#working a long hard day on the ranch and taking a little smoke break with your husband

[kyngsnake]

ship dynamic like a homoerotic marlboro ad

[wes (right) belongs to @situationwolf]

[jake-whatthefisgoingon-kiszka]

Above Snakes

Pairings: Sam Kiszka x Danny Wagner ***slash

Warnings and tags: 18+ only!!, adult content including: talk of sexuality, elderly health (dementia), lots of swearing, smoking, some slight suggestive language, eventual smut, Sanny cowboy AU, buckle up cause this is not going to go where you think it is!

Word count: 5k

There wasn’t much to do in Sammy’s home town except farmin’ and ranchin’. Sam actually quite liked farming, or just taking care of his small garden around the side of the house. But he didn’t want to ruin that special interest by making it his work life too. So he turned to ranching, and he was good at it.

Maybe he was so good at herding cattle, wrangling horses, and taking care of all the little farm animals that ran amuck among the pens, because he was brought into it at a young age.

Jake and Josh never meant to go into business together. In fact they went to separate community colleges across town from each other just to try and separate for a while.

That didn’t last long, because as soon as they had their degrees they were back at home saving up money to start their own cattle business. Within a year they were in cahoots together with a name quickly gaining popularity at the sale yards across the state to start, with even more outreach spreading to the whole upper Midwest.

Riding horses came naturally to Sam as soon as he was barely old enough to mount one. His grandparents ran a farm that had been in their family for generations, and they had many horses on the old property.

Most of Sam’s oldest and fondest memories were summer breaks at the farm with his older brothers. Early mornings waking up to breakfast cooking in the quaint kitchen then bursting through the kitchen door to run in the fields as rusty farm equipment was worked on. They’d stay outside all day, taking a break on the porch for sandwiches and fresh squeezed lemonade, then back out into the summer heat.

Highschool was coming to an end for Sam when Jake and Josh came back home. Although Sam’s parents never pushed him to go to college like his brothers did, he felt like it was what he was supposed to do. So he went to college for half a year and ultimately decided he hated it. It was nothing like high school where Sam was popular and well liked by everyone- especially the girls. College was real mental work and he couldn’t just skate by on his charm.

Dropping out of college made Sam realize he really had no idea what he wanted to do with himself. Just about all he knew was taking care of plants and riding a horse. So he went to work for his brothers.

Working outside in the heat and the rain, the cold and the snow, wasn’t for everyone. Sam never minded much though despite the array of colorful swear words that constantly spilled from his mouth on the daily.

Ranch hands came and went around here. Some just temporary hands, some getting into trouble since again there wasn’t much to do in a small town, and some just not cut out for the job. From the moment Sam started though he was a constant, built to be in the elements, and occupying his otherwise uneventful time keeping himself out of trouble and hard at work.

Getting along with his fellow cowboys wasn’t always an easy job either. There was a stigma around here that cowboys were roughin’ tougin’ tobacco spittin’ menly men. That wasn’t Sam, never was and never would be. Though he could hold his own in a scrap, he was thin and wiry, and had long hair he was just about tired of getting caught in damn near everything but refused to cut. Some of the guys Sam had worked with in the past he was afraid only showered twice a week and didn’t know what moisturizer was.

Sam took care of his image even if he sometimes felt like he would never quite be able to be who he really wanted to be. Flaming homosexual was hardly the right word for it, but Sam wasn’t exactly trying to hide anything either. It was 2024 for god's sake and people in these small towns needed to learn that even an otherwise ordinary guy like himself could like both women and men and it be okay.

Recently Sam felt like the days drug on and on, and the cold nights were even longer. He’d have his fun a few nights a week, down at the dingy downtown bar on the corner of Elm street.

Kate was a beauty he couldn’t deny, and Tiff was firey both on the dance floor and in bed. There was even little Josette from the city that came around from time to time just to see Sam and get her fill. Even their presence couldn’t keep him warm anymore though. He felt like he was missing something and the more and more he wracked his brain trying to figure out what the hell it was that had him in the dumps for the past few weeks, the more he came to realize it was he never truly had an experience with another male before.

There had been crushes in the past, just a few. The first one early in highschool right after his brothers left for college. Sam realized he admired the varsity quarterback just a little too much. Discovering your sexuality at such a tender age is always hard, but falling for probably the straightest boy in school didn’t make it any easier.

Then there was Ethan the summer between highschool and college. He was a bit younger than Sam, having graduated the year after, but Sam remembered seeing him around just with a different crowd than he had run with.

He and Sam had become close friends when Ethan came to work on the ranch before he left for university. At first Sam tried to hide the feelings he started to develop, telling himself that he didn’t need to get involved with someone who was about to leave. Besides he never got any signals from Ethan that he was even interested in Sam that way. Then one night, under the stars as the cicadas sang a hypnotic summer melody, Ethan kissed him.

Nothing more came of it, the kiss happened and it was amazing, but Ethan still left. Sam learned from the experience though that even if someone didn’t blatantly express themself as queer all the time, didn’t mean that they weren’t.

He felt comfortable with that realization, more sure of himself than ever before, but besides Ethan he’d never had much of a chance to try again. All the men in town now were either twice Sam’s age and looking worse for wear, or were very clearly straight.

At least that was until he walked out of Josh’s office one afternoon after spending all morning rounding up some loose cows and repairing a hole in the fence down at one of their properties. He heard the sound of chains rattling and looked out towards the pens to see an unfamiliar figure latching a gate closed behind him.

Sam stopped in his tracks, studying the man who was dressed in black boots already covered in dirt and dust, light wash Levi’s that hugged every inch of that tantalizingly narrow waist, and a matching denim jacket thrown over a hoodie.

Once the gate was secure the man turned around, revealing to Sam that he really had never seen him before. He had fair skin, though Sam could already tell it probably gleamed golden with a tan in the summer. His features were sharp, but he had a softness to him, an inviting allure that drew Sam in with every step he took closer.

“Hey, I’m Daniel” he introduced himself to Sam who was still frozen. “Or Danny, either one works”. He pulled his hoodie down and Sam was pleasantly surprised to see a full head of nearly black curls hanging messily around his shoulders.

Sam opened his mouth to speak, but before the words could come out Jake called over “Sammy!” making Sam’s face scrunch up in slight embarrassment and Danny smirk a little.

“It’s Sam” he corrected, snapping out of his momentary trance.

“This is Danny” Jake interrupted them and reintroduced his newest worker, “it’s his first day on the job so will you kind of show him the ropes?”

“No,” Sam said flatly, wiping the smile quickly off Danny’s face. “I’m busy. Besides it’s lunch time and I didn’t get a lunch break yesterday so I think you should treat me today, boss”.

“I just ate lunch” Jake replied with a sigh, but pulled out his wallet and fished around for some bills. “But Danny’s got to go into town for a few supplies for me. Told him to take the work truck”. He pulled out a few twenties and folded them around his thumb as he handed them to Sam then reached in his front pocket to pull out a pair of keys to give to Danny. “Take that, get some lunch down at the diner then pick up the order and head back”.

“Fine, whatever” Sam took the cash that Jake gave him and stuffed it into his front pocket, noticing out of the corner of his eye how Danny’s vision followed Sam’s hand down to his hip then lingered on his waist for a moment. He was good about picking up on the small things now, but he needed a little more than that to be sure.

He started towards the truck, not even looking back to holler over his shoulder “you comin’?” then he heard the rustle of boots against dirt as Danny hurried along.

In the truck Sam stared out the faded glass window of the worn in truck as Danny drove her from the dirt roads that led in and out of the ranch onto the highway. “You’re not from round here” Sam spoke up after a few minutes of agonizing silence.

“Nope, families from here though. My grandparents aren’t doing that great so I came up here to help them out for a while seein’ as I don’t have much else to be doin’” Danny replied.

Sam let his eyes pull from the bare fields that lined the small highway over towards Danny, seeing him steering the truck with one hand and the other resting high on his thigh. His eyes were fixed on the road, so Sam took a moment longer than he usually would to examine his side profile this time.

He had broad shoulders, and the hoodie he wore looked a little small for him, but then again his jeans were really tight too.

“Jake’s got me stayin in a camper out on the edge of the ranch. Just moved in last night; have to say it’s a little worse for wear, but I guess I can’t be complaining too much”.

Sam moved to looking out the window again, his chest starting to feel a little tight for some reason. Jake only let the temporary hands stay in the camper. That’s why it was pretty beat up, it had seen so many guys come in and out who couldn’t give less of a fuck if the place still stood for the next by the time they were done with it. He kind of pitied Danny for having to stay in there, but if he was it probably meant he had nowhere else to go.

“Why don’t you stay with your grandparents?”

Danny shifted in his seat, switching hands on the steering wheel and letting the other rest on the door. “Well, my grandma has dementia. It’s at its worst in the mornings and in the evenings. I tried staying with them a few times before I moved down here. It really stresses her out when she doesn’t know who I am and there’s just a random man in her house”.

“Oh” Sam didn’t expect Danny to open up about that after just having met him, but then again Sam did ask the question. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know”.

“It’s alright, I go to visit them on Wednesdays and Fridays for lunch when she’s most alert. It’s a 50/50 chance if she will recognize me but I make sure they’re getting all their medication and help them clean up a little”.

“That’s awfully kind of you” Sam thought about his own grandparents and how he’d do just about anything for them. Although they had gotten up there in age, they still farmed what they could and had a few retired horses from the ranch they took care of that Sam sometimes visited. That’s probably why Jake gave him a job, they all had a soft spot for grandparents.

“Turn right here” Sam instructed, pointing to the street the diner he frequented was on.

“Chelsea’s?” Danny asked as he pulled into the crowded parking lot. He was looking around town like he recognized a few of the places, but mostly was unsure.

They hopped out of the truck, the sound of the doors squeaking and slamming shut behind them and then the gravel under their boots as they made their way across the lot.

“Well hey there Sammy, haven’t seen you round here in a while” little Mrs. Suzy greeted them as soon as they walked through the door.

“Jake’s got me workin’ all day and night. Worked up a big appetite!” Sam nodded to her and waved Danny along to go sit in her section as she grabbed a few coffee mugs and menus.

“Lookin good today Suzy” Sam quietly commented this time with a sly smile as she set the mugs down then grabbed a pot of steaming coffee. She poured Sam’s mug first, the same smile pulled on her pinkened lips.

“None for me, thanks” Danny held his hand over his mug when she moved to fill it next.

“Who’s your friend here?” She questioned Sam like Danny couldn’t answer for himself.

“This here is Daniel. He’s our new hand”.

“Howdy” Danny but in anyways and greeted her. Sam sat back and let him converse with her for a second.

“You gonna be comin’ round her more often too then?” She questioned, letting one of her hips pop out a bit causing Danny’s eyes to flick over her body. Sam scoffed and leaned back against the booth. Maybe he was gonna be just like all the others if he was already making eyes at Suzy.

“We will see how he does out in the pins later today and maybe I’ll bring him out again”.

Suzy smiled again and shook her head, turning to give them a few minutes to look over the menu and check on her other patrons.

“Better cool it with her” Sam mentioned once she was out of earshot, and Danny looked up from the menu with a puzzled look. “She’s married to Tommy McVain, sheriff's son, and I don't want to be bothered by the fuzz every time I’m in town”.

“My bad…” Danny sheepishly replied, though he’d honestly only been following Sam’s lead. He wondered how it was Sam was able to get away with flirting with her but decided he’d better not ask right now.

“You boys know what you want?” Suzy came back to take their orders, and this time Danny noticed the thin gold band around her left ring finger as she wrote down on her pad. “Alright, be right out”.

Sam didn’t bother with much chit chat while they ate, and he left a bigger tip than Danny imagined on the table as they stacked their plates together and headed back out to the truck.

“Mind if I drive back?” Sam asked after they picked up the order, filling the back of the truck with feed and a couple of tools. Danny tossed him the keys and they swapped places, Danny sliding into the passengers side and Sam getting behind the wheel.

Sam pulled out of the parking lot, kicking up a pile of dust and making Danny grab at the door to keep himself upright. No wonder Jake had given him the keys to drive.

They hit the highway in no time, leaving the town behind them and heading back towards the ranch. “When we get back we’ll unload the back. I’ll show you where everything goes then we will get to work with the horses. You know anything about horses?”

“Little bit” Danny replied and Sam’s eyes flicked over to see him picking at his fingernails. He seemed to be nervous to be heading back already, like he knew he was about to get his ass handed to him. Sam smirked, at least he had enough sense to be worried.

“That’s Josh’s office, sure you're aware if you’ve been hired n’ all” Sam threw his hand towards the small building he’d emerged from earlier when they’d met. “Pens you were at are A&B. They hold the stock we’re getting ready to move to the show yard. That’s probably why Jake had you gettin’ familiar with it, we need the most hands there”. Danny’s eyes wandered around, trying to gain his sense of direction as much as possible after only a few hours of having foot on the property.

They hauled a bag each of feed past those pins and around the back of the office revealing a small barn in the distance, adjacent to some stables. “That there is pens C, and around that way,” Sam pointed out to the far left, “pens D. Four pens on the north side of the ranch and two on the south”.

“E and F?” Danny questioned as they reached the barn and set their large bags down.

“What?” Sam asked, a little out of breath. Danny didn’t seem too bothered though.

“Those pens E and F on the south side? Given over here we’ve got A, B, C, and D”.

Sam chuckled, that would certainly make sense, but no one had ever asked him that before. “No, those pins don’t have a name, but if I had to name em it’d be ‘Shit’ and ‘Fuck’. Hate those pens. That’s where we send the mean bitches that can’t go to the shows. Plus there’s a lot of snakes out there, have to watch your every step”.

“Anyone ever told you you’ve got a very colorful mouth?” Danny asked next, a bit of playfulness in his tone.

Yeah, I’ve got a very talented mouth too. Sam wanted to reply, but he still wasn’t too sure how Danny would take that just yet so instead he just bit his tongue.

Danny’s playfulness subsided as Sam showed him the saddles, naming off which ones were claimed by who, and which were fair game for the rest. “This one’s Bobby’s” he pointed to the largest saddle hanging up. It looked pretty worn but still in good use. “Jake’s” an all black saddle, subtle but flashy and seemed to fit him pretty well based on Danny’s initial impression of him. “And mine” lastly there was the most worn in one. It looked like it had been tossed over the banister so many times that the posts were starting to be knocked loose from the dirt under the weight.

Sam picked up his saddle and motioned for Danny to choose any of the others. Once Danny had his in hand they walked over to the stables, Sam strapping on the buckles and eyeing Danny the entire time trying to make sure he at least knew how to cinch properly. He did a pretty good job, even with eyes on his back, then they guided their horses out of the barn before mounting them.

“Today's Thursday, means I got to check on the mares down by the pond. Few colts out there too but it’s about to be time to separate them and get them out to auction” Sam mentioned as he clicked his tongue and put his horse into motion.

“You breed horses too?” Danny asked as he followed closely behind. He knew Jake and Josh had quite a bit of cattle to tend to which is what he was hired for, but he hadn’t heard about the horses.

“Just me; took it up on my own shortly after I started cowboying. Next week will be my first show. Spent a lot of time eatin’ dirt trying to break them too, better pay off or else Josh will be havin’ a fit”.

“Next week? Mind if I come?”

Sam glanced back to see Danny staring at him as they made their way through the pasture out to where he saw a scattering of horses grazing. “We’ll see what Jake has in the books for you, but if he doesn’t have you workin’ your ass off already then I don’t see why not”.

Normally Sam wouldn’t consider allowing just anyone to just tag along like that, especially someone he didn’t know an inkling about, but something about Danny pulled Sam in. He was curious to get to know him, spend some time with him since there weren’t very many new people around here to be entertained by, and damn was he really good to look at too.

“So, you ever ride a horse this young before?” Sam proposed Danny, calling him over to one of the brown colored colts. Its mane was a silky chestnut that matched the color of Sam’s locks he had pulled back into a messy low bun.

“How young we talking?” Danny countered, coming forward to reach out and touch the horse's muscular neck. It tried to yank its head away, but Sam steadied him so Danny could reach out again and make contact this time.

“Three, gonna be four in the spring” Sam answered, watching for Danny's reaction with a smirk.

“No, definitely not that young”. Danny knew a little about horses, at least enough that he never had the desire to ride an unbroken horse before. Sam’s mischievous look seemed to have his mind set though.

“I ride them a couple times a week, for only about a half an hour or so. It will save me a lot of time if you helped out”. Sam left him with the brown horse he’d become slightly acquainted with and selected his own to ride. “You get that one, go get your saddle if you want”.

“And you?” Danny studied Sam’s moves. He had been around these horses the most, he knew their behaviors and they knew him. It would be best for Danny to mimic him for the time being until they got used to him as well.

“I like to ride bareback”. Sam’s smirk returned as he gracefully used his upper body strength to jump and swung his leg around to successfully mount.

Okay, you can do this, Danny hyped himself up, again trying to follow Sam’s actions. He jumped and managed to get his leg over but he felt like he’d over shot and nearly fell of the other side before straightening himself out with a shaky exhale.

“Alright, I’ve got four so if we each take two then we should be done in a little over an hour”. With a kick of his leg Sam had the horse trotting around easily, just trying to get it used to having a rider. Which from the looks of it he’d done a pretty good job so far.

After thirty minutes they dismounted and switched to the two others. Danny’s calves were already sore from riding this way, it took a lot more leg strength to stay balanced without a saddle, but he had to agree he did like the intimacy it brought.

Sam watched again out of the corner of his eye as Danny managed to mount again, but as soon as he was nearly settled on the back of the next horse, it was bucking him off.

Danny hit the ground with a groan, he’d been tricked by the first horse to think he was going to be alright, but this one had put him in his place quickly.

“He’s the youngest, bucks everyone off but me” Sam snickered as Danny picked himself up off the dirt and dusted off his backside.

“And you let me try to ride him anyhow?”

Sam shrugged, “we've all got to learn somehow”.

After checking on the horses they put their saddles up and made their way back to the pens and Sam showed him around a little bit more until Jake called Danny away.

“What you think of that one?” Josh questioned after emerging from his office for some fresh air.

“He’s doing good so far, not as skilled as some of the others come through here, but he seems like he’s going to catch on fast” Sam replied, crossing his arms and watching as Jake and Danny checked some of the cows hooves. Jake was a professional farrier so any advice Danny could get from him would be good for use.

“He’s quiet, but I think that’s a good thing” Josh continued, turning his gaze to his younger brother. “Hope he sticks around for a while”. He clapped his hand over Sam’s shoulder and went back to his office, leaving Sam trying not to read into the suggestive look he gave him.

A few more hours of work and the sun was starting to set early when Jake let the two of them go.

“You’ll show him the way back to the camper?” Jake asked of Sam after they ensured everything was back in its place and all the animals were safe for the night.

“I guess” Sam agreed reluctantly, but only because his place was on the way. Sam stayed in a small barely six hundred square feet one bedroom that had come with the property when his brothers bought it.

Neither of them had ever had the desire to live in it, deciding instead to purchase houses nearby once business started to take off, but Sam didn’t mind. He liked being the closest, in case anything happened he could be the first to respond and that had probably saved a few calves' lives over the years.

It was about a fifteen minute walk down another gravel road to Sam’s, then another seven or so to the camper which was located behind the house.

“This is me. Just keep following this and you will reach the camper” Sam pointed down the gravel road that turned more into a path in the dirt carved out by tire tracks.

“You got anything extra to eat in there?” Danny asked as he nervously took a step towards Sam again instead of on his own way. “I haven’t had the chance to go grocery shopping to stock up the camper yet”.

Sam sighed, why hadn’t he said anything in town earlier? Then he thought back on it, Danny did eat rather frantically at lunch. Maybe he hadn’t been eating well for a while. “You smoke?”

“Smoke?” Danny wasn’t sure what smoking had to do with food, or what kind of smoking Sam was referring to, but he did know that he was starving and didn’t want to go to bed yet, better yet hungry.

“If you’re going to stay for dinner then we’re gonna smoke first”. Sam flicked on his tiny porch light and disappeared inside for a while, door wasn’t even locked, before returning with a plastic bag and a dull colored glass pipe. He pulled out a pair of lawn chairs that were resting along the front of the house and set them next to each other, motioning for Danny to have a seat.

“One thing you should know about me is that occasionally after a long day's work I like to sit outside and get baked. Helps counteract the monotony of it all”.

“Do you not like cowboying?” Danny asked as he took the seat next to Sam and watched him pack the bowl. Little did Sam know Danny was a bit of a stoner himself only he didn’t know very many people in town yet to get the hookups from.

“I do” Sam replied, flicking his lighter on and taking a hit between words, “I like working with the horses most of all, but I’ve seen guys come and go often enough to get bored of it”.

He passed the bowl to Danny who took it carefully, then the lighter, watching him curiously again as Danny took the next hit easily. “Bet that gets a little lonely then. I mean you’ve got your brothers, but you’re out here by yourself most of the time huh?”

Sam nibbled on his lip as Danny spoke, he was hitting pretty spot on, but he didn’t want to make a big deal of it right now. He’d spent all day trying to set an image of himself that he was strong and independent. He didn’t want Danny leaving already thinking Sam was lonely, even if it was true.

“Of you’ll let me, I can keep you company for a while?” Danny suggested as he passed the pipe back.

“I don’t know, I kind of like my privacy” Sam took another inhale, already feeling the static start to work its way through his extremities and into his head.

“Give me a few nights,” Danny smiled, making Sam start a coughing fit from breathing in too hard. “I think I’ll grow on you”.

“Sure,” the smoke was clearly already starting to affect his decision making as he easily agreed to hanging out with Danny in the late evenings, “a couple of nights and we’ll see if I don’t want to kick your teeth in by then”.

The nervousness returned for a moment but Danny didn’t back down as they finished the bowl then Sam showed him inside and started making some dinner.

He didn’t have Danny pegged quite yet, he was picking up a lot of mixed signals from him all day, but he brushed them off as first day jitters and getting used to a new situation. If anything, Danny seemed like a pretty cool guy- especially now that they were both stoned out of their minds.

Sam thought he could enjoy his company for a while, just reminded himself to keep his distance so he didn’t get hurt again.

A/N: Thanks for reading my new work! (If you saw any typos or grammar mistakes no you didn’t) I hope you are as excited for this as I am! As I said up there, I’ve already got a few events lined up for this AU. If you want to be added to the tag list let me know ☺️

[infernwetrust]

It’s The Little Things [Duncan Shepherd x Jim Mason]

Summary: Just a little domestic fun between Duncan and Jim through the art of food. Guest starring you and Michael. 

Warnings: mentions of drug use, just fluff really, swearing

WC: 1.5k

A/N: This was long fucking over due as are many other things that I’m currently working on. I need to work more on my soft side lol. Part of my little Duncan x Jim series that can be found on my master list, here. Thank you for reading! -Juno

GIF by witch

"Don't you fucking do it, Michael." Jim said, gripping the Nintendo switch controller with force. But Michael was already doing it. He threw the infamous blue shell Jim's way, it quickly catching up to him in first place, Michael trailing behind in 2nd. Poor fool, however, too close to Jim, is affected by the blast too, giving you the 1st place advantage and win.

"Fucking idiots." you stated, simply.

"Bullshit." Michael said, reaching for the last bacon-wrapped jalapeño popper off the plate in front of them, but Jim had also reached for it too. It was routine. You and Michael would come over every other Sunday for dinner, usually Jim's cleaning day. And while either Duncan or Jim cooked, games were played, drinks made.

"Let it go." Jim said, challenging Michael with his eyes. "You literally just ate one."

"And you ate the more than half of the plate." he said back. "So you let go."

