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theteasetwrites · 3 years

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Thy Saints Surrounded

Chapter 1: Safe Harbor

❧ Pairing: Murphy MacManus x Reader ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: swearing, references to mafia, sexuality ❧ Word Count: 6.1k

❧ In This Chapter: In the late nineties in Boston, MA, you begin your volunteer work at the local college radio station, but a fellow DJ turns out to be a bit of a creep. In a chance encounter, you meet the MacManus brothers, who are anything but creeps.

❧ A/N: My first time writing for Murphy/The Boondock Saints! I'm very excited for this series. I've been wanting to do all kinds of Norman Reedus characters (because I love the guy), and why not write a whole ass series for one of his more well-known ones? I hope you guys enjoy this little introduction the Reader, Murphy, and the series as a whole. Btw, this series begins prior to the events of the first film, but continues into it.

“So, what do you think, (Y/N)?”

You faced your co-worker with wide eyes as her voice brought you back to reality. You seemed to always space out whenever she talked about her love life, which volleyed back and forth between different men whose names became a blurry collage of random syllables.

“Um… yeah, I mean…” You tried desperately to remember what she was talking about. The words “Kyle,” “theater,” and “blowjob” came back to the forefront of your mind. Or was it Kevin? Kenny? Kurtis? You always mixed up the names. “The guy seems… adventurous.”

You continued working on restocking the drink carriers below the counter, then moved on to to-go cups and cup sleeves.

Your co-worker, Shannon, leaned against the counter and continued her animated monologue.

“Yeah, I guess,” she said. “I just don’t know what to do, you know? I mean, here I am, with a guy I’ve been on two dates with, and he already wants me to suck him off? In public? During a Brad Pitt movie, no less. I mean, if it was any other movie maybe I’d consider, but I’d rather look at Brad Pitt’s ass as much as possible. That’s the only reason I wanted to see that stupid movie in the first place. Don’t get me wrong, Kyle’s cute and all, but he’s no Pitt.”

You smirked. “No one looks like Brad Pitt except Brad Pitt,” you said. “At least he wasn’t mad about it, though. Not like that other guy… um… Dan?”

Shannon laughed. “Dom. And yeah, he was a piece of shit. I’m telling you, (Y/N), never go down on a guy unless you know he’s willing to return the favor. I learned that the hard way.”

You threw your hands up defensively. “Hey, if I ever even get a date with a guy, I’ll let you know how it goes in that department, but until then it’s just me living vicariously through you and your… exploits.”

If there were ever two friends who were more dissimilar than you and Shannon, you’d be knocked from your place in the book of world records.

She was a real go-getter, Shannon. At least, with folks of the male persuasion.

You were both hired on around the same time at Killarney’s Café & Bakery in the working class neighborhood of South Boston, and you became pretty close after only a week or two of working together.

It was hard not to, though. You were essentially the only two steady employees, and business was always so slow you had nothing else to do but talk to each other.

Aside from a handful of regulars, there was a lot of competition with the pubs. Though they didn’t serve coffee or baked goods, they did have one thing on the menu you couldn’t provide: alcohol.

True to the stereotype, the Irish did, in fact, enjoy spending time at the pub, whether to drink or just to socialize. Being a primarily Irish neighborhood, South Boston’s pubs took a lot of your business.

Still, the young people seemed to like coming in, usually young professionals and university students, and they provided a good chunk of your income, as well as a few Irish-American elders who were more inclined to caffeine than alcohol as their vice.

All in all, you liked your job, and working with Shannon, whose propensity for casual dating always provided a source of entertainment.

She often recounted stories of her adventures on the Boston dating scene, and you were never one to judge. She enjoyed playing the field and not being tied down, and you could respect that. She knew what she wanted, and that was admirable.

You wished you could be more like that.

“So, what’s the story, morning glory?” She nudged you in your side. “Any luck?”

You presumed she meant with men, and that was always the same story, and it was never as interesting as hers.

“Well,” you sighed, now wiping down the counter with a sanitized rag, “no. Of course not.”

Shannon shook her head, then crossed the small café to begin closing the blinds, locking out the night view of the empty street. “What do you mean ‘of course not?’” She mimicked your dejected tone.

You shrugged. “I don’t know, it’s just… sometimes I think I’m gonna die a virgin.”

Shannon tilted her head and frowned at you. “Don’t say that. You’re only twenty-two. Besides, plenty of guys would date you, you’re just too shy.” You watched as she wiped down the tables. “You’ve got to put yourself out there more.”

You loved Shannon, you really did, but when she said things like that… it got your blood boiling.

There were times when you “put yourself out there.” You tried. You introduced yourself to guys whenever you felt attracted to them, and they always rejected you. Politely, of course, but it was rejection nonetheless.

Usually they said things like “you’re just not my type,” or “you’ll find someone,” and it always resulted in you going home and crying into your pillow. It was pathetic, you thought, how a woman in her early twenties had gone through college without even going on a date.

You’d never even kissed a guy. Though you told yourself it didn’t matter, that you were more concerned with developing meaningful friendships and focusing on yourself in your twenties, you were deeply ashamed of that.

It always came to you blaming yourself, insisting that there was something wrong with you.

Not pretty enough.

Not thin enough.

Not smart enough.

Too tall, or too short.

Too quiet, and too talkative when you did talk.

There was always something, and it was always you. Never them.

“Shannon,” you said, your voice audibly exasperated, “I’ve tried. Guys don’t like me. I’m guy-repellent. I've come to the conclusion that it’s not gonna happen, and if it does it does. I’m not gonna force it. If I die a virgin, so be it. At least I’ll get into Heaven.” You raised your hand and loosely gestured to the ceiling.

Shannon laughed. “You saying I won’t get into Heaven? I’m more Catholic than you, miss high and mighty.”

“No,” you said. “Just kidding, Mary Magdalene.”

When the nightly duties of closing the café were complete, you and Shannon walked together as long as you could before splitting up.

You didn’t live too far away, only a few blocks, but the walk was always a source of anxiety for you.

The neighborhood wasn’t horrible, but there was a lot of mob activity, you suspected. It became clear to you not long after you moved in a year ago. There were groups of men who would walk around in fancy clothing that made them stand out from the working class neighborhood. They always seemed to be on a mission, you assumed extorting money or the like, and everyone seemed afraid to even cross the path.

It became even more clear when reports of mob-related murders and other assorted crimes were popping up on the news at the same rate of babies being born.

Sometimes, you were more frightened of the mob than of petty criminals. At least they weren’t so… organized.

Luckily, you never had any run-ins with them, as far as you knew. There were a few different factions running around your neighborhood, namely the Italians and the Russians. They seemed to have some kind of rivalry from what you heard, and you were intent on staying out of that. If the scrupulous bastards wiped each other out, it was no skin off your back.

When you did make it home, you sighed in relief as you dropped your keys in the bowl on the divider separating your living room from the kitchen.

It was an old studio apartment, built sometime in the sixties and not updated since. Still, you made it your own.

Entering your bedroom, you immediately peeled off your clothes and threw on your pajamas, which consisted of a nightshirt two sizes too big for you.

After a lackluster teeth brushing and a quick pet for your cat, Mimsy, you fell asleep not long after you hit the pillow.

Work always wore you out, and you had no energy to lie down and think like you usually did. Overthink was a better word. There was always something to overthink about, and it usually involved your life or where you were going.

Communications major. You probably should have listened to everyone who said it wouldn’t get you anywhere. Though, you wanted to be a radio DJ, and although you didn’t need a bachelors degree for that, it couldn’t hurt.

Tomorrow, you’d have your first gig at WMFO, the local free form radio station. You had spent enough time volunteering around the station that you could have your own show. Every Wednesday from 4-5am. Not a great slot, and you’d only get about five hours of sleep, but worth it for the experience.

You arrived by taxi around 3:15.

You knew the place pretty well, on account of spending months there doing whatever you could around the station to get in their good graces.

After punching in the door code, you accessed the studio, and you quietly entered so as not to disturb the current DJ.

“Morning,” he greeted you, leaning back on his chair with his hands behind his head. All the while, the underground hip hop music he was playing reverberated from the studio speakers. “Are you one of the new DJs?”

You turned and smiled. “Um, yeah. I’m (Y/N).”

“Tony,” he replied. “Nice to meet you… you got a DJ name?”

You sighed. You were still trying to come up with one. “Not yet. I’m terrible with that kind of thing.”

He shrugged. “Don’t matter. Just go with the flow, you know? Shit, I’m Tony Two-Tone. You don’t gotta be creative.”

You could tell by his accent that he was Italian-American, and you wouldn’t be surprised if he lived in South Boston, too.

“How long you been a DJ?” you asked. It couldn’t hurt to make friends.

“Two years,” he said. “Still doin’ this slot, though. Coulda gotten a better one, but I kinda like the graveyard. And ya can play the dirty stuff. Safe harbor, ya know.”

You nodded. “Yeah, FCC out for the count for a few hours. Good for… what kind of music is this?”

You were horribly uncultured when it came to hip hop, or whatever Tony would call it.

He shrugged. “Whatever you want it to be, baby.” He smirked at you sleazily.

Oh, you thought. Of course.

Though you were a virgin, it wasn’t that you didn’t get male attention. You occasionally did, and it was always from less than polite men.

In other words, creeps.

You swallowed hard. “Uh, I’m gonna go back in the stacks… pull some records.”

You shuffled out of the studio awkwardly and made your way into a maze of shelves upon dusty shelves of music. It was always so overwhelming there. You were sure almost every album ever made was in that tiny room. It amazed you how much music could fit in such a compact space.

It took you twenty minutes to find everything you needed for your setlist you had scrawled out on a now crumpled piece of lined notebook paper.

The Smiths, Cocteau Twins, Sisters of Mercy, Wire, the Jesus and Mary Chain, Public Image, Ltd., Television, the Legendary Pink Dots, Concrete Blonde, Echo & the Bunnymen, the Gun Club… everything you needed for a post-punk wet dream.

Once you had everything picked out, it was almost time for your show to begin. You started arranging the records to cue them according to the setlist you had planned. There were three turntables set up by the board, so that the DJ could have ample time to cue each record while one played on air. Though you were a new DJ, you weren’t unaccustomed to this practice. All new DJ’s received the same training.

“So, you from around here?” Tony asked you as he slipped a CD into the deck.

You meticulously aligned the needle with the correct groove for your first song. “No,” you said absent-mindedly. “I’m from California.”

Tony’s eyes widened. “California girl, huh?”

You rolled your eyes. Everytime you told someone where you were from, you got the same reaction. Valley girl, Hollywood, shallow, uncultured, dumb… those were just some of the buzzwords associated with your ilk. You liked the people you met on the East coast since you moved there a year ago, but they had a certain preconceived notion about people from the West coast.

In all honesty, you didn’t care about where people came from. It had no bearing on your initial perception of them, and you were pretty sure you could say that for most Californians, too. If anything, the stereotype was that people from the East coast were less friendly. You didn’t necessarily find that to be true, but it was the only stereotype about them you knew of.

For you, a so-called “California girl,” however, stereotypes entered the conversation the minute you spoke the accursed name of your home state. Sure, there were aspects of California that fit the bill—you grew up with your fair share of “valley girls” and “surfer dudes,” and you had a tendency to say “like” occasionally, but you didn’t see yourself as any different from your fellow Bostonians.

“So, you an actress or somethin’?” Tony asked with a slight laugh. “‘Cause I swear I’ve seen you in somethin’...”

You scoffed. “Yeah, right,” you responded, leaning back on the desk and reading the inner sleeve of one of your chosen records. To Bring You My Love by PJ Harvey, one of your favorite albums from the last five years. Changed the game, in your opinion.

“Aw, come on… you were on Baywatch, right?”

Your eyes widened. You were always terrible with these kinds of conversations. You were assuming he was complimenting you, saying you looked like you could be among the likes of Pamela Anderson and David Hasselhoff, but you really couldn’t tell. The guy had a perpetual smugness to him, as if everything that came out of his mouth was an off-color joke.

“No,” you said, shaking your head with your eyes closed. “I was not on Baywatch. You done with your show yet?”

Tony turned around in his swivel chair and raised his headphones up to his ears, then switched on the microphone and spoke into it confidently. “Hey, that concludes the Two-Tone Show, I’ve been none other than Tony Two-Tone, and you’ve been listening to WMFO, the greatest freeform radio this side of the Mississippi. Coming up, we got a special treat for you: new girl, she ain’t got a DJ name yet so cut her some slack. She’s real cute, too. California style. I’m tellin’ ya, this girl looks like a movie star, and she’s comin’ up right after these ads. Catch ya on the flip side.”

He slid the microphone fader down, and switched on the prerecorded ad fader before moving it up. He turned back to you with a smile as he removed his headphones. “You’re all set,” he said.

You nodded. “Thanks,” you said, though you were still internally cringing at the introduction he gave you to your audience. When he left the studio, you’d have to inform them that you, in fact, did not look like a movie star.

However, Tony never left.

He insisted upon staying for the whole hour of your show, in case you “needed help” with the controls, or something like that.

The man was insufferable, constantly badgering you about the proper way to fade in and out between songs, and giving you unwarranted tips which didn’t seem to do much except make him look smarter, though you didn’t fall for it.

Though you supposed he had good intentions by staying to help you, he ended up just being a distraction. You messed up several times, forgetting to change the settings on the turntables from 33rpm to 45rpm, or accidentally putting the needle in the wrong groove and playing the incorrect song. Your first show was a disaster, as far as you were concerned, but Tony told you to pay it no mind.

“Hey, it’s only radio,” he said as he walked out of the station with you, opening the door for you with that insufferable smirk. “Everyone messes up their first time. You’ll get better at it the more you do it. ‘Sides, I think you did pretty good. Rusty, but good.”

You flashed him a fake smile, trying to increase your pace as you walked with him through the cool, dark early morning. “Yeah, well it was nice meeting you.”

Tony stopped and looked at you with a furrowed brow. “You’re goin’ home?”

You nodded, now confused yourself. “Um, yes.”

“Walking? Alone?”

Oh, great.

“Yeah… I guess.” Actually, you were planning on calling a cab once you finished your show, but Tony distracted you, and made you want to get out of that dusty studio and away from him as fast as possible. He reeked of insincere friendliness, as if he wanted something from you… expected something from you.

Tony laughed and shook his head. “Not happenin’. Let me drive you.”

To be fair, the walk from Medford to Boston would have been about two hours. There was no way you could make it and still have two feet that weren’t deformed. Though you didn’t want Tony knowing where you lived, it was better than walking for that long at 4am.

“Southie?” he asked, turning a corner as you gave him directions.

You nodded. “Yep.”

“Huh,” he laughed. “I live around here, too. Well, I got an apartment in South End. Close enough. My uncle does a lot of business around here.”

Of course he lived in South End. The guy drove a brand new 1998 Maserati for crying out loud.

You nodded. “Cool.” You weren’t actually too interested. You knew you probably should be nicer to the man, considering he agreed to drive you home, but you also didn’t entirely trust him, so you kept your conversations short.

Despite being nearly a block away from your apartment, you instructed Tony to drop you off. There was no way you were letting him see your actual apartment. “Thanks for the ride,” you said as you closed the door behind you and began to slowly walk from the car, hoping he’d pull out and not stick around to see you walk into one of the apartments that wasn’t yours.

“Hey,” he called out to you as he rolled the passenger side window down and leaned over the center console to speak to you. He reached into his glove compartment and pulled out a small notepad and pen, and began etching his phone number onto it. “Just in case you need another ride to the station or whatever. Or just wanna hang out, talk about Hollywood and stuff.”

You gave him your best fake smile. “Sure,” you said, then took the folded piece of paper from his hands and stuffed it into your coat pocket. “Bye.”

You hoped he didn’t expect you to give him your number too, but knowing your luck you’d see him again in the future anyway, so it wasn’t like he really needed it. “See ya around.”

Watching as he pulled his black sports car from the curb and drove down the street, you waited until you couldn’t hear the obnoxious sound of his souped up mufflers anymore to begin the short walk to your apartment.

Without incident, you made it to your second-story abode, and were immediately welcomed by your boisterous cat. She always seemed to have the most energy whenever you had the least of it.

“Hey, sweetheart,” you cooed to the little white cat, bestowing gentle pets on her soft back. She replied with a series of loud meows. “You’re talkative today, aren’t you?”

She meowed again. There was a strange banter between the two of you, as if you spoke each other’s language, though she obviously had no idea what you were saying. Nevertheless, she always replied with the utmost enthusiasm.

“Is that right?” you asked her, peeling off your jacket and nearly jumping out of your jeans to climb into bed. Mimsy followed you close behind, curling herself up against your stomach as you lay on your side. “Goodnight, Mim.”

Just three hours later, you came barreling in through the front door of the café, terrified that you were late. Usually, you came in at 6am to help get the baked goods ready. Today, you came in at the ungodly hour of 9am.

“Oh, God, I’m so sorry, Shannon,” you said frantically as you threw your coat on the rack and rounded the counter to put on your apron. “I had my show this morning… and—and I hardly got any sleep—”

Shannon grabbed you by the arms and shook her head with a smile. “Relax, weirdo. When was the last time Killarney even came in, huh?”

You looked at her with worried eyes for a moment, then relaxed as you processed what she said, slumping your shoulders and letting out a laugh. “Shit,” you sighed, running your fingers through your messy hair. “Sorry.”

Shannon let go of you and gestured to the mostly empty café. There were just a few regulars—Maureen, a sweet elderly woman; Gus, a middle-aged construction worker; and Rory, an old Irishman whose incredibly thick accent you never quite understood. You only knew he always ordered a black “caife.”

“It’s not like we’re busy,” she said.

You shook your head and rested your outstretched hand on the counter. “God, I’m tired… that time slot is gnarly.”

Shannon began counting the register. “How’d it go?”

You shrugged. “Okay, I guess. Messed up a lot.”

“Well, I’m sure that’s normal for a first time DJ.”

You sighed as you began putting your hair back into a messy ponytail, with strands spilling out every which way. Looking down, you noticed your lavender-colored dress was wrinkled, and your socks were mismatched. You must’ve looked a sight.

“Yeah, but it didn’t help this guy was bothering me the whole time.”

Shannon’s eyes widened. “Ooo,” she said with intrigue. “A guy?”

You raised your head and gave her a stern look. “No,” you simply said.

She made a mock pouty face. “Oh, come on, (Y/N). Was he at least cute?”

You began wiping down the counter. It was the only thing you could think to do on this incredibly slow morning. “I don’t know, not really my type.”

“Oh, and just what is your type, (Y/N)?”

“God, I don’t know… I couldn’t describe it in words. I just know he wasn’t it. He was the DJ before me, and he was kind of way too forward for my taste.” You wanted to say “creepy,” but you knew Shannon would question your assessment. “I did get his number, not that I wanted it.”

Shannon stepped away from the cash register dramatically, her eyes wide and her hands half-raised in excitement. “You got his number?! (Y/N), you bad bitch.”

