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moved-to-void-kissed · 4 years ago

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Secrets in the Springs

Document link: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1WDYCocrod_P7bcyH9DIaacjpIXv9I8r-UEkdmWANdxw/edit?usp=sharing

Sapphire, Pyra, Mythra, Nia and Poppi spend an evening relaxing together in Mor Ardain’s famous hot springs, where a couple of secrets begin to reveal themselves. In the process, Pyra makes an important decision. (1650 words) Replaces the XC2 cutscene “Secret in the Springs” from the start of Chapter 4. Content warning for some description of an old significant physical injury.

This is a piece I originally posted to my old blog, but I’ve updated it slightly to reflect some changes to the storyline and figured it would be good to post again! Don’t worry, it’s mostly much happier than the previous writing I posted here - especially once you get to the end, hehe~

Reblogs are appreciated, but by no means required! Comments should be on, and there’s also a transcript of the document under the readmore!

The sandstorms from earlier in the day had thankfully settled down - the evening was still very warm, but a soft wind drifting through Alba Cavanich made the heat much more pleasant. Behind the inn that rested on Smùide Mountain, the group had taken the opportunity to relax in the local hot springs - Rex and Tora had gone earlier in the evening and appeared much more refreshed for the experience, but now it was the ladies’ bathing slot, and all of them were eager to spend the evening enjoying a relaxing bath together.

Sapphire in particular was not used to the arid conditions on Mor Ardain’s Titan, given that her homeland within Uraya was a much more subdued and watery kingdom, so she also relished the opportunity to try out the hot springs. By the time she had gotten ready, Poppi was already happily playing about in the springs, while Nia had her back to the entrance and only her head was above the water. Finally, Sapphire tentatively poked her head around the corner of the changing room, so that it was all that could be seen from within the baths themselves.

“It’s just us here, right?”

“Yeah, don’t worry!” Nia turned her head to smile, though Sapphire did think she looked somewhat nervous. “The inn seemed pretty much empty when we first got here, so I don’t reckon anyone else’ll be coming in.”

Poppi nodded in agreement. “Probability of interruption from other people very small. Therefore, is perfect time for all to enjoy springs together. The water very nice temperature, even for Poppi!”

“Hang on.. Should you even be in the bath?” Nia had turned back to face the mechanical girl, and was now looking at her with a tilted head to show confusion. “Won’t you rust or something?”

In response, Poppi shook her head and kept smiling, eyes bright as ever. “There no problem. Poppi made from special alloy. No rust or need for oil!” The faint orange glow of her leg joints was visible even through the water, showing that she was kicking them back and forth in her usual manner.

Sapphire smiled at this, only to then jump when she realised Pyra was standing right behind her. Except it wasn’t Pyra - where she expected to see kind red eyes instead lay cold golden ones, and the familiar short bob of red hair was replaced by flowing blonde strands.

“Wh- Mythra?!”

“Yeah?” She looked unamused.

“Sorry, mate, you really startled me there!”

Wanting to give Mythra some space, Sapphire stepped out from behind the entrance to the changing room into the proper springs area, prompting Poppi to look surprised and Nia to turn around because of that. Although she still had a towel around her body, the other girls could now all see several swathes of what looked like very old grazes on Sapphire’s arms and the backs of her legs. They seemed to have healed, yet still appeared somewhat serious.

“Wait, what happened to you?!” Mythra was first to speak up, sounding more worried than she ever really had. Her usual short temper still shone through, however - she seemed almost annoyed for not noticing the injuries beforehand.

“Oh, these?” Sapphire raised her arms halfheartedly, looking somewhat embarrassed. “Don’t worry. These are just left over from.. how I got to Uraya. Don’t worry, most of it’s all healed up by now. So nothing’s going to mess up the water or anything, I promise.”

There was a silence.

“..I guess I never told you guys about that, huh.”

“No, you didn’t. Not that I was awake for, anyway.” said Mythra.

“You don’t ‘ave to tell us if you don’t want to, though.” Nia added. “Only share what you’re comfortable with.”

Sapphire nodded. “Thanks, Nia. Um.. this isn’t exactly the place to go all in-depth about that kind of thing, so, ah.. I’ll just say that, from what I know, my parents and I were on a ship crossing the Cloud Sea when it capsized and got washed into Uraya’s Titan. A bit like you guys did, I guess, though there was.. a lot more of an impact. Honestly, I don’t even know how I managed to stick around long enough for Dad and his mercs to find me on one of their checkups.”

“Oh.. Are you sure you’re okay? That must have been hard..” continued Mythra, still looking worried. There was a flash of glowing energy, and suddenly Pyra was stood in her place, looking even more concerned.

“I’m so sorry for what happened to you, Sapphire! Nobody should have to go through such a horrible thing..”

“Pyra, please, I’m fine! It’s okay!” Sapphire said, a little too suddenly - quickly realising her mistake, she hastily tried to recover: “I- I really appreciate that you care so much, but, I promise I’m fine. Come on, let’s just enjoy the springs together.”

As she turned around to put her towel on the rocks behind her before lowering herself into the blissfully warm water, the true extent of Sapphire’s injuries became clearer - the old grazes were nothing in comparison to the massive streak of half-healed scar tissue covering most of her back and shoulders. Parts of it seemed to somehow reflect the low light from the torches and the glow of Poppi and Pyra’s Core Crystals, as if there were tiny specks of something shiny in there.

Nia’s worried expression had returned. “Saph, that really doesn’t look good.. You sure you’re alright?”

“Yes!” She still seemed slightly on-edge, but being in the water was clearly very relaxing for her. “I already said, it doesn’t really hurt. I’ve had all this for as long as I can remember; it’s just how I am. Trust me, it was a lot worse when I was little.”

“Poppi worried about Sapphire..” said Poppi, sounding sad. The stillness of the water and the glowing lights visible under its surface showed that she wasn’t playing about anymore.

“Aww, it’s okay, Poppi!” Sapphire turned and smiled at her again. “I’m fine, honestly!”

Pyra still wasn’t convinced. “You’d tell us if you weren’t, though, right..?” She crouched down at the side of the water and reached over to take Sapphire’s hand in her own.

“Of course I would, silly. Come on in, the water is amazing..”

This made Pyra feel more at ease, and she happily took the chance to sit next to Sapphire, who in turn was all the more grateful to be able to enjoy Pyra’s natural warmth in close proximity. Another silence then settled, though this one was much more natural, and the girls were able to take the time to properly enjoy the heat of the water and relax in the hot springs.

Eventually, never the quiet one, Poppi had something to say.

“Poppi has question for Nia.”

“Huh?”

“Why does Nia have-?” The artificial Blade’s inquisitive tone was quickly interrupted by none other than Nia herself, who at this point was almost entirely submerged in the water.

“Oh, I know what you’re gonna say, I think. Don’t- don’t worry about it.”

At this point, Mythra returned, automatically shifting away from Sapphire as she turned to face Nia herself. “I had noticed, too. It’s true, then, that you’re..?” She trailed off, not knowing how to properly word her own question.

“Mmm.. yeah.”

Mythra nodded. “Do you want us to keep it a secret?”

“I was.. a little bit embarrassed about all this, but.. Yeah, if you could, that’d be grand. Not like I could hide it here when it’s this dark, anyway. As long as you guys are all okay with me being here, then-”

“Of course, mate!” “Poppi is fine!” “Why wouldn’t we?”

The chorus of reassuring voices brought her an incredible comfort.

“Thanks, guys.”

==========

Later that evening, once everyone had retired to their rooms for the night, Mythra noticed within herself that Pyra seemed nervous.

“Something wrong?”

“What? No! I mean.. We share memories, so you’d know if something was wrong, surely?”

“I guess that’s true. But, you seemed like you were coming to a decision of some kind. And I mean, I don’t really wanna pry if I don’t have to.”

“Haha, thank you for that.. And, you’re right about the decision. So, um, Mythra - what do you think about Sapphire?”

“Uh.. she seems pretty nice? But she isn’t someone you want to make angry, given how mad she was at Malos and Akhos. I wasn’t awake yet for all that time you two spent journeying through Uraya, so this was kind of the first time I’ve gotten to interact with her properly. I can’t say I was expecting you to get into a relationship, but.. You two make a good fit for each other, even if she is a little more energetic than you tend to be.”

“You really think so?”

“Wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t.”

“Ah, I suppose you’re right.. Sorry!”

“Why’d you ask that, anyway?”

“Well, it’s just, um.. It was so great for me to know that she’d be able to come with us after we left Uraya. I know she’s probably still worried about Vandham, but.. if his injuries have really been patched up as well as they seemed to, then he should recover without too much of a problem, right?”

“Yeah, Nia said Dromarch was able to get him stable once I took Obrona out and the ether came back.”

“Right, that was it. And, um.. Since we’ve been here in Mor Ardain, I’ve been thinking about something, and.. after that time we all spent together tonight, and being around her like that, I think I’ve figured it out. Sapphire is the person I really want to be with, for the rest of my life. ..However much longer that even ends up being.

I have no idea how I’m going to go about it, but..

I think I’m going to ask her to marry me.”

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barovian-dawn-seekers · 5 years ago

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Not the pies....

Okay. I really will eventually get on top of writing up campaign notes leading up to where we are now... but after tonight’s session I just wanted to make a post because it was so stupid and fun. Fun in Barovia? Terrible things were happening, but god it was so fun. Anyways, there are spoilers, so read ahead with warning!

Ah the dream pastries. Our group has known about the hags since... well, very early on in the campaign, ever since we made an investigative trip to the windmill, during which the hags were not there, and easily learned just how messed up things were. Because of this we’ve known of the dream pastries and have known not to eat them. The hags were always on our list of things to deal with, but eventually two of the three were taken care of by another group, with the remaining hag going on the run. At one point Mistake went hunting for her with little success, though she did make some new friends along the way at least. The hag had already moved again.

Well, tonight she made a bad choice in returning to Vallaki, running into Nemissa and Mistake. Nemissa wasn’t suspicious at all, but Mistake was and stayed behind to keep a watch on the elderly lady as she sold pies in the market while Nemissa returned back to our home. Nemissa ran into Friend on her way in, pies of his own in hand from a local that he frequently buys from. She briefly described the encounter, Friend quickly put two and two together, and after dropping off his pies told her to get rid of the one she had and went racing off toward the market without a second thought.

Now. We have been in Barovia for nearly a month or so. We have managed to avoid these pies. Then tonight happens. Two mistakes were made tonight;

- Nemissa burned the pie

- No one else was there to keep Friend and Mistake out of trouble.

Just in case Raatha would like to talk about what happened with the burning of the pie I will leave out most of the details, but turns out our house was filled with smoke that brought about the same effect as eating them. Some people were spared, others not so much. Fun fact; our house is currently home to a large portion of the werewolves as well. It was. Certainly a time. Such a chaotic, wonderful time.

Let’s talk about the hag though. Friend arrived in the market. Out of breath and huffing, he looked around for Mistake, knowing she was there somewhere. Too good at stealth for even his crazy vision, he couldn’t find her and also realized he had absolutely no plan of what to do. He knew the hag was bad, and he knew they had to do something about her, but he could not just suddenly attack someone in the middle of town. Then Mistake gave up her hiding spot only long enough for him to see her, thankfully not spotted by the hag. She must have had a plan, all he had to do was keep the hag distracted, Friend thought.

The longer he talked with her the more annoyed he got though and eventually as she asked if he wanted to have a sample he called her out, telling her he didn’t eat pies made out of children. She continued to try to play innocent, putting on the water works and acting as if he was accusing her of something she did not do. He did not relent, and having found the shoe of a small child in the cart, Mistake finally stepped forth and put a dagger to the woman’s back. “Then why is there a child’s shoe in your cart and a bloody sack?”

The woman cried for help, seeking to persuade the townsfolk that she was being threatened needlessly. They could not see the dagger, though their suspicions were raised. As Friend explained to them who she was the villagers told him the pastries were a myth, and Friend assured them they were not. He and his friends had seen otherwise, and they had done nothing but help the town in any way they could. And Mistake threw the burlap sack and the bloody shoe into the opening for all to see. “Fine then,” the old woman stated and started to reach for her pocket as her guise melted away and the townsfolk could see her for who she truly was.

Before she could Friend’s claws dug into her shoulder, quickly stunning her and preventing whatever she was up to. The stun could not last though, and the second time around he was not so lucky to keep her stunned. He and Mistake had dealt her quite a lot of damage, but from her pocket she produced a heart and after rattling off a rhyme she gave it a squeeze and vanished before them. This is most certainly going to prove to be rather bad for our dumb children that should never be left alone for all the terrible choices they make together.

While they had not jumped into the fray, the townsfolk were quick to demolish the cart, deciding to burn it and the pies together to dispose of them. Not knowing of the trouble that burning a single pie back home was causing, the two left the townsfolk to their work and began a sprint for the town center, where Madam Eva and Strahd, yes, Strahd, were, to see if Eva knew of a way to find the hag. She had after all spoken of her distaste for them before. They would not reach Eva though, as Friend would opt to first stop and speak to Strahd. They have... a strange relationship by now. Technically enemies, and yet with a truce at hand with other foes to fight. Strahd had even spent time another the guise of Vasili, of which the party was fully aware by now. And while he seems to try to hide it, Friend is aware that Strahd remembers his time as their ally quite well.

So the two are told that he hag is still watching them, standing next to them even, only in the ethereal plane. Though he makes not attempt to attack her, he does look directly to her and proceed to make various threats toward her. Apparently displeased that she has been spying in on the castle among many other things. He tells the two exactly what to expect, tells them that Nemissa could aid them well with the spell Protection from Evil and Good, that she would come for them in the night to torment them. And he has no qualms with them ending her time in his realm.

So yeah. We’ve been playing for like. A year and a half now? And our dumb asses finally have to deal with this hag. Looking forward to dealing with this child murderer when she decides to come back around.

#Curse of Strahd #Curse of Strahd spoilers #Campaign Notes #We Fucked Up Hard

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icecubelotr44 · 8 years ago

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Surrender (Whumptober/Inktober Day 27)

Direct continuation of: Outnumbered

same universe as: Bag Over Head, Guilt, Held at Gunpoint, Drugged, Grief, Panic Attack, and The Darling Affair

Three days.

Killian Jones had holed up in a cave in the hills with little more than the supplies he’d stolen from a nomadic group of travelers and the water he’d painstakingly measured out and boiled for three days.

