#it's always an adventure during wednesday fencing classes

[that-multi-fandom-hijabi]

"everyone is bi until proven guilty" - my 16 yo fencing coach

#yeah he's bi #he said this and i was like “dude im quoting that” and he said “you better” #i need a name for him #daniel idk #*we call him taylor daniel lautner to mess with him* #daniel :P #<- new tag #it's always an adventure during wednesday fencing classes #the nova chronicles

[zmediaoutlet]

in support of Texas relief, @doilycoffin donated $100, and requested Liam & Cordell Walker. Thank you for donating!

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(read on AO3)

One of Liam's earliest memories is the time Cordell dropped him on his head. Not actually accurate at all to the way it went but that's how it's told in the family mythology. He was really little, three maybe or four—for some reason that part's indeterminate—and Cordell was climbing the stable and playing adventurer, or maybe just showing off and the adventurer part was a good excuse. Liam was following Cordell around like he always did and he tried to climb up, too, on the fence that kept in the horses when they were let out for their run, and Cordell told him no and that he was too little but Liam was determined to try. Cordell climbed back down and tried to steady him where he'd made it up to the top rung of the fence, and Liam lost his balance anyway, and fell straight backwards and landed headfirst on the dirt. There was a little rock and then a lot of blood, and then stitches, and Mama fussing and their dad ripping Cordi a new one—Liam doesn't even remember that it hurt—but the part that sticks it as a memory is how they all rode together in the truck back and forth from the doctor and Cordell held his hand in the backseat and he was crying, the whole way home, a silent seeping kind of crying that made his face a shiny mess. Liam thinks about that weirdly often. Cordi looking out the window and crying.

When the story gets retold for new friends, or the kids, or Cordell's buddies from the Rangers come around for coffee and Mama's pecan pie, they tell it that Cordell's so clumsy he dropped his baby brother on his head. Liam sort of hates it, every time. Cordell laughs and does the aw shucks routine he's so good at, relaxed with his beer and shrugging embarrassed apology. When Liam was about to head off to college, his eighteenth birthday dinner, Daddy told the story again as a kind of miracle survival, and Liam got up from the table real fast and went out onto the porch, annoyed for some reason beyond measure. It was Cordi who got up and came after him and said, a little cautious, "What's up, Stinker?" and Liam said to him, mad, "Why don't you ever tell people it was me? I was the one climbing up after you. It's not like you did it on purpose."

Cordell just blinked at him. "What does it matter?" he said. "You were the baby and I was a dumbass kid. So what?" He hooked his arm around Liam's neck and he smelled like sweat and Old Spice and that laundry detergent Emily bought that wasn't anything like the one they used at home. Liam pushed at his side but didn't try hard to get away. Not that it would've worked. "It's how we figured out how hard that head was, right? Come on. Mama's gonna wonder if you didn't like the brisket."

Liam let himself be dragged back into the house, and Cordi pushed him down into his chair right between him and Emily, and Emily smiled at him easy, and passed him the potatoes. "One month 'til the dorms," she said, very quiet so no one else could hear under Cordell telling some awful lie about Liam having gas, and Liam laughed, surprised, and it just happened that it was the same time everyone else laughed so that was okay. He always liked Emily. Cordell punched his thigh lightly on his other side, and gave him a warmer more real smile, and Liam dropped it, and he didn't complain about the story again.

*

Seven years between them. Liam always wondered if he was an accident, even if Mama said that with Cordell going to school she was ready to have another baby around the house. Cordell was always the one who was getting into trouble. Rambunctious, loud, falling headfirst into things and getting dragged out covered in mud. Liam learned from his example what not to do. Do not: run along the bleachers at the football stadium and vault the handrails until your foot gets caught and you fall and snap your wrist clean in two. Do not: get caught drinking beer with your high school girlfriend behind the horsebarn, and make Daddy give the most mortifying sex talk in the world afterward. Do not: make friends with the most delinquent-ass kid in the whole hill country and wind up explaining every other week why, really, he wasn't that bad, give him a chance—

Somehow even then he was the golden child. Not the best grades, not the most obedient. That wasn't what their dad cared about. Cordell was good on a horse, good on his feet. Respectful when it mattered and devil-may-care when it didn't. In high school he was the quarterback, of course he was, and Liam was right there in the stands with their parents every Friday night, cheering his lungs out. Weirdly boastful with his fourth-grade friends: his older brother was the star of the football team. His older brother could ride a bull for ten seconds and get off hardly winded. Bookish, kind of short, he needed the borrowed glory of Cordell's success to be proud of. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes it got him pushed over on the soccer field while some bigger boy went, gawd, William, who cares?

Liam never got in trouble. Never broke a bone. After bringing Cordell back from the hospital with a fresh new cast on his ankle and a dopey slightly-drugged smile on his face, Mama settled him in bed with Liam's help and turned off the light and then, in the kitchen, sighed and said, "Liam, you are a real relief to the mind, do you know that?" He was proud of that, too, in that moment. It wasn't until later that it nagged at him. A therapist asked him, much later in a sleek Manhattan office that smelled faintly of sage, "Do you think your predilection for being contrarian results from that time?" He went home annoyed with her, and was more annoyed when he told Bret the story and Bret didn't even turn around from the carbonara he was making and said, "Babe, you're the most contrary person I know."

He wasn't. He didn't—think he was. He… was, he realized, after a week of sitting with it, and a week after that it made sense. He didn't pick fights, and he didn't make waves. His rebellion was quiet. His hard head, forcing him to make his own space in the world. Not able to live up to Cordell and knowing instinctively that it would be awful even to try—and so taking the opposite turn, every time. It was better than being compared, even if he knew there was no chance but to be compared.

He studied hard. He read, all the time. He liked math and literature equally and did equally well in both. He hated P.E. but he did what he could there, too, and he learned to ride even if he didn't actually love horses the way the rest of the family did, and when Daddy asked if he wanted to join up with the little league baseball Liam asked to play soccer, instead, and Daddy frowned but Mama said, "Why not, I've seen enough boys drop foul balls for a lifetime." So, soccer, and most of his games were during the day or on Saturday mornings, but Cordi came to a lot of them anyway, and when Liam's team won Cordi would jump down onto the field and grab him up by the waist and crow David Beckham, right here! Little David Beckham for sale! Liam would struggle and then he'd be slung headfirst over Cordell's shoulder like a potato sack and his face would get so red from laughing that it hurt.

*

On September 12, 2001, Mama and Daddy were gone from the house when Liam got home from school and he was glad for it. That was a Wednesday. He was in sixth grade. The teachers weren't even trying to hold normal lessons and everyone was talking about what had happened the day before. Melissa Kettering was out that day and the rumor was that her dad had been on a business trip in New York. Liam had raised his hand and asked the social studies teacher if there was going to be a war, like there was after Pearl Harbor, and she sat down on her desk and shook her head and didn't answer.

He was trying to read his book for English when the phone rang. Cordell, calling from his apartment in town. Hey, buddy, he said, over the line, and Liam sat down on the floor by the phone table and closed his eyes, unaccountably almost about to cry. Is Daddy there? Liam told him he was home alone. Lucky, Cordi said, you can totally throw a rager, and Liam didn't laugh, and neither did Cordell, even though he always laughed at his own stupid jokes. Hey, um. I shouldn't—I don't know if I should tell you this but I've gotta tell someone, and Em's in class, and I just have to—I did something, and I need to—

He interrupted himself and Liam could hear him breathing over the line. He didn't want Cordell to say anything. If he didn't say anything then Liam could pretend that he was going to tell a story about some party they'd gone to at Emily's sorority, or that Hoyt had come back into town and they'd seen a show at ACL, or that he was gonna come stay that weekend, and maybe he and Liam would go riding. Anything but what he was about to say. Liam could hear it, in his head. He could hear it like it had already been said and it was echoing, now, inside, like a verse from a song he'd always, always remember.

Cordell graduated from the Marine boot camp on a Saturday in the middle of December. Liam went along even if he wasn't allowed to attend the actual ceremony and Daddy complained about the cost of the plane tickets until Mama told him to shut up. Liam sat between them on the flight and it was the first time he was ever in the air. Over the top of Mama's crossword book he watched the clouds go by over New Mexico, Arizona, with complete wonder. San Diego, then, different to Austin—palm trees, and the air so wet, and even the parking lot at their hotel smelling like warm flowers.

Mama gave him fifty dollars before they left for the graduation. They were bringing Cordell back, after, because they got one night with him before they had to give him back to the military. "Order a pizza," she said, "at 4:30 exactly, and we should get back at the same time the pizza comes so we can all eat together." Liam watched American Pie on the hotel tv while he waited, something he would never have been allowed at home. He made the call when he was supposed to, and when the girl on the phone asked him what toppings his mind went completely blank because he was never allowed to make that decision. Cordi liked ham and pineapple and none of the rest of them did. Liam ordered it with extra pineapple.

When a knock came on the hotel room door Liam jumped up to open it, cash in hand. The one holding the pizzas was Cordell, grinning at him with Mama and Daddy standing behind. "Pizza delivery," Cordell said, and Liam crashed into him for a hug so hard that Cordi almost dropped the boxes and said whoa, Stinker, soft and laughing.

His hair was cut off, an inch on top and shorter on the sides, so he looked like those pictures of their grandpa when he was in Korea. He was skinny, too, which Liam didn't get, because he thought boot camp was all about building up muscles. "Mostly running," Cordi said. He was tired, dark circles under his eyes. He was stretched out on one bed with his strange starched blue pants and the awful khaki shirt that made him look washed-out pale even if he'd been running around San Diego for thirteen weeks, and Mama was sat next to him squeezing his arm like he'd evaporate if she looked away for a minute, and even Daddy was hovering. Proud but worried. Liam sat by Cordell's boots and tugged on the laces, wanting to ask more questions but not daring to.

Cordi fell asleep before six o'clock. Daddy turned on the television real quiet to the news. More stuff about the invasion. Liam hoped it'd be all over by the time Cordi got there. Mama boxed up the remaining pizza, shaking her head. "Don't know why you picked pineapple, kiddo," she said, and Liam shrugged, sitting at the table, watching Cordell's face, turned away a little on the pillow. Liam wanted to shake him awake but of course he didn't. For his whole life, after, he gets a little sick to his stomach when he smells pineapple.

While Cordell was in Afghanistan Mama and Daddy had Emily over to the house a lot. She was sweet. Respectful of Mama, calling her ma'am half the time, and charming to their dad even though Liam knew that she and Daddy probably disagreed on more than things than not. She liked that Liam played soccer and asked if he ever watched the Premiere League. Liam didn't even know what that was. She helped Mama cook supper and went out and took pictures of the horses which made Daddy smile, and one time when Liam went outside after dinner to read she was there crying, on the porch, quiet with her hand over her mouth, and Liam hung back and didn't know what to say. "Sorry," she said, dashing at her cheeks with the heel of her hand. She licked her lips and nodded at his book, sniffing. "That's a good one. You should read the sequel, too." He did, and told her about it, and she smiled like a sunrise, the way she always did, and he felt like—he didn't even know, what he felt like.

Liam was the best man at their wedding. He felt and looked ridiculous. Fifteen in a tux and he didn't know how to tie a bow-tie, but Cordi didn't either, so Daddy had to do it for both of them, grumbling the whole time that they should've learned this by now. "Not a lot of bowties in Kandahar, Daddy," Cordell said, winking at Liam, and Liam—blushed. Ridiculous, and embarrassing, the way the whole affair and the lead-up had felt, but Cordell didn't seem to care or notice, so—there was Liam, blushing in a bowtie.

Cordell had only been back for a year and somehow things were off. He was serving the rest of his contract out in the reserves but he wasn't finishing up his degree like he'd told Mama he would. He'd entered the training program for the state troopers and was set up to be a highway cop, of all things. He'd rented a house in Austin with Emily and they lived together the whole year before the wedding—an argument with Daddy about that one, which Liam listened to from the hallway with his heart pounding—and they weren't even going to be married in the church because Emily didn't want a wedding mass and, Liam suspected, Cordell didn't either. Daddy lost that argument, too.

The wedding was tiny. Liam the best man, Geri the maid of honor. Emily's aunt that raised her on one side and Daddy and Mama on the other, and a handful of Cordell and Emily's friends making up the numbers in the little rented hall. Afterward they had a bigger barbecue out at the ranch and in front of the crowd Emily fed Cordell a dainty forkful of the lemon cake and Cordell responded by dotting a tiny bit of frosting on her nose and kissing it off, and Mama's best friend Sue-Ellen sighed and said to Mama, where Liam could hear, "Well, Abilene, maybe they're atheists but I daresay you raised that boy right every other way," and Mama said something dry back but Liam was watching how Cordell cupped Emily's cheek in his hand, smiling down at her like she hung the moon, and he thought, yeah. Yeah, Cordell was just about perfect, wasn't he.

"High school in the fall, right?" Emily's aunt said, later. "Emily says you play soccer. Going to try out for the team?"

Cordell and Emily were dancing, swaying in the grass, the bonfire leaping up behind them. His hand still on her cheek. "I'm quitting soccer," Liam said, without even realizing he was going to. "I'm going to try out for wrestling, instead."

*

He figured out he was gay relatively early. His friends at school got hold of a Playboy in fifth grade and didn't really know what to do with it beyond blustering. This was before anyone but nerds was on the internet, and Liam was a nerd but did a decent job of hiding it. Scott beckoned Liam over while they were waiting for the buses and showed him the top of the magazine, the bold logo and the girl with her boobs pushing up out of her bra—the group of them snickering, saying how hot she was—and that they were going to look at it at Scott's house later if Liam wanted to come over—and Liam said, "No, my mom's making me go to the store with her." The lie came out effortlessly.

They did have a computer at home, and dial-up internet it had been very, very hard to argue Daddy into. He hardly knew how to find anything but he did some careful searches while Daddy was out with the horses and Mama was cooking, singing bad over the stove like she tended to. Made Liam's face hot to see some of what he was seeing. Hoyt came over, once, while Cordi was away in the war, and he helped Liam and Mama dig out a bunch of tomatoes that hadn't grown in right, and afterward they sat on the porch drinking lemonade while Mama asked Hoyt all about the oil field he said he'd been working in and Liam watched how Hoyt's legs sprawled out on the porch, how his jeans hugged up against his calf muscle and how the sweat had made his white shirt nearly transparent, and he had to sit very careful on the bench with his knees drawn up to hide the effect it had on him.

When Cordell came home from Afghanistan they threw a huge party. Everyone came, Daddy's friends and Mama's, and Emily and their friends from college, and even Hoyt, magicked up out of somewhere (for the promise of free beer, Daddy said), and then Liam, the youngest person there, watching from the corner of the porch as always. Cordi was very tan and finally bulky with muscle and his hair had grown out, just a little, from that military buzz, and he barely detached himself from Emily the whole time, his arm always around her shoulders or hers around his waist, and when they did step apart his eyes followed her and she watched him right back, smiling at the most random times. Liam was fourteen and a little more aware of the world and he wondered abruptly if they'd had sex yet. Cordi had only been home one day and he'd slept at the ranch and not at Emily's apartment. How would they have found the time?