You scoffed. “Like I said, I didn’t ask for it. He gave me a ride home, handed me the thing. I couldn’t say no.”

Shannon leaned against the counter. “So, you gonna call him or what?”

“No way,” you said, turning to the espresso machine to whip yourself up a latté. “He drove me nuts. Called me ‘baby,’ asked if I was on Baywatch. Mansplained to me for my entire show, too.”

Shannon tilted her head. “Well, maybe you just need to give him another chance. You never know.”

Sometimes, you swore Shannon gave men way too many chances. “Why don’t you go out with him?” you replied. “If you think he might be so great.”

Shannon scoffed, then smirked at you. “Fine, give me his number.”

You thought for a moment where you kept the paper, then turned on your heel to scurry over to the coat rack and search the pockets of your windbreaker for the little folded piece of notebook paper.

With the memo acquired, you sauntered back over to Shannon behind the counter, looking at her as you unfolded the paper. “Don’t look so smug,” you said, noticing her mischievous smirk. “If I didn’t like him, you definitely won’t.”

“We’ll see,” she replied, then held her hand out and folded her fingers back repeatedly in a “give me” gesture. “Hand it over.”

You held out the paper with a teasing look, then laughed as she grabbed the paper with enthusiasm. Opening the folded note, she furrowed her brow as she read the name on the paper with an odd sense of recognition.

“Tony Yakavetta?” Shannon asked, with a tone of disbelief in her voice. “You’re kidding, right?”

You moved behind Shannon to look over her shoulder at the paper. Sure enough, just above the etching of the man’s number was his name, clear as day: Tony Yakavetta.

You scoffed, then exchanged a serious look with Shannon. “No way. That’s gotta be a joke or something.”

Yakavetta was a renowned clan in Boston, responsible for a large portion of organized crime. Giuseppe Yakavetta, or “Papa Joe,” was the current leader of the Boston Italian mafia. In other words, anyone with the surname Yakavetta was probably someone you didn’t want to know (or did, depending on one’s scruples).

Shannon snorted. “Was he Italian?”

You shrugged. “I guess he sounded kind of Italian… drove a fancy car, too. Maserati.”

Shit. It all clicked for you now.

Fancy Italian sports car, Italian-American accent, lived in an expensive neighborhood, his uncle “worked” in Southie, the general assholishness he displayed… he had mob connections.

You rested your hands on your hips. “Great. I’m going to have to see a mafioso every Wednesday at three in the morning. Thank God I didn’t let him see where I live.”

“Oh, honey,” Shannon replied, “if he’s really a Yakavetta, and he wanted to know where you live, he’d already know.”

You pushed aside Shannon’s comment with a scoff, but the fact that a potential member of a mafia family knew even the general neighborhood you lived in scared the shit out of you. Especially since the guy seemed more interested in you than you did in him.

In any case, you quickly put it out of your mind, starting the day as you usually did by taking orders and making coffee. Your boss came in eventually, with an apparent hangover that resulted in his tardiness.

As usual, things were slow, and at one point in the late morning, you didn’t have any customers, and Shannon had gone in the back to restock, but one young man in a black peacoat came nearly running in through the glass doors, almost knocking over the coat rack in the process.

Your eyes widened as you looked up at the man, who was swiftly approaching the counter. “Do you have a restroom?” he asked. Not surprisingly for the neighborhood, he had a noticeable Irish accent.

“Um, yes but it’s for customers only,” you replied. You always hated that rule. Sometimes, when someone’s got to go, they got to go, but that was the rule. “Would you like to order something?”

He shook his head in frustration, then huffed as he turned to look out the window. “No, but my brother will... hey, Murph!” he yelled towards the front. You weren’t sure who he was talking to since there wasn’t anyone in front of the shop. He turned back to you. “He’ll be right in… can I use the bathroom, lass? It’s an emergency.”

You sighed. “Sure, to your left just around the corner.” You gestured to the restroom.

“Thanks,” he said with a smile.

That was one thing you could say about the Irish in your neighborhood—they were friendly. Probably some of the nicest people you met in Boston were the Irish. If he wanted to, he could’ve just used the bathroom without even asking you. It’d happened plenty of times before.

Though you were starting to wonder if the man was lying about having a brother who would come in and order. No one came in for a few more minutes, and the man was still using the restroom. He must’ve really needed it…

Then, as if by some kind of strange magic, another man, dressed in a similar black peacoat and sunglasses, appeared before your eyes. You didn’t even hear him come in as you took stock of the baked goods. It was only the sound of throat clearing that alerted you to his presence.

“Hi,” you said, a little caught off-guard at the sudden appearance of the stranger. He must’ve been the other man’s brother. They looked a bit alike. “What can I get for you?”

He peeled off his sunglasses, and blinked his eyes in quick succession as the delicate blue irises adjusted to the harsh fluorescent lighting. He rubbed his nose with his hand and sniffled, keeping his attention on the menu board behind you. “Uh, yeah,” he said, visibly a bit confused by the menu. He furrowed his brow and mouthed some words as he read them. “What’s a macchiato?”

You almost laughed at the foreign sounding word on the Irishman’s tongue. “It’s an espresso drink with a bit of foam.”

Still, the man seemed slightly confused, looking at you with blank eyes. He shook his head, trying to figure out what espresso even was. He usually only ordered a black coffee at sleazy diners. He’d never been someplace where there was such a variety of drinks, other than the pub, of course.

He shook his head and huffed, still analyzing the menu like it was an ancient text. “I’ll just have a coffee. Black, please.” His voice quivered a bit.

You nodded, punching in the order on the register. He rubbed the back of his neck a little, watching your fingers work on the buttons of the register.

“My brother came in here, right?” he asked, now looking straight at you.

You looked up from your register. “Mhm,” you replied. “I mean, I guess. He came in to use the restroom?”

The man, who you now assumed was called Murph, nodded as he pulled out his wallet from the back pocket of his light blue jeans. “Yeah, that must’ve been him.” He looked around a bit, his eyes scanning the place. “Never been in here… it’s nice.” He shakily handed you five one dollar bills.

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh, it’s only a dollar fifty.”

Murph’s eyes widened before looking down at the surplus of dollars in his hand. “Oh… keep the change.”

You smiled. “Thanks, sir.”

He quickly blurted out his name. “Murphy,” he said, then cleared his throat, realizing his eagerness. “Uh, my name’s Murphy.”

You fucking eegit, he thought. She doesn’t care about your name.

You shook your head a bit, slightly thrown off by the introduction of himself. Usually, customers didn’t tell you their name unless it was busy and you needed to call out their order. In any case, you’d always ask first.

“Thanks, Murphy. I’ll get that right out for you.”

You turned and began fetching his coffee. It was the easiest order on the menu, just a cup filled with local coffee beans put through a French press. In all honesty, you were a barista, but you hardly knew a thing about coffee, other than that it gave you the jitters.

Murphy nodded and stepped backward a few feet, keeping his eyes on you as they seemed glued there. He stumbled a bit into a chair, and then tried to casually sit himself down without making a big deal of it.

He couldn’t even believe he was there, that he was talking to you.

He made it a point to never come into this establishment because he saw you in the window several times before, but he couldn’t bring himself to come in and say anything to you.

The first time he saw you through the window as he passed by, he thought he saw the Venus de Milo wearing an apron and pouring a cup of coffee. Of course, this one had arms, and was much prettier.

That was about a year ago. In all that time, Murphy didn’t even think about another girl. Perhaps his crush developed far beyond what he ever intended, but he tried to mostly keep it to himself. Of course, however, his twin brother, Connor (the one inhabiting your bathroom right now), picked up on it pretty fast.

“Go in there and talk to her,” he’d say.

“Where are your balls at, Murph?”

“You can’t just stare at her all day.”

“Are you sure we’re related?”

When Connor came out a few moments after Murphy’s awkward encounter, he continued badgering him, albeit at a much lower volume, considering the “girl of his dreams” his brother so often talked about was only a matter of feet away.

“You talk to her?” Connor asked, whispering across the small bistro table to his brother.

“Shhh!” Murphy raised his finger to his lips and urged him to be quiet.

Connor tilted his head and made a face at Murphy. “Oh, come on, Murph. This yearning shit has got to stop. You would’ve never even come in here if it weren’t for me.”

Murphy glared at Connor. “What, you and your shitty digestive system?”

Connor laughed. “Quite literally.”

Their conversation was swiftly interrupted by your sudden presence at their table, carrying Murphy’s cup of steaming hot coffee on your serving tray. “All right,” you said, placing the drink on the table. “Here’s your black coffee.”

Murphy nodded. “Thanks, lass,” he said, hoping to God you wouldn’t mind the pet name that came so naturally to his still strong Irish dialect. He’d only been in Boston for a few years, after all.

You smiled, always slightly charmed by the Irish folk who came into the café. “Enjoy.”

The two brothers left about twenty minutes later, and you were astounded to see Murphy meticulously clean the table as much as he could, and even take his own cup back up to the counter for cleaning. He flashed you a nervous smile and a clumsy wave, and joined his brother, who was waiting outside for him impatiently.

“What was that all about?” Shannon asked, carrying a sheet of freshly-baked croissants from the kitchen.

You shrugged. “Just another day at the office.”

Shannon laughed as she set the pastries down, and you helped her unload them. “Well, it’s clear that the dark-haired one likes you.”

Your eyes widened. “Oh, really? And how would you know?”

She shrugged, a familiar mischievous smirk forming on her face as she continued to unload the croissants. “Maybe… I was watching.”

You elbowed her in the side. “Weirdo. And he’s not into me.”

Shannon let out an exaggerated “ha!”

“Oh my god, (Y/N). He was so nervous. And trust me, I know Irish guys.”

On account of being half Irish herself, and attending a predominantly Irish Catholic high school, she did, in fact, know Irish guys.

“And what are Irish guys like, hm?” you asked with a raised eyebrow, genuinely curious to hear Shannon’s wisdom.

“I can’t explain it,” she said. “You can just… tell. By the look in their eyes.”

Maybe you were missing something. You didn’t see any particular look in Murphy’s eyes, except maybe abject terror.

The thought seemed so strange to you. A guy like that, being interested in you?

You didn’t even get that good of a look at him, probably because you subconsciously knew he’d never even sneak a passing glance at a girl like you. It wasn’t that you were unattractive, it was just that no one had ever paid you that much attention.

Sure, occasionally there were guys like Tony or a catcaller, but that didn’t count to you. The idea that someone could genuinely like you? It just didn’t seem right. There was simply no way.

“So,” Shannon continued, jolting you from your self-deprecating thoughts, “what do you think?”

You sighed. You hated it when she asked you that. When it came to men, you didn’t even know what to think. However, you did have one thought that came to mind.

Knowing what you knew about customers and their habits, something told you this wouldn’t be the last time you saw the two quirky Irish brothers.

“I think we got ourselves some new regulars,” you said.

Thanks for reading! Likes, reblogs, and comments of any kind are always appreciated!

Series Masterlist Next Chapter ➳

#murphy macmanus fanfic #murphy macmanus #murphy macmanus x reader #the boondock saints #the boondock saints fanfic #thy saints surrounded series

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legendsoffodlan · 4 years

Text

Wild West AU (Yeehaw)

The town? Garreg Mach. A growing boomtown on the edge of the frontier. Life out here is tough, but the people are tougher. Between the sandstorms, the corrupt politicians and business moguls, and the weird magic shit going on behind the scenes, the people of Garreg Mach are gonna need all their wit and gumption to survive.

Golden Deer

Claude: A popular young lawyer, half Irish Immigrant and half Cheyenne Native American. Claude is well known as a bit of a celebrity about town, frequently challenging the government and protecting the rights of Native Americans and their claims to land. A bit ruthless and a lot charming, Claude is a leader among the townsfolk, particularly the poorer folk.

Hilda: While the Civil War ruined most southern folk, Hilda’s family made it rich by siding with the Union and fighting the Confederacy. Hilda, a southern belle who also happens to be as strong as an ox, came to Garreg Mach to get away from her overbearing brother. A rich girl, she frequently funds Claude’s efforts to protect Native and African American rights.

Lorenz: Born to an old-money New England family, Lorenz talks and acts like British nobility. He’s come to Garreg Mach to expand his family business, but he aims to do it the proper way, avoiding his father’s unsavory tactics. He pays all his employees a living wage, and insists on paid vacation and maternity leave. A reluctant ally of Claude, Lorenz truly has a heart of gold under the snobbery.

Marianne: Marianne's family worked on the Underground Railroad, shepherding slaves to freedom. That got them killed. Alone now, Marianne has come out west to try and get away from her past as the town doctor. But he inborn compassion proves too powerful for her, and she frequently finds herself fighting alongside Claude in his legal suits. She’s smart and she’s ind, but blames herself for her parents deaths.

Ignatz: The son of a merchant who hit it big during the Gold Rush, selling to miners, Ignatz has been sent out to the frontier to both expand his family business and try to make it big selling his art. Ignatz loves to paint murals upon the various buildings of Garreg Mach, bringing some much needed color and beauty to the town.

Leonie: A spitfire girl who was born and raised to ride ‘em, rope ‘em, and brand ‘em, Leonie is a cowgirl through and through. She’s been making a name for herself as a bounty hunter, bringing outlaws and the like to justice. She hates big business and “civilized softies”, but she’s got a place in her heart for her more “upper class” friends. She thinks this whole “Manifest Destiny” thing is stupid and works with Claude against heedless expansion.

Raphael: The son of Scottish immigrants, Raphael’s a big guy with a big heart and an even bigger appetite. With a sick grandpa and a little sister to look after, Raphael makes his money working as the local blacksmith and occasional head-thumper at the bar when fellas get too fresh with the dancing girls. He does his best to keep the town honest and he’s more than willing to throw down against any corrupt old men looking to take over his home.

Lysithea: Smart as a whip and just as stinging, Lysithea is a genius chemist and scientist. Diagnosed with a nasty disease early on in her life, she’s determined to make the most of the time she’s got. She bought herself an old farm which she’s converted into a “science paradise”, Lysithea is determined to make as many breakthroughs as possible, making money to leave her parents comfortable. Much to her chagrin, she finds herself sucked into Claude’s legal fights

Blue Lions

Dimitri: Dimitri was a boy, son of wealthy Russian immigrants, when he enlisted in the Civil War. Now traumatized and trying to move, he’s come out West to find a better life. But his wish for a quiet existence seems to be for naught, as he finds himself made Sheriff of Garreg Mach and charged with fighting criminals and the corrupt. Hoping that protecting the living will silence the screams of the dead in his head, Dimitri is determined to protect his people, no matter what form the threat takes.

Dedue: The son of an escaped slave, he and Dimitri met during the Civil War. Hoping to liberate the rest of his family, Dedue found that the slaves of the plantation his mother had fled from had been butchered by their master, whom Dedue and Dimitri killed in revenge. Disillusioned, Dedue now leads many former slaves here in Garreg Mach, helping them find their footing as farmers and ranchers. A part-time deputy for Dimitri, Dedue will let nothing stand in his way of fighting for a better future for his people.

Ingrid: A girl who disguised herself as a man to fight in the war, Ingrid is firecly loyal to Dimitri as his full-time deputy. A powerful voice of compassion and justice, Ingrid is a devotedly “by the book” woman. She’s been softened to new ideas by many of the folk in Garreg Mach, but she remains decidedly stubborn towards change. Nonetheless, you’ll never find a more devoted and steadfast soldier than Ingrid.

Sylvain: The local lothario and heartbreaker, Sylvain is the self-proclaimed “good for nothing” son of a wealthy rancher. Despite this, his kind heart frequently triumphs over his self-loathing and he stands as a permanent friend of Dimitri and enemy of the forces seeking to ruin Garreg Mach. A surprisingly good quickdraw, Sylvain also fights alongside Dedue for the rights of the African Americans in Garreg Mach.

Mercedes: The daughter of slave-owners, Mercedes ran away from that life, unwillingly leaving her brother behind. Working first on the Underground Railroad, and then as a medic during the war, Mercedes has come to Garreg Mach to devote her life to the Goddess and the less fortunate. A permanent fixture of compassion and healing, Mercedes is beloved by the everyone for her willingness to heal and work with everyone no matter their race, religion, or nationality.

Felix: The son of New England wealth, Felix is the fastest gun in the west and one of the best bounty hunters to boot. Sickened by civilization by the horrors he experienced in the war, Felix is determined to make his own way in the world as a running gun and part-time vigilante. Despite his “lone wolf” status, Felix finds himself frequently coming back to Garreg Mach and the friends he’s made there, frequently ridding with Sheriff Dimitri, grumbling all the way.

Annette: The local schoolteacher and historian, Annette is a slightly flighty girl who loves her friends, her charges, and books. Always trying her hardest, Annette is behind several charities trying to take care of veterans and former slaves, working closely with Dimitri and Dedue towards that end. She’s also a part-time singer at the local saloon, much to the town’s scandal.

Ashe: A former thief, then the adopted son of a Southern Abolitionist, Ashe lost everything during the war. Gathering up the remains of his adopted and blood-related family, he now seeks to build a new life for them in Garreg Mach. Despite trying to stay out of trouble, his strong sense of fairness and compassion frequently suck him into problems that are not his own, fighting for the weak and downtrodden. He’s one of the few people who can sometimes outdraw Felix.

Black Eagles

Edelgard: The mayor of Garreg Mach, Edelgard was the daughter of a powerful plantation owner before she gunned her father down and rallied her friends to take up arms against the Confederacy. Now she fights for the rights of the poor and oppressed as Mayor with the same ferocity and single-mindedness that she fought in the war. She frequently butts heads with Claude and Dimitri over methods, but she is determined to create a better future, and damn anyone who gets in her way.

Hubert: Edelgard’s closest friend and bodyguard, Hubert is also a chemist and mathematician, using his deadly intellect to devastating results. While absolutely devoted to Edelgard, Hubert is also determined to make a better future through whatever means necessary, no matter how unsavory they might be. There are rumors about what happened to Hubert’s father during the war, but nothing that could be proven.

Petra: The daughter of a Lakota Native American Chief, Petra is determined to make a better future for her tribe and fights for their rights at every turn. As such she works frequently with Claude and Edelgard to secure the rights of the Lakota. As deadly as she is beautiful, Petra makes her money by keeping the frontier safe and taking out Edelgard’s political enemies to pave the way for her people’s future.

Ferdinand: While Lorenz only acts like British nobility, Ferdinand actually is British Nobility, come across the pond to secure his family’s interests. He ended up sucked into Edelgard’s crusade and provides support and money to her designs. Despite his loud demeanor and arrogant tendencies, Ferdinand is a kind creature at heart who will always put his neck out for the little guy, much to his family’s chagrin. He’s also the owner of the local saloon, and as such everyone want to be on his good side.

Dorothea: The star-singer of the town saloon, Dorothea is the face of Edelgard’s political machine, earning support and favor with her charm and her voice. She has a love-hate relationship with her boss, Ferdinand that veers between attempted murder and true love. She spends most of her money on the poor and badly-off as she knows what its like to go without. Despite her pretty face and gentle demeanor, she’s no less vicious in her pursuit of what’s right than Edelgard.

