#but maybe that's just because of the rain and potholes | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cherryredstars · 8 months

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“I’ve always seen this in you, ever since you were a little girl — this hunger to love other people into their highest selves and it’s what has made me irreversibly and just so forever in love with you.” ― Jennifer Elisabeth

WC: 5K

It’s raining. It always seems to be raining in Great Britain.

Perhaps it is because this small island yearns to be bigger than it actually is. It craves to be all consuming. To trick the eye into believing that past all the rain and bitter cold, there is something greater on the horizon. It wants to claim every corner of the mind, beating rain to the ground so it can echo off of dingy alleyways and broken cobblestone. This island, so powerful despite its size, tries to consume everyone in it through a single action. Hear me, it whistles, See me!

The droplets are fat and heavy, dampening and darkening his linen clothing. It causes ripples to form in the puddle Simon is playing in. The water is murky and dirty, filling a pothole in the street. It fills and fills until it overflows and spreads through the street. It’s in an alleyway next to his broken down house. Fighting through the beating rain, he can hear their yelling through the closed door. He pretends he can’t hear it, instead listening to the sound of hooves on stone as a carriage goes by. It makes him scrunch his nose up at his wavering reflection. His house, not home, is located near the England ports. It’s a gorgeous place, torturous in its beauty. Everyday it calls to him, waves lapping at the rocky shore and beckoning him to follow them as they recede. It taunts him with a freedom that makes his throat hunger for salted water. It taunts him with something he can never have. He pretends not to hear it calling. Instead, he focuses on other things the port can offer. It’s rowdy around the area with all the sailors and merchants loading and unloading merchandise. It’s a good place to steal from crates that aren’t looked after properly.

Today is not one of those days made for stealing. The weather makes sailors uneasy, even on land. It makes merchants irritated. The ground is too slick with water to make a silent and efficient getaway after raiding. There are too many important people on the port today in a bad mood that he doesn’t feel like toying with. On days like this, the punishment for stealing is tenfold. Today is one of those days where you enjoy being a boy. Today is the type of day that you can afford to ignore life. Simon stares down into the water, causing ripples of his own as he swirls his finger through it. His knees hurt slightly from being crouched down for so long, but he prefers it to the sound of his mother and father fighting. He would rather sit out in the pouring rain with creaky knees than sprawled on the floor as his father beats him senseless for walking too loudly. Simon sniffles and he lets out a cough that he muffles with the sleeve of his shirt. Today is one of the only days he can be a boy and ignore life.

Through the port chatter and ruckus, small steps on stone seem to approach. The sound of short heels clicking on cobblestone, muffled only slightly by rain. Simon keeps his head towards the puddle, but his eyes glide to the side. He only sees something blue and puffy fill his view. Full of fabric and lace and embroidery and layers. Simon’s face scrunches up again and his eyes fall back to the puddle. In the reflection, he watches a frilly sleeve extend and hold an overly fancy umbrella over his head. His puddle stops rippling. He looks up as the rain stops falling onto him, turning to look at the girl standing next to him. She’s young, maybe a year or two younger than he is. She looks silly, he thinks. She’s overflowing with layers of fabric until they spill on all sides of her. It makes him slightly furious. His mother can barely afford to buy a new petticoat, repairing the rips and tears with scrap fabric she finds around the house. Most of those scraps were stolen by Simon from the port and planted around the house for his mother to find. But here is this snotty girl, wearing enough fabric to make ten new dresses for his mother. He wants to take her umbrella and break it in front of her face. Her tears can be the rain.

“You shouldn’t play in the rain, you’ll get sick,” the girl says. Her voice is light and sweet. It doesn’t sound hoarse like his mother's yelling. It sounds as smooth as pearls and as calming as waves.

It’s the worst sound ever.

Simon ignores her, rolling his eyes and looking away. They sit in silence and Simon hopes she goes away. Even through the thick scent of rain and ocean, he can smell her perfume. It smells like candy and sea salt. It’s probably more expensive than her dress and umbrella and his house combined. Probably imported from some fancy place in France that he’ll never go to or know how to pronounce. Schooling is expensive and there isn’t any time between stealing from the ports and doing odd jobs around town to help out his parents. Not that she would know what that’s like. She probably owns the bloody ports.

She, in fact, does not leave. Instead, she crouches down beside him. The fabric bunches and bloats around her, the ends falling into the puddle. The light blue of her dress turns into a deep cyan, and the lace at the very tips grow heavy and turn a brownish gray from the dirt in the water. Later, when she goes home, her mother will punish her for soiling such a nice dress. She will throw it out and have another one made. The two of them will forget the dress existed in the first place. But for now, she doesn't care. He can see it on her face more clearly through the puddle, even with the slight distortion. She’s pretty. Face round with childhood and soft from easy living. Her eyes are doe-like, and they shine even in the dreary weather. There is a flush to her cheeks from fulfilling meals and there is a sense of maturity in her that is of the taught variety. She looks like a living doll. How ugly.

“You shouldn’t kneel on the ground, it’s dirty and my father says it's improper.”

“But you’re kneeling on the ground, aren’t you?” Simon shoots back.

At that, the girl scrunches her button nose. She shifts her hold on the umbrella, looking at her reflection in thought before nodding, “I suppose so.”

It’s quiet again between the two, and they stare at the unmoving water. Simon is overly aware of the smudge of dirt on the apple of his cheek, and his hand twitches to rub at it. His face is thinner than most, a sign of slight malnourishment. Where she is soft and round, he is bony and sharp. He does not look unhealthy, but it is obvious that he lives off a few pence. He can feel his cheeks warm and he’s tempted to push her into the puddle so they both look silly.

Simon begins to get up, finding it about time to go back inside to hide away. He is quickly reminded of his reasons for staying outside when shattering glass sounds from his house and the screaming gets louder. He’s quick to drop back to his knees, wrapping his arms around his legs and resting his chin on his knees. The girl tries to copy him as best as she can, her free arm trying to press her dress to her and she rests the side of her cheek on the fabric.

“Are those your parents? They’re quite loud,” she comments.

Simon shrugs, turning his head to rest his cheek on his knee too and stares at her. “And you’re quite nosy.”

The girl slowly smiles like it's an inside joke, and Simon thinks it's simultaneously the most prettiest and ugliest thing he has ever seen. “Your dress makes you look like a doll.”

The girl looks down at her dress, her hand smoothing out the fabric. “Thank you.”

“It’s ridiculous.”

“Oh.”

The girl blinks down at her dress, looking back at the reflections. Simon continues to watch her, and a sort of panic seizes his chest when she begins to get up. Simon gets up too, an apology on the tip of his tongue as she looks back towards the opening of the alley. But before he can say anything, a masculine voice calls. The girl sighs heavily from her nose as she huffs with a scrunched face. Her hand goes back to straightening out her dress and Simon watches silently. Once she is sorted out, she begins to turn, the man’s voice calling once again. But before she fully leaves, she turns back to Simon. Her smile is gentle as she hands him her umbrella, rain flattening her hair and water melting into her dress.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I’ll be taking what you said earlier as a compliment.”

Simon’s throat is dry as he watches her, his hand tightening on the end of the umbrella. She waits for a response, her smile dimming slightly when he doesn’t say anything. She finally turns away again when an angry shout of, what he assumes is her name, is shouted by the same man. She turns to look again after squeezing his wrist.

“It was very nice to meet you!” She calls back to him as she rushes out of the alley, turning the corner and disappearing.

Simon continues to stand there, his thumb stroking the handle in a daze. The sounds of hooves start again, rushing down the road. The carriage passes the alleyway again, and Simon’s eyes track the vehicle. Through the window, the girl and him make eye contact for a brief moment and then she is gone.

When Simon finally goes back inside, he cuts up the girl’s umbrella and hides the scraps of fabric around the house. The next day, he takes the whalebones to the market in exchange for a single shilling.

____________________

This time, the dress is lavender. There are still too many layers and too much lace. She still looks pretty and she still looks like a doll. She has brought the sun with her.

She’s taller now, but Simon has grown in the past year too. Now he stands a foot, and then some, above her. He will continue to grow in the next few days as he hits his growth spurt. Though, her height is not the only thing that has changed. She’s more refined too. Her dress layers are straightened to stack neatly over each other. Her corset is set tight and she stands with her shoulders pulled back. A shiny pendant sits between her collarbones and jewels hang from her ears. A high class lady who knows she is money itself. A stark contrast to the working boy appearance that Simon holds. His skin is always covered in a bit of dirt and rough calluses are beginning to cover the pad of his fingers. His shins are teased with cool air and his shirt is too tight under his arms.

The coachman helps her down from the carriage, and she looks around the port until her eyes land on Simon. Her face lights in recognition, and she stares at him even as her father speaks to her. She nods along to what he has to say numbly, and she rushes to Simon the minute her father turns his back to her. Simon sits on the crumbling steps to his house silently, his eyes staring as intently at her as she is at him. She stops before him, a wide smile on her face. Simon can feel his face twitch slightly, but he looks indifferent for the most part.

“Your parents are quiet today.”

All of England seems quiet today. But that isn’t without reason. Simon leans back on his hands, looking over his shoulder at the door. “They’re both at work right now.”

She nods in understanding, hands fisting the sides of her dress as she rocks back on her heels. She does not really understand, but she will pretend to. “May I sit with you?”

Simon hums dismissively, moving over for her. She walks up the steps slowly, lifting the ends of her dress so she doesn't trip on it. Even for her age, she carries a sort of grace that is fascinating to watch. As she sits, she fans out her dress in a way that still covers her legs, but is strategically placed to show off the abstract embroidery that announces its wealth. It’s a practiced stance. Simon scoots over a little more, scared to touch it and dirty it with his hands. She smells like flowers and salt. He smells like dirt and factory smoke. She smells like Nature and he smells like Industrialization. They do not belong in the same world.

She startles him slightly when she starts pawing at her dress. Her face is scrunched up, patting at the fabric until her eyes light up. Her hand digs into its layers, rustling as the under coats crinkle. When her hands appear, she produces a simple cloth bag tied in a knot at the top. Her slim fingers undo it with minimum struggle, laying it across her lap until it spreads open. Inside there are biscuits. The fancy kind with sticky jams and sweet creams in indented centers. They’re nothing like the hard, cracker-like type that his mother brings home on rare occasions or he steals at the market. She moves her knees, bringing the biscuits closer to him. The soft, shiny silk of her dress skims his shins and Simon wants to run away. Instead, he fists the material of his trousers.

She picks one up for herself, humming when the soft custard melts in her mouth. She looks at Simon expectedly, watching him through her chewing. Her head tilts at him, widening as she apologizes. It makes Simon’s head spin, watching her place the biscuit down and swipe her hands together to clear it of the soft dust coating her fingertips. Her finger hovers over the selection of treats, picking one up with utmost care.

“I’m so sorry, that was very rude of me,” She mumbles, looking back up at Simon sheepishly. “It didn’t occur to me that you wouldn’t want to pick them up with the condition of your hands. It’s very considerate of you.”

He has no idea what she’s talking about. Considerate is not a word that blankets Simon. He should ask her to leave. Fancy treats and expensive dresses and sweet smelling perfume in tow. But he should know by now that she never leaves when he wants her too. Simon’s breath hitches when she leans in close, holding the biscuit to his mouth. He gulps down the saliva forming on his tongue, the hairs on his arm rising. Her eyelashes are long, the same colour as her hair if not darker. With her so close, he can see now that the natural flush of her cheeks are made brighter with a light dusting of powdered pink. The shine in her eyes is the most natural thing he has ever seen. He wonders if his eyes shine as bright, or if they are dark and muted. He wonders if she can see how pink his own cheeks are.

He is hesitant, looking down at the treat in her hand with contemplation. He can feel his stomach grumble, and his ears glow red when he opens his mouth slightly. The corner of his lip brushes against her fingers, and he keeps his eyes downcast even as he pulls away. His tongue licks over his lip, trying to feel the ghosting of her touch. The sweetness of the jam coats his tongue, and his eyes finally snap up to her. Her hand is still hovering next to his face, the remaining end of the biscuit waiting patiently in her hold. He leans in again, mesmerized by her eyes as she places the rest into his mouth.

“That one was orange,” She tells him, picking up another one, this time with a creme. “This one has chantilly cream. It’s from France, I believe.”

He hums dismissively, letting her feed him biscuits of various flavors. They all taste good, and Simon’s mouth feels thick from all the sweets. They smell and taste like he’d imagine her too. Like melted butter and something sweet and fruity and soft. With each new biscuit, she explains what it is he’s tasting and if it’s from somewhere foreign. He feels slightly guilty, watching her pick biscuit after biscuit without having a single one. Instead, she gives them all to him in her excitement. But then again, somewhere within Simon thinks bitterly, she probably has the money to buy crate fulls. His guilt dies fast.

When she has finished feeding him the last of the sweets, she turns to the side and dusts the crumbs to the floor. She folds the cloth into a neat and packed square, putting it back into her pocket for safe keeping. As she finishes, the calling of her name in rough syllables catches both of their attentions. Her father stands next to the carriage, a frown on his face as he looks between his daughter and a pocket watch in his hand. She gets up, brushing her dress off again and deleting any signs of improperness. If his hands were not dirty and holding onto his pants for dear life, Simon would have helped her up and walked her down the stairs. He finds himself wishing he had washed them before she came.

She turns to Simon one last time, hand coming up to brush the side of his lip again. He can feel crumbs falling, but he says nothing and watches her. He can’t even be embarrassed. Her touch is feather-like. It melts into his skin and warms it more than a raging fire could. She gives him a soft smile as she pulls away, taking a step back and in the direction of her father.

“It was nice to see you again.”

“Simon.”

“Simon,” She says with a nod, like she’s agreeing with him.

He stands up as she turns her back to him, walking to her father. Even with the distance, he can see the way her father helps her up into the carriage and leans in. Can hear even from a distance how he hisses to her, What did I tell you about feeding stray dogs? Simon’s hands ball into fists at his sides, and he turns away when her father looks at him. Simon misses the way she leans towards her father, whispering something defiant that surprises even him. Simon only turns back in time to watch as the carriage drives off and past him. When it disappears, he walks down the steps and into the alleyway next to his house.

For the first time in a while, his stomach feels full. It hurts and he feels sick to his stomach. He spends the next minutes throwing up thick, foreign creme and dry heaving. A stray dog sick in an alleyway, how fitting.

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“Who's that rich girl you're always… galvaring with? The one that looks like a fancy tent.”

Simon pauses, icy cold water spilling from the outside faucet and hitting the ground. It splatters as it hits the cobble, and droplets stain his shoes a dark brown. Sometime after her visit to the docks, Simon has found that he tends to scrub himself clean. He rubs at his face until the water drips down his chin and wets the hair closest to his forehead. His hands are red and numb from his vigorous cleaning with cold water. The pad of his fingers are wrinkled, and his pants have dark streaks from where he wipes his hands dry. The nail beds of his fingers are slightly irritated from the amount of times he picks under them to rid of nonexistent dirt. He gets rewarded for his efforts to be presentable for her when she smiles at him, pushing his wet hair away from his face and commenting on how pretty the water makes his lashes look.

Simon turns to his younger brother Tommy who stares at him from the entrance of the alley. He has a make-shift kite in his hands. It’s been ripped from trees and as punishment from their father, but just like his mother’s petticoats, it has been repaired with stray fabrics. One piece of fabric is a baby blue that used to be part of an umbrella. He got the kite from Simon, as a gift for his birthday. He had made it from his own hands, grabbing twine and sticks and cloth and interlacing them to make it for Tommy. All of it was stolen from the ports.

“There is no such girl, and the word you’re looking for is galavanting, I believe.” Simon says, going back to his cleaning.

Tommy makes a face, one that clearly shows he doesn’t believe his brother and that he isn’t too happy with his brother correcting him. “You even speak like her.”

Simon sighs, turning off the faucet and wiping his hands. He turns to his brother again, walking over with a small smile. He’s quick as he grabs his brother, looping an arm around his neck to get him into a loose chokehold. Tommy instantly cries out, dropping his kite so he can grip onto his brother’s arm. He protests as Simon’s knuckles rub into his hair, creating a slight burning sensation. Simon only pauses as a carriage goes past the two of them and comes to a halt a few feet away. Tommy’s face is bloated with a pout, grumbling at his older brother as he fixes his hair. But Simon isn't paying attention to him anymore. His eyes are focused on the girl who is walking towards them.

Simon’s arm is loose around his brother’s shoulder, and Tommy takes it as a chance to shove him. Simon stumbles from the unexpected force, turning to scowl at his brother. He opens his mouth to scold him, but he stops when she reaches them. She bends down, grabbing Tommy’s kite off of the ground. The two brothers seem to pause as they watch her. She dusts the kite off gently, like it’s something precious. Her hands brush over the baby blue fabric before holding it out for his brother.

“I assume this must be yours. You have a very nice kite. Are you… Tommy… by any chance? Simon speaks very highly of you.” She asks him in that honeyed voice. Simon can see how enchanted Tommy is with her already. He assumes that she has that effect on everyone she meets.

Tommy takes the kite tentatively. It’s almost as if he’s scared she will steal it back at the last minute to destroy it infront of his face. His eyes are wide as he stares at her, and his hands clench around the sides of the kite tightly. Simon is about to nudge him to reply, but Tommy beats him to it. “Your dress looks like a big tent.”

Simon wants her carriage to run him over. Simon’s eyes widen the same time her’s do, his lips parting in disbelief. Dread fills his stomach as he stares at Tommy, but Tommy even looks shocked that he said it. Simon turns to her with a furrowed brow, face burning from Tommy’s brashness. For a second, he fears that she’ll be offended and leave. Maybe complain to her father about his brother. But then, her mouth twitches. Her shoulders rise as she tries to fight off her smile, failing as she begins to laugh. Her eyes crinkle as her hand flies to her mouth, covering the wide smile she sports. Her other arm wraps around her waist, holding her stomach. Her eyes gleam and Simon’s breath gets stuck in his throat.

“Oh my, really? On the contrary, I’ve been told my attire resembles a doll,” She replies, eyes quickly darting to Simon at her cheeky comment. Simon can feel his face burn again at the tease, and he’s quick to look away and rub the back of his neck.

Tommy looks shy as he nods, and he takes the quickest exit when one of the neighbors’ boys calls for him to join them. Tommy whispers a quick goodbye before running off. She and Simon watch as he goes, a fond smile on her face. When they’re finally alone, Simon turns to her with a bashful smile and an apology on the tip of his tongue. But she holds her hand up and smiles slightly at him, shaking her head gently as if she already knows what he was going to say. Instead, she holds her hand out, and Simon is quick to step forward. He bends his arm, and she slips hers through. It’s a routine the two of you have started to pick up. Her other hand comes to rest on the side of his arm, and the two of you walk to the port.

“He’s very funny, your brother. I can see the resemblance,” She starts nudging him slightly with a cheeky smile before adding, “in appearance and mannerisms. Very blunt the Riley family seems to be.”

Simon sighs, hanging his head as he rolls his eyes. When he looks back at her, she has a bright smile and crinkling eyes. Her hold on him tightens reassuringly for a minute, relaxing again as they reach the port. The smell of salt air is strong, and she lets go of his hand slightly to grab onto the hat she’s wearing, holding it in place as a gust of wind passes by. Simon can’t help but watch. Her hair flows behind her, playing with the wind. The front of her skirt is plastered to her legs, delicate lace and silk swaying. And her eyes- god her eyes- sparkle as she looks ahead, reflecting the waves and ships and sun. The ocean seems to be bowing before her. The waves rise to glimpse at her, before falling in a form of respect. She is enchanting.

He has never felt his heart pound so heavily.

When the wind dies down, and everything floats back to their place, she turns to him. Her hand leaves her hat, gravitating to his hair as she fixes it for him. Her touch is gentle, raking through and breaking knots painlessly as she shapes it. She hums when she’s satisfied, smiling at her handiwork before tugging him to the right where her father’s ships are anchored. She begins talking to him about a new shipment of treats her father has ordered for the manor. She makes sure to mention that his favorite biscuits, the ones with chantilly cream, were included in the shipment. She fails to mention that she specifically asked her father to order them with the intent to give them to Simon. He half-listens as she speaks, entranced by the way her tongue moves and forms the vowels in her speech. Tommy had said that he was starting to sound like her. He thinks Tommy is wrong. No one can replicate the perfect tone of her voice, but he wishes his voice sounded as soothing as hers. He hopes that she finds it to be.

By the time she steers them back to the awaiting carriage, she has the sack of biscuits in her hands and she is speaking of a slight decrease in exports to the English colonies but does not mention why. She stops them at the carriage entrance, the coachman already waiting at the door. Her father is not there yet, tidying up conversation with his head merchant. She sighs as she turns to him, handing him the bag of treats so she can fix his shirt and shoo away nonexistent dust. She gives him a soft smile as her hands rest on his chest, and he’s scared she can feel the rapid beating of his heart. He clutches the bag tighter.

“It was very nice to meet your brother today. I hope to see more of him on my future visits.” She says quietly, as if it is a secret for them to share. Simon nods wordlessly, helping her up the carriage steps. He tries to give her back the bag but she only smiles and tells him to keep it.

“I’ll see you next time, Simon.”

“Til’ next time, Doll.” He whispers back.

Simon takes a step back when he hears footsteps approaching, turning his head to see her displeased father. Simon steps further back so he can enter the carriage, but he doesn’t miss the way her father looks down his nose at him. He doesn’t miss the way her father’s eyes fall to the bag in his hands that they both know he could never afford. Nonetheless, Simon holds his stare until her father looks away, entering the carriage and sitting across from her. The coachman closes the door, turning to nod a farewell to Simon that he returns. Simon stands and watches as the carriage begins to leave, flinching slightly in surprise when Tommy comes beside him.

“Her father seems like a twat.” He comments. Tommy has never been fond of people who looked down at his admirable big brother, and Simon has never been peaceful with those who mess with his little brother.

Simon’s mouth twitches at Tommy’s words, snorting as he throws an arm around his little brother’s shoulders. “Yeah, he does, doesn’t he?”

Simon’s eyes wander to the bag in his hands, and he fumbles to open it with the awkward angle his other arm is in. But when he does get it open, he offers it down for Tommy to take one.

“Want a biscuit? They have this thing in the center called chantilly cream from France, I believe.”