He was chewing his thumbnail over it when a sweaty weight crashed down on his shoulders, arms trapping his in. Hoyt. "Hey there, Stinker," Hoyt said, and Liam shrugged fretfully and said, "Don't call me that," and Hoyt laughed at him but stood up and ruffled Liam's hair completely backwards instead.

"Still pretty shrimpy," he said. He was grinning, like he had some big secret. "You planning on growing up anytime soon, champ?"

"Don't you have a sketchy job to get to?" Liam said, annoyed. He tried to fix his hair and gave it up as a lost cause the second Hoyt's grin got bigger. Asshole.

Hoyt sipped his beer. Twenty-one—he was allowed, although Liam had noticed that Mama was being a little free with handing out drinks to Emily's college friends. "Glad big bro's home, I bet," Hoyt said.

Liam didn't dignify that with a response. Hoyt laughed, under his breath, and held out the beer for Liam to take, which he did because he didn't know what else to do. "Go on," Hoyt said, nodding at it. "I won't tell your mama. Not fair that everyone else gets to celebrate while little Liam's sober. And boring."

"I'm not boring," Liam said, although he knew he was because half the kids at school clearly thought so. He took a sip of the beer, anyway, not knowing if Hoyt would snatch it away. Nasty, and he made a face that made Hoyt hoot, and then he took a bigger gulp, determined at least to get something out of it.

"There he goes," Hoyt said, weirdly delighted, and he clapped Liam on the shoulder the same way he would Cordi when they were in high school, and the bit of warm in Liam's belly went lower. "That's a welcome home."

Liam kept the beer, curled against his chest. He felt dumb holding it and also weirdly adult. "He's not even here," he said. Sort of scoffing. "Doesn't matter."

Hoyt curled his arm around Liam's shoulders again and ignored how he went stiff, and nodded out at the party. Music playing from a radio Daddy had set up on a truck-bed. Emily and Cordell, dancing in the firelight. Same as it would be for the wedding reception a year from then, although of course Liam didn't know that at the time. "Aw, he's here," Hoyt said. He squeezed Liam's shoulders. He smelled strange, like—skunk, and Mama's compost bin. It was gross but also kind of appealing and Liam shifted, hoping his dumb body wouldn't react. "He's just with his girl, and who could blame him. No call for getting jealous."

He wasn't jealous. Not—exactly. That night after Mama and Daddy went to bed the party kept on, and Liam went to his room and watched from the dark window, the bonfire still going and all the college kids still going, too. When he finally fell asleep he had a strange, blurry dream about Hoyt—building a bonfire together, and Hoyt smiling at him and being a jackass and then touching his face, the same way Cordell touched Emily's face, and then Hoyt touching his stomach, low—and then the dream shifted, the weird way dreams shift, and it was Cordell, touching his stomach, and smiling at him, and leaning in close—with his hair longer like it was before he enlisted—but wearing for some reason the dumb khaki shirt of his uniform—and then Cordell's hand—

When he woke up he was soaked and it was bright morning. He washed his underwear out in the sink, feeling like his head was screwed on to someone else's body, and then he hid the underwear in the hamper, and showered, and tried not to think about it. He had that dream or one like it on and off for years, until he finally lost his virginity to Michael in college and it went away. He never told his therapist about it, or Bret, or anyone. He could rationalize it but he couldn't ever acknowledge it out loud because of what it—felt like, to think about it. To make it real in a place that wasn't just his stupid, crazy, dreaming head.

He had the dream again the night before he came out to his parents. January 2nd, trying out his new year's resolution of honesty. He figured in a ruthless sort of way that if his parents kicked him out or hated him or tried to change him then at least he had early acceptance at UT for the fall and a full scholarship and it was just eight months where his life would be completely over.

Cordell was at home on the ranch and Liam figured that's what triggered it. A couple days of vacation, since he'd worked over Christmas, and he and Emily and baby Stella had stayed up for ringing in the new year, and everyone had taken turns kissing Stella's forehead when midnight struck. Liam had been allowed a glass of champagne, Mama not even fussing about it since it was a holiday and the house was full—so he had two glasses—and when he went to bed he could still hear Cordell laughing from the front room, telling Daddy some story about a bust on the highway, something about stolen Santa suits, something light.

He dreamed they were swimming, up at the lake, and Cordell was naked. Laughing, that same too-loud booming laugh, but just because he was happy and not like he was making fun. Being kind to Liam. Holding him from behind with his arms around Liam's chest, their legs slipping together in the water. Liam could imagine what it would be like for a man to do something to him, he'd seen porn by that point, and he'd seen Cordell naked too because of the vagaries of living in an old house without a lock on the bathroom door, but somehow there was still a disconnect in his head. He was turned on beyond belief but nothing—happened, just the vagueness of Cordell behind him. His big hands.

Mama took Emily and the baby in to town, that day, for shopping. Daddy said they'd just bought half of Macy's and Mama shushed him so Daddy was up at the barn, checking over the new foal. Liam sat on the porch with a cup of coffee and watched birds come to the new feeder Mama had got from Emily and he tried to rehearse it, in his head. What to say. He'd seen it in movies but it didn't feel possible to come out of his mouth.

Cordell sat by him, on the bench swing. "Since when do you drink coffee?" he said. Then, less casual: "Is that my mug?"

"Yes," Liam said, and didn't protest when Cordell took it out of his hands. He rubbed his palms on his jeans. He had a hard time talking to Cordi after he had one of those dreams and so it was a relief that most of the time Cordell wasn't around, that he was in town at the house he shared with his wife. With his wife, Liam reminded himself, as though that could help. Another thing to make Liam different. Wrestling instead of football, reading books instead of riding, and now—this, on top of everything.

"Whatever's going on," Cordell said. Liam blinked, came back to the world. The cold, and the swing barely rocking from how Cordi had set his boot on the porch and pushed, and Cordell looking at him very steadily. "You know you can tell me, right?"

Liam swallowed. "Even if it's—" Bad is what came to his mouth and he shook his head. He prayed about this, he resolved. It's not bad. "Weird?"

"If it weren't weird you probably wouldn't be being so weird about it," Cordi said, frank, and Liam shoved his shoulder. The dream dissipated just like that. How could he possibly be crushing on his brother when his brother is this much of a jerk. Cordell swayed, grinning, letting Liam push him even if Cordell outweighed him then by fifty pounds, but then he set his hand on the back of Liam's neck, more serious. "Whatever it is. We can figure it out."

Liam licked his lips, and nodded. He knew then that was going to tell Cordell the one secret, if not the whole of it, before they left the porch that morning, and Cordi would—back him up, with Mama and Daddy, even if he didn't get it. "Give me back the coffee," he said, and Cordell raised his eyebrows but passed it back, so Liam could take a gulp. The caffeine probably wouldn't help but maybe it wouldn't hurt, and it felt nice to hold the mug. "Promise you won't freak," Liam said then, even if he was—mostly, ninety percent, pretty sure—and Cordell said, immediately, "I promise," and Liam believed him. That was the thing, with Cordell, in those days. It was easy to believe him.

*

It's Mama who calls, when Emily dies. Liam's already in bed because he's got court in the morning and Bret shoves at his shoulder, says, "Oh my god answer it and then change your ringtone, I hate that song," and Liam's still fuzzy from sleep and doesn't quite process that there's no good reason Mama would be calling him after nine o'clock in Texas because she always thought that was bad manners, it had been drilled into him all his life, and he says, mumbly, still waking up, "Hey, Mama," and there's a sharp intake of breath on the other side of the line before she says, Honey, I'm sorry, but I have real bad news.

He flies out the next day. Bret tries to dissuade him. "There's nothing you can do right now," he says, as though that's the point. JFK to Austin-Bergstrom is four and a half hours and he spends the whole time with his chest this weird achy knot. It doesn't feel real but it is. He texted Mama his flight plan and she says that Daddy will pick him up at the airport, and when he gets into the truck Daddy shakes his head and says, "Good to see you, son," but without any truth to it. Liam doesn't take it personally.

Cordell's not at the ranch when they get there but the kids are. "Hi, Uncle Liam," Stella says, remarkably clear, until he hugs her, and then she curls his hands into his shirt and cries silently, her shoulders shaking. August doesn't get up from the couch, sitting there with one arm crossed over his chest and the other over his mouth, and he looks—Liam's always shocked by it—so exactly like his mother. Stella's a copy of her grandmother, to the point that Mama set her prom picture side by side with Stella's first dance photo and the only real difference was the dress—but Auggie always took after Emily, from coloring to temperament to those long straight eyebrows, that mouth that curves up into a wide, easy smile. Not smiling now, and not for a while, and when Stella pulls away and wipes her eyes Liam sits down next to Auggie and sets his hand on the back of his neck and Auggie just folds over, quiet, like whatever was holding him up just isn't there anymore.

"Where is he?" Liam asks Mama, in the kitchen later. The sun's going down. It hasn't even been twenty-four hours.

Mama's eyes are red-rimmed. "Where do you think?" she says.

Liam takes the truck. Lady Bird Lake is officially closed at night but of course that makes no difference. He parks and walks, up to the lookout, and Cordell doesn't hear him coming. He's sitting on the steps to the gazebo, his elbows braced on his knees. The light hitting his hair. Long again. Liam doesn't know how he's always skirting regs and getting away with it, except of course Cordi gets away with everything. Golden child.

He regrets the thought as soon as he has it. "Cordi," he says, and Cordell looks up in complete surprise. Liam smiles at him, as much as he can, and comes and sits on the step. He tries to think of what to say and can't come up with anything.

"Aren't you in court tomorrow?" Cordell says, after they sit there for thirty seconds. His voice sounds thick and distant.

Liam shakes his head. "Today," he says, and Cordell nods and huffs and says, "Right," and then looks down at his hands again. They're twisted together, his thumb rubbing hard and repeatedly at the mount of his other palm. Liam reaches over and puts his hand over the knot of Cordell's fingers and Cordell's jaw flexes but he lets Liam do it. "I'm sorry," Liam says.

"Everyone is," Cordell says, halfway bitter. Liam squeezes his hands and Cordell makes a rough low noise, some sound Liam has never heard him make. "Jesus. They won't let me go in to work."

"Of course they won't," Liam says, and Cordell pulls his hands away, pushes them into his hair. "Cordi, they have to—they're going to be looking for who did it and it has to be by the books so it'll stick. They're not going to risk screwing it up."

"I just want to—" Cordell cuts himself off but Liam can imagine what goes there. He touches Cordell's back instead and the muscle flinches. Set to fly off the handle any second. Fight or flight, but Cordell never used to run from anything and Liam can't imagine he's going to start now.

He stands up. "Wrestle me," he says.

Cordell looks up. "What?"

Genuine surprise. At least it's not misery. "Come on," Liam says. "See if you can pin me." These jeans are nice, were a gift from Bret, but he'll sacrifice them. He holds out a hand and Cordell lets himself be pulled upright, and it's a shock like it always is when Liam's been too long away, how much taller Cordi still is. Liam always was the shrimp. He pushes Cordell's chest, lightly, and Cordell slaps his hands away. "Cordi," Liam says, coaxing, and pulls at Cordell's wrist. "Let me take your mind off it."

Stupid thing to say and he knows it as soon as he says it. Cordell gives him an ugly look and shoves him for real. "Take my mind off it?" he says, while Liam's staggering backwards. Liam sets his boots in the dirt and braces, and when Cordell pushes him again Liam grapples, and they are wrestling, then. It's sloppy, bad holds, both of them in too-slick boots for this ground. Liam manages to swing Cordell around and get his back on the ground but Cordi's always been stronger and shoves him off, and then they're just—flat-out scrambling, Liam's hand sinking into a patch of mud and both of them breathing hard, Cordell twisting out of his grip and getting an arm over his chest, tight, before Liam eels over and flips them—gets Cordell on his back on the dirt—his leg over Cordell's—and then Cordi drops his head back against the ground and taps out, panting.

"You been practicing?" Cordell says. His eyes are closed.

Liam sits up, says, "Class at my gym." Cordi nods and Liam gets off him, kneels next to him in the dirt. The gazebo's bright and the skyline's pretty, on the other side of the lake. Liam looks at that instead of at his brother, so he won't have to see the tears seeping down Cordell's temples, wetting his hair.

"It's not okay," Liam says. He sets a hand on Cordell's chest. At the DA's office in Manhattan he's comforted widows, widowers, orphans. Some of them seeking justice but most of them knowing it won't really be found. Cordell, he thinks, is one of the latter type, but Liam tries out the lines he's learned anyway. "It's not okay and it's not fair. I can't pretend I know what you're going through but I'm sorry." He swallows, his throat trying to close without his say-so. "Jesus. I'm so sorry, Cordi."

"Yeah," Cordell says, rough, and grips Liam's wrist. When Liam looks down Cordell's eyes are still closed. They stay there for a while, by the lake, long past when it's uncomfortable.

When they finally get up, Liam's knees creak like an old man's but Cordell doesn't make the joke he should. He leaves Cordell's truck and drives them both back into town, and gets drive-through Whataburger that Cordell picks at instead of eating, and says, "Do you want to go back to the ranch?" and isn't surprised when Cordell shakes his head, no. They get a hotel instead, two queens and a respectable mini-bar, and Liam calls Mama from next to the ice machine in the hall and says that he's got Cordell, and they're fine, and they'll be back in the morning. She clearly wants to object but doesn't know how and Liam hangs up before she can figure it out.

He gets back, with the ice. Cordell's sitting on the end of the bed watching the news like it's the Superbowl. "I was thinking about the funeral," Cordell says, when the door closes behind Liam. "I have to plan the funeral and I don't even have her body."

Liam sets the bucket on the bar and sits on the other bed. "We'll help," Liam says. Cordell's cheek sucks in on one side. "You don't have to do any of this alone."

"Yeah," Cordell says, remote, and Liam looks at him. Weird hollowness in his stomach and he realizes only after a second why: it's the first time, all his life, that he can remember Cordell lying to him.

*

The Rodeo Kings operation is supposed to be quick. Three months, is the estimate: to get in, to learn the operation, to get out. They need an agent who can be convincingly skilled as a traveling rider, who knows a ranch operation, who can act. There's a depressingly short list and one name at the top of it. Everyone thinks it's a bad idea except for Graves, and Cordell.

"It'll give me something to think about that's not this," Cordell says, when Liam's trying to talk him out of it. They're on the back patio of his and Emily's house in town. The kids are still staying out at the ranch. It's two weeks after the funeral and they haven't gone back to school. Cordell hasn't shaved in a few days and the sound as he scratches his jaw is loud. There's no music playing from the kitchen window, like there used to be. The plants out here are already dying. Liam wants to grip Cordell's shoulders, get in his face and yell, but doesn't dare to. He gets a deep sigh, instead, and Cordell flipping a poker chip between his fingers like a restless card shark, and then a smile, fake as fake. "Anyway, who do you know who can ride a bull better than me?"

"No one," Liam says, and Cordell nods, like damn straight, and in the morning Liam goes in to the Travis County DA and announces he'd like to transfer offices, due to a family emergency that's going to keep him here in Texas, and it's only afterward when some calls are made and the paperwork's signed that he calls Bret, back in Manhattan, and leaves a voicemail that he's going to be staying a lot longer than he thought.