"I grabbed it first." Jim began to pull it towards him, not caring if his fingers were getting messy.

"Oh fuck off." Michael pulled it back towards him and now the boys were pulling with a force, but not too much, not wanting to snap it in half. Could you blame them for their childishness though? At first glance, Duncan didn't seem like the type to be the master in the kitchen, but he sure was. Wanting to give Jim a break because he's literally been cleaning all day, Duncan offered to cook. Jim's favorite was Duncan's grilled cheese. 7 different types of cheese, turkey, ham, lettuce, and a killer salsa for a fresh taste, it was basically a heart attack on bread, but Jim fucking loved it.

The two were snapped out of their intense gaze when you walked over, snatching it from between their fingers and popping it in your mouth before plopping back down on the couch adjacent to the one Michael and Jim sat on. You returned to whatever you were doing on your phone as if nothing happened, running your tongue over your top set of teeth.

"Problem solved now, yes boys?" you questioned, not pulling your eyes away from your phone. "Maybe you should see if chef Shepherd will give up some more." Michael reached for the plate, but Jim snatched it away from his hand, wanting to be the one that goes into the kitchen to bother Duncan.

In the kitchen, stood Duncan in one of Jim's t-shirts and a pair of sweatpants that hung a little bit off his waist. He scanned quickly over his cookbook, one that he put together himself to save all of his favorite recipes. Really, it was Jim who brought out the inner chef in Duncan. He cooked for Duncan nonstop. By the time Duncan had his eyes open for work at 7:00AM, his breakfast was already on the table with his morning coffee. Jim more than had the opportunity to sleep in considering he didn't have to be at work until noon, enjoyed cooking for his boyfriend anyways.

He made sure Duncan always had something to take with him to work for lunch. There was always dinner when he got home, whether Jim cooked it or ordered takeout. Duncan wanted to return the favor and slowly he began cooking too, starting with his grilled cheese. Soon enough food was something the two found themselves bonding even closer over.

*** "Hey what are you-," Duncan began. "Jim no! Those are for the office party today!"

"Huh?" Jim said, his mouth full of chocolate chip muffin. He had eaten about 2 of them and they were pretty decent in size. Duncan stayed up late the previous night to make them, waiting until Jim fell asleep for this exact reason. If he wasn't stuffing his face with one of Duncan's grilled cheeses, it was his chocolate chip muffins. Melt in your mouth, they were to DIE for.

"You knew that my office party was today. I made just enough for everyone because I didn't want to be up super late."

"So that's why I was alone in the bed until midnight. M' sorry, Dunc. Should of told me."

"Told you?! These are your favorite, would it have mattered?"

"Probably not." Jim chuckled, licking the remaining melted chocolate chip off his finger. "I'll make it up to you though."

He walked over to Duncan, using one of his hands to hold the back of his neck. He glided his thumb slowly in circles over the exposed skin, Duncan shivering in response.

"How so?" He stepped closer, pushing Jim back against the counter, but shoving his hands in his pocket to maintain his dominance.

"I'll make those cookies that you like so much. Y'know? The butter crunch ones with the-,"

"Chocolate chips and almond pieces." Duncan finished his sentence with a heavy exhale, excited to hear those words.

"And I'll make 3 batches. 2 for you and 1 for your people, yeah?"

*** "Ocean eyes we're not going to have any brownies, pot or regular if you keep sticking your finger in the batter." Duncan sighed, high out of his mind trying to move around their kitchen. Jim was pretty high too, with a bad case of the munchies, having smoked again a few hours after they had dinner. He had already finished the party sized bag of cool ranch Doritos, and now he was craving something sweet.

Jim had decided that he not only wanted to make regular brownies, but he also wanted to make edibles as well. A friend of his had invited them to a pool party and what better way to spice it up than with some special treats?

"Okay, just one more." Jim said, going in for another scoop.

"Share though." Duncan said, only now realizing just how hungry he actually was. Sure, the actual brownies would have been a lot more filling, but they were too far gone now.

"Nuh Uh. You said we have to stop." Jim turned his back to Duncan, bowl clenched against his chest. "So we're stopping."

"Jim if you don't set that damn bowl down on the counter so we can finish it together."

*** Plenty of good memories came from the kitchen. There were many days and nights of whipped and butter cream filled kisses. One too many glasses of wine or one too many shots. On the nights that the boys did bake together, they found themselves often covered in flour or sugar as one of the two had gotten too frisky, leading to an intense make out session on one of the empty counters or the kitchen island.

There were plenty of jokes told, plenty deep conversations had, and a lot of heart to hearts. If Jim wasn't making Duncan laugh until he either drooled on himself or whatever he was drinking shot out of his nose, the two were complimenting and praising each other. They were always curious to know how each other's day went. Whatever the other wanted to talk about, the other was excited to hear about it. Dinner was never dull between the two, even the times they had fought.

*** "Here try this." Duncan said, sliding his plate over to Jim who peered down at his phone. Jim, hungry, gave it no second thoughts, immediately taking a bite.

"Wow this is a fucking, nut." Jim said as the sandwich basically melted in his mouth. "You like comfort food, huh?"

"College will do that to you." Duncan replied, chuckling at Jim's response. "But I'm guessing you like it?"

"Like it? Dunc, this is genius."

"Well, you're always cooking for me and I wanted to return the favor. It isn't much but..."

"I wish you'd stop doing that. Y'know? Like you always tell me. Own it, scruffy." Duncan gave Jim a closed eye smile at the nickname, referring to his facial hair. "You made this. It was your idea and I love it. Stop always trying to down play yourself, right?"

"So you do listen when I talk?" Duncan joked.

"Mmmph." was all Jim got out, his mouth full of grilled cheese.

"Let me cook for you, then." Duncan suddenly said. "Tonight. Take the night off. Let me spoil you?"

"The more you talk, the more I get like this, raging hard on."

Duncan nearly choked on his drink, laughing at what Jim said. Jim was all like that since the very beginning and it only showed more once they finally moved in together. He was always so playful and immature, but he knew when he needed to be serious. More like, he knew when Duncan was serious. Because face it, Jim could play and make jokes all day. However, it brought Duncan peace and higher sense of humor, something that laid dormant in him while he lived in DC.

*** "Can I kiss the chef?" Jim asked as he approached Duncan from behind, gently setting the plate on the island behind him. He licked the remaining cream cheese off of his fingers from his brief struggle with Michael.

"Depends." Duncan answered, looking at Jim over his shoulder. "Are you actually here to kiss the chef or are you here for something else?"

"Both." Jim answered honestly, wrapping his arms around him.

"Well you can only have one thing and it isn't more poppers."

Taglist: @jimmason​ @angelicmichael @whatcodysaid @9layerdevilfoodcake @xavierplympton @mikhalxngdon @fernfiction @theneverendinghunger

[corinthbayrpg]

NAME. Kit Berker AGE & BIRTH DATE. 35 & July 19th, 1986 GENDER & PRONOUNS. Male & He/him SPECIES. Werewolf OCCUPATION. Unemployed FACE CLAIM. Serkay Tütüncü

BIOGRAPHY

( tw: domestic abuse, gore ) Kit was born in Harlan, Kentucky to Abigail and Arthur Weiss. His mother worked at one of the highway diners all day while his father worked in the mines. Mostly anyone under the middle class made a living working in the Harlan Hills. The moment that Kit was the legal age he joined right up with his father. Coming home covered in coal dust and dirt, smoking a cigarette and nursing a beer on the porch. Kit was so tired most of the time that it became real easy to tune out the yelling and screaming of his parents having their nightly domestic. Often ending with a crash of something breakable and his mother weeping in the bathroom with a glass of wine. Harlan County was the kind of place where you don't ask too many questions and you don't stare too long. Everyone kept to themselves, you certainly did not confront your neighbor who you saw coming home late last night covered in blood, and you absolutely did mention a troubled marriage. Everyone knew what was going on; nobody dared say anything. The worst was in church with the side eyes and whispers. 

When Kit turned Twenty-two his father was killed by his mother. Across the dining room table, a beautiful dinner was laid out. His father on one end, his mother on the other. He was talking too much, saying derogatory things. “You’re worthless, you call this food?. What kind of a woman are you?” etc. She must have finally had it and let a shotgun shell cut straight into Arthur’s head. Brain matter and blood splattering the window behind him. Kit hadn’t been home at the time and ended up finding out after getting off a shift at the mine. Called down to the police station, the scene was described to him and told that his mother wouldn’t be going to prison. On the account of claiming it was self defense. Everyone in Harlan County knew she was being abused. It was just a matter of time before she lost it. 

Living under the same roof as his mother was uncomfortable, sure Kit loved her and understood entirely why she did what she did. But there was some tension and uneasiness that Kit would feel whenever he would sit across the table from her in the same spot where his dad got his brains splattered on the dining room window. So he left, quit his job at the mine, took all his savings and headed North. Finding a job up there wasn’t hard. Getting himself sorted on a ranch that raised livestock, most of his duties were fixing things and herding the cattle too and from grazing grounds. The owners were especially nice to him, and they ended up getting pretty close. They were a younger couple who inherited the farm from their family and just needed help around the place since it was such a large property. Kit happily obliged, and of course the paycheque helped. There were a couple of ‘em, people looking for jobs that paid mostly under the table, but they were all good folk. 

There were predators that would come and pick off the cattle now and again, most of the time it was just pesky coyotes who were easy to scare off. But a couple mornings, the farm hands would stumble across the corpse of a cow ripped apart by something much bigger. Everyone assumed it was a bear, and night patrols were set out in the evenings. Armed with a rifle, Kit headed out on his own, riding a horse around the property. Keeping the cows herded closer to the homestead. He could remember the moon being at its peak when his horse started acting strange because he could clearly see the fearful whites of the horses eyes as he was flung from it’s back and hit the ground with a hard thud and snap. His hand catching his fall and snapping under the pressure, letting out a painful cry and holding the broken wrist against his chest, eyes rising to watch his horse running off in the opposite direction, gaze trailing to the tree line where he spotted two yellow orbs staring straight at him. Everything after that was chaos, he tried to get up to run but his legs felt like jello, he went to grab his rifle but it was impossible to hold right with only one hand. The thing got closer and closer, a low growl emitting from it’s form. From a distance, Kit thought it was just a regular wolf, but as it got closer it got bigger and bigger. A massive beast that could fit Kit’s entire head in it’s mouth if it wanted. He clumsily fired off a shot that hit the wolf in the leg, it didn’t even flinch. Lunging at the man who was now helpless on the ground. 

Kit could remember a lot of pain in his arm before blacking out, found only half an hour after the attack since the ranchers heard the gunshot. Miraculously they managed to get him to the hospital without him bleeding out. In the emergency room for only a few days before the large bite wound in shoulder was on it’s way to being completely healed. “A miracle” the doctors and nurses would explain to him as he finally came to with what happened. No matter how much he insisted he could go back to work, the kind owners of the farm wouldn’t allow it and said that he should take the month off after a scare like that. But as the days went by Kit was only feeling stronger and stronger, like a second wind was breathed into him. He left the hospital a week later when they could no longer rationalize keeping him there. But it was in the weeks that followed when he realized something was wrong with him. The full moon approached rapidly as he was tending to the animals making sure they were all herded back before it got too dark. 

The way he felt that night he couldn’t possibly describe, it was a mix of anger, strength, fear all mixed together that sent his body into a quivering mess beneath the full moon. Everything he was feeling was amplified and he had to have thrown up at least once or twice as he curled up in the middle of the pasture. His horse had run off, the livestock wouldn’t come anywhere near him and as soon as the last cloud passed away from the sky and the moon hit its peak, his body snapped and fractured, breaking down on itself. If you asked Kit to recall how he felt in that moment the absolutely couldn’t, after both his legs snapped out of place he blacked out. Only waking at sunrise in a misty field with his face buried in the rapidly cooling corpse of a cow. Luckily no one had spotted him out there in the pasture and while naked and covered head to toe in blood he wobbled back to his cabin on the property, hiding behind the locked door for days.

Irrationally he believed that it was obvious he was the culprit, he was the last one out there, but the body of the heifer was mangled to a point that pointed towards a large animal not a “human” He had to get off the farm, at least for a little while, while no one suspected him. After the first time he went through the shift, Kit had grown to be more careful, making sure he was alone whenever a full moon came around. Controlling his emotions well enough to keep from shifting out of the blue. But the dates slipped his mind, he’d been working so much and was getting exhausted and careless. He never would’ve gone into the city had he known. It was just supposed to be a quick drink at one of the local pubs and then he’d head home, but it turned into a couple drinks and by the time he left the bar the street lights had come on and the moon was rising further up into the sky. He could feel the power tingling down his arms and through his fingers. A change he couldn’t control no matter how hard he tried. He didn’t have many options, peeling away from the streets he ducked into an alley to let the wolf take control under the cover of darkness. It wasn’t ideal and the fear of killing someone in the city was ever present in the forefront of his mind while his body shifted and cracked into a monstrous form of broken bones and torn flesh. 

A wolffish creature emerged from where the small human once was, a mind of its own as he scavenged through the dumpsters and garbage that scattered around him. It wasn’t long before it caught the scent of a human walking by. A poor victim for the monstrous beast.the growl that erupted from the back of his throat resonated off the close walls of the alley way, creeping forward as yellow eyes fixated on the now frightened form of a young man. The moment his victim spotted the wolf, he lunged, hackles raised and long teeth the size of kitchen knives tore into soft flesh. It took every ounce of Kits willpower to tear the beast away from the boy before he could mangle the corpse pass recognition. By the time he left, he thought he had killed him, with the amount of blood he left behind. But the wolf wasn’t satisfied, stalking the streets looking for a feast. 

Again, Kit would wake up surrounded by the sickening scent of blood, however instead of the corpse of a cow, it was a person. A man, no older than 35, body torn to pieces, missing a arm. Looking around Kit felt sick to his stomach when he couldn’t find it around the body and assumed the worst. Crawling to the side of the road he retched whatever remained in his stomach. It took a couple more minutes to realize he wasn’t in a pasture or a forest where he wouldn’t be noticed. He was on the corner of a street, a cross walk just a couple feet down from him where he spotted people approaching, someone had already pulled out a cellphone to record. Panic set in, and again butt naked and covered in blood he made a run for it, luckily he was on the edge of town and could cut through the forest to make it back to the farm. Too bad his wolf self didn’t kill that poor sap just a mile down the road. 

By the time he made it back to the farm it was daylight, the farmhands were already out and about and making it to his cabin was no easy feat. The only way without being seen was to go around the homesteaders farm house, where he saw the wife cooking with the tv on through the big bay windows, while hiding in the shrubbery he could hear a loud travel ad for Greece came on, tickets were cheap for economy, and the exhausted and out of ideas Kit, made the decision to grab what little he had and make a beeline out of the country before he could be identified.

PERSONALITY

+ hardworking, passionate, selfless – nervous, impulsive, stubborn

PLAYED BY NOAH. EST. He/Him.

[thegreatestofheck]

Little Village pt.2＊Outer Banks＊

Find part one here! 

word count - 2407 warnings- a little bit of underage drinking but nothing other than that synopsis - June is overwhelmed with support from her little family. She struggles with the fear of taking after her own parents. As word starts to spread that she is pregnant, June has to decide which battles she’s going to fight and which she’ll let slide.  tagging - @apoguecalledjj @ijustreallylovethem @jxpiter-sxturn  a/n - so I just realized that “She Used to be Mine” from Waitress is pretty on par with the story I had planned out for June, so do with that what you will. I hope you enjoy this as much as the last one! The love I received made me feel so amazing, you have no idea. Thank you all so much! You know the drill; stay safe, stay healthy, stay groovy! 

***

June could have very well told them that the sky was blue from the boys’ lack of reaction. 

“Say something,” Kie said, hands on June’s shoulder. 

“We knew,” John B said finally. 

“You knew?” 

“Well, actually, I figured it out,” JJ said, leaning back in his chair and tucking his hands behind his head. 

“When?” June asked, voice breaking.

“That day I came home early.”

“How?” 

“I know you better than you think, Jue. You were sick, you weren’t drinking, you barely even yelled at me for smoking in the house-”

“You were smoking in the house?”

“Shut up, John B. So, yeah, I figured it out. I had to tell John B because, well, you’re his big sis. Pope was being a snoop and he overheard.”

Mouth hung open, June dropped her head into her hands. 

“And you didn’t tell me?” Kie asked. “What happened to no secrets between Pogues?”

“We thought you knew!” Pope protested. “Being a girl and all, we thought she told you.” 

June wanted to vomit all over the floor. They knew this entire time. She had been trying to hide it for weeks and they knew. But they didn’t hate her. They didn’t treat her any differently. They still cared for her. 

An unwanted wave of emotion passed through June and a sob came from her mouth, followed by a few tears. Kie dropped to her knees, arms still around June’s shoulders. 

John B slid out of his chair and joined her on the floor. 

“Hey, Junebird?” She looked up at him, shocked to hear her old nickname coming from his mouth. There were tears in his eyes as he folded her hands in his. “You’re not alone in this. I’m right beside you.” 

“Yeah,” JJ said. “You’ve been there for us when we needed it. We’ve got your back.” 

“Anything my family can do for you,” Pope added, scooting closer. “Just name it and it’s yours.” 

“We’re your family, June,” whispered Kie. “We’re not going anywhere.” 

When the emotions hit again, June reached out and pulled John B into a tight hug, trying to keep herself from crying in front of her little brother. A feeling of strength passed through her when John B hugged her back. Kie dropped her head against June’s shoulder. Soon, she felt JJ and Pope add themselves to the hug, June crying at the center. 

She wasn’t sure why she had ever doubted them. Kie was right. They had always been her family. While it was true that her dad had been murdered only a year ago, she had lost him long before that. Without a mother and without a father, June wondered to herself how well she could raise a child. Was she even the right person to do so? What kind of life could she give a baby, working double shifts at a diner?

She wouldn’t let herself think about it now, though. For now, she wanted to be content that no matter what happened, she had a family surrounding her to help her raise a child. That was all she needed. 

***

JJ tossed the book onto the dining room table, making June pick up her head. She blinked sleep out of her eyes as she looked up at him and then back down at the book. 

“What’s this?” She asked, picking up the book. 

“Baby names,” he said, flopping into the chair across from her, kicking his feet up onto the table. 

“Feet off the table, J,” she said, flipping through the book. JJ rolled his eyes, not moving his feet. “Just because I’m pregnant doesn’t mean I won’t kick your ass.”

JJ grinned and dropping his feet back down to the ground, leaning forward to snatch the book out of June’s hands. She sighed, glaring at him. 

“Since we know it’s going to be a boy, I’m just going to ignore all the girl names,” he said, flipping to the back of the book. 

“We don’t know it’s going to be a boy,” June said, dropping her tired head into her hands. JJ put his fingers to his temple and squeezed his eyes shut. “What are you doing?”

“Manifesting.”

“Stop manifesting my baby.” 

“Our baby, Jue.” June shook her head. “Little baby Pogue will be one of us from birth.” 

“Great,” June said, leaning back with a hand on her stomach. 

“So, I was thinking you need a good, strong name. Oh, I know a perfect on.” JJ stuck his finger in the air as if it was a light bulb. “JJ. It’s perfect.”

“If you think I’m naming my baby after you, J, think again,” June said, closing her eyes. “Besides, I don’t think want to think about names until baby is born.” 

“Oh, well, the others already have their own lists so you’re gonna have to take it up with them.” 

June groaned as a sharp pain shot through her back. 

“Lemme guess,” she said, shifting in her seat and grimacing. “Your list just consists of your name in as many different versions as you can muster.”

“No,” JJ said, dropping the book back onto the table. “I only have one name on my list.”

“And what’s that?”

“Elliot.”

“Elliot?”

“Yeah. My mom’s name was Eleanor, so, since it’s a boy, I thought Elliot was a pretty good alternative.”

“We don’t know it’s a boy, J,” June said. But she liked the idea. June promised herself that she wouldn’t think about names until the birth. She didn’t even want to know gender until then. It wasn’t important now. 

But as she lay in bed, June couldn’t help but run the name over and over in her head. Elliot. 

“Little Eli?” She whispered to herself in the dark, resting a hand on her stomach. With a shake of her head, June rolled over and squeezed her eyes together. 

***

June somehow thought she had more time before she began to show through her clothes. In her mind, she could pretend that she was just bloating, and maybe that was a lie she could use, but she realized quickly that wasn’t the case. 

She was at the general store, picking up food for that night’s dinner. Nothing sounded good, nothing normal at least. She wanted to make peanut butter sandwiches with cucumbers and ranch, but she had a houseful of people who would probably balk at the idea. 

With a basket full of food that she had no desire to eat, June went to the candy isle. Never before had she craved anything sour, but all she could think about now was sour skittles. She threw a few packets into her basket before starting for the front of the store. 

Before she made it very far, someone stepped in the way. 

“Get out of my way, Topper.” 

Ever since Rafe had gone to rehab or wherever to get himself better, Topper had taken over as douche numero uno. He especially had it out for John B and, of course, June. He was a pest more than anything, a rock in her sandal. She just couldn’t shake him out. 

“I’ve heard a rumor about you, June,” Topper said, leaning against one of the shelves as he munched on an apple. June sucked in a deep breath and tried to smile. 

“And what would that be?”

“That you’ve got a little bun in the oven.” Sickness passed through her as Topper’s gaze dropped down to her stomach. June rolled her eyes to cover the fact that she wanted to vomit on his Prada shoes. 

“Maybe you should stop listening to rumors,” she said, attempting to shove her way past him. 

“Then I guess you’re just getting fat,” Topper said with a shrug. June sneered at him and shoved him out of her way. “Tell your brother he better watch his back. I’ve seen that girlfriend of his sneaking around a lot recently.” 

June knew full well why Sarah had been sneaking around. She had let John B tell his girlfriend and ever since then, Sarah had been at the Chateau almost every morning to hold June’s hair back while she emptied her guts into the toilet. Sarah came with a helpful tips, soft hands, and quiet humming. Of course, June would never tell Topper that in a million years. 

“Will do,” June said, pushing past him. 

She was in a bad mood all the way back to the Chateau, grumbling to herself about stupid children and idiot boys. Pope and Kie sat outside when June got there. 

“Hey,” June said as she neared. 

“Howdy ho,” Pope replied, flipping through the baby name book. 

“I’m going to take a nap, I think,” June said, her feet starting to drag. “I have a shift tonight so I got some pasta. Tell JJ not to burn it this time.”

“JJ burned pasta?” Kie asked, a small smile on her face. June titled her head to the side and clicked her tongue. 

“Have you told your boss yet?” Pope asked. June shook her head, setting the bag of groceries down on the porch. 

“I don’t think I’m going to, not until the last minute,” June said. “I just don’t want to put any more pressure on her.”

“I have no idea how you’re going to hide it,” Pope said, shaking his head and looking back at the book. June watched him scribble something on a piece of paper. 

“High waisted jeans and flow-y shirts,” June told him with a smile. 

“Go, rest,” Kie said, picking up the groceries. “I’ll make sure dinner gets made.”

“Thanks, babe,” June said, giving a short kiss to Kie’s head. 

“You’re going to be a good mother, Jue,” Kie told her, taking June’s hand. June smiled, but she didn’t say anything. Instead, she turned toward the house and stepped inside. 

Falling into her bed, June heaved out a deep sigh. Before she fell asleep, she set a quiet alarm that would give her enough time to freshen up before heading off to the diner for work. 

But she couldn’t fall asleep. It didn’t matter how hard she tried or how tightly she squeezed her eyes, sleep wouldn’t come to her. 

