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mymegumi · 3 years

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canis lupus familiaris

pairing: bokuto koutarou x gn!reader

genre: fluff

word count: 3.0k

warnings: meet-cute, dog walker!bokuto, maybe ooc!bokuto + swearing/maybe

note: if this piece seems familiar, it’s because it was the last thing i posted on my old account (@/zumisace) before i deactivated it! i loved it and really wanted it out there hehe. i’m gonna be posting some old works that i really enjoyed mwah. help reading this again the dialogue is so blegh

Labrador Retriever

The first day you notice him, he’s dressed in a pair of athletic shorts, black leggings extending past his knee to the middle of his shin as he stretches. There’s a bright orange leash that’s looped around his hand as he crosses an arm over his broad chest, a happily panting yellow labrador on the other end.

He is single handedly the most beautiful man you think you’ve ever seen, and you have to be careful you’re not drooling when you steal glances at him.

You’re lucky you even saw him, because you never go through the park near Main Street. It’s too crowded, and there are too many men that try and assert their dominance over you—overall you avoid walking this direction towards your favorite bookstore every weekend.

You’d only done it this weekend because there was some sort of construction going on West Street, but you have to sit down at a park bench momentarily just to gape at the handsome man jogging around the park with a dog at his side.

His hair spikes up in discolored disarray, but what might seem messy and uncoordinated on a lesser man, seems attractive on this one. He’s got a wide chest, shoulders broad that fills out his dry-fit shirt as he does some more stretching, and watching him while he does so makes you feel almost like a pervert, really.

You’d taken a quick detour in the park just to sit and watch him, book in hands forgotten as he crouched down, hands rubbing underneath the dog’s jaw with a loving touch. The smile on the man’s lips are wide, and you’re almost positive you’ve seen the smile before but you’re not really sure where.

When he looks up, your eyes catch with his and the smile he sends your way is blinding. You have to hold the book in front of your face just to hide the embarrassment clearly written across your face, but when you peek out a moment later, he seems none the wiser to your blunder.

You’re not usually one to base your attraction to other people solely on looks alone, but there’s something about this guy that tugs at your heartstrings. He’s good with dogs, too, and men that are good with animals are always a plus because they’re good judges of character.

“Hey, how are you?”

You look up to see the dog walker smiling brightly at you, a yellow labrador sitting at his side with a smile that almost matches his. Setting the book aside, you match his greeting. “Hi, I’m doing good, how are you?”

“Ah, I’m okay.” His hand rests on the dog’s head, who whines when he removes it to scratch the back of his neck. “I’m Bokuto, I just saw you looking at Rusty here and thought maybe you were too shy to say something.”

Well, at least your cover wasn’t blown just yet. You introduce yourself quickly while you reach a hand out to run along Rusty’s jaw, heart swelling when the dog seems to lean into your touch. “You caught me. I love dogs, is he yours?”

“Naw,” Bokuto crouches down now, just below your eye level as he rubs Rusty’s chest with a heavy hand, “I walk dogs when I’m not busy with practice, because it’s good exercise and I can get some pet time in without having to make the commitment of a dog, yet.”

“Yet? Do you plan on getting one at all?” Looking up at him, you tilt your head to the side as he shrugs.

“I’m not really sure yet.” Bokuto looks off into the distance as Rusty gets closer to you, nudging your legs apart with a wet nose to rest his head on your lap. “I travel a lot for work, so I’m not sure getting a dog would be smart.”

You hum thoughtfully. Bokuto seemed like a different type of person, from farther away. You hate to make assumptions about people without really getting to know them first, but he really seems like he dives into things head first without thinking things through. It’s nice to know that he cares for the potential dog he might get in the future enough, though.

“I’d get a pet, but I’m not really sure what I would want,” you start as you look back up at him, “I’m not even sure I’m a pet person, to be honest.”

“Everyone’s a pet person as long as you love them enough,” Bokuto encourages you with his hands outstretching, orange leash dangling from his hand making Rusty pick up his head briefly, “I hate to cut this short, cause it was really nice meeting you, but Rusty’s owner here is gonna pick him up in a little bit, and I gotta run him back to his house.”

“Oh, totally fine, I’d hate to keep you here.” You wave as he begins to jog off, taking a semi-willing Rusty with him. “Maybe I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah! I’m here every week walking dogs, so maybe I’ll see ya?”

As his figure retreats into the distance, you can practically feel your heartbeat in your chest. Pressing a hand to your chest, you think it might calm the racing beat as you bite your lip, smile shy as you think about the exchange you’d just had.

Bokuto was a weird guy, is the first thing you think of. Normally, people don’t come up to others in a park just because he’d managed to catch you staring. If he caught you staring at him, you appreciate the fact that he saved you the embarrassment and gave you the dog as an excuse. He seems nice enough, and you’re sure that in another world, maybe you’d regret letting the conversation flow as well as it had, but in this one, you liked talking to him like that.

Maybe you would be back next week, construction on West Street be damned.

French Bulldog

You were absolutely pathetic.

Never in your some odd years of living did you ever think that you’d be the type of person to exercise just because you wanted to see a guy again.

A very tall, adorable, muscular guy that handled dogs well and came up to you with a smile brighter than the sun, but a guy, nonetheless.

Dressed in a set of workout clothes that had practically been collecting dust in your drawers, you were stretching very awkwardly at the park, feeling out of place and uncomfortable. You weren’t someone that worked out often, and you prayed to whatever upper being was out there that no one looked at you weird.

You’d been pacing around the front of your apartment for a good twenty minutes before you decided to jog to the park, trying to keep a slower pace than normal because you didn’t want to be huffing and wheezing when you got to the park.

When you got there, you spotted Bokuto almost immediately. He was surrounded by a small crowd of people, looking embarrassed as they seemed to be asking for his autograph. A thinner, royal blue leash was wrapped around his hand as he waved and posed with some people for pictures.

Was he famous or something? You weren’t exactly sure, but he did have a familiar sort of face. You’d thought you’d seen him before the first day you had seen him, so maybe you’d seen him on your explore feed on Instagram or something.

You weren’t going to intrude on the festivities, content to just continue stretching and maybe actually exercise, but when Bokuto caught your eye, he waved at you with a hand over his head, movements large and noticeable.

“Sorry, I have to go, but thanks for supporting me!” was the part of the conversation that you had caught as you watched him jog towards you, a small white and brown French Bulldog happily trailing after him.

“Hey,” you’re tying your shoe now, crouched on the ground and you hold out a hand for the small dog to smell, “Funny running into you again, stranger.”

“Nice to see you again, you really saved me.” There’s relief in his voice as he holds his hands on his hips, chest heaving gently as he smiles at you. “Y’know, I love my fans, and they’re usually really respectful, but I guess someone caught wind that I started walking dogs and a whole crew of people were here when I got here with Porco today.”

You really hope Porco is the name of the dog.

“Your fans?” You straighten yourself off of the ground and give him a raised eyebrow. “Are you a model or something? I wouldn’t be surprised, you have the looks for one.”

The words leave your mouth before you can really think, and maybe it’s worth not having a filter for that brief moment to see the rosy red blush spread across the bridge of his nose and across the planes of his cheeks. If you look close, you’re pretty sure you can see it start to creep up his neck and on the tips of his ears.

“I’m not–! I’m not a model.” His words are quick as if he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “I’m a volleyball player, I play for the MSBY Black Jackals!”

“Oh, I’m not really into sports all that much.” You shrug lightly as you feel a weight on your foot, looking down to see Porco resting his butt on your sneaker. “I’m surprised I’m just now finding out you’re, like, famous, though.”

“I thought you knew I was a volleyball player, honestly.” Bokuto looks a little sheepish as he says it. “Usually, people recognize me right away so I just talked about it like you knew.”

“It’s fine! Don’t worry too much, I didn’t even notice.”

Porco makes a strange noise, something between breathing in too hard and sneezing, and it honestly stops your heart for a good minute. Looking at Bokuto, you’re concerned but it soothes off of you when he leans down and just pats the dog’s back lightly. “Sorry, French Bulldogs actually have really bad nasal issues, so Porco tends to do this when his nose gets too dry.”

“Y’know, you sure know a lot about different types of dogs for a guy that doesn’t want one,” you remark as you crouch down with Bokuto to scratch under Porco’s chin lightly.

Bokuto’s laugh is something akin to an angel’s and you want to make him laugh for the rest of his life. “I really wanted a dog when I was a kid, but my mom thought I was too irresponsible, so I did a month long project where I just researched about different dogs.”

“Guess it stuck with you, huh?” He nods, and you’re not sure if he does it on purpose but his shoulder bumps yours gently. “Did your mom end up getting you a dog?”

“No! My sister got a hamster and my mom was worried a big dog, like I wanted, would terrorize it.” his tone isn’t accusatory or spiteful, just reminiscing on the past as he continues to stare at the small dog before him. “It was probably for the better, cause I think I would’ve been heartbroken if the dog died before I was able to make it to the professional leagues.”

Talking to Bokuto is one of the easiest things you think you’ve ever done.

The two of you end up walking around the park when Porco calms down after a while, and the conversation flows as smooth as a river. Whenever there might be a moment of awkward silence, he manages to fill it effortlessly by mentioning something, or even just talking about his experiences as a volleyball player.

Honestly, even the moments of silence aren’t even all that awkward. There’s something soothing about the sounds of both of your feet hitting the pavement and the birds chirping that makes the entire experience one of the better ones you’ve had.

So, when he asks for your number, you give it to him without a second thought.

German Shepherd

Bokuto really likes texting people at odd hours of the day, you’ve learned.

Sometimes you’ll wake up to a text on your phone from the man that he sent at about one in the morning, often asking you something that he had just thought of and can’t bother anyone else with. When you wake up, you typically try and answer his question to the best of your ability, and if you can’t figure it out, the two of you brainstorm the next weekend at the park to see what the answer could possibly be.

The pair of you have slipped into such a routine that seems so domestic it makes your heart clench whenever you have to remind yourself you’re just friends.

Today, at the park, Bokuto has a dog that you’ve seen before. A friendly German Shepherd named Ace that loved to slobber on your hands if you scratched underneath his chin for long enough.

A bright green leash is looped around his hand as he does his triangle stretches, Ace sitting between his feet acting well mannered. Bokuto waves at you as you walk over, tucking your phone away as you greet them both.

“Any clue where in the park we want to go today?”

“You think you’d get bored of the park after a while,” you say off handedly, watching as Ace’s ears perk up at the sight of two squirrels chasing after each other.

When Bokuto doesn’t say anything for a good minute or two, you turn to look at him. “Well, honestly? I was gonna stop coming to this park a few weeks ago.”

“Really?” This is the first you’ve heard of it, and you’re sure your surprise is drawn on your face if the way Bokuto reacts is any indication. “Why’d you end up staying?”

He coughs into his hand, and you’re sure he’s tugging his jacket’s collar up to hide the red dancing across his cheeks right now. “...You.”

You couldn’t have heard that right. You stop walking for a minute, coming to a full stop in the middle of the walking path as you process what he says to you. “You were gonna stop coming to this park… until you met me?”

His hair shakes a little bit when he nods, and he doesn’t meet your gaze. “Yeah. I had that Labrador for some guy, and I was gonna go to a different park cause he seemed like, bummed at this one, but I saw you sitting at one of the benches.”

“I started talking to you, and then I just had to see you again, so I came back the next week, too.” He looks up at you with a sense of alarm in his eyes. “That’s not weird, is it?”

“It’s not weird, Bokuto,” you reassure, stepping closer to him and hitting your shoulder against his easily, “I might have done the same thing. I usually go near the park on West Street.”

His smile is radiant, and you think that you’d love to see that smile every day of your life if he’d let you. There’s something about it that makes a small part of your heart swell, the feeling that you’re the one making him smile like that rears its head over the part of you that knows you aren’t with him.

That could always change, though, you think as Bokuto tugs on your arm as Ace rushes ahead of the two of you, eyes set on a squirrel running up a tree somewhere. His laughter is contagious as you’re pulled along by the dog, and you know that Bokuto could stop him from running, but maybe he enjoys the way the wind runs over him like you are.

Bokuto insists that you wait for him to drop off Ace at his owner’s house, telling you that you have to come with him or wait for him at your apartment. You love Ace, but you’re not too keen on meeting his owner at the moment, so you’re sitting on the steps of your apartment, changed out of your athletic wear in something more fitting for your day to day.

He comes back to you, jogging lightly as he waves at you from down the street. His outfit is the same as earlier, just a pair of black shorts with a navy blue hoodie, and yet you’re sure he’s even handsomer than you’d just seen him before.

“Ready?”

You make a noise of agreement as the two of you set off, yet you’re still not sure where you’re going, instead just following after him without questioning anything. If you were more paranoid, you’d think this would be the perfect time for him to just kill you.

“So, no questions on where we’re going?” God, he always knows when to get you out of your thoughts.

“I just thought you were taking me to a dark alleyway to kill me,” you give him a smile as he makes an incredulous face, surely offended that you even thought that of him.

“No, I was just, uh,” he coughs into his hand, and you’re sure his cheeks are red again without even having to look, “hoping to take you on our first date.”

Smiling at the floor with a grin that doesn’t seem to fade, you clear your throat, “Walking the dogs doesn’t count as a date?”

“Ah, you’re right,” he concedes, dipping his head in a fleet apology, “our first date without any dogs.”

“Unfortunately,” you start, hand outstretching and seeking his, “I was only talking to you for the dogs.”

He laughs, hand intertwining with yours and tugging you closer. “Of course, the dogs were the only selling point I had, right?”

“Absolutely,” you nod in agreement, “I definitely didn’t want to go out with you, just wanted to see the dogs.”

The two of you are laughing and joking like you always do when you go into the small little diner, where you end up having your first date, without any dogs.

#hanimehub #hqcorenet #bokuto x reader #bokuto x you #bokuto x y/n #bokuto koutarou x reader #bokuto koutarou x you #bokuto koutarou x y/n #hq!! bokuto #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu!! bokuto #haikyuu bokuto #bokuto fluff #grind for the wealth

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weirdestbooks · 3 years

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Secret States Chapter 1

A Normal Beginning

America's POV I rubbed my eyes as I began waking up. I had finally gotten enough free time, without my insomnia keeping me up, so I was able to get an hour of sleep. That's not a lot, but way more than I normally gets.

"I can't believe I actually slept." I muttered to myself as I pulled myself out of bed, holding my chest where pains remained due to COVID and the capital riot. I looked around my room, which was pretty empty. I had a desk that was covered in paperwork, along with my laptop. Next to it was a printer. The desk and printer sat between two bookshelves, which were filled with books, non-fiction and fiction alike.

There was a couch next to the bookshelves, underneath a window that looked outside.My bed was opposite of my desk. It was plain, with blue covers and red sheets. I had a bedside table with a lamp, and a picture of me with my kids.

Unlike what most other countries thought of him, I could be and was mature. I love my kids, all sixty-two of them. My states and territories, along with DC, NASA, NATO, Liberia, Palau, Marshall Islands and Micronesia. I even considered Philippines and Cuba to be family, even though I wasn't sure they, especially Cuba, returned those feelings. I would tell them, but I didn't want to make things awkward between us.

I got out of bed and walked towards the bathroom. I looked at myself in the mirror, seeing my Stars and Stripes, along with my black eyes. My black eyes were very odd. No other country had them, only the organizations, although I wasn't technically a country myself. The United States of America was called the Union for a reason.

I didn't always have my black eyes though. They looked like any other country's eyes until the large waves of immigrants that changed America from having one culture, to having so many, I can't claim a nationwide culture.

Even though both my father, the United Kingdom and the Soviet Union are also technically unions as well, they didn't have the black eyes I do, which lead me to believe black eyes were a sign of having no or many cultures, as opposed to a main one.

This theory was only further cemented when New York developed black eyes as well. Although, he was pretty sure Soviet had one black eye, which was the reason for his eyepatch.

I got myself ready for another day of mind numbingly boring meetings with the rest of the world. I hated how other countries always liked blaming me for things or just making fun of me. I know my country had done horrible things and I hate myself for being unable to stop the government from doing them, but the other countries didn't need to bring it up.

At least my family stood up for me, along with my friends, like Germany and Japan, although how Japan could be friends with me after what I did to her mother was a question I could never find the answer to.

I shook the pessimistic thoughts out of my head, muttering "No pienses así América. Estas tratando de compesarlo. Deja de culparte cuando las cosas van mal." (Don't think that way America. You're trying to make up for it. Stop blaming yourself when things go wrong.)

I opened the door to my room, before almost being barreled down by American Samoa and Hawaii. American Samoa and Hawaii were dressed very similarly, with t-shirts and shorts, although Hawaii wore a lei. Hawaii's flag had a Union Jack in the upper left hand corner, with blue, red and white stripes. American Samoa's flag was dark blue, with a white triangle that had a red outline coming from the right corners. In the triangle was a bald eagle holding a war club and a fly whisk.

"Faʻamalie Tama. O aʻu ma Hawaii sa na o le taumafai lava e faʻatumu le isi vaega o atumotu o le Pasefika e faʻamalosi ai atumotu Caribbean." (Sorry Dad. Me and Hawaii were just trying to get the rest of the Pacific islands to prank the Caribbean islands.) American Samoa said. Due to not having an official language, I was able to understand and speak all languages spoken within my borders. This wasn't a small amount, with approximately 350 languages spoken in the US. I loved this however, as it allowed my children, especially my adopted ones to speak their first language, or just whatever one they preferred.

"Mai hopohopo makuakāne, e hōʻoia wau ʻaʻole e ʻeha kekahi!" (Don't worry father, i'll make sure no one gets hurt!) Hawaii stated as she grabbed American Samoa by the arm pulling her brother towards Guam and the Northern Mariana Islands room. I smiled at my kid's antics as he walked towards the stairs. As I walked downstairs I bumped into another person, causing them to drop their papers.

"Sorry D." I said as I helped the district gather up her papers. The District of Columbia, or Washington DC, was wearing a pencil skirt with a button up dress shirt. Her flag was white, with two red lines though the center and three red stars at the top.

"It's okay Dad." She responded, smiling, "I'm glad you finally got some sleep though. You know I can help you if you get overwhelmed. I am the capital after all."

"You do enough as it is. You're also up early. Are you heading to the capitol building to try and convince Congress to grant you statehood?" I questioned, handing DC back her papers which consisted of plans on how they could redraw the capital to allow for Washington DC to become a state.

"Yeah. I'm upset that Trump prevented it from happening, but hopefully with a new president I can get closer to achieving statehood. I'm going to head out now. Vermont's making breakfast. Love you Dad, goodbye!" DC said as she walked out the front door.

"Love you too" I responded before sticking my head in the kitchen.

"Bonjour Vermont" I said as I looked at the nation-turned state. Vermont was wearing a green and blue plaid shirt along with jeans and worn out boots. His flag was blue with a coat of arms in it, the central image being a pine tree.

"Bonjour Papa" Vermont said as he took another couple of pancakes off the griddle. "Je prépare des crêpes pour tout le monde, alors ne vous inquiétez pas pour la cuisine. C'est une journée de repos pour vous." (I'm making pancakes for everyone, so don't worry about cooking. It is a rest day for you.).

"Merci Vermont." I said as I walked into the dining room, being met with the faces of NATO, New York and Delaware.

"Hey guys. Did you get any sleep York?" I asked them as I sat down.

"Like your one to talk Dad. And I did." New York said as he sipped a pot of coffee. New York was wearing a suit and had a blue flag with his coat of arms on it.

"Don't worry, I'll make sure York gets some sleep before he collapses." Delaware said. Delaware was dressed in a shirt and jeans. His flag was a colonial blue, with a yellow sideways triangle with his coat of arms on it. The flag also showed the date he ratified the Constitution, December 7, 1787.

"I was founded by twelve countries, why's this the family that I have to be a part of?" NATO asked. NATO was wearing a suit, as he also had to participate in meetings with other countries. His flag was blue with a compass rose, with four lines coming out of the four cardinal directions.

"Really?"

"Come on NATO, you know you love us."

I laughed at my kids' protests to NATO's comment as Vermont came out with the pancakes.

"Foods ready. Where's everyone else?" Vermont asked and he put a plates of pancakes on the table.

"Sleeping." Delaware said.

"Del, we're Americans, we don't sleep for this long." Vermont said, crossing his arms.

"The South are messing around in the backyard, but surprisingly, the West is still asleep. I think the Midwest is doing something with the crops. The four corners are doing something. NASA on the phone with Navajo talking about names for that Mars mission he has." NATO said as he began to eat his pancakes.

"How do you know what everyone's doing?" New York asked.

"I don't. I have no idea what the territories, Mid-Atlantic's, Hawaii or Alaska are doing." NATO responded.

"Sam and Hawaii are trying to convince the Pacific islands to help them prank the Caribbean islands." I said, thinking back to the conversation I had with the two islands earlier that morning.

"Are the former territories going to be involved?" Delaware asked.

"That I don't know. I'll let you know if any of them tell me something about it" I said. As I said that, an alarm on my phone went off.

"Time to go?" NATO asked.

"Yep. Del, you and the Thirteen are in charge, along with Vermont. Alaska has been having nightmares again, so help him with that if you need to." I said as I got up from the table.

"Got it." New York said as he took another large sip of his coffee.

"Á bientôt!" (See you soon) Vermont said.

————————————————————————

Canada's POV (BTW, I am not describing the flags of any countries that are well known, only the states because they aren't as well known) I sat down next to my brother Australia as I walked into the meeting room.

"Hey, have you seen Ame recently?" I asked Australia.

"No, but 2020 was crazy for everyone, he's probably just dealing with COVID stuff. UN did cancel all in-person meetings in 2020 because of COVID. Thank god for the vaccine." Australia said, rubbing a hand on a burn scar.

"Mes fils!" (My sons!) I heard my mother announce from behind me. I looked over to see my father, UK; my younger brother, New Zealand; my uncle, Ireland; and my mother, France.

"Bonjour Maman. Comment ça va?" (Hello Mom. How are you?) I said. Maman smiled.

"Très bien. Avez-vous vu Ame?" (Very good. Have you seen Ame?) She asked.

"Non." Canada replied.

"What are you talking about? I heard Ame's name, but I don't know French." New Zealand cut in.

"Sorry Kiwi." Maman said.

"I heard my name. Are we talking about me?" I heard America's voice from behind me.

"Ame!" Australia said. I turned around to see my brother, who had his hands in his pockets. He had his sunglasses on and had a slight smile on his face.

"Hello America." Père said.

"What up Pops? How's everyone been?" America asked, sitting down next to Australia.

"COVID's been tough. I'm glad for the vaccine though." Père answered as he and Maman sat down.

"Thank god for the vaccine is definitely on everyone's mind." Maman said. UN then walked into the room followed by NATO, ASEAN, EU and AU.

"Hello everyone. I am hoping to continue our meetings for now, but if there are any complications involving COVID we will head back to online meetings." UN stated. "We will begin with the countries most affected by COVID. First up will be the United States of America, followed by the Federative Republic of Brazil and the Republic of India."

————————————————————————

The meeting was incredibly boring, just everyone talking about their cases and vaccinations, the same thing we've been doing since COVID started. After the meeting, I walked out with my family as they discussed random topics.

"Man I wish Uncle Scotland, Uncle England, Uncle Wales and Uncle North could attend these meetings. Then we could really have a family reunion." New Zealand said.

"Your Uncles would make a mess out of the meeting. Nothing would get done." Père stated.

"So we should definitely let them come. It would make it more fun!" America said.

"Yeah Britain, let our brothers come. They would definitely add spice to the boring meetings." Uncle Ireland said, draping an arm around Père's shoulders. America and Uncle Ireland always loved joking around trying to get a rise out of Père. I think it stems from their independence, but they are still close regardless.

"We should try and get together, we are vaccinated and we can wear masks if anyone gets truly worried about it." Australia suggested.

"Let's. I need to see someone other than myself. Maybe tomorrow?" I asked. Everyone gave nods of agreement, aside from America.

"America?" Maman asked, questioning his lack of a decision. America bit his lip.

"I'll have to check, but I'm pretty sure I'll be able to." He said, but still seemed conflicted. I was worried about my brother. He had a lot of COVID cases and seemed to be a lot more tired than usual. But if something bad was happening, surely America would tell someone.

"America, can I speak to you alone?" A voice behind us asked. I turned around to see a country with a flag very similar to America's, but instead of the fifty stars there was one big one.

"Sure thing Liberia. I'll be right back, guys" America said, walking over to Liberia.

"I didn't know Liberia and America were friends." Père commented.

"Ame's friends with everyone." Australia said. He then paused and continued, "Well not with North Korea or Iran or Russia-Okay maybe he's not friends with everyone, but he has a lot of friends."

#weird’s wattpad stories #statehumans #countryhumans #countryhumans america #secret states by weird #writing

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slothgiirl · 3 years

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the trash pile: alex turner x reader

The cybernetic augmentation juts out from her temple, leading down to her chin, the metal a dull grey. Nothing says belter more than slap job augmentations, Alex thinks as she smiles at him, reaching out with her hand to him.

He takes it.

She's pretty from what he can see from the dim yellow lights in the club. The augmentation somehow complementing her already well formed cheekbones. A mess of bleached blonde hair falling down her shoulders.

And she's already offered, dragging him out onto the floor shamelessly. He'd rather dance with a beautiful woman than stand around drinking and having to listen to all his friends talk about people, things, he's unfamiliar with.

They've moved on.

The floor flashes bright blue to the beat of the music. Too loud to carry a conversation. Too loud to think. Alex can finally stop overthinking, what he's done since he landed on Tranquility base six hours ago.

Her touch is solid and confident, hands on his shoulders as she laughs, one hundred percent in the moment. He doesn't think he's ever been like that. Her ease is as natural as Alexa's charm.

His gaze flickers back to the table they'd been sharing, but they've dispersed into the club. He can't see a trace of any of his friends. Matt had long since left, having a ceremony to wake up for. "Tomorrow," he'd grinned, promising a night of debauchery.

"Hey," Taylor calls into his ear, bringing his attention back to her, blue eyes like the sky back on earth. None of the gaudy recreations of sky broadcasted through the colonies. Mars was said to not even bother, letting it's people grow up with an orange sky.

She smiles, tilting her head, before leaning in.

And wow, Alex really has been alone for too long, as her lips on his send his heart beat into a frenzy. Blood rushing in his ears like a teenage boy all over again. It isn't real, but he thinks in that second he loves her.

Alex always has been a romantic.

They leave the club together. The corridors are still red for the night. The one thing he hadn't missed. Even Ceres had better artificial lighting mods.

"I've got to go to work," Taylor tells him bluntly, "but you should give me your number. I think we could have a lot of fun together." She looks at him with hopeful eyes, biting her lower lip. He wants to kiss her again.

But, he'll be gone the day after tomorrow. The entire base holds too many ghosts for him to feel entirely comfortable. It makes him keep looking over his shoulder, expecting Josh or Julian. Two people he's long since lost touch with.

"I'm actually not staying that long," he admits as she leads them through the corridors. Alex can still recognize the alcoves he and Matt would take smoke breaks in. Which turn would lead them back to the lifts. Another life.

"That's a shame."

He chuckles. Before his mind catches up with his tongue, "wait, did you say you're going to work now?"

"Yeah. Its so fucking boring," Taylor says, stopping besides the lifts. "Coms graveyard shift." She rolls her eyes.

"I don't blame ya," he admits. Alexa had worked the coms. She'd always complained about having to go thirty seven floors below, bundled up in jackets. Since it was less populated, the government enacted more energy saving features.

"Maybe we'll see each other again in the drift," she grins suggestively, right as she steps into the lift.

Alex watches the doors closed, before he turns around, deciding to go find an open store. He could go for some more coffee while he's here. Maybe even stock up on it. It shouldn't be hard. The Base wasn't a residential area. Tourists were coming and going as well as SFN members.

There was the launchpad.

He lets himself wander. Too buzzed to be as tired despite the early call time he has in the morning. It would be just his luck to miss Matt's big promotion because he'd overslept after having traveled a month to be here.

It's not hard to find an open bodega. The open sign flashing green in the dim of the night.

Maybe he should've gotten the night vision implants after all. Miles never shut up about it. How easy it was to make his way about different colonies even during night cycles. And you could only tell if you were looking for the little silver ring around the iris.

Alex slips inside, making a bee line for the food. It's been hours since he last ate. At this point a cup of noodles and instant coffee sound like a dream. He gets the little powdered donuts as well. Then goes for the liquid milk creamer.

Who knows when he'll next have that option. No one had yet to figure out how to increase cows milk production in space. And powdered never tasted the same.

He looks at the fruit. Incredibly overpriced since it's a bodega. But apples and oranges. . .Alex could still remember the taste of fresh squeezed orange juice his mother would make. She'd cut them all open, let him squeeze the juice out before sucking on the pulp.

Alex grabs the smallest oranges.

There's no reason not to splurge. He has the money for it. And work is never hard to come by with his skill set. There's a large market for the skills SFN ensigns have, but most of those ensigns just stay with the navy.

He turns to go pay for his small haul, but the sight of a woman staring out of a faux porthole stops him in his tracks.

Her profile could not hide how beautiful she was, her gaze caught by the live feed of the earth on the other side of the moon. Romantic dark eyes gazing into the side of the bodega, her questionable egg salad sandwich forgotten in her hand. The bump in her prominent nose only served to make her profile more striking.

"That's not actually the earth," Alex starts gently, catching her attention. "Ya know." She turns to him, trying to hide the fact that she'd jumped, startled by his presence. And doing a damn good job at brushing off the surprise.

He was right. She's beautiful. Well formed full lips. Her dark hair tucked a braid, looking better in trousers and patched up hoodie than most people could dressed to the nines. Her shoes stick out from the casual ensemble, patent red leather with a split toe. There's the hint of dark circles under her eyes, probably from a missed nights sleep.

And a scattering of light scars like stars by her left cheekbone.

"I know," she responds, "I just never thought I'd ever be this close to the earth."

"You could take a trip to the other side and see the real thing," he muses, unable to hide the longing in his voice. Alex knew in his bones he'd never step foot on earth again. Never walk the streets in Sheffield or London again. But he couldn't help but wish for a miracle.

She shakes her head, the warmth in her eyes receding as she closes herself off. "Can't. Have to meet with a friend and then go back."

"Must be a good friend if you've come all this way."

