#but as some folks ain’t got no road at all; they gotta stand in the same old place || {fenton(ino) ic}

[warping-realities]

All For The Family - Part I

That was the only part of his job that Brian dislike, even though it was necessary. To justify what he had to do, he told himself those folks deserved it, that they should’ve been more careful with their own bills and the loans they took out, and paid their mortgage right. It wasn’t his fault. He was just there to deliver the truth they were probably expecting anyway. He tried to adopt a “don’t shoot the messenger” attitude while also showing he felt for their situation, even though he still had to do his job. That rarely worked in the two years he’d been doing that gig, and this time was no different. The blonde 24 years old man, rockin' a sharp suit that fit him like a glove on his skinny frame paired with his glasses, he was supposed to look classy and confident. Which clearly didn’t have the intended effect on the crowd he was facing. Standing in front of him with his arms crossed and a look on his face like he just sucked on a lemon was the biggest man Brian had ever seen in his life.

“You gotta understand, Mr. Abernathy, that the promissory note’s overdue again. If you don’t cough up the cash, the bank won’t have any choice but to foreclose and take your land to auction.”

“I get it, kid, but it seems like you’re the one refusing to understand. Tomorrow, I’m getting another hand to help with the harvest, and we’ll pay up all the back dues and even get ahead on a few!”

“Mr. Abernathy… Roy, can I call you Roy?” Brian asked with a smile he hoped was friendly and not showing the frustration he felt at that moment.

“My friends call me Roy, kid; you ain’t my friend.”

Brian let out a sigh at that response and decided to drop the pleasantries, taking a more hard-nosed approach.

“Well, Mr. Abernathy, I hate to break it to you, but if that promise of yours doesn’t pan out, I’m afraid that come the first of next month, you and your family are gonna have to vacate this property.”

“Save your worries for yourself, kid, while you hightail it off my land, ‘cause for now, I’m the one who decides who comes and goes around here.”

“If you weren’t planning on negotiating at all, why’d you make me drive all the way out here?”

“‘Cause there are some things that need to be said and done face-to-face, son.”

“Well, next time, just call me if you got something important to say!”

With a huff, Brian turned his back on the older, muscular man and headed toward the sports car parked behind the big barn that flanked the simple but well-kept farmhouse.

As he watched the kid walk away, unaware of the wave of golden sparks emanating from him, Roy murmured to himself, “Next time we talk, you’ll take whatever I say as important, boy!” He said, flashing a wide grin before turning to a figure that was approaching. “Is it done?” he asked, his smile widening at the answer.

That spat with the Abernathy family patriarch left Brian pissed off. Still, he couldn’t shake the thought that it might be through his work that those folks would lose everything. At the same time, he knew that if it were his older brother knocking on that door, dressed in his cop uniform, the treatment would’ve been a whole lot different. Of course, he could never pull off Lucas's job. Lost in those gloomy thoughts, he took a while to realize that the gas tank he filled up that very morning was nearly empty, and it was only when a beeping alert rang out that he noticed.

“Damn, how is this possible?” he exclaimed to the empty car as he pulled over to the side of the road and weighed his options. Looking at his cell, he found he was out of signal. The nearest town was miles away. The only option left...

“Damn!” he yelled again, getting out of the car and shrugging off his suit jacket, heading toward the Abernathy’s place, wondering what kind of reception he was gonna get. No matter how much empathy he might have started to feel for those folks, it surely wouldn’t be mutual. Halfway to the farm, the already bad situation took a turn for the worse when rain started pouring down, soaking Brian's expensive clothes.

For the first time in his life, he felt like he was being punished by some higher power for doing that job, and he was sure of it when he ran smack into the person he needed but didn’t want to see: Roy Abernathy in all his bulk! He was standing in front of an old Ford pickup, arms crossed again, but this time with a grin that Brian would’ve usually taken for some petty celebration, but at that moment it seemed to him to have more sincerity than he was used to seeing from “clients.” The man was with someone who could only be his son, given the huge resemblance between the two. Those behemoths made for a frightening sight for Brian, leaving him speechless. However, he didn’t even get a chance to speak, as Roy started the conversation for him.

“Looks like you need a little help, son. Where’s your fancy car?”

“I… the gas…”

“Oh, I get it; it’s real reckless to be out here with an empty tank.” The man said, still grinning, and Brian initially felt like he was just saying that to mess with him. But quickly, a small voice in the back of his mind disagreed; the Abernathys weren’t stingy like that. That new, dissenting voice made him hold his tongue and respond more calmly than expected.

“I don’t know what happened; I left town with a full tank. And… I… um… I’ll need some help, yeah.”

“Sorry, son, what was that?”

“I said I need help, if you could… please?!” He replied louder, though he was pretty sure the man heard him.

“Of course I can help, son. Out here, we all pitch in, no matter who you are.” Another jab, and once again something made Brian hold back; he deserved that treatment, the little voice said, and he would take it like a man, like the man he was. Roy smiled again, apparently noticing that the young man was holding back from snapping back.

“Thanks, sir. Now, if you could just follow me to the car and get me some gas…”

“No, son, you’re soaked through. Let RJ and me take care of that; you go to my house and talk to my wife; she’ll get you some dry clothes and a hot meal.”

“I’d rather go to my car…”

“No arguments, kid; do what I said!” Roy replied, his face turning serious.

“I… I… fine!” Brian said, biting back his anger and trudging down the road.

“That one’s a bit rough around the edges.” RJ commented to his dad as he watched Brian walk away.

“Oh, but he’s starting to behave, and there’s nothing wrong with him being a little rough, son, as long as he uses that attitude in the right way…”

“Dad, are you sure? This mumbo jumbo sounds crazy… and the risk we took, messing with that guy’s car. What if he noticed?”

“What are the odds a guy like that knows how to handle a car, Junior? At least for now.”

“Dad, what you’re talking about doing… it’s impossible…”

“Son, you’re gonna have to trust me on this; believe me, it’s already started. Tomorrow at this time, we’ll have the help we need and one heartless drone less in the world.”

“But how? How can you be sure? Have you done this before?” The young man asked.

“No, Junior, I haven’t.” Roy replied, looking quite uncomfortable and avoiding eye contact with his son. “But since you apparently doubt your old man’s word, maybe you should trust your own eyes; take a quick look now, and you’ll see something unique.”

“What the hell? What is that, Dad?” The boy asked, seeing the golden sparks surrounding the man who walked, seemingly unaware of anything strange.

“That, my boy, is the solution to our problems; now hurry up.”

As father and son climbed into the old pickup, an oblivious Brian, unaware of their plans for him, arrived at the farmhouse door. The moment he raised a hand to knock, the door swung open suddenly, and he found himself facing a beautiful woman with bronzed skin and black hair streaked with gray, whose age he couldn’t quite pin down, though he knew she was Abernathy’s wife. The woman looked at him with a warm face that, for some unknown reason, sent a shiver down his spine.

“Well, well, what do we have here? A lost kitten? How can I help you, sugar?”

“Um… I’m sorry, ma’am. I… Mr. Abernathy told me to come here and… hum… change clothes while he looks at my car.”

“You’re soaked, poor thing! Come on in, come on in. I’ll ask Debra to get you some of RJ’s clothes. Be a good boy and wait right here; I don’t want my carpet all wet!” The woman said in a whirlwind, pulling him inside the house and leaving him standing at the threshold. Brian, for his part, had to control himself not to run back out into the rain, as something urged him to get out of that place as fast as possible. Holding himself back, he waited until the woman returned with a young girl about his age, just as pretty as the mother, in a floral dress.

“Debra will take you to RJ’s room; you can dry off and wear some of his clothes until the boys bring your car back. Meanwhile, I’ll whip up some dinner; a big boy like you must eat as much as my husband and son!”

“I… actually…” Brian started, but he gave up announcing his intention to leave as fast as possible upon receiving a look from Mrs. Abernathy that simultaneously showed expectation and reprimand. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Great, now let’s go, let’s go! You’re soaking my carpet!”

Brian followed Debra up to one of the rooms on the second floor of the house. Upon entering, he was surprised to find it was a double room. Did the Abernathy kids, brother and sister, share the same room?

“I’ve set aside some of RJ’s clothes for you; they might be a bit big, but at least they’re dry.” The girl said, smiling between the two beds in the room. Brian couldn’t help but ask.

“You sleep here with your brother?”

“God, no, eww! That bed’s for my other brother!”

“I didn’t know that… wait… there’s no record of the Abernathys having another kid in the paperwork given to the bank!”

“Shhh… relax; there’s no need to stress about that, it’s not important. You city folks with your data, your records, your… contracts. Life is so much more than that, you know? So why don’t you chill for a bit, dry off, and head down? Dad’s gonna want to talk to you.” The girl replied and left the room, leaving a very confused Brian behind. He was still pondering the family’s strange behavior as he undressed and wondered what the hell Roy Abernathy would want to talk to him about. He wasn’t fooling himself thinking it could be something good for his job, not after the confrontation they had just had.

After drying off and getting ready to put on RJ's much larger clothes, the little intrusive voice invaded his mind again. Whatever Roy had to say was important, and he should listen and obey, just like he always had. Before his mind could fight back against that, a beam of golden sparks emanated from his body, and both the intrusive voice and the need to resist it vanished from Brian's mind. In fact, all thoughts disappeared. He couldn't tell how long he stood there, just breathing, with his mind blank of thoughts or worries.

He only returned to reality when someone caught his attention.

“What are you doing just standing there, brother?” A deep voice asked, startling him awake. Turning quickly, Brian found himself face to face with Abernathy’s son, RJ. He’d only seen him briefly on the road, but now he was just a few inches away. RJ lacked the bulk of his father, but that didn’t mean he was small. On the contrary, he was a strong guy, a year or two older than Brian, with a muscular, hairy chest on display. Looking at that figure, Brian felt a strange sensation wash over him, a kind of bond between him and this stranger; it wasn’t sexual, it was something… brotherly, maybe? He knew he’d felt that before, but couldn’t remember when or with whom. As absurd as it was, it was like this guy in front of him was someone very important.

“Earth to you, bro! Get some clothes on and let’s eat; Dad’s waiting.”

“I… uh… yeah.” Brian replied, hurrying to put on the clothes that were lying next to him.

“You coming?” He asked, wanting to stretch the time spent with the other man, even though he didn’t know why.

“Nah, I already ate; I’m gonna crash here. We’ll talk later and figure out how to fix your car!”

“Car?”

“Dude, you really are in another dimension, eat your food, talk to dad, I’ll be waiting!”

Brian headed downstairs and made his way to the kitchen, not even questioning how he knew which way to go, while trying to pin down that feeling of connection to someone he’d just met. As he reached the kitchen door, he found Roy Abernathy sitting alone at a large dining table piled high with food, looking serious and pensive. Brian instinctively stopped at the door, watching the older man. Strangely, all the animosity he’d felt toward the man had vanished, and revisiting his feelings, even the fear he refused to admit existed was different now; it wasn’t fear of violence, but a hefty dose of respect, with a healthy hint of dread. He didn’t even have time to try to figure out what had changed, as Abernathy spotted him and broke into a smile.

“Come on in and grab a bite, son, don’t just stand there like a deer in headlights!” The man said, and while part of Brian’s mind told him he should be anger by that comment, a now dominant part made him smile shyly and head over to the table.

“Excuse me, sir!” He said politely and respectfully.

“Sure thing, son, make yourself at home; things here are simple but done right.”

“Thanks, sir.” Brian replied, serving himself a bit of everything on the table, ending up with a plate piled high, which seemed to please his host.

“That’s a plate fit for a real man!”

“Sorry, Mr. Abernathy; it all looks so good and…”

“No need to apologize, son; that’s a compliment you’re giving my wife’s cooking. And you can call me Roy. That’s what my friends call me.”

Hearing that sparked something in Brian’s mind, some kind of half-forgotten memory, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t recall it… if he can’t remember it must not be important, right? So, he opted to eat all that delicious food, smiling, again oblivious to the shower of golden sparks surrounding him. But Roy Abernathy couldn’t help but notice, making his smile grow even wider.

Brian devoured the food like he hadn’t eaten in days, time slipping by without him realizing it. He only stopped eating when his belly stretched the elastic of RJ’s shorts, which was no small feat since the man was much stronger than him. Satisfied, he let out a loud burp.

“Burrrpp… sorry, Mr. Abernathy.”

“Once again, that’s a compliment to my wife’s fine cooking, kid; and I already told you, my friends call me Roy.”

“Thanks, Roy… you… you all didn’t have to do this for me, not after… after…”

“After what, son?” Roy asked, with an apparently innocent look.

“After… after…” after what? What did I do to Abernathy? I can’t remember… something about work… my job. “… my job.” Brian mumbled.

“Kid, just ‘cause you’re gonna work for me doesn’t mean I’m gonna stop treating you like a guest.” Roy replied with a smile, sending a shock through Brian’s mind. That information couldn’t be true… or could it? He tried to remember his job, but nothing came to mind; he had gone to college and studied… what? He couldn’t recall. But he knew his job had given him the means to buy the clothes he liked and the car… yeah, his car! There was something about his car.

“And my car…?”

“Oh, right, tomorrow you and RJ can figure out how to fix it. But I gotta tell you, son, there’s only so much an old car can take!”

“Old…? no, no!”

“Oh, I know young folks prefer the term classic, but still… anyway… if I were you, I’d save up for a good reliable pickup, kid! Now head on up; I’m sure you and RJ will want to talk before bed, but tomorrow the day starts bright and early around here.”

“I… I… Roy… there’s something… something…” Brian started as he stood up and headed for the door, unable to finish. He wanted to say there was something weird, something wrong, but he couldn’t.

“Something you wanna tell me, son?”

“Yeah… Mr. Abernathy… Roy…” He struggled to find the right words to express how he felt. “… thanks again!” That was what he finally said, with a fresh wave of golden sparks surrounding him, and any doubt about what he was doing there vanished.

“Thank me with hard work, son; now go to your room.”

Feeling a bit dazed, Brian climbed the stairs and reached the room he shared with RJ. The other man was lying down, apparently asleep, which left Brian feeling a bit down.

He couldn't say why, but he felt the urge to talk to RJ; somehow, he felt like the other man was a special friend he hadn't spoken to in a long time, though that didn't make any sense. He hardly knew the guy; they had barely exchanged words since they met that day... or was it the day his father hired Brian? And when was that? Brian sat on the bed, trying to sort out his thoughts and calm the strange feeling that had taken over him since his car broke down on the road. And why was he on the road if he had gone to the Abernathys to work? He couldn't get very far with those thoughts, as apparently, his movements had woken RJ, who quickly sat up in bed.

“Hey, brother, why didn’t you let me know you were in the room?”

“I didn’t want to wake you; didn’t wanna bother you…”

“Man, it ain’t no bother! We gotta talk about your car, figure out what we’re gonna do!”

“Your dad thinks I should sell it and save up for a pickup!”

“Bro, no way! Dad’s a great guy, but for him, if something ain’t useful for work, it ain’t worth a damn. He’s forgotten what it’s like being a guy our age. And selling a 1969 Ford Mustang? The king of American muscle cars? Only if you’re crazy! I figured with a car like that, you’d know how to appreciate a classic!”

“I… uh… I just didn’t wanna offend your dad, with him being my boss and all…”

“Dude, just be straight with him, and he’ll get it… and forget about the boss stuff… you’re sleeping in his son’s room; you can bet he sees you as more than just an employee.”

“Thanks…” Brian replied awkwardly.

“Come on, enough of that; you’re gonna work with me, hell, you’re sharing a room with me, brother! No need for all that formal junk.” RJ said, grinning before giving Brian a scrutinizing look and asking, “Bro, do you lift?”

“Uh, no… I’ve never been much for working out…”

“So how you ended up working on a farm??”

“Uh… I… went to college… I think, and… I don’t remember…”

“Chill out, brother, I’m just teasing you!But seriously, if you wanna work around here, you gotta pack on some serious muscle.” RJ said, casually scratching his powerful pecs and biceps, making Brian, who had never cared about that kind of thing, feel mesmerized.

“You think… you think I can get as big as you or your dad?” Why was he asking that???

“Ha, dude, nobody’s as big as my dad, and getting to my size is a good journey, but the beauty of the thing is just that, brother; you never settle for the size you are, and I bet with the right training and all the farm work, soon you won’t even recognize yourself.” Hearing that reply filled Brian with a level of contentment he never thought possible.

But before he could try to understand why, RJ went back to talking about cars, and soon the two were discussing their favorite classic models and what they’d do with Brian’s old Mustang. Their conversation flowed like they’d known each other for years and was only interrupted when a very serious Roy Abernathy opened the bedroom door and told the two to hit the hay already, like a couple of mischievous kids being schooled by their dad. Somehow, that thought was comforting to Brian, who quickly fell asleep after Roy turned off the lights and left the room.

He was in a strange place; it looked like a gym. There was a young, skinny but strong guy, as blonde as he was, staring at him. After a few seconds, he realized he was standing in front of a mirror and smiled.

As he dreamed of that, Brian smiled in his sleep on the bed in Roy Junior’s room, his shirt pulled off during the night without him realizing, and golden sparks surrounding him as he moved around happily, unaware that someone was watching him.

“Sleep tight, little brother, ‘cause tomorrow’s when things are really gonna get interesting!”

[atsadi-shenanigans]

Valentine's Day Special

I did it! I got it finished! As a thank you to everyone who has given kudos and comments, and because Valentine's Day is coming up, here's a smuterific one-shot featuring: pegging, butt stuff, Astarion having feelings, Eleanor has dom tendencies she didn't know about, and Astarion getting nice things!

Rated a very, very E for smut.

Roses are red, violets are blue, blah blah I’d like to fuck you.

Or: Astarion bought a toy. Eleanor wants to give him a night he won’t forget.

“Legs up,” he says. “Pull your knees up. Better leverage.” You do. He leans back, bracing his hands on your knees. Moving himself so you hit his sweet spot ruthlessly. Another peek at you, pleasure painted over every line of his body. “Fuck me, Eleanor.”

The inn is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. Two stories, shutters closed against the torrent, lantern light turning puddles and muddy streets golden.

You’re going to cry. Not that anyone will be able to tell in this storm. Poor Karlach has been hidden in a cloud of steam since the downpour began.

“Gods, I’m not taking another step unless it’s towards the front door of that inn,” Astarion says, voice pitched firmly into bitchy. “I am not slogging through one more minute of this filth.”

Filth being the inches-deep trough of mud the road has turned into. Y’all are coated up to the knees.

“A warm bed and a warmer bath would be nice,” Wyll says. And if Mr. Of-the-Frontiers “I’m used to sleeping on rocks” is saying that, you know everyone is thinking it.

“Fuck,” you say. Eloquent as ever. “We got gold, right?”

“Plenty,” Gale says. His hair keeps sliding over his face in rivulets of water. He looks like a sad, wet cat.

“Hope they got rooms.”

They have, in fact, got a packed-ass seating area, a handful of alcove bunks in a common area upstairs, and a single, small room with a modest bed (other travelers had the same idea when the storm hit).

Y’all’ve had a helluva day. Chasing down leads to some sort of bullshit or another. Half of y’all ain’t even here (Shadowheart, Lae’zel, Halsin, and y’all’s new friends had split off to go hunt down something else).

Which meant when y’all triggered a bunch of undead critters in the shitpile of some tomb, y’all had to do a lot more work to clean up. Astarion took the brunt of it after the two of you (again) got separated from the others.

