#alabama dirt man

[josephus-miller]

saw the absolute coolest car the other day

[froginmygarden]

Got a little brain worm on the way home and have a need to write it down. Just a drabble because I'm not good at writing.

DC x DP Just a (clone) couple

Joung Adult!Team Phantom for some reason end up in the DC universe. For reasons, there aren't any equivalents of them here. Danny and Sam are together and Danny and Dani have a familiar relationship. Whatever the reasons they stay in this universe.

So Sam, Danny and Dani start making a life together as a family, Tucker goes on to make a "small business" involving VPN's and tech in general (finds an anthropomorphic girlfriend on the way or something), Jazz goes to uni (JL members city of choice, although I advise against Gotham or Metropolis, because that would make this too short).

For some MORE reasons unknown, although they might be by the making of our favourite clock-man, the DP people's DNA has by default markings of being clones in DC (I don't know if this is canon or fanon but Connor had something like that ╮⁠(⁠＾⁠▽⁠＾⁠)⁠╭). The thing is here Jack = Bruce, Maddy = Alexander and Jeremy = Clark, Pamela = Lois! Do you see my vision here??

So *JL member from the perspective city* meets the Fenton/Manson/Nightingale?? family accidentally when they are visiting Jazz, and has a sweet deja vu moment. Some time passes and the off handedly mention it to someone in the JL.

Batman being the paranoid bastard that he is goes on to check this thing out, because he can smell the fish from a mile away. Thinks the couple are clones, gets very paranoid again and starts making plans, plans get found by his kids, kids tell the JL and friends. So starts the collective discussions of what should they do, some say that they should get rid of the clones, some others that they don't have proof for anything nefarious and shouldn't do anything at all, someone points out that they have literally showed up out of nowhere and that it is reasonable to be suspicious. And Connor is also there.

Meanwhile Team Phantom is going about their lives like normal, but with a "I know that you know" mindset, and don't really bother with hiding themselves.

In my opinion the part that has to be the most glaringly noticeable about them should be that Danny (Batman's clone apparently) should wear a lot of flannel and have a "Midwestern Nice" personality" (the stuff of legends I have only heard about in passing) and over all should resemble Clark in fashion sense. For Sam (Superman's clone apparently) the exact opposite - she can put the GOTH in Gotham.

And all JL angst/drama/confusion happens in the background as we follow Connor Kent's/Superboy's POV and him dealing with having two half siblings and the half siblings being together and them having a child and this is too much for him oooooooooo noooooooo nononoonononoonononononno what in the sweeet home Alabama whhhhhyyyyyyyy!??!

So it's like a metronome tick's between the POVs of fluffy new life/potential threat to the JL I mean the child of Bruce/Lex and child Clark/Luis having potential super-smart, super-powered (potentially evil??) children. But overall it's crack.

Maybe I'll plan it out and actually try to write it, but meanwhile you can enjoy my half-ill/fever induced brain worms and play in the brown dirt puddle I call my creative thinking.

To who ever finished reading this

Good night! ;P

[wilwheaton]

Since we’ve established that anecdotes matter when it’s your point to be made, let’s briefly note a few uniquely American stories from the past week. In a small town in Alabama, 32 people were shot (four killed) at a birthday party. Also last week, in upstate New York, a 20-year-old woman was shot and killed by a 65-year-old man after the car she was in mistakenly turned into his driveway. (Police said it was “a very rural area with dirt roads,” poor cell service, and “easy to get lost.”) And in another case of a “good guy with a gun” defending his castle—a 16-year-old boy in Kansas City, looking to pick up his siblings from a friend’s house, mixed up the address and was shot in the head by an 84-year-old man after mistakenly knocking on the man’s door. And because this is America, the anecdotes can go on and on—like the two cheerleaders shot in Texas for accidentally opening the wrong car door in a parking lot, and the 6-year-old girl and her dad in North Carolina who were shot by a neighbor, reportedly after an errant basketball rolled into his yard. That’s five different states, in just a few days.

America’s Tragedy Is Its Culture of Fear—Armed With Millions of Guns

[mjolnirswriststrap]

SCARED

Neighbor!Bucky Barnes X F!Reader

Word Count: 2,519 ⭐️Masterlist⭐️

Summary: I loosely based this off of a real life event of mine, so if things don’t make sense, ask God 🤣🤣

Warnings: Agegap, neighbor!bucky, adultery, 18+ not quite smut but I don’t want childen reading anything I write 🤷🏻‍♀️ suggestive or not.

Spending the summer with your aunt wasnt something you planned for when school ended. It meant church every Sunday, and Wednesday night. It meant no wifi and being stranded in a strange town on the border of Georgia and Alabama.

You’d never been to Georgia and the possibility of driving to Florida to go to the beach was enough to convince you 5 weeks wasn’t that long. The 10 hour drive there lasted longer than the summer escape.

The first few weeks were exactly what you expected. Church, shopping, eating your aunts famous fried chicken livers, talking on the porch late into the night. On the third Sunday, after church, she informs you that you’re taking a trip to Alabama. Her grandson is coming to spend the week. You both needed to go pick him up from her daughter.

It took 4 hours to get there, napping made it feel like 30 minutes. Your aunt pulled up to a trailer park, and you scan your surroundings. You were even further in the middle of nowhere, then what you were at your aunts house. You always wanted to know the way out. But here, a 2 mile dirt road separates you from the highway you turned off of. You take notice of the neighbors, one had a pool out front, some older ladies floating on pool noodles waved at your aunt, they must know her. The neighbors on the other side of your cousins house weren’t so inviting.

You saw a toddler sitting in the dirt crying. Watching up at his parents flinging spit in each others faces. You avert your gaze when the man flicks his eyes over to you. You know men like that, they’re terrifying and unpredictable. He could walk over to you and start on you just for glancing in his direction. Your aunt ushers you into her daughters house, not wanting you to see the altercation.

You hadn’t seen your cousin since you were a little girl. Now she has a little boy. It was weird. Your family was so large, it was impossible to keep up with everyone. You had many cousins you hadn’t seen since Christmas of ‘06. After a ham sandwich and barbecue chips you were ready to leave, it was more boring here, and your cousin even had cable. You aunt must’ve noticed your boredom, offering a swim in her friends pool out front.

“But I didn’t bring a bathing suit?” You say grinning, knowing you’d go naked if it meant you could swim. “Just wear your bra and I’ll go ask the neighbor if she has some shorts that will fit you.” Your aunt says, swinging open the screen door. You nod your head, quickly braiding your hair to keep it out of your face. You almost lose your spot, twisting knots into your hair when the blonde woman from next door walks in, smiling. “Hey, your aunt said you needed some shorts?”.

You hop up from the couch. “Yes, thank you, I don’t know if we’re even close to the same size but what can it hurt to try?” You give her a soft smile. She looked like a wounded animal. She was way too nice to be getting yelled at like that. You wonder what set him off. But you know better than to ask. “Tanya, your kids crying.” You both look behind her to the open door. The dark haired man was standing there, looking thoroughly disgusted. When his eyes find you again, you have nowhere to hide. “Your aunt says you guys are staying the night.” He informs you, walking away. You furrow your eyebrows, why wouldn’t your aunt tell you that herself?

“She did, James needs a ride into town tomorrow and your aunt couldn’t say no.” She gives you a tight lipped smile. She knows a young girl would rather be spending her summer somewhere else. Once you squeezed into the shorts, you bolted to the pool, with a quick introduction to Sherry and Barb, sisters who owned the park. They were nice, asked you questions and treated you like family. Your aunt must really know them, you had no clue how.

Tanya and your aunt walked across the grass and climbed into the pool. Tanya tightly held onto a bottle of Budweiser, letting you know the night was already starting. You dunk your head, wanting to wash away the sweat from your forehead. When you resurface you see James stomping towards the pool, his shirt missing and motor oil smeared on his chest. “Drinking beer but not watching your kid I wish I could be surprised.” That’s when you notice a little boy in his hands, floaties tightly wrapped around his arms and body. He snatched the brown bottle from her hands, tossing the boy into the pool. “I got shit to do.” He walked away, finishing the beer and throwing the empty bottle to the ground.

After two more hours in the pool, your cousin came out looking for your aunt, leaving you alone with the Tanya and the baby. “Are you happy?” You finally ask, only because you’re truly alone with her. Her eyes well with tears, she shakes her head no. You move across the pool grabbing the boy you’d become acquainted with. You pulled yourself out of the water, not bothering to dry off, but you wrapped the boy in a towel. The sun was setting and it wasn’t warm enough for him to be out here wet. “I’ll be right back.” You give her a firm nod, carrying him in the direction of her house. She just watched helplessly as you turn the corner out of site.

Your heart started beating faster as you walked up to the trailer, knocking on the door. You try to think of what to say as you wait for him to open the door. You hear cursing from the other side before it’s swung open. He stands there for a minute, holding the door open before you realize he’s inviting you in. You step up, still holding onto the toddler. You don’t move from the doormat, afraid of tracking water through the house. “You can lay him down on the couch.” He says, pointing toward the corner of the room. You nod, padding your feet across the cold linoleum. You didn’t even notice the boy fell asleep in your arms, swimming always tuckers out kids. You straighten your back when you feel water droplets sliding down the inside of your thigh, pooling water at your feet.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t even dry off before bringing him.” You look at the ground, wondering how you could fix the wet footprints that painted his floor. “I’m not.” He says but you barely catch it. “Huh?” You ask.

“Don’t be sorry, it’s just water honey.” You look up at him, not believing his sincerity. His blue eyes are piercing into yours. “Okay, well I better get back to the pool.” He watches you as you walk out of the door, he doesn’t make room for you to slip past him, causing you to turn your body towards him, he smelled good, you don’t know how. He was covered in black dirt from under the car, and sweat. He still wasn’t wearing a shirt and his tanned skin was so smooth, save for the happy trail growing up his stomach.

He was a lot older than you, more than 15 years, you’d guess. But you couldn’t tell standing this close to him. Your brain forces you out of the door. If you stood there in the tension for a second longer you don’t know what stupid thing would come out of your mouth. When you got back to the pool everyone had rejoined Tanya, even your aunt and cousin were drinking. You escape to your cousins house, changing back into your leggings and putting on your t-shirt. You check on your baby cousin, he’s sleeping in his room, not a worry in the world. You take the chance to spend a minute alone and turn on the tv.

You don’t even care to change the channel, SpongeBob played, lulling you to sleep. You’re awoken by your aunt, handing you the neighbor boy. “Will you watch him for a minute?” You just nod, and she’s out of the house. You peak through the curtain to see blue lights out front. Why are the cops here? You rock the boy to sleep, laying him down beside your cousin in his bed. When you walk outside everyone’s gone. The cops, your aunt, the neighbors. “What the hell.” You say out loud. You go knock on Sherrys door, hoping your aunt was there. But no one answered. Walking across the grass field someone caught your attention. It’s James, yelling at his trailer. “You don’t love me anyways, bitch.” He throws another beer bottle, this one smashes against the siding of the house. “I should’ve never fucked you and let you have my kid.” You stop in your tracks when he turns around, obviously drunk. “Hey.” He says, slowly walking towards you. “Are you okay?” You ask naïve as ever.

“I’m a good person, right?” He asks. You don’t know what to say, not wanting to tip him off that you were shitting your pants right now.

“Yes, you seem like a really good dad.” You’re trying to deescalate. “I am.” His voice is a little louder than it should be. “I don’t doubt it.” You’re still standing in the same spot, too afraid to move. “You’re nice.” He says, smiling widely. You give him one back, he hadn’t done anything to you yet, you weren’t going to give him a reason to.

It was no secret that you were nervous. Your breathing was fast and your eyes kept darting past him. “You don’t have to be scared. There’s nothing to be afraid of.” He throws his hands in the air. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He says, stepping closer to you again. “Everyone hurts me. Treats me like I’m not worth anything.” He lets his head hang, and you start to feel guilt building inside of you, this man just needed someone to lean on. “I’m not worthless, right?” He looks up at you with tears in his eyes. You know he’s drunk, but this pain was real.

“You’re worth more than you know.” It was cliche, but a true blanket statement, no one knows their true worth. “Thank you.” He says, wiping his eyes. “I just need someone to hold me for once.” You felt that, you knew exactly what he meant. “Wanna hug?” You offer, knowing that sometimes that’s all people need, church the last three weeks had taught you that. Sometimes a smile and a handshake is all the human contact people get all week.

He just looks at you, expecting you to close the gap between you. So you do, you walk towards him, fear in the form of sweat, still dripping from you. You give him a warm smile as you lay your head on his chest, wrapping your arms around his middle. His hands quickly found your hips, pulling you even closer to him. He squeezed you tightly, and you swear you hear him smell your hair. You try to pull away after an awkward silence falls over the two of you, but he won’t let you go.

“I’m sorry you’re going through stuff man, I am.” You say, patting his shoulder to tell him to let go. You feel his body go rigid against yours so you think he’s crying again. Drunk tears are never ending. “It’s okay.” You wrap your arms around him again, rubbing up and down his bare back. You try to pull away again, this time saying something “Don’t want Tanya to come out here and catch you hugging a stranger, probably best we let go now.”

His silence was a thousand words. Then he spoke, “You can’t do that.” He says lowly. You pull away and try to look at his face. “What are you talking about?” You ask, fear filling you again. He looks into your eyes, letting one of his hands slide down to the curve of your ass. You instantly put your hands on his chest and try to push him away. “You can’t be sweet to me and expect me not to like it.” His voice was different now, desperate. He presses his face into your neck, sloppily kissing up to your jaw.

Your heart is beating out of your chest now, and you stop fighting, not wanting to anger him. “You don’t want to cheat on your wife, you’re just drunk.” You try to break through to him. “You don’t know me.” He says, pulling you towards the back yard. “No I don’t, but you seem like a good man, don’t let a drunken mistake ruin what you’ve built for yourself.” You keep trying to persuade him.

“I wasn’t drunk earlier, when I watched you bend over in my living room, dripping wet. I wanted you then, just didn’t say anything.” He says, pressing you against your cousins house. He breathes in your face, and you smell more than beer on his breath, whiskey was pungently invading your nose. “So what? You like me or something?” You ask, confused on where this was going.

“Something like that.” He says, pressing his lips to yours. You’re shocked, you thought you were gonna be able to talk your way out of it. “This isn’t right.” You stop the kiss, nodding towards his trailer. You look between his eyes and try to find some common sense. “Then why does it feel right?” He grabs your hand, forcing you to cup the hard mass in his pants.

You gasp, you’d never felt one before, your virginity not up for debate, you’d never even had a boyfriend. “See, you like it too.” It’s like he’s trying to convince you. You look between him and the houses, searching for a witness. When you couldn’t find a soul, you stop fighting all together. He feels your body relax and takes it as permission to pull your leggings down. “Hey!” You say, but you guess it was too loud for his liking because he covers your mouth with his hand, looking you dead in the eye while his fingers push past your panties and dip inside of you. “You like being scared little girl?” He pulls his hand away from you, licking his fingers and tasting you.

Him reading you like a book was also a turn on. You stay silent, telling him everything he needs to know. He twist your body, pressing your face into the plastic. “Maybe you like it rough too, huh?” He slaps your bare ass, rubbing the raised red welt to soothe it.

You whimper, you’re going to let him have his way with you. If this was the only eventful thing that happens this summer, then what the hell. Tanya wasn’t happy and neither was he, who were you to interfere with destiny?

[moss-in-my-shoes]

-find the Ark- pt 5

—

TW: blood and heavy horror themes

—

Your cigarette burnt quickly as you drove and you were having trouble staying focused, slamming on your breaks multiple times. You really didn’t need to rear-end someone today.

The busy town life turned into small businesses, old bars, historical buildings, and one park after the other. You didn’t know where you were going, subconsciously driving anywhere the road took you. Take a left, no- right. Go straight? Take this left turn and go through the roundabout. You just needed to figure out a game plan, you didn’t have anywhere to go, no friends or family that could take you in, you didn’t feel safe.

A heavy sigh left you as you parked, pulling into a random spot and turning your truck off. The sign a few feet away read, “Rosswood Park.” Huh. Why did that sound familiar to you? You’ve never even been to Alabama before. Maybe a little stroll through some man-made trails would help ease your nerves? Fresh air and nature were supposed to be good for you, right?

You left your truck, bag tossed over your shoulder and cigarette stomped out on the asphalt. You didn’t feel..safe, but you didn’t feel safe anywhere. There was a familiarity with the forest that felt soaked into your skin, like a memory that wasn’t your’s.

You were probably just crazy.

Your feet took you down a sidewalk that slowly ended into dirt trails in the woods. It was bright out, midday if you were guessing. The light had trouble breaking through the trees, dark enough you had to pull out your flashlight.

The camera recorded every moment, held in front of you to not miss a thing. It really did make you feel silly, like- “look at that weirdo recording themself walking down a trail with an old camcorder.” And not, “super cool and chill person who likes to use cameras.”

Your feet lead you to a cement tunnel in the middle of Rosswood park, eerie and dark even in the middle of the day. Mind screaming to not enter, your shoe broke the threshold. It was pretty normal considering, but a crunch under your shoe startled you to stumble back.

Was that a tooth???

Okay- keep walking, it’s nothing! Just a tooth! You were maybe halfway speed walking through when you started hearing…was that static? It was like an old TV when turned to a dead channel, but the faded sound was getting louder and louder and more prominent with every passing second. Your head started to ache like a fast-approaching migraine and you felt liquid drip down from your nose and into your agape mouth.

The taste of copper was enough to help you snap back into reality and swiftly start turning to figure out what was happening, but the tall thing at the entrance of the tunnel was impossible to make out now, eyes blurring. You couldn’t keep yourself upright anymore, slumping against the side of the tunnel and slipping to the ground. You coughed and heaved, throwing up red that blurred into the grey all around you.

It was in front of you now.

See me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me see me

You will forget who you are over and over again.