Kie’s words rumbled around in her head. A good mother...a good mother. 

What did June know about being a good mother? The last thing she remembered of her own mother was watching her run out the front door, John B crying on the floor. June remembered the heartbreak she felt, not at watching her mother leave but listening to her little brother cry. 

June didn’t have the first clue what it took to be a parent. Even with her little village, June wasn’t sure why she was kidding herself thinking that there was any hope for her child. Who would be raising the baby? A bunch of teenagers who wanted to spend their days smoking and drinking and herself, who was barely older and with fewer aspirations. 

When her alarm started to ring, June felt herself stiffen. She wanted to sleep, but it wasn’t coming to her. And now there was no time. She pulled on the pants with the highest waist, covering the small bump, before pulling on a loose fitted shirt. 

She worked and smiled through the discomfort. Her feet hurt more than usual, but she wasn’t sure why. Her back ached even from something so simple as bending down to pick plates up off of tables. It felt like even breathing made her exhausted. She spent her entire shift hiding her desire to vomit behind a smile. 

The moon was out by the time June returned home, grumpier than she had been earlier in the day. 

JJ and John B were sitting at the table, both Kie and Pope were gone. June was glad to see them chatting, empty bowls in on the table in front of them. When she walked in, they both turned to look at her with smiles. 

“There’s some pasta left,” John B said, pointing at the stove. 

“I’ll get it for you,” JJ said as he pushed himself out of the chair. 

“Sit down, J. I’m pregnant, not paralyzed.” 

Still, JJ went over to the stove, grabbing a clean bowl off the counter. John B patted the chair next to him and June lowered herself into it. 

“I see someone finally cleaned the dishes,” she said, hiding a grimace with a smile. 

“It was Pope and Kie,” John B said. “They had it done before we got home.”

“What were you two doing today anyway?” June asked, leaning back in her chair. 

“Oh, just stuff,” John B said, playing his shoe laces. 

“Just stuff?” 

“Yeah. Just...stuff.” 

June narrowed her eyes at her brother, but conceded eventually. She breathed out, dropping a hand to her stomach. 

“So, JJ said that you have a list of names for the baby,” she said. “What’s your first pick?”

“Little Pogue is yours, Jue. Maybe I have a few ideas, but-”

“Are you really calling my baby ‘Little Pogue’?” June asked. JJ walked over and put down a bowl of pasta in front of June. “Thanks, J.”

“We’ve all been calling him Little Pogue,” John B said. 

“And do you all think it’s going to be a boy?” June asked with a smile. 

“Pope and Kie think it’s a girl,” JJ said, popping off the cap of a beer. 

June rolled her eyes, eating the pasta slowly. It didn’t really make her feel any better and it was the last thing she really wanted to be eating, but she ate it anyway. There was no need to worry JJ or her brother by not eating. 

“You should sleep, Junebird,” John B said, standing up and putting his hands on June’s shoulders from behind. 

“Yeah,” she said with a yawn, chewing slowly on her pasta. She stood slowly, picking up her bowl. 

“I’ll take that,” John B said. 

“Again,” June said with a laugh. “Just pregnant, not paralyzed.” 

JJ and John B started chattering to each other again, arguing about something that June didn’t really care to listen to. 

“Goodnight, boys,” June sighed, starting toward the back room. 

“Night, Jue!” JJ called. 

“Sleep well,” John B echoed.

June smiled to herself as she shut her door. The day had been long, she was exhausted, but there was still a small glow in her heart. This time, when June crawled into her bed, she had no issues going to sleep. 

[katehuntington]

Title: Ride With Me (part seventeen) Fandom: Supernatural Timeline: 2008 Pairing: Dean x Reader Word count: ±4700 words Summary series: Y/N is a talented horse rider who is on her way to become a professional. In order to convince her father that she deserves the loan needed to start her own farm, she goes to Arizona for six months, to intern at a ranch owned by Bobby and Ellen Singer. Her future is set out, but then she meets a handsome horseman, who goes by the name of Dean Winchester. A heartwarming series about a cowboy who falls for the girl, letting go of the past and the importance of family.  Summary part seventeen: Unable to sleep, Y/N goes over last night’s events, until she gets an unexpected visitor. Warnings series: NSFW, 18+ only! Fluff, angst, eventually smut. Swearing, smoking, alcohol intoxication, alcohol abuse. Mutual pining, heartbreak. Crying, nightmares, childhood trauma. Description of animal abuse, domestic violence, mentions of addiction. Financial problems, stress, mental breakdown. Description of blood and injury, hospital scenes, character death, grief. Music: ‘After My Heart + Can’t Help Falling In Love’ - John Michael Howell. Follow ‘Kate Huntington’s Ride With Me playlist’ on Spotify! Please listen to this song during the scene, it’s so worth it! Author’s note: I’m excited for this one, y’all! Thank you @kittenofdoomage, @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish and @winchest09 for helping me. You girls are awesome betas and friends.

Ride With Me Masterlist

     The bunkhouse is silent after a festive night. All the lights out, except for the one on Y/N’s bedside table. Sleep might have come limited the past week, but she isn’t ready to close her eyes just yet. The adventurous trail, combined with the unexpected news about her qualification has her riled up with excitement. 

     Not sure what to do with this new found energy, she has taken out one of her notebooks, which is filled with scrabbles. She won State Championships with a relatively simple floorplan, not wanting to overshoot, but if she wants to leave an impression with the judges at Congress, she needs to step up her game. Combinations between exercises will push up her degree of difficulty, so she decided to change a few lines. Working on her freestyle tonight wasn’t entirely according to plan, but who knows, maybe the tequila and beer will add some creativity.

     She has changed into a comfortable tank top and a pair of shorts, the soft fabric a contrast to the sandy denim she’s been clad in the past days. The temperature is comfortably warm, early October in Arizona much more like summer compared to the autumn days she’s used to in Maine.

     Strangely, she hasn’t been homesick for Freeport at all. She misses her mom and dad, her brothers, but after her time living on campus, she’s used to being away from family. Her father travels a lot for work, and Jaime, her older brother by three years, moved to the other side of the country straight out of the Police Academy, fighting crime in Los Angeles these days. Middle kid Jackson bought a house in Boston and is busy with his real estate firm, while her oldest brother, Jeff and his wife are expecting their first child. Y/N wouldn’t say they have grown apart, but now that she and her siblings don’t share a house anymore, things have changed. They’ve spread their wings, built a life for themselves.

     She checks her phone when a message from Jaime pops up, sending her a selfie in which he shows off his muscles, holding up a fist. ‘Show them what you’re made of! You’re gonna ace that ride!’ he added in the caption. She closes the text, scrolling down the list of messages from family and friends, until she finds one from Jeffrey, which is a little more lengthy. ‘Mom said I had to wait until Dad reached you, so I hope you got the news by now, otherwise I’m in trouble. Congratulations, Sis. You worked so hard for this. I’m really proud of you, and I know Grandpa will be cheering you on from above. You’re already a champion.’ She smiles at the sweet words; she should really give him a call next week.

     Redirecting her attention to the notebook in her lap, she picks up her pen, sketches a new line, crosses it and bites on the pen cap, pondering. Marcel, her trainer at the Freeport Equestrian Center, helped her with the first version. She could get in touch with him tomorrow, she’s sure he will be willing to shed a light on what she has so far. Distance will be an issue, though, and with time being of the essence since it’s only fifteen days before they head towards Columbus, Ohio, where Congress is held, she has to take a different approach.

     What if she asks Dean to help her with the freestyle, or even to come with her to the show? He has helped her a couple of times during training and she appreciates his approach. His suggestions and tips paid off; his methods really seemed to work for both her and Meadow. The head wrangler knows Y/N and her horse well enough to offer advice in bringing out their best qualities, she just hopes he’s up for it. After some drinks, Dean didn’t stick around long. When she asked Jo where he went, she said Dean offered to do the final feeding round. Y/N thought about following him, but didn’t want to draw attention from the rest of the crew; them both gone would’ve raised suspicion and she doesn’t want to put him in the spot of having to explain himself.

     When Y/N noticed his absence, her stomach made an unpleasant flip. The uneasy sensation remained the rest of the evening, not evident, but brewing nonetheless, and it had nothing to do with the alcohol. She wonders if something has changed, maybe. That coming home to the ranch caused Dean to reconsider. Why else would he distance himself?

     Doubtful, she takes a breath, her mind going places she’d rather not be. Still missing a steady foundation for them to start building a relationship on, doubt surfaces again. Deep down she’s scared that the cowboy might back out, which would cause heartbreak she’s not sure she can handle. She cares too much already, she’s too far gone. Y/N is passing the station of just being in love with Dean; it’s growing into something even more.

     Before her thoughts can spiral further, there’s a soft knock on the door. The kind that is soft enough to not wake her had she been sleeping, but loud enough for her to hear if she wasn’t. She slides out of bed, rises to her bare feet, careful not to bump her head against the top bunk like she has so many times already, and crosses her room. When she opens the door, she finds the man who has been on her mind on the other side, locking his green eyes on her. She’s pleasantly surprised to see him with it being past 11 PM already; she expected him to be in bed long ago after the exhausting past few days.      “Hey, what are you doing u--”

     He doesn’t let her finish and bridges the few feet between them, cupping her face with both hands and pulling her into a kiss. After the initial shock, which only lasts a fraction of a second, he can feel her lashes brush against his skin as she closes her eyes and melts into him, allowing him to deepen the connection. Her response takes away the restlessness that weighed on his chest like a chunk of concrete, ever since the thought of her leaving arose.

     They step into her room far enough for Dean to kick the door shut, preventing possible eavesdroppers from tuning in, his mouth never leaving hers. Instinctively, her arms snake around his torso, tracing the lines of his strong back through the fabric of his shirt. There’s a desperation in his touch that’s new to her, the way he longs for this connection is different. Eventually, he breaks the kiss and she studies him when he rests his forehead against hers. His eyes stay closed for a little longer, holding on to the moment while his hands slip from her face. 

     He didn’t want to steal a few seconds while surrounded by the crew, he didn’t want to get in line to give her a quick hug or a peck on the cheek. No, he needed to be with her, just the two of them without restrictions.

     “What was that for?” she wonders.      “Just wanted to congratulate you.” He smiles, trying to mask his concern, and sweetly presses his lips on hers again. “Personally.” And again. “Privately.” And again.      She giggles, triggering him to chuckle as well. He moves his head back to take her in.      “Congratulations, Yankee,” he says, genuine. “You earned it.”      “Thank you,” she smiles, still slightly confused. “Where’d you go earlier?”      “Someone had to feed those poor starving animals,” he jokes. “And since Bobby already had a few whiskies, and Garth is an absolute light weight, I took one for the team.”

     He was quick to take the final feeding round, not just because he was the last man standing. Doing one last check, giving the horses their hay for the night, making sure the stables are shut properly, locking up the tackroom and the cafeteria and eventually the large barn doors after switching off the lights; it offers him peace of mind. It’s a daily routine, a recurring series of actions, done so 365 days a year. Ensuring everything is exactly the way it’s supposed to be in the place where he lives and works, grounds him when he’s feeling restless. It gives him a moment alone, the horses his only company, allowing him to think things over and collect himself again. Tonight was no different, because even though he was relieved Y/N’s father wasn’t the bearer of bad news, Dean felt disturbed with his initial response. For a good few minutes, he thought he was going to lose her, and the anxiety it surfaced was much more intense than he anticipated.

     Y/N keeps watching him as the cowboy is lost in thought. He’s trying to be funny and cute, but that’s not all there is to it; his eyes tell a different story. He kissed her a little too fierce, pulled her in a little too tight. Something is bothering him, and although she doesn’t want to force him to talk, she needs to know what it is before she loses her mind herself.      “What’s wrong, Dean?” she asks, softly, moving her hands up his chest.      “It’s nothin’,” he assures, shaking his head.

     But when the concern remains evident in her expression, he sighs. He doesn’t want her to worry, or think it’s something she’s done. If anything, she’s been absolutely perfect. God, she’s so patient. Even though she needs him, she offers him space. Expressing how he feels might be terrifying, it’s about time he’s fair with the woman who’s willing to wait.      “It’s just that, uh - when your dad called, he… he sounded pretty serious,” Dean admits, looking down. “I thought something might have happened with your folks or somethin’, and that you...”      He pauses, struggling, but Y/N knows enough.      “You thought Dad was going to tell me to come back,” she realizes.

     Suddenly his behavior makes so much more sense. His complete change of demeanor when he approached her table in the saloon after receiving the call, him seeming as nervous as she was when she picked up the phone. The sigh of relief when she told him and Jo the great news, his disappearance from the celebration at the saloon. Dean thought he was going to lose her, and apparently it scared him. Y/N is as stunned by the realization, as she is by the confirming nod he gives her.

     “Well - I mean - it could’ve been, right?” he says, shrugging his shoulders almost apologetically, like he’s not allowed to be worried about a presumption as such.      “I’m twenty-four, Dean. I’m not going anywhere unless I want to,” she reminds him, hoping to offer him some consolation.      “Glad to hear it,” he responds, his hands moving to her waist as he restores eye contact. “‘cause I’d hate to see you go.”

     Heartfelt, the beautiful girl in his arms smiles. She seems to understand the weight of his words, because she crosses her wrists behind his head and urges him to come closer. Dean’s heart swells in his chest when she brushes her lips against his, tentatively at first. His mind calms, the nerves subsiding. Not only is she staying, she also understands what’s going on in his head, and in a strange and unexpected way, it’s kind of liberating. Not having to pretend and put on a mask, not having to convince anyone that everything is fine. He’s gotten so used to telling people he’s okay, the words to express himself prove to be hard to grasp. Who knows, maybe one day he’ll get the hang of it.

     Dean’s mind goes blank when she deepens the kiss, swiping her tongue against his bottom lip. Her arms close around his neck a little tighter, holding him so close he can feel the warmth coming from her skin. She smells amazing, the scent of her shampoo still lingering in her hair, a sweet smell of a flower he can’t name. He presses his fingertips into her flesh, carefully shifting them under the hem of her tank top, even though he knows very well that he shouldn’t. It isn’t going to take long before he will not be able to stop himself.

     She feels him trace her sides, rolling up the fabric of her top as he does so. Normally she would be self-conscious about it, but when she parts from him when running out of air, all she sees in his eyes is adoration and want. Both seem to be waiting for each other, unsure if they should take this further. Afterall, considering what they agreed on, this would be a poor execution of taking things slow.

     Without breaking away from her gaze, his left hand travels down, following the curves of her hips. He adds pressure, gently pulling her against him. What she feels through the denim of his jeans has her eyes grow wide. A delightful tension starts to tangle up in her stomach, sinking deeper. Somewhat surprised that she apparently has this effect on him, she takes in a shuddering breath, gazing deep into his eyes. God, she wants to go there, but is he willing to as well?      “Are you sure?” she checks with him.      Dean doesn’t have to think twice and nods. To hell with it, he’s not going to waste another second.      “I want you,” he breathes, his voice husky.

     It’s all she’s ever wanted to hear him say. It might not be the confirmation of their relationship she’s been hoping to get eventually; it’s better. He wants her. He wants her.

     Free from restraints, she crashes her lips to his and Dean doesn’t hesitate to return the kiss with the same need. All the question marks, the doubt, the thoughts along the line of ‘what if it goes wrong?’ and ‘maybe we shouldn’t do this’ go right out the window.      It wouldn’t matter if they waited longer, because if that wake up call taught the cowboy anything, it’s that together or not, it would tear him to pieces if she were ever to leave the ranch. If he’s going to spend this time with her, he better make it worth her while, and maybe, just maybe, she’ll stay with him in the end.

     Eventually, his mouth leaves hers and begins to descend, his breath tickling her skin as he ghosts down her neck. Willingly, she rolls her head to her shoulder, offering him space to leave marks on her pulse point, then down her collarbone. The hint of delicious pain has her fighting back a moan, which proves to be challenging, especially when his hands roam down to cover her peach-shaped behind. Trying to distract herself and be useful at the same time, she begins to unbutton his plaid shirt, his touch momentarily interrupted until the piece of clothing falls to the floor in a puddle of blue, soon followed by his white undershirt.

     Before Dean urges her closer again, he drags the only chair in the room away from the small table by the window, sitting down and pulling her with him. The wood underneath them creaks when she settles in his lap, her bare knees on either side of the cowboy, holding herself up and leaning into his bare chest. The denim of his jeans stretches over his erection, rubbing against her core. The sheer thought of a few layers of fabric being the only barrier between him and her, sends a surge of heat to dampen her panties. Thank God she chose the lace ones earlier after her shower, the ones she can only wear whenever she’s not spending her day in the saddle. She wonders if he can tell how aroused she is already.

     Dean can. He can feel the warmth radiating towards him and he can feel himself growing even harder, too. His breath hitches and he stifles a groan when she rolls her hips, burying his face in the crook of her neck. Ho-ly shit. This might not be how he originally imagined their first time, in this tiny room with thin walls, this one chair and a bunk bed, but it feels so good. He has enveloped her in his arms, his hands roam her body, not leaving a square inch unattended. Without tearing the seams, he pulls the strap of her loosely fitted tank top over one shoulder, the material shifting down. His fingers then reposition to cup her breast, all while he presses kisses on top. When he moves his thumb over her stiff nipple, she pulls in an audible gasp.      “Sssh…” he hushes. “Wouldn’t want to wake the neighbors.”

     Y/N can’t help it, though. The friction she feels beneath her, combined with the touch of his mouth and his fingertips, is already beginning to build her up. She begins to pant, her lungs pushing out air in quivers. Dean doesn’t stop, however, and continues to knead her breast without hurting her, smothering the sounds she makes with another breathtaking kiss. His other hand has snaked around her waist again, splayed on the small of her back now, spurring her on to move against him. Good God, if he keeps this up, she might come undone without him even actually touching her down there.

     The chair creaks louder when she moves against him, triggering Dean to cringe. The old furniture is either going to break or wake everyone in the bunkhouse, and so he pulls Y/N flush against him and stands up. Without missing a beat or breaking the kiss, she folds her legs around his waist as he walks her to the bed. Laying her down and fitting himself on top turns out to be a little more difficult than he thought it would be, the bunk bed limiting his space, but after some shimmying, he manages.

      He hovers over the woman he’s about to be intimate with, mesmerized by the sight of her laying underneath him, her chest heaving, her eyes lustful. She’s the definition of gorgeous without even trying. Dude, how the hell did you manage to hold back this long?

     The trail of kisses he presses on her stomach has Y/N arching her back, her eyes closed in delight as he travels down. Gently, he opens her legs a little wider, feather light touches electrifying her skin, sending currents towards her center. His hands leave her then, teasingly letting her wait in suspense. She listens, trying to pick up on any sound of him breathing or moving, her senses operating on full capacity. He’s testing her patience like he has done for the past few days. A chill runs down her spine as seconds tick by, but then Dean palms her heat through the fabric of her shorts. She bites her bottom lip at the unexpected connection, her fists clenching the comforter and a moan escaping her throat. This is happening. This is really happening.

     Y/N feels him tracing the waistband of her shorts, before hooking his thumbs underneath the hem. He’s about to drag them down and move in, when they hear a door handle being pushed down. Her eyes shoot open in time to see Dean jerk back and sit up startled, hitting his head hard against the top bunk. The collision of his skull with the solid wood creates a loud bang, followed by a strangled groan. He curses through gritted teeth, trying to make as little noise as possible, while outside the room a door shuts. Horrified, they both stare at the other end of the room, not moving a muscle as shuffling footsteps cross the hall, opening another door and closing it again. A toilet seat is lifted up, the person whistling to himself softly. There can be only one person who needs encouragement to relieve himself: Garth.

     “For fuck’s sake,” Dean hisses.      Y/N is unable to stop a snort, sniggering silently, even though she tries not to.      “You okay?” she checks, trying to sound concerned. Not very convincing, apparently, because Dean shoots her a glare, while rubbing the sore spot on his head.      The toilet flushes loudly and obscenely, triggering the woman underneath him to giggle unstoppably. When he shushes her, frantically holding his finger to his lips, it achieves the opposite, causing him to break character as well. Doing their best to keep it down, she clasps her hand over her mouth while Dean presses his lips together, trying to compose himself.      “You need to be quiet,” he whispers.      “I c-can’t”, she hiccups, tears streaming down her cheeks.

     Garth heads back to his room, either sleep walking or he’s deaf, because he doesn’t pick up on any of the action happening on the other side of the hall. His door closes, the springs of his bed creak as he gets back in, and silence returns.      “Would you stop?” Dean chuckles, poking Y/N’s side when she fails to control her laughing fit.       “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” she returns, struggling to keep it down. “How’s your head?”      “It’s alright,” he claims, ignoring the slight bump when he runs his hand through his hair. “Moment’s gone, ain’t it?”

      She wipes the tears from her face, breathing in now that she’s capable again. Comforting, she reaches for his hand. As much as she would like to continue, the circumstances aren’t exactly ideal. Their first time together shouldn’t have to be clumsy and uncomfortable, in a bed that’s too small in a room with paper thin walls.       “Rain check?” she proposes.      Dean leans in to leave a kiss on her lips. “Rain check. ‘Sides, wouldn’t wanna have to hold back because you can’t keep it down.”      She pokes him in his stomach now. “Don’t get cocky.”

     Dean scoffs, sliding from the bed without hitting his head this time. Grinning mischievously, he turns around, pulling her to her feet as well. The cowboy takes a second to really look at her again, glad to notice the lack of insecurity in her composure. Her hair is messy, strands escaping the loose bun at the base of her neck, ready for bed in her pajama shorts and a comfortable top. She could have felt self-conscious in this situation, especially since their moment together came to an abrupt and slightly awkward end. But she isn’t, she feels at ease when she’s with him. A small smile forms on the cowboy’s lips.

     “You should get some sleep. We’ll skip the afternoon siestas, now that the temperatures are droppin’, so we’ll start an hour and a half later tomorrow. I figured you might wanna train Meadow first thing in the morning?” he suggests, picking up his shirts from the floor.      Y/N agrees, glad that she’s being given the space to focus on Congress. “Dean, about that…”      He glances back, patiently waiting for the follow up.      “I was wondering if you could maybe help me out with my freestyle?” she asks, a little shy.      “Yeah, of course,” the head wrangler responds without hesitation.       “Great,” she breathes, relieved. “And there’s this other thing.”      Dean steps closer, laying his shirt and flannel over his shoulder so that he has his hands free and can lace his fingers with hers. “What is it?”      “I was hoping you could coach me,” she says, looking up at him. “Not just at home, but when I have to compete in Columbus, too.”

     Humbled, he gazes back, the corners of his mouth curving up. Coaching such a skilled rider as Y/N would be an absolute privilege, and with the trainers he knows she’s had, he’s surprised she’s asking him. Sure, the connection they have personally is there on a much more professional level as well, but they are talking Congress here, the biggest show of the year, and possibly the most important one of her career. Apparently, she has as much faith in his abilities to guide her as he has faith in her talent.        “It’ll be my pleasure,” he states.      “Really?” Y/N responds, thrilled.       “Hell, yeah,” Dean says, excited. “I’ll have to check with management if I can get time off for Congress, but I have plenty of days left. Plus, I think Ellen is kinda rooting for us.”      She chuckles, but then does a double take. “Wait, what? Ellen knows we’re together? I - I mean, not together together, I get that we’re not an item--”      “-Ellen knows,” he grins, squeezing her hand when he interrupts her nervous train of words. “I think basically everyone knows by now, except Garth and Bobby.”