It isn't three months. As the operation drags on, Liam sweet-talks his way into being one of the assistant attorneys on the case and he tries to alleviate how Graves is getting more and more suspicious. Cordell's old partner James gets promoted to captain, six months in, and he vouches for Cordell, too, not that it seems to matter either way. Cordell's the one who's embedded with the rodeo and he'll either finish the job or he won't. They don't have another agent to send in, not without compromising the work that's been done so far, and nothing else will do but to wait.

The kids ask Liam for updates every week when he comes for dinner at the ranch. "I can't tell you everything," he says, like he does every time, and Daddy's quiet at the head of the table, and Mama quieter on the opposite side. Cordell has a rendezvous every Monday when the rodeo takes the day off with a burner cell phone and an agent waiting impatiently for his call, and his reports are terse: still trying to get them to trust me. They're suspicious of newcomers. The ring seems really tight and I can't figure out an opening. Give me time. He's allowed to call Liam the same day and Liam answers every unknown number on Mondays, giving hope to spam callers nationwide. Cordell usually sounds tired but he still calls and they have a dumb, simple conversation—about how the Rangers beat the Angels, how he's breaking in some new boots and has a blister the size of Indiana, how he's craving, inexplicably, sushi. "Sushi?" Liam asks, trying to imagine when Cordell ever tried it, and Cordi says, with rare humor, "Hey, I'm not a big fancy New York lawyer but I've had my share of raw fish," and when Liam hands the phone over to the kids they lean over the speakerphone and talk over the top of each other about a class project Stella did, and a history paper Auggie got an A+ on, and Liam watches with his hand over his mouth for the moment when Cordell has to interrupt and say, tired-sounding still, "Sorry, guys, I have to go," and the goodbyes have to be quick, and then that's it, for another week.

The first time Liam sees him when he's Duke it's a shock to the system. Seven months in and the reporting agent says that Walker missed his check-in. Walker—that's what they all call him, even when Liam's in the room with them. There's a small frenzy in the operation office. Graves calls for Cordell's head, predictably at this point. James, trying again to calm her down, but looking a little like he agrees. Liam leaves the office unnoticed and walks outside to feel cold air on his face and feel less—how he feels—and there's a text, on his phone, from an unknown number. The Alibi, Driskill ST, thirty minutes. Come alone.

Ridiculously illicit. Liam takes off his suit-jacket and tie and ruffles his hair into something unprofessional and goes. It's hard to park—Monday night football—and inside is the opposite of his scene but he finds a seat at the bar. A girl in a too-tight orange t-shirt gives him a once-over and he smiles tightly, ignores her, drinks a watery beer, and almost exactly on the thirty-minute mark someone sits down next to him and it's—not his brother.

Duke Culpepper was the fake name they picked. Originally from Texas but had some misdemeanors that made Texas unfriendly so he'd been hiding out in Tucson for a few years, working the rodeo there. Not dangerous but willing to get up to something that was, and he looks the part. He smells like sweat and horse manure and hay and some shitty, awful aftershave, and there's a bruise on his jaw like someone suckerpunched him, and he doesn't look at Liam but smiles sweet at the bartender and says, with a fake low drawl, "Darlin', I wouldn't mind a shot of bourbon, when you have a chance."

Jesus, Liam thinks. The bartender has an expression like Cordell slid a hand down the front of her jeans and made her the happiest woman alive—the shot takes about ten seconds to arrive, when Liam's been waiting for a second beer for five minutes. Cordell knocks it back in one motion and says, "Again, and—" and he turns, like he noticed Liam for the first time, "another round for my friend, here. We're celebratin'."

She blinks, notices Liam's empty glass. While the next round's being prepared Liam raises his eyebrows and plays his part. "What are we celebrating?"

"Got a new job," Cordell says—but no—it's Duke, who's saying it, Duke who's drawling lazy and has his hat cocked at an off-angle and who's got a bandana tied around his wrist which for some goddamn reason is working the whole, hot-ass look.

"Congrats," the bartender says, and Duke grins wide and winks at her and downs the second shot, letting out a little whoop. "Another?"

"Better make it a double this time, sweetheart," Duke says, and Liam puts his hand on the warm lean stretch of thigh knocking against his under the bar and squeezes, very lightly, a warning, and sees Cordell's eyes tighten just slightly, and sees how his shoulders round out, like he's ready to get in a fight. Cordell takes a deep breath and toasts the bartender, but turns to look at Liam, face a grinning glad mask. "Got a new girl, too. Real pretty."

The bartender's disappointment would be funny, any other time. "Your lucky day, then, huh?" Liam says. Cordell's knee presses hard into his under the bar. "Girl got a name?"

"Miss Twyla Jean," Cordell says, almost crooning it, and Liam raises his eyebrows—he thought they had embarrassing Texas names—and then Cordell downs the double-shot, grimacing at the sting, and then says, much quieter so that only Liam can hear: "All it took was me making it eleven seconds on a bull and she took me straight to bed."

Liam takes a deep breath. Cordell's jaw flexes, in the silence, and he puts the empty shot glass on the bar. "Thanks for celebrating with me," he says, and slides off the barstool, backwards. He grips Liam's shoulder so hard that it actually hurts. "Gotta get back. Job won't do itself."

"Godspeed," Liam says, toasting with his beer, and Cordell gives him a tight smile and tugs his cap and walks out of the bar, taking with him the smell of the stables and his too-tight jeans and this sensation under Liam's gut that's murky and dangerous, unsettled. His shoulder hurts. It's only after he's written down Twyla Jean's name and texted it to James, and gone home to the apartment where Bret's still bitching about the décor, and taken a shower, and pressed his forehead against the cold tile, that he realizes that Cordell was wearing a fucking Texas Rangers cap. The absolute bastard.

*

The night he hears from Cordell again he has a fight with Bret. The same fight, worked over the same way. Bret hates Texas. He hates being away from his friends. He hates the politics and the food and how Liam's always with his family. He doesn't want to go to family dinner at the ranch because he's sure Liam's dad hates him. "He doesn't hate you," Liam says, for the fifth time, but to be honest he's not sure. Daddy never seems to like Bret that much, either. Cordi's never met him and Liam wonders, like he's wondered many times, if they'd get along, at all. Wonders if that'd be a dealbreaker and then wonders, washing dishes while Bret watches MSNBC in chilly silence, if the fact that he's wondering if it would be a dealbreaker makes it a dealbreaker, after all.

The text comes as a relief. Annunziata's. He dresses down more carefully than the first time. It's a weird spot, on the outskirts of town where it feels less like Austin than like a suburb. Karaoke and Italian food and mostly-fake cowboys slapping their knees to the absolutely horrific song being sung—very suburb. And there, at a table right by what passes for a stage: Cordell. But, no: Duke, Duke Culpepper, with his arm slung around the shoulders of Twyla Jean and his lips on her ear, grinning, wild. It catches Liam's breath like it did the first time. Duke, confident in his body and happy and having a good time, easy. Hot. Jesus, Liam doesn't get how it's so hot.

He waits in the backroom and watches Cordell shoves his face into the water. It's disturbing how panicked he is, once he's Cordell again and not Duke. "You have to," he's saying—babbling—"You have to tell them, they're going to kill people, you can't let them go through with it—" but of course that's not either of their decision and Liam can't help. It's awful, an awful awful feeling. His big brother looking to him for an answer he can't give. Cordell pushes his hair back from his face and puts his hat back on and looks miserable but he goes back, he sits right back down with that girl and lets her slide her hand down his thigh up the inseam of his jeans and Liam watches from the corner of the bar, where he won't be seen, drinking a beer he doesn't want, seeing his brother be someone who's not his brother. Maybe someone his brother could have been. They're going to sleep together, tonight. Liam knows it. They've been fucking for three months. Is it easy, he wonders. It shouldn't be, for Cordell, but maybe for Duke it is.

He goes home to Bret and wakes him up, and apologizes for the earlier fight, and kisses him, and gets Bret on his belly, and fucks him that way, a little hard, kissing the back of his neck, making Bret gasp and flinch and groan, delighted. "Where did that come from," Bret says, lazy and satisfied, and when he falls asleep Liam takes a shower and then only then calls James, from the hall outside their apartment door, leaning with his forehead against the wall. The bank location has been obvious since Cordell reported about Twyla Jean; the only thing that wasn't certain was the time. It'll be fine, James says, firm, and hangs up on Liam to coordinate with the rest of the team now that Agent Walker has finally come back in from the cold, and Liam stands there with his eyes closed in the hall and thinks, yes. Yes, it'll be fine.

After the bank—after the clean-up—Graves debriefs Cordell for a long time. It borders on unlawful interrogation at a certain point but Liam doesn't dare intervene when she's this furious—he can't risk being taken off the case. It takes James making a call to her supervisor at the field office, who then calls her and pulls her out of the room, for Cordell to be given a reprieve, and Liam goes in to the conference room and finds Cordell still in the stupid black hoodie stained with Crystal West's blood, his head in his hands, breathing with his mouth open like he can't get enough air.

"Cordi," Liam says, and Cordell shakes his head. Liam licks his lips and checks the hall. No one's guarding them—they wouldn't, because Walker's one of their own—and he says, "Get up." Cordell looks up at him, finally. "Come on, quick before she gets back. Come with me."

Cordell follows him. Down the hall, left to go through the atrium instead of the bullpen, then through the glass doors to the hall to, at last, the men's room, and Cordell stands in the middle of the tile blinking until Liam nods at the sinks and says, "Do it."

He's sloppier about it, this time. His hair hangs dripping in front of his face. He pushes it off his forehead and looks up at himself, in the mirror, panting a little. Water drips off his nose.

Liam brings him paper towels and he dries his face. "You should take that off," Liam says, and Cordell looks down at his clothes like he has no idea what he's wearing and only just realized, and tears off the hoodie in an awkward tangle. Underneath his t-shirt is black so Liam can't tell if it's stained. The big silver cross swings from his neck.

"What happened," Cordell says. A croak.

"Graves didn't tell you?" Liam says, and then bites his tongue. Obviously not. "Clint and Crystal are both dead. Clint at the bank. Crystal crashed the car. They think she passed out. Blood loss." Cordell nods, tight, looking away. These are his friends, Liam reminds himself. These are the people he knew, the only people he really talked to, for almost a year. "Two more people died at the bank. Twyla wasn't there and we don't have information to tie her to the job. I don't know where Jaxon is but we have people looking. They're still trying to recover the stolen money."

"Graves did tell me that much," Cordell says, and turns around, leaning his ass against the sink. It's slowly draining, behind him. "I think she wants to arrest me since she can't arrest them."

"I think so, too," Liam says, and Cordell smiles a little. He looks like he hasn't slept all year. "You did your job. It's over."

"It's not over," Cordell says, immediately. He drags his hand through his hair. "Graves made that clear. The money's still missing and Twyla and Jax are in the wind."

"And Duke's being sent to jail," Liam says. "So his part in the Rodeo Kings gang is over."

Cordell wipes his fingers over his mouth. He's still wearing that bandana around his wrist. Liam wants to take it off of him. Throw it away, burn it. "Duke Culpepper, common criminal," Cordell says, drawling it a little.

"Never liked him anyway," Liam says, and Cordell smiles, dropping his head. Liam touches his shoulder, grips his neck. "Hey. Means you get to come home. The kids will be over the moon."

"Yeah," Cordell says. He brackets a loose hand around Liam's wrist and nods. "Yeah. Can't wait."

His smile faded, as soon as Liam said it. Liam thinks about that, for that whole night, and for the whole next day, after, when James tells him that Cordell put in for one week's leave. "You talked to him?" Liam says, and James shakes his head, says, "He called Connie. I think he still doesn't even know I'm the captain."

He tells Mama and Daddy that Cordell will be home next Wednesday. Stella's frowning, not eating her dinner. "I saw that bank robbery on the news," she says. Auggie's big-eyed, watching, next to her. "Was that Dad's big case?"

"It was," Liam says, and Auggie's eyes get bigger. "But there's a debriefing period. We need to make sure his undercover identity doesn't have any loose ends that'll tie him back to his real one."

Daddy's eyes narrow and Mama's quiet. Liam got pretty good at lying, over the years, but he never was quite able to fool them.

He calls Cordell the next day. "Tell me where you are," he says, and Cordell doesn't answer for a long moment, letting the silence stretch out over the cell line. Liam considers it a victory that he even answered the phone.

He has a room at the Fairmont, on the fifteenth floor. Liam knocks and it's a minute before the door opens. Cordell's in bare feet, jeans, an ACL t-shirt. Liam follows him in and the room is—nicer than Liam's current apartment, that's for sure. King bed, outstanding view. "Wow," Liam says, and Cordell says, "Better than the Super 8 in Kermit," sort of sarcastic, and then sits down on the bed like he can't stand up anymore.

Liam doesn't sit. He doesn't think he's really invited, even if Cordell let him in the door. "I told them next Wednesday," he said. "Mom and Dad, and the kids. A week. Do you think that'll be enough time?"

"Honestly?" Cordell says, and doesn't elaborate.

There's a table, with four chairs, like a dining area. On it a box, like one of the evidence boxes from the office. Liam walks over and tips back the lid and: there's Duke Culpepper. The striped shirt he wore when Liam met him at Annunziata's. That was—god, only three days ago. A plastic bottle of aftershave. The cross necklace. The gun. Liam picks it up and checks the revolving chamber—that one bullet, still ready. It makes him nauseous just like it did the first time.

"I know you're probably not okay," Liam says. Understatement, he thinks, of the century. He closes the box and pushes it away, toward the center of the table. When he turns around Cordell's holding the beer in one hand and playing with a poker chip, in the other. "I know you're going to need some time. But when you're done, we need you back. The kids, and Mom and Dad. And me."

"C'mon, you don't need anybody, Stinker," Cordell says, with the barest thread of levity. "You climb right up to the top of the barn all by yourself, when no one's around to stop you."

Liam pauses, confused by the subject change. Surprised, then. "You were there for that?" he says, and Cordell shrugs, one corner of his mouth lifting.

When Liam was eleven, and Cordell was at college, and the world hadn't yet turned over on its head. It was early August and his school hadn't started, and Daddy and Mama had gone over to the feed store to pick up a truckload for the horses. He was bored, and tired of reading, and he'd gone out to the barn and looked up at it and thought about how Cordell had done it, at his age or maybe even younger, and if Cordell could then Liam could, too, if he set his mind to it. It wasn't even all that hard, once he was looking careful for the places to set his feet. He sat down on the top of the barn and looked out over the ranch—and further, over the where the road into the ranch pushed out into the hills, down toward the town. He wondered how far he could really see, to the horizon.

"Swung by to pick up my football stuff," Cordell says, now. "Em parked on the other side of the house and I didn't think anyone was home, until I looked out the back. You were up there just—taller than anything." He shrugs. "See? Didn't need my help after all."

"I wouldn't have climbed it if you hadn't dropped me on my head," Liam says, and Cordell snorts, shakes his head. Liam bites the inside of his cheek and crouches, and Cordell's forced to look at him or be ridiculous and so Cordell looks at him. Liam reaches out and gets his hand, the hand with the poker chip, and squeezes it, and Cordell swallows and squeezes back. The edges of the plastic bite into Liam's hand. "Come back," he says.

Cordell takes a deep breath. "I will," he says. "I promise, Liam."

