#I took the riverboat there

[kastsol]

I went to Algie's stomping grounds,,, magical experience

#Famouskastwords #I took the riverboat there #It was fantastic #Also there's a little info poster in the building itself talking abt Algie's great escape #And my sister was like :0 no way bc she had never heard the story b4 #Pink Floyd

[wizard-on-whales]

A Fine Night For Debauchery (Arthur Morgan x Reader)

NSFW - Minors do NOT interact

Warnings: near drowning, Arthur is a cheeky bastard (Who also gets a raging boner when he sees boobies), lots of teasing...I mean LOTS, filthy shameless smut, fingering, P in V, unprotected sex, pet names

Word Count - 3k

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Trelawny. Goddamn Josiah Trelawny. You blamed him for the impure thoughts that were keeping you up. Not that they were about the man himself but that dress he made you wear. You and Arthur were the main distraction for the Riverboat mission you had been sent on. The two of you were playing a newlywed couple there to win a little extra money for the success of your marriage. And to rub your “riches” in since Arthur had recently hit a score in the oil business. None of that was true, of course. And it wasn't the first time you and Arthur had been paired together for a mission where you had to pretend to be a couple, but tonight seemed more intimate.

You sat on his lap, one arm wrapped around his shoulder while he played the poker game. You could feel Arthur shifting under you now and then, his eyes subtly glancing down at your chest that was practically shoved in his face. The dress that Trelawny had picked out for you was extremely tight and revealing. Your corset pushed your breasts up to the point they were practically spilling out of the top. And although you usually wore low-cut dresses, you never wore corsets. You found them to be too claustrophobic, so you avoided them. You felt uncomfortable in the thing; it was digging into your sides and seemed to be a size too small. The feeling of it cutting into you caused you to squirm often, and every time you moved, Arthur flinched a little, sucking in a breath. At first, you thought he was shifting from your weight; maybe he was just trying to get more comfortable under you and the unnecessarily heavy dress you wore. But once you realized why he was actually shifting, you felt hot. If the makeup you wore wasn't as heavy as the dress, everyone would have been able to see how red your cheeks were burning. 

Once he had won the game and got up to collect his reward, tension seemed to be released from his shoulders. You assumed he was uncomfortable, not wanting to be seen as just another one of those men. He wasn't, you knew that. Things like that weren't controllable, so you washed it off as just the compromised position you had been sitting in for so long. 

All of those thoughts were quickly thrown out of your brain when shots were fired. You ducked behind the bar and pulled your skirt up, pulling your gun out where it had been nestled on your thigh the whole night. Once the coast was clear, everyone made a run for it. You, Arthur, Javier, Trelawny, and Strauss jumped off the side of the boat and started swimming for shore. The only problem was your dress made it impossible to swim. As soon as you hit the water, it quickly weighed you down, getting heavier the more water it absorbed. 

“God damn this dress!” Your arms flailed as you panicked, hardly being able to keep your head above the water. Arthur noticed your distress and swam towards you, helping to keep you up,” Get this thing off of me!”

Arthur tugged at everything he could, trying to untie the corset and undo buttons, but they weren't coming undone quickly enough.  

“How the hell am I supposed to do that!” He started to panic as you continued to struggle in his arms. He was able to unhook the front of your corset, pushing it off before seeing the maze of strings that held your dress up.

“I don't know, figure it out!” Arthur hesitated for a moment before grabbing the seams sitting against your breasts and ripping the fabric. One hard jerk was all it took for the dress to come off. He pulled you flush against him with one arm and pushed the rest of the dress down your legs. 

“That works,” you felt your cheeks flush red. You still had your undergarments on, and despite wearing them around camp often at night, you had never felt more exposed in front of the man. Although you could swim on your own now, Arthur still kept his arm firm around your waist as the two of you swam to shore together. 

Now here you were, lying on your bedroll, staring at the rotting ceiling above you. Your hair was still damp from the water, and although you had changed out of your wet bloomers into a nightgown, your skin was still cold to the bone. Your mind was flooded with impure thoughts you were trying desperately to get rid of. With Dutch being your brother, you had known Arthur the whole time he had been in the gang. He was 14 when Dutch and Hosea found him, and you were 12. Although you had always found him attractive, you would have never admitted to having a crush on him.

The two of you were close, supposed to be like family, but as you continued to lay there, you questioned if your relationship had ever been like that. The constant subtle touches, the occasional flirty banter, the few times the two of you had slept in each other's arms looking for warmth or comfort. Nothing inappropriate had happened those nights you slept next to each other, but now you couldn't help but wish something had... 

The thought of Arthur ripping your dress off so easily made your cheeks burn again. You let out a heavy sigh before getting up from your bed roll and making your way up the creaky, old stairs of Shady Bell. Your heart pounded with each step you took. You stopped in front of Arthur's door, hesitating for a moment before opening it. Arthur was sitting up on his bed, journal in his hand. He looked up before quickly closing it and clearing his throat a little. You noticed his cheeks turned a soft shade of pink. 

“You alright?” He asked, standing up and putting the journal on his map table. You still stood in the doorway, your hand sitting on the knob. 

“I uh…,” You looked away from him and out the broken window, trying to form a thought. He stepped closer, which clouded your brain even more,” Never mind.” 

Just as you went to step away, Arthur grabbed you. His hands placed firmly on both of your arms as he kicked the door shut. Your heart rate picked up as you looked up at him. Arthur was looked down at you in a way he had never done before. Like a predator stalking its prey. Your brain finally formed a sentence as you stared at the burning desire behind his eyes. 

“I need you, Arthur,” the words came out quiet.

“Im a bad man, darlin’,” His voice was just as low. You moved your arms slightly, and he immediately let you go. You wrapped them around his shoulders, pulling him down slightly. 

“You know Im worse,” Your eyes were fixed on his lips as yours hovered above them. Arthur dropped his head, his lips hungrily devouring yours. He stepped back, dragging you with him, his lips still on yours. He pulled you with him until the back of his legs hit his bed. He pulled away from you, a strand of saliva following as he did. 

“You sure you wanna do this, girl?” His words seemed genuine as he stared at your eyes and lips. 

“I've never been more sure,” You pushed his shoulders down, making him sit on the edge of his bed. Stepping back a few feet, you grabbed the bottom of your nightgown and pulled it over your head, throwing it onto the floor next to your feet. Arthur's eyes gazed over every inch of your body, drinking in your features like you were a smooth glass of whiskey.

“Come here,” you stepped closer, your legs against his. His rough hands immediately went to the back of your legs; one stayed put with a heavy grip. The other drug up your leg to your stomach until it was grazing dangerously close to your breast, “ Sit.” 

You obeyed. You were a rough woman yourself... hell, probably more ruthless than Arthur. You almost never took orders from anyone, not even your own brother. Anyone who told you what to do would get a gun in their face, and it often ended with their brains on a wall. But here you were doing exactly what Arthur was telling you to. Like a dog eager for a treat. You sat on his lap, straddling him. Arthur smirked, his thumb swiping over your nipple. You wrapped her arms around his shoulders and leaned down, kissing him feverishly. Your hands grabbed his suspenders and pushed them off of his shoulders. You leaned back and started to unbutton his shirt. While you did, Arthur's eyes never left your face, his hands slightly roamed your body, feeling every curve he could. Once the final button was undone, Arthur took the shirt off and threw it to the side. Your hands immediately went to his chest, feeling him up and down. 

He knew you watched him whenever he would do chores around camp. The way his muscles flexed through his shirt when he carried the hay bales or threw bags over his shoulders. And your eyes would never once leave him if he was chopping wood. His shirt off, suspenders hanging from his hips, just like they were now. His back and arms flexing with every swing. He wouldn't look at you while you stared, but he could feel your eyes burning a hole in him. And oftentimes it would end in Miss Grimshaw yelling at you to get back to work. You were staring at him the same way now, the same hungry look in your eyes burning a hole through him. 

Arthur couldn't help but feel a little embarrassed and shy about it, his cheeks flushing slightly, but you didn't care. You leaned back down to kiss him again, hands still roaming his chest and memorizing every defined muscle on his arms. His own hands still wandered your body as he moved one from her breast and her heat. One finger dragged slowly up her cunt causing you to let out a quiet whine. 

“God,” He groaned into your mouth, “Yer’ soaked, and I've hardly even touched ya. Whatchu’ been thinkin’ about, girl.” He removed his mouth from yours, his finger still barely touching your heat.

“You,” You breathed quietly, “The way you-” he pushed a finger inside of you, cutting off your words as you moaned. 

“What about me,” He smirked, his mouth hovered right above yours, his breath hot against your lips.

“The way you ripped my dress off…so,” he pulled his finger out and pushed two in this time, “God- so easily.” 

“I've been thinkin' bout’ that all night too, darlin’. Can't sleep because of me? Can't sleep because you've been thinkin' about fuckin’ me? Hmm?” He picked up his pace, his two fingers moving quickly, his thumb barely grazing your clit. You dropped your head to his shoulder, mouth open, but nothing came out. You knew you had to be quiet, or someone would hear. There may have been walls, but they were thin and rotting, and the broken window didn't help, “Is that it, Darlin? Gotta answer me, or I'll stop.” 

“God, yes. Please, Arthur,” You let out another quiet moan, biting his shoulder slightly to muffle it. He groaned as you bit down, his hips moving slightly to ease his own throbbing heat.

“Please, what?” His teasing frustrated you, but your brain was too clouded to tell him off. 

“Fuck me, Arthur, please.” That was all it took. He pulled his fingers out and flipped you onto the bed so that he was on top. Your hands quickly went to his pants, unbuttoning them and pushing them down his hips slightly. Your finger traced his hip bones and V-line. He sat back up and pulled them off the rest of the way. 

“So eager…all for me,” He leaned down, whispering in your ear before planting a wet kiss on your collarbone. He placed a heavy hand on the base of his cock, pumping it a few times and letting out a groan before lining it up with your entrance. 

He pushed into you slowly, both of you letting out a sigh. Arthur dropped his head to your chest, kissing one of your breasts as he bottomed you out. The man was large on every term, towered over most men in height, could easily toss anyone over his shoulder, so it was no surprise he was blessed below the belt too. 

“You alright?” He looked you in the eyes, letting you adjust to his size before continuing. You nodded your head and bit your lip slightly, “That ain't gonna work, darlin'. Use your words.” 

“Yes,” He connected his lips to yours once again and slowly moved his hips. You moaned into his mouth as he moved quicker, “Please, Arthur. Faster.” You threw your head back against the hard mattress. 

“You like it rough, don't ya,” Arthur groaned as his hips continued to hit yours, picking up his pace. You couldn't speak, only nod your head and let out another strangled moan, “ I should've known, you dirty girl.” The noises coming from between your legs were filthy, getting messier as Arthur's strokes became more desperate. 

“God, Arthur,” You moaned his name, your hands pulling at his hair. He clamped a hand over your mouth to keep you quiet. 

“Yeah, that feel good?” He asks, his tone mocking her slightly, “Gotta be quiet unless you want the whole camp knowin’ how much of a whore you are.” He grunted, pulling one of your legs up further and kissing your neck. He bit down on the soft skin on your collarbone, trying to mask his own noises. The coil in your stomach tightened, your legs wrapping tighter against him. Arthur could tell you were close, so he steadied his pace, wanting you to finish before him. He lifted his head from your shoulder and watched your face as you got closer. You bit your lip to keep yourself quiet, pulling yourself closer to Arthur as your back arched. Your breathing got heavier as you let out a breathless moan, your nails digging into Arthur's scalp. You let go, feeling everything in your body tighten before immediately relaxing. Arthur pulled out, his hand desperately finishing what had been started, wishing his hand was your warm walls. You watched as he finished, groaning to himself as his filth leaking out onto your stomach. 

“Jesus,” He let out quietly, leaning forward to kiss you. You wiped the loose strands of hair that stuck to his forehead out of his face. He pulled back, looking at you. This time instead of being full of lust, he looked at you with the sweetest eyes, a slight smile on his face. The two of you stayed like that for a few seconds, drunk on each other. He sat up slightly, grabbed his shirt off of the floor, and cleaned you up, “Shit, yer shakin’, darlin’.” 

“I'll be okay,” You planted a small kiss on his forehead and wrapped your arms around his shoulders again, pulling him closer as he finished cleaning you up. He layed down next to you, wrapping his heavy arm around your middle. Your back was against his chest, his face buried in your hair. 

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while now,” Arthur said quietly, placing a small kiss on the back of your head. You smiled slightly to yourself, resting your hand on his arm. 

“You been havin’ dirty thoughts bout me for a while, Cowboy?” You teased him slightly, his arm wrapping tighter around you. 

“The filthiest,” You could hear the smile in his voice as he kissed your neck. 

“Well, I guess you'll just have to tell me all about them, so I make sure they come true.” You turned in his arms so that you were facing him.

“I won't say no to that,” Arthur leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on your lips, “But for now, I just wanna hold you and get some sleep.” He gave you a soft smile, and you agreed with him. Both of you closed your eyes, enjoying the warmth of each other's arms once again, only this time, the night hadn't been innocent.

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#arthur morgan #arthur morgan rdr2 #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #van der linde gang #arthur morgan x reader #smut #arthur morgan smut #whoopsy daisy #this is the filthiest thing ive written #i have sinned once again #insert dutch walking in the next morning “WHAT THE FU-”

[thesimquarter]

hello! sims 2 miniopolis update!

first of all, my current sims 2 urbz sims >:3 outside of the obvious change of a default skin, they don't look that different compared to my old versions of them. But! believe me they are better.as well, this time! there's the DS exclusive characters and a few sims intended to be townies. In order, Lloyd, Red Man, Daschell Swank, Chet R. Chase, Bucki Brock's sister, Joe from the Flea Market (yes, he does have a name), Ava Cadavra, and Gordie Puck. Indeed, they're very red.

And an update to the town in general! I've finished most of the easy lots now, mostly having harder lots to do now. Such as the Mausoleum, Circus, Brownstones + Slice O'Life (which I… attempted. can you believe that the map of this game doesn’t follow the laws of physics?), etc.

New lots include: - Junked Schoolbus (which IS connected to the Chopper Garage visually but they aren't the same lot) - Chopper Garage (which i am not going to put underneath the road/jail! it looks cool in-game, but possibly impossible to do in the sims 2 but it makes no sense spatially!! the other side of the garage would just be underground!!!) - Cemetery (Mostly just empty buildings for aesthetics. No graves… yet. and there probably won’t be until the final version of the hood.) - Miniopolis Chronicle (TINY) - Miniopolis Hospital + University (if this was ts3 i probably would have made them separately) - Club Xizzle (what is it supposed to look like on the outside + should there be two?) - Glasstown Megamall - Cinema d'Urbania (how do you make a cinema in this game? big TV?)

I redid King Tower as well, just to make it fill out a 3x3 lot instead of a 2x2 lot, and Café Multiplaya has a new outdoor seating area (to fill in space). The Coffee Shop, the Market, and Glasstown apartments were in my last post, just kinda in the background. The Market has a lot of creative liberties taken to it, as I just didn't like how it translated into the Sims (as in it's made to represent the real-life French Quarter Market more). The Glasstown Apartment has a few other units in it for some of the Urbz sims (more on that in a bit!)

I removed pretty much, all the elevation from the .s4c terrain. It's easy to put back butttt, the sims 2 just doesn't work in a way that's friendly to sloped lots (and simcity 4 for slopes that take <1 unit of distance, you can't make steep cliffs in these games. so, basically, due to the compactness of the city, there isn’t enough room to add in slopes without making it all janky). They may come back at the end if we can Wizard the slopes to work the lots, but for now...

Ignore the weird road off the Sim Quarter. I was experimenting with what could be done with the riverboat. I was thinking about putting it on a beach lot and making a joke about it being temporarily landlocked (read: i already did) and was trying to find a good, functional place to put it. There may be other ways to do a riverboat though… hmmm

Anyways onto housing for the Sims. So, the Glasstown Apartments has a few more units to fit in a few other characters (Lottie Cash (I did manage to squeeze a bowling alley in there), Lily Gates, and Darius) but other than that? Very little! (I did Ewan’s House. however, it’s just a box; i took modest pretty literally). I might make a post soon where I talk about where each Urb would probably live, just as an excuse to talk to myself for a little while.

#ts2 #urbz #miniopolis #ts2 miniopolis

[tmgstudios]

Zirk Vervain

NADDPOD // unknown // Sleeplessness - Tomas Denson // NADDPOD // @/smokedsugar // Depression’s Lullaby for the Anxious Insomniac - vojeda96 // The Sorrow Festival - Erin Slaughter // Riverboat Shanty - Emily Axford // NADDPOD // Helping Others... - Catherine Hendry // I Will Rage against the Dying of the Light - Eileen Manassian // unknown // NADDPOD // @/quicklings

thought to hard about eldermourne and now ive made a zirk vervain web weave to go with the henry hogfish one i made a while ago. this took me ages i think zirks illnesses are so specific its hard to find stuff that fits him thats not something literally about him

#needed to stop staring at this in my drafts anxiously and just post it LMAO #web weave #web weaving #zirk vervain #naddpod #not another dnd podcast #eldermourne #naddpod c2 #rattling bones

[aconflagrationofmyown]

You’ve definitely become one of my favorite Elvis writers on here, Marina.

And I wanted to ask you, are you planning to do more Elvis series? Like a series of Hollywood!Elvis, where he fights to be a serious actor and falls in love with one his co-stars. Or more Elvis AU, since we already have Pirate!Elvis. For example Cowboy!Elvis. Spy!Elvis like a James Bond or Agent Elvis. Mafia!Elvis. Even a Superhero!Elvis.

I think you’d do such a good job bringing all those concepts to life 🤭

My sweet anon, thank you so much, what a kind thing to say, I’m so glad my writing has brought you joy. 💋🌸💋 As for AU’s I did start a series about Hollywood E, yet never finished it. And for now I’ve got riverboat Captain E and father figure E to chew and that’s a lot on its own…but never say never. I think this would be something I’d have to have pitched to me and see if it resonates? So far I’ve not fully cooked up anything else original that hasn’t been done better by others. I’m always happy to dish out recs, fyi.

BUT THAT SAID…I’m messing around with little snippets, a filthy fairytale in collaboration with @elvisabutler and this demented Regency Elvis headcanon below that “my sexy secretary” @ab4eva took down from a chat. Enjoy…

I Bet on Losing Dogs -🥀 A Regency Elvis Blurb

18+ blurb, warning sexual content ahead, arranged marriage, romance novella style stuff

Imagine this: Regency Elvis whose wife has recently left him for a foreigner, taking with her his only child -a daughter who cannot inherit. He needs an heir.

Zero promises of love or fidelity or even bare respect for his new wife but…there’ll be position and status and jewels so long as you perform your wifely duties without complaint.

Jaded and lonely, I need freshly betrayed Elvis buying off a nobleman for his daughter, a Baron who’s mortgaged his estate for debts, Mr. Presley gets the association with your family’s nobility and you get the much needed wealth that new money brings.

And so your new husband comes in nightly in an embroidered robe and a solitary lit candle to consummate your union. He’s got all that chest hair displayed and a lil ponch of a belly showing out his robe as he slowly undoes the tie every night, never rushed, and you can feel the jitters down to your toes every time as you hug the sheet to your chin.

*Let go, Darlin,* he’s always murmuring as he pulls the sheet from your grip, *must do what needs done*

He fucks you hard and fast for such a delicate woman and then tosses you spending money to make up for it.

Reminds you after each visit to yoru chambers that you have a job to do. One single job.

*Gimme that son and maybe you’ll get that sea bathin’ ya been hankerin’ for*

(Elvis is from Yorkshire if he was ever transported to an English Setting AU, ok? No question, unless the question is Irish versus Yorkish)

Each time, when he finishes and pants into the humid crook of your neck, his hand blindly strokes away your tears and he whispers in gravelly apology, *I’ll leave ya alone, moment ya start to swell, I swear it, I’ll leave ya alone lil girl*

But that’s not why you’re crying, you wish he’d stay, he doesn’t know how cold you get when he leaves you and his sweat and spend cools on your skin and leaves you shivering.

You could curse the woman who laid here before you, who broke his heart and still haunts this place, like the wall opposite the bed with its outline of a portrait missing on the sun-bleached wall.

You wonder what she looked like, this missing wife.

You wonder if she secretly craved the burning stretch of him like you do, possibly not if she left for someone more…continental. Was he too voracious for her? Or was it the loneliness that finally ate her through like the moths who try the same with the bed canopy.

One night, Mr. Presley’s hand slips from your shoulder down to your breast, very rarely does he maul you there except in his direst paroxysms of pleasure, but tonight he slips and grabs and it’s so sore you nearly cry aloud from the ache.

*I swear I’ll leave ya be* he had said and you bite your lip savagely, cinch your corsets cruelly and wonder how to make him love you, tolerate you even. Anything so that you’re not left alone like he promises.

Are your breasts sore from being with child? You worry so.

So the next night you scheme, and when he shakes atop you and catches his breath and makes to roll away, you grab hold of him and keep him close.

*Six months* you murmur, and he seems confused by your meaning, *six month’s you’ve visited me nightly save for menses and Lent, and no child to show for it. Won’t you stay? Nurse says if the man remains…after…the chances are greater.*

Ensuing cockwarming between two people who’ve barely spoken outside of bed…little chats…because neither can sleep and in fact, he doesn’t really sleep that much at all, he admits.

*what do you do then? At nights?* you ask.

He reads a lot, he tells you and he’s got a telescope, and you tentatively ask if he’ll read to you.

He agrees with a shy *i-if ya want that, I will*

About the books. You asks if he will tonight instead of leaving and he says yes.

Then he hesitates and asks lowly, *can we…once more?…before?*

He asks if he can do it again, before he grabs the books, because he firmed up again while acting as a stopper in your warm cunt.

You’re already a wet mess down there and perhaps he moves you around, spoons you.

Puts himself back in and you’re so wet from what he gave you before and your excitement at the intimacy you feel in this movement.

And due to the difference in angle, for the first time, you actually come from the feeling of your husband inside you. His flaming hot body behind you, his thick arms wrapped around your body, the delicious rub of him in your womb.

And you’re quite sure you’ve already made a child but he doesn’t need to know. Not yet.

Anything to keep him coming back.

#elvis presley #regency Elvis #elvis fanfiction #Elvis blurb #elvis fanfic #Elvis smut #regency #bridgerton #elvis imagine #elvis x reader #elvis #mine

[still-not-over-transformers]

@kitgirl91 Request

I lost the original request message but I had a screeenshot :3

Ain’t I Good to You?

