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mistymark · 4 years

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VIGILANTE/S V

part five // 4.0k words // superpowered!au // (sort of) gang!au // series masterlist

summary; in which you consider yourself somewhat of a vigilante.

warnings; swearing, mentions of death, weapons and killing, gang shit really

notes; this is just a filler bc the whole thing ended up being way too long but !! hope u like anyway <33

One week into living in the warehouse, you’ve got your own routine. You know what times to avoid the bathrooms, you know not to eat Chenle’s cereal – a tip from Donghyuck, who informed you that Chenle once set him on fire for doing just that – you know that Jaemin is the only one who cooks breakfast, and most of the meals eaten in the warehouse are from local takeout stores with shifty delivery guys. You know that 15 pizzas are ordered for one meal – because Jaemin eats at least 5 of them.

“My metabolism is crazy,” he explains to you on your third day there. “I’ll be hungry again in, like, 2 hours.” Mark had laughed and said that was normal for anyone here.

Donghyuck had whispered to you, “Jaemin carries around jellybeans all the time for his blood sugar. If you want to piss him off, call him Jelly Baby.”

You know that every time Jaemin is given an assignment, he brings a girl back to the warehouse, something you’d discovered when you saw Jeno sleeping on the couch in the main room the next day. You know the boy named Renjun doesn’t train, and hardly leaves his room. You know that Donghyuck sometimes snores in his sleep, now that you’re sharing his room, which actually hasn’t been so bad.

Jaehyun had you move in together the day after you met him, and he’d been really nice about it, moving half of his clothes from his wardrobe so you had space, and boxing up most of his stuff to allow more space for your things. He’d even offered to take down his sketches and drawings so you had some wall space. It was a sweet gesture, but you found his posters interesting, so you told him to keep them up.

Doyoung had gone with you to empty out your apartment – not that it had much in it – and convince your landlord to break your lease. “Your landlord has a very weak mind,” he’d said in a monotonous tone, when he was carrying a box to his car, a flashy black thing that certainly did not belong in your neighbourhood at all. The dilapidated, crumbling buildings surrounding you were brown and dirty, the streets grey and filled with potholes, the people who inhabited the area looking just as worn. Doyoung, on the other hand, was clean and sharp, wearing fitted black jeans and a clean white tee. His shoes were almost as shiny as his car, which made you feel slightly self-conscious when you noticed how much he stood out here.

“He’s pretty much given up on life,” you’d agreed, which earned you a smirk from him. It was true, your landlord was a chubby, pot-bellied man who wore nothing but baggy, ill-fitting jeans and old t-shirts with various food stains on them. You’ve never seen him leave the building, and you often wonder if he knows what a shithole the place is.

“I can’t believe you actually lived here,” he looked up at the building, at the brickwork that was being held together by mould rather than concrete, at the wooden window frames that were rotten and splitting apart, at a window that was recently broken, now being blocked by a curtain taped across the panel – at the place you once called home.

Well, not necessarily. It hadn’t felt like home since your dad had died, if you were being truthful.

“You live in a warehouse with criminals,” you reminded him.

“We live in a warehouse with criminals,” he cracked a smile at you, taking the box from your hands and placing it in the boot of his car.

“At least my roommate only kills himself,” you mumbled on the drive back.

“Donghyuck wouldn’t hurt a fly,” Doyoung laughed. “He’d probably kill himself if a fly started a fight with him, just so he wouldn’t have to fight it and win.”

You watched the buildings go by – Doyoung drove slower than the elderly, you were sure – and all the industrial warehouses with cute, bright signs advertising children’s toys and courier services, wondering how many of them were a front for another operation, like Jaehyun’s. “Do you think Donghyuck can die? For real?”

Doyoung was silent for a moment, then, slowly, he said, “We have our speculations. We can’t know for sure, though. And none of us really want to.” You gave a small smile to him, though he was too focused on the road ahead to see it. When you’d first come to the warehouse, you were sure no one liked him, since no one seemed devastated by the fact that he was dead. Now, you knew he was family to them.

“You have a cassette player?” Donghyuck was supposed to be helping you unload your stuff into your now shared room, but he was mostly just being nosy, going through your boxes and not actually putting anything away.

“Uh, yeah,” you throw a glance over your shoulder, seeing Donghyuck sitting on his bed, rifling through one of your boxes. “It was my dad’s.”

He nods, gently putting it on the bed. He doesn’t ask any questions about it, or your family, which you’re grateful for, but it makes you think he doesn’t have any family of his own.

You know Donghyuck is the most open out of all of the team, but you also know not to ask any personal questions.

You know a lot of things after living in the warehouse for a week. You know that Jaehyun drinks tea in the mornings and coffee at night, that Doyoung cannot access Chenle’s mind. You know that Donghyuck is definitely not a morning person, and that he exclusively wears black, as if he’s always ready for a funeral. Maybe that’s exactly the reason; some kind of sick joke surrounding his immortality.

Most importantly, you now know how to survive Johnny’s training sessions. You’ve trained with most of the team, mostly the Shields – Jeno, Jaemin, Mark and Chenle – as their powers manifest physically, and are easier to control, but Johnny has also been helping you use his ability. “You’re smaller and weaker than the rest of the team, and most Shields in general,” he’d said, eyes roaming your body. It was the first time anyone’s ever looked at you like that without making you feel objectified. “If I’m around, my ability may be the difference in whether you win or lose a fight. Try again, and focus on me.” As if you already weren’t.

He’d hunkered down and gestured for you to begin. With the other members around, you could take Johnny down in less than a minute now. Alone, it took you upwards of 10 minutes.

The day you officially move into the warehouse, you’re exempt from training with the Shields, but Donghyuck takes the opportunity to teach you gunmanship.

“I’ve used a gun before, you know,” you say, but after 10 shots you still haven’t managed to hit the target. The firing range isn’t small, located in the basement of the warehouse, which you didn’t even know existed, but you should have been able to at least hit the target once.

He laughs, picks up the gun and nails the target’s centre 5 times in a row, “So have I. Do you want to be able to actually hit your target, though?” The hole in the centre of the target looks about twice the width of the bullet, made from the bullets hitting basically in the same spot each time.

He puts a hand on your shoulder, adjusting the position of your shoulders, then places one on your lower back, adjusting your posture. You’re stiff, and you know it. He clears his throat and steps back, “Go.”

You brace yourself and shoot, the bullet going straight through the target’s stomach.

“Not too bad,” he nods in approval, holding his hand out for the gun and easily changing the clip in three quick motions. He offers the gun back to you, “Again.”

“You sound like Johnny,” you say when you take it from him. You deepen your voice as low as possible to mimic your trainer and the short, efficient way he speaks, “Again. Stop. Go. Try again. Up.”

Donghyuck lets out a loud laugh that immediately brings a smile to your face. “That was amazing.” He sits down and leans back, a hand pressed against his stomach as he laughs, mimicking your imitation. You join him on the floor, resting your back against the wall and leaning over to grab the bag of potato chips he’d brought down with you. “Have you ever shot someone?”

He reaches over and steals a few chips, as if it was the most normal question in the world. But, there’s a slight shake in his voice when he speaks, “Shot? Yes. Killed? No.”

“Who?” He shoots you a sideways glance and you lower your head, “Sorry.” No personal questions.

The heavy stench of awkward silence settles over you. He breaks it, “Johnny.”

You don’t know what to say except, “Shit.”

“Yeah,” he swallows thickly. “It was an accident. Obviously.”

You’re about to ask what happened when you’re interrupted by someone coming down the stairs. Neither of you had bothered to shut the door to the firing range, giving anyone going up or down the stairs a full view of what you were doing. Jaehyun stops when he sees you both, sitting on the floor of the firing range, sharing a bag of potato chips. He doesn’t look at you, focusing on Donghyuck. He clears his throat, “Are you training, Hyuck?”

Donghyuck’s eyes are wide and innocent when he answers, “Teaching Y/n how to shoot.”

Jaehyun’s eyes move from the two of you to the target and back again, but he doesn’t say anything about the lack of holes in it. “Johnny’s ordering Chinese – if you want anything, let him know. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

He continues and you turn to Donghyuck, “Where’s he going?”

“Garage,” Donghyuck says, through a handful of chips. “Do you want the rest of these?” He offers the bag to you. You shake your head.

“What else is down here?”

“Weapons vault, garage, the range,” he answers distractedly, too focused on getting the last of the flavouring from the bag. “The gym…” his voice trails off.

When he’s satisfied that the bag is indeed empty, he stands up, offering his hand out to you to pull you up, “Jaemin takes ten minutes to pick what he wants to eat, so if you have a preference, we should probably tell Johnny now.”

You take his hand and let him pull you up, reaching for the gun that lays on the ground, “Where-?”

“I’ll take it,” he takes it, quickly turning the safety on and reaches around to his back, tucking the weapon into the back of his black jeans.

Your second day of training was with Chenle, in the gym, which looked more like the inside of an asylum than anything. Everything was clean and a pale, almost-white shade of grey, and the entire ceiling was a cloudy glass panel that illuminated the room, giving the room a bright and energetic yet sterile feel. The equipment was state-of-the-art, a dark contrast to the overall lightness to the room, and floor to ceiling mirrors took up two of the walls. There was a stack of clean towels in the corner, and a few televisions across the room, visible from each machine. A smaller version of the Super fight ring was situated at one end of the long room. Yet, the thing that shocked you the most was the bright blue flooring, an odd design choice.

Chenle was the least helpful out of the Shields in the team, watching you train with his ability, critiquing your control and your movements with a stern eye. “Wrong. Try again. Make it hotter this time, or you’ll do no damage.” As if to gloat, he held a hand up, and a dangerous blue flame engulfed it. Your own flame, a measly bright orange, wavered.

The entire time you’d trained with him, he’d done nothing but glare and criticise you. You were sure he hated you, or maybe it was just the fact that he wasn’t the only one who had his ability anymore.

Yet, as he was leaving to eat, he’d nodded in approval at you, “Good. We’ll train together again soon, I’m sure.” It was the most he’d said to you. Actually, if you added up everything he has said to you, it would still be less words than were in that sentence.

Basically, he hadn’t spoken to you much all week.

Jaemin, however, was the opposite, and the person you’d trained with the day after Chenle. If anything, he was too kind and too understanding - he barely helped you.

“It’s okay if you can’t run as fast as me, yet,” he’d assured you with a smile, his hands on your shoulders. His smile was wide and encouraging, his eyes kind, and you instinctively knew he was a heartbreaker. No one with a smile like that has ever been heartbroken, you’d thought. His flirtatious manner was also a dead giveaway.

Your suspicions were only confirmed when he’d been sent on an assignment at the Den, and entered the kitchen the day after looking a little too happy. A girl had snuck out a few minutes later, looking only slightly embarrassed as she tried to pull her shoes on and find the exit at the same time. Jaemin had just stood in the kitchen and smiled at her as he ate his toast, not even bothering to show her out.

“You’ll have to eat a lot tonight,” he informed you at the end of your training. “And make sure you don’t have any training tomorrow morning, because you’ll be out for a while since this is your first time testing your stamina with my ability.”

He was right; you were exhausted after only two hours with him. When you’d told him just that, his smile widened and he winked at you. You laughed and shook your head at him, throwing your towel at him, “I’m going to shower.” He opened his mouth but you shot him a stern look, “Do not ask to join me.”

His easy-going smile remained on his face as he shrugged nonchalantly, “Worth a shot.” He bent down to pick up his drink bottle and began tidying up the gym as you left.

The person that surprised you the most was Jeno. His ability was easy enough to control, since you could control when you wanted the super strength, but he was happy to train you in preparation for your own training with Johnny.

“I guess it’s easy if you can control when you want to use someone’s ability, since your emotions don’t get in the way,” he’d said, as he wound his fist up with tape and gauze. “But if we’re not around, you need to be able to defend yourself with just your, uh, body.”

You nodded, but didn’t say anything.

“Keep a clear head and be logical. Johnny is the only one that can see what you’re about to do, so unless you’re fighting him, think about what you’re doing.” The intense look is back in his eyes when he looks up from his wrapped hands, checking to see if you’re listening, as you haven’t said anything. You can easily see why the others would hate fighting him – he’s smart and he’s dangerous. “If you don’t think, you’ll… you’ll get hurt.” Something in his voice has changed, but it’s gone when he speaks again, “You’re no use if you’re dead.” You quirk an eyebrow at him and he juts his chin up at you, “Hold out your hand.”

You do as he says and he steps forward and begins wrapping your hand delicately. It’s far neater than you’d expected.

“Were you a boxer?”

He lets out a humourless laugh, “No. I’ve just been in a fair few fights.” You try not to react, but he can see what you’re thinking when he looks up. “Relax, most of them walked away just fine.”

“Most?” He doesn’t respond, and you take the hint that he does not want to talk about it.

He’s actually quite a good trainer, you discover, and teaches you the strongest ways to take someone down. He’s less talkative than Jaemin, but his instructions are clear and easy to follow, and at the end of your session, you’re able to do basic sparring with him.

“It’s 6,” he says, looking up at the wall of the gym. Without even a goodbye, he grabs his drink bottle and gym bag, lightly jogging up the steps to head to his room.

That night, you ate dinner with Mark and Jaemin. Well, you ate while they played video games. Jaemin shared a room with Jeno, but you hadn’t seen him since your training session. Empty pizza boxes were stacked by the door, and you counted at least 5. Your own box was sitting beside you on Jeno’s bed, while Jaemin and Mark sat side by side on Jaemin’s bed, their eyes glued to the TV screen that hung on one wall. Their room was a lot more… normal than you’d expected. Donghyuck’s was a giveaway that he was a Super – or a psychopath, either worked – with the blood and the diagrams and the journals and the weapons stacked in boxes around the room.

Jeno and Jaemin’s room was fitted out with their beds, desks, wardrobes, bean bag chairs, an old gaming console and a flatscreen TV. A few movie posters and celebrities were on the wall, and old photos. Only Jaemin had photos, and even so, there were only a few taped to the wall above his bed’s headboard. You couldn’t make out any details from where you were sitting.

Mark’s reflexes were no match for Jaemin’s, and he lost almost every round, making you wonder why he still agreed to play.

“Hey, should I save some of this for Jeno?” You asked, staring at the pizza still remaining in the box. There were only three left, and part of you wondered if it would even be enough. The other part of you thought it would at least be polite to offer.

“Nah, he won’t be back til tomorrow,” Jaemin doesn’t even turn around in his seat, his eyes frantically following his character as it moves across the screen.

“Huh. Okay,” you pick up another slice just as the game ends and Jaemin turns to throw another wide grin at you.

“That means my room’s free for the night, if that’s what you’re wondering.” He laughs at the look of exasperation on your face.

When his attention is away from you again, you say, “Jaehyun sure keeps you guys busy.” There’s only a little bit of bitterness in your voice; you’d been with the team for four days and the only time you’d left was to sort out your apartment. Apparently, you weren’t ready for any assignments yet.

“Huh? Jaehyun has him on an assignment?” Mark’s confusion gets your attention, as he turns to look at Jaemin with a furrowed brow. This was clearly unusual – or, at least, news to him.

Jaemin barely glances at you as he responds, “Nah, he’s visiting his girlfriend.”

“Jeno has a girlfriend?” You ask, only slightly shocked. It wasn’t like you’d thought about their love lives, but you’d just assumed everyone was single. It went with the job description.

“Yeah,” Jaemin nods. “She lives on the other side of the city somewhere. At one of the colleges. He normally goes after trainings on Fridays, since it’s the only night she’s not studying.”

Even without seeing your face, he can sense your surprise.

“Don’t ask him about it, though. He’s very reserved when it comes to her. Doesn’t want any of us to know much about her. I don’t even know her n-”

Mark laughs when he finally manages to kill Jaemin, and Jaemin pouts and rolls his eyes, insisting he was too focused on you to play. “You’re such a baby,” Mark laughs louder, and Jaemin swats at him. His hand moves so fast you barely even see it hit Mark’s arm. “Ow! Dude!”

“One more game, come on,” Jaemin insists, turning back to the screen. Then he raises his voice, “Anyway, Y/n, he won’t even tell us her name, let alone anything else about her. So don’t bring it up.”

“Or he’ll literally chokeslam you,” Mark adds, which, for some reason, makes them both laugh loudly.

You nod, despite the fact they can’t see you, and go back to eating your pizza, “I’ve got next game!”

Mark sighs in relief, “Gladly.” Jaemin’s competitiveness was beginning to wear him out.

The following day, Mark taught you the basics of shape shifting. He was the latest addition to the team – other than you – and his control was even worse than yours. “Shape shifting is really difficult,” he giggled, nervously. “If you’re not 100% imagining what you want to be, you’ll turn into something way different. But don’t panic, it will restrict your ability to change back.”

Over the course of the day, you’d shifted into birds, mice, elephants, leopards, any creature you could think of. Though, you had humiliated yourself when he went to get snacks during your break, greeting and talking to the large dog that came trotting down the stairs, as if it were Mark.

“What are you doing?” He’d laughed when he walked back into the gym, snacks in hand.

You’d been at a loss for words, your cheeks immediately becoming inflamed. “I- I thought that was you,” you pointed at the dog, which was panting as it sat down on the stack of towels in the corner of the room.

“That’s Bruce, Renjun’s dog,” Mark explained, tossing you a can of iced coffee. “Don’t tell Jaemin you drank his coffee.”

You paused, the opened can raised to your lips. You lowered it, slightly, “Why does Jaemin need coffee if he already operates at like 10 times the speed we do?”

“For after he crashes,” Mark shrugs. “Sometimes speed isn’t everything.” He laughs at his own joke, “If he doesn’t sleep enough, he’ll still be exhausted. Sometimes he can’t afford to sleep more than 12 hours, so he relies on coffee.” He cocks his head to the side as he examines his can.

Later, when you’re sitting on the floor after successfully shapeshifting into cockroaches, you ask, “Have you ever tried turning into other people? Can you do that?”

“Yes, but – I really have to know what the person looks like. Like, I can imagine a dog and turn into a dog because any small details that I remember incorrectly will go unnoticed by a human,” he gulps down his cola. “Humans are more complex – one small detail could make me look totally different to the person I’m trying to copy.”

“Change into me, then,” you sit up straighter. “If you can see me, surely you won’t have to rely on your memory, right?”

He shrugs and locks his eyes onto you. You’d seen him transfer from human to horse, from sheep to frog, but somehow seeing him change from himself to you was more disturbing. His skin ripples and his bones make disturbing popping noises as they change, and you wonder if it hurts, even though you had shape shifted multiple times and knew it didn’t hurt at all.

Within a few seconds, right before your eyes… is you. “Hello,” he says in your voice.

“Okay, fuck that, change back,” you tell him, looking away. “That’s so creepy. Brilliant, but creepy.”

When he laughs, it sounds like him again, and you let your eyes drift back to where was sitting. He smiles, and his eyes crinkle at the corners. His eyes, not your own.

You could have so much fun with this ability, reminding yourself to try it on Donghyuck later.

You tell Mark this as he tosses a piece of popcorn into his mouth, and you both stretch out on the gym floor, laughing at all the pranks you could easily pull on the other members of the team.

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waywardrose13 · 4 years

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Crimson Leaves- Chapter One: Croatoan

Masterlist // Series Masterlist

Crimson Leaves- Zombie Apocalypse AU mini series

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: The dead have risen. Amid a global pandemic that causes the dead to prowl the Earth, a leader of a small camp in North Carolina fights for survival. Y/N Y/L/N was certain of three things: One, only a bite would turn you. Two, the brain must be destroyed in order to completely kill the thing. Three, trust no one. When a stranger is brought to her camp half alive, Y/N must make the decision to throw him to the walkers, or let the mystery man heal within the gates. As Dean Winchester recovers from a zombie attack, he worms his way into the camp, and eventually into Y/N’s heart. Love is a dangerous game, especially when it’s played with the dead.

Warnings: Angst, language, zombie apocalypse, talk of sex, talk of injuries, zombie attack. Not enough editing to satisfy me. I need a beta lol

Word Count: 4,600 on the dot baby

A/N- Hey, look at that. My first AU series. I hope y’all enjoy! Also written for @spnaubingo (Square filled: Free Space) // @spndeanbingo (Square filled: Free space)

Tags are still open until next Wednesday before the second chapter is posted (5/27/20 by noon). Send me an ask for a tag:)

The camp was silent.

The sun had not yet risen, the sky still dark and full of stars overhead, everyone still asleep in their tents and cabins. Y/N knew people would be waking soon, the early birds up and ready to go around five thirty. The first of the days’ jobs would begin at six, and soon after, the whole camp would be up and going.

Which is why Y/N left at four.

Before the whole world went to shit and the dead began to rise, she was never a morning person. She loved the late night hours. There was something so calming about the night. Most people were asleep or falling asleep, yet she would be up under the moon. She would sleep late in the day and work well into the night.

That is, until the world went to shit, of course.

At the beginning, most people thought it was some sort of widespread hysteria. Videos began to surge around the internet of people, seemingly dead people, up and walking, half rotting and in decay. It wasn’t until more and more people began to turn did everyone realize it was real.

Once people began to turn, everything went to hell. The internet soon shut down since web servers and power plants were no longer being worked on. Some areas still had electricity through turbines and solar panels, however major cities had gone dark. Whole towns were abandoned, others ridden with the dead. Bottled water was a life source. Unless an area had well pumps. If you were in one place for a while and there was no risk of zoms, boiling water was also a way to get drinking water. But it was tedious to boil and then let it cool before having to move again.

There were three things Y/N was absolutely certain. One, a single bite could turn you. Scratches don’t matter, unless they get infected, because unless you have antibiotics, you’re dead. The only thing that will kill you and inevitably turn you is a bite. Or, if you somehow die after getting scratched, whether it be infection or a fucking bear attack, you’ll turn.

Two, a shot to the head is the only way to absolutely kill it. Since they’re already dead, any sort of lethal wound or dismemberment won’t kill it. But for some bizarre reason, they still need their rotted brain. So unless you want to turn, a shot to the head will do it.

Finally, number three. Don’t trust anyone. If you were the type of person to not be so trusting before the apocolypse, congragu-fuckin-lations, you’re all set. No one is trustworthy out there. One minute you find a breather, thinking you’ll be working together to stay alive, the next minute they’re stabbing you in the back to steal your supplies. Literally.

It’s survival of the fittest. Risks are the only thing that could both keep you alive or kill you. Unfortunately, anything you do in the apocalypse is a risk. The only way to stay a breather is by sticking to yourself.

Y/N didn’t follow her own rules.

She had been alone for the first two years. She hopped from town to town, hunkering down in abandoned homes, barricading herself in for days. Once the town was ridden with walkers, she’d bounce to another, repeating the cycle over and over. She didn’t know exactly what happened to her family. Her family home was empty except for the few walkers on the property. She had hope that they were alive somewhere, but she knew that wasn’t likely. Still, she kept hope that they were still alive and kicking, maybe in a camp of their own.

She had barely turned nineteen before the apocalypse. The college she had been attending was a couple hours from home. By the time she made it there, her family was already gone.

Now at twenty-three, Y/N found herself hardened and impermeable.

She had met a small group of breathers in an empty town down somewhere in North Carolina. They invited her back to their camp. Y/N didn’t trust them of course, but she was starving and on the brink of death. They gave her food, a proper bed, even a damn cold shower. She came to realize the camp was a good one, the people kind and giving, the leaders looking out for their own. So she stayed.

She had quickly become a fond face in the camp. She worked for her spot there, becoming a runner. The runners were the ones who went out for supplies each day. The camp itself was from an old sports sleep-away camp for highschoolers. There weren’t enough cabins for everyone, so the leaders, runners, elders, and families with small children inhabited them. One was only for medical, a makeshift clinic run by an ex veterinarian. The kitchens were in another building near the locker rooms, and the farms were out in the fields. Y/N had been given the rundown after she was taken to the camp. Fences were built by the founders of the camp, traps set all around the perimeter to catch walkers. There was 24 hour surveillance, armed guards standing at posts in the trees all throughout the day, taking shifts.

When Y/N had first arrived, there were only eight people in the camp, including an old acquaintance of hers from college. However, she worked to recruit people, along with the other runners, and after a year of her living at the camp, the number grew to nearly one hundred. She had shown strong leadership skills on the runs, being promoted quickly by the founders to runner one, head of runners.