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nervoushottee · 8 hours

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Flaws and All CH. 2 | Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Warnings: you getting jiggy with it with a knife to a can of frank and beans (no blood though)

Summary: You and Joel are on the road to Abe's place but stop to make camp before it gets too dark. You thank Joel for saving you.

Note: AHHHH GUYS HI! You have no idea how happy I am to post this. Fall is ever so approaching and I've been getting more into the comfort mood of the cold. I have been honestly writing this fic off and on throughout the time the last chapter was posted. I think I was at my previous job when I started this fic. But I quit that job and then I got a shitty 9-5 job and I quit that one haha! But no need to worry, just so happy my fingers are tapping on a keyboard again to write stories I can't stop thinking about.

Enjoy hottees!

(Light editing)

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Besides old cars and debris, the roads were thankfully quite bare. Nothing but the frequent deer and occasional squirrel crossing the road, that would scare you from time to time. But you would rather the fleeing animal stop you both than a group of raiders any day.

Rain came an hour or so into the drive and washed away the snow dusted roads. You would miss it but it was better to not worry about snow if the two of you would need to camp for a night before reaching the place Abe talked about. You and Joel hadn’t said much of anything beside you giving him directions if he needed it. And the two of you learned early on that you didn’t really know how to read a map.

You got pretty embarrassed after that, and it was one of the main reasons why you hadn’t spoken up. So the two of you rode in silence, you laid your head in the palm of your hand against the passenger window and watched the scenery pass by.

You don’t know when or how long you fell asleep for but a bump in the road wakes you up. Blinking once or twice and rubbing your eyes with your good hand, you look around to see if any of the scenery has changed. “Sorry.” you hear Joel mumble.

“I tried to avoid any bumps or potholes. I didn’t mean to wake you.” He says in a low voice. Almost as if he keeps his tone soft and serene, you’ll fall back asleep.

Shaking your head to dismiss his apology, you sit up straight from the slumped position you once were in. “I needed to get up anyway.” You yawn a bit, covering your mouth while doing so. “How far have we gotten?”

Joel nudges his head softly to indicate the road ahead, “Not too far now. Maybe six or seven hours til we get there, give or take.” he pauses before saying something else.

You’ve noticed so far that Joel takes his time in trying to find the right words to say to you. Even if it's just about the simplest things like the coffee he handed you back at the station. You wondered if there was a reason behind his pauses and his hesitance. Was it because of the way the world was now? Having to choose the right words to say to strangers who may or may not rob you in your sleep. Or was he like this before all of this happened?

You didn’t think he was a stranger to you, not anymore. And maybe that was stupid to think on your part to let your guard down so early on and think of him as your partner now. But something in you felt it was alright to.

“Reckon it might be time to call it a night though. I don’t want to be on these roads when it’s dark. We haven’t seen anyone for miles and we’re lucky, but that luck might run out when the sun goes down. So it’s best to not stay out here and test that.” He finally tells you. You don’t disagree with him either. It's been a straight miracle that the two of you hadn’t seen anyone since the day when the settlement went to shit.

“Have you ever been here? Abe's place?” You couldn’t pronounce the city from the map that sat on your lap and you were still kind of groggy to even try.

“Not particularly. ‘Ve heard of it but I’ve never been. It’s another reason why I’m not too keen on taking these roads at night.” He tells you.

You hum in response, closing the map and tucking it back into your backpack that sat at your feet. After a few minutes, Joel found a clearing that was wide enough to push the truck through and head into the forest. The drive was bumpy, and you were thankful that the tires hadn’t popped with how many old branches and rocks it drove over. Once Joel felt it was a good spot deep enough into the forest to not draw any attention he parks the truck and shuts off the engine.

“Okay-” you say to gather yourself while unbuckling your seatbelt and turning to open the truck door. Your hand on the cold medal. ready to push it open until you feel a gentle touch against your elbow that stopped you.

“Wait-” Joel hesitates, removing his hand from your arm in the process. He looks at you, pausing again like he wants to say something else after that but falters. He turns his head to look out the front window then the rear view mirror before he eventually speaks.

“Let me take a look around first, just in case.”He asks you shyly as if you would deny his request. To take the initiative to look out for any danger before you come out.

And maybe you would've put up a fight a few hours ago, but your body hasn’t fully woken up from your nap. Still fuzzy, warm and comfortable in your sitting position. You nod your head in which gives Joel the reassurance of you staying put until he says it's safe.

With the light slam of the truck door, you see Joel’s fleeting form in your side view mirror. Gun in one hand and flashlight in the other, he walks around the area you two have called home for the night to make sure it’s safe. And you tried to stay awake, you really did, but the sleep called you back so easily that you slipped right back into it.

When your door opens unexpectedly you awake in fright. Your eyes widen as you frantically pull out the knife that you were sitting on the whole ride. Your healing hand is screaming at the harsh friction.

“Hey-Hey it’s me. It’s just me, you’re okay.”Joel says to you with his hands raised. You refocus your eyes and see that Joel is in fact in front of you. It’s not a raider that killed Joel and now is after you and the goods in the truck. Just the man that’s been your traveling partner these few days. The man you’re starting to trust with your life.

With his eyes never leaving yours, he nods his head softly. Silently telling you that it’s okay, there’s nothing to be afraid of. That it’s just him. He places one of his hands on yours in a sign of comfort before slowly reaching for your knife. “Sorry I scared you. I tapped on the window but it seemed like you were out cold.”

You nod your head in response. Placing a hand against your chest, feeling the rapid pitter patter of your heartbeat from the scare. You close your eyes for a second to try and catch your breath as you inhale and exhale slowly. You hear the soft mutter of Joel repeatedly telling you that you’re okay and that it was just him. He’s still so close to you, the warmth of his body, the smell of his skin and the sound of his voice help you to relax. You open your eyes when you feel Joel's calloused thumb move lightly back and forth against the top of your hand. Continuing the gesture, he uses his other hand to take the knife out of yours.

Looking down at his hand placed on top of your injured one, your heart doesn’t let up from the rapid heartbeat. Now it has a different meaning. Not from being afraid of dying or being tortured or whatever bad thought you had moments before. But from the small gesture of tenderness from the quiet man in front of you.

As quickly as the gesture happens it goes aways. As Joel clears his throat, moves his hand and steps back. He moves enough for you to get out of the truck.

“The spot is good. Once it gets dark, you won't be able to see the truck from far away. I had a hard time lookin’ even now.” That explains why you were able to fall asleep. He had been gone for a while.

“We might have to keep the fire low tonight or even just sleep in the truck after we eat to keep ourselves from sticking out in the dark just in case.” He explains to you.

“Makes sense.” you say to him as you pull a few items from the back seat of the truck. “I’ll get dinner started then.”

The two of you work silently. Joel goes around to collect pieces of wood and bark to make a small fire. You gather a few cans of food to start dinner. Noticing that the supply was getting scarcely low, even with the small amount of things you found in the gas station. Making a mental note to tell Joel about it later, you sit on the ground across from him while he gets the fire going. You place the cans down in front of your crossed legs and get to opening them with your knife.

The sounds of aluminum cracking and the crackling of burned wood filled your ears as you worked to open the cans. The tip of your tongue sticking out of your mouth absentmindedly as you push through the top of the can with your knife firmly.

“What are you doin’?”

You look up to see Joel staring at you, still kneeled in front of the slow growing fire.Your tongue going back in your mouth as you pick up the can you already have half open. You hold it up and look at him confused. “Making dinner.”

“I see that. But why are you using the knife? You tryin’ to get a cut on your other hand?” He asks you smugly, a small faint smile curling on his lips.

You roll your eyes, “This is how I always do it. How do you think we had cold tomato soup last night? Or When we had uh- slimy chicken soup the other night.”

“I have a can opener.” He states. It was true, he did have a can opener. A small one that annoyed the hell out of you with how hard you had to grip the metal and turn it with all your might. You’ve used can openers all your life and you had never seen a can opener as shitty as that one. “I know you do.” You tell him.

“And yet you still want to use that to open it? You could cut yourself.” He points at your knife. “Hey. If I don’t use this, I will be battling with that stupid thing for 10 minutes to open one, let alone two. This is way is easier.” You explain as you extend out your knife.

“Let me do it then so you won’t overwork your hand.” Joel says as he begins to stand up.

“No, no, I’m fine Joel. You get that fire going.”

Joel shakes his head, the small gleam in his still there before he lets out a breath that can almost sound like a chuckle. “Well be careful, that’s all I’m saying.”You hum a response and get back to work, your tongue sticking back out as you concentrate. Nearly finishing the first can, you still feel the heaviness of someone staring at you. Looking up to see Joel watching you and your hands work against the aluminum can.

“Well I can’t work carefully with you staring so hard. I’m gonna lose my focus.” you tell him dramatically. He relents by lifting his hands up in surrender, turning back his focus on the fire. You open the second can a lot faster without his ogling.

After the fire was set and the cans were warming , the two of you sat by the fire. The sun was setting, the sky nearly dark and the sleeping bags underneath you both to aid against the cold damp ground. Your jacket zipped up to your neck and Joel’s zipped up to his chest.

With fire crackling embers that float toward the sky, the moon hovering over you and the stars twinkling in the night. It almost feels normal. Like you’re out camping instead of surviving and it nearly makes you start crying. How nothing will ever be the same again.You would think after dealing with raiders and runners and whatever the hell else that's out there for a couple years would make you used to it. And it did for the most part. But there’s always that small faint feeling that creeps up on you when you hope the next day will be normal. That you wake up and you're back in your apartment waking up on your couch from this crazy dream

Clearing your throat, you force the thought away. You carefully pick up the warm can wrapped in one of your shirts to keep yourself from burning your hands. You blow lightly against your spoon to keep the food from burning your mouth before eating. You eat in silence, occasionally stealing glances at Joel who looks as if he’s staring right at you. But you know he isn’t. He’s looking past your shoulder seeing if there’s any danger lingering in the dark. Hiding behind a tree waiting to sneak on you both at the perfect moment.

“I think we’re okay.”you say to him.

His eyes move towards you before flicking down back to the can of frank and beans you gave him a few minutes prior. “You did a sweep before you started eating. If there was someone out there, they probably would’ve come out by now.” You don’t know if you were saying this is for his reassurance or yours.

Joel eats a couple spoonfuls before speaking, “Can never be too sure.” he shrugs.

“We should clear this up soon and call it a night in the truck just in case.”

You don’t fight him on the decision. He’s kept the two of you safe for this long and you hadn’t complained, so you weren’t going to complain now. The scar on your palm itches in remembrance of how he saved you the first time.

Joel finishes his can before you, so he begins to gather the items you brought out back into the truck. You finish your food right when he’s done, the only thing left to do was roll the sleeping bag that was under you and to put out the fire. Joel pours a small amount of water on the flames and stomps the rest out, making the small area turn nearly pitch black.

The air is colder without the heat of the blazing orange. You opted not to put your sleeping bag away, but to use it as a makeshift blanket for the truck. With your passenger door open, you slide into the seat of the car, tossing your backpack in the back, Joel doing the same.

You let out a sigh, trying to get comfortable but you somehow feel Joel’s stiff movements. You turn to look at him and see his door still open, half of his body out of the truck. “You okay?”

Joel and his hesitance. He stares at you for a few seconds. “I’m gonna check again before we call it a night. Just to see how the truck looks at night and see if we need to move or not.”You don’t respond to him immediately, and it seems to almost make Joel falter in his words. “Okay.”you pause, “Be careful.” He nods his head before getting out fully, telling you he’ll be right back.

“Wait!” you say a little loudly. Joel opens the door and sticks his head in first with his eyebrows raised at your request. You twist in your seat to get to your backpack, and pull out your knife and slowly hand it out to him. His lips slowly quirk up into a smile as a way of thanking you. “Lock the door. I’ll knock on the back of the trunk first so I won’t startle you again.”

With the plan set, Joel closes the door and gets swallowed by the darkness of the night. Your heartbeats a bit quicker when you think of anxious “what-ifs”. What if he doesn’t come back? What if he does and he’s hurt? What if there actually is someone waiting in the shadows for the right moment to act?

Morals were the last thing on anyone’s mind in this world. Now, it was only about survival of the fittest. No matter what you had to do or who you had to hurt to see another day. And in the beginning, it made you sick. The killing and the screams and everything else in between. Some days it still does.

But with Joel, it felt a little easier. Especially with how cautious and attentive he’s been today. From what you’ve gathered from the short time of being at his side, he seems to have always been a cautious and attentive man. But since the gas station, since the call with Abe, he’s even more so. You won’t ask him about it though. You won’t pry just yet because it makes you feel safe. Something you haven’t felt in a long time and you truly don’t know what he’ll say if you ask him. Or that he’ll stop altogether.

Just as Joel had said, you hear two taps against the back of the truck before seeing Joel’s dark form. You reach over the front seat and unlock his door so he can get inside.

“All good?” you ask him.

He takes a second putting his flashlight in one of the cupholders and starts to make himself comfortable. Letting out a sigh of relief or exhaustion (you couldn’t tell which one). He finally nods, “Could hardly see the damn thing in the dark, and even with the light.” he gestures to said flashlight.

“That's good news.” Joel hums in agreement.

The two of you sit in silence, the only sound is crickets in the trees and the rustling of forest animals. “Nearly forgot-”Joel says as he takes out your knife and hands it to you.

“Oh.”you say in surprise, forgetting yourself that you had given it to him in the first place. You were glad he didn’t have to use it and told him as such. He agreed right along with you.

“So when we get to Abe’s place, what’s next?” you ask him softly in the dark. If it wasn’t from the moon cascading its light against the front glass of the truck, you probably wouldn't be able to see him. You can’t see much as you would with the daylight or even the evening haze. But enough to see that his eyes open when you ask him the question.

“Keep moving I guess.” He says simply. “Abe said we could stay temporarily but we won’t know how the place is until we get there. We don’t know how secluded it is or if it sticks out like a sore thumb so, we can’t really make much plans until we get there.”

You turn to the sound rustle at the side of your door, but don’t see anything. And Joel doesn’t make any movements that indicate danger. If you listen as hard as you can, you can hear the small sounds of squeaking. A rat or a squirrel you tell yourself with a sigh.

You subconsciously scratch at your clothed palm as you look out the window. Accepting that the rustle sounds weren’t an animal but a raider.

“Lemme take a look at this.” Joel says as he softly takes your injured hand into his. It causes you to move your attention from outside to him. Turning your head you watch as Joel repositions himself so he’s turn slightly towards you to get a better grip on your hand. “How’s it feeling?”

You shrug, “It doesn’t really hurt anymore, just itches from time to time.”

He nods before slowly untucking the end part of the cloth. “Should be okay to take this off now.”

You watch as Joel holds your hand in his as he attentively unwraps the cloth. Despite telling him you’re not in pain he’s still just as gentle as the first time he helped you. After the last piece of gauze falls from your hand, the two of you see a red angry scar in your palm. A scab forming over it.

You slowly make a fist with your scarred hand a few times to see how it feels. It’s not all the way healed, but it’s freeing to not have the gauze on all the time. Joel hasn’t said a word as he watches you make a fist and open your hand back up again. He uses his thumb to lightly trace the scar. Your breath falters slightly from the sudden touch. You hope he didn’t hear it.

“How’s that?” He asks, staring at you, waiting for your reply.

You nod your head, Joel turns back to your scar and this time his thumb rubs against it a bit firm then before. It stings a little but it isn’t terrible and you tell him as such.

He nods at the information before softly placing your hand back down on the truck’s center console. “Good. Should be fine then without the cloth. It needs to breathe so it can heal fully.”

After that, silence engulfs you both as you try to sleep, but sleep doesn’t come to you as quickly as it did hours before. Thinking too much about these past few days. About Joel and how safe he’s made you feel. And how he didn’t leave you to go to that other place Abe had mentioned. You never would have thought you would have partnered up with just one man for as long as you have been with him. You’ve been with groups with men before, you’ve been alone and you even stayed at settlements or bad attempts at QZs. But never a one on one partner like this.

“Thank you by the way.” You say out loud without much context for him to understand. You hear Joel turn his head towards you but you don’t look at him. Your eyes straight as you squint to watch the trees move slightly against the cold wind.

“You don’t have to thank me for that darlin’, I told you already it wouldn’t have been right-” Joel starts to explain to you seriously. The endearing name hits your heart, making you turn your head the second he says it. But you don’t speak on it as Joel pleading eyes tell you not to. You assume it as an accident and try not to make anything out of it. Thinking it’s that southern hospitality subconsciously creeping back out of him.

“No, not that.” You slide the sleeping back from your lap up to your chest to keep yourself as warm as possible against the cold to distract yourself. You take a breath,

“Thank you for letting Abe know I was there, that I was with you. With how shit this world is now, it's still very surprising to not get tricked or left behind.” you exhale out with a humorless laugh.

You sneak a look at Joel to see if he smiles even a centimeter at your terrible attempt at a joke but he stares at you with an intensity that you’ve only seen twice. The first time when Joel rescued you from your near death experience and the second when he was on the radio with Abe. It causes you to freeze in your seat and not dare try to move your eyes away from his. “I’m not gonna leave you.” he tells you.

Those five words, so simple yet mean so much. How serious it sounds when he says it to you. His eyes almost daring you to say something otherwise, and you’re almost tempted to. And it’s as if a weight is lifted off your shoulders and your chest, you sink a bit into your seat. You nod your head softly to him in understanding before turning your head to your window.

A small smile grows on your lips as you see small white flakes fall from the sky.

“It’s snowing.” you say quietly. Joel doesn’t say anything to you, but you don’t mind. Feeling comfortable in the silence as you watch the snowflakes fall down. And slowly but surely, your eyes drift close and you fall asleep.

———————

Taglist: @hoemadegrace @ninjarose23 @mandeepandee1997 @sheepdogchick3

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abibliophobiaa · 2 years

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Congrats on 1k, babe!! It’s what you deserve and so much more 🤍 for the requests could I get Eddie Munson with some fluff and Crave by Paramore for inspiration?

Thank you, my dear! Here’s some fluffy Eddie || #Lunas1kfollowercelebration🌙 — to submit a prompt.

He wanted this for so long.

He supposed, if he had to think about it, it started with your constant stops into the shop. Not by your own doing, of course. Your car had a pension for ruining your day. Flat tire on the side of the road that required a tow? An issue when your alternator decided to stop working. That ker-plunk of your exhaust hitting the ground one day after hitting a rowdy pothole. The screech of protest from your aging brakes.

You were all quiet smiles standing in the dim lightning of that vestibule. Jeans stretched over crossed thighs while you waited and read one of the crappy magazines the owner left around. Laughter, when one of the other waiting patrons asked what brought you here, and you mentioned it was your third time this month.

“Just can’t get you out of my hair, can I?” Eddie chuckled, dirty hands, baseball cap turned backwards on his head. Your head lifted suddenly, like you hadn’t expected him to speak, and he shrunk away, worried he’d offended you.

But the secret was, after that first time you’d stumbled into the auto repair center, snow slicked over the hood of your jacket and your too-big knit cap, he’d craved those run ins. Wondered when the next time he’d see you would be. He hated that your car had to break down for it to happen, but he craved it all the same.

So it shocked him when you walked over to pay for your latest service, voice bright as you said, “I’ll be out of your hair soon. I’m getting a new car this weekend. Figured it was about time I retired this one.”

His head spun, because that would mean he wouldn’t see you. Wouldn’t look up when that door bell jangled and see you standing there, brightening the often monotonous shop days. So, naturally, he really couldn’t help the words that spilled out next. The way his heart thudded and he swallowed thickly, blurting, “Grab dinner with me sometime?”

His heart pounded, ‘cause what the fuck was he thinking?

But you’d smiled, wide and pretty, eyes light. “Sure, Eddie. I’d like that.”

It had been movies and dinner that next weekend. Fingers that had at first accidentally brushed over shared popcorn, and then intentionally sought warmth of another palm. It was the smile he gave you over the top of his dinner menu—the way you’d brushed your hair behind your ear and glanced away, bashful and pretty, that first date nervousness bubbling.

He’d felt it too.

It was the promise of next weekend shared over a slow kiss at your door. The kind that made his stomach leap, ringed fingers sliding over the contours of your face. He wanted to memorize every detail, that craving to do this all over again, this night, this moment, this kiss with this girl all over again.

One date turned to two, then three, and soon it was movie nights in curled on your small couch, his hand in yours as you strolled in the park, heated kisses in the back of the van, where whispered screamed into quiet spaces, bellies full from dinner, hearts fuller from the company.

And yeah, maybe his car broke down on your way to dinner one night. And maybe it had been raining as he lifted the hood of his car and peered at you through the windshield, but you both laughed all the same, because car troubles brought you here, and now that’s where you would remain.

#lunas1kfollowercelebration🌙#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson blurbs #eddie munson fluff

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squishy-lombax · 1 year

Text

Umbrella (Fowlham fanfic)

Believe it or not, I've never written a fan fiction before! I hope you enjoy my first attempt! I decided to go with a comfort fandom of mine, RC9GN with a pairing I think is cute and sadly did not have much scene-time; FowlHam. If you're here from my Secret Trio comic book, this fic takes place before the events of my comic. Side note: I head-canon Randy with ADHD and Theresa with Autism. Reminiscent of the relationship that my partner and I have in real life. So hopefully I represented the disorders well.

It was an over-cast day when McFist's new McSneak shoes went on sale. The forecast said it would rain, so all those in line held umbrellas. No one was willing to miss the release of these new shoes just because of a little rain. Randy Cunningham was one of those lucky people waiting in line. Well, if you call standing in line for hours since the butt crack of dawn with the threat of rain "lucky." His best friend, Howard Weinerman, was there too; although, he came hours later with snacks.

Following the sound of groans and curses, "Th-thank *gasp* honking *gasp* cheese I found you Cunningham," Howard exclaimed as he shoved his way in line next to Randy, "Let me tell you! If I had to fight off one more toddler before finding you, I would have given up!"

"Well maybe I wouldn't be so far in line if you had gotten here on time," Randy greeted his friend, grabbing a bag of chips from his arms.

"Just be thankful I kept you updated. Do you know how hard it is to text when one of your hands looks like this?!' Howard said forcing a McCheeto dust covered hand up to Randy's face.

"Hey! Watch the hoodie, you shoob!" Randy retorted as a mild slapping match ensued.

