nearly vibrating with excitement as they leave the bar. 

The pair continue to do their patrol while swinging in to talk with folks about the festival. They swing by Lorna’s Truck Stop, Dahlia unable to resist snapping a picture of the giant cheesy cow statue outside of it before they walk in, door chiming.  An older woman is talking to someone in a green hood, the woman with chubby cheeks and blue eyes pushing a little bag of mini pies into the hooded person’s bruised hands. 

“Here you go, Jess, on the house as always.” 

“Thanks,” the hooded girl responds, an awkward gruff to the words before she leaves. When Dahlia catches a sight of her, Jess has a face of mottled bruises and cuts. 

“Anything I do for you, Deputies?” 

“We were hoping you could help us out, Lorna,” Pratt starts. 

And just like Casey and Mary May; Lorna’s all bright smiles and kind eyes, happy to help. Even pushing bags of the free small handmade pies into the deputy’s hands before they go. There is something undeniably heartwarming at everyone’s willingness to help. She crams one of the little pasties into her mouth, sugary berries on her tongue as they get back into the cruiser. 

The shift passes by with ticketing traffic violations and stopping in to rope people into helping out. Hudson and Brennan sending texts letting Dahlia know that Grace has agreed to help and Adelaide will too if only so her boytoy Xander can have a smoothie stand during the festival. Riding through the valley, Dahlia sees a billboard advertising gun lubricant, Grace Armstrong’s face plastered on it, though her eyes on the board seem off. Dahlia too far away to put her finger on it, but it looks like that part of the advert has been damaged.  An award-winning sniper and veteran; well loved in the community. Dahlia only saw a glimpse of her at the barbecue, talking with Hudson, but it seems clear just how important she is to the county. 

Within an hour of their shift ending, Doug and Debbie have them called out to the orchard. Their smiles are bright, the middle-aged couple holding each when the deputies pull in. Pratt’s still trying to pretend to have a grumpy face but there’s still a slight smile pulling at his lips as they get out of the cruiser. 

Arms are wrapping around Dahlia in a second, Debbie pulling her into a tight hug, the young deputy tenses hands hovering awkwardly at the woman’s sides. 

“Thank you, so much,” Debbie says, pulling away but her hands still on Dahlia’s shoulders, “we’ve been getting calls all day, everyone wants to help us do this, thank you so much.” 

“Uh, yeah, it’s no problem…just happy to help,” Dahlia flusters under the attention, proud of what she’s done, but squirming under the weight of gratitude. 

“Well, we certainly appreciate it,” Doug tells her with a smile, “but we called you out ‘cause we got some flyers made, figure’d it help advertise, though word of mouth already seems to be doing us a lot of good.” 

“We could definitely hand them out, see if some places are willing to hang them up too.” 

“And now we’re the flyer brigade,” Pratt grumbles under his breath and Dahlia jabs her elbow into his side. 

“I’ve already been coming up with everything I wanna sell at the festival, but if you two have some free time Sunday, I could use some taste testers too,” Debbie offers, with a smile, “least I can do is feed you for all your help.” 

“Yeah, I can do that,” Dahlia agrees readily. 

“I…could probably swing by.” Pratt tries so hard to sound above it all, but free apple pie can apparently draw even him in. 

“Can’t wait to see you both then!” 

They wave goodbye to the couple, Dahlia packing the flyers with her into the cruiser car. The ending hours of their shift and the day is spent finding places to hang them up. Mary May posting them in The Spread Eagle, hanging in the window of the garage and general store, Whitehorse even letting it be posted up in the window of the department.  Dahlia’s ride home that night takes longer as she stops at places to ask if they’d hang up the advertisement; after getting Lorna’s Truck Stop and Audrey’s Diner to put them up. Dahlia stops at the Hollyhock Saloon, bartender agreeing to hang it up in the small bar, the rookie deputy giving a quick hello to Brennan and some of the other officers gathered at his table. The 8-bit Pizza bar hangs them up without any question, happy to help, and Dahlia manages to convince Darcy to hang it up in the registration building of the trailer park before she heads in for the night. Dahlia crashes easily that night, sleep finding her as soon as she hits the couch.  

The next day Stray is hit with déjà vu as they’re called out to deal with Eden’s Gate blocking another road. She’s still not sure why this is apparently a thing they do. And to her misfortune it’s not Waylon or members of the church she likes waiting behind the cement block when they pull up this time; but Theodore and Lonny. Because of course. 

“Deputies,” Lonny forces a smile, “to what do we owe the pleasure?” 

“Well, you’re breaking the law, so there’s that,” Pratt says with a roll of his eyes. 

“Yeah, heard you two gave some of our members a hard time about blocking off a road,” Theodore comments, arms crossed over his chest. 

“I’ll refer you back to the fact it’s against the law,” Dahlia grumbles, “why on earth are you blocking the road anyway?”

“Got some property nearby that needs some work.” 

“The church own a lot a property?” Dahlia raises an eyebrow, that was Waylon’s reasoning too. 

“Soon to be even more when John secures the orchard for us,” Lonny has too wide of a grin as he looks Dahlia over, “though rumor has it some little cop is trying to get in the way.” 

“Irrelevant, you’re breaking the law. Just scram and there won’t be any issues.”

“Look, h-“ 

“We’ll be going then, deputy,” Theodore puts a hand on Lonny’s back, reigning him in. Though the way Lonny sneers tells Dahlia that their conflict is only resolved for the moment. 

Regardless, Pratt and her watch as the men yet again pack away the blocks and clear the road out. Dahlia still can’t quite figure out why on earth they’d need to or would want to block the roads. Between that and the strange person she saw in the flowers, bearing the churches symbol, things just seem to get weirder and weirder. She considers for a moment asking the church members there about the person with the shaved head, but she has a feeling asking more questions will just put her higher up on Lonny and Theodore’s shit-lists. 

“Still don’t get why they keep blocking the roads,” Dahlia comments when they get back in the patrol car. 

“They’re assholes, what more reason they need.” Pratt shrugs before starting the cruiser engine and Dahlia just doesn’t feel like it’s that simple. 

“Well, if they do it again, we don’t really have a choice but to arrest ‘em do we?” 

“Can’t let them get away with shit forever; three strikes seem fair.” 

Questions still run through her mind; but there’s no way of getting answers at the moment, left to bury her curiosity as they leave back down the winding roads. Hours pass and bright blues shift to pastel pinks as the sun sets upon Hope County. 

That evening at The Spread Eagle, she’s listening to Pratt and Hudson argue about something; she can’t even be sure what but she’s just amused to not be at the butt of the humor tonight. She’s cramming fries into her mouth when she feels eyes on her. 

“That’d be her right there,” Mary May says, pointed out at Dahlia as she talks to a man the young officer has only seen in passing. Shaggy dark hair under a cap and beard on his face, though the last time she saw him he’d been wearing glasses. She thinks it’s Nick, only having seen a glance of him at his own barbecue. 

“If I’m in some sort of trouble, I’d like fair warning, Mary May.” Dahlia comments, unsure why anyone would be trying to find her in a crowd. The blonde’s smile eases her nerves as she comes across the bar, the man walking Dahlia’s way. 

“No trouble, Deputy, Nick here was just wanting to know which one of you started the apple festival. He’s going fly a banner ad around for Debbie and Doug.” 

“Oh, that’s awesome.” 

“I just wanted to find out who was helping them out, Nick Rye,” he introduces himself, sticking his hand out for her to shake. 

“Pleasure to meet you.” 

“I’ve been crop dusting for Doug and Debbie for years, last thing anyone needs is for John to get his hands on that place.”

“That seems to be most people’s sentiment.” 

“Told ya just about everyone is sick of his shit,” Mary May says with a shake of her head, “it’s about time he doesn’t get what he wants.” 

“That son of a bitch has been hounding me and Kim for months now, trying to buy our place.”  Nick’s jaw clenches, irritation coming off him in waves. 

“I know Kim damn near broke his nose for it.” 

“Wait what?” Dahlia raises an eyebrow; how often does John harass people? 