She shrugs noncommittally, "He's more of an acquaintance of a friend. I've never actually met the man. But things being as they are," she explains, "it's best done in person."

Alex is now intrigued, a red flag raised in the back of his mind that still flies away information happening in the corner of his eye just in case. It makes him a damn good private investigator. "Mysterious."

"Forgive me for not spilling all my secrets to a stranger," she notes, arching a brow.

He can't help but chuckle. "Ya got me there love. Let's try something else."

"Like what," she asks, the corners of his lips turning up.

"How are you finding our moon?" The moon might not think it was the earth's, and the government sure wasn't, but the moon still spun around the earth the way it had for millions of years.

"Disappointing," she admits, frowning, "Ceres is livelier. And would it kill them to use brighter lighting?"

"Austerity measures," Alex shrugs. It had been the answer for as long as he'd been alive.

"From what," she asks, tilting her head, a smirk forming on her lips, "there's no war or reason for shortages."

"Just repeating the party line," he admits.

"Well," she raises her sandwich like a sad little white flag, "I've got to get going. It was nice meeting you."

"Can I get your number?"

Surprising him, she shakes her head, "No. I doubt we'll ever meet again. I don't plan to stay on the moon for long."

"Lucky for you," he counters, following her to the sales woman, built like a rugby player, "I'm not from the moon. So there's hope yet for our paths to cross."

She snorts, digging around her pockets for money, slowly building up a pile of change to pay with. "Let me guess," she says knowingly, as her eyes look him over, taking in his hair now curling past his ears, the navy blue sweater and white shirt combo that had felt smart earlier but had wrinkled in the course of the night. "you're from earth."

Alex answers bashfully, "born there." He always felt like apologizing for having been born on Earth. For having spent his childhood breathing in air without a care. For not knowing how precious an atmosphere was.

"Well I don't plan to go to earth," she trails off, waving her receipt away.

"Neither do I." He hands the lady a bill too large for what he's bought and follows her out the door, not bothering for his change. "But I take it there's no way I can convince you to give me a number?"

"None."

"How about a name," he offers. Alex had not seen one person that he'd bothered to chase in years. And here she was, indulging him as though he was a stray puppy she had fed once and now followed her around in hopes of more scraps.

"Yours first," she snipes back, not missing a beat.

"Alex." He doesn't ever bring up his last name. Too much weight. A famous family. And an infamous past. Being just Alex was a luxury.

"Tisiphone."

A name fitting for someone born in the jovian system. Maybe even Dione. But Dione, while a newer colony, wasn't bloody awful for someone to want to leave. It had to be-"Titian," he guesses. The wild west of space. SFN cadets hated getting assigned there. Johanna had said the worst part was the perpetual twilight.

Too many crevices to hide in.

"Yes," she responds, "and hopefully never again."

"If we ever meet again," the romantic in him already imagining them crossing paths in a Callisto settlement, planting trees for the rest of their lives and learning to work wood, "can I take you out for a cuppa?"

Tisiphone laughs, smiling tight lipped, "If it happens then I'll say yes earth boy."

** ** ch 2

The ceremony drags on.

They all sit, gathered around the Kennedy Hab, the first large permanent building on the dark side of the moon. The benches are as uncomfortable as ever, as Alex gazes down at a sea of navy uniforms all with various ranks on their right shoulders. He's seated right next to Alexa. The boys down there somewhere with Matt.

It's an SFN event so Alex's paranoia is right for once. The second glances the captains and commanders threw his way were knowing. They recognized him.

It sets his teeth on edge.

Alexa pats his knee, comfortable around him despite their shared history. Johanna besides him with her fiancé. They both keep glancing at each other, infinite in their whispering. He wants that.

"I'll throw hands at anyone who says anything," Alexa reassured him. Looking especially nice in a long red dress. She's not single. But it clearly isn't serious enough if she didn't bring him along to celebrate her friends.

"That would make it worse," Alex responds, keeping his gaze forward, careful to keep his face neutral. It usually wasn't a problem. That being his default expression. But this was bringing up events from his past he's long since buried.

"Derek was supposed to be here," Alexa says to try to distract him, "you would've liked him. Life of the party. Miles and him had a one night stand and now we're all friends."

"Well that's not saying much considering Miles will sleep with anything."

She laughs, "True. But even Nick gets jazzed to hang out with him and you know how hard it is to get close to Nick."

"He's just careful about who his friends are," Alex acknowledges. Unlike Nick, Alex was just terribly bad at opening up.

Nick was just picky. "That says something good about little old me." Alexa twirls her hands over her head. Sticking her nose in the air. "Not such a mess after all."

"You've never been a mess," he tells her, watching as they begin to call up all the newly minted commanders. Matt shouldn't take long. H being closer to the front of the alphabet.

"Yeah but I've never been particularly good at anything but charming my way into things," she shrugs shamelessly. Alexa wasn't the type to lose sleep over her insecurities.

The Admiral present at the ceremony, Marcus Kapoor, speaks clearly over the microphone, "Commander Matthew Helders."

Alexa and Johanna both stand up, yelling, "congrats!" Alex claps as loud as he can for a beat longer than the rest of the room as Matt shakes hands with the Admiral.

Alex remembers his own ceremony seven years ago now. It had been a smaller affair. His entire career accelerated by his talent.

He swallows back the bitter lump that forms in his throat. There's no reason to cry over spilled milk, his father had often told him back on earth.

Try telling that to anyone who doesn't live on earth: most milk is powdered in space.

He finally lets his eyes search through the crowd, trying to spy the man who'd once been his great mentor and friend. But if Julian is present, Alex doesn't see him among the uniforms. He's sure that he'd know Julian anywhere. His hair perpetually sticking out wildly like he'd just woken from a nap, streaks of color running through.

It was a welcome sight from the mandated navy and neutral colors the SFN preferred. Everything was done to keep the SFN neutral, trying to avoid any conflicts between the colonies. And especially between Mars and Earth.

Unable to wait, Alex asks Alexa, "did Julian come?" Julian and Matt had never been as close as Alex had been to the older man, one of the rare people to turn down a promotion. But Alex thinks Julian still would've come and cheered Matt on.

Drinking at bars until morning talking about life and chatting about their mutual obsession with vintage terran music cemented friendship like nothing else.

She frowns, lines forming between her brows. "Captain Casablancas?"

"Yeah," Alex nods, a nervousness creeping into the lining of his stomach. Julian had also been the only person present during the incident that had chosen not to testify. If he had, Alex had agonized long hours over that large IF, he'd probably have been given a far harsher sentence.

And it looked like the man had finally accepted the rank of Captain.

Alexa places her hand on his arm, doe eyes settling on his, before gently attempting to break the news, which given what she was saying, was impossible to break gently. "You haven't heard?"

"No."

"Julian's dead Alex," Alexa explains, her hand anchoring him to reality, even as his world lurches, "some accident with a faulty seal."

Fuck.

What the bloody hell!

Alex clenches his jaw. Julian deserved more than dying in a preventable accident. He was, and remained the only person to have jumped tracks at the SFN, going from maintenance to exploration.

"I'm sorry," she tries, patting his arm with her hand. "I know you two were close. This is sort of the worst way to hear the news isn't it?"

"How long ago," Alex asks in lieu of responding to her. Julian. Alex could hardly call him a friend anymore.

By the time he'd worked up the courage to message the man, Julian hadn't bothered responding at all. A cold message that Alex could understand.

He hadn't tried to contact him again.

"Three weeks."

Alex nods, fixing his gaze on the stage. The names being spoken, called up on stage, meaningless now that Matt had gone.

He'd been traveling to the Base.

No one had bothered to tell him.

They make their way down to Matt, navigating the crowd who are also here to celebrate their relatives and friends. Alexa led the way, cutting through the crowd like a knife through butter.

Jo and her fiancé hold hands. His eyes never leave her form as she leads on.

Alex frowns.

He'd thought. . .he'd thought, when Matt had first met him upon arrival at the base's landing pad, that he could slide back into his old life. Pick up where he'd left off. Maybe get a job here permanently.

Alex hadn't realized how lonely he'd been until he'd sat around and watched all his friends eat and drink. Easily communicating with each other they way only tightly knit groups of friends could. Finishing each other's sentences.

They had once been like that with Alex. But years in between meetings left him out of the loop. It didn't help that he had chosen to self isolate. Choosing to take jobs that left him without a permanent home, spending his free time tucked into various hotel rooms.

"Alexander Turner," a voice calls out.

He turns, faced with a black woman in a sleek khaki green suit, a moon police officer uniform. Her hair is as sleek as the press of her suit. Dark curls dusted with grey hairs.

"Yes," he asks, halting with great hesitation. The last time he'd dealt with the moon police, they were ensuring he was under house arrest during his trial. For his safety they'd told him over and over.

"I'm Major Gabriela Moss," she tells him, sticking her hand out with great formality. "If you'd please come with me," she continues, as he shakes her hand. "There's a job I'd like to discuss with you."

Swallowing any nervousness he has, he nods. How bad could it be? Probably some white collar crime that the police don't want to deal with. Alex could stock up on lots of coffee with the money. "Lead the way."

She takes him to the precinct, located next to the base. Tranquility Base fell under SFN jurisdiction. But the residential areas ringing the building were left to the MP 505 precinct.

Her office is just like every other police office. Bright disorienting lights. Cream walls, with no decor. A desk bolted down to the floor, in case the artificial gravity malfunctions. And a photo of her wife and kids tilted just out of his view.

"What's the job?" Alex wonders if some idiot tried to rob the casino that was right within the base’s building. Trying to steal from SFN was asking for it.

"A man was found murdered in residential bloc 571 this morning," she explains, lighting up her monitor. A photo of an older man with a walrus mustache came up on the screen.

"Isn't homicide your department," Alex asks, twisting his ring around his finger.

"Usually," Major Moss admits, back straight, hands on the desk. "But this man had a false identification bracelet. According to our records he was born on the Moon. But when my officers requested his file from the Bloc listed, nothing appeared."

"You think he was hiding?" Only criminals bothered to falsify ID bands. But why the moon? He could see why a fugitive from the law or a crime boss would come to the moon, but to stay here this long?

Even earth was easier to get lost in, among billions.

"Yes," she surmises, "and for quite a few months. How he's gone undetected this long is a mystery."

"So you'd like to save your skin and sweep this all under the cover." Alex can see a coverup as it happens. The MPs would be humiliated at having let a fugitive run wild for this long.

But, he probably wasn't a criminal if he spent this long without so much as a word. Probably fleeing loan sharks back on some asteroid. Maybe from Titan.

The murder must have landed yesterday. Within the week at most.

"Will you take the job on," Major Moss asks, "there's more information I have if you agree to take on the case."

Alex sighs. He's intrigued. But taking on this case would mean spending more time on the moon which is both a good and bad thing. He hasn't had a proper chat with any of the lads since he last saw Matt on Vesta nearly two years ago now.

But he isn't exactly at ease this close to SFN. At least in the belt, there's lots of stations with little to no navy presence. Callisto's base was generally isolated from the rest of the population due to the way in which the colony on Callisto had developed.

A man's dead.

And from what he can tell, Major Moss would be more than happy for the case to go cold and never have to explain to her superiors how a man went undetected for so long.

But why bother?

Alex can't understand why the man needed to falsify his identity only to sit around. Unless he wasn't a criminal but innocently caught up with the wrong crowd.

It happened easily enough.

"Why me," Alex asked, still considering how suspicious it looked that the MP were giving away a case just because of the implications the man's murder had. The IDB read Sidney Trojan which made Alex laugh a little inside. Whoever had made the ID had a certain sense of humor. "I'm sure you've read my record by now."

Major Moss nods, leaning back in her metal chair, "Mutiny and treason are certainly high charges. But Mr. Turner, If I am being frank, I am more concerned right now with keeping the peace in my precinct. The last thing I want is any belter extremist to start making baseless accusations about how someone who is more than likely one of their own was treated."

"I'm not a belter." Alex had spent enough time among belters to know, no matter how much time he spent on Vesta or Pallas, he'd never be one of them. Being born and raised there was what made you a belter for the rest of your life. Johanna never bothered to hide the augments along her spine, jutting out like filled out ports. Held her chin up proudly despite the harassment she got, and proceeded to destroy them all in combat training.

"But you have spent time among them," the woman argues, revealing how little she knows and understands about belters. Major Moss had probably never left the moon. Never spent time amongst people in the belt, in the places the SFN never went. "My men are mostly from here or earth. You're my best option."

He resists the urge to roll his eyes. It didn't seem like a trap to lock him up after all these years. Just a very ignorant MP major trying to do her job. "Alright," Alex nods. "Show me the surveillance tapes."

The older woman smiles, but no warmth reaches her eyes, a picture of cold professionalism, as she ignites the screen. The tapes start playing almost immediately. The night vision casting everything into grayscale in the corridors. The older residential buildings hadn't anticipated the amount of people that would live on the moon, the walkways connected the blocs only fitting three people at a time, a nightmare in an emergency. They were colorless concrete slabs, the metal having long gone dull.

Time stamped to 05:46 am.

A single figure appears, walking into bloc 571, looking like any person would after a long shift. In jeans and a loose hoodie, holding a very sad convenience store sandwich. A profile he wouldn't soon forget, complete with split toe boots.

Tisiphone.

Alex tries to justify her appearance. The death hadn't happened until 7 am. She must've been meeting her friend in one of the habs in the bloc. But he'd never been one to discount a coincidence.

It seemed that they would be having a chat sooner than anticipated under less than favorable circumstances. He just had to track her down.

His eyes watch the screen as the time ticks by, creeping closer to the time of death.

She claimed to be here to visit a friend which could very easily have been a lie to cover up meeting her potential victim. Tisiphone hadn't been here for very long, no one would willingly choose to eat convenience store sandwiches if they'd spent time here to get other food. Alex wasn't discounting the possibility of her commitment to looking inconspicuous at 5 in the morning, but then, if Sidney Trojan had feared for his life there would've been a struggle.

Someone would have heard in those older habs.

The time stamp reads 6:24am.

Tisiphone leaves the bloc, taking the passageway leading back to Tranquility. Mr Trojan would still be alive. Did she have an accomplice? Or is Alex making the wrong connection.

The time stamp reads 7:46 am. Mr Trojan would've been dead by now.

7 am was hardly the time for a murder to be committed. People going to work. So many witnesses. They must have been desperate. But the tapes proved useless to narrow down any suspects. Too many people, a perfect crowd to hide in. So there was that advantage. As well as, "I need all the records of the passenger manifests arriving for the last three days on the dark side of the moon and today's departures."

"Alright," she replies, holding out her hand.

Alex hands over his com. Letting her synch it up to her system and sending the files over.

"Good luck Mr. Turner."

This time, Alex does roll his eyes as he leaves her office.

Tisiphone had claimed to be from Titan, so that's the first thing he checks. Three days sound about right. He also highlights any belter arrivals. But apart from one family two days before, no one has come from the belt.

He finds the name he's looking for. Tisiphone Velazques, arriving from Hygiea the same night he had. Born on Titian twenty two years ago according to her IDB. It said a lot about how pathetic Alex was that he was currently finding a potential date on a suspect list.

She might still be innocent. But she was the only lead.

If she's a criminal, she'll be staying off grid, not wanting to leave her IDB just anywhere. But, being through, Alex checks Tranquility Hotel anyways, sending a message.

Want to surprise my girlfriend T. Velazques. It's our anniversary and I got back from a trip into Tethys four sols early. Has she checked in yet?

People were really stupid and easily fooled. Alex had learned that in the last few years.

Then he checks his messages. Twenty seven texts from his friends. Two missed calls from Matt. Shit. He'd forgotten all about Matt.

** *** ch 3

Matt clasps an arm over his shoulders, "I'm sorry I didn't say anything about Julian. I thought you knew and didn't want to talk about it."

Alex considers coming clean, but decides letting Matt think this is about Julian is easier. "No one tells me anything anymore."

The taller man sighs, "you must think I'm a wanker for not even telling you. Julian always asked me how you were doing you know."

Alex shakes his head. "I tried-It doesn't matter anymore. I just think it's bloody awful to have died so young in an accident of all things."

"The idiot engineers better have been court martialed," Matt comments, as they follow behind their friends to a bar in the casino. They've all been casting looks towards Alex when they think he's not looking, like he's a bomb about to go off.

Things can never go back to the way they were.

They get a few pitchers of beer. Singing Matts praises at every sip, taking the piss about how he's going to be the worst commander ever. Alexa's boyfriend, looking tall, dark and handsome, slips into the conversation with ease while Alex, drinks and checks his phone for a response.

"Alexa's boy toy," Johanna mutters under her breath to Alex. "Does the books for one of the gambling halls."

Alex nods. But finds he doesn't care. All that earlier anxiety about his leftover feelings for Alexa, his first love, gone when he realizes there's no sting as she turns to kiss her boyfriend.

He looks down at his com, refusing a refill of beer when he realizes the hotel's written him back. With a digital key and their congratulations. There goes the supposed privacy and protections hotels were supposed to offer their clients.

But this meant he was now leaning to Tisiphone being innocent. But he could tell she was connected to Mr. Trojan somehow. A gut feeling that t9ld him he was barking up the right tree. She might be able to tell him who would want the old man dead and why.

Alex excuses himself from the celebration, pointedly ignoring Nick's suspicious gaze as he leaves.

He stops and picks up a bottle of wine and a quart of strawberries, each the size of his smallest nail with a hint of red at the tip, just in case anyone in the hotel decides to verify any of his information. He can play the part.

Alex presses the elevator up to floor 10, brings up the key on his com, when the machine asks for verification.

The doors slide shut and Alex tries to formulate a plan.

He can't frighten his only suspect-link to the crime. A man was murdered and if he doesn't solve it, justice will never be served. It's his good conscience that's going to get him in trouble all over again.

The hallway is empty.

A tacky red coat of paint that's made worse by the orange lighting. The crimson hue edging towards black. Hardly a happy atmosphere.

Alex runs his hand over the rail, a vestige from the days before antigravity, as he makes his way to room 1004.

Unlike the lobby, the floor is still metal plates welded together. Shiny compared to the rest of the place.

The casino had seen better days.

And more occupied days.

Hesitating outside the door, he places an ear near the seal, hoping that Tisiphone isn't there. It would give her the advantage if she turns out to be the murder.

Better for her to be out. Gives him a chance to look around.

He takes a deep breath and unlocks the door with the key. It slides open smoothly, revealing mustard walls and a plush navy carpet flecked with gold. There's a small bed on one side of the wall, a black backpack laying carelessly on it.

The small cabinet looks untouched, but Alex still goes through every drawer, making sure he misses nothing, peaking into the bathroom and combing the medicine cupboard.

There's a needle and dental floss. A complimentary bottle of toothbrush tabs laying in its side.

Needle and floss.

For an injury, Alex surmises. Perhaps a fresh one that Mr Trojan had managed to inflict while defending himself? It wasn't the easiest way to treat an injury, but it was the way to go if you didn't want to draw any attention.

He slips back into the small main room, and begins to go through the backpack. It looks standard issue, the fabric a vegetable leather nylon mixture that wouldn't be out of place in an SFN pack. But he doesn't recognize it from any planetary police force.

Inside there's a plasma gun with two full charges. Shrapnel in a jar. An extra shirt along with a lined jacket, also black. And a small copper data box.

He checks the jackets pockets, finding two extra IDBs. Both blank.

It's all very incriminating.

And he didn't think to bring a gun along himself.

Alex removes the charge from the plasma gun, using the pillowcase to ensure he doesn't wipe away any fingerprints, tossing both of the charges into the bottom drawer of the cabinet. And leaves the gun on top of the blanket.

Then he takes a seat and waits.

No one would leave a gun with no plans to come back and get it. Plasma guns were hard to come by. Especially for civilians on the right side of the law.

It was just his luck that the first woman he feels any connection with, ends up tied up in criminal activity.

The whoosh of a door sliding open jolts him out of his thoughts.

Alex sits up straight, deciding he looks less confrontational if he's sitting down. Besides, years of training haven't left. His body still remembers combat maneuvers. He still wakes up at 0600 and goes through basic training like clockwork.

Even when he goes back to sleep right after.

A red boot steps inside.

Tisiphone holds a brand new pair of ear pods, still in their case. The moment she spots him sitting casually in her bed, her almond eyes narrowing in suspicion. Her grip tightens on the case, before she schools her features carefully blank.

In better lighting, the scars marring her cheekbones are more prominent. Flecks of silver against honeyed skin.

"'ello again," Alex says, giving a small wave, strands of his hair falling into his eyes with the movement.

She frowns, crossing her arms defensively in front of her. "Why are you here? Who even let you in?"

"I asked nicely," he explains, "terrible hotel service if you ask me. But as for why I'm here, you wouldn't happen to know who Sidney Trojan is?"

Tisphones lips form a tight line, her stance edging dangerously close to someone expecting a fight. Weight distributed well between her legs. "He's dead isn't he. Someone killed him."

" 'fraid so," Alex nods.

"Who do you work for?" Her eyes scrutinize him, as if waiting for him to strike.

Alex raises both his hands up in the air. "No one. The MP of the precinct where Mr. Trojan lived asked me to take the case on."

She doesn't move. "Earth then? Or some secret division of the SFN?"

It was a popular belief that the SFN held a secret military division. Especially among belters and martians.

"You don't seem surprised to hear he's been murdered," Alex observes, not missing a thing, trying to steer the conversation back on track.

"Lots of people wanted him dead."

Tisiphone must have decided he wasn't a threat. She takes a step closer, waking into the bathroom and grabbing the meager supplies, tossing them into her bag, unbothered by Alex's presence right next to her. He's incredibly aware of the small distance between them as her hands make quick work of packing, ignoring the wine and fruit he'd brought: the small distance between her hands and his thigh.

But he doubts that there's a chance in hell she'll go out with him after today. She has the same determined look on her face Johanna had right as she'd punched him day 1 of hand to hand combat. A woman who doesn't take anyone's shit.

Alex snorts, "mind telling me who wanted him dead?"

"SFN. Earth. Mars. The Children of Prometheus. Park Vader's cronies back on Titan. Maybe even Park himself. Take your pick."

"Why," Alex can't help but ask, standing up as she slings her bag over her shoulder. If he lets her walk out now, he'll likely never set eyes on her again. And she has become his only connection to this man's murder.

He can't just let her go.

"He knew too much," Tisiphone shrugs.

"I can't just let you disappear," Alex tells her, sliding between her and the door. It was a dangerous position to be in. He keeps his hands up, trying to reassure her.

"Whoever killed Ivan is going to be after me too," she states, weighing her options.

"Let me help you."

She laughs humorlessly, "I'm long past help. I’ll only drag you down. And you seem like a nice enough man despite everything."

"Despite being born on earth," Alex guesses. War hadn't touched the system in a hundred years, yet there was a lot of bitterness from the colonies over earth. Over the imagined bountiful resources. The air, breathable unlike in so many other places.

He'd lived in enough places in the system to know that it was hard living in every corner of the solarium federation.

"Good bye Alex." Her dark eyes hold his gaze, waiting for Alex to step aside. He isn't sure how long her patience will last.

"If you leave the moon now," Alex threatens, "I'll have no choice but to find you suspect under the circumstances."

Tisiphone glares at him, "are you an officer? Am I under arrest?"

"No."

"Then you have no jurisdiction," she counters.

"But I was able to find you. I'm the only person who could've made that connection." Her shoes had given her away. Too distinctive for anyone trying to hide out, Alex notes. "Everyone else would've written you off. You played the part of a tired commuter perfectly. Your face isn't visible enough for facial recognition. And the timing is wrong."

"So you have to know I didn't kill him," Tisiphone observes.

"I do." Alex nods. "And I also know that you came here for a reason. I'm willing to bet it's why Ivan is dead now. Help me catch his killer and get some people off your back."

“Why do you care so much about him? He’s just another nameless belter to you people.”

He shakes his head, “because a man’s dead. He deserves justice.”

"How do I know I can trust you," Tisiphone asks, her knuckles relaxing their grip on her bag.

"I could've arrived here with the MP," Alex states, "but I'm here all on my own. Because I believe you're innocent."

She sighs. "Alright. I'll stay. But only for another twenty four hours. That's all I can give you."

He can work with that.

"Okay now let's get out of here. If I can waltz right in so can whoever killed Trojan."

"Ivan," Tisiphone corrects. "His name was Ivan Schlossberg."

"And is Tisiphone your real name," Alex asks.

She doesn't meet his eyes.

** ** ch 4

His hotel room is on the top floor. A half circle window looks out into the expanse. The grey panorama, flattened by robots, is broken up by the tops of other bloc, jutting out of the landscape like hills. The sun is the only recognizable feature in the sky. All the other stars and planets are too distant to be visible.

But Alex has the map of the system imprinted into the backs of his eyes. He could tell where earth and mars fall, navigating by stars like explorers of old, even with the slight changes that arise depending on where you were in the system.

Tisiphone looks out into space, eyes full of stars, as Alex interrogates her.

"Why would the UN or Mars be after Ivan?"

"I already told you," she responds evenly, her gaze still fixed on outer space, a melancholic quality that held none of the wonder people usually had when staring into the stars, "he knew too much."

"About what," Alex presses. Earlier she had named all the major players in politics. That which all SFN members despised because it made doing their job a nightmare of red tape.

Tisiphone looks over at him, turning her whole head towards him. "He was involved with the children of prometheus. Selling information. And Park doesn't like when his people decide to leave him."

It didn't take a genius to know what kind of information would be of value to the children of prometheus. "And your mutual friend."

She swallows thickly before answering. "Told me to find Ivan. That he could help me. I don't know anything more than that. Ivan was going to leave the moon with me and explain this later."

Alex doesn't believe that for a second. Tisiphone wouldn't have left so easily that morning if Ivan hadn't given her something. But he also knows when to let things go. "And why would they also be after you?" The usual targets for the children of prometheus were high ranking UN members or members of the Martian Presidium: the operating companies on the belt that treated their workers as expendable.

Tisiphone was none of those.

She takes a seat on Alex's current bed, her knuckles white as she grips the covers, studying the much more pleasant purple carpet. Not as matted or stained as the one in her room.

Her now shoeless feet revealing mismatched socks.

"I saw something I shouldn't have seen." She bites her lip as her eyes water. Alex forces himself not to look away, wanting to give her privacy. "Someone killed my friend and covered it up. And now they want to kill me."

He takes a step towards her, kneeling down in front of her seated figure, "I'm going to help you."

"You can't help me." Tisiphone shakes her head, looking straight at him, "you can only buy me time."

She flips through the stations as Alex combs through the flight records once more. He's isn't looking for random thugs. If this is a high profiled cover up the way she is alleging, then he needs to find a slicker cover.

He checks for any terrans that've landed here in the last few days. Any native mooners with no permanent address on record: the types of people that would easily fly under the recons. The least likely to be scrutinized.

Alex finds three profiles that fit the description. Two had arrived together under the IDBs Gemma and Nick Ryan. Siblings on vacation from earth.

They were passingly related, the same brown coloring. But Alex's searching gaze found no similar features. The bone structure was all wrong. Gemma's strong, squared. While Nick had a delicateness to his features that was absent in Gemma's.

They had the look of UN division operatives. A learned blankness that helped them slip from memory.

The third was on a flight from Ceres. An older asian man: Hugh Shen. There was no way he was born on the moon and had no records of living here. Alex knew most people born on the moon didn't chance leaving.

Opening for new immigrants were few and far between.

Then there was an oily quality that reminded him of many UN cogs that surrounded his mother like gnats.

In order to be sure that they are division members, Alex'll have to go to the scene of the crime. He knows the UN’s playbook. The methods that division uses. Growing up around his mother, he couldn't not have learned something.

Though Penelope Turner was an idealist, she was willing to do what was necessary to get the job done. It's why she was such an effective politician.

He coms Major Moss, letting her know he'll need access to Ivan's hab.

"Stay here," he tells Tisiphone. "Help yourself to anything I've got."

"Anything," she asks archly, "because I could run a bath. Never had one of those."

"Then by all means," he shrugs. The water bill was bound to burn a hole in his pocket, but going through life without knowing the laziness that baths inspired was no life at all.

She rolls her eyes, shamelessly combing through Alex's meager possessions As meager as hers really. Though he didn't have the excuse of being in hiding.

Alex takes the plasma charges with him.

Major Moss, along with another woman of medium build and asian descent, meets him at the entrance to bloc 571, the white paint having long since peeled off the metal walls. The orange lights flickered, needing replacement, as he walks beside her into bloc 571. He can hear the pressure seals around the door, as it slides open, letting them inside.

While the oldest blocs on this side of the moon, their shortcomings in cramped corridors were nothing compared to the space of the older habs.

Unlike Tranquility base, and the rest of the blocs on the moon, the lights inside bloc 571 were LED and white, the costliest to maintain. A knot of tension eased up in Alex's shoulders. His mind, despite the years in space, always unconsciously yearned for earth's natural light.

"This is officer Cong Xi," Major Moss says blandly, "she'll be taking you through all our available evidence. We're receiving pressure to wrap things up as quickly as possible. There are lots of people who want to move into a hub as spacious as this."

Alex snorts. That's what they cared about.

Cong nods, smiling warmly at him as she drinks coffee from her hot pink tumbler. "Nice to meet you Alex Turner."

Which meant she'd been briefed and knew all about him. There was probably a non-SFN version of his file on her com as they spoke.

Alex had never gotten the chance to read his file after the trail. His dishonorable discharge had left him without any credentials to ask for his file without heavy redaction if he got any response at all. He'd have asked his parents if he hadn't been a coward and taken the first ship to Vesta, hell bent on drinking himself to death.

"Likewise," he responds, realizing he's waited a beat too long to respond.

With that said, the Major turns on her heel, and leaves.

"Shall we," Cong asks him, waiting for him to follow. How did such a pleasant person end up working for the MP? Had to be an idealist. Or hadn't been working for long.

He nods.

Alex takes in the bloc.

The floors dull from nearly four centuries of feet walking over it. Not a scrap of white paint left. But the walls are covered with green plexiglass, an attempt to make up for the lack of actual greenery that hadn't been planned for in old models. Even Pallas had some weeds growing among the tangle of wires.

Each door is painted a different color, giving the neighborhood character. Ivan's hab is red, with a pattern of florals overlaid.

Officer Cong hands him shoe covers and a pair of gloves, "standard procedure," she tells him with a tinge of apologies interwoven in her voice, before she unlocks the door, letting them both inside.