Liam stands up and hugs him, around the shoulders, and walks out of the room. He takes the elevator back to the lobby and steps out into the sunshine, and takes a deep breath, and calls Bret to arrange lunch. Cordell's promises.  Fifty-fifty, anymore, that it ends up being true. Liam decides to believe him. He's hardheaded. He might as well be hardheaded and optimistic about it.

#ffcc #walker #walker texas ranger #walker fic #my writing #if anyone ever needed an in-depth character study of liam #...here it is

[sarcasmisakindofmagic]

And I, seeking safe harbour, found it between the pages of a book

Pairing: Santiago Garcia x fem!reader

Word count: 2,200

Warnings: Tom prefers the movie to the book. one (1) swear word. This is a yearning sort of fluff.

A/N: This is unbeta’d so please forgive any typos 

It started, as so many things did for Santiago Garcia, in a bookshop.

The bookshop of his childhood had been haphazard and dusty, second hand books piled high above his head; unending towers of adventures waiting for him to read. They had been browning at the edges, marginalia scrawled in a rainbow of colours in thousands of different hands - previous readers accompanying him on his journey and adding wry remarks to the story. 

His abuela had taken him there every Wednesday after school. It had just been the two of them, the cousins relegated to helping abuelo on the farm, but Santi as the baby could help abuela with the town errands. She always got him one book to add to his collection.

Le Morte d’Arthur was a favourite, the binding long since giving up the ghost. Pages held together by string and Santi turning each page with a gentle caress, weighting down each pile with carefully selected rocks - flat, nothing to tear the paper.

Santi had gone back to the bookshop once after Abuela died. The day before he was due to leave town to hit bootcamp. He handed a fresh copy of Le Morte d’Arthur to the volunteer behind the desk, complete with scrawled annotations and inscription.

There hadn’t been many bookshops on the tours he’d taken, occasional lingering moments of perusing the shelves. Frankie knew to leave him alone with the potential stories, a quiet nod and he’d be off to stake out a quiet spot. The whole team would find him later, passively guarding enough space for them to guard each other’s backs. Tom never got the message always hovering, making comments about how he always preferred the movies anyway, Santiago stopped looking for bookshops with him around. Will and Benny usually came as a pair. Benny burning off energy, as Will followed more placidly. Ironically it had been Benny who understood the most, Will losing himself to music more easily than the written word.

“Books, man, I could do that anywhere. It’s active, y’know? Music just happens to you, but i can lose myself in a book.” Benny had told him once, dropping a Du Maurier novel in his lap with a sly grin and only offering a shrug when anybody asked where he’s got an english copy in the middle of bumfuck nowhere redacted.

On the long flights where Benny literally couldn’t sleep, and Santi had too many possibilities running through his head, they’d swap books, making little notes and hiding dicks in the centre folds so they’d get bigger as the book opened.

Half their friendship had been little doodles of dicks, drawn at the most heartfelt and profound moments of classics. Oddly it completely summed Benny up.

The local bookshop was a hidden gem. After Colombia he hadn’t sought out the written word for so long the impulse to go in surprised him enough that he was inside before he’d really thought about it. The shelves inside were crammed full, small hand-painted signs letting him know the genre in which he found himself. There was no military precision to be found here, plenty of space to get lost and find a gem no one had wanted to read in years. The ghost abuela murmured approvingly in his ear, old advice echoing ‘Books need readers, nieto, always find a story that has taken someone on the journey before.’

Occasionally, there would be little stacks of books as new orders came in, the shelves too full to make room for the new arrivals. Regulars moved round them, or paused to run the pad of one finger down the spines, a momentary introduction to a potential new companion.

Hidden around a corner was a tiny café area, only enough to seat maybe ten people, it wasn’t advertised outside - Santiago had never seen every seat taken, though he certainly recognised the regulars by now.

There was the local Rabbi who would tuck himself in the corner with a hot tea and write, occasionally muttering under his breath in Hebrew as he wrestled his sermon into existence. Two students, who were not dating but should be, occupied the table with book wedged under the leg to make it stop wobbling. They were always in contact with one another, limbs seeking the other’s warmth. They didn’t have a schedule but were never in before noon and had only once been spotted on a Thursday. 

A young mum who sat by herself on Saturday mornings and absorbed the quiet, she’d once fallen asleep, resting her head on the shelves. Santiago had woken her at her usual departure time, to flustered thank yous, ‘her twins were at ballet classes and her husband was away-’. She’d been out the store and earshot before she’d finished speaking but a little plate with a huge slab of shortcake had been waiting for him the Saturday after, with ‘Thank you’ iced across the top. There had also been a card with a little boy and girl dancing ballet together impressively drawn in crayon, with capitalised signatures.

Santiago had it in a frame at his house and refused to explain it to anyone that asked beyond a bland, “It’s a thank you card.” 

Only Will had taken more than a beat to move on, absorbing the bright colours and wobbly letters. The clap on Santi’s shoulder and soft look had been enough. Will had never needed words to get a point across, but a gesture like the card? Will understood that well enough.

The boys all knew about you, heard stories about the book shop owner who could make Pope blush with a well timed smile and look in her eye. 

Abuela would have liked her, was the way he explained it to Frankie, blaming the hushed tones on the baby cradled in his arms, rather than the strength of his crush. Little Nina was as placid as her daddy and slept like a rock from day one, Santiago could have yelled his love to heavens and she would only have huffed a little and snuggled closer.

Frankie had only cuffed him on the back of the head and asked if he would pick up some Spanish children’s books for Nina. Santiago didn’t need the excuse to go in there, but he grabbed it with both hands anyway.

You’d been delighted to help, piling his arms high with options before whittling it back down again, selecting tough to rip cardboard and silly rhymes over the school year novellas.

“I’ll pick those up once she’s grown a bit.” He promised, eyeing the reject pile guiltily. “If she takes after her godfather she’ll have her own library soon enough.”

“I was the same,” you laughed, stacking the books neatly by age group and sub-genre, “I used to drive my mother spare reading the book the same day we’d bought it.” “Would you like to go to dinner?” Santiago asked impulsively, talking over the end of your sentence, flushing a little at how abruptly he’d blurted it out. “I’d like to hear about your favourite books.” Your smile made his stomach flip, as you nodded fumbling with the book in your hands.

“I’d like that.” You agreed warmly. “I have quite a few favourites though, it might take more than one.”

Will met you first; in the bookshop without Santi’s supervision. There had been a break in at the shop and Will only lived five minutes away, rushing to calm you down as Santi drove like a madman to get to you.

The shop was in shambles, shelves torn down and books strewn everywhere. Loose leaves littered the floor, glass shards gleaming cruelly in the glaring streetlights. Will had wrapped you up in his jacket, careful of the bruises and nasty gash on your leg, lifting you off the floor and out onto the sidewalk.

He didn’t leave your side until Santiago arrived, waiting until Santi had you in his arms before heading back into the shop to check out what needed fixing.

Frankie met the shop before he met you. His house had the biggest yard, opening out into the woods without anything fencing him in. Will commandeered the space, Frankie happily helping out with the book repairs. His hands had never shaken under pressure, always sure on the controls of the choppers. He learnt the art of bookbinding quickly enough, humming along to Will’s playlists, the two quietest members of the team content to let the music fill the quiet for them.

The first time Frankie met you was when he and Will showed you the shop. The shelves Will had built, now firmly fixed to the wall and floor - they’d prop up the walls before anybody toppled them again. The undamaged books were separated from Frankie’s repairs, in case they weren’t up to your standards. He was pulled into a hug before he could summon up an apology for the amateur job. A stream of thank yous echoing in his ear as you hugged Will just as tightly.

Santiago was smiling, bringing him into hug with a quiet cabron. He always knew when Frankie was overthinking something. You pulled Santi away, demanding Will give a tour of the new, improved shop. Happily calling for Frankie to keep up, you needed to know everything he’d done too.

Benny volunteered to stay at the shop during the day, doing the heavy lifting while your bruises faded. Santiago worked from home but couldn’t help hovering in the shop, too concerned for you and too distracted by all the books he hadn’t got a chance to read.

Somehow this had turned into Benny painting little murals on any spare wall space and the edges of the shelves.

“Have you always painted?” You asked curiously,

Benny shrugged, scratching his chin and leaving tracks of paint over the stubble.

“Pops always had Will out back helping with the farm, he learned the woodworking with him. I helped momma round the house until I was old enough to help paint the stuff they built together.” He broke off to gently shoo Hades away from the paints, the shop cat meowing plaintively at his curiosity being denied.

“Come here puss, you don’t need a paint job.” You coaxed, clicking your fingers to entice him up onto the counter. There was no way your bruises were going to let you bend down to pick him up.

“Anyway, momma was an art teacher she taught me the basics, after that,” he flushed, “a friend helped me practice.”

You had to bite down on your cheek to keep from smiling or asking anymore questions. Benny’s friend sounded interesting but his expression screamed please-don’t-ask-questions.

“My mum could knit anything.” You said instead, finally convincing Hades to have a cuddle and scritching under his chin. “I tried to copy her one summer, ended up having to be cut free from all the wool.”

Benny laughed, all the tension leaving his shoulders at the image of you all snared up like a kitten.

“Me and Will used to track footprints through the house all the time, ‘til we did it with whitewash after painting the barn. Momma had us camped outside for a month before she let us back in.” Benny said sheepishly, a smudged green handprint marking the back of his neck as he confessed. “Pops snuck us in for showers, said he felt bad we’d got punished for chores.”

Hades leapt out of your arms, startled by your laughter. 

“God, I dropped a whole bowl of tomato soup on a cream carpet? Does that count?” You wheezed, leaning back against the shelves to try and stretch out the bruising seeing if the new position would help. Benny winced in sympathy

“Sorry. I’ll try to be less hilarious.” He quipped dryly. “And no, not unless you camped out for a month.”

The decision to marry you was the easiest one Santiago ever made. How on earth to actually ask you to marry him, turned out to be a harder thing to pin down. The ring went on half the trips you made for a year: down to Hawai’i on a group holiday, camping up in the mountains and even the near weekly hikes you took on Mondays, shutting shop up and leaving the town far behind.

It was an old copy of The Princess Bride that eventually spurred him into action. Santi was helping with organising the basement which was full of donations and books to be shipped out across the county.

Golding’s novel hit him square in the chest, the achingly familiar cover making Santiago’s throat tighten. Abuela had loved this book, taking great pleasure in dramatically clearing her throat to read it to him when he was sick. The grandpa in the story was replaced with Abuela as she told him the tale of true love: Inigo Montoya switching between Spanish and English and easily as he switched his sword hand.

He’d long been enamoured with pirates and fighting evil kings, but The Princess Bride had been the book to remind him to find something to fight for. Perhaps he’d been clinging to the doomed romance of Le Morte d’Arthur for too long.

“The Princess Bride? Santiago, this is true love - you think this happens every day?” You quoted easily, pressing a kiss to his cheek as you passed.

Santiago sent up a garbled prayer of thanks to Abuela, she always knew what he needed before he did anyway.

And so, Santiago Garcia asked the love of his life to marry him on a rainy Thursday in a bookshop. And it was perfect.

‘But I also have to say, for the umpty-umpth time, that life isn't fair. It's just fairer than death, that's all.’ -William Golding, The Princess Bride.

#santiago garcia #santiago pope garcia #triple frontier #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales #santiago garcia x reader #santiago garcia x you #oddly introspective drabble #i love books #so Pope loves books #the princess bride #william golding #le morte d'arthur #Ella wrote a thing #not quite fluff

[writtenwordsoffic]

Foregoing - Reader x Reggie Mantle

Masterlist 

  @idle-lanes@sgarrett49 @murderyoursoul@moonlight53@redhairedoddity@the-achievementhunter @superoptimist1997  Reggie Mantle x Reader words: 3,217 warnings: none

This came to me the other night and while I plan on doing a new Jughead series - I thought I would give y’all a one-shot first. Thanks for those who sent sweet messages and thanks for being okay with my long break. It was needed. Thanks for reading as always.

Some things in life are simple. And when it came to high school - some things were just a law that everyone knew.

That the popular kids had life a little bit easier - that the outsiders had moment of loneliness  - and that it was few and far between that these two could be friends - or ever were for that matter.

But for Y/N - in her senior year - she was finally beginning to understand herself. Knowing where she wanted to go to college - accepting how she was perceived in high school and being okay with it. But most of all, knowing - or hoping at least - that the last few months of senior year would go as planned and that life for her in college would be a little simpler and easier.

And as she walked down the corridor, blasting her music, walking a lonely hall - it had changed in a moment. 

She saw him walking. For that semester she always walked the same way to every class - as did he.

But he never acknowledged her - and she had gotten used to that.

However, today was different. He locked eyes with her, gave a gentle smile, and although her music was shouting in her ears - she was quite sure he gave a small “hi”.

She slowed in her tracks, slightly turning behind her -  and from there noticed Reggie Mantle clearly focused on the hallway before him.

“What had changed”, she thought. Reggie hadn’t talked to her in years. Albeit with good reason for him.

The second he entered high school, he was on the football team. Changed his hair and his friends that he had known for years. Took advantage of being seen as just another jock after gaining some muscle tone from the summer before. 

The first year of high school - Y/N had felt pushed away. Knowing Reggie’s true nature as well as his hopes - thinking that they could be in each other’s lives for quite some time. Nonetheless - high school would and always be a place where status was more than friendship.

“You’re doing that wrong”.

Y/N sighed as once again an annoying Reggie Mantle sat behind her in 3rd period algebra. 

“No I’m doing it right. It’s a quadratic equation...”.

“Ohhh....well guess another wrong one for me...”.

“Shhhhh” - the large woman draped in a long flowered dress irritated by the sound of students during a test seemed to scare Reggie enough from furthering his conversation.

But that was the relationship that started it all for Reggie and Y/N - pure annoyance.

Middle school was a time where teachers seemed to be unoriginal with seating charts and would organize students by last name only.

In their next class - one of Y/N’s favorites - English - Reggie found to disrupt her again. Granted today was a substitute. And instead of following any type of outline regarding “The Cask of Amontillado”, the sub thought it more adventurous to do something creative with the students.

“All right - instead of going over more Poe for you guys - we’re going to do something different. We are pairing up, with the person next in alphabetical order”, Y/N gently murmured something under her breath, “and we are going to create silhouettes of each other with the overhead”. The sub started to go into detail of how to create an outline of the other’s partner and how a cutout of the head would all work.

“Well. This is dumb. And I don’t even like Poe...”. Y/N heard the grunted statement behind her.

With keeping her eyes forward - Y/N began to whisper. “That’s probably because you haven’t done the reading”.

“Hey now. You don’t know what I do and don’t do”, Reggie sounded mildly offended.

“You copy off my tests, you peer over whatever I’m writing down and you never seem to know the answer to anything. I’ll take my assumptions with this class as well”.

“Fine. But you’ll be proven wrong”.

The substitute’s “art project” for the class began to start as others would face their partner and take turns using the overhead while taking gaps of time talking about whatever suited their fancy.

Y/N however, kept her nose in a book, knowing it would take a bit until it was Reggie and hers turn to use the overhead light.

“Don’t you get tired of that? I mean there’s never a moment you’re not reading...”.