The founders had gone out in search of more camps with a few of the other runners one day, and never returned. After a few days, one of the founders was seen out in the woods, an arm missing and intestines pouring from his abdomen.

A unanimous vote was taken and Y/N was elected leader of the entire camp.

And here she was, sneaking out of the camp at four in the morning in order to go on a supply run. She was no longer runner one, or a runner for that matter, but she still went out in search for supplies. People would give her lists of what they were in dire need of, and she would find it. As leader of the camp, she felt as though it was her duty to still go out and do what needed to be done. Runners would get things that would benefit the camp as a whole, but there were people who needed specific things. A family was nearly out of baby formula. A woman needed a pregnancy test. One man was nearly dead from asthmatic fits.

Y/N followed the marked trail into town. Small flowers had been plucked from the forest and planted in a way that runners would know where to go. Walkers weren’t common around the camp. Traps kept most of them away and the camp itself was deep in Pisgah National Forest. The city of Brevard was located at the entrance of the forest. It took about ten miles to get there, nearly four hours on foot with the mountainous terrain. However, hidden within the confines of the trees two miles from camp was a Jeep. Runners used the Jeep to get to town quicker, keeping it far enough from camp that if there were any walkers that followed the sound, they’d be caught by the traps set before they could even make it to the Jeep itself.

Although the camp was protected, the occasional walker would still be spotted. The fences kept them out of the grounds, but the rotting hominids would frighten the residents. Guns were only fired in dire situations for two reasons; amount of ammunition and the sound. Guards were armed with both guns and bows. Crossbows were the most resourceful, but harder to find. Longbows were higher in availability. A few compound bows were scored during a couple runs as well. Archery was a needed skill for both guards and runners. There would be the occasional runner who was bitten or an elder who passed simply of old age. Sometimes infection. But it was a rarity in the camp for anyone to pass on. Most people were younger, under the age of fifty, and the elders were all in great shape physically and internally.

Again, survival of the fittest. Natural selection had taken its course early on.

Once Y/N made it into the Jeep, she fit her arm through the bow and ducked her head through it, allowing it to go cross-body. A pistol sat on her lap and her rifle was slung over her shoulder onto her back. She started the Jeep, wincing as it roared to life, and took off towards town.

It didn’t take her long to get there, and she quickly put the Jeep in park beside the department store she and the runners frequented. The store was picked clean for the most part. Food had been taken immediately, along with toilet paper, paper towels, and basic hygienic necessities. The shelves barely had anything, however the storage in the back of the store was plentiful. Seemed as though even during the apocalypse, people hadn’t thought to go back there. Maybe it was their subconsious morals, or simply were too dumb to think of it. Y/N’s morals had drastically changed during the time of the walkers, and she had a whole camp to think about.

She wondered what the camp would do once the back storage was picked clean as well. She didn’t want to think of that, knowing she’d have to venture further into the city. The first half was relatively empty, the other half, not so much. The retirees and blokes that were unfortunate enough to fail to get out of town continued to inhabit that part of the city. The camp had already lost three runners in their expedition to the “dark side.” She didn’t want to lose anyone else.

She unzipped her backpack and began her search of items. She grabbed a few pregnancy tests, four boxes of formula, and other basic necessities she knew people were starting to run low on. Her bag wasn’t too big, but she was able to fit a good amount of toiletries and the items on her requested list before she made her way to the pharmacy.

Like the rest of the store, the pharmacy had been ransacked. Cold and cough medicines, pain medicines, and anything of the sort was nowhere to be found anymore. However, a couple Albuterol inhalers were found within the mess of pill bottles and medication boxes. Y/N also grabbed a thing of eczema cream she had found. She knew a child in section one began to break out in a bad rash, and a rash of her own had begun to creep up on the backs of Y/N’s knees and the dips of her elbows.

Once her bag was packed to the brim, she zipped it up carefully.

Something crashed somewhere in the store.

Y/N jumped, immediately slinging her bag onto her back and unbuckling the buckle of her gun sash, holding it out in front of her. Her bow was hidden in the seat of the Jeep, and a gun would be easier to use in a store anyway. Walkers were never found inside, nor were people. No one ever came down this way and the doors were barricaded so only people could figure out how to get in.

She heard more clattering in the distance. Y/N slowly began to make her way towards the exit, ears and eyes on alert. She had her knees bent in case she needed to run, gun ready to be cocked and fired. Once she made it to the front of the store, she noticed one of the barricades had been pulled apart but not put back together. Not a runner from camp, however Y/N didn’t think a walker would be smart enough to pull apart a barricade.

She didn’t want to stick around to find out. She needed to get back to camp and begin the days’ duties and scheduling.

Slipping out the door, she rushed to the Jeep, starting it up quickly and peeling out of town and into the forest. She followed the road, turning off it once she reached the two miles till camp mark. She parked and turned off the Jeep a little ways off the main road, reapplying the branches and leaves over the Jeep, before heading deeper into the forest, following the flower marked path.

The gates were opened for her once she got to camp, closed and latched once inside, and she let out a deep breath.

Safe and sound.

By the time she had finished dropping off the requested items and toiletries, it was around seven. Residents of the camp began to wake as the sun rose. The first runners were suiting up and laying out their game plan. Y/N was getting ready for the daily meeting in the compound’s “control center.”

“How’d the run go today, Lord Commander?”

Y/N let out a sigh. She turned around from the map she was currently marking, narrowing her eyes at the man who had just walked in.

“I thought I told you to stop calling me that.”

Luke grinned. “And I thought I told you that it was your own fault for giving me the books in the first place. Now you gotta deal with it.” He reached over to ruffle her hair, eliciting a groan from the woman he was teasing. “Besides, you love it. You just act like you don’t.”

A smile hinted on Y/N’s face. “Okay, yeah I do.”

Luke laughed, taking his seat at the table. “Where’s the rest of the watch?”

Y/N checked the clock hung up on the wall. It was dusty and cracked, but worked just fine with fresh batteries. Batteries weren’t easy to come by, but she had stacks of them in the cabinets within the command center.

“They should start arriving soon. If not, fuck ‘em. We’ll start the meeting without them.”

Luke shrugged, reaching into his jeans pocket for a cigarette. He lit it, took a long drag, and blew the smoke over the map. He held it out to Y/N, who shook her head in decline.

“Mornin’ campers!”

“Hey, Steve.”

A tall man with a long red beard and curly strawberry hair ducked into the cabin. A wide grin was on his face, long arms outstretched. “How are we this fine morning?”

Luke let out another puff of smoke. “Tired and horny.”

Y/N’s face screwed up. “Oh, Luke- come on.”

Steve chuckled. “I heard ya, brother.”

“What, you and Lana haven’t done anything for awhile?” Luke asked.

“Ran outta condoms,” Steve said. “Medical said that condoms are first come first serve. They’re clean out of them. So uh, Y/N, might wanna talk to your runners about that.”

“They do the best they can,” she said, marking a few things on the map. “Just do it yourself and be done with it.”

“It’s not that simple,” Luke said. “Now I know you don’t get it since you’re the Virgin Mary-”

“Hey!”

“-But sex is different than just whackin’ off,” Luke said. He held his hands up as a, ‘what can I say’ gesture. “Humans are sexual beings. I don’t know how you have gone so long without getting any.”

“I was nineteen when all this shit started and I had never had a boyfriend, and I don’t exactly have time to find a partner now.”

“Uh, hello?” Luke said. He gestured to himself, raising a brow. “Willing participant right here.”

Y/N made a face. “No thank you.”

Luke frowned. “Oh why not? I’m great at sex!”

“No he’s not.”

A new voice chimed in. A pale head of hair ducked into the cabin. Taller than the majority of the men in camp, Alice grinned down at Y/N, giving her a pat on the shoulder as she took a seat at the table beside Luke. He gave her a hurt look.

“I mean, he’s not bad,” Alice said. “But he’s not as good as he says he is.”

“Wow,” Luke said. “I didn’t hear you complaining.”

Alice shrugged. “I wasn’t. I hadn’t gotten any dick in months. You’re good, just not great.”

Luke smirked. “Wanna help me get better?”

Alice raised a brow. “Seriously? You just asked Y/N to bang, now you’re asking me?”

“Smooth, dude,” Steve said, finally taking his seat.

Luke went bright pink, looking at both women sheepishly. “I mean… yeah?”

Alice took a deep breath, staring at him for a moment. “Alright, fine.”

He perked up. “Wait really?”

“Yeah, why not,” she said. She gave Y/N a look, the leader chuckling behind her hand. Steve gave Luke a fist bump, Alice rolling her eyes.

“Where’s Mikela and Richard?” Luke suddenly asked. Mikela, who was now runner one, and Richard, head of medical facilities, were missing from the meeting. Y/N checked the clock again, furrowing her brow.

“I don’t know,” she said. “They’re never late.”

Alice pulled her curls back into a bun. “Maybe someone from the run this morning had an accident?”

Y/N shook her head. “They’re supposed to report to me immediately after getting medical,” she said. “The first runners should’ve returned half an hour ago.”

That’s when the horn blew.

One blow means a runner (or runners) approaching. Two blows means stray breather. And three blows means a walker.

There was one blow, and two blows thirty seconds later. Which meant both runner and breather.

The group within the cabin jogged out to the front gates, wondering what the hell was going on. Not only were the runners extremely late, but they had a newcomer with them. Newcomers were to be inspected of bites and interrogated outside the gates. Mikela was runner one, she knew this, yet she disregarded the rules anyway.

“This better be good,” Alice muttered.

As the group approached the gate, they noticed Mikela, runner three and runner six, Matthew and Gary, carrying in a man half unconscious.

“We could use some help over here!” Mikela barked. Alice and Steve immediately ran over to help the others, Luke staying back with Y/N.

“What’s going on?” Y/N asked.

“Found a breather outside the warehouse on our run,” Matthew said. “Zoms surrounded ‘im. He was barely fightin’ ‘em off by the time we got to ‘im.” His voice was shaky, his southern accent more prominent when he was anxious. “We loaded ‘im into the Jeep and brought ‘im back here.”

“He’s got a serious gash on his torso,” Mikela said. “If we don’t get it sewn up, he’ll die, and he’ll just be another addition to their fuckin’ army of the dead.”

Y/N let out a deep breath, brows slightly furrowed in thought. “Get Richard to inspect him. Don’t do anything until he does.” She looked pointedly at Richard. “I mean it, Rich. Make sure he’s not bitten.”

“Whada we do if he’s bit?” Matthew asked.

Y/N’s eyes flashed to the Georgian. “Shoot him.”

“Boss-”

“I said shoot him,” Y/N interrupted Gary. “It’s like Mikela said. If he’s bit, he’ll just turn into one of them. So if he’s infected, take him out to the woods and put a bullet in his head.”

Gary swallowed thickly, a solemn silence washing over the group. The ones with the mystery man quickly shuffled to the medic cabin.

“The rest of you.” Y/N addressed the other runners and guards. A couple of the farmers and cooks watched on. “You know your duties. Get to work.”

Murmurs were heard throughout the small crowd, people scattering to do their daily duties. Luke looked up at Y/N.

“I’ve known you for a long time, Y/N,” he said. “I know that the world has changed you- changed everyone… but you were always so gentle.”

Y/N looked at the ground for a moment, before squinting her eyes up at the sky. “Yeah well. If you wanna survive-” she looked over her shoulder at her comrade “-you’d be more lethal too.”

Without another word, Y/N turned away, trekking back towards the command cabin, wondering just how much she had lost herself.

***

By midday, the sun was hot and blaring. Y/N stood out on the porch of her cabin, arms crossed, leaning against the railing of the steps. She watched as children laughed and played. She watched the farmers tend to the gardens down in the fields. Her eyes wandered up to the guards standing on duty up in the towers. The parents of the children sat outside their cabins, reading, knitting, or simply enjoying the sun. Singles either relaxed in the cool of their tents or tended to their duties for the camp.

It was peaceful. It was the only place she knew was completely safe from zoms, where for a second, she wasn’t Y/N the leader, or runner, or fierce warrior. She was simply Y/N.

“Hey boss.”

Y/N inwardly sighed at the break of peace. It was Matthew, a somber look on his face.

“What is it?” Y/N asked. The unfolded her arms, stepping down the stairs onto the ground.

“The breather we found- he’s waking up. Bite free,” he told her. “Figured you’d wanna talk to ‘im.”

Y/N gave Matthew a nod, swallowing thickly. “Yeah, lead the way.”

Matthew led Y/N through the camp. People waved and said hello to them both as they passed. It was hot. The days were typically mild during this time of year, however the air had turned a fierce eighty-nine degrees. Save for the fields, the camp was covered in trees, however the mugginess below the leaves still left beads of sweat on Y/N’s brow and covered her skin in a sheer layer of moisture.

Matthew jogged up the steps to the medic cabin, Y/N following suit, ducking inside as he held open the door for her. At the sound of footsteps, the inhabitants of the cabin, save for the man lying on the cot, stood as their leader entered.

“Lord Commander,” Luke murmured. The man on the cot quirked a brow, staring at the woman who had just walked in.

Y/N turned to Richard, the medic taking off a pair of latex gloves.

“Matthew said he was clean,” she stated.

“No bites as far as I can tell,” Richard said. “Dislocated shoulder, bruised ribs, and a deep laceration on his abdomen. If the runners hadn’t gotten him here when they did, he’d be dead.”

“He’s stable? I don’t want him turning in the camp, Rich,” Y/N said. Her voice was low and authoritative. The man on the cot continued to gaze at her.

“He’s stable,” Richard confirmed. “He’ll have to be here for a few days for observation. After that, we can move him to the wing. A week later, he could have a tent.”

Y/N hummed, glancing over at the man. Her breath hitched in her throat as she did.

He was incredibly handsome, one of the most handsome men she’d ever seen. Green eyes locked with hers, freckles dusting over tanned skin. A beard covered the man’s face, brown with almost a ginger tint to it. His hair was light brown, slightly spiked from sleep. His lips were full and pink, a hint of a smirk gracing them as he noticed her stare.

Snapping herself out of it before anyone else noticed her staring, Y/N gripped the back of a chair, swinging it around to face her, sitting in it with her arms up on the back, facing the newcomer.

“What’s your name?” She asked.

“Dean,” the man answered.

“What’s your full name?” Y/N asked.

“Dean Winchester.”

“You got a camp?”

“Nope. I’m a lone ranger.”

Y/N hummed. “What were you doing out by the warehouse.”

“Scouting,” Dean replied. “Needed some more ammo. Was running low on fresh water and batteries.”

Y/N cocked her head. “Zoms typically aren’t found in that part of town. Did you do something to attract them?”

“May have set off a car alarm trying to hotwire it,” Dean said.

“Moron.” Y/N heard Luke mutter under his breath. She shot him a glare.

“So what, you got what you needed and got jumped on your way out?”

“Yep,” Dean said. “Didn’t notice them at first. Then I was surrounded. Tried shooting at them, but there were too many. By the time your friends got there, I thought I was dead.”

Y/N thought for a moment. “You got a criminal record?”

Dean scoffed. “Few charges but nothing major.”

“Like what?” Gary asked.

Dean shrugged. “Couple of fights in my early twenties. I had a brother who I was very protective over. Got charged but never convicted. So technically yes,” he said. “Like I said, nothing major.”

“Got any other family?”

“Besides my brother, no.” Dean answered. “Don’t know where he is. He could be dead for all I know. I haven’t seen him in years.”

“How old are you?”

“Thirty-three,” Dean said. “How old are you?” He sent Y/N a wink.

“I’ll be asking the questions,” Y/N told him. “If we were to let you stay, would your strengths be better as a runner or a guard?”

Dean thought for a moment. “A guard.”

She sighed. “Look, we’ve got kids and families here. You get violent? You’re out. But we need the extra help. You seem strong. You fought off a pack of zoms and survived. You could be a valuable asset.”

Dean thought for a moment. “Has it occurred to you there may be a reason as to why I was a lone ranger?”

Y/N hummed, standing from her seat. She folded her arms over her chest.

“Far as I can tell, you didn’t fare too well at the end of your solo ride. Way I see it, you need security and you need a team,” she said. “You don’t wanna stay? Fine. As soon as you’re up and running, you can waltz your ass out of camp.”

She took a step toward him. “But if not, I’m Y/N. I’m the leader of the camp. You have any business, take it up with me or Luke, my second in command.” She nodded her head towards the freckled blond behind her. “Once you’re better, you’ll become a guard. You’ll have your own tent and designated locker in the men’s locker rooms near the farm. The locker rooms also have toilet stalls and showers, both with running water. You will get three meals a day and a shower everyday after your shift. If you have any sort of medical conditions, you’ll bring it up with Richard here. He’s in charge of all medications. If anything were to happen to you to impair your health or disable you while you’re on duty, you’ll be relieved of your duties and allowed to live the rest of your days within the camp. However, all incidents will be investigated. If we find you have self sabotaged, you’re out of here, got it?”

Dean gave her a nod. “You got it, Chief. Seems I’ll be sticking around then.”

Y/N smiled at him. “Great. Welcome to Camp Roanoake Dean.”

Chapter Two

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always5hineee · 4 years

Text

The Final Bell - Chapter 5: Places to Sleep

Chapter warnings: Mild Language

Word count: 2471

Story is also available under Taffysamg on Quotev and Wattpad.

To see the full chapter list, go to the “Final Bell” Tab on my page.

-----

Once everyone had settled down, Taeyong turned to address the group. Taeil looked mildly annoyed that he wasn't buckled, but it seemed that ignoring this quirk was a regular occurrence among the group.

"Alright, like Mark said, we're headed North to the river." He started, moving his hands absentmindedly. "We have a few options from there. Lucky for you, Y/N, but we haven't decided yet, so you'll get a say."

"Wait, what? She's been here for like 5 hours." Jaehyun argued.

"She still gets a vote," Taeyong explained back, "It's only fair."

"No it's not!" At that, Yuta looked up, making eye contact with him. She didn't know what kind of internal communication they both had, but Jaehyun calmed back down, grumbling to himself.

"As I was saying- we can do one of two things. First, we can try and find an area to set up a permanent base, build a fortress, and hold our own against the zombies. It'll be a shaky survival, but to be fair, any survival is tentative." Wow. That was grim. Still, it seemed like a feasible choice.

"What's option two?" Haechan butted in, nearly hitting Jaehyun in the head as he leaned over the seat.

"Hold on, I was getting there. Our second option is to go Northeast rather than Just North. It's risky, and we might get caught by a horde we can't handle. Still, if we can make it to the ocean, we can hijack a boat and go to an island. Assuming it hasn't been infected through air travel, we should be able to live out our lives in peace."

"Already sounding like a better choice." Taeil shrugged.

"No more fighting." Yuta agreed.

"What are the chances we make it, though? That's a lot of terrain- one wrong move and we're fucked." Jaehyun countered. "Wouldn't it be less risky to hunker down?"

"True, but we can't fight forever." Yuta continued quietly. "Even if we don't get injured, we're gonna get older. One day we'll slip." Sighing, Jaehyun had to agree.

"You don't have to decide right now," Taeyong consoled them. "We still have to have a full official meeting with Jungwoo. Maybe over dinner?"

"Dinner?" Y/N asked excitedly. This caused most of the van to laugh. "What?" She asked, annoyed. "I'm just hungry."

"Oh, that's right." Taeyong thought aloud, "You haven't eaten since you changed." Turning an embarrassing shade of red, she asked,

"You saw that?"

"It's fine," he laughed again, "you're under a lot of stress- you get a pass. Plus, Jaehyun told me about your little, uh... battlefield incident." She whipped around to glare at the aforementioned, who stuck his tongue out at her mockingly.

"I can't get to any of the food bins right now," he continued, "But I may have a granola bar. Hold on-" She sat on the edge of her carseat as he dug around in his bag, finally pulling out a mostly intact bar. She took it from him, muttering a hasty 'thank you' and ripping into it. She took a few sips of his water bottle as well. As she finished up, she saw him still looking at her, smiling slightly. Realizing that she had noticed, he shook his head awkwardly.

"Sorry." He turned back around, looking out the windshield. She slouched down in her seat. A decently full stomach, the hum of the engine and the vibration of the tires, the subdued sound of a few different headphones, the occasional page turn from Yuta's book... it was all making her very tired. It wasn't long before her vision faded in and out, fatigue betraying her.

She woke up to the distant calling of her name. It took a few moments to realize that it was real life. She was caught up in a dream about... something. It was swiftly running from her memory, and she didn't have the energy to recall.

"Y/N... Y/N! We're here!" She jolted awake. A hand was on her shoulder, shaking her lightly. The right side of her face was warm, but the fabric beneath it was rough. Trying to focus, she realized she was laying on a firm, denim pillow. She had fallen asleep in Mark's lap.

Upon this discover, she jumped up into a sitting position, backing up into the van window.

"I- Sorry- I don't- When-" He laughed, holding his hands up in surrender.

"Chill out, it's fine. Sorry to wake you up- We're at the river, though." Looking around, she realized that everyone had already gotten out of the car. At least no one had to see her get all jumpy. Still, there was no doubt Jaehyun would make fun of her later. She glanced towards the open car door. They were all lined up in front of the river bank, looking out over the waters. Jungwoo was present as well- he must have pulled up shortly before them. Yuta was the first to notice her.

"Oh, Y/N, you're up. Get over here, we're gonna set up." She stretched with a yawn, letting Mark exit before her. Jumping out, she checked her balance. She wasn't really great at running around just after waking up. She chose to go stand beside Yuta, as he was the one who called her over. Aside from that, he seemed the calmest, as well as the furthest away from Jaehyun.

"Alright, so here's what I was considering-" Taeyong said, directing everyone's attention. "There's a pretty large bank in the center of the river. We can set up camp there for the night, and decide what to do. If we decide to stay, I think it would be prudent to have a water-surrounded base, so we can add support to the loose sand. If we choose to leave, well that's that. Sound good?" No one objected, and he earned a few passive nods.

"Alright. Jaehyun, you go pull a few boards to make a makeshift bridge. Haechan and Doyoung, go grab everyone's sleeping bags. Yuta, Y/N, you go across and make sure the ground is stable enough. Jungwoo, since we don't know if we're staying, there's no need to set up the medical tent. Instead, you and Mark should get the fire starters and pick out dinner. I'll make sure everything runs smoothly and help you all set up. Sound good?" Y/N looked around at all the group members nodding. They seemed to really respect Taeyong's decisions, even if he wasn't the most confident. She would have thought Jaehyun to have taken over by now, but he didn't argue. Maybe he had something against her specifically?

She didn't have time to think about that now. Yuta was already eyeing the edge of the bank, figuring out the best way across.

"We could jump, maybe..." He offered. "The current on this side isn't too strong, though, it's probably walkable." She nodded.

"There are a few rocks jutting up. Maybe we could use them as stepping stones?"

"Good eye- let's try it." Yuta let her go first, testing out each rock before she put her full weight on them. About halfway across the gap, they stopped.

"Is something wrong?" He asked.

"No, I'm just trying to figure out which-" Before she could finish, her heel shot out from under her. She shouted as she fell towards the water- the rock underneath her was covered in a thin moss, making it slippery. With incredible reflexes, Yuta grabbed her elbow, steadying her before she dunked herself.

"Careful! You might split your head open!" He warned. She used his grip to regain her balance.

"Y-yeah, sorry." She hadn't even turned back to her pre-planned path when he leaned down, hooking an elbow under her knees. He carried her across the final few steps, being careful not to fall as well. Setting her down, he bushed off a few water droplets from his pants.

"...Thanks." She said, embarrassed. How many times would these guys be forced to babysit her? She had to start learning to hold her own.

"No problem. Let's split up the edge- just step on the iffy parts. The loose soil should break away, or you can pack it down. Afterwards, just start working inward, make sure there aren't any sinkholes." She nodded, grateful not to have to stay face-to-face with him for the entire operation. Hopefully no one had seen that.

It wasn't long before everyone stood on the inner bank, and Jungwoo had started the fire. The sleeping bags were all laid out in a circle- evidently, Taeyong planned for them to sleep in the open. In addition, he had set up a clothesline, explaining that whenever freshwater was around, it was best to wash any dirty clothes and fill up the water containers. While this made sense, Y/N was unsure of where to change without a tent. Finally, she bit the bullet and walked out into the woods. She was thankfully uninterrupted, walking back in a new outfit and an armful of cloth.