To be fair, he’d slept for most of the second, trying to regain some of the strength he’d need to craft an exfil plan with no resources.

But three days in a cave in the hills in a desert climate with nothing more than tattered clothes and bandages to protect him from the changing temperatures had left him miserable and feverish.

He only had one thing on his mind when he finally emerged.

Get home to Liam.

It was likely going to take a wing and a prayer.

And a new set of clothes, some money, and an identity that wouldn’t garner too many questions.

Thankfully, Killian Jones was nothing if not resourceful and could put the Boy Scouts to shame with his own level of preparedness for any situation.

The scratch of fabric over badly-healed wounds assaulted Killian’s senses as he pulled on a clean shirt and he fought the urge to tear it off. He was stronger than this, he had survived far worse.

Just because he couldn’t think of a time when that was true didn’t make it any less so.

Jeans next, and he nearly whimpered at the pull of the marks on his back, at the crunch of his ribs as the broken ends rubbed together while he pulled them up.

He slept an entire afternoon away in a cheap motel room after getting dressed, needing the escape as much as, if not more than, he needed to keep moving towards Liam. Towards home.

Killian couldn’t make it home if he collapsed from exhaustion or depleted defenses first.

It was surprising what a shower with questionable water pressure and some carefully rolled down sleeves could do to make a person look trustworthy, he’d realized some time long ago. With his ballcap pulled low to mask the score above his temple from the bullet wound that Liam still thought had claimed his life, Killian had managed to weasel his way into a local poker game and walk out with just enough to keep him afloat and not enough to convince any of the men he’d fleeced to come after him.

His ribs really didn’t need another workover any time soon.

He wasn’t healing as quickly as he should, it was in the back of his mind at all times. He needed to get back to the States where he could safely stand down.

God, he just wanted to rest.

One last step in his plan - an identity.

Killian Jones had plenty of false identities. Aliases that had been carefully crafted and backstopped by the analysts at JR Solutions. He had access to any number of passports that he’d stashed before starting this godforsaken mission.

He couldn’t risk using a single one of them.

If he did, an alert would pop up back home and signal to whoever was looking - Liam, for sure, but also whomever had betrayed them to the terrorists - that he was coming.

Killian really couldn’t chance the wrong person seeing that alert.

William Smee, on the other hand, had no ties to Liam’s company and no reason to betray him.

Not with all the favors he owed Jones for not outing him, killing him, or otherwise abandoning him to the less than savory men Smee associated with on a daily basis.

An identity that would get him on a flight to the States didn’t even begin to pay Killian back for everything he’d done for the man, but he’d cash in whatever chits Smee required to get home.

To get to Liam.

James Hook.

Really?

Killian shook his head, regretting it as the world spun around him again. His head was pounding now, the multiple concussions and the lack of nutrition over the past… how long had it been? were all starting to catch up with him.

“I can get you on a flight,” Smee cajoled as Killian opened the door. “But you’ll owe me a favor for it.”

He thought he might regret it, but it sounded so good to just let someone else figure out the next step that he nodded before he could think too hard about it.

Smee grinned. “Give me a couple hours to make sure she’s set and we’ll get you home, Cap.”

Killian agreed, sinking down onto a ratty old couch that had seen better days.

It smelled like cheese.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, sunk into a half-stupor that allowed him to rest while still keeping watch, hyperaware of his surroundings at all times. But it was still light out when Smee returned, a wide grin on his face and a piece of paper clutched in his grimy paws.

“Go to this hangar and ask for Jack. He’ll get you to New York. I assume that will get you close enough?”

New York. He could get to Boston from there with the money he’d won in the game. Boston meant the T, the T got him to JR Solutions. JR Solutions meant Liam.

Liam meant home.

“Aye, mate. I owe you one.”

The portly little man smirked. “Happy to help, sir,” he snarked before shooing Killian out the door.

There was no one in the goddamned hangar.

Killian was going to go back to that ratty little room and tear Smee apart piece by-

“Can I help you?” a mousey little woman peeked out from the fuselage of a half-finished plane.

Killian started. He’d had no idea anyone was there. He was slipping.

“I was… I was told to find Jack,” he stuttered, still trying to understand how far his senses had started to slip.

The woman beamed. “Monterey? Oh he’s out with the boys at the Festival. I can help you out with whatever you need.”

What?

His vision was starting to swim, his ribs starting to scream. He just wanted a bed. Or a chair. Or even just a corner where no one was going to find him and hurt him.

“Smee sent me?” he tried instead.

“Gee willikers! You’re Mr. Hook! Of course. Dale said you were coming. We’re almost fueled up over there”---she pointed to a rickety looking plane that Killian would swear had never logged a single air mile---“and I’ll get you to New York lickety split.”

Oh God.

He was going to kill Smee slowly.

If he survived the flight home.

Home. Liam. Home.

Could he trust her?

Killian Jones counted on two fingers the number of people in this world he counted on to watch his back. His brother and himself. Could he let this woman take his safety into her hands and trust her to get him home?

Killian climbed aboard the plane and collapsed into the seat afforded to him. A spring stuck into his back and the cushions chafed against where his shirt had ridden up, aggravating the burns on his lower back.

The blackness claimed him within minutes of them getting in the air.

>>>

“Mr. Hook? Mr. Hook, we’re here. Do you need an ambulance or something?”

Killian startled awake, shocked to see the young woman’s face so close to his own without him noticing.

“No, lass, I’m fine. Are we… did we crash?”

She laughed, a light little giggle that made it seem as if what he’d asked wasn’t alarming at all.

“Gee willikers, no! We’re here.”

Killian looked out the window of the plane, surprised to see a large airport outside instead of trees or the ocean.

“Oh,” he remarked stupidly.

She giggled again. “I know Mr. Smee said that you needed to get to Boston, so I brought you here instead. Seems like you needed to be here more than I needed to get to New York.”

Boston.

Liam.

Liam!

“Thank you,” he breathed out, relieved to be so close to aid. He was chagrined to feel the sting of tears in his eyes, but blinked them back quickly. “I never even asked you your name, lass.”

“Oh, that’s all right. I told you when we got in the air, but you were already sleeping. It’s Gadget.”

Right.

“Thank you,” he breathed again, disembarking and nearly collapsing on the tarmac.

Boston.

Killian eventually stumbled down into the subway, curled up in a corner of the train, and tried to breathe away the stars in his vision.

He was going home.

>>>

Liam Jones had been many things in his lifetime. He was an orphan. He had been an older brother. He had been a Captain in Her Majesty’s Royal Navy. He was the commanding officer at JR Solutions.

He was completely, and utterly, alone in this world.

The men and women under his command now walked around eggshells around him, had done so ever since that goddamned video had come into Ops, obliterating his world around him and hardening him into the shell of a man he’d once been.

Some days he didn’t know why he even bothered coming into work anymore.

Alone in his office, the day’s itinerary was posted on his blotter as if he truly cared about the requisitions meeting or the budget committee that would keep his firm in the black for the next quarter. He heard the bustle of the bullpen, the comings and goings of everyone under his command, and he felt completely removed from it.

He didn’t care.

He had a job to do, Killian would have torn a strip off him if he thought for a second that Liam was neglecting the other missions so that he could perfect the details of his funeral. But it didn’t matter. Details were all Liam could focus on without falling apart, so this last way to honor Killian would have to serve.

Liam kept a tight rein of control on the emotions that threatened to bubble to the surface again, images dancing in his memories of Killian at his first day of primary school, Killian on the rugby pitch, Killian sitting on the side of their bathtub with a black eye and a fierce glare as Liam reminded him - again - that fighting wouldn’t solve anything.

Killian as a gangly teenager, balancing on the balls of his feet and learning to box under Liam’s careful tutelage. Killian in his Navy uniform, bright faced and proud to be following older brother’s lead.

Killian after Somalia.

Killian as he healed in Boston.

Killian on his knees in that hellhole in God-knew-where, bloody and-

No!

Liam clamped down on the memories, unwilling to fall back into the last moments of Killian’s life here at work. He didn’t need the video to relive his little brother’s last moments, but he’d go home tonight and play it again, anyw-

The office outside his door was silent save for hushed whispers. What was going on? He had just stood up to go and see, thankful for the distraction, when his door creaked open painstakingly slowly.

Who the bloody hell dared to enter his office without knoc-

Liam’s breath caught in his chest. He was hallucinating. It was the only explanation. He’d been daydreaming about the past, allowed his memories to wander down that path, and had snapped.

There was no way that his lit-

“Liam?” Killian asked in a hesitant whisper, as if he, too, weren’t sure how real this was.

Killian.

Killian. There. Just there. Alive and standing in his doorway. Alive.

Alive!

Liam couldn’t move. Rooted to the spot at the side of his desk, one hand clenching against the wooden top - to keep him from flying off the handle or grounded in reality, he wasn’t sure - Liam couldn’t move.

His little brother was standing in - leaning against, rather - the doorway and he was, quite literally, a bloody mess. Liam’s eyes tracked immediately up to the badly healed gash at his hairline, the sound of the gunshot that had caused it echoing in his ears. There were bags and dark bruises under Killian’s eyes, a hitch in his stance that Liam was well accustomed to equating with his brother hiding injuries. His clothes were ill-fitting and rumpled, days of wear out of them. One arm wrapped tightly around his ribs, the other still holding onto the door handle as if it were a lifeline.

None of it mattered one bloody bit, not when Killian was standing mere feet away from him.

“Liam?” his brother asked again, biting back a grunt when he finally, finally, took a few steps forward, hand outstretched as if he could summon his older brother to his side.

Liam Jones had been many things in his life, but he’d never been able to ignore his baby brother’s pleas. He stepped forward, begging silently for this to be real, for this to be true, not some cruel trick or dream - nightmare - where his brother was going to be ripped from him as soon as he tried to touch-

Killian sank to his knees, a little cry of pain the only warning.

No.

No!

Liam raced the last few steps around the desk, skidding to his knees and catching his little brother in his arms before he could fall prostrate to the floor.

No!

But it was real. Liam didn’t wake up, he didn’t startle himself out of the hallucination, he didn’t lose his brother to the mists of daydreams. Killian was real and solid in his arms, his head lolling to Liam’s shoulder with a cheeky little grin of relief before his eyes rolled back into his head and he surrendered his strength.

God, Liam had never been so afraid in his- yes, he had. All those weeks ago when he’d seen the video and realized what was going to happen as soon as Killian had over the airwaves. But this was a damn close second.

His little brother had always been small, lanky and nearly scrawny, but he felt tiny in Liam’s arms. Most of his muscle tone was gone, weeks of starvation and torture tearing it away from him. He was radiating heat, every inch of skin that Liam could reach was burning with fever.

He was terrifyingly and startlingly limp, passed out in Liam’s embrace.

“Help!” he screamed, uncaring if his subordinates heard the emotion in his voice, needing them to hear the emotion in his voice. “HELP!”

He pulled Killian further into his arms, backing them both up until he leaned back against his desk and sat there, helpless. He had Killian. He could fix this, now.

“Killian,” he nearly wailed when his brother didn’t respond.

Will Scarlet stuck his head around the door. “We already called a medic when we saw him, boss. Should be here any minute.”

Liam barely managed a nod, cuddling his little brother closer to keep him off the cold floor.

And then hands were tearing his from his brother, pulling him away from Killian, trying to get him to stand and leave Killian’s side.

He couldn’t. Goddamn it, didn’t they see that? He was Killian’s older brother and he needed to…

No. He wasn’t what his brother needed right now. That was for later, when Whale put Killian back together and sent him home for Liam to heal him.

But, right now, Liam didn’t have antibiotics and pain meds. He didn’t have warm blankets and antiseptic. He didn’t have the keys to the bloody ambulance so he could drive Killian to the hospital himself.

He had to leave his brother to the capable hands of the medics trying to save his life.

God, I’m bloody well going to kill him this time, he thought in exasperation, moving his brother to the floor and kneeling as far out of the way as he could while still holding Killian’s hand.

His brother would be all right now.

And then Liam was going to shackle him to the goddamned bed and then a goddamned desk until they were both old enough to retire.

(Well, maybe not. But still.)

#brothers jones #liam jones #whumptober #inktober #ouat ff #my fic #one shot #whumptober ff

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unofferable-fic · 6 years ago

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The Flower & The Serpent (Arthur Morgan x OFC)

Chapter 3 - Full of Sound and Fury

Summary: In the early 1890s, the Van der Linde Gang were truly at their finest. Experts at stealing from the rich and giving to the poor, they’ve made a name for themselves across the West. Two of their newest recruits, a pair of rebellious Irish siblings with an unknown past, slowly find their footing and settle into their new lives as outlaws. And yet, as they grow older, threats from all sides begin to appear. A strained relationship with Colm O'Driscoll spells disaster for the gang, and no matter how far they roam across America, the world continues to change around them. If they want to survive, difficult choices must be made. No one is as they seem and the impending arrival of law and order threatens to tear the siblings, and everything they hold dear, apart. Is it too late for anyone to find a happy ending?

Originally found here

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Pairing: Arthur Morgan x OFC

Warnings: Language, violence, civilisation, jokes at John’s expense.

Word Count: 5,747

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Playlist: “Too Old to Die Young” — Brother Dege, “We” — Bon Iver, “I’m Shipping Up to Boston” — Dropkick Murphys, “Inverness” — Jed Kurzel

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A/N: Also available on AO3. Chapter three comin’ at y’all. And yes I like to imagine that William somewhat resembles Luke Mitchell because he’s a beautiful boah.

23rd August, 1893, outside Winterset, Iowa

Another city, another bank to hit. Dutch is happy with our plan to take the bank in Winterset and chose a good team to work with. As well as the boss himself, he wants all experienced hands on deck, so John, Maebh, William, Hosea, and I will be attending. He asked that Karen come too so she can act as a distraction before we make our entrance. She proved she can handle herself in the last town, so we’re happy to have her along. Considering the Callander brothers are newer to how things work around here, he wants them to guard the camp.

With the plan to plant some of us in the bank beforehand, things seem good to go. As long as we get in and out with the money and keep casualties to a minimum — or preferably none at all — then we can call it a job well done.

* * *

“Marston, I’ve a question for ye.”

“What is it, Hennigan?”

Maebh looked up from reading her book beside the campfire. She raised a brow at William and John who sat beside her, the latter whittling away at a piece of wood while the former stared at him curiously.