Like most crime scenes, the place is covered with tape and plastic to preserve the integrity. But Alex can see the coziness that Ivan Schlossberg had built inside his hab. A glass top table with mismatched but colorful plastic chairs. Books covering a side table ranging from subjects like "Bloom: a guide to space plant maintenance," to "Catching Fire."

His desk is covered with bits of computer parts. Motherboards and processor chips. Different size screens, some with cracks.

This was the picture of a man who believed himself to be safe. He wasn't planning on running at the drop of a dime. So how had they found him?

Tisiphone had entered first.

Why not kill them both at once?

Or had they believed them both to be inside and cursed themselves when they realized the girl had gotten away?

As Alex looks about the room, noting no signs of struggle, Officer Cong studies him. Her gaze curious.

The mess of computer equipment makes Alex guess that Ivan tinkered with it to communicate with whatever group he was working with, likely using it to hack information from earth and mars. The rudimentary nature of his devices would have confused the much more advanced systems Earth relied on, massive data banks in the tundra chugging along. Ivan would've also had the flexibility of pulling the system apart and rebuilding it with different bits of code each time.

A waste of time, unless you were an old man with lots of time on your hands.

His collection of parts would've been written off as eccentricity.

"You can ask," Alex finally says, when he gets tired of the awkward silence.

"Are you really the mutineer?"

It was much better than being asked if he was that traitor. Particularly bitter belters had taken the liberty of making his days hell in the beginning, knowing he wasn't about to go get help from the SFN.

He nods, looking back at the door. Division wasn't above using chemical weapons. The seals on older habs built with the care of spaceships, no one outside this hab would've noticed. "The one and only," he finally says.

While there were lots of people who had problems with the SFN, it generally wasn't seen among rank and file members.

Cong hums, slurping her coffee.

Alex peels back the plastic over a particularly large pile of electronics, his eyes searching for something small, like a computer chip or drive that would be overlooked to the untrained eye. Toxic gases needn't be in large doses to pack a punch.

"I remember the trial on the net," she comments, "it was all my parents could talk about. My whole family really . . ."

A glint of copper catches his eye. Alex keeps his face neutral, letting Cong ramble on as he plays at looking at the body outline on the couch, as if he could magically find a guilty dust bunny, slipping the casing into his hand for later.

"-guess I was too young to care about that. Too caught up with boys and the latest hairstyles."

Alex nods, trying to pay attention. But with that casing, he's sure it was division. Certain mixtures created the same symptoms in the body as a heart attack. Given his age, it created the perfect cover.

But why come in and stab him after?

Who were they trying to frame-

They were after Tisiphone.

She had led them to Ivan, Alex's thoughts come together, each piece falling into place. They had watched her since she arrived. Which meant they knew she was headed to the moon, hence the two early dispatched division agents, purposely waiting for her to leave before killing Ivan, making sure she'd be the only suspect.

But their plan had gone to the pits.

They hadn't planned on Major Moss trying to burry the case. Or that Alex would be called on.

Instead of an easy frame job, it was a cold case waiting to happen. An MP officer would've just taken Tisiphone in. Assumed that the time of death was off due to some lab error and closed the case. But their plan had gone sideways.

"Find anything," Cong asks him suddenly, having given up trying to chat when it became obvious he wasn't listening. Though why he would make small talk about the event that had sliced his life into two distinct parts, he didn't have the foggiest idea.

Alex shakes his head, "thought the scene might hold a clue." He stands up straight, faking the appearance of disappointment channeling his mother's face when he'd come home with an F. "Whatever crime boss hired the hit must've hired a couple of top notch lads."

"Oh well them," Cong continues, holding up her com for him to read, "Major Moss needs us to come in. Apparently there's been a new development in the homicide."

Alex's chest tightens. God he hopes they haven't found Tisiphone dead. Or arrested her.

No. There's no way. He'd already be under arrest for harboring a criminal. No amount of goodwill would keep him out of prison this time.

Alex had to continue under the impression that she was fine. Because no one else had linked her to this case. No one had any reason to suspect her of anything at all. "Led the way then love."

Cong, like most girls (and some boys) since Alex had turned sixteen, blushes pink, before stepping around him and leading him back to the precinct--and to Major Moss's office.

The division agents who had landed on Tranquility base as siblings named Gemma and Nick, introduce themselves as, "Agents Barnes and Khan." They're already seated in front of Major Moss, only confirming Alex's conclusion.

The capsule in his pocket feels like a block of lead, weighing him down.

There's no way they know he knows.

Except they've been tailing Tisiphone since she landed. They might already know she's sitting in his room.

He needs to get off the moon. Alex had promised Tisiphone he'd keep her safe. And this case had just gotten much bigger than a homicide.

It was the type of cover up that required a neutral party to uncover. A High ranking SFN member that would do the right thing. Unfortunately Alex had learned the hard way that organizations were never as impartial and righteous as they claimed to be.

Bloody hell.

In between two impossible choices, giving Tisiphone up or calling his old mentor Vice Admiral Homme, he wasn't sure which was worse. Would Josh Homme even care?

Or was the UN's influence great enough to buy Homme's cooperation?

"I understand that Major Moss has made the mistake of handing a homicide to a private investigator," Agent Barnes says, smiling brightly as if she hadn't just flung shit at Major Moss, who to her credit, didn't even flinch.

"I'm the private investigator," Alex responds evenly.

"They've just finished informing me," Major Moss interrupts, smoothing down the lapels of her pants suit, "that they've identified the culprit."

Agent Barnes nods, then proceeds to do the very Earth thing of pulling out an actual paper file from a jacket and displaying it on the desk. "A career criminal from Titan named Tisiphone Velasquez. We believe her employer to be some drug lord that Mr Trojan was a long time customer of. When he got clean and moved to the moon, well. . ." Barnes trails off leaving a dramatic pause before clearing his throat, "Titian didn't forget his debts."

Ivan's hab was not the home of a drug user. Or a recovering drug user. He'd never been to Titan, to the city under the ocean, but he knew enough about drug lords to know that they had more to deal with than a customer with lots of debts on a colony as secure as the moon.

But Alex can see Major Moss eat up the story, her eyes gazing over as there's one less problem for her to deal with.

"Well Mr. Turner," Major Moss turns to him, "It looks like your services are no longer needed. I'll wire you the payment promptly. Meanwhile I'll circulate the perpetrators photo and have my officers be on the lookout."

"We will be taking custody of Miss Velasquez," Agent Barnes interrupts, "she has insider knowledge of a crime ring we have been monitoring for years."

"Of course," Major Moss responds, already typing out the paperwork.

He has to get off the base. He has to take Tisiphone far from here.

Alex turns to leave, reaching the door before he hears Agent Barnes mutter pointedly under her breath, "It's a wonder Ambassador Turner hasn't resigned out of shame. No clue how he can show his face in public."

Agent Khan coughs to hide a snigger.

A muscle in his jaw twitches. It's bait. And an obvious one at that. He has more than a few scars to prove how stupid responding to it would be, but they did just insult his mother.

"What did you just say," Alex asks through clenched teeth, not turning back to look at them, robbing them of the satisfaction. Mentally, he counts to ten.

He's not going to give them an excuse to place him under arrest.

Tisiphone is counting on him.

The fact that they're baiting him instead of just following him back to the hotel room is a good sign they don't know he's hiding Tisiphone. He tries to concentrate on the and not the sound of blood rushing in his ears.

Tisiphone.

Her petite figure sitting on his bed, scrutinizing everything with an arched brow. The look in her eyes as she'd stared with a refugee's longing for their ancestral home at the image of earth, the green returning to the land after hundreds of long reclamation projects initiated by the UN.

"Nothing to trouble yourself with Alexander Turner," Agent Barnes replies patronizingly, "There is no further use for your services here."

Alex clenches his jaw, and walks out the door.

He lights a cigarette as he makes his way through the dim corridors, the orange fading into scarlet, stopping only to pick up supplies he imagines needing as they travel to space together. Not all at the same store.

Alex will have to get everything out of her, if he's going to throw in his lot with her and hope they get to the bottom of the conspiracy before they're arrested and killed. Or just killed.

What could be bad enough that the UN felt it necessary to send division agents after a woman?

The problem is the IDB has been made.

He's going to have to hope she can get another one quickly. Tisiphone, whose name is more than likely not Tisiphone as all, wouldn't have survived this long is she was stupid.

Fuck.

He really should just turn her in. Or give her a heads up and be on his way. Alex could be on Pallas in four weeks, having the most questionable weed in the system, laced with the hell knows what. Take a case every now and then. Finally make his way out to Titan.

Logan had been his favorite western growing up. Right after The magnificent Seven. He'd made Matt have stand offs against him for days after seeing it, pretending he could manipulate metal. And Titan was the new wild west of space. And still people flocked out to carve their little piece of real estate.

Humanity is ever expanding.

Alex has to press the lift button twice, cursing and lighting another cigarette when the lift's lighting system dies as he ascends up, connecting with Tranquility's passageways.

More than once, he has to stop himself from glancing over his shoulder, sure he'll see an Agent following him. Hugh Shen had been absent from their little meeting. But that didn't mean he wasn't still skulking about.

Even the air changes from the corridors to the base. It's drastic compared to Ceres where the air quality is shit everywhere you go. The base has crisp clean air that didn't leave you all cotton mouthed for the wrong reasons.

From there it's easy enough to head to his room. Alex is already flicking through the net, looking for tickets to the belt. Or maybe they should go to Callisto. It was famous for being a no extradition zone: refusing to acknowledge any authority other than theirs and SFN's by extension. The relative safety was tempting, but he couldn't plan until Tisiphone told him everything she knew.

Alex wasn't stupid enough to think she wasn't holding something back. Her earlier explanation had been as vague as she could manage given the circumstances. He had no clue who her friend was. What she had seen other than a wrongful death.

There had to be a reason behind the coverup after all.

No government went around coverup murder for no reason. It just wasn't economical.

"You have to tell me everything you know," Alex tells Tisiphone in what he hopes is a commanding voice, as he tosses his bags on the bed, plopping down. His only shortcoming as a commander had been the complete and utter lack of confidence he had when giving orders. "Division has just shown up and thrown you under the bus."

Tisiphone's hair hangs down, damp as she listlessly scrolls through the catalogue of music offered by the hotel. She flinches at his words. "I should've left when I had the chance," she tells him harshly, uncurling from the settee and moving to grab her things. She jams her feet into her boots in one swift motion, clearly having been ready to make a run for it at a moment's notice.

"You're right," Alex tries, taking out the gas casing, ensuring the glint of metal catches her eyes. "It's a coverup."

"Obviously," Tisiphone scowls.

"I'm sure they've circulated your IDB by now," he continues, "they wanted to frame you for Ivan's death. I want to know what you saw so I can help you."

"Why so they can kill you as well," Tisiphone shakes her head, "No. . .no."

"What's so important that Division would risk breaking the treaty of Schiaparelli for," Alex asks, rubbing his temples. He wasn't a politician. The inner workings of government fell to the wayside of his thoughts.

There had been no major battles fought in a hundred years but relations between colonies were always fraught with tension over resources. Those skirmishes were usually fought in the Solarium Federations regulatory body, but Alex wasn't naive enough to discount the darker talk of division--their tendency to enhanced interrogation.

"Why do you want to help me so badly," Tisiphone counters, hands on her hip, glaring down at him as if he was the reason that Division had found her at all.

"Someone should," Alex shrugs, peering up at her. The line of her body fell naturally into a defensive stance, something that could only be so natural if she'd started training when she was very young. Tisiphone wasn't an innocent civilian, but she still didn't deserve to be disposed of. "And if I don't, they'll probably kill you and throw your body in some incinerator."

"Or they'll kill us both," Tisiphone replies archly.

"I'm offering you my help if you want it."

She peers down her nose at him, her lips pressed into a flat line, the slim line of her jaw fitting in perfectly with her feline features: a cat deciding if batting the toy was worth it. Turning on her heel, stepping into the bathroom, Tisiphone orders him to, "strip."

Smart girl.

It doesn't keep the burn from making its way up his neck as she turns the refresher, the low static drowning out any background noise as she takes a seat inside the fogged glass.

Alex kicks off his boots, gratefully that he'd actually kept up with his fitness all these years as he pulls his shirt off. There's still bruising in the crook of his elbow. He doubts she misses it as she stares up at him. It's a rush of relief when he notices the scarlet on her cheeks. This is embarrassing for both of them then, as he unbuttons his trousers, before taking a seat in front of her.

"Division blew up my crew." She starts with, staring at a spot behind him, her eyes welling up with tears. "They launched a missile and it tore their ship apart." She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand, shaking her head, "I'm sorry I just. . .let me start over."

"It's okay."

"Shut up Alex and let me tell this in a way that makes sense." She swallows thickly. Taking a deep breathe during which she closes her eyes before continuing. "My name is Vera Albaicin. I'm an agent of the Guoanbu. Sixty eight sols ago my crew was handpicked to participate in an interplanetary task force with the UN. It was supposed to be an easy retrieval mission. We met up with the other crew. Everything was normal."

T-Vera closes her eyes, her hands closed tightly by her sides, trying to suppress the shiver that runs down her spine. Alex wants to offer comfort, but he isn't sure there is anything he can do to make things better in this situation.

"I took an EMU suit to-it was a strange ship. More like a capsule or probe. I had just made contact when my ship was hit." She shakes her head, a desperation in her eyes at the helplessness she must keep on feeling. Not having been able to do anything to save her crew. "Space. They died in seconds. The thing is. . .the only people who would've known about the mission were the UN and MPC. Earth and mars."

Alex nods, trying to probe her as gently as possible because there is still one unanswered question, "how did you know to find Ivan."

The UN and MPC must have decided that the knowledge was better off lost after having sent a retrieval team. Something they didn't want anyone to know about it. That fact that mars and earth had cooperated at all was throwing Alex off. Weapons would make sense if it was just mars or earth. But together?

Vera shakes her head slowly, her gaze meeting his, an intense anger to their depth he had not seen before. She was digging because she was fucking mad. This was a woman seeking justice. "I can't."

"Vera," Alex utters, unable to look away, trying her real name out on his tongue. "My name is Alexander Turner. I'm kind of famous for breaking the law," he finished with a self deprecating smile.

Usually, the last thing he wanted a potential date to know was his past.

Her eyes widen, her whole body freezing up as she takes in the new information, pursing her lips in an attempt to suppress a telling gasp. But instead of recoiling in disgust as he expects her to, Vera reaches for her neck, revealing a necklace obscured by her hoodie. It's a cheap metal thing that must be of sentimental value.

She doesn't stop there, thumbing the ring at the end of the chain before meeting his gaze once more. This time there's no hard glint to her cognac eyes, but a woman at last having caught on to a life preserver. "Julian-Captain Casablancas told me to find Ivan. Trust no one-trust no one but Alex Turner," Vera admits, unable to hold his gaze. "He must have known what was coming."

It's a ring he recognizes well, a twin to his own commander ring. The classic exploration insignia: the atom. Every detail identical for Julian and Alex had received their rank at the same ceremony, only Julian had been eight years older. Already the man Alex wanted to be: wanted to be with. The man had inspired camaraderie the way a good leader should, and clearly he had managed it in a martian girl as well if she had come all this way on his word alone.

"Can I," he motions, aware of the closing distance between them. Between him and Vera. Vera. He had to get his head around that one. Same woman, different name.

No. Not the same woman.

This woman was a martian secret intelligence agent. Not some naive little girl.

She nods, closing her fist around the ring before yanking the chain in a quick motion. It snaps off. The sound like the hull of a ship nearing the end of its lifetime, creaking. Then drops the ring into his outstretched palm.

Without Alex having to prompt this time, still caught up in seeing Julian's ring, still warm from Vera's body heat, in his hand. Julian hadn't responded to Alex's messages. He'd assumed it was because of Alex's past, but now he was left to wonder if Julian had wanted to protect him by keeping away from him. Keeping whatever he'd gotten caught up in that had killed him away from Alex. Vera adds, "I was confused why he'd told me that, given me his ring as I got into the EMU suit but. . .Ivan told me that he was just the messenger. He'd worked for so many sides not asking questions. Earth, Solarium, Mars. They were all the same to him. So he decided that the children of prometheus had a point and got in contact with them. Relaid information. Ivan-he was going to tell me more."

But he'd died.

Vera looks at him meaningfully, "but he did manage to give me the coordinates that he was given by his CoP contact. In case he ever needed a safe house or extraction."

"He never-," Alex begins to ask, not taking his eyes off the ring. In his hand was proof that Julian had been killed.

"He never met his contact," Vera confirms. "But they're on Callisto. Some hippie hub." She rolls her eyes and what a martian thing to do. Look down on every colony not hell bent on terraforming.

Alex turns his gaze on her once more, seeing her in a different light for the first time. Trying to spot what made her a martian. As if he could spot in vitro augmentation just by looking her over.

But all he saw was a petite woman with a hollowness under her eyes. Her full lips pressed into a grim line. Hair slowly drying into waves, catching the light like oil on water. Despite Alex's new information about Vera, he was no less drawn to her.

There was no sadistic edge that spoke of oprichnik operatives who the Martian People's council refused to acknowledge existed despite all the mounting evidence about their methods.

His gut was telling him that Vera was telling the truth.

"One thing though," Alex points out, taking off his own ring for the first time since he'd first received command rank, a command long since stripped from him, and sliding Julian's ring on his finger in its place as he stands up. His mind was made up. He was going to help Vera uncover this conspiracy. Clear Julian and Vera's name. And maybe, just maybe, reclaim some respect on his name.

"What?"

"You said earth and mars sent you," he says gently, having encountered enough martians to know how loyal to their colony they were otherwise known as having bought into the propaganda, "but Division killed your crew.. ."

"Yes," Vera nods, tapping her foot on the floor.

"Then wouldn't both earth and mars have sent the missile that killed your crew? Or wouldn't have mars already used this as an excuse to advance their agenda?"

"No," she supplies, refusing to even contemplate the idea that Mars would've been complicit in such an act. "The Guoanbu wouldn't have killed their own. We're-they're not like that."

“Vera," he sighs, "there's nastiness under every corner, no matter how nice everything is on top you know."

She shakes her head again, averting her gaze, There wasn't much to look at on the walls, but she was making due.

"Let's just find ya another IDB and get to Callisto-"

There's a knock at the door.

Alex and Vera trade wide eyed looks, having taken the plunge off the same cliff with nothing but a string of brand new fucking trust between them. A dead man's word to go on.

Fucking hell.

Matt and Nick flank each side of the room's door. Nick's stone face offsets the mixture of parental concern Matt's features contain, sighing at Alex's appearance, sticking his head out the door. Vera hiding next to the door, alert to every word.

He has to wonder how good her hearing is. Martian's always messed with embryos biology, designing the next generation to be fitter. Could she hear down the hall? What the people in the next room were saying?

Matt steps forward, "jesus fuck mate," he shakes his head. "Can't respond to a bloody com now Alex."

"I told you I got a job," he protests, trying to remember if that was true. His friends had fallen to the bottom of his priorities quickly. Alex had a habit of self absorption with whatever obsession came his way. It had made him a terrific ensign, practicing the same maneuver for hours until he could do it with his eyes closed.

"No," Nick corrects, not bothering to move the curls out of his face, watching him carefully, "you didn't."

Alex sighs, but doesn't budge. They mustn't see Vera. Soon her face will be plastered all over the net as a manhunt begins. Her IDB must already be flagged for travel.

He had to make his rightfully concerned friends go away and quickly.

"Al," Matt levels with him, "I asked you to be here because you might as well be my brother. I knew when I did that it would mean coming back to the moon. That it would bring up a load of shit for you."

"We're worried about you mate," Nick explains. "You're still here. You won't talk to any of us."

" 'm fine," Alex mumbles, unable to hold eye contact with either of his friends. He looks at his shoes as he realizes how unfair he's been to them both in the last two days.

This trip was supposed to be about Matt.

He shouldn't be here worried that Alex finally went off the rails.

"Alex," Matt utters, placing his hand on the door frame, leaning in close to Alex. "You know you can talk to me. I don't care what you did or why."

"Really," Alex tries, because as much as he'd like to have this long overdue discussion, finally get to explain why--no one had ever asked him why, they'd just condemned his actions as w r o n g--he has to get Vera off the moon. "I'm fine. Just been in me head."

"That's what I'm worried about," Matt responds, eyes locked onto his, as if Alex could disappear at any moment. "You've always been in your head too much Al. And it didn't matter when I knew you were looking after yourself. Had me and the lads with you but-Alex you looked like utter shit back in Vesta last time I saw you, hopped up on who knows what."

Alex swears internally. They really knew when to pick the worst moments. He was actually doing good. "I know. . .," he tries to find the words that don't require him to have an emotional breakdown in Tranquility Hotel, aware Vera's listening in, "it's been rough. Some days worse than others but Matthew," he whines, "I really am good."

"For how long though," Nick counters, crossing his arms against his chest. It was a good point but Alex really hadn't been in the dark lonely place in months. Maybe closer to a year now. Progress.

Something about waking up missing shoes and jammed into the seediest by corners of an asteroid had lit a fire under his arse about moving on.

He hadn't even hit the agents earlier. They would've deserved it but who gives a shit. Alex will always be a mutineer but at least his hands were clean. His conscience is a white pearl like a meditating bodhisattva.

"Can we just go inside and talk man," Matt pleads, his shoulder resting against the door, clearly seconds away from shoving his way in.

Guilt wells up in his mouth. Despite having every reason to say no, Alex wants to say yes, the word making its way to the tip of his tongue at Matt's insistence.

It was Matt and he was Alex and he couldn't just deny him like this after everything.

Terrans were only allowed one child.

The law didn't keep Matt from being his brother any less.

"I can't," Alex sighs. "I just-you've given me a lot to think about."

Matt rolls his eyes, hurt flashing through his features as he takes a step back, "bullshit."

"Just open up the damn door Alexander," Nick tries, clearly having had it with trying to do things the nice way, realizing Alex wasn't going to budge on his own. "We're ya friends."

"It's been six years Alex," Matt added. "I thought you'd want to talk by now."

Alex shakes his head, "it's not always a straight line."

"Let's have this conversation inside," Nick insists, "who knows when you'll be around next Al. And now Matt has a command. . ."

Matt shoves his way in.

Alex had forgotten how hot headed he could be. The foil to his cool and calm temperament: translating Alex's lit to others. Not that Alex had much trouble verbalizing, necessity being the mother invention. He no longer took hours to get a sentence out of his mouth.

"Matt!"

"Don't Matt me Al," Matt retorts spying Vera in seconds, who's already fallen into a defensive stance.

Matt brings a hand to his face, pinching his nose bridge, before heavily sighing, "You've got to be kidding me Al. You're hiding a murderer now."

"She's no-"

"I didn't kill anyone," she tries, folding into herself, trying to appear smaller and innocent than she actually is. Vera tries to play at being Tisiphone once more. "It's all a misunderstanding!"

"Then turn yourself in," Nick challenges, closing the door behind him.

"Al," Matt says, placing his hands on Alex's shoulders, "what the hell are you thinking mate! They're going to lock you up for this and not even-"

"Matt," he interrupts, "trust me. I'd love to have a nice long chat but things have gotten. . .complicated and-it's safer if ya don't know. Just. . .trust me."

Matt stares back at him, mouth drawn. An entire childhood together on earth, their toes digging into the soil, tracking mud all over the floors. Later a shared adolescence, their accents charming the girls and boys at school, Matt doing all the talking and never leaving a painfully shy Alex behind.

He nods. "You better come back because we're having this talk even if I have to go visit you in prison."

"There are things far worse than prison," Vera unhelpfully points out, tugging on her jacket over her hoodie, the collar lined with actual animal fur. Given the martian rationing system, it was an untold luxury for Vera to own a leather jacket with fur at all. "I'd even take death over enhanced interrogation."

She pretends to tremble with fear, "anything but gravity."

Alex snorts in spite of the dark subject matter. "Not helping."

Ignoring the other two men in the room, Vera hands Alex one of the spare IDB's he'd seen in her bag earlier. Had it really been only hours ago? "Here's your IDB now. Alexander Collins. Born on Pallas. Married to Morgana Collins," she points at herself, already dispatching the old IDB off her wrist and throwing it in her bag. "Came to the moon to get married. Off to Callisto to make a living," she explains calmly.

"Short and sweet," Alex notes, looking down at his own wrist, the IDB a second skin. He hadn't taken it off since he'd left earth. Many colonies like Callisto chose to implant the ID chip.

It was the key to getting on any ship. His passport and last link to earth. His last hope at ever stepping foot on the big blue planet again, however slim.

Visas for foreigners pretty much nonexistent.

Nick hands him a swiss army laser, "I implanted mine." It's news to Alex who hadn't even noticed, Nick having always been a bit chilly, wearing long sleeves year round. " 's nice actually."

Matt dramatically covers his eyes.

Alex slices through the metal, leaving a band of unblemished creamy skin.

It doesn't last long, as Vera easily replaces it.

"You should keep it," she tells him, patting his arm like a parent half heartedly consoling their child after a pet fish dies. "We are planning on fixing things."

"Yeah," Alex answers, running his fingers over the band. He already felt less confident without it.

#trash pile #alex turner #alex turner x reader #alex turner fanfic #alex turner imagine #space opera fic i wont finish

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babbushka · 4 years

Text

Biting Dust - Ch. 1

Life ain’t too easy for a woman, ‘specially not a woman on the run like you. With a bounty on your head and gunpowder in your nose, you’ve grown adjusted to a life of solitude away from the hustle and bustle of civilization. That is, until you meet one particular man who’s got a face you’d only ever seen in your dreams – or on wanted posters. And when he offers you a proposition that sounds too good to be true, well. You don’t think your life will ever be the same again...

Outlaw!Kylo Ren x Reader

Tumblr Masterlist | Available on AO3

5.5k ; Warnings: Mentions of murder, hanging, arson.

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

You wonder, sometimes. Wonder how it all turned out like this, how this was the life you now led. You wonder if you could go back and do anything over, if you’d do anything different. Sometimes you don’t do so much wondering, there ain’t the time when you’re on the run with sheriffs at your back; but times like this, with nothing but the uncharted desert sprawling out in front of you, all you could do was wonder.

Something wisps up into your eyes and you cringe as you scrub it out -- sand, stinging and coarse. Nothing but sand, as far as the eye could see. You really fucking hate sand, you think, as the rising sun carries on up into the sky, bringing with it a gentle enough breeze that makes your horse, Agnes, toss her mane in delight. She whinnies softly, and you pet the back of her neck as she does, trudging through the sand after a long night of riding, a long night straight through the desert.

“Almost there,” You reassure her, “Shouldn’t be too much farther now.”

You’d robbed a bank the day before, and damn it all that had proven to be a poor enough decision. Ain’t no money in the bank, nothing at all, nothing but a whole group of cowardly men who were quick to whistle for the dogs that went bitin’ at your ankles.

They paid for that offense against you, had paid with their lives.

If only they had had any money for you to take with you, as you sped off into the night, not daring to stop until you had put enough distance between you and the men with steel.

Now, you don’t even have robbing on your mind. No, you think as Agnes chuffs and complains about the tiredness in her hooves, you’d settle for something as simple as a cool and dry bed, a hot bath, maybe enough time to clean your clothes and have a bite to eat before you’re off again.

A bed, bath, and crust of bread which you were looking forward to in the next town over. Robbing that bank hadn’t been entirely useless after-all, you use the morning sunlight to figure out this chicken-scratch cartography off the map you’d quickly grabbed before dashing out of the blazing bank, flames engulfing everyone and everything inside it as you make your escape.

“If we did this right, we should be there before the sun comes up over the canyons.” You tell her.

She only chuffs again, and you know that she too will be looking forward to a soak in a lake somewhere to wash the blood off her hide.

If you weren’t so damn tired, you might appreciate the view. The marbling of the earth around you as the sun begins to shine down on the many layers, millions of years in the making, should be breathtaking. The all-encompassing orange and reds, the slight hints of purple, the occasional dappling of yellow speak to a world ancient, as old as time.

It really puts into perspective, this whole thing, your whole life. See, dammit there you go thinkin’ again, wondering again. You clench your jaw and urge Agnes forward a little further, knowing she really can’t take much more before needing a rest. You know, but still you ask her gently to keep on moving, because the sooner you get into town, the sooner the both of you can rest.

“I think…I think that’s it, just up ahead.” You say softly to the old gal, patting her shoulder encouragingly. “You did it, thank you, thank you Aggie.”

Your horse catches wind of the scent of something, something that excites her, and suddenly she’s bolting in the direction of the town, of the piece of civilization that you can just barely see. There’s civilization of some sort, that’s for sure, you can see the little specs of buildings out in the distance. There’s many of them, which is good, really good. It doesn’t look as big as a trading post, but that’s okay – there’s less of a chance that anyone would know who you are.

You hold on tight as Agnes gallops through the canyons, falcons flying overhead, their shadow blurring past on the sandy ground as the wind whips through your hair. You feel elated, feel like you could fly, just like those falcons, flying and soaring straight to salvation in the form of a sheltered room and a drink of water.

Your canteen isn’t empty, but anything left you have will go to Agnes. She can’t tell you when she’s so thirsty she’s half to death, so you don’t ever let her get close. Your last sip of water was two days ago, and you know you can hold out a little longer, will drink the bathwater if you have to, but Agnes does more hard work and so she gets the water.

None of that matters, because Agnes is sprinting, and you’re reminded of why she’s called the fastest Beast in the West. Huge plumes of sand kickback as her hooves dig into the earth, bringing you closer closer closer to the town, at a speed which will no doubt raise suspicion, will no doubt cause unwanted attention.

“Not so fast there girl!” You calm her down, “I know, I’m excited too, but not so fast! They’ll start shootin’ at us!”

That seems to make enough sense to her, because her breakneck pace reduces down to a trot pretty quickly. Your hair is tangled and in your mouth and eyes, your hat nearly flung straight off your head, but all is well. Nothing had fallen out of the knapsacks on the saddle, and the entrance of the town is only a few more hundred feet away.

“Woahh, stop for a minute.” You command her, tugging on the reigns ever so slightly. She looks over her shoulder at you, and you know you’ve spent too much time alone when you can begin to read the annoyed look in her eye. “Just a minute, I need to change.”

Hopping down from Agnes, you take her by the reigns and guide her behind a large wide stone which juts out into the air some couple dozen feet. You’re just past the edge of the canyons now, but you’re thankful for these little hidey spots, because they’re the perfect cover for swapping out clothing.