"A few of you should wash while the rest set up for dinner and the night." Taeyong directed.

"How are we supposed to figure this out?" Haechan laughed. "Is Y/N supposed to cook or do the laundry?" She shot him a piercing glare, quickly eliciting an apology from him. "Sorry, sorry, just kidding."

"If you're that sorry, Haechan, then you get to help her. Let's have Y/N, Haechan, and Jaehyun do the laundry."

"Fine, but please don't let Mark cook." Haechan begged.

"Taeyong and Doyoung should do it!" Mark agreed. A chorus of 'Yeah!'s and 'Please's rang out from the boys, to the point where Taeyong finally had to hold up his hands.

"Alright, alright, I'll cook." He conceded. Everyone cheered- so Taeyong and Doyoung must be good chefs, then. Whether the leader knew it or not, she didn't know, but she was grateful to be doing laundry. She didn't need any of the boys touching her clothes.

Most of their time washing was spent with Haechan running his mouth while Jaehyun and Y/N ignored him, and each other. She reminded herself to grab a few more t-shirts out of the storage bins later. When everything was clean, they walked over to the clothesline, draping articles in their absence of clothespins.

"Keep your underwear away from mine." Jaehyun mumbled angrily as they started the work. Pausing, she dropped her arms. She turned on her heel, facing him directly. It was less threatening than she had hoped, given her height, but she was angry nonetheless.

"I'm sorry, did I do something to offend you?" She demanded. He glared back, undaunted.

"Maybe. Or maybe I just don't like you."

"What kind of an answer is that?" She argued in return, unwilling to accept the vagueness of his jabs.

"What does it matter to you? Just don't do anything stupid and we won't have a problem," he growled. She wanted to keep prodding him, but she sensed that he was done talking. Any further, and he might push her into the river. She'd just have to find a way to get through to him eventually. They finished the laundry in silence- even Haechan wasn't stupid enough to get involved with that little fiasco.

When they returned to the little setup, she saw Taeyong and Doyoung towering over a cast iron skillet, carefully balanced over a roaring fire. Running ahead, Haechan looked.

"Yes! Pancakes!" He jumped into the air, excited. A couple of the boys laughed.

"Calm down, they're almost done." Taeyong said, grabbing some plastic plates from beside him.

"Can we use the chocolate chips?" Haechan begged, tugging on his sleeve like a five year old. Rolling his eyes Taeyong sighed.

"Well, I suppose we have to use the eventually. Go get them." The boy's eyes lit up a second time as he vaulted across the river to the van, assumedly going to get chocolate chips. Everyone sat in a circle, getting ready to eat. Taeyong began to stack pancakes on people's plates, generously serving himself last. Aside from Haechan's coveted paper bowl chocolate chips, they also had a bottle of honey and a few single packages of maple syrup.

Y/N waited her turn to use any of the condiments. Honestly, she had her eye on the chocolate as well, as she felt like she hadn't eaten sweets in a millennia. By the time the bowl made it's way around, though, Taeil was the only one who hadn't partaken. When Taeyong noticed the few left, he discreetly poured them onto her plate, emptying the bowl. Looking over, she made a silent thank you with her face, digging in.

The group quickly became lethargic after eating, satisfied with their work. Taeyong tried to spark up their conversation from the car ride, but was met with a brick wall.

"We still need to vote on our next move." The group groaned collectively.

"Can't you just decide? You're in charge." Haechan mumbled, holding his face in his hands.

"No I'm not!" He argued. "And we're putting it to vote! Come on, all I need to do is make sure everyone understands, and then we can decide-"

"Can we please just do it tomorrow?" Taeil asked, rubbing his eye. Even he was exhausted. Defeated, Taeyong sighed.

"Fine. First thing tomorrow." Everyone breathed out, relieved. As the blaze calmed to a smoldering pile of embers, boys were crawling into their sleeping bags one by one. Y/N chose to wait, figuring that once everyone was in their place, she would automatically know where to be. Noticing this, Taeil walked over.

"You're in the blue one between Doyoung and Jaehyun." He muttered, pointing across the center. Shit. Jaehyun again? It was like these guys just wanted him to kill her. Not to mention that she hadn't gotten past her awkward moment with Doyoung from earlier that afternoon. Still, she couldn't argue with him. Staring directly at the ground, she made her way to the bag, removed her shoes, and slipped inside, all without making eye contact with anyone. Thankfully, Jaehyun was still at the fire, heating up and molding what she could only assume was a knife.

Inside the bag and warmed by the heat of the fire, she was finally able to relax. Something about being surrounded by the cotton and plastic was oddly comforting. The inside smelled faintly of cologne- this must have been somebody else's sleeping bag at one point... Best case scenario, they had stolen it from a house or a store, but... more likely it had belonged to WinWin. She wanted to ask about him, but it seemed to be a sensitive subject. Neither Doyoung nor any of the other boys addressed her, so she shut her eyes, slowly drifting off to sleep.

Go to Chapter 6

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thatmultifandomhoe · 5 years

Text

Strawberry Cream and BBQ - 22

Pairing: Hybrid Hoseok and Human Reader

Overview: Your best friend knows she can count on you for anything, so when she asks you to watch her hybrid while she’s gone for a study abroad trip for four months, you can’t say no. But when these four months are over, things have changed in a way no one expected.

Word Count: 7,484 (holy fuck y’all)

Genre: Hybrid AU, Fluff, Future smut, Angst, Best friends to Lovers

Warning: Angst and Fluff for this week y’all.

Master List

Sneak Peak - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13 - Part 14 - Part 15 - Part 16 - Part 17 - Part 18 - Part 19 - Part 20 - Part 21 - Part 22 - Part 23 - Part 24 - Part 25 (Final) - Move in Day: A SC&BBQ Drabble

©thatmultifandomhoe Do not repost, translate, or use my stories without permission.

Sipping your coffee, you followed Johnny as he led the way to the library. It was taking longer than expected. Apparently, your ferret hybrid friend was more popular than you realized, having to stop so he could have a brief conversation with each person who came up to say hi and catch up.

“I don’t even know this many people,” you whined after he had stopped yet again to talk to someone.

Johnny shrugged, holding the library door open for you. “What can I say? The people love me.”

You snorted. When he narrowed his gaze at you, you took another sip of coffee and pretended to be interested in the DVD’s that were in the bookcase next to you.

“Anyways,” quickly turning on his heel, he headed towards the Stacks, his footsteps echoing in the empty stairwell. “Thanks for coming with me. I swear this research paper is going to kill me.”

“You’re not allowed to die on me until the semester’s over.”

That got a chuckle out of him. “Will do. By the way. How’s Hoseok?”

Raising an eyebrow, it was your turn to lead Johnny, showing him the way to the hybrid section. He had recruited you for this sole purpose, along with allowing him to bounce ideas off of you and to keep him company.

“He’s good.” Making a left and going up another staircase, you waved your hand to the bookcases that were specifically about hybrids. “He has work today, and then he’s staying late for practice. His solo in the show is coming up and he’s still honing in certain moves, so I’m bringing dinner to him tonight.”

“Aww,” Johnny ruffled your hair as he walked around you, his gaze immediately searching for the books he wanted. “The two of you are so cute, already acting like a mated couple.”

His play on words made you laugh as you walked further, setting your purse and coffee down on a table that was nearby and claiming it. “I wonder why that is,” you joked, tying your hair up into a ponytail, making the mate mark visible.

“Looks like it’s all healed now.” He handed you a stack of books he was holding and without being asked, you brought them over to the table for him. Out of habit, you reached up to gently rub the mark, softly smiling now that it didn’t hurt to the touch.

“I know. I was kinda getting worried. It just seemed like it was taking so long to heal.”

“Well he did bite you,” Johnny explained, snickering as you smacked his arm once he joined you at the table, setting another pile down. “Again, it’s different for everyone receiving the mark. Nobody has the same body type, and since you’re not a hybrid, your body heals at a slower rate than ours would.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and it wasn’t until Johnny glanced up at that he continued to explain. “Since our DNA is combined with that of an animal, we heal a little faster than humans. It’s nothing special though. It’s not like if I were to get a cut on my leg that it’d be gone in an hour.”

“Oh, so not like the werewolves from Twilight then?”

Johnny pressed his lips together, staring down at the book he had open, his head shaking as he made a tsking sound. “Damn Twilight for ruining our hybrid lives.” Looking up for a moment however, he grinned “Why don’t you go ahead and try telling that joke to Hoseok? He is a dog hybrid after all.”

You giggled, reaching over the table for your coffee again. “Nah, my friend Namjoon is a wolf hybrid. I’ll tell them both that.”

The ferret erupted into laughter, nose scrunching up as he leaned back against his chair. “They’ll be hardcore judging you.”

“But their reactions will be worth it,” you pointed out, stealing another sip of coffee before hunkering down into helping him. “So, what are you planning for this paper?”

Hoseok whistled as he walked down the hall to where the front offices were. A week or so ago, an email went around to the dance instructors asking if anyone would be interested in teaching an extra hip hop dance class. It was an afternoon shift and was one of the many free classes that the Dance Studio offered. He wasn’t sure how many kids were planning on showing up – the email mentioned anywhere from ten to twenty – but he knew from past experiences that wasn’t always the case. More often than not, a majority of the kids didn’t show up for fear of being judged, whether it was because they couldn’t afford the class when there would usually be a fee, or because they were hybrids.

Walking into the air-conditioned office, he smiled at his coworkers as he passed, a mixture of humans and hybrids. The class itself didn’t start for another hour, which meant that he had free time to check his emails and eat a snack or two before getting ready to teach. All that time he spent attending the classes the Dance Studio offered, he never once thought he’d be on the other side as an instructor. As much as he owed his life to you and Sue, dancing was his first love.

The way he was able to close his eyes and feel the way his body connected to the music and moved on its own. He loved that while everyone heard the lyrics of the song playing, he heard something else. He heard the emotions, the desperation, the love, the empathy, and he was able to physically portray the story he was being told in a way for others to see. Then when the audience cheered him on, the roaring of the crowd and their applause, well…that’s how he knew he did it right.

He loved every second of it.

“Have you offered him some water?”

Blinking, Hoseok frowned as he turned in the swivel chair to face Jennie. She was a newly hired office assistant and this was only her third week at the Dance Studio. With a file in her hand, she nodded to Carrie, the other office assistant that sat next to her.

“He said he didn’t want one.”

“Who’s this?” Hoseok gently asked, not wanting to be rude about interrupting them.

Jennie just glanced at Hoseok, then pointed out the window to the hallway leading to the front door. Following her finger, his eyes landed on a kid. He was sitting on one of the black chairs with a green backpack held to his chest, staring at the door.

“He’s been there for over an hour,” Jennie said. “He said he was waiting for someone to pick him up.”

Pressing his lips together, he crossed his arms across his chest. The kid had on a red beanie, so the girls weren’t able to realize what he was. But as Hoseok took a deep breath, he could smell it.

He was a hybrid.

The longer he watched, the more he noticed. Every time someone walked by, his grip on his bag would tighten and as the hallway grew loud with the sound and chatter and sudden laughter, he would flinch. His shirt had dirt stains on it and he was willing to bet that the fabric was thin to the touch.

A pang hit his heart as he stood, exiting out of his emails at the same time. His sudden movements surprised the girls, but he waved away their question. “I’ll be back.” He told him, feet already moving towards the door. “I’m gonna walk him home.”

“You know him?” Carrie asked.

Hoseok shook his head. “No, but I know where he lives. Seen him around a few times.”

That was a lie. It was however, enough for Jennie and Carrie to accept his answer without that sympathetic look in their eyes. He made a short detour to his locker, retrieving his keys and wallet while grabbing a few Cliff bars and water bottles along the way.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust his coworkers, but he remembered back when he first started coming to the studio. In fact, he had heard more conversations that started with:

“That’s Hoseok. He lives at the shelter, but he’s here more often than not. If you have any questions and don’t know who to ask or where to go, ask him. He knows where everything is and all the regulations.”

Or some variation of that. There was always that mention of him living at the shelter. He came to the Dance Studio to forget that he didn’t have a place to call home, not to be reminded of it.

Double checking to make sure he had everything, he made his way back out to the hallway entrance, not surprised to see that the kid was still sitting there. The closer he got, the easier it was to notice the small lumps underneath his beanie that concealed his ears. “Hey bud,” Hoseok gently spoke, slowly crouching down in front of him so as to not scare him.

The kid flinched as he stared at Hoseok, his small hands clutching the backpack to his chest. He didn’t look to be much older than ten. If he was even that.

Hoseok wet his lips, offering the kid a smile. “It’s alright. I’m Hoseok, one of the instructors here. What’s your name?” He patiently waited for him to answer, not minding that he was staring at Hoseok’s ears or glancing down at his tail. These were the very things that set them apart from the rest of society, but to each other, it made them equals.

“Samson,” the child softly spoke, his arms relaxing around his backpack as his nose scrunched up for a brief moment.

“Well Samson,” Hoseok repeated, smiling at him. “Do you like to dance?”

Samson nodded, briefly looking down at the floor. “I’m not that good at it.”

Tilting his head, Hoseok sniffed, finally catching a feline scent coming from Samson. “Now don’t say that. I bet you’re really good at dancing.”

He shrugged his tiny shoulders, reaching down to play with a loose string coming from the side of his jeans. The beanie he wore started to slide back, revealing blond hair and when he looked back up, his eyes were a deep blue that reminded Hoseok of the ocean.

“Did someone say you weren’t good at dancing?”

Samson’s bottom lip trembled long enough before he pressed his lips together for Hoseok to figure out on his own. His mind went in multiple directions, trying to figure out if it had been another student and what classes had been offered this morning that Samson could have gone to.

Reaching a hand out, he wiped away the tear that fell down Samson’s cheek. “Hey, it’s okay buddy. Did an instructor tell that to you?”

Despite flinching when Hoseok first arrived, Samson leaned into his hand, the hybrid instincts in him taking control. Even though they were different hybrid breeds, Samson was still a child who needed reassuring. “N-no.”

“Was it another kid taking the class with you?” Hoseok gently prodded, noticing how Samson wasn’t as guarded. With another nod from him, he sighed. The Dance Studio didn’t usually have issues with bullying, normally when working with kids they tended to be more understanding and opening to people and hybrids, but there was always a handful that would come in and they would have to have discussions with the classes about bullying.

“She told me only girls can do ballet.”

Pulled from his thoughts, he was surprised that Samson volunteered this information without having to be asked. Ballet though, that did make a little sense. “Well she’s wrong. Boys can do ballet if they want. You know, one of my best friends has been studying ballet since he was really young. He’s branched off into contemporary dancing, but he started with ballet.”

With a little sniff, Samson leaned off of Hoseok’s palm, reaching up to rub at his eyes. “Really?”

“Yeah, Jimin loves to dance. He sometimes stops in when he can and joins in on a class or teaches one.” Getting an idea, Hoseok smiled at the kid. A part of him wanted to reach up and ruffle his hair – he was an adorable child – but he figured Samson was wearing the beanie to hide his ears. “How about this? I can talk to my friend and see if he can come in sometime and help you out. Does that sound like a good idea?”

His blue eyes widened at Hoseok’s suggestion, almost as if no one had ever promised him such a thing before. Like no one had made him a promise, ever.

“But-” Hoseok quickly added, pointing a finger at Samson. “You gotta promise me that the next time someone tells you that you can’t dance, that you won’t listen to them. You shouldn’t stop doing something that you love just because of someone else’s opinion. Okay?”

There was a hint of hesitance in his eyes, but as he stared at Hoseok, Samson found himself nodding with a soft ‘okay,’ and a smile. Maybe it was because Hoseok was a hybrid like himself that he was relaxing, nowhere near as tense like he had been when he first sat down an hour ago.

The front door to the Dance Studio opened again, a stream of sunlight entering the hallway and covering Samson and Hoseok in the light before it closed shut, a group of people walking and chatting towards the locker rooms. It reminded Hoseok of why he originally come over in the first place.

“Samson, do you want me to walk you back to where you’re staying?” He purposely avoided the word home. He wasn’t one hundred percent positive, but he was pretty certain that Samson lived at one of the Adoption Centers. He was too young to be living in the Homeless Center, and Hoseok hoped that he’d never have to live there. That was a life he never wished on anyone, hybrid or human.

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, his small hands clutched at his backpack again as he looked down, prolonging his answer. It was a sight that made Hoseok’s heart crack. He was just a child who deserved much more than this society was giving him. He shouldn’t be living in a place that held so much uncertainty, but in a home filled with love.

Finally, he looked up with hopeful eyes. “Can you carry me? Please?”

Hoseok pressed his lips together to suppress the wave of emotions that wanted to overcome him, not just for his benefit, but for Samson’s. The sadness would have been too much for him to handle. “You bet I can. And before I forget, these are for you.” He held up the Cliff bars that he had almost forgotten about and the water bottles, handing them to Samson.

He watched as the child put them in his bag, and while he did so, Hoseok was able to see in the backpack. Extra clothes, a blanket, and a stuffed teddy bear lay packed away. Just enough to fill the bag but not too heavy that he couldn’t carry it. Please don’t let him live at the Homeless Center, he thought to himself. He’s just a kid.

Once zipped back up, Hoseok had Samson wrap his arms around his neck and as he stood, Samson wrapped his legs around his torso allowing Hobi to hold him tightly. He ignored the whispered conversations that the employees were having about the two of them, instead simply focusing on getting the kid in his arms back to where he was staying.

“So, Samson,” Hobi quietly asked after they were outside. “Do you always hide your tail and ears?”

The little boy had his head resting on Hoseok’s shoulder, tired from the dancing he had done earlier, only now just feeling it since he was relaxed and felt safe enough in Hoseok’s arms to do so. “Yeah. People always stare when they see them. Kids always tug on them too.”

Hoseok winced in sympathy, remembering all to well the tugs he had suffered through growing up. Carly may not have tugged on his tail, but the friends she had over tended to do whatever they pleased to do. Back then, his cries had fallen on deaf ears. “I used to hide my tail and ears too,” he murmured, gently rubbing Samson’s back.

Stopping at the cross walk, he leaned his body weight on his left foot as he pressed the button. The weather was finally warming up and everyone was walking in shorts and tee-shirts, gleefully abandoning the winter jackets for the brief moment. It was just one freak heat wave before the temperatures went back down again.

“Really?”

“Really. For a long time, I was scared. Being a hybrid nowadays isn’t like how it was when I was a kid.”

The light turned red as a white walking figure appeared on the light post across the street, but Hoseok still looked both ways to make sure that there weren’t any speedsters before walking across the street. “It wasn’t until three years ago that I got adopted. She’s really nice and took me in when no one else would look twice at me, and because of her, I was able to meet my mate.”

Samson squirmed and Hoseok tightened his grip on the boy until they were safely back on the sidewalk. He had shifted so that he was no longer resting his head on Hoseok’s shoulder, but straightening up so he could look up the older hybrid. “Mates are real?”

The question was so pure and innocent, that it had Hoseok chuckling. “Yes Samson, mates are real.” Glancing up, he could see the Adoption Center from down the street. With a nod towards the building, Hobi pointed at it so Samson would see what he was gesturing to. “Is that where you’re staying buddy?”

Samson barely glanced at the Adoption Center before quietly nodding, resting his head back down on Hobi’s shoulder as a very soft, cat like mewl came from him. Only ten feet away from where they were standing was an empty street bench. The area wasn’t crowded with foot traffic, so making a change in his plans, Hoseok settled down on the bench and moved the little boy onto his lap.

There was a sniffle as he curled against Hoseok’s torso. Despite the situation they were in, Hoseok couldn’t help it when he smiled. Samson was very much like a little kitten. Hugging him, he gently kissed the top of his head, and waited. What Samson didn’t know, was that the Adoption Center that he was staying at, was the last one that Hoseok had lived in before he decided he had enough. If his memory served him right, it was a fairly decent place with nice people working there. He had simply been at the end of his rope.

“Do you wanna know why I dance?”

It was a random question to pose to a child, but it was the first thing that came to mind. Apparently, that worked, because Samson was looking up at Hoseok with watery eyes. He gently wiped away the tears with his thumb. There were multiple reasons why, but he always remembered the main reason he started dancing in the first place.

“Because it made me feel like I was in control.” Leaning back against the bench, he set Samson’s backpack next to his thigh. “I got sent to multiple Adoption Centers growing up. I was always moving around, and the people, and hybrids, weren’t always nice to me. But when I danced however, it felt like I was the one making the choices and not someone else who thought they knew what was best for me. It eventually led me to meeting people who enjoyed dancing too, and they understood what it was like to randomly bust a move when the right song came one the radio. Dancing is ultimately, what gave me my first family. They weren’t people who decided that I was the right fit for them, but they were people who made me feel like I belonged, and I wanted to be with them. Does that make sense to you Samson?”

Hoseok wasn’t sure how much of this conversation Samson would remember, or even understand despite his attempt to make it simple. But if he had someone tell him something like that – or anything along those lines – when he was younger, it would have made sleeping along in the bedrooms at the Adoption Center a little easier. It would have hurt a little less all those times when families would come looking for a hybrid to adopt but walked right by him.

The fabric of Samson’s jeans bunched up as he leaned forward, bringing his backpack into his lap. Eyebrows scrunching together, he carefully unzipped the backpack, but to Hoseok’s surprise, he didn’t take anything out. Instead he slid the beanie off his head to reveal two small blond and orange cat ears. They twitched after being cooped up in that hat, flicking in every which direction to capture the sounds of people walking, the fluctuation of voices, and beeping of cell phones.

It wasn’t until the beanie was in his bag and was zipped up again that Samson looked at Hoseok. “There’s a guy and girl in dance,” he softly spoke. “And they’re nice to me. They like the Avengers too.”

Giggling, Hoseok hugged Samson to his chest and kissed the top of his head with a scratch at the base of his cat ears; the vibrations of Samson’s purr going through both of their bodies. “That’s good Samson, that’s really good buddy. Next time you come to the Dance Studio, just ask for me and I’ll come visit if I’m not teaching. We can hangout during breaks, and you can bring your friends if you want too.”

After a few more well-deserved scratches, Hoseok gathered Samson on his hip once more and slung the backpack over his shoulder, heading towards the Adoption Center. Upon entering, Hoseok was hit with memories that he hadn’t been expecting. It was exactly like he had last seen it.

The walls were painted a light sky blue as white shelves with trinkets and collars for hybrids lined the walls, organized by specific breed of hybrid. The counter was in the right-hand corner with the register. Behind it, a grandmotherly woman sat on a stool with a clip board in hand as she filled out paperwork. He knew that to the doorway on the left led to the rooms that the hybrids lived in, and from there if he went straight and made a right, he’d be in the common area.

“Samson, wasn’t Angie supposed to pick you up?” The grandmotherly woman raised an eyebrow as she stood up, surprised to see the child being carried in by another hybrid.

Samson simply shrugged, his arms tightening around Hoseok’s shoulders for a brief moment. “I don’t know, Carrie brought me there, Mrs. Gilly.”

Mrs. Gilly sighed, sparing a glance at Hoseok. It wasn’t until then that she really looked at him. There was something different about him, a nagging feeling in the back of her mind, but she could have sworn that she recognized him. Hybrids were always coming in and out of the Adoption Center, so it was possible that he may have stayed there, but it was more than that.

Hoseok however, remembered Mrs. Gilly. Her curly grey hair was now straightened and pulled up into a bun on the back of her head, a pair of pencils stuck in to hold it together. Wire framed glasses sat on top of her head, and a coat of red lipstick was painted on her lips. If he got any closer, he’d be able to smell the all too familiar baby powder that was her scent. He was never sure if that was just Mrs. Gilly’s natural scent, or the scent that all old people acquired after turning sixty. She had been one of the few bright memories that he was able to recall from his moving around in the Adoption Centers.

“It’s alright Mrs. Gilly,” Hoseok intervened, not wanting Samson to get into any trouble. “He had been waiting for someone to pick him up, but our staff noticed that he had already been waiting over an hour, so I volunteered to bring him back.”

