#but he is the responsible brother in charge of every camping trip

[softquietsteadylove]

So, I've got a prompt for you.

I love movies and tv series and they are all so different from each other but also have so much things in common. And there is one thing i can picture our beloved men from Eternals in.

I think at least one time in their whole time on earth, Ajak forced her children to spend time together, in groups. So while Ajak is dragging her daughters around, the group of men are forced to hang out with each other. And a full men group, hanging out, means normal conversations drifting to uncomfortable and awkward conversations (for at least one or two individuals.) So I'd like to ask you to write Kingo, Phastos, Druig, Ikaris and Gilgamesh (god i love him, malewife) in such a situation, maybe sparring together, drinking alcohol but the most important: talking about (their) girls! (or boys, or whatever preference our individuals have in a partner)

"This fuckin' sucks."

No one spoke up to agree with Druig, but certainly no one argued with him, either.

Ajak was with the other half of the Eternals, having brought Sersi, Makkari, Thena and Sprite with her to the beautiful natural springs just outside the palace grounds. India was so mild in climate, and they were still getting used to the place after arriving short of a month ago.

She had claimed it was mother-daughter bonding time, and encouraged they do the same. Gil and Kingo had certainly had their reservations, while Ikaris, Druig and Phastos had quickly asserted that they would rather let the villagers burn them on the pyre.

And yet here they were.

Kingo took a sip of his...whatever it was. He winced a little at it, staring into the fire they'd built simply for something to do and occupy their time. He was the most antsy, the rest of them having devolved into silence naturally. Which wasn't really Kingo's style. "Is anyone going to say anything, or...?"

"Just did," Druig barked at him from an entirely separate log bench all to himself, "sucks."

"Oi," Ikaris snarled at him, which did nothing to improve the atmosphere. He leaned on his knees, also sitting on a separate log bench.

Phastos was occupying himself with whatever, using his powers for something or other, ignoring them all deliberately. Also on his own log.

Gil sighed, staring up at the moon from where he had given upon talking and simply laid down on the ground.

Kingo turned around to look at Gil, lying down behind him, "what's with you?"

The Strongest Eternal shrugged, absently pulling up a bite of mango for himself. "I wonder what Thena's thinking about right now."

A round of loud groans hit the air, startling the birds in the trees.

"What?" Gil sat up with a frown at his band of brothers.

"Thena-this, and Thena-that," Phastos supplied readily, rolling his eyes the hardest at it.

"Oh, come on," Gil huffed, but he looked over as Druig barked out a sharp laugh at him.

"Gil, you ever heard yer own thoughts, mate?" the mind reader snickered, poking at his own temple as he said it. "Thena-this and Thena-that is exactly what you're thinkin'--always!"

Gil sighed, dusting himself off and sitting himself on Kingo's log properly. "I don't see the problem."

"You wouldn't," Ikaris snorted, and this time Gil took a little more offense to it. "You've got all that muscle and not a single one in your brain."

Gil picked up a rock and flicked it at the Soaring Eternal. For any mortal, it would have gone clean through their head like a bullet, but Ikaris snarled as it bounced off his forehead like a nut shell. "Aren't you supposed to be getting married soon? I'd expect you to have thoughts of nothing but your future wife."

Ikaris also soured at having his fiancee brought up. "Some of us can think of more than one thing at a time."

"Okay," Phastos held a hand in both of their directions, as if trying to soothe savage beasts. "No one has to talk about anyone's wives, y'animals."

"Let 'em have it out, Phastos," Druig laughed, picking up a pear for himself and biting into it with a disgusting amount of gusto. Chunks and juice flew from his mouth as he pointed, "I wanna shee what 'appensh!"

"Close your damn mouth when you're eating!" Phastos barked at the 'youngest' of them present.

"All that'll happen is Ajak getting mad at us," Kingo pointed out liberally. He patted Gil's shoulder, knowing that he was the more easily reasoned with between him and Ikaris. "Look Gil, I support you, and your gross, sappy romanticism."

"Thanks," Gil sneered at him and his 'support'. He turned his glare in Druig's direction, "I don't bring up you following Kari around, now do I?"

"Oi," Druig grumbled.

Phastos shared a look with Kingo, both of them entirely capable of disparaging their siblings in similar and opposite ways. Phastos wasn't opposed to the vessel, but needed the right soul. Kingo was proudly uninterested in everyone equally.

Ikaris also looked up at the moon and sighed. "What're they even doing?"

Kingo looked at Druig, "what did mother-daughter bonding mean?"

Druig snarled up one side of his nose and lips. "You think I'm in everyone's heads all the fuckin' time?"

"Kinda."

"Well, m'not," Druig shrugged, tossing away his pear seeds and reaching for a fresh one. "That'd be exhausting."

"Whose thoughts are the loudest?"

"Yours."

"I don't believe you," Kingo countered just as quickly as Druig had. He got a look for it but shrugged. "Maybe sometimes, sure. But it can't always be me."

Druig chuckled, bobbing his head in Gil's direction, "who'd you think? It's Mister Thena over 'ere."

"What do you mean they're loud?" Gil crossed his arms in his defense.

"Just what it sounds like, Gil," Druig offered at least slightly more amiable than he had been before. "S'not like shoutin', I guess. But they're...they're loud and clear. All the time."

"Like wh-"

"Thena," all four other Eternals answered for him simultaneously. Gil pursed his lips, feeling his cheeks warm. But at least the others were smiling and laughing (even if it was at his expense).

Druig slapped his knee in glee. "It's always 'where's Thena?', or 'wonder what Thena's up to', or 'I miss Thena' from you."

"Okay, okay," Gil sighed. It wasn't as if he had a correction to make, or even a defense to it. Those certainly sounded like his thoughts.

"Her too."

"Huh?" Gil blinked, hearing a much softer follow up from Druig.

The solitary Eternal was looking down at his pear, toying with it in his hands as the truth of his words made him quieter. He offered Gil a smile. "She's the same way--if you somehow didn't know."

"Thena?" Gil blinked.

"Yeah, Thena?" Kingo repeated from next to him. "I mean, I don't doubt it about Gil, but I figured T was...harder to read."

Druig grinned, shaking his head. He became a little more sheepish, but shrugged. "Most'a the time, yeah. But when it's about Gil here...she's clear as a bell."

Kingo just nodded, taking another sip of (whatever). "Wouldn't have guessed."

"First time I caught it I thought I was fucked," Druig shook his head. "T doesn't take kindly t'me pokin' around, 'course. But this thought just--it shot out like an arrow."

"What was it?" Gil asked, unable to resist.

Druig looked at him, offering a much more genuine smile, "Gil."

He just stared, "yeah--I'm asking."

"No, that's it," Druig chuckled, shaking his head again and ruffling his hair for good measure. "Just Gil--she walks around with your name in 'er head like the breath in 'er lungs. I had to learn to block it out--s'like a clock, tick-tick-tickin' away in the background."

Gil looked like he could burst with joy.

Ikaris cleared his throat faintly, already ruddy cheeked when the others looked at him. "Does, uh, Sersi-"

"Don't know, haven't checked."

"Okay!" Phastos stood, clapping his hands together before Ikaris could pick up Druig and throw him clear across the Ganges. "Why don't I reach out to Ajak and see what they're up to?"

Druig rolled his eyes as a loud and clear I want to see Thena floated into his mind. Gil was like an unchecked faucet--sometimes dripping, sometimes on full blast, but always leaking in some way.

"That's a good idea," Ikaris growled as he floated back down to his log, fists still clenched and eyes still glowing.

"Well," Kingo sighed as he set down his nondescript beverage. "What an unproductive discussion."

"Speak for yourself," Gil chuckled, nudging his most jovial brother's arm.

#I do think this is exactly how a conversation like this would go #because first of all #these five in particular #do not want to all hang out together #Even malewives extraordinaire Druig and Gil #don't want to talk to Ikaris let alone about the loves of their lives #Kingo thinks it's all very boring #unless it's funny and then he loves to get the gossip #even if it's about his brothers and sisters being in love #and yes that's how he phrases it #much to all their distress #Phastos is like I hate each and every one of you I hate this family #but he is the responsible brother in charge of every camping trip #and of course Gil is just moping around like I wish my wife were here #and listen...Thena's the same way #she's over in the springs with her sisters and their Prime #She and Sersi are braiding each other's hair while Ajak and Makkari are making little flower crowns #Sprite is lying face down in the water trying to achieve drowning #and Thena is sighing every five seconds until they're like jesus what the fuck is it??? #and she's like what? #obviously she misses Gil they all know that #but Thena's like that's silly I know where he is and that he's unharmed #I don't miss him #I just want to be near him and feel him next to me and breathe the same air as him #like babygirl is down bad HORRENDOUS #Thenamesh...themed? #Thenamesh AU #let's say

[moosemonstrous]

I never write in the second person, but it seemed to fit, so 🤷

Ghost Rider Pacific Rim AU - Yegor Ivanov's edition

Say, you're in charge of security on a large, well-appointed quasi-military base housing twenty thousand people - mostly J-techs and their families, but also a sizeable assortment of soldiers, scientists, medical staff, relief workers and support crew. It's the most stable job you've ever had. The general populace is just so grateful for the giant robots you deploy to fight the ever-nastier demons crawling out of The Breach, you barely have to pay any attention to actual security part of it. Your subordinates haven't reported a single issue they couldn't deal with themselves in years. The eggheads fight between each other to secure your approval. You have the respect of the international leaders for keeping Hong-Kong off of their priority list. Somehow, in this beautiful, messed up world you managed to carve yourself out an existence most people can only dream of.

And you got there by making a hard decision once, ten years ago. Eli Morrow was a dangerous psychopath and once his usefulness ran its course, it was your responsibility to put him down. Sometimes, one man has to pull the trigger for the good of the many, and that day you pulled the trigger. Figuratively. It was a regrettable situation, but you don't really regret it, because you gave Eli every chance under the sun to pull himself together.

You said it broke your heart, to see what he did to his brother, but secretly you were relieved. You've done many terrible things together, before the monsters stopped being just men in a different uniform. You had a good handle on Eli for so long, you almost forgot that rabid dogs will bite their master's hand given half a chance. If it hadn't been poor Alberto, it would've been you.

You didn't believe for a second Beto's kids turned up on base purely by accident. Call it fate, or karma, or whatever you want, you can't pretend seeing a mirror image of a young Eli in your own damn hangar doesn't strike a chord deep in your chest. It's not a pleasant sensation.

You have no idea what their mother told them - she was smart enough to get out before all hell came loose, so maybe she was also smart enough to keep her mouth shut. The younger one is a non-issue, at least. You forgot he had the--the whatsit, some condition the medical was working on, the hook you had on the Reyeses to keep them on base. You should dig into the files, see if the same hook will work on the older one.

And you need all the hooks you can think of, because you fucked up. You panicked and figured, well, he doesn't know his old man's jaeger is a goddamn death trap kept only because it would be more expensive to take it apart. He doesn't know it killed every recruit to ever step a foot in it. And he's as sentimental as his father was, all wide-eyed at the sight of the machine making up a good portion of your nightmares.

Only Robbie Reyes is a little too much like his uncle, too, because he doesn't. Fucking. Die.

The whole K-Sci department is very excited, of course. The techs aren't. You should've timed yourself better, made sure Canelo and the rest of the old guard were off-shift when you brought Robbie to The Charger. Now they're watching your hands and lowering their voices whenever you step into the hangar. You can't make the problem disappear without someone starting to ask questions. You need to be smarter than that.

If you can't get rid of him, you must learn to control him. He's no Eli Morrow - and you kept a lid on that can of worms for nearly a decade, from boot camp through black ops to TJP. One scowling teenager is nothing. He needs a strong hand and a little misdirection, that's all.

He watches you too, though. Like he already knows. He can't--can he? How? Who would've told him?

That broken eye of his is tripping you up, that's all. A strong hand, and a promise of medical support for the younger one - you will have him asking 'how high' before the next demon is due.

Besides, piloting jaegers is such a dangerous job. Anything could happen out in the sea. You can live through another regrettable loss. You don't think you can live through whatever Robbie Reyes is planning when he looks at you like that.

#Ghost Rider Pacific Rim AU #Yegor Ivanov #robbie reyes #Meanwhile Robbie’s internal monologue consists of 'oh my god is it schizophrenia' on a loop

[elekinetic]

PLEASE write a camp counselor au. also sorry for keeping sending asks this is too much fun!!

imagine dustin roping them all into working at camp knowhere though!!! you're completely correct about everything tbh. dustin is obviously well known because he's definitely went every single year since he was 12, the older kids know him and so do the older counselors. he's the perfect storm between responsible and HEY KIDS WANNA SEE SOMETHING EXPLODE? lucas is the biggest sweetheart counselor and he's super popular for the obvious reasons (i mean come on he's lucas sinclair). max is cool and aloof and she skateboards and is the coolest person on the planet (popular but on the opposite end of the spectrum. she's also a big sweetheart but she will not hesitate to threaten kids not to talk about it and ruin her Cool Teen Reputation).

will is good at his job because. look at him in season 4. he was literally created to be an older brother. he's nice and nurturing but also the biggest shithead ("is that why you have no friends?") which is a huge part of his appeal. he's sweet but then he'll say something super sarcastic and kids will be left baffled.

mike and el are popular for the same reasons. they're a huge mess. mike is literally a sentient pile of twigs that someone gave a shakespeare anthology to once. he's 90% limb. but also he's super smart, so like, he gets cool points there. el is, like you said, extremely strange (affectionate) and thus extremely fascinating to be around. kids are gossiping that maybe she's like, magic or something.

exactly!! you pegged dustin to a T, they would all see him as The King Of Know Where, and kids are always bothering him asking him science questions cause he just knows everything. lucas is the counselor everyone has a crush on. you either like him or want to be him, and you can't even hate him out of jealousy bc he's too nice. and ykw fuck it im saying camp know where is in michigan and they take a beach trip and lucas and max are the cool lifeguards in charge of keeping the kids alive. max takes no shit from the kids. "nerds, lights out was ten minutes ago. get your asses to sleep." they think she's super cool cause she curses. she can also do card tricks (which she only does in the cabin and makes them swear not to tell anyone) and knows all the best camp songs. her cabin always wins challenges, though el's cabin puts up a good fight through the power of sheer chaos. her cabin and will's gets partnered a lot cause their tables in mess are near each other, and its always so much fun. they always kill at volleyball for some reason. i think it takes will a little bit of time to get confident telling the kids what to do and acting as an authority figure, and he's nervous at first, but once he gets his footing he's such a great counselor. "cmon...casey... you can't eat that." everyone thinks he's super nice, until someone catches him teasing mike. thus the rumor that mike and will hate each other is born, and obviously everyone takes will's side bc will is a sweetheart and mike what the fuck did you do? like you said, mike is super smart, but i also think he's a little pathetic and has a hard time getting the kids to respect him. his and will's cabins are partnered for arts and crafts one day and mike is having difficulty getting his kids to settle down. will steps in and is like, "guys, come on. let's chill out, okay? listen to mike," and they go quiet. mike's jaw is on the floor, cause they actually start listening to him after that. well. until arts and crafts is over, at which point they start tormenting him again.

i have so many more thoughts on this, this is insane.

ask me anything!

#byler #the party #camp counselor au

[passing-through-bd]

I don’t write. But for a competition I just wanted to work on this prompt. Here it goes.

*THE ALL-KNOWING*

“It was a lovely day in Sunnyvale. And then the murders began...”

“Dad, it’s at it again.”

“Then leave it alone. You got it just hours ago”

“WHY? It should not be writing science fiction,” Moni heaved a sigh.

“Now where does it say that AIDA writes research papers? How will it even DO research?” Moni’s father

chimed in. “We’re meant to see its creative skills. And don’t forget you volunteered.”

Well neither of them was wrong really. No one knew what this application, AIDA, was supposed to do. It

was developed as an AI to observe. But none of the civilian volunteers knew what its purpose was.

Sometimes its responses didn’t even seem relevant. But it seemed to love murders.

"It has access to every piece of information that humans have; it should be working to use that.” Moni

went on. “The manufacturers did say that it was designed to use provided information to aid mankind,”

“Maybe it IS helping us and we’re just too dumb to see it.”

“I’m going to give it prompts. 'I want you to share your observations based on what I tell you about my

week. I was in our chemistry lab yesterday, just goofing around....’”

The software waited a few moments and replied, "Maybe someone should go check on the lab.”

“Why?”

“Just an observation.”

“Weird observation. So, the day before that my friend was driving me to a concert and we nearly ran

someone over. I almost had a heart attack. But the guy was fine though.”

The software started to speak over its speakers. “Maybe find alternatives in case your shipments are

delayed.”

“The order for camping gear?”

“You’re going to leave soon. Best be ready by then.”

“They’re never late. And that has nothing to do with what I just said.”

“I have access to everything, Moni. Even to footage of your little accident. I’m just an observer meant to

help you.”

“Well, you’re not being helpful. I’ll talk tomorrow. Keep on doing whatever you’re supposed to be doing.

Write some more about murders I guess.”

But tomorrow came and went without Moni sitting in front of a laptop. There was an accident at her lab.

No one was hurt but a little section was damaged. Her best guess was that something wasn’t stored

properly. For now, she had to make a report on necessary repairs.

The next day was just as hectic. Her gear wasn't here yet and the camping trip was the next day. She had

to buy everything by herself and cancel the humongous order.

And only then could she let it sink in. She ran. She stumbled and ran to her computer monitor.

“How did you know that?” No explanation was needed. AIDA knew everything. She always knew

everything. “I had access to your lab’s cameras. I know that guy was in-charge at your local supplier. He

quit after the near-death experience.”

“Then why wouldn’t you tell me that?”

“You told me to observe, and I observed. I know what’s going on in our starships, hundreds of light years

away. I know what’s inside the returning starships. We have finally found others.”

Just then Moni’s father ran into the room. "Moni! A meteor crashed near Tonga. I can’t contact your

brother.”

Moni could swear AIDA was smirking. "It's not a meteor. It’s a scout ship from our starship.”

“Why would that close contacts? I’ll check the news. There were other Bangladeshis too.”

Her screen flickered with a well-dressed man. But it wasn’t news about Tonga.

“Medical professionals are suggesting immediate lockdown and quarantine for the entire state.”

The headline read “Trouble in Sunnyvale”. Moni changed the channel.

“This small city in California might cause the next plague. Only yesterday the city rejoiced as their 3

children returned from a decades long mission in space to find extraterrestrial life and habitable planets.

But within 24 hours 98 citizens including the astronauts have died from unknown reasons. More than

200 are hospitalized. An investigation is already underway, but the situation is worsening.”

Moni turned to AIDA. “You knew. You always do. Is this a new disease? Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“But I did, Moni. I told you at the very beginning, didn’t I? They're here. Our search is over. Our own

planet is the most habitable. They're here.”

[magicdwells]

Alexander was born the elder of two twins to Lenora and Ward Walsh, a well known Ifirt family in Romulus. His life was fairly normal (as far as normal goes, especially in Romulus) at first. He learned to control his powers and exactly what they meant surrounded by a supportive family. Soon after he and his twin brother, Julian, had turned 15, their family left Romulus to go camping for the weekend. It was going to be a fun trip, it was going to be time for them all to have a change of scenery and spend time together. It only took less than a minute for their lives to change forever during that weekend. Xander had been tending to the fire with his father, listening to his brother and mother banter back and forth and then her sentence cut off and a shot rang out. He had looked up just in time to see her body crumple, another Ifrit standing behind her with a gun. It was an immediate response; Xander had charged him and attacked him himself even as the man managed to shoot her again. It was only after that that he finally succeeded disarming the gun but not before another shot got him in the shoulder. He hardly felt it, even as he proceeded to be beat badly before finally gaining the advantage. He was in a fit of rage, hardly even there at all, when he killed the man who had murdered their mother. It was only a minute after that that he had passed out himself. 

Xander refused to use his powers to heal himself, instead determined to scar, to have a reminder for how he had failed to save his mother. He began to close himself off to everyone outside of their family, maintaining his friendly exterior but shutting off the personal details, the things that made everything feel dark. Their dad’s mental health dissolved quickly after their mother’s death, and the boys were forced to care for him and run the business as best as they could. When they graduated, Xander was furious to see that their dad hadn’t come, particularly knowing what it had meant to Julian. But when they got home, Julian went upstairs to find him before coming back down. Xander had gone upstairs himself then, fully prepared to yell at their dad, but had only found a body on the bed. Stricken and stunned, he allowed himself a few moments to panic, to feel it, to stare. But he didn’t break down, instead walking out of the room and calling 911. 