They cannot save you

[welcometowhore-rrorville]

𝒮𝑜𝓊𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝓃 𝐻𝑜𝓈𝓅𝒾𝓉𝒶𝓁𝒾𝓉𝓎

Featuring: Lester Sinclair, Bo Sinclair, Vincent Sinclair

Word Count: 4.6k 

Warnings: don’t trust strangers, implied drugging, pretty tame until the end, you crash your car, don’t text and drive, watch out for animals on the road, yandere-ish themes, may be ooc but i tried my best, southern accent source: born in alabama, edited but i make mistakes so let me know 

-

It was nothing but in character for your friend to ghost you for a few days—phone going straight to voicemail until the small device was filled to the brim with your annoyed messages. You hated when she didn’t reply, but she would always text back, hungover and begging for a ride back home from miles out of town. 

This time, however, it had been almost two weeks with no sign of her. Sure, she made bad decisions, but you hoped that she would surface, maybe a little drunk but unharmed. 

You slid your flip-phone back in your pocket after checking for messages, the device barely fitting into your high-waisted shorts. You would one day find and murder whoever made the sizings on women’s pockets.

Rolling your eyes, you continued down the road in your beat-up car. It wasn’t much, but it got you where you needed to go and that’s all you could ask for. You just prayed it wouldn’t break down out here—you had been following a winding country road for miles, trying to spot any sign of your missing friend. There was some kind of party going on way out in the country, and of course she just had to go.

It was stupid—you shouldn’t be so worried, and you definitely shouldn’t keep acting like her babysitter, but you couldn’t just not look for her. 

Your eyes scanned the shoulders, checking for any mailbox or sign somebody actually lived out here. You’d never gone this way before—the highway was much quicker—but your friend couldn’t make it easy for you.

You closed your eyes for just a moment, letting out a sigh, before opening them again. 

You screamed as you slammed on the brakes, seeing a dog wander out into the road. It wasn’t on your side, but you couldn’t live with yourself if something happened to it on your account.

You slid harshly as you veered off the road, tires squeaking on the rough asphalt. You felt yourself hit dirt, and finally came to a sudden halt—the front of your car firmly dented with a tree blocking your vision. Smoke emanated from the hood.

Luckily, you didn’t slam your head into anything, but you still felt the force of the impact, letting out a breathless sigh as you fell back against your seat.

You switched the car off, wincing just thinking about the damage. Still, as you exited your now ruined vehicle, your mind was on one thing—was the dog okay?

You scanned the road, spotting the black and white dog sitting on the other side of the road, tongue out as it looked at you. 

“Oh, thank God,” you mumbled, clutching your head. You turned back to look at your car, not even bothering to attempt to open the hood. You’d need a tow, that’s for sure.

You pulled your phone out, popping it open. No signal. You groaned. This just wasn’t your day.

Stumbling to the edge of the road, you looked both ways before crossing. The dog had to have an owner somewhere—maybe they could help you out?

By the time you made it to the other side, the pit-mix was standing a few feet away, already trotting back into the woods.

“Wait!” you called after it, following the dog as best you could through the overgrown forest. Branches scraped at your bare arms and legs, and suddenly you wished you were in something other than a tank top and shorts.

Finally, you stopped at the edge of a precipice, looking down the steep hill where the dog was now trotting around a large pile of road-kill. You screwed your face up at the smell. You supposed it all had to go somewhere, but did you have to stumble upon it?

The dog sat patiently next to a beat-up truck, and you watched as a man exited the vehicle.

“Jonesy, there you are! Where d’ya think you’re runnin’ off to, huh?” 

The man looked like you expected someone who hung out next to a road-kill pile all day would look. Not that he was ugly, but he just—he had the look of someone who was always working and nothing else. His jeans were ripped and the t-shirt he wore had too many stains to count. The flannel he had on top was fraying at the edges, but his attire suited him. 

“Hey!” you called from the top of the hill, trying your best to work your way down without falling face-first into a pile of road-kill. “I wrecked a little ways away from here—anywhere you know that can give me a tow?”

The man met your gaze, a toothy grin on his face. He met you just before you got to the bottom of the hill, holding out a hand to lead you around the pile. You smiled back at him, taking it as he guided you back to his truck.

“Sure, I know a place. Just up the road. What’re you doin’ all the way out here?”

“One of my friends is missing—I’m trying to find her,” you replied, finally releasing his hand as you stopped in front of his truck. He smelled of dead animals, but you supposed that came with the job. You watched as he shut the trunk of his truck. 

He gestured to his vehicle. “Well, come on, then. I’ll give you a ride. Can’t have you runnin’ around out here gettin’ lost.” 

You hesitated only for a second but soon realized you didn’t have another choice. You took a deep breath, grabbing the handle and popping the door open. “Thank you, sir.”

“Oh, just Lester’s fine. I don’t look like much of a sir,” he said with a laugh.

Jonesy hopped in before you had the chance to slide in yourself. You smiled at the dog who was probably used to riding shot-gun. You climbed in next to her as Lester jumped into the driver’s seat.

You shut the door next to you, all the while trying not to startle the dog who seemed very much content with spreading out over the small seating space.

“Oh, don’t mind her,” he said, giving her a pat on her side as she lay against his lap. “She’s spoiled. Give ‘er a few pets and she’ll never leave your side.”

You smiled softly, reaching out to place a hand against her side. She lifted her head up, turning to look at you, tail wagging against your thigh.

“She’s a cutie,” you replied, beginning to pet her softly. For a dog out and about in the woods, she sure had some soft fur. You thought it was endearing she was better groomed than he was—what a kind guy, taking care of his dog so nicely.

“Oh, and she knows it, too,” he said, shaking his head as he laughed goofily. He gave her head a pet.

“So,” you started, looking up from the dog to look at the road—well, dirt path, you should say. “What’s this place? I didn’t know anybody lived back here.”

“It’s an old town—used to be pretty popular ‘til that highway was built. Still, Bo’s in town—he should get you all set. Think he’s still got his tow-truck runnin’.”

“Thanks again for driving me,” you replied, any anxiety soothed by the happy dog who had now turned to place her head in your lap. You gave her a scratch behind the ear causing her leg to start thumping. You laughed. “Must not get many strangers around here.”

“You’d be surprised,” Lester replied. “Every now-n-then some new city folks come around, all off-put by what we do out here. They never stay long. It’s a real shame.”

You shrugged. “Might not be the best job, but someone’s gotta do it,” you said, hand resting against Jonesy’s head. She let out a soft whine, nestling further into your shirt. “AT least you don’t deal with people much. I’d prefer hanging out with this sweetheart than dealing with customers any day.” 

“Guess that’s true. Seems she’s takin’ a real likin’ to ya, too. Don’t steal her away from me now!” 

You laughed. “D’aww, plans foiled,” you joked. She was a cute dog, but you’d never take a beloved pet away from its owner. Especially when he seemed like a genuinely nice guy who was trying to help you out. 

You watched as he stopped in front of a rather large puddle in the dirt track, and you could spot the tire tracks running through it before submerging beneath the murky water. 

“That’s not good,” you replied. “Can you get through that?”

He shrugged. “Lemme lock the hubs right quick and we’ll see. Might take a few minutes but it shouldn’ be a problem.” 

You bit your lip, debating something. “Oh, it’s alright. The town is just up ahead, yeah? I’ll just walk. You’ve already helped me out enough. I don’t want to put you out any more.”

“You sure?” he replied. “I ain’t in any rush.”

“It’s nice out—some exercise will do me good anyway,” you responded. Jonesy whined, seemingly aware you were about to leave.

“Tell ya what. I gotta few things to do before I head in—why dontcha take Jonesy with ya—it’ll make me feel better that you’re not out here alone. I’ll meetcha at Bo’s shop in a few.”  

It was your turn to protest. “Oh, you don’t have to—” you were interrupted when the dog nosed at your hand. 

“See, she wants to come with, anyway. She’s a good girl—will even lead ya straight to the town.” 

You nodded. “Okay, if you say so. You said Bo is who I’m lookin’ for?”

“Yup,” he said, hopping out and walking over to your side. He popped the door open before holding out his hand. “Tell ‘em Lester sent ya.”

You took his hand, hopping out as Jonesy stretched before following behind you. She stuck to your side, taking a seat.

Lester bent down, giving her a kiss to her forehead. “You take care of the lil lady, gotcha? Go straight to town. No more chasin’ rabbits.” 

You smiled. “Thanks again. I’m (Y/N), by the way.”

“Nice to meetcha,” he said, tipping his hat goofily. “Now go on—just follow Jonesy.” 

You did as he said, looking to the dog as she stood up, now trotting along the side of the washed out path.

You followed, making sure to stay out of the mud as much as possible. You would hate to slip and fall, and this time there was no sweet man to guide you. 

Still, you managed to make it all the way to the town with no issue, tagging behind Jonesy as she pitter-pattered down the street, tail wagging behind her.

She looked like she was leading you straight to your destination, even now that you were within town limits.

Lester was right—it was quiet here. It was like a ghost town. Still, it was relaxing in a way. No traffic. No angry honking or screaming children. Just cute little shops and quaint houses.

You spotted a few sleeping puppies in a window of a pet store, but forced yourself to keep going. You had a wrecked car that might’ve been on fire by now—you didn’t have time to buy a dog.

Speaking of dogs, you noted Jonesy was now stopped in front of a body shop, paws scratching against the door. Music sounded from within.

You trotted up behind her, opening the door to let her in. She looked back at you before continuing deeper into the shop.

You cautiously entered, door shutting behind you.

“Hello?” you called, staying near the entrance as you paced around. You didn’t bother looking at the shelves—you knew damn well there’d be nothing you recognized. You weren’t a car person, but you knew when you needed a tow. So that’s what you hoped for.

“Is anybody here?” you called again, waiting in the now empty lobby. Jonesy had trekked off somewhere. Maybe to fetch your guy?

Sure enough, you heard the music shut off and the sound of boot steps coming closer, and you spotted a man come out from one of the back rooms.

He reminded you of Lester, though certainly more cleaned up. Clean shaven. Neatened hair that still fell messily against his face. A jumpsuit with a few stains on it zippered against him let you know he must’ve been working when you showed up. He still held a wrench in his hand.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he spoke, confusion in his words. “How’d you wind up all the way out here?”

“Umm, Lester sent me. Said to look for someone named Bo who had a tow truck. I crashed my car avoiding Jonesy here,” you said, reaching down to pet the dog who was now standing next to you. “But, she led me here so no hard feelings,” you joked.

“Well, you found ‘im,” he said, slipping the wrench in his pocket before taking off his hat, “And I did have a tow truck. As luck would have it, I’m tryna fix the damn thing right now.” He brushed his hair back with his hand before popping his hat back on.

You tried not to show your disappointment. Great. What the hell were you supposed to do now? “I see. . . Think it’s gonna be fixed any time soon?”

He gave you a half-smile. “Maybe—once I figure out what’s wrong with it. Thing just stopped on me.” 

You weren’t sure what to do, hands resting nervously on your belt loops. “Well, uhh, think I could borrow a phone? I don’t have any signal out here.” 

“Phone’s haven’t worked here in years,” he said, letting out a soft laugh. “Hell, this place ain’t even on the map anymore.”

You clicked your tongue. What now? 

He noted your dismayed expression. “Hey—don’t make that face, honey. Have a little faith in me. I should have it good-as-new by tomorrow.” 

You thought about your options—which weren’t many. The only thing you could think of was staying somewhere in this town until you could get your car towed, but who-knows how long it’ll be until it can be fixed, or if it can be. What then? Ask someone to drop you off at the nearest phone-booth? You were stuck. Still, you had to take it one thing at a time. First-things-first—”This town have a hotel?” you asked.

He stifled a laugh. “Sure—right next to the McDonald’s and the roller skating rink.”

So no. You shouldn’t have been surprised. You hadn’t seen but two people the whole time you were here—including the one you were talking to.

“There’s that frown again. Don’t worry about it. I’ve got a spare bedroom up at my place. Nothin’ fancy, but enough to get you through until I can get my truck runnin’.” 

If you had a nickel for every time you met a kind stranger who offered you help despite not knowing you or having any reason for doing so, you’d have two nickels. Which wasn’t a lot, but it’s weird that it happened twice today. 

That feeling of anxiety bubbled up again. “I don’t want to intrude—”

He waved you off, walking past you to open up the door. “What’d I say about worryin’ about things? C’mon. I’ll show ya. The room’s got a lock on it in case yer scared I’ll try somethin’.” 

“No, that’s not what I meant, I just—” he cut you off, giving your head a gentle pat as you walked out behind him.

“Just teasin’, sweetheart. I ain’t gonna mess with ya.”

You let out an awkward laugh. You certainly didn’t feel safe staying in a stranger’s home, but followed him, nonetheless, listening as he described the few places you passed on the way. Jonsey trailed next to you, bumping your leg every once-in-a-while. At least you had another girl with you—sort of.

Another girl. . . A sudden thought struck you. If something happened to your friend around here, she probably ended up here at some point.

“Hey, sir,” you said, causing him to slow down and match your pace. He walked beside you. “Was there a woman here any time in the past two weeks? Long blonde hair, brown eyes, attractive and also probably drunk?” 

“Two things, honey. One—just call me Bo. I ain’t yer teacher. And two—we haven’t seen anybody in at least a month ‘til you showed up. Sorry. I’ll keep an eye out, though.” 

You nodded. “Thank you, sir—err, Bo. For all of this. I was an idiot coming out here alone.”

“‘S’not so bad? Ya ran into me, didn’t ya?”

You laughed. “I guess I did. Y’all are good people. Thank you.”

“You can quit thankin’ me—I ain’t even done anything yet.” 

You didn’t reply and the rest of the short walk went in silence. You glanced beside you to look at him—Bo. This whole town was bizarre, and you wondered how he wound up here. You figured he had to be born here. You doubted this place was booming in the immigration industry.

Still, you didn’t pry, and before you knew it you reached a house. He reached into his pocket, grabbing a key and sticking it in the lock. You heard a click and the door swung open with a creak. Jonesy quickly trotted inside, vanishing behind a door frame.

“It’s dark in here—old house ‘n all. Lights don’t work like they used to. Just watch yer step.”

You nodded, but almost as soon as you entered, your foot clipped against a stray shoe, and you let out a gasp as you tripped forward, bumping into Bo. Luckily, he’d turned around to shut the door behind the two of you and he steadied himself in time, arms wrapping around you to stabilize you. 

You were met with the smell of gasoline and oil as your face pressed against his chest. You quickly held your hands out, pushing against him as you backed up. Your face burned.

“Careful, now,” he chastised, hands moving to rest on your shoulders. He moved a finger to tuck underneath your chin, pulling your head upwards to look at him. He smirked. “Wouldn’t wantcha gettin’ hurt. ‘Specially that pretty face.” 

“Sorry,” you stuttered out, eyes avoiding his gaze. “Didn’t mean to bump into you.”

“Never said you did,” he teased, winking before turning back around after shutting the door. The whole house was engulfed in darkness. “Now c’mon. I’ll show you the guest room. If you can make it there without killin’ yerself.” 

Face burning from his teasing, you didn’t reply, too embarrassed. Your hands were out on either side, trying to feel for the walls. He carried on confidently, seemingly used to the dark hallways. Finally, he stopped at a room, swinging it open. Light flooded in through a window, and you spotted a few matching furniture pieces along with a small bed with floral bedding. It was cute. And also dusty. Like it hadn’t been used in years. You supposed they didn’t have many guests.

“Make yerself at home, sweetheart. I’ll be back. I’m gonna wash up. Want any coffee, tea?”

You shook your head. “No, thank you.”

“Alright. Bathroom’s down the hall if you need me.”

You nodded, watching as he turned and vanished down the hall. You took a seat on the cozy bed, bedding sinking underneath you. You felt a thin layer of dust coat your hands when you pressed into the fabric. 

Deciding to do a little cleaning, you stood back up before grabbing the blanket and sliding it off the bed, shaking it off as you held it out in front of you. You watched the dust fly off, floating in the air as it caught the window light. You scrunched your nose. It was a solid minute of shaking before no more dust fell, and once you were content, you lowered the blanket back down, only to scream.

In front of you was a man—a tall and strange man, with long black hair and a pale mask covering his face, mimicking his features. He stared at you, a clay-working tool in his hand as he stood in the doorway.

He took a few steps forward, leading you to toss the blanket back on the bed and scramble away, shooting past him and running down the hall. 

“Bo!” you screamed, spotting the door in which steam was cascading out from under. He must’ve been in the shower. You knocked on the door hurriedly. “Bo! There’s someone else in the house!” 

You heard the running of water shut off, followed by the sound of the door creaking open.

You stared at the wet face of Bo, hair drenched and dripping down, splattering against his bare chest and shoulders. “What’s all the fuss?”

You almost forgot why you knocked before realizing the stranger still lurked just out of arm’s reach, standing down the hallway. You looked on the verge of tears.

“There’s a man,” you said, pointing a finger down the hallway.

Bo opened the door wider to peer out, spotting the looming figure, still clutching his tool. He rolled his eyes, frowning. 

“Vincent! What do you think yer doin’, scaring her like that! She’s our company. Now get outta here and make yerself useful! Start dinner.” 

The masked man didn’t reply, only tilting his head slightly. His shoulders were slumped like a child scolded. He began to lift a hand, but Bo’s glare stopped him.

“What are ya, deaf? I said get to makin’ dinner! And feed Jonesy, too.”

The lumbering man turned around slowly, making his way back down the hallway and away from you. You let out a sigh, hand on your chest.

“Didn’t think to tell ya about him—that’s my brother. Doesn’t get out much. Hell, I don’t see him most of the time—he’s always workin’ on something up in that house of wax.” 

You had no idea what he was talking about but hummed in acknowledgement, anyway. As long as you weren’t in danger, you didn’t care.

“It’s okay, just scared me,” you said. You stepped away from the door. “I’ll let you get back to your shower. Sorry.”

“Don’ worry about it. Yer my company—I’m here to help ya. Need anything else or he becomes a pain in the ass, just holler.” With that, he shut the door again, though not enough to click it shut. “I’ll leave it open just in case,” he said with a wink.

You forced yourself to turn away from the slit in the door, instead nodding. You trotted back to the guest room, but spotted Jonesy turning a corner and decided to follow. You’d rather hang with her than be alone.

