#managed farmland & farmhouse | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

luna-andra · 1 month

Text

The Shadows Return | Simon 'Ghost' Riley x OC Retired AU | Year One*

Summary: A little insight

Word count: 2k words

Author's note: I have returned! 🎉 if you're new to this story, you can read Chapter 1 here. Filler chapters will be marked with an * sign from here on out.

Ch 8 is posted!

Content: slow burn, fluff, retired au Ghost x OC, mentions of mental health, violence, eventual smut

Andra let out a sigh of relief as she read the email she received during her morning shift at the café. Her work visa had been approved for renewal. It was weighing on her for the past couple of weeks, stressing her to think she had submitted her documents too close to the deadline. Her current visa wasn’t due to expire until the end of the month, but now it wasn’t a cause for concern.

She didn’t have to plan for the possibility of returning to Texas anymore, so she closed out the tabs in her browser on her phone for apartments in her old area with a satisfied grin and a “good fucking riddance” to herself in the break room. The rest of her shift went smoothly with renowned happiness, having her smiling wider than she was before going on break.

Andra didn’t have many people to share the good news with, but her managers would have to suffice, and will be notified under the pretense of business.

“That’s good to hear,” Henry, her manager at her evening job, said with milquetoast optimism, “Won’t have to look for a new bartender for a whole ‘nether year, then.”

“Guess I’ll still be a thorn in your side for a while longer, Henry.”

He chortled at that. Andra got his dry humor now that she had been working for him for long enough. She swore he hated the shadow that followed behind her every step, muttering snide and sarcastic remarks any time she had questions on some of the items on the menu. It was when she quipped back about him being a pain in the ass and he smiled to himself did she start to feel less of an outsider to her new environment.

Andra had a run-in with a few of the locals that weren’t too keen on an American serving them. It was expected, a sobering reminder when she built her new life in the quaint village. Six months later and she has become their favorite American bartender, some of them checked in on how she’s coming along with her fixer-upper of a farmhouse out in the boonies.

“It’s comin’.” Andra drawled a little more than her baseline accent. “I got the paint for the living room, got the tarp laid down, and she should have a fresh coat of paint on her in the next few days.” She finished pouring a pint of cider and placed it down on the dampened coaster.

“Any plans for the farmland?” Mister Wade asked a few barstools down the counter.

Andra paid close attention to the whiskey she was pouring into the glass before answering. “Can’t say I’ve thought about it, I’m not much of a green thumb gal.”

She got a grunt of disapproval for that one. “These lands are fertile if ye treat em right. Even if it’s veg that yer growin’ for yourself, give it a go.”

The idea of starting her own little garden of produce and fruits brought a smile to her face. Now that she can actually think of long-term decisions, Andra might just consider the suggestion. “I’ll think on it, Mister Wade.”

“Call me Dean.” He raised his pint of cider before taking a generous swig.

“I’ll take these for you.” Warm hands took the collection of pint glasses from Andra’s hold.

Henry’s son, Sean, was the most welcoming and helpful when she started working at the pub. With Andra picking up the evening shifts, it gave Sean time to start college classes. When she had first walked in to Henry’s establishment, Andra could sense the rejection on the tip of his tongue as she was explaining her qualifications. Sean thankfully swooped in before Henry could say no, and she couldn’t have been more grateful.

She learned quickly his friendliness and warm smiles were an attempt to win her affections. It was difficult to ignore a good looking guy like Sean; ocean blue eyes, short, slicked back blonde hair, and fairly taller than Andra. He was too sweet of a guy. Sean deserved a woman with a clean background, someone that didn’t attract trouble.

“We should celebrate your prolonged stay.” Sean suggested with that stunning smile.

Andra could already feel Henry’s hardened stare before she looked to him. Sean might be unaware of what transpired back in the states, but Henry knew. They exchanged a subtle look of agreement before Andra returned her attention to Sean. “That’s nice of you to think of me Sean. I’m just really busy with my morning job as well, you know? And I wouldn’t want to pull you away from your studies. The sentiment is appreciated, though.”

He gave her a defeated grin. “Perhaps some other time, then. When we’re both not so busy.”

Henry turned away from their chatter and Andra let out a sigh. She was thankful that Sean took her rejections on the chin, and even more thankful for Henry feeling like one heavy discussion between the two of them was enough to get the message across.

-----

Payday came around and Andra made sure to get her loan payment from her dad paid right away before anything else. She always made sure to send a message to him just to let him know that it was done, paying double the minimum monthly payment to get it taken care of as soon as possible. Immediately after sending the message, there was an automated reply that pulled up in the messenger.

Message failed.

She paused in her tracks, stopping by the door of her used truck. She tried sending the same message, but the same message failed response came back.

Her heart constricted in her chest. Dad… blocked me?

The rest of the day, it plagued her mind. She desperately wanted to know what was going on back home. It’s not like they were on bad terms, he pulled out that loan to make sure it would cover the costs of her visa and passport, and even though he said not to worry about paying him back, Andra wasn’t accepting that answer.

Unless mom found out…

She closed her eyes and let out a deflated sigh. Of course, mom had to be behind this. She must have discovered the loan somehow, whether it be by snooping through dad’s emails or bank statements, a rogue letter from the loan company showing up in the mail that she happened to get her hands on. And she must have got access to the one source of communication she had with her dad and nixed it.

Tears clouded her vision, the ache in her chest deepening. Andra wondered when was the last time dad tried reaching out to her. Did he think she had blocked him? She looked over their messages to see what the last thing was she told him.

Lol thanks

A month ago.

A message she wished she had put more thought into, unsure of when the next time she would be able to tell her father that she loves him.

She could reach out to Ivan or Orion, but she didn’t want to run the risk of setting off mom. Ivan was graduating in June and was getting on that bus as soon as he could to go off to basic training.

Graduation…

Andra wasn’t going to be there for it. She already knew that she wasn’t going to be able to afford a plane ticket and a hotel to be there to see him walk the stage, but it felt heavier now that she couldn’t talk to dad about it.

All of a sudden, the elation she felt about her renewed visa turned to ash as she realized, she really was alone out here. In a country that still hasn’t truly become a place she could call home.

The drive to the farmhouse was silent. Her hands were shaky as she held the steering wheel, a little firmer than usual. She used the sleeve of her sweater to wipe away the rogue tears slipping. A silver truck was turning down her road just a few feet ahead and took another turn into the first dirt path. She was familiar with the vehicle of the one other person living off of the shared road, despite never introducing herself or running into the other person.

She was almost certain that they preferred privacy along with being blissfully unaware of her existence out here.

Fine by her.

Her brakes screeched as she came to an abrupt halt at the sight of a black and brown puppy meandering across the street. Andra opened the door and stepped out of the truck, approaching the puppy with caution.

“What are you doing out here all alone, sweet baby?”

The puppy’s ears perked up and it happily trotted to Andra, and she crouched down to meet the curious animal. It was so friendly, so sweet. Andra giggled at the onslaught of licks and kisses the puppy gave her, and she picked up the puppy with care.

“Thank you, thank you!” Her voice squeaked as she scratched the puppy’s bare neck. No collar, nothing to indicate that she has an owner. Andra walked around the front of the truck to see if there were any others. No litter, no mother, no other dogs in sight.

Her smile faltered. “Were you left out here, sweetie?”

The puppy’s hot breath fanned her face as it continued its demonstration of affection. Completely oblivious to the redundant question Andra had asked. Maybe the puppy belonged to her neighbor? She got back into her truck with the pup on her lap and turned around in her own driveway to go back in the opposite direction. By the time she arrived and turned into her neighbor’s path, the silver truck was gone.

Well, damn.

Andra had no indication if the pup was indoor trained or not, so she started dispersing patches of old newspaper throughout the spaces of the house.

“Good think I didn’t throw those out, huh.” Andra said out loud to the puppy.

The newspaper was stacked inside the barn that came with the house, along with a mountain of other items, junk, and farm equipment that she couldn’t find time to sift through. She was hoping once she was able to quit one of her jobs, she would have more time to spend on making her house a home.

Andra didn’t see any fleas jumping or crawling around the puppy’s fur, but she wasn’t taking any chances and started filling the kitchen sink with lukewarm water, tossing in some oats to soak in the little bath.

If anyone was nearby, they would think Andra was torturing the animal. “I know, sweet girl, it’s gotta be done.” Her soothing words were futile, the puppy only stopped wailing and whining once she was out of water and being dried off with a soft towel.

She cuddled her new friend on the couch while she looked up the nearest vet clinic to make sure she was okay and whether or not she had been microchipped.

It was already late in the evening, so this would be an adventure for tomorrow.

Her eyes were growing heavy while Andra cleaned the remaining water from her ears. The bath had drained any energy the puppy had left for the night. Got herself ready for bed, and allowed the pup to lay on the empty side of the bed on top of a small nest of towels.

-----

“She has no owner.” The vet technician came back into the tiny room Andra and the pup waited in. “Would you consider adopting her?”

The doe-eyed pup directed her attention back onto Andra, as if she understood what was being asked. A grin escaped Andra. What are the chances of a beautiful, pure-bred German shepherd showing up at such a down-trodden time? It couldn’t have been coincidence. The universe had sent her to Andra, she felt it in her heart.

“Yeah, I’ll take her home with me.” Andra finally answered and rubbed her new pet’s head.

Andra started immediately on the forms to get the pup prepared for vaccination and everything else. The pen hovered over the spot where the dog’s name would be written as she thought cautiously.

Sammy.

-----

See you next week for the next chapter! 🖤

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #cod mw2 #call of duty mw 2 #ghost x oc #Retired au #john soap mactavish #call of duty fanfic #cod fanfic

34 notes · View notes

madsfrank · 7 months

Text

'*•.¸♡ 𝕬 𝕾𝖍𝖔𝖙 𝕲𝖑𝖆𝖘𝖘 𝖔𝖋 𝕭𝖔𝖚𝖗𝖇𝖔𝖓 ♡¸.•*'

-ˏˋ Directory ˊˎ -ˏˋ AU ˊˎ -ˏˋ Pt.2ˊˎ -ˏˋ Pt. 3ˊˎ

Pairing II Cowboy! Carlos x Fem! Reader

SFW II Angst, Fluff, City themed reader,

WC II 799

Content II x reader, country motif, ranch, farmland

Synopsis II Living with your relatives in the country wasn’t going to be easy. Your nearest neighbor was a rancher a few miles down and better yet, her cows constantly got loose on your property. Maybe the only plus side was the young ranch hand who came to retrieve them.

Ever since you could remember, you lived in the city. At least around it. Surrounded by fast food and phone service centers, you found yourself living life from strip to curb.

Being a freshman in collage on summer break, you found yourself back at home. This year, many of your friends had moved on to forming or apartments. The ones who stayed at home found themselves tied up visiting relatives or clubbing with new found freedom. You weren’t completely left out, however. No, your parents had arranged a surprise for you.

Two months in the backwoods of Montana. After all, Aunt Clara and uncle Mike had been dying to visit you.

At their 90 acre ranch.

You were comfortable at home. Sure, you he nothing against the country. But you did have something against getting up at the ass-crack of dawn to feed chickens led by the rooster of your nightmares.

No, you liked the country. It was just….mucky. You’ve been to the ranch before when you were a young kid. You don’t remember much about the ranch, just how some cattle carried you a few miles out. Some boys found you and brought you back.

You do remember stopping in their home, they had to clean you up a bit after the cows dragged you through the mud. You remember the sensations of warm rags against your skin and the voice of a woman gently scolding you for running back with the cows.

These memories are soon brushed away. Swept out of your mind by the facts of packing up your clothes and leaving your home. You weren’t upset to leave your parents, you needed a new view. But, you weren’t sure if a trip back to the country was the change you needed.

As you found yourself packing your bags, you wondered if those neighbors still lived there. You didn’t remeber much. However, you wondered if all seven of the brothers still lived there. You used to talk to a few of them as a young child. You don’t remember their names much, maybe…was it, Carson? No. You chose not to think much about it.

You were to be taken to the airport. Your relatives would be waiting for you at Harlowton Airport. From there it was a direct trip to Wheatland County. That was another thing you didn’t care for in the country. The county names…Wheatland…Carbon?

Your parents drove you in. The whole time giving you warnings on what to do, who to avoid, who to trust. You were in collage, but they still treated you this way. They probably always would.

When you touched down, you quickly managed to find your folks. They were still very sweet, asking questions about your major and your parents. You forgot how nice their hospitality was.

Their home was a county away and on these country roads, the drive seemed to go on forever.

The house was still how you remember. A long one-story farmhouse, grey with use. Smoke still billing from its long chimney. House tended by a few ranch hands.

The land was still impeccable. Long open territory with Morgan horses heavy with years of hard labor and tough skin.

Your family only kept horses, goats, and chickens. But my, was there hundreds to watch over. You had your work cut out for you upon arrival. Even out the window of the car door, you could see all of the coops and barns which lined the acres.