The violence stopped as quickly as it started when the first drops of rain began to fall. There was a brief commotion as people extended their umbrellas. Randy grabbed his umbrella and found that opening it when one hand was occupied by a bag of chips was difficult. After fumbling for a few seconds he eventually turned to Howard for assistance. Howard obliged but kept a smug smile the whole time. Howard reached his dust covered hand over and pressed the release button. With the power of teamwork, the umbrella opened. Randy rolled his eyes as Howard added "see, it's pretty difficult when you're burdened with the best snacks borrowed money can buy".

"Okay, but did borrowed money," Randy air-quoted, "buy you an umbrella?"

Howard was unable to continue their battle of wits as the rain began to downpour. The umbrella-less Howard ducked under Randy's inconspicuous Ninja-themed umbrella as their playful argument was momentarily forgotten.

Rain has a funny effect on people. It has a magic that can cause a whole crowd of excited people to fall into a silence. Only something so powerful can make Randy and Howard quiet for more than two minutes. Howard licked his fingers of the McCheeto dust before popping open another bag. Randy, his bag of chips forgotten, began to disassociate as he stared out into the steady shower. The puddle forming in a nearby pothole caught his eye first. Then, a splash created by a car as it nearly hit a woman at the bus stop. Until he settled on a soaked Theresa running across the street. "Wait- a soaked Theresa running across the street?" Randy did a double take before his mind could wander to the next moving object. Yup, that was Theresa. She was without an umbrella and carrying what he thought was a grocery bag.

Nudging Howard, "Do you think I should help her?" Randy asked.

"Help who, bro?! You can't just change subjects on me like that, you know this!"

"Oh, sorry, Theresa. I mean- Theresa is across the street and looks like she needs help." Randy explained, pointing to where the girl was now walking after making it successfully to the other side of the road.

"Cunningham, you just stood in line for four hours and you're about to leave because you don't think women can hold bags?!"

"What?! No- that's- can't you see she is soaking wet?" Randy responded, arms flailing in the general direction of said drenched girl.

"Well, luckily she's already wet. Otherwise, that fall would honkin' suck!" Howard stated, desperately trying to stay under the moving umbrella.

"Fall-?" Randy muttered as he turned back to look at Theresa, who was currently on the ground and frantically trying to scoop up the contents of her dropped bag.

Randy wasn't sure if hisNinj-stincts kicked in or what, but he found himself handing Howard's snacks back and hopping over the crowd barricades he spent hours behind that morning. Making it to the busy street, the man-on-a-mission didn't bother to wait for the crosswalk sign. Instead, snapping his umbrella closed, Randy weaved his way through traffic. He began jumping between cars, narrowly avoiding splashes, and finished off with a roll over a hood. Only for him to pop the umbrella back open over Theresa's head.

Theresa was crouched with a can of soup in her hand, staring up, wide-eyed at Randy, who was desperately trying to look cool and not winded. This pose was held for a few seconds too long, as no words passed between the two. The awkwardness snapped Randy back to reality as his thoughts ran rampant: "What the juice did I just do?! Did anyone see that? No one thinks I'm the Ninja, right? Anyone could have done that! Why would they think I'm the Ninja? I just wanted to help a friend! Maybe I should say something to her- have I not said anything to her yet?! Okay, she's standing up now. How long has she been staring at me? What should I say? Hm, I forgot how tall she is-"

"Thank you," Theresa spoke.

"Soup."

"Huh?"

"The soup in your hand- I mean, I'm here to help with the soup- I mean the groceries!" Randy blurted.

"Oh, thanks. Uh- I already said that-" Theresa trailed off, her free hand pulling at her wet hair as she looked down at the scattered food.

The next few seconds were spent picking up the groceries. Randy, for reasons he didn't understand, was trying to avoid eye contact with Theresa. Instead, he was trying to focus on saving the items in the deepest puddles first. The bread was thankfully protected by it's plastic covering. The cans were fine too, although their labels would probably warp. However, some fruits and vegetables were bruised or smashed. The umbrella balanced in his elbow, Randy dropped the items in the rescued grocery bag that Theresa held out. With the task finished, Randy was forced to acknowledge Theresa again. Her hair was a disaster, but it appeared as though she attempted to smooth it while Randy wasn't looking. Her mascara ran down her face as she gave a small smile between blushing cheeks. She wasn't wearing her usual school uniform. Instead, she was wearing a small pink T-shirt and a black knee-length skirt. Of course, both were now wet and clung to her body, but Randy used all his Ninja strength to direct his eyes back to her face. She had a knowing look in her eyes, which caused Randy to blush.

"Thanks again for the help," Theresa said. "I have to get going now, though."

"In the rain?" Randy asked, still sheltering them both under his umbrella.

"I mean, I kind of have no choice. Unless you were offering to walk me home?"

Randy was struggling to read the situation. He hadn't intended to walk her home, but then again, he wasn't exactly sure what he intended when he abandoned Howard and ran across the road. Glancing back in that direction, Randy made out the shape of Howard, flailing his arms around and presumably cussing him out for leaving him alone without an umbrella. Randy's hesitation to answer must have faltered Theresa's confidence, for she began to move around him to carry on her way.

"No wait!" Randy reached out and grabbed her arm. "What kind of helpful hero would I be if I let you walk home in the rain?" "Nice, saved it!" He gave himself a mental high-five.

"Great! Uh- I mean- if you're sure" Theresa said, looping her arm with his, removing the choice of backing out.

The body contact was enough to short-circuit Randy's brain, causing him to completely forget about Howard and the new McSneak shoes. "L-let me take that bag for you," Randy added as he took the semi-heavy grocery bag on his other arm. "So, um, where do you live exactly?" He asked, realizing he didn't know. Theresa's blush deepened at the gesture and answered, "It's in that neighborhood near the cemetery, a few more blocks away."

They walked in silence peacefully as they enjoyed the rhythm of the rain. At least, that's probably what it would have looked like to any stranger seeing the "couple" walking down the sidewalk. In reality, Randy's mind was in turmoil. Mainly because he didn't know what was going to happen after all this was done. Theresa clung to his arm as if he was her lifeline, but her face was obscured by her bangs. Their relationship, if you could call it that, was complicated. They could be considered friends, but they weren't close, nor did they know each other well. Meanwhile, Theresa's crush on him had been obvious since day one. Randy, with his life already so hectic, didn't act on her advances one way or another. Did he like her back? Of course he did, but why hadn't he asked her out yet? The idea was almost too overwhelming. Having a girlfriend would wonk up what little semblance of routine and free time he had left. Stringing her along made him feel like a total shoob though. Is that what he was doing? He didn't even know.

Biting his lip, he looked down at the bag he was carrying. Having to go out and buy his own groceries was a relatable feeling to him. With his dad out of the picture and his mom away for business most days, average household chores were left up to him. Well, as many household chores a teen boy with a secret double life can accomplish. It made him wonder why Theresa was doing the job of a parent, too. Again, they didn't know each other very well. It was worth a shot to ask...

"Sooooo, who's all this for?" Randy broke the silence in a normal and not at all awkward way.

"Me...?" Theresa answered, seemingly brought out of her own thoughts.

"All of it?" He joked as he heaved the bag like it weighed a ton.

"N-no! It's for my grandma, too!" Theresa flustered, the joke seeming lost to her.

"Oh, cool, you bring food to your grandma?"

"Kinda. You can meet her if you want," Theresa replied absent-mindedly.

"Oh, ho-ho. I'm meeting your grandma? I am speed-running through this relationship!" Randy teased. "Why the juice did I just say that?! Man, I really am stringing her along-"

"W-what?! I mean- sure, b-but I haven't told her about you yet or anything, so it might be weird..." Theresa trailed off. Ugh, she was so cute when she was flustered. "Why are you having these thoughts? You're the Ninja! The Nomicon would chew me out for this..."

The cemetery was coming into view, but Theresa didn't say when to turn and they kept walking. The rain had become a gentle drizzle and made for perfect cemetery weather. Surprisingly, there were a few people inside standing near some headstones. Although, Randy may have missed them if it wasn't for their large umbrellas. It was a nice moment despite the dark subject matter. Randy's mind drifted again as he thought about other, more fun, dates Theresa and he could go on. He had to quickly remind himself this wasn't a date though. "It could be," a small voiced whispered in his mind. After all, if he had time to stand in line for four hours just for a pair of sneakers, maybe he did have time for a girlfriend. He just needed to take that plunge and stop using his Ninja life as an excuse not to get on with his own life. He tightened his grip on the umbrella handle, bracing himself as he tried to think of what to say-

"Hm, I think I could make this work..." Theresa was mumbling to herself.

"Make what work?" Randy asked, snapping out of his trance.

"I just feel bad because I've of been stringing you along. I'm pretty busy, what with my baton practice and taking care of my grandma. It's difficult to find time just for friends, better less a boyfriend!" She replied matter-of-factly, "But you're right, maybe we should make things official" She finished, finally looking Randy in the eyes. Her big, beautiful eyes, surrounded by black smudge that used to be mascara.

Laughing was probably not the response she was looking for, but Randy couldn't contain the irony. Umbrella in one hand and groceries in the other, Randy had to keep himself from doubling over as his sides ached from the laughter. Theresa, on the other hand, broke away from his arm and looked like she was going to pass away where she stood. "W-wait, is that not what you meant?! You were just joking, weren't you?! Oh my Ninja, I'm such an idiot!" The poor girl looked like she was about to cry at this point.

"No, no, it's not that," Randy breathed between laughter. "I just felt like I was the one leading you on! I never really told you whether I was interested or not. Meanwhile, you've been all over me."

"I have?!" Theresa's whole face was as red as the Ninja's scarf.

Theresa's response made Randy's mind temporarily blank as he tried to figure out whether she was joking by asking that or if she was genuinely unaware that the whole school knew about her crush on him. Luckily, she was able to snap his mind back before it ran away from him again. "Wait, so you are interested, right? I mean, in being girlfriend and boyfriend?" her words trailing off.

Ho-boy, the question when asked so directly made the whole situation overwhelming. Randy wasn't sure if he was happy or not that he left the Nomicon at home today. If it was here now, it would definitely be buzzing and he'd have an excuse to leave. But it wasn't here. It was just him, Theresa, and the steady tapping of the rain on the umbrella. "You gotta say something, anything!"

"LET'S. Go. To. Your. Grandma's." was apparently the strategy he was going with.

"Sooo that's a yes, then?" Theresa hummed, taking Randy's arm back into her possession.

"Mhm," was all the reply she got, but it was enough. Theresa's ability to read social cues may be wonk, but poor Randy was a total open book. Including that silly little secret he kept about being the Ninja. Despite her messy hair and ruined makeup, Theresa beamed the whole way to Grandma's.

#rc9gn #randy cunningham #randy cunningham 9th grade ninja #fanfiction #fanfic #story #writing #theresa fowler #fowlham

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pbj-katz · 5 months

Text

The Surreal Murder of Stephanie Marsland

Stephanie Marsland died Friday, March 15th, 2019, she had turned 16 only three weeks earlier. They found her on the east side of Yew Dr., approximately a quarter before four in Harpy, Colorado. During the initial examination, experts determined she had died only 15 minutes prior to the discovery.

Drowning.

She was face down in a puddle of maybe 4 inches of water; it had rained through the night before, and into the day, stopping only an hour before school was released. The pothole that held the water was the infamous Silly Billy hole. The name, well disputed on who had given it to the pothole, was in front of the house of William Harris, an elderly man who, as many of the folks who lived in Harpy would have claimed, had been living in the house before the town was even built. Despite the rumors right after his death from a heart attack three days later, William Harris was not the one to find the girl. No, that task was left to 10-year-old Sean Abshear, who sat on the ground with wet cement soaking into his brand new jeans and screamed until someone pulled him away from the sight.

“Those jeans, they were stained. I had to throw them away. Spent nearly 90 dollars on them and threw them away because Sean didn’t have the common sense to knock on a door. He gets that from his father.” His mother, Kimberly Abshear, would tell their neighbor Beverly Turner when asked what had happened that day. But of course, when Beverly went over to the Abshear’s house, she was looking for the gruesome details.

Within four months, Silly Billy, who had been filled with asphalt every year only to return deeper and more vengeful each year, would disappear. As if overnight, the town of Harpy would close Yew Dr., and reopen it three weeks later, freshly paved.

“I guess something good came from that girl’s death.” Fred Bowman stood on his porch early in the morning, looking out on the new street. Standing just outside the door, his husband felt a shiver crawl up his back, the only other person who could have heard.

That girl.

“Stephanie was an angel; she had this bright future. We had just started talking about colleges, about her major, about growing. She wasn’t stupid, she wouldn’t have lain down in a puddle, she wouldn’t have killed herself.” Fiona Marsland told a student-made documentary almost a year to the date of her daughter’s death.

Stephanie Marsland was described as a kind-hearted, easygoing girl. She loved dogs, and her younger brothers, often described as a second mother to them. Over the 16 years she was alive, she had an influential impact on the town of Harpy, though mostly gone unnoticed. She would volunteer at events, or at the local hospital, but she was also a shy girl.

“She wouldn’t have won any popularity competitions, that’s for sure. The girl was smart, no question, but the girl was also dim. She could write a paper, and it would be this masterpiece, but the second the girl opened her mouth, nothing would come out. She had friends, I’ve seen her with friends, and she wasn’t ever without someone in the class to team up with, but once all eyes fell on her, she would freeze.” Launa Hempton, Stephanie’s sophomore biology teacher, would tell the police when they first launched their investigation. “No one hated that girl, or at least, I don’t think anyone would. There was nothing to hate, she probably didn’t have a single negative thought in her head. Poor girl, she probably passed out and fell into the wrong place at the wrong time.”

The most popular theory that passed around Harpy. On her way home, Stephanie lost consciousness and accidentally fell into Silly Billy, tragically drowning while no one was aware. But that could not be the case. In the official autopsy, the cause of death was purely drowning. There were no apparent reasons for her to lose consciousness; she was adequately hydrated and had food in her stomach. There were no indications of diabetes, drugs, or alcohol in her system. She did not suffer from anemia, seizures, or low blood pressure, and all her organs appeared to be in good health. Besides the post-mortem broken rib from the CPR, there was no trauma to the body, no blunt force, no sign of any sort of struggle, and no trauma to her body or genitals, her hymen was still intact with no signs of any sort of penetration.

Absolutely no sign of trauma.

In the case of Ms. Stephanie Marsland, her examination came back entirely unremarkable. In the ruling of her death, it appears, in my professional opinion, that she unequivocally drowned. No evidence indicated a fall; had she passed out as suggested, there would have been visible marks on her body, especially if she had completely lost consciousness and couldn’t protect herself. Any sort of wounds I found, three in total, at least a day old, if not older, please refer to my official records for more information on the wounds. Ms. Marsland was the picture of a healthy 16-year-old youth, I have doubts she had ever touched alcohol or any drug stronger than Tylenol. All foreign fibers and hairs came back explainable, again refer to my report. I signed off on the autopsy as drowning, with my report reading: Ms. Stephanie Marsland was in exceptional health, if she momentarily lost consciousness, she would have had lay down and rolled to the point her face found the water, she purposely placed herself into the water, or, and most likely, since an article of clothing seemed to have been removed from the body, she was placed there.

The investigation started within a few days of her death, teens were pulled from classes to answer questions, one of them being maybe Stephanie’s best friend. Jacklyn Pappas sat in front of the police, the grease pen drawn mustache for her dress rehearsal of Hamlet, playing Horatio, still on her face. The questions were straightforward, how long had she known Stephanie? (Since childhood.) How long have you two been friends? (Since childhood.) How well did she know her? (Better than anyone at that school, I would say.) When was the last time she had seen her? (As they dressed after PE.) Was Stephanie acting strange? (No.) Was she showing signs of distress? (I don’t think so.) Did she ever mention feeling sad, depressed, suicidal? (No, despite what people say, she was never a sad person.) What do people say? (Stephanie was suicidal because Justin Goodwin had no interest in her.) Who is Justin Goodwin? (A boy Stephanie did like, a boy that she felt she would never have a chance with.) Did she ever talk to Mr. Goodwin? (No, she was too shy.) Did that make her sad? (No, maybe a little, but she rarely talked about it, she was more focused on her future.) Was Stephanie wearing a bra that day?

Jacklyn could not recall precisely what color, maybe purple, but yes, Stephanie was wearing a bra that day. They had changed twice in front of each other, once for PE, and the second after, both times Jacklyn knew for a fact she was in a bra. To Jacklyn, she would have noticed if Stephanie had not, because, despite her petite frame, she was heavy-breasted. She was not one to go without a bra, not when she knew the attention her breast had already garnered with it on, and if there was anything that she hated more, it was the gawking she got when she began to fill out at the early age of 11. She had mentioned reduction surgery more than once, but it was a dream for when she was older.

When she was found face down in that puddle, Glenn Hopper, a retired medic three houses down from where the boy sat screaming, pulled her from the puddle and administered CPR, he noted the girl had no bra on. Even when her mother sobbed in the morgue with the bag of clothing that she had been wearing, she asked where the bra was. As if the fact this girl had drowned in a puddle did not raise enough eyebrows, the missing article of clothing did. The entire town seemed to agree unanimously that Stephanie lying face first in a puddle was acceptable, but they drew the line at the missing bra.

“She was really nice, she was pretty too, I don’t think many people saw that, but she was a pretty girl.” Franklin Singur had been recorded saying over the phone to the Just a Second in Time podcast. Later in the call, he mentioned to Theresa Hernandez more on the subject. “I know she had gone on one date, maybe a few weeks before her death, I don’t know if you would even call it that, but she had gone out with Lincoln Perry, and he was there that day, one of the last people to see her alive.”

“Did he do it?” Theresa would ask.

“No, no, it’s too easy, isn’t it? But no, Lincoln was just a bystander that day, the real beef was between Justin Goodwin, and Patrick Hawkins. Lincoln was probably home right after she left and had an alibi. I remember eyes were on him for a hot second, but off as if they were like, no, not Lincoln Perry.”

“What exactly do you mean the beef was between Justin Goodwin and Patrick Hawkins?”

The argument of precisely when Justin and Patrick’s abhor for one another began narrowed down to three separate incidents. When questioned by the police, Lincoln would recount the first one, as he had volunteered to talk to them the very second he heard of Stephanie’s passing. “Justin and Patrick never liked each other, Justin grew up in Harpy, where Patrick showed up in the second grade. He was always strange, Patrick, he had these jars, tiny jars, and in the jars he would put bugs. He had one friend, Drake, and Drake isn’t weird, we played basketball together, but even Drake never jumped to Patrick’s defense. We would call him weird, and where Drake would never join in, he would keep his mouth shut. Patrick started our school, and from day one Justin didn’t like the guy. It was never directly one thing, but I think what set it off was when, and we were kids, like seven or eight, but Justin opened those jars into Patrick’s lunchbox, and when he opened it all these weird insects scurried around the table. Everyone was screaming, but Justin was saying, ‘I told you, the freak eats them.’”

The next incident was told by Nicolas Banter after the case was closed when the official transcripts had been released, and the first set of true crime investigators clamped down. Henry James’ podcast, The Back Waters Crimes, would be one of the first to take an interest in the story. Although the broadcast lacked enough information to make it worthwhile, a patron tier granted the audience who contributed five dollars a month the ability to read transcripts of unreleased episodes.

Nicolas Banter: Leans back in his chair, chuckling at the report. Of course, that is the moment Link would say, the bugs.

Henry James: You think that wasn’t it?

Nicolas: No, this paints Justin in a negative light, as if he just judged the freak right off the bat. Yes, what Lincoln said was true, the two clearly hated each other the second their eyes met, but if it wasn’t for Patrick, it wouldn’t have escalated to this.

Henry: So, you think Patrick pushed Justin to spill the bugs in his lunch bag?

Nicolas: No, I know for a fact it was. Patrick envied Justin, his dad was a chief of police in a different county, about a week before Chief Goodwin arrested Patrick’s dad when he ran a stop sign, and then failed a sobriety test. You see, Patrick was in the damn car. I don’t know if he saw Goodwin and figured, or was told, but the next time he saw Justin he jumped on him, punching the shit out of him, screaming at him. I would not be surprised if the guy killed Stephanie, if COVID didn’t happen, I feel like the investigation would have ended differently.

Henry: What was he saying? To Justin, when he was hitting him?

Nicolas: ‘F—k you and f—k your pig father.’

The case never categorically went cold, but as the year ended, and the climb into 2020 happened, one year came, and it passed one piece of evidence reigniting interest in the case until it came to an abrupt halt late in March 2020, when the country shut down due to the pandemic. Only Drake Hamal knew a story that the other two were oblivious to, potentially explaining the true cause of the two boys’ mutual hatred. He penned his human-interest story in his college newspaper detailing the event.

Nearly three years ago, while I was in high school, a girl was found dead. She had been drowned in a puddle four blocks from my house. The biggest spotlight fell on two students that I had known since elementary school, an incident that occurred at school, and then developed through the day until escalating off campus. In the end, a girl was found dead, and the boy’s pointed fingers at the other, as they had done almost a decade before.

PH moved from Utah, his family was Mormons, as was JG, they belonged to the same church. Years later, PH finally revealed to me the exact details of what had occurred, a truth that I deeply regretted knowing. JG was no stranger to attending events put on by Mr. G, who was heavily involved in the church. The boys, who must have been seven, were left to watch a movie in JG’s family den, when the DVD skipped, and they both went up to the main house to inform the adults, but found the house empty. PH claimed that JG suggested checking upstairs, but they both ascended to the second floor upon hearing a noise. It was a relief, PH would tell me, they weren’t alone, but as he went to open the door, JG told him no, that he wasn’t allowed to when the door was shut, but PH still turned the knob.

PH’s parents plus JG’s mother were engaged in sexual relations as JG’s dad watched. He would tell me Mr. G sat in a chair tucked back in the corner, naked as the others were, but still never taking his eyes off what was unfolding in front of him. As a teenager, we were just about 15 when this story was told to me; he understood what exactly was happening, but there, as he saw what he would call a pathetic pig watch his wife take it, he felt as if Mr. G was who to blame, by extension, JG too.

Yes, they hated each other the second they met, the classic clashing of personalities, there PH would put his disgust for his own parents all on to whom he felt was liable. He claimed he was the one who pushed JG into the door, but JG would be the first one to throw a punch. Their parents would come out of the room still naked, to the scuffle. It would end with the H’s leaving, and within a week of the embarrassing tussle, JG’s father would be arresting PH’s father.