(TFA Blitzwing x Female Human Reader)

Warnings: None other than intense simping :3

Word Count: ... 2400+ (I got a tad carried away)

Lingo: “Cher” (pronounced ‘sha’) = Cajun term of affection/endearment 

To those unfamiliar, Blitzwing’s 3 personalities are known as Icy, Hothead, & Random

Art courtesy of my beloved requester: @kitgirl91 BEHOLD THE TALENT

Inspiration for this request: The Mask Soundtrack - Susan Boyd - Gee Baby, Ain't I Good To You

The Decepticons had been promptly defeated at the hands of the Autobots, and brought back to Cybertron. Blitzwing was one of said Decepticons to be humiliated by being paraded through the streets of Cybertron as prisoners. But the Triple-changer would shortly make his escape and give the guard the slip, stealing a small ship and setting course for the only planet he knew had no Autobot activity anymore: Earth. 

After entering stasis, a few months later Blitzwing would awaken after crash landing on Earth. This time however, Blitzwing would find himself not in New Detroit, but in good old New Orleans, Louisiana. The Decepticon didn’t want to attract too much attention to himself, and immediately searched for a place to hide, and or blend in with. As he still retained his Earth-based alt-modes as a jet or tank, he chose to sneak into a nearby river-side Air Force base. He transformed into his jet-mode as he tried to brainstorm a plan. He would remain there for a few months, having little idea on how to proceed further, and he went into a deep stasis nap. Blitzwing would be slowly awakened one Saturday night to music and an upbeat yet hauntingly beautiful voice. Blitzwing transformed to see a riverboat slowly cruising down the bayou, warm lights illuminating the water as upbeat music echoed across the river, and a sensual and hypnotic voice filled the night. It was a new experience for the Decepticon, and for the first time Blitzwing was silent and listened until the music and that voice faded into the distance. 

The following week was uneventful as usual, Blitzwing growing evermore displeased that he lacked a plan. As the afternoon sun sailed across the sky, Blitzwing took note of a female human making their way through the airbase. This human caught his eye, as she was not dressed in the usual military uniforms of the soldiers or mechanics. Being in the back area of the base, and being utterly bored out of his mind, Blitzwing decided to have a bit of fun. 

You made your way through an array of various military vehicles and aircrafts, all stunning and huge, dwarfing you easily. The air was growing cooler as an Autumn breeze blew through, making you clutch tighter at your coat. A loud clang rang out to the side and you struggled to see anyone through a lineup of various fighter jets and helicopters. Curiosity got the better of you and you stepped to the side to investigate, “Hello?” A rather large fighter jet was before you, but something was off about it as its coloring did not match any of the other similar models. 

Suddenly the jet moved swiftly, lifting upright before transforming completely into a massive winged tan robot. Its face spun around rapidly, settling on a cool bluish face with a red optic and one monocle-like optic, staring down at you expectantly. Despite the shock, you just stood there calmly looking at him. 

Blitzwing’s gaze was fixed upon you, raising an optic ridge in curiosity, “You are not afraid, human? How curious you’ve no concern for your own life.” Again, his faceplate spins violently, revealing the black faceplate and scarlet red crazed jack-o-lantern optics and mouth of Random. He cackles in an excited and mildly psychotic tone, “This human is crazy! I like crazy…” Round and round Blitzwing’s faceplate spins, now revealing Hothead, his bright red faceplate and optics glaring down at you. He aggressively moves towards you, his optics obscured by a visor, but the angry expression on his face was easily readable, “Are you working with ze Autobots, human?! That’s why you aren’t cowering in fear, isn’t it!?” 

You raise your hands up in a gesture of innocence, hoping to convince the massive robot before you you weren’t any threat, “I have no idea what an ‘Autobot’ is. I’m not really sure what you are to be honest.”

“Why then are you not frightened of me? Do I look like I’d want to be friends with ze likes of you?” Icy said calmly, although in his mind he was genuinely intrigued by the fearless organic before him. Blitzwing’s face spun again, “OOOOOH Maybe we can make friendship bracelets!” Hothead took over and again, he spoke aggressively towards you, “What is a puny human like you even doing walking around in a military airbase?!”

You paused before explaining yourself, “Oh, well I was finishing up details regarding an upcoming job. Going to perform next month here to boost morale for the troops. Had to sign a bit of paperwork regarding my pay.”

The calm Icy took over and raised an optic ridge curiously, “Vat kind of performance?”

“I’m a Jazz singer. Not sure if you’d know what Jazz is, or music… but it’s my profession and most importantly my passion. I’m finally booking more gigs, last weekend was my first time performing on a riverboat. It was magical if I’m honest,” you spoke candidly, finding Blitzwing’s accent to be slightly adorable. 

“Vait…” Icy glances over at the nearby river on the other side of the river-side airbase, “Zat was your voice I heard?”

You were taken aback, “You heard me? How long have you been hiding in this airbase?”

“...Long enough. Ze music was… acceptable. And your voice… wasn’t displeasing” Icy said slowly, perhaps giving you a hesitant compliment. 

You smiled slightly, finding this strange giant robot to be rather endearing. “You know I will be performing this evening at “The Cat’s Meow” Jazz Club. It’s an outdoor venue, so you’re welcome to come if you’d like.” You extend your hand towards Blitzwing, a silver ticket stub in your grasp. 

Icy took a pause, considering whether or not to accept the ticket, before Random took over and eagerly snatched the ticket from your hands. “How could ve refuse such an offer!” he chuckled excitedly. 

You stepped back briefly as the ticket was taken from your hands, but you couldn’t help but smile, “I can see you aren’t one to pass a good time up. I should probably be on my way and get ready for the show. You know, I didn’t catch your name, cher?” 

The Decepticon was shocked at how calm and comfortable you were around him, after all he was a battle-hardened warrior, killer and a giant robot, yet you showed him such courtesy as if he were just another human. “Oh… Blitzwing…” he replied hesitantly, feeling almost compelled to tell you. 

“Well Blitzwing, if anyone gives you trouble at the door, cher, just tell them you’re a guest of (Y/N)” you flashed a sincere but slightly coy smile at the Decepticon before giving him a friendly wave of your hand and making your way off of the military base. 

Blitzwing stood there in silent shock as you left, leaving him burning with multiple questions. “Cher? This word is strange” Icy pondered, a servo on his chin. His faceplate spun and Random took over, “Perhaps it’s a human word for cute!” Icy presented himself once more, staring at the ticket in his servo, your invitation still standing. He could just crush the ticket and be done withy it, but there was something about you…

Night fell on New Orleans, and the city came alive with lights, and hundreds of people flocking to the streets to enjoy various events and libations. High in the sky, Blitzwing hovered in jet-mode above the outdoor venue of “The Cat’s Meow.” After a bit of convincing himself, Blitzwing found the courage to land and enter the Jazz club. The bouncer at the door was definitely not expecting a Decepticon to attempt entry to the club, but he stood his ground and sweatily asked to see a ticket. 

Usually, it would be Blitzwing’s instinct to blast the human into smithereens, but that would undoubtedly sour the mood for the evening. Instead he presented his silver ticket and spoke, “I am here upon ze request of (Y/N).” The doorman accepted the ticket hesitantly, before allowing the Decepticon entry into the club, but directing him to enter around to the outdoor section to spare the roof. 

After making his way around, Blitzwing entered the outdoor space, which was an array of various tables covered in rich red linens. The area was illuminated by various lights wrapped around trellises and trees, a wooden stage centered at the back, the musicians settling into their positions. Blitzwing looked down at the table below him, awkwardly lowering himself into a sitting position behind the table, his massive frame still towering above it. Blitzwing couldn’t help but feel foolish being here to see a human perform, and it took hours of self-convincing earlier in order to get his aft here. 

“I have no idea how I talked myself into this…” Icy grumbled, his arms crossed. “PLEASE! This is not ze craziest thing we’ve done by far!” Random cackled before going silent as the lights dimmed, leaving one blinding spotlight on center stage. 

There you were, standing in the blinding glow of the spotlight. Your hair was down, but a delicate headpiece of beaded pearls adorned your forehead. Your dress was an ebony color, with a sensual sweetheart neckline and a short hem lined with glittering beads that cascaded from the hem. The ebony color was accentuated by the sparkle of thousands of tiny sequins, which reflected the spotlight and made you shimmer. You turned towards the band members behind you and gave them a nod, cueing them to begin playing a smooth yet upbeat Jazz number, the mood set by the sound of trumpets and a piano. You slowly took hold of the microphone and began singing, your voice sultry and alluring. 

Blitzwing’s optics widened to a point where they nearly burst out of his skull, and his jaw unhinged and was wide open as he struggled to process how stunning you were. This was the same human he met at the airbase? Your voice, your lips, your legs, that dress were all enough to nearly fry his processor circuitry and drive him wild. His faceplate was spinning between all three personalities, each one absolutely shaken by everything about you. 

“She’s like nothing I’ve ever seen…” Icy gawked, short of words. 

“IT IS LIKE BEING GRACED WITH ZE PRESENCE OF AN ANGEL!” Hothead exclaimed, looking like he wanted to break something. 

Random’s glossa was hanging out of his mouth, completely drunk off of your beautiful body and hypnotic voice. 

The song continued, and you began to move around the stage, your hips moving in time with the beat. You dipped down to the ground, before slowly standing up, swishing your hips and waist as you ascended. 

This sent Blitzwing over the edge, and Random loudly whistled at you, having quickly become a complete simp. Hearing the cat call, you turned your attention to see the Decepticon at his table. Continuing your set, you smiled in his direction before pointing to him and blowing a kiss. 

 Random took over and stood up, whistling even louder in adoration and worship of you, “Keep it UP BABY!” 

The song slowly came to its final portion, albeit to Blitzwing’s dismay as he wanted this to go on forever. With a final breath, the last lyrics left your painted lips and the song concluded. The resounding sound of applause filled the club, the loudest clapping being from Blitzwing’s massive metal servos. As the rest of the club patrons applauded your performance, Blitzwing’s sharp optics spotted one human patron who wasn’t participating. 

Hothead’s face spun around, steam visibly leaving his nostrils as he stomped over to the unsuspecting patron, startling the man, “YOU’D BETTER START CLAPPING BEFORE I MAKE YOUR INSIDES YOUR OUTSIDES!” The unsuspecting critic nearly jumped out of his skin and began clapping for his life. 

As the cheers continued, audience members began tossing flowers onto the stage. Icy took note of this and began formulating a plan. 

After you had made your way back to your dressing room, there was a firm knock at the door. Out of curiosity, you opened it to see who it was, only to be pleasantly surprised to see a certain Decepticon gazing back at you. 

Blitzwing was blushing madly, especially being so close to you when you looked so beautiful. He cleared his throat, his faceplate spinning to Icy, trying to get the courage to speak to you. “Your show was… more than words than express. You are ze most talented and beautiful thing I have laid optics on. I got something for you” his voice was oddly shaky. He knelt down and revealed a massive bundle of roses and vines from behind his back, the flowers taking up a quarter of your dressing room. “I saw flowers are a sign of worship, so I brought you all ze flowers from the garden.” 

You were stunned by the gift, it being obvious that Blitzwing had removed the roses from the nearby trellises. You tried to stifle a laugh and flashed the biggest grin, “That is mighty sweet of you, cher. To think you actually came to see me and shower me with so much praise.” 

“You are a GORGEOUS LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS. I WILL BREAK DOWN MOUNTAINS FOR YOU!” Hothead expressed passionately. 

“Oh my…” you giggled, “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” You stepped closer to the massive Decepticon before you, closing the distance. “For being so sweet, I think you deserve a little something as well,” your voice was charismatic and smooth. You leaned in closer to his faceplate, and planted a gentle kiss on his cheek. 

His faceplate spun around and around and around… for what seemed like an eternity. An excited and loud laugh escaped from Blitzwing’s mouth, Random’s optics wide and his spark beating rapidly. So many thoughts and feelings flashed through his processor that he felt he might explode, “I FEEL LIKE I’VE FLOWN TO ZE MOON AND BACK!” His optics turn back towards you and he suddenly calms himself, maybe a little worried he might frighten you. His faceplate reverts back to Icy and he clears his throat, “...ahem.. My apologies, sometimes I get carried away.” 

Your smile widened, finding his antics to be endearing. “Don’t sweat it, cher. You’re more than welcome to come to any of my shows in the future,” you spoke softly. “Now why don’t you and I get out of here. Maybe let me show you around town?”

Blitzwing was in absolute awe. You, this tiny human female stealing every one of Blitzwing’s sparks. 

Of course he took you up on your offer. 

*END*

I had WAY too much fun with this request. :3 I pray it was worth the wait!

#transformers #transformers animated #transformers animated blitzwing #tfa blitzwing #tfa blitzwing x reader #tfa #transformers reader insert #transformers x reader #transformers x reader insert #transformers oneshot #transformers animated insert #tfa reader insert #blitzwing #transformers blitzwing #jazz

[carpehistoryandthepens]

Union! Geno is saving up for one night with Sid. Escort! Sid wishes for one night with someone who truly could love him.

yall want a not!fic based on @yabagofmilfs's prompt from like several months ago?

Prompt: Enough billionaire or CEO AUs; let's start romanticizing blue-collar workers. Give me a union man who has earned every cent he's ever made with his body, and tonight he's spending money that actually means something to him on a guy who's gonna treat him right.

Union! Geno is saving up for one night with Sid. Escort! Sid wishes for one night with someone who truly could love him.

Amorphous 1910’s – 1920’sish time frame. Don’t come at me with the historical correctness – this is not what I am here for, and it will not happen. Vibes ONLY. (My history degree is being used elsewhere at the moment.)

words: 1915

They met on the same riverboat that took them to Pittsburgh. Both teenagers, young and scared, were heading to a place for work that was far from the lives they knew. They meet on the deck of the riverboat. It's two to a room – they end up sharing; neither of them has money. Not yet. Geno clearly says that he is coming to Pittsburgh to work in the steel industry. Sid is very clear right back that he's going to one of the high-priced brothels in the city for work.

Geno is still Zhenya at the time. Sid only kind of had an idea of what he was getting into, but both knew they would be using their bodies for work and had more or less made their peace with that. Both are very taken with each other. They never go far on that trip—not even sharing a kiss before they have to separate at the docks. They both want it.

The kiss that never happened is their biggest regret for years.

But their thoughts stay with each other for YEARS. Just before they part, they exchange where they will be working. Geno makes a joke about buying a night. Sid laughs it off, knowing the average pay of that steel factory is far below where he was going. Both know it can be only one night, but it's not that night. Neither expects to see each other again.

What they didn't know then is that over the years, their lives will intertwine.

They could never stop running into each other. But it was always so causal.

Sometimes, it's at a bookstore – where Geno gets some Russian books sent to him or at parks where Sid likes to take people from the brothel for some fresh air. Sometimes, it's them running into each other as Sid goes to or from a party on the street. Once, memorably for both of them, it was at a party the Steel Union hosts happened to be in the same hotel that Sid was at a dinner.

Eventually (sometime in their mid-twenties), Geno puts two and two together and realizes what he wants.

They had just run into each other at a fancy bar that Geno would have never been in normally, but he got directly invited by the head of the Union. Sid looked so Radiant and Happy, and their conversation flowed so easily – it was so wonderful. Sid stopped looking so stressed as the night went on.

Until Sid’s date for the evening came by to pick him up so they could ‘go home.’ Then it was as if a mask came over Sid’s face, and all of the open happiness went away.

All Geno could feel was the frustrated rage that had nowhere to go, and he knew what that meant. One night with Sid would matter more than every night Geno had spent trying to get over him. It was worth more than every night Geno had spent lying to himself that he could be fine, never knowing how Sid felt or if he still laughed the same.

Because now he did. Sid still could laugh the same way he did on the boat trip to Pittsburgh.

Geno starts saving that night. Geno keeps tabs on the place Sid goes to and has a fair idea of what a night with Sid costs. It's more than six months of solid pay and can, and probably will, go higher. Geno figures saving at least a year's worth of pay will cover him if Sid gets even more expensive. And if not, Geno could get a good suit for the night. He doesn't hold much hope that he will get a second night.

While Geno gets teased by his coworkers and friends for always being willing to talk to the girls (and guys) of the night, it's always in good nature. They never judge him after Sid comes by as arm candy of one of the steel mill bigwigs on a tour of the mill and sees Geno's longing following the well-built escort. They would actually tease him if not for the fact that when Sid saw Geno - it's like Geno's longing is reflected in Sid's eyes. (because it is).

So Geno works and works and works and saves up for a little at a time.

Meanwhile, Sid never forgot Geno.

Even as he took high-paying clients and learned from the best at the brothel. While he enjoyed his work, none of the people he took to his bed ever loved him. Never gave him hope the same way that Geno did for the one night they had on the riverboat to Pittsburgh. Never treated him with the same kindness Geno did when he confessed he was going into this business so his sister would never have to. While his coworkers and friends knew his past, it was a common story enough – so it garnered little sympathy.

Sid was popular and well-liked. He was excellent at his job—because in what AU would Sidney Crosby not be the best at his chosen profession? He got bigger and more famous clients. He gained a foothold in Pittsburgh politics and culture by accident.

Sid, wielding his influence, has been trying to improve the working conditions and lives of the steel mill workers (in hopes that Geno—whom he remembers as Zhenya—would get the better life he wished for). Seeing Geno sporadically in the years since arriving in Pittsburgh, seeing how hard labor had changed Geno from a gangly teen to a strong man but had also put weary lines on his face only pushed Sid further.

Sid might have a career in politics nearly ready once he's no longer useful to the brothel, which is starting to get uncomfortably close as he ages.

But he doesn’t know for sure what his future holds—at all. All he’s known since he was eighteen is this life, taken by so many different people but no one who really cared for him as a person. Sid thought a few times that maybe this client would be different, but no. It was never meant to be; they always cared more for the status and the pride that came with being able to see Sid himself.

But something in Geno's eyes says he has to know at least once before he dies. What would it be to be with someone who would take care of him? Who could truly love him?

Then Geno saves up enough. He's in his mid-thirties. He's risen up in the ranks in the steel mill. He's not quite a manager, but he's one of the most trusted there. Most of his friends and coworkers have started families.

The night Geno walks into Sid’s rooms, as the man of the night, is one that Sid didn’t know he needed or truly wanted. He’s determined to make it the best night of Geno’s life. (he tries not to think how it’s the best night of his life either.)

The morning comes, and both of them know deep down that they won’t be able to go on with one night alone.

Then, the hard part begins.

Geno would be convinced that one night would be all he could get because he couldn't give Sid the life he's used to living. Meanwhile, Sid is like, "I can't rip away Zhenya’s independence!" (Sid has more than enough money – not a millionaire, but comfortable). Geno had been very clear when they first meant that he was proud he could make his own way in life – even if it meant working with his body differently than Sid would. Sid respected that and didn’t want to take that away.

They keep in touch with letters at first and the occasional phone call. (Geno works on making enough to have a phone in his apartment like Sid does. It takes time.) But they move on from being each other's teenage obsessions and then to each other's dreams to being actual friends.

They don’t sleep together again (Sid’s job keeps him very busy), but they do manage to spend a lot of time together.

Geno gets a promotion to work directly with the union to ensure proper pay and rights, which comes with a pay raise and new responsibilities that he has no idea what to do with. But the rights he can get for the workers matter to him, so he tries his best and makes some enemies. Geno’s Steel Mill owner hates him. (I've just decided this is Madden from that one radio network – he hates Geno for some reason and fuck that guy.)

Sid, meanwhile, finds his talent with people and accidental cultural pull starting to show as some of his clients start directly asking for opinions. When Geno’s Steel mill’s owner (the one who has always paid the most to have Sid come with them on dates, parties, and basically to show off) comes to Sid for advice on how to ‘deal with the annoying Russian that works for the union,’ Sid nearly throws the guy out of the window.

Sid runs to see Geno in the middle of the night because this makes him fear for Geno’s life. And it's all dramatic and takes place in Geno’s dingy apartment in a not-so-good area of Pittsburgh. For Geno, seeing Sid in this element – away from the glitz and the glam of his escort life – really takes it home that Geno is in love and…. It might be reciprocated.

Sid stays the night. And for the first time since he was eighteen, no money was exchanged.

This causes a lot of problems for Sid because Geno is not well-liked among his clientele, but he's Sid and kind of beloved in Pittsburgh. So, they choose to get rid of Geno rather than punish Sid. But that doesn’t go too well because it turns out Geno is well-liked as well. A few dates in public and the newspapers are on their sides (listen, Sid and Geno going anywhere in Pittsburgh is good for selling newspapers) (and Whoops! Tanger owns the newspaper, EK is a reporter, POJ is the lead photographer, and Rusty is the editor. They always have been on Sid’s side.)

The steel mill guy doesn’t do too well after that. EK goes to town on him. Jarry, Ned, and a few others take over the business and are much more willing to work with the union. Geno secures all sorts of rights with the steel mills (all of them) and doesn’t have to strike.  Sid ends up in politics, but more like being engaged with the city, and pulling sports teams to the city. Things like that.

He and Sid never marry officially, but they know their vows were said the night Sid stayed.

#i write? #sidgeno #8771 #evgeni malkin #sidney crosby

[clove-pinks]

I was in Nashville for a business trip and took this picture of Captain Tom Ryman near the Ryman Auditorium (the original Grand Ole Opry).

My Business Colleagues included an East Tennessee native and several country music fans, I think they got a lot more out of this trip than I did. We accomplished more sight-seeing than I expected—it's not like I came here for fun. Of course I'm more interested in a riverboat captain statue than barhopping! I also enjoyed seeing the Cumberland River on the few times we drove over it, still a working waterfront.

#shaun talks #the other thing i will say about nashville is that it's very expensive and the highways are a nightmare #i don't know why i'm surprised when it has been a tourist trap and 'music city' for a gazillion years #for someone really into country music it's probably worth it #thank goodness i didn't have to drive a vehicle

[sea-owl]

So I got a new book and from the summary alone I got an new au idea. I have not read one page of this book yet.

The book is called The Fairy Bargains of Prospect Hill.

Here's the summary:

There is no magic on Prospect Hill—or anywhere else, for that matter. But just on the other side of the veil is the world of the Fae. Generations ago, the first farmers on Prospect Hill learned to bargain small trades to make their lives a little easier—a bit of glass to find something lost, a cup of milk for better layers in the chicken coop.

Much of that old wisdom was lost as the riverboats gave way to the rail lines and the farmers took work at mills and factories. Alaine Fairborn’s family, however, was always superstitious, and she still hums the rhymes to find a lost shoe and to ensure dry weather on her sister’s wedding day.

When Delphine confides her new husband is not the man she thought he was, Alaine will stop at nothing to help her sister escape him. Small bargains buy them time, but a major one is needed. Yet, the price for true freedom may be more than they’re willing to pay.

So here's the au idea.

The aristocratic families held onto a secret only their families know. Many of their ancestral seats hide the gateways between the human world and the world of the fae. Deals can be made with the fae but everything has a price. Can you pay it?