You wound up in a living area and kitchen, seeing the dog curled up on a well-used couch. You started to make your way over but paused when you spotted the masked man in the kitchen, large figure reaching to grab some spices from the cabinet. He carefully seasoned a pot of something on the stove. 

You didn’t know if you should say anything, and so sat silently down next to Jonesy, giving her a few pets. 

Without hesitation she clambered onto your lap, and though you couldn’t breath nearly as well now, you forced yourself to remain still as she made herself comfortable. You weren’t about to disturb her.

You absentmindedly combed through her fur, eyes closing as you leaned against the couch.

You hadn’t even realized you’d fallen asleep until you awoke to Jonesy clambering off of you, tail wagging as a metal bowl was placed down in the kitchen.

You opened your eyes, looking around. You spotted Bo and Vincent in the kitchen behind you, talking about something you weren’t close enough to hear. Lester was there, too, though he was preoccupied with feeding Jonesy, who was digging into some kibble.

The smell of warm spices filled your nose, and you stood up from the couch, slowly walking towards the kitchen.

“Hey, sleepin’ beauty,” Bo commented, leaning against the kitchen counters as he shooed Vincent away. “Have a nice nap?”

Your cheeks burned. “Sorry.”

“Don’ apologize, you didn’t do nothin’ wrong. In fact, Vince just finished cookin’ up dinner. Take a seat.” He pulled out a worn chair from the dining table, gesturing for you to sit down. You thanked him with a nod.

“You guys are the perfect picture of southern hospitality,” you said, watching as a plate of wonderful smelling chili was placed in front of you. “Glad I stumbled onto the good kind of strangers.”

The others took their seats, and you couldn’t help but wonder if Vincent would remove his mask. Maybe he was self-conscious about something? You’d been there. 

Bo and Lester each let out a laugh. “We’re far from angels,” Bo quipped, sticking a spoon in his chili. “But it’s nice to have some company around. Well, company that’s not a douchebag.” 

“Well thanks for having me,” you replied, lifting your utensil to your mouth. It was seasoned beautifully, and you had to stop yourself from slurping the whole bowl down, taste warm and homely on your tongue. “This is really good,” you complimented. “You’re a good cook, Vincent.” You nodded in the direction of the man.

He made no move to touch his food, mask still firmly on his face. You frowned. “Are you alright?”

“He’s a shy bastard,” Bo chimed in. “Hates to be seen without that mask on.”

“Is it because I’m here? I can go somewhere else if you’re—”

Bo cut you off. “You don’t gotta do that. He’s just a baby. He’ll get over it.”

You shot Vincent a sympathetic look. It seemed like Bo was the one in charge of things. You wondered if that contributed to his secluded attitude. 

“He made the food,” you replied. “I’d just hate for him to not eat because of me.”

“He’ll live.”

You went back to eating, but occasionally looked to the quiet brother, still sitting frozen in his seat, fiddling with his long sleeves.

“So,” you started, “What’s this house of wax that you mentioned earlier? Like a wax museum?” 

“Pretty much,” Bo replied. “The whole damn thing’s made a’ wax. Somethin’ of an engineering miracle. Not that anybody comes ‘round to see it anymore.”

“Could I see it sometime?” 

“Vincent’s up there all the time. Sure he won’t mind if you tag along. Hmm?”

You watched as the pair stared at each other until Vincent finally nodded gently. 

“It’s a little late for it tonight, but you can go up there tomorrow. I’ll see if I can get my tow truck up n’ runnin’.”

You nodded in agreement, pausing as a yawn left your lips. “Sorry. Been a long day, I guess,” you said, covering your mouth with your hand.

“Don’ worry about it. Go ‘head and get to bed. We’ll clean up, darlin’.” 

You wanted to argue, but suddenly felt too tired to do so, barely able to support yourself as you stood from the table shakily. You wobbled only a few feet before collapsing onto your knees. 

Lester got up, hand on your back. “‘Ey, you alright?”

“‘M fine. . .” you slurred, vision going black. “Just. . . tired. . . “

With that, you slumped completely forwards, leaving Lester to pull you against him. 

“That worked fast,” Bo commented, standing up from the table. He kneeled by you, hand sneaking into your back pocket to pull out your phone. He stashed it away in his own pocket. “Put ‘er in the spare bedroom. But don’ be rough with ‘er.”

Lester did as told, Jonesy whining behind him as he carried you down the hall.

Vincent remained seated, eyes glued to his brother’s back as he left with you in his arms. He turned to look at Bo, head tilted. He didn’t speak, but it was obvious he wanted an answer.

“What? I ain’ gonna kill this one. I like ‘er. ‘sides. Might be nice with a lady around here.” 

Vincent sighed underneath his mask. Something about you intrigued him, but unfortunately, it seemed like his brothers had that same feeling. 

He just hoped you’d stay with them willingly. He would hate for more drastic measures to be taken.

[evamei]

The Greek Gods are still around, but they look a little different now.

Aphrodite is a social media influencer living in California, she makes videos with little sparkles in the titles. They're all some variation of “The BEST outfits for summer” or “This is what you say to get a first date”. It's all run of the mill relationship or fashion advice mostly but every once in a while other types of videos pops up. The one that shocks everyone is when the normally sweet tempered girl flips on a dime and rages against the world restricting the right to love whoever you want. That is one thing she can't sit idly by and watch.

Apollo spends his weeks straining his eyes in a research lab in New York. He keeps trying to make medicines to heal all of humanity's ailments but it seems like for every one he fixes four more pop up. He over works himself until he crashes out. He drags himself to his apartment and sits in the quiet, he's always been flighty but he hadn't cared until now, when he goes from being surrounded by friends and co-workers to the loud quiet. His eyes droop but he still manages to click on the TV. The price of prescriptions has jumped up again, it's impossible for so many people to get what they want or need nowadays, all of his work feels like it's for nothing. He curls up on the couch, using an arm as a pillow and closes his eyes against the migraine forming. Maybe he'll take tomorrow off and try to see if enough inspiration will strike to write a song, he has no doubt that if he did it would go viral for a few weeks.

Hades and Persephone live a simple life. Hades owns a funeral home and Persephone a flower shop. They laugh at how it's a little on the nose for them. They enjoy the small Appalachian town though, it's quaint and flourishes every year for tourist season. They have a big great dane named Cerberus. It's not perfect, Hades still carries the weight of the dead and Persephone is still dragged off to her overbearing mother every year but they both know it could be worse. They hold hands and walk through antique stores, watching as the world changes around them but they stay the same.

Demeter lives in Alabama in an old plantation style home. She hires farm hands to work the fields, sometimes she goes and joins them when she starts missing the dirt under her fingernails. On lazy afternoons she sits and rocks on her porch drinking sweet tea, she's always watching down the road waiting for her daughter to come home for good even though by now she knows that won't happen. When she sees mothers with their little girls she can't help but think about everywhere she went wrong. Maybe if she hadn't held on so tight…maybe if she'd given Hades a chance…maybe, maybe, maybe. Then she sees the story of another young flower of a girl murdered by her husband, sees the man get away with it; the anger and fear floods back in and all she can think about is her estranged daughter.

Zuce is a politician living in DC. Almost everyone hates him and it's eating him alive. He'll make a play for power, stripping an area of resources, removing disaster areas to allow large companies to come in and build bigger, more expensive house complexes, banning apps for profit; he thinks people will praise him but they always do the exact opposite. He's so out of touch with the way the 21st century works that he's turned to refusing to try and understand anymore. He can't wrap his head around the way people care more about being good than being powerful. He hits in his office everyday and watches the news for hours as they bash him in the press.

Hera is never home, always traveling from country to country. Technically she's an online marriage counselor but that can be done from anywhere and her husband sends her monthly allowances. She can't stand to be home with him so she never goes home. She's one of the few Olympians that still goes back to Greece. The first time she's almost crushed by the way time has moved on. Temples in ruins or completely gone. Shards of pottery in glass classes. It's the first time she realizes just how much time has passed and the weight of the years weigh down on her shoulders.

Artemis sits in the quiet of a winter forest. She's surrounded by her hunters still, the only Olympian that had the good sense to bring immortal followers with her. She owns a big cabin, they still hunt for food, still live off the land. She reaches out to her family sometimes, feels an aching pain when she sees Apollo through his brief video calls. Watches as the world slowly drains the ones that tried to keep up with it.

Hades and Persephone make sense, they are life and death, they know how to move on and let the world flow around them like silk. The rest feel time grating against their bones, finding new trends fitting uncomfortably, all of their old stories being twisted. Artemis thinks that she'd follow suit with the rest of them if she didn't see Hestia so often. The girl burns brighter than ever, and Artemis knows there is still hope in the world.

Because the Greek Gods are still around, but just like humans they are changed by the world, and just like humans they will persist through the good and the bad.

[naturesfirstgreenisgold]

Childhood lovers with Jake ‘H_ngm_n’ Seresin

All the Pretty Girls- Kenny Chesney

American Kids- Kenny Chesney

Are You Gonna Kiss Me Or Not- Thompson Square

Austin- Blake Shelton

Beautiful Crazy- Luke Combs

Buy Dirt- Jordan Davis, Luke Bryan

Carrying Your Love With Me- George Strait

Chicken Fried- Zac Brown Band

Cover Me Up- Morgan Wallen

Cowboy Take Me Away- The Chicks

Crash My Party- Luke Bryan

Craving You- Thomas Rhett, Maren Morris

Diamond In My Pocket-Cody Johnson

Die A Happy Man-Thomas Rhett

Dirt On My Boots-Jon Pardi

Dirt Road Anthem-Jason Aldean

Do l- Luke Bryan

Drunk On You-Luke Bryan

Even Though I'm Leaving-Luke Combs

Fast Car- Luke Combs

Feathered Indians- Tyler Childers

Fire Away- Chris Stapleton

Footloose- Kenny Loggins

Forever & Ever Amen- Randy Travis

Galveston- Glen Campbell

God Gave Me You- Blake Shelton

Greatest Love Story- LANCO

Hard To Love- Lee Brice

Heading South- Zach Bryan

Head Carolina, Tails California- Jo Dee Messina

Heartache On The Dance Floor- Jon Parti

Heart Like A Truck- Lainey Wilson

He Could Be The One- Hannah Montana

Hold My Hand- Lady Gaga

Home- Blake Shelton

Hometown Girl-Josh Turner

Honey Bee- Blake Shelton

Hotel California- The Eagles

I Ain’t Worried- OneRepublic

I Don’t Dance- CHAD, Ryan, Disney

I Don’t Dance- Lee Brice

I Don’t Want This Night To End- Luke Bryan

I Drive Your Truck- Lee Brice

If I Didn’t Love You- Jason Aldean, Carrie Underwood

If I Was Your Man- Blake Shelton

I Like The Sound Of That- Rascal Flatts

I’ll Name the Dogs- Blake Shelton

I’m Comin’ Over- Chris Young

I’m In A Hurry (And I Don’t Know Why)- Alabama

I Wish Grandpas Never Died- Riley Green

The Kind of Love We Make- Luke Combs

Last Night- Morgan Wallen

Life in the Fast Lane-Eagles

Life’s a Dance- John Micheal Montgomery

Like I Love Country Music- Kane Brown

Love Like Crazy-Lee Brice

Lovin' On You Luke Combs

Meet In the Middle-Diamond Rio

Must Be Doin' Somethin' Right-Billy Currington

My Maria-Brooks & Dunn

New Kid In Town - Eagles

Night Shift- Jon Pardi

Nobody But You- Blake Shelton, Gwen Stefani

ONE BEER- HARDY, Lauren Alaina, Devin Dawson

One Of Them Girls- Lee Brice

One of These Nights -Eagles

One Thing At A Time- Morgan Wallen

Playing with the Boys -Kenny Loggins

Play It Again- Luke Bryan

Renegade- Styx

Rhinestone Cowboy-Glen Campbell

Rumor- Lee Brice

Save a Horse (Ride a Cowboy)-Big & Rich

She Got the Best of Me- Luke Combs

She Had Me At Heads Carolina-Cole Swindell

She's Country- Jason Aldean

Sixteen-Thomas Rhett

Slow Dance In A Parking Lot-Jordan Davis

Small Town Boy- Dustin Lynch

Sold- John Michael Montgomery

Somebody's Problem-Morgan Wallen

Something in the Orange-Zach Bryan

Song of the South-Alabama

Southern Nights- Glen Campbell

Stay-Florida Georgia Line

Strawberry Wine-Deana Carter

Sure Be Cool If- Blake Shelton

Take It Easy -Eagles

Take My Breath Away -Berlin

There Was This Girl-Riley Green

Things a Man Oughta Know-Lainey Wilson

Thought You Should Know-Morgan Wallen

Til You Can't- Cody Johnson

Two Dozen Roses- Shenandoah

Unforgettable- Thomas Rhett

Wagon Wheel- Darius Rucker

The Way I Talk -Morgan Wallen

What Ifs- Kane Brown, Lauren Alaina

Why Don't We Just Dance-Josh Turner

Write This Down-George Strait

You Should Be Here-Cole Swindell

[necroromantics]

🧺 — Laundry And Taxes

chapter 3. // (masterlist)

Toby stood on the side of the highway, sticking his thumb out eagerly at the passing cars. He had spent two long days bussing, walking, and catching rides down to Alabama. The soft breeze of the approaching autumn flew past him, the sun shone bright in his ambitious eyes. A small black truck slowly rolled past him, coming to a stop a few meters away. Toby grinned with success to himself as he picked up his backpack and ran over to the passengers door.

“Hey, thanks, I’m heading down to Tuscaloosa.” Toby spoke as he climbed into the vehicle.

“How old are you, kid?” The driver spoke. An older man, wearing a worn out baseball cap and thick gray beard.

“Whats it matter to you?”

The man spoke not another word, scoffing at the younger's attitude, and driving away to Tuscaloosa.

Toby stared through the window out at the passing wide open scenery. His eyes hadn’t witnessed the great vast land of Alabama, and yet he recognized every gas station, town sign, and highway they drove down. Every bump in the road made his stomach turn. It seemed his motion sickness carried to this world with him as well.

Midnight had overtaken the city by the time he arrived at his destination. Toby held tightly onto the straps of his bag hanging firmly on his heavy shoulders as he made his way through the streets. He walked quietly under the streetlamps, noting any flickering, and any faces he occasionally passed by. He always made sure the people he passed had faces.

Just as his luck would have it, Toby's memory of his original life served him as he stood in front of a small abandoned motel on the outskirts of Tuscaloosa. The same motel he had spent many nights in when he was a proxy. He hacked his way through the locked door with his hatchet he had packed in his bag, and made his way into the old, dusty room. Toby exhaustedly collapsed onto the creaky mattress which was painted with stains and dirt, groaning as his tired body hit the bed. He never stopped appreciating the existence of mattresses, back where he was from, he was without them for days on end. It was always a treat to fall asleep on a proper bed.

Toby spent the next day wandering Tuscaloosa, taking in his surroundings. He was in a place he had never been in before, yet he had walked those streets many times, in another world. As he walked down the streets, past houses he had once broken into, past families he had once destroyed, Toby felt a very eerie sensation of being watched. His feet slowed their pace, the quiet early autumn afternoon seemed to slow down with him. His mind staked out for the smallest sound, making a note of everything around him. He decided to stray from his intended route, and made his way through a labyrinth of streets and alleyways, in an attempt to shake off the feeling of being followed. An attempt to make distance between himself and whoever, or whatever, was closing in on him. Left, left, right, left, straight for a few blocks, right, left again.

Toby walked through an alleyway downtown, watching the cars race past through the cracks between old, decaying buildings. It seemed the heart of downtown was dying, and the rot slowly spread itself outwards, like the city itself was sick. Toby felt more at home wandering the maggot-infested carcass that was Tuscaloosa than he had felt spending his nights at his mothers house. He felt more comforted by the idea of being stalked by an unknown stranger, than he did hugging his own family.

Eventually, the boy made his way to the nearby library, an hour before closing. It was quiet. The environment breathed with contentment and history, the books acting as its aching bones. Toby wriggled out a large book on the history of Tuscaloosa and sat down at a table in an isolated corner of the building. His fingers flipped through the pages, gliding over sentences, old photographs, and maps. The last time he touched this book, there was a distinct photograph of Rosswood Park where, if you looked closely, you could see a tall, faceless man-entity. Now, as Toby analyzed the photo, he quickly realized it was an exact copy, but the faceless entity was nowhere to be found. He cursed questioningly to himself as he looked over the photo again. It was completely normal.

Toby placed the book back where he found it, and found himself a phone book. As he came back to the table he was sitting at, his heart skipped a beat for a moment. Laying neatly on the surface was a hastily scribbled paper that resembled a Slender Page. It showed dark, messy sketches of that faceless being, paired with the words ‘LOOK TO THE ROOTS’. The boy quickly turned around, looking around frantically to see anything else out of place. His brown eyes darted across every corner of the room. Everything but him was still. It was quiet, calm. Like the eye of a hurricane. The fact this paper was lying on this table meant that somebody left it there, which meant there existed somebody else in this world who knows about The Slenderman.

While spending most of their time in a forest, the proxies became familiarized with the different animals that lived there. Mostly birds, and the different symphonies they’d sing. Only they knew the call of a Northern Cardinal, and only they knew how to replicate it.

Toby whistled out the call, in hopes to get a response, and identify a potentially familiar coworker. There was no response, for a minute. He stood idle, still keeping an eager eye on his surroundings, and a desperate ear open. Then, from a few aisles down, he heard a whistle in response. The call of a Northern Cardinal.

He rushed over to the source of the sound, quickly, and prepared himself to fight. Though he may have worked with this person in a previous world, there was no guarantee they were friendly. A lot of people despised the boy and his loud mouth, his violence, his arrogance.

When he approached the aisle the whistle came from, he found no person, but another sheet of paper. As he picked it up off the floor, he noticed it was scribbled with Slender Symbols, a circle with an ‘x’ through it. The sign of the proxy.

He whistled out again, and for another moment, received no reply. Again, louder, Toby whistled out the call.

