#and the fence is just chain link but its lined with trees so it feels private

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The House Guest 7

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Bucky Barnes

Summary: an old acquaintance calls in a favour, leaving you with an unexpected house guest.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You’re always wiped out after an episode. After the late-night paralysis, you don’t get much sleep. Your adrenaline dissipates but only leaves you tossing and turning. You surrender to the day as it softly rises through your window. 

The mornings don’t come with bright sunshine this time of year. Instead, the gray horizon gets a bit paler. Your head feels just as dull as you emerge from your room, dragging your feet in your well-worn slippers as you rub your eyes. 

You yawn as you walk blindly into the kitchen. You go through the automatic steps of brewing your coffee. Last night was strange. And then the open door-- 

Shoot. You almost forgot. As if he can sense the very thought of him, Bucky appears through the doorway. He pushes back his floppy hair and your eyes catch on his bulging bicep. The ripped tank top is stretched around his burly middle and he wears a loose pair of boxers. He’s entirely shameless. 

“Coffee?” He growls. 

You nod, “yep.” Your own voice is coarse and dry. You clear it and cross your arms as you lower your chin. You’re not wearing a bra and the morning chill makes that obvious. You shiver and sway as you wait for the drip to finish. 

“Mm, you sleep okay?” He asks. 

You wince and shrug. “You know, fine.” 

“Fine,” he echoes. “You seem pretty freaked out.” 

“You remember...” you rub your neck, your other arm still across your chest. “I get sleep paralysis. Really, it’s nothing.” 

“Oh, shit, scary stuff.” He comments. 

“Mhm, can be. But really, I’m good. It happens.”  

You step forward and open the cupboard. You take down a mug, then a second as you peek over at him. He nods in silent gratitude. You close the door and back up. 

“Think I’m going to have my coffee outside. Check on the bird feeder,” you say. 

“Right...” he says, sniffing as he lingers behind you. “If I’m crowding you, you can just say so.” 

“I will,” you assure him.  

You pour your coffee and slip past him. It’s as if he makes no move to let you despite his previous sentiment. You stop by your room to get your robe and continue on through the back door. 

The crisp air makes the steam of your coffee visible as you come down the steps. The yard is spacious and a low fence lines the barrier before the thicket of trees. You cross the grass, blowing over the cup as you near the hanging bird feeder. It’s empty and crooked on the chain. Damn squirrels. Could be the raccoons too. 

You set your coffee down on the old wooden stool and return to the feeder. You focus on fixing it. You finally get it straight and go into the shed to grab the bag of seed. You set it at your feet and scoop out a healthy helping to dump through the roof of the feeder. 

There’s a rustle in the trees and strange friction. You ignore it, assuming it’s nothing more than the wind. You really need a new feeder, this thing is going to tip again.  

The chain link rattles and you pay no attention to it. The cold seeps up your robe and there’s a sudden thump and groan from the other end of the yard. You look over, expecting a raccoon, but find worse. 

A black bear rolls around, trying to find its footing, and you can’t help the scream that erupts from you. You scramble away from the feeder, the sack of seed spilling over as that you just replenished does the same. As you turn toward the house, the back door opens. 

Bucky is still in only his tank top and boxers. It doesn’t stop him as he rushes out. “What’s going--” 

The bear lets out a growl and you hurry towards the house, “get inside!” 

He doesn’t listen. As you reach him, he puts his arm behind you and urges you on, “lock the door.” 

“Bucky, you can’t--” 

“This thing’s gonna be at the backdoor all day if I don’t,” he snarls. 

“Bucky--” 

“I said get inside,” he rolls his shoulders and snaps his metal arm with a flex. 

You don’t have the courage to refuse. It’s not just the bear’s growling, but his. He’s blunt and a bit monotone, but that lilt in his voice is dangerous. 

You go inside and close the door. You hurry into the bedroom and look through the window as you hear Bucky shouting. You see him waving his arms at the bear, then stretching them out as if he’s about to grapple the beast. 

“Hey, go! Get!” He tries to herd the bear along the fence, “Get outta here!” 

You watch wide-eyed. He’s going to get himself killed. He grabs a log of split wood from against the shed and hurls it at the bear. It hardly flinches as it roars and charges him. You cry out as Bucky barely dodges out of the way. 

He’s fast. Faster than you’ve ever seen someone move, yet it all moves in slow motion. They chase each other around. Bucky trying to lure the creature back into the bush and the bear swiping and charging. 

When they clash, you hit the window. Shit. He’s a maniac! 

You rush back out, not think and burst out the back door. Neither notice you as they have each other in a death lock. Bucky has his arm around the bear’s thick neck and the bear claws at his torso.  

You take the feeder poll and pull it from the ground. You swing without hesitation and hit the bear in the snout and it roars. Bucky throws his weight back and both of them fall onto the ground. The roll together in a cluster of man and bear. 

You strike again. This time you hit the bear’s paw as it swipes at Bucky, then its shoulder. Again and again. 

“I said... get... inside,” Bucky grits through thick breaths. 

“You’re going to get killed.” 

“I’ve faced worse,” he sneers and brings his metal fist down on the bear’s head. 

The bear yipes and unlatches from the man. He rolls over, wobbling on his furry legs, and bounds for the fence. He runs through it, bending the poles as he plunges back into the wilds.  

You grip the feeder, the house ruined and the metal pole warped. You bend over to catch your breath as Bucky gets to his feet. He clucks and turns to stare out into the forest. 

“You should have a bigger fence.”  

“Gee, thanks,” you stand straight. 

“You’re welcome,” he says. You glance at him. He’s almost smirking. You shake your head as he faces you. “Told you I could handle it.” 

“You think,” your eyes skim down to the dark stain forming across his tanks top. The fabric is shredded along with his side. 

“Paper cut,” he looks down. 

“Are you serious? I’m calling an ambulance,” you toss the pole and turn to head inside. He catches your arm before you can leave. 

“I don’t need it.” 

“You’re bleeding all over,” you avoid looking at the gashes again. The claw marks make your nauseous. 

“Listen, doll, I had my arm torn off my body. I can handle it. I need towels and rubbing alcohol. Oh, and beer.” 

You stare him in the face, too scared to look anywhere else. His grip keeps you locked in place. You shudder and heave a breath. 

“Fine, but don’t get blood all over my floors.” 

“How compassionate,” he lets you go and puts his hand to his side. “We both know an ambulance would take too long up here.” 

You nod and turn back to the house again. You offer no argument;0 you don’t have one. Even if he is being stupidly stubborn, he’s right. It would take at least an hour to even hear the sirens. 

[two-calicos-in-a-trenchcoat]

My moms gonna hear back by noon if they've accepted our offer

Im fuckin nervous man

The house itself is kinda small but that backyard makes it fucking worth it

!!!!!!!!

The house!!!!! Has pawpaw trees!!!!! In the back yard!!!!!!!!!

[f1nalboys]

Crack In The Window - Bo Sinclair

Teenage!Bo Sinclair

WORD COUNT: 2306

WARNINGS: none really! split timeline (beginning and end is current bo, middle is teenage bo), reader lived in ambrose with bo when they were younger, gn!reader but no explicit romance! honestly like childhood crush type shit, bo remembers the reader and is haunted by them. angst due to regrets, proofread but its me so...

It’s night time in Ambrose, mid-September, 1994, and Bo is sitting in the bed of his truck, lit cigarette in his hand. He takes a drag, closing his eyes and focusing on the feeling of the smoke filling his lungs, the warmth filling his body, relaxing it, before he slowly exhales. His eyes open as he does so, watching the way the smoke drifts up into the night sky, illuminated by the porch light behind him. For a split second it takes a shape in front of him, a familiar one, a comforting one, and as he feels his free hand twitch at his side, the urge to reach forward and pull it closer to him almost painful, the shape is gone. It’s just smoke and then it’s nothing, gone into the autumn air. 

He finishes the cigarette this time, attempting to recreate the shape, to see if it was just a fluke. It ‘s just smoke. Bo frowns, stamping the cigarette out onto the side of the truck, a small pile of ash there from his previous three cigarettes. It was nights like these, sticky and warm but a cool breeze that came lugging by occasionally, that were hard for him. The town was empty. It had been for a while, almost nine years now, but the ghosts of his past remained. 

The stepping stones out behind the church, tiny painted handprints and scrawled names, cracked and weathered, remind him of his childhood and those who used to live here too. The old woman peeking at him from the green house down the road reminds him of Mrs. Halloway, his grumpy old neighbor who, for some reason he can’t remember, had a soft spot for Bo. The chip in the yellow house's second floor window reminds him of you. 

Bo swallows thickly, feeling like he’s choking for just a moment before it passes. He scoots out of the bed of the truck, shoving his hands into his hoodie pocket, gravel crunching under his feet. They carry him without permission and he knows where he’s heading because it’s where he always went on these nights. The yellow house is tucked away near the forest's edge, once bright paint now dull with age. There’s a small treehouse in the backyard, wood now rotted away, half about to collapse, and Bo stands on the fence line, staring at it. His eyes flick upwards towards that cracked window. To your window.

He thinks of you in passing most days, but when he sees that chip in the glass he can almost smell you, can almost feel you beside him, can almost hear your laugh. He sighs, leaning back against the chain link fence. He wishes he had another cigarette with him. Instead, he closes his eyes and breathes in deeply and thinks of you.

-----

It’s night time in Ambrose, mid-September, 1985, and Bo is sitting in your tree house, lit cigarette in hand. You were sitting across from him, legs crossed and hands in your lap, watching as he took a drag before coughing. You giggle, holding your hand out to him and he passes it to you, fingertips brushing against your own. “Careful,” He says, leaning his head back against the wood as he watches you. “It’s strong.”

You roll your eyes and tentatively wrap your lips around the cigarette, breathing in before immediately coughing, eyes burning. He laughs, amused, before reaching over and plucking it from you. “Why do you like that?” You ask hoarsely, taking a large gulp from your water bottle. He shrugs, taking another drag before stamping it out beside him. There were a plethora of cigarette marks on the wood where Bo always sat, each one indicating a time he had come over for an escape. 

“Calms me down,” He says simply, looking out of the treehouse back towards his house. All of the lights were off, no one sat up waiting for him. He could return safely now but then he looks over at you and sees the kind smile you’re offering him and realizes he doesn’t want to go just yet. Bo settles back into his spot. “So, you wanted to talk?”

“Yeah…”

“Well now I’m scared,” Bo teases, an easy smile on his face. You try your best to match his expression but whether it fails or Bo is just that good at reading you you’re not sure. All you know is that his eyebrows are stitching together and he’s staring at you. “What’s wrong?” He tries to keep his voice level, uninterested, but you knew better.

“My parents are making us leave town.” Bo says nothing. You stare at the sixteen year old in front of you, one of the only people you cared about in this town, and you try to figure out what he’s thinking. That was always the tough part about Bo; you never knew how he felt until he blew up. “I don’t want to, but there’s nothing I can do. I tried to convince them to stay but since the sugar mill closed…”

Bo shakes his head. “Fuckin’ so? They could stay like my folks are.” He’s no longer looking at you, eyes trained on the fresh scorch mark on the wood beside his thigh. He’s angry. He’s so angry and he doesn’t know why he's so angry with you in particular; Bo knows better than anyone that what parents said goes. He swallows thickly. “Whatever. I don’t give a shit anyways.”

Sighing, you lean forward, hand reaching out to grab his own, and Bo pulls back like you were on fire the second your fingertips brush across his skin. You jump slightly, pulling away yourself. You were one of the only people in Ambrose - hell, the world - that he had allowed to hold his hand before, always tucked away safely in the treehouse. “Bo-”

“Shut the hell up.” He spits, standing up and, without throwing you another look, leaving the treehouse. You catch a glimpse of his face as he turns around to leave down the ladder and swear that his cheeks glistened with tears. Bo jumps off of the third rung and hits the ground with a start, sprinting off back towards his house. When he gets there he keeps going, past the house, into the woods, not stopping until his feet hit the water of the creek. 

He drops to his knees, winded, sucking in harsh breaths with his heartbeat loud in his ears. His pants were torn where he had gotten caught by some of the underbrush, thin lines of blood popping up on his flesh and soaking into the dark fabric. His palms stung from the rocks underneath him but the cool water soothed them. He closes his eyes, ignoring the embarrassment and regret of how he just acted in favor of calming his heart. He focuses on the water running over his fingers.

When he opens his eyes again he’s breathing okay again, his head back inside his body. He was no longer watching himself from above, a sick observer in the sky watching his own pain for pleasure. Bo knew he was wrong to be blaming you. He knew you didn’t want to leave but a small part of him that clung to his heart like a virus told him that you were glad to be going. That you were glad to be leaving this stupid fucking town and that you were glad to be leaving Bo in the dust.

He remembers a time a few years ago where you and he had talked about what you wanted to do when you grew older. You had said you wanted to leave Ambrose at 18, Bo in hand, and head off to the big city. “Which one?” He had asked you and you had shrugged, grinning as you sipped at the lemonade you had made for the two of you. “Doesn’t matter as long as you’re with me.” Is what you responded with and Bo had flushed bright red, tilting his head so a strand of hair covered his face. 

He had kissed you on the cheek when he said goodbye that night and had scurried out of the treehouse quicker than you had ever seen him do so. Neither of you brought the kiss back up but that night the both of you fell asleep with smiles on your faces.

And now you are leaving. Hit by a sudden wave of anger, Bo lifts his hand out of the creek, balling it into a fist, before punching the ground. A ripple of pain shoots up his hand and arm and Bo whimpers, cradling his hand against his chest. It wasn’t broken, he had done that enough times to be able to tell, but fuck it hurt. He stands now, knuckles throbbing, and picks up a handful of rocks, shoving them in his pockets. 

When he gets back to your house, you’re not in the treehouse anymore. All of the lights in your house are turned off and he settles underneath your window, grabbing a few of the rocks out of his pocket. He had done this dozens of times before. He’d do something that was wrong and he’d come back hours later and throw small stones at your window until you opened it, which was when he’d give you a whispered apology and you’d forgive him because you loved him, both as your friend and maybe something more. 

The first two rocks hit the window with a clang, and he pauses for a moment in between each one, waiting for the sound of your window sliding up. The third one hits the corner of your window and Bo’s stomach does a flip at the small ‘crunch’ sound. Though it’s dark outside, he can see the chip in the window the rock had caused, the thin crack that reached halfway up your window.

The window opens.

“Bo, what the hell?” You whisper, shoving your head through the window. You were in your pajamas and angry and Bo thought you looked beautiful like this. “Why did you just break my window? They’ll be pissed.”

“I ain’t mean to!” He whisper-shouts, looking at the window to your left. That was your parents bedroom and while he knew they wouldn’t tell his parents what he had done (they had caught him doing this exact thing just as many times as he did it) but he still didn’t want to wake them up. “I wanted to say sorry.”

“Well…I’m waiting.”

He grins softly, despite himself, before nodding. “I just… I don’t want you to leave. I’m mad that you have to and that we can’t run off together like we had planned to and I’m mad that you are gonna be gone and I’m mad that I’m gonna be alone.” It’s word vomit at this point but Bo knows you’ll wait patiently for him to finish, that you’ll be able to understand him regardless of where his tangent goes. “I’m sorry for actin’ like an ass. I… I don’t want you to leave.” Bo reiterates, his voice sadder now, and you frown.

“I don’t want to leave either, Bo. I can try to convince them to stay but they won’t. You won’t be stuck here, at least.” You say with a soft, reassuring smile. “I mean, after we leave it’ll just be y’all. Your parents can’t stay in the town forever.”

Bo nods. He knows you’re wrong but you don’t know you are and if he keeps his eyes on you he can almost pretend that he’d be able to pack his bag and head somewhere new. “You forgive me?” He asks and you pretend to think, finger tapping on your chin, before nodding. “Good. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“You know it, Bo. Goodnight.”

“Night, Y/N. Sorry about your window.”

-------

Bo’s eyes flutter open. You moved a week and a half later. He stayed glued to your side that entire time, helping you pack, helping you clean and organize, helping your parents. When he said goodbye to you in front of your parents car, he didn’t speak. If he had tried, he knew that the tears he had been able to hide so well would start to flow, flooding the town, drowning him and you and keeping you trapped here with him. 

“Shit,” He mutters under his breath, taking one last look at the chip in your window before turning on his heel and walking back to his house. Your parents had been pissed at the damage but hadn’t said a word about it. It never got fixed. He’s sure if he walked into your house and up the stairs he’d find it exactly the same as it had been when you left, years of dust settling across the surface of everything. 

As his feet hit the gravel of his driveway, he thinks about how you had told him to write to you when he finally moved, giving your address on a ripped piece of lined paper. It was still tucked under his pillow, folded three times neatly. He never left. He never wrote to you. 

As Bo gets to his house and walks in, getting ready for bed, he imagines himself with you in your empty bedroom, sitting in your closet. He can see the painted handprint you both had made on your last night home, done in each other's favorite colors, names signed underneath in pen. He can hear your laughter when Bo had forgotten about the paint on his hand and had wiped at his nose, smearing color across his pale skin. He can remember your squeal when he had smeared some of the paint onto you as well.

He remembers you as he settles into bed, hand under his pillow, your address tucked in between his fingers.

[godsofsummer]

dude, i love your art so much,,, so much that I'm gonna ramble in your inbox for a sec

so my favorite place in the whole world is about a mile hike through a river and into the woods (from my parent's house), and its just these old maintenance roads for the huge power line towers down by the highway. and like. it feels like youre completely alone. like no one can hear you. if you wanted to you could scream as loud as possible and no one would hear, but i always just sit in silence and listen to the buzzing of the electricity. the sunny days are pretty and all, but the foggy days are my favorite bc of the way the evergreen trees fade into the distance.

ANYWAY i wanted to say your art feels like that. like standing in the freezing knee deep river with the highway and the power lines towering above you on a foggy day. it also feels like the sound a chain link fence makes when you grab it. and how gasoline smells when it stains old clothes. those vibes

it fills me with such a sense of home, so thank you for posting it :] you're definitely one of my favorite artists!!!!

omg what a cool description, thank you !! i'm glad that my art can cause such a specific feeling :) i also like sitting under powerlines but the ones in my town aren't in as nice of a location like the one that you're describing haha… thanks for sharing, i appreciate it :)

[ramblesofajester]

whispers of a witch (chap1/?

this is just a self indulgent fic for me to write when I feel like shit and yes it will have nsfw

info: they/them, curvy body, glasses, anxiety.

The cool wind sweep past your cheek as you squat down, fingers numbing and turning blue from the constant foraging across the forest floor to fine the herbs you require, its late winter and you have just run out of several herbs you use quite frequently for personal use and when healing the villagers. of course as always there is a catch when you need to get something done. one, you where delivering a baby a good portion of the day, then doing your normal round with the villagers, so soon night is to fall, two the Lycians have been testing there luck with the village borders as of resent, three the only place those herbs are left growing are near Heisenberg's land due to you harvesting all the more accessible ones previously. and just to top it all of duke wouldn't be able to gather a shipment until the next new moon, that being two weeks away so here you are right before dusk cut plants with frozen fingers outside of a missive chain-link fence in the middle of the woods. Gazing around, you are in a small clearing, the village is about a mile, mile and a half to the south west of here. the factory's smoke stacks just visible over the tree line. Sighing you focus on the task at hand, slowly griping the base of the plant you say thanks to the earth and pull it up root and all, listening to the birds as there song slowly drifted thru the trees. standing up you, make your way over to the next bushel of plants emerging from the thin coat of snow. suddenly all the brides stop singing setting off of several alarms in your brain knowing its wasn't you who disturbed them wiping around, franticly looking you hear and see movement all around you just out of sight in the brush you cant tell what it is. assuming it to be Lycians or and angry bear or even a stray ghoul from the castle grounds. garbing the dagger from your boot you crouch down to an defensive position slowly making your way toward the path you came from. as you take a step back slowly a few Lycian emerge from the tree line teeth bared eyes holding a burning hunger. a soft gasp leaves your lips if there are this many you know more are soon to follow

"well shit, I couldn't just go and have an easy day now could I?" you ask the Lycians sarcastically not really expecting a reply. a deep chuckle caught you off guard and in your shock you hear the swift shifting of metal. the feeling of cold steel on your ankle stealing your attention from the fast change of gravity as you are hoisted into the air, dangling like a prized fish. attempting to regain your bearings. you look around seeing the Lycian pack now completely surrounding you.

"well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in," standing clear in the path arm outstretched to hold the chain around you feet taking a step further with every word.

"a lost little bunny, who is hoping around where they should not be..." he says in a little tune with mirth in his step. finally stopping right in front of you raising you so your face is level with his shoulders you reach out attempting to swipe at him with you dagger, as soon as you weapon is revealed is ripped from your grasp and now spinning around you and the lord. a large gloved hand grips your face forcing you to look at lord Heisenberg.

"now I cant tell if that was stupidity, or bravery little bunny but I'm guessing you dont know who I am." he speaks with amusement as he examines your face and, forces you to look at him. you stop squirming long enough to stare at the round shades perched on his nose. this being the first time you have seen the lord this close ,its usually only in passing or from the shadows as to not be noticed, but now you have to admit the stubble and scars, the cocky smile, the smell of oil, pine, smoke, and Tabaco is actually not that bad.