He stands there, hair plastered to his skull, not an ounce of pink in his complexion (and looking grayer than usual). That’s when the idea comes to you.

“Y’all mind if me and Astarion take the room?” you say.

Ain’t no way to be subtle about it. They all know what you two are about. Especially since that goddamn newspaper came out (it wasn’t neither of y’all’s fault the fucking graveyard grounds keeper was a nosy sunuvabitch who both took his job way too seriously, and took off sprinting to the Faerun equivalent of a tabloid newspaper after catching a glimpse of you.) (You’d finished by then, which was probably the only reason Astarion hadn’t run him down and shut him up.)

They’ve known you two were a couple for a long while. They’d assumed you two had been physical for longer than you actually had been.

“Really?” Karlach says, still steaming. “After all this?”

Astarion says nothing, though his eyebrows quirk in mild interest. The bags under his eyes are more prominent, the color almost bruise purple. His eyes are duller. He looks more corpserific than he has in a while.

You started it, he seems to say. So you finish it.

“I just wanna take a bath and lay in bed, and all my clothes gotta dry,” you say. “We both’ve seen each other naked.”

Clever mischief glints in Wyll’s eye. He’s the most solid out of all of you’uns. The one with the most rigorous sense of morality. Usually plays the straight-laced folk hero.

But the man’s damned charming, and his genial good will hides a wicked sense of humor.

“All the bunks have privacy screens,” he says. “We’ll all be drying out our belongings.”

Gale says nothing. Just stares into the middle distance as he hikes up a section of robe to wring about a liter of water out.

Wyll makes a show out of checking out the common room and y’all’s fellow travelers. “In fact, I see other couples doing just that.”

“I’m not saying we’re gonna fuck, but if we do, you really wanna sleep right next to that?”

Wyll snorts and waves a hand, smiling. “On second thought, I think I’ll pass.”

Karlach pulls a face. “In public?”

“Y’all said they got privacy screens. And you didn’t have no problem walking around tits out during that heatwave.”

“Which beds did we get?” Gale cuts in. He used up even his much-improved magic capacity trying to get you and Astarion out of that fucking trap sinkhole. He can’t even do his presto-tation cleaning spell to dry himself off.

So you end up taking the key and heading upstairs, Astarion trailing after you.

Bath water is something you gotta pay for, in Faerun. The tub’s in the room, and you’re free to haul up however many buckets from the well outside yourself. But that’s a lot of buckets to drag up a flight of stairs, and the inn keep don’t let customers heat it up over the fire themselves.

So a good hour after you and Astarion settle in, you finally got a bath drawn and steaming.

“You go first,” you say.

Astarion sits on the bed in nothing but his drawers, wrapped in a blanket. He don’t get hypothermia—undead and all—but he does get real achy in the cold.

He gives you a small, tired smile, and lets the blanket (and his drawers) slide down.

You still ain’t super used to seeing a cock all bare. Not more than what your occasional forays into porn showed—so mostly just the part not currently buried in somebody. It hangs more forward than you thought it would. Also smaller than you thought it’d be (again, porn and both unrealistic standards, and flaccid ones are smaller).

You make yourself look away. But not before Astarion—ever alert and enough of a bastard to make that your problem—notices.

“See something you like, sweetheart?” Where once that line would have been pure, silken debauchery, his voice is calmer when he’s alone with you, now. Still carries a flirty lilt (he always does with everyone), but with less performance woven through it.

“Just curious,” you say. “And I like watching you—not creepily, I mean. Anyway, if you want a bath and then the bed—for sleeping only—I’m down for that.”

“Mmm,” he says. Steps into the water and hisses. He eases himself down slow. Finally sits and all but melts against the wedge of the wooden tub, eyes closed and head tilted back. “Yet you requested this little love nest for us. And that cunning mind of yours always has at least three ideas fluttering around.

Said with a wiggle of his fingers around his temple.

He’s got a long neck. Stretched out like that, his adam’s apple stands out. As do his bite scars.

“We really can just sleep,” you say.

Now he cracks one, red eye open. Tilts his head to better peer over at you. Swirls his hand in the water as he waits for an answer.

He’s being patient with you. Says you’re patient with him, but you can count on three fingers all the people you ever actually wanted to bed, and none of them ever got that far. It’s not an ordeal for you to wait. You don’t have any expectations for him in that department (which you suspect had been a huge relief for him, and one of the reasons y’all’ve worked out).

He does so much for you. He’s helped you work through hangups you didn’t even know you had. He’s saved your ass more times than you can count, directly and not.

“If you wanted,” you start slow. “And you can say no at any point. But, if you wanted, I thought we could take a night and I could learn, um. We could learn what you like better. Just you. Or, well, me focusing on you.”

His idle finger twirling stops. He stills, both eyes open now and fixed on you. He doesn’t say anything for a long moment. Doesn’t even breathe.

Then his lips part. His words stutter and he frowns. Then, “You want to give me pleasure.”

Every word slow and enunciated. Not…trepidation, exactly. And not quite disbelieving. He trusts you, he’d said. He’s just verifying for the sake of both’ve you.

“I’m curious,” you repeat, so deliberate and nonchalant it’s borderline teasing.

“Pleasure me how?” Astarion says. Once again, flicking at the bathwater.

Aaand the rest on AO3 so tumblr doesn't slap me.

[krispyweiss]

Song Review: Dom Flemons feat. Sam Bush - “Guess I’m Doing Fine”

Though nearly 60 years have passed since it was written and “Guess I’m Doing Fine” is now filtered through Dom Flemons and Sam Bush, echoes of Bob Dylan continue to reverberate through the track.

Demoed in 1964 and unreleased on a Dylan LP until 2010, the song was reimagined as a back-porch hoedown for Flemons’ forthcoming Traveling Wildfire. Bush supplies fiddle alongside Flemons’ rhythm bones, acoustic guitar and other aural accoutrements.

Flemons channels just a hint of Dylan’s vocal affect, which reinforces the presence of the author as he sings:

My road it might be rocky/the stones might cut my face/but as some folks ain’t got no road at all/they gotta stand in the same old place/hey, hey, so I guess I’m doing fine

All of which goes to show, you can take physically Dylan out of the song, but you can’t erase Dylan from the composition.

Previewed with “Slow Dance with You” and a short documentary, Traveling Wildfire arrives March 24.

Grade card: Dom Flemons feat. Sam Bush - “Guess I’m Doing Fine” - B+

2/23/23

[ducktales-wco-oo]

✩ { @listofevilinventions​​ } ✩ - Continued from ★

{ ☆ } ❝  Uh- Yeah... Pinky. Promise.  ❞  Fenton firmly repeats, pointing a finger at his still-extended pinky to emphasize each word. Hand going to rest on his hip, brows are furrowed and beak is cutely-scrunched in slight annoyance at the other’s confusion. It’s pretty straight-forward, actually... You hook pinkies and make a promise. Easy-peasy, not-gonna-be-abandoned-yet-again-hopefully. What’s so surprising about that? 

And why is his pinky still not promised upon?

❝  No. Of course not, Gearsy...  ❞  He retorts, aghast at the accusation as arms cross in front of himself with an audible huff. Feathers ruffled with unease, he quirks a brow and explains,  ❝  But I AM gonna be loud and obnoxious and ME...  ❞  There’s no point in denying it. They both know what they’re getting into. And if for some inconceivable reason Gyro didn’t, well... he probably should.  ❝  And people tend to leave when I’m loud and obnoxious—  ❞  Counting it out on his fingers, they outstretch on one hand as his pointer finger pokes at them as each trait is listed, faltering much like his voice as he winces and adds-  ❝  —and... me.  ❞  

Gaze averted, hands clasp behind his back as a foot lightly kicks at the ground.  ❝  I just... Yeah, I know it’s stupid. But I- I like promises, okay?  ❞  Even though he’s aware that they don’t ACTUALLY have any way of enforcing things. That in the end, words are fragile and pointless things that can be broken without the slightest difficulty. But still... call it delusional, call it denial, call it anything you want. Fenton feels... safer, being promised something. Perhaps because no one’s ever really seen fit to give him one before. Most just get weirded out by his request.

Kinda like Gyro just did.

 ❝  Can ya just- Can you please do it?  ❞  Yet again, pinky is extended, but this time gaze is averted to the ground and demeanor is far less deceptively-confident than before.  ❝  Pinky promise that you’re not gonna get tired of me?  ❞  { ☆ }

[messers-moony]

Hope 2 | R.L

Paring: Remus Lupin X Wife!Potter!Reader

Summary: Life is unfair in numerous ways but it seems like it’s out to get the Potters in every way shape and form.

The huge eight-foot man who introduced himself as Hagrid was bringing Harry around London. It was amusing to see Hagrid turn his cousin - Dudley - butt into a pigtail after trying to eat his birthday cake. It was the first birthday Y/n, and Remus hadn’t shown up. Harry didn’t blame them. Of course, to be fair, they didn’t know where Harry was. 

“Um, excuse me, Hagrid?” 

“Yes, ‘Arry?”

“Where- Where are we going?” Harry questioned hesitantly, and Hagrids lips curled into a smile, “‘Er gon’ meet with som’ of yer folks.” Hagrid answered. 

Harry wanted to jump with joy, “Moony and Y/n?”

Hagrid nodded, and Harry smiled brightly. It took a couple of minutes and walking of a couple more blocks. But eventually, they were coming up on an old-looking building made of black stone bricks. In front of the door was a familiar sandy-haired male with green eyes. He was accompanied by his wife with h/c hair and gleaming e/c eyes. 

“Y/n! Remus!” 

Y/n turned to see her little nephew running up to hug her tightly, “Hey Harry.” 

Remus ruffled his hair while Harry hugged his aunt, “Hey there, mini Prongs.”

“I missed you.”

“Awe, I missed you too, Harry.” Y/n replied, pulling apart from Harry, “I’m sorry we didn’t show up right away. But we’re here now. I hope that’s okay. We wouldn’t miss your birthday for the world, okay?”

He nodded, “I know. I can always count on you.” 

“Good.” Remus stated, “Now c’mon mini prongs. Gotta get your school supplies.”

Walking into the Leaky Cauldron with Hagrid, they were greeted by multiple people. Many people were flabbergasted by meeting the famous Harry Potter and were welcoming to see Y/n Potter. In the back of the Leaky Cauldron, Hagrid tapped his wand against the brick wall, causing it to open into Diagon Alley. Harry’s mouth was agape at this new form of Magic. 

It was astonishing. The narrow alleyway was packed with people. Clusters of them walking in groups. Some were carrying animals, or brown-wrapped items Harry could suppose were books. Y/n smiled and intertwined her hand with Remus’. She could remember the first time she stepped into Diagon Alley. James was acting like such a prat. 

“Woah!” James gasped, “Look at all the cool stuff!” 

Fleamont chuckled, “Yeah. Isn’t it cool, sweetheart?”

Y/n nodded, completely entranced in the stonework in the alleyway. It was littered with different shops, and the roads were an uneven stone. Euphemia and Fleamont shared a look of pure glee. Their children were magical born, and they were finally experiencing it first hand. Of course, they had their incidents where Y/n would make lights flicker or James blowing plates. 

As they began walking, James began to run off, bumping into people left and right, “James! Get back here!” Fleamont scolded, but he was out of sight. 

Euphemia sighed, “He’s gonna be a handful.”

“Definitely.” Fleamont agreed, running a hand through his dark brunet hair, “Perhaps he’ll be even worse than me.”

His wife glared at him. Despite James disappearing, they took Y/n into Flourish and Blotts to get their books. They needed books such as The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1), A History of Magic, Magical Theory, A Beginners’ Guide to Transfiguration, One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, Magical Drafts and Potions, Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, and finally, The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection. 

They didn’t find James until they reached Quality Quidditch Supplies. He was already eyeing the new broom on display. His mouth seemed to be salivating at it. Y/n rolled her eyes at James, drooling over a piece of wood. Euphemia chuckled and motioned Fleamont to reel him back in. It seemed that Euphemia would never get a break, and her heart would be in a constant attack of worry. They had a mischief Quidditch player on their hands. 

“C’mon Harry,” Y/n beckoned, “Lots of stuff to get.”

His smile faltered just a tad, “But I don’t- I don’t have any money.”

Harry’s embarrassment made the tips of his ears red, “That ain’t true. ‘Course ye got money.” Hagrid replied bluntly, making Y/n nudge him harshly, “Hagrid!”

“What?” Hagrid queried, confused, “‘S not like ‘m lyin’.” 

“Yes, but you don’t just say that.” Y/n scolded, laughing lightly. 

“Oops?”

Harry looked up at his flustered aunt, “Come on, Harry. We’re going to Gringotts.”  

They began walking to the bank of wizardry. The goblin at the front allowed them to the vault, where Harry was able to pocket a couple of handfuls of galleons, sickles, and knuts. Hagrid made a separate trip for Dumbledore as the other three waited patiently. When they exited Gringotts, Harry began to buy all his supplies. 

Their first stop was getting him a wand at Ollivander’s. Harry pushed the door open, and it sounded a bell off, but no one appeared the be in the shop. Remus and Y/n stood behind him as he let out a hesitant, “Hello.”

It took a minute, but then an older male appeared with hair as white as snow and wispy as whiskers. Ollivander smiled brightly at the familiar people in his shop and at the little boy who resembled the older female greatly. 

“Ah, Y/n Potter.” Ollivander said, “James broken his wand again?”

Y/n released a shaky breath, “No, not this time.” 

“We’re here actually for Harry here.” Remus motioned to Harry, “He’s getting his first wand. He starts at Hogwarts this year.”

Ollivander's lips quirked, “He yours?”

“No, sir.” Y/n shook her head, “He’s James and Lily’s son.”

“Where are they? I’d love to see them, you know.”

Remus shifted awkwardly, “You haven’t heard?”

Ollivander shook his head, “My parents are dead.” Harry informed, “Someone killed them.”

Everything clicked into place in Ollivanders mind. How stupid could old age make him? He had just sounded terribly insensitive, “‘M so sorry. Pardon me and my old age. I didn’t mean-“

“It’s perfectly fine, Ollivander.” Y/n smiled reassuringly.

The older man smiled and began giving Harry wands. The first one was horrid. It made wands on the shelf fall onto the ground, making a vast clatter noise. The boy smiled sheepishly and placed it back in the box. The next wand caused a shatter of a vase which Harry cringed at. It took a couple of minutes until Ollivander came out with the following wand. It was 11 inches long, made of holly, and possessed a phoenix feather core. 

Harry waved the wand, and nothing disastrous happened. Remus and Y/n smiled with joy. Ollivander charged him seven galleons for it, and Harry placed down the golden coins with glee. Ollivander could remember the way James had done the same while Y/n beside him. Their identical toothy grins as Fleamont paid the man.

“My wands cooler than yours!”

“No way!” 

James nodded in triumph, “You’re just lame.”

“And you’re boring!”

“No way!” James gasped, “I am far from boring!”

Y/n crossed her arms, “And I’m not lame.”

Euphemia chuckled, redirecting her children to look at the counter while the two parents stood behind them, “Ignore them. They like to try and be better than the other.”

Ollivander grinned, “Ah, siblings. What amazing pairs they make.”

Fleamont scoffed, “Yeah, try having two at the same time. Felt like the crucio curse.” 

“What do you say?” Euphemia beckoned, and both twins turned to Ollivander, smiling gleefully, “Thank you!” 

“They’ll be a handful.” Ollivander informed Euphemia and Fleamont, “But they’ll change the world, and they’ll do it together.” 

The older man smiled at Remus and Y/n as Harry went outside to see Hagrid carrying a giant golden cage with a beautiful snowy owl inside, “That boy is something else.”

Remus chuckled, “We know. Little mischief-maker, just like James.”

“Perhaps he is,” Ollivander replied, “But he’ll change the world.”

The rest of the day went by blissfully. After getting all his school supplies, they retreated into the Leaky Cauldron to eat dinner. The tavern was practically empty as they sat at a long narrow table. Hagrid at the head, Harry to his left, Remus across, and Y/n beside Remus on the other side. They were eating in silence before Harry spoke up. 

“What happened to my parents?” Harry questioned, and before anyone could answer, he continued, “Truthfully. No lies.”

Hagrid and Remus turned to the female at the table who swallowed thickly, “Something horrid, Harry.”

“How horrid?”

“Harry-“ Remus began. 

“A death I wouldn’t wish upon anyone, even my worse enemy.” Y/n answered, staring at the soup in front of her, “The way they died doesn’t matter.”

Harry crossed his arms, “I believe it does.”

“In the grand scheme of things, it doesn’t.” Y/n replied, taking deep breaths in and out, trying to stay calm, “It doesn’t matter how they died. They’re dead, and they aren’t coming back.”

Tears collected in her eyes when she muttered, “No matter how badly I want them to.”

Hastily Y/n wiped her face and placed her napkin on the table. She sniffled before standing and pushing her chair in. Y/n leaned down to kiss Harry on the forehead before retreating to the room they got upstairs. Harry sighed and stared at his bowl of soup that remained steaming hot. Remus rubbed his face with his palms. 

“Harry,” Remus called, and Harry’s green eyes met similar ones, “Your parents died at the hands of a very evil Wizard. He went as dark as one could go.”

Harry looked intrigued, and Remus continued despite his throat beginning to constrict, “His name was Voldemort, but most people call him ‘You-Know-Who.”

Hagrid flinched at the actual name being said, “James risked everything to try and save you and your mother. When he died, Lily tried to save you. In the end, it all worked out because you were saved. You didn’t die like you were supposed to.”

“Why did aunt Y/n leave the table?”

“Talking about this is still hard for her.” Remus replied, and Harry could see the tears in his eyes too, “It’s hard for me too, but- but you need to know.”

“What were they to you?” 

“James and Lily were everything to me, Harry. Everything and so much more. Your mother saw the good in people when they didn’t see it themselves. Your father? Well-“ He chuckled, “He was a trip and a prat. But he cared for those around him. Treated me like family and took care of me like a brother.”

Harry fiddled with the sleeve of his sweater, “James was a mischief-maker that one.” Hagrid said, “Always up to no good.”

“Him and that Sirius boy.” Hagrid chuckled, “Dynamic duo those two.”

Remus let out a tearful chuckle, “Yeah, that was Padfoot and Prongs.”

“Always up to no good.” Remus whispered. 

The following day Remus had waken up to what he swore was the most perfect sight. Y/n was still sleeping beside him. Her head was nestled under his chin, drinking in his body heat. Her hair was laid against the fluffy white pillow. Their legs were intertwined together. Gently Remus kissed her forehead before seeing the clock read about nine o’clock. 

Remus took five more minutes to admire her before waking her up. He began to kiss all over her face, and Y/n scrunched her nose, waking up as his lips kept attaching to a new place on her face. He smiled as she opened her eyes to meet his green ones. 

“Mornin’ love.” 

His Welsh accent was to die for, “Morning, Rem.”

“You ready to take Harry to Platform Nine and Three Quarters?”

Y/n shook her head, “No. Not really.”

“Hey,” Remus said softly, stroking her hair, “You’ll be okay. We’ll be okay.”

“There are so many memories there, Rem.” Y/n replied, “Like- Like meeting Sirius for the first time.”

“Or seeing you come back after fourth year with an entirely new style.” Remus chuckled, “Or- Or seeing James almost fall out of the train. 

Remus caressed her cheek with his thumb, “We’ll make it through, love. Harry needs us today.”

