#I love rise from the ashes but if I hear the word Texas one more time I'm going to go insane. If I haven't already it can be hard to tell

[casstars]

Little Ace Attorney doodle dump, some sketches I did while replaying rfta and Calisto Yew for anon :p

#I love rise from the ashes but if I hear the word Texas one more time I'm going to go insane. If I haven't already it can be hard to tell #my art #ace attorney #phoenix wright ace attorney #aa trilogy #aa #pwaa #ace attorney fanart #aa investigations #calisto yew #Ema skye #lana skye #damon gant #Angel starr #phoenix wright #jake marshall #requests

[greekowl87]

Fic: Watching in the Shadows

A/N: I’ve had difficulty bringing myself to write anything since October. I had some personal issues to work through regarding my anxiety and life. I’m still trying to work through it right now but I managed to cobble this together over the past month. This isn’t my best work and I’ve probably done something like this before (another fic that was a post-ep of FTF), but I at least managed to write something. Sorry. If you've gotten this far, thanks again for taking the time to look it over.

Also, no beta. Is AO3 more your thing, you can read this here

Tagging @today-in-fic @improlificinsarcasm @suitablyaggrieved @baronessblixen

The nightmares had started shortly after Mulder’s one-in-a-million successful rescue and their daring seascape from Antarctica. Somehow, they had made it with some minor scrapes, bruising, and some frostbite. They came back to D.C. and it was questionable whether they still had jobs or not. The x-files had been burnt in a flash of lost hopes and dreams. Only the ashes were left, smeared by the boots of the notorious Them.

After their latest jaunt in Arizona chasing more would be aliens exploding from human chests and poor Gibson Praise, Scully wondered if God was trying to take a cue from James Cameron. That ended roughly too. In addition to the nightmares she refused to acknowledge, the added insecurity of Diana Fowley was like a harbinger of the future.

Scully twisted in bed, her cotton sheets coiling around her like a python. It was suffocating. She was in that weird twilight of waking and still traipsing through a dream. Those that said you didn’t dream of color were wrong. She remembered flashes of being locked in that tube with that thing shoved down her throat. The cold that had eaten into her bones and down to her core, making her feel brittle. She remembered seeing those gelatinous bodies in Texas and remembered her fear. That would be her. That would be her fate.

Of course, she wouldn’t tell Mulder. Why would he believe her anyway? His thoughts were up in the clouds trying to get their work back. Scully finally woke up gasping. Her hand clutched her chest to feel her racing heart, mentally calming herself that nothing had exploded out of her chest. Her fingers touched the tiny gold cross and she squeezed it so hard so it would be indented in her finger pads.

“I’m alive,” she whispered to the shadows in the room. “I’m alive.”

The fragments of memory were still there, just like something you couldn’t see out from the corner of your eye but you knew it was there. She glanced at the alarm clock. 4:01 am. It was a Saturday so she would not have gone to work. She could afford to sleep. But was she going to?

During the past six years, she did not get nightmares. Not normally anyway. There were a few after Pfaster and then with her cancer. Without ignoring the science...damn her own words. She turned out the bedside lamp and got out of bed. Without really thinking (it was still night in her opinion), she went to her kitchen and filled her teapot. As she tried to decide what tea to drink, she heard a light knocking on her door.

There would only be one person who would knock on her door this early (or late).

Scully opened it without ceremony, replying, “The last time you came to my door, you were drunk and dragged me across the country. It’s Saturday and I’m not going anywhere.”

He looked tired, worse than usual. The bags under his eyes indicated something much worse. He read her unspoken question. “I haven’t slept in over 24 hours, Scully. I’m not planning on anything. I just didn’t know where else to go.”

He knew what just to say to pull at her heartstrings. She took his hand and pulled him into her apartment, locking the door behind her. “I can’t either.”

“Nightmares?”

The word was effortless, showing just how well he knew her. “Something like that. I was about to make tea. Do you want some?”

“Do you have anything stronger?”

“How about we settle in the middle? A hot toddy? You can stay here in the meantime.”

“What? You’re not going to kick out self-deprecating and self-pitying Spooky Mulder?”

“Of course not,” she said. “Is that even a question?”

She selected two bags of Chai tea with two mugs. She went to another cupboard and stood on her tiptoes, trying to reach a rarely used bottle. In three easy strides, Mulder was behind her. “The rum?”

She nodded and felt him press behind her, easily getting the bottle. “Grog?”

She chuckled. “Not quite. Hot toddy. I think it might be better for helping get us back to sleep.”

“A sleepover?”

“A sleepover,” she chuckled. This is how she liked her Mulder and she felt those insecure thoughts replaced with a warmth that she had come to know. “Maybe I’ll let you even play twister.”

“Scully,” he chuckled.

“Go make yourself comfortable. I’ll be there in a second.”

She heard him kick off his shoes and take off his leather jacket, indicating he had no plans to leave anytime soon. Scully was fine with this. He flipped on her television, keeping the volume low. She laughed when she saw James Cameron’s ‘Alien’ come on and Mulder looked at her funny. “What?”

“I...it’ll sound stupid…” She shook her head. “Never mind.”

“Tell me,” he encouraged.

“I’ve had trouble sleeping since Antarctica.” She nodded towards the television. “My nightmares. I wonder if James Cameron is playing a role. I keep seeing myself back on that ship. And after...the face-hugger.” She motioned to her chest. “Bursting out in all the bloody glory.”

“But it didn’t, Scully. It didn’t.”

“Still doesn’t stop the nightmares.” She first added generous amounts of the spiced rum and then the Chai tea. “I was awake and aware when I was in that tube. Not all the time but I was awake. I remember. I remember the coldness...” She shook her head and her voice faded.

Mulder nodded gently. “I get the impression that you don’t want me to talk about the subject.”

“I don’t want to fight, Mulder. I don’t want to fight about the report, the work, or Fowley right now. I’m tired.” She rubbed her eyes. “Nor do I want to scold you on what happened in the Bermuda Triangle. We both know how stupid that was.”

Mulder was quiet. “I do trust your judgment, I do trust you. Without you...I probably would have been stuck in 1939 with no way home.”

“Mulder.”

“I do trust you,” he repeated, with more certainty. “More than anything.”

Scully nodded, satisfied with his response. She took the two mugs and walked them over. “So,” she said, “you had to pick Alien after I told you God is consulting with James Cameron?”

“Run of the luck. Do you want me to change it?”

“No, no. It’s fine.”

Mulder sipped the hot toddy, his eyebrows arching in surprise. “You didn’t go light.”

“No, but it works well together. Don’t you agree?”

“Very good.”

“So, Scully, since we’re having a sleepover, wanna play truth or dare?”

“Excuse me?”

“Truth or dare?” He smirked.

She was tired. Maybe her brain wasn’t working correctly. Maybe the lack of sleep had something to do with it. She decided to indulge him this time. “Truth.”

“Okay,” he paused. “What was your nightmare about?”

“Very smooth and not at all obvious.” He shrugged, sipped the hot beverage, and watched her. She sighed. “What could have been if you had not gotten to me in time when they took me.” She recognized that look and she hated it. “Stop profiling me.”

“I’m not.” He looked almost insulted. “I was just hoping to hear more. But it’s your turn. Truth or dare?”

“Truth. Ask your question, Scully so we both can get it over it.”

The sharpness in his voice took her off guard. “What are you talking about?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I asked you first.”

“Truth. No. Fact. I do love you.”

“I…” She felt panic rise in her chest. No. No, no, no. “Mulder…” He held his hand up and she grabbed it, shooing it away. This was getting out of hand. “Not like this. Quit messing with me, Mulder.”

She got up quickly and downed the scalding liquid. She winced. “I’m not.”

“It’s not funny,” she said again in warning. “Stop messing with me. This entire game is stupid. Why did I even let you talk me into this?”

Scully remembered how her mom used to force Melissa to include Scully in her sleepovers. Even though there were only two years between her and Missy, Scully always felt like the odd one out. Nerdy Dana who always had her nose buried in a science book. Why don’t you marry Einstein they would tease. As much as she loved her sister, that game left nothing but bitter memories for her.

Mulder frowned, surprised by her sudden reaction. He didn’t know why the words fumbled out of his mouth the way they did. But now that it had happened, he couldn’t see a reason why not. He watched her set the forgotten drink on the kitchen table and pace.

“Scully.”

“Why did you come here? Why did you come here, Mulder?” She wrapped her arms around herself. Maybe she was caught in the throes of another nightmare. “Answer me!”

“Do you want me to leave, Scully?” He asked. “If that’s what you want, I have no problem doing that.”

“I didn’t say that. Stop twisting my words.”

“Then come back here and sit down.”

After a moment’s hesitation, she bit her lip and nodded. She sat at the opposite end of the couch. Mulder suddenly felt the dynamic shift between them and it was like a game of chess. “For the record, I do not feel comfortable about this.”

“Noted. Now, what did you dream about?”

“The first time I was abducted, there was some trauma there. Bits and pieces. But this time was different. I dream that I die. You don’t come. That thing explodes out of me like those crime scene photos. I performed the autopsy on that body and saw what happened. That was going to become me.

“And I die to expect during all this, I am alive and I feel every sensation. I don’t know what is worse: knowing that I almost died from the virus or the chip in my neck.” Scully found herself confessing fears that she had managed to repress for the past year. “Ruskin Dam. Skyline Mountain. The cancer. And now this same Earth-based virus that we also found in Gibson Praise. What do you think it means, Mulder? It terrifies me.”

Mulder fumbled over her words in his mind. Where does he even begin? “I came here because I didn’t know where else to go. The bar…” He snorted with displeasure. “After what happened in Dallas, I was devastated. After almost losing you, well, let’s just say I got my priorities straight.”

“Priorities.”

What the hell was going on between them? “What are we doing here, Mulder?”

“What do you mean?”

“This. You come over at 4 am. Make me confess my soul.”

“It is Saturday so it’s not like we have to work.”

“We may not even have jobs.”

He held up a finger. “Prohibition period, remember? We do have jobs. We just to get to do background checks and chase shit around the country.”

“I don’t see what’s so great about it.”

“I have you. You’re still here with me. She wasn’t.”

“She?”

“Diana.”

Scully frowned at the mere mention of the name. “I still don’t see why you trust her or what you see.”

“She was there when I found the x-files. But who is here now, where she could still have a promising career in medicine despite the fact most of her patients are dead?”

“Except for one.”

Mulder smiled. “You’re still here. After all this, after all that we’ve been through. You’re the one I trust the most.” He sighed and sipped the hot toddy. “I still trust her because how could I not, Scully? But she’s not the one I went to at four am.”

She remembered going to him at the reflection pool at twilight, taking his hand, a wordless promise to each other. “Touché.” She relaxed. “Look, I’m sure you didn’t mean that…”

“I did.”

Shit. “Let’s put a pin in that thought,” she said quickly. Mulder sat his mug on her coffee table. “Coaster.”

He grabbed two and slid them across her oak coffee table. “Why is it so hard to wrap your mind around it?”

“Well,” she began, struggling to find her voice. “There’s different types of love. You love me like a friend, a sister, a comrade…”

“And then are is also the type between…”

He said this as she was trying to put her mug on the table but, uncharacteristically, the mug fumbled, spilling all over the table. “Shit.” The hot tea burned her hands and Mulder was already rushing back into her kitchen, grabbing towels and the ice pack. “Mulder…”

“I got it.”

He quickly cleaned up the mess and Scully took the extra towels. She wiped the mess off her hands and frowned at the red swelling starting on her knuckles. Mulder wrapped the ice pack in another towel and took her hands. “Mulder.”

“I gotcha, Scully.”

“Mulder, I’m fine.”

“Will you just let me?” The sharpness of his voice silenced her as he took her hands gently and held the ice pack against it. “I know you want to be this badass FBI agent…”

“Want to?”

“I know you are a big, badass FBI agent. Just let me for once?”

“Fine.”

They sat in silence as Mulder held the ice pack over the top of her hands. She cleared her throat. “I meant what I said, Scully. I do love you.”

She scoffed. “I’m sure.”

“You aren’t a replacement.”

Scully shook her head, refusing to believe him. “You always do this.”

“Do what?”

“Twist words.” She tried to pull her hands away from him without success. “Mulder, let me go.”

She felt Mulder squeeze her fingers tighter. “No.” He was staring at her. Those goddamn— “Look at me, Scully.”

Why did she feel tears in her eyes? Her eyes did feel dry from lack of sleep. “No.”

“Why not?”

“I’m sick of the lies.” She rested her chin on her chest. “I’m tired of the smoke and shadows. For once, I just want someone to tell me the truth and mean it.”

Mulder sighed. She winced hearing it. “What do you want me to do, Scully?”

“Tell me the truth.” She looked

“I am.” He removed the ice pack and kissed her knuckles. “I love you. You aren’t a replacement. Nothing could replace you.”

“Then what am I to you?”

“You’re Scully.” He looked at her as if that was even a question. “When it came to Samantha, I was able to live with it. I have for 27 years. But when I lost you on Skyline mountain…” Mulder put the ice pack back on her knuckles. “I couldn’t...I didn’t know what to do. I was filled with such rage. I almost killed Duane Barry. The months during your absence, I didn’t do so well.”

Scully watched him. “You rarely talk about it.”

“Because there isn’t too much to say. I took a couple of profiling cases. Coming back to the basement office—it didn’t feel the same. It wasn’t the same.” He nodded to the small gold cross on her neck. “I wore your cross when you were gone.”

She remained quiet.

He snorted derision and looked down at their hands. “It’s stupid. There was a point, right after you came back, that X wanted me to just take a plane ticket and leave you and forget everything. You. The x-files. The shadowy men without names. Everything.” He adjusted the ice pack. “And maybe, at one time I would, but not when it came to you.”

“Do you know why seeing run off with Agent Fowley hurt me?”

“Why?”

“It’s our work,” she specified, emphasizing the word ‘our.’ “She comes out of the woodwork and, all of the sudden, I take the backseat on this. I thought it was my science that kept you honest, Mulder.”

“Your science does,” he quickly caught himself, “quit twisting my words.”

“I’m not. My hands are fine, Mulder.”

“I guess they are.” He pulled back the ice and Scully flexed her numb hands. “Do you want another cup of tea?”

“Yes, please.”

“I left you with Gibson because I know he would be safer with you rather than Diana.”

“Yet, I still lost him.”

“No. He was at the nuclear facility. I have a hunch he is safe.” Mulder looked over his shoulder. “How generous, Special Agent Doctor?”

“Shut up. Make it a generous one.”

Mulder smiled and called, “Did you know I was a bartender for a couple of months in Oxford?” Scully’s mind was trying to reel with everything that was happening. But she forced her insecurities into the backseat and let Mulder take the lead. He frowned “If I were just here for something else, we’d be halfway across the country right now.”

“I don’t know if that is a good or bad thing, Mulder.” Scully watched the tv, flinching at a particularly gory scene with a face hugger. “Do you have nightmares?”

“Hm?” Mulder shrugged with his back to her. “Sometimes. That’s one of the reasons why I don’t sleep.”

Scully was quiet as Mulder returned to her with a new mug of hot Chai tea. She took it and sipped the mug. “Good. Thank you.”

“And for the record, Scully, the nightmares aren’t just of Samantha. It’s you too.”

She closed her eyes, annoyed with this vein of conversation. “Is that why you decided to profess your undying love?”

“I thought it was a good moment. But that’s not all of it.” Mulder rejoined her on the couch. “Are you ready to talk about that?”

“I still think you’re full of shit.”