"No I know who you are, just really dont care cause I'm a little busy" you immediately wiggle from his grasp and start reaching for the chain around your ankles. a boisterous laughter is released from behind you and suddenly your falling about a meter, back connecting with the ground a large "oof" emanating from you. Rushing to get the chain from around you ankles it fly from your hands. jumping to your feet you face Heisenberg head held high

"oh... you do know me, so it must be stupidity, that must explain why your on my land as well" Heisenberg ponders aloud." so you must either be lost or have a death wish" he says with a chuckle

"nope not lost, just need some of the herbs here and if you live in this village and haven't runaway or offed yourself you have a death wish" you reply flatly brushing the dirt of of yourself as you stand to gather your things. "now" you say turning back to him "my dragger if you'd please" extending you hand cautiously with and expectants look.

"wow, you've got some balls on you" puffing on his cigar "you better watch that attituded bunny" you are suddenly painfully aware of the small pack of hunger Lycian circling you both "and remember who the man in control is" hand still outstretched you snap back with

"listen hear 'lord Heisenbitch' I am sorry for trespassing on you land but I need 7 different herbs and at least 5oz of each, I need them before tomorrow evening, some of them for mother Miranda, as well as a women who just gave birth in the village. Now unless you wish to explain to Miranda why her healer is missing, and her people dead due to illnesses I would like my dagger back and you and your fine fuzzy companions to kindly fuck of." you knew your words where dangerous but at this point in the evening you really didn't give a fling fuck and the shock on Heisenberg's face when he recognizes you almost made it worth it.

"Wait your Miranda's prized witch, oh man this is great, how have you lasted so long, your so small bunny" this just pissed you off more you want your dagger back but he's just so infuriating. your dont have time for this

"Fine, just keep the dagger" you say shoving past him. Growling at the Lycians blocking the path they stay there ground and growl back, only to glance behind you whimper, and slowly back away clearing the path. A chain roughly wraps around you waist spinning you around and pulling you flush against Heisenberg before returning to his trench coat pocket. blowing his smoke in your face he drawls

"wow wow wow, slow you roll peter cotton tail I ain't being stingy, I just wanna talk a little" as he says this he wraps his arm around you waist slipping your dagger back into its sheath leaving his hand to rest on the dip of your hip, the other griping your chin forcing you to look up at him

"Let. Me. Go!" you hiss out never braking your gaze of his glasses

"now what would Miranda think of this, her pet of the leash, not respecting or listening to your lord" he teases not lessening his grip at all

"I dont give a scraggly rats ass, just let me go you bastard!" you spit at him, resaving a chuckle as a reply .

"ohhh I like you bunny, you've got fight not a lot of that left hear any more. but I need something from you darling, so we are gonna take a little walk back to your place, your gonna help me, then ill help you with your little situation how does that sound there bunny?" spinning you around arm still securely on your waist, he starts to walk still puffing on his cigar, quickly you realize you have no choice in the matter. the Lycians slow start to follow you keeping there distance at about 3 meters back this continues for a wile and it might have even been pleasant having company for once on the walk, you if you ignore the hungry Lycians and the fear Heisenberg will get angry or be done with his little game. slowly the forest edge and the village come in to the distances well as a small well worn foot path leading into a thick pine forest near the base of the Benevento valley

"so bunny, which way is it" Heisenberg ask moving his arm up to rest on your shoulders using the other to jester at the path ways.

"This way" you mumble out, gesturing to the pine foot path. now moving forward on you own accord tiered of being user around like a lost child. you dont make it very far seeing as soon as you start to move away he tightens his grip

"ohh come on bunny, no need to get cold feet. your getting something good out of this too, you just chill a little there thumper" he says smirk never leaving his face.

"well it sure as hell dont feel like it, this feels more like a kidnaping only we are headed to my own dwelling" you watch as the pine trees grow thicker with every passing second drawing closer to your burrow. soon a large moon gate covered in rosemary and lavender comes into a view just beyond it several greenhouses small and large soft light emanating from a few

"Now hold up thumper if you have all of these, what were you doing traipsing around by my factory? you weren't trying to get my attention were you?" he jabs at you obviously trying to get a rise out of you.

"What I was looking for I do not grow because it is local and I had a store of some, but it a since been exhausted, lots of sick ones this season." you replied tiredly seeing as dusk has passed a wile ago and you had been called out well before day brake. now you where just too tired to deal with his shenanigans. continuing forward you approach the door and tap the center of the door with the old iron key handing from your neck three times then you insert it into the keyhole and twist it three times to the right and it slowly creeks open. rushing forwards in an attempt to put some distance between the two of you you start to tend to the fire stroking the coals and adding a few logs. while your bussing your self Heisenberg makes himself at home pulling out a chair and throwing his feet on top of the table and popping a new cigar between his lips . Turning to grab your tea pot you see this unfold waltzing over to him and slapping his feet of the table

"That is mahogany" as you say this he goes to protest " no 'lord' Heisenberg you in my domain now no feet on the table" you snatch the cigar from between his lip and toss it into the fireplace "and no smoking in the main room."

"alright, alright," he says holding his arms in the air "one you could have just put it out and handed it back thumper, and second of all watch who your talking to darlin" to this you quickly respond with

"Still dont care" he gives you grunt as a response

"third of all I still have yet to disclose the nature of my visit I need you to look at something for me" and with that he stands up his chest now centimeters from your nose he reaches for his hat and sunglasses setting them on the table, tossing his trench coat on to the chair. your face quickly turning a shade of red dark enough to rival the radishes out in garden as you realize just what he is doing. pulling of his shirt with a wince. Holding his shirt in his hands, you try not to make your gaze obvious, he slowly turns to reveal a large, deep laceration very poorly bandages and clearly in the throes of a terrible infection. you immediately push all other thoughts aside concern taking its place, you recognized this wound, you where present when he resaved it .

flashback

"you stupid man child, you know nothing you should just leave the talking to the adults like a good little boy"

"shut your dame hole you bitch"

they have been going at it for 37 minutes and counting Alcina said something Karl disagrees and so the back and forth begins about 5 minutes ago Karl brought out his hammer and been waving it out in the open. tensions have been rising and your a little worried it is about to get violent. Anggie who had been watching the argument from you lap starts to vibrate with joy sensing the approaching violence.

"ooooooooohhh its aaboutttttt tooo get goooooodddddd!!!" she sings while hoping off your lap to sit closer on donnas lap seeing as you are perched by the back wall behind Miranda. and just as you both had predicted disaster struck.

"you insolent fool." Alcina suddenly cry's, swiping her hand forward as Karl turns his back to her slashing from shoulder to hip. you immediately rush forward, only to be stopped by mother Miranda holding her arm in your path.

"ENOUGH, stop the foolishness NOW!" Miranda's voice ringing out clear through the entire hall "Heisenberg my son, stand," she demands. he slowly makes his way to his feet now facing mother Miranda "your actions have been stupid and reckless as punishment, I shall leave you with this burden to care for. maybe it will teach you how much effort it takes heal rather than destroy. and what if feels like to live with ones mistakes." you hand covers your mouth as you bite your tongue. you may not like Karl that much but he still is not as bad as they say.

end scene

"BY THE GODS, how has this not healed yet!? have you been rubbing dirt in it? I knew this was a stupid lesson. I knew I should have gone against that two faced, false goddess, pretensive ass, bitch and marched my happy ass to that factor. THAT WAS TWO WEEKS AGO, this should have been gone ages ago!!!" you shout while carefully examining the laceration. quickly you pull out the char he was previously siting on out, so he could sit on it with his back to the fire and lean on the back of the chair. grabbing Heisenberg's shoulders you gently shove him into the chair. rushing around you grab several herbs hanging from the ceiling in bundles. then over to the counter you produce a mortar and pestle along with several oils and extracts

"woooow, thumper slow down, slow down," he chides calmly garbing your shoulders, your arms still packed full of items. slowly he starts to set the items on the table. "now I didn't rub dirt in it, but there might be some oil, its not healed because I have no idea how to treat a wound this large. and what's this about Miranda being a bitch and ignoring orders?" as he says this you realized just how bad you have fucked up.

"OH MY GODS, I didn't mean a word of it lord Heisenberg I meant no disrespect please I am so sorry dont tell mother Miran-" you franticly bow keeping your eyes to the floor hoping he would ether spare you make you death quick. while he clearly doesn't like Miranda or her family he was still a part of it.

"hay hay hay thumper calm down your alright. I'm not gonna go all psycho on you, and your secret is safe with me, your not the only one with unsavory views on that bitch Miranda." your slowly look up at him in shock it is widely know that he disagree with the other lords but this is a first. you gingerly make your way over to the table and start to mix together several herbs and flowers. "and thumper just call me Karl" he says with a flirtatious grin, you blush but grinding the herbs into a powder

"only if you stop calling me thumper." slowly adding some drops of oils to the mixture making a thick green salve.

"well I gotta have something to call you bunny" he say grin stretching across his face as you blush even more now

"well my name is (Y/N) ok, now stop" you say while puffing up you cheek in a pout. rushing behind him so he can no longer see your face and you can apply the salve" this is going to sting" not give him tome to proses any thing you said you rip off the bandages and start to carefully apply the salve. a shout bubbles up in his throat the second the salve touches his shoulder

"SON OF A Bitch..." he snarls" maybe a little more warning next time y/n" as soon as he growls out your name you short circuit you hand no simply resting next to his wound "y/n... y/n" he waits a couple of seconds before trying again. "y/n!" jumping a little you come back to reality " you all good back there" Karl questions

"almost done just need to finish this up, then I will apply bandages, and all you need to do is rest for a day or two" as you Finnish saying this you reach for he bandages and gently begin to properly wrap the wound "this is how you properly wrap a wound Karl" you make sure to say first his name. "go all the way around and over and around the shoulder" slowly and carefully placing the bandages showing him the movements and positions. you move around to the front of lightly wrapping his shoulder "dont go to tight when bandaging joints, it increases mobility but not lose enough to move" as you speak solely focused on you task at hand you dont see Karl staring at your face, a look of adoration on his face which he is quick to drop once you turn to him. gently patting his shoulder "now all you need is a lot of rest and a hot meal" smiling you slowly make your way over to the fire removing the teapot and hanging a medium sized cauldron over the fire. turning kettle in hand you see Karl putting on his hat and going to pull his coat on having already put his shirt on

"well thumper its been wonderful but I have to get back to my-" you cut him off taking his coat and hanging it by the door.

"oh no you don't, you need rest and real food, and not to make any assumptions but I doubt you'll get any of those in your factory" as you say this you put the chair back in its normal position swiftly going to a small spare room on the side. grabbing a thick blanket you walk to the table, and drape it over the back of the chair. patting it flat you open your arms and jester to the chair "now please have a seat food will be done shortly" you say with a smile as he just stand there slack jawed at you attempting to boss him around. slowly he take a seat and just watches as you prepare a cup of tea for you both "hear this should help with the pain" you say handing him a large mug that still looked too small in his hand. you turn and head back to the counter and start dicing us vegetables and some fish to put the cauldron.

"thank you" he mumbles quietly watching you dance about the kitchen a soft smile on his face. "so what's your story? you obviously dont like Miranda so why stay and be her little pet healer on her beck and call." Karl jests wanting to know more about you now that he has the chance with out his stupid family there

"well a long time ago I has someone I had to look out for, they needed help I could not provide it, Miranda could. So I made a deal, help her, and ill do as wish. So I comply to keep her safe and happy, if it went for her, I would have sent that false deity to her flaming grave decades ago." you finished cutting the veggies and meat depositing it in the pot, you make your way opposite of Karl at the table and take a seat. slowly sipping your tea. "now I just tend to the villagers for Miranda and visit my belladonna"

"wait who is belladonna" he askes a look of confusion overtaking his features

"my apologies, I mean donna, before Miranda adopted her and gave her her gift she was a sad and lonely child with parents too ill to save, so after her parents passing, I watched over her and loved her as my own" you say a soft smile on your face looking around the room I was the only one she let touch Anggie, she was such a kind child asking so many questions behind closed doors and always eager to learn new skills" you reminisce the old days setting your now empty cup on the table. "but now she's grown and well, and happy, so that is all that matters" you say curtly standing and heading over the the bubbling pot of stew and giving it a stir.

"so wait your telling me you the witch who raised Benevento," Karl spouts astonishment clear in his voice. "One how are you not dead yet? Two that's why you spend so much time in that spooky ass house, and three how come you aren't an old hag you dont look a day over 25?" even in shock this man some how still manages to throw in a flirt. you give a small chuckle.

"well when I struck my deal with Miranda," you make you way over to a tall cabinet and withdraw two wooden bowls and a large ladle ." donna was just become a young adult, so she new what excepting Miranda's gift would entitle, including the prolonged life." returning to the stew and scooping a hefty serving into Karl's bowl and only filling your half way. "after her parents suicided she couldn't handle the loss another parental figure, her words not mine, she refused the treatment unless Miranda changed me as well." hanging the ladle on the wall and carefully turning back to Karl and making your way to him. "I had already had my go at life and helped as many as I could so I agreed not expecting to come out alive," you say calmly sitting down in the seat acres from Karl. "unfortunately my will was to strong so hear I am now, a fail experiment serving out my end of the deal" you give a sarcastic smile and do a little jazz hands as your story comes to a close. Karl is still for moment then burst into a deep laughter, but still alarmed at your willingness to except death.

"I'm sorry bunny I dont mean to be insensitive," he attempts to suppress his chuckles. "you are really the one that raised donna?"

"yes I am I know its a little hard to believe, but yes." you say solemnly feeling a little weird everyone who knew you too be donnas nanny have long since passed.

"no no no, there ain't nothing wrong with that darlin! In fact you did fucking awesome, out of all of us monsters she has the best manners and turned out the best." he says in a panicked tone, afraid he has said something wrong.

"Karl none of you are monsters, and your ok you didn't say anything wrong" you say quickly adding " none of you are monsters! you and the other were forced into the experiments, unlike donna and I. your only a monster when you subject an enter village to a false religion just to slaughter them for her experiments under the name of a sick false family she has not love for!" you say venom and hate for that hag dripping from each word. a stern but caring look on your face as you look rights in his eyes as you say this "you aren't a monster. you where a kid with out a choice, and now you are a man surviving and your doing amazing in your situation." you cautiously grab his hand resting in the table " you are not a monster no mater who has told you that including your self" He pulls back lightly but does not remove your hand from his., allowing you to rub his knuckles.

"but I-" he starts but you dont let him continue

"nope you cant convince me other wise, I'm the village crazy witch I am all knowing and wise." you say in a cherry tone, garbing his hand with both of yours. using one to tap out a small tune on the back of his hand. that nice deep laughter made an appearance again you have to admit its nice to hear him laugh instead of ague with everyone.

"well dame bunny, can't argue with that logic now can I " A large toothy grin takes over his face little crinkles show at the corners of his eyes. shaking his head he gives a chuckle then picks up the bowl of stew and finishing what was left in the bowl in a few gulps. setting the bowl down he asks "shit that hit the spot, can I just take you home with me and have you cook for me every night that some dame good stew" he jokes. laughing a little you finish your bowl, garbing his you stand and bring them to a bucket at the end of the sink.

"no I cant come home with you every day" rinsing the plates before setting them in the bucket you continue. "but you can come over when ever the lantern on the porch is light, if its not I am either in the village with a patient, or visiting donna or Miranda, or foraging. I am a busy witch Karl, just a warning." he chuckles

"ill make a note of that expect me often that shits good." he says pointing at the pot hanging over the small flames.

"well in that case ill put some in jars so you can take it with you when you leave tomorrow" you say off handedly while making your way over to the pot fishing the leftovers out, and putting it in two large mason jars. out of the corner of your eye you see him deflate a little when you when you mention his departure tomorrow. moving over to a wall of cupboard you store the two jars "to night you can take my bed or the cot in the guest room, though I dont know if you'll fit" you say walking over to said door and opening it reveling a small room with a vanity in the back left corner to the left of the door was a small sink and counter with a basin next to it. opposite to that was a small cabinet and in the back right corner a small wooden cot about half the side of the man now standing directly behind you in the doorway. so close, when he took a deep breath you could feel his shirt brush your, and his warm breath fans across your neck. now with bright red face you make you hastily make you way to the cabinet to the right of the door and start to grab a large quilt and a pillow or two. Karl enters the room looking around taking in the new environment and casually making his way over to the cot and taking a seat. you head over to him staring at the blanket hoping that he would not see your face

"thank you, y/n you really could've just sent my packing I really appreciate it I do" he says with a soft smile resting on his scared face, 'it suites him,' you think to your self 'he should smile more.'

"well hear you go this should be think enough it gets pretty chilly in hear and I haven't fixed the heater yet so if you need more there are some in the cabinet you say gesturing to the cabinet with your head. holding the blanket and pillow out for him to take he reaches hands grazing against yours as he takes them from your hands pulling them closer"

"thanks bunny I re-" he is abruptly cut short by a sharp wine of wood under duress followed quickly by a loud snap of the cot braking a the loud thud of Karl's ass hitting the floor. "OH FUCK" Karl was now the one looking up at you. slapping a hand over your mouth to suppress the laughter about to burst from you.

"OH by the gods, are you ok" you say still trying to hold back the onslaught of giggles offering a hand for him to take

"so this is what the weather is like down here" he says jokingly as you hoist him off the ground carful of his shoulder and back. gently slapping his chest

"I'm only a little shorter than you, ya know" you say "but in light of me needing to purchase a new cot from duke, I guess you'll be sleeping in my bed tonight." he gives you a flirty look

"dame thumper if you wanted me in your bed that bad all you had to do was ask not buries my ass first" he says with a deep chuckle.

"I am not tying to get you in my bed" you say panicked face exploding with red. "I wont even be in it with you, and secondly it wasn't that far of a drop so the only thing damage was you ego and my cot obviously. now come follow me please." you say now attempting to lead him out of the room. Karl looks at you as if he was trying to figure something but soon trailing behind you like a lost puppy. you lead him through the main room down a hallway with three doors heading to the furthest down you push open the heavy wooden door. letting Karl enter first you make your way to the bed garbing your favorite pillow and a thick blanket off the bed spread "well she's all yours" you say jokingly waving your arm over the bed as a invitation dont lay on your back or shoulder" you say making your way back to the door arms now full "sleep well." and with at you turn to leave only to be stopped by a hand on your shoulder.

"wait if I'm sleeping here and I just demolished your spare bed where will you be sleeping" he ask concern lacing his voice a he turn you around to face him

"well ill go clean up the old cot and then ill just use some spare blankets as a mattress for the night." you say with out a second thought.

"no no no, I will not let you do that you have done enough for me. I'll just go back to my factory and be out of your hair." your face scrunches up.

"you say that as if I am annoyed by you, but I can assure you, you do not annoy me. next I wont let you leave this hut you need to rest and I need to change those bandages as soon as you wake." you say no room for argument evident in your voice. "and if you have such an issue using my bed but I apologies its the only one, and I wont let you sleep on the floor with that wound." you with finality.

"then I guess well just have too share it. cues I will just jump through a window to go back home" he say with a laugh. you have no idea if he was joking or not. still, gazing up at his face the smirk remained "so" he asks "which will it be will you join me or and I gonna have to practice my long distance sprint." you sigh growing tired with every passing second your long day finally catching up too you. no longer having any energy to argue.

"fine" you huff out walking over to the bed where Karl was I like the right side" climbing in you take a body pillow from the back of the bed putting it in the middle " you better stay on your half of the bed old man" you say climbing back down from the bed and heading a dresser under a large window. you produce a pair of sleep thin pants and a large think white long sleeved shirt. "I need to change so ether steep out or just dont look." to tired to care at this point you look over your shoulder and see him turned away from you sitting on the left side of the bed. replacing your dirty clothe with fresh sleep pants and a oversized top. garbing a spare pair of large sleep pants and shirt before making your way back to the bed, flopping onto it comically ,while tossing the change of clothing on his side of the bed "hear you go, this should fit" he looks down at the articles of clothing.

"well thank you bunny," undoing his belt and changing his pant, completely ignoring the new shirt. "but uhhh I dont think that shirt is gonna work though" he says smirk evident in his voice.

"and why would that be-" you ask confusion clear on you face as you roll over to face him without thinking. face exploding in color as you freeze up, now staring at his bare chest brain loosing any train of thought.

"my eyes are up hear now bunny," he says with a deep chuckle "but please dont let me interrupt your staring. as for why I never sleep with one its confining" smirk never leaving his face, as he lays down on his half of the mattress. quickly you roll over

"I wasn't staring, I zoned out. Just toss the shirt on to the top of the dresser" he gives another chuckle but says nothing. pulling the thick comforter up to you chin due to the chill, reaching over you turn the knob on the lantern smothering the flame. "good night Karl sleep well" you say without a second thought closing your eyes slowly, reality fading out as you hear Karl

"goodnight thumper sleep well" a gentleness to his tone that sends the rest of the way to sleep.

word count: 5884

ps: please forgive my horrid grammar

[avasghost]

Crane Anatomy Update #2

(slightly outdated WIP intro here)

DISCLAIMER: this is my original work. please do not plagiarize in any way.