Your relative’s home reminded you of a certain pre-cut ranch house you knew from some old story when you were younger.

They had a spare room kept for you. Mostly plain wooden interior with a few tapestries. A cows hide sprawled across the floor.

It smelled like a ranch. That and the faint scent of supper. Corned beef and mashed potatoes. Your family always ate hearty.

You managed to unpack a few bags of clothes and toiletries before you were called into the kitchen. You helped serve the food along with you uncle. The three of you found yourselves lose in talk. You asked when you could visit the horses, what their names were, and what you would help do.

As your night came to a close. Your family asked you pick a movie. They wanted to see what people in the north enjoyed. It was calming, they gave you tea and a blanket and the three of you relaxed for a while. Waiting for the morning tasks to be at hand.

Your first day there had gone well and when you woke, you could visit the horses and livestock. You were definitely excited to meet the silver turkoman in her stable and the chickens in their coops. Life was gonna be much different for the next couple of months.

≪ °❈° ≫ Authors note: I hid a reference in here…comment if you find it! ≪ °❈° ≫

#carlos oliveria x reader #carlos x reader #carlos oliveira #Carlos olivera #resident evil #resident evil 3 remake #resident evil 3 #resident evil fanfiction #Carlos #re3 #re3 carlos #re3 remake #re au #re3make #carlos oliveira re3 #my works ૮₍˶ •. •⑅₎ა♡

66 notes · View notes

supernaturalscribe67 · 18 days

Text

Breathe

Words: 5,466

POV: 3rd Person

Pairing: Team Free Will x Male!Reader [Platonic]

Warning(s): Language, Character Death, Extreme Gore, Description of Death, Angst with absolutely no comfort, Description of a corpse

Summary: A hunt gone wrong leaves the reader in a situation that often plagued hunters' nightmares. In his final moments, his mind goes to the people in his life he cared about the most, and he realized that he had one final call to make...

Request:

Hello! I hope you're having a good day :)

I was wondering if you could do TFW where Reader(gn, fem, masc, you choose) is on a hunt alone. (Idk what supernatural creature you can choose) Reader is caught off guard because there were more monsters than expected ana got hurt really bad. They manage to get away, but their wound is too severe to get to their car.

Luckily, they have their phone, and they call Dean's phone and say their goodbyes to them and stuff (yknow, Dean puts it on speaker so Sam and Castiel can hear and speak) I can imagine TFW tracks their phone and finds them, but it's too late.

Sorry if this is a bit specific! l'm just a sucker for angst, and love your writing. ♡♡

@abducted-cowz

A/N: Happy Sunday! I wrote this (with love) to make you guys suffer. I hope the level of angst is to your liking <3 - As always, feedback is greatly appreciated! Let me know what you guys think!

~Much Love!

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.

It was supposed to be a simple hunt. A get-in get-out kind of scenario, something (Y/N) had been through more times than he could count. The vampires had set up shop at the edge of a small Kansas town, about twenty miles from Witchita, in a farmhouse that had depleted with age. After his initial scope of the location, he had determined there were close to five vampires on the premises. He had enough confidence to know he could take them on easily. So, when night fell on the next night, he parked his truck a quarter mile up the dirt road and used the natural foliage to make his way to the farmhouse undetected. The situation was perfect, every hunter’s dream of an easily obtainable celebration at the nearby bar, almost as if it was too good to be true.

He needed to learn to trust his gut more often.

Double the number of vampires were present, well over what was initially inspected. (Y/N) didn’t take into account the presence of a cellar. He should have known better. The house was most likely built in the sixties or seventies when it was more than common to include a shelter to fend off natural disasters. Why it never crossed his mind that a house in the middle of a large, abandoned farmland would have that sort of accommodation, he wasn’t too sure. It had been a lapse of judgment. Perhaps he was too overzealous. Zeal had claimed the lives of young hunters more than any monster.

The fight was long and agonizing - as tedious would be too lighthearted of a word to describe it. Some were skilled, others were followers. It was easy to take out some, but a good amount knew how to fight, which made it even more challenging than it had already become. A part of him wanted to retreat and return to his motel room to call for backup, but the continuous wave of enemies made it nearly impossible. He didn’t have a moment to catch his breath, let alone leave safely. He had to fight on. It was the only way.

In the end, the corpses of the vampires lay scattered around the wooden and stone flooring in the house and cellar. Heads were strewn about, blood splattered on the once-magnificent wallpaper. (Y/N) stood at the top of the stairs that led to the cellar, his lips slightly parted as pants fell past them. His chest heaved, sweat trickling down his forehead and neck, coating the collar of his t-shirt. The way his heart hammered in his chest, he swore it would break out past his rips. His arms and legs felt like jelly.

The adrenaline rush that once plagued his mind began to falter, and the aches and pains surfaced. A groan rumbled in his chest as he took a moment to look down at himself. Much like the walls and floors, he was covered in vampire blood. If he had any injuries, it was hard to tell which blood spots were his. He looked back at the carnage at the bottom of the steps. The bodies needed to be disposed of, but (Y/N) could feel the strength drain from his body. He would not be able to carry a dozen bodies to the middle of the field. Not that night. He made a mental note to come back the next day.

After some time had passed, he was able to catch his breath enough to turn and make his way out of the house, careful as he stepped over his fallen enemies. The front screen door was slightly ajar from when he came in. The closer and the hinges were rusted, so it was no surprise that they couldn’t work with the force of his previous entry. He was surprised it hadn’t broken off at that point. They didn’t make things like they used to.

The summer air was crisp and warm, with high humidity that made (Y/N) feel disgusting. Despite that, it was the best air he could ask for. His nose was cleansed from the stench of death, and, for that, he was grateful. Any smell was better than the smell of death.

(Y/N) began the quarter-mile trek back to his truck. His lips were parted, his breathing slightly labored with each step he took. It felt as if his chest rattled like a pair of dice were being tossed around inside. Something was wrong, he knew that much, but he couldn’t assess himself until he had his medical supplies on his person. The risk of infection was high when out in the open like that, especially with the ticks that were undoubtedly lying somewhere in the grass that brushed against his ass, and the last thing he wanted was the contract Lyme disease.

Every ten paces or so, (Y/N) had to stop to catch his breath. It got increasingly difficult to dull the ache as if smoke harassed the soft, pink tissue. He knew he had to continue. Had to get to his car. Had to leave.

In the distance, the roof of his ‘91 Dodge Truck glimmered in the pale moonlight. A sense of relief washed over him, and his steps quickened. The weak smile he had was prominent on his lips, despite the pain that resonated through the muscles in his legs. A way out. His escape. A light at the end of the deep, dark tunnel.

The cold metal of the door handle caused a shiver to run down his spine. As he tried to open the door, the handle caught. Locked. A curse fell from his lips as he reached into his blood-soaked pant pocket and pulled out his car key. He fumbled with them, his grip weak and fingers shaky. Just as he was about to place the key into the door, they slipped out of his grip, hit the dirt ground, and settled under the truck, barely out of sight. He closed his eyes tightly and leaned his forehead against the glass of his window. More obscenities.

He had to be strategic. Every part of his body hurt. Which was the best way to get on the ground that would result in the least amount of pain? He was sure there was a way, but his brain wasn’t working as it should. Any critical thinking had gone out the window. The only option, at the moment, was the simplest.

Using whatever strength he had left, he held onto the door handle for support and lowered his right knee to the ground. His movements were slow like his entire body was covered in molasses. For a moment, all that appeared were slight aches in his thighs, and he had high hopes that he would be able to make it. However, as he reached the halfway point, a sharp, needle-like pain washed over his stomach, striking his entire nervous system.

(Y/N) let out a cry of pain as his body collapsed onto the ground, which sent even more agony through his limbs. He turned and landed on his ass, his back pressed against the truck’s chipped frame. In an instant, he could feel any energy he had vanish, immediately replaced by exhaustion. His eyelids were heavy, and the urge to sleep overpowered any other desire. He knew he couldn’t, though. The possibility of him having a concussion from the hunt was great, and he wouldn’t risk the damage it would do to him if he did slumber.

Then again, the injury he was sure to have under the blood-stained clothes was even more of a risk.

With great struggle, (Y/N) removed his flannel. As he moved, he took note that the pain came from his right side. He grunted as he lifted the side of his shirt, the blood acting as a glue to hold it in place against his chest as his hands came to rest at his side. That was when he saw it.

An eight-inch gash was present, starting from his side and ending right above his naval. It wasn’t a simple surface scratch, either. Layers of muscle and skin tissue were visible. If it had gone any deeper, (Y/N) was certain his organs would lay in his lap. Blood spilled like a waterfall out of the wound, slowly, but aggressively. Most of the blood he had lost was no doubt already soaked into his shirt. It was the biggest injury that he had gotten in his whole hunting career. It was one that he knew he couldn’t fix with the simple sewing kit in his first-aid bag, but one that needed to be medically attended. He didn’t have the willpower to stand up and drive himself, though, let alone get the keys that rested under the car, merely a foot from his hand. Regardless, the nearest hospital was over forty minutes away. An ambulance, even when a hospital was around the corner, could take over an hour to get to the location of an accident. He couldn’t imagine how long it would take to get to him, let alone the legal trouble he would be in when law enforcement discovered the house.

It was then that the realization struck him;

He was going to die.

He tried to convince himself that he was fine. That he could get up. He was just in a negative mindset. He would be fine.

In reality, any movement he tried to make only made his muscles tense and seize. He had to face the truth. He was going to die. But, damn, if he didn’t go down fighting.

It wasn’t obvious to him how long he had left, but he knew, just the same as anyone else, that he had to make his final moments last. So, with his last bit of might, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. The screen was stained red but, thankfully, the device was intact. He opened it, went to his contacts, and clicked on the one at the very top.

Dean Winchester

He had met the Winchesters over ten years ago through Bobby Singer. Fate had decided that they would all meet at the Singer residence after their respective hunts. They were introduced, and it was as if they clicked instantly. He got along well with both brothers and connected with many of their friends throughout the years. He considered them family. Sam and Dean offered him a bed in the Men of Letters bunker, which he had turned down, as he had become too accustomed to motel hopping to accept.

God, he wished he would have.

At first, he opted to place the phone next to his ear, but a couple of seconds in that position proved too long as his side cried out. Instead, he placed the call on speaker and sat it in his lap. The ring was dull and echoed slightly through the trees. A part of him was nervous that no one would pick up, that it was too early. He was conflicted, though. Did he even want them to answer? If he knew anything about the Winchesters, they were naturals at taking the blame for any deaths around them, even if they did nothing to warrant fault. He didn’t want to add to that burden.

“Hey, (Y/N)!” Dean’s voice greeted him.

(Y/N)’s lips curled upward into a weak smile as he let out a rattled sigh.

“Hey, Dean,” he replied. It was the first time in a couple of hours that he truly heard his voice. He sounded faint, hoarse, weak. He wondered if he looked nearly half as bad as he sounded.

“Man, I haven’t heard from you in a couple of weeks. What’s been going on?”

“Oh, you know,” he trailed and leaned his head back against the truck. “Same old, same old. What about you guys?”

“Well, we just got back from - hold on, Sam wants me to put the phone on speaker.”

Pause.

“Hey, (Y/N)!” Sam’s voice came through the speaker.

“Hey, Sammy,” (Y/N) felt his smile become weaker.

“So, anyway, as I was saying,” Dean continued. “We just got back from a week-long hunt in Baltimore. Nasty ghost business. The news articles about this guy seemed like it came right out of Law and Order. I was so happy to pump some rock salt into that son of a bitch.”

“Since when do you watch Law and Order?” He asked.

“Law and Order: SVU to be exact,” Sam said.

“All I’m going to say is Detective Olivia Benson can arrest me any day.” There was an obvious smirk on Dean’s face.

(Y/N) let out a chuckle, which instantly progressed into a coughing fit. His fist was balled up in front of his lips as he tried to will his lungs to have mercy in his final moments. What seemed like an eternity later, his lungs listened, and he pulled his hand back. His thumb, index finger, and part of his palm were covered in blood. He brought his hand back up to his face and wiped his lips. More blood.

“Shit,” (Y/N) mumbled.

“You okay?” Dean asked.

“Yeah,”

“You feeling sick?” Sam added.

(Y/N) hesitated. “Sort of.”

“That sucks, man. Have you gone on that vampire hunt yet?”

“Wait, what vampire hunt?” Dean inquired.

“The one near Wichita? I told you about it a couple of days ago.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did! You were watching The A-Team.”

“Oh yeah…I remember that. Hey, why do you get told about his hunts but not me?”

“Because, unlike you, I actually talk to him on an almost daily basis.”

Tears appeared in the corners of (Y/N)’s eyes, but he had little stamina to cry. He was going to miss this, the bickering. The brotherly back and forth between Sam and Dean. The late-night talks they would have over the phone. The week-long trips he would take to the bunker after recovering from a hunt. The prank wars. The diners. The bars. The terrible karaoke. The movie nights. The long hugs as they bid farewell. Oh, how he wished he could hug them one last time.