“Yeah.” She replied breathily, “He does.”

They both ventured out of bed into the cool air of London. Remus, Y/n, and Hagrid walked Harry to Kings Cross. When they arrived, Hagrid had departed from them to do something for Dumbledore. Harry was bluntly confused when his ticket read Platform Nine and Three Quarters. Last he checked, that wasn’t a platform. 

As they reached the main floor of the train station, Remus and Y/n recognized the Weasleys almost instantly. Molly had embraced them tightly as they all went through the platform. Harry gave his trunks to the man at the end of the train and turned to the only family he had left. His eyes glistened with tears, and he tried to hold them back but failed. 

“Harry,” Y/n knelt to his level, “You’re gonna be okay. I promise. James and I made lots of friends at Hogwarts.”

He smiled at the mention of his father, “Do you think… Do you think he’d be proud of me?”

“They’d be beyond proud, Harry.” Remus replied, smiling, “You’re everything they wanted you to be.”

Harry turned back to Y/n and hugged her tightly, “Please make sure you write to us.” 

“‘Course, Auntie.” Harry replied as they pulled apart, “Love you guys.” 

Y/n stood beside Remus, “We love you too, sweetheart.” 

Harry smiled and wiped his cheeks before hopping on the train. He found a compartment alone and watched out the window as the train began moving. Y/n and Remus watched as the train hauled by. Kids who started waving their last goodbyes to their parents. 

“Mum, dad!” James exclaimed from inside the compartment, “We love you!”

Euphemia and Fleamont chuckled tearfully, “We love you guys too!” 

Truthfully James never wanted to leave his parents. They were his entire world. When Kings Cross was no longer in sight, he plopped down in the seat beside Y/n, who put her head on his shoulder. His left arm wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her tightly to his side. 

“We got this, sis.” James assured, “We always have each other.”

It didn’t take long for Harry to get in trouble. As a matter of fact, it made Y/n laugh that within the first month, he had already managed a detention. She had settled for a letter rather than a Howler. Remus had made sure to tell him his fair of scolding words (“Say hi to Minnie for me!”). Harry smiled when the letter arrived in the morning. 

Harry definitely made sure to say hi to “Minnie,” which made McGonagall smile like an idiot despite her usual strict nature. She could see and hear James saying the name when she gave them detention or Sirius’ pouty face begging her to have some form of mercy on them, for they had just turned the Slytherin robes red. Ever the dramatics that Black. 

When he arrived back at the Platform, he nuzzled into Y/n and Remus’ arms before departing to the Dursleys. But all was good because in just a month he’d see them again for his birthday, which he did. They took him to Diagon Alley to get his second-year stuff along with some ice cream to celebrate his twelfth birthday. 

He spent a week of his summer with them in their little house in London. It was far better than Privet Drive, and he felt a lot safer. But after the week was up, he was forced to return to the Dursleys. Within a week of being back, he’d managed to screw everything up. A thing named Dobby had quite literally dumped puddling all over one of the Dursley’s guests, and that got him trapped in his room. 

Thankfully, Ronald Weasley, who had become his close friend, had saved him. Harry went to the Burrow for the first time and met everyone else. Molly had notified Remus and Y/n of his entrance. Sadly, they couldn’t make it to the Platform for reasons. Molly wouldn’t tell Harry, but he was okay with it. 

Until Ron and he smashed into the brick wall, making them late for the train. It was then Ron had a brilliant thought of taking the flying car to Hogwarts. It did work until they got stuck in the Whomping Willow and then got caught by Severus Snape. A letter was sent home to Y/n and Molly. Both of which made two very different Howlers to their children. 

Molly’s howler was scolding them, and it made Ron’s ears turn pink. Y/n and Remus’ howler was a different story. The moment it opened, laughter rang through the Great Hall. Familiar laughter of Remus and Y/n. It made McGonagall furious and happy at the same time. 

“Merlin Harry!” Remus’ voice rang out, “You’re brilliant, aren’t you!” 

“Remus, we’re supposed to be scolding him!” Y/n retorted jokingly, “I’m scolding myself for never thinking of it!” Remus replied. 

Y/n chuckled, “Obviously, you shouldn't have done that, Harry; however, as long as you’re not harmed, we aren’t mad. Just be more careful next time.”

Remus was still dying of laughter, “Remus is still dying of laughter. We love you, Harry. Stay safe.”

Ron looked appalled with the coolness of the howler, “Bloody hell, you have a cool family.”

“They’re pretty cool.” Harry shrugged, smiling. 

Y/n and Remus would be lying if the whole petrifying thing didn’t scare them. They were worried for Harry’s safety but weren’t surprised when Harry ended up saving them all like last year. When they were on the Platform, Remus began getting on the train with him after kissing Y/n goodbye. 

He was grunting and groaning at every movement. The bags beneath his eyes looked more prominent than usual. Remus moved sluggishly, which was very unlike him. But Harry didn’t question it until he began to get on the train at Harry’s side. 

“Uncle Moony?”

“Yes, Harry?” Remus replied after sitting in a compartment, his cloak covering most of his body. 

“Why’re you on the train?”

He chuckled, “I’m your new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor.”

Harry smiled, and Remus fell into a dreamless sleep after a rough full moon the night prior. Hermione and Ron joined them not too long after as Harry began telling them about Sirius Black. The year went by as eventful as usual. Harry found out the accurate way his parents died along with Remus and Y/n. Peter Pettigrew being the culprit and then leaving before someone could catch him. 

Afterward, Sirius had been staying in the guest bedroom at Y/n and Remus’. He didn’t want to go back to Grimmauld Place. That was the last place he wanted to go. So despite not wanting to be a burden, he took the position that Y/n offered him. Ever so kind, just like James. When he walked through those doors, Y/n had hugged him tightly and kissed his cheek. 

“It’s good to have you back, older brother.”

Sirius could’ve cried on the spot, “It’s nice to see you again, little sis.”

The next couple of years were a trip. Fourth-year Harry had managed to get his name pulled out of the Goblet of Fire, leading to a new adventure of challenges. After finishing his fourth year, Cedric Diggory had died, marking the return of Voldemort, which had traumatized Harry in more than one way. That summer, he decided to stay with Y/n, Remus, and Sirius. They were all fantastic help throughout the entire thing. Through his nightmares, Y/n would make him hot chocolate and sit on the couch with him as he talked. 

Fifth-year was dreadful. Delores Umbridge had come into the office as the new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, and the Order of the Phoenix reformed. Her detentions were terrible and horrid, especially for the first years. They were just kids, for Merlin’s sake. It made Y/n fume when she saw the back of Harry’s hand. The night they ventured to the Department of Mysteries was almost the worst night Harry could have dreamed of. 

Sirius had almost died if Y/n wasn’t as quick as she was. Bellatrix was stunned to see her spell deflected but kept firing nonetheless. When they got home, it was silent. Remus had made tea for himself and Sirius while making hot chocolate for the other two. Harry had laid his head on Y/n’s shoulder and fallen asleep. 

Truth be told, sixth year wasn’t any better. Dumbledore had died, and Harry was left to find the rest of the Horcruxes. It was then Sirius learned the actual death of his brother, making him mourn him all over again. Seventh year Harry, Ron, and Hermione ventured out to find the rest of them. 

When Harry returned to Hogwarts through the passageway to the Room of Requirement with Snape as headmaster, the war had officially started. In the end, everything had fallen into place. When Harry used the resurrection stone, he saw them. He saw James, Lily, Remus, and Sirius. Harry almost wanted to laugh at seeing them all together. They looked so happy. 

“Where- Where’s Y/n?”

Remus gave a solemn smile, “She made it. She’s still out there. Waiting for you.”

“Does that mean…”

“Turns out my sister is a tougher cookie than I thought.” James stated, and Harry turned to him, “She misses you.”

James chuckled, “As I do her.”

Harry turned back to Remus, “Does she know?”

“She was there when it happened.” Remus replied, “I had to give her one last ‘I love you’ and kiss goodbye, right?”

A noise rumbled from a distance, “It’s time, sweetie.” Lily stated. 

Harry released a shaky breath before dropping the stone on the ground. He had to do this for Y/n, for Ron, for Hermione, for everyone. He was ready. When he stepped in front of Voldemort to die, all he could think about was his Aunt's eyes. The way they glittered with tears when she let him go for the first time. The way they creased when she smiled at his first Christmas. The way they gleamed with mischief when she gave the Weasley twins new prank material. 

His last words would be ones he’d never regret, “Thank you, aunt Y/n, for everything.”

Because through everything, she was the only constant. She was the only one to hold him through anything. Through every nightmare, every battle, every tear, every smile. She was there with her radiant smile and caring nature. 

When Harry defeated Voldemort, the world stopped. It was done. It was over. But the pain wasn’t gone. The trauma wasn’t bypassed. This was more than a war. Harry walked into the Great Hall to see crying parents, kids, and siblings mourning their dead loved ones. His eyes zoomed on Y/n sitting crisscross beside her husband, holding his hand tightly. 

Wordlessly Harry sat beside her and leaned his head against her shoulder. Y/n tilted her head onto his. No tears fell from her eyes despite everything she had gone through, two wars, friends dead, parents dead, brother dead, and now husband dead. 

“His last words were- they were,” She choked, and Harry rubbed her shoulder, “I love you more than Moony loves the moon.”

Harry smiled, “Dad said you were a tough cookie.”

Y/n chuckled, and Harry relished in the sound, “He said that if anyone could get through this, it’s you.”

“Damn it, James.” She said to no one, still holding Remus’ hand. 

“We’ll get through this.” Harry said, “And we’ll do it together.”

“Together.”

[cycat4077]

Proposing Permission

Summary: You and Sonny have been together for a year but your idea of celebrating is slightly different than his. Set during S18 - roughly November 2016. Pairing: Sonny x Reader Warnings: None, except fluff...and maybe suggestive hints here and there ;) Words: 2479 AO3 here

Technically part 13 in the Changes verse, but can act as a stand-alone, too!

“Mom!” you exclaim as soon as you hear her ‘hello?’ on the end of the line. “You'll never guess what just happened! – Wait, how'd you know? – He did? Of course, he did!” you laugh happily, flashing a bright smile up at Sonny who sits beside you on the sofa.

Sonny would give you the abridged version of the events that led up to this moment later, but at the time, things went a little like this:

-x-

“Uh, Carisi? Where are we going? The turn-off for the I-87 South, is that-a-way…” Amanda turns her body towards the traffic junction that passes by. She then whips back around to stare at her partner in the diver’s seat, a disgruntled look on her face.

“I need ta make a detour,” he states, eyes never leaving the highway.

“But we’re on a case!” she protests, growing irritated.

“Yeah, but we did what we came upstate to do. Got some answers, relayed them to Lieu. Technically, we’re off duty right now.” Sonny taps the wheel with his thumbs, trying to avoid his partner's gaze.

But Amanda Rollins is not one to concede so easily. “Tell me where we’re going, Dominick,” she drops her voice to a stern tone, eyes boring into the side of Sonny’s head.

Sonny lets out a nervous breath and says your name. “Remember how her parents live upstate? Well…” he reaches into the breast pocket of his suit jacket, producing a velvet box. Amanda gasps and nabs it from his grasp. She flips the little box open, finding a ring. “I wanna propose,” admits Sonny, “but I wanna ask her folks first.”

Dragging her eyes away from the box, Rollins frowns. “It’s twenty-sixteen, Sonny…you don’t need parental permission anymore.”

“I know, I know,” dismisses Sonny. “But that’s how my pa did it, and, she’s really close with her parents. It seems right to ask ‘em first.”

Amanda smiles in spite of herself. The gesture is very much a ‘Sonny Carisi’ thing to do. So, she cracks a joke instead. “What’re you gonna do? Salute her dad and say: ‘Requesting permission to marry your daughter, sir!’”

“Rawllins,” he groans, trying to act annoyed while keeping his eyes on the road.

“Do what you gotta do, partner,” she winks before turning her attention back to the box. “This ring is gorgeous!”

-x-

The drive was absolutely beautiful. Being October, the further away from concrete Sonny and Amanda drove, the denser the colourful forests became. It was picture perfect and Sonny’s only wish was that you could have been along to see it too.

Pulling up to your childhood home, Sonny leaves Amanda in the passenger’s seat. Afterall, this detour had to be relatively quick to prevent Lieu from breathing down his neck about it.

As Sonny makes his way to the door, his legs are a little wobbly and his pulse is racing. He has met your parents before and they adore him, yet, as he waits for his knock to be answered, his nerves get the better of him. This is a huge step and he hopes that they believe him worthy of it.

Then the door clicks open to reveal your mother. “Sonny!” she exclaims happily, but immediately her face falls. “Is everything okay?” In hindsight, an unannounced, unaccompanied visit does seem a little concerning.

Clueing in, Sonny immediate puts your mother at ease. “Yeah, yeah!” he reassures with a smile. “Work brought me upstate and I, uh, I wanted ta ask y’both somethin’ while I was up here.”

“Of course, of course!” Your mother ushers Sonny into the house before giving him a giant hug. Just as she releases him your father walks into the room, coming over with a large smile and firm handshake.

“Sir,” greets Sonny with a nod.

The three of them then take a seat at the dining room table; your mother unsurprisingly offers Sonny everything in her fridge. Once satisfied that he’s not lying about not being hungry, she continues. “So, son, what’s on your mind?”

The Italian swallows nervously. He looks to his fingers, thrumming them on the table top while his right knee bounces anxiously. Finally, he begins to speak: “Well, as you know, your daughter and I have been together for a while now and, we love each other very much. I love her very much.” A grin begins to break out on your mom’s face, her intuition giving her a good idea of where the conversation is headed. “And I, uh,” continues Sonny, “well, it seemed only right for me ta ask the two of you first. I w-wanna ask her ta marry me.”

Suspicions confirmed, your mother squeals with delight, grabbing onto your father’s arm and giving it a loving squeeze.

“I got a ring already and everything, if ya wanna see it,” Sonny adds quickly as if it will reenforce how committed he is to you. He pulls out the box once more and hands it over to your mom.

“Oh, Sonny,” she sighs looking up to your boyfriend. “She’s going to absolutely love it.”

“So, I, uh, have both your blessings then?” His blue eyes dart nervously back and forth between your parents.

Finally, your dad chimes in. “Of course!” he exclaims happily, his voice choking up ever so slightly. “You’re a good man and I couldn’t imagine my girl with anyone else.”

Sonny’s stomach does a somersault as he is immediately flooded with relief. “Thank ya!” he leaps to his feet. Your parents stand with him, both delivering their future son-in-law a squeezing hug. Parting, Sonny reluctantly explains that he can’t stay and that he must be getting back to the city.

“Alright, hon,” your mother coos. “Let us know what happens. Your secret is safe with us for now, but we’ll be waiting anxiously by the phone for the happy news!”

“Will do,” beams Sonny before he heads back to the squad car. Your parents wave him goodbye until he’s out of sight.

-x-

It’s your anniversary! One complete year of you and Sonny (finally) getting together! But…the universe really didn’t care about that. Nope! Because a faculty meeting was called on the one day where you didn’t have classes to teach. It ran from midday and into the evening and there was no possible way of getting out of it either. You loved your job, you really did, but today was supposed to be for you and Sonny. Nothing fancy, of course, but you had planned a lazy morning, followed up with cooking together and turning it into a romantic evening celebration.

“Uhhggghhh!” you groan, hanging your head and slouching your shoulders.

Sonny places his warm hands on your arms, grinning. “It’s alright, sweetheart.” You can feel those blue eyes shining down on you and, the next thing you know, a finger is gingerly tilting your chin up towards his. “I ain’t mad at all, okay? Shit happens. Jeez, how many times have I hadta cancel a date with you ‘cause I got called in or hadta work late?”

You bunch your mouth at the corner, frustrated. “I know, but it’s our anniversary and I was looking forward to spending all day with you!”

“So was I, but we can still make the most of it.” He kisses you on the nose. “I’ll go ahead ‘n make dinner and then when ya get home we can celebrate.”

“You sure? It was supposed to be a team effort. I can just grab some takeout on the way home –”

“Nonsense,” Sonny grins. “Besides, my cookin’ is way better than any takeout in the city.” His words make you laugh. “There’s that beautiful smile,” he beams, sweeping the hair back from your eyes.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, doll. Now, go on before you’re late ‘n try not ta fall asleep.”

You give Sonny a sweet kiss and make your way to the door. Before exiting, you flash a sultry look over your shoulder at your smiling boyfriend. “I promise I’ll make it up to you later, babe. It’s just a shame you have to wait so long to see what’s underneath this dress.” You slip out the door before you’re able to see the sign of the cross Sonny makes in attempt to absolve himself of his sinful thoughts.

-x-

The journey back home never felt so exhausting. Maybe it was the fact that the meeting seemed to drag on forever, especially when all you could think about was curling up next to Sonny. Your feet ached in your pumps and you cursed your wardrobe choice. Though, you were still new at the college and thus wanted to make a professional impression.

Once you finally reach your floor, a distinct cooking aroma floats down the hallway. Your stomach grumbles, knowing exactly which apartment is the origin and eager to taste what smells so delicious.

Opening your door, you are greeted by your wonderful boyfriend and his smiling eyes. He’s dressed up in a crisp shirt and slacks. “Welcome home, sweetheart and happy anniversary!”

You smile up at him and step into his outstretched arms. His attire seemed a bit formal, but you weren’t complaining. The way button up shirts hugged his arms and torso always made your face flush and heart beat a little faster. Those same arms also fit perfectly around you when he held you close.

As you begin to withdraw from his embrace however, you notice just how much Sonny is perspiring. “Babe, you alright?” Your brow knits with concern. “You’re sweating a bunch…”

Sonny quickly averts his gaze and turns towards the kitchen. “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine,” he gives a dismissive wave. “The oven’s been on all day.”

You know him well enough to tell that something is not quite right and his half-hearted answer gives you reason to follow him and press the issue. But as you round the corner, you’re stopped dead in your tracks by an elaborate display.

Sonny has gone all out. A hearty meal sits steaming on a table set for two, a single rose in a crystal vase resides at the center, and he’s even arranged some of your candles to provide low lighting. The sight of it all leaves you feeling as though your heart will flutter right out of your chest.

"Sonny," you whisper, hand over your heart. "You didn't have to do all this." You then peer up at him with glassy eyes.

"I wanted tonight to be special. Just you ‘n me celebrating a whole magical year of being together.”

Closing the distance, you lean up and place your lips tenderly to his. Sonny bends forward, deepening the kiss. You run a hand tenderly up the front of his shirt feeling the contours of his muscles beneath your fingers. Sonny reaches to cover your hand with his, grasping it carefully and reluctantly pulling it away. Breaking apart, he smiles, "Food's gonna get cold, doll."

The two of you sit down to a quiet, romantic dinner, clinking glasses in a toast to your relationship. But Sonny still has beads of sweat forming along his brow. "Babe, are you sure you're alright?" you point to his forehead. "It's not that hot in here..."

He swallows thickly, looking away. "Yeah...I'm just a little nervous is all." Sonny then focuses on you with big, blue eyes.

Yours narrow in confusion. Nervous? Why would he be nervous? It just us here...

Sonny flashes you shy smile before reaching across the table to take your hand in his. He stares at it in contemplation as he runs his thumb lovingly over your knuckles.