Kathony

Mary was not surprised when she got a letter saying her parents back in England pissed off the fae, and that's how they were killed. What did surprise her was the deal they made that ultimately led to their deaths. They promised Mary's child to the king of the fae?! Knowing Edwina's dream of a love match, Kate looks for a loophole. Well, Mary did always say Kate came into her life as a daughter. So she should count, right? Anthony raised an eyebrow when Kate presented herself as the bride. Oh, he's gonna have fun with her.

Benophie

In exchange for keeping privileges from the new Earl of Penwood, Araminta sold Posy off as his bride. Or rather his broodmare. Sophie refused to see the closest person she had to a sister be miserable for the rest of her life. It's what pushes her through Penwood to make a deal for Posy's freedom. Now how is she convincing this fae man to make a deal that DOESN'T include her becoming his mistress?

Polin

The Featheringtons are probably one of the more superstitious families. Portia, who was from an area way more familiar with the fae, made sure her daughters knew the tricks of dealing with the fae. So knowing all these tricks and with a mother who had no fear of the fae, is it any wonder that Penelope regularly made deals with them? Nothing ever major, small things that cost a piece of glass or a poem. Of course, whispers of a human who isn't afraid to trade with the fae will travel. Such whispers reach the most chaotic fae prince who wonders how far this little human will trade. Colin siezes his chance for a trade when Penelope comes to make a deal that will allow her favorite sister Felicity freedom from their father's debts.

#bridgerton #polin #kathony #benophie #fae deals au #anthony bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #colin bridgerton #kate sharma #kate sheffield #sophie beckett #penelope featherington

[cloveroctobers]

bloodwar — JOEL MILLER

A/N: Y’all voted and so shall you receive! Im nervous writing for such a loved character but here goes nothing! If you’re not familiar with my work…I always provide the angst. You’ve been warned.

GIF BELONGS TO: @pedrohub

WARNINGS: I’m always writing my characters with black or POC in mind yet you’re somewhat welcome to imagine whomever as the character/reader is not fully described, fem! Reader, language, lightly paraphrased sexual themes, trauma/lost, & hints of a toxic!relationship the deeper I went into writing this thing. I do believe Joel can find some healthy love romantically but there’s things within himself that needs to be worked through. I am no therapist, I’m simply a girl who likes to make people feel some things with writing so I’ll stfu! Again this is my first time ever writing for this man so I was trying to get into the mind of his character as I wrote so don’t slander me too much if you feel this isn’t right. Lastly this focuses more on uncertainties? That’s it!

˗ˏˋ╰┈➤ ´ˎ˗ ˗ˏˋ╰┈➤ ´ˎ˗ ˗ˏˋ╰┈➤ ´ˎ˗ ˗ˏˋ╰┈➤ ´ˎ˗

The bruises and Lambrusco weren’t enough for her to forget or to catch her off guard. She noticed him way off, through the fence and across what once would have been pretty pale blue water, turned murky and brown. Getting around that lake would take some time and that time was granted as she left the watch tower with her bow and arrow. The only reason she came down from the watch spot was to retrieve the mischievous lamb that loved to escape the barn.

“Got you, you little shit.” She scolded as the animal kept up the banter; while she scooped it up from underneath the belly.

Her senses then allowed her to hear footsteps before he spoke, “Do you?”

Tension filled her shoulders as she took a sharp inhale before she spun on her heels, revealing the lamb and her new weapon of choice.

“Joel Miller,” the name pushed through her lips, “can’t say it’s a pleasure to see you.”

The man scoffed, “that’s no way to treat the man of your dreams.”

A roll of her eyes was immediate, “you and I both know you weren’t serious.”

This much was true and if it were any other time and circumstance, the words probably would have stung as they left her mouth.

“Yeah, you’re right about that.” Joel muttered as he began to stare, which always irritated the woman.

“Can I help you with something or are you just gonna stand there being a creep with your beady owl-like eyes?”

Joel laughed to himself, almost liking that his presence was getting underneath her skin but also at the fact that she wanted to get right to the point.

“What? I can’t enjoy the view and the luxurious secluded home you’ve got for yourself here?” Joel attempted to tease but the woman didn’t appear to be in a joking mood.

Which the man didn’t bother to take offense to—even if he wanted to, he received the emotionless expression that remained on her oval face and assumed his own features showcased the same, although the little twinkle in inky eyes felt like he attempted to make the mood lighter.

It was her turn to trail her eyes over him and she could tell how much life passed him by. It had been years since she last saw Joel. Their history was shifty and rough from the beginning, since everyone was trying to get adjusted to the downfall of society—being thrown towards a new virus and death filled life it was safe to say, they got into some shit together to survive. They both were not as alone at the start since Joel had his brother Tommy, where they ventured from Austin to the east coast and on their way, they met a woman with no filter and her kind but no nonsense having father in Memphis. It was war from the very moment the Millers stepped onto the Lemelle’s riverboat but a truce between the families brought an unlikely path in their relationship. Eventually she, her father, Joel, and Tommy made it to Boston.

After the death of Kendy’s father, the realization that the QZ was not all it cracked up to be, she made the decision to leave first back in the year of 2010; in search of a place with no restrictions. Yet sharing that news with Joel that summer the sun burned down in almost a red hue and instead of just simply disappearing into the night without a word…was something she wished she would have done instead.

“Tommy or Maria sent you?” Her chin lifted in curiosity.

Joel exhaled, “I’m sure you know the answer to that already. I get the sense Maria and I are not gonna be the best of friends.”

“Whaaat? Don’t tell me you never wanted a sister?”

Joel just blinked at her, “fuck off, Kendy.”

“Hey you came to me,” her face held mock innocence, “what you see is what you damn get. Also mind you, I’m the one with the weapon.”

“Yet I’d probably get to that thing before you can even aim to shoot. Lamb chops sounds pretty darn good to me.” Joel warned but Kendy looked more offended than horrified.

The lamb seemed to tilt its head at Joel’s statement as well, floppy ears almost appearing alert.

Which was weird to witness…

“you sure about that grandpa?” Kendy cooed as she pulled her knee up to balance the weapon before adding, “what’s the matter, they’re not feeding you well out in Jackson?”

Joel scoffed and folded his arms as he peered out into the distance of Driggs, pretending to think about it. Of course the food was good, real good considering back in Boston the lbs for food were mostly scraps and back out into the destructive world with Ellie was way worse. Sure he stuffed his belly until it became bloated and uncomfortable but he didn’t want to get used to it, regardless of settling—staying—stationing? in Jackson.

There was no use in complaining about the way things are.

Joel was always about action.

“Why here?” Joel steered the conversation elsewhere, “You’re a great distance away from Wyoming.”

Kendy hummed, “forty-four minutes by car. Longer by foot, which is just fine by me.” Before carrying on, “Did you really expect me to be there too, waitin’ around?”

“I don’t fucking know,” Joel exasperated, “it’s a sense of community, belonging or whatever they’re trying to go for. Something that would have been good for you and—

Kendy almost stopped breathing, the gears turning in her head, thinking Joel was first hinting at some sort of relationship that wasn’t platonic with his brother, taking into consideration that the pair got along well, however the way he rubbed at his mouth in frustration told her his words were aiming at another topic.

“Ah, now I see why you felt obligated to be here. Trust me, I don’t need this.” Kendy hissed, turning back around to head to the barn.

Joel hesitated because part of him didn’t want to do this either…yet it’s been a long time coming. Thirteen years to be exact. He’s in a whole other state and he didn’t travel all this way, by himself (persuading Ellie to stay back with Tommy for at least a couple of days, was hard work and he expected the freckled face girl to find a way to keep close. However Joel didn’t miss how Ellie was starting to spend some time with a certain girl named, Dina.) to not get the answers he deserved.

“Trust?” Joel stomped after her, “I dunno how you want me to do that darlin’ when you’re the one who ran from me, knowing you were carrying a child. My child.”

She whipped back around, making Joel almost bump into her but she shoved him back with a fist pressed to his chest. Her eyes were heated as she met his stare, “it didn’t matter! I wasn’t your problem anymore, ‘good riddance,’ remember? You really think a child would have fixed what we were? We couldn’t get along if we weren’t on top of each other.”

“You still should have had the decency to tell me something. It’s not right how you did it. How I have to find this shit out from my baby brother but even still…he didn’t tell much. So you better start talking.” Joel glared, pointing a finger in Kendy’s face.

Kendy slapped his finger away, “I don’t know who you think you are, Joel Miller but you don’t get to show up here and make demands. This time, I won’t hesitate to put one right in your chest if you keep pushin’ me.”

“Will you put the damn lamb and arrow down, Robin Hood, so we can have a decent conversation?” Joel snorted, finding this image almost humorous, if his blood wasn’t simmering, “I can’t take you seriously.”

Kenny scoffed, “well you better! Seeing you again and talking to me crazy is making me want to go back to old Kendy.”

Joel deeply inhaled and pinched at the bridge of his straight but hooked nose. He was aware what that means, the whole shoot and ask questions later was what life was like at the start of the outbreak and it only increased once they crossed paths.

He still had a bald spot, that no form of nioxin would cure! thanks to the woman throwing an axe at the top of his head (it happened sometime in January of 2004, Joel remembered Tommy slipping on the ice on the boat floor, surprised the younger man didn’t catch that in their stealth—although it seemed he didn’t get much sleep before their arrival to the water. Which caused quite the commotion before the real physical events transpired) , temporarily trapping him against the door the minute he got close to where she was located on the boat. Joel recalled the burning sensation of his hair being ripped from his scalp as he yanked himself from the wall, axe still having a hold on his thick hair, as he struggled to pull the axe from the wooden door.

“And here I thought Jackson was all for redemption, guess Maria isn’t as convincing as she seems.” Joel mumbled.

Kendy gave him a blank stare for a moment before she replied, “not too much on Maria now. Yes she’s opinionated and we don’t always see eye to eye either but shes a great asset to that community and she makes your brother happy. So accept that or talk that shit out when you get back because I won’t continue to listen to anymore jabs you want to toss out while you’re here.”

Joel raised his brows, “you’re gonna let me stay?”

“It’s getting dark out and I’m guessing you left your car across the lake so…you can stay in the barn or the tower. Your choice.” Kendy decided while she entered the said barn.

Joel shook his head, “I’m not sleeping with the damn farm animals.”

“We’ve all slept in much worse places, don’t get uppity on me now, Miller.”

Joel crossed his arms, “You get a one star for hospitality, Ken’.”

“Which is exactly why I put my two weeks in after three days of working at this hotel during my college years so thanks, sugar.” Kendy clapped back, making Joel shake his head in disapproval but not surprised.

Joel watched as Kendy showed almost this nurturing demeanor with the lamb and sheep, silently wondering what she was like with their own child…that was still bizarre to process and Joel was unsure if he even processed this although he was standing face to face with the woman he created another being with! It had been days since he found out this piece of information and now he was trying to do something about it. When they were intimate with each other, Joel foolishly never thought of the possibility of Kendy becoming a mother. He never brought it up because he obviously had no intentions on being that ever again, or spoke much of their past lives once their bodies fell into each other’s hands. It was a after thought when she sat down on him, so warm and sturdy. He was cold, this he knew but falling in love was never in the cards for him, especially with the world crumbling with the little pieces it had left.

What he had left.

He’s seen Kendy and how she was tender to her father once he got sick, he knew Kendy still had soft parts inside of her despite the jagged scar that trailed from the corner of her left eye and down the apple of her cheek, the delicate was still there—just don’t tell her that.

Part of her found something to care for to keep going, even if it were deemed as little things or “nothing” at all in her eyes. Did that also include a child?

Which is why Joel battled with himself on seeking answers. He didn’t speak to Tommy for days after the curly haired man blurted out the secret Kendy withheld from the older Miller. Joel was the one who brought Kendy up, at the saloon one late night, after everything failed at the hospital with Ellie. It was hypocritical of him—sure—but this secret was way before Ellie had been a thought of being the cure.

Joel still wasn’t entirely sure what he was expecting to get out of Kendy. The idea of becoming a father again, scared him shitless but he wouldn’t show it. Kendy didn’t create this child all by herself and they had to be grown now, however fatherhood was never a easy task and life after the outbreak was just as stressful; throw a fourteen year old into the mix and it was constant worry from there. He initially wanted to warn Tommy about this and actually deemed him a, “dummy,” for bringing a kid into this fucked up time, until tommy let the news slip from his lips when it really wasn’t his place.

Drops of rain were cool against the Idahoan spring before they started to pelt. Joel shielded the top of his head, standing at the entrance of the shelter as Kendy made her way through the barn, locking and boarding it up just in case she got any other visitors tonight.

“Come on,” Kendy waved the man to follow her to the back entrance of the craftsmanship home, just as the wind began to pick up.

Yanking the blinds down over the glass door, she made sure to lock it and set her bow down by the rest of the archery kit. Joel took the invitation as he scanned the home, straight ahead held an ajar door, he then walked through the small entry way on his left, noticing a set of stairs to the right and headed into the next area which held the kitchen and living room with two other window-framed doors that lead outside, suddenly peaking around for any other source of life.

“Where’s—

“Joel,” Kendy clipped, “take off your damp shoes, you’re tracking mud. Do you want some wine or coffee first before we tackle this, since you’re so adamant to talk?”

Joel peeled off his jacket and bag, before using the couch arm to kick off his shoes with his feet. He then held them up silently asking where he should put them and Kendy pointed at the front entrance door.

He then replied, “Coffee.”

“Black, no sugar and no cream.” Kendy whispered to herself as she went to the kitchen, fighting with her intrusive thoughts to tell him to make it his damn self.

Joel silently watched her for a moment before he headed over to the wood stove which seemed to be going already. His eyes still searched the walls for any pictures or sculptures just like Tommy and Maria had in their own home but the walls were empty besides it’s horrible aqua color.

His attention was brought back to Kendy, walking by him, reaching for the handle on the stove, opening it to reveal the fire behind. She squatted down, mitten reaching for the tray to place the mug right on top, before shoving it back over the center of the fire. She counted sixty seconds before pulling back out, closing the stove and moving back to the side table to place the black coffee down.

“Give it a few minutes,” Kendy told the man who dipped his head as he moved back to the spot he claimed on the sofa.

Kendy soon made her way around, taking a seat on the opposite couch, bottle of Lambrusco and wrapped herself in some fur blanket that probably belonged to one of her many sheep.

Sorry animal lovers, desperate times call for desperate measures and you’re supposed to help the sheep shed their fur from time to time!

Taking a swing from the bottle, Kendy deeply inhaled after swallowing before her eyes set back on Joel, “okay. Ask away but don’t ask to respond. Listen, or else we won’t get far tonight.”

Joel rubbed at his pants legs, hearing Kendy and decided to not pick that response apart.

“…when did you know?”

“Not long after you and Tess.”

Which happened once after they both had too much to drink and Kendy wasn’t in the mood.

Believe me, Joel’s knows how shitty that was, he was the one who lived it.

“There was no Tess and I.” Joel uttered, not getting the chance to further explain that relationship but they were friends who spent time together as smugglers.

There was chemistry there regardless.

“So just like us, got it.” Kendy snapped her fingers, breezing over that as she ordered, “Next question.”

Joel scratched at his salt and pepper beard, “was the…baby also the reason why you wanted to leave? Did you think I’d ever find out?”

“A small part of it yes. We already know what the main reason was: Boston’s QZ was becoming dangerous and suffocating just staying there, I needed to get out whether you knew i was carrying or not.” Kendy answered, taking another sip from the bottle.

Joel could understand that but he figured it wasn’t any easier being out there on your own especially with a life growing inside of you, her elderly father was deceased and Tommy was debating on another trip out (with the damn fireflies and Joel wasn’t sure which pissed him off more!) ; although they shared hushed conversations about their exit…part of Joel still didn’t understand why she put herself through that on her own.

“Well how did that work out for you?”

Kendy let out a humorless laugh at the sarcasm that radiated off Joel, pulling one leg up onto the couch, “just dandy. I’m living the dream with my sheep and this eye-blinding house.”

Alone.

He breathed out a laugh through his nose, mind fuzzy, heart not feeling as steady as it should as he fidgeted with his hands. Before he got the next question out, he turned to grip the mug by the handle and brought it to his lips. The steam mists his nostrils as he took a sip of the coffee, the heat not bothering him in the slightest while the dark liquid slid straight to his stomach, igniting the impulse to see some action.

“Was Idaho the place you envisioned to raise the kid?”

Kendy closed her eyes briefly as she said, “No. I didn’t see myself as a mother because I didn’t have much of one in my life. It wasn’t really a goal of mine. I stayed in Pennsylvania for awhile, three months maybe? made a friend that was once in the medical field and thankfully she helped me through it all.”

“She helped you deliver and then what?” He pried.

Joel rested his elbows on his knees, eyes set on the woman not so far from him this time. He felt the shift in the room rising as he continued to ask whatever popped into his head. He noticed the woman rack her nails against the black bottle, plump bottom lip with a beauty mark on it moving to the right as she bit down on it out of habit.

This was something she commonly did, Joel remembered that.

“Joel…it’s been thirteen years.” Kendy averred, “I couldn’t do it.”

Joel tried to keep his breathing steady, “meaning what? You got rid of it? Let this friend take care of them…what Kendy?”

He was never a man with patience.

And Kendy had time to cope with this.

So instead she got to her feet, holding the neck of the bottle to place on the coffee table before she set her eyes back on Joel. He leg began to bounce as it seemed Kendy was almost playing a game with his mind right now. A frown of his brows appeared in between them while she began to unbutton her jeans, pulling them down some and yanking up her shirt to reveal a scar underneath her navel.

“It was a ectopic pregnancy. I needed surgery, I was bleeding out and Kristi did what she had to do. I almost died and I kinda wished I did, along with that baby. And finally away from all this shit.” Kendy vented.

Joel felt a smidge of bile rising in this throat but taking another swing of coffee pushed it back down. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to feel, or if there was a right way to feel.

“So…this was for nothing then.”

Kendy blinked, “what?”

“Coming out here, seeing you, and almost having wishful thinking when you killed the baby that you originally didn’t want and I wasn’t sure I even wanted.” Joel told, placing the mug back on the table.

Kendy couldn’t help the cackle that escaped her lips. She had to press her fingertips to her lips as she pointed her pointer finger up and down at the man.

“Nothing’s really changed with you and this is the exact reason why I should have put an arrow right through your chest where your heart is supposed to be,” Kendy seethed, “you’re a very broken person with no ounce of mercy. I saw it in your eyes the day I met you and I should have believed that then.”

“If that was true then you’d already be dead, back in Memphis, on that boat. So don’t stand there and try and tell me who you think I am.” Joel lowly stated.

Kendy huffed, pulling her jeans back up her wide hips and buttoning them before raising her hands, “why not when you’ve already shown me exactly that? You’ve never given a damn about me and certainly wouldn’t give a damn if the baby lived! Nobody compares to—

“Shut up! You don’t get to speak her name!” Joel was also on his feet now, absolutely aware what wanted to leave her lips.

The room was quiet for a mere second, besides the crackle of fire in the wood stove and the dash of rain outside.

Kendy tilted her head to the side, framed piece of hair sliding to cling to her eyelash, “Sarah.”

And that set Joel off, a forearm going to Kendy’s throat and his hand slapping against her mouth. He harshly breathed into Kendy’s face as he glared down at her. The rings of bags underneath her eyes showed just how tired he felt. He’s never spoken to Kendy about Sarah but it didn’t take her long to figure it out with his nightmares when they slept in the same space, going city to city.

Tommy only implied that he and Joel lost someone prior to their role of survival and Joel’s said her name a few times in his sleep.

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” Joel gritted, “you think I haven’t changed when it’s you who hasn’t. You’re a know it all without actually knowing anything. You run any chance you get, always thinking about what’s best solely for you and nobody else. What a lonely life, don’t you think?”

A fist went to the side of his neck first, catching the man off guard, followed by a knee going up into his abdomen, leaving Joel fighting to catch his breath. He let go of Kendy who circled around and crouched to get into Joel’s face.

“Why would I stay? Imagine me having a normal pregnancy in my forties and having a child with a screwed up man that can’t love? Or doesn’t even like me enough? I’d say I dodged a bullet here and I thank god.” She rested a hand on his shoulder, using her other to bring the cross around her neck to kiss with a wicked smile.

Once Joel got his breath back, with the quickness, he swooped his arm underneath Kendy’s, locking her in his hold as he yanked her side to his chest by the shoulder. Kendy winced as she tried to spin her body out of his hold and when he wouldn’t let go, she tried to ram her shoulder into him but with his grip, he merely stumbled.

“Get off me!” Kendy yelled, ready to jam her foot right into Joel’s.

He kept hold of her shoulder, knowing it wasn’t at its strongest, even after all these years, hearing it click from scar tissue as he freed one hand to grip the side of her head, bringing her ear to his lips.

“If I didn’t like you…I wouldn’t have followed you that night to make sure you made it to Connecticut’s state line back then, if I didn’t like you I wouldn’t have accidentally called Tess your name once while looking at her but not really seeing her, if I didn’t like you I wouldn’t picture you when I touch myself, if I didn’t like you I wouldn’t have numbed myself out of missing you since you left, I wouldn’t have asked Tommy about you, and I damn sure wouldn’t have thought about you and I with Ellie, the kid, and Sar—on the ride here. like I said, you don’t know.” He then shoved Kendy away from him.

Kendy felt a lump in her throat at Joel saying this. Sure these were his words and it sounded nice, although she didn’t know who this Ellie person was but that didn’t mean he never hurt her and with his back to her now, she tugged on his belt loops, getting him to face her again. She wasted no time, moving her hands to grip the collar of his long-sleeve shirt to bring his lips right to her’s.

Joel hesitated feeling Kendy’s lips against his after all this time. It wasn’t unfamiliar so he was only shook for a second before the desperation settled in. His hands rested on her cheek, then down to her backside, then back up to her cheek, the pad of his thumb touching where her jagged scar ended and the other on the back of her coarse hair.

He tasted the Lambrusco, she tasted his precariousness, his left ear rung as the tip of her tongue traces his bottom lip, and he lets out a groan as a form of a unsaid apology. Until Kendy nipped his bottom lip—hard to the point she drew blood and Joel had to pull back to test his theory.

“Did you just—

Kendy deeply inhaled and exhaled with her lips raw and puffed from the pressure, “I want you gone by the fucking morning, Joel.”

He wiped the blood with his thumb as he watched the woman move around him, snatching up the wine before she made her exit.

Snorting he shook his head at her retreating form and moved to take a seat back on the couch with a exhale. This is what it used to feel like with Kendy leaving his sight after whatever interaction they had but this time felt a little different. There was no way in hell he could say this was a new beginning. He stared up at the ceiling in thought, quite conscious how this all played out and that this was a trial and error—when wasn’t it with the two? However this battle was not something he wanted to entirely give up on just yet.