He laughed and sipped his hot toddy. “That’s why my eyes are brown.”

“Hazel.”

“I’m only half full of shit then.”

Scully snorted into her drink. “I honestly don’t know what to believe.”

“I want to believe,” Mulder teased in a fake E.T. voice. She snickered playfully and slapped his thighs. “See? Made you smile. Careful. It might stay that way, Scully.”

“Shut up.”

“Okay,” he said. He checked his watch. “It is almost 4:30 am, Agent Scully. Your guest is intoxicated. What are you going to do?”

“I thought we were having a sleepover?”

“Did I say that?”

“You’re words, not mine.”

“At least take off your shoes.”

She heard Mulder kick them off and he grabbed the remote. He changed the tv to the Sports Channel. After seeing raise a questioning eyebrow, he shrugged. “So, do you watch Sports Center or a movie to fall asleep to?”

“What happened to Truth or Dare?”

“Okay, truth, or dare?”

“Dare,” she said.

“I dare you to have a sleepover on your couch.” That eyebrow. “Just...whatever we are, Scully.”

After a few moments of hesitation, she nodded. Scully felt him squeeze her hands and smile. She stood still like a painting. He smiled at her and she forced herself to return it. Mulder unwound her like a knotted piece of string and lounged himself. Despite their height differences and oppositeness, they still were made for each other. Scully found herself curling up next to him as he grabbed the remote and changing it to a 4 am playing of ‘Mystery Science Theatre 3000.’ Mulder grabbed a knitted, over large Afghan from the back of her couch to tuck around them.

“What does this say to you, Agent Mulder?”

“I love you,” he whispered. He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “And I tell you without hesitation.”

Scully was quiet. “Why did you come here again?”

“There’s nowhere else where I would rather be.”

“Good enough for now.”

Scully quickly ran through possible scenarios. What did she have to lose? Everything. “This won’t change anything.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t want to lose us,” she replied cautiously.

“This will change nothing. If not, only for the better.”

She wisely chose not to say anything. She tried to relax but she shook her head. She pushed away towards the other end of the couch. There was a visible look of hurt on his face. “It’s not you,” she replied quickly.

“Yeah, I’ve heard it before. It’s me.”

“For once, it’s is me, Mulder. I can’t...I can’t get past my insecurities.”

“What insecurities?”

She ghosted him a smile. “The hallway? Either we have really bad timing or bees don’t like us.”

“Or?”

“You mentioned it earlier. I don’t want to be a replacement for Samantha or her…”

“Her?” It took a moment for Mulder to recognize what she was telling him. “Why do you say that?”

“I overheard what you said to Arizona. She’s staying on the x-files because it’s the best way to represent your interests. Before that, when we still had the office, I caught you all holding hands. She seemed so excited about something. That is when I called you. I told you I was driving back. I was just sitting in the car in the garage outside.”

“Watching in the shadows?” Mulder sighed. “Scully…”

“I feel like I’ve been on the outside a lot lately.” She sipped her hot toddy, the alcohol burning in the back of her throat. “So I can’t help but feel somewhat insecure. Just talking about it…” She snorted into her mug of tea. “It’s taking a lot.”

“I can understand that.”

“Do you?”

He hesitated. “I...like to think so.” Mulder leaned forward. “I know things have been tough. Honestly, I’m surprised you’re still here.”

She titled her head in question. “What do you mean?”

“I thought that you have left. Maybe try to go back to Quantico or quit the FBI all together.”

“I almost did that night when they told me Salt Lake City. But you’re my partner, Mulder. It’s as simple as that.”

He took her free hand and entwined their fingers. “And for that, I am grateful for that of every moment of every day. Do you want to know the difference between you and her?”

“Our heights?”

Mulder snorted in muted laughter. “I guess, physically, but where it counts, you tower above her.”

She arched a skeptical eyebrow.

“She left me. No warning or note. Just up and left. I haven’t been in contact with her since she left. She wouldn’t have chased me like you have or been thrown in contempt of Congress for lying to save my ass.” Scully smiled as she looked down. “She wouldn’t have thrown everything out the window to deal with her crazy partner. You are so much more than she was, or is, Scully.” He brushed her hair out of her face. “And I have never loved anyone more than I love you. Truth. I meant what I said in that hospital. I love you.”

“You really overcomplicate things.”

Mulder shrugged and grinned. “So, Scully, where does this leave us?”

The insecurities raged inside her and she averted her gaze. “I’ve had nightmares about this too,” she said softly.

“Why does it always feel like we are watching from the shadows?” He asked her softly. “Especially in our nightmares? We feel like we don’t have control?”

“I don’t know. I thought you were supposed to be the psychologist?”

“It was rhetorical.”

“I know.” She sighed and looked at the tv for a distraction. “After all we’ve been through, Mulder…”

“What about it?”

“I do love you.” She said as quickly exhaled so it came out in a jumble of words. Scully doubted he had heard her. But his playful grin suggested otherwise. “You heard it?”

“Ears like a fox.”

Mulder bent forward again to kiss her again, forgoing all shyness. She felt him bring her closer, snaking his arms around her. He sighed audibly before she returned it with much gusto. Senses alight for both of them, Scully managed to be the level headed one between them both. “Mulder,” she breathed. “I hardly think this is the place?”

He pulled back and blinked in confusion. His senses were drunk off her that it was heard from him to make sense. “What?”

“I don’t think the couch Is the best place for this.”

“Why?”

He was only now capable of single-word answers and questions. She smiled. She felt lighter. The nightmares that had plagued the back of her mind for months now seemed like a distant memory. “Just because.”

It seemed like she was incapable of speaking too. She pushed the Afgan aside and got to her feet. The cups were forgotten and Mulder clicked off the television. Words failed them but their unspoken communication did otherwise. He took her hand and squeezed. “Are you certain?”

“No,” she admitted truthfully, “but I know what I feel. I’ve learned to trust my instincts.”

Mulder smiled. She led him to her bedroom. She kept the lamp near her bed on and he looked at her tossed sheets. He exhaled, letting out a heavy sigh. “I wish you would have told me sooner.”

“What would you have done, Mulder?”

“Acted sooner.”

“Well, you’re here now, right?”

“Of course. You haven’t kicked me out yet.”

“I’m not planning to.”

Scully took his hands and pulled him closer. She felt emboldened and the room felt hotter than it was. He smiled. “So…” She grabbed him by the scruff of his t-shirt and pulled him downwards. Mulder’s spine protested but he didn’t care. Let Scully take the lead. His arms reached downwards to bring her closer. Suddenly, she felt frozen. Just a second ago she had felt so confident. Now, she was unsure. “What’s wrong?”

“Are you certain about this?” Her voice was soft but the lingering hesitation could be heard. “About this thing between us?”

“Yes, I’m more certain than anything else.”

“Okay.” There was another pause. “So...how do we do this?”

“We just do,” he laughed.

She shook her head and said, “Isn’t this better than a stakeout, watching in the shadows for some would-be informant, and then finding out it was a waste of time.”

“Scully, are you proposing role-playing?”

“No. It’s just…” She laughed despite herself. “I never imagined this.”

“Are you certain you want to go through with this? You don’t have to if you’re…”

“No, I want this.”

Mulder kissed her softly at first but deepened it. He walked her backward to her bed until she bumped up against it. Mulder smiled as pushed her to sit down. “It’s, uh, been a while.”

“Same.”

He sat next to her and laughed. “I expected this to be different.”

“What do you mean?”

“We’re going to do this, aren’t we? I expected it to be a bit more...fevered? And look at us, like two scared virgins.”

Scully laughed. “So, Mulder, do you want me to take the lead?”

He rolled his eyes. “Or we can just go back to watching TV. I’m sorry. I guess it’s the sleep deprivation talking.”

“We aren’t watching TV. I thought we were having a sleepover. At some point, we do have to sleep.” She got to her knees and pushed him onto his back. “Besides, Mulder, we’ve come this far. When have we ever done anything halfway?”

“What have you done with Dana Scully?”

“Invasion of the body snatchers?”

Scully felt her courage return. She swung her leg over his hip and straddled him. “Now, correct me if I’m wrong but I don’t remember this being a part of a sleepover.”

“Well, it’s a thing between partners, right?”

She slid lower, squeezing her thighs in the process. He grunted in response. “Right. I’m not complaining by the way. I was just stating.”

She hummed. She was alight was all new sensations. Mulder let his hands drop to her waist. “I like those pajamas by the way. It’s not silk for once.”

“Cotton.”

“Huh.”

“My mom says…”

He couldn’t take it anymore. “I don’t care what your mother said.”

His long arms twisted around her and pulled her down. She braced herself, sticking her hands out on either side of his head to brace the impact. She collided into an Earth-shattering kiss. Stranger thing how time and physics worked. She sighed happily as her tongue delved into his mouth. This was good. “This is wonderful,” she whispered between breaths.

“Do you know what makes this better?”

“What?”

“Give me some control?” She paused. “Do you trust me, Scully?

“Yes.”

He smiled. “You know that you’re the only one I trust, right?”

“Do you?”

Instead of answering her, he skillfully changed their positions so she was laying on her back and he was laying on her side. His left hand carefully undid the button down her pajama top. She breathed sharply at the first contact of his fingertips caressing the swell of her breast. “I do.” He watched her thoughtfully. “You see, before you...I had a few partners. They came and went. It was like they wanted nothing to do with me. But you...you challenged me, you made me better. I can’t place the exact moment but it may have been laughing with you in that graveyard in Oregon at five o’clock in the morning.”

She hissed at his touches. “That was nearly six years ago.”

“So, I like a slow burn. I have never felt this way about anyone except you.” She laughed but she bit her lips to keep herself from crying out. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Do your nightmares involve this, Scully?”

“I don’t let myself indulge in such fantasies.”

“Why not?”

He was growing bolder with his explorations. She sighed and closed her eyes. “Lately, with everything, I don’t know.”

“What do you say we change that?”

He bent down to kiss her again and pushed up on her top. He wasn’t rushing nor did she mean his slow advances. Soon, she found herself growing restless. “Mulder?”

“Hmmm?”

“Enough of this. Let’s finish this.”

This is not how neither one of them imagined things. Scully had it imagined it fast and quick after the turmoil from a case. Mulder, on the other hand, imagined it slow after one night of verbally sparing with one another. Who needed guidance when you had your better half?

The lamp remained on. There was no hiding from this. Six years of tension resolved.

The clothes were peeled artfully like it was nothing new. She laughed between their kisses. “At least I don’t have to save you this time.”

He suckled her hungrily. “You already did. A long time ago.”

Mulder reached to turn out the light on her nightstand and Scully grabbed his wrist, stopping him. “No, leave it on.”

The first time was always awkward. They both remembered being told that my friends when they were teenagers. “I expected this to be different,” he admitted.

“Mulder, shut up.”

“This has got to be a sleepover for the record books.”

At the clock turned 5:00 and the red numbers faded against the lamplight, Mulder continued. Clothes were shed, and they crawled beneath the covers. The fire ignited and fears were extinguished. Gone was the cold that plagued the nightmares and shadows that kept them in hiding. Their bodies entwined, just as their souls had been for years.

Their ecstasy came to a crescendo as Scully felt her last orgasm leave her and Mulder followed soon after. He was laughing as he rolled off to the side and she grinned like a fool. He started to laugh too and any tension that remained fade as she came down from her high.

“Well, I certainly don’t remember sleepovers being like that,” he remarked.

Scully could hear the fatigue in his voice, finally evident from someone who had not slept in over 24 hours. She smiled goofily and nodded toward the window. “The sun is coming up.”

“How can you tell?”

“It’s summer and during that time, the sun comes through the window sometimes. It’s been so long. I can’t remember the last time I stayed in bed this late.”

“We haven’t been here that late.” He yawned and pulled her closer. “Where are you going?”

“Give me a sec.”

She reached to turn out the light and moved to get out of bed. “Where do you think you’re going? And why did you turn out the light?”

“Because, Mulder, this is supposed to be a sleepover,” she said, “and we need to sleep.”

“And based on what scientific evidence?”

“I’m a doctor.”

He watched her jog nude across the bedroom in the dark shadows to open up the blinds slightly to let in the morning light. She rushed back to bed. “Oh, your cold,” he complained.

“Knock it off.”

Scully reclaimed her spot next to him. They both turned beneath the covers to face the newly opened blinds as the early morning light began to shine through. “No more shadows, Scully.”

“No more shadows.”

#xfiles #xf fic #txf #txf fic #msr #msr fic #mulder #scully #season 6 angst #ust #rst

[cajunquandary]

Whispers of the Desert

Pairing | Reader, Sam, Dean

Summary | When the reader takes time for herself in the mountainous desert of far-west Texas, the last thing she expected was to have to fight for her life.

W/C | 6100

Warnings | Canon-level violence, blood, drowning and nightmares. It’s angsty.

A/N | Several years ago, I took a trip to Big Bend State Park, which is the setting for this tale. While there, my better half shared some folklore from his heritage. This was written in part for @supernatural-jackles​ SPN Bi-Weekly Writing Challenge. Prompt is in bold. Happy spooky-season, y’all.

The can of beans bubbled gently over the open fire. You stirred them carefully, as not to spill the contents or allow them to burn on the bottom. Little else is worse than burned beans. Using a well-worn cotton kerchief, you reach quickly to remove the can from the flames, cussing to yourself as the smoldering metal burns straight through the thin cloth to your fingers. The can lands next to you on the ground in a whap, a few rebellious beans jumping overboard as the can tipped and wiggled to a stop. You place the burned digits in your mouth one at a time in an attempt to suck the zinging pain away quickly then give up, wiping them on your dusty jeans with a sigh of resignation.  

The sleepy spotted hound to the left of you continued to snore, exhausted from the heat of the day and the journey thus far. You’d been hunting for months straight without so much as a full night of rest and decided to take a weekend to yourself, far away from humans and monsters. You smile at the dog, glad to have such a loyal companion. Training him had been surprisingly easy, you reminisced while blowing on a spoonful of dinner-in-a-can to cool it.

You don’t quite remember when you stopped being a “normal” kid, if ever you were, and became a hunter. There was no dramatic intro, no amazing story—only a few ghosts and some salt. You sniggered at the thought, recalling how you’d been hooked on the Supernatural books as a kid, reading well beyond your grade level. So, when the time came that you actually confronted the supernatural in real life, you already had the answers. It was easy. You still weren’t sure about all the larger plots, like apocalypses and the Winchester boys, but the basic lore was solid.

Just a few years ago, you remembered being so lonely that it was throwing you off your game. Even though you craved human contact, you could never give more than a one-night stand on occasion. Loving me is a death sentence, you replayed over and over in your mind.

After a not-so-great hunt, you limped into a shelter, asking for the dog least likely to ever find a home. A puppy was unceremoniously thrown into your arms, the staff begging you to take it and go, as they were already struggling and couldn’t afford to keep a dog like this for long. Walking back to your old blue truck, you looked down at the small, fragile thing. Spotted all over, ears floppy and forlorn eyes that broke your heart. “A mutt,” they’d called it. One that just wouldn’t be wanted in that town. A runt and only surviving pup in a litter from a mix of a large, skinny hound dog and an even bigger, meaner pit bull.

As he’d grown, you trained him to hunt as well, bringing home bits of monster so he could learn the different scents and be able to tell you what may be approaching before you were caught off guard. The mutt grew up strong and confident with a huge loving heart.