“(Y/N)?” Sam’s voice sounded more distant than before.

“Uh, yeah, sorry, I’m here.” He weakly cleared his throat and brought the phone closer to his ear, ignoring the throbbing in his stomach.

“Everything go okay with the hunt?”

“Well…going into it, I figured it would be about half a dozen vamps or so? Not much activity when I scouted. Turns out, there’s about a dozen or more.” He explained.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean mumbled.

“Do you want us to come down and help you? It won’t take us that long to get there. Maybe two hours or so.” Sam added.

(Y/N) shook his head. “No, no. I took care of them…but it seems like they took care of me, too.”

“What do you mean?” Dean asked, his voice low and on edge.

A lump appeared in his throat and threatened to cut off the next couple of words. He tried to push through it as he spoke.

“I’m not gonna make it.”

As soon as the words fell from his lips, shuffling could be heard on the other end of the line. No one said anything for a couple of seconds. The next person to speak was Dean.

“Listen, (Y/N), tell us where you are.” Dean’s voice was louder and more frantic, indicating that he had been taken off speaker. “We can come get you, patch you up, and you’ll be good as new, alright?”

“No, no, Dean-”

“Sam! Where are my keys!?”

“Dean-”

“You’re going to make it, okay, (Y/N)? Then, we can come back to the bunker and watch that stupid horror movie you’ve been begging us to watch.”

“Dean, I-”

That time, (Y/N) was interrupted by another coughing fit. Blood and spittle dribbled down his lips and chin. He could feel just how weak his lungs were, so it took some time for him to recover. Once the coughs died down, he was able to hear the familiar rumble of the Impala’s engine over the phone. What a beautiful sound. He was going to miss it.

“Did you get ahold of Cas?” Dean mumbled.

“I’m here, Dean,” Castiel’s voice came through.

“Great! (Y/N), tell us where you are, come on, buddy.”

“Cas,” (Y/N) croaked. “It’s so good to hear your voice. How are you?” His words were slow.

“(Y/N) you need to tell me where you are. I can come heal you.” Castiel’s voice was laced with seriousness and worry.

“No,” he said simply. “It’s too late.”

“It’s not too late!” Dean shouted.

“It is,”

“No, it’s not! You’re still talking to us, you’re still awake. Cas can come over and heal you.”

“Got it!” Sam exclaimed. “Make a left.”

“Guys, it feels like half of my blood is outside of my body. If I move, I think my stomach will fall out. I don’t want you to see me like this. You don’t deserve that.”

“(Y/N), please,” Castiel said. “I can help.”

(Y/N) huffed and would have smirked if he could. “You Winchesters with your stubborn attitude…” he took a few shaky breaths. “No matter what I say, you just never listen.”

“We never listen!?” Dean yelled.

“Dean-” Castiel began.

“No, Cas, this is bullshit. (Y/N), we are family, and family is supposed to be there for each other. They’re supposed to help each other when things get back. Why the Hell won’t you let us help you?”

“Because I’m already dead, Dean. I put this on myself. I-” he stopped to catch his breath. “I blindly went into the house without backup. This is on me. I’m meant to have-” breathe. “-a hunter’s death. To die fighting, and I can proudly say that I killed every last one of those slimy bastards.”

“(Y/N)-”

“Dean, let me finish. Please. I don’t want our last call to be remembered like this.”

Dean stayed silent. (Y/N) waited a moment. The corners of his vision had gone blurry, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep his eyes open. He didn’t have much time left.

“I love you guys, all of you. My life wouldn’t have been nearly as exciting as it was without you. Sam, I’m going to miss our little nerd talks. Miss seeing Dean’s face when we talk about Lord of the Rings. Dean-” his voice trailed as he felt his head lull to the side.

“(Y/N)! Hey, (Y/N), stay with us,” Sam said.

(Y/N) lifted his head. “Dean, I’m going to miss trying to out-drink you at the bar.”

Dean gave a sad, dry chuckle. “You never even got close.”

“And, Cas, God, I’m going to miss our late-night talks. I can’t even count on one hand the amount of times our calls lasted longer than four hours.”

“I do enjoy talking with you,” Castiel confirmed.

“(Y/N), please,” Sam begged.

“I love you all. I love you, Dean. I love you, Sam. I love you, Castiel.” (Y/N)’s voice was barely above a whisper.

“I love you, (Y/N),” Dean answered.

“Love you, (Y/N),” Sam followed.

“I love you, too, (Y/N).” Castiel finished.

Their voices were quiet, filled with sadness and defeat. He hated that that was the last he would hear from them.

“Goodbye,” he breathed.

“No, (Y/N), please,” Sam tried to plead.

The call ended.

(Y/N) took one last look at the phone before he gave into gravity and let his arm drop to his side.

By then, his breathing had slowed substantially. His chest barely rose and fell with the efforts his lungs put in. And that rattle, the death rattle. He knew it all too well. Years of witnessing death firsthand made a man knowledgeable on the topic.

On the horizon, past the field and toward the distant treeline, the sun began to rise. Speckled layers of early morning sunlight coated his skin, but he felt no warmth. On the contrary, he felt cold. Slow. He didn’t know that a human’s body could get so cold. With it, though, there was numbness. No more pain, no more aches. Just peace.

He never knew what it would be like to die - it didn’t occur to him to ask Sam and Dean about their countless encounters with death - but if he knew it would be so calm and, dare he say, tranquil, he might not have spent so long fighting for his life as he had in the past. It was an experience unlike any other. Perhaps that wasn’t his true feelings on the subject. Perhaps it was because he knew that was his fate, that he had no chance. Acceptance. He was ready.

The last thing he saw before his vision faded to black was the sun, uncovered by the foliage, in its bright glory. It felt like an old friend who wanted to greet him one last time, and he appreciated the sentiment. The welcoming of a new dawn was short-lived. Once his vision faded, his eyelids closed, his muscles relaxed, his head lulled to the side;

And he died.

*~*

Dean didn’t drive nearly as fast as he had wanted to. The foolish part of him still had hope. Hope that they would find their friend unconscious, but alive. That (Y/N) had been exaggerating his wound. That he would be fine.

He has to be fine.

But the logical side of him, his brother, told him that he knew better. He had seen more than his fair share of friends die in his life, and it seemed to develop into a pattern. He met someone, promised himself he wouldn’t get close, got close, and then they died. An endless cycle. Wash, rinse, repeat.

And now, he was back on repeat.

It was nine in the morning by the time they spotted (Y/N)’s truck. Dean had to turn the car around, as they had passed it before. The treeline that sat on the edge of the road was thick, leaving visibility to be quite reduced. When they pulled onto the dirt path, they stopped a good twenty feet from the white pickup and sat there. None of them spoke. Instead, they sat in a heavy, dead, grief-filled silence, as if a fog had descended upon them. Time moved leisurely, at least from their perspective. In all actuality, it passed by them at the speed of light. By the time any of them moved into their seats, it was closer to ten.

They got out of the car and slowly made their way over to the truck. They walked steadily, as if on autopilot like their limbs were being held back by chains. They had to continue, for (Y/N)’s sake.

When they turned the corner of the front of the truck, they saw him. (Y/N)’s lifeless body lay against the side of the car, shoulders drooped, and mouth hung open. The gravel surrounding him was caked in uneven layers of dried blood, along with his shirt and jeans. Any color had drained from his skin. Bugs buzzed around the open gash still visible on his stomach, which had stopped bleeding at some point.

Sam choked back on a sob that tried to escape his throat, but he would not allow it. He covered his mouth with his hand and turned his back. He could feel the cry of pain threaten to claw its way out, threaten to break him down. He had to stay strong, though. He couldn’t possibly let Dean and Castiel deal with it all. (Y/N) was his friend, his brother, and he had to take responsibility for his body, as well. He couldn’t just let his brother and best friend handle it. That wouldn’t be fair to them. Wouldn’t be fair to (Y/N).

Dean stopped as soon as he saw his body. The visual of it made realization hit him like a truck. (Y/N) was dead. He was gone. All those times together watching movies, drinking at bars, or bickering with each other were a thing of the past, never to be repeated. The moments they shared would never get spread through a jovial reunion after retirement, nor would they get to grow old together. They would never get the opportunity to call each other ‘old bastard’ before they sat in their lawn chairs and talked for hours. Dean never even got the chance to teach him how to fish. The potential ‘what ifs’ turned into ‘what could have beens’, and the fact that he tricked himself into thinking it was possible made him feel like an idiot.

Castiel lagged when it came to turning the corner, for he knew what awaited on the other side. He had seen his fair share of death in regards to people he cared about, but he and (Y/N) had gotten rather close in the years they had known one another. He was the one who introduced Castiel to a larger variety of music, television shows, and films that Dean would have otherwise not done. He had opened his eyes to a world far beyond anything he could ever imagine. For that, Castiel would be forever grateful. When he saw (Y/N)’s body, he felt his chest ache. It wasn’t heartbreak, as Castiel knew he was unable to feel such emotion. Rather, he felt empty, as if a part of him had been ripped away and burned. One of his dearest friends had been taken. His family had been taken. True, he would get a chance to visit (Y/N) in Heaven, but it was not the same.

Castiel was the first one to move over to his body. The cut on his stomach made him realize that, perhaps, (Y/N) wasn’t lying. It was deep, ghastly. Most likely, the time between the call ending and his time of death was minimal. Minutes if not seconds. There was truly nothing Castiel could have done. Even if he had the grace of an archangel, there was not enough power to heal him. His body was too far gone.

With one look over at Sam and Dean, Castiel could see that any strength had vanished from their bodies. Their shoulders were slumped, and any light had left their eyes. He knew they would not be able to carry him, not while he was like that. He took the initiative and wrapped an arm around (Y/N)’s back and legs. It took little effort to lift him, despite the dead weight. Castiel was cautious when moving his body, knowing that the wound was still fresh. (Y/N)’s head shifted to the side, cheek pressed against his chest. Castiel walked over to Sam and Dean. Their eyes never left his body.

“I believe someone should take his car,” Castiel’s voice broke the silence that had hovered over them for hours. His voice was uncharacteristically soft and quiet. “I saw the keys under the driver’s side.”

Tears were flowing freely down Sam’s cheeks, his eyes red and burning. “I’ll-” he cleared his throat to steady his voice. “I’ll drive it.”

“No,” Dean’s broken speech interrupted. “Um…I’ll take him. Do you mind driving the truck, Cas?”

“I do not mind.” Castiel shook his head.

Dean nodded. Wordlessly, he dug into his pocket and pulled out the keys to the Impala. He held them out to Sam, who looked at his brother to silently confirm his actions. When nothing was said, Sam took the keys. Dean dropped his hand to his side as if the keys had been the only thing capable of keeping them up before he turned back to Castiel, arms held out.

Castiel began to carefully transfer (Y/N)’s body from his arms to Dean’s. It was almost ceremonial, and when Dean felt the heavy weight of the body in his arms, he held him close, as if he were made of glass, that he would shatter into a million pieces if Dean moved the wrong way.

But he was already broken.

They spoke nothing more before they dispersed. Castiel turned back to the truck to fetch the keys, Dean made his way to the Impala, and Sam followed. Sam opened the back passenger door and took a step back. Dean got in, his movements deliberate and guarded, the lifeless body still held tight to his chest. It took a moment for him to finally get settled in the backseat. Once he was, Sam shut the door and made his way over to the driver’s side.

Dean’s eyes never left (Y/N)’s face, determined to take in every last detail. He looked so peaceful, as if only in a deep sleep. There had been a handful of times Dean had carried (Y/N) to one of the many spare bedrooms after he fell asleep watching a movie, but he had never felt so heavy. Maybe it wasn’t him, but, rather, the weight Dean could feel on his heart. Dean held countless regrets. He wished he would have talked to him more. Wished he would have remembered being told about the hunt. He would have suggested that they stop to help on the way back from their previous hunt. If only he had listened better, maybe (Y/N) would still be alive.

If only…

Dean didn’t even notice when Sam started the car, backed out onto the dirt road, and began to make the silent journey back to the bunker. As Sam drove, he would periodically sneak a peak in the rearview mirror at his brother and best friend. Each time, he had to swallow the lump that had threatened to make an appearance, but he let the tears flow. When he wasn’t looking at them, his mind wandered to the day ahead. The preparation for a hunter’s funeral didn’t take that long, as they were used to the process by then, but it didn’t make it any less painful. Everything had to be perfect. It was what (Y/N) deserved, and they would make sure to give him the best send-off they could.

*~*

They gave themselves time to grieve - a day and some odd hours - while they collected the necessary materials for the funeral. While (Y/N)’s body lay in the spare bedroom he always claimed as his, they took turns alone with him. They shared memories, regrets, jokes, and emotions that would have otherwise been kept under lock and key. Then, when the pyre, just northwest of the bunker, was ready, they had Sam carry him out to his final resting place, giving them each an opportunity to hold him one last time.

