#but if he was still in the penitentiary and didn’t escape how big was that goddamn explosion

[anime-and-arson]

POV: Banda escaping whatever prison he was in to get to that cross walk

[uomo-accattivante]

Great article about Paul Schrader’s The Card Counter - a poker movie that’s not really a poker movie...

Some filmmakers write a hit movie and spend the ensuing years trying to escape its shadow. Paul Schrader never flinched. Forty-five years after his “Taxi Driver” script put him on the map, the writer-director has developed a body of work loaded with alienated anti-heroes compelled to violent and reckless extremes for the sake of a higher calling.

That includes “The Card Counter,” in which Oscar Isaac plays guilt-stricken Abu Ghraib vet William Tell, a man with a gambling addiction compelled to help the revenge-seeking son (Tye Sheridan) of a former colleague. Taking justice into his own hands, Isaac’s William Tell slithers through the Vegas strip in search of questionable salvation, not unlike a certain Vietnam vet named Travis Bickle did from the driver’s seat. As if to cement the comparisons, “The Card Counter” features Martin Scorsese as an executive producer, marking the first time the two men share a credit since 1999’s “Bringing Out the Dead.”

For Schrader, “Taxi Driver” comparisons are inevitable in all his work. “My tendency is to look for interesting occupational metaphors,” Schrader said in a recent interview. “‘Taxi Driver’ hit the bull’s eye of the zeitgeist and it doesn’t die. There’s no way I could’ve planned for that, but it does inform the stories I tell.”

At 75, Schrader continues to churn out movies much like his compatriot Scorsese, albeit on a much smaller scale. “The Card Counter” is the latest illustration of the secularized Christian dogma percolating through his work. “Our society doesn’t like to take responsibility for anything,” he said. “But I come from a culture where you’re responsible for everything. You come into the world soaked with guilt and you just get guiltier.” In his own prickly fashion, Schrader makes movies steeped in empathy for lost souls in search of redemption despite the daunting odds. “We’re all certainly capable of forgiveness,” he said, and chuckled. “Anyone who says otherwise is wrong.”

The “Taxi Driver” dilemma looms large in nearly all of Schrader’s work, from the dazzling high-stakes activism of “Mishima: A Life in Four Chapters” all the way through Ethan Hawke’s eco-conscious priest in “First Reformed.” While the latter, Oscar-nominated effort brought Schrader new fans, “The Card Counter” is an even more precise distillation of his aesthetic — a moody, philosophical drama about the vanity of the personal crusade.

Schrader, who has labeled his homegrown character studies as “man in the room” dramas, embraces the parallels as usual. “There is this kind of myth that the taxi driver was this friendly, joking kind of guy who was a character actor in movies,” he said. “But the reality is that it’s a very lonely job, and you’re trapped in a box for 60 hours a week.” He saw the same logic with gambling, a wayward profession generally depicted in the movies in the context of escapist romps, rather than the somber rituals that afflict most players. “I thought about the essence of playing cards every day, or sitting in front of a slot machine. It’s kind of zombie-like,” Schrader said. “You see commercials of people in casinos laughing. But it’s a pretty glum place. Today with slots you don’t even have to pull the lever. You just sit there and let the numbers roll.”

The gambling figure led Schrader to the bigger picture of his character’s conundrum. “I was wondering why someone would choose to live in that sort of purgatory,” he said. “He doesn’t want to be alive, but he can’t really be dead, either. What could cause that? It can’t be a simple crime, murder, or a family dispute. It has to be something unforgivable. And that was Abu Ghraib.”

After the fallout of that debacle, William did time in a military prison, and reenters society before the movie begins. That was a world the filmmaker wanted to understand in clearer terms. Though Schrader has received blowback for his controversial Facebook posts in the past, in this case, the platform was an asset: He used it to track down soldiers who had done time in the United States Penitentiary in Leavenworth, the only military prison in the U.S., to better understand the initial claustrophobic world that Tell endures, as well as the conflict between the justice he’s received and what he deserves. “This man has been punished by his government, set free, and paid his due, but he doesn’t feel that,” Schrader said. “What does he do then? How does he fill his time? That’s how it all began.”

Schrader himself toyed with gambling when he lived in Los Angeles early in his career, but soon gave it up. “I very quickly realized I was only interested in gambling if it was really dangerous and I didn’t want to expose myself to that kind of danger,” he said. Years later, though, the experience helped inform his story. “There is this whole fantasy of gambling movies from ‘The Cincinnati Kid’ to ‘California Split,’” Schrader said. “But poker is all about waiting. People will play 10 to 12 hours a day and two to three times a day, a hand will happen where two players both have chips. Now you’ve got a face-off. But that doesn’t happen very often. Most guys who are there are running the numbers, the probability.”

He envisioned “The Card Counter” as a repudiation of the traditional poker movie, which builds to the giddy release of a final tournament. When that moment arrives in the movie, Schrader takes the movie in a bleak, shocking new direction. “It’s not really a poker movie — that’s a red herring,” he said.

William is immersed in his casino journey when he encounters Cirk (Sheridan), the crazy-eyed son of another Abu Ghraib soldier who committed suicide. Cirk blames the soldiers’ former commander (Willem Dafoe), and hopes to loop William into the plan. Instead, the older man decides to take Cirk under his wing to talk him out of the act, which doesn’t prove so easy. In the process, the gambler forms a curious bond with La Linda (Tiffany Haddish), a gambling agent and pimp whose icy, relentless drive to make the most out of the poker circuit brings William some measure of companionship on his wayward journey.

It should come as no surprise that the “Girls Trip” breakout is nearly unrecognizable in the role of the calculated La Linda, which is also a distinctly Schraderish touch: From his work with Richard Pryor in 1978’s “Blue Collar” all the way through Cedric the Entertainer’s supporting turn in “First Reformed,” Schrader has made a habit of seeking out comedic actors willing to play against type. That’s partly opportunistic on his part. “They’re eager to do it because they want to expand their palette, so you can get them for a price,” Schrader said, chuckling again. “That’s necessary, given the kind of films I make.” But that’s not all: “They will always find a way to be interesting, even when they’re not getting a laugh.”

Which is not to say that the process comes easily to them. Haddish recently told the New York Times that Schrader had to coach her out of speaking in a comedic sing-song. The filmmaker put it in blunter terms. “On the first reading of the script we had, frankly, she wasn’t very good,” he said. “I told her to go back and read every single line without emotion. Then I said, ‘You’re not going to do that in front of the camera, but you can’t hit every line either. So let’s pick five or six lines you can hit where you get a smile or reaction.’ Quickly she got that it was a different rhythm.”

As for Isaac, whose disquieting turn suggests a maniac lingering just beneath the surface, Schrader once again turned to metaphor. “I told him to imagine himself on a rocky coast in the ocean,” Schrader said. “Waves are going to come up and get you all day every day. They’re going to try to batter you. Let them. The waves will go away. You’ll still be there. Don’t compete. In the end, the rocks will win. You have to learn to trust that the way these things are put together has more power than the individual movement.”

William’s routine includes an odd ritual in which he covers all the furniture in his various Vegas hotel rooms with white paper. While the motivation is never explained, Schrader said it stemmed from an experience with production designer Ferdinando Scarfiotti on the set of 1982’s “Cat People,” when Schrader realized the man was doing the same thing. “He said, quite simply, ‘I have to live here surrounded by these ugly hotel furnishings,’” Schrader recalled. The concept inspired the new movie’s most compelling visual motif. “Casinos are very ugly places. There are no exceptions,” Schrader said. “Often you aspire to finding pockets of beauty and there weren’t really any here except the only place he could control, which was his hotel rooms, where he could privatize his visions. I came up with this ritual for him to control those visuals.”

At a certain point, Schrader himself couldn’t control the visuals of “The Card Counter” for more prosaic reasons: After an extra tested positive for COVID-19, the production shut down last March, with five days of shooting left, and couldn’t resume until July. Though Schrader initially took to Facebook to fume at his producers, the pause eventually opened up an opportunity to tweak his vision. “I edited the film and put in placeholders for the five or six scenes of consequence that I hadn’t shot,” he said. “I didn’t have a fully finished film but I could screen it for people. Normally you only get that privilege if you have a big-budget film and you’re allowed reshoots.” The early audience included Scorsese, who provided a crucial note. “I asked Marty, ‘What am I missing?’ He said to me that the relationship with Tiffany and Oscar was too thin. So I rewrote those scenes.”

Schrader asked Scorsese to take on the executive producer credit as a favor. “I said, ‘Marty, wouldn’t it be nice to share a card again? I thought it would help sell the film but it would also be a cool thing to do after all these years,’” Schrader said. “Then a couple of weeks later his agent called wanting to work out a deal. What deal? I asked Marty and he said yes. That’s the deal!” Now, the pair are trying to collaborate on a new long-form TV series based on the Bible, though the timing has been delayed by production on Scorsese’s upcoming “Killers of the Flower Moon.”

In the meantime, Schrader has been mulling over the way “Taxi Driver” not only continues to inform his storytelling but the world at large. “Hardly a week goes by that I don’t notice or hear some reference to it,” he said. “But I don’t know how you’d tell such a story today. A number of writers have tried and I don’t think they’ve succeeded because it has to come out of a certain place and time. We have plenty of these incels around, but they’re not as original or revealing as they were 45 years ago when that character came on the scene. I wouldn’t know how to write about it.”

Instead, his next project is a love triangle called “Master Gardener,” which he hopes to shoot in Louisiana before the end of the year. He has several other potential scripts ready to go after that. And while he has expressed trepidation about the future of cinema in the past, he’s not convinced that audiences have given up on it yet. He recalled a conversation he had with Cedric the Entertainer when “First Reformed” made the rounds. “He said off-handedly to me, ‘You know, I didn’t realize there were so many people who liked serious movies,’” Schrader said, and chuckled once more. “Well, yeah, there are.”

“The Card Counter” premieres next week at the Venice Film Festival. Focus Features releases on September 10, 2021.

###

[maddogofshimano]

Bound in the Chains of Suspicion: Haruka and Hamazaki Board Game Event

Major Y3 and Y4 Spoilers

I was surprised to see these two on an event together! Haruka even gets to be the protagonist here

I was more surprised by how emotionally compromised I got about Hamazaki of all people. I mean, I’ve thought he was a cool character ever since Y4, but man! This is the most important part though: LOOK AT HER

I’ve been busy so self-care was writing things up in more of a summary form than doing line for line translations this time. Apologies for the likely higher number of errors than usual and less polish overall, I got this done with only a few hours to spare before the event ended

I do need to put a big honking Content Warning on this one for attempted sexual assault of a minor, in which a grown man twice demands to see Haruka’s panties and attempts to grab her when she refuses. I’m really not a fan of the writing choice to include this, but I’ve got it in here for completeness’s sake

Summary: Set during the time between Kiryu and Yasuko leaving Hamazaki in Okinawa and Haruka’s call to Kiryu the next day to tell Kiryu that Hamazaki had passed away in the hospital. Haruka grapples with whether or not Hamazaki is a bad person and if he’s trustworthy while attempting to save his life

<After the incident where Hamazaki drifted to Morning Glory from Okinawa Penitentiary No. 2.....> We're starting off with in-game events/dialogue, Hamazaki handing over the blackmail he took from jail and asking for Kiryu's help

Immediate flashback to earlier 3/9/2010, more in game events. The kids have just gotten back from a field trip to the woods. They had fun, and want Kiryu to come along next time. Kiryu tries to introduce Hamazaki, Haruka is not having any of it

She tells Kiryu to shut up and Hamazaki to stay the hell away from everyone. Hamazaki is hurt by this, but fully understands and agrees to keep his distance

Next we have the beach conversation with Kiryu where she asks if he’s going back to Tokyo and that she’s scared

Haruka's usually very polite but she keeps calling Hamazaki あの浜崎って人 which is like, "that Hamazaki guy" lol

Haruka's been told by Ayako that "that Hamazaki guy" has left with Kiryu to go to the police station. She's wondering why that guy is now trying to convince Kiryu not to go to Tokyo....... isn't there going to be a big problem if Kiryu doesn't go? Did Hamazaki tell Kiryu not to go..... for Haruka's sake? There's no way, right? A bad person like him wouldn't do something like that..... She can't trust him,  but..... <Haruka flashes back to her yelling at Hamazaki and Hamazaki looking sad> She feels she might have been cruel to him

She thinks that Hamzaki just looked so so sad, so she tells Ayako she's going to head out for a bit and asks her to watch over things while she's gone. She thinks that she still can't trust Hamazaki but that maybe, it's possible he really has changed, and he's not such a bad guy anymore... but she can't be sure! So she's going to talk to him a little more

<Haruka was unable to believe that Hamazaki had changed when she first saw him, and said something cruel. She's still unsure on his change, and in order to discern it for herself has decided to talk to Hamazaki directly--following Hamazaki and Kiryu to the police station>

She shows the cop an photo of Kiryu and asks if he's come this way, as well as a big man with a shaved head and a scary face named Hamazaki. The officer says that they did, but went to help a lady look for her brother instead. He points Haruka in the direction they ran off in. She thanks him and wonders who this woman is, and remembers that Kiryu has a phone so she can just call him. Except she forgot her phone at morning glory...... thankfully there's a pay phone nearby, so she uses that instead. Kiryu isn't picking up though, which is worrying. She's sure Hamazaki must have done something!

She runs around the market with her picture of Kiryu asking people if they've seen him. A store owner says that yeah, he's seen that guy with the scary face, he was here not too long ago, and points her in the right direction. She follows the trail, talking to a homeless man, a younger guy, a tourist lady, and finally hitting a dead end and talking to a goon who says yeah, he's seen those three, but his memory's real fuzzy. Maybe he could remember if Haruka would show him her panties. Haruka is taken aback, he tries to grab her, and Haruka fights him off enough to escape. She hides nearby, and happens across someone bleeding on the ground. It's Hamazaki!

Hamazaki is bleeding badly, and collapses. Haruka thinks that she needs to call an ambulance, and fast, but she hears someone shouting in search of Hamazaki. She knows that if they come this way they'll be out in the open, so she starts dragging him despite him being heavy

the voice was of course coming from everyone's fave, Saito the Prison Warden

He knows that Hamazaki got shot in the torso, so he couldn't have gone far. Haruka wonders why Saito would try to kill Hamazaki. Unfortunately Saito decides that his subordinates are useless and that if he wants anything done he'll have to do it himself

He tells a homeless man that if they spot Hamazaki, Yasuko, and Kiryu he'll give them 100,000 yen, and the offer stands for any other homeless friends that help search. Haruka knows that she needs to get Hamazaki somewhere safe that they can hide, and fast. She thinks about it and remembers that right at the end of this alley there's an empty room that's never used that Taichi told her about. She manages to sneak herself and Hamazaki to the building without being spotted by the patrolling homeless men--but once in the building she finds that there's a homeless man inside. He tries to tell her to go play somewhere else but notices that she's dragging Hamazaki behind her, and starts shouting in hopes of getting the 100k. HARUKA ATTACKS THIS MAN. HARUKA OVERPOWERS THIS MAN. THIS MAN IS STRUGGLING TO GET AWAY AND HARUKA IS TELLING HIM HE CAN'T TELL ANYONE CAUSE THE PEOPLE LOOKING FOR HAMAZAKI NO OJISAN WILL KILL HIM

The man comments that Haruka's hands are shaking. He says he's been there too. When he worked as a day laborer, his hands would shake like that when he was desperately trying to haul heavy things. For the sake of helping an adult she's pushing her tiny body to it's limits... He agrees not to tell anyone, he's not going to be happy with any amount of money at the cost of someone's life. If any other homeless people come by, he's going to spread rumors that Hamazaki is far away from here, so that should help with Haruka's escape Haruka thinks again about calling an ambulance, worried that Hamazaki will bleed out, but still worried that they'll be found before it gets there. She also worries about why she hasn't seen Kiryu, and why Hamazaki was all alone at that building. The guy that shot Hamazaki seems like a cop and a bad person, but she had also thought Hamazaki was a bad person before... He did shoot Hamazaki, but Hamazaki also stabbed Kiryu...

Haruka wonders if maybe telling the cops where Hamazaki is would be the right thing to do. Maybe he's the real bad guy here. In response Hamazaki makes an eloquent argument compared to every previous line which had just been "Ughh gh ughh" and instead goes for "cough cough....!"

He's conscious enough to recognize Haruka as that kid who was at Kiryu's place. Haruka asks if Hamazaki is alright, and where is Kiryu? Is he okay? Hamazaki wheezes out that Kiryu's gone to a bad place, which is about the most ominous way to say things. Haruka panics internally, but unlike many other instances of miscommunication where Hamazaki would pass out right there, he says that Kiryu went with Saejima's sister to Tokyo. Haruka can't believe it. Hamazaki apologizes that he ended up separating Haruka from Kiryu after all.

Hamazaki also says that, despite everything, Kiryu's doing this to keep Haruka safe. Haruka wonders about that and Hamazaki collapses again. Haruka rushes off and calls an ambulance from the closest pay phone. She thinks that, if she trusts what Hamazaki is saying, then Kiryu has something important to do again. But is that really the case? She decides it'll be alright to trust Hamazaki. Before she makes it to the pay phone she's stopped by Saito introduces himself as a prison warden and says he's looking for a very bad man. He's large and has a shaved head, and was seen with a woman in a long coat and a man in a Hawaiian shirt. Haruka says she hasn't seen anyone, and rushes to the phone to call. Saito doesn't seem too convinced. Haruka makes the call and thinks that Saito had a real scary look in his eyes. She's pretty sure he's the bad one here. Once that guy gives up looking, then she can go home

Unfortunately we have the return of the disgusting creep that wants to look at her panties, now telling her that he looked all over for her, and she better not think about trying to run away this time. Haruka tells him to stay back

He says that it's fine if she hates him. In fact, that's even more enticing. She says to let her through, she's in a rush. He says he just wants to see her panties already, and tries to grab her. Another fight, she manages to avoid getting grabbed but he keeps her cornered and says she should stop fighting. He's cut off by a baton to the back of the head by the unlikeliest of heroes, dropping the creep

Haruka now has to consider, is it possible that Saito isn't actually a bad guy? Haruka leaves, and Saito comments to himself that he's going to find Hamazaki.