Hello!! I’m finally back with the second crane anatomy update!

first of all, this is probably going to be a very long post, so brace yourself for a lot of mindless rambling.

LOTS of things have changed since the last update, and its going much better now thankfully! what has happened:

i restarted the book

i changed the form

i got very burnt out

i stopped being burnt out (mostly) after making a verb list (fun verbs always help)

i figured out some stuff about my writing process

so there’s a lot to cover.

first!! I restarted the book!! This is obviously the biggest change that took place. I made a post about it here, when i wasn’t sure if i was going to restart yet, and then decided to go for it and now i’m about 4000 words into the new version. It’s going a lot better in most ways, the prose is better (somewhat), and so far nothing boring or unnecessary has happened so that’s nice! but also some things are worse: this version is burning me out a lot more, probably because i’m trying harder to make it good. there was a long period when i was hardly writing it at all, but i’m getting into it a bit more now so that’s good.

secondly, with the restart, i made a few form changes that i love and really benefit the story. first of all, it’s not in vignettes anymore (sigh of relief) because i realized that wasn’t working and the book didn’t need it. vignettes are kinda light and jumpy and fast paced, and at first i thought that was perfect for this book because of its lightness, but as i figured out more things about the characters and plot, i realized that even though the settings and aesthetic are quite sunny and bright, it’s actually a very inherently heavy story and the longer chapters will help that quite a lot with the lightness and yet also heaviness if that makes sense?? and also, the exciting part: every second chapter is a vignette flashback to Isobel’s old life.

for context, at the beginning of the first chapter, they arrive at their new house, and it’s them entering a new life, which is much darker than their old life. but the vignette chapters are flashbacks to their childhood growing up in their old house. the prose in these vignettes is very hazy and bright and dreamy and saturated, because Isobel’s memories of her childhood portray it as brighter and better than it probably really was.

and finally, in all these major changes, i figured out something about my writing process: i’m a pantser, but i like to have the first few chapters outlined, as sort of a springboard into the rest of the book, something solid to base everything else off of. i guess that technically makes me a plantser, even though everything else is pantsed.

now, onto the chapters and excerpts! i’m finished the first chapter and the first vignette, and currently working on chapter 2.

you may notice that some scenes are very similar to the first attempt, because i did keep a lot of scenes and also a lot of the same prose.

excerpts under the cut.

chapter 1: this new life

it felt soooooo good to write a full length chapter again. after trying to write vignettes for a while, writing a full length chapter was so much more enjoyable. i used to be a very serious underwriter, but (luckily) have mostly gotten over that and can write actual full chapters now, and have a hard time writing short ones!

i named the chapter “this new life” because my plan is to mirror it later in the book, when there’s a vignette flashback to right before they left their old house and its called “this old life” (if i decide to title the vignettes). i love mirroring chapter titles and lines and stuff so i’m excited for this.

ALSO i said in the first writing update (which i won’t link because it’s embarrassing) that there’s a redwood tree in the backyard, but i changed it to an oak tree lol because i realized it would be v weird for someone to have a random redwood tree growing in their backyard.

excerpts

first of all, the new first line:

(idk if this is actually an oak tree but i don’t care about tree accuracy as long as there’s aesthetic accuracy ✨)

The first time Isobel steps onto the lawn outside the new house is the first time she feels her life change in person. It’s instantaneous, like a death or a rebirth. Clouds thread across a sun-smothered sky like gossamer strands, swallows trill out of the limbs of oak trees that arrow down the sidewalk. The car only halfway to a stop, and Isobel has already clambered out. A squirrel bullets along an oak branch. A wind chime tremolos in the breeze. It’s the first day of summer. Life has never felt so dead.

a bit about them unpacking and living sad times (also i changed their mom’s name from beth to pamela because beth was too stereotypical)

Nobody speaks except to toss instructions back and forth, or ask for something to be passed to them as they unpack the few things they need to last the night. Their mother, Pamela, is quick-tempered. It’s clear she never wanted to come here, even though she always smiled when they talked about it, encouraged everybody, told them it was for the best, which it was. It was for the best, but that didn’t make it a good thing. That didn’t brighten the prospect, make it feel better. That just made it less avoidable.

Cyrus, their father, keeps up his usual attitude of encouragement, just like Pamela, pointing out every good thing: the sunlight that spangles everything in citrine, the pizza he’s about to order, the bluebird that spits music in the open window, though he says all these things half-heartedly. His faltering smiles give him away. The strands of grey hair pasted to his forehead. The woolly cable-knit sweater he only wears when he’s unhappy and has been wearing almost every day for the last two months.

and of course, margaret is having the time of her life because she’s margaret:

Margaret is the only one who shows no sign of remorse. She unpacks quickly, then spends the rest of the day ruffling through boxes and coolers for crinkly chip bags and frozen strawberries that melt on your tongue and dribble down your throat. A pocket mirror spined with cracks sits beside her on the table, in case she needs to tweak her reflection. Gold chain jewelry chimes around her throat when she moves, glints in the sunlight that pools around her.

after they eat dinner and isobel leaves (yes i’ve shared most of this excerpt before but it’s one of my favorite parts so here it is again!)

After dinner, Isobel’s throat is still throbbing and she decides to leave the house, leave her family, so if she cries no one has to see her. She doesn’t know where she’ll go, where there is to go, but at seven o’clock she lies about where she’s going, shoves out of her chair and clatters out the door without saying goodbye.

From the doorstep, this new life is just a neighborhood. A car parked in half the driveways, the others at work or school or nowhere. Hedges only trimmed on one side. Flower beds, half withering and half thriving. Marigolds are the most radiant as Isobel stalks down the road. Their fluorescent buds like blood-rimmed suns.

She walks down the middle of the road because the town is quiet at this time, no cars whisk on the pavement, swish corners because they don’t think anyone will be walking there. It’s a risk she finds thrilling because she knows Pamela would make her stop if she was here.

Isobel told them she would go explore the neighborhood, the town, maybe the empty spaces outside it. Wave hello to the skinny chiffon woman bent double over the trunk of her red Chevrolet, the man in the houndstooth jacket in his gaping garage, smoke snaking up the throat of his cigarette. Smile when they wave back.

and of course she runs into a forest because everything i write features too many forest scenes!

She runs until her breath clumps in her chest and she stops, one hand splayed over the itchy bark of an elm tree to keep her balance. It’s dark here, but she’s not afraid of the dark. It’s lonely here, but she’s immune to loneliness. Trees spoke the thin canopy, a veil of gauzy leaves. The sky is clotted with sagging clouds.

this chapter is also where we meet felix, who i love so much. i want to make a character intro for him and also his brother, miles, soon, but i’ve been planning to do that for weeks and haven’t yet so i don’t know when/if i will.

felix shows up in the forest and he and isobel talk a bit: felix is very nice and isobel is my lil psychopath wannabe <3. isobel ends up leaving abruptly because it’s about to rain, and then she gets home and talks with piper a bit and then goes to bed. i don’t like ending chapters with characters going to bed, because i do it so much! a character going to bed has a sense of closure since its the end of the day, and obviously there’s nothing wrong with ending a chapter like this, but i do it do often that it’s starting to irritate me.

first vignette

i still haven’t decided how i’m going to title the vignettes. they’re not chapters, so this isn’t going to be called ‘chapter 2′, but they’re still sort of chapters?? right now i just have them titled as roman numerals, but i’m not happy with this and am going to change it as soon as i think of something better.

this vignette is a short flashback to that morning, right before they leave to go to their new house. it features isobel and piper going into the forest and then they leave and its v sad.

this is the first flashback in the book, and then in future flashbacks it jumps back a few years and follows their childhood right up to this flashback again. the last flashback is going to end with the same line as the first line of the actual book, so it comes full circle.

excerpts

There were different types of trees. It was a different town, in a different province. Isobel and Piper had evaded Pamela’s searching fingers, hopped the fence, blotted under the trees like redwing blackbirds.

Piper slowed first, sunlight quivering over her sawn black curls, pinching out a cramp after outrunning Isobel the whole time.

same excerpt as in the first update but with an extra sentence at the end and the beginning! why share new prose when you can just recycle old excerpts galaxy brain

here’s when pamela calls them out of the forest and they leave:

Pamela’s raspy shouts wound Piper and Isobel out of reverie. They trundled to their feet, flitted through the trees back to the house. Then they left.

Isobel stared at the house through the rear window as the car clicked into motion, wheels whirring on the pavement. She watched it shrink: first it was her home, then just a house, then a dollhouse, a triangle of roof on the horizon, and then nothing. From that point on, it was just an image in her head, a lingering wish. A life lost. A life she would never get back again.

this is v sad i’m sorry characters but i had to cause you this misery for the sake of the plot (also you probably deserve it)

anyway that’s all i have for this update! bye!

- Ava

Crane Anatomy taglist (ask to be added/removed!):

@gracestowewriting​​ @flip-phones @shaelinwrites​​​

[the-fiction-witch]

So long as you love me

MOVIE PHANTOM HALO

COUPLE SAMMY X READER

RATING ADORABLE

I smiled as I walked down the half broken paths, past the chain link fence a with barking dogs and broken cars, jumping cracks as wide as me in the pavement, I pulled my bag over my shoulder a little more, windows of the houses where boarded up, grass yellow and overgrown, I could hear sirens in the distance, I put my head down and my hands in my pockets as I walked down the pathway around the back of the town, the longer I walked the more affluent the houses became, I felt like I was walking miles but I was used to it nowadays, I left the alley and headed into the streets instantly feeling like I didn't belong looking at the four five bedroom houses with double garages and perfect gardens, I felt as if very window was someone watching me, glaring at me, suspicious of me. I kept my head down and hands in my pocket trying not to draw any attention to myself as I walked down the street to the row of old fashioned shops, a butchers, a baker, a green grocery, a salon, a pharmacy and a few other things and at the bottom the place I was looking for, I fiddled with everything in my pocket counting my coins as I went inside the store.

It had that smell, of lavender, charcoal and oil paints. I headed in smiling to the man at the counter with a poetry book, I went around looking at all the things, the pencils, the special pens, the little wooden manakins, the lines and lines of paints and pain brushes I remembered her saying she wanted more wine berry so I moved down the blues looking at all the colours till I found the little tube of wine berry about as long as my index finger and a thick as my thumb, I looked at the price and almost dropped it, five dollars! For a single paint tube! That's all the money I have but I know she really wants it.... Looked around noticing him deep in his book, there was no camera I could see, and I was far from the street so, I slipped it in my pocket. I walked to the back and found a big cheap bottles for a dollar each so I got a bunch of those and took them to the counter he looked suspicious but took my money and gave me a little paper bag with handles so I took it and headed further down the street, I sighed getting the little tube out my pocket, I felt bad but she really wanted it, I wish I could afford to get her nice things she wants.

I headed down the street further until I reached the house, it looked like the most beautiful house I could imagine with a perfect drive way and garage, the green grass cut to perfection, I saw the garage door open and I was nervous as I stepped closer seeing her father waxing his vintage lincoln

"Hello Samuel" he waved as he saw me

"Uhh hi Mr y/l/n" I waved back stepping closer "how uhh how are things?"

"Alright, alright, taken a few days off going to take the side up to the summer house" he says "you hear to see y/n?"

"Uhh yes sir" I nodded

"Go on, she's up in her tower" he laughs so I nodded and went to the gate to there back garden opening it as usual, I walked down the beautiful stone path into the perfectly manicured garden with plants, little fruit trees and a swimming pool, and on I spotted her mother laid on the lilo in her swimsuit and sunglass I tried to tip toe past not wanting to bother her

"Afternoon samuel"

"Uhhhh hi Mrs y/l/n" I waved as she out her sunglasses in her hair

"You here for y/n again?"

"Yes mam" I nodded nervously

"What's in the bag?"

"Ohh I got her some paints in the way here"

"Aren't you sweet" she laughed "Go on, you staying for dinner?"

"Well see"

"Alright, have fun" she smiled winking at me so I headed over to the little patio door heading inside doing my best not to dirty the white marble floors, I hurried up the staircase to as it was always referred to, the tower where her room was she liked living up her as she can basically be removed from her parents. I saw the one door open a crack so I peaked in and instantly smiled.

The room was large the size of my house, her windows all open letting the sweet breeze blow in, she had wind chimes and glass hangers in the windows to reflect rainbows of light across the room, her bed sat against the wall made as usual, her celestial bed sheets clean and made with her glow in the dark star blanket across the double bed, the bathroom in the corner closed as usual, her mini fridge and little air cooker against the other wall, she was sat as she usually was, on her wooden floor on a little black pillow crossed legged, in a pair of fluffy penguin socks, black high waisted leggings, her beautiful purple shirt dress over her, her hair in a braid down her back, her mint green headphones over her head, she had her painting box open some pants and brushed across the floor around her as she painted a canvus on an easel, I could have watched he forever.

I knocked on the door making her turn putting her headphones down she smiled widely as she saw me and she jumped up and ran into my arms

"Whoa! Hey y/n" I laughed hugging her close too inhaling her hairs strawberry scent, "ummmm I've missed you"

"I missed you too" she giggled tugging me in with her shutting the door she got me a pillow to sit on beside her and she got us both a bottle of cola from her mini fridge I noticed as she handed it to me she had various paint splotches all over her

"You look beautiful"

"Awww thank you Sammy" she giggled sitting with me and resting her head in my shoulder

"Ohh I got these for you" I told her handing her the bag she happily took it and got them all out

"Yay! Thank you, thank you, thank you Sammy," she smiled giving my cheek a kiss and packing them all into her box in the right colour places "you didn't have to get me any paint"

"Well, I wanted to" I blushed "it's looking amazing" I told her looking at her painting

"Thank you, it's not done yet but... I'm working on it"

"Well it's beautiful" I told her kissing her hand she giggled and held my hand tightly

"Ohh I did this for you" she smiled getting her sketch pad and flicking thought till she found the page with a painted phantom halo

"Whoa! Thats amazing"

"Here, for you" she smiled taking it out the book and handing it too me

"You are far too sweet to me" I told her kissing her cheek

"I like being sweet to you" she smiled she handed me the book that was now mine and got her own little one and we must have sat drawing and painting for a good few hours chatting about everything and nothing together "Sammy do you have the burnt umber?" She asks

"Uhhh yeah here" I said handing her back the tube where I had used it "are you done with the sap green?"

"One second... Yep here you go" she smiled handing it over "Sammy?"

"Yeah?"

"Why don't we... Ever hang out at your house?"

I was frozen a bit unsure what to hell her

"Uuughhhhh... Well I uh I just uhh.. I like yours."

"I know, but I wanna go visit your house sometimes" she giggled "we could go cuddle in your bed" she smiled nuzzling into my chest I held her close too

Ummmm what I wouldn't do to have her in my bed "I know I want you over too it's just... Complicated okay"

"Okay, just promise you'll let me come spend the night soon"

"... Y/n."

"Please Sammy"

"Y/n, its not that I don't want you to come over, or like I don't want you to visit. It's just... My house isn't as nice as your and, I worry if you'll still like me"

"Sammy, of course I'll still like you, you can live in a cardboard box for all I care Sammy I'll still love you"

"... Are you sure?"

"Of course I am" she giggled giving my lips a sweet kiss

"I just .. I feel bad, the amazing life you've had and, I have nothing to offer you, my house is a shit hole that we can barely afford the rent on, my cars a rust bucket that doesn't even run, and... I can't even afford to buy you the nice paints you like when I visit,"

"Sammy... I don't care about any of that. I don't care if we live in a mansion or a studio flat, I don't care if you drive a bently or a push bike, I love you, and so long as you love me Im happy"

"Of course I love you y/n" I smiled "and I'll never ever stop my darling"

[megmachine]

Mistakes

A/N: this is the first section of my WIP star trek fic. See the tags before reading if your interested, and please let me know what you think! 

The last time Jim ever saw his aunt alive, she was crying. He was thirteen and being led onto a bus alongside his cousins and had glanced out the darkened window on a whim. She had been standing in the doorway to their farmhouse, clutching little Sarah’s favorite blanket, arguing with one of the large men dressed in black that had come to take them back. The man had laid his hand on his belt, saying something, and Aunt Josie had broken down crying. Through a cloud of red dust as they drove away, Jimmy saw her fall to her knees and sob. Tear tracks cut through the dirt on her face, leftovers from when they’d been playing in the garden earlier. They turned a corner and trees finally blocked his view, and he turned back to talk to his cousins.

He was only supposed to be on Tarsus IV for six months. Driving the car into the canyon had been the last straw, and even though they’d ‘worked things out’ with the cops, Jimmy knew he’d pushed too hard. Frank was fed up with him and he’d been suspended from school again and his mother was still out there, exploring space without him. Winona said she would be earthside ‘in just six months, Jimmy, it’s only six months,’ and that this was just a stopgap to get him away from his step-father.  What a load of bull that was, not that he’d say it to her face. Two months in, when he moved into boarding school full-time and wasn’t counting down the days till his shuttle home, Winona messaged him. She told him her ship, the U.S.S. Faragaut, would be delayed eight additional months and for the first time, he wasn’t heartbroken. Fourteen months in the colony, he could make it fourteen months. His aunt actually liked him, she never even hit him, and his cousins didn’t treat him like a burden the way Sam used to. Classes challenged him, for the most part, and he got to go back home every weekend to see his aunt and the farmhouse. Sure, meals weren’t that big, but Jimmy had never really gone hungry here, either. Tarsus was good. Life was good. 

This time, though, as the farmhouse faded from view, he could tell his Aunt knew something was different. Clouds of red dust obscured his view and it felt like he was losing something, somewhere he’d finally started to call home. It was silly to get so melancholy about a semester at boarding school, he’d thought. He’d thought a lot of things that ended up being wrong.

It was two Saturdays later when Jimmy and Will wondered if something was wrong. A full two weeks since they had seen the rest of their family. They were sitting on his cousin’s bed, each with a PADD in hand, working on their homework. Their teacher, Hoshi, had been grilling them on languages, and despite Jimmy’s efforts Will couldn’t grasp Vulcansu conjugations. 

“No, see, it’s a past tense irregular verb, and you forgot the hyphen-”

“Jimmy.” Will interrupted him, something he never did. His face, normally an open book, was drawn and stiff. Jimmy held his tongue and swallowed back his knee-jerk snarky response. His cousin took a deep breath, held it for five seconds, and let it out in a huff.  

“I’m worried about my mom. She hasn’t been responding to my comms all week, and Mr. Davies told me we aren’t doing home visits next weekend, either. I just… I know you think it’s stupid to get all worked up over family, but this isn’t like her.”

Neither of them said anything for a minute, both brains running through the options. Finally, Jimmy sighed. He knew his cousin well enough to know where his mind had immediately gone, and had an idea of how to deal with it. 

“Look, Will, I do understand where you’re coming from. If you’re really that worried about Aunt Josie, how about we go see her? Will that make you feel better?” Jimmy tossed his PADD aside and stood up, stretching his arms over his head and groaning exaggeratedly. Honestly, he’d been wanting to stretch his legs too, but hadn’t had the right opportunity to sneak out until this moment. 

His cousin wasn’t convinced yet, though. “What do you mean? How are we supposed to get home if buses aren’t running to the farm?”

Jimmy smirked, tilting his head and glancing back. “Why, we’ll be breaking out, of course!”

That line sealed the deal. After all, Will was a bad boy at heart, too.

It was dark out by the time they could put their plan into motion. The double moons were rising in the west, casting everything outside the range of the street lamps in a faint, pale light. They took a walk in the botany gardens after dinner, a fairly inconspicuous thing to do. Subconsciously, Jimmy noted that a few of the plants seemed wilted, white flecks spotting a few lower leaves, but he wasn’t a botanist and so made no comment. Will kept an eye on the teachers that patrolled the area while Jimmy made his way to a shadowy corner, the one place he knew of that the cameras wouldn’t see him. From there, he accessed the security system from his PADD - he’d been teaching himself programming since he was five, sitting in the back of his kindergarten classroom, it was a breeze to hack these types of systems - and ran a loop of camera feed. From there the two made their way to the chain link fence that surrounded the school. 

The principal told them it was to keep wildlife out, since Tarsus had some rather nasty native predators. Of course, there was a hole in the fence that Jimmy had known about for a few weeks, and nothing had managed to get in, so he didn’t know the validity of that statement. The gap was barely big enough for him to squeeze through, scrawny as he was, but he’d kept it in the back of his mind in case he ever wanted to sneak out. There hadn’t been anything suspicious going on, at least as far as he was aware, so he’d had no reason to utilize it before this night. He was enjoying his classes, and had no reason to mess around. At, least, not until then.

Jimmy went through first. After making sure the coast was clear, Will forced his way out, too. The fencing groaned, and they both held their breath for a minute before determining no one else had heard. After that, it was smooth sailing for the rest of their ‘escape.’ The fence opened up into a thick forest, full of a mix of native and terran flora that formed a dense canopy and heavy shadows. They could still use the moonlight and their knowledge of direction to make their way towards the nearby town of New Franklin. The school they attended was fairly secluded, so their hike took nearly an hour. The principal and teachers, when asked, had said that the governor thought it important that students learn astronomy and botany and all types of things you couldn’t study well in the city, so their school was the only thing this far out. They were surrounded by forests on one side, and a massive plain on the other, and as far as one could see there was no other sign of civilization. When he first got there, Jimmy had thought all the greenery was wonderful. Now he was starting to hate it, as he was slapped in the face by yet another palm frond-looking thing.