With his body wrapped up tightly, he was placed on top of the pile of wood underneath the stars. Dean, Sam, and Castiel stood back and silently stared for a couple of minutes. As the late-night song of crickets came, Dean reached into his pocket and pulled out three lighters. He handed Castiel and Sam each one before he returned to the spot next to his brother. In unison, they clicked their lighters to life and tossed them to the pyre, one after another.

It took a moment for the wood to catch, but, in an instant, the faint crackling from the burning wood roared to life, engulfing (Y/N)’s body in its warmth. It was poetic, to die a hunter. To die protecting others, even when they didn’t know. They would never get their names in history books or their own documentary. No recognition is to be found. Only stories spread through fellow hunters and close friends kept their memory alive. They were true heroes of their time. Martyrs for a cause unknown.

That night, Sam, Dean, and Castiel vowed to never let his story die. In every way they could, they would spread (Y/N)’s story to everyone who would listen. They would light fires with their words and watch the world burn if it meant everyone knew of the person he was. For as long as they lived, (Y/N) would never truly die.

“Please, don’t worry so much, because in the end none of us have very long on this Earth - life is fleeting. And if you’re ever distressed, cast your eyes to the summer sky when the stars are strung across the velvety night, and when a shooting star streaks through the blackness turning night into day, make a wish and think of me. Make your life spectacular. I know I did.”

~ Robin Williams

#Supernatural #SPN #supernatural #spn #Supernatural x Reader #supernatural x reader #SPN x Reader #spn x reader #Male!Reader #Dean Winchester #dean winchester #sam winchester #Sam Winchester #Castiel #castiel #angst #request #supernatural scribe #supernatural imagine

43 notes · View notes

realmackross · 9 months

Text

PARTIES:@contemporarybardess, @howdy-cowpoke, @realmackross TIMING: Evening, September 10th. SUMMARY: Lloid and Elora take a very sick Mackenzie to Monty's farm. WARNINGS: Unsanitary tw (nothing heavy like past threads, just in relation to what Mackenzie is covered in and has to eat as a zombie), food poisoning tw (tagged for nausea), vomit tw (tagged for nausea) PREVIOUS THREADS: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - Current.

The moaning clearly wasn’t working. The vehicle wasn’t stopping. With each passing moment and the clearer the picture became, Mackenzie started to internally scream a little louder, until she forced her arm up trying to open the back door of the truck. But time after time, it dropped like dead weight. There was no real method of functioning at the moment, and she let out a growl of frustration.

What had she done? Mackenzie had put herself in a very bad position, “Ouuuuutttttt.” She let her eyes shift to Elora as drool ran from the side of her mouth. If she could eat this woman’s face off right now, she would just to spite her. But it wasn’t like the movies. This was real life, and she was struggling greatly just hoping and praying that something would change, so she could escape. Of course feeling like a dumpster fire wasn’t making things any easier, and with one last desperate attempt, she flung her arm at the door handle again, this time successfully hooking it.

Now, she just had to put it down to release the door, which was going to be an entirely different challenge, since her muscles were surprisingly achey.

—

The ride over was not without its distractions. Elora noted her companion driving the truck was dead quiet and had a very determined look upon his face. The distraction came from the moaning and groaning coming from the back seat of the man’s truck. The woman who had previously only been able to lay lifeless and moan for help seemed to be moving, although not very well. Elora simply shook her head, knowing that she needed to conserve what little energy she had left or she might not make it.

When she noticed Mackenzie’s hand reach the door handle, a bit of panic set in. If she manages to roll her carcass out of a moving vehicle, she’d be in even more trouble than she was in already. Risking a potential attack, Elora gingerly moved her hand away from the handle, allowing it to hang limply off the seat.

Graciously, the ranch Lloid had spoken of was coming into view, so she would only need to corral her new rescue for a few moments longer.

“You’re sure this guy’ll be able to help her?” She asked Lloid before stealing another glance towards the backseat. In response, the man simply shrugged his shoulders and said “No guarantees. But if anybody can help, this is the guy.”

—

Mackenzie was so close. So close to freedom. So close to being able to shimmy her way out of the back of the truck. So close to……

And just like that it was gone.

All her effort. All the energy it took to get that far, and Elora had just leaned back and simply moved her cold, dead hand to a position hanging awkwardly off the back seat. You fucking bitch. Mackenzie tried to mouth the words. Push them out, but again, there was nothing but a squeak. Oddly enough, her brain had seemed to be catching up to the situation quicker than her body could and it sucked really freakin’ bad.

With a grunt of frustration, especially since she couldn’t really see where they were going, Mackenzie put her focus back on her hand and tried to once again reposition it to be useful, this time making a fist, so she could clock this random redhead the next time they were face-to-face. We’ll see who’s smiling after I knock that smug grin off your face, you red headed siren.

—

Elora watched in anticipation as they rounded on a fairly large looking farm, and approached a fairly substantially sized farmhouse with nearby barns not too far. She was like an excited child watching the animals grazing along the farmland, mainly because she hadn’t seen farm animals since she was very young. She tried to dial her excitement back a bit, however, as she needed to focus on the task at hand.

She heard another muffled grunt from the back, but chose to ignore it this time. It wasn’t as if she would be able to crawl away at this point anyway.

At long last, they pulled up to the main house, and she saw a man wearing a cowboy hat. It was like somebody who stepped right out of an old John Wayne movie, except he would have probably been casted as the bad guy that The Duke ends up shooting.

—

Monty didn’t know what to expect, really—he’d just gotten a call about a girl that needed help. Of course he questioned if he was the right choice for that at first, until he was told about her affliction. The reason she needed help, like so many of the others that had come to work on the farm, and even those who had only stayed a while before moving on with the tools they needed to make it through their unlife without having lapses in control.

And it was ironic, really, considering Monty’s own struggle to stay on the wagon. But he’d always been better at helping others than he was at helping himself.

Told that they’d be there within the hour, Monty had posted up on the porch to wait, knee bouncing anxiously as he sat on one of the chairs. Daisy popped in and out to check on him, but of course she wasn’t around when the truck finally pulled up the drive. That didn’t stop him from yelling for her, though, as he got up from his seat and made his way to the steps. He saw one of the hands climbing out of the driver’s seat—it was Lloid, the same one that had called him about the young woman. Concern etched into his features, the vaquero met Lloid beside the truck just in time for a stranger to climb out, one who… did not appear to be in very much distress. Must’ve been a third passenger, then.

Looking between them for a moment, forgetting introductions in favor of urgency, Monty’s gaze settled on Lloid. “What happened? Where did you find her?” he asked in his thickly accented voice, his gaze jumping to the truck after catching some movement in the backseat out of the corner of his eye.

—

Elora stepped out, intending to introduce herself to the stranger. However, she watched him walk right past her and make a beeline for Lloid. She couldn’t help but notice a sense of anxious urgency in the man’s voice.

“I’m the one that found her, actually” she piped up before Lloid was able to speak. “I found her on the ground, more or less like that” she said, gesturing to the still barely moving shape in the backseat. “Blood around her mouth, barely able to crawl herself forward. She looks like one of those things from the old George Romero movies. And she’s acting like it too. I only know one zombie expert in town, and Lloid here told me you could help, but didn’t say much else. Are you a doctor?” she asked suspiciously, having never heard of a doctor who dressed like that. However, she knew some people could be eccentric, and what they wore didn’t automatically determine how good they were at their job. “Maybe a doctor who specializes in…” she looked back again at the truck “whatever’s happening to her?”

—

“Ah, lo siento,” Monty apologized, turning his attention in Elora’s direction. “A doctor?” He actually laughed, a smile spreading over his features. “No, no… but I have been dead for a very long time,” he explained. “Monty Rivera, señorita…?” As he waited for a name, he caught Lloid’s eye again and nodded toward the main house, silently telling him to go open the door.

Introductions officially out of the way, Monty pulled open the car door to see the zombie sprawled in the backseat looking worse for wear, but it probably wasn’t anything she wouldn’t bounce back from quickly. Or so he figured. “The best thing I can do, I think,” he said to Elora as he reached into the cabin to gather the young woman in his arms, “is just be there in case she needs anything. It was good of you to help her—good thinking to get Lloid. She will be safe here, it is out of the way and… well, to put it plainly, there won’t be any particularly appetizing food around for her that isn’t already prepared.” It was strange, he’d never really seen a zombie in such a state after eating… this was usually what they looked like when they were starved. There was something more complex at play here, but he wasn’t sure what it was yet.

“Hola, I’m Monty, I’m here to help you, okay?” he assured the young zombie as he pulled her from the back of the truck. “Dead folks got to stick together, eh?” He was trying to make light of the situation, hoisting her into his arms bridal-style and motioning for Elora to follow him to the main house.

“When you found her… where was she? Was the thing she’d eaten anywhere nearby?”

—

Mackenzie had felt so invisible in the moment. The Flats had taken its power back, and now she lay like a useless mound of a corpse in the back seat of some stranger’s truck. Her threatening squeaks were fruitless. They provided no intimidation and now the stranger who had moved her hand wasn’t even paying attention to her. She was stuck. No going anywhere, until…

The truck had come to a stop, and she heavily shifted her eyes watching the man and woman climb out and slam the door. Straining her neck as best she could, she tried to listen, but a wave of nausea hit her and she had to relax. Mackenzie wasn’t giving up though and tried to pull her heavy hand up again. Still no luck. However, a sudden rush of light in on her tired and returning hazel eyes made her hiss in pain and squint.

Then Mackenzie was being pulled out of the backseat and hoisted into the arms of…a cowboy? What was happening? Was she going to be chopped up and fed to the farm animals? She wanted to kick. She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. But all she did was hiss and squeak and moan. Real big threat you are, Mackenzie. At least her brain was starting to come around more. That was a plus right? But it still didn’t mean shit if she couldn’t run away or fight off Daryl Dixon and his band of comrades.

—

Dead. Sure, Elora had known of the undead’s existence, but she grew up being taught they were mindless predators. But the man in front of her seemed very composed and not intent on eating her at all. She dared to say he was downright charming, although she had to admit his accent did him many favors in that respect.

She watched in awe as he picked up the ravenous woman seemingly effortlessly and with no regard for his own safety. She supposed that must have been a perk of already being dead. He beckoned for her to follow him into the house, and she quickly filed behind the two.

“I found her in an alley, whatever it was that she was munching on must have either been left behind or eaten completely. I didn’t see anybody, just a lot of viscera around her mouth and hands and chest and…well everywhere to be honest. Although I don’t think bones have much in terms of nutrition, right?”

“Do you think she’ll be okay? I mean, if she’s the same as you, do you think she’ll start acting like it again too?” She asked the man, nervous for the well being of the woman.

—

His heart broke seeing the poor thing attempting to struggle like she was—he figured there wouldn’t be much he could say to get her to understand that she wasn’t in any danger, at least not until her head was more clear. Perhaps food would help that along, even if she had clearly eaten before being found… There was no telling what she’d ingested, and he still had a human frontal and parietal lobe left in the fridge from Alan’s recent delivery. He’d happily give her what remained, if it could help.

“Mm, no… we get the most benefit from the… brain,” he said slowly, clearly not a huge fan of their affliction himself. “Everything else can be eaten, but it will not provide much energy, as you say.” Nodding to Lloid, who was standing at the front door waiting for them to enter, Monty sighed.

“She will be all right in time, I would think. It takes considerable effort to kill a zombie, and I have never met one who was fed who remained in such a state for long.” He looked at Elora, offering a small, hopeful smile. “We are pretty hardy. I’m sure she’ll be fine in a few days, when she’s had some proper meals.”

They moved into the house and Monty headed straight for the back bedroom, speaking to Lloid over his shoulder as he went. It was clear that this wasn’t the first time they’d handled this kind of situation, the details he wasn’t yet aware of notwithstanding. “Get some washcloths and the basin from under the sink,” he told the farm hand, “and go find an extra set of clothes for her in the dresser upstairs. Something from the second drawer down should fit her, I think.” Lloid gave a curt nod and a grunt of understanding before trotting toward the kitchen where he could be heard clattering around and turning on the faucet.

“Elora,” Monty addressed the woman as he set Mack carefully down on the bed, propping her head up with pillows. “Can you do me a favor and go to the kitchen and get the brown package out of the fridge? It looks like… well, like something from the butcher. Can you bring that to me, please? Our friend here is going to need it.”

—

The young zombie had finally given up on her fight. Whatever was going to happen, was going to happen whether Mackenzie liked it or not. All she could do was let her eyes move back and forth between the cowboy, the red head, and the farm hand as she was carried inside. This is it. You’ve had a good run, old girl. Brody’s finally getting justice. I just hope it’s quick.

But what happened was not what she expected. Instead, she felt herself being laid down on a bed and propped up with pillows. Narrowing her eyes slightly, she looked between the various people seemingly doing what the cowboy said. He was clearly the one in charge. Gasping and trying to force out a sentence, Mackenzie weakly succeeded, “Kill…me?” She had tried her best to put in the inflection on the word me to make it a question and not a request, but she wasn’t so sure it went over very well.