     A little uneasy Y/N glances from their hands up into his eyes. Wait… Is she reading too much into his words? He didn’t correct her when she used the term ‘together’. Why didn’t he? Is he worried he might upset her again? If anything, she doesn’t want to push him to oblige to something he’s not ready for.      “Dean, I know we just… I didn’t mean--” She pauzes, collects herself and starts over. “I know you’re not ready for a relationship and that’s fine, we had that conversation already. I’m not trying to rush you.”      “You’re not rushin’ me,” he assures, calmly. “I just needed a wake up call in order to pull my head out of my ass.”      The woman before him hesitates, “W-what do you mean?”

     The wrangler wets his lips, taking a second to choose his words carefully.       “When your old man called, for a minute I thought you were about to hop on a plane and that I was never gonna see you again,” he admits. “And - uh, it kinda freaked me out, to be honest.”      He huffs, barely able to believe what he’s about to say.      “I’m not gonna keep you waitin’ any longer, Yankee. I know I said I want you, earlier, but truth is…” 

     Y/N watches him glance down at their hands again, running his thumb over her knuckles. Nerves close off her throat, because she has a hunch that he’s about to break it to her; he doesn’t want the commitment. 

Tears begin to prick in her eyes, but not from laughter this time. She knew it was going to be difficult to get close to him. Dean keeps to himself, probably because he cared too much in the past and learned his lesson the hard way. The possibility of her leaving spooked him today, and now he’s done. He doesn’t want to risk that kind of heartbreak, he doesn’t want to rely on anyone. Dean Winchester would rather fill his world with a hundred shallow and meaningless flings than with one solid partner, and this is him setting her free, before things get out of --      “I wanna be with you.”

     Her racing mind, which was breaking the speed limit, hits a brick wall. Shocked, she pulls her eyes away from their entwined fingers, gazing at him almost dumbfoundedly. Did he just say he wants to be with me?      “W-what?” she stammers.      “I mean, if you’ll still have me,” Dean adds, a little unsettled by her response. “Look, I know I’m not exactly an open book and that I behave like a dick sometimes when you try to get through to me. I’m stubborn as hell and my communication skills need some work—”

     Now it’s Y/N who cuts him off for a change, closing the gap and kissing him passionately. He eases into her, smiling against her lips and leaves a peck on her hair when she embraces him and buries her face under his chin. Relieved, he allows the breath he was holding to leave his lungs.      “So, what do you say?” he asks, cocking his head back slightly to be able to look her in the eye again. “Up for a challenge?”      “Are we talking about us training together for Congress, or us as a couple?” she checks, regaining her footing again.      Dean frowns and chuckles at that. “Both.”      She doesn’t need time to think. She knew the answer to this question long before Dean was ready to ask.      “Yes,” she beams. “Hell, yes.”

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

Read part eighteen here

[seadem-on]

Come in, it’s cold outside

A small fic - unabridged, written in the span of two hours, with original character Ellie, a self insert. I would like you to know that I am not in my forties though. the idea came because I wanted to be able to beat Blondie with a stick but then I discovered he maybe needed the opposite. So here is the epilogue to The Good the Bad and the Ugly we deserve.

A small wooden ranch, barely distinguishable in the dark purple horizon. Smoke blowing from the chimney in the cool evening air. He walked slowly to the front door. As he climbed the steps, a cat greeted him. He was about to bow down to caress him when he heard a gun cocking, followed by a voice as cool as the evening air. “Take your gun off and step back”. He smiled and did as the voice said, which belonged to a woman hidden behind the curtains. “I am sorry it’s so late, Ellie”. He heard hurried footsteps stalking up to him. The door slammed open and a woman in her forties with ruffled blonde hair and a blue eyed scowl appeared in light of the entrance, warmed by the light of the fireplace. She eyed him and her scowl gradually disappeared. “Didn’t know my baby brother would come round”. “Will you forgive me?” Her lips opened up in a big smile. “Come in, it’s cold outside”.

He sat himself on the large chair in front of the fireplace, a glass of water in his hand. Ellie sat in a chair opposite of him and took a good look at him. “You don’t look bad for someone who has been out in the Wild West for the last ten years”. He smiled, and took a sip of water. “You know, I can take good care of myself, Ellie”. She knew. Her baby brother had always been the family’s wonder, one step ahead of everyone in planning how to provide for their needs, taking care of them after their father passed away and their mother fell ill. They had helped each other a lot, back then. They were very similar, both fiercely stoic in their endeavors and unwilling to ask for help - not even a cry - but steady and silent in their taking care of their brothers and sisters. Her baby brother was keen on taking care of the cattle, and rescued animals that were injured, nursing them back to health - as he did with everyone in their family. Only when he fell ill nobody noticed - he never told, never wanted to be a burden on anyone. He was the silent kid, protecting himself from the world by relying on his own strentgth and acute mind. He always made it. She believed in him. So much that when he ventured to the West she took the decision with a peaceful mind - she knew her brother was different, and was not made for the calm and monotonous ranch life. His mind was too acute to be satisfied with everyday matters. He demanded challenges. She had always knew he was different, not only for his mind but also for his heart, which he kept hidden as if carefully wrapped in tight bandages, unused. Girls from other ranches had started to gossip about him when they saw he didn’t care about them - not inviting them to dance, not looking at them with the curious and slow glances as the other boys did. It was so much better for him that he had ventured to the West, where a man could have no history, could not think about the future nor the past, and where only one’s ability with a gun and with the mind mattered. He happened to have been blessed with both. She was not sure then why he had come back, or what was it that had made him want to cut it out with that life. But she wanted to find out. She knew it would not be easy as her brother guarded his heart from everyone including himself. “I can’t believe life in the West got so boring it made you come back here to your big ol’ sister.” “Why Ellie. You can’t believe it because it didn’t. It never gets boring, it just gets too dangerous.” “Too dangerous? For you?” He looked away. “It seems so, yes. Besides I can’t stand a war. Too many lives wasted”. He went quiet for a moment. What had happened in the war? Was it because of something connected to it, that he had come back? “Well baby, you know you are safe here. I have been working tirelessly around here and made this a fine place. I am glad you are here and we are together again”. He seemed taken aback by those words, suddenly losing his albeit faint smile. His eyes were dark. “But you don’t seem happy”. He looked at her, and she saw that he had something inside he was holding onto and was not willing to talk about. “Do you miss something?” He sighed and smiled tenderly again. “I am happy to be here with you Ellie.” She gazed at him. “It’s not about me idiot. Do you want someone to be with you?” She saw him tense all of sudden, his blue eyes lost in thought, and she grinned. “You know baby, I always thought you were alone out there”. He looked away again. “I was not alone”. A pause. “I had a partner”. She chose not to say anything and studied his reaction. Though he was looking away and she could not see his eyes, she saw he was smiling. “We had this scam together. We would go from town to town and get his bounty and split it.” She wondered how this man could have been - stupid enough to risk his life, desperate maybe, and in need of company, and brave, and full of trust in her brother. She felt sympathy for this man.

She told her brother so. “Yes. He was a good partner”. She knew the weight behind those words. Her brother seldom had shown admiration for anyone, and probably had not even told this man so. Maybe shown him, yes. “And so what happened? Did you break your partnership?” A sigh.

“I did. It was getting too dangerous, I told you. He was...” his voice broke. “I... didn’t want to...”. She was flustered. “I am sorry baby. I didnt know he had died...” he turned suddenly and she finally could see his eyes. They were red, his lips now curled in an unpleasant smirk. “He didn’t die. I left him.” “You left?” “Yes. But we somehow found each other again. We travelled a lot, he was focused on his objective, and I was the only one who could help him. We had a deal. Sort of. I thought I had the upper hand. I thought I could get out of it any time. But each day it became harder to get out. Until I didn’t want to anymore. I... we had found something we both wanted, something for us.” He smiled fondly, and looked at her. It was the first time she saw him smile like that, and it warmed her heart. “Baby, I am so glad for you. You deserve it. Thats what I have always wanted for you”. He lost his smile, and gazed at her. “I... told you. It was getting too dangerous, Ellie. I left him.” Fondness had disappeared from his features and had been replaced by a cold mask. His look distant. She remembered then what the workers from their neighboring ranch had done, when they found him and his first crush in the wood repository. They were just hugging - or so she had reconstructed - but the workers had scared them away with their rakes, like rats, saying they were abominable, that they were a shame in the eyes of God, and they should be punished. Her brother’s little boyfriend - she was fond of him even if she didnt know him - was found on the bottom of a rock cave. He had stayed mute for months since then. He stopped touching and hugging her, as well as his other siblings and mother, but they often found him petting fondly their cats, looking for affection from those whom he knew could not harm him. After all their neighbours had done him no harm, maybe because he had helped them with their cattle now and then. they just stopped talking to him altogether. She had not been able to help him then. She wanted to now. So she went up to him, and stroked his hair. They were as soft as ever. His hard features melted. “this world is dangerous and hard, but you know I will protect you”. He looked at her. “I want you to know that you don’t have to stop yourself from being happy because you fear you will harm those you love. It was not your fault. You hear me? It’s ok if you are not ready now. But please know that you are free and your love is not a shame, it’s beautiful and worth being seen”. His eyes were red and swollen. She put her arms around him and stroked his back while he hugged her tight. They stayed like that for a long time. When they parted she smiled at him. “I love you and I hope you will be able to tell it to someone one day”. He got up suddenly and said he went outside to smoke. Their cat entered as he went out on the porch, and she picked it up and petted it. Ellie thought, who knows where this man is now, maybe he has forgotten him already, maybe this world is too big and violent. Or maybe, I hope, it is small and kind. She heard suddenly a voice outside. “Blondie, you son of a -“ she immediately grabbed her gun and dashed out of the door, the cat still in her arms, the gun ready to aim, until she saw them. Hugging.

[nightwingshero]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY PAIGE

Happy birthday, hun!!! @joeyhxdson and I collaborated to bring you an awesome birthday gift! Em, you did fantastic as always!!! Such a beautiful background and you captured the girls beautifully!!!

Thank you @xbaebsae​ and @returnofthepd3​ for allowing me to include your lovely deps!!!!

I wrote a fic to go along with it, since I can’t be there to party with you, Em and I decided that it was important that our deps threw something together for Veronica. You’re a total sweetheart and my best friend. We love you and I hope you have an awesome 21st birthday!!! 💖💖💖💖

“Happy birthday, asshole.” Wren said with a smirk as she elbowed Veronica. She rolled her eyes at her best friend, swatting her on the shoulder with the back of her hand.

“Yeah, thanks.” Veronica replied sarcastically.

Wren hummed, taking a sip of her beer as she watched Mary May walk back to some other customers on the other side of the bar. “Any big plans?”

“No, I don’t think so.” Veronica fought the urge to sigh. Chances were that she would just go to her mom’s and hang out for a bit. She knew she would whip up a cake, despite her mom trying hard to keep it a secret. It wasn’t exactly a secret when she did it every year, but it warmed her heart at the thought behind it. “Maybe go see my mom, then rent a movie to watch with Olive.”

“Lame.” Wren threw her head back and groaned. Veronica shot her a look.

“First of all, fuck you. Second of all, you love my mom.”

“Yeah, but that means you’re getting cake without me. Also, why not throw a party?”

Veronica hesitated before pressing her own bottle to her lips and taking a drink. It wasn’t that Veronica hadn’t thought about it, it was just that…well, she didn’t really know what to do or who to even invite. She stopped having birthday parties after her dad left, and it wasn’t like she ever felt the need to start that back up again. But each year, as she contemplated, she would end up just doing the same damn thing.

It was the first birthday she was celebrating since Wren became her partner at the Sherriff’s Department. Wren was a bit older than her, by only a few years, and Veronica was worried at first that it would make a difference. But it really hadn’t. They became fast friends and had each other’s back. Wren was the voice of reason when Ronnie needed it and Ronnie always had a way of helping Wren loosen up a bit when it was called for.

Placing her bottle on the bar, she glanced at Wren. “I don’t know, I guess I just never get around to it.”

Wren threw her a look, her hair shifting and showing off her new blue flannel. “Says the person who makes sure that every single one of us is here on St. Patrick’s Day. You know how to throw a party.”

“I’m okay with drinking with my best friend.” Veronica turned away, fidgeting with her jean vest. “I got some new stuff from Sharky to smoke later, so I’m good.”

Glancing at her phone, Wren hopped off the barstool. “Hey, I have this really cool idea. Come on!”

“We’ve been drinking, Wren. Where the hell should we be going?” Veronica snorted and she knew she wasn’t wrong. They had been here as soon as Spread Eagle opened, Whitehorse being kind enough to give them the day to enjoy Ronnie’s day. To say they had a few would be an understatement, but Wren threw a mischievous look over her shoulder.

“Don’t tell me that Veronica Rook is scared?”

With a huff, Ronnie followed suit, calling to Mary May to keep their tab open. The brunette gave a triumphant smile and Veronica rolled her eyes. Stepping outside, she frowned as she watched Sharky jump out of his jeep, with a weird trailer hooked to the back of it, the loud barking almost making Veronica flinch. What the fuck was going on?

“Hey there, Shorty!” Sharky waved at her before adjusting his cap and turning to Wren. “It’s all ready. Whenever you are.”

“And he’s still at the station?” Wren asked, throwing him a worried glance.

“Well, that’s what Hurk said.”

Relief washed over her partner’s face. “Good. That’s good.”

“Yeah, what the hell is going on here?” Veronica finally cut in, causing Wren and Sharky to exchange glances. Wren shrugged, throwing Veronica a smirk.

“You remember when we had to arrest Zip at the farm a while back? And we had to run after him?”

Veronica wrinkled her nose. Of course she did. It hadn’t been that long ago, about three weeks if she had to guess. Her and Wren both had to chase the guy down, not only was he causing issues for the farmers, but he had a few counts of slander against him. John Seed, Grace Armstrong, and Adelaide Drubman being a few of his victims in that damn magazine he wrote.

He had taken one look at them before he had dropped his protesting sign and ran, jumping a fence and flinging mud as he went. They were right on his heels, trying their best to herd him in the pasture they were in, but they were almost certain he was on something. He had been seen hanging around Tweak the last few months, so it wouldn’t have been too shocking, and they later found out that they were right. But it was bringing him in that made Veronica cringe, because all three of them ended up in the mud, both deputies trying the best they could to keep the man down, and still, long enough to cuff him.

Veronica would’ve paid serious money for COPS to have been there to film it.

Or at least, that’s what she originally had thought. While her partner seethed in the driver’s seat on their way back to the station, Veronica couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. And she told her partner as such, adding that there was never a dull moment in Hope County, in which she received a withering glare from Wren in return. She had only shrugged. It wasn’t until they got to the station that her mood took a dark turn, with John Seed’s stupid smug face. She could still hear his damn taunting. It took damn near a week to remove all the mud from her hair.

“What about it?” Veronica asked, not pleased at the reminder of the incident.

Wren’s smirk twisted more, and Veronica immediately recognized the dark mischief in her eyes. “Are you ready for vengeance, my friend?”

Taking a step forward with her hands on her hips, Veronica narrowed her eyes. “What are you up to?”

“Get in and you’ll find out.”

The brunette turned, taking the keys Sharky offered up, and hoped in behind the wheel. Veronica grumbled, wanting to go back into the bar for another round. She wanted to celebrate her birthday, not do…whatever the hell these two had in mind. And once she was buckled and ready to go, she turned to her best friend.

“Dude, seriously, what are we doing?”

“We’re going to break into John’s ranch and leave him a present.” She replied, finally, and Veronica’s eyes widened.

“We’re what?!” she gasped, both from shock and excitement. But being the cop that she was, Veronica felt the apprehension set in. “You know that’s illegal, right? What if we get caught?”

“Is it so illegal if I have these?” Wren fished a set of keys out of her pocket, dangling them in front of Veronica’s face. “Besides, didn’t you just say that you bought a little something from Sharky to smoke later?”

“That’s different!” It wasn’t. Not really, but Veronica was focused on the set of house keys that hung delicately from Wren’s pointer finger. “How the hell did you get John’s house keys?”

“It’s not at all different!” She snatched the keys back with a wicked grin. “And a lady never reveals her secrets.”

“Bold of you to call yourself a lady, Wren.”

“I’ve been called worse.” She teased, starting the car and putting it in gear. “Besides, if you stopped staring at John’s ass, you would catch on to the things that go on around you.”

Ronnie threw her head back and laughed as the wind gently played with her hair as Wren drove. “That’s the pot calling the kettle black.”

“I can multitask.” Wren smirked with a shrug and Veronica laughed harder.

The rest of the drive was in comfortable silence, Veronica giving up trying to figure out what the hell was going on. Wren wouldn’t say a damn word, and Ronnie knew it. Part of her was okay with allowing it to be a surprise, even if she wasn’t entirely sure what was going on. The idea that they were getting revenge was sweet enough. She couldn’t wait to see his damn face when they…well, when they did whatever they were going to do.

Ronnie didn’t know what to expect when they got to the ranch but being completely empty wasn’t it. Wren pulled off to the side, putting the Jeep in park and looking over. “Okay, I’m gonna jump out and guide you. You think you can back this thing up to the door?”

“Wren…” Ronnie started, her curiosity getting the better of her.

“Just back it up! You’ll be fine!” Wren gave a bright smile and jumped out. Veronica huffed, climbing over, and adjusting the seat before shutting the door so she could use her mirror. With Wren’s guidance, she began to align and back the trailer up slowly to the double doors of John’s ranch. Finally, with Wren giving her the signal, Veronica stopped and put the car in park and shut if off.

She found Wren already unlocking the doors to the house as the barking continued. “You gonna fill me in now?”

“You know how John is a dog person?”

Veronica threw Wren a look as if she were insane. “No, he hates dogs. Him and Jacob were giving each other shit over some of the wolves that Jake was training at the F.A.N.G Center.”

“Exactly.” Wren breathed out, pushing the doors open, lining them up with the trailer as makeshift borders. “He loves them so much, we’re gonna leave him some.”

It was like her brain short-circuited. Ronnie could’ve sworn that she had heard Wren wrong, and she was trying to put it together. “You…holy shit!” she breathed out as a wide smile made its way across her face, her hands running through her hair as it all came together. “Oh my god, he’s going to be so pissed! Where did you get all the dogs?”

“Yeah, about that.” Wren looked sheepish. “They have some domesticated wolves up at the Center, the same ones that Jake was training and working with. They’re from that guy that had that illegal zoo, I think? Well, some of them got transferred here since they had the room. I called in a favor, and well…”

“Wolves. We’re going to put wolves in John Seed’s house?”

“Muddy wolves.” Wren corrected. “It rained, and the owners let them run along and play in the mud. Just for the occasion.”

“Remind me to never fuck with you.” Veronica laughed. “You wrathful ass.”

Her best friend scoffed as she approached the trailer. “Oh, like you’re any better.”

“Hmm. Maybe we should get matching wrath tattoos.”

“I suffer from more than just the one sin, Ronnie.” Wren laughed. “Alright, I’m gonna open this quick, and jump to the side. Make sure to keep the door steady, we don’t want any to get away. They’ll have my ass.”

“I gotcha.”

Ronnie grabbed a hold of John’s door, holding it in place as Wren unlocked the metal door. She was fast, opening the trailer door and getting out of the way. And it was a good thing, too. Wolves, as Ronnie learned, were hyper. They darted out, at least five of them, and into John’s ranch and they were caked in mud.

“Close the doors!”

Before the wolves had a chance to turn back around, they slammed the doors shut, Wren locking it quickly.

“Holy shit, I wish I had their energy.”

“They’re young.” Wren replied with a heavy exhale before throwing Ronnie a bright smile, her hands resting on her hips. She gave the front doors another thoughtful glance. “Still technically pups, I think.”

“Wren, puppies chew on things.”

“Hmm, yeah?” She twisted on her heel, finally facing Veronica with a curious look on her face.

Veronica gave a light scoff. “I’m pretty sure there are some things in there that they’re gonna chew on. And I don’t know about you, but I don’t think John is gonna like that too much.”

Wren tensed, a crease forming in her brow as Ronnie’s words processed. Veronica bit her lip to try and hold back her laughter. She couldn’t believe it. Wren clicked her tongue, glaring at the ground with a sour look on her face, making Veronica lose it.

“Oh my fucking god! Of all the times you gave me shit for not thinking things through—”

“Shut up, Ronnie!”

The blonde doubled over, her arms wrapping around her abdomen as tears formed. “Oh, John is going to be so pissed! I can’t believe you didn’t even consider that!”

“Hey, it’s not like he isn’t rich enough to replace the furniture!” Wren insisted, throwing her hands in the air. “He can just buy more! And it’s not like he’s going to know who did it. Right?”

Veronica stood straight, wiping away her tears. “The man is a lawyer, Wren. I don’t think he’s stupid. No one else would dare do this shit.” She shook her head.

Wren huffed. “Well, he ain’t got proof. I was told to leave the trailer here so they could transport them back to the Center.”

They decided to leave it on the other side of John’s hangar, out of sight to not immediately tip him off. Veronica helped Wren unlatch the trailer, both working up a sweat from the summer heat. It was starting to get dark, but the humidity was still hanging heavy around them. Veronica sighed, hopping up on some black crates.

“I need a cigarette.” She groaned as she pulled the pack out of her vest pocket, putting one in her mouth as she lit it.

Wren opened the back of the jeep, grabbing a couple of beers and using her shirt to pop the tops. “I hear that. Have a beer, too.”

Veronica grabbed it, saying thank you as Wren leaned against the crates. Ronnie took a quick swig then sat it down beside her. Wren checked her phone again making Veronica roll her eyes. “Checking to see if you got any sexy texts?”

“Not likely.” Wren muttered, but Ronnie could see the light blush on her face.

“How’s Game of Thrones going? Did you get to the part where—”

Wren’s blue green eyes snapped to Ronnie’s blue ones, piercing her with a glare. “Don’t you dare ruin that for me, Veronica Rook, so help me god.”

She only laughed in response, taking a pull from her cancer stick. “I won’t ruin it, I promise. But hurry up, I wanna talk about it with you!”

“Tsk, I’ll get around to it eventually.”

“Which means you’ll finish it in a year.”

They both laughed and it stayed that way for a little while. Ronnie did know why they were just hanging around; she was starting to get antsy. John could come home any moment, and as fun as it would be to see his reaction, Ronnie didn’t wanna be the receiving end of that man’s rage. Pointing that out to Wren, she checked her phone, and agreed that it was time to go. Hoping in the driver’s seat, Wren sent a quick text, probably an update to the people at F.A.N.G Center, before they were on their way.

Pulling off to park, Ronnie eyed the bar suspiciously. There were more cars here than when they left, but it was strangely quiet. Never had she seen something like this, and she was about to voice her concern to Wren, but she was already out of the jeep and shutting her door. If Wren wasn’t concerned, it was fine.

Right?

Veronica wasn’t so sure, and she suddenly missed her service pistol. She both chose not to carry since they were going to the bar to celebrate. At the time, it made a lot of sense. But now? Not so much. Her heart was pounding, not sure of what to expect, so she had no issue going in first when Wren motioned for her to. She was ready for anything.

Well, almost anything.

What she wasn’t expecting was the bar being so full of people, or for those people to hope up from hiding. From behind the bar, out of the kitchen, and even behind the chairs.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”

Someone, somewhere, had a confetti gun and made it rain in rainbow paper. Veronica eyed the green and pink birthday banner that was definitely homemade. Her hands found her mouth, covering it as tears swelled, pure happiness taking over completely as Wren threw her arm around her shoulders.

Everyone was there. Adelaide stood with Mary May, Evie with Joey hugging her from behind, Rey waving with Sharky and Hurk jr, and even Rheese had been able to make it as she stood with the Rye’s and Grace. It was overwhelming, and she was passed around, greeted and hugged. Veronica was smiling so much, her face was starting to get sore, and she was sure her makeup was done for with all the crying. She couldn’t find it in herself to care.