Clothing was crucial a lot of the time, for you to go through the world unnoticed. It wasn’t all that common for outlaws to have more than one set of something, and you use that to your advantage, stripping down completely naked right there in the middle of the desert. Stuffing the blood-stained and filthy riding clothes into one of the knapsacks, you exchange that for a beautifully clean and well maintained dress and undergarments. It wasn’t fancy like some high society woman might have, but this particular shade of blue cotton looked nice on your skin tone.

It reminds you of your old life, how you would wear something like this damn near every day, not just on special occasions where a disguise was necessary. The cotton was blue and the cut was perfectly flattering. The high neck concealed some unsavory scars, and the puffed sleeves accentuated your frame. There was some frilly detailing around the chest which you thought was a nice touch, but most of all, it buttoned down the front instead of down the back, which was nothing short of a lifesaver, when you had to dress all by yourself.

Over a clean pair of undergarments and petticoat this dress goes, and back up onto Agnes you climb, your transformation complete. You now look nothing like a filthy sharp-shootin’ bank lootin’ outlaw, instead you look like…well, something far more innocent than that.

If you can just keep your head down and stay out of the way for the rest of the day, not bother anyone and leave first thing a morning from now, you’ll be on to bigger and better adventures. Nevermind that your entire life feels like running away from something instead of towards something, nevermind.

“Show time Aggie.” You tell her, nudging her hindquarters with your boots once more.

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

The layout of the town is as basic as they come, which you appreciate. Two long strips of main buildings on either side of a dirt road, beautiful wooden structures some two stories high. Some of them have got signs hanging from the porch denotin’ that that’s the general store, that there’s the post office. Some others have their names painted on the window, letting you know that there’s the bathhouse and over yonder there’s the armory.

No bank, you notice.

What you do notice, is the large saloon right at the end of the road, a culdesac of sorts, and you are sure that you hear the heavens open up and shine down on you, angels singing, because there’s a small sign that proudly announces vacancies. The building is huge, three stories tall and framed with the most beautiful wooden support beams with decorative carving. There’s music coming from inside, distant strumming of guitars and harmonicas that seem cheerful and jovial, and you’re glad that this town isn’t immediately hostile.

While you’re busy trying not to weep of relief that you’ll have a relatively safe spot to lay your head, a spot to let Agnes rest, the townsfolk are busy noticing you. They must not get many visitors round these parts, because everyone you pass stops in their tracks and stares.

They don’t exactly look unfriendly, just confused, as if they’d never seen a lone woman ride into town before – and maybe they haven’t. Oh well, you think with the hint of a smile as you tip your hat to a little girl with beautifully thick and long braids down her back, you can only hope to be an inspiration.

There’s men bargaining about something who stop and turn to you, women who drop baskets of bread as you pass. The children which laugh and play round polished bronze statues in the courtyard all halt and whisper amongst themselves, wondering who you are, what you could want, why you’ve come.

You just smile at them, show them all you mean no harm, knowing that this is their home, and you’re only passing through. This seems to appease the adults, but the children with their wide-eyed curiosity aren’t so satisfied. You try not to chuckle as parents have to steer their sons and daughters away from the road to keep them from rushing straight up to you and asking a million questions.

“You rest here, eat up.” You whisper to Agnes when you finally approach the end of the road, hopping off her back as elegantly as possible, leading her to a covered set of posts and a trough of water and feed, tying up her rope so she can’t go wanderin’ anywhere – not that she would.

With a deep breath of courage, knowing that your gun was hidden safely inside a makeshift pocket in the dress, should you need it, you push through the double swinging doors of the saloon.

All at once, the music, the chatter, the jovial laughter and clinking of glasses grinds to a screeching halt, as every patron of the bar stops and turns towards you. You can feel the weight of their stares, but you hold your ground, keep your chin up.

“Sorry to disturb,” You clear your throat there in the doorway, “But is this where a lady might be able to rent a room for the night?”

At the question, the saloon deems you to not be a threat at all, and you can practically taste the way the tension in the air dissolves. A lady looking for a room wasn’t nearly that interesting, not compared to a winning hand of cards, or the dregs of a beer, and you’re glad for it.

“Up the stairs.” The elderly bartender smiles at you real friendly-like as he shines some glasses.

“Thank you kindly.” Your curtsey is rusty, and your entire body aches from the exceptionally long journey, but you ignore the protest of your sore joints as your botos carry you over to the staircase and you ascend up away from the bar.

The second floor lobby of the saloon looks like a proper hotel, which surprises you. There’s a woman at a front desk just beyond the stairs, and she sure seems excited to see you. She’s a portly woman with greying hair plaited nicely in braids that rest along her chest, but she’s got a sharp glimmer to her eye, a glimmer you can appreciate.

“Well hello there! You lookin’ for a room?” She calls over to you, beckons you towards the front desk.

You take your hat off and hold it between your two hands, your own hair twisted and pinned into the messiest bun you’d ever done just so it didn’t look such a wreck from the long ride. You walk over to the desk and are more than grateful when she offers you a cup of crisp cool water.

“Yes ma’am, I am, my name is Mary Elizabeth Sampson,” You lie, “I saw the sign out front and was hopin’ that them vacancies might still be around.”

You try your best to not slam back the water the second the glass is in your hand, instead you bring it up to your lips in a measured sip, savoring the way the clean smooth taste of it travels in rivulets down your throat. You would never take this for granted, water.

Never in a hundred years would you not be eternally thankful for this elixir of life. The old woman at the desk smiles at you with a slight amusement, for she must know how badly you want to chug it. Instead of saying anything about it though, she pulls out a thick book and opens it up onto the desk, flips to the first blank slot.

“You’re in luck – we’re a fair price and good for it. Beds cleaned every day, breakfast lunch and dinner brought right up to you if you’d like from the bar downstairs. We’ve even got a hot bath out back, although that’s an extra price.” She says it so casually that you nearly miss it, but there ain’t no denying the way you choke in your excitement at the luxury of this place.

“How much would one night, meals and a bath cost, altogether?” You wipe water off your chin with the back of your hand, lick it off straight from your dirty knuckles, heart thrumming in your chest.

Were you dreaming? This place sounded like damn near a dream, you can’t help but think. It’s got everything you had asked for, and seemed nice enough to boot. You know your purse is light, you’ve only got five gold dollars to your name since the bank last night proved to be a bust. You’re hoping beyond hope that she doesn’t take your last coin – but you know that you’d give it to her if you had to.

“Altogether you’re lookin’ at about a buck fifty.” She replies, relieving you immensely. She points out the prices of the amenities on a piece of paper she pulls out from behind the desk so you know she’s not just high-ballin’ you, “Fifty cents for the room, buck for food and bath. You won’t find a fairer price around.”

“Do you happen t’have change? I’ve only got solid coins, I’m afraid.” You’re quick to show that that’s acceptable, more than acceptable, as you reach into your other pocket – the one that doesn’t have the gun – for a little drawstring purse.

You pull out two dollars, try not to think about how light your purse becomes from it, and slide it across the desk. The old woman clamps her teeth around the coins to make sure they’re good, and is very pleasantly surprised when she sees that they are.

“I sure do, here’s the key to your room, it’ll just be down the hall and to the left.” She hands you the leftover fifty cents, and an old iron key from a series of hooks up on the wall. You gratefully accept both items, and return the glass to her, now empty of every last drop of water, prompting her to say, “You know, it’s funny. I’ve been runnin’ this hotel for ten years and I ain’t never had two customers in two days. Is there some sorta movement happenin’ ‘cross the West?”

Your eyebrows shoot up at that, at there being another stranger. No wonder they had all stopped and stared so dramatically, you think. The townsfolk might think there must be something going on, to have two visitors so close together. You shrug in earnest though, trying to be as non-descript as possible, not give anything away one way or the other.

“I think there’s always going to be some sorta movement, but anything specific I can’t say for sure.” Your answer is open enough that the woman catches on and chuckles, waves you off and begins to step away from the desk, off back to do who knows what.

“I won’t keep ya, it’s so early you must’ve ridden through the night. I’ll bring breakfast up shortly, you just go on and get comfortable.” She says, and you nod in thanks before --

“Oh! Oh – wait, before you go, my horse, I’ve got a horse. Is there an extra charge to groom and board her for the night? She’s out eatin’ from the trough right now, I don’t want to go skippin’ out on any bills.” You rush back to the desk, and with all your commotion, the old woman can’t help but laugh.

“No Miss Sampson, we’ll take care of her for free. You go on and rest now.” She’s firm and kind, and you’re grateful for it.

In fact, you’re grateful enough that when she’s out of sight beyond the desk, you reach over and open the drawer where she took your payment, and you drop the change she had given you back into the little slot she’d taken it from, a silent thanks for the kindness, and lack of questions.

As you turn away for the final time to head towards your room, you stop cold in your tracks.

For up on the wall is a series of wanted posters, all printed and hung up recently, thick black ink letters boasting grand rewards.

Among them, your heart thuds a little bit quicker in your chest, is your name.

WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE

(Y/N) ‘ANGEL EYES’ (L/N)

MURDERESS – ARSONIST – BANK ROBBERY

REWARD - $25,000

The image of your face is crudely drawn, so much so that you barely recognize yourself. They didn’t get a single one of your features right – but who could blame them. You never left any witnesses, never left anyone alive. Still, it’s enough that your name is up there, your real name.

Slightly above your wanted poster, is a poster you’ve seen damn near everywhere. Part of you is proud, proud that you’re movin’ on up the hierarchy of danger, as it were. You recall the days where Sheriffs were advertising only a couple hundred bucks for your head. Now you were a whole quarter of a hundred grand, which surely had to mean something, some sort of stepping on up in the criminal world.

The poster above yours though, now that man was a legend.

PROCLOMATION OF THE GOVERNOR OF KANSAS

REWARD FOR THE CAPTURE OF EXPRESS AND TRAIN ROBBERS

GANG HEADED BY NOTORIOUS MURDERER

KYLO REN

$100,000

Kylo Ren, now that was a name. And what a name for such an outlaw! He was well known all across the desert, in every canyon and mountain, every cliffside and town and trading post had his face slapped up on the walls.

Well, not his face.

No one had ever seen his face. Unlike you, he frequently left witnesses, people to tell the story of the chaos that took place that day, people to spur on the legends of his greatness. He was a train robber, one of the meanest around. They said he was a Pony Express boy back in the day, and had dodged death at nearly every turn. Seems as though he turned a page and started dealing out blows rather than taking them, him and his notorious gang who call themselves the Knights of Ren, like somethin’ out of a medieval fairy tale.

The photo on the poster, despite not showing anything other than a black bandana and a blind eye, seems to stare straight through to your soul.

You wonder if you’ll ever get up there, get up to $100,000. It doesn’t do to dwell though, and you know that if that old woman were to come back and see you staring she might get suspicious, so you just move along.

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

The room isn’t much more than four walls and a bed, but you don’t care – this is the first time you’ve seen a bed in weeks, possibly in months. Losing track of the days was a bad habit of yours, but everything begins to blend in together when you’re out there, out in the desert. All you have are sun ups when the heat is so stifling as it ripples in waves across the sand, and the sun downs with the venomous critters that’ll kill you dead if they manage to get a hold of you.

Slipping off your shoes, you tuck yourself under the sheets and let your eyes close. It feels good, this. Feels good to not have to worry about imminent danger. You’re here tucked up, Agnes is out enjoying fresh water and food, and though your stomach rumbles, you know that eventually breakfast is on its way.

It mustn’t be any later than ten in the morning, but you’re sure you could sleep the whole day away anyway. It’d do you good, would keep you out of the way. Hopefully the folks around would forget about you entirely, and there’d be no trouble.

The door knocks then, and you suppress a groan as you get back out from the covers, and go to open the door. On the other side is the woman, holding a wooden tray with a bowl of steaming hot porridge, johnnycakes, and a fresh brewed mug of coffee.

“Sorry to disturb, I just wanted to get this to ya while it was still hot.” She says, and you invite her in by opening up the door a little further. “The stable boys are givin’ your horse a good wash right now, she’ll be boarded up in the stable right on the side, should you want to ride her ‘round at some point in the day.”

“Thank you ever so kindly, but I think she and I’ll just catch up on some much needed sleep.” You gratefully accept the tray, put it right on the edge of the bed where it won’t be disturbed. The food smells delicious, better than anything you’d had in weeks, and you can’t wait to dig in.

The old woman regards you for a moment, and while you’re turned away from her, she says ever so softly,

“Is it a man?”

Your hands still just as you go to pick up the coffee, and you sigh.

“Pardon?” You ask, turning to face her slowly, knowing exactly what she means but needing to play dumb enough so that she doesn’t know that you know.

“What you’re runnin’ from. Is it a man?” She asks again.

You sit down on the bed, warming your palms with the mug.

Casting a glance out the window, you see the townspeople milling about in the street, all going along with their daily business. Once upon a time, that was you. It feels like an eon ago, and it might as well be, because you know that you can never return to a life like that, a life like the one you watch from your window. Never again.

She’s still standing there, and you don’t want to be rude, so you swallow your pent-up feelings and simply shrug sheepishly.

“That obvious, ain’t it?” You put on a façade of shyness, even though it’s not really a lie, not really.

“No.” The old woman huffs out a little laugh, putting her hands on her hips and surprising you by saying, “I’ve just been in your position, and I know kindness don’t come often.”

“The visitor who came through yesterday…” You suddenly grow curious, “What were they like? Are they still here?”

She waves you off though, probably thinking you’re insinuating that a man might be following you now. And that may very well be true, very well could be the case. You burned that bank down to the ground but that doesn’t mean someone could’ve sniffed out your trail and was headed straight for you. The woman shakes her head reassuringly, and your curiosity both grows and lessens.

“Nah Miss he’s long gone. Sheriff had him dealt with when he caught him trying to steal one of the horses out of the sheriff’s own stable, if you can believe it!” She chuckled, making your eyebrows shoot up.

“When you say ‘dealt with’..?” You trail off, wondering what kind of people these were.

“Oh well hanged of course. They don’t hang horse thieves where you’re from?” She asks you as if such an idea were unheard of to her.

That’s very interesting, you think. Very interesting indeed, such a sharp punishment for a crime that didn’t even happen. Most towns would have given the poor guy a trial, but he was only here for less than a day before hanged? Maybe these folks weren’t as friendly as you had assumed.

That’ll teach you to assume, you know the old saying.

“They rarely punish the folks who deserve it, where I’m from.” You say quietly, and the old woman gets the hint.

“I won’t ask where that is, but do you mind me askin’ where you’re headed?” She moves towards the door and you figure why the hell not, tell the truth for once.

“Colorado, much like everyone else it would seem.” You say, say out loud this dream you’ve had for so many months, “Hopin’ to get lucky and strike some gold before it turns into another mess like California.”

She’s pleased with that answer for whatever reason, and she gives you a knowing smile.

“I wish you luck with that, Miss Sampson, I really do.” She nods in the direction of the tray, where the porridge and sticky sweet pancakes are still nice and piping hot. “Enjoy your breakfast, take a bath. I’ll leave lunch outside your door and knock in case you’re asleep.”

With that, she’s gone, and you raise your armpit to see just how badly you smell to encourage – oh shit, you think, your whole face scrunching up after taking a whiff. Awful, is the conclusion, you smell awful. So badly that you almost lose your appetite from it, something that makes you laugh because it catches you so off-guard.

That woman had more patience than you could ever imagine, waiting so long to say anything about it, the stench, and that only makes you laugh harder, for you haven’t had a moment to laugh like this in a long long time.

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

With food in your belly, and after a long soak and scrub in the boiling hot tub out back, you sleep. You sleep the whole day away, sleep and let your dreams wander to simpler times, kinder times.

Your mind conjures up images of beautiful farmlands, cattle and gently baaing sheep. Numbers and letters dance behind your eyelids, midnight swims in the lake rush over your skin. It’s a good dream for once, a pleasant dream, not like the nightmares that typically plague you. Nothing like the flames which engulf your vision, or the booming laughter which turns to screams or or or --

“Speak of the goddamned devil --!” you gasp awake, your dreams ruined in an instant.

Bolting straight up, you’re disoriented for a moment, reaching for the gun in your pocket before sighing and recognizing this as the little hotel room. There is no danger here, you try and calm yourself down, try and stop the racing of your heart, but the cold sweat that’s shocked you awake grows clammy on your skin and you have to gulp down air.

The room is buttery golden, from the light of the setting sun which streams through the glass pane window. You quickly get out of bed and rush to the window, rush to see if anyone’s come, if they’re calling to run you out of town the way they did that attempted horse thief.

“I can’t stay.” You realize out loud, sighing into your hand as you rub your forehead, willing the spotted visions to blink away. You’d slept just about seven hours, which is probably more than the whole week’s worth of sleep combined, and you’d gotten your money’s worth of food and bath – plus they’d taken care of Agnes for you.

All of this justification runs through your head as you gather up your meager belongings and step into your boots. You twist your hair out of your face and open the front door, ready to place the key on the knob and slip out the back while everyone is at supper.

At your feet is another tray, a bowl of beans and a generous cut of beef along with a tear of bread and dried fruit.

You sigh, looking longingly down at it. Well, you think, better to not let the food spoil. Scarfing down the hot beans and the meat, you wrap the fruits and bread up in a cloth napkin and store it in your pocket. It’ll be a fine addition to the collection of foods you have packed in Agnes’ saddle, and you’re sure the addition will come in handy, not knowing of another town for many miles ahead.

You picked the perfect timing it would seem, because the saloon is empty, all the patrons at home for a home cooked meal with their families, and no one is around to see you head down towards the stable.

Agnes is happy to see you, as always. Her coat is shiny and white, she looks almost pearlescent so clean as this. Guilt pangs in your chest, you wish she could be so clean all the time. When you make it to Colorado and form your new life there, you decide you’re going to get yourself some land and let her spend the rest of her days grazing in peace.

“Ready to go gal?” You smile sadly, petting through her silky smooth mane.

She only whinnies softly, and without much more ado, you lead her out of the stable, and ride off into the sunset, on your way to the next stop en route to the Rockies.

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

On the outskirts of town, as the sky blazes beautiful oranges and reds, purples around the edges of the horizon and not a single cloud to be seen, you think about the old woman, you never got her name.

You can’t go back now, can’t go back to thank her more for her hospitality, her understanding. Who knows, you think to yourself, maybe you’ll see her again one day. Maybe you won’t, but life had a funny way of working out, didn’t it?

Up ahead, you see a poor soul hanging from a great big tree, his horse standing underneath it. That must be the thief, you reckon, the one the Sheriff was not too kind to. Goosebumps shiver up your spine, and you do your best to avoid looking at him out of respect. You knew that if you were strung up, you wouldn’t want any ogling eyes, so you simply urge Agnes to go a little faster, hoping that you might simply pass him and continue on.

You wonder if that might’ve been your fate, had you stayed. Perhaps that Sheriff would’ve gotten wind of the bank from the town over, might’ve warned him about any newcomers, might’ve warned him about you. You’ll be far out into the canyons by then, should that happen, you know. You know, and you just do your best to keep your head down, trying to let this man have some semblance of dignity.

Until that is, that poor soul doesn’t seem so poor at all, because as you grow closer, the moment he catches sight of you, you can hear the booming baritone of a voice shout across the desert,

“Hey! Over here! Hey!”

And you think in shock, that this man ain’t poor, he’s got to be the luckiest sonofabitch you’d ever seen in your life – because somehow, against all odds, he ain’t dead.

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

Tagging some pals! @steeevienicks @solotriplets @formerly-anonhamster @lookinsidemyhead @candycanes19 @adamsnacc-kler @whiskey-bumblebee @autumnlovesadam @goodboybensolo @the-marvelatic @miasera @proxyfoxy @disaster-rose @hazydespair @yosoymuyloca @1-800-choke-that-snoke @ktellmeastory @anongirl007 @zimmerxman @okk--maaan @flapjacques @aweirdlookingtree @callmemania-pls @theold-ultraviolence @og-selene @schopenhauerdeathsquad @nekonaomitard @feminine-machinegun @contesa-lui-alucard @danceyreagan @supremehaunter @refletction @paljonkaikenlaista @pinkmoontribe-blog

#kylo ren #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren/reader #kylo ren x you #kylo ren fanfic #reader insert #x reader #adam driver #adam driver character #my writing #historical au #western au #biting dust

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elsanna-shenanigans · 3 years

Text

April Contest Submission #10: Green Like Flowers

Words: ca. 4,000 Setting: Modern AU Lemon: No CW: mild angst

The train whistled as it left the station. A piercing scream, cutting through the dewy darkness of early morning. Birds, startled awake from their nightly slumber, took to the sky. Fleeing like their wings were on fire, up and away from branches that were all but safe a few moments before. Their small black bodies quickly lost to a sky that had not yet been kissed by an unforgiving sun.

The engine chugged, rhythmically turning large, cold steel wheels. Pulling both itself and its posy of railcars along with it. Quickly picking up speed, outside one of the windows; a dog ran alongside the tracks. His tongue hanging outside his large muzzle, flopping with each bounding leap. He ran on a well-worn path, a frequent activity. The further the train went, the more he fell behind until Elsa could no longer see him. So too did the path fade. Giving way to leaf-covered ground and sparse trees. The click-clack of the train melted into nothing, like the ocean waves when one lives by the sea.

Elsa Settled into her seat but dared not to rest. Her mind racing fasting then the landscape outside the window. The train was still mostly empty, many seats were vacant. She glanced around, taking everything in without fear of looking creepy. The floor was carpet tiles, frayed on every edge but free of at least large debris. The seats, two on each side of the aisle, were a worn blue fabric. Each headrest was adorned with stark white doctor’s table paper. Fluorescent lightbulbs of varying shades of white and yellow had been illuminating the narrow walkways, now dimmed. Allowing the high-backed seats to cast long shadows.

A few rows back an older man sat slouched in his seat, his fedora, which had seen better days, was pulled down to cover his eyes. The ghost of a beard was painted across a jaw held tight by clenched teeth. Next to him, an older woman sat, knitting with the speed of a youth long past. She was counting to herself or perhaps singing. Her thin lips moving in unison with dancing needles. So the yarn was tugged and so too the corners of her mouth.

In another row a small child was fast asleep, curled into his’s mother’s side. The woman’s head tilted back, mouth agape. She wore what looked to be a brand new hoodie, a large sports logo plastered across the chest. It wasn’t a team Elsa recognized, the child shifted slightly, and they too wore a matching hoodie.

Elsa turned back so she was facing forward once more. She glanced out the smudged windows to see the faintest hint of light, peeking over the horizon. And she took a moment to marvel at the fact she had to travel North, then West, then South, then West again just to reach the opposite coast. All the years of human advancements and there still wasn’t a train that simply went East to West. Instead, it zig-zagged across rivers, over the plains, and through mountains.

A movement to her left caused her to turn. A man about her age sat restlessly in his seat. Large headphones completely engulfed his ears. One hand clutching a phone, the other gesturing wildly through the air - pointer finger and thumb fully extended with the remaining fingers ever so slightly curved inward. His voice was barely above a whisper, Elsa had to strain to hear the words which were choppy, loose, but forever moving forward like a rushing stream over stones.

Just then the door between cars slid open, spilling the outside in. Chains rattled, wind blew, the click-clack of the track demanded attention. And standing there, a young ember, sparking as intense eyes surveyed the nearly empty train car before settling on Elsa and finally flicking to the seat next to her. The door closed as if in agreement and the woman floated over. Two copper veins of braids framed a speckled face. She smiled and sat down without asking.

“I’m Anna,” she said, it wasn’t a comment or an introduction, it was a commanding statement. She was Anna and whoever she was, Elsa had no choice but to deal with the sudden intrusion.

“Elsa.” She replied, trying to match the other’s tone.

This earned a nod from Anna, her head tipping back, chin raised for a brief moment before landing in neutral again. Silence settled like a heavy fog. Elsa was never good at small talk. Through the defining silence, she heard the ticking of knitting needles and soft rap lyrics start again. Nothing from the mother or child, this new woman’s entrance had not been enough to wake them from slumber.

“Where are you headed?” Anna asked, keeping her voice low.

“San Francisco,” Elsa replied, trying to ignore how much the woman’s eyes stabbed right through her.

“Oh what?!?” she paused to take a breath and bring her volume back down. “I’m going there too, maybe we can be train buddies!”

And suddenly the flames that protected the young woman from the outside world parted and Elsa saw, not a commanding bitch of a woman, but an innocence - a kindness that she hadn’t seen in a person in a long time.

“Buddies,” Elsa repeated slowly as if tasting the word for the first time.

This earned another smile from Anna, who had either not noticed Elsa’s lack of enthusiasm or chose to ignore it.

“Well it’s what like, 15 days to get from here,” she pointed beyond Elsa to the series of trees whipping past the window. “Aaaall the way over to there. So I think, it would be nice to have someone to talk to, have meals with, maybe exchange playlists…”

“I mean I don’t know,” she pulled her arms in like pulling a trenchcoat closed. She dared not to let the demons out nor let any new evil in. She hated meeting new people, hated that period of time when stupid questions are asked. Hated, even more, when the friendship was temporary, formed for convenience rather than growth. Why spend all that time putting cereal in a bowl piece by price only to find out theres no milk.

Elsa was not yet old in the traditional sense, but she had lived many lifetimes. Broken enough hearts and had enough hearts be broken, both from love and friendship, to waste even more hourglass sand on the freckled book in the seat next to hers.

“No offense but I don’t really know you.”

Anna laughed, a full-bellied laugh that had her eye squeezed shut and her head tipped back against the paper covering the headrest. Elsa felt her face start to numb and fought the urge to bounce her leg. Her teeth sank into her bottom lip and she turned her head to study the trees.

“We can be train buddies while we get to know each other. Like, we might as well anyway, seeing as we’re going to be seeing a lot of each other anyways.”

Elsa didn’t turn her head, “It is a long train.”

“Yes and no, the length? Sure. But there’s the cargo cars, the sleeper cars, the dining cars, the private cars, and THEN there’s the passenger cars like this one. Sooo I think I’m gucci when I say; we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”

“Gucci?” Elsa turned, pulled by the odd choice of word. She was met with yet another smile from her unwanted companion and she regretted turning at all.

“Yeah you know, ‘it’s gucci’ or ‘it’s all good’ same thing.” Anna shrugged but otherwise didn’t move, oblivious to Elsa’s inner turmoil and discomfort, instead, she used this as an opening. Like a racer who finally found a way to pass the leader.

“So, let’s just get all the weird basic stuff out of the way. I’m Anna like I said. I’m from Tennessee, born there, lived there, and went to school there. My favorite color is green. I don’t have any pets or siblings. My parents are divorced but they kinda get along. And I fly drones and do photos for realtors. In my spare time, I like watching movies and pretending to read.”

Behind them, the child resting against his mother stirred, his muffed words, likely exaggerated, were somehow loud enough to be heard over everything else. When his mother didn’t respond, he yawned louder till she awoke will a start. Immediately the child leapt up and took off running towards the door Anna came through. Elsa feared he would open it but he waited, bouncing on his heels till his mother, groggy with sleep and not yet aware of the world, shuffled over. Together they disappeared through the door.

“Aaaand you?” Anna asked. Elsa sighed, the reprieve caused by the commotion had ended and she found herself backed into a corner. She had to at least give some answer or she feared the girl would never leave.

“I’m Elsa, I am from the East Coast. I have a master’s degree. I enjoy the color blue.”

A few beats passed, the train clicking along the tracks. The sun was higher now, its warm beams reaching out at greedy fingers, casting golden whispers within the other girl’s braids.

“Wait, that’s it?”

“Yes.”

“I told you so much more. Are you one of the people who can’t open up and I have to ask a bunch of questions to get them to talk?”

Elsa flinched, she was one of those people. But she didn’t like being called out so directly like that.

Anna smirked, catching the flinch. “I’ll make it less of an interrogation and more of an exchange, so it’s not so scary, alright?”

Elsa nodded, it was actually a good solution to this trap she was in, as much as it pained her to admit that.

“I’m moving to San Francisco or the outskirts at least. What about you?”

“More or less, the same.”

“I have a job lined up with a big real estate firm downtown, I start at the end of the month. And you?”

“At the end of the month, I will be starting my job as well.”

Anna sighed and shifted in her seat, readying a new approach like a hunter with a spear. “So why the train?”

Elsa felt her face redden and she mumbled a quick “I just felt like it.”

And in the spear went, embedded deep within. Its jagged backwards teeth holding it in place. It wasn’t a good answer. It was a very bad answer, one that said too much without saying much at all.

“Oh come on, that’s not an answer!” Anna waited a beat for Elsa to answer before pressing further. “So I’ll ask again, why the train? And this time, no mumbling, I need you to say it… out loud.”

Elsa exhaled through her nose. And opened her mouth to speak before closing it again. She was at the crossroads of telling a stranger a lie or speaking the truth into existence for the first time. Giving a name to the shadow of guilt that hung over her, maybe it would let go and take with it this spear. Maybe still the light that so gently clung, in a smooth loving caress to Anna’s skin would, if only for a moment, grant her one kiss of its warmth. And so she chose the path, and took a deep breath, and pushed forward.

“I left my husband at the altar. I packed as much as I could into a few pieces of luggage, and hopped on the first train headed west.”

For once, since their meeting, Anna was quiet and Elsa suddenly felt the need to fill the silence.

“I left him my car and anything I didn’t pack, like the dog and my piano. I quit my pointless job as an actuarial analyst via email right before I boarded the train.”

Anna exhaled loudly and blinked purposely a few times before speaking, “You.. wow. Just left everything behind huh?”

“I wanted to get out of town quickly. I couldn’t breathe.” Elsa tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“So you chose probably the slowest mode of transportation to go across the entire country, just because you ‘felt like it’?”

“I figured it would be a fun adventure and give me time to think.”

Anna laughed, “You mean to brood?”

“I didn’t say that”

“Come on Elsa, you weren’t seriously going to mope and look dramatically out the window for 2 weeks were you?”

“Well, when you put it like that, I guess not.”

“Meaning, yes Anna I was but you called me out on it and now I don’t know what to say. Right?”

Elsa made a face, she had known this woman for less than an hour and she was already so far in her head that Elsa might as well charge her rent. But saying her, what she now saw as reckless and impulsive plan, out loud was freeing.