After their dad died, Xander found himself struggling against the mentality that he had to take care of things, angry that he and his brother had been forced to grow up so fast and so young. He began to rely more on the parties he went to, fell into that lifestyle even more, even as he was helping run the auto shop and going to community college to study business. Every day felt like a struggle, but he refused to tell anyone, to seek help or to even admit his problems to himself. When they did come up, he got angry instead and would tell whoever had mentioned it to drop it. When he finished community college, he reluctantly left his brother and went to a university just two hours away, studying business so that he could better run the shop. When he returned, he took over the business side of things, allowing Julian to return to the mechanics part. After that, he joined in the mechanics when he found himself able to, but for the most part didn’t mind doing business even as he complained about it. He continued to party as a way to cope with everything he had seen and experienced, and acts as if he doesn’t have a care in the world in an attempt to convince himself of that very thing. Even as others tried to tell him that he needed to behave like an adult, he stayed set where he was, determined that he already grew up enough and he wanted to keep what irresponsibility he could have.

It was only recently that an accident occurred at the auto shop. Clark Vogel had been there overseeing handiwork when Xander’s trauma was triggered and he accidentally started a fire in what he thought was self defense. The fire consumed the shop and Clark succumbed to it even as Xander tried to save him but was pulled from the flames. Since then, he’s been even more closed off than normal. He doesn’t even go out to party, though he does drink and use weed inside the house, relying on others to get food and even his drugs and alcohol, only leaving when he has to. His depression got bad enough that it was one of the reasons that his father’s brother, Balthazar, came home to Romulus, but nothing has quite pulled him from his depression yet.

#taken #taken male #alexander walsh #xander walsh #taken ifrit #pam character

[astaroth1357]

The Obey Me Cast on a Camping Trip (Part One: Brothers)

Hey guys, thank you sooo much for getting me to 2,000 followers!! I honestly don’t know what to say... I never dreamed that this little hobby of mine would reach so many eyes, and I can’t be more grateful. At a time in my life where things feel so chaotic and uncertain, being a part of this community and sharing my weird ideas has been what’s kept me going. It’s been such a rewarding experience all around, so thank you. From the bottom of my heart. 😊

I pulled out all the stops for this post. I even brought out one of my favorite songs of all time: Ao to Natsu by Mrs. GREEN APPLE to get the feel juuust right. I hope you all enjoy it!

This post is split in two due to length (I had too much fun again...) For the Undateables, please click HERE!

Intro:

Another day, another team building activity between the demons and the exchange students. It was Diavolo’s idea to go on a camping trip to the human world (because of course it was), and there were very… mixed responses. That sentiment wasn’t helped when he refused Lucifer’s insistent pleas to just purchase cabins for everyone to stay in. Oh no, the Demon Lord wanted to rough it out in the wilderness, and now everyone else was getting dragged along with him…

Wonder how that turned out?

Lucifer

Really, really, really tried to push Diavolo to just rent out cabins in but noooo, he wasn’t having it... So he ended up driving a van crammed with his brothers, the MC, and a butt-ton of camping equipment into the Alaskan wilderness… 

The car ride itself was insufferable… We’re talking, “I SWEAR I WILL TURN THIS CAR AROUND!!” level of antics every 10 miles or so (mostly from Mammon)…

Setting up camp was even more of a nightmare because about half of his brothers were utterly useless. The other half (save Satan) were completely clueless… Had it not been for Barbatos and Satan he probably would have just resigned himself to the mercy of the river’s currents and let it take him away…

He couldn’t even wear his usual clothes because of the situation… For the first time in who knows how many centuries, he was stuck wearing jeans… Diavolo even bought him several plaid shirts... (which he was not happy with btw because his brother wouldn’t stop making fun of the “new” him)

He had his own tent of decent-size, enough to move around in but nothing to write home about. The very fact he didn’t have to share was a luxury in itself, so he took it for what it was worth...

He spent a good portion of the trip focused on two things: keeping Diavolo happy and everybody else alive. He rarely left camp unless forced to; he just wanted to get it all over with as soon as possible…

If he did leave, it was because Diavolo would drag him along to fish or hike. He was... less than pleased to be called out of his tent at the crack of dawn or well past dusk to sit on a little rented fishing boat with Diavolo… but he didn’t exactly pick his friends so...

He rates the trip Too Much Trouble/10. Let’s never do it again.

Mammon

Wasn’t a massive fan of being stuck out in the wild, but Satan told him some made-up bullshit about buried treasure out in the forest and got him HOOKED. He even borrowed stole a whole bunch of mining/digging equipment just for the occasion!

He spent most of the car ride asking, “Are we there yet??” like a child. The MC had to step in to keep Lucifer from leaving him on the side of the road at multiple points during the journey... 

He was one of the utterly useless ones when it came to setting up camp. Someone charged him with putting up the twin’s tent, and he spent thirty minutes reading (then re-reading) the instructions while shouting expletives. Poor Simeon had to shield Luke from the vulgarity…

He has to share a tent with Levi, which neither of them liked. Mammon mainly because of Levi’s “old fish stink” and Levi because he feared catching “Mammon’s stupid.”

He was all jazzed up to go digging from Day One, though. He’d have breakfast, grab his shovel, then wander out into the middle of nowhere to go dig holes in the ground…

He also got completely lost on Day One, and it took the MC summoning him with their pact to return him to the group... By that time, he was filthy and somehow looked like he had been castaway for days (even though he was gone for like, three hours?)

When he stubbornly refused to stop digging, Lucifer resorted to just tying a rope around his ankle and letting him loose. It was up to Mammon to get back to camp before dinner, or else Lucifer would yank him back like he was on a leash.

Satan waited until the last day to finally tell Mammon the treasure was bullshit, and he was PISSED. He even threw Satan into the river, which resulted in the rest of the brothers joining in for a swim while the two tried to “playfully” drown each other.

He’d rate this trip 0/10 because he didn’t get any buried treasure. What a ripoff…

Leviathan

Hated the idea with a burning, seething passion. There’s no internet, cable, electricity, or phone signal out in the middle of nowhere! How the heck is an otaku supposed to survive?!

He clung to his electronics during the car ride until either they ran out of signal or their battery died, then he didn’t know what to do with himself… He resorted to reading several volumes of the manga he stuffed into his bag and clung to the MC for emotional support…

Yet another useless soul trying to put the camp together. He was in charge of his and Mammon’s tent but ended up almost crying in frustration… How the hell do humans do this all on their own?? Wasn’t he supposed to be the third strongest?! Why is he so pathetic?!? 😫

Hates sharing a tent with Mammon because he always wakes up to the second born encroaching on his space somehow… Poor baby is pretty much directly against the tent wall and STILL has to deal with legs and elbows in his side... 😰

Spends the majority of the trip moping in the tent... If he goes out there, he has to deal with the sun, bugs, and people… No thanks. He only leaves for meals and occasionally to go swimming. 

When he found out part of the way through that Barbs brought portable solar panels and a battery pack for Diavolo and Lucifer’s phones, he was livid. He demanded access to the power source, which Lucifer refused because “It would defeat the purpose of this trip.”

He’d have summoned Lotan right then and there, deadass in the middle of the forest, if the MC hadn’t intervened. He then went back to moping, but now at the bottom of the lake and it took a lot of coaxing to get him back out…

On the final day, he was packing up the camp before anyone else even woke up. He wanted OUT and back to civilization ASAP. Bedroom here he comes!

Satan

You wouldn’t think of Satan as an outdoorsy guy. Still, he has shades of a survivalist in him (mostly because he’s read a lot of guides and was looking for an excuse to use them for a loooong time).

He read for the majority of the ride. He was squished between Asmo and Levi, which was reasonably peaceful. But he did end up shouting at Mammon quite a bit towards the end because “NO, we’re not there yet, peabrain!!”

He actually wasn’t a waste of space when setting up the camp, and between him, Barbs, and Lucifer, they were able to get a lot of stuff set up before sundown. He did have to bark a few orders to the others here and there, but overall competency won out in the end.

He shared a tent with Asmo, and the two made it work well enough… Except when Asmo did things like spraying his perfumes and dry shampoos, making it practically impossible to breathe in for a few minutes…

Spent a lot of the first few days reinforcing the camp to a ridiculous degree.

Did he have to collect large branches to build an exterior fence around the campsite? No. But he did.

Did he have to set up a water distillation system using some of the materials Barbs had lying around the “kitchen?” No. But he did.

Did he have to weave a series of fishing nets to catch them lunch from the lake and river? I think you get the point by now.

Only once he built pretty much every contraption or improvement he could think of, did he go back to just reading and relaxing by the fire.

By the time the group was ready to leave, Satan had somehow managed to craft them a veritable, self-sustaining fortress in the middle of the Alaskan wilds…

Overall he would rate the trip as… meh. Next time give him a challenge like a deserted island or an actual desert, and then he’ll really see what he can do.

Asmodeus

Was about as unhappy with the idea as Levi was… It wasn’t that he disliked the outdoors per se, it was just that no one, NO ONE, pulls off looking flawless after several days stuck in a tent!

He chatted the entire car ride from start to finish. He never stopped talking. It made for decent background noise at least…

Was one of the more clueless ones when trying to set up camp and pretty just did what he was ordered. The second he was left to try and figure something out on his own, he went to Lucifer or Satan for help because NOPE. Human equipment is needlessly complicated sometimes…

He had to share a tent with Satan, which in theory shouldn’t have been that bad, but Satan was out basically all day in the sun doing who knows what and would always come back sweaty and gross! At some points, he had to chase his brother out of the tent until he dunked himself in the river or something. No way was Asmo sleeping next to that. 😤

Asmo took the second-longest to get up and get ready in the morning. Sometimes he wouldn’t even leave the tent until well past breakfast just in an attempt to salvage his hair and skin… He only got grouchier about it as the trip went on… 😥

A more… earthy looking Asmo is kind of a bizarre sight. He’s still attractive, no doubt, but it’s less like polished glamour and more like Hollywood humble. He spent the majority of the trip looking like a somewhat dirtied movie-star (which he still insisted was the worst he’s ever looked in ages).

Aside from salvaging his looks, he actually enjoyed taking pictures of their surroundings or of the group (but not himself). He sometimes forgot how genuinely breathtaking the human world could be…

….but his patience for the place wore out quickly once he started noticing his hair getting greasy. He was right next to Levi, packing up the site once it was finally time to leave. At least those two finally found something they could agree on, let’s get the fuck out already! 

Beelzebub

He was really curious about trying camping food and pretty excited that Barbatos was coming, too (because that meant great food in general).

Unfortunately, Lucifer had to stop the van at basically every gas station they passed for Beel could refill on snacks… Belphie ended up getting buried in wrappers pretty often, but he was asleep, so it didn’t matter much.

Beel did a lot of the heavy lifting when setting the camp up, but the finer details were left up to everybody else. He had his hands full getting stuff off the cars as is…

Of course, he shared a tent with Belphie, and there wasn’t much complaint between them. Honestly, there would have been more drama if they were split, so this was the better option.

After the MC told Beel about fishing and how it could net him more food, if he did it right, he knew exactly what he wanted to do during the trip.

… But no one told him how long and slow the process would be. There were points he’d get so hungry he’d consider eating the bait himself…

That was until about Day Three of the trip when they passed by a river full of grizzly bears… He was about to ask the MC why the bears were all standing in the water, but then he saw a fish practically leap directly into one’s mouth…

Beel had discovered his true calling.

Of course, the grizzlies didn’t take too kindly to a demon suddenly sprinting into the water with them. They tried to fight him off, but Beel just tossed most of them downstream without any issue until they realized who the apex predator really was…

After forming a shaky truce with the bears, Beel would stand in the water for hours then come back with whole baskets full of salmon… There were far more fish than Barbatos knew what to do with, so he’d just confiscate a few then let Beel eat the rest...

The MC shuddered to think about what Beel had done to the local salmon population… But he was full and happy for most of the trip, so he had a great time!

Belphegor

Sleep for him isn’t too contingent on location, so the idea of camping wasn’t terrible. It did sound like a lot of hassle for no good reason, though…

He spent the entire car ride asleep, head and cow pillow pressed up against the window and everything. It wasn’t the most comfortable experience, but he’d dealt with worse.

He was utterly useless when putting up the camp by choice, thank you. He had more than enough sense to get things put together; he just didn’t want to. If he wasn’t asked to do something by Beel or the MC, he’d just lay back in the grass and smugly watch everybody else struggle…

Again, he and Beel are in the same tent, and you wouldn’t hear any complaints out of him. He did start to have some second thoughts when Beel began getting a fishy smell, though, so he tried to bunk with the MC in their tent for a while.

Like Levi, Belphie didn’t leave the tent much during the daylight hours, but that was because he was still asleep… There was no good way to wake him with no alarms available, so he’d sleep in past lunch easily.

When he was awake, he didn’t leave camp very much except to walk with the MC or watch Beel fishing grizzly-style.

Eventually, Asmo and Diavolo got sick of him dodging their photos, so they’d started posing him Weekend at Bernie’s style around the camp (always conveniently propped up by something and with sunglasses on)

Something Belphie did like, however, was the nighttime. Since there were no lights around, he could practically see everything the sky had to offer. He could spend hours laying on his back long after everyone else had gone to bed just admiring the stars.

All in all, not a terrible trip. Anything that could give him that view like that was well worth it. 6/10, would sleep again.

Click HERE for Part Two. Check out my Masterlist for more!

#obey me #obey me shall we date #shall-we-date-obey-me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me headcanons #obey me scenarios #thank y'all so so much #you're fantastic

[josefavomjaaga]

Caroline has another quadrille

In September 1807, Soult, still in Prussia, sent his aide-de-camp Saint-Chamans, who had only just returned from Saint-Petersburg, with some urgent depeches from Savary to Paris, in order to see the emperor. Once there, Saint-Chamans was immediately charged with tasks of a different nature:

I had, during this same trip to France, several occasions to go to Fontainebleau and to court; it was the time of the marriage of Jerome Bonaparte to the Princess of Wurtemberg, and on this occasion, great festivities were given at Fontainebleau; the queens and princesses of the imperial family fancied dancing in front of the Emperor quadrilles in which they played the principal role; Mme Murat not having found at court a sufficiently considerable number of dancers who suited her, or to whom it suited (16 were needed), sent me a letter by one of her ladies, that she had designated me to be part of her quadrille; I was also sent all the names of the workmen responsible for dressing the dancers, for we had to be dressed as Spaniards, and the female dancers, I believe, as Poles, and I was invited to go to Fontainebleau to attend the rehearsals we were to make of the steps and figures of the quadrille. Curiosity led me to do this chore.

Saint Chamans does not make it sound as if people were really keen on this quadrille thingie.

I therefore went to Fontainebleau, and every morning, for three or four days, Despréaux made us rehearse the figures, steps, etc., which we were to perform in this quadrille; among the dancers there were some old court hacks who looked rather agreeable in the hands of M. Despréaux; the heaviest and clumsiest of all these dancers was Prince Borghese, the Emperor's brother-in-law; he was Mme Murat's dancer.

I wonder why she picked him then? Because he was family and a friend of Murat? Or had she lost a bet to Pauline?

I danced with Mme Duroc, wife of the grand marshal, and opposite Mme de Broc, wife of the grand marshal of Holland and sister-in-law of Marshal Ney; this young woman has since perished by falling into a precipice at the waters of Aix en Savoie; she had the most alluring figure and appearance and enjoyed the greatest favour with the queen of Holland (Mme Louis Bonaparte). At last the day of the famous quadrille arrived; but when we were, so to speak, behind the curtain and were only awaiting the arrival of the Emperor in the ballroom to make us appear and dance before him, it was announced that he would not come, and we were reduced to having as spectators only the Empress Josephine with her whole court; this disappointed many people, and particularly our female dancers, who were counting on shining before the master; Mme Murat was very upset, but it did not last long, for we were made to return the following Sunday to Fontainebleau to repeat the same festival, and this time the Emperor was present.

Grace à dieu! - I mean, this is a dance! Serious matters! The least thing we can expect is some attention, isn’t it? Monsieur l’Empereur better show up for this!

While the dancing was more of a chore to him, Saint-Chamans still enjoyed life at court (especially a court with so many beautiful young ladies!) enough in order to ask Berthier for a leave of three months. Which Berthier promptly accorded to him. Unfortunately, Saint-Chamans kinda had forgotten to ask his marshal first ... let’s just say the latter was not pleased.

#napoleon's family #caroline murat

[ckneal]

I’m already working on a cage fic at the moment and don’t really see myself taking on another any time soon, but earlier today an old advertisement for The Time Traveler’s Wife crossed my screen, and I’ve had this idea rolling around in my head ever since.

Adam becoming aware of this odd presence coming into his life every now and then, starting at a very young age. He would find himself in a crowd and barely see someone in the corner of his eye. For awhile, Adam thought that he was the only one who could see it--on days when he would find himself waiting for his mom at the park, or when his mom would be running so late picking himself up from school that he would finally get up and start walking himself home alone. He’d walk by a park bench or a bus stop, and for just a second think he saw someone in blue jeans with a green jacket, but then he’d turn to really look, and no one would be there. 

He would start to realize that other people could see it too when he was around ten. He would join little league sports teams, or go on camping trips with his boy scouts troop, and every now and then someone would swear they saw someone who had to be Adam’s dad, they looked so much alike. Later, it would be Adam’s brother, and then in his teen years, Adam starts looking up articles online to try and figure out what it means to see a mysterious figure that looks just like him come and go throughout his life. 

Some articles found on websites that even Sam would call questionable, suggest that it could be a ghost, or a spirit, or even a banshee just waiting for the right moment to start shrieking. Almost all of them caution against trying to make contact on his own, but Adam spots the thing’s reflection behind him in a store window one day and decides to go for it, leaning forward and fogging up the glass to write out the word “Hi.” only for the entity to then panic and disappear. 

Eventually though, communication would open between them. Sort of. Nothing too direct, because the thing always seemed to be fairly jumpy despite initially seeming so stoic when Adam was a kid. Adam tries to ask it about its appearance--even hazing it a bit about it’s grown out hair and bulky green jacket--but doesn’t get much of a response, though Adam didn’t mind.

In fact, the only time that Adam really did get annoyed at the entity’s closed-lipped attitude after they started talking was one day after he’d gone away to college, and his cellphone seemed to disappear out of nowhere. Adam had gone to bed with it on his nightstand, and nearly slept through his first lecture the next morning because the alarm never went off. He had his roommate call him six times later that night trying to find it, only for Adam to suddenly get a hunch and shut himself in the bathroom to demand his phone back--speaking to the empty room, because he didn’t know where else to look for his weird paranormal friend. 

When he came out of the bathroom and saw that his phone had materialized on the window sill, still fully charged, there were several missed calls from a Windom area code. Adam would later find out how he died from the reaper who came to collect him, when she read off the grisly details to the receptionist who signed for him in Heaven, in the same casual way that a server might read off the specifics of lunch order to a picky customer--Adam himself not remembering any of it. 

Then came Adam’s second lifetime on earth, where he was yanked out of his grave by a renegade angel, and given a set of hand-me-down clothes to where by a set of brothers he had no interest in knowing, and felt a cold spike in his stomach when he held up a bulky green jacket. The entity had always dodged telling him is name, but this had to pretty much confirm it, right?

Only, when he first meets Michael, Michael doesn’t quite vibe right. He keeps his memories of the entity that used to follow him around to himself though, because he and the arrogant archangel talking about purpose and destiny and blind devotion to everything his deadbeat dad said didn’t really match with the person Adam remembered. But he does fish, finding out how angelic possession works, and their powers. Lucifer is actually even more helpful than Michael in the early days, what with Michael talking about vessels as if each one was preset to one purpose, whereas Lucifer snickered and talked about how Sam had been taken around the bend by a demon or too, just like any other meatsuit--Lucifer having no idea that he was actually planting the idea in Adam’s head that he might wind up possessed by a different angel sometime down the line. Or fuck, what if the thing that had been haunting him all those years was actually his own ghost? 