The article will tell the story of the incident that would lead to the fight outside of the school on the afternoon of March 15th, which would have been argued to lead to the death of Stephanie Marsland, an incident that would be better detailed in the official police report, besides the partial redaction. The report is:

Monday, March 25th, 2019

The past week I have had the pleasure of talking to one Mr. Patrick Hawkins and Mr. Justin Goodwin, son of Delt county’s Chief Goodwin. They eagerly shared the details of the events that transpired on Friday, March 15th, evidence securely gathered and awaiting processing. Mr. Goodwin’s testimony is as follows; rap star Gaze the Baptist came out with a new clothing line late the year before, selling out as fast as it had gone up. This clothing line included a $300 pair of jeans that Mr. Goodwin would claim he had been saving up to get and was one of the lucky ones to purchase. That week the package came, and despite Mrs. Goodwin’s protest of letting her son leave the house with those pants on, he would arrive at school in them. He would claim he was aware of Mr. Hawkin’s being a fan of this rapper, and when he showed up in the jeans, Mr. Goodwin is quoted as saying; “I knew I made a mistake, the look Patrick gave me was telling me I would not leave the school without regretting wearing them.”

The pants in question were taken from Mr. Goodwin and put on evidence, but later released back to the boy.

It had been noted that Mr. Hawkin’s favorite form of taking notes was in red pens, not just by Mr. Goodwin, but by other classmates and teachers. Some even were quoted as saying he would use variations of shades, but always red. In their shared 3rd period class, Mr. Goodwin would take his seat right before the late bell and proceed with the class as usual, taking notes and interacting as he would normally. At this moment in his story, he looked out the window for a long time, his face turning a slight red as he thought of his next words. He was called up to the front of the class to give his presentation, one he claimed he had spent weeks preparing, and as he stood the giggling started, and by the time he was in front of the class, everyone was laughing.

“Madison Thorpe even asked me if I needed a tampon, and that’s how the period jokes started.” He would tell us. On the left side, and into the middle of his buttocks, was a red stain. The pants, when presented as evidence, did not show any resemblance to blood stains. The stain had seeped into his pants, through his briefs, and stained his skin. “Even now, what? Two weeks later? I still have a goddamn stain on my ass.” This is where, unprompted, Mr. Goodwin would stand up, and present the stain on his buttocks, mostly faded but a clear pink blob. “It was that goddamn freak, and his goddamn red pens.”

When asked about the ink, Mr. Hawkins smiled but shook his head. “No, I didn’t do it, yes, it was funny, but the asshole deserved it.” When asked how he thought the ink got on his chair, Mr. Hawkins would tell us he was unsure, though he couldn’t have done it even though he knew he had a “reputation of red ink”, how the boy would put it. We questioned whether he perceived the targeting of Mr. Goodwin with red ink as a mere coincidence. “I got to class with two other people, while three others were already seated. I sit nowhere near Justin, if I wanted to do it, the others would have seen me.”

Both admitted to the lunchtime confrontation, where Mr. Goodwin went up to Mr. Hawkins and shoved him to the ground but was pulled away before it could escalate. In the next class, the two shared they were separated, but comments between the two were heard from other classmates. The last class, one shared with Ms. Marsland, ended while one boy was sent to the library and the other to the computer lab after a brawl almost broke out during quiet time.

Classmate, Peter Waller, told the police that it started when Mr. Goodwin went to turn a paper in, he went the long way around the desk to knock into Mr. Hawkins’ arm, prompting Mr. Hawkins to rise and was quoted saying; “Face me like a man.” Three others impeded the two before they were separated.

The real confrontation did not start until after school had gotten out.

[Redacted]

The redaction was blacked out in permanent marker in the unofficial report, but when typed out, a simple redacted was placed, ending the document. The blackout second was just about a page and a half long, but no other reports seem to mention what event took place after the school bell released the school. Edward Hobble, a private investigator, became interested in the case in his time, cooped up in his house during the shutdown. Hobble had grown up in a town near Harpy, and the case was brought to his attention by his son, who was writing his senior thesis on the case.

At first glance, Hoddle quickly concluded that the details were clear and straightforward. His theory, his son would quote him saying in the 30 page paper on the Marsland, was that she probably had an anxiety attack, the girl had clearly had an issue there and laid down on the ground when she felt dizzy and must have rolled into the puddle. The missing bra didn’t catch his attention, it was the unofficial redaction that did.

“Goodwin’s father was the chief of police, and then more than a page was redacted the second they mentioned the girl’s name. If anyone knows what happened to that girl, it’s either or both boys.”

The only people who were aware of what happened the afternoon of March 15th were Justin Goodwin, Patrick Hawkins, Lincoln Perry, and Nicolas Banter. In none of the interviews of investigations, has it been released whether Lincoln or Nicolas mention that afternoon confrontation, or if that information was told, just once more redacted. The common theory in a true crime Reddit thread, about the Stephanie Marsland case was Chief Goodwin made sure the boys wouldn’t talk. It was not until u/ [deleted] took to the forum.

There is a common theory that Chief Goodwin silenced those involved in the Goodwin v. Hawkins, and while I can confirm that we were told to keep our mouths shut, we never had to sign anything. We were minors, for Christ’s sake, and it’s not because we killed that girl. We left school, the three of us, and Justin was steamed up. He had changed into his gym shorts, and yes, he had this giant ass stain on his ass, I’d be pissed too. It was common knowledge that Patrick frequently used the back way home, which ran behind Yew Dr. There was a stream along the bank that Justin walk to, especially after it rained, but that day he kept making this jerky movement, like he was trying to see up the bank. We heard whistling. That’s the thing about Patrick all these reports failed to mention, this weirdo would whilst, very out of tone, always he would walk by, whistling.

I think Link said something like ‘I think that’s Patrick’ or something, but before he could even finish Justin was charging up the bank, us behind him. Link was the one to want to put a stop to the violence, but even there as Patrick froze as we bobbed up that mound, I think we all had the same idea, we’d scare the freak.

Justin was calling this guy every damn name he could think of, he grabbed him by the jacket and was jerking at him; we joined in, pushing him. I don’t know what the hell the kid had in his backpack, maybe jars of bugs, [A comment that would not be made clear until later, and many who would respond to this post would question this one line in particular] but it was heavy, he kept losing his balance until he finally fell over. Justin grabbed him by his ankles, dragging him towards the bank, telling him he was going to shove his face into the water.

If you want my opinion, that’s the reason that Chief Goodwin went out of his way to keep us quiet, Justin threatening to dunk this kid, and then the girl was found dead less than an hour later that exact way. But Patrick kicked out hard, and Justin lost his grip.

We grabbed Patrick before he could get away and held him for Justin, who looked as if he could murder Patrick. I think we would have let him go from an expression alone, but a voice stopped it.

Stephanie was shy, it’s been told over and over, but honestly, I didn’t think she would have ever said anything there if she didn’t see Lincoln. He liked her a lot, and I think she liked him, they had gone on a few dates, but he said she was too nervous to even kiss him, but he’s a good guy, he probably never pushed it. I didn’t know much more about her, but there she was, her hands on her hips as if she was a goddamn superhero. She told us to let Patrick go, to leave him alone, that three against one was grossly unfair.

Shit, it was the most I had ever heard the girl talk. Link was embarrassed, he let go first and even took a few steps away from the freak. Justin, on the other hand, just looked at her as if she was on the same level as Patrick and told her to eff off. Now, I doubted anyone had ever spoken to Stephanie like that, but it did not phase her. She told him he was being a bully in class, and he was being a bully now.

If I remember correctly, he looked at Lincoln in a way to ask him to calm his girl, but no one said anything back to her. She went up to Patrick, put her hand on his arm, and they left together.

Patrick Hawkins was the last one to be seen with her alive.

Whatever happened to Stephanie Marsland, Patrick is the only person who knows.

At the time of the post, an overwhelming interest in Stephanie Marsland flooded the internet. The subreddit became divided between believers and skeptics, as nobody could confirm the identity of the person speculated to be Nicolas Banter.

According to U/BrutalStar, it was impossible for it to be him, as it was a throwaway account that was created and deleted on the same day. However, it was u/GodsPrankOnAbraham that pointed out that the details in the story seemed to match up well with the reports that would be released later in the week.

It wasn’t until YouTuber Tylor Kamer, who would tell his own story on this post that the truth came to light. In the video, Kramer retold the story of Stephanie Marsland, connecting the dots to this Reddit comment. But was it truly Nicolas Banter who posted the comment?

“Here with me,” Kamer’s voice came over a video of him doing his research. “Is the real-life Nicolas Banter. Hello Nick, thank you for joining me today.”

Transcripts come over the screen. “Hi Tylor, thank you for reaching out.”

“Now, you were there that day, as it has been presented in the evidence.”

“Yes.”

“I know you met with Henry James’s podcast right after the comment had popped up on Reddit, but I read over those transcripts, and it never mentions the comment.”

“I think I did the interview, man, I don’t know, a week, maybe more after the comment on the subreddit, and I doubt Henry knew about it. Maybe a month later, I received an email, and I swore it was going to ask me for another interview just about the comment, but no, it was just telling me he didn’t have enough evidence for a full episode and that he would be put it on his Patron. I shrugged it off, wasn’t too aware how much popularity in the comment had gained.”

“Now, Nick, let me ask the question we all have been wondering since the comment came to light a year ago. Was that you?”

“Yes.” The words come on as music plays, and a voiceover goes more into detail about the comment before returning to the interview, but the unedited interview continues. “I have friends and something of a community that I connect with on Reddit. The whole Stephanie Marsland case was never fully connected to me, and I get where it is now, I realized that from that subreddit alone, but at the time she had shown up and was dead. One of my friends, I only really know him on Discord, Reddit, and Xbox, but he was the one that brought it to my attention. At one point our school photos were posted, and he was like ‘Man, I think this is you, it’s your name, and looks just like you. You never told me you killed a girl.’ At that point, I was just a freshman in college, on my own for the first time, and there was my picture in connection with Stephanie. I just created an account and deleted it, and I get how that would look, but I really didn’t want my account to be covered in Stephanie Marsland post from then on. What I wrote was true, I got a call from Lincoln a few weeks after and he didn’t even need to ask me if I wrote it, he was just like ‘Man hope to Christ Chief Goodwin doesn’t see that.’”

“You said that he never made you sign anything, what did he say to get Lincoln react like that?”

“‘You boys keep your goddamn mouth shut if you don’t want to end up in a juvenile detention center, the girl was basically raped, and drowned, that shit will never scrub off your name.’ But she wasn’t, yeah, the whole bra thing is weird, like she was never touched other than removing the bra? That’s trophy shit you read about in serial killers, but, I don’t know, we were one of the last people to see her alive, so yeah, we stayed quiet.”

“The bra, they found it though.”

“They found a bra, yes, but that was a year later, tucked in a goddamn maple tree.”

The case was never exactly cold, the police department of Harpy would claim they were just waiting through the rest of the evidence, but in the end, everyone knew how it would end. It would be an accidental drowning, all the strangeness surrounding the rest would be explained simply as; she had a panic attack and laid down and rolled, the missing bra might be that she felt constricted and removed it, Patrick and Justin would be cleared, and Stephanie Marsland would be forgotten.

Until the end of March 2020.

Couple Dean Oster and Patty Hearst would walk over their property on the outskirts of Harpy, a 3-archer land that backed into woods, when Patty spotted something sticking out of a tree. She would tell the newspaper that she thought nothing of it at first, bird would bring strange things into those trees, but then as they got closer, she said she cried. “It was a bra strap from the back. Dean saw it and goes ‘what is that?’ but there I was sobbing. It’s not like we didn’t find clothing on our property before, teen would sneak there to have sex, but it wasn’t the fact it was a bra, but it was black with these purple hearts, almost a year to the day they found the little girl dead.”

The evidence description of the bra is as fallows;

Agency: Harpy PD

Case Number: 09-0747

Item Number: 1

Date/Time: 03/10/2020, 1407

Description and/or Location: The bra, in size 36C, is black in color with purple hearts measuring approximately 2/3rds of an inch adorning the straps and cups. The fabric is covered in debris from the maple tree where it was discovered, but is otherwise in a clean condition. It must have been placed there within a day or two since no rainwater had soaked into the padding.

The information was not released to the public immediately. Fiona and Dave Marsland, along with Jacklyn Pappas, were shown it, but none of them could definitively confirm or deny if it belonged to Stephanie. Fiona would tell the police that she didn’t think so, Stephanie was more into solid colors, while Jacklyn would say maybe because she could remember purple, but both agreed on one thing. While the cup size was correct, the strap size was not. Fiona had brought samples of her bras, all reading 34C.

One size off. When asked if she would buy the bra because she liked it, but could not find her size, so she bought the size up? Fiona would firmly say no, and when prompted on why, because she only liked solid colors.

It was true, in photos presented, or videos, or any sort of media that would show Stephanie, she was always in a solid color shirt. From the age she would have dressed herself, a photo album marked Stephanie through the years, one could guess around seven, she would be in a solid color shirt, and jeans, or solid color leggings. Even her jackets and sweaters were all solid colors. Not even a brand, just one color.

In the photos that would be posted to her timeline, or she would be tagged in following her death would show her smiling with others, or doing her volunteer work, or playing the piano, all in solid colors, all but one photo.

It went unnoticed, until one Tumblr thread uncovered one photo that, until then, had gone unnoticed. The post emerged almost two years after the death.

anyone else notice that they keep talking about stephanie only wore solid colors but what about this photo?

The photo in question had three faces blurred as two of the people sat on steps outside of what looked to be a school, the other, alongside Stephanie, stood almost out of frame, but smiling at who took the photo, her shirt one of pink with flowers, a heart blooming out of the bundle. An altered picture emerged those who sat on the steps were Jacklyn Pappas, a guy she had seen and the original poster of the photo, Dale Hoffman, Stephanie, and next to her, almost completely cut off, but still obviously looking at her, was Justin Goodwin.

Justin Goodwin would be found converted to Catholicism right out of school, and in college majoring in philosophy, preparing himself to someday gain priesthood out in Rhode Island.

“Stephanie Marshland?” He had been shocked by the name as he agreed to sit down with amateur documentarian Rodger Dwyer. “That happened, my, what four years ago at this point? The case has been closed.”

“You are not aware of the popularity the story had gained on the internet over the last few years?”

“No, my online presence was never consistent in high school, and since I graduated, I have been completely off.” He would take this moment to look down at his hands, folded in front of him, before picking up his head to look just off camera where Rodger would be sitting. “I’m glad that Stephanie’s story is being told, I have prayed for her since her death, I pray for her safety as she ascended to God’s embrace.”

“Since the closure of her case, there has a few things that have been brought up in connection with her. Of course, you were a junior when the missing article of clothing was found, but are you aware of the controversy behind it?”

He would delicately shake his head. “Yes, I remember a bra was found, but I do also recall it was not hers.”

“There was not enough evidence to conclude if it was hers or not, but that’s not it. It had hearts on it. Everyone, including her mother, said she would wear soiled colors.”

“I know nothing about that.”

“But when posting photos for her birthday, someone posted this one.” Rodger would hold out a photo to Justin, whose eyebrows would come together, then relax.

“They think there was a relationship between Stephanie and I.” How he said it was not a question. “I hate to disappoint, but there was nothing between me and the girl. This photo was taken during a class project. If I remember correctly, we were heading to my house to work on it, and I was unaware I was being photographed.”

“But do you see how it implicates you? You are looking right at her.”

“I was not, I can see how you would think that, but I was looking at who was just off camera, the real person I was in a relationship with. I believe I have an uncropped version of this, or at least one taken concurrently.”

Rodger allowed Justin to leave, and within 20 minutes, he returned, this time carrying a photo album. As expected, another photo in it appeared nearly identical to the one posted, but with noticeable differences. Stephine stood a few steps above, a shy smile on her lips as she gazed at the photo taker. Dale affectionately kissed Jacklyn’s cheek, while Justin grinned as if he were laughing. However, the photo posted only displayed Nicolas Banter, as it had been cut off.

“After Stephanie left with Patrick that day, Nick and I went back to his place, his ring camera caught us 15 minutes before she would be found dead, and his mother was with us until I left an hour after.”

“What happened between you and Nick?”

“The same reason I left Mormonism, why I left Colorado. There was a force greater than me, greater than my relationship, greater than the world I had known and loved. If it weren’t for Patrick, I think that force would have consumed me, but after an exposure to my relationship with Nick, the novelty wore off for him, and the year we had spent together meant nothing. God came to me one night in a dream, and I saw the light there, I saw my path, it led me here. I wish it was different that day, if Patrick had exposed us sooner, maybe, maybe I wouldn’t hold the vengeful hate my father distilled in me, and I would have forgiven. Stephine may have lived.”

“What happened to Patrick?”

Patrick Hawkins. Grew up in Utah, until his father gained a promotion, moving his family to Colorado. He was the only child of the couple, but the youngest of his father who had been married once before, two children from that relationship, the younger of the two being over 10 years older than Patrick.

By the time he was about to finish his junior year of high school, concerning online comments surfaced about how he ‘wished I could take a semi-automatic to those fuckers’ getting him expelled. Little is known about what exactly happened to Patrick, questioning from the police made its rounds, but even those investigating could not find much after he left Harpy High.

At the time of Stephanie’s death, a video from in the interrogation room surfaced, Patrick sitting there with his father as the cops talked to the boy. “Patrick, you were the last one to see her alive, you left with her, no one else can tell where you were from the time she died to the time that you arrived home two hours after she had died.”

Patrick, who had his hood up, did not move. If he speaks, no mic can pick him up.

This guy did it, open and shut, why are we even fighting it? The comment with the most likes on the video would read.

Then, a little over a year later, Patrick once more sat in the same room, same cop, but this time with his mother, who would be recorded saying; “He’s a 17-year-old boy, he made a comment, he doesn’t even own a gun. Why are we here? Those kids pick on him, those kids hurt him, kick him, they put bugs in his lunch!”

“Ma’am.”

“No, do not ma’am me!”

“Mom.” Patrick would be heard saying. “I made a mistake, I’m aware of that. I had a bad day, and I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“You’re online, how did you have a bad day?”

“There’s there snapchat group chat that leaked, some people who hate me are in it. They said… they said I take it in the ass. I was defending myself, I posted publicly that it’s Justin Goodwin that takes it up the ass by Nick Banter, and it got back to Goodwin. I walk to through the graveyard when I feel too cooped up, and two days ago I was jumped by Justin. He kicked the shit out of me. I got home, and I felt so shitty, I lost it.”

From the two tapes, something became clear to Penny Upton, a popular true crime blogger, dove deeper into the connection between Patrick Hawkins and Stephanie Marsland.

The Surreal Case of Stephanie Marsland

‘Part 13

As those who have been meticulously following my investigation into the case of Stephanie Marsland may know from part 1, I had said Patrick was the one who did it, and though through the last four posts has been Patrick focused, I can say for sure today I have evidence to prove myself wrong. Patrick was the last one to see her alive, that we are aware of, yes, and where Patrick ended up going to jail for an unrelated incident, he did not kill Stephanie. Last week, I carefully reviewed two interrogation tapes numerous times as I prepared to write this post, yet something felt amiss. Why did he not get arrested the first time? The time he refused to answer?

The digging process was proving to be extremely difficult, but thanks to my favorite sleuth, NotAnotherCrimePost, she had provided me with an actual alibi for Patrick, one that I revisited the second video to realize he did not do it.

A house next to the graveyard has a nest camera pointed right at the entrance, that day, Patrick walked through the gate in the last 10 minutes of Stephanie’s life and did not leave until over and hour later. Stephanie herself stepping into view, alive and well, before stepping out as soon as Patrick was out of sight.

The fence around the graveyard is 10 feet high, with no other way in or out. The alibi was airtight. Patrick Hawkins did not kill Stephanie, and with no other evidence, I would have to definitively close this case in the manner that all of you know I hate the most, but I am firmly labeling it a freak accident.’

A freak accident. Stephanie Marsland died by accident, every story would report so, the Harpy PD would close the case as accidental. With the popularity the case would gain over the course of two years, it would never come close to the truth, either coming to the same conclusion, or burning out, or simply losing interest.

The closest to the truth that ever came to light, was one comment on a post that would get three likes, but never picked up by any of the investigators, a comment that one person would write, would post, and would forget about, never perusing how close they would be to asking the first right question to this case.

Who took the photo?

Back in the two photos, where Stephanie would intentionally dress in an unusual manner for herself, clearly smiling at the person who took the photo.

Each one would say it, each interview would give off the answer, but the questions were not being asked, and by the end of 2023, the case of Stephanie Marsland was officially no longer discussed, and the public would move on to newer cases, more interesting ones, ones that they would know the questions for. As for Stephanie, she was still dead, she still would be dead, and the truth would decay away with her.

The truth would be in a notebook, one that the only person who knew what happened that day would write in but would burn simultaneously before the bra would be discovered. A notebook that would be a confession that would disappear before a single person could read it.

The passage wrote out longhand, in a red pen, read as follows; She was beautiful, young, pure. She came to me one night needing help, and I wanted to help. I thought telling her she was beautiful would have her turn away from me, but she didn’t. The more often we spent together, the more she bloomed, her personality showed through her clothing, and the way she would smile more freely, especially for me. I knew of her shyness, but my god, if you could see how composed she was in private, you’d understand why I loved her.

I could not understand why she defended Patrick, why she went against Justin, but it irritated me. She looked at me; she knew I was there, and still walked away with him. Yes, I would be the first to admit I was jealous, she would leave with him, but no, she walked him to the graveyard; I doubted they spoke as they walked there. I stayed back, watching, making sure that freak did nothing to her, but before he went in he thanked her, that was it, then she started away when she spotted me.

The argument started, and I didn’t mean to get so angry at her, but I could not understand why she would defy me like that. She tried so damn hard to tell me I had nothing to envy, but the hell, I did. My anger, it gave her that panic attack, and she was breathing so hard that, I don’t know; she passed out. I held on to her, holding her up, unsure what to do. I loved her, but she made her choice to go with Patrick, and I would not let Justin get humiliated by him. She wasn’t supposed to die; I brought her over to Silly Billy in thoughts that she would wake up as soon as her face hit the water. Laying her down on her side, I removed the bra, and rolled her until she was face down into the water. The plan was to plant the bra on Patrick, so I went back towards the graveyard to wait for him. She wouldn’t name me, she was smarter than that to do it, she would just say she didn’t know or remember, but as I waited, that kid began to scream, and when I got back to where I had left her, she was dead.