“Listen to this,” Nick gesture emphatically, now sitting down next to Dahlia, “asshole shows up to the house while I’m gone, trying to bully Kim into selling the damn place, while she’s pregnant. What kind of sick fuck shows up at a man’s house while he’s gone and tries to strongarm his wife into signing the place over. Fuckers lucky I wasn’t home.” 

“You not being home was kind of the point of when he showed up.,” Mary May reminds him, “besides, no offense, but even ready to pop I think I trust Kim’s right hook protected her more than yours ever could.” 

“Now, that’s just mean,” Nick says with a slight pout to his face, reminding Dahlia of a tall puppy dog. 

“It’s okay Nick, anything you lack in strength you make up for in…” Mary May seems to have to search for the next word, normally brains would be the natural contrast, “well, you just keep being you.” 

“Never really thought about being anyone else; well except maybe an eagle, but I don’t think that counts.”  

“No, it doesn’t really count, Nick,” Mary May says with a slight laugh.

Dahlia stifles her own laugh raising an eyebrow at the ridiculous turn of the conversation. Nick is sweet and willing to help out with the festival, so she won’t spend too much time questioning his desire to be an eagle. It’s not long before Pratt and Hudson fall into conversation with the pilot; allowing Dahlia to comfortably settle into the background as the night winds down.

It’s not even the noon the following day before things around Hope County manage to pick up pace.  Sirens and lights flashing as Pratt rushes them up north towards the mountain; there’s a palpable tension. Crisis situations are rare; most days filled with handing out traffic tickets and dealing with roadblocks. Hell, the county is boring enough that the sheriff would allow them to actively work on a festival during shift hours. So, a call requesting EMS, all deputies and units, and the F.A.N.G Center; is definitely out of the normal. 

They see the gathering of people as they pull up, Whitehorse is talking with workers in F.A.N.G Center shirts, Hudson and other officers gathered around and EMS workers carrying someone into the back of an ambulance. 

“Pratt, Rookie; over here now!” The sheriff calls out for them and they rush over. 

“What’s going on?” Pratt is the one to ask. 

“Wolf, possibly rabid, but we don’t know. It attacked a pair of hikers. We tried to tranq it but nothing is bringing it down, we gotta find it and put it down before it hurts anyone else.” The F.A.N.G Center employee explains to them. 

“No way to get around killing it?” Dahlia asks, she understands it can’t always be avoided, but she would prefer not to.  

“We hit that damn thing with enough tranq to take down an elephant and it still tried to maul us before running off; tried to get it with a snare pole and it broke it. We can’t rehabilitate an animal we can’t get near and if we let it go; it’ll hurt someone else.” 

“You heard the man, alright,” Whitehorse’s voice booms as he starts addressing everyone, commanding attention “we got a wolf to find, grown wolf, white fur and aggressive. I want everyone to stay in groups; we have tranquilizers, snare poles, and what’s used to put ‘em down. We want to try to do it as humanely as possible but protect yourselves and keep an ear to your radio. We need to make sure the trails are safe and can’t let anyone else get bit; move out!”

The deputies are given tranquilizer guns, the snare poles, and syringes filled with pentobarbital. Though, given what they’ve been told, she’s not completely sure how effective any of it will be. If the wolf has enough tranquilizers to take down an elephant in it already and is still moving; as well as having previously broken one of the snare poles, then how on earth is any of this suppose to work? 

But she doesn’t voice these concerns as she follows after Pratt, Hudson, and another police officer tagging along so they can maintain a decent sized group per Whitehorse’s instructions. 

The mountains are beautiful, she thought that when she’s gone hiking before, but even during this tense situation she finds herself amazed by how gorgeous it is. Bright green summer grass and towering trees as far as the eye can see. Mountains that reach up to kiss the bright blue sky. 

Dahlia stays at the back of the group, letting Pratt and Hudson lead as she keeps her ears and eyes peeled for anything suspicious. The sneer pole is across her shoulders, her wrists on top and holding it there as she walks. She half listens to Pratt and Hudson talk; something about people making up werewolf rumors because the wolves have been acting wilder and wilder lately. She’s reminded of her meal at the Grill Steak, that man who warned a group of people about wolves. He claimed they were trained by Eden’s Gate; but those still just sound like conspiracy theories. 

Tension crawls up Stray’s spine, skin forming goosebumps at the sensation of being watched, then the sound of snapping branches coming from forests that surround the trail she walks along. She moves without thinking, leaving the trail and her group behind, following where she heard the noise. 

Branches and brush scratch at her arms as she ventures deeper into the wooded area; then she sees his back. Jacob Seed, why does there always seem to be a member of their family just around the corner when trouble happens? 

“Something you need,” he says, not bothering to turn and face her, examining his red rifle. 

“You shouldn’t be out here.” 

“I shouldn’t be,” he spares her a glance over his shoulder, blue eyes rife with condescension, “last time I checked it’s a free country, ain’t it?” 

“That’s not what I mean. There’s a wolf running around; possibly rabid. It’s not safe for you to be out here alone.” 

And he laughs; dry and deep, the sound making her raise her eyebrows. Why is the idea of being mauled by a rabid wolf so funny to him?

“You worrying about me?” He asks, finally turning to face her in full, shifting the bright red gun to the holster on his back. 

“I mean, yes? My job is keeping the public safe and you are a member of the public.” 

“Pfff, you’re just a pup,” he says walking past her, “be better off watching out for yourself.” 

His hand is large and rough as it ruffles her hair while he walks by; his palm and fingers nearly encompassing the entire top of her head. His hand is probably bigger than her face she realizes, heat flushing up her face though she’s not sure of why. He’s so condescending and patronizing and fucking giant; the last point isn’t entirely relevant but it’s still true. 

“I’m a deputy, don’t patronize me.” She says, reaching up to grab his hand from her head, capturing it in her own. His rough scarred hand is nearly double the size of her own; warm calloused skin against her own. 

“You having fun there?” He asks, when she doesn’t let go of his hand right away, instead pressing her small hand back against his palm, comparing the immense size difference. He really could probably wrap one hand around her entire head. 

“Your hands are so big, wow.” 

“’Preciate it pup.”  

And he laughs again, still dry and brief in it’s sound, pulling his giant hand from her smaller one before he leaves. She glares at his back; corded muscle shifting beneath his black tee shirt. Despite her pout, she can understand why he’d see her unable to defend herself in comparison to him. She’s been confident in her physical abilities for a while; but she imagines a man like Jacob isn’t scared of anything. 

“Rook, where the hell are you?” Pratt’s voice crackles over her radio as Jacob walks off. 

“There was a hunter out here, I was warning him about the wolf,” Dahlia explains herself, she wasn’t suppose to leave the group per Whitehorse’s orders, but no one could blame her for warning a civilian. There’s something odd about thinking of Jacob as just a hunter or civilian; though she’s not quite sure why. 

“We’re in the woods near the Visitor’s Center, get over here, you pain in the ass.” 

The radio crackles out and Dahlia gets on her way; she knows the Visitor’s Center is south of where she is. Though she has no sense of direction, so that has little bearing on her ability to find it. She hikes down, feeling that’s the closest approximation to south that she can get, sticking a little closer to the woods than the paths. She prefers the shade and atmosphere of being surrounded by the trees. 

But the further she travels down, the sparser the trees grow, exposing Dahlia to the sun. Green grass and branches crushing underfoot as she stumbles down the terrain. She can just imagine Pratt and Hudson’s frustration, but warning someone about a rabid wolf is certainly understandable.

A drawn-out howl echoes through the woods, making the deputy freeze. Sunlight is warm on her face and stinging at her eyes as she turns towards the sound. A spire of craggy rocks coming off the mountain; the silhouette of a wolf howling with the sun behind it. She uses her hand to shield from the sunlight, straining to see more detail. Seven distinct darts stick from the wolves back; tranquilizers. 

Dahlia quickly tugs her uniform shirt off from over her black tank top, wrapping the fabric around her forearm. Not quite the cushioned guard they use for training police dogs, but it will provide some barrier between it’s bite and her skin. Worse case scenario, she’ll be taking rabies shots once everything is done. She holds the syringe of pentobarbital in one hand, she has her firearm too if that’s unable to bring the wolf down, but she prefers to let it go peacefully if she can. 