Eventually, pushing through the thick greenery native to Tarsus, Jimmy thought he could hear the murmur of human life. It was about time - they still had to consider the hour-long drive to and from the farmhouse, and he wanted to get a little bit of sleep that night. Their plan was to either hitch a ride from a kind stranger, an idea Jimmy wasn’t a big fan of, or steal a vehicle, something Will didn’t like - even though Jimmy had argued that they wouldn’t really be stealing, they'd be borrowing with the intent to bring it back unscratched. That argument was part of why they’d gotten started so late, and now Tarsus’ first moon was more than halfway through the sky. Its blue face watched them as they foraged on through the woods, unwavering and unyielding in its faint light. 

They popped out on a paved road, the outlines of squat, wide-spread buildings against the tapestry of stars the only sign of civilization. There were next to no lights on, Jimmy noticed. No street lamps, or illuminated windows, or headlights. He’d have thought the town was dead, if not for the hum of generators he could still make out. A curfew, then? Why? Neither of them had any answers, but this did throw a wrench in both their transportation options. More so Will’s favored plan than his own, though his would be difficult to pull off too. 

Well, there was no way around it. The two boys exchanged glances - neither had said a word their whole adventure other than to warn the other of a hole or tree branch, too scared of being heard and caught - and advanced towards the dead town. Jimmy knew more than enough about hotwiring to be able to steal most civilian vehicles, and Will had been driving aunt Josie’s truck for the past year, so they were rather confident in their abilities. But that all depended on whether or not they would find something to steal. 

The first couple of buildings they approached were barren. Jimmy could make out the muffled sound of human voices and movement behind the walls, but there were no vehicles other than a couple of rusting bikes parked out front. The first hovercar they saw was all black and parked in the middle of town square. The engine was still running, but no one was sitting inside the car. Jimmy made a mental note of it and kept creeping along, hoping for a less suspicious get-away vehicle. The next one they saw was sitting in front of a small house. The car itself had four wheels and more than a little bit of rust, but it obviously hadn’t been used in the past few hours. The house it was parked near, similarly, didn’t show any signs of life. Neither Jimmy nor Will wanted to think very hard about that fact. Still, this was a better option, less likely to be noticed missing if they could get away quietly. Jimmy cracked his knuckles, gave his cousin a grin, and eased the driver’s door open.

Since he’d been old enough to start developing his fine motor skills, Jimmy had been playing with wires. Maybe not a sign of the safest childhood, but it certainly had its perks. For one, he could open a panel inside any car, four-wheeled or hovering, and get it running in under five minutes if it was a model from the past half-century. Thankfully, this one was. Another thing Jimmy was thankful for, he considered once the engine hummed to life, was that 23rd century cars were so much quieter than previous renditions. Not even the house a block over could hear it starting up. Will nudged his cousin over, crawling into the driver side and adjusting the seat to his liking. 

“I’m still sticking by my argument that I could drive this puppy just as well as you,” Jimmy grumbled from where he was buckling himself into the passenger seat. 

Will ignored him, throwing the car into gear and ever-so-slowly crawling out of the driveway and onto the road. “How the hell am I supposed to navigate all the way home if I can’t turn on the headlights?” he hissed, peering over the steering wheel in a way that didn’t really give Jimmy much confidence in his abilities. 

He sighed, hunching over the center console and pulling out more wires from Will didn’t even know where. In between stripping colorful rubber with his teeth, Jimmy explained himself. “Most modern cars actually have the ability to display an active infrared view through the windshield - night vision. It’s better than using the headlights, actually, but we humans are too attached to the way things have always been to use it. Manufacturers even got rid of the easy-access switch, but they never bothered to get rid of the tech itself. Lucky us.” He spared a second to glance up at his cousin, grinning wildly, before twisting two bare wires together and clipping them to a circuit board. Jimmy had no idea how like his mother he looked in that second, and the excited expression faded almost as suddenly as it had appeared. 

The windshield display flickered once, twice, before the pitch black landscape became visible in various shades of green and grey. The compass, temperature read out, and clock reappeared in their usual location (lining the top of the windshield, out of immediate eyeline), now a bright white against hunter green shadows. 

Jimmy almost whoop-ed, catching himself at the last second and instead silently punched the air. “What’re you waiting for, Willy?” He snickered, flopping back into his seat. Will grumbled something about ‘cocky little nerds’ and eased his way down the pavement, gradually making his way out the town as a pace that had both of them out of their minds with boredom before they’d even made it a mile. 

It took a little over ninety minutes to get to aunt Josie’s farmhouse. More often than either of them wanted to acknowledge, they’d pulled off the road and held their breaths, paranoid that they were being followed, only to laugh at themselves when no one showed up. Jimmy didn’t voice the alternative - that they were being stalked, toyed with. Will was on edge enough as it were. 

The lights were off when they pulled up. Neither were that worried - Aunt Josie had always been more of a morning person, after all. Her red pickup was still parked under the carport. As they walked up to the front door, Jimmy watched his cousin unwind, tension easing out of his muscles. Will pushed the door open - again, not worrying, they lived far enough in the country to not bother with locks - and stepped into the kitchen. The house was silent. Jimmy followed, hands in his pockets but eyes darting around the heavily shadowed room. 

Making their way deeper into the house, Will seemed to relax further and further while Jimmy felt the hairs on his neck stand up. Something felt off, but he couldn’t put his finger on what exactly was wrong. It was a somewhat similar feeling to what he would get when Frank was about to come home, full of cheap liquor and anger he’d take out on Jimmy and Sam. The air felt stale in his lungs. At the end of the hallway, the door to Aunt Josie’s bedroom was closed. 

Will was smiling as he nudged the door open. He took a deep breath, ready to call out to his mom, ready to be reassured of her health and safety. The next second he was hunched over, hands clasped over his mouth and stomach rolling. The smell of decay overwhelmed them, and Jimmy finally identified what, exactly, was wrong. 

Aunt Josie was laying on the ground near her bed, an archaic bullet hole through her chest. The light grey rug under her body was stained dark brown with old blood. While Will clung to the doorframe, trying desperately to keep his dinner down, Jimmy stumbled forward to her side. He’d always heard that people were peaceful in death, but Aunt Josie looked as distraught as she’d been when he last saw her, through a school bus window, two weeks ago. Her body was breaking down, past rigor mortis and well along in the bloating process. Deep tan skin was now motley green. The stink of rotting meat and excrement and who knew what else was thick in the air, having been trapped in the room with her. Dark liquid covered the wood floor, leaking out from her body, more fluid than one would expect from a corpse. If he looked closely, which he tried not to, he could see the small movement of maggots and cadaverous bugs within her small wound and under the skin. 

Saliva pooled in Jimmy’s mouth and he turned away, stumbling out of the room before collapsing to his knees and retching. Will staggered after him, pale and sweating. Neither of them said a word for the longest time. Will was barely breathing, not making a sound as tears pooled in his eyes and ran, silently, down his cheeks. 

“How long has she been dead?” he finally whispered, choking on the word.

Jimmy hated how his mind automatically went through the stages of decomposition, hated how for a split second he could objectively analyze how far along the body (his aunt, not the body, it was his aunt lying there) was. He was barely aware of his lips moving and the words coming out of his mouth. “It takes around eight days for discoloration to start. She’s probably been… for over a week.” 

“Fuck.”

It took another ten minutes for either of them to move. Jimmy pulled himself to his feet, dragged his cousin behind him, and made his way towards the front door. Will didn’t make a sound as he was led along, eyes unfocused and staring into the distance. It was past midnight at this point, and Jimmy knew they had to get going if they wanted to avoid being caught out. As he passed the kitchen table, a stack of mail caught his attention and he grabbed them, curious, glancing over the words. 

‘In response to your request… Cannot supply more rations… Distress signal…’

Jimmy swallowed and stuffed the papers in his coat pocket without a second thought. 

Will was still unresponsive when they reached the stolen car, and without a second thought Jimmy shoved him into the passenger seat before climbing behind the wheel. Driving this old thing couldn’t be more difficult than the corvette, and this time he wasn’t trying to run from Frank and the cops and Riverside. Jimmy didn’t spare a second to glance in the rearview mirror as he pulled away from the farmhouse. If he did, he wouldn’t have been able to leave. 

It was only when they got close to town that Jimmy noticed they were being tailed. At first he thought it was a figment of his paranoid imagination. It was barely there, in the corner of his eye, and his cousin was of no help in differentiating real from fabricated. Will hadn’t spoken a word since the farmhouse. Jimmy stepped on the gas a hair and fixed his eyes on the road in front of him, ignoring the tingling in the back of his mind. 

Jimmy pulled off on the side of the road and stared out the back window. He’d seen it again, bigger and more obvious. He was 85% sure there really was something out there, in the black of Tarsus night. Either way, he wasn’t too keen on getting caught, so they would be legging it through the woods the rest of the way back. He hopped out of the car and led Will behind him into the dense forest. He'd finally started responding when Jimmy asked him questions, and could see his surroundings well enough to avoid low hanging branches.

“Come on, we’ve got to go, they’re behind us Will, we’ve got to hide,” Jimmy panted in his cousin’s ear. They were making far too much noise, stepping on twigs and getting slapped by branches. He just hoped they could get far enough ahead of the people stalking them, out of hearing range and back to school before sunrise.

 Just as the thought crossed his mind, he heard boots stomping through the undergrowth after them. “Hey! Where’d you go? You know the punishment for breaking curfew, it’ll hurt less if you just stop running!” The overt threat of pain and punishment sent a chill down Jimmy’s spine and he couldn't let himself get lost in memories of Frank, he had to get his cousin back to safety. He grit his teeth and made a conscious effort to be quieter, shushed Will when he spat a curse at a vine that tangled around his leg but it was too late. Bright flashlight beams cut through the greenery and into Will’s face and shouts filled the air. 

Then they are running through the woods, abandoning all hope at subtlety and there are crashing footsteps behind them, the high pitched whine of phaser blasts and deep voices calling out promises of pain, and - 

Will trips over a branch, twists his ankle, and Jimmy hauls his cousin up and behind him. He’s limping and leaning heavily on the younger boy but Jimmy clings tight to him. He won’t lose more of his family, he won’t, not after Sam, he can help Will, it’s not too much further to the fence and if they can just lose these guards they’ll be fine.

Gunshots and phaser fire follow them, sinking into tree trunks in their wake, cutting through leaves and then they hit something definitively not wood and Will is screaming, crying, begging Jimmy to stop but he’s bleeding out all over Jimmy and it’s too much, too much, he can’t make it stop please make it stop! There’s a hole in his stomach, gaping in what little moonlight is filtering through the tree branches. Hot blood is burning his hands, his face, and he can’t put enough pressure on the wound while trying to run and he can’t stop running or they’re both dead. They’re both so, so dead.

Will is clawing at Jimmy’s hand and at first he grips it tight, trying to take some of the pain from his cousin, but he’s being slapped and Will is glaring at him with as much strength as he can muster, though it’s fading fast. Jimmy has never seen so much fire in those brown eyes until now. He’s wheezing, but he can force out a mouthful of words. “Leave me, Jimmy. You gotta get out of here.” The men are gaining on them and they don’t have much time left. Will lets himself go limp, still staring at Jimmy, shrugging out of his hold and collapsing onto the ground. He shoves him once, for good measure, when Jimmy stops moving. “Go!” Will shouts, the force of his words making blood spew from his paling lips.

 Jimmy runs. He runs, and doesn’t look back. 

[sad-sweet-cowboah]

My Little Secret part 11

Summary: Arthur plans a little date for you. A sweet gesture turns out to be an interesting ending.

Warnings: Some smut mention, but otherwise fluff

Faint golden light shimmered down and surrounded you. The sheets below you were silky smooth against your completely nude figure. Your eyes met his, bright blue and intense, staring hungrily at your body beneath him. His touch however was gentle, fingertips leaving goosebumps in his wake along the curves and swells of your torso.

His cool lips met yours in a tender kiss before he dipped down low, sinking further and further down before he was resting between your thighs. His hands pushed them further apart, his eyes once again meeting yours while he dipped his face to your center. The sensation to follow brought a soft moan to grace the air above you. His name curled from your tongue pleasantly as his serviced you. Your fingers carded through his smooth hair, your hips trembling in his grasp.

Your climax washed over you like a wave, enveloping every nerve in your body. He lapped at you, drawing it out until you were twitching and whining from overstimulation. He pulled himself back up to your face, his chin glistening from your fluids. He smiled and kissed you again and you willingly returned it, your essence heavy on his tongue. His hand caressed your chin, your cheek, tangling his fingers in your hair. His heavy body nearly feather-light against you, pressed to your skin. His hard muscles flexed, bringing your attention to the prominence settling between your legs.

He pulled back to meet your eyes, his expression soft and inquiring with silent words. You gave him a small nod, and he shifted oh so carefully to bring himself closer to you. The distance closed as he pushed in so smoothly, filling you up without hesitation. He whispered your name in a sultry tone it brought a flush of blood to your cheeks.

His hips shifted to pull back, readying himself to continue.

And then your eyes opened.

The sun was streaming beautifully through the blinds. You were sprawled out on your bed, though your shirt had ridden up and your hand had somehow found its way into your pajama pants. You blinked the first few seconds of bleariness and confusion away as reality formed around you. You were alone, and the fire that echoed in your core slowly ebbed away.

“Jesus…” you murmured, yanking your hand out. Your face grew hot with embarrassment. Arthur did warn you of the side effects of consuming his blood, and you certainly hoped that dream started when he was long gone. Sitting up slowly, you sighed and climbed out of bed. Last night felt like eons ago, and as strange as the evening turned out, you were glad Arthur was there to help you out.

Though it will be a while before you think about taking a trip to Saint Denis again.

The rest of the week continued on as normal. You met up with Arthur a few days later for another date, casual and straight to the point. He asked how you were feeling, and you made it a point to avoid mentioning your dream. He already knew of course, and you were saving yourself the shame of recounting what soon became a fantasy for you.

With school drawing to a close and finals looming closer, you’d made it a plan to meet with him twice a week in order to keep yourself reigned in for studying. He obliged, though would stop in at the bar a couple of times per week to entertain you on your breaks. More often than not he would wait to pick you up from work on the designated date nights, usually spending more time with you at home or taking a walk in the park.

A few more weeks passed by and you’d learned much more about him, both as an outlaw and as a vampire. You were growing more comfortable and intimate with him, and he to you. You’d always found a sense of hesitation when he showed affection, whether if it was because of what he was or just nervous and out of practice. Recently he’s become more open, not afraid to hold you close or sling an arm around you in public. He would kiss you whenever some fools would even look in your direction. You loved every second of it.

Tonight was yet another date, a Friday night that you were grateful to have it off. Your mind was on the brink of melting from the studying you’ve done over the course of the week and you were dying for a break. The sun set only a little while ago and you had an hour before Arthur would swing by. A few minutes ago he texted you to not eat, which prompted you to ponder why. While you didn’t mind going out to restaurants, it would be awkward to be out in public and the only one eating.

You cleaned yourself up and got dressed, choosing a casual outfit as you were unsure what exactly to expect. You didn’t see him spending money on anything extravagant, at least when it was still fairly early in your relationship.

You were hungry, and thankful you didn’t eat earlier in favor of spending time on more schoolwork. It would have been just a night of leftover Chinese food.

The hour passed by quickly and you were there to greet him just seconds after he knocked on your door. He looked as handsome as ever, greeting you with a smile and a kiss. His arms wrapped around your waist and held you there for a moment before stepping back.

“So, what are you surprising me with tonight?” you asked.

He chuckled. “Wouldn’t be a surprise if I told ya, would it?”

“Hmm, I guess not,” You replied. “Shall we leave now?”

“Ain’t you eager?” he said with amusement.

“I’m hungry. And I’m excited to see what you have planned.” You pointed out.

He smiled warmly, sliding his hand to entwine with yours. “Think you’ll like it, sweetheart. C’mon then.”

Arthur led you from your apartment and outside, where his motorcycle sat waiting. It wasn’t the first time you’d ridden on it, though each time felt like a dream. Sometimes you’d imagine it as a horse and you were riding with him back in his time, heading toward whichever exciting adventure he had planned. That daydream however you kept to yourself.

The engine roared to life and you wrapped your arms around his waist. The iron beast vibrated beneath you, rolling smoothly into the street before gaining speed. The damp air curled around you, tickling your exposed skin with moisture. Houses and buildings became a blur around you the further you traveled.

He took you toward the edge of town, the quaint buildings giving away to fields and stretches of long country roads. He wasn’t driving toward Saint Denis; rather the opposite, taking you North.

“Where are we going?” you asked, nearly shouting over the roar of the motorcycle. You however knew he was capable of hearing your voice just fine with his heightened senses.

“You’ll see.” Was all he said, the clarity in his voice sharp over the metallic growl. He’d fallen silent as the two of you continued further, hardly any other cars passing by in the quiet night. He took a left turn on a smaller street lined with charming houses surrounded by thick woods. Lights dotted the porches and windows, setting a dim golden glow amongst the darkness. Sweeping past like fireflies, blinking out as soon as they were out of your line of vision.

After a few moments, the end of the road appeared underneath a streetlight, leading out to a small parking lot. He slowed and pulled in, the tires crunching the gravel beneath as he came to a stop. The bike ceased its growl as he killed the engine and dismounted, then held his hand out for you.

As you stood up and took his hand to balance yourself from stepping away, you squinted around. You hadn’t been here before. The parking lot was surrounded by thick underbrush and what appeared to be a chain-link fence. There sat an opening that gave away to a clearing, on the far end water gleamed brightly underneath the silver moonlight. It was Flat Iron Lake.

You turned to him. “Where are we?”

His head twitched in a gesture for you to proceed. Turning your attention back toward the clearing, you made your way across the parking lot and past the fence. As the clearing opened up around you, the full picture opened to you. Aside from a couple of trees, the area was somewhat vast. The rolling green grass gave way to a small sandy shore as gentle waves lapped against the land. Further into the water were a few small islands, the trees nearly disappearing into the cobalt sky. Off to the side was a small playground and a couple of benches. A lakeside park.

“Clemens Point,” Arthur said from next to you. “My gang n’ I…we camped here for a while.”

You blinked and looked up at him. “Really?”

He nodded. “Never did like Lemoyne, but this place always was nice to look at. Watchin’ the sunset on the lake…sometimes goin’ for a swim. Glad that civilization hadn’t changed this place much.”

A smile touched your lips. “So you wanted to share this place with me?”

His smile mirrored yours, then began to walk forward. You followed him until he stopped at a tree, a large and ancient tree that cast its branches over nearly the entire clearing. He bent down to retrieve what looked like a picnic basket. You watched as he reached in and grabbed a bundle of a blanket, allowing it to unravel before he lay it on the ground. He placed the basket on the blanket, and gestured for you to sit. Moving onto the blanket you knelt down and he dug back into the basket, producing a couple of Tupperware containers and a plate for you.

“Arthur, this is so sweet,” you began. “But it’s not really fair if you can’t eat it with me.”

“Don’t matter to me none,” he responded, popping off one of the lids and you were immediately greeted by a lovely scent. “’Sides, gives me an excuse to bring you out here.”

“You could’ve done that without a picnic.” You pointed out, through your stomach rumbled loudly as he placed a piece of grilled chicken onto the plate.

“I know, but I thought it’d be borin’ jus’ sittin’ here with me.” He answered, scooping some rice and a vegetable medley next to the helping of chicken.

“That’s the opposite of boring,” You quirked an eyebrow at him. “You just told me your gang used this place as a hideout long ago. That’s not something you’d hear in a casual conversation.”

He chuckled lightly and handed the plate to you, along with utensils. “Sometimes I gotta remind myself that you don’t see me as uninterestin’ as I see myself.”

“You’re getting better at it.” You complimented before glancing down at the full plate. The savory smell wafted pleasantly. You took a bite and swallowed, your eyes widening in surprise to how great it tasted. You swallowed and added, “Arthur, did you make this yourself?”

“The kitchen in my house don’t see much use,” he explained. “‘Sit good?”

“Better than good, it’s tasty as hell,” You commented, taking another bite. The chicken was juicy and riddled with different flavors, complementing the sides nicely. “If that bounty hunter thing doesn’t work out, you could always become a chef. Put that kitchen to use.”

Arthur huffed a small laugh. “I ain’t that good, jus’ followin’ a recipe.”

“Still pretty good for someone who hasn’t eaten since 1899.” You remarked, smirking at him.

The conversation quieted down afterward as you focused more on your dinner. Arthur shifted his attention back and forth between you and the lake. He asked a question every once in a while, though polite enough to wait until you’d finished eating. You placed the now empty plate down and leaned into his embrace, watching as the water’s surface gently broke at the shore. A fish in the distance disturbed it, coming up to catch a bug. The melody of crickets and katydids surrounded the both of you.

“Some nights was peaceful, back then,” Arthur quietly mused. “Sat ‘round the campfire, listenin’ to others tells their stories. Whether good or bad, despite the law breathin’ down our necks. Those moments is somethin’ I miss.”