Y/N slightly huffed her breath but Reggie wasn’t wrong. Y/N took pride in the fact that she knew her path to class so well that she could keep her nose in a book the entire time between classes. That she had her own summer reading list and books she wanted to learn from. And right now, it was with Charles Dickens that she found solace. “We never tire of the friendships we form with books”.

“See. When you stay stuff like that, I know you don’t have friends”.

Y/N began to get irritated with Reggie, closing her book in a huff of exasperation - and finally, to Reggie’s pleasure, Y/N turned around. “I have friends”.

“Oh yeah? Where do you guys hangout? It ain’t Pop’s and I don’t see you at the theater”.

“I have friends I sit with at lunch”.

“Uhuh. You mean that red-haired girl that’s quieter than you and you both just read while you’re eating...”.

“It’s better than someone getting me in trouble all of the time”.

Reggie slightly heaved a short breath as he knew she was right. The only friends he had, acted up in class more than he did. But Riverdale was a town where kids were perceived a certain way. And with hand me down clothes and wearing the same thing every three days - Reggie knew how he was perceived even though he hadn’t been living on the South Side of town. 

“We can’t all live behind white picket fences and have perfect parents like you Y/N”.

This is where Y/N had finally broke her strife. “The last thing my family is, is perfect Reggie. I figured you would know there is more to people than what they let others see”.

Reggie sat there a little shocked. Not expecting that retort by Y/N but also seeing that she viewed him different that he let the rest of Riverdale seem. And while it took a few weeks for them to see more in each other - Reggie knew that he would make Y/N see more of him than he had let the world.

*a few weeks later*

“Alright. Pair up with your lab partner and begin to label the atomic structure on page 53″.

Y/N slightly rolled her eyes as the unoriginal partnership of Reggie Mantle sat next to her. Y/N could feel the smirk of Mantle finding pleasure in knowing this partnership in class was helping keeping his grade up in this class at least.

As Y/N tried to remain quiet to do the work requested - knowing that Reggie would be absent in helping - Reggie leaned back in his chair while other partners conversed around them.

“You ever get tired of all this?”.

Y/N sighed. “Of what Mantle?”.

“Being Miss Perfect? Always doing what’s expected of you?”.

“This isn’t what is expected of me. Trust that”.

Twenty minutes later and the bell rung for the end of class. Students placing papers on the teachers desk while the older gentleman gave a grunt. “Mantle. Y/N. Stay behind please”.

Great, Y/N thought. Mantle had finally talked too much for the both of them.

“So, Miss Y/N. I think sitting next to Mantle has been helping him. Sadly, not enough for his test scores to be where I expect.”. Mantle stayed quiet as he stared at the teacher that seemed to have hopes for him.

“Now. I’ve talked to both your advisement period teachers and as long as your up for it, I would like you to help Mr. Mantle her catch up with his class work”.

Y/N knew that it was more than a favor being asked of her. Funny how the teacher wanted to help a student get better grades - but enough for them to do the actual helping.

“Okay”. Mantle’s ears perked up to Y/N’s answer. Surprised but figured unwarranted.

Wednesday morning rolled around quickly and instead of going to their aforementioned rooms - they were directed that day to go to the library. And with no one else really insight for the morning - they took the opened area of the computer lab. 

Y/N’s tutoring included online quizzes to have an idea where Reggie was at - at least for science anyway.  “Okay so just take the quiz - ACTUALLY ANSWER - and we’ll see where you’re at”.

Reggie put his school ID in, giving a murmur of agitation.

“I’m sorry. What was that?”. Y/N’s head tilted as she looked up from her copy of Little Women.

“I don’t get it”.

“The quiz?? I mean you’re not even on a question yet. You just need to...”.

“No not that Einstein. I don’t get why you’re doing this. We aren’t in the least bit nice to each other”.

“Ah and that’s my fault is it? You’re the one randomly tripping me in class when I get up and calling me names last I checked”.

Reggie had a guilty look on his face. “That kind of just proves my point further”. Out of nervousness, Reggie put his feet up on the table in front - partially knowing that this would help delay his quiz.

Agitated and annoyed as she was with Reggie - she still felt some sort of level with him. That maybe they weren’t so different. She was only sure that Reggie could never see that. “I was asked to”.

“Do you always do what the ‘grown ups’ ask?”, Reggie sneered.

“No”. Y/N lamented in her breath. “You needed help”.

Reggie’s ears perked up as he put his feet back on the ground. “Hooohhooo. Interesting. You did it for me?”.

“I didn’t entirely say that. I’m good at this. You aren’t so I’m helping you. Don’t think I wouldn’t say yes for anyone else either. And I don’t plan on doing this for no reason”.

“Oh well now this has gotten riveting”.

“When did you start doing the weekly vocab assignment eh?”. Somehow between all of this chatter - the library aid could have cared less.

“oooohh. So she does have a backbone!”.

“Is this why you pick on me then? A reaction? What’s the point of that?”.

Reggie smirked. “I have an ultimate goal in mind. Now. For this test. Do I click start?”.

Weeks of banter had gone by while studying in between conversations seemed to become routine. And with that, conversations about life soon happened. Reggie learned that just because someone has a nice house on the outside, it doesn’t mean it is so happy on the inside.

For Y/N, it was learning that Reggie had actual hopes and dreams. He wanted to be a writer - and it seemed that English was the only class he wasn’t failing. He just wasn’t so forthcoming when it came to all of his secrets.

Soon Reggie got the nerve to get his buddies to sit at the same lunch table with Y/N. Making it seem that he was just messing with her - but Y/N knew it was out of friendship. To make her lunches a bit more exciting than just another novel at her fingertips.

And with that - a friendship began. Reggie would invite Y/N to his house - to go dirt-biking in Greendale.To help Y/N watch her dog while her parents left for the weekend. And, to much of Y/N’s amazement - to study more at the town library.

As Y/N watched Reggie walk steadier down the hall - she remembered all of these things. And had wondered in that moment what had changed. What had made him finally say hi to her after all these years. One’s where he ignored her and one’s where the last time he said a single word to her was the week of freshmen homecoming. When his new friends were making fun of him for even socializing with the likes of her.

The following day, Y/N went her same route as usual. Nervous more in her steps - knowing that Reggie would soon come down the stairs in front of her. This time, she took her earbuds out.

“Hi”. Reggie gave a nod to her while saying the word.

Y/N stopped moving, and Reggie did the same. “Hi”.

There was no one around them - it felt like it was four years before. A silent comfortability between the two.

“So”. Y/N broke the tension. “Why now?”.

Reggie bit his lip as if he were trying to say something hard for him. “I’m sorry”.

Y/N moved passed. As she realized she was still angry at him for treating her less than. She made her way for the stairs.

“I was being dumb!”, Reggie yelled back at her as he tried to catch her step.

“For for years?! I mean, I know you like to play thick Reg but...”.

Reggie smiled for a sec. “You know you just called me Reg”.

“Doesn’t mean I forgive you. You know picking on me in the 8th grade? I thought that was how you showed being mean. I was wrong. This silent treatment - or acting like we don’t even know each other...that was much worse”. Y/N held back any feeling that would make her cry like it did years ago.

“Y/N. I’m sorry I was just...”.

“It doesn’t matter, it’s just convenient for you now...”.

Reggie grasped Y/N’s hand and pulled her back. “Convenient?”. 

“It’s the end of senior year Reggie. Summer is coming and you can be whatever you lost years ago again. So, here you are waiting for me to be your friend again. Too bad you’re two months early right? Or maybe that was the plan? Try to be friends slowly and gain me back as your confidant?”. Y/N’s voice was cracking but she wasn’t going to let her pain for Reggie Mantle get the best of her in that moment.

“No that isn’t it. I owe you. I was wrong for years and I owe you”.

“Owe me? For what? Being myself when you couldn’t. I just don’t...”.

“No. I got into college”.

“I’m sure you owe football...not me Mantle”. Y/N huffed as she began to calm down.

“I got in on a writing scholarship. And I never would have tried if it wasn’t those words you told me years ago. That I was more and I could do more than what was expected of me”.

“Well I was wrong. You turned into the jackass everyone else thought you were...”. Y/N stared at her shoes as she crossed her arms. Part of her wanting to leave the hallway and the other part, on some level, happy for Reggie.

“It’s been years. Let’s just leave it Reggie. I’m going away - getting out of this town. Apparently so are you, so lets just leave it where it is. I mean what’s the point?”.

“The point is - you looked amazing at homecoming. That I saw you just talking to someone the entire time versus trying to enjoy yourself. That whenever you give a witty answer back in class, it’s hard for me not to want to join in or cheer you on. That when you pass by me in any hallway, it’s hard for me not to say everything I want to”.

“You don’t just get to choose when you want to be friends with me Reg. It’s not fair to me. And don’t expect me to start being friends with you when the rest of this year is over. Lord knows Mr. Mantle couldn’t let his football buddies see him with the likes of me...what are the rest going to be in summer school?”.

“No”.

The bell began to ring and Y/N knew she was going to be late for class. “Bye Reg. Be pleased there was at least a small conversation”.

“No”. Reggie pulled on Y/N’s hand again. But this time they weren’t alone in the hallway. People were slowly coming from all halls, some realizing that the two were talking - and that it was odd. “I was wrong and I’m sorry it’s taken me this long to say something - to have the courage to say something”. Reggie entwined his fingers with Y/N, hoping that it would calm her down.

Y/N had a face of confusion as Reggie came closer to her - and while more students began to surround them in the hallway. To be fair, it was possible some of the didn’t notice or care for that matter - but Y/N could feel some eyes on her. It wasn’t everyday that a jock in his varsity jacket was holding the hand of the social pariah of the school. 

“I’m really sorry Y/N. Please. Believe me”. This time Reggie brushed her hair a bit to her ear - noticing that she had both fear and hurt in her eyes.  Y/N’s hand began to quiver a bit as she looked in Reggie’s eyes. It was something she hadn’t seen in years - a small amount of glee behind some very hurt eyes. One’s that she hadn’t really recognized in years. Reggie rubbed the back of his thumb alone her chin - not caring who was around them. Not caring that there were still a few months left until graduation, and the last thing he cared about was what the other guys would say at lunch.

All he cared about was Y/N in that moment. And to show her what she meant to him - and what he felt right then. Reggie pulled her even closer, bringing his lips to her as instead of a planned peck that he had played in his head a thousand times - he gave passion in the kiss. Knowing that this was the only girl for him - the only person that had ever believed in him.

Y/N’s eyes were closed as she felt the soft pout on her mouth - she could feel a shiver go up her spine. Not realizing that long felt feelings had lingered for years. With the meeting of lips, Y/N lost her anger. She could feel Reggie’s hand slightly sweat as they began to part. Her blinking a bit out of amazement for a moment. 

“I’ve wanted to do that for years”, Reggie gave a breath of relief that he wasn’t slapped immediately after they parted. 

“This doesn’t mean...”.

“I know I have a lot of time to work for. It’s okay. Um, by the way. I heard you got into NYU”.

Y/N’s look was questionable but she nodded.

“So did I. So what’s your major? Social justice? Psychology? Unearthing people’s deepest secrets for their own realization?”.

“Funny”. Reggie began to walk Y/N toe and toe to class as their old banter seemed to be back in play. “I don’t recall you ever telling me your deepest secret though Reg”.

“I thought you had figured it out. It was caring about you”.

#riverdale #riverdale imagine #riverdale reggie #riverdale reggie mantle

[rejectedbyeharmony]

Bryan Paul, Semi-Pro BMXer

The summer after I graduated high school, I got the opportunity to spend some time in Europe with a few of my classmates and my favorite art teacher. We spent weeks looking at art, taking in the culture (read: legally drinking), and saying a farewell to each other before we all went off to college. I wasn’t focused on meeting anyone that summer, I was happy enjoying my last few glory days before college started, and I had to make a whole new set of friends.

I was accepted to George Mason University, which is a great fine arts program. But, my parents lived 25 minutes away, so I commuted to school. My freshman year, I didn’t really get the college experience. I would hang out in friends dorms, but I didn’t really get a chance to make many friends, as I was taking a full load of classes and was dating someone who didn’t go to our school. That guy is irrelevant to this story.

I found myself slipping into old social habits, including hanging out at the mall a lot with friends. Part of that experience was walking laps around Vans Skate Park, at the end of the mall. My girlfriends and I would go in and look at shoes, and pretend to be interested in the skateboards. But we were mostly interested in the skaters. We would stand on the chain-link fence and watch them do tricks, sometimes they’d come over and talk to us. Any girl who grew up in Woodbridge in the late nineties, spent her share of hours watching and flirting with these incredibly talented, hot guys. It was pretty much the highlight of every week.

Wednesday was bike night, when the BMX riders would come in and hit the pipes and bowls on their bikes. I loved going and watching them, because the skill level was significantly higher than most of the skateboarders, and it was pretty much like watching your own X-games at your local mall.

One fateful Wednesday I caught the eye of a tall, black-haired, blue-eyed guy. I didn’t know who he was, but from the way the staff treated him, he must have been important. He was really talented and had a great smile. I kept hanging around where he was and eventually he talked to me. His name was Bryan. And he was hot as fuck. I don’t even remember what we talked about but ended up hanging out that night, having dinner and talking for hours. And then the next day, he called me. He wanted to know what I was doing that night, and if I wanted to go on an adventure. This is still probably the most romantic thing any man has ever asked me, to this day.

So we met up, and he took me to the neighborhood where he grew up. It wasn’t far from where I grew up, and I spent some time playing in this neighborhood as a kid too, so it bonded us. He showed me this tiny pet cemetery in the woods and we shared a mutual creepy shiver when we discovered it. We laughed and made out, and had an incredible time together.

Needless to say, I was completely smitten. I knew he was older than me, but I couldn’t really tell how old. I was only 18 and I had no concept of discerning men’s age yet. I was sure he knew I was younger, but he never asked how much younger. So we kept dating, blissfully ignorant of each other’s ages, but just happy to spend time together.

He lived pretty far south of me, closer to Richmond. He was always willing to come up and see me, but one day suggested that I come down his way. We met and he took me to Richmond. I had never been there before, but a lot of the kids I went to high school with ended up moving there and loved it. He showed me around all the cool neighborhoods and I fell in love with Carytown. I thought it was so cool that he would take me there, and I fell head over heels for this guy.

We dated through the end of my first semester in college, when he announced to me that he had to move to South Carolina. He was getting laid off from his job, and he was going to go work for his dad in Charleston. My heart took a huge leap and I told him I was going to go with him. He encouraged me to stay and finish school, but I needed to be with him. I told my parents that I was going to take a semester off and follow my heart, and they were understandably livid. I wasn’t working at the time, and I had no money. So I was completely financially reliant on them. They paid my car bill, my insurance, and gave me an allowance for gas and food to get to school. I told them that I didn’t want any of that and I just wanted Bryan.

My parents told me if I dropped out of school, they would take my car away. They also threatened that if I left school, they would no longer be responsible for paying on my student loans. I didn’t believe them, I knew they were all just empty threats… Or so I thought. But I also had a car and no money and I needed to get out of town before they could take it away from me.

So I stole the car, I drove out to Warrenton where my grandma lived and I asked her for money. I don’t remember how much she gave me, but I do remember her crying when she wrote me the check. She begged me not to go, but I told her it was something I needed to do. So I got in my Saturn and drove it to Charleston.