“What happened to your voice to make it permanently raspy?” William enquired, scratching his beard thoughtfully. “Did Arthur punch you mad hard in the throat or somethin’ and you’ve sounded like this ever since?”

John frowned, his hands halting their movements. “I’ll have you know it’s hereditary.”

“Yeah? Who was your da? A furnace?”

Maebh casually added. “A Scottish furnace, actually.”

“My voice ain’t that raspy.”

William let out a snort. “Ah, c’mon now! You’re only twenty and you sound like you’re pushin’ on fifty.”

“No, I don’t.” Maebh tried to keep her mouth shut, but the look of amusement on her face caught the older man’s attention. “What the hell you smirkin’ at?”

She scoffed “Nothin’! Don’t bring me into your little tiff.”

John threw his hands up in the air and let out a huff. “Then maybe get your brother to stop botherin’ me.”

With a shake of her head, she shut her book and got to her feet. “He’s his own man and I’m not gonna tell him what to do.”

She left them to it, just about managing to hide her laughter as William continued to do Marston’s head in.

It had been three years since she and her brother found themselves in a spot while robbing a stagecoach, and thankfully being saved by Dutch van der Linde and his gang. Though they had both been skeptical of the group at first, seeing Dutch and Hosea focusing on helping those forgotten and in need across the country had helped to ease their worries. Now, they were well settled into their rolls and formed bonds with their fellow outlaws. Dutch had been the supportive leader they pegged him for — encouraging them to keep reading and ‘broadening their minds’, thus ensuring that they were made aware of what was happening in the country as governments, cities, and civilisation took over. While it was a nomadic life, it was better than what they had before. Together, they robbed multiple banks across the country, and gave vast amounts of wealth to the forgotten people who needed it.

The gang itself had acquired new tag-alongs and members since they first joined. Another pair of siblings, Mac and Davey Callander, had recently been recruited by Dutch after he encountered them partaking in a massive street brawl. They were a proper vicious pair of bastards by the sounds of the stories they told, but they bothered Maebh very little. Though they were particularly violent, they seemed to be able to control these tendencies towards their fellow gang members. Another newer member was a woman named Karen Jones. Bursting with confidence and personality, Arthur and Maebh were the ones to encounter the proficient scam artist in a local saloon. She did an impressive job of drinking the pair of them under the table that day and stealing their money when they blacked out. When they later tracked her down, they came with an offer rather than a loaded firearm. Last but not least, the ever flamboyant and mischievous Josiah Trewlany appeared randomly at camp a few weeks after Maebh and William originally joined. Apparently, he had been a member of the gang for a while, but rarely stayed at camp. He was constantly going to and fro, but always seemed to have a lead; the very reason Dutch still welcomed him upon each return.

Returning to her tent, Maebh set herself down on her bedding and continued reading. It was one of William’s plays — Othello — he finished it himself a few days ago and asked if she would read it so that he could hear what she thought. He was always one for long discussions about stories whenever they were travelling long distances for work, or while sitting in their tent at night. Having been familiar with Shakespeare’s work already because of his mild obsession with the bard, she was happy enough to read another of his tales. Frankly, she read any book that William hopefully plopped into her lap.

“Whatcha readin’?”

Engrossed in the story, she hadn’t noticed someone approaching. Tearing her eyes away from Iago’s monologue, she was met with Arthur standing in front of her. “More Shakespeare.”

“You really like his work, huh?” he asked, taking the book as she offered it to him.

“He’s more William’s favourite than mine, but I gotta give him credit where it’s due, it’s a good read.”

He flicked through the pages carefully. “Sure. Hope I ain’t disturbin’ your good readin’?”

She waved him off. “Nah. I’ve been at it for most of the mornin’ anyway so I should probably call it a day.”

He nodded and handed her back the play, resting his hands on his belt buckle. “If you ain’t up to much, I was gonna go do some huntin’ if you wanna join? You can ask your brother too if he ain’t busy.”

“Yeah.” She offered him a small smile. “That sounds fun actually. I could do with gettin’ outta camp for a bit.”

“Good, good. Grab your bow and I’ll fetch William before he makes Marston’s head explode.”

“Might want’a move quick, then.”

With a smile, Arthur left to do just that and Maebh gathered her hunting supplies in a bag. She hurried over to the hitching post where William’s mount, Dantès, was currently stationed and waited for the others. She offered him a sugar cube from her pocket and stroked his mane, admiring the animal with genuine fondness. She was surprised to see not only Arthur and William approaching, but also John following closely behind them.

“Marston wanted to join us,” Arthur explained as he readied Boadicea. “So don’t be surprised if him and your brother decide to turn a huntin’ trip into a competition.”

“No thanks,” William countered, patting his horse’s neck. “I’m just here to help get supplies. I’d rather beat him at a good aul fist fight anyway.”

“We can make that happen!” John assured him as he got on top of his own horse.

William shook his head and hoisted himself atop Dantès before he offered his sister a hand on to the back of the Dutch Warmblood. “You ever goin’ t’get yourself a new horse?”

“I will eventually,” she replied and hung on to his slim waist. “It’s not an easy thing to do, y’know, gettin’ over a horse.”

“You’ll know when the time is right,” Arthur added, taking his hat from his saddlebag and putting it on his head. “We ready to go, fellers?”

Soon, the four of them were heading out. They galloped through the rolling hills of Madison County, basking in the heat of the early afternoon sun. They reached a spot not far from camp that was known for having a decent amount of activity amongst the local wildlife. One of the many smaller ponds in the area, deer and other herbivores were common enough around those parts, especially on a hot day like this. They left their horses hitched to some trees and went about planning how to take down a few deer if they could. Splitting into two teams, the Hennigans went to one end while Morgan and Marston went to the other. Not far from where Dantès was hitched, Maebh spotted a rabbit slowly scurrying amongst the brush. Crouched low behind a tree, she notched an arrow and steadied herself when William encouraged her to kill it. It was released with a thwack, and flew through the air before successfully piercing the animal, killing it instantly. Its carcass was swiftly clipped to his saddle before the pair slowly crept to a spot near the lake. From here, hidden within some bushes and the shade of an overhanging tree, they could get a good view of the surrounding area and the deer that currently stood drinking water on its bank. Arthur and John could be seen on the other side, thankfully far enough away that their hunting wouldn’t disturb the Hennigans’ targets.

“Right,” William began in a whisper. “We’ve got three horses, which means three deer max. D’you want to get this one?”

She shook her head. “Nah. I got the rabbit — you can hardly go through a huntin’ trip without catchin’ somethin’.”

“If you insist, sis. You’ll grab its attention?”

Maebh watched as her brother carefully notched an arrow and steadied his aim with an unbreakable focus. They had hunted together on too many occasions to count throughout their lives together, so the process was familiar at this stage. When he gave her the signal, she whistled and caused a nearby buck to raise his head in response. Lacking any hesitation, he let the arrow fly and struck it in its neck. With a mewl, the buck fell to the ground and died as the other deer scattered in fright.

“Nice shot,” she commented, glad that the animal didn’t suffer needlessly. “Need a hand carryin’ it back?”

William grinned widely and stood up straight once more. “Ah, thanks, but I’m grand. I don’t want to give Marston an excuse to claim I wasn’t the one who caught it.”

“Don’t mind him,” she insisted, though her tone was moderately amused with the jesting. “He’ll probably pass comment regardless of who carries it back to the horses.”

“Probably,” he replied, and hoisted the carcass over his shoulder. “But no need to give him a bit of ammo.”

She shook her head as they strolled back to the horses, taking in the sight of the peaceful little lake, now practically devoid of animals thanks to their intrusion. On the other side, she could just about see Arthur and John carrying their own kills in the same direction. “I swear, you’s two would make a competition out of breathin’ if you could.”

“That’s actually not a bad idea… We’ll see who can hold their breath underwater the longest!”

“You know he can’t swim…”

“… Who can hold their breath the longest in general then! First to pass out loses.”

“Jaysus Christ.”

Dantés waited patiently as the pair of them return to his side. While Maeve petted his mane, William loaded the buck on to his rear and secured it with some rope. Not long after that, their companions appeared through the brush, each carrying their own deer.

Maebh offered them a friendly ‘Howdy, gentlemen’, though Dantés still held most of her attention.

“Only one buck?” Marston observed, voice slightly out of breath as he carried the hefty animal. “You two are losin’ your edge.”

“Excuse me,” she interjected. “I’ll have you know, Mr Marston, that I caught that succulent lookin’ rabbit too.”

“And a fine rabbit it is,” Arthur chuckled good-naturedly. “He’ll taste good in a stew, although probably not if Pearson’s makin’ it.”

“Marston,” William announced and approached said man as he placed his catch on his horse. “Got a challenge for ya.”

John smirked. “You lookin’ to get beat, boy?”

“I’m only two years younger than ya, pal, calm down.”

“Alright, what you have in mind?”

“We both get thrown into the lake and the first to drown loses.”

Arthur burst out into a hefty laugh while Maebh found herself guffawing at the bitter look of displeasure on Marston’s face. She interjected before a full on fight could break out. “C’mon, let’s get these back to camp before you two have another one of your marital spats.”

Thankfully, everyone agreed to mount up and head back. The success of the trip had the group in good spirits and they took their time heading home, choosing to let the horses roam on an easy trot. As they made their way along the trail, William spotted a small band of wild horses grazing on a rolling hillside. A particularly beautiful chestnut stallion had the young man whipping out his binoculars to get a better look.

William let out a whistle before passing the device to his sister. “That’s some horse.”

“This might be a good opportunity for you to get a new mount,” John suggested. “Considerin’ it’s ’bout time you got one.”

“I’m not the best at breakin’ in horses,” Maebh admitted as she studied the animal from a safe distance atop Dantés. “I’ve much more experience with breakin’ in fellas.”

John spluttered at the retort while Arthur hid an amused grin. “We’ve got your back if’n you wanna try. Gotta try breakin’ in wild horses sometime.”

Knowing that her companions were right, and with a reassuring promise from William to step in if needed, Maebh hopped on to the ground and slowly approached the grazing horse. She planted her feet carefully as she waded through the grass, trying to keep herself — and the animal — calm. Upon noticing her approach, the stallion raised its head and whinnied. The rest of the herd, alerted to the disturbance, began to scatter in the opposite directing, their hooves thundering into the distance.

“Hey there, big fella,” Maebh called out to the stallion, feeling a little stupid for doing so while her friends were nearby.

The horse stomped a hoof in reply, heavy breaths being snuffed from his nostrils. Despite his visible discomfort, he didn’t run as she continued to slowly make her way to him.

“My brother said you were some horse,” she continued. “And now that I’m up close to ya, I can see he wasn’t full of it.”

The animal began to make small jumps on to his back hooves, neighing as she closed the gap.

“Easy boy, easy… You’re alright. Look at you.”

Eventually she reached the stallion’s side with sure and careful strides. The animal, though somewhat calmer than before, was still visibly uncertain with her presence. She reassured him by carefully patting his neck, though always on edge in case he lashed out — the last thing she wanted was a horse shoe to the face. The thoughts had her heart thumping rapidly.

Thinking that the interaction was progressing well, she saw an opportunity and quickly hoisted herself on to the horse’s back.

It didn’t end well for Maebh.

She managed to hang on to the now panicking horse’s golden mane for some time, trying to desperately balance herself as it leapt around the pasture and tried to buck her off. The rapid spinning of the world around her and the deafening neighing quickly became too much. Suddenly, her balance was lost and she was falling through the air. The landing stung but she didn’t have much time to think about it; the stallion’s legs were kicking wildly and she could only assume she was in its path. Despite the wind being knocked out of her, she rolled her body in a direction she hoped was away from the angered animal. She rolled and rolled and, as she sensed a distance being put between them, raised her head.

William stood beside the horse, lasso already wrapped around its neck and ensuring that the animal calmed down. Hands grasped her shoulders, and she looked up to see the worried expression on Arthur’s face. “You okay?”

“I’ve been better,” she admitted and winced as he helped her sit up. “I think I made a balls of that.”

“You nearly had it,” he replied and gave her a once over. “But I think it's in better hands now.”

Now that the horse had calmed down, William thrust the lasso into the stunned John’s hands before flying over to his sister’s side. “Are you alright? He didn’t kick you, did he?”

Seeing the panic in his green eyes, she tried to reassure him. “Nah, I’m grand.”

“You got bucked off a fuckin’ horse and you expect me to think you’re grand.”

“I am grand.”

“We’ll have Miss Grimshaw take a look at her back at camp,” Arthur added, presumably trying to calm the situation. “The main thing is she didn’t get kicked. Looks like she got away with only some bruises.”

She pouted at her sibling while he gently brushed some dirt off her tinted cheeks. “I’m sorry I gave you a fright, William.”

“You can repay me by lettin’ me help you back to camp.”

William and Arthur carefully hauled her to her feet, and she was relieved that she could stand without their assistance.

“She okay?” John called while he remained with the wild stallion a few feet away.

“She’ll be fine,” Arthur answered as he fetched their horses. “Doesn’t look like she got any broken bones.”

She allowed William to help ease her atop Dantés and carefully wrapped her arms around his waist as he sat in front of her. “Well, that was embarrassin’…”

“At least you got a new horse outta it,” he offered, taking the lasso as John passed it to him. “And you didn’t die either.”

“I think that horse is yours. You calmed him after all, and I don’t think he likes me much.”

William didn’t even glance at the animal as it followed them back to camp. “We’ll discuss that after we make sure you’re okay.”

Knowing that there was no arguing with him, Maebh simply let her cheek rest against his back and enjoyed the smooth ride home, nursing the ache in her hip and her somewhat fractured ego.

* * *

Arthur had thankfully been right — Maebh managed to escape the incident with no broken bones and only received a bit of hefty bruising on her hip and shoulder from the fall. It was nothing too serious, bar some cuts and grazes. She was mostly just relieved that none of her injuries kept her from the bank robbery that they had scheduled to do a few days afterwards. William didn’t leave her side for days, despite the fact she could walk and talk with no issue. She was however prevented from doing other jobs and leaving camp; Dutch said he wanted her in tip top shape for the robbery, so aggravating her injuries wasn’t an option. She did manage to convince her brother to keep the damn horse though, and now the stallion — formally named Banquo — stood grazing with the others at camp. Arthur checked up on her too, bringing hot food and coffee with him. His presence was appreciated, especially when she started getting anxious about being stuck in camp. At night time, Karen came to her with some beers and the two usually ended up drinking themselves to sleep after a sing-song with Uncle and Miss Grimshaw.