Not anymore.

He had the time to get it right and part of him wanted to with Kendy.

And if they couldn’t…it’ll be a fair one this time.

No it didn’t make any sense and no this probably wasn’t the healthiest of relationships but Joel was never perfect, the flaws: scars, the bruises that were black, blue and sore, and the blood were okay with him as long as he was doing it with Kendy, he never wanted perfect.

Perhaps fighting, getting it all out into the open field was the answer and you can ask anybody: when has Joel Miller ever been afraid of getting his hands dirty?

And so he sat in the quiet with Kendy upstairs in her bedroom lost in her own thoughts, her back against the door when a crooked grin appeared on his own lips.

Here’s to additionally another round with Kendy Lemelle!

But…Who’s counting?

˗ˏˋ╰┈➤ ´ˎ˗ ˗ˏˋ╰┈➤ ´ˎ˗ ˗ˏˋ╰┈➤ ´ˎ˗ ˗ˏˋ╰┈➤ ´ˎ˗

Continue along with my spring anthology series here.

#Spotify #tlou #tlou hbo #Joel miller #joel the last of us #joel miller x reader #joel miller x black!reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x black reader #tommy miller #maria miller #tommy x maria #maria tlou #ellie tlou #Ellie Williams #ellie miller #sarah miller #joel x tess #queued #joel x ellie

[handeaux]

Overwhelmed By Advertising? The Battle For Cincinnati Consumers Has Raged For More Than A Century

Depending on the source, it is estimated that each American is confronted by 6,000 to 10,000 advertising messages every single day. That immersive media onslaught swelled as we started carrying little video screens around wherever we go, but invasive and obnoxious marketing has bothered Cincinnatians for much more than a century.

For example, on 20 July 1871, a correspondent for the Cincinnati Times related an enjoyable voyage he had undertaken down the Ohio River. After praising the service of his riverboat’s staff, the remarkable scenery along the river, the picturesque little town he floated by, the writer registered one complaint, about a cliff near the town of Hanging Rock:

“High up on the face of this wall of white sandstone, hundreds of feet beyond the reach of a scaling ladder, I noticed a patent medicine advertisement. It was penciled there by a man let down with ropes from above, and the letters are large enough to be read from the deck of a steamer two miles distant. I was sorry to see this defacement. It is bad enough that all the fences throughout the land should be made to lie for patent medicines without debasing the hill-sides with such marking. I suppose that when the ‘chemical affinity necessary to be the motor of some immense flying machine’ shall be discovered, some enterprising patent medicine man will be plastering the face of the moon with some of his ‘wonderful remedies.’”

If only the poor man knew what lay ahead! Even in the 1870s, almost every vertical surface in Cincinnati was slathered with posters, placards and bills advertising shows at the local theaters, patent medicines and political candidates. Cincinnati was the center of the bill-posting world. For one thing, Cincinnati was among the top printing cities of the United States, with the mighty Strobridge Lithographing Company dominating the poster industry.

Also, Billboard magazine was headquartered here in Cincinnati. What we now think of as a music magazine, Billboard was founded in Cincinnati as a trade publication for men who posted “bills” on walls. From its first issue in 1894, Billboard covered the entertainment industry, such as circuses, fairs and burlesque shows, and also created a mail service for travelling entertainers. Initially it covered the advertising and bill-posting trade and was known as Billboard Advertising.

Far from inspiring civic pride, advertising rankled Cincinnati residents as they witnessed visual pollution encrusting the region’s hillsides. Leading the opposition was the Municipal Art Society – a sort of ad-hoc predecessor to today’s Urban Design Review Board. The opening shot was fired 24 August 1896 when the Enquirer reported:

“A matter that will undoubtedly be of interest to the business men is the fact that war has been declared by the Cincinnati Municipal Art Society against advertising signs on fences along the car routes and drives of the city. The art society maintains that these signs mar the beauty of the city, especially in the case of landscape scenes on the hills and in the suburbs, and that they are offensive to the public taste.”

The Society was persistent. It took five years but the Cincinnati Post reported [24 November 1901] that the Baldwin Piano Company had demolished 200 feet of billboards erected on company property along Gilbert Avenue. The Post described this as the “first result” of the Society’s campaign.

The Municipal Art Society was soon joined by some strange bedfellows. The Cincinnati Business Men’s Club, among whose members were certainly a number of advertisers who employed billboards to disseminate their messages, created its own Municipal Art Committee to lobby for restrictions on outdoor advertising. On 1 June 1907, the committee circulated a postcard illustrated with a photo of signage clogging the view from the Grand Central Depot, with the sarcastic caption, “A Nice Welcome To Cincinnati.”

As early as 1895, the city chased the Fountain saloon’s advertising off Fountain Square, but appears not to have drafted a comprehensive law about outdoor advertising until 1909 when, as part of a broader safety ordinance, the city adopted limitations on the size of billboards, their placement near thoroughfares and the materials to be used in their construction.

While the city pondered how to encourage commerce while maintaining attractive views, the entire billboard industry was gaining momentum through a Cincinnati entrepreneur named Philip Morton. Before Morton, “bill boards” were basically fences on which bill posters slapped printed advertisements glued up with a flour-water paste. Morton took outdoor advertising to a new level, according to Jay Gilbert, who has researched his influence on marketing [Cincinnati Magazine September 2016]:

“By 1898 he’d become the Steve Jobs of roadside blight. Doing business as Ph. Morton, Phil was an early pioneer of putting ads into free-standing frames called ‘bill-boards’ and plunking them down everywhere. Eventually every railroad route and motorway in America had its view ruined by a Ph. Morton billboard.”

Even the powerhouse Morton found himself in the city’s crosshairs. Parks Superintendent John W. Rodgers, according to the Enquirer [20 September 1907], exasperated by Morton’s billboards blocking the view of Inwood Park, erupted.

“Park Superintendent Rodgers yesterday tore down over 12,000 feet of big billboards that stretched along for a distance south of Hollister street, facing Vine street, in front of Inwood Park. The billboards were 12 feet high, about 1,000 feet long and contained the advertisements of leading firms of the city, and were illuminated at night with electric lights. They had been at that place for years.”

All of those billboards were leased by Philip Morton who, as coincidence would have it, dropped off a check to pay the lease while workmen were busily engaged demolishing his thousand feet of signage. This was the Boss Cox era in Cincinnati where the right hand was very often ignorant of the left hand’s activity. And so it was, while the Park Superintendent was demolishing billboards on Vine Street, the Board of Public Service pondered a lease for billboards along Gilbert Avenue. That’s right – the same Gilbert Avenue divested of billboards just six years earlier.

A common theme of cartoon artists at that time was the eventual coverage of all available exterior surfaces with advertising signs and slogans. In response, Cincinnati Post cartoonist Elmer Andrews Bushnell sketched City Hall wrapped from sidewalk to parapet in advertising while George Barnsdale Cox and his minion, August “Garry” Herrmann, happily apply more posters and Mayor Julius Fleischmann hides behind a billboard.

The battle raged for decades. Photographs from 1927 show dozens of billboards crowding the hillside over the Brighton overpass to Central Parkway and the Enquirer [24 March 1929] begged for relief because billboards and other unsightly structures had a negative effect on property values:

“What of the gaudy billboard that intrudes itself into a residential district, the sign which girds the tree or telephone pole, the roadside ‘shack’ which is made more ugly with bizarre advertisements? Do they affect values?”

A century later, we hardly notice billboards anymore. We’re too busy texting while we drive.

#cincinnati advertising #cincinnati billboards #billboard magazine #philip morton #boss cox

[brinkofdiscovery]

can you write hypothermic andrew trying to goof around and get up to do things but he cannot stop shoving and nuzzling against whoever's trying to warm him up??? or maybe delirious and shivery with a fever and being teased by whoever is helping him?

I surprisingly got this out in one sitting at work!! I never do that. Here you go hone here's your cold Andrew. Contains: hypothermia, discussion of kidnapping? (through jokes) __

“Am I being kidnapped?” Andrew trembled, he could barely manage to speak with the way his teeth were chattering.

“No, you’re not.” Snow answered. They draped another blanket over Andrew’s shoulders. Andrew felt like a little kid, wrapped up in three giant coats for a snow day. Except, he was freezing. And wearing a stranger’s dry clothes underneath. And he had almost died… Really he felt more like someone who’d almost died in a snow storm, but ‘kid on a snow day’ felt better to say.

“Why not?” He stammered, still smiling. He leaned in to meet Snow halfway as they raised a mug of hot tea to his lips. He started talking again as soon as he swallowed. “I’d let that big guy kidnap me. If he wanted.”

Snow paused, there was a twitch to their brow that looked like confusion. They opened their mouth for a moment and closed it again, before leaning down to press their hand to Andrew’s forehead.

Andrew sniffed, pulling back to itch his nose on the topmost layer of the mountain of blankets he was buried in.

“You’d let him kidnap you?” Snow asked.

“Yeah, I’d… I’d let him uh.” Andrew paused, his thoughts leaving him for a moment as another tremor wracked through his body. He’d never been this cold before. He tried to focus on what he was saying… What was he saying?

“…You should lay down.” Snow offered, they placed one hand at the back of Andrew’s neck and tried to ease him down with their other hand against his chest.

Andrew gripped the back of the couch and suddenly pulled himself back into a sitting position. “I’d let him–uh! Kidnap me. At eight o' clock. On a Friday. But he has to clean his car first.”

Snow’s hand hovered in place for a second, but they promptly placed a pillow down and tried to lower Andrew down again. Andrew didn’t fight this time, but he didn’t stop talking either.

“He can take me to TJ’s on the Lake. Or that restaurant on the riverboat if he’s feeling fancy. Do you guys have the money for that?”

Snow didn’t answer. They made sure Andrew’s feet were covered by the mountain of blankets.

“He also… also has to carry me inside. Like how he carried me to the van today.”

“Hm. I’ll let him know.” Snow answered. They brought the mug up to Andrew’s lips again. “How do you feel?”

“I feel optimistic.” Andrew said when they took the mug away. “Like, there’s some potential. It depends on if we have anything in common, or if he’s got any red flags I don’t know about. I don’t normally go for blondes either, but–”

“I mean physically.” Snow interrupted. “How do you feel physically?”

“Oh, bad.”

Snow nodded. “Stay awake. I’m going to see where our electric blanket is.”

Andrew nodded, looking up to the ceiling. “Are you sure I’m not kidnapped?”

Snow looked over their shoulder, “I think I would know.”

Andrew played with the fleece of the blanket. He was grateful to be able to feel his fingers again. “You wouldn’t tell me though. You’d just do something like… Throw me in a van and drive me to a warehouse. And give me poison tea.”

Snow paused, turning to lean against the door for a moment. “And dry clothes?”

“Yeah.” Andrew nodded.

“And lots of blankets?” They asked.

“Yeah, you wanna keep me alive.”

Snow thought for a moment, taking a deep breath before they answered. “Well, I’m sure you have lots of vital information behind all your fantasies about my teammate. But this isn’t a kidnapping.

“You’ll die out there.” Snow motioned toward the window. “We’ll let you leave as soon as the storm passes.”

Andrew looked out the window, sniffing again as he watched the storm outside. He looked back to Snow, feeling every bit as pitiful as he must have looked.

Snow crossed in front of him. They lifted his head to place another pillow gently beneath him. “In the meantime, you’re safe. The tea’s not poisoned. I’m going to get a regular, safe, non-lethal electric blanket for you.”

Andrew nodded. He moved one hand to blindly feel for the back of the couch again. Snow took his wrist and eased him back down into the pillows.

“And don’t get up.”

#andrew #Snow #chaos team #hypothermia #my writing #my ocs #asks

[casimirtully]

setting: on the night of the fourth feast, lord bracken comes to inform the king of an incident. @ronanbrackens

The scream must have been from Lady Brianna. Ronan Bracken made toward him across the dock as Casimir stepped off the largest riverboat. Did she do it on purpose? To make her brother even more aggravated with me? He couldn't help the thought. It’s the whiskey. He’d been by to apologize to her — to them — already.

But her falling in a river couldn’t possibly be his fault. As if I can cause a river to freeze.

“Ronan?” He asked, riverish eyes flickering upwards to the decks as his boot met fresh snow. They were being watched — the feast still took place above, and some guests peered their heads over the side.

Whispers had started. He tried to smile, but the question was still in his eyes. “What is all this fuss about?”

#this is all in river word / irish / clover etc #|| threads -- ronan 02 || #|| threads -- the seven winter feasts || #|| threads riverrun || #|| threads the riverlands ||

[escapadeist]

I never wrote a love poem before this.

Because i thought i never loved someone enough.

But when you came along,

Spun my world into a multitude

of dizzying circles

My centre shook

I couldn't breathe or fathom

What it was that i felt,

That you made me feel?

How could it be that i looked in the mirror

Reflected in your eyes

And loved what i saw for the first time?

I've always been bad at math

And method too I suppose.

Never knew how or when to love

And how to stop loving them when it wasn't enough

To make anybody stay at all.

Our riverboat was headed for a cascading drop

I was wading through water to keep you beside me

But there's only so much you can do

When the capsizing hole in your heart

Somehow weighs you both down.

You held my scathed hands in your own

I traced patterns of familiarity

And sealed them together

You knew i never did this

You knew how I broke

You called me a name

That eats at the remains of my parched throat

every time i hold a page of bittersweetness

To my chest and weep.

Our stars were meant to collide

From when your letters philosophized

My weary and broken bones.

There was a boulder i carried up my own hill

Your camaraderie kept me alive

I missed several steps at once

You still held me on tight

We laughed into the abyss together

Guards crumbled, eyes leaked,

But went up again my walls

When to be "uninvolved" was your elegy for me.

You felt my heart beat through

Your burning touch

Alas, the light was where i got pushed,

I still recall the way your words

Took a meaning i was too late to know.

I still can't figure what to make of you

Why we do the things we've done

Each day i heave a shakier breath

Grip my neck and clench my jaw,

Knowing how it didn't take you long;

To go hunting down like any man

Across promised forbidden lands.

I wish you a much kinder sea

With dreams to wake to and love to give, afterall,

I am the grenade that obliterates in it's wake

While the armour i built stands by your heart

And you walk out in glory

As i whore my senses

To oblivion and back, yet again.

Was this how it was to be?

Could we have unbecome the mess we were doomed into?

Could i not lay my corpse for you to cross overboard?

I hear my silence play deafening drums

Against your never-fading grin,

As you carry on your facade of victimhood

Perpetrating for your next move.

But forgive me as i sit by and skip rocks

And watch the ripples on my chest

Torn open in the shape of your smile

As our ship takes on water

No Jack left to be saved by this Rose.

Now that you have planted thorns at our grave

Maybe we'll meet in some other lifetime

Where i would be less foolish with

Bargaining for my organs

At an auction of my love.

Hope you don't have to lie

To whoever you choose to trudge upon

Maybe they will have a hole

To fit your hollowness inside,

Or perhaps you'll learn to be a saint

And a martyr won't be grieved upon.

- B

#love poems #love #valentine's day #spilled thoughts #spilled words #spilled ink #spilled emotions #writers #writers on tumblr #writerscreed #tumblr writers #writeblr #my writing #tumblr poets #poetblr #poets of tumblr #poets on tumblr

[alanaisalive]

In a few days it'll be the 30th anniversary of Kurt Cobain's death. I am reminded of the music history class I took in college around 1997 or 98. At the end of the semester the professor polled the class with the question: Which recent band do you think will still be listened to and remembered in 20 or 30 years?

My choice, Nirvana, placed second right behind the Dave Matthew's Band.

Let's review.

Nirvana: redefined music for a generation, created an entire subgenre. Children born after Cobain's death still wear Nirvana t-shirts and claim they were "born in the wrong generation"*

Dave Matthews Band: have not been heard from since they dumped a bunch of raw sewage on a riverboat tour in Chicago in 2004.

(*those "born in the wrong generation" kids, had they been teens in the 1990s would definitely be the kids back then wearing tshirts of The Doors and saying they were born in the wrong generation.)

#nirvana #kurt cobain

[aconflagrationofmyown]

A Whole Man Is Hard Find || chapter 15

An Elvis Presley riverboat AU

Warnings: the typical universe warnings apply but with a significant raise in this particular chapter with mentions of and repeated talks of past rape, exploitation, drugging, prostitution, mentions of suicide and contemplating suicide

Word Count: 21k 🤭

Note from the gremlin author: thank y’all so much for your patience and continued interest in this sprawling AU, your messages and comments and screaming are what I live for and truly ensure each next part ever seeing the light of day. I love you all and thank you for being so good to me on here, makin’ E so proud with your warmth, I do believe. Warning, this chapter has only been edited by my exhausted eyes. Xoxo Marina🌹

Previous chapter link -because lord knows I take so long between updates y’all probably don’t recall where we are at

“I dreamed a dream in time gone by, when hope was high and life worth living, I dreamed that love would never die, I dreamed that God would be forgiving”

Rosey thought the announcement went rather well, though some credit was no doubt owed to the whiskey passed around by Jerry first.

Due to the pouring rain the crew meeting was moved from the deck and instead took place in the grand ballroom. There beneath unlit chandeliers, Captain Presley took a stand atop a billiards table and managed, not without severe bouts of emotion, to relay to his friends and crew that they’d be dumped on the river bank this evening for the interim of a month. That they would go with ample remuneration hardly seemed to worry most, it was assumed.

When one was fired by Captain Presley, one knew it. The men Captain Presley had fired before were either shot, pitched over the side or else so viscerally cut down to size in a vocal harangue as to alter their bearings and stature for the rest of their lives. When one got fired by Captain Presley, one apologized for fucking up and took the bullet. He was a fair man, his temper an instrument of justice, and it earned him a loyal crew.

This was no firing. And after the incident at table this morning, his crew had the good sense to take it in the vein it was presented. Choiceless, on his part and theirs.

Those occasional crew members who had in the past chosen to leave the Proud Marie on good terms, had been subjected to bouts of sullen pouting by their superior officer, but they’d never been allowed ashore without ample funds and gifts, momentos and embraces by their erstwhile captain.

For this particular development, Rosey knew the Captain found it hardest to tell them of their abandonment and yet be forced to not divulge that his triumphant return was no sure thing. He had argued heatedly in the office that they deserved to know he was most likely sunk, that they should not spend their ample severance pay on rent and provisions waiting for his return, when that awaited return did not guarantee a resumption of their jobs. Which point, Scotty and Rosey both argued against, from different angles.

Scotty made the decent point that despite Elvis’ childlike trust for his crew, telling them of his rebellion against the Colonel was the quickest way to stamp out their daring endeavor -news of it would be wired to the Colonel by one of them before nightfall.

On her part, Rosey pointed out that he very well might win at this dare, in which case it was hasty to command them not to wait for his return and a resumption of the life they enjoyed and thrived in.

“Don’t you ever get tired of placin’ your bets on a lame horse?” he had teased her.

“I’ll tell Beans you’re maligning him.” she had threatened him in return, lips trembling in a giggle that the haughty set of her brows could not disguise.

He was near unbearably fond of that expression of hers, he’d seen it often enough since she boarded his boat and snippily ordered his life for the better. That grinning giggle had talked him into heaven and a heap of trouble, but one way or another he was no longer stagnant, and tiring as walking through hell turned out to be, it was better than purgatory.

And so he had jumped up on that billiard table and announced it, choking down his warnings and his apologies and everything he wanted to say to folks who’d followed and trusted him for ten years, during times of lean and fat, times when he felt capable and times when he had courted death it seemed so appealing.

The family he had made when he came home and found none waiting for him, found that he’d been buried and mourned and replaced in their hearts. So he had set himself out to become irreplaceable, and maybe Sister Rosetta was right, this current helplessness was his judgment, playing at god had landed him in a Devine fix where he was left powerless to defend what was his beyond shoving money and thanks into the hands of his beloved dependmants. Comending them to the care of the One who could do more.

Upon the conclusion of the Captain’s announcement -speech, lullaby, eulogy, it seemed- a mournful murmur bubbled through the gathered crew and they rushed him to say their goodbyes and swear their lifetime loyalty. One of them went to Rosey instead, her bronze cheeks wet with tears but her face a strong mask of composure.

“Oh, Miss B.” her melting creole patois washed over Rosey.

Etta’s name had been on the list of crew to be dispensed of, pretty maids a liability on a boat full of desperate soldiers. Her hand now gripped Rosey’s firm and warm, her dark eyed shining with emotion, and belatedly Rosey realized with heart stopping regret that she had both made and was now losing a friend. The first true friend she’d had since she lost Maddy. It was silly and selfish but with Etta gone, Rosey felt that she’d finally be well and truly alone with Elvis, the Elvis that only women who laid beneath him and gentled him awake knew -and she felt scared by that.

“Be good to him.” Etta stroked Rosey’s fair cheek and it made her realize she had shed a tear herself, though her own chest did not heave nor her lips tremble, too focused on the last touches of a friend, “Be strong, be gentle, and teach him to forgive himself.” she whispered, “You could start by example, ya know.” she teased, then let out a gasp as Rosey abandoned all decorum and flung her arms about Etta’s pretty neck, her exotic necklaces making a cold and familiar rattle against her cheek as she squeezed her tight, a silent thanks for teaching her not to be scared of womanhood. Etta squeezed back.

“I've told her, you both, to be gentle with each other.” Etta commissioned someone over Rosey’s shoulder, not letting up with the embrace, “And for the love of the saints, don’t you dare put a child in this sweet girl until you’re headed back down river, ain’t nothin I can do against her flushing a babe or pukin her life out when I’m hundreds of miles away.”

Oh Etta, Rosey thought to say as they hugged beneath Elvis’ gaze, he wishes to marry me even as he learned today he cannot love me. What of that? Is there a herb or a spell or a potion for that ache? Nothing but a child would love or cure her, nothing but her own child could she fashion to adore her for her provision and her use. But he wouldn’t give her that, not now he knew her, she knew he wouldn’t.

“We won’t, we ain’t… oh Etta,” Elvis voice landed close and rich in Rosey’s ear and suddenly his chest was to Rosey’s back and his arms wrapped round them both, joining their embrace, his hands sweeping up Etta’s back like he was trying to confirm his memory of her topography one last time. “Etta’darlin, I’m sorry, I’m so damn sorry.” he couldn’t keep the tears out of his voice and Rosey felt his chest heave against her back, lying to Etta a useless thing, and an honest goodbye was due between such friends. “I’ve tried but it’s no use, I’m so sorry it’s ended like this”

“Now hush up.” Etta’s head reared back with loving ferocity, “That’s exactly the sort of nonsensical idiot talk Rosey and I have decreed banned on this boat.”

“Have ya now?” he chuckled in Rosey’s ear.