She felt warmth on the back of her neck and turned back to the window to see the sunlight set fire to a field of corn. Brown wispy tops of long green stocks danced in waves, long endless rows bent and swayed. A lone tree in the middle of the field broke the pattern, the stalks that had come to worship at its feet paid the price for being in the shade. They were shorter and more sparse, yet the further from the tree, the more they grew. The further away from the city, the train went, the more Elsa felt like those corn stalks away from the tree.

+++

The dining car was busier, packed full of life and people. All of whom were in various states of dress. Some sporting loose-fitting sweats, wiping sleep from their eyes. Others in formal business attire, already on their third cup of coffee and 7th morning briefing. The clicking of their keyboards and monotone voices of video calls faded into the conglomerate of sounds contained in the frankly small space.

“Can I get you ladies anything this morning?” a younger woman in uniform asked, she placed two small, single-page menus in front of Elsa and Anna, who each sat on opposite sides of a small booth.

“A coffee and some toast, please.” Elsa handed the menu back, she hadn’t bothered looking, it was a simple basic order that she never struggled to find anywhere she went.

“Umm,” Anna on the other hand was scanning the menu up and down, trying to decide. “Orange juice and a coffee and a bagel with butter instead of cream cheese. Please!” the woman smiled and took her menu, continuing down the row.

It wasn’t long before the food and drinks arrived. Elsa put one sugar in her coffee and sipped it slowly. Outside the large, clean, windows of the dining car, there were vast sprawling fields. It had been only a few days since Anna became her companion and nearly that entire time, the train had seemed to be continually chugging through the same boring field. So much for seeing the country.

Anna dumped several packets of sugar and a few creams into her coffee before taking a large swig and chasing the hot liquid with orange juice. She made a face and busied herself with her bagel.

This is how their mornings went, and it was a comfortable enough routine.

+++

“So listen,” Anna said. They were back in their seats in the passenger car. “The next stop is going to be a long one, apparently there’s a delay further up the tracks and they’re holding us at this next station for a few hours.”

“Yes, I know this. I heard the announcement too.” Elsa mused

“Yeah ok but listen, they said 4 plus hours right? So I googled things around there and I found this!” she handed Elsa her phone, on it was a photo of a waterfall with text below that mentioned a hiking trail.

“I don’t hike, plus I don’t think we have time anyway.” “We wouldn’t BUT! This,” she jabbed the phone screen. “Is a 10-minute walk from the station. See it’s part of a hiking trail but the station itself is a rest stop for the trail. So we’re going.”

There was that commanding presence coming out again. If the waterfall was so close to the station itself, Anna did have a point. So Elsa agreed.

An hour or so later they were stepping off the train onto a dusty brick platform. To call this a station was being generous. There was a small building, which contained two single restrooms, and one vending machine that looked like it hadn’t been serviced in years.

A soft hand grabbed Elsa’s forearm and she found herself being pulled away from the building and towards the beaten path to the waterfall.

+++

“You know, when I left home. No one checked on me. No one text or calls. Not even from my would-be husband.”

“Not text or even a Facebook message?”

“Nope.” Elsa left out a sigh. “I’m not surprised honestly. People say I’m difficult to get to know. At the wedding, the bride’s side was nearly empty. The few people over there just sat there because the groom’s side was full and they wanted a better view.”

Anna picked up a small pebble and tossed it into the stream, it made a soft plop sound before sinking below the surface. “Why did you guys want to get married then?”

“Well,” Elsa chewed on her lower lip for a moment before answering. “When you’re in business people expect things from you. It’s incredibly outdated and sexist too. But you’re expected to have a wife or a husband, expected to have children, expected to own a home, or at least rent somewhere nice. Have a good, clean car, new tech, nice clothes. All those things.”

She paused to copy Anna’s move with the pebble but missed the water completely, the small stone disappearing somewhere in the woods.

“We met at a company gathering and didn’t hate each other. Our drinks were the same, we watched the same evening news, had the same mild interest in the local sports team. It was enough to bolster a conversation. We started dating a few weeks later.”

“What about the wedding?”

Elsa laughed or at least made a sound that was like a laugh. “We had been dating for 2 years. And when I saying dating, I mean we were each other’s plus one to events, and we had dinner together at the nice restaurants. He was up for a promotion, asked if I wanted to get married and I agreed.”

“Wait what, he didn’t romantically propose?”

“No, we were never really intimate. A kiss here and there, maybe a night over to relieve stress. But if I’m honest, we spent most of our time apart and doing our own thing.”

Anna picked up a stick and picked at the bark, her brows pulled together and the ghost of a frown on her face.

“Did you love him?” she asked quietly

Elsa didn’t answer right away, choosing instead to turn her attention to the waterfall. Finally, after a few long minutes of silence, she answered. “No. No, I didn’t love him. And I would bet everything I own that he didn’t love me either.”

This time Anna sighed and scooted closer to Elsa. “You deserve to be loved, Elsa.”

“I’m not sure I even know what love is.”

Anna stood and walked in front of her field of view. Hands on her hips. “Sure you do!”

Elsa responded by standing and making a face.

“Elsa love isn’t a contract, it’s not a business proposal. It’s work and it’s hard but it also good and warm. Love is telling someone about your day and them listening and offering advice. Love is watching a movie together and laughing at the stupid parts. Love is holding someone while they’re sick and telling them dumb jokes to make them feel better. Love is a lot of things, but what love isn’t is convenient.”

“He was very convenient…”

“But was he love?”

“No.”

Anna reached out and took Elsa’s hand, giving it a light squeeze. “It’s okay, you know? You’re going to be okay. Fresh coast, fresh start.”

“Fresh coast, fresh start?” Elsa repeated, confused.

“Yeah, you’re moving to the West Coast, fresh coast, to start anew, fresh start.”

“Fresh coast, fresh start.” Elsa said again, “You know what, I like that.”

Anna beamed and that warm feeling prickled on the back of Elsa’s neck again.

+++

“So we have the colors all picked out, purple and green. And my dress is white but it’s ever so slightly green like it will catch the light, it’s so pretty.” Anna said. They were back in the dining car, having just finished dinner. About a week had passed since the waterfall adventure and train was rolling again. This time outside the window the fields were broken by large rocks and streams. Anna had her phone out, swiping through photos of her wedding prep.

“You sound excited,” Elsa commented, taking a sip of wine.

“Oh, I am! It’s going to be a lot of fun…” Anna looked up suddenly and stared right at Elsa. “You should come!”

“You don’t have to invite me.”

“Oh please, we’re like practically sisters at this point. Like I know what brand of tampon you used and I know that you snore when you sleep.”

“That’s… that’s a weird thing to know.”

“Elsa, everyone snores, pay attention, I’m forwarding you the rsvp so you can fill out what type of food you want.”

Elsa had to smile as she pulled out her phone to answer the email. “What a strange trip this has been. One day I’m running from my own wedding, and now I’m getting invited to a stranger’s.”

“Not a stranger, a friend,” Anna added, smiling warmly.

“A friend,” Elsa repeated, genuinely returning Annan’s smile.

“You know I was just sitting in the dining car, having a coffee and playing a pointless game on my phone. When I suddenly just felt this pull to leave. And I followed it blindly till I saw you. Then it’s like everything clicked. I think we were meant to find each other.”

Elsa was quiet for some time, considering this. Anna had swooped into her field of vision and hadn’t left since. And for once she didn’t mind the company. That warm feeling was back and with it, Elsa found herself agreeing. “I think we were meant to find each other too.”

+++

In the morning they would be arriving in San Francisco and would be going their separate ways. It was likely they wouldn’t see each other again. Sure, they had exchanged numbers - but in a city of 3 million people, it was easy to lose a single soul.

She didn’t want to lose Anna though. This blaze of a woman who dared to knock down Elsa’s walls with a bulldozer. She had never really had a close friend, and as Anna, asleep on her shoulder, stirred in response to a dream - Elsa couldn’t help but wonder if this is what it felt like to be loved.

Anna shifted, reaching out her hand, searching for something. Fingers moved with a purpose, slowly curling and uncurling until their ship reached the harbor. And she wrapped them around Elsa’s hand, holding firmly, as if she was once again reading Elsa’s mind and was too, afraid to let her go.

Elsa decided then and there, that this time would be different. This time she wouldn’t close the door on someone. She gave Anna’s hand a slight squeeze, causing Anna to nestle into the old woman’s neck.

Elsa turned to watch the lights from the city fade into the darkness of the desert. Her neck was warm and this time it traveled down and warmed her whole body. She ran a thumb over Anna’s hand and smiled.

#elsanna #submission #April 2021 contest #prompt: break

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fan-art-ic · 3 years

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By Chance | DT Secret Santa 2020

A writing gift for @zestyquetzalcoatl who requested a fic with Gladstone and Donald getting along and use of Paperinik for the @ducktalessecretsanta2020 event! Despite how the rockiness of everything that’s happening, I hoped I conveyed that they care about each other. Even moreso, I hope you enjoy this!

Posted on archiveofourown here

Summer, 1999

Gladstone and Fethry’s parents wanted to go on a wine tour through Calisota, so the two of them were dumped on Scrooge McDuck, their barely related ‘uncle’. However, since Scrooge had taken in Della and Donald as his wards, the geezer had become a bit more approachable, a tad more indulgent of his young family. Part of that was giving in when Della asked her uncle to let her cousins stay with them for a couple of weeks during the summer.

Gladstone considers Fethry more brother than cousin given how often their parents had the other family over. Fethry is a good kid, silly but reliable. Della is whip-sharp with all the subtlety of a rocket, but she’s the only one who can prank Gladstone without his luck saving him. It’s unfortunate for his wardrobe, but it makes seeing her so much fun. Donald…

He’s easy to rile up, is all Gladstone can really say. Or is it? That certainly hadn’t been the case earlier.

Scrooge was stuck in meetings the whole afternoon of their first day in Duckburg, so Della and Donald showed their cousins around town. While walking around, they passed an electronics store with a window filled with televisions tuned to the same channel. On the screens was a Kiwi, the name Angus Fergus - Channel 00 visible on the subtitle banner. The breaking news headline was DUCK AVENGER: ENEMY OR FOE?

Gladstone laughed. “Enemy or foe? What kind of question is that?” He watched briefly as a news clip of a dark duck-shaped figure jumped a fence. His cousins stopped so he wouldn’t be left behind and turned to face him.

Donald frowned, saying, “It’s not a question.”

Della jumped in at that point. “That’s the top reporter on the Duck Avenger,” and as she said the name, she moved her voice up and down and wiggled her fingers. Gladstone and Fethry laughed at her antics, and Donald’s shoulders hitched up.

“Top reporter?” Donald scoffed. “The Duck Avenger is only a menace to those who need menacing, and that reporter is a joke. He can’t even write a byline.”

“Do you even know what a byline is?” Gladstone joked and Donald started to grow red. Della jeered at her brother and Fethry mimicked her. Donald’s face darkened.

“Yeah, didn’t you fail that English test, Don?” Della brought Donald in for a noogie, but he escaped it easily. He nearly swung at her, but stopped mid-way, grimacing.

“You okay, Donald?” Fethry asked.

Gladstone watched as Donald looked at the groups of people walking past them on the sidewalk before blowing his emo-long bangs out of his eyes with faked nonchalance. The duck rolled his shoulder and all he said was, “I got clipped by some ninny on a unicycle earlier. Don’t worry about it.”

“A unicycle?” Gladstone and Fethry questioned at once, but were steamrolled by Della’s reply.

“Wow, Don, if a unicycle can take you out you better let me take point on the next adventure,” Della laughed. She then tacked on, “Do you wanna put an ice pack on it back at home?”

“Nah, let’s just keep walking. That new arcade Funzo’s is a few blocks away,” Donald brushed Della off.

While going to Funzo’s had been awesome, especially because Gladstone tried the Big Bass wheel and won the 10,000 tickets (and he played the claw machine, successfully grabbing a toy each time), Gladstone feels...

There’s this niggling emotion in his chest, and as Gladstone tosses and turns in his bed, he can’t help but wonder if there is something wrong with Donald.

Gladstone huffs and drags his luxurious pillow down his face. “This is stupid,” he tells the dark of his temporary room. He flops onto his side and pulls the down comforter over his head. Underneath the blanket, it is pitch black and with each exhale it becomes stuffier and hotter and more unbearable.

He bursts out and pushes the comforter away. Gladstone grimaces and closes his eyes. He opens them and then sits up, grabbing his pillow and pummelling it a few times. He lays it and then himself back down. Sighing, he closes his eyes again.

“Argh!” Gladstone gripes out loud and he beats his fist into the mattress. Why couldn’t he go to sleep? “This sucks.”

This is fine, though. He’ll just drink some water and then fall right asleep like a baby. That’s it, right, his luck won’t let him go to sleep because he’s dehydrated, no problemo-

He turns to the nightstand, where no matter Gladstone stays there is always a glass of water, there’s no glass of water.

“Seriously?” Gladstone squawks at his luck. “Seriously?”

He sighs heavily and glances at the door. “I guess I’ll just go get my own water.” Luckily, by the door are a pair of shamrock green slippers. Gladstone shrugs his bathrobe over his pajamas and finds the slippers to be exceedingly soft when he slides them on.

The door opens quietly on oiled hinges, and Gladstone slowly makes his way out of the guest wing of the mansion to the main steps. He’s certain there are closer stairs that would take him to the kitchen, but he’s yet to learn them. He could probably ask Della or Donald about it tomorrow. He passes by a suit of knight’s armor and the moonlight pouring in from the windows glints off the poleaxe menacingly.

Gladstone shivers and shuffles faster. He can’t imagine living in such a creepy place with creepy things all year. Would make him bananas. All these magical artifacts and mystic doodads must be at least half responsible for Scrooge’s weird habits, Gladstone thinks and then laughs at his own thoughts.

“I’m hilarious,” he says out loud and definitely doesn’t startle when a hushed wailing emanates from a collection of strangely-shaped clay. He shivers again, “Eugh.” Soon he’s at the main stairs and not a single step groans as Gladstone walks down.

A sharp creak snaps through the still air.

He freezes on the stair landing and he looks toward the sound. Towards the steps on the other side of the landing that lead to the west wing of the house, where he was told Scrooge, Della, and Donald’s bedrooms are somewhere located. Gladstone grimaces. On one hand, it’s probably nothing, just some treasure acting up a bit how that pottery had. On the other hand…

Gladstone can’t help but imagine his cousins and their uncle in trouble and somehow unable to yell for help, that creak being the sole sound to alert anyone, and Gladstone had just happened to be nearby to hear it. His hands fiddle with the bathrobe tie, and his head swings to look back-and-forth between the ground floor, just down the steps, and the other side of the mansion, up the steps.

“That didn’t happen, I didn’t hear anything,” Gladstone murmurs to himself.

Thud.

Gladstone glares incredulously. That sound was so soft and distant, but he undeniably heard something thud in the house. Right after he said...nope, no more tempting fate, Gladstone decides. He turns to walk down the stairs, but as soon as his foot touches the first step, he hears another creak. Gladstone huffs and the moment his other foot touches the next step, there is...

Nothing. He didn’t hear anything. That’s good, right?

Gladstone makes it halfway across the foyer before he whips around and races up the stairs. He speed-walks down the hall of the opposite wing, feeling silly as he cups his hands to his ears. He hopes he hears something. He hopes he hears nothing.

There! A muffled yelp pierced the still air and was cut off not even a second later, but Gladstone had heard it. He stops in his tracks, and as luck would have it, he’s in front of a branching off hallway. Gladstone sees a few doors down it, but the main one that draws his attention is wrapped all around in bright yellow CAUTION tape. As he reluctantly walks closer, Gladstone spots a tiny boat sticker on the door jamb.

He nearly sweat drops. Gladstone loves his cousin, but he knows it’d be tempting fate to knock on the temperamental teenager’s door in the middle of the night. And what would Gladstone have to say for himself, that he was worried? That there were some weird sounds that scared him? He’d be very lucky if the only thing that happens is Donald waking up, telling him he heard some spooky artefact, and closing the door in his face.

Oh wait, it slowly dawns on the teenager. He is that lucky! He’s incredibly lucky every single day, why would this be any different? All he needs to do is knock, lay his fears to rest, go to bed, and lay himself to rest. Everything will be fine. He'll go back to sleep and the sun will rise and everything will be fine. Gladstone sucks in a deep breath and exhales in a whoosh. He knocks four times, just enough force to catch attention if Donald is awake, but not raucous enough to wake him. A muffled curse filters through the door. Gladstone frowns and folds his arms awkwardly. The door opens a few inches to reveal the sleep-squinting eyes of his cousin.

“Gladstone?”

He laughs weakly. “Ah! Donald, just the duck I wanted to see…” Gladstone means to say more, but is distracted by the dark shadows under Donald’s eyes. Or, more, around the eyes…?

“Did you need something?” asks Donald. His eyes are looking away from Gladstone’s, and his fingertips around the door are flecked darkly.

Gladstone blue screens for a second before finding some words to say, “I was wondering if you knew anything about the pottery near my room! Such fascinating pieces of, uh, artwork.”

The door shuts without answer and the goose scrambles. “Wait! No, I uh, I actually was, I’m worried,” he stammers out, and the door opens back up, a little more than before. Success. If only it wasn’t at the sacrifice of his dignity. “You see, they’re really freaky, and were making some weird moaning wailing noises? And I just couldn’t get to sleep!” Gladstone grins bashfully. The door opens fully, and there stands Donald, rumpled and grumbly but definitely awake.

“Move to a different room tonight. Tell Uncle Scrooge in the morning about it, he’ll give them a lecture,” Donald advises him, actually more helpful than Gladstone thought he would be. “Go back to sleep, Glad.”

“Well, uh, sounds good,” Gladstone says. The door begins to shut and Gladstone blurts out, “Why are you wearing boots in the middle of the night?” He had barely noticed them at first, but now it’s striking him as super weird.

Donald squawks. His eyes flick down and then back up to meet Gladstone’s. His cousin goes to slam shut his bedroom door, but before it closes Gladstone shoves his hand in between and blocks it. He hisses loudly in pain and Donald’s eyes go wide. The door reopens and Donald starts to reach out to Gladstone, who’s withdrawn the injured hand and stuffed it in his mouth to muffle his yelps, but then the duck aborts the gesture. When Gladstone finally lets go of his bruised hand, Donald flicks the side of his beak.

“Idiot,” he rasps. “Don’t put your stupid hand in the door.”

Gladstone declines to respond because with the door open more, he has a better view of his cousin. Donald’s feathers are badly ruffled, his tee-shirt oddly bulky on him like he’s wearing something big underneath, his black boots dirty and scuffed. Now, Gladstone can tell that his eyes aren’t swollen with only a lack of sleep but also with bruising.

He whistles lowly. “That’s a hell of a shiner, Don.” His cousin’s shoulders jump to his ears and he snarls at Gladstone.

“Shut up! You didn’t see any of this!” Donald stands taller and moves to block Gladstone’s view of the room, but Gladstone uses that to push him out of the way and walk in. As he walks by, he spies a thick piece of blue fabric spilling out the back of Donald’s shirt. He quickly reaches out and grabs it, pulling it closer to inspect. It has more weight to it than Gladstone expected and the underside is a deep coal black.

“Is this a cape?”

Donald whirls around to face him, and man, oh man has Gladstone messed up. If looks could kill Gladstone would be worm food. The duck’s shoulders start to shake and Gladstone can practically see steam whistling out his ears. Oh man.

“Get out of my room! You didn’t see anything! GET OUT-” Donald’s volume exponentially rises and Gladstone rushes to clamp the duck’s bill shut before he grows loud enough to wake up everyone else. Donald shakes in his grasp for a few seconds but regains his calm quickly enough that Gladstone feels somewhat certain he won’t start yelling again. Donald breathes heavily and with a dark look at Gladstone, he turns his back on him and stalks over to his bed. “Get out of my room,” his cousin orders, pulling his blanket over his head. As if that would be enough to dissuade a curious (not scared!) gander. Gladstone eyes the haphazard mess around the room. Piles of clothes, overflowing trash, an open window letting in an unusually cold summer draft. He shivers. Then he looks closer at the window.

Dark, two-toned smudges litter the windowsill. The floor below the window is oddly clear of any mess in a rough circle. Gladstone knows for a fact that there is a climbable trellis right outside Donald’s window. Della had pointed it out during his and Fethry’s first tour of the manor grounds, bemoaning the fact that lame straight-lace Donald got a sneak-out-able window and she didn’t.

Gladstone had laughed then, but now he was severely doubting the idea that Donald never snuck out.

“Donald? Is this…” Gladstone walks closer to the window and bends over. He picks up something small and black, rough in texture and sort of sticky. Spread out in his hands, he can see it’s a domino mask like the ones comic book superheroes wear. His trailing off must have been telling because after a few seconds Donald forcefully tumbles out of bed and snatches the mask from Gladstone’s hands.

“It’s for a school play,” Donald says harshly before shoving him towards the door. “Get out of my room.”

“Is this blood?” Gladstone asks as he stares at the reddish residue on his fingertips. “Donald, I want an explanation.”

“Yeah, well I want a thousand dollars, and you don’t see me getting it,” the duck says brusquely.

“Do you want a thousand dollars? I can give you it.” It wouldn’t even make a dent in his savings with how his parents make him deposit all the twenty-dollar bills he finds and cash prizes from sweepstakes he unwittingly wins.

Donald’s feathers fluff out a bit, and Gladstone realizes that was the wrong thing to say. “I, uh, well I mean, are you okay?”

His cousin gives him a disbelieving look and pauses in his attempts to push Gladstone out. The goose notices a small patch of darkened feathers on the side of Donald’s head. He reaches out to poke it. “You’re hurt?”

Donald bats his hand aside. “Just leave, Gladstone. Forget all this and I’ll let you get away with as many jokes as you want tomorrow.”

Tempting. Very tempting, in fact. For a second, Gladstone wavers. He and Fethry are in the works planning a prank on the Duck twins for the next day, and it’s a doozy of one that definitely would result in getting chased up a tree. His tree climbing skills are lacking…

“Nope!” Gladstone replies. “C’mon cuz! What’s the big secret? Some adventure you don’t want your sis getting in on?” His response gets him a tired look. Gladstone frowns. He’s just getting nowhere tonight. How untypical. This calls for drastic measures.

“Look, Donald,” he says seriously, and steps aside and away from the door. He levels a look at his cousin and is returned with an exhausted, stony stare. “I don’t want in on…” Gladstone gestures around the room, “whatever this is. I was worried earlier, but, eugh, this pains me to say, but I was worried about you.”

His cousin’s stunned expression is enough to make Gladstone continue. “You seemed off earlier, and this is like, REALLY wildly weird, whatever you’re up to, and, I don’t know, are you actually okay?” Donald stares at him, his face closed off and blank. Gladstone fidgets a bit awkwardly; bald-faced honesty is not his usual policy and the longer this silence drags out the heavier the sinking feeling in his stomach gets.

Finally, his cousin sighs harshly and looks him in the eyes before glancing around his owm room. Donald sighs again, but reaches out and closes the door with a click. Gladstone backs up to give him space and sits down in the desk chair to the left of the bed.

“You can’t tell anyone about this,” Donald begins quietly. “Not Fethry, not Della, not Scrooge, not your folks, you tell anyone and not even your luck will save you.” Teenage bravado or not, a shiver runs down Gladstone’s spine.

“Okay.”

“You promise?” Donald marches up to him and sticks a pinky finger in his face. Gladstone curls his own pinky around it and swallows roughly.

“Promise, Don.”

Donald breathes in and it’s like all the tension in him had been cut in two. With a deep sigh, his shoulders sag and the duck stumbles a few steps backward to sit heavily on the bed. He awkwardly draws up one leg and encircles his arms around it, and scratches at his elbow. In the soft moonlight pouring in, Gladstone can just make out a bandage clip peeking out of feathers. What craziness is Gladstone stepping into this time?

Donald mumbles...something into his elbows and knee, his face too buried for Gladstone to hear. “What?”

Donald mumbles again.

“What?”

Donald’s fingers clench. Unclench. He lifts his head to glare at the goose. Reluctantly, as if the very words pain him, Donald says, “I’m the Duck Avenger.”

Gladstone’s eyes bug out.

“WHA-” Donald moves lightning-quick, lunging forward and clamping a hand around Gladstone’s beak. He lets go after a second. Gladstone continues, volume adjusted, “-what do you mean you’re the freaking Duck Avenger? You’re saying you’re a vigilante? Did you hit your head?”

“Yes,” says Donald. “At least several times.” Gladstone has no response to that.

His cousin...is a vigilante. What did Gladstone know about the Duck Avenger? Not well-liked by news reporters, not well-liked by police, not well-liked by criminals. Criminals. His cousin regularly goes out and sneaks around at the dead of night getting...who had Gladstone heard about? The mayor?

“What was the deal with the mayor?” Gladstone asks. Donald frowns and seems a little caught off-guard.

“He was embezzling funds from Duckburg taxes,” explains Donald. “Using people’s money for his own fancy, schmancy pool at his big fancy, schmancy mansion, instead of fixing potholes or funding something worthwhile!”

“You live in a fancy, schmancy mansion with a pool,” Gladstone points out. Donald glares at him.

“It’s not the same!”

“Okay, okay!” Gladstone raises his hands in surrender, and he changes the topic. “So, like, you go out and expose politicians and punch robbers and stuff? Like Superdog or Wonder Warble?”

Donald scratches the back of his neck. “There’s a bit more to it than that, but uh, yeah.” The duck sits taller. “I avenge. I avenge on those taking advantage of those not in power. Or is it I avenge those not in power…” the teenager trails off.

“Neat!” Gladstone interjects as he can empathize with being brain fuzzy late at night; this is all so confusing without thinking about grammar of all things. Ugh, grammar.

“Wait, so how’s being a mysterious vigilante going to work when summer is over and school starts?” asks Gladstone. He starts to spin himself in the desk chair. “Are you going to just ‘avenge’ on weekends and holidays or…?”

Donald shakes his head and then yawns so big Gladstone hears a joint pop. He shivers. Eugh, gross. Whoa, he’s dizzy. He stops spinning the chair and realizes he’s missed half of what Donald has said. “Wait, back up, can you repeat that?”

His cousin rolls his eyes but obliges. “I was saying that I’m gonna go out whenever I can. If I’m not unconscious from the latest adventure or I don’t have a huge exam the next day, I want to be out there,” Donald turns his head to look out the window, “making a difference.”

Gladstone is seeing all sorts of hidden depths to his cousin tonight. Yikes, what to say to that kind of statement, jeez. “We got plenty of time to make a difference, Don, we’re not even out of high school,” Gladstone reasons. “Right now, we’re just learning the ropes and being crazy kids, no need to really stress about it that much. Making a difference is for adults.”

Donald shoots him a sharp glare that settles into a deep scowl. “Of course you’d say that.”

“Of course I’d say what?”

“That we should let the adults handle it. That we should wait to become adults to handle it. Some of us-” Donald visibly bites off the end of his sentence. Gladstone frowns. The duck continues, wrestling with his words. “I,” he stresses, “I am not waiting to do something. That’s not...It’s not something I can do.”

Gladstone stands up from the desk chair and starts pacing. One, two, three, four steps, turn around, walk back. One, two, three, four steps, turn around, walk back. One, two, three, four-

“Glad?”

The goose stops pacing and stands still for a moment. Gladstone ignores his cousin for a second to inspect his hands, where they’d held the mask earlier. He rubs his fingers together and some of the light brown, dried blood crumbles off his white feathers. He turns to look at Donald.

“Donald.” Gladstone hesitates before repeating himself from earlier, “Are you okay?” He hopes his cousin sees it for the out it is. Let Gladstone win once tonight. His cousin frowns and scratches at his elbow. The bandages shift around the arm. Gladstone looks away.

“Am I…are you okay?” Donald deflects instead.

“I’m peachy keen,” Gladstone replies with pronounced cheer. He rocks back on his heels. “So, you are okay? You’ll live to the morning?”

Donald catches on, frowning at first before finally saying, “Yep, all good. You can go back to bed now.” Gladstone laughs weakly.

“Good to hear! Good to hear…” Jeez, now the duck almost looks downcast because Gladstone wants out of this frankly strange conversation. His stomach churns uneasily and Gladstone really just wants to dart out the door and chalk this all up to a weird dream. He turns and begins to walk toward the door, but before he crosses the threshold, Gladstone spins around and rushes up to the duck.

“Gladstone?” Donald says and then groans, “Mind the ribs!” as Gladstone quickly, tightly wraps his arms around his older cousin. He holds the hug for four seconds before letting go and stepping away immediately.

“Well, goodnight, Don,” Gladstone says. Donald looks back at him.

“Goodnight, Glad.”

The goose nods and then makes his way out of the room. Just before he closes the door, he hears Donald’s tired voice ask, “You won’t tell anyone ‘bout me?”

Gladstone swallows roughly and it takes him a moment to respond. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

“ ‘Kay...goodnight…”

“Goodnight, Don,” repeats Gladstone and he closes the door with care. He walks back to the stairs and goes down to the kitchen. He remembers that reporter, asking if the Duck Avenger is the enemy. The shadowy silhouette of the Duck Avenger jumping a fence. Gladstone pulls a glass out of the cabinet and pours water into it from the pitcher. He sets the pitcher down and there’s a slight brownish tint on the white plastic that hadn’t been there before. Gladstone wipes it away and drinks from his glass. A mayor embezzling funds, that would require breaking and entering to figure out, getting into secured files or going onto the mayor’s, well, ex-mayor’s property, trespassing. That’s just one thing Gladstone knows about, and who knows how long Donald will keep superheroing? If he ever gets caught…

Gladstone finishes off his water and rinses the glass, setting it to dry on the mat beside the sink. He walks back to his room and slips under the covers. He stares up at the ceiling. His cousin the vigilante. Out there, trying to make a mark and fixing injustices. Although Gladstone isn't quite sure his cousin is really old enough, when he thinks about it he can find it pretty cool of Donald. Hopefully, he won’t have to think about it all. Tomorrow, he’ll have to talk to Fethry about changing their prank plans. Maybe something with not quite as many roller skates.

Gladstone closes his eyes and waits for a new day to begin.