She stays crouched down as she approaches the peaked edge of the mountain, craggy rock building up to a spire, levels to climb up to reach the clearing where the wolf sits. Dahlia stays low as she climbs, moving as quietly as she can, using a blue grappling hook handle to help lift herself up to the final level. There’s a gap in the clearing; a log showing a passage between craggy rock to craggy rock; boulders surrounded by grass. She can see the wolf, but it’s yet to noticed her, another howl echoing out as it cries out to the sky. 

It’s beautiful and she’s all at once ashamed that it has to be put down. Matted white fur with a black nose and lips; it’s eyes are luminously silver, like moonlight. Red is mottled across it’s face, red frothing around it’s mouth, as well as a brighter crimson stroked across it’s brow and down it’s nose. Across it’s furred shoulder blade and spine are seven different tranquilizer darts that were shot at it, how has it not passed out? It doesn’t see her not right away, then it’s nostrils twitch and it’s lips pull back to snarl, red tinged drool dripping down it’s maw. Then it’s gaze is on her, growling and baring it’s teeth. 

And then it pounces.  

She puts up her cloth wrapped forearm, the force of it’s body hitting hers knocks her onto her back. It’s teeth snap into the fabric, as it tries to chew through her arm, the edges of fangs just grazing the flesh beneath. One large paw presses against her wrist, attempting to pin her limb down so it can rip the meat off her bones. 

Dahlia pulls back the plunger on the syringe before slamming the needle into the thick of the wolves neck, sinking through fur and flesh before she pushes the chemical through. The wolf snarls through it’s bite on it, then she watches that shine in it’s silver eyes die. It’s mouth goes slack and then it’s body falls limp on top of her. 

The deputy pushes the wolves dead weight off of her, getting up onto her feet, she touches the torn shirt wrapped around her forearm. Drool and blood has stained the green, small damage done to her skin under. It stings but nothing she can’t deal with; the idea of getting rabies shots worries her more. She crouches over the wolf and looks at it’s face, the red around it’s mouth is darker, rusted and clearly blood. But the brighter more purposeful crimson looks like paint. 

She remembers the warnings she overheard in the Grill Steak before; someone warning conservationists about wolves owned by Eden’s Gate. Though, he called them a cult. It’s not for sure or a real connection; conspiracy theories and paint. But, who could have gotten close enough to paint the wolf’s face? Who would want to? 

“Rookie,” Pratt’s voice crackles over her radio. 

“Pratt…” 

“Rook, if you’re not here in five minutes, I’m gonna kick your ass,” Hudson threatens in the background. 

“Please, she’d probably like that.” 

Dahlia’s face flushes at Pratt’s teasing, she can’t say he’s completely wrong, but that’s not the point.  She hefts the wolf’s corpse up onto her shoulder, carrying it’s heavy weight, the head of the furry creature beside her head. It’s fur is soft and thick despite the matted nature. She’s not big on hunting culture, but the wolf would make a nice rug. 

“I got the wolf,” she says into her radio, holding it in one hand while the other keeps the carcass steady on her shoulder as she carefully makes her way down the craggy rocks. 

“What?” 

“I got the wolf,” she repeats to Pratt’s flat question. 

“What? Wh-where the fuck are you?.” 

“I’m on a big ass like spirally mountain thing.” 

“That tells us literally nothing,” Hudson informs her.

“Uhhhh,” Dahlia looks over the edge, of the elevated mountainside, “I think I see a helipad nearby?” 

“Fuck, I know where you are, stay put. Okay, do not approach the wolf.” 

“Uhhh, I think you misunderstood me.” 

“What do you mean?” Pratt asks and she can just imagine his raised eyebrow. 

“I mean, I got the wolf, I already put it down. We can call off the search, but, uh, I think we have bigger issues.” 

“Did you get hurt again?” 

“Hey,” she objects to his tone, “you make it sound like I’m always getting hurt.” 

“You didn’t answer me.”

“No, I did not get…seriously hurt.” 

“Oh lord,” Hudson grumbles in the background. 

“Look, that’s not the issue, alright. Just get up here and let Whitehorse know what’s going on, okay?” 

“Yeah, yeah.” 

Dahlia finds a steady rock in the clearing to pull herself up onto as she waits, since apparently Hudson and Pratt have figured out where she is. She tries to look for anything else on the wolf that could indicate it being owned; but nothing. Dahlia does find herself wondering why it’s fur is white? Aren’t white wolves usually those in snowy climates, for camouflage? 

She doubts she’ll receive any answers, so she tries to quiet her mind. The sun warms her skin where she sits on the rock, white wolf still up on her shoulder, ripped uniform shirt still wrapped around her forearm. It all forms an odd picture, she’s certain. 

It’s less than an hour or so before she hears the rustle of footsteps; Hudson and Pratt along with the other officer walking up the way to her. Pratt just stops a second and shakes his head, Hudson is rolling her eyes. 

“Hello,” Dahlia says with a soft wave. 

“What the actual fuck, Rook?” 

And she cracks up; unable to help but laugh at the absolute absurdity of the situation and Hudson’s flat response. She may have already hit the highlight of her career here. 

“Stop laughing; it’s not funny, you could have gotten seriously hurt!” Pratt tries to scold her but he’s laughing through his words, the oddity of it all must be hitting him as well. Dahlia presses a hand to mouth to try and stifle her laughter as Hudson gets her radio out. 

The senior deputy radios Whitehorse, letting him know they’ve gotten the wolf. He tells them where to meet him with the body, so the veterinarian and F.A.N.G Center workers can examine it. Dahlia will be reliant on actually listening and following obediently behind the older deputies.

“C’mon, Rookie, let go.”

“Alright.” Dahlia hops down from her rock and starts to follow after them down the mountain. 

“You need help packing that?” Pratt offers, probably because the wolf is nearly the length of her entire body. 

“Nah.” 

“You just feel cool packing the wolf on your back, don’t you?” Hudson is the one to call her out, raising her eyebrow with a soft smirk on her lips, looking entirely too pretty. 

“Uhhh….” 

“God, you’re a dork.” 

“I can’t really argue with that,” Dahlia admits with a red face and shrug of her shoulders, happy to see Pratt and Hudson smiling at her dorkiness. 

“What happened with the hunter you were warning?” Pratt asks after a beat of silence as they keep walking, helping her over a craggy step with a hand on her hip to keep her steady as the weight of the wolf limits her movements.  

“Uh, asshole just patronized me and left. I don’t know why I still talk to him, he’s always a dick,” she says, rolling her eyes when she thinks about Jacob calling her a pup. He likes to comment on her being a puppy a lot. 

“Someone you knew?” Hudson asks, offering a hand to help Dahlia get over a large branch in the way of the path. The ease at which the two older deputies silently help her, makes a soft smile pull at Dahlia’s lips. Silently grateful for them as she answers their questions. 

“Jacob Seed.” 

“Seriously?’ 

“What?” 

“You don’t find it a little fuckin’ weird how the Seeds are always around you?” 

“I mean, they’re not around me anymore than anyone else.” 

“They really fucking are; you went to the barbecue, John jumped at the chance to rope you into that.” 

“Churches like new blood, it’s n-“ 

“You’ve apparently talked to Jacob more than once; I didn’t even know he could talk,” Hudson says rolling her eyes, “all he ever does at anyone outside the church is glare.” 

“She’s talked to Faith a lot too, apparently.” 

“I still don’t even know where she fucking came from.” 

“I’m still not fully convinced she isn’t a ghost,” Pratt tells Hudson. 

“She’s not a ghost,” Dahlia says with a roll of her eyes. 

“And you would know, because they cling to you like leeches, right?” 

“Shut up.” 

“You know what I think it is,” Hudson says after a moment, “you put up with Joseph’s creepy ass speeches and they realized you’d put up with anything.” 

“He’s not….that…creepy…” Dahlia says with zero conviction, because, well. He’s definitely off, but despite all the weird little red flags, he did help her and Cassie. So, he can’t be all bad. Even if his brother is taking people’s shit…and well…she still doesn’t know what the hell was up with the shaved head person. 