The rest would be written on another date in a blue pen.

I knew I should have come forward sooner, but shit, this is murder. I still have the damn bra, but I think Justin suspects me, my plan was to turn myself in, but tonight I think I will have myself a fire.

The composer reread over his confession before tossing it into the fire in front of him, watching the pages get eaten away by the flames. Then, from his pocket, he pulled out her bra, his finger stroking over the fabric, more hesitant to throw it in.

“Dad?” Justin’s voice caused the composer to jump before looking back at his son, the bra shoved back into his pocket. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, yeah, I think, I think I’m going to go for a walk.” Chief Goodwin walked towards the front door.

“It’s nearly midnight.”

“Put the fire out before you go to bed.” He refused to look back at his son, already suspecting his sexual orientation, already the greater force that would drive Justin away.

“Dad? What’s going on?”

“One day, you’ll understand. Goodnight, son.” He stepped out of the house, setting his course into those woods.

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kittenofdoomage · 2 years

Text

Summary: She’s a reclusive Omega who can’t walk away from someone in trouble, and he’s in trouble.

Prompt: Alpha!Sam Winchester, Cabin in the woods, Broken down car

Pairing: Alpha!Sam Winchester x female!Omega!reader

Word Count: 9106

Warnings: A/B/O, scenting, mating, fluff, teeny bit of angst, smut (fingering, knotting, biting), written in first person, canon-adjacent, pregnancy, canonical character death (S15 finale)

Ao3 Link

The rain was heavy. Heavy enough that I shouldn’t have been out in it but I sometimes think that the universe meant for me to be there.

Storms aren’t unusual here. It was one of the first things I noticed when I moved to my remote little hideaway in the mountains, how they seemed to have their own weather system. I’d expected it to be a different change of pace to the city, but I underestimated just how different it would be. That first night, surrounded by my boxed up belongings, I experienced real nighttime - the silence that was only disturbed by animals or the wind through the leaves, and the darkness that was never ending, producing unmatched views of the stars above the trees.

I loved it. I didn’t sleep that night because I was amazed by it all. I still love it.

It wasn’t complete isolation, of course. Further down in the valley there was a ranch, managed by a friendly family with adult children, and not two miles from my cabin, there was an identical one, owned and lived in by Mr. Collins. I think he’s a professor of something but he’s not the chattiest. I sometimes pick up supplies for him from town, just to help out, like a good neighbor, and also because he’s old as fuck and the thought of him driving the beat up rusted truck in his driveway makes me very anxious. He does sometimes, I think, but for the most part, I see him listening to the radio on his porch. The closest town is Harperville, about twenty miles away, just a handful of houses and farms, but big enough and close enough to the freeway to have a Walmart.

These mountains don’t get many visitors. There aren’t any big animals, nothing hunters would find interesting, and though there are some good hiking trails and fishing spots, it’s not easily accessible. Only one road cuts through, and in storms like this, it’s mostly flooded.

That’s how I met him.

I was on my way back from my weekly trip into town for groceries when the heavens opened. The road was already filling with water when I turned onto the single road through the mountains, so I took it slowly, wary of the various potholes the water was now concealing. My truck was pretty high off the ground, high enough that I needed a little step ladder on the side to even get in, but I still wasn’t taking the risk.

The trees thickened up quickly as I headed up the mountain, and the rain kept coming down, making it nearly impossible to see. I leaned forward as I clasped the wheel, trying to focus through the windshield, cascading water impairing my vision. The red brake lights were the first hint I had of another vehicle and as I drove closer, I realized that whoever it was had broken down.

Slowing, I looked around, trying to spot the owner of the car in the rain. It was still daylight, but in the thick of the trees, visibility wasn’t great, so I knew I had two options - try and find and maybe help whoever it was, or keep on driving and leave them to the elements.

I’m not hardwired to walk away from someone who needs help. My mom always used to say it was because of the Omega in me, but I hate to think that being a good person is dependent on your genetics. Leaving someone to suffer wasn’t in me, and besides, I carried protection for this sort of thing.

Putting the truck in park, I flicked my hazards on, though it was unlikely anyone would come up this way. It was unusual enough that this person, or persons, were there. I reached underneath the seat, pulling out the Beretta I kept there. It wasn’t loaded - I had the ammo, I just felt like the threat of being shot would be enough to get me out of any trouble I found. I wasn’t a huge fan of guns, but I recognized the need to protect myself.

The door clicked open as I pushed it, and rain immediately poured onto my legs. Sliding down onto the ground, I held the gun behind my back as I approached the car, looking around for any would-be attackers. The driver's side door opened as I got closer, so I stopped, waiting for whoever it was to emerge.

In the five years I’d been living my near-solitary existence, I’d never met an Alpha. The cities were full of them, hell, they were half the reason I moved away somewhere like Harperville.

He was tall, taller than any man I’d known before, well over six feet. His hair was long, plastered to his skull in seconds by the downpour, a few strands escaping to cling to his face. I didn’t know what to make of him once I got a good look at his features; I don’t think I’d ever met a man so handsome.

“Hi,” he said, almost sheepishly.

It took a second to find my voice. Sounds stupid, being awestruck by such a beautiful man, but I’ll admit, he really had me completely turned around for a moment. “Hi,” I finally replied, making sure to keep my weapon out of sight. “Breakdown?”

“Uh, yeah,” the Alpha chuckled, scratching at his face with a grin. “Can’t get a signal either.”

The rain was starting to ease off, but it was still loud on the poorly maintained tarmac. I stepped closer, trusting my instincts - I didn’t feel like I had anything to fear from him, which was something I should have paid attention to. “You won’t get one up here,” I informed him carefully. “There’s no getting back into town until the storm’s passed.”

“Damn,” he grunted, shoulders dropping. “Just my luck.”

I knew it was a stupid idea before I’d said it but that didn’t stop my dumbass mouth pumping the words out anyway. “I live just up a little further, you’re welcome to dry out at mine and use the landline.”

His features were even more attractive when he smiled, showcasing gorgeous dimples. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear his eyes literally sparkled. Either that or I need to lay off the romance novels. He nodded enthusiastically at my offer, wringing his hands as he came a little closer.

“That would be awesome.”

“Uh,” I glanced back, wondering if I should suggest pushing his car off the road, “hmm.”

“What?” he asked.

“You think we can push it off the road?”

“I think so.”

The rain didn’t help. I didn’t have a wealth of experience pushing cars anywhere but the Alpha had some strength behind him. Within a few minutes we had the car as far onto the verge as it could go, safely away from any possible traffic that could collide with it. I doubted anyone would be driving up this way but still, better safe than sorry.

Getting back into the truck was a relief and I managed to slide the gun back underneath the seat before he saw. I was soaked through, him too, and so far the rain had done a good job of blocking his scent. He reached his hand out, the movement sending a wave of his scent in my direction, and when I took his hand, I managed to make eye contact, getting caught in the myriad of colors in his eyes.

“I’m Sam,” he introduced himself, and I swallowed down the nervous ball that suddenly clogged my throat. I could smell melted chocolate and fresh cut grass, and all at once I felt warm and safe, despite how drenched I was.

Muttering my name, I practically snatched my hand back. “I don’t live far,” I added.

“Thank you,” he replied. “Not many people would stop and help a stranger. Let alone an Alpha.”

I smiled at him, turning the truck ignition. “That’s half the problem with the world today, right?”

Sam grinned back. “I guess it is.”

The rain was getting heavier again as I guided the truck up the road to my cabin, and when I parked up, I glanced at the backseat, full of groceries from the trip to town. Sam followed my line of sight, smiling when he looked back at me. “You mind giving me a hand?” I asked.

He nodded. “Least I can do.”

Apparently, Sam could carry in one trip what I would manage in three, so getting the bags inside took no time at all. I directed him to the phone and the phone book beside it, letting him know it was okay to call anyone he needed, and then left him to it while I cleared away the bags. By the time I was done, he was in the kitchen, a displeased expression on his face.

“No joy?” I asked, though I knew that Jerry’s Autoshop in Harperville would be closed by this time, and Jerry was usually pretty blunt about saying no.

“Not with a tow,” he sighed. “I managed to get ahold of my brother and let him know I wasn’t dead.”

“That’s something I guess,” I shrugged. “You want a coffee or anything?”

“Coffee would be great. Black, no sugar.”

I gestured to the small breakfast bar on one side of the kitchen, and he smiled his thanks, taking a seat and laying his now-useless cellphone on the counter. “I gotta ask,” I chuckled, “why are you all the way out here? The freeway is much quicker than going through the mountains.”

“Not a fan of the freeway,” he said softly. “Besides, it’s a nicer drive, y’know? When it’s not raining.” I laughed at that, nodding agreement. “Can I ask you something?”

I knew what was coming so I kept on with what I was doing, flicking the coffee pot on and turning to look at him. “Sure.”

“You’re an Omega,” he stated. I nodded. “Don’t Omegas usually live with someone? Like family o-or -”

“I did,” I answered gently. “Now I don’t.”

“Isn’t that… dangerous?”

The concern on his face was unreal, and I couldn’t help but laugh lightly, shaking my head. “I can protect myself,” I assured him. “Besides, it’s really not that dangerous to live alone. Or are you assuming that because I’m an Omega I’m weak or something?”

“Not at all,” he spluttered, clasping his hands together. “Sorry, I guess that was kinda rude. Just… you’re not like any other Omega I’ve met.”

“Why would I be?” I was teasing him now, mainly because he was downright adorable when he got all flummoxed. The tips of his ears were red, and he couldn’t even look at me straight. It was almost like torturing someone. “Relax, Sam, I’m playing. I know there’s a certain,” I sighed, trying to think of the word, “way Omegas are supposed to be. I’m just not that kind of Omega.”

“So I don’t have to worry about an Alpha appearing to kick my ass?”

His questions clicked. He was trying not to ask outright, but he had assumed I wasn’t a lonesome Omega. The assumption made my jaw tick because I hated when people thought Omegas couldn’t be perfectly fine and functioning without a knot to keep them happy, but that was just society. Sam was another conditioned product of society, just like I was before I left it all behind.

“No,” I said quietly. “Never needed one.”

That was a lie. I had needed one, once upon a time, and I would have hung the moon for him. He was my highschool sweetheart, Scott Tuckerson, and an eighteen year old, newly-presented me thought he was the one I’d be with for the rest of my life. Turned out he wasn’t so keen, but he stuck around long enough to pop my cherry then break my heart.

“What about you?” I asked suddenly, frowning a little when I realized how calm and collected he was. From my experience, Alphas around unmated Omegas were like cartoon coyotes, slobbering and grabbing at whatever they could get. If Sam had an Omega, that would explain how composed he was, though I hadn’t seen any claim mark on his throat. Maybe they didn’t reciprocate, or maybe they bit him somewhere else. It wasn’t unheard of.

“Uh, no, no Omega,” he murmured, staring at his hands.

“Huh.” The coffee pot dinged and the sound startled me for a second, making me do a little hop on the spot. Sheepishly, I turned away to hide my face, keeping my back to him as I fixed our drinks. When I carried his cup over and placed it in front of him, he smiled at me, and I smiled back without thinking, letting his warm and comforting scent lull me for just a second. The realization of what was happening sank in like a complete reset, leaving me standing there doing nothing but staring blankly, until Sam frowned.

“You okay?”

“What?” I must have looked like an idiot. Grinning at him, I shook my head. “Nothing, just something I forgot. Suddenly remembered.”

“Oh, what?”

I couldn’t think of anything. Shit. “Nothing important.” My brain fired off a suggestion. “I left some firewood uncovered. I’ll need to dry it out now.” Hi. My name is Y/N. I’m a bumbling numbskull. Backing up, I went for my own coffee, trying to appear casual. “So you were going to visit your brother?”

Sam nodded, sipping at his coffee before answering. “No, I was away for work,” the way he spoke was hesitant, and my mind instantly wanted to know what work entailed, “on my way back home.” He paused, and I opened my mouth to ask where home was, only for him to beat me to it. “Kansas,” he supplied, sipping his too-hot coffee again.

“That’s a long way for work,” I commented, hoping it would get more out of him.

“Yeah, I guess. It takes us all over.”

I could see I was going to have to be blunt about it. “What do you do?”

“Freelance investigator.” It came out so quickly and so smoothly that I blinked, unsure what exactly that would encompass. What did he investigate?

“Sounds interesting.”

“Not really.” The awkward silence stage was looming, though it seemed like Sam wanted to avoid that as much as I did. “What about you?”

“Me?” I hummed, wondering suddenly if I was being too open with this strange Alpha. “I work remotely. Editing. And it’s as boring as it sounds. Pays pretty good though.” Internally, I cringed. That probably was too much information.

Sam seemed interested, sitting a little straighter. “Editing? Like, for a publisher?”

“Anything really. I’ve worked with fiction, non-fiction. One year I did nothing but high school textbooks.” I chuckled, shaking my head. “Now I do sound boring.”

“Hey, boring can be good,” he argued. “Safe.”

It was an odd choice of word but I didn’t say anything, sliding onto one of the stools opposite him. The rain was still coming down outside, pattering loudly against the windows. “This could go for a couple of hours,” I mumbled apologetically.

His smile was fixed on me when I looked back at him, and it created a warm feeling in my stomach that I wasn’t entirely sure of. Still, I smiled back, unintentionally bathing in his scent.

He picked up his cup again, blowing on it lightly, eyes still on me. “I’m sure we can pass the time.”

It became apparent several hours later, when the storm hadn’t let up, and Jerry’s definitely wouldn’t be answering, that I was to entertain a guest for the evening. I wasn’t concerned by that point; Sam had shown himself to be a gentleman, an intelligent one at that, and I was more worried about the fact that I was enjoying his company. He was happy to take my moderately-sized couch for the night, and once I’d cooked dinner for us both, I escaped to my bedroom, trying desperately to breathe through my mouth so I didn’t intoxicate myself with his scent.

Naturally, none of my online friends were available for my crisis, so I ended up watching Netflix until I dozed off. Sam didn’t disturb me for anything, and I didn’t hear him moving around, but still, sleeping with a strange Alpha in the house had me restless.

I woke up when my phone started to play my usual morning jingle, and when I emerged from the bedroom, I was surprised to find Sam gone. All the blankets I’d supplied were folded and piled neatly on the couch, with a note delicately perched on top. I grabbed it, scanning the words.

Thank you for the rescue. Sam. W.

Pulling a face, I looked towards the door. He’d obviously woken early and called Jerry again, but I felt a little put out that he hadn't stuck around to say thanks in person.

Maybe it was for the best.

Over the next few days I put Sam out of my mind, during the day at least. My dreams didn’t quite get the memo, conjuring up intricate fantasies that seemed to linger in the morning. It seemed easier to keep busy rather than dwell on an Alpha I was likely to never see again, so I threw myself into work and chores, avoiding chances to think too much.

I wasn’t expecting him to show up again, a week later, wandering up my driveway. He was wearing a red plaid flannel this time, and I had to admit, it was definitely his color. Finishing up with the tomato plants I was repotting, I brushed the dirt from my gloves and removed them, stepping around the beds to the small gate of the fenced off garden.

“Wasn’t expecting to see you again,” I greeted, not bothering to keep the smile off of my face.

He returned it, shoving his hands in his pockets as he came to a stop only a few steps away from me. “Well, I wanted to thank you,” he chuckled, rocking on his heels. “And I wanted to check out the scenery in better weather.”

I couldn’t help but feel there was an innuendo there somewhere, or maybe it was my inner-twelve-year-old. “Is it worth it?” I asked daringly, arching an eyebrow at him.

Sam grinned. “Definitely.”

“It’s a long drive from Kansas just for the view. Wanna join me for some lunch?”

In hindsight, I should have realized I was already smitten. Sam was gorgeous, smart, funny, everything an Omega could ever dream of in a mate. I was breaking my golden rule but for some reason, I couldn’t bring myself to care. The man had driven twelve hours just to say thanks, the least I could was offer him lunch.

He only stayed for a few hours, leaving before dark. I assumed he’d parked on the main road and walked up but shortly before his departure, a black Impala - not the same car he’d broken down in - drove slowly up to the cabin. The man driving it was his brother, he informed me, though Dean didn’t get out to introduce himself.

I invited him back without even thinking about it. Three weeks in a row, he showed up at my door, and we ate lunch, talking about everything from politics to ancient history, though he remained cagey on details. I thought about it a lot in between visits, wondering if he had trust issues, trying to keep my thoughts away from darker truths he could be hiding.

When the week after his last visit rolled by and he didn’t show up again, I started to worry. He hadn’t left a number or even an address, and though he hadn’t come out and said it, I knew his job was a dangerous one. A week turned into ten days, and I was already at the point of imagining all sorts, wondering if it was better he never showed again considering how attached I’d become in such a short amount of time.

Thirteen days after we had lunch, he finally showed up, knocking on the door when I was watching movies on the couch. I wasn’t prepared for the relief I felt when I saw him, or the way I threw myself at him to hug him.

He was hurt. There was no missing the way he was holding his arm against his side, or the wince when I finally pulled away to look up at him. “I-I was worried,” I stuttered, a little embarrassed by my reaction. “You’re hurt.”

“I’m okay, I promise,” he murmured, giving me a half-smile that was slightly less than reassuring. “May I come in?”

I stepped back, opening my home to him again. He stepped in awkwardly, leaning heavily on his right side. “What happened?”

He sighed, and I shut the door, keeping a good distance between us. “I want to tell you the truth,” he finally said, “but I don’t wanna scare you, and I don’t want to lie to you either. All I can say is that there are things out there you wouldn’t believe and it’s my job to deal with them.”

My mind raced, piecing together everything he’d told me, unsure what was true and what wasn’t. I wanted to know everything, but it didn’t feel like Sam was about to tell me anything more than what I needed to know. Remaining by the door, I watched him for a moment, chewing the inside of my cheek.

“Need to know?” I asked hesitantly.

He nodded. “I promise, if you need to know anything… I won’t lie to you.”

Clasping my hands in front of me, I exhaled with a slow nod. “Okay.” I needed something else to focus on. “Lunch?”

Confusion landed on his features. “That’s it?”

“What’s it?”

“Most people don’t let something go like that.”

I smiled. “I’m not most people, remember? I trust you. If you wanted to murder me in my sleep, you would have done it already. If you tell me that I don’t need to know some things, then I can accept that.” He still looked confused, so I stepped towards him, attempting to redirect his attention. “So do you want lunch or not?”

This time when he left, I made him leave a number and an email, seeing as my cell didn’t always get texts through. I sent an email just to test it, getting an answer back within the hour, and from there we didn’t stop. Each ping on my laptop made me giddy, and I should have been at least mildly disgusted by the way I swooned over every message, but I wasn’t.

Sam was nothing like any Alpha I’d ever met. Around him I felt something like a belonging, always surrounded by that safe, calming feeling his scent gave me. There was no pressure for anything more, and that was beginning to make me want more.

Summer came and went. Sam’s visits weren’t always weekly; occasionally his job would take him too far away to return in time, though it was never that long between lunches. He never stayed the night, and never more than a few hours, which made it far easier to schedule his visits around my heats. I was nervous about whatever the next step was, but happier than I’d ever been to just roll with it.

Sometime in late September, he stopped answering my emails. His phone went straight to voicemail, and after a week had passed with no contact, I started to worry. I called the other number he’d given me, belonging to Dean, and when that had no answer, I turned to the internet.

I was not expecting what I found. I’d never Googled anyone before - never seen the need - so when the search engine dragged up more than a dozen pages about “Sam Winchester”, I was shocked to see several of them were for old arrest warrants, and two were reports of his alleged death. Reading through each one, I quickly fell into a rabbit hole, and when I found a set of books called “Supernatural” under one of the results, I couldn’t help but take a peek.

It was three am before I stopped. My mind was overloaded with information, fictional or not, I didn’t know, but I was overwhelmed. I couldn’t sleep, though it wasn’t entirely down to what I’d found; my concern for Sam’s wellbeing was beginning to outweigh that.

Four days later, I still hadn’t heard anything, and my heat was starting. I left one last voicemail on his cell, asking him to email me, then hid myself away in my comfiest pajamas to suffer through the next few days.

I only managed a few hours of sleep before there was a loud knock on the door of the cabin. Groggy and sweating like I’d run a marathon, I stumbled out of my room, not even guessing who could have been calling. It was still light out, and I squinted in the bright sunshine as I reached for the front door, opening it slowly.

Sam was on the other side. His face was bruised, and a bloody gash sat across the bridge of his nose. I stared up at him, confused by his appearance, disorientated by the flood of hormones in my system. “Sam?”

“Y/N,” he murmured, sounding relieved.

“What happened to you?” I croaked, clinging to the door for support. “You stopped answering - didn’t you get my voicemail?”

“I did,” he replied, “but my laptop’s busted and I was worried - you sounded, uh,” he scented the air, eyes widening and pupils dilating, “shit. You’re in heat.”

“Getting there anyway,” I muttered, shivering in my pajamas. They were beginning to get itchy, too much fabric on my skin. This part of my cycle was the worst, I hated things touching me, feeling too hot when they did. “It’s probably n-not -” My stomach twisted, and I yelped, letting go of the door to clutch my middle.

Sam’s hand brushed my shoulder. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” I gasped, shaking my head as his scent filled my nose. My whole body was vibrating towards him, and when the back of his hand pressed against my forehead, I practically cooed, leaning into the touch.

“You’re really warm.”

I sucked in a breath through my mouth, trying not to grab his hand when he pulled away. “Standard symptoms.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

My jaw dropped, but no sound came out, because I didn’t have an answer for him. I knew the smart thing was to send him away, let him come back when I was done with my heat. Letting him stay, letting him in, would only lead to one thing.

It was getting harder to remember why that was a bad thing.

“Y/N?”

Sam was staring at me, the expression on his face almost identical to one of his wanted posters. I remembered what I’d found, and it was enough to let the discomfort fade for just a second. “I need to know something,” I said softly, trying to stand a little straighter. “When you didn’t answer, I wanted to check you, uh, weren’t dead or anything. So I Googled you.”

The color drained from his face in a manner that would have been almost comical if I hadn’t read what I read online. He swallowed hard, opening and closing his mouth as he obviously attempted to say something. “Wh-what did you find?”

“A lot of weird shit,” I laughed, because it had been fucking weird. I hadn’t even read all of the Supernatural books - a chat forum had led me from those to apparent real life witness accounts that placed Sam and his brother in the vicinity of all sorts of crazy.