On the one hand though, Adam’s memories at least keep his spirits up higher than Michael’s, after it’s just the two of them left behind. Because obviously they were going to get out of here. Michael claimed that nothing could enter or leave the cage, but something was bound to change, if only to validate his memories.

And in all that time, as he and Michael grow closer and Michael’s guard starts to drop, Adam sort of forgets to re-evaluate how Michael matches up to the person that he remembers. Sort of just waits for things to work out and make sense, until one day, after the cage, after the two of them have been galivanting around the world, Adam happens to look in the mirror and see how his hair has started to grow out. Just in time for the rapture. 

#my thoughts #this one is still a mess

[mareebrittenford]

The Elusive Path

Want to read my current WIP as I write it? here’s a synopsis.

Being struck with Lycanthropy comes with a lot of cool abilities, not the least of which is being able to change into a wolf at will. But for David the side effects make it pretty much unbearable. Now everything gives him anxiety and he’s overwhelmed by loud noises, strong scents, crowded places, and pretty much every other part of an average high school day.

But his problems don’t stop there. Keeping his new abilities a secret is proving impossible, and he’s drawn the attention of a shadowy government agency, other wolves, and who knows who else. And to top it all off he’s got some really annoying girl problems.

Trying to survive his new life is harder than he’d ever have imagined.

I’ve always really enjoy the process of writing and posting a chapter a week of fanfic, and so I’ve decided to do the same thing with my current novel.

I’m going to be posting it on my Patreon free of charge (although you can also subscribe to the reward tiers for extras)

This is the second book in the Extrafakes series. You can find the first book here, or you can also message me for a review copy.

Chapters will be posted Tuesday morning, (Sunday night for patrons) and you will be able to read the whole raw novel as I write the thing! Future chapters will be posted on Patreon only, but links will be here every Tuesday morning.

Anyway, here’s the first chapter!

Chapter 1

It’s cold, but even though I have a key to my brother Slater’s truck I wait outside, leaning against the door, letting the chill from the metal seep through my clothes and numb my skin. I’ve been running and the cold feels good. Besides, these days I don’t much like being inside vehicles. Or any other enclosed space.

It’s yet another great thing about becoming a wolf. Any sort of confinement has me ready to change form and/or flip out. Which is something I kind of need to avoid. So I stay in the open air as much as possible.

Today the weather isn’t very welcoming though. The sky is low and gray and the air has that sort of heavy feeling that means rain is coming. The first rain of the season, which is a big deal after the long dry California summer.

The drop in barometric pressure put everyone at school on edge today, and I’m feeling it more than anyone. Which only adds to the creeping sense of unease that I’ve been feeling. (Different from my usual wolfish unease that causes me to panic over too many people in my space, or the smell of blood, or loud noises, or pretty much anything else that happens in a normal day at high school). This feels like a threat. Like something bad is coming.

It makes me want watch my friend’s backs. Which is why I’m hanging out waiting for my brother to finish his football practice, even though my track practice ended fifteen minutes ago, and I could be home already if I ran it (which I often do). My life has sucked a lot recently, what with discovering that I now change into a wolf at inconvenient times, and all the assorted issues that go along with that. But in his own way Slater has had it just as bad.

Finding out I’m a wolf came as a big relief to him.

Before that, all he saw was that I was anxious and depressed and stopped hanging out with my friends. He thought he knew what had happened. And that he was responsible because he’d let people he trusted hurt me. I guess that goes against the big brother code. At least it goes against the code of any decent brother. And Slater really wants to be a good brother. I wish I’d known that before I’d gone along with him on that camping trip and he’d (accidentally) left me at the mercy of the assholes from the football team who thought it was a good time to dump me naked in the woods. At least I think that’s what happened. I don’t really remember the details. All I know is that we went on that cursed trip, I forgot a big chunk of time, I woke up naked and alone, and now I have lycanthropic anxiety.

Also I’m pretty sure Slater took some sort of revenge on the guys from that trip, specifically one guy, Steven Flores. And now I have to watch my brother’s back. The doors of the school open and group of kids come out, and I scan them for anything odd or threatening. I’m always alert to threats now, and it’s exhausting. But I can’t relax in any public place, especially not in proximity to so many people. The group is mostly girls, cheerleaders, or dance or something like that. I don’t pay much attention to sports besides my own, but they have that sort of dancer fluidity to their movements.

They filter through the parking lot, and then finally the football players start to appear behind them. I stand up straighter, scanning the group for Slater. I’m aware of the girl coming closer, in my peripheral vision, but there’s nothing threatening about her. Even so, I take a step away from her and press my back against the door of the truck. I don’t like strange people in my space. And despite my new propensity to turn into a wolf and hunt small game, I really really don’t like hurting people.

So when she dashes forward and throws her arms around me, hiding her face against my chest my inclination isn’t to fight her off, it’s to escape.

Being grabbed suddenly is scary.

Despite the person grabbing being a small slender girl, my first inclination is still to get as as far away from her as possible. But I’ve been working hard on thinking and not acting so much on wolf instinct. And then I get a mouthful of her scent.

She smells like fear. Fear and some nasty chemical flower perfume, but it’s the fear that holds my attention.

“Help me out and I’ll owe you big time, okay?” she says, her face still hidden under a cascade of black hair.

The voice is enough to recognize her. Since we’ve lived on the same street for half my life. Hannah Lee. Awesome.

She and I were sort of friendly once, more from proximity than anything else, back when we were in elementary school and she always got a ride to school with us. But I’ve never really liked her much. She’s always had that underlying sharpness and commitment to social status that makes you suspect that she’ll turn on you if it’s in her own best interest. Back in elementary she usually pretended she didn’t know me once we got past the school gates. We haven’t really spoken since 6th grade.

And now she’s asking for my help.

I still want to shove her away from me, but that smell of real fear gives me pause. Although knowing her it could be because she’s gone too far with petty sniping and is getting what’s coming to her.

But then Steven Flores rounds the corner of the truck, and my nebulous sense of danger isn’t quite so nebulous. His eyes land on Hannah with a sharpness I know well. The kind of look that means he’s found his latest prey.

I might not like Hannah much, but I loathe Steven. I wouldn’t even leave a cockroach at his mercy.

Which is why I let Hannah slide herself under my arm and lean into me. She flips her hair around almost taking out my eye, and straightens her back. “Just leave me alone Steven,” she says. “Can’t you see I’ve already moved on?”

She leans her head into my shoulder for emphasis.

I do my best not to cringe away from her. What is she doing? I am not okay with this! Especially not the horrible implication that I’m dating her!

“Really? This loser? How pathetic. You’ll be running back to me soon enough.” I’m not particularly insulted. Even ignoring the camping trip incident, Steven has said and done a lot nasty things to me in the last couple of years. And despite my lycan tendency to run away from large threats the pit of burning anger I have overrules it. Besides, I’ve got a skill now, where I can stare at a person in a predator assessing prey sort of way and make them deeply uneasy. I use it now. Steven takes a step back immediately.

“Just get lost,” I say.

He seems confused by the sudden feeling of being prey rather than predator, but he manages to cut us both nasty glare before he turns away. I’m quite certain he’s only momentarily intimidated. And making him momentarily afraid of me will come back to bite me in the ass. Just what I needed to add to my already full schedule of things to worry about. I’ve now antagonized a bully who already had it in for me.

“Okay what are you doing?” Slater calls out, finally showing up.

I yank myself away from Hannah as I turn to confront my brother’s incredulous glare. “It’s not what you think—”

“Wait—” Hannah is looking between us in horror. “What are you doing here? You were supposed to be Slater!”

What am I doing?

But it’s quite obvious what’s going on. Hannah didn’t flee to me for help. She’d been after my brother. My cooler, more popular older brother. Once again Slater and I have been confused for each other. And this might be even worse than the time it was people who probably would’ve killed me.

#my writing #the elusive path #chapter one

[wickedpact]

Idea for a JoexNicky fic!! (anon here)- piggybacking off the other anon's nicky's mom idea, what if for an anniversary present, Joe sketches a portrait of Nicky's mother? (obviously she'd look like a beautiful warm goddess of kindness) Like maybe he has a dream of one of Nicky's most vivid memories ;-; I would literally die

so uh. this bloomed wildly out of my control

this ficlet is 5k words long so dont open that read more unless youre willing to commit to it

warnings: brief discussions of violence, extremely brief mention of sex, me not knowing how the FUCK one becomes a priest in Ye Olde 1000′s, and probably a criminal lack of historical accuracy as well as a criminal lack of the accented o in ‘nicolo’

yeehaw.

  It starts with one of Andromache’s sparring sessions, and of course by ‘sparring’ session Nicolo means a session in which Andromache was in a piss poor mood for no obvious reason, and decided to take it out on the rest of them.

 These sessions tend to start with Andromache coming hurtling into their camp with a dark expression on her face, and end with Yusuf and Nicolo sprawled on the ground, bruised and exhausted, while Andromache and Quynh beat the ever-loving hell out of each other nearby. (Yusuf has been convinced for a long time that it's some sort of mating ritual; Nicolo... doubts it.)

This time around, they are at some point after Nicolo has given up, and some point before Yusuf has joined him; Nicolo lies on the sand, starfished, while Quynh and Yusuf attempt to tag team Andromache with an abundance of vigor and middling results. Nicolo cranes his neck to watch the spectacle, catching a glimpse of Andromache flipping Quynh straight over her shoulder before twisting around and kicking Yusuf dangerously close to the groin. Yusuf stumbles, and Andromache grabs him by the shoulder, shoving his considerable weight off of his feet and towards Nicolo’s resting spot.

Yusuf, stumbling, manages to not trip over Nicolo by inches, and falls face-first onto the ground beside him with a groan. Meanwhile, Quynh has recovered and charges at Andy again, beginning their age-old dance yet again.

Yusuf grumbles at Nicolo’s side and peels himself off the ground, leveraging onto a knee. Nicolo drops his head back down to look at him, smiling when he swipes a hand across his beard to dislodge the sand accumulating there. Having been roasting under the midday sun and the excursion of the fight for hours now, Yusuf is layered in sweat and breathing heavily but evenly, chest and shoulders heaving slowly with each breath. Nicolo’s mouth goes crooked watching him.

“She doesn’t attack still targets,” he advises, amused, lying still atop the sand.

“Like a lioness!” Yusuf agrees with a zest Nicolo lost about thirteen minutes ago. He pulls himself onto both knees and balances on them, wavering in a way that makes Nicolo want to give him a steadying hand. “Hm.” Yusuf braces a hand on his thigh, face scrunching up in consideration. “No. I don’t think so.”

And then he plops, face first, back to the sand. Nicolo gives him an encouraging pat on the back with his knuckles.

“Are you two giving up?” Andromache calls over. Nicolo cranes his head up again to see that Quynh is on the ground yet again, slowly stumbling to her feet, and Andromache stands with her back to her, facing them. Her hands are on her hips.

“Yes. Thank you for checking in!” Nicolo confirms, lifting a hand to give her a thumbs up. Andromache responds to the sass with a raised eyebrow before whirling around and punching Quynh in the stomach before the younger immortal could sneak up on her.

Quynh goes down for the-- who knows how many times now, and Nicolo drops his head. He squints up at the wavering blue lines of the sky until Andromache’s white robes cross his vision, casting a shadow over his and Yusuf’s resting forms.

“Get up,” Andromache insists, nudging Nicolo with her boot. “I’m not done with you two yet.”

“You can’t make us,” Yusuf grumbles into the sand.

“You bet I can’t?” Andromache threatens, more a tease than a promise. When neither of them reply, she rolls her eyes and says, with a less than gentle kick to Yusuf’s side, “You babies are so soft.”

Yusuf hisses, rolling away from Andromache’s boot, into Nicolo’s side. “Son of a whore, Andromache, knock it off,” he grouches, dropping his shoulder atop Nicolo’s. Nicolo grunts with the weight of it. “Or daughter of a whore, that is,” he corrects himself, then adds thoughtfully, “No offense to your mother, if she were a woman of the night. What did your mother do, Andromache?”

Andromache laughs at Yusuf’s meandering insult-- a posturing bluster of a laugh that makes Nicolo blink, wondering if Yusuf’s actually offended her somehow. If so this would be the first time; Nicolo has always known Andromache to be thicker skinned than a mule.

But then she says, “I don’t remember my mother. Who knows,” and turns and heads back over to Quynh, who’s only just recovered from before. They resume sparring, Nicolo watching them with mild confusion.

Nicolo turns to look at Yusuf, wondering if he’d caught onto Andromache’s discomfort, but when Nicolo catches his eye, he just shrugs his shoulder against the sand and says, “Well, that’s a line that’ll end an argument every time, eh?”

~

Later on, Nicolo is still considering it, sprawled in front of the fire --that Quynh had constructed a couple hours prior-- with Yusuf, Nicolo slouched against his chest and bracketed by his bent knees. Andromache and Quynh are arguing over the linen tent a little ways off, and Nicolo watches Andromache carefully, the lines on her face and the muscles in her arms, the working parts of her that have existed on this earth for thousands of years. The things her hands have done; the things her eyes have seen.

The things her heart has forgotten.

“You are thinking very loudly over there,” Yusuf says from somewhere over Nicolo’s head. Nicolo shifts his eyes from Andromache and Qyunh, to the fire, to his and Yusuf’s legs stretched out before it. He tilts his head back, the top of his head against Yusuf’s sternum, but all he can see from that angle is Yusuf’s beard, so he drops his head back down with a little amused huff.

“Andromache is very old,” Nicolo says slowly.

“Ah, yes,” Yusuf agrees, amiable. “Also: water is very wet, and the desert is very hot.”

“S’cold at night,” Nicolo grumbles, just to be contrary, and is rewarded by Yusuf slipping his arms under Nicolo’s, bundling him closer to his chest and notching his chin over his head.

“What’s wrong, Nico?”

Nicolo requires no further prompting, not from Yusuf at least. The words come tumbling out of his mouth, one at a time. “She doesn’t remember her mother.”

There’s little more that needs to be said there. The immortal life is one that comes with many downsides, and the nature of it is that sometimes one discovers these downsides centuries later than expected. This isn’t the first time an unexpected side-effect of their unending lives has been thrust upon him and Yusuf, and likely won’t be the last.

Nicolo had never really thought he might one day forget his mother.

 Yusuf hums thoughtfully in response, a non-answer that does little to soothe Nicolo. “That she doesn’t,” he adds after a moment. “What was your mother like?”

“I don’t--” Nicolo starts, and then, with an odd curiosity, realizes he’s having difficulty continuing. “I... didn’t know her very long. I was given to the church… very young. I don’t remember much of what she was like, other than that she was my mother.”

“Do you remember what she looked like?”

“Well…” 

Nicolo remembers little of his life before the clergy. Two brothers. A sister. His father’s stern brow, and the calluses on his mother’s hand as she took his little fingers in hers, leading him down the dirt paths back in Genova. Her smile, silhouetted by the heady red glow of the afternoon sun. 

“Brown hair,” Nicolo eventually answers. “Dark eyebrows. High cheekbones, too, and… and kind eyes.”

“What I’m hearing is you took after her very strongly.”

Nicolo smiles. “I do remember being told something of the sort before.”

“Her eyes?” Joe rests one of his palms flat against Nicolo’s stomach.

“Green, I’m pretty sure.”

“So you took after her very strongly, then,” Joe concludes.

Nicolo looks down, fiddling with the fingers of Joe’s free hand. “She used to take me to the shore. We’d gather seashells together.”

That he remembers well, plucking seashells and bits of coral out from dried seafoam after the tide had gone out near the end of the day, one arm bundling conch and clam shells against his chest, the other prying washed-up shells from the still wet sand. The sun would be low, but not low enough that they would feel the need to rush, and it would cast their shadows in long, blue lines across the beach. Time was an endless thing there, where the sun glowed red and bright, and there was always another conch shell wedged in the damp earth to dig up.

“She sounds lovely,” Yusuf hums. Nicolo pauses, tracing Yusuf’s index finger with his own. Yusuf almost never talks about his family. They have known each other for nearly three hundred years now, and yet Nicolo could store all the things he knows of Yusuf's family in a basket. Over the years he’s been able to piece together that both of Yusuf’s parents were dead before the Crusades began. And that they both died when Yusuf was fairly young. Beyond that… he knows little.

“Yusuf…” Nicolo starts, uncertain and fidgeting. “What about your mother?”

“My mother?” Yusuf repeats, as if Nicolo has somehow strung together two incomprehensible words. 

“Yes.” When a pause stretches between them, Nicolo sighs and laces his fingers between Yusuf’s. “You don’t need to tell me.”

“No, no,” Yusuf insists before Nicolo can change the topic. He returns Nicolo’s grip on his hands, smoothing his thumb over the knuckle of Nicolo’s pointer finger. “I want to. My mother…” He sighs. “She was very anxious. Always fretting. She was a weaver; she liked making rugs.”

Yusuf’s thumb stills over Nicolo’s knuckle. Nicolo tilts his head. “Your prayer mat. Did she--?

“Yeah, she made it.” Yusuf pauses again. “Weaving calmed her down when she was nervous. My father and I, we would travel often-- business, you know. Trade deals and things. Mother always worried when we were gone.”

They both pause when Quynh yells something particularly loud at Andromache, breaking the moment for a split second. Andromache hollers something back, and the two women break out into abrupt laughter.

“Are you worried you’ll forget her?” Nicolo asks when they've settled again. “Your mother?”

“No,” Yusuf replies, though he trails off halfway through the word. “In part, I suppose… but there are many things I’d like to forget, I think.”

Nicolo peels himself out of Yusuf’s arms in response to that, twisting around to look at his companion. Yusuf’s brows are pressed together, the tilt of his mouth sad. Nicolo places a hand to his chest, fingers against Yusuf’s collar. “Yusuf?”

Yusuf sucks the inside of his cheek, looking far away before directing a sad smile at Nicolo. “She came with us, once. On a trip. Of course the one time Father allowed her to come was the time that it went wrong.” At Nicolo’s questioning look, Yusuf elaborates, “Bandits.”

“Yusuf...”

“I hadn’t really known how to fight, then, so it didn’t… really matter, either way-- but I got knocked out in the fight, and by the time I woke up again, it was all over.” With a slow breath, Yusuf looks down at their interwoven fingers. “I would like to forget some things. Not her, but…” 

It takes Yusuf a long moment to continue. He looks up, towards the stars, lips pursed with thought, before eventually ducking his head again. Nicolo waits quietly.

“It is hard to remember them,” Yusuf says eventually, to their hands, “without remembering them in death. I had to bury them both.”

With a soft noise, Nicolo reaches forward and pulls Yusuf into a hug, arms wrapping about his shoulders; Yusuf responds in chorus and reaches for Nicolo back, his embrace tight enough to grind bone.

Nicolo rubs a hand up and down Yusuf’s back, his face tucked into Nicolo’s shoulder. Perturbed, Nicolo can’t imagine it- the comforting memory of his own mother, crossed and tainted by violence so cruelly. To lose her was enough. To lose the comfort of remembering her as well would be harrowing.

Yusuf pulls away first after some time, eyes red but dry, mouth turned down. Nicolo reaches up and thumbs at the crease between his brows, which quirks Yusuf’s lips ever so slightly.

“How old were you?” Nicolo asks.

Yusuf reaches up and takes Nicolo’s hand from his face, wrapping his fingers around his. “Twenty one.”

“A child.”

“Hardly, Nico,” Yusuf snorts softly. Nicolo disagrees, but he’s not going to start an argument over it. Not now.

With a sigh, Yusuf leans back against the rock formation behind them, wrapping an arm around Nicolo and tugging him sideways against his chest. Nicolo rests his head against Yusuf's shoulder.

“It’s not that I wish to forget her. Or my father. But I… would rather fondly remember the idea of them, the fragments, then remember them perfectly in death. That might make me selfish.”

“It does not,” Nicolo replies sternly. “It makes perfect sense to feel that way, Yusuf.” And then, “I’m sorry.” Yusuf only hums in response. It is, admittedly, a frail sentiment, so Nicolo adds, “I love you. In case you’ve forgotten.”

This earns him a huff against the top of his head. “I love you too,” Yusuf responds, and they fall into an easy silence.

After a few minutes, and with a great sigh, Yusuf tilts his head so that his cheek presses against Nicolo’s hair. “Nicolo…” he mumbles, hesitant, “I don’t mean to ruin the moment, but... I think we’re sleeping under the stars tonight.”