“Excuse me, you can’t be doing that in here,” a short, old lady approached the boy, making him jump. He was ready to knock her out. Irritated, he mumbled out a ‘sorry’, and made his way back to his seat. The book was flipped open to the ‘W’ last names, with a page rashly ripped out. Exasperated, Toby slammed his hand down on the table and groaned to himself in annoyance. It seemed that no matter the steps he took, the stranger was always one step ahead of him. The boy wasn’t fearful, no, he was far too cocky for that. He was frustrated, aggravated. And he had an idea of who was getting in his way.

As the night approached, Toby decided to put an end to his day, and made his way to his abandoned motel room where he had put together a makeshift shelter. The boy climbed through the broken door he had previously axed his way into. He threw himself on the dirty bed, tossing his backpack to the side. Toby stared up at the darkness, to the water-damaged ceiling, it looked as if it was about to collapse at any moment. He breathed in the smell of age and history long beyond his years, closing his heavy eyes as he inhaled. Slowly, his hand raised up to his cheek where his scar used to reside, and he traced his fingers across his skin. His thick brow furrowed as he thought of his past. Drool that would leak from his gash as he huffed, repeatedly hacking at a bloody body. The screams, begs for mercy, to which he always teased, or ignored. A sick satisfaction. It seemed to have disappeared with that scar of his.

Cradled by the darkness of the midnight hour, he slowly drifted off to sleep. That night, he dreamt he was standing in a burning building, and he couldn't get himself to move. He begged, pleaded at his body to move, but he was frozen in place. He had no choice but to stand still as the flames engulfed him, and everything around him. It suffocated him, he couldn't catch his breath. Toby groaned, and fought with himself, as the air escaped his lungs. His throat felt like it was being crushed.

Toby’s eyes shot open as he stared up at the hooded figure sitting over him, gloved hands strangling his neck. Toby dug his knees under the assailant's body and kicked them off, jumping to his feet, and catching his stolen breath. Before he could attack back at the intruder, his eyes examined the figure as it ran out through the hole in the door. Yellow hooded sweater, black mask. Brian Thomas.

“Holy shit.”

A sick, twisted rage built itself up inside of the boy as he shouted out to himself in frustration, driving his foot to kick the wall. He would’ve put a hole in that wall if he wasn't saving his fist for Brian’s face. An old colleague of his, a man who had taught him the ins and outs of surviving the cruel world they were from. Before any more destruction could be done as a result of Toby’s wrath, he noticed another piece of paper left behind. This time, it was a messy sketch of Slenderman crossed out, and words that read ‘THE CHAINS HAVE BROKE. BUT ARE YOU FREE?’

Toby scoffed as his lip twitched, there was lightning inside of him, left behind as residue of his morning adrenaline. He crumpled up the page, tossing it to the ground with disregard, and grabbed his backpack. The boy proceeded out of the front door and into the cool, early morning. The birds were singing, the leaves were beginning to turn a soft green-yellow. His eyes felt heavy, his chest felt weak. But he pushed himself down the street, and he pushed his burning body into the post office, where he found himself a new phone book.

He slammed the large book down onto the desk and flipped it open to ‘W’ last names, dragging his finger with his gaze as he scanned the pages for a particular name and address. It was only a few seconds before he found it, before closing the book and making his way back out onto the streets, and towards his destination.

Toby slowly strided up to the doorstep of a tiny, quaint house in a peaceful neighborhood. He held his breath every step he took, only his burning desire for answers moved his hesitant feet forward, and raised his fist to knock on that dreadful door. His throat tightened as he awaited a response. Toby heard shuffling from within the house for a moment, before the front door slowly creaked open.

The boy was met face to face with the barrel of a twelve gauge shotgun.

“Oh shit-”

“What the fuck are you doing here kid?”

“Woah, woah, get that shit out of my face first” Toby said, putting his hands up in surrender.

The gruff, older man glared daggers at the boy as he huffed in frustration and lowered the shotgun, stepping to the side and nodding his head as to tell Toby to come inside. With a smug grin, Toby nodded back and slid himself into the others house.

The two stood facing each other, the boy stuffed his hands into his jean pockets, and the older crossed his arms with clear annoyance at Toby’s presence.

“So, what are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be in Colorado?”

“Yeah, I couldn’t stand to be there. But hey, good to see ‘ya, Tim.”

“Sure, kid.”

There was a moment of awkward silence that lingered between them, a layer of tension bubbling under their tongues and through the daggers they glared at each other.

“What do you want from me, Toby? Get your ass back home already, there ain't nothing here for you,” Tim said, breaking the silence.

“I’m trying to, that's why I’m here.”

“I meant back home to your mother.”

Toby shuffled his feet for a moment, looking down and sinking into himself.

“I’m not going back there yet. Not ‘till I have my answers,” he lifted his head and looked up again at the man before him, “what the fuck happened? I mean, why are we here?”

Tim chuckled angrily to himself and pressed his lips before shaking his head. He had no intention of digging himself a grave next to Toby.

“Your stubbornness is gonna get you killed some day, kid. Assuming you even care.”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” Toby raised his voice, and Tim matched his tone.

“It means that I don't got your fuckin’ answers, Toby. I don't know why we're here, but I’m sure as hell not complaining.”

Toby stared Tim down, anger grimacing on his young face. He couldn't be in the same room for more than a minute with that man without fury sparking from their mouths, war raging between them. They both sunk their teeth into fatality. They both had a taste for tragedy.

“Seriously? That's it? After everything that happened?”

“Yup, that's it.”

“And what about Brian, huh?”

“What about him?”

Toby dug into his pants pocket, and pulled out a crumpled up piece of scribbled paper Brian had left for Toby yesterday, and threw it at Tim.

Catching it, Tim unwrapped the wrinkled ball and glanced over it, before crumpling it back up and tossing it into the garbage, brushing it off.

“That's his problem, not mine.”

Toby dragged his hand over his mouth, taking a deep breath to collect himself. The two were stubborn, and neither were about to budge.

“You're happy like this then? Living in this stupid house, in this stupid city? Surrounded by all these stupid people who think they know shit they don't?”

“You know what Toby? Yeah, maybe I am happy like this. I'm happy that I don't have to worry about whether or not I’m going to wake up in the morning, I’m happy to have a roof over my head that isn't leaking or collapsing. I’m happy to have that fucking static out of my fuckin’ head,” Tim began to shout.

“Well you can pretend all you want, but I’ll know what you’ve done, Tim! I’ll know all the shit we’ve done!”

“Jesus kid, quit it.”

Toby slammed his hand onto the table next to him as they shouted back and forth in that tiny house.

“No! You wanna run off into this fantasy world? You're a fucking pussy!”

“You listen to me. We finally have something good here, and if you want to destroy that like you always do, fine by me. But leave me the fuck out of your mess.”

Infuriated, Toby laughed to himself at the insanity of the words his colleague was speaking.

“You think any of this is good? Like everything is fine and great because we're not in that warzone anymore?” He took a step towards Tim, gesturing at the man. “Look at you! You can't even answer the fucking door without a shotgun in your hand.”

Tim lunged at the boy without another word, grabbing him by his shirt collar, and slamming his body up against the wall.

“Take your bullshit somewhere else,” he said in a low tone, dragging the boy out of his house as Toby screamed and struggled before his body hit the ground of the front step.

“Fuck you! You fucking traitor!” Toby yelled out, pounding and kicking at the now closed and locked door of Tim’s house. He ran his hands through his messy brown hair, he hadn't washed in days. Toby shook off the rage that lingered as he turned away from everything he knew, and towards his last resort.

Toby stood silently at the edge of the forest surrounding Rosswood Park, a place he had never been, yet had been to hundreds of times before. A place he had lived in for years, a place he knew to be the direct source to the Slender Forest.

He yelled out at the vast nothingness.

“Alright you eldritch fuck, where the fuck are you, huh?”

Toby picked up a rock and chucked it hard at a tree, stopping for a moment afterwards to stay aware of his surroundings for any response.

With every second of silence, the hopeless frustration within the boy only grew louder. He shouted again, and kicked a tree. This time, he didn't stop.

“Come on!”

Toby desperately clawed at the forest around him, kicking at the ground, hitting the trees, throwing rocks. He slammed his body against nature, he demanded answers. Yelling out until his voice went hoarse. He fought against that dead forest until he couldn't anymore. Until he was nothing but an exhausted mess, leaning up against a tall evergreen, and allowing his weak legs to fall from underneath him.

Toby placed his head between his knees, he could barely move his overworked body. All he was left with was nothing. He used to have everything, and now he sat leaned weakly as he drifted off to sleep, with absolutely nothing.

Encased in sleep, his mind replayed moments of his past. Toby dreamt of himself throwing up blood in a disgusting gas station bathroom, confessions of sin scribbled on the walls around him from those before him. He dreamt of himself scribbling his own confessions on that wall, but the only thing he could write was that he didn't regret a thing, and he would take it all with him to his grave.

He dreamt of dizziness, a loud ringing in his ears, a command, an intrusion. The sickness surrounded him, suffocated. Screams of his victims coming out of his own mouth. Television screens in his eyes playing nothing but static. He dreamt about the burden of murder. He dreamt that he would do it all again. He dreamt of a life that nothing could save him from.

[talesfrommedinastation]

Redneck Neighbor Doug: Why Belters are Space Cajuns

If Mandalorians are space rednecks, then Belters from The Expanse are space Cajuns. This is not up for debate, according to the nerdiest Southern man of all time, my neighbor Doug, who, it turns out, loves this show too. I'm 99% sure he's also a TNG and Battlestar fan, but that would just kill me with exhaustion if we went into full deets about it.

Onto our friends in the Belt and why they have so much in common with the French-Americans who reside in the wilder parts of the deep American south of Louisiana, Mississippi, and Alabama.

I will elucidate now, via Doug, on what Belters and Cajuns do that make them…them:

They make do: First thing we see in the entire series is how much the Belters are royally crapped on by life. They live in space, which permanently alters their bodies, to the point where they can not survive on a planet. To quote, “Belters work the docks, loading and unloading precious cargo…never meant for us”. They don’t have the wealth of Earth or the incredible military drive of Mars, but they’re scrappy, innovative, and do what they can to survive, whether it’s by smuggling, pirating, or allying themselves with powerful folks. Like the French folks in Acadia who got flung from their homes to the bayous of Louisiana, Mississippi, and Alabama, who scrape a living by fishing, boatmaking, bartending, and/or serving as a member of the X-Men. Cajuns and Belters do what they can to survive, giving them an edge that others do not have.

They party hard: Belters love drinking, having parties on their ships and in port, banging everyone on the crew, and overall just being wild. After all, you never know when you’re going to get your air or water cut off by the Inners, might as well live it up. And Cajuns, well, they invented Mardi Gras and their saying is ‘Laissez les bons temps rouler’ or ‘let the good times roll’. Life isn’t easy on a swamp that is constantly wacked by floods or hurricanes, but they party as much as they can. Just like the Belters.

Their women: Some of the best damn characters in the series are the angry ladies of the Belt (Camina Drummer and Naomi Nagata). Man, they something else. They’re loving, fierce, smart, crazy, and can go from Bambi to Banshee in five seconds. Cajun women love to host parties, help with church, and cook and make an amazing roux from dirt and crayfish, but God help you if you piss one off. Those pot carrying arms can snap a neck quicker than a blue crab shell. 

They speak in patois: Ever heard Cajun French? It ain’t from Paris, that’s for sure. It’s mixed up and raw and beautiful in its own right, and for many generations, it was looked down upon by English-speaking neighbors. Belter creole is similar, a smashed up beauty of a language that has come out of life in space, filled with English, Chinese, Farsi, German, Hindi, and other languages. It even has a similar lilt to the bayou! 

They are ungovernable: There’s a reason the Cajuns were never quite able to fully rebel against the various governments that took over their swampy goodtimes. They’re loyal to each other and their land, and that’s about it. Belters are the same–they’ve tried with the OPA, and even then, there’s different factions and squabbling (Anderson Dawes vs Fred Johnson, for example) and it’s only until there’s a genuine, alien threat to they get all united (plus Camina Drummer comes to power, but that’s neither here nor there). 

They’re good at figuring out solutions: Cajuns live in gator and snake infested swamps that flood and hurricanes smash through routinely. But they live and thrive regardless, with their pirogues and their bridges and their houses on the water. Same with Belters: their lives are lived in space, with crappy gravity and air. But they’re scrappy and tough and figure out how to survive. A Redditor pointed out that many of the more ambitious, driven Earthers left generations ago to live on the Belt, as the option was staying on Earth and living on an increasingly overcrowded, shitty planet. Not unlike the ancestors of the Cajuns who left France. 

The Spice Must Flow: Belters have to pack their shitty food full of peppers and spices to make it palatable, to the point one of the nicknames for their most famous dishes is called ‘red kibble’. And have you ever had proper Cajun food? Crawfish, alligator, boudin, and frogs are freaking amazing when done properly, although my fancy British friends were horrified that I enjoyed them. Pass me them mudbugs with some Cachere’s seasoning, collards, and corn, I wanna feel the pain. 

They work in weird and hard places: See above for both Belters and Cajuns. Jobs Cajuns have had range from oil fields to swamps to cities filled with yellow fever. But they take it and have a good sense of humor about it. Same with Belters–they work on rough ships, in radiation filled places in space, and don’t bitch about it. To quote the gaunt Belter, ‘They built the solar system on our backs’. 

Everything and anything can be used as a weapon: A gun? Peshang! Guns are for fancy Inners. Belters will use guns, AND pipes, chairs, each other, elevators, fists, a toothbrush, shives, you name it, they’ve killed with it. They’re tough and scrappy, and so are the Cajuns, whose fights are notorious in the bayou and beyond. Don’t mess with them. 

So yeah, Space Cajuns.

[teriwrites]

Below: 'On the Run'

My Live Reactions to Reading Through My 2011 Novel, pt. 5

"My name is Raevin," the girl who had helped us smiled, and offered us a couple hotdogs each.' that's the FIRST LINE for this convergence

Nick's two personality traits: always talking, always eating

'It was like heaven, sitting in front of a fire with a couple bags of hotdogs.' BAGS??? how is Raevin storing these?? Where did she get them?? Was she carrying them the whole time????

"He's trying to make an army," Raevin explained. "He wants to take out the U.S. government and end up taking over the world. You know the typical villain thing." typical villain thing, of course!

Was there a time jump?? Why is Kristen acting like she's always been on the run???

Raevin: I keep my second power a super secret

Also Raevin: oh btw here's my second power, teens I literally just met

(Her superpower is traveling back and forth along her own timeline)

Lea claiming she only has one power, despite just having seemingly healed Nick's ankle like two chapters ago

Cop randomly generates in this middle-of-nowhere field, immediately gets Wrecked by a gaggle of malnourished, mistreated kids, aka early glimmerings of ACAB!Teri

"I hear Auburn's one of the biggest, if not the biggest city in Alabama." It ranked 9th in 2011

"The police there are clueless people that just wanted to get decent paying jobs and availability to guns." ACAB!Teri strikes again

'Raevin swiveled her head back towards us. "I once thought he was the strongest, bravest man ever. When I was five that changed." i caaaaan't lmao

'Mr. J could probably make a fish want to be his dinner.' fish have come up exactly 1 time in this whole conversation. it's in this sentence.

Raevin's first childhood best friend broke his ankle, got mauled by a loose bear, and Mr. J's mercy killing him is what traumatized her the most

Clearly, the best and easiest way to travel across the state is to pretend you're a part of a circus so you can disguise your 16-year-old new friend in so much heavy clown makeup that he can pass off as 25 and rent a car for the 14-year-old you've just met to drive all of you down the interstate. This is entirely logical and will work perfectly

There's a store in this small town called the 'Happy Clown Store'

The other teens: asking genuine questions about how Ben doesn't have a license or any paperwork denoting him being 25 Raevin: "That's where my old pal Gina comes in. She's excellent at forgery, and it barely costs a penny. You see, because it costs so much, she's causing a monopoly in the area. That way, she gets a lot of money for very little work." (if anyone can make literally any sense of that, Please let me know)

"Okay, so that's three laws broken so far," I counted off on my fingers. "Let's see, we've attacked guards, attacked people, and attacked a police officer. Now we're going for our fourth: forgery. I bet we can break twenty laws before the month is over." that's absolutely how laws work, Kristen, great job

Why is the most comprehensive dialogue all coming from the antagonist?

'Bill got to his feet and crouched over, brushing the dirt off his knees. It took him several minutes to catch his breathe again.' i hate it when i can't catch my breathe

"Sir, is that what all this is about? This is all about getting the dreamer?" Bill asked. Mr. J turned to him and dropped his binoculars, which fell onto his chest. "What else would this be about stupid?" Mr. J demanded. "We've been looking for a dreamer for years. Why should we give up the dream now? How could you even think that we're going to give up just because the dreamer is a young child? Young child or not, this dreamer could finish our army. We would march into the government and take control. After the USA's ours, we could quickly move on to take over other countries. We could be world rulers Bill, with that dreamer! And without her... we would be just like every other villain and we would be made fools of." No good speaker could argue with that speech, much less Bill. (I take it back about the comprehensive dialogue)

Okay apparently it's been several days since they left??

Introduction to another one of Mr. J's cronies: Trinity

(I thought Trinity was the one they were trying to extract in the first place, and I thought she was Bill's fiance whoops)

Trinity seems to have mind reading powers, too?? Also she's 19, which means she was intended to be like 27 lol

IS MR. J FLIRTING WITH A 19-YEAR-OLD

Okay I don't think he is but fucking Yikes on Bikes if that's where this goes

Still acting like Auburn is some huge city (Auburn had a population of about 55K at the time)

Referencing the smaller city of Decatur as a pit stop (Decatur was the larger city at the time of writing this)

Raevin's forger friend 'Gina' apparently is now named 'Amy', with no explanation

'He didn't remember any of his friends anymore, but he did, however, remember the taste of fast food.' honestly, Nick, I get it

He was in the compound for Five Years

"Thank goodness I stole all that money from the bank." After catching our widening stares, Raevin added, "Just kidding. I've been saving up so that I could leave Mr. J ever since I was five." phew! also what kind of money is a five year old making??