His voice struck a chord with Mrs. Gilly. She knew that voice, but back then, there had been such resentment lacing his voice. Reaching for her glasses – it took a couple pats above her head before she was able to locate them – Mrs. Gilly slid them back on, and blinked.

“Hoseok? Is that you?” Placing her hand on her chest, Mrs. Gilly smiled as she stepped closer to the counter.

It was his turn to smile, nodding as he moved next to the counter to set Samson’s backpack down. “It’s me, Mrs. Gilly. How have you been?”

“Still doing the same job even though I should have retired about ten years ago,” Mrs. Gilly joked.

Hoseok laughed. Any tension that had been there when entering the Adoption Center slipped out of his shoulders. “You kidding? If you left, this place would never be the same.”

Mrs. Gilly raised an eyebrow, taking a moment to look at Samson before meeting Hoseok’s. “Samson, why don’t you go to your room? You look tired hun.”

Samson, not catching the look that she had given Hoseok, nodded in agreement. He was tired, there was no doubt about that, and taking a nap didn’t sound like a bad idea. With one last hug to Hoseok, and then one to Mrs. Gilly, Hobi lowered him to the ground and handed him his backpack, watching him fondly waddle through the doorway before finally disappearing from sight.

“How did you get him to take that beanie off?” Mrs. Gilly figured that he had something to do with it. “He never goes outside without it on.”

She hasn’t changed a bit, he thought, licking his lips as he scratched the base of his dog ear. With a shrug, he smiled. “Just that I had once been in a similar situation, and that he shouldn’t be ashamed of who he is.”

Mrs. Gilly, a woman who had a heart of gold, gently patted his hand. “Just like how you needed someone to tell you that?”

If there was anything that he knew about Mrs. Gilly, it was that she was always straight to the point, and somehow, she always knew more than what was being said. Crossing his arms, his smile softened as his gaze went back to the doorway. He wondered if his feet would automatically recall the path to his old room that he used to share with the other hybrids at the time. “Honestly, if I hadn’t of left, I don’t think I’d be where I am today.” Without missing a beat, his thoughts wandered back to Strawberry, Sue, his friends and coworkers at the Dance Studio.

He didn’t see it, but Mrs. Gilly was smiling at him. It was obvious that a good life followed Hoseok. Maybe not right away, but it came to him eventually. There wasn’t that resentment in his tone anymore, and if she was seeing correctly, there was a glow around him that came from happiness and love.

Straightening up, Hoseok looked back at her, prepared to ask about Samson, when something caught his eye. There was a rack of brightly colored pamphlets on the wall behind her with bold print. One advertised adopting a hybrid, another for fostering. There were multiple ones for what to do when your hybrid is going through heat or expecting and various other things, but one in particular caught his eye. It was a simple green pamphlet, but what it was advertising made his breath catch in his throat.

What Happens When Your Hybrid Finds Their Mate?

“Uh, Mrs. Gilly? Can I um…can I see that pamphlet? The green one.” He didn’t usually stutter, but his mind raced with all the possibilities, and with everything that had been happening lately, this could very much have an affect on his life with Strawberry and Sue.

Looking over her shoulder, Mrs. Gilly gave him a curious look, but retrieved them pamphlet for him. “For you or for a friend?”

“For my mate and I,” he answered, opening up the pamphlet. “She’s human.”

The pamphlet was broken up into equal sections. The first explained what a mate was to the hybrid and what was expected to happen. The second went on to discuss what would happen if the owner was the mate to the hybrid, but the third…the third was exactly what he was looking for.

What Happens When Your Hybrid Mates with a Human or Another Hybrid?

It is common for hybrids to mate with fellow hybrids, but hybrids can also take humans as their mates.

There are TWO paths that you can take with your hybrid.

The First path, also known as The Mate Act, states the following:

As the owner, you are agreeing to become a guardian to the hybrid.

The hybrid will carry documentation stating who his owner was, but is mated to their mate and lives with them.

The hybrid and their mate are (in the hybrid world) married, so they will be considered a married couple, especially if the mate bears the mate mark.

Any future decisions will be made between the hybrid and their mate.

Paperwork for The Mate Act can be picked up at the Courthouse, doctor’s offices that specialize in hybrids, Adoption Centers, and Homeless Centers for Hybrids.

Signatures from the owner, hybrid, and the mate are required for the paperwork to be processed and can be returned to the Courthouse between the hours 9am-5pm during the week.

The Second path, while not ideal and is for only extreme cases where the owner believes the hybrid will be in danger, is known as The Hybrid Owner Act which states the following:

The owner remains as an owner and retains their rights to the hybrid.

As the owner, you are agreeing to limited contact between the hybrid and their mate.

The hybrid will not live their mate, but will instead continue living with the owner even if the mate bears the mate mark.

The exception to this is when the hybrid is experiencing their heat.

Any future decisions will continue being made by the owner.

If this path is decided, after a period of time for discussion and thinking over, paperwork for the Hybrid Owner Act can be picked up at the Courthouse, doctor’s offices that specialize in hybrids, Adoption Centers, and Homeless Centers for Hybrids.

Signatures from only the owner and hybrid are required for the paperwork. If the circumstances are extreme, only the owner’s signature will be required to be processed and can be returned to the Courthouse between the hours 9am-5pm during the week.

Hope had been building up in his chest when he first started reading, for once it seemed like the law was on the side for hybrids. There was actually a chance for him and Strawberry. The further he read however, it felt like a sledgehammer was hitting his body at every angle possible. As much as he wanted to have faith in Sue, to trust that she would be understanding and accepting, he was afraid that with the option of the Hybrid Owner Act, she would take him away without listening.

Without thinking, he slammed his fist into the counter, eyes squeezing shut in an attempt to calm down as his tail repeatedly hit the back of his leg in anxiety.

Mrs. Gilly jumped at the slam, deciding that it was best if she remained quiet for a moment and letting Hoseok have the chance to think. With that in mind, she opened the drawer underneath the register, shifting through the many packets of paperwork the Adoption Center was required to have on hand. It only took a few seconds to locate the one she wanted, and without speaking, set it next to his hand.

“You know,” Mrs. Gilly softly spoke. “Even though we’re required to have all copies of each form, I always tell people that we’ve run out of the Hybrid Owner Act. There’s no reason for an owner to have that much control.”

Hoseok blinked, seeing the paperwork for the Mate Act sitting in front of him. “She already has my mate mark,” he whispered, his voice cracking as he ran a hand through his hair in a weak attempt to collect himself. “Strawberry…she’s my entire world. I love her, and she loves me.”

Mrs. Gilly, who tried to keep her emotions together for the sake of the hybrids, felt her own eyes water up as she watched that sliver of hope being ripped away from Hoseok. She didn’t know the specifics, but it was obvious from his reaction, that things weren’t exactly perfect at the moment between his owner and mate.

Giving his hand a squeeze, she waited for him to look at her. For a brief moment, it was like she was seeing the old Hoseok. The one who had run away from the Adoption Center all those years ago because he felt unwanted, and wasn’t meant to be loved. “Then you fight for her Hoseok,” she firmly told him. “You fight for your mate, and you never stop.”

An earbud was in each ear playing your favorite song as you entered the Dance Studio that night, carrying a reusable bag in each hand. One held the lasagna that you had finished making for dinner, the other carried the salad, sodas and dishware.

It was around eight, the building was empty as your footsteps echoed in the almost quiet hallway. The music that you had been playing wasn’t very loud, the earbuds were noise canceling but you were still able to hear the music that Hoseok had pulsating in just the hallway.

Carefully removing the ear buds, your footsteps fell on deaf ears as you entered the room without bothering to knock. As enhanced as his hearing was, there was no possible way that even he heard you knocking with the music as loud as it was. Unlike the last time you came with dinner, this time there was a table against the mirrorless wall and two desk chairs.

Hoseok was still dancing as you set the bags down. The lasagna was plenty hot enough to sit out as he finished practicing for the upcoming show. There were only two months left. The music he had playing was unfamiliar, and it was only when you focused on trying to understand the lyrics that you realized it wasn’t even in English, or his typical rap music. It was catchy and you found yourself nodding along anyway, finishing up with the setting the table and tossing the bags under the table as your hips swayed to the beat.

While you were preoccupied, Hoseok was grinning while he watched you dancing in the mirror, trying his hardest to suppress his laughter. He never liked telling anyone that they couldn’t dance – he literally told Samson to never let anyone say he couldn’t dance – but watching you in the mirror, he knew there was no dancing ability running through your blood. Although, his eyes lowered until they solely focused on your hips. You did have a little rhythm going on there.

The song was nearing its end but he hit replay with the remote, smirking when you didn’t notice what he’d done. From the way you were moving your body like the music was controlling your soul, it was obvious that you weren’t expecting him to sneak up behind you. But when you were moving like you were, how could he not?

Only a few steps behind you, he reached out, pulling you against his body by your hips. You jumped at his sudden presence, but he felt you quickly relax, melting against his chest at his touch.

“Shorty give me whip-whiplash,” Hoseok sang into your ear, laughing when you weakly slapped him.

You didn’t turn around. Instead you kept dancing, not caring that the professional was probably hard core judging you and decided to keep going. The song was catchy as hell. Plus, why wouldn’t you want to grind against your mate?

His groan didn’t go unnoticed when you purposely moved like that against his crotch, his grip tightening on your hips as he buried his face against your neck to nibble the mark.

A spark of heat ignited inside at the touch of his lips, your eyes closing as you leaned even more against him. Every time Hoseok touched you, it felt like you were experiencing summer for the first time, feeling the way the sun kissed your skin and made you feel alive. If this was what it was like now, you could only imagine how it would be five, ten, hell, thirty years from now.

The song slowly came to an end, dragging the two of you out of the music haze that you welcomed, bodies coming to a halt until the only thing to be heard in the room was heavy breathing. Breathlessly giggling, you finally turned around to kiss Hoseok, his arms wrapping around you as the two of you shared brief, but multiple, kisses. The only reason you stopped kissing him was because of your smiles that broke almost every one.

“Well hello to you too,” Hoseok teased, stealing one last kiss.

“Come on,” taking his hand, you pushed him in the direction of his chair and sat down in your own, cracking open a can of Coke. “Let’s eat before you decide to give me a dance lesson.”

He scrunched up his nose and shook his head, eyes scanning the food that you spent the last hour or two putting together. “I don’t know baby; I think you may be a little too far gone for lessons. You do know how to move your hips though, and I was very impressed with your show.” His lips curled into his signature heart smile, the same one that sent your heart racing as he held his hand out for your plate to scoop a piece of lasagna onto.

“Shut up,” you shyly spoke, the large smile on your face saying otherwise as you filled a bowl with salad before passing that over to him. The whole scene, while filled with sexualized energy only seconds ago, was still intimate. Intimate in that having a late homemade dinner at Hoseok’s work felt like normal. Like Johnny had pointed out earlier in the Stacks, it reminded you of married life.

You never wanted this feeling to end.

Sensing content and happiness coming from you, Hoseok relaxed even more knowing you weren’t stress or worried in some shape or form. He wanted that to last before he told you the news he discovered. The pamphlet in his front pocket suddenly feeling like a million bricks were sitting on his thigh as he ate. However, that was a fleeting thought.

“Any stories from work today?” You innocently asked. You shifted in your seat, bringing your left leg up onto the chair so your elbow was on your knee as you worked on your salad. He usually saved a few stories about the kids that he taught, whether they were his regular kids or new ones that came in for a specific class, or came in for the first time to dance in general. Plus, after being cooped up in the Stacks with Johnny for the majority of the day, you were curious how his day had gone.

Well, there was a kid, and there was a story, but he wasn’t sure how you’d react to the ending. Pushing around a tomato, Hoseok sighed, leaning against the wall when he finally looked up at you. There was no prolonging the happiness that you were radiating. Reaching into his jeans pocket, he pulled out the folded pamphlet and opened it to the side that pertained to the two of you, setting it next to your plate. “I went to the last Adoption Center that I had stayed at earlier today,” he softly spoke, watching as you took it with curious eyes. “They’re called, The Mate Act, and The Hybrid Owner Act.”

You tilted your head and glanced back up at Hoseok before looking at it. The font was large enough to scan the top part in seconds, gasping as you looked back at him. “Hobi…this…this means that-”

“That Sue would no longer be my owner but my guardian, and I wouldn’t have to live with her.” He softly interrupted. He leaned forward and slid your hand between his palms, a gentle smile making his lips curl up at the corners. “It means that we can live together, that we can move if we decide to, have the traditional wedding like I know you’ve always wanted, and even start a family of our own. That is, if we can take The Mate Act.”

“If we can? Why wouldn’t we take it?”

It was the perfect option for the two of you. This Act guaranteed a future with Hoseok, why wouldn’t you take it?

“Because we need Sue’s signature. But Sue doesn’t need your signature for The Owner Act, and if she decides to take that one, she doesn’t need mine either.”

Blinking in confusion, you watched as Hoseok’s smile slipped until it completely disappeared. In your excitement you had skipped over the second half of the pamphlet, which included The Hybrid Owner Act. Your grip slackened on Hoseok’s hands as you read, and reread, even reading it a third time to see if this was real.

“The Hybrid Owner Act doesn’t apply to us,” you argued, holding the paper up with your free hand. As much as Sue seemed to be acting unlike herself, she wouldn’t…at least you hoped, she wouldn’t go so far to the extreme to cut off contact between you and Hoseok.

Hoseok swallowed the lump in his throat, looking away from you and at the food set out. You had worked so hard to make dinner and bring it to the Dance Studio, working around his practice schedule and understanding how much the annual show meant to him.

“I just want to be prepared,” he answered, his voice strained when he looked back up, revealing how watery his eyes had gotten. “Baby…Strawberry, I don’t know what Sue is going to do. I don’t know if she’ll be pissed or happy, and I am hoping, god I am hoping, that she’ll be understanding. Neither paperwork needs to be signed right away – if need be, we can wait so she can adjust – but if for some reason she picks The Hybrid Owner Act…”

Wetting his lips, he raised your hand to kiss your knuckles repeatedly. He absolutely hated having to have a backup plan for if the worst happened. But all he could think about was what Mrs. Gilly told him back at the Adoption Center. “We’re gonna get a lawyer, and we’ll fight. We’ll fight and if we have to, we’ll fight to have you become my new owner, so that we can be together. But this is only as a last case scenario. Trust me Strawberry, I’m really hoping that we’re only overthinking everything and she’ll understand and be happy for us.”

Your grip tightened in Hoseok’s hold for a second before releasing it. His eyebrows raised at your actions, but when you stood and made your way around the table, he shifted in his seat and opened his arms as you sat on his lap. With a gentle kiss to his forehead, your fingers slipped through his hair to gently scratch the base of his ears. The sensation had him as a puddle at your touch, coming to rest his head on your chest while hugging you. For the first time since your relationship started, you were the one comforting Hoseok, and not the other way around.

“I’m going to fight for us Strawberry,” Hoseok promised, taking your hand to kiss your palm. “I will always, fight for us.”

To say that you weren’t scared was an absolute lie. But as you held Hoseok, you pushed back the tears and focused on him, on being there and reassuring him. “I know babe,” you murmured instead, leaning your cheek against his head. “I know you will.”

It warmed your heart to hear him say that, but you were hoping that it would never come down to that.

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stachestachestache · 5 years

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600 Celebration: Arrival

Summary: Alpha!Chris (from The Martian) helps you through the labor of your pup. It’s my first time writing something in the A/B/O universe so please be gentle and don’t expect too much lol.

Somehow 600 of you decided my weirdness is fun to follow so I’m writing a series with six installments to commemorate this milestone, cuz why not? Thank you for following and being part of this community with me. I really do enjoy being on here and being insane with each and every one of you. This is the third installment of the series!

Word Count: 1406…

Warnings: Labor and birth (have i been listening and watching too many podcasts and videos on motherhood and childbirth? probably, but here goes.) Also tons of fluff!

A/N: Really trying out some writing and stuff. Feedback is always appreciated.Continuing with the dad!Bucky theme just cuz I love it.

Chris knew it was coming even before it began.

It was his intuition that made him such a good doctor and probably part of the reason why he was chosen to go into space. Those intergalactic voyaging days are behind him now, having married and settled down. He thought the allure of space would forever haunt him but after meeting you, he quickly realized the entirety of his universe is contained in the love you have for one another.

Only a few weeks after the wedding, Chris began to notice a subtle shift in your scent, barely there and unnoticeable to the untrained nose. A rosy texture forged with your usual lavender aroma that you either weren’t aware of or chose not to address.

“Do you smell that?” he asked you, after a week, when the smell had persisted. You were both getting ready for work; as professors at the same university, you took one car every morning and parted ways at the entrance with a quick kiss -- him, ambling off the the sciences and you to the humanities (Chris never expected to fall in love with the wordy philosophy professor, but life is good at throwing curve balls at him).

“Smell what?” you had answered incredulously.

The pieces suddenly clicked in your alpha’s mind -- “We need to see your doctor.”

Now, nine months out from that day, Chris could tell your pup’s arrival was fast approaching. Better than anyone else, he could see the minute changes in your body, ones that you even barely registered sometimes in the face of all the other discomforts of pregnancy.

You stubbornly refused to take a year-long sabbatical, teaching through your first two trimesters before hunkering down and agreeing to take a break from teaching and continue your research from home. When you finally sent in your request for leave, Chris felt a sense of relief wash over him. It brought him a sense of security to know you were in the safety and comfort of your own home, rather than walking around a large university campus, dealing with the stress of students and grading.

While he continued teaching, the leniency of the job allowed him to spend a lot of time by your side, caring and watching over you like the protective alpha he is. Although it annoyed you at first, eventually you relented to Chris’ protective ways, staying mostly in the house, leaving house chores to him (which you often whined about because of his sub-par cleaning abilities) and never lifting anything that weighed over 5 lbs.

It was exhausting and there were moments when you wanted to scream at Chris, but any time he saw the fire light in your eyes, he would quickly smother it with sweet kisses and purrs; he used your increased craving for affection to his advantage, often nosing your scent gland and marking on your neck to calm you down. It was nice and infuriated you and you never hesitated to let Chris know as much, even as you were wrapped up in his arms, under several layers of blankets.

As the pregnancy progressed, your instinct to create the perfect nest became more and more pronounced. After coming home from classes, Chris would often find you on the floors of your house, scrubbing away at nonexistent grime. When it came time to assemble the nursery, the scientist walked in to a room stacked with so many comforters, pillows and blankets, he was sure you had bought out your local Bed, Bath and Beyond. It was frightening and endearing all at once. It took over a week for you both to properly scent them in preparation for your pup.

Chris was certain he had maxed out on his love for you, that his body and mind were incapable of feeling any more affection for his omega. You are his everything. His heart is so intertwined with yours, he often forgets where he begins and you end. Chris didn’t know two separate lives could meld together the way yours and his did. It wasn’t easy and there were definitely bumps along the way but it all made sense.

But as your body and child grew, so did Chris’ feelings. Even as a doctor, who understood on the molecular and biological level, everything that was happening, he was amazed and astonished at your strength and courage, what you and your body was capable of. You were so precious and his top priority in life was always to protect you, and now, also your child.

Even before you both climbed into bed, Chris knew tonight was the night. You kept repeating like a mantra that you still had three weeks, but Chris could feel it in his gut. He debated whether even to sleep, but at your insistence, he crawled in with you and shut his eyes. He awoke several hours later to your whimpering, low and quiet but filled with distress. It set all his alpha instincts on high alert.

When he saw and felt your belly harden and soften under the blankets in a scarily rhythmic pattern, he got to work packing your bags and preparing the car. Strangely enough, you were still asleep, riding through the contractions barely conscious.

When he finished loading the car, you were finally awake and in tears, kneeling on the floor and grasping the bedsheets after having tried to get out of bed.

“Where were you?” he felt chills run down his spine at your tone, rushing over to help you out of bed.

“Prepping the car to go, let me help you into some clothes and we can get to the hospital,” he tried to say as calmly as he could. He was whispering for some reason.

Chris could see it coming, but he never anticipated how fast it could be.

“I won’t make it to the car; I’m not going to make it to the hospital,” you could feel the pain searing through your body, the urge to expel this new human out from you and into the new world was overwhelming.

Chris began to panic, but tried to keep it under control as to not startle you more.

“It’s okay, we’re okay, I’ll figure it out. You’re going to be okay. The pup is gonna be okay...”

It was all a jumbled mess of words falling out of his mouth as he tried to remember the time he spent in the maternity ward during his residency. Running to maneuver you back onto the bed, he told you he would be right back as you whimpered again in distress. When he checked on your progress, he realized how close you both were to meeting your little bundle of joy.

“Excited to meet us huh? Couldn’t wait for the hospital???” Chris murmured under his breath as he rushed around. He had a feeling this early and hasty arrival would just be a taste of what new life with their pup was going to be... fast and unexpected.

He grabbed blankets, scissors and shoe laces, started a pot of water boiling on the stove before rushing back to your bedroom when a scream cut through the silence of your house.

“He’s coming now, Chris, get the fuck back here and help me!”

“He? How do you know it’s a he?” The questions slip out before Chris can stop himself.

You meet him with glare of rage and anger when he arrives back into your bedroom, one that frightens the alpha to his core.

“YOU! You’re the reason I’m here right now!” Chris tried to ignore the murderous gaze in your eyes as you yanked him to you by the collar, screaming in his face from the pain.

From that moment onward, it was like attempting to reach the crescendo of a beautiful, but cacophonous song. At moments, it felt like you would never reach it.

“One last push baby, he’s almost here.”

With one last exertion of energy, a tiny tiny wail sounded in your ears. Chris quickly worked to cut the umbilical cord before lifting your child onto your chest... he heaved a sigh and took a moment to just stare at mother and child before he was hit with the overwhelming reality that he’s a father.

Again, his affection grows tenfold and when he comes to from his journey through his mind, he sees you staring at him, tears, this time of joy and love, sliding down your cheeks. You beckon him over and for the first time, as a family of three, cuddle on the bed.

#alpha!chris #chris beck #the martian #sebastian stan #chris beck fanfic #chris beck fanfiction #chris beck x you #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #chris beck x reader #sebastian stan fanfic #chris beck au #dad!chris beck #dad!bucky #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes au #stache's 600 celebration

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danscape · 4 years

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Annapurna Circuit - Day 5 - Chame to Upper Pisang - 24/10/2018

9 Miles

5 Hours Walking + 1 Hour for Brunch

Starting Elevation 2700m

Finish Elevation 3250m

Average Temperature 23C (Low 18C - High 27C)

Average Heartrate 118bpm (Max 162bpm - 8% of day spent in Zone 3 or higher)

Day 5 on the Annapurna Circuit we said a final goodbye to the lush green valleys and entered the subdued rust coloured dryness of the high plains.

We setoff from sleepy Chame just before 7:30am. Our earliest start so far as we had the morning routine refined. We also wanted to try and arrive as early as possible in Pisang as we expected accommodation to be more in demand from here on out. Emerging from the narrow streets between guesthouses, we crossed the river and were surrounded by cloudless blue skies and snow-capped peaks.

The first part of the morning was a steady climb on a dusty dry track that weaved through the river valley. The vegetation was now much sparser, the thin needles of evergreen trees the only providers of shade along the paths. As the sun rose of the mountains, trees began to sparkle in the light and the temperature of the air rose just as the path became steeper. By this stage, we were hunkered below the vertical cliffs on this side of the river. Each corner revealed a new set of switchbacks stacked up another few meters above us.

The hard work and heat of the ascent were soon forgotten as with each step Annapurna II came further into view. It quickly became a distraction for me and my camera, rising to a sharp pinnacle 4000m above us. For a brief moment, a single cloud formed above a pinnacle on the ridge, crowning the beauty of the mountain. I was stopping often now waiting for the cloud to dance into new positions, hoping that it would align with the mountain to create a new photo opportunity.

Having put more meters of dusty inclines behind us, we reached a busy resting point at Agro Manang Farmhouse. It seemed there was a whole wave of trekkers here that we hadn’t encountered so far on the trail. Gathered outside the modern alpine styled cafe and lodge we rested on the wall to take on water and a snack. At this point, a trekker motioned to Ryan to ask if he could borrow what we thought meant toothpaste. Upon Ryan rummaging in his bag to share the toothpaste it became clear the stranger also wanted to use Ryan’s toothbrush, a request which was politely declined.