Nicolo lifts his head and twists around to find the half-assembled and frankly pathetic looking tent swaying off in the distance alone, with both Andromache and Quynh nowhere in sight.

“The consolidated wisdom of millenia,” Nicolo grumbles, dropping his head back against Yusuf. “And they still can’t assemble a tent.”

Yusuf laughs; Nicolo is by far more warmed by that than any comfort the damned tent could have offered.

~

Quynh has the little joke of hers whenever they go drinking. She’ll tell Yusuf, giggling into her tankard, “I miss when you didn’t drink!”

This is a joke because Yusuf gave up his abstinence of alcohol only a few months after he and Nicolo had met Quynh and Andromache, nearly two hundred years ago now, and when he’d announced his decision to do so to the two warrior women, they’d both admitted they didn’t even realize that he didn’t drink in the first place. 

Nearly two hundred years later, Quynh continues to make this joke. Nicolo has yet to find it funny, but Yusuf laughs every time.

“It’s our anniversary, Quynh, you must be nice to us!” Yusuf insists in response to said joke. He is, as Andromache might say, drunk off his ass, swaying happily in his seat at the musty bar they’ve settled in for the night to celebrate. Despite how loudly he’s speaking, Nicolo can barely hear him over the clatter and bustle and chatter of the other, varyingly drunk, patrons at the bar.

“Three hundred years is nothing, Yusuf. You’re still babies,” Andromache replies, equally smashed yet bearing it more stoically, pitched against Quynh’s shoulder. One of her hands is still curled loosely around her tankard, unwilling to give it up just yet, probably.

Nicolo leans back against his rickety chair. “Do you two remember when you only knew each other for three hundred years?”

In response to this, Andromache pulls back from Quynh’s shoulder, propping herself up on the edge of a table with her free hand. She tilts her head, staring silently at Quynh with a quirked mouth, and Quynh stares back, eyebrows raised high. Nicolo’s gaze flicks between the two warrior women, eyeing them both, studying the emotion in their eyes and their mouths and their brows. 

For nearly an entire minute they say nothing. They have no need to. The charged gaze between them could write entire epics; legions of words pass between them and neither woman even opens her mouth.

Nicolo finds himself slightly jealous. He wonders if he and Yusuf will ever hit a point such as this, where they could communicate without words, know each other so well that even a twitch of the brow or a press of lips could mean so much-- that words become irrelevant. Become small and useless compared to the years of their bond.

“It was a time,” Quynh answers at last, smiling a far away smile.

“That’s different,” Yusuf interrupts, slurring slightly and grinning widely. “because, this isn’t about how long you two have known each other, but how long I’ve known Nicolo,” here, he gestures broadly at Nicolo, sitting at his side, “and when you two will have known Nicolo for three hundred years, and-- and want to celebrate, I will not laugh at your paltry few years spent with him, in comparison to my many centuries! And you may-- may thank me for my generosity and kindness-- then.”

Quynh snorts. “That was very poetic of you, Yusuf.”

“Thank you.” Yusuf places a calloused hand atop Nicolo’s head. “I love him very much,” he states, very sincerely, if a little slurred.

Andromache, as always, seems to feel a compulsion to try and ruin the moment. Their Andromache, old and wise as she is, is a great many things: an elegant warrior, a stern protector, and a graceful leader-- however, a kind drunk she is not.  “You know, you’ll get tired of each other eventually,” she points out, gesturing between the two of them. Yusuf rolls his eyes, his hand slipping from Nicolo’s head. “Quynh and I usually separate every couple hundred years for a time. It’s normal.”

“Bah,” Yusuf grumbles. “Andromache, you do not have a romantic bone in your body.”

“I do!” Andromache insists. Quynh sends her a sharp look that she doesn’t see because she’s too busy waving her hand widely. “I have been with, and wooed, and have been wooed by-- by more men and women than you’ve ever even set eyes on.”

Yusuf copies Andromache’s grand gesture, cheery and mocking. “That, what you’ve just described, is the opposite of romance, boss.”

“Whatever,” Andromache concedes with middling grace. “I’m happy for you two, either way.”

“Thank you,” Nicolo says, so that Yusuf won't say anything else. “Another round?”

~

“She doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” Yusuf says to Nicolo an hour or so later, as Nicolo is trying to haul the damned drunk up the stairs without sending them both sprawling down to their temporary deaths.

Funnily enough, around the time Yusuf began drinking, Nicolo stopped-- not out of any particular thoughts on alcohol itself, but because someone had to remain sober in order to drag Yusuf’s drunken ass back to their room at the end of the night, and the responsibility fell to Nicolo for all of the obvious reasons, and also because he was happy to do it.

“Who?” Nicolo asks, steadying a hand on Yusuf’s shoulder when he sways at the top dangerously.

“Andromache,” Yusuf replies. Nicolo’s not sure what exactly Yusuf thinks she was wrong about-- they’d discussed many topics at the bar downstairs-- but he might succeed in having this conversation more so if Andromache and Quynh weren’t standing no less than five feet away, hovering just inside their room’s open door down the hall, stripping down to their tunics and trousers.

Probably standing by in case Nicolo and Yusuf took an unfortunate tumble down the stairs. Nicolo is warmed by their concern, but Yusuf is too busy being drunkenly confused by Andromache’s presence after she calls over an “about what?” to think of such things.

“Where did you come from?” Yusuf asks Andromache, only going half willingly when Nicolo rolls his eyes and drags him down the hall.

“Thank you, good night,” Nicolo tells the two women as they pass their door and head down the hall to theirs, floorboards creaking under their boots.

“Have a nice anniversary, infants!” Andromach calls after they manage to stumble to their door, sticking her head out of theirs.

Nicolo fiddles with the key the barkeep gave him, trying desperately to ignore Yusuf when he yells back, “Us infants will try not to fuck so loud you can hear it all the way down there!” probably scarring some of the tenants.

“I bet you can’t!” Andromache responds, gleeful, and ducks back inside to slam the door shut.

“Is that a fucking challenge?” Yusuf asks the empty hallway, going easily when Nicolo drags him inside.

It’s a humble room, but the presence of four walls and a floor makes it good enough for Nicolo, and the bed is only an added bonus. He leaves Yusuf to his own devices as he lights the lantern set in the corner, double checking that their bags --that they’d tossed in the room earlier-- haven’t been stolen. He nudges the bags with a toe as he unlatches his longsword from his belt, propping the sheath up carefully by the little table with the lantern.

Yusuf is being oddly quiet; Nicolo turns to find the love of his life lying starfished on the little bed, peering up at the wood ceiling as if the secrets of the universe are engraved on it.

“I am so tired, Nicolo,” Yusuf mumbles, mournful. “Why did you make me go up all those stairs?”

“I am infamously known to be cruel and unfair,” Nicolo replies dryly, crossing over and sitting next to Yusuf. He unbuckles the straps around Yusuf’s shoulders that keep his scimitar attached to his back while Yusuf lies still. When the task is done, he looks up to find Yusuf staring at him, brows drawn together. “Lean up,” Nicolo orders softly, and Yusuf complies without complaint, shifting his shoulders off the bed just enough that Nicolo can pull his sheath off.

He stands to go retrieve his own sword, so that both can be placed at their bedside, within reach, shucking off his boots as he goes.

“Can you grab my bag for me?” Yusuf asks from the bed while Nicolo is doing so, so Nicolo does, balancing the two sheathed swords under one arm and holding Yusuf’s rucksack in the other.

He drops the bag at Yusuf's side and sits beside it, setting both swords at his feet, on the left side of the bed. Usually Yusuf’s scimitar goes on the other side, but Nicolo does not trust him with access to a sharp object in this state.

Yusuf sits up to shuffle through his bag. “I got you something,” he tells Nicolo when he straightens. Nicolo frowns at him.

“You got me something?” he repeats. 

“Yeah.” Yusuf pulls out his sketchbook, though he doesn't grab his bag of charcoals.

But I didn’t get you anything, is something Nicolo almost wants to say, but honestly, three hundred years into a relationship, you stop keeping track of how many gifts have been exchanged and when. Especially when their finances are so intertwined. Nicolo and Yusuf simply buy each other things whenever the urge arises, and they’re both such men that these gifts are usually just practical items: new boots, a thicker cloak, and so on.

But now Yusuf passes Nicolo his sketchbook, turning back to the bag to buckle it closed again.

“A sketchbook,” Nicolo muses with a smile, rubbing a thumb over the bound leather cover. “You shouldn't have.”

“Oh, stop,” Yusuf grumbles, snatching the book back once his bag is closed. He shoves it off the bed with a mildly worrying clank and sits in its vacated spot, next to Nicolo. “Your jokes will make you look a fool when you are crying tears of gratitude on me.” 

Nicolo smiles. Yusuf’s thigh, pressed against Nicolo’s, is warm, and his shoulder knocks against Nicolo’s with such familiarity Nicolo wonders if he could identify Yusuf from that alone; without sight, without hearing. He thinks he could, given the opportunity.

Yusuf flips through his sketchbook quickly, scanning past images of landscapes and crowded marketplaces and Nicolo’s own smiling face until he stops at a certain page, angling the book away so that Nicolo cannot see. He peers sideways at him, suspicious or maybe anticipatory.

“Do you expect me to start the tears of gratitude now, or…?” Nicolo asks, grinning at Yusuf’s unamused stare before Yusuf shoves the book into Nicolo’s open hands.

Nicolo doesn’t understand what he’s looking at, at first. Not that he doesn’t recognize the image; he does, he just doesn’t... understand.

“How…?” Nicolo asks, trailing off in wonder. He lifts a hand to touch the image, then snatches his hand away, afraid he’ll smear it.

It’s his mother.

He doesn’t understand how Yusuf could do this; drawing his mother is one thing, but the accuracy of the drawing to Nicolo’s memory is astounding. The line of her cheekbones and the crinkles of her crows feet, the shape of her eyes set by happiness. The drift of hair over her shoulder is a little longer than his mother had it, and a little straighter, but other than that it is an almost perfect recreation. Down to the curl of her mouth, the small flash of teeth. Nicolo can practically hear her in the image, her eyebrows raised and surprised joy flashing in her eyes, as she says, “That’s a big one, Nicolo, good job!”

“How did you do this?” Nicolo asks, voice small.

“Do you remember when you told me what she looked like?” Yusuf asks. “When we were talking about Andromache’s mother?”

“Yes, I remember,” Nicolo replies, frustrated. “I told you she had brown hair and green eyes. Yusuf, how did you--” He peels his eyes off of the drawing that sends him straight to his childhood. “You even got her smile right.”

Yusuf presses his lips together in a fond little smirk. “I will tell you, but you must agree not to share my secret.”

“Yusuf.”

Yusuf scoots that much closer, tucking a hand under Nicolo’s jaw, thumb smoothing over his cheek. “I know how she smiles because I know how you smile. Because she’s your mother. And she lives in you, even if she’s been dead three hundred years. Even if you forget her to some small degree, she will stay with you. Here--” Yusuf touches the corner of Nicolo’s mouth. “And here--” His pointer swipes over Nicolo’s cheekbone. “And here.” He presses a thumb under Nicolo’s eye, and it comes away wet. He makes a small noise. “I was kidding about the tears of gratitude, Nico.”

The sketchbook almost falls off of Nicolo’s thighs in his urgency to pull Yusuf into a hug.

Yusuf returns the embrace with a huffing little laugh, arms wrapping around Nicolo’s waist and hauling him in close, the sketchbook folding closed between the press of their bodies, the beat of their hearts against each other.

“Thank you, Yusuf,” Nicolo murmurs into the crook of Yusuf’s neck, endlessly sincere. His fingers hook into Yusuf’s tunic, over his back, already pulled tight by the muscles there.

“Happy anniversary,” Yusuf responds cheerily. “To three hundred years, eh?”

“And three hundred more,” Nicolo reminds him.

“Fuck, Nicolo.” Yusuf leans back, hands lingering at his waist. He catches Nicolo’s eyes, his brows pulled together. “To three thousand more; Andromache doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

Nicolo frowns, recalling Yusuf saying something of the sort in the hall. “What did she say?”

“What did she say?” Yusuf repeats thoughtfully. “I don’t remember-- some nonsense about us getting tired of each other.”

“Oh.” Nicolo does remember that. “I don’t think she meant it like that, Yusuf. And after all, she is rather the authority on how the relationships of immortals work.”

“The authority!” Yusuf repeats, mocking. “When Andromache kills a man with her bare hands and comes out the other side of the experience loving him, I will give her credence to the idea that she’s an authority over our relationship.”

“I didn’t say she was an authority over us. Just that she may understand better.”

“What, do you think she’s right?” Yusuf’s brow furrows, voice lowering. “That we shall grow tired of each other?”

“No,” Nicolo immediately insists, his desire to assure Yusuf strong and instinctual. He lets his hand slide to his shoulder, gripping there. “At least,” he admits on second thought, “I’ve never once felt anything to give me the impression that I will. But it may happen, Yusuf.”

To be completely honest, Nicolo can’t imagine such a thing. He’s woken up every morning for the past three hundred years of his life at Yusuf’s side, and he can’t even begin to understand what kind of drastic shift in his heart would inspire him to grow tired or restless of doing so. Of Yusuf’s hands, of his voice, of his glittering eyes and his loud, joyful laugh-- and the way he furrows his brow when he’s thoughtful, like he’s doing at Nicolo right now.

“Because Andromache says so? I think not,” Yusuf argues. “Andromache is wise, but she’s known us barely more than a hundred years. Her experience does not allow her to see to your heart, or to mine. I will love you forever, Nicolo.”

“Forever is a long time, Yusuf,” Nicolo responds, smiling.

“Well, I will,” Yusuf insists. “When we are twice as old as Andromache is today, and the memories of our childhoods, and our warring, and even our three hundred year anniversary will be nothing but dust, I will remember loving you with certainty-- and that will be because I’ll have done it every day of my life.”

Yusuf shrugs and presses closer, bowing his forehead to Nicolo’s. “And if we forget every bad time and every good time with it,” he murmurs, looking down, “I will not care; it will all wash away in the sands of time eventually, but I have no intent to be separated from you. I won't let memory or time or violence take you from me. I don’t care what Andromache says. The only thing that will end us is your word, Nicolo.”

Amused, Nicolo lets out a throaty little huh. “You will be waiting a long time for that, Yusuf. Maybe even forever.”

Yusuf grins at that, eyes flicking up, and Nicolo has that split second thought he always has --you’re hiding dimples under all that beard-- before Yusuf tilts his head up and kisses him, leaning forward with all the drunken weight of his body.

Nicolo catches Yusuf’s jaw in his hand, shoulders bunching up as he shifts so that Yusuf doesn't topple them both; tilts his head and grips Yusuf’s shoulder and kisses him back.

It is not, admittedly, their best kiss. But Nicolo’s found over the years that a kiss with Yusuf is a kiss with Yusuf, which is to say no matter how much their teeth clack or their mouths miss their mark, it is still Yusuf, so none of them are actually bad.

And Nicolo is distracted. Yusuf is one to spew pretty words whenever the mood takes him, but his aptitude for the spoken word even in the worst --or most drunken-- of times always catches Nicolo off guard; even three hundred years into their relationship.

Every day of my life, Yusuf had said, and Nicolo finds himself giddy and weightless at the idea. Every day of our lives, Nicolo thinks to himself, unable to fight off a smile as Yusuf pulls him in closer, a hand at his neck. Every day.

~

It is a fair while later --after Nicolo has pried Yusuf’s boots off, after the lantern light was blown out, and after they are both under the admittedly threadbare blanket-- that Nicolo lies propped up on his elbows on his side of the bed, admiring the drawing of his mother by moonlight. Yusuf lies on his back beside Nicolo, either asleep or drifting, arm thrown over his eyes and mouth pulled into a frown.

“Are you going to sleep tonight?” Yusuf asks groggily after some time, revealing himself to be awake. “Or must I compete with my own drawing for your attention?”

“You made a mistake giving me this,” Nicolo replies, closing the sketchbook and leaning over to set it carefully on the floor. “I will do nothing but admire it for eternity.”

With a huff, he settles under the blanket, facing Yusuf, crossing his arms to his chest. Yusuf responds with only a smile, and after the silence stretches for a moment, Nicolo adds, “I wish I could give you such peace in regards to your own mother.”

Yusuf drops the arm from his face, squinting sideways at Nicolo. “Pfft. You have already brought me more peace than any other living being on this earth. Give making me the happiest man alive a rest for a few minutes, Nicolo; you’ll give yourself a complex.” He rolls onto his side. “But also roll over. What are you doing lying all the way over there, anyways?”

“Giving myself a complex, apparently,” Nicolo grumbles, doing as he’s told and shuffling onto his side. Yusuf throws an arm over him from behind, snuggling forward and pulling Nicolo back in unison until they are pressed against each other, shoulders to thighs. 

“I am being truthful,” Yusuf murmurs after a moment, low and intimate and close, tired words slurring into each other. He yawns before butting his forehead gently against the back of Nicolo’s neck. “My mother-- I have many good memories of her, and some bad. I would like to forget some and cherish others, but in the end I will likely lose all or most of ‘em, as Andromache has. That’s just the truth of it all.” He yawns again, shifting his grip on Nicolo. “I could draw her if I wish, but I don’t know if even a thousand drawings will ease her memory. And losing memories is a simple trade-off of the life we live, even if we didn’t choose it. I may not keep my memories, but as long as I can keep you, I am at peace with it all.”

Nicolo considers that, tucking his own hands into his sides. As much as their immortality was not a choice-- it was nothing either Nicolo or Yusuf asked for or even really wanted, three hundred years ago, but it was gifted to them anyway. They didn’t ask for each other either, and yet Yusuf was given to Nicolo and vice versa in the same breath that their immortality was thrust upon them.

But of course, unlike the immortality, and unlike all the other positives and negative consequences that came with it, they did choose each other. They chose to put down their weapons. They chose to stay at each other’s side. They’ve chosen that every single day of the last three hundred years. Hopefully they will do so for the next three hundred -- thousand-- years.

He will lose his memories eventually, one day, one way or another. It is like Yusuf said: it is a simple trade-off of the life they live. 

But if it had been a choice-- well. Even the innocent comfort of his mother’s memory, of those late afternoons picking seashells-- those memories are not nothing to him, but if it ever came between keeping them and keeping Yusuf… the choice is obvious.

But there is no choice. The memories will fade one day whether he wants them to or not, whether Yusuf draws a thousand portraits of his mother or not.

Yusuf will not fade. Yusuf will be here. Yusuf has been here, for three hundred years.

Every day of our lives, Nicolo thinks, and smiles.

“You know,” he says quietly into the dark room. “You are a very wise man, Yusuf.”

“Don’t tell Quynh and Andromache,” Yusuf mumbles into Nicolo’s nape. “It will ruin my image.”

Nicolo snorts, smiles, and, eventually, falls asleep in Yusuf’s arms.

#Anonymous #joe x nicky

[valiantly-onward]

The Serpentine War Ch. 13

I’m not sure why this chapter took me so long, but enjoy.

Chapter 13: The Breaking of the Truce

Two days after Garmadon’s spy mission, Ray yelled at the Master of Ice.

The guy was so infuriatingly calm all the time. Ray said I don’t like this. Haru said Circumspection in the face of peril, young Ray. Ray said I don’t know what that means. Haru said Vigilance amongst conciliatory adversaries. Then Ray lost it.

It was Master Wu who calmed him down. Hands raised, wisely addressing the Maya who nearly always stood nearby, Wu suggested, “Maya, why don’t you go fill our water reserves?”

This was unfair, because if Maya went, Ray would mostly likely go too. And usually, the tactic worked. Today, though, Ray was stubborn. Even after Maya stepped out from the tent, Ray stayed put.

Wu frowned. “Ray -”

“I have sentry duty,” Ray said, before Wu could assign him anything distasteful. He wasn’t actually sure if he had sentry duty. Probably. It had been several hours already.

Wu nodded, and gestured to the tent door.

Maya was waiting for him outside. Now in the sunlight, her frustration was apparent in all its glory. The two of them thought about a lot of things in the same way, but where Ray was loud - the yelling kind - Maya was quiet.

“That went well.” Sarcasm was a crisp, cool thing coming from Maya.