“Yes, we have, haven’t we?”

“Yes, we have.” Rosey confirmed, grinning at her friend, eyes sparkling under tear soaked lashes.

“Well, go on, tell him.” Etta prodded, “You’d best get your method down while I’m here, girl. Go on.”

“No more.” Rosey attempted sternness.

“Hmm, weak.” Etta declared, pulling back a little so she could both observe them and allow Rosey room to maneuver and look up at the besotted fool currently gazing down at her with love-sick compliance. “Try flippancy.”

“None of that! .” Rosey attempted to tut at him with breeziness.

“Hmm, stern again.”

“None of that!”

Elvis just kept grinning, a lazy smirk and his fingers loosely holding onto his neglected cigar.

“Let’s try pleading.” Etta suggested.

“Enough of that.” Rosey attempted a good beg and he remained unmoved.

“Hmm, teasing.” Etta ordered next.

“We’ll have none of that, sir!” Rosey fought her giggle, out of amusement or embarrassment of this exercise Elvis didn’t know, but either way, there was that slyly fought grin of hers and-

“Oh, oh teasing it is then.” Etta crowed gleefully as Elvis melted and spluttered, and in an attempt to save face, shoved his cigar back into his smiling mouth.

“B.B. get over here and curtail your woman, hug me while you’re at it.” Elvis demanded of his approaching friend and a fourth body was added to the embrace, all limbs entangled and chins in shoulders, patting hands moving to each other and watery laughs exchanged as the tears were fully banished by pure willpower alone.

“Say King, you’ll have made Etta an honest woman by the time I see you both again?” Elvis raised his brows in significance at B.B. who grinned back just as enthusiastically.

“Yes sir, E.P,” he grinned, “reckon we’ll hitch ourselves at a chapel here, grab ourselves a minister so it’s proper like. Make our way south as a married couple. Ain’t that right, sunshine?”

“That’s right.” Etta grinned back.

“What a darling idea.” Rosey murmured, heartsick.

“I’d best be godfather to your child,” Elvis demanded with a wavering smile, “whether I’m dead or alive, that’s my right.” he tried to tease.

“That would be funnier if you weren’t goin’ up to where they scalp pretty heads like yours.” B.B. drolled, giving Elvis one last pat in farewell.

Etta and B.B. went to depart, her hand on his arm before he paused, nealey to the deck doors and looked back at his captain, standing amidst the superfluous finery of his once glittering amphitheater of entertainment,

“Presley,” King’s voice carried low but earnest, “if either of you find yourselves in need of a place to, to -hunker down- you make your way to Na’Lens, come call on us. The both or either of ya.” he reiterated with an extra nod to Rosey, as if he suspected she might not think herself welcome without the captain, which made her think of the very strong likelihood of returning without him. Which made her gut twist and her hand heavy as they gave them a last wave of farewell.

Ada Overton stepped up next, a strange look on her face as she worried a small book round and round in her wrinkled hands, nervously perhaps, though her worn and painted face was devoid of sentiment. They faced off against each other, the lady cold and almost combative in her stance, and the Captain viewing her with a strange revulsion he could hardly reconcile. It was as if beginning to let go of this life, even just the first slip of it from his fingers gave him a vantage point to view it for what it was -a business that ate one’s soul. ‘You’ll get used to it’ Ada had told him back in New York as she painted his face, she’d been at it since a child. Elvis never gotten used to it. Or he feared he finally had, till Rosey jolted him right out of the cold waters of the Styx.

“Ada.” he nodded at her, remembering then kinder things, not the way she’d fed him to them but rather, the way she patched him up after, old enough to be his mother and strangely cruel in her kindnesses, “I wish ya well.”

“You should let me stay.” she replied instead, “I’ve nowhere to go and you’re about to receive an influx of clientele such as will tear this ship apart if deprived of available diversions.”

“Ain’t the first transport ship to make it successfully without the uh, moderating, yeah, moderating influences of ladies.”

“No,” she agreed coldly, “they’ll turn on each other, and turn on the captain.”

“Well, that’ll be their officer’s problem.” Elvis replied evenly and glanced over at Rosey in a subconscious tick of concern.

“So you’re letting that vicious little thing stay and not me?” Ada observed without malice, just a wry inventory of Rosey’s assets.

“Do you suddenly know your numbers, Ada Darlin’?” he asked in a tone similar to her own.

“I can count, when needed.” she shook it off like she might a fly, head turned away as if to collect herself from a slap, her shoulders shimmying and her taffeta rustling with the intake of breath.

“Course,” he grinned in an effort to cheer her, “wouldn’t do to lose count and whip a patron to death.”

“E,” there was a rather demented change for the softer in her demeanor when she spoke next, looking him dead in the eye, her dark rimmed lashes bleeding into the fine lines around her harsh eyes, “I must -please can I talk to you I never meant to do you wrong.”

Rosey found the change unsettling enough to inadvertently make a move to withdraw from their hushed tete-a-tete at the edge of the ballroom, feeling as if there was no way he could deny so forceful a plea in a woman so strangely unnerving. But that was Rosey, unused to Ada and her belladonna dilated pupils except for the occasional passing in the halls or the times she sought Etta and found her with Ada. The Captain’s hand landed heavy and final on her shoulder and stalled her retreat, rooting her to his side.

“Sure Ada,” he answered with a light tone, “I know that, you know I know that. Else you’d be overboard ages ago. And what’s more, here.” he motioned to Rosey with an open palm while keeping his eyes on Ada’s and Rosey recognizing the gesture put the envelope holding Ada’s generous allotment in his palm. “Here, Ada,” his voice was gentler, pressing the cash into her hands and closing her bleached palm himself, squeezing it shut in a gesture of farewell, “I wish ya well, i truly do.”

Ada’s eyes sharpened, her mouth flattened grimly and the harsh paint of her brow raised in recognition of his dismissal. Then like a hawk her eyes slid from his to Rosey’s, “Child,” she addressed her calmly, “will you plead a case for me?”

“Say your piece Ada.” he interrupted with a sigh, and a wary set to his mouth.

“I know you’re breaking with Parker,” she continued to look to Rosey, gripping his hands nevertheless, “I know you are, and I tell you now that if you do and leave me here I am a dead woman. He’ll come after me, you know he will, and when he does it would be better for ya that I were dead already. I’d be paid better than this cash to testify against you when you return. I’ve one decent remedy at hand, and you’ll have no blood on your conscience or ghost to tarnish your name. Grant it, take me with you.” her eyes slid back to his, “Please E, this ain’t a beg, I’m telling you now, you’d better choose to put a bullet in my mouth or else when you come back I’ll see you across a judge’s bench. You know I never had it in me to be principled, but I’d like to leave our score as is. Take me north,” she suggested as if she had not just said the previous slew of threats and dire predictions, “take me north and drop me off there. Maybe this cash will be worth something there,” she looked down at the envelope, “a new start perhaps. Or a new clientele.” Ada sniffed but it wasn’t due to tears, snuff dust more likely, Elvis thought, “I’ll make a home in Saint Paul and wait for the word that she’s put the colonel to sleep.” and she jerked her head at Rosey, much to that girl’s unsettled surprise.

“Ain’t no one gonna murder him.” was all Elvis had to say to this meandering appeal of hers.

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” Ada smirked and the wrinkles around her mouth smoothed out when she did, Rosey shuddered, “She’s wicked that one.”

“No she ain’t.”

“Fool.” Ada declared him, still eyeing Rosey, “Gonna let me stay? I’ll give ya my bellows camera, E! You know I don’t beg, I don’t, but I’ll empty shit buckets if it gets me up north.”

“That is what you’ll be doin’ if you stay.” he replied vehemently, and watched as she shrugged again. He sighed and gave a shrug of his own while pulling his hands free, both Ada and Rosey knew him enough to know it signified his concession, “Once you get up there, you know that you can’t start working again, you know that! There’s enough money in that envelope to keep you well secured, and you ain’t bad with a needle, you’ll find work. But if you start puttin out again, if you start infectin’ folks you know they’ll lock you up.”

“That a threat?” Ada asked with a hiss before catching herself, “I ain’t gonna put out,” she went on more sullenly, “or at least keep to what i been doing here. There’s gotta be perverts in Minnesota, haven’t there? And no I won't, I won’t, not until my eyes go and I can’t wield a needle. In which case your money and my time may be runnin out.”

“Yeah well, nothin’ either of us can do about that.” He observed with strained coldness.

“No.” she agreed and Rosey wondered what it was that was claiming her life so surely that he would put three thousand greenbacks in an envelope and declare it enough to last her lifetime.

“You got those gentleman suits of your’n still?” he asked her tiredly and Rosey wondered at the change of topic, “The ones as hemmed to your proportions?”

“I do.” she replied.

“Hmm,” he pondered an unspoken scheme, staring at Rosey as if seeing through her, “reckon one would fit her?”

Ada joined him in eyeing up the buxom little thing by his side, her eyes narrowing at the profusion of womanliness at her chest. “Take some squashin, but otherwise their height can be altered.”

“Then alter one,” he ordered decisively in a much stronger voice, “whichever is your most modest, alter it and have it on my bed with clean linens before another bell strikes.”

“What-“ Rosey began to ask and found that his face suggested that silent compliance was her most valued asset at present.

“Want the straps or the wooden-“ Ada herself began before he snapped,

“-No damn you, leave the equipment, just the clothes.”

Ada backed away from them warily but her eyes were scarily alight with what Rosey assumed was that woman’s version of mirth, “Aye, aye captain, but just recall, wicked that one, quite capable and wicked, I can see it in her hands.”

“Don’t mind her.” The captain spoke to a bewildered Rosey when Ada had retreated out of sight and a new line of crew had formed to gather their severances and say their farewells, “Don't mind her none,” he repeated with a shudder that suggested he personally minded her greatly, “sickness has addled mind.” he explained as if that solved everything and turned to his next departing crew member.

Rosey felt bereft and as if she were mourning dead friends for the rest of that afternoon while overseeing the severances and bidding farewell to faces more or less familiar, faces who had welcomed and cheered and worshiped beside her. The Captain’s own barely concealed grief managed to leech into her heart by osmosis as he stood beside her, shaking hands and kissing cheeks and handing out little gifts. They had done this once before, Rosey and him, passing out prizes at the school, and while this proceeding was shrouded in melancholy and business like abruptness, they moved as before like a smoothly oiled machine, seamless and complimentary in all things, even in their repressed heartache, as if now they had no secrets to separate them, they had become one.

“Well, that’s that then.” he spoke up when the last of them had left and the rest of the crew had cleared out to their designated stations, preparing the boat for the influx tomorrow. “God that took awhile.” he complained and rubbed at his lower back as if his cause for annoyance were aches instead of the upending of his world.

Rosey followed him through the room as he took stock of his deserted ballroom and fiddled with the billiard tables, “They’ll let us keep these I reckon,” he mumbled, “so long as it’s not against the house.”

“Wouldn’t want you to make any money.” she agreed sourly and he perked up and looked over at her, tsking at her in a paternal sort of way she hadn’t seen him use since her first week aboard, she realized she had missed it, “You think about money far too much for a pretty woman.” he chided and while she sent him a skeptical look he stepped into her space and pinched her cheek till her scowl melted.

“It’s what you pay me for, sir.” she answered him pointedly, trying to act stern as his arms dropped and wove around her waist with a sudden affection so strong in them she shuddered from feeling so familiar a touch after it’s absence -only since breakfast, she reminded herself. But this felt different, this felt like them, before he had begun to doubt them.

“I’m a fool to pay you for that alone.” he announced, tugging her closer somehow yet beginning to spin on his feet, a strange, stumbling, dizzying motion Rosey belatedly recognized as him dancing with her, a childish and uncoordinated spin that sent the chandeliers blurring in a white streak of crystal above them.

Elvis is dancing with me, Rosey thought with a little awe, and all that suppressed want to be upstairs when he worked a crowd, or to sit at his elbow as he wined his patrons, or fan herself as he danced with heiresses was soothed as her twirled her around now with tender frenzy, no onlookers, just for the joy of it. Not a waltz, not a polka, a bastardized sort of reel instead that took advantage of the entire length of his empty boat and had her bouncing in his arms and his legs exerting themselves to their fullest capacity. Rosey felt she’d rarely moved so fast on a horse, much less in someone’s arms. He’s dancing with me, she thought, and perhaps she laughed because of it. It was a demented sort of cheerfulness but they both felt it, like last lovers left alive after the rapture.

They spun and spun till the world tilted and a wheeze hit them and they collapsed in an ungainly heap on the floor. Rosey grunted as he landed on top of her but he didn’t bother to move, just caught his breath sprawled atop her on the rich carpeted floors.

“Why do I need a man’s suit?” she asked in a voice thin from his heaving weight.

He grunted as if she’d woken him up and it reminded her how exhausted they both were, “It’ll attract less attention goin’ to the courthouse. Got the- we gotta sign papers.”

For their wedding. Of course.

“How long before we need to leave?” she asked running her hand along his back as he still panted.

He fumbled into his vest with a series of moans and grunts before digging out his timepiece from a pocket and squinting at it. “Bout two hours. Can’t go before Jerry comes back anyway, he’s gotta witness ‘em and I sent him for ice gear.”

“Have you ever been up to Minnesota?” she asked him softly, staring up at the chandeliers and registering the spooky quiet of the near abandoned boat.

“Mhmm, couple times.” he mumbled into her neck.

“What’s it like?” she asked, secretly as intrigued and eager to go a few hundred miles northward as to go to the moon, so trapped and small had her life been before him.

“T’weren’t much.” he shrugged, “It’ll be covered in snow this time a’year and the growlers in the river will tear the hull to shreds.”

Soberly she recalled this entire adventure was miserable for him and he hadn’t even slept enough to prepare to pilot them tomorrow. “Up.” she whispered gently, shoving at his shoulders and urging him to his feet even as he whined and growled. “Up, come now up. We're lying on the floor, that's why, up.”

“Didn’t notice with those pilla’s under my check.” He murmured dreamily as she began to tug on his hand, urging him to follow her, “Where you takin’ me?” he protested.

“To bathe, and to rest.” she replied, tugging him through the double doors she had spied on him through and into the desolate kitchen, all Cruddup’s minions out to buy provisions for an army.

“Can’t go to our room, Rosey.” he objected from behind her as she lead him down the stairs.

“Why not?” she asked without pausing.

“The fella’s are in there movin’ our shit out.”

She took only a moment to cheer over the concept that they had collective shit before confusion replaced it, “Why?”

“Gonna have to give the commanding officer my quarters.” he pouted worse than her, stopped in the doorway of his suite and watching as some of the last of his books were packed into trunks by his order. “It’s expected. And if I don’t, he’ll know for certain I’ve a lady aboard and we’ll have no peace about it.”

“Where am I to go then?” she asked, some fearful little part of her still suspecting he’d pack her off and send her back.

“Down in the hull with Charlie and Cal.” he rubbed at his eyes, “Ain’t roomy but you're no fine lady.”

She nodded her head in admittance before catching his omission, “And you?”

“I’m gonna be piloting.” he replied as if that were the plainest thing in the world. That he would be piloting for fourteen consecutive days and nights with no rest.

“And when you’re not?” she raised a brow in exasperation.

“Don’t plan on leaving the wheel.” he lied moodily.

She was about to lay into him regarding his continued distancing, what with the men having left and the room bare of company but she was stopped short by the appearance of the physician from yesterday panting in the doorway.

“There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” The gentleman wheezed and comforted his heaving paunch with a clammy hand, “I have been trying to find you, it is well past time for your second tonic.”

“Aww hell.” Elvis moaned in reply, pinching the bridge of his nose in exhausted resignation.

“Wha- no! No!” Rosey spluttered, and having attracted the unimpressed attention of both men, pressed her argument with, “No! Absolutely not! Not whatever yesterday’s was. Near killed him, and I’ll have your license if you don’t get off this boat now, so help me god.”

“Rosey darlin’, don’t be like that.” Elvis' hand fluttered feebly out to grip her elbow but she was gone from his reach and crossing the room before he could and he was very tired and didn’t feel like chasing her the extra five feet.

“I’m contracted by the colonel.” The physician argued placidly in the face of Rosey’s diminutive ire. “It is my job and my contract to see to the captain’s health and have been attending it since before you-“

That’s about as much as the Captain could make out of his sentence before the thunk of the closed door right in the physician's face turned his voice to an indistinguishable mumble. Rosey turned back to him with a look of satisfied righteousness.

“Ain’t his fault.” he tried to explain to her how Dr. Nick had kept him alive, kept him running and virulent all these years despite his base nature and his poor blood.

“Yes, no doubt.” she replied in that snippy way that suggested she didn’t believe a word as she breezed past him into the washroom, “And he will be compensated for such…remarkable…service.”

“Rosey,” he watched dead eyed as she began to pump at the tub faucets, hot water then cold, as if she meant to take a bath, “we can’t send him away or he’ll tell the colonel and we’ll be fucked.”

She paused in pumping for a brief moment, steam making the little curls at her hairline boing into ringlets, “So you’re admitting he’s a goon, the man who is supposed to be caring for your health is a pimp’s goon.” She watched the captain swallow hard before he rolled his eyes and nodded his head as if she were making a greater deal of it than necessary, “Yet still you’ll take his potions?”

“What’s the harm.” he muttered, trying to think of a word or sentence to stop her as she began to unlace herself in front of him nonchalantly as though her anger had leveled them both to an even plain and she had no recollection of her previous prudery.

“The harm is you nearly dying on me last night. That’s -chiefly- the harm.” she emphasized the one word while looking at him significantly, hinting unsubtly at the more he had done that evening, or almost done.

It tuned his stomach the way even now his body responded to the natural sight of her coming into view as she shucked her layers. He shouldn’t be in here, he couldn’t be trusted around her. As she was so kindly reminding him even now. “I’ll take my leave.” he muttered, thinking about going back to the stables and Beans and catching some shut eye before going into the city.

“You’re taking a bath.” she disagreed and her tone was so foreignly authoritative his knees near buckled out of habit.

“Say what now?” he asked in a daze, not having made it even halfway to the door.

“I’m not marrying a man who smells of Mercury slats and stables.” she replied with a huff, hands on her hips accentuating the curve of them through the transparent cotton of her shift.

“We ain’t marryin.” he argued the point.

“Then you can shove your deal.”

“Rosey-“

“Come now, just get in the tub.” she urged, “I won’t touch you, if that’s what has you so petrified, I shan’t touch you, it’ll just be the sponge.”

“You don’t gotta be here for any of it.” he pointed out.

“Indeed, true.” She conceded, “And there’d be a few idiots aboard who might be prone to doubt that I gotta be here for anything. But the captain once said, I’m essential for his well being and sleep. So I’m staying. Tell me sir, in the one night since you stayed away from my bed, did you sleep?”

He flashed a grin at her tenacity before he could catch himself and turned it into a belligerent eye roll.

“Did you sleep last night, Captain?” She pressed her advantage.

“You know good’n’well I didn’t.” he replied, “Neither did you.” He added defensively only to realize it wasn’t quite the ammo he required to win this particular fight.

“So, it would seem that breaking with those habits which proved effective for your well being has been most insalubrious for you, no?” He adored it when she used those big, unnecessarily long words and pretended to busy herself as she was now with refolding washcloths and moving the soap about on the ledge. Acting industriously to hide her nerves. It made him painfully fond of her, or maybe that was the exhaustion talking and the steaming copper tub.

“I don’t mind you touchin’ me.” he muttered, starting to undo his belt, entirely unsure of what it was he minded at all, wondering when he’d started minding anything.

Funny how before she came into his life he’d have done anything for love of pleasure and money and not minded. And now, thanks to her, he found himself burdened with scruples, and they were hazy and half hearted and it felt wrong to have them at all. But he blamed her for making him think he wasn’t so cheap, that he ought to have a limit. It was true irony that the first limit he set in this history of setting him setting limits was in regards to her. And he didn’t even know their boundaries himself.

“Forgive me for -for havin’ some objection to a well endowed child babyin’ me in my own washroom.” he snarked as it was the only scruple he could manage to voice or think of.

This was his Cricket standing there, stripped down to her thin shift with the prettiest, fullest, softest pair on a woman he’d ever seen and it was hard to live with the fact he had often wanted to push them together and run his cock between them till he spewed her face with his release. He had scruples about the fact that knowing she was Cricket didn’t abate that particular desire of his, and only his exhaustion kept him composed.

“Yes well, you can sit yourself down in the tub and have trouble with that, and while you’re at it I’ll have trouble with swathing down a certified deacon.” Rosey replied pointedly and she had a point, “But we’ll both do it, won’t we? And I’ll take in stride the fact that an ordained man of the cloth once put the tip of his cock in me and still prides himself on having been quite restrained.”

Elvis’ whole body shivered at the memory of thumbing her button in his bed till her little hole sucked around his cock like a whole ‘nother mouth sucking at him down there and he had painted her belly so pretty that morning. He could see it in his memory clear as a photograph. He shucked off his pants with begrudging compliance.

“I didn’t think me being a deacon would matter so much to ya.” he begged for a little mercy as he walked to the tub, noticing that Rosey was feigning an admirable amount of disinterest in his stark naked form as he lowered himself into it, right in front of her waveringly averted eyes.

“I didn’t think a few years less on me than expected would have you infantilizing me.” she noted with another huff, before picking up his overcoat from the floor and donning it.

The jacket that usually hit below his knees came to her ankles and he bit his lip in appreciation of that before realizing she had caught him admiring and cleared his throat, “Whatcha doin’ now?” he couldn't keep up with her, his brain fuzzy since he’d nearly been asleep in the ballroom.

“Going to apologize to the damn docter and tell him he can stay.” she replied, ruffling his hair as she passed him like he were a child and for a man who had protested her need to be here for his bath he sure felt bereft being left to it alone. “You’re not taking a single dose till I inventory what all he’s givin’ but he can stay. So he doesn’t rat us.” she added, making her position on it clear before he heard her undo the latch and leave.

Alone, he slapped at the water's steaming surface and sloshed it half heartedly at his face, puckering over the feeling of hot water on sensitive eyelids. He didn’t want a bath, he wanted to sleep. And so he laid his head back against the rim of the tub and decided to catch a nap, if this is how and where his would-be assassins found him then he really didn’t give a damn anymore.

When the world swam fuzzy back into view there was a Angel swabbing him down gently, hovering over him with a halo of dark curls and a strong nose, her shoulder bare as her white gown slipped from its place at her clavicle and exposed a breast that jiggled exquisitely with every dutiful rub of her sponge across his chest. He moaned with mouth watering need to be closer to her and tried with shaky hands to leverage himself towards her, the slippery tub be damned, he wanted to be held. He wanted to sleep.

“It’s alright, it’s alright you can go back to sleep.” she whispered and adjusted something behind his head that his movements had dislodged and he had not noticed before, a rolled up washcloth it felt like, to mitigate the harsh lip of the tub against his neck.