I don’t have strong memories from the next part of the trail, a lot of this morning’s steps were made on similar ground and my mind was mostly absorbed by the higher mountains rather than our immediate surroundings. We were making good progress and would reach our destination in the early afternoon so had no need to stop for lunch on the way. We did, however, get tempted to a stop at Dhukure Pokhari. The colourful teahouses advertising their rooftop seating where we could stare some more at the snow-capped peaks while enjoying tea and apple pie.

Leaving Dhukure Pokhari behind the short walk towards Upper Pisang was one of the most memorable sections of the whole trail. Almost as soon as we emerged from the village it seemed as though we had transported immediately to a different environment. It may be a somewhat lazy comparison but it felt like a wild west movie scene. The view opened up to a wide flat dusty plain, dotted with pine trees and tracks in all directions. A group of motorcyclists were concealed behind trees and howling into the open space, adding to the atmosphere. There was a sense of shock at being out in the open, having spent the last three days tucked into narrow valleys and concealed by trees. Now ahead of us was a wide view enticing us through the short grass.

This new world was fascinating to me. Behind us, a giant smooth slab of rock towered above us. From here it seemed so smooth that if you placed a stone at its summit and let go it would tumble down thousands of metered uninterrupted by any outcrops or loose rocks. No doubt the result of some tremendous collisions in the earth’s crust It was unlike any other geology I saw on the trek. The grasses and trees around us were new kinds of orange and yellow, with the white rocks of the pathways clearly marked through the undergrowth. The glacial blue of the river now seemed to come alive when surrounded by these subdued beige surroundings and we stopped at the water’s edge to take photographs.

Before reaching Upper Pisang the final piece of the wild west jigsaw was provided. A lone shack between the trees, and white horse slowly wandering through the landscape. There’s a kind of mental rush I experience when I feel like there are special photos to be made. It happened only a few times on the trek where I was able to leave behind thoughts of the walk itself and focused only on photography. This was definitely one of those moments. I was energised by the experience and happily bounded up the final part of the pathway into Upper Pisang and to our guesthouse for the evening.

Checking into a cramped 3-bed room at The Hill View Guesthouse we were soon tucking into lunch with a view of Annapurna II still at our backs. As the afternoon rolled by, more travellers checked in as the temperature began to fall with the fading of the sun. Before dinner, we decided to take the short walk downhill to Lower Pisang and enjoy tea with some fellow trekkers. The sun fades in a hurry when surrounded by giants and soon the last light was creating patches of warmth on the landscape as we crossed into Lower Pisang.

The climb back up the hill provided some bonus exercise at altitude before we showered and relaxed for the evening. We were joined by some familiar faces from the trail and also got to know some new ones. An American father who was trekking the circuit as a birthday present with his son was on the table next to us and were soon sharing their motivations for the journey. A lifelong dream being fulfilled by the father later in life, which made me feel lucky to be making this experience now and not having to wait and wonder if I’d manage to get here. The son had worked in the White House as part of the communications team for President Obama. The conversation skirted briefly around politics with a sudden jolt back to the real world far away. I was mostly pleased to have achieved a definite six degrees of separation to Obama, while sat around the stove here high in the Himalayas.

The evening passed by quickly as we tried to remember and argue over the rules to the card game ‘Shithead’. It was soon time to retire to the cold of the night, but before sleeping I decided to take a few photos of the stars now shining over Annapurna II. A little reminder than these giant mountains are still somewhat insignificant against a sky full of stars and unknown worlds.

#Nepal #Annapurna Circuit #Trekking #Himalayas #Photography #Travel Photography #chame #Upper Pisang #Pisang

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aprettystrangeblog · 6 years

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Home

It was small, but it was home.

Nestled far down in the streets of uptown New York, in an unassuming leaf-brown apartment building at the end of the block, Bucky Barnes threw his front door open with a sigh. The door knocker clanged softly in welcome, the simple brass wrought in the shape of a hand whacking itself against the mark it had worn into the yellow paint of the door. The thing was the color of a kindergartner's crayon sun, and it had a couple shallow dents in it from the few times he’d yanked the door open too hard, but it was still a shining beacon of safety. Home.

“Hey, Stars ‘n Stripes,” he mumbled, tossing his keys into a bowl beside the front door. A slightly tubby tabby cat made a soft ‘mrrp’ sound in reply, nestled safe in his favorite bed beneath the key bowl’s shelf.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Bucky smiled, giving the cat an affectionate scratch on the chin with his gloved left hand. Stars ‘n Stripes stretched, his shadows-in-a-forest fur rippling contentedly as Bucky pulled back to rip his glove off and toss it aside.

He was home. No one but the cats here to see the glint of silver metal.

It was nice.

“Spots? Hey, hey—“

Bucky lunged forwards as another cat— a tiny little black and white thing— shot out from under the couch to snatch up Bucky’s glove in her tiny toothy jaws.

“Hey!”

Spots shot back under the couch with a proud glint in her eye, back paws scrabbling against faded hardwood flooring to get back under the sofa.

“Fine, fine, keep it,” Bucky relented, eyes crinkling as peered at the glowing yellow slits in the darkness and wobbled back to his feet. She’d feel accomplished, at least. Everyone needed that sometimes.

Bucky let her be and stretched upwards, inhaling the scent of home. Old carpet and dusty paper and clean linen and fur, and under it all the barest hint of the fresh loaves of bread he’d baked yesterday. Everything smelled calm and soft old and new at the same time, the way a log cabin should, or a museum exhibit that’s been up just a little too long.

The worn leather jacket was shrugged onto the hook by the sofa, the rugged boots kicked off onto the carpet. The sun-bleached rug belched a cloud of dust and thread into the air as the soles of his shoes landed on it, but Bucky almost welcomed the sneeze it caused him. He nudged a couple of fallen Sudoku books aside with his toe as he wound between cat toys and other stranded objects on the floor in order to get into the kitchen, humming a vaguely 40s jazz tune to himself as he bounced on the balls of his feet.

Steve was right— having a routine like this really did help. It was a huge comfort to slip into the familiar, safe motions of grabbing the twin cat food dishes from the sink and measuring out a quarter cup of Meow Mix into each, then perching himself on the counter rather like a cat himself as Spots and Stars ‘n Stripes pattered their way over to eat.

Comforting.

Bucky watched the evening sunlight pour in from the window above the sink contentedly, idly fiddling with a loose thread in his sweatshirt. Something had changed after getting his own place, after feeling as though he’d finally settled into some sort of strange domestic life.

Not that the compound and everyone there wasn’t a welcoming prospect, of course. But here… Bucky could forget. Not that he ever truly did, or wanted to. But here he could let go and grab onto something new. Different. Here he could sit and watch the stars for hours— the same stars that watched over him in Siberia, the same stars that kept him sane. The same lights that lit the sky the night he found himself again.

Spots meowed on the floor, having mostly polished her bowl of food off already, interrupting Bucky’s train of thought.

“Already? Really?” Bucky picked up the dish, giving the tuxedo cat’s ear a tickle. “I dunno where you put that all away, little lady. Dang.”

Spots purred softly, deciding to thank Bucky for dinner by chewing happily on his metal fingers.

“Geez, you’re a feisty thing,” Bucky chuckled, the sound still timid and quiet after finally being found again after so long. “Let go sweetheart, I should go feed the others.”

Spots gave him a reproachful kitty glare and marched across the floor to try and mooch kibble off of Stars ‘n Stripes, leaving Bucky to gather up the half empty food bag and tiptoe out of the kitchen.

Down the hall, past the bathroom, past his cozy bedroom with the pinstripe blue sheets he and Steve found at Walmart and the framed photos on the walls, down to the back door to the itty bitty outdoor porch. Perks of having to rent the only available first-floor apartment, Bucky supposed.

He cracked the door open, peering outside at the weather-worn wooden deck. A skinny black cat was curled up on the nearest guard rail, one eye lazily blinking open upon hearing the creak of the hinges.

“Oh, Steve 2,” Bucky murmured conversationally, slipping outside lightly. “Didn’t expect to see you out here. Where’s the other strays, mm?”

Steve 2 blinked slowly, huffing a sigh before stretching back out across the railing.

“Good talk, good talk,” Bucky waved, lowering himself to sit cross-legged on the greying wood. “How about we feed you guys, huh?”

Bucky raised his hands to his mouth and made a kissy noise, not particularly caring if the neighbors saw or heard. They were probably used to this by now.

And so were the strays— several of them poked their heads out from under the deck or the surrounding foliage, ears perked up at the call that meant the crazy cat man with the metal arm was here to feed them again.

There was the soft headbutt from behind, and Bucky swiveled himself around to face a battle-scarred grey tomcat, his whiskers twitching amiably.

“Hey, Grandpa Tom—“ Bucky reached forwards, giving the feline a gentle pat before feeling for its front right paw. It was neatly wrapped in bandages, a little dirty by now, but Bucky was proud to see his handiwork from yesterday was still holding strong.

“How’s the paw?” he asked Tom, carefully checking the wrappings to make sure they were alright for now. “I’ll come back out and rebandage you back up later, but let’s feed you guys first.”

Bucky reached his hand into the bag and poured a handful of Meow Mix onto the deck in front of Tom, who twitched his tail silently and sniffed at Bucky’s fingers gratefully before bowing his head towards the food.

A twin chorus of meows started up from the other side of Bucky’s food bag, announcing the arrival of Bella and Stella, the resident sister-like orange kittens who approached with their bottlebrush tails held high.

“Aw, it’s my favorite girls, back again.” Bucky smiled, reaching back into the bag of kibble to distribute food out to the newcomers. “Who else wants dinner?”

A patchy siamese chittered in reply, skittering out from a bush and across the splintery wooden planks to wind around Bucky’s arm.

“Steve 3, nice of you to come by. I heard you broke into the neighbor’s car yesterday morning, did you get cold again?” Bucky poured out an extra helping of food for the scruffy cat, giving it an affectionate scratch on the tiny bald patch behind its ear as it clambered across his metal fingers in excitement.

“I’ve been saving up for a sweater for you, y’know. Steve told me I should take up knitting instead of getting one off Amazon, even showed me the yarn aisle at the store. Can’t believe they actually have those now.” The dark haired man shook his head, the hair in his messy bun coming a bit looser. “What would you think of that, huh? Ex soldier knitting his cold cat a sweater? Guess it might be good for mental health. Solid hobby, y’know. Rainbow yarn might suit ya.”

Steve 3 ‘mrrrrp’ed softly at the ramblings of his human companion, content to hunker down and snack on the food he’d brought.

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky chuckled, getting up to spread the last of the food out into small piles on the edge of the deck for the more timid strays— Steve 4 and 5, the elusive Bamboo, and Wizard, the reddish one with a missing tail who only ever showed up once in a while. Bucky still left him his pile of Meow Mix regardless.

Satisfied, Bucky lounged back on the slats of the deck, stretching out on his legs. Feeding the strays out here every night, sitting and feeling the fresh air on his face and the moon begin to rise as the color faded… it was nice. More peaceful than he’d felt in a long time. As dumb as it might have been, Bucky felt valuable here. Worth something more than the sum of his parts— even if it just meant he was the crazy cat dad to a small herd of strays.

“Mmmrow?”

“Hm?” Bucky tore his eyes away from the horizon to look down at his lap, where a tiny, snow white kitten had appeared.

“Oh, hello Happy—“

The kitten ‘mrrrrp’ed pleasantly and clambered onto Bucky’s lap— perhaps not the most elegantly, as it was missing the lower half of one of its front legs, but made itself comfortable regardless.

“You and me both, huh,” Bucky murmured, touching the cat’s leg with the gentlest of forefingers. “We should get matching prosthetics, you and me. Tony could probably put a little cat silhouette on yours, yeah?”

Happy merely yawned, snuggling his tiny nose into the crook of Bucky’s elbow without further comment.

“Okay, yeah, I don’t mind being a pillow for—“

A jazzy version of the national anthem blared from Bucky’s back pocket, cutting off his sentence and startling the tiny cat. Careful not to move Happy from the snuggly position on his lap, he shifted slightly so he could yank his ringing phone out from where it was sandwiched between himself and the deck, hitting the ‘accept call’ button in one smooth motion.

“Steve?”

“Hey Buck—“

Bucky smiled at the nickname, scratching Happy behind the ears as he settled back against the deck railing. “What’s up?”

“Just calling to check up on you. Everything alright over at your place?”

“Yeah, definitely—!” He leaned back, scooching Happy closer to the crook of his elbow so he could cross one of his legs. “Just fed the cats dinner, and now I’m sitting out on the deck just watching the sun go down. You’re right, being outside at this time of night is… really calming.”

Steve’s voice on the other end of the line sounded like sunshine after a storm. “Little things really help, huh?”

“Yeah. They really do.”

“Man. I’m so proud of you, Buck.” Steve shifted on the other end of the phone, his voice crackling like an old record. “Really.”

“Geez, well I, uh—“ Bucky bit his lip, flustered, unsure of how exactly to respond to praise. After all this time it still felt foreign, alien. But Steve’s words made him feel warm all the same.

“Thanks, Steve,” he murmured softly after a moment, a few strands of dark hair falling down onto his face.

“You deserve it.” Bucky could almost hear him smiling on the other side. “Hey, have you eaten tonight though?”

“Uh, no, not yet, I wanted to sit outside for a bit first.”

“How ‘bout I come pick you up for some dinner, then? There’s this great take-out place a couple blocks away from your place. Yelp says it had great reviews, and I— god, I still can’t believe there’s a whole site dedicated to reviewing places, right? It’s makes things so easy!”

Bucky laughed, tossing his head back to get the hair out of his face. “I’d really like that,” he admitted quietly, shifting to hold Happy better in his arm.

“Awesome. Seven thirty sound good?”

“Seven thirty it is.”

“Okay Buck. See you soon.”

“See ya, Stevie.”

Click.

Bucky lowered his phone, setting it down on the deck for a moment. Dinner. Dinner with Steve.

“Ya hear that, Happy?” He tickled the sleepy kitten’s nose, making him blink upwards at him. “Steve’s gonna take me out for dinner.”

Happy made a squeaking noise.

“Right, right, I should probably go put something nicer than this ragged old sweatshirt on—“

Bucky collected Happy in his arms and stood up, trying to juggle his phone and the white kitten in his hands at the same time.

“You wanna come inside for tonight?” Bucky asked Happy, nestling the cat onto his shoulder. “I’ll set up a heating pad for you at the end of my bed, just like Monday. Yeah?”

Happy mrowed out something that sounded enough like a noise of agreement to make Bucky chuckle.

“Alright, let’s go on inside.”

#bucky #bucky barnes #james bucky barnes #stucky #marvel #avengers #captain america #Steve Rogers #writing #writing requests #(insp by the doctor strange discord!)#mischief manages

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piddies0709 · 6 years

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The Stitchpunk Study-ch1

Never would consider myself a fan-fiction writer, despite having many ideas for fan-fics. What keeps me from writing them out is mostly due to self doubt. My writing is terrible and I'm connived people will hate them and list them off as one of the reasons why fandoms are toxic or some crap like that... But I think it's nice to jump out of ones own comfort zone for a bit wouldn't you say?

August 25th

A few days back, Cin-cin insisted that we have some time off from the Hospital and have fun while the summer was still around. Usually I'm pretty reluctant to go along with these things, as I'd rather just be left to my own devises. But of course that wasn't going to stop her now was it? Still, it had been a stressful few months of training, investigating and putting up with Nevalla's crap, I figured what the hell. For the weekend, we decided to pick one of our favorite hang outs. It was this old light house by the ocean. No one had lived there for years and since it was still technically on the same property as the Hospital, nobody seemed to care if we used it. Hell, we even manged to clean the place up from time to time... The beach was very flat and wide with white sand, say for the jagged rocks a few yards away, which held a hidden cave, I think.

On a perpendicular breezy over-cast day, was when it happened. It started off like any other day, Cin-cin was trying to make something that resembled pancakes, I was reading Blatty's Novel and Yollanda went out side to explore the rocks. It wasn't until an hour later when Yollanda came back with a box from the sea, did things take an unusual turn. And let me tell you, nothing would have prepared me for what I'm about to share with you right now. According to Yollanda, she tells us she was just running down the shore, when one of her ghost companions guides her to clime up one of the rocks. Ones up there, she says that she sees the wave crashing around at a near by cave and thats when this box appears out of nowhere, lodged between the jagged rocks. She goes on to tell us that there maybe something inside.

“So what?” I asked “So what if there is something inside? It's probably just more trash or seaweed and wet sand.”

I picked up the box and began to examine it. The box was made of a wicker like material with a thick wooden frame. There was a leather trap pinned to sides in the upper corner. However it was writing on the lid of the box that peeked my curiously. For on it there was a piece of cloth attached with odd symbols written in black ink.

“Strange” I thought to myself, I don't think I've ever seen symbols like these before. Curiosity gripped me. I lifted the box up to my ear, listened carefully. There was what sounded like several tiny ticking sounds.

“Say, what do ya think is in the box, D?” Cin-cin said has she nuzzled her face into my own. Looking at her with an annoyed glare, I replied. “Not sure, but I hear something ticking.”

“SOMETHING TICKING!!! OOOH, D! WHAT IF IT'S A VINTAGE CLOCKS FROM 1927! OH, OR MAYBE A BOMB!!” I resisted the urge clop her in the head with a newspaper. What if there was a bomb inside? I did here ticking... Survival actually... “So what if it is? If it goes off, it's not like anyone's gonna miss us...” I asked “Who would really care?”

“You got a point there.” She replied. I placed the box on to the table and when over to one the craggy old drawers, to find some pliers. Going back to the box, I lifted up the tool to the rusted latch, but before I did anything, I pondered.

“Just in case it is a bomb, I suggest you and Yollanda back away to the door....” They did as I instructed and with that I began to fiddle with the latch. It took about a minuet or two just to snap the thing open, but it felt longer then that somehow. Still my curiosity was all consuming.Slowly I opened the lid and peered inside... No bomb, but something else that made me even more confused. Finally opening it up all the way, I stared at the content inside while tilting my head in puzzled daze. Silence dominated the kitchen for I think about a whole 3 minuets if not close to.

“What is it, Delia?” Yollanda asked; I remained quiet. Eventually Cin-cin and Yollanda came over to see and soon enough we were all silent. That is until Cin-cin spoke up.

“Are those dolls?” She asked. At least thats what they looked like. Really strange looking rag-dolls. I reached in and carefully picked up the doll on the top. It appeared to be made of burlap, and had some... “interesting” features to say the least. The doll might have been about six and a half or close to seven inches tall give or take. Turning it around in my hand I could clearly see a zipper that ran from it's chest to it's torso. Not sure what thats for... It also had at least two larger scares down it's leg and side, red stitching on the left shoulder that didn't match with the right shoulder, another smaller scare on the chest that looked almost like a burn and most fascinating of all was the number on it's back.

Yes, there was a single digit marked on the dolls back, number 9. Written in black ink, if I'm correct. Come to think of it, they all has a number written somewhere on there bodies. I looked over to see Cin-cin and Yollanda doing the same as me.

“Would ya look at these things, D?” Cin-cin said, as she had two in each of her hands. One appeared to be missing an eye and had buttons on it's chest. Number mark was 5. While the other was looked like it was made of at least three different kinds of martial, laces coming from it's neck, a metal plate on the back of it's head. The thing was an over all eye-sore to look at. It's number was 2. “ They're so tiny... And so... CUTE!” She pressed them up against her cheeks.

“Eww! Don't put those near your face, they're filthy!”

“Yeah, whats it to you?” She questioned. ignoring that remark, I continued with the brief examination. Yollanda had at least three in her hands. Two of them looked identical to each other and strangely resembled gardening gloves. The numbers were located on their chests this time, 3 and 4. The other was... Peculiar... It's cloth skin was pattern with faded black and white stripes, an iron key around it's neck and might possibly be the only one of these dolls that has something resembling hair. It's number was 6. I then turned my attention to the last three in the box. The next one I picked up had me a be perplexed. It was marked as 1 and looked like it had be hastily belted and sewn together, as there were an unnecessary number of stitches and heavy folds of canvas wrapped around it body. As for it's face... Let me put it this way. The face reminded me of a deformed alien that had been operated on. I'm not gonna lie. I think I might have puked a little in my mouth from observing it... Moving on... The next doll was perhaps the biggest in term of body per portions and smelled what I could only describe as burned oil mix with sweaty sock. Gross... Strangely enough, this one's number was located on the right shoulder. Number 8. Now we come to the seventh doll. At least thats what I'm presuming. It's number was mostly gone, say for the top part of the digit. Besides being the palest doll out of all of them, it also held some distinct scars similar to the 9thdoll.

What was odd, I noticed was that each doll I held felt warm to the touch. Even more odd was that it also felt like there was a tiny pulse in some if not all of them. As if... As if they were alive... How neither Cin-cin and Yollanda didn't seem to notice this is beyond me. Still, it was unnerving enough to where I decided to keep them on the counter by the window, until it we could figure out what to do with them. Much to the dismay of Cin-cin and Yollanda. The day went by with nothing much else interesting going on. After dinner and a few card games, we all hunkered down for the night. …But my mind is racked with questions. Several questions... Where did the box come from? Why were there dolls in it? Who made the dolls and why were they so intricately crafted? Designed in a way that can only be functioned for mobility purposes? Part of me is still curious, thought. Guess I'll have to sit back and see what happens... Little did I realizes this was only the beginning...

#Shane Acker's 9 #9(movie)#9 the movie #stitchpunk 9 #stitchpunk #original characters #fanfic

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overanxiousoutofmind · 6 years

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What Only You Can Provide (5&6 pt.2)

Prompts Habits & Fate I’ve abandonded hope of putting out this piece in a timely manner and am just trying to get it done by the end of January. Only one part left after this! Content Warning - Graphic Violence & Blood Also on A03

Catra wakes soon after Adora leaves in the morning. Lounging in the heat she leaves behind; her morning is off to a good start. In winter, her skills in hunting are especially important and where Adora’s schedule is full of regulation and self-imposed mandates, Catra’s is much, much more relaxed. She stays in the heat of their blankets for almost an hour, basking, before she reluctantly rises from the bed. The wood panels of their floor are cold against her feet, despite the special knitted socks she made for herself. In winter, it is far too cold for her to walk barefoot, and her lack of a winter coat forces her to adapt their clothing to her needs.

She eats a simple breakfast, and gets her gear on for the hunt. In the cold, she abandons her Horde uniform for the comfort of a woolen sweater over the thin shirts they recovered from Thaymor. Simple trousers, thick enough for the cold but thin enough for her to move. She’s cut a button hole for her tail into almost every pair of pants they own, even those she never wears. At first because, someday, she might have to wear them. And when that proved untrue, she continued if only to see that cute crease in Adora’s brow when she accidentally threaded her belt into the seat of her pants. She wears a similar coat to Adora’s own deerskin, though hers has a lighter pattern overall and is lined with white fur. The lighter the better, in winter, as her own coat offers no camouflage against the snow.

She straps her quiver and bow onto her pack, tightly securing it through the loops. She would have to travel far to find anything today. As of recently, decent game was becoming harder and harder to find near their cabin, and it has been almost a week since they had anything besides squirrel stew in their stomachs. She pulls on her gloves, and her hand traces over the red mask sitting next to them. It’s been months since she last wore it, a present from Adora that was found in the scrapyards outside the barracks when Catra’s hair caused her to trip during training. The metal is too cold to wear in winter, and besides that, she feels an odd mix of nostalgia and contempt for it. It is the first gift she was ever given, but one she only needed because of the threat of another beating if she failed to perform. Catra slings the pack over her shoulder, and sets off into the morning chill.

She finds the trail of a herd of deer in the early afternoon, and heads south to track them. Some trails are easier to find in winter. Deer, foxes, and the precious few other animals that haven’t already fled the woods all make more visible trails in the standing white snow. Catra’s trail is no different and she must make her path harder to track when she returns to the cabin with a kill. She suspects the woods are helping her, disappearing her tracks in the night after she returns home. Despite their help and the soothing of Adora’s arms around her each night she still suffers little bouts of paranoia. A flash of red is all it takes or a rumbling sound like tank treads. Her hair stands on end in these moments, teeth clench, and her claws dig deep enough to prick at her palms. It passes, in time, but she watches the shadows closer after each moment. Careful of what might be in them. Adora’s says she’s seeing things. But Catra knows better.