To say she had a blast, was an understatement of the century. A game of darts with Rey that ended up proving Veronica had terrible aim while drinking, but neither of them cared. It only roped her into a drinking contest with Rheese, the blonde bound and determined to beat her this time. Rey and Wren placed their bets as Evie took her job as referee seriously. It got to the point where they had just started chugging with their friends chanting and cheering them on. Rheese placed her arms around her, pulling her close in a tight hug.

“IT’S YOUR MOTHERFUCKING BIRTHDAY!!!”

It got Wren and Evie rowdy, and one thing led to another, resulting in a karaoke battle. Wren dragged her with her, Evie following with Hudson in tow.

They all agreed to one song. But one turned to three, and eventually, they had lost count. All that mattered was that Sharky was singing along in the audience as Hurk jr waved a lighter in the air. When they were fully out of breath and sweaty, they stopped, asking which team had won. Sharky just shrugged.

“I just thought y’all were havin’ fun, didn’t know I was s’pose to be judgin’.”

They just laughed, stumbling away from the karaoke machine giving their friends high fives as they went. It was then Veronica’s mom came out of the kitchen, her and Ronnie’s friends leading the entire bar in singing Happy Birthday. The cake was bigger than Ronnie was used to having, two tiered and the icing matching the banner.

“Make a wish!” Rey called with a wide smile once the singing died down. Veronica giggled, racking her brain for something to wish for, but for once, she couldn’t think of anything. She had everything she wanted right here…well, almost everything.

With the thought of pretty green eyes, Veronica blew out the candles, everyone clapping and cheering. It was Mary May who cut the cake, helping Ronnie’s mom pass out slices to everyone. The group of friends finding a table for themselves. Wren leaning back, resting a leg on Ronnie’s chair, and Ronnie doing the same. Evie plopped herself down on Joey’s lap while Rey pulled her knee up, her arm holding it close as she took a bite. Rheese, dragged a chair loudly across the floor, making a few people stare as she swung it around and straddled it. Evie winked at her, running a finger in the icing of her cake.

“Hey babe, watch this.” Evie teased before smearing it over the side of Joey’s face. Wren snorted before taking a bite, and Joey eyed Evie mischievously. Grabbing the icing flower on her cake, Joey moved to smash it on Evie, but the blonde shifted, moving out of the way last minute.

Rey, however, wasn’t so lucky.

The flower smacked Rey in the chest, sliding down. She carefully grabbed it, eyeing Hudson as she set her foot back on the ground. Moving forward, she took a chunk of her cake before throwing it back. The alcohol, unfortunately, affected Rey’s aim, making it Rheese in the face. The table grew quiet, but Wren cackled, laughing loudly and Rheese fixed her glare on her.

A smirk made its way across her face as she grabbed the whole cake, flinging it at Wren. She squealed when the cake hit it’s mark against her own face. “Motherfu—”

The table erupted, cake and frosting painting the table and floor. Ronnie ducked, pushing away from the table in hopes to escape as Wren smashed her piece in Rey’s hair, but she wasn’t so lucky. Rheese grabbed Veronica’s plate and smashed it against her face. She could taste the icing and she was almost certain some of it made it in her nose.

“Guys! Seriously?!” Mary May called, her hands on her hips as she assessed the damage.

“And that’s my que.” Rey said with a laugh. “I’ll catch you later, dears. Don’t have too much fun.”

They hugged before Rey made her exit, waving as she walked out. Wren called back, promising to clean up when everything was done. Fairgrave gave her a look before shaking her head and returning back to the bar. They erupted in laughter, ordering another round of drinks.

Slowly, things began to die down, Evie and Joey announcing their departure, leaving hand in hand. Rheese stayed for a bit longer before she, too, called it a night. She gave quick hugs, wishing another loud happy birthday that made Veronica blush. Wren and Veronica sat in comfortable silence a little longer before Ronnie felt a gentle touch against her shoulder, and looking, she found the familiar green eyes and bright smile.

“Hey.” Ronnie said, her voice just a bit shaky.

“I heard it was your birthday.” Faith replied, her soft voice almost drowned out by the music still playing. “Wren mentioned that you were having a party.” Ronnie whipped around to throw a look at Wren, but she was taking another drink and looking innocent as the bottle hid her smirk. She smiled, turning back to Faith as her heart pounded.

“Oh, yeah. It was a bit of a surprise. I’m sorry that I didn’t get a chance to say hi earlier.”

Faith just laughed. “No worries! You were having fun with your friends. Unfortunately, my brothers couldn’t join. Joseph had some counseling to do with some troubled followers and Jacob isn’t exactly the social type. And John, well…” Faith glanced at Wren briefly. “He’s a bit busy dog sitting, I heard.”

Wren barked out a laugh and Ronnie couldn’t fight the smile on her face. “You heard about that?”

“I’ve heard a few things.” Faith replied with a twinkle in her eye. Leaning forward, she placed a kiss against Veronica’s cheek. “Happy birthday, Veronica.” She whispered in her ear. Ronnie couldn’t bring herself to say anything as Faith walked away. She touched her cheek, still feeling the warmth of Faith’s lips still burning against her skin. Guess her birthday wish came true after all.

“So?” Wren asked, looking at Veronica. “Good day?”

Before Veronica could answer, the bar door flew open. John Seed, muddy and disheveled, stood in the entryway. “Blake!”

Wren’s eyes widened as she paled, and Veronica howled. “The best!”

[marlsbuck]

— && guests may mistake me as ( haley lu richardson ), but really i am ( marley buckley + cisfemale + she/her ) and my DOB is ( 6/13/1994 ). i am applying for the ( vet tech ) position as part of the EHP and would like to live in suite ( 211 ). i should be hired because i am ( witty & empathetic ), but i can also be ( indecisive & absent-minded ) at times. personally, i like to ( dance, knit & volunteer at the zoo ) when off the clock, but that won’t interfere with work.

hi pals! we’re back with a marley mae revamp! our favorite lil cowgirl is getting the makeover she deserves, so let’s get started, shall we?

before we get too into it, though, we have a stats page and a pinterest (which is also getting a revamp before too long bUT...i digress).

lil tw moment: abuse, alcohol, drug, death mention tws. per usual, i went a little heavy on the tws just to be safe! 

- marley mae buckley was born june 13th, 1994 to finnegan and shailene buckley.

- her father is a chief exec at an oil company and her mother was a stay at home mom and socialite, the latter of which she preferred.

- the family moved to billings, montana shortly after marley was born so her father could be more involved with work. this meant her mother had more time on her hands and more time to attempt to mold marley into the perfect daughter.

- except marley liked dirt, climbing tress, and pretending to ride the family dog like a rodeo bull.

- needless to say that did not go well????

- substance abuse tw early in marley’s life, her mother mixed prescription pills and pinot, which only made the tension between the two more intense. 

- abuse tw baby marls never understood why her mother would want to self medicate, essentially checking out and missing a majority of her only child’s life, until one night after her father came home after a day of ‘meetings’. smelling like expensive scotch and cigar smoke, marley saw her father hit her mother for the first time.

-  abuse tw she didn’t witness the actual abuse often, but marley started noticing the signs more and more often. bruises around wrists, large sunglasses when it wasn’t sunny out, concealer caked around her eyes and jaw. for a while, she begged her mother to take her and leave, but marley’s mother refused - firm in her belief that she wouldn’t be able to make it on her own.

- so they endured. more often than not, marley’s mother took her pain and frustration out on her daughter. it didn’t take long for marley’s parents toxicity to turn her into an angry, resentful person. marley was around 8 when she started acting out - “accidentally” breaking things around the house, saying out of pocket things at her father’s work events or fancy dinner parties. marley was 10 the first time she left home and didn’t come back for hours on end, only to come back and realize no one had really noticed she was gone.

- when she was about 13, marley really started acting out and rebelling. she started hanging out with a rougher group of kids who were significantly older than her. even though she never took part in the more intense stuff, marley did manage to get herself into some trouble that finally managed to catch her parents’ attention.

-  one night, while out with that older, rougher group of friends, marley was arrested for a destruction of property charge. since she was a minor, her parents were called immediately and, after making a sizable donation to billings pd, made the whole thing go away.

- officially done dealing with marley and the whole “mothering” of it all (if you can call it that), her parents shipped her back to their hometown of big timber to live with her paternal grandparents.

- she tried to run away a few times (even going so far as to steal her grandfather’s work truck - even tho she didn’t get far because she didn’t know how to drive stick yet) because rebellious, but after paw made her stay and help one of their cattle give birth, marley fell in love.

- marley fell in love with every animal on the ranch - all their quirks and distinct personalities. it quickly became the home marley’d never had. it was warm and loving and full of joy and life. her grandparents became the only parents she’d ever really known.

- they were the only reason marley agreed to go back to her parents. they’d made a deal that if she behaved at “home”, she’d be able to spend the rest of her summers at the ranch.

- so marley went back to her parents and did the dance classes, and dinner parties, and even did the whole debutante thing and “came out” to society.

- at 16 she petitioned to be emancipated and a judge granted said petition. she promptly moved into the renovated barn at the ranch that her grandparents had rented out while she finished school.

- marley ended up graduating early and began attending classes at the local community college, eventually getting her associates in science all while still working on the ranch when she could.

- at 19, marley began classes at montana state, majoring in microbiology as a pre-vet track.

- death tw shortly after she finished her first year at msu, marley found out her mother passed unexpectedly. when she went to attend the services, her father effectively disowned her (even though they hadn’t spoken in years) and blamed her for her mother’s issues and death.

- marley came back to the ranch more depressed than she’d ever been and instead of dealing with the hurricane of emotions she felt, marley dropped out of school and ran

- marley drove all along the west coast, eventually settling on a cattle farm in texas.

- there, marley met literally the worst thing to ever happen to her. only a month or two after settling in texas, marley started dating wade because mess attracts mess. duh. his parents owned the farm she was working on and he gave her attention. that’s it. that’s all it took.

- abuse tw it didn’t take long for the gas lighting, lying, and cheating to start. a short six months into their relationship was when the physical abuse started. growing up, she’d always told herself that she’d never allow a man to treat her the way she’d watched her father treat her mother - that she’d be stronger than her mother and leave after the first time. finally, though, marley realized the battle her mother had fought to endure all those years of abuse and just how hard it was to muster the courage to leave. 

- to this day, marley carries around the guilt of spending years blaming her mother for being weak and missing the opportunity to apologize while she was still alive.

- eventually paw caught on and WASN’T having any of it. so he snuck down with maw in the middle of the night while wade was out on a bender and packed marley’s shit and took her back home to the ranch like the knight in shining armor that man is.

- two years of animal therapy and literal therapy, marley applied to finish her bachelors in chicago after maw suggested it. she was accepted and once again left her home behind, but this time it was to chase her dream and we’re all v proud.

- she’s been at the mlanati now for two years and has finished her bachelors and is a certified vet tech. she’s currently in her last year of undergrad and is getting ready to start applying to vet schools officially.

hcs!

- marley is a jeeple. she owns a 2008 black jeep wrangler x. 100% named it ringo. definitely has a black jeep of the family bumper sticker and let me tell you, this girl is SO proud.

- y’all will never catch this girl in shoes. she will start the day in shoes and by the time lunch rolls around she’s barefoot. the only pair of shoes she enjoys wearing are her justin boots or her vvv worn out vans. 

- she knits when she’s anxious, which is more often than not now that she’s in a new place. but it also means she’s giving out cute lil beanies and scarves to her new frens.

- loves and i mean LOVES westerns. tombstone and gunsmoke were staples growing up.

- also probably the worlds biggest dolly parton fan. if it involves dolly, marley is in.

- ALIENS, MAN. your girl loves aliens and most space things. roswell (the og and new shows) are her jam bc...y’know....cowliens.

- she has three tattoos: some wildflowers on her upper left ribs, “worthy” in her grandpa’s handwriting on her upper right forearm, and the silhouette of big timber peak at the nape of her neck.

- marley is also one of those people that doesn’t need a ton of sleep? 4-5 hours max and she’s golden.

- cold brew coffee also runs through her veins. her coffee order is a trenta cold brew with hazelnut and almond milk, thanks. it’s also probably one of the reasons she never stops moving....ever.

- big time questioning her sexuality. marley’s only ever been with men, but uuuuuhhhhh WOMEN y’know? also nb folx are v nice. we do not discriminate in this house.

- 2 cats! doc (7 y/o himalayan long hair) and ike (2 y/o munchkin). both rescues she met while volunteering at a shelter.

- snake tw would also v much like a colombian rainbow boa pls and thank

- will always make time to take a dance class or book space to just dance all her feelings out. it’s one of the few joys she has that comes without feelings of pressure or stress. 

- holds most  people at arms length. she’s more than happy to listen and support everyone around her, but is a literal steel trap when it comes to talking about herself and her past.

- alcohol/drugs tw not a drinker. buckley’s don’t have a great track record of being able to handle their liquor (never let her do shots pls), so marley sticks to the occasional blunt. esp when she’s feeling extra anxious, it calms her down and evens her out.

- she do be jumpy af! loud noises (that don’t obviously come from animals) make her anxious and shaky. it’s the *pTsD*.

- marley’s triggers include but are not limited to: grabbing her face/chin, breaking glass, loud noises - specifically yelling, general violence, the smell of vodka or scotch and cigar smoke, being grabbed from behind/picked up without warning.

wanted connections!

- travel pals! : people marley met on her trip from montana to texas! she wouldn’t have stuck around long, but she was a hot ass mess and these would have been people who met her at p close to her lowest? so seeing her at the malnati would be like meeting a whole new person. she’ll probs be hella flustered and embarrassed so, like, we love that.

- hype squaaaaaad! : marley’s self esteem is still.........nonexistent, almost. she’s all about giving the love, but is the worst at accepting it, so obviously we need someone to shove all the love and positive affirmations her way! help ya girl see her worth!

- post hook ups! : likely only one or two! marley isn’t one to hook up unless she’s feeling pretty awful about her self and needs some instant validation. can be awkward or cordial! i’m down to plot specifics!

- crushes! : unrequited or nah (lbr i’d live for unrequited pls) male, female, nb - gimmie it all! babie is ready to give all the love....kinda. from afar. bc trauma. bUT!!! leggo. lololol.

- confidant! : literally probably the only connection that’s limited to one person. they know eeeeverything. every horrid, gruesome detail about marley’s past and all her insecurities. they could be someone that met her when she was on her way to texas/she met in texas or someone she met after and got to witness one of her panic attacks post texas. aka the one person she trusts most.

- scurry folx! : pls gimmie plots where marley is at odds with someone, whether or not it’s because they scare her a lil (aka angry, aggressively loud, bully-ish type someones) or just people who can’t handle her goofy, oddball, pollyanna type personality! i. need. ANGST!! pls. ty.

- chemistry, ofc!

[eastertag]

@cookidoughlilac gift for @photowizard17

Easter 2020 TAG prompts

Prompt 1: The boys painting Easter eggs

Every so often, the world would come to its senses and not try anything dangerous. When this happened, the boys would sigh a breath a relief and would find activities to do as a family.

This time, their break occurred around Easter. The sun outside was shining and warm, the pool was cool and inviting, and the boys were out on the patio, sat around a garden table with eggs in front of them. There were various little pots of paint placed in the centre of the table, with plenty of brushes of varying sizes ready to be used.

Despite all the preparation, there was still one thing missing.

“Where’s dad? Is he coming out to paint Easter eggs with us?” Gordon piped up, twisting around in his seat to look for the man in question.

“Dad said he’ll be out in a minute,” Scott explained, picking up his egg and examining it carefully, “he said he’s changing into a cooler shirt.”

“Which shirt?” Gordon asked suspiciously, “Not the flamingo one, right?”

“What’s so bad about the flamingo one? I thought you liked all of those weird patterns.” Alan quipped, grinning as he gestured to the Hawaiian design his brother was wearing.

“My shirt is fashionable I’ll have you know. Dad’s shirt looks like something from the previous century. Ya know, the 1960s, or somewhere around that time.”

“I wouldn’t call your sense of style fashionable…” Scott sighed, glancing across the table to his younger siblings, “More of a fashion disaster…”

This quip earnt several good-humoured sniggers from Virgil, John and Alan. Scott, in true oldest brother fashion, simply grinned at Gordon – his own way of saying he’d won that fair and square. In response, Gordon crossed his arms and sighed, shaking his head a little.

“Would someone care to explain why Gordon has the face of an unhappy guppy?”

The brothers all spun around in their seats, instantly with bright smiles on their faces as their father walked over to the table they were all sat at. Just as predicted (or feared, if you were Gordon), Jeff sported his flamingo shirt and eased himself into a plastic chair at the head of the garden table.

“Now that I’m here, how about we start? What will you boys paint on your eggs, hm?” Jeff asked, looking to his five sons with pride and warmth.

“I’m gonna paint 3’s launch!” Alan beamed, dipping his paintbrush into the red paint closest to him.

“I’m thinking of painting the sea and the horizon, at sunset.” Gordon grinned, “Sunset is the best over the water.”

“That’s true, sunset is good,” John nodded in agreement, “But you can’t deny that seeing Earth below you is just as mesmerising. I’ll be painting that.”

“You could paint that in your sleep!” Gordon teased, “Will there be a tiny Global One on your egg as well?”

“Global One is not that close, Gordon.” Alan explained seriously before breaking into a cheeky smirk, “If it were, Captain O’Bannon would be over way more often!”

“What’s this?” Jeff asked curiously, looking between his sons.

“Oh, just John’s girlfriend—” Gordon and Alan began, grins so wide Jeff momentarily wondered if they had been replaced by Cheshire cats.

“Ridley is not my girlfriend…” John interjected with a little sigh.

“…yet!” Virgil teased, earning a glare from John, “What? All I’m saying is that it’s painfully obvious you both like each other, you might as well, what’s the phrase? Live long and get some.”

The boys at the table broke out into a thunderous laugh as John rested his head against the table in a mixture of embarrassment and frustration. Gordon was laughing so hard he had to wipe a tear from his eye, and Scott dissolved into hiccups from his laughter.

In the end, though, eggs were painted; each egg beautiful, intricate, and unmistakeably unique. Jeff had fashioned a six-cup egg holder to put on his desk, and each of his son’s eggs was carefully placed inside, alongside his own.

Alan had painted Thunderbird 3 during launch, the bright red against the dark greys of the hanger, with a white plumage of smoke lining the bottom of his egg.

Gordon’s sunset egg was warm in colour, with the rich blues rippling around the egg. Virgil had helped create a rippling water effect, and it made the sunset even more stunning.

John’s Earth-from-space egg was painted completely black, except for the blue-green marble on one side of the egg. It was simple yet elegant and executed to perfection.

Virgil’s egg had the image of a piano surrounded by music notes on a completely white background. It was comforting for Jeff to know that Virgil still played after all of these years. He could still remember the tiny son playing for the family whenever they were at the ranch.

Scott had painted the clouds and the sky. It was, after all, where he had wanted to be ever since he was little. In a way, it amused Jeff how Scott was still as enthusiastic about the sky as when he was just a small boy. He was ambitious, and his hard work had paid off.

Jeff’s, by comparison, was fairly plain. On his egg was the villa with a backdrop of the jungle. It was home, and that’s where he was. Home, with his mother, sons and the people around he considered family. That was his egg, and that was the way he wanted to live for the rest of his life. With his family.

------

Prompt 2: Virgil angst

“There are 10 things you need to know.”

Scott tensed as he heard his younger brother’s grumbling voice from behind. If the sound of a voice could kill, Scott would be 6 feet under. He practically trembled as he turned on his heel, looking into the eyes of his plaid draped sibling.

“Virgil, wait, please. I can explain -”

“Number 1. I have been out all morning, up since before dawn to help those poor people in that mudslide rescue.”

“I know you were out this morning Virgil, I helped John monitor the end of the rescue after I got up.” Scott pleaded. He could tell his brother was seething just by the tone in his voice. One short intake a breath, then he could continue to try to reason with his brother. Only, Virgil had other ideas.

“Number 2. It was pouring down the entire time I was on that rescue, and I came back covered head to toe in mud. I was caked in it. It’s taken me the better part of an hour to scrub it all off!”

One breath and one step backwards – Scott was the oldest, after all, so he knew the best ways to try to calm his brother down. Virgil took a step towards Scott, not wanting to let his older brother escape before he was through with him.

“Number 3. As the main pilot of Thunderbird 2, I now have the duty of cleaning all the muck and filth out of my ship. You know, on the in case I’m called out again. I have to make sure my girl looks presentable at all times.”

“If you need help with cleaning, we can help you with that. That’s not an -”

“Number 4.”

“Virgil -”

“Number 4, Scott. We almost lost children today. But we have a duty of care to everyone, so I risked moving our position to make sure I could get them safely, whilst putting my life on the line.”

Scott needed to tread carefully. Virgil never was the angry brother, but when he was, hell could freeze over. If he said the wrong thing, his chances at landing in their medical bay with a broken nose would be high.

“Virgil, if I had known -”

“Number 5. When I got back to the island, when I had landed safely, everyone was still either asleep or relaxing. But I won’t get to relax today, not when I have already been up, and probably will have to be up until I pass out in the vague direction of my room later on tonight. Hell, maybe even tomorrow morning.”

The dance Scott found himself in with Virgil annoyed him the most. Every time he took a step back, his brother would step forward. Scott knew he deserved this, but getting chewed out by his closest friend still stung.

“Number 6. A proper breakfast consists of something sustainable, like toast, or cereal. You did not eat a sustainable breakfast.”

Scott groaned, frustrated. First his crime against Virgil, and now he was getting chewed out about his eating habits.

“Virgil, I know perfectly well what a good breakfast is but -”

“Number 7. Stop interrupting me with your excuses. They’re not working.”

Scott shifted, moving backwards and felt the legs of their father’s desk. He gulped quietly, knowing that he was not going to be able to move much further.

“Number 8. We have a policy in this house that we don’t take what doesn’t belong to us.”

“I know, but it was left on the side and I thought it was mine -”

“Number 9. These little treats only come once a year for us. We sure as hell deserve them, especially after horrible rescues like these.”

By this point, Virgil had trapped Scott between himself, and their father’s desk. Scott was practically bending back over it, still trying his best to create space that simply wasn’t there.

“Number 10.” Virgil hissed, leaning to Scott’s ear, “You don’t go near my Thorntons again, or I will make sure Grandma makes you her food creation test subject.”

With that, Virgil swiftly stood straight again, glaring down at his terrified older brother.

“You get me?”

Scott simply nodded and Virgil stepped back, letting his brother escape. He smirked to himself.

That’ll teach Scott not to eat the Easter eggs that didn’t belong to him.

----

Prompt 3: Someone finds an uninjured bunny on a rescue

“Once I’ve checked the perimeter to ensure there’s nobody else to move to the safety zone, you’ll be free to start heading back, Thunderbird Shadow.”

“Copy that, Thunderbird 1. Just shout if you need me for anything else.”

With that, Kayo headed back over to her craft, leaning against the legs to catch her breath and mull over the rescue in her head. They were lucky in a way; this rescue was considered easy for them. A textbook rescue with a textbook way of dealing with it – that is if there ever was a textbook written on what they did. The people were safe and at the end of the day, that was all that mattered.

Kayo watched the people in the safety zone with a smile. Despite the horror they had all been through, families were sitting with each other, children were playing together, and various older folk were exchanging stories about their children who had long since grown up and flown the nest. It showed just how resilient people could be.