'No news is good news right? Well, that's how it felt right now. Unfortunately, we had a lot of news coming our way at the moment.' pfft

'My stomach gurgled for about half an hour, but then I fell asleep. It's kind of hard to hear a stomach's growling if you're asleep.' pfft pfft

Finally a little tension between Raevin and Kristen, as Raevin naturally leads them around and Kristen struggles to give up control

'I guess she didn't think I was capable of anger.' honey, nobody doubts that you're capable of anger

They decide to break into a hotel and realize that they can't pick the locks into a room. Because the locks are electronic. So they steal pillows and blankets from the front desk and decide to sleep in the hallway.

There is no backlash for this. It goes off perfectly.

'My view of Raevin kept getting more and more twisted and tied in knots. She seemed like a nice girl, but then she suddenly turns all brilliant criminal. I didn't know what to think of her.' well that's too bad, because personally, i love her and think she's never done anything wrong

'I dreamed of a beach I could vacation on, even if Auburn was in Alabama.' Kristen(/Teri), there are beaches in Alabama... it borders the Gulf of Mexico...

Lea wasn't stolen from her parents, her parents gave her away! Yikes bro

'It took me a couple of hours to get comfortable enough to sleep. It was almost like it was too comfortable for me to be comfortable.' bro that's such a real thing though

"I guess that I was a bit of a flirt back then. It's hard to even imagine being like I used to be. I got in trouble because of this one boy who was obsessing over me. I got into so much trouble because of some stupid idiots back then." Ben snorted into his pillow. "You were a flirt?" he smirked. "I can barely imagine you thirteen, much less a flirt. All I see is Kristen who is always getting angry at people who get in her way. You'd make a fine villain for a story you know." (you didn't get in trouble because that boy had a crush on you, you got in trouble for breaking his brain for liking you! also honestly Ben summed it up pretty well lol)

Nicole (Kristen's cousin) POV!

'At first sight, most people would have thought she was a regular girl who got caught in the middle of things. On the contrary, she was a girl who made other people get into the middle of things.' love that for her

A QUARTER of the inmates in this prison are 'in here because of her'?????

How??????

'Everyone she had ever held a grudge against was in here, even when she had been a very small child.' honestly go off evil little queen

Either Nicole has made a Lot of superpowered enemies, or this implies there are Tons of people in this prison who don't even have superpowers at all, which is honestly an interesting take

Oh, super chill, her superpower is to REMOVE HER SOUL FROM HER BODY

She's just casually waltzing around the entire prison compound, watching the scientists freak out about the breakout

Apparently she hates Kristen and wants to bring her back

Heavy implication that she's the reason Kristen was brought in in the first place????

Immediate cut away to Trinity/Mr. J/Bill

"How much longer until it is the right time [to unveil your plan]?" Trinity asked coldly. "I'm guessing about a million years. You'll still be around won't you?" go oooooff, she's been with Mr. J for like one day and is already sick of his shit

They're sitting on a hillside overlooking a city/town of over 50,000 people and Mr. J's upset that he hasn't spotted 5 specific people yet

And we end the chapter with the three - no Martha in sight anymore ig - overlooking Decatur, trying to figure out where our main cast has holed up

Ending Thoughts

Wow. Well, we've definitely come to the part of the story where I think the threads of the plot are loosening a little bit. Random time jumps, setting jumps, characters appearing and leaving and being renamed mid-chapter. I don't think I have too much to say about this chapter. Nicole's snippet was a bit of a surprise, I thought her role factored more into the second book (which I did start, but never got through). I also forgot that she's kind of another antagonist, but I think her role was always more in the gray between the two. I guess we'll find out! Also, Trinity is quickly becoming one of my favorites. Her absolute no-nonsense takes on Mr. J's ridiculously cartoonish view of world domination are a 10/10 Also also! Raevin is reading as way less of a dark horse than I remembered. She's just kind of a classic 'teen with a dark backstory', but otherwise she seems to be less of a loner and more of a chill figure than I was expecting, which is really cool! Kristen's still nuts, ofc, but I do love her for that

[annerly-san]

Till Death do we Part, my Ass! - Chapter 3 - "breaking news: you can’t marry your family - unless you’re in Alabama"

Summary:

Caleb pulls big brother ghost shenanigans to fend off any men within a 5 km radius of his little pipsqueak

A love and deepspace fanfic for Caleb

Chapter Navigation: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

Alternative AO3 link:

Zayne was alright in Caleb’s books. At least he was.

But seeing Zayne with his little pipsqueak in these past few days had somehow manifested an absolute abhorrence of the man who was once his childhood friend.

“STOP WITH THE FLIRTING, YOU STONE-COLD ELSA-ASS MOTHERFUCKER-!” Caleb screamed, trying everything—absolutely everything—to smack that stupid snowman out of Zayne’s hands and away from his little pipsqueak, who had the cutest flush across her cheeks—caused by the cold, he assured himself, and definitely not Zayne.

“FIRST IT WAS THE DOUBLE LATTES—!” Caleb cried again in exasperation. “AND THEN IT WAS THE STUPID SKYLIGHTS! AND NOW IT’S A SNOWMAN?!”

Caleb watched in abject horror as his pipsqueak took the snowman from Zayne.

No.

Nonono.

NONONONONONONO!

“ANYONE BUT ZAYNE, PLEASE PIPSQUEAK!! PLEASE!!!!” Caleb wailed and flailed as he went through the vain motions of punching Zayne’s head.

Was Caleb grateful for Zayne being there for his little pipsqueak when she was down?

Yes.

Was he grateful for Zayne being there for his pipsqueak right now?

Absolutely fucking not.

Caleb could hear the wedding bells in his ears now.  The birds.  The bees.  The whole shabang.  He could see it so clearly- so vividly.  As kids, the three of them liked to play pretend and pipsqueak always dragged them into fantasy roleplay scenarios - one of which was one where he had to officiate a wedding between her and Zayne.

But now it wasn’t pretend anymore.

This was a nightmare coming to life before his very eyes.

“NO!  I want to marry Zayne today!” his pipsqueak wailed as she flailed about in their little make-believe wedding altar.

Caleb, in all of his maturity as an elementary schooler, immediately broke down in tears.

“B-but pipsqueak you said that you’d marry me-!”

“NO!”  Caleb got shoved aside- physically and metaphorically- to the ground as his little pipsqueak grabbed a blushing Zayne and dragged him up atop the dirt mound and stuck her tongue out at him.  “I AM MARRYING ZAYNE NOW!”

“NOO-!”

He wasn’t quite sure what had happened.

He might have punched Zayne.

He might have grabbed his pipsqueak, running through the yard as she kicked and bit him in an attempt to let her down.

He might have professed his confessions of love.  Maybe something along the lines of, “I’M THE ONE MARRYING YOU!  I’M THE ONE THAT LOVES YOU THE MOST!”

But he definitely got his little butt beat and grounded by Grandma after whatever fiasco ensued.

Caleb didn’t get into trouble too often; the troubles he did get into were small and didn’t warrant any severe discipline.   There used to be a joke that he was going to be a pilot when he grew up, always flying around the house at top speed- leaving a trail of laughter and mischief wherever he went.  Even in the instances where he did get grounded, the Caleb-plane would land at the layaway for an hour at most before taking off and flying around again.

But this time, the Caleb-plane was grounded indefinitely, and the house felt like it had lost its pilot. As if a total ground stop was ordered until further notice, the house was silent and still.

At first, Gran thought it was just a phase—Caleb sulking as he sometimes did when things didn’t go his way. But days passed, and his door remained shut.

Had his original punishment been for a week, it was cut short fairly quickly as Gran noticed that something was not quite right.  But despite being left off early from his discipline, Caleb didn’t move from his room.

Gran tried everything to coax him out. She knocked gently, offering his favorite snacks, telling him stories, even threatening to take away his comic books. But nothing worked.

Had Pipsqueak been upset with him before, it was all long forgotten.

He felt a bit bad at how worried he was making her, but the gripling feelings of hurt and betrayal ate at him overrode any thoughts of reconciliation that he might have considered.

“Caleb-” 

She brought him toys, games, and even his favorite apples - with lopsided smiley faces she had drawn out in, probably inedible and toxic, black ink.

Caleb successfully weathered the mad punches in his blanket fort and bombardments of projectiles, and at times full body slams, and never relented.  The Caleb castle was unbreachable.

“Gran!  Caleb isn’t talking to me anymore!!” he heard his pipsqueak cry out to their grandma.  “Does he- Does he hate me now??” Her voice became wrought with cries, and Caleb wavered.

Of course he would never hate her.

He resisted the urge to throw out his blanket and make up with her quickly - hating to hear her distraught.

But no he can’t.

He covered his ears to drown it out.

Hours of silence had gone by.  Caleb wondered if Gran had taken pipsqueak out of the house.

He came out of his fort.

There was a soft knock on his door.

“Caleb?”  He heard his Gran’s voice.  “I want to talk to you.  I’m going to come in, ok sweetie?”

Alarmed, he dashed under the covers right in time to hide as the door creaked open.

If he was still enough, Caleb was sure that his Gran would go away.

But she didn’t.

He felt her gentle hand on his back through the blanket.

“Caleb, sweetie,” his Gran started speaking.  “You need to tell me what’s wrong.  Why are you so upset like this?  This isn’t like you.”

He gave her the silent treatment.

“If you don’t tell me what’s wrong, then I can’t help you fix it, Caleb.”  His grandma gave him a few pats on the back.

Caleb thought about it for a moment.  Gran was right.  There was a severe injustice against him, and Gran didn’t know.  If he told her then she would surely help him make amends.

He threw the blanket down.

“Pipsqueak broke her promise with me!” he cried out - tears already welling up in his eyes.

“Oh, sweetie.”  He was pulled into a warm embrace.  “I’m sure she didn’t mean to.  We can clear this misunderstanding up.  What did she promise you?”

Caleb lit up.  His grandma would help him.

“She promised me that she would marry me!” he explained with optimism.

There was silence as Caleb stared into his grandma’s eyes - expecting her to avenge him for the injustice he was subject to for the past week.

His grandma broke out in tears from laughing.

Caleb was pretty sure that wasn’t a good sign.  His face flushed.

“W-what?  G-grandma why are you laughing-?!”

Five minutes of getting laughed at for no reason felt like an eternity and Caleb went back to his blanket fortress in confused embarrassment and anger.

He had to get coaxed out again.

“Why do you want to marry her, Caleb?”

“Well, obviously because I love her!” Caleb pouted, refusing to look at his Gran.

“There are different types of love, Caleb,” Gran said, gently. “You know how you love me, right?”

“...Yes?”

“But you’re not going to marry me, right?”

Caleb had to think for a minute. “...No?”

Gran smiled softly, pulling gently at the blanket he was shrouded in, trying to help him understand. “Exactly. There’s love that you feel for your family, and then there’s love that’s different—love where you might want to marry someone. What you feel for pipsqueak is the first kind. She’s your family, Caleb, and you love her like a sister.”

“She’s my family, but-!” Caleb started to protest, but Gran gently interrupted him.

“Even if she’s not your sister by blood, you think of her that way, don’t you? The way you look after her, the way you want to protect her—that’s what big brothers do. That’s how you love her.”

Caleb paused, the dots connecting slowly in his mind. A devastating epiphany started to form as his naive childhood longings were dashed from his hands, shattering before his eyes.

“So… I… I can’t marry pipsqueak because… I love her like a sister?” Caleb whispered.

“That’s right,” Gran confirmed, giving him a soft pat on the head. “And that’s okay, Caleb. That’s what she needs from you—just to be her big brother, to love her in the way that’s best for both of you.”

There was something twisting inside of him, a strange, uncomfortable feeling that he didn’t quite understand. He tried to push it away, burying it deep down.  It was like how he had hid an apple one time to make sure that pipsqueak wouldn’t eat it.  He had tucked it away in the back of his closet, hidden to everyone but himself, and it was buried under so many things for so long that one day when he opened the closet one day, it had ruined everything.  The once perfectly beautiful fruit had rotted and molded, growing and spreading spores into all the things in there and practically destroyed all the things he had in there.  And just like that apple, he buried his pure love for her, tucking it away under everything else—hoping it wouldn’t spoil, but knowing deep down it eventually would.

Gran’s voice brought him back to the present.  “As a big brother, you could just watch out for her and make sure that she gets married to a good person,” his Gran explained.

Caleb looked up at his Grandma.  He paused to think about it.

It made sense, he supposed.

“O-ok-” he muttered out hesitantly.  “I think I can do that.”

“Alright then.”  Gran stood up.  “Go make up with both of them.  You three were playing back then weren’t you?  Why don’t you be a good big brother and officiate their wedding?”

Caleb jumped up in horror.  “BUT GRAN I DON’T WANT PIPSQUEAK TO MARRY ZAYNE-!  I DON’T APPROVE!”

“Zayne’s your friend and a good person, Caleb,” his Gran admonished him with a firm tap to the head.  “Would you rather her marry a big bad kidnapper with red eyes instead?  An alien?  A fish?”

"'No,' Caleb muttered, once again defeated by Gran’s infallible logic.

Gran chucked.  “See?  So Zayne is better right?”

He lost the argument again--  muttering out a half-assed rebuttal-- but before he knew it, he was standing on the same damn dirt mound a few days later watching Zayne hold hands with his little pipsqueak as they wore stupid bride and groom costumes that was originally his and pipsqueak’s halloween costumes a few years ago.

Caleb was frothing at the mouth.

“Aren’t you supposed to say your line now, Caleb?” Zayne impatiently poked at him.  “Or did your small and smooth brain forget it already?”

He resisted the urge to punch Zayne again and locked eyes with Gran - who probably only came to make sure that Caleb didn’t try to beat up the groom again.

Caleb bit his lip and let out an exasperated sigh.

He lost.

“You may now-” Caleb gave Zayne the biggest stink eye he could muster.  “K-kiss the bride…”

He let out a sigh of relief as Zayne just stood there like the stone cold bitch he was.

But then he was practically jumped by pipsqueak who decided to help Zayne practice sloppily executed mouth to mouth resuscitation for medical school several years early.

Caleb fainted.

“Is this snowman supposed to be me?”

Caleb’s mind snapped back to the present. He shook his head, trying to shake off the memories. This wasn’t the time for a cute trip down memory lane. Pipsqueak was in the presence of a true heathen.

“THROW THAT SNOWMAN AWAY!” Caleb wailed. “GIVE IT BACK TO HIM—NOW!”

To his shock, it was as if his prayers were answered. Pipsqueak extended the snowman back to Zayne and placed it in his hands.

“Are you going to stay in Snowcrest for a while longer?”

Caleb let out a sigh of relief. “Thank god—” But it was too soon to celebrate.

“I’ll leave this with you then. Will… the snowman remind you of me?” Pipsqueak asked, a blush creeping up her cheeks as she cast quick, nervous glances at Zayne.

Caleb’s jaw dropped. “EXCUSE ME, MISSY—DID YOU JUST FLIRT WITH ZAYNE?!”

Zayne stared down at the snowman. “No,” he replied in his usual deadpan tone.

“Oh, thank god—” Caleb sighed, but Zayne wasn’t finished.

“However,” Zayne continued, “when I do think of you, I’ll just call.”

Caleb screamed, his voice echoing through the Arctic night, while the dazzling display of colorful auroras shone brightly above the three of them.

[thiswasinevitableid]

Unfinished Business (Sternclay)

The winner of the "things that happen when you're alone" prompt poll was" I regularly go for walks in the cemetery AKA the only place I can find quiet. Credit to @bellafarallones for playing in this space.

Indrid loves the new house; it’s just the right size for the two of them, he loves the neighbors, and the house was in juuuust the level of disrepair that Duck is having fun doing small woodworking fixes without them being without a roof, plumbing or a safe staircase. 

Better still, it backs up into Kepler’s historic Eastwood Cemetery; the place fell out of use in 1971 but is well-maintained, sloping uphill to a tiny church with a dog for its weathervane. Indrid nearly made the offer then and there when the realtor showed them what was at the back door. 

What Indrid does not love is the fact that the bar across the street opens at 11 am and closes at 2 am, and that the acoustics of the street mean the noise is neverending. 

All that is to say, Indrid spends a lot of time in the cemetery. 

Duck is leading a night tour at the national forest tonight, and the bar is favoring repetitions of Sweet Home Alabama, so Indrid decides it’s time for a long walk in the graveyard. 

At the last moment, he packs a small thermos with cocoa, in case the fall chill hits hard once he’s at the top of the hill. He climbs up, then takes to his usual meandering through the tombstones and odd mausoleum. There’s no sound but his footsteps in the dirt and the wind pulling orange leaves from the trees. Blissful peace at last. 

The crying is all the more jarring because of the silence preceding it. Indrid whirls, looking around for the source. He doesn’t begrudge the person their choice of location–weeping in a graveyard is rather classic–but perhaps if he soothes them he can get his quiet back.

He follows the sound in a half circle to the other side of the church. On the bench is a man in a grey suit, bouquet of roses in his hands. From so close, Indrid realizes he misunderstood; the man isn’t crying. 

He’s sobbing. 

Indrid gingerly sits on the other end of the bench, looks out at the town below them. From here they can see the road to the cemetery, the old gate, and the newest batch of graves. He assumes the man will notice him in a moment, but when nothing happens but more shaking shoulders and choking sobs, Indrid clears his throat. 

The man freezes, tries to cover his mouth but only succeeds in slapping himself with the roses. It’s then that Indrid sees that they’re wilted, that his hands are bleeding from gripping them, and that he can see the corner of the church through the man's shoulders. 

Feeling rather bad about scaring a ghost, he says, without thinking, “Hello. My name is Indrid. I promise I am friendly.”

The ghost blinks at him, wipes tears from his short beard, “I, I-I I’m sorry, I, I was, was waiting for someone.”

“I gathered.” Indrid says softly.

“He, he never came.”

“Oh dear. I’m sorry.” 

“I can’t leave. I know he’ll come. Everyone’s waiting for it to start.”

Unsure if soothing a ghost is easier than soothing a human, Indrid murmurs, “Well, maybe he will come soon. A busy day can make someone late.”

“He’s never late. He hates being late. He has to come.”

The man is fading away, crying again as he does.

“I was waiting for someone. He, he never came.”