Letting her eyes go back and forth now between Elora. Elora? Wait. She had talked to Elora before online. This was Elora? Her eyes stayed focused on her. Someone she sort of knew. But did she recognize Mackenzie? Desperately gasping, she tried to get Elora’s attention before she left the room. I’m sorry I called you a bitch! I’m sorry I called you a bitch! Don’t kill me!!! Fuck. If she could just talk already!

—

Not too keen on fulfilling her duty of brain retrieval, Elora begrudgingly made her way to the kitchen. She located the brown package Monty had mentioned pretty easily. It wasn’t the first time that she had held human viscera in her hands, but it wasn’t an activity she particularly enjoyed either. She figured the faster she delivered it to the man, the quicker she could be done with the whole situation.

As she returned to the main room, she could hear the woman weakly groan out two words. Kill her? It was a question, not a command. That was surely a good sign, at least. She wondered if she was afraid they were going to try and hurt her in some way. Taking another risk, she gently placed a hand on the woman’s arm, ready to pull back in case she lunged for her.

“We’re here to help you, not hurt you hun.” Part of being born and raised in the south, Elora always had a tendency to add affectionate terms like “hun” even when speaking to people she didn’t really know. Her days of having to barely scrape by through waitress jobs ingrained this habit into her further. She glanced down at the package she had handed off to Monty. “This is going to make you feel better…somehow.”

Elora had always been cynical herself, so she was uncomfortable being thrust into a situation where she had to trust a complete stranger with not only the life of somebody else, but her own life as well. For all she knew, this could throw the woman into some kind of frenzy, being empowered by human brains, which could lead to her trying to kill Elora! However, it was out of her hands. She simply had to trust the man. Besides, it wouldn’t exactly be in good taste to tell a zombie what is and isn’t good for them, clearly the man had quite a bit of experience.

—

“Kill you?” Monty parroted her, looking horrified. “Ay Dios mío, no, no, we’re not going to kill you.” Elora had returned at that moment, saying what he was thinking before he could get it out. With a soft smile, he put a hand over his heart, giving Mack a nod. “Here to help.” Accepting the package from Elora, Monty muttered a soft ‘thank you’ before his gaze jumped back to the doorway of the bedroom where Lloid now stood, basin of water in one hand, clothes and towels in the other. Monty motioned him forward, reaching for the bowl and taking it to set it down between his feet as he squatted at the bedside.

“Need anything else, boss?” Lloid asked, looking a bit upset. Monty shook his head.

“No, thank you, Lloid. You may wait in the living room if you’d rather.” The farm hand took up the offer without hesitation, setting the fresh set of clothes and towels on the bedside table and turning on his heel to leave the bedroom to the three of them. The eldest of them picked the brown paper package up and pulled it open, his attention falling briefly on Elora.

“... I apologize if this is, ah… upsetting to see,” he offered sympathetically. “If you prefer, you can go join Lloid. In fact, I’m sure he could take you home, if that’s what you want.” He wasn’t sure how long Elora wanted to hang around to make sure the girl was going to be okay, but he wouldn’t judge either way. “But. You are welcome to stay as long as you like.” His dark gaze then returned to Mackenzie as he pinched some of the gray matter between his fingers. He held it up in front of her, having seen first hand how her limbs weren’t quite up to snuff yet… so he’d have to feed it to her bit by bit. That was fine. He’d done it before and he’d do it again. Unless, of course, she found a sudden burst of energy after realizing what it was. Couldn’t really be sure. “We’ll get you cleaned up after you eat, sí?” he said gently, extending a hand to her mouth. “Please try not to take a finger with it,” he joked, trying to bring some levity to the situation.

—

The tired zombie watched both of them carefully, the cowboy staying while Elora left the room briefly, only to return with a package. They weren’t hostile in any way. In fact, they were both so gentle and kind with her. Something Mackenzie was starting to understand as she slowly came back around. It was hearing that they didn’t want to kill her and the feeling of Elora’s hand gripping her arm softly that reassured her that she was going to be okay. At least here. At this moment in time. Repercussions of her actions would come another day when she could better understand things.

“Thank…you.” The sentence was short and breathy, but genuine, especially upon seeing the farmhand walk in with water and clean clothes. What did Mackenzie do to deserve all of this kindness? If she could cry, she would, but right now, all she wanted to do was stay as still as possible. Too much movement and she felt as though she would lose whatever was filling her stomach.

Eyes moving back from Lloid to Elora and then to Monty, she watched as he started to unwrap whatever was in the package. But her heart sank when she noticed it was more brains. Mackenzie had been so full of the most random and unknown things, that for once, in her undead life, brains had not seemed appetizing at all. Her face shifting to something of disgust, she slowly shook her head, “No…not…hungry…”

—

“No no, that’s okay. I’d like to see this through, if that’s alright with you. I want to make sure she ends up alright.”

She was surprised to hear the woman thanking them, as before she had been so hostile towards them. She turned her head back towards the woman and tried flashing a warm smile. She looked down and noticed she still had her fingers extended, so her injury wasn’t obvious. She was still getting used to not grabbing at things with her hand so as not to give herself away.

She watched as the man took the piece of brain between his fingers as if it were an hors d'oeuvre and gently tried to feed it to her. It was for the best that he attempted to feed her, after all Elora wouldn’t dare be putting her fingers anywhere near her mouth at this point.

She heard a weak voice proclaiming that she wasn’t hungry, and Elora couldn’t help but feel nervous all over again. What would happen if she didn’t eat, would she die?

“You have to, it’s supposed to help you. Could you try maybe just a nibble?”

—

Hm. Well that wasn’t the reaction he’d expected. “Perhaps she’s already had her fill,” he mused, dropping the bit of organ back into the packaging and wrapping it up. “That’s all right, we can try again later.” Exchanging the food for a washcloth instead, Monty dipped it in the warm water at their feet and wrung it out. “We can at least get you a little cleaned up, eh? When you have the strength, there are some clothes here that I think should fit you.” He went about wiping her face and hands free of the blood that stained them, or at least as much as he could with nothing but a towel and some warm, soapy water. While he did that, he asked Elora to remove her shoes to help her feel more comfortable.

“You probably already noticed, but you’re on a farm,” Monty explained to the young zombie as he worked to get her clean. “I am dead, like you. All of us are, actually. Everyone that works here.” He smiled. “Many of them came to me like you have, señorita. Some of them ended up staying to work here, as they had no place else to go. Now, that may not be the case for you, but you are always welcome here.” He glanced at Elora and nodded. “Both of you. Even if it is just to play with some goats. They’re pretty funny, after all.”

—

Oh, thank God. They weren’t making her eat. She eased up a little more knowing that she wouldn’t have to consume anymore flesh or brains at the moment. Maybe when she was stronger. If she got stronger. At this point, she wasn’t sure why she had felt as sick as she did. Was this normal? Did zombies get sick? Maybe she wasn’t completely dead after all. No, don’t get your hopes up, Mackenzie.

The water did feel good to her, as much as she could feel it. Just like the woman’s grip, though subtle, it was still relieving to the touch. However, her mind could only focus on one thing, and the word dead pulled her back into the cowboy’s gaze, “Y-You’re a zombie…too?” There were more zombies? She wasn’t alone? Her eyes lit up with joy, well as much joy as she could muster. There were other zombies. She wasn’t alone. Mackenzie wasn’t alone. She wanted to cry and jump for joy and even hug the three who had saved her. Maybe the universe didn’t despise her as much as she had initially thought. “Are there llamas?” If there were llamas then maybe staying here for the rest of her undead life wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

—

Elora was pleased to see the woman was starting to gain some semblance of clarity back. She had to admire the kindness of the man who had opened his home to two complete strangers and was offering so much help for somebody in need. Undead or not, he seemed like a very good man in Elora’s opinion. She watched as he wiped her face with a washcloth. As the blood and gore began to clear from her face somewhat, Elora couldn’t help but notice how striking the woman’s features were. Sure, she had seen her on TV here and there, but she seemed much more radiant in person in spite of being so sick.

Mackenzie seemed so happy to see other undead just like her, and Elora couldn’t help but feel happy with her. It was as if she was finding a sense of family for the first time, and she couldn’t help but empathize with the desire to find a kindred spirit.

Elora lit up at the prospect of getting to pet the farm animals, never being able to visit places like petting zoos growing up. She noticed Mackenzie asking about llamas, wondering if those were her favorite animal. She had never seen one in person, and had to admit that being able to see one here did excite her.

She turned to the cowboy once again, and simply asked “is she going to be okay? She seems better already”.

—

Laughing, Monty shrugged his shoulders. “Afraid so. I died back at the turn of the twentieth century, when the land was dang near lawless. Happy to say it has gotten better since then, in most ways.” Then she was asking about llamas, and the man had to pause a moment. “Oh no, I can’t say that I do… and now you mention it, it seems like a very big oversight on my part, doesn’t it?” He smirked, looking back down at Mackenzie’s hand that was still in his grasp as he tried to wipe it free of the stains. “I tell you what. You focus on resting and eating right, and when you’re feeling better, I can see a man about some llamas. Sound fair?” He grinned at her again before glancing over to Elora.

“Yes, I think… whatever happened, whatever triggered this for her will pass. It usually just takes time, and as I mentioned, a proper diet.” A beat. “Well, a proper diet for us, anyway.” Another beat. “It is strange, though. Different from what I normally see. A zombie usually loses their grip like this when they are starving, and eating clears that right up.” Which wasn’t to say that she wasn’t improving, she clearly was, but… “We’ll get to the bottom of it. In a place like this, there’s no telling what could have caused it. But maybe she will remember something from before the start of the episode.” They could only hope.

—

Mackenzie listened intently as Monty explained how he came to be. The turn of the century had been a really long time. Was she destined to live that long? In all the zombie movies she had ever seen, which had been a lot, especially after her movie research marathon with Milo, she had never caught on to how long a zombie actually lived. It was somewhat shocking, and not anything she really wanted to think about at the moment, but she was grateful that Monty was still around, “That’s a long time.”

Moving her gaze back down to her hand, she watched as the blood stains had started to fade somewhat, but in an instance a memory of Brody had flashed into her head causing her to squeeze her eyes shut praying to shake it free. It took a moment, but the old feeling of regret that had suddenly come back to her finally dissipated with the talk of llamas. Llamas had been a saving grace for her. It was weird. She knew it was weird, but somehow they just took her mind off of all of the bad. With a slow nod, Mackenzie agreed, “Deal. I love llamas.” She looked over to the otherside of the room not wanting to focus on the blood stains, just on the thought of her favorite fuzzy animal and occasionally on Elora when she’d catch a glance of her.

—

The turn of the twentieth century? Man, not only was this guy old, but he must have seen some shit. Elora leaned in attentively, listening to the rest of what Monty had to say. Things had indeed gotten better in some ways, and worse in others. There may not be duels at high noon anymore, but that didn’t mean the violence went away.

She glanced again at Mackenzie, who looked down at her hands before shutting her eyes tightly. It was an expression she knew all too well. A profound sense of pain, grief and remorse. In her case it was from losing her family (partially from her own fault), but she couldn’t help but wonder what caused her to feel that way at that particular moment. She supposed everybody has their tragic backstory, it wasn’t her place to speculate.

“Oh, and maybe some chickens while you’re at it?” she replied, hearing the two strike up a deal to get some llamas on the property. “I just feel a farm isn’t complete without chickens, don’t you think so? Anyway, thank you again for everything you just did. It sounds like she’ll probably need to stay here for a little while. I’ll probably head back home soon, but I’ll come back to check in for sure!”

—

“Sí, well… I somehow managed to stay out of trouble since then, so I just keep on… keeping on.” Monty smiled in spite of himself, in spite of how he didn’t like that he’d live forever so long as there wasn’t some kind of attempt on his life.

Elora piped up with a request for chickens, and the cowboy laughed. “Pollo, eh? They don’t help much in the way of dairy, but I suppose an egg here and there couldn’t hurt.” Who was he kidding, he was probably one of the more agreeable people in this whole town—if Mack wanted llamas and Elora wanted chickens, who was he to say no? It didn’t matter that they didn’t live on the farm, he was always looking for excuses to make other people happy.

“Well if I’m getting chickens because you specifically asked for them, then I hope you’ll drop in now and then!” he teased. Feeling like the weight in the room had cleared, Monty allowed himself another soft smile, looking back at Mackenzie. “Well. Is there anything I can get for you? If not, I think you should try to… rest. Give your body time to recover. Close your eyes, try not to think about much. I think they call it meditating, heh.”

—

Mackenzie could feel a weight being lifted off of her shoulders. At least for the time being. Between the cowboy, whose name she still didn’t know, and Elora, it felt safe. No worries about being killed or facing a fight she wasn’t ready for. Just a place to rest and recoup her mind, body, and hopefully soul from all that she was about to have to face. Of course, she had hated hearing that Elora was leaving, but she understood, and the man was right. Mackenzie had longed to sleep, something she hadn’t successfully done in a very, very long time.