Haruka rushes back to Hamazaki, who is still lying on the floor going Ughhghghhhhh. She tells him to hold on a little longer, and ambulance is on the way. Hamazaki apologizes, and asks if she's alright. Haruka's confused. Hamazaki says that she scraped her knee on something, didn't she? It was from dragging him, right? She says no, she just fell and scraped it. Haruka's taken aback, even on the verge of death he's concerned about someone else--he really has changed. But... this could all be an act, she has no way to know... should she really be trusting him? There's a voice outside saying that this is where he's hiding. Search everywhere. both: !?

There's no time to hide, Saito is already here. Apparently it's been about 2 hours.

He followed Haruka, knowing she'd lead him right to Hamazaki. He saw the blood on her clothes and had a hunch. Once they talked at that pay phone he was certain she was hiding a half-dead Hamazaki somewhere. Haruka tries to protest but Saito thanks her for her help. It's a good way to thank him for saving her from that creep, right? Either way he only stepped in because he wanted her to lead him to Hamazaki as quickly as possible. Saito decides they've had enough chit-chat and says it's time to cut to the chase: he starts beating on Hamazaki and demanding to know where Kiryu Kazuma and Saejima's sister are

Hamazaki tells Haruka to run. He says that once they realize they can't beat the whereabouts of Kiryu and Saejima Yasuko out of him... they'll start torturing Haruka. He's going to use the last of his strength to stand and knock this guy to the ground, that'll be Haruka's opening to escape. Saito tells them to cut it with the whispering. Hamazaki says that Saito has a real hideous mug, it really makes him laugh, and earns himself another beating. Haruka calls out but Hamazaki cuts her off and says that it's okay to be scared. Hamazaki's dealt with plenty of guys like this. Saito threatens to kill him if he doesn't spit out where Kiryu is already. Hamazaki laughs and says he doesn't know. Saito asks if he needs his memory jogged, pauses, and sees Haruka standing in front of Hamazaki. He asks what she's trying to do. She says this is terrible! She can't let this go any further!!

Saito doesn't care if she's just a kid, he's happy to give her an attitude adjustment. Hamazaki launches himself at Saito to prevent him from beating Haruka, saying that he won't allow Saito to lay a single finger on this child. Saito attacks Hamazaki with intent to kill. Hamazaki can't move anymore after the fight, and Saito keeps hitting until he goes down. Saito declares that he would never die in a place like this, he's the one who's coming out on top. He reels back to strike Hamazaki, shouting for him to die, and........ HARUKA GRABS HIM AND STOPS HIM FROM HITTING HAMAZAKI! He calls her a bitch and tells her to let go of him!

Haruka: I won't let go....! Not ever.....! Hamazaki-san! Run!

Saito: Let go of me you biiiiiiiiiiiiitch! Saito turns to swing at Haruka but is taken down by one giant punch from Hamazaki, who tells him not to get back up. The ambulance finally arrives. Haruka begs him to hold on just a little longer. Hamazaki agrees, and laughs a little. He stopped Saito from laying a finger on her after all. He's glad he was able to protect her. There's on favor he needs to ask of her. Hamazaki: Tell Kiryu...... and Saejima that......... the Tojo Clan... is the only proof they ever walked this earth...... They have to... protect it....... from the police

He then collapses. Haruka begs him to hold on

<screen fades to black>

The doctor tells Haruka that Hamazaki is in bad shape... he might not even make it to the morning.

Haruka thinks back to her yelling at Hamazaki at the orphanage Haruka: I'm sorry, Hamazaki-san..... I... I was cruel to you then... and now I can't even apologize to you for it. I'm sorry....... I'm sorry...... Hamazaki: ......What's.... wrong....... Haruka-..... chan........ Haruka: !? Doctor: Incredible.... he's awake! Haruka: H-Hamazaki-san.... I'm sorry! I... back then when I.... I'm can't apologize enough....... Haruka: Back at Morning Glory.... I didn't trust you.... I said some cruel things that hurt you.... I'm sorry! Haruka: I was certain you were a horrible person back then.... but now.... I don't think that's true.... Haruka: For protecting Uncle Kaz.... for protecting me.... thank you, Hamazaki-san! Hamazaki: Heheh.... thanks, huh? Hamazaki: ......First time.... anyone's ever said that kind of thing.... sincerely to me...... Haruka: Hamazaki-san...... Hamazaki: Heheh.... it's fine........ Since we're.... giving thanks to people..... Hamazaki: Thank you... Haruka-chan.... Right at the very end...... you saved me <Hamazaki collapses> Haruka: .....! H-Hamazaki-saaaaaan!!! <at New Serena, Kiryu gets a phone call> Kiryu: ....Haruka. What's wrong, did something happen?

Haruka: Uncle Kaz... Hamazaki-san..... he just passed away. At the hospital.

Straight from the in-game dialogue, Haruka tells Kiryu that Hamazaki had been shot in the back, leading to his death. He thanks Haruka for being there for him, she says it was no trouble, and that she thinks he died protecting Kiryu. Kiryu agrees. Haruka says she thinks she was wrong about Hamazaki, and passes along his message for Kiryu and Saejima, and lets Kiryu know that his body is currently at Morning Glory. Kiryu says they'll hold a memorial service once he's back <phone call ends> Haruka: .....Uncle Kaz. The Tojo Clan that Hamazaki-san protected... he's left it's protection to you. <END>

Bonus stuff:

as we all know, Haruka has not had enough people literally die in front of her eyes, so time to add Hamazaki to that list!

okay so immediately after Hamazaki wakes up in the hospital there’s this screen which made me break down into nearly crying laughter in the middle of the emotional moment, so I used my editorial authority to move it down here instead

the doctor’s face! why did they do this!!

Anyways here’s all of Haruka’s little blurbs from going around the board

Beach There's a beach in front of Morning Glory. We keep coming back to here to look at the ocean. It's an indispensable spot for all of us.

Morning Glory Our beloved home. When I first came here, I thought it was super spacious, but lately it feels cramped. It must be because everyone has grown up.

Hamazaki-san The guy who stabbed uncle Kaz.... But now, Hamazaki-san gives off a totally different vibe than back then. Is it really okay to trust him....?

Ebisu Pawn The Ryukyu branch of Ebisu. Uncle Kaz goes there every now and then. I have no idea what he's pawning off but... I'd like to help.

People Running Shakedowns Even in Okinawa there are people that will do shakedowns.... I need to tell everyone to keep an eye out before anything happens....!

Ojisan The caretaker of Morning Glory. Honestly, everyone truly thinks of him like their dad. If you tell him something like that however, he will get embarrassed.

Everyone at Morning Glory Everyone here has no parents, but each of them has a bright future ahead of them if they keep working hard. We've all become a real family for each other.

Sailor Outfit For my middle school I have to wear this sailor outfit. At first I would get embarrassed when everyone looked at me.

Mame A resident (pet?) of Morning Glory. Mame is getting bigger, and it's making his daily walks and pacing beforehand a real pain! (TL note: the resident (pet?) is Haruka swapping the counter between for a person and for an animal, which does not really have an english translation lol)

Dragon Mask When Taichi was sick, this was used for a pro wrestling match on the beach. I haven't seen it since then. If I ask nicely, I wonder if it could be used again?

That’s all! Thank you for reading all of this!! I cherish every single tag people leave on these posts when they reblog them

[barnesbabee]

Telephone || K.H

Pairing: Kim Hongjoong x Reader

Genre: Smut, Fluff, Angst

⚠ violence, usage of guns, spanking ⚠

after a long time, here it is, my comeback.

ɪᴄᴏɴ ᴄʀᴇᴅɪᴛ

ᴀᴛᴇᴇᴢ x ʟᴀᴅʏ ɢᴀɢᴀ ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴘᴛ ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ || ᴘ1

ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ ᴏꜰꜰ ᴛᴇʟᴇᴘʜᴏɴᴇ ᴍᴠ

  “You have the right to remain silent...”

   Hongjoong watched as the police officer held you down and cuffed your hands behind your back. The tears prickled his eyes, and his whimpers and sobs could be heard over the loud sirens.

   “...anything you say or do can and will be used against you in a court of law…”

    You turned your head to face your precious lover. He was so beautiful, so pure, so innocent… To you, he was just like a kid, when in reality he was only a year younger than you. 

   “...you have the right to an attorney, if you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you…”

   When you locked eyes with him he immediately stopped crying, too lost in your serene complexion. How could you be so calm?... You observed how they shined, how his lower lip trembled, and how his face had a reddish tint to it.

   “It’s gonna be fine baby.” You mouthed to him.

   He sniffled, the cute pout still present on his lips, and nodded at your statement, fully believing in your words. 

   When you two met, you immediately felt as if you needed to protect him, because he was just too nice for this world. You wanted to shield him from everything bad, however, you couldn’t shield him from you.

   You did try to keep your distance, but the way he walked towards you and chanted your name as he waved with his palm high up in the air… It was hypnotizing. His unbelievable aura and energy dragged you toward him even against your will. He was everything you didn’t have, and everything you needed.

   He kept coming back, and when you finally told him about your job, in hopes he’d run away, he simply told you ‘Everyone has a bad side... Yours just happens to be a little... badder.’, and then yoou knew you’d fallen in love.

   The police officer’s words went in one ear and out the other as she shoved you in the back of the white and blue car. You didn’t resist arrest, you had no reason to. You didn’t try to plead ‘not guilty’, even when Hongjoong begged you to. You accepted everything and went with it as if it was a routine, and it was making Hongjoong delirious.

   “Why didn’t you try to fight this!?” Hongjoong yelled, with glossy eyes, punching clear, thick plastic that separated you. 

   His hand shakily held the phone, and he had tears streaming down his face once more. He didn’t understand you were always so calm, as if the world was playing by your rules.

   “Hongjoong, baby, please sit down…” You asked, in the calmest voice possible.

   He obliged, just like he always did, and you smiled softly. You placed your palm against the window that separated you, and Hongjoong mimicked your actions, as if you were holding hands.

   “Everything’s going to be fine Hongjoongie, okay? Everything will be…”

   Hongjoong’s ears perked up and your voice trailed off in the distance. He noticed a tapping sound resonating in the air As you spoke, your finger tapped the plastic between you.

   Morse code.

   Your voice distracted the guards and the people around you, so that they wouldn’t hear the tapping, while Hongjoong read your message.

  I. Will. Get. Out. Two. Days. Midnight. Be. Outside. With. Car.

  “You’re so smart Y/N, God this is why I love you so much I never ever want to leave you, you’re my everything…” He whispered, in a desperate, exasperated voice.

   You chuckled and your face softened at the way his terrified eyes scanned your expression. 

   “I never want you to leave me Joongie.”

   Hongjoong’s car pulled up in the tree-surrounded area. He had arrived slowly, with headlights off so he wouldn’t be noticed by anybody. 

   The man’s legs were shaking, and his finger impatiently tapped on the black steering wheel of the SUV. He trusted you blindly, whatever you said he believed, and so when you told him you’d somehow get out he fully believed you, even though he had no idea how it was possible to escape a high-security penitentiary. 

    One minute passed from midnight… Two minutes passed from midnight… 

   Hongjoong grew more and more anxious as each second passed by. He kept turning his body in all different ways and squinting his eyes, desperately trying to find your figure running through the night.

   His breathing got quicker and small beads of sweat rolled down his forehead. What if something had gone wrong!? What if they had caught you and you were now in solitary confinement!? What if he couldn’t see you anymore!? What if-

   Hongjoong’s thoughts were interrupted by someone violently opening the door and shoving themselves into the shotgun seat.

   His blurry vision took a second to recognize the woman with disheveled hair beside him, but there was no doubt that it was his Y/N. Without a second thought, he grabbed your cheeks and pulled you into a long, desperate kiss. 

   When he pulled away you smiled at his adorableness, at how he prioritized his love for you over the short amount of time you’d have to get the fuck out.

    “Floor it, baby, we need to get away before-”

   Your speech was cut off by blinding lights shining behind you, lighting up the building as well as the roads surrounding it. A loud, maddening sirene sounded in the air and the both of you widened your eyes.  

   His foot was heavy on the accelerator. The SUV’s wheels screeched against the floor as he backed up and drove down the road that lead them to freedom. In the distance, two blue and red flashing lights could be seen. The sirens kept coming closer and closer, and you cursed the car’s inability to go faster.

   “Hongjoong!” You yelled.

   He looked at you, visibly worried and distressed, like he did usually in these situations.

   “It doesn’t go faster YN!” 

   “Fuck!” You cursed and punched the tablier.

   As you glanced back to see how far the cars were, you noticed a duffle bag sitting on the back seat.

   “Is that the rest of what was to be shipped?” 

   Hongjoong nodded without glancing back, knowing what you were talking about. You rolled down your window and turned around to unzip the black bag. 

   “Slow down!” You yelled at Hongjoong, so you could be heard over the sirens and car sounds.

   Your boyfriend looked at you with big eyes, scared and dumbfounded.

   “You heard me! Slow the car down!”

   Hongjoong did as you said and the police cars were right behind you in no time. In one movement, you grabbed the gun that was on top, an AK-47, and peaked your torso outside the window.

   Your boyfriend watched as you fired at the car. It wasn’t with much precision, and even though you aimed at the wheels you ended up hitting the hood and the headlights before bursting the rubber material.

   The car turned and hit a sturdy tree, causing it to immediately breakdown. The vehicle coming right behind that one car hit against it, as it was going too fast for it to be able to stop in time. 

   Two down.

   Two more popped up from behind, and you aimlessly shot at them, hoping you’d hit something that’d make them stop. They kept swerving and avoiding most of your bullets, trying to prevent you from hitting the wheels. 

   You were getting annoyed. They were getting closer. Anxiety was building up.

   Hongjoong grit his teeth and gripped the wheel tighter. He was not going to lose you once more. He needed you in his life.

   “Shoot them.” 

   You looked at your boyfriend. He’d surprised you many times, but only with innocent, hopeful comments. It was your turn to be dumbfounded and confused.

   Hongjoong stole a glance at you.

   “Shoot them! They want to take you away for me! I’m not gonna let that happen!” He yelled, fueled by rage and despair.

   You chuckled.

   “As you wish…”

   You aimed, as best as you could in a moving car. It took you a second, you had to focus and take a deep breath, you had to stop your shaky hands, but when you finger pressed the trigger, you felt powerful. The bullet pierced right through the driver’s forehead, spewing blood all over his face. The terrified expression of his partner brought a sense of pride to you. 

   You aimed at the other male, whose eyes were widened in fear. Realizing you were aiming at him, the man gripped the steering wheel and turned it completely to avoid the bullet, causing it to crash.

   You repeated the process in the remaining car, except you didn’t feel like aiming, you were too impatient, so you just went on a rampage. You held the gun and yelled as you fired all over the windshield. Surely it’d hit them. When the bullets were up, you tossed the gun and plopped back inside, watching as the car behind you swerved left and right, now without a driver, before crashing as well.

    When you were settled back in your seat Hongjoong placed a hand on your thigh and looked at you, lovingly. There were a couple of seconds of silence, with the two of you just staring into each other’s eyes, before you burst out laughing.

    You pulled up in a motel, one as far as your gasoline could get you, and got a room. You two did your best not to look suspicious, but Hongjoong was always a little jittery.

    You plopped on the bed, as Hongjoong locked the door and closed the curtains. Your boyfriend climbed on top of you, pampering your face and neck with sloppy kisses. You giggled and grabbed each of his arms.

    “I missed you so fucking much baby…”

   You looked into his eyes and connected your lips in a long, rough kiss. Your lips were chapped and his were soft, but somehow they fit perfectly well, just like your personalities.

   When you pulled away he stroked your hair.

   “How did you manage to get out?” 

   You chuckled.

   “It was all planned.”

   Hongjoong tilted his head and pouted, visibly confused at what you just said, and you wondered how a man that had just told you to kill someone could be so utterly cute. 

   “He paid me a little extra… The people He hired for his gun trafficking jobs kept getting arrested or found, and He suspected someone was ratting His workers to the cops. To confirm His suspicions He told me to go along and traffick some of His guns for some bonus cash, and if I was arrested He guaranteed me He’d have someone on the inside to bust me out. Once I was out I was on my own though, that’s why I needed you.” You explained, earning a hum from your boyfriend.

    “Who even is ‘He’?”

   You shrugged, you knew as much as him. 

   “No one knows… Just some super-rich guy that has people for everything. We call him ‘He’, ‘cause don’t even know his name. We’ve tried to give him a name before but He wasn’t too happy...”

   Hongjoong laid his head on your chest, feeling the calm way your chest heaved.

   “You know, the way you behaved earlier… That was really hot Joongie.”

   Hongjoong looked up at you.

   “You think so?”

   You bit your lip and nodded. 

   Hongjoong smirked and hovered above you with a smirk.

   “Well,” He lowered his head down to place a soft kiss on your neck “what about we make it hotter and celebrate our reunion?” 

   Both of your hands found their way onto his hair, tugging on it slightly as the kisses on your neck became sloppier and harsher.

   “Sounds good baby.”

   His teeth bit down on a particular spot, causing you to whimper out his name. Your fingers curled around his hair and tugged on it harsher at every bite. 

    Hongjoong’s fingers trailed down your body, not missing a single curve. He slipped his hand inside your large pants along with your underwear and cupped your crotch. He ran his thumb along your pussy, enjoying the way your body started writhing under his. 

   “F-fuck Hongjoong, please… It’s been so long I’m gonna cum form that.”