Biting his lip, he shifts those gorgeous eyes back to yours. "We've been through a lot in a year, doll," he begins. "And last summer I never knew how my life would change when you walked through that squad room door. I never knew that I could love someone so completely until I fell in love with you. My whole heart is yours and -"

"Sonny!" you release a sweet laugh. "You don't owe me a speech! I know how much you love me, silly! And I hope you know how much I love you too."

Suddenly, Sonny seems a little terrified. Had he rehearsed this or something?

"Just hear me out, ‘kay?" he implores following a shaky breath.

You smile softly and squeeze his hand signaling for him to continue.

"Believe me, doll, I've never felt more loved by anyone but you. I love waking up with ya in the mornin' and fallin' asleep together at night. My heart skips a beat thinkin' about a future with you. So, I guess that's why I'm sweatin'."

All of a sudden the warmth of Sonny's hand disappears. He shifts to get up from the table, slipping his fingers into his pocket. Then you realize that he's getting down on one knee. Your heart begins to thunder in your chest and a gasp catches in your throat.

Sonny's eyes lock onto yours as he produces a velvet box and opens it. There sits a white gold ring topped by a dainty solitaire diamond. Your eyes immediately rim with tears as you hear Sonny softly speak your name. "Will you marry me?"

A large smile erupts upon your face and you instantly blurt out a "yes!"

Sonny's expression changes to one of pure love. He delicately slips the ring on your finger and quickly rises to capture your lips in a kiss.

You wrap your arms around his neck and he effortlessly scoops you up. "I'm so happy," you speak against his lips, eliciting a tight squeeze from your fiancé.

Fiancé! Sonny Carisi is your fiancé! The man you love with your whole heart. You've always believed that it isn’t the ring on their finger that make two people married – that’s at least how committed you feel towards Sonny – Yet now, you couldn’t be happier to make what you share official.

"I'm so happy too, doll! I love you! I love you! I love you!" Sonny reciprocates in between swift kisses to your cheeks, nose and lips. Then his eyes darken and he bows his head towards your neck, nibbling and suckling at the sensitive skin that resides there.

You sigh, a tingling sensation spreading throughout your body. God, is he good at this! But then, your mind comes back to reality and you gently, albeit reluctantly, push him away. “Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait!” you chant, tapping your hands lightly on his chest.

Sonny pulls back but his eyes still hungrily flicker to where his lips were focused mere moments before.

“I have to go call my mom! She’d kill me if she knew I didn’t tell her right away.” You watch as Sonny smirks. “But then I promise we’ll celebrate properly…after all, you still haven’t seen what’s underneath this dress.”

-x- 

Fluffy enough for ya? Heehee

Tag list?  @barbasbodaciousbeard @teamsladsandgents @adarafaelbarba @caracalwithchips @averyhotchner (let me know if you want to be added/removed)

[ikroah]

Whiskey river, take my mind, don't let her memory torture me. Whiskey river, don't run dry, you're all I got, take care of me. —“Whiskey River,” Shotgun Willie (1973)

It Keeps Right On a-Hurtin’ #15 - Vegas Outskirts

Collaborative Issue! Guest Colorist: @malpaislegate​ / @socksual-innuendos​

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Notes / Original Pencils / Transcript:

Notes:

MAN that’s gotta hurt!! Volume 2 kicks off with a bang, literally if you count the gunshot and honorifically if you count Socks’ knockout color job on this issue. Look at those lovingly rendered bullet wounds!! Muah!!!

It’s been a relief having a month off from the comic as I handled a bunch of other things but there’s a lot to look forward to in Volume 2, as you can probably tell from that very forboding fist clench at the end there. Will Agnes and Cass get the revenge they’re looking for? Can they make it big in Vegas? Will it keep right on a-hurtin’? Find out next ish as Cass leads Agnes to meet the first of their new “friends.”

Original Pencils:

The pencils for this issue are like an autopsy report of all the things that can go wrong with your art if you don’t plan ahead and pay attention. Listen, friend, to my tale of woe, and learn from my mistakes so they don’t become yours!

First, you can see a lot of places where there’s floating objects, empty backgrounds, and incomplete heads. Part of this is because I always intended to just copy and paste repeated elements across each panel instead of drawing them multiple times, but other times I was forced to just because of my lack of planning. The top three panels on page two, for example, required me to draw the background I’d use for them on a separate page.

Second, you can probably tell that I actually had to flip the two raiders around in the final lineart because I forgot to keep the hands their were holding their guns in consistent—and since I couldn’t flip the middle panel on the second page without ruining the composition, I decided to flip all of their other appearances so that they’d be lefties. I doubt you even can seamlessly wield those particular guns left-handed.

Third, the size of the cart that Agnes and Cass are kneeling behind changes CONSTANTLY and is dramatically oversized from the third page onward. After inking these pages, it took a lot of work to correct the inks and shrink that cart in each panel, but fortunately it came out looking good.

And finally, I completely redrew the second panel on the fifth page because it wasn’t until I had already handed he pages off to my colorist that I realized having a second profile shot of Cass so soon after a first one was just...redundant and lazy-looking. So I went back to my sketchbook and whipped up a much more unique, striking angle (I also just wasn’t satisfied with the quality of my art on that panel, so I’m very glad I redrew it). But again, my failure to plan ahead bit me in the ass and my redraw attempt wound up taking up a lot more space than I thought it would, so after inking it I had to basically surgically remove it from the other inks.

I’ll be honest with you folks: part of the reason that I work in such simple, thick, high-contrast lineart is because it’s very easy to make corrections and adjustments with stuff you could technically color in Microsoft Paint.

Transcript:

EXT. SOMEWHERE IN THE MOJAVE, morning. AGNES SANDS and ROSE OF SHARON CASSIDY stand over the wreckage of a caravan, scattered over a dirt road.

CASS: Hell.

EXT. SOMEWHERE ELSE IN THE MOJAVE, midday. Looking over a second wrecked caravan, at the bottom of a ditch.

CASS: Fuck.

EXT. PRE-WAR HIGHWAY OUTSIDE OF VEGAS, mid-afternoon. AGNES and CASS survey a third wrecked caravan.

CASS: Shit. The proof is in the pudding. Or the pile of ash, rather. These attacks were done with Van Graff guns for Crimson Caravan caps. I'm sure of it.

As CASS explains her theory to AGNES, a short distance from the caravan two RAIDERS peer at the two of them from inside a barn at a ruined farmstead. They have snake-bite tattoos on the sides of their shaved heads and are holding rifles.

CASS: The scorchmarks and residue in the wreckages? That's energy weapon shit. Plasma and laser. Silver Rush special. Not like it'd be the Brotherhood. And Crimson Caravan must have bankrolled this fucked-up little hunting trip themselves.

The RAIDERS move out from the barn, sneaking up on two passers-by who’ve stopped at the caravan wreckage.

CASS: That explains why they bought me out...they needed the last loose end to saddle up back west with a tidy sum.

(NOTE: *Agnes delivered it and Cass signed it in IKROAH #7—Lou.)

CASS: It's a racket, Agnes: torch the local competition and it's win-win for both the f—

SFX: KRAK

A gunshot rips out from one of the RAIDERS’ rifles and sears across CASS’ shoulder.

CASS (gasping): —uckers.

CASS slumps down beneath the overturned caravan wagon on the road, clutching her shot shoulder.

CASS: —Aaggghghhhhhhh.

AGNES: Cass! Are you—

CASS: Fuck! Agnes, get down you moron!

AGNES ducks behind the cover of the wooden caravan wagon just as another gunshot splinters the top lip of it.

SFX: DTHWAK!

The RAIDERS advance on CASS and AGNES’ position, firing at them from off the road.

SFX: KRAK

AGNES leans over the top of the wagon with her pistol, returning fire.

SFX: BTAK BTAK BTAK

AGNES lands a shot right in one of the RAIDERS’ guts, and she drops her weapon and falls down.

SFX: SPLUT

CASS, leaning out the side of the wagon, takes as careful of aim as she can with her shotgun by holding it with her good arm. Trembling, she fires, connecting with the other RAIDER.

SFX: KBLAM

The would-have-been RAIDERS are dead.

AGNES: ...were those the Van Graffs?

CASS: No. Just some vultures.

CASS leans back behind cover to sit against the bottom of the overturned wagon again, wincing from her shoulder injury.

CASS: Ugghhn.

AGNES (slipping off duffel bag): Cass, your shoulder—

CASS: Yeah, it's been shot. I'm pretty fucking aware.

AGNES (unzipping bag): Quick, can you take your shirt off—

CASS: What!?

AGNES: —so I can dress the wound, Cass!

CASS: Oh! Good! So you weren't coming onto me on what remains of Griffin Wares Caravan.

CASS starts removing her shirt while AGNES produces a bottle of something from her duffel bag, and dampens a rag with its contents.

CASS: And since when are you a fucking field medic, anyway?

AGNES: 2269. NCR Certified.

CASS: What?

AGES: Yeah. I've been one kind of doctor or another since I was six.

CASS: What?

AGNES: Now hold still, this is antiseptic.

CASS: Since you were six!? I...shit, wait, hang on, Agnes—

AGNES pressess the rag onto CASS’ shoulder wound, and CASS winces instinctively. But, confusingly, there isn’t any pain.

CASS: ...isn't this supposed to sting like hell?

AGNES: No, not really. It's an acetic acid solution. Vinegar, basically.

AGNES begins cleaning the wound with the rag.

CASS: I thought you put alcohol on wounds to clean them.

AGNES: That's...a common misconception. It's good for tools, maybe, but too strong for skin. And it can complicate healing if you apply it directly.

CASS: So you're telling me, all my years, I've been wasting good whiskey only making my boo-boos worse?

AGNES: I mean...it's better than nothing in a pinch, but...

CASS: Well, then. Thanks for the lecture, doc. Can you just pass the whiskey anyway? Shoulder still hurts like hell regar—

AGNES hands her the whiskey bottle. She’d already gotten it out.

CASS: —dless. Oh. Thanks.

AGNES unspools a roll of bandages in her hands, then begins wrapping it over CASS’ shoulder and across her chest..

AGNES: So. It's a relatively minor wound, more of a deep graze than a real gunshot.

CASS: You'd know all about real gunshots, huh?

AGNES (unfazed): Uh-huh. I can suture it if necessary, but for now, these bandages will be fine. Just hold still. How do you feel?

CASS: I feel fucking pissed, Agnes!

AGNES recoils, taken aback slightly.

CASS: As I was saying before I got shot in the shoulder—which, however "minor" the wound, is real fucking close to my head, Agnes—this wasn't some random attack. These caravans, my caravan, got hit by the Van Graffs and Crimson Caravan. It ain't just some tragedy anymore. Now I've got names. Places. Faces.

AGNES resumes bandaging CASS.

CASS: I told you—ow! Don't pinch my tit, dammit—

AGNES: I said hold still.

CASS: —I told you, when you told me about this guy who shot you...when I let you drag me out of that fucking outpost...and when we went to Boulder City...that I would do the exact same thing in your shoes. Now, it is the exact same thing. This fucker shoots your eye out, these fuckers ash my caravan...these same fuckers I sold my own goddamn name to on a piece of paper. I mean...what else are we doing out here, Agnes? Getting shot at by Khans and Raiders just for kicks? Are we just fucking around?

AGNES finishes bandaging CASS, then leans back, pensive.

AGNES: No...no, I really guess we’re not.

CASS: That's what I thought. Your friend in Vegas can wait. Help me get mine, and we can get that shitheel together, and that's a prom—

CASS raises her arm  to shake her fist as she speaks, straining her shoulder injury.

CASS: —mmmmmmghhhh. Ooww, oww, oww, oww...

CASS grabs her shoulder in pain while AGNES looks off in the distance and stands up. She looks out towards the horizon—towards VEGAS, and the pre-war casinos and hotels that still gleam and glitter in blinding sunlight.

Her fist clenches. Her brow furrows. Her body tenses, all over, staring at that city, that place.

The caravan wreckage remains alone on the highway, brahmin bones long picked clean by scavengers.

AGNES SANDS IN: IT KEEPS RIGHT ON A HURTIN’

VOLUME 2: MAKE IT BIG IN VEGAS

[stevie-wicks]

the hitchhiker

holy fuck so i forgot to post this,,, oops

wrote this for the lovely @drinkingbeerfroma and posted it on ao3, and i usually post my shorter oneshots here but i... forgot

trigger warnings: murder

ao3 link

The Beamer’s a beauty. 1983, mint condition, mahogany paint job gleaming in the midmorning sun.

Billy’s jaw hits the ground when it comes to a stop in front of him.

“Well?” says the guy at the wheel. He’s got a pair of hilariously large wayfarers balanced on that pointy nose of his, hair all puffed up like a movie star’s. “You comin’ or not?”

Ain’t no use looking a gift horse in the mouth, that’s what his momma used to say. Way before Neil bashed her head into the wall.

The apple don’t fall far from the tree. She used to say that, too.

“I have-” Billy scratches the back of his neck. Looks down at the trash bag at his feet. “I have a lotta baggage.”

The guy clicks his tongue. A little annoyed, a whole lot pretty. Billy can see him doing the same to some pretty blonde cheerleader when she’s playing hard to get. Can hear the, “Well, I guess I’ll just have to ask someone else.”

Instead, he says, “Put it in the back.”

There’s a pair of suitcases in the back, both of them big enough to fit Billy and all his meagre possessions, and then some. Billy heaves the bag into the trunk, checking and double-checking that the mouth is tied shut.

Pretty boy’s got a cigarette dangling from his lips when Billy finally slides into the passenger seat. He spends a beat too long staring at the curve of his pretty pink mouth when he blows out the smoke.

“You want?”

Billy startles, then looks down at the pack of Camels he’s being extended. “Yeah, sure. Fuck, why not?”

His hands still shake a bit when he flicks the lighter on. The dancing flame illuminates the red he hadn’t managed to get out of his nails. Or maybe it’s just his eyes playing tricks on him.

The first hit of nicotine is always the sweetest. Billy takes a long, slow drag, tipping his head back. “Shit,” he breathes. “Thanks, man.”

“Don’t mention it.” One hand on the steering wheel, the other hanging out the window. Something out of a picture.

Some Top 40 song filters through the speakers. Billy’d kill for some Metallica, but he’s already getting a ride and a smoke. He doesn’t want to push it too far.

He settles for, “So, what’s your name, pretty boy?”

“Steve.”

“Just Steve?”

Billy blinks at his own reflection on the sunglasses. “Were you expecting something more?”

The reflection grins back at him. “I dunno, man. Somethin’ like-” He breathes in a lungful of smoke. “Shit. Antonio, or- or fuckin’ Leonardo.”

Steve turns to the road again. “What’s yours, then? Rob Lowe?”

It’s not the jab he thinks it is. Rob Lowe’s prime jerk-off material. “Folks call me Billy.”

“That so?”

“Uh huh.” Another lungful, almost as sweet as the first. “You, though? You can call me anything you like.”

For a long moment, all he gets is silence in return. Maybe he’s gone too far. He can still feel the phantom ache of fists on his face, on his chest, on his ribs.

And then, softly, over the hum of Foreigner, he hears, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

…

Billy’s first meal as a free man is a plate of soggy bacon and congealed eggs. It’s the best thing he’s ever tasted.

Steve, though. He picks at his hash browns like they’re rat poison.

“’S the matter?” Billy asks around a mouthful. “Rich boy like you ain’t used to us poor folks’ food?”

Steve’s big eyes grow bigger. “W-what? I’m not…” He swallows. “I’m not hungry.”

“You want some of mine?” Please say no.

Steve’s knuckles go white against the edge of the table. “I don’t eat meat.”

Hallelujah. “Vegetarian?”

“Something like that.” He stands, abrupt. “I gotta go to the bathroom.”

“You gonna finish this?” Billy asks hopefully.

Steve’s already halfway across the diner. “Knock yourself out.”

Billy scarfs down the food, on account of the off chance Steve changes his mind. It isn’t as bad as he’d made them look. Susan’s cooking is- was- worse.

Billy wonders if she’d made Max her famous burnt pancakes for breakfast. Wonders if he’s still allowed to think of them. Wonders if they think of him.

Wonders if they got the blood out of the tile.

“Breaking news,” blares the TV mounted on the wall, and Billy’s blood runs cold.

A young reporter stands next to a photo of a teenage couple- the girl in a red, checkered dress, hair in a messy updo; the boy in a suit about two sizes too big and two decades too old.

Billy’s heartbeat is a war drum, so loud he only catches a few words of the report. Hawkins is one; Nancy and Jonathan another. His heartbeat reaches a fever pitch at homicide.

The next segment is about an upcoming local election. Billy lets out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding.

“You done?”

Billy starts so bad he drops his fork. It clatters against porcelain with a sharp clang that makes the hairs on the back of Billy’s neck stand up. “Fuck, man. Warn a guy, will you?”

“Sorry.” Steve doesn’t even try to make it sound sincere. “If you’re done, we can leave.”

Billy offers to pay, but Steve waves it off. He leaves enough money to cover both their tabs twice over.

As he slides the dollar bills across the table, Billy’s eyes catch on the red crusting Steve’s otherwise well-kept nails.

Huh.

. . .

Billy wakes up with a scream dying in his throat. He’d dreamed of blood and fists and Neil’s voice, over and over again, faggot faggot faggot-

He’s alone. It’s dark, and he’s alone, in the passenger seat of Steve’s swanky car.

Something thumps outside.

The key’s still in the ignition. Stupid, trusting, gorgeous Steve. Billy could be in California tomorrow.

He gets out of the car.

There’s nothing for miles- a stretch of forest on one side of the road, a lake on the other.

The trunk is popped open, and Billy can’t get there fast enough.

His bag’s still there, mouth sealed shut, just like he’d left it. He sucks in a deep breath, pressing a hand to his chest as he tries to regulate his breathing.

One of Steve’s suitcases is missing.

“Billy.”

Steve’s something else in the moonlight. Eldritch, his mom would say. All long, gangly limbs and wild hair. Eyes black holes in the dark.

His jeans are drenched to his knees.

“Help me with the other one,” he says.

Steve is stronger than he looks. He hoists one half of the suitcase, and Billy the other. When he wades out into the lake, Billy follows. To his ankles, to his calves, to his knees. He’d go further if that’s what Steve wants.

“Here,” says Steve, and Billy lets go.

It barely makes a splash.

Knees, calves, ankles. Steve shakes out the water from his shoes. Billy doesn’t bother.

“Give me a minute.” He crosses the distance to the car. Grabs the trash bag. “I need to get rid of this.”

Steve watches him go. Ankles, calves, knees. Thighs, waist.

Billy lets go.

“Where are we headed?” he asks Steve, once he’s back to shore.

Steve shrugs. “Away.”

Billy nods. Smiles. Slides into the passenger seat.

He doesn’t think of Steve’s suitcase, or the partly closed zipper, or the pale finger he’d seen poking through.

[montrealmadison]

keep me in mind

for @omgcpanniversaryweek day 5: updates/extras/arcs 

i was thinking about how much money i would personally pay ngozi to release any more information about what happened in madison and it made me want to post something i’ve been playing around with since i first read the comic! a love letter to sunshine boys, my home state of georgia, and jack “knock knock who’s there oh shit it’s my feelings” zimmermann.

this is inspired by all the writers who have tackled summer in madison (one of my favorite zimbits eras to read about in fic; it’s about the yearning!!!) and especially by @parvuls, whose fic right as things grow i reread about once a week.

They’re doing a cool eighty-five miles an hour down Interstate 20, which is a pretty inconvenient time for Jack to realize that he is just insanely turned on by watching Bitty drive.