“Can you be specific?”

He looked so serious. I tilted my head, curious now about what he hadn’t wanted to lie to me about. “I found police reports, arrest warrants. Death certificates,” I told him. “And I found a lot of people who said you saved them.” Sam nodded, breaking eye contact, looking at the floor. “I also found these books -”

A groan left him. “Oh god, no -”

“Oh my god.” His gaze lifted to meet mine at my soft exclamation. “It’s all true, isn’t it? Everything in those books, online…”

He attempted a smile. “I said I never wanted to lie to you.”

“I’m not asking you to,” I snapped. “I spent the whole night reading about demons, angels, vampires, and an Alpha who can come back from the dead. They had autopsy reports on you, Sam! You’re like an urban legend.”

His shoulders sagged. “I’m a hunter.”

“Yeah, the books covered that.” I folded my arms across my chest. “Sounds like a lonely life.”

He chuckled, shoving his hands into his pockets again. “Sometimes. I got my brother.”

“I don’t want you to leave,” I confessed quietly. “I… I never needed an Alpha, you know? But now…”

“Now what?”

I met his gaze, smiling with a tiny shrug. “Now I kinda want one.”

“Just “one”?” he teased.

“You,” I confirmed shyly. “But I need to know some things first. It’s a little late for lunch. Dinner?”

“Only if you let me cook,” he accepted. “You can supervise from the couch.”

Sam was a good cook, I had to admit, even with my limited selection of foods. While we ate, I asked questions, mostly about the things I’d read online, and he was honest with me, opening my eyes to even more truths I’d been missing about the world. It was scary, thinking about the stuff he faced out there, but it made sense now I knew him; he was a hero, though he obviously didn’t think as highly of himself.

Eventually, I knew we had to discuss the matter at hand. My scent was getting thicker with every passing minute, and Sam’s was beginning to mingle with it. I knew when I let him in that it was unlikely he’d leave without the inevitable happening between us, but I wasn’t afraid of it.

When we were done eating, he cleaned up, even doing the dishes as I remained on the couch, watching him with one arm slung over the back. He worked quietly and quickly, and I couldn’t help admiring his rear profile. My mind easily wandered, and my body responded to my filthy thoughts.

Sam was almost done when he smelled it. His whole body went rigid, and I heard him sniff lightly. Sinking down into the cushions, I bit my lip just to stop myself from whining needily. I wasn’t surprised by strong heats these days - getting older without a mate naturally made it worse - but the force of the arousal I was feeling right then was nothing like I’d felt before.

I heard the sink drain, and then Sam’s footsteps came towards me. He cast a shadow over the couch, and I looked up at him, resisting the urge to reach up and grab him.

“It’s getting worse?” he asked, voice a little thick.

“Mmhmm.”

“Do you want me to go?”

If I asked him to, I believed he would. But I didn’t want him to. “No,” I stuttered.

He exhaled softly, walking around the couch to where my feet rested on the cushions. Lifting them by my ankles, he sat down, placing them on his lap before looking at me again. “We should really have a conversation about this,” he muttered, stroking his thumb over my bare ankle. I was certain such a simple touch shouldn’t have set my pussy on fire but I’d been certain of a lot of things that turned out to be wrong. “I nearly had an Omega before.” The confession made me freeze. “Her name was Jess.”

I was almost afraid to ask. “Wh-what happened to her?”

“She died. A long time ago. I never marked her… never got that far.”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, lost for anything else I could say. I had very little experience with grief, something I was grateful for. “What was she like?”

Sam smiled. “She was beautiful. Smart. Funny. Confident.” He sighed, locking his eyes on mine. “She died because of me, because of the life I lived.” His thumb stopped, and I swallowed nervously. “I want you, Y/N. I want you so bad that I dream about it. But I’m scared - terrified - that I could lead something here, to you, and if anything happened to you -”

I shook my head, sitting up a little more, effectively snatching my feet out of his lap. “I can protect myself,” I reminded him.

“Not against demons,” he argued. “Not against angels, o-or vampires -”

“Then show me how.”

His eyes widened. “Y/N, this life is dangerous. I couldn’t drag you into it.”

“You’re not dragging me anywhere,” I replied, smirking at him. “This is my home, Sam. I like my independence. I don’t expect you to look after me.”

“Alphas are supposed to protect their Omegas,” he whispered.

I snorted unattractively. “Yes, and when that was relevant, Omegas couldn’t hold land or vote.”

He frowned. “Okay, point taken,” he conceded. “But that doesn’t mean I should leave you out here where you’re so isolated, anything could happen -”

“Newsflash,” I interrupted. “Anything can happen anytime. If I learn what to look out for, learn how to lay the, the -” Clicking my fingers, I tried to remember the word he’d used when he was describing their home.

“Warding,” he provided.

“Learn how to lay the warding… me staying here is no different to me staying at your bunker while you drive across the country.” I screwed up my face at the thought of so much time in a car. “And that doesn’t sound appealing either.” Looking over at the window, I noticed how dark it was. “Wow, it got late. Won’t, uh, won’t Dean be here to pick you up soon?”

Sam shrugged. “He booked a room at the Motel 6 near Walmart. Told me to call him whenever I was ready. I didn’t know you were gonna be…” He gestured towards me, and I smiled a little. “How are you feeling now?”

“Tired,” I yawned, resting my head on the back of the couch.

“Do you have a tv in your room?”

“I have a laptop.”

He chuckled. “That’ll do, I guess. I saw a bag of chocolate pretzels in the cupboard. You wanna take them in the bedroom and fall asleep to Lord Of The Rings?”

I grinned at him goofily. “You really are perfect.”

Whatever I was expecting from an Alpha in the bedroom, it wasn’t my favorite movies and snacks. Sam even kept his pants on, removing his upper layers and his boots, and he didn’t complain when I stole most of the blankets. He didn’t crowd my space either, even though it would have been difficult in my comfortably large bed. I curled up on my preferred side where I could comfortably see the screen at the bottom of the bed, and he kept to the other, though the distance did nothing to stop his scent from creeping over.

I fell asleep halfway through the Fellowship Of The Ring. It wasn’t unusual for the first day or two of my heat to leave me exhausted, just like it wasn’t unusual for me to be easily aroused, but having an Alpha nearby was making that an almost permanent state. My dreams reflected that need, and when I woke, the orcs were taking Merry and Pippin to Isengard, and I had soaked through my pajama bottoms.

I didn’t even think before I started to strip down, kicking off anything that touched my sensitive skin, and completely forgetting about the Alpha in my vicinity. His scent flared as I moved, and I froze halfway through dragging my shirt over my heart, meeting Sam’s slightly panicked gaze.

“Shit,” I blurted out. “I forgot you were here.”

He smiled, a nervous twitch at the corner of his mouth. “You shouldn’t have to be uncomfortable on my account,” he stuttered.

There was nothing to be done about my lower half, though my panties still covered most of my dignity, despite how wet they were. I could smell myself, and wondered what it was doing to Sam - it took pretty much all my willpower not to look at his crotch as I tugged my tee back down over my sports bra. “I just get really hot,” I mumbled, fixing my eyes on the tv screen again.

Sam chuckled again, shifting on the bed. “No need to explain,” he promised, gesturing to the laptop screen. “I started the next one. You seemed kinda out of it.”

I really hoped I wasn’t making noises. The thought of it made my insides twist with embarrassment. “Sorry.”

He smiled as he shook his head. “Seriously. I get it. I’ve had a rut or two. Dealing with that on a monthly basis must suck.”

“It turns into routine after a few years,” I shrugged, finding it difficult to find a comfortable position now I was awake. “I’ve had worse. Maybe you being here is helping.” Lifting my head, I looked at him again, surprised to find a soft frown on his face. “You know, your scent.”

“Makes sense.”

The movie was easily forgotten now I had looked at him again. I wanted to kiss him, to feel his lips against mine. There was only a few inches between us; it would be so easy just to lean in -

“You okay?”

His concerned voice seemed to jolt me out of a trance I hadn’t realized I was in. Caught staring, I grinned dopily, then moved to find a more comfortable position, narrowing the space between us. “Can’t get comfortable,” I complained, hearing his low chuckle in reply.

“Maybe I can help with that,” he offered, shifting on the pillows until he was propped against the headboard, one arm stretched out and just welcoming me into the curve of his body. I sat up, looking at him hesitantly with my bottom lip caught between my teeth. He flicked his hand, then nodded at the space. “If my scent’s helping…” he trailed off, obviously assuming I hadn’t understood.

But I had. This felt like a point of no return.

He jerked his chin up, but before he could say anything, I moved, carefully laying up against him, my head on his chest and my overheating body next to his. His arm dropped from above me, settling around my shoulders as a comfortable weight, almost familiar like it belonged there. I inhaled, tasting his scent on my tongue, letting it imprint in my mind.

“Better?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

It was difficult to concentrate on the movie when he was so warm right next to me. I was sure my knees were shaking, and I couldn’t keep my feet still. Sam’s hand dropped down after a while, his fingers stroking the bare skin below my sleeve, and it was sending shivers down my spine on every brush. My mind wandered, thinking about touching him back; my hand twitched with the urge to slide over the front of his jeans, and I could feel my heart racing.

He must have been able to smell it. It felt like there would be a wet patch underneath me if I moved.

“Y/N?”

I lifted my head to look up at him, freezing as soon as I realized how close my face was to his. “Yeah?” My voice came out raspy, so I cleared my throat as gently as I could. “Yes?”

“You’re shaking,” he whispered, cupping my cheek with one huge hand. His long fingers caught in my hair, and his palm was so warm against my cheek, I couldn’t resist the impulse to lean into it. “‘Mega.”

I’d never been called by that title with such desperation. I tipped my head back as he lowered his mouth to mine, and the kiss was just as thrilling as I expected. My heart pounded in my chest, and when he swept his tongue against my lips, I parted them, meeting him halfway as the kiss got deeper. The angle of my body was putting a strain on my muscles but I ignored it in favor of the taste of my Alpha, grabbing his shirt when I pulled away to snatch a breath.

“Is this okay?” he asked, nuzzling into me.

A stupid grin pulled at my face. “Yeah.”

He kissed me again, and this time, I had a little more bravado, cupping him through his jeans. He was already hard, thick under my palm, and when I squeezed him, he moaned into my mouth, thrusting his hips a little.

“Take the pants off,” I whispered, though I hated the thought of him pulling away. With a nod, he moved, so I took the opportunity to remove my t-shirt, tossing it in the general direction of the laundry basket. He was only halfway out of his jeans, shimmying them down his long legs, and I swallowed when I caught sight of the tent in his boxers. He stripped his shirt off too, and then returned to where he’d been, meeting my gaze almost shyly.

How could he be shy looking like that?

My mouth felt dry as I drank him in, noticing the black tattoo on his chest. Without thinking I reached out to brush my fingers against it, recognizing the design from things I’d seen online.

“It protects me from demon possession,” he explained hesitantly, like the information would scare me.

I should have been scared. But it was easier to shove what I’d learned aside to deal with it later, when there weren’t other, more pressing issues. When I pulled my hand back, he caught it, tugging me closer to kiss me again, and I let him sweep me away. I could barely separate my scent from his now, and I was yearning for more of him.

“Take this off,” he grunted, plucking at the elastic of my tatty bra. I didn’t stop to think, hauling the damn thing off and throwing it, uncaring where it landed. Sam’s hands were instantly on my bare tits, cupping and squeezing them, all the while demanding my attention with hungry kisses that left me breathless and dizzy.

We were horizontal now, and I could feel his erection poking into me through the damp cotton of his boxers. My instinct was to grind against him, and I went with it, drunk on arousal now, unable to think beyond having his bare skin on mine. I felt hot all over, and his touch was scorching, but I was craving it.

One big hand snaked around my hip, dragging me harder against him, and I shifted, lifting my leg to drape it over him, allowing his cock to rub right against my covered sex. He groaned, breaking the kiss to look at me with a lidded gaze, and I realized he was panting.

“If you want me to stop -” he started, but I cut him off, pressing one finger against his swollen lips.

“Don’t,” I whispered. “I don’t.”

He moaned, kissing me again, and the hand on my hip wandered down, long fingers stroking me through my panties. I whimpered, desperate for friction, desperate for anything, and that only made him touch me with more force. He rubbed along my pussy, pulling back to watch my face, and I knew what he wanted. A second later, my hips jerked, and I felt my face scrunch up at the sudden burst of pleasure where his fingertip had found my clit. He smiled, finding it easily this time, watching my expression dissolve as he rubbed the tiny bundle of nerves.

I shuddered in the cage of his arms, pinned against him. The stimulation was simultaneously too much and not enough - I wanted him inside me but it felt too good to stop him. I dug my nails into his shoulder, rocking my hips to expose myself a little more, and the plea for him to let me cum lingered on my lips. Sam seemed to know exactly what he was doing, and I couldn’t hope to stop the waves of pleasure that made my whole body tremble. The orgasm soaked through my panties, and my Alpha hummed as he felt the damp on his fingers.

His fingers moved, tugging my panties to the side, and I gasped as he circled my hole, teasing me by dipping into it. He was still watching me, biting his bottom lip as he sank the single digit in, stroking me from the inside. “You’re so tight,” he murmured, fucking his finger into me. “You’re not -”

“No,” I hummed, shaking my head. “But it’s been a long time.”

He smiled at that, leaning in to kiss the corner of my mouth. “I’ll be your last.”

My mind automatically provided a witty comment to his cheesy statement but it never made it out of my mouth. A second finger penetrated me, and I crumbled, clinging to him as I adjusted to the new stretch, biting back a cry as he worked both digits in and out, letting my pussy coat them. I could hear how wet I was, and on the coattails of my first climax, I was ready to skip the prep and let him take me.

“Sam -”

“Sssh, not yet,” he murmured. “Don’t wanna hurt you.”

I nodded, too afraid to speak in case I cried out. Every nerve in my body felt raw, like an electric current was running through me, and it felt so good, I was scared to lose control. Sam hummed, pulling his fingers out, and I instantly rolled onto my back, only to find my panties stripped down, and his fingers at my sex again, pushing my thighs apart. With more space, he pushed his fingers inside me again; I cried out, spreading my legs as he lowered his mouth to my breasts.

Between his fingers fucking me open and his tongue tormenting my aching nipples, I couldn’t focus. My heart thundered, and I couldn’t seem to breathe fast enough, twisting my hands in the sheets underneath me just to try and ground myself. I wanted to cum again, but letting it happen felt impossible.

“Cum for me again,” Sam urged, abandoning my tits to nuzzle at my cheek, “just once more, and I’ll give you what you want.”

I nodded, replaying his words over and over. His fingers twisted inside me, calloused pads dragging against my inner walls, and then his thumb brushed my clit, making me jerk in surprise. He chuckled, nose bumping against my jaw.

“Just let go,” he purred.

It was too much. I held my breath, biting my lip so hard it hurt, but it didn’t overwhelm the pleasure as I started to cum. Sam kept talking but it was far away and I was spinning, unable to process anything except the thick fingers inside me, my cunt clenching around them.

My head hit the pillow, and he withdrew, wiping his hand on his boxers. I kept my eyes closed, trying to calm my breathing - in through the nose, out through the mouth - but I could feel him beside me, feel his breath on my shoulder. “You okay?” he asked.

“You ask that a lot,” I mumbled, cracking one eye to look at him, then opening both. “I’m very good.”

He grinned. “Do you have anything in mind for what happens next?” I shrugged, because I hadn’t given it much thought beyond wanting his cock inside me. “Like… condom?”

“Oh.” Lifting up onto my elbows, I pouted. “I don’t have any but I’m on birth control.”

“I think I have one -” He made to move but I grabbed him to stop him.

“Don’t,” I whispered, shaking my head. “It’s okay, I trust you.” We were close again now, and I didn’t fight the urge to kiss him, pulling him as close as I could get. His boxers still covered him, so I dropped my hand, eager to get rid of them. My fingers slipped under the waistband easily, and I gasped when I wrapped my hand around him, a thrill running through me at how thick he was. He moaned at my touch, rutting into my hand lightly. “I just want you inside me,” I murmured, a bolder with the heat running through my veins.

Sam nodded, taking charge, pushing my hand away so he could remove his boxers. He coaxed me back until I was underneath him, his knees between mine, kissing me to distract me from the weight of his cock against my thigh. “I’m gonna knot you,” he warned quietly. I whimpered. “I’m gonna leave my mark here,” he added, dropping his head to nip at the column of my throat.

He was leaving room for any protest I might have had but I didn’t have one. I spread my legs willingly, watching hungrily as he got onto his knees and fisted his cock, thumbing the tip through my folds. He moved slowly, penetrating me with an agonizing pace, leaving me breathless with the stretch as he rocked into me.

“Fuck,” he gasped, finally burying himself, slumping forward to catch his weight on his hands either side of me. I met him in a kiss, wrapping my legs around him, wanting him as deep as possible, unwilling to ever let go of the blissful feeling of having him like this. There didn’t appear to be any rush on his part either, as he kept kissing me, his weight pinning me down.

The initial intensity faded, and he moved first, shallow thrusts to start. I yelped when he threw in a hard stroke, his cock hitting a point of intolerable ecstasy inside me; he grabbed my hip with one hand and shifted all his weight onto the other, picking up a harder pace. My body was accommodating him, and I could feel how wet I was as he started to withdraw a little further, slamming in a little harder.

I cried out, digging my nails into his shoulder, and he responded by burying his face in my throat, biting at the spot he’d marked earlier. Nipping became harder bites, and I slid my hand through his thick hair, inciting him further as I started to cum. My pussy clenched around him, and I felt his knot at the base - the thought of how he’d fill me was arousing enough that it spurred on my orgasm. Instinct led my nose to his throat, but I wasn’t expecting the next urge.

I wanted to mark him first.

Biting softly, I tested his reaction. His grip on me tightened, and his teeth at my throat got a little harder. I moaned, struggling to keep my mind on one track, clinging to him as he fucked me harder.

“Do it,” he grunted, right in my ear.

His knot was swelling. He was close. I shuddered, biting a little harder, almost scared to hurt him. He groaned and his knot popped, forced inside me with a hard thrust. My teeth sank through his skin, and as I tasted his blood, I started to cum again, feeling him bite me back as he filled me to the brim.

I needed to breathe. Releasing his throat, I pulled my head up and he released me, lifting onto his arms to look down at me. There was blood on his lips - mine - and I could still taste his on my tongue. He leaned down, kissing me softly, still rutting his hips though he couldn’t move far.

The movie hadn’t finished. The battle for Helm’s Deep had just begun, and I giggled when I realized the laptop was slightly further towards the end of the bed. Sam followed my line of sight, smirking when he noticed.

“We can restart it when we can, uh… move,” he suggested.

I giggled. “Maybe a different position next time?”

Several years later…

I had been anxious since I woke up. The mountains were clouded, thick fog filling the air, and it resembled my mood. Sam was supposed to be home today. It was the last time.

We’d made it work over the years. He was dedicated to something he couldn’t skip out on, and something I wasn’t keen on being a part of. I didn’t hide from the truth, but I also didn’t have the physical strength to slap a machete through someone’s neck because I wasn’t a hero. Sam detested the term, but it was what he was.

I’d nearly lost him half-a-dozen times. Angels, demons, gods, monsters, all of those things tried to take him from me. But every time, he’d walk away, and he’d come back, spending a night or two before another case pulled him from the cabin and back onto the road.

Things were different now. They’d been different since Sam and his brother defeated God himself, but that had only been the beginning of the change. Now, Sam had no call to the road. His brother was dead, laid to rest, and I was waiting for him.

The clouds started to clear in the afternoon, and I went for a nap, exhausted easily by the life growing inside me. A boy, or so Dr. Wentworth in Harperville tells me. All I could tell you was that the next four weeks couldn’t come quick enough.

I was woken by the sound of an engine, rumbling towards the house. My eagerness to see Sam made me move a little quicker than usual, and by the time I was out the front door, he was climbing out of the Impala, pausing with one hand on the roof as he gazed down at the driver’s side. I stopped on the porch, watching him, feeling the ache for his grief. He missed Dean. But he was honoring him now.

“Hey,” I called softly, waving to him, and he looked up as if he had only just noticed me, smiling. He closed the driver’s side door, opening the back for Miracle to jump out. The dog yapped, running up to the house, past me and inside, probably finding her bed after the long drive. Sam followed her, stopped at the step below me, smiling brightly. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he murmured. “All locked up. Felt weird. It was home for so long…”

I knew he would miss the bunker but this was the start of something new. “This is your home, Sam,” I whispered softly. “It was just waiting for you.”

Thanks for reading, please consider reblogging, maybe with a comment, or a gif? 🥰

#sam winchester x reader #female!reader #first person pov #sam winchester fanfic #sam winchester fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfic #spn fanfiction #smut #a/b/o #A/B/O #alpha!Sam Winchester

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artificialinsanity · 8 months

Text

Hunting the Missing Link

Story Summary: When a mysterious individual crash-lands in the sleepy town of Starlight Edge, four unassuming individuals begin on a journey to find its origins, kickstarting a chain of events that would alter thier lives forever.

Chapter Summary: Emily tries her god damned hardest to prevent the cops from finding her suspicious in the investigation of that loud crashing noise earlier.

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Story under the cut.

"...Fffuck…"

Ellipse looked at her, confused. "What is it, Emily?"

"No time to explain - Get in the trunk of my car and don't leave until I tell you to, got it?"

"Yes ma'am! Right away!"

Ellipse did what he was told, while Emily called up Stella in the car.

“Hello?”

“Hey, don’t be alarmed, but I think the cops are on their way.”

“The cops? What reason would the police have with us this late at night?”

“What reason do you think?”

“I suppose it WAS pretty loud… And the crater’s still in the street…”

“Yeah I told him to hide in the trunk. I’ll deal with this, but keep the car on in case things go south, okay?”

“Got it!”

“Hanging up now.”

“Understood.”

And with that, Emily hung up the phone and waited for the inevitable. Because of course someone was going to call the police - it might be a small town but the sound of Ellipse crashing into the pavement was bound to get a few complaints from scared civilians. Emily just had to let them know that there was nothing to worry about. It was probably just an earthquake anyways.

Even though she was socially awkward.

And her sarcastic tone might raise suspicion.

…Yeah, she was fucked, wasn’t she?