Maebh was relieved when the days passed by and the morning of the robbery arrived. She felt fit and ready for the occasion thanks to her few days of rest. Soon, she and William were riding into Winterset with Dantés and one of the spare mounts from camp.

The plan was simple enough. In order to avoid suspicions with a large group riding into town, she and William would go into the bank alone with concealed guns and inquire about making an account as a newlywed couple. Hosea would also go to the bank on his own, and the three of them would wait on opposite ends of the room for the others’ arrival. Karen was the signal that things would begin — she would come in, cause a distraction to grab everyones attention, and Dutch, Arthur, and John would storm the bank through the front door. Once they arrived, it was masks on and all hands on deck. Arthur was to intimidate the manager into opening the lock boxes as quietly and as quickly as possible. The others would keep the tellers quiet. The plan was that there would be no casualties.

They rode into town, dressed to impress in a suit and frock respectively. Having hitched their horses on the edge of town and entering the bank, Maebh and William played their part well, and the latter got into a casual conversation with one of the tellers under his alias.

“I think I should discuss it with my new wife before making a decision; she’d murder me if I did it without her. Y’know how women can be, huh, pal?”

They retired to a pair of seats on the right and pretended to be in deep conversation about their finances. Across the room, Hosea sat and made as though he was perusing through some bank statements.

“We’re lucky it’s not very busy today,” Maebh said to her brother in a hushed whisper. “Less people in the crossfire.”

He glanced around the room quickly before meeting her gaze. “Hopefully that’ll play in our favour. In and out in no time.”

It wasn’t long before wails could be heard outside and a figure came crashing through the front door. Karen stood there, dressed in her fanciest outfit with tears streaming down her plump cheeks. She heaved out complaints about an apparent man who had wronged her as one of the bank’s staff came to her side. Whatever attempts he had at hushing her were drowned out by her howling. She expertly drew him in, only to suddenly unveil a gun and push it into his gut.

Her voice shed its previous woes, now laced with stinging vinegar. “Get your goddamn hands up! This is a goddamn robbery!”

At her signal, Dutch, Arthur, and John burst through the doors, bandanas covering half their faces and guns raised.

“Nobody move!”

“Hands up!”

“Anyone moves and we shoot!”

John was on the teller with the keys in an instant, and William and Maebh moved into position. They tugged their bandanas on and William and Hosea quickly shut the front doors while Maebh waited by the teller’s door.

“Unlock the door,” John ordered and swiftly tossed her the keys. “Quick!”

Maebh did as asked, trying to ignore some of the pleads from the bank’s workers.

“This is a robbery, gentlemen,” Dutch announced, addressing the whole room. “And we don’t want to shoot any of you kind folk. So do as we say and no one gets hurt, is that clear?”

As soon as she unlocked the door, she called out to Arthur. “We’re in! Come help sort the vault out.”

While the others attended to those in the main room, Maebh, William, and Arthur stormed through the door to the vault. Arthur grabbed the manager by his collar and switched his demeanour like the flip of a coin.

“Open the goddamn vault!” he screamed, revolver pointed to his head. “Open it!”

“Okay, okay,” the manager said, voice quivering in terror considering he had three guns pointed at his head. “Just don’t hurt me, p-please. I’ve got a family—”

“Open the fuckin’ vault if you want’a see them again!” William growled, getting the man to move. “C’mon the fuck!”

He got to opening the vault, moving too slowly for their liking. With a swift whack of Arthur’s cattleman, he worked faster. “Sonofabitch, c’mon! Hurry up!”

The door opened with a heavy creak, and William pushed the suit into the vault with them. Inside were four lock boxes that were sure to hold ample amounts of money they could use. Though things were going well, Maebh could feel sweat building on the back of her neck.

“We’re in!” she called out to the others. “How you’s holdin’ up out there?”

“We’re fine,” Dutch called back. “Just make sure he opens those lock boxes up without causin’ any trouble!”

Arthur grasped the manager once more and threw him towards the lock boxes. “You best get them open before I put a goddamn hole in your head, boy!”

There was no arguing to be had, and the manager did as he was asked. They quickly shoved the contents of the lock boxes into four bags Arthur had brought along.

Once they were in the clear, William gave the manager a box and knocked him out cold. “That should give us a bit more time to get away.”

Before either of them could make a comment about how smoothly things had gone, a commotion stirred up in the other room. A single shot rang out. Glass smashed and screams erupted. Hosea’s voice could be heard amongst the rabble. “What the hell are you doin’?”

The trio emerged from the teller’s door to see Dutch stood by the front door, one of the window panes smashed through and glass littered on the ground. Maebh glanced out one of the other windows and saw a dead lawman on the street, blood pouring from a bullet hole in his chest. The weight of the money bag on her back felt all the more heavier now.

“What in the hell happened?” Arthur demanded.

“Lawman was investigatin’,” Dutch explained hastily. “He saw what was goin’ on — I had to shoot him.”

“We don’t kill people on these jobs!” Hosea argued, disgusted by the turn of events.

Dutch refused to back down. “We do when our lives are at stake!”

“Well now you’ve put all of us at risk! We could’ve done somethin’ else!”

Karen quickly joined Maebh at the window just as more lawmen appeared outside. “Awh, shit… We got more law outside, boys!”

“They sure as shit know we’re here now,” Maebh added and turned to face her friends. “What do we do?”

“We fight our way out,” Dutch answered, drawing his pistols in each hand. “And get back to camp alive and with the money. We’ve been plannin’ this for too long to give up now. We gotta leave this town as quick as we can. Arthur and I will open fire and force them to stay in cover while the rest of you get to the horses. Head down the alley and loop around; Hosea will lead the way. Shoot anyone in your way, you hear me?”

“Lead the way, Dutch,” John said and took the spare money bag from Arthur. “We’re right behind you.”

A swift glance amongst the group to ensure that everyone was ready, and Dutch was kicking the door open. He was the first to open fire on the waiting lawmen, who ducked behind shop fronts and buildings to steer clear of the bullets. Arthur followed, wielding a repeater and forcing their adversaries to hide if they wanted to avoid being shot. One by one they emerged from the bank, cash in hand and guns ready to take out anyone who threatened their escape. As always, Maebh planted herself ahead of William, staying low as they hurriedly turned and snuck down the side alley and through the back gardens of several shops and a hotel. The thundering clamour of guns firing and bullets flying through wood and clashing with brick could be heard as Hosea, Karen, Maebh, William, and John skirted around corners and hopped over short fences.

As the horses appeared up ahead, visibly skittering at the sound of shots firing, Maebh threw a glance over her shoulder to see if Dutch and Arthur were nearby. She let John and William pass her as she peered around one of the alleys.

“What are you at?” William asked, hesitating to continue.

“We can’t leave without them,” she insisted, wiping her brow and getting her breath back. “Two men against a whole load of law won’t end well.”

“It’s Morgan and Dutch; they’ll be grand. We need to stay with the others.”

Though the commotion continued to rage, she was relieved to see Arthur come barrelling around one of the corners, skidding on the dirt ground as he went.

Upon seeing the siblings, he sprinted to their side. “Y’all okay?”

Maebh shook her head. “I feel like we should be askin’ you that. Where’s Dutch?”

“Comin’ ’round now. He told me to go ahead, so let’s move.”

With his confirmation that their leader was alright, the pair followed the older man as they continued in their escape. As they reached the horses — the others already mounted up and ready to leave — Maebh saw Dutch appear from the corner where Arthur had come running. He was unscathed and thankfully outrunning and law that was following him. She would have grinned at the sight, had he been alone.

Before she could cry out in warning, an armed lawman leapt from around a fence behind Dutch. With a whack, he clocked him in the jaw with the butt of his carbine. Dutch was sent sprawling to the dirt.

Maebh grabbed Arthur’s arm in a knee jerk reaction and her breath caught in her throat.

As the lawman stood over their floundering companion and aimed his gun at Dutch’s head, she heard Arthur desperately calling out his name.

A single gunshot cracked through the air.

With a clatter, the carbine felt limply out of the lawman’s hands. His body went next, landing in a lump on the ground, and blood spurting from the wound in the back of his head. Dutch was stunned, as they all were.

“Who the fuck is that guy?” William asked.

Behind the lawman stood a reverend, decked out in a classic black coat and white neckerchief. Underneath his large brimmed hat was thick, wild ginger hair and a weary but anxious expression. In his hand he held a revolver, smoke steaming from its barrel — the weapon that had saved Dutch’s life.

“Thank you, Reverend,” Dutch said, voice cracking beneath his bandana as he let out a sigh of relief. “I think you just saved my life.”

“I think you were in trouble and I helped you,” the stranger replied, frowning beneath his moustache. “Doing nothin’ would’ve been wrong.”

Arthur quickly turned to the others atop their horses. “You three get outta here! We’ll make sure he’s alright.”

Needing no further encouragement, Hosea quickly guided John and Karen out of town at breakneck speeds. Maebh and Arthur sprinted to Dutch and his new friend while William quickly gathered the horses and prepared them for departure.

“Well, I doubt the law will see it that way,” Dutch said as she and Arthur quickly helped him to his feet. “If you wanna live, I recommend comin’ with us.”

“I don’t even know your name,” he replied, but followed uncertainly as they approached their horses. “And by the sounds of things, you just robbed the bank.”

Dutch was quick to mount up and offered the man his hand. “I ain’t gonna lie to you — we did just rob that bank. There will be time for introductions later though. You saved my life, and I owe you a debt, Reverend.”

Though he hesitated for the briefest of seconds, the reverend took the offered hand and hopped on to the Count. Each of them mounted up, just as more law arrived in town, this time riding on horseback. Maebh grabbed her reigns and quickly pushed her horse to follow her companions’ tail. Last to leave, she tried to stay close behind her friends as they galloped out past the town’s limits.

Up ahead, Arthur called out. “More comin’ in!”

She looked up and, atop a small hill, three more riders appeared, coming towards them with guns drawn. Dutch was on them first, taking one man down while Arthur got another in a flurry of bullets. One remained, but she steered her heavily breathing horse in an attempt to dodge the oncoming attack. Her companions sped off up ahead, the continued strain of jerky movement causing her horse to tire and slow.

They were far off when her horse cried out in pain and several bullets struck the animal. For the second time in a few days, Maebh was flung from a stallion and sent crashing into the dusty road below with some force. Her head spun and her shoulder throbbed. She breathed deep, lungs working overtime to get whatever air she could down her burning throat. Quite suddenly, her scalp stung as a vicious hand grabbed her hair and pulled her head up.

She cried out as tears built in the corners of her eyes. Through blurred vision she saw the lawman who shot her mount. Now he stood before her, his gun stuck in her face. “I got you now, you little—”

A deafening blast cracked through the ringing in her ears, and the man’s chest quite literally exploded. Blood and bits of flesh and bone struck her face, and suddenly, the pressure on her skull relaxed. With a wobble, he crashed to the ground, revealing a fuming William behind him. He sat atop his horse, shotgun in hand with a look that could kill. His piercing eyes fell on her — his only visible feature thanks to his bandana — brow furrowed so deep into his brow that it cast a shadow over his youthful face and emphasised the scar marred into his skin. He barely even flinched as he holstered his weapon once more.

“Get on his horse!” he ordered through gritted teeth by the sounds of it. “We need’ta leave now!”

Though dizzy and trying to get her breath back, Maebh listened to her brother, and quickly hauled herself on to the abandoned animal. There was simply no time to think about what had occurred — if she thought about her close encounter at that very moment, it would surely cost her her life this time around. With a glance at the dead horse and body in the middle of the road, she lurched and kicked the animal into a gallop, following her brother over a hill and out of sight as cries from the evaded lawmen disappeared on the wind.

#red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x oc #john marston #red dead redemption fandom #rdr #rdr2 #fanfiction #fanfic #arthur morgan fanfic #the flower and the serpent #dutch van der linde #hosea mathews #rdr fanfiction #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan x ofc

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passionate-hedgehog · 8 years ago

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HOW WE CAME TO BE - pt 2

Prompts #2 “Don’t mind me. I’ll just be in the corner, having another existential crisis.” & #17 “Will you be quiet?” “I didn’t say anything!” “Well stop thinking so loud!” & #24 “How drunk were you last night?” “Well, I still have my pants on.” “Those aren’t your pants.”

A/N: So, I had some people ask for me to make a part 2 of my last imagine. I had already intended on continuing it at some point, but that cemented my decision it the next installment, this one.

You’ll find that this is split into parts. This installment is, of course, Part 1. It goes back and forth with flashbacks. This is my first time experimenting with this style of writing, do pardon any mistakes.

My imagines all follow a certain storyline, but out of order, so they don’t need to all be read to understand them. You can take them as stand-alone. HOWEVER- this one follows IMMEDIATELY AFTER the SPENCER X READER (all caps) imagine. Again, you don’t need to read that one, but it was asked for, so here it is.

When I post these, it’s usually in a hurry. So, please excuse any errors with indents and line breaks. I’m using LibreOffice, not Microsoft. I have to re-learn everything. Thankfully it’s not too different.

Not all the prompts that were requested in this turn are in this part. I think it’s just one. The others will be in the other parts. I didn’t mean to have this installment get so wordy, but the words just kept coming, and before I knew it, there were sixteen pages! It was insane.

If you ever want to be tagged in any of my works, just let me know, and I’ll add you. Enjoy!

-tagline @shenko @breakawayfromeveryday @angelameliajadearmitage @kristidenise @frickin-bats

You couldn’t understand what the voices were shouting. You just knew that they were there. The lights behind your eyes were blinding even though your lids were closed. The pain covered your entire body and you just really wished you could remember what was going on.

It was all becoming too much before it started to fade away.

————

Your first friend in the new city had been getting on you lately about stressing out over your first full of week of your new job. You knew it wasn’t going to be easy because your job was not what you went to school for. Not that you actually finished your degree, but you retained what you were taught. For the most part, at least.

You were standing in front of your full-length mirror in your barely furnished apartment, deciding if your outfit was appropriate enough for this particular outing. Secretly, not -so secretly, you were hoping that something would happen and it would get canceled. Maybe someone would call sick, or just wouldn’t want to do it anymore. The beeping from your phone alerting you of Pree’s arrival to your apartment told you that there was no getting out of tonight’s festivities.

Don’t mind me, you thought. I’ll just be in the corner having another existential crisis.