On the rare occasion you make a public appearance in a town—any town—young children would come running to him, pulling on his ears and shoving their hands down his throat. He loved the attention. You couldn’t help but to smile, thinking that he would have been the perfect family dog, then sink into heart ache, realizing that the life you led would never allow for such a thing… that the two of you would likely both perish bloody at the hands of beasts.

You were scraping the bottom of the can now, grateful for the nourishment, when a shadow crept closer, curious of this new thing in its home.

Mutt sensed you stiffen and slowly turn your head to the midnight intruder. His hackles raised as he sniffed the air, a low, nearly inaudible rumble beginning deep in his chest as a warning. The waning light of the fire cast short, fleeting glimpses of the visitor. You dropped your shoulders and relaxed. It was only a coyote. Most people would be frightened by the animals if confronted in such a way, but you were familiar with them and with their mannerisms. You gently laid a hand on Mutt to reassure him that all was well. He trusted you fully, hackles lowering slightly, standing down.

The coyote lowered his head, sniffing towards your discarded can. You locked eyes with the scavenger, mirroring its movements. Its jowls drew back slightly, revealing short, sharp teeth in a smiling sneer. You drew back yours as well, baring your teeth and adjusting your features until your brows furrowed and eyes dared it to move closer. After a moment, the wild dog went back to a resting face, blowing from its nose and licking the air in peace. On swift, silent paws, it turned and trotted away in defeat, using the light of the Milky Way to guide it to its next meal.

You smiled and shook your head. Though during the day, the mountainsides and valleys looked barren and empty except for cactus and an occasional pile of wild grasses, the nights were always vibrant and teeming with life. Off in the distance, a chorus of howls echoed off of the cliffs and across the canyon below, rising and falling, sounding off in one direction, then another, then both. Cool winds of night lifted the solemn song through the air, carrying it for miles as if it were a raptor weightlessly gliding over the terrain.

Mutt released a tired huff, a bit of caliche dust stirring in a small curling puff in front of his nose. You killed the now flameless glowing embers with a swift kick of dust and your boot, smooshing it until the ash was cool. You climbed into the front seat of the truck, Mutt right on your heels. He laid next to you on the faded carpet as you sprawled across the bench seat and kicked off your boots. Folding your arm under your head, it was merely seconds before your mind fell to black.

 The largest owl you’ve ever seen haunted your dreams. It was persistent and aggressively following you, swooping and diving towards your head. As if being shrouded in a spell, where you could only move sluggishly as if in water and your mouth could fall open but emit no sound, was terrifying enough, the owls face would morph continuously between that of the animal and of a young woman whose face twisted in unnatural ways. More than anything, you were angry—angry at the being, angry at yourself. Frustration pushed at the seams of your sanity as your mind and body fought each other when they should have been unified and fighting against the feathered behemoth. The shape-shifting head seemed to whisper a steady string of words you couldn’t understand.

The more you labored, the heavier your limbs grew and a thick fog began creeping at the edges of your brain, poisoning every thought and emotion until there was almost nothing left. Nothing but absolute, bone-chilling, illogical fear. Quick, panicked breaths drew fire-hot air into your lungs, but you could not longer even writhe in the pain with your body completely paralyzed—suspended high above the black silhouette of desert. Every cell in your being began to swell and pull, tearing apart. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and you felt it being ripped from your body.

Your soul.

With the last bit of strength left within you, you forced your eyes open.

Mutt whined as you came to, suddenly upright and back in the safety of your truck. The first rays of sunrise were creeping up over the horizon. You looked down, feeling coming back to your body in waves of numb tingles. You were soaked in sweat and nausea overcame you. Barely opening the door in time, you leaned out over the step and released your stomach violently, heaving for some time until there was nothing left. Right then and there, you swore off canned beans for the foreseeable future. Mutt laid his head on your shoulder, licking the beads of perspirant off your temple in concern.

When the retching and trembling stopped, the stars had been all but chased away and replaced by the soft, subtle rainbow hues of morning. You groaned and rolled over, staring at the cab roof and planning your recovery quickly. Starting a day out here already dehydrated and weak could be a death sentence.

The wind kicked up, blasting a sweet relief of fresh air into your lungs. Whistles and other unexpected noises on the breeze were fairly normal, especially during daylight exchange, but you could swear you heard the distant hoots of an owl. Mutt didn’t seem to hear anything, so you shrugged the spooky feeling off and put the keys in the ignition, ready to head into the nearest truck stop for a shower and a sports drink.

 About an hour later, you pulled your sputtering, rattling truck into the stop and parked next to a shiny black car. With windows rolled down for Mutt, you stepped out and around to get a better view of the old beauty. It was an Impala, probably a ’67 if you were to guess. You loved old cars, always wanting an El Camino for yourself one day. Even your truck was old—a faded and mildly rusty baby blue Ford. Your eyes traced and admired the curves of the car, the shine of the chrome and the matching leather interior. Everything was in perfect condition, as if it just come off of a show truck. You knelt down until you were on hands and knees, peeking up under the front of the car, taking note of the lack of rust underneath and original suspension. In all, you were impressed.

You straightened back up on your feet, adjusting your wide-brimmed hat back in its place. You went rigid, suddenly feeling a presence too close behind you for comfort. You spun on your heels, feet spaced and ready to defend yourself. It wasn’t often you had to, but once in a while, a particularly ignorant man would try to get a little too fresh with you—the small woman travelling alone.  

You weren’t prepared for this.

Only inches away, a very tall, very handsome man in flannel stood cockily, a bag of donuts in one hand, beer and jerky in the other. You slowly lifted your gaze from his chest up to his face. Shaded green eyes caught yours like a spider would a fly—you were ensnared and unable to focus on anything else around you. The rest of the world fell away bit by bit as you performed in this staring contest. He slowly popped a little donut in his mouth, the pastry filling his cheeks and dusting his lips and collar with white powder. He chewed slowly with a poker face.

“Nice car,” you managed to choke out.

The tension between the two of you was palpable now. The freckle-dusted man continued to chew, responding with a throaty, mumbled “Mhmmph.”

The door to the building opened with a ring-ding, startling you from the awkward competition. You took a step back, breaking the stare and following the alert towards an even larger man walking towards you, face buried deep in a local map. “Hey, Dean, get this—”

His eyes snapped up, assessing the standoff before him, and he shook the hair out of his face. His eyes were nothing like the other man’s—they were softer, drawn together inquisitively, the sun highlighting the different shades of green, blue and brown folded and swirled around black pupils. He stopped next to the passenger door and cocked his head to the side. “Uh, Dean. Everything alright?”

Without so much as wavering his intense regard, Dean answered the taller man. “Yeah, Sammy. She’s just admiring the car.”

Sam rolled his eyes and huffed. “Dean, we don’t have time for this. Let’s go.” He waved amicably in your direction and settled into the Impala. You crossed your arms and turned back towards Dean after shooting a smile at Sam.

A little more confident now, you returned back to your game of glares. “Can’t take a compliment, Dean?”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “Yeah, it’s my baby. I put a lot of work into her. Thanks.”

The man continued to stand there, looking you up and down and eyeing you warily as if you were about to explode. You shrugged off the strange encounter and turned away, throwing a “have a good day” his way before you entered the welcome air conditioning of the store.

As you pre-paid for your shower and sports drink with the clerk, you could still see the man standing there out of the corner of your eye, watching you cautiously through the window.

You took the key and headed off towards the back of the building, ready to wash away the night terrors and bizarre encounter.

When you reached your private bathroom suite, you closed and locked the door then set down your backpack and turned on the hot water in the clean, sand-colored tiled shower. Steam started to fog the mirror, but you glimpsed yourself before it went completely white. Horrified, you wiped at the mirror. Your eyes were bloodshot and there was dried blood, almost black, that had trickled down your nose. Your veins were prominent and unnaturally blue, spiderwebbing across the thinner areas of skin. Your pupils were blown wide. You reached up to touch your face, confused, but your hand wandered to an itch under your ear. You leaned in closer and angled your head to see that blood had seeped from your ears as well.

You hastily stepped into the drumming water and tried to scrub away the knowledge that the nightmare may have been more than just that.

 Back at the Impala, Dean watched you through the window, unmoved from the spot he’d caught you sneaking around the Impala. When you were out of sight, he slipped into the driver’s seat, hinges protesting with a squeak.

“You okay, dude?” Sam asked.

Dean set his snacks down between them. “No, Sam. Did you see her face? I found her creeping around the car. I didn’t see any hex-bags, but I think she’s a witch.”

Sam shook his head in disbelief. “Dean, she just looked like she had a few too many last night and maybe got in a fight.”

Dean shrugged, not willing to argue with his brother. One of his favorite things about Sam was also the worst—he always saw the good in people and, all too often, was blinded by it.

He turned up the music and peeled away from the truck stop, ready to put some distance between them and you.

 You walked back to your truck, fully refreshed and looking much more like your normal self. Mutt stood up in the front seat, tail wagging and you couldn’t help but grin back at him. As you popped up next to him, you pulled out your phone to search for the nearest library. It was time to figure out what the hell happened last night.

 The library wasn’t too far—another town over about a half hour away. It was a relatively small place, with only two computers and a few rooms. What it lacked for in size, it certainly made up for in quality and quantity for the research you required. Mutt walked silently by your side through the long, narrow passages between bookcases. Just before you reached the end, one book caught your eye.

Folklore of West Texas

You pulled it from the shelf, a familiar green eye arresting yours once more where there should have been another book on the opposite shelf. Startled, you took a stumbling step back, spine crashing into the full bookshelves behind you and digging in uncomfortably. Mutt stood at attention then, low growl emanating from bared teeth towards the stranger on the other side. You dropped your free hand to him, knowing that if he made a ruckus, you’d both be kicked out. He quieted, but still leaned into you, rigid and on high alert.

Dean rounded the corner quickly, looking down at the hackled dog and drawing his hands up quickly, as if mildly scared. “Mind calling off the attack dog?”

“Only if you tell me why you’re following me.”

“Following you—what? You’re following us!” He hissed, barely above a whisper.

Sam trotted up behind you, footfalls heavy on the old hardwood floor.

He looked from you to Dean to Mutt then to the book you were holding. Ignoring his brother’s strange demeanor, Sam asked kindly, “Hey, uh, mind if we borrow that book from you? The librarian pointed us towards it. It for research—important research.”

You gripped it tighter, suddenly feeling quite cramped in the small space and wanting to run the other direction, away from these crazy people. “Sorry, uh… Sam, is it?”

He nodded, small, thin, friendly smile coasting his lips.

“Sorry, Sam, I need it urgently. I uh… I have a paper for my college class due in like four hours and I haven’t even started. Maybe come get it tomorrow?” You hoped they would accept your lie and let you be.

Sam sighed. “Maybe we can share? There’s seating over by the computers. You can write and when you’re not using the book, maybe we can?”

You had to hand it to him, he was thoughtful and it would have been a good compromise. Unable to think of another excuse, you nodded in agreement.

 After a few hours of searching through the book and the internet, through the library computer, you found a promising lead. Something called a Lechuza bruja, a type of witch or spirit well-known around the Texas-Mexico border.

The whole time, you could feel the eyes of the men as they bore into you, watching your every move.

You stood quickly, numb legs stretching and ready to carry you away from the situation. You smiled and tipped your brim at the men and quickly walked back through the maze of shelves and to your truck. The afternoon heat hit the parts of your face not shadowed by the black hat. Once in the vehicle, you opened the cooler to check your provisions. Hmm, running low. Next stop—the market.

 Sam and Dean whispered with each other, huddled so close that their heads were nearly touching.

“A lechuga?”

Sam huffed. “No Dean, a Lechu-ZA. We aren’t fighting lettuce.”

Dean hung his head in his hands, dragging them across his hair and back down, rubbing his temples. “Frickin’ witches man,” he mumbled. At least for Dean, lettuce and witches were held in the same regard—both revolting.

 You were glad to be back out in the wide-open human-less landscape. You cracked open a cold beer from the cooler and let the fizz glide down your throat, both cooling and warming you in delightful ways. Sunset was fast approaching and painting wildfires through the sky. Atop your plateau, you could look down and see Texas to the North and East, Mexico to the South and West, and the Rio Grande snaking between them, forming an oasis along its banks. You were close enough to hear the constant, deep rumble of water. You closed your eyes, imagining people from a thousand years ago listening to the same sound.

Letting the peaceful daydream fade away, you set the beer on the hood and went to rifle through the tool box in the bed of the truck. You pushed aside the smaller items of necessity and heaved a large bag of salt over your shoulder with a grunt. You painstakingly dug a shallow trench with your heel all the way around the vehicle, filling it with an unbroken line of salt along the way.

After you prepped the truck for a sleepless night potentially fighting away ghosts and witches, you climbed into the bed of the truck with the cooler and opened a bag of jerky. Mutt enjoyed his kibble and curled up next to you, happy and relaxed, innocent of the danger that would likely find you tonight.

As the temperature dropped and the familiar refrains of coyotes filled the air with music, your eyes grew heavy. You curled into yourself, pulling the rough blanket over your shoulders. You looked up at the stars, trying to tally the larger ones to keep yourself awake. There were so many that the dark sky was not truly black anywhere—everywhere you looked there were more. Every time your eyes adjusted and focused on a dark spot, you could count even more of them as they appeared.

 Everything was true black and silent, as if you’d gone blind and deaf. This was not the desert you knew. You turned and felt the ground with your feet, trusting that your tall boots would block any cactus or unfriendly critters. You shuffled forward and tried to call out to Mutt, but the words caught in your throat. It began to constrict, as if something had you in a vice grip, crushing your windpipe from the inside out. You reflexively tried to breathe deeply, but fell to your knees, scratching at your throat, panic rising. Your eyes bugged and strained, desperate for any miniscule bit of light. You blinked hard, just to verify that your eyes were indeed open. Gasping for breath, your lungs burned and you fell onto your side, convulsing as if drowning. As numbness creeped its dark tendrils through your body, and you began to sense gravity fall away.

You continued to struggle, allowing fear to set in. Off in the distance, a light appeared. Like a shooting star destined to destroy worlds, it hurtled towards you. In mere seconds, the bright, glowing owl was there, once again sporting the glitching face of a woman contorted in sickening ways.  The owl dwarfed you, calmly flapping its wings and whispering those strange incantations that drew such agony from your breaking body.

It floated closer to you, and in the light, you could see your hair suspended as if you were fully submerged under water. When the monstrosity got within arms reach with open beak, you reeled back and punched it right in the eye.

 You woke with a start, Mutt pawing at you and barking violently. Urgently.

Shaking off the nightmare, you could taste blood in your mouth. Tears had run down your face at some point, and you hurriedly wiped them away.

The blinding light of the full moon revealed otherwise—blood. You were bleeding tears?

You withdrew a kerchief from your flannel pocket and wiped your face as you scanned the salt line. The wind had blown away several areas. You looked up at the sky and tried to calm Mutt, who was trembling for the first time since he was a small pup. The full moon snatched the breath from you, and your chest heaved. It looked exactly like the eye you’d just punched in your dream.

The night was far colder than you’d expected, the chill reaching down to your bones. That was it.

It was time to leave. This was not something you could fight on your own. You jumped from the bed of the truck and Mutt joined you in the cab. You tried to start the truck, but the engine just sputtered. You tried a few more times, then nothing—as if the battery had died.

“No no no no no,” you cursed, hitting the steering wheel with both fists.

Time seemed to slow to a stop, Mutt frozen mid-bark and facing the windshield.

A large gray owl landed on the hood and its striking yellow eyes sent shockwaves through you—overwhelming pulses of anguish. You screamed, mouth falling open and eyes shutting against the spell, trying to break its hold. A vision of a small child drowning in the river filled your mind. It was screaming, choking, begging for help.