He can’t quite pin down what’s driving him crazy. Maybe it’s the way Bitty’s hair catches the midmorning light and turns to gold. Maybe it’s the deep tan, the freckles that are sprinkled over the tops of his shoulders and the bridge of his nose. Maybe it’s the warmth Jack can feel radiating off his sun-heated skin, the muscles standing out in his forearms, the way the corner of his mouth turns up gently at Jack every time they make eye contact in the rearview mirror.

Or maybe it’s the way he sings with joyful abandon, voice soaring out the windows of his beat-up blue Chevy truck. Bitty’s always had a pleasant voice, strong and high and clear, that’s familiar to anyone who’s ever stepped foot in the Haus. Here, though, it’s a little rougher, a lot more country. He’s clearly in his element, keeping steady time with the palms of his hands on the truck’s steering wheel.

Speaking of Bitty’s hands, Jack can’t stop looking at them. They seem to be everywhere: turning the radio up, making sure Jack’s comfortable with the A/C, changing gears in a way that speaks to years of practice driving stick shifts. Jack, who’s never driven anything but an automatic, resolves to ask Bitty for a lesson sometime… just in case.

(It’s definitely not because he’s a little too interested in the way Bitty’s long, sure fingers flex against the gear shift. Or the way his thighs tense and then relax when he pops the clutch. Nope, definitely not.)

Georgia suits Bitty, Jack thinks to himself. He’s beyond beautiful here, lit up from the inside, like he’s captured a little of the blazing sunshine overhead to keep all for himself. The heat of the day has settled over the two of them, smothering Jack’s racing thoughts about all the ways today could potentially go wrong. He suddenly finds he can’t bring himself to worry much about anything when he’s got the chance to just sit back and observe Bitty on his home turf.

They don’t talk much for the first few miles out past the airport—mostly just You doin’ okay? and Yeah, I’m good, Bittle, and then a largely companionable silence. There’s definitely a sense that what lies unsaid between them might currently be too big for the cab of this truck, roomy though it might be, and Jack spends probably too long working through ways to organically bring up the topic. But as they leave 285 and the Atlanta skyline behind for the long, straight stretch of I-20 ahead of them, Bitty reaches over and casually covers one of Jack’s hands with his own.

“I’m real glad you’re here, Jack,” he says, soft, a little tentative. Even though Bitty’s got his eyes fixed on the road, Jack can tell there’s light in them; he thrills at the thought of maybe having put it there. “It means a lot to me that you came.”

Jack curls his fingers around Bitty’s, hoping to God that his palms aren’t too sweaty. He’s gratified when Bitty glances over and smiles at him. “Wouldn’t have missed it. I really wanted to see you. And your parents were so nice to invite me.”

Bitty laughs brightly. Joy, simple and uncomplicated, begins unspooling itself in Jack’s chest, where he’s kept it close to his heart through a whole summer of texting and calling and wanting. He can’t believe he gets to do this, gets to have this. He just has to be brave enough to try.

He looks at Bitty, at home here in the summer sun, and thinks that maybe, just maybe, he can be.

“Oh, honey,” Bitty is saying, oblivious to Jack’s thoughts, “I don’t know if nice sums it up. I thought my mama was gonna kill me if I didn’t make good on my promise and get you down here somehow. She’s been dyin’ to see you—not to mention cook for you—for weeks. Coach, too, I think, but at least he’s a little less threatening about it. Also, I’m thinkin’ we gotta try to get you sayin’ y’all by the end of this weekend, it’s so much more efficient—”

Jack could listen to Bitty talk all day. He likes the way his accent compresses some words but elongates the vowels, turning his sentences into an easy drawl. The accent’s pretty strong at Samwell, but here it almost sounds like he’s speaking a different language entirely.

He wants to feel Bitty’s lips forming those sounds against his own, wonders if it’ll feel as soft and comforting as it is to listen to. He’s so caught up in how attracted he is to the sound of that voice, in fact, that he almost doesn’t realize Bitty is still talking to him.

“...and then I told my Aunt Judy that that poor boy’s cornbread just ain’t quite done in the middle, bless him, and that he should just put those silly fears aside so he can come on over and meet you while you’re here because I really don’t think you’re as scary as you pretend to be, anyway, and—oh, Jack, I’m so sorry, I’m prattlin’ on and you haven’t even met none of these folks yet! Am I boring you?”

“No!” Jack says immediately, and maybe it’s a little blunt but he doesn’t know how to soften his next words so he just plows ahead. “I just, um. Uh. Was thinking about how I’d really like to kiss you right now.”

Bitty pauses—blinks—presses one freckled hand over his mouth—and then smiles impossibly wide, and, well, that’s about it for Jack’s heart. He thinks it shouldn’t be possible for the human body to contain so much joy, but both of them are sitting there and Bitty’s eyes are sparkling when they meet Jack’s in the rearview mirror and the happiness fizzing up through Jack’s ribcage simply can’t be stopped.

“That can probably be arranged, Mr. Zimmermann, if you can control yourself long enough for me to get off this highway.”

Jack, adrenaline thrilling in his chest, nevertheless makes a show of clasping his hands firmly in his lap.

“I’m on my best behavior, promise,” he says solemnly.

“You are the limit, Jack Laurent,” Bitty says, but he reaches over again and takes one of Jack’s hands and squeezes, hard. An acknowledgment, a promise, a choice. This is something. We have something precious here.

Jack squeezes back, looking out the window, trying to spot the exit sign that will get them off this highway and on to whatever else this weekend has in store.

[thevoilinauttheory]

Fire

[ FFxivWrite2021 Prompt 2: Aberrant ]

The Five Part “In the Dreams of Ashley” series is done! Go read the others here! {Prelude} {In the Dreams of Ashley: The Wind} {In the Dreams of Ashley: The Fire} {In the Dreams of Ashley: The Water} {In the Dreams of Ashley: The Earth}

[ HEAVY CONTENT WARNINGS - THIS PIECE IS TO EXPLORE ONE OF MY DEEPEST FEARS CONTAINING: mentions of death/blood, regrets surrounding said death, nightmares, detailed suffocation, detailed description of burning to death, suicidal ideation ]

[ also decided to do a music theme this month and all of these will have musical accompaniment lol ]

To dream that you or someone is being burned alive suggests that you are being consumed by your own ambition. To dream that you are being burned by fire indicates that your temper is getting out of control. Some issue or situation is burning up inside you. If you are setting a fire to something or even to yourself, then it indicates that you are undergoing some great distress. You are at the brink of desperation and want to destroy something or some aspect of yourself.

==

“So how did you even get here?” Ashley shoved a dumpling into his mouth, having yanked it from the pot as soon as he realized it was ready. Ruta had set up a fire, a large heavy pot on top of it, filled to the brim with broth and vegetables. He didn’t question where she got it, or even how she carried it - though common sense dictated that she borrowed the pot from the fishermen in Isari, as well as bought the food; they *were* set up right outside it, of course.

“Hm?” Ruta had her mouthful already, slurping up what noodles were left in her mouth. It took her a good minute to finish chewing so she could talk; and in that time, Ashley had already taken to swishing thin slices of fish around until they were cooked enough to eat.

“Y’know, get here. Back in the cells, you said you were from Kugane… but, uh… no offense, but.” “Because I’m Xaelic?” “...Yeah, sorry. That’s rude of me to point out.” Ruta only laughed. “Yeah… I left that part of me in the Steppes. I was capable, but… I thought, as a kid, if they’re gonna leave me tied up to a tree, I might as well go my own way. What’s to say that it’s not going to happen again?” “Tied to a tree? Oof, that’s rough.” “Made it all the way to Kugane and ran into some nice folks who thought ‘who in the hells let this child run around on her own!’.” She laughed. “They adopted me. Real nice people.” “They still with you?” ”Hope so, it’s been a few years.”

He stared at the flames, leaning back on his hands after he filled himself up on food - thinking about her words, how everyone he knew would have moved on with their lives without him. “Where’re Colette ‘n’Hunter? They’ve been gone a while.” “I think they went ahead to scout for a boat. We gotta leave in the dead of night, if we want a chance at getting past those pirates. You know how to swim?” “Uuhh… I’m gonna say “I’ll figure it out”.” He laughed. “Grew up in a desert, don’t really have time to learn to swim.” “You might have to! If we have to jump off the boat and swim our way there. I’m sure Hunter wouldn’t mind dragging you with him - guy loves to swim.” “Does he?” “I mean… he’s told me as much, at least.” “Hm.” That grin on her face only told him how much she was judging him. “What! Leave me alone! Stop staring like that, gods, it’s weird.”

==

“Don’t y’think you’ve been “retired” long enough?” Ashley leaned back in his chair and kicked his legs up on the table in front of him; he stuck the tiniest crumb of paper under his tongue, then closed his eyes. “Nope.” “Kid, you have to *move on*. Shite like this? This happens all the time - you’ve been sheltered way too long--” “Who died and made you th’boss of my life, huh? If I’ve been sheltered, then y’leave me to be the little bitch I am until I’m *ready* to “move on”. You haven’t experienced what I have. I haven’t experienced what you have.” “How’re you going to make any money to live with an attitude like that.” “Off my savings? My life ain’t your business - you can either sit here and enjoy a drink with me, or you can piss off. I don’t care either way, I ain’t working yet.”

==

He didn’t really need the road down memory lane - but it helped ease the pain, just for a little bit. His boots crunched over the shells and rocks that made up the shores of the Ruby Sea, staring at the water as he strolled. He had always questioned why they had referred to it as “ruby”, there was nothing as brilliant or red about it… back then, of course. He had taken its beauty for granted. The crimson kelp that made up the depths against the sparkling reflections from the sun, everything was so… peaceful. To a degree. He couldn’t account for the Garlean control over the area, and had to be on his toes because of it, but it was nice.

He wished his friends were around to witness it - it was dark when they were able to see it, if one could even call it “seeing”, as much as it was a black pit of unknown they were diving into.

He made a stop in Crick - he wasn’t necessarily welcome, but he wasn’t unwelcome either. They regarded him with impassiveness there, letting him relax as he wished or needed to - which happened to be in front of a fire with a pot attached to it, boiling water. How much longer could he stand to be here? The memories were starting to hurt now, they ached, and suddenly he felt ill to his stomach. That was when he decided it was best to leave, standing up to turn back the way he came - watching the ocean once more with the unevenness of the shore beneath his feet yet again.

There was a fisher’s boat floating in the middle, a small Auri woman casting out a line with a basket of fish next to her. Living a carefree, or… mostly carefree life. Living life as she could, and it seemed she was doing well enough. She turned her head and made accidental eye-contact with him-- those eyes, that face.

“Ruta?” He questioned softly, then smiled brightly and waved. “Ruta! You’re safe! Gods be!” As he watched the woman wave back, his vision blackened - flashes of the body of his fallen friend bleeding out on top of her girlfriend’s, looking behind him as he ran.

The next he knew were flames - and only flames. His whole body was searing, the heat too much for his skin. He tried to pull his foot from the ground, to try and run for the ocean, but he could not move. He stayed in place and it only seemed like the relief of water got further and further away the more he longed for it. It started with his legs, that’s where his eyes turned to next. One foot stood solid in the slowly creeping fount of lava, threatening to take the next one over. What happened? How did he get here? There was no way he would have done this of his own volition, was there? But no, he did - he stepped right into it, a wonder, no, a *knowing* of what the consequence would bring. A solace in knowing that this would be the price he paid for his inadequacies.

Even as he tried to change his mind - tried to scream for help that could not hear him, the fire climbed only higher. All he could do was cry out in pain as he watched his clothes set ablaze, and his skin begin to blacken and peel. The pain of it all, the searing pain of his skin melting from his bones wasn’t even the worst of it; it was the agony of seeing it happen slowly - the scent of the hairs and flesh charring; the popping, bubbling, cracking noises that followed until he was swallowed whole by it. Each scream, each breath, he was forced to swallow the flames until they choked him - then each cough cooked his lungs; his vision was nothing but reds and oranges until it had gone black, and what was left of him could only fall to try and drag itself to an escape out of pure need for survival. Only to be overtaken by the slow and searing pain of pure fire covering the entirety of his body - the last he heard was not the crackling of his bones like tinder, but the paddles of a boat hitting the still water as it passed right by him.

==

His awakening was a slow one this time, feeling the tears that had dried against his cheek. He woke up next to the flames of the dying fire, left alone by the people of the town around him. He was disoriented, confused. When it finally settled that it was a nightmare, he let out a heavy and relieved sigh.

Not quite the same as the last, but no less painful and terrifying.

[mudhornchronicles]

dreamboat | greaser!frankie | part four

pairing: frankie morales x reader; greaser!frankie x reader

warning: cursing, talking down, and feels

a/n: listen… I know the song mentioned in this part was released before their time and I’ve tried my hardest to stay within this timeline but it just went so well. sue me. also... do ya’ll like the moodboard i did? c:

part one | part two | part three | part four

masterlist

No matter what you were doing, homework or chores, your mind is always drifting off to Frankie. 

and so did Frankie’s.

The urge to talk to him became stronger every time you saw him in class because you truly enjoyed his company. You liked him because he never tried to be someone he was not - he was true to himself.

You were enamored by the way he spoke so passionately about his mother and his favorite pastimes. You felt a ripple of joy when you had seen his eyes light up when you complimented his father’s car. You also caught yourself giggling like a schoolgirl at the sight of his cheeks reddening at your comment about his “cute dimple.” 

You may have not known Frankie for long, but from the time you’ve spent with him, the more at ease you felt. 

Frankie didn’t miss the quick glances you shot his way, but he also knew you didn’t miss the way he paid more attention to the way you adjusted your pencil when you tried to understand the day’s lesson than to the lesson itself. 

Frankie took a mental note at the fact that you took great pride with your hair. Even though there were endless ways of styling your hair, Frankie’s favorite was your go to up-do with a ribbon that always matched your skirt. It was simple, yet so elegant at the same time. 

You packed your grey spiral notebook and #2 pencils in your school bag and settled the leather strap on your right shoulder. Your class let out early, which you were thankful for. You were tired from running to your first period after missing the bus and having to catch a ride with Max - making him late in the process. You walk into the hallway, ready to take the stairs for your math class when you hear a throat clear behind you. You assumed it wasn’t for you and as you placed a hand on the handrail, you hear Frankie speak your name.

You look back and flash him a tired smile. “Good morning, Francisco.” You check the giant black and white clock and cough up a chuckle. “Actually, good afternoon.”

Frankie looks around to see students’ eyes widen when they hear you call him Francisco. Shit, Frankie thinks. 

“C’mon baby.” Frankie silently chastises himself. “Don’t be runnin’ that pretty little mouth with my government name ‘round here.”

You stood dumbfounded. “Excuse me?” 

Frankie leans back on the cement wall and chuckles. “Y’heard me… Listen sweetheart. I-” He abruptly stops and glares at the gawking students. Freshman, he thinks.

“Was I talkin’ to you? Get the fuck outta here before I give ya a reason to stare.” and with that they scram. You frown and scoff.

“Goodbye, Frankie.”

“No.” He gently grabs your arm and turns you back to him. “Can we please talk? You’ve been avoiding me like the plague.”

“Frankie let go of me.” You tug on your arm, trying to set it free from is grasp. “I’ll be late for math class.”

Frankie lets out a laugh, the laugh you liked hearing. “It’s a short day,” he says. “School’s out for the day.”

“Is today Wednesday?” you question.

Frankie nods and smiles, revealing his perfect dimple. “You got a ride home? Lorenzano told me you got him detention.”

Your mouth drops. “He got detention? Oh no! That was not my intention at all! I was let off easy.” You shake your head in disbelief. “If he’s in there I should be too. Excuse me, Frankie.”

Frankie throws his head back in laughter and holds you in place. “I’m kiddin’, doll. I just saw ‘em leave with Goldilocks.”

“Goldilocks?”

“Michael, sweetheart. I gotta teach ya these names. He was your ride, wasnt he? How ‘bout I take ya home?”

You rub the back of your neck and shake your head slowly. “That won’t be the best idea, Frankie.”

“‘Cause of ya folks?” You nod and decide your shoes are much more interesting to look at than the brown swirls of chocolate that rest in his eyes.

“What do they say ‘bout me?” You look back up and your eyes shift to a doe-like look.

“C’mon dolly. Just tell me.”

You shift your weight from one foot to the other as you bite your lip, trying to find the words to say. “They said you aren’t what I need to be seen with. That your only goal in life is to ruin what they worked so hard to have. My mother said you were only going to use me for the opportunities I earn and use them for yourself and that I should just forget you.” You let out a deep sigh and look into his eyes.

You see his jaw shift side to side and take in a deep breath. He looks at you and says, “and do you believe them?”

“No. Not one bit.”

Frankie takes one of your hands into his and smiles. “Good. I won’t make you any more late to the bus than I already have.” Frankie gestures to the hallway that stretches down and meets the entrance of the building. 

“But I do have a question for you.” You nod, motioning for him to continue. “You wanna go on a ride with me?

“I thought you hid your car?”

“I never said anything about my car. How ‘bout it, dolly? Let me take you on a joy ride.”

You hesitate and Frankie notices this. “Do you trust me?”

He continues to play with your fingers and you give his hand a small squeeze.

“I do.” you smile. “Pick me up at the same spot as the last time, okay?”

———

You can’t help but feel worried, yet excited all at the same time. When you heard the roar of Frankie’s motorcycle, a smirk crept up and planted itself at your lips. You turned and saw Frankie ride up and park right next to you, kicking the stand and stabilizing the bike before walking over to you.

“So this is what you meant by a ride, huh?” Frankie smiled proudly and nodded. “Yep. This here is Delta. Finally finished her a couple months back. Whatd’ya think? Ain’t she a beaut?”

You walked around the bike, analyzing it and committing her details to memory. “She’s a Harley FL? She looks like a ‘41 or ‘42.”

Frankie looks back at you with an amused look. “You know bikes?”

You smiled and nodded. “My uncle owns a shop upstate.” You comment. “His prized possession is a 1935 Vincent Comet. He’s very proud of it. It doesn’t move, but it looks nice.” You joke. 

“I think I just fell in love with you, doll. You can’t just whip this on me so suddenly.” You laugh with him and smile to yourself.

I think I just fell in love with you, doll. 

“Before we go, I need you to wear this.” He says handing you a silver and red helmet. You frown and pat the crown of your head. “But it’ll frizz and flatten my hair”

He pulls a white bandana from the inside of the helmet and hands it to you. “It won’t, trust me. My mom wears this all the time and her hair is still higher than the empire state.”

“I do trust you, Frankie.” You chuckle. You bring his hands, bandana in between, and motion for him to tie it for you. This brings him close. His face is close to yours - his lips closer than ever. 

He ties it in place and cups your cheek. Your eyes are glued on each other and that feeling of being content flows back into your system. He clears his throat and hands you the helmet, unbuckling it before you take it into your hands.

He helps you onto the back of the bike and before he can get on, you spot his school bag tied to the side of the bike. “What’s with the bag?”

“It has something for us. Don’t worry, doll. You’ll see soon.”

———

Who knew this place had such a view. Frankie drove up through windy roads, the elevation making your ears pop, but the result was breathtaking. He pulled up to a flat section of the mountain, nearly at the top, and you could see the navy image of the mountain range serving as the background of the miniscule outline of the town.