“Thunderbird 1 to Thunderbird Shadow.” Scott called, looking down from his craft as he circled high above the safety zone, “All town residents have been accounted for. You’re free to head back whilst Virgil and I get these people to the next town over.”

“Alright Scott,” Kayo answered with a wave, “I’ll see you when you get back.”

She climbed into her ship, relaxing into the pilot seat just enough as she started up the engines. With a few practised motions, pre-flight checks were completed, and within minutes Kayo had taken to the skies, soaring high above the safety zone as she began the journey back to the island.

Kayo knew she was going to arrive at least an hour before Virgil or Scott did. Although she was tired, her brain still whirled into motion, coming up with potential ways to spend that free hour.

Perhaps a hot bath was in order. Kayo was fully aware of how her muscles ached. What better way was there to relieve the stress built up than soaking herself in a rose bubble bath? Nobody would distract her unless there was another rescue call that came in.

Then again, Kayo was hungry. Being a member of an elite rescue group meant that sometimes meals would be skipped. And Kayo had had to forgo lunch to suit up. It was unlikely that anyone would be using the kitchen at this hour, which meant she could make herself something edible.

Or maybe, just maybe, she could go and sunbathe on a pool floatie until Scott needed to land. The peace that was floating on the water, with the clouds, the sea on the horizon, and the setting sun was quite possibly one of the best things in the world she could imagine. Nothing would ever come close to being as breath-taking.

Kayo was brought out of her half daydream when a brown fluff jumped over her shoulder and onto her console. Within a second, her craft was plummeting out of the sky, with Kayo frantically trying to regain control. The brown fluff, frightened by the sudden falling sensation, bounced around and ended up on Kayo’s shoulder again, screaming into her ear.

It took Kayo several seconds of fast thinking to right her falling ship. The screaming fluff on her shoulder settled after it realised the imminent danger was over and took to nibbling on her hair.

Kayo couldn’t help but sigh inwardly. Of all the crafts that could gain a stowaway in the form of a small brown bunny, of course, it had to be hers.

[galadrieljones]

That he may hold me by the hand - Chapter 11

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Albert Mason  

Rating: Mature (Adult Themes and Situations, Violence, and Sexual Content)

Summary: After saving Albert from stumbling off a cliff in the Heartlands, Arthur invites him to Valentine for a drink. What ensues after that is a quiet love story, in which both men find themselves completely undone.

Masterpost | AO3 | Epigraph

Chapter 11: You have eased my strife, Mr. Mason.

“When I was about fourteen,” said Arthur, taking a drag off the hash cigarette, “I got in a bind with some fellers in Jackson, Wyoming. It was a rough place, but you could make a living there in a lot of ways. I made mine in cards.”

“What kind of cards?” said Albert. Arthur passed him the cigarette. They were in the sheets, undressed, smoking, drinking whiskey, soaking in the light of the Chinese lanterns. They’d never gone back down to the bar that night, after the gallery opening.

“Blackjack,” said Arthur, exhaling a lungful of smoke. “Poker, too. I wrangled on a couple ranches for a while before that, but the take wasn’t half as good, and the working conditions—well let’s just say I was starving. My pa, for whatever he was nor wasn’t, before he died, had a method for counting cards and memorization, calculating odds and such, which he taught me, when I was nine or ten. From this, I knew how to cheat multiple games in such ways that could not be detected, and given my age and general disposition, it was easy for me to hustle money out of men, particularly those with drinking habits and…unhealthy predilections toward gambling.”

“That sounds incredibly difficult,” said Albert, “and dangerous, given how young you were. Jesus, Arthur.”

“As long as I kept my head down and did not get too greedy, I rarely got anything worse than a smack in the back of the head,” said Arthur, laughing to himself. “I made enough to buy myself a room above the tavern where I most liked to play. The bartender’s wife looked out for me, which was a godsend, let me eat one meal a day for free. And I just remember—I was so glad to be out of the Tetons. They was ravaging my soul, and my body. I was skin and bones back then.”

“What happened,” said Albert. “With the men, the bind.”

“Oh,” said Arthur. “Right. I got greedy one night. It weren’t smart, took too much. A couple men, they had ten years on me and about seventy-five pounds each, they jumped me after a game. One of them was fixed to kill me with a broken bottle. I was in the alley, just takin a piss. I still remember the full moon, overhead, as one of the guys sucker-punched me from behind. You know I didn't stand a chance. But then a couple other fellers—Dutch and Hosea, that is the night I met them. They came around the corner with their pistols, scared off the riffraff. They hauled me off the ground, took me back to their camp, cleaned me up. They had a reverend with them, and a woman, and she fed me and doted on me till I came to, mentally. It was…terrifying at first. I had no idea what they wanted with me. Turns out they was just helping. I was a bird on the wire. I didn’t know no better. They made me one of them, and we lived pretty hard, but it was not for lack of all comfort. We left Jackson and went south to Colorado, running the boomtowns down there for many years. Then we went on east, north, into the Dakotas and made a run through Chicago. That weren’t for us, but Hosea had business partners there, made a bunch of money on a real estate scam before we split, and that is also where we picked up John.”

Albert was listening intently. He asked many questions that night. “How old was John when you found him?”

“Weren’t more than twelve,” said Arthur. “I was 21. He was so small, I remember. I grew fast as a boy. I was skinny, but I was always tall, even from the time I was a kid, and it’s harder for people to mess with you when you’re tall. You just tend to get more respect. But John grew late. He was just tiny, till he was an older teenager. That day we came upon him, some farmers had been making to hang him outside the city. He’d been stealing their hogs, some grain, but hanging a kid? That didn't sit too well with Dutch. When we picked him up and brought him back, he was mute for a while. We thought maybe…maybe something had happened. Like that he’d hit his head, or something. But eventually he woke up and started terrorizing everybody, everything. He was angry all the time, getting us into trouble with locals, the law. When he finally started to hit manhood, we was back in Utah. I taught him to box, made him shut the fuck up a little, focus. I don’t know, I guess some men need that kind of discipline.”

“What about you?”

“I was taught young to shut the fuck up,” said Arthur, smoking. “My pa, he didn’t really take no lip. Especially not after my mother died.” He looked at Albert, smiled. It was all okay. He wasn’t looking for sympathy or validation. He was just talking. Albert understood this by now. He said, “What about you, Mr. Mason. Are you a disciplined man?”

Albert found this amusing. He looked down at the joint and shrugged. “At times,” he said. “It would depend on what you call disciplined. What do you think?”

“I think you are,” said Arthur, studying him. “In your core, you’re pretty hard to shake from the rails. Steadfast. Even if you are a little frantic around the edges. I ain’t gonna forget the first time we met, wrangling your bag back from that thieving coyote. Or how you almost died that day we went to Valentine, showing off on a goddam cliff.”

Albert laughed. “Yes, well. You made me nervous.”

“Did I?”

“In a way,” said Albert. He reached for his whiskey on the bedside table. He finished it in a single swallow. Then he studied the glass as if he had not held it in a while, or had forgotten what it looked like.

“Did you know?” said Arthur, curious. “I mean, from that first day, in West Elizabeth. Or the wolves in the Heartlands. Them horses, up in the marsh, near the oil fields. Did you know? Did you feel anything?”

“I knew I wanted to see you,” said Albert. “When I would camp, or come back here or stay in a hotel alone. I thought about the next time I might see you. Occasionally, I looked for you, in a sort of, casual way. I kept my eyes open. Whenever you showed up, I am sure I did a wonderful job of feigning my surprise, but I was genuinely relieved. I always felt the chemistry, between us. I just didn’t really know what it was.”

“When did you realize?” said Arthur, smoking down the cigarette. It crackled and burnt off at the end. He put it out in an ashtray on the bedside table. “If you don’t mind my asking.”

“Not at all.” Albert was looking down at the sheets, which were soft and luxurious, a rich burgundy red. He was recalling. “I think, when we went to Big Valley.” He looked up, right at Arthur. “I was sick. Do you remember?”

“Yes, I do.”

“I thought I was going crazy,” he said, shaking his head, almost like he was talking to himself. “You were so calm in the face of all that nature. Everything about it was sublime. Then, our fingers—they touched, that night, when you passed me a cigarette. Or perhaps I was passing one to you. I'm not sure, but we touched. It hit me then. Struck me like lightning, I suppose. I felt like an idiot, like a school boy. I didn’t come into clarity, not really, until a couple weeks later, when we kissed in the marsh. After that, I was finished.”

Arthur studied his own whiskey glass, still full. From below, you could still hear the people in the tavern, a low, humming delirium. “I think I knew sooner than that,” said Arthur. He took a long drink, exhaled sharply. “That night, after we went to Valentine. I couldn’t get you out of my head. You were all I thought about, for weeks. Of course, it was confusing, but I hadn’t felt anything—not anything, in so long. I couldn’t help it. It was loud inside me, like a drum. By the time we got to Big Valley, I had been working to push it down for fear I was out of my league. Of course, it bubbled up again, came to a head in the marsh. Unlike you, I ain’t so good at putting words on things.”

“You’re quite good with words, Arthur. Give yourself a break.”

Arthur waved him off. “Anyway. You know, two men together ain’t that uncommon on the prairie. Dutch and Hosea, I know they’ve taken…comfort in one another over the years. Women can be scarce, living like we do. Sometimes, they die tragically.” He looked right at Albert, his dark, soft eyes. “But that’s on the prairie. In the eyes of societal living, I ain’t sure what we got is gonna earn you many points, Mr. Mason.”

“If I wanted societal living, I would go back to Philadelphia,” said Albert.

“What about your mother,” said Arthur. “You said she knows about me. Everything, the whole truth?”

“Yes,” said Albert. “The whole truth.”

Arthur took a deep breath. He glanced toward the window, the Chinese lanterns glowing softly against the cityscape outside. “You don’t want children, a family?”

Albert could sense some growing insecurity then, inside of Arthur. They had never talked about this before, so it was not unexpected. He placed his hand on Arthur’s shoulder so Arthur would look at him. “The goal is not one thing or the other,” he said. “Why? Are you worried? Is that something you want?”

Arthur smiled, sort of weary, like he’d been had. He said, “I’ve already had that, Mr. Mason.”

“What?”

“I just didn’t get that far yet in my sob story. I’m sorry, Albert.”

Albert was very surprised. He straightened up off the pillow, set down his glass. “I see,” he said, the hair pushed off his face, getting longer by the week. “It’s just that you never mentioned. You have children, a child?”

Arthur cleared his throat. "I did," he said. He seemed unaware of how to hold his hands. He laced them together and gazed down upon them. He took a deep breath. “I'm sorry. I just don't talk about it a lot."

"It's okay."

"It all happened in Montana," said Arthur. “Butte—silver mining town. The girl I met, her daddy was a foreman in one of the mines. She was a waitress at a tavern in the town, and we had…a relationship. One summer. I was about twenty-three. She was nineteen.”

“What happened?”

“A mistake,” said Arthur. “I got her pregnant, like a derelict, couldn’t stick around past September because the law was on my ass. We rode out. I went back a lot of times to see her, and after she had the baby, to see him, too. She let me come back, let me stay with them. She didn’t blame me, nor hate me, nor ask no questions. It was okay. I did my best to do right by her. I brought her as much money as I could every couple months. I just—the boy, he made my life different, for a while. Changed me.” He blinked. He looked away as if ashamed. “One day, ten years ago, I went back there for his fourth birthday. I had bought him a kite. But when I got to the house, they wasn’t inside. They was buried out back, in the ground, under a tree.” He closed his eyes in collection of his faculties. He stonewalled his heart, opened them back up again, then he opened one of his hands to pick at a callus on his palm. “Turns out her daddy owed some money to an outlaw gang that can’t be trusted. They sent a couple men over to her, like a threat. Killed her and the boy, stole her jewelry box. Probably had ten dollars worth of silver inside. I was a week too late.”

Far away downstairs, a woman laughed, loud and lovely, as if inside a memory. Albert stared at him, unable to speak at first. “What were their names?” he said, eventually.

“Eliza James,” said Arthur. He lit a cigarette, smoked it, hung his head. “And Isaac.”

There are times when the air goes out—of talking, of the room. It is still and silent, like floating toward the sun. Unsure of what to do now, Albert put his hand firmly on the back of Arthur’s neck. He sort of tugged him forward until Arthur looked at him, really looked. His eyes were dry and very blue. Albert kissed him, soft at first, then harder, on the mouth until Arthur’s body gave. He tossed the cigarette and pushed his hands up Albert’s bare back. They parted. Albert touched his forehead to Arthur’s and closed his eyes and said softly, “I’m sorry, dear friend.” He had one hand in Arthur's hair, gripped tightly. "Like so much else in your life, that is not something you deserve. I want to—fix it. That is selfish, even to think, I know. I am so sorry."

Arthur seemed relieved, to be honest. Mostly, he was just glad to be rid of the tale. He was always revitalized by Albert's calm talking. “It’s okay, Mr. Mason," he said. "It has been many years. I have dealt with it, and I’m okay. Thank you, though. And you ain't selfish.”

They sat for a while. Even with the emotional gravity of the conversation, the kiss had come spontaneously, leaving them both now hard beneath the sheets, and agitated. Albert asked Arthur what he wanted to do, and as was Arthur’s tendency, he didn’t say much. He studied Albert, that was all, and then he placed his mouth on the soft of Albert’s neck and kissed him. The motion was slow and revealing, pried the moment back open, as he pushed Albert back against the pillow. He was feeling a lot of things and the only thing he wanted to do at this point was to yield. He drug his lips down past Albert’s throat, the dip of his chest, all the way to the base of his cock, which he proceeded to wet generously with his mouth. He then climbed back up to the top of the bed to look Albert in the eye as he worked him in firm strokes, up and down, growing in his intensity until Albert closed his eyes, his head tipped back, and with a low moan, he came. It was very little, as they had already gone once earlier that night, but as Arthur knew, no less pleasurable. He cleaned the spend off Albert’s stomach with his mouth, kissed him and left him limp there, got up to pour more whiskey, which he stood drinking, stark naked in the light from the Chinese lanterns, beside the purple velvet couches near the french doors.

He was very pleased with himself.

“Come back over here,” said Albert, as a lump on the bed. Everything on that bed was expensive, and fine, Albert included. Arthur was no longer tired.

“I’m good,” said Arthur, smiling, sipping. “Why don’t you come over here.”

“I can’t rightly move at the moment.”

“I’ll wait.”

Sometime later, they were dressed in soft clothes and sitting on the velvet sofa, leaning on each other. Arthur was sketching—just something dumb. One of the women he remembered from the gallery opening. She had been wearing a hat that looked like a peacock. Albert had his eyes open, looking at the ceiling, which included a hand-painted silver gilt. The design was Spanish. He recognized it from an art history class he had taken at Haverford years before.

“It’s pretty late,” said Arthur, glancing at the clock on the table. “Almost one.”

“I’ve nothing to do tomorrow. Do you?”

“Not a thing,” said Arthur.

They sat for a while longer, listening to the sounds of the piano and the people from the tavern. John and Mary Beth were still down there, with Josiah, getting into god knows what. They’d rented rooms for the night and intended to see it through till morning.

“You thought at all about the opening?” said Arthur. “You think it went well?”

“I do,” said Albert. He sat up, looked around. “Are we all out of hash?”

Arthur nodded to the cigar box on the table.

“You know, I was the envy of everyone at that party tonight.”

Arthur glanced up from his drawing. “How do you mean?”

Albert opened the cigar box, a beautiful piece of timber, hand-carved, from Cuba. He withdrew two cigarettes—lit one for himself, offered the other to Arthur. Arthur declined, so Albert tucked the spare behind his ear and settled back into the chair, smoked with his eyes closed. “The way you look, the way you seem.”

“I look like I rob banks for a living,” said Arthur, continuing to sketch, the round of the feathers in the woman's hat, “which, I do, by the way. Or, did.”

“Sure. But to them, you are a symbol,” said Albert. “Of something authentic, something true, from the past. Maybe you’ve robbed banks, but don’t underestimate your appeal to people like that.”

“People like what.”

“People who have been hermetically sealed inside the safety bubble of their social class. They are unable to fully understand the kind of truth you represent.” He took a long drag, exhaled.

“Do you think that bugs them?”

“No,” said Albert. “Or, sort of. It enchants them. You enchant them. They would like to understand, more than anything, but they are afraid.”

“Of me?”

“Well, yes,” said Albert, smiling to himself. “And the truth, in general. That is why they buy art. To be as close to the truth as possible without ever actually having to live it.”

“And what about you,” said Arthur, grinning. He liked Albert’s anthropological musings on his own kind. He thought it a strength most lacked.

“I’m an artist,” said Albert, performative. “By rule of nature, I get to do more. I move in and out of the truth. I have access to the path. And I have you on the other side, to inspire me…my muse, and they envy me for it.” He smiled, very knowing, set down the glass on the bedside table. “I’m very lucky.”

“Muses are supposed to be naked women,” said Arthur. “Not overworked outlaws.”

Albert lit the cigarette and smoked. “Naked, overworked outlaws work just fine.”

“If you would like to photograph me without my clothes, Mr. Mason, you missed your chance. I am dressed for the evening.”

“Perhaps another time,” he said.

“Maybe when we get out west,” said Arthur, lighting his own cigarette now, shaking out the match and closing his journal. “How’s that sound?”

Albert smiled at him, lazily. His eyes had begun to droop and glaze over with the smoke. “I’ll look forward to it.”

“What do you mean, he’s not coming back?” said Dutch.

He and Hosea were sitting in the gazebo. It was deep night, and the swamps seemed to glow green on the horizon, as if the waters were poisoned. Back by the fire, Javier was playing his guitar. It was a sad song, and Karen could be heard singing along at sweetly drunken intervals.

“I mean that we should expect we may not see him again," said Hosea. "Arthur’s life has grown complicated outside the gang, Dutch. Complicated.”

“In what way?”

“He’s met somebody.”

“Who?” said Dutch. He had been smoking a cigar, but it was cold now between his fingers. “Who has he met.”

“Somebody,” said Hosea.

Overhead, the moon was like a bright socket. Dutch was not angry. He was confused, thought Hosea. He was very confused, looking upon the night as if pained beyond imagining. It was a mixture of his regular drama, and his selfishness. He was a narcissist. Everybody knew. Hosea best of all. But the redeeming thing about Dutch was, that when he wanted to be, he was a good man. He was a caretaker, and merciful. But this was a difficult side of him to coax at times, especially when the night was dark and the future unclear. “Hosea," he said, on and on. "Arthur won’t leave the gang for a woman. That kind of trust in God’s fair creation ain’t in his bones no more. Frankly, I’m surprised you would even think so.” Dutch went to smoke the cigar, but seeing as it was no longer lit, this pissed him off. He tossed it away. "A goddam woman."

Hosea felt something rattling around in his lungs, coughed some into his sleeve. He glanced out past the gazebo wall to where he saw Mary Beth sitting on the ground, surrounded by the vast perimeter of her skirts, feeding dinner scraps to the dog. Hosea was not prepared to tell Dutch about Arthur and the photographer. It was not his place to do so. “Just take my word on this one, Dutch. Will you, please? Let’s just let this one go. You and me. We don't need him. We got a lot of good guns left. We don't need him, not anymore.”

Dutch looked at Hosea as if he did not recognize his face. “How can you be so cavalier about this, Hosea? He’s our partner. He’s been with us for twenty-two years.”

Hosea stared at Dutch and then past Dutch. It was like looking at a black hole. How many years had gone by since he had last felt love long and hard enough to pluck him from the life? Love is what kept him in the life. It is what he supposed was meant to be, for him. It was how he had lost Bessie. Arthur was his own man, struggling with his own lifelong surge of joy and pain, laughter and sadness. Hosea shrugged. He looked at Dutch and he felt resigned. “Because it is time," he said. "It's just time."

[elopez7228]

Scenic Route 26/47

Read on AO3 : https://archiveofourown.org/works/18268208/chapters/43229774 

Start over : https://elopez7228.tumblr.com/post/620919089893933056/scenic-route-0147

***

Rey was ready.

She was dressed in jeans, high-heeled boots, and a flowing top that exposed most of her back. It was sexy  enough for a concert, comfortable enough to wear all night, and most importantly, perfect for her inevitable confrontation with Ben Solo. Her hair was swept up in a half-ponytail and she had picked out a pair of silver pendant earrings for the occasion.

Her makeup was minimal in that it consisted mostly of nude tones, but she had taken more care than usual in applying it—she looked much better than she did during her daily bouts of tourism. A small bag completed her ensemble, containing the essentials: her wallet, phone, and car keys.

The concert venue was on the outskirts of the city, nestled between a massive parking garage, a few fast food restaurants, the rear end of a warehouse, and a few motels. A mediocre scene at best. Bozeman was not a city known for its animated nightlife: it was frequented by the tourists going or coming from Yellowstone and its inhabitants lived almost exclusively off of this influx of temporary visitors. This wasn’t the kind of place where tourists stayed for more than a night, not that many tourists would attend a rock concert in the first place.

Yet the parking was already full of  vehicles, their plates registered in Wyoming, Montana and Idaho. Tonight was going to be packed—a congregation of neighbors, friends, and visitors from the surrounding towns and ranches.

The entrance was a free-for-all, alcohol flowed freely as empty bottles of beer and stray cigarettes littered already the cluttered ground.

Rey took BB8 out for one more walk before locking her in the car with the window rolled down, making sure she had plenty of water and dog treats. She didn’t want to attract any more attention to her already infamous eyesore from 1977, so she had parked a little further away, near a McDonald's, where she had also spotted a familiar pickup truck. It featured a “Kylo REN” bumper sticker, the logo not unlike one of the posters near the entrance of the concert hall.

She hesitated. Should it go through the main entrance? He had mentioned an all-access backstage once; could she possibly come in through the back?

When in doubt, text him.

I’m here. Should I buy a ticket or do you have the backstage pass  you offered?

No response.

Shit.

He was probably busy.

She made her way behind the building and finally recognized one of the musicians (Skylar?) who was leaning against a wall, cigarette in hand. She approached him with her best smile.

“Hi, I 'm Rey, you know, a friend of Ben...uh...Kylo Ren’s. he told me something about a backstage pass, can I come in?”

Upon closer inspection, she noticed his broad shoulders, immaculately shaved head, and intricately tattooed neck and forearms. He deigned not to respond immediately. He lowered the eyes and practically leered at Rey from top to bottom, pausing to take a long drag of his cigarette before blowing the smoke in her face.

“He didn't say anything to me. Nice try. Go through the front and pay the price.”

Rey winced. Something about this guy made her skin crawl, she could see in his eyes that this was all an act.

“Is Syed Ren is there? Can I talk to her?”

“What Syed is up to is none of your business.”

Okay...why was he acting like such a guard dog?

“Well,” she insisted, “in that case, maybe you can inform Kylo or Syed, wherever they are, that Rey is out here waiting for them?”

The musician took a step forward and bent slightly to reach Rey’s height, forcing her to reflexively take a step back. He was much taller than her. Classic intimidation technique; it discouraged escalation without attracting attention.

“Listen up, kid, I dunno who you think you are, but nobody’s gonna bother Kylo Ren. Wait your turn and pay your dues or get the hell out.”

Rey gritted her teeth. Her smile was acerbic. “Perfect. Let's do that, then.”

Idiot! She would’ve appreciated if Kylo and Syed had told her about Skylar’s garbage personality when she was still going back and forth about the whole maybe-I-should-follow-you-on-tour-and -drop-by-now-and-then idea. She was hoping she could be more forgiving to Kylo, but of course that proved to be useless. Now she only hoped he would break a leg tonight—literally. Fuck him and his rockstar life. Maybe he would draw the short straw one day and end up cleaning other people’s messes for a change. Maybe that would take him off of his grand fucking pedestal.