Indrid reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out the thermos, “Here, we can have some cocoa while we wait for him.”

The ghost is suddenly fully visible, sweet brown eyes staring at Indrid with such shock he’s worried the spectre has mistaken him for his missing groom. 

“What did you say?”

“I…I offered you some of this” Indrid opens the thermos, “I do not know if ghosts can eat, I know people leave offerings but maybe that is symbolic? Regardless, this is very nice. My friend brought me fancy hot cocoa mix from her honeymoon.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“That’s alright.”

“No, I mean I literally don’t know what to say. I, I don’t think I’ve said anything new in fucking years.” He sniffs the air, “ohhh, that smells good.” 

Indrid pours the thermos into the cup, hands it over, and the ghost disappears in order to take it and drink it in one go.

“Fuuuuck” The cut clicks on the bench and the man reappears, “there’s some good stuff in there. Cardamom and cinnamon at least.”

Indrid nudges the thermos towards him, “I take it you have been here awhile.”

“Since 1923. Uh. I really don’t want to ask but how many years ago was that?”

“........A century.”

“Fuck” the man tears up again, “fuck, why am I still here. If, if I could just move on I could find him, I could.”

Indrid tries to take his hand and whaps his palm into the bench instead, “I’m so sorry, I don’t know….no, wait a moment, I do know!” He bounces in his seat, “a friend of ours is an expert on the paranormal. If anyone knows how to help a ghost move on it’s him. Would you like me to ask him about it?”

“M-maybe. What if he’s like me, trapped between worlds, and if I move on I, I’ll-”

“Nono, do not cry” Indrid re-caps the cocoa, “there is no rush. I’ll ask around but that does not mean you have to do anything. I, ah, I should go. I just realized I forgot to feed the cat and she will open cupboards if she has to.”

“Will you come back some other night?”

“I’m here nearly every day.”

“Oh. Uh, Guess I never noticed much beyond” he gestures to the road and the town beyond. 

“What I meant was it is no trouble to see you again if you’d like. It was nice to meet you-”

“Barclay. And thank you very much for the hot chocolate.”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Fascinating” Joseph refills his wine glass, offers the bottle of red to Duck, who takes it and tips the rest into his own, “Indrid, do you have any idea how lucky you are? Not only did you see and hear a full apparition, he talked to you. Like in a conversation, not just a repetition of his post-mortem loop.”

“I mostly feel sorry for him. It’s not that I do not appreciate the occultness of it all but…I did not know anyone could cry that hard without cracking in half.”

“Poor fella.” Duck stands, kissing the top of Indrid’s, “Gonna make some coffee. Joe, you want any?”

“No, thank you. Better not mix the two” He lifts his glass.

“It’s decaf, fancy-pants. We don’t all got your caffeine tolerance.” 

“That’s probably for the best. But no thanks all the same.” Joseph stands, picking up the raspberry tarte from the kitchen counter; his contribution to dinner. In spite of Duck telling him it’s fine to come over without anything, the man never comes empty handed. 

Indrid appreciates his manners, though he suspects Joseph has been told one too many times to read between the lines of a stated expectation for the secret message. Yet one more reason he and Duck agree that what ex-FBI agent would benefit from is an evening bent over one of their laps while the other turns his ass red. It’d relax him, and goodness knows he deserves it.

As Duck returns to the table with forks, he frowns and leans to look more closely at Joseph’s face. 

“You been sleepin’ okay?”

“Not exactly. Most of my stress dreams stopped once I quit being an agent. But there’s one that won’t stop no matter what I do. I’m in a car, and the car is sinking, and I’m doing everything I can to get out but the doors won’t open and the windows won’t break  and I…I die.”

“Thought the whole thing was you’re supposed to wake before you die? Or is that only falling dreams?”

“If that’s true then my brain missed the memo. It happened two nights in a row this week. “

“Well then” Indrid brushes his hand as Joseph passes his a plate, “let us hope for more pleasant dreams tonight.”

Joseph stays well past ten, says goodnight with a yawn as leaves the house and walks the fifteen feet to the left and the set of steps it takes for him to get to his place next door. Indrid is lounging on the couch, but Duck waits on the porch, his wave signaling that Joseph made it to the door safely. 

When his husband returns to the living room, Indrid murmurs playfully, “Would you still love me if I was a ghost?”

Duck scoops him up into his arms, a feat that never ceases to delight him, “You know I would. But let’s not go testin’ that theory any time soon.”

—----------------------------------------------------------------

There are a few Newtons buried in the Eastwood Cemetery. Duck can’t decide if the habit of visiting to tend them and leave a few flowers is from a sense of familiar duty or the fact that he’s pretty sure the ghost of his grandmother would haunt him if she found out he lived so close to the graves and wasn’t looking after them. 

He’s tossing the last of the weeds in a compostable trash bag when the faint sound of sniffling reaches him. Looking up, he sees a bearded man in a suit at the corner of the church, looking down the hill at him. 

“Howdy” He calls.

“Hello” The man calls back. He lifts a foot, hesitates, then steps clear of the little path forming a square around the church. His feet don’t quite make contact with the ground, no matter how many steps he takes. 

“You must be Barclay” Duck holds out his hand.

“And you’re Duck. Indrid’s husband.” The hand goes through his own, both of theM cringing a bit, “I’m sorry, sometimes I see you walking together. And Indrid mentioned you when he visited yesterday.”

“Yep, that’s me alright. You doin’ okay? You look kinda scared.”

“I haven’t moved away from the church before. But I figured since I haven’t talked to people before, I could try stretching my legs to see what happened.”

Duck isn’t sure how to be encouraging to someone who died when his grandparents were babies, so he does what he always does when someone says they’re looking to take a walk.

“You ever been in the national forest? There’s a little sliver of trail on the far end of the cemetery that links you into the bigger thing.”

The ghost shakes his head but asks Duck to show him the way. As they walk, he asks Duck when the national forest got so big and if he thinks anyone will be upset to see a ghost there.

“Look, if I know most folks, they’re dyin’ for some kinda supernatural shit to happen. Makes for a great story.”

“Huh. I guess I asked too soon.” 

Duck turns to find Barclay’s unable to follow him through the gate. Every time he tries it’s like he’s bumping into a sliding glass door. 

“Well, fuck.”

“No, this is great. I know where the boundary is. I was so scared something strange would happen when I found it but this is totally manageable. Thank you so much for helping me out, Duck.”

Okay, he can see why Indrid likes talking with the guy, “Anytime, big fella.”

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Joseph comes to the cemetery, sometimes for research and sometimes just to sit and read. Like Indrid, he finds the acoustics of their street trying at times, though he suspects he doesn’t get quite as overwhelmed by them. 

Today is the first time he’s hoping to hear noise while he’s up here. The fact that Duck was able to see and speak with Barclay is promising; Duck would prefer nothing weird happen to him, so a ghost being active enough to make him believe in it without a doubt is really something.

Weird things happening to Indrid is just an average Tuesday. 

He stands where Indrid normally meets the ghost and clears his throat. 

“Hello. I’m not sure if you can hear me, but I’m Indrid’s friend. The one he told you about. I think I can help you find answers.”

There’s no response. 

“It’s okay if you’re not ready to talk. Or if you’re not even here.”

The hair on his neck tells him the latter is not the case. 

“I’m going to take a little walk, you’re welcome to join me. But it’s…it’s alright if you don’t want to.” He manages to conceal his disappointment, even when a half hour later he reaches the gate by his house without so much as a ghostly hello. 

His luck doesn’t improve on Thursday, or Sunday. But on Tuesday, as he’s up checking the names on some of the older graves, an old instinct tells him someone is looking his way. Raising his head, he sees the outline of a person against the encroaching grey clouds. 

Joseph waves. The ghost waves back, shyly, and fades from view. 

The next day he’s not even looking for the ghost; the bar is doing some horrendous “wacky Wednesday” promotion and the ruckus is so bad even his white noise machine can’t save his focus. So he takes his notes and heads for the tombs. 

He half-expects to find Indrid waiting for him, but his friend must have fled for even quieter pastures. Or he foresaw the rainstorm that sweeps across the hills the instant Joseph reaches the top of them. The church doors are left open during daylight hours, so he slips inside to keep himself and his notebook getting soaked.

There’s no one else inside, and only the plunk of raindrops on the roof and tiny, stained glass windows accompanies his footsteps as he selects a pew and sits down. 

Each section of his notebook is dedicated to a chapter for his new edition of The Haunted Southeast, complete with scans of other book’s versions of certain stories and his own notes from research and interviews. Coincidentally, today he’s working on his chapter about haunted public spaces, such as parks or roads. 

He finishes his review of the stories about the ghostly Huntington hitchhiker, then turns the page. This story centers on ghostly women, seen by the side of the road in some kind of distress, who disappear when you stop to offer help.

As he’s comparing the story of the jilted bride to the dead flapper to see if they’re actually the same, he shudders and buttons up his coat. He knew the drafts in here were bad but this is ridiculous. 

No. Wait. The air on his right is far colder than that on his left. 

“Barclay?”

A figure fades into view. Joseph’s first thought is wondering why Indrid neglected to mention this was the ghost of one of the most handsome men imaginable. The short beard is the same auburn as his hair, his lips form a cupids bow that lands a perfect shot on his heart, and his eyes are coffee brown and render Joseph twice as awake as the first cup of the day.

“I’m sorry.” The ghost murmurs, “I got curious about what you were reading.”

“I’m happy to share it” Joseph scoots closer so the other man can read the notebook, “though I’m betting most ghost stories sound ridiculous to someone who really is one.”

A honeyed chuckle, “Might sound ridiculous, but you probably know more about ghosts than I do. There aren’t many here to talk to and they kind of…ignore me when they’re around.” A slightly see-through hand hovers over the photocopied article of the bride, “Does anyone know why she’s stuck?”

“That version says she was left at the altar and, while tearfully speeding home in her car, died the same day. I think she and this “flapper” are from the same sighting or the same folktale, because all that changes is it’s an elopement instead of a wedding.”

“So she’s stuck because she’s jilted?”

Joseph chooses his words carefully, not sure if frank talk of death upsets a ghost, “That’s one theory. Or the sudden and unexpected nature of her death may have trapped her there. A lot of researchers think that ghosts are the product of either unfinished business or a death that’s so inexplicable to them that they retrace and replay their last moments, trying to make sense of it.” 

“My death….I was going to say it makes plenty of sense but only if you believe someone can die of a broken heart. Doctor said I made myself sick by spending hours in the rain watching for…for his…” his face crumples into a sob. 

Joseph closes the book, wishes he could touch him to comfort him as he says, “You don’t have to tell me this if it’s too much. I don’t want to upset you. I just want to help.”

“No, no” Barclay wipes his eyes, “I want to tell someone. I’m so tired of reliving it alone. I…even though I died in bed two days later, I think I’m stuck here because this is where my heart died and my body took two days to catch up.”

 A sniff, and out of habit Joseph passes him a handkerchief. It falls to the bench through his lap, only for the ghost to disappear and the fabric to float back up to eye level.

“Do you think I’m foolish for believing that?”

Joseph shakes his head, “Not at all. It’s theorized that, at times, a strong emotion is supposedly enough to tie a ghost to a place. More importantly you, a ghost, have just told me that’s how you understand what happened, so theory can take a hike for all I care.”

Barclay tries to laugh but it comes out as a choked squeak, “Is it okay if I sit here a little longer? We don’t have to talk, I just, I don’t want to leave you just yet.”

“Sure, but I can’t promise it’ll be all that exciting to watch me work.”

“After this long, fucking anything is exciting.”

Joseph picks his notebook back up and opens it. He’s not sure how long Barclay stays by him, as after a few minutes he’s no longer sniffling and stays quiet as, well, the dead. 

His only clue that he’s alone is that the handkerchief eventually folds itself and settles into the spot on the pew where Barclay once was. 

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------

“Ooooh this is so exciting!” Indrid flaps his hands as Joseph plugs in the last string of lights, “I hope it works.”

“It should. We did everything McElroys Spirit Guide said, and it’s generally reliable.” 

“There!” Indrid grabs his arm, “look, he made it past the gate.”

At first it looks like a fuzzy halloween projection appears on the back wall. Then it floats closer and Barclay comes into clear, stunning view. 

“You fellas really put this whole to-do together just for me?” Barclay takes in the lights, the bowls of burning, dried flowers, and the chalk on the door. 

“As the one who extended the dinner invitation, it seemed only polite for me to do whatever was necessary to make sure all my guests could get into the house.”

Indrid and Joseph had both gone to chat with him more, but It had been Duck who pointed out that if Barclay could drink cocoa, they could probably have him over for dinner, and then nobody would have to freeze their ass off just to talk with a friend. And it’s Duck who’s happily tending the stove as Indrid shows Barclay around. When the ranger calls for an extra set of hands, Indrid excuses himself, leaving Joseph and Barclay in the living room.

“This is embarrassing but I never actually learned your name.” 

Joseph offers a sheepish smile, “That’s because talking to you is always so interesting, other details slip my mind. I’m Joseph.”

The instant the words leave his mouth, Barclay disappears.

“If you both would like to come get–where did he go?” Indrid looks around owlishly. 

“I’m not sure. Here, I’ll go check the garden for him.”

On a hunch, he moves towards the back wall and finds the outline of a man faintly visible against it.

“Are you alright? If the ritual is glitching you around or making it hurt to manifest we can try to fix it.”

“No.” Barclay appears staring at the grass beneath them, “it’s not that. Fuck, this is embarrassing. His name was J-Joseph too. When you said it was yours I, it was too much for a second. It’s ridiculous, and if my mother knew how rude I was being right now she’d spin in her grave.”

Joseph uses his best, soothing special agent voice to reply, “I did give myself an incredibly common name. People have all kinds of associations with it.”

“You’re an unflappable one aren’t you?” Barclay says softly, looking at Joseph with a century of bottled-up tenderness.

“I try to be. Come on” he offers his arm, “dinners ready. Duck makes amazing enchiladas.”

“....What’s an enchilada?”

—----------------------------------------------------

Joseph carefully traces over the symbol on his back door to make sure the path stays open. After a successful dinner, he added the same path to his house that Indrid and Duck did so Barclay can come visit like any other neighbor. But it’s been rainy the last two days, so he’s touching everything up just to be safe. 

When he comes back inside, there’s a bouquet of small, pink roses sitting in a mason jar on his kitchen table. 

They were red and near petal-less when he stepped outside. 

This, or something like it, has happened every few days for the last month. 

It started a few nights after they first had Barclay to dinner. Joseph had spent the afternoon working on his notes in the cemetery and chatting with Barclay about his research. When he’d stepped onto the porch to go play cards with Duck, there was a chain of dandelion flowers circling the window of his front door. 

The first bouquet arrived the morning after the first movie night in the cemetery. Indrid had suggested to the Friends of the Eastwoods Cemetery that they show movies during October and ask people for a dollar or two at the door to help raise money for upkeep. The three of them chose a spot towards the back of the crowd to spread out a blanket so that no one would notice Barclay joining them. He’d been so scared by Halloween that he’d spent the entire movie hiding against Joseph, even when nothing terrifying was on screen. 

Joseph’s an observant man; he knows that over the last few weeks, Barclay has lingered longer during his visits, seemed sadder when Joseph says he has to leave the cemetery to go home and write. Knows that the roses outside the church are pink, the ones at the front gate red.

He also knows that he’s not imagining the moments when he’s cooking or doing the dishes and he smells faint, woody cologne and feels fingers hovering at his hips. Or the moments when he’s straightening his coat before going out and phantom touches brush across it, as if sweeping away lint.

More than once, before bed, he’s followed his instincts to the back door and opened it, expecting to find someone waiting. Nothing’s there except a breeze that somehow smooths his hair. 

He needs to figure out why Barclay’s flirtation is so fearful before he goes insane from trying to embrace air. 

A short, damp walk to the library later, he’s sitting in a repurposed closet, staring at microfilm. Barclay told him his wedding was supposed to be in the spring, and he’d talked to Duck about the Monogahela fire of 1923 in a way that suggested he’d been alive for it. Then Indrid had found Barclay’s headstone (and taken to bringing it flowers now and then), identifying his date of death as May 8th, 1923. 

But Joseph doesn’t find what he’s looking for until he reads the issue of the Kepler Observer from May 13th. 

Body of Joseph Swan Retrieved from River. 

After over a week of search and coordination, the wreck of a Model T containing the body of local lawyer Joseph Swan was finally pulled from the Silver River. Swan was reported as a missing person after failing to appear at his wedding on May 6th, and while authorities believed it was likely his car which had broken the rail on the Silver Bridge, it was not confirmed until today. 

Joseph reads through the remaining details, skin prickling as he remembers what he dreamed about last night. He wishes there was a picture. Maybe of the two of them in happier times; Barclay might like a copy.

He forms a plan, but doesn’t put it into motion until the roses wilt. The evening they do, he steps into the yard, ostensibly to sweep off the walk. Instead he replaces the symbol on the door with a new one, returns to his living room, picks up Farewell, My Lovely, and waits. 

There’s a soft thunk from the back door, then a louder one, and then the doornob rattles, panicked, only stopping when Joseph comes into the back hallway. 

“Barclay, we need to talk.”

“We talked this morning.” Barclay becomes visible, looking anxious rather than annoyed. 

“And if you were going to come see me tonight, you could have told me then. You know I like having you over, that you’re welcome anytime. But before I accept any more flowers, I need to know why you keep sneaking in to leave them instead of just knocking on the door.”

“I like surprising you.” It’s the truth, but not all of it, that much he’s sure of. 

“Try again, big guy.” He says gently. 

“If I tell you, I, you, you won’t want to see me anymore.”

“There are very, very few things that could do that. I promise.” He steps forward and Barclay shrinks against the door. 

“It’s not just your name that reminds me of him. Y-you’re like him in so many ways, god, you even look like him. And I know you’re not him, I know, and that’s somehow worse because I feel the same way about you I did about him. I thought I’d never get to love without grief again, and then here you are. I needed to show you somehow, and some nights my heart ached to see him, and to see you so I would hover around the house and try to pretend it was ours. God I hate how that sounds. I, I don’t know what will happen to me if you don’t want me back, if I lose you too, but I didn’t w-want to make you think you had to, to l-love me back.” His tears border on hyperventilation.