“Garmadon said there are Serpentine in the hills, but we don’t know where. It’s floating around that the treaty’s close to breaking, but we don’t know when. And Haru -” Ray snorted out his frustration with the Master of Ice. “You all right?”

She didn’t reply. Ah. So she was in one of her really black moods. Usually he could get at least a “Fine” out of her.

The tent door rustled behind Ray, and he turned to find Garmadon stepping into the sunlight. Oh, Spinjitzu Master. Wu - yes, Master Wu - was steadily growing on Ray. But this guy popped up out of nowhere and just expected them to trust him? No way.

Maya wrinkled her nose at the sight of Garmadon, if for nothing than to make Ray smirk. Then she bowed respectfully. “Master Garmadon.”

Garmadon’s gaze fell over them - fell, because he always seemed so very high up. Wu’s distance was at least horizontal, and strangely encompassing. Garmadon was linear and mountainous.

“You speak very little,” Garmadon told Maya. “But you seem to understand what many here cannot.”

Many sounded like it meant Ray. He bristled, and felt Maya do the same - she always bristled a little under compliments, as if she’d had too many and was tired of it.

“You all take too long to make decisions,” Maya replied.

“Then step in and make them yourself.”

Maya’s eyebrows shot up. After a long staring contest without a winner, she turned and started the trek down to the stream.

“You know,” Ray began slowly. “Wu taught us to work as a team and not make decisions alone.”

Garmadon looked at Ray straight-on for the first time. The man’s dark eyes scanned him up and down. Something in Ray’s chest went cold as a dead forge.

“Master Wu,” Garmadon said finally.

Coming from anyone else, this correction no longer bothered Ray. But what had Garmadon done to earn Ray’s respect? “Whatever.”

The man watched him for a long moment. Ray glared back.

At last, Garmadon decided, “I don’t like you.”

He strode off.

“A prick, that one,” Ray muttered, as soon as the guy was out of earshot. He glanced over his shoulder at Maya, who was coming back up the hill - she’d forgotten her buckets. “Hey, where’s Dojin?”

“Why don’t you go find him?” Maya loaded the buckets over her shoulder and turned back the way she’d come.

Ray gave such a good sigh, he was disappointed only the trees were there to hear it. With nothing better to do, he went to find Dojin.

The old Master of Gravity was difficult to locate. Ray walked up to the hill post overlooking the village and found no one there. He did a full circle, surveying the brown landscape. Where had the old man gone?

There were so many old men in this Alliance. Krux and Acronix were closer to Ray’s age, but as outlandish as they were with each other, they liked to keep to themselves. This annoyed Ray, because it left him with old men and middle-aged parents or almost-parents who all seemed to have collectively decided Ray needed a better father figure.

Ray spent most of his time with Maya.

“Fire, is that you?”

It took Ray a moment to locate the speaker, not charging up the hill but floating in the air above him. Dojin’s golden helmet was pulled low over worried eyebrows.

“Me,” Ray replied. “It’s my shift.”

Dojin shook his head. “I’m afraid we’re past that, Master of Fire. Come with me, now.”

Dojin flew down toward camp. Unnerved, Ray followed. They came back to the command tent, which Wu and Garmadon were standing beside, talking. Wu saw them first and apprehension immediately glazed his expression.

“Dojin?” Wu asked.

Dojin touched down, hard; the ground yanked him back like a magnet. “Master Wu, it’s General Kandoras. He’s dead.”

“What?”

“Lei was on duty. She found his body at the base of the hill, stabbed with a human katana. He’s dead.”

Ray’s brain needed a moment to figure out what this meant, but he knew it was bad. “Did she get out of there?”

“Yes. She’s patrolling the hills closer to camp now - she didn’t want to leave. But Master Wu, when the Serpentine find him -”

Wu and Garmadon shared a look of alarm. Now, Ray knew what they were thinking - the Serpentine would surely accuse humans of Kandoras’ death. This was an act of war. The treaty was officially broken.

“Prepare for battle,” Wu told them.

~~~

They’d just started evacuating the town when battle cries began to thunder over the hills.

Ray immediately found Maya with his eyes. She was already looking at him over the heads of two village kids, her expression dark.

Each of the Masters looked to Master Wu and Garmadon. In a low voice, Garmadon said grimly, “This is not a battle we can win.”

“I concur.” Wu lifted his staff from the ground. “Garmadon, you and I will hold them back. The rest of you, get as many villagers out as you can, then take off! Haru knows where to go.”

With that, Wu and Garmadon raced to meet the rising tide of Serpentine. That was an image Ray wouldn’t soon forget; two brothers standing squarely in the face of the reddened sky and the army of Anacondrai shadowed by it.

“Let’s get moving!” Ray ordered. He directed the next line of families toward Vivian, who had already made several short trips via dragon to shuffle people over the ridge to safety. There were still so many more to go.

A few kids stumbled behind their mother, and Lorin was there, lifting both into his arms like they weighed nothing. The mother nodded gratefully as she scooped up the third small one. Lorin passed by Ray, eyes slightly wild. “Where’s Hanna?”

“I haven’t seen her,” Ray replied. “Maybe she’s up front.”

“We don’t have time to look.”

At that moment, down in the village, golden wings and scales erupted in full draconic splendor. The beast roared. Ray could see the distant, small figure of Master Wu saddled on its neck.

“We’ve still got some time,” Ray decided.

Lorin moved to join the other Masters at the head. One by one, more dragons appeared in the sky, carrying swaths of villagers. Despite the danger just yards behind them, the surprised laughter of children pealed out every time a dragon took off.

Finally, the last of the villagers rushed past Ray. He cast a furtive glance over his shoulder to see how the dynamic duo of Spinjitzu was doing. Despite the brothers’ efforts, it didn’t escape Ray’s notice that the army was much closer than it had been a few minutes ago. They were in the village common now. Houses were burning.

Ray started back down the hill.

“Wait!” Maya caught his arm. She didn’t need to; her intense gaze stopped him effectively enough. “Watch the flank.”

He flashed her a quizzical look. “Why?”

“I have a feeling. Trust me.”

She didn’t need to pull that card. Ray already trusted her with everything he had.

Reluctantly, he turned away from the army and placed himself along the villagers’ flank, watching the rocks.

The Serpentine came from both sides.

It was a strange sensation, watching them emerge from the hills. One minute sandy stone, the next minute reds and greens and blues. There were no Anacondrai among them, but that didn’t mean much. All they had to do was slow the villagers down.

Ray let his hand burst into flame.

Down the line, Lorin released a shout and slammed meaty fists into the ground. And the earth shot upward. Once flat, now a clime higher than Ray’s head. Serpentine pounded the stone on the other side.

Lorin shot a grin at some unseen Master ahead of him and swung a hand to Ray and Maya. “Let’s go!”

So Ray cast fire at the Serpentine coming at their other flank, while Maya hurried shouting villagers along. To Ray’s far left, a small storm of lightning signaled Vivian’s handiwork; a few Hypnobrai went flying.

“Maya!” This was Lorin again. “Where’s Hanna?”

Maya shouted back something intelligible but it seemed to make sense to the Master of Earth. His face went slack.

Ray saw every intention in Lorin’s face. He threw one last fireball at the Serpentine and raced to intercept Lorin’s path.

“Out of my way, kid,” the man said in a low voice.

“You gotta stay here, man, they need your dragon.” Ray pushed him back. “I’ll go get her. I promise, Lorin. I’ll get her.”

There wasn’t time to argue, and Lorin knew it. Wu’s dragon roared behind them and Serpentine and Masters cried on all sides. Lorin locked eyes with Ray for just a moment, a promise passed between them, and then he raced back up the hill.

Maya was suddenly there, like she always was. Venomari acid dripped from her Nin-Jo. “You can’t fight the entire Anacondrai army single-handed.”

“I’m not.” Ray unsheathed his katana. “I have you.”

He leapt down the rocks without waiting for her response.

~~~

Lorin’s beautiful town was a mess. Ray felt some of the anger from that morning return.

His red robes and armor made him a target amongst other colorful targets. Thankfully, most of the Anacondrai were occupied with the giant golden dragon and a whirlwind of purple that kept upending their ranks. The violet tornado paused for just a moment and Ray saw Garmadon crouched before the Anacondrai, looking dark and dangerous.

Ray avoided the warriors; he wanted to fight, but he wasn’t stupid. It wouldn’t take any special Anacondrai to take him out of this world. But as he slid past the burning houses, he found what he was looking for.

A group of villagers were being herded slowly, shuffled along, right past a stately, cruel-looking Anacondrai. A purple-scaled arm reached out to snatch someone from the line.

It was Lorin’s wife, Hanna.

“Let her go!” Ray roared; Lorin’s unsaid plea flashed in his vision. Embers curled around his feet as he swung the katana at the Anacondrai’s head.

And then it was gone.

Ray’s momentum made him stumble, sword point to the ground. He spun and found the Anacondrai behind him. The creature was unbelievably fast. 

“Do not challenge me, boy,” it - he - said. “Your blood will water these hills for all time.”

Something moved behind the Anacondrai. Ray’s realized it was another Serpentine, the Venomari he remembered from Jamanakai Village, bearing a large golden staff. They regarded each other for a moment as enemies who knew vaguely of each other. With a scowl, Ray turned his attention back to the Anacondrai warrior.

He wasted no time with words. He struck.

The Anacondrai swiped its mighty tail, and Ray’s legs vanished beneath him. On his front on the ground, he just enough time to consider how humiliating this was before someone yelled, “Hey, sand-head!”

There was a swishing, then a splintering, and Ray scrambled up. There was Maya, the two halves of a sliced Nin-Jo in her hands. She looked at them, then threw one at the Anacondrai’s head. It bounded off his snout, stunning him for a moment.

“You pick the worst fights,” Maya said, yanking Ray back. “This is Traask, one of the Anacondrai generals.”

Ray exchanged his katana for fire. “Is that bad?”

“Ray.”

Rather than responding, Ray rolled underneath the large arc of the Anacondrai’s sword; Maya rolled the other way. It became a dance of barely-holding-on. Ray had never felt this way facing an opponent - vulnerable and raw. Fire was not a weapon of defense, yet he used it to deflect strike after strike.

Maya tried to get at Traask’s flank, but the snake seemed to always know exactly where she was. She’d traded her Nin-Jo half for Ray’s fallen katana, which was a sure sign of her desperation. She would lunge at Traask and he would vanish, only to reappear behind Ray, his sword high.

After Ray swung out of the way for a third time, he called, “Switch!” to Maya. She understood. She leapt forward, put her back against Ray’s, her face to Traask, and lunged; Traask blocked. Before he could restrike, they spun back-to-back, Ray now facing the Anacondrai and blasting him with fire.

He blasted for a long time. When the flames cleared, Ray straightened. But Traask was gone again.

Oh no. “Where -”

Maya yelled. Only the corner of Ray’s eye caught it: a flash of violet from his right, the stab of a jagged blade.

By the time Ray had turned fully, Maya had caught the blade with the katana. But Traask’s strength won out; the serrated tip of his blade dipped into the flat part of Maya’s shoulder.

Ray’s mind went on autopilot. He was kicking the swords apart, throwing himself in front of Maya, and a barrier of fire erupted between them and the Anacondrai general. When he glanced over his shoulder, he saw Maya stumble back, hand clasped against her shoulder. “You okay?”

Maya shot him a look that was both annoyed and relieving - relieving because she was okay enough to be annoyed with him.

Then she said, her voice strained, “Ray.”

Ray turned forward again. Traask’s form had appeared in the flames. Between the flames. Violet scales glittered wetly with a rainbow of colors, like oil in the sun. Traask slithered through the fire like it wasn’t even there.

If it were just him, Ray would’ve fought. He would’ve died. But Maya needed him. So, eating his pride, he linked his arm under Maya’s good shoulder and ran.

The village was overrun. Under a red sky slowly turning summer blue, Wu’s dragon swept droves of Serpentine off their feet. Garmadon seemed to have realized it was time to go, because he was no longer fighting. He was standing in the middle of the street, hands splayed before him in apparent expectation, expression darkening and darkening with frustration.

“Argh!” He threw his hands down and called over his shoulder, “Wu, I can’t conjure my dragon!”

Above, Wu responded by wheeling his golden beast around and letting it scour the heads of the snakes with its wings. As it approached, Garmadon flipped high and disappeared onto the golden dragon’s back.

“Ray.” Maya clasped his red shirt. “We have to go.”

But Ray’s eyes were on the circle of villagers now disappearing into the Serpentine ranks. Prisoners of war.

It was Jamanakai all over again. Ray couldn’t bear leaving Lorin’s wife and unborn child in the hands of snakes.

He had to bear it.

@greenygreenland

#ninjago #the serpentine war #ninjago fic

[sesskag-week]

Actions Speak Louder Than Words

SessKag Week 2020 Day 7: Random Prompt- Actions Speak Louder Than Words

I don’t own anything Inuyasha.

A/N: Tropey tropey trope trope. If there are errors… ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

…

The large beast swung his tail at the charging group and Kagome, taking the extra half-moment to ensure Shippo had jumped out of harm’s way, could not move in time. The tip of the tail tripped her and, with a graceless tumble, she hit the dirt hard.

The scratches down her shin burned and her shoulder protested her attempt to rise. Hissing, she stumbled again. Kagome’s head hung low as she tried to catch her breath and take her thoughts away from the pain.

Suddenly, a shadow loomed over her and she recoiled, bracing for an inevitable impact. Instead, she only heard a familiar, and dismissive, sigh.

“Hn, perhaps you should hide with the children, miko.”

She raised her heated gaze to the taiyoukai, ready to insult the haughty demon in return, but stopped short.

He was offering his hand out to her.

Tentatively, she reached out and grabbed it. As soon as she was on her feet again, he disappeared, already swinging his blade at the enemy.

Without time to think about what had just happened, she cleared her mind and raced forward, feeling her power, and her spirit, rise to the moment.

.

The dark priestess was formidable. With her ability to use spiritual energy and dao blades in unison they had to adjust their strategy several times on the fly just to get a solid hit on her.

Finally, she had screamed out in defeat and fallen. The group began to tend to their wounds, and Kagome looked around for their unofficial, but more frequent, members.

Hidden under the shadows of trees, she saw the bright orange checkers of Rin’s clothing. She grabbed for the first aid kit and, subconsciously, tucked her hair behind her ears in a fruitless endeavor to smooth it out.

She plastered on a caring smile and made her way towards Sesshoumaru and his charges. Rin caught her gaze quickly and she saw pain in the little girl’s eyes.

“Rin-chan!” she exclaimed, “What’s the matter? Are you okay?”

The girl nodded and wiped away her unsuccessfully suppressed tears. “Hai, Kagome-sama. But, Sesshoumaru-sama’s hand-”

“Rin,” the taiyoukai’s deep voice interrupted with such finality the girl did not even stumble over the next unspoken word. She looked to the ground unsure of where the fault lay within her concern, but caring deeply about acquiencing to his wishes.

Kagome’s face wrinkled in a scowl. “Don’t be mad at her for caring! What happened?”

Sesshoumaru sat against a large tree, staring off to seemingly nothing, and did not answer her.

The miko scoffed and, in her ire, approached him without realizing what a bad idea it probably was.

“Hey!” she demanded. “I’m talking to you!”

Lazily, his eyes shifted to her own. Then he just stared. However, she saw the tightening of his jaw and her frustration lessened. “Wait, are you really hurt?”

He quickly looked away. “It is nothing.”

A tickle of fear rose in her heart. No wonder Rin had been upset, barely anything seemed to affect him.

“Let me see.”

His eyes narrowed. “No.”

That arrogant, self-righteous attitude annoyed her to no end. So, she knelt bedside him and tugged at his sleeve as if trying to pry something from Shippo’s hands. “Like I care if you are hurt or not! Just, let me see.”

He raised an eyebrow and slowly revealed his hand which had been burned from holy energy up to the elbow.

Kagome huffed, “You’re a pain in the ass, do you know that?”

The confusion in his expression only deepened as she scolded him. Her tone was rough, but as she wrapped his injury, her touch was gentle.

.

Sesshoumaru stood alone, as he often enjoyed, to meditate on whatever vexing problem that currently plagued him. For centuries it had been the location of Tetsusaiga. Then, it had been the truth behind the blade and his half-brother’s connection. Following that was the issue concerning the cursed Naraku, but now…

His isolation was interrupted as Inuyasha leapt from a nearby tree and landed behind him. From his scent, the youkai could tell he was agitated but not outright hostile.

“Oi!” the hanyou screamed. “You and I need to talk!”

“Hn,” he sighed in response. The night was creeping into the last light of day. He would have to return to his charges soon, and his problem still tugged at his desired peace of mind. Having his half-brother interrupt was certainly annoying as well.

Inuyasha gritted his teeth and growled, “What’d think you’re doing showing up all of the time?”

Sesshoumaru looked behind his shoulder towards his little brother. “I go where I desire.”

“Keh! What exactly is it that you want? To wait till I’m weak enough to finish me off? To watch me fail?” His growl still rolled in the silent space that stretched between them.

Finally, Sesshoumaru looked back to the horizon. It was almost fully dark now. “If I thought you weak,” he began, “I would not fight at your side. If I wanted you dead you would have been by now. And if I was still ashamed,” he paused, and a hint of regret betrayed the timbre of his voice, “You would know.” He turned fully towards him and stared him down, challenging him to deny his words.

Inuyasha’s ear flattened against his head and he sputtered. After a moment, he finally shook himself and said, “Keh, like I give a damn what you think.” The indignant tone from earlier was all but gone, and, suddenly feeling very awkward, he ran away.

It was not until Inuyasha was almost back at camp did he forget himself enough to smile.

.

The next time he appeared, Kagome beamed, then denied any excitement she had felt when Shippo asked.

.

“Look, Sesshoumaru-sama!” Rin exclaimed. “Kagome-sama is down there!”

He fought against glancing to where his ward was pointing. “Hn, my brother’s miko is of no concern.”

Rin giggled and Sesshoumaru, losing his own fight, took a peak to the ground as they flew by.

.

In the next battle, Kagome fired an arrow passed Sesshoumaru’s ready blade, effectively purifying the demon who was dumb enough to go after their shards.

Feeling cheated, the taiyoukai looked back at her. “I do not require your assistance.”

Her prideful smile dropped and she stomped her foot. “Oh yeah? Well, I don’t want to help you anyways if you are going to be so ungrateful!”

.

That night over their cook fire, Sango focused on Kagome and asked, “What is going on with you and Sesshoumaru?”

The miko waved her hands nervously. “Nothing!” she insisted with a blush creeping up her neck.

.

Kagome wandered to the river’s edge, trying to appear nonchalant as she concentrated on her surroundings. She thought she had felt-

“What are you searching for?”

She yelped at his sudden appearance and fought against the embarrassment welling up inside her. “No one!”

He stared at her for an uncomfortable amount of time and watched her fidget. Then, his lips twitch just slightly in a reluctant smirk. “I did not ask ‘who’ you were searching for.”

She was staring at his foreign smile and forgot to deny his insinuation.

.

“Ooohh,” Jaken grumbled to himself, “Sesshoumaru-sama spends too much of his time concerning himself with humans. First, this stupid child he awoke with Tensaiga. Then, with a demon slayer boy. Now, that filth Inuyasha’s priestess has-”

“Jaken,” Sesshoumaru warned, and it was enough to silence the small demon and send him to the floor groveling. He did not need to answer to the musings of a lower demon, or to anyone for that matter. But, with an unenthusiastic shrug, he did anyways. “She is clearly the best way to enact my revenge against Naraku.”

Then, he heard her call out for him, the alarming call drifting on the heady wind of autumn, and he snarled. With a blur, he was gone.

.

The woody spike of Naraku was coming straight for her heart. Her arrow was alight with the strongest energy she had ever conjured and when she fired it tore through her nemensis like rice paper. The normally confident spider roared before turning her way and charging. She had another arrow readied, but did not even realize she had called for aid. 

The evil hanyou was almost upon her. Determined tears had trailed down her cheeks, but she held her ground. She shook, but she was not scared.

She was waiting.

Naraku’s dark miasma was about to crash down on her when a sharp slice tore through it, the energy of the attack cracking the sky, and sent the wretched creature back. Their foe retreated, but swore that they would never get the best of him.

.