“You can’t even say that with a straight face.” 

“Look, we’ve had run ins with him before, he’s the weirdest creepiest person in this whole damn county and that is saying something,” Hudson shudders, “I’d take Zip lecturing me on being a government shill for nine hours over Joseph even looking at me for even a second.” 

“His stare is weirdly intense…” 

“All of them are weird; John’s skeevy, Jacob looks like he skins people alive in his spare time…Faith’s kinda cute, but at what cost,” Pratt tells her and eh, Faith’s not really her type. The Church Mouse is pretty, but a bit too delicate for the young deputy to really get those weird stomach feelings she gets around women like Hudson or Mary May. 

“Really, I didn’t think you liked women who are taller than you?” Hudson asks. 

“Faith is like barely taller than me,” Dahlia says with a snort, watching the pure look of offense on Pratt’s face, how could she be taller than Pratt? 

“How short do you think I am, Joey?’ 

“What?” Hudson raises an eyebrow, confused by their confusion, “ heard she was like six foot something with black hair.” 

“She’s like this tall,” Pratt puts his hand maybe two inches above Dahlia’s head, “and blonde.” 

“Kinda blonde,” Dahlia corrects, thinking of the youngest Seed siblings dirty blonde hair that fades to a slightly light color at the ends. It toes the line between brown and blonde fairly well. 

“Whatever.” 

“Someone told me she was taller than John, I know they did, am I losing my mind?” Hudson tries to think for a moment; gears visibly turning behind her green eyes. 

“Did you ever really have it?” Pratt taunts her. 

“Keep it up, asshole, see what fuckin’ happens.” 

The trio makes it down to where the sheriff asked, a parking place within the northern area of the county with little gas pumps but not much else. The F.A.N.G Center employees and the veterinarian with a stethoscope around his neck waiting for them as they make their way over. A worker with the center helps get the stiffening wolf off of Dahlia’s back, putting it into the back of a van so they can take it to be examined. 

“Good work, Deputies,” Whitehorse congratulates them and Dahlia grins at the praise. 

“To be completely fair,” Hudson interjects, “it was Rook who was able to get him.” 

“Hey, we helped…move the body…” Pratt jokes, in their own ways they’re both ensuring Dahlia gets her due credit and she can’t help but smile. 

“Well, outstanding work, Rookie.” 

“Thanks, but uh, I’m kind worried about something.” 

“What’s that?’ The sheriff asks, the attention of him, the veterinarian, and center workers all falling on Dahlia. 

“The wolf has paint on it’s face, like a cross or something…which kinda makes me think someone owned it or…something?’ 

“Yeah, that’s definitely not all blood.” A worker looking over the wolf’s face in the van confirms. 

“There’s nothing else on it, but we definitely will have to keep that in mind.” 

“But, uh, what happens from here?” Dahlia asks. 

“I’ll test to see if it’s rabid or if anything else might be the cause for the aggression,” the veterinarian, his name tag she finally catches says Dr. Charles Lindsay, “I’ll let the hospital know and if needed, the hiker will get treated for rabies.” 

“Ah, uhh, is there any possible way you could let us know at the same time…well let me know…?” 

“Why…?” 

“I may have been slightly bit.” 

“Slightly?” Pratt is the one to yell out, incredulous at Dahlia’s description of her injury. 

“Just a little bit,” She brings two fingers close together in front of her for added effect. 

“Jesus fuck, can you just not get hurt for like a week?” 

“No, clearly not.” 

“Pratt, take her out to the clinic,” Whitehorse says with a heavy sigh and pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“I don’t need a doctor.” 

“Yes, you do. Even if the bite ain’t too bad, you never know if it’s infected. Not only could the wolf be carrying something, but it had someone else’s blood in it’s mouth. This isn’t optional, Rookie, you’re going to the clinic and that’s an order.” 

Dahlia can’t and won’t argue with the sheriff on that. Instead shrinking slightly at the realization that her own disregard for her own safety has gotten her scolded despite her accomplishment. She doesn’t think about risks to herself; she needed the wolf put down to save others and if the worst case scenario is her own well-being being sacrificed, that’s worth it to help others, isn’t it?

“C’mon, Wolf-Bait lets get going,” Pratt says, giving her a light smack on the shoulder to follow him. 

“I’m coming, asshole.” 

She follows behind Pratt, back to the cruiser where they parked at the beginning of this day. The sun has long since set, the moon now bright and high in the sky as she climbs into the passenger side seat. Unable to stop herself from pouting slightly that she’s being forced to go to the clinic again. Even if she understands why. 

“Hey,” Pratt gets her attention as he starts up the cruiser engine, “if it makes you feel any better. I’ll be happy to put you out of your misery if it turns out to be a werewolf.” 

“Fuck you!” She yells out through a laugh; his dumb joke bringing a smile back to her face as they go off to the clinic. 

She’s at the clinic late that night, her injury doesn’t need stitches just some bandaging, some bloodwork and tests done to account for anything that could be wrong. Then she’s sent home with antibiotics; the entire time Pratt making jokes about werewolves and silver bullets like a nerd.  All that’s left is crashing for the night and eventually hearing if she has rabies. 

Dahlia sleeps easily that night; thanks to her adrenaline crashing down. She sleeps in the night morning, Saturday never being such a blissful treat for her as she manages to not wake up until around noon. 

The young deputy takes her time when she gets up, eating cereal and grabbing a shower. Faith mentioned her being able to see Cassie at the convent this weekend spending a day together, so that’s her plan on top of doing the rounds on roping folks into the Apple Festival. 

The Convent isn’t far from the trailer park, two buildings seated before the edge of a cliff with craggy staggered mountain range covered in trees beside it.  So many mountains and cliffs within the county. The larger of the buildings has dark roofing, a smaller white church with white latticing canopies between them. Like the material used to construct a gazebo and fields upon fields of the white moonflowers. 

Before Dahlia can step too far onto the property, a woman with long baby blonde hair with flower tattoos spiraling up her arms and the sin of GREED across her chest runs up to stop her. 

“Hello, is there something I can help you with?” 

“Yeah, I was here to see Cassie.” 

“Oh, I’m so sorry, but our sister Cassandra is busy today.” 

“Sister?” Dahlia asks, blood running cold for a moment. She can’t seriously mean…Cassie wasn’t interested in joining, she just needed shelter.

“Well yes, she’s opened her heart to the Father, a child of Eden’s Gate now.” 

“Interesting…” Dahlia clenches her jaw, “Faith said that I could come see her today.” 

“Well, I’m afraid that’s not possible, she’s been busy with finding salvation. She’s with herald John, giving her confession, she can’t possibly be bothered right now.” 

“I-”

“Deputy~!” Faith’s sing song voice rings out and Dahlia can’t help but still feel angry, they were supposed to help Cassie, not convert her. The youngest Seed sibling rushes over, nearly floating with the ethereal energy only she can manage. Her white floral dress of the day has a halter neckline and flowers are woven into her braided hair. 

“Faith…” 

“I’m so sorry; I heard, I know you were excited to spend time with me and Cassie today, but I’m afraid things just became too busy with her deciding to join us here.” 

“Yeah…what the fuck?” 

“Excuse me?” Faith says, her pretty little smile fading for a moment. 

“Cassie needed shelter, not Jesus, so I reiterate…what the fuck?” Dahlia gestures wildly, anger tinging her words. Her blood pressure rising and heat crawling up under her skin like pins and needles. 

“Cassie is an adult, she made a choice to join us. Surely, you can’t deny her that freedom, deputy?” Faith’s face pulls into a pout, making Dahlia feel unreasonable all at once, but Cassie was never interested in the religion aspect. 

“Yes, she’s an adult, but she was vulnerable, and I don’t think leaping into a religion when you’re in a shitty place is the best move. I-I wanna talk to her myself.” 

“Well, I’m afraid that can’t happen, not today. But, maybe next weekend or you could write a letter of course.” 