Frankie helps you off the bike, placing a helmet on each of the handles. He unties his bag for the bike, grabbing your hand and leading you towards a grassy area. He opens his bag revealing a squared white tablecloth, snapping it and placing it on the ground. He helps you onto the fabric and allows you to get settled before he sits and re-opens his bag. He snaps his bag shut and looks at you. He calls your name, and you give him your full attention, which he has had from the beginning.

“Would you like to have a picnic with me?” he shyly says. Your cheeks burn at the sight of his timidity. “I would love to, Frankie.”

From his bag, he pulls two glass soda pop bottles nestled in paper napkins, two wrapped sandwiches, candy bars, and a bag of potato chips. He sets your share of the foods in front of you and sets the candy choices in front of both of you.

“I didn’t know what candy your favorite was, or if you even eat candy, but I brought us some options.” He proudly says. In front of you were a plethora of candy: snickers, gummi bears, kit-kats, m&ms, junior mints, and tootsie pops. You grabbed your favorite and thanked him.

You weren’t used to be treated with the amount of kindness as Frankie was giving you. You had been courted before, but they all believed that gifts were the way to your heart, but, you just wanted a good conversation.

“Frankie, can I ask you a question?”

“You can ask me anything you want, doll.”

“Why are you so set on being around me?”

Frankie shrugs, opening his sandwich. “You’re a cool chick.”

You nod in agreement and giggle. “Alright… You’re a cool cat too Frankie… well when you’re not getting arrested.”

Frankie playfully rolls his eyes and lets out a loud groan. “That was one time.”

You give him a nudge and when you are certain he’s looking; you start to mock him.

“Please Mr. Jailer…. Won't you let my man go free…”

Frankie lets out a hearty laugh. “That’s unfair!”

“Please Mr. Jailer,” you continue. “Won't you let my man go free.” You both cackle and howl until you’re out of breath.

“C’mon! How ‘bout ya give my criminal record a break and eat your sandwich!”

You looked at the plastic wrapped sandwich and grinned. “Did you make these yourself?” He nods with a mouthful of food and hums uh huh. You enthusiastically unwrap the sandwich and take a big bite. You let out a moan in delight as the flavor of seasonings attack your tastebuds. It’s not too spicy, but it’s also not bland – making it one of the best sandwiches you’ve ever had.

“This is amazing. What’s in it?”

“Um.. swiss cheese, a mayo and chipotle sauce thing my mom put together, crushed chips, and seasoned chicken. My mom wanted to be different and used chicken instead of ham, I guess.”

“Well tell your mom that she’s a genius. This is incredible.”

Frankie sniggered. “I’ll pass it along. She’s an excellent cook. You’ll have to try it sometime.”

“I’ll hold you to it.”

You both sat and ate quietly. No words were spoken – simply taking in the scenic view. You look over to Frankie, only to see him in a daze. There was a question that lingered in your mind and although you didn’t want to ruin the moment, you knew you had to ask. You whisper his name, hoping he would hear it, and he did. He slowly turned over to you and uttered a low yes.

“Why do you act differently when we’re together in public than in private?” You vocalized the confusion that lingered in your mind from the moment he flipped a switch at school. “You’re sweet, smart, and caring while we’re here doing this, but all you do at school is curse, skip class with the boys, and disrespect anyone that looks at you a little too long.”

Frankie knew this conversation would come. He didn’t think you would notice his attitude changes, yet here you were. He lets a sigh be exhaled through his nose as he shakes his head. “You just wouldn’t understand.”

“I don’t. That’s why I’m asking.”

“I act the way I do because that’s what people expect. They expect someone like me to fail and…You have no idea what this town… what these people… can do to you.”

“Frankie… I may not know what you’ve gone through in life, but what I do know is that you have my shoulder to lean on and my ears to listen when you need it the most. I like seeing this Frankie.” You sit up, resting your weight on your legs, and reach for his hand. “The Frankie that gets good grades and has a great sense of respect and responsibility – not the Frankie I saw at school today.”

He looks down at your interlocked hands and lets out a content breath. Frankie gives your hand a squeeze and gazes at you – not at your eyes… this look goes much deeper than that.

“Does your mother really believe I’d use you and toss aside the one person that decided to get to know me before they wanted nothing to do with me?”

You shrug, knitting your eyebrows. “She can think what she wants to think – just know that’s not the way I do.”

A cool breeze picks up as you continuously play with each other’s hands and sit comfortably in close proximity. Frankie reluctantly lets go of your hand and shimmies out of his leather jacket. He wraps it around your shoulders, making sure your exposed arms are somewhat covered. You take a lapel in each hand, pulling on them to wrap yourself with the jacket. Frankie’s heart skips a beat as he takes a mental picture of the way you looked wearing his jacket.

Frankie sits back down, but you nudge your way closer and closer to him. You feel like melting as you smell his cologne, from the jacket and himself.

“What are you going to do about Michael?”

Frankie looks taken aback from the sudden question. “Don’t worry that pretty little head about him. The boys and I will handle the trust fund baby. I’ll figure it out.”

“Are you going to get hurt?”

Frankie stretches his arm out, a quiet plea for you to come closer. You oblige and he immediately wraps his arm around you, placing a chaste kiss atop you head. “I don’t know.”

You put your head on his shoulder and hug him, both arms around him. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“No one will get hurt if Mikey boy plays his cards right.” You look up and see his softened face, but stern eyes. The thought of Michael alone burns a flame in Frankie, a reaction he had no actual reasoning behind.

You stay like this for a few minutes, but you decide to lighten the mood.

“Psst…” you say. Frankie looks down at you with kind eyes.

“I know that no other… One will ever do… And I know that the answer's…All up to you.” you sing.

Frankie sniggers and rolls his eyes, but nevertheless joins you.

“Please Mr. Jailer… Won't you let my man go free.”

———

dreamboat taglist:

@ickleronniekinsemotionalrange @funerals-with-cake @seasonschange-butpeopledont @danniburgh​ @curiouskeyboard

taglists + requests are open!

[thebmatt]

FFXIV Write 2021 Prompt #17: Destruct

Destruct – cause deliberate, irreparable damage to

It was maintenance day.

Once every week, Franks had to break down all of the equipment he used as part of the Machinistry discipline and scrub it free of any grime, dirt, and other accumulated filth. Much of it had to be re-lubricated following this process.

It was a time consuming job, but he rather enjoyed it. By now he could do all the tasks while practically asleep, so he let his mind wander. It was nice just to have time to think, ponder everything going on, without much risk of disturbance.

He’d closed the door to his workshop in the Rising Stones, which most of the other Scions knew not to disturb him without important cause.

Which is why it was passing strange that someone chose to knock on said door, even more so when the voice of Y’shtola Rhul came from the other side. “Franks? Are you pressingly engaged at the moment?”

“Just doing maintenance, Y’shtola. Is everything well?”

“Yes…I just needed to speak with you in private, and I thought your workshop might serve as the best setting. Might I enter?”

Franks set his re-assembled automatic crossbow down, wiped his hands clean with a spare rag, and called back “It’s not locked, come on in.”

Y’shtola entered. pausing to close the door as she did. She turned towards him, but curiously, could not seem to bring herself to meet his eyes.

“Y’shtola? What’s wrong?”

She closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath, then slowly releasing. She finally met his eyes when she opened hers again. “I have a problem. It is….personal. Understand, I would not ask for your aid with this had I not exhausted all possible options first.”

Franks furrowed his brow. Something was off in her voice. Was…was that a hint of fear? “I….don’t understand, Y’shtola. What makes you think I’m the one who can help you?”

“It…has always been my life’s ambition to uncover the mysteries that lie on this star. But now I face a mystery of a…closer nature, and I can neither put it aside nor solve it on my own.” she replied, crossing her arms.

“So what might this mystery be?”

Y’shtola looked away. “It is you.”

Shock overcame his face. “Me?”

“Yes, you!” she said, whirling on him. “You have never been entirely forthcoming about your past, and many things that you have let slip are not adding up! You are hiding something, and until now, I have been content to let your past be merely that, but I….I cannot any longer.”

Franks cocked a single eyebrow. “And why’s that?”

She wrapped her arms around herself, unable to take her eyes off the ground. “Because I….I find myself drawn to you. And I cannot answer honestly to myself if it is because I am attracted to you…or if it is a compulsion to solve a puzzle that lies before me.”

She looks up, a frown on her face. “It would be fair to neither of us for me to act on an assumption either way, and so I must beg for your assistance, my friend. Tell me the full story of where you come from, of what roads led you to this point of your story.”

Franks stood, glaring down at her sternly. “And what if neither option is all right with me, Y’shtola? What if I both don’t want to tell you my history AND don’t return your ‘possible’ affections?”

She hugged herself. “Then I will accept your wishes and…and find a way to move on, if that is what you would prefer.”

He nodded and sat back down on the work table. “All right. Just wonderin’. Come on, sit down. I’ll tell ya everything, but it’s a long story. “

“You…you will?” She sat on the bench as well.

“Yeah, figured you’d want to know at some point. Like you said, you’re not one to leave a mystery unsolved, so I figured you’d be the first one of the Scions to come askin’. “

He looked over at her. “And I’ll be honest, recent events have had me wondering about decisions I’ve made up to this point. I know….I know my late wife wouldn’t want me mournin’ her forever. And….well, there’s more than a few women I’ve met that I could see maybe getting to know better, if they’d be interested. You included, if that’s not obvious.”

She smiled at him.

“But that’s gettin’ ahead of m’self. You wanna know the tale of the Old Man, so here it goes. Before we do start though, I just wanna make something clear: no one except the other Warriors knows this stuff. I told em all a long time ago, when we were recuperatin’ after Rhalgr’s Reach. I’ll ask you the same thing I ask them: keep this to yourself. I do not want this becoming widespread knowledge. You agree to that?”

She simply nodded.

“All right then. Where to begin…” he paused.

“Well, I suppose I should start with one of the big revelations. I’m not from this world. And before you ask, no, I don’t think I come from one of the remaining shards either. When we first heard about them, I wondered if that was the case, but based on our experiences on the First, I don’t think that’s the case.”

He points a finger to her. “Now, I know what you’re gonna say about ‘drawing a conclusion based on a single point of data’ but you gotta admit it’s a pretty good size of one, so I figured it was worth rethinking my hypothesis. Norvrandt, on the whole, bears a very strong resemblance geographically speaking to Eorzea. There’s very similar biomes in the same locations. And while the locations of civilizations and even the names of the species might be different, if one was to bring a Mithra to the Source, it wouldn’t be immediately obvious to anyone. He’d look like any other Miqo’te to most folks. And what’s more, from the two survivors of the Thirteenth I’ve been able to talk to, it seems that their home was much the same, at least as far as they remember.”

“My world….was nothin’ like the Source. None of the continents ever looked anything like this place, and the people, well, there’s a lot of different kinds, none of which look anything like folks here. Sure, we had folks that called themselves ‘elves’ or ‘dwarves’ but if you put an elf of my world next to say…Urianger or Alphinaud, it’d be pretty obvious they’re not the same kind of folk.”

“So, based on all that, I figured that my home’s got to be a completely different world. And that world has been embroiled in a large scale war of some kind for as long as I can remember”

He holds up two fingers. “There’s these two factions, divided along racial lines. What races are a part of said faction has changed a bit over time, but the point is, they’ve been at war for as long as I could remember. Ain’t either one of em somethin’ simple as ‘good’ or ‘evil’, they both have good and bad sides to ’em, but for whatever reason, they can’t ever come to a long standing peace. Fighting might break off for a time, but it’s never long before it starts up again in earnest.”

Franks places the tips of his fingers together, looking down at them. “My wife and I….we had a farm in one of the northern kingdoms. My people were called ‘humans’. Pretty similar to Hyurs here, for the most part. Our farm was pretty far out from any of our nation’s cities, so we were always far away from any of the fighting. We always heard news about it though. Cities that fell or got retaken, reports of casualties, that kinda thing.”

“We, ah….we decided we couldn’t bring children into that kind of a world. Our neighbors were always proud of their sons and daughters that shipped off, but we witnessed a lot of sorrow, of hopes for the future get destroyed when someone came to tell em their children had died. We couldn’t do that to someone we brought into this world and raised. It seemed…cruel.”

He let his hands fall to his lap as he looked back over to her. “Anyway, we worked that farm for decades. We were in our….must’ve been somewhere in the seventy summers range when everything changed. “

Y’shtola raised a finger to interrupt. “And here we come to my first problem, there is no way you’ve seen seventy summers! Your white hair aside, your physical condition is nowhere close to the state of a man of that advanced age! Or did these ‘humans’ age more slowly?”

Franks smiled, his head shaking. “No, the lifespans are comparable. And I know, it’s nothin’ I ain’t heard before from Rheika. I promise, I’ll get to that. Just trust me”

She smiled slyly “Very well. Please, continue.”

“Anyway, that year, a plague hit our kingdom. No one knew much of anything about it, but it seemed innocuous enough at first. People would get sick, most would recover, some died. Everyone figured it was like any other disease, until it got more deadly. And then the dead…they started walking again. Mindless, slavering beasts that killed anything they could reach until they were put down. Soon it got out of control, and they were rampaging across the land. The army put up a good fight, lead by the King’s Son, a holy warrior. But he grew…desperate. He did terrible things to stop the spread. Purged entire cities of people. Finally, he uncovered evidence that a necromancer had concocted the plague, and that his hidden lair was far away in the northern ice-covered continent. He led a force there to end him for good.”

“He…didn’t make it back. Or, he did, but not as he was. He came back as that being’s servant. He murdered his own father and commanded the full force of the undead to lay waste to the kingdom.”

Franks closed his eyes, covering his lower jaw with his hands. “It wasn’t long before they made their way to our farm. We….were slaughtered. And like everyone else they killed, our corpses joined their army.”

Y’shtola inhaled sharply. “You….you died?“

He nodded

“I….Twelve, I cannot…I’m so sorry, Franks.”

He laughed ruefully. “Well, if you can believe it, things get worse from there.”

“How??”

“Well, I can thankfully say that I remember absolutely none of the time that I was a walking corpse in service to the traitor prince and his necromancer master. One moment I’m trying to fend off an attacking zombie that opens up my throat….and the next I find myself in the middle of a ruined battlefield, but I’m still a walking corpse. My mind, however, is….mostly intact. I think it was, anyway. Impossible to tell really. Anyway, I’m surrounded now by a whole bunch of other people in the same situation. Folks who were once living humans, citizens of our kingdom, and now we’re all dead.”

“Turns out the traitor prince had attacked another nation, one that had something his master needed, and he’d killed one of their generals and raised her in his service. Somehow, she’d gotten free of his control though, and with a few allies she’d managed to free, she’d attacked the price and driven him back north. As he got further away, his hold over us weakened, and now we’re free. The general announced her intention to build a new nation of us ‘undead’, as no other race in the world would ever accept us. We were cursed, plagued. Most people swore fealty to her then and there, and it wasn’t long before we’d taken the ruins of our former kingdom and built a nation for what she called “those forsaken by all others for the crimes done to them”.

Franks stopped talking for a moment, standing to get some water from a nearby cup. His voice had become a bit raspy, but it still took him a bit to continue the tale.

“I….never found my wife during this time. Our farm was gone, the land blighted and unrecoverable. Our new queen had more farmers than viable land, so I had nothing. I….well, despite being dead, we still somehow required food, so I resorted to begging for work. It was…rough for a long time, sleeping in what corners I could find, scrounging for scraps or whatever rats I could catch.”

“I don’t know exactly how long I lived like this, but eventually, my luck changed. Another undead took me on as an apprentice. He practiced a form of magic that weaponized the forces of chaos, entropy, decay, and destruction. He promised me much power and prestige if I was to learn from him. I…I knew in life that this magic was vile, punishable by execution if one was found practicing it, but our queen placed no such restrictions on us. And I was…tired of living like I had been. So I accepted. And I got very strong in that magic, indeed.”

“Our queen eventually allied us with one of the two factions I mentioned earlier. We needed allies to survive as a people, and while our new allies were disgusted by us, they recognized that we were strong additions, and our home was in a strategically sound area, so they accepted us. And so I became embroiled in that neverending cycle of warfare. We’d declare a truce for a time to focus on some greater external threat neither side could defeat alone, but then once that was over? Back to killing each other.”

He chuckled a little. “It wasn’t ALL bad, at least. I made friends and allies, both within our faction and on the other side. We all worked together, in secret, to try to bring a final end to the race war. Wasn’t exactly an easy thing, as you can imagine. I even found my wife again, but she was herself a walking dead woman. I didn’t care though, I still loved her every bit as much as I always had. She’d actually become a powerful mage herself, though she practiced the more traditional arcane magics.

He smiled, staring up into the ceiling. “She always was a smart one. Smarter than I ever was back then. Sometimes I wonder what might’ve been if she hadn’t married a farmer and gone to one of the mage schools instead. Never once told me she ever regretted it though.”

Franks shook himself our of his reverie and looked back to Y’shtola, who was still paying close attention. “Anway, like I said, we both were workin in secret with our friends to try to stop this fighting. And we thought we had pulled it off. Our group encompassed some of the strongest warriors and spellcasters in the world, and we either joined or built orders of like minded people that were designed to rise above the faction conflict and combat the greatest threat our world had seen to that point, a vast and endless legion of beings similar to what we’d call voidsent. And we succeeded. We actually defeated a force many believed unbeatable once they’d begun their invasion in earnest.”

He slumped. “And then it all fell apart”

Y’shtola looked shocked. “How so?”

“The people who’d pledged their loyalty to us first and foremost, a vast majority of them abandoned their respective orders to return to their original factions. As if everyone in the world just acknowledged the conflict was a natural way of life. Our Queen actually gained total control of our faction, and began purging those she referred to as ‘traitors’ from our ranks. Somewhere along the way, she’d gone from being our savior from thralldom to the traitor prince to being just as controlling and insane as he’d ever been.”

Franks paused, Sorrow overtook his features. “I….found out that my wife had been one of the victims of her inquisition. We had feigned allegiance to her when she came to power, but somehow she found out that we’d been part of the rise of the orders, and I was going to be next.”

“I paused only to bid my friends farewell, and then I fled, deep into the jungles of the southernmost reaches of the continent. It was a primal place, mostly untouched by civilization, and I eventually found a well hidden cave there.”

I went as deep inside as I could, wanting to explore what was likely my new home, when I stumbled and fell towards a wall….and then through it.”

“I….saw things. Things I couldn’t explain then, and can’t remember now, but eventually I passed out. And when I came to, I woke in another gave, but overwhelmed by my senses. This new place was inside a cliff face where the tide constantly dashed against it. The sound was one of the loudest things I’d ever heard. The sunlight breaching the cave was blinding. And no matter where I turned or how much I covered my ears, I could not escape a constant whooshing sound. My body ached from lying on the rocks. I hadn’t felt anything like that in years.”

“It was because you were alive again. The sound you couldn’t escape was your own breathing, wasn’t it?”

He smiled. “And the lady wins a prize. Yes, I was alive again. And much as you see me right now. That cave is a grotto on the northwestern end of Vylbrand. I spent bells in that cave, weeping with joy at the sensation of having a body back, one that seemed to be at my old physical prime. I looked mostly like my living self, but with features adjusted, more like hyurs of this star.”

“But once that overwhelming feeling of joy passed, I noticed that I no longer had any inkling of how to wield my old destructive magic that I’d become a great master of. Instead it was replaced with knowledge and concepts at the same time unfamiliar to me, yet at the same time I knew I comprehended it on some level. That was what got me to leave the cave and explore this new land I’d found.”