   Hongjoong pulled away from your neck and kissed your lips passionately. The way he kissed you was always loving, no matter what situation you encountered yourselves in.

   Your hand found its way onto his crotch, and you grabbed his hardened member, applying some pressure on it.

   Hongjoong moaned into the kiss and pulled away.

   “Fuck, you’re so needy…”

  He hurriedly removed your clothes, along with his, leaving your bottoms fully exposed. 

  Your boyfriend settled between your legs, allowing his cock to slap against your stomach. He ran his tip along your folds teasingly for a second. You gripped the sheets and rolled your hips up, desperate for him to enter you.

   He chuckled at your eagerness and grabbed your hips, finally thrusting into you. The room was immediately filled with loud groans from both as he fully bottomed inside of you. 

   His fingernails dug into the skin of your hips from the way he gripped onto you and fucked into you. 

     Hongjoong was fucking you to compensate the weeks you’d been away from each other, and you were afraid that you’d end up having to sleep in a broken bed.

     “H-Hongjoong you’re s-so good fuck-” You moaned loudly.

    Hongjoong always felt proud to see you like that, broken and begging for him. He focused on getting you off, he wanted your pleasure.

    His hands moved down to your thighs and squeezed them harshly, followed by a slap that would surely leave a mark.

    You whimpered as you looked down at him, loving the way his golden skin shined under the cheap motel lighting. 

    “Baby I’m g-gonna cum.” Hongjoong told you.

   “Cum inside m-me, please-” 

   Your pretty little beg was all it took for him to fill you up. He groaned and hissed at the feeling of your tight walls getting all of his cum.

   But he wasn’t done. 

   He pulled out of you and thurst three of his fingers into you, fucking his cum deeper into your hole.

   “Such a good baby, always taking my cum so well…”

   Your back arched, and you felt something build up in your stomach.

   When Hongjoong began sucking on your clit, that was it for you. Your walls tightened around his fingers and your toes curled up as you came with a cry for his name.

   He crawled onto the bed, beside you. The adrenaline and the rush of it all had gotten you so tired you couldn’t find the energy to get dressed. 

   You rolled on top of him, and his arms encircled your waist as you buried your head on the crook of his neck.

   He kissed to top of your head, and you both fell asleep peacefully to the sound of the crickets outside. 

   A loud bang woke the two of you about seven hours later.

   “Come out with your hands in the air!” A sturdy, raspy voice demanded from outside.

   You could see the shapes of blue and black uniforms standing on the outside.

   You and Hongjoong looked over at the gun-filled duffle bag resting on the small desk on the other side of the room, which you hadn’t been stupid enough to leave in the car, and then exchanged a knowing look.

    “Let’s do it?”

    “Let’s take ‘em all out baby.”

[mollymawkwrites]

Toss a Coin to Your Bounty Hunter

This has been sitting in my drafts for months. It’s meant to be part of a longer fic I’ve wanted to write since I watched The Ballad of Buster Scruggs for the third time with friends and we joked that Buster Scruggs had Jaskier vibes. Then this cursed title appeared to me and thus an nth WIP was born. I haven’t had time to write much more than this between my other projects, but I thought it’d be a good stand-alone until I get back to it.

A huge thanks to @fire-and-sass for beta-ing this at such short notice after I decided I wanted to post it tonight. Love u boo! A brief summary of what would have preceded this excerpt if I’d had the time to write it: Geralt, a bounty hunter, is hired to bring back the escapee son of the governor. It’s an easy enough contract, though maddening, as Jaskier reveals himself to be the most annoying man Geralt ever met. He’s happy enough to leave the brat to his father’s mercy. Or is he?

Jaskier has climbed down his bedroom window many times in his childhood, to assist to shows and performances his father didn’t deem respectable enough for him to be seen at, or to meet with secret sweethearts.

It’s been a while though, and the lack of practise shows as the last button of his teal vest catches on the windowsill and rips neatly, the little mother-of-pearl stud bouncing on the dark floorboards of his room.

“Oh, bollocks,” Jaskier whispers, strained by the effort of holding himself up and the window ledge digging in his stomach, the upper part of his body still in the room, his legs dangling uselessly in the air. He’s not sure his ankles will survive the fall, now that he really thinks about it. They’ve been suspiciously creaky after the last few days of trekking after Geralt’s horse. Escaping the governor’s control was much easier the first time when all he had to do was walk out the front door and pretend he was going to the barber, his packed up things already waiting for him in Cantonella’s caravan.

Considering how furious his father was when Jaskier was handed back to him, it’s highly unlikely he’ll fall for the same trick a second time; it means Jaskier has to use subtlety, which is not his best suit even on the best of days.

Oh, well. Broken bones heal. He’d rather limp for the rest of his days than submit to the life his father has planned out for him. No one needs their feet to play the guitar, after all.

His hands let go of their grip on the window ledge before he has time to talk himself out of it. The fall is brutally short, and the wind is knocked out of his lungs as he hits the ground back first. At least ankles are safe, though there might be a bruised rib or two on his left side.

He takes a careful breath that immediately turns into a coughing fit as he inhales the dry yellow dust his fall disturbed.

“That was the stupidest thing I’ve ever witnessed in my life, and I once saw a man try to light a candle with his gun.” The gravelly baritone almost has Jaskier jumping out of his skin, and he opens his eyes to a familiar backlit silhouette towering above him.

“Oh my- Geralt! What the fuck are you doing here?”

The bounty hunter, one shoulder propped against the wall opposite the one Jaskier just fell off, shrugs noncommittally. As he scrambles to his feet with only a minor pain twinging between his ribs, Jaskier catches a glimpse of Roach waiting for her rider at the end of the narrow back alley.

“Are you going to bring me back to my father, again?” Jaskier asks petulantly, his fists finding their way to his hips in an expecting stance. “He won’t give you more money, certainly you know that? I’m not your problem anymore.”

Geralt shrugs a second time, which infuriates Jaskier almost as much as the man’s monosyllabic vocabulary, and pushes from the wall to get closer. 

Jaskier takes a step back, not eager to be forced into handcuffs in an entirely unsexy way for the second time in three days.

“I’m not in the habit of taking a second job from someone who didn’t pay me my due the first time.”

Not leaving Jaskier the time to parse the meaning of this, the bounty hunter turns and makes his way to his mare.

At a loss of what to do, and probably by force of habit, Jaskier follows after him, dusting the back of his now ruined trousers. When he catches up to him, Geralt is adjusting the straps on Roach’s saddle, the mare snorting disgruntledly at the rough treatment.

“The sheriff told me the penitentiary in Boise has had a breach. There’s a good contract to bring back the escapees. It’s two weeks east.”

“... okay? What- oh, Geralt! Are you asking me to come with you?” Jaskier’s eyes widen with excitement.

“I’m not asking anything,” the man answers gruffly. “Either come or don’t, it’s the same to me.”

“And you bought a horse for me?” Jaskier ignores him completely as he catches sight of the smaller, russet mount hidden by Roach’s bulk. “I knew you appreciated my company, you big softie!”

“It’s a mule. Got it for three dollars with the tack.”

Jaskier gasps as he tries to cover the animal’s slightly too-long ears. “Don’t be rude! He’s a magnificent steed. I’ll call him Pegasus!”

Geralt shakes his head with a put upon sigh, but when he turns back from his meticulous inspection of Roach’s equipment, it’s with Jaskier’s guitar in his hand.

“You can tie it on your own saddle now. I’m done carrying your shit for you.”

Embarrassing tears threaten to spill from Jaskier’s eyes as he retrieves his beloved instrument with reverent hands, but he has a hunch that kind of overtly emotional reaction wouldn’t be well received by his companion. So he flashes his most mischievous smile he can muster - perhaps a little shaky, but Geralt doesn’t mention it - and exclaims: “Oh no, my dear friend. This is the perfect occasion for me to learn how to ride and play simultaneously.”

The groan Geralt gives at that almost gets them spotted by the governor’s henchmen, but they are already far from Oregon City, walking towards the setting sun, when Jaskier’s absence is discovered. 

[prisonprocess]

Tim Goes to Prison

12.

At about Day 70 of Tim’s incarceration, something occurred that made him unhappy for real.  He was out on the Road Detail and the prisoners were spread out along the shoulder, grubbing up trash.  Tim didn’t see it, but Larry and his buddy Brent noticed that some guy in a car had pulled off on a little farm lane.  It was in the trees, just a few feet from the main road.  The guy was standing with his back to the highway, and it was obvious that he was taking a piss.

Larry and Brent crouched down next to the car, and when the guy came back they jumped up and grabbed him by the neck and told him to drive them out of there, while they lay down in the back.  Naturally, the guy thought they had a gun, so he obeyed orders and headed towards the highway.  But the guy was so scared that he missed the road and went into the ditch, and the officers ran over and caught Larry and Brent and took them back to the Facility, where they were given a quick trial and sentenced to “the Real Prison”--the Penitentiary.  Brent got 15 years.  Larry took the blame for planning the escape and “kidnapping” and getting Brent to go along with him, and he got Life.  

Tim was sad about Larry because he looked up to him and because he had been about to suggest that maybe they could exchange information so they could meet on the Outside. Now that would never happen.  Tim wondered how anybody with only a few weeks more to serve could do something that was certain to ruin his life, even if it was just on a sudden impulse.  Tim had heard about self-destructive people, yet the idea still didn’t make sense to him.  Larry must have known what would happen to him--but maybe that was it.  He knew he was on his way to the penitentiary, and this was the exit he took to get there.

Then, sooner than Tim had expected, it was Day 90—the end of the Recovery Program.  Everybody woke up early and walked around nervously, waiting to go home.  Most of them were talking about the things they were looking forward to, like kickin back at their mom’s house and watchin the next game and gettin some real sex for a change.  When an officer finally came and unlocked the door, the guys that had bunked next to Tim shook hands with him and said “glad ta meet ya dude” and “later dude” and so on, and Alex came up and gave him a little hug and said “We HAVE to get together sometime,” which Tim understood was a way of saying “don’t bother to get in touch with me.”

There wasn’t any ceremony at the end; it seemed like the Facility was just happy to get rid of them. The Officer took them to a big room where they sat on some metal folding chairs and waited.  Then a lieutenant came in and said, “OK, this is change-out,” and an officer came in on a little electric cart with stacks of cardboard boxes on it, and those were the boxes where they’d thrown their civilian clothes. So they stripped out of their prison clothes and they put on their civilian clothes.  Everybody’s clothes were all wrinkled, which is maybe why everybody looked smaller in them than they’d looked in their prison suits, although some of them may have needed bigger sizes because they’d grown so much more muscle while they were in the Program.  Tim’s own clothes looked like they were way too young for him, like for some reason he had to wear the clothes of his brother Robert, who was still a high school kid.

There were a couple of yellow school buses sitting in the lot, and Tim got on the one that was going to his home town.  An officer was standing at the door to check off his name and hand him a piece of paper, which he discovered was his Certificate of Completion.  He had survived the Youth Recovery Program.  He was now recovered.  

[arukou-arukou]

Adrift

For @stevetonygames prompt fluff: there was only one bed for team angst. MCU.

Steve managed to keep ahead of the US government and its warrant on his head for two years before Ross finally caught up to him via a monster called the Abomination. Steve could’ve sworn SHIELD had destroyed this awful iteration of Bruce’s formula, but no. SHIELD wasn’t exactly trustworthy, was it. So of course the Abomination had been set free, and while Steve was strong, he wasn’t Hulk strong. He was probably lucky he wasn’t dead, considering the last thing he remembered was the Abomination’s fist connected with his face.

He woke up in the raft, hating that he was familiar with the walls, that he knew that bright piercing florescence. He was laid out on a cot, what essentially amounted to a tarp stretched between metal bars. There was an inhibitor collar on his throat, like the one they’d discovered on Wanda when he rescued them the first go around. He assumed it was sapping the strength to his muscles. Fun.

Once he was awake, Steve expected Ross to come gloating, but no one came. Steve entered a stasis mode, laid out on the cot, listening to the groans of a penitentiary at sea. SHIELD-inspired, no doubt, this idea that fortresses should be ever-moving. Hours passed. There was a hiss at the far end of the room and a meal appeared in a slot, seemingly sent sans human contact. Steve blinked at the sad fair of shortening-baked biscuits (no salt), powdered mashed potatoes barely reconstituted, and indiscriminate meat mash. Still better than the war, probably, but he couldn’t bring himself to be hungry.

He felt like his mind ought to be turning over escape plans or contemplating the nature of justice in a global world, but—and maybe it was the lingering effects of an Abomination-induced coma—his world felt fuzzy. Maybe they’d drugged him. Whatever it was, though, he just couldn’t bring himself to care. What would that headline look like? Captain America starves to death in Raft prison! Of course that was assuming anyone even knew he was there.

But someone knew. Someone always knew. Hours—days? weeks?—after his capture, Tony appeared in the glass doorway, much as he’d apparently appeared to the other rogue Avengers when they were first captured. There was a beep and a hiss and then the door popped open.

“Come on, Big Blue, we’ve got about two minutes before the system reboots.”

Steve blinked slowly, trying to summon up energy, anger, something, anything, to get himself moving again. He couldn’t. The world was a cotton-ball blur.

“Are you hurt? Cap? … Steve?” Tony sounded so small in that moment, Steve actually managed to turn his head to look up. Tony looked terrible. Exhausted, too thin, bruised, bloody. He wasn’t wearing the armor. Where was his armor? Tony stepped forward, kneeling a little to tuck his arm under Steve’s shoulders, but in that moment, the glass door slammed shut again.

Tony whipped around, staring in disbelief. “No. No! Fry? Shit!”

The speakers crackled to life as Tony rushed back to the door, beating ineffectually against the double-layered bulletproof glass. “Mr. Stark. What a surprise. I honestly expected you sooner.” Steve hadn’t been able to muster any energy for Tony, but for Ross, he had a little something left. He heaved himself off the bed and drunkenly hurled himself at the door. The impact was far away, reverberating through his body. Not even a crack appeared in the glass.

“Nice try, Captain, but you see, you’ve broken the law. As has Mr. Stark by coming here to rescue you. We can’t be letting law breakers loose, now can we?” The smug twist in Ross’ voice made Steve’s blood boil, clearing his head in a way it hadn’t been clear in weeks. What had he been doing in that time? There was evidence of his eating in the form of crumbs on the cot, a half-used roll of toilet paper. Had he been sleep-walking through life?

With his new-found clarity, Steve reared back and punched the door again. Three knucklebones broke on impact. Staggering back, Steve cradled his wounded fist in rage. “Fuck,” he hissed, and slumped back down onto the cot, collapsing into a horrible slouch against the wall.

Only then did he turn his attention to Tony, who was huddled in a corner of the cell, legs drawn up and hands over his head. Did he expect Steve to beat him? Well, maybe. After all, Steven had beaten him the last time they’d seen each other. Sighing, Steve rubbed his face. His mouth tasted disgusting. Had he been brushing his teeth? Did he even have a toothbrush. His beard and hair were out of control. Shaggy and greasy. He must look terrifying.

“Tony, are you hurt?”

From his terrified crouch, Tony peeked out through his bony fingers. In any other situation, it would’ve been hilarious, but now, it just filled Steve with an ache of sadness. Tony didn’t respond. Steve had nothing but time now, so he gave Tony his space and instead studied the cell with a new attention he hadn’t had before.

The lights never dimmed. No one came by since the food was delivered via dumbwaiter in hidden compartment. Before Tony had come, Steve had sometimes, in his vague way, wondered if he’d been the last man on earth.

In the corner, Tony slowly rose, still not speaking, and then shuffled over to stand before Steve.

“Hi,” he croaked.

Steve looked up, see again all of the harsh marks of life written into his skin.

“Hi. Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Yeah. Well. Probably should’ve called in your rogue buddies to help me out, but I thought I could rescue you on my own.”

“This was supposed to be a rescue?”

Tony glared, a little of his fire returning. “I should have fucking left you here,” he hissed, venom in his words. “Now Ross has us both right where he wants us.”

Steve couldn’t look away from Tony. He’d missed him. For all their disagreements, for all their mutual betrayals, he’d missed Tony. Before he could think better of it, he snatched Tony’s wrist and yanked him down, messily fumbling Tony into his lap. Steve wrapped both arms around Tony and held on tight, burying his face in Tony’s chest. “Thank you for coming,” he whispered, trying to hold in his tears and snot and failing spectacularly.

Tony was stiff in his grip for several seconds, but finally relaxed, returning the hug. “Believe it or not, buddy, I much prefer you out in the world causing me headaches to you locked up in here looking half-dead.”

“How long have you known I was here?”

“Too long.”

Steve didn’t ask anymore. With any luck FRIDAY was still in the system and listening to every word. There might be hope yet. A small, fragile, bittersweet hope, but hope nonetheless. Oh-so-slowly, Steve slumped sideways into the cot, pulling Tony with him until they were laid out on their sides, twined together still.

“I call big spoon,” Tony mumbled, though his attempt at a joke didn’t really land. Steve only held him closer, breathing in the scent of his shirt, which smelled both of sea and of fear sweat. Tony let him keep his comfort for just a little longer before saying, “How long before Ross comes and throws me in my own isolation cell, do you think?”

Steve didn’t think he had the strength to grip tighter still, but apparently he did. “He can try,” Steve growled, and Tony laughed a little.

“My hero.”

Together they remained, on the single cot, waiting either to be torn apart or to be rescued.

[youarejesting]

NCT127 Incarceration: 1

[MASTERLIST]

Pairing: Unknown (this is a NCT127 fic though it mentions all the members they will not be the focus unfortunately as I cannot keep up trying to write such a big group.)

Genre: Friendship, Comedy, Mystery, Drama, Romance, Action, Adventure, Brains, Sex and more. HONESTLY ALL THE GOOD STUFF.

Summary:  The worlds craftiest criminals held in the most expensive and elaborate prison. Landing yourself among the best of the best, you find that personally prison life isn’t for you. In a room full of criminals who can you trust?