The officer pulled up to the curb and stepped out of his vehicle. The abnormally scrawny boar Mobian walked up to Emily and engaged in conversation.

"'Evening, madam," he said, almost bored and out of it entirely, damn near slurring his words together as he spoke.

"Good evening, Officer…" She read the name on his nametag. "Brian."

Brian squinted, before returning to a neutral expression. "There's been reports of a noise complaint in this area. Sounded like an explosion. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

"Oh, I think someone just set off too many fireworks," Emily chuckled nervously. "Must have been really excited for the new year."

"New Year's was 2 weeks ago."

"Maybe they didn't get to celebrate until now. Could explain the sound of it then."

Emily was practically sweating mortar shells at this point and DESPERATELY trying to keep her composure. As Brian stared greatswords into her soul, she felt her heart skip a beat. Her breath quickened, heartbeat doubling, head pounding, she was in over her head, down on her luck, and she was a terrible liar, and yet…

She miraculously managed to remain cool, calm, and collected in spite of that.

Brian's gaze returned to normal as he spoke. "Well I guess that seems plausible enough. I'll be on my way then."

"Have a good night, sir."

"You too," he said sleeplessly as he walked back to his car.

And then he noticed the crater in the street. Emily's heart sank as he stopped to stare.

"You're telling me a firework caused all this?"

"Hey, that could just be a pothole!"

"There's smoke coming out of it. Not only is this recent, it's different from the average pothole."

"Well, I mean, some fireworks ARE pretty powerful-"

"Powerful enough to blow a man-sized hole in the street? I don't buy it. Something else is afoot here and you're clearly hiding something." Brian pulls out his pistol. "I want you to tell me exactly what happened here, and don't you lie to me!"

"Fine, I'll tell you," Emily said with her arms raised. "A robot fell out of the sky and landed dead in the street. I picked him up and hid him in my trunk before you showed up here."

Brian raised an eyebrow and turned the safety off his gun.

"Hey, you wanted the truth!" Emily retorted. "Now which sounds more believable to you, a rogue firework display, or a man-sized robot raining from the sky like it's Christmas morning?"

"I'm warning you, one more lie and I will shoot!"

"I swear to you, I'm telling the truth!"

Brian pulled the trigger and fired. Thinking quickly, Emily dove to the side, rolled into a ball, and made a mad dash for the driver's side door of her car. She pulled, but it didn't budge.

"Crap, locked!" She thought to herself. Dashing quickly to the middle of the street to dodge another shot, she noticed a sparkle in the middle of the road.

It was her car keys, which had fallen out of her pocket when she dove to safety. Diving between Brian's legs as he took another shot, she nabbed the keys tightly in her hand as she made another beeline for the car door.

- - -

Inside the car, Lyla and Stella were playing a racing game on thier DS's, while Vicki was fast asleep.

"Grass." Stella spoke.

"Brass." Lyla retorted.

"Assassin." Stella boasted.

"Classroom." Lyla remarked.

Stella paused for a moment. "Lass."

"Gas!" Lyla responded. "Wait-"

"Nope, too late! I win!"

"Dammit!" Lyla exclaimed, snapping her finger in disappointment.

Suddenly, the car door opened, letting in wind chill, as Emily quickly entered and started the car.

"What's the rush, buttercup?" Lyla teased. "Didn't go well?"

"No, we talked it out over ice cream and cookies," Emily exclaimed sarcastically. "The cops are on our ass and we need to move or we'll all be shot!"

Lyla and Stella were taken aback. But with no time to explain, Emily put her foot to the pedal and sped off down the road as fast as she could.

- - -

Outside, as Brian watched the car speed off down the road, he got into his police cruiser and made a radio call.

"This is Officer 744 requesting backup. There is a red '02 Mitsubishi Eclipse heading into town and I need every cruiser we have available on it. Over."

To Be Continued...

#hunting the missing link #act 1 #chapter 2 #in hot water #mainline story

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authenticasra · 1 year

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Idea: Preston has given up a whole lot of interests because of his parents, I'd say he used to play in the mud with a stray dog but when his dad found out about it he got in trouble because of their image. He also never saw that dog again.

TW: Implied Animal Death

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was a rainy day, dirt turning to mud and water filling potholes. One boy sat outside, a little British boy around the age of six. He had curly brown hair and wore quite expensive clothing. His name was Preston, Preston Adeline. His parents were quite rich, owning their own sports business. Today, he had snuck outside to play in the rain. It was one of his favorite pastimes, though he couldn't let his parents learn of this…shameful action. They'd be furious, well, more so his father would be. He had to uphold their image, even if he was only a child.

The boy was playing in the mud, an activity he quite enjoyed doing when the rain poured heavy. It was refreshing to the innocent child, a way to relax as no one would be out and about. Sickness was the last thing on Preston's mind, making mud pies for fun was his main priority. He enjoyed the idea of making baked goods and he used mud pies as a way to learn, even if they never would get eaten. His clothes didn't take long to get muddy, though the rain did wash it away every time he stood. One other reason he enjoyed rainy days was a stray, the sweetest pitbull, she always would find her way to the lanky boy on these dreary days and the two would play. This pitbull was still a puppy, a fairly big one, but a puppy no less. She was given the name Tief, a shortened form of tiefling, from an interesting game he found while browsing a bookstore. She was his best friend.

Preston was hugging the large puppy close, mud coating the bottom of his trousers and his once-white shirt. He giggled happily as Tief gave him a big ol' lick on the face, feeling genuine happiness when with the pup. He didn't complain about the slobber that coated his face as the rain brushed it off almost instantly. He was lost in his world with his best friend. That was until a door opened nearby, the yelling of his father breaking through the loud pattering rain. He wasn't quite sure what happened next, the memory blurred in and out as it affected him significantly. He remembered his father yanking him away from Tief, maybe he thought she was hurting him? But, why not ask him what was happening? She was a good girl. Next, he remembered being brought inside by his mother along with her sobbing but he wasn't sure why. The final memory of that day was a loud bang that was followed by the loud whimpering of Tief then…silence.

…

Preston blinked back into reality, a hand going up to his face as he felt tears falling down his face. He had realized just what happened to Tief that day. It was…mortifying, the banging could've only been one thing… He looked up, realizing he'd fallen behind his party while his mind wandered to this horrid memory.

Scott glanced back at him, stopping abruptly when spotting the tears rolling down his friend's face, "Shit! Preston, are you alright?" He questioned anxiously, rushing towards the slightly taller male. His alarming voice caught the attention of Clarissa and Dex who now stopped talking to each other and rushed to the other two.

"Dude, what happened? Why are you crying?" Clarissa asked, doing her best to not seem all that worried about him when in reality she was fairly freaked out.

"Oh? Yeah, I'm fine, it's nothing all that important in all honesty. Just remembering." Preston did his best to brush and wave them off, it wasn't anything for them to be worried about. It happened in the past after all. He jumped slightly when the shortest of the group hugged him, "Dex?"

"Preston, you know you can talk to us if something is bothering you. We're a team, the Butt Eeterz." He grinned at him, the grin being underlined by worry. "All we have is each other."

"Right, yes, I know that." He nodded, wiping the tears off of his face. He softly smiled back at Dex, accepting the hug. Scott and Clarissa joined the hug soon after, leaving the four hugging until Preston's tears stopped. He may not have his first best friend anymore, but now he had three people who made him just as happy and that's what kept his heart warmed.

#the encounter table #preston adeline #dex turner #scott travis #clarissa coldshore

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ironheartedfae · 1 year

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Timing: Current Location: Deersprings Feat: @lithium-argon-wo-l-f & @ironheartedfae Warnings: mild gore tw Summary: Ren is so small she steps in a puddle and it looks like she dove in the deep end.

Night had fallen, and with it the temperatures. Few folks roamed the streets at this hour, fewer in a place like Deersprings. Not where the respectable citizens of Wicked’s Rest made their homes. Where less things went wrong. Or at least less than everywhere else in this accursed place. Cozy streetlamps hummed with electricity. The few houses with inhabitants still awake lit up with their warm orange glow. Dispelling the gloom of the rain outside. Even the more built up areas of the neighborhood seemed to have a hush pulled over them. The streets themselves appeared to glisten with the dancing droplets of rain. Lulling everyone and everything into a false sense of security and comfort.

It would have been a picture perfect depiction of a cozy town in rural Maine, except– Except this was Wicked’s Rest. And nothing was ever as it seemed.

The silence broke like a brick through glass. A splash (far too big for the puddle it came from) erupted out of the nestled little pothole it sat in. Seemingly pouring out a pool's worth of liquid that did not want to stop. A scrawny arm braced itself on the ‘edge’ of the puddle, and tried in vain to pull itself from the depths. Something just underneath the surface was thrashing and trying its very best to keep whoever’s arm that belonged to from doing its job.

With as much grace as a turtle trying to right itself from its back, a second arm and a head appeared above the water. With one final push against something the tiny redhead was able to dive out of the water.

Ren gasped for air, greedily taking in anything her hoarse throat would allow. Anger was perhaps the only thing keeping her going, because it sure as hell wasn’t preparedness or well-restedness. Did she really ever stop to take care of herself? No. Did it matter? No. Of course it didn’t. She had a job to do, even if she wasn’t getting paid. If she wasn’t going to take care of the monstrous puddles and the disgusting creatures they housed, who would?

Another head…thing… bobbled up from the puddle. An ugly moss covered maw, hungry and wildeyed. Clearly just as displeased with the situation as the nymph. Though it was more on the ‘get this iron knife out of my side, and let me eat you’ side. Ren whipped around and screamed at the thing, not quite ready for another plunge into the frigid waters that still soaked her through to the bone. Maybe if she could just entice it out of the water, then she could do some real damage.

Rainy. It was certainly more wet here than Gael supposed he expected from a place in Maine which seemed kind of obvious the more he thought about it. Granted, it’s not as though he wasn’t used to rain; indeed, he remembered the knee-high mud of the wet seasons. Unlike then, however, he was thankful that he had his own place this time, located in the rather nice neighborhood of Deersprings - a normal place for a normal guy like him. It was evening now, and instead of frequenting one of the many bars in town or having a preexisting engagement with one of the many unique individuals he had met online, Gael was at home, curled up on an old couch in his highly minimalist (and only half-unpacked) living room, a lamp on the small table next to the arm as his only source of light. In his hands was a tattered old copy of one of the Star Wars books from the extended universe and a pair of reading glasses that he didn’t realize he hadn’t needed in several months rested on the bridge of his nose. Setting down his hot tea, steaming from a wide mug with a chemical equation pun on it, he started to turn another page of his book when his head turned so sharply it made his neck pop and he dropped the novel, where it landed on the hardwood floor with a papery smack. Gael, eyes wide, didn’t think twice as he leapt off the couch with unexpected agility, flying across the room and wrenching open the door as he heard a female scream pierce through the rain, through his walls, through his concentration. Out he stumbled into the chilled night air in a black t-shirt and gray sweatpants, quickly glancing around for the source of that noise. It didn’t come from a neighbor’s noisy movie, he was sure he would’ve been able to tell… Then he spotted something. At the far end of the stretch of road was what appeared to be the silhouette of a figure on the ground. Gael broke into a sprint, splashing in the puddles and blinking back the raindrops that caught in his eyes as he kept them on the figure on the ground. “Hey!” He called to the figure before clumsily coming to a skidding stop near what seemed to be a young adult and he dropped to a crouch. “Hey, are you okay?” He asked urgently, placing a hand on her shoulder. She was frigid to the touch but he didn’t recoil, though he did immediately notice it and put a pin in that. “Did someone hurt you?” He asked, before turning his head to regard the…. “What is THAT?”

Waterlogged and far too cold to function, Ren barely noticed the man racing up to her side. Instinct, and a stark lack of comforting gestures in her life still worked though, as she jumped when his hand found her shoulder. Scrambling to the side for a split second getting stupidly close to the puddle once again. The nymph didn’t respond. She didn’t have time to. The creature saw the opportunity just as plainly as the stranger had seen it.

A sturdy set of jaws opened wide, yawning hungrily as it came down on Ren’s leg. Grabbing just above the ankle and pulling. The vodnik could have just as easily snapped the limb right off, right then. It wasn’t like the bug was hard to break. It wanted to bring her back to the depths. Back underwater where she couldn’t breathe, could barely see, and it had all the advantage.

Wide eyes frantically searched for anything that would slow her descent into the frigid pool. One hand was able to use her remaining knife, drive it as far into a crack in the concrete as she could. The other reached out, a rare and desperate call for help. Even if her voice betrayed her, even if she couldn’t vocalize how scared she was. How she didn’t think she’d be able to really survive another plunge. And how she didn’t want this to be where her story ended. Ren’s terrified gaze shot up to the stranger.

Please. Please be able to do something.

The girl flinched, which Gael supposed was to be expected - she was shaken, frighteningly cold, and they were both staring down some… mutated snapping turtle or something that poked its ugly head out of the water. He had never seen anything like it and for a moment, he was frozen himself, tensing up as what was happening before him happened. She moved away and the creature took an opportunity to snap at her, ensnaring her ankle and starting to drag her into the murk of what he thought was a normal, shallow puddle. A knife went into the concrete and her hand reached out to him. Move. Her expression shredded through his animal fear and without a second thought, Gael pushed himself onto all fours for a second before one arm extended down the length of hers, wrapping his hand around her upper arm and starting to pull her towards him or, specifically, away from the puddle. Leaning forward on his knees, he reached forward, past her and attempted to grasp a handful of the slimy substance that was on the turtle-salamander thing. With a heave, he started to pull IT up too, with the shaken understanding that if he got both of them out of the water they could try to get it off her. “It’ll be okay,” He assured her, his voice urgent but strong and while Gael couldn’t be sure if that was true, he wasn’t about to let whatever this was go. “C’mon, you ugly–”

Just like that, the touch she’d run away from had become a lifeline. The stranger was pulling Ren away from the puddle. Using her as an anchor, he was able to wrench the vodnik from its watery den. He probably had no idea how good of an idea that was. Or maybe he did. Either way, the nymph wasted exactly no time to use the distraction (and the leverage) to add a little oomph to her kick. The beast’s jaws were still tight around her other leg, but now that it was out of the depths she could see her other knife. Still buried between a mound of rock like flesh, and algae coated shell. A flash of excitement washed over her. The tides had turned.

Cold as she was, the next few movements were quick. Far more so than anyone in her situation should have been, but slower than she’d like. Ren twisted, wrenching the bite in further, but giving herself access to more of the creature. The previously concrete-bound knife found its way into the thing’s jaw. It roared in pain, which gave the nymph a split second to remove her leg.

The moment she was free she was on top of the thing. Knives blurry, hitting any and every target that wasn’t completely sheltered by the creature’s thick moss covered carapace. Adrenaline was doing most of the work. If she slowed up, even for a moment, it would fight back. The pain in her leg would get to her. The frigid temperature shift would slow her to a crawl. Ren had to keep going. For both their sake. This stranger who pulled her from certain death didn’t deserve to follow her into that fate because she made a mistake. No. She’d keep going until the job was done. Possibly well after. It wasn’t like she was thinking clearly after all.

As Gael pulled the two of them further from the puddle, he noticed that she also thought quickly, much quicker than he would’ve if he was on the other side of his scenario. He felt her weight against him, using him as a support point as he was using hers to heave the monster. She kicked the creature and around the time he acknowledged that there was a knife lodged in the monster, she had pulled her other knife from the concrete and plunged it into the mass of moss, flesh and teeth. The creature cried in pain (or was it rage), Gael fell back with a splash as the sound reverberated in his ears and the girl, who was moments ago in the jaws of the mutant, now took her knives to it in a flurry of attacks, visceral stabbing sounds, blood being pulled from the body with the metal of the blades. And for a few moments he sat there wondering if maybe he– he definitely hadn’t made a mistake but from the way she moved, the way she had bitten back as soon as she was able, the man knew that he didn’t just help out a random stranger; she was trained, though he couldn’t be sure in what. But, despite her being a stranger and an efficient weapon-user, she still seemed so young. She persisted after the pained grunts of the mutant turtle-salamander stopped, effectively dead (or so he thought) and again, without thinking about the long-term, Gael reached for her and, placing his strong hands on her icy upper arms, started to pull her away from the monster. He wasn’t sure how she would react and he was ready to take a knife to the arm himself but he figured she was in fight-or-flight mode. He was familiar with the adrenaline pumping through him - he had to be pulled away from fights sometimes too. To feel someone else, to pull him up from the edge he’d stumbled from. “It’s okay,” He said, making himself heard clearly through the rain that fell on them. His tone was loud enough but carried a calm, even if he was still afraid about the situation, about what she could do to him. “It’s okay.” He repeated.

A rush of air was all Ren felt as she was pulled from the beast. Now still, dead as a doorknob, blood pooling around it as the wake of destruction and fury subsided. Its powers now gone, the puddle was just a puddle. And the kid was just a kid. Scared and frantic, being pulled off of the vodnik and into someone’s arms. Her mind was moving too quickly to process. Too panicked to stop and think about the reason she’d been so aggressive towards the creature was at least, in part, because of the stranger. Because she wasn’t the only one there, the only one who’d lose if she failed.

“Let me GO you stupid–” Her heartbeat was still raging against her chest. “–stupid turtle!!” Each thump grew a little more distant though, as the cold caught up with her. Ren’s struggles against the arms that held her were less like a trained soldier trying to escape, and more and more like a tired toddler vehemently disagreeing with bed time. That, and the puncture wounds in her legs. Draining life down into the sewers with the rest of the rain.

It took more than a few moments for the nymph to really tell what was going on. That the creature before her was already gone, and the only danger she was still in was from blood loss. Harsh ragged breaths slowed and calmed to a steady and even keel. Ren’s unblinking stare relented as she relaxed, if only a little. She turned, cocking her head to the side so she could see exactly who she was dealing with. Surprised that the face wasn’t as unfamiliar as she might expect. Gael. From the internet. The kind man who asked–

“Gre–eeen.” A strange first word to say, definitely not a thank you. And followed quickly by a slumping. As adrenaline crashed, shock came. Ren passed out.

Her pulse pounded in his ears, her low body temperature clashing with his, her thrashing against him was reminiscent of a child but at least she didn’t take her knives to him. Gael remained as sturdy as he could, the rock against her crashing waves of fear and primal response to survive and as she slowed down, no doubt because of both whatever hypothermic episode her body was going through coupled with the open puncture wounds in her leg freely flowing down into the gutter, he pulled her a little farther away from the corpse of the monster, a little closer to him. She didn’t want to hurt him, that much Gael was able to gather both from how she actually didn’t attack him and how her brain still raced with thoughts of the monster that lay in its blood before them. Her heart rate lowered, as did his and when she turned her head, he tilted his in kind, wanting to make eye contact with her, show her that he was there right now. ‘Green’. That was all she said before she fell unconscious and he adjusted quickly, catching her before she could hit the pavement. It didn’t take long for him to connect the dots. “I have you, little fern,” He said quietly, getting to his feet, cradling her close to him to share his body heat with her and, with one last look to the mossy abomination at the edge of the puddle, he turned and carried her to his house as fast as he could.

* * *

He wasn’t sure how much time passed, but in the span of it, Gael had taken the girl home, wrung out as much of her as possible, dried her the rest of the way and used one of his at-home kits to patch her up. He wasn’t sure how to fix her alarmingly-low body heat so he did what only made sense to him - he started a fire in his previously-unused fireplace and cranked up the heat. She was on his floor in front of the fireplace on a pallet of blankets, underneath his thickest comforter. Near her was a spare change of clothes - they would’ve been too big for her but dry clothes were better than none, or so he figured. Gael sat next to her on the floor, close to her, having since picked his book back up though he made sure to be positioned in a way that he could see and tend to her the second she responded. He checked her heart rate periodically - slow, but there.

In the time between falling and waking, there was a sense of peace that Ren didn’t often get to experience. Dreamless sleep, however short it stayed for, however it came to be, was preferable to the litany of nightmares and anxious imaginings of a troubled mind. Eventually, Ren’s eyes fluttered open. The crackling of a fire almost had her believing she was back at camp, but her camp had never been this warm. Not quite enough time had passed that she’d been able to fully heat through to her core, but the blankets on blankets on blankets did a number for her skin. For the strange tingling in her leg that still didn’t quite feel like it was there. A blessing in disguise, surely. If she could feel it, she’d feel the pain that came with.

Everything was like a foggy daydream. The kind of comfort that only existed in stories and only for princesses and those who were pure of heart. Ren wasn’t that. She couldn’t ever be. The nymph was only ever doing her best to be something she wasn’t. Doing her best to not be a monster like the vodnik outside. Memories filtered in like falling snow. Bits and pieces here, slowly coating everything and uniting into one big picture.

She had been hunting down the creatures. Reports of puddles, and people falling into them, had tipped her off to the possibility of the hulking fae puddle jackers. Ren followed her senses to one, and promptly started a battle she had no real hope of winning alone. Bitterly, she also remembered Emilio’s words. Ones that almost stung as much as the bruises and bumps that now littered her body. Even the poorly healed wound on her side had something to say about this endeavor. Opening up slightly, and weeping blood and fluid into the flannel that still stuck to her skin with the rain and sweat.

Clothes sat beside her. And beyond them, Gael. A concerned gaze drifted around the room, until she finally got the energy to speak up. “This is… your house?”

She stirred and after a brief coin toss in his mind, Gael opted to tilt his head from his book, regarding the girl with a gentle expression though he couldn’t keep the relief he held inside from tumbling out in a sigh. “It is,” He smiled softly. “It’s good to meet you in person,” He said, setting the book aside and starting to get to his feet, the bones in his knees and back popping like a symphony of twigs being snapped. “Ah, I’m getting too old to sit on the floor,” He scoffed lightly. “Stay there, let me get you some tea.” He made his way into the kitchen where he had a fresh kettle brewed, one of his mugs set aside. “I’m pleased that you’re awake,” He called briefly, pouring the tea and bringing it back before stooping to put it on the ground next to her. “I closed you up on your leg,” He explained. “But I didn’t change your clothes or force-feed you any medicine.” He assured before realizing that she might not even remember what happened before this moment in time. Or even if she knew his name. Gael supposed he was just… he wasn’t sure if it was his ability to quickly move on from events or the inevitability of what might happen if he lingered too much in the past but he needed to remember that she was attacked by some… mutated turtle, they were both in the rain, she killed it with such anger that he had to pull her off of the corpse. It was a lot and while he didn’t want to dredge the topic, he felt like maybe he needed to. “I’m not going to ask what that thing was out there,” Gael started slowly. “So instead I’ll ask if there’s anything else I can do to help you right now.” He gave her an earnest expression, not sitting down yet in case she did need something, whether it was painkillers, a bandage for that wound on her side that he didn’t dress or address, or an anchor to pull herself up so she could stand herself.