Franks raised a hand, waving it in a circular motion. “And the rest, you know. I spent time in libraries, learning the name of the magic in my head, arcanima. I then learned of Limsa Lominsa and it’s Arcanist’s Guild and went there to study. I might have enrolled in one of their formal degree programs, but I had no paperwork for my identity or previous schooling, as you might have guessed, so the less stringent requirements on the Adventurer’s track was my only option. From there, I started my career as an adventurer, which brought me here to this day.”

Y’shtola rested her head on her fist, processing his tale. “Were this from anyone else, I’d have spun it as one of Rheika’s tall tales, but….I absolutely believe it, coming from you. Have you ever returned to that grotto to see if the portal is still intact? Have you…ever returned to your world?”

“Yes to the former, although not in some time. As to the latter….no. I can’t step through that portal. I can’t….be a corpse again, Y’shtola. I definitely can’t risk being found by the queen again, or leading her to any of my friends if I were to check on them. Worst case scenario is that I escape through, back to Hydaelyn….and she finds it and comes here. No…no I won’t risk that. And I know you, you’ll want to examine this place for yourself. I want you to swear to me, Y’shtola, give me your word you will not step through there, please!”

She nods. “I give you my word, as an Archon and a Scion, I will not take any risks that will bring further dangers to this world.”

He sighs in relief. “Thank you.” He looks to her, a half teasing smile on his face. “So, now you know my story. Does it clarify anything for you? I’ve lost count, and I haven’t quite managed to work out the differences in years between this world and my old one, but you think you might still be attracted to me knowing I’ve seen probably over a hundred summers at this point?”

Y’shtola smiles. “I…think I will need time to process that, my friend. I will need time to process everything you’ve told me.” She makes her way to the workshop door and opens it, lingering by the door briefly before turning back to look at him. “But in fairness….it does not immediately change how I feel, either.”

He laughs “Well, good night, Y’shtola. Let me know what you find out…on both fronts, aye?”

“I will. Good night, Franks.”

“Aleister.”

She had almost made it past the doorway when he replied to her. She stopped and turned her head back to him. “Pardon?”

“My given name. It’s Aleister. Figured you should know it along with the story. Prefer you stick with ‘Franks’ or ‘Old Man’ in front of others, but I wanted you to know. And if you decide you do want to move forward with….us…..well, I’d like hearing it from ya.”

She smiled again. “Thank you, Aleister. I’ll see you soon, with answers. Good night”. She left the room, closing the door behind him.

Franks stared at the door for a couple of minutes, then chuckled and resumed cleaning his equipment again. It was getting late, after all.

[ducktales-wco-oo]

✩ { @tuesdayscanons​ } ✩ - Continued from ★

{ ☆ } A minute, huh? Well, he can wait a minute. Heck, he could wait an hour! Or even all day! It’s not like he has anywhere he has to be or anyone who’d want to be with him. Evident by the way his friendly smile never falters, the duck simply rocking back and forth on his heels. Gaze not wavering from the other’s unenthused expression, he innocently blinks and opens his beak to start up a convo to help pass the time— only for whatever likely-annoying words that were gonna flow from his mouth to stop short. Because lo-and-behold, the minute hath passed.

❝  HONEY-BUNCHES!  ❞  Fenton calls out in response with a literal gasp of excitement, tail wagging on overdrive and sky hues sparkling like a night sky. Immediately weaving around Fessie as if the hen no longer exists, he near-stumbles in his haste, a couple bouquets of flowers and small packages of chocolate falling from his arms onto the floor, making a trail that leads from Fessie over to the other hen. Paying no mind to this— his arms are still loaded as is —Fenton bends down a bit so Maddie doesn’t have to strain herself too much to reach his cheek... and is almost smushed by the giant bear in the process.

❝  W-Woah... Woooooah...  ❞  He says with a grimace, staggering around a bit as he tries to regain his balance, the giant mess of fur and fluff threatening to topple him over. Awkwardly nipping at the rope that ties it to him, he’s able to slide the knot free, the bear falling down with an audible THUD as Fenton emits a sigh of relief. The last thing he needed was Maddie seeing him get pinned down by a TOY... Looking over at the gifts, presents are clumsily exchanged between them, Fenton shuffling his load into Maddie’s arms while simultaneously taking the satchel. Was there a less cumbersome way to do this? Probably.

But he’s excited and he wants Maddie to have her things as soon as possible.

❝  Wowza, Maddie-kins! This is great!  ❞  He exclaims, digging through the satchel to see all the treats and amenities tucked away within. Turning the satchel around in his hands, he admires the craftsmanship with wide-eyes, gasping as if its the most incredible thing in the world. Comically closing one eye as that’ll help him observe it better, he inquires, ❝  Did ya make this yourself? I know you’re really crafty when it comes to stuff like this...  ❞  Honestly, it’s amazing how adept Maddie is at creating things... Fenton’s never been too good when it comes to that. He’s gifted with numbers and concepts and is definitely a creative kinda thinker... but the act of putting something together has always eluded him. That’s for talented people like the wackadoodle who works for Scrooge, and smartadoodles like his girlfriend.

Luckily, Maddie doesn’t seem to mind it. Heck, she loves the things that he CAN do! Like he can compliment her, and sing for her— be it original songs or merely ones that she likes —can shower her with all these romantic gifts... Girls love stuff like this. Heck, HE loves stuff like this! What Fuddy-Duddy wouldn’t?! Flowers and chocolates and bears are never a bad move, as literally every movie— both comedic and otherwise —have shown him. Plus, Valentine’s day— the most ROMANTIC day of the year —is always overflowing with things like these. But Maddie is too important to have to wait for some dumb ol’ day for nice presents. 

She deserves them ALL the time.

And if it didn’t bleed his wallet dry just to do surprises like this— Fenton having scrambled and saved and worked his tail off for the miser he calls a boss —then she’d be given so much more. Still, tired as he may be, it is more than worth it just to see Maddie smile. Even if—  ❝  Sorry that I couldn’t get ya more stuff... I tried to rent a pony too, but the guy wouldn’t accept I.O.Us.  ❞  Fenton explains with a grimace, pulling out a crackerjack from the satchel. Looking down at it, he adds in a more chipper tone,  ❝  Wanna split this crackerjack with me? I bet it’s a reeeeeeeally good one~  ❞  

Popping it open, he snaps the treat in half and offers it to Maddie, slipping the small whistle back into the satchel,  ❝  I’d give ya the prize too, but my Ma’Ma really likes ‘em, so I should probably give it to her. Y’know?  ❞  { ☆ }

[vfdarkness]

AVFD Transcript: S2E01 Dying, Disappeared, and Dead

You’re in a crowded bar on a Friday night.

The lights flash off and in the darkness you see glowing red eyes staring at you from across the room.

When the lights switch back on, the eyes are gone.

The lights go out again, and now the bar is filled with glowing red eyes - all fixated on you.

You need my help.

[AVFD theme fades in]

This is A Voice From Darkness. 

[AVFD theme fades out]

Hello, this is Dr. Malcolm Ryder, parapsychologist, coming to you from our studio here in the stormy, husky, brawling city of big shoulders— Chicago, Illinois. And speaking of Chicago, I’m happy to announce our show recently launched a Patreon. In our inaugural episode I answer a few questions about the Second City. So if you want to hear where I get pizza or know about the fabled Chicago bar, The Odd-Shaped Room, who’s doors will only open for you once please feel free to join us over at: Patreon.com/vfdarkness. That once again is Patreon.com/vfdarkness.

With that out of the way, we have a very special episode tonight. My sister, Amelia Ryder, Professor of Occult Studies at Ravenswood University will be on the line later. It’s been awhile since she’s appeared as a guest on the show, and as she recently returned from an expedition, I’m sure she has something interesting to share with us. More on that later though. For now, let’s delve into our National Alerts.

[NA music fades in]

There’s only one National Alert for tonight, and it’s for the Greenpoint Neighborhood of New York City. There’s a movie theatre at the corner of Driggs Avenue and Leonard Street called The Luminous Spirit. A film currently playing there, titled: We Are Always This Way, should be avoided at all costs. Last night it was shown for the first time in nearly thirty years. 

Outside the theatre you’ll see a poster advertising the film - featuring a happy family all with blonde hair standing in a green field. Judging by the filmstock, color grading, and clothing the family wears - the movie appears to have been made sometime in the late 40s or early 50s. 

We Are Always This Way opens with the camera panning across wide, grassy hills. A child whistles a cheerful tune. The song grows louder as the camera comes upon a blonde boy sitting on a tree stump, whistling, and whittling a stick with a small pocket knife. When the camera focuses on him, he stops. He places the stick next to him on the stump, neatly folds back the blade of his knife, and puts it in his pocket. He stares directly at the audience and asks everyone, one at a time, if they are happy. 

The movie doesn’t continue, the boy seemingly waits, until everyone in the theatre verbally answers him. If an audience member responds they are not happy, the boy probes further. He’ll ask for the cause of their unhappiness. He asks: what would make them happy? Someone in a showing thirty years prior, a young woman, told the blonde boy she no longer loved her boyfriend. They lived together and she didn’t know how to tell him. The boy smiled at her and said, “That’s all right. I just want you to be happy!” 

He continued to ask others in the crowd if they were happy. No one else responded that they were not. The blonde boy then walked off screen as the camera panned left. The rest of the blonde family from the film’s poster: a mother, father, an older sister with a guitar, and a brother and sister a little older than the whittling boy began to sing as the elder sister played guitar. 

The song had the same cheerful melody the blonde boy whistled at the start of the film. Partway through the second chorus, the blonde boy walked back on screen and joined his family. There was blood on his hands. He said nothing of this and neither did his family. The film ends abruptly without the song coming to an end. 

The woman who’d told the blonde boy she was unhappy in her relationship went back to her apartment that night and found her boyfriend dead. Stabbed dozens of times with a small blade. A partially whittled stick was found next to the body. I repeat - do not see the film We Are Always This Way at The Luminous Spirit in Greenpoint, New York City.

That is our only National Alert for this evening

[NA music fades out]  

Next-up is Today In Odd America, and then we’ll be speaking to Professor Amelia Ryder about some of her recent research. The subject of which she’s kept hidden even from me. So we’ll be finding out what my sister has been up to together. But first… 

[TIOA music fades in]

Today in Odd America we find ourselves in Granger, South Dakota. The year - 1991. Matthew Bast threw open the door of Baum’s Bazaar. The small town bar was crowded that night and when Bast made such a loud entrance people turned his way. Bast was a big man, tall and imposing. He spoke loudly and confidently on matters as if his word were law.

“I saw scarecrows on the way here,” Bast told the bar patrons. An old farmer laughed.

“Of course you did,” he said. “We have them all over our fields.” Bast eyed the farmer with contempt. He didn’t like when people laughed at him. 

“I know you’ve got scarecrows in your fields,” Bast said. “I’m not simple. I’m not talking about them. I’m talking about the ones running around town.”

“People in costumes?” Someone yelled.

“Likely so,” Bast said. “Probably from the city. You know how they hate us.” 

Sioux Falls was the nearest city, and some folks in Granger believed the nearby city folks looked down on them. No evidence for this belief was ever stated. But it was a belief many in the small town had— including Matthew Bast.

“Don’t worry,” Bast assured the crowd. He withdrew a pistol from a leg holster. “I scared them off. Chased them back to Sioux Falls.” Bast expected applause or for the bartender to shout that drinks were on the house. But that’s not the reception he got.

“Put that damn thing away,” the bartender said. Bast reluctantly obliged.

“Why would folks from Sioux Falls come all the way down here dressed as Scarecrows?” Someone asked. Bast made his way to them. There was a half-full pitcher of beer which Bast took and poured a generous amount of into an empty glass.

“They’re mocking us,” he said. “Our small town ways. Our lifestyle. You hear about these things all the time on the radio.”

“I never heard about any of that on the radio,” someone said.

“Cause you ain’t listening to the right frequencies,” Bast said. “Don’t worry. I do. I listen all the time. I know how this world works. These people from the city hate us. They hate themselves even more. And they can’t stand that we’re out here living a simple life, free and easy, nice and happy. So they figure they can come out here dressed in costumes meant to mock our farms and fields, and maybe make us scared of our rural ways.”

Most in the bar doubted Bast and ignored him. But a handful paid for his drinks, kept his glass full, and asked him to talk more about what he’d heard on the radio and more about these scarecrows from Sioux Falls.

A week went by and Bast claimed to have seen scarecrows around Granger doing various misdeeds. A fair number believed him on his word alone. Community patrols were started. Folks would roam the streets with guns openly displayed and stop vehicles they didn’t recognize. The Sheriff asked Bast and his posse to stand down. Said that what they were doing was unnecessary— and illegal. Bast disagreed.

A month later, all the shops on main street had their windows broken. Tires slashed on cars that’d been parked overnight on the street. Bast held an informal town meeting at Baum's Bazaar. He showed pictures he took of scarecrows doing all the destruction. Someone was quick to point out that all the scarecrows were about Bast’s height and build and were wearing the same outfit except for a different hat in each picture. The skeptic was escorted out of the bar.

“But what’s to be done?” Someone shouted. Bast didn’t answer right away. He took a long drink first.

“What Sioux Falls does to us, we gotta do tenfold to them,” he said. He was asked to elaborate on what he meant. And so he did: “These city slickers think we’re scared of scarecrows. Us country bumpkins believe they come alive at night and wander around. They believe we’re that stupid. We need to make them feel that way. Make them know we’ll never be scared of them, but they should be terrified of us.” The crowd cheered.

Bast laid out a plan— everyone present would dress as scarecrows. Not simple ones, but frightening and awful ones. Disgusting and hideous ones. They’d travel to Sioux Falls and do as much damage as they could. With pitchforks, scythes, and guns. They’d show the people of Sioux Falls they needed to fear the folk who lived out in the country.

The sky was black the following night. There was no moon. Bast met with all his followers in front of Baum's Bazaar. Though each used only simple material to make their costumes - old clothing that’d turned to rags, coarse twine, burlap sacks - each person appeared unique and haunting in their own ways. Some had stuffed themselves with hay to give extra girth. Others painted nightmarish eyes and smiles  on their burlap faces.

They didn’t get far out of Granger. The Sheriff had blocked the road. Said he’d go easy on them all if they turned around and went back to their homes. Everyone could forget this whole thing. For a moment, the scarecrows considered the sheriff’s offer, thought maybe they were going too far based on too little information. 

 But a low static hiss rumbled from the sheriff’s radio. Bast tilted his head like a dog trying to make sense of human words. Then a high-pitched, unnatural squelch burst from the machine, causing it to explode. Bast laughed.

He stabbed The Sheriff through the torso with his pitchfork and carried the law man off to the side of the road. Bast threw The Sheriff onto the soil.

“Your radio,” Bast said to the dying man, “Your radio defies you. Says we ought to move on with our plan.”

“It’s just noise, Bast. Loud, angry noise,” The Sheriff said. 

But Bast could no longer make sense of The Sheriff’s words. They were distorted to him like radio static. Bast stabbed The Sheriff through his throat to stop the noise he made.

The convoy continued down the road into Sioux Falls. Over the next several hours, tens of thousands of dollars of destruction was done to the city. Businesses were broken into, cars destroyed, citizens of Sioux Falls attacked. Some killed.

Several of the Granger Scarecrows were shot in the street— by law enforcement and by citizens. The rest though… As the sun rose in Sioux Falls, beams of light hit the scarecrows, hit the people of Granger that Bast had convinced to come with him on this mission, they all froze in place. Stranger still, law enforcement found no evidence that these scarecrows were costumes with living, breathing people inside, but were simply sacks filled with hay. No different than any other scarecrow in the middle of a cornfield. Some speculated this was a trick Bast and his followers played. That they’d left behind actual scarecrows after they ran away from the city. But Bast and his group were nowhere to be found back in Granger. 

The scarecrows were placed in an evidence locker until something further could be determined about what happened to Bast and the others from Granger.

A month later, when the night sky was without moon, the scarecrows disappeared from police storage.

Ever since that night, across the country, cities have reported invasions of scarecrows. Ones that attack on dark, moonless nights and disappear before the first beam of sunlight. Know this though, a warning sign always precedes them. On the night of a new moon, turn your radio on and tune it to empty static. If it squelches. If it makes inhuman, angry noises, then you should prepare yourselves. Your city is in danger that night. But do not listen too long to the radio signal you find… or it may convince you to join Bast and his cohorts. Listen too long and no human words will be able to talk you out of it.

This has been Today In Odd America. And now back to our main show.

ACT II

TIOA music fades out.

RYDER

And we're back. My sister Professor Amelia Ryder at Ravenswood University is on the line with us.

AMELIA

Hello, Malcolm. It's been awhile since you've had me on your show.

RYDER

The last time you were on things got a bit heated.

AMELIA

The time before that too, from what I recall.

RYDER

You put forward The Three Twins Conjecture. It's one of the least credible theories of supernatural metaphysics.

AMELIA

(defensive)

I didn't put it forward. I merely stated that it was possible.

RYDER

Possible, but no serious scholar holds that view.

AMELIA

There was one very serious scholar who held that view, but he's dead now.

RYDER

There's no reason to bring up Duncan, Amelia.

AMELIA

It's partly why I came on your show tonight, actually.

A beat.

AMELIA

I went back to the lake house.

2.

RYDER

That's incredibly reckless.

Malcolm takes a breath.

RYDER

For listeners' context, the lake house in question is The Holloway Lakehouse. A ridiculous estate built during the gilded age once occupied during the summers by Nicholas and Zelda Holloway before their tragic deaths. Along with their children Julian...

AMELIA

And Miranda.

RYDER

You went looking for her?

AMELIA

I had to.

RYDER

I strongly disagree.

AMELIA

If Julian's back-

RYDER

(interrupts)

That means nothing. His return in no way means she has returned. That she can return. Amelia, I'm sorry, but-

AMELIA

(interrupts)

You don't get to decide when, and if, I move on.

A beat.

AMELIA

If she's gone, truly gone, then where's her body? And why can't you tell me what happened that night?

RYDER

Amelia, we've been over this a thousand times-

3.

AMELIA

(interrupts)

And never once have you been able to answer my questions.

Malcolm sighs.

RYDER

This is not something I wanted to talk about publically.

AMELIA

Then you should have answered my questions better privately.

RYDER

I've told you everything I remember about that night.

AMELIA

You've told me everything except what I need to know: Where is Miranda?

A beat.

RYDER

I don't remember. I'm sorry that's not enough, but-

AMELIA

(interrupts)

If you two hadn't conspired against me she would-

RYDER

(interrupts)

Conspired against you? We protected you because of how much we care about you.

A beat.

RYDER

If we're having this conversation, and we are, then I at least want to make sure anyone listening can follow what we're saying. That they understand why I did what I did.

AMELIA

Say whatever you need.

4.

RYDER

Over a decade ago The Traveling Salesman was destroying towns across the country. People were disappearing in numbers and ways they never had before. He had to be dealt with before he brought this country to ruin.

AMELIA

Grandpa Duncan called us all together. All to the island.

RYDER

He did. At his request, the best scholars at Ravenswood searched for anything that might stop Julian. Charlotte Price, the most powerful oneironaut of our generation, convinced those like her, with a supernatural gift who'd been trained at Ravenswood, to join the cause.