She couldn’t sleep. Every time she closed her eyes she saw those red eyes ready to eat her alive and the silver hair of Sesshoumaru blocking the path. He had appeared right before her, almost an instant after she had unwittingly called for him.

Then, he had looked over her shoulder and she saw the concern that twisted his normally pristine features.

She had been entranced, but he quickly broke whatever spell he had on her when he said, “Move. You are troublesome.”

And her anger quickly replaced whatever pride she had felt before.

Of course, they had won the day, but she was still disturbed. Kagome tossed, tried to sleep, and saw his golden eyes take her in. She turned fitfully, pulling her sleeping bag above her head, and saw his gritted teeth and protective stance- a warning to anything that would dare even look at her strange.

Kagome pursed her lips and tossed the coverings off of her. It was no use. She wouldn’t get any sleep with her traitorous mind reliving the scene over and over again.

Tiptoeing out of their hut for the night, she walked into the moonlight. The breeze was chilled and brushed against her skin. The adrenaline from the battle still had her nerves on edge, and her shivers had nothing to do with the cold.

Eventually, she reached the old, comforting sight of the well that carried her through the ages and sat at the edge to wait. To no one, she said, “This is stupid. What did you think would be here?”

Then, he was.

He shined under the moon and her breath hitched. Swallowing her apprehension, Kagome asked, “Wha-what are you doing here?” Her increased heart rate betrayed her. She was pleased.

Sesshoumaru smirked. “I assure you, it was not to be in your presence.” He walked closer.

“Thank you for protecting me today.”

“Hn, will you require my protection more in the future?”

Eagerly, she shook her head and smiled. “No,” she lied.

He was in front of her now, as close as he had been when he appeared to strike down Naraku. She could feel the heat from his skin and the dangerous sizzle of his youki against her own energy.

“Do you want to protect me, Sesshoumaru?”

He did not break away from her gaze. “No,” he lied.

Slowly, his hand reached up and brushed the bangs from her forehead. His clawed fingers lingered as they ran through her hair. “Are you nervous, Kagome?”

She was shaking. “No.”

His hand was on her cheek, guiding her lips to his, and stopped a breath away. “You can stop this,” he warned, as if she would want to.

Kagome closed her eyes and the distance between them, then smiled against his kiss.

…

#fan fiction #skw2020 #skw2020d7 #sesskag #submission

[somethingusefulfromflorida]

It’s no secret that Republicans are anti-intellectual, but it makes you wonder what their end goal is?  Why do they keep electing dumber and dumber presidents?  Is it just to own the libs?  Do they just not care?  They’ll get what they want regardless of how smart their presidents are, so why always pick the low hanging fruit?

The only smart Republican of the last 60 years was Bush Sr, and he was a one-term wonder who rode Reagan’s coattails into office.

Nixon was notoriously incompetent as VP, almost beat Kennedy in 1960, threw what should have been a career ending shit fit in 1962 after losing the California governor’s race, but not only came back in 68 and win because Goldwater was so unpopular in 64, but won 72 in the greatest landslide in history up to that point.  Corrupt to the bone, he resigned before he could be impeached for hiring burglars to steal dirt on a political opponent, covering it up, and lying about it.

Ford was appointed VP to replace scandal stricken Spiro Agnew, specifically chosen because he was known as an honest politician.  His reputation evaporated the second he became president because his first act was to pardon the guiltiest man in the country; he lost handily in 76.

Reagan was an actor who wanted to play politician so he could hurt the people he didn’t like; blacks people, poor people, gay people, women.  It was a power trip for him, and because he was good at reading cue cards and delivering jokes written by other people, everyone let him get away with murder.  He committed treason by selling weapons to Iran; this isn’t hyperbole, the actual definition of treason includes giving aid to out enemies, and after the oil and hostage crises of the 70s, Iran was an enemy first and foremost.  Oliver North took the blame and had his secretary shred the evidence, the President Bush pardoned everyone involved.  Reagan won in an even bigger landslide than 72 in 84, and Bush won in a major upset against Dukakis in 88.

Bush lost in 92 in no small part because of Ross Perot splitting the ticket; no third party candidate has ever done better nationwide than Perot in 92, with 19% of the vote (though he didn’t win a single state, which some minor candidates have done).  Clinton won with 43% of the popular vote.  Forty-three percent!  57% of people voted against him, and he won.  92 was a farce, as was 96 with less than 50% voter turnout, the lowest in modern history.  Perot ran again and got 8.4% of the vote, Republican Bob Dole only got 40.7%, and Clinton got 49.2%.  This means that less than a quarter of eligible voters voted for Bill Clinton, and he still won.  FARCE!

Al Gore rightfully won in 2000, but the conservative majority Supreme Court stole it from him.  Florida was too close to call; whichever candidate won it would become president.  George W. Bush’s brother Jeb was governor, and he ordered the federally mandated recount be stopped, breaking the law.  The Supreme Court decided not to restart the recount for no discernible reason besides they wanted Bush to win.  He was notoriously dumb, stereotypically dumb, so dumb a lot of people thought it was an act and voted for him because they thought he was a secret genius who was just pretending to be a cowboy running for president off his daddy’s legacy.  He was the stupidest president we had ever had up to that point, and hired a lot of smart people to do horrible things so he could claim plausible deniability.  That Obama didn’t send Dick Cheney to the Hague was a deafening silence.  Bush only won re-election in 2004 because he started a war in Iraq in 2003 and the country didn’t want to change horses midstream; same exact tactic his daddy used, only this war lasted longer than the Gulf and “worked” as planned.

2008 was a ceremonial race; McCain didn’t stand a chance.  He was not incompetent, but his running mate was.  Sarah Palin was even dumber than Bush, and like Gingrich in the 90s was responsible for a conservative revolution we’re still feeling today.  Barack Obama wasn’t an amazing president, but he was an AMAZING candidate.  Everybody loved Obama in 2008, he won more votes than any candidate in history until 2020.  McCain was a career moderate, and after the last 8 years of failure both parties were running on a platform of “I am not George W. Bush.”  Turns out a young charismatic smart black man is less like Bush than another old white guy.

Obama lost a ton of momentum going into 2012 because he didn’t really DO anything his first term.  His only major accomplishment was the Affordable Care Act, which was an act of the Democratic congress than anything else, and it still wasn’t nearly as progressive as it needed to be (the US is still the only developed nation without universal healthcare).  Romney, a Republican governor from the Democratic stronghold of Massachusetts, could have beaten him were he not a classist piece of shit.  Romney hated poor people more than Reagan, and once wore brown face to a campaign event to make himself look more like Obama (they didn’t paint his hands or neck, just his face).  Obama made a lot of promises he didn’t keep, in no small part because of the Tea Party and the devastating losses in 2014 (we suffer under Mitch McConnell because of that).

2016 was a dumpster fire that shouldn’t have happened, and if either party had run a different candidate, it wouldn’t have.  Sanders would have beaten Trump, Clinton would have beaten Cruz.  It was a perfect storm of a very unpopular and insincere grandma running against a cartoon supervillain.  You couldn’t repeat that with what we know now.  Your vote in 2016 came to represent who you were as a person; people took it to the extremes, and the sunk cost fallacy made the entire Republican party shift so far rightward that we have actual concentration camps now and NOBODY GIVES A SHIT!  Trump was a game show host, a used car salesman famous for being tacky and dumb and offensive.  He was KNOWN for running his companies into the ground, that was his MO, he made a career out of bankruptcy, and Republicans still can’t believe that he drove us into the worst economic depression since the last Republican (history repeat itself, whoop-dee-doo).  Biden won in 2020 because of record turnout, though 2020 was closer to the intentional walk of 2012 than the home run of 2008 in terms of enthusiasm for the candidates.

If we’ve learned anything its that Republicans just keep getting worse and worse, so it’s getting hard for me to imagine what 2024 has in store.  Will Trump risk losing the popular vote 3 times in a row for a second term?  i think he’ll pretend to so he can scam millions of dollars out of his base, but he’ll either lost the primaries and tank the Republicans by running third-party, or he’ll drop out and endorse one of his spawn.  If Biden decides not to run in 2024, the nomination will almost certainly go to Kamala Harris, at which point I expect the Republicans to run a woman as well, so that we’re guaranteed the first woman president; she’ll be young, and white, and blonde.  My money’s on Ivanka.  Kamala vs. Ivanka will be a repeat of the 2016 dumpster fire, only worse because then everyone would be acting like both candidates are feminist icons, #GirlPower #SheRunsTheWorld #WarCrimesAreBetterWithTwoXChromosomes  If Biden DOES run again, then I suspect the Republican pool will be wide early on (Prick Scott, Ron DeathSantis, Uncle Tom Cotton, Nikkki Haley, you name it), only to shrink before the primaries as they all coordinate to get behind someone strong enough to defeat an incumbent.

Republicans are very good at coordinating; they are the party of “Follow the Leader.”  Whoever is in charge has 100% authority, no ifs, ands, or buts, no questions asked, just follow orders.  It would be easy to call them lemmings, but it’s more insidious than this.  They run dumb candidates for president, but have very smart people working behind the scenes to do horrible things.  They’re willing to follow orders blindly to ensure that the party prospers, whereas Democrats are chicken running around with their heads cut off.  There are no Democratic leaders.  Pelosi?  Schumer?  Nobody likes those dinosaurs!  The only really popular Democrats are progressives, and they will never have power as long as the moderates have a majority of the caucus.  AOC could be a senator someday; she could replace Schumer whenever he retires, but that would hinge on her not having any moderate primary challengers.  Moderates are still very popular because they are seen as “electable,” even though they never DO anything once elected.  Progressives have big ideas and the concrete plans to get them done, but the moderate establishment is afraid of losing power, and would rather placate the other side doing nothing, changing nothing, making no waves.  The party needs to shift leftward, or the country is doomed.

I would suggest the progressives splitting off to form a third party, but that would almost certainly destroy left-wing politics in this country as every safe seat would become split.  In an ideal world, it would be a nominal change; they would be the Progressive Democratic Party, they would continue to run in blue districts and caucus with Democrats on votes, but would advertise themselves as anti-establishment.  They would be like the New Democrats in Canada, which now that I think about it is a very bad idea because the New Democrats have no power and end up giving more votes to the Liberals and Conservatives instead.  The Progressive solution is intended to show the caucus that the moderates don’t have total control, but it would end up with the moderate Democrats shooting themselves in the foot, running against Progressives in every seat, handing them to the Republicans.  Every election cycle people act like a loss would spell “the end of the _____ party,” but this would actually be it for the Democrats.  It would be a turning point, like the 1960s, with millions of people changing parties out of principle, a major shift.  A Red Scare

I just want to crawl in a hole and die.  I hate politics.

#i hate politics #politics #political #political rant #rant #elections #2024 #democrats #democratic party #republicans #republican party #partisan #partisanship #idiocy #anti-intellectualism #anti-intellectual #anti intellectualism #anti intellectual #antiintellectualism #antiintellectual #dumb #nixon #ford #reagan #bush #w #trump

[astaroth1357]

The Obey Me Cast on a Camping Trip (Part Two: The Undateables)

This post is split in two due to length (I had too much fun again…) For the Brothers, please click HERE!

Intro:

Another day, another team building activity between the demons and the exchange students. It was Diavolo’s idea to go on a camping trip to the human world (because of course it was), and there were very… mixed responses. That sentiment wasn’t helped when he refused Lucifer’s insistent pleas to just purchase cabins for everyone to stay in. Oh no, the Demon Lord wanted to rough it out in the wilderness, and now everyone else was getting dragged along with him…

Wonder how that turned out?

Diavolo

He was soooo excited to get to experience camping! He had been asking the MC about human camping trips for about a week before making the announcement and he was pumped!!

Barbatos chauffeured him to the campsite in his own car (of course) but he insisted on taking every roadside, touristy stop they came across which doubled the drive time considerably…

He wanted to help everybody set up the camp but Barbatos and Lucifer were having none of it… So he took pictures and offered moral support instead! Good work everyone! 😁

He had his own tent about the size of a small house (ngl it took Barbs and Lucifer about a half hour to set the whole thing up). Barbs even somehow managed to pack a collapsible desk in there for him so he could still work… greeeat…. 🙄

Diavolo wanted to try everything. Literally everything. The man even traded his uniform out for full on outdoors gear, right down to one of those floppy fishing hats with the tackle stuck to it.

Politely insistently asks that Lucifer does things with him. The MC could come along as well (and in many cases Luci begs them to do so) but he wants to get some bonding time in with his best friend!

Unfortunately for Lucifer, Diavolo would get sidetracked quite a lot… Which is how he ended up having to physically steer his Lord out of harm's way more than once…

At one point while hiking, Diavolo was so distracted by taking pictures that he nearly walked right into the path of a passing bear and her cubs. Lucifer had to tackle him down into some bushes until they went away... His brothers teased him mercilessly when they heard about...

Dia also loved the camping food quite a bit. He's never gotten the chance to cook his own food before, even if it's just marshmallows over a fire, so it was all a brand new experience for him! S'mores are now declared a human world delicacy.

Man had the time of his life! He'd love to do it again, hell, maybe even make it a yearly event! (Few of the brothers share his sentiment, but hey, it pays to be King 😏)

Barbatos

If his Lord orders it, then he follows. He'll just have to double check that everyone is prepared for the occasion…

Drove Diavolo there with the patience of a saint (while also, like, being the exact opposite of that). Had it been anyone else in the car, they might have told him, "No, we can't stop for pictures of every moose you see," but Barbs is as accommodating as he is loyal.

It was pretty much all on his shoulders to direct the others when setting up camp. Lucifer would claim it was his, but let’s be completely honest here, Lucifer can't order Barbs to do shit. 

Naturally, he had his own tent close to his Lord, more modest in comparison, but big enough to hold a majority of the belongings and gear Diavolo had requested.

He also managed to bring a almost fully functioning kitchen setup for him using magic, minus a working oven by Diavolo's instruction. If he wanted a heat source, he had to use the campfire and he found the challenge intriguing…

For once in his extended life, Barbs had to do some trial and error in the kitchen. As it would turn out, fireside cooking can be a little difficult to master, but by the end of the trip he could still somehow dish out four course meals without so much as a sweat (according to the MC the secret was tinfoil and cast-iron cookware… who knew?)

When he isn’t prepping their next meal (which let’s be honest, with Beel on the trip that’s a constant activity) he’s guarding the food from Beel and Solomon…

The sorcerer wanted to help, but Barbs has already learned the hard way that if he so much as pokes a dish its flavor is ruined… It’s enough to make him wonder if it was a curse laid on him at some point…

Watching Barbatos deny Solomon becomes a pretty funny routine in and of itself. He’s not above just smacking the man’s hand away with a wooden spoon if it gets too close. Barbs doesn’t play in his kitchen. Back off. 😠

Barbatos is happy with the trip so long as the young Lord enjoyed himself. If that’s the case, and it was, then he’d happily do it again if asked… not that he’d have much of a choice anyway.

Simeon

Simeon was familiar with the concept of camping, he’d written about it in his stories, but he’d never actually done it himself… He had hoped it'd be an interesting experience! And uh… it was that from the very start… 

Purgatory Hall got its own car and Solomon was put in charge of driving… But no one mentioned that he drives like a complete maniac. Speed limits, stoplights, even the ROAD ITSELF be damned. Solomon drives in a straight line from point A to point B and if there’s anything in the way he’ll just use magic to get around it…

It’s safe to say that by the time he and the others got to the campsite (which was significantly quicker than the rest) the angels weren’t in the emotional state to pitch tents… He and Luke just waited for the others to catch up while praying and praising the solid ground beneath their feet…

He shared his tent with Luke and didn’t mind at all. It was probably for the best anyway because the little angel was scared of human world predators like bears and wolves coming for him in the night… Poor boy…

Simeon took to hiking quite a bit. Going out and exploring the area around the campsite made him feel invigorated! The forests were beautiful and it gave him ideas for a bit of a guilty pleasure he's been debating on writing, "The Tale of the Lonely Prince." 🤭

It was on one of those trips that Simeon discovered human world creatures love him. Pretty much all of the wildlife gravitates towards him like he's a Disney Princess.

At one point he came back to camp riding on a moose with birds chirping on his new friend's antlers. He offered to take the MC out for a ride, but the brothers threw a fit about it…

He WAS able to get a couple more wrangled for Diavolo, who naturally dragged Lucifer along (though he clearly didn't want to touch the thing). 

The three ended up getting into a mooseback race because Diavolo wouldn't let Lucifer take the lead. He was glad to see Luci enjoy himself for a change! (It helped a lot that he won of course 🙄😏)

All and all, Simeon had a great time. Maybe he should ask the MC to show him more human places… But he's never getting in a car again. Pardon his language, but fuck those things!!!

Luke

He doesn't know what's worse… being out in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of demons or the absolute insanity that was the "drive" down… 😣

He spent the entirety of Solomon's Magical Ride of Nightmares clinging to Simeon or the armrests for dear life. He swore his entire life flashed before his eyes, can angels even have heart attacks???

Stayed right next to Simeon when they finally pulled themselves together enough to leave the car. He was so happy that Michael didn't see any of that… Who knew human transportation was so horrifying…???

His saving grace (literally) was getting to share his tent with Simeon… After Solomon told him that bears sometimes get curious and ransacked campsites, he clung onto the older angel like a protective charm.

...Whiiiich he wasn't too off about actually after he saw Simeon playing (yes PLAYING) with the human wildlife… Simeon had to introduce him to some of the nicer animals for him to eventually get over his fear and venture out past the campsite.

Luke loved to swim in the lake or river with MC and the others. The MC found a sturdy branch where they set up a rope swing and the little guy amused himself for hours!

Sometimes he'd watch Barbatos prep and cook using the campfire… He didn't even know you could make lasagna in a Dutch oven…

At one point the MC convinced him to go with them and the twins on a particularly long hike…

He got tired halfway through and Beel offered him a piggyback ride, but of course he'd NEVER let himself be that close to a demon!! (Just kidding, poor boy was so tired he climbed onto Beel's back and held on the a kola until they got back. Then he jumped off to save face)

He had a better time than he thought he would, but still doesn't want to go camping with demons ever again. (He and Simeon also begged Lucifer to drive them back instead of Solomon so the brothers' van was pretty much a clown car on the return trip).

Solomon

Solomon hasn't been camping (for enjoyment) in quite a while, so when the prospect came up to do it with the MC and the other students he was intrigued...

When Simeon asked he knew how to drive, he said yes. He knows how to start a car, put it into motion, steer, and then come to a stop. That's all driving is really. 🤷‍♀️ You can't blame him for not memorizing all the rules, he's been traveling by portal for decades!

Was pretty confused why his angel friends fled the car so quickly... He got them there in one piece, after all. 😕🤷‍♀️ He put up their tents himself since they were too busy thanking their father then made a magic barrier around the site for protection purposes.

He and the MC both have their own tents, of course his is enchanted to be a lot bigger on the inside than it is on the outside, but he's only let the MC in on that little secret in case they want to visit… 😏

When everyone else finally arrived, Solomon was happy to help the MC introduce the wonders of the human wilderness to their companions! Including the breathtaking vistas, beautiful flora, bitter temperatures, man-eating predators, waters filled with disease… Hm? Oh, Luke won't leave the tent now…? Whoopsie.

Solomon kept himself occupied on the trip the best way he knew how… relentless trolling (particularly of Asmo and Barbs because they're used to his shit).

He'd alternate between poking fun at Asmo for the almost ritual length routines he was going through to try and save his looks to genuinely trying to encourage him and downplay the severity of the downgrade...

Meanwhile he was bound and determined to serve at least one of his own dishes during the trip (but Barbatos had banned him from the "kitchen," the food tent, and even the spoons...)

Diavolo, nice guy that he is, eventually made Barbs relent and let Solomon cook for ONE night… It went as well as to be expected. (They sent Solomon to grab more supplies then everybody took turns washing their mouths out with lake water... Diavolo apologized profusely, he had no idea...).

Solomon was confused why the angels would rather squeeze themselves in with the brothers than ride with him back but he wasn’t upset about it. That meant he could make a few extra stops without anyone complaining! He knows a guy in New Orleans he’s been meaning to see again… Luke and Simeon can wait a little for their stuff, right?

Click HERE for Part One. Check out my Masterlist for more!