Coming in to a place she didn’t recognize would’ve been a lot more startling if she hadn’t talked to this not-quite-stranger for so long. The internet was odd. And Ren couldn’t fully understand most of what she saw there, but on the ‘social media’ thing, there were a few folks who’s steady influx of advice and dare she say friendship kept her going. Kept her focused enough to do her job. And maybe even helped her be better at it. Even if that wasn’t something she was ever going to share.

She should have been more nervous. Maybe blood loss and the chill that still bit at her bones kept her calmer than normal. Like a beehive in smoke, or any other bug during winter. Instead, the nymph took the time to take in her surroundings. Mentally writing things down so she could chart them later. Gael hadn’t made it to a file yet. After this though? Probably would earn more than a few pages. Silently, Ren thanked whatever divine force saw fit to inspire her to leave the journal at home for this particular hunt. If she had brought more than her knives, they either would have been lost to the dizzying abyss that the creature made out of the puddle, or they would have been soggy and useless.

A bit like she was feeling now. “You are very kind to do these things.” Ren tucked her legs up, strained as it was to do so, it felt better. Safer. Curled up in a tight ball with the blankets still surrounding her. “I should just go.” The house seemed bare, empty. Like he hadn’t been there very long. But it was warm and inviting all the same. Not to mention huge. Like one of the bigger buildings back at the compound, but most of them were brimming with activity. “Do you live here alone?”

“I’m happy that I heard you,” Gael responded before realizing what he said and he cleared his throat. “I mean, I’m not happy that… whatever happened happened but I’m glad that– Well…” He furrowed his brow as he thought about what he wanted to say that didn’t make it seem like this was a positive encounter. Granted, it probably would’ve gone worse had he NOT had his… strangely sensitive hearing. That wasn’t a conversation for now though and instead, he faltered for a moment before nodding at her first statement. “It’s no problem.” He settled on saying. The second one rolled around and the professor wanted to protest - she was still injured, chilled and the rain hadn’t subsided yet, which he didn’t think he wanted her out in. Not that she was Gael’s child, but his fatherly tendencies, the ones that admittedly sometimes misfired due to his inability to have children of his own, activated the second he saw her and it hadn’t subsided yet; he wouldn’t tell her but he found himself protective after their interaction online and what had just transpired. “I used to; recently I got a roommate and he’ll be moving in soon,” He explained, opting to sit next to her once more, slowly lowering himself with a grunt as he made sure not to move too quickly as she seemed like the type to be put on edge easily. Once he was on the floor again, he used the back of a knuckle to scoot the mug of tea closer to her, if only to let her know that it was okay for her to drink. As though to prove to her that it was safe, he gathered his own mug from the table behind him and held it up, propping his elbows on his knees as his legs were loosely crossed at the ankle. “And… I can’t tell you what to do but it’d give me peace of mind if I could at least drive you to wherever you live,” Gael added softly, taking a sip of the tea - ginger and lemon, one of his favorite combinations. “I also have a spare room if you don’t want to do that and you can wait until the rain is gone.” He offered, nodding behind him to the darkened hallway. “You can change your clothes, it’s on the ground floor so you can see the door.” He wanted to ask where she did live, if there was someone he could or should call to help her but he didn’t want to move too fast - she was the one in an unfamiliar environment after killing a monster, she was the one who had to adjust to a new location. She reminded him of his eldest sister. “What’s your name?”

Happy he heard…? Oh. The scream. A moment of anguish too loud to keep inside. Ren didn’t have the time to feel guilty about it then, but now? Well there was a list starting to compile. Was this what Emilio meant? Worrying about people you barely know. With Gael, even less than the detective. Only a few conversations, not even in person. Ren could see use in herself with the way she walked Perro for Emilio, but it wasn’t like she’d ever done anything for Gael. Nothing but be a stubborn little shit online. Slowly coming to senses on things she never really knew how to interact with.

She was an arrow, when she wasn’t pointed at a target, what good was she? Ren’s gaze flicked down to the cup. To yet another source of radiant heat. Why were people always trying to give her food, drinks, clothes, and a place to stay? Her mind tried to wrap itself around the mug and what it meant just as her hands physically did. As they curled around the warm ceramic her fingers actually started to come back to life. Breath was still an effort, but each rush of air that wasn’t icy cold was nothing short of miraculous.

The nymph was quiet. But that wasn’t surprising for her. She was always one who was better at listening than any hope she ever had at being a conversationalist. He wanted her to stay or at least wait out the rain. But Ren already felt like she was an imposition. Walking the line between grateful for the help, and still somehow feeling wrong for accepting it. The two conflicting feelings swirled in her stomach like a stormfront. All she could do was focus on what sensations surrounded her right then and there. Emotions and their ilk would have to come later. Would have to sit and fester for just a bit longer. Waiting out the rain didn’t seem like such a bad idea.

Each bit of speech came with another set of notations. The door, the clothes, the way the rain continued to beat against the windows. How every once in a while she heard a fat drop sizzle on the fire, having made its way down through the chimney. She noted boxes, either the new roommates or maybe from whenever Gael had made this place his own. There was the kitchen, a set of stairs, a couch with a strangely sparkling side, that seemed to drip down to the floor below. Dizzying and dazzling in the firelight. Ren hadn’t hit her head or anything like that, but she was still reeling from her unconscious stint. Still seeing long trails to every source of light. Almost made her want to kick back to the other kind of vision, mapping things out by heat rather than visible light. However, she wasn’t sure she had the energy for that effort.

“Til the rain ends.” Ren agreed. Though, it’d been raining the last few days. Maybe it’d rain forever. Maybe she could sit in this dreamlike fantasy and pretend it was normal. Pretend she was human. Pretend she could have family. Then when the rain washed away, dried up and opened the skies once again, she could vanish. Back to normal. To hunting and protecting. To learning and living on her own.

“You… you can call me Ren.”

She was quiet. Gael was also able to gather that online - English wasn’t her first language and if she was as similar to his sister as she seemed, it probably took her a while to compile her thoughts into sentence structures that were considered ‘passable’ to outsiders. So when she did speak, he made sure to pay close attention to the things she considered important enough to say. To his relief, she agreed on waiting for the rain to pass and he smiled, taking another sip as he noticed that she held the mug if only to get some of her lost body heat back. “‘Til the rain ends, you got it.” Things had calmed down, and now that the two of them weren’t actually in the cold, ceaseless rain, hearing it on the windows and roof brought a sense of peace with it. Although… should Gael have gone back out there to dispose of the body? Would it even still be there? Surely he could send it to the biology department or one of the labs in town, right? Maybe Dr. Kavanagh would like it– no, she dealt with people though she DID like taxidermy. What… what was he going on about. A thing was dead on the street, the girl had signs of hypothermia and Gael was just sitting on his floor like a fool thinking about whether or not a doctor would like to taxidermy it. “It’s nice to know your name, Ren.” He pulled himself out of his silly thoughts and gave her a smile. “I wish we met under better circumstances but that was clever, reminding me of your favorite color.” He gazed at the fire now. “You don’t… have to answer if you don’t want to but what are you doing out here? Do you live around here?” He was expecting her not to answer; she seemed like a private person, after all, and he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable by prying. Maybe he should’ve asked if she was hungry. “Ah, never mind. Are you hungry?” He asked instead. “I can make you some–” What did he have available. “Sandwiches.”

It was a toss up. Ren wasn’t even sure if she was going to answer. It was perhaps the least he deserved. Most people didn’t take it super well when you told them you were there to hunt creatures like that down. Unless they were also a hunter, which… Between the cozy environment of the less-than-filled house, the gentle nature, and the constant emotional support… Gael was probably not one of them. It was something she wasn’t sure what to make of. Be honest, open to conversation, as it were.

Silence won. For now. The concern that laced her brows together showed off the war going on inside. The nymph simply shook her head. “I cannot speak of this. Just… I am trained for it. Keep people from being hurt.” A compromise. Somewhere between honest and safe. “Creature was called Vodnik.” There were more in the area, that part was better to share. The more information Gael had, the less likely he was to fall into a deep puddle and never come out. “Makes small puddles big. Angry, territorial. Many arrive because of rain.” Didn’t really account for the cold though. Maybe the deepened water was just naturally chillier than what would have been seasonal. That didn’t fully explain why it felt almost icy. Magic never really made a whole lot of sense though did it?

“You are Gaheel, yes?” Not at all pronounced correctly, but Ren had only ever seen the name online. It didn’t fit on her tongue super well. Didn’t mix well into the strange accent she carried all her diction with. “I– It is– nice. To meet you in person too. You have many words, all of them are well thought out.” Strange, how someone who spoke so eloquently could pull that out of someone else, almost like he pulled her from that puddle. Around someone like Emilio it was easy to remain the quiet wallflower. Just watching and giving what amounted to a little more than grunts and affirmations every once in a while. With Gael, she felt like she had to give something back. Like it was unbalanced, somehow. With her quiet nature.

“Sandwiches…” It wasn’t unfamiliar. Ren had plenty of sandwiches before. Carbs, protein, it was a good way to keep herself going. Easy to make, and sometimes she could even find partial loaves of mostly not-moldy bread in the dumpster. If she was lucky, she even got to them before the mice did. “...Why are you doing all of this?”

Another pause. Gael took a drink of his warm tea, though he was starting to feel the effects of his heater turned up as well as the fire, combined with the fact that he chose sweatpants. It was fine, so long as she was comfortable, or rather less uncomfortable. When she started speaking, again, he took her words and put them into a mental notebook of his own - she wasn’t just studying flora and fauna, she was a hunter of beasts, which in his mind was compartmentalized of “mutations, possibly having escaped from a lab”. ‘Vodnik’, in his mind, was either a corrupted version of lizard or snapping turtle as it carried qualities of both. Then again, it was coated in so much moss and slime that it was hard to get a distinct shape of the creature, save its flapping maw and sharp teeth. Possibly a young alligator? As for the puddles, he was sure that the rain was just getting in his eyes and Gael was falling into the illusion that the puddle was deeper than it actually was. None of this was verbalized, and instead he shook his head with comprehension. “Okay. You’re a protector, and you heard about this… vodnik, so you came here to keep it from hurting anyone.” He summarized her explanation, keeping a note to mention that she was the important part of it, not the mutant. He didn’t want to think about what sort of nightmare camp she might’ve trained at - he knew people who were hunters, but she gave him the impression that hers was less of a familial hobby and more of… child soldier stuff. She then said his name and Gael recognized it even if it wasn’t correct, tilting his head ever-so-slightly. “I appreciate the compliment, Ren,” He bowed his head respectfully at her though he couldn’t keep himself from smiling slightly sheepishly. “I imagine a lot of people think I talk too much about too little so it’s nice to hear that sometimes maybe that’s not the case.” He raised one of his eyebrows and set the mug down. Sandwiches floated through the air, as did his recollection of what all he had in the house for her to eat, when she asked him a new question and brought him back down. “Well,” Gael reached up and tapped on his shadowed chin in thought. “I heard someone call for help, I went out there and saw someone getting attacked by a creature.” He walked through the series of events. “You said you keep people from getting hurt but you got hurt.” The chemist spoke mildly, keeping his tone from getting serious or dramatic. “So I couldn’t protect you from getting hurt but I can do my best to help any way that I can now.” He leaned forward slightly, giving her a soft expression. “I’ve had my share of accidents, my share of getting hurt on my own and sometimes I wished someone would be there to lend me a hand; so I lead by example. I wasn’t about to leave you outside, in the rain, injured and dying from exposure regardless of who you were or why you were here.” He shrugged. “I guess I just like helping people.”

All of this was a lot to consider. And considering her lack of practice in the act, it was a play on more than just words. Ren shifted, trying to find a better position to sit in. One where she could keep her head on a swivel, even if she didn’t need to right now. The open concept (though that wouldn’t be what Ren would call it) house was actually quite good for her state of mind. Being able to see almost all the doors and windows from one central point, whoever designed it must have been quite smart. Or so the nymph thought. Ren had a tendency of thinking most people were a lot more intelligent than her.

Gael was definitely among the top. Right up there with Nora and Emilio, though each possessed a different kind of intelligence. Emilio knew a lot about a plethora of supernatural things. Nora knew a lot about modern things, social media and other things teens and young adults would like. And Gael, well, it seemed he knew a whole lot about the heart. Cared more than maybe anyone Ren had ever met. Or at least, cared in a much softer way than most. In a way, the wounds covering her body were far more familiar than this shared comfort. Than soft voices and careful explanations.

She could tell (or at least thought she could) that he was being far more cautious around her than he might have been if it was someone else. Maybe that was a good thing. Ren knew well enough from the argument with the detective that going around and telling people who’ve already made the dumb decision to care about her that she was something worth derision more than gentleness, it didn’t really go over too well.

But he liked helping people. That’s what he said. Emilio couldn’t really verbalize it more than just the fact that Ren was a kid. An infuriating statement the nymph tried her best not to take poorly. It wasn’t untrue. And maybe that’s what made her more mad. Just like everything else, it was one more thing she was trying to pretend she wasn’t. Like she wasn’t a monster, she was a hunter. She wasn’t fae, she was human. She wasn’t a burden, she was accepting help. She wasn’t a kid, she was just… She didn’t know the alternative. Adult? Sure, but that carried weight she didn’t know if she could properly carry. Not alone.

“I try to protect people.” There was a long drawn pause. A breath and a release. Both the air in her lungs and the weight keeping her shoulders held up and tight. “I am beginning to think I am… not as good as I should be at it.” Not good at picking out right from wrong, not good at fighting things by herself. And where did that leave the fae hunter of fae? Ren didn’t know how to be a person. Not really. “It was–” Another pause. A risk. “Thank you for helping me. I did need it. I do not know what would have become of me or beast if not for intervention.”

“All any of us can do is try,” Gael replied gently after the newest pause; he wondered what she was thinking, what all was going on under the surface. He often wondered that about Ariana too but he had long since grown accustomed to waiting for answers, if they came at all. He also had gotten used to sometimes not receiving any. “Helping others is one of the most fulfilling things you can do, whether you’ve been trained for it or not.” He said mildly. “You protected me. Your knowledge and intuition, your skills and tenacity kept that… vodnik-thing from hurting anyone else here.” He gestured in the direction of the neighborhood. “These people, including me, had no idea there was anything out there. “You’re young and very skilled.” He continued. “I’ve been doing my job for 20 years and I still learn things, wish I did things differently.” The professor glanced at Ren. “But all we can do is try to be better, improve ourselves.” Gael licked his lower lip, picking up his mug and taking another drink of tea. As he did, Ren thanked him and his brow raised in evident surprise - he recalled when they last talked and she vehemently told him not to, to take it back and he heard from other people not to do that. She must’ve considered it at length if after the way she responded the first time, she thanked him now. It caught Gael off-guard but only for a moment before he shook his head. “Keep it; you don’t owe me anything.” He waved lightly. “I’d do it again.” He smiled before starting to stand again. “Now! You want a sandwich?” He asked, deciding to try to let her know with his actions and way of conversing that he wasn’t thinking hard on this, debating, judging her. She was here, he was here right now.

Ren hadn’t needed more proof of Gael’s kindness, but he kept supplying it all the same. Not accepting the thank you in the way that she learned was enough to release her. For the first time since she picked it up, the nymph sipped on her tea. Let the hot liquid soothe her frayed mind. Reminded her of the days Darya would bring soup to the shack in winter. Ren missed those days. When all that was expected of her was to survive the cold so she could learn more in the spring. Cons of bringing a bug into your family. Ren wasn’t much good to anyone when she was this chilled.

In her mind, the acts displayed were not even. Gael said he’d do it again. Said she was skilled and that she kept the neighborhood safe. But that was what Ren was supposed to do. To the not-warden warden, this was just like… breathing. It was a struggle sometimes, sure, but it was a part of her life. It was what gave her purpose. Patching people you barely knew up, after pulling them from the jaws of certain death?? That wasn’t his. It felt mismatched. Like she did still owe him something.

“Try to be better.” She repeated, quietly this time. More to herself than anything else. Settling into the phrase in more ways than one. Ren nodded and took another sip. Food would be welcome, might even make her start feeling more like herself. The clothes would probably do wonders too. One of her hands fell to the pile, while her eyes flicked over to the door that Gael had mentioned.

“I– will get these on. If you do not need help in the kitchen.”

After more creaking of his bones and a hand resting on his back for a moment, Gael had made it to his feet again and he shook his head. “No no, you can go wherever and do whatever; sandwiches are very easy to make.” Her muttering about ‘try to be better’ didn’t go by him unnoticed but he let it go as he tended to do that, as well. “Take your time.. And the bathroom is right next door in the hall.” He spoke clearly and pointed to let her know, not that he wanted her to stay in the parameters that he set but rather so she didn’t get mixed up or The professor headed into the kitchen as he assumed the young protector was going to change her clothes and he opened the fridge, holding it open for several long moments before realizing that he didn’t know what she’d want to eat. Instead of asking her, however, he just got a few different options out and he’d put them on a plate for her to pick for herself. Ham, turkey, a half loaf of bread… Cheese. Gael only had one type of cheese. He figured she wouldn’t be picky but still. He gathered all the ingredients, leaving the condiments put away for now - if she wanted them, he could get them. He got a serving platter and placed all the different options on it in a rather “By the way, I appreciate your help,” Gael called as he made the platter look as special as it possibly could considering it was a bunch of packages of processed meat and cheese. “It takes a special person to go out of their way to protect other people.” When it looked serviceable enough, he gathered the plate and made his way back into the living room.

With Gael in the kitchen, she had a little space. Enough room to decide that standing on her own was a good idea, even when it really really wasn’t. The weight on the limb, not all together that much but enough, sent a shiver of pain right through her whole body. The couch was enough of a crutch, the most Ren would accept right then at least. As if to mark her for being weak the strange scratchy and shimmery substance that coated the arm of the chair stuck to her still sweat-damp skin. Wouldn’t come off, even when she shook it vigorously. Her mouth opened to ask, but caught a piece of the plastic on her tongue instead.

“Ah- aaugck.” What followed was a bit of a dance. Uncoordinated and extra clumsy with the added injuries, but something to behold all the same. Ren rattled her head like a dog that had just licked a lemon, just as surprised and just as disgusted. The plague of glitter only spread, leaving almost a cloud about the girl like she’d just been sprinkled in fairy dust. Irony at its best. “Gaheel what– Why does your couch attack with glimmery dandruff??”

The man was already returning, a plate of something in his hands while hers were still battling with the tiny shards of plastic. Just the right amount of ridiculous, all things considered. Ren had gone toe to toe with the creature in the streets and yet a bit of glitter managed to throw her so far off her game she was acting like a puppy or a kitten testing out its new limbs. Afraid to touch anything, lest it spread more. It was remembering the vodnik though, that brought something out of her. A bark of laughter as the girl imagined what it would have looked like, dealing with the same predicament. Instead of moss, a thick coating of shiny…whatever this was. The laugh multiplied, as a spell of silliness slipped through the delirious state her mind was in.

It wasn’t often she was able to just be a kid, but something about this place felt comfortable enough to try.

Gael was on his way back, somehow not having seen her when he heard her call his name in her unique way of saying it and he glanced over to find her in a sporadic pseudo-dance, fine particles of– uh oh. Hurriedly placing the platter on the counter, he couldn’t stop himself from laughing as she did - it was a new sound, hearing her emote in such a positive manner. It was uplifting and even though he hated that damned glitter, he internally thanked it for creating this particular scenario which seemed like something she needed after the stiffness, the closed-off behavior, the frenzied stabbing of the monster. “Gah, I’m sor–” He cut himself off with a laugh, approaching her, braving the puffs of glitter once more to rescue her and Gael offered out an arm for her to take as support. “I forgot about your ankle!” He tried to sound worried but instead, he just kept smiling and it grew wider. He waved the glitter out of the air but of course the stupid stuff was so fine that he couldn’t keep himself from breathing more of it in and his laughter became mixed up with coughing. “It gets everywhere - you’ll be seeing it in your dreams,” He coughed out another laugh, gently leading her away from the couch where he gently tried to pat some of it off of her.

“Sorry, little fern,” Gael used the nickname without even realizing that he had, though he DID notice that she was warmer than before - still cold but it was more manageable than when he first found her. “It’s very… sensitive–” He barely finished his sentence before turning sharply, dipping into the shoulder opposite her to sneeze. “Aaagh it got up my nose again.” He still smiled though and regarded the girl who now shimmered in the light of the fire. “You can take a shower - most of it will come off. If you don’t want to do that, it won’t be the end of the world,” He shrugged casually, taking a step towards the room. “Would you like some assistance?” He asked once he got his own breathing under control though he stuck his tongue out, feeling the particles in his mouth - a curse. That’s what it was. But also somehow a blessing right now.

Just like that, they were both caught in a storm of shimmer. Of much needed levity to dispel the gloom. The rain had brought her here, for that she had to thank fate. Even if to do so meant stepping more towards the way the fae would think of things. That’s what they did, right? Listen to fate and nature as if they were the divine words the world turned by? If it meant moments like this, Ren could see how one might fall to its siren song.

Each time she tried to compose herself, more glitter got stuck. Either on herself, or on Gael. In a way that only made the fit of laughter worse. It was a breaking point, for better or worse. Everything that had happened up until then, everything that Wicked’s Rest had thrown her way, Ren had weathered. More or less. She had learned so much, almost none of which was what Darya had wanted her to. With each new day, each new face she greeted, each that she allowed to see her as a person, she was starting to feel a little more like one.

The dizzy smile faded back to the stoic stare, but maybe just maybe it was lighter. Warmer. Not just in temperature (thanks to the professor and his quick thinking) but like her soul had lifted something off of it. Like laughter was the medicine she had needed all along. It wasn’t a crime to smile. She didn’t have to feel guilt for finding glimmers of joy in moments of anguish. Ren did her job that night and she was able to be a person after. Didn’t have to be one or the other. It’d take some practice, but this town was pulling her in a new direction. Only time could say where it would lead next.

#wickedswriting #lithium argon wo l f #ironheartedfae #mild gore tw

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