#they’re the same show to me. jus took different paths
Note
mutual,,, your hyperfixation is showing
Sdfhihdfwiwdihdwfhbwrfhidwfibwbfwdidihwbfrw
Ngl I’m watching bits of ATHF as an attempt to move on from Annoying Orange (I still adore the show tbh, jus tryna get some time away from it yknow?). And no joke it’s backfiring in the funniest way possible cuz Orange jus like Master Shake fr.
#mfs when a low budget chaotic show w/ talking food reminds them of a low budget chaotic show w/ talking food: 🤯🤯🤯🤯#asks#true-autistic-tales#I’m still in a IG mood but yeah ATHF is so fun#aqua teen hunger force#annoying orange#athf is just AO but uuuhhhhh I can’t think of any differences actually#other than Master shake is a funnier asshole than orange#they’re the same show to me. jus took different paths
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Midnight City AU
it took me forever to decide where to go with this chapter and i was literally getting fed up editing it 😭 i’ve been so busy with all the chaos goin on in my life rn too so yeah writing’s been feeling delayed over all but i decided to just finalize this one for rn and uhhh sorry if it seems funky or shortttt
//Chapter 3: Vanished
The next day, Trevor went back to Sterling Lake Park, after spending the night at Wade’s. He agreed to meet up with him there later, walking around the park with his earbuds in. As he threw himself down on his usual bench, he settled on listening to his usual playlist of his favorite songs. He scrolled through nosedivr once again, taking a photo of the lake. It was foggy, and the thick air sat atop the water. He liked when it was like that. A sturdy drumbeat thumped in his ears, making him feel whole. He paused it briefly, just to change it to a different song that was even louder, but with the lack of music he could now hear the crunch of gravel not too far away. He thought he told Wade to come later on? He looked up from his phone, pulling out an earbud. It was the guy from yesterday.
“Hey.”
“Hello.”
“Where’s Amanda?” He asked, glancing around.
“Uhh she’s.. not here today. I kinda came to see if you were here. I wanna get to know more people at this park if I’m gonna hang ‘round here more I guess.”
“But she doesn’t like me?”
“She don’t gotta know.”
“Well aren’t you Boyfriend of the Year.”
“Oh uh, we aren’t dating yet.”
“Thought she was your girl though.”
“She is, she is. But it’s nothing serious. Not yet. And I don’t know what happened between you guys but you don’t seem that bad, so if I wanna talk to you that’s more of a her problem than me.”
“Huh.”
Today Michael wore an eCola shirt, which was obviously made to resemble their old logo, with blue jeans. He had on a pair of red sneakers this time to match the color of the shirt. They looked slightly newer, compared to the pair he wore yesterday. He dressed nice for such a basic style. Trevor on the other hand, threw on an old, frayed Love Fist t-shirt, and messy jeans. He wore a different pair of boots, some kind of knockoff of a popular name brand. A pair of purple lensed circular glasses sat on his head, the nose pieces caught in his hair.
“So.. uh. Mind if I sit there?”
“Not like I own the bench or anything, go right ahead.”
He cautiously sat next to Trevor, hands in his lap. Trevor started one of his other playlists up again, settling on a mix of Paramore and Green Day. He left an earbud out, just so he wouldn’t be completely rude. He mindlessly scrolled, occasionally looking back at the lake or casting a sideways glance at Michael, who was looking at him funny. Sighing, he paused his music, putting his earbuds away.
“What.”
“I.. nothin’ man. I just, I dunno. What is the point of coming here?”
“It’s a public fuckin’ park man.”
“I know, but you said that you don’t even really like the people here, so what’s the point?”
“There is no ‘point’ to it. I just like time to myself is all. These guys don’t bother me, and I don’t bother them. They only start trouble when they see fit.”
“Ah… I see? What were you listening to by the way?”
Trevor stifled a groan, not really wanting to talk to the guy when he had time to freely plot his scheme.
“Pop punk shit. Ever heard of it?”
“Uh, no? I thought punk wasn’t supposed to be popular. Or fit in. Or whatever.”
“That’s merely the ideology, which I do follow, dear Michael. I just like the sound I guess. You know Paramore?”
“Not really. I don’t listen to that stuff much.”
“Then what the fuck do you listen to?”
“Not sure if it has a genre per say, but I like that song Radioactive goin’ around? Songs that sound like that I guess.”
“You like Imagine Dragons?”
“That’s what they’re called?”
Trevor could only stare at him. Was this guy living under a rock?
“Uh.. yeah. Y’know what- never mind, what else do you listen to?”
“80s music?”
No wonder this guy was unaware of who’s popular now.
“Amanda’s been trying to get me into groups like the 1975. I actually kinda like them.”
Trevor rolled his eyes.
“Of course she did.”
“They’re not that bad to be honest. She likes that weird alternative shit.”
“Yeah, I know. By the way, there is a name for that genre. Indie rock. Can’t stand the stuff.”
“How come?”
“You know, you ask a lotta fuckin’ questions.”
“I’m just tryna understand this shit here. I ain’t in the loop of all these trends.”
“Well, for your information I just find the style to be too slow and whiny for my taste. I like fast, upbeat, wild stuff.”
“Any recommendations then? I wanna impress Amanda by at least knowing one artist off that nosedivr thing she goes on.”
He raised a brow, not really wanting to share anything else knowing he would just repeat it back to her, but he shrugged and continued.
“Alright. Besides pop punk, I like experimental songs. Underground groups. Crystal Castles are my favorite.”
“Never heard of ‘em.”
“Wouldn’t expect you to.”
“Right.”
“If you want more indie rock shit though, I suggest listening to I don’t know, the Arctic Monkeys? That seems more like her taste.”
“These bands have such weird names.”
“I think bands have always been like that.”
“Hey wait a sec, I thought you didn’t like that stuff? How do you know the name of one of those groups?”
“Ugh… I guess I might as well say it if you’re gonna get with her, but we were friends at some point. She introduced me to those bands, but even then I didn’t really like it. We had a stupid falling out I’d rather not get into.”
“Oh.. sorry.”
“Eh, don’t be. Shit happens. You definitely seem like her type though, no wonder she got with you.”
“What’s her type?”
“Heh. As if I’d tell you.” He scoffed.
“C’mon man, please?”
“Nope.”
Michael frowned, slumping in his seat.
“Fine. Whatever. Not like I need to know.”
“You could at least pretend you don’t care.”
“I don’t.”
“You clearly do, bro.”
He sat arms crossed, turning a smidge away from Trevor. This was his opportunity to listen to his tunes again, but before he could Michael spoke up.
“Can I… can I listen to whatever you’re listening to?”
“Huh?”
“I wanna hear what you’re into.”
Trevor shot him a puzzled look.
“Uh.. okay.”
Wiping off an earbud, he handed one to Michael. He already had one in.
“Pick your poison cowboy.”
“Cowboy?”
“Just a nickname I give people.” He shrugged.
Michael settled on his experimental music, actually nodding along to the sound. They were closer than a minute ago, and it made Trevor uncomfortable for whatever reason. Maybe because he was never in such close proximity to strangers, but the other part of him didn’t care that much. Michael’s eyes were closed, smiling.
“You like it?”
“Yeah! Reminds me of synth stuff from the 80s, just more modern I guess.”
He smiled back at Michael, appreciating the fact there was someone else who liked the music he liked. The two listened to a couple different playlists he had, up until the moment Wade arrived at the park.
“Trevor! Hey!”
“Woah. Who’s your friend?”
“Hm?” He pulled out the single earbud, turning his head around. Wade had clown makeup on, making Trevor jump in his seat.
“Fucks sake. Hey Wade.”
“Ooh who’s this?”
He wasn’t sure if Wade freaked him out or not, seeing as the guy not only had matted locs, but many facial piercings as well. And the clown shit. He stood up to introduce them to one another.
“Wade, this is Michael. Michael, Wade.”
The way Michael looked at him was like a kid seeing a zoo animal for the first time. He looked bewildered, but not disgusted.
“Hi. What’s with the..?” He wavered a hand in Wade’s direction.
“Oh! It’s jus’ clown face. Not tryna scare ya or nothin’!”
“Uh huh… man. How have I never been around these parts? You guys are real different.”
“You got that right, Mike.”
“Seems like I’ve been missin’ out. I hangout with some dudes who would hate this place if I’m being honest.”
“I’ll have to meet ‘em sometime.” Trevor chuckled.
“They’re real cool guys. Didn’t expect our paths to cross, but anything’s possible in this fuckin’ city.”
“Oh yeah. Land of opportunities, for all types of wackjobs.”
“Ain’t that the truth.”
A hand tapped Trevor on the shoulder.
“Uh, excuse me, Trevor, but are we still gonna talk about the Merryweather thingy-”
“Wade! Shut it-”
“What Merryweather thing?”
“Nothing, nothing. Not important.” He said, gritting his teeth, glare strong on Wade.
“Okay..”
“But you said we’d talk about it over icecream!”
“Later, Wade. Not right now.”
“Fiiine. Can we still get icecream though?”
“Sure. Promise. I’ll let you know.”
“Okay! Bye Trevor, bye stranger!”
Michael lifted a hand to haphazardly to wave goodbye.
“What was that about?”
“I told ya man, nothin’. Just going over some plans we’re making.”
“Is it about that special event being held there?”
“How you know about that?”
“Mandy told me.”
“Mandy… yeah. Figures as much.”
“She got an invite, and wants me to go as her plus one. I don’t know if I really wanna go though, I’m still pretty unfamiliar with all this.”
“Trust me, you don’t.”
“Seriously, what is your beef with those guys?”
“I told you, they start shit when they want. Taught ‘em a lesson and that was it. Nearly got me banned from this place, but it was kinda worth the looks on their faces.”
“You are.. quite peculiar y’know. Anyway, you mind showing more of that music? I was honestly gettin’ a kick outta it.”
“Uh, yeah.”
He sat back down next to Michael, handing him the same earbud as before. He clicked on one of his favorite Crystal Castles songs, Vanished. As they were listening, Michael furrowed his eyebrows.
“Hey wait a minute.. I think I’ve heard this before.”
“You have? I thought you didn’t know them.”
“No, I mean yeah I haven’t, but that’s not it. The lyrics. Vocals. I’ve heard them in a different song.”
“Oh.”
“Lemme think, lemme think, ah… I got it! Pass me your phone real quick.”
His fingers typed in the song title fast, pressing play right away. It was an indie rock song, much to Trevor’s dismay. But something stopped him from complaining, seeing how Michael’s face lit up.
“Yeah! This is it, Sex City by Van She. Y’know, I honestly think that’s neat.”
“What is?”
“The fact that a song you like, samples a song I like! Who would’ve guessed?” He said, eyes sparkling. Trevor didn’t notice how bright they were until now. The eye contact, along with the lack of space between them, made him feel stuffy again. He averted his eyes back to his phone, trying to loosen up a bit. As the song played, he savored in the sound, shocking himself a bit. The rock sound was there, but had an 80s sort of feel to it. The song finished before he knew it.
“So.. What’d ya think?”
“You know my thoughts on indie shit. Wasn’t for me, sorry.”
“Oh c’mon, you know you liked it.”
“Nope. Prefer Vanished.”
“Yeah, okay. Keep telling yourself that, but I honestly think they’re both really good. You think that too, I can feel it.”
“Whatever you say bro.”
He switched the song over to that Grimes song he listened to yesterday, the two of them sitting silently. It was a pleasant afternoon they shared. Suddenly Michael’s phone went off, and he yanked the earbud out.
“Ah shit. I gotta take this. Mandy.”
“Gotcha.”
Trevor grabbed the other earbud, putting it back in. He saw Michael wave his free hand around, looking close to hurling his phone right into the lake. Trevor assumed he must’ve been shouting as well, from the way other people were looking at him. Hanging up not much later, he returned to the bench, as Trevor put his earbuds away.
“Fuckin’ Christ.”
“So.. how’d it go?”
“She’s finally not mad at me anymore, but demanded I go take her shopping now. I swear, she’s gonna clear out my bank account or something.”
“How? You guys aren’t even dating.”
“I know, but I just can’t say no to her.”
“Uh huh.”
“Look, I’m sorry to leave so suddenly, but I really gotta go before she goes back to being pissed at me. See ya around?”
“I’ll be here man.”
Michael stood up, storming away. Seemed like he had a short temper, huh? He wondered to himself how long he was gonna stick around, seeing how Amanda’s dating history was… an extensive list. He thought back to last night, when he had seen that post of them, remembering the fact that no guy stayed for longer than a week. It almost made him bummed, seeing as he only had Ron and Wade for friends. Lester too, but that was on rare occasion. Shit. The plans. What time was it?
“Ah, fuck me.” He muttered. How did he let the day go by so quick?
He shot a text to Wade, telling him to grab Ron and meet at some icecream place. He did promise Wade after all.
Ron ended up meeting them there a little bit later, apologizing profusely before Trevor told him to just sit down and shut up. He did just that, almost apologizing once more.
“Now, let’s get down to business. Who do we know that would help us sneak into that club to cause sheer utter mayhem?”
Ron raised his hand excitedly.
“I could get Floyd maybe-”
“Definite fuckin’ no. He would have a heart attack the minute he set foot in there.”
This was getting nowhere. He tossed his head back to look up at the sky. As he did, he saw a couple walking out of the icecream place.
“Oh fucking hell.”
Was this guy following him or something? He snapped his head forward, trying to be a little more hidden.
“What? Trevor what is it?”
“Shh! Keep your fucking voice down Ron!”
He made all three of them lower their heads as the couple walked away, peeking over his shoulder to make sure they were gone. As he did, he could’ve sworn he saw Michael looking back at him. The both of them turned away as quick as possible from the split second of eye contact.
“Trevor?” Ron repeated.
“It was nothing. Just thought I saw someone.”
“Ain’t that the Michael fella I met today?”
“Nope. Don’t think it is.”
“Are ya sure-”
“Pretty fucking positive. Now, back on topic.”
The next hour or so still went nowhere. Wade had gone through two servings of icecream, and Ron started to get restless. Trevor was just bored.
“Ughhh there has to be something we can do!”
“I don’t know what to tell you Trevor. We’ll find someone, soon. There’s enough time isn’t there?”
“Yeah, but I’m not waitin’ til the last possible fuckin’ second to get a guy to help us out here.”
“But we still have time.”
“If you fuckin’ say so Ron.”
The three of them called it a night, as Trevor tossed around the idea of possibly getting Michael involved in his head. On one hand he wanted to out of spite just to make Amanda and the other hipsters mad, and on the other he didn’t want to screw up whatever new friendship he had started with Michael. Ron did say they had time to find someone soon. They weren’t exactly in a rush, but he still wanted to make sure their plan was concrete. They all went back to Wade’s, Trevor deciding to take a walk along the beach. He threw on the same playlist from earlier, watching the sunset. As he walked, he didn’t pay much mind to where he was going, bumping into someone.