Eventually, with no other option (as evidenced by her very silent phone) Rey skirted back around the edge of the building to the entrance. She paid for a ticket—a paltry 19 dollars—and stepped inside.

The room was overheated, and already well full. Rey elbowed her way to the front as much as possible, getting as close as she could to the stage. Suddenly, she felt a hand press against her buttocks as she navigated through the crowd.

Hell, someone was going to pay very dearly for this.

She was spun around, swiftly grabbing a wrist while her fingers formed a vice-like grip around it. At the end of said wrist was a bearded man in a ridiculous hat, with an equally ridiculous expression on his face. He had expected, no doubt, to find her embarrassed and intimidated.

“Whose hand is this?” She yelled as loudly as she could, “because it just happened to grab my buttocks out of nowhere,”  she spat acidly.

The bearded man pulled his hand and tried to flee, but Rey held firmly. She looked him right in the eyes.

“Say, haven't you misplaced something?”

“Uh...hey...” mumbled the guy, visibly panicking now. Another girl jumped in to help her, grabbing the man’s shoulders to shove him off to the side.

“Get lost, there’s no room for pervs here!”

Soon, a group formed around them to collectively push the man out of the door. Rey’s heartbeat soared and suddenly she felt like her confidence was limitless. Yes, by the end of the concert, she would get ahold of Kylo and Syed—Skylar or no Skylar—to hell with waiting outside all night!

In a matter of minutes the lights went out. Amid the whistles and the cheers of the audience, Rey felt her heart skip a beat in recognizing the unmistakable silhouette of Ben Solo on the stage. He was all black again: black Doc Martens, black jeans, and a plain black crew neck t-shirt. Although his shirt was simple, it was very fitted, revealing the shape of his muscular  chest and broad shoulders. She remembered touching that chest, tracing the outline of those hard planes with one hand while using the other to dip below the waistband of those jeans.

Suddenly she felt unbearably hot.

But that was just because of how crowded it was. Right?

Somehow, there were only five people on stage. She looked for Syed in vain, her eyes widening with realization that the guitarist wasn’t there at all. What did that imply? Truth be told, she was a little disappointed; she’d had the every intention to deal with Syed too. It was strange how Rey felt like a target in what seemed to be a folie à deux between Syed and Kylo. There was no use in confronting one of them if the other got away.

She was surprised to find herself swaying to the rhythm of the music, whistling and clapping along with the audience. It must have been the music itself, a paradoxically beautiful cacophony that resonated with the rage she had buried inside and fit perfectly with the mood of the evening.

Kylo Ren felt it too. His voice was hoarser from the screaming, his breath more uneven, his stage presence even wilder than the last concert in Denver. Rey could see in the urgency of his body language a fury that seemed to spill out of him and into the microphone. It was almost a display of violence. Her own anger paled in comparison to his, the vast tidal wave of emotion that emanated from his being.

The atmosphere was electric, the crowd  unhinged. Rey knew the lyrics by heart, after a thousand kilometers worth of repetition, but she was still shocked to find herself belting the chorus at the top of her lungs with the rest. She admittedly knew nothing of the history of Kylo Ren, she didn’t know where she would find the story of his life (on the walls of some gallery?) or where they would end this unexpected journey. But at least she had found a new favorite band, and their familiar melodies had become her anthem—the anthem of her own journey. She would never forget this vintage car, or these desert roads which wound past rugged mountains, or the mesmerizing way Kylo’s hair fell to his shoulders. The dense, silken ebony  that framed his face in wild strands that stuck against his forehead when he was on stage.

The music stopped, the room became dark. Kylo Ren's voice rose in silence:

“This next song is about how we deal with the unexpected, inspired by someone who turned my life upside down. This is my song for her, "First Rain".

Rey felt herself blush to the roots of the hair. Was it a song for her?

Maybe it was for Syed? He hadn't specified anything, was it just her imagination? Did he know? Was she being watched?

Suddenly she found herself unable to move a muscle, frozen alone amidst a sea of nameless faces. Their eyes watched Kylo Ren intently, but him—he was looking directly at her. His gaze pierced through the crowd, unmistakable. He had written it for her. She immediately felt the urge to run, far, far away. But looking into his eyes, she found herself incapable of it.

His gaze held her captive. Dark and hypnotically odd, like his hair, like his clothes—like everything that was ever made in his image. His face was too long and his earlobes too detached, a round sliver of flesh peeking out from underneath of a curtain of black on each side of his face. She bet they were sensitive enough that if she pulled on them he would—

What on earth was happening to her? Was she really going to melt like a lovesick teenager for the first guy with a guitar who bothered to write a song for her? He didn’t even have a guitar.

But he sang words of love.

Better yet, he sang of other things: of a meeting that was more of a collision, of confrontation, of misunderstandings, of sharing secrets, of lies, so many lies...it was all there.

It was all written for her.

She wanted to put her own feelings into words, but her mouth was dry. Her lower half betrayed her desires as her heart hammered even harder. What was he trying to tell her, and, more importantly, what was she going to say in response?

When the music stopped the audience broke out in cheers, but Rey was struggling to breathe. He had sung the entire song while looking right into the eyes, so much so that the crowd around her had receded somewhat, providing them the semblance of privacy.

It was there that she found herself at the center of a circle of people, in the middle of Bozeman, Montana, and in some sense, at the center of the universe.

Then Kylo Ren broke the silence once more as the deafening roar of rock resumed, jolting the audience awake, and Rey was suddenly anonymous again, drowned by a sea of people once more.

She could barely hear the rest of the concert. She was furious with herself for falling into a trap as sickeningly cliche as a song in her name. It was unbearably romantic and...and irresistible.

She couldn't go on.

She left the room, feeling feverish, taking longer and longer strides until she made it to her car, where she collapsed onto the front seat with heaving breaths.

BB8 pawed at her and Rey let the dog bounce excitedly around the car.

She would wait here until the end of the concert, until Kylo and Syed were available. From where she was sitting she could see Kylo Ren’s truck, and she could just make out the entrance to the concert hall. They would be impossible to miss.

Rey was shaken, emotionally drained, even. That song had almost certainly lasted a few minutes, but it had seemed as though he had sung for hours.

Something had happened then, while his eyes held hers as his voice wrapped around her whole being. The room had suddenly felt deserted, like they were alone in the world. It had been so unexpectedly and deeply erotic that she had lost the notion of time.

She didn't know if she wanted to laugh or sob. Her skin felt tingly, crying out to be touched. She had never smoked in her life but she wanted a cigarette.

She grabbed the sweater she had left on the passenger seat, and buried her face in it before unleashing a scream that emptied out her entire lungs—a visceral cry  of anger, of frustration and of relief, simultaneously primal and liberating.

Finally she felt better, leaning her head back again before dozing off.

It was the movement around her that drew her out of drowsiness. The chaotic din of the audience leaving the venue, the roar of engines and bursts of random conversation.

How long had she slept? The concert was over, the people were leaving the premises. Soon she was surrounded only by the vehicles of the tech crew, and those of the Knights of Ren. She recognized the group, two women and two men, walking across the lot.

Rey got out of her car and leaned against the door, ankles crossed, as she scrutinized the darkness. Where was Kylo Ren? He better be out here.

A car approached. A dark grey SUV, which parked near the  pickup.

Rey’s heart began to pound in her chest when she recognized the silhouette in the driver’s seat—a leather-clad woman with a mohawk.

She shuddered. If Syed was there, Kylo would show up soon. Rey was going to call out to her when something stopped her in her tracks.

Syed was holding a knife.

Rey held both hands over her mouth to stifle the cry that threaten to escape her throat and give away her location as she slid down into a crouched position, praying she could just disappear. Syed slipped past the SUV and stopped in front of the black pickup. With one fluid motion, she slashed the rear-left tire, her fist clenching tightly around the hilt of the blade.

Then she directed her attention to the rear-right tire, until she had methodically slashed all of them. BB8 began baring her teeth and growling, but Rey coaxed her to be quiet.

This was highly unusual. Weren't Syed and Kylo supposed to be accomplices in some crazy scheme? Guided by intuition, Rey bent as far as she could in the direction of the Falcon’s boot, taking only a few moments to find what she needed.

Then she hushed BB8 again, who lay unhappily on the back seat, and silent as a shadow, she crossed the road in the direction of the concert hall.

[secret-engima]

Worlds Unseen verse Drabble: Stand By You (Even in Dreams)

(here I am, writing something I have no idea what to do with. Enjoy the angst? This ends really abruptly but I didn’t know how to wrap it up. gfhgfd it was interesting to write at least. Also, potential spoilers for Horizon Zero Dawn).

...

     He showed up about two days in. A silent companion walking steadily at her side even though that —he— was impossible. She was determined to ignore him at first. She didn’t know if he was born of her increasing hunger and thirst, her loneliness, or if the air was turning toxic the more damage the swarm did to the world, but he wasn’t real. He couldn’t be. So she ignored him.

     Still, he walked beside her. Not speaking, not ranting or babbling or screaming, just-. Walking. Watching. He watched the world around them with sad eyes, very emotive eyes. Sometimes he almost seem to stumble over the rubble of the road. If it hadn’t been for the impossibility of it, of him, she might have believed he was real. Her imagination was too strong apparently.

     But he was impossible. Dressed like something out of a post-apocalyptic movie, furs and leathers mixed with machine piping and wires, his painted face exposed to the ruined world without dying even though she knew that people needed vacuum-sealed suits now just to survive. He was impossible.

     She would never admit that it felt good not to be alone. Even if her company was just a figment of her imagination.

     She made it through three days of silence before she broke, “You ever gonna talk, or are you a silent hallucination?”

     Blue-grey eyes, more like storm clouds than skies, shifted away from the landscape to look at her, “You didn’t seem in the mood for conversation,” he spoke, and she noted what almost sounded like a Japanese accent —odd choice brain, why not a southern accent like Travis or something?—, “so I left you alone.”

     She sighed, “Well, not much else to do out here but indulge my insanity.”

     “You think you’re dreaming me up.”

     “Aren’t I?”

     The hallucination shrugged, “I don’t know. I think that I’m dreaming you up, personally, and you believe you’ve dreamed me up. Maybe we’re both dreaming up each other. Or maybe we’re both just dreams. Does it matter?”

     She mulled over that for probably longer than it deserved, “I guess not.”

...

...

...

     “Where are we going?”

     She looked up tiredly at the words, jolted out of the daze that had been settling into her bones by the soft voice of the impossibility following her around, “I’m trying to get home. You can leave whenever you want.”

     A loose shrug, as if her words were merely a polite suggestion and not a jab at her insanity, “Are you sure you want to see it this way? It’s not going to be pretty.”

     They both paused to look around at the ruined landscape. Skyscrapers smoking in the distance, roads cracked and torn apart, the entire world either burned or eaten by unstoppable metal monsters, the sky turned unnatural colors as the atmosphere was ruined ever further. No, she mentally agreed. She probably did not want to see her home this way. But still … “I have nowhere else to go. I’m a dead woman anyway. I want to die at home.”

     He shrugged again, as if to say without words that it was her choice, and they kept walking.

     She wondered distantly when his footsteps had started to make sound, just like real ones did.

...

...

...

     “You got a name? It’s getting boring just calling you the Hallucination in my head.”

     An amused glance her way, “I thought you weren’t supposed to indulge hallucinations because it would only make them worse.”

     She scoffed, the sound laced with static through the speakers of her suit, “Worst case is that I die before I get home, talking to thin air. Best case is that I die at the ranch, still talking to thin air. Might as well risk it. So, do you have a name?”

     He tilted his head and considered her. There was something eerie in his gaze, something too keen and too alive. Something too old. It fit the strange military uniform he was wearing today, “Bast,” he finally said, “Bast Lucis Caelum.”

     “Pretentious,” she huffed, and his lips twitched like he agreed and found her opinion amusing. It was stupid to introduce herself to a hallucination of her own mind, because surely he knew everything about her already. But even so, boredom and manners made her tap her chest plate and say, “Elisabet. Elisabet Sobeck.” He stopped and stared at her with wide, startled eyes, the most open emotion she had yet seen from him. His mouth opened, then shut, then he shook his head and muttered something that sounded distinctly like “should have known” and she was intrigued despite herself, “You didn’t know who I was. Shouldn’t you know everything about me?”

     He scoffed, a dry, tired noise, “No. I didn’t. I knew your voice was familiar, but I can’t- I can’t see you under that suit. I wasn’t sure. And I don’t know much about you. Not really.” A pause, a thoughtful look at the ruined horizon and the swirling dust beneath their feet, “Tell me?”

     Elisabet didn’t feel much like talking about herself to, essentially, herself, but she was used to answering vague, childish questions after so long working with Gaia, and somehow she found herself talking as she hiked through the empty landscape. About herself, about her past, about her dreams. Bast listened without judgement, just occasionally made a questioning noise that let her know he was listening.

     It was a relief to not feel alone in this place. Even if she knew logically she was more alone than she had ever been before in her life.

...

...

...

     “If you had a daughter,” Elisabet jerked awake from her daze at the sound, blinked and tried to shake off the effects of dehydration —the suit had run out of water stims to inject into her bloodstream yesterday and she was already feeling the effects—, “what would you say to her?”

     “I don’t have any children,” she retorted and tried not to sound bitter about it, “for the best, really, considering … this.” She waved a hand at the fallen buildings and smoking spires. Ruins without bodies, everything already picked clean of organic material by the swarm as it had passed by. That was probably the only reason she was still alive. This area had already been deemed empty by the swarm and it had moved on before she had … left.

     “Humor me.”

     She looked at her imaginary companion. He was dressed in post-apocalypse leathers and cables again, his blond hair half shaved, the other half left to flop to the side like some kind of sad not-mohawk. His weapons hadn’t changed. They were just as anime as ever. A katana at one hip, a bow on his back and a quiver of arrows on his other hip, knives peaking out from seemingly every pocket. He was watching her with something very focused and serious in his gaze. Like he could see through her suit and into her eyes. She licked dry lips beneath her visor, “It doesn’t matter. I don’t have anyone.”

     He stopped walking, she stopped instinctively so as to not leave him behind. He reached out as if to grab her shoulder, paused before he could touch her and lowered his hand. Grey eyes looked dark with intent, with desperation, “If you had a daughter,” he started to repeat.

     “Well I don’t!” She snapped, temper breaking free of its leash, “I’m childless! I have no daughter, I have no future! I’m talking to a hallucination! You’re a figment of my mind, why won’t you just change the subject?”

     “Because this is important!” He snarled back with more ferocity than she expected. He stormed forward until they were almost touching, his nose inches from her faceplate, “This is important, Elisabet. I don’t know what’s going on, if I’m dead or dreaming or what, but I have a chance to ask this and I’m taking it!”

     A fractured pause between them, tense and disbelieving on both sides. Then Bast ran a hand through his hair and stepped back, “Now please. If you had a daughter, what would you tell her?”

     A pointless question. A pointless question that was painful to even think about, especially here. Especially now. She turned away and resumed walking, listened to the crunch of footsteps that couldn’t really be there as they followed her and thought about changing the subject.

     And yet…

     “If I had a daughter … I would tell her that I loved her. So much. I would tell her … to be brave. And curious. And kind. That- that the world has enough people out there hurting it, and that it takes a special kind of person to heal it instead. If only a little bit. I would tell her that I support her, no matter what she decided to do with her life, and that wherever she went … whatever she did, I would believe in her. Anything she wanted to be, or achieve, she could do it. I know she could.” Elisabet looked up at the sky, taking in the starscape just beginning to be visible, “I would tell her to reach for the stars, because if she wanted to, she could touch them. And no matter what happened next … I would be … so proud. I would love her, and I would… I …”

     “I would tell her that I would always be proud of my baby girl.”

     Bast let her fall silent after that. Politely looked away as her shoulders shook and her breath hitched inside the suit. Then, after minutes upon minutes of aching silence, he whispered, “I’ll remember that.”

     And Elisabet wondered why it felt like such a relief to hear those words. Even though logically she knew that she had no child, and even if she had, they would never hear what Elisabet had to say.

...

...

...

     It was getting hard to see straight. Hard to think. She wasn’t sure how long it had been since the suit ran out of nutrient stims. Just that it had, and she had kept walking. She had avoided the swarm, somehow, and now … now she was so tired. So very tired.

     “Keep walking,” Bast said, and she wondered when she had stopped caring that he was a figment of her mind and instead clung to the comfort of his presence. To the steadiness of his voice even in a world eaten alive. “That’s it, isn’t it? Up ahead.”

     She looked up. Cried when she saw the weathered letters of the Sobeck Ranch looking back, “Yeah. That’s it. That’s home.” She had made it. She had made it home. Crazy and dying and alone at the end of the world but … she was home. She staggered past the wrecked gate, tried not to look at the devastation. The swarm had been through here, she could tell. All the trees were gone, all the grass ripped out of the ground by the roots. The walls caved in to get to the ivy that had been growing on them. Her home was in as much ruins as the rest of the world.

     But it was still here.

     She sank shakily onto the old stone bench that faced the house and sighed.

     This would be a good place to die.

     Bast settled next to her, crouching on his haunches near the bench rather than risk touching her —he never touched her, and she wasn’t sure if that was out of respect for her boundaries or because they both knew it would break the illusion that he was ever there—. He was quiet. He had been getting a lot quieter, the longer the journey went on. The more Elisabet faded. He only spoke now to wake her up, to tell her to keep moving. But she was home now, so there was no more reason to stay awake, or to walk. This was it. This was where she was going to stay until the end.

     She wondered, a little dazedly, if it would be scary for Bast. If he would fade with her consciousness, acting alive until the end, or if her brain would just get too tired to keep him around and he would wink into nothing between one heartbeat and the next. That thought scared her more than it should.

     “Hey, Bast?”

     “Yeah?”

     She licked dry lips and shifted to be marginally more comfortable on the bench. Tilted her head back to the sky and idly rolled her little globe charm in her fingers as she whispered, “If I had a daughter … what would her name be? What … would she be like?”

     The silence that followed was deep and long. So long she closed her eyes with a shaking sigh, sure that her brain had finally gotten bored with making him and left her well and truly alone. Then.

     “Aloy. Her name would be Aloy. She would … look just like you. Red hair, bright green eyes that try to pick apart everything in the world around her. She would be … curious. Brave. Unstoppable. The smartest person in the room wherever she went but not … arrogant about it. Always looking for knowledge, always looking to learn. She would be … afraid of a lot of things, but she would never let it stop her. She would be very kind. Always willing to help other people in need, even when it’s risky, or when she would rather do something else. She would … look at a boy about her age that … no one wanted anything to do with because he was weird and she would hold out a hand in friendship. She would learn a foreign language just so she could talk to her new friend better, and ask questions no else thinks to ask. She would do … so many amazing things.”

     Elisabet tried to picture it. Indulged in the fantasy of it, just for a little while, “What things?”

     “Well,” Bast mused slowly, a note of gentle, nostalgic fondness in his voice, “there was this one time when we were eleven, and Aloy decided she wanted to surprise Rost, our … caretaker, so…”

     Elisabet listened. Eyes closed, breath slowing, basking in stories of the impossible. Of children and curiosity, of teenagers and bravery. Of a daughter who was unstoppable, and curious, and kind enough to fix the world, just a little bit. She listened to Bast’s voice rise and fall in stories of hope and heartbreak and danger and kindness. Her hand slowly relaxed around her little globe charm. It would be alright to doze off just for a little while, right? To dream of these fanciful stories her own mind was telling her.

     Just for a little while. Maybe … maybe she would get to see them? In her dreams if nothing else.

     Just for a little bit.

     Thank you, she tried to tell Bast past lips too tired to move. Thank you for staying with me, even if you aren’t really here.

     Thank you for not letting me die alone.

...

...

...

     Bast finished his story, one of many he had been telling, through the day and night and into the dawn again. He looked up from the pebbles he had been fiddling with, only half feeling them, as if he was touching them in a dream.

     He couldn’t hear Elisabet breathing anymore.

     He closed his eyes. Opened them and looked around the ruined world one more time. He could feel it, the tug in his soul that had been trying to make him wake up for a while now. He could have left days ago, followed the tug and gone back to the world of the living. But even if this was all just a dream —which it might be, or it might not, could he really judge after all the things he’d seen?—, he hadn’t wanted to leave yet. He hadn’t wanted to disappear and leave her alone.

     It was the least he could do, for Aloy’s mother.

     He stood up, letting the tugging sensation unravel through his soul as he stared at the unmoving figure slumped over on the stone bench, “I’ll come find you,” he whispered, “when I wake up. When this is all over. I’ll take Aloy here to meet you. Just wait for me until then, okay?”

     There was no answer. He didn’t expect any.

     The tugging feeling grew stronger and yanked him away, and Bast had just enough time to whisper goodbye before he opened his eyes in the real world, aching all over and with a relieved Aloy crying at his head.

     “-you thinking? You almost died!”

     “Sor’y, Aloy.”

     “I’ll show you sorry, all those lectures on being reckless and there you go and do something stupid like that-!”

     “Your Mom says hi.”

     “I’m going to- what?”

     Bast shook his head with a sigh. She didn’t know yet. She still had hope.

     He would tell her later. When he took her to meet Elisabet, “Neverm’nd. Tell you later.” He reached up and tugged one of her braids gently, “Missed you.”

     He squinted past the tears dripping onto his face as she pulled him into her lap, “I missed you too you big idiot. Don’t scare me like that again.”

     “Okay.”