You cast your eyes up to him, noting the glaze of nostalgia painted in his own. “You really miss being an outlaw, huh?”

His chest expanded with a deep sigh. “More than I care to admit. Like I said before, weren’t anything glamorous. But I do miss those I called my family. Sometimes I thought it was a cruel joke that the one with the terminal illness outlived ‘em all.” He chuckled dejectedly, then met your gaze. “Ya know, out of all the questions you’ve asked, you ain’t ever asked why I Turned.”

You tilted your head in curiosity. “There’s a why? I never thought there was a reason…”

“Creatin’ a vampire takes a lot, ain’t a decision that comes lightly. So yes, there is a why,” Arthur began, smoothing his hand up and down your arm, leaving a small trail of goosebumps. “I had Tuberculosis, a death sentence back then. Knowin’ my time was limited, I did everything I could to do right. I told you ‘bout how things was fallin’ apart, how it divided us. I spent my last days makin’ sure those who mattered got out. After I led the Pinkertons away n’ fought Micah, I lay on a mountain, feelin’ my life slip away with each breath I took. Jus’ as the sun began to rise, everything went dark…until…”

He paused for a moment, tilting his head to peer up at the night sky. “Woke up covered in dirt. Thought I somehow didn’t die but got buried alive. Made my way to the surface, where I met my Maker.”

“’Met your Maker’?” you repeated. “Er, what do you mean by that?”

Arthur must’ve realized how that sounded to you, and his body vibrated with amusement. “My Maker, the vampire who Turned me. She was a young thing…barely even 20 years old when she Turned. She’s twice my age n’ three times as powerful. She watched me fight, decided I needed to stay in the world longer. Said it needed more men like me,” he sighed, shaking his head. “Didn’t believe her for a long time. Once a bad man then turned into a monster.”

“But it didn’t end up like that, did it?” you quietly mentioned.

He shook his head and smiled half-heartedly. “No. She taught me how to still be human. How to keep from turnin’ stone cold like others. She wanted me to be the man she saw on that mountaintop.”

“Seemed like it worked. You hunt down the bad guys to help others.” You pointed out, resting your hand on his knee.

“Weren’t always like that,” his smile turned wry. “First 10 years of my new existence I hated bein’ what I was. Ran off on my own a lot, Lucia – my Maker – she let me. She understood. No matter how angry I got, she was patient, but tough. Kept me under her thumb whenever I got too unruly, as fledglings tend to do. After a while I accepted myself. Stayed with her for a long time.”

You nodded in understanding, trying to wrap your head around him as a young vampire. You’d only had that one experience in Saint Denis, the mere memory sending a shiver down your spine that you tried to stifle. You instead directed your thoughts to something else. “Where is Lucia now?” you asked.

“She’s around,” Arthur answered with a cool tone. “Actually…” he shifted to straighten himself, removing his arm from around you. He instead turned to face you completely, his expression serious. “Wanted to mention somethin’ to you.”

You blinked at him. “What is it?”

He reached over and took your hands in his, holding them gently. His eyes never left yours, blue tinged silver in the moonlight. “Lucia’s…kinda my superior. Not jus’ cause she’s my Maker, but she’s also an important person in our world. Vampires may be a secret to humans, but there are some who know of our existence. Since we’re together…they wanna meet you.”

“Meet me? Why on Earth would they want to meet me?” you exasperated with a laugh of disbelief, hoping he was joking.

“To make sure you’re trustworthy with our secret,” Arthur sighed. “Somethin’ they all gotta do.”

“And what if…they don’t deem me trustworthy?” you carefully asked.

“You’ll be glamored to forget our whole existence, even me,” He answered, a touch of grim emotion flashing in his eyes. His fingers interlaced tenderly with yours. “But I ain’t worried ‘bout that. You got a good head on your shoulders.”

You smiled at his words, although your heart began to race at the mere thought of meeting these vampires. Arthur must’ve felt your pulse quicken, he rested his hand against your cheek and leaned in to kiss your forehead.

“It’s alright, Y/N,” he murmured against your skin, pulling back to stare at you with earnest. “I know it sounds scary, but I promise you’ll be just fine.”

You were unsure how to respond to him. Your gaze kept even and steady with his. He was silent and waiting patiently for an answer, a sincere smile touching his lips. Anxiety bubbled deep in your stomach the more you muddled over it. Meeting a significant other’s parents was usually a serious and nerve-wracking event, and this was worse. You were to be presented to vampires, one of which was Arthur’s Maker.

In the perturbed sea of emotions, a spark of curiosity formed. It reminded you of the night Arthur revealed his secret for you. Your fear overridden by your strive to learn, and you knew it was a dangerous thought to seek. You trusted Arthur’s word, however the memories of that fledgling from Saint Denis stirred up wary thoughts. He assured you they were not all savages.

Finally, you took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay, when will this meeting happen?”

“They wanted it tonight, but I argued with ‘em knowin’ you have your studies. So they’re allowin’ you to choose, as long as it’s soon.” Arthur explained, a touch of bitterness to his tone.

Tonight? Thank heavens for that. “Can we do it after my exams, then? I feel like I’m overwhelmed enough.”

He nodded. “I’ll tell ‘em that.”

You smiled in thanks, though it did nothing to calm your nerves.

[il-papa-patata]

Cold Earth, Cold Body

Mary visits a familiar place while they’re on tour. Swiss comes along as moral support.

Rating: T

Ghost is Ghosts AU, Mary is Special Ghoul AU, Established Swiss/Mary, mentioned Mary/Terzo, catharsis, gravedigging, mentions of death

It's just a little... detour.

Imperator packed the schedule tight around the Czech Republic, Hungary, Austria-

But...

There's some time, anyway. Just a day here.

Swiss follows behind as Mary weaves his way easy through trees, breath harsh in the winter air. The new winter coat – the Ghouls' standard wool coat with the black-fur collar – flares behind him as he moves, hanging open over his chest.

Swiss says nothing. There's no space to – there's a gnarl of trees, then a brief lash of fence; they aren't hurrying but Mary moves brisk and quick.

There's nothing to say. And Mary's been quiet since they stepped off the train and into that station – an old thing, not as old as Swiss but older than Mary. There's just. A tension.

Swiss knows why, of course, but it's not easier that he knows, and he's really just coming along to help out, although he feels like maybe it shouldn't be him, but Terzo along for this because he and Mary are made of the same stuff and understood each other better anyway-

Swiss focuses again.

Mary stops, teetering in his tracks.

“Ah.”

It's- well, it was a sturdy building at some point. Maybe. Swiss isn't sure, but Mary is, the way his mouth twists into something that's supposed to be a grin but fails to be.

It's this yard – surrounded by an old wrought-iron fence with a chain-link behind it, taller than Swiss. And then – walls, although there are more holes in them than there are walls, marks of graffiti and rubble and the roof all caving in.

Mary is scrambling up the fence before Swiss can think, and then he has to clamber up as well, landing on the other side of the tall fence with a heavy thud. And Mary again is not going slow, but he isn't rushing either, drawn forward by some invisible thread, a line that he follows like a bloodhound after a scent-

They venture inside. Here- rows and rows of old machinery, chairs thrown about haphazardly, some stacked in a pile – Mary moves past them all. There's signs of urbex around, which he thinks is fair – tags and ill-moved furniture and things with dust smeared off them in uneven clumps – but it isn't what Mary is after.

There's this area – solid holes punched in the roof that let in the thin, wintry daylight, but a surprisingly empty floor, all smooth, crack-your-head concrete.

“Ha,” Mary barks, moving further in, back into the corner of the building – the factory, Swiss thinks – to a spot on the concrete.

Now, here, it doesn't look like much. Just kind of a brownish smudge. But Mary is pointing with his not-grin and so Swiss ventures-

“Blood?”

Mary nods, his grin breaking uneven, pointing to himself.

“Oh,” Swiss says, as Mary sits down and lies out on the cold concrete, adjusting himself minutely until the blood form a halo around his head. And then almost proudly, in the way a child might celebrate first tying their shoes, Mary throws his arms out and kicks his feet up.

Swiss can't really find it all that funny.

Mary repeats the unfurling another two times, each a little more impatient, before he lies back fully, going limp against the floor, wet in places where it snowed recently. The sun shines through onto Mary's face – he turns his head away, hand limp on his stomach, almost-

And then turns back, looking up at Swiss and laughing, rolling back up to sitting, every part of him jagged and fragile at the same time.

Swiss takes his hands when Mary wiggles them and helps him up, only letting go once he's squeezed them gently, reminding Mary he's here too. Mary's weird grin falters.

He laces their fingers. Sways close to Swiss, rests his head on Swiss's shoulder.

So they breathe for a moment, in the wintry air, Mary's other hand fiddling with the buttons of Swiss's coat. Mary's hand wanders, stroking up along the seam of the coat-front, into the plush collar, up to stroke Swiss's face gently.

Mary's hands are cold, but Swiss leans into it, looking down at the ferocious man now looking up at him with quiet – but unflinching – warmth.

Swiss kisses him. Just gently. A press of his lips to Mary's, just warm, Mary's breath fanning out along his cheek as they readjust and kiss again.

Mary sighs.

Turns, and heads towards one of the holes punched in the walls, but doesn't let go of Swiss's hand, pulling him along.

They wander the grounds a bit – there's the start of a forest behind the building, with old elms and pines intermingled. There's clumps of snow around, albeit not that many. Most of it’s melted. The sun's warm despite the temperature, but Mary's ungloved hands are colder and colder.

Swiss wonders if he feels cold the same way, like a sunburn on the back of the neck, brilliant and bright. Swiss thinks many things were different after he died, but he can't really remember how he was before his death. He remembers his sister – remembers his carpentry, can still do everything he did when he was alive, still remembers watching over the neighborhood kids but-

He doesn't remember falling sick. He doesn't remember lingering as his skin blackened and swelled, until his body was consumed – he can look at his skin, blistered with the markings of where the buboes sat, and know it happened, but he can't remember a moment of it.

He doesn't remember dying, although it definitely happened.

Mary stops. Grips his hand tight.

At first, Swiss doesn't know what he looks at. There's a sort of depression in the earth, although it's not that noticeable.

But then Mary lets go of his hand and picks up a stone sitting by the dip in the earth.

“Ha,” Mary says again, “Ha- hahaha!”

Mary laughs. Mary laughs and laughs.

It's sharp and barking, but not the way his laugh normally is. This is different. This is worse.

It sounds like he's choking, the laughter worming its way around the usual rasp in his lungs, half-cough.

And then it forgets to be laughter at all. And Mary starts to sob.

Mary clutches the stone to his chest, sobbing and sobbing, heart-rending hiccups and inhuman keening, his usually sharp face crumpling.

Swiss is there. Pulling Mary into his chest, steadying the man. Running his hands down Mary's back, tucking his head into his shoulder.

It takes a little bit. The two of them in this old factory yard, on the edge of this deep forest. The factory is old and broken, but the forest old and whole, still thriving – perhaps like them. Mary just sobs, looks at the stone occasionally, his tears restarting. But eventually he stops, taking deep lungfuls of winter air and wiping at his tear-striped, blotchy face with his cold hands.

“You okay?” Swiss murmurs, reaching up to cup Mary's cheek, stroke at his sideburn.

“Ha,” Mary hiccups, face smeared with eyeliner, “Ha, yeah, I'm okay now. Thanks.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

Mary sighs out another deep breath. Looks up at Swiss. Then down at the stone.

“You remember how I told you I died? How I had TB and my friends – my comrades, who I didn't think liked me that much – ha – ended up burying me?”

“Yeah.”

“It was here.”

“I guessed.”

“That brown spot was – I think now they'd call it a lung hemorrhage. I drowned in my own blood while I was sleeping,” Mary laughs, just once, “Fuckin' awful way to go.”

“You remember it?”

“Yeah. Every second. Thinking how unfair it all was. How much I'd miss. How of course I was gonna die from the thing that killed my family but I couldn't have the dignity of dying with them.”

Swiss just strokes Mary's temple again, hums.

“My- friend, Esther. The one I was in love with. She'd tried to sing me to sleep. And she- when she thought I was asleep she told me she loved me, but why would I believe-”

Mary stops. Lifts the stone and settles it into Swiss's hands.

In a brief, but beautiful handwriting, worn with age but still marked on the stone –

Mary Goore. 1863-1890. Our dearest friend and the one who gave us our name – the Repugnants. We lost today what can never be replaced. May his memory be a blessing.

“I spent-” Mary warbles, resting a hand on his throat, “So much time so sure... I crawled out of this grave and I was consumed with the need to go to Italy, to meet Copia, to- to start over. To find purpose. What else had I come back for but that? I was so sure that they all just moved on after I died, that they didn't care. Like they were burying a stray dog.”

Mary holds out his hands for the stone, and Swiss hands it back to him.

Mary sets the stone back down by the impression – no, the grave, worn down and made natural by 130 years of weather, and turns back to Swiss, coming over to him and kissing him again.

This is different.

They'd been together a long time. Swiss was quite proud to feel like – like yes, he understood Mary, and he could get at the man's depths, and they could meld together-

But this is different.

Mary's mouth is warm, and his hands are covered in grave dirt, and when they pull back for air, Mary's eyes are electric, even surrounded by washed-away eyeliner.

Mary smiles.

“Whoa,” Swiss says, pulling Mary close by the waist and kissing him again, a bright thing, “That's a lethal smile, sweetheart. Gonna knock me out over here.”

“Shut up,” Mary sighs, leaning up and lacing his arms around Swiss's neck, kissing him again.

The whole jagged line of Mary is finally – relaxed. One hundred thirty years of them knowing each other and Mary is loose and pliable and molding up along the curve of Swiss's chest, and Swiss is pulling him closer and groans when Mary sags into him.

“Hehe,” Mary giggles, nipping at Swiss's lower lip.

“Hehe,” Swiss replies.

“I wanna fuck,” Mary murmurs.

“Here?” Swiss darts his eyes to the old grave, to the winter-bare trees, to the plumes of mist that haze around their mouths.

Mary also seems to realize this, cheeks fading into a pretty pink.

“You don't want to fuck a dead man? Engage in some necrophilia?”

“Is it necrophilia if both parties are dead though?”

Mary's brow furrows and he focuses on one of the buttons of Swiss's coat, pulling back a bit. “Hm. Is it? Legally?”

“Might be. Laws are weird about us.”

“Damn, ain't that true.” Mary settles back, his cold hands on Swiss's cheeks. “We'll make some bureaucrat hard with this write-up then. Once we get back. It's cold.”

Swiss just chuckles, clutching Mary close again and kissing him some more.

[1800gotspook]

The Death of a Millionaire

Summary: "If you were to ask Amity's teens about the house, most will tell you it's haunted. You will hear a hundred stories, a tangle of rumors about who lived there." A young resident of Amity park digs into Urban Legends and discovers the greatest mystery surrounding the town.

For the DannyMay2020 prompt “horror” although it’s probably more “creepypasta” esque.

[Read on AO3]

If you drive south down Grimme Road you'll eventually reach the end of the street. Past the City Hall, past Casper High, past the power plant. At the end of the road, turn left and keep driving. You will eventually find a road that borders the woods. Follow that road. It slowly becomes less and less structured, lacking maintenance. Cracked by the roots of trees. Littered with potholes and chunks of concrete. Any street lights left are no longer powered by the city. You will regret if you came at dark.

Driving far enough down that battered road, the trees will thin out. Ahead on the right you will find a wide open property. A tall, intricate, wrought iron fence circling a vast, overgrown yard. Rolling hills of what was probably once lush green grass, now covered in unkempt bushes and weeds, stretching over a brick driveway, even more crumbled than the road you entered on. Weeds and vines peeking up through the cracks. No sign of human intervention in at least thirty years.

Keeping you from trespassing is nothing more than a pointy steel gate. Large enough for vehicles to pass through. The chains holding it shut are probably easy to pull apart. Break the rusty links and force the long-dormant hinges to whine. But you have no interest stepping on this property.

Looking up the drive, you can see the stone path just barely through the weeds. Winding up and around the land to reach its focal point: the house. You could even call it a mansion. Elegant brick laid outside. Once expensive drapery, now bleached a sickly yellow by the sun, sits in the windows. Even the front door, although dusty and rotted, exhibits an air of refinement.

If you were to ask Amity's teens about the house, most will tell you it's haunted. You will hear a hundred stories, a tangle of rumors about who lived there. No matter how peculiar, entertaining, or sensible the stories become, they never quite answer my question:

Why would a person like this, with so much class and so much money, choose to live in Amity Park?

During my research into Amity Park records, I discovered that the house actually belonged to a once renowned millionaire by the name of Vlad Masters. For most of his adult life, he resided in an even larger home. Not just a mansion, but a castle, you could say. This original home was in Madison, Wisconsin. In 2006,he suddenly decided to move to Amity Park, shortly after his election as mayor. That's right. A completely unrelated millionaire from Wisconsin, despite never stepping foot in Amity Park, was elected mayor. This brings up some questionable thoughts, doesn't it? Was he really, legitimately elected?

After his election, it appears he took no real action for the betterment of Amity, except to establish a myriad of anti-ghost protection measures. Long after his death, he was discovered to be involved in many scandals. All the more proving that his election wasn't short of the same. But how he could pull that off? That may never be known.

Investigators never uncovered his true intentions for becoming mayor. Was he just crazy? Power hungry? Was this all a part of some big plan?

The most baffling mystery, however, is what brought Masters to his death.

He lived alone. His body was only found after his several absences from mayoral duties. Nobody was able to contact him. A poor secretary found him eighteen hours later. She said he was covered in burns all up and down his body. Face barely recognizable.

Along with those injuries, scorch marks were peppered all over the study where he was. Investigators said each burn in the room showed signs of explosion on impact, as if someone had accidentally set off a batch of fireworks indoors. However, there were no signs of combustible material anywhere. No scraps or gunpowder. No ashes, no paper shavings. No chemical traces. No debris or fuel at all. The source of the explosions entirely a mystery. If Vlad Masters was attacked, the assailant's trails were expertly covered.

It must have been deliberate. Investigators were sure of that. Despite the scorch marks all over the room, his body was most prominently burned. He was clearly the target of the explosions.

Yet the burns aren't what killed him. According to autopsy reports, his heart had stopped, independent of the little fireworks. There were also no signs of Vlad Masters having previous heart conditions, yet arrhythmia was most likely the cause.

Some detectives in the papers considered the possibility that Masters was electrocuted. It could explain some of the burn marks on his body. But that fell through, as other damages to his body and room went unexplained.

Months after the electrocution theory, more information was uncovered. Because of his bodily reaction to the injuries, they were actually discovered to be chemical burns. They still couldn't figure out what exactly had burned him, as there was no sign of residue or foreign substances to be found.

Further investigation of his injuries was cut short. Curiously, the body could no longer be studied after the initial autopsy. For some reason, each time they tried, results grew more and more inconsistent than the last. Certain burns on his body from previous tests could no longer be found. Each time they tried to study his body, there was less and less to examine. It was almost like he was reverting back. Like his body was healing.

Some say that his body was completely back to a perfect condition by the end of the week. Some say that his funeral was open casket. They say if you went to the funeral, you could walk up and feel his ice cold skin. Not a sign of the burns. If you looked at his face, you could see the hint of a smirk, forever plastered there. Unable to be broken. Unable to be moved by his muscles. They no longer carried blood. No longer kept warm by a beating heart. Stuck grinning about his own mysterious fate.

They searched his house thoroughly in an attempt to uncover anything about his death. Any hint of a struggle. Signs of an ex-friendship. A piece of hate mail. Something to give them a lead. They couldn't even find evidence of an intruder in his house. Masters had security cameras surveying the yard, yet not a single one picked up another being. Not the day of the incident, nor for weeks leading up to it.

Despite all of this security, Masters only ever monitored the outside of his home. He was clearly a secretive man if he was willing to sacrifice safety for privacy.

Investigators searched for alternative entrances to his home and made a shocking discovery. A lever in the study. When pulled, the bookcase made a click, then slowly opened inward. Behind this new doorway, a staircase to the basement. With no other apparent entrances. Some old laboratory. Banged up equipment that once had various uses. Syringes and test tubes, all sterile and unused. Large contraptions with several sleek levers and buttons, never labelled. Investigators peeled the contraptions apart to discover each one empty. Core identifying structures like computer chips and motors were removed, leaving only a shell behind. Horrifyingly, some of these shells resembled guns. But they weren't quite guns. Some resembled household appliances. One looked like a high-end toaster. Its sleek exterior in porcelain white. No power cord, but a hole in the side where a charger might go.

There were also strange containment pods and large glass boxes, fit for an aquarium. They lined the walls at one end of the spacious room, also missing any identifying features.

At the other end of the room, a gaping cavern, easily twelve feet long. Lined with steel, and a few holes at the entrance. But once again, nothing could be derived but more confusion and open-ended theories.

Computer system: destroyed. File cabinet: empty. Fingerprints: besides Master's? Nonexistent.

Acidic substances littered the floor. Broken vials and common chemicals corroding away at the sleek tile. Some substances were entirely unrecognizable.

One common theory: Masters experimented with chemicals, and got carried away, getting himself killed in the process.