“She still hasn’t responded to my last letter…” 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Faith puts a hand on Dahlia’s shoulder, meant to be comforting but the deputy flinches away, “as I said, it’s been impossibly busy, she’s been studying our beliefs and methods of joining. It’s a long process at times, very time consuming, but I assure you…Cassie opening her heart to the Father doesn’t mean it’s been closed to you.” 

“Yeah, sure, just too busy.” 

“Well, you’ve certainly been busy too, haven’t you?” She tilts her head delicately to the side, still smiling. 

“I have?” Dahlia raises an eyebrow. 

“Mmm hmm, John’s already learned of you helping put together an apple festival.” 

“Oh, yeah, Debbie and Doug wanna save that place so why not, I figure.” 

“Yes, we’ve been hearing all about it, John’s not exactly thrilled.” 

“Nothing personal to it…” 

“I figured, I’m not upset, I promise,” Faith offers a soft smile, “the orchard will end up in the rightful hands no matter what. John just worries a lot about getting land for our church, after all we’re growing by the day and need space for our people.” 

“And Debbie and Doug worry a lot about keeping their livelihood, ya know?” 

“Like, I said, I have no ill will over it, I’m just interested to see you’re so full of surprises.” 

“I am?” 

“Mmm hmm,” she giggles, but offers no more information, like she knows a secret that Dahlia doesn’t. But before Dahlia can ask another question, a sight among the convent makes her breath catch in her throat. 

Shaved head men and women; tending to fields of those flowers, masks across their face. So, they’re definitely with Eden’s Gate as if she really had to question. They work silently, tending to the fields of moonflowers in their white sweaters. 

“Who are they?” Dahlia asks, giving Faith a pointed look. The girl’s eyes move back and forth from the deputy to the workers. 

“Oh, those are our angels,” she answers, grinning, “they’re high ranking members of our church, so devoted to The Father they’ve taken vows of silence and dedicate their lives to helping The Project. Amazing, aren’t they?” 

“Vows of silence, huh?” Dahlia says, more to herself than Faith. Then why did they mumble lyrics and scream out…why would they attack Dahlia? Is Faith lying to her, she’s got to be, right?

“You know, deputy, if you’re so interested in The Project, The Father would still happily let you join our family.” 

“Hmmm, I’m sure, didn’t realize there was a huge process to it though…” Dahlia comments, hoping Faith will elaborate, what the hell kind of hoops did Cassie jump through? Confession, is all she really knows. 

“Well, “ Faith grabs both of Dahlia’s hands in her own, smiling, “we ask for our new family members to prove they see the truth of our faith, to prove their dedication, rid themselves of their sins and make sacrifices in order to truly cut their ties with sin.” 

“That’s-“ 

“Faith, there’s a call from the conservatory!” Someone calls out and Dahlia’s words die on her lips; the notion that Faith’s description is vague and generally unhelpful. 

“I’ll be right there, see you later deputy, hopefully we can meet with Cassie next weekend.” Faith waves her goodbye and then leaves. 

Stray straightens her jacket before leaving the convent, a flood of unanswered questions and doubts in her mind. Everyday something new worries her about Eden’s Gate. If Faith’s lying…that’s fucking bullshit. She doesn’t want to imagine that Faith would lie to her face like that. But, why would their oh so special angels, even the name makes her roll her eyes, be screaming and murmuring despite vows of silences? Why would they attack her?

The rest of her Saturday is spent speaking to people about the Apple Festival, roping Chad from the Grill Steak into it. At least, she believes she did, she’s not completely sure of anything he says. His dialect unintelligible, so she just upped her cajun dialect until she barely knew what she was saying either. Its good busy work, getting places to hang up advertisements, though her heart and mind are somewhere else the entire time. She’s thankful that most people are just genuinely invested in helping; because she certainly isn’t getting by on her charisma. 

Her night is spent with trying to distract herself, but thoughts always coming back to the weirdness of Eden’s Gate, to her doubts. Wondering what exactly led to Cassie’s conversion… She’s being silly, she tells herself time and time again, but something just doesn’t feel right lately. Maybe she’s overeating; seeing connections and red flags where none exists. But, the case remains that no tv, manga, music, or drawing can distract her that night. 

There’s still a slight cloud looming over Dahlia when she arrives at the orchard Sunday, ready to taste Debbie’s baked apple goods. The sun is high in sky and the smell of apples lifts her mood slightly; but she finds herself still distracted as she parks her bike. 

“Deputy!” Debbie greets her and Dahlia gives the warmest smile she can muster. The older woman’s smile helping lift some of that cloud. 

“Hey.” 

“Staci’s already here, c’mon, we’ll sit in the market stall,” Debbie gushes bring Dahlia over to the picnic tables that are under the covering; where they first talked about the festival. 

Pratt is already there; the smell of baked sugar and apples hits Dahlia’s nose before she even sees the array of food Debbie’s put out. Apple pie, apple dumplings, apple scones, and she’s sure that’s just the beginning. 

“Hey dumbass,” Pratt greets her around a mouthful of apple pie as she sits down next to him. 

“You couldn’t wait like five minutes?” 

“Nope.” 

“Ass.” 

The deputy’s feedback is predominantly noises of happiness; neither really food critics but happy to be shoving it in their mouths. The gloomy cloud is starting to lift by the time they’ve finished off a pie; cinnamon, sugar, and apples warm on her tongue. Apple dumplings settle warm in her stomach and she forgets why she was ever upset. The scones are munched down next; cream sticking to her fingers and lips as she eats. 

“God you’re a mess,” Pratt taunts and she sputters a laugh when she turns to face him. 

“You have food in your beard, asshole.” 

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath and starts wiping at his face. 

The stuff their faces for a long while longer; strudel, apple cake, apple cobbler, candy apples, and fritters. Pratt leans back from the table, pressing a hand to his face after a while. 

“You alright?” Dahlia asks, raising her eyebrow. 

“Debbie is gonna have to roll me out of here at this rate; are you not fuckin’ full yet?” 

“…No…” She pauses, before shoving more cobbler and whip cream in her mouth. Debbie and Dough are off rushing to get more goodies. 

“Jesus fuck, Rook.” 

“You’re just a baby.” 

“Shut up,” he leans back away from the table and runs a hand back into his hair, “hey, Rook?” 

“Hmm?”

“You ever gonna shoot your shot with Joey?” 

“What?!” She chokes on her food, just barely stopping it from flying out of her mouth, where the actual fuck did that come from? 

“Your little crush on her, you ever gonna do something about it?” 

“Like what?” 

“Ask her out, you know, like people do.” 

“Yeah…why the fuck would I do that?” She cannot grasp his logic here. 

“I don’t know how to explain to you that when people have crushes; they ask the person out.” 

“I don’t know how to explain to you that that would be really fucking stupid.” 

“Why?” 

“Because I already know the answer, there’s no way she’d say yes, and frankly if she did I’d be concerned.”

“Concerned?” 

“Yeah, who in their right fuckin’ mind would say yes to me?!” 

“So, you wanna act weird around her forever and never deal with it?” 

“That was the plan.” 

“I’m just saying the sooner you rip the band-aid off, the quicker you can act like a normal person around her.” 

Dahlia sighs, she doesn’t want to act like a freak around Hudson for the rest of her life or for her little crush or whatever to get the way of life. Pratt knows more about this crap than her, because everyone does. So, if he’s saying this would help, maybe it would? But, her brain still is struggling. 

“But I already know she’s gonna say no, you know she’s gonna say no, literally anyone with a functioning braincell knows she’d say no. So, why would hearing her say no make a difference?” 

“Its like closure and shit; I think it’d help.” 

“Ugh, just sounds like an excuse to make an idiot out of myself.” 

“Compared to the genius you usually are?” 

“Fuck off.” 

She swallows down a mouthful of strudel before the conversation can continue, but Pratt’s words stick with her. It’s not as if she needed any more on her mind, but she got it anyway. The two continue taste testing for Debbie, though the subject of Hudson never comes up. She’s not sure why Pratt is suddenly so keen on helping her work through her little crush, a friendly gesture, she figures. Maybe her life would be a little easier if she could stop turning into a red-faced mess around the oldest deputy. 