She thinks of everything, he whispered, and tried nipping at the delicate forearm swiping past his cheek in her efforts.

“How’d it go?”he asked and his voice came out creaky and hoarse, Rosey just shrugged, an angry look on her face,

“He’s staying.” was all she said.

He caught her wrist as it began to descend past his chest, a commanding grip that made all her movement cease and her eyes meet his soberly.

“Get in here with me, Rosey darlin’.” he called for a ceasefire as he pried the sponge from between her fingers and let it float in the water, “Be our last warm bath for awhile.” he coaxed, and tugged on her tiny wrist till she was leaning close, “No reason to go separate and have you bathing in the cold. After all, we might be dead ‘fore we get another chance. For old times sake, get in.”

“Oh, so now you suddenly want to talk of old times?” she quipped as if she couldn’t stop her banter once warmed to it, but he didn’t take the bait, he just tugged gently again and reached out his other arm so that she rose from her knees and, looking down at the swarthy length of him laying against copper and shimmering beneath the eddies of water, stepped between his long legs.

“I’m always eager to talk about the way you rode my tub rail like the thing was gonna take years off your time in purgatory.” he drawled while smirking at the way the water turned her shift translucent in seconds, and to his immense satisfaction she smirked back, fully aware of her affect on him and no longer bashful.

She had given him scruples, he had given her pride. God knows how they’d manage to navigate such an exchange. “Nor I, of the way you sucked blood off my fingers.”she murmured huskily.

He’d honest to god forgotten doing that, and he feared in his anger and confusion at her recently, he had forgotten she had already killed for him. Humbled by this ungrateful omission he shifted in the tub and took her foot in his large hand as she settled opposite him, picking up the sponge and swathing it over her yittle footsy.

God the woman was a combination of minuscule proportions and hefty endowment. It warped his brain and he felt his stiff back turn loose and puddly in the hot water.

“Rosey,” he soberly tried to be honest, cradling her ankle in his broad palm and thumbing over her arch in his anxiousness, “i-i- ya see- i-it’s not that I don’t wanna be near ya.” he managed, “If I’m to be makin this trip upriver, I’m gonna…I’m gonna need that tonic, honey. A lot of it.”

He watched closely as her dark brows twisted in remonstrance at this, a helpless shake of her head refusing to believe it.

“Listen to me, no no, listen Rosey.” he begged, clutching her foot to his chest, “It’s the only way I’m gonna manage it, and you know what it turns me into. I-i-i can’t be crawling into bed with you like I used to when -when I ain’t myself. W-we can’t risk that again.” he pleaded with her to understand how close they’d come to ruination the night before. The thought of her bleeding out in childbirth due to a mindless urge of his was as clear in his mind as if it had already occurred -and he saw himself locked in some prison for sodomy while she lay dying, their baby left alone, just like he’d thought he’d left Maddy’s. That was the only vision of Memphis and returning he could imagine. And he couldn’t, never again. “We can’t risk you like that, I can’t, can’t protect ya from myself.”

He bowed his head, in shame or defeat she didn’t know, but he bowed his head till all she could see was the oily slick of his hair and the fan of his lashes, diligently bent over her well sponged foot.

“Elvis,” Rosey’s voice was soft and gentling, not requiring his acknowledgment, only that he listen, “I don’t know what Rosetta told you, I don’t know what you think occurred last night. But you were harsh, and you were wild with wants and angers, legitimate each. But, but -hear me please!” she sniffled and leaned forward in the bath to clutch his knees, needing to anchor them together, “I was not frightened of you. Nor of what you promised me, because it wasn’t a threat, can’t be a threat to someone who wants the same. Darling, darling man I-I only stopped you because -because it was the…the right…the loving thing to do. I knew you didn’t want me like that, even though I was willing. I was so very willing, oh Elvis I was! I am! But you’ve trusted me with the knowledge of what that -what such an act would mean to you. So I stopped you, that’s why I stopped you. For your sake, not out of fear.”

He was looking at her by then, a searching, quiet look of study that she noticed had none of the shrewd, squinting suspicion of the past few days. “Ya mean that?” he demanded, his voice beyond rough and looking up at her from under his lashes.

“With all my heart!” she affirmed adamantly, squeezing his knees as if her nails could puncture the truth into his marrow.

There was silence for a long bit before she realized his searching stare had gone far away and blank, then suddenly tears were pooling in those azure eyes and his shoulders had begun to shake in the way he had when he was suppressing his weeping. “Oh my love.” she mourned for him, “I’ve done you wrong, but not then, not that night.”

“Rosey I-I-I dunno w-what to say.” he choked out, leaning forward himself till they were both crouched in on themselves, knees knocking and forearms overlapping and noses brushing.

“You needn’t say a thing.” she petted his shiny head and he slumped against her forehead, tremblingly vulnerable, “But you’ll come to me, and you’ll lay by me at nights, and we will have our talks and our baths and our fights, and I will keep you true to yourself. I’ll do it, I’m your oldest friend, remember? Who better to know who you are deep down?”

“Does that mean I know you?” he whispered against her lips, a miserable little gust of words.

“I think you’ll help me learn who I am.” she replied after giving it some thought, and he hummed in understanding, and she was reminded why he was so remarkable, beyond his beauty and ability and magnetism, he had an ability to understand the root of a trouble, more than anyone alive, she thought. “I’m Rosey, I am who you fashion me to be.” she tempted him, and he stirred in her embrace, just enough to fling his own arm around her shoulders and hug her himself.

“Are you in some particular hurry to change your last name, Miss?” he teased her.

“Presley has a nice ring to it.” she shrugged. “-Elvis?” she spoke up again after a while of holding each other, she thought perhaps he had dozed off leaning against her.

“Hmm?”

Rosey thought she had been right, his hum was so throaty and groggy, he had fallen asleep. Again. The poor man, “Please trust me with this,” trust me with us, was what was said without saying it, “I’ll swear to ya, I’ll, I’ll say anything you want or promise anything that I’ll keep you from harming me. But I can’t-I can’t live down below for a month and not have you at times. I can’t, I don’t think either of us will make it that way. I really don’t.”

He roused himself from his slump and pulled back so he could meet her eyes and to her relief he gave a small smile of understanding. “Sweetheart, last night -“ he trailed off for a minute, his gaze contemplating the floorboards outside the tub and his silence lasted so long she thought he would never resume but when he did he looked her dead in the eye with a firm clarity she’d only seen him use with fellow men, as if he thought women too delicate for the weight of that stare. She felt privileged to be considered strong enough for it, even as a bolt of electricity seemed to shoot up her spin from it. “Last night when you, you stopped that nonsense…darlin’, ya gotta understand, you saved the one last dream I’ve got from gettin’ wrecked.”

“What’s that?” she whispered, leaning forward and he rubbed her knuckles with his thumb, “What’s your dream?”

“I wanna get married.” he whispered back like to was the most heinously shameful desire ever held by a human being -she had no doubt Parker had painted it similarly to keep him withdrawn over even wanting it, Nancies don’t marry, she could hear that accent saying it now, “I wanna marry a woman before God Almighty and I want to have a home, a place where I-I-I can have a family, where I ain’t looking over my shoulder all my life.” he leaned back in the tub, as if his back were too tired from the crouch and the secrets, she heard his knees pop as he straightened opposite her and the motion of leaning back -it disengaged their hands. So Rosey settled back too, clasping her own hand soothingly and knowing there was more to it than this. She sat back in the steaming water and watched as a dreamy and strange look flitted over his face and those starry eyes stared up at the boat cabin’s white washed ceiling and went miles and astral fields away from her:

“See, I’ve always wanted a perfect wedding night.” he divulged in tone so dreamy it terrified her that the Elvis she thought she knew was no longer in the room, his head now leaning against the the tub rail, and his gaze fixed to the ceiling and whatever was beyond it, “Complete with a sweet and blushing bride, as demure as she was eager. And I would worship her until she bloomed open for me and when I finally took her, it would be a sacrament. I’d be making her my wife, and God would look down on our pleasure and deem it good, bless it and the children I would plant in her womb. It wouldn’t be a sin, so He wouldn’t take her life when the time came for birth. And on that night she -she would be pleased, so very pleased with me and when we were too old to so much as dance a jig, we’d sit on our porch and reminisce about the first time I took her. How the blood only eased the way and she never had cause to fear my touch, or dread my attentions.”

His gaze which was once nearly unbearable in its intensity was now eagerly desired by Rosey, anything but this accusatory, strangely detached monologue. But then he finally drug his burning eyes from the ceiling to her naked form folded in on herself in the tub, and immediately she prayed he’d look away again.

“You,” Elvis jabbed his finger at her, some emotion finally showing and it was an entire deluge of angry hurt, “you coulda taken that from me!”

She shook her head and falsely accused confusion, whimpering out, “But I didn’t!”

“No, no you didn’t.” he agreed, more solemn than she’d ever seen him, “You saved that for me, last dream I’ve got and, a-a-and now I-I can’t, I can’t let that dream go. I don’t think -I don’t know how it’ll ever happen between us, but I can’t, I can’t ruin the chance of it. And now, this, this alliance we’re gonna make it ain’t, it ain’t that, honey. I-I’m askin’ ya to understand that a-and not to -to tempt me. And it ain’t fair, I know it ain’t fair! Not fair to you, but you’ll find I ain’t ever been much good to those who care about me.”

“That’s a goddamn lie!” she bit out fiercely, taking joy in the way his eyes grew wide at her strong language, “And you needn’t ask me so, so pathetically… you know full well I stopped you before I even knew the full of this. I figured -I’d figured enough advantage had been taken of you as it is. But I- I’ll do this for ya, for us, but only if you swear you won’t keep this as some dream.”

“Whadda ya mean, honey?” he asked, hunkering down in the tub and she watched as the bath water lapped at his collarbones, made them sparkle and glitter in the gaslamp’s glow.

“I mean that it’s a lovely dream.” Rosey said, “Lovely enough to deserve fruition.” she watched as he bit his lip and pulled at the sponge, “And I’ll guard it, I’ll guard it and deny every right i have to you so that you can have it, but only so long as you work towards making it more than a dream. Do you hear me, Presley?”

Goddamn, he thought, the woman knows me. She knows he’d very much like to marry her tonight, sign his money to her, then quietly go up to the wheelhouse and slit his wrists so as not to be here in a few weeks time when the colonel drags his name through the mud. A man put in prison for degeneracy -it welcomes all sorts of…attention… in prison. He’d know. And he wasn’t of a mind to endure it again.

“That means you’ll stay alive for me,” she went on, breaking through his panicked introspection, “it means you’ll treat me kindly, you’ll keep your temper and get us to the terroriotes and get us back, it means you’ll think of me and Cal and Etta and Maddy’s boy and all those who love you before you take more tonic than necessary. It means if you die on this trip, you’ll do it for us, not just cause you’re so tired and wanna sleep beneath the cold ground. Or else, god forgive me, I’ll use the pistol you gave me to end my own. I will. I’m done going it alone in this world.”

The salty tang of snot and tears dribbling over his top lip and seeping through the seam of his lips informed him he was crying. So was Rosey, unless the gaslit was merely reflecting off a splash to her face. He didn’t recall anyone splashing. “I’m so goddamn tired.” he admitted weakly, dropping the sponge so that he could scrub his face with his hands, hiding behind them, too bare to her knowing gaze. Please don’t see me, he kept thinking and pleading in his mind and maybe some of it came out audibly, “it’s been so long since anyone knew me, i don’t think you’ll like what you see.”

“Then that’s a mutual fear.” she pointed out, soft and sad.

“It’s gonna get hellish, Rosey,” he tried to reason, “this whole lil rebellion sure soothes the conscience but, but it’ll end with us swinging from nooses. Leave me my dreams, lemme get us out west where -where maybe we can try to, to, I dunno-“ he stared down into the bath and the wavering sight of his thighs and belly beneath the water.

“Do you think I haven’t any dreams of my own?” she challenged him, her tone was cold as ice, and suddenly he realized his glaring omission. “Have you never wondered? Do you think I’ve spent a decade toiling alone, utterly alone, and hadn’t a single dream to keep me running?”

He shook his head shamefully and snorted back his weepiness, “What is it, Rosey?” he begged softly.

“It’s simple,” she dithered, “but seems hard for anyone to grant. I don’t want to be alone.” she had a way about her where she would heave in a great breath and he could watch as her eyes swam with tears but until this morning he’d never seen them truly spill, her grief remained firmly constrained, “I want a partner in things, you know? Just someone to care enough not to die on me, to leave me alone with it all. They always have. Some by their own hand, some by giving up the fight in their sickbeds, some by careless happenstance. Or Maddy, Maddy who I needed and loved more than my own life but who wanted to die from the minute her belly swelled.” His jaw ticked and some savage, mean part exulted in the pained shock on his face at this revelation -it was about time someone else felt the hurt she’d carried all this time, “Maddy wanted to die, ever after…after what they did to her. She’d lay in bed next to me and tell me, her baby sister, tell me she hoped the babe inside her would kill her. It didn’t. But I reckon she hoped enough, long enough to die, God finally gave her her wish. I'm not sure I can forgive her for the fact she took your mama with her.” She hadn’t seen that look on his face ever before, anger and understanding all at once, and something dull and mournful coming through it. “Someone who wants to die they -they should stay away from those trying to live.” Rosey surmised a philosophy she had come to live by, sixteen years old and all alone on the plantation, “I'm asking you, Elvis, don’t invite death to this boat. Shame and pain, they’re endurable when you’re not alone, but death. Death, it separates. And there’s no strength in that.”

“Darlin, I-“ he had his hands clasped over his nose, eyes freely running with tears and trying to make his chest calm its frantic heaving. How had she known?

“I think our dreams align rather well, don’t you?” she tried for a lighter tone, scooting up again and laying her hands boldly on the water-warmed and sturdy meat of his thighs, “You want a sacramental wedding night, and I want a husband who’ll stay alive for me. Why not fight for it?”

“Rosey it gonna get nasty-“

“I am a woman, have you forgotten?” she retorted, “Shaming and lewd accusations are as common for us as compliments.”

“The shit I’ve don-“

“You did what you had to, and once you said they called you ‘femininely sensitive.’” she reminded, “I suggest it’s a strength, if you have some womanly part of you, more than most men, then there’s not a man alive who can better handle what is going to be awaiting us in Memphis.”

Us. She had said us, and he realized she meant it. He didn’t recall the last time he belived someone when they’d referred to a union with him as a joining together. With Rosey, no contract, no obligation, no physical making of one flesh was required to make an “us”. It was a natural state for them.

“This dream of yours,” she went on and he saw her begin to waver for the first time since her righteous tirade began, “if, if it’s not me, that you want to marry before God, to share that night with -I’ll, I’ll try to be rational about that.”

He didn’t miss a beat before amusedly laughing at the absurdity of anyone else besides his Rosey having the power to make him wanna live through the next month. “It would be you,” he said, “it could only ever be you.”

“Really?” she sounded all of fifteen years old and scared as hell while her eyes lit up with a painful degree of hope.

He couldn’t take it, couldn’t take her fear or the fact he’d put it there. It made him lunge forward in the bath and sent the water splashing in his quest to lay atop her, smother her whole, remind her she was his. A language the both understood, this feeling of him dwarfing her beneath his weight, oppressing her with his desires and his madness, and the fucked little part of her that he knew even now took his obsession for love. Obsession was all he had for now, but he owed it to her. He kissed her and chased her lips fervently till her head slipped against the tub’s side and the force of his kiss sent her neck backwards. Down she went into the water beneath his mouth, and he followed atop her, plunging them both beneath the shallow depth, robbing them of air, mimicking a death, proving at the last minute that he chose life when he pulled them both up and out again, their tongues still intertwined.

“You’ll live?” she panted, begged, dug her nails into his cheeks.

“I’ll live.” he answered, like it was a revelation to him, like he was seeing something ahead that utterly surprised him.

“Then you must sleep.” she murmured, a very simple observation and that was his Rosey, asking the impossible but her demands were only for the first step in climbing the mountain to be taken.

“Mhmm.” he agreed, thinking about slipping further down in the tub, curling in on himself so he could lay his head on her bath warmed breasts again.

“Let me wash your hair.” she whispered, flicking at his nose to keep him alert, “Let me wash it then you can sleep.”

“Can’t for long, we gotta-“ he began to remind her as he dunked his head quickly to wet his hair.

“I know, I won’t let you oversleep.” she stated confidently and turned him by his shoulders till he was leaning forward in her arms, his broad back to her face and her little hands rubbing at his scalp with a lather that smelled painfully refreshing from such long neglect.

It was an amusingly sweet pastime bathing a grown man, Rosey thought as she worked the foaming suds through his black strands, watching as they spilled and slid down his pretty neck and onto the freckle specked shoulders and running, running, running gleefully down the willowy taper of his back to the water's edge. A path her tongue had longed to follow. Her finger traced the path instead and he shuddered between her legs, the moans her attentions brought from him turning her feral in protectiveness. There was something heady and potent about a man sitting naked and vulnerable between one’s thighs, it brought that strange combination of feelings back to her that his sitting on her lap first sparked. Her small legs bracketed the soft skin of his strong hips and his backside was flush against her in a pantomime of the usual way of things -he was soft like this, and she wished she knew how to make it happen more often. How to make him trust her with it.

Satisfied with her scrubbing the grease out she tapped his wet shoulder and whispered around the breadth of him that he could rinse it. He shook himself awake from his doze and finding very little room to do it in this configuration, merely folded his legs impossibly together and laid himself backwards down into the water, his head hitting the bottom of the tub with a dull thud. The gaslamp made Rosey’s quivering reflection haloed above him through the water, and tufts of her gown in his periphery wavered white and ethereal as it floated beside him down here, bracketed by her thighs, soap suds clouding his watery vision at times till she swiped them away. Humoring him as he lay beneath the water, but still trying to spare his eyes.

He could push her to madness he realized -finally there was someone who cared enough he could really, really destroy by his absence. His lungs began to burn.

I’m going to live, he reminded himself feebly.

I’m going to live, I want to live, he argued feebler each repetition, for his lungs were burning but the man wouldn’t stop -I want to live- but his face was still submerged inside the barrel and he was only let out long enough to catch a breath and hear a tirade that if the man wanted a painted tart he’d get a tart and then back into the water he went till his breath was gone and his face paint was gone and his will was gone and he was just a helpless boy again and suitably appealing to the man’s tastes and -I want to live, please just let me live. His lungs were burning and above him a orange glow and it wasn’t the gaslamp, it wasn’t Rosey that looked dark and forbidding above the surface, it was their ship, it was the hull of their beloved ship and the water was on fire, the whole Mediterranean it seemed, for every time he surfaced and tried to breathe, the flaming water singed his face and back down he was forced, trying to swim down and away from the burning mass of spilt oil that the sea had become -im going to live- he had seethed and kept pushing on as his vision blacked and his lungs collapsed and the ocean glowed orange above him -I’m going to live- he had been so vicious about it back then, God where was that vicious streak? he could use it -I’m going to live- his lungs were burning and his vision spotting and his throat felt a warm weight encircling it and was that how it felt to be hung? I want to live, he thought, I’m going to live, he promised. He gripped Rosey’s hand and held it there to his throat, let her feel his fucking fear and wild delight at tasting death, trying to show her how vehemently his heart wanted him alive for her with every overburnded pulse. Her hand squeezed cruelly and his lips parted to grin and she was hauling him out, landing him in her breasts like a sea deity throwing a mariner ashore.

“Enough.” was all she said, and held him insensible to her bosom till the water grew cold and the hour late and his rest had been taken as much as could be hoped for. He drifted away to the feeling of her gently swaying him like a babe on her chest, her hand cradling his sodden head and her soft voice singing an old delta refrain,

See the rising tide

Know it′s only a matter of time

See the rising tide

So blue

Oh if it's cold in the water

Am I better for it?

Oh I can learn from my mother

If this sinking ship goes down

He did not recall much proceeding the rest nor could he figure out for the life of him their position initially as she traced him awake by a finger along his features. It was much darker in the room and his neck was bent and the one eye not smashed to a breast saw gooseflesh on her arm and her nipple hardened to a chilled nub so prominent he could hand his coat from. It was animal instinct to raise his hand from the bath and cup the shivering little bud, squashing that beautiful pound of flesh in his palm and feeling the pink little thing poke him. “You’re awake.” she said above him in response to his stupid giggle and not the boyish mauling of her breast.

“I think I am.” he hummed, intent on kneading warmth back till the nipple flattened. He felt the one under his cheek poke him in defiance.

“Aren’t you cold?” she asked, entirely unsure of what his mood might be now he had slept, or what it had been before she hauled his face above water.

“I am.” he realized.

“Perhaps we should stop playing at Ophelia then, and get warm.” she teased, breathy and moist in his ear and he remembered then the burning oceans and the sea nymphs with strong arms and fragile hearts.

“Per’aps.” he mumbled and kissed her chilled flesh beneath his cheek before raising himself up to his knees, and then unsteadily to his feet, towering over her in the tub, droplets from his body dripping down onto her face. “Gimme your hands.” and he hauled her out, pushing the sodden nightgown off both her shoulders and down over her shivering hips with some trouble, steadying her to step out of it.

“Ada came in and laid out the suit.” Rosey informed him as he picked her up in his arms and stepped out of the tub, taking care not to slip.

He tilted her towards the towel rack and she grabbed at two before throwing one over his shoulders and rubbing it into the chilled damp of his hair. He didn’t like the idea of Ada seeing them like that, but it couldn’t be helped he supposed, even though he wasn’t sure why he hadn’t just gone to the bed for a nap. Then they wouldn’t be so cold now, but he figured one’s logic when one is drifting to sleep is very different from that when you’re rested.

Ah yes, I’m gonna marry you, he recalled, ‘cause I’m a heartless bastard.

He set her down on her feet and took the towel from her hands and rubbed her thoroughly with it, feeling penitent and grateful and wishing he wasn’t so rusty at the kinder, purer forms of love. No one had wanted those from him, not in a long while and the children didn’t count, he was never with them long enough to get in a habit. It was a performance of sorts to be his old self, and he knew if he had any wisdom in him he’d forgive Cricket for her similar struggle.

He’d almost lost her in this very washroom, first night he got her back. The memory of his own terror at that prospect and the feel of broken glass beneath his belly and her naked vulnerability held to his chest made him feel an ass now, quibbling about identities and shit. It’s her, he reminded himself, it’s always been her. And she loved him, strangely but she did, and she deserved better than what he had been dishing up recently.

I’m going to live, he reminded himself like a threat, and rose to his feet to kiss her forehead.

“Are you alright, daddy?” she asked the man who she’d seen lay unblinking beneath the bath water for nigh on four minutes.