The past few days had been long and tiring. That much the zombie knew. What Mackenzie had done and who she had tormented would come out in time, but until then, she was just going to be grateful for the trio that had saved her undead life. She owed them, and when she was well again she would repay the cowboy, the red head, and the farm hand. But until then…

“No, just sleep.” Much like Billy from Hocus Pocus, Mackenzie gave a wide yawn, before closing her eyes. Her body was so weak and weary, but the rest was starting to come easy, as she managed to doze off with a quiet mind for now. Hoping that when she awoke, she would at least be back to some semblance of herself, before whatever had taken control of her body.

#para: monty #para: elora #para: good samaritan pt. 2 #contemporarybardess #howdy cowpoke #{closer to fine; plot}#unsanitary tw #vomit tw #food poisoning tw #wickedswriting

8 notes · View notes

the-faramir · 1 month

Text

Extinction Curse Session 2024/04/10

"We…we need a new tent," Midori, dazed, finally managed to put words together in her head. "WE NEED A NEW TENT RIGHT NOW! GO! FETCH FABRIC! FELL TREES! GO!"

As half of the circus ran out to scour the shops in town, Midori took a step and fell to her knees, shaking and shivering. All of the color had drained from her formerly red fur, leaving it as white as fresh snow in winter.

One of the clowns grabbed a blanket and wrapped it over Midori's shoulders. One of the concessions workers brought her a mug of water, which she slapped onto the ground as it was offered to her. Instead, she pulled a flask from his belt, unstoppered it, and downed the brown, bitter wormwood liquor in one long pull. He protested, "My Malört!" Midori paid him no mind.

Midori wept.

One by one, circus members returned to the circus. Some had obtained lumber and started to craft poles. Those who had been seeking fabric, however, returned empty-handed to report that the merchants in town faced a fabric shortage.

Once everyone had returned, Midori slowly stood up, head hanging and shoulders slumped forward. A silence fell on the circus grounds as she said softly, "No fabric?"

She straightened up and swept out her arms questioningly. Her voice deepened slightly. "How can a town have no fabric?"

Whisps of green energy formed and swirled around Midori. Her voice distorted unnaturally. "THE SHOW CAN'T GO ON WITHOUT A TENT!"

She floated upward, a full two feet off of the ground. "WE ARE FINISHED! THE CIRCUS IS DONE FOR!"

Midori's face stretched and distorted into a hideous, tormented grimace. Her eyes glowed with an eerie green light. "IT'S ALL OVER!! NOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

At the sound of Midori's frightful moan, nearly half of those nearby ran off in fear. Another quarter stayed but cowered out of fright. The rest covered their ears and looked concerned for Midori. Two exceptions were Buffy and Lysander, who stayed where they were as if nothing happened.

A member of the audience who had found the bravery to stay to help out recommended that Midori and her team visit Densirt Farm, which was about a half-hour's travel outside of town. The farmers were decent seamsters and usually kept large stocks of canvas for their side business of making tents, sails, canvases for oil paintings, backpacks, marquees, and such. He added that nobody in town had seen anyone from the farm for a week or two.

With her hope restored, Midori settled down somewhat. "Canvas? Seamsters?" She turned to the helpful man. "To the southeast, you say?" He nodded in affirmation.

Midori gestured to her team. "We go. Now!"

Galon protested, "Midori, we just fought a battle. We're all wounded!"

Lysander added, "And we'll need to replenish our spells."

Zookdar piped in, "…and sleep, and have breakfast. Y'know, maybe take a bath."

Fizzarolli said, "And it's nighttime. I sure wouldn't want to have my sleep disturbed by people pounding on my door asking me to make something for them."

Midori begrudgingly agreed to rest and leave in the morning.

The next day, on their trek to the Densirt Farm, the party spotted more of the reptilian footprints on the ground. "More dinosaurs," Zookdar lamented, "this place is lousy with them!"

Soon, the company saw the farm a short distance away. A ruined foundation and fragments of burnt wood sat where a barn clearly used to, several feet from a farmhouse. More importantly, four triceratopses with xulgath riders patrolled the farmland.

Zookdar and Lysander ran toward the patrol. Zookdar shouted a battle cry, while Lysander played his dirge of doom in an attempt to frighten the enemies. Midori scowled, drew her rapier, and strode slowly yet purposefully toward the battle.

The closest dinosaur charged at Midori, who stepped quickly to the side to dodge. She shot the rider a hateful, rage-filled glare as she sang:

🎶🎶🎶 In the heart of the night, 'neath the moon's cold gaze, You set our circus ablaze, our dreams up in haze. Xulgaths on quetzalcoatluses, your eyes filled with spite, You came to devour our joy, our light. 🎶🎶🎶

Staring pointedly at the xulgath rider, she refocused her magic. "Why, you stunk-up, half-witted, scruffy-looking herd-tender! Your people destroyed our home. How dare you get in our way of rebuilding? Your turn to burn, you son of a bitch!" The xulgath burst into flames, screaming in agony.

Fizzaroli, riding his twelve-foot-tall construct Nefarsia, and Galon joined the fray, taking out a triceratops.

The triceratops closest to Midori, carrying the burning xulgath, moved to gore her with its horns. Zookdar interdicted with his flickmace, knocking it to the ground and allowing Midori an attack of opportunity, finishing off the dinosaur. Its rider, writhing on the ground and engulfed in flames, let loose a death rattle and moved no more.

Another dinosaur thundered in with a horn attack, hurting Midori quite a bit. She jerked her head up to look at her next target and sang:

🎶🎶🎶 Oh, the flames licked the sky, and the canvas turned black, But my spirit won't break, and my courage won't crack. I'll sing through the pain, through the tears and the smoke, For my circus, my family, my dreams, I invoke. 🎶🎶🎶

Two swift strikes and two excellent hits from her rapier found their target on the triceratops' xulgath rider. "Die, you son of a bitch! Why won't you die?"

Lysander cast a soothe spell to help with Midori's wounds. Mere feet away, the party had taken down another triceratops and rider.

Midori sang once more:

🎶🎶🎶 So hear me, you xulgaths, you beasts of the night, I'll haunt your nightmares, I'll fight with all might. I'm Midori the ringmaster, heroic and true, My burned-down big top shall rise anew! 🎶🎶🎶

Then her rapier found the heart of another xulgath.

Facing down the last dinosaur and rider, Fizzarolli fiddled around with Nefarsia's mechanisms to release a megavolt blast, killing both enemies at once.

Still enraged, and without taking so much as a second to rest, Midori strode up to the farmhouse and pounded on the door.

#pathfinder #pf2e #extinction curse #gaming session

4 notes · View notes

knoxgroups · 26 days

Text

"Farm land for sale through Knox Group: Best price, exclusive offers, and 15+ amenities. Enjoy nature, agriculture, and a fulfilling family life. Contact us now to secure your ideal farmland!"

0 notes

youngarcadecrown · 5 months

Text

Plantation Perfection: A Complete Guide to Growing and Caring for Teak Trees

Teak trees are known for their beauty, durability, and versatility. If you're considering growing and caring for teak trees on a managed farmland near Bangalore, you've come to the right place. In this comprehensive guide, we will walk you through the process of cultivating and maintaining teak trees to achieve plantation perfection.

Choosing the Right Location:

Selecting an ideal location for your teak tree plantation is crucial. Teak trees thrive in tropical climates and require well-drained soil with good fertility. Look for a farmland near Bangalore that receives ample sunlight and has access to a reliable water source.

Soil Preparation:

Before planting teak trees, it's essential to prepare the soil properly. Conduct a soil test to determine its pH level and nutrient content. Teak trees prefer slightly acidic to neutral soil, with a pH range of 6.0 to 7.5. If necessary, make amendments to adjust the pH and ensure the soil is rich in organic matter.

Seed Selection and Planting:

Acquire high-quality teak seeds from a reputable source. Choose seeds that are well-dried and free from any diseases or pests. Soak the seeds in water for 24 hours before planting to enhance germination. Create nursery beds or use seedling trays filled with a mixture of soil and compost. Plant the seeds at a depth of around 1 to 2 centimeters and maintain adequate moisture levels.

Seedling Care:

Once the seeds have germinated and seedlings have emerged, provide them with proper care. Ensure they receive sufficient sunlight and water regularly, keeping the soil moist but not waterlogged. Protect the seedlings from extreme weather conditions and pests by using suitable coverings or organic pest control methods.

Transplantation:

After 6 to 8 weeks, when the seedlings reach a height of 12 to 18 inches, they are ready for transplantation. Prepare the planting holes in the farmland, ensuring a spacing of at least 6 to 8 feet between each tree. Take care not to damage the delicate roots during the transplantation process. Water the transplanted seedlings immediately and continue regular watering until they establish themselves.

Maintenance and Care:

To ensure healthy growth and development of teak trees, proper maintenance is essential. Regularly weed around the trees to prevent competition for nutrients and water. Apply organic fertilizers at the appropriate times to promote optimal growth. Prune the trees as needed to maintain their shape and remove any dead or diseased branches.

Pest and Disease Control:

Monitor the teak trees regularly for signs of pests or diseases. Common pests that may affect teak trees include teak defoliators and teak skeletonizers. Use appropriate organic or chemical methods to control these pests and prevent any significant damage to the trees. It is also helpful to maintain a clean and hygienic environment around the plantation to reduce the risk of diseases.

Harvesting:

Teak trees take several years to mature before they can be harvested. The ideal age for harvesting teak trees is around 25 to 30 years, as this is when the wood attains its maximum strength and quality. Consult with forestry experts or professionals to determine the best time for harvesting based on the intended use of the wood.

In conclusion, growing and caring for teak trees on a managed farmland near Bangalore requires careful planning, proper soil preparation, and diligent maintenance. By following the steps outlined in this guide, you can achieve plantation perfection and enjoy the many benefits that teak trees offer.

Remember, patience and dedication are key when it comes to successful teak tree cultivation. With time, your teak plantation will flourish, providing you with a sustainable source of high-quality wood and contributing to the beauty of your farmland.

#managed farmland & farmhouse #Farmhouse sale #Farmplots near bangalore #Farmhouse Near banaglore #armland Investment #Indias Farmland pioneer #investing

0 notes

echoweaver · 1 year

Text

Experimental cc purge of Glennborough is certainly interesting. I’m sure I can come up with a ton of other things to do to avoid making progress on any of my existing projects.

Glennborough has more lots usable by an active farming household than Praaven. However, while the lots are larger overall, it does have a maddening tendency to create lovely farmland in CAW and then plop a farmhouse lot on it that’s just as big as the house. I’m not sure what the thinking is there -- you can’t run a farm on a non-lot, no matter how pretty the landscape is. I need space to actually garden and keep livestock and whatnot. There are even deco livestock (lol -- is that word singular or plural??) on CAW land. That just adds insult to injury.

Also, there are horses in households that don’t have box stalls on their lot, and that’s just trouble. OTOH, lot size isn’t quite as tight as Praaven -- there’s space on most residential lots to squeeze in a box stall if it’s relevant. On the downside, Glennborough’s central walled town is spacious and only supports a few households -- Praaven manages to really grab the feel of a dense medieval city.

I guess, to brainstorm, I remember that it’s possible for a household to own more than one lot. That might be a solution to the problem both on Praaven and Glennborough -- I can drop a custom lot down someplace using Edit Town and have the active household buy that lot to be their farm. In Glennborough, the secondary lot can adjoin the farmhouse lot and sit on the lovely CAW-textured farmland. In Praaven, the household would have to travel at least some distance to get to their farm, but I’m pretty sure that’s an authentic lifestyle for at least some serf-like peasants -- they have a small personal garden and commute to farmland owned by the nobles.

Praaven has the opposite horse problem, which is that households on the countryside generally don’t have box stalls, but there are box stalls in the walled city, which ALSO makes a mess. Praaven’s walled city feels very authentic, meaning the roads are narrow. I get regular stuck sim complaints about wedged horses in the city. I need to go root out those box stalls and remove horses from city households, then put box stalls on more country lots where they will fit, which isn’t actually as many as I would expect to have horses re tiny lots. I wonder if I added some tiny secondary lots to inactive households and put box stalls on them if NRaas-directed inactive behavior would handle these properly as an integrated part of the household.

Praaven’s incredibly immersive, and I’m not noticing any significant lag since I fixed the subway behavior for inactives. If I could have my ‘druthers, I’d reduce the map size and only have one peasant village rather than three with their duplicate churches and marketplaces. If I resolve my complaints and stay there for multiple generations, it does give me some variety in location, so there’s that.

My current plan is for Emma to be the heir and Alair to be the spare (Alair the heir spare, hee hee), mostly because I’d like to follow a woman around a bit longer after my foundress exited the story early. That means that when she marries, the active household will move. I don’t know that she’ll end up in another farm household, course, but I’d like for the world to have lots supporting enough variety of gameplay that Emma’s future household can have what it needs while Nash gets to keep one of the only lots on Praaven that can support an active-play farm.