Bryan had given me an address, and I called to tell him I was coming. At the time I had a pretty basic Nokia brick phone. There was no text messaging, just calls, so I really had to rely on him answering. He didn’t answer my call until I was crossing the North Carolina/South Carolina border. I remember looking up at the exit for South of the Border, and when I looked down and saw that he was calling me back. I gleefully told him where I was, and it stung when he sounded stunned that I was actually coming. I asked “do you want me there?” And he said “of course. You’ll be here late, but just call me when you get here and I’ll come down and let you in.”

When I drove up to the house in Charleston, I was so nervous that i forgot to call him. Walking up, I could tell it was his parents house, so I expected to see them. I hoped that he told them that I was coming, and I wouldn’t be an unwelcome guest. But I didn’t expect to see two small pink bikes with streamers thrown down on the sidewalk in front of the house. There were children living here.

I sucked in my breath as I knocked on the door and Bryan’s mom answered. She gave me half a smile and welcomed me into her home. She apologized for not having the guestroom ready, and explained that Bryan forgot to tell them that I was coming. I was mortified, I immediately felt like I was making a terrible decision, but I just needed to spend the time with him to know that things could be right.

Then he came down and hugged me, and quickly ushered me up to his room. I stood there awkwardly and asked “should I not sleep in your room with you?” He said, “No it’s fine.” And we crawled into bed and I told him all about my trip down. At some point during our conversation I mentioned something about dropping out of college during my first semester. He stopped me and asked, “wait how old are you?”

Here we go. I remember looking back at him with big eyes, for the first time realizing that we had never had that conversation. I said “I’m 18,” then reassured him, “I’ll be 19 in May.” And his face turned green. He said angrily, “do you have any idea how old I am?” I didnt... so I guessed 25. I didn’t know anyone older than 25 that I didn’t consider a ‘real adult’. He laughed and closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, and then he all at once wide-eyed looked at me and said “Fuck, Katie. I’m 32.”

I didn’t know how to react to that and I think I didn’t say anything. But he was clearly fretting over it. He laid back on the pillow and closed his eyes, and sighed “Let’s just go to bed.” We didn’t have sex that night, and I couldn’t sleep anyway. I just laid there awkwardly cuddling with him, worried about the bikes and the parents and what the fuck was I doing.

I think I dozed off around four and woke up with the sun. He was already up and out of bed. I cursed him for leaving me in that room by myself, but was grateful to discover there was an adjoining bathroom with a shower. So I pulled some clean clothes out of my bag and went into the bathroom and ugly cried in the shower trying to decide what I was going to do. Would I just hide in the room until he came and got me? Should I walk downstairs and see if everyone’s waiting for me at the breakfast table? I was so confused and a ball of anxiety.

As I finished my shower and I got a towel, I heard two tiny voices in the bedroom. They’re were little girls in there. My heart sank as the reality sunk in: Bryan had children. I kept hoping that maybe they were his nieces or just some neighborhood kids, and I searched back through my memories to try to recall whether he had ever told me he had children. But all I could remember was never telling each other any intimate details about our lives. I mean, Jesus Christ, neither of us knew how old the other one was.

Yes I realize how stupid this is, I gave up my entire life to move to another state with someone who wasn’t even expecting me, who I knew nothing about. I see that now. And I felt it then, but I was too young and naïve to understand the gravity of the situation.

I got dressed and walked out into the bedroom to find Bryan in there with two beautiful little girls playing video games they both looked up confused that I was there. He clearly hadn’t even primed them for the woman that would be walking out of the bathroom. I use the phrase woman lightly, because I was not. I was all of 18, and I barely had any relationship experience, and here I was faced with a man, much older than me… With two little girls.

I’ve always been pretty good with kids, so I stood on that confidence, and sat down on the floor with them. They flooded me with questions “What’s your name? When did you get here? How do you know daddy? I like your hair. What’s that? (pointing to a tattoo) Oh, did that hurt? Do you want to go outside and play?”

I felt relieved by that last question and happily agreed to go outside and play with the girls. I looked to Bryan for some acknowledgment, he just smiled and said he would come outside a little later. We were outside for what felt like hours, until his mom called us in for lunch. Bryan never came outside to play with us and never gave me an opportunity to talk to him about what we were doing here. But when I walked inside, I saw my bag packed at the top of the stairs. He was leaving me a not-so-subtle clue that he wanted me to leave.

So I politely finished lunch with his family and walked upstairs to grab my bag. I made an excuse about having to visit some friends in town, thanked his parents for their hospitality, and said my goodbyes. He followed me out to my car and tried to apologize, but I was heartbroken and the damage had been done.

I loaded Incubus “Morning View” into my CD player, and watched him in the rear view as i pulled away and made the long trek back to Northern Virginia. I didn’t go home that night, I drove onto campus and stayed with a friend who knew where I was going that weekend. I called her on the way back and she could just hear me quietly weeping on the other end and she said “hey, just come to my dorm”. At this point I had already disenrolled from school, and it was too late for me to sign up for the next semester of classes. So I waited a few days hiding out in Jessie’s dorm until my sister called, asking if I was ok. She said everyone was worried about me, and I confessed that things didn’t work out. Then, I finally went home to my parents house. To my moms credit, she never gave me shit, she just welcomed me back in with open arms and to this day we’ve never really spoken about it.

It’s been 17 years now, but I still think about him all the time. I’ve even looked for him on social media, but he was never really much of a Facebook kinda guy. I never knew the whole story about his kids mother, or his past. But sometimes, I’ll see someone who vaguely looks like him, and my heart misses him as much as it did that day I left.

[cityalps]

WE ARE HERE FOR YOU. LET'S KEEP MOVING, TOGETHER!

15-04-2021

AFTERNOON CITY ALPS COMMUNITY A few years ago in the early stages of setting up City Alps a friend sent us a postcard with the following note:

“When everything is uncertain, anything is possible”

We thought of that note this week. It's been such a period of uncertainty: uncertainty around terraces re-opening, uncertainty around when we can open our doors, uncertainty around travel.

But rather than focus on this uncertainty, we really want our City Alpers to put all of their energy into what may be possible!  

To focus on training plans, goals and getting into the best possible shape through this last tricky period, so that we are all #adventureready for those trips, races and adventures (big and small) that may just be possible when we turn the bend.

With that focus in mind, we wanted to send an update on what’s on the schdeule (new and old) this month and a little reminder that we are still dreaming of trips, events and adventurous weekends away with our City Alps community.

NEW! OUTDOOR RIDE INTERVALS Taking our indoor ride classes, outdoors. Improve your strength, cadence, power, technique and confidence on the bike during our ride interval sessions in Diemerpark, with Stach and Thomas

1.5 hours

18:15 on Monday and Thursday

Meet at the Diemerpark side of the Nesciobrug

For all levels since you will work at your own speed

Bring a watch/timer as all intervals are time based.

BACK ON THE SCHEDULE! OUTDOOR RUN INTERVALS Running intervals are back! As a runner, it is crucial to include weekly speed intervals into your training. Improve your speed, power, technique, cadence and posture ... you will gain so much from these sessions!

1.5 hours

Wednesday's at 19:00

Meeting at City Alps

We will run to the track in Oost

For all levels since you will work at your own speed

Bring water if you need it

ONGOING OUTDOOR RUN + STRENGTH Tuesday 07:15 - Frankendael Park (meet at the kids ‘Speeltuijn’) Thursday 18:30 - Nemo Stairs (meet at the bottom of the stairs) Saturday 09:00 - Flevopark (meet at the large black artwork “Angstig konijn” by Piet Parra)

Switching between intervals of running and body weight strength work. Our sessions are designed to get you leaner, stronger and naturally more athletic. All levels of runners or walkers are welcome.

NEW! 20 - 45 MIN (LIVE ONLY) ZOOM SESSIONS Following all the positive feedback from the Rise n’ Core program, we have added some new ZOOM sessions to the schedule and have decided to only do LIVE sessions, with no recordings sent. Most of these sessions will be shorter (20-30min), quality sessions with the City Alps crew. Join and tap into that collective energy to get the CORE and STRENGTH work into your weekly training plan.

ONGOING! ON-DEMAND ZOOM CLASS RECORDINGS For all monthly paying City Alps members, you have full access to our library of over 100 past zoom class recordings (hosted on VIMEO). The beauty of this is that you can do the classes anytime, anywhere. These classes are an essential addition to your usual running and cycling training. Choose between strength, mobility, core, band camp, injury prevention and so much more. All details for access have been sent out already!

For those of you who would like full access to these classes plus the LIVE sessions, you can always purchase a monthly unlimited zoom package.

CITY ALPS CYCLE TRIP TO ITALY, JUNE 16-21 We are super excited for this training camp. There are still some spots open, with a 100% refund policy and so there is no reason NOT to sign up if you are sitting on the fence. It's going to be a vibe!

#CityAlps #Indoorcycling #Adventureready #Cycling

[mmflibrary]

Janey’s Adventures and Fights

I’m too old for this shit. You would think I would be better at comforting people after 800 years, but no. Crying people make me uncomfortable. They always have. Even during the plague years when everyone cried because everybody was dead or dying, I still hated it.

           But here I am. Sitting on the ground in front of some frat house consoling a drunk Lucy because no one complimented her winged eyeliner. Ugh.

“I worked so hard on it” blubbered Lucy as fat tears rolled out of her eyes and onto my t-shirt.

“I know you did baby, some people just can’t appreciate art.” I told Lucy as I combed my fingers through her soft hair. And Lucy was art. She was gorgeous and put in a lot of effort to look that way. She spent hours doing her makeup every morning and went to the gym every Monday Wednesday and Friday after her classes. She was kind as well. If she was alive during the Salem witch trails she would be hung for being to beautiful and for bewitching all the men in a different way.

People during the Salem witch trials were idiots. They never actually caught any witches. At least I’m pretty sure they didn’t. I chose not to stick around and find out.

“I love you Janey. You are my favorite” Lucy slurred into my shoulder and then passed out. I froze. No one had told me they loved me in a long time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This whole mess started 4 months ago.

I was starting a new life at a college in Ithaca, New York. I usually get 4 to 8 years out of one location before people get nosey and try to learn about my life. I chose Ithaca because I thought the name sounded cool. I enrolled in Ithaca College with fake paper work. I had perfected forgery spells in the early 1800’s in order to travel across borders easier. Even though my papers were impeccable, and I never did enough magic to draw attention to myself, I still caught someone’s eye.

 In my 800 years I have learned that other people’s curiosity is very dangerous. Once someone decides to get to know me, they realize my life doesn’t add up in a neat little package like everyone else’s. So when someone starts following me, I get antsy. I don’t get attached to place or people anymore because there is no point when everything changes so quickly and people don’t last very long. When someone starts to get attached to me I push them in another direction or extract myself from the situation all together. I knew this creepy kid was following me but I figured he was just a weirdo whose memory I would have to wipe at some point.

But you know what? I was tired of moving around. I worked hard on my essay to get into Ithaca College and I had already moved my stuff into my dorm so I didn’t want to leave again. Why should I let some creep ruin my hard work and the possibility that I could live in one place for eight years?

           The kid, who was about 6’ 5”, followed me around campus and to my dorm for a week straight. I kept getting glances of him out of the corner of my eye. He was tan, pretty muscular, looked like he played some sort of sport and was the “drank protein shakes because they tasted good” type. His stupidly large shadow was beginning to annoy me. He clearly wanted something and it was hard for me to do my magic with someone watching so closely all the time.

So on a Thursday afternoon in September I decided to resolve the situation. I slipped into the English department building where there was only one exit and entrance. Once inside, I went into the ladies restroom where I knew he couldn’t see me, and threw on a disguise spell and walked out. Tall kid was waiting at the end of the hall. I walked by him and he didn’t even blink at me, which I found weird for two reasons. One this disguise was a particularly hot girl who should have at least gotten a glance from this boy and two it’s weird when people don’t blink. Just the air passing over his face from me walking by should have made him blink. But he didn’t.

           Tall Kid stayed in the building waiting for me to emerge from the bathroom for over an hour. I sat in my disguise sipping coffee at the on campus Starbucks across from the English building, and waited for him to figure out that I wasn’t still in the bathroom. When he finally did come out he was sprinting and his face was beet red. An older woman was yelling curses at him as he rushed from the building.

“You pervert!” the enraged woman yelled after him as he tore through campus to escape. I burst out laughing and got up to follow Tall Kid. I took my coffee with me. I pulled my penny board out of my backpack (it fit thanks to a rather handy expansion spell I picked up in Greece during the height of the Ottoman empire). I calmly boarded after Tall Kid from a respectable distance until he reached a house off campus.

The house looked too nice for a college student to afford. But maybe he came from rich parents. It was painted a pristine white with white pillars along the front of the house. Blue shutters outlined the evenly spaced windows on the first and second floor. The front door was a bloody red color and had a large light hanging over the front porch. I think it was in the colonial style or something. I knew watching all those home make over shows would come in handy. The front yard was immaculate as well. The grass was uniformly cut and the hedges that acted as a natural fence along the sides of the yard we all the same height. Not one leaf was out of place.

Once again I was confused. Leaves were falling from trees in the yards adjacent to Tall Kid’s house but not a single stray leaf landed in his yard. It was late September practically October. His grass should be wilting and the bushes should not be this green. Winter was coming fast and early this year. I could feel it in the air. After 800 years I have become very good ar gaging the seasons. Abnormalities in nature always sparked my curiosity and now Tall Kid had my interest. That was a precarious position to be in.

I have never been one for thinking ahead. So now that I was curious I had to find out the answers. “Well no time like the present” I muttered to myself. I put my penny board back in backpack, waved my hand over my body, and transformed back into my normal body right in front of his house. I learned early in my life that if people spot things that seem strange they generally just rationalize it. Blame it on the lighting or their eyes. If they try to tell people they saw something magical, no one will believe them. So when a lady across the street looked over at me mid transformation, I simply smiled and waved. She squinted, then waved back and walked away rubbing her eyes.

I walked through Tall Kid’s too green grass, instead of using the perfect brick walkway, and knocked on his front door.

Tall Kid did not answer the door. A short gorgeous blonde girl did.

“Hello” she said leaning against the doorframe. “Can I help you?”

In my experience, that question was usually said with sarcasm but she seemed to mean it earnestly. God she was beautiful. She was about 5’ even and her hair was in soft long ringlets, which reached just below her shoulders. Her makeup was movie star perfect and accented her cheekbones and bright green eyes. Her lipstick was the same color as her skirt. She was wearing a maroon skirt and black lace leggings with a cream-colored button up top and a sparking gold chain necklace with a small gold cat hanging on it. Her outfit looked like she had just jumped off a runway in Milan during fashion week.

“Damn you’re pretty.” I blurted at her.

She giggled and looked down blushing. “Aw thanks! You think that now but you should see me without all this makeup on. That’s an image no one wants to see!” She smiled and dimples appeared on her cheeks. I smiled back at her, but didn’t believe her for one minute. Her eyes were green and beautiful and I wanted to see her in very light with or without makeup any time she would let me. But that wasn’t what I came here for.

           “Anyway were you looking for someone or something?” she asked as she looked back up at me. God her dimples were distracting.