Announcement: My first ever NCT fic please show it some love, just double tap the screen if you find you like it while reading.

It was a prison for the best of the best, the most dangerous and the craftiest. And you had a one-way ticket, you were proud of what you did and you wouldn’t change a thing. 

Blindfolded and driven to the facility you would stay, you noted every turn and counted for estimated travel time and direction. 

You could hear the radio playing, talking about a new development in the town. “So apparently they are building a new estate on the south-east of the prison that would mean that we have surrounded the entire prison making it the safest prison in the world as all the workers of the prison live in each one of those little houses”

“There was some debate when they started building so close that the worker’s families were in danger but now the economy is booming people have a good stable home and the amount of security makes this the safest place in the world”

“Next year they are planning to make a school so children don’t have to travel outside the town for their education. Set on the patch of land off directly south of the prison,”  They took you from the vehicle and wheeled inside.

“Look at your new home” they whipped your blindfold, and you looked around finding out potential escapes and security level. You smiled at the surrounding area. This would be easy for you were good at what you do. 

Your father had taught you well, how to hide in plain sight and it was a harmless trick as a child but had landed you in the most expensive prison in the world. Which by the entranceway was a sign-in desk for the guards, handing over your paperwork as required. They signed you in with the prison name at the top of the page. 

‘The South Korean penitentiary for dangerous and ingenious criminals’

“Why is her blindfold off?”

“Don’t worry, I didn’t see much” you said with an innocent smile. They took you to your cell, the man telling you everything. “So who is the warden?” 

“What makes you think it’s not me?” He said you shrugged knowing full well that they had people from many backgrounds believing they were in their own country but you had read the paperwork. Standing still as they detached you from the carrier they had strapped you to. Your hand dipped into his pocket taking his pen slipping it down your long sleeve. They left shutting the door to the cell behind them, leaving you alone for a short while. Inspecting the place you noticed there were no camera’s in the room but you had noticed some outside in the halls. 

They buzzed the doors, each swinging open, and you walked to the door as directed over the PA system and you all walked single file out to dinner. The whole prison was unisex even your cell block was mixed. You followed seeing a few groups chatting taking a bunch of napkins while you were waiting and began writing some things you didn’t want to forget like what you had seen so far of the floor layout.

“Hey you plotting your big break,” a young man asked he was all smiles, I am Mark, you speak English right they said the new inmate was English, that’s you right?”

“I wouldn’t bother trying, you can’t escape here. Just ask Yuta he has been here the longest out of all of us. He almost escaped once, but he never speaks about what he saw?” Another spoke, “My name is Johnny, and this guy is Mark, over there you got; Kun, Winwin, Ten, Lucas, Hendery, Xiaojun, Yangyang, Renjun and Chenle. They all hang out and keep things pretty hush. They speak Chinese mostly.”

“The table beside them has Taeyong Taeil, Doyoung, Jaehyung, Jungwoo, Jeno, Haechan, Jaemin and the youngest of all of us here Jisung,” Said boy lifted his head and waved mark grinned waving back happily

“Yuta sits alone at that table there and refuses to speak to anyone in any other language than Japanese because of… he… well, I don’t know why,” Mark shrugged sliding down the bench until he was across from you. “That’s everyone in NCT. That is our unit, it stands for Non-Conventional Threat. It means we are not your typical criminals we are the masterminds the best of the best. Next door is the H.O.T unit High-risk Offender Threat. There are only a few in that group and I am sure they have killed people before they have been here for a long time and they have chaperones. There is the After School unit, they are in the south wing they are boys and girls who are going through their schooling from grades one to master degrees. I am Mark as you already know, what is your name?”

“Y/n” you said standing with your tray and walking over to the end table where Yuta sat alone, 

“You always talk too much” Johnny laugh at his friend’s embarrassment.

Sitting across from Yuta he murmured in Japanese “Please leave me alone.”

“No, I think we should trade, I will tell you what I know if you tell me what you know”

“What could you know?”

“We are in the South Korean penitentiary for dangerous and ingenious criminals. The town that surrounds the prison is filled entirely for people who work at this prison so if you escape they can easily find you, except they are building new estate south-east of the prison which means empty homes that someone could hide in. Directly South of the prison behind the town there is a small area they plan to bulldoze next year to make room for their new school”

“How do you know all this?” He eyed you

“I am a genius just like you, and I got a plan, the problem is, it's kind of big and I will need some help you in?”

“Look I don’t want to be part of your scheme there is no escape so just deal with it you are stuck here, just like the rest of us”

You walked away and sat alone at a table observing the room getting the layout, there was a kitchen and by the sound of it there were no doors that lead in or out of the kitchen other than the one connected to the dining hall which meant the kitchen was a dead end. Good to know. Yet there was no visible door’s in the dining hall and the dining hall lead straight to their cells and other than the cells there was no doorway. 

Each cell had a shower sink and toilet unit that came out of the wall and hid back away. So the doors must be the same invisible to the naked eye. With as much skill as you could without making it obvious, you walked over to the Chinese group you spoke a little mandarin. You smiled at them.

“Hello, my name is y/n.” They seemed surprised, and you moved around the table as they all greeted you and you saw the disguised card reader that you could only tell was different to the rest of the wall by the slightly aged and dirty patch on the wall. Just like how light switches collect marks over time from use, this was the same “ah the door is here”

“What?”

“The door into the dining room is here, how else do the workers get inside. You can tell because of the dirty mark from use they rubbed their key cards on the wall” You said in English more to yourself. You didn’t expect Hendery to figure out what you meant let alone recite it to the others. “Don’t make it obvious” you scolded, their heads all snapped to Hendery as he reigned them in.

You wanted to investigate more but your nose started bleeding your head feeling tight from overthinking. Staggering forward you sat down beside Mark who shrieked at the sight and went to get you some napkins.

[spookyold-saintjm]

I [Don’t] Wanna Be Free - Part 4

AHWM Yancy x female reader

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 5

Warnings: Swearing, violence, mentions of death, and shit that just doesn’t make sense sometimes because that’s how the AHWM world operates. ~just some angsty fluff~

Summary: You left Yancy behind and it’s tearing you apart. Yancy might consider life outside the bars, only for you. And Mark doesn’t know you have the box. You’re going to make some stupid decisions.

A/N: Holy hell, thanks to everyone who’s been keeping up with this! Sorry for the delay in updating. This one’s a little longer, and is also the next to last part in this little series! Thanks for reading friends.

_______________________________________________________________________

Weeks passed and you continued to visit Yancy at the penitentiary. Some nights you would take walks outside around the yard, or have a late night picnic with snacks Yancy was able to gather over time or that you were able to carry along. He was quite the talker, and had story after story of all his adventures (although it somewhat pained you to hear him consider his prison activities “adventures”) over the last several years. It was easy for you to see why everyone was drawn to him and how he’d become a natural leader. You weren’t one for many words, so it was a balance.

He didn’t talk much about anything before he’d been put behind bars, mostly because he said he’d been there so long he didn’t remember much. He said it wasn’t worth remembering, he’d said once, anyways. He didn’t really ask about your past, either, but you agreed your story was much the same. He didn’t seem to care much that you were still an active criminal, although you could swear you saw relief wash over him when you admitted you hadn’t killed anyone...at least, not intentionally.

Other nights, after a friendly and only minimally threatening discussion with Yancy’s cell-mate to keep quiet or else, the two of you would sit together on his bunk and read under the glow of tiny book lights that you’d bring along. You brought him scripts to different plays and productions that you could scrounge up, and fantasy novels for yourself. He’d tried to read one of yours once but had gotten hilariously frustrated because he couldn’t understand anything that was going on.

When your eyes got tired, the two of you would sit in silence, simply enjoying each other’s company. You’d rest your head in his lap or vice-versa, drinking in every moment of time you had together. Eventually, you’d worked up the courage to run your fingers through his dark hair while you spent these moments in silence, and in turn he would hold your other hand and rest against you as if you were the only two people left in the world.

Outside of Mark and the occasional people the two of you had regularly hired for various missions in the past, you didn’t really have established relationships with other people. The nature of your work didn’t exactly allow it. That, and there wasn’t really anyone you wanted to let in. Not anymore.

  So, the peculiarity of the connection you and Yancy seemed to have, the fact that you, oddly, felt okay with him, was a mystery to you. It seemed to you that Yancy had similar thoughts. You never explicitly discussed it with each other, but it was a silent agreement. A silent promise to, at least for the couple short hours that you were allotted, give each other an anchor to feel somewhere to belong.

It took everything Yancy had not to talk about your time together to his prison family. Sometimes he’d let a thought about you slip out loud, saying you would have liked a particular number they were working on, or that someone in a film they would watch on movie night reminded him of you. He didn’t see the other inmates give each other passing glances, knowing that Yancy was considering the possibility of parole, because of you. But they weren’t confident in his ability to follow through with it, especially when he’d gotten in yet another fight, and a couple of them had overheard when the warden, despite the anger management classes, the time in solitary, and the years spent without seeing even a glimpse of the outside world, had called him “a lost cause.”

Since the night you’d escaped, you never pressed Yancy further about leaving. He wouldn’t go until he was ready, and you knew nothing would change that. So you chose to simply be there with him, for him, and silently hope that one day it wouldn’t have to be in secret.

But on the outside, things were getting more challenging for you. Mark still believed the warden had the box locked up in a high security vault deeper in the prison than you’d been able to access before. And plans had been all but finalized for the mission to get it back.

You didn’t know why you hadn’t told him you’d had it all along…but there was an creeping feeling in your gut that had told you it was a bad idea. It would have been so much easier, but it was too late to go back on it. He wouldn’t trust you anymore if you told him now…and despite his typically happy-go-lucky exterior, having Mark distrust you was a position no one wanted to be in.

However, he had been concerned about your behavior as of late; you had been more distant in meetings and were away much more often than before…no one knew about your visits with Yancy. And you hadn’t realized how much the very idea of him had consumed so much of your waking thought.

“Hey, y/n!” Mark stopped you one day as you were walking down the hall at base, on your way home. “I wanted to talk to you.” He clapped a hand on your shoulder, “You’ve been a little…off lately. What’s going on, buddy?”

You claimed you weren’t quite sure what he meant, and he chuckled nervously. “Well, for starters, you uhh almost choked one of our hires to death? And then you almost cut another’s hand off? Not to mention the day you almost stuck a fork in my eye, it’s been a few years since you tried that one..”

You ran all the possible ways you could respond through your mind in the seconds it takes to seem to think on it and let out a dramatically heavy sigh. Yeah, you had some “personal" stuff going on, you supposed.

“Ohh, I bet this is about a man, then, huh??” Mark asked, shaking your shoulder a little. “Or, woman, maybe?? Either way, that’s exciting!! I mean, not exciting that you’re having troubles but, well, oh you knowI LOVE some good relationship drama.” He was practically bouncing in excitement.

You feigned embarrassment and swiped his hand off your shoulder, telling him to fuck off.

Mark feigned offense at your words, making you roll your eyes and crack a smile in response. “Well,” he said carefully, "if it’s making you that angry, maybe you should break it off. Don’t get me wrong, I love seeing you duke it out with everybody like you did in the old days, but you gotta admit it’s not good for our…job turnover.”

You shook your head. It wasn't quite that simple, you'd admit. But you’d try to do better at checking your emotions when it came to matters at base.

Mark nodded in approval. “Great. Good. Yeah. Well, I’ll see you around, okay? Tomorrow’s the big day, uh well, night!” He patted your back in excited encouragement before heading off to his destination, leaving you to stand alone in the hall with your stomach burning and your throat tightening in dread.

There was no avoiding it now; Mark would get the box back, and its contents, no matter what. He didn’t give in on what he wanted, you knew all too well. You could no longer bear the gnawing fear slowly spreading throughout your insides the longer you had the box in your possession. You’d spent night after night playing out all the options…and you’d decided that your onlychoice was to plant the box right where Mark expected it to be. You would let him have it, after all.

That meant only one more visit to the prison. To Yancy. And the part that ate away at you the most was the fear that it would very likely be the last.

------

You didn’t bring along anything special with you this time, other than the box, of course. Your lungs felt like they were caving in, but you forced a smile to cross your face when you found Yancy, surprisingly waiting for you in the hallway outside his cell. 

“Gerald left it open for me tonight,” he supplied as he jumped up from the floor and wrapped his arms around you. You allowed yourself the smallest moment to melt into his embrace, taking in his scent and scrounging up the willpower you’d need to tell him what was going on. “Told him another sob story about a dog I used ta have,” Yancy continued, "and the fella caved right away, says I can walk some laps around tonight to gets myself a clear head.” You heard him chuckle ever so slightly. “Gullible bastard.”

Yancy started to pull away from you, but noticed you weren’t moving, or telling him to keep his voice down like usual. You had already felt tears begin to well up in your eyes, and were trying to force them back down before he could look at you. 

“y/n?” He asked, playfully scratching the top of your head and lowering his voice to a whisper. “I’se shuttin' up now, sees?” You could feel him make a motion to zip his lips shut, but you didn’t budge.

You hesitated a moment longer before pulling away, forcing the smile back onto your lips. But Yancy wasn’t a fool, and didn’t waste any time grabbing your hand to pull you toward the outside of the prison. Once you were outside, barely keeping up with his long stride, he checked the yard for any lingering security guards, then sat you down underneath the tree where the two of you often spent time together.

“What’s going on, doll face?” He asked. “Look at me.” He reached out to you, tilting your chin up so that you were facing him. You couldn’t meet his eyes, and closed them while you sighed through your nose to steady yourself. He allowed you the moment to collect yourself, and then you told him everything. You went straight to the point, told him what had happened and what was to come; no use in dragging it on.

“So, what youse is saying is…you ain’t coming back after tonight, huh?” It felt like a gunshot to the chest to hear him say the words out loud, but you nodded. He only let out a short hum in reply, and the two of you sat for a while without speaking, the sides of your bodies barely touching, much like the first night you’d seen each other since your escape.

Yancy’s hand dropped, feather-light, on top of yours. It grew heavier the longer you sat there, as if he thought maybe it would weigh you down, would keep you from leaving. But he knew you didn’t have a choice. He, too, had been forced to make choices that had hurt him. Still, he couldn’t help but feel the pang of guilt, the fact that if it weren’t for him, you wouldn’t be in this position to begin with.

He hadn’t realized he’d said the thought out loud until you were pleading him not to think that way. You’d done it to yourself, your own choices in life had led up to this. Not his. And you were so sorry it had to be this way. 

“Don’t talk like that, y/n. You don’t know what’s gonna happen! Maybe we can’t sees each other for a while, but I told you, I’se gonna get outta heres.” He scratched the back of his neck, looking down to the grass you both sat on. “I mean, ah, I’se gonna try my best, anyways. I think I, I really—I wanna be free. Well, if it’s with youse.”

You heart was stuttering in your chest, threatening to break out of its cage. You’d never expected to hear him say it, and definitely not just because of you. You knew he’d been trying to be better, really trying, but you realized in that moment how serious he truly was.

You muttered his name a couple times and shook your head, part in sadness, part in disbelief at what things had come to. You dropped your head to rest against his shoulder, and all but curled yourself into him. He wrapped his arms around you, a shield against the ever-chilling night air. You felt his lips press softly onto the top of your head, and once he’d pulled away you lifted your head to pull him back down into a long kiss.

He reached up to cup your cheek with one hand and bring you even closer to him, his thumb reaching to wipe away the spots where tears had managed to escape. Your hands were around his arms, on top of his shoulders, in his hair as you kissed.

Soon he was pulling you onto his lap, and with your nod of permission his hands were everywhere, taking in and memorizing every bit of you that he still could, and you returned his urgency with that of your own. Your lips separated only you to catch your breath, foreheads pressed against each other, both of you lightly gasping for air.

“Wanna go inside...?” Yancy suggested, his voice almost a whisper next to your ear, and you quickly nodded in reply as he helped you to your feet, your head foggy with the electricity still buzzing though your body. Yancy grabbed your hand and started to lead you back into the prison, but after a couple steps, you froze and abruptly yanked him to a halt as the air was sucked from your lungs. You stared across the yard unable to move or speak.

“y/n, what’s—”

He quickly followed your stare, and he saw, too.

“Oh. This ain’t good."

Across the yard, by the gate that led to the outside, stood a single figure, dressed head-to-toe in black.

Mark.

_______________________________________________________________________

@rats-this-username-is-taken @dragonangel201 @just-a-werido @ultra-mysticartisanbouquet @theworsttrashofall @writer-girl99 @pupylvr4905 @fastidious-and-a-mess @maraudersforlife5922 @your-handsome-dad-kenneth​ @mirrored-calamity​ @foxyfoxsshinythings​ @jinxjinn​ @jazz-playing-queer​ @hypo-crates​ @itisadragon​ @jennabonenna @god-tier-dumbass​ @justaside-blog @antis-sock @naniky​ @joebob15274 @mygamingknight​ 

[galadrieljones]

The Lily Farm - Chapter 46

AO3 | Masterpost

Pairing: Arthur x Mary Beth

Rating: M (Mature) - sexual content, violence, and adult themes

Summary: After Sean’s death, Mary Beth asks Arthur to take her on a hunting trip, somewhere far away. What takes place at first is a simple love story: full of trials and journeys that they must endure together, as a team. But over time, things complicate. The gang is in trouble, and as Arthur and Mary Beth aim to set out on their own one day, they must find a way to help those they love while eventually, finding escape. Their ultimate goal is to go north with the Marstons, to find the bucolic stretches of Wisconsin where, rumor has it, there are lily farms. Will they make it? How will they survive when all hope seems lost? This is their story.