Caspar: The former son of a plantation owner, Caspar fought alongside Edelgard against the Confederacy and his own father. Tough, brave, and true-hearted, no one knows what Caspar’s job actually is. He just seems to do a little bit of everything from manual labor to bounty-hunting. A permanent shield for “the little guy”, Caspar will never give-up the good fight. Never.

Linhardt: As smart as he is, Linhardt could take over the world if he had a mind to. Fortunately, he doesn’t. A scientist and researcher who frequently works alongside Lysithea, Linhardt seems more interested in taking naps and reading his books than anything else. Despite this, he maintains polite friendships with many of the townsfolk, including his dearest friend Caspar whom he lives with and shares a bed with. But totally just good friends!

Bernadetta: The local shut-in, Bernadetta was the victim of an abusive father and neglectful mother, who jumped at the chance to run away when Edelgard presented it. Despite her shyness and her borderline agoraphobia, Bernadetta runs a large farm outside of town, frequently hosting political get-together which she barely shows up at. Hidden reserves of courage drive her to help Petra and her people frequently providing aid whenever she can. From insider her room, of course.

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starkerparkerpony · 4 years

Text

AU where Tony (44-45 y/o) meets an aged up (23-24 y/o) Peter after Civil War, Tony is broken up with Pepper and all kinds of sorry for himself. Peter is a ESU graduate and currently has an internship with Oscorp and is a photographer for the Daily Bugle he is also spiderman and therefore perpetually exhausted and has very little patience.

(It's been a while since I wrote something, please consider reblogging)

I scold because I stan

Tony was starting to get sick of himself.

The self hatred and self pity were starting to crescendo, which was shedding a lot of light on how he got to and where Tony currently was in his life.

Spangle's betrayal shouldn't have hurt as much as it did.

The breakup with Pepper shouldn't have been as painful as it was.

He shouldn't miss the team as much as he did.

Vision injuring Rhodey shouldn't have felt like a personal failure but it did.

Speaking of personal failures, the accords shouldn't have scattered more than half of the planet's protectors in the wind all while labeling them 'war criminals' but they had.

And Tony was sick of himself because his centrally heated penthouse shouldn't be haunted by a Serbian cold but it was.

Because his heartbeat shouldn't feel like someone trying to jackhammer the arc reactor into his sternum sometimes... but it did.

So he decided to go out because his inner 'self hatred' voice was starting to sound too much like his father and that was about the last straw for Tony.

A baseball cap, coat and muffler later, Tony Stark was roaming the streets of New York but then it was too fucking cold for that so he quickly ducked into a cozy looking Irish pub.

He quickly scanned the place for a place to sit, it was pretty packed except for a booth which was occupied by one person who had their head down on the table and appeared to be, best case scenario, dozing off or worst case scenario, passed out.

Appropriate company for the kind of evening he was having he thought to himself as he made his way to the booth.

A waiter came to take his order and Tony took it upon himself to order a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. If he was gonna get hammered in a public place against all good sense then atleast he was gonna do it with some company... even if said company was seemingly unconscious.

When the waiter put down the glasses, his boothmate woke up. And Tony was confronted with a gorgeous guy with stunning brown eyes, he was sporting a rather sizable shiner over his left one but it did absolutely nothing to detract from his attractiveness.

"Jesus Christ... are you actually Tony Stark? Or am I hallucinating?" The guy asked quietly.

"I was hoping you wouldn't recognize me." Tony wrinkled his nose as he admitted.

"That's either a scathing comment on your perception of the general public's intellect or humility which absolutely does not go with the reputation that precedes you," the guy scoffed.

Huh... he's sharp and quick Tony thought.

"A little bit of both. The hat usually, miraculously works." Tony explained

"Don't judge me but I've had an entire wall dedicated to your face ever since your first Rolling Stone cover... the hat wasn't gonna work on me."

"That's a lot to unpack from a stranger"

"I'm Peter Parker."

"You know who I am."

Peter's face split into an overjoyed smile when Tony said that. It was a ridiculous 'only in New York' kinda thing to find yourself in the same booth as Iron Man in your local pub and Peter really needed this after the day he'd had. He was still completely terrified that at any moment Tony would accuse him of being Spiderman and make him sign the accords but he was also gonna let himself relax and enjoy meeting his hero a little.

"I'm not a billionaire expert but shouldn't you be drinking at a much upper scale place than this?" As amazed as he was, Peter was also perplexed by Tony's presence in the pub.

"There's a lot about me that absolutely does not go with the reputation that precedes me. You just admitted to me that you have a wall dedicated to my face and then brushed past it like it was nothing..." Tony said, incredulous.

"You're pretty, you're an amazing scientist, you build robots and are a superhero because of a badass armour you made that can fly. I'm a nerd and bisexual, it's is nothing, just nature basically," Peter waved him off as he started to pour the whiskey for them.

Surprisingly enough Tony's cheeks were a little flushed by the time Peter looked up, which made him think that maybe there isn't much accurate about the reputation that precedes Tony Stark.

"Hmm... who did that to your face?" Tony asked about the shiner Peter was sporting.

"Umm... a girl was getting mugged, I tried to play hero, you should see the other guy as the saying goes" Peter shrugged.

"Wow good for you... could've ended badly though." Tony's chest was unexpectedly and rather worryingly tight hearing about the danger Peter had been in.

"I know... I lost a loved one to a mugging gone wrong but the girl needed help, I didn't really have a choice."

It was like hearing those words was the straw that broke the camel's back for Tony. Because he completely understood what Peter meant. Tony never really felt like he had a choice either and whether or not Peter was ready to have a lot of information about the Avengers and his 'face wall' buddy Iron Man's wretched life choices, he was gonna be vented at like there was no tomorrow. Because Stark men don't go to therapy, they drink and speak very fast at unsuspecting civilians.

So Tony talked and Peter listened, about how the star spangled man with a plan is a fucking douchebag, how fucking hurt he felt that Nat, Clint and Wanda would still choose him over Tony, how he hasn't been able to look Rhodey in the eye since Germany and probably never will be, how easily things fell apart with Pepper even after he tried so hard, how the winter soldier fucking killed his mom and fucking spangles hid it from him, how he probably deserved it because that poor kid that got killed in Sokovia because of him... and as Tony talked he also drank so he was feeling pretty buzzed by the time he was done talking thankfully Peter was drinking right along with him.

It wasn't really a conversation, rather Iron Man just venting to him... he did notice a pattern though, everything Tony complained about, he tied up the line of thought with ultimately blaming himself for it.

Peter had always felt a certain kinship with the guy... but this man telling him how helpless his power had made him to the massive responsibility that came along with it, hit too close to home.

"Are you always this self loathe-y or is this just a today thing?" Peter asked when Tony stopped talking

"What? I don't... what?"

"Buddy... Captain America, if he really did to you what you say he did... then who gives a shit? He's an asshole. And I'm not even a supporter of the accords but even I think that the Rogues could have handled it in a better way...

No seriously, there's way more enhanced folks in this country than just the Avengers, some of them are minors, there's a dude in Hells Kitchen who is gonna sue the government and the UN so that the registration thing is scrapped, Charles Xavier and his team are even collaborating on the lawsuit.

Those people could have really used Captain America with them on this but he was too busy playing Rambo and violating other countries' sovereignty and beating the living shit out of Iron Man apparently.

I mean for a genius, you're a dumbass because you let the people who once tried to nuke Manhattan convince you that you're more dangerous than they are but you had 'dead-kid-in-Sokovia' guilt. So I get it but c'mon cut yourself some slack."

Tony was a bit flabbergasted by the kid's performance.

"Of course you'd say it... you stick my pictures on your wall," Tony grumbled

"Oh hell no! You will not use my stan status against me. I know exactly how problematic my fav is. I know your family made their fortune selling weapons and not just to the US Military and I know you only gave a crap about the under the table dealing with terrorists when they threatened your life but I'm sorry Mr. Stark if you deny yourself the credit for learning from your mistakes then every human everywhere is going straight to hell.

Intellicrops prevented famines... the arc reactor technology is saving the planet from global warming...

I saw that video of Helena Cho with those acid attack victims in India and openly weeped in a Starbucks...

You really did privatize world peace... there's a reason the biggest threat to us now is "evil aliens" you know... cause' what the fuck chance does ISIS have against War Machine? Even that Mandarin thing turned out to be a hoax.

I have 3 patents because of my Maria Stark Foundation grant and I didn't even get the MIT-full funding ones... one day one of those kids is going to cure cancer and it's going to be because of you.

So of course I'll defend you man... but you don't seem to realize that any decent person would." Peter was pretty pleased with himself after that and shot Tony an eyebrow raise as if daring him to disagree.

"I got nothing."

"Of course you don't." Peter grinned.

Maybe Tony had just isolated himself too much from people who didn't consider him a complete and utter asshole.

But with Peter it didn't even feel like praise... it was like the guy was scolding him for being too mean to himself.

It felt nice nonetheless.

Before Tony had even recovered from Peter's glorious rant, the younger guy handed him a business card with the words "Daily Bugle" embossed on it.

"Don't hold my gossip rag workplace against me... it's easy money and I'm only doing it till Norman Osbourne starts paying me for the work I already do for him." Peter shrugged

"You're with Oscorp? What do you do? Why not SI?" If he had scored an internship with Oscorp and a grant from his own foundation then he must be good enough for SI.

"I'm R&D chemical engineering and I'm not at SI because your recruiters are assholes who demand 3 years experience for a beginner position..." said Peter matter of factly.

"You should apply with us again." Tony insisted, the guy had 3 patents and very sharp, after tonight the least Tony could do was get him a job.

"You should call me." Peter countered

"I- wait are you hitting on me?" And much to Tony's chagrin, he found himself blushing again.

"Yeah duh Mr. Stark."

"I'm old enough to be your father." Tony sputtered and that hurt to admit.

"And I have insane daddy issues- you'll love me. I'm not even gonna ask you for a selfie... you don't look your best right now but definitely call me." Peter winked as he started to leave.

"You're fucking negging me?!" said Tony looking up at the ballsy kid as he slid out of the booth.

"Hey you miss 100% of the shots you don't take. Gandhi said that." The kid called over his shoulder as he walked away.

"Gandhi absolutely did not say that Peter." Tony yelled back.

God he was gonna call the guy.

Read part 2 here, part 3 here

#starker #starker fic #tony stark #tony stark x peter parker #Peter Parker #precious Tony #badass Peter #spideriron #iron spider #i scold because i stan #starker au #aged up peter parker

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peace-coast-island · 3 years

Text

Diary of a Junebug

Down by the fishing hole

The guys from Airy are back for a fishing tourney and more musical fun times! Joining them are Franny and little Ellie May, both who are enjoying the camp very much. It's been forever since I've seen the two so it's been great catching up with them.

Ellie May's full of spirit, she's a lot like her dad and aunt. I'm surprised that she kinda remembered me a little from when I last visited Airy, which was maybe four or five years ago - not too long before I came to the camp so around that time period. She was probably around two as she was walking and talking by then.

Sam says that Ellie May couldn't wait to come to the camp so she's been marking down the days until the tourney on the calendar. It's no surprise that she's into the great outdoors like her parents. At home she would tag along with Sam, Buddy, and Storm on their fishing trips at Sawyer Lake right outside town. And like the guys, Ellie May has a knack for fishing.

Franny's a bit of an outlier as she's not an avid fisher, but she does like hanging out with the guys. Though it's more so she can keep an eye on them. Buddy and Storm have a way of attracting trouble while Ellie May has Sam wrapped around her finger so it's up to Franny to be a couple steps ahead when their antics drive them up a wall.

What I love about Franny is that on the outside she looks like the kind of person who's got her shit together - the sole braincell of the gang. Independent, intelligent, creative, badass - there's a reason why she's a force to be reckoned with. Though on the inside she's just as crazy and eccentric as the others - and that's why everyone looks up to her.

While fishing, we got to talking about what's been going on in Airy. Ellie May's on the soccer team at school and taking piano lessons with a neighbor. Sam and Franny's dad is semi-retiring from the Airy Gazette, which is slowly phasing out newspapers to go completely online by next year. The community choir album is progressing while In Hopes and Dreams is a hit, prompting Storm to work on recording more music. Buddy's running the gas station/auto shop as usual. Franny is filling prescriptions and keeping up with current events. Sam's balancing town council and home life as well as dabbling as a songwriter.

Airy's one of those small towns that has adapted and changed over years while still retaining its heart. People like Franny, Sam, Ellie May, and Buddy are rooted firmly to their town, their families having been there for generations. Franny and Sam's grandpa, Andy Beryl, was a well known townfolk. He was the good samaritan, the kind of guy who takes the time to help others and actively worked to make the town a better place. There's a plaque in the courthouse dedicated to him in the office where he worked - it was brand new when I last visited.

We also got to talking about Andy Beryl a bit as it's been almost ten years since his passing. Imagine if he had lived a few more years he would've gotten to know Ellie May. Sam and Franny speak highly of him, talking about fond memories of him telling stories of the shenanigans he and his friends got up to in town. Among his friends included Buddy and Storm's grandpa, who was also known for getting into sticky situations that involved Andy stepping in to save the day.

Being part of the town council, Sam and Franny feel a sense of responsibility for the town. Since taking on the role of head council, Sam has kinda followed in his grandpa's footsteps - even mirroring his life in a way. Along with being the go-to person in town, Sam, like Andy, is also a single parent who's trying their best. The Beryls hold pride in their family name but at the same time avoid putting it up on a pedestal. After all, they're regular folks just like everyone else - something that seems to get muddled over the years but the message's clear enough. They have a legacy that they're proud of and want to keep it up, to make things even better for the next generation.

Speaking of generations, what's interesting about Airy is how different things were thirty years ago. During Andy's time, the town was mostly white - English, Irish, Scottish, German - most who have been living there for generations. Now most of the people in Airy are mixed, mainly white and Asian like the present company. Sam and Franny's father, Andy's son, married his college sweetheart, a Cambodian immigrant. As a result, Sam and Franny grew up with a mix of both cultures and know how to speak Khmer. It's fun seeing them bickering in their second language, because even if you don't understand what they're saying, at least you get what's going on.

(Also I'm lowkey jealous of how well they speak Khmer. I can barely hold a basic conversation, plus my pronunciation totally butchers the language. They say theirs isn't that great either but compared to mine, it's nothing. Sorry Mom, I'm trying but Khmer is hard.)

And as for Ellie May, her mom, Ellie, was born from Mexican immigrants. Ellie's parents visit often so Ellie May's picked up Spanish from them, making her trilingual. It seems early, but her grandparents want Ellie May to have a quinceañera, though before we know it, that day will come soon! It's good to see Ellie May proud of her heritages as well as showing off her impressive language skills!

Again, I find it interesting how much the demographic? culture? of Airy has shifted so much over the past 30-40 years, which is basically Sam, Franny, Buddy, and Storm's generation. Pretty much everyone around their age is born from a longtime Airy townfolk and an immigrant. I wonder how much more Airy will change with Ellie May's generation.

In between fishing sessions, we did a bunch of fun activities. Buddy was in his element at OK Motors tinkering with engines. He's a bit unconventional when it comes to fixing cars but he's got his ways. Storm messed around with engines too while looking for songwriting inspiration. He and Sam have written a couple songs over the past few weeks so they'll be dropping by the island in the near future to record. I'm happy that Storm's getting back into writing music, especially now that things are finally working out in his favor in terms of creative control.

Franny and Ellie May enjoy hiking and foraging, they've gathered a lot of berries so we're gonna be making something with them. We're debating on whether to make a pie or a bunch of little tarts - either one sounds good. Sam brought his guitar, prompting spontaneous jam sessions throughout the camp. Like Storm, he's been getting into music too, especially since discovering his talent as a lyricist. We've heard live performances of the new songs - Out of Reach, Dandelions, and Where the Ferns Grow - all which sounded fantastic. Hopefully there's more where that came from.

Since working on In Hopes and Dreams, Sam has also been seeing a counselor. With the song being about grief and loss and now that Ellie May's become more curious about her mom, Sam finally realized that he needed help. Talking about Ellie has been difficult but he knew that he can't keep avoiding it forever, especially for Ellie May's sake. I haven't known Ellie for long but her absence is felt, which I think says a lot about her.

While the others fished, Franny collected seashells and took a bunch of pics. Sam managed to catch a lot of doubles as well as a shark during the off hours. Despite almost getting yeeted in the middle of the ocean, he managed to drag the shark to shore - with our help, of course. Ellie May drew a cute sticker for him that says "I fought a shark and won!" with a funny doodle to go with it, which he stuck on his jacket for all to see. The two have such a sweet bond, it's fun seeing Sam carry Ellie May up on his shoulders as they laugh and run around the camp.

Earlier today we took a short hike along the thornberry trail behind the camp. That probably wasn't the best idea as the path's kinda narrow and we had to watch out for thorns. Sam had to go after Ellie May, who was running around, and both ended up stuck in a bramble bush. Thankfully their injuries are nothing serious, but they looked painful. As soon as they took off, Franny knew that something like that was gonna happen as both have a tendency to be too curious while easily distracted. It doesn't matter how grown up you are, the older sibling never stops being the caretaker for the younger one.

Just for the record, Ellie May was a lot braver than Sam - and she has more scrapes and bumps than him. Though for him, it's less the pain and more that the sight of blood puts him off. There's a reason why Franny followed their mom's footsteps to study medicine and he didn't.

Aside from that little mishap, everything else has been going well. Franny, Daisy Jane and Norma made fish pies that turned out great. They're basically like seafood chowders with a puff pastry layer on top. Stu and Buddy helped Reese and Cyrus build a gazebo that's ready to paint so that's what we're gonna do tomorrow. Storm, Candi, and Tipper hung out at Sunbust Island and harvested coconuts to make smoothies. Sam and Ellie May helped me run errands while sightseeing and stocking up on supplies. Just another fun and busy day at the camp!

In between those activities, we met up at the beach for another round of fishing. The tourney fish seem to gravitate towards the area near the cliff so we called that spot the fishing hole. It's a nice area to be situated in, kind of like our own little nook in the ocean.

#animal crossing #animal crossing pocket camp #Diary of a Junebug #headcanon ramble

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struwwelzeter · 4 years

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What was your first memory (form childhood?) when you realized that music can make something special to you. I call it musical orgasm, it has nothing to do with sex as such but feeling of fulfillment is the same. So in other words, if possible please describe your first musical orgasm.

It must have been early, because I do not remember it. What I can tell you is that when I was around 3 or so, some friend of my Mum’s started organising these chamber music evenings with pretty high profile musicians in our town, and because we always got tickets for free and my parents both wanted to go they just took me with them. They appearantly got alot of criticism for it, because it was somewhat late for a child that age, and people thought I would disturb. I never did - I either fell asleep on my dad’s lap or listened very attentively. I do not remember this, but appearantly alot of the times the musicians noticed because it was so strange and talked to me afterwards and showed me their instruments.