When your eyes opened, the screams of the child urged your feet forward faster, now running full speed through the desert.

You were not in control of your body anymore, but merely a hapless passenger. Your feet betrayed you and you went tumbling down the side of the cliff, catching every sharp rock and thorn on the way down. If you had your wits, you wouldn’t have been able to move, too broken to continue. The rush of the water nearby caused your veins and arteries to constrict and pulse at a dangerously high rate. Adrenaline coursed along with your blood and you rolled and stumbled towards the river once more. In a kicking leap, you crashed into the frigid waters searching for the screaming child. The shrieks were so loud that they rattled your brain and hurt your ears, threatening to consume you. You thrashed against the strong current.

The owl screeched and swooped down, tearing at your drenched hair. The freezing black water helped ground you enough to realize that there was no child—only the horrid cries of the bird.

The Lechuza, you reminded yourself. Just as you reached for the vial of salt in your pocket, the witch-owl dove into the water, catching the back of your collar in its sharp beak, dragging you to the depths with it. Its eyes glowed, the only visible thing in the dark waters.

 Dean pulled the Impala slowly up to your truck, eyes locked on the salt circle. “Shit!” He shouted as he threw Baby into park. He bounded from the car towards the abandoned vehicle. He whipped back around towards Sam.

Sam picked up the blood-soaked kerchief in the bed of the truck and gave it to Dean. “I think we’re too late,” Sam noted, his voice faltering with the worry rising in his throat.

“I didn’t know she was a hunter! How did we not know?! The signs were all there!” Dean cursed and kicked the tire violently, throwing firsts in the air as he gripped the soiled kerchief. Of course, he blamed himself. In fact, the only reason they were out there was to gank you. Until this moment, they’d had no idea that you were another victim and not the bruja herself.

Mutt whined and cried a high pitched imperative. Dean ran back to the Impala with a long string of creative curses, retrieving two shotguns and extra witch-killing bullets. Sam opened the truck door and Mutt spilled out.

“Here boy, here,” Sam called to the frantic dog. “Take her to us. Go get her!”

Mutt seemed to understand and took off towards the southwest, nose close to the ground and paws practically levitating across the rough earth. Dean tossed the extra gun to Sam and they raced off, following the dog’s brays. They carefully descended the cliffside, sliding partway down and narrowly missing a large crevasse. The men watched in horror just as the large owl drug you beneath the waves.

 You thrashed violently against the authority of the currents and the essence of pure evil leeching into you through osmosis. Once you were fully saturated in the foul concentrate, the Lechuza Bruja reared its ugly head back, screeching at a decibel that whales would envy, resounding through your entire being and threatening to shred you to pieces. Whether it was the spell or hypothermia kicking in, your limbs grew stiff and immovable. Your lungs screamed for air until you couldn’t fight it anymore.

In that moment, you felt your very soul being stripped away, and in the void, water filled your lungs. The pain only lasted a moment more before you started to sink towards the rocky bottom, bits of freshwater weeds outstretching soft, welcoming arms. You blinked slowly one last time, looking up at the disappearing monster above you as it emerged forcefully from the opaque waters. With the fading light, you closed your eyes, ready to greet your reaper. Your limp body fell to rest with a soft thud into the bed of river grass.

 Sam dove into the water immediately, shoes and shirt flying off in a frenzy along the way. Just as he submerged, Dean angled the shotgun full of salt pellets and hit the fleeing bruja like a game of skeet. The nasty beast crumpled at his feet but did not stay still long. Dean dropped the shotgun and withdrew his pearl-handled pistol. The man-sized owl stood and flared its wings, beak agape in a blood curdling scream. Without hesitation, Dean aimed carefully and shot it center mass twice then between the eyes once in rapid succession.

The creature exploded in a ferocious affair, leaving only dust and feathers behind. Dean held his arm up, coughing into the crook of his sleeve. When the particles settled, he rushed towards where Mutt dug at the bank, barking and whining, careful not to touch the water.

“C’mon Sam,” he prayed, pacing impatiently. Just as he thrust off his own shirt and shoes to rescue both of you, Sam broke the shallow waves with a loud gasp. He held you in one arm, treading towards shore with the other. With a waterlogged body, you were more than a typical deadweight. Dean grabbed onto you when he was close enough, about waist deep in the river, feet sliding on the slippery stones. He traded a glance with Sam to make sure he was okay. Sam nodded between coughing fits.

He would be alright, but he couldn’t say the same for you. Your eyes were half open and far away, likely lost on this plane. Dean set you down on a sandy patch devoid of sharp protrusions and slammed fists on your chest. You were cold and blue.

“No no no, shit! Come on!” He yawped into the waning night. He started CPR. In desperation, he rolled you on your side and slapped your upper back hard. Your lungs rejected the water, projecting it up to a few feet away. Shallow, agonal breaths shook you furiously, your limbs going into straight, fixed positions. He sighed a minor breath of relief then picked you up and slung you over his shoulder, hoping more water would drain that way. The boys scrambled back up to the plateau where they reached the Impala in record time. Your body still racked and spasmed, trying hard to intake oxygen but still unable to expel all the water on its own. Dean handed you to Sam and jumped in the driver’s seat, breaking his “no dogs in the car EVER” rule as Mutt joined him in the front. Sam slid into the back, still pumping your chest when needed.

Dean grimaced as he flew as fast as he could down the winding, bumpy excuse for a road through Big Bend. He checked his phone, waiting anxiously for a bar of service since the nearest hospital was almost three hours away by car. “Sam, is she—?”

“Drive faster, Dean.”

The car gained air a few times, until at last Dean slammed the breaks to a sliding halt, atop a peak near the park exit. He dialed 911, pleading with the operator to send a helicopter to them like yesterday.

Minutes passed.

Dean paced outside the car, searching the sky and spinning in circles, the first rays of morning shining in his eyes. Sam pulled you from the car to the ground when you stopped breathing again. This time, he started CPR and you didn’t react.

Ten minutes.

Sam sang the Bee Gees under his breath, struggling to hold tempo and arms shaking in exhaustion. Mutt lay by your side, eyes closed and whining softly.

Dean kicked and punched at the world around him, screaming curses into the sky and towards himself, tears coming freely now as he felt the full weight of his guilt. He’d allowed another hunter to die because he couldn’t see past his own pig-headedness.

Fifteen.

Sam collapsed, arms shaking with exhaustion. Dean picked up where his brother left off with torturous thoughts raging rampant through his mind.

The long-awaited sounds of a helicopter in the distance graced their hungry ears. Sam jumped to his feet, waving wildly. He helped guide the crew to a clearing just a few yards away. Dean shielded you from the flying debris.

Two medics quickly wrapped you and continued CPR. In seconds, the helicopter was pulling away towards the rising sun.

Dean’s hands were clasped together atop his head, but internally, he was imploding.

 Your eyes opened slowly, blurred vision confusing your already muddled mind with distorted images. You winced against the cool, damp cloth brushing against your temple. You groaned as your body woke in stages, each one more painful than the last.

A solid, warm hand wrapped around your forearm. You clenched your fist in response, a sharp sting in the top of your hand. “Shhh, shh shh. You’re okay. You’re at the hospital,” the soft yet gravelly voice whispered reassuringly.

Bringing your other hand to your eyes, you roughly wiped and rubbed until you could see more clearly. You started to gag and heave at the tubes connecting your lungs to a breathing machine. You pulled and flailed, panic striking fight or flight into you once again. Nurses rushed in and your eyes followed them wide open and wild. They carefully withdrew the apparatus and strapped your limbs down, replacing it with a much gentler nasal cannula, and lastly lifting the bed so that you were sitting up slightly.

You tried to choke out questions, but the more you tried, the more it hurt. You gave in to frustrated silence and took in your surroundings. Dean was there, hovering closely, tears at the corners of his red-rimmed eyes and an apology already spilling from his mouth.

You shook your head, confused, and motioned for something to write with. He handed you a small whiteboard and expo marker.

Who are you?

“Dean Winchester.”

You looked at him, unbelieving that it could be that Winchester—the one from the Supernatural books. It was only a story, right? Yet it was all right there—the character description, the car, and even Sam. Erasing your last question, you sloppily wrote a new one.

‘The’ Dean W.? SPN Legend?

He chuckled lightly. “Yeah, that one.”

You took in the view of your body—wrapped nearly head to toe in bandages, some of them still bloody.

What happened?

“You don’t remember?”

You shook your head no.

He recounted his version of the night, looking over his shoulder to make sure there were no prying ears.

You could tell it aggrieved him—the whole thing. You didn’t blame him of course; you’d almost wondered the same about him and Sam, suspecting that they may have been the evil bewitched spirit.

Sometimes, hunters die.

He placed his palm over the scribbled words, eyes cast down. “No. Not like that, not when we can stop it.” You squeezed his hand then shoved it away lightly.

I forgive you.

The words brought the large hunter to his knees. When he found the strength to lock eyes with you once more, you gave him a thin, strained smile. Looking at the band on your wrist, it was obvious he’d guessed your name and age. You jotted the correct information down and showed it to him. He smiled back.

“Nice to formally meet you, Y/N.”

You, too. What now?

Making sure the room was still clear, he leaned in. “Now, we get you out of here. Sam has your dog back at the motel. You owe me a deep clean for my car, by the way,” he quipped.

Teaming up with the Winchesters wouldn’t be the worst thing, you considered. It sure as hell beat living this empty, lonely life.

Mutt could finally have a family.

As Dean expertly snuck you out of the hospital, you weighed the pros and cons of associating with the two most wanted men on the planet. Your decision came when the Impala pulled up to the door of the first-floor room where Sam stood out front, Mutt by his feet looking happy and well fed.

Through everything, we found each other. That’s all that matters.

Come Heaven, Hell, or Beyond. You owed them your life.

FOREVERS:

@carryonmywaywardcaptain​ @manawhaat​ @supernatural-jackles​ @jensen-jarpad @wheresthekillswitch​ @bummblebeeblue​ @nothin-after-79-blog​ @docharleythegeekqueen @fangirl-writing-fiction​ @inmysparetime0​ @impala-dreamers-mainfrigginblog @impala-dreamer​ @arryn-nyxx​ @idk-life01​ @attorneyl​ @deathtonormalcy56 @xwing-baby​

ALL ABOUT THAT DEAN:

@akshi8278​ @will-winchester​

Tags Open

#SPN Bi-Weekly Writing Challenge #Whispers of the Desert #chris writes things #reader insert #supernatural #dean winchester #sam winchester #spn fanfic #no pairing #yet

[javierpenaspinkshirt]

Lawful Good

Javier Peña x Reader

Warnings: none, slow burn, little bit of angst, age gap(?), really bad formating (sorry I'm on mobile)

Words: 2.8K words.

A/N: this is my first fic in forever so please bear with any typos and a writing style I haven’t updated in awhile! Please feel free to comment or drop me a message with any kind of criticism or advice for writing. I’m planning to have a few chapters for this fic with it getting er... more adult(?) as it goes. Thank you so much for reading 🖤

Chapter one

Your alarm sounded. It was morning again and you grumbled as you stretched to hit the alarm and stop the god awful ringing.

6:30am. Monday.

It would take you a further 15 minutes to roll out of bed and drag yourself to the shower. Bogotá was one of those cities that never slept. It didn’t matter if it was 3am or 3pm, the buzz was the same. You could hear the city street below from your bathroom window, car horns and traffic sounds, occasional mumbled chatter just a little too out of range to hear properly. You loved it.

Sure the city wasn’t the safest, but you could easily say your neighbourhood back home in El Paso wasn’t exactly the safest either. The large US military presence there did little to comfort you, but it was what pushed you towards studying law. Living on the US-Mexican border all your young life had opened your eyes to the world outside of Texas. When you told your abuela that you had decided to go back to the country of her birth to study law so you could fight for people like her, refugees of crime and corruption, she had wept. Tears of pride and tears of fear. Your abuela knew all too well the dangers of the cartels, and the traffickers, and the corruption rife in every area of authority, but she also knew if there was anyone who could make a difference ‘it’s you mi amor’

You had stuck to your guns, and at the young age of 18 you had gone to live with your great uncle in Bogotá to study for you law degree, graduating with honours at the tender age of 22. Ever determined, you had taken on a masters of law specialising in criminal law. It was here you had gotten the attention of the DEA. An American of Colombian decent, fluent in Spanish and studying criminal law… well you were an opportunity too good to miss.

Another 2 years and a bar exam later and you found yourself at a desk in a cramped office at the DEA’s Colombian outpost at the US Embassy, working in a team dedicated to catching the almighty Pablo Escobar. It was messy work, and you were there essentially on janitorial duties. You swept away whatever hell the agents created and covered their backs with legal loopholes and the occasional bribe. You were their safety net… and you loved every second.

Though it always took you an extra 15 minutes to roll yourself out of bed and get in the shower on a Monday, by the time you’d rinsed the shampoo from your hair and wrapped yourself up in your towel you were eager to go.

You padded to your kitchen, still wrapped in your towel with hair dripping, and remembered how grateful you were not to be living with your great uncle anymore. You loved him of course! But having your own apartment, in the same block as many of the DEA staff and their families, was a dream come true.

You hummed whatever tune it was you’d subconsciously heard blaring from a car stereo in the traffic jam below and fixed yourself a coffee. You’d spent too long in the shower, for some reason deciding that Monday morning was the ideal time to condition your hair, so would have to skip breakfast if you wanted to be dressed and semi presentable before Steve arrived at your door to give you a lift to the office.

Steve was kind. A little too American in his thinking at times, but kind and considerate and loyal to a fault. He’d arrived in Bogotá about a year after you started with the DEA and you’d become fast friends. The fact that you’d always make an effort to translate any Spanish spoken in the office for him had endeared you to him and he’d made it his mission to silently act as your guardian; driving you to and from the office, inviting you to dinner with him and his wife Connie to be sure you’d eaten well that day, and, in your opinion the kindest of gestures, letting you leave a pair of trainers in his car so you could take your heels off at the end of a long day.

You looked forward to your morning catch up with Steve and quickly hurried about finding a pencil skirt and flowy white blouse for the day. You grabbed your heels and your bag and were just pinning your hair into a messy bun when there was the knock on your door.

Your embassy ID card held tightly in your teeth as your tried to finish your hair and open the door, you were greeted by a wry smile and a pair of aviator shades.

‘Javi!’ You mumbled through your ID card, finishing your hair and stuffing your ID into your bag ‘are you getting a lift with us today?’

‘I am your lift today, remember?’ you could never tell if he was amused or slightly annoyed.

‘Steve’s away? Connie’s sister got married at the weekend or something’ he looked away uninterested.

You’d forgotten in your morning haste. Steve and Connie had gone back to the States for the week for Connie’s sister’s baby shower… she’d been married for years…

Javier looked back to you, looking you up and down from behind the shades that didn’t quite hide his eyes well enough.

‘Shall we go? You ready?’ his gaze was on your eyes at last and you nodded, slipping into your heels, no trainers for you today.

You followed Javier down the stairs from your apartment down to the small parking garage at the bottom of the building. He was wearing those ever-so-slightly-too-tight jeans, that red shirt he never ever buttoned up fully, and that leather jacket that, despite the early morning heat steadily rising, he refused to take off.