A mile from their home she finds a row of tracks distinctly unlike any she’s seen in the woods before. They’re off her path. The deer are heading to sheltered areas to rest from feeding in the shallower banks near the southern border and are making their way further in to the woods to hunker down for a few days to conserve their energy. She’s about to follow them deeper into the woods when she spots the parallel lines of a sled and the deep footfalls in its wake. Each track was deep, uniform, and orderly. Moving northward, not in line with the deer at all, seemingly pointed directly towards the northern edge of the woods. This stretch of the Whispering Woods is thinner than others and it’s only a few more miles to the northern border from here. She observers the sides of the tracks, two lines as if it were just a pair walking but none of the tracks have clean sides to them. They’re all a touch too wide, and the tread marks below them are all jumbled with a mishmash of the same tread pattern. Horde regulation, parallel lines around a long oval in the center. A small company, with at least enough sense to try and hide their numbers.

It isn’t unheard of to send a scouting mission into the Whispering Woods in the winter. From what she overheard from those on active duty in the Horde, these missions were often sent out to establish a route through the woods that could be expanded over time. The goal isn’t just to reach the other side of the woods, but to also take stock of the terrain along the way. The Horde longs for a way across the Whispering Woods and their lethargy in winter makes for an easier target. The longer she thinks about it the more she is surprised it took them this long to send a team on this route. An aerial view surely reveals that this stretch of woods is the thinnest of all. Beyond that, what of their cabin? Could this scouting mission have an ulterior motive, and be sent here to look for the residents of an unknown structure that appeared in the middle of the woods? The possibilities haunt her, and the fear rises like a steady beat of drums filling her ears.

Her claws dig through the ends of her gloves before she realizes they’ve begun to unsheathe. She observes their points, the curvature of their ends and the sharpness they retain. Catra hasn’t used them against anything that wasn’t wood in a long while. They’re still sharp. And more than durable enough to pierce through Horde regulation armor.

Catra’s pace along their trail is steady. She locks away her fear as she walks, stuffs it as far down into her chest as she can until nothing is left where it once occupied. She cannot be delayed, for every moment they get a closer to finding her home.

Catching up to them takes her only an hour, and she sights them long before they would have a chance to notice her. Five of them, walking in formation at a slow pace, dragging a sled full of supplies in the middle of their number. She stalks them, keeping herself at a distance. The woods are cooperating with her. She can feel it in the bark of the trees, giving subtly to her touch and bending every so slightly to hide her form. They will never help her hunt animals, and they tell Adora it is because they must learn to hunt such creatures without aid. But the Horde are an exception. These scouts are the enemy, through and through, and there will be nothing held back when the moment comes.

The scouts stop at the crest of a large bank in a thicker part of the woods. The lead scout signals to the others behind them to take positions. They’ve spotted something further up the path. She reads their non-verbal commands, watches how they fan out to cover their angles and one of them drags the sled behind a snow bank and covers it in a white tarp. Their distraction gives her the opportunity to get closer, and she makes her way foot by foot as they set themselves. Whether the scouts’ ambush is successful or not matters little, so long as she can compromise their supplies, and without them these scouts will never see the outside of these woods. Starvation, the cold, or Catra herself. The only options she can afford to give them must all end in death.

As she nears the supplies the scouts arrange themselves in a haphazard “U” around a narrow point of the path ahead. From here she can see them all, ducking behind trees and hiding themselves in the snow. It’s effective enough camouflage, so long as their prey is only coming from one angle. This far up the bank she cannot see who the leader is tracking, but they are at the top of the formation and all the scouts are focused on their position for the time being. She makes her way to their supplies and carefully opens the tarp. They have rations enough to last a week, consisting of a burner and cup with several packages of tasteless soup and dried nuts and berries in little packages. She slashes the wires connecting the burner’s base to its fuel, and punctures holes in all the packages so that the contents spill and mix into a soggy mess. They have a surplus of tents, enough to fit six scouts comfortably and Catra makes short work of ripping out the corners and tearing large holes in the canvas with her carving knife. It’s slow, agonizing work to keep it silent, but she manages it when a gust of wind begins to howl around them, louder and louder as its pace quickens.

Just as she is stepping away and lowering the tarp she feels something moving near her boot. She jumps, claws outstretched but stops short when she sees that it is only the root of a tree, snaking subtly out of the snow. It perks up, almost like a snake, and taps at her foot before pointing towards the path in front of the scouts. She looks over, sees all the scouts still locked in formation, but now their prey is in sight. Two figures, huddles around a small device in the hands of the taller one are making their way down the path with the wind at their backs. Under their hoods Catra can just make out the purple-pink ends of the shorter one’s hair and the dark skin of the taller one. It takes her a moment, but recognition slowly sets in alongside a tight coil threading through her stomach.

The princess and her companion. The very same that had almost found her and Adora in the hollow tree they slept in on their first night in the woods. She looks closer and she can see the familiar flourishes of bright moon fashion about them and the bow upon the boy’s back. A princess of all things for Horde scouts to encounter this far into the woods, in the instant she sees the princesses hood fly back and spots her familiar, glittery face she wants to scream in frustration. Never mind a scouting mission, if they caught a princess that would mean Horde and Rebellion soldiers alike would be crawling all over the woods in just a few hours. A growl rises in her throat, thankfully lost to the wind and she paces once, claws extended and flexing as she frantically tries to come up with a plan.

The opportunity to do so, however, is taken from her as the leader motions for their troops to ready themselves. The princess and the boy are almost in the center of them. Catra no longer has time to plan her next movement. Impulse is all she has, and in the moment, she stalks forward and draws the knife from her belt.

Catra has little time to check how heavily armed the soldiers are. Two of them hold ranged stun batons, likely set to their lower capacity to subdue the princess and her companion. The other three are armed with double-side stun spears, close ranged weapons much like the staffs she used in training. The closest soldier to her is holding one of the batons, aimed at the boy who has his back turned to the solider while he tries to fix the princess’s hood. She stalks up quickly, the knife held tight in her right hand and pounces onto the scout. They yelp, stun baton firing off into the air as her weight impacts their side. She twists as the scout impacts the tree, thrusting the knife up and into the gap between their chest armor and helmet and into what she hopes is their shoulder. There is a momentary struggle, hands clutching at her wrists and she is thrown off them. She scrambles to her feet and is dimly aware of the sounds of baton fire over the wind to her left before she sees another scout is bearing down on her with spear.

She throws herself towards the baton and her claws scarp its edges just as the spear impacts her side. She isn’t hurt by the impact so much as she is startled, whipping around to try and catch it as it swings up to meet her chest. The impact hits low, knocking out her breath and she doubles over onto her hands and knees. From between her loose bangs she barely catches sight of the scout’s boot before it impacts her face. She falls to her stomach, teeth bared and seething at the pain blossoming from her nose as she collects herself the ground. There’s movement to her right, and instinct tells her there’s going to be another strike to her back any second now but the baton is just within reach. In flipping herself over she sees for an instant the scout with the spear raised high and then convulsing as the bolt from the stun baton strikes them in the chest. She scrambles to her feet, pausing only to let the baton’s energy run its course before digging her fingers into the crux of the scout’s elbow.

They cry out, and in her other hand she is able to easily wrest the spear from their grasp. With a twist of her waist she swings the spear down and strikes the scout’s shoulder, resting it there as she activates it. The energy arcs over the scout’s form for a moment before they slump over, unconscious.

Catra turns, spots the princess and the boy on the other side of the path. They have the leader of the scouts pinned against a tree’s roots with arrows, and the other is being swiftly tag teamed by the duo as the boy uses his bow to choke out the scout while the princess punches them in the gut. A moment’s rest is all she gets before the last scout is upon her, swinging wildly towards her head and screaming in rage. As the spear’s crackling swings over her she moves, training taking her through the motion and the spear in her hands jabs at the scout’s throat just hard enough to startle them. They freeze, a hand coming to their throat and in that moment, she swings again with the spear active, striking them in the back. They fall, limp and twitching for a moment. And then they are still.

As the fighting dulls Catra tries to calm herself. She is panting, breath visible in the cold air and terribly labored. There’s blood dripping from her nose, and when she goes to wipe it with her sleeve the she finds her grip on the spear is hard to loosen. The princess and the boy step around the scouts’ unconscious forms and begin to measure out lengths of rope. She watches, for a moment, still trying calm herself but before she can she is walking towards them.

“Stop.” Catra says, and her voice, at least, is still strong.

The boy jolts, and the princess turns to her with a snap.

“What—” the princess starts and Catra cuts her off with a hand.

“Just watch.” Catra says. They look to the scouts and see the roots of the trees emerging from the snow. The tips of each root wave in the air before curling over the bodies of the scouts like ivy, invading their armor and thick coats, digging deep and pulling them down into the cold and white. Catra looks back to the three she fought, and the trees are pulling them down too. A root tugs at the spear in her hand. She lets go, and the root quickly drags it below the snow, the very tip of it disappearing in a gentle cascade of white flakes. In its place the roots lift her knife, retrieved from the scout’s body and one of the roots gently wipes the blood from the blade. Too much blood. She must have missed.

The princess and the boy are staring at her. Catra tries to still her hand as she shakily takes the knife. In the corner of her eye she can see their faces as they watch, a near unreadable mixture of discomfort, some dawning horror as they realize what the woods is doing, and fear. Fear for her, or of her, she doesn’t know. But it could be useful either way.

And then the boy speaks.

“Well!” he says, and she can hear the discomfort in his voice as he steps away from where the scout’s body disappeared, “that was…pretty brutal.” At least he has eyes.

He smiles anyways and Catra can see the strain it carries at the edges. “Thanks for your help, by the way. I don’t know what we would’ve done if they’d gotten the drop on us.”

The princess glares at the boy for a second, crossing her arms. “We totally could’ve taken them, though.”

“Right,” Catra places the knife in its sheathe, keeping the princess’s gaze, “because a squad of scouts who totally didn’t have the drop on you were clearly too easy for you.”

The princess’s cheeks color and she looks ready to snap back at Catra but the boy interrupts, hands help up placatingly. “Hey! Hey, let’s not fight with the nice lady who just took down three Horde soldiers that could have killed us.” He gives the princess a pointed look, and for a moment it appears she isn’t going to back down before she huffs, snorting air out of her nose.

“Fine, thanks for helping us.” She says, looking away from Catra.

Catra narrows her eyes in response, and the boy steps forward with a hand outstretched and a renewed eagerness in his smile.

“I think we go off on the wrong foot,” he says, “I’m Bow, and this is Glimmer, and we’re very thankful for your help…?” He trails off. Oh, he expects her to tell them her name?

She sniffs at his hand, arms crossed. “You shouldn’t be here.”’

Incredibly, his smile doesn’t drop. But the princess steps forward now, stomping her foot. “The Whispering Woods is rebellion territory! If anyone shouldn’t be here its you, whoever you are!”

Catra hisses, and Bow grabs the princess’s shoulder, “Hey now, remember what I said. Let’s not fight the nice lady.” And in a lower voice, which Catra can just barely hear, “and let’s not forgot why we’re here. Y’know, diplomatic mission. Looking for the spirits of the woods, who are two ladies, one of whom has yellow and blue eyes.”

Glimmer cools, her expression tempering. “Yes, Bow, I get it.” She sighs, and rights her posture. She looks like she’s about to start some kind of speech when Catra decides she’s had enough.

“I appreciate the routine,” she isn’t, and the expression the princess makes threatens to tug up the edges of her frown, “but unless you have a reason to stay in the woods, you should leave. The woods are not safe for you.”

“Yeah, so we’ve noticed,” Bow says apologetically, “we’re just a little nervous. We haven’t really had the best luck with the whole diplomatic mission thing.”

“However!” Glimmer says, “since we’ve found you, we can complete that mission and let you get back to, well, whatever you were doing before.”

Great. “And what exactly is your mission?”

“On behalf of the kingdom of Bright Moon, we have come to offer our aid to the spirts of the Whispering Woods,” as she speaks, Bow moves to the side where their heavy pack was thrown during the attack and pulls out two cloth bundles of about the size of the princess’s head but no large than her ego that are tied with a bright blue thread, “as thanks for your assistance to our people over the last several months, the Queen asked us to personally see these gifts to you.”

“What do you mean, ‘spirits’?”

“It’s what the villager haves been calling you,” Bow explains, “well, you and that other lady. The tall one with the axe? People have seen you guys around after their things have been mysteriously fixed, and well, they figured that since people kept catching glimpses of two mysterious people in the woods that you must be some kind of benevolent spirits.”

So, the villagers were clearly crazy. Nothing surprising there.

Bow presents the bundles to Catra. She almost reaches out on reflex but stops short.

“And what exactly is in this…gift.”

“A little bit of bread, medicine, and a few things from the people in the villages nearby,” she picks them up as Bow explains, sniffing them before placing them in her pack, “most of these are offerings they wanted to make in thanks, but they weren’t sure how to get them to you. They asked us to take them with us, since we were coming out here to find you anyways.”

“Well, you found me.” She says, stepping back from him, “so, mission accomplished. Are you going now?”

“Well there was one last thing…” Bow starts, and Catra growls from behind her teeth.

Glimmer steps forward again and the sparkles that dance around her hair form a crown of glittering stars.

“As the eldest and only princess of Bright Moon, it is my responsibility to represent my people in the Princess Alliance. And as the only living residents of the Whispering Woods, we would like to extend to you our protection and an offer of membership.”

“You want me to do what?” They had to be kidding right? She looks between them, the relaxed but confident Bow and the eager princess.

Glimmer continues, gesturing with a hand to Catra, “Well, as a princess of the Whispering Woods, you would have as much opportunity as anyone to join the Princess Alliance.”

“What did you just call me?” They can’t be serious.

Glimmer raises an eye brow, “…A princess? I mean, you live out in the middle of the magical woods that no one but princesses can navigate? You’ve been credited with helping at least half the people bordering the woods? And the whole tree thing just now? That sounds like a princess to me.”

Catra snarls, claws flexing, “I am not a princess.”

Both of them take a step back as Catra’s tail lashes angrily behind her. Bow sets a hand, on Glimmer’s shoulder and his eyes lock on the dark tips of Catra’s lengthening claws.

“Okay, noted,” says the boy, holding up both of his hands, palms flat, “not a princess.”

Glimmer presses on, “Look, maybe you’re not a princess,” Catra hisses, “definitely not a princess, but you’re not with the Horde either. They’ve been trying to get through the Whispering Woods to get to us for years and they’re never going to stop until we end this war. If you join us, we will be that much closer to stopping them and then we can all live without the threat of them attacking us.”

The offer has its merits. Behind the seething anger she has at being called a princess of all things she can see her point. She and Adora are on borrowed time as it is. Shadow Weaver hasn’t found them yet, which is more a miracle than she dares ask for. But that wouldn’t last forever. The Horde would find a way to them, someday. And it would help them to have someone else in their corner when the time came.

But like hell was she going to take hand-outs from them.

“Look,” she says, voice quiet and angry, “we’ve been doing fine on our own. We don’t need princesses and we don’t need your alliance, either.”

The princess bristles, and just when Catra thinks she’s about to fire back she goes calm, taking a deep breath.

“Fine.” She says through clenched teeth, “but just know that Bright Moon and the Princess Alliance will ready to take you in if you change your mind.”

Catra’s tail lashes against the snow behind her, “Are you going now?”

The princess nods. She and the boy leave, and Bow leans in close as they get far enough away. She imagines him congratulating the sparkling girl on her reigning in her temper, and Catra would almost agree. She was half expecting the princess to explode, light up this whole are like a bomb full of sparkles and stars when she said no to her deal.

She stays still, eyes locked on their position until they fade from view. In their absence, her mind is free to wander, and her thoughts center upon the memory of the scout she pinned to the tree. Her claws retract, slowly. The presence of the knife on her belt becomes heavier, and heavier. This was not like hunting. She knows what to expect from animals, from the complete cycle of the tracking, stalking, and killing to the skinning and preparing of game. It is a defined process. Necessary. And this is to. The Horde is her enemy, and they will not hesitate to kill her if she gives them the chance. But in this moment, she cannot help the way her tail lowers as the memory of her blade disappearing into the scout’s armor fills her mind. Catra feels the weight of it surround her like some ghostly visage, warping its hand around her throat and dripping blood between her finger tips.

She comes back to a root poking at her ankle. She turns, and follows the root of the tree, which the woods bring out of the snow around her. An older tree, so she thinks, with dull brown and grey bark and large twisting branches. A knot on the face of the tree opens and twirls outwards, three twig-like appendages spiral together to form an arm that reachs out with four fingers to her, beckoning. She takes the offered hand, and the tree pulls her closer.

More twigs sprout from the tree’s surface and before she has the chance to regret her choices, they grip her forearm and tug her tightly against the surface of the tree. She panics, scratching at the bark around her. Tighter and tighter the twigs bind her to the tree, until she can hardly move except to breathe. She yowls, teeth bared, and as she strains her neck away another twig comes up around her head, wrapping tight to her ears.

And the she hears them, little whispers at the very edge of her hearing. She stills against the tree and all of the twigs fall limp at once. Besides the ones around her head, which shift around her ears. She can feel them caressing her inner ear, tickling the short fur inside before going still. She reaches up, and feels the petals of lowers blooming around her ears. She takes out the carving knife and looks at her reflection in the blade’s polish. Around her face, in a similar fashion to the mask she once wore, is an arrangement of twigs and white blossoms. Two flowers, white and vibrant with near luminescent petals sit at the base of her ears, and from them thin branches of smooth grey and brown wood frame the sides of her face. She reaches up with one hand, tracing the side of it as the whispers increase in volume.

They are the woods. The Whispering Woods. They apologize for the abruptness of their actions, and she feels it like a wave around her, as if she is somehow connected to each tree. The crown they have given her, so they explain, is a way for them to communicate to her just as they have with Adora. It will only last so long as the flowers around her ears are in bloom, but can be gifted from any tree if she asks for it. She doesn’t speak aloud, but the woods seem to feel her questions as they form. They assure her, this gift was long coming. They were waiting for the right moment, conserving their energy for something they knew was inevitable, and that now was that very moment.

Catra closes her eyes and they show her a clearing, far from her, with four crystal spires standing before a much larger one. In the clearing she can see Adora and Madame Razz, approaching the largest spire. Adora’s lips move as she touches something on the spire’s face and though she cannot hear her words she can feel the rush of fear from the woods as they do. Light flashes from the place where Adora’s hand makes contact and the face of the spire splits open. She watches the sword, in its true form, spark to life like a beacon at Adora’s side.

And then the vision is over. She can feel the fear rippling through the woods like a wave. To her left, the snow shifts as the roots beneath shift, shoveling the snow away and opening a path. They urge her, and she can hear them distinctly now, the chorus of their unified voice broken into a cacophony of panicked voices, urging her to go after Adora.

She runs, as fast as she can.

#catradoraweek2018 #catradora #catra #adora #she-ra #spop

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insomniac-dot-ink · 6 years

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Blue Shoes, CH1

Genre: wlw, urban fantasy, supernatural

Words: 3.7k

Summary: A story of a werewolf that is becoming more wolf than girl and a witch with no powers waitressing at a local diner.

How do you save someone from them self when both parties are particularly hard headed and prone to pouts of self-destruction, a study

Tipping:

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Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

Chapter 1: The Girl at Table 12

warning for mentions of past injury and puking

When I was seven I passed a cat huddling from a thunderstorm under an old brown truck. It was a gnarled brutish thing with wet fur plastered to it’s back and mud caking it’s side. It must have been caught in a small mudslide or maybe crawling through the trenches of Vietnam. One or the other.

It had deep cuts on its forearms, stark indents that stood out against it’s grey fur, I couldn’t tell if they were new or not. Some of its whiskers looked like they were singed off- by fire or bad kids or a world that threw cats to the devil and locked the door.

Under the mud there were obvious mats and tangled fur that weighed heavy on it, making it look beefier than it was.

It’s eyes were angry slits and teeth bared like a barbed-wire fence, at the time I approached the battered cat because that was the sort of girl I was back then. I put my hand out and looked at it’s huddling mud streaked body, I waddled closer to the car and peaked underneath, “The rain will stop soon.” A promise. The cat hissed softly, it’s lips pulled back against sharp yellow teeth and eyes glowing amongst the dimness. I adjusted my little pink raincoat and don’t even cry when I hear another thunderclap far away.

The cat doesn’t budge, I stick my bottom lip out.

“Come on kitty,” I reached out under the truck, maybe I planned to grab it by the scruff like I’d seen mama cat’s do with kittens. Maybe I thought it needed a hug.

It’s hard to remember exactly why I wanted to touch the mangy thing, but the pain was hard to forget. A red hot sticky shock that shot across the center of my hand, a long bloody gash across the back that tore deep into the skin. I screamed and jumped back, reeling from the attack, the cat hissing loudly and arched it’s back as it stayed in place.

That’s the day I got my first rabies shot.

That cat was mangy, wretched, and looked like it had gone through basic training with a wind storm. I remember that cat when she walks through the door that night and a single thought goes through my head: she looks worse.

It was 3am, closer to 4, and I my eyes were unfocused on a TV monitor as an ad for a bowflex machine comes on. Just 29.99, order now.

We had been watching Comedy Central a second ago but Bernie had heard a word bleeped out and reminded us this was a family establishment. I snorted, because it wasn’t like any kids were hunkering down with us right now.

She came in just as the bowflex lady stretched her muscles and smiled into the camera, sparkling. I was in an ad-induced stupor by the counter at the time- still sulking from having lost the rock-paper-scissors tournament 3 hours ago.

It had almost turned into a knife-fight when Bernie had announced one of us could go home early, meaning avoiding the curfew and not being trapped in here until sunrise.

Of course, I would have been here anyway, I needed the extra shift, but it was the principle of the matter. Being forcibly locked into your place of work with customers was probably one of the rings of hell.

The girl who walked in through door probably had seen some of those rings and then some. I could have gotten her in trouble for escaping around past 11, but I wasn’t about to call the sheriff or curfew hotline or whatever it was they set up.

I blink a couple times and go very stiff.

My mouth hung open and one of the few patrons in the joint gasps lowly. It was the heavy-smoking lady who had been murmuring to the busboy about her lousy husband and last divorce and bad hay fever for hours now.

She falls silent, I blink again.

The figure’s clothes are torn from Sunday to Tuesday, long strips of dirt-caked fabric trailing on the ground after them and hanging loosely off the person’s body, like mummy wrappings. Under the clothes is muddy-cracked skin and visible small cuts.

Her posture was loose and weighted, like something immense rested on her shoulders tops and unbalanced her spine.

She sagged at every corner like a tattered doll filled with sand, her face was covered by chin-length dark hair that was also full of dirt clumps and at least 2 twigs and a couple crumpled leaves. Her head hung almost to her chest and I can’t make out her expression.

I squint my eyes at it all, of course this would happen at 3am. It was always something.

“Are you... okay?” I ask cautiously and wait for something,

She was barefoot and limping toward the counter, I stand up straight and summon up the ancient words: ‘sorry ma’am, no shirt, no shoes, no service.’ But the words don’t come and she keeps walking. I catch her eyes for just a moment as she passes, the briefest heart beat as she glances up through her dirty bangs. Her gaze is dark and bloodshot, veins as bright red as hot irons.

Red as harlot’s lipstick, red as a cardinals breast, red as sin and every time I cut my knee in gym class.

“Fine,” she says in one breathless tired word, finally answering my question and then turning away. She didn’t look fine.

She limps toward the very distant corner table and collapses into the booth, I’m remembering that damn feral cat that mauled me.

“Ronnie,” I turn around in tight circles and try to locate the busboy on duty, he’s standing slacked jawed at the other side of the room. I bustle over in his direction. “Where’s Bernie?” I hiss at him, moments like these made me grateful for a manager.

Ronnie just looks at me dumbly and his eyes dart back over to the new customer. “Casey...”

“Excuse me,” I hear a ragged thin voice croak across the small diner, it sounds like it’s been dragged across the ocean floor- full of salt and brine.

The two homeless men and Dolores eye the newcomer. She seems to sway back and forth in place, “Could I have a water?”