I started to be the “flower girl” when I was about 5, I had to walk up on stage once they were done and hand the customary flower bouquets to the soloists, curtsy and everything. My mum sewed these really pretty dresses for me, can you believe it? It’s like that was a different person. I remember being super nervous every time, I didn’t know about actors or football stars or what was on the radio, so these people were the biggest stars in my universe.

I got my first radio when I was about 7 because I would. not. shut. up. about it. It looked like this (actually pretty sure it was that exact model). I started to listen to music so much, my parents started to worry, especially because I would lay down on the carpet really close to it and turn it quite loud, so they worried about my ears. But my dad was already quite sick at that time and I think they eventually just had bigger worries, and I don’t remember having to defend that a whole lot. I listened to whatever came on the radio, and my Mum’s Deutsche Grammophon Tapes with the yellow labels.

When I was around 10 I was deemed old enough to take the 50 minute Busride from our home to my school by myself. I think my mum wanted to soften the blow and gave me my first Walkman because of that. Shortly after that became a Discman. It didn’t have anti skip, so everything sounded like a broken record on the bus, but I still took it religiously. I had these rechargeable batteries, and 6 of them fitted into the charger. I went through all 3 pairs each day and if I ever forgot to charge them one night that was a very, very, very bad day. Things were really difficult for me at school, and often I just listened to music in my breaks just to not have to hear what people were saying about me. It wasn’t allowed of course, but I got very inventive in hiding it beneath my clothes and my earbuds under my hair and stuff.

Besides from radio stuff I hardly remember, that time I listened mostly to bands my brother showed me, most noticeably a german folk-rock-pop band by the name of Paddy Goes To Holyhead, who wanted to bring Irish folk to germany but with a twist. I still listen to them today:

https://youtu.be/Rmv1gG_tLQQ

youtube

When I turned 12 we got our first TV, and suddenly music had this additional visual element. I’d always drawn alot to music and MTV and Viva was everything I ever asked for. I spend HOURS doing nothing else, and watched everything even if alot of the music I didn’t even like. But I think what was a real turning point for me was the moment Funeral of Hearts came out. I just couldn’t look away. I kept waiting for it to come back on so I could record it on VHS. That album was the first one I went to get in the store the day it came out. I actually made a sole friend at school because I drew Heartagrams on my jeans, and they noticed it, and then introduced me to all those other bands, like stuff that would only play late or seldomly on MTV , like Die Ärzte, and In Extremo and such (and Rammstein!) Their Dad played in a Metallica cover band, and suddenly there was this entire new world that looked so cool and seemed to be exclusively build for misfits like me. Via them I met my first boy in a band(tm). He was the drummer, and now there were gigs too. I technically was too young, but I didn’t look it I guess and because my friends were a little older they just smuggled me in. I met more people that way, first time I even had any real friendships at all. First kiss, first love, first everything happened against this backdrop of really shitty garageband gigs and parties.

https://youtu.be/Wdt1pzddYTI

youtube

Another turning point for me was when With The Lights Out came out. That’s a Nirvana Boxset released in 2004, and it contained all these demos, and I had just recently been introduced to Nirvana by some of the guys, and it opened this insight into how that kind of music was made and that even my biggest stars kind of sounded just as shit as my friends at some point, and I think it just made it feel like aomething that really belonged to me. I got it for christmas, which shows that while my mum was kind of a shit neglectful mum still was sort of cool too. One of my favorite Christmas presents ever, I still have it.

The rest, as they say, is history. I don’t always like being asked about music because I have so many moments with it, so many ways to answer questions like “what’s your favorite song” etc. I always feel like it’s to big to be answered like that, you know? Music is my sanctuary and the most important thing in my life, even if I love my job, or my family or whatever. I could not exist without it. An exemple: according to Spotify, I spend around 2700 hrs of listening to music in 2019. That’s a third of an entire year - and I don’t actually listen to music so much when I work because it needs too much concentration (the music, not the work). Plus, I additionally listen to CDs and Vinyls so spotify can’t even track that. That’s alot of time.

I recently got a pair of trendy Marshall headphones because my studio headphones plainly make me look stupid in puplic, and they fold down small enough to fit in my jacket’s pocket. (Which is a relief, because to be honest wearing heafphones around your neck all the time is a little impractical.) The other day I met a friend, and she picked me up at the trainstation. She looke me over and said something like you look so different today, and riddled over it for like 10 minutes before she suddenly goes “oh Anna where are your headphones!!!” In my pockets, is all.

Maybe that tells you all you need to know about me.

#i think this went completely out of hand #but thank you so much #this ask made me feel really seen #and I need that today #this is such a good place to exist #thank you tinnike

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sunslip · 4 years

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If You’re Scared By The Stranger hmu, A Meta

The Stranger never really clicked for me in the same way the other fears do. Death and The Dark? some scary shit. The Flesh and Corruption? I vibe. Spiral or Eye? ok I get it I guess. But The Stranger has never really caught on in my brain. So I wrote some stuff.

Maybe it’s the fact that the Stranger is harder to push down into a single category - It is better defined by what it isn't. It isn't Sasha, or Graham, or that woman's mother. It isn't human, but it's nearly human. What can we actually say it is a fear of? It has a lot of variously connected things in its domain, and I was thinking about a few of the big ones.

Fear of clowns wasn't really mainstream until Steven King's IT came out*. The miniseries, with Tim Curry. Maybe people weren't fans of clowns before but they weren't inherently frightening until Pennywise came into public consciousness (which professional clowns have written about) and the monster clown trope was born. Which tbh I love, I don't find clowns scary at all, so I see a monster clown and my first reaction is pretty much "oh, neat!". This is a learned fear for humans, it's not something inherent with survival value, like being afraid of heights and poisonous spiders and disease would be. I love learned fears - catch me talking about fear of alien abductions as a learned fear on another post some time.

This is distinct from the fear of what is now called the uncanny valley, things that look human but aren't. This is probably closer to the core brief of the Stranger, but in terms of fear it comes from a very different place. The fear of the sort-of-human-looking-thing has evolutionary weight. It allegedly comes from the fear of corpses (as distinct from the fear of dying - another evolutionary advantage!) as staying away from corpses means that the species is less likely to die of gross corpse diseases or eat rotten meat. People say that we dislike clowns because of their painted faces, which are human but distorted and invoke the uncanny valley idea but I don't believe this. if it were true, everyone would be afraid of clowns, and have been afraid of them the whole time. If it was linked to a survival trait, it would be more or less constant across geography and time, instead of popping up around the 80s. Anyway. The uncanny valley is more or less a constant fear for everyone, like a fear of heights, everyone experiences this to some degree. Clowns is not.

I do want to talk about fear of circuses though. A circus coming to town was a point of fear historically speaking, even before clowns were. This is based on xenophobia (all these new weird folk coming into town, taking our children away, they're not like us etc etc) and fear of and prejudice against Irish travellers/Romani people. Xenophobia seems to be a big part of most of the fears - it was a cw in both the recent eps with the corruption and the slaughter and shows up in other episodes - and which is probably linked to an evolutionary drives to keep the in-group happy, which is why it shows up in a lot of places, across both geography and time.

Taxidermy, dolls and mannequins are also linked to the Stranger - mannequins I think fall pretty strongly into uncanny valley territory, and anyone who has done a spooked double take in a department store can agree. Taxidermy is freaky for similar reasons, we as a species have the drive to Not Fuck With Corpses but it doesn't really apply to animals so its kind of in the middle. Fear of dolls/ventriloquism dummies I have never understood. Like theyre little, what are they gonna do? So I'm not going to say anything about that.

One of the weirder things assosciated with the Stranger is creativity. Nikola and the rest of the ritualists dance and sing. They sew their own clothes**. Music, they play the calliope organ. They make taxidermy animals, dolls, wax sculptures***, and automatons. Their zone in the postapocalyptic hellscape manifests as a poem! All creepy in concept, but definitely based in creativity, much more so than the other powers. The only other one that makes art that I can think of is the trash art in the amazon built in one of the Extiction episodes. But why? Is it that creativity is fundamentally human and seeing it co-opted by monsters makes the monsters seem more threatening, or real, or like us? Or is is just a coincidence that Nikola made all her props and costumes by hand, is it just her?

Do these things all push the same button despite being unrelated - like bugs and disease both being part of Corruption? If you're scared of the Stranger hmu and tell me why.

*It is possible that John Wayne Gacy may have also contributed to fear of clowns in the late 70s by murdering lots of children, but the fact he was also a birthday clown was unrelated to his crimes.

**out of human skin, admittedly

***out of people again

#tma #the magnus archives #the stranger #nikola orsinov #mag 165

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yehet-me-up · 3 years

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*busts through the door like I'm the Kool-Aid man* BONJOUR FUCKERS I'M BACK!!! It is I, the Theatrical Gay Anon™! I hope you're ready to endure my endless babbling for a bit cuz I've got lots to say holy shit. Consider this part 1 of like, 1000 cuz I think Tumblr got rid of the submissions feature. I apologize in advance for the spam hehe.

Okay, with that out of the way. Ms. Yehet-Me-Up, may I call you Sarah? Sarah, what the fuck!? I can't even rn. I I give you a simple suggestion, no expectations behind it. I say "Hey, don't you think it'd be cool if Zitao was in the Exodus Mall universe?" to which you said "Yeah, that'd be neat, I might do that. Perhaps make him work at an Irish pub or something" and then I flip out with gratitude and excitement thinking you're gonna do like, a DRABBLE. 500 words at MOST -Theatrical Gay Anon

Imagine my SHOCK, my STUPEFACTION, upon realizing that you wrote OVER TEN THOUSAND WORDS about Huang Zitao aka the wind beneath my wings, the rain to my drought, the corny joke to my Junmyeon. And not only that! But you did this A MONTH AGO. I could've been reading this for so long and I had no idea! How foolish am I? I can't believe you wrote all of this based off of a silly little suggestion I made. I feel like bowing over how not worthy I am Wayne's World style -Theatrical Gay Anon

NOW IN REGARDS TO THE CONTENT OF THIS MASTERPIECE OH MY GOD WHERE DO I EVEN BEGIN!? I am floored by your preeminence. First things first, the title? Perfect. Full disclosure, I suck at titles. I've been writing for over a decade now and I'm still shit with titles. It's so hard to come up with just a few words to encapsulate everything you wrote but you do it SO WELL. The moodboard? Amazing. I've always loved that picture of Zitao and it fits so well with the pub setting -Theatrical Gay Anon

I'm afraid you've written "Fractions of Tomorrow" so well that I don't see there being a need for anyone to write anything else...ever. Stories? CANCELED. Poetry? CANCELED. Biographies? CANCELED. It's all over folks. Sarah has written The Best Thing Ever. We've peaked as a society. After I finish writing these asks I'm gonna become a hermit in the woods and make friends with all of the woodland creatures that inhabit it. -Theatrical Gay Anon

But seriously though, I love absolutely everything about this story. As a Zitao fan, I'm used to getting breadcrumbs. Not a lot of ppl write fics about him. I can count on one hand how many long fics of his you can find on Tumblr. But THIS?? This was no breadcrumb, this was a whole fucking bakery. And it all appeals to me so much oh my god? The sappiness of it all, the flowery prose, the rebellious rejection of cynicism, it's all so beautiful I want to marry it. -Theatrical Gay Anon

If I discussed all of the sentences in this fic that made me giggle with joy and kick my feet around I'd be here all day so keep in mind this is just a FRACTION of the ones I loved but I couldn't go without mentioning at least some of them so here we go. "It’s not his first time here, but it’s his first time paying attention" SHUT UP this line is go good it's so simple yet so nuanced I adore it. Seriously, why hasn't anyone hired you to write a screenplay? -Theatrical Gay Anon

"He wonders if you ironed the collar of your shirt to be that precise or if you simply move through the world without acquiring any wrinkles" God, this line is so CUTE it's DISGUSTING he's fond of the reader's un-wrinkled clothes that's such a specific thing to like and is totally the type of thing I've done with the ppl I've crushed on throughout my life. -Theatrical Gay Anon

"‘Zitao,’ he says finally. ‘Cute.’ You say" this is such a little thing but I love that you included his full name in this. I love his full name so much it sounds really pretty. Whenever I hear him refer to himself as "Huang Zitao" in interviews my heart soars. Hearing him speak Mandarin in general is a delight as well. It's an audibly gorgeous language and any racist who says otherwise can EAT MY ENTIRE ASS -Theatrical Gay Anon

"For someone who’s been in love for as long as you can remember she fights awfully hard against Baekhyun’s romantic nature" DEAR GOD I LOVE THESE TWO! I love these movie loving lovesick fools. I love that everyone in the world knows they love each other except them. I love seeing bits and pieces of their story throughout this written universe. I can't wait to see it all come together in Baekhyun's Exodus Mall fic. It's gonna be GLORIOUS -Theatrical Gay Anon

Also! I know you enjoyed my song recs that I thought fit perfectly with All Our Broken Places so here are some for when the Baek x Hitchcock fic drops. I know it's not done yet but I just *know* what it's gonna be like I can feel it in my bones. "Sidekick" by Walk the Moon and "Tongue Tied" by Grouplove. As for Fractions of Tomorrow I knew right away what songs I'd pick. "Dreams" by The Cranberries, "Jumpstarted" by Jukebox the Ghost and "Don't Stop Believing" by Journey -Theatrical Gay Anon

Gosh, this fic filled me with so much energy and joy I feel like a toddler on caffeine. But I really should sleep now though. It's gotten so late that I can see the sunrise peaking up sdksdksl. I'll see ya soon! I will be spamming you with more compliments about this fic once I wake up though! - Theatrical Gay Anon

Hi! I'm back. Okay, now where was I? Oh yeah, I was talking about some of my favorite lines from the story. "‘Hey man, how’s it going?’ Baekhyun reaches out and does a complex handshake with the man before you. ‘Oh, you know. Just working at the salt mines,’ Tao says with a laugh." I LOVE that you made Baek the one Zitao was close with. I miss the beef brothers so much. I'll never forgive SM for what they did to OT12. They were all such good friends 😔 -Theatrical Gay Anon

"‘I’m not sure.’ For a flash Tao’s eyes linger on you once more. ‘I think it would depend on the person.’ And then the bastard goes and winks at you." GOD, HE WOULD DO SOMETHING LIKE THIS! HE'S SUCH A SHAMELESS FLIRT I HATE HIM *narrator voice* This was of course a huge a lie, he in fact loved Zitao immensely -Theatrical Gay Anon

"‘Sweetheart, I’m everyone’s type.’" You've captured Zitao's unlimited confidence so well and that makes me really happy. It's one of my favorite things about him. The man truly loves himself and I think that's awesome -Theatrical Gay Anon

"Tao looks at you through his lashes, bending close enough that you can feel his breath on your lips when he speaks. ‘Words are just the appetizer, darling. I prefer to have an entire feast.’ 'Any other questions or can I grab your orders?’" ASDKDSDSL SO YOU'RE JUST GONNA SAY THAT PANTY DROPPER LINE AND GO BACK TO BUSINESS AS USUAL ZITAO???? HUH??? IS THAT WHAT WE'RE GONNA DO??? -Theatrical Gay Anon

"‘Oh, nothing.’ He looks like the cat that caught the canary. ‘I just love being right.’" Something I love about EXO fic writers (myself included lol) is that despite all of the different ways they'll write the other members, there is one member who is always written the same and that's Baekhyun. He will always be written as a cheeky little shit cuz he *is* a cheeky little shit. That's just who he is. Messing with ppl is a favorite past time of his. -Theatrical Gay Anon

"'So, love, huh? There’s not some girlfriend or boyfriend of yours waiting for you at home?’" Thank you for not being heteronormative with the "are you dating someone?" convo. I know it might not seem like much but I really appreciate it. -Theatrical Gay Anon

"The beginning of love is always a lightning bolt. If that’s all it ever is you never have to deal with being knocked on your ass by the resulting thunderstorm" OOF, this one got me. So very true. The beginning of love is so scary! -Theatrical Gay Anon

"I could argue that anarchy still is love. Love of your beliefs and love of a person or a place or a thing so much that you’re willing to fight for it" OKAY BUT PASSIONATE LEATHER JACKET WEARING ANARCHIST ZITAO IN A ROCK BAND IS SUCH AN ATTRACTIVE CONCEPT!!! There's nothing sexier than a bad boi that will hate capitalism with you! He'd probably be the one to give ppl rides to protests and stuff I LOVE IT -Theatrical Gay Anon

"If we say love is a feeling, who’s to say that we aren’t in love? If we decide it’s an action then which one is it? A kiss or a commitment or - maybe it’s nothing more complicated than putting words to the way I feel when you look at me?" Listen I don't mean to be dramatic or anything (wait, who am I kidding? I'm literally the Theatrical Gay Anon being dramatic is like my Thing) but if a guy ever said that to me my trans boi pussy would be open for business IMMEDIATELY

Alright, so, uh Final Thoughts. This may be my new favorite work of yours, and no it's not just cuz it's got my ultimate bias in it lmao. This year has been so shitty and it's made my depression + anxiety reach the highest possible levels but reading this, this love story filled with hope and certainty despite not knowing what the future will hold for them, made this year seem easier to cope with. Thank you so much for making this, it means the world to me. -Theatrical Gay Anon

ALRIGHT, LAST ASK AND THEN I'LL SHUT UP I PROMISE but I personally headcanon that Double Shot + Zitao stayed together till the very end. They didn't get married cuz they hate formalities but they got matching tattoos and even when they're old and grey you can still them clear as day on their wrists. When they're asked how they met no one believes their answer lol. And when Double Shot died of old age before Zitao he would sing her favorite song by her grave every Saturday -Theatrical Gay Anon

OKAY SO I know I said I was done and I know I've already sent in like, 30 bajillion asks but I'm curious does Yifan or Luhan also work at the Irish pub?? Or do they work somewhere else in the mall? Inquiring minds want to know -Theatrical Gay Anon

When I tell you this made my entire month (when you sent it weeks ago, I’ve been hanging onto these because they seriously bring me SO much joy holy crap) I am not remotely kidding j;oaisjdflkasdjfa

I am absolutely going to put on these song recs while I work on the next chapter!

a;osdfjlaksdfjasl the fact that you stayed up late to read this warms my heart so much. It reminds me of all the times I stayed up til the ass crack of dawn reading fanfics because I simply could NOT stop reading, so the fact that you enjoyed this like that makes me helllllaaaa emo 🥰

I just??? 2020 was indeed such a long year and affected my energy and creativity and honestly don’t really remember writing this hahaha. I kind of go into a fugue state with these longer fics and they just EMERGE. So to see you reflecting back some of what I wrote allows me to enjoy the process so much more. Makes writing and tumblr fun and I seriously wish everyone writing and creating could have someone as passionate and thoughtful and hilarious as you hyping them up 🌟 it honestly feels like a GIFT and I will absolutely keep writing this series and hoping to be worthy of it 😘

We will definitely get to see more of these two in the finale fic! I got into EXO after Tao, Yifan, and Luhan left so I’m not quite as familar with their personalities, but I could definitely see Yifan working at the US Bank haha. Business suit by day and partying/flirting by night. As for Luhan I feel like he’d work somewhere like the bookstore or the music store?? somewhere quieter and more contemplative.