“Ah fuck, watch where you’re going-”
“Shit, sorry man-”
As they spun around from the collision, he realized exactly who he had run into.
“Trevor?”
What the fuck?
“What the fuck? Are you following me or something?”
“Huh?”
“This is the third time I’ve seen you today. What are you even doing here?”
“Uh, it’s a public fuckin’ beach man.” He said, mocking the comment Trevor had made earlier.
“Don’t get smart with me.”
“Hey, I’m just tellin’ you how it is. I didn’t purposely search for you, hell I didn’t even know you lived this way.”
“I do. So make like a tree and fuck off.” He said bitterly.
“Woah, chill the fuck out. What’s your deal? I thought we were cool man.”
“I don’t like being followed.”
“I just told you I wasn’t!”
“It doesn’t exactly seem like it. You just so happen to look for me this morning, and just happen to go to the same icecream place I went, and then I find you here? I mean Jesus-”
“I’m telling you, it’s all purely coincidence.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Fuckin’ hell man..” He mumbled.
“Y’know, you’re as fuckin’ stubborn as Amanda is. I already told you-”
Trevor balled his fists, before jabbing a finger into Michael’s chest.
“Don’t fucking compare me to her.”
Michael threw his hands up defensively, not realizing he touched a nerve.
“Woah woah, easy dude. I didn’t think it was that bad between you guys.”
He exhaled loudly, unclenching his hands.
“It wasn’t. Isn’t. Just.. don’t compare me to her.”
Michael pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling hard himself.
“Look, I think you’re cool and all but you can’t flip out on me like that. I mean we are just getting to know each other y’know. I can’t have you wanting to bite my head off like that if I just so happen to keep running into you. I really am just trying to navigate the area better, so forgive me if I came off as some sorta fuckin’ stalker. Amanda went home and I had nothing better to do so I chose to walk over this way.”
“Hmph. Fine. Whatever.”
“So we good?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. Now, since we’re already here why don’t we just hangout or something?”
Trevor folded his arms, trying to look like he didn’t want to spend another minute with him. It didn’t really work though, because he actually did want to talk to him more.
“If you insist.”
“Alrighty.”
The two of them started to head in the direction of the boardwalk, neither one speaking yet. After finding a bench to sit on as the sun sunk below the horizon, the silence was still there. This sort of thing was bizarre for both of them in different ways. Michael never really frequented these parts of LS, and Trevor never really hit it off with any kind of stranger. Ron and Wade were exceptions if anything, and he had known Lester for a while now. Yet there was something about this guy that didn’t make him feel like he was spending time with a stranger, even though he knew jack shit about him. He might as well try to make small talk.
“So I-”
“So uhh-”
They spoke over each other while trying to start up a conversation, making things feel a little more awkward.
“Shit sorry, you go first.”
“Nah nah you go.”
“Um. Okay. So.. tell me about yourself? We haven’t really talked about much besides music.”
“Yeah.. right. What do ya wanna know?”
“I just asked you to tell me about yourself, so it’s your job to decide what to say.”
Michael gave him a sardonic smile in response to that, partly because he wasn’t sure what to bring up about himself. It seemed like they were gonna be here a while if they wanted to say the most basic shit you say when getting to know someone.
“Well, I ain’t that interesting if you really need to know. I’m guessing you already know about my whole ‘affinity for the 80s’ thing, like the culture n shit that came from it. Real sick stuff.”
“If you say so.”
“Yeah. Anyway, if you really want to know plain shit about me though, I will tell ya that my favorite color’s blue.”
Trevor snickered at that.
“Pfft, seriously? We’re talking favorite colors now?”
“Hey man, you said you wanted to know more about me.”
“Uh yeah, but that’s so fuckin’ silly.”
“Maybe it is, but what about you? You got one?”
“Favorite color? You kiddin’?”
“I’m waiting..”
“Uh huh… I’ll give. Always liked the color red I guess. Like, in variety. Not picky about something as childish as that.”
“What’s childish about that?”
“Cuz only kids exchange that whole ‘oh what’s your favorite color?’ thing. It’s like if I were to ask you what your favorite dinosaur is.”
“Hmm.. I’d probably say a T-Rex.”
“Oh now you’re just pulling my dick. And no, I’m not telling you what mine is just because you did.”
“Hey, I didn’t ask you though. That was all you.”
“Mm… shut it.”
“You got one though?”
“I’m not telling you!”
“Ah ah, I didn’t ask which one, I asked if you had one.”
“Well I don’t, so knock it off.”
“That’s fair. I won’t push.”
They grew silent for the second time that night, before Trevor mumbled something under his breath.
“It’s a pterodactyl..”
“What was that?”
He forced a breath through his nose, acting annoyed.
“It’s a fuckin’ pterodactyl. That’s mine. Okay?”
“Hah, okay. Any reason why?”
“You’re so nosy.”
“You’re the one who started this conversation about getting to know each other man.”
“Ugh, I know that.” He said, lightly shoving his shoulder.
“I think it’s cool that they could fly and shit. I like flying.”
“You like flying?”
“Loved it.”
“Wait, you tellin’ me you fly? Like, planes and shit?”
Trevor winced at the words, regretting what he just said.
“I did.. at some point. Air Force shit. They said I was one of the best they’d seen in a while but I.. left. Sort of.”
“Then why’d you leave?”
“I didn’t exactly leave on my own accord. More or less got kicked out.”
“How come-”
“I don’t like talking about it. I know we’re opening up or whatever the fuck but that.. that’s still too soon for me to want to bring up. Especially to someone I barely know.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” He said, even though it really wasn’t. It’s not like Michael knew though, he really wasn’t trying to prod in a bad way.
It was almost pitch black by the time their conversation got to that point, only distant streetlight and the nearby pier lighting up their surroundings. The whole mood had shifted, and both of them decided to just break it off there.
“Hey uh, I’ll probably see you tomorrow man. If I’m with Amanda I think I’ll just send a wave or something your way.”
“Got it. See ya.”
“Bye.”
Trevor stayed put, watching Michael leave as he turned down a random one way street. This guy was tripping him out and he couldn’t pin point why. It was getting late though, and walked off himself back to Wade’s. He’ll save that vexed question for another night.
//ahhhhhh i rlly did not know what i wanted to do with this….,,., sorry if this wasn’t as good as the first two !! i alrdy know i repeated a bunch of stuff in there and i feel like it got kinda sloppy so again, soz (including typos or whtevr)
but uhhhh anyway yeah i cut it off here bc i wanted to continue some of this shit in the next chapter ig lol,, more stuff to come soon god willing
#gta v#grand theft auto v#grand theft auto 5#trevor philips#michael townley#ron jakowski#wade hebert#midnight city au
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The Relationship of Tul and Tin- A Chance To Love episode 5 vs The Heirs (a comparison) Part 1/2
Warning!! Massive essay ahead about A chance to love. I know people hate to read long essays but try give this a go. Breaking down Tul and Tin’s heartbreaking dynamic is just so insane and I want people to see the layer of depth Mame writes her characters, Took me 4 hours to write and edit. So please if you can read it and let me know your opinon.
I find it fascinating that the works of two of my favourite authors' work have a lot of connections though they write for two different genres. One is Kim Eun Sook a Korean drama writer with the work known as Heirs (This wasn't her best work, but it's what I will be analysing today) and Two is Mame, a Thai writer with the work A Chance To Love (ACTL). At first, I thought the similarities don't add anything when analysing the show. Still, after episode 5 of ACTL, I ended up running back to the Heirs and realising the amount of analysis derived from putting the two together. We're going to focus on Tin and Tul, two brothers that are placed in the spotlight in episode 5 of ACTL and we're going to try and understand the characterisation of Tul. Is he really evil cold-hearted and cruel for no reason, or is there a part of humanity still with this character. Let's find out.
Let's first summarise the two shows; why they are similar in terms of character breakdown and arc?
THE HEIRS
In Heirs, we're introduced to Tan and Won two brothers who conflict with each other. The first episode starts with Tan tricked into being exiled abroad by his older brother, he realises the reason as he stays abroad, his brother sees him as a competition for the 'throne,' i.e. their father's heritage to the company. Won sees Tan as a dangerous rival, now that he's managed to secure being the president of the company. Story short Tan and Won are half brothers, Won's mum is no longer living in the household. Tan's mum has moved in as the mistress; the father is waiting for Tan to grow and also be involved with the company, Won who loves the company and wants to keep running it does not wish Tan to steal it from him. So even when Tan returns to Korea later and tries to convince his brother, he does not care about the company affairs, Won refuses to speak to him, moves out and keeps Tan at a distance.
Meanwhile, Tan falls in love with his servant's daughter, and Won realises he has to sacrifice his own relationship with also a girl from different status to him for an arranged marriage with one of his father's partners if he wants to keep the company afloat. As the story goes on though Won starts to bond with Tan again and later takes place as his father figure, protecting his brother's new relationship, taking over the company but at the cost of his own true love. He ends up choosing to get engaged to protect both the company and prevent Tan from having to lose his own lover. His ending is bittersweet, but we're happy he and Tan are together again, a team and dedicated brothers.
ACTL (1-5)
A chance to love follows Tin who is in university and has just started to fall for someone not of his status Can. His brother Tul is also a workaholic, with an unknown wife and a five-year-old child and we can tell he also had an exciting relationship with one of his servants who's no longer with him. Tul has a mask on, he smiles and acts on the surface but when he's with Tin although he pretends, he leaves snide marks and triggers Tin who now detests his brother. Tin used to look up to Tul when they were young (again he took his pseudo father figure position) but Tin later realises Tul was out to get rid of him and also send him abroad with a ruined reputation. Because of this Tin is now cold-hearted and does not trust people anymore, and is determined to tear off his brother's mask. Meanwhile, Tul laments about his choices that made him this way, and we see that he also is suffering in the environment he was forced to be in.
See the similarities? Two brothers with two similar type of lovers, who are forced to hate each other because of the environment somebody nurtured them in. I want to go deeper into each of the dynamics and why it's easy to connect it to Tul's arc and answer the question posed in this post,
THE PERCIEVED FIGHT FOR THE ‘THRONE’
The similarities between Tul and Won is the need to succeed to prove they are essential to their family. The family dynamics between the two is simple; they've been tossed aside by the family because of a new arrival by Tin and Tan. For Won he loves to work for the company of his father, his goal is to own it one day, he enjoys the work he does for the family. For Tul, whilst it's not yet clear, he seems to hate the path he's on, he resents himself and feels alone but believes he deserves it. For both to take over and reach their goals, a sacrifice was made. Won gets married to a woman who he doesn't want to be with, and Tul also ends up in a relationship he was forced into to provide an heir, also sacrificed himself and happiness in the process.
Both believe that their brothers are in their way, will betray them someday if they're not careful, their younger sibling needs to grow up and actually realise the reality of their oppressive environment. Unfortunately, Tul is more vengeful for this, he's put Tin as a proxy for anger at all that he's had to lose, and he ends up betraying Tin more than the way Won betrays Tan. Another difference is how Won is deadly honest to Tan; he tells him never to return and stay abroad messing around, he warns Tan that he sees him as a rival. Tul pretends to have a mask with Tin, and makes snide comments alluding to their past but doesn't even bother to tell Tin the truth; he continues to hide behind an act which he believes is needed, as Tin needs more evidence that his brother is actually as evil as he found out and show this to the world. Tul has decided to keep that mask and never to let it fall to stay and control family assets and manipulate situations. Won did not have that much anger or energy towards Tan.
THE MOTHER AND STEP MOTHER
Another important thing about these two's differences and similarities is the abandonment of both's mum by the family. Won's mum and himself are not the father's priority (she’s dead), and Tan and his mum (who is the mistress) replace their place. Tan's mum wants Tan to try and fight for his assets and not let anyone steal his home, and she goes through the consequences of being seen as a mistress in the show.
Meanwhile, Tul's foreign mum was hated by his grandmother (They'll reveal this later) and she abused both Tul and his mum before convincing the father to marry a Thai woman (Tin's mum) and give birth to another son. Tin's mum, on the other hand, is selfish and vain and only uses what benefits her, she's actually not as caring as Tan's mum hence why Tin becomes more pressured to be better than his brother. The latter is faking being the family's number one son (in terms of talent, work and reputation). It's revealed, and I will get into this even more later that Tul damaged Tin's standing in the family and Tin's mum didn't care as long as she was still looked favourably by Tul ( more likely to take over the 'throne')
Again ACTL has a harsher dynamic with Tul, his own mum isn't available to help him with his trauma, and he ends up being in a very abusive environment once she is kicked out and abandoned. Tin, on the other hand, has no love from his mum, or father and also becomes colder than Tan because of his own trauma from his brother and environment. Tan's mum is actually naïve, gentle and just wants love from the father, her son is her number one treasure. She spoils him despite the stifling environment he's in because of his brother and stepmother and father who fuels that.
The Love Interest
Both brothers also have a similar arc with their love interests, one is darker, but let's focus overall on the meaning. Won is in love with Hyun Ju a tutor for the rich kids similar to the kind of girl Tan falls in love with, she is not of the same status as him, and he and her fight to stay together at first, break up and makeup. Once it seems like everything is right, his father falls into a coma and to save the business, he sacrifices their relationship for the company and his family. Tan, on the other hand, goes through the show always choosing Eun over his money, or society opinions, and chases after her. He gets her to fall for him despite her desperation not to and with the help of his brother later he manages to be with her at the end after having to fight against society, his father, arranged fiancee etc. Eun is his servant's daughter, and they met when they didn't know what the other was, she hates being bought or feeling like she owes a debt, so she tries to avoid Tan as much as possible each time a confession is made. Tul's story has not yet been revealed; however, we can tell he also was in a secret 'taboo' relationship with his servant. Actually, he and Hin have known each other since they were kids, Hin saw the abuse and pain Tul went through and chose to become Tul's 'light/help', they both were traumatised when little by the grandma
. However, we see Tul feel resentful for whatever choice he made (marrying someone or getting someone pregnant) because he also agrees Hin left him because of these decisions, Hin like Hyun Jo is still in love with Tul and can't forget him. Hyun Jo was a victim at the end of Heirs, but from what can be derived from dialogue, Tul and his wife aren't close anymore, might be divorced once he got his heir, but Hin is no longer with him by his side. The love interest for both Won and Tul actually mirrors the relationship both their brothers later have with people who are similar to their lovers. The difference is Tin, and Tan's relationships are more happier, lighter and linked to idealistic love stories whilst Tul and Won's focus on the reality and truth of the sacrifices they had to make. Tul is going to have more reasons to be jealous of Tin when he discovers he's found himself someone like Hin in his life who is just as loyal and bright. This means because of this jealousy he could be the villain and try ruin TinCan or he could only try to prevent Tin from entering a situation where he'll be unhappy (if he's not actually evil). Either way, Tul will try and stand in the way of TinCan.