After you had sent a responsive text, you made your way out of your apartment and into her car. “Ready to have the most fun you've had in like...ever??” Your friend was fluffing her natural hair while you got yourself situated.

“I want to say yes but...” You fixed the cuff of your jacket.

Pree put the car in drive and made her way to the restaurant. “I’ve seen your Facebook. You aren’t a shy person, appropriate and a good girl, but not shy. Is it the new city?”

You sighed and gave a shrug. “I don’t know. It’s a feeling? I don’t know if this job is teaching me to be more intuitive or if I’m just so exhausted that I’m losing my edge.”

The rest of the ride was silent but short. Honestly, you could have walked there if you had known where to go. You’d only been on the east coast for less than a month, so you hadn’t really been able to explore the neighborhood. The only thing you were able to locate by heart were the local grocery store, your job, and the closest place that served chai tea lattes. Sometimes you had to ask where the nearest CVS was. You had already made the mistake of asking where Meijer was and then felt like an idiot immediately following.

You didn’t even realize it Pree put the car in park and turned it off. She nudged Your shoulder when she realized you weren’t going anywhere. You blinked a few times, unhooked the seat belt and made your way out onto the cement of the parking lot.

You took the time to take in your surroundings. It was evening, so all the streetlights were on. There were some fairy lights as decorations on different trees along the walkway and on awnings of bistros and cafes. You always dreamed of being in the city at night with the skylines and the atmosphere that came with it, and you finally got to live it.

“Are we just going to stand around gawking all day? Or are we going to go get some food? Because let me tell you about the hunger I have after chasing my two toddlers around all day.”

You giggled and linked arms before making your way to the eatery.

The two of you walked into the restaurant, and Pree gave a name before you were led to a table full of people talking and laughing. The New-City-Blues came out, and you felt the shyness win over. This isn’t me, you thought, I’ve never been shy before.

A woman with blonde hair and a flower in her headband stood up and embraced your friend.

“Pree! It’s been so long!”

“Oh, Penelope! I know! It’s been so crazy trying to get together! I can’t believe we finally got the chance to see each other. Oh!” Your friend turned to you and put a hand on your lower arm and faced the group as a whole. “This is y/n. She’s new to the city, actually new to the east coast in general.”

You resisted tucking your hair behind your ear and smiled towards everyone. “Hey! I’m new.”

Everyone gave a laugh besides the man sitting over towards the right of the big round table. He wasn’t even looking up like the rest of his friends. You looked away when someone spoke up.

“Sit! We love fresh meat!” The woman with dark hair and brilliantly long eyelashes said with a warm smile.

You obliged with a chuckled sat in the seat between Penelope and a tan man sipping red wine. You looked in his direction and offered him a pleasant smile which he returned.

You felt a new presence to your left and caught sight of the waiter taking yours and Pree’s drink order. You ordered a simple glass of ice water with lemon and sat back to watch the dynamic of the table. You knew that Pree was adoptive cousins with Penelope but beyond that, you had no clue who anyone else was and their relations to each other. As if sensing your confusion, the woman who joked with you before you sat spoke up.

“I’m Emily, by the way. I work with Penelope. The same with Dave,” she signaled to the man next to you and continued down the table. “Derek, JJ, Aaron-we call him ‘Hotch,' and then Spencer.”

“Oh wow,” you giggled. “You guys must be a tight-knit family, huh? That’s cool. That’s how everyone is at my job too, so far.”

“What do you do?” JJ asked, taking a sip of her drink.

“Stuff I didn’t go to school for.” You gave another chuckle. “I’m a DSS, Direct Support Staff at a group home.”

“You don’t need a degree for that,” Spencer spoke from where he sat, almost analyzing you as you talked.

You blushed, nearly embarrassed. “Uh, no. I received on the job training, and I’ll take courses as I go. I did attend some technical training back home before I was placed in Virginia.”

“What’d you go to college for?” Derek had asked before the waiter stopped at the table to take the food order.

After everyone was situated with their choices and the waiter walked away, you resumed the conversation.

“I went for a degree in ECE, but I realized I couldn’t deal with parents. I love kids but sometimes those parents...” You let the sentence drift as you took a sip of water.

Eventually, the conversation drifted away from you, and the food arrived. You realized during one of the side conversations that you were sitting with a group of federal agents. You tried to hide your surprise, but by some of the not-so-subtle smirks, you weren’t so sure you were successful. When the conversation turned towards relationships, you again became the center. Since you were still so new to the city, everyone was curious to your stance. You had explained that you were single and hadn’t been in a relationship for quite some time, you noticed Spencer gain a look in his eyes. The thing was, you couldn’t quite tell what he was thinking.

Spencer had been an enigma the entire meal. You couldn’t figure out what he thought because his actions seemed distant but he would look at you a certain way that made you question what he thought. You weren’t sure why it mattered, though. I may never see these people again. Why does it bother me, that this dinner might not mean anything?

Conversations were slowly dying down, and you could feel the scene changing, everyone was getting ready to leave. You’d had fun with your new acquaintances, and you thought they helped you get used to meeting new people in your new city. Maybe you’d get over the New-City-Blues and become comfortable?

When everyone was discussing payment for the meal, you could hear ringing, and everyone watched as Hotch answered his phone. He had said the words “We’re on it,” and there was a collective groan at your table.

“Well there goes the weekend,” Derek said as he began to collect his things along with everyone else.

Dave agreed to pay the check, you were entirely grateful, and the group said their goodbyes to you and your friend.

“Good to see you again, Pree,” Hotch nodded at her. “Y/N, it was nice to meet you. Good luck on the ventures in your new life. New cities can be hard. Don’t let it get to you.”

You nodded your thanks, and the other agents followed suit in addressing you. Everyone had been pleasant and polite until you got to Spencer. He wouldn’t shake your hand, he barely even acknowledged you. You didn’t understand why he was so put off with you.

You scrunched up your eyebrows when you saw him turn around and look at you as the group was walking out of the restaurant.

“So, what did you think?” Pree asked. “Do you like them?”

Your eyes never left Spencer’s as he blushed and turned about face to keep up with his group and disappear into the night. “Yeah. I think.”

———

All you could hear were voices. Voices and a slight buzzing. You thought someone was holding your hand, but you couldn’t tell. You couldn’t really feel your body through the numbing pain. You wanted to speak up, to talk, but you couldn’t get anything to move.

You had a hard time remembering the last thing you were doing. Maybe you were at the grocery store? Maybe you were at work? Was anyone with you?

What’s happening to me? Where am I?

———

“I’ve only talked to him once since the dinner. And that was when I ran into him at the coffee shop, and I bumped into him and nearly made him spill his coffee. All over me. Pardon me if something feels off here.”

You grabbed the shirt in your closet on the orange hanger and held it up to your body while standing in front of the mirror. You should have realized that Virginia weather was the same as Michigan. They had all the seasons, plus eastern seaboard storms. Sometimes the storms could get scary, everyone back home warned you. Too bad you never listened.

Pree was on the other line, also going through her closet. “So? You guys went to dinner. It’s like you’re already beyond your first date. You can go on a second one now.”

“That’s not how that works.” Your lips made a straight line that you wished your friend could see. You were so over the conversation and the topic of one Dr. Spencer Reid. “I went with you, and I left with you. We went on a date, not Spencer and I.”

“Well, there you go! This can be your first date-”

“I am not going on a date with Spencer! Not a first, not a second! Not any number of any dates. Ever. He’s probably a very, pleasant and enjoyable person. But you somehow completely missed how he and I were to each other at dinner that night. I don’t see us becoming anything for a long time.” You tossed the shirt to the side and grabbed another.

“Just think about it, please? You two would be so cute. He could keep you warm during these stormy nights…”

You could almost hear her smirk on the other end. The only thing keeping you warm while the storms pass would be hot coffee, hot tea, or hot cider. Spencer, last time you checked, wasn’t any of those options.

You could hear the wind pick up outside and you began to grow worrisome. You and Pree were supposed to get together before the storm hit full force and ride it out in a safe location. Your boss had already called you and let you know that the day shift would just switch over and get paid overtime. You were left with the opportunity together with someone who wasn’t a rookie to the weather and feel secure.

Why did I leave Michigan?

“It’s about to escalate outside, I’m going with whatever I have in my bag already. Be ready when I get there?. I’ll text you when I’m outside. Please move as fast as you can.”

After the two of you had ended the call, you threw whatever you could find into your overnight bag and moved on to grab your toiletries. You counted in your head and passed your hand over the box of tampons and went for the drawer with your makeup and such. You threw whatever you could reach into your bag and quickly made your way into your living room.

After going over your mental checklist, you became grateful that your lease didn’t allow pets. You would have cried and stayed just to be with whatever animal you kept. You were too much of a bleeding heart sometimes, you’d heard people say, but you didn’t really care. Cats cut the loneliness from your life.

You phone pinged, and you walked out your door, locking it. As you made your way to the staircase, you looked at your screen to see if Pree had said where she parked. You hoped it would be right out front, but you weren’t so sure.

The screen read a number you didn’t recognize but with the same area code as where you lived. You swiped the screen and unlocked your phone to read the message.

Pree got caught up in the wind and had to make a detour. She asked me to get you on my way in.-Spencer

Wait, what?

You sent a text back asking him where he parked and mumbled not so nice things about your friend to yourself. You got a reply and ran to his car. The wind and rain made it difficult, but you opened his passenger side door and got inside.

After you had buckled in you raked the hair out of your face and released a breath you didn’t know you were holding. You slightly shivered, and you couldn’t tell if you were chilled by the oncoming storm or just the wind. You watched as Spencer silently turned up the heat in his car and all of a sudden you didn’t think the weather had anything to do with it.

“Are you okay?” He asked from his seat next to you.

You gave a quiet nod and fished your cell out of your pocket, trying to send Pree a text to ask her what was going on and if she got someplace safe. You really wished you had been more familiar with your city because you had no clue where Spencer was taking you. You began to think of your conversation from earlier with Pree.

“How do you know Garcia’s cousin?”

You turned to him. “Huh?” Yeah, that was a brilliant response.

“Sorry, I mean Penelope. We call her ‘Garcia’ at work. How did you meet her cousin?” The man’s tone was easy going and that only made you more concerned.

“I uh...We attended the same CPR course. We sat at the same table.”

“You weren’t CPR/First Aid certified back in Michigan?”

You scrunched your eyebrows. “The credentials don’t transfer over state lines.”

“Oh yeah. I knew that. My bad.” He drummed his thumbs on the steering wheel.

“How did you know I was from Michigan?”

He blinked. “You told us at dinner.”

You shook your head. “No. No, I didn’t. I didn’t say anything about my home state. All I said was that I had training back home. Nothing about where it actually is.”

“Pree must have mentioned something then. I got it confused. Sorry.” You were going ask him more questions, but he stopped the car and turned it off.

“We’re as close as we’re going to get to the building. I already had you cleared so it shouldn’t be a problem getting you in. You just have the one bag, right?”

A nod.

“If it’s heavy enough, it’ll help us get inside faster. Everyone else is already inside. I just have my bag so let’s grab our things and make a run for it.”

You felt wary that he knew where you were from. You know for a fact that you didn’t say anything to him. Had Pree told him? Wouldn’t she say if she had? Either way, the storm wasn’t the only thing concerning you. What was the deal with Spencer?

#sr.imagines #spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #matthew gray gubler #mgg

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sohannabarberaesque · 5 years ago

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Moth Mondays with the Funtastic World of Hanna-Barbera:

Pixlee Trollsom (Trollkins)

Wherein she relates a rather bemusing side of her discovering bits of Troll lore and folkways from down South:

One particularly introllesting angle of Troll folkways I happen to be fond of studying is that of the Wanderjahr which youngish Trolls trollditionally undergo for a year after their coming of age, which we like to call "Trollwakening." Because, to put it simply, it's a young Troll's passage into full adult Trolldom, with plenty of oppotrollnity expected in the Wanderjahr to show that they are Troll material, to begin with.

It was a few years back: Blitz Lumpkin, my boyfriend, you might say, and I got a call from some close trollquaintenances of ours, and said that a group of Trolls in their Wanderjahr might be looking for help on a few projects up in the Blue Troll Hills. Especially motivational and instrollrational such. Which, thankfully, was something of a way to get out of the otherwise stuffy house for awhile, particularly as conditions weren't as muggy as it could obviously get during Southern summers, and from experience, it can get rather muggy and rather tiresome rather quickly in the heat--reason enough for many Trolls to seek out the swimmin' hole and cool off through swimming and diving underwater.

Agreeing to the idea, Blitz and I headed over to the trailhead where we were to meet this bunch of Trolls in Wanderjahr, and their crew leader, in a way, rather early in the morning--practically around sunrise, when things were bound to be cooler weather-wise. And within the hour, a minibus carrying about a half-dozen of Wanderjahr Trolls parked alongside our sedan ... and the crew leader, I believe his name was Trollmeier, came forth to meet us. He turned out to be rather genial, for the most part, as were the group of young Trolls who we were to help out with. Not quite laid-back, but to be honest about it, a post-Trollwakening Wanderjahr is perhaps one of the best moments of a Troll's impending adulthood and maturity. Such allows these Trolls to discover as much about themselves as the greater trollmunity of Trolldom, you might say, especially such who have been in isolated backwater scenarios and whose parents, it seems, keep worrying about "what might happen to our junyer" when "that time" comes.

The assignment, it turns out, was to do some rebuilding and rehabbing on some hikers' shelters on a stretch of high-country trail--the sort where Trolls on extended hikes bed down for the night on extended journeys, many such the backpacking sort although many of us Trolls, in hiking, prefer travelling light and minimalist. It's just how we Trolls like it.

At least we were lucky, being able to get the water jug (filled, mind you, with the best spring water possible) and a cooler full of sandwiches for lunch among the Wanderjahr crew. Many of the crew had to carry the requisite lumber and tools up the hill, and a full three miles or so at that ... but you can be certain that once our troop, so to speak, arrived, the hike was worth it: This one particular shelter we started on seems not to have had some work done in some years, and if you can imagine for yourself, such was rather un-Troll looking: Setting aside the inevitable litter left by past hikers, it was almost crumbling apart, and graffiti seemed to be everywhere. In short, quite the Troll task ahead.

And to do it with simple Troll tools, besides.