I haven’t played very far ahead yet. Emma’s still a toddler in gameplay, as is Alair -- though he’s going to age up in a couple of days. Both have toddler traits that point toward fascinating storylines for me, so I’ll probably end up jumping back and forth more than I might otherwise.

I think I’ve talked myself into keeping Praaven for the next generation to see how it goes.

#echoweaver #sims 3 echo in time #meta-sims #praaven reworked #glennborough

18 notes · View notes

lunarsands · 1 year

Text

ALSMP Fanfic: Wherever These Flowers May Grow Ch 1

Characters: goddess!PearlescentMoon, actual!angel!Sausage, starborne!Scott; reintroducing: floran!Scott and introducing: floran!Sausage; with special guest Empires SMP S2 Joel, and a cameo by Origins SMP CaptainSparklez

Relationships: MythicalSausage/Scott Smajor

Tags: Canon Divergent, scosage, fluff

Warnings: Character Death (temporary as usual with this series), a tiny bit of angst

(Sequel to Echoing Through To You, When The Skies Cry, Until The Blood Moon Descends, and Then We’ll Rewrite the Stars)

Part Five of the Soul Liminality 2: I Would Die For You series.

(Also available on Ao3!)

Summary: Pearl sends Sausage and Scott on a mission to help out on another mortal world different from their old one. Scott finds himself returned to an old set of powers; Sausage gets new ones which, as it turns out, he has some trouble controlling. It’s not exactly a honeymoon trip, but they do meet a nice new godling while there.

[A/N: I missed writing these guys so here we are again! I guess you could say this completes the crossover between Afterlife and Empires that I implied with Pearl’s past in previous fics. | Shout out to Rendog for his amazing Gigaverse proposal, which I have implied a small bit here]

---

Chapter One

The goddess PearlescentMoon tried to hide a yawn. Summits that required all deities of the universe to attend always ended up being tedious. There was inevitably someone who took up the allotted time for each session by going off on a tangent. Today was supposed to be the forum for making requests if anyone needed another god’s particular specialty. She had already answered a few asking for aid in developing farmlands and crop maintenance knowledge on the respective mortal worlds that they oversaw.

Currently someone was ranting about the distribution of stone types, which wasn’t in her portfolio so she tuned out and instead started making a mental list of which angels she would send to help out with the requests she had accepted so far. A different voice loudly cleared their throat. “Since we’re now almost out of time, I need to quickly ask – I have a world that needs revitalizing in far more areas than I can manage at the moment. If anyone has help they can spare who has knowledge of the care of flora and can be responsible about what will actually grow in particular climates, that would be appreciated. Right now, the helper my nature underling has is someone who thinks roses bloom when spring is still six weeks away and believes poinsettias will grow in snow.”

Pearl perked up with a smile. “Say no more. I have just the guy. And his husband.”

~*~

The new farmhouse that Sausage and Scott had been building together was coming along nicely. The atmosphere in Pearl’s realm was decidedly different from Heaven’s Reach, with flat farmlands all around their little private plot and a bit too much of the same range of colors with the purposeful arrangement of crop types in neat squares, but they made the most of it. They had their own personal garden full of silvery-white angelflowers and a contrasting dark blue flower with gold flecks on the petals: starflowers, as Pearl had named them, and had been her wedding gift to them.

They had thanked her and promptly planted them everywhere. At dusk the flowers would begin to release specks of glowing pollen, filling the air with bright motes, which was a sight they would sometimes sit to enjoy before Scott went off to tend to the distribution of stars across the mortal realms, ensuring there were enough of them visible to guide travelers and inspire creative souls.

Over the course of nine lives their fates became intertwined, and on the tenth life they found each other again beyond the mortal world. From angel Sausage began and to angel he returned, but with his rise from guardian to seraph he also had to return to the celestial realm, leaving Scott behind. Eventually Scott crossed into his final life, yet gained the form of starborne, allowing him to ascend to that plane as well and reunite. They found peace together once again, with only a few daily jobs to interfere.

Aside from general seraph duties, Sausage had once again taken up the mantle of architect of the realm, designing and building newer versions of structures that could be passed on to Pearl’s mortal followers. As such, the house had ended up a little cluttered with drafting supplies and building materials, since Sausage hadn’t yet made an actual storage place for himself. This led to there being times when they had to navigate around stacks of crates simply to get in and out of the door.

One morning, Sausage was in the process of trying to get things in order when Scott arrived home. The simple reverberation from the door was enough to send the overly tall stack beside it tumbling. Sausage’s reflex was to jump toward Scott to push him out of the way, but the starborne casually put up a hand and froze the boxes in mid-air with a change of gravity; with his other hand he stopped Sausage’s momentum, then he gave the seraph a little smile.

Sausage laughed awkwardly as he found his feet, folding his wings back in. “Oh, right, I don’t have to protect you as much anymore.”

“I don’t think that’s an instinct you will lose anytime soon,” Scott said with amusement. He reached for one of the falling boxes, plucking it from the frozen gravity and placing it in a new spot on the floor. He removed the rest the same way until there was less danger, then returned the gravity in that spot back to normal. His control over it was different from a gravital, but there were enough similarities that he had taken some of Sausage’s advice on a few tricks. “Although maybe one of these times you’ll remember that I can protect you, too.”

“I can think of a few times you saved my feathers. Remember that really bad storm?”

“How could I forget? Being cut off from daylight for that long was almost as tiring as winter. I still think it was crazy to try flying in that.”

“Hey, I was just trying to get home! I didn’t expect it to get that windy so fast! I still made it safely, though, right?”

“Sausage, just because you don’t need your other wings for flying doesn’t mean damaging only one of them counts as being ‘safe’.”

“Listen. Listen. That tree came out of nowhere. The wind threw it at me! It’s not like I thought to myself ‘Sausage, maybe you should rest for half a second. Two minutes. What do birds do in storms? They take cover under leaves. Or something. So, I just need to, like, perch somewhere for a teeny tiny bit, then get back to flying.’ Then, bam, big ol’ tree trunk hit me!”

“I know you told me this before, but I still do not believe an entire tree was uprooted and flung into your path. I had flowers panicking all around me, but they stayed in the ground.”

“That’s the thing! You weren’t there! And the wind is much worse higher up, those air currents get really crazy!”

“Boy, have I got news for you about the upper atmosphere,” Scott teased. “Anyway, how about we get back to the present and start doing something to clean this up? Why don’t we make that today’s project – before we run out of space in here?” He smiled and hefted the box he had recently put down. “You have a dozen storage building designs. Pick one, and we’ll make changes later if you decide you want it to look different.”

Sausage was about to agree when a voice called from the still-open door, “Knock-knock! How are my favorite seraph and shooting star doing today?” Pearl leaned over to smile through the doorway, maintaining her godly extra height. “You’ll forgive me if I decline an invitation to come in. Even if the ceiling was higher…” She swept a glance around at all the crates.

“I’ll make the storage building tall enough for you, Pearl!” Sausage offered brightly. Adoration shined in his eyes as he looked at her, a different kind of fondness than what he held in his heart for Scott. “But I’m guessing you didn’t stop by just to look at this mess, and, uh, I guess that also means no home projects for me today.” He glanced at Scott, and the starborne looked around with resignation as he set down the box. “You can always surprise me with a building you want to design, and I’ll help move everything into it later. Okay, Pearl, let me know what you need me to do!”

“Actually, I need both of you. Come outside and we’ll talk about it.”

The two traded glances. Pearl had no authority over what a starborne did, so it was up to Scott if he wanted to help her with something, but they did both follow her off the porch into the yard to hear her out.

“To keep this short, one of the overseer-type gods at the summit needs help with terraforming, and was asking for anyone with good plant care knowledge. I figured you two fit that perfectly, and since you have that little habit of not going anywhere without each other, I wanted to ask if you would go together. I even know someone who can fill in for you, Scott, for a little while. He’s a young prince named Sparklez. You might even be able to keep an eye on him from where you’ll be, and maybe send up a signal if you think he needs a guiding hand.”

Scott mulled that over. “Well, there were other starborne before me in this region, it makes sense for another to also learn it. Where is this planet?”

“Same MC-M-JAVA region and YT-MC-SMP galaxy, but different solar system than where you were from. It’s a really small one, with only a sun and a single planet, if that helps,” she replied.

“Hmm. I might have gone near that one at least once that I can remember. It, ah, had a lot going on that clouded the atmosphere. I don’t know if it was only volcanoes at the time or something else. They were rather red-looking clouds.”

“There was some upheaval in its past as I recall. That would explain the need for extra environmental help, actually,” Pearl commented. There was something else in her voice, but whatever it was, she hid the emotion behind a smile.

“It doesn’t need star-seeding, does it?”

“No, it’s inhabited, but obviously the mortals currently there are limited by resource stability.”

Scott asked a few other questions, and meanwhile Sausage was glancing back and forth between them in utter confusion. Finally, he yelled, “What the HECK are you two talking about??”

Pearl gave a short, light laugh. “Sorry. Let’s go back to the terraforming part. Do what you do best. Fix up some soil, get some plants to grow, make things look pretty, and come on home when you’re done. It might be a bit longer term than your other missions have been, but you’ll be together. Just try not to influence the locals too much. Other gods have a presence there, but they don’t need to know one of my angels is there, too.”

“We can manage that,” Sausage said with a nod. “When do you want us to go?”

“Any time.” Pearl raised her hands, golden light flickering around her fingers. “I can send you right now, if you don’t have to settle anything else first.”

Sausage thought for a moment, then took Scott’s hand and pulled him close to kiss him, then released him. “All right, all ready!”

The starborne laughed then nodded. “Yeah, I think that covered everything for now.”

“All right, on your way. I’ll come find you to bring you back here when you’re done.” Pearl held out her hands and stepped forward, placing one on each’s head. “Thank you. I know you’ll do great things.”

At her touch, Scott’s body took on the violet glow of his star form, turning bright and indistinct. Sausage became a silvery-white flame, then they shot upward into the sky, guided by godly magic out of the celestial plane toward their destination.

~*~

Scott wondered too late if he should have held on to Sausage’s hand. He didn’t know if the other had experienced planetfall in the same manner as a starborne would, back on the world where they had met, but he also figured Sausage had his wings to make the descent easier. He himself was, predictably, plummeting like a rock, but he had already positioned himself feet-first to make a proper starborne landing. He was more focused on that than making other observations, so he didn’t take in much about his surroundings – including that sunlight wasn’t having a negative effect on him – before he made impact at the edge of a gravel pit.

He caused a modest crater, sending bits of gravel flying in a directional spray; normally his first concern would be to put out any resulting fires before they could spread, but he was instantly distracted by a sensation running through the ground and up into a former part of his brain that had once understood those signals. It wasn’t meteor fragments.

He could hear the plants. Scott looked down in a panic, wondering if he had landed on something important connected to the flora, then gave a start. His own appearance was on the green side, his black and violet gradients replaced with verdant and brown, from hands to bare feet right down to his clothes, the gossamer sleeves now a shimmering pale green. His overcoat still had some glints of gold, although his belt was now made of assorted types of tree leaves, which also decorated the bottom of his coat. He raised a hand to his hair and could feel the soft petals of a flower crown. He suspected his eyes would now be a bright, spring green.

He was a floran again.

“But… why...?” he asked of the empty air.

Pearl had said they needed to do terraforming, and tend plants for a while… so maybe it made sense to return him to being a floran. He would handle the plants, and Sausage the terraforming…

Yet there was a problem.

“Wait, how am I supposed to signal that Prince Sparklez like this?!”

There was still no answer, including nothing from Sausage. He needed to go find him before trying to decide on the rest. He sent out a query through the roots he could feel under the ground. Has anyone noticed a humanoid flying around, like a bird with six wings? He received a mixed chorus of confusion and negative responses. He figured he would have to pick a direction and start walking, but then he felt the rapid growth of roots nearby, and he turned around in time to see a small sunflower sprout. Another appeared a short distance away, leading into the underbrush of the sparse forest at the edge of all the gravel.

He began to follow them as they popped up one by one. It seemed Pearl could still assist them in some way. He did another check with the plants for anything they thought might seem dangerous, then started calling, “Sausage! Sau-sage! Can you hear me?” If he was on top of the trees somewhere he might see Scott wandering around, but letting him know he was there wouldn’t hurt.

However, it was near ground level that he finally heard the seraph answer, albeit muffled and weary-sounding. “Scott…? Over here…”

The voice came from within a thick patch of overgrowth, where some small trees and reeds had managed to cluster together, while large tropical foliage and tall grass made it so Scott had to ask them to part so he could make his way through. He figured from how Sausage sounded that his wings had gotten tangled in everything going on in there. It seemed a little weird how fresh the growth appeared compared to where Scott had just come from, but he chalked it up to the quirkiness of whoever had been handling the revitalization before they had arrived.