Thank you again for sending this and for being you <3 I hope 2021 is a wonderful year for you and that you know how AMAZING you are 💖💖💖💖💖

#asks #theatrical gay anon

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drunklander · 4 years

Text

Drunj!Der Yells About Outlander

Thoughts on Ep. 504

Let’s make this one quick, because tbh I really dgaf about Alicia and Isiah and I’m almost done with Maas’ new book so if any other’s in the Maaslander squad wanna chat about it, I have feelings.

They’re really dragging this Bonnet thing out, aren’t they. I mean, the books did too, but they could have, ya know, AdApTeD. Le sigh.

Hallo the house is the olde timey version of texting “here” when you get to your buddy’s place.

This episode could really be titled Men Suck.

I mean really. Roger? The Browns? Bonnet? Even fucking Elijah Ford manages to suck and we never even see him!

Jamie doesn’t suck much in this episode. Which is a nice change of pace for him. But he’s been headcanon’ed beyond recognition so whatevs.

Fergus doesn’t suck. Fergus is always the exception who can hang with the ladies because he’s cool enough to be in the good squad.

I just fucking love Fergus ok.

As someone who *hates* shopping, back in the day shopping seems like my exact version of hell.

Also, like, have these fuckers not learned their lessons about not communicating? They don’t need to fucking tell everyone the whole truth, but come the fuck on. They can at least give the Ridge Squad a heads up to not fuck with rando Irishmen who may show up.

I swear, they’re all so dumb it hurts.

Also, Bree, girl. You’re talking to an old Scottish lady. Maybe don’t shit on the Irish in a way that also directly applies to her.

Alicia was Mr. Darcy’s daughter on Ripper Street, right? She looks super familiar.

I’m offended on Fergus’ behalf that they’re wasting so much of his whisky with that leaky stopper, tbh.

Ah, toxic masculinity and patriarchal bullshit. Right up there with rape as my FaVoRiTe way to demonstrate that ye olde times sucked.

It’s like dialed to 11 this episode so obvi I spent the majority of it rolling my eyes.

The Jamie and Claire with the baby stuff was solid though.

And thank fuck they refer to her as Bonnie. Like, Diana is notoriously bad with names, but come the fuck on. Alicia Brown and Alicia Beardsley in like the same few chapters? THERE ARE A LOT OF NAMES IN EXISTENCE, DIANA. IT’S OK TO BRANCH OUT A BIT.

Every time something like this comes up, I remember that there’s another random Randall but like as a first name, I think, in the Gathering Without End. Because of course.

Fergus should really be a fucking diplomat. I mean really.

I am approximately 1000% over sing-alongs with Roger. Can we hang the fucker already so he can’t talk anymore?

Yay freedom! You know what goes well with freedom? An incestuous throuple. You do you, Beardsleys.

“You’re 14.” “Uh, I am clearly in my mid-20s.” “Nope, 14.” “Cool cool. Message received.”

“Congratulations, you work fast milord.” I JUST FUCKING LOVE FERGUS SO MUCH.

Seriously, this show needs more Fergus. Also more Fergus, Bree and Marsali bonding. Like, if we’re gonna have an episode about randos, we clearly could have better used the time to have the Fraser kiddos bonding.

“When in Rome...” STFU, Roger. Cosplaying your way through history like you’re on a fieldtrip isn’t cute. It’s fucking annoying. And you wonder why Jamie doesn’t like you. You are an eminently unlikable person.

Roger would def be the guest the hosts in Westworld want to kill.

The only good part about this side-quest is that there’s so much of Jamie telling Roger he sucks. And really, I’m here for any and all of Roger being told he sucks.

Ok but literalol at how badly Caitriona/Claire knocked over her mug. She like put it down fine and then tipped it over.

Oh hey, I wonder who that rando doctor who gives the weird advice is.

Lucinda is a cinnamon roll.

“Beauchamp, Randall, Fraser, now Rawlings? Ye have another husband I should ken about?” “Well, not yet, but you know your buddy who’s in love with you? Well...”

Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp Randall Fraser Randall Fraser Grey Fraser is a very respectable name.

DON’T MAKE FUN OF THE DRINK OF FERGUS’ PEOPLE, BROWN MAN.

Literally the whole time in Brownsville all I could think was fuck, I really don’t want them to do the ABOSAA bit with them next season but I know they’re gonna and I already don’t want to waste time doing fucking recaps.

I’m bored.

Fuck there’s still half an hour left.

“What sort of man would I be if I allowed a lady to sleep out with the militia on a cold, dark night?” Idk, the kind of man whose people kidnap and rape a lady? *preemptive rage intensifies*

I know I should be freaking out that Bree’s freaking out that Bonnet kidnapped Jemmy, but all I could think of is the old podsa ads for SimpliSafe.

The Ridge needs SimpliSafay.

I fucking hate this storyline with the passion of a thousand fiery suns, but I fucking love Marsali.

Omfg I know it’s Brownsville but them all being Browns is fucking like GoT shit. Like, diversify your gene pool, y’all.

Ok, glad there’s finally a Marsali and Bree scene. But I still wish they could hang and like chat about stuff like pals.

That being said, MARSALI IS A FUCKING SAINT AND I LOVE HER SO MUCH.

And of course, more violence against women. Because we can’t go two seconds without reminding the audience that the past is Bad and Dangerous for women.

Also, is Marsali still preggo? Which baby are we on? What time is it? How much longer is left in this season episode?

Cute of Claire to be like hey, Rog, Jamie’s trusting you with me! His favorite thing! Like Jamie’s not actually trusting Claire with his daughter’s dipshit husband.

Oh hey, remember how Brianna can draw Bonnet fairly accurately? Sure would be nice if there was a way to, idk, show those pics to folks on the Ridge. Just spit-balling here, but like, maybe giving folks a heads up would be a good idea. Kind of like how she fuCKING COULD HAVE DRAWN ROGER LAST YEAR BECAUSE TALKING ABOUT HER BOYFRIEND IS A NORMAL THING TO DO WITH FAMILY AND THEN WE WOULDN’T HAVE HAD ROGERGATE AND OMFG THE DUMB. IT HURTS SO MUCH.

Claire just fucking yeeted that baby lol.

For real though, literalol at Jamie like taking his coat off and being all dramatic as he prepares to... play DDR.

omega psi chi phi upsilon tau sigma rho pi omicron xi nu mu lambda kappa iota theta eta zeta epsilon delta gamma beta alpha

Drunk!Claire is back!

I fucking love drunk!Claire. So does Jamie.

The scene where they talk about raising the baby together is adorable. But also, like, Jamie, you’re grandparents now. All the good parts of parenting with none of the shitty parts! And y’all have been through enough shit in your lives that you deserve all the fluffy grandparenting!

“And Marsali and Fergus... Well, I’m sure they will keep the Ridge sufficiently populated if that’s what you’re worried about.” “ Yeah, that lass is with child every time Fergus lays eyes upon her.” WHERE IS THE LIE THO.

Joking aside though, they’d better keep giving Marsali more stuff to do than spit out babies. *aggressively side-eyes a certain author who DiDn’T lIkE wRiTiNg AbOuT kIdS*

Good on them for tweeting out the suicide prevention hotline. Literally the least they can do.

I’m barely really trying to give a shit about Alicia and Isiah, but alas, idgaf.

Literally the only good thing about this whole story line is Isiah being like “step the fuck off, you raging hypocrites” to Roger and Jamie.

#*#outlander starz #outlander 5x04 #drunj!der yells about outlander

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questionthebox · 3 years

Text

Poets Diary

before I go to sleep, I want to put this forward, as ive been reading many of the essays, on black agenda report, which are a boon, of revelations, to understanding things, especially, as I feel for myself, I could never write the way those people write, in essence as they are scribes, and heroes like myself, frankly don’t process information the way scribes do, and those scribes act almost as a left wing priest and priestess class, giving us slaves, this sort of magic that keys our development,

this being said, I was reading their essays on Clarence Thomas & President Obama, who in my reading are more similar, in this way which isn’t ever understood about black people, and what its frankly like to be a person of color really, its what I'll call the “weirdo factor” of the insularities and insecurities stemming from growing up as an other in a horribly oppressive truly hateful, Earth-society,

these isolated weirdos like Obama and Thomas, every part of their thought and ideas goes to a very rudimentary sense of their material experience, a lot of it is sexual, what I mean by this, is something ive long understood since I was a kid, about people of color in the United States and perhaps elsewhere, this also applies to white folks to but I won’t get into that, but a lot of people of color because of their “weirdness” experience, delayed sexual experience or odd sexual experiences or neutered sexual experiences or violent sexual experiences, my mothers insanity stems mostly from the constant rapes she endured as a light skin black girl in her youth, it fundamentally shattered her, I would say, if we could ever get Obama and Thomas in a room and ask them truthfully about their experiences we’d find things along the same spectrum, further in this, I wasn’t fully candid about my experience with that black girl I grew up with in Long Beach who I ended up rejecting, who told me she was still a virgin at age 28, I rejected her frankly because I sensed in her that aspect, that “weirdo being” which frankly is the mark of a Slave,

in this, I understand and have no problem presenting my identity as mixed race, mixed class, the rogue pirate other, the romantic other, of which I know my white girlfriends seem to like the most, I don’t deny this within myself, but I do believe it makes me the best vessel for liberation for my people, which includes blacks, because I don’t share the full black experience, that ive seen it from afar that at times ive seen it intimately, I being the mixed raced, educated rogue, I can better articulate it, because I was frankly never a slave, I was frankly always “ancient Egypt” do you know what I mean ?

you cannot and this even goes to the scribes I mentioned, but you can never trust people any of these people who have had their souls marked by slavery, yes they can reveal things that align truth together, but those people aren’t ever revolutionaries or visionaries, in this I'll be honest I'm breaking away from a solidarity with “slaves” I'm not going to listen to them anymore, because most want to wallow, meaning they want to present their abstract slave identities up front, when what should be focused is, what I saw working for the Census, going into the black projects, seeing dark skin black boys, half naked, literally playing in piles of filth, with their only hope, being the NFL or NBA, or this recent boon in interracial pornography, no non binary dyke black or Latina lesbian bitch, is ever going to discuss those conditions adequately in destroying them, violently confronting these sadistic white rulers who own everything on planet earth, they’re just not going to do it, they don’t have it in them, because they’re slaves, you cannot unslave people, through what its being presented, the only way to unslave people, is to violently destroy everything, and rebuild everyone and everything, to then they can choose who they authentically are, these new alternative identities so popular now, aren’t authentic, that’s why there's pushback intirnsically from normal people, from bigots, and from some leftists who want to be abstract and say “we have to stop using identity politics”

everything goes back to a question of authenticity, even Obama and Thomas deal with this in their writings without realizing it, they anguish in their lack of authenticity, Obama pursues it by being a coward, probably because his white mother and white grandparents who raised him, told him to not “misbehave”

authenticity died,

when my fathers ancestors Lol, Spaniards, other Europeans, got on their ships, and sailed around the world, fucking other people, I want to key that point, its not that they enslaved other people, funny thing to note I watched this interview with the great historian Gerald Horne, and he pointed out in the heyday of slavery, europeans would abduct all dark skin people the world over and put them in different parts of the world, quite fascinating really, they essentially made a skin tone a byword for a condition, but anyway its was that they FUCKED the people the conquered, they fucked them all, women, older women, young girls, little girls, boys, teenage boys, little boys, men, older men, I mean FUCKING was the essential ingredient to it all, that everyone overlooks, but its why sex tourism exists, its why things such as the sexually exotic mixed race woman are celebrated in mass media, its why ladyboys exist, I mean I could go on, the identities that are called alternative, only exist because of European colonialism, they aren’t truly authentic ! why don’t people get that,

there’s a taboo, in modernity, what I’ll call the instisintnce of niceness and decorum, I as a mixed race person, just shit on that, I remember my former male mentor who was a criminal once told me that our ancestors were pirates, he too was mixed race, and he always used to stress to me “what do you know about human nature” in the context of him saying that, it came from us watching 12 years of a slave, me being in my early 20′s at the time, could not accept the depiction of a black woman willingly married to a white slave owner, living in bliss, my inherent polite liberal decorum, wouldn’t allow me to see the world as it really is,

the world that is this, piracy, prostitution, ignorance, childishness, mediocrity, the world of New Orleans in the 19th century, where ignorant lumpens interacted with each other through music, sex, and food, that is the real world, where some red headed Irish bitch fresh off the boat, gets work at a New Orleans brothel, falls in love with some creole fast talking criminal, they have a kid they both abandon, who plays jazz music, but also has to hustle by selling his ass in homosexual dalliances, with rich white patrons,

THAT is the real world,

how to destroy that world, and reset the world, with no hierarchy, with no prejudice, or exploitation, that is the key, but to do that, will take violence, you have to violently overthrow the europeans, and it also has to be decentralized, it has to be democratic, it has to be frankly communism-anarchism, it cannot be anything else, it also has to be fundamentally feminist, but it also has to have beauty, you have to present something people will actually like doing, for example, instead of having McDonalds, why don’t we educate the citizens of the world to build spaceships, or to utilize the biology of the planet with technology, you have to incorporate everyones neat gift for creativity, something I realized by looking at CAVE PAINTINGS.

look at cave paintings, look at how detailed they are, they look like they were painted by master painters who had years of experience, instead they were painted by the first of us, who didn’t know anything about the technical aspects of art, and these things still came out TOP NOTCH,

#poets on tumblr #writers on tumblr #my thoughts #leftist #anarchist #prose

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100storiesin2020 · 4 years

Text

Chapter 8: Columbia, Part 2

Come read on AO3!

Neil checked the rear view mirror to make sure Ronan's BMW was still behind them before hopping out of the Maserati. He fetched an extra parking pass and handed it to Ronan through the window. "Follow Andrew to the parking lot. Blue, you can walk with them or come in with us." She hopped out as the two cars peeled off.

"So this is Eden's," she said as Nicky began an elaborate handshake with security. "How long have y'all been coming here?"

"Nicky and the twins used to work here," he said. "The staff remembers them, so we are able to get in without ID's and drink for free."

"Nice," was all she said as they entered. He directed her to go sit with the others and headed to the bar.

"Hello!" Roland called when he noticed Neil. He nodded his head over to their usual table in the corner. "I see you have a new face today. Will it be the usual treatment for them?"

"No," Neil said. "No drugs. Do throw in several extra drinks, though. We have another extra coming in with Andrew."

"Oh," Roland drew out, raising an eyebrow. "What's the story there?" Neil shrugged. He didn't really know why Ronan was there, actually. They had only wanted Blue. Roland continued to wait for an explanation, but finally realized it was in vain. "Alright then." He started to pull out glasses. "I'll give you your usual and a few undoctored extras. Do you have any idea what they like?" Roland smiled when Neil shook his head. "Bartender's choice, then. And a soda for you, as usual." He handed the very full tray to Neil. "Have a nice night!"

Neil navigated his way over to the table. Andrew and Ronan had arrived, and the booth was very crowded. Nicky had pulled up a bar stool to sit on, which made just enough space is everyone squeezed in. Blue was looking around interestedly, while Ronan was lounging as if bored out of his mind. Kevin reached for the drinks before they even hit the table, but Aaron didn't look up from texting long enough to notice.

"So," Blue said as Neil took his seat by Andrew, "You did say this was free?" Nicky excitedly launched into the story of how he had worked there. Blue nodded along as if she hadn't already heard. "Cool then. What's the most expensive thing here?" Nicky pointed out a swirly colorful concoction and Blue snapped it right up. "This is mine, then."

Ronan laughed. "You're not going to get drunk on a sissy drink like that."

"Good thing I wasn't planning to get drunk. Go to town, shithead." Ronan immediately kicked back several drinks. "And give me your keys before those give in." Ronan grumbled but handed over the keys. Somehow, he and Kevin were neck in neck for number of drinks consumed. How they were still alive, Neil didn't know. Eventually Nicky dragged Aaron and Kevin off to go dance, leaving Neil and Andrew alone with the freshmen.

Andrew immediately leaned across the table, looking Blue straight in the eye. "You're suspicious."

"You don't know the half of it," Blue replied, sipping her drink. Her eyes had gone tight, body stiff, like she was absolutely dreading this conversation. She didn't back down, though. This girl was made of steel.

"How do you know Mr. Gray?" Andrew asked.

Ronan leaned forward menacingly. "You don't need to know that."

Blue elbowed him before leveling a glare. "I promised to answer some questions about Mr. Gray. He kind of scared the shit out of Josten here. I can handle this. Go dance." When he tried to argue she shoved him out of the seat. He picked himself up off the floor, muttering curses, but did eventually leave. Blue turned back to them. "I believe I told you that he is dating my mother."

"Why is a small-town psychic dating a hit man, then?"

Blue was shocked. "You can't just say that were anyone can hear."

"This is a club. It's too loud for anyone to be listening to us without being obvious. Answer the question."

"He came to her to get a reading when he was in Henrietta... on assignment," she said with a grimace. "They apparently hit it off quickly. I kind of avoided learning the details."

"That leaves out the very important question of why a hit man was in Henrietta," Neil stated.

Blue glared at him. "All you two need to know," she said slowly, "is whether we're a risk. I know about the Butcher and the Moriyamas." Neil flinched. "Mr. Gray explained the situation and dynamics to me when I signed the contract. We aren't a target for them, and it's my understanding that you've got everything settled here. Is there anything else?"

"Can you protect them?" Andrew asked.

"What?"

"If something goes wrong, I will not protect them. That's up to you."

Blue nodded. "I've lost enough of my friends this last year. Nobody will touch them ever again." Andrew leaned back, satisfied, and went back to drinking. Blue sipped her drink for another minute or so and then left to dance.

"I think she'll be alright," Neil said in German. Andrew grunted. "She has the look of someone who isn't afraid to fight."

"She has scars," Andrew replied. "Around her eye."

Neil nodded thoughtfully. "Must wear makeup to hide them. What did you think of the rest of what she said? Nicky says she mentioned a friend dying recently, and she let slip that Gansey has died twice, whatever that means." Andrew hummed. "I think she has plenty of motivation to be on the lookout."

They sat there in silence for awhile, lights flashing on Andrew's blond hair. It still surprised Neil, sometimes, how much things had changed for him in the last year. He still hated crowds, didn't like loud music or drinking, but he liked Eden's. This was Andrew's territory, and with Andrew, he was safe. He was home.

His thoughts were interrupted by the others coming back to the table. Kevin and Ronan eyed each other as they both did more shots. Blue said something about fragile male egos and the two of them flipped her the bird, rather clumsily. They were both pretty drunk.