Joseph gingerly reaches for him, “You never made me think that. Even if you did, my heart beat you to it. I’m not sure it’s love, I’ve always been, well, cautious about calling things that too soon but…but I think it could be.”

Barclay sniffs, “really?”

He nods, “There’s something else I think you should know. My entire life, I’ve had a nightmare where I’m in a sinking car. What I’ve never told anyone is that, as I’m drowning I’m afraid, but not of what you might think. I wasn’t able to articulate until a few days ago. I’m afraid I’ll never see the most important person in my life again.” He looks up into teary, brown eyes, “the last thing he ever thought about was how much he loved you, Barclay.”

The face in front of him disappears and he’s crushed in a hug, Barclay’s face buried against his neck. Tearful thank-yous gradually give way to steady, anticipatory breaths from a chest without lungs, and for a moment he’s worried that his confession is what Barclay needed to move on. 

“Joseph?” A beard tickles his ear, “Thank you. Now I know what he was thinking about. But…what are you thinking about right now?”

Joseph rests his head on Barclay’s shoulder, “How being in your arms feels like coming home. And how glad I am Indrid talked to you that first time, because it means you’re in my life and my life is so much better for it. Also if it’s okay to ask if you’d like to be boyfriends, because I have no idea how you feel about pacing, or if this is fast or slow compared to what was normal when you were alive-”

A chuckle that makes him shiver, “It’s not too fast, pretty boy. I promise.”

“Oh.” He gasps, “that’s a new one.”

“Been wanting to call you that for weeks. It’s all I can think when I see you.” A ghostly finger traces his cheek, “can I kiss you?

“As much as you like.” 

Chilly lips press against his own, and when he returns the kiss, phantom hands cup his cheeks. With his eyes closed, it’s as if he’s being dropped off after a very successful date, trading slow, curious kisses with someone on his front step. His back bumps into the door; he hadn’t realized Barclay had turned them. Maybe Joseph did it himself. His attention isn’t interested in straying from the taste of ethereal kisses anytime soon. 

Strong hands tip his face up and cool kisses run down his neck. He groans, manages to tangle his fingers in Barclay’s hair and hold him there. The ghost grins against his throat, and one hand disappears only to slide beneath his sweater a second later.

“If this is too forward tell me to fuck off but: can I take you to bed? Please?”

“Only if you’re really sureOH, okaythen.” Joseph, now in a bridal carry, holds tight as the ghost carries him to the bedroom. Once he’s placed on the bed, he adds, “can you be visible while we undress? I haven’t looked at you enough today.”

“We saw each other for most of it.” Barclay is visible again, hair messier than before eyes bright.

“You heard me, big guy. Not enough.” He pulls off his sweat and unbuttons his jeans, folding both and setting them on a chair. 

Barclay touches his ghostly jacket, then pulls it from his shoulders “Huh. I honestly had no idea if I could even take this off. Let’s see…” the tie, dress shirt and vest come next, revealing a hairy chest and belly straight from Joseph’s dreams (his good ones). 

Barclay sets his dress shoes by Joseph's own next to the closet, then strips down to nothing. A gorgeous, thick cock sits between gloriously shaped thighs. The sight shorts out Joseph’s brain so thoroughly his fingers hitch the band of his boxer-briefs but forget what to do next. 

“Let me get those for you, sir.” Barclay flickers away long enough to yank the blue fabric down and off. When he reappears, he’s staring at Joseph’s dick in surprise.

“Sorry, I know it’s not what you expected. Usually I tell partners beforehand but in my defense there were way more important things on my mind.”

“I don’t mind one bit, pretty boy.” Barclay licks his lips, “it’s just kinda funny. I used to tease him that what he really needed was one of these” he tips his head at Joseph’s crotch, “because he was always so fucking needy and would beg me to get to it before he was open and slick enough for me to get my dick in him.” He grins, “from the look of it that’s not gonna be a problem tonight.”

“Not at all.” Joseph spreads his legs and Barclay settles between. 

The ghost pauses, “I can only touch you if I’m invisible. Or, uh, I guess I could be visible and tangible but not able to talk? Which do you want?”

“I want to be able to talk with you. At least tonight. Some other night you can show me how badly you want to fuck me by giving up your voice.”

Barclay growls playfully and disappears. Joseph watches his own legs bend and open wider, then moans as Barclay pushes into him. 

A kiss finds his cheek, “Fuck, Joseph, you feel incredible. Jesus, do not remember being inside someone feeling so warm. God, maybe I should have been fucking living guys all this time. Not like anyone would’ve seen it.”

“Such naughty ideas, big guy.” Joseph wraps his legs around Barclays.

“We, fuck, we did fuck outside once, and he was nervous we’d get caught. Until he got into the whole thing and ordered me to suck him off.” The memory, accompanied by a happy sigh and sharper thrusts, gives Joseph an idea. 

“Do you like being ordered around?”

“Uh huh. Like being good.” He whines into Joseph’s shoulder. 

“What else do you like?”

“I, I like it rough, but only sometimes. I, a few times we’d see how slow we could go, how long we could last, under the covers when, when we didn’t have anywhere to go, fuck, it’s like heaven.”

“I make my own schedule so–oh, oh, you like that idea” he works his hips harder, “should I order you to stay inside me until I’ve cum at least three times?”

“Yes, yes sir, baby, please” 

“Or maybe I’ll set up the house so you’re stuck right in that doorway and, ahgod, only allowed to watch me until you beg just right?”

Barclay moans and fucks him harder, “but that’s n-not fair.”

He manages to grip Barclay’s chin, “I decide what’s fair, big guy. Just like I decide whether I want to have that magnificent cock inside me or make you hump my boot and beg like a dog.”

A wave of cold pushes through him, and suddenly Barclay isn’t above him anymore. He’s inside him. 

“Holy shit” he says to the empty room. 

Sorry. I got so fucking turned on from you saying that I kinda lost control for a second. Jesus christ”  his hand rubs his folds, “You really were having fun.”

“Yes. Ahfuck, shit, yes like that.” His fingers move inside him all on their own.

“Never played around with one of these before. But from how you feel when I do this” a finger curls and Josephs legs kick the covers, think I’m on the right track

“Barclay” he whimpers to the empty room. 

Right here baby. Lay back and let me take care of you. Us? No let’s go with you. The other hand joins in, rubbing his dick, and Joseph allows himself the luxury of utter surrender. He doesn’t need to say a thing or move a muscle because Barclay is there, can feel his pleasure and his desire as he moves his body like a toy. Better still, Joseph can feel Barclay’s reaction to it all, the surge of pride whenever something he does makes Joseph moan, how much pleasure he gets from pleasing, and how badly he wants him. 

Now and then he feels a memory, Barclay trying something from long ago to see how it works now. More often, he feels a fantasy, Barclay testing out whether his–apparently copious–daydreams about Joseph are fun for them both in reality. 

Joseph’s so distracted by Barclay thinking next time, I want your cum all across my face that his own orgasm is a shock, rocking him like an old house in a thunderstorm. 

He’s laying there, panting Barclay’s name, when the ghost separates them with one, decisive movement, then sinks his cock into him with another. Joseph yells, clawing at his chest in delight.

“Don’t whine sir, you wanted this” The ghosts grunts as the picture frames rattle, “I could feel it. Got a lot of fantasies in there about being fucked hard and filled up, almost as many about making big men cry. I’ll, fuck, I’ll let you make me cry any day, long as I, I get to watch you choke on my dick afterwardsoh, oh Joseph, baby.” He cums hard, collapsing against Joseph’s chest as he pulses into him. 

When he pulls out, Joseph sees the liquid is different than normal. Ectoplasm maybe? Later. 

Barclay is visible and solid as he pulls Joseph into a hug. Joseph kisses him once, then murmurs, “None of the crying fantasies anytime soon, I think. Not that I don’t think they’d be fun but…well, you’ve shed way too many tears than you deserve, big guy. All I want is to see you smile.”

The expression blooms on Barclay’s face, bright as a churchbell on a wedding day, as Joseph leans in to kiss him once more. 

—--------------------------------------------------------------

“You think Barclay might just disappear someday? Maybe his business will finish up without us noticing.” Duck pulls on his bathrobe, “I mean, I hope not. I like the guy.”

Indrid peers into the grey dawn as he sips his cream with a splash of coffee. Their bedroom window looks into Joseph’s, and while his blinds are usually drawn, today they’re open. His friend sits up in bed, laughs as a breakfast tray floats into view and turns his cheek as if receiving a kiss. 

“Oh, I would not worry too much about it. I do not think his business will be finished for a long, long time.”

[odinsblog]

So I took an unexpected trip down memory lane today. Something I haven’t thought about for almost two decades…

After work, I decided to avail myself of the nearest happy hour with some acquaintances, and me being me, ofc the conversation eventually turned to politics (generally a no no for me, but what can I say - blame it on the alcohol, right?)

Someone I’ve known for some years now, a white person, abruptly asked me if I had ever seen an actual burning cross before. If I’m being honest here, my initial instinct was to be angry at them because we don’t know each other like that. We were in a large group, and while I know he didn’t intend to, it’s “innocent” questions like that that put Black people on the spot. Kinda like asking the only Black student in a classroom full of white people what their thoughts are on slavery. Don’t get me wrong, some exceptionally gifted Black people would knock that question outta the ballpark. But many of us, caught unawares, might struggle to find all the right words. Even though I’ve taken many such public speaking classes to prepare me for just such an eventuality (extemporaneous public speaking is part of my job, currently), not everyone is prepared to be an on-demand public speaker. And definitely not on such personal subjects.

Anyway, I was actually kinda vibing with the mood in the bar and I didn’t really feel like making a scene, so decided to pull my “friend” aside to answer him.

And here’s where I got dragged down memory lane.

I was in high school. I don’t remember the exact year, but it was before I graduated, so that puts it somewhere (maybe a year or two) before 2002.

I went to the great (racist) state of Alabama, and the city of Shorter, for a week long visit with my then-girlfriend and her folks. Absolutely NOTHING could have prepared me for the abject poverty I had read about but only then witnessed firsthand.

I was born in Florida. I literally have memories of walking blocks and blocks barefoot on hot asphalt to go to the nearest corner store. BUT … Imma city boy at heart. Because of my father’s job, we were constantly moving all up and down the West coast of the country. I’ve lived and gone to schools for at least a year in major metropolitan hubs like NYC, Boston, Raleigh, DC, Hartford, Philly, Atlanta, and Nawlins*, etc. When I arrived in Shorter, it was the first time I had ever seen dirt roads that were the major routes between (Black) inner cities. The very first night when I got there, THE FUCKING SHERIFF (literally the only white person I saw in my week long visit) made it a point to stop by my gf’s moms house because, “I heard we were getting a fancy out of towner here today,” and even though I wasn’t a full grown man yet, I can still remember the feeling of incredulity and utter disbelief I had in those few minutes of being interrogated by the mf sheriff, who btw, arrived at my gf’s moms house with his lights on and sirens blaring. If you’re wondering, yes, he was white, and if I had to do a sketch of him today, it would look EXACTLY like the sheriff from that old tv show with Bo, Luke and Daisy Duke. “Dukes of Hazard,” I think.

And later that evening, the first time I had to go to relieve myself, I asked my hosts where the bathroom was, half asleep , the youngest brother, a kid of about 9 or 10, took me by the hand, led me to the back door, and pointed into the darkness at some weird looking treehouse a few yards from the house’s back door—except there was no tree and whatever it was that I was looking at was on the ground. I said, “No, where is your BATHROOM?,” and still half asleep, again he pointed at the weird looking tree house and said, “That’s it.”

I walked out, still not knowing exactly what to expect when I got closer to whatever it was in their backyard, and when I got close enough to recognize the smell, I stopped dead in my tracks … was this … waitaminute … is this an OUTHOUSE??!! I held my nose and cautiously opened the door, and sure enough, yes: it really was an outhouse. Like for real. In real life. I didn’t want to be rude, but there was no fucking way in hell I was going to take a dump in an outhouse. I went back to the house and awkwardly asked if there was another bathroom, and I was a little bit amused when he said, “Yeah, if you want, I can walk you over to the neighbor’s house and you can use their outhouse.” It turned out that everyone in the hood had outhouses.

I’m not sharing this to dunk on Alabama, it’s just what happened and it was all incredibly jarring for me. Shorter, Alabama was incredibly poor at the time, and there was no possible way for me to be prepared for all of the abject poverty I witnessed firsthand. And, lol, it’s not like I grew up wealthy or anything. But this was the norm for where I was visiting. I would later learn that my gf’s mom sent her daughter to Florida literally for a better life that she couldn’t provide her. My gf lived in Florida with her (comparatively) “very wealthy” aunt and uncle, who lived in what was essentially one step up from the projects. Truly some heartbreaking shit. I was humbled, but this experience gave me perspective like no history book could ever do.

AND YET …… I was a young teenaged boy, who was far away from home with his girlfriend, who I believed I would one day marry, so I somehow managed to brush almost all of that aside, because while my gf’s mom had to work double shifts at the dog track, we were assigned a chaperone—and he was literally thee coolest older cuz’n everrrr. He went out of his way to make sure my gf and I had enough time alone to make out pretty much whenever the mood struck us! Things were a little rougher than I had anticipated, but the time I had alone with my gf made it worth everything.

And then one night, Cuz’n Feaster (yes, that was his real name) took us to a hole in the wall bar. Don’t worry, he didn’t take us inside or give us liquor or anything, he just went inside for about an hour and left two teenaged virgins COMPLETELY alone in the backseat of his Chevy. FOR AN HOUR!!!

And when I tell you that we went all the way, I mean we went ALL the way—to third base!! Hands everywhere exploring everything, heavy kissing and making out! WITHOUT ANY SEX. (We were both two good little Pentecostal kids who had taken a stupid “purity” pledge, what did you expect?)

HA! But I will never forget that night though. I can still hear “Do Me Baby,” by Prince playing on the radio. Good times, man.

But I was telling you about the first time I saw a burning KKK cross, right??

So when cuz’n Feaster finally came out of the “club,” it was super late and dark outside. I remember him and my gf laughing at me because my neck was craned up looking out the window like a dog with the window rolled down. There were absolutely no lights outside on the road. No streetlights, no road lights, no house lights, no nothing except for the headlights and the stars above. I couldn’t believe all the stars I could see. I even recognized part of the Milky Way. It was an amazing sight. An amazing ride home. And an amazing way to top off an amazing night.

I was young, I was in love, I was happy and holding my girl’s hand, the stars were out, and just… Everything was perfect. Perfect.

And that’s when we started getting closer and closer to …. something?? Burning in the middle of an open field? As we got closer and closer, for the second time on my trip, my eyes and my brain recognized what I must be seeing, but my mind couldn’t comprehend or accept what it was: an enormous burning cross in a field, with men in white pointy hoods. It was the Klan!! I couldn’t fucking believe it. This was something that I knew and understood existed, but that was supposed to be history book stuff, right? I couldn’t wrap my head around it.

“Feaster, is that…”

-The Klan? Yup, that’s them. Leave them alone, and they’ll leave you alone.

Pfft! I scoffed. Messing with Black people who aren’t fucking with them is pretty much their job description.

And he and my gf were sO fucking calm about it. They acted like they saw that shit every day and twice on the weekend. BUT MY BLACK ASS WAS FREAKING THE FUCK OUT.

“Feaster, we’re all Black! What if-”

-Calm down. They do that all the time. And even if they wanted to, nobody can catch me in this car.

And my only thought was, we’re all gonna get lynched and die because this fool thinks his car is faster than bullets. We had to drive RIGHT BY that cross. I know it was probably my imagination working triple time, but it looked like it was 100 feet tall. It was less than a football field away, and that cross was burning so bright that it turned nighttime into daylight, disappeared all the stars, and I could very clearly see men in white robes holding guns. I was fucking terrified. Talk about sights you won’t ever forget. And Idk why, but the fact that Feaster and my gf were so damn calm about it just really added that extra something to my freaking out. It was unnerving af.

Me and my gf caught the bus back home to Florida the next day, but yeah, that was the first (but not the last) time I had ever seen a KKK cross before. Such a mix of emotions, that night was.

[cagenewman]

THE INSPIRATION BEHIND... CAGE LUCAS NEWMAN

something in the orange / zach bryan 🎧

burning man / dierks bentley 🎧

duet / penny & sparrow ft. stephanie briggs 🎧

cage is ... an old soul, winding dirt roads in the countryside, striking blue eyes, young love and the deeper meaning that comes with it in time, a cross on a chain tucked under his shirt, the perfect catch on a Friday night, bushels of blueberries, saw dust shavings sticking to plaid shirts, worn out work boots, a father's love.

Cage is a good-looking country boy with a heart of gold. He might not be everyone's first choice of 'gorgeous' or 'sexy' and he's alright with that. Zach Roerig was the perfect face claim to fit that kind of vibe; attractive in both a traditional and non-traditional way. Not your typical six-pack, ripped guy, more of a dad bod and great personality type. A lot of his 'aesthetic' made its way to Cage: some of the fashion choices that he explores, the cross necklace, his deep laugh, those blue eyes, things that just fit for. Of course there are some inspirations dragged from his characters. Matt Donovan's steadfastness and dedication to the town and people he loves. Will Mosley's melancholy and inner turmoil. But there were other inspirations, such as Matt Saracen in Friday Night Lights, and particularly his relationship with Julie Taylor, and how it mirrored Cordelia and Cage, not to mention Matt leaving town despite loving his girlfriend unconditionally. And Jake, from Sweet Home Alabama. A small town guy and his small town girlfriend, and how everyone thought that they would be the ones. Eventually, they were. They just had to find their way back there. The Paul Newman of it all might be more of an inside joke between Lindsey and myself, given how much I adore Paul, but... last name inspiration still counts. That, and those blue, blue eyes. And the importance of family and compassion.