Chapter 46: The Widow of Willard’s Rest, Pt. 1

***BEGINNING OF PART IV: AMERICAN PASTORAL***

Most days at Deer Cottage, Arthur would wake up early. He would go outside to chop firewood, and then he’d kindle the fire and drink coffee and smoke cigarettes outside. Most mornings, he would fish, but as the days were getting colder and shorter, sometimes he would just set up a trap line on the Kamassa to leave out all day instead, and then hike back up the ridge to the wooded hinterlands and hunt whitetail. He always rode home with enough to cook, smoke, and cure. He would then come back down to the river, empty out the fish trap and with any luck find a sturgeon or a largemouth bass. His new filly Leah, who he named for another character that he remembered from the Old Testament, which he had learned to read from many years before, was a fast girl and even in her temperament. She did not always take well to strange animals, and she had a wary look in her eye upon most passers-through. But she was wise to predators and upon Arthur’s constant and gentle reassurance, mostly a brave and kind girl.

Mary Beth seemed to need a lot of sleep, meanwhile. But she would stay up late knitting sweaters for everybody she knew, as winter was coming now, and she was anxious, and she needed something to keep her hands busy. Most days she did not wake up until Arthur was already busy with his routine, elsewhere, having left her a note or sometimes a little drawing with a pot of coffee on the stove. She wanted to be useful. She was used to having chores, hence the sweaters, and they were scarce on laundry so she made sure to keep things clean. She tidied the cottage in its every corner. There wasn’t much for berries this time of year, but Arthur had found an apple tree and with the dwindling autumn crop, she would bake. She read everything she could find, over and over again, and she wrote prose here and there, but her mind was occupied with a lot of worry and restlessness those days. The baby, the gang. Arthur would take her out shooting, and this seemed to help. He taught her to use every kind of gun. She tended the horses in the barn, which Arthur had built with help from Hamish over a period of one week. It was ramshackle business, but it would do.

Arthur and Mary Beth had been lying low in Roanoke Ridge now for three months. Together they rode into Annesburg at the end of every week, on Sunday, to check the post for word from Dutch, and to buy supplies and the newspaper. Annesburg was a mining community, and its little camps of gutter homes all lined up in a row made Mary Beth sad. As a boomtown, however, Arthur had said it reminded him of Virginia City, Nevada, a place to which he had traveled many years before right after he’d been more or less adopted by Dutch and Hosea. “They took me there,” he told her one Sunday, as they rode into town, down from the hills, “and we set up shop for many weeks. I pulled my weight in the gang at the blackjack tables for a long time, and I knew how to wrangle, and looking back, weren’t nobody better at keeping his head down than me.” He then sighed and grew stoic with concern. “Virginia City is where Susan taught me a thing or two about dancing,” he said, too, chewing on a reed or a piece of bark, smoking a cigarette, wearing an old cowboy hat given to him as a gift from Hamish. He was trying to make her feel better. The gunsmith in Annesburg was chatty and liked their company, too, so they would often make conversation with him. He thought they were implants from the western plains, looking to start a new life, and they supposed it was not altogether untrue.

There was still no word from Dutch. But the papers were quiet, which was a good sign. There had been a story on the “riverboat massacre” some weeks back—that’s what they’d called it down at the St. Denis Times—but no civilians had been killed, and authorities did not seem to know who or what had caused the blow-up. It had been reported that Angelo Bronte, foreign national and local philanthropist, had gone missing for a time, but he was back now, and safe, having claimed to be on vacation up the river, and though this was suspicious, there was not much to make of the feeling. Meanwhile the Mayor was in trouble with the state government for something or other. It looked like he might even get ousted from office. But Arthur did not keep up with politics. He didn’t care what happened to Lemieux nor Bronte, for he and Mary Beth were long gone, and they were never going back to Lemoyne.

There had been one letter in all those months—from Ranger Call. He kept coy and symbolic in his language, but in the letter, he hinted at a complicating factor involving John and the federal penitentiary. This worried them both gravely. Apparently, there was a hold-up on moving the gang to a more permanent relocation, and they’d had to take temporary shelter in Lakay until the problem was solved. But this had been weeks before. The letter also said they were going west, maybe. Or continuing north. That was what Dutch had claimed, but there was uncertainty.

Some members of the gang had gone, claimed Woodrow. Namely, Micah. The asshole feller with the handlebar mustache, he wrote. He went by the wayside when the Man attenuated their plans to rob a city bank. Some wonder if he is even still alive, as a couple days before his disappearance, he had gotten in a tussle with Mr. Matthews, who threatened his life. He said there would be more news when the gang found camp once more. Do not come to Lakay, Mr. Morgan, said the letter. For the Man has sent scouts high and low, from the Grizzlies East to the Big Valley. There will be salvation soon. In the meantime, Mr. Matthews thinks it would be safest, per Mrs. Morgan’s condition, and for how recognizable you have become down here in Lemoyne, for the two of you to remain where you are. The letter also contained information about the Wintersons. They are okay, it said. They are in Chicago and will return in a matter of months. This was a relief. Of course, they tried not to fret too much over John, as all they could do from here was, ironically enough, have faith that it was under control, counting on both Dutch and Hosea as so often they had done in the past.

In the end, there was very little else that Arthur and Mary Beth could do now but survive, not until they got word on where to go next. Hamish had traveled up to visit them on a few occasions. He was doing okay, and he and Arthur would hunt big game during the day and then at twilight they would all go fishing. Other than the constant worrying over John and the rest of the gang, and the occasional fears for the coming winter, and the baby, the way they were living up there in the Roanoke Valley, it wasn’t so bad. There was so much solitude, privacy, time to just be together. It was a privilege they had not been able to entertain in a very long time. Sometimes at night, Mary Beth would cook up a fine dinner, and they would play music on the gramophone, dance as they had that first night they had admitted their love to one another so long ago. Of course they laughed while they did it. It was silly, and they were rare to approach these sorts of sentimental affairs without sarcasm those days. But that was the point. Arthur would fashion a flower from behind her ear, little magic tricks that he had picked from Josiah, and they would talk and play cards and sip whiskey tea. Arthur had a way of letting it all roll right off of him, like raindrops on a tin roof, and that reassured Mary Beth and got her to focus on the day-to-day. She knew how he held the big picture in his mind like a story, navigating the plot, keeping calm. He had not always been so calm, he thought. This was such a positive development for him that had taken some time, and a lot of work. She was starting to show a little bit now, under her dress. They both saw it. Whenever he himself wanted soothing, he would place his head in her lap in the evenings while they listened to music and looked at the fire. She would tell him stories she made up out of the ether. Stories about escaped princesses with swords and poison arrows, and the country knights who loved and defended them. In Mary Beth’s stories, the knights needed protection, too. They were not immortal, or demigods. Just men, she would say. Arthur liked her stories very much.

One day, when the weather was nice, Arthur and Mary Beth rode north up the river with a mind to do some fishing near Brandywine Drop. They kept riding as the sun was warming their backs from its place in the sky, and it felt good. There had been snow already up in these hills, but it was melting off the trees that day and muddy, and Arthur shot a cougar from a distance with his rifle and then together they observed a moose nosing its way through the pines. They decided to camp after clearing the area for Murfree Brood. There were none about that day. Before the sun went down that day, they were just riding up the river, looking for a place to camp when they came upon a woman up the hillside, under a ridge, crying. When they found her, she was sitting on her knees in front of a wooden cross stuck in the dirt, a grave. She was not dressed warm enough for the weather, and she was very dirty. She had dark hair falling apart all around her face in pieces. Both Arthur and Mary Beth were concerned. They approached on horseback. When she saw them, she staggered to her feet and looked terrified. She clutched herself. Arthur stayed back, but Mary Beth got off her horse. She went toward the woman carefully, with her hands in front of her. She said, “It’s okay. We ain’t gonna hurt you.”

The woman looked around, like she was hopeless. She seemed to trust Mary Beth, as most did. “Who are you?” she said.

“I’m Mary Beth, and this is my husband Arthur," she said. "We’ve been living in a cottage just down the river. We’ve been there a few months. How long have you been up here?”

The woman looked back to Arthur, who removed his hat in chivalry. He still did not dismount his horse. He knew what he must have looked like out here to a woman all on her own. He didn’t want to scare her.

“Um,” said the woman, as if gathering her faculties. “We came here—a month ago? Maybe more. I don’t know.”

“Who’s we, ma’am?” said Arthur. “If you don’t mind my asking.”

“My husband and me,” she said. She seemed to brace herself, then looked back at the cross, the grave. She was crying, a little. “We came out here from back east, Philadelphia.”

Mary Beth got a little closer. She stood beside the woman. “What happened?”

The woman dried her eyes on her sleeve. She shook her head in a combination of sadness and shock. “A bear,” she said, staring at the grave. “It was horrifying. He survived, but only a couple of days."

“Oh my,” said Mary Beth, in near on disbelief. She placed her hand on the woman’s shoulder to comfort her. The woman did not protest.

“I buried him, maybe a week ago," she said.

Mary Beth glanced back to Arthur, who shook his head in sadness. This was worse than it seemed, they both thought together, and they were needed. He got off his horse and came over. When he did, the woman looked up at him. She was very small, smaller than Mary Beth even. But Arthur had a way of softening his demeanor when he wanted to. He took a deep breath. “We are very sorry for your loss, ma’am,” he said.

“Thank you.” She seemed confused, like she was getting lost in his eyes, or like somehow she had forgotten where she was.

“Is there a town, or a train station that we can take you to?" he said. "You shouldn’t be out here alone. I know you’re—I know you’re grieving, but it really ain’t safe.”

“What?” she said. She snapped out of it then, almost immediately. “No. No, I can’t leave.”

“All do respect, ma’am, but why not?”

"Because it was our dream.”

“Your dream?”

“Yes,” said the woman, almost defiant. “We came out here from the city in search of a different life. Something true. Something real. I hate to say that we found it, in the worst possible way, but we did. And I can’t leave now. I can’t leave him behind.” She looked back to the grave. She closed her eyes. "For you." She said his name then, which was Cal.

Mary Beth, still with her hand on the woman’s shoulder, was looking at Arthur like she didn’t quite know how to proceed. They couldn’t leave the woman alone up here. It was feral country, and winter was coming. Surely, she would die. Arthur shrugged. Mary Beth did, too.

“What’s your name?” she said, to the woman.

“Charlotte,” said the woman. “Charlotte Balfour.”

“Well, Charlotte,” said Mary Beth. “Maybe we can help you then, get back on your feet.”

Charlotte looked at them like they were crazy. “Help me?”

“Yeah,” said Mary Beth. “Me and Arthur—well, Arthur especially—we been living on the range a long time, and like I said, we’re so nearby.”

“You’ll starve out here,” said Arthur, watching the woman, closely. “That is, if something else don't get to you first. Bear, mountain lions, or worse. You know how to hunt?”

Charlotte laughed to herself then. It was a strange sound amidst all the sadness. “No,” she said. “Of course not. And of course, I’m nearly out of food.”

Arthur smiled at this. “Well, we’ll teach you.”

“You’ll teach me?”

“Of course,” said Arthur. “Mary Beth here, even she knows how to use a rifle.”

“Ain’t nothing to it,” said Mary Beth.

Charlotte watched them, like she didn't fully understand, but she was listening. Somewhere far away, there was a loon going off, ringing in the twilight. The air was getting colder as the sun was going down past the ridge line. “Okay,” she said, with hesitance.

“Good,” said Arthur, almost soft now. He was half-groomed that day. He’d let Mary Beth cut his hair, had trimmed down his beard. It was probably a good thing. When you could see his eyes, his whole face, he had a kind and a sturdy look that most people trusted. He really was a warm man. “You got a rifle?” he went on. “If not, that’s okay. We got guns.”

“I do,” she said. “I have a couple.”

“Where’s your house?”

“Up the ridge,” she said. “Come, I’ll show you.”

They followed her up a long path to a small homestead painted green. There was a barn and a chicken coup. The coup was bustling, but it looked to Mary Beth that the eggs had not been harvested in a while. “You got eggs here,” she said. “Do you mind if I bring some in for you?”

“Oh,” said Charlotte, like she had not noticed. She was so thin. It looked like she probably had not eaten or slept proper since her husband, maybe not since Philadelphia. “Of course not. Thank you.”

“Any time.”

Mary Beth gathered a dozen or so into her skirt. When she came over, Charlotte seemed to notice then that she might have been pregnant, but she didn’t say anything. They stood on the porch. Arthur was quiet and calm, chewing on a toothpick.

Before she let them in the house, Charlotte stopped with her hand on the door handle. She looked inquisitive and she said, “What—or, who exactly are you?” She seemed embarrassed by the question, like she’d meant to say something more formal. “I just mean—why have you come to the Roanoke Valley? What is it that you do here?”

Mary Beth smiled.

“We’ve had all manner of jobs,” said Arthur. “We been on the road for some time now, and the road gets weary. Like you, we’re looking for a new life.”

This seemed to reassure Charlotte. She smiled down at her muddy but elegant boots. “Oh," she said. "Well, I should say, you look like farmers, or ranchers, maybe? Salt of the earth, if you will.”

“You ain’t wrong,” said Arthur. But he said not more. They went inside then, where Charlotte showed them around her modest home. There was lovely wallpaper and heavy oak furniture. Charlotte was digging around in a big leather trunk by the window, and Arthur and Mary Beth were waiting patiently, but by the time she finally found the rifles and the bullets, it was getting dark, and too cold to go back outside.

“Oh, good heavens,” she said, looking out the window, then at her watch. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” said Arthur.

“Would you stay the night?” she asked them, like she was desperate. She’d been picking at the skin around her fingernails, Mary Beth had noticed. She was so nervous, and worried, and scared and sad and alone. Mary Beth had not met another woman like her since they'd picked up Sadie up near Colter. “I have an extra bedroom," Charlotte went on, "with a bed big enough for the two of you. I just—now that you’ve come, I—”

“Sure,” said Mary Beth. She went to the kitchen table to sort the eggs into a basket, and Arthur was just sort of wandering around with his shotgun still slung over his shoulder. There were some pictures hanging on the wall of Charlotte and the man who must have been her husband, pictures which he was looking at. “We’ll stay. Right, baby?”

“Huh?” said Arthur, only half-listening as he looked at the pictures.

“I said, we’ll stay. We can go out and have a fresh start in the morning. Right?"

He surfaced then, looked at her, easy-going. “Sure,” he said. “Why not?”

Charlotte was relieved.

She showed them to their room. It was simple but beautiful with a high, brass bed and a white comforter stuffed with down feathers. There was not much for food that night, so Arthur stoked the hearth and went back out in the dark to hunt some rabbit, alone, while Mary Beth fried a couple of eggs and made her famous whiskey tea. Charlotte ate the eggs hungrily, though Mary Beth could still sense her trying to be demure about it. They sat on the small sofa together, sipping the tea then, looking at the fire. Mary Beth felt warm and comfortable and though she felt bad for Charlotte, and she could not herself imagine losing her husband and still finding a way to survive, she tried not to pity her, for she, too, had once been a woman all alone in the wild, and after all, she was glad to have a job now, something to do, somebody to help. For a while there, it seemed she and Arthur were always the ones who needed saving.

“Your husband,” said Charlotte after a little while. She was distant, sobered. “He seems very…sturdy, and wise. And you do, too. Do the two of you always know exactly what to do?”

The question was earnest. Mary Beth found it amusing. “Of course not,” she said. “We have found ourselves in our fair share of trouble over the years. But when it comes to surviving in the wild, it's true that we’ve got skills.”

“How long have you been married?” said Charlotte. The fire crackled. The room was warm.

“Not too long,” said Mary Beth. “Maybe four or five months? I am losing track of the weeks now. But we have known each other for a lot longer than that.”

“How did you meet?” said Charlotte.

Mary Beth took a long drink of her tea. She looked at Charlotte and could tell that she was just desperately lonely, that she needed preoccupation and companionship. Mary Beth didn’t want to lie to her. “We met in Kansas City,” she said, shoving the hair out of her face. Her curls were messy from the day. “I was only nineteen, living completely on my own. I was an orphan, and I didn’t have nothing to my name. I was in trouble back then, and alone. Like you. But I met Arthur and his…well, his family, I guess. They took me in.”

Charlotte was listening, rapt. She seemed surprised, maybe, that it was so bad. Like she did not know what to say. It seemed her instinct then to back off. She didn’t ask for anymore details, but she did not close herself off emotionally. She just had a certain polish about her, a certain sheen, even despite her current predicament. For this, and coupled with everything else from the wallpaper to the fine quality of her leather boots, Mary Beth could tell she came from money. “You're so brave," said Charlotte, shaking her head. "It's terrible you had to go through all of that."

"I am no worse for the wear," said Mary Beth. "I found Arthur from it. But thank you."

"My husband and I had all the safety in the world,” she said then, shaking her head like it was just so stupid, so small and silly in comparison. “And still, it wasn’t enough. What a pair of fools.” She closed her eyes. A little tear plopped out. “This was his dream, to escape our lives," she said. "Our lives of privilege, of predictability. And I followed him.”

“I understand that,” said Mary Beth.

“How is it that you’re not afraid?” she said then, opening her wide, pale eyes. “Living…on the range, as you said earlier. All alone? Everything you’ve been through. It sounds so hard, and terrifying. I’ve never known hardship before—before all this. I am a stupid woman, and I am starting to wonder now if I should have been smarter. Maybe I should have been more argumentative, said no. Maybe we never should have come here.” She looked away, at the hardwood floors, which looked new.

“Well, I do get afraid,” said Mary Beth, sincerely. She placed her hand on Charlotte’s hand where they sat in front of the fire. “I get afraid all the damn time."

"You do?"