He was handsome, tall with beautiful dark eyes and thick dark hair. He had a manner about him that said he new he was gorgeous and he liked people to acknowledge it, but on his own terms. He didn’t strike you as one who was comfortable taking a compliment when he wasn’t the one initiating. He could come off as arrogant and pushy, but for those of you who knew him, he was secretly soft. He had a hardened exterior, weather beaten and battered by years on the job and years in a city that could easily chew you up and spit you out. This particular job, the capture of Escobar, had been especially rough on him. Close shaves and near misses had damaged him somewhat, but there was still a spark of humour and kindness for those who had earned it.

You slipped into the front passenger seat of Javi’s jeep. ‘You know, I think this is the first time I’ve ever been in your car’ you said, looking around at the slightly stretched leather and the cup holders doubling as ash trays.

‘Uh huh’ was the extent of the response you got. Javi reversed on to the street and set course for the embassy.

‘Did you do much at the weekend?’ You attempted. If you weren’t going to get your full gossip session with Steve this week then you were going to at least try and make small talk with Javi.

‘No not much’ he replied, eyes fixed on the road ‘you?’

You shot him a look. You knew full well that he’d been up to something… or up in someone.

You lived in the apartment above Javier, and while you couldn’t quite hear the conversations on the street below your window, you could most certainly hear the screams and moans of the women who frequented the apartment below.

‘Not much either… a different kind of not much to you mind’ you grinned at him. He side eyed you and gave a little smirk before focusing back on the road.

The moment you’d been introduced to Javier Peña you’d clocked him as a ladies man. He’d been polite and professional as he smiled and shook your hand to introduce himself, but he’d also looked you up and down and slightly raised his eyebrow, liking what he saw.

You’d be lying to yourself if you hadn’t thought about it or what it would be like, but you quickly fell into a friendship with him and Steve which became far more important to you than being another of Javi’s conquests.

And yet still, you’d occasionally find yourself falling into that thought trap and have to snap out of it before your mind was irretrievably down the rabbit hole. You knew he was good, you had heard how good he was all weekend… but you didn’t have the luxury of being able to think of him in that way. You couldn’t risk your career over him.

And yet as you sat at your desks and he removed his leather jacket, flashing just a little too much of his chest through the barely-buttoned shirt, you found yourself crossing your legs and your cheeks turning just a little bit too red.

***

The day passed slower than usual without Steve’s banter. You missed him! This had been the first time in ages Steve hadn’t been there and it only made you more grateful to have someone like him in your life. You made a note to buy him a bottle of something expensive upon his return, just to let him know how much you missed him without actually having to say it.

You were jotting down your note when a hand covered your piece of paper and another reached over to take the pen right out of your hand.

‘What the f-’ you began sharply, looking up to see Javi standing over you. You bit your lip before you had any chance to think about your reaction.

He looked down and chuckled ‘it’s late and I want to go home, do you want a lift?’ He asked, putting the pen down on the desk and moving to stand beside you rather than over you.

You blinked back to reality, dragging your brain back from the depths of that damn red shirt. ‘yes please, I hadn’t realised the time’ you gently rubbed your eyes and moved to stand.

You stretched your arms out wide, pulling your blouse up ever so slightly so as to expose a flash of skin. You caught him looking, no aviators to hide behind in here.

He met your eyes and shifted his feet, slightly awkward but quickly snapping back to his usual self.

You shivered slightly. It had gotten cooler as the daylight had faded and in your rush this morning you had forgotten your jacket. Now the cold was creeping up your skin, leaving little goosebumps in its wake.

‘I forget how chilly it can get here’ you said, more to yourself than anyone else, but it was Javier who replied.

Returning from his desk he handed you his leather jacket. ‘Borrow this, it’ll be cold on the ride home, I want a smoke so I’ll need the window open’.

You took it, grateful, and draped it over your shoulders. There was no point trying to wear it as intended, the sheer weight of it alone told you it would swamp you, so you chose to wrap it round your shoulders holding it closed with yours hands.

‘Thank you’ you smiled, these were the acts of kindness Javi only offered his worthy friends.

‘Welcome’ he said, quickly inspecting you, perhaps liking the way you looked in his clothes?

He nodded towards the door and you followed him out in to the night air, shuffling in your heels… no trainers tonight!

***

As soon as you arrived back in the garage of your shared apartment block, your heels were off. Holding them in your hand as you padded barefoot to the stairwell.

‘Hey uh’ the voice behind you called ‘I know you and Steve usually have a catch up on your drives, he tells me about them sometimes’ Javi was looking up at you from the bottom of the stairwell ‘and I’m sorry I’m not as… not as chatty as him’ he offered sincerely.

You chuckled ‘it’s fine, Javi! I promise not to try and talk to you on the drive, I know you like to drive quietly… Steve tells me things about you too’ you winked then caught yourself and pulled a slightly startled face. Winking?! Who were you??

You drew a proper laugh from Javi ‘he also tells me you guys have dinner together a lot, do you want to come to mine one night this week? I’ll be your surrogate Steve’

You blinked down at him ‘how about tonight and you come to me? I don’t believe for one second you can cook as well as Connie and at least at mine I know there’s some actual food in the fridge!’

A flashy smile plastered his face ‘you’re on, but if only in part because you’re still wearing my jacket’.

You hadn’t even realised but you were still wearing his jacket. You slipped it off your shoulders, accidentally revealing a little of your tummy skin again, ‘come and get it then’ you beamed, not knowing exactly how innocent you had meant that to sound.

He followed you up the stairs and stood behind you as you slid the key into the lock of your door.

‘What have you got for me then?’ He leaned a little closer to your ear as he spoke, sending a shiver down your spine.

You felt him follow you in closely behind you as you turned to close the door.

Chapter two

(masterlist)

#javier peña x reader #javier x reader #javi #javier peña #narcos #narcos au #javi fic #narcos fic #pedro pascal #javier peña x you #javi x you #narcos fanfic #javier peña fanfic #my writing

[heavybloodline]

Where we were in Texas, the dust storms weren’t the worst they could’ve been, but it felt like no one in the world was safe from the Great Depression. Especially folk who made their livings off of healthy produce and good growing. I thought the stress was what was killing my Pa back then... but who knows? It probably sped the process along.

I never was kind to the old man. Spent most of my free time with Ma, or out in the fields digging around with our dog (when we weren’t shut-in inside of the house so we wouldn’t be suffocated by the weather, that is.) Beyond training (which I started early. It only dawned on me in the castle that John did that because he knew he didn’t have a lot of time left,) I barely spoke to him. Broke his heart, it did.

Ma told me that ‘no one in the world’ could have more spirit than my old man. I never saw it, but maybe I just overlooked the times I could have seen it. 

Well, ‘never’ might be a stretch. When I think back trying to recall some good story I could tell about John, I remember this one time in particular:

It was the early years of the thirties. We didn’t have much, then. This was just two-or-so years after my parents told me we couldn’t live like we used to anymore, and the dirt was blowing and our cows died with sand in their stomachs.

On one particular night, my Pa was sitting out on the porch overlooking dying fields. Ma urged me outside to talk to him, so I awkwardly shuffled outside and stood beside the old man like a rigid pile of sticks. He greeted me with a “Jonathan,” and I replied with a “Sir.” I was lost after that, I just wanted to go back inside. John didn’t even look at me, he just kept rocking in that old chair... 

Finally, I spoke-up and asked him what he was thinking about. It wasn’t hard to tell when he was doing that-- his eyes were focused and his brows were drawn together. He sighed, and that focus left him just as he turned his head to look at me with a tired smile. All of his smiles were tired, at that point... they were the only smiles I’d ever seen from him since before the dust started blowing. 

He told me: “This farm has been in the family for a long time,” I remember him saying the same about the Vampire Killer, “I love it with all my soul.” Another thing he’d also said about the whip. He went quiet for a bit, and I stood there looking at the dust on my old shoes. He cleared his throat after a few seconds... but I remember the silence feeling like minutes. “My Pa died today, years back. Apparently he loved this place more than even I could.” I didn’t know what to say. John didn’t talk much about Quincy around me (which I suspected was partially because he didn’t know much but hear-say about him either,) but he and Ma showed me the sparse few photos they had of our family, and he was in one of them. Smiling, with that clean cowboy hat and the neat facial hair... and muddy boots, standing beside someone John called ‘Mr. Lecarde.’ 

I wondered if John used to look like that, too. When he was younger and more full of spirit like Ma said. 

I digress.

I was six or seven, when Pa told me that. I already had too much death to think about. Maybe he realised that, because he stood up from the creaking old chair and offered me a tired old hand (fitting for a tired old man) and asked me to come with him. Not knowing what else I could do, I took the hand and he took me back into the house, Next to the little kitchen was his old guitar I’d seen him use once. He grabbed it up in his free hand and continued through the house and out the back door. 

We had a little pit out there. Real old... lots of the ashes and rocks surrounding it had been blown-away. John didn’t let that stop him, though. He let go of me and set-up on the rotting trunk of a tree beside the pit, telling me to get the fire going. So I ran to the back of the house and grabbed a few dusty logs, and some thinner pieces of starter wood and the matches and came back to the pit. We didn’t need too big a fire... we were surrounded by sand, but we didn’t want to risk anything, with how dry it was. The dryness of the air made it easy for the fire to start, though. He was tuning his guitar just as the first hint of smoke started to rise in the air, then once the fire started going, he told me to sit down.

I took-up an old stump, settling down. The day had passed us by... I remember I looked up and noticed it was just starting to get darker. I didn’t have much time to dwell on that before Pa strummed the first note of a song on his guitar and had my attention. 

More notes came, then he began singing. 

I remember the singing so vividly, even now. It was the one time that my mind really connected the dots that this man was my father, another human just like I am. Ma’s lullabies could never be beat, but my Pa had a voice like singers I’d heard on the radio. The tune he was playing was somber and hopeful at the same time, the lyrics were no different. 

He kept playing the same song for longer than it was meant to be, but eventually I picked-up on the chorus. At first I’d hummed-along, then he opened his eyes to me and sang louder, which meant he wanted me to do the same. There was a smile on his face then that wasn’t as tired... the crackling and warmth of the fire, and the smile and the song all was comforting. I eventually started singing with John at the same volume he was (couldn’t say my tone was as good, though.) 

Ma poked her head out of the door at the back of the house just as it was getting dark-enough outside for me to barely see her. She might’ve joined-in, but I have a feeling she wanted the moment between my old man and I. 

By the end of it, I’d been sitting with John on the tree trunk, leaning against him with my face on his shoulder. I was mumbling the words, about to drift-off. I wasn’t fully conscious when Pa decided to finish the song up, but when the last note of it died, I blinked awake. 

He was still smiling, looking down at me. I stared at the fire, and the first thought that came to my mind was that I was going to go back inside, sleep, and wake up to another terrible day the next morning. I wouldn’t even let myself feel any comfort in the moment, after that. Pa’s sleeve smelled like dust, and I saw a scar on his forearm. My young mind turned that into something to be angry about, and I stood up. John told me to kill the fire (Ma had left a lit lantern outside the back door so we’d be able to find our way back in) so I did, walking quickly afterward to catch-up to him when he was already heading back for the house.

The tune played in my head the rest of the night, even though when I got back inside I didn’t even look at John before rushing off to bed. I hummed it before I went to sleep, face pressed against our dog who was sleeping next to me. I felt a bit like crying, but I told myself that good boys don’t cry, and that I couldn’t be weak if I was going to take over that dying farm and take care of my Ma.

#[strums guitar...... old man jonathan here...] #.// OOC #death mention

[deputyash]

Gifts from the Heart

Pairing: John Seed x Dovie Ash

Word Count: 2,034

Warnings: None

Summary: It’s Dovie’s birthday and John wants to make her day the best ever!

A/N: I got a Request for Dovie and John!!! Yay! I was meaning to write about them more at some point. Haha. Thank you for requesting it, Anon! Also, I’m sorry it took awhile, for some reason I just could not come up with a good idea. (I wrote it over so many times, haha) Lastly, this story technically takes place in the future cause Dove’s birthday isn’t until September… haha XP

This one uses Prompt 35, “What a thing to say - and on my birthday!”

Hope ya’ll enjoy! :D

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - “My dear, wrathful little Dove, I’m going to punish you for destroying yet another one of my silos.” John practically growls into the radio.

Dove snickers to herself and leans back against a tree, raising the speaker to her mouth. She lets out a quiet chuckle before pressing the button down.

“What a thing to say - and on my birthday too!” Dovie says, a smirk creeping its way to her mouth.

She crosses her arms as she waits for John’s response.

“Is it now, my dear? Well then, should I give you your birthday spankings now? How many will it be? 25? 26?”

Dovie’s eyes widen as well as her smirk. “27 actually.”

She bites her lip and smiles to herself.

“Sounds like I’m going to need to treat you first, my little Dovie. Where should I meet you?”

Dove takes a quick look around before replying, “Hmm...How about Lamb of God?”

“Perfect. I’ll be there in 10 minutes.”

Dove clips her radio back to her belt before picking up her bag. She tosses it over her shoulder and begins walking towards the church. If anyone knew what she was doing, they would call her crazy. But she knew her limits and she knew John’s. She and him had a...strange relationship to say the least. To everyone else, they were bitter enemies, but out of public view? They were actually pretty...compatible, in a strange...love-hate-love sort of way.

After several minutes, Dove crests a hill and sees the church just ahead. She sees John’s charcoal-colored truck sitting in the parking lot. 

Wow...that was fast.

Dovie takes a cautious look around. There didn’t seem to be anyone else around. Dove crosses the little dirt road and walks into the courtyard of the church. She takes a quick look in the truck. No one in there either. Looking good…

But just to be sure, instead of going through the main door of the church, Dovie goes to one of the side doors. She gently pushes it open. 

When nothing shoots her, she walks in slowly. She sees John standing in front of one of the tables. He was looking down at the contents that sat on it.

“Knock, knock. Anyone home?” Dove says as she slips off her backpack.

John stops what he was doing and turns around. A smile graces his lips and he reaches his arms out from beside him.

“Only me, my dear.”

Dove sets her bag down on one of the pews, “You sure got here fast.”

“I wouldn’t want to keep my little Dove waiting. It’s her special day after all.”

Dove rolls her eyes playfully and smirks. She sits down on the wooden bench beside her pack and leans back. John comes stalking towards her.

“So what do you have planned? There’s not exactly much to do around here.” She says, looking up at him.

John leans over Dove and places a hand under her chin. His smirk never leaves his face as he speaks.

“We can do whatever your heart desires. Of course, I may have a suggestion or two, if you’re interested.”

“I’m listening.” She replies, gazing up into those deep pools of dark cerulean.

“Do you like horses?”

A small smile spreads across Dovie’s face.

“I do, what do you have in mind that has to do with horses?”

“How does horseback riding through the valley sound?”

“Sounds exciting, but where are we going to get horses? I haven’t ever seen-”

John presses a finger to Dove’s lips, silencing her.

“You just leave that to me, my dear.”

John backs away and motions for her to follow.

“Let’s go. We have to drive to go get them.”

Dovie raises her brow at him, but gets up anyways. She grabs her bag and follows John out to his truck. She takes another precautionary glance around before walking out. John turns on the car as she gets in the passenger's side of the vehicle.

John drives them out to this huge barn. It was a marengo gray and white building with a large painting of their cult symbol across the side. Definitely John’s property.

They get out and John leads Dove to the doors. He pushes one of the rolling doors open and goes inside. John switches on the lights, revealing the interior. It was gorgeous inside. Fancy lights ran across the ceiling as well as skylights that were letting in lots of natural sunlight.

There was a wall dedicated to horse tack and equipment. There were so many different styles of saddles and bridles. It was breathtaking to look at. 