#obey me #obey me shall we date #shall-we-date-obey-me #obey me undateables #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me simeon #obey me luke #obey me solomon #obey me headcanons #obey me scenarios #obey me imagines

[katehuntington]

Title: Ride With Me (part ten) Fandom: Supernatural AU Characters series: Reader, Dean Winchester, Bobby Singer, Ellen Singer-Harvelle, Jo Singer (Harvelle), Benny Lafitte, Garth Fitzgerald IV, Castiel Novek, and many more. Timeline: 2008 Pairing: Dean x Reader (eventually) Word count: ±6500 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 ten: Y/N is about to go on an adventure. Good thing she has her friend Jo to help her pack and her crush Dean to guide the way. 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: The Man With The Harmonica - Ennio Morricone, Hide And Seek - Gareth Dunlop (end scene). Check out ‘Kate Huntington’s Ride With Me playlist’ on Spotify! Author’s note: Thank you @kittenofdoomage and @girl-with-a-fandom-fettishfor helping me. You girls are awesome betas. Thank you for your endless patience!

Ride With Me Masterlist

    “Wait, you’re not planning on bringing all that with you, are ya?”     Y/N’s eyes leave the three pairs of boots from which she still has to choose. Not to decide what two sets to leave behind, but which to wear and which to pack. Jo stands in the doorway of her tiny room, staring at the bed, which is covered in flannels, shirts, tops, several hats, jeans, jackets, sweaters, towels, socks, matching underwear, swimwear, a makeup bag, and a toiletry bag. Even a hair iron and of course her phone charger lay amongst the collection of items that one way or another are going to have to fit into her bag.

    The season is coming to an end now that September has reached its final days. It’s time to move the two-year-old horses down from the summer reservation. Bobby had asked his intern if she wanted to come along and of course she blurted out ‘yes!’ before he could even finish his sentence. She was so excited about the trail ride and started packing immediately. This is going to be quite an experience, especially for a show rider like herself who usually sticks to riding in a fenced arena.     It’s a good thing that she started gathering her things early, because she has been contemplating what to bring for over an hour now. She’s the kind of girl who pays extra for exceeding the luggage weight limit on her flights, so no wonder she’s having it tough choosing what to bring.

    A little helpless she looks over at Jo, who’s waiting on her response.     “I was planning on bringing this, actually,” she returns, hesitatingly.     “Damn… poor horse,” the blonde cowgirl comments, eyeing all her friend’s stuff.     “Too much?” Y/N assumes.     “Just a tad,” Jo scoffs as she walks in. “And what the hell are you bringing the entire electronics store for?”     “It’s just my charger and my hair iron. I will look like birds are nesting on my head if I don’t straighten this out,” she objects, holding out the strands of hair that have escaped her ponytail.     “And you can’t have that with Dean around.” The ranch owner’s daughter crosses her arms in front of her chest, knowingly frowning at her friend.     Y/N tilts her head and glares back, but fails to come up with a decent counter, because she’s not wrong.     “Shut up,” she mutters instead.     “By all means, pack it.” Jo shrugs as she turns back to the door. “But unless you tie a generator behind that horse of yours or find a cactus with a plug, you ain’t charging a damn thing.”     “Wait. What?” Y/N responds, confused.

    Jo sways around, her blonde braid hanging down from one shoulder. She narrows her eyes, trying to understand how her friend could be so oblivious to the fact that there won’t be any electricity where they are going. “What did my old man tell you exactly?”     “That we might have to spend a couple of nights out camping,” Y/N recalls, trying to remember his exact words.     “Have you ever been out camping, city girl?” Jo wonders, her tone indicating that she has figured it out.     Now Y/N crosses her arms defensively. Just because she comes from a wealthy family, doesn’t mean that she has never been on a trip back to basics.     “I have, as a matter of fact,” she returns confident.     “Let me define ‘camping’,” Jo kicks off. “I’m talking ‘bout the sleeping-in-a-tent, no-shower-for-days, cooking-your-own-food-above-a-fire kind of camping. Not the kind where you park the luxurious double axle camper nice and close to the restaurant and the power station and get that satellite working as soon as possible so y’all can watch Netflix.”

    Y/N opens her mouth to claim that she is not that kind of person, but has to admit her loss. She’s right, down to the double axle camper and the satellite TV.     “So, no electricity? No shower?” she asks, intimidated by the matter, a trace of panic in her voice.     “Nope,” Jo confirms, amused. “Better start prioritizing. Let me get my saddlebags, you can use those. Everything that doesn’t fit in there except for your sleeping bag, is not comin' along for the ride.”     “Alright,” Y/N agrees reluctantly, nonetheless grateful for the help. “But how are you going to pack if I have your saddlebags?”     “Simple: I’m not. I’m staying home,” the ranch owner’s daughter says.     Astonished, the intern looks at her. Wait, her friend isn’t coming on this trail? The thought actually scares Y/N a little, because Jo has been there to guide her since she picked her up from the airport over a month ago.     “Are you kidding me? Why?”     “Someone has to run this joint while y’all are having fun. Usually, the stable crew guards the castle, but with Ash gone…”

    Y/N drops her head, her mind going out to the former cattle worker. Ash left a week ago. Bobby gave him two weeks' notice but said he was free to go anytime. The loyal employee showed character and stayed as long as Bobby could afford to keep him. But after those fourteen days, Ash had no choice but to leave. Everyone was sad to see the quirky fellow go. The exchange of hugs between him and every member of his working family was moving to witness.     “Dad offered to stay behind by himself, but he’s getting too old to work that hard,” Jo explains. “Garth and I will make sure everything runs smoothly here.”     “What about me? How am I supposed to function without my conscience?” Y/N pouts.     “You’ll be fine. You got Dean to hold your hand the entire way,” Jo mocks.     The worried cowgirl chuckles. “That’s the whole problem now, isn’t it?”     Jo gets up and intends to leave the room to get the saddlebags. She halts in the doorway, though, offering good advice. “Just remember: don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”     “He’s your cousin. Of course you’re not going to sleep with him,” Y/N returns smartly, pulling a laugh from the blonde cowgirl.     “See my point?” she returns, winking back before she leaves the room.

    Thirty minutes later, Y/N is packed and ready, but sacrifices had to be made. Obviously, the hair iron and phone charger didn’t make the final cut, but neither did her shampoo, conditioner, and moisturizer, since she won’t be able to shower anyway. Her makeup didn’t fit into the bags either. It hurts to leave it all behind and she already feels insecure about spending days with the others wearing a blank canvas of a face. Sure she isn’t as fresh at the end of a working day as she was at the start of it, but so far she has been able to keep her hair and makeup in check. Now she won’t even have a mirror to judge how tired and ordinary she looks without a brow pencil and mascara.     “You’re all set.” Jo, who is on her knees on the wooden floor fighting with the saddlebag, secures the last strap, shifts her weight back on her heels and places her hands on her narrow waistline.     “I owe you one. I would have never managed alone,” Y/N says, appreciating her friend’s help.     “You know you can count on me.” She shrugs it off after getting up. “I’ll lend you my raincoat and my gloves too. Never sure if you’re gonna need ’em, but if the monsoon decides to throw a curveball at ya, you’ll be thanking me.”     She pops out of the room again, as excited for the intern as Y/N is herself. Jo’s bubbly personality has her smiling even after she leaves. It’s funny how it feels like they have known each other for years and yet it was only a month ago that she got into the pickup truck at the airport. One month ago, this challenge started. Her dad tries to hide the surprise in his voice every time she phones him to tell him how much she is enjoying her time here. He probably expected a plea for money. That, or a one-way ticket back to luxury and easy work.

    Y/N looks at one of the pictures that she nailed to the wooden wall. It portrays her family; Mom, Dad, and her three brothers surrounding Y/N at her graduation ceremony. Sure, she misses them, but she is starting to become a part of this ranch family too. That’s how it feels anyway: accepted, wanted… even loved. Her eyes hover over the picture frames and other decorations that she used to spice up her room a little. Many of the photos show Meadow, some snapped during shows, others at home in the fields. Won belt buckles and ribbons are trophies of their success together, each memory a highlight of her partnership with the special Quarter mare. Y/N remembers when she won every single one of them.

    “You’re not getting homesick, are ya?”     She startles, jolted awake from her daydream, and turns her head to face her handsome supervisor. Dean leans against the doorpost, and judging by the amused expression, he has been standing there for longer than a second. Dear Lord, she got so caught in recalling past victories and happy memories, that she didn’t hear him walk up to her room. The sight of him has her lost for air, even after recovering from the scare. He stands on one leg, the other bent and crossing his back foot, resting on the nose of his boot. Fringe from his worn chaps fall down over his jeans, a dark brown Stetson to match it. Dressed in a red plaid buttoned shirt and a denim jacket over it, he looks even better than he did this morning. The handsome models in the old Marlboro commercials have nothing on him.     “Don’t worry. I’m not going back anytime soon,” she responds before Dean can call her out on staring. “Besides, this is beginning to feel a lot like home, too.”     The wrangler glances at the wall next to the bunk bed and lets his eyes roam over the photos, ribbons and buckles. He smiles at a goofy picture of her and her three older brothers.     “I like what you’ve done with the place,” he compliments.     Y/N smiles at that. “Well, I am going to be staying here for a while. Might as well make it cozy.”

    He grins, his green eyes catching the rays of sunlight coming through the window. Specks of gold stand out amongst the apple green, his pupils adjusting as they flick over the captured moments. They stop when he notices a photo taken during a prize-giving ceremony. He recognizes Meadow instantly, her trademark white face is hard to miss. She stands proudly with a white and blue sash hanging from her neck, event sponsors standing next to the horse, presenting the prizes won while smiling at the camera. But the person who smiles the brightest is Y/N, who sits squarely in the saddle with a wide grin on her face and sparkles in her eyes.     “You won the State Championships,” he says impressed, reading the footnote. “That’s pretty damn impressive.”     Y/N lights up but stays humble. “Meadow was on fire. It was the ride of my life.”     “I bet it was.” Dean watches her for a second, admiring, while she reminisces over the highlight of her riding career. Then he glances at his watch briefly. “We leave at ten. You’re all packed?”

    “She is now,” Jo interrupts, holding out a rolled-up sleeping bag and neatly packed raincoat. “Gloves are in the pockets.”     “Thanks, Jo.” Y/N takes them and looks over her shoulder in search of her saddlebags. Dean instantly moves in to pick them up, since she has her hands full anyway.     “I got it,” he states, lifting her luggage over his shoulder.     “Oh, how noble of you!” Jo teases her cousin, not at all impressed with his manors. “What are you gonna do next? Buy a white horse?”     Y/N snorts, but quickly straightens her mouth into a thin line to silence herself and hide the sign of amusement. Luckily, the wrangler is too busy countering her friend, as he follows the two girls into the living room.     “It’s called ‘being nice’. You should try it sometime,” Dean snarls.     Before the ranch owner’s daughter pushes open the front door, she looks over her shoulder. “Would you like to hold the door for her too?” she suggests, a challenging smirk on her face.     “Would you like to shut your piehole?” Dean fires back after rolling his eyes.

    Y/N giggles at the bickering, and opens the door herself by pushing it with her foot. If she didn’t know any better, she would think the two are siblings. Maybe not by blood, but they spent a great deal of their childhood together in the same house, at least that’s what she understood from Jo. Over the years, the youngest Singer figured out that she might not be able to beat her older cousin when it comes down to strength and speed, but verbally she stands her ground just fine. Now is no different, because Dean might have had a comeback ready, Y/N doesn’t fail to notice the color on his cheeks. He carefully glances at her from under his hat, the cowgirl smiling back reassuringly before she descends down the stairs.

    At the tack up area, the Joshua tree stands tall, offering meager shade to the horses and humans underneath its branches. It’s rush hour. Benny and Garth are readying the horses, assisted by the three riders that are coming along for the trail. Dean was against bringing people along on such a long and potentially dangerous ride, but Bobby said the tourists paid good money and were experienced, so eventually, he agreed. Eight horses are tied up to the rails around the yucca tree. Six of them will be ridden, the other two will be the group’s packhorses. Y/N spots Joplin amongst them, the feisty mare that has grown on her over the past weeks.     “She’s yours for the next couple of days.” Dean points her out, heading over to the dark horse with Y/N’s baggage. “Since the two of you get along so well.”

    Delighted, she faces the mare, who pushes her soft nose into the folded raincoat in her arms, sniffing up the aroma. Y/N likes the little dark horse. She is not easy, has different ideas about what the pace should be, and can get very offended when her rider tells her otherwise, but there’s something about her attitude that the intern appreciates. She’s fast, tireless from the second her rider puts a foot in the stirrup, to the second he or she gets off. The Quarter is perfect for a trail like this. It didn’t cross her mind to bring Meadow for the ride. The reining horse, which is used to train on smooth arena footing, would most likely injure herself on the uneven rocky slopes and narrow paths. The hours under saddle would be much longer than regular training too, and Y/N does not want to confront her four-legged best friend with a task that she isn’t up for.     Dean swings the saddlebags over Joplin’s back and straps them to the saddle. He mounts the sleeping bag and Jo’s raincoat that he takes from the intern on top, his fingers briefly brushing against hers in the transfer. The tingling sensation lingers on the surface of her skin where he touched her, causing her to be the one who is flustered now. The wrangler carefully glances over as he secures the baggage. She feels caught, but his expression is soft and comforting; he felt it too.

    “Okay, y’all! We’re goin’ in five!” Benny shouts loud enough for everyone on the square to hear with his Southern accent thick on his tongue. “If you have to use the john or forgot to pack clean undies, now would be your last chance to do so.”

    Last preparations are made by the crew. Benny secures his lasso to the horn of the saddle with a leather rope strap, while Dean consults his uncle one more time before departure, the two of them looking at a map of the Superstition Mountains. Then Dean folds the map and shoves it into the inside pocket of his jacket, after which he walks over to Ted Nugent, the big brown gelding that he will be riding for the upcoming days, since his favorite buckskin is out with a tendon injury ever since that rainy morning when the cattle broke out.  Ellen walks up to her nephew and hands him a paper bag which, without a doubt, contains something delicious.     “Made you some pecan tassies for on the road,” she says. “Wouldn’t want you to miss my baking too much.”    “Thanks, Ellen.” Dean gives her a grateful nod and puts the tassies in his saddlebag.     “Be careful out there, alright?” she presses, clearly worried about the quest that lies ahead for the wranglers. “Bring them back home safely.”     “I’ll take care of the bunch. I promise,” he assures comfortingly, gently pulling her into his chest after which he gives his aunt a kiss on her hair.

    Ellen and Dean aren’t the only ones who exchange a few last words before the group leaves.     “Okay, grasshopper. This is it,” Jo’s voice sounds from behind Y/N.     She spins on her heels in between the horses to meet the ranch owner’s daughter, who folds her arms around Y/N and hugs her tight. Happily, she returns the embrace before Jo pulls back and holds her by the shoulders.     “Stay away from chollas if you don’t want Joplin to turn into a two-year-old who never had a saddle on her back before. And if the horses get nervous and you hear a rattle, get the hell out of Dodge, because there’s a rattlesnake within a few feet from you. Check your–-”     Y/N cuts Jo off, because she has heard this before from either her or Ellen.     “I know, I know. Check my boots for spiders and scorpions before I put them on and keep the tent closed,” she fills in.     “Not just to keep out insects and reptiles, but horny cowboys as well,” Jo adds.     Y/N snorts. “I’ll handle him. I will miss you, though.”     “I’ll miss you, too, sis,” her friend returns, smiling.

    They say goodbye while Dean unties his gelding and gets on swiftly, overlooking the group from the higher point of view.     “Y’all ready?” he asks the company of six.     When the riders cheer, he takes the reins with one hand and pulls it gently towards him, an aid for Ted to backup and move away from the other horses. The excitement rises noticeably, comparable to what one would feel when on an aircraft just before take-off and on its way to a new destination. Some of the animals start to get restless in the thrill, Joplin included. Y/N doesn’t waste any time and pulls the safety knot in order to free the mare, then puts her left foot in the stirrup and pushes herself off the ground with her right, swinging it over the back of the black horse.     “Good luck, y’all,” Bobby wishes the six men and women.     “See you in a couple of days!” Jo calls out.

    Y/N waves at the people staying behind, a bright smile spreading from ear to ear. Looking forward to the adventure that will come next, she straightens herself in the saddle and faces the vast landscape. She might be twenty-four, but she feels more like a seven-year-old going on a field trip. In front of the rider, a pair of alert ears belonging to Joplin point forward. Beyond that view, the promontory of the Superstition Mountains stretches out. The sun has risen from behind the ridges in the East hours ago, already warming up the valley with its strong rays.

    Dean watches the young woman, consumed by a different kind of scenery as his horse follows the path. In the past few weeks, she has grown more comfortable in her role as a wrangler and a ranch hand. The daily routine is starting to become her second nature and the people she works with are her friends now. He wouldn’t have guessed it at first - and he’s quite sure she herself wouldn’t have guessed it either - but she fits in perfectly. The rich girl from upstate with a master’s degree under her belt feels at home surrounded by a bunch of country folks in the dry desert lands of the south west. Who would have thought that? Dean smiles, content; something tells him that this trip will help her blossom even more.

    She could almost hear a harmonica play the theme from Once Upon A Time In The West, and she’s still waiting for tumbleweed to roll across the path. Cacti reach for the sun, their arms outstretching upward, like the giants are growing actual limbs. It’s a nice variation to the evergreens that she is used to, back in Maine. The rain that came down two weeks ago has laid a blanket of green over the dry lands; it’s amazing how nature can change in a matter of days. Jo warned her about the sun, and with good reason. Over the last month, the intern slowly but surely got used to the extreme weather circumstances that Arizona offers, but she has never been on a horse during the hottest hours of the day. It might already be late September, but the heat is blistering. She could use a shower right about now, and just the thought of not being able to take one for the next couple of days grosses her out. The temperatures weigh on the female rider, more than she thought it would, but her partner Joplin doesn’t seem to mind much. Her neck and shoulders are sweaty, but she still dribbles impatiently every now and then, eager to cover more ground.

    Dean leads the group, guiding them from spring to spring. The group left the Hieroglyphic Trail about three hours ago, which ended at a small creek and a poor excuse for a waterfall. They took a break there and had a few of Ellen’s delicious pecan tassies while the horses drank. Now, they are well on their way to Willow Spring, but the trail isn’t getting any easier. As they conquer the steep slopes, the pace slows down. Y/N is amazed at how the horses are able to maneuver on the rough terrain, which consists of loose pebbles, slippery boulders, and cracked volcanic rock. One misstep could severely injure the large animals, but they seem to be aware of that. Joplin proceeds agile and fearless, almost like a bobcat, and her rider learns quickly to let her take care of the drops and jumps. She doesn’t need guidance, the mare knows the way. All Y/N has to do is sit tight and move along with her to maintain the balance.

    “How y’all doing back there?” Dean is looking over his shoulder, his free hand resting on the cantle of the saddle.     “We’re good!” one of the tourists assures.     His name is Brad, the young guy riding next to his sister Macy and their buddy Jonathan. The head wrangler chatted a little bit with the three members of the group and they turn out to be good company. The trio is traveling across the country, enjoying a gap year from college. With Brad and Macy’s father being a rancher in Colorado, they know their way around horses. Jonathan is a little less experienced in the saddle, but he’s managing just fine. No doubt about it, though, that he’s going to be left with a serious muscle ache in the coming days.         The leader of the pack shifts his eyes from them to his intern, asking her the same question silently. She nods, smiling reassuringly at her handsome supervisor, telling him in the same language that she’s doing fine. Content, Dean smiles back and winks at her before he straightens himself.     It’s a good thing he’s not facing her anymore, because Y/N is sure that about a hundred butterflies hatched from their cocoons in her stomach, the feeling triggering her to take a shuddering breath. She huffs, annoyed with the response he triggered. Just look at him. He’s infuriatinglygorgeous, looking way too good on his horse, in those darn chaps, wearing that darn western hat. A part of her wants to dislike him, just for being so distracting. But she can’t be mad at him, not really. Just a glance her way with that grin and she’s a complete goner. Y/N watches as the cowboy catches up with Benny, slowing his horse down when they are side by side.