"Fuckin Gray man," Ronan muttered. What was that accent coming through the slur? "Someday I'll get even with him."

"You're already even with the person who matters," Blue replied. That was interesting.

"Fuckin Greenmantle deserved what he fuckin got." Neil could place the accent now.

Kevin did too. "You sound... you sound like my mom used to," he stammered. "Irish. Are you Irish?"

"Dad was Irish," Ronan grumbled.

"He gets the accent when he's drunk," Blue supplied cheerily. "It embarrasses the hell out of him." Ronan flipped her off yet again.

"My mom was Irish," Kevin said. "I haven't heard that accent since she died. She used to tell me all these old stories..." he trailed off softly. "I wish I could remember them."

"Did she tell you the legend of Finn McCool?"

"The giant?" Kevin asked hopefully. "I think so, that one sounds familiar. I remember a really sad story too. It was her favorite. Something about a girl who was supposed to marry a king but started a war?"

Ronan nodded. "Sounds like Deidre, at least if my mom told me the same stories yours did." Neil listened with half an ear as the two of them continued to swap pieces of folk tales. They had a few in common, and others they did not. Ronan seemed less sharp in those moments, less like a knife and more like a person. It didn't last long. Kevin asked Ronan something about his father, and the sharpness returned.

"That's our cue to go," Blue said as Ronan stomped to his feet.

"But I want to keep dancing!" Nicky said.

"No, she's right," Neil replied. "It's late, even for us. Let's go home." Neil helped a swaying Nicky while Andrew grabbed Kevin, and he saw Blue half dragging a protesting Ronan out to the car. Neil overheard something about pint sized freak and I could take him, but he didn't hear Blue's reply. Whatever it was, it made Ronan laugh wickedly.

Neil deposited Nicky in the backseat with Kevin and Aaron and hopped in front next to Andrew. They watched in the mirror as Blue forcibly shoved Ronan into the backseat and held the door open for the raven to fly back in from where it was perched on the roof. Blue climbed into the car and they all drove the 15 minutes or so to the Columbia house, making sure not to lose her. Neil watched Andrew drive as the drunk ones argued in the backseat. "Staring," was all Andrew said, eyes still on the road. Neil only grinned and kept looking.

They pulled up to the house, the BMW just behind. Neil hopped out of the car and unlocked the house door as the others spilled out of their cars, Nicky and Kevin lurching from side to side. Blue was hauling Ronan by one arm with the raven perched on her head. Aaron was mostly upright; he's started drinking less after Katelyn had asked him to.

"Alright Nicky," Neil said. "Don't forget you gave up your room for Blue."

"An act of pure chivalry," Nicky said with a laugh. "To the couch!"

"Aaron, Kevin is going to sleep in the armchair in your room."

"I remember," Aaron said with a shrug. That may have been the most civil exchange they'd ever had, Neil realized after a second. Kevin stumbled inside, complaining about how armchairs always hurt his back, as if he didn't end up on the floor half the time when he was this drunk.

Then it was Blue. "You're in Nicky's room," Neil said. "Just down the hall, second door on the left. We didn't really figure anything out for Ronan, though there's an armchair in the living room. Please keep the bird outside though."

Blue only shrugged. "I'll take him with me. I'll need to keep an eye on him, anyway. Scram, girl." Chainsaw cawed defiantly but eventually flew into the darkness.

Everyone situated, Neil headed up to the room where Andrew was already climbing into bed. Neil threw on his pjs and climbed in after. "Yes or no?"

Andrew thought for a moment. "No." Neil nodded; there were strange people in the house, and it was hard for Andrew to relax even with the bedroom door locked. He probably wouldn't get much sleep tonight. Neil turned off the light and was asleep quickly.

A few hours later he woke with a start as he heard a shriek and a thump downstairs. It sounded like Blue. Neil and Andrew both sat upright in an instant, hands going for knives but coming up empty. They grabbed the knives from the bedside table and ran down the stairs. Chances were that she had simply fallen out of bed, but after the hard lives they had lived it was difficult to ignore any sound that resembled a threat.

Neil gave a loud knock and called, "Coming in!" before opening the door.

Ronan was in the bed, just barely starting to sit up. He had scratches on his face and arms. Blue was standing over a... creature, her pajamas soaked with blood. The thing resembled a bat, almost, only bigger than a person, and it had wicked claws. Neil watched as it took its last breath before Blue plunged a pink knife into its eye.

She looked up at them, hair wild, eyes untrusting. Neil almost expected the knife to come for him next, but then her face settled, as if she had made a decision she didn't like.

"Do you guys know where we can hide a body?"

#a chainsaw in fox tower #trc #the raven cycle #aftg #all for the game #crossover #ronan lynch #blue sargent #andrew minyard #neil josten #nicky hemmick #kevin day #aaron minyard #columbia #tw: blood #tw: violence #tw: drinking #this is columbia. you know the drill #no drugs though

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notrobyn · 4 years

Text

okay gang i watched artemis fowl and my thoughts are SO LONG. (i literally was taking notes everytime something struck me lmao) so this is obvs gonna be under a read more!! (also there’s probs minor spoilers sorry!!)

the tl;dr for my opinion though is: it’s probably fine if you read the books but weren’t that into them. like if ur a hardcore fan u will be most likely not be that impressed, and if u have never read the books i am FASCINATED to know if u kept up with the plot!! there were bits i didn’t understand at all lol

okay so point no. 1 is that to me most of the changes from the book felt either a little unnecessary or straight up pointless. point no. 2 is that i don’t know how to organise my thoughts so im gonna separate these out by character lmaooooo i have s o much beef.

artemis fowl ii: the actor is sweet! he’s having fun, we’re introduced to him via him surfing and then on a lil hoverboard thing with one wheel? which is a frankly bizarre choice for book!artemis who notably doesn’t do physical activity. (this is a dumb thing but until about 2/3rds of the way through he wears jeans. unheard of for this lil snob). He’s also called ‘Arty’ several times without rebelling. aside from that though he really didn’t start out too badly!! we see him with his guidance counsellor where he is as much a little shit as he is in the book, he’s very self-assured and he clearly knows what he’s talking about. It does kind of go downhill from there though - his character development pretty much doesn’t even start and by the end of the film I have NO idea what his motivations or even his personality are. We hear more characters straight up Telling us “ARTEMIS IS SMART AND ALSO SCARY” than we see evidence of it.

artemis fowl i: the dad! this is Colin Farrell. which is fine. he’s fine. He wasn’t really in the first book since he’d been kidnapped before the events and wouldn’t be rescued til the next one but he’s.....not bad! He doesn’t give me ‘criminal mastermind’ vibes and he certainly doesn’t seem to have passed any of that down to Arty II. The whole ‘hostage’ shit was wild, i’ll talk abt that later lmao

butler: oh MAN did they misuse butler!!! I fucking LOVE book!butler. he’s such a perfect surrogate-father-figure to Arty while being totally in charge of his welfare and stuff like I literally love him. what a badass. but in the film......he’s basically just the fowl’s servant??? Like he’s not even specifically in charge of Arty? He goes on stakeout on his own, he knows all about Artemis Fowl I’s private collections and secrets, and worst of all - Arty calls him Dom/Domovoi. What the fuck. (he also at no point puts on a suit of armour)

juliet butler: god okay I also love juliet, she’s so cool. change no. 1 to juliet is that she’s about artemis’s age? I’m pretty sure she was older. but not convinced. change no. 2 is that she’s butler’s niece??? why? what a pointless change. She’s really not in this film a lot, even parts that in the book were for her have been changed. don’t love that

holly short: okay, holly short in the books is my absolute fav. she’s the first female officer in LEPrecon, she’s making waves, she’s held to a higher standard and is angry about it. but film!holly........she’s just sort of a normal fairy. Apparently her dad was some kind of human sympathiser so I guess she’s working through that but other than that she just seems nice. Not much characterisation, she’s the same height as Arty though so I guess he must be 1m tall. Cool uniform, cool wings, she did say D’Arvit once.

mulch diggums: tbh I did like him in the books but he got overwhelming in the film. He’s like....the main framing of the film? So it’s like him reporting everything that happened to HUMAN police (wtf). but for some reason he’s really tall. Why is he really tall. The jaw unhinging is truly horrific to watch though which is tbh probably the goal. idk he’s fine, he just...felt like too much, especially compared to the weaker characters of Arty and Holly.

julius root: so this is Judi Dench. and honestly it wasn’t awful. I was super worried about this one because having Commander Root be a woman genuinely takes away so much from Holly’s character of struggling in a male-dominated job. but since Holly didn’t have much of a character, judi did a fine job. She wasn’t quite as angry but she is intimidating, and she did also say D’Arvit so that’s cool. I don’t hate it.

opal: why the fuck is opal in this film. she didn’t become an antagonist for a while. her motives were wild: there’s a new secret fairy artifact called an ‘aculos’ or ‘acuros’ (at no point did i understand what they were saying, i had it written as akhiros for ages) that artemis senior got hold of, so she kidnapped him to......get it? Even though she could have just stolen it? I don’t really understand this.

foaly: nowhere near as paranoid, nowhere near as fun. horse bit looked cool from a distance, BAD movement though.

OKAY that’s all the characters i can think of?? here’s some general shit though!!!!! sorry this is so long!!!!!

the music was great! it’s patrick doyle so that’s always good, but he did some really gorgeous things with having Irish-inspired folk music when we were in Fowl Manor and then an orchestral score for action scenes, and then darker music for Haven. I do like hearing those little bits weave in and out!

didn’t love mulch being the framing device. not every film needs one, sometimes a film can just stand on its own!! kenneth branagh i hope you’re listening!!

don’t know why they didn’t just leave the main driving force behind arty kidnapping a fairy as being gold?? it had to be this weird new fairy secret acorn thing. nonsense.

there was a VERY confusing sequence with holly’s magic being “blocked” by the LEP that i would love to know if anyone understood. also if anyone actually understood the time freeze i very much did not. what was arty’s plan??? lmao

this is so long im so sorry. IN CONCLUSION: IT WAS FINE. I WILL NOT WATCH IT AGAIN, NOR DO I WANT THEM TO MAKE ANOTHER. I WISH IT HAD BEEN MORE ACCURATE BUT I UNDERSTAND SOME OF THE CHANGES WERE MADE FOR A DISNEY AUDIENCE. SOME OF THEM WERE NONSENSE THO.

#artemis fowl #artemis fowl movie #artemis fowl film #artemis fowl spoilers #okay im so sorry this is the longest thing ive ever written #but i love artemis fowl so so so much #and this film? wasn't it

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the-awkward-outlaw · 5 years

Text

Second Chances - Ch. 9

Surprise

Warnings: blood, murder, slight gore, fluff

Word Count: ~9700

You walk through the streets of Valentine hand-in-hand with Arthur. You’ve been needing a break from camp and some much-needed alone time with the rugged outlaw for days. You didn’t want to come to Valentine. You’ve grown tired of the town, and had asked to go somewhere else. You suggested Big Valley after studying Arthur’s map. He insisted the two of you come here for a job first. Something to do with the doctor.

The two of you walk up the steps. You hold the cane in your free hand, although you haven’t needed it for over a week. Arthur asked you to bring it and pretend like you’re badly injured. He stops you before entering the doctor’s office. “Ya ready for this?”

“Yep!” you smile. “I know exactly what to do.”

He nods, happy, and you enter the office, pretending to limp heavily. It isn’t hard since you’re familiar with the action, despite it being fake now. Arthur enters after you, still holding onto your hand. The doctor stands at the desk, examining some herbs. He looks at you over his spectacles.

“Welcome. What can I do for ya today?”

“I hurt my leg real bad a few days ago,” you say, taking on a breathy tone, leaning on your partner. “It’s real painful!”

He walks around the desk to stand in front of you, asking you to point out the leg. You gesture to your left thigh where, hidden beneath your jeans, there’s little more than a dark red line.

“C’mon into my examination room, I’ll take a look.”

He leads you into his room, Arthur following. The doctor tries to stop him.

“No visitors.”

“Oh, but please doctor. He’s my husband, I begged him to come!” you say, making up the story. “I’d be mighty appreciative if you let him stay!”

The doctor sighs and relinquishes, letting Arthur in. The outlaw glances at you, surprise on his face. You wink at him behind the doctor’s back. Arthur goes and leans on the wall between a window and a large metal door.

The doctor turns back to you after having scrubbed his hands, ordering you to sit in a chair. You do as you’re told, making it look like a struggle. The doctor sits in another chair close to yours, bending down.

“Show me where it hurts,” he says. You gesture to the back of your thigh. He begins poking and prodding your leg.

“Well, I ain’t feelin’ nothin’, but best take a look. I’m gonna need you to take off your jeans.”

He glances back at Arthur, whose arms are folded across his broad chest. You try not to laugh at the look on his face. You whip out the shotgun from your belt, pressing it against the doctor’s chest. He whips around, shock sprawling his face.

“How ‘bout instead you show me what’s behind that door?” you say, looking at the metal door. He raises his hands. Arthur walks up behind him and yanks him to his feet.

“Ya heard the lady,” he growls, his eyes sparking. “Open the door.”

You stand up, still pointing the gun, as the man approaches the door and knocks. A slot in the door opens. Arthur and you quickly take several steps back in order to hide from whomever is looking through.

“Ah, it’s only the doc,” comes a lilting Irish voice. “Must be a slow day again.”

The door opens. Arthur stomps forward, grabbing the doctor and forcing him through the door, you following in his wake. He throws the man against the wall, knocking him out as you look around the room. Three men wearing green shirts and bandanas sit around a table, one of them with a saloon girl on his lap. They launch to their feet at the sight of you and Arthur, whipping out their revolvers. Arthur pulls out his volcanic pistol and shoots one of them. You hesitate for a second and then shoot one of the others. Cards flutter through the air from the men’s hands as the saloon girl runs to the back wall, screaming as Arthur shoots the last one.

“Please don’t kill me!” she begs. You lower your gun and Arthur approaches the table, grabbing the stacks of bills. You see a painting on one wall, seeming odd in its placement. You start to walk towards it when you see movement from the corner of your eye. The saloon girl has yanked the pistol from one of the dead man’s hands, pointing it at Arthur. You’re faster, though, and your shotgun explodes, knocking her down.

“Damn O’Driscolls,” Arthur grumbles, reholstering his half-drawn pistol and putting the bills into his satchel. “What the hell they doin’ here?”

“Dunno,” you say, going back to the painting, holstering your shotgun. You lift it up and away from the wall, revealing a safe. “You got something to crack this open?” you ask.

He comes and stands next to you. “Ah, these ones are easy. Watch and learn, sweetheart.”

He kneels down, placing an ear close to the lock. He begins twisting and turning it, listening closely for the sound of it clicking. After a few moments, he swings it open, flashing you a proud grin as he stands up. You reach in and pull out more bills and some jewelry.

“Mighty fine take,” you say, placing it in your own satchel. “Glad you twisted my arm to do this job.”

“Me too.”

The two of you leave quickly as the sound of yelling comes from the street. Someone’s heard your gunshots. Arthur grabs your hand and pulls you out a backdoor and into the back lot. You shut the door closed and the two of you dash away from the building, certain no one saw you leaving. You and Arthur run down behind the store, stopping to catch your breath as you lean against the wall. You and Arthur look at each other and break out into laughter. Once you both quiet down, your stomach drops as you realize something.

“Arthur, I left my cane in the doctor’s office.”

“Ya serious, Y/N?”

“Shit, I’m sorry! I guess we could just leave it there. I don’t really need it anymore.” You feel bad doing so since Charles had made it for you. Arthur sighs in frustration.

“Well, maybe we don’t have to. Follow my lead. Pretend to limp again, would ya?” He grabs your hand and walks down the muddy street with you. You fake the limp again, grabbing his arm with your free hand. Ahead, darting across the road and yelling to one another, is the sheriff and a couple of deputies. The two of you approach the doctor’s office, trying to look as innocent as possible. He leads you up the steps again when a deputy comes to the door, pistol unholstered.

“What you two doin’ here?” he demands.

“Oh, I’m real sorry, sir. My wife needed to see the doc earlier and she left her cane. Ya mind if we grab it?”

He stares hard at the two of you for several seconds. “Wait here,” he finally says, disappearing into the office. He reappears, holding your cane.

“There ya are, miss. Now I recommend the two of you stay away from here for the next few days.”

“Why? What happened?” you ask, clutching the cane.

The deputy hesitates. “Someone came in here and shot some folk only a few minutes ago. We’re lookin’ for ‘em now. Ya two see anything, let us know.”

“Shoar thing, sir,” Arthur says, leisurely saluting him with two fingers. You both head down the street, feeling like you got too lucky. You approach Artemis and Rannoch, hitched outside the hotel. You slide your cane into Rannoch’s saddle. The sun’s setting, making it too dark to leave for a new location. Arthur suggests you both spend the night here, to which you agree. He pays for the room and a bath. You look at him curiously.

“Just gonna take one quick, darlin’,” he says. “I’ll meet ya in the room.” He bends down and gives you a brief kiss before turning and walking down the hallway to the washroom. You head up the stairs and go into the room, which only has one bed. You’re not too worried about this, figuring it’ll be the same as sleeping in the tent he brings when you’re out on trips.

You sit on the bed and write in your journal while you wait for him. After some time, he comes into the room, bringing along the heavy scent of soap, his hair still wet. He sits down next to you, taking off his boots. You look over at him, noticing the thick, hard muscles of his neck, disappearing under his shirt and coat.

You reposition yourself so you’re kneeling down behind him. He stops taking off his boots, about to turn to you, when you place your hands on his shoulders and begin massaging him. He tenses up at first, but after a few seconds he begins to relax, groaning as you work out the hardness in his body.

“You are very tense, Mr. Morgan,” you say in his ear. “I really need to do this more often for you.”

He takes his hat off, tossing it onto a chair, and tilts his head back, sighing in pleasure. You squeeze his shoulders tighter, finding knots and working them out.

After several moments, he grabs your hand and loops it so your arm is wrapped around him. He kisses your palm gently.

“That’s real sweet of you, darlin’,” he rumbles. “No idea how good that felt.” You bend forward and place a kiss on his neck.

You finish massaging him, patting his back and then get up to take off your own boots. When you turn back around to the bed, you find Arthur lying on his back, looking at you. His arm closest to you sticks out across the bed. You crawl into bed and squeeze yourself against his side, feeling his arm wrap around you. You lay your head on his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. His hand on your arms rubs patterns into your skin while his other hand slides over your hand lying on his stomach. You begin drifting off to sleep when you feel him place a delicate kiss on your head. He mumbles something to you, but you don’t hear what he says as you become lost to the darkness.

You wake up, lying on your side facing the door. You shift your legs when your feet brush up against Arthur’s legs. You feel his arm squeeze around your waist gently and you realize he’s spooning you, his face buried in your hair. You relax again, smiling and closing your eyes again.