"Yes. Mostly of losing Arthur," said Mary Beth, "as I have lost so much before him, and I know what that’s like. Losing. As I said, I understand. But listen, Charlotte. It don’t matter where you come from, or who you are. There’s always something better out there, waiting. That's what I'm learning. There’s always something to escape from, and there’s always somewhere better you’re trying to be. You should try not to regret what you did. You don’t know what might’ve happened if you’d stayed in the city. Life is so fragile, I think, and you got to do what you want. It’s easy to worry too much. We gotta...keep perspective. For as long as we can. That's what I'm doing right now. I'm keeping perspective. Arthur helps me with that. There's a lot going on in my life, that's scary, but you know, you don't really find the meaning in life on your own. It finds you. Like with me and Arthur. We was friends for…years, before love found us. Life can be real bad, I reckon, but you never know what’s gonna happen that’s good. Right? So you just gotta keep living, and that’s it, right?” She sat back and placed her hand on her little tummy, as if to reassure herself with the same words she was using to try and reassure Charlotte. "You just gotta try." She sipped her tea and smiled in such a way so that she would seem strong, and like she knew what she was talking about. It was true, she herself was struggling with such similar predicaments, but her husband was alive, and in that, she was the sturdier woman on the sofa that day, by far, so she acted like it.

Charlotte, meanwhile, was staring at Mary Beth, and then looking down into her tea and then back at the fire. They heard Arthur’s heavy boots then, out on the porch. They both glanced toward the sound with immense relief. Charlotte then suddenly looked back to Mary Beth, brightening up a little. She was not okay, but Mary Beth had hit on something it seemed—she was reassured. “Thank you,” she said. “So much. I hate to be a burden to strangers. But you are good people.”

Mary Beth waved her off as the atmosphere between them changed and grown more comfortable. “Don’t worry about it,” she said. “And I hope we won’t stay strangers for long.”

Charlotte smiled. “Me, too.”

Arthur came in the door then. He took off his hat and shook the cold off. He had two rabbits, skinned and cleaned and tied together, laying over his shoulder. “Lord in heaven, it’s cold out there,” he said. He looked at them fondly then, huddled on the sofa, blowing into his hands. “But you two ladies look nice and cozy.”

“Is those rabbits ready to cook?” said Mary Beth.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Thank you,” said Charlotte. She rose from the sofa. Went to him and took the rabbits off his hands. “Thank you, so much, Arthur.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said. He rubbed his hands together and looked at Mary Beth. “You got anymore of that tea, my lady?”

“Yes, sir,” said Mary Beth. She got up to pour him some. He took off his jacket and went to warm himself by the fire, and when she handed him the mug, he thanked her and kissed her on the head. Then he came and sat at the kitchen table. Mary Beth helped Charlotte to prepare a stew and they all three of them chatted for a while. Charlotte had some carrots, cabbage, and salt in her pantry, which they chopped up and used generously. As they were sitting down for dinner a little while later, they looked out the window. It was starting to snow.

“Sweet Christmas,” said Mary Beth. “Is that snow?”

“I guess we’re in it,” said Arthur, amused. He seemed so relaxed there, so deeply in his element. He tucked one of Charlotte’s fine cloth napkins into his collar. “Winter is upon us."

“I guess so,” said Charlotte, like she was unsure. They ate their stew.

As they did, the wind howled through the chimney, filling the room with its strange reminder of all the uncertainty beyond, all of which seemed so inconsequential while they were safe and sound there inside those walls. So much had started, finished, been found, and lost. And yet, there was still so much to do, it seemed, to weather the storm.

[wkm-detective-abe-squad]

All Together, Prologue and Part 1

Making A Plan

Word Count: 2257

Based on this AHWM AU

Warnings: None

Author’s Notes at the end

Some say that the night is dead, that it is silent and empty, but that is never quite the case. As the moon rises and the world is lulled to sleep there is always someone, somewhere who resists the darkness’s lullaby. An owl, willingly or not, left to their own devices as the stars above make their journey across the skies.

Tonight, however, seemed to be filled with a whole flock, ruffling their feathers as wide eyes search for something far from their grasp, something that cannot be hunted by one alone.

With their skills, their experience, and their hints of jumbled memories, success appears to be in reach, despite the secrets, the conflicts, and the haunting truth.

However,

It is also important to note the average owl’s brain only takes up about ⅓ of its skull.

Which can equate to roughly the size of a thimble in some species.

…

Do with that information as you will.

________________________________________________________________

Blue and red hues colored the moonlight gently streaming into the lab, as the steady hum of machines filled the void with quiet noise. At the hour of 4 am, the halls should have been emptied hours ago, but of course science never sleeps, so neither did the scientist. It wasn’t healthy, she that more than anybody, but she considered it a small price to pay for what was at stake.

At least that’s what she told herself. It was difficult to label what exactly was at stake when nothing simply made sense anymore. Nothing was adding up in the way they should, and the scientific method she held on to appeared to be failing her at every turn.

The first indicator of something being amiss was the time. Yes, staying up till 4 in the morning was horrendous for a person’s circadian rhythm, but that wasn’t the major issue. The major issue was that the sun was shining bright, and the clock was reading 2:37 pm up until she had turned from her desk until just moments ago to be met with darkened windows. Yes, perhaps Einstein’s theory of relativity could be to blame, but she wasn’t that absorbed in her work… okay maybe she was, but even she had to get up once in awhile in the span of roughly 13 hours that had somehow passed in an instant.

The second indicator was a feeling that was gnawing at her from the inside out. A sense of Deja vu that would never leave, a constant feeling of a word stuck on the tip of her tongue, and bits and pieces of memories in her brain that seemed logically impossible, even in her dreams.

What did it all mean?

Despite the piles of handwritten notes strewn across her desk, she felt completely at a loss. At least she had the newly built Time Anomaly Tracker… that she had no recollection of building, to show for.

Maybe she just needed a break from it. Maybe things would make more sense in the morning after what little sleep she could get.

But first she needed to slow down the wheels turning in her mind. It was a good thing there was an old TV in the break room, that should do the trick. It didn’t take her long to plop down onto a dusty couch and grab the remote. Hopefully it would be enough to distract her from all her thoughts. 

-click-

“Order your bubbles today-”

-click-

“Welcome to Warfs-”

-click-

“You think she cares? Bad Dog!”

-click-

So picky, she couldn’t help but drone through the different channels until a shaky camera and a stuttering voice caught her attention.

“Hello everybody this is Jim, and this is my associate Jim. Welcome to this Jim News Exclusive -stay low, stay low- Tonight, we bring to you-” the reporter paused for a moment to dramatically point to the camera, as if this was a message directly to Rose Beauregard herself, “live footage from the scene of the crime. The crime of robbery. A robbery so mysterious, so mystifying that no one could even pathom how the the robberors could have broken into this heavily guarded museum in the first place!”

From the way they were sneaking around, it appeared that the reporters had broken into the museum. It was actually quite impressive considering the lines of caution tape that wrapped some exhibits like Christmas presents, the addition of a laser based alarm system, and the obscene number of patrolling guards and policemen that could be easily seen in the background.

"We must be careful Jim we don’t know what dangers may be lurking abo- oh hand me the steak," it was thrown off camera, quickly followed by a distant voice cheering in delight about the free snack, “The Old Steak Trick, works most of the time.”

Soon, maybe a little bit too soon, the Jims approached a very much unlocked and strangely unprotected vault. 

“Here it is, the grisly scene. Not one, not seven, not four, but two insidious individuals committed the reprehensible act of theft in this very vault. Yes, the item that once here is no longer here. It has disappeared, off with the perpetrators. We have no confirmation about exactly what it is they actually stole, but we have our theories. It could have been a treasure map or an ancient salt shaker, it may be from another world or the source of a time anomaly, it could be fairy (like the ones we learned about in history class) or the world’s oldest picnic basket, it could be all of these, it could be nothing at all, the possibilities are endless.”

“Now I’m sure many of you watching at home are shaking in utter fear, I am too, but fear not. Thankfully for you innocent, or perhaps not so innocent civilians, justice hit them hard, even harder than how Cousin Jim was hit by that bus, and a great many times quicker. Our inside resource has informed us Jims about the fates of Mark Iplier and his assistant Y/N. They are already locked up, far, far away at Happy Trails Penitentiary to never see the light of day again. We are safe, for now.”

“However, there is still a mystery to be solved. For unknown reasons, the object of question has not been returned to its rightful place. It’s tragic on every degree, that poor stolen object, it must be so scared and alone now that its captors are behind bars. But that is why we have taken it upon ourselves to get answers. And this time I swear, on every Jim ever to Jim, that we will find an answer to whatever, wherever, whenever, and whyever this thing is-”

The Jim’s voice was cut off by another’s, which resulted in the reporters and their sole viewer being being thrown off guard. In their hasty escape, the camera tumbled to the ground, making it even more difficult to decipher who the new person was. From the small glimpse, it didn’t appear like they worked at the museum, nor were they dressed as any law enforcer. Nevertheless, they didn’t seem so glad to see the trespassers.

“You two again!? Why won’t you quit?!?” was the last thing to be heard before the screen was claimed by static.

The scientist simply sat on, dumbfounded by whatever the hell she just watched. Her head was filled with so many questions she wasn’t even sure where to begin. There was a heist at a public museum, yet no one knows what was stolen? How were the perpetrators already in jail? Didn’t the crime just happen? When was the trial? And why did everything seem like it was…

Out of order.

“Mark Iplier… Y/N… A time anomaly”

It all finally clicked. 

This had all happened before. Well, sort of. The events were different as far as she remembered. Thankfully it appeared she was no longer in a timeline riddled with the undead and raiders, and undead raiders. However… if she had already destroyed the anomaly before, all of the time-space issues should have been fixed right? Unless, of course, her original hypothesis about of all this was wrong. Perhaps it wasn’t the box causing all the trouble, maybe, it was Y/N and maybe this Mark causing the trouble. The strangeness always seemed to be triggered by them afterall. 

Too many of her questions were still left unanswered, which only served to fuel her curiosity and need to fix this once and for all. However, this time Rose was no longer at a complete loss, she now had a lead, which only meant one thing:

Off to Happy Trails Penitentiary.

________________________________________________________________

Blue and red hues colored the moonlight blanketing the courtyard, as the blaring call of ambulance sirens added to the usual chaos of the night. 4 am was too late for any of this, but crime never slept, and apparently neither did any of the criminals. Which in turn led to a very sleep deprived and grouchy warden that now that had to deal with one prisoner being punched through the wall and another pulling off a magic disappearing act.

Not to mention the holes. There was a giant hole in the bottom of his office, several even larger holes in the cell walls, and another that was vaguely human shaped and a little bit too disturbing to deal with at the moment. It felt like the place was built out of goddamn graham crackers.

At least the injured prisoner was properly dealt with, Mark Iplier, or Asshole Mark as the other prisoners called him, broke too many bones for the staff to handle so he was sent off to a nearby hospital to recover. The warden didn’t mind, he was causing too much trouble anyways going off and asking for his personal belongings.

And speaking of the two’s personal belongings, the box they had arrived with just so happened to disappear with Y/N, who was otherwise known as *Insert Ridiculous Prison Nickname Here*. He hadn’t even gotten a chance to open it yet and now it was gone. However, that wasn’t the worst of it. Y/N was gone, or perhaps very good at hide and seek. He was hoping for the latter but after several hours of guards and prisoners counting and looking, it didn’t seem very likely.

The warden was offended on all accounts by the newest prisoner's conduct. There hadn't been a breakout in years and then suddenly they waltz in and think that they could just waltz back out like it was no big deal. Though yet again, he doubted the charade would last long. Most of the criminals of Happy Trails wouldn’t last a day out in the real world. They even sang a song about how they never wanted to leave. It would be soon enough until they came crawling back again, and when they did, they were going to face all the wrath of Warden Dave Murderslaughter. They were going to get rehabilitated harder than they would ever get rehabilitated before, whether they liked it or not.

But for now he had to play the waiting game. Somehow, someway or another, he was going to take the reins over once again. This was his penitentiary after all, and what kind of warden would he be if his jail wasn’t in proper order?

________________________________________________________________

At this hour the world seemed almost monochrome. It was an hour in which one should be snuggled up in bed, or in some cases, a jail cell safe from the dangers of the world. It was for sure not an hour where someone should be braving the summer night’s heat as they wander through tall grass, with no one other than the insects eating them alive as a companion.

Y/N had escaped, that was a given, but that didn’t mean they felt free. Once everyone knew they escaped, the hunt would be on. All they could think of at the moment was to carry on forward, but they knew they’d have to think of a plan eventually. If only Mark was there with them… he was always the one to point out their options.

But now they were all alone, truly alone… Wow, when was the last time that happened? Of course they couldn’t remember, during all these adventures memory never seemed like a necessity. With every bizarre scenario that came along, it was difficult to process the present as it was. Trying to analyze the past was a whole other be a feat in itself. As Yancy said, “The past ain’t the kind of thing to be trifled with.” It was the future they really needed to worry about right now.

They had to forge their way out of this mess somehow, but they couldn’t do it all by themselves. They needed to find Mark, or at least some they could trust, they needed to make sure no one else would be looking for them, and they needed to learn the truth about the box they had gone through so much trouble to steal. In it was a key as far as they knew, but inside they knew that there had to be more going on. Something that perhaps Mark wasn’t telling them about.

So now they had… something that resembled a plan. They were still unsure of the road ahead, but perhaps if they followed that plan… and don’t deviate from it… everything might just turn alright in the end after all. 

________________________________________________________________

Thank you for reading, it’s much appreciated :) Future parts should have less POV switching, this is just mainly to set up where each character is at starting out. (Also please don’t quote me on the owl facts, I was just trying my best to make a dramatic metaphor) 

Tagging: @thatforgottenbasilisk @thecatchat @statictay @gay-spaghetti @captainsaltypear @chelseareferenced

[ty-talks-comics]

Best of DC: Week of January 1st, 2019

Best of this Week: The Flash #85 - Joshua Williamson, Christian Duce, Luis Guerrero and Steve Wands

Amidst everything going on in the DC Universe right now from Year of the Villain to the end of Doomsday Clock, there’s been a lot of really underrated books that DC’s been publishing and Flash Definitely falls into that category for me. Of course, Flash is no low-tier character, but as it stands, there’s not a big conversation surrounding Joshua Williamson’s run with the character like there is for the up and down runs of Batman and Superman, but there should be!

Joshua Williamson and his revolving art team of Christian Duce, Scott Kolins, Rafa Sandoval and Carmine di Giandomenico have pulled off some of the most consistently fantastic Flash storytelling in recent years. From the Speed Force Storm to Flash’s “Final Showdown” with Captain Cold and finally here with Rogues’ Reign, these stories have only seen Flash become an even better character with depth after he’s been tested over and over with insurmountable odds and overpowered enemies while still being riddled with doubt.

This issue of Flash acts as the penultimate issue to the Rogues’ Reign storyline and sees us learning a bit more about some of the Rogues as individuals while at the same time, breaking them apart even further. This book is less centered on the various speedsters, but more around their lack of control over their powers and Flash continuing his rivalry with King Cold to the bitterest end.

The book begins with four panels of King Cold, Leonard Snart, monologuing to himself. We get a great big focus of the Symbol of Doom in the sky as Snart says that it’s the end of the world, but at least he’s going out like a winner, unlike his loser of a father. One of the many defining characteristics of Cold up to this point and in other stories has been his hatred of his father and his aversion to become anything like him. However, he’s become nothing more than a self-fulfilling prophecy because his life is nothing more than misery because of the sacrifices he made to get to where he is.

Cold helped Luthor’s ascension and the rise of Doom by accepting Luthor’s Gift and allowing himself and his Rogues to become ultra powered, but in doing so, has alienated himself from his friends and family now that they all have what they want. Duce frames all of this excellently by first placing Cold in shadow before he looks at his glasses, as if reminiscing about his old life before putting them on and looking towards his death at the end of the world.

Soon after, we cut to Kid Flash and Avery receiving training from two unlikely sources; Heatwave and Weather Wizard. Though they were seen as reporting in to King Cold a few issues ago, it was brief and mostly to air some small grievances that they had with the way that Cold was running things. Here, we get the reveal that they’d been working with Golden Glider since she broke off from her brother and Mirror Master under their noses. In a brilliant double page spread by Duce and Guererro, we see that they’ve been helping the speedsters keep their speed under control.

It’s a pretty warmhearted scene followed by more where Gold Glider comforts Flash about their presence. Williamson makes Heatwave and Weather Wizard come off as two men that have suffered hardships in their lives, leading them to the life of crime, but still managing to have hearts. Glider tells Flash how Weather Wizard wanted to escape the life of crime that his family was involved in when he was a kid, but never could which lead to him hurting people he loved. Heatwave suffers similarly from his pyromania being the reason his parents died, but it’s painted more as him having a sickness he can’t control. Glider tells Flash that they want to stop Cold so that things can go back to the way that they were.

Duce draws these scenes with a surprising intimacy. Amidst all of the intense action, Duce draws Heatwave with a sense of pride as he watches Kid Flash control his speed better, Weather Wizard stare in his lonesome because of everything going on and shows the kids eating with their teachers after a long day. On top of all of this, Flash has a nice scene where Golden Glider teaches him how to ice skate after he asks her to get back into what was one her hobby. Guererro colors all of these scenes with warm tones, even in the ice which is primarily blue and white. Flash and Glider’s colors give off something of a happy feeling.

One of the recurring themes of this run has been relating to the Rogues in meaningful ways and Williamson does an excellent job here of contrasting all of them to an amazing degree.

After Flash makes a bad joke to Golden Glider, causing her to become morose, Weather Wizard steps in and tells them that they’ve found where Mirror Master has been hiding and the entire crew go to find the last two pieces of his great mirror. Kid Flash asks Golden Glider if she used to date him and she confirms this, stating that she didn’t know why, but that she knew all of his tricks.

Mirror Master has always been one of the Rogues of lesser renown because well… he's an idiot. Only in the sense that he's never used his powers to a degree where people needed to be afraid of him, but thanks to his upgrade they need to. In actuality, his access to an entire Mirror Dimension makes him one of the most dangerous people in the DC Universe as a potential spy or thief because A LOT OF SURFACES REFLECT. Flash and the other Rogues learn this the hard way when Mirror Master springs a trap on them, revealing that he knew that Glider and the others betrayed Cold.