But I refuse to believe that after all his misdeeds there wouldn't be someone after him. Somebody to kill him. Somebody who learned the ins and outs of his mansion, and took every precaution. Someone who wanted to destroy his lab. Whatever work he was doing, it was unlikely to be for a good cause.

The police asked Amity for help. If someone knew anything about this case, they would be grateful.

Living in what was once the most haunted town, many people wondered if ghosts were involved in the incident. Local ghost experts who were old friends of Masters decided to help. After obtaining plentiful details and performing endless studies, the ghost experts concluded that spectral entities were not involved in the incident. It wasn't possible. Ghosts always announced their misdeeds. If ghosts were the cause, Amity would have known of Masters' death instantly, and exactly who was to blame. The ghost experts could not identify the unknown substances.

Is it possible that because these ghost experts knew Masters personally, that they chose to withhold information. Yes, it is a considerable theory. But still, why would a ghost target Masters specifically? Because he conducted anti-ghost measures for the city? Even so, it's no question that Vlad Master had a ghost shield on his property. It simply isn't plausible to assume a ghost could attack him that easily.

Some argue Masters' death was his own doing, whether an accident or not. Others claim the government, or a secretive organization, chose to eliminate him. Remove Amity Park from his clutches. Would the government really be involved but create such a baffling mystery? Why would the police beg the town for answers? Yet another addition to this elaborate mystery.

Angela,

Let me know how this essay reads for you. I've been studying urban legends of the town for a while now, and I compiled a lot of stuff to write this. I want to release it to the entirety of Amity (and the world) but I don't know where to post it and if it will be taken seriously. You know how much I love this kind of stuff. I trust you. So please please please do not share.

Riley

[cannotgiveafuck]

Shazam Week Prompt 1

Its Shazam Week and my muses need the boost, so have some daily dabbles (while I get thru BBTWLB)!

Prompt 1: Seasons

----

The seasons were changing.

Chilly winds were coming back to life. Leaves were falling from their trees. Decorations were leaving summer behind. Autumn was upon them. Truths were finally harvested.

Change was happening. It was always inevitable, but Billy had hoped he could stave it off a little longer, that he could keep everything under wraps and under control until he was ready, until it was the right time.

Change doesn't ask for permission, though…

And apparently, neither did infamous thieves.

"This isn't what I had in mind when you kidnapped me off the street, you know," Billy said, exasperated and amused all at once. 

"And what did you have in mind, hmm? Bank robbery? Heists? Being held hostage?" The woman asked, her hand casually stayed upon his shoulder, but Billy knew she needn't use force to get him to stay. He wasn't going anywhere else any time soon. 

"I mean…" Billy glanced around, eyeing the other mall shoppers as they passed by. "I wasn't expecting this, to be honest."

There was a child running towards a toy store, their exhausted parent dragging behind them. A couple was heatedly discussing something over at the kitchen store. Some pretty teenage girls giggled where they sat at a bench, coffee cups in one hand and shopping bags in the other.

It all seemed very… strangely normal to Billy. Another world he had only really gleaned in passing, somewhere he only stepped into while he was Captain Marvel and meeting civilians. He wasn't supposed to be here as Billy. 

He wasn't supposed to have a normal day when everything had been uprooted.

And he definitely wasn't supposed to be here with the Snart siblings.

[[MORE]]

"Well, sorry to disappoint, little scarlet," reappearing from the depths of the sweater section of the clothing store they were currently in, Leonard Snart stopped before them. "We can include you on our next job."

"Please don't."

"Aww, don't be like that," Lisa ruffled his hair and grabbed onto the sweaters draped over Len's arm. She inspected them with a critical eye, though Billy couldn't tell what exactly she was deciding. "You'd make a cute lil distraction."

Billy rolled his eyes. The last thing he needed was to be dragged into a Rogues crime spree. He was already in hot water with the League right now and-

No. Not thinking about that.

"Lenny, these are all dark," Lisa said as she tossed the sweaters back to her brother.

"Yes, they are," he replied in the same monotone way of his, but Billy could hear the snark in it. Especially as he carefully folded the sweaters back into neatness.

"They're boring," she folded her arms across her chest in a huff.

"You mean they're not gold." 

Lisa glared at him. "He needs color in his life. Gold included."

That was not true at all. "I don't really need any-"

"You're getting these."

"Yes, you do!"

Well, okay then. 

Billy sighed in resignation. He had already tried getting out of this situation before they even entered the building. He explained to them that no, he did not need new clothes, and that yes, he was aware that his current red hoodie had a hole in it, but it was still good and he still had a backup hoodie for when this one fell apart. 

It wasn't even that cold yet! He was fine, thanks for asking!

But when did adults ever listen to children? When did Billy ever get a say?

When the Snart siblings spotted him sweeping leaves off the sidewalk for the local stores, his hoodie having an obvious hole on the side - a snag he got when he squeezed through a chain link fence to get away from some ruffians - they would not take no for an answer. In fact, they picked him up and set him on Len's motorcycle and the next thing Billy knew, he was being dragged into the mall.

He had been a bit preoccupied at the time. A lot was on his mind, lately.

"Here, try these on," Len lead Billy toward the fitting rooms. "If you want to pick out a horrendous sweater, that's on you, Lise."

Lisa flipped her curls over her shoulder, throwing the last words in as well, "I have better taste than you, anyway."

Billy could hear the long suffering huff from the man. But he could tell there was no actual heat behind it. It was that sibling banter type of exchange. Something Billy recognized because of the silly arguments he's had with Freddy, almost always about superheroes or where to get the best hotdogs.

"Try these on," Len said as he handed the sweaters to Billy and closed the fitting room door.

Carefully placing the very nice clothing on the cushioned seat in the corner, Billy was momentarily distracted by the mirror that took up two walls of the small room. Blaring lights lined the full length mirror, ensuring nothing would be hidden when someone gazed upon their own reflection. 

And nothing was missed. 

Shedding his hoodie and shirt, Billy traced the path of his lightning scar that travelled across him. The ugly knotted tissue was centered above his chest, right by his heart. Its branches reached across his chest and arched over his shoulder, and as he turned around he saw them peak to his back. The tissue didn't hurt him. It didn't have much feeling at all, except for when the chilly weather dropped, then it only ached a little bit. But he knew he wouldn't be able to wear certain clothes, as this past summer had been tricky.

Maybe having some extra sweaters would be a good thing.

But he could get a bulk of them from the second hand store. He didn't need fancy new ones personally picked out from Captain Cold.

"C'mon, scarlett," Len called out, like Billy could possibly find a way to sneak around him. 

No longer able to hide, Billy stepped out. "No offense, but I feel like this… is a bit much." The sweater was a dark blue turtleneck that fit perfectly, which nearly surprised Billy since he's sure he never told Len what size clothing he wore.

"Nonsense!" Lisa exclaimed as she strode in, arms full of golds, yellows, and black. "We're not even getting started. Also that makes you look like some snobby rich brat. I hate it."

"He looks dignified," Len countered, eyeing her bundle of clothes with suspicion. 

"He looks like a wayward Wayne child. Here, try these!" She shooed Billy back inside, pushing the new articles of clothes with him. 

At the click of the door shutting, Billy heard the sniping banter start up again. It was comforting, in a way. To hear them casually talk around him without censoring themselves, to feel their hands ruffle his hair like he wasn't made of glass, like he wasn't a burden, like they cared about him.

Was this what having an aunt and uncle was like? 

(He missed the League, he missed Arrow and Canary's back and forth, he missed Diana's quiet room, he missed Hal and Flash's laughter, he missed-)

Billy blinked and was surprised at the moisture in his eyes. He took a deep breath and listened a moment longer to them talk before trying one of the ridiculously oversized sweaters Lisa chose for him. 

The neck was too large, sliding off his shoulders so that he had to strategically keep it covering his scarred up left side. It wasn't exactly his color, nor something he ever planned on wearing, but he could at least humor her.

"Adorable. Fashionable."

"Impractical."

"Hush, Lenny."

"Try the button cardigan. The wool is thicker and it has inside pockets."

"No, no! The leather jacket one! The fabric on the inside is soft."

"Leather jackets aren't warm."

"This one is!"

"He has a jacket already-"

"And? He needs something besides a parka, Len!"

"Stop!" A swell of emotions rose in Billy's chest. This was all too much. "I really appreciate the effort, I do. But I don't… But my hoodies fit fine. My clothes are fine. I don't need new things! I don't want new things! I just…"

I want everything to stop.

I want everything to go back.

I don't want change.

"These are ugly, anyway," Lisa said in the face of heavy silence. "C'mon, we'll get some food." She grabbed at the pile of clothes and strode away.

In her absence, the dawning realization of what he had done started to crush Billy under its weight.

Why did he always mess things up?

Why did he always say the wrong things?

Captain Marvel was always good at words, at explaining things, at saying what he meant. 

But not Billy. He never finds the right things to say, can never tell others what he's feeling, can never be wise and smart and charming.

No wonder the League didn't want him.

He ruined everything.

"You don't always get what you want, scarlet," Len said. He cool eyes never left Billy's face, so he turned away in shame because he knows that! He knows he never gets what he wants. "But new clothes aren't the problem here."

No, they weren't. Leonard Snart had always been a clever and sharp man, and Billy was getting sick and tired of feeling like just a child. Like he had no control over his life.

"Everything's changing. It's going too fast and I can't stop it and I just… I want… I don't wanna be lost," Billy said to the floor.

"Then pick a sweater," Len said.

That made no sense. This had nothing to do with sweaters!

Billy blinked up, baffled. "Wha?"

"You can't stop things from happening, you just admitted that," he shrugged as he gently nudged Billy back into the fitting room. "Don't beat yourself up over circumstances you can't change. It'll get you nowhere. Always be aware of what you can control, and always be aware that even those variables can shift. That's a part of life, kid. But that doesn't mean you can't enjoy the finer things in life."

Billy stood in the dressing room, and stared at his old, worn hoodie. 

What was finer than being a part of the Justice League?

"That's terrible advice," he couldn't help but say.

"Then do something else."

His eyes moved toward the lone sweater hanging - dark red and soft, pockets on the inside.

Billy opened the door and felt himself smile because he didn't know what else to do with his face. His old hoodie was back on, but he clung onto the new sweater. "What does that even mean?"

Len smirked. "It means you chose a terrible color, but at least you picked something." His hand was firm on Billy's shoulder, warm and guiding. "Which is better than Lisa's choice, but I'm sure she's already stolen the leather jacket for you."

Billy laughed.

The seasons were changing.

And he was changing, too.

[talltalesandbedtimestories]

A View To A Winchester (Part 1)

Series Page

Summary: Julie’s starting a new life after divorce in a home with a very nice view.

A Dean X OFC story. No idea how long it will be, but I’ve got time on my hands. I got this idea staring out the view of my home office window and thinking how nice it would be to have Dean Winchester to ogle. I’m thinking it will go the fluffy route, with some angst, and maybe some smut down the line. Not sure yet.