Of all of my characters, Cage probably has the most 'me' in him, in terms of how family and our upbringing has shaped our lives. The deepest foundation of Cage's character is family, from top to bottom, and given how important my family is to me, it only made sense. Cage has a strong relationship with his siblings the same way that my own sibling is my very best friend. Although I am lucky enough to have both of my parents in my life, Cage does not. Lindsey and I purposely didn't delve into the loss of their father (it was previously decided with another player that their mother would have been lost during childbirth) because we never wanted the hows and whys to be the focus; it was about the family, drawing them together, carrying on the legacy left behind. It was less about the grief and more about the growth. But despite them not being in his life anymore, I wanted him to have a strong bond with his parents. Particularly his father. Fatherhood is the most powerful force in Cage's life, tying him to both his own father, and his son, who is the entire world to him. The bond between father and son was a huge thing for me to explore; Cage's own father often seeing a lot of himself in his second eldest son, teaching him the ropes of the blueberry farm, thinking he would be the one to carry on the family name because of their similar trajectory... and of course Cage's bond with his own son, abandoned by his mother before turning a year old, the two boys taking on the world together, learning about life day by day.

There are a lot of other things that I injected into Cage from me and my own interests: old houses, black cats, small town life, John Deere tractors and old Chevy pick-ups, wildflowers, sweet tea, older country music, and he'll definitely get a donkey before I do. Brat. As Lindsey mentioned, the blueberry farm came from... well, Maine. But I also grew up picking blueberries and still watching my aunts and uncles do it every summer when the bushes are ripe.

One thing that Cage did not get from me was wanderlust; that's all his own. He left town when he was younger, which was inspired simply by wanting to embrace the idea that not everyone leaves a small town for good. Eventually, they find that it's home, and they want to be back in it. Even more important than wanderlust and wanting to travel and see the world was for me to be able to explore the concept of coming home. Cage explored the United States and then came home changed. He wasn't just a boy anymore, he was a man with a son on the way and had to make the decisions to grow, to become a better person. To go after more than just working in construction (up until that point, I had him traveling with crews, which was mostly inspired by someone just... wandering around, trying to find a place that called him home), but to maybe someday move towards creating his own pocket in the world. And although he did spend one blissful summer on the road with his boy when he was older, Cage has largely lost that sense of wanderlust, again... inspired by the idea that sometimes you really are happiest at home. I know that I am, so maybe he borrowed that from me, too.

As far as his love life goes, I think I just really wanted to cement the idea that from day one, everyone who knew Cage knew one thing: he was in love with Cordelia. They knew it when he was a kid on the playground, when he swung her around the field after a win on Friday night, and they knew it when he drove away from town, too. And I wanted it to be the kind of thing that no one forgot; people saw them as adults at the football game and could feel it. His family knew it before he had even become friendly with her again, and Cage knew it the moment that he kissed her for the first time in Tumbleweed the December after they reconnected. That just sort of stole inspiration from all those cheesy love stories where two people are just destined to be together. Who could argue it? But I didn't want to play someone who just pined away for that when he didn't have it; he had to try to figure things out without her. He slept around on the road, he got a girl pregnant, he got married to prove that he could, and he still ended up dancing with Cordelia on a dirt road in her gorgeous pink dress. But from day one, it was Cordelia. The concept of fate and destiny and true love inspired that.

Personality wise, Cage was inspired by a lot of the guys you see in a small town. The ones that play football on Friday nights and hang out at the ice cream shop with their friends, but by some miracle, they end up being good guys by the end of it all. He's kind and very compassionate, and he has a good, tender heart that he doesn't show to just anyone. He can be hotheaded and stubborn and determined, but it's because he cares. There is not an evil, mean bone in Cage Newman's body, something his parents made sure of when they raised him right. He carries a lot on his shoulders, and always has, whether it be the pressure of becoming his father, the business he's built from the ground up, the mistakes it has taken him forever to let go of, the crushing worry of being a good brother, a good friend, a good boyfriend, a good businessman and a good father first and foremost, but he has broad shoulders, and he is convinced he can do it.

Owning his own carpentry and construction / restoration business was entirely inspired by my absolute hatred of house flipping gone wrong (you know, faux marble countertops, shiplap, gray walls everywhere, cheap carpeting) and wanting to play someone who cared about historical integrity. I cringe every day, watching a local home be restored and fearing for the day they remove the old, leaded, lattice windows. Cage does, too. I've always admired wood working and what people can do with a simple slab of wood, and I wanted to play someone who could make magic with their hands. Past that, I wanted him to be incredibly successful (he is!), but not let it get to his head. Cage has money in the bank, but he doesn't let it stop him from telling Colton that they have burgers at home, or to wear a t-shirt until it has holes (despite the Ralph Lauren sweater, or Hugo Boss suit tucked away). I think a lot of that was inspired by watching the way wealthy business owners in small towns can be -- sometimes, you wouldn't even know.

Overall, Cage is 'one of the good ones,' inspired by my own family and a lot of the 'good ones' you meet along life's journey.

[bleachanimefan1]

Oblitus Part 42 Completed

Sweet Home Alabama,

Six Years Later...

A tall man walked along the road with a wide grin, passing by a few people who were giving him strange looks while several women couldn't help but stare at him admiring his striking looks, making their husbands and boyfriends jealous. He ignored them and took a winding path leading to a forest and continued to walk a dirt pathway. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled at a piece of paper that had directions and had a house address on it. He stuffed the paper back into his jacket when he saw a small house up within the distance. This was the place. He stopped at the door and brushed his brown hair, making sure it was neat and reached out and knocked with a shave and a hair tune. His eyes widen when he saw the door open and smiled. "Hel-!"

"Who are you?" He blinked in confusion and his eyes widen a little in surprise when he saw small boy stood in front of him as he answered the door. "Lo?" This wasn't who he was expecting.

"Did he get the wrong house? No. Charlie said that this was it. Who the hell is this kid?" Slam! The man blinked owlishly when he heard the door slam in his face. Did he just!? The little shit...The man could hear the boy's voice shouting and a woman's on the other side.

"Mom! There's a strange man at the door!"

"Aiden! I told you not to open the door by yourself!" The door opened back up again.

"I'm sorry about that. My son can be a little too curious for his own good." Her eyes widen in shock and so did the man's when their eyes met each other.

"A-Al!?" Anna sputtered in shock.

"Anna!?" Alastor shouted as well. Before Anna could say anything, Alastor quickly pulled her close to him, hugging her. Anna blinked in confusion, wondering how Alastor was here and why. She pushed away from him, only for Alastor to push her back to him, almost smothering her this time. "How are you here?"

"What do you think? Charlie. She managed to pull a few strings and here I am. But only for a day." Alastor told her.

"And you think you could just waltz back here and smile and act as if nothing happened?" Anna frowned.

"I understand that your mad-"

"Mad doesn't begin to cover it." She told him. "What the hell, Alastor!? You just toss me away like garbage without giving me a chance to say goodbye to everyone!" Alastor tuned her out as he stared at Anna as she continued on her rant. She hasn't changed a bit except for her personality. Instead of the scared, timid lost doe he had seen back at the hotel, she's become a little fierier and feistier.

"Are you even listening to me?" Alastor blinked, turning his head. "What?"

Anna sighed before she cracked a small smile and laughed a little. "You haven't changed at all. You're still an asshole."

Before Alastor could make a snide comeback a fireball suddenly shot out, nearly missing a strand of his hair by an inch. He saw the boy glaring at him as he narrowed his blue eyes at Alastor. "Get away from my mom!" Mom? So, she's a mother now. Charlie didn't say anything about another man in Anna's life. Anna quickly turned back.

"Aiden, wait!"

"I'm warning you! Let my mom, go!" The boy threatened Alastor. Alastor laughed.

"Ha ho! What do we have here? A little bluenose who thinks he's tough to take me on."

"We'll see, ass-"

"Aiden!" Anna pushed away from Alastor and walked over to him. Aiden's eyes widen after realizing he was in trouble. She grabbed his ear, pulling on it, making him yelp in pain. "Yowch!" Alastor smiled as he watched in amusement.

"What did I say about swearing! No more coffee for one week."

"But that's not-Ow!" Anna pinched a little harder. "Want to make two weeks?"

"I'm sorry! Mom, let go! You're gonna rip my ear off!" He shouted. Anna released her son's ear and Aiden rubbed it painfully, still glaring at Alastor, not taking his eyes off of him.

"Who is this guy?" He asked her.

"He's an old friend of mine." She paused when she told Aiden before turning back to Alastor. "Why don't you come in? There is a lot of things we need to talk about."

"Absolutely!" Alastor grinned before gesturing to the door. "Ladies, first!" 

"You're not actually inviting him in?" Aiden questioned.

"Aiden, now." Anna warned him and pushed Aiden inside. Alastor followed behind them and she led them into the living room. Alastor looked around and frowned as soon as he saw a picture box in the corner of the room with a few dvds and vhs tapes messily stacked in a shelf beside it. "Don't you know that thing will rot your mind?"

"Aiden, loves his looney tunes and tom and jerry and only the classics. None of the remake stuff." She told him. "Maybe if you give it a chance, you might like it too?" She suggested before Alastor laughed cutting her off.

"Never going to happen."

Then Alastor saw several pictures sitting on the mantle of the fireplace of Anna when she was little with her parents then he saw her with her son. When he was a baby, taking his first steps, a birthday of him blowing out the candles on his cake. Then Alastor's eyes caught something strange as he examined a photo of her son hugging two handmade dolls with deerlike characteristics one that looked like Anna and one of him. Alastor pushed the suspicion aside for now and took a seat on the couch, next to Aiden who scooted away from him, crossing his arms.

"You've got a good throwing arm there but your aim's a little off." Alastor smirked at Aiden. "Where did you learn to do such magic like that?" Aiden didn't answer him, making Alastor twitch his eye in irritation. He was starting to lose his patience with this kid! Anna nodded as she looked at her son, telling him it was okay to answer. "You can tell him."

"I guess I had it forever. One day it just happened, and it nearly set the house on fire. I don't know why I can do it. I just can." Aiden told him, shrugging his shoulders.

"I think it's time you know the actual truth, Aiden." Anna told him. He blinked at the same time as Alastor, looking at her. "What?"

"This man here. He isn't just an old friend of mine. He is your father." She told him. Aiden's eyes widen and so did Alastor's.

"What!?" Aiden exclaimed. Alastor said nothing as if he was frozen, still trying process what Anna had revealed.

"Now that the cat's out of the bag. Why don't you two talk and get to know each other for a bit while I get dinner ready? I'm sure you two have a lot in common." Anna told them and walked away, heading to the kitchen to get started on dinner.

"No, mom, wait! Don't leave me here with him!" Aiden shouted, but she was gone. Alastor glanced over at Aiden, who still refused to look at him and the two continued to sit in silence. The more he stared the more Alastor saw Aiden's features in his. His brown thick untamed hair that was hard to manage, his skin was slightly in a lighter brown color than his, but he had Anna's blue eyes. Then Alastor noticed something move on the couch above him and Aiden and his eyes widen a little more when he saw a small dark shadow, leering at him and Alastor's shadow, silently judging them. What could they talk about to begin with? What did this kid even like? How about a good beating, son?

Alastor cringed at the thought. He was nothing like his dad and wasn't going to be. But he didn't know how to be a father. He wasn't even there when Aiden was born. What a great start...

"I'm going to my room." Alastor heard Aiden mumble and before Alastor could say anything he saw Aiden run up the stairs and the door slam as he went into his room, leaving Alastor alone in the living room. Anna came back, seeing Alastor alone on the couch.

"Where's Aiden?" She asked, concerned.

"The scamp ran." Alastor told her.

"Well, go get him then." Anna told him.

"We have nothing in common." He told her.

"You didn't even try." Anna frowned.

"Me? He wouldn't even talk or even look at me!" Alastor told her.

"Then snoop. It's what your good at." She told him.

"I don't snoop." Alastor dismissed.

"Um, yes you do." Anna repeated again, smiling. "Now, go up there." Alastor got up and turned towards the stairs and went up them. He figured the closed door, compared to the others that were opened was Aiden's room and slowly approached it and was now standing in front of the door. He was about to turn the knob and barge but stopped when he heard a noise coming from Aiden's room. It was music coming from the strings of a guitar. Alastor slowly opened the door and saw Aiden who was sitting on the floor. He didn't noticed Alastor or hear him come in as quietly listened in observing Aiden's room. There were a few drawings and sketches of animals, stuffed animals stacked on a shelf and on his bed, Alastor noticed familiar looking characters that were handmade dolls of everyone from the hotel. Charlie, Vaggie, Angel, Husk and Niffty, Lucifer and Lilith and sitting together were him and Anna. Alastor saw a small piano lying a few feet away from Aiden. He smiled and walked over to it.

Alastor tapped a key which made Aiden jump, startled. He now noticed Alastor was in room and frowned.

"Get out." Alastor ignored him and smirked.

"That was a lovely little tune. A little off key but-"

"Off key? I've been practicing for three years, old man. As if you could do better." Aiden retorted. Alastor's eye twitched a little at the insult.

"Let's see then. Try to keep up." Alastor replied and started to play a small tune on the piano. Aiden copied him as he played his guitar, keeping up with Alastor. Then Alastor started to go faster adding a little finesse and flair. He heard Aiden laugh and saw him smile. Alastor grinned and the two continued neither stopping, trying out match the other. Anna came in hearing the commotion and smiled seeing Alastor and Aiden were finally getting along with each other. Alastor saw her come in and smiled.

"Would you like a dance, my dear?" 

"No, I just wanted to watch you two-" Alastor got up and ordered his shadow to continue playing the piano and walked over to her, grabbing Anna by her hands and started to dance with her.

"That's cheating!" Aiden shouted.

"No, it's not!" Alastor smiled and continued to dance with Anna. Aiden started to get tired, and his fingers were started to get sore from strumming for so long. 

"Okay, you win. You're good." He spoke.

"Years of practice my, dear boy! But you're not so bad as well!" Alastor smiled. Aiden blinked at him and smiled back.

"Dinner's ready if you guys want to eat." Anna told them.

"What are we having?" Alastor asked her.

"What else? Jambalaya." Anna smiled. The three went back downstairs and ate dinner until their bellies were full.

"Just like mama used to make!" Alastor smiled.

"Mama?" Aiden asked him. Alastor blinked at him.

"My mother, silly boy! Your grandmother!" He smiled.

"Can I meet her?" Aiden asked him. Alastor paused and so did Anna, who looked at him, worried.

"Uh, it's not that easy." He told Aiden.

"Why not?" Aiden blinked.

"She's not with us anymore, sweetie." Anna told him. Aiden looked down sadly, knowing that she was dead.

"Oh, so she's gone, gone." Alastor scooted his chair and plucked Aiden out of his seat, putting him on his lap. "Now, now there's no need to be upset. I'm sure she would've loved you. I know that she would've loved Anna. You'll get to see her again someday, I'm sure of it."

"I can't wait!" Aiden smiled.

"But not yet." Anna smiled. Alastor looked at the clock in the kitchen and his eyes widen when he saw that it was already 11:30 pm. He only had 30 minutes left. He didn't want to leave them, but he had no choice. It was almost time.

"Dad? Is everything okay?" Aiden asked, breaking Alastor out of his thoughts. 

"Everything is just fine. There is also another reason why I'm here." He told Anna. He snapped his fingers and Anna and Aiden saw the whole house began to transform, turning into a wooden cabin. There were several piles of luggage that plopped in the living room filled with Alastor's belongings, pictures. "I'm giving you my house and my belongings. You may do whatever want with them since I won't be needing them where I'm going." He told the two of them.

"Wait, what are you saying?" Anna frowned at him.

"Where are you going, dad?" Aiden asked, tugging Alastor's jacket.

"Heaven. My time is almost up." He told them. Anna blinked at him before she shook her head.

"I just got you back. You can't go." She pleased, almost crying. Aiden was still confused.

"What do you mean you're leaving? Why can't you stay?" He asked.

"There's a wonderful woman who's done a lot and managed to pull a few strings for me to be able to be here. But for only one day. I have to go."

"It's not fair." Anna sighed.

"I know. But I have no say in the matter. My time came a long time ago and I have to go back. The others are there as well." Alastor told her then reached into his jacket and pulled out a strange phone holding it out to Anna. "Charlie gave me this to give to you. Should you ever need to talk to her." Anna took it from him. Alastor sat Aiden down and walked to Anna, hugging her. "Can I see that smile one last time before I go?" He asked her. Anna nodded, grabbing his hands, holding them to her face and smiled. Alastor smiled and turned towards Aiden and walked over to him and bent down to his level.

"Do you think you can do you old man a favor and look after your mom? She's definitely going to need it, especially from the constant dangers she's always getting herself in."

"I don't get into trouble that much." Anna argued.

"Yes, you do." Alastor grinned.

"I can do that." Aiden told him.

"That's my boy. You're the one good thing that's ever come out of my life, besides your mother, of course." Alastor told him. The three saw the clock was now 12 am. Alastor hugged Aiden, who stared at him, still confused but hugged him back. Then Anna and Aiden's eyes widen when they saw Alastor was slowly fading away.

"Please don't go!" Anna screamed.

"Dad, please stay! I just got to know you!" Aiden shouted, crying as well. Alastor sadly smiled, watching the two of them trying not to cry.

"I love you both." He told them and he vanished.

Alastor blinked as he looked around, confused, seeing white and a large golden gate in front of him. Saint Peter was in front of him with a large book as he read from it, looking Alastor's name. "Andy? Allie? Al? Ah, Alastor Hazbin, there you are. Welcome to Heaven!" The gates opened and Alastor's eyes widen when he saw a woman standing in front of him.

"Mama?" He wasted no time and rushed over to her, hugging her. She hugged him back.

"Do you know how many years that I've waiting for you!? What took you so long, Alastor?" She smiled, warmly.

"It's a really long story." He told her.

"Well, you got time. You can tell me as you set up your new radio station here." She told him and the two walked inside. "I've been hearing quite the gossip about you for a couple of others. Something about a hotel and a woman named Anna?" Then she smiled. "Is she someone special in your life, Alastor? Did you actually meet "the one" you've always been talking about?"

"Yes, she is. And you got a grandson as well." Alastor smiled. Her eyes widened before she screamed happily.

"I'm a grandmother!?!"

"His name is Aiden. Maybe you'll get to see him someday." He told her.