After a short period of time, you feel him beginning to stir. He lifts up his head, realizing the position he has you in.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he mumbles sleepily. He starts to withtract his arm when you grab hold of it, turning your face to his. You kiss him softly. “I could get used to that,” he says, smiling against your lips. You laugh, kissing him again.

“How ‘bout I buy you breakfast and we go?” you whisper.

He smiles again. “Yes, ma’am.”

The two of you get up, put your boots back on and leave the hotel. His hand doesn’t leave your waist the entire time you walk over to the saloon. You order two bowls of oatmeal and the two of you sit down at a table and eat.

Behind you, from another table near one of the windows, comes a sudden outburst of laughing. You turn in your chair and see three men sitting at it playing a game of poker. You turn back to Arthur, a glint in your eye.

“Wanna go play, see if we can beat those fellers?”

He leans over to see the table as well. “Y’know how to play?”

“Think so. Grimshaw and I played a couple of games together when I was on bedrest. I’m actually getting pretty good.”

Arthur half-smiles at you. “Why not?”

The two of you stand and approach the table, placing down $2.50 each to play. One of the men, dressed like a farmer, looks up and glares at you.

“This ain’t a woman’s game,” he spits.

“Listen, mister,” Arthur warns, leaning down and planting his hands on the table. “I don’t ever remember readin’ a book about poker sayin’ a woman can’t play. ‘Sides, I wouldn’t be surprised if she could bust each one of ya out.”

The man looks like he’s about to stand up when one of the others speaks up. “Relax, Walter. Don’t see why she can’t play. Sit down, I’ll deal ya both in.”

You both take a seat, Arthur sits opposite Walter while the one on your right remains empty. The man who spoke last deals you your cards. You pick them up. Queen of spades, 3 of diamonds.

The dealer starts laying down the cards, the betting raises up to $3.80. The other player who hasn’t spoken yet folds as the other two lay down their cards. You look at the table which shows the queen of clubs. The other cards, however, are useless to you. You lie them down but end up losing to Arthur, which you don’t mind. “Yes!” he laughs as he grabs the chips from the middle.

A couple more rounds go by, you don’t win any of them. Walter snickers. “So much for her bustin’ each of us out,” he snides to Arthur. You look at the outlaw and see his eyes flicker angrily. You place a hand on his thigh under the table, trying to calm him.

“Don’t test me, mister,” Arthur snarls.

“Or what? Ya gonna shoot me?”

“I might.”

The man who hasn’t spoken yet finally opens his mouth. “Can we calm down, please? I’m here to play a few games, not listen to you two argue.”

Arthur angrily shuffles and deals out the cards. Yours end up being two fours, a diamond and a heart. Arthur lies down the first card, an 8 of spades. Bidding goes up to $1.50. Then he lays down a 4 of spades. You try to keep your face smooth to hide your excitement. He lays down two more cards, the bidding passes $6.

Walter chuckles. “All in,” he slides all his chips into the middle. The other two and Arthur fold; he curses. Walter smirks at you, lifting an eyebrow. You lift your head high, staring back.

“All in.” You push your chips in as well, even though it’s a significant amount less than his bid. The total amount now though has been raised to $11.38.

“Ooh, ya feelin’ confident now, girl?” he taunts.

“Are you?” you shoot back. His grin flickers as the two of you lie down your cards. All he has is a 3 of hearts and an 8 of diamonds. You put down your two fours.

“Goddamn it!” he smacks the table as Arthur lies down the last card, the King of Clubs. You laugh, grabbing the chips and sliding them over to you.

“Well, hope you weren’t plannin’ on usin’ that money for anythin’ important,” Arthur taunts. Walter gets up without a word and stalks out of the saloon. You decide you’re done, too, telling Arthur so.

The two of you leave, going over to your horses. You pat Rannoch affectionately. Sometimes you still feel physical pain when you remember Rain, but it hasn’t prevented you from forming a deep connection to the appaloosa stallion. He rumbles in his chest, greeting you.

“Hey, sweetheart, I need to go back to camp for somethin’ real quick, then we can head out to Big Valley,” Arthur calls to you from Artemis’s back.

You mount Rannoch. “Okay.”

The two of you go back to Horseshoe Overlook. On the way there, you’re distracted by the sight of a small pool of blood by the trail. It leads up to the train tracks where they cross over a sharp dip in the land. Something lies in the puddle. A foot? You call Arthur’s attention to it.

You both dismount, following the trail slowly until you come to the rail bridge. Strung up underneath it is the mutilated upper half of a man, blood still dripping. On one of the rock walls leading away from the bridge are the words scrawled in white paint “Look on my works”.

“Jesus,” Arthur breathes out. He approaches the body, spotting the head nailed to one of the pillars. You, however, are frozen. You don’t see the corpse dangling from the bridge anymore. Instead, you’re being dragged along the ground, golden sunlight bathing you as you stare up into a shrine made of human corpses.

You close your eyes, your breathing getting heavy. You turn away, trying not to see it anymore.

“Arthur,” you gasp. “C-can we leave, please?”

He’s holding a rolled up piece of paper, he looks up at you. His eyes grow worried as he walks up to you.

“Everythin’ a’right?”

“Yeah, I just can’t be here anymore.”

He gently takes hold of your arm and leads you away. When you reach the main trail, he stops you and pulls you into a tight embrace.

“Yer a’right, girl,” he says, his deep voice reverberating through you. “Ya don’t have to see it no more.” He rubs your back soothingly. After a few minutes, you pull away.

“I’m okay,” you finally say. He pats your back and then mounts Artemis. You turn and hop onto Rannoch and continue on your way to camp.

By the time you both get back, you’re mostly back to normal though slightly shaken. Arthur turns slightly, saying he’ll be back in a moment. He leaves to his tent when you see Abigail approach him. You groom Rannoch, trying to hear what they’re saying, but they’re too far away.

After a few moments, Arthur returns but he heads over to Jack, who’s sitting in the grass digging a stick through the dirt.

“Ya wanna go fishin’?” Arthur asks him.

“Sure, Uncle Arthur!” he says, hopping up.

“Well, good. Go grab yer pole. You do have a pole, don’t ya?”

��Yeah! Uncle Hosea maked me one.”

“Good! Now go grab it so we can catch ourselves some fish!”

The boy laughs as he runs past you. Arthur comes up to you.

“Abigail asked me to take him out for a bit. Ya wanna come fishin’ with us?”

“Of course, Arthur.”

You both mount your horses as you wait for Jack, who comes back holding a pole. Arthur stretches down, grabs it and hitches it his saddle. He then reaches down and grabs Jack, placing the small boy in front of him, holding him tight. Your heart warms at the sight of the tiny boy sitting in front of the burly, rugged outlaw as you both turn down the trail and head towards the river.

Arthur walks slowly at first, not wanting to let Jack slip.

“Go faster, Uncle Arthur!”

He chuckles. “A’right, hold on there, Jack.” He kicks Artemis into a quick trot.

“Faster, faster!”

The horses pick up to an easy canter; you hear Jack ahead of you squeal, enjoying the ride. You can’t help but laugh.

Arthur slows down next to the river, stopping at a muddy bank. He lifts Jack down as you pull up next to him. Together, the three of you find a spot near the river and bait your hooks. You haven’t been fishing since your first hunt with Arthur at Bison Point. You smile fondly at the memory, thinking how far you and he have come. You cast your line into the current and wait as Arthur instructs Jack on the techniques of fishing.

Arthur casts out his line, close to yours. All is quiet as you listen to the birds in the trees, the ducks across the river. You watch a small herd of deer on the other side, drinking and grazing.

“I remember teachin’ another boy to fish,” Arthur suddenly speaks up, his eyes far away.

“Was it Lenny?” Jack asks.

“No, it weren’t Lenny. Was before Lenny joined us. Even before ya were around. He was a good kid, though.”

You want to ask him who he’s talking about, but a fish suddenly grabs your bait. You pull in a small bluegill.

“Hey, look Jack,” Arthur calls, smiling at you. “A bluegill. It’s almost as small as you.”

“I’m bored. Can I go pick some flowers?” the boy asks.

“Shoar, Jack. Just don’t wander off too far.”

For the next little while, you and Arthur continue to fish, catching several more bluegills and a couple of pickerels. Arthur calls to you, saying you ought to pack up and go. He reels in his line and approaches Jack, you following in his steps as you take your pole apart and stuff it into your satchel.

“What’cha got there, Jack?”

“A necklace for mama!”

He kneels down to look closer at the wide ring of flowers he holds up.

“Shoar.”

“That’s a fine young man,” comes a voice from behind you. You whip around, seeing two men in fine city clothes walking slowly towards you. The one in the back is a small, stout man, a rifle leaning against his shoulder. The other, the one who spoke, is taller, leaner and has pock marks across his cheeks. Arthur stands up and faces the two men, Jack looks scared.

“Arthur, isn’t it?” the man continues on. “Arthur Morgan?” “Who are you?” he demands, stepping in front of Jack. You walk behind the boy, placing your hands on his small shoulders in case you need to grab him quickly. You watch the men over Arthur’s shoulder.

“Mr. Van der Linde’s most trusted associate, Arthur Morgan,” the man continues, stopping. He points to himself. “Agent Milton, Pinkerton Detective Agency. This is my partner, Agent Ross.”

Ross glares at the three of you, his fingers flicking over the trigger of the rifle still leaning up on his shoulder. You try to look braver than you feel. With everything going on, you’ve forgotten all about the law chasing you from Blackwater.

“We know a lot about you,” Milton adds.

“Do ya now?” Arthur growls.

“You’re a wanted man, Mr. Morgan. There’s five thousand dollars for your head alone.”

“Five thousand dollars? For me?” he glances back to you briefly. “Can I turn myself in?”

Milton glances at you. “Ah, Ms. Y/L/N. Yes, the sheriff of Blackwater mentioned we might find you. Unfortunate that you mixed in with this group of degenerates and murderers. I hope you’re happy to know you have a generous bounty of a thousand dollars.”

“A thousand?” you speak up in a surprisingly steady voice. “Last I checked it was only five hundred.”

Milton sniffs haughtily. “That was when you were still running on your own. Poor choice, if you ask me.”

“You leave her out of this,” Arthur growls.

Milton sneers, gazing back at Arthur. “We want Van der Linde.”

“Dutch? We ain’t seen him in months.”

“Really? Because we heard of a man sounded a lot like him robbed a train in Ambarino belonging to Leviticus Cornwall.”

“Train robbin’? Ain’t that a little old fashioned now days?”

“Apparently not. Listen,” Milton raises his hands, walking slowly towards the three of you. “I’m going to make you both an offer. Bring in Van der Linde and you won’t swing. You have my word.”

“That’s all fine, Mr. Milton, ‘cept we ain’t gonna swing. See, we ain’t done nothin’ wrong ‘cept not play the game by your rules.”

“Spare me the philosophy lesson, I already heard it from Mac Callander.”

You’re shocked by the name. Mac hasn’t been seen since the morning of the river boat robbery that went so wrong. It seems Arthur’s taken by surprise as well.

“Mac Callander?”

“Yeah, he was pretty shot up by the time we got to him. In the end, it was really more of a mercy killing. Slow, but merciful.”

Arthur lowers his head and you see him begin to shake. He suddenly throws his pole down, his anger exploding. Ross leaps, pointing his rifle at Arthur. You yank out your sawed-off and point it at Ross.

“So ya enjoy bein’ a rich man’s toy, do ya?” Arthur roars.

“I enjoy society, flaws and all,” Milton snarls. “You people venerate savagery and you will die savagely!”

The two men are within inches of each other. “Oh, we’re all gonna die, agent.”

“Some of us sooner than others!” Milton says. A few tense seconds pass before Milton turns away, stomping off to his horse.

“Good day, Mr. Morgan. Ms. Y/L/N.”

“Enjoy your fishing, kid,” Ross says in a gravelly voice. “While you still can!”

You holster your shotgun as Arthur turns to face you and Jack. The boy looks up at him as the two men ride off.

“Who are they?”

“No one,” Arthur says, ruffling the kid’s hair. “No one to worry about.”

You place a hand on his shoulder. “You okay?” you ask quietly.

“‘Course. Let’s get Jack back.” He walks away and picks up his fishing pole, collapsing it and putting it back into his satchel. The two of you mount your horses again, Arthur reaching down to lift up Jack once more.

You both ride back at a steady canter, but Jack isn’t laughing anymore. When you approach the hitching posts, you spot Abigail sitting on the grass, knitting.

“There you are!” she calls to Jack as Arthur lifts him down, handing him his pole. “How’d you three get on?”

“We caught a fish!” Jack says. “And I made you this necklace.”

“Well, if I ain’t just the luckiest!” She turns to you and Arthur. “Thank you both!”

“We had a good time,” Arthur says, smiling as he loops his thumbs into his gunbelt. You fold your arms across your abdomen. Jack walks away, and Abigail approaches Arthur.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’, we just met some folk. Look, I better go speak with Dutch.”

Abigail nods and Arthur calls to Jack. “Hey! You did real fine, kid.” He pats you on the back and heads off to Dutch’s tent after saying you’ll both leave for Big Valley afterwards.

You go and pack a few more cans of food from Pearson’s wagon, stocking up on your own provisions. You pack extras in case Arthur needs some as well.

Arthur comes up behind you, touching your shoulder.

“A’right, let’s go,” he says.

You both mount your horses and go down the trail, galloping past Valentine. You cross a wooden bridge, glance to the right and spot a small ranch. The trail dips down slightly and then splits off left and right, the left going through a large covered bridge. Arthur turns and takes the left side, going into the bridge and then going down to the right, crossing a wide and shallow part of the river. The trail wanders back up into the foothills of the mountains.

The two of you canter underneath the rail tracks and wander into a wide open space, tall trees climbing to meet the sky. Small wooden structures sit beneath them and men wander the area. A few carriages strapped to large draft horses haul long logs. You two slow down to a walk, passing the foreman’s shack. Above the door lies a sign that says “Appleseed Timber Co.”.

Ahead of you near the trail comes a great crack and a voice yelling “Timber!” The air is suddenly filled with yelling. You and Arthur watch as a huge pine tips and falls, and you see a man stumble near it as it crashes to the ground. You hear him scream and know instantly the tree has injured him.

You and Arthur charge forward on your horses towards him, other men rushing to his aid. Arthur swings off his horse and races to the downed tree. The foreman stands behind the crushed man and grabs his shoulders, whose leg is trapped, shouting at the other men to lift. Arthur bends down and helps raise it up. The tree rises and the foreman pulls the man out.

You dismount Rannoch and pull out bandages from your saddlebag, rushing forward. The foreman briefly inspects the man’s crushed leg, announcing there’s nothing more that can be done and that he won’t pay him a full day’s work. You kneel down next to the man and quickly start wrapping his bleeding leg, ignoring his cries of pain. Arthur hands him some money and whisky as you tie him off.

“That foreman’s a real bastard,” Arthur says.

The man nods, clutching his knee. You look behind you and see two men bringing over an empty carriage, preparing to pick the man up to take him to a doctor. You take a step back with Arthur and go back to your horses.

You both carry on down the trail, heading farther up the mountains and into a small town settled around a river. A large sign above the trail declares the town’s name is Strawberry. You silently acknowledge that the town has a charming look to it. Arthur treats you to the saloon, buying you lunch before you both continue on down the path.

After half an hour, you come onto a deep lake. You recognize it vaguely, fairly sure you and the gang had passed it when you fled Blackwater. Arthur stops, looking out at the water.

“You wanna stop here a bit?”

You smile and nod. Arthur leads you down the path a little more, walking Artemis to an outcrop of rock by the trail. You stop Rannoch near the large horse, hopping off and going to stand next to Arthur. He faces the water, his eyes full of his thoughts. You grab his shoulder, turning his body and pulling yourself into him, wrapping your arms around him, resting your head onto his shoulder. His arms enfold you; he sighs loudly.

“This place is beautiful, Arthur.”

He kisses the top of your head. “It’s called Owanjila. I found it a few weeks ago, been wantin’ to bring ya here.”

You stare out at the water, watching as a huge bird drifts over the lake and then barrels towards the water, stretching its long legs and plucking a fish from it. You watch the eagle climb back into the sky, heading towards the thick forest on the other side.

“Hmm, I could stay here forever,” you say, rubbing Arthur’s back. His arms squeeze tighter around you. You look up at him and he kisses you on the lips gently.

“Me too,” he says.

You wander down the trail at a steady trot, leaving Owanjila behind. Arthur leads you up into the forest, which you recognize from the flight to Colter. The forest looks exactly the same, although the river is wider and faster. Not a surprise with how much snow still packs the mountains far off to the north.

The two of you trot along the path, frightening a small pack of wild hogs. They squeal loudly as they disappear into the brush. Arthur leads you on further north up the trail, until the forest thins and gives way to a huge meadow, cut in half by a winding river, the grass dotted with patches of wildflowers. You recognize this, too. It would be impossible to forget a place like this.

Arthur stops Artemis, turning around to look at you. “What you say we hunt here a few days?”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” you smile.

Arthur grins and then suddenly kicks Artemis into a gallop, racing ahead of you. You ram your calves into Rannoch’s side, pushing him. You and the outlaw run through the meadow, racing one another. You pass the large ranch on the northern side of the meadow. Several pronghorns graze ahead of you, but they dash off as the horses thunder towards them. You kick Rannoch again, pushing him faster. Not only did Arthur have a decent head start, but Artemis is much larger than Rannoch. Despite that, the stallion ends up matching the warhorse’s pace.

The land begins to slope downwards and you see train tracks held up on a long, low bridge. Just before reaching it, Arthur stops, patting his horse’s sweaty neck. You reach it as well, pulling Rannoch to a halt. You breathe hard.

“Thanks for warning me!” you shout, grinning.

“Can’t make it too easy for ya, darlin’.”

You both stand for a few moments, allowing the horses to catch their breath, feeding them treats. You look behind you at the sweeping meadow, flanked by the tall forest.

“This place is incredible,” you say. “I don’t think I could ever get used to this.”

Arthur chuckles, “Shoar.”

The next few hours, you and Arthur hunt along the meadow, which offers plentiful and easy pickings of deer, pronghorn, even a few coyotes. It’s also rich in wild herbs and soon your satchel is stuffed with wild carrots and burdock roots.

You stand in the meadow, grabbing some ginseng and yanking it out of the ground. As you break the root from the stem, you look up and notice the main trail ahead of you, cutting between the trees. On it, you see a smaller trail leading off of it. You wonder where it leads to. You call Rannoch to you, mounting him quickly and then running up to it.

The trail crawls up the foothill of a mountain, but the forest grows so thick you can’t see where it leads. You walk slowly up it, listening closely to Rannoch. He seems calm, so you don’t feel worried.

The trail gets steeper and then suddenly flattens, ending at a tiny cabin that looks like it might fall apart any minute. You wonder if it’s abandoned until you see the chicken coop beside it, full of the lively birds. A fat donkey stands beside it, grazing lazily. You dismount Rannoch and walk up to the cabin.