Section Word Count:  3,755

Section Warnings: mild language

~~~~~

The view from Julie’s home office had always provided some solace. A calm had washed over her the very first time she stared at it months ago. She’d been alone searching for a new place to move all of her stuff into as soon as possible. Well, not alone if you counted the perky real estate agent hovering in the doorway. Back then, she had no idea what her next step would be. But this little view of nothing special hit the pause button as all the pieces of her life crumbled out of her control. The view had been a distraction amidst the decisions and paperwork and phone calls. Everything that came along with severing the life she had built with the man she’d married.

She could hear her spry sixty-six year old mother passing the vacuum downstairs in the living room. Again. For the second time that day. Bless her sanitation compulsion. It’s only going to get worse now that she had to leave her house for this fumigation fiasco… will never hear the end of how she always knew keeping a clean house was important. Julie sighed. It will keep her from mentioning Steve for a while. That’s a positive.

She’d started her work project that Saturday morning at the PC atop the corner desk. A wall slathered in a turf green color with the precision of a five year old had been her view past that computer screen. Wish I’d had time and money to paint the whole house before moving in.

The uncomfortable office chair and the ache in her lower back had shifted Julie’s location by hour four of her remote work day. She gave in to try and subdue the pain, pulled out her laptop and sank into the sofa bed. The discount furniture had proved remarkably comfy. It was also positioned at a perfect height under the two side by side windows. The view looking out over her small backyard was always filled with entertaining items.

It was a standard middle class development. No HOA in this joint. Her neighbors to the left had perfected the art of hoarding chaos in their backyard. Every inch was filled with something either garden or tool related or well past its usefulness. Julie had a quaint covered patio right next to their property line. Mom, the one with the green thumb and outdoor enthusiasm, had sat under it more than Julie had over the past few days. Nature is better experienced behind a pane of glass. I’m too sweet for those mosquitoes.

A beautiful dagwood tree skirted the other fence line toward the far edge of her property. It’s branches brushed over the detached carport capping off the incline from the long driveway. This divorcee didn’t have it in her budget for a two car garage. But, she did like the fact that her car wasn’t the first thing a guest saw in front of the house when they drove down the road to visit. The quaint cape cod had a simple charm to it, with another small dagwood by the porch.

You should have taken Steve for everything he was worth. Oh, her mom’s never requested, yet always given, opinion when it came to her ex. If only she did have some of that superstitious Italian ability to curse others. Steve’s dick would have fallen off a long time ago. 

Nope, this view had been just enough for Julie when she’d moved in three months ago. After the divorce had become final. And then, last week, somehow, she’d managed to convince her dead-set-in-her-ways mom to leave her row home in the city and stay with her, instead of at a hotel during the necessary remediation. 

You try and talk an old school Italian into leaving their home unattended. Try, I dare you. 

Julie’s younger brother, Joseph, was on the west coast with his wife and two sons. There was no way, as much as her mother worshipped the ground her son walked on, that Joey would be able to come and rescue Mamma Mia for this one. Knowing their mother was with Julie made little brother feel better. He’d uttered that phrase over a video call, his youngest boy squirming in his lap and grabbing for the screen. They both wouldn’t be alone for a little while, he added, which cut Julie in a way that she was sure he hadn’t intended. It’ll keep Ma busy, Jule-Jule, having you to fuss over. Like she used to do when we were kids. 

As she tapped with an absentminded rhythm on the down arrow key, trying to focus on the spreadsheet, she couldn’t help but steal glances at the patch of unoccupied concrete driveway in the other neighbor’s yard. The one neighbor she’d only seen on two occasions. But, both times, he had been a glorious sight to behold. The man she’d learned was called Dean Winchester.

The first time she’d spotted him, Julie had been outside late one evening, only a couple days after moving in. Her cleaning of the backyard had gone better than expected that afternoon. Even a run in with a spider had not scared her inside. Normally, she would have abandoned any items and cleaning supplies in her wake of fright. That was not an option. Cause I don’t have anyone around to kill them. She faced the one-inch eight legged fiend like a trooper, brushing it into the grass. 

The finishing touch of her busy day had been the placement of two wicker chairs and a tiny table in the covered patio’s alcove. Spring had not officially arrived yet, but she’d risk putting the outdoor furniture where it belonged. Her frame sank into one of the chairs with a wine cooler in hand, her aching feet propped up in the seat of the other. She tugged the cardigan sweater closed at the slight chill in the air.

Her chatty neighbor Wes, the one with the hoarding problem, had talked her ear off for a good half hour. She basked in her accomplishment as the sun set and she was talked more at than to. He seemed quite content speaking over her as she attempted a conversation. Not in an overbearing or conceited way. It was reminiscent of an excited child who couldn’t wait to get all the details out about their amazing story. His partner, Samuel, would try to steer Wes back and remind him to wait his turn in the most patient of ways. Julie had no energy left to struggle and simply listened. It was what she was good at, after all. 

Julie quickly surmised the amount of alcohol they imbibed could be part of the reason they got along so well. They were night and day. Wes worked in construction, had a scruffy stark blonde beard that matched the ponytail, and lived in faded jeans and a Phish t-shirt. Samuel was a retired Executive Director and dressed like one of those distinguished older gentlemen in a Land’s End catalog.

The couple had eventually turned in, wishing her a good night. Julie sat, alone, in the dark. She was too tired to get up. Her lids were getting heavy. A loud rumble from a vehicle had stirred her awake. She cursed at falling asleep, outside, leaving herself vulnerable in a new place. The open wine cooler bottle hung in her hand at a precarious angle. She placed it atop the table and prepared to lift her ass out of the now uncomfortable seat. Then, she spotted headlights creeping up part of the driveway she could see past the other neighbor’s house. There was a good 30 feet of grass between her chain link fence and the neighbor’s drive. 

A motion sensor light kicked on. The massive front of a vintage black car came into view. It pulled in slow and cautious like a boat approaching a pier. The engine ticked off and grunted at the journey’s end. Then the driver’s door swung open. And, in the darkness, under the covered patio, Julie could feel her mouth start to dry up at the sight of the man who’d been behind the wheel.

She couldn’t explain the reaction, even thinking about it now. But, there’d been something overwhelmingly masculine about the way that figure eased out of the car. The presence triggered her senses into overdrive. There was no flight or fight response. All freeze on her end.

Work boots landed on the concrete in a secure and smooth motion one after the other. Her ears tuned into the thud of his soles, then the shift of toe boots sliding against gravel. The fluorescent light played with the shadows and cut a chiseled physique out of the contrast. The buzzing sound from the bulbs over him intensified in her ears. Like he was generating energy. The tingling sound crested in waves in her direction. She licked her lips. A metallic, coppery flavor laced the air. The taste reminded her of when she had accidently touched a live wire and received a mild shock.  

She dared to tilt her head. Her black rimmed bifocal prescription glasses got a clearer image of this man. He dipped back into the car to pull out a duffel bag and tossed it by his feet. He wore dark jeans draped over muscled thighs and a pair of bow legs. She made out all those details thanks to the light shining down and carving out a pronounced oval between those legs. A plaid shirt fitted and hugged a set of broad shoulders. The hem of the shirt hung in the perfect spot above… well, maybe that was when her mouth had completely dried up. That man had an ass so perfect, so curvy, she’d never seen a male backside look that good in denim.

My mind has to be playing tricks on me. She shook her head to rid her brain of the fuzziness. Or, that wine cooler was a lot stronger than I expected. There’s no way the rest of him is that… this... perfect.

And, then, he turned into the light, and gave her a glimpse of his face. And proved her goddamn wrong.

He bent down to grab the bag off the ground and swung the door shut, producing a squeak. But, the squeak could have been one of disbelief coming from her mouth. A spiky, short cut of hair topped his head. The profile of this man had sharp angles in all the right areas. Dips and swells in every other spot of his face brought to mind those old Guess jeans ads Julie had seen in countless magazines growing up. She’d wished the moon and stars wiped away in that moment and willed the sun to rise instead. She wanted to see every inch of him and take in all that was reserved for the shadows.

And as quick as that, he was gone, with a confident posture and matching swagger. He disappeared down the driveway. He must have gone into the front door of his tiny house out of view. A couple seconds went by and then a light filled one of the small square windows. But, she saw no movement. Then another window snapped on in illumination. This one was situated on the wall of the house closer to her property. But, still nothing. No sign of him, not even a passing shadow. Both lights eventually turned off. Back in the dark, Julie gasped for the air she’d been denying herself as she spied on this other neighbor. She scurried back in the house like a mouse.

The wheels of the unplugged vacuum cleaner rolled along the hardwood in the first story directly below and rolled her out of the recollection. Mom was moving to another room to continue cleaning. Little to no insulation in the walls and the small square footage made everything way too easy to hear in this house. Her mother’s snores in the first floor bedroom last night had woken her up. She frowned, realizing she could no longer watch the occasional soft porn in her bedroom without the use of headphones. She was fifteen all over again.

Not that I’ve needed much in terms of arousing material since my other neighbor. Dean.

The man had no routine to speak of that she could discern. The car might be parked in the driveway for a week or two, then gone for one week. Then back for only a day to be gone again. For a month after that first sighting, the only sign of him being home had been the car in the driveway. Her voyeuristic tendencies shifted into high gear. She found the views from her office window and the sliding glass door leading out to her yard even more interesting now.

She resorted to asking Wes about the neighbor when the car had disappeared again for a few days. Wes’ eyes lit up in obvious appreciation at the question that bright Saturday morning. “Oh, you mean Dean? Dean Winchester. Been around for a couple years. Keeps to himself... and his yard mowed in the summer, when he’s around. Quiet. Well, except for his radio when he’s working on the Impala. Thank God he’s got good taste in music.”

“Impala?”

“His car, sweetie.” Samuel had snuck up behind Wes and clarified.

“Oh.” Julie did not know enough about cars to have identified the model. She discerned the basics. It was black and bulging and could batter ram her compact into an accordion if they’d ever gotten into a crash.

“It’s a beauty. His pride and joy.” Wes tilted his beer over toward Dean’s driveway. “I got to look under the hood of her once. I offered to help, but…”

“He’s got a clear indication of how good you are with cars, Wes.” Samuel raised an eyebrow and pointed to the rusty, old truck behind them.

“My financial ability doesn’t have anything to do with my knowledge and skills in car repair,” Wes huffed.

“I could make a counter argument, but I’m hungry and really want you to cook tonight.” Samuel tapped Wes’s shoulder.

“What does he do for a living?” Julie asked.

“He can’t really talk about it.” Wes nodded in an exaggerated manner.

Julie could feel her mouth turn down in disappointment. “Why not?”

“He’s hinted it’s government related. Possibly Homeland Security.” Samuel added.

“Oh. Wow.” The hours kind of made sense. But, the tiny house in this mediocre neighborhood didn’t line up with the salary that went along with a job like that. She kept the opinion to herself. As she usually did with most things.

That afternoon, Julie had gotten a bug up her ass to clean the second floor. Her mom would be coming to visit the next day. The last thing she wanted to see her do was pull out the mop and bucket. I’ll have to lock up all my cleaning products. Of course, mom’s sneaky little self will probably pack up her own arsenal of weapons in her car. 

After she’d finished with her bedroom an hour later, she’d attacked her office. The windows, inside and out, had been begging for a proper wipe down. She raised the roman shades left by the previous owners to the very top of the sill, coughed at the dust, and then lifted one of the windows up enough to tilt it into the room. The pane rested against the sofa back. Julie started to clean the exterior.

A breeze pushed in through the screen while she worked. It forced her to time the spraying of cleaner fluid so she didn’t end up with chemicals in her face. When things settled, she bent into the task and wiped. Outside, an angry engine rumbled off to the right. She knew that sound. She’d only heard it once before, but it had ingrained itself into her brain. She licked her lips, like Pavlov’s dog. Her mouth curled into a smile now that she could attach a name to the other neighbor. Dean’s home. Her heart sped up.

Daylight. Moment of truth. The rag dropped from her hand. She looked around for the binoculars. They waited on the sofa’s side table, having been fished out of storage after that first night she’d seen him. Her fingers tugged the window screen up. An unpleasant squeak from the vinyl rubbing together clawed at her inner ear. She hunched down and sat on the sofa, barely tipping her head up over the bottom window sill. Her hand snuck to her left and snatched the binoculars. 

She could only imagine how ridiculous she looked at that moment. Yep, you’ve brought out the voyeur in me, Dean. Or, should I call you Mr. Winchester, until we’ve been properly introduced? Please, God. If you’re going to throw me a bone after all this shit with Steve, let this man be a hunky neighbor truly worthy to have spent this much time obsessing over.

She rested the binoculars on the bridge of her nose and tried to focus through the magnified lenses. Sparkling wheel rims, up close and personal, edged into the scene, along with the rest of the car. The anticipation of how much more of Mr. Winchester she might be able to see had her movements searching and tracking in a frantic pace. The binoculars landed on the driver’s side window. Only seeing the outside reflection made her heart drop. The engine ticked off. Then, the door opened.

Showtime.

“You wanted me to check in, Sammy. For the third time, I’m fine.” The clarity of the voice wafting up to her perch from the second story made her gasp. Could I be this lucky? It’s like I’m in the perfect sound traveling angle possible.

After the shock of the eavesdropping accessibility died down, she gasped for a second time when she saw Dean emerge from the car.

Holy shit.

Dean glanced around the yard, checked his surroundings and stilled. He leaned on the side of the car and stared into her yard. Julie guessed jeans, boots, and a plaid shirt might be his attire of choice. But, good God. Hunky didn’t do him justice. He was fucking gorgeous. Rough, scruffy, a bit aged. Yet, he was also perfect model material with a boyish hint underneath. He had a well proportioned nose, dimpled chin, and a very nice set of lips with just the right amount of pout. His brown hair had a combo of red and golden highlights in the sunshine. The only thing she couldn’t make out well enough from the distance was his eye color.

“Things are good. Just got back home from a hunting trip. Yeah, I’ve been tracking the news. Run of the mill stuff. Happy days are here again.”

And, the voice. Holy shit. It was deep, with bass, and reverberated like his car’s engine in her ears. 

“How’s things out west?” He nodded, apparently listening to a long explanation. “Eileen?” Another nod, then his eyes widened. “Really? Congrats on knocking her up, little brother. Finally. Only been with her for two years. ‘Bout time.” He smirked. The grin faded into a serious, tight expression. His jaw clenched and Julie heard a moan leave her lips. “Nah. There’s no reason for me to head your way. I’m fine. Someone’s gotta man the east coast. Most of our headaches popped up here in Delaware years back, remember?” He tilted his head from side to side and rolled his eyes. “Well, you never know. Better I stay here. Just in case. Listen, catch up’s been great.” He pinched his nose. “I’m beat. Just want to sleep for a week. Yeah. Will do. You too, Sammy.” 

He propelled himself off the side of the car and reached in to pull the same duffel bag. The car door squeaked shut. And, he was gone again. Julie had gotten herself together after a minute or so and went about the window cleaning. The job was not as thorough as she had planned. A distracted focus had her staring at the Impala and Dean’s house for the majority of her time at the window. 

And, maybe he had slept for an entire week after that. The car didn’t move. When she’d leave for work in the mornings she’d take her time by the sliding door to lock up. Easing down the concrete path toward the carport at a languid pace some days. Careful lawn inspection or a trip to check on the patio might fill a minute or so on others. With always the glances up in Dean’s general direction. 

But the car would be there in the mornings and when she arrived from work for a few more weeks after that. Then, the erratic disappearances began again. The fun game she was playing of hide and seek with someone not even in on the diversion only turned into disheartening disappointment. He had the hide part down.

“Giulia?”

Mom called up to her from the stairwell and the memory escaped.

“Yeah?”

“Want lunch?”

“I’m fine.” She readjusted on the couch.

“I’m going to make some pasta fagioli, then, for dinner later. Going to go sit out on the patio.”

“Sounds good.” Mom enjoyed talking to Wes and Samuel. Julie thought her mother didn’t understand much of what Wes said when he’d had one too many beers in him, which was pretty much all the time. But, she laughed a lot. It was more about the company lately.

Her mother muttered something in Italian. “Don’t work all day! It’s the weekend.” Julie didn’t bother to respond. The sliding door whooshed open and then rolled shut. Her mind wandered back to Dean. He’d been gone for three weeks at her daily tick count. Maybe he really does have a secret government job. But, what the hell popped up in Delaware years back? Delaware never made the news on a national level. Well, except for Wilmington being the murder capital of the United States a few years ago. He couldn’t have meant that, could he? Maybe he’s undercover, living just outside the biggest city in the state in good ol’ Pike Creek? She shook her head. Dean had become a distraction and now a point of worry for her. And, she hadn’t even met the man.

She huffed, then typed an email, wrapping up her extra work on the weekend. “Time to get out of these pajamas and take a shower,” she mumbled to no one in particular.

Part 2

Series Page

[clovertrails]

Finding a new trail

Leaving my front door, I turned left, walking south. After a few intersections, I hit Mosholu Avenue, a commercial street whose name derives from the Algonquin word for “smooth stones” or “small stones.” Oddly, the river that does run through Riverdale, which likely created the “smooth stones” which the word mosholu describes, is named Tibbetts Creek, after a European settler. It’s kind of odd to name a commercial avenue after a geographic feature of a river, no? But perhaps that could be read in a hopeful manner—to think of the urban commercial avenue as a river incarnate, a life-giving force through the town.

At Mosholu, I turned right (west, toward the river), following the avenue as it rounded corner, passing the local Tudor-style NYPL branch. Past the Riverdale Neighborhood House, a quaint colonial building with a pool and playground that looks vaguely hospitable for a certain kind of respectable citizen. Past the weedy baseball field, past the playground, mostly empty during the pandemic, but sometimes with a gaggle of teenage guys, chilling.

I usually crossed the street at this point and walked up a sidewalk to a curious little park that exists as an island amidst a crisscrossing web of highways. I walked up the street mostly because I didn’t feel like crossing the six-lane avenue just yet. Wanted secluded lanes that would allow me to keep to myself.

The park consists of a hilltop, a green island that just peeps over a loop-de-loop of highways, another one of Robert Moses’ concrete graffiti scrawls over the landscape of the Bronx. There’s a dog park in the middle that’s sort of falling apart; I’ve never seen anyone using it, dog or human. Mostly there are a lot of benches, facing outward and inward.

I kept walking, down garden-style, five-story, red brick apartments. Turned onto a quiet residential road with suburban single-family houses. No sidewalks, just gravelly weedy transitional spaces between grass and pavement.

I remember the gates first. I didn’t yet know it was a school; all I saw was a gate and behind it, trimmed lawns rolling up to a genteel brick building. A gated compound, vast flat fields, lacrosse fields, parking lots – of course, a private school. I followed the road as it sloped downward, hugging the edge of the prep school. There is something so sinister about a totally manicured lawn. How much labor, how much capital, do you need, to sustain this ugly face of control? Walking alongside the compound, I thought of all the iterations of this sort of gated, fenced-in, land – estates, kingdoms, plantations. 

At the end of the hill, the road spilled into nondescript dirt space. From a handful of cars, I gathered that it was a parking lot. The air changed, becoming cooler, denser. Ahead, the gravel met a chain-link fence tagged with the NYC Parks logo, a green maple leaf. This was a park? An old traffic cone and squashed cardboard boxes lay fallen against the fence. If you were walking quickly, or even driving, you would miss it entirely. My mind flashed to other Hudson parks I knew – Riverside Park, Riverbank State Park, Fort Tryon, Inwood. But this one was new, never previously encountered on a map or in person.

It seemed out of nowhere, a glen of hickory and oak, between mansions and railroads. No surprise, my mind flashed back to the gated private school that I had just passed. It was not lost on me that the serendipity of slipping into this trail occurred next to a private school with a 50K tuition in one of the richest neighborhoods in this zip code. Technically, this is a public park, but it is geographically located for the wealthy elite.

Not knowing what was inside this park, or how far it extended, I entered. Dusty paths, tall hickory and oak, flush with undergrowth. I followed a dirt trail and saw the glimmers of sunlight through the kaleidoscopic canopy of trees. I soon found the chain-link fence that formed the eastern perimeter of this park, and glimpsed the water beyond, drinking in its murmuring waves. Wandering more, I came across a dried-up gully, with a fallen tree trunk spanning its width. The top of the trunk had eroded into a temptingly flat surface. Certainly passable, if one had the guts to try. I walked five steps forward, paused, and retreated. Too old.

One thing to know is that the trees there were very tall. They do not rival the California redwoods, but the distance between the bushy undergrowth and the swaying canopy overhead felt vast. The treetops were so tall that they caught all the river wind, swirling it amongst their branches, so that I, a small ant standing below, heard the roar of the wind more so than felt its touch on my skin.

In the immediate vicinity of my body, there was the peace and quiet of overgrown trails and mossy trunks, but several leagues upward (what does a league measure? I do not know, but it feels like the right word), the treetops were in a great upheaval—maple, oak, hickory, all mingling—caught up in the wind, swaying and fluttering in one uplift.

The trail itself is fairly narrow, walk about 15 meters one way and you will see the faint outlines of a chain-link fences. On the riverside, you’ll catch sight of the railroads ahead, and on the roadside, the outlines of secluded houses, lights of vehicles driving by.

But this place, it felt like a little gem, one that, momentarily, was all my own. I knew that if I pulled up Google Maps, I would find this trail on the maps, and that if I searched it online, I would find the NYC Parks page for this trail, explaining in byte-form. The zoning, the planning committee, the pushback, et cetera. But it would say nothing about how it felt, walking through desolate suburban streets and posh gated lawns to then discover, without notice, relief. A windy green corridor, tucked by the river, rushing, still, roaring, quiet—all at once. 

I returned to the trail the next day, and the day after that. I found my legs craving, turning toward the park. One day during dinner, my mom inquired after where I went walking that day, and I mentioned that I went to Riverdale Park, by the river. They were puzzled – where?

Is it by the train station, my mom asked. By the train station, I sometimes see a little trail there and wonder what it is, she said, referring to the Riverdale Metro North station that services the Hudson Line, connecting Grand Central in midtown to Poughkeepsie up north in the valley.

No, I shake my head, no, thinking that she was referring to the pathetic concrete strip accessible to pedestrians by the train station. It’s basically a 15 meter long sidewalk with a single bench and overflowing trash cans where you might sit down and look over the Hudson. It’s certainly something, at least, but one cannot feel antsy, gazing upon the vast sweep of the Hudson while hemmed in by these arbitrary fences for “viewing.”  

Mine was a place that I had resisted placing on a map; it was this little gem of a shady glen pocketed into the outskirts of a suburb. It’s further south of here, next to Wave Hill, I said. You walked there? My dad asked, incredulous. Yes, I walked, I said, hiding my pride in my nonchalance. It’s only like twenty minutes.

Of course, my parents did not understand. They keep to their established routes – to the train station, to the field, to the grocery store. Whatever trail that my mom was referring to was not it. Besides, the trail was quite far from the train station – at least half a mile or so south of it.

I showed them the trail on Google Maps, pointing out the green rectangular patch. Ah, we have never been there, they mused. A week or so later, Saturday afternoon, instead of taking the car to the beach on Long Island, as is our tradition, we drove over to the trail. They were astonished when they arrived at the dirt entrance of the park.  A secret! They exclaimed. They’ve been keeping this a secret! Five years and we had no idea this place existed. Who would have known? So out of the way. Who was keeping this secret??

I chuckled at their astonishment, their indignation, that they had only now discovered this place. Part of my reaction is a weariness of knowing my parents calcified habits. They have lived in New York City for almost a decade now but still – my dad especially – are still suburban in their bones. Their favorite store remains Costco, where they shop at least once a week, despite having been empty nesters for more than a few years now. During the weekends, they drive up north to the suburbs to go hiking more often than they drive south to Manhattan for entertainment. The most urban that they venture is to the local Asian neighborhoods – Chinatown, Flushing, Elmhurst, for shopping and eating.

But their indignant exclamation, they’ve been keeping this secret! lingers with me and evinces, I think, a kernel of truth. If you zoom out from where I’m standing, in this little park in Riverdale, and run your eyes down the western length of New York City, you will see green hugging most of the coastline, corresponding to the richest zip codes in Manhattan. I think about the other, far larger and more famous park, Van Cortlandt Park, that sits next to the 242nd street subway station and attracts more populous crowds of Black, Latinx, Asian, and white residents, picnicking, playing baseball, soccer, flying kites, working out. Of course, Van Cortlandt has far more acreage and resources to avail itself to such recreation, but the park is well-trodden and busy, evidenced not only by the multitude of bodies but also the glass shards that depressingly litter its trails. Most of all, I guess, Van Cortlandt is unmissable, obvious, in plain sight. 

On the other hand, the trail running through Riverdale Park is sequestered away, on the margins with a nondescript entrance and overgrown signage. This trail offers the illusory feeling of having discovered it by yourself, a feeling of privacy within a public space. And within this privacy, unexpected and lively things emerge. But how might relishing the serendipitous joys of stumbling into one’s own world of green manifest not the sublimity of nature (or the self, touched by nature), but rather the hoarding of wealth, in its material and immaterial forms, across private and public lines? How might we deem both of these to be true and think of them together?  Things to keep thinking about…

[txladyj-blog]

Chapter 10 - This Time Around

a Daryl Dixon x OFC collaboration written by @xmistressmistrustx​

Rating: Explicit

Relationship: Daryl Dixon/Original Female Character

Tags: Friendship, Friends to Lovers, Awkwardness, Awkward Flirting, Awkward Crush, Fluff and Humor, Angst and Humor, Mild Smut, Strong Language, Eventual Sex, Eventual Romance, Slow Burn, Canon Divergence, Some Canon Scenes and Dialogue

Chapters 15/?

Jess’s legs were starting to burn from maneuvering over the bumpy terrain of the tree line as Daryl and the men moved from one Terminus sign to another. She skirted off, deeper into the woods and attempted to gain some ground in front of them. She broke into a run, sprinting over fallen trees and dead bodies that she didn’t even bother to check for signs of reanimation. She could out run them and she needed to outrun Daryl’s group and cut them off before they reached certain death at Terminus. Destroying the signs was her best bet, or diverting them onto a path that steered them away, but she had to get there first and cover her tracks enough so that Daryl wouldn’t pick up on her footprints being fresh in the dirt. She knew he would. He was smart, an expert tracker and highly observant. Panic was surging through her when she thought of what could happen should she fail at her task.