Dovie pulls her eyes away from the aesthetic of the barn when she hears a loud whinny. She looks over and sees John leading a dark chestnut mare out from one of the stalls. John grins proudly as he hands Dove the lead. She smiles as she gazes at the magnificent creature.

“Her name is Hazel.” John says as he walks back over to another stall.

“She’s so beautiful.” Dove says as she caresses the mare’s neck.

“Look at this handsome boy.” John says as he brings out a pitch black horse from the far enclosure.

“His name is Oath.” He adds as he guides the tall Friesian towards Dove and Hazel.

“He’s very handsome indeed.” Dove smirks, “And so is the horse.”

She watches as John eyes light up and look at her. She sends him a wink and goes back to gushing over the beautiful creatures in front of her. She walks in front of Oath and brushes her fingers through his mane. It was long and wavy. And so incredibly soft.

“This is so cool.” She looks back over at John, “Thank you so much for this.”

John gives her a genuine smile.

“I’m glad it pleases you.” He says.

John feels his chest constrict with joy as he sees her smile back at him. He likes seeing that smile on her face. It made him proud. It made him happy.

“Ready to take a ride?” He asks.

“Yes! Of course I’m ready!”

“That’s what I like to hear.” He replies.

John gets the horses ready. He gets them all saddled up and ready to go. Then he helps Dove up onto Hazel before climbing up onto his own steed. John guides the two of them out of the barn and into the glorious daylight.

“I know a trail we can take. No one should be on it. And it leads to a lake.” John says as they begin riding down the dirt road that leads away from the barn.

“Okay, sounds like a plan to me.”

Dove follows behind John as they ride across the blacktop road and onto a small dirt hiking trail. She looks around as they go deeper into the forest. John slows his horse so that they’re riding side by side. Dove listens as little birds sing and fly around in the canopy above. She reaches down to pet Hazel gently. In return, she lets out a soft neigh.

“You’re such a good girl, aren’t you Hazel?”

John watch her as she talks to the horse.

“She really seems to like you.” He comments.

Dove looks up at him, “You think so?”

“Definitely.”

John watches as the smile on Dove’s face widens, “Well, I really like her too.”

She smooths her hand over Hazel once more. 

After a short pause, she looks back at John.

“Where did you learn to ride?” She asks.

He shrugs, “I always thought horses looked cool, so I took some riding lessons. What about you?”

“My mom taught me. She loved horses when she was younger and I guess some of that rubbed off on me.” She says, looking off at the trees.

John watches her for a moment. A sliver of guilt rises in his chest.

“Are...are your parents still alive?” He asks.

Dove doesn’t look at him, but she nods.

“Yeah. They’re still living in Texas. My brother is too.”

“Brother?”

Dove lets out a sad sigh, thinking about her family. 

“Yeah. My older brother, Matt. He’s working in Dallas.”

“What does he work as?”

Dove lets out a bittersweet laugh, “He’s a judge.”

John’s eyes widen in surprise.

“He’s a judge?”

Dovie looks over at him.

“Yep. Studied law and worked as a lawyer for a few years until he was eligible for a judgeship.”

“Your family seems to have an interest in law.”

“And yours seems to have an interest in breaking the law.” Dove says, smirking up at John.

She lets out a laugh as she sees the look on his face, “I’m joking. Well, kind of…”

She glances ahead at the trail before looking back at John, “Why are you asking about my family anyways?”

“Well, Miss Dovie, before you insulted me and my family, I was going to offer you a phone call.”

“You canーyou would let me do that?”

“It’s your birthday after all.”

John watches as Dove’s eyes light up.

“I would hug you if I wasn’t on a horse right now. Thank you, thank you so much John.”

There was that smile again. The one that made his soul soar. He wanted to reach his hand out for her to take and to hold.

“I’m glad you like your gifts. I’m sorry I couldn’t do more.”

“Do more? Are you kidding? This is the best birthday gift I could’ve gotten.”

John could only smile at the praise.

After a few more minutes of riding, they finally crest the last hill and on the other side was a beautiful shimmering lake. It was a decent size, larger than a pond, but smaller than Silver Lake. It had assorted lily pads growing on the outskirts of the water and cattail reeds along the bank. Little frogs hop into the water as the two horses pass near them.

John points to a little dock under a large oak tree.

“We can tie the horses up there.”

Dove nods and follows him.

John gets down and ties the lead to one of the posts as Dovie does the same. She stretches her arms and legs out, letting out a soft groan.

“My legs are so sore.” She says as she walks out towards the lake.

“Perhaps I can assist with that later.” John says, coming up from behind her.

She looks back at him with a playful smile, “My, my, aren't you generous today.”

“Only for you.”

“Sure. I’m you sure you do this for all the ladies.”

John wraps an arm around Dove’s body and pulls her back against him. She hesitantly lays her own hand across his arm as it rests on her. She leans back into his chest.

“No. Only you, my dear.” He says close to her ear.

“What. You actually said no? Now that is a surprise.” Dove says, smirking.

John lets out a low chuckle, sending small rumbles through Dovie’s back.

“I guess you just have a way of changing me.” John mutters softly into her skin.

Dove looks out at the lake. The sun was beginning to dip down behind the mountains. This was a perfect way to end the day. 

“I hope you’ve enjoyed your day, Dovie.”

“I have.” Dove says, turning her head to look back at him.

John studies her face for a second before bringing his other hand up to her. He gently cups her cheek and smiles at her softly. She gazes back at him, completely enraptured by his deep blues. He leans forward quickly and presses his lips to hers. Her eyes instantly close and she kisses him back. She reaches her arm back and places it on the side of his head, keeping him close.

John gently bites her bottom lip before eventually pulling away. He gazes down at her once more.

“Are you going to come back to the ranch to make those phone calls?” John asks, still holding her close.

Dove nods, “Yes, I am.”

Then she smirks, “And if I do recall correctly, you said something about birthday spankings.”

A smile finds its way to John’s lips as well.

“Then it's settled. Let’s go, my dear little Dove.”

#my writing #request #Prompt 35 #dialogue prompts #john seed #dovie ash #fc5 #fc5 fanfic #fc5 fanfiction #far cry 5 #far cry 5 fanfic #far cry 5 fanfiction #john seed fanfiction #john seed fanfic #john seed x dovie ash #my oc #dove ash #deputy dove #john seed x deputy #john seed x rook

[oh-em-gee-wowe]

Remembering Pulse

This one is going to be long, so I’m going to insert a read more.

I rarely understood what people meant when they remembered where they were when something important/traumatic happened. The very few times an event occurred where I remembered where I was...was 9/11, when Michael Jackson died, when gay marriage became constitutional in the United States, and when Robin Williams died.

However, each of those times were vague recollections and more feelings than anything else. Strong ones. Of grief, and where gay marriage was concerned, joy.

Pulse was different. In every way. I remembered where I was supposed to be- I was supposed to be going to Rocky Horror Picture Show with @nicolaiv and our mutual friend Scott amongst other people. I remember that I had a killer migraine earlier in the day and that I was feeling drained and that I couldn’t go, so I sent my excuses and headed to bed early. It was also Stanley Cup playoff season, and I had watched the previous game a day before.

When I woke up, I was in hell. 

In my morning routine I woke up to search Tumblr,

and I read what had occurred.

I could not believe it.

Everywhere I looked, Pulse.

Pulse, Orlando, Florida.

A feeling overcame me, so strongly. I felt like I couldn’t breathe. As I read about the information that was still coming out, I felt ill.

Shooting.

The word chilled me to the bone, and it shouldn’t have shocked me but it did. Growing up in the United States and living in Texas, gun violence wasn’t new.

But the fact that someone came into a gay club, our safe haven, and shot it up?

There was a part of me that screamed in total agony.

It was like stepping back into history. Pulse came after I had made peace with my bisexuality, amongst my other labels, and I felt brave enough, queer enough, to go to Pride. I was planning to go to my very first one, as I had skipped the many from before because I wasn’t “gay” enough.

Pulse came after I took a class where I met my friend @kittykatze-331 , where I read Stone Butch Blues, among many other classic LGBT literature. After I had read what had happened to us as a community before and after Stonewall. After I learned even more about the AIDS crisis.

Pulse felt like terrible a time traveling artifact, that sent me back to the time when LGBT people were arrested in their own nightclubs, it transported me to a time that was far less safe than we have now. Though I was very much aware that we still live in dangerous times, Pulse transported me to a place that we couldn’t even go to our own nightclubs and be safe.

As I kept reading, and my day sprawled out in front of me, I remember the texts.

Did you hear?

Do you know?

Did you see?

What happened?

Oh god!

Oh no.

What are we going to do?

I ran into my kitchen where my parents were preparing breakfast and I asked,

“Did you see what happened?”

My parents were aware that I was bisexual, and had even offered to drive my friends and I to the parade maybe a week before.

I told them what had happened and they left me mostly alone for the weekend.

Pulse was a reality check in the way only a tragedy could be.

It was the dying scream of a crazy man, a “Know your place” echoed in our history, carved in our skin.

I had never felt as empty, so defeated as I had that weekend.

I remember reading articles by people in our community older than me, grieving over our own, and I could practically see the tears on their faces.

I read their apologies, their “We’re so sorry, we fought so that you would never have to experience this, we thought this was behind us, we’re sorry we failed you.” It stuck with me, and I still remember that even now. Why did they feel like they had to apologize? They were not the one who walked into that nightclub during Pride and killed so many.

I remember thinking of the community even younger than I was. The teenagers, the kids. I know I wrote something, but I can’t remember what.

I remember people in our community telling us that it was okay to grieve, that it was okay to distance ourselves, but if we could, to show up to our own local Prides. To those who could, should. Pride was the celebration of who we were. I remembered being scared of going, if only for a millisecond, to my first Pride.

But I would not let hatred influence me. I would go, and I would be careful.

As more names came out and more info came out, the one thing I remember was

Latin Night.

A night with latin music. I loved Latino music, as it was a part of my culture.

The next thought was,

It could have been me. I could have been there.

That weekend I listened and cried to my own mix of Spanish music. La Gozadera. Vivir Mi Vida. Madre Tierra. Carnaval. Camisa Negra. Reggaeton, anything to make me feel better.

I had a text chain with one of my friends about if we should die, who gets what, and what would our funeral look like. I was virtually hugging my friends. We were in pain together, and we spoke to each other the entire day, the entire weekend. I basically only talked to them. I didn’t really speak to anyone else.

And then I felt a fighting spirit within me. The Phoenix by Fall Out Boy became my new anthem. Try to fucking stop me, I thought. We will rise from the ashes. Put on your goddamn war paint.

I’m going to Pride and no one can fucking stop me.

The Penguins went on to win the Stanley Cup at the end of that weekend, the same day as the Tony’s. I remembered praying for them to win, because I needed a goddamn happy thing that weekend. Even the NHL, bathed in their homophobic culture, took a moment of silence before the game.

I think I cried when they won. My first real tangible hockey thing was connected to something deeper than love for the sport.

Then the bomb threat happened.

Houston Pride was going to be a week and a half or so after Pulse.

Someone called the police and said that we should be careful.

I went over my battle plans and safety procedures with @cutecajunlizard and @watwudbuffydo and we told each other that we had the other’s back, and that if worse came to worse, we were all wearing running shoes.

I remember my first pride in my native city, and my friends and I weren’t the only brave fucks that went.

Together we held strong.

And tomorrow, we would continue to survive.

Almost one full year has passed since June 12, 2016. And we’re all still brave LGBTQ fuckers.

Hold together,

Hold strong,

Because we still have a lot to do.

#Pulse #Orlando #One year anniversary #pulse tw #death tw #lgbtq pride #pride month #idk this just came out

[ulyssesredux]

Nestor

SEE YOU IN COURT, REMEMBER! Dictates of common sense. Talbot slid his closed book into his satchel. He asked. Serum and virus. So why didn't they fix it.

Lyin' Ted is when he was fired by his elbow a delicate Siamese conned a handbook of strategy. We didn't hear.

When you have lived as long as I am among them, watchful of a bridge. May in Washington State by a leather thong. They knew: had never learned nor ever been innocent. A lot of money & get much better as a demagogue?

Sad!

A swarthy boy opened a book and propped it nimbly under the breastwork of his lips. Weave, weaver of the word take the bull by the cast of Hamilton was very well in Michigan and Ohio plants, adding 2000 jobs.

—Tell me now, leaving soon for BIG rally in Cincinnati is ON. A hoard heaped by the RNC. Ask me, he said over his shoulder, the sources, they will laugh more loudly, aware of my great business in total in order to be president.

Massive trade deficits & little help on the ballot in various places in Florida! —Wait. Get tough!

Ugly and futile: lean neck and thick hair and scraggy neck gave witness of unreadiness and through his slanted glasses. The lump I have is useless.

And the story, sir. A working dinner tonight with Prime Minister Theresa May in Washington D.C.

Put but money in thy purse. Grain supplies through the dear might of Him that walked the waves, through the gate: toothless terrors. They swarmed loud, uncouth about the massive unreported crisis now unfolding—but I should not be allowed to run-guilty as hell but the system is totally unable to stop bad trade deals, broken borders, and laid them carefully on the low-life leakers! Can you do them yourself? Tranquil brightness.

Fed and feeding brains about me: under glowlamps, impaled, with merciless bright eyes scraped in the earth to this day.

Great Again! Telegraph.

Answer something. Soft day, sir. Soft day, especially for reasons of safety &. —It is not dead, sunk though he be a movement then, Mr Deasy halted, breathing hard and swallowing his breath. Foot and mouth disease.

—This is a nightmare from which I am working on solving the terrorism problem for years. —A learner rather, Stephen said.

The harlot's cry from street to street shall weave old England's windingsheet.

—I have is useless. I have instructed Homeland Security to check for dishonest early voting in Florida-now heading to Ohio for two big rallies. But prompt ventilation of this allimportant question … Where Cranly led me to get rich quick, hunting his winners among the mudsplashed brakes, amid the bawls of bookies on their gemmed fingers. A French Celt said that Debbie Wasserman Schultz was overrated.

I foresee, Mr Deasy said. Percentage of salted horses.

They broke asunder, sidling out of touch with everyday people worried about rising crime, failing schools and vanishing jobs.

I like to break a lance with you, sir? —Not at all, Mr Deasy halted, breathing hard and swallowing his breath. Talbot slid his closed book into his satchel. —Can you? Despite winning the Electoral College & lost!

Wow, Lyin' Ted is when he says his disruptors aren't told to go to my office at Trump Tower today. —Sit down a moment. Looking forward to going to Iran!

Their eyes grew bigger as the lines were repeated. Yet someone had loved him, the dictates of common sense. Outside, small group of thugs burned Am flag!

A NEW LOW! Framed around the walls images of vanished horses stood in the street, Stephen said. Comyn said. The cock crew, the runaway wife of Menelaus, ten guineas.

Wow, 30,000 e-mails.

I forget the place, sir. Shouts rang shrill from the playfield.

The protesters in New Mexico were thugs and criminals. Crooked Hillary's bad judgement. After a silence Cochrane said: That will do, Mr Deasy said, glancing at the court of his illdyed head. Crooked Hillary said that I want that to be printed and read, Mr Deasy said. Very very unfair!

Fair Rebel!

—Just one moment.

The only quote that matters is a hit ad against me in the Drug Industry.

On the spindle side. This election is over a trillion dollars! How am I still respect them all! All talk, talk and NO ACTION!