“Yeah darlin’, nap did me wonders.” he assured her and thumbed at her frown till it smoothed, “Gonna make you sleep tonight if I have to sit on ya to do it.” he threatened playfully and she smiled, tired and warm, at the promise of his nearness.

She was so tired, he realized, he’d worn her clean out. That weren’t no way for a daddy to treat his baby.

“Ada said Jerry is back aboard.” Rosey murmured as she leaned against the dresser with her towel draped over her like a shawl, watching him pat himself dry with harsh swipes of his own that left pink rub burns in its wake. She didn’t know how he intended her to dress in the male clothing laid out, she figured she would wait for his direction.

He sniffed and huffed and rubbed and shook himself like a dog might and she thought she saw some of the old vitality back in him, he certainly carried himself with the usual, steadier, measured sort of grace as he rummaged through the drawers beside her for combs and pins and his bottle of beard oil.

“C’mere baby.” he motioned with two beckoning fingers and she stepped up close to him, curious as to his intentions. He tilted her to face the mirror and took a stand behind her. Handsome and tall with his dark hair combed back, she saw him lean and naked behind her as he began to section the wet curtain of her hair, elegant fingers dividing and smoothing till it was in thirds. Satisfied, he reached round her and uncorked the bottle, pouring a dime sized portion of the stuff in his palm and rubbing his hands together to spread it, the friction making its scent waft up to her nose and she recognized it from nuzzling his neck. He used it on his sideburns, too.

He started with the ends of her hair, first the back section working it up to the scalp, then he poured more oil and did the two other sections with the same patient thoroughness. The backs of his fingers rubbed her breasts as he glided the oil through, coaxing the curls to a defined shine she’d never bothered with on her own.

“Look a’my pretty baby.” he murmured to himself as he watched her hair respond to his primping, curling and coiling all down her front.

She sighed happily and leaned against him, dreamy eyed and pale as moonlight underneath his weathered hands in the mirror’s reflection.

Always content with so little, his Rosey.

“I’m sorry there’s so little of me left for ya.” he whispered soft into her ear as he kneaded her flesh, her silky hair running like black ink between his fingers, realizing his pride was hurt by the admission, but she deserved to know that he was aware he had her playing nymph and virgin, nurse and thief, a million things at once to satisfy him. And all she dreamed of was a companion. “But what’s left -it’s yours.”

She caught his hands from her body and brought them to her lips, pressing fervent kisses against those wicked hands of his as if they’d gain her years of eternal life. “Thank you.” he felt it said against his palm.

“Pour me more oil, lil one.” he instructed her and she spilt a few droplets into his open palm in obedience.

He rubbed his hands again but instead of taking it to her scalp his hands traveled downwards to the cradle between her thighs, raking through her wiry curls with that same sweet thoroughness he had given her hair. Rosey could have wept at feeling so cherished. He kissed her cheek soothingly as she whimpered in his arms and he rubbed as long as he dared, close to forgetting the outside world from the sight of her slumped against him, her eyes closed in pleasure and his hand engulfing the whole of that pretty dark patch that only he had ever tasted.

“Please.” she whispered so softly he might have missed it if his heart hadn’t been wishing it into existence at the same time. “Please daddy, I need you there.” She spoke right as his hand had begun to slow, “It won’t take long.” she predicted with a bashful little laugh before looking up at his reflection so worriedly her realized he’d made a right mess of promising her things and withholding them right after, “You said to always tell if when-“

“Yeah, I did.” he agreed with quiet vehemence before slipping his fingers from her mound to the slick and puffy folds between her legs, mouthing at her cheek and throat tenderly as she keened and went atiptoe to grind against his hand, her eyes transfixed by the mirror as his had been moments ago. For now he wanted to watch her face as it grew crimson in growing arousal and crumpled in pleasure. He stroked her through it, his fingers rough and fast but his kisses sweet and he kept at it till she thrashed in his arms. Politely timely, he thought in amusement as he gentled his fingers out from between her legs, laid his slick palm against her breastbone as she gasped out her relief. “There, there now, ya feel better?” he asked her softly as he brought his fingers over her shoulder and into his mouth, tasting the oil and her all at once.

“Yes.” she warbled satisfied, slumping entirely against him, a shudder shaking through her whenever she tried to stand and shifted her pulsing petals together. “Thank you.” she murmured, smelling herself in the hand he was licking clean.

The Captain squeezed her jaw in his hand and kissed her soundly before picking her up again to set her shaky limbed self on the bureau, the better to fix her appearance to his vision of Rosey as a boy. It was hard to concentrate for him, what with him stepping between her splayed legs to pin up her hair into a cropped bob of sorts, her eyes going cross eyed in euphoric exhaustion as she tried to study his face up close as he worked.

“Your left eye is larger than the right.” she pronounced in hushed awe after a thorough and heavy lidded inspection.

“And you have a hawk nose, you silly thing.” he teased her, some itch in the back of his mind telling him long ago he’d called her the same thing.

It was rather difficult to make a woman who, objectively he felt, was very pretty as a woman to resemble a boy in any convincing way. Maybe it was the flushed arousal still painting her lush features in maidenly hues but every trick of his was thwarted by the soft mouth and upturned eyes, the full cheeks and delicate throat. And beneath that throat were boney shoulders that all his good food had not as yet managed to soften, and below, hanging onto her slight frame with heavy abundance were those large, soft breasts that taunted him with every attempt he made to bind them flat with the wide cloth Ada had provided for the purpose.

The Captain could succeed at smashing the bell shaped bottoms of them only to have the milky soft tops spilling out, and when pressing the tops down the profuse flesh would bulge from the bottom of it. Again and again. And Rosey was of no help, her mind foggy and hazy from her pleasure and the sleepless night catching up with her, the feeling of his hands on her and his obvious fascination with his futile task. Propped up and leaning back on her elbows, she delighted too much in his pupil-dilated exasperation not to giggle as his tongue poked out between his teeth and his hands smoothed her like her breasts were wrinkles to be tamed.

“C’mon,” he growled at them softly, then turned coaxing, “be good for daddy, c’mon cooperate. Jus’ c’mon,’stay in there, fuck they’re so big and juicy and goddman what kinda god makes a woman like this? Horny fucker, ain’t no use for them but to -just, just come on, in ya go, just stay for me, stay, stay, that’s it it jus -dammnit. I don’t wanna hurt ya darlins, ain’t no fault to be found but y’all sure just…god help me. That’s it, there, there, there stay! That too tight for ya, honey?”

“I do suppose tight is the only way this will work.” She shrugged as he reached around her and cinched the cloth in back till they throbbed from the pressure, “It’s fine. We’ll be late.” She reminded him, playfully putting her feet on his naked hips to push him away from another attempt. “This will have to do.”

“What did Ada mean when she was talking about the rest of the ‘equipment’, Elvis?” Rosey asked with benign curiosity as he put his finishing touches to her cravat, making certain not to pinch her throat with the ring that still hung from the emerald ribbon. She was as complete a picture of a stylish young man of moderate means as could be hoped. Although the generous swell of the hips were slightly suspect, her overcoat would cover such a curve nicely.

It may have been a question benignly asked but the captain reared back and turned pink down to his nipples as soon as she uttered it and his quick, “Oh, nothin.” only served to light her imagination instead of douse it as intended.

“What’s she use this for?” Rosey pressed with a scholar's tenacity, thumbing at her waistcoat pockets and feeling a strange amount of security in the masculine garb, her assets smashed and her figure encouraged to stand wide, there was something about trousers and cravats that she found oddly emboldening.

“I said nothin.” he pleaded, backing away from her, presumably in search of something to clad the long, lean nakedness of himself in now she was entirely adorned herself and prowling towards him with mind numbing intensity. He couldn’t tell if it were how well the clothes suited her or if she suited the clothes or the very recent taste of her in his mouth but the way she stalked him round the bed and back again as he tried to find some article of clothing not yet moved out had an alarmingly…stimulative…effect on him.

“Oh come now.” she dipped her voice in conspiratorial beguiling, “It’s gotta be something naughty, I can tell as you are pink down to you belly.”

“Rosey!”

“You can tell me!” she sounded like a wheedling child, in fact he was pretty certain again he'd heard her use this same tone with him ages ago and while he didn’t object to that, he objected to being stalked around in his bedroom by a masculinized Cricket while he was in the buff. “What’s she use it for?”

“Disreputable things!” he hollered while throwing his hands up in exasperation and when they fell to his sides they smacked against his bare skin lewdly. He’d just have to wear his old outfit then, he concluded with the dresser bare.

“So it’s naughty?” Unlike Rosey, this womanly nymph in pinstripe trousers before him seemed excited by that revelation and surveyed her outfit anew as if she could find some secret hidden in the pockets or pleats.

“Rosey have ya lost your mind?” he hissed at her, although if he were an honest man he would acknowledge his vehemence stemmed from his alarming levels of interest in her interest. Captain Presley was not an honest man. Not about his own wants. And so he bent over and grabbed his trousers from off the floor with grave disapproval showing in his jerky movements.

“How’s it naughty?” she asked just as eager and circled round him to grab at his trousers herself.

“I-I-it’s,” he wondered where the blushing prude of last month had gone while at the same time seeing her, truly her, more than he ever had before in her curious eyes and tenacious hands, “it’s d-degenerate.” He replied primly, trying to yank his trousers from her, not about to discussing a woman pegging a man with his future wife.

Rosey won that tugging match and sank to her knees in front of him with the pants in hand, looking for all the world like some street urchin he’d hauled off the promenade and had made kneel for him and when she looked up it was Rosey yet not Rosey and that stern nose that usually marred her soft face suited the stiff confines of this playacted gender and his hand twitched to bury itself in her falsely cropped hair and push that nose into his crotc- oh, she’d gotten down there to help him put on his pants.

God, god, god he couldn’t handle himself today.

“It excites you.” she whispered as he stepped into the leg holes and she raised them up, his pink and pulsing interest mouth level with her and he saw her throat bobbing under the stiff collar and cravat, “It can’t be bad if it excites you.” she murmured again pleadingly, her hands splayed on his thighs and her breath wafting over him.

“It don’t excite me,” he replied very slow and measured, “but you might. You do.” he amended, a simple truth.

“Like this?” she asked a little breathless and he thought she meant on her knees, which he’d have thought they already established his liking of. But when he saw where her eyes had gone he got a sudden jolt of terror mixed with arousal so strong he wasn’t sure he’d felt that in years. She was looking at the mirror again, the one he’d just pleasured and primped her in front of but now his beautiful artifice was kneeling in front of him, a gorgeously crafted dolly with pinned hair and pale hands and a mouth inches from his wavering cock and -his Rosey looked like a boy kneeling there and his heart jolted from the sight. Pride in the skill of his manufacturing an image and interest in what he knew lay beneath her layers and the wrongness of ever again finding this compelling had him shaking like a leaf of a sudden. And just as suddenly her mischief died out and his trousers were hauled up the rest of the way and fastened with businesslike efficacy.

“Not- not like, well -maybe.” He concluded and she looked up at him as if surprised he had not shelved the topic entirely. “I don’t know.” he admitted honestly as he threw on the rest of his clothing with less finesse than usual, his girl helpfully retrieving the strewn items from the floor and he could fella from the way she carried herself she enjoyed the change, too, and that was enough to excite, “I really don’t know.” he continued to contemplate it despite himself and she held her tongue and watched him curiously, “We haven’t the time for it, have to…to think on it later. Hell of a lot to think on later. C’mon now, we’ll be late.”

Mr. Samuel Clemens had made a career out of watching folks and their dealings, learning the things they didn’t want learned, writing it down and sending it off to inform other folks when they read the newspapers. Journalism was little beyond respectable voyeurism, if one was being honest, and he considered himself an excellent voyeur. What distinguished a seasoned journalist or correspondent from an ameatuer was that the later approached the world with a series of questions regarding its happenings and badgered the worlds occupants till they answered him, such a method was bound to result in skewed narrative that either aligned with the views of the amateur himself or else the folks he was meant to be detachedly observing.

Now if Mr. Clemens were an amateur, he would have badgered a waiting Mr. Binder about all sorts of things as they sat beside each other in the reception seats of the St. Louis courthouse. Lined up at this late hour against the wall facing the Judge’s empty desk like criminals awaiting a firing squad, Clemens and his shifty companion had spent a good half hour, both waiting for unnamed parties. Now because Mr. Clemens didn’t ask questions, he watched and he listened instead, he got a narrative outta people that not even they would admit to being true, save that once printed there was never a dash or comma or word they could deny having been done or said or achieved. And so, by watching and listening and waiting, Mr. Binder had told him more about the new Waterways Commision and Captain Presley’s hopeful induction to it than Mr. Clemens coulda hoped to have gained were he to ask the questions point blank. Shocking how free folks are with information when they think it ain’t wanted.

When asked what he himself was there for, Mr. Clemens honestly replied he needed his correspondent papers validated by the captain of the boat he meant to take tomorrow morning. Mr. Bidner hadn’t as much interest in boats as he did their captains and as a result the line of questioning was dropped.

So it was that when the impressive and unmistakable figure of Captain Presley entered the building with a modest entourage of young men behind him, Mr. Binder was so comfortable with his companion of thirty minutes of chit-chat that he rose without a single furtive glance backwards at the journalist and greeted the captain with a fervor stemming from proclaimed interest in finalizing their apparent alliance.

“W-where’s Miss Beaumont?” Binder asked the Captain at an entirely indelicate decibel that suggested to Mr. Clemens that the presence of the decadently apparelled young companion of the Captain’s he had noticed last evening at the gala was of the utmost importance.

The Captain’s head cocked to the side in a delicately subtle gesture that were Clemens not so invested in his observations may have gone unnoticed. Instead, however, Clemens noticed the slight young boy beside the captain give an aborted wave to Mr. Binder who after repeated double takes took to peering under the youth’s wide brimmed hat with comedic amounts of confusion.

“God, you're handsome as a boy, miss.” Mr. Binder ruled in her favor at last with fervent admiration that Mr. Clemens took note, too.

“Where’s this judge at?” Their sandy haired companion who preferred workman’s clothes even in a judicial building slammed his hand on the waiting bell that neither Bidner nor Clemens had need to ring as their parties had not arrived before.

Captain Presley alone carried himself with a respectable amount of furtive discretion and took to observing his marbled surroundings with admirable suspicion before those brilliantly vibrant eyes landed on the seated correspondent who was so conveniently privy to all of his business.

“Mr. Clemens.” he greeted the man in a tone that was neither warm nor cold, threatening or ingratiating. It’s careful neutrality promised an impressive tipping either way and Mr. Clemens smiled back at the talented fellow with a natural smile of interest at seeing him up close.

“Captain Presley I presume? An honor to make your acquaintance and just the man I was waiting for.” He stated his purpose up front so as not to be turned away with only small talk having passed between them.

“What can I do for you?” Captain Presley looked rather eager to be made use of, an odd thing in most folks nowadays who saw a favor as an unsupportable thing. Clemens hoped that the bright young man whose exploits he had once written so glowingly of still remained inside this more guarded, coiled version of himself. “I’ve not forgotten you know,”he added and this time there was some warmth in his rich voice, “that article of yours. At times I was confused as to whether you were complimenting a crocodile or a man but either way it was most gracious comin’ from a man of such experience. Reckon we should hail ya as a Riverboat Connoisseur.”

“Oh you read that piece?” Mr. Clemens was not entirely surprised but few captains remained so unabashedly appreciative of their critics.

“Well, I read the one Mark Twain wrote.” The captain bantered with his tongue poking out in a strangely endearing mannerism of teasing.

“Mark Twain?” the Captain’s sandy haired companion left off his juvenile smashing of the untended bell to watch the interaction with sudden interest.

“That’s Mr. Clemens’ pen name, Schilling.” The captain educated him not unkindly.

“Good lord, damnation this is a treat.” Schilling didn’t hold back. “He the one who wrote that article you’re always quotin-“

“Jerrah-“

“Bout you havin’ the pride of a king in your-“

“I like all his writings!” Captain Presley chose the sweet route of effusion instead of feigned disinterest to shush his companion and Mr. Clemens thought perhaps it wasn’t so bad to meet one’s heroes after all, not if a rough and tumble riverboat Captain had the heart of a tender boy inside him.

“Presley is a true pilot,” Binder quoted in revenant, dulcet tones fitted for recitation hour in a drawing room soirée “who when piloting, cares nothing about anything on earth but the river, and his pride in his occupation surpasses the pride of kings. Lethal only to those uneducated with the river and her currency, he is the nurturer of its capricious nature and the guardian of its generous splendor, a man suited best to its majesty and vastness for he neither tames nor fights it, but joins to it like a lover who means to take only what he also gives."

An awkward silence followed this poetic outburst where Mr. Schilling grunted in agreement with a five year old sentiment about his boss while the author and his subject gave themselves a bashful moment of mutual appreciation and the hermaphroditical creature at the captain’s elbow stifled a gasp of appreciation, wether for the prose or the skill was entirely unknown to anyone.

“I-it was t-t-the quote that cemented my admiration for him, Mr. Clemens.” Bidner defended his memorization of an ancient news clipping and Captain Presley patted the fellow on the back as if his inordinate admiration were a slight congealing of the chest fluids.

Mr. Binder spooked worse from that touch alone than if a shot had rung out in the empty chambers of this marble mausoleum of a building.

“What can I do for you Mr. Clemens?” Presley repeated and this time his voice was even kindly.

“The notary has my documents” Mr. Clemens answered, “but I need your signature for the validation of my correspondence pass to board your vessel on the morrow. I imagine with the loading of horses and the men and such there will be no great rush to be off, but I don’t intend to be left with my britches round my ankles cause I didn’t foresee some expediency.”

“My boat?” The Captain repeated that solitary line.

“Yessir, gonna write a column on the welfare of our ventures out west.”

“We’re goin’ north.” The captain corrected.

“Are ya now?”

“Yes. St. Paul. Droppin’ the troops off there then comin’ right back. Not much to write about.”

“Uhuh,” Clemens stroked his mustache contemplatively and peered at Mr. Binder who added his own emphatic declarations as to the destination. “You got your full orders already? And they’re for Saint Paul’s?”

“Well, no, I ain’t met the general yet.” Captain Presley conceded and shifted his weight from one foot to the other uneasily. “In fact all I’ve got is a letter of requisition for army transport, Mr. Clemens, I wouldn’t bank on no great adventure. Aww hell what, what do you know?” something seemed to dawn on the Captain and he pressed Clemens with all his attention centered on him, “Come now sir, it’ll only serve to aid me in preparin’ and get you that damn signature. I ain’t givin’ it until you tell me, even a suspicion of what you’re thinkin’ will do. I needn’t tell you how easily the army will throw you off the transport without my backing.”

Mr. Clemens just smiled placidly and beckoned him closer which the captain complied with and the two men, about evenly matched in their height put their heads together and he spoke lowly, “You heard about anythin’ a’stirrin in the Dakotas, Captain?”

“I’ve heard there’s been unrest.”

“Heap of unrest to require so many soldiers, hmm?” Clemens pointed out.

“That thought had occurred to me. Whole lotta fuss, what is it you know?”

“I was down at the Amy headquarters before last night's gala,” Mr. Clemens reminisced and if he had been just another loquacious story teller Elvis would cut him off but as it was he held his peace, “and what I saw there was a sweet little telegraph operator takin’ down a message and sobbing over it. And when I offered her my handkerchief I was let in on the information that she couldn’t believe that “he” was dead.”

“Who the hell is he?” Elvis growled.

“Well, see, that takes some puzzling together,” Clemens admitted, “and my conclusion may yet be faulty but what I do know is I heard her weeping of gallantry and golden curls and custard.”

Elvis squinted for half a second before his eyebrow raised in shrewd surmising and Clemens nodded significantly. “You think the natives got General Custer?” he said.

“Fits the description.” Clemens could not be made to state an outright opinion he did not hold outright, “And it would warrant a reinforcing presence in the territories such as we’ve seen flood this city from eastern train cars in the last twenty four hours.”

“Goddamn.”

“Indeed.”

“Still don’t mean I gotta go west.”

“Hmm, no, don’t gotta mean it.”

“Aw hell.” Elvis pinched the bridge of his nose as the likelihood settled and tried to quiet his thoughts. “Goddamn it all to hell.” he repeated again and Clemens nodded in commiseration before looking a little callously hopeful. “Yes, yes you’ll get your signature.” Elvis grumbled before turning to the opening doors out of which the judge and Mr. Moore issued forth.

“Oh, EP, you’re here, good.” Mr. Moore gave a smile of relief at his friend’s timeliness and Rosey noticed the way Mr. Clemens abruptly stepped back from their circle and sat himself down again, as if eager to be forgotten in the bustle of the judge taking his seat and Moore dumping various documents out on the desk like an orderly belching of paper from his briefcase.

“Right, we’ve multiple articles and statements here that have been notarized.” The judge took his seat and called to order the tiny group with a backwater lack of discretion in the volume of his voice, “Now just needing your signature, Captain. More importantly though, I heard there was to be a marriage. I see no woman.”

Captain Presley’s smile was brittle with nervousness and he glanced first at Rosey by his side and then over to Mr Clemens as if gauging wether that fellow was far enough away for the echoes to distort their private business. “She’s right here, your honor,” he patted his grips shoulder as he spoke in a whisper, “didn’t wanna attract attention comin’ in, ya see so-“

“Take your hat off.” The judge barked and Rosey doffed the floppy brimmed haberdashery with scared alacrity while the judge eyed her up and down dubiously. “Name?” and he consulted the paper Mr. Moore had previously provided.

Rosey panicked a little, looking at him in some fretful concern as to which he gave. “I-“

“Miss Beaumont-“ Binder prodded helpfully and she realized with some relief that Elvis didn’t want to marry Savannah, he wanted to marry her, and his entire belittling of this evening's events suddenly felt a little less harsh. Savannah would be marrying today, not her.

“Savannah Hortencia Beaumont.” she recited politely.

“That’s not what this paper says.” The Judge stared down at the parchment Scotty had provided even as that worthy fellow winced.

“If-if we’re gonna have this legal and all-“ Mr. Moore began and with the Captain’s exasperated grunt came to a finish, “then it will need to be in her right name. No one’s going to see it anyway unless this whole plan goes to hell in which case they’ll know her anyway. And it’s best her funds not get frozen for impersonation.”

The Judge listened to this dubious legal council with bored disnintetest that Jerry was certain had been paid for. Generously. Mr. Binder held his breath for fear he’d ask it himself despite his business sense that told him to remain quiet.

“Right right, your real name then, Cricket.” Elvis decided with a gentle pat to her back.

“Yes, certainly, uh, I-“ it had been absolute ages since she had so much as thought of her real name, having woken up every morning for the last decade reciting a personhood to herself in the mirror that was entirely false until it became true. The judge was waiting, eyes intently glaring at her overtop the document, “Lorena Marie Hodgkins.” she confessed in a small voice.