It’s late when they finally finish tasting everything; Dahlia giving friendly goodbyes to Pratt and the couple before she goes back home. Her weekend coming to a close with her falling asleep with a stomach full of baked apples. 

She’s woken up to her phone ringing; instead of her alarm. Dahlia already knows well that despite shift hours, the nature of their work and the higher level of being deputy means that being called out at odd hours is expected. But her blood runs cold when she sees sheriff Whitehorse is the one calling, something is wrong. 

“Sheriff?” She answers, sitting up on the couch. 

“Rook; I already called Pratt and Hudson, I want you all at the clinic now! It’s an emergency!” 

And that’s all she gets before the call ends. She throws on a uniform and runs out the door, jumping on her motorcycle. Mind racing with each passing second. The hurried and frantic tone in Whitehorse’s voice flaring anxiety inside of her. A million possibilities shooting through her mind as she rides towards the clinic; is it about the wolf? Has there been a murder? Is someone she knows hurt? Could it be an officer? 

She’s practically tripping over herself as she climbs off her bike, running into the clinic. The staff is a mess, nurses rushing frantically to attend to someone. Words of transferring, stabilizing, blood transfusion. Something is wrong. Each word swims around her head, but she doesn’t know who they’re talking about. Then she sees Whitehorse, Hudson, and Pratt at the front desk. The three living closer than her. 

“What’s wrong?” Dahlia asks running over; all three’s expressions are tense. Pratt shaking his leg, Hudson digging her nails into her arms until her knuckles turn white, and Whitehorse looking a moment away from collapsing. 

“It’s Pastor Jerome,” Whitehorse tells her, “someone attacked him.” 

“Left for fucking dead,” Hudson interjects, a crack in her voice that Dahlia’s never heard before. 

“They’re trying to stabilize him long enough to transfer him to a hospital in Missoula. We need to make sure it stays secure, no telling if whoever did this won’t try to do something again, and we need to be there to ask questions once he’s out of the woods. I don’t want this slipping through the cracks, Jerome’s a good man and he damn well deserves our best effort.” 

“Got it,” Dahlia nods in agreement to the sheriffs words.

Images of the man in the priest collar coming to mind. She’s seen him in passing, never a conversation between the two. But she saw him speak with Whitehorse; Pratt implied that both him and Hudson went to Jerome’s church as kids. He means something to them all and that’s clear in just how serious it’s being taken; obvious in how shaken up they all seem to be. 

She stands next to Pratt, squeezing his shoulder in an attempt to comfort, wishing she could offer more. He tries to give her a small smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, too worried about the pastor. 

Why would anyone attack him? His church is modest, nearly dying out from everything she’s been told, it wouldn’t make sense to rob him. Hope County has some less than accepting residents; but the idea of a potential hate crime is a hard pill to swallow…

All Dahlia can do is wait with her coworkers, listening to the frantic yells of nurses struggling to save a man’s life. Heart in her throat, anxiety telling her that any second this will become a murder investigation as she watches the hands on a clock ticking away…

[chickensarentcheap]

Never Gonna Be Alone

A Tyler Rake/Established Female OC fic

Summary: A lot changes in five years. Now a family of nine, the Rakes are splitting their time between Australia and New York City. With Dhaka nothing but a distant yet still painful memory and the dirty work mostly behind him, Tyler is healthy and thriving. Not only as a husband and father, but as the acting founder and boss of his own mercenary business and co-owner of his wife's well loved and flourishing bookstore. But while love and domestic happiness abound, the past and its secrets are never far behind.

Huge thanks and tons of love to @tragiclyhip​ for never letting me give up! It’s thanks to her I ever actually finished off the last fic, or started this one.  And she also made my incredible banner! <3 <3 <3

Warnings: none

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y​, @alievans007​, @innerpaperexpertcloud​, @tragiclyhip​

Prologue

FIVE YEARS LATER

******

The stand sits fifteen feet above ground and wraps halfway around the gnarled and twisted trunk of a centuries old Kapok tree. No hunter has made use of it in years; the stairs leading upwards weakened by harsh weather and neglect, wood cracking and bowing under the soles of well worn combat boots. Despite the added weight of gear and a kevlar utility vest, long legs and a wide stride make it easy to navigate the missing steps. His movements are purposeful and quiet; careful to avoid even the slightest snap of a twig or the rustle of dried and fallen leaves or the scratch of dirt and pebbles against the pitted and fragile wood. Any sound is a detriment in this environment; the lush and dense landscape so eerily still and silent that even a hint of noise would seem deafening. The slightest of movement has the potential to stir up the wildlife, which in turn would draw unwanted attention upwards from the banks of the Mekong River.

Even under the thick and expansive umbrella of the forest the heat is stifling. Humidity oppressive and choking. A thin layer of sweat gathers on his brow; errants droplets burning his eyes and gathering on the ends of his lashes. His shirt -long sleeved to not only provide cover in the jungle but protect from scrapes and cuts and the burn of the sun- nearly soaked right through; darkened patches under the arms and at the small of the back, the fabric clinging to dampened and slick skin. Fine beads settle around his mouth, and when he drops into a crouch at the top of the stand, he swipes his tongue over his top lip in an effort to clear away the sweat. It had been an hour hike through the jungle; moving swiftly and silently as he listened to directions being given through a transmitter he sports in his left ear. It’s sweltering and he’s thirsty; head pounding and his hands begin to tremble as the beginning stages of dehydration begin to settle in. He takes the time to remedy the situation. Shrugging off the rucksack slung over his left shoulder and dropping it onto the floor of the stand; hands shaking yet able to tear open the zipper. There’s two bottles of water packed in amongst the gear; extra pairs of socks in case of treks through swamps and marshes, two full clips of ammo that will only be used if someone on the other side is able to pinpoint his location and launch a full scale and fully armed search.

He hopes it doesn’t come to that.

Downing half a bottle of water, he uses the remains to cool himself down; splashing a handful of the liquid against his face and then dumping the rest over his head. Ten years ago, the elements wouldn’t have bothered him as much; he would have been thirty seven years old and still in relatively good shape. Physically AND mentally. And despite a consistent and punishing routine of heavy lifting, core training, and cardio, he’s definitely feeling the effects of both age and decades of hard and often dangerous living. Knees stiff and aching from the brisk hike over rough terrain and then through mud and thick brush; the arthritis that takes up residence in the small of his back and the right hip making its presence known. He’ll be sore tomorrow; every step he takes will send pain shooting through him, and for the next week he’ll wonder just why the hell he ever said ‘yes’ in the first place. Each stiff movement and slow step and aching muscle will remind him of just how things HAVE changed over the years. Gone are the days when he could skip a few days sleep; able to function on both little rest and minuscule amounts of food and drink. There’s no way he’d be able to do THAT now; push his body to the limits he’d been testing for so long. That man no longer exists. The one that would take the most dangerous and unpredictable jobs in hopes of catching a bullet. Who’d almost pray, beg and plead each and every time he went out that it would be his last; one sniper’s shot away from finally being put out of his miserable existence.

Things changed, of course. When he’d been least expecting them to. There’s way too much to lose now. It’s why every decision he makes now...every movement...matters so much. Even the smallest of mistakes can change the course of the future; one misstep potentially blowing his cover and leading to his untimely -and likely extremely brutal and bloody- demise. An hour away a helicopter waits for him; on standby to whisk him back to Vietnam and that little ‘hole in the wall’ hotel he’d been staying in. A quick shower and he’d back in the air; rushed to the nearest backwoods airport where a private jet would take him home. It’s been four days now; two spent in the planning stages before his first ‘hit’ in Laos and then the trek to Cambodia. Two for the price of one, Anil had said, although money matters very little now. These kinds of gigs are more a service; wiping out the dregs of society more of a gift to humanity than anything else.