#ducktales #donald duck #gladstone gander #paperinik #ducktales secret santa #my writing #ahhhhhhhh i enjoyed how this turned out but i just hope you enjoy this as it is a gift lmao

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buckysbitch107 · 4 years

Note

I don’t know if requests are open, but if they are can I request a Steve Rogers x Reader where at the end of end game he goes back to his lover from the 40s but instead of Peggy it’s the reader(include any backstory that you want)? Like even his compass contains the picture of the reader and not Peggy. I love your wring so far btw, keep up the good work!!!

Home Isn’t Just A Place | Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: When Colonel Phillips himself delivered the letter stating the love of your life (and best friend since 5 years old) was dead, you were more than devastated. You were still mourning the loss of your fiancé, mindlessly fiddling with the ring on your finger, when a much harsher knock rang at your door. You expected it to be perhaps your sister or a delivery boy. What you certainly didn’t expect was for your fiancé, who you were told was dead, to be standing at your doorstep.

Warnings: Swearing, Angst, Crying

Word Count: 2.38K

A/N: Hope this meets your standards! I tried my best with this one and i hope you enjoy it! Just a reminder that I will always be accepting requests! I will be writing a Part 2 to this, so stay tuned!

“It’s fine guys! I can cook something in the apartment!” You speak, the men on either side of you giving you a small glare.

“It’s our last night, (Y/N/N). We wanna make it special before you’re alone in the apartment.” Steve mentions, wrapping his arm around your waist. You’re still taller than him, but it’s the thought that counts, right?

“That restaurant isn’t that good anyway.” You whisper, trying so hard to hide the disappointment in your voice. You’d been looking forward to sitting in that restaurant since it opened, and when Bucky and Steve said they were taking you, that meant you could finally get a chance. That is, until you got there, and they didn’t have your reservation.

“Doll-” Bucky starts, soon being cut off by your voice.

“Guys. It’s fine, really.”

“No, it’s not (Y/N)! We wanted to treat you to something special, and now it looks like we’re having cabbage fuckin’ stew for dinner… again.”

“Or,” You pause, lifting your arm to point at the sign hanging off of the corner store at the end of the street. “We could get some food from Stan’s. It’s still open and we have enough money for some hot dogs.” The two men agree shortly after and the three of you quicken your pace, eager to get some food in your stomach. The small bell above the door rings through the air as the three of you walk in, the owner walking out from the back.

“Steve, Bucky, (Y/N)! Nice to see ya! What can I get for you?” Stan asks, his smile always bringing comfort to you three.

“Three hot dogs and three cokes please!” You respond, offering him a small smile yourself. He nods and taps some button on the register, pulling the crank before turning his head back up to you.

“Thirty cents please.” You start digging in your wallet when a hand stops you, and your head snaps to meet Steve’s eyes before he starts digging in his own wallet. He hands the man 30 cents before discreetly grabbing your hand, a small chuckle leaving your lips. Stan walks to the back and returns with three hot dogs in hand. He sets them down on the counter before reaching in the fridge and pulling out the drinks. You take them and thank him before walking out the door, Steve and Bucky following you out with their own.

“Let’s go to the docks! Watch the lights in the city!” You propose, turning back to face the two men. They agree and you all walk down to the docks, finishing your food and drinks shortly after getting there.

“Sorry, it had to end like this, (Y/N/N).”

“Meh, I liked this ending better. At least this way I can say fuck.” You giggle, turning back to look at your boyfriend. A soft melody fills your ears and you search for the source of the music. You soon find it as a band plays at an oceanside restaurant, where people are probably dining on the finest steaks and champagne, but you’re happy right where you are. Steve’s hand grabs yours and he smiles, both of his hands wrapping around your waist.

“Dance with me, doll.” You nod before placing your hands around his shoulders, the two of you slightly swaying to the music. Bucky lets out a short laugh before leaning against a lamppost. Steve grabs your hand and spins you around, the blue dress flying up around your waist as he twirls you in his arms. Your eyes drift closed as he continues to spin you, a laugh bubbling out of your mouth, and you finish turning and open your eyes to see Steve on one knee.

“Oh.” Your hands fly up to cover your mouth and you see Bucky smiling out of the corner of your eye as Steve pulls out a ring.

“I know, I know it isn’t much, but it’s what we could afford.”

“Wha-Whe-How?” You whisper.

“Well, we saved up for a bit.”

“I think you’re supposed to give a speech now, Stevie.” Bucky comments.

“I’m getting there!” Steve responds, making you let out a hoarse laugh before you start choking on your sobs. “Doll, you are the best thing to ever happen to me, Buck being a close second. You’ve always been there for me when I’m sick, which is a lot. I wanna be with you forever. I want to have kids with you, I want to give you the best white-picket-fence life I can. I swear to love you for the rest of our lives, if you’ll be mine. What do ya say doll?” By this time, your hands have migrated from your mouth to your chest, and you wipe your eyes while nodding your head, choking out a short “yes” before Steve slides the ring on your finger. As he stands up, you begin to cry harder as you pull him into a bear hug. He pulls away and you place both hands on his shoulders, looking at him sternly.

“You better come back to me, you hear me?”

“I promise I will, doll.”

“No, I need better than a promise.”

“I swear on my life, dollface. Besides, I wouldn’t leave my best girl behind.”

~~~

You’ve seen all the adverts and movies about the one and only Captain America. People see him as a hero, as the man who punches Nazis straight in the face and kisses babies, but you still see him as the little guy from Brooklyn who couldn’t run the mile from fourth grade on. Yes, you missed your fiance very much, but you had faith that he would keep his promise and come home after the war. A few months after Bucky and Steve left, you picked up a waitressing job in a mom-and-pop diner on the weekends and weeknights alongside your job as a science teacher. Bills aren’t going to pay themselves, and Bucky and Steve aren’t here to help you. You walk in the door, returning home from your morning shift at the diner, planning on quickly changing clothes before running out and volunteering at the animal shelter, something you always did on Saturdays. You throw on a simple dress, the pale yellow glowing in the sunlight streaming in from the window. Your plans suddenly change when a knock rings at your door.

“One second!” You yell, finishing pulling up the zipper on the back of your dress before walking over to the door, opening it to see Colonel Phillips himself. “Colonel Phillips.”

“Miss (Y/L/N). May I come in?” He asks, the solemn look on his face causing an uneasy feeling in your stomach.

“Of course, sir.” You open the door a little bit wider and he enters the apartment.

“You may want to sit.” You follow his instructions and sit yourself down at the kitchen table, now noticing the letter in his hands. “I wrote it all out on paper, but I also figured I should tell you in person.” He pauses, taking a deep breath. “Captain Rogers crashed a plane into the ice to save the lives of millions of people yesterday morning. I would have gotten here earlier but there were some complications with the plane.”

“No.” You mumble, standing up to directly face the colonel.

“He has been declared Killed in Action, along with James Barnes.” Your head snaps up at his comment, tears already pooling in your eyes.

“What-what do you mean they’ve both been killed in action? What-” A sob rising in the back of your throat cuts you off and you have to steady yourself against the table. Phillips places the letter on the table as you try to quiet your sobs. He quietly nods his head before turning to the door, about to step out when you choke out a short “wait”. Colonel Phillips turns around as you compose yourself, wiping the tears off your face.

“Yes ma’am?”

“Am I allowed to give you a hug?”

“Yes ma’am.” You wrap your arms around him and place your head on his shoulder, the colonel hugging you back shortly after. The two of you pull away and you whisper a small “thank you sir” before he nods and walks out the door. You turn around and grab the letter, ripping it open before focusing on the words carefully typed on the page:

Miss (Y/N) (Y/L/N)

437 West Clermont Street

Brooklyn, New York, USA

11201

I regret to inform you that both Captain Steven Rogers and Sergeant James Barnes have been killed in action in service of their country. As you know, Captain Rogers freed over 200 men across enemy lines in Azzano, Italy. He then formed a squadron, the Howling Commandos. That squadron took down more enemy bases than any other in history. It is with deepest condolences that we regret to inform you than on Saturday, February 19th, Sergeant James Barnes fell out of a moving train while defending Captain Rogers. On Friday, February 25th, Captain Rogers crashed a plane into the Arctic in order to save over three million lives from nuclear bombings. Not only has America lost a soldier, America has also lost a hero.

Deepest regards,

Colonel Chester Phillips

A loud sob erupts from your mouth as you throw the letter on the table, your hands quickly covering your mouth.

“No. Nonononono, they can’t be dead. I can’t- I can’t do this alone.” You back up against the wall, slowly sliding down as your fingers thread through your hair. It’s only when you look back at the ring on your finger that your tears of pain turn to those of anger. “YOU PROMISED!” You scream, not giving a damn if the neighbors can hear you. Your head falls into your hands as you curl up into a ball, your sobs echoing through the now eerily empty house.

“You promised.

~~~

It was a nice funeral. A lot of people you knew were there. Dum-Dum, Gabe, Jim, and Monty came, while Jaques sent his condolences. It was small, but Steve would have liked it. Yeah, you sobbed, but so did everyone else. You sit numbly in your house, the walls no longer filled with laughter, the floors no longer covered in flour and paint, now only scuff marks from your pacing panic attacks. You’re mindlessly fiddling with your ring when a knock sounds at your door, this one sounding louder and overall harsher than the other ones you’d been experiencing for the past week. You stand up and walk over, not caring to check the peephole before opening it. And standing there, is the man you were told crashed a plane into the arctic.

“Wha-”

“Hi, doll.” You slowly start shaking your head before walking away from the door, simply leaving it open.

“No, no. Nonono. You crashed a plane into the arctic. Your signal went dead. You were presumed dead! I’m going mad, I’ve gone absolutely bonkers and now I’m imagining the love of my life is in my living room when he’s buried somewhere in the Arctic!” You rant to yourself, tears slowly gathering in your eyes. You stop when Steve puts both hands on your shoulders, stabilizing you and forcing you to make eye contact with him.

“God, is this what happened after I crashed?” He mumbles, looking up and down at your frantic form. Your clothes have become a little looser, your hair a little thinner, the bags under your eyes just a bit more noticeable. But that’s not the only thing that’s changed. You look at Steve and notice he looks… different. He looks older and more exhausted.

“You aren’t my Steve?”

“Sit down doll, I have a lot of explaining to do.”

~~~

“So you’re from-”

“Yeah.”

“But you still-”

“Mhm.”

“And I’m still-”

“Yep.”

“But wouldn’t this-”

“Nope.”

“Huh. And this Thanos dude he-”

“Eliminated 50% of all living beings. Yes.”

“And you’re back here because you’re delivering the stones back to their original places in time and wanted to see me?”

“Yeah pretty much.”

“Huh. Okay.”

“So, can I have this dance?” He stands up and reaches his hand out to you. You smile and take it, the man pulling you into him. You notice as the two of you start swaying that he’s suddenly more relaxed, and that he’s definitely gotten more muscular over the years. You dance for a little while longer before he tilts your chin up, meeting your lips for a gentle kiss. “God I missed you doll.”

“I missed you too.” The two of you stay silent a little longer before he pulls back slightly, a serious look on his face. Uh oh.

“Come back with me.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Come back with me. To 2023.”

“Stevie, I can’t. I have so many responsibilities, and it could mess up the timeline and-”

“Nope. Already checked with the Ancient One. Said it should be fine as long as no one knows about it.”

“Oh.”

“Plus, you can meet my friends, and we can finally get married, and Bucky will-”

“Wait what? Bucky’s alive?”

“Oh yeah, he was captured by HYDRA but we got him back.”

“You’re gonna need to catch me up on everything.”

“So that’s a yes?”

“Fine. I’ll come with you, but if I throw up it’s your fault.”

“Deal.”

~~~

“I’m trying to bring him back!” Banner yells, flicking switches and pressing buttons on the dash. Bucky bites at his cuticles, something he does when he’s nervous, also something you used to yell at him for. The launchpad starts whirring again and both Bucky and Sam’s heads shoot up at the noise, not familiar with it at all.

“Um, is that supposed to happen?” Sam asks.

“Only when there’s more than one body being transported.” Banner mumbles, pressing a few more buttons. “Okay. Bringing him back in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1.”

“AH-oomph.” Bucky’s eyes widen as his brain registers the yellow dress, the sparkling eyes, the dazzling smile.

“(Y/N)?!” He yells, giving both you and Steve a confused look. You sit up on the launchpad and look around, not familiar with any of your surroundings.

“Hiya Buck! Oooh, love the hair! Nice to see it change from the ol’ buzzcut.”

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Call me Emily

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katehuntington · 4 years

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Title: Ride With Me (part nineteen) Fandom: Supernatural Timeline: 2008 Pairing: Dean x Reader Word count: ±7500 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 nineteen: The Flagstaff Horse Fair is about to kick off, but not without a hitch. 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: ‘Fortunate Son’ - Creedence Clearwater Revival, ‘Backwoods Company’ - The Wild Feathers. Follow ‘Kate Huntington’s Ride With Me playlist’ on Spotify! Author’s note: Prepare for cuteness and a bit of angst! Thank you @kittenofdoomage, @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish, @manawhaat and @winchest09 for helping me. I especially want to thank Kay, who has beta’d Ride from the very beginning, but needs to take a break from Tumblr to focus on school. I will miss her dearly, but I’m super thankful that Mana is willing to take over. Also a special thanks to @jules-1999, who has offered me her knowledge about rodeo events like these.

Ride With Me Masterlist

With a black bumper-pull trailer in the rearview mirror, Dean’s beloved ‘67 El Camino rolls up Interstate 17. The windows are down, allowing the wind to wash in, like waves crashing onto the beach on a hot summer day, the cool air welcome and refreshing.

The Gold Canyon Ranch caravan left around three o’clock, the column of three pickups and trailers now heading towards Flagstaff, Arizona. Bobby and Jo lead the company in his powerful Ford with an impressive gooseneck in tow, which currently accommodates five horses. Benny follows in his four by four, with three horses on board another large trailer, facilitated with a small living quarters. Dean is the last wagon of the train, Meadow and one of his calmer geldings in the back, and Y/N beside him in the passenger seat.

The cowgirl is soaking up the scenery, the hills that flow next to the highway, the mountains in the distance, the blue sky above them. The tall saguaros that dominate the landscape at home are swapped for ponderosa pines, dusty desert for green grasslands. The forest is already beginning to change color, autumn painting deciduous trees in shades of yellow and orange. It’s remarkable how different her current surroundings are from the Phoenix area, only two and a half hours south.

With Fortunate Son by Creedence Clearwater Revival playing on the old cassette deck of the classic car, Dean drums against the steering wheel to the rhythm of the song. He absently hums along, mouthing a few words every now and then. When he glances aside, a small smile forms on his lips. The woman, who managed to calm him after the disturbing news Bobby delivered, is breathtaking without even trying. Loose strands of hair have escaped her ponytail and dance in the playful wind, her maya blue blouse fluttering against her Arizona sun-kissed skin. She looks at the world through her shaded Ray Bans, lost in thought and wonder.

He returns his gaze to the road as he reaches for her, laying his hand on her knee to get her attention, softly rubbing his thumb over the denim. Awoken from her daydream, she glances over, but doesn’t say anything. Instead, she lays her hand over his, warmed by the touch.

“Nervous?” he wonders, dropping her hand just long enough to turn down the stereo before he laces their fingers together once again. “A little bit,” she confesses. “Don’t be. You’re gonna do fine,” he reassures. “Besides, your class ain’t till tomorrow.” “I’m not nervous about riding.” The wrangler moves his focus from the asphalt to his girlfriend. “What about then?” She’s quiet for a second. Shy, just like she was the first time they met. “Just… This is your scene. People know you, and I don’t know anyone.” He smirks, lightly. “Concerned about former flings?” The cowgirl shrugs, half admitting her insecurity. “Yankee, you have nothing to worry about. Hey…” He squeezes her hand, glancing over again. “I’m with you, okay?”

A smile breaks through the surface as Y/N glances at the handsome wrangler she gets to call hers, his green eyes making a silent promise. For a guy who claims not to be good with words, he’s doing a pretty great job. She takes a breath when he concentrates on the road again. “So, how are you going to introduce me?” she wonders. “As my girlfriend,” he returns, matter-of-factly, cool confidence sitting on the edge of his mouth. He honestly can’t wait to introduce her as his.

Y/N is unable to hide her contentment, the corners of her mouth creeping up further as she gets lost in the sight of him. There it is again; that tingly feeling, his confirmation breaking down the doubt bit by bit. “What about Bobby?” Y/N checks. “He still doesn’t know.” “Believe me, Bobby will be too busy strikin’ deals and sellin’ horses. He’s not gonna notice us,” Dean states, not concerned about his uncle. “It’s gonna be fine, you’re gonna have a blast, trust me.”

After shooting her that grin she’s loved from day one, he glances past the trucks and trailers in front of them. They drive by a large sign made from stone and wood, that says ‘1882 - Flagstaff, Arizona’, the city up ahead and Humphreys Peak in the backdrop. The caravan turns onto I-40 going west, before taking the exit a couple of miles later.

When they come over the hill, the competition grounds come into view. Flags reach skyward and wave proudly in the Western breeze, the stars and stripes alternating with the state flag of Arizona, the American Reining Horse Association, and many others. There’s the main arena, several training areas, stables, and amusement rides, complete with hundreds of trucks, trailers, and RV campers filling the fairgrounds. Observing the scene, it becomes clear to Y/N that this isn’t just a local show.

Dean was right, this is the perfect practice run for her and Meadow, but the sight of the large event has her stomach in knots. Right, those lovely performance nerves that never fail to torment her. She hopes she can survive tomorrow and still be able to eat without throwing up, because it wouldn’t be the first time that the highly strung feeling she experiences right before a ride has her physically sick.

The Gold Canyon Ranch caravan enters the show grounds, Bobby following the directions of the parking officer. After a short drive, they park the trailers next to each other on a large field, adding to the rows and rows of pickups, trailers, and even semi trucks with pop out living units. “I’ll check in with the stable manager,” Jo announces when they get out of the cars, heading over to the stable office to check which boxes are assigned to them.

Y/N picks her hat off the seat and pushes it on her head, leaving her shades on the dash now that she doesn’t need them anymore. She opens the hatch of the black trailer behind Dean’s Chevy, peeking inside. Meadow greets her with a slightly nervous neigh, eager to get out now that they’ve stopped moving. Lovingly, her rider pets her nose, trying to calm her a little, but the spirited mare begins to scrape her hoof on the rubber coated floor, nonetheless. “She okay?” Dean asks. “Yeah, she just wants to get off the trailer. I’m going to unload her, let her graze a little,” she says, attaching the leadrope to her halter. “Could you get the lid?”

The wrangler nods and walks around to the back, opening the latches as Y/N unties her horse. The cowgirl pushes the divider away and gently leads Meadow down the ramp. The beautiful bay Quarter Horse takes in her surroundings with large eyes, alert and ready for action, belting out another loud neigh to announce her arrival. She circles around her owner, who can’t help but laugh at her cocky attitude; she could have sworn her granddad bought her a mare, and not a stallion, even though Meadow behaves like one at times. Eventually she drops her head and cuts a few bites of grass, before pulling up her head again while chewing, staring at another animal in the distance.

“She really is a character, ain’t she?” Dean laughs, watching the pair. “Sure is,” her owner chuckles, rubbing the mare’s withers. “She knows it’s showtime. She can feel it.” Y/N crouches down to remove Meadow’s travel leg protection while Dean holds the feisty horse, glancing in the direction of the stable office, from which Jo returns. “Tent B. Box sixty-four to seventy-three,” the ranch owner’s daughter informs. “Let’s unload.”

Within thirty minutes the ten stables are ready, the heavy trunks installed, the tack rooms decorated and the horses unloaded. Y/N does her bit, rolling the wheel barrow from the truck to the stables with hay bails and wood shaving bedding, but it’s clear the Gold Canyon crew has taken this many horses to a competition before. Benny, Jo, Dean, and Bobby operate like a well-oiled machine, although the head of the ranch is moving a little bit slower these days.

Y/N tapes a form to the stable with Meadow’s name and an emergency phone number when Dean comes back from the water point, a full bucket in each hand. He and Benny have been going back and forth a couple of times now, supplying the ten horses. When the head wrangler walks by carrying the water, she’s distracted from the task at hand. Watching his shoulders work under his plaid shirt, she can’t help but get a little lost in the view. His biceps flex against the fabric, back strong and firm while he transports the heavy buckets with steady steps. God, he is good on the eyes.

“Are you gonna continue to drool over my cousin or are you gonna come with me to the show office to pay our fees?” Y/N’s eyes shift to Jo, who’s leaning against the stable door with her arms crossed in front of her chest and an amused smirk on her lips. Without a doubt, the blush that fires up her face is hard to miss. “Let me get my bag,” she says, straightening her back and turning to the head wrangler. “Dean, is the car still un--”

Before she can finish her sentence, her boyfriend has dug up the keys to the El Camino from his pocket and tosses them to her. Y/N catches them skillfully. “Awww, so you can read each other’s mind now, too?” Jo comments, earning a glare from Dean, causing her to shrug. “What? It’s dead cute!” “I’m not cute!” Dean counters, his face contorting as if she just called him something foul. “No, you’re a tough, manly man. We get it, Cowboy.” She passes him, patting his shoulder. “Keep tellin’ yourself that.” “You keep tellin’ yourself… somethin’,” he stammers, struggling to stand up to the reputation Jo is undermining.

She walks on, laughing, not even granting him another look. Bothered with his own unimpressive reply, the wrangler watches his cousin catch up with her father. God, sometimes he wishes he could shut her up without having to deal with her sassy attitude. Annoyed, he turns back to Y/N, who can’t hide her amusement as she steps closer. He eyes her, which only causes her to chuckle. “I’m not cute,” he underlines.

The cowgirl smirks and pushes him into the tack room, out of sight and safe from Bobby’s judgement. She takes his hat from his head and leans in, connecting her lips with his. The kiss is short and sweet, but it’s long enough to make Dean’s head spin. When she parts from him, he opens his eyes again, taking her in as she places his Stetson back over his tousled hair. “You’re adorable,” she says. Dean half pouts while furrowing his brow, still trying to establish that he is neither cute or adorable, but breaks character when his girlfriend smiles widely before she spins around. Fine, maybe he is turning a bit soft, but it’s all her doing.

Jo joins Y/N with her father’s wallet in hand, the two friends almost skipping to the exit of the stable, joking and laughing as they go. Dean watches the pair and shakes his head, not missing Benny’s wide grin coming his direction. The lovebirds might have stayed out of the ranch owner’s line of sight, however, Benny had a clear view of the endearing interaction. He’s leaning against a tack trunk, arms crossed in front of his broad chest, blue eyes sparkling with mischief and playful judgement that’s impossible to miss. “Get it over with,” the head wrangler mutters. “Got anything to add to that?” “Nah, I reckon the gals made their point,” the Southerner chuckles.

“So, you two are still doin’ good, huh?” Jo glances at Y/N from the corner of her eye while pushing her father’s wallet into her back pocket. She leans against Dean’s car, careful not to scratch it, knowing that all hell is going to break loose if she does. “Surprised?” her friend counters, picking up her bag from the front seat, before closing the door. “Just checkin’ if the woman-oholic isn’t suffering from tremors, hallucinations, insomnia,” the cowgirl states. Y/N grins at that, pushing the strap of her bag on her shoulder, ready for her friend to lead the way to the show office.

“He’s not, don’t worry,” she claims, very much aware that Jo is just toying with her. “He’s been really wonderful, actually. I honestly didn’t expect him to be so attentive and sweet.” “No one did. Hell, I don’t think even Dean knew he had it in ’im. Guess you bring out the best in my notorious cousin.” She hooks her arm around Y/N’s neck, pulling her in for a side hug.

On their way over to the show office, Jo is greeted by multiple familiar faces, asking her how she's doing and the ranch owner’s daughter returning the question in a quick exchange. It becomes clear to Y/N that this isn’t just Dean’s scene, but Jo’s as well.

She soaks up her surroundings, glancing left and right as they walk up a two story building, a little further up the slightly hilly property. Stalls are lined up along the boulevard, selling all sorts of things, from horse gear to fashion and interior design. It’s not incredibly busy yet, the people waiting in the short lines for the food stands mostly riders, trainers, and horse owners. The organisation is probably expecting a bigger crowd on the weekend.

A ferrier is hammering a loose shoe under a horse’s hoof, the large animal waiting patiently until the job is done, while a promoter tries to sell a new tractor to an interested party. Cheers roar from one of the arenas, excitement heard in the voice of the commentator, who echoes over the terrain through the speakers. The smell of cotton candy when they pass a concessions truck reaches the cowgirl’s nose as she watches children having fun riding a Shetland pony from the local riding school.

Content, Y/N smiles, because apart from the temperature, the atmosphere on this show isn’t different from the events she’s been to when she was still living in Freeport. The nerves she felt in the car earlier seep away with the familiarity, excitement taking its place. Before she came to Gold Canyon Ranch, she was buried under pressure and books, working on her thesis around the clock. The last competition she rode was the State Championships. God, she missed this circus. This life. This is where she belongs, not behind some desk, no matter how good the salary.

“Jo Singer, it’s good to see you again, my dear,” the woman behind the counter in the show office says, recognizing the blonde cowgirl instantly. “How are you and your family doing?” Reading glasses balance on the tip of the nose of the kind secretary, who smiles at both the girls. Her ash blonde hair is short, and worn in a fashion you would expect for a lady in her sixties. “Good to see you too, Mildred,” Jo returns, pulling Bobby’s wallet from her pocket. “We’re okay. How are the boys?”

Y/N glances at her friend from the corner of her eye as the two acquaintances make small talk. She noticed the hint of doubt in her claim that everything was fine with the Singer family, followed by the quick counter question to avert the attention back to the woman on the other side of the desk. Aware that the information Dean shared with her is confidential, she didn’t discuss it with Jo, even though she wanted to. While she didn’t want to get the head wrangler in trouble, she was also unaware of how up to date the youngest Singer actually is. Now that she heard the slight hesitation, however, she’s getting the idea Jo knows more about the ranch’s financial struggles than her bubbly and carefree personality leads on.

“How many horses are you competing, hon?” Mildred asks, pushing her glasses up her nose as she searches for Jo’s name on the competitors’ list. “Two. I’d like to pay for Dean as well, and one entry for my friend here. She’s riding one of ours.” “Winchester, right?” the secretary checks, crossing off names. Jo nods, picking at her father’s credit card. “Yeah.” Mildred flips the page until she finds the one on which the riders filed under the letter ‘W’ are listed. “Four horses for Dean? Your cousin has a busy weekend ahead of him,” she chuckles, warmly, and looks up at the young woman that accompanied Jo. “What’s your name, sweety?” “It’s Y/N L/N,” the intern answers. “I’m competing two horses, one of my own. I’d like to pay for Meadowsweet separately.” “Not a problem.” Mildred focuses on the blonde cowgirl again. “So that's an entry fee for seven horses, plus the stable fee for nine. Y’all brought two horses for auction, am I right? I remember because I had your father on the phone just this morning.” “Yeah, we do. Do we have to pay to enter the auction too?” Jo wonders, nervousness lacing her tone. “Yes, the auction entry is 200 dollars for each. After the sale the amount will be settled, together with the commission,” the elder woman informs. “Entry fee is three bucks per horse, stable fee is fifty each, so that will be 877 dollars in total.”

Jo takes a breath and offers Mildred the card. The normally confident cowgirl seems on edge all of a sudden as she watches the secretary swipe it. Several seconds tick by while they wait for the machine to accept payment, and apparently it’s getting on Jo’s nerves. Y/N’s friend fiddles with her father’s wallet, tension coming off her in waves. Then the machine bleeps, a long high tone cutting through the heavy silence.

Mildred looks up at the blonde rancher, sympathetically. It’s in her eyes and Jo’s heart drops to her gut before she even speaks. “I’m sorry. It’s declined.” “W - what? No, that - that can’t be,” Jo stammers. “Can you try again?” The kind lady swipes the credit card a second time, even though they know it’s not going to make a difference. The same message appears on the small screen, followed by the monotone beep. The sound is interrupted by the door opening and closing, two other competitors now entering the show office, getting in line to pay as well. Jo curses under her breath.

“Any other way you can pay, darling?” the secretary asks, kindly. “Uh - I have…” She leafs through the banknotes with trembling fingers, counting the money, her face turning red. “I have 300 dollars. I’ll check if there’s more in the truck--” “I got it.” Y/N steps closer to the counter, pulling her wallet from her purse. “What? No, c’mon,” Jo objects. But her friend isn’t taking no for an answer. “It’s not a problem. I’ll sort it out with your dad later,” she assures, handing over her own card. She returns her attention to Mildred again. “Could you add my fees as well?” “I sure can. That will be 930 dollars,” the elder woman states, changing the number on the terminal before swiping the credit card.

This time it beeps three times, confirming payment without a hitch. “Alright, all good to go. Good luck on your runs, ladies,” Mildred says, cheery, trying to clear the awkwardness with her warm smile. “Thank you,” Y/N returns genuinely as Jo gives the woman behind the desk a nod.

The girls exit the show office, Jo pulling her hat over her eyes a little deeper to mask her flustered face. The redness slowly starts to leave her cheeks again after a minute, as they walk down the boulevard in silence. Y/N isn’t sure if she should say something, and so decides to give her friend some space. Her mind is going over the incident, however. A maxed out credit card; that can’t be good. The writing on the wall is applied with a paintbrush, the black letter getting bolder the more she learns about the suffocating situation. Her mind hasn’t stopped reeling since her talk with Dean in the cafeteria earlier this morning. There has to be ways to tip the scale.

Jo eventually speaks up, voice clipped with embarrassment. “I’m sorry ‘bout that. My dad will pay you back.” “I know,” Y/N responds, not doubting it for a second. “It’s no big deal, seriously. No reason to apologize.” “Still... Thanks,” the blonde cowgirl utters, embarrassed nonetheless. It’s now Y/N’s turn to wrap her arm around her friend’s shoulder, hoping the gesture will ease Jo a bit. “That’s what friends are for, right?” she comforts her. “Come on. Let’s head back. What’s your starting time?” Jo glances at her watch. “Eight thirty. Thirty minutes after the opening. So that gives me an hour and a half.” “Better ready your horse then,” Y/N smiles. “You’ve got barrels to race.”

“Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome on this Friday night to the eighteenth annual Flagstaff Horse Fair!”

With Y/N’s hand in his, Dean walks up the bleachers, as if he’s afraid to lose her in the crowd. Plenty of people have settled down in their seats already, only a few spots left now that the opening ceremony is about to begin. She’s glad he’s keeping a hold on her, though, because once again she feels slightly overwhelmed by the number of strangers who all seem to be very much aware who her boyfriend is.