When the Rogues and Speedsters finally encountered Mirror Master, he looks absolutely devious with a wide grin and his wide grin as they did everything they could to stop him. Duce’s poses were dynamic and captured how intense the fight was, the furious facial expressions were very well done and crystalline backgrounds were beautiful. Guerrero’s colors stood out in how distinct each of them were. Mirror Master’s glossy white clashed with the other characters, especially Flash’s vibrant reds and Weather Wizard’s dark greens. By easily besting all of them, he showed just how dangerous he could be.

He teleports them all to the King and Snart notes how disappointed he is and how the Rogues could have ruled the world together. This causes Glider to snap at him, saying that he never told the Rogues what that would entail - the end of the world under Luthor. At this point Captain Cold is so far gone that he just doesn't care anymore and Williamson has been leading him down this path since the beginning.

In Rogues Reloaded, Cold had the idea for the Rogues to get one more heist over on The Flash before retiring completely and that was foiled with all of the Rogues being defeated. In Welcome to Iron Heights, Snart decided he'd run an operation from prison but Barry Allen and his former ally, Godspeed foiled that plan too. Because Cold had murdered another inmate to throw off the scent, this led to a fist fight between Cold and Flash which saw Cold's defeat and transfer to Belle Reve Penitentiary. Obviously the defeat had an adverse effect on Cold because he was so sure that he would overcome, but didn’t. He lost again.

Captain Cold has always been one to hold family in high regard since he's never quite had a functioning one side from the Rogues, so his time on the Suicide Squad was devastating to him. I mentioned in past Flash reviews that watching teammates die mission after mission must have done something to his psyche and Lex Luthor took advantage of that when offering him and his actual friends a way to win against The Flash. All of that led to this.

King Cold, feeling betrayed and pissed off, freezes his former friends and sister, leaving only The Flash to fight him one on one again. In their last fight, Cold wanted it to be one on one without any powers, but he lost that fight because of Flash’s iron will. As he removes his cold weather clothes, he reveals that Luthor’s Gift wasn’t just improved gear, but it was a supercharge of power implanted into him. Their final face off will be hand to hand with powers.

This final shot is absolutely poster worthy. Duce conveys the rage emanating from both of them with jaws wide as if they were yelling at each other. Fists are cocked back, ready to pummel their opponent into the ground, especially Cold as he has frozen his arms up to the elbow for maximum impact. What makes this even better is the Symbol of Doom hanging over them in the background like a terrible omen. Guerrero manages o make so many colors fit together in a brilliant display. Flash and his signature red and bright yellow makes him look heroic, the underdog in a fight shrouded in dark greens and cold greys. Cold is paler, his normally blonde hair turned completely white and his arms as blue as his cold blood.

I absolutely loved this.

Duce and Guerrero killed the art in this issue. On the scale of Flash artists for me, Duce is high up there. They manage to blend high intensity action with nice character moments to get the reader invested in character’s emotional states through visuals. Guerrero accentuates this by coloring scenes so that they fit each individual mood and can blend these all together when there’s a clash of ideology or character. Of course, Steve Wands is the glue that holds all of this together his letters are perfectly placed, distinct for each character and give every situation the proper weight to individual lines.

The Flash is an underrated hit that everyone should be reading, especially in regards to the Flash/Captain Cold saga. Their rivalry has been a grand center point on the level of Batman and Bane’s right now or Superman and good storytelling (zing!) I can only wonder where things go from here and what will happen to Captain Cold after this because this is probably the highest he’s ever flown, so how will he fall?

[chromecutie]

Not A Ghost - part 24

A/N - Multi-part fic. Colossus x OC where OC has come home after being wrongfully imprisoned in the Icebox. Warnings for whole fic - references and flashbacks to harsh prison environment, including various types of abuse. Takes place shortly after events in Deadpool 2. Whole thing will end up on my AO3 eventually.

Taglist: @emma-frxst  @ra-ra-rasputiin  @holamor ​  @empressme-bitch  @marvel-is-perfection  @hazilyimagine ​ @marvelhead17 @rovvboat @angstybadboytrash ​ @whitewitchdown ​ @master-sass-blast ​ @mori-fandom @mooleche @dandyqueen @emberbent @leo-writer . Wanna be added or removed? Holla at me.

-------------------------------------

The first time she met the Juggernaut, she had been hiding during a riot. Rhonda had slipped into the sector labeled MAXIMUM SECURITY without realizing, and was hyperventilating against a wall when she heard a deep, booming voice grumble, “Keep it down, will ya, some of us sleep here. Asshole.”

Rhonda jumped away from the wall and out of her skin. The wall was a door--for an enormous cell. Whoever was in it must be huge. And strong. The noise of the riot was still audible from where she was, and she couldn’t make herself go back out there. She tapped the most polite knock-knock she could with one knuckle on the giant metal door, “Who’s in here?”

There was an impatient groan, and she swore she could feel it reverberate through the steel door. “I’m the Juggernaut, bitch!”

“Shit!” Rhonda hissed and backed away a few paces, silent in the prison-issue shoes. 

“Heard of me, huh?” the Juggernaut grunted, his sneer audible.

She thought she might piss herself. “Uh...y-you could say that.” The X-Men had fought him several times, and Rhonda had always counted herself lucky she hadn’t been pulled on those missions, but her husband was always top pick. Colossus was the only one strong enough to give Juggernaut a good run for his money, but they were so evenly matched that she worried he might come home injured or worse.

Years later, she would still wonder what possessed her to do this, but she crept closer to the door again, and saw there was a slot at the bottom for sliding meal trays in and out. Out of her pocket, she pulled the little sealed cup of chocolate pudding--the only thing she had been able to save from her lunch when the riot broke out. Down on all fours, she slid the pudding cup in with her right hand, which was already injured and she figured if she had to choose a hand to risk losing, better her non-dominant hand. Still, she yanked it back as quickly as she could, in case he decided to stomp her.

“Jesus Christ, that the fuck happened to your hand?” 

Rhonda scoffed and glanced down at the scabs where her pinkie used to be less than a week ago. “Welcome wagon my first day,” she grumbled sardonically. “They heard about my other yellow suit--” she gasped when she realized what she was saying, and who she was telling.

After a thick pause, the Juggernaut started laughing his ass off. “How does one of the X-Men land in the Icebox?”

“I’d rather not talk about it,” she muttered. 

The seal on the pudding cup popped, and there was a slurping sound. “So what’s this for?” Juggernaut asked, referring to the pudding.

Rhonda folded her arms tight across her chest and huddled against the Juggernaut’s door. “This is the longest I’ve talked to anyone here without getting stabbed, punched,” she glanced down at her hand, “or dismembered.”

His snicker vibrated through the door, absolutely insidious, “Sweetheart, there’s no tellin’ what I would do to you if it weren’t for this cell.”

The Icebox was chilly, but Rhonda didn’t know the chill could sink deeper into her bones. The collar around her neck felt heavier. “S-still,” she forced herself to say, “Thanks, I guess.”

“Tch,” Juggernaut grunted, and there was a rustling sound. Maybe he was settling to go back to sleep. “You’re not gonna make it a month here, X-Girlie. If you’re lucky, they’ll kill you quick.”

Despite some inmates’ best efforts, Rhonda did make it another month. Then another, and another. She made a point to keep visiting the Juggernaut, if for no other reason than to say she was still kicking. It was safest to visit during riots, and only if those got loud enough for the guards stationed at MaxSec to jump in and get it under control. She usually brought a pudding cup for Juggernaut, sometimes her own, sometimes one she stole from someone else to start the riot in the first place.

Rhonda learned what it took to survive the Icebox. She got smarter about hiding what she wanted to keep, she got better at reading people’s body language, better at guessing who would be a threat and when, better at sneaking around to look for potential escape routes. But above all, survival in the only penitentiary for criminal mutants meant being more brutal than the person attacking you. 

Over time, Juggernaut--his real name was Cain--admitted that most inmates trying to talk to him were trying to enlist his help in this riot or that jailbreak. None of their attempts ever worked, so Cain stayed out of all of them. But Rhonda never asked for anything, and that was confusing and suspicious to him. Sometimes he asked, “Why the hell you talkin’ to me, anyway?”

Rhonda drummed her fingernails on the steel door, “Same as the first time we talked. I kinda like this thing where I can have a conversation without getting stabbed.” She popped the seal of a pudding cup before sliding the cup under Cain’s door (always with her right hand), keeping the foil seal for herself to lick it clean.

“Yeah well,” Cain grunted, “no promises if I ever get outta this box.” Every time he made that threat, he sounded less serious.

Sometimes Rhonda even mocked his voice, imitating him, “No promises, yeah, yeah.” He grunted a short laugh whenever she did that.

Once, Cain asked, “So, girlie, did they give you a codename? The X-Men?”

Rhonda’s heart sank. She had done a few stints in solitary, and been knocked unconscious a few times. It made her completely lose track of how long she had been in the Icebox, and eventually she gave up counting. She never stopped thinking about how to escape, but plenty of times, it felt like she would never get back to her family. “Voltage,” she replied and explained, “I wanted to be Amps, or Amperage, because, you know, it’s the amps that can be fatal. But Scott didn’t want to hear it. He said Voltage was flashier and didn’t take a lot of explaining--”

“Who’s Scott?”

“Oh...Cyclops. Laser eyes. Big visor.”

“Ah, yeah,” Cain recognized the description. “Yeah, he sounds like a prick.”

She couldn’t help but laugh, “He really is!”

More time went by. Rhonda wasn’t sure anymore if she was getting better at living in the Icebox. She was in fights almost every single day. It seemed like she won as many as she lost, but she was still alive. Alive, but everything weighed on her more than it used to. Scars and tattoos started piling up on her skin--all of them against her will, except for the teardrops on her cheek. Those had earned her a break from getting attacked by anyone not brave enough to take on a known killer. She scratched at her neck under the collar a lot, and there were always scabs and calluses. She barely recognized herself in the mirror anymore, and not just because of the hollows under her eyes and cheeks.

Still, she visited Cain. She wondered if he could tell she was flagging when he asked her about home. 

“You got somebody waiting? When you get out, I mean.”

“Yeah,” she sighed, “My husband.”

“Don’t tell me he’s the hairy one with the claws,” Cain grumbled.

“Logan? Hell no,” she chuckled, “He’s too--no. Just no.” She absently picked at some scabs. “My husband is...very tall. Exceptionally strong. Exceptionally sweet, when he's not kicking your ass.”

Cain groaned, “Ohhhh, of fuckin’ course. You’re married to the commie?”

“He’s not a communist,” Rhonda retorted, wincing when she aggravated her sore neck. “And yes...I just hope he’s okay right now.”

“So, uh, no offense, but you sound pretty shrimpy." Cain mumbled something Rhonda couldn't make out before he spoke up again, "When you, uh...with him...how does that work?"

Ronda paused, then rolled her eyes. "You looking for something nice to think about later?"

“Commaahhhn,” he tried to play it cool, “Isn’t everyone?”

She realized she was smiling--really smiling, not just baring her teeth. “He’s not always eight feet of chrome, you know that? He’s got dark hair, and some of the clearest blue eyes I’ve ever seen.” Rhonda rested her head against Cain’s cell door. “His dimples just kill me. He takes his time, doesn’t rush anything,” she mused. “He does a lot with his hands…” she tried to remember exactly what it felt like, and tried not to be horrified that the details were fuzzy. “And...oh god, his mouth when he--”

“A’right, a’right,” Cain whined, “Forget I asked. I still gotta fight him if I ever see him again, not...think about his mouth.” He grunted his disgust. “Now I just wanna high-five him.”

“High-five him?” Rhonda’s voice sank back into the snarl she usually spoke with these days. “For what?”

Cain grumbled, “He found somebody. That ain’t easy for the big freaks like us.” She heard some rustling and two big thumps--Cain took off his boots. Why did he even put them on if he never left his cell? “And if he married you...you’re probably all right.”

“You don’t know that.” Rhonda scratched around her collar again and got to her feet.

“I know you don’t belong in this shitbox,” he said softly--softly for Cain.

“I sure as hell didn’t used to,” she started to shuffle away. “I gotta get going before the guards catch me here and hit me with that cattle prod again. Later, Cain.”

“Try not to get murdered,” he called lazily after her. He would never say it out loud, but he knew he’d be sad if he heard about her getting killed.

That was the last time Rhonda visited before a stranger with a massive gun had shown up and caused enough damage to the Icebox that the inmates had to be loaded up for a transfer. After the transfer convoy got destroyed was the first time Rhonda and Cain spoke without a thick steel door separating them.

[warfstachenby]

Here’s my gift for @the-pan-anon for the Visitation Day Gift Event! Big preesh to @yancy-support-group for creating and running the event! The request was for a Yancy/Illinois fic and the prompt was “angst”! (although this part isn’t that angsty sorry!)

There’s a second part to expect in the next few days, so sorry I didn’t complete all of it in time! Hope you enjoy it anyway!

Title: Such a Perfect Place to Start (chapter 1) Pairing: Yancy/Illinois Words: 1727 Content warnings: fighting (brief), blood (mentioned)

“And a one! And a two! And a one, two, three!”

Yancy sat down next to Heapass. In front of them Bam Bam and Sparkles were rehearsing a new musical number. Bam Bam threw his arms up and over his head and jumped to the left. Letting his right hand fall to grab his top hat, he tossed his cane to Sparkles with his left. It clattered to the ground.

Bam Bam’s jaw clenched. “It’s no good, Yance, we just can’t nail this.”

“Hey, hey.” Yancy said. “Youse just need more practice. Things like this take time. Don’t either of youse get worked up over it.”

“Looked alright to me.” For once, Yancy was glad Heapass opened his mouth. He wasn’t usually known for his compliments.

“See! A few more days and youse’ll nail it.”

“A few more days!” Sparkles agreed eagerly, jazz hands for emphasis.

“A few more days.” Bam Bam paused, letting a small, relaxed smile creep onto his face. “Thanks for sticking with us.”

Laughing sheepishly, Yancy brushed it off. “Aw, no! Youse don’t gotta thank me!”

Suddenly there was a voice from the other side of the yard. “No, there really has been a mistake, my friend. I didn’t steal that box!”

Yancy’s head snapped to face the voice. A man was slowly sauntering next to the guard. He was new, obviously, and held himself in a way that exuded confidence. He was dressed in the standard prison uniform but was wearing a brown hat that Yancy assumed was from the outside. Something about him seemed bigger than life. He flashed the guard the kind of smile you only see in movies. The guard just rolled his eyes and walked off.

Yancy stalked towards him. “Wanna get out, do ya? Why? Here ain’t good enough?”

“No, of course not.” The stranger smiled that smile again. “But I’m afraid there really has been some confusion. I shouldn’t be here.” He paused. “But I’m adaptable.” He smiled and threw Yancy a wink. “I’m sure I’ll make the most of my time here.” Another winning smile as he shifted his weight to his other leg and held out his hand. “I’m Illinois, by the way.”

Yancy shook the offered hand as a little shiver ran down his spine. “Yeah, uh…” He could hear Heapass laughing behind him. “I guess we’ll just have to convince youse to stay, huh?”

The stranger laughed. “You can try, but I’m afraid I’m married to my job. There isn’t a thing you could say or do to keep me here. I doubt you’d understand. I know a fellow adventurer when I see one, and I just don’t think I see it in you.”

There wasn’t any bite behind it. It was casual and dismissive. But for a split second, Yancy saw red.

“Oh, so it’s like that, is it? You’re just like my dad! Always judging, always dismissin’ me!” His fist connected with Illinois jaw before he had even thought the action through. Smacked the suave look right off his face.

Recoiling slightly, Illinois clutched his face and steeled himself again. He was too cool, too casual. He was leaving himself wide open for Yancy to take another hit. Was he just not going to fight? It pissed Yancy off, he didn’t need some stranger to coddle him in a fight! He threw another punch.

Illinois dodged. And then, all too quick, Yancy’s legs were out from underneath him and he was hitting the ground.

That was effortless. Other than the red mark that would blossom into a bruise on Illinois’ face, he didn’t have a hair out of place.

Illinois held his hand out again. Out of the corner of his eye, Yancy could see the gang rushing over to help him up, probably also try to land some hits of their own on Illinois. He took the hand and let Illinois pull him up.

“You’re courageous, friend, I’ll give you that. But you’re too rash, a little diamond in the rough, maybe. A little bit of polish and you’d be an excellent partner.” He smiled. “I’ll be seeing you around.” And then he threw a final wink at Yancy before sauntering through the crowd to leave. All Yancy could do was stand there and watch.

 There was something off about the following days, Yancy felt. Or maybe there was just something off with him. Whatever it was, he noticed it.

He and Illinois hadn’t spoken since their not-quite-fight, but they’d seen each other at meals and in the yard, and Illinois would smile at Yancy and Yancy would try his best to return it, despite how weird he was feeling.

Illinois had been exploring the penitentiary. He’d tested the ground in every room and knocked on every wall. He had also been talking to all the other guys and even sat with Tiny in comfortable silence. Everyone liked Illinois. Yancy tried to clear his head of whatever he’d been feeling the last few days that was holding him back and walked over.

“I’m not much of a drinker but this really is as good as your reputation suggests!” Illinois finished the last of his hooch wine, before noticing Yancy hovering in the doorway. “Ah, hello again!”

“Hey.” The realisation that he didn’t know what he should say hit him like a bucketful of ice water. “Look, I… I wanted to apologise, I…”

Illinois waved him off and smiled. “Don’t stress over it,” he said gently. “What’s done is done.” Standing, he thanked Hank for the wine and his company. “What do you say? Let’s get to know each other.” Yancy nodded and followed as Illinois led him back to his room. It was pretty empty of any personal effects.