She’d first encountered Terminus when she was alone, between settlements and bordering on freezing to death from the unforgiving weather. She didn’t trust the signs from the start, which is why she located the destination and dug in for the night under a plastic tarp. She watched from the fence as the inhabitants dragged people from a train cart, kicking and screaming. People that never returned. She knew the smell by now, a sickening odor that she would never forget. Burning flesh. Only it wasn’t being burned to rid the compound of Walkers or any infections, it was being burned in order to be consumed.

Since then, Jess made it her mission to destroy any signs for Terminus she came across which she realized was a frustrating and fruitless task due to them being replaced as quickly as she removed them. Whoever was running the place knew what they were doing, they were relentless and sadistic and there was no way that she would allow Daryl to end up there if she could help it.

Running wasn’t something that bothered her much anymore, her stamina levels were much higher with the change in season. The improved temperature meant she could go back to training properly, always finding new ways of keeping her strength and fitness up. Her legs burned and her chest felt like it might burst, but it was all expected for the amount of ground she would cover in a matter of minutes.

That was until she was stopped in her tracks by upwards of two hundred Walkers all heading straight for her. A herd. She leaned forwards, using her hands on her knees to stabilize herself as she caught her breath. Her brow was wet and her mouth dry. In her backpack, she carried three bottles of water but knew she needed to conserve them until she was desperate.

“Right. There’s a herd. Of course, there is. Brilliant. That’s just great.” She complained as she flung her arms up, turned around and ran in the direction she’d arrived from.

                                             =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

 One of the few good things about the apocalypse is not having to stick to speed limits or worry about other drivers. So, when Jess sped down the rural roads like a bat out of hell, she knew she had to burn some serious rubber to make it around the herd and back to Terminus before Daryl was put in serious danger. The sun was dipping the sky and evening was rolling in, the last thing she wanted to be doing was fighting an entire community of cannibals in the dark with nothing but a rifle, a machete and a bow but try as she might, she could not find it in herself to tear herself away and simply go back to the fairground.

She was no longer sure id Daryl would make the same sacrifices for her, or if he ever would have in the first place, but she did remember his attentive and protective attitude when he took her out training and hunting. Sometimes, she wondered why he even bothered with any of it, putting it down to boredom and a need to feel superior. She dared not think there was anything else in it, she’d been disappointed enough.

She hit the brakes hard when she came to the crossroads that met the railway tracks and considered her next move. She’d been driving for almost an hour at least and saw no signs of the herd. She’d successfully managed to drive all the way around them. Now, for her plan, or lack of one, starting with the truck. She would have to leave it somewhere accessible. She tickled the accelerator and steered to the left, veering around a broken-down garage and coming to a stop behind it. Believing it provided enough cover, she hopped out and set off for Terminus.

                                             =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

It was as if the elements could sense the oncoming pandemonium. A strange stillness filtered into her mind. Why was it so quiet? Her heart dropped when she heard an explosion so loud that the ground shook beneath her feet and she was sure she could feel the rush of air barrel through the trees. Smoke plumed into the air above, followed by dancing flames. Terminus was on fire.

She ran again, as fast as her legs would carry her. Boots thudding into the damp ground and the air lashing at her face, making her eyes glassy over her mask. As she approached the grounds around the fence, gunfire resulted in her jumping behind a tree to shield herself. Her eyes quickly scanned the woodland as she crouched and caught her breath.

Stay calm. You got this. Think.

She took a deep breath and clocked movement by the fence around 30 feet away. A cloaked figure stood with a rifle pointed through the chain link fence, firing off shot after shot. Jess risked a few steps closer and was glad she did or she never would have noticed that it was Carol who was picking off the people of Terminus one by one. She was dressed in a poncho covered in what Jess instantly guessed was Walker guts. The smell was obvious. At her feet, sat a bag full of semi-automatic weapons.

I’m not the only one that grew a pair of balls. Jess thought.

Glancing to her left, she could see the blown-up gas tank in the yard and the fire raging from inside it, Walkers attracted from all over the place were seeping in through the broken fence caused by the explosion. Jess could even hear them starting to approach from behind her and it forced her to move and find a way to protect herself. She scurried off in the opposite direction to Carol, who hadn’t noticed her over the commotion and equipped her Machete. Now, she was Walker hunting.

Finding two males slumbering along the fence in front of her, she raised the blade, bringing it down on one of their heads and slicing through its eroded and soft skull as if it was a piece of fruit. When the other one turned, she decapitated it with a clean swipe. Then, she rammed the machete into the smaller one’s chest, bracing herself with a boot on its shoulder as she snapped the weapon back, opening up it’s chest cavity and the contents of its stomach. She was gladder than ever for her mask at that point, even having to take a moment to turn her head away and hold her breath before she ripped the leather jacket from the other Walker and smeared it with innards and the rotting remnants of the dead body. She slung the jacket on and headed for the gate.

Inside the compound, people were scattering like ants. All screaming and trying to avoid both the Walkers and Carol’s bullets raining down on them. Jess had managed to get in by shooting at the chain that held the gate together and marched in like the cavalry had arrived. She had no idea where she was going, just that she had to find the door that she’d previously seen captive, live humans being dragged into.

Aware that Carol could see her and would probably shoot her, she kept to the small alleyways and scurried along behind cars and wooden boxes until she saw it. The door. That’s where they were taken. She sprinted at it, hammering her hands onto the glass and flying inside to find it empty. Uninhabited. But what she did find inside was enough to render her completely motionless. He breath caught in her throat. Cages with huge hooks hung from the ceiling. Ribcages, spines and femurs scattered the surfaces, carving knives and bone saws were discarded on metal tables. Beyond that was a vast room with a single, long, stainless steel sink through its middle. She stood in the middle of a slaughterhouse once used to harvest the meat of cows, pigs and the like. Now, it was used to execute and carve up human beings.

Involving herself in such a situation only had one outcome; she was going to have to kill people. It was something she’d had to quickly accept as she shot the chain on the gate and charged into the chaos. As she cleared room after room, she shot everyone she found. Most of them in the legs and feet so they would be found by Walkers or bleed to death and turn. Those that attacked her were eliminated outright with a clean bullet to the head or heart. She didn’t count, nor did she want to. Just like she refused to look into any of their eyes. Twice, she almost ran into Carol, a confrontation she wanted to avoid and so she had no choice but to stop and wait patiently so she could continue, unseen. It wasn’t until she reached a room full of personal belongings that she stopped and had to take heed of things before she could continue her journey.

There were children’s toys, clothing, jewelry, photographs, books. Her fingertips bumped over the items as she slowly walked the length of the table along one side of the narrow room. She closed her eyes and sighed. All of these people. Gone. Lost. Eaten. Just like that. As if the world wasn’t screwed up enough already. Then, she felt the cold metal of a gun. She opened her eyes to find herself stood there holding Rick’s heavy, Python Revolver.

“Drop your weapons.” Came a female voice from behind her.

Jess’s eyes flicked up to the wall in front of her as she slowly slid the revolver into the sleeve of her oversized, Walker covered jacket. She turned slowly to find a blood-soaked woman with wild, long, brown and scraggly hair who was angrily pointing a very large gun at her. She staggered forwards.

“The men they pulled from that Train car…where are they?” Jess growled

The woman’s face twisted in a manic giggle while she hoisted the gun up, securing her aim. 

“You could have been one of us.” She chuckled.

“WHERE ARE THEY?!” Jess yelled with such fury that her voice cracked. “I know you keep them in there!”

“You could have listened to what the world is telling you” The woman rambled.

It quickly became apparent to Jess that sense had left this woman’s head long before the gas tank exploded. Her whole appearance smacked of a mental breakdown, someone who now lived in the depraved and brutal world of a cannibal group. She had no time to waste but any semblance of useful information couldn't be passed up. She opted to try and goad her to gauge if she would turn up any clues.

“You lure people here. You take what they have and you kill them and eat them. Is that what this place is?” Jess demanded.

The woman’s crazed smile dropped and she shook her head, a single tear escaped down her blackened face. She did now lower her gun and Jess began to weigh up her odds.

“Not at first.” She sniffed. “It’s what it had to be. They raped and they killed and they laughed over weeks.” She babbled.

Useless. Jess thought.

The woman hit the floor with a smack after the first gunshot. She clutched her foot and wailed so loud Jess thought she could probably be heard over the ruckus outside. Her vision lifted to the barrel of Rick’s gun inside Jess’s sleeve and her eyes erupted with tears. The gun in her hands clattered to the vastly growing pool of blood on the floor and the noise snapped her back to reality. She began to struggle with it, hauling it up over her wounded leg and trying to find the trigger. But Jess stepped forwards and kicked it away from her.

“The world was bad enough before the turn. The Walkers make it worse. But people like you…” She glared down at her with a coldness that made the woman's jaw clench with fear “… make it insufferable.”

The noise of the trigger being pulled caused a flinch from Jess’s victim. But she didn’t even blink from the shot that created a bloody hole in the woman’s other foot. She picked up her gun and slung it over her shoulder so both guns were positioned in a cross on her back. She whirled around, making for the door and heaved the fire exit bar open to a dozen waiting Walkers who all skirted around her and poured in as fast as the light beyond. Jess calmly walked through them with enough time to catch Rick and Daryl climbing over the fence on the other side of the yard. As Walkers milled around her and the war raged, the piercing and terrified screams of people still going strong, she smiled.

He’s safe.

                                             =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= 

Darkness had fallen and the traumatized group quietly walked the road, exhausted, dehydrated and starving. Rick, Daryl and Glenn were all wounded but still soldiered on. Daryl veered off every now and then to hunt but came up with nothing more than an even more frustrated expression each time. The ground was damp but water was scarce and the meagre amount they had on them had to last until they found another source or until they settled somewhere again. No one knew how long that would be, but Rick encouraged them to keep going through a thinly veiled feeling of doom. Where would they go now? 

Jess followed them for miles. Her discomfort at letting them out of her sight driving her to babysit them for a long as she possibly could. They were weakened, and morale was low, that much was obvious. They walked through the night into the next morning when the sun peeped through the clouds and the birds began to sing. Jess observed them from the safety of a tree a few meters back from the road. She perched on a branch and snacked on cereal bars from her backpack, even managing to take a power nap after tying herself to the branch, a trick she’d learned way back in the beginning. She discarded her Walker jacket miles back but the smell still festered around her no matter how much she tried to ignore it. So, she was relieved when the group finally started to look like they were getting ready to leave, at least she could get a breeze through her clothes.

When her boots hit the floor after climbing down from her perch, she caught the faint sound of someone gasping, followed by a low growl.

That’s not a Walker.

She swerved through the branches and bushes, keeping low and noticing movement on the road. The growl was louder now, followed by the clicking of guns being readied and Daryl’s voice.

“Easy.”

Jess managed to find a gap in the leaves that revealed Daryl aiming his crossbow at three dogs across the street. Once someone’s beloved pets, a Collie, Rottweiler and a Belgian Malinois. They were now reduced to wild beings having never had to fend for themselves before. They looked like they were starving. Protruding ribs and bony legs. Teeth bared and saliva dripping from K9’s. Everyone was focused on the three in front of them, but Jess was the only one that could see the Doberman creeping up on Daryl from behind.

“No guns.” Rick declared. “We can’t afford the noise drawing Walkers.”

He knew they were weakened and unable to fight effectively. Guns were holstered and knives unsheathed along with worried looks exchanged between those that were not used to such close combat, especially with three creatures that boasted such a sharp set of teeth.

Jess panicked. It was unusual for her but before she knew it, her bow was in her hand and an arrow was being aimed at the huge, black dog that was sizing up Daryl’s arm. Its jowls quivered, paws inching forwards. Daryl leapt at one of the dogs, managing to drag his knife across its throat before he was bitten. The other two were taken out by Rick and another member of the group that Jess didn’t recognize. Just as Daryl was about to step back into the inevitable and waiting jaw of the Doberman, Jess let go of the bow’s string and the arrow collided with the animals skull. It was sent skidding across the asphalt, a high-pitched yelp followed by nothing. Daryl swung his crossbow into the woods, pointing it at the darkness inside while the others couldn’t decide whether to look at the arrow embedded in the dog’s head or whatever Daryl was aiming his weapon at. Rick approached him and stood by his side.

“The hell did that come from?” He asked.

“In there” Daryl replied, nudging his head up at Jess’s exact location.

Jess released an angry sigh. Her rage directed at nothing but herself. She’d blown her own cover. If she didn’t step into the light now, Daryl would most likely go in and find her. The chances were, he’d shoot her too. She began to trudge forward, bow in hand to the side of the road, where Daryl and Rick stood, flanked by an uneasy and tired looking group. Revealing herself from the low light of the trees, she slowly walked out into the light and hoped with all her heart that her mask, hood and weight loss was enough of a disguise to enable her to walk away eventually without having to show who she really was.

Daryl’s brow furrowed at the woman who calmly stepped out onto the road with an elaborate looking bow in her hand, two high powered rifles and a machete attached to her belt. She looked like something from one of the computer games he’d played with Merle before the turn when they’d get high and battle monsters. Her hood and mask obscured most of her face, her eyes just about visible as she moved into the light. Black, leather arm bracers covered her forearms, heavy, lace up boots reached her knees. Her clothing was clearly that of law enforcement, military or special ops. Daryl backed up, as did Rick when Jess raised her bow.

“Don’t move!” Daryl quickly ordered.

But Jess refused. She slowly continued to lift her bow and looped it across her body, disarming herself to show she was not a threat.

“Everybody stay back.” Rick instructed the perturbed faces behind him with an open palm in their direction. The crowd backed up, peering at the scene in disbelief. Daryl inched closer to her with Rick mirroring him. Somehow, Jess managed to stand completely still even though her body was shaking at the sight of him.

“Who are you?” Rick wanted to know. His voice was low, too hushed for everyone else to hear him and deliberate so as not to cause a panic.

“I helped her…” Jess told him as she motioned with her head to Carol “…get you out of terminus.”

Rick was incredulous. His eyes shot back and forth between Jess and Carol, who was none the wiser, multiple times until finally falling back to Jess.

“Why?” Daryl asked

“I know what that place was.” She said. So far, neither of them had recognized her voice, which she could put down to the plastic casing on the front of her mask that filtered the air of dust. It muffled her words subtly and she was sure that she’d never been more thankful for a piece of kit before.

“Take off the mask” Rick ordered out of the blue, raising his hand ready to pluck her disguise from her face. In the blink of an eye her machete was at his throat, held like a vice with an outstretched arm. His head tilted back, his eyes bulged and he looked down his nose at the blade. A sharp intake of breath from behind him told her that her actions had the desired effect. She’d shocked them into submission.

“Do not touch me.” She warned firmly.

Daryl stepped in, placing his body between Jess and Rick but with his crossbow still gripped in one hand.

“Ok… ok, ain't nobody gonna touch ya…put the machete down.” Daryl urged.

She complied and gradually brought it back to her side, her hand still gripping onto the handle with a white-knuckle strength. 

“How do we know we can trust you?” Rick asked.

She nodded and reached around, inside her hooded jacket. Slipping Rick's revolver from her wristband at her back, she held it out to him. His face was a picture she would never forget. He blinked rapidly at the gun before slowly taking it.

“How did you know this is mine?” He questioned.

“Saw them take you in with it.” She lied “You don't have to trust me. But would I really be handing you that gun if you couldn't? Good luck to all of you.”

Her boots crunched on the ground when she made off in the opposite direction, digging her hands in her pocket when she was reminded of something she’d prepared earlier. All along, she’d tried to get a head of the group and plant water in abandoned cars or buildings but was hindered by Walkers every time. She’d stowed two bottles in her pockets just in case she had the chance and kept one for herself in her backpack. As she strode away, she twisted her body and threw both bottles at Rick and Daryl. They both caught them and swapped baffled expressions.

“Wait.” Daryl called out to her. “Why’d ya help us?”

Because I care about you and I hate it.

She didn’t respond, determined to cover the miles to her truck in good time so she could get back to the fairground and rest her weary head. She had some serious thinking to do and a big decision to make. Rick’s group consisted of men, women and a child. Carl. Jess had scanned every face, some were missing but some were the same, just older and wearing their horrendous experiences in their eyes. She had no doubt that all of them had endured a lot and on top of that, were almost blood-let and eaten at Terminus. It was a tough choice that would jeopardize the new, battle-hardened person she was. But in truth, she’d already decided. She had to go back to Alexandria's recruiter; Aaron. 

NEXT CHAPTER

[charlieswan-squad]

Twilight Rewrite First Sight (ii)

Thick fog was all I could see out my window in the morning, and I could feel the claustrophobia creeping up on me. You could never see the sky here; it was like a prison cage, that after sixteen years was finally locking me in. 

Breakfast with Charlie was a quiet event. He wished me good luck at school. I thanked him, knowing his hope was wasted optimism. Good luck tended to avoid me. Charlie left first, off to the police station that was his wife and family. After he left, I sat at the old square oak table in one of the three unmatching chairs and examined the familiar kitchen, with its dark paneled walls, bright yellow cabinets, and white linoleum floor. Nothing had changed. My mother had painted the cabinets eighteen years ago in an attempt to bring some sunshine into the house. 

Over the small fireplace in the adjoining handkerchief-sized family room was a row of pictures. First a wedding picture of Charlie and my mom in Las Vegas, then one of the three of us in the hospital after I was born, taken by a helpful nurse, followed by the procession of my school pictures up to last year's. Those were embarrassing to look at; missing front teeth, the horrendous haircuts, the braces - I would have to see what I could do to get Charlie to put them somewhere else, at least while I was living here. It was impossible, being in this house, not to realise that Charlie had never gotten over my mom. It made me uncomfortable.

 I didn't want to be too early to school, but I couldn't stay in the house anymore. I donned my jacket - thick and unbreathing like a biohazard suit - and headed out into the rain.

 It was just drizzling still, not enough to soak me through immediately as I reached for the house key that was always hidden under the eaves by the door, and locked up. Only in a town like Forks, would it be normal for the chief of police to keep his house key in such an obvious place. The sloshing of my new waterproof boots was unnerving. I missed the normal crunch of gravel as I walked. I couldn't pause and admire my truck again as I wanted; I was in a hurry to get out of the misty wet that swirled around my head and clung to my hair under my hood. 

 Inside the truck, it was nice and dry. Either Billy or Charlie had obviously cleaned it up, but the tan upholstered seats still smelled faintly of tobacco, gasoline, and peppermint. It was a strange combination, but not totally unpleasant. The engine started quickly, to my relief, but loudly, roaring to life and then idling at top volume. Well, a truck this old was bound to have a flaw. The antique radio worked, a bonus that I hadn't expected.

 Finding the school wasn't difficult, though I'd never been there before. The school was, like most other things, just off the highway. It was not obvious that it was a school; only the sign, which declared it to be the Forks High School, made me stop. It looked like a collection of matching houses, built with maroon-coloured bricks. There were so many trees and shrubs I couldn't see its size at first. Where was the feel of the institution? I wondered nostalgically. Where were the chain-link fences, the metal

detectors? You know, all the homely aspects of a school in a city like Phoenix.

 I parked in front of the first building, which had a small sign over the door reading Front Office. No one else was parked there, so I was sure it was off limits, but I decided I would get directions inside instead of circling around in the rain like an idiot. I stepped unwillingly out of the toasty truck cab and walked down a little stone path lined with dark hedges. I took a deep breath before opening the door.

 Inside, it was brightly lit, and warmer than I'd hoped. The office was small; a little waiting area with padded folding chairs, orange-flecked commercial carpet, notices and awards cluttering the walls, a big clock ticking loudly. Plants grew everywhere in large plastic pots, as if there wasn't enough greenery outside. The room was cut in half by a long counter, cluttered with wire baskets full of papers and brightly colored flyers taped to its front. There were three desks behind the counter, one of which was manned by a large, friendly-looking woman wearing glasses. She was wearing an orange t-shirt, which immediately made me feel overdressed.

 The woman looked up. "Can I help you?"

 "I'm Bella Swan," I informed her, and saw the immediate awareness light her eyes. I was expected, a topic of gossip no doubt. The Chief's daughter, the one with the unstable mom, come home at last.

 "Of course," she said. She dug through a precariously stacked pile of documents on her desk till she found the ones she was looking for. "I have your schedule right here, and a map of the school, Isabella." She brought several sheets to the counter to show me.

 “Um, it’s Bella, please.”

“Oh, sure, Bella.”

 She went through my classes for me, highlighting the best route to each on the map, and gave me a slip to have each teacher sign, which I was to bring back at the end of the day. She smiled at me and hoped, like Charlie, that I would like it here in Forks. I smiled back as convincingly as I could.

 When I went back out to my truck, other students were starting to arrive. I drove around the school, following the line of traffic. I was glad to see that most of the cars were older like mine, nothing flashy. At home I'd lived in one of the few lower-income neighborhoods that were included in the Paradise Valley District. It was a common thing to see a new Mercedes or Porsche in the student lot. The nicest car here was a shiny Volvo, and it stood out. Still, I cut the engine as soon as I was in a spot, so that the thunderous volume wouldn't draw attention to me.

 I looked at the map in the truck, trying to memorise it now; determined I wouldn't have to walk around with it stuck in front of my nose all day. I stuffed everything in my bag, slung the strap over my shoulder, and sucked in a huge breath. It won’t be that bad, I lied to myself feebly. Seriously Bella, it’s just high school, it wasn’t like anyone was going to bite me. I finally exhaled and stepped out of the truck.

 I kept my face pulled back into my hood as I walked to the sidewalk, crowded with teenagers. My plain black jacket didn't stand out, I noticed with relief.

 Once I got around the cafeteria, building three was easy to spot. A large black "3" was painted on a white square on the east corner. I felt my breathing gradually creeping toward hyperventilation as I approached the door. I tried holding my breath as I followed two unisex raincoats through the door.

 The classroom was small. The people in front of me stopped just inside the door to hang up their coats on a long row of hooks. I copied them. They were two girls, one a porcelain-colored blonde, the other also pale, with light brown hair. At least my skin wouldn't be a standout here.

 I took the slip up to the teacher, a tall, balding man whose desk had a nameplate identifying him as Mr. Mason. He gawked at me when he saw my name - not a particularly encouraging response - and of course I felt blood rush to my cheeks. But at least he sent me to an empty desk at the back without introducing me to the class. It was harder for my new classmates to stare at me in the back, but somehow, they managed. 

I kept my eyes down on the reading list the teacher had given me. It was fairly basic: Bronte, Shakespeare, Chaucer, Faulkner. I'd already read everything. That was comforting… and boring. I wondered if my mom would send me my folder of old essays, or if she would think that was cheating. I went through different arguments with her in my head while the teacher droned on.

  When the bell rang, a nasal buzzing sound, a gangly boy with skin problems and hair black as an oil slick leaned across the aisle to talk to me.

 "You're Isabella Swan, aren't you?" He looked like the overly helpful, chess club type.  

"Bella," I corrected. Everyone within a three-seat radius turned to look at me.

 "Where's your next class?" he asked.

 I had to check in my bag. "Um, Government, with Jefferson, in building six."

 There was nowhere to look without meeting curious eyes. I wondered if this is how animals felt in the zoo. 

 "I'm headed toward building four, I could show you the way…" Definitely over-helpful. "I'm Eric," he added.

 I forced a smile. "Thanks Eric."

 We got our jackets and headed out into the rain, which had picked up. Several people seemed to be walking too close behind us - like they were trying to eavesdrop or something. I hoped I wasn’t becoming paranoid. 

 "So, this is a lot different than Phoenix, huh?" he asked.

"Very.” 

"It doesn't rain much there, does it?”

"Three or four times a year."

"Wow, what must that be like?" he wondered.

"Sunny," I told him.

"You don't particularly look like you grew up in the sunshine." he laughed; most likely referring to the fact that I don’t even have freckles, or that, despite the rain, I wasn’t in shorts and flipflops with a baseball cap or something. I never did fit any of the Arizona-stereotypes.

"Well, you know what they say about vampires."

He studied my face apprehensively, and I stifled a groan. It looked like clouds and a sense of humour didn't mix. A few months of this and I'd forget how to use sarcasm. 

“I’m joking, Eric.” 

He began to laugh too loudly and forcefully to be real. I could still read the confusion in his eyes, suggesting he didn’t understand my joke, but at least he hadn’t run away screaming that the new girl is a freak. Just give it time. 

 We walked back around the cafeteria, to the south buildings by the gym. Eric walked me right to the door, though it was clearly marked.

 "Well, good luck," he said as I touched the handle. "Maybe we'll have some other classes together." He sounded hopeful.

 I smiled at him, in what I hoped was not an encouraging way and went inside.

 The rest of the morning passed in much the same way. My Trigonometry teacher, Mr. Varner, who I would have hated anyway just because of the subject he taught, was the only one who made me stand in front of the class and introduce myself. I stammered, blushed, and tripped over my own feet on the way to my seat. 

 “Nailed it.” I thought snarkily.

 After two classes, I started to recognise several of the faces in each class. There was always someone braver than the others who would introduce themselves and ask me questions about how I was liking Forks. I tried to be diplomatic, but mostly I just lied a lot. At least I never needed the map.

 Every one of my teachers called me Isabella, and though I corrected them immediately, it was depressing. I had decided at the age of three that I was Bella, and had refused to answer to anything else until Mom and Charlie got the message. At home, no one remembered that Bella was just a nickname; but now I had to start over again.  

 One girl sat next to me in both Trig and Spanish, and she walked with me to the canteen for lunch.  She was tiny, several inches shorter than my average height, but her hair was pulled into a very tight ponytail on the top of her head which made up a lot of the difference between our heights. I couldn't remember her name, so I smiled and nodded as she rattled about teachers and classes and what gossip I had to catch up on. I barely listened let alone try to keep up.

 We sat at the end of a full table with several of her friends, who she introduced to me. I forgot all their names as soon as she spoke them. At least I couldn’t complain about the manners here. They all seemed to think it was really cool and brave of her to invite me. Eric, the boy from English, waved at me from across the room, and my neighbours all laughed. I thought it must be a new record for me, already the butt of a joke. But none of them seemed nasty about it. That was something at least.

 It was there, sitting in the canteen, attempting to make conversation with a bunch of strangers, that I first saw them. I was surprised it had taken me so long to notice them.