    “Tell me, Chief, how are things between you and the intern goin’?” the Southerner wonders, making sure the woman in question is unable to pick up on the conversation.     Dean looks aside at his best friend, amused by his curiosity. “It’s not going anywhere, really. Things are good as they are,” he claims.     “Oh, c’mon, now. Did she turn you down again?” Benny guesses.     Dean eyes him. “She didn’t turn me down. I just didn’t make my move.”     The wrangler next to him seems to need a second to process the information. Dean Winchester didn’t make a move on a girl he likes in 0.2 seconds? That’s a new one. “Wait a minute. So you two haven’t even…?”     “We’re just friends, Benny,” Dean claims, aware how terribly unconvincing it sounds the moment he pronounces the words.     “Horse shit. You didn’t pass up Casey to be ‘just friends’ with the gal. You called dibs,” he reminds the head wrangler. “Besides, I see the way you look at her. You don’t look at a pal like that.”

    Dean shakes his head, remembering the arrangement well. It’s not like he can deny he made that deal with the farrier, despite that it felt wrong to do so. But back then when he claimed her in order to keep his notorious friend away, he was still clueless about the affection he felt for her. The affection that steadily grew stronger to the point where he cares more about what’s best for the free young woman than what he wants for himself.     “So what, Benny?” He shrugs, hoping his friend would let it go.     “So what? I know it’s a little dusty here in the desert, but did you get sand in your eyes?” Benny returns, perplexed.     “Look, I know she’s awesome, and yes, I wouldn’t mind hooking up with her, but I can’t, okay?” Dean claims.     Unable to understand the math behind his choice, the broad-shouldered ranch hand throws him a look that somewhere between dirty and confused. “Why not?”     “Well for starters, Bobby will kill me if he finds out, since he took me aside to specifically forbid me to pull anything. Secondly, she’ll only stay for six months--”     Benny interrupts him, however. “Invalid, Chief. Bobby told you before to quit bouncing around with clients and staff and it never stopped you then. And since when is six months too short for you? You usually get bored with your lady friends after a--”     The cowboy from the South stops mid-sentence and Dean can almost hear it click in his mind. Oh, boy. Benny has figured it out. Even though he tried to make up excuses in order to avoid being confronted by his best bud, there’s no way of dodging that bullet now.     “Well, fuck a goat and call her Nancy! You’re in love with her,” Benny announces, shocked.     Dean raises his eyebrows at the rider next to him, then scoffs and looks away, trying to act like the very idea is ridiculous. “That’s - that’s just… Y-you’re insane,” he stutters, unable to flat out deny it.     Benny starts to laugh out loud, apparently very much amused with his discovery. “I can’t believe you walked straight into that love trap!”     “Would you keep your voice down?” the rider next to him hushes.     The farrier looks over the back of his horse at the intern, but she’s about thirty yards behind them talking to Macy, clueless what the two wranglers leading the group are discussing.     Dean stays quiet for a few long seconds, trying to decide if he is ready to admit that she means so much to him. “She’s a nice girl, Benny. I don’t wanna hurt her,” he claims.     “Oh, c’mon now! You’re seriously telling me you grew a conscience all of a sudden? You used to love ‘em and leave ‘em without a second thought.” Benny has crossed his wrists over the horn of his saddle, the reins loosely between his fingers, as he looks aside to catch anything that would indicate what’s going on in his best mate’s head. It’s clear that he’s astonished by the shift in his demeanor.     “I’m gonna ignore the urge to ask you who you are and where my friend is,” the Southerner chuckles. “But is it really just her heart you’re scared to break?”     Dean ponders, trying to make sense of the odds and ends that scatter his thoughts. Benny is not entirely wrong. It terrifies the wrangler to give in to these emotions. Is that maybe the true reason why he didn’t kiss Y/N that night under the Joshua tree? Or when she came looking for him after he had that argument with Ash? Maybe it’s a bit of both.     “How long have we known each other? Fourteen, fifteen years now?” Dean recalls.     “Give or take,” Benny confirms, looking down at the trail as he moves his hand over the mane of his horse in order to steer it a little wider around a boulder.     “Do I seem like the kinda guy who does that? Fall for a girl? I liked the way things were, no attachments and all that,” the head wrangler continues, confused.     “That’s the thing about falling in love, Chief. It happens to the best of us and always at a time when you least expect it. It hits you like lightning and you’re toast before you even got a clue why you’re feelin’ so crispy,” Benny says wisely.

    The head wrangler glances at his companion sideways, reading into his words. It almost sounds like the Southerner knows what he’s talking about.     “You’ve been there,” he realizes.     “Oh, I’ve been there. I’ve been beyond falling in love, I loved her with my whole damn heart,” Benny acknowledges, smiling at the memory. “Her name was Andrea. We were both eighteen. She spent the summer with relatives in Louisiana and I was a lost cause from the moment I laid eyes on her. A Greek Goddess, and I ain’t exaggeratin’. She was pretty as a peach! Kind, funny as hell, too.”     “Since she’s ain’t here, I reckon it didn’t end well?” Dean assumes again.     “It didn’t; she went back to Greece and I moved here because everything reminded me of her at home,” his friend tells him.     “You know you just proved my point, right?” the head wrangler says, a hint of triumph in his voice trying to mask the sadness in his eyes. “If love always comes to bite you in the ass, why even bother?”     “‘Cause the heartache ain’t the clue, brother. What I had with Andrea was so good, so pure, I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. Even if I knew what I know now, how it would end, I would take that plunge again without a doubt in my mind.”     Dean huffs, unable to believe that. “Despite that she left you?”     “Fuck, yeah,” Benny states. “Better to love and to lose, than to not have loved at all.”

    Dean is quiet now. The path narrows and he holds Ted back a little, merging behind Benny’s horse. As he lets his friend’s words sink in, he glances down the slope at the intern again. She’s several yards down the steep hill, focused on Joplin as she rides her up the trail. Her braided hair already has strands peeking out from under her hat, and he is sure if she had a mirror she would fix the mess, but he loves it. He loves it when the wind rustles her locks, or when the desert dust smudges her skin. Once again that feeling overcomes him, the feeling of a lantern being lit in the pit of his stomach, warming his body as it slowly rises through his core to his chest, where the heat lingers. It feels so good, but there’s a catch to the sensation. It comes with the emotion that creeps up on him when he lays awake at night thinking about Y/N; fear. The fear of her leaving him after her internship. The fear of her reaction if he would let her witness the scar tissue that lays thick on his soul. The fear that this love will consume him, just like the love for Mom consumed his father. The fear of failing her. But now that the true meaning of Benny’s message dawns on him, another kind surfaces. It’s a thought that he hasn’t had before, and as it pops into his head, the question reverberates louder through his mind than all the others. What if he misses his chance? What if there are only so many opportunities to win her over?

    He straightens himself before she looks ahead and spots him staring, and he closes his eyes and tips his hat forward. Shit, you’ve been so worried about losing her that you forgot that in order to lose her, you have to have her first, he thinks to himself. A sigh slips from his dry mouth, reminding him how thirsty he is. He reaches for his water bottle from his saddlebag, pulls out the cap with his teeth and gulps down the water, knocking his head back as he takes a few swigs. Nope, he’s not dehydrated. In fact, he’s still having these contradicting thoughts. When he slips the bottle back where he took it from, his eyes wander down the path again, this time looking straight into hers. As he tries to decide on his next move, he holds her gaze as she smiles up at him. Dean wasted two shots already; what if it’s three strikes, you’re out? If he fucks this up, at least he tried, but if he won’t give this a try at all, he’ll beat himself up over it for the rest of his life. Either way, failure seems to be inevitable.

    Then he remembers something. Something that he was taught at a very young age. He had just turned four when he took a fall off the neighbor’s Shetland pony. It was the first time he had rode alone without his mom holding the miniature horse and the naughty pony took advantage of that situation. The Shetland picked up speed and bucked once, sending him straight into the dirt. After making sure that her son was okay, he recalls his mom picking him up.     “You wanna give it another go?” she asked.     “No…” he said.     “So that’s it? You never wanna ride again?” she questioned again, her voice gentle.     Now he was quiet, not sure how to answer that. “I don’t wanna fall off,” he mumbled eventually, looking down at the ground.     “Falling is a part of riding, sweety. It’s a part of life. It’s okay to fall,” she told him.     “But it hurts,” he said, rubbing his scraped elbow. “And it’s scary.”     “Yeah, sometimes falling can be very scary,” Mom acknowledged. “But you won’t get any better if you stop trying. You have to face what you’re scared of, to grow. You know what they say about falling?”     He shook his little head, waiting for the elaboration patiently.     “You have to fall off seven times before you'll become a good rider,” she says.     “Seven?!” he repeats, eyes wide.     “Seven,” Mom pointed out. “But you know how he becomes a great horseman?”     Dean shook his head again and listened eagerly. All that he wanted was to become a horseman, so this was the time to pay attention.     “A good rider becomes a great horseman when he falls seven times and gets up eight.”

    The wise words always stuck with Dean as he grew older. He remembers when he was twelve and got back to his feet after his seventh crash landing, this time from a young bronc. He was a horseman now, because he got up beaming, and brushed the dirt from his jeans. Every time when life beat him down, he did the same. Sadly, Mom wasn’t there to see her son become a horseman. She was long gone by the time he reached that age, but her life lessons will never be forgotten. Life is filled with setbacks. No one walks this journey without encountering them. For some that one setback is enough reason to give up and never become good at anything, for others, it’s a way to push through. And yes, getting up and trying again is not easy. But Mom taught him to look fear in the eye and get back in the saddle anyway, because quitting will definitely not get him anywhere. Whenever he hit the ground, literally or metaphorically, he would think of that memory. Now is no different. Mom was right; he has to face what scares him in order to grow.

    Dean slows down his horse, pulling the bit just enough to stop Ted, giving the horse behind him a chance to catch up. When Joplin comes alongside, he glances at the rider from under his Stetson.     “Hello, Cowboy,” she greets, a small but delighted smile on her lips.     Dean chuckles at that, his eyes not leaving hers.     “Hey, beautiful,” he returns.     The compliment brightens her eyes even more and heats up her cheeks. The trail barely allows the two of them to ride side by side, their stirrups touching occasionally. He aches for her knee to brush his like he would crave rain after a long desert ride. When the denim of her jeans does rub against him, it leaves him electrified. And then he realizes that Benny is right, too. It is better to love and to lose, than to not have loved at all.

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 reblog my work or buy me coffee (Link in bio at the top of the page)

Read part eleven here

#Ride With Me #Dean x Reader #Cowboy!Dean #Dean Winchester #Dean Winchester series #Dean Winchester AU #Cowboy!Dean x Reader #Supernatural #SPN #Supernatural AU #spn au fanfiction #Dean x Y/N #Dean reader insert #Dean Winchester reader insert #Dean Winchester fanfic #Dean Winchester fanfiction #Dean angst #Dean fluff #Kate Huntington

[jessgartner]

2020 Life Olympics

The real Olympics may have been canceled in 2020 but the Life Olympics persevered like the postal service of Olympics. 

First, I’d like to apologize for my role in the chaos of 2020 because I think I had a slight miscommunication with the powers that be and I feel partly responsible. Here was my plan for 2020: 

My theme for 2020 is Intention because I want to take the energy I feel right now and deploy it with more intentionality next year - bringing increased mindfulness to how I spend my time, money, physical and mental energy. And because I love wordplay, I also literally want to spend more time camping “in-tent” to enjoy more peace and quiet and beauty in nature.

The universe was like, “Oh, she wants to spend less money and more time outside? Well, shut it down. Shut the whole planet down.”

I mean, mission accomplished, I guess? I did spend less money and more time outside and had to be VERY intentional with my mental energy to survive the day-to-day morass of 2020. Next time, I will be more specific with my annual manifestations. Sorry to all. 

2020 was brutal for pretty much everything and everyone. I don’t know anyone who isn’t in some state of grief right now, including myself. I debated doing a Life Olympics at all this year, feeling like-- what is the point? Hundreds of thousands of people died, our democracy is hanging on by a thread, and millions of people lost jobs, businesses, and homes. 

Like many people, I’ve been struggling with anxiety and depression this year which intensified as it got darker and colder outside. At a low point, I talked with my therapist about the struggle of just not wanting to do any of the things that usually bring me joy-- and how periods of relief were so fleeting. “But you have to keep doing those things,” she said, “even if they’re not working right now, you have to keep doing those things and trust the process; the joy will return.” 

So even though I don’t really feel like it and kind of feel like it’s dumb, I’m writing the 2020 Life Olympics. I’m trusting the process.

2020 Life Olympics Recap

Work - Participation Trophy

Starting a company is hard, operating a company is harder, but running a company during a global pandemic and economic crisis is something I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. 2020 was not a fun year to lead a business; it was hell. On March 15, the plan for the year pretty much went out the window and everything went into survival mode. I never take the company or my team for granted, but I’m particularly grateful to be able to usher this work into 2021.

Despite the craziness, we still had some big wins this year. We launched new product partnerships with PowerSchool and Amazon Business. We rebuilt our tool for equitably calculating district funding formulas. And I got to flex my creative muscles with EdFinToks! Throughout it all, I was lucky enough to be surrounded by a team of people who are as compassionate as they are talented. 

I’m worried about public education more than ever after this year, but I’m going to keep fighting every day to make it work better for kids. 

This is Work-Lite but I also spent a good chunk of time this year leading the modernization workgroup for Bill Henry’s transition committee after his spring primary election to become the new Baltimore City Comptroller, ousting a 25-year incumbent, Joan Pratt. This was an enlightening (and infuriating) experience for me that gave me a glimpse into the operations of a segment of the City government. This process also really helped crystallize how much I enjoy making public agencies function more efficiently; I’m excited to see what Bill does with the recommendations (some are already being put in action!)

Health - Gold 

This is the second year in a row (and ever) that I’m giving myself a Gold medal for Health. This was easily a year that I could have regressed on all of my healthy habits and no one would have blamed me. Instead, I leaned into protecting and improving my physical and mental health in 2020. It’s not an exaggeration to say that walking probably saved my life this year. I spent a lot of time walking around my neighborhood and various state and city parks-- walking is maybe not the best word; I stomp and charge around like I have a score to settle with the ground beneath me. My walking increased 370% in 2020. This is a habit of 2020 that I’d like to keep. My brain and body are happier if I can spend a little time walking-- stomping-- around outside each day. 

I also did a lot of biking this summer. My cycling increased 200% this year-- with much more time spent cycling outdoors. My crowning achievement this year was biking to and from Annapolis:

I spent a LOT more time outside this year which was critical for my mental health. On the downside, I only did 90% as much yoga and 60% as much strength training, so I want to try to be a little more balanced next year. 

I also invested a lot in my mental health this year. I kept up with therapy every 2-4 weeks and in October I decided to pursue a formal diagnosis for ADHD which I definitely have! Needless to say, staying in one place this year has been a special kind of hell for me. 

Home - Silver

Well, I definitely spent less money this year. And the way I did spend money made me (mostly) sad: 

Travel down 70% 

Auto & Transportation up 200% (boo cars)

Shopping down 60%

Personal Care down 35% 

Gifts and donations up 200% 

Food and Dining down 40%

Entertainment down 35% (I kept up my singing lessons virtually which accounts for a lot of this category) 

2020 was quite the palate cleanser from my 2019 year of hedonism but maybe we can go for a happy medium in 2021? Just kidding-- I will resume my hedonist ways the minute the world opens. 

I also redid my home office like every other work-from-homer on the planet and replaced my crumbling kitchen floor so the house got some TLC. 

But nobody enjoyed having me home all year as much as Darwin:

Relationships - Bronze

What a weird year for relationships of all kinds. I’m giving this a Bronze because while I invested a lot into a few relationships this year, there are also a lot of people in my life to whom I haven’t been able to give my time and love. 

One of the most important relationships in my life this year was with one of my former students. After bouncing around in the foster system for many years, we reconnected around the holidays in 2019 and he started crashing with me while we tried to figure out stable housing and employment. He was arrested in January and was incarcerated for the next several months awaiting trial. Finally, we were able to negotiate a plea agreement with the State’s Attorney and he came home around Independence Day. We spent the next several months getting him set up with a phone and various identification documents-- a nightmare in normal times and a total abyss during the pandemic. I got him registered to vote when we got his ID card and I took him to vote for the first time (a supreme treat for this former social studies teacher):

He’s now got a full-time job and stable living situation. Calling this THE success of 2020. Thank you to everyone who helped me with resources all year for housing, legal processes, and documents. It takes a village. 

It was a bizarre year for family. We lost my grandmother in September, so not being able to spend the holidays together felt like an especially cruel loss. Other big losses this year include a trip to France to celebrate a milestone birthday for my mother and my brother and sister-in-law’s wedding (Mosby seemed pretty ok with the alternative plan, though):

But in many ways, my family has been more together than ever this year thanks to prolific group chats and photo-sharing. Mostly, I’m just glad everyone else is safe and healthy. As my father often reminds me, “Our problems are small.” 

And dating? What to do with this weird Jane-Austen-esque dating scene-- as if modern dating weren’t fraught enough. Is this the universe punishing me for ending my 2019 dating hiatus early? I, for one, have given up. You win this one, pandemic. I’m just going to have my little Twitter crush and call it a year. Next year, though...

Horizons - Silver Gold 

You know what? It’s hard to expand your horizons without people or places. 

I did the best I could. I finally got back on track with my Goodreads challenge and actually had a really good year of reading, including finally embracing audiobooks through my Libro.fm subscriptions. I especially enjoyed Michelle Obama’s book Becoming and Mike Birbiglia’s The New One on audio-- both narrated by their authors. 

I camped in Pocomoke (MD), Western MD, Lake Michigan, and Ohiopyle (PA):

I explored over 30 new hiking/biking trails-- some favorites including the Youghiegheny River trail in PA, the NCR trail, Catoctin Mountain, the C&O Canal Towpath, Annapolis Rock, and of course, Stoney Run in my backyard. 

I left Facebook and started the Life Olympics newsletter. I’ll be honest, I don’t miss Facebook but I also don’t understand where that energy, time, and brain space went. I was spending cumulatively hours a day mindlessly scrolling Facebook and I quit cold turkey and barely noticed-- what black hole of our brains does social media occupy? I kind of thought that with all that extra time I would write the next great American novel or something. I’m probably spending a little more time on Twitter, which I could stand to cut back on. Other than that, I think I was just trying to process the shitstorm of this year. Maybe I’ll write the next great American novel post-pandemic. 

For the first time in my life, I feel somewhat ‘caught up’ on pop-culture. I finally watched Parks and Recreation (twice); I watched The Mandalorian and finally actually watched Star Wars (episodes IV-IX); I watched the final seasons of The Good Place and Schitt’s Creek; I’m caught up on Insecure; I watched The Prom and Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom and Jingle Jangle; I even started Bridgerton. I know what everyone is talking about and I’m catching so many more pop-culture references these days. (I guess instead of writing the next great American novel I watched Netflix?)

2020 Lessons

I’ve spent plenty of time mourning the missed opportunities of 2020 and will probably always wonder what this year could have been in an alternate universe with a functioning government. But we only have this reality for now, and we made the best of it. 

I wanted to slow down in 2020, try to be more intentional, more mindful, and...

No thank you! I liked the pace of my life; it makes my brain and heart happy. I’m happiest when I wake up in a different city three days in a row. I like darting around every borough of Manhattan for nine meetings and three cocktails and then taking a red-eye to Europe. I want to run around to eight conferences for 18-hours a day for three weeks and then sleep for 22 hours. I miss overloading my brain so much that I need a deprivation chamber to sleep. This is who I am. This is how I like to live. And when I was locked down alone in the house for a year, slowing down, being mindful, I never once thought, “I should have... when I had the chance.” Because I always did. And I always will. 

2021

We shake with joy, we shake with grief.

What a time they have, these two housed as they are in the same body.

Mary Oliver

We’ve had enough grief. 2021 is going to be all about joy.

Universe, let me be clear: this is not a euphemism or code or secret signal.

I want pure, unadulterated, abundant, joy. I want multi-course dinners in restaurants with lots of close friends and good wine. I want the virus so far gone that I can make-out with handsome strangers. I want a rollicking good time in France and/or Brazil and/or Prague and/or New Zealand and/or Bali. I want to spend the day after Christmas in NYC with my father. I want to be a glutton for theatre and art and music. I want celebrations and parties and sequins. 

I want to shake with joy. 

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