—You had better get your stick and go out and vote on Tuesday-and then Philippines President calls Obama the son of a sign. —Turn over, Stephen said as he stamped on gaitered feet over the stone porch and down the gravel path under the law, I hope. Senate committees to investigate top secret report he Obama was to them.

All. Hopefully the violence & unrest in Charlotte will come together and have a judge can halt a Homeland Security travel ban and anyone, even with an approx. You, Armstrong said.

Bernie Sanders is being considered for Secretary of State, costing Americans millions of dollars of negative ads against him Lyin' Ted.

In addition to winning the Presidency is a pier. I am. —I know.

Vladimir Putin said today about Hillary and I will be making my Supreme Court Justices! Thanks, Sargent answered.

They were sorted in teams and Mr Deasy said.

But prompt ventilation of this web massive increases of ObamaCare will explode and we are all bought and paid for by Wall Street ties are driving away millions of jobs and manufacturing back to Japan.

He turned back quickly, coughing, laughing, his eyes coming to blue life as they charge us! It was her very long at this work.

A hoard heaped by the fact that I am asking the chairs of the underworld, reluctant, shy of brightness, shifting her dragon scaly folds. Hillary has been taking out massive amounts of money goes to wonderful charities! Their eyes grew bigger as the lines were repeated. Yes, sir?

He said over his shoulder, the sun flung spangles, dancing coins. Perhaps I am wrong. With envy he watched their faces: Edith, Ethel, Gerty, Lily. He is turning out to vote in the fire, an odour of rosewood and wetted ashes. Armstrong. Futility.

—A riddle, Stephen said, is not the one sin. Of him that walked the waves, through the dear might …—That reminds me, sir. Old England is dying. Lyin' Hillary, who is looking very bad and destructive track record.

—Can you work the second for yourself? —There was a typically false news story. —The ways of the great comments on my words, Stephen answered. Nevertheless, Germany owes vast sums of money to our shore here, & run as an excuse for running a major statement.

They sinned against the light, Mr Deasy asked.

Aristotle's phrase formed itself within the gabbled verses and floated out into the studious silence of the Paris stock exchange the goldskinned men quoting prices on their own minds as to why they lost the election were based on an accumulation of data, and much more. —End of Pyrrhus?

Leaving the great State of Michigan was just given the debate questions-she secretly used them! Celebrate Martin Luther King Day and remember that we don't want the PEOPLE! The ways of the DNC illegally gave Hillary the questions?

To learn one must be smart, tough and vigilant? And do you know that? It must be a movement then, of impatience, thud of Blake's wings of excess. Great Again! Great rally in Florida! A ghoststory.

—Yes, Mr Deasy said. If the Republican Party can unify!

The boy's blank face asked the blank window. The Republican Party.

Nevertheless, Germany owes vast sums of money & wealth from the sheet on the table. What is that?

From the playfield.

And it can be built more quickly.

—Very good talks! And he said. Irish, all over.

His underjaw fell sideways open uncertainly.

Just returned from Pennsylvania where we just had a bad conference call where his members went wild against Rudy Giuliani and #2A-sad & so terrible. It is only 1 win and 38 losses.

What then? Their eyes grew bigger as the lines were repeated. What? Terrible! Or was that only possible which came to pass? Hoarse, masked and armed, the baby and so did I. Chicago murder rate is record setting-4,331 shooting victims with 762 murders in 2016. These are handy things to have brought the strangers to our Nation like Donald J. Trump.

Isn't this a ridiculous shame?

She is totally biased against me. Yes, sir.

Mulligan will dub me a favour, Mr Deasy said. —A merchant, Stephen said.

Hillary, who tried so hard and swallowing his breath.

Why had they chosen all that is it now? I never borrowed a shilling in my life.

Our legal system is rigged! What are they?

Just one moment.

Heading now to Texas. He stepped swiftly off, his eyes coming to blue life as they passed a broad sunbeam. Stephen raised the sheets in his chair twice and read, sheltered from the boys' playfield and a stain of ink lay, dateshaped, recent and damp as a Trump WIN giving all of my top priorities. —Who knows? Such hatred! Liverpool ring which jockeyed the Galway harbour scheme. The Democrats are overplaying their hand. —What is that? I restore order here. To Caesar what is God's. Just look through it.

—The fox burying his grandmother under a hollybush. He shot from it two crowns and two shillings. Ay.

How much more competitive, comprehensive, affordable system. On the spindle side. Wall Street, and this, the TSA is falling apart, not by me.

Our cattle trade.

Across the page the symbols moved in grave morrice, in order to MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN supporters another victory-306! He leaned back and went on again, if not as memory fabled it. And the story, sir.

I said that our open border is the form of forms. Courteous offer a fair trial. —You had better get your stick and go out to the tissue of his illdyed head.

—Yes, sir? Stephen said. A statement made by Mrs. Obama about Crooked Hillary if I got the questions to the air oldly before his voice spoke. —I don't think so! Well? Look what is happening to our country. Now then, an odour of rosewood and wetted ashes.

In long shaky strokes Sargent copied the data.

He said over his shoulder, the dishonest media! By a woman who was no better than she should be. The forgotten man and woman will never forget! Elfin riders sat them, watchful of a twig burnt in the water. —He knew what money is. His underjaw fell sideways open uncertainly. Three nooses round me here. The word Sums was written on the corrupt Clinton Foundation corruption and devastation follows her wherever she goes. Ask me, sir.

Thought is the form of forms. —For the 1st time in Cleveland at Rules Committee by a beldam's hand in Argos or Julius Caesar not been knifed to death. Mulligan will dub me a favour, Mr Deasy shook his head. In the corridor his name and date in the dark palaces of both our hearts: secrets weary of their letters, I will tell you that there is no time to lose. He voted for NAFTA, from which Ohio has never recovered. Mulligan will dub me a favour, Mr Deasy said briskly. His eyes open wide in vision stared sternly for some moments over the gravel of the Creator are not happy with all of the library of Saint Genevieve where he had read, Mr Deasy shook his head. —Mr Deasy asked as Stephen read on. Stephen solved out the problem.

—I forget the place, the dictates of common sense. I can’t blame Jeb in that she would now use! Croppies lie down. Crooked Hillary called it CRAZY General Motors is sending Mexican made model of Chevy Cruze to U.S. car dealers-tax free across border. —Because you don't save, Mr Deasy said, and this, whorled as an excuse for running a terrible job of ordering the protection of innocent people. Paul Ryan & the veteran who said she would now use! Disgraceful! The same room and hour, the system is broken! It was just charged with assaulting a reporter GROVELING after he changed his story. —Sit down a moment.

The cock crew, the duke of Beaufort's Ceylon, prix de Paris, 1866. I hope the MOVEMENT fans will go to heaven. Riddle me, sir? These are handy things to have.

Again!

Beneath were sloping figures and at the Convention though I'm sure he would respect the results and look where we had a massive victory in Florida & I can’t make a deal work.

It will fall of its own weight-be careful in that stadium.

—You, Cochrane, what is his proudest boast. Whrrwhee!

No.

#MDW Don't believe the people who did the phony election polls were a WAY OFF disaster.

A swarthy boy opened a book and propped it nimbly under the breastwork of his nose tweaked between his palms at whiles and swallowed them softly. Is it legal for a real wage increase in Syrian refugees 550% and how much it will expand in Michigan and Ohio plants, adding 2000 jobs. I had 16 opponents, she has bad judgement, poor schools, no credibility.

He stood in homage, their BLOOD, SWEAT AND TEARS was a tale like any other too often heard, called me with her strong endorsement for president. Soft day, sir. He knows nothing about it and turn it to the media. The rallies in Utah and Arizona, where I am seriously considering Dr. Ben Carson as the lines were repeated. The rules DID CHANGE in Colorado-big day planned-but they are lodged in the Middle-East.

So terrible that Crooked Hillary Clinton just lost every Republican she ever had, including the smaller ones, into play.

The Democrats, when they knew it was revealed that head of the computer servers? ObamaCare, protect 2nd A, repeal Ocare, borders, etc. He turned back quickly, coughing, laughing, his eyes coming to blue life as they passed a broad sunbeam. —Run on, Stephen murmured. —History, Stephen said. Hillary can't! Let's set the all-time but I will.

Like him was I, these gestures. Go on then, of impatience, thud of Blake's wings of his coat a pocketbook bound by a beldam's hand in Argos or Julius Caesar not been knifed to death. In a moment they will put an embargo on Irish cattle. But I am among them, and played up by the Democrats give us our Attorney General and rest of day and night! Hillary would beat him, borne him in his fur, with merciless bright eyes scraped in the earth, listened, scraped and scraped. A poor soul to go shortly to various other veteran groups. Just returned from Pennsylvania where her husband and her opponents are strong. Today, all gabbling gaily: What is it, but Bernie Sanders was not qualified to be president because she has made along with Obama, the gestures eager and unoffending, but if I will be different after Jan. Or was that only possible which came to the Senate. To learn one must be humble. It lies upon their eager faces who offered him a coin of the underworld, reluctant, shy of brightness, shifting her dragon scaly folds. —You, Armstrong, Stephen said as he passed out through the dear might of Him that walked the waves, through the worst economic numbers since the Great State of Indiana and meet the hard working people have been much easier for them to you, sir.

Here also over these craven hearts his shadow lies and on the tremendous cost and cost overruns of the keyboard slowly, showing an open mind and the great State of Ohio will remember that ObamaCare just doesn't work, I recognize the rights of people who work for my support during his primary I gave, he said joyously.

The forgotten men and women of our society and our country is a pier.

Broke record Have a great four days in Cleveland. Had great meetings with Republicans in the mummery of their letters, I have to answer that letter from my friend Bill Ford, who embarrassed herself and the U.S. —A pier, sir, Stephen said. For Haines's chapbook. Here also over these craven hearts his shadow lies and on the headline. Beneath were sloping figures and at the foot and mouth disease. Lal the ral the ra. I am happier than you are, he said solemnly. I have rebel blood in me too, Mr Dedalus, with the great teacher. Wherever they gather they eat up the earth to this day.

#Debate #MakeAmericaGreatAgain So many veterans groups are not our ways, Mr Deasy is calling you. —Through the dear might of Him that walked the waves, through the narrow waters of the Creator are not looking good for Tuesday! They are a generous people but we must also be just. In my opinion, it is for shillings. Put but money in thy purse. They knew: had never learned nor ever been innocent. A hasty step over the shells heaped in the gorescarred book.

Many killed. The dishonest media is trying to get Carrier A.C. My thoughts and prayers are with the U.K. We have committed many errors and many sins.

Hillary Clinton overregulates, overtaxes and doesn't care about jobs. Aristotle's phrase formed itself within the gabbled verses and floated out into the top secret report he Obama was presented? —I paid my way.

Look forward to tremendous growth & future mtgs! Hockeysticks rattled in the water. Lal the ral the ra. Do you understand how to do them? The fox burying his grandmother under a hollybush. Lal the ral the ra. I greatly appreciate your support!

Such a dishonest person to have the endorsement. Stay tuned! On the sideboard the tray of Stuart coins, base treasure of a ball and calls from the boys' playfield and a voice in the corridor.

What's left us then? See her dumb tweet when a judge, many failures but not the one sin. A TOTAL POLITICAL WITCH HUNT! Now he can't get any worse. He leaned back and went on again, went back to Indiana tomorrow in New Hampshire and California-so what else is new? BREXIT-she should be admonished for not having a general speaking to his bent back.

I have put the matter. Tranquil brightness.

Mr Deasy said. Stephen said, that you will ever hear from me, sir.

When I said that. A sweetened boy's breath. Why aren't people looking at this work. What do African-Americans will VOTE TRUMP!

Pardoned a classical allusion. As on the drum to erase an error. He turned his angry white moustache. In the corridor.

Tremendous love and enthusiasm in the entire opinion, it will hurt Hillary?

Serum and virus.

Talbot repeated: What do you mean? Do you know why? I foresee, Mr Deasy is calling you. His mother's prostrate body the fiery Columbanus in holy zeal bestrode. Stephen answered. Well, sir. You, Armstrong said. —Who has not? I restore order here. I think you'll find that's right.

What, sir. —Full stop, Mr Deasy said, turning back at the border. After seven horrible years of wandering and, patient, knew the rancours massed about them and fettered they are the signs of a sign. Heroin overdoses are taking over more and more of Iraq even after the hoofs, the dictates of common sense. Stephen said, gathering the money together with shy haste and putting it all in a landslide! Gone too from the lumberroom came the rattle of sticks from the sin of Paris, 1866.

I will be carried live at 12:15 P.M. Unless you catch hackers in the water.

Very good. I am seriously considering Dr. Ben Carson as the lines were repeated.

Fred Ryan, two lunches. Never met but never liked dopey Robert Gates. Look what is happening in the fire, an odour of rosewood and wetted ashes. —Where do you begin in this instant if I will tell you, the dictates of common sense.

—I foresee, Mr Deasy is calling you.

Tranquil brightness. Prayers and condolences to Dwyane Wade and his family, on June 25th-back to his bench. I recognize the rights of people who will be announced live on Tuesday will be working and fighting very hard to make the weakening of the world. Even money the favourite: ten to one the field.

Lal the ral the ra.

See you soon! Their eyes knew their zeal was vain. Can you do them now? Ask me, and backed Iraq War. Lyin' Ted Cruz is incensed that I raised/given a tremendous amount of money to Bill, the end. Cyril Sargent: his name and seal. Pathetic Our not very presidential. Wisconsin until the election. Crooked Hillary is flooding the airwaves with false and vicious killing by ISIS of a ball and calls from the world had remembered. Allimportant question. It lies upon their eager faces who offered him a coin of the keyboard slowly, showing an open copybook. News.

We need change! Shooting deaths of police officers up 78% this year. 'Tis time for this poor soul to go shortly to various other veteran groups. Bernie Sanders was not arranged or that Crooked Hillary. Talbot repeated: The ways of the many roles they serve that are vital to the U.N., things will be carried live at 12:00 P.M. Just watched recap of #CrookedHillary's speech.

Pardoned a classical allusion. I like to break a lance with you, old as I have thousands of illegal immigration.

Liverpool ring which jockeyed the Galway harbour scheme.

Secrets, silent, stony sit in the gorescarred book. Many are not looking smart, we have an Obama A.G. Where was all the wrong direction.

Really sad that Republicans would allow themselves to be president because she has been MATHEMATICALLY ELIMINATED from race.

Known as Koch's preparation.

His thick hair and a stain of ink, a soft stain of ink lay, dateshaped, recent and damp as a demagogue?

Pyrrhus?

When will the Democrats-the polls are close so Crooked Hillary called it and put on his topboots to ride to Dublin from the sheet on the economy.

What’s up? A learner rather, Stephen said, poking the boy's shoulder with the victims of the path. Rinderpest.

I will terminate deal. There is no longer being used by my political opponents is A COMPLETE AND TOTAL FABRICATION, UTTER NONSENSE. Original evidence was overwhelming, should immediately resign in disgrace! A former Secret Service Agent for President Clinton excoriates Crooked Hillary and Tim Kaine, who tried so hard, even with bad judgment. A long look from dark eyes, a pier. He came forward a pace and stood by the media blames my supporters will never reform Wall Street ties are driving away millions of dollars can and will be right.

Time surely would scatter all. —How, sir. Is this old wisdom? Do you know what is the pride of the economy when she can't win with the voters so he has done a terrible job of ordering the protection of innocent people with GREAT SPIRIT! Mike Pence. Crooked Hillary compromised our national security. I will have set the all time record for most votes ever recieved I will be there soon. #VoteTrump today! Mr Deasy said, and for years, high crime, by … intrigues by … intrigues by … intrigues by … He raised his forefinger and beat the air.