“Uhhh Yes. Yes I was looking for a kid. Does a tall kid; about 6’ 5” live here? He’s got brown hair and the classic douche hair cut. You know, long on top but shaved on the sides?” She blinked at me for a second then burst out laughing. Once her boisterous laughter had subsided she turned her back to me and yelled into the house.

“Theo!” she yelled. “Theo I told you that hair cut made you look like a dick! Come to the door! Someone with sense is here to talk to you!” She turned back to face me.

“He’ll be down in a minute. He is usually getting ready to go to the gym at this time. I’m Lucy by the way. Lucy Danvers” She stuck out her hand. Even her nail polish was expertly done in a French manicure.

“I’m Janey. Nice to meet you.” I said as I wrapped my hand around hers. At that moment I saw Tall Kid, whose name was apparently Theo, walking toward the front door looking down at his phone. When he looked up he froze.

“You! What ? how ? did you? What are you doing here? Did you follow me? Did you know I was following you? What is going on? Lucy do you know this girl?” Theo sputtered as he rushed to the door grabbing Lucy by her wrist and pulling Lucy away from me. Theo was wearing one of those pointless tank tops that expose your rib cage and your waste instead of just having regular armholes. He looked like a “bro” as the kids referred to it these days.

“I do not know her Theo. Wait. You were following her? What are you doing following strangers Theo? What’s wrong with you?” Lucy asked as she tried to pull away from Theo’s grip on her wrist. Her face started to get red with anger. She was so pale and little.  

“Lucy I think she might be a mage, an unregistered mage.” He tried to whisper but I was still standing close enough to hear. Lucy looked back at me with a quizzical expression from behind Theo.

“No way. She couldn’t be this old and not be registered. She would be oozing magic out of her ears without training at the Registry.” Lucy tried to lean closer to me as if to try and gage me better but Theo held her back still keeping a grip on her wrist. I decided right then that I did not like Theo. He was glaring at Lucy like he was upset she would argue with him.

“What the fuck is a Mage?” I asked to take Theo’s attention away from Lucy and back onto me. He shouldn’t look at her like that.

Theo pivoted toward me and then looked me from head to toe. He pushed Lucy further behind him and then glared at me.  “I think you are a Mage. Someone who can perform magical acts. Every Mage is required to be registered and trained by the Registry in order to receive their Refinement Device. But I know you aren’t registered because I tried to look you up when I saw you doing such blatant magic in our History of the English Language class last Wednesday. That is a clear violation of Registry Mandate 632 and you should be held accountable.”

I tried to remember what I did last Wednesday but came up blank. My memory has always been shitty. It’s why I was even taking History of the English Language, so that I could try and jog some of my memories about my time in England. So far it was just boring. I barely remembered who the professor was and I sure as shit did not remember Theo in that class nor did I remember performing any magic. I stared back at Theo trying to look as innocent as possible.

“Refresh my memory, if you would, cause I am sure this is all just a big misunderstanding. What exactly is Registry Mandate 632?” I had used my sweetest voice and kindest fake smile in hopes he would calm down and lessen the glare he was giving me. It didn’t work. Theo huffed dramatically and leaned over me as if trying to intimidate me with his height (I am 5’ 4” so he had a foot on me).

“Registry Mandate 632 states that no Mage shall perform any magic within the vicinity of any non-magical person. If a Mage is caught performing magic in the vicinity of any non-magical person the Mage will surrender their Refinement Device as reprimand for a length of time to be decided upon by the Mages of the High Court pending a trial.” Damn it sounded like he knew these mandate things by heart. I must have accidentally offended their magical culture here in Ithaca. Weird though because I hadn’t seen any large-scale magical organization since the rise of the Spanish as they explored the world in the 15th and 16th Centuries.

“And what exactly did I do last Wednesday?” I asked Theo as I widened my eyes attempting to be as nonthreatening as possible. I don’t think my innocent act worked because Theo stepped closer to me and put his finger in my face.

“You didn’t spill your coffee.” He said it like he had caught me red handed. His finger was still in my face. I was still trying the innocent look but I was starting to doubt my ability to convince Theo to leave me alone while only using conventional means. He seemed like a dog with a bone that didn’t know how to drop it. I decided the innocent act wasn’t going to get me out of this. So I dropped the act and gave him my best cold stare. Napoleon Bonaparte once told me that look was colder than Russia in winter.

“Boy. If you don’t move your finger in the next five seconds I’m gonna stick it up your ass.” Theo startled and dropped his finger. I guess he wasn’t used to people threatening him. “Good. Now last time I checked it was considered polite not to spill coffee in the middle of a crowded lecture hall. So explain to me what makes it okay, in your tiny brain, to just go around accusing people of being magic and following them for a week straight?” Theo opened his mouth to respond but I was mad now so I just talked right over him. “Also, if I was someone who was trying to keep magic a secret, like you seem to be trying to do, don’t you think it would be smart to have proof before you start disclosing information about some Magical Registry to anyone who walks up to your front door? I would think said Magical Registry would not be to pleased with someone who is failing so spectacularly to keep its secrets.” Theo went pale and stepped back.

Lucy’s jaw was hanging open and she still looked cute. Theo seemed frozen so I stepped around him and entered the house.

If this guy was trying to learn about me then I was going to learn all about him too.

#original character #janey #lucy #theo #please be nice to me when reading this its my first original work constructive criticism welcome

[survivor-of-removal]

Dark Seeker's history summer/ early autum

There’s not much point doing this blog if i don’t tell you everything thats happened so far. It was 2013 i discovered creepypasta. It was an innocent enough mistake. i spelled a word wrong... yes all my pain and suffering was caused by a fucking spelling mistake. Maybe i shouldn't of hated on that miserable sarcastic teaching assistant that tortured me every Wednesday before swimming class. Maybe my lazy ass should've paid attention.

Anyway it was me looking for a thrill. You know, a scary game to scare the shit out of myself. So i typed in "scaryest game on the internet". Despite the agony its almost funny to think that such an innocent mistake would ruin my life. The "word" scaryest brought me to the more sinister games. Im guessing it was like a deep web link or something similar because it brought me to the dodgy games. Like for an example it brought me to a game, can't even remember what its called. i couldn't find it again even after a long deep search. It had this image on it:

(smile Jeff)

i played the game. i didn't understand it very much. i reversed the image search, brought me to "smile Jeff" a combination of two images, a recreation of the real smile dog picture and the original Jeff the killer song. For some odd reason smile dog didn't interest me at first. The picture was creepy for sure but the name Jeff the killer seemed more interesting. Stupidly enough i did some research on Jeff the killer. the worst mistake of my life. i read a story named "go to sleep" yep thats right, the original Jeff the killer story, the one that tells how he became the way he is. its harder to find nowadays. The part when Jeff carved a smile in his face and burnt off his eyelids shocked me. baring in mind i was only in my early 11 years of age. i wasn't supposed to read that stuff. i remember shaking. literally shaking. i was genuinely shocked, scared. It scarred me but for some odd reason it wasn't enough. i waited three days telling everyone "i read this terrifying story" that was until i finished primary school which was after 3 days. The whole summer holidays was in front of me as well as a new secondary school. It was like everything was set up to fail. That summer i looked deeper and deeper staying up late looking at more creepypastas. Jeff was always my favourite. None of the others did it for me like he did. when i went on holiday to jersey the hotel there had about 5 acres of grounds. It had a forest, fields, and a really large patio area (like really large) where the wine cellar was and where they grew herbs and everything. The best part (at the time) was that it was always empty. The only part that really ever got used was the pool area. the other areas during the later afternoon where always empty. It had different layers and everything with a well and small little cottages, some of the places in the grounds were so rural it felt like a country village. and of course in the evening everything was empty. By then i had discovered a new favorite creepy pasta: the Rake. i used to go rake hunting in the woods next to the manor/hotel. i used to have great fun scaring the crap out of myself. now for those out there who are big into creepypasta stuff. you'll know that there's another one, a big one, one that usually sits next to the rake in terms of myths and fandom. Yes thats right: the Slender man.

this one made me almost forget all the others. From a first glance, one glance thats all it took: i was engrossed. For the next day i didn't go out exploring. i stayed in reading about him, everything i could spend hours reading stories, doing "research". The next time i went out something felt very off and as i walked around i felt like i was being watched. i shrugged it off as paranoia but returned to my families room soon after because it just felt too bad. On the final day of the holiday me and my family took a hike in the area near the ferry port. The whole thing felt weird. The fenced off woods intrigued me. something drew me closer. By now i was already playing the mass of slender man games on the app store.

When i got home it was non-stop slender man, short films, stories not even on creepypasta, stories on creepypasta and looking at pictures, videos, everything i could get my thumbs on. i thought it wasn't real. Some of you may scoff at this. Most people today "know" he isn't real. Every fucking website: "oh he was created on the something awful forums, na na na"

i wanted to believe in it, i wanted to think it was all real. It would be exiting, if i was stalked it would make my life a fun adventure. The stupid innocent ignorance of a fucking 11 year old. That was when he appeared in my dream. i cant remember the dream anymore, i have a few visions. One was an empty mossy swimming pool surrounded by thick dark woods, and he was standing in the entrance to the forest. i woke up. i wasn't scared, i was almost exited, but something suppressed that feeling almost. i cant describe it, it was a feeling of difference, the whole room didn't seem right like something was off, horribly off. i was in my room, but i wasn't. i got to sleep eventually. But had another dream. i was in a field, woods surrounding it with overgrown brown grass, the sky was blue and it was sunny, it was sweet. There were other people if i remember rightly but ill never forget the tree in the middle of the field. i went up to it and the best way to describe it is that on the tree, a suit and tie were carved on in the right place like the tree would come alive any moment. My dad woke me up. today we were going to some boats race thing. Hundreds of people were going to be there. i can remember telling my dad i had a bad dream but didn't tell him what it was. he by now knew of my creepy pasta addiction. Luckily, or at least lucky at the time, right next to the massive field next to the river there was a large dark forest. i played around in there. i was looking for him of course. surprisingly the forest felt calm.

The day was going fine. If i remember they had a BBQ on the main field anyway, or they were selling hot dogs or something. Anyway, the day was good. That was until i had to go to an aunts' birthday party. Some people got drunk if i remember rightly and everyone was "partying" a little too hard for middle-aged people. i spent most of the night outside in the pub garden staring into the dark trees thinking about slender man. i told my grandma and one of my aunts about slenderman, and they couldn't stop laughing. i was slightly annoyed by this i dont know why.

By the way if you're wondering how i can remember all this, which if sure you are it's because i have a high functioning form of autism. no I’m not a retard, the opposite in fact, i have a high IQ but do find it hard in social situations and other minor things like that. i can remember when i was 6 for goodnes’s sake. i have a good memory, its never been bad, it's been blurry at times, usually when im... when is... yeah

but anyway i was happy to go home, it had been a long day. as we were driving home i had the sudden urge to look out the window, and there he was, standing there on the pavement. i had never been more shocked in my life, but the thing i remember is confusion. i dont know why but i was more surprised than scared.

The rest of the summer was okay i guess, a lot of homework that my new secondary had set (how brutal is that, i hadn't even attended a day at the school, and they gave summer homework) and of course long nights looking at slender man stories. One i remember well is "the rocking chair" i cant find it again but it was about a rocking chair on a campsite and whoever sat in it at night would encounter slender man. i dont know why i remember that one. i was fully obsessed reading creepiest one after the other. By now they were regular stories, i wasn't scared, i was reading stories at 11 that are supposed to frighten fucking adults. i look back on it now. Maybe i didn't realize what i was doing but now i know. i was harming myself: psychologically.

School began. Or should i say hell began. The academy i attended was brutal, vicious. no one liked me. i jumped from being fairly popular in primary (people liked me because i was quirky) to being the laughingstock and the loser of not just the class, not just my year group. no we are talking about the whole fucking school. for goodnes’s sake, pupils that came from my primary didn't even like me anymore. a girl i danced with in the school disco sort of thing didn't even like me, they turned me away, i was an embarrassment. i tried to fit in but i couldn't. i tried to joke, i tried to laugh, i tried to join in conversations, but they would all turn me down as a "gay weirdo". Its painful looking back on it. i was so confused at the time. i knew no one, not the teachers, all my friends were gone and the ones that did go to the same school turned me away too engrossed in their new friends. i would just sit there at break and read creepypastas in the corner. It was an escape from hell. By now i started getting slender sickness, nose bleeds, coughing fits, nausea, ringing in my ears. and i shadow would follow me everywhere, a tall wispy dark shadow with long arms that would stand in the corner of the recreation ground at break and just watch me disappearing each time a looked directly at it. it would follow me home, i would see it outside, in town. i wanted answers. i knew it was slender man, i knew he was after me. i had the sickness, the obsession, i saw him, i got detentions all the time. i couldn't concentrate in class. Either i tried to make conversation with the boy next to me, he seemed fairly... different... so i trusted him. he didn't make fun of me like the others. By now my new nickname was weirdo. i didn't choose the nickname. i minded my own business. The first week i tried to make friends went so wrong i just sat in the corner at breaks and minded my own business, sometimes silently crying about the lesson beforehand when someone had humiliated me or picked on me for no reason. But still they came up to me and made fun of me then. i remember i had two spots i would hide. There was a pathway that went off the main recreation space up to a fire exit, i would sit by the fire exit door away from everyone watched everyone have fun, laughing, joking, groups of kids like me walking around with their friends. i had no one. no one but my stupid creepypastas. i had imaginary friends too. Tommy, cal, they were all i had, and they weren't even fucking real. My other place was behind the fence. There was a gate next to the football pitches that entered a small area behind a wooden fence. i was the only person who ever went there. after all who else would go behind some tall wooden fences into that small isolated space. i wouldn't eat lunch, the cafeteria was a spot for bullying. no one would let me sit down. i began to become really skinny. But i felt better behind a wooden fence where no one could find me than eating. At this point my obsession with slender man took over everything. in school any opportune to write about something, draw something, anything optional, it would always be about slender man. My life was breaking down. Detentions every day. i almost liked them. It was stop me from going outside. i think the teachers knew: they would send me out early to socialize. Socialize with whom? i had no friends. i only had enemies. People wouldn't let me sit down. they would shout at me tell me to fuck off. If i walked past people they would drop the "gay" insult or call me names. i never understood why. i didn't do anything. in sports, i was always the last to get picked. in the end i just refused to play, every sports lesson just made me feel horrible inside. i would sit in the corner and do nothing. i dont suppose it helped but its not like anyone would pass the ball or anything. they would call me a girl because i had long hair. It wasn't even that long. It was more of an emo fringe than anything but still, it pissed me off, and they liked that. People liked my reaction.

(End of part 1)

[dcreed013]

Chapter 1: Ellie

The Wormwood farm was unusually charming looking for this part of Flatrend. It was a spacious house made of pale stone and arching windows you could see lacey curtains fluttering behind. Jutting out of the back of the house was a three story tower. This tower was originally built to house the Wormwood’s in-laws after their homes burned down some three hundred and sixty years ago, but now it houses two of the children of the house and a guest room. Behind the house is a high wooden fence that closes in the farm. Yes, it was a fairly charming looking house, but it’s most unusual feature was its scarlet roof. From a distance, one would only assume it to be an unusual sort of tile. However, upon closer inspection, a passerby would be amazed to find that the house was shingled with dragon scales!