Several times Dean was held up on their way over to the main arena, by acquaintances, former and current clients, old friends and forgotten faces. She could tell he was doing everything he could to ease her nerves, his hand on the small of her back, engaging her into the conversation by introducing her. Yet she felt relieved when the ring came into view, hoping to find a time to take a breather from keeping up appearances and pretending she’s comfortable amongst new company.

“Dean!” Y/N almost flinches at the female voice calling out for the cowboy. For a brief second Y/N shuts her eyes and takes a breath; guess she needs to keep her mask on a bit longer. She turns to face two women, who greet the wrangler, the one with dark, boy cut hair the first to embrace him. “It’s so good to see you again,” she says, warmly. “Hey, Jody.” Dean returns the embrace, genuinely pleased to see her too, before he directs his attention to the happily smiling blonde. “Donna, it’s been a while. How are you doing these days?” “Hiya, handsome. I’m doing just fine, thanks.” The woman with a strong Minnesota accent pulls him into a tight hug as well, pressing her dimpled cheek against his. She backs away, her delighted eyes bouncing from him to the girl behind the cowboy. “Are ya gonna introduce us to this lovely lady?”

Dean adjusts his hat and reaches for Y/N, his hand slipping behind her back when he nods at the brunette. “That’s Jody Mills - she takes horses off our hands regularly and finds us buyers - and her business partner Donna Hanscum. Good friends of mine, good friends of the Ranch.” He then gently pulls her a little closer, the pads of his fingers lingering on her hip. “Jody, Donna, this is my girlfriend Y/N,” Dean responds, unable to hide his proud smile.

Both women share the exact same reaction, their jaws dropping to the floor. If Y/N wasn’t so nervous, she would have found it comical. “Shut the front door!” Donna exclaims. “Are you tellin’ me that Dean Winchester is off the market?” Dean nods, his grin not faltering. “I’m spoken for.” Delighted, Jody laughs. “Well, I didn’t think I’d live to see the day.” “Took you long enough,” Donna jokes, teasingly pushing his shoulder, before she winks at the cowgirl next to him. “You must be one heck of a gal if you managed to tie this one down. C’mere!”

Before Y/N can escape, the woman with the vibrant personality pulls her in and gives her a warm hug as well. She can’t help but to chuckle, because both Donna and Jody seem like sincerely kind people. The warm welcome eases her, helping her to feel more comfortable amongst these new friends. “Why don’t you sit with us?” Jody suggests, after Donna lets go. “Because I wanna hear all about this miracle woman.”

They take a seat and Y/N soon engages in conversation with Dean’s friends. Contently, he watches his girl, listening to her enthusiastic voice as she tells them about their meet cute. Dean chuckles at the memory himself; never in a million years could he have guessed he would be where he’s standing now, together with the then so timid and slightly prissy intern. She opened up like a wildflower in spring, blossoming into the carefree spirit that years of studying and discipline hid away.

Damn, he fell hard for her, didn’t he? She isn’t the only one who developed; because Jody wasn’t wrong. He too never expected to be able to commit, to be faithful to one woman, yet he can’t even imagine being with anyone else but her now. She taught him to look further than tomorrow. He has to admit, he has been thinking about the future more in the past week than he has in all the prior years combined. His thoughts are interrupted by the commentator, who’s voice echoes through the speakers, mentioning the sponsors of the event.

“We thank you for comin’ out here this weekend. Folks, right now I would like to ask Alex Jones to enter our arena floor with the Stars and Stripes of the United States of America.”

Dean glances at Jody, who proudly watches her adopted daughter trot into the ring on a palomino. She’s dressed in a red shirt, blue and white fringe on her sleeves and chaps playfully dancing in the breeze. The end of the flagpole rests on her stirrup, the American colors fluttering in their wake. The crowd rises to their feet as the flag is carried in, respectfully doffing their hats.

“As we gather in the spirit of the Old West, let us be reminded of the part that the horses we cherish have played. They offered our forefathers safe travel, partnership, and the freedom to roam this great land. The same unbreakable bond between man and horse still remains today, as we ride for our country. We ask you to remain standing for the playing of the national anthem.”

Y/N holds her hat by the brim and squares her shoulders, following Dean’s example when he places his right hand over his heart. A calm falls over the bleachers, every single soul watching the flag with the same steady reverence that only blue-collars truly can. The riders in the warm up area are standing side by side, facing the Stars and Stripes, and even the younger inexperienced horses seem to pay their respect.

“Oh, say can you see by the dawn’s early light What so proudly we hailed at the twilight’s last gleaming? Whose broad stripes and bright stars thru the perilous fight, O’er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming?”

The hairs on her arms rise up as Y/N softly sings along. She knows every word, taught in school of course, but it’s more than that. She believes them. And since she was a little girl, she has dreamed about the Star-Spangled Banner. She imagined it would play while she was standing on the highest step of the podium at the major events: Congress, the Derby, and who knows, maybe one day at the World Equestrian Games. It’s a long shot, maybe, but a goal nonetheless, one she will continue to chase until the day comes that she fulfills that dream.

“And the rocket’s red glare, the bombs bursting in air, Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there. Oh, say does that star-spangled banner yet wave O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave?”

The cowgirl and her horse began circling as the end of the anthem neared, speed increasing. Alex is galloping along the boarding of the arena, the Stars and Stripes flaunting proudly, standing tall. After the last note, the crowd cheers and claps, rallying the rider on as she takes the flag out of the arena at high speed.

“Give it up for Alex Jones!” the commentator encourages. “Now, Ladies and Gentlemen, get comfortable, take a load off your feet, take a seat, and get ready. We’re gonna kick off the competition with Barrel Racing for three year old horses. Let’s ride!”

“Jo is sixth, right?” Y/N checks as they sit down. Dean nods, leaning his elbows on his knees, watching his cousin in the warm up pen. “Yeah, after the drag.” “Smooth footing. Could work in her advantage,” Y/N notes, linking her arm with his. “I was wondering; why don’t you teach Jo?” The wrangler snorts. “Because she would claw my eyes out.” His girlfriend laughs now, leaning into him and sweetly resting her cheek against his shoulder. “Hey, we’ve tried, but we just fight like cats and dogs. It ain’t a good fit,” he chuckles.

The first horse and rider combination shoots from the holding box and the audience’s motivating cheers rise from the stands into the Arizona air. Being a good sport, Dean claps too. “Ever raced barrel, sweetcheeks?” Donna wonders, leaning forward to make eye contact with Y/N. “Once or twice when I was a kid,” she admits. “You?” “Oh, you betcha!” the cheery blonde states.

The rules to the game are quite simple. Three barrels are set up in a cloverleaf in the arena and the horse and rider pair need to cleanly negotiate the pattern. The cowgirl who’s the fastest without knocking over any barrels wins. It’s a thrilling sport to watch, perfect for a horse’s speed and agility when the rider knows how to bring it out in them.

The second rider kicks off, setting a better time that pushes her up the board. The third follows, knocking over the second barrel, landing the poor girl a five second time penalty.

Y/N keeps an eye on Jo, who gets instructions from Bobby. The ranch owner’s daughter is riding a mare called Sundance, who she started up about eight months ago, being the first person to ever ride her. The young horse had her first practise run a couple of weeks ago, but today is her show debut. The atmosphere of a big competition like this can be quite daunting for an inexperienced horse, but Jo prepared her well.

The fourth goes wide around the first barrel and swerves to the third, wasting valuable time. Number five has a clean run and betters the leading result; 17.13 seconds is the time to beat. A tractor enters the arena and the crew removes the barrels, white spray paint indicating where they need to be put back once the sand around it is dragged. When the footing is smooth again, the barrels are placed back.

“Next up is Joanna Beth Singer with Sundance. Now, this young lady knows how to ride, with multiple wins under her belt, so let’s see what she will do with this youngster today.”

Y/N moves to the edge of her seat, her heartbeat picking up. She might not be the one competing, but sometimes being the person on the sidelines is more nerve-wracking than actually being the one in the saddle. Bobby walks with his daughter to the entrance of the arena, the young mare next to him already bouncing with excitement. Rousing music only adds to the exhilarating atmosphere surrounding them, the spectators waiting for the thrilling ride that is about to start. The second Jo’s father lets go of the rein, Sundance bolts away, locking on the first barrel like she has been doing this all her life.

“And she’s off! Look at that speed, people!”

“C’mon, Jo!” Y/N encourages, joined by Dean, who has gotten on his feet in anticipation. The crowd cheers when the fast horse turns sharply. Focused, Jo pushes her heels into the bay’s flanks, hands towards the mare’s ears, guiding the youngster through the pattern to the second barrel. They are making good time. “Smoke them, Jo! You got this!” Dean shouts, voice lost to the crowd that seems to favor Jo and Sundance.

The clock ticks; eight seconds, nine, ten. Sand clatters against the metal as the eager horse cuts the third obstacle, so tight that you could barely fit a piece of paper between her boot and the barrel. It starts to tip, and Y/N grabs Dean’s arm when the drum almost tumbles over, but Jo pushes it back with her reins in hand so that it stays upright and the audience erupts.

“Yeah! Bring it home!” Y/N squeals, excitedly. At full gallop the two shoot back to the gate, Jo flat on the Sundance’s neck, the energetic horse accelerating until they pass the finish line. The clock stops at 16.35.

“Folks, if that ain’t horsemanship, I don’t know what is. What a ride and what a horse! Jo Singer and Sundance are in the lead!”

Dean grins proudly and whistles on his fingers, glancing down at his girlfriend, who is still applauding excitedly. “Dean, is that mare for sale?” Jody checks, the trader clearly interested now that she has witnessed the talent. He chuckles. “Depends on your offer.” “Fair enough. I’ll go have a talk with Bobby then,” she returns, aware that for a horse like that, she needs to raise the stakes. “We’ll walk with ya,” Dean states, glancing aside when Jody’s friend doesn’t follow. “Donna, you comin’?” “I’ll meetcha guys later. I’m gonna watch some more runs with Alex.” She nods at Jody’s surrogate daughter, who just sat down in one of the first rows.

They say goodbye and the wrangler places his hand on Y/N’s lower back as they walk to the stairs and get down from the bleachers. She can tell he’s trying to play it cool, but she senses his relief. Jo delivered and just secured more than just a place on the podium with that solid ride. The buyers are going to be lining up for Sundance, which means they can keep the price high. It’s a win Gold Canyon Ranch so desperately needs. The cowgirl bumps her shoulder against his, drawing his attention. The smiles they exchange say enough, she knows what’s on his mind, and he knows she understands. “I’m gonna see if I can catch Jo. It was really nice to meet you, Jody,” she announces, shaking Jody’s hand before turning to Dean. “See you in a bit?” He nods and meets her in a sweet, short kiss, before she runs off to the stables. His gaze stays fixed on her, lovingly, until he loses track of her in the crowd. Only then does Dean notice Jody’s knowing smirk. “What?” “You got it bad,” she comments, an earnest laugh falling from her lips. He tilts his head, nodding; there’s no denying it. He’s known Jody for a while, and even though they only see eachother every now and then, he considers her a dear friend.

“She’s amazing, really. It’s all still kinda new, though,” he admits, comfortable enough to let some of that softness show. “Oh, which reminds me... Bobby doesn’t know yet. So could you not mention it?” The raised eyebrow and judgemental look she sends him says enough. Jody stares him down as if she’s about to use her mom-voice, causing Dean to slightly cower. “She’s the intern and it’s kind of a touchy subject. I wanna time it well so that he doesn’t bite my head off,” the cowboy excuses. The woman who is tough when she needs to be, turns soft now, rolling her eyes slightly. “Fine, I won’t tell him. Don’t wait too long, though. It’s Bobby, he wasn’t born yesterday. He’s going to find out sooner than later,” she reminds him. “I’ll tell him soon,” he promises. “This is a big first for you, ain’t it?” The female ranch owner smiles at him warmly, apparently amused with the somewhat uneasy behavior of the cowboy. “It is,” he chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “But it’s good. Never thought I’d say it, but I could get used to this.” “I’m glad you’ve met someone, Dean. You deserve a slice of that apple pie life.”

Dean smiles at his boots, knowing she means more with those words than would seem so at the surface. From a young age, even before Dean moved in with the Singer family, she has kept a watchful eye on him and his little brother whenever they were at the same shows and rodeos. Even though she’s only a few years older than him, she was always taking care of others, protecting those who needed it, and apparently she sensed the Winchester boys could use some support. To be honest, she wasn’t wrong. She has seen a few things, picked up on the tell signs. That knowledge adds to the weight of her kind message.

“And if you ever are in the need of advice only a woman can offer,” she continues, “may it be suitable birthday gifts for the lady, or choosing an engagement ring, you know who to call.”

Dean’s eyes widen, glancing aside at the fierce woman, walking beside him. He thought about what is to come, but he didn’t think that far ahead. Especially with her internship ending March next year, he’s slightly careful to presume she is going to want to stay with him. Yes, he will fight for her, but he can’t predict the future. Who knows what will happen when she’s due to leave. “Whoa, let’s not get ahead of ourselves here,” he laughs. “We only just started dating, y’know?” “Yeah, I know, but she’s a keeper, I can tell,” Jody counters, sure of herself. “Give it some time, I’ll remind you of this conversation at your wedding.”

The cowboy chuckles, but doesn’t contradict her. Jody Mills is a smart woman, one who usually is right. She can read people, and despite the small age difference between the two of them, his caring friend often mothers him with her wisdom. He can’t believe the thought crosses his mind, but it flashes through his conscience nonetheless. I hope she’s right.

He doesn’t want to dwell on it too long, though, because the glimpse of what he secretly hopes one day will come true, takes him by surprise. Somewhat daunted, the wrangler redirects the focus. “I’ve haven’t spoken to Gabe in a bit. How’s he doin’ these days?”

There’s a hint of guilt in his voice, even though he tries to suppress it. Gabriel had worked at Gold Canyon since 2005, until Bobby had to let him go last year. The head wrangler felt horrible, especially since he taught Gabe the ropes when it came down to training horses, and getting fired was the last thing his friend ever expected. Just like with Ash, he would have done anything to prevent the lay off, but their boss didn’t have much of a choice. Thankfully, Gabe got a job as a horse trainer at Jody’s ranch. They kept in touch, but over time the calls came and went less frequent. Lately, it’s been quiet, though, and the woman next to him looks up at him stunned, a mixture of remorse and empathy in her eyes.

“You haven’t heard?” she asks, appalled. Dean shakes his head. “Heard what?” “Oh, honey, I’m not sure how to tell you this,” she starts, averting her gaze to the ground, as if she’s trying to find solace in the dirt underneath her feet. “He had an accident earlier this week. He’s in hospital.” The wrangler snaps his eyes at her in shock, a frown puckered between his brows. “W-what?” “Yeah, he--” she pauses, shaking her head as if she still can’t believe it, “- he was working with a stallion, quite a special case. He turned aggressive and Gabe got trampled. He suffered multiple fractures in the vertebrae.” The head wrangler stops dead in his tracks, causing his company to turn to face him. In shock he stares at Jody before his gaze drifts off, the unpleasant surprise still evident, though. Not sure what to say, he moves his hand to his face, tracing his stubble as he tries to digest the news. “Fuck…” he stammers. “Is he - he’s gonna be ok, right?”

“The doctors haven’t given us much yet. From what I’ve heard, the first tests showed very little reflexes, but there was still a lot of bruising and swelling. They hope to be able to get better imaging soon, but right now it’s not looking good. He most likely damaged his spinal cord; he can’t move his legs,” Jody explains, observing the disoriented man before her with sympathy. “I’m sorry, Dean. I know he is a friend of yours. Honestly, I expected you would’ve gotten a call from his brothers.”

The cowboy still stares at nothing in particular, unable to grasp what he just learned. “We - uh, we didn’t talk as much as we used to. Kinda fell out of touch after he left Gold Canyon.” Jody nods at that, the endearing smile that was there when they were talking about his newfound relationship now gone. The corners of her mouth are drawn down, the worry and guilt aging her in a matter of moments. “It’s really tragic. Honestly, I feel awful. It happened on my land, the horse was my client’s.” “Hey, this is not your fault, you hear?” Dean replies, gently gripping her upper arm. “These accidents can happen. We forget sometimes, but we still work with thousand pound animals who have minds of their own. It’s dangerous, and he knew that.”

Jody swallows down the guilt and turns to slowly stroll to the warm up area, not walking away from it entirely, but giving herself something to do. Dean adjusts to her pace, shoulder to shoulder with the rancher. “I found him in the pen. He was screaming in pain,” she tells. “Of course I happened to be the only other person on the premises. Donna was delivering a horse to a new owner.”

Shaking his head, Dean glances aside. Damn it, he wishes she didn’t have to go through that. Waiting on an ambulance must have been horrible. Dean knows Jody treats her staff like family, their bond much like the dynamic between the Singer family and their personnel. Dean cares about those he works with deeply, he would never forgive himself if an accident like that would happen to a member of the crew. “He’s gonna bounce back. Gabe’s a tough one,” he soothes, hoping to offer at least a little comfort. “Yeah, I hope so.” She sighs as they reach Bobby, who is having a conversation with two older men on the sideline, without a doubt doing business. “I’m gonna talk to your uncle. See if we can come to an agreement on that horse.” “Better get in there fast, before he sells her to someone else,” Dean advises, after which he turns around. “See you at the party tonight?” “Depends on how much money I spend at the auction, but I’m certain Donna will drag me there anyway,” she says, doing her best to pull together a playful grin.

Dean watches Jody step up, politely interrupting the negotiation, not even a bit intimidated by the possible buyers who have already named a price. She’s tough, something that he has always admired. The woman stands her ground in a man’s world of horse traders, runs her own ranch and built her own network. An extraordinary person, who always has his back. He carries nothing but respect for her.

As he makes his way to the stables, tipping his head to the people he knows on his way over, his thoughts go to Gabriel. Jody is not the only one who feels guilty about his current condition. He just told her she shouldn’t blame herself, so why is it that he wishes he would never have let his good friend go? Maybe if Gabe had stayed, he wouldn’t have broken his back. Maybe if he had taught him better, he would’ve still been able to walk.

He shakes his head, trying to dismiss the notion. But like a mosquito the mental picture keeps patronising him, buzzing into his ear, draining him and stealing the wrangler’s peace. When he nears the stable tent B, he picks up pace, however. Because he knows that the one person who will calm his mind and make him feel better with just her smile is right around the corner.

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 twenty here

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afoolandathief · 3 years

Text

Word find tag catch-up

Catching up on my tag games, so here we go -

I got a few tags and some of these excerpts are pretty long, so I'm putting these below the cut:

TWs for swearing, food and drink, alcohol, blood, needles, vomit, death and violence, mentions of sex, and a slight reference to body image:

Tagged by @thegreatobsesso to find shine, shade, trust, and life:

Shine

“You should try exercising, Caz,” she said, switching to her other arm. “You’re not going to stay young and thin forever.”

“Believe me, Amelia,” he replied from underneath the blanket. “My body is not going to change much for a very long time.”

“Well, it may help that you don’t eat anything.”

He poked his head out from the blanket.

“I eat,” he said.

“I never see you eating, Caz.”

He grinned.

“Well, I guess that’s because, when I’m with you, I’m only hungry for -”

“If you say you’re only hungry for me — or a certain part of my body — I’m going to kick you,” she cut in. “Anyway, I should be back in at most 30 minutes. Hopefully it’ll be sub-20.”

“Enjoy the sunshine,” he said, ducking back under the blanket and falling asleep.

Shade

“Juni,” Caz said weakly. “Didn’t think I’d see you again tonight. Back for more?”

“I’ve had my fill,” the prince said.

“You sure about that?”

“Where is it, you bloodsucker?” Juniper demanded while turning a shade of emerald.

“Um, where is what?”

“Don’t play dumb, it’s not that cute.” The prince gritted his teeth and continued, “Where is the armband?”

Trust

“You’re a vegetarian?” Jade asked.

“Yeah, always a little weird growing up on a farm and not eating meat, I suppose.”

“I don’t know why people would care, but then, I’m used to people with weird diets,” Jade swallowed. “Not that I think your diet is weird!”

Violet laughed her tinkling laugh again. “You’re fine.”

“Is it bad if I still order the chicken panini?”

“Not at all. Though I’m sure all those chickens that died might mind,” Violet stared at Jade.

Jade didn’t say anything for a moment. “Oh shit," she finally said. “You’re messing with me again.”

“Yup," Violet grinned. She handed Jade a sandwich wrapped in wax paper. “You want to try our mango juice with that? Grew the mangoes myself.”

“You’re messing with me again, you can’t grow mangoes here,” Jade said.

“I have a greenhouse.”

“Still, you couldn’t easily grow a mango tree.”

“Trust me, I can grow anything,” Violet said, her eyes flashing the same way they had the other night. She poured a pitcher of the bright orange liquid into a plastic cup and handed it to Jade.

Jade took a sip. “Good as always. Which reminds me, I still owe you for the lemonade.”

“Consider that paid for by keeping me company, if only for a short while. In fact, consider it the same today.”

Life

She turned her keys in the ignition. The engine sputtered, but refused to start.

“With double the pay, you could save up for a truck that’s not a piece of shit,” Caz retorted.

Jade turned the keys again, this time revving the gas until the engine roared to life.

“This is a good truck,” she said. “I just need new spark plugs.”

Tagged by @pertinax--loculos to find travel, needle, depth, weather and save:

Travel

Marie and Caz were huddled around a phonogram.

“I can’t believe you have a recording of Buddy Bolden,” Caz said. “I thought there were none left.”

“I managed to hold onto a few records after I left New Orleans,” Marie said.

“So you were in New Orleans right when jazz was taking off?” Caz asked. “Wow, I should’ve come to America a lot sooner than when I did. I didn’t get to New York until about 20 years after Bolden was around.”

“You were in New York during the heyday of jazz,” Marie said. “Not to mention where a lot of great minds were meeting then. I wish I had been there.”

“I figured you would have traveled there yourself.”

“Well, I stayed in Haiti for a bit after the revolution,” Marie said. “But I went to Florida to help the Seminoles in their fight a little while after, and then New Orleans. I just kept traveling around the south and west after that.”

“I’ve never been to Haiti, actually,” Caz remarked. “The closest was when I went to Cuba a few times for, uh, work reasons.”

“It’s a beautiful island,” Marie said. “I miss it a lot.”

“You grew up there?”

“I did.”

“How old are you exactly, if you mind me asking?”

“Just about 250 years old.”

“Ha! I’ve got you beat by about 350 years,” Caz said. He rubbed his neck, narrowly missing a hanging plant with his elbow. “Um, guess that’s not really something to brag about.”

“Well, you are blessed with being forever young,” Marie smiled softly. “Witches eventually do age, albeit slowly, myself included.”

“True,” Caz sighed.

Needle

“You’ll sleep upstairs with the other girls, but let’s get you outfitted first. I’m interested in trying a sample of you myself.”

Renner tied off her left elbow and began searching her arm for a vein.

Jade felt the sting of the needle and looked down to see it attached to a vial not too different than the one that had been sticking out of Arravich’s arm in the hospital. Renner attached a long winding tube to it, placing the end of it in a wine glass. He pushed down on the vial, sending a dark red stream through the tube into the glass.

“Just a small amount, Renner,” Valfierno said. “I don’t want to overindulge.”

He began to take a sip just as a knock was heard at the door.

“Go ahead, Renner, I’m curious to see who would be at our door at this hour.”

Renner opened the door to reveal a shocked-looking Caz.

Depth

“What was up with you and that one kid, anyway?”

Jade realized Caz was talking to her.

“Who, Matt?” she asked.

“I mean, he was alright to look at, but,” Caz paused to hiccup. “He had the depth of a — what do you call it in English? — ah, right, the depth of a tide pool.”

Jade tried to track Caz in the mirror, but he had leaned down to slurp loudly from Derek’s neck.

“I just figured,” he continued, getting up to lean against Jade’s seat like he was maneuvering on a ship at sea. “That you preferred someone with a little more class and maturity.”

He proceeded to belch almost directly in Jade’s ear.

“‘Scuse me,” he said in a swinging tone. Then, as if realizing the irony, he burst into high-pitched laughter as he fell back into his seat.

“What is wrong with you?” Jade snapped. She wrinkled her nose at the acetone scent on Caz’s breath. “Are you — are you drunk?”

“No, I’m just,” Caz paused long enough to answer Jade’s question. “I’m just a little bit buzzed.”

Weather

In his six-hundred-and-seventeenth year of being on this earth, Casimir Jozef Mraz had come to a realization.

He was absolutely, hopelessly in love.

Of course, Caz fell in love at least once every decade. But this time was different, he thought, as he lay in bed, not used to trying to sleep at night. It had to be; he couldn’t find a damned thing wrong with this girl, even her name.

Amelia.

It was old-fashioned, and he liked that. Speaking it felt warm and familiar on his lips.

Lying next to him, Amelia’s eyelids fluttered for a moment, before going still as her breathing evened out and she fell even deeper into sleep. Caz heard her heartbeat slow to steady rhythm.

He leaned closer, cradling his arm around her, taking care not to catch the gold strands of hair that seemed to change texture with the weather, curling up in wiry spirals.

Caz watched a shadow falling across her ski-jump nose twist and morph as she shifted slightly. She looked almost like porcelain now, blue veins painted on her neck and chest like delft tile. She sighed again in her sleep.

So many people he had been with had wound up dead or forgotten over the years. Caz was determined this time would be different.

Save

Jade had gotten herself lost in a thought, again.

Usually this occurred when she was at her kitchen table, trying to piece together a spell; or when she took apart her laptop so it no longer sounded like a jet engine. It wasn’t supposed to involve Jade charging forward into the next room of a crowded party, ignoring all instincts to run outside and take a deep breath of cool night air.

Maybe it was hearing that someone else could get hurt. But that didn’t make any sense. Don’t try to save the world. Just focus on the next step in surviving. That was what she lived by.

No, she realized. For the first time in a long while, Jade was actually afraid.

Tagged by @diphthongsfordays to find space, scream, soft and scare:

Space

He jumped to his feet and ran towards the space between Jade and the alleyway.

Then he was falling to his knees and dry heaving.

“What the hell?” he gasped. He looked around at a circle of white surrounding him, a series of sigils carved into it by Jade’s knife. “What is this?”

“Table salt,” she said. “Combined with a few wards. Vampires are pretty susceptible to threshold magic, aren’t they?”

Caz choked back some bile and rose unsteadily to his feet.

Scream

“Lila, you seem to have calmed down a bit,” Caz said, stroking an ear larger than his hand.

He held the wolf back by the nape of her neck and leaned towards the other vampire.

“Sai cosa, Giuseppe? Non avevi torto riguardo alla tua supposizione,” he said, a small, wicked smile playing on his lips.

He released his grip on Lila.

“Ma devi capire quanto fosse stupido ferirla se mi sentivo in quel modo.”

Caz walked away from the alley, a strange and familiar feeling of satisfaction growing in the pit of his stomach as he heard Valfierno’s screams behind him increase in pitch and desperation. It was a sensation he hadn’t come across in years, and it felt good. He looked up at the full yellow moon and grinned, his teeth flashing in the light.

Soft

She looked up at Violet.

“Do you think we could each carry one of them?”

“If you can maintain a levitation spell for the whole length of the walk back,” she replied. “But your arm looks pretty bad, Jade.”

“Hmm,” Jade furrowed her brow. “I vote we leave Amelia.”

“No,” Caz whined softly into the stone. “Don’t leave my girlfriend behind.”

“Caz you’re currently bleeding out from where she carved into you. I don’t think she’s your girlfriend anymore.”

Scare

She was getting closer to him. Caz could smell that scrape still bleeding from her wrist. He was already faint from hunger. He needed to get her out of here.

The best method, he decided, was to scare her.

“So what if I am?” he asked, before smiling his widest and sharpest smile. “And if I am, may I remind you you’re currently backed into a corner by someone much stronger and faster than you, Jade?”

Mistake. You made a mistake, you fool.

He knew it as soon as the words left his lips. Don’t ever piss off a witch. His left ankle left the ground first, carried upward by a root looping around it, followed by his right.

Tagging, if you'd like: @drippingmoon, @authortango, @author-a-holmes, @avian-writes & @faelanvance to find calm, lake, ivory & estimate.

#my writing #writeblr #something wicked #tag game #thegreatobsesso #pertinax--loculos #diphthongsfordays #tw: swearing #tw: body image #tw: food #tw: drink #tw: alcohol #tw: blood #tw: needles #tw: vomit

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forever-more-never-again · 4 years

Text

Light and Dark (Part Three)

Summary: What changes would occur if there were Two Avatars during Aang’s adventures? One that has a connection to the banished Fire lord Prince?

Word Count: 1627

Pairings: Zuko X Avatar!Reader, Aang X Avatar!Reader, Platonic!Katara X Reader, Platonic!Sokka X Reader, Platonic!Toph X Reader

Warnings: Mentions of angst

A/n: We meet a minor character that everyone should remember

Part One / Part Two

Matsterlist

It took a few minutes, but eventually you were in the saddle atop Appa flying through the air with the rest of the Gang.

Aang sat on his head, glancing back at you every so often in concern. You sat on one side while Katara, Sokka and Toph sat on the other side.

You were emotionally drained after your confrontation with General Iroh. Dragon of the West.

“So. Where are we going exactly?”

Aang spoke up from his seat, “We’re gonna find a small village to lay low for a while. Don’t worry about it [Y/n]. We’ll figure all of this out. I have faith in us.”

Aang turned and you saw the spark of truth in his grey eyes. Feeling heat creep up your neck, you quickly looked away, out over the clouds sailing past.

You heard movement from beside you, and turned to see Sokka stretching out, his head now near your crossed legs.

“Um.” Was your eloquent wording.

Sokka Smiled up at you, and you were immensely grateful that he was quick to warm up to you, unlike his sister and Toph.

“Oh hey [Y/n]. Come here often?” And then he did a ridiculous wave with his eyebrows.

You snorted, bringing a hand up to try and stifle it but more giggles burst past your lips and soon you and Sokka were both laughing.

Faintly, you picked up some quiet chuckles from Aang.

“Stop messing around guys. We’re in Fire Nation territory. Do you want to be caught because someone looked up at a laughing cloud?” Katara’s icy cold voice cut through the light atmosphere.