He normally doesn’t take on jobs. A total of three in the past five years. This is the fourth AND fifth. The skills and the mindset quickly and effortlessly returning, the first kill a lot easier than he’d thought it would be. It’s like riding a bike; once the gun is in your hand and you’re peering through that scope, your finger easily finds and pulls the trigger. And this job had been impossible to turn down; the dirty and vile details hitting home and preying on his ‘human side’. Anyone in his position as a husband and father would have been enraged and disgusted. Drug runners and weapons smugglers that moonlight in abusing and torturing their wives and exploiting children. Sometimes even their own. People that evil don’t deserve to live; even a bullet between the eyes considered too kind. But it’s all he has time for. No ‘face to face’ meetings. He can’t be seen or even identified by name in order to protect his OWN family. He has to remain a ghost. An urban legend of sorts. Talked and gossiped about in drug circles and even among the local police and military who’d either been paid off by the criminals or had been hopeless and hapless when it came to stopping the activity. Nothing will be known about him. No glimpse of his appearance, no chance to hear his voice or even know his name. He’ll be known for just those ‘lucky shots’ he’d gotten in. Turned in to nothing more than rumours and speculation that will continue spreading long after he’s gone.

***

“T...you there?” Yaz’ voice through the earpiece. The reception is spotty; words broken up by heavy static.

He uses a forearm to wipe the mixture of water and sweat from his face, then lays a finger against the transmitter clipped to his vest. “I’m here.”

“Hot out there today, isn’t it.”

He smirks, then begins pulling pieces of a semi automatic rifle from the confines of the rucksack; hands moving quickly and efficiently as they snap and twist the weapon together. “I don’t want to hear your bitching. You’ve got air conditioning. I’m the one out in this shit.” His voice is low and quiet as he speaks. Even the smallest of sounds can travel great distances; echoing through the jungle and making its way down to the banks of the Mekong.

The river sits fifty yards to the south; muddy and heavily polluted and dotted with boats belonging to local fisherman. One vessel stands out from the crowd. A large and expensive houseboat; the chrome that lines the powerful motor and makes up the railings on the top deck sparkling in the sunlight. His mark is inside; meeting with some of Anil’s people acting under the guise of weapons buyers. When the time is right, the man in question will be led out onto the bottom deck and he’ll have one shot to get the job done. It’s another reason Anil had personally sought him out; his marksmanship impeccable, no other employee coming close to possessing that level of skill.

“You good?” Yaz inquires.

“Yeah…” he snaps the magazine in place and then switches off the safety. “...I’m good.”

“I’ll let you know when there’s movement. Going silent for now.”

He tears off the lid of the second bottle of water and takes a single sip before setting it down; using his sleeve to wipe both the opening and every side of the plastic. He can’t leave any trace of himself behind. Not a drop of sweat or a hint of saliva or his fingerprints. He’ll wipe the stand down before he leaves; methodically cleaning anything he may have come in contact with. IF his location is discovered, money talks. Anyone remotely related to his mark will pay to get answers, and the police will take what’s offered and collect every shred of possible evidence. He can’t take that chance. A single, unattached person may not care. Had he still been the guy living in the rundown and beaten up shack in the outback, he wouldn’t have thought twice about covering his tracks. But lives depend on him. A wife and seven beautiful little humans that count on him to protect them and keep them safe.

He CAN’T fuck this up.

Up in the stand he’s well hidden; camouflaged by the abundance of thick, lush greenery. It’ll be a tough shot through twisted and tangled branches; not even a foot of clearance between wood and leaves. Depending on exactly where his mark is led, he’ll compensate for that; pulling to the right or left in order to prevent the bullet from getting too ‘dirty’. He’s made tougher shots; mostly in his SASR days. And there’s no doubt he’ll make this one.

He bunches up the ruck sack and places it near the edge of the stand, facing the river. He’ll use it as both a ledge and a form of cushioning; balancing the long barrel of the rifle will provide stability and muffle the sound of the shot, disguising where it had originated from. He winces as he gingerly lowers himself onto his stomach; the cracking in his hip and the soreness in both knee and shoulder reminding him that he’s not as young as he used to be. Forty-seven is ancient in mercenary years. Most never make it that far. The odd few get to retire peacefully, but the majority are taken out by a bullet; one too many lapses in judgment and the smallest of errors leading to their deaths.

But most never get to have what he does either. A normal life with a family that loves him ; thousands of miles away, anxiously awaiting his return. It’s why he’s so careful; every decision he makes and every action he takes is done with them at the forefront of his mind. And he thinks about them now; warm and safe in the confines of a townhome in New York City. Four days ago they’d travelled from Australia and he’d promised to meet up with them as soon as the job was finished. It’s their third Christmas there; an eight bedroom brownstone in Gramercy Park. The kids especially enjoy spending the holidays there. Quickly falling in love with the idea of a white Christmas and enjoying all of the outdoor activities; sledding and skating and seeing the tree at Rockefeller Centre and visiting Santa and the reindeer in Central Park. And while life in the Big Apple had never appealed to him, the draw of Gramercy had been impossible to resist. Quiet and quaint; tree lined streets and a private park and neighbours that mind their own business and don’t ask too many questions. He’d initially worried about standing out like a sore thumb; tanned skinned and the array of tattoos and scars and the ‘Down Under’ accent. It turned out to be everything he HADN'T expected. The feeling of small town life within an enormous city.

The back of his hand swipes at the locusts and mosquitos that hover close to his face; their buzzing and humming both tickling and irritating his ears. The right isn’t as good as it used to be; hearing slightly muted and distorted thanks to years of both firing and coming in close contact with weapons. It’s another drawback to getting old. Along with his eyesight. Needing glasses to read or to spend anytime staring at a computer screen.

“They’re on the move.”

He blinks sweat from his eyes and wipes his lips and chin on the sleeve of his shirt. Then he settles in; bending his left leg at the knee and wriggling his stomach against the wood beneath him. The latter is mind over matter; as if the simple movement and the way he presses the toes of boots against the stand will improve both shot and stability. His finger hovers over the trigger; other hand lightly supporting the barrel of the gun, allowing the rucksack to bear the majority of the weight. Anil’s people come out first; identified by the tan linen suits he’d been told they’d be sporting. The ‘Mark’ is a middle aged man, clad in casual attire; olive green cargo shorts and a simple white golf shirt. He’s short and stocky with greying hair and a noticeable limp; a run in with a rival drug crew years ago resulting in the amputation of his leg and the acquisition of a prosthetic device.

His jaw clenches and his lips settle into a thin, pursed line. His heart hammers in his chest and both his shoulders and his chest tighten. It’s adrenaline. That unmistakable rush that comes before an imminent strike. He remembers it well. And it’s both surprising and disheartening how much he’s actually missed it.

As they chatter and laugh, one of Anil’s men places a hand on the Mark’s back and ever so slightly turns the other man in Tyler’s direction. It’s all he needs; just enough of the Mark’s forehead to ensure a ‘kill shot’. And he takes it; the sound slightly muffled but still deafening as it echoes through the jungle and stirs birds from their perches and wildlife from the safety of their nests and dens. The bullet easily tears through layers of leaves and bypasses branches; finding its target and sending the Mark sprawling backwards and then down into a pool of brain matter, fragments of skull, and quickly spreading blood.

“Target’s down.”

The words are simple. To the point. And as chaos erupts down by the river, he calmly begins his retreat; pushing himself up onto his feet and slinging the rifle over his shoulder. There’s no pressing need or rush; Anil’s people have made their quick escape and the screams and shouts are coming from startled fisherman and colleagues of the Mark that had been inside the houseboat. He has time; methodically cleaning every inch of both the stand and the stairs and making sure he’s left nothing behind.

“I’m heading back,” he says, shouldering the ruck sack and taking the stairs two at a time. He’s suddenly anxious to get on his way; feeling the relief that sets in as he begins his hour long trek.

A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. Not from the success of the mission or the satisfaction that comes with ridding the world of yet another monster. It’s one of happiness. One of peace.

The realization that each step he takes brings him closer to home.