AMELIA

I was at that initial meeting of "The Ravenswood Conspiracy" or whatever Grandpa Duncan labeled it. And several after. I thought I was part of the conspiracy...

RYDER

You were a vital part.

AMELIA

Five months after that first meeting, I had a nightmare. I was in bed, and Miranda appeared before me out of nowhere. Holding herself. She was soaked in blood. And in terrible pain. I asked her what was wrong. She looked at me and said: "Malcolm. Lake house." After those words, she vanished.

A beat.

AMELIA

I tried calling you. You didn't answer. I tried Miranda. I wanted to see if I'd just had a bad dream. She didn't answer. I tried Grandpa Duncan. No answer. Dying, disappeared, and dead.

That's what you all were. I didn't know it at the time, but you were bleeding to death at the lake house, Miranda had vanished, and Grandpa Duncan was already dead.

5.

RYDER

Amelia, I'm sorry. I know that night was traumatic. But I feel you-

AMELIA

(interrupts)

I found you in a pool of your own blood, the life drained from your face. Next to the corpse of our grandfather, who'd practically raised me. And spread throughout the rest of the estate were a dozen more bodies. People from the university I knew and loved like family. You brought them, you brought Miranda, all there to die that night. But you didn't bring me.

RYDER

Because we wanted you to survive. Miranda and I made that call together. You, Charlotte, and a handful of others had to be excluded from the confrontation at the lake house in case we failed. Charlotte knew our plan. She would have-

AMELIA

(interrupts)

-What? Helped me bury you?

RYDER

Four people fell dead the moment Julian materialized. Two more were dead with the wave of his hand. Duncan shot him once with the revolver used to kill the Veiled Prince of Saint Louis. If it could kill one dark and immortal being- why not another? But Duncan only grazed him. Barely caused Julian to flinch. Duncan was dead before he could take a second shot. If you'd been there, you would have been killed too.

Both of us would be dead now. There's no alternative to that reality.

6.

AMELIA

(confused)

There were three bullets fired from the revolver. And it was in your hand. I know. I took it from you. I still carry it with me in case I ever see Julian.

RYDER

Julian slammed me against the wall. Broke my ribs. Punctured one of my lungs. But he threw me next to Duncan's body. I grabbed the revolver. As Julian came close, to kill me, I fired. That's all I remember. I woke up three days later in a hospital with you next to me. Amelia, I've told you all this before. Dozens of times. Miranda's role in that night was to lure Julian there and then perform a ritual to trap him. To bind him so he couldn't travel away. In the chaos of it all, I have no idea what happened to her.

AMELIA

I just need to know... If Julian's back... if she's out there somewhere, and I'm not looking for her... what does that say about how much I love her if I don't look for her?

RYDER

Did I tell you what I did a year ago on June 8th? I'm not sure that I did.

AMELIA

June 8th?

A beat.

AMELIA

Your 603 day. I'm sorry, I almost forgot.

7.

RYDER

It's all right. I don't like to talk about it. But a year ago, I read a rumor online. A single forum post with no corroboration saying that if you went to the border of New Hampshire, spent the night there when you'd normally receive your 603 call... you'd dream of the person you're missing.

A beat.

AMELIA

Did you dream of her?

RYDER

I did. But I don't know if I spoke to her in a dream. Or if only dreamed of speaking to her. But that's not even the point of sharing this. I meant to say is, I understand why you have to keep looking. I support you. Just please don't go back to the lakehouse. At least not alone.

AMELIA

I don't have any intentions to. Nothing had changed. I don't think anyone has been there in years. Possibly since that night. But I won't stop looking for Miranda. If Julian's back, she has to be.

RYDER

And I hope you find her.

A beat.

RYDER

Well that was not what I expected us to get into tonight. Before we go, do you have any final words?

AMELIA

Miranda, if you can hear this... please know that I love you. I don't know where you are, but I'll do everything I can to find you.

8.

RYDER

And we'll end things there. Next time, if you're experiencing any supernatural, paranormal, or otherworldly problems be sure to call in, next time on: A Voice From Darkness.

AVFD OUTRO THEME

[ardeawritten]

Writing Unincorporated Communities - the ultimate small town!

-Size is a few dozen. A few families, some older couples, a few adult single people. Mostly folks who either own land and homes and grew up there, maybe go back three or four generations, or older people just trying to get by on what they can afford, or people who want to kinda vanish.

-Everyone has character. The dude with the eye-patch and four to seven jeeps in various states of disrepair. The gal with 152 backyard Rhode Island Reds who plays techno music in the barn 24/7. The folks who take their dog for an evening stroll in a wheelbarrow. The next-door neighbors who haven't spoken in years despite being related three different ways. The elderly cousins who got a dispensation from the government to legally marry so they could save money on taxes.

-Not many young kids. If there are some, they're semi-feral free-range scraped-knee kids with great survival instincts. By the age of twelve they probably already have a horse, a dog, a gun, two or three broken bicycles and can drive a tractor. Are raising a fair pig or goat in the backyard.

-Maybe one or two businesses. Hours vary erratically depending on the weather, season, other local events, etc. Any business is the Local Hangout Spot where people just go stand in doorways and gossip.

-Everyone knows everyone: brands, dogs, business, nonsense, phone numbers and skeletons-in-the-closet.

-No police, no fire department, no social services closer than a few hours away. May wait years for a fix to a municipal system. Everyone is in each other's business but also has each other's back. Sometimes in a "if anyone's going to stab you in the back it'll be me and no one else" kind of way, but still.

-Memory goes back decades. Decades. Your granddad did that one dumb thing and ticked off the neighbors fifteen years before you were born? Yeah, you'll hear about it at every. single. potluck. for the rest of your life.

-No social services means people take that on themselves. Someone's designated "go fill the fire truck with water" guy. Someone else is "go grab a gun" guy. Everyone watches out for pets, livestock and kids. Everyone fights everyone's fires, fixes each other's fences (and complains about it), catches each other's stray dogs, and stops to check in on each other.

-Local elections are a show and a half. Mayor rotates between the same four people who all hate the job and are passive-aggressive about it on Facebook, and everyone ignores them anyway. Big elections are fodder for gossip and opinions but life hasn't changed noticeably in thirty-five years and it ain't gonna start changing now!

-These are the people who go "Eh" at world news and get described as an "angry lynch mob" (no, really) by state officials when they show up to propose silly ideas (it was a truly awful one about cost of wildland firefighting, to be fair, and said officials only got yelled at) and despise wolf re-population efforts (because it's their animals and dogs that get eaten), etc. etc.

-"Conservative democrat" is a popular political affiliation. Complains everyone hates their politics and that they always get outvoted in county measures by the big town a few hours down the road. High on self-reliance and self-governance, very independent in a "if the world ends tomorrow someone's still gotta go feed the chickens" sort of way! 

[outlier-rookie]

Of Blood and Greatness - Chapter 1

Chapter 1/?? - The Kid In The Camp

AO3 Link

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26305741/chapters/64050937

***

“Who’s there?” John’s rough voice called out as Arthur rode back into camp.

“It’s Arthur! You dumbass.” He yelled in reply, receiving a huff in return.

“You’re back. Dutch wants to speak to ya.”

“What’s he want this time?” Arthur asked, drawing his horse to a halt in front of the other man.

“Ask him yourself.” The scared man replied, walking right past Arthur to continue his patrol.

Grumbling under his breath, Arthur guided his horse, a proud Andalusian he’d taken to calling Admiral on account of the stallions headstrong and commanding nature, over to the hitching posts. As he rode over his eyes were drawn to an unfamiliar horse hitched by the camp entrance, waiting patiently and grazing on the tufts of grass at its hooves. It was a gorgeous Missouri Fox Trotter with a clean golden coat and a rich dark mane streaked with blonde. He didn’t spend long studying the horse and instead picked up the buck he’d stowed on Admiral’s back and began trudging over to Pearson’s wagon.

But for the second time in as many minutes, an unfamiliar sight drew his attention. Sitting at the circular table and looking very out of place was a kid. Arthur took a moment to study them as he passed wondering what a young one such as themselves was doing in the middle of a camp of outlaws. The kid couldn’t have been older than thirteen or fourteen and was on the thin side. They weren’t that tall either, wearing a shirt too big for their thin frame with the sleeves rolled up in an effort to make the ill-fitting garment more wearable. In their hands they fidgeted with a ratty old hat and their hair was mattered and dirty giving the impression the kid hadn’t had so much as a bedroll to sleep on. An old memory of when Hosea and Dutch first took him in, and later John, drifted into Arthur’s thoughts as he passed. He’d barely handed the buck over to Pearson when Dutch approached him.

“Arthur, good to see you back, son.” The dark-haired man smiled as he clapped Arthur on the shoulder, directing the younger outlaw back towards the kid sat at the table.

“So what’s going on?” Arthur asked, “John said you wanted to talk to me ‘bout somethin’.” As the two men approached, the kid raised their head and locked eyes with Arthur. Arthur was nearly at a loss for words as the kid stared right into his soul. Their eyes were an almost unnaturally vivid shade of blue; much more intense than his own. What stuck him as odd was the weary look they held. It was the same look he’d sometimes see in Hosea’s eyes. Tired, haunted eyes like that had no place on some kid. Standing, the kid placed the ratty hat on their head and continued to stare at the two men as Dutch started to introduce them.

“This here is, uh.”

“(Y/N). My name’s (Y/N).” The kid filled in.

“Yes, this here is young (Y/N).” Dutch continued, leaving Arthur’s side to stand between him and the kid- (Y/N). “Bold little thing. Road right up into camp saying they wanted to talk to the leader of this gang and wasn’t taking ‘No’ for an answer.” He explained, chuckling lightly as he did. Arthur nodded as he hooked his thumbs into his belt, shifting his weight into a more casual stance.

“Why you coming out here to talk to a bunch of outlaws like us?” He asked watching with a critical eye as the kid hesitated for a moment, their eyes flicking to the ground as they brought their hands together and started picking at the skin around their nails. It took a few false starts before they finally got the words out.

“I want… I want ta join the gang.” Their hands dropped back to their sides and once again Arthur found those piercing blue eyes staring intently at him once more.

“I dunno Dutch.” He started, barely managing to break his gaze away from those haunting blue eyes. “They’re awfully young to be, runnin’ with folk like us.” He said, waving his hand and gesturing to the likes of Bill and Micah.

“I ain’t that young!” (Y/N) snapped.

“Kid, you can’t be more than fourteen at the oldest.”

“I’m fifteen! And I can take care of myself!”

“They why you want to join up with a gang? We ain’t some orphanage kid and we ain’t good people.”

“Now now Arthur.” Dutch cut in, raising his hand between the two. “You were the same age when Hosea and I took you in. And John was much younger.” He argued, drawing an aggravated sigh from Arthur.

“I still don’t think it’s a good idea Dutch. Look at em. They’re just a kid. And the world’s changing, cracking down on folks like us. It ain’t safe-”

“I ain’t safe on my own either!” The kid interrupted. “I ain’t been safe since the day I was born. And besides,” They continued, crossing their arms and leaning back on their heels, doing their best to stare down their nose at Arthur, “I don’t come untrained. I can shoot any gun and hit any target and I don’t miss unless the gun fails.”

Arthur stared incredulously at (Y/N) as Dutch let out a hearty laugh.

“And that ain’t the only thing I have to offer.” They continued. “Them fellas, uh. The special lawmen, the uh, the um-”

“The Pinkerton’s.” Dutch supplied.

“Yeah them! The Pinkerton’s are looking for you and are crawling all over Blackwater. But they ain’t looking for me.” Arthur narrowed his eyes and crossed his own arms.

“Whatchu getting at kid?”

“They’re saying, Arthur, that they can get into Blackwater and get our money. We can get out of here and be on our way!”

“I don’t know about this Dutch.”

“I’m with Arthur.” A fourth voice joined the conversation as Hosea strolled up to the three of them. “You’re an avid reader Dutch. Haven’t you ever heard the phrase ‘If it sounds too good to be true, it probably is’?”

“Come on old friend, think of what this could mean for us! All that money we lost at Blackwater, back in our hand. Valentine is only a temporary stop and we need to move soon. With the money from Blackwater back in our hands we can do a hell of a lot more than what we were originally hoping!”

Hosea sighed and continued to argue against it with Dutch when the kid cut in once more, drawing the attention of just about everyone in camp.

“I already got it!”

Dutch and Hosea froze mid-argument.

“What?” Dutch asked and Arthur swore he heard a note of confusion in the older outlaws voice.

“Your money from Blackwater. I already got it, so even if you sent someone back there and they managed to avoid running into the law, you won’t find it.”

Dutch’s earlier lax and cheerful demeanour disappeared as he stepped closer to the kid, his voice low and dangerous. “And how, exactly, did you find out where we hid it if we are to believe you.”

“Adults don’t pay a lot of attention to kids. Even less so if they’re street kids like me. Heard some of them, fancy-looking fellas, talking ‘nd saying they was investigatin’ you and thought they might know where you hid your valuables in case something happened.”

“And you just happened to get there and find it first?” Arthur growled, arms dropping to his side, right hand hovering by his gun. (Y/N)’s eyes followed Arthur’s movements as they too came to rest on the handle of Arthur’s gun.

“Yeah. I did.” They replied sharply, raising their own eyes back to meet his.

A tense silence filled the air as the camp went quiet.

“Stay. Here.” Dutch’s voice finally broke the silence. “Hosea, Arthur, with me.” The three men trekked away towards Dutch’s tent leaving the teenager alone at the table; a quick signal to Javier had the Mexican man nodding as he set himself up to watch the (h/c) teen while the others talked. Once the flaps to the tent had been drawn and fastened, Arthur exchanged a worried glance with Hosea while Dutch rubbed at his chin, his eyebrows creased with thought.

“What’s the plan Dutch?” Arthur softly questioned a hint of worry colouring his words.

“I’m not sure just yet Arthur. Hosea, what do you think?” Hosea huffed before replying.

“I think we continue with the plan to get away from Valentine. We’ve just about outstayed our welcome and it’s time to move on. I think it far more likely that this kid is part of a Pinkerton trap set to catch us.”

“And if they are telling the truth? If they really have gotten our money out from Blackwater and it’s now within our reach? It a lot of money Hosea, if we had that back then we could get the hell out here.”

“Is the slim chance that they are telling the truth worth the lives of everyone in camp Dutch?” The older outlaw returned. “We’ve already lost the Mac, Davey and Jenny. If this kid is luring us into a trap, who else will we lose?” Dutch brought his hand up to his mouth and nodded solemnly at Hosea’s words, though the crease in his brow suggested he was less than happy with the answer he was given.

“And what do you think Arthur?”

Arthur scratched at his stubble, drawing a hissed breathe as he thought about their options. He strongly sided with Hosea. This whole deal of a random kid wandering into their camp, claiming to have possession of their money was already a wild tale. Add on to that the fact they were apparently willing to just hand it back over to them in return for a place in the gang was just confusing. Anyone with half as much brains as Marston who found the money would have taken it for themselves, and yet this kid was here and offering to give it all back to them with not a lot in return. And yet something was stopping him from outright refusing to consider the kid might be telling the truth.

“I want to ask the kid something first.” He finally said. “They gotta have a reason for wanting to join up with folk like us. This kid could have set themselves up for life if they were smart with the money but instead, they’re trying to return it and get in our good graces. I want to find out what that reason is first.” He finished.

Dutch and Hosea were silent for a spell before the eldest outlaw smiled and clapped Arthur on the arm. “And you claim you ain’t a thinker boy.” Arthur tugged his hat a little further over his face as he averted his eyes, muttering a half-hearted argument under his breath before making his way back toward (Y/N). The teen looked up at Arthur as he stopped by the table, silently regarding the young teen before him. Silently, he pulled out a cigarette and lit it as he kicked a leg up on the short barrel that acted as a chair. The two stared silently at each other as Arthur puffed away before taking the lit cigarette from between his lips and addressed them as Hosea and Dutch watched a short distance behind him.

“Why do you want to join the gang?” He asked slowly, his drawl weighing his words down heavily as he spoke. “You could’ve taken all that money for yourself so why go to all the trouble of bringing it down to us? Worse people than us could have found you and they wouldn’t have had any qualms about robbing and killing some half-starved fifteen-year-old kid sleeping out alone in on the plains.” He paused, taking another drag and lazily blowing out the smoke. “Whatever you want from us must be worth a lot more to you than money.”

(Y/N) didn’t answer straight away. They squeezed their hands tightly and Arthur could barely see them biting their lip from under their ratty hat.

“M’ Dad.” Was the soft reply. Arthur stayed silent and watched as the kid drew a shaky breath. “My auntie. She said that my Daddy is an outlaw. Said that- that he knows the Van Der Linde gang. I just. I want to meet him.” They finished with a shrug.

“What’s your Daddy’s name kid?” Dutch asked, coming up to sit beside the teenager who was suddenly looking much smaller than they did when Arthur first spoke to them.

“I- I don’t-” Again the kid tightly wrung their hands as if it would relieve the emotional pressure they were feeling. “I know what he looks like. That’s all I need. I don’t care if he wants nothin’ ta do with me. I just want him to know that I exist, I suppose.”

Arthur stubbed the end of his cigarette and dropped the butt on the ground, turning to look at Hosea and Dutch who shared a mildly surprised look. Arthur mulled over the information in his head. Fifteen years ago when (Y/N) would have been born, it was mainly Dutch and Hosea finding jobs that he’d sometimes join, while Susan and Bessie looked after John. Uncle might have been around then too but Arthur failed to see any similarities between the drunken old man and the kid who currently looked like they wanted the ground to swallow them.

As Arthur was mulling over everything, Hosea stepped up and took a seat by the teen.

“You mentioned your Aunt earlier, but what about your mother?” he asked gently.

“Don’t have one.” Came a barely legible mumble. Silence once again fell over the group but no one seemed eager to break it this time. Just as he was about to say something, anything really, Dutch beat him to it.

“How far away did you hide the money?”

“W-West of Valentine.”

With a nod, Dutch turned his attention to Arthur. “Arthur, I want you to take Javier and Charles with you and the kid.” Turning back to the kid he continued. “I trust that you aren’t going to lead my boys into a trap.” He said. “If you stay true to your word then there’ll be a place for you among us.”

The kid's face lit up at Dutch’s words. “Yessir!” They cheered; face aglow in the afternoon sun as they turned to Arthur. “We should leave as soon as possible. To be back before the sun gets too low, ya know?” Arthur grunted in response and waved for the kid to mount up. They only took a few steps before spinning back around. “Can I get my gun back?” Dutch shrugged and nodded.

Arthur strolled back over to Admiral, running a hand along the steed’s neck as the horse noses at the satchel hanging by the man’s side. Feeding the stallion a fresh apple, Arthur doubled checked his saddlebags for ammo and supplies while he waited for Charles, Javier, and the kid. Not even five minutes later he was joined by the kid, repeater slung across their back, with Charles and Javier at their heels. They boldly strolled up to the Fox Trotter, smiling brightly as the horse nosed at their offered hand before the kid swung themselves up onto the saddle.

Sparing a place at Charles and Javier and seeing the two men also sat up in their respective horses, Arthur nodded at the kid. “Alright then, lead on.” He instructed with a wave.

“Follow me, gentlemen.”

And with that, they were off.

***

Thank you for your patience! The first chapter for “Of Blood and Greatness” is finally finished!

As a reminder, this is a Red Dead Redemption 2 crossover fanfic as it contains elements of Percy Jackson (you don’t need any prior knowledge of PJO,)