Illinois sat on his bed. After a few seconds of watching Yancy stand there awkwardly, he patted the bed beside him. “You can sit, you know. What are you afraid of? Falling in love?” He joked – or, at least, Yancy was pretty sure it was a joke. He sat down.

“Sorry I hit ya, by the way,” He sighed. “Something youse said just rubbed me the wrong way.”

Illinois waved him off. “It’s forgiven,” he said, smiling warmly at him. “Everyone I’ve talked to has said this place is basically their home. It’s nice but I never stay in the same place long.”

“Why?” Yancy rubbed his chin in thought. “What’s even out there for youse? You don’t have any pictures in here of any family.”

“What isn’t out there?” Illinois grinned. “The thrill of adventure, things so lost they’ve never once been found, companionship, danger, excitement!” He winked. “The chance to fall in love!”

None of those were for Yancy, not that he wanted to say it out loud.

“Adventure, huh?” Yancy paused. “So how youse end up in here? Doesn’t seem like you’re the type to steal anything or kill anyone.”

“Well, I really didn’t lie that it was all a big misunderstanding.” He got up and reached under the bed. “Often I find things other people have stolen, or things that were lost and hidden, and I return them to where they belong.” He pulled out an ornate brass-coloured box with a blue gem on it. “I found this beauty a little while ago and wanted to return it to its home. It led me to the penitentiary and the guards caught me. I’m cool as a cucumber under the pressure of poison dart traps, but even I find it hard to leisurely escape five guards. Anyway, apparently, this had been stolen from a museum and it was all over the news. No one believed that I hadn’t stolen it.”

Yancy smiled sympathetically. “I’m sorry that happened. Everyone who ends up here has done something it’ll take us a long time to make up for, but the years ain’t so bad ‘cause we all have each other. Youse didn’t deserve to end up here, but I hope you know you’re one of the gang anyway.”

“Thanks,” Illinois smiled to himself, still turning the box over in his hands. He noticed Yancy staring. “You can take a look if you want.”

Yancy took it from his outstretched hand and ran his fingers over the metalwork. “How old do you think it is?”

“Centuries, at least. Millenia, maybe.” Illinois looked almost wistful. “I think it might be the oldest and most important artefact I’ve ever found.” He preened. “And clearly I’ve risked my life to find and return hundreds.”

“Why do youse think it’s so important? What’s in it?”

Illinois laughed. “I haven’t the slightest idea.” He took it from Yancy and pulled on the lid. “I haven’t been able to get it open.” He handed it back to Yancy, who held it up to his face, searching for a hidden mechanism. “It’s a strange idea but I like to think it’s oddly Schrodinger-esque. That until we open it, there could be anything inside.”

Yancy paused to take the moment in. It’d been a long time since he’d ever had a moment in his life that could only be described as peaceful. Then he noticed something. “Does the box feel weird at all to youse?” He chewed his lip trying to find the words. “Like, it’s not vibrating… but if I focus on it, it kinda feels like it is, you know?”

“Yeah, I felt that too. Also got the strangest sense of déjà vu when I first touched it.” He closed his eyes in thought. “It was like somewhere in the corner of my mind I could remember a partner I’ve never met before. And something’s telling me if I chased that déjà vu I might be able know what’s in there.” He opened them again and smiled straight at Yancy. “Nothing about that makes sense, but I’ve been to stranger places and seen stranger things happen.” Suddenly, his brow furrowed in concern. “The box has really unsettled you, huh? Stop biting your lip, you’re making it bleed.” And then when Yancy released it from between his teeth, Illinois leaned over and wiped the blood away before Yancy could flinch away. He smiled at Yancy again.

His smile made something jerk deep inside Yancy’s chest. He returned it best he could, and in the back of his mind he thought of a beautiful bird trapped in a cage.

-

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! The next chapter should be up in the next few days, once again I’m so sorry for the wait!

[antivanruffles]

This is for the ever lovely @coppercrane2 who requested some Rei/Jadeite as her fill for my Fic Drive. 

A while back I was going to write a fake relationship fic with these nerds where they’re journalists undercover for a story. Now it’s a thing. ⬇️⬇️⬇️

“This is the worst idea ever.” Raquel let out a deep breath that might have been more closely akin to a growl.

Luckily, her obvious displeasure was not heard by anyone at the party, music and idle chatter drowning her out. At least everyone except for the man standing next to her. She turned her head just enough to note the smug grin playing at the corner of his mouth.

Out of everyone she could have been partnered up with for this for this piece, Raquel was still wondering which god she had pissed off enough for it to have been Jeremy. At least to his credit he did look the part of rich business man, which had surprised her given the fact he usually looked like a disheveled miscreant. He did clean up nicely, she could begrudgingly give him that much.

“Stop glaring at me,” Jeremy said under his breath, leaning toward her and placing a warm hand on the small of her back. “Remember, we’re supposed to be in love, darling.”

“I regret ever going along with this plan, dearest.”

“Well if you want that byline for your big exposé, you better suck it up,” he said, mouth now close to the shell of her ear. He smelled pleasantly of aftershave and soap. Raquel pretended not to notice. “You can stab me with your stiletto once we get back to our room.”

“Like I would ruin a perfectly good shoe that way. Blood stains, you know. I think I’ll stick with a grapefruit spoon.” Raquel kept her voice light, a polite smile on her face. Contrary to popular belief she did not actually harbor violent tendencies toward Jeremy, but he didn’t need to know that.

“You’re ruthless. I love it,” he drawled and pressed a casual kiss to her temple before straightening up once again.

It unnerved her how easily he fell into their little story of happy newlyweds, but then again his extensive undercover reporting was why he had even been considered for this whole journalistic endeavor. His ease was part of the job. For Raquel, however, it was a constant battle to remind herself to play nice, to not roll her eyes, and certainly to not shrink away from his touch. Although if she were being completely honest, it was getting easier. Practice makes perfect, and all that.

“Can I interest you in a turn on the dance floor?”

“Do we have to?”

“We can’t stand in the corner bickering all night, people are watching.”

“I highly doubt that.” Raquel subtly let her gaze drift over the room, in her opinion everyone seemed to be caught up in their own little worlds. There were couples on the dance floor, others seated at tables nibbling at the remains of their meals, and a few milling about between table and bar and back again.

“Trust me, they’re watching. We’re new, fresh meat. And the sharks are circling.”

“Oh, please, Jeremy.” She turned to face him, her back to the ballroom, and went about gently straightening his tie. “You make it sound like we’re undercover in a penitentiary. They’re not waiting to shank us in the showers.”

“You’re right. They’re worse. When you’re incarcerated you know where you stand with people, which makes it easier to literally watch your back. These people are just waiting to figuratively stab us all with a polite smile on their faces.”

“You seem to know a lot about the upper crust.” She gave a little tug on his tie, perhaps a little too tightly. Oops.

He coughed. “I’m full of surprises, sweetheart. Now let’s go dance, if we make enough of an impression people will remember we were here. It’ll make it easier to do the sneaky around later in case anything goes wrong. Assuming you still want to try to break into his room?”

“It’s a good lead, of course I do,” she said. Almost a little petulant because she knew it was risky. But things hadn’t been going well, and it was closer to a last ditch effort than a lead. They both knew it too.

“All right then.” He took her hand, guiding her to the dance floor.

Now Raquel was aware of the many eyes on them, maybe Jeremy was right. They were supposedly new money in a sea of wealthy families stretching back decades. Of course they were bound to cause a stir.

They settled into a close hold just as a new song was starting up. Raquel figured Jeremy knew how to dance, considering he had suggested it, but she was a little taken aback by how adept he was. Eventually he would stop catching her off guard. She hoped.

“You’re light on your feet.”

“I told you, I’m full of surprises.” He gave her a charming grin, a real one, she realized. Given how it seemed to light up his eyes, turning them into a striking shade of sky blue.

Again, Raquel tried not to notice that about him. Along with the fact he smelled distractingly good, and how warm and steady his hand felt on her waist. God, what was wrong with her?

As they twirled around the dance floor, she hoped they were making enough of an impression. She knew they made a striking couple when push came to shove. Jeremy was handsome, an appealing cross between boyish and roguish. Raquel wasn’t conceited, but there was no denying the fact she had been called beautiful for as long as she could remember. They were attractive and ‘in love.’ That had to count for something, right?

At the end of the song she was taken off guard once again when Jeremy dipped her. She managed to recover enough to make it look good, or so she hoped. At least until Jeremy pressed a lingering kiss to the corner of her mouth before straightening her up again. It took a fair amount of her non-existent acting skills to plaster on a sweet, happy smile instead of a wide-eyed look of shock. She wasn’t sure who she was more furious with: herself for continually being surprised, or Jeremy for his antics. She decided to call it a tie.

Raquel tried to look demure as they stepped off the dance floor, tucking herself into Jeremy’s side while he wrapped an arm around her. She could still feel gazes on them, but she wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. Jeremy steered her to the bar, and they each ordered a drink to sip.

“I think we can sneak out soon,” he said as they finished up their drinks. “Remember,” Jeremy said into her ear. This time she had suppress a shiver. “We’re in love, and probably sneaking off to tear each other’s clothes off.”

“Ugh, don’t be crude.”

“Okay, fine, we’re sneaking off to ravish each other in some tawdry, yet achingly beautiful way. It’s just like a romance novel.”

“You’re an idiot.” She rolled her eyes, and pretended like her lips hadn’t twitched in amusement.

“Come on, let’s do a little B and E.” Jeremy held out a hand to her, his grin just as charming and just as honest as before.

“I thought you’d never ask.” Raquel slipped her hand into his, and let him whisk her out of the room. All the while giving him fawning looks as they laughed together and made their escape.

This time it was ridiculous easy. This time it almost felt real.

[corsairesix]

Single Player Fallout 76: Cryptids

In a single player version of Fallout 76, I would want to make the cryptids more special, which unfortunately means making them rarer. Instead of randomly encountered enemies, they would instead be associated with certain quests. At the end of these quests you can either kill them or deal with them peacefully. If you deal with all of them peacefully or kill all of them, you get an associated perk.

Mothman:

I wrote a lot about Mothman and his cult here.

Overall this would be the most involved of all the cryptid quests (because it’s Mothman, the main character of cryptozoology). You would have to complete the entire Cult of Mothman questline to summon Mothman.

Also unlike other cryptids, Mothman gives you a reason to go back to him (most cryptids disappear or just hang out peacefully if spared). If spared, you can return to Mothman and get cryptic clues about quests that you are doing, similar to Mama Murphy’s sight in Fallout 4.

The leaders of the cult of Mothman are described by other characters as having something not quite human about them, although by all appearances they are regular people. Their names are Indrid, Demo, and Karl.

Flatwoods Monster:

I covered some stuff with the Flatwoods Monster here as well.

You escort the alien abductee through Flatwoods, where you can either stay until night at their inn or take him to the clinic for his paranoia.

If you take him to the clinic, you can tell the Responder working there to either have him treated by Dassa or Nurse Scott.  Both will treat his paranoia and calm him down so he doesn’t want to kill the Monster.

If Dassa treats him, he will just want to take pictures to prove he was telling the truth.

If Scott treats him, the two of them will want to capture the Monster to interrogate it. They ask you to help them set up a trap to capture it, and ask a few questions. The Monster doesn’t answer in any known language, but Scott fills up a few holotapes of data. If you take this option, you can decide to kill it or release it.

Whichever option you take, the abductee says that it wasn’t the creature that abducted him, and he’s going to keep researching until he finds it.

Grafton Monster:

I wrote about the Grafton Monster quest here.

In order to get the Grafton Monster call, you must visit Shelby O’Rourke, who a local cryptozoologist in Grafton claims was coming to visit Grafton but never showed up. She was mistakenly arrested by robot prison guards and locked up in the Eastern Regional Penitentiary. You have to spring her out to continue.

Snallygaster:

The Snallygaster should be a bit more birdlike in order to resemble descriptions of the cryptid.

The runt Snallygaster is a companion found at the Crashed Space Station. He is friendly toward you.

The Trappers in Huntersville (or other Huntersville npcs if you’ve gotten rid of the Trappers), have been hearing strange noises from the Southwest and want you to check it out.

This leads you to find...

Dwayyo:

Spruce Knob is a site populated by Dwayyos, fluffy bushtailed wolf-like humanoids.

They speak a strange language, but are intelligent, and have saved a written history on the terminals there.

They were created by West-Tec as intelligent hunters to catch and kill the Snallygasters that accidentally escaped the FEV lab.

They have found that the Snallygasters are in the Spruce Knob Lake.

They need data from West-Tec to find the Snallygasters’ weakness.

Once you find out their weakness (irrational fear of septagrams) you can return to the Dwayyo. You can either convince them to use this against they Snallygasters (which will result in the Dwayyo winning the battle), lie and tell them there is no weakness but that they should fight anyway (which will result in both groups killing each other), tell them there is no weakness but that they should try to tame them (speech check, will result in the Dwayyos’ deaths), or tell them the weakness and that they should try to tame them (lower speech check, will result in them successfully creating a Snallygaster farm).

If you do convince them to create a Snallygaster farm, they will relocate to Spruce Knob Campground with the Snallygasters. They will provide you with free acid and asbestos produced by the Snallygasters once a week. If you create a Settlement at Spruce Knob, they will transfer the scrap directly to the Workshop. The quest to reclaim Spruce Knob will not be given until this quest is completed.

Sheepsquatch:

The Sheepsquatch quest more or less follows the Lying Lowe questline that begins here. You try to solve the mystery of the missing Calvin van Lowe, whose sister is trying to find him.

Some major changes are: the quest now takes place post-war, relatively recently (enough that his sister Shelley is still looking). Calvin, Bo Peep, and Wolf are now hired by Hornwright rather than Bysshe, since it doesn’t make sense for a natural gas company to be invested in Sheepsquatch robots. Hornwright is trying to create fear of the Sheepsquatch around Lewisburg so that the town will hire more Coalition protection and the Coalition will solidify their control over them (Scooby-Doo-villain-style).

Once the Imposter Sheepsquatch kills Calvin and escapes, Hornwright disavows the project. Once you find the basement, Wolf is alerted to your activity and approaches you in Lewisburg. He asks you to go to the Garrahans to ask them for some pre-war anti-robot tech from when they were still rivals with the Hornwrights. From there he sets up the pylon trap like in the normal game.

Rather than a big multiplayer raid boss, you just have to activate all three pylons to shut the Imposter Sheepsquatch down.

A day later Wolf contacts you saying there’s been an attack on the pylons by the real Sheepsquatch. It was repelled by the electricity, but one more attack could set the Imposter Sheepsquatch free. You need to go down to Calvin’s lab to retrieve a hunting subroutine, which will reprogram the imposter Sheepsquatch to hunt down the real one and then return. If you want, you can take the Sheepsquatch mating ritual holotape and install that instead of the hunting one. If you do the second, it will run away peacefully with the real Sheepsquatch. If you choose the hunting subroutine, you must follow it and Wolf, and help them fight the Sheepsquatch.

Batsquatch:

I covered pretty much everything about the Batsquatch quest here.

Yahoo:

Yet another ‘squatch, this time not a hybrid of any sort, just a standard bigfoot.

The survivalist who runs Camp Venture believes that there’s something in the woods of the Mire, and wants to go hunt it down. He knows it’s in the area near Ella Ames’s bunker.

From there, you have to track it by the sound of its call, a “Yahoo” noise. You find his hideout in the Excelsior Model Home and have to investigate there. There is a lot of evidence that the Yahoo is intelligent. There is a hard speech check to convince the survivalist to stop the hunt.

If you don’t pass the speech check, you have to kill the survivalist to save the Yahoo, although shooting him with a disabling syringer works as well. If you follow the Yahoo’s calls, you can find him near the Gulper Lagoon. If you give him the things you took from his house, he will be peaceful.

Megalonyx:

Even though the game doesn’t list it as a cryptid, I’m including the giant sloth here because 1) there are giant sloth cryptids described in both Appalachia and Virginia and 2) unlike Radtoads or Radstags or Yao Gui, there are no native sloths in West Virginia to mutate from radiation.

You find the megalonyx as part of companion Teddy McDonald’s personal quest. To become a Nuka Scout, Teddy must do a Nuka Scout Project, which involves a significant contribution to the Pioneer Scout Troop. Teddy wants to kill a cryptid.

You go to the Ranger District Office in the cranberry bog to see if they know where to find a cryptid. The two rangers there know of a large animal that they think might be a large beaver in Creekside Sundew Cove. One of them hopes you go out and kill it, but the other wants you to tag it with a tracker for study, which can be accomplished with a syringer or a very high stealth skill.

If you don’t kill it, you will either have to convince Teddy to do something else for a project, or go to van Lowe Taxidermy to learn how to make a fake giant sloth head.

Abbagoochie:

The Sons of Dane have a problem with a beast they call the Nightstalker. On nights where they party in their compound, whenever someone leaves to take a walk they are torn apart by some unknown entity, leaving behind only a pile of bones.

There are two ways to deal with this. You can create a lot of noise to attract the Abbagoochie, something that looks like a cross between a monkey, owl, fox, and deer. Then you can kill it, but be careful! It deals a lot of damage very quickly.

You can also create a bigger monster to scare it away. This requires a lot of steel, springs, gears, leather, and cloth, as well as any type of scary mask found in the wasteland. Examples include things like Fasnacht Masks from Helvetia. If you do this option, you have to wait until the following night to see if it works. The Sons of Dane will have their party as usual, and the Abbagoochie will appear, see the constructed monster, and run away.

Wendigo:

I didn’t include the Wendigo for two reasons.

The first is cultural appropriation. Unlike other cryptids on this list, the Wendigo is a specifically Native American myth.

The second is game design philosophy when it comes to the cryptids. I want them to seem special and cool. The way that the Wendigo was implemented, it just felt like “ghoul but scarier.”

I may also put the Ogua, a two headed turtle, somewhere in the Mire. Right now I don’t have a story for it though.