Then the passerby would surmise that this farm must be quite old, to be covered in the iridescent hide of a beast that hasn’t lived in Noelvah for over three-hundred years. As a matter of fact, Wormwood farm was built about four hundred and eighty-seven years ago, though the crimson roof was later addition. There was a short time in the kingdom of when dragon rearing seemed feasible. In those few decades, the upper and middle classes had access to goods now considered priceless, like dragon teeth and eggs. During that time, Wormwood farm suffered a fire as a result of a toddler and a candlestick, and although its stone foundation survived, it lost it’s previously hay roof. And so, the then head of house decided to invest in fire-proof dragon scales to ensure his brood would never have to sleep under the elements again. Shortly after, the dragons used to produce these products managed to escape. They ran amok in Noelvah for a few months before migrating back their homeland. It was during this time that Wormwood farm doubled as Wormwood shelter, as all the other houses in town burned to the ground.

Yes, it’s a charming looking place indeed. It’s just a shame it’s not a very charming smelling place. For Wormwood farm didn’t farm any sort of crop or cow or sheep. No, Wormwood farm instead peddled in chickens. And anyone who’s ever ventured too close to a chicken house can tell you that if smells could be bottled, the smell of a chicken coop would be considered a weapon of war. It simply is an atrocious, putrid stench that manages to seep into everything on the premise. Everyone in town knows not to eat anything the Wormwoods offer you; else you’ll get a mouthful of Odeur de Poulet. Naturally, the Wormwood’s don’t notice this though. Perhaps the family has been in the business so long that they’ve done away with their sense of smell. Or perhaps a strange hereditary defect allowed them to establish the farm. Either way, it’s certainly true that no Wormwood can detect a scent, on their farm or elsewhere. You could wave a fresh apple pie, a bar of chocolate, a fish or a clove of garlic right under their nose, and they wouldn’t smell a thing. As a side effect of not being able to smell, they also have little to no sense of taste, explaining why everyone except a Wormwood could detect the lingering essence of chicken mess in whatever meal was prepared on the farm.

You’d think that with such an awful smelling place nearby, the village of would’ve driven the Wormwood’s off with pitchforks long ago. However, that was not the case. The Wormwoods had wisely built the farm downwind of Flatrend, and the gusts that blew through the prairie town kept the smell at bay. On top of that, the Wormwoods were kind folk, and well respected in town. Not to mention they were the wealthiest family in town. Mothers in Flatrend would, starting from an early age, force their children to sit for hours at a time, smelling some rancid fish or milk as training so the child would be able to tolerate the smell should he or she be fancied by a Wormwood son or daughter.

And so, it is on this foul-smelling farm, and under this red roof, that Eleanor Wormwood was born and raised. Little Ellie lived her whole life on this farm with her mother, father, and three brothers. Her mother was Tamera Wormwood, formerly Tamera Pines. Tammy was a slightly portly and stern looking woman, who always brought pies to the village’s quilting circle that no one ever dared eat. The man of the house was Rolf Wormwood, who worked the farm under unusual circumstances. You see, Rolf was the fifth and last brother of his generation, and wasn’t supposed to inherit the farm. It was supposed to go to his oldest brother Whit. However, Whit died in an unfortunate accident that ended with him being crushed under a statue that was meant for the top of the town hall. Then it was supposed to go to Polly, but Polly wasn’t the most reliable sort. He met his end near the tavern with six pints of ale in his blood, and a bet involving a mule and bear. Then it went to Riley, but Riley had always dreamed of adventure. He was just about to hop out his window when the fourth brother, Tom, caught him. However, Tom, knowing that with Riley gone HE would have to take over the farm, decided a life at sea was better and set off for the coast with Riley. No one has heard from them since. And so the late Maggie and Jerald Wormwood had only Rolf to give their beloved farm to. Rolf had to leave his blacksmith apprenticeship in order to learn the family business, and there he was today.

Finally, there were Ellie’s older brothers, Mack, Nick, and Rick. As the names might imply, the boys are identical triplets. See, the issue of who would inherit the farm isn’t a decided matter for this generation because of this. For one thing, it hardly seems fair to give Nick the farm just because he’s a half-hour older than Mack, and Mack doesn’t deserve it any more than Rick for the same reason. For another matter, no one really knows if Mack was born as Mack, or Nick was born as Nick, or Rick as Rick. The fact is, the boys were so perfectly identical as children, that it was utterly impossible to tell them apart until they were old enough to tell you which one he was himself. Therefore, no one knows whether or not the boys ended up getting mixed up at some point and saddled with the wrong names. So although the baby called Nick was the oldest, there’s no way of knowing if the boy called Nick is really the oldest or not. It was quite the conundrum, one which the Wormwood family had never dealt with until now, and had yet to solve it in the fifteen years since the boys were born.

And then there was Ellie. She was twelve years old now as of last October, and currently working a knot out her short hair. The summer sun was just coming up over the fields, spilling in through her window on the second floor of the tower, and she would soon have to be ready to run egg deliveries around town as she did every Wednesday.

“Ellie! Breakfast!” Ellie’s mother was always a curt woman.

Ellie rushed out the door, grabbing her apron from the hook on the way out. She had just finished tying it as she reached the kitchen, where her mother was slapping scrambled eggs on plates and her two of her brothers were rushing in from the other rooms. Her father was already scraping up the last of his meal with toast.

When you have no sense of taste, eating becomes more of a chore than anything else. And that’s the way the Wormwood family treated it. There’s no point to having variety if you can’t taste it, so it was scrambled eggs and toast for breakfast every single day simply because they’re easy to make.

As Ellie sat down to eat, her two brothers started to chatter about what they’d do with their afternoons. After daily chores, which rotated daily, the Wormwoods usually had a few hours of downtime.

“I’m going down to the square to play jacks with Hannah and Greg.”

“I’m gonna go to the school. I heard some adventurer agreed to tell stories ‘round then.” Which one said which, Ellie didn’t care. She was brooding over the fact that her chore, egg deliveries, would take the majority of the day with how stubborn and slow old Bertha, the farm’s only mule, was.

After finally pushing down the last of her bland meal, Ellie cleaned her dishes and left, announcing it as she did. Her mother, now nestled in a rocking chair and working on her latest quilt, told her to “Make it quick. The egg’ll rot in this heat.” The two brothers were already going about the sweeping and dish drying, so they acknowledge her leaving.

Ellie hadn’t taken three steps out when the brother who was late for breakfast came bolting past her after some chicken that got loose. That must be Nick, Ellie thought. Nick always lets the chickens out. And Ellie went to the small barn on the side of the house and dragged out old Bertha. The mule looked a little like a very worn out sock and dragged her feet with every step. After Ellie finished the task of getting Bertha tacked up and loading the eggs into the cart, she set out for the day.

The town of Flatrend was an average little village, much like any other in the North Valley. It had one wide road going straight through it, one heading toward the capital and the other toward The Bridge, and little side roads that lead to houses and small shops. It was settled in a wide open plain, where the tops of trees were just visible in the distance at Wormwood farm. There was little shade on the road as Ellie and Bertha plodded into town, both sweating profusely. Luckily for Ellie, there were only three stops on this trip. The trouble was, they were far apart.

The first stop was the market, where the general public purchased their eggs. This was the easiest shop to get to, as it was built when the town was founded and was butted right up against the road. All Ellie had to do was knock on the door and ask the clerk boy to unpack their order. The second stop, the baker’s, was for more tedious. The Baker was an elderly lady who was somehow too feeble to safely carry a crate of eggs, but fit enough to do all that baking. And worst of all, the bakery was built after the main road and buildings, and was tucked into a side street, so Ellie had to lug the heavy crate to the end of the alley without breaking any of the eggs. This was the part she always dreaded the most.

However, the final stop, in her opinion, made it all worthwhile. The final shop was Nancy’s Herbs and Home Remedies, located at the other end of town. It was an odd little shop that had been around as long as Ellie could remember, but her parents told her that it suddenly cropped up one night when they were in their teens. Her parents, as well as most of the other adults in Flatrend, disliked the little shop and its enigmatic owner. However, Ellie, like most of the children in town, found the mysteries of the shop fascinating.

The shop was small. At least, it seemed that way with how cramped it was. It was a square room with a long, low counter at the back that was littered with mortars and pestles, beakers and stirring spoons. Every wall was crammed to the ceiling with shelves holding bottles and baskets of different shapes and sizes that were filled with odd plants, herbs, and strange colored liquids of varying viscosity. Despite the fact that the shelves were full, the shop simply had too many items, and the larger merchandise had to be placed on small tables that were scattered about the floor. These tables were piled high with strange flowers, bags of dirt from different parts of the world, books with drawings of plants and their uses, and other such things. But even the floor wasn’t enough to hold everything. All throughout the shop, little glass bottles with big holes in them dangled from the ceiling, each housing a tiny odd plant and making the path to the counter quite treacherous for customers.

Ellie was always glad to visit Nancy’s shop. Not only was it interesting, but it always ordered a few eggs. It was easier to carry this order than the baker’s, that was for sure. However, Ellie’s favorite part about the shop was Nancy herself.

Nancy was the strangest woman anyone in Flatrend had ever laid eyes on, although she wasn’t very pretty to look at. She was appallingly tall; almost six foot, and was thin as a sapling. Her pale skin stretched over her bones with almost nothing in between them, giving her a skeletal look. She had limp brown hair that was a little too thin, and her lips were so narrow they looked like a gouge in her face. But despite her lack of beauty, there was no doubt that there was kindness in her huge, sunken brown eyes. As Ellie entered the shop, Nancy stopped tending to a flower and flitted over to her, her long dress hiding her steps and giving her the appearance of a banshee floating weightlessly over the floorboards.

She stopped to tower over Ellie, “Oh good! You’re just in time. I was just about to need those.” Her voice was a bit like leaves crackling in a gust.

She took the two dozen eggs from Ellie and rushed behind the counter, disappearing behind the heavy curtains that covered the back room. Ellie had never been to the back room and would love to know what went on in there. But some weeks ago, when she asked for a tour, Nancy had smiled and said “Trade secrets, I’m afraid. And it’s where I keep some more dangerous items. It wouldn’t do to have you get sick from being too close to toxins, would it?” And that was the end of that matter.

Now Nancy came gliding back through the curtains, her leather coin purse in hand. She dug out the coins with her bony fingers and dropped her payment in Ellie’s palm. “There we go. You’re earlier than usual today Ellie. Is Bertha feeling chipper today?”

Ellie nodded, “I guess she must be. She hardly fought me at all.” Ellie had to tilt her head up at a ninety-degree angle to look Nancy in the eye. Most everyone did.

“Do you have any plans for this afternoon?”

“No, I didn’t expect to be free this early.” Ellie glanced out the window, spotting Bertha try to snatch an apple from a passerby.

“Then perhaps you’d be willing to help me out?” Nancy clasped her hands together in a plea-full gesture.

“What do you mean?”

“One moment.” Nancy went over to a table in the corner of the room and brought back a small pot with mushrooms growing out of it. “This is a special mushroom. I dry them out and grind them up for pastes that help with bruises. Trouble is, they grow so slowly and I need them often, so I can’t rely on just one to grow everything I need. They grow around here, so I’d pay you quite a bit if you could save me the trouble of going out and digging them up myself.”

Ellie stared at the broad and waxy, pale pink cap of the mushroom, “You want me to go mushroom hunting? I thought mushrooms usually cropped up in fall?”

“They do,” nodded Nancy, “but these like the summer heat. I’ll tell you what; if you can find some for me, I’ll pay you fifty shillings a cap-”

“FIFTY EACH?!”

“-and you can do with that money what you like, ‘cause you’ll have earned it. Just make sure you get home by dark or your mother will storm in here and bite my head off.”

This seemed like a wonderful deal to Ellie. She now had something to do until dinner time, and fifty shillings alone was four times the amount her mother would give her for fun in a month. “It’s a deal!”

Nancy chuckled, “Good. Now, you’ll probably find them near tree bases. You might also find ones that look similar, but remember; light pink, broad cap, thin stalk. Also, don’t just pluck them up, dig down a bit to get a chunk of the roots. I’d like to plant these, and plucking does no good. Can you remember that?”

Ellie nodded excitedly, “Yes, pink big and skinny, I’ve got it. Oh, these aren’t poisonous, are they?”

“No, these are ok to touch. Just don’t touch any other mushrooms you might find.”

“Alright then, I’ll go find a hundred of them!” Ellie ran out the door, leaving the tall woman in the shop. Ellie left Bertha by the shop, assuming she’d come back to get her before dinner.

And so she zipped right into the field that started on the other side of the road, hoping that some of her prizes would be under the few trees that sprung up from it. She would later find that there were none in the field, and so she would then try in the dense forest that ringed the field and Flatrend.

Ellie wasn’t worried about going into the forest alone. All the bears and wolves in these parts had long since left for less populated places in the forest, so it was quite safe. Even the adults of Flatrend weren’t worried about letting their children play there when the weather was fair, as it was today. Yes, it was a perfectly safe place, and Ellie spent her day looking for mushrooms under rocks and by small creeks.

……………………

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It was a lovely evening on the small farm of Barclay. Now Barclay farm was very different from Wormwood farm. The Barclay’s were an elderly couple with only the energy to care for a small vegetable garden that they fed themselves with. It had once been a very big and busy farm, but without any children to inherit it, the Barclay’s knew it would fall into ruin when they passed.

The huge field that used to be covered with crops was now covered in rocks and debris that blew in during storms. Harold Barclay and their last living ox, Hoss, were no longer fit enough to clear it. The stars were shining brightly and the full moon was out tonight. Owls hooted in the distant trees of the forest and crickets chirped madly in the summer heat.

Hagis, the farm’s watchdog, was anxious. He was always anxious, for some reason. The old dog would set off yapping and howling if the breeze tickled his whiskers too hard, so the Barclay’s would tie him up outside and ignore his paranoid calls.

But tonight, Haggis was quite still. A buzzing had started. It was faint, and he stood at attention, clearly not knowing which direction he should be barking at. There was also the faint smell of thunder, as though a rainstorm was just over the treetops. The buzzing got louder.

Now you could tell that it was happening at the other end of the farm, near the edge of the woods and the unused fields. The buzzing turned into a loud humming.

Hagis started to bark now. He yelped and howled louder than he ever had in his life, but Harold and Marie Barclay slept on, far too used to Haggis’ high pitched calls for this to wake them.

There was a sudden light. It appeared with a rip, like a knife cutting through fabric. It was a pale blue slash, long as a finger, thin and straight as an arrow. A popping and crackling sound had joined the humming, louder than ever. The smell of lightning was overpowering now.

Then there more slashes. They crisscrossed over each other in symbols, appearing in a circle until there was a ring of small blue cuts in the air. They sizzled like something hot enough to sear. Haggis had run his throat hoarse. He sat and whimpered and growled at the strange thing at the other end of the farm.

The little cuts swelled up until they joined together, creating a large pool of blue light. Something fell out of it and hit the ground hard. And then the light vanished, as soon as it appeared. The popping, crackling and sizzling vanished with it, but the smell of lightning and humming, which died back down do a buzz, lingered for much longer.