[disaster-bay-leaf]

Ok so these were the cutest~ (ㆁωㆁ)

4, 6, 7, 9, 12, 19, 22, 23, 28, 33, 34, 46, 47, 52, 59, 60, 63, 66, 83, 87, 88, 93, 99

I kno I listed like....all of them lmao but feel free to answer whichever you want and ofc you can ask me in return Baybe ( ◜‿◝ )♡

uHUHUHUHU much content for me to answer, im happy bebe 💜💜💜✨

4 - how do you take your coffee/tea?

hm coffee either Very Black No Sugar (for the sleep deprived me) or iced latte three sugars and theres no in between

and as for tea its All Black Teas That Exist, cinnamon-flavoured especially (but basically all teas that come to mind when u think “autumn”), and rooibos!!! okay basically the only oke i dont like is any type of green tea (which is sad because they look cool but my tastebuds said ✨no✨)

6 - do you keep plants?

honestly id l o v e too because i love plants but,,, im kinda horrible at taking care of them though still way better than the majority of my family (research helps) so the only plant i own is kinda a small-palm-tree-looking thing in a bigass glass jar that i saved from my mother’s plant-destructing hands and its mostly doing well (the ends of its leaves are starting to be yellow tho and im worried:((( )

7 - do you name your plants?

yes!!! though the current one was named by my sister and its called “pickett” after fantastic beasts shsjjsj

9 - do you like singing/humming to yourself?

oh god oh dude you have n o idea

i have absolutely n o singing voice but its something i do constantly to give my brain the right amount of stimuli so basically i listen to music 24/7 and hum to myself 99% of that time

12 - whats your favourite planet?

oh i actually didnt think about this for so long but either pluto (hes a planet screw nasa) or saturn (RINGS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) or venus (girls,,,and libra,,,)

19 - do you keep a journal? what do you write/draw in it?

okay im gonna be completely honest with yall and say that my every single try at keeping a journal failed spectacularly and i lost motivation after like a few months so my only journals rn are my fancy fake-leather-bound calendar to note tests and assessments into, a kinda roughed up notebook that i uses for noting down poems or scribbling or passing notes in class, and a kinda fancy bullet journal notebook that i used as a book of shadows for a while but since my fountain pen died i didnt touch it

22 - are you a morning person?

n o

i am so not a morning person but i wish i could be because honestly dawns are beautiful

but as it is rn im either sleep deprived all the time and loathe every second of being in an awake state or (if i have a few days of schoolbreak) my biological clock moves forward a few hours and i sleep 2am-10am

23 - whats your favourite thing to do on lazy days with zero obligations?

except for the fact that i dont remember the last time it happened, i would probably spend it drawing outside, watching anime with my sister and riding a bike around the forest

28 - sunrise or sunset?

i love sunrises because its so peaceful and everyone is asleep but also i subconsciously immediately correlate them with waiting for a train to take me to school (because thats basically the only time i see them) so its a bittersweet love especially with my fucked up biological clock

but sunsets are really really pretty too and i see them more often so i cant choose

33 - whats your fave pastry?

and isnt that a millior-dollar question dhsjjsjsj

either cinnamon rolls (i absolutely adore them) or that one specific type of cupcake-shaped-thing made out of shortcrust/bread/whatever its called and filled with vanilla pudding

34 - tell us about a stuffed animal you kept as a kid. what is it called? what does it look like? do you still keep it?

awwww this is cute

okay so basically my two favourite stuffed animals (i still have them, they sit in my wardrobe) were two teddy bears (like maybe 20cm high each of them) and one was pure brown and the other was silver-brown and they had stereotypical polish male names “Waldek” (read. Valdek) and Stefan (i think tho im not sure if i remember correctly, my memory is a feeble thing sometimes

46 - tell us the worst pun you can think of

what dog would never bite you? a hot dog *badumtss*

47 - what food do you think should be banned from the universe?

huh a year ago id say pineapple pizza but i guess i dont hate pineapples that much anymore (tho putting them on pizza is still an abomination) but i think that if id ever want to get rid of anything it would be parsley, i hate that freakin herb (does it count as food tho)

52 - what are your favourite memes of the year so far?

the ever given for sure shsjshjsjsjsjjsj

but bullying tramp stamps is gold and pure tumblr energy too

as for fandom memes: im in love with all keeping-up-with-the-todorokis variations and the fact that the entire bsd fandom looked at fukuchi and said “biTCH” and thats one of the only things we’re unanimous about

59 - whats your favourite myth?

i always liked the kora/persephone myth (though demeter is an overbearing parent to the nth power), loki and thor crossdressing at a party to get mjolnir back, atalanta because shes a queen and id politely ask her to kick my ass, and cassandra because she deserved better, and theres a l o t more because alas i was a mythology nerd but this post is long enough for me not to make this section 20 times longer sjjsjsjsjsjks

but there are a lot of slavic myths that are very cool too, though we dont know that much about them as about the greeks for example

60 - do you like poetry? what are some of your faves?

o o o o h yeah i do like poetry because to create such a beautifully sounding thing with only words someone has to be a genius

some of my favs are: some works of nakahara chuuya (thank u bsd for introducing me to this man’s beautiful imagery in his works i swear to god the descriptions do it for me) (also his poem about having hangovers is a mood like i feel you buddy), the raven by ea poe (i know everyone likes it but hOLY DAMN THE INTER/INTRAVERSE RHYMES ARE LIKE,,, BREATHTAKING) (and aso im a slut for gothic horror), and many more but also That One Poem From Welcome To Nightvale about reaching the island in the west,,, only perfect vibes from it

63 - are you fussy about your books and music? do you keep them meticulously organised or kinda leave them be?

okay heres the thing. for anyone else both my playlist library and my bookshelf would be considered pure chaos of a mad man b u t they actually have a highly focused system which means that i sort them based on their vibes, lovability and (in case of books) their age and whether or not theyre a part of a series so i would say my bookshelf is rather organised (when a quarter of it isnt occupying my desk that is) and my music is more organised than not but sometimes it gets out of control and i have to sort it entirely again

66 - what would your ideal flower crown look like?

either entirely constructed of simple white daisies, entirely constructed of only white roses, or something that probably would win a “how many different coloured flowers can one fit in a flower crown” competition

or something purple (maybe not belladonna)

83 - whats some of your favourite album art?

god i dont know if it counts but hozier’s wasteland baby is probably one of my absolute favourites and no one shall beat that

“thrifted youth” (dalynn) and “standard deviation” (danny schmidt) have very aesthetic covers too

also the iconic p!atd too weird to live, too rare to die! album cover,,, its just iconic what can i say

and last but not least matt meason’s pink-and-black album covers (though bank on the funeral is really pretty too but like,,, “who killed matt meason” d o e s it for me and so does the 2017 tribulation single)

87 - what are some movies that you think everyone should watch at least once in their lives?

this is such a hard question because im not a really cinematography-oriented gal but i suppose that (at the risk of not going deep enough into the cinema world):

- the princess bride

- inception

- night at the museum

- SPIRITED AWAY

- forrest gump

- truman show

- E.T. (i cried okay)

- the lord of the rings (because damn me if this isnt one impressive adaptation)

- parasite

and one more personal recommendation: “ready or not” with samara weaving because goddamn i dont usually watch this genre but holy s h i t is it good

93 - whats the hairstyle you wear the most?

honestly just plain hair down (because having curly hair is a menace), split in the middle when i have longer hair and split on one side when its short

also low ponytails or half-up-half-down when im exercising, or double french braids when my hair doesnt cooperate enough to look presentable in any other form

99 - list some songs that resonate with your soul whenever you hear them

this is difficult because my music taste is a goddamn rollercoaster on a good day, but heres some:

- me and the sky from “come from away” musical (this is sort of a test song for my mental stability, if i cry i aint stable)

- dancing after death by matt meason (okay most songs by matt meason except for like,,, hallucinogenics maybe)

- tears and rain by james blunt

- i will follow you into the dark by death cab for cutie

- almost home by mxmtoon

- anything by hozier really but shrike especially

- payphone, the cover by alex g (i cried to this song so many times)

- burning pile by mother mother (can i roast all my problems please)

- long way from home and cleopatra by the lumineers

- autoclave by the mountain goats

oooh that was c o o o o o o o l as fuck thank you sm so much bebe (and sorry for the long post @everyone else)