At any rate, the benches for putting bedrolls on were redone, litter and recyclables were picked up, and the roof got rehabilitated. One of the more "eager beaver" types, you might say, was one by the name of Chris Trollen; when lunch time came about, Chris explained that his upbringing wasn't quite an easy on, being moved in and out of abusive homes by equally-abusive kintrolls--one in particular was rather sauced on the old troll juice to the point of Chris' having to run away almost a week after being placed there, and even sought assistance from a mertroll for trollspiration, but eventually found someone more acceptant of him when he mentioned that his latest foster-trolls were drunk big time. Somehow, Trollwakening became something of an eye-opener, realising he could actually be something for once among fellow Trolls. (I've kept in touch since then with Chris, and may I just add that he's found some wonderful companions off and on, fathering no less than three young Trolls in the months since.)

Admittedly, such strenuous work can tire a troll out, and so it's off to the hot springs nearby for some trollaxation. Which was found to be in some need for mild repairs, including redoing the rock ledge alonsgide, and steps for getting into, the hot springs themselves, and also rebuilding a shelter for resting after taking a soak in same ... and what a night it got to become, just sensing the moon and stars (the moon was exceptionally bright for some reason) as much as tidying up around these particular springs. Again, modest (though not oppressive) humidity levels kept things rather easy without getting tiring, though I have to admit that the water jug saw quite the workout.

All in all ... what exactly explained how it was we were able to get things completed? It's just Trollish nature, mind you, to try and be close to Nature while working close to it as much as possible. It's a point that the Wanderjahr makes clear among its life lessons....

"... and that's the story from The Moth"

(The preceding is an independent fanfic feature having no official connexion or association with The Moth. For more information, please to visit their website ... and tune in to The Moth Radio Hour weekends on your local public radio station; check your local radio listings for the day and time.)

In deference to the American Memorial Day break, Moth Monday will take a break next week, returning on June 1st. In the meantime, do enjoy yourselves--preferably responsibly.

@warnerarchive @hanna-barbera-land @warnerbrosentertainment @hanna-barbera-blog @hanna-barberians

#fanfic #hanna barbera #crossover #the moth #moth monday #trollkins #pixlee trollsom #blitz lumpkin #coming of age #trollwakening #wanderjahr #wanderjahr project #alpine shelters #hannabarberaforever

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thekevinwright · 6 years ago

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My First Round of Agency Submissions Has Ended in Failure (But I Won't Give Up)

As someone who has always known rejection, it wasn’t anything new. However, with my quest to find theatrical, commercial and commercial print representation here in Los Angeles, I can’t say I wasn’t somewhat disappointed. I sent out over 40 emails followed up by additional forward emails. After all was said and done, I had struck out over 80 times over the course of 2 weeks.

When I tell you my motivation and self-confidence took a hit, it was like being ran over by a truck. This massive amount of failure in such little time had spilled over into my personal life: missed auditions, trying to stay tucked away from all life, and just dive into content creation. Because if I create my own content, and projects, that’ll show all them right?

That’s what I thought, but recently I remembered something my dad would always say while I was growing up: Failure is the First Attempt In Learning. When I came to terms with my dad’s lessons, I called him up and thanked him. Then we had a 2 hour conversation on the phone.

I had struck out over 80 times over the course of 2 weeks.

So, if it was the first attempt, what did I learn? I learned several things from taking my job seriously, caring about my appearance, getting past self-confidence issues that started in high school, internal motivation vs external motivation and a lesson on integrity.

Self-Confidence (Getting Out of My Own Way)

I’m someone who has had difficulties in my life. I was heavily bullied in high school, which has caused lasting effects in my life. The town that I grew up in had an extremely active KKK sect in the 1920’s and 1930’s. Not to give a history lesson, but as we are coming up on a decade of activity, and some of the grandparents are still alive that were in the group had passed down those feelings down to their descendants. Some of these people that have that sort of mindset nowadays have stayed in their city, never venturing out too far from their comfortable zone.

Since I was different, I felt the need to work harder than even the hardest worker in the room, talk about the goals that I have in life, and made a point to be friendly with everybody. That didn’t go so well. I felt that I had no one to talk to; parents, teachers, and peers were against me. At one point, I was so depressed, that my school put me into counseling. Rejections from women I liked, and negative re-enforcement were the norm for every day of my high school life. I even had one woman say that dating me would “ruin their reputation.”

That was about 10 years ago. Now: I have a degree in Fitness & Sports Management, I played college football, I joined the great Iota Phi Theta Fraternity, Inc., traveled to multiple cities (even New York City where I lived for a time), moved to LA and I’ve become an actor. I’ve also had one girlfriend, but who’s keeping track?

With new experiences once I’ve left my hometown, my self-confidence soared. I was still the hardest worker in the room, but now I was also extremely talkative, and laughing, whereas before, I was moody, and serious.

To sum everything up, I had gotten out of my own way, and had to remind myself that every now and then, especially with my previous stint with homelessness. With the rejections from the managers, all those negative feelings came back to the surface.

Now, I feel the need to say that they didn’t directly cause it, but I subconsciously attached them to the high school bullies. Which is extremely unfortunate, and I feel bad for. But because of my recent self-reflection, and epiphanies, I realize that I may not be a good fit for them for various reasons. Which brings me to…

Caring About My Appearance

It goes without saying that the entertainment industry cares about appearances. These are people who will be portraying heroic, and villainous characters, with some of them even being gods, and getting paid the big bucks for it. If you’d like to know the average amount that people get paid on syndicated TV shows, not including negotiations, and everything else, that number comes out to be about $20,000 a week. That is literally life-changing money right there.

But, in order to make money like that, they give it to those that look the part. Go into an audition, kill the audition, and the callbacks, get booked, and the show gets ordered for a season (or two, or 9 like Wild ‘n Out). When you look at the lead characters and even some of the supporting characters on shows, they look like they’re born with great genetics, chiseled features, and can never do wrong, unless the plot dictates it so.

We know real life is different. At my heaviest, I was 310 pounds, and even when I was homeless, I didn’t care much for going to the gym, because I was so unmotivated to do anything else but survive. I put on a good 30 pounds when I was living in my car last year. Buffets, fast food, and water were the norm. But now, things are different.

I have an apartment now, I don’t work at my physically exhausting and extremely strenuous day job anymore, and most importantly, I’ve lost weight. On April 15th, 2019 I weighed 301.2 pounds. Now, I’m at 281 pounds. I was tired of my belly protruding through my shirt so much, and I was tired of always being tired.

I now practice portion control, I limit fast food intake to less than 1 meal a week, and I don’t buy so much food. In an effort to help my cooking, and keep my food bill low, I’ve started buying ramen (yes, that college ramen we’re so used to), but I always use spices and fresh ingredients congruently with it. Heck, I just buy the regular, no meat or veggie flavor ramen so that I can use the most ingredients. But I rarely eat them, and will eat them if I’m not in the mood to cook, or need a quick meal to eat.

I train at my local 24 hour fitness 5 times a week, and do active recovery on my rest days. When I do cardio, I kick the treadmill into a -30% decline, and the speed to about 4.5. Right near the end of the cardio session, I burn myself out by turning the treadmill to a 70% incline, and increasing the speed to 6.5. By the end, I’m sprinting on the treadmill, with sweat flying all over with a satisfying gulp of fresh air afterwards and a heaping scoop of whey.

I’m sleeping a lot more, eating a lot less, and learn as much as I can about looking and feeling good every day. I care about myself, and who I am when I walk out the front door every morning. It’s a nice change of pace. All of this has come from me comparing…

Internal Motivation vs. External Motivation

I have so much positive re-enforcement nowadays it’s scary. I’ve got so many people saying great things about me, and I’m getting compliments from girls and guys alike almost every day. I’ve had an acting buddy of mine tell me that she’s impressed with my persistence, and another tell me that I have the most untapped potential out of anybody that she’s ever known. Quite big shows to fill. But I never truly believed myself to be the person they were talking about. After all, I was someone with self-esteem issues, and felt I was broken. But their compliments motivated me to continue moving forward.

Tyrhee, for instance has always told me about creating my own content again. Shooting, editing, posting and all that. But for the longest, I felt that I was inadequate and couldn’t bring myself to the level that he’s currently at. Although I had reservations, I started writing content again. It was difficult because that creative muscle hadn’t been used for so long. Plus, who was going to shoot my content? I was a person with only 4,600 Instagram followers. But Tyrhee assured me that it’d be okay. One of the reasons he gave was that I had shot so many flames for him and others that they had said “when you shoot, let me know, and I’ll be in it.” I didn’t believe them, until I shot my first piece of content about a month ago.

People held the camera for me, and I was able to direct them on how to shoot, on top of Tyrhee being in it, and also helping me punch up the script. It was a great experience, and the one experience I truly needed to realize that I’m no longer alone in my quest to work my way up the entertainment ladder. I had a new support system here in LA that wasn’t based on familial ties.

Working my way through my issues, shooting, writing, and producing my own content, plus not liking who I saw in the camera or in the mirror caused the external motivation of others to eventually become my own internal motivation. I started working out hard, caring about my appearance, my brand, and not wanting to be a weak link.

I’m waking up early these days, make sure to get a training session in (yesterday, I reduced my 2 hour workout to 30 minutes with 10 minutes of cardio and ab twists and kicked up the intensity to near limit-pushing levels), work as much as I can, and submit to casting notices. I gotta look like someone who will get booked, if I want these agents and managers to take me seriously. Thankfully, this has started teaching me about…

Integrity

I’m always trying to do my best, but because of so many things going on, stuff falls through the cracks. Missed auditions, missed bookings (even though they’re just background roles), and stuff life throws at you.

Recently, I shot a radio show for a working acting friend of mine. Everything was great during the show. Afterwards though, it was all excuses for why I didn’t have it edited. That weekend was an extremely heavy shooting weekend for Tyrhee and I, where we knocked out about 15 sketches after everything was said and done. I forgot all about the radio show, but then I started getting it done Monday night. Then came the very annoying situation of the editing software I had not being able to bulk-render videos, since the guy told me break it up into segments. Then I lost my prized Duo-Link, which is still a critical step in my workflow, and making sure people can get their footage. I said that I would get it to him Monday, and by the time he had the files, it was Thursday. Not a great look if I do say so myself.

If I couldn’t stay on top of stuff like that, would that transfer over to my acting? I’m inclined to say yes. I wouldn’t sign me either with that old mindset, with an emphasis on procrastination.

My friend with the radio show told me that he does what he says. With everything that’s going on in his life that he tells me about, from his projects to his radio show to his content creation, I’ve never once thought that his integrity is an issue. He had so much motivation to push forward that he puts my own integrity to shame. But he and I had a deep conversation about that, where I had asked him about it. When people say that actors don’t help each other, that’s a big fat lie.

The talk we had flipped a switch in my head about everything that I was doing wrong. I was overextending myself, and trying to do everything but nothing at the same time. For the first time, I had realized that I was forcibly holding myself back from the potential that the person say they saw in me. That night, I gave him updated files and he had the full set of his radio show in his hands, edited and ready to be posted.

It’s still a challenge, but I’m giving myself realistic deadlines now and if it’s ever too much, I’ll let people know, and I’ll also say no if I don’t want to do something. This all boils down to the most important thing…

Taking My Job Very Seriously

To be an actor is to shoulder extreme rejection, and going through emotional highs and extreme emotional lows - including depression. But, it’s the path that I felt like was naturally chosen for me.

The A-Listers of my industry got to where they are because they care about their craft. They care about entertaining millions, and some even give back by creating acting schools, or charity. They care about the betterment of the world through entertainment. They’ve interalized their lines, and do extensive workout programs to keep themselves in icon shape.

A great person that displays these qualities is Dwayne Johnson. He admitted to depression and confidence issues, but continually strives to be his best self. Another person is my friend Tyrhee Spivey. He recently had that switch flipped, and has been pushing himself so incredibly hard it’s impressive.

Closing Thoughts

I’ve learned these lessons at the time when I started looking for representation. They weren’t easy or comfortable to learn by any means, and I was pretty frustrated when everything was going down. But, after a month of concentrated effort, and a newfound willingness to make mistakes, I know my second round of agency submissions are going to be better.

Comments Question of the Post: What are some of your failures, and what have you done to work past it?

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#acting #motivation

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jackfollmanwriter-blog · 7 years ago

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Dead Children’s Society

Everyone knew everyone else’s story, yet we still kept meeting each and every Wednesday night at 7:45 in the multi-purpose room in the River Road United Methodist church so each one of us could re-live the tragic horror which had touched our lives.

For instance, I knew Natalie Basket was just about to go into the wrinkle of her son Jackson’s murder where she blamed herself for allowing him to stay at his grandma’s house even though she knew the grandma lived in a neighborhood with a number of child molesters. No matter how many times I heard Natalie explain her regret, shoulder her blame and sob her eyes out about that detail, I still never silently retracted my blame.

Some of us deserved to be in the Justice For The Murdered Children of Southern Missouri group, and some of us didn’t. I was one of those who didn’t.

Josh left me on a blazing hot day in the summer of 1994, two days before his ninth birthday and 342 days after my twenty-sixth birthday. Little Josh disappeared from our little town of Forsyth on his way home from karate class. The local paper said the town would never be the same.

I felt I held up my end of that bargain, but have to say the town let me down. The place is still the same little, sleepy, half horse of a town it was when my neighbor Louise Fox thought she was supposed to pick up Josh from karate class at 6:30 instead of 5:30 and Josh grew impatient and decided to walk home down the highway.

The only thing they ever found of Josh was that little orange belt from his karate uniform he wore so proudly. They never found his body. They never found a single blonde hair from his soft little head. Worse yet, they never found a single legitimate suspect other than eventually me after they had hollowly questioned every single man over the age of 25 in the town who owned a van.

I still think about Sheriff Andersen sitting in my kitchen, drinking my coffee and asking me veiled questions about what may have happened to Josh. Thankfully the guy who went hunting with my dad every year was so meek, he never flat out asked me if I had anything to do with Josh’s disappearance, because if he did, I may have actually murdered the whole town.

Instead of harming anyone in Forsyth, I just kept doing a piss poor job of driving the school bus Monday thru Friday. I think they just kept letting me drive the thing for fear of causing me to actually snap if they fired me and out of guilt for never finding who took Josh.

Other than driving that bus and coming home, coping with countless hours of television and Orange Crush mixed with vodka, the only thing I ever did, was hit the road for an hour each way to make it to Branson to attend my weekly Justice For The Murdered Children of Southern Missouri meeting. Sometimes I wondered if it was the only thing that kept me alive.