I turn my head slowly, the red bloodshot eyes coming for me again. They are hazy and sunken into her head, like shadows of themselves, I flinch.

“Uh,” I clear my throat.

“If you could… please,” the voice says faintly, I hear someone moving before I do.

Ronnie pivots toward the kitchen and quickly brings out a glass of tap water, he always was a better person than me with his small face and large round blue eyes. He flashes me a look that says he’s not going to be covering my tables all night though.

I take a deep breath and turn toward the kitchens, “Bernie,” I call out and make a beeline for the freezer, “Bernie, we have a thing.”

I wander in past the grills where our one chef on duty is filing her nails down to a blunt point, we ignore each other. Sam immersed in trying to rid herself of fingertips and me in trying not to get lectured on etiquette at just that moment. I hear coughing from the back room and make a sharp turn, kicking a box aside as a reach for the door.

I yank the pantry open, “Hey!” I say loudly as an older woman with a pinched look on her face sits up. She has tight steel gray curls and a flat-iron mouth that didn’t lend itself to smiling.

She shifts her generous body toward me, turning on the floor and facing the light. Her curls are flat on one side where she must have been napping on a sack of potatoes.

“It’s my fucking lunch break,” she says waving her hand in the air, “go handle whatever it is on your own.” I set my jaw, “someone just walked in from, I dunno, the set of a disaster movie,” I shift from foot to foot, “she might be tripping or something.” That should get Bernie’s attention, I would bring up the bloodshot eyes in a moment I needed to.

“Casey,” Bernie says slowly, pitchedly, “you can either handle it or handle my foot up your ass. It’s been eight hours since my last break.” The ‘fuck you’ energy was very high in the air and I take a deep resigned breath.

“If I get stabbed tonight I’m suing,” I say with my shoulders hunched and back straight, Bernie chuckles.

“Duck and weave my girl,” she shakes her head, “it’s not like we haven’t had transients in here before.” Bernie was closing her eyes again, I only sigh. “Handle it.”

“Yeah, but most of them don’t have ‘murder scene’ written all over them.” The rabies shot in the ass feels like a phantom pain right then. Bernie rolls over and starts ignoring me.

I reluctantly wander back into the main area and try not to look into the corner, Ronnie is still eyeing me. His chin is jutted out and he doesn’t stop looking very fixedly in my direction.

“What?” I finally ask and Ronnie raises his eyebrows and his eyes dart over to table 12.

“That’s your table.” He says in his pale, quiet voice.

I grind my teeth, “You’re the one that served her!” I murmur lowly to him and he wrinkles his nose. “You want me to tell Louis you’re shirking your tables again?” It was a threat, his huge eyes shrinking into darts. He reminded me of a little brother threatening to tell mom and I straighten my back.

“Whatever,” I turn away and clench my hands, “fine.” It’s not like I hadn’t handled worse, it was Gilford.

I meander my way back over to the war-zone victim and raise my eyebrows.

She lifts her head slowly and I see thin cut marks along her chin and cheeks. I take my place next to her and lift a notepad up and give a smile, “Welcome to Sue’s Diner, can I get you anything?”

I input the usual phrase and watch curiously to see what would come out.

The girl was already done with her first glass of water, I made a mental note to go get another one along with filling up Arthur’s coffee cup on the way over.

She seems to swallow dryly and I wait for a good minute before anything actually happens. Her eyes are dull and distant, like looking off into a dark ocean. I have a strange memory of one of my classmates having this same look on his face when he was trying an experimental drug called ‘Eevee’ for the first time.

She swallows again and her head tilts to the side, “are you Sue?” I make a face, I had gotten that question before. I lean over her instead, “nope,” I put on The Usual Smile, “jus’ the next best thing.” The girl gives me a lost, almost desperate look, her eyes glaze over and I wait another long moment. “Casey.” I glance down at my employee name tag, “that’s me?” It was a question. Somehow her demeanor was making me feel a little lost too, was I Casey? Was I in purgatory? Was a stuck in a diner with a bunch of strangers and someone probably on the worst drug-trip of their life? Possibly.

It was Gilford.

She reaches out and I take a mild step backward, I don’t know what she’s reaching for, but she comes up empty and then slumps over again.

“Uh,” I take another step back, she reeks of fresh earth, blood, and something I might describe as ‘fungus.’ I consider really calling the cops, she was out past curfew and… up to something, but I’m also not in the mood for making a statement to the cops.

She retracts her hand and takes a deep rattling breath, she looks around, “Can I have an omelette with… eggs?” I take it as a good sign she’s still talking, a bad sign that she was about to make Customer of the Month (a little award among the staff to counter ‘Employee of the Month’).

“What type, hun?” I ask slowly while her looks like her head is about to spin, I wait. “We have Denver Omelette, Vegetarian Omelette, Egg-ceptional Omelette, Pennsylvania Delight, and Mexican omelette.” She nodded her head up and down continually as if processing that and I was afraid it might get stuck in that motion. Another long awkward pause descends.

“What was the first one?” She finally asks.

“Denver Omelette.” “And second one?” She was definitely winning Customer of the Month. I smile instead, “Veggie.” She lulls her head back and seems to contemplate the ceiling, this was taking a lot of waiting.

She clears her throat, “What’s your favorite?” “Oh,” I pretend to think, “If you’re looking for eggs, the Egg-ceptional one is the one for you.” The girl looked ten seconds away from passing out, “can I have that… and pancakes. And hot chocolate. And bacon. And another omelette.” I write that all down and I have feeling I was about to experience Dine and Dash or Dine and Die on Me. “How will you be paying today, cash or credit?” I should at least check.

I raise my eyebrows when the girl pulls out a muddy wallet from God knows where, she yanks out a filthy fifty from the front pocket. “Cash.” She puts her down on the table. “And just… call my name when it’s ready.” “And what’s your…?” The girl’s head was on table, “What’s your name hun?”

She had stopped responding, her messy hair was splayed out on the table and forehead pressed down into the wood.

I consider poking her to check her vitals or something, but touching a sleeping Dirt Monster was also a good way to get stabbed (pictured: waitress, listening to bowflex commercials, pictured: waitress making headlines as ‘cute latina girl in a tragic dirt-and-knife-and-poking accident’).

I turn around and go stiffly back to the kitchen, I knock on the walls as I walk in, “We got an order Sam.” Sam Honey sticks her head of the kitchen window, done with her nail business it seemed. “Lovely!” She was always way too cheery for night shifts, I had a few theories on this but none of them held much water. “I was getting so bored back here.”

I hand over the paper, “don’t spit in it or anything. This ones a livewire.” “Never, I would never,” she looks actively appalled at the idea, giving me the Come to Jesus look and then disappearing with the order.

I hear the shuffling of feet and Ronnie makes it to my side again, like a little shadow that was happy to appear and disappear according to the rules of Social Anxiety.

“Did she say anything weird to you?” He asks curiously.

I shrug, “like what? ‘My shower broke and hey, a diner seemed ideal right now.” “She on something,” He frowns, “cocaine?” I give a thin smile, “My money is on acid.” Sam comes out in a few minutes and she bets on really strong weed. I roll my eyes at that and we get a small pool going.

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

I was shifting from foot to foot.

Hrrrrrnk

I wince, a loud snore fills the restaurant.

Hrrrnk

I hold the plates of hot food a little higher. “Okay,” I breath deeply but not through my nose, “alright.”

Hrrrrnk

She sounded a little like she choking on a piece of wet paper while snorting a packet of koolaid (something I had done and was not proud of).

I bump the side of the table with my hip, “hey,” I bump a little harder, “foods here ma’am.”

I don’t get so much as a wiggle from her, I wrinkle my nose, I didn’t plan on touching her at that exact moment. I put one plate of food down and reach for a sugar packet.

“This is for both of our own goods,” I shake the sugar packet, “so like… you should still tip.” I throw the sugar packet directly at her nose, she twitches.

“Hey lady!” I say again and throw a second sugar packet at her. “Come on.” Third sugar packet.

“Ah!” The packet bounces off her chin and the girl startles awake, throwing herself completely backward and her red eyes darting around quickly. Her chest heaved as she look back and forth, “where the hell am I?” I take a deep steady breaths, maybe she was better now. “Foods here.” I deposit the large tray of eggs and pancakes and a hot chocolate in front of her.

She blinks a couple times, seeming to process this. “Thanks.” I just nod, “there you go hun. Take your time.” It was almost 5am by then, one more hour of the curfew and then I could go home.

She just blinks one more time and picks up a fork with her dirty hand, I contemplate pointing out we had a perfectly good bathroom to wash her hands in.

The girl was already shoving food into her mouth, “it’s June.” I pause, the girl was halfway through choking down one of her omelettes, she mumbles, “June.” “Okay?” “For my name,” she says slowly, “when waking me up. You could have called June.” I just nod ever so slightly, “I’ll keep that in mind.” I turn my back on the odd girl and let her continue eating or whatever it is vacuuming up eggs into your mouth is.

I fill up another coffee cup for Arthur and slip back behind the counter, I exhale deeply as I see the back of Bernie’s head, finally come from her lunch break.

“Looks like we have a full staff again.” I say loudly and see Bernie whip around to look at me.

Her mouth is a hard line, harder than usual, “Get rid of that one.” My heart drops into my shoes, my brow folds in, “you told me to handle it.” I feel like a five-year-old stomping her feet at her mom. “I did. Plus, she does have money.” “I can’t expect you lot to take care of anything, can I?” Bernie was keeping a fine curdling glare on her face, “bunch of incompetents!”

I imagine retracting my hands around the older woman’s throat, “I handled it.”

Bernie keeps going, “She’s not wearing shoes!”

Ronnie shifted back and forth, “she’s got money.” Bernie tuts, “no shirt, no shoes, no service, how hard is that? And what if the sheriff comes in, we’ll have to explain letting in curfew-breakers.”

I make a face, “it’s not like we have to tell them.” Bernie was still mumbling to herself, “and what were you betting on with Sam? Cocaine? Whiskey? Weed? I don’t need that nonsense here.” I could have groaned so loudly my soul left my body, “look, she’ll just eat and leave.” I fold my hands over my chest, feeling the need to defend my choices. “It’s not a big deal.” Bernie grumbles at me, “Casey, what did I tell you? Handle it, did you? No.” I push my sunflower-yellow hair away from my face, “seriously?” She folds her arms over her chest, “seriously.”

I growl, “what do you want me to do?” Bernie jabs her fingers toward the table, “get her out, call an ambulance, do something like you should have done before.” I groan loudly and get torn between making money and joining a ‘punched your boss before you starved on the street’ club. It we weren’t all stuck here and if I wasn’t one of the few people who was long-term at this job I might have had a go at her. Instead, all of our sleep-deprived asses mentally flip each other off and go our separate ways.

The girl is still eating.

Bernie pokes my side before she leaves, “now.” I push my hair back in frustration and go little by little back to table 12. It takes all my willpower not to just take my apron off and declare myself jobless.

I creep up to the same table again, she’s eating slowly, taking one huge bite after the next, stripping pieces off and chewing meticulously, like it hurt her. She is just as worn and malaise as before.

I clear my throat and wait for her to look up.

Like before, she takes a clean minute to lift her head. “Hello?” She seemed lost again, I huff tiredly. “We’re closing in a few minutes.” It was a good a lie as any.

The girl, June, looks back in a daze. “I have money.” “I know.” I itch my wrist, “we’re just… closing.”

“Can’t go.” She keeps eating, “I need… this.” I rake a hand through my split-ends, which were plentiful after too many dye jobs and not enough conditioner.

June was still taking even ginormous bites, I square my shoulders.

“I can get you like… five more minutes, but you do have to leave. The pool should have local showers? Only a few bucks. You could go there.” She shakes her head, “where is this?” She asks in her same cracked, weary tone.

I tilt my head to the side, “the pool is down Warring street and-” “No.” She pauses and covers her mouth, “where is all of this?” “Uh,” I scratch the back of my neck, “Gilford.” She raises her eyebrows, “oh,” she says slowly, “good.” I make a face, I rarely ever heard someone be happy to get stuck in Gilford. I examine her one last time, “the sheriff comes around at 6.” She takes another long moment, “Cool.” “You might want to head out before then.” Her big hazy eyes look back at me and we exchange a very long look, maybe I’m looking for white powder under her nose or the smell of skunk. She covers her mouth again.

“I don’t feel well.” “I know,” I try to sound soothing, “do you need to call someone? We could get you someone.” You just need to go.

She just shakes her head, “Waitress, Casey, I.” “Yeah?” I ask cautiously, June sways back and forth, I prompt again, “yes?”

She looks up at me, eyes empty and distant. “You’re beautiful.” Her face was pale and empty. I tilt my head, “You don’t look so g-”

The girl violently jerks forward and a loud retching wet sound follows, I don’t have a second to react as warm lumpy liquid cascades down onto my blue converse. Eggs and pancakes and hot chocolate slurry hits my shins and my entire body seizes up.

My face contorts, “fuck.”

That’s how I learn the lesson about large feral cats all over again.

#wlw #sapphic #urban fantasy #werewolves #original writing #witches #original story #blue shoes #f/f #my work #supernatural romance #TW for blood

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rannadylin · 6 years

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Soul and Shield: Chapter 8

Previously: Chapter 1; Chapter 2; Chapter 3; Chapter 4; Chapter 5; Chapter 6; Chapter 7 - or catch up quicker on AO3!

Look at Xipil just racking up the word count here. Way more dialogue than he got in Clan and Court. ;-)

This is the sequel to Clan and Court, in which Watcher Violet, Priest of Eothas, welcomed her enormous clan to Caed Nua just in time to go investigate things in Dyrford. If you haven’t read that yet, start there and meet a few of her siblings who are recurring characters in this sequel. Bonuses in the sequel include: Aloth! Lenneth! (but not as a Watcher) More of Vi’s siblings, including Garivald being the mayor of their city! And plenty of mysteries to solve, Leaden Key to interfere, relationships to navigate, and oh yes, they still have that betrothal contract to deal with, technically.

Soul and Shield: Chapter 8

Word Count: 1K

Rating: PG

Read it here or on AO3

Crouched in the cover of a row of ceiba trees bordering the temple grounds, Xipil voiced his most convincing crow call once more. At his side, Yaotl vibrated with a low whine, eager to inspect the fox pelt propped up as a decoy in the grass, but Xipil shushed him. They waited to see if any of the night-dark birds would fly in, drawn to the hunter’s call, or ganging up to pick a fight with the supposed fox, but the afternoon skies were clear. Could be the other temple hunters were simply doing their job well in the months Xipil had been away. He finally resolved to try again in the early morning, when the crows should be more active. Should be able to get in an hour or two hunting them before Mother would be ready for visitors.

Yaotl ranged ahead of his master as they walked back toward the temple to stow the decoy pelt. The hound seemed set on reacquainting himself with every rabbit hole and bush on the grounds. Xipil slowed his walk to let him explore longer, and took the long way around, walking parallel to the broad base of the temple.

An excited bark drew his attention to Yaotl, darting from an achiotl shrub with its spiny red-brown fruits halfway back to his master before barking and running back to the shrub again, nosing at something beneath its branches. Xipil followed and bent to see what his dog had found.

A dove lay dead there. One of those from the temple rookery? Had it fallen prey to the crows that the hunters were employed to protect the temple birds from? Xipil frowned as he looked the dove over; not a mark on it.

Nearby, Yaotl barked again, calling Xipil to a similar find: a dead hummingbird this time. Like the dove, pristine but lifeless. The hound sniffed out two more small birds lying still in the grasses before Xipil reached the side door of the temple nearest the chamber where he stored the fox pelt along with the rest of the hunters’ gear. With that tucked away, he took the steps up to the rookery two at a time in his haste.

The coos of the dozens of doves housed in one of the temple’s high towers still filled the space with a crowded and calming hum as Xipil walked between the aviary enclosures. But one in three of the birds he saw looked droopy, listless, their feathers unnaturally fluffed as they hunkered down, clinging to their roosts above seed bowls going untouched.

Along the far wall of the rookery, an acolyte bent to stoke the flames in the chamber’s fireplace. Bits of curly red hair twined loose from the crown of braids circling her head. Her forehead glistened with sweat as she leaned over the hearth, muttering to herself. “Not going to get much warmer. Maybe that’s enough. I’ll change their water again, and…”

She trailed off and glanced over her shoulder to see Xipil watching. “Oh, hello,” she said, swiping sweat from her brow with a sleeve of her robes. Her eyes fell on the bow at Xipil’s back. “Oh. You’re a temple hunter, yes? I think I’ve seen you around.”

Xipil nodded, then looked back to the rows of listless doves. “What’s wrong?”

The acolyte sighed. “Wish I knew. Sometimes a dove gets sick, fluffs up like that and won’t eat, and we isolate it, keep it warm, hand feed it. But look at them. So many. All at once, too. It’s not like one of them caught something and it started spreading. Just all at once, it’s like they’re fading.”

“Since when?” Xipil asked.

She pursed her lips in thought, her ears swooping in low arcs. “A few days? That’s when I noticed they weren’t all eating, at least. Especially the littlest ones. It’s so strange. They don’t seem...sickly, exactly. Just still. They sit there and fluff up and won’t eat even when I try to hand feed them. They stop cooing, stop looking at anything much. The weakest ones started dying yesterday, but even the bigger birds can’t go long without eating.” She swiped the sleeve at her face again, this time aiming not for the sweat but for the corners of her eyes. “I can’t do anything for them. Is it a sign? A plague? I’ve never heard of something like this happening to the doves, but it can’t be anything good.”

Xipil lowered his head in agreement. The acolyte, giving up on the blazing fire, gathered up a pouch of the squash pulp prepared for hand feeding and let herself into a little door in the wire frame of the aviary that kept the birds safe in their roosts. Xipil followed for a closer look at the sick birds, motioning to Yaotl to stay put outside the aviary. While the acolyte tried in vain to coax a dove to take a bit of squash from her fingertips, he tried to provoke a reaction from another of the birds. No amount of stroking its feathers, or rubbing under its beak, or tickling under its wings had any effect. The bird sat motionless and silent through it all, like no dove Xipil had ever seen. It might as well have been dead and stuffed and wired back into place on its branch to simulate -- very poorly -- a live bird. Yet it was certainly not dead yet.

While the two of them were thus occupied with the doves, a quiet thump from the other end of the aviary caught their attention. Xipil was nearest. He approached and bent to find that at least one of the affected birds had given up on its simulation of life. Lifting the limp form gently, he met the acolyte’s wide, sad eyes and shook his head.

“Shining God, forgive us,” she whispered, tense with waiting tears. Outside the aviary frame, Yaotl’s sympathetic whine voiced Xipil’s own sorrow and worry.

He went with her to bury the bird in the temple gardens, along with those Yaotl had found outside, even the hummingbird -- Hylea’s favored side by side with Eothas’. He squeezed the acolyte’s hand when the tears came in lieu of the words she could not find. And when she slipped back into the temple to continue her fruitless vigil over doves that had lost their will to live, Xipil quietly slipped back home, thinking of his mother.

#pillars of eternity #pillars of eternity fanfiction #PoE fanfic #orlans #ixamitl plains #xipil itzli #yaotl the hound #csi: citlatl #soul and shield #the plot thickens?#from the desk of ranna

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livinginlandmarketing · 4 years

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This year has been challenging to say the least. As live events around the world were canceled or postponed due to the coronavirus pandemic, we hunkered down to slow the spread.

While we missed crowding into mosh pits and singing at the top of our lungs at concerts, stuffing our faces with popcorn at movie theaters and slapping high fives and raising a plastic cup of beer to cheer at sporting events, event promoters in Southern California got creative. Various companies managed to produce numerous socially-distanced drive-thru and drive-in style events where we were able to safely congregate and catch a buzz of normalcy.

Here are the favorite socially-distanced events of 2020 from Southern California News Group entertainment reporters Kelli Skye Fadroski and Richard Guzman.

Andrew McMahon at Drive-In OC

City National Grove of Anaheim

After four months without live concerts in Southern California, Dana Point native Andrew McMahon played three sold-out nights at Drive-In OC in Anaheim in July. For a few hours, the stress of the global pandemic took a backseat and fans danced and sang from their individually marked squares and enjoyed snacks and drinks delivered directly to their spot. It was weird, but it was cool. — Kelli Skye Fadroski

Dodgers Holiday Festival at Dodger Stadium in Los Angeles on Wednesday, December 2, 2020. (Photo by Keith Birmingham, Pasadena Star-News/ SCNG)

Dodgers Holiday Festival

Dodger Stadium, Los Angeles

There was no parade after the best team in baseball won the 2020 World Series. But Dodger fans could celebrate the win and the holidays at this drive-thru event. It opened in late November and has been extended through Jan. 3. Elves sport Dodger uniforms; cars drive between two walls that replay World Series highlights; there are giant bobbleheads and World Series rings along the path; and it all ends with a giant replica of the 2020 World Series trophy. It may have been only 5 feet tall, but it was bathed in an angelic white light. — Richard Guzman

Scott Cooper lifts Sarah Moser during The Elf on the Shelf’s Magical Journey Drive-Thru Experience at Fairplex Pomona on November 12, 2020. (Photo by Drew A. Kelley, Contributing Photographer)

The Elf on the Shelf’s Magical Journey Drive-Thru Experience

Fairplex, Pomona

Santa’s sleigh has crash landed in Pomona and his Elf on the Shelf buddies are out trying to conjure enough Christmas spirit to get the big man on his way. The drive-thru event which started in mid-November and runs through Jan. 3 includes brightly lit, oversized props and actors dressed as elves doing cirque-style routines and encouraging guests to express their Christmas spirit (which is measured throughout the experience). KF

Troy Stroh, left and Abraham Flores Work to prepare food for drivers at the Hawaiian Chicken Bowls booth during the Fair Food Drive-Thru event at the OC Fairgrounds in Costa Mesa, CA, on Friday, September 4, 2020.(Photo by Jeff Gritchen, Orange County Register/SCNG)

Fair Food Drive-Thrus

Del Mar Fairgrounds, Del Mar; OC Fair & Event Center, Costa Mesa; Angel Stadium, Anaheim

With all of the county fairs shut down this year, the fairgrounds and various fair food vendors pivoted to a drive-thru food experience. Del Mar started hosting events in July, followed by the OC Fair from August through October and then Angel Stadium in November and December. Guests could drive up to various familiar stands and food trucks and snag to-go eats such as jumbo turkey legs, deep-fried Oreos and Snickers bars, Krispy Kreme doughnut burgers, buckets of cotton candy and more. KF

Happy Place the Drive-Thru had 18 larger-than-life experiences and interactive moments including the world’s first giant piano you play with your car, a rainbow road and a pulsating nightclub in the parking structure of the Westfield Century City Mall in Los Angeles on Friday, November 20, 2020. (Photo by Keith Birmingham, Pasadena Star-News/ SCNG)

Happy Place: The Drive Thru

Westfield Century City Mall

Everyone needed to find their happy place this year and this drive-thru event, created by Calabasas resident Jared Paul, opened in late November and runs through Jan. 10. It’s made up of things designed to simply make you smile and forget about everything else. There were unicorns, lots of bright colors, a nightclub, beach scenes and upbeat music, including REM’s ” Shiny Happy People,” on full blast. RG

A drive-thru Halloween attraction included free pumpkins and basket-loads of candy tossed into cars. (Photo by Richard Guzman)

Haunt O’Ween

Westfield Promenade, Woodland Hills

Kids couldn’t trick or treat this year but throughout most of October they could ride through a Halloween-themed town at this drive-thru event that included a brightly lit pumpkin tunnel and a pumpkin patch where each car received a pumpkin. But the best part was the Town of Haunt O’Ween, which was made up of house facades where scary characters like mummies and ghosts stood by to toss basket loads of candy into cars. RG

Comedian Monty Franklin entertains crowds during the Irvine Improv’s Drive-In Comedy Series at the Irvine Spectrum Center. (Photo by Justin Gill, Levity Live)

Improv’s Drive-In Comedy Shows

Irvine Spectrum, Irvine; SilverLakes Equestrian and Sports Park, Norco

Bringing the intimate in-person experience of a comedy club outside was no easy feat but it still delivered on laughs. In September, Improv finally decided to give drive-in comedy a shot and hosted drive-in style evenings with Brad Williams, Fortune Feimster, Maz Jobrani, Carlos Mencia, Craig Robinson and Felipe Esparza. The Irvine club held its shows atop a parking structure at the Irvine Spectrum and the Ontario club moved its events to SilverLakes Equestrian and Sports Park in Norco. KF

A stilt walker greets visitors to the Night of Lights OC drive-thru experience at the OC Fair & Event Center in Costa Mesa on Wednesday, December 9, 2020. (Photo by Leonard Ortiz, Orange County Register/SCNG)

Night of Lights OC Drive-Thru Experience

OC Fair & Event Center, Costa Mesa

The producers of the annual Winter Fest OC switched up their annual event and created an elaborate drive-thru experience with over 1 million lights, numerous light tunnels, themed lands and several costumed actors spreading holiday cheer. Though this event faced some drama before it officially opened earlier in December, in the end the team was able to create a beautiful experience that complied with all of the COVID-19 safety regulations and the California curfew. It runs through Jan. 10. KF

Jamie Kennedy performs during Magic Asphalt, a bi-weekly comedy show in the parking lot of the Magic Castle in Los Angeles on Sunday, October 11, 2020. (Photo by Drew A. Kelley, Contributing Photographer)

Magic Asphalt: Drive-In Comedy Under the Stars

Parking lot at the Magic Castle, Hollywood

This drive-in stand-up comedy series happens in the parking lot of the Magic Castle where flashing headlights and waving LED-lit noisemakers shaped like little hands that made a loud clanking sound replace cheers and claps at this ongoing bi-weekly event, which started in mid-August. People stayed safely in their cars as comedians such as Kevin Nealon, Bill Burr, Jay Pharoah, Michael Rappaport and Jamie Kennedy took the stage. RG

Master magician and apparitionist Aiden Sinclair lead an online ghost hunt at the Queen Mary on Halloween weekend. (Photo by Kevin Sullivan, Orange County Register/SCNG)

Queen Mary Ghost Hunt

Queen Mary, Long Beach

The storied ship, which has long been rumored to be haunted and now operates as a hotel, is closed due to the pandemic. That means it’s completely empty and the only thing on board are the spirits who haunt the vessel, making it the perfect setting for “The Dark Zone Live: Queen Mary Virtual Haunt and Music Festival.” The event took place on Halloween weekend and included surveillance cameras placed in some of the ship’s most haunted areas that were accessible 24-hours a day. As paranormal researchers walked through the ship, viewers were able to go check on the rooms at all hours of the day and night, and, yes, weird stuff happened. RG

-on December 23, 2020 at 11:47PM by Kelli Skye Fadroski, Richard Guzman

#riversidenews

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unchartedterritoria · 7 years

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Dangerous (Sam Drake x OC) - Chapter 5

In case you don’t want to read it here, you can find it on A03:

Dangerous Chapter 5 A03 Link

Previous chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4

Chapter Summary: Faith and Sam are stuck together until morning, will they make it through the night?