You’re no stranger to exploring old cabins like this. When you were on your own, you’d occasionally run into one and would loot it. On previous hunting trips with Arthur, you and he would also explore old houses and huts. This one should be no different. You doubt anyone is home anyways.

You push the door open and look into the small room, finding an old woman with a sour face and a bonnett sitting in a rocking chair by the fireplace. She looks up at you with milky eyes.

“‘Bout time,” she snarls. “They said you’d be through here two days ago.”

“Sorry?” you say.

“Just leave it in the cellar and be on your way. My gut’s givin’ me hell and I ain’t in a sociable mood.”

You walk calmly across the room into her bedroom, turn to the right and see a pantry with a ladder leading to a basement. You climb down it, seeing nothing but some empty, dusty shelves and a dusty gun case. You open it as you hear the old crone bark, “‘Ey! What’s takin’ so long?” Inside you find a semi-automatic shotgun. It looks as though it’s been down here for years. You pull out some gun oil and clean it quickly while the old woman yells again. You sling it over your shoulder and climb back up the ladder.

You stand in the old woman’s bedroom, eyeballing a chest next to her bed and her wardrobe. You whistle loudly, wondering if she even remembers you’re here. She doesn’t respond; you think she might be hard of hearing. You quietly tiptoe across the room and open her furniture, finding several items of expensive jewelry, a pack of cigarettes, and a coin purse with $10. You pocket them and go into the front room.

The woman doesn’t acknowledge that she knows you’re there, so you decide to push your luck and go next to a cabinet, opening it and grabbing a can of corn.

“Now that’s the worst mistake you could ever make!” she yells at you.

You turn and stare at her before going back to raiding her cabinet. You feel no guilt in taking her food, oddly enough.

“You think you can rob from me?” she yowls. “I’m gonna give you some advice: get outta here, run far, far away!”

You ignore her, going to her table and taking a slice of cheese. You hear her pick something up. You look at her just as she throws an empty can at you, her aim wildly off. You grin wickedly at her before turning back to her table, finding a few bills.

“That’s it, I’m gonna get my sons! You’ll be sorry ya ever came here when they find ya!”

She stands up, badly hunched at the shoulders and waddles to the front door. You follow her out, several steps behind her. She struggles onto the back of the fat donkey next to the chicken coop, spurring it into the forest as she yells profanities at you. You smile to yourself as you climb onto Rannoch, heading back down the trail and out on the meadow again, spotting Arthur in the distance taking down a stag with an arrow.

For the next few days, you and Arthur stay around the large meadow, hunting and gathering. One of the days, a bittercold storm rolls in and it pours, but other than that the weather is clear and beautiful. At one point, Arthur had stumbled upon a tiny, one room cabin with a grizzly bear inside. He ended up able to kill it without injury, aside from a scrape he got on his arm when he tripped down the stairs. You hadn’t been there to see it, but you were glad Arthur was confident enough to tell you about it. You both had also followed the river up north to where it seemed to be flowing from, stumbling upon another old woman’s yard guarded by three vicious dogs. You and Arthur ended up having to kill them and the woman when she started shooting and set the dogs on you. After raiding her cabin, Arthur found a torn treasure map and stuffed it in his satchel.

It’s been four days since you arrived in the valley, and Arthur suggests that it’s time to head on back to camp. He tells you he needs to get with John and come up with a plan of action to rob the train going down to Saint Denise. You can tell by his face he isn’t too excited about it. You may have only been with the gang for nearly three months, but you know something is up between him and John. While you both walk down the trail heading back to camp, loaded with pelts and game, you decide to ask him.

“Arthur, what is it with you and John?”

“Why you ask?”

“Just curious.”

“Ah, it’s complicated,” he shrugs his shoulders.

“Hosea said he’s been with the gang nearly as long as you,” you prod. “Said you two were like brothers once. What happened?”

Arthur sighs and you think he’s going to remain silent when he finally speaks up. “When Abigail got pregnant with Jack, she told John it was his. He didn’t wanna believe it, of course. We all knew it was true. When Jack was born, Hosea and Dutch tried helpin’ him be a good pa to the boy, but John just didn’t seem to care. He and Abigail fought so often I thought that was all they did. He took off soon after; we didn’t see him for a year. Guess I ain’t really ever forgiven him for that.”

“He must have been scared,” you say.

“It don’t matter what ya feel!” Arthur snaps. “When ya got a kid, ya do everythin’ ya can to be a good parent, to make shoar they’re safe and happy. ‘Sides, no one else would’ve been accepted back that easily when he returned.”

You aren’t too sure why Arthur seems so upset about John’s relationship to Jack, and you aren’t sure you want to keep digging. Arthur carries on.

“John’s at least accepted the fact that Jack is his, even if he don’t like it. Still refuses to step up and be a damn father though. Been especially hard on Abigail, poor woman.”

“It’s too bad,” you say. “Jack’s a good kid.”

“We was family, y’know,” Arthur continues. “He and I used to go out drinkin’, robbin’ people sometimes. He was like a little brother to me. I just thought it meant somethin’ to him, too. Didn’t stop him leavin’ though.”

You fall silent, trying to imagine what it must have been like for John. You find it difficult to understand his feelings other than he was scared.

You look ahead and see a bridge up ahead and realize you aren’t far from Valentine. Across the bridge, there’s a covered wagon, stopped. Three men on the ground aim their pistols at the driver, holding his hands up. You pull out the shotgun you took from the old woman and push Rannoch into a run, charging towards the men. You hear Artemis pounding after you.

Without thinking, you hold up the shotgun and aim it at one of them, pulling Rannoch to a stop.

“Drop your guns! Now!” you yell.

The man you’re aiming at looks at you, measuring you up.

“Get lost, woman,” he shifts his pistol to you. An explosion rips through the air, making you jump. Arthur had pulled out his own shotgun and shot the man. The other two begin shooting at him and you while the wagon driver cowers in his seat. The robbers are too slow, and they both fall off their horses, dead. Arthur tilts his shotgun up so it points to the blue sky.

“Thanks, mister,” the wagon driver says. “You too, ma’am. If it weren’t for you both, I’d be dead, I reckon.”

“Ain’t a problem, sir,” you say. “Just be more careful when travelling.”

You and Arthur walk your horses on and out of the driver’s way.

“Damn O’Driscolls,” Arthur mutters.

You look back at the bodies of the men. “Those were O’Driscolls?”

“Course. Seems like they’re all over down here. They were in that ranch up in Big Valley. Ya didn’t notice?”

“I noticed people were there, but didn’t think on who they were.”

“Yeah, well at least there’s three less of ‘em now.”

You continue on, going through Valentine again and passing the trail where the mutilated corpse was. You nervously glance up at the tracks and are relieved when you find it gone.

Arthur leads you into camp with your bountiful haul, helping you carry the pelts and game to Pearson’s wagon. He thanks you both profusely.

Grimshaw appears seemingly out of nowhere.

“It’s about time ya both came back!” she squawks, putting her hands on her hips. “Ms. Y/L/N, we really coulda used yer help!”

“I was out hunting with Arthur.”

She straightens up. “Well, that’s all fair and said, but I need you to go help the girls! Go on!”

She gestures wildly at you until you walk off to go find Mary-Beth and the other two. You chuckle to yourself as you sit down on a crate by the girls’ wagons. None of the others are around, you assume they’re off doing other chores. You pick up a needle and some canvas and begin knitting.

A few moments pass; you hum quietly. Someone sits down on the crate next to you. Glancing up, you see Sadie Adler. This is a surprise, as you’ve hardly seen the poor widow since Dutch brought her back that first night in Colter. You smile at her, not really knowing what to say.

“You been out with that Arthur Morgan a lot,” she says.

“Sure,” you say.

The two of you sit in a slightly awkward silence. You still feel massively inferior to her. Since arriving in Horseshoe, Sadie has kept mostly to herself. You often saw her sitting on a log on the outskirts of camp, crying. Sometimes Abigail or Karen would sit and talk with her. You briefly recall the day when you were still on bedrest and Sadie had grabbed someone’s gun and tried to shoot herself, Karen wrestling her to the ground. Every so often, she would go and threaten Kieran, the O’Driscoll. You had been highly suspicious of the man yourself until Arthur told you about the incident at Six Point Cabin, and how Kieran saved his life. You could understand why Sadie didn’t like him, though. You hope she doesn’t know about your own sins. You’re barely worthy of sitting in her presence.

“They say you killed your parents, your husband,” she says in a rough voice. You look up, feeling nervous.

“They ain’t wrong,” you admit, avoiding her eyes.

She sighs heavily.

“I’m real sorry, Mrs. Adler. For everything. What those boys did to you, your husband. I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.”

She doesn’t smile, but you see a fire in her eyes. ““Ya don’t need to be sorry for me. Ya don’t know me, ya didn’t know him.”

“I know. But still, I’m… I’m real sorry. To lose someone you care about like that.”

“Why you kill your husband then?”

“I had to. Either it was him or me. I don’t know how Mr. Adler was with you, but my husband was a miserable bastard. I didn’t choose to marry him, my father forced me on him. I ain’t sorry for killing him, I’d do it again if I could.”

“Well, then I ain’t gonna say sorry for him bein’ dead.”

You smile for a moment. “Look, if there’s anythin’ I can do for you, Mrs. Adler, I…”

She cuts you off. “Ya don’t need to worry about me, Y/N. I’d be dead now if it weren’t for Dutch and Arthur. Everyone here has given me more than I could ask for in my situation.”

Over the next hour, you and Sadie continue to talk. You find out she was married to her husband, Jake, for five years. He had lived in Valentine a long while before he met her, and he left it to live with her in her family’s old cabin. From how she described him, he was more than a good man, and she was happy.

The sun sets as you stand at Pearson’s wagon, finishing helping him with the stew. You throw the last ingredients into his pot and he dismisses you. You go wash up when you feel someone tap on your shoulder. You turn and find Arthur. He’s finally returned from getting some supplies for the big train heist John and Mary-Beth have been digging into.

“Ya done yet?” he asks.

“Finally, yes. I almost thought Grimshaw was never gonna let me take a break.”

He huffs. “Yeah, she can be pretty diligent. Well, come sit down at the fire with me.”

You walk by his side to the fire, resisting the urge to hold his hand. Despite the fact that you first kissed him nearly two weeks ago, and even act like a normal couple outside of camp, he still has not wanted to show you’re together in camp. Not that you mind, really. You’ve been leaving often enough with him to not be so bothered about it. Still, it would be nice to do something as simple as hold his hand in camp.

You plop down on the log, he sits beside you. Lenny, Hosea and Uncle sit around the fire, greeting you both. Lenny starts telling the story about how his father had been a slave. He said he was educated enough to teach his master’s children, even though this meant he wasn’t liked by either the whites or the other slaves. He goes onto say how, when he was freed, his master gave his father a beautiful silver watch.

“My father gave me that watch,” he says in a distant voice. “And now I done gone and lost it runnin’ from Blackwater. When I have the money, I’m gonna buy another one just like it.”

Everyone remains silent for a moment before Arthur speaks up. “If I find one while I’m out, I’ll bring it to ya.”

“Thank you, Arthur,” Lenny says.

Uncle starts singing a song. You hear the name Molly in the tune. Arthur and the others start singing, you just sit and smile since you don’t know the words yourself. You glance over at the outlaw sitting next to you. He’s taken off his hat for a moment, and you notice a crunched leaf in his hair. Without thinking, you reach up and run your fingers through it, picking the bits out. He stiffens at your touch, but he says nothing. When you lower your hands, he suddenly leans over and whispers in your ear.

“Can I talk to ya in private? Now?”

He gets up and starts wandering over to the cliff of Horseshoe Overlook, which faces the wide canyon beyond. You get up and follow him, wondering if he might be upset about something.

You enter the cover of the trees when Arthur grabs you around the waist, pushing you against a tree. Before you have a chance to speak, his lips are against yours. You slide your arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

“Yer gonna be the death o’ me, Y/N,” he growls against your lips.

You smile. “Your the one who wants to hide this.”

He kisses you harder, entangling one of his hands into your hair, his other hand grabbing your back, pulling you closer. You feel his tongue on your lips and meet it with yours. You breathe in his intoxicating scent. You can never get enough of it.

“Uncle Arthur?” Jack says, making you both jump and break apart. You stare down at the little boy, red in the face. He looks up at the two of you, curiosity etched over his face.

“Oh, hey Jack,” Arthur says, blushing furiously. “Uh, what did ya need?”

“What are you and Y/N doing?”

“We, uh, we’re just talking about somethin’. It’s real borin’, don’t think ya’d be interested.”

The boy pauses for a moment. “Is she gonna be my aunt?”

You suddenly cough, choking on your own spit, caught completely off guard by the question. Arthur thumps you on the back, laughing nervously.

“No, no, Jack! Like I said, she and I, we were just…” he stops, searching for words. “Listen, I tell ya what, son. How about ya don’t tell anyone what ya saw us doin’? Let’s keep this between us for now, okay?”

“How come?”

Arthur smiles, kneeling down next to the boy. “Just do this for me now, Jack? Please? I’ll explain it to ya later.”

“Okay, Uncle Arthur,” he says, skipping off.

You run your hands through your hair, utterly embarrassed. Arthur stands up, putting a hand on your upper arm. You look up at him, your face still deep red.

“Well, that was disappointin’,” Arthur chuckles. You laugh too, still nervous. He leans down and places a quick kiss on your lips before grabbing your hand. “We might have to try this again, Y/N,” he says, smiling. “Hopefully, Jack won’t come callin’ next time.”

“I definitely agree with you, Arthur.”

He leads you out of the trees, dropping your hand as you come into view of the camp. You both sit down by the fire again, joining in the songs Uncle has going around.

You leave your tent, stretching in the early sun. You look over to Arthur’s wagon. He’s sitting on his cot, writing in his journal. You wander over, greeting him warmly, secretly wishing you could sit next to him. You don’t dare do it. You walk off, approaching the fire Pearson puts the stew over, pouring yourself a cup of coffee.

Abigail walks up to you, a strange smile etched on her face. You greet her, taking a sip of your drink.

“So,” she says, her grin widening. “You and Arthur, huh?”

Your stomach tightens. You decide to pretend not to know what she’s talking about. “Me and Arthur what?”

“Together?” she laughs.

Crap. How did she find out?

“Jack told me last night. Guess he saw you and Arthur having a… moment.”

“Seriously?” you try not to laugh. “He said he wouldn’t tell anyone!”

She laughs again. “Guess I don’t fit in that category. It’s fine, though. Everyone already knows.”

“How?”

She rolls her eyes. “Please, Y/N. We all see the way you two look at each other, the way you two hide just outside of camp. ‘Sides, who else does Arthur take out on hunting trips that often?”

“And here we were thinkin’ we were bein’ so sneaky.”

Arthur walks over to the fire, sliding his journal into his satchel. “Ladies,” he says.

You try to tell him, but Abigail beats you to it. “So Arthur, how long you two been seein’ each other?”

“What?” he asks.

You speak up over Abigail. “Jack told her what he saw us doing last night. Apparently, everyone does not include his mom.”

She laughs again at the blush that appears on his cheeks.

Mary-Beth and Tilly walk over to the fire. You can tell by their faces and the way they glance between you and Arthur that they already know. Abigail must have told them. You decide to not give them the satisfaction of calling you out. You pour out your coffee, toss the tin cup, and march over to Arthur. You grab his shoulders, pulling him down and kissing him. Before he has the chance to pull away, you let him back up, ignoring the fact that your face probably looks sunburned. You look at the other three girls defiantly, daring them to say anything. Arthur runs a hand through his hair, clearly shocked.

“It’s ‘bout time you two quit tryin’ to hide it,” Tilly smirks.

“I think it’s cute,” Mary-Beth says. “Like somethin’ from a story!”

You blush harder, Arthur grabs hold of your hand.

“A’right, fine ladies,” he says. “Yes, we’re seein’ each other. We were tryin’ to keep it quiet until things calm down and we ain’t gotta worry about Pinkertons. But since Jack decided to let the cat outta the bag, ain’t no point hidin’ it no more.”

He grabs you and kisses you hard in front of the others, ignoring their laughs and whistles.

Jack skips over as you both break apart.

“Hey, Jack,” you say. “Nice way to tell your mama what ya saw last night.” You’re not angry with him, not even annoyed. You actually feel grateful that he did catch you last night. You’ve been tired of hiding.

He smiles up at you and Arthur, still holding your hand as the girls start going back to their routines. “I wanted to tell mama.”

You reach over and ruffle his hair, chuckling.

You’re walking through Big Valley, bathed in sunlight. You hold up your hands to your waist, letting your fingers brush against the tall, swaying grass. You distinctly hear the river run by your side. Everything is calm.

You suddenly stumble over a rock, landing on your stomach. You turn over onto your back. The meadow is gone, the sunlight streaming through the thick branches of tall oaks. In front of you lies the wide mouth of a cavern. Standing between you and it is the horrible shrine made of mutilated humans. The hands sticking out of the side begin to writhe, clawing towards you. You stand up and start running, the sunlight turning to blood.

A great pain takes hold of your leg, throwing you down. A man wearing nothing but overalls comes running towards you, hair wild, teeth missing. He reloads a shotgun, pointing it at you and the forest around you explodes.

You force your eyes open. You’re lying in your tent in Horseshoe Overlook. The sky outside is pitch black, and you can hear rain showering down. You glance outside. The trees are suddenly illuminated by a flash of lightning, a great boom follows only a second after it. You sit up, wrapping yourself tighter in your blanket. You can’t stop shivering as you try to rid the horrible images from your head. Your leg stings slightly, almost like it too is remembering the awful events that happened in Roanoke. You’re covered in sweat, and yet you’re chilled to the bone.

You put on your hat and stick your head out of your tent. The camp is completely still and dark, the fires put out by the torrential downpour. No one seems to be moving around. You look over at Arthur’s tent only a few feet away from yours. He’s sleeping on his back in his cot, barely covered by his own blanket.

Another flash of lightning sends you back into your tent, the thunder rumbles in the ground beneath you. You shrug off your blanket and get out of your tent, quickly jogging over to Arthur’s tent.

You stand inside, feeling nervous. His tent is considerably dryer than yours. You glance at him.

“Arthur,” you whisper. He doesn’t respond. You call his name a little louder.

Lightning flickers above, followed almost immediately by a huge crash of thunder. Arthur shoots up into a sitting position, hand wrapping around his pistol. He sees you standing in front of him, hunched over nervously.

“Shit, Y/N,” he says, rubbing his hand over his face and putting his pistol away. “Scared me near to death!”

“Sorry, Arthur. Didn’t mean to. I think my tent’s about to flood.”

He lays back down, flinging the blanket off of him. He sprawls out his arm closest to you. Taking his cue, you crawl into his cot, snuggling close to him. He covers you in his blanket as you lay against his chest, closing your eyes. Another boom of thunder rips through the air, you cover your exposed ear with your hand. Arthur starts running his fingers through your hair, sighing deeply. The feeling of his hands on your back and the sound of his heart beating lull you into a dreamless sleep.

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