I had started to grow worried about the group in recent years though. It had been 22 years and the group which once peaked at 19 ladies in 1999, had dwindled to just seven women sitting in that multi-purpose room and it had been a couple years since anyone new had joined.

So, I felt a tingle of excitement and drank the Orange Crush and vodka I snuck in each week in a Burger King cup with a little more fervor when I saw a young woman (couldn’t have been much older than 25) with a stack of golden hair sit down in one of our plastic chairs. That tingle turned into a slow burn when I watched her dunk one of those little airplane bottles of Jack Daniels into her traveler mug when everyone but me and her got up to attack the tray of knock off brand cookies someone brought for the intermission.

I hadn’t even gotten the new woman’s name yet. Our group conducted our usual clockwise rotation of talking about what we wanted to talk about this week and our new friend was sitting at about 10 p.m. Because of that, it would be awhile before we heard from her, especially since Tanya Chare told the lengthy story about the time she talked to Nancy Grace, but got edited out of the show because she used the “C” word a couple of times.

I wasted no time, the rest of the ladies in the group would gulp down their watered-down Maxwell’s House and Western Family cookies in less than 10 minutes and they would have to jump right back into the monotony of their weekly sorrow right away. I walked across the room and stuck a hand out to the woman who was sucking back on her traveller mug.

“Hi, I’m Holly Barrow. Are you new to the group?” Thought I’d introduce myself.”

I was nervous. I prayed the new woman wouldn’t sense the vodka sweat on my palms.

“Oh hi, I’m Krista Hansen, and yes, this is my first time to the group. I just moved from Kansas and saw the group listed in the paper up in Springfield, so I thought it would come down. I’m glad I did. Everyone seems so nice.”

I almost laughed out loud at Krista’s innocence of thinking everyone in the group was really nice. Just give it a few weeks. Regardless, I really liked her vibe. She seemed like the kind of person who could serve as a sounding board for my frustrations with the group and the stupid shit people post on Facebook. I needed that.

“You got a flight tonight?” I said coyly and shot a look at the purse where I saw Krista tuck her little bottle of Jack Daniels just a minute ago.

“What?” Krista answered back with a big, oblivious smile.

“You drink,” I said and flashed a wide smile.

“Ohhhhhhhhh,” Krista responded with a blush and a giggle. “I had no idea what you mean by what you said about a flight.”

“Oh,” I spoke softly. “Those little bottles of booze are called airplane bottles or shots because I think you usually buy them at an airport, or they are what you can actually take on an airplane.”

Krista blushed some more.

“I’ve never been on an airplane,” Krista answered bashfully.

My eyes lit up.

“Neither have I,” I blurted out.

“Did we just become best friends,” Krista blurted back.

I jokingly just laughed and nodded on the outside, but on the inside, all I could think was, yes, yes we did.

We eventually got to Krista’s story after we heard a few ladies (myself included) retell the fucked-up tales of woe we justifiably let dominate our lives.

That familiar drunken sweat returned to my palms when Krista stood up to dive into her story.

“Hi, my name is Krista Hansen, I’m from Springfield, Missouri, but I only just moved there a few weeks ago from Wichita, Kansas. It has been really, really good for me to hear all of your stories about going through the same thing I went through six years ago. There are not groups like this anywhere in Kansas as far as I know, so I’m so glad I found y’all here. I don’t know if you saw it in the news. It was a bit of a story over in Kansas City, but don’t how far it made it, but my son, Christian Hansen was murdered six years ago and they never found the killer. Never really found a suspect, other than me, I guess. At least that’s all they could come up with, but I was cleared, and it all went away.”

I felt my heart swoon for this woman. She was so much like me.

“Christian was on his paper route early in the morning when he disappeared and was never found again. They never found his body, just the outfit he was wearing and some DNA on a knife they found by a river.”

Krista started to break down. I could see her jaw wobble from across the circle.

“I’ve spent the last six years basically sitting in my house, crying every night about Christian. Just thinking about what happened to him, recreating it in my head, over and over again, until I almost want to kill myself.”

Krista broke down for a few seconds, sobbed into her drink which only I knew was spiked.

“And I just wanted to share my story and meet some other women, and men, potentially, like me,” Krista barely got her last statement out before sobbing some more and taking a big swig of her drink.

The group responded a flurry of sobs from around the whole circle, myself included.

I anticipated the group engulfing Krista as soon as the meeting was over, so I picked off the last of the cheap cookies and waited out in front of the church with the plan to smoke cigarettes until Krista came out. I was fully aware that my strategy was like that of some kind of 50s greaser punk looking to get sweet with a young coed, but I didn’t care. I wanted to talk to Krista one-on-one and didn’t want to risk her slipping away.

I couldn’t have killed my smoke faster when I saw Krista walk out of the front doors of the church. There could have been a baby at my feet and I still would have let that burning ash fall right down on its bonnet.

“Krista,” I blurted out her name before we even came face-to-face.

Krista jumped back in fright as soon as she heard my voice. I grabbed my heart and apologized. I put an arm around her and walked with her towards the parking lot.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I just wanted to touch base with you before we both went home. I just think we have so much in common.”

“It’s okay and I couldn’t agree more,” Krista responded and stopped at the driver’s side door of a filthy Ford Focus.

I watched Krista unlock her car and take her cell phone out of her clutch.

“Let’s exchange numbers,” Krista suggested and my heart fluttered.

The exchanging of numbers went smoothly and within less than a minute, I was standing in the parking lot watching the taillights of Krista’s Ford pull out onto the road.

After catching my breath, I turned around to hustle back to my car parked on the other side of the church, but didn’t make it far.

I tumbled down to the hard asphalt, having tripped on something that had been resting just behind my feet. It was Krista’s black clutch.

“Hi Krista, it’s Holly. Already, I know...but, I found your clutch in the parking lot outside your car. You must have dropped it when we traded numbers. Anyway. I will wait here for about twenty minutes, but then I gotta hit the road back down to Forsyth. Maybe we can meet up for coffee or a drink or something tomorrow if we can’t connect tonight. Alright. Bye.”

I was shocked I didn’t hear from Krista during my entire drive home. It was all I could think about as I wound the near hour on the highway and fought back the urge to snag her wallet out of her clutch and do some investigating.

I battled that urge until I got home, but once I was placed back into the half-buzzed monotony of my little house on the edge of town, I couldn’t fight it anymore. I dove into Krista’s clutch, splayed out her wallet and started to dissect its contents. I’m not proud, but at least I’m honest.

The first thing which jumped out at me was the name and picture on Krista’s Oklahoma state driver’s license. Her first name was exact, but her last name was listed as Gunderson and her picture looked much different than what she looked like in the flesh back at the church. In her driver’s license photo, she had one of those god awful haircuts where everything is long except one buzzed side and her hair was a deep red, almost maroon.

This was all excusable. It was very possibly Krista had been married and divorced a time or two and every lady is entitled to a new look. I added the Oklahoma license into that category as well. Krista had only talked about being from Kansas and recently moving to Missouri, but maybe there was something in her past she didn’t want to talk about. The amount of times I thought about completely changing my life and taking my cousin Desi’s offers to join her as a truck stop stripper down in Arkansas haunted me in my sleep. Who was I to judge?

I am no angel. The suspicions sparked by the inconsistencies in on Krista’s license were enough to send me to my laptop to do a little Googling about her, and her story of her murdered son, Christian.

My temperature and heart rate started to rise when “Christian Hansen murder,” “Christian Hansen Kansas murder,” “Christian Gunderson murder,” “Christian Gunderson Kansas murder,” and pretty much every other combination of search I tried came up with nothing. Anything in general for Krista Hansen and Krista Gunderson and a murder and a child murder in Kansas City produced absolutely nothing.

My initial thought was Krista was a fraud. Someone who for some reasons decides pretending to have a child who was murdered was a good thing for them to do. She wouldn’t be the first. Our group had already been infiltrated by a couple of them. It was so common we actually came up with the name “widiots” for them. We didn’t like them, but they were pretty much harmless and went always away as soon as we called them out on it.

I dove further into my research of Krista. I found a Facebook profile for a Krista Gunderson in Tulsa, Oklahoma, but it was private and her only visible picture was of a cat. Fuck, I hated those ultra-private on Facebook people. Just don’t have a profile at all if you don’t want anyone to stalk you online. I tried everything I could to see if I could find a picture, or more info on that Krista Gunderson profile - stalking everyone with the last name Gunderson on her friend’s list. Stalking the seven people who liked her profile picture, but it was all for not.I was out of options.

Then my phone rang and jarred me back into the non-digital world and sent me at least an inch off of my computer chair seat.

I checked my phone. It was Krista calling.

“Hello.”

“Hi, is this Holly?”

“Yes, Krista?”

“Sorry, I just got your message. I can’t believe I dropped my clutch. Thank you so much for finding it. I guess I got lucky. But anyway, do you think I could come by and pick it up tonight?

I stumbled on my own tongue. Krista wouldn’t make it down to my place from Springfield until at least 2 a.m.

“I uh, yeah,” I agreed without thinking about it any more.

I regretted giving Krista my address while I sat there and sipped on my fifth Orange Crush and vodka of the long night.

It was nearing 2:30 a.m. and Krista had yet to arrive. I texted and called her in the last hour and had yet to receive an answer back. She was driving though, I guess.

Making matters worse, a heavy rain had begun to fall in the last hour and the hard pitter patter of the precipitation on my thin roof dulled every sound around me. Krista could have slipped in the house through the back door which would no longer lock, scoop up her clutch and leave again without me even noticing.

I sat in my little living room, staring out the window at my gravel driveway waiting for that red Ford Focus to pull up. All I could think about was seeing headlights soon. I was buzzed, tired with a brain fried from thinking about trauma for hours. I should have been more scared, but I think my mind was so worn down and exhausted, it was pushing the fear back and pulling up my desire for sleep. I plunked a Five Hour Energy shot into my drink and chugged it down.

I quickly felt that sick, syrupy kick of an energy shot kick in, but it started to fade almost as soon as it came. My eyelids went back to being heavy and started to slowly open and close while I stared out at my wet yard, bathed in the pale light of my flood lighting.

One more futile flutter of the eyelids and it was all over. My eyes remained shut and my body went limp in my rolling computer chair in the living room with my body facing my front yard. Between the long day of travel, the half a handle of vodka I downed, and the stress in my head, my body finally tapped out and I fell helplessly into sleep.

The entire world was dark when I woke. I shook my head, rubbed my eyes and scanned my surroundings, tried to absorb as much of what I saw, as soon as I possibly could.

No clock in sight and no cell phone in reach, I had no idea what time it was. All I knew was at some point in my sleep cycle, the floor light in the front yard had shut off and whatever lights I had in the house had as well.

Had the power went out?

I reached over and tried the lamp next to my chair. It flicked on and bathed the room in soft light. The power wasn’t out, but I definitely had lights on when I fell asleep. How did they all turn off then?

I made my way to my feet and stumbled around, trying to find my bearings and figure out what happened. I found my first clue when I retrieved my cell phone.

There were three texts from Krista waiting for me on my phone.

Be there in five minutes.

I’m here. Sorry it’s late.

Hey, didn’t want to wake you, but found my clutch and wallet and went home. Thanks. See you next week. Krista.

So Krista had came in through my unlocked front door, retrieved her stuff without waking me up and left again in the middle of the night? Seemed impossible, but there was no other explanation which could have made sense.

None of that felt good, but I guessed if there was anything sinister about Krista, she could have executed it while I was passed out, so I also thought I didn’t have too much to worry about. I could retreat back to my bedroom in peace, join my cat Ranger in my bed and sleep away the night in hopes that I wouldn’t have a raging hangover the next time I woke up.

That hangover I feared more even more than a crazed woman who may have been pretending to have a murdered child came on hard as soon as I woke up just before lunch time and launched back into my research of Krista.

Facebook had proved fruitless, but Google would not let me down. Well, to rephrase that, Myspace shockingly did not let me down. After a Google search of “Krista Gunderson,” I was able to find a Myspace.com link a few pages into the search results which pulled up the ancient bones of a bedazzled Myspace profile for Krista which clearly hadn’t been updated since 2008 and listed her location as in Oklahoma.

Most of the 200 or so pictures attached to her profile were useless. Just low-quality snapshots of her at bars with friends. I almost gave up scanning through all of them, but was glad I didn’t, because the very last picture in the gallery took my breath away.

Captioned with the phrase “I love my baby,” the photo was of a slightly-younger Krista sitting on a dock on a lake with her arms around a teenage boy with sandy blonde hair and a smile I couldn’t mistake. It had to be a coincidence, but the boy looked exactly how I imagined Josh would look had he not been taken from me.

Just looking at the picture of someone who looked so much like him, brought tears to my eyes and I had to pause my investigation.

My suspicions about Krista helped me work through the pain. I hadn’t been able to find a single thing about a dead son in Krista’s online footprint (and nothing about what she put out there made her seem like some kind of broken woman with a chunk missing from her heart). To put it crudely, she looked just like any kind of piece of shit woman you might find hanging out in the bar in Missouri, Oklahoma or Kansas these days.

I wasn’t going to waste any more time on Krista. In less than 24 hours, she had went from my celebrity crush/obsession to deepest, darkest fear and now back to an afterthought. So what if she was faking a murdered son? It didn’t really affect me and I’m sure she would get sick of it or get outed by someone else in the group sooner rather than later. It wasn’t my job to go after her.

I gnashed my teeth for the 12 minutes I had before the group meeting started, waiting to see Krista walk through that door. But she never came.The meeting started, we all told our stories, nibbled on our cheap cookies and sipped on our watery coffee then headed back on our separate ways.

My cell phone burned a hole in my pocket all the way back to Forsyth. Why had Krista no-showed? Should I call her? Text her? Did she somehow find out that I was cyber stalking her? Had I “Liked” something of her’s on Facebook? My mind was a troubled ocean of doubt and fear.

I had finally settled on leaving the Krista situation alone unless it forced itself on me when I pulled into my driveway and finished chewing on the last of the fingernails I had left. The rest of my night was going to consist of checking the thick stack of mail I pulled out of my mailbox for the first time in two weeks, cueing up Netflix and hoping I could find a decent show to binge on until I fell asleep with Ranger by my side.

The stack of mail was mostly just junk and past due bills. I chucked all of it into the trash can except for a blank manilla envelope about the size of a sheet of paper. I pulled the thing open and came face to face with a handwritten note scrawled in black ink.