Sam flung open the door and walked inside his shabby motel room. He threw the key on the wooden table near the window and drew the faded green plaid drapes closed. Faith shut the door behind her and looked around the room. Double bed with flowered comforter, bathroom with yellow lighting, cheap wooden table with two chairs. All the staples of your sixty dollar a night motel room. She sat down on the end of the bed, putting her head in her hands grinding the palms of her hands into her eyes. Nothing in the last two hours made any sense. She was told that she held a priceless piece of history in her possession, with the possibility of finding more, and it came to her mysteriously from her dead mother's hope chest. She had just witnessed a gunfight and more anarchy than a Michael Bay movie. And to top it all off, she was now sitting in a hotel room with a perfect stranger in an evening gown and heels. She thanked god that they were of a sensible height or running out of that museum in them would have been impossible.

Sam shucked out of his tux jacket and threw it over the back of one of the wooden chairs. He fished his phone out of his pants pocket and dialed Nathan's cellphone. 'You've reached Nathan Drake-'. Shit. Straight to voicemail. He pulled up Sully's number and dialed, holding the phone to his ear while he undid the buttons on his shirt. The line rang, and rang, and rang. Nothing.

"C'mon guys," Sam whispered to himself. He pushed end on his phone and threw it down on the table next to his key. He pulled the suspenders down from his chest, letting them fall to his sides, allowing him to wiggle out of his dress shirt. He fished his smokes out of his pants pocket and turned his attention to Faith.

You okay?"

It had been a silent cab ride back to Sam's motel room. The only conversation had been Sam telling the driver where to go and then to keep the change when he pulled up in front of the building. This is the first time he had said anything to her since the pandemonium at the museum began. Faith raised her head and stared at Sam, standing there nonchalantly with his white undershirt, head tilted to the side, freshly lit smoke hanging out his mouth, calm as a mountain lake, as if this was just another ordinary day at the office for him.

"Yeah, I'm good," Faith answered positively in a small voice while her head shook unequivocally no. Sam nodded with a small smirk and headed towards the small mini fridge tucked in the closet. He popped open the door and grabbed two of the three small bottles in the door. He shut the door with a thunk and swung one of the chairs around to face the end of the bed. Sam stood in front of Faith, arm outstretched.

"Here, it'll help, trust me." Faith took the small airplane sized bottle of Jim Beam and opened it with unsteady hands. She hadn't started shaking until she sat down. She took a small swig, letting the bourbon run down her throat and into her empty belly like a fireball. She took another couple of good sips and replaced the cap. She closed her eyes and took a couple of deep breaths, feeling the liquor start to work it's way through, calming her nerves a bit.

"So...What the hell what that?" Faith asked. Sam took a drag of his smoke and sat down in the chair, sliding the ash tray on the table closer to himself. He kicked off the dress shoes on his feet and let out a heavy sigh.

"That was a warning shot."

"What do you mean?" Faith asked.

"Victor and I had a little trouble a couple of weeks ago and this was the other guy suggesting subtly that we 'Fuck Off'," Sam said, took one last drag and stubbed his smoke out in the ashtray.

"In what world was that subtle?"

"Okay, maybe not subtle but he got his point across." Sam reached down pulled the dress socks off his feet and pitched them into the corner of the room near his duffel bag. He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. Sam opened the little bottle of whiskey and drained a couple of healthy swallows, digging his toes into the green carpet, rhythmically he clenched and unclenched his toes, pulling at the fibers. The jumping, live wire like nerves running through him that he was trying desperately to keep hidden from this girl finally dissipating through his lower extremities. He was worried about Sully, he was very worried about his brother, he was even worried about the girl sitting on the end of his motel bed. Sam grabbed his phone and pushed the button, hoping fruitlessly for a message to be there from his brother, lighting up the home screen. He really hoped he would hear from Nathan soon. Sam set the phone down on the table and turned his attention to Faith.

"Doin' a little better?" He asked.

"A little, thanks for this," She replied, holding the small, empty booze bottle towards Sam. He grabbed it and set it next to his. He grabbed the last bottle and held it up to Faith with a raised eyebrow. She shook her head and pulled the dark heels off her feet, letting them fall to the floor with a thump. She slid back a bit on the bed, allowing her to cross her legs Indian style under her dress and hunker down, elbows on her knees.

"Is Sully gonna be okay?" Faith asked.

"The old bull's been through worse. He'll be fine." Sam lied through his teeth, tipping back the last of his bourbon. He pitched the empty bottles into the trash can next to the bed.

"So now what do we do?" Faith asked tiredly.

"We stay here until we hear from Nate and we get the all clear."

"Here? I can't go home?" The scope and realness of the situation began to creep into her brain and her voice.

"Nope."

"I'm pretty sure whoever you pissed off doesn't care about me, let alone knows who I am."

"I promised Victor I'd take care of you. I don't need Lagina or Jasper's people figuring out who you are or where you live."

"You're telling me the hotel room registered in your name, a name they know and are actively looking for, is safer?" Faith asked, voice thick with sarcasm. Sam pulled his head back slightly in defense.

"Phony name, fifty bucks to the front desk guy, and I'm checked in as Christopher P. Bacon." He said with a slight smirk.

Faith wasn't impressed, there were too many emotions swirling in her head at the moment. Angry to be stuck in this sketchy motel room with this strange guy, Concerned if Sully was okay. Worried that getting involved with these people, however cursory, had put a target on her back. Frustrated that she couldn't go back to the familiar, cozy surrounding that was her apartment. And, above all, she was absolutely exhausted. Faith scooted to the end of the bed and stood up, hands on her hips so her thumbs could massage the spot on her lower back where her dress pinched.

"Well, Chris, if I'm stuck here, I need to take a shower. I'm sweaty, I have glass in my hair and I really need some sleep, even if it's an hour. I do realize there's only one bed. I promise to share the bed itself, I make no guarantees about the covers. Unzip me please." Faith spun on her heel, giving Sam access to the zipper up the back of her dark dress. He pulled the zipper down steadily, taking in her back as it became exposed. Sam caught a glimpse of the clasps of her bra and the lace waist of matching colored panties, even the edge of a tattoo before Faith whirled around, clutching the top of her dress to her chest, hoping to retain a tad bit of her modesty.

"Thank you!" She said and shuffled towards the bathroom, stopping when her eyes caught sight of a pile of hastily folded shirts on top of Sam's duffel bag.

"And because I refuse to sleep in this dress or naked, I'm stealing..." She walked over to the pile and pulled out an orangey brown t-shirt, holding it up and giving it a sniff to be safe, "This shirt. Cool?" Sam gave Faith an amused smile as an answer, causing her to turn and stalk towards the bathroom. She stopped in the doorway and turned to Sam.

"One last thing. Do you need to pee?" Faith narrowed her questioning eyes at Sam, turning a simple question into one full of intent and gravity as if the truth was of vital importance to the world.

"I'm good," Sam nodded, trying to contain his smile.

"Okay then." Faith looked down at a pair of Sam's already worn boxers on the floor of the bathroom, discarded from a previous shower. She kicked them out into the main room, looked up at Sam, who had been watching her with interest from the moment she stood up, gave him a quick smile and closed the bathroom door with a thunk click, as she locked it behind her. Sam stared at the closed door from his spot in the chair, head tilted in bemusement. He just wasn't sure what to make of Faith. She was pretty and absolutely peculiar. He like the way she handled herself and the remarks she made intrigued him. He had no idea how Victor knew her. For someone he was so adamant about being kept safe, Sam had never heard him mention her name before. Sam turned and eyed Faith's purse that she had left on the bed, knowing what was inside the bag. The priceless artifact that rested in that bag, and the potential treasure it could lead to, intrigued him too.

Faith emerged from the bathroom feeling much lighter after having washed away the day's dirt and some of the stress down the shower drain. Her dark auburn hair hung in damp waves that grazed the tops of her shoulders, leaving little droplet marks on the shirt she wore. Sam's t-shirt was slightly wrinkled but the scent of bargain detergent under the set-in smell of his cigarettes ensured her it was clean. It was thankfully big on her and the hem landed just beneath her butt, but she still tugged it down self-consciously. She walked across the room and put her clothes that she was carrying down on one of the wooden chairs. Sam sat on the edge of the bed, a cigarette smoldering between his fingers, attentively watching the news broadcast on the small TV. He had changed out of his tux, opting for the comfort of a hunter green t-shirt and dark tan cargo pants instead. His eyes flicked up to Faith as she passed in front of him, then back to the program. The shootout was the lead story but gave few details. Big on the where and when, not so much on the who and the why.

"Anything?" Faith asked, settling onto the bed and slipping her exposed lower body under the cool sheets. Sam nodded and stubbed out his smoke in the ashtray.

"Just a lot of filler bullshit, but no talk of dead bodies at least," Sam said, flipping off the TV as the broadcast started to repeat itself again. Faith reached for her purse that still lay on the bed and pulled out the towel wrapped Bible and a glasses case. She put on her glasses and gave a couple of blinks as the edges of the world came into sharper focus. She unwrapped the book and took out the paper full of speech notes from between its thin pages. Faith ran her eyes over the page. She still couldn't believe this was possible. Why would her mother have anything that had anything to do with Abe Lincoln? No one in her family was into politics, no one had ever lived in Illinois and they sure as hell weren't related since she was almost full blooded Italian. Faith rested her elbows on her sheet covered crossed legs, her head tiredly propped up with one hand. She started to flip through the pages of the Bible, hoping that some clue, any clue, as to how it ended up in her possession would jump off the pages and scream at her, Here I am! She sighed, mindlessly clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth.

Hearing the sounds behind him, Sam slid around, propping a knee up on the bed. She was wearing his favorite t-shirt and was making one of the most annoying sounds on Earth. Despite both of these things, which he had always hated, he found her simple actions endearing. Sam hated it when exes wore his shirts. They always seemed to think it made them look sexy, but to him, it made every one of them look like they were a coat hanger in a potato bag. Except for this one. Faith was taller, curvier and the Fletcher Clarke's t-shirt she had on of his still gave the hint of her shape under the fabric. Leave this one alone Samuel, it won't lead anywhere good, his conscience warned him in a Victor Sullivan voice.

"Keep staring, I might do a trick!" She quipped after more than a few uncomfortable seconds had passed, her eyes never leaving the book. Faith had seen Sam turn around in her peripheral vision as she perused the pages in front of her and she had never been fond of being stared at.

"Is there props involved?" He retorted. Unimpressed, Faith peered at him over the tops of her glasses. He dropped his head, rubbing the back of his neck and mumbled something Faith assumed to be an apology under his breath. Sam cleared his throat and scooted a little further up on the bed.

"You finding anything?" He asked, eyeing the book up.

"This person begot this person and this person begot that person. Nothing but normal Bible stuff," she said, closing the book and putting the notes safely back inside.

"You got no idea how your mother got it?"

"Not a damn clue."

"And she doesn't know either?"

Faith paused a moment. "Never got a chance to ask her," She replied, casting her eyes down at the book to hide the sadness that quickly filled them.

"I'm sorry," Sam said. He knew that look. He had lost his mother and he knew what the hurt looked like that went along with it. He would rather get shot or go back to prison than relive the days and weeks after his mother had died.

"It's alright," Faith lied, flicking the statement off with a nonchalant wave of her hand. It still wasn't even close to being alright, this unique find of hers moving a state of okay further and further away from her sight.

"So you're really gonna donate this to some charity?" Sam asked Faith almost painfully.

"If it's real, why not? What am I gonna do with it?" She replied, taking off her glasses and putting them back in their case, thankful to have the topic steered away from her mother.

"How about tryin' to find the rest of it?"

"And if I find that, again, I ask, what the hell am I gonna do with it?"

"Sell it to the highest bidder, buy an island and retire before forty."

"Meh," Faith said with a shrug of her shoulders.

"Are you kidding me? There's a treasure out there worth millions of dollars, just waiting to be found and you don't want it?" Sam asked, absolutely stunned at the thought.

"It's just money."

Sam felt as if she had slapped him. He had never felt that way about money in his life. The last time he heard that phrase, Rafe Adler had said it. It angered him then and angered him now. She was just another rich person in the world that doesn't realize how lucky they are.

"Ah, to not give a shit about a couple million dollars, must be nice." He said as he stood, his accent becoming thicker as his attitude bloomed.

"Excuse me?" Faith questioned, the attitude in her voice growing to match his.

"I'm guessing a couple million, it's just a drop in the trust fund bucket for you," Sam said, grabbing his cigarettes from the table and sticking one in his mouth. As he lit it, Faith climbed out of the bed, modesty be damned, to face down this unprovoked attack.

"What the fuck is your problem?" Her question laced with anger as she stood in front of him, staring him down. He was a good half foot taller than her but that didn't stop her from getting in his face. "You don't know fuck all about me or my life. Just because I don't give a shit about money doesn't mean I have a ton of it!"

"Bullshit."

"No, it means I give a shit about things that are more important than money, a concept you obviously don't understand, you greedy motherfucker!" Faith spat the words at him, face growing redder with every sentence.

"What the hell's more important than bein' rich?" Sam asked, convinced that she would not be able to give him an answer that would be justified in his book. Faith pushed down a hard swallow.

"Family," Faith said, trying to hide the lump in her throat the word gave her with a gruffness. Her tactic failed miserably but her pride held, never dropping the stare she gave Sam as she willed the tears to not form for once.

Waka waka waka. Bzzzz. Waka waka waka. Bzzzz.

The weird noise broke the tense moment. Sam turned and reached hurriedly for the phone while Faith's brow wrinkled. "Was that Pac-Man?" She asked, talking to herself more so than to Sam. Phone in hand, he navigated to the new text message that came in.

sully OK, magna carta 9 am

"Thank Christ," Sam said, voice full of relief. Faith shifted next to Sam to read the text message over his shoulder.

"What's magna carta?" Faith asked.

"Code, it means sit tight until morning."

"And Sully's ok."

"Told ya he was a tough old goat."

"Bull." Faith corrected him.

"You get the picture. Which means we're here til the morning at least." Sam put the phone back on the table and moved towards his duffel bag. Faith slid back under the covers of the bed, the new hopeful news squashing the uncomfortable argument that was bubbling between them. Sam rooted around his duffel between the shirts and odd socks until his hand touched on what he was looking for. He put the handgun on the table. Faith, watching from the bed, sat up nervously, scooting back on the bed until her back was flush against the headboard. Sam stood up, raising a hand in defense when he saw the uneasy look on Faith's face.

"Just a little extra security."

Faith relaxed slightly as Sam took a seat in one of the chairs, keeping the gun on the table within arms reach. He slid the ashtray closer to himself and propped his feet up on the end of the bed, settling himself in as acting century for the night.

"Can I ask you a question?" Faith asked.

"Fire away."

"You work for Sully, right?" Faith relaxed and stretched out on her side, propping her head up with one hand.

"Business partners." Sam corrected.

"Business partners...doing what?"

Sam thought for a moment.

"How does Victor put it? Extraction and acquisition of relics and rare antiquities." He said diplomatically. Sam reached for his cigarettes and frowned at the weight of the pack. Two left. He put them back on the table and pulled a large bronze coin from his pocket and began to flip it end over end around his fingers. Keeping his hands busy was key when he was low on smokes. Faith pondered this fancy wording for a moment before letting out a small laugh.

"You're thieves!" Faith exclaimed.

"You know, I always preferred the term buccaneer."

"Buccaneers are only on water. Swindler."

"Privateer,” He offered.

"Con Man."

"Treasure hunter."

"Pirate," she said, smiling, eyes droopy with sleep.

Sam smiled and flipped the coin at Faith. It landed on the sheet in front of her, a worn relief of a skull and crossbones adorned the one side. She picked it up and turned it over in her hand. A pirate ship ringed with a Latin script. Faith squinted to try and read the dirty, well-worn words.

"Hoodie mecome...ear-, Oh I'm way too tired for Latin." Her head dropped onto the bed with a groan of frustration.

"Hodie mecvm eris in paradiso. 'Today you will join me in paradise'," Sam translated expertly.

"Holy shit, this is real pirate treasure, isn't it?" Faith marveled at the coin and at Sam's knowledge of Latin. Sam gave an indecisive 'maybe it is, maybe it isn't' shrug and Faith flipped the coin back to him. She grabbed a pillow from behind her and shoved it under her head. "Were here until morning?" She confirmed.

"You got it sister, so you might wanna get some shuteye while you can," He said, sliding down in his chair, crossing his arms in front of him.

"I told you, you could have part of the bed," Faith said.

"I'm good sitting watch here."

"You're gonna watch the door all night?"

Sam nodded.

"Whatever, I'm not gonna turn down a guard dog right now." She grabbed the graying comforter and pulled it to her shoulders, getting as settled in for the night as she could. They sat in silence, Faith stared at the creases in the sheets while she waited for sleep to take over. Sam watched a sliver of the streetlight outside through the gap between the heavy drapes and the window frame. The minutes passed and with how exhausted Faith had looked, Sam was convinced she was asleep. He looked at the alarm clock on the nightstand. 11:32. He knew he was in for a long, uncomfortable night. He grabbed his smokes from the table, figuring on one now and one in four hours until he could get more, once he talked to Nathan. Faith's head popped up.

"Wait. Treasure, guns, people chasing you. You're Indiana Jones," Faith proclaimed quietly with squinted eyes.

"Ha! Indiana Jones. He wishes he was as good as I was. He's not even in my league," Sam said, lighting his cigarette.

"No Nazis, fedoras or destroying cities in your past? Fear of snakes? Can't land a plane?" She questioned.

"Trust me, I'm not Indiana Jones. I'm much better with a whip," Sam said with a suggestive smugness.

"I still say you are," Faith mumbled to herself, dropping her head back to her pillow. Sam finished his smoke, finally hearing the low, quiet snores coming from the bed. He refolded his arms and settled back in the chair. As the hours came and went, the weight of the evening and the strange situation he was in began to seep into his system, a system that was anxious to recharge. His eyes growing heavier, he glanced at the clock. 2:18. Sam stretched and closed his eyes. I'm just gonna rest them for a minute or two, he thought to himself. He was snoring less than a minute later.

Faith's eyes opened groggily at the sound. She raised her head and looked around, momentarily disoriented by her strange surroundings. This wasn't her apartment. When she turned and saw Sam, the events of the previous evening came back like a vivid dream as if her mind was still unable to process what had happened. She glanced at the clock and saw it was already a little after four, though it felt like she had only been asleep for mere minutes. The series of grunts and mumbles coming from Sam caught her attention. He had fallen asleep, which didn't surprise her. She was sure last night didn't go how he thought it would either. He was slumped farther down in the chair, head tilted off to the side with his chin resting on his chest. One hand sat in his lap while the other hung down over the arm of the chair, his fingertips almost reaching the floor thanks to his large stature. Faith's brow furrowed, something was wrong. A sheen of sweat covered his face and beads of perspiration pooled at the base of his neck. His expression wasn't a peaceful one. Sam started to fidget and squeeze his eyes closed tighter. In his restless sleep, Faith heard no and stop. She sat up in bed. This was a nightmare, she was sure of it.

Her mother used to suffer with them horribly and she herself had had her fair share of them since her mother died. The nightmares hadn't started right away, it took a couple weeks for her brain to manifest the horrible thoughts in her subconscious and bring them out in her dreams. In one of them, her mother faked her death. In another, her mom was alive and didn't want anything to do with her. Then there was the one where her mother was possessed by a demon, which was the worst one yet by far. Every dream ended up the same way, waking up gasping for breath and in a complete state of panic, followed by the blow again that her mother was gone. A gasping breath and a low whine escaped Sam's lips and Faith knew it had to be a really bad one.

She flipped the covers off of her and slid out of the bed. She padded across the carpet and around to the end of the bed where Sam had set himself up for the evening. She knelt down, not wanting him to sense her standing over him; She didn't want to startle him awake and possibly get herself shot. Faith got close to him and gently placed a hand against his chest. He was awfully warm, his shirt damp and starting to cling to him and his heart thudded at a quick rhythm. Sam jerked and she pulled her hand away for a moment. He stilled and she brought her hand back to him, pushing just enough to keep steady contact.

"This is a dream, Sam. You're dreaming Sam. This isn't really happening. This isn't real. This is a dream, Sam. This isn't real," Faith said in a soft, clear voice.

She repeated the phrases slowly over and over. She had done this for her mother when she had her nightmares. They had always seemed to settle her without waking her. Hopefully, she thought, this will work on him too. Faith continued for another couple of minutes, unsure if it was working. The mumbles became less and less while beneath her hand, Sam's heart began to slow, the stressful thudding subsiding. His face relaxed, the expression now one of calm instead of chaos, and at last his breathing slowed. Much better, she thought. A content smile on her face, she took her hand away from his chest and got back into the bed. She puffed her pillow and curled up on her side to watch Sam. Sam was greedy, presumptuous, and a thief. She wasn't a fan of any of these traits and their spat earlier didn't exactly win her over but... he agreed to keep her safe, he had tried in vain to keep watch all night. He even suffered from nightmares. There just might be a decent person in there, Faith thought to herself and if she was being honest, there was something that made him quite charming in her mind. She stared at Sam, content that he seemed much more peaceful than when she woke. She closed her eyes.

"Goodnight Sam," Faith mumbled. Then sleep took her again.

#sam drake x oc #samuel drake x oc #OC X Sam Drake #sam drake fanfiction #dangerous #my writing

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