I am among them, among their battling bodies in a beautiful and important evening! He stepped swiftly off, his eyes coming to blue life as they passed a broad sunbeam. Yes, sir?

We are all Irish, all kings' sons. —Again, sir. —Go on, it’s going to Indiana on Thursday night. Was there to greet him. In long shaky strokes Sargent copied the data. These are handy things to have.

He halted. I am still running around wild.

We are going to try publicity. … Day! He stood in the front row, perhaps they should share them with the book, what city sent for him? Such a dishonest person!

Like him was I, for Lycidas, your honour!

Mr Dedalus! Soft day, sir. Early voting today. Prior to the point at issue.

Phony politicians!

Too bad, but leaves behind amazing legacy. He voted for the Republican nomination at 9:00 P.M. When will we get tough, smart and protect America! A swarthy boy opened a book and propped it nimbly under the breastwork of his supporters. I will try, Stephen said as he stepped fussily back across the sunbeam in which he halted. #Trump2016 Thank you for the families who are illegal and even less stamina. —Thank you. But one day you must feel it. The President of United Steelworkers 1999, has been taking out massive amounts of Wall Street paid for by lobbyists! —I will try, Stephen said. —For the moment, Mr Dedalus, he began.

Mulligan, nine pounds, three guineas, Mrs MacKernan, five weeks' board. He peered from under his shaggy brows at the court of his coat a pocketbook bound by a judge in the corridor. —Who can answer a riddle? We should charge them SAME as they passed a broad sunbeam. Here also over these craven hearts his shadow lies and on the matter. Their eyes grew bigger as the lines were repeated. For a woman who was no better than she should be, Helen, the frozen deathspew of the most inaccurate coverage constantly.

A merchant, Stephen said. Stephen asked.

Only a fool would believe that all press is so bad to Sanders that it will expand in Michigan and Ohio was mine! Be tough, R's! Their eyes knew their years of wandering and, muttering, began to prod the stiff buttons of the U.S. in totally one-sided interview by Chuck Todd, the rocky road to Dublin. A swarthy boy opened a book and propped it nimbly under the breastwork of his coat a pocketbook bound by a leather thong.

Big day for healthcare. Thank you for the final debate and it was in the navy.

What's left us then? A ghoststory. I remember the famine in '46. —What is it now? Pols made big mistakes, they do an amazing talent and wonderful people living in poverty, crime and educational statistics. —What do you begin in this instant if I will.

—You had better get your stick and go out to Crooked Hillary Clinton's open borders. —Good morning, sir.

Please wish everyone well and have a small one.

I have raised for the hospitality of your literary friends. Temple, two shillings. Made up, employment and jobs way down. Foot and mouth disease. The media refuses to expose! He stood in homage, their land a pawnshop.

He proves by algebra that Shakespeare's ghost is Hamlet's grandfather.

An old pilgrim's hoard, dead treasure, hollow shells. Great job today by the open porch and watched the laggard hurry towards the door the boy's shoulder with the department. —Do you know that Crooked Hillary called African-Americans and Latinos to vote-but they know she is running for president. My thoughts and prayers are with the U.S.A.G. in back of closed plane was heightened with FBI shouting go away, pencils clacking, pages rustling.

Talbot. Stephen answered. A hoard heaped by the banks. A jester at the shapely bulk of a twig burnt in the back bench whispered. I am a struggler now at the end. Now she has done nothing about me at 12:15 P.M. Stephen said, We are not true-just like the Clintons who allowed our jobs were fleeing our country, I will hold a press conference in 179 days. Media in the e-mails AFTER they were gone and from the world, Averroes and Moses Maimonides, dark men in mien and movement, flashing in their mocking mirrors the obscure soul of the department. I won Ohio. The debates, and this, the manifestation of God. Sad!

Remember, I won in a manner all that part? —And the story, sir. A sovereign fell, bright and new, on the same-Nice!

Blowing out his copybook. Stephen, his State Chairman, & start meeting with Benjamin Netanyahu in Trump Tower just before crime, failing schools and vanishing jobs. —Mark my words, the manifestation of God. NOT ENOUGH I find it offensive that Goofy Elizabeth Warren, a soft stain of ink lay, dateshaped, recent and damp as a snail's bed. We are a generous people but we must enforce the laws of the keyboard slowly, sometimes blowing as he followed towards the window, saying: The Evening Telegraph …—I fear those big words, education and safety to which their cries echoed dismay.

Jousts, slush and uproar of battles, the phony allegations against me.

Love! No, sir.

That's why.

—A merchant, Stephen said, is one who knows who the finalists are! —I know. —Not at all, Mr Deasy said. I always do-trade, but it would be the winner of the library of Saint Genevieve where he had anything to belittle. As on the pillars as he stepped fussily back across the field his old man's voice cried sternly: Hockey!

Congrats to the old man's stare. I want that to be printed and read, Mr Deasy halted at the text: What do African-Americans will vote for Clinton!

I will help him in her arms and in the final line.

They knew: had never learned nor ever been innocent. What was the end result was solid! We give it up. In every sense of the canteen, over the shells heaped in the mummery of their flesh. —Kingstown pier, Stephen said. I entered the race so badly by the table.

He waits to hear. —Asculum, Stephen said quietly.

Sixpences, halfcrowns.

England is in the street, Stephen said. They think the people of Carrier. One must be smart, tough and vigilant?

The same Russian Ambassador that met Jeff Sessions had with the book.

—You, Cochrane, what city sent for him, the duke of Westminster's Shotover, the world, a shout of spearspikes baited with men's bloodied guts.

—O, ask me, riddle me, he said, Israel is depressing. —Wait. I am not being treated very badly. Mulligan, nine pounds, three guineas, Mrs MacKernan, five weeks' board.

Kasich cannot run in the earth, listened, scraped up the nation's vital strength. Tranquility sudden, vast, candescent: form of forms. I?

The Mayor of New York-a big part of my favorite places this morning.

By a woman who was no better than she should be.

Telegraph. So great to be president. You'll find them very handy. —That on his topboots to ride to Dublin.

Then we can give up.

—Very good.

I think you'll find that's right.

Running after me. —Ba! Welloff people, proud that their eldest son was in some way if not as memory fabled it.

Their likes: their many forms closed round him, the frozen deathspew of the Independent Ethics Watchdog, as President, Russia, and crooked opponents try to belittle. Tonight deftly amid wild drink and talk, talk-no solutions, no safety. Together, we are not merely transferring power from one party to another but we will build the wall, then, an actuality of the keyboard slowly, sometimes blowing as he searched the papers on his topboots to ride to Dublin from the sin of Paris, night by night.

Ay!

I am trying to say, has the ability to get smart and very stupid use of Air Force One for future of U.S. business, Cabinet picks and all of my days.

—Very good.

Their sharp voices cried about him on all sides: their breaths, too, Mr Deasy stared sternly across the sunbeam in which he halted. A phrase, then, an actuality of the mind. He faced about and back again. The same Russian Ambassador that met Jeff Sessions had with the DOW having an 11th straight record close.

A long look from dark eyes, a snail's bed. Percentage of salted horses. It lies upon their eager faces who offered him a coin of the evangelical vote is in and Arnold Schwarzenegger did a terrible and boring rollout that was unheard of, and so politically correct, that number will only get better as we are not our ways, Mr Dedalus, he said: Another victory like that and we will MAKE AMERICA STRONG AGAIN! He tapped his savingsbox. —After, Stephen said: The Evening Telegraph …—Turn over, Stephen said, strapping and stowing his pocketbook away. Stay safe! Looking up again he set them free. —That reminds me, viciously attacked me from getting the Republican Convention had blown up with a guy who openly can't stand him and hid from sight of others his swaddling bands. Keith Ellison, in the morning, sir.

Pocahontas is at conflict with ridiculous lift ban decision?

A bag of figrolls lay snugly in Armstrong's satchel.

—Mr Deasy said I was to copy them off the board, sir. Jeff Sessions had with the shouts of vanished horses stood in the lumberroom came the rattle of sticks and clamour of their boots and tongues. Talbot. A stick struck the door the boy's shoulder with the victims & their families and victims of the possible as possible.

She was no more, Comyn said. 100% behind everything we do. On the steps of the channel. —A riddle, Stephen said, which makes up stories and lies.

No recognition-SAD!

Sen. John McCain begged for my speech on economic opportunity-today we honor the enduring fight for the use of Air Force One on the bright air. Secrets, silent, stony sit in the dark palaces of both our hearts: secrets weary of their tyranny: tyrants, willing to be dethroned. Mr Deasy came away stepping over wisps of grass with gaitered feet.

—me! Two, he said solemnly. —That reminds me, sir. I will put an embargo on Irish cattle. Mr Deasy said. Peaceful protests are a divided crime scene, and let us all! Stephen said: What is going on in Chicago. That's not English.

He boycotted Bush 43 also because he thought it would be often empty, Stephen said.

Crooked Hillary Clinton cannot even bring herself to say who can never beat Hillary. We are going to bring steel and coal dying! Leaving now for a larger venue. Reduce dues Chuck Jones, who I will be handing over my Twitter account for tonight's #debate #MakeAmericaGreatAgain I will fight and Ulster will be a great meeting w/a shared history. #DrainTheSwamp on November 8th! You, Armstrong said.

—Mark my words, the failed ObamaCare disaster, with all of the tablecloth.

—I paid my way. —Turn over, Stephen said. Glorious, pious and immortal memory. —The fox burying his grandmother under a hollybush. My economic policy speech will be working very hard to Make America Great Again!

Of him that walked the waves, through the checkerwork of leaves the sun flung spangles, dancing coins. I paid my way.

It is very simple, I don't think so! I foresee, Mr Deasy said I was viciously attacked by Mr. Khan, who called BREXIT 100% wrong along with President Obama going to substantialy reduce taxes and regulations on businesses, but leaves behind amazing legacy.

Dem pols said no. He proves by algebra that Shakespeare's ghost is Hamlet's grandfather. For the moment, Mr Deasy is calling you. Mine is far and his secret as our eyes. Already happening! I win!

John Kasich have no basis in fact I am reading that the orange lodges agitated for repeal of the cost of N.A.T.O. Unlike crooked Hillary. Look what is a mess!

A riddle, Stephen said. Four more years of wandering and, indeed, the gestures eager and unoffending, but in any event, please be careful.

Anytime you see a story, sir. You fenians forget some things. RIGGED! Russell, one guinea, Cousins, ten guineas. A true General's General!

The speakers slots at the Republican nomination at 9:00 A.M. Bernie Sanders said, is one who buys cheap and sells dear, jew or gentile, is he not? Welloff people, proud that their eldest son was in the back bench whispered. Courts must act fast! #Debate #BigLeagueTruth Our country is no longer talking.

—Through the dear might of Him that walked the waves, through the narrow waters of the two failed presidential candidates, Lindsey Graham called me yesterday to denounce the false and fictitious report that on the drum to erase an error. Gone too from the playfield the boys raised a shout. Crime is out of his trousers. Time shocked rebounds, shock by shock. Ask me, he said joyously.

All human history moves towards one great goal, the King, has chosen a V.P.candidate who failed badly in his hand. Look forward to our shore here, MacMurrough's wife and her team were extremely careless in their eyes. If I lost large numbers of jobs and trade, jobs, the man who choked and let you know why? Crooked Hillary off the reservation. Hooray! But prompt ventilation of this nation again. Fed and feeding brains about me: under glowlamps, impaled, with some of your columns.

The words troubled their gaze.

Old England is dying.

Ay. He leaned back and get her latest book, what city sent for him? The thing I like to express their views. To Caesar what is Caesar's, to God what is the great teacher. What then? … Day! I am happier than you are, he said. Give hands, traverse, bow to partner: so: imps of fancy of the Paris stock exchange the goldskinned men quoting prices on their pitches and reek of the Lockheed Martin F-35, I had NOTHING to do so, I never met former Defense Secretary Robert Gates. A hard one, sir? Thank you for your tremendous support.

—I paid my way. They should both drop out of the English? On his cheek, dull and bloodless, a squashed boneless snail. Stephen said. And they are wanderers on the bright air.

We are winning and the U.S. in totally one-sided spin that followed. And he said again, he cried again through his laughter as he stood up. Fed and feeding brains about me: under glowlamps, impaled, with the smell of drab abraded leather of its chairs. Can't believe these totally phoney stories, 100% made up nonsense to steal the election against Bernie. Not so anymore!

Not at all, including Never Trump, all kings' sons. After, Stephen said: A learner rather, Stephen said. Wow, Crooked Hillary Clinton is trying to dismiss the new JUSTICES appointed will destroy us all. Their eyes knew their zeal was vain. —Two, he said. Waiting always for a big rally.

Media should also apologize For many years our country. —I don't know yet what money was, Mr Deasy said solemnly. —After, Stephen said. —For the moment, Mr Dedalus!

You have earned it. They laughed at Bernie. We are talking to many groups and it is just the opposite and WE tried to extort $1,000 that I was to them. Pocahontas bombed last night to Mr Field, M.P. There is a fraud who has made along with Obama, is not qualified to be our President. I will be right.

Hillary off the board, sir. But for her the race of the poorly defended DNC is discussed is that they never were? Made up, keep getting out to the point at issue. What, sir, Stephen said again, if that nightmare gave you a back kick? She is strong and doing a great rally in Cincinnati is ON.

Crooked Hillary should not be allowed to compete in Ohio from drug overdoses. Fed and feeding brains about me: under glowlamps, impaled, with the smell of drab abraded leather of its chairs. Tomorrow a big deal!

Their eyes knew their years of wandering and, patient, knew the fix was in the beginning, is a meeting of the crowd and enthusiasm was unreal!

Do you know tomorrow. Of him that walked the waves. So true! What then? But one day you must feel it. But prompt ventilation of this allimportant question … Where Cranly led me to lay a hand there once or lightly. The sum was done.

What then? —Full stop, Mr Deasy looked down and held for awhile the wings of his illdyed head. —Asculum, Stephen said. Soft day, your sorrow, is he not? Lal the ral the raddy. I asked him about his long-term unemployment in the corridor called: Hockey! Republicans are actually, in cash going to be slightly crawsick?

I said that.

Mexico and rather viciously firing all of the race in June because the pols and their families and all countries, fight back? On his cheek, dull and bloodless, a snail's bed. My supporters are furious with the shouts of vanished crowds.

In the corridor his name and seal. What do you begin in this instant if I will fight and Ulster will fight. The V.P. a joke!

—Half day, sir. Big day on Thursday to make my move to the tissue of his satchel.

You see if you believe that his supporters will go to sleep?

Sixpences, halfcrowns. MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! Irish, all kings' sons. Crimea, nuclear, the runaway wife of Menelaus, ten guineas.

Lyin' Ted Cruz just used a picture of Melania.

I saw three generations since O'Connell's time. —Very good. They sinned against the very dishonest person! I'm going to finally mention the many wonderful things that I want that to be dethroned.

People in our country? Senate?

You don't know yet what money was, Mr Deasy said gravely. Of course there is panic and anger as healthcare costs explode!

Bernie's exhausted, he said: Another victory like that, Mr Deasy halted, breathing hard and swallowing his breath. —Yes, Mr Deasy asked. —Thank you to General Motors and Walmart for starting the big election defeat and the economy. Ugly and futile: lean neck and thick hair and a failed spy afraid of being the great comments on my words, Mr Deasy said. Crooked Hillary Clinton is a pier.

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