It’s time again…

Well that was comforting. Even in my moment of deepest terror, I couldn’t help but be cynical with myself. Getting the horrible morbid people who used to torment me for fun after Josh disappeared to get active again was just what I didn’t need in my life. I thought about the loaded pistol in the nightstand for the briefest of moments. No, this was just another horribly mean prank and that’s what these awful people wanted. For me to get so depressed from their torture that I decided to join Josh.

I wouldn’t give in. I tore it up and threw it away. Fuck those assholes.

The days went. The weeks went on. The meetings each Wednesday night went on with my stiff Orange Crush and vodkas, but Krista never showed up again or texted or called me.

The temptation to call or text Krista boiled for the first few weeks, but it slowly began to fade and my day-to-day life started to go back to about as normal as it could be.

Then I started to get the messages.

They were voicemails left on my phone in the middle of the night, when my phone is always turned off. I periodically would make up to new messages on my phone. At first, they started as just muffled voices I couldn’t understand or windy sounds, but they eventually started to turn into clear messages I could make out, and could no longer ignore.

The first one I could properly hear was a conversation between myself and what sounded like a counselor or social worker I never remembered happening. A vague conversation with the tone from the counselor seeming to suggest I did something wrong, but wouldn’t admit to it, listening to the little snapshot of the back-and-forth raised the goosebumps on my arms.

I figured it must have been some counseling I had to do after Josh disappeared and I had forgotten about it or blocked it out of my mind. Either way though, it still didn’t explain why it was being left as a voicemail on my phone in the middle of the night.

It also didn’t explain why the voicemails started coming in every night.

At first they were just continuations of that vague conversation with the counselor and I thought it must have been the counselor doing it, or someone who found her tapes. Those thoughts would not last. After a few days, the voicemails turned much darker, much more-detailed and much more personal the first night. I finally gave in and decided I would leave my phone on when I went to sleep.

It took me a few moments for the ringing next to my head to rustle me from my slumber then reached over and snatched up my phone on about the third ring.

“Hello?” I couldn’t have sounded any groggier.

No voice picked up on the other end of the line. All I heard was the click sound a tape deck makes before it starts to play and then a voice that took my breath away. It was Josh. Talking to me through the shitty speakers of flip phone.

“I don’t know,” were the first words I heard Josh speak.

The voice was clearly Josh. The exact voice I remembered from around when he disappeared. Not the giggly toddler voice he had before he turned five and headed to Kindergarten or some kind of maturation I imagined would have happened had he lived to 16, but that exact, childish voice he had around eight and nine years-old.

“I don’t remember,” Josh’s sweet voice went on in the recording. “I try not to remember. I just remember the red bottle and then I remember it would happen. That’s it.”

My still-waking and still-buzzed brain tried to filter the words that were coming out of little Josh’s mouth, but still couldn’t make sense of them.

“I tried it once. She mixes it with the orange fizzy pop I like, but it tasted bad, so I didn’t again.”

Josh was talking about my drinking. The red bottle referring to my usual fifth of Smirnoff,the orange fizzy pop, the Orange Crush soda I had relied on as a mixer for damn near 30 years.

“That’s when it would happen,” Josh’s voice starting to quiver with sobs which drew my attention away from my pondering.

“What happened?” An unknown female voice popped up onto the tape and asked Josh a question.

There was a long pause from Josh.

“She would hurt me,” Josh’s squeaky, little voice barely got the words out.

The tape cut out. The call dropped.

I didn’t sleep a wink the rest of the night. Or the next night. I went on a 48-hour drinking and smoking bender in the comfortable confines of my living room. Ignored the calls from work when they came in and picked up the calls which came from the unknown number with recordings of Josh talking with a counselor.

“So she hit you?” Every word hurt when it came out of that smug counselor’s mouth.

I wanted to reach through the phone and strangle the shit out of that little mousy fucking counselor. The last three messages had been her talking Josh into the idea that I abused him. Something that I swear never happened. I was pretty deep into the bottle back then, but that’s just because I was still numbing myself from Josh’s dad leaving me and my parents dying in their 50s.

There was a long silence on the line.

“You’re shaking your head yes, Josh,” that asshole counselor’s voice kicked up again.

I tossed the phone across the room.

It wasn’t true. I knew it wasn’t true. It didn’t matter what those tapes said. It wasn’t true. You have to believe me. I know it in my own heart.

That was the last of the phone calls. I patiently waited by my phone with the cracked screen waiting for more calls. I checked every five seconds for a new voicemail whenever I left my phone or fell asleep for a few moments. I didn’t leave the house for a week. Started to just eat pancakes without butter and without syrup for every meal because it was the only food I had left.

After about a week of doing that, I realized I should have been checking the mail more often. I only remembered because my mail man knocked on my door one afternoon to tell me he couldn’t fit anything else in the box because it was already stuffed full and handed me another unmarked manila envelope.

“Couldn’t fit this in. You should check you mail ma’am.”

I started opening the envelope before the mail man could even scurry away from the frightening sight I’m sure I was.

A pile of photos fell at my feet once I ripped open the envelope.

I bent down and picked up the first photo I could get my hands on and saw Josh staring back at me, shirtless, in a poorly-lit room with his torso covered in purple and puke yellow bruises. I wanted to puke, but flipped through the rest of the pictures. They were all the same - Josh - just in his underwear displaying signs of abuse. I actually put the photos down on my kitchen counter and walked away before I got through all of them.

A retreat to my bedroom and a shutting off of the lights and official shutting out of the real world was my last move. I pulled my ratty comforter over my head and let the booze still rushing through my blood drift me off to sleep in the middle of a sunny day.

I’m not sure how long I was out, but it was pitch black all around when I finally woke. The clock in the corner of the room told me 3 a.m. and the icy chill which filled every empty space of my bedroom told me I never turned the heat on. I looked over to my nightstand and saw a little frost on the glass of ice water which had been sitting there for weeks collecting dust.

The room spun for a moment before I collected my head and turned my senses on full blast for the first time in a long time. I must have actually slept off a little bit of the booze and the world was suddenly a cold, harsh and painful place which made my head feel like it was stuck in a vice.

I allowed a few seconds to pass to try and take everything in and about three seconds into my “warming up phase,” I heard footsteps from just outside of my bedroom door.

I flashed my eyes over to the door, open just a little crack and saw a shadow cut through the little sliver of light the crack let in. My arm ripped over to that nightstand where I knew my gun rested and knocked that neglected glass cup of water onto the hardwood floor where it shattered.

A good, hard blink reset my senses and allowed the world to re-focus in front of me. I started at that little crack again and saw nothing. Stayed silent with my hand resting next to the gun inside the painted wood of my nightstand and heard nothing. All was silent. There was nothing in the house as far as my human body could tell. I was just going crazy and I was just incredibly hung over. That was my biggest concern at the moment.

My human body did what it could to help with the situation by pulling my hand away from the nightstand and to my mouth where it tried to stop a heaping load of liquid barf from erupting from my lips. I felt the vomit stream out from my hands and all over my torso before the power of the hangover took me over again, I laid back onto my bed and fell asleep.

The world was just coming to life the next time I woke. I could feel a hint of warmth trickle through the little open slats in the blinds of my bedroom which faced the backyard. A few more hours sober, I felt a little more control over my body, but could still feel the powerful stranglehold of an aching headache and bubbling stomach torturing my body. It was going to be very hard to get out of bed.

That little bit of light from the rising sun helped me roll over in bed, in the direction which led to the bathroom. I was pretty sure I hadn’t gone to the bathroom in almost 24 hours and it felt like the entire lower half of my torso was going to explode.

I went to throw that lower torso half over the edge of the bed, but stopped myself. I remembered I broke the glass of the cup on the floor right next to my bed in the night and the shattered glass was still spread across the hardwood floor.

Stopped on the edge of the bed, I peered down at the glass and gulped down a hearty chunk of vomit because of what I immediately noticed. Trickling away from the thick pile of shredded glass was a trail of blood which pitter pattered on the floor until it disappeared out the doorway which led into the hall.

I wasn’t a forensic expert, but based on the wetness of the blood spatter, the blood appeared to be rather fresh. Couldn’t have been more than an hour or so old. Had I stumbled up out of bed in the night and stepped on the glass? I reached down and grabbed the bottom of my feet. Not a scratch. No.

My still-fogged brain began to panic. Someone was in the house this time. Someone was probably in the house in the night when I convinced myself they weren’t last time.

I scrambled for my phone which rested on the pillow next to my head with just two percent battery power. Shit. I hadn’t charged the thing in days, but I would probably still have enough juice to call the cops.

But there was a voicemail waiting on the home screen of my phone. I looked at the little message indicator for a few seconds and watched my phone’s power slip down to just one percent. I had to listen to it. I could flick out of it and then call 911 if it was worthless.

I put the phone to my ear and let the voicemail play.

I could tell the voice in the message belonged to Krista before she even spoke. Picked up her essence in the frantic inhale which opened up the message.

“Holly. You need to know this is not what I meant to happen. I had no idea. I had no idea what he wanted to do. I figured he wanted to find you just to know what you were doing. I never thought…”

Krista’s frantic voice paused.

“But when he found out what you were doing. Seeking sympathy for what you did, he couldn’t take it. He had to go to you. I tried to stop him, but I couldn’t. Maybe because I don’t really feel sorry for you. You are probably going to get what you deserve.”

Krista’s voice started to calm and speak more slowly and more clearly.

“You’re probably wondering what this all is and I’m sure it is a shock, but something is really wrong with Holly. You can’t remember what happened day-to-day because you pickled your piece of shit brain starting back 25 years ago, but you are not a good person. Josh wasn’t murdered. He ran away. He snuck off in the middle of the day and rode his bike until he ended up Oklahoma, far away from you, and became a foster child. A foster child I eventually took in and made my son. Josh ran away because you abused him. You can keep trying to deny it, but those tapes you heard, those photos he sent, they tell the real story. Why do you think the cops only questioned you? They figured you murdered Josh, but they could just never find proof. Why do you think no one in that town can look you in the eye.”

Krista began to break up again on the phone, her mouth full of spit. I imagined tears running down her cheeks.

“I don’t know what he is going to do to you, but I can’t say you don’t deserve and I don’t think anyone is going to judge either of us when they find out what you did to him and why you made him run away.”

The voicemail ended or the phone ran out of battery, I wasn’t really sure. Either way I put the phone down and noticed something step into my field of vision out of the corner of my eye.

I turned my head to the door to my room and started to cry. Standing right there in the doorway was the adult version of my Josh. Clad in dirty jeans, a faded-blue sweatshirt and a sloppy blonde beard with a head of long shaggy hair, he looked at me across the room with dark eyes.

“I’m sorry Josh,” the words barely dribbled out of my quivering lips. “Please, please, understand that I have been sick. Been sick for a really long time.”

“I know,” Josh said so softly I could barely hear.

Josh’s voice was so much deeper, scratchier, but I could still remember it. I could still picture that innocent little nine-year-old with the slight hint of a lisp.

“Please, please, don’t hurt me,” I started to please. “I’m already hurt too much. You got me back for whatever they convinced you I did to you. Please.”

Josh shook his head.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Thank you. Thank you.”

My thanks started to dissolve when I saw Josh take a zip tie out of jean pocket.

“No, no,” I started to plead again as Josh walked towards me.

I vomited before Josh got to me, the puke muffling the word “no,” which was the only thing I could repeat.

I was helpless, Josh had that zip tie on my wrists as I kicked around the bed.

“I’m not going to hurt you. Don’t worry,” Josh whispered into my ear before he lifted me up off the bed. “I’m just going to do to you what you forced me to do because I couldn’t take it anymore.”

I screamed as Josh lifted my hangover-ravaged body up off of the bed.

Crammed in the trunk of Josh’s truck for what seemed like hours. I feared I was running out of oxygen, but honestly I felt that could have just been more of the withdrawal. Either way, my entire body was a mess as I laid in the dark with my eyes closed, trying not to throw up for the third time in the day.

I started to breath normally for the first time in a long time when I felt the car come to a stop. I let out a full on gasp when the lid of the trunk opened up and stung me with the light of the frozen day. I took in a few cold heaves of air before my eyes fully adjusted to take in Josh towering over me in the sharp sunlight.

“Please just let me go,” I screamed up at Josh.

Josh ignored my demand. He grabbed me around the waist and drug me out of the trunk.

I fell hard on the ground and looked up at the blue sky which was garnished with the dead tips of a forest of tall trees which were fighting off the frost of the winter with the help of a low, beaming sun. I took in the winter beauty for a minute to try and collect myself until Josh stepped into my field of vision and towered over me.

“This road is where I ended up in the middle of the night when I finally worked up the courage to run away.”

I looked around me on the ground level where I laid. It appeared to be a desolate back road in the country which went from nowhere and led to nowhere.

“It’s also where I eventually found a way to my real home,” Josh went on as he cut off my zip ties.

“Please,” I called out as Josh walked away and back to the car.

Josh stopped just inside the driver’s side door of his beat-up Civic.

“I hope you can do the same.”

Josh just tipped the cap of his stained-black baseball cap and ducked back into his car. The tires of his Civic spit gravel in my face when he roared away into the setting sun.

I eventually made my way to my feet and started to stagger in the direction Josh’s car drove off in hopes of eventually finding someone who could help me. Still dressed in just the nightgown Josh grabbed me in with the darkness bringing on the full brunt of a Missouri, or maybe Oklahoma winter? I didn’t know how long I could make it.

Turns out the answer to that question was all night. I walked on that little gravel road until the sun started to come back up and my eyes set upon a bleak, little town with a gas station and a mini-mart across the street, neither of which were open yet.

It took another good chunk of time before a couple of trucks rolled by and their Oklahoma license plates finally signified to me at least what state I was in. I tried to wave one down for help, but my arm was too tired to even lift up off of my shivering hip.

Right when I was on the verge of death, someone finally stopped in a decrepit little hatch back and picked me up. They took me to the emergency room where I have been recovering for the past day. I guess I beat Josh’s challenge, but I don’t know if that really even matters and I don’t know if I can even go back to our little town and face my life now that Josh’s confrontation and my moments of sobriety have forced me to finally face the truth.

Maybe I will keep following in little Josh’s footsteps, stay here in Oklahoma and make a life for myself. It seemed to work out just fine for him, I guess.

Originally published by Thought Catalog on www.ThoughtCatalog.com.

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