Sokka looked over at his sister, a hint of disappointment on his face.

Katara looked away, her arms crossed, a frown on her face.

In an attempt to dissuade a sibling fight, you hummed in acknowledgement, “You’re right Katara. I’m sorry I was careless.”

Her blue eyes flew back over to you and you saw the shock in them. You hadn’t expected that to hurt as much as it did though.

True you had only been apart of this group for a handful of days, but you had already grown close to Sokka and Aang and hoped to be friends with Katara and Toph.

After all those years on the run, it was nice to be with a set of people and let them in.

“Alright. We’re going down.”

At Aang’s words, everyone grabbed the sides of the saddle as the giant sky bison slowly descended into a wooded area.

Once on solid grown, you slid down and wobbled when your feet made contact with the ground.

Before your face could get reactuanted with dirt, hands wrapped around your waist and stabilized you.

That’s how you found yourself face to face with a red faced Air Bender.

His hands flew to his sides like they had been burned as he opened and closed his mouth a few times.

“Thank you for catching me.” You smiled softly at the teen.

One hand went to rub the back of his neck and he mumbled something before rushing back to finish unloading the saddle.

Confused slightly by his behaviour, you brushed it off as you watched Sokka laugh and kiss a black sword he called his ‘Moonbeam’. Which made your mind go somewhere dirty and you covered your giggles by coughing.

“The Village is a few miles that way.” You jumped with a shriek at the voice that came from right next to you.

Hand on your chest you glared at Toph even though she couldn’t see it.

She seemed unfazed by your freakout, and remained stone faced as she pointed South.

Aang walked up on the other side of you, “Yeah that’s what I spotted from up above. It looks pretty small, but not small enough that we’ll draw attention to ourselves.”

Breathing deeply, you shouldered your courage, and your bag, and began walking, “I guess we’ll see what happens when we get there.”

Silence descended as your group walked under shaded trees. Listening to bird songs and lizard chirps.

You found yourself walking behind everyone. Noticing the quick glances Katara would occasionally give you, showing her unease at having you at her back.

Aang drifted towards you after a short conversation with Toph and Sokka that you couldn’t hear.

“So.”

You looked at him from the corner of your eyes. His tattoos were once again covered by a headband, his dark hair covering the rest of his head.

“You want to talk about the whole Avatar thing. But honestly, I have no clue...and I’m scared Aang.” Your last words came out in a whisper, barely a breath.

You knew Aang heard you though by the way he stiffened ever so slightly and his hand twitched like he wanted to comfort but didn’t want to overstep.

Instead, he ended up clasping his hands together behind his head, staring ahead at the others, “I know we don’t have a lot of answers [Y/n], but we should go over what we do know so we can figure it out.”

Closing your eyes for a moment, you thought back over the events that led you to your current position.

“So we know that you’re the true Avatar.”

Your statement startled Aang and he opened his mouth, but before he could argue, you shook your head and met his grey eyes head on, “You know it’s true Aang. I’m not supposed to be here. Simple as that. I’m only a- a multi bender because some dark spirit got released.”

You struggled with calling yourself an Avatar and settled with Multi Bender. Because that’s what you truly were, weren’t you. The Avatar was someone merged with the spirit of Raava not Vaatu, like you were.

“Let’s not forget, Avatar Roku said it was a sign of change. And that you can control how Vaatu merges with your soul.”

You were thankful Aang didn’t argue with you, but his words brought a round of nausea through you.

“Yeah. And I feel like I might have already screwed up.”

At Aang’s curious glance, you sighed and elaborated, “How I reacted to General Iroh and my past...that wasn’t all just me. I could feel Vaatu coursing through me, feeding my anger, stoking it higher.” Your tone was dejected, and you couldn’t look at Aang anymore as you felt the shame of your actions.

A gentle touch on your arm had you startling and looking back at the Air Bender.

A soft smile graced his lips and you felt the sudden urge to hide behind your hands but at the same time protect that smile with everything you had.

“[Y/n], you can’t beat yourself over that. You acted rashly, but you can choose how you react from now on. And with us beside you,” he gestured ahead to where Sokka was teasing Toph and Katara was shaking her head good naturedly at them, “I know you can achieve great things!”

Aang’s words of encouragement had your breath catching in your throat. You felt hot tears sting your eyes but you refused to allow them to fall.

This was a first for you. People believing in you, having your back.

Sure Prince Zuko had been there for you when you were a simple servant and child in the royal palace, but this was different.

These people had no reason to be this nice and understanding, and yet here was Aang, smiling softly at you, his hand gently holding your arm as if to cement you into the moment.

Which was broken when a cry rose out from in front of you.

“We’re here!”

Looking ahead, you saw sunlight illuminating some rooftops as the village came closer into focus.

As you entered the village, you villagers glaring distrustfully, and ushering their kids into their houses.

Lowering your voice, you whispered to Aang, “It doesn’t look like they get strangers that often.”

Aang frowned, head going back and forth watching the villagers, “Something’s wrong here.”

As you reached the center of the village, you saw an elderly woman pulling up a bucket of water from a well.

As she bent over to shoulder a wooden pole with a bucket filled on each side, you rushed forward and gently took it from her grasp.

She gasped but then smiled at you from her hunched position, “Why thank you dearie.”

You smiled back at the grandmotherly woman. Even slightly hunched from age, the woman had an eerie beauty to her with her long gray hair and cloudy gray eyes.

Looking behind you, her eyes widened at the sight of the other four, “My my. Travelers? We barely get any this time of year. Come come, Hama here runs a small inn where you can rest.”

Waving a gnarled, age spot riddled hand, she turned and began hobbling towards the edge of the village.

Shrugging at everyone, you hoisted the water buckets up and began following the lady.

Soon you were all walking close together following the woman. Katara was on your left next to Aang as well.

Whispering, her voice laced with concern, “Should we be trusting this woman so early on? We know nothing about her or the village.”

A hoarse laugh caught you off guard.

Realizing that a small cottage style house stood before you and you were on the doorstep, Hama turned around, her eyes glinting in the sun.

“Just because I’m old doesn’t mean I have bad hearing.” She tapped the side of her head playfully.

Katara flushed, and you tensed, ready to run at the first sign of danger.

Looking intently at Katara, Hama said something that sent all of you reeling.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen another waterbender besides myself.”

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feverinfeveroutfic · 3 years

Text

chapter twenty-two: sticks and stones

Marla had run back home for a few moments so she could change into her witch's robe but for the time being Sam, Aurora, and Belinda gathered on the far side of the room with Cliff, Frank, and a couple of Bloody Maries. Belinda adjusted the threads on her white dress with those blue scissors while in their art class, but she still managed to look like a doll as she had originally imagined. Sam glanced about the room in search of Marla and Charlie somewhere on the floor.

The interior of L'Amour had been decorated with shiny black and orange garlands. Clusters of little orange and white gourds hung all along the bar behind them. Orange and dark yellow lights shone down upon their heads, but every so often, they switched over to a soft purple. The whole room smelled of pepper courtesy of the Bloody Maries and cinnamon courtesy of a series of scented candles behind the bar to keep the place from reeking of alcohol and God knew what else. Every whiff of the cinnamon made Sam think of the cup of hot chocolate she made for Cliff and she knew she would have to make more of those for him following that night.

“It's gonna be a bit before they're coming back, though,” Frank told her at one point: his lush dark hair brushed over his shoulders like the ears of a dog. He awaited Charlie and the black and white Kiss face paint, given he already had a low cut white shirt on and extra tight black leather jeans as well as high heeled black boots which made him appear taller than he had originally appeared before.

But then the Cherry Suicides took to the stage in their black pointed witch hats: Zelda ducked behind her drum kit with her hat off kilter on her head. Sam noticed that was the only thing she had on to even remotely resemble to a witch's costume.

“Consider yourselves lucky, New York City,” Morgan announced into the microphone; Sam noticed she had on bright pearly orange lip gloss on her dark lips painted on in stripes so it looked like she had caterpillars on her mouth, “we've got a series of new songs in honor of this show here tonight. We haven't even debuted these back home in Rhode Island! The first one was helped on by a woman—you may've heard of her, she's more batshit insane than we are. Her name is Wendy O Williams.”

Frank yelped out at the sound of her name.

“It's called 'Scream for Me'!”

Zelda tapped on the cymbal closest to her so it made a noise akin to a bell. And they were all met with an intense wall of sound courtesy of Rosita and Minerva; Zelda's hat stayed in place atop her head as she pounded away as if she was a blacksmith swinging her hammer. Morgan brought the head of the microphone close to her striped lips: the first notes out of her mouth were low and harsh, but strong and tight.

“Morgan really upped her scream game, didn't she?” Cliff said to Frank.

“Yeah, she did!” Frank brought his glass of Bloody Mary close to his mouth but he never took a sip.

Belinda gaped at what she saw before her. Her eyes were wide with amazement, and she held onto her skirt as if she was stepping over a puddle. Sam and Aurora glanced at one another. A Halloween show needed a girl who could scream on a song of revenge like it meant business. Not a girl who was under the knife, but rather she was giving the knife to someone who asked for it.

Sam glanced over to the left side of the room, to Louie, who stood next to the side doors wrapped in a heavy black coat with a big hood upon his head. She spotted something shiny and pointed behind him—a bit triangular point upon a long dark pole. And she realized he was Death, and he could prance around with that thing and take under one of the souls before them at any given moment. He flexed his fingers and she noticed some white markings on the back of his hand: even from a distance, she could tell those were bones. Skeleton gloves for a good costume!

“There's Marla!” Aurora pointed out, and Sam and Belinda turned their attention to the right side of the room.

Indeed, they recognized Marla's violet hair on the far side of the room. Right before her was Charlie and his head of thick dark curls, and it took Sam a second to realize they were slow dancing to the music. Such a morbid song about killing someone for fun and then eating them and yet they danced as if it was a simple waltz instead. Charlie twirled her as Zelda unleashed a drum solo which followed Morgan's last powerful screech. A drum solo followed by a short picking guitar solo courtesy of Minerva and her big floppy witch's hat.

A guy in front of them punched another person in the face and Belinda lunged back at the sight of it, but Cliff and Frank laughed out loud at that.

The Cherry Suicides played another new song, called “Broomsticks”, followed by another one called “Bitches' Brew” and another one called “Dia de Los Muertos”, the latter of which Morgan let Rosita sing and in Spanish to boot. The whole entire time, Zelda never lost her pointed witch hat even as she played at a quick pace.

Charlie let go of Marla at one point and she disappeared behind the bar for something. She returned to their side with a series of what resembled to little white pearls on either of her hands, and she handed one of each to Belinda, then Sam and Aurora: Sam held up the pearls to the violet light for a better look at the little dots on the sides. Little skulls of different colors.

“Of course, Day of the Dead!” Aurora proclaimed as she threw the necklace over her head. Belinda and Sam followed suit.

“They're candy!” Frank added as Marla took the black and white make up out of her purse.

“I dunno if you'd wanna eat them, though,” she pointed out. “At least, that was what Charlie told me. But they're for Day of the Dead, though!”

The violet lights gave way to the golden and amber ones but Marla was only able to paint a black and white star on the side of Frank's face. Indeed, the next new song the Cherry Suicides debuted was called “White Star” and the four of them sang in unison. Even with her being seated behind the drum kit, Sam wished she could hear more of Zelda's singing voice. She yelled during the chorus but her voice carried enough to where she wondered if she could sing something to exemplify her voice.

By nine o'clock, they had finished up their Halloween set and Zelda chucked a handful of candy to the audience. Marla waved at her and she pointed in her direction. The four girls disappeared behind the curtain on the side there and the amber lights returned to their rich deep violet.

“It's okay, Charlie didn't get the make up on either,” Marla assured Frank, whose face fell when he realized he missed the full make up. “There's always a Day of the Dead celebration for later, though. We can do that tonight if you wish. Halloween into the Day of the Dead. Have it all as part of Samhain.”

“True. But it's still Halloween, though, Marla.”

Sam turned her attention to Cliff, who sipped on the remainder of his Bloody Mary. She thought about their little potential trip back out West to visit each other's parents, and she hoped they could do it on what money they had.

She then felt a tap on her shoulder and she turned around: Zelda stood behind her with her witch hat still off kilter upon her head and with a handful of salt water taffies held out before her.

“Ooh, yes please!” said Sam as she took the bright pink one for herself. Cliff meanwhile took the dark brown one.

“Root beer,” he noted while he unwrapped the piece of taffy. “You ever been to Virginia City?”

“Me?” Sam asked him.

“Yeah.”

“Not since I was little, no.”

“Maybe when you and I go visit our parents in a couple of months, we can go there for a day or something.”

“Ooh, yes! Sounds like a plan.”

“Just looking at these taffies made me think of Virginia City and the candy shop there.” Cliff slipped the taffy into his mouth and he squinted his eyes from the contrast of taste, between the root beer and the tomato juice. Sam giggled at him as did Belinda and Aurora, but he took it in stride. A Legacy show plus a meeting with her parents as well as his, and then a trip to Virginia City. It was all something to bear in mind even as Cliff returned home to California in time for Day of the Dead itself, and the whole prospect of the trip remained firmly on Sam's mind for a whole two weeks until she crossed paths with Joey on the way home from school one afternoon.

The sun hung low over the school buildings with the heart of autumn and Sam was sure she had failed her midterm for art history. She had no idea what had happened in that last week: her memory had fallen short with the exact art movements and Bill seemed to scrutinize her every move. It didn't help matters that he was still her counselor for that whole year, either.

She walked out through the front door only to be met with little snow flurries and that head of jet black curls near the curb.

“Hey, Joey,” she greeted him, complete with a nervous smile. “What're you doing here?”

“I had to ask around a little bit 'cause I couldn't fully recall your schedule,” he started as she descended the stairs, “but I just haven't seen ya in a while.”

“Not since the album was released,” she told him as she adjusted the lapels of her jacket.

“Yeah, and we go on tour soon, too,” he added.

“Already?” she asked him as she remembered Thanksgiving was only a week away.

“Yeah. You put out an album and it's necessary to promote it, too. So I wanted to see ya before those big things happen soon.”

Joey huddled closer to her as they walked side by side to the corner: the faded soles of his black leather boots crunched on the fresh fallen snow all around them.

“Would you like a cup of coffee?” he offered her.

“I'd love that,” she said as they glanced in either direction of the snowy street. The flurries had started a mere few minutes ago and yet the New York streets were already a rich shade of off white. Over them stood a blanket of darkness held up by the skyscrapers and the scraggly dark trees, made dark with the incoming winter. He lingered closer to her as he led her across the pavement to one of the coffee shops on the other side.

Once they were safe and sound in that dry warmth, Joey turned to her with his brown eyes large and soft like a couple of chocolate drops.

“It's like that one night all over again,” he recalled, “the night we saw Legacy together down at L'Amour.”

“I know, right? Except this time, it's actually almost winter.” He turned his head to the counter behind him.

“Coffee and cake,” he said.

“Coffee and cake?”

“Coffee and cake.” He gestured back to the cake pops near the cash register.

“Oh, cake!” And Joey chuckled in response to that. They took a seat by the window as it began to frost over with the increasing snow.

“Can I tell you something?” he asked her in a low voice.

“Of course.”

“There's a part of me that wants to start playing hockey again,” he said as he ran his gloved fingers through his thick black curls.

“And?” She shook her head.

“Well, I think it'd interfere with touring and doing stuff with Anthrax.”

“And why are you telling me this?” she asked him.

“'Cause I showed you my hockey stuff. I've been trying to do that with the guys but they seem more interested in what goes on down here in the City than what I might have in store.”

Sam knitted her eyebrows together at that.

“Have you asked them about it?” she coaxed him.

“Yeah, I've told Frankie about it 'cause he's the other athlete here with his baseball and everything. But I haven't really heard much, though.”

“Maybe we can do another round of hockey again,” she offered him. “Like just you and me again.”

“Oh, yeah, do that for real!” he said and his face lit up. “We can do that before we go on tour with Metallica this March.”

She gasped at that. Cliff never mentioned them when he told her about it!

“You guys are all going on tour together?” she sputtered.

“Yeah!” He stopped in his tracks. “Wait. You didn't know that?”

“No!”

“Oh, damn.” Despite his dark sun kissed skin, a soft warm blush bloomed across his face. “Well—I don't think I was supposed to tell you that, but—you are a friend to us. We told you about Spreading the Disease while it was still in early production after all.”

“And now I do know!” she exclaimed.

“Yeah, and you should definitely come along if you can, too—you and the girls.” He stood to his feet to fetch their cups of coffee. She kept her eyes fixed on Joey's slender body, made even more slender and elegant by his fitted black overcoat and his black jeans. Cliff never said anything about their touring with another band, let alone them, but she nodded her head at that. He did ask her to come along, too: there was no way she could hold onto that. And there was no way she could hold onto that when she had other things to worry about, like her art history midterm.

A few more things to worry about as well as her trip out to the West Coast. She knew that if Cliff would leave out details, she could leave out details herself: it only made sense to her. Joey soon returned to the table with the cups of coffee in either hand and a pair of cake pops in between her fingers. No sooner had he taken his seat again, his expression turned serious.

“By the way—referring back to the question I brought up to you back on birthday.”

“Oh, that!”

“Yeah. So—again, take all the time in the world if you still haven't thought of anything. But—have you, though?”

“Yes,” she replied with haste, such that it took him aback.

“Really?”

“Yes. I'll share it. I'll share that full body drawing. I promise.”

Joey hesitated for a second, but then he picked up the little red cup and raised it up in between their faces. Sam picked up her cup as well and they tapped the edges together. They took sips from their espressos at the same time.

“So late March?” she asked him as she held her cup with both hands around the base.

“Yeah. So we can do the thing with the hockey any time between now and then.”

“What're you doing for Thanksgiving? I only have that Thursday and Friday off but it's still days off, though.”

“Goin' to visit my aunt and uncle in Rochester. What're you doing for Christmas?”

“Going to visit my parents back out West.”

“Oh, shit. So—how 'bout some time after New Year's?”

“Sounds like a plan.” She raised her cup again and they gave each other another toast of the red coffee cups, and they took a drink in unison once again.

“Mind if I walk ya home?” he asked her as he pocketed two of the four cake pops into his coat pockets.

“Not at all. I have homework, anyways.”

“Alright, let's get a move on...”

Without another word, Joey and Sam took the subway back up to the Bronx. She offered to let him sleep in her apartment again but he assured her it was alright for him to head on back upstate that evening.

* * * * *

It was a whole five days before Christmas and Cliff bunked with her that weekend before they made the flight out to Reno. They were going to visit her parents first in Carson City, followed by his parents in the Bay Area. She had packed her things over Thanksgiving break, including her journal, her good pencils, her colored pencils, and some of her paints. She knew she would have to make something for her parents for Christmas. Add to this, it was a difficult task for her, but she managed to tell her parents about Cliff over the phone.

“He's from California, too,” she added to Ruben. “So he's gonna introduce me to his parents.”

“We'll be waiting for you kids, though,” he promised her.

Meanwhile, Cliff had called a cab for them the day before their flight, and thus, by the time she locked the door and told Emile where they were going, he stood out in the snow in anticipation. As she ducked out of Emile's apartment, she recognized Aurora's purple jacket on the back of his couch. She made a mental note to ask her what was going on by the time she returned home.

Sam bowed out to the street, where Cliff awaited her with their suitcases on the cleared out sidewalk and the big yellow taxi posted up at the curb.

“Are you ready?” he asked her once she came within earshot.

“I was born ready,” she replied as she picked up her bags from the sidewalk and Cliff offered to take them from her. Sam handed the one in her right hand and he set it into the trunk of the taxi. She knew Aurora was back in Emile's apartment but she need not go back to say good bye to her because her friend knew where she was going.

The two of them climbed into the back seat of the taxi and they proceeded on to the airport for the flight out to the Bay Area. It almost felt like a return to home for her, but it simultaneously also didn't. She was going back to the West Coast to visit her parents for a couple of weeks but she was also leaving her home for the place she had wanted to leave for a time.

Once they were inside of the cozy warm and dry back seat, Cliff took off that felt hat and set it upon his lap. Sam spotted the silver skull ring on his right ring finger and she thought about a ring for herself. She swore that, on the ride over to the airport, little white flurries of snow fluttered down from the heavy gray sky overhead. Even if it started to snow on the ride over at any given moment, it would add to the whole feeling of the ride, even if the traffic collected and worsened along the way.

She wondered if any of the traffic or the clouds over them would clear out by the time they left the tarmac. Indeed, when Cliff held the car door for her and she slid out to the sidewalk herself, little flakes the size of nickels floated down from the sky.

“We better get a move on, my lady,” he said to her as he took their things out of the trunk.

“Yeah, get a move on unless the flight gets cancelled,” the driver called after them. Sam and Cliff ducked into the airport and they hurried to the terminal. Lucky for them, the snow hadn't picked up as much by the time they checked in and took their spots right behind first class.

They took off within time: Sam peered out the window to her right and she watched the New York skyline fall away into the pure white of the blizzard.

“Good bye, New York,” she muttered. “I'll be back as quick as possible.”

“Yeah, I'll get you back home in time,” Cliff promised her as he set his hat on his lap once again.

“My parents never converted my bedroom to anything else,” she told him, “so we can sleep in my old bed together, even when we make the first little day trip over to the Bay Area.”

“I was wondering why we didn't get a hotel,” he recalled. “That's definitely a day trip thing, too, because—I think—I think, anyways, Legacy is actually playing a show tomorrow for the solstice. I'll have to call Eric first about it. Good thinking.”

“It was actually my dad's idea,” she pointed out. “He suggested you meet them first and then I meet your parents the next day.”

It was a few hours before they made their layover in Kansas City first: another few hours, and Sam recognized the section of the Sierra Nevadas in between Reno and Lake Tahoe, the latter of which was as pitch black as that darkness a few hours before them. Sam shivered in her seat and she couldn't resist feeling butterflies in her stomach all the while.

She knew her parents would be welcoming of him, but she still crept along the walkway at a slow pace. If she could shrink back into the wall, she would do it, especially when they rounded the corner.

“Cliff, this is my dad Ruben, and my mom Esmé,” she managed to sputter out with a straight face. He towered over especially Ruben, and Esmé stared up at him as if she was star gazing. But they both greeted him with hearty hand shakes and welcoming expressions on their faces.

“So Sam says you're a musician,” Ruben recalled as they congregated away from the terminal.

“Yeah, I'm a bassist,” said Cliff, and he adjusted his hat. “My background is in classical music and country.”

“Wow!”

Meanwhile, Esmé turned to Sam with her hand tucked in her pocket.

“Hold out your hand, dear,” she told her; Sam did just that with her right hand and closed her eyes. Ruben burst out laughing at something, which in turn felt like a dead weight had come off her shoulders. She didn't feel it, but Esmé leaned into her face.

“Okay.”

She opened her eyes to find a deep red stone embedded on a silver ring on her middle finger. “Oh, wow!”

“I've had that ring for so long,” Esmé said; Sam took a closer look at the ring itself and she made out the sight of a pair of serpent heads on either side of the stone. “It's a garnet.”

“It's beautiful, Mom—thank you.” Sam put her arms around her mother and Ruben offered to drive them back to their house for dinner and some wine. She never got the chance to show Cliff the ring until they turned in for the night. The whole evening, she kept one eye on Cliff and Ruben as they talked about all manner of things and she helped out Esmé with the wine and the accompanying cake and cheese. By a quarter to midnight, Sam changed her clothes and she crawled into her old bed. All those old feelings and memories returned to her once she lay her head on the pillow. Cliff crawled under the blankets next to her.

“I like your parents, babe,” he confessed.

“That—makes me so happy,” she said, and she lifted her hand out from under the blankets so she could take off the ring. In the dim light, she showed it to him.

“This is a garnet ring,” she told him. “It belonged to my mom for a long time but she told me I could have it, though.”

“Have it for the two of us, I assume?” he asked her.

“Exactly, yes! I was hoping to have something for myself. You know—given you have that skull ring and whatnot.”

“Aw, Sam, you didn't have to do that.” Cliff rolled over onto his side so his face could be much closer to her own.

“But I wanted to, though,” she insisted and he brought a hand to her chest. They were at her parents' house and yet he already put a hand on her. But he hit it off with them so well, and she fell asleep with a smile on her face.

The next day, given they didn't have a car for themselves, Ruben and Esmé drove Cliff and Sam over the pass to the Central Valley, followed by the Bay Area. Cliff guided them to the venue where Legacy were about to play for the night.

“The two of you can come along with us if you wish,” he offered them.

“That's real kind of you, Cliff,” Esmé replied to him as she turned around a bit in the front seat. “But, Ruben and I have some Christmas shopping to do, though.”

They dropped off Sam and Cliff outside of the little club on the corner, and he led her inside to the backstage area. It felt so odd without Marla and Aurora there with her, but she was eager to have Cliff by her side and with his arm around her as they stood on the balcony right over the stage.

Chuck stood at the front of the stage with the microphone in one hand and for a good long minute, all Sam could think about was Zetro. Zelda's friendship with him. If they were still friends with each other or if something went on between them. There was so much more to Zelda she needed to learn about as well. But the second he opened his mouth and sang those first notes, she could only focus on him.

Eric's long black hair spread over one side of his face so she couldn't see his expression. She spotted Louie behind the drum kit, and he barely moved about, much like Zelda herself. Her eyes wandered over to Greg and then Alex, the latter of whom stood on the edge of the stage with a dark shadow over his head and shoulders. It felt so right to stand there to watch them on the first day of winter. Rich dark hard music in junction with the lack of sunlight and the menacing bank of fog.

She glanced up at Cliff and he glanced back at her, and then she gestured to Alex.

“He looks so little,” she remarked.

“He isn't, though,” he pointed out. “He's a big little boy.”

He was silent for a moment, and then he spoke again.

“I have an idea.”

A couple of songs later, and Cliff guided her off of the balcony. He never let go of her hand as he brought her to the backstage area, the narrow strip of floor about the width of a couch between the main stage itself and the two dressing rooms. Sam kept her attention on Legacy while Cliff argued with one of the stagehands. She watched Louie and his minimal movement, and yet his dark hair flew about like the arms of an octopus. Alex sidled over to Eric so they could solo together following Chuck's harsh bellow that was his singing voice. She spotted that little white pearl over his brow, still bright despite the shadow over his head.

Cliff tapped on her shoulder which broke her concentration.

“We can go back here but you can't go in the dressing rooms, though,” he confessed with a shrug and a solemn look on his face. “Apparently that's all they have at the moment.

“Damn it!” she cried out over Louie's final cymbal splashes.

“I think that's it.” Cliff guided her over to the dressing room on the far left side of the corridor. “Yeah, let's get out of the way—” She stood off to the side as the five of them made their way off the stage and the team of roadies picked up after them: Chuck and Eric darted into the one on the right. She opened her purse even though she had nothing with her of interest, but Cliff guided her to the room in front of them and she halted right outside of the door. Over the chatter to her right, their voices floated through the sliver of a doorway before her.

“Hey, Cliff!” Alex's voice sounded so odd after what she had seen before her; so big and deep in comparison to the lanky dark haired placid faced boy at the edge of the stage.

“Hey, Alex—I just wanted to see how you were doing and—I wanted to ask you something real quick.”

“I gotta get a move on, though,” he explained at a quick clip. “You know—it being Christmas and whatnot.”

“Christmas, not Hanukkah?”

“Hanukkah was a week ago,” Alex pointed out. “I'm just wearing the yarmulke right now just 'cause. It's either that or get labeled as 'meshuggah'.”

“As what?”

“'Meshuggah.' It's my parents' way of saying 'batshit insane.'”

“Sounds like a pretty good name for a band, though.”

“I know, right? And, add to this, I also have a curfew. Yeah, I have a curfew over Christmas break and I'm seventeen.”

“Aw, that's a shame,” Cliff replied, “I was hoping you could meet my girlfriend.”

“I can sign something for her, though,” Alex pointed out as he zipped up his guitar case. “It's not easy, like I can't always go out and meet people but I can always make an offer and do that, though.” Sam raised her eyebrows at the sound of that. He was seventeen years old and yet he already talked like that, as if he had been at it for twice that long. This young boy already knew business and spoke like he meant it.

“What's her name?” Alex asked him.

“Sam,” said Cliff. “Samantha, but she goes by Sam.”

“The dynamic Samantha! What does she do?”

“She's an art student.”

There was a pause, then the rustling of paper on the far side of the room.

“Really? That's like the fifth art student I've met—well, not exactly.”

“Met in a de facto manner.”

“Right, right...” There was another pause. Sam held still outside of the door and she kept her attention fixated on the slight noises in that room. Cliff laughed at something and Alex let out a soft little snicker.

“So when do you guys play again?” Alex asked him in a low voice. “The twenty ninth?”

“Yeah. The twenty ninth and then New Year's Eve. You gotta be there.”

“I'll try to. I mean, if I have to drag my brother out from his hiding spot so I have someone to say that I can go in as a seventeen year old kid, I can.”

Sam's mouth dropped open. Seventeen years old and his smarts were already far advanced than that of someone her age!

“Anyways—” Alex started, but he never said anything further than that.

“Thanks, man, I'm sure she'll love this.”

“My pleasure, Cliff! Now, I gotta get home or my dad's gonna freak—”

Cliff returned out of the room with a little piece of rice paper in hand. Alex had sketched her a little rose with some black ink and wrote right next to it:

“To the dynamic Samantha, have fun with and take good care of Cliff and make sure he doesn't stay up too late on nights when he doesn't warrant it.

Stay as precious as a rose!

Alex Skolnick”

She smiled at that and she lifted her head in time as Alex ducked out of the room and put his yarmulke back on his dark head. Cliff towered before her with a warm little smile on his face.

“Thank you so much,” she called after Alex, but he strode on in the other direction and she had no idea if he heard her. He kept one hand on his yarmulke as he stepped through the back door and into the darkness of the night.

“I'm gonna treasure this,” she promised Cliff as he led her the other way to one of the side doors. They reached the street right as the San Francisco fog drifted in from the Bay itself. It wasn't the New York snow, but she still looked about the street in a daze.

“Merry Christmas,” he said to her in a low voice: she brought the rice paper to her nose, and she caught a faint aroma of cinnamon. The smell of Christmas.

“Merry Christmas,” she echoed back to him. “I never want this to end.”

“Me, neither,” he whispered back.

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