[dani-camp]

“   if   i   don’t   leave   now ,   i   will   never   get   away  .   ”

prescott, arizona, 1885

he’d found her in a saloon. he’d all but dragged himself from parker’s deathbed at the inn to the bar, covered in dust and dirt and flecks of blood. everyone ignored him except the bartender, on account of his appearance and the shotgun strapped to his back. he drank whiskey after whiskey for an unknown amount of time, ignoring the tinny piano music and the girls with their breasts pushed up to their ears and the clunk of boots of the men as they sat nearby and stared, wondering who he was or what he was doing there. it was possible that someone recognized him, or at least recognized what kind of person he was. it was also possible that the saloon was a “whites only” establishment and he hadn’t taken the time to notice or care. 

his entire crew was dead. they’d robbed a general store somewhere south of prescott nearly a month earlier, one that had gone horribly wrong and left innocent people dead. the lawmen had ambushed them a few days before, riddling their hideout with bullets while jackson was out gathering supplies and he’d come back to two of his fellow outlaws dead and his partner on his way there. the bullet was lodged just so to ensure a lengthy and painful death and the people had lynched the leader and now jackson was really truly alone. and he couldn’t survive alone, that much he’d learned in the west. jackson had just begun to think so when laney grabbed his attention, her bold makeup and ribboned corset doing nothing to hide the signs of her youth or easy upbringing--unblemished skin, stark white teeth, unmarked hands.

this was made all the more surprising by the fact that she had easily plucked the wallet and revolver from the pockets of one of the men at the poker table, and held it only a foot away from his heart as she pulled bills from the wallet, enough to cover what he owed her and then a little more for her trouble. all eyes were trained on her and no one moved to stop her even as she expertly removed the bullets from the revolver and placed the disemboweled gun back on the poker table. everything about her shouted that she could’ve done worse and the john was lucky that she had simply chosen not to. laney handed the bullets to the bartender demurely, like a child handing over a slingshot they’d been forbidden to play with, and another saloon girl sidled up to the bar between them so jackson’s left ear could hear “don’t worry, we won’t let him show his face here again, dee,” before she disappeared. laney and jackson’s eyes met on either side of the now-empty space and held them for a very long time, long enough that only jackson’s drunkenly watering eyes could force them to break. 

the next night, he came prepared. he’d stolen a horse from a farmer a little ways off and plucked the farmer’s daughter’s dusty clothes from the clothesline. parker’s guns were cleaned and ready for gifting. it was only a matter of convincing the girl, who looked soft and small as a peach but could be tough-as-nails. it actually took very little convincing once he’d gotten her alone in a room with him, already beginning to undo the garter on her thigh before he quickly explained that he only wanted partnership from her. she was the perfect conman with her sweet young face and high voice, unafraid of men or guns or going to sleep with an empty belly. laney had traveled to the west for exactly this; adventure and travel and something that was not being a rich man’s daughter and then becoming a rich man’s wife and then becoming a rich man’s mother. it was just that adventure and travel was hard to find when women could only make their own money inside the walls of a bedroom. it wasn’t as bad for laney as it was for others. but she’d seen enough--girls bleeding out, girls drinking laudanum, girls getting pregnant--to know she wanted out.

they would not kill anyone if they could help it, that was the agreement. it was easy for jackson to agree--though rumored differently, he had not in fact ever killed anyone. the goal was always to make enough money to one day live honestly but running was expensive. he said he was known as jumpin’ jj, on account of how high he could make a horse jump. she said she was dee deadwood. they both knew it was not their real names. 

they traveled through the desert slowly at first. the nights were frigid and their food was canned and the horses needed half of it if they were going to get anywhere. then they ambushed their way into ownership of a wagon that covered them from the sun and jackson shot down an antelope that cooked nicely over a campfire and laney was quick enough to grab the money out of the tailor’s register when he turned away to box her hat, and they were well on their way to land that was green and near the ocean. the concept of an angel-faced girl lying her way into crime was crazy on it own, absolutely sensational when partnered with the lone survivor of one of the most notorious gangs in arizona, and within a matter of a few newspaper publications, they were known as jumpin’ jj and danger dee, outlaws of the wild west. 

sometimes ‘partner’ was just another name for ‘lover’ and both grew steadily more aware of this fact. jackson stopped only watching the tree line when laney bathed in rivers and laney did not always pull her body away from his when she woke up before him in the mornings. after a stolen night of dancing and drinking and smoking cigars in calico, he admitted his name was jackson collins, only he didn’t like his last name because it had also been the last name of the man who’d owned his parents. much drunker than him, laney said, nonsensically on several counts, “we can get married and you can have mine.” the following day, with their wagon pulled of the road to allow their horses to graze, they shared a can of apricots. they poked their fingers in the can to pinch a piece of apricot out one-at-a-time at first, careful not to cut themselves on the edge. then they were chuckling because theirs hands had bumped one another’s above the can, forgetting whose turn it was, and then jackson playfully fed laney his apricot, brushing her tongue with the pad of his finger and then laney was doing the same to him, and then they were kissing and kissing and kissing. “delaney o’neil,” laney said just as they parted, like she’d been trying to tell him all along and only a kiss would set her secret free. 

they ransacked empty houses on their way to the coast and had sex on the beach. laney wrote half-true letters to her family back east about jackson, about how happy she was and how well she was doing. they took a room at a boarding house while jackson tried his hand at mining for silver and laney helped the landlady clean for rent (and to keep her from gossiping about their presence there). nothing was wrong but it was not what laney wanted out of life, and after jackson came back to the room dirty and empty-handed several days in a row, he agreed that they should move on elsewhere. after a particularly joyous session of lovemaking, laney convinced him of her plan. they would rob the local bank before heading north. she’d watched it for days and all of the bankers headed to the nearby saloon across the street at the same time to take advantage of the free lunch, locking the door behind them. laney would start a fight at said saloon, providing a distraction while jackson shot the lock open and grabbed everything he could and laney would join him and grab everything she could. then they would have enough money to do whatever they wanted, to build a horse ranch or their own saloon or their own city along the railroad. it would work, it would work.

it did not work. bounty hunters were already on their way to them, asking after them at the saloon as jackson approached the bank. laney realized what was happening and greedily, desperately, shot at the lock anyways, drawing them even nearer. she was so tired of having to hide and run just because she wanted things young women were not supposed to want. jackson only had time to fill one sack with money before he lost his nerve and raced back to the wagon, finding a suddenly-screaming laney being bound by a bounty hunter with a nasty gleam in his eye. jackson could’ve held him at gunpoint to make him get away from her, or punched him, or pistol-whipped him, and bound him, too. but jackson loved laney too much to let anyone touch her like that and so he shot him instead, spattering laney’s front with blood. jackson cut her free, reassuring her she was okay, and laney kicked the corpse in the stomach. gunfire rained down on them as they lurched away in their wagon. 

the way north was blocked; the bounty hunters had the lawmen on their side now. they went back towards the desert, where at least familiarity would be on their side. they used their wanted posters as kindling for fire at night. the wagon fell apart as they rumbled their way too quickly over canyons. no one kept guard when they bathed in the river because they were too busy looking at each other like it’d be the last time. jackson tried to use some of the stolen money to buy her clothes that weren’t blood-stained, which led to lawmen shooting one of the horses down and he almost couldn’t convince laney to leave its side. fires and robberies in cities they’d never been to were blamed on them in the papers. jackson had nightmares that were so bad laney could not wake him from them. laney admitted it aloud one night, watching him attempt to cook a desert lizard over a fire. “we can’t stay together if we want to live, can we?” jackson only kissed and kissed and kissed her. later, unheard over the hiss of the wind blowing through the mountains, a rattlesnake struck her on the thigh as they gazed at the stars. 

returning to prescott was possibly the worst thing jackson could’ve done for himself, but it was the only thing he’d known to do. the madam of the saloon laney used to work in had become an abortionist in the past year and might know how to save her. he rode with her limp against him for hours and hours, ignoring those that gave chase, until the horse died of exhaustion on the outskirts of prescott and then carried her into the saloon and up the stairs. she was awake and breathing, but barely. she was so pale and sweaty and small-looking that it was as if she hadn’t been in the sun for the past year, falling in love and becoming famous and going on adventures. the madam worked away at her leg even as shouts were heard below, saying jumpin jj, saying danger dee. “jackson,” laney breathed, her fingers twisting for him. he kissed her on her forehead and told her clearly so she’d understand in her delusion, “if i don’t leave now, i will never get away.” 

he was right, the madam later told laney, whose panic immediately followed her first real bout of consciousness, not knowing how to cope with waking up without her partner. he’d run out of the room just as boots came clunking up the stairs, she’d been told, just as empty-handed as he was when he came the first time. everyone who asked after danger dee had been told she’d died, which laney supposed was true. her brother appeared at the saloon a few days afterward, having seen her wanted poster and come to collect her body only to find her alive. laney didn’t have it in her to fight anymore when he said he was taking her home back east. jumpin’ jj was never heard from again either. and though it was probably better that jackson was never jumpin’ jj ever again, that was how laney thought of him until her dying day; flying by on a horse, sneaking looks at her naked body over his shoulder, feeding her apricots by the side of a road, staring at her from a foot away as they both leaned on the saloon bar like she was the best thing he’d ever laid eyes on. 

[fc5holidayexchange]

'Fool Me Thrice'

John Seed x Deputy C. C. Black, Setting aside their differences for some heart to heart.

@johnsrevelation

'Hey there! Your deputy was so much fun to write for! I can see why John is crazy about her! I hope I captured her fire well for you!'

Fluff, Inner Conflict, Mischief

-

What is a name, save for an identification of ourselves? Save for a title, a moniker, a nom de guerre or a nom de plume?

A name holds a lot of power. A fae who knows your name can use it against you. Rumpelstiltskin and Beetlejuice are summoned and defeated by their names.

Names carry weight.

Names carry purpose.

And isn’t he a chameleon? Hasn’t he worn his own names and titles like coats and hats to suit his needs?

Duncan. Seed. Baptist. Inquisitor. Herald. Brother.

John.

-

But hers… hers is a mystery.

That god damned deputy and her metaphorical carrot on a stick.

It shouldn’t be much to ask, shouldn’t be a hard question for Deputy Black to answer. But he's… he's been trying for months to pry it out of her. It's almost a game, now. Like cat and mouse, like temptation extended on a silver spoon only to be yanked away with a chastising click of the tongue.

Just last week, wasn’t she perched right here on the arm of his couch, where he's leaning now? Shapely legs crossed, head held high, that haughty smirk on those plump lips, vehemently denying anything but her first initials. At this point, John asks just because he can. Because it's second nature. Because somehow after all they've hurled at each other in this holy war, C.C. Black still answers his midnight calls and still bothers to pay him visits at the ranch.

She prances around Holland Valley absolutely obliterating all the good work he and his people have put into preparing for the Collapse. Hell, just yesterday she took a couple explosives to the YES sign on the road near his ranch. Perhaps a precursor to something bigger. Something he'll make her rebuild all on her own, and then bury her under, if she takes it down. Something-

“John Seed? Over?” the radio on his coffee table squawks.

John has to fight himself not to reach out and snatch it up as urgently as possible at the sound of that familiar voice.

“Ah… Deputy Black,” he breathes into the receiver, trying to ignore that anxious clenching in his chest, “to what do I owe the honor? I thought we’d broken up after you torched my little sign. Was I mistaken?”

“I'll make you a proposition-….” comes her response, and then… Nothing. Silence.

“…Deputy?” he forces himself into something cool, detached.

No need to sound like he's been waiting all damn day for a call from her. (No need to admit that he has been.)

Seconds tick by. Minutes.

“C.C…?”

“Sorry bout that. Had to get my sights lined up,” she finally, mercifully responds and-

“Your what?” John instinctively ducks, his eyes darting to any window in sight, “finally coming to kill me, dear?”

“Yes…” she tastes the word.

Savors it. Draws it out with such fervor that…

No. Oh no.

Oh no no.

“This sign’s pretty big John. How'd you get it all built all the way up here? Tulip should be able to knock it right back down real-"

“Deputy, I'd strongly advise you not to lay a finger on that trigger,” he blurts, seething through his teeth, “unless you’re willing to suffer those consequences personally.”

Silence again.

She is testing him.

John finds himself vaulting up from the couch, radio clutched so tightly in his hand he can hear the casing creak in protest. He's off like a shot towards the door before his thoughts can catch up to his feet. If he can get Affirmation in the air soon, he can catch up to her quick enough to spare any major damage. If she'll only just wait a little, let him stall for time.

“I dunno, Seed, looks like it's itching for some bullet holes. Like a clean canvas. Which letter do I start with?” there is a haughty smirk in her voice as she interjects, drawing John to a stumbling halt.

Against all better logic in his brain he stands stock still, seething and teetering with frenetic, anxious energy. Needs to move, needs to go, needs to get her before she makes a big mistake. Tempest of a woman, Hell of a deputy. Pride suits her just as well as wrath does, clearly. He’ll wring that neck himself. He'll tie her down and keep her stuffed in the bunker if it means keeping her out of so much fucking trouble!

“Deputy. Do not. Touch my sign. Do you hear me? Do you understand?” he barks into the radio, shoulders tense, looking for all the world like he may as well combust where he stands.

“What. No more midnight visits?” she says, and-

That voice didn't come from the radio.

Before he can whip himself around to face the source of that crooning voice, she's on him. Arms locked around his midsection, drawing him in tight against her body. Her face pressed into his shoulder, her fingers digging into his stomach. And all he can do is sag in her grasp as all the adrenaline gusts out of him like a tide receding, leaving only mild irritation in its wake.

John should not be so relieved to feel this grasp, to know who's managed to sneak right up behind him with his guard down. And yet she's got her capable hands wrapped so tightly round his heart that even the warmth of her against his back has his pulse askitter.

“Gotcha,” is all she has to breathe into his shirt to get the goosebumps rising on his arms.

“I should throttle you. Should hold you down and carve your pride right into you,” he seethes, but there is no malice in his voice.

“Mm, but you won’t. You're so gullible John,” C.C. snickers as she tightens her fists in the fabric of his shirt, “it's like you don’t trust me or something.”

Oh, and he doesn’t. Not truly, anyway. Not when the woman can’t even give him her own name. Not when she leads him along like this only to turn right back around again and go on fucking up his region. But here he is, weak at the knees and already forgetting all about her transgressions and her latest prank, if only to make space for thoughts of what this night will bring for them now that she’s here.

She seems to have the same idea, for when he doesn’t get a response out in time, the deputy releases him. She grasps his bicep, whirls him around, and effortlessly leads him, dumbfounded, to the couch he’d been perched on moments ago. Probably still warm where he’d been lounging.

“Perhaps I don’t trust you, Wrath, because you seem to have fun cavorting around Holland Valley – and nowhere else recently, mind you – ruining all that I've worked for?” he finds his voice in his rising irritation that settles so comfortably next to his giddiness, a foreign pairing of feelings.

“You say that every time I show up here, in more or less eloquent words,” she snorts, pushing him down into the cushions and standing over him, and God she's stunning in this light.

Well, she's always stunning.

“And yet you continue to jam your fingers under every little button of mine.”

Before she can retort, John’s hands are on her, tugging her right down into his lap where she feels most familiar. Strong legs on either side of him, her arms coming to snare around his neck, this…

This is precisely where she belongs.

His heart is aloft any damn time she's with him. Like a hard reset on his brain, he so easily forgets what kind of woman she is outside the security of his ranch. All thoughts become her, become want, become need, become-

“I love you, John-"

Oh.

…

“…John?”

C.C.’s gentle hand under his chin brings him back to reality, where she threads her fingers through his beard and gently pushes to close his gaping mouth.

“Well that’s… out of left field don't you think?” is all he can get out, even as his pounding pulse threatens to consume him alive, “you can’t just walk in here after giving me a coronary and take the liberty of saying something like that when I'm inclined to not believe you, deputy.”

“Hey you don't have to love me back,” she shrugs, putting up a wall though he can still trace the faint ache in her eyes at his lack of response, “not gonna break my heart that way.

Her hands fall to settle on his shoulders, and he feels her squeeze him, tracing her gaze over his face as he admires the lines of hers. The corners of her lips twitch softly, subtly, tugging at a smile, or perhaps something more to say, but she remains silent as ever. She's always been good at that, if only when she needs to be. Like now, clearly. Stubborn woman, trying to tug the emotions right out of him and into the open air between them.

And instead, John speaks in actions, winding his arms around her and tugging her down to collide the spaces that divide them. Chest to chest, her thundering heartbeat pounding against his sternum, betraying her heightened emotions. C.C. tucks her head into his shoulder as he threads his fingers through her long hair, and like this, he is whole. He has everything he needs.

Out there they’d fight tooth and nail. Hell, tomorrow morning they'll be right back to the old bullshit again. He damn well can’t just set aside their differences when Deputy Black is so insistent on fucking up his hard work for the resistance.

But John Seed is nothing if not a fool, all because of her.

And damnit, he'll fall right back into her arms again the next time. Always has, always will.

“John-"

He grumbles some non-affirmative to hush her as he tucks his face in her shoulder, breathing in the smell of her hair. Of Holland Valley on her, the trees and grasses and wildflowers. Gunpowder and smoke and purest her. Chaos on two legs, keeper of his heart.

“I love you too.”

It's her turn to stiffen, something he delights in, and her fingertips dig into his skin as she comes to tighten her hold on him. The two of them may as well be one person, tightly as they’re tangled and carefree as they are.

“Really?” she whispers, just barely a breath, as he lifts his head to press kiss after kiss to her hair, her cheek, her shoulder, anything he can reach.

“Really."

[myhauntedsalem]

911 Operators Describe the Most Disturbing Calls they’ve Ever Taken

1. “Daddy’s Eye Fell Out”

“Had a call for a brother who killed his other brother with a hammer (the pick part) while the victim’s little daughter was watching. The daughter called us from another room and told us her daddy’s eye fell out.

Perp was apprehended, daughter taken by relative. Had to smoke after that one, and I don’t even smoke.”

– rainbowbrite0091

2. “I Need your Help”

“There was an old couple who lived on a run-down ranch house about 20 miles east of town. When the husband passed away, the woman would call 911 at least three times a week, asking for assistance with very mundane tasks not normally dealt to first responders. “I need help turning the thermostat up”, “I need help boiling water for my tea”, etc.

The woman developed dementia, and eventually, it progressed to the point where she believed she was calling 911 to ask her deceased husband for help. All of the dispatchers would recognize the address immediately, even though all she could say was “(husband’s name), I need help. Please come home and help me”

One day she called, and again was only able to repeat her husband’s (I’ll call him “John”) name. “John, I need help. Please come home and help me John.” By the time the first responders arrived on scene, they found the woman lying dead in her bed. The first unit on scene called dispatch to confirm that it was the woman herself who had called 911, as rigor Morris had already set in. We wrote it off as the fact that the heater in her house wasn’t working, and the ambient temperature in the room was about 50 degrees.

We continued to receive 911 calls from that woman, at that address for just over a year after she passed away. Even after her home was vandalized, and burned to the ground, the phone calls did not stop. “John, I need your help. John, please come home and help me.” We were obligated to send a response each and every time, but not once did we find anyone on or near the property.

Multiple calls to the phone company confirmed that the phone line had been disconnected, and the call was not coming from another address.”

– Nevadadrifter

3. Glass Breaking

“1979 NYC. Got a call from a crying child – a little boy – saying his mom and dad were fighting and his dad said he was going to throw the mom out of the window. I could hear a terrible fight going on in the background – woman screaming, things breaking, man yelling, etc. The poor kid didn’t know his address. We didn’t have the technology for call ID and would have to use reverse telephone books. A trace would take forever. Anyway while I’m trying to get the address I hear a horrific scream and glass breaking. A few seconds later the other operators in the room are getting calls about a woman lying in the courtyard who came out of a window. Very sad.

Worst of all is that I am sure someone else in this apartment building must have heard this fight but no one called for help until it was too late. Poor kid. Working 911 in NYC during the 70s/80s was a nightmare.”

– Mizcreant908

4. Alone in the House

“The single worst call I’ve ever taken though was a woman who was calling in that she was hearing weird noises in her house. While walking through her house she started screaming and told me there was someone in her house. There we a couple soft pops followed by a gargling sound. After the officers had cleared the house and found her, it finally came out during the investigation that her adult son had killed her while high and freaking out.

Gunshots don’t sound like you’d think on the phone, they’re rather soft. It’s an eerie sound, something so violent being so soft that if you aren’t paying attention you can miss it.”

– 4x49ers

5. Static on the Line

“My uncle works for dispatch in my town and he recently told my family of the weirdest call he’s ever gotten. He says that he had received a call from a landline one night and when he answered it there was only static on the other end. This happened two more times. Finally, he calls a squad to go check out the address from the caller ID. When the cops got there and walked into the house they immediately saw that there was a dead body. The person had been dead for 5 months.

The craziest part about it was that there was no electricity or any other utility working. So there is no way they should have been able to get those calls into dispatch. But if they hadn’t, who knows how long that person’s body would have stayed there.”

– Zombie_Dance_

6. A Long Raspy Exhale

“Christmas Eve night I answered 911 for a hysterical lady who was crying so hard she couldn’t breathe. I asked her what was going on and she told me these exact words “my boyfriend and I… we were watching a movie… I fell asleep. I woke up and he wasn’t here.”

I thought this was a little odd so I said, “okay ma’am, do you know where he may have went?” she wasn’t done. She said, “I found him.. in our closet, he hung himself.. with our bed sheets.” I walked her through cutting him down and starting CPR. when in the middle of it, he starts making this long raspy exhale that sounds exactly like something from a horror movie, it’s the rest of his air leaving his lungs. She starts getting hysterical again begging him, “oh my god, he’s breathing, please breathe baby, please breathe..” But I knew that’s not what he was doing.

Police/fire/ambulance got there and of course, the guy was way dead. I felt so bad for that woman. That’s really the only call that has ever stuck with me.”

– JeCsGirl

7. Halloween Night

“My mom was a 911 dispatcher in the early 90’s (I was 5 years old-ish) in Washington State. When I got older, I remember asking her about some of the calls that she could still recall. One in particular was pretty bad. She was working one year on Halloween night and around 10 or 11pm she had a call come in that a couple guys were driving around town with a dummy or something dragging behind their truck. The dummy was falling apart and pieces of clothing/plastic were being torn off and scattered around the city.

Being Halloween, it seemed like a prank but she had a patrol car try to find and stop the truck. As time goes by more and more people started to call in about it. Eventually the patrol car caught up with the truck and it turns out that it was a person.

The guys had gone to a store earlier and when they left, they had backed their truck into an elderly man whose clothes got caught in the rear bumper or whatnot. The two guys never even knew that they were dragging around another human being all across town, for miles.

The elderly man had passed away and those pieces of clothing scattered around town, was his clothing, flesh, and body parts. Still gives me chills.”

– Turkeyshoes

8. The Man in the Attic

“I worked dispatch for a total of three months, and in that three months I only received one call I would call creepy. It was the voice of a little boy, and I was trying to be calm because it felt like he was having a hard time breathing. I asked him if he was in danger and he said no, not anymore. I asked him why he had called and he said “well, the man in the attic finally killed my mom. I asked him if he could still see his mom and he said “no, the man took her to the moon” I asked him if he was alone in the house, to which he replied “no, I still have the mans dog here” I asked him what the doggies name was in the hopes I could keep the boy calm, the boy replied “his name is shaitan” I asked him to say it again thinking he said “satan” but he clearly replied “its shaitan”. By the end of the call, the police showed up and I still don’t know what ever happened with the boy and his mother.

But years later I was researching the Djinn/jinn and according to ancient texts, evil spirits like djinn are able to manifest themselves as a dog or other animals and guess what the djin were known as? Shaitan.

I still have a hard time sleeping at night when I think about this call.”

– Mr–Night

9. Possessed

“I was a 911 call taker 10 years ago when I received one of the creepiest calls ever. It was freezing that night, which usually equaled a calm, quiet shift due to even the criminals not wanting to go outside. Around 3am my call box popped up green and as usual I asked what was the emergency. A man starting frantically screaming that his still was possessed by a demon and tried to cut his heart while he slept. He had ran when the attack started and locked himself in his bathroom. I ask him a series of questions trying to figure out what the hell is going on.

I ask him a series of questions trying to figure out what the hell is going on. Everytime he tried to answer I heard what sounded like scratching and banging on the bathroom door. He whispered “There is a demon in my sister’s body, it has been battling me for days. It got free from the chains…” I swear what I heard next chilled me to the core. This unearthly voice began taunting my caller through the door. It didn’t sound like a 20-something woman. It was low and guttural, like she had gargled razor blades before speaking. She continued to growl and speak in a strange sounding language until police arrived. She let out a terrifying scream when the officers broke in, then dead end.

The call was over, I was shaking and had to know what happened? Even my supervisor (who had been listening to the call in real time) was pale and speechless when the line abruptly ended. Before my shift ended the commanding officer on my creepy call called in to tell me what they found. He told me he would have nightmares for the rest of his life.

Apparently, when my caller said his sister got out of her chains, he wasn’t joking around. She still had a chain tied to a bloody handcuff when the officers came in. Her whole body was covered in self-inflicted scratches, her one eye had popped a blood vessel and was bright red. Most of what she was wearing was also shredded and her skin looked like she had been drained of her blood. She was taken in for a psych consult and as you probably guessed, stayed there for a long time. The brother was okay except for deep gouges in his chest. His sister literally tried to dig out his heart.

There was some talk about arresting the brother but nothing ever came of it. I still can vividly remember that voice, it still makes my blood run cold.”

– QueenoftheNorth82