“Lorena?” Captain Presley objected to the name vehemently by volume alone, “Whadda ya mean by that? Your name’s Lorrie! Only name you ‘ever been called ‘cept for what I gave ya.”

“That was a shortening,” She swallowed hard, “shortened from Lorena.”

“I’ll be damned-“ he swore, “you ‘ever been called by a real name in all your life?”

“My father was fond of calling me Lorena.” she answered coldly and he felt that stirring in his belly to tuck her safely into his pocket for all eternity. Instead he nodded to the judge to get on with it while craning his neck behind him to address Mr. Clemens:

“I said I’d sign the thing for ya.” he reminded the fellow, in great impatience not to have an actual reporter witness his faux marriage contract.

“Most kind of you,” the older gentleman acknowledged in a loud voice from his distance a few seats down from the desk, “I’ll bring it to you when the notary is done.”

“Ah.” The captain smiled easily at his excuse before turning back to the desk with a mumbled “Shit.” that Rosey soothed away with a squeeze of his thigh beneath the desk.

The documents for this agreement, arrangement, trade, convenenant, whatever the hell this marriage was, remained quite stark. Before being allowed to sign it, the Judge asked with mumbling disinterest if the Captain would take her for wife and getting a hissed “yes” proceeded to ask if the woman would take him for a husband and getting a wobbly “yes” scanned his eyes across a few more qualifications for marriage and asked if anyone here knew a reason why they should not be wedded.

Crowding behind them at the desk Mr. Moore sniffled and shook his head while Jerry admanely grunted “nope.” Mr. Clemens discreetly pretended to be too far removed to overhear any of the proceedings.

“You swear to invest her with all your worldly goods?” the judge ticked the box with his quil before Elvis had even replied but it was just as well, the Captain never wavered and Rosey found herself oddly grateful for that.

“I do.”

“Are there any other vows you would like to incorporate?” The magistrate droned in such a way as to suggest he didn’t want to hear more but Elvis had paid good money for his little debacle and the notion of Mr. Clemens being right and a trip to the edge of the known world imminent made a fella start to think.

“Maybe add a lil honor and obey.” he decided and coulda sworn he heard Jerry snicker crudely behind him.

Rosey stared at him with an expression of arch disbelief but when asked if she promised to honor and obey huffed out “I do.” quite readily.

“If that is all then I pronounce-“

“I have an addition.” she piped up sweetly and Elvis’ neck popped in his sudden motion to stare at her in return.

“I already promised ‘all my worldly goods I thee endow’, and all that shit!” he reminded.

“You had me swearing two vows.” she reasoned very steadily and Mr. Clemens would have likened her to a seasoned fishmonger haggling a price at market -if he had been listening in, which he wasn’t. Of course he wasn’t. “Honor and obey.” she pressed on, “I have worldly goods but what else?”

“I-I-“ Elvis floundered trying to recall any damning specifics of genuine marriage vows before shrugging, “-alright, add what ya like.”

“With my body I thee worship.” she requested demurely of the judge, who, for the first time during this entire proceeding, showed some sliver of interest.

Peering over his spectacles at a blushing Captain the judge asked dully, “Do you Elvis Aaron Presley vow to worship your bride with your body and all your worldly good endow her with?”

“I do.” tumbled out of his spit wet lips as he stared back at her, calculation and business quite forgotten at the prospect he’d just contractually promised her the ownership of his flesh and blood. Strangely, despite her awakened and ravening appetite, he felt safer than he ever had before in all his life.

“In that case,” the judge groaned, “no objection having been raised and the persons here qualified and willing to bind themselves thus, I pronounce you man and wife.”

The happy couple remained sat with not a trace of change in their features, and finding no kiss forthcoming, the judge proceeded to unearth the next document from the pile. The next hour was spent divvying up assets and insurance policies and signing retainers for the waterway commission, signing for Mr. Clemens and putting in an order to wire money. And Rosey sat through it with straight backed deference, newly minted as Mrs. Presley with both his ring digging into the hollow of her throat and the bindings biting into her chest.

Once aboard there was still no break to be had. Mr. Moore was to leave by the midnight train and the last hours of the night were spent huddled over Jerry’s desk plotting provisions for Vernon’s trial while Jerry himself oversaw the deafening racket below of knocking down the stable walls.

The light on the desk was blazing brightly but the rest of the room was pitch dark and Rosey saw Elvis keep putting on his glasses and taking them off as if his headache were permanent. Rosey found herself breathing shallow as the bindings cut her flesh the longer she’d stayed in them and she thought Mr. Moore was inordinately frazzled with the details of bail and habeas corpus.

“Elvis!- it’s Judge Weston!” Scotty pressed for the fourth time that night as if who was presiding over Vernon’s trial held greater weight than just -that.

“That supposed to mean somethin’ to me?” Elvis finally asked the question Rosey harbored.

“Yes!” Scotty spluttered, seemingly bamboozled by Elvis’ placidity, “If the Colonel can’t get that one to relent then we’re toast! I suppose blackmail’s got a ten year expiration in the judicial realm.”

“Any idea what the Colonel’s got on him?” Elvis inquired, pinching his lip between his fingers, “Binder was askin and I couldn’t guess.”

“Y-y-you’re -you’re kidding aren’t you?” Scotty faltered and paled to such a degree Rosey got the swooping feeling he wasn’t being prudish in his fluster, “Stop kiddin about it E, I can’t take it. Stop kiddin about all of it.”

“The hell you on about?” the Captain asked angrily and with an edge of demand in his voice, “You’re always shrinkin’ and fussin’ over past shit -and for the life of me I can’t see why you don’t move the hell on! Come on, man! let it go!” his tone turned pleading, and he even reached his hand across the table with its papers and fountain pins and weights, clasping Scotty’s where it lay innervated. “What’s this got to do with the Judge? Come on Scotty, grow some balls and talk to me.”

“H-have you really forgotten?” Scotty let out in a horrified whisper.

“Mr Moore, I’ll thank ya to start talkin in full, or else hush up.”

Scotty’s eyes were wide as saucers and shimmering so startlingly in the feeble gaslamp light he looked possessed, and his frame and hand began to shake beneath his friend’s. He opened his mouth a few times and shut it repeatedly, finally in a very grave voice he began, “I hadn’t imagined for a single moment that you might not recall the events that lead to- not understand my animosity against Parker-“

“-don’t bring him up again, I asked ya about Weston-“

“-I thought we’d just agreed not to-to speak of it.” His eyes darted from Elvis’ aggravated face to yours, “And if it’s to come out, I think perhaps, perhaps it would be best if we were alone for it, E.”

“Scotty,” Elvis' voice was so steady and commanding it startled her when it disturbed the hush of the room, “either you can unburden yourself or ya can help me with the judge, and if those two things go together for whatever reason, then let’s have it out. Come on man, Rosey’s no stranger to judicial corruption.” and he laughed as he patted his new wife on the back.

“God, E-“ Scotty began to rip at his cravat as if in dire need of more air, “please, uh, trust me this ain’t for a lady’s ears.”

“Rosey’s got a right to know my business.” He replied simply.

“All of it?” Scotty implied and suddenly Elvis seemed to catch the drift she had already noticed underlying Mr Moore’s discomfiture.

“Scotty, what the hell you on about?” he asked urgently, his chair screeching as he jerked and leaned forward.

“You don’t recall any dealings with Judge Weston?” Scotty asked, and if a corpse had a voice it would sound no less hollow.

“None.” Elvis cried, “Look, you remember I got sick and I don’t remember much of anything from that last week in Memphis.”

“And ya never bothered to ask?” Scotty cried despairingly.

“Colonel told me we cut some good deals,” Elvis insisted, “and it was obvious we did! We had a boat by the end of it and a reprieve. Terms were that I couldn’t set foot in Memphis. Which was a bitter condition, I admit, but considering what we were up against…and that’s why I haven’t come to see ya, man, I ain’t allowed there.”

“You didn’t get sick, Elvis.” Scotty said simply, his whole face slack with grief, “Or, no more than we all were from hunger and the cold.” he amended.

“You gonna tell me?” Elvis asked, leaning forward even more and clasping both hands to Scotty’s, nearly tipping out his own chair. “You gotta tell me what I’m up against, man, c’mon. Gives you more grief than it does me to dwell on it, just a clean cut, say it and be done.”

“Alright, alright uh…” Scotty gripped his hand and looked up to the ceiling for either devine help or a less distracting spur to his memories than Elvis’ intense gaze. “You remember goin to a dinner party at that fella’s place?”

“What fella?”

“The judge.”

“Judge Weston?”

“Yes, dammnit yes, Weston.”

“Vaguely.” Elvis replied, shortly, “I recall feelin sicker than a dog all evenin, no matter what you say that i weren’t any worse than y’all.”

“Oh you were worse!” Scotty gave a trembling laugh of pure nervousness, “That evening you were worse, i couldn’t make sense of it, till Bill told me Colonel had gotten Ada to give ya somethin to loosen ya up -you weren’t sleepin much then, you recall that? Yeah, well so he’d given ya somethin and you were loopy, and I couldn't figure why he’d risk you lollin’ around in your chair at a Judge’s dinner party where you were meant to plead your case. -You weren’t bein intolerable!” Scotty assured him as he could see Elvis began to look wary, “You were just, out of it and and and actin like your brains got wiped, turned ya into a child. Made ya real docile which was probably the point to prove you weren’t no murderer but-. Oh god.” Moore snatched his hand away from the Captain’s comforting grip and hid his face, as if he needed to block out his small audience to keep going.

“Go on, man, go on.” Elvis commanded him and out of instinct, sensing a coming horror, Rosey laid her little hand on his lower back, rubbing soothing circles into the space where his vest rode up from his trousers.

“The invitation had stated a late time for dinner.” Scotty remarked, “I remember balking over who ate their supper at half past ten at night. Parker told me that Judge’s did, since the rest of their day was taken up with the common welfare. Parker always had an answer to every one of my protests, every one, but to this day I never have gone to another judge’s house for an intimate dinner that close to midnight.”

Sweat was gathering in the dip of Elvis' back, she could feel it beneath his shirt and she herself felt as if she dared not breathe until Scotty finished this faintly worrisome narrative of unremarkable happenings.

“God forgive me, I got sick of the chatter and the deals and the way they were talking about bribes and shit at a Judge’s table.” Scotty moaned into his hands, behind him the inky black darkness of the room suddenly seemed sinister to you, “Made me sick and I got all- you know how I get- got all self righteous about it and said I had enough and told the judge he was a disgrace to justice and-and he told me to get outta his house and I said I would, happily. And I got up, I got up and I left. I went back to our lodging above the tavern. Bill was out, he’d been lodging above the stables most nights anyway.” Scotty let out a long groan into his hands before taking them away from his face, the solitary lamp casting it in a tear streaked demented orange glow, “I left E! I swear I asked if you were comin and you said yeah and then the Colonel told ya to sit yourself down, that this wasn’t over. And you obeyed meek as a child and…and fed up I left. -I left you there.”

Elvis’ leg was jimmying so hard beneath the table at this point that the ink pots were sloshing from it. “Scotty, I need ya ya tell me what you know.” he said, deathly calm.

“I don’t know what happened!” Scotty gave a scream, gratefully tempered by his snot hoarse throat. “But what I do know is-by dawn you weren’t back, and I went downstairs to find you and Parker and was just in time to meet a hackney coach pulling up to the curb and one of the Judge’s lackeys unloaded you into my arms like a wet sack of grain.” he met Elvis eyes then, anger giving him fuel to conquer shame or grief, “I shoulda taken you to hospital, I shoulda waved down that hackney coach down again the minute I saw the state you were in and I shoulda charged the Judge for the drive to a doctor. But I couldn’t do that, could I?” he yelled, “Cause if I had, then you’d not only be half dead, you’d be imprisoned for the cause of your wounds.” Unnerving as Elvis’ motionless acceptance of this speech was it gave Mr Moore the freedom to conclude, “So,” his voice had lost its venom and gone soft and sad again, “so I spent that morning cleaning blood and filth from you and when Parker cared to come check on his merchandise he had the audacity to act as if he was appalled and scandalized by the Judge’s —behavior. And he promised you that you’d be taken care of, never have to take it like that again, that you had earned your pardons. In hindsight i see he played you like a goddamn fiddle and I- forgive me but I was so young and stupid and angry at it all. When you shoved me away and took to huddlin under his wing, I shouldn’t have blamed ya, you were drugged and wrecked and not thinking straight but I- I was worn out too, E. You wouldn’t listen to me when I told ya he’d sold you, and I didn’t have the fight in me to try to keep ya from him when you didn’t wanna be kept away. I thought you knew he’d traded you that night, and I thought you didn’t care, that I’d really lost ya, that you’d lost yourself tryin to get us home. So I left ya, to follow your own road. You didn’t need me anyhow, Parker got ya Dr Nick who’s fuckin potions could do more than me holdin ya and- and you got your riverboat. Now you’re the envy of the Mississippi, so it ain’t no sob story.” he puffed out a snotty breath as if he’d just put down a burden he’d been hauling for years. Rosey knew that feeling intimately.

They both were nervous to look to Elvis but when she did it was as if he had heard nothing of this, or that it was of no consequence, so still was his expression. Like a rattled veteran who can’t be roused from stupor after battle, finding some peace in a dimension undetectable to the rest.

“Say something, E, for god’s sake, say you forgive me for leavin ya.” Scotty began to blabber and she aimed a vicious kick at his shin under the table.

“This isn’t about you, Mr Moore.” Rosey hissed but not even her venomous rebuke could rouse Elvis from his inspection of the table's grained surface.

“Do you really not recall any of it?” Mr Moore switched his avenue of lamentation, unable to be quiet under the weight of guilt that all this time his snide remarks about Elvis being without principles had been directed at a friend who never knew he had once been robbed of them. “You’d swore to me that once we got to Memphis you wouldn’t take to it again, no matter how bad it got and then- oh god, I thought, I thought you changed your mind, thought that’s why you got so mad at me for bringing it up after and- I had to unlace ya outuvva Goddamn corset, E!”

“Mr Moore!” she seethed and he shut his mouth mechanically at the way Elvis’ stormy eyes suggested he was indeed beginning to recall some of it at long last. His hand left the table and fluttered to his stomach in that way she recognized at trying to quell some sick.

Elvis rose abruptly, knocking her hand from its place on his back and went to the side table, rummaging in the dark space before pouring a glass of water shakily, his face turned from the table. “Scotty,” he said in a neutral tone, “Mr Binder is headed to Memphis to investigate these suspected judges, the ones taking bribes and such,” he gave a long pause as the ambiguous “such” now had a brutal, personal definition, “is there any chance that such investigations might…backfire?”

“What do you mean?” Mr Moore asked, his whole bearing so exhausted from the ordeal of confessing.

“I mean is there reason to believe there’s any -evidence…that would tie him to me, besides money, of course. The money proof is there, Binder knows that.”

“Well I-“ Mr. Moore floundered until Elvis turned back around and looked at him with commanding expectancy, “I can’t imagine there would be? Unless the driver…I’m sure those house servants are used to being discreet about such things. I can’t say for certain but- he wouldn’t risk any evidence and, it’s not like the check would read-“ he trailed off.

Elvis had the demented bravery to laugh. “To Mr. Elvis Presley,” he mimicked the motions of writing a check, “for the usage of his a-“

“Don’t don’t don’t don’t don’t!” Scotty cried hoarsely, “-it was a crime! Elvis! A crime against you and God Almighty!” Scotty broke down in tears brought on by guilt and frustration.

“I know!” Elvis screamed right back and threw the now empty glass right past their heads in emphasis, shattering it against the opposite wall. “You’re actin’ like it was you got passed around by a man you trusted.” he spit, “You’ve sat on this story like a goddamn prude cause you can’t so much as talk about these things without whinin and now you’re asking me to what -what do you want me to do to make you feel better about me finally knowing, hmmm? Cry? Kill myself? What would be a reaction that would make you feel better, Scotty Moore? What do any of you folks want me to do to make ya feel heard?”

As if this wild tirade of hurt and accusations had finally burned him out, Rosey saw the Captain’s tall form sway and he clutched at the side board, the tray which held the glasses and decanter sliding from his blind clutch and crashing to the floor. She was by him in an instant, a hand on the back of his neck and her discarded hat in front of him as he was sick, letting him crush her hand in his clammy one. He stayed leaning over the side board for a few moments, breathing raggedly and staring at the wall in front of him.

“Ya know this means he never meant for daddy to walk free.” was the first thing the Captain said after getting his voice back, addressing Scotty who was still sat behind him, weeping at the injustice of it all. “Colonel either has lost his grip entirely or won’t use it for this, he don’t want me to even have my own father.” and the next shudder through him was less a heaving of his stomach and more a sob. “Reckon this whole lil insurrection was perfectly timed.” he mumbled and leaned into her attentions as Rosey took off her own cravat and dabbed at his sweaty face. “While I’m gone Scotty,” he finally turned round to face his old friend and Scotty looked up with devoted eagerness, his face shimmering with tears in the gas lamp’s glow, “I’m gonna count on you to see they don’t just eliminate my daddy, ya hear? I’d rather it get out that I played lover to a judge than anything happen to him, do you hear me? Don’t spare my name, it’s lost already -Colonel’s gonna see to that. You just see to it justice is done for my daddy, alright? I’m countin’ on ya, Scotty! You’re like a bother to me.” And he wept himself.

Scotty was out of his chair and embracing him moments later, an angry sort of affection that wishes time could be gotten back and ills erased, “Might not come to all that.” he muttered soothingly as he rocked the Captain like a child in his embrace, a steadying hand on the back of that glossy bowed head. Rosey had never seen the Captain so gently intimate with another man and there was a obvious history to this embrace, a well worn ritual of Scotty lying and shushing, and Elvis believing just long enough to get the wind back in his sails. It made her eyes burn.

“You know it will.” Elvus muttered back into Scotty’s neck and got his head patted more fervently for it.

“I’ll be here for ya this time.” Scotty swore, and got the breath squeezed out of him by Elvis’ arms again.

“I’m going to sleep.” Elvis announced after pulling away, his eyes downcast and the shadow of his lashes heavy on his cheeks from the gloom, “God speed ya, man.” He commissioned his friend with a kiss to the cheek before a solitary finger snagged Rosey’s wrist and tugged her towards the doorway, “Jerry’s got orders to see ya to the train.”

They did not return to their room, for it was no longer their room, and when he took her down, ever downwards, into the bowels of his little kingdom and opened first one door that held a sleeping Charlie and Cal then a next, she felt it fitting that their first night ended somewhere new. A squalid little honeymoon, even if there were to be no intimacy. He creaked open the next door, slightly farther removed from the main stable area by the harness racks and grain storage, and in it she saw that it had a singular cot of dubious plushness, next to that a washstand, a mirror above that and a rickety chair shoved in a corner that it really couldn’t afford to take up as the door only opened half way with its bulk blocking it.

The room was wooden bare and stark of beauty but he was right, she was no fine lady.

Their goods already piled on the chair and heaped on what little floor space they had, no sooner had he kicked the door shut behind then than he dropped her hand to begin rummaging through one of the trunks.

She watched him attentively as she began to shuck her masculine layers, not even her worry for the state of his mind able to take her own off the searing bite of the bindings anymore. He was pulling out little bottles from a chest and when he caught sight of her expression he assured, not without kindness,

“Jus’ herbs baby.”

She heard him uncork then and the tink tink tink of drops hitting a spoon as she wrestled her shirt over her head.

By the time her vision was clear he was stripping too, his dose already taken and she helped steady him as they worked in silence, it felt oddly comfortable and she feared a misplaced condolence regarding his recent enlightenment might tip the balance unfavorably. So she held her tongue and helped him strip and kissed at his skin as they did. When they had succeeded in undressing him he thumbed at her mouth and placed a kiss there after a moment of thought.

“Ya need some water, girl, your lip’s chapped.” he said, and brought her a glass he must’ve filled with water from the washstand and used to take his tonic.

The water was terribly bitter and she grimaced. “These bindings are hurting me.” she managed to mutter even as the world suddenly got very hazy and her own feet seemed to stumble towards him. He caught her and sat her on the edge of the bed and propped her up against his leg as he worked to undo the knot with fretful urgency.

Round and round he unwound the cloth and at last she could suck in a full breath. It made her world foggier still, the wall wavering as she rested her cheek against his thigh and slumped, her tongue heavy in her mouth and that bitter tang cloying to the roof of her mouth.

Gently he tipped her into the bed and she fell back amongst the sheets naked as the day she was born and strangely uninhibited by that as his eyes burned up every inch of her. Her consciousness seemed to be fading and some tiny spark of panic helped swim to the surface, recalling that he had untrusted her with keeping them chaste. It seemed very hard to do with the world dim and her legs so heavy they spread of their own accord, a hot and slick mess of her insides seemingly spilling out. She felt spilled out on the sheets and it was bizarre and unsettling and so very natural all the same.

She heard him suck in a noisy breath of his own and lament, “God, what’ve I done to ya?”

And she very much thought the same -what have you done to my little head, Captain? it is spinning.

He was speaking of her breasts, however, which she could not see. But in the light of the swinging lantern above them he could see the welts and bruises that had already begun to show on her pale skin, the soft, vulnerable things accusing him cruelly with each angry mark. “Poor, poor things.” he muttered, his tongue heavy and the taste of the tonic bitter.

He lowered himself down to lay above her, gently, and pulling the sheet over them brought his mouth to her. First one breast, then the other, laving away the damage he’d caused and chasing out the bitterness of his mouth with the salty plushness of her skin. “Daddy’s sorry, daddy didn’t mean to hurt ya none, didn’t mean to at all, poor widdle fings….”

She could barely make out the words as he mumbled around mouthfuls of her flesh and his nuzzling sucks and kneading was strangely effective, she held his head to her just as Scotty had done, a soothing pressure to the back of his skull and anchored him to her as he rooted around, the sweet weight of him naked and pliant on top of her again -just as it should be she thought. His sideburns scratched her wet perked nipples and she hissed in delight, tugging at his hair to repeat the motion and his moan shook the whole length of her. She thought she managed to trap one of his thighs between her own and wiggled against it, but maybe not.

The cot was much too small, she realized suddenly, they had to be atop each other or else fall off. She held into him tighter and he nuzzled her contentedly, his own world going foggy.

They must be together or they would fall off, she kept thinking, but she didn’t know if she could hold him with the way her limbs were melting. Her mouth tasted so bitter.

What did you do to me, Captain? she wanted to ask but his mouth was sweet and warm and her breasts sore.

“I’m glad I’ve got you, Lorrie Darlin’.” she heard him whisper before she succumbed to the weight of his head on her breast and sank into dreamless rest.

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