Scott then felt his foot slip down an unexpected incline. He looked around more carefully and noticed – despite the covering of grass – that the incline curved around. This… was the crater where Sausage must have landed, but… how was it full of plants, and not wrecked like the area around his own landing?

“Scott? I need a hand, please.”

Snapping out of his ponderings, Scott turned to where he definitely heard the voice, and now waved a hand to make even more of the plants bow to one side or the other, hoping that would help free Sausage’s wings in the process. He heard an “Oof!” in response and saw… not silvery white moving beyond the next cluster of trees, but red and orange. Concerned, he hurried around one of them and then stopped short to stare.

Where Scott had general forest-themed coloring now, Sausage had the bright colors of incoming autumn. Armor and robes gone, he was now shirtless with a leather-like vest made of red oak leaves, while a different set of leaves layered over each other in a cascade formed his customary pauldron and arm guard. He had short, dark red trousers that exposed his lower legs, which, like his arms, had the same green dappling as Scott’s skin. Although he also had a flower crown, in place of his halo was a small wreath of interwoven twigs. The scar over his eye was now in the shape of a small swirling vine, curling off into the side of his hairline and down to his beard, which was dotted with tiny flowers. His wings were gone, too, but from over his shoulders, where the wispy wing root feathers would have been, were tufts of autumn fern fronds.

Sausage was similarly stunned to see Scott’s new appearance, and they ended up staring at each other for a moment. “You’re a—”

“—Floran—”

“—Again.”

“—Too.”

They laughed.

Scott offered a sympathetic look afterward. “Your wings… Are you feeling okay without them?”

“Well…” Sausage turned to let Scott get a better look at the fern fronds, with one bunch sticking out of the collar of his vest and another hanging out from underneath the bottom of it. He turned toward him again with a small shrug. “These kind of itch a little but they’re kind of soft at the same time? Like, they’re the best that whatever this transformation is could come with to replace feathers? You know, when Pearl said we’d be helping with plants, this isn’t—” At that moment one of the tropical foliage plants abruptly sprung up between them, smacking him in the face and startling him so much he fell backward, having lost sense of his center of gravity without his wings.

“Rude,” Scott scolded it. He stepped around it to reach for Sausage’s hand to help him up. As their fingers touched, an angelflower bloomed in Sausage’s hair above his ear, while a starflower bloomed in Scott’s. They shared another smile before Scott pulled him back to his feet. “Well, I have to say, you do make for a very handsome floran. And things will be easier if we don’t have to dig or till soil. We can have roots make channels to reroute water flow where needed.”

“Okay, well, you tell me what to do and I’ll figure out how to make these powers work! Not really a new concept for us, after all.” Sausage grinned, and they made their way out of his landing site to the sparser area beyond.

Yet, as soon as Sausage stepped out onto the bare ground, a flurry of ferns and taller grass sprouted out from under his foot, spreading in diameter. The same happened with his next step. “Uh, these powers sure are working. How come it isn’t happening when you walk?” He looked around at the distinct lack of extra footprint-patterned plant growth.

Curious about the phenomena, Scott took a few steps before thinking at the grass to have it grow beneath him. It started to lengthen, but stopped the moment he told it to. Meanwhile, as Sausage walked a meter along, the greenery kept sprouting up. “Well,” Scott reasoned, “You were the most powerful tier of angel. I guess that means you became a powerful floran. Huh! That explains why all this is here, while I only made a hole in the ground when I landed.”

“But don’t you have to think and focus on your powers to make them work? I’m not doing this on purpose! It’s just happening!”

Even as they stood there, four tree saplings and a burst of tropical foliage sprang up behind him.

“Okay, I can see how this might become a problem,” Scott admitted. “Alright, so, if I have to think about what I want plants to do, maybe you need to do the opposite? Think about it not happening?”

“But I wasn’t thinking of either thing!”

“Just try it.”

Sausage made a doubtful face but looked down as he lifted a foot to take one step. “There is nothing growing out of the ground. This is bare dirt.” He cautiously put his foot down. For half a second nothing happened, and he started to look relieved, but then a smattering of grass sprouts appeared and then spread. “Oh-kay, maybe I just need to practice.” He sighed and walked toward Scott, more greenery forming in his wake.

“Next thing to do is find a barren place,” Scott decided, “Where the land needs the help anyway. Providing that the sun moves the same way as our old world, we should have plenty of time to start exploring and find a spot. We might have to spend the night in a tree to keep you from touching the ground, or else we’ll wake up trapped in a gardener’s nightmare, judging by the rate stuff grows around you.” He looked toward Sausage’s landing site.

“Right. Um. I’m really missing my wings now, because, uh, if I could fly, I wouldn’t have to touch the ground at all.” Sausage twitched his shoulders, moving the fern fronds to not much effect.

“Well, we have to work with what we’ve got for now.” Scott gave him a reassuring smile, then took his hand as they headed off to see what else was out in this new world. He made an attempt to ask the plants to not grow too out of hand despite the former angel’s power flowing into them, but he wasn’t sure it was working. At least if they kept moving there was less chance of anything going completely overboard.

~*~

“Oh, there’s the ‘hired help’,” proclaimed Adelfa disdainfully, crossing their arms over their long chiton and tapping a sandaled foot in annoyance before giving a shake of the vine-like laurel leaves cascading from their head. They stood upon a cloud overlooking the area where the two florans had arrived. “You know, when I told this planet’s overseer that this job was going to be big and I needed an additional competent hand, I wasn’t expecting such a show off. Look at that one. Stuff everywhere he wanders to. But I guess at least it’s native plants.”

Beside them, the recently created godling wearing a shorter chiton and sporting a green streak in his dark hair as a sign of having been split from the nature god themself, leaned over the side of the cloud as if to get a better look. He could create clouds, so he had no worry of falling. “I don’t know, they look harmless to me. They’re like having more nature sprites, aren’t they?”

“Yes, but I didn’t make them that.”

“Yeah, I know, or you would have already done it. We said that before, when we were complaining about how much work we have to do, and then we made me.”

“Look, Joel, just because you were part of my essence up until a week ago doesn’t mean you get to be a smarty pants. You’re an independent power now. Go do your job and cause a rainstorm over their heads.”

“A second ago you said I was independent! Doesn’t that mean I can do whatever I want?” He grinned cheekily.

“You’re still part of nature! I can’t be bothered with the weather anymore, but I’m still in charge!”

“Fine. But I don’t see the point in bothering them right away. They just got here.”

Adelfa sighed in exasperation. “Then keep an eye on them for now. I have things to do, but don’t forget that storm over the new archipelago. There are too many islands in that thing, we need to flood some of them under before any mortals move in there.”

“Right, right, got it. I’ll remember.” Joel rolled his eyes as he split off a portion of the cloud to subtly follow after the newcomers. He was curious about them and where they had come from, but he didn’t really feel like asking the other gods if they knew more; they were currently tolerating his existence. Not everyone was fond of one of their number up and separating out bits of their power into extra gods without consulting everyone else first. Having such a large dominion over aspects of the world, Adelfa was egotistical enough to have done so. He didn’t see how that was his fault, however.

~*~

Scott and Sausage crossed into a jungle where they soon needed to climb over some overgrown rubble that pointed to a civilization having been there at one time. Sausage stood on top of a low wall to see if hand-hewn stone would slow down his powers. Instead of new growth, he caused the existing moss and grass that had taken root in the cracks to spread. One corner of a block even crumbled off as those roots expanded. He grimaced and hopped down before he accidentally destroyed anything else.

“I don’t think anyone is going to notice,” Scott commented.

“You did!”

“Because I can feel what’s growing and know exactly what’s happening.”

“Well, I still want to get this under control before we run into any standing villages. Pearl did say this world is inhabited. We’ll see them eventually.”

“We’ll avoid them for now and keep going until we find an empty place. Although, we might have to stop here for the night, anyway, since there are plenty of trees around.” Scott craned his neck to look up at the canopy high overhead. “Hmm. Hold on. I have an idea.” He called down a couple of large vines from the nearest tree, directing them to wrap securely around his and Sausage’s torsos then had them lift the two of them up so they could get on top of the tree with the intention of getting a better view of the surrounding land.

To Sausage’s relief there was no crazy new burst of leaves when the vine set him down. Not having his wings for balance – or an assurance against falling – he crouched down to keep himself steadier. From there he could see the scarred land beyond the jungle, which might take them until past nightfall to reach. “Those are some impressive chasms. And looks like a lot of lava could be down there with the way they’re glowing. I guess we could start there and fix up the spots around them.”

“No, let’s stay away from anything that could be dangerous. Keep in mind we don’t know the rules of this world. If something happens, we might revive as something different, or not at all. I didn’t think to ask Pearl about that.” Scott grimaced.

“Oh… That’s a very good point, thank you for putting that in my head, I am now officially terrified of falling out of this tree.”

“Maybe we should assume we’re under divine protection and are immortal, since a god did send us here.” Scott gave a weak smile and waved one of the vines back over to create a tether around Sausage’s waist. “There you go.”

“Perfect, that solves the problem completely, nothing else could possibly go wrong.”

Scott returned to considering the view around them. “Let’s go a different way for now…” He could see part of another type of forest that blended with one side of the jungle, then he continued to turn and saw a washed-out sliver of land along the horizon. “We’ll go that way in the morning. Could be a desert. Aside from some cactus, your power might be limited there, and we can work on you getting a handle on it.”

“Great plan. Now, can I ask if we could sleep closer to the ground?”

“Of course. I didn’t intend to stay all the way up here. I’m sorry if this is a lot for you… My old floran instincts kicked back in so I’ve been going right along with it this whole time.” He gently patted Sausage’s arm. “We have a little more time to walk, too, before we climb another tree, if that will help you feel a little better. We only need to pick a spot before sunset. I’m not sure how fast ‘night-mode’ will hit you.”

When the vines lowered them to the ground, Sausage sighed in relief, now less bothered by the grass that immediately raised up beneath and around his feet. “It’s not your fault, by the way. I’m having moments where I forget, for just a second, that I don’t have wings. Y’know, like – I had a thought up there that I could go scout around, find the best place to start in, carry you over so we could get there faster – then remembered, ‘Oh, right. Can’t fly’.”

Scott patted his arm again. “You’ll get them back when we go home. You know what thought I keep having? ‘How am I supposed to signal that Sparklez fellow if I don’t have my star powers!’ All I can really do is hope he can figure things out. You would think a prince would have that as some kind of royal training. I didn’t even know there was a prince of the starborne. Not that I’ve talked to a lot of others. I just know they’re out there. I picked up on it later – since the most important thing to me when I first changed was figuring out where I was, so I could figure out how to get to you.”

Sausage smiled warmly at him. They set off in the direction of what Scott was still guessing was a desert, making the most of what was left of the afternoon.

When it came into better view through the last line of jungle trees, Scott raised an intrigued eyebrow. “A mesa. Even better. If we go far enough out, your powers won’t even reach these plants to make them spread. For now, though…” He gestured to one of the shorter trees that had branches closer to the ground. “That one should do. I can make the vines create a hammock, if that works?”

“I like that idea. Feels safer. Okay, one more question. What about food? I haven’t actually felt hungry all this time, but I remember us keeping bottles of honey on hand before.”

“The sunlight feeds us the majority of the time. Honey is like a little boost, or if it’s cloudy, or the days are shorter.”

“Oh. Uh, oh. Um. I hope we’re done with this before winter.”

“I get the feeling we won’t have to worry about that. Doesn’t seem like anywhere near to even autumn to me. The seasons could even be wonky here, and maybe there’s no winter at all.”

“Are you only saying that to make me feel better?”

“Possibly. Come on, let’s get settled in.”

Once the hammock was in place, the two got cozy to watch the sky darken together. Sausage kept wiggling around a little, not used to laying on his back without having to mind his wings. “I just realized how long it’s been since I’ve needed sleep. Taking naps was just kind of a nice thing to pass the time. This is going to feel weird when the sun is all the way down.”

“That’s a good point. Starborne can’t even sleep at night. We’re in automatically-awake mode.”

Sausage gazed around at the dots of light that were beginning to appear between the leaves of the tree. “I guess you’ll miss being up out there as much as I already miss flying.”

“I was trying not to think about it, but you’re right.” Scott then yawned. “Either way, time to make like the day-bloomers and curl up for the night.” He leaned his head against Sausage’s shoulder and closed his eyes.

“You’re not going to worry about keeping a watch out for Sparklez?”

“Nah. We had a long day. He’s on his own right now.” He yawned again. “We have our own things to worry about. It’s not like he can mess things up that badly…”

[ Chapter Two ]

#alsmp #alsmp fanfic #alsmpshipping #scosage #pearlescentmoon #mythicalsausage #scott smajor #dangthatsalongname #joel smallishbeans #actual!angel!sausage #starborne!scott #goddess!pearlescentmoon #soul liminality 2 #lunar yarns

13 notes · View notes