Storyline
Both Tul and Won sacrifice their happiness and actual self for the partaking of their family customs, both to protect the reputation their family has, and to accept the role that they have to be as the oldest son. Won at first is scared of Tan and tries to push him away. Just like Tin, Tan keeps going to Won to try and uncover his mask (however he doesn't resent his brother, he's trying to get his brother to accept him as his brother and be his pseudo father figure).
Tul uses Tin as a proxy for the abuse he suffered, and wants to get revenge on both Tin and Tin's mum for causing his circumstances, Tul's mindset is warped, he's been emotionally, physically and mentally abused and so vengeance and anger is what he clings onto to keep him going, (this even shows up in his consensual sadomasochism relationship with Hin which I'm not sure is going to be similar in the show).
Either way, Tul only chooses to be number one, and take back 'the throne' by ensuring Tin's reputation is ruined, and he's not seen as a threat. He also later gives in when he's forced to marry and get someone pregnant for the sake of his reputation and also ends up hurting Hin. Tul's story is like a continuation of what happened to Won at the end of Heirs (Won however as I said before has more humanity and less trauma so even though he's heartbroken he's mended the relationship with his family, and friends and so is still happy), Tul's chosen to sacrifice and now has the child, but he believes he doesn't have the right ever to be happy and doesn't have the emotional, psychological capacity to believe in trust, love or hope. He's broken and damaged, and the only person who knows his most authentic self is Hin. Tul might not be like Won in terms of not actually wanting to hurt or ruin Tan, he's determined to ensure Tin doesn't get in his way but shows some conflicting emotions each time Tin comes to him to stand up to him.
So is Tul as evil as we think he is or is he just someone who's layers need to be uncovered to sympathise and understand? I’ll continue this in part 2. Here
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SHE
Chapter 4 - Lit The Fire
catch up here! 1, 2, and 3 :)
Juliet pushed opened the heavy door to the Palmer and Associates office building. It looked similar to almost every other office building she had ever been inside. This particular office was home to Miller and Brayden, the company that would hopefully be backing her brand financially.
She breathed a contented sigh as she took the elevator to the 76th floor. She had felt different since her trip to Rome. Maybe it was a new found confidence. Maybe that, coupled with the fact that Harry had been texting her since she got back to New York. She felt like a teenager that was love struck. Every time his name popped up on her phone she got butterflies. And her heart overflowed when she would talk on the phone with him. His voice was always warm and filled with kindness.
He was now back in London. The time difference between New York and London was a bit more bearable than the one between New York and Italy. But, she wished that he was closer. She just wanted to see him in person again.
"Hi, can I help you?" A perky girl that wasn't much younger than Juliet sat behind a large Mac computer typing away at the reception desk of Miller and Brayden.
"Yeah, I'm Juliet Oliver. I have a meeting with Josh and Collin." The young girl typed quickly on the keyboard before responding.
"Oh yes. I see that right here. Why don't you have a seat. I'll let them know that you're here."
Juliet sat down in one of the plush chairs beside the reception area. She took her phone out of her bag. It was 9:30 in New York, meaning that it was 2:30 in London. She had a text from Harry. She quickly opened it.
I'm going into the studio for a bit. I won't have my phone much. Can I call you later? Miss your voice x
She couldn't help but smile as she typed out a response.
Sounds like fun. Of course, I'm getting ready to go into one of my meetings for the week. Hopefully, this is gonna get the ball rolling with the clothing line.
"Miss Oliver, they're ready for you in the conference room. I'll take you there."
Juliet stood from her spot and followed the girl down a dimily lit hallway. She opened a door and Juliet stepped into the conference room. She was meeting with these particular investors for the second time. She had already pitched her ideas to them. This was the follow up where they gave her their answer.
Josh and Collin stood up and shook her hand.
"Thanks so much for coming back in Juliet." Juliet nodded, as if she had a choice in the matter. She sat back in the chair across from the two men.
"Juliet, we're sorry to tell you this, but it's just not feasible for us to back your line." Juliet stared blankly at the two men. What the hell?
"Okay, can I ask why?" She heard herself say, she didn't exactly know how it came out.
"We just don't feel like it pushes boundaries. And on the other hand, we don't feel like it's going to be a smart direction for us." Josh tried to reason with her.
"You think it'll go under as soon as it starts don't you?" She didn't mean to snap, but at this point she didn't care.
"It isn't that. We're both really sorry that it isn't going to work out." Collin said as he stood.
I'm sure you're sorry. She thought to herself. "Thank you guys for your time." She walked out the door and didn't stop until she was on the street in front of the building. Her mind was running a hundred miles a minute. She had put so much work in this brand, she had sat in all the meetings thus far, she had built an entire brand herself. She'd be damned if she'd let these two men get in her way. She needed to call Sierra, her best friend and assistant on this project. But Sierra took a backseat to Harry. She knew he may not answer her call, but it was worth a try.
The line rang a few times before she heard him. "Jules? Y'okay?" She moved from the middle of the crowded sidewalk. She leaned against the gray concrete of the building, relief flooding her body as soon as the words were out of his mouth. She hadn't expected him to answer the phone.
"Hey. Um, not really, no. I just left the meeting with the potential investors. They said no." It had stung to say it out loud. Of course she knew that rejection was eminent and it came with the territory. She just hadn't expected it after the initial meeting with Josh and Collin.
"Oh, did they say why?" She heard a door shut on the other end.
"They said it didn't push boundaries and it wasn't a smart invest. Is it because I'm a woman, Harry?" The last part came out more like a whisper.
"No no no. These two blokes jus' sound like dickheads."
"It's because I'm a woman. And men like that can't stand to see women in power. They don't want to even entertain the thought of a women calling the shots." She continued, disregarding Harry's comment.
"Jules, ya been showing me ya mockups, ya brand kit, and 's bloody brilliant. These idiots obviously don't know what their talking about." He tried to reassure her.
"It's just so frustrating, Harry. I've been working on this stuff for so long. And I swear the initial meeting went so well. But now, I'm back to the drawing board. If I don't get money, I don't get to move on to the next step."
There was a beat of silence. "Anyway, I'm sorry I called you. I know you're at the studio and I shouldn't be bothering you. You've probably got a deadline."
"Wanted to talk to ya. 'S not a big deal, okay. Listen, what if I invested in your brand?" Juliet laughed at his question. Harry stayed quiet on the other end.
"Oh, you're serious? Harry, I couldn't ask that of you."
"What if 's something I wanna do. I would be a private investor, no one would know. Ya can still call the shots." Juliet took a deep breath. She was overwhelmed with his thoughtfulness. But, she couldn't seriously ask him to do something this drastic.
"Harry, I don't know."
"Jules, I know what it's like to create things and wanna share them with other people. Has my path been a bit unconventional? 'f course, but I know what 's like to pursue something ya love. And I wanna help ya do the same. Will ya at least think about it? Please?"
"I appreciate it Harry. Of course I'll think about it." She could practically hear his grin through the phone.
"'f course. Wanna facetime later?"
"Yeah. I'll talk to you later, okay? Thank you."
"Ya welcome, love."
___
"There's Simon & West. Their head investor is Jackie West. It says here that Simon & West pride themselves on creating a diverse workplace. They created a firm where people are encouraged to be different and they celebrate that."
"How did I not find them before? I'm gonna call them." Sierra turned her computer screen towards Juliet and she quickly dialed the number.
"Simon and West, how may I direct your call?"
"Hi, this is Juliet Oliver. I would love to talk with someone about meeting with someone at your office."
"Thank you for your interest. Unforunatly, the earliest we can get you on the list, is November. Would you like to go ahead and put your name down?"
"Oh, um no thank you. Thanks for your time." She hung up and threw her phone on her couch. "They cant meet with me until November and it's June, what the hell?"
"Why don't you just take Harry up on his offer?" Juliet sat down at the kitchen island and looked over at her best friend.
"Because, I don't want to use him for his money. Besides, this is my project. I wanna be the one to do it." Sierra gave Juliet a kind smile.
"You can be so hard headed sometimes. It's okay to ask for help sometimes."
"I know, I know. I just want to try. His offer is still on the table." Juliet heard her phone go off in her living room and Sierra shut her laptop.
"I'm gonna go, I have a big day tomorrow. Lots and lots of photoshoots." Sierra collected her things and headed out the door. The two girls had been friends since they were in high school. Along with their other friend Kennedy. Sierra had been working for a boutique in SoHo since she graduated from NYU. Now she was running their social media.
Juliet picked her phone up and saw a new text from Harry.
Facetime me?
She switched to the facetime app and clicked on his contact. It rang for a second before the call connected.
"'ey," he gave her a smile. He wasn't wearing a shirt and his hair was damp, like he had just taken a shower.
"Hey yourself. How was the studio?" She sat down on her couch.
"Good, we got some things done today. Did ya find another investor to meet with?"
"Well, not quite. I called another agency, one that would probably be great to work with. But, I couldn't meet with them until November? How crazy is that? God, it's the beginning of June. That's 5 whole months away."
"'m sorry that ya having a tough time finding someone. My offers still on the table." She smiled at him.
"I know, and I appreciate that."
____
It was a freak thing, really. How Juliet was able to meet with the investors at Lawson Financiers. She had talked with several people and Blake Lawson happened to be one of them. He had told her that he would love to meet with her, but couldn't meet until next week. However, he had called her the next day and asked if she could come in because he had a cancellation.
She walked into the office in Midtown with a newfound confidence. "Hi, I'm Juliet Oliver. I'm here to meet with Blake."
A blonde women stood from the reception desk. "Yes, right this way." Juliet pulled her phone out and texted harry quickly.
Going into my meeting, with me luck.
"Juliet, nice to see you." Blake shook her hand and motioned to one of the chairs in front of his desk. "So, I already looked through some of the things that you sent me. And I have to say, I'm impressed. I like what you've got. Tell me more."
"Well, first of all, thank you. So, I've been imagining this line in my head for years. And I finally sat down and brought it to life. I want to bring sustainable classic pieces to anyone who wants to dress chic. I know personally, I'm at an advantage when it comes to shopping. I have money and can buy what I want. I just want to bring quality clothing to others." He gave her a smile.
"I think it's a great concept. And I'm all in. I know typically it takes time for these decisions to be made. But I would like to invest in JO Collective."
Wow. She thought to her self.
"Don't worry, you don't have to make a decision right now. I would appreciate if you could let me know by Friday through. Will that work?"
"Yeah, of course. Thank you so much Blake. I'll let you know something ASAP." She shook his hand and left the office building. She pulled her phone out, Harry hadn't responded.
Juliet stopped for an iced latte on her way home. She had so many things running through her head. She was so glad that she had been able to meet with Blake. As she pushed her front door open she head the tv on. She swore she had turned it off when she left.
As she walked down the stairs she held her breath. When she reached the living room she saw him. Harry was sitting on her couch.
"What are you doing here?" She asked. Her heart was racing. He gave her one of his signature grins.
"Well, 've been missing ya. And I knew ya been going through so much. So, I decided to come see ya. Hope 's okay." He looked down at the floor and blushed a little.
"Oh, c'mon. Don't get all shy on me. Of course, it's okay." She wrapped him in a hug. "I'm glad that you're here, I have good news. I have an investor that's interested in the line." Harry's face fell a little. It was just enough for Juliet to notice it.
"'S not me." He let out a breathe.
"No, it isn't."
"Just wanted to help ya is all."
"I know. You really wanted to invest in it, didn't you?" She moved her hand to his face and let her thumb stroke his cheek.
"Wouldn't have offered if I didn't," She knew he wasnt trying to be an ass. He was just being sincere.
"What if I counter the invester I have on board. What if it's a partnership between their firm and a private investor."
"Dont feel like ya have to please me."
"No, that actually would be nice for my sake. It'd be you and me against the investors at this firm." He looked at her, and it made her heart skip a beat.
"'M in." He said and pulled her in for a kiss. It was slow and passionate. It lit a fire inside Juliet. When they broke apart Harry leaned his forehead against Juliet's. "Think we make a good team."
_____________________________________________________________________
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Thistle & Thorn: The Letter
Rating: General
Masterlist
Dawn always brought blisteringly bright sunlight with it, lancing through the sheer curtains and smacking Nessia right in the face. Summer in the highlands was mild, temperatures typically peaking just beneath 20°C (the 60s°F), the cracked window trailing in a refreshing breath of fresh air that caused the shades to dance. Rolling in her quilts, untangling herself from the fussed sheets, and nearly falling out of the bed to land upon the hard wooden floor, ivy green eyes peeled toward the window as talons scrabbled at the edge of the sill and an unfamiliar owl poked its head past the threshold and into her domain.
"Allo there," Nessia yawned, finally dislodging herself from the hazard of her restless sleeping arrangements. Her eyes pulled over the creature groggily, inspecting the tawny feathers banded with black, ear tufts quivering as the eagle-owl blinked pumpkin orange eyes at her. "Hae'na seen ye before. Post usually goes downstairs by the kitchen, big windows over the sink. Hoggle typically handles—" she explained, pausing when the owl offered a letter toward her. "Or is this for me?"
The owl preened, feathers lifting momentarily before it allowed her to take the parcel and bunkered down in the sunlight that streamed against the window, basking in the warmth.
Nessia hummed, turning the letter over before realizing what it was, her fingers becoming clumsy and wrists quivering in blistering excitement as she started to vibrate at the sight of the Hogwart's crest. Now, she'd known that one day that the school would send her a letter, just as all young witches and wizards in the area received one. However, she'd felt anxious because she didn't display her magic as brazen or spectacularly as Logan had when he'd been her age. Hoggle had told her all about how he'd caused a mess of the manor, from causing statues to come to life from laughs that echoed like lion's roars and knocked paintings from the walls. The most that Nessia had ever done was hiccup out a bumblebee, which Hoggle said was much more preferable to Logan's messes.
Breaking the seal, Nessia's eyes became watery, as if she'd gotten potting soil in them again from rubbing her face with filthy hands. This was no farce, written in beautiful emerald script was a letter addressed to her, welcoming her to Hogwarts for her first year, and hosting a list of supplies required as a student. Finding the acceptance form in the very back, Nessia scrabbled for an inkwell and signed her name, aware that the resting owl was roosting for the journey back and likely to also send her own reply so that she could officially be added to the roster. She wondered if anyone ever declined.
"Och," she placed the new letter before the owl, an orange eye blinking open suspiciously. "When yer all good and rested, can ye take this back? Ye can stay here as long as ye need. Here's some water too," Nessia grabbed one of her pails and filled a cup she had laying around in her room, pushing it up her desk toward the raptor. "Mind the plants, but make yerself at hame."
The owl shook its feathers out and gave a low, trilling hoot before bending down to lap up some of the offered water. Nessia took the pieces of parchment, threw on a proper dress—which was little more than a corduroy sack over her shift—and burst out of her room with more fervor than the typically quiet girl displayed. Sputtering around a corner, her socks slipped beneath her and she slid an extra few paces before a hand snapped out and gripped the bannister, redirecting her path so that she could sprint toward her grandfather's solar.
Located on the opposite side of the heirloom cottage, the home that she'd grown up in as long as she could remember, even when her parents had been alive. The MacDougal Manor, situated within the misty rolling hills of the Scottish Highlands, flanked by Loch Linsor and relatively removed from neighbors muggle and wizard alike. Despite the sheltered, rural location, the home was a hive of familiar faces including Hoggle, the house elf, to other friends and servants. In the lake was a pod of merrow, many of which didn't mind popping above the surface to spare an afternoon of conversation with Nessia, to their gardener, a centaur named Rowan who was estranged from the local clan and happily made his home amongst the MacDougal family.
Even if their own grounds were limited to those that worked and kept stock of the care and daily routines, they were often frequented by visits that related to her grandfather's connections. He had been an important man in his prime and despite the years of his youth slipping through the hourglass that was time, many still came to him for advice or whispering happenings within the shadows.
Being so early in the morning, Nessia hadn't expected it to be another day where Bhan was entertaining a guest, sputtering to a graceless halt in front of the oaken door wrought with intricately carved designs depicting the MacDougal alliance with the centaurs and merrow of this area of the highlands. Their family had always had close ties with other Beings (even if the merrow and centaurs disregarded this classification), including their own house elves which lived a much more comfortable life than most elves in similar positions. She had only just raised a tanned fist to knock upon the door when she overheard voices on the other side.
"He's escaped Azkaban?" it was her grandfather, Angus, hissing in frustration at the revelation. "How in Merlin's name? If I werenae so hoachin' I'd join the hunt for him meself. Where aboot did he get loose?"
"Further south and put a little more faith in the department assigned to hunt werewolves," the other person retorted calmly.
"Faith?" Angus huffed in indignation. "I had faith that the sleekit dug wouldnae escape from Azkaban in the first place!"
"Things happen, Angus."
"Things happen, me arse. When I worked for the Ministry this wouldnae happened. Folk be gettin' too relaxed noo that Ye-Ken-Who is pushing daisies. Noo the Ministry gets all gallus and let's a bloody lycan loose. How many ye think will be turned or killed, eh?"
"Angus, I only came here to deliver the news so you could keep your eyes and ears sharp. I doubt he'll come up here, not when there's nowhere to hide and far too many centaurs roaming the moors," her grandfather's companion sounded bone weary, exhausted by toiling with the idea that innocent people were going to be cursed, maimed, or killed.
"Makin' a habit o' eavesdropping?"
The sound of Hoggle's voice made Nessia leap up, fumbling her letters before giving the house elf a bashful, guilt ridden look. "I-I," she stammered quietly, worried that those inside the solar would hear her. "Got me letter to Hogwarts. I only wanted tae show Bhan."
"The MacDougal has a guest. Come downstairs fer now and break yer fast," Hoggle shook his head dismissively, but a tight smirk betrayed the elf's amusement by the girl's dolefulness. "A letter tae Hogwarts noo? Suppose it's aboot time ye had yer own turn there."
"Do ye ken anyone who works there?" Nessia trotted after the house elf, his ragged tartan swaying behind him, pinned in place by a rusty pennancular pendant that Hoggle took deep pride in.
"Got a few cousins who do work in the kitchens," Hoggle admitted, giving her a sideways glance. "Course they're nothin' like me."
"No one is like ye, Hoggle. Everyone's different," Nessia pointed out chipperly.
"Nay," he shook his head, batty ears swaying from their position where they'd been slicked back like hair. "The MacDougals are a fine clan. Good witches and wizards. Treat all their servants right. Hogwarts is good too, but... most places dinnae treat me kind like people. The MacDougal gae me a room, a stipend, clothes—this is a job. For other elves its servitude, slavery and they bow willfully. We were made that way... tae want tae serve. I wouldnae trade whit I hae here for anything. Me cousins... they're happy, because the folk at the school are kind and they dinnae ken better. So they might seem a bit odd compared tae me."
Nessia cocked her head, having never met another house elf aside from Hoggle. Truth be told, she thought all of the elves were servants who had their own respective quarters and free time. But slaves? Her wide lips pulled down in a frown and her steps started to trudge as she contemplated the situation others of Hoggle's kind might be subjected to. "I'm sorry, ye sound sad."
Hoggle blinked. "Is na yer fault, Nessie. Jus' the way things be."
"That's wrong though. Just like it's wrong that the centaurs and merrows are classified as beasts," Nessia huffed.
The house elf's lips tugged up in a smile. "World needs more witches who think like ye, Nessie. Be a much kinder place."
"World would be weak if it were more like me," Nessia muttered, mostly to herself as the pair stepped into the kitchen. Yet another one of her favorite rooms in the house, with high ceilings, a long table in the center of the room that functioned as both an island and where informal meals were hosted. With a wave of a knobbly hand, a stool danced toward Hoggle and he hopped up onto it.
"The world needs kindness, Nessie. It doesnae make ye weak," Hoggle assured her. "Yer bhan is kind."
"But he's also braw," she countered, plopping down on a barstool by the island.
"Och, yer bum's oot the windae, int it?" a third voice joined the conversation, the tall visage of her adult brother sauntering into view as he fixed his tie. The siblings, while having the same parents, reflected each parent in their own way. Nessia took after their mother, with tanned skin, thick curly black hair, and a flat nose-smattering her nose like a constellation was her father's Scottish freckles and the MacDougal green eyes were another telltale sign of her heritage. Whereas Logan was a shade fairer, strong jawed, tall and broad, a head of russet curls hashed with strands of auburn and gold. Whilst he looked more akin to their father, Bhan always claimed he had their mother's fire burning in his heart. Despite their differences, they did share their mother's nose.
"Ah umnae!" Nessia squeaked, cheeks darkening at the insinuation that she was talking rubbish.
"Whit hae ye got there?" Logan gestured to her folded parchment while he was adjusting the cuff links on his shirt.
"Oh! Me letter to Hogwarts," she stood on the pegs of the stool and leaned over the counter to wave it at him.
In just three strides, Logan met her and took the parchment from her, whistling low as he thumbed through it thoughtfully. "Who wouldae thought they'd accept a lil mandrake like ye. Did ye send a letter back sayin' ye'd only want tae study plants?"
"I can learn other stuff," Nessia grumbled, crossing her arms as her brother.
"Well, if that's the case, when ye get yer want, how aboot I teach ye some spells?" he offered, handing the parchment back and pouring himself a cup of tea that Hoggle had on the stove.
"I thought I couldnae practice magic outside o' school," Nessia recalled smartly.
"In front o' muggles. Otherwise, who's gaunnae stop ye? Most other students are na lucky enough to hae a big brother who's an Auror," Logan retorted glibly.
"Am not tryin' to be an Auror," Nessia reminded him.
"Och, yer too wee tae ken whit ye'd like tae do yet," Logan played off dismissively. "I do ken we hae a lot of the supplies ye need here—like the cauldron, scales, phials, telescope. I might even hae some of the books, I ken ye have the One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi one in yer room."
Nessia gave a stout nod, pleased that she wouldn't dirty new books, as she had the uncanny ability to smear dirt on them as well as the inclination to make notes in the margins. Even if the clan had a manor, comparatively Nessia wouldn't claim they were the richest or most influential family. Most of the sacred twenty-eight turned their noses up at the accepting tendencies the MacDougals practiced. They lived comfortably, but if items could be repurposed or recycled, there was no use in wasting it. Both Nessia and Logan had been raised to be appreciative of what they had, what they acquired, and to not discard belongings without regard. An old book still held the same words as a new one and personally, the old one had more character.
"Suppose I'll need tae get a wand and robes, ye were a skinny malinky longlegs when ye went tae school," Nessia pointed out.
Logan sputtered into his mug, Hoggle chortling at the description.
"Keep the heid, young master," Hoggle taunted before the man could offer rebuttal.
"Whit's this noo?" Heads swiveled in the direction of the voice from under the awning, Angus having his hands propped up on his hips as he surveyed the crowd and began carving his path toward the tea kettle. "Yer gaunnae be late fer work, eh?" he prompted, turning verdant eyes to pin Logan where he stood, still gobsmacked from Nessia's prod.
"It's an important day. Na everyday that yer little sister gets an acceptance letter to Hogwarts," Logan preened, taking a glance at his watch.
"Sounds like an excuse tae me. Whit time are ye supposed to be in?" Angus countered suspiciously.
Logan grumbled. "Och, I'll go!" With a snap the man's silhouette rippled inward and he disapparated from the kitchen, fluttering a nearby towel that was folded over the oven handle.
Plates were beginning to float from the stove, landing soundlessly on the island as Hoggle moved as if he were conducting an orchestra. Silverware, plates, and cups followed—the door banging open, followed by the clopping of hooves as Rowan entered.
"Mornin'," he greeted, pausing to wash his hands in the sink.
"So ye got yer letter to Hogwarts? Aboot time," Angus remarked, returning to the island to glance over the parchment. "Might be time tae head to Diagon Alley for the rest o' yer supplies. Hoggle, ye think ye can scrounge up the auld books? I ken Logan had a few of these."
"O' course," Hoggle agreed.
Diagon Alley had been a less than often frequented place of Nessia. To be honest, it was busy, overwhelming, and cramped. Nothing about London was favorable to her, especially when she was so accustomed to the wide open moors and the loch that spanned her home. Additionally, it was humid and frizzed up her curls, turning them into a deplorable helmet. Usually, she let her bhan go without her, but managed to suppress a sigh because she knew that this outing would result in acquiring one of the most important items as a witch: a wand.
"Dinnae look so driech," Angus chuckled.
"It's gaunnae be gross, I jus' ken it," Nessia pouted, spooning hash onto her plate and settling on a scoop of eggs to join it. "Hogsmeade is closer, innit?"
"Tis," Angus mused. "I jus' thought ye'd want the full experience."
Nessia arched a brow at him. "Full experience? I'd prefer na tae sweat me breeks off."
"Lassie dinnae care fer the Sassenachs," Rowan observed mischievously. "Cannae blame ye for that."
"Most o' yer peers are gaunnae be Sassenachs," Hoggle wagged a wooden spoon at her.
"Well, if I can put off meetin' em for as long as possible-" Nessia suggested lightly, shoving some food into her mouth.
"Feart not," Angus declined. "We're gaunnae go to the Alley."
Nessia let out a plainative groan and nearly choked on her eggs, chasing it down with orange juice. The rest of breakfast went on as usual before she was sent off to get ready for the afternoon. London was going to be quite a bit warmer than the highlands, which forced her to choose thinner robes that she preferred to wear. Bundling her hair in a bun at the nape of her neck to save her the embarrassment of it being frazzled to hell, Nessia slipped on a pair of Wellies and trundled grumpily out of her room, the owl having left before she returned.
Upon passing her grandfather's solar, Nessia paused momentarily to reflect on what she'd overheard. Lycans? Escape from Azkaban? She hadn't caught a name, but a shiver traced down her spine at the thought of werewolves roaming the countryside in search of unsuspecting victims. Living in the highlands, she was reminded duly of the protection she was afforded so far north, so removed, and by plenty of other creatures that would chase the werewolves across the moors before letting them bunker down and cause a ruckus.
Waiting by the main hearth, Angus had already dressed in his afternoon robes, including a small sash in the clan's tartan which slashed across his breast. Adjusting his balmoral cap, his heavy brows raised at his granddaughter.
"Try na tae look too enthused," he retorted sarcastically, mustache twitching up at the 11 year old's dismay.
"It's gaunnae be driech, Bhan," Nessia whined, dipping her hand into the basin filled with Floo powder. "And they talk weird."
"Whit if we're the ones who talk weird?" Angus challenged.
"Doubtful," stepping into the fireplace, the sand sifting between her fingers, Nessia tossed the powder down with pizzazz. "Diagon Alley!" Careful to speak clearly, envious green flames lanced up in front of her, obscuring her vision completely. Holding her breath to prevent breathing in the fumes and ash, she narrowed her eyes in an effort to witness her voyage up out of the tippy top of her home's chimney. Arms pinned, up becoming down, skipping from north to south, Nessia groaned when she made impact with the public fireplace of the Alley.
Immediately, she was rebuffed by the humid air of London, the cool and refreshing summer of the highlands replaced by an unusually hot day, peaking at the high 20s (nearly 80F). Pushing a few stray curls from her forehead, Nessia grimaced and stepped out of the way as the chimney above her thundered with the warning of another traveler approaching. Never a pleasant experience, her nose wrinkling as she huffed a sneeze and barely managed to move as a wizard threw a haughty glare in her direction. Rolling her eyes, she waited another moment before her grandfather materialized, dusting off his robes and tartan, ruffling his mustache and sneezing just as loudly as she had.
The mimicked fashion made her grin widely and he chuckled. "Blasted Floo. Never been tae fond of it," he grumbled, striding up to meet her.
"I dinnae think anyone 'likes' it, Bhan," Nessia pointed out to his chagrin.
"Shoulda just disapparated," he muttered, rubbing beneath his nose again. "Noo, where do we need tae go?"
Unfolding the list from her pocket, Nessia could already feel sweat beading on the back of her neck. Maybe she'd worn too heavy an outfit, the corduroy like a smothering blanket amidst the humidity. Thank Merlin Hogwarts was in Scotland. "Robes, parchment, note books, a wand-" she recited, aware that most of the other supplies could be scavenged around the MacDougal grounds. Hand-me-downs didn't bother her too much, though it wasn't as if they couldn't afford newer items; Nessia just didn't see a point when there were perfectly good ones at home.
"Generic supplies," Angus admitted. "Och, well let's get started then. Get ye some robes, 'course yer wand—it's the most important item ye'll get. Maybe if yer not too cheeky, we can stop for some icecream."
Nessia beamed in spite of the blistering weather and flanked her grandfather as they started through the brimming streets of Diagon Alley. From the sloping roofs held up by only magic, defying gravity's expectations, to the gayly hued robes that bespeckled the populace, she settled into the hum of activity. From the freshly baked pastries that filled her with fragrant thoughts of Hoggle making holiday desserts to the owls ruffling their feathers within their cages, she relaxed slightly, keeping close beside her grandfather who parted the crowd as if he had a wand out and was thrusting folks aside. Be it the prowess the broad man moved with or just the heavy expression he always wore, most steered clear of the highlander. He was easily recognizable from his hints of traditional garb and the pride each shoe fell with.
Nessia wished she possessed an ounce of her grandfather's confidence or vindication, but as close as they were they couldn't have been more unlike each other. He was outgoing, strong, ambitious, wise, and willful. Nessia was quiet, reclusive, and shy. Only those that she knew did the girl have the heart to sass, but under the scrutiny of strangers she felt nervous and sweaty. The sheer idea of having to go to school without him made her falter. For today she should have been rejoicing, as excited as the other children around her that she would be going to school soon and beginning the next endeavor of her life. Truthfully, Nessia was terrified.
"Bhan, whit house do ye think I'll be in?" she asked him as they continued down the road toward the wand shop.
"Dinnae, bit o' a toss up for ye. Yer smart, so maybe Ravenclaw. Yer also too nice fer yer own could, ye could be in Hufflepuff," he answered honestly, which made her frown slightly.
"Weren't ye in Gryffindor, Bhan?" she prompted.
"Aye, do ye think ye'll be put into Gryffindor?"
Nessia wanted to be in the same house as her grandfather, almost as if it'd prove that there was more to her than the demure plant-loving witch, but she didn't think herself very brave. Just contemplating how desperately she wanted to be in the house made her eyes prickle with tears, which she quickly blinked back. "I hope Ravenclaw," she decided, knowing that Logan wouldn't let her live it down if she got placed into Hufflepuff. Not that the house sounded bad, but when her family came from a long history of Gryffindors, it made her balk at being placed in the 'softest' house at Hogwarts. After all, she was a highlander and only Ravenclaw or Gryffindor would do.
"Dinnae fash. Ye'll do well wherever ye are, lassie. Ye ken I'm proud of ye, even if ye got placed in Slytherin. No house will change me mind," Angus assured her, tapping her on her nose, having noticed that she was fighting back tears.
The shop in front of them was dusty, but then again, many of the store fronts around here were. It was strange, considering how busy Diagon Alley was, that time was rarely allocated to clean off store fronts or afford a new repaint. Considering all it would take was a swing of a hand or wand to set brooms or dustpans to work, Nessia cocked her head as she stared at the grimy pillow in the display and itched her nose at the anticipation of stepping into the shop. Hoggle would have lost his mind.
Bell tinkling upon their arrival, Nessia shielded her eyes—not because the shop was particularly bright, in fact it was rather dim. No, it was the chain reaction that her presence caused, a box on the wall jetting out amongst the rank and file and pinging right into the side of a rickety desk. An elderly man jumped, his thin white hair going astray as he glanced from the box, the mess the wand had created by acting so spryly—spilling at least two dozen others from the wall—before bending down to pick it up.
"Mr. MacDougal," the shopkeeper smiled, placing the box up on the counter and glancing between them. "I don't think either of you will be spending very long here."
"Nice tae see ye, Ollivander," Angus greeted, palming his granddaughter's back and thrusting her forward from where she'd frozen. "Seems yer wands got minds of their own."
"I see it... from time to time," he smiled gently, turning his wizened eyes down toward Nessia. "This must be Nessia? You look a lot like your mother when she came to get her first wand."
"You remember her?" Nessia's trepidation was trumped by the man's memory of a mother she barely recalled. Both of her parents had been killed when she was little, amidst the wizarding war that had made for a tumultuous childhood for her.
"I remember every person I sell a wand to," Ollivander winked, lifting the lid to the box and revealing a wand. "She had a 12", dragon heartstring cored wand, made from red oak. A very handsome wand."
"Whit happened with that wand?" Nessia inquired, gesturing to the one that had flown clean off the shelf.
"Ah, well let's take a look," he picked up up, holding it to the oil lamp beside him, scrutinizing the ribbing and the fine lattice work of knots around the grip. "Made from vine. They have a tendency to display their attraction to potential partners. I've only seen it happen a few times before, but they're not always quite a brash as this one."
At the insinuation that the wand had reacted to her, Nessia's tanned cheeks darkened and she sputtered. "M-me?"
"Certainly not your grandfather. I'm afraid this wand would not suit him," Ollivander betrayed. "This one has been collecting dust for a while. A very long while," he insisted, reaching over to offer it to Nessia. "I made it many years ago, while I was still experimenting with other cores aside from dragon heartstring, unicorn hair, or phoenix feathers. Honestly, I thought it might never sell. Griffin feathers are quite particular, perhaps even more so than phoenix feathers. Prideful creatures."
Accepting the wand, a tingle lanced up her hand, into her elbow, and caused the girl to shudder all over as if a strong gust of cold highland wind had knocked right through her. She could smell the rain on the moors, fresh air whistling through her thick curls, and roasted apples over a fire. A smile curled her lips and she opened her eyes to glance curiously at the wandmaker.
"A perfect fit," Ollivander declared. "It would seem MacDougals are always the quickest shops. I seem to remember when my father had a wand nearly jump into your hands, Angus."
Her grandfather snorted, removing his wand to offer it to the artisan, who ran his fingers along the wood with a sad, but pleased reminiscent expression upon his face. "Nessie's a MacDougal through and through," he puffed up in pride. "Griffin feather, ye hear? Makes sense, a good deal of griffins migrate to the highlands in the warmer seasons."
Always having felt that maybe being a witch was not suited perfectly for her, Nessia clutched the wand. She couldn't have wished for anything more than this perfect union with the unique wand. A tendril of confidence bolstered the girl's frail spine and she grinned up at her bhan. A griffin feather? Of all the cores, she wouldn't have expected such a braw one to choose her, but her heart soared like the creature it was made from.
"I always thought your core was so strange. How my father managed to acquire will-o-wisps and fashion it into a wand always eluded my skill," Ollivander commented, turning Angus' wand over a few times. "I would have expected the reverse for the two of you, but such rare cores are fickle and don't sell often enough to warrant making them in masses. I realized this once I had taken over, but it still warms my heart to see these wands finally find their partners."
"Served me well, it has," Angus assured him. "And dinnae forget that I wasnae always how I am noo. Nessie's got a much better head on her shoulders than when I was a lad," he patted his granddaughter affectionately.
"You were a bit naive if I recall correctly. Bright eyed and bushy tailed," Ollivander chuckled, returning the wand as he began drafting up a hand written receipt.
"Bhan?" Nessia gasped, as if the idea of her grandfather being anything other than the strident retired Auror that she'd known for the entirety of her life.
"We all grow up, Nessie. I was no exception," he mused, mustache twitching in amusement. "Mr. Ollivander is one of the few who still remembers. Though I hae no doubt Professor McGonagall might as well. We went tae school together."
"I think there are still quite a few more who do, but you're unwilling to admit," Ollivander smiled. "That'll be 10 galleons."
Mr. Ollivander packed up the wand for Nessia, which he shared was about 13.5" and had a relatively hard flexibility to it, but he assured her that the wand was rather delighted to have her. Keeping the bundle tucked close to her chest, she followed her grandfather through the streets which had only grown more busy and sweltering as the afternoon peaked. Past the shops with the pets again and to the robes shop. They passed the front of a second hand store, about to continue when a voice called out.
"Oh! Mr. MacDougal—"
Nessia didn't recognize the voice as one of the typical visitors to their homestead and glanced up inquisitively toward her grandfather who froze and wrinkled his nose. A bemused smile tucked on her face as he turned mechanically and forced a pressed, but polite look onto his face. "Allo there," by the second hand shop was a man with a head full of bright, coppery red hair. "Been a while, Arthur. How's the Ministry?"
Arthur was tall, had a face full of freckles, and beamed excitedly up towards Angus. Beside him were two boys, both of which appeared to be of similar age to Nessia, but she didn't know for certain. Just as ginger as their father, they spared her curious looks. One tall, the other a little shorter and broad. Subconsciously, she waned toward her grandfather, but still stared nonetheless.
"Not half as well since you left for good, but it's nice to see you. I hear you don't often leave the highlands, so I'm surprised to see you in London," Arthur admitted politely. He didn't look like an Auror, but Nessia supposed that was a rather rude thing to think by assessing his weathered robes.
"Me granddaughter, Nessie, starts Hogwarts this year. We came tae get the last few things we needed. Logan had quite a bit o' supplies she can put to good use again," he patted her back. "These yer bairns?"
"Ah yes, my eldest Bill, who is in his third year. My second eldest, Charlie, is starting this year. Perhaps the two of you will be in the same classes or house," Arthur suggested, motioning to his sons respectively. "Boys, this is the legendary Auror, Angus MacDougal. He headed the Aurors for many years, fought against Grindelwald and helped during the Wizarding War with intel. I'm surprised you didn't stay around, join the Wizengamot-"
"Bunch o' pompous pr-" Angus started at the mention of the Wizengamot, cutting himself off before he cursed. Nessia snickered behind her hand. "Ah, too many years workin'. Aboot time I enjoy me home, avoid the stress of the Ministry. How's work been for ye, Arthur?"
"Good!" Arthur chirped, but even Nessia caught the fleeting anxious look on the man's face and her grandfather stiffening. "Busy as always," he chuckled, scratching the back of his head.
"Well, it was nice to see ye. Nessie and I still hae to get some supplies before headin' back north. Tell Molly and the other bairns I've said allo."
"It was nice tae meet ye," Nessia squeaked quickly, following Angus' lead, but still finding her manners. "I'll see ye at school."
"Will do. It was nice to see you," Arthur said, parting ways.
Once out of earshot, Nessia glanced up at her grandfather. "Ye dinnae seem tae happy to see him."
"Arthur is... very passionate," Angus grumbled. "He's a good man, but he's obsessed with muggles. Half the time I see him, I worry I'm gaunnae be stuck listening to him prattle on for hours."
"Oh, he's not an Auror?"
"Oh, nay, nay," Angus shook his head. "Works for the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts. Tae be honest, that department's a bit ignored and underfunded... Ministry doesnae see the importance of it much, but we could learn so much from the muggles if we allowed our folk to study with better pay. Used to run into him when I grabbed me morning tea. Realized who I was, was a bit feart at first, but warmed up when he realized I wasnae gaunnae bite his head off. I suppose many other Aurors got their heads far up their own arses. Think they're better than people like Arthur. If any of them had as much passion for their job as Arthur, perhaps we wouldnae had so much of an issue with dark wizards like Ye-Ken-Who."
"Clan MacDougal always mingled with muggles."
"Aye, before Catholicism took hold. We had tae hide our abilities after, but we remained friendly with the muggle clans in the highlands," he added duly. "But not every wizardin' family thinks the same as we dae."
"I ken," Nessia shuddered. "That's why ye never accept those invitations that come from those other families. The Malfoys? Rosiers?"
Angus hummed in agreement. "Jus' posturin' to them. 'Look at what we have', when they dinnae work a day in their lives. Jus' takin' up space and lookin' pretty."
"They dinnae work? Whit do they dae?"
"Merlin kens," Angus rolled his eyes.
Madam Malkin's had a violet store front, a dapper, well dress family in the store display. She thought this one was considerably less dusty, as the mannequins were probably changed out enough that they didn't have enough time to collect half as much dust as the pillow in Ollivander's window. A plump, bright witch hummed around the shop and had her laden with packages as Angus commented about how thick the cloaks were and that a true highlander wouldn't need these to brave the winters in Scotland. While growing rosy cheeked at her grandfather's complaining, they acquired the necessary materials and hurried to collect the last few miscellaneous items. Without having to struggle with books, a cauldron, and the other items they had at home, they were able to easily settle down at the ice cream shop for a much needed treat amongst the heat of a strangely warm afternoon in London.
The path to the Floo hearths was a little choked up, various other patrons just as eager to head home after a successful day in acquiring their needs on Diagon Alley. While waiting in line, Nessia glanced up toward Angus.
"Bhan, we dinnae hae tae come back here, dae we?" Sweat was pouring down her neck, trickling down her back.
"Nay, not til September when ye hae to catch the train."
"The train!" Nessia whined. "But Hogwarts is not too far frae home."
"It's aboot the experience. Ye may meet yer best friends on the train," Angus wagged a brow at her.
Grousing quietly to herself, Nessia didn't shed light on the anxiety she felt surrounding the idea of having to find somewhere on a train to sit, let alone deal with not knowing a single soul. Sure, she knew the names of those two boys, but she didn't know them. To be fair, she didn't really know anyone. It was easy to get lost amongst her jungle at home, the pages of her journal, and the garden outside. There was Hoggle, Rowan, and Logan. Plus the merrow in the loch, which were quite conversational once she'd learned how to understand them. The centaurs were a bit standoffish, but they'd been polite to her.
Hoggle had located the books she needed for school, a couple of which were nearly falling apart because Logan had abused the spines. While the pages were intact—minus his maddened scribblings in a few books—she had to do some repairs of her own to prevent them from breaking further and threatening to actually spill necessary reading material everywhere.
"Knock, knock future Puff," Logan announced his presence, rapping upon the frame of her open door as he poked his head into the jungle.
"Och, ye dinnae ken that yet," Nessia huffed, blowing a few strands of hair from her face as she was sewing another binding back into place.
"Where else would ye go?" Logan stepped in, teasing his younger sister. "Ooh, sorry there. Those look as if they've weathered bein' beat by hippogriffs."
"Oh, yer sorry? Might've fixed 'em before ye handed em down tae me," Nessia quipped, but honestly wasn't that upset. The books still functioned.
"Well, how aboot I make it up to ye?" he offered.
"Ye gaunnae buy me new books?"
"How aboot I do ye one better? Ye got yer wand today, didn't ya?"
Opening the box in front of her, Nessia pulled out the pale wooden wand. "Aye, but I'm not supposed to practice magic outside of school."
"Not around Muggles," Logan corrected. "And if I remember correctly, there arenae any here. Yer perfectly allowed tae practice at home and we're quite remote. If anyone questions it, ye got me to vouch for ye."
Her brother's beguiling reassurances did little to quell the twanging nerves, plucking like an out of tune violin as she contemplated taking the bait. "Whit are ye gaunnae teach me?"
"A few defense spells—Och wait!"
"I dinnae need those. I'm not ye! I'm not gaunnae get into any fights—" Nessia objected immediately.
"Better to ken them and not need them than to be dumped on yer arse. Yer a MacDougal. Like it or not, we have a reputation to uphold and while Bhan will not say anything aboot it, I want to be certain no one picks on ye," Logan interrupted, raising a hand to deflect her disquiet.
"No one is gaunnae pick on me," Nessia snorted. "It's not like when ye went to school."
"Slytherin is still just as nasty as when I went. Yer better off, Nessie."
He wasn't going to drop it, causing her to groan at his insistence. "Fine, but I ken I'm gaunnae be foul at spellwork. Never been good at it before."
"Ye never had the chance tae really try. C'mon, let's go oot in the garden."
#harry potter fanfic#harry potter fanfiction#hogwarts mystery fanfic#growing up at hogwarts#original characters#prose filled
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Ramblings and crazy theory time about GK chap 239 “Discharge”
So… well, Noda continues with a chapter whose sense of humor makes me feel what Kikuta is feeling.
Yeah, really, sorry, but this is not my sort of thing.
The cover is…
… well, it’s apparently based on this video from the movie “She Hate me” by Spike Lee. I warn you, watch at your own risk.
So we go back on the story that see Usami and our wannabe ‘Jack’ that after just a moment of standoff… pardon, jack-off attack each other with the ‘weapons they have at hands’ (I’m sure you can figure what I’m talking about without having me to spell it out), Usami yelling to a shocked and grossed out Kikuta that guy is the killer before… well, ‘firing’. In a “Matrix” like scene ‘Jack’ avoids and fires back only for Usami to avoid in a beyond spectacular manner.
Jack then runs away, only for Kikuta to pull out a more conventional weapon, one of his many Nagant M1895 and fire at him multiple times before chasing him with Usami, the two going to two separate ways to try to encircle ‘Jack’.
Too bad that Jack as a horse and, with it, slams against Usami, sending him flying.
Kikuta manages to hit both him...
and his hat, which falls.
If the image we’re shown is reliable Jack has short hair. Kikuta then tosses his now completely discharged beloved Nagant away (his eyes aren’t shown to better deliver how this pains him... will he managed to recover her later?)...
...and runs to ‘Jack’, managing to grab on him and climb on his horse. He then grabs another of his Nagant (honestly, if this was another manga I’ll expect Kikuta to have a hammerspace filled with them but more ‘realistically’ he has just more than one holster under his coat) and point it to Jack’s head.
Unluckily for him ‘Jack’ still has a good hold on his ‘very personal peculiar weapon of choice’ and is reading it to fire.
Kikuta, who might face an army of Russians trained to kill him but not THIS (and I don’t blame him that’s a job solely for people like Usami though I think Ushiyama might do good as well) starts sweating and, instead than blasting our convict’s head away, tries protecting himself with poor results.
In fact ‘Jack’ gets him in the eyes and causes him to fall off the horse (I guess congratulation are in order to ‘jack’ for his ability to accurately aim behind himself while riding on a horse with such weapon).
Usami reaches Kikuta, whcih complains ‘Jack’ managed to get his eyes (trust me Kikuta, you aren’t the only one who was screaming ‘my eyes!’ through this chapter), then the two resume running after ‘Jack’ but they’re neither Koito nor the Tsukinator and so ‘Jack’ on his horse, can easily distance them. They hear a woman screaming but get there too late, only to find her dead.
Kikuta wonders if he did this while in the middle of running from them. The scene switches to a running and panting ‘Jack’ who evidently has discharged the horse and, with his already bloody knife attacks another prostitute, murdering her as well.
I wonder if he’s panting also due to the shoot he got from Kikuta. He doesn’t seem to be blending though. On a sidenote our ‘Jack’ confirms himself to be left-handed. The first time he killed he used his left, he took care to… ‘charge his gun’ with his left and now he’s stabbing again this woman with his left.
It’s worth to point out that Japan at the time wasn’t a left-handed people friendly environment, with people being discriminated and people were afraid they wouldn’t get married if they were left handed and only from 1989 the percentage of children undergoing correction steadily began to drop -- although still around 60%... and it’s also worth to remember Japan isn’t the sole country which had bias against left-handed people.
I’ll quote Wikipedia on this just to give you a general idea as I find meaningful they even have a page devoted to this:
‘In many religions, including Christianity, the right hand of God is the favored hand. For example, Jesus sits at God's right side. God's left hand, however, is the hand of judgement. The Archangel Gabriel is sometimes called "God's left hand" and sits at God's left side. Those who fall from favor with God are sent to left, as described in Matthew 25: 32–33, in which sheep represent the righteous and goats represent the fallen: "And he shall separate them one from another, as a shepherd divideth his sheep from the goats. And he shall set the sheep on his right, but the goats on his left." In 19th-century Europe, homosexuals were referred to as "left-handed". In Protestant-majority parts of the United Kingdom, Catholics were called "left-footers", and vice versa in Catholic-majority parts of Ireland and Irish America. Black magic is sometimes referred to as the "left-hand path", which is strongly associated with Satanism.’ [Wikipedia: Bias against left-handed people]
… so, if ‘Jack’ is from another country there’s a huge chance he moved from an unfriendly environment to another.
It’s worth to mention that the original ‘Jack the Ripper’ was originally assumed to be left-handed when they speculated he would kill his victims standing in front of them. Later they figured out he first would render his victims unconscious by strangling them and then kill them while they were on the ground, likely positioning himself behind them so that blood wouldn’t fall on him.
So either our ‘Jack’ isn’t the original ‘Jack’ or Noda is constructing him according to earlier theories on his modus operandi (he doesn’t strangle, he kills the victim as she’s standing in front of himself, he uses his left hand).
Now, back to the story… I got the impression Kikuta managed to hit ‘Jack’ when he shoot him… but ‘Jack’ doesn’t seem to be leaving a trail of blood as he walks so it’s hard to say if he’s panting and running that way due to a wound whose bleeding he managed to stop or just due to fatigue.
It’s the day after.
Takuboku Ishikawa, our journalist working for Hijikata, is on one of the crime scenes,
still pesteringon details about the murder the weird policeman we met in chap 239 (remember him?)...
...while the latter is ignoring him. The policeman has the hat lowered on his eyes.
There’s another known face and it’s the photographer.
(Remember? He was there too and lol, in the exact some pose it looks as if Noda has copypasted him there.)
He doesn’t seem to be left-handed but since left-handed people were corrected, in everyday life ‘Jack’ probably can’t use his left hand so it might be useless to search for a left-handed guy using his left hand in a normal situation.
Everyone else among the bystanders seems to be a new guy... okay, maybe the old and partially bald guy might be the same in both pictures but I’m not sure. In this chapter he seems curious but, who knows, he might be a different character just drawn for background. Besides his hair seems too long to be ‘Jack’s’.
Well, to be honest there’s another guy who’s not a new guy but we’ll get to this in a moment.
Kikuta comments ‘Jack’ this time killed two women and wonders if he was just trying to create chaos to escape or was merely doing it to taunt them. According to ‘sperm detective Usami’ it can be just something he decided in advance.
It’s worth to mention the canonical victims of the original ripper were:
Mary Ann Nichols, found on the 31th of August 1888
Annie Chapman, found on the 8th of September 1888
Elizabeth Stride and Catherine Eddowes, both found on the 30th of September
Mary Jane Kelly, found on the 9th of November 1888
So yes, on his third murdering attempt Jack killed two women so we can speculate this is a copycat or, if he’s meant to be the real Jack, his backstory would include a reason to murder 2 women at his third attempt (in the real Jack’s case it was speculated he murdered 2 because he was interrupted during the murder of the first woman so it wasn’t planned).
Anyway Kikuta wonders if Jack will come back and how it’ll be troublesome for them to track him now that he has 4 ‘sacred places’.
However Kikuta now tells us something relevant. He managed to get a look at the side of his face… and at his dick. I hope he doesn’t plan to go demand people to show them to him so he could identify ‘Jack’…
Usami suggests they’ll go check the other crime scene so that Kikuta might try to spot him. Kikuta though, has spotted something else so he tells Usami to go ahead that that he’ll join him later.
What Kikuta has spotted is the ‘fail master of disguise’ Private First Class Ariko Rikimatsu, which starts sweating as hell as Kikuta speaks to him and who tells him not to turn around and that basically he could recognize the sexy bulky build of Ariko’s body everywhere.
Okay, Kikuta didn’t exactly said that but really, there are PLENTY of men with a bulky build so, unless Kikuta is a bulky build bodies expert, his words sounds a bit… unbelievable unless it’s Ariko’s bulky build body itself who’s special to him.
And anyway, really Ariko, don’t get so nervous. You fail at deceiving people it seems.
Kikuta says he never heard Tsurumi talking about Ariko being there so he asks him if he came there with Hijikata.
We don’t get to hear Ariko’s reply but it’s likely he confirmed it. Still it’s interesting it was cut as well as the fact Kikuta wanted to speak with Ariko away from Usami’s ears.
Did Kikuta want clarifications on why Ariko betrayed him? Or just make sure Usami won’t attack him again? Or has Kikuta his own plan?
We’ll see.
And is Ogata overlooking that meeting from somewhere? I bet he knows Ariko isn’t trustworthy so can it be he’s keeping tabs on him? Or is Hijikata who’s doing so? Or both?
Anyway the scene switches to the coast of the sea of Okhotsk…
and I find this interesting because we see that there’s a city there… but we aren’t given its name. As long as they weren’t Ainu villages Noda had always given us the names of the places in which the characters were from big cities to minor spots like, for example, the village of Fukagawa, regardless of them spending a lot of time on the place or just a chapter, like the coal mining town of Utashinai.
When this first happen in chap 225
I though it was because Tsurumi was on the move, from coastal city to another, although it really didn’t persuade me… and maybe it could also be Noda for some reason didn’t have material on that part of Hokkaido so the whole thing would be edited in the volume version with the name of the place. However quite a while has gone from chap 225 and we still don’t have an EXACT idea of where he is, not even through a map.
There are big cities on that coastal area, from Wakkanai, the city ship on which Asirpa rode was supposed to reach, to Okoppe to the well known Abashiri… but also various small cities.
They could have said he’s still in the Wakkanai area instead…
Is there a reason to leave us in the dark even when Tsurumi clearly is in Japanese cities?
Is it a Watsonian reason or a Doylist one?
Anyway Tsurumi informs his men he received a telegram from Kikuta (who therefore knew in which city he was and this means either Tsurumi warned him where to find him day by day or he’s not exactly moving around a lot).
He doesn’t tell us what Kikuta said but that he’ll only leave two men behind to continue searching for Asirpa (meaning he hadn’t figured she has long moved from the coastal area) and the rest will go with Tsurumi to Sapporo.
The final page shows both Tsurumi and Hijikata (who’s apparently outside the city looking at something… Ogata practicing with the rifle? Ariko secretly meeting with Kikuta? Sugimoto’s group ALSO coming to Sapporo?).
The implication seems to be that Ariko has tattled out Hijikata’s presence in Sapporo and Kikuta has relied the information to Tsurumi therefore Tsurumi plans to go there and have a faceoff with Hijikata.
Tsurumi didn’t see the need to move for just a convict but if it’s Hijikata, who might have the remaining tattooed skins as well as info... well, the thing becomes much more interesting.
So with everyone being or going to Sapporo, I wonder if Sofia (currently in Hokkaido), the candy seller convict (last time seen in Utashinai) and the still missing convict (whereabouts unknown) will also go there.
Only 3 more chapters are needed to end volume 24 but I wouldn’t dislike it if, before the end, Hijikata and Ogata were to have a chat. This volume showed us some of Sugimoto’s past.
More on Ogata’s past would also be appreciated but, if I’ve to be honest, I’m also looking forward to more info about Kikuta and about Kadokura.
When Hijikata finds the room in which Inudo kept all the material he had collected about him in his fangirlish obsession to get Hijikata, we can see on the wall a list of all the convicts that had been cellmates with Hijikata but also Kadokura’s name.
Or better ‘Kadokura Tanuki’ (門倉タヌキ), Tanuki being the nick Inudou gave to Kadokura.
Let’s start with this.
A Tanuki (狸 or タヌキ) is a Japanese folklore animal, commonly associated with the Japanese raccoon dog, which in folktales often played the part of foolish animal, often with really big testicles (that’s why Inudou said he pictured him as pathetic Tanuki with big balls in chap 118)… however if we compare it to the Kitsune (fox), which are the epitome of shape-changing animals, one saying is "the fox has seven disguises, the tanuki has eight (狐七化け、狸八化け)". The tanuki is thus superior to the fox in its disguises, but unlike the fox, which changes its form for the sake of tempting people, tanuki do so to fool people and make them seem stupid. Note that 8 is a lucky number, which might tied to how Kadokura is actually lucky. However it’s also worth to mention the kanji used to write Tanuki (prior to the linguistic reform of 1947) was "貍", and referred to all the middle sized mammals, especially to wild cats.
So… why all this rambling?
Well, not only Inudo didn’t write down Kadokura’s name, just the surname plus his nick but near Kadokura’s name there’s also written ‘real father’ and then what look like 4 kanji, none of them similar to the kanji used to write Kadokura’s surname.
So basically not only we don’t know Kadokura’s name but also Kadokura’s surname and we’re facing someone who, for association, is compared to an animal much more expert at disguising than the fox (Inkamart).
Now I wouldn’t question Kadokura’s loyalty to Hijikata. In vol 18 he was willing to die to save him. He also seems confident he’s unlucky… and he might have been forced to change surname because his father was on the losing side of the Boshin and therefore carrying his father’s surname would have been bad for him.
The point is if not even his surname is… well, his surname, Kadokura is a men shrouded in mystery, about whom we know nothing except he moved to Abashiri 7 years ago, with Sugimoto commenting he’d been looking over Nopperabou by 7 years… meaning he moved there when Nopperabou moved there (note that Asirpa said the gold incident happened 5 years before but then everyone when with the 7 year thing so maybe there was a retcon).
In short maybe this is all for fun and the truth behind Kadokura is nothing special… but it can also be there’s much more to him it looks like. We’ll see.
#Golden Kamuy#Usami Tokishige#Ariko Rikimatsu#Hijikata Toshizou#Tsurumi Tokushirou#Asirpa#Golden Kamuy Ramblings and Theories#Ishikawa Takuboku#Michael Ostrog#Kikuta Mokutarou
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hey bub don't forget to post the met gala fic! xoxo ur reminder anon
tHANK YOU FOR REMINDING ME :D
“Holy shit.”
Y/N had seen Harry in a lot of things -- being his best friend meant experiencing his wardrobe, including but not limited to getting pictures of outfits laid out for something with question marks for her opinion, entering expensive boutiques with eyes averting from price tags in attempt not to panic, marveling as she walks through his closet to see pieces he’d purchased unbeknownst to her (plucking a few things from his drawers), and sending him links to things she think he ought to like just to see him in a photo online in it a week or so later. Despite how familiar she was with his taste in fashion and what he looks like in items of different colors, cuts, and fabrics, she is still often blown away with what he could conjure up. There was just something so. . .alluring, about the way in which he wore things with confidence without oozing any sort of cockiness that might turn someone off from him.
So when he’d invited her to come with him to New York for the Met Gala (in which she would not be attending, given she didn’t have thirty grand lying around to spend, but she got to sleep in a fancy hotel and eat like a King for a few days so she was happy), she’d been more than ecstatic. Was keen on seeing his outfits, hearing what he would do, what he’d have to say, and hope that he explain to her what even happens at the Met Gala apart from the red carpet. Even had fun with his impromptu ear piercing that she helped with (she’s got steadier hands than him). Her plan was simple -- to enjoy the luxuries of being rich without actually having to be rich, dawning one of the expensive hotel robes, slipping her feet into slippers and watch a livestream of the carpet while simultaneously pretending she would be willing to spend more than twenty dollars on a top as she scrolled through various clothing websites. Maybe take a bath or something and wait for him to come back, wondering what food they served at those kinds of events, if Harry would even like it, and if she should order room service (to which she would pay him back for even if it meant sliding money into his wallet when he wasn’t looking) and get him something in case he didn’t.
Though as the night continued on, picture after picture being released, videos and live streams from the event, everything seems so exciting and entertaining, she began to feel a small pit of. . .of something in her chest. She couldn’t quite tell what it was -- she was so proud of him and so happy to see him happy, that her cheeks could burst with a smile from it, but her heart weighs heavy. Harry makes good to rarely seem like he’s famous. Apart from the occasional fan picture or paparazzi hoard, he’s just normal Harry, who snores way too loud, has awful gas after eating jambalaya, picks off people’s plates without so much as a question to, and cannot sit still or keep quiet through a movie if he wasn’t interested in the subject matter. He was the Harry that shoved his head under her hand as his formal request for her to play with his hair and gave her drunken, emotional kisses because he’s “never felt so close t’a someone before”, and would rather sleep on her dingy old couch in her worn down flat than sleep in his multi-million dollar home if it meant that he didn’t have to be alone.
This Harry though -- famous Harry -- appeared to be completely in his element. Floating down the pink carpet with the man responsible for all things Gucci, dancing to Cher, mingling with celebrities, hosting the fucking event. It was like a whole different world he was apart of; one of glamour and opulence that she could only ever dream of. At that moment, for the first time, she’d felt as if she’d been holding Harry back somehow. She’s more than aware that she does not have that kind of power to do it on her own, but what about what he does for her? The nights that she wants him to come over, is he turning down plans with someone who might be more beneficial to his career? Or with someone who has much better, more interesting stories than what her professor tried to pull in her lecture? Maybe he was passing on drinks with stylists and people of greater importance because he’s far too loyal to pass on a romantic comedy movie night with her?
He deserved all good things; nothing but great, wonderful things and she feels endlessly guilty that she is unable to cater to that side of him.
That’s why when he returns a little earlier than he had expected, showing off the second garment he had changed into, his eyes wide and bright, “Get dressed, you’re comin’ with me to an after party!” He chirps after bursting through the door, walking towards the closet without a second thought and swinging the door open to reveal what she had presumed was a bag for one of his suits. Instead he pulls it from the closet, tosses it onto the mattress that she was sprawled on and points his finger at it, “Loads of people I wan’ you t’a meet, yeah?”
Her heart kicks up in her chest, not only because he is even more ethereal in person, nor was it just the fact that he had literally scared her phone out of her hand when he’d plowed in through the door, but because what in the hell? People he wants her to meet? At a met gala after party? Is she even allowed at those?
“Am I even allowed at those?” She mirrors her confusion and he shrugs his shoulders.
“Don’t see why not; m’the co-chair, so I think I get a bit of leeway with a thing or two,” he pulls the zipper open to the bag, uncovering a beautiful glittery, chain detailed silver slip dress that she only distantly remembers stroking her fingers against on the mannequin, checked the price tag, and pretend it didn’t happen. Y/N couldn’t believe he’d remembered it let alone purchased the damn thing and now it was just sat on the mattress, waiting for her to put it on, “If anything everyone will suspect your just some smarmy socialite who doesn’t a hundred percent what Camp is and that’s’ okay. Hurry on then, I don’ want them to have too much fun without me.”
Her eyes were wide, “Holy shit,” sbe begins, placing her fingers to her temples, “Holy shit, Harry,” she shakes her head, “I can’t go! I’m not even -- I don’t even -- I took like a half assed shower at best!”
“And you look marvelous, Darling,” he took the liberty of withdrawing the dress from the bag, thrusting it out towards her with his fist around the sleek dark wood of the hanger, “I’ve been gushing about ya all night, and y’know I hate to be made a liar.” He motions towards the piece in his hand, brows furrowed as he becomes impatient, “S’been like two months since I bought this so if y’don’t like it anymore then --”
“Shut up, you know I love it,” she takes it from him, trying to ignore the way her heart swells when his mouth pulls up in a big, triumphant smile, “But it was at least one month’s rent, you’re asking me to go to a party with a ton of famous people and that’s something that I need to like prepare for mentally weeks beforehand.”
As soon as she’s got the dress in hand, he takes her by the shoulders and guides her towards the bathroom, “Yeah, yeah, Lovie, listen -- they’re all jus’ like me, yeah? Normal, dressed a bit fancy,” he squeezes her where his hands lay, “Loud as all get out, just like a good chat, will absolutely adore you if you get your arse ready in the next twenty or so minutes.”
He’d managed to close her in the bathroom, leaving Y/N to stare into the large floor to ceiling mirror illuminating every flaw she could’ve possibly thought to have all at once. She looks disheveled -- like someone who had only been planning on lounging around on a hotel bed and living simultaneously through Met Gala Twitter. Not somebody who was meant to get ready in twenty minutes. However, somehow Harry was incredibly persuasive without even having to be persuasive and she was sliding the robe from her shoulders, letting it pool to the floor.
She could get ready in twenty minutes -- she’s had worse time constraints in the past.
. . .
Y/N’s head is spinning.
Too much had happened in such a short amount of time; she’d met more people than she would have thought to be imaginable in a night than she’d ever met in her entire life. People of such fame and opulence she was certain that they would never cross paths, no matter the fact that she’s Harry’s right hand for most things. However, she realizes tonight as she’s mingling and meeting these people Harry has known for a long while and had never let the situation arise in which Y/N would meet them. Harry kept his personal life separate from his public life and if he could, she realizes, he kept her personal to him which simultaneously made her heart soften and ache all in the same.
She doesn’t think it would hurt too bad, until she had fluttered around the room with him and he had left her to her own devices for a moment so he could get them both something to drink. That’s when someone had turned to her (she wishes she could remember their name but after meeting so many people in a night, most of them escaped her) and said with a look of bewilderment on their face, “So you guys have been friends for how long? You seem so close, I wonder why he hasn’t really mentioned you before.”
It’s not like she expected him to be speaking on her twenty four seven, that definitely wasn’t the case! However, she talks about him a healthy amount to her other friends, and not even in a way where he’s Harry Styles -- again, just the boy who gets drooly when his face is smushed up against a shoulder -- they know that he’s around and is aware of his presence and their friendship. It makes her wonder if he’s ashamed of her or something. . .was being friends with a college student considered unclassy? Would it be better if she was some socialite who had infiltrated the world of celebrities and shared all their gossip at the first breath of their names? Because those are the friends of his that these people know about.
But he had brought her tonight, so that meant something didn’t it? It had to have, right? Was this a test to see how she would do in a situation where she was placed amongst people of such high regard? Or did he just feel guilty for inviting her then leaving? Or was he just riding off the high of the night and was making hasty decisions that he otherwise wouldn’t dream of?
There’s too many possibilities, it makes her head spin, more so than the apple flavored vodka she’d been sipping on. She needed to get out of her head -- she knows she does -- but it feels impossible when she so clearly doesn’t belong. And without Harry at her side, she felt even more misplaced than she had to begin with. The judging glances from people who couldn’t seem to decipher why she was there, why she was silent unless spoken to, and why it appeared like she wanted to jump from her skin. She had never been more uncomfortable in her life, and she decides then that maybe Harry keeping her away from this was best.
When she’d sought him out to tell him she was going to head home -- make up some excuse about a migraine or something -- she sees him speaking with Kendall, which only seems to further the wrench in her heart. All those teenage glimmers of hope that she could be his right hand are squashed because she’d only proven tonight that she couldn’t handle this side and this was such a large part of him. Not the only part, but big enough that she could understand if he didn’t want to bother trying to acclimate her to it. Why would he want to be with someone who he couldn’t bring to events without them starting to doubt themselves? And why the hell is she even thinking about being with him right now?
She retreats to the bathroom -- just for a little space, at the very least, to calm her down. Tears threaten to crawl up her eyes but she won’t let them. God! Why is she being so melodramatic? What’s her deal all of the sudden? She’s about three minutes from kicking her own ass -- surrounded by celebrities and idols she’s had for years, just to go to the restroom and sit still on the toilet long after she finished peeing? Just because she plummeted herself into her feelings about a boy? It’s like some twisted form of movie high school prom that she’d never, ever wanted to encounter.
Y/N isn’t sure how long she’d been sat there, until her phone dings a bright noise and startles her from whatever reverie she’d thrown herself into. She’s surprised to see Harry’s contact be what she sees, considering she didn’t even think he had pockets to keep his phone, so she swipes right on it quickly.
Where are you? Is everything okay?
And then the bastard had to be so damn sweet! Why should he care if she’s okay? He’d just hosted the damn Met Gala for Christ sake, she should be the last thing on his mind.
She feels her eyes well; here she was in the bathroom, feeling sorry for herself when it was Harry’s night. How could she run off to the hotel? She was here to support him and praise him because tonight is about him and she almost feels selfish for letting her emotions have her feeling like it was even remotely about her.
Deciding to no longer feel sorry for herself, she answers him back letting him know she was in the bathroom, stands up, finally wipes like she should have about ten minutes ago, and goes to wash her hands. She looks at herself in the mirror, very seriously tells herself to buck the hell up only to jump some when she realizes that Katy Perry is beside her in a burger costume. She nods politely, pulls a paper towel from the dispenser and pushes her way out to see Harry was standing and waiting for her, a dopey smile on his stupidly cute face.
“Are ya havin’ fun?”
Y/N musters her best smile and nods, “Loads,” she responds, “Are you?”
He nods enthusiastically, reaching out for her arm and giving her a small tug, “C’mon then, ‘ve been DJ-ing with Mark and I want you to have a go.”
. . .
By the end of the night it is very well apparent that celebrities party like college students. After the first afterparty he had taken her to, they went to a smaller one that he co-hosted, and it was a bit slower paced. Y/N felt more comfortable there at the very least -- maybe too comfortable, because several times she caught herself slowly fading to sleep, only brought back to full alertness when the coolness of her glass is pressed against her thigh. She’d done her fair share of mingling here too and met a handful of people that made her mouth dry, but by the time the sun started to rise in the sky, she was curled up on a couch and scrolling through her phone absently, waiting for Harry’s cue that they could go back to the hotel. He’d come to check on her a few times, asking if she wanted to meet someone (she would say yes), or if she just needed company but she urged him several times to go have fun (“You and I will be together for the next few days anyway, y’might as well enjoy your time without me hovering,” she had told him to which he replied with a pout of, “But I like when you hover.” that made her heart flutter more than it should have).
She was in the weird state of drunk-ish but slowly sobering; the last shot she had was an hour or so ago but she still felt buzzy and light. Still drunk enough to think that considering trekking downstairs and hitching a taxi by herself when she wasn’t all too sure of where their hotel was, might be a good idea -- but of sound enough mind to recognize that her feet ached too much to even think about trekking anywhere.
Around 7-ish, a gentle hand lies on her shoulder and nearly has her spring from her skin. Harry’s soft, low, sleepy chuckle is her first indication that it’s him before she turns around and sees his bow is a bit askew, his hair has been tousled and combed through to high heavens, and his eyes were puffy and red from his own weariness. “Jumpy,” he’d murmured, and she could tell he had sobered up considerably and was probably far soberer than she was, as he holds his hand out for her to take, helping her rise and leaning over to grab the heels she had kicked off and lied beside the couch, “Y’should’ve told me you were tired. Would’ve gotten you back to the hotel.”
“And what, miss out on some rich hot shot celebrity falling in love with my drunken sleeping form?” She stood, wincing and pouting, taking her heels from his fingers and sliding them back onto her foot, “Speaking of, m’pretty sure Taron Egerton is bringing me home actually, so I’ll send for my things.”
He furrows his brows at her and waves her along, “Yeah, yeah, and Alessandro is signing Gucci over to me -- c’mon now.”
“That’s actually not so unbelievable,” she replies.
The ride home, Y/N demands Harry work through his jaded brain to tell her about his entire night. She hypes him up even after the fact, reveling in his stories with him, all the new people he meant, how invigorating it was to be hosting the very first Met Gala that he attended, how freeing it was to have his nipples out at an event of this high stature, and how much fun he’d had even afterward. Though he still shies from her praise, blushing a pretty pink when she tells him he’s a legend and, “You’re literally doing such great things at such a young point in your solo career, m’surprised you aren’t floating from ego bloat,” makes him shake his head through a laugh.
She had thought she had made a brilliant recovery from her previous, mid-party panic, and was actually patting herself on the back for having it go unnoticed by him (because he notices absolutely everything; people could call Harry a lot of things, but one of them wasn’t dense). This is why she was so blindsided by how he approaches her when she’d plopped down on the hotel bed, kicking the heels off once again and flopping back against the mattress.
“So are you going to tell me what had you bent out of shape earlier?”
Y/N’s brows furrowed, heart sinking to her stomach, “Hm?” She plays dumb but he gives her that look -- that “don’t for a second think that you can trick me” look that almost makes her visibly shudder.
“You know what I mean,” he responds, “Y’think I don’t notice when you’re gone quiet? Or when you disappear for twenty minutes? Did someone say something to you?”
She opens her mouth to deny it but he shoots her that look again and she crumbles beneath it, shaking her head, “It was nothing,” she tells him, “I just got in my head, is all but it doesn’t matter and m’fine, so everything is good.”
“Don’t say you’re feelings don’t matter, because they do,” he responds almost immediately, peeling himself from his outfit and revealing the creamy smooth skin beneath -- Y/N has to tear her eyes from his torso so that she’s listening -- “Tell me what was wrong.”
“You’re awful demanding,” she grumbles, reaching up to take her earrings out, “It was just new and weird; I was surrounded by people I only ever see on a screen and then there were some people that just -- I just realized I didn’t really fit in, and I got in my head, but I got over it.”
His brows furrow, crawling up onto the bed, “Why didn’t you say anything to me?”
“Because it was your night idiot!” She all but snaps at him, not out of anger with him, but from pure frustration with herself, “I wasn’t going to hold you back because I felt weird. That wouldn’t be fair to you, n’I just -- I’m not apart of that world and it was very apparent and I just realized that I could be holding you back from something better when you’re hanging out with me or even that you have to take me places with you ‘cos you feel guilty. And if. . .and someone just -- I said we were best friends and they made a face and I -- it just feels weird. . .I felt weird.” Pushing the heels of her palms to her eyes, she shakes her head, “But it doesn’t matter, stop prying, me head hurts enough and I’m not letting this ruin how amazing tonight was.”
Harry’s fingers are gentle as they loop around her wrist, pulling it at it delicately so he could draw her hands from her face, “Okay,” he murmurs gently, “Okay, okay, I’ll stop, I just --” he pauses for a moment, like he’s trying to pluck the right words from his brain, “You’re so important t’me, y’know that? Right important and I wanted to bring you with me t’night, because I wanted to experience this amazing night with you.” His thumb carefully caresses her skin, and she can feel his eyes boring into her though she doesn’t look up at him, “Y’don’t have to be apart of that world, yeah? I like that you aren’t ‘cos -- well, as selfish as it is, I just want you all to myself. You’re my person. And don’t ever think you’re holding me back, Lovie, if I wanted to hang out with a ton of snobby rich celebrities all day then I would.” He leans in, pushing a kiss to her forehead, “I love you Dummy.”
Her heart pulls in her chest, “I love you more,” she murmurs.
They finish getting ready for bed (despite it being close to 9AM) and Y/N returns from the bathroom to see that Harry had planted himself on her mattress opposed to his own, snuggled up beneath her covers with only his eyes peeking out at her, “Get in,” his words are muffled by the blankets and Y/N rolls her eyes, climbing up into bed beside him. He wriggles his way over to her almost instantly, lying his head against her chest and sighing contentedly as his eyes flutter shut.
“You looked really hot t’night,” she murmurs idly as she combs her fingers through his hair and he hums, nestling closer to her, “Especially in the first outfit. You’re lucky I didn’t jump your bones.”
Harry laugh comes as a soft puff through his nose.
“You should’ve.” He responded.
Y/N stays up for an hour after thinking about it.
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BLOODY SUNRISE CHAPTER SEVEN
Two days.
Two days of heading east. Of trudging through forest and abandoned crop fields. Of discovering suburbs or towns only to find them razed or overrun with Geeks. And more fences.
Each time they came across a chain link barrier, Booker got quieter, almost brooding. Whatever quip he’d been about to hurl at her died on his tongue and he’d slow his pace, fresh disappointment and sorrow washing over him.
He never said why though. But Caitlin could guess.
Their options were running out. Their path was being chosen for them, forced to go the even longer way around. And their supplies were dwindling.
They finished the last of their water on the morning of the third day. Booker immediately pulled out his map and crouched down to read.
“Any viable sources for drinking water are south west from here. And…” He squinted up, gauging the sun’s position. “If we keep going this direction, we’re gonna land smack dab in the middle of a hot zone.”
Caitlin sighed. “What?”
“Atlanta is a day’s walk that way,” he said, gesturing. “If we keep trying to go around, we’re gonna end up in some trouble.”
She wanted to yell and pull her hair. Instead she just exhaled roughly and planted her hands on her hips.
“I spent a week getting away from Atlanta only to wind up back there.”
Booker stood, refolding his map. “It’s my fault,” he said. “I thought there’d be a way to go up and around, but…”
“Okay, so now what?” She couldn’t focus on the time lost. Only on moving forward.
Locking eyes with her, Booker said, “We go south. Fill up our water supply, then we head west.”
Caitlin nodded. It was all she could do. “Alright.”
She felt him watching her as she swung her pack over her shoulder and started walking.
After a few moments, Booker was on her heels. “I know what you must be thinkin’.”
“Oh?”
“You’re thinkin’ I’m an idiot for gettin’ us lost. For leadin’ us towards a hot zone.”
She cocked her head to look at him. “You’re a mind reader now?”
“I really did think there was a way—”
“Booker.”
“—I just thought if we stuck to the forest, we’d have better luck at avoiding any—”
“Booker.”
“But we’ll figure it out, we’ll—”
“JACK.” She stopped, spinning on her heel to face him. “I’m not mad at you. I don’t think you got us lost. You made a judgement call and it didn’t work out. So stop projecting your insecurities. It’s extremely unattractive.”
She started walking again but could feel him watching her still.
After a moment of silence, he called, “Did you just call me attractive?”
“Should’ve left him for the Geeks,” she muttered, marching onward.
***
Late afternoon sun cast the surrounding land in a golden glow. Caitlin squinted in the light, shielding her eyes.
“Hold up,” Booker said, slowing his pace. “You see that?”
It took her a second, but then she spotted the wire wrapped around a few saplings. It was a perimeter marking, with pieces of metal dangling from it. A homemade alarm.
“People,” she whispered. There wasn’t a house in sight, but it must be closer than they knew if they were that close to their warning system.
“Maybe…” He swung his rifle off his shoulder and held it at his side. “Stay close, Meadows.”
They maneuvered under the wire, stepping lightly and keeping their eyes open wide. After another ten minutes they found a second row of wire and cans, this time with stakes in the ground, pointing up and out to impale any Geeks that managed to make it that far.
“Booker, I—”
“Jeremiah!!” A woman yelled, and Caitlin heard the distinct click of gunmetal. “Trespassers!!”
“Shit,” Booker hissed, making a move for his rifle.
“Hold it,” a man called. “Don’t you move, son!”
Caitlin’s heart was in her throat. Her legs shook with the need to run.
Lifting her hands, she scanned the thin tree line for faces. Several yards away, she spotted the woman aiming a hunting rifle at them.
“Booker, they’re armed,” she whispered.
“Yeah, kinda figured that one.”
Heavy foot falls alerted them moments before the man stomped through the brush. Tall, barrel chested with a round belly, he wore a white button down and suspenders. Not exactly what Caitlin had been expecting.
“You bit?” He yelled, adjusting his grip on his shotgun. “Scratched?”
“No sir,” Booker called back, holding out his hand and gun to show he didn’t mean trouble. “Neither of us. We were passin’ through.”
“Ain’t you seen the perimeter?”
So subtly she nearly missed it, Booker shifted his weight, putting himself just a few more inches between Caitlin and the man.
“Yes sir, we did. Made us a little optimistic there might be people ‘round.”
Booker’s accent thickened as he spoke, and Caitlin silently appreciated his knowledge of code switching. Sound like you’re a neighbor, get treated as a neighbor.
“There more of ya?”
Booker shook his head. “No sir, jus’ us. And we don’t mean y’all any harm.”
The woman stepped through the tree line then, her long greying hair in a braid over her shoulder, white dress and apron fluttering in the breeze. Her gaze shifted to the man—her husband, Caitlin guessed.
“Jeremiah…”
“Constance, be smart.”
Booker didn’t move. They were clearly having a conversation made purely of subtext neither of them understood.
The man took a step forward. “Y’all God-fearin’ people?”
Caitlin bristled at the question, but Booker didn’t even blink.
“Psalm 121, verses 7 and 8,” Booker called.
At that, the man started to lower his shotgun. “The Lord keeps you from all harm and watches over your life. The Lord keeps watch over you as you come and go, both now and forever.” He grinned. “Welcome Brother, you have been delivered.”
Staring at the back of Booker’s head, she made a dozen mental notes to ask about that particular exchange.
The woman lowered her weapon and out of the brush stepped several more people—all aged twenty to nine, and armed. Most of them were boys, but one girl about ten years old in a floral dress held a teddy bear in one hand and a pistol in the other.
“Did you see them before?” She whispered to Booker.
“Yep. You?”
“No.”
In total, the family was about ten strong.
The pit in Caitlin’s stomach grew.
“Sorry about the less than hospitable greeting,” Jeremiah called, striding over. “We’ve learned it’s better to be gruff first and apologize later.”
“No offense taken,” Booker said.
The men shook hands, but Caitlin took a step back, eyeing Jeremiah warily.
Maybe she just hadn’t been around people in so long, especially people different than herself, but… something felt off. The memories of the first family to take her in rolled over and over in her mind. The openness, the kindness, the general feeling of ‘we’re all in this shitty situation together’… It was a stark contrast to Jeremiah’s gatekeeper attitude.
“I’m Booker, this is Caitlin.”
Jeremiah reached for her hand and she took it on impulse.
“Nice to meet you, young lady,” he said, squeezing her hand just a little too hard.
“You too.” It was a lie. Her legs still trembled, begging her to bolt away and drag Booker with her. She stayed planted.
“The house is just up this way. Ya caught us while we was doin’ chores.”
Caitlin didn’t move until Booker did. She stuck close as they followed the family up to their cabin.
As they walked, Jeremiah talked with Booker like he was an old friend—the result of having the same creed, she guessed.
She listened in as Jeremiah explained the cabin was his daddy’s and kept just for vacation and hunting trips, but when the world went to hell, he’d brought his family there to stay safe and away from the roaming ‘biters’ as he called them. He quoted scripture so many times Caitlin lost count, all about how it was the end of days and that Christ was soon coming again.
It wasn’t the Bible talk that made her nervous. It was the unsettling glint in his eye. Like he’d just decided he was running for Mayor, too friendly, too chatty, too happy to have them stay with them. All while his wife was silent, his children keeping their distance from them.
From him.
The house was larger than Caitlin anticipated, and well protected it looked like.
Secluded. Far away from any main roads. No neighbors.
She tried to shake the disturbed feeling, but it clung to her.
As they made it up the front porch steps, Constance spoke for the first time since they’d accosted them.
“We’re making stew for dinner. Y’all are welcome to get cleaned up. Maybe wash your clothes.”
“That’s very kind of you,” Caitlin said. “But I’m not sure how long we’re staying.”
“Well you’ll stay the night of course,” Constance said, a desperate tremor in her voice. “Y’all look tired and in need of some good food. We’re happy to have you.”
It felt final. As if the decision had already been made. Caitlin fought not to grimace.
Booker had been led to the other side of the main room by Jeremiah, and while the distance was maybe only a few feet, it felt too far for her comfort. With a polite smile, she wandered over to Booker’s side. The men were in the middle of discussing how the cabin had managed to maintain hot water and electricity with the right amount of propane and generators.
“Excuse me, can I borrow him back for a moment?” She asked, already reaching for Booker’s arm.
“’Course, darlin’.”
She’d grown accustomed to Booker’s voice saying that word and hearing a stranger call her that made her spine go rigid.
The family all milled around—younger children running off to play and the older boys hovering, looking like they were trying to puff up like their father.
Booker followed her back onto the porch, careful not to let the storm door slam.
“I don’t—”
“Shh shh,” he cut her off, pulling her to the other end of the porch away from the open windows. “Whisper.”
She nodded and crossed her arms. “I don’t like this.”
“I know that wasn’t the friendliest of greetings.”
“It’s not… Booker, something’s… off.”
He furrowed his brow, dark eyes locking with hers. “Whaddya mean?”
Caitlin bit the inside of her bottom lip, unsure if she should open a wound she’d only just managed to close in hopes of getting him to understand.
“This guy… his family…” She shook her head. “Booker, I don’t want to stay here.”
He sighed, leaning against the porch rail. “I know that back there shook ya up—”
“It’s not—”
“But Cae, they’re offerin’ us food. Water. Shelter. A hot shower—something I definitely haven’t had in…” He sniffed himself. “A very long time.”
Caitlin ground her molars.
“It’s almost dark,” Booker continued. “We’re out of food, and we’re at least another half day’s trek to anywhere that might have supplies.”
Her legs began to shake again, muscles screaming to run, run, run.
“We’ve managed on our own this far,” she countered, staring up at him. “We don’t need them.”
Booker watched her a moment and then took her by the hand, pulling her further away from listening ears.
“Talk to me.” He turned to face her, watchful gaze on the door to the house. “Just this mornin’ you were sayin’ how we needed supplies, we needed a safe place to make camp and rest up for a bit—”
“I know, I know what I said,” she interrupted, annoyed that her own argument was being used against her.
“Okay, then what’s changed?” He waited but when she didn’t speak up immediately, he added, “Meadows, I wanna understand, okay. I’m here, I’m listenin’. You’re sayin’ you wanna leave, turn down their hospitality, I gotta know why.”
Caitlin swallowed, throat abnormally tight. “He reminds me of my stepdad.”
Booker blinked, waiting for her to continue.
“Overly nice to company, while his family is stock still and quiet, terrified of making a wrong move they know they’ll pay for later.” She folded her arms over her stomach. “And his wife? She’s too insistent on having us stay, probably because she knows he’ll be on his best behavior while we’re around.”
“I didn’t see any bruises…”
“Oh, Booker, come on,” she snapped, about to turn away from him.
“No, I just… I don’t wanna make assumptions about a man we don’t know.”
Pegging him with a glare, she said, “I know him. I know men like him. He’s good at fooling people into thinking ‘no, not him, he could never.’”
Booker inhaled, glancing at the darkening sky. “Cae, I know you’re scared… and bein’ around people again is nerve wrackin’ for me too. It’s hard to trust anyone anymore. But turnin’ our backs on shelter and food this close to nightfall… I dunno...”
A sharp pang of betrayal was quickly followed by a sour feeling in her stomach. Maybe he was right… she’d been distrustful of Booker when they first met, and he was a good man. Just because someone was like her stepfather didn’t mean history was repeating itself.
And the prospect of a hot shower and warm meal was alluring.
“Okay,” she relented. “You’re right, we need a safe place to rest. It’ll be fine.”
Booker wrapped his hand around her arm, gently squeezing in reassurance. “One night, two tops, and then we’re on our way again.”
She nodded, forcing down the lump in her throat.
The porch door swung open and Constance stepped out. “Supper’s ready. Y’all hungry?”
***
After nearly inhaling their venison stew and rolls, Constance showed them to the bathroom upstairs and laid out some toiletries for them. She told them to pile their dirty clothes outside the door and she’d throw them in the wash.
Caitlin watched the woman, searching for signs she’d been right before… or wrong. It all felt smudged and blurry, like wiping a hand over something written in chalk.
Booker insisted Caitlin shower first, keeping subtle watch by the door.
It was an action that had her eyes pricking with unshed tears. He might not agree with her about Jeremiah or his family, but he wasn’t about to leave her vulnerable and alone.
After three weeks of rinsing off in creeks, sponging off with stolen paper towels and rags, and keeping her hair in a tight ponytail, stepping under the warm spray was almost orgasmic.
She moaned like it was anyway.
“Do I wanna know what you’re doin’ in there?” Booker called through the door, smirk audible.
“You wish,” she responded, lathering up her hair.
She could hear his chuckle even over the water’s spray.
If she wasn’t afraid of using all the hot water, she’d have stayed in the shower for an hour. But once she was clean, rinsed, and cleaned again for good measure, she turned the water off and wrapped herself in a towel. It was a little thin, but the air was warm enough she wasn’t concerned with catching a chill.
Finger combing her hair, she opened the bathroom door to let Booker know she was done. He stared up at her from where he was sat on the floor, and immediately averted his gaze.
“Your turn,” she said, one hand keeping her towel closed at her chest.
He cleared his throat and nodded. “Alright.”
Caitlin grinned to herself. “Oh look, there are those red ears again.”
Booker stood up in a hurry. “Just tryna be polite, Meadows.”
“Where are our packs?” She asked before he could close the door.
“Tucked ‘em away in that room over there.”
“Thanks,” she said, padding down the hall in her bare feet.
Quickly digging out her only other set of clothes—bra, panties, grey tee shirt, and jeans—she got dressed facing the door, holding her breath so she could hear someone coming up the stairs.
No one did.
When she was dressed, she yanked her shoes back on and sat on the end of the hope chest at the foot of the twin bed, waiting for Booker.
After a few minutes, the door opened.
“Jesus, Cae.” Booker pulled up short, one hand keeping his towel around his hips. “Why ain’t you downstairs?”
“I was waiting for you,” she said, sitting upright.
She expected him to tease her, but instead he just nodded and shut the door behind him.
Her gaze tracked the movement, momentarily stunned by how much of Booker was on display. Rivulets of water followed the curve of his muscular back, disappearing beneath the edge of the towel. His Marine Corps tattoo wasn’t the only ink he’d collected—a family crest covered his right shoulder blade, and a black and white lion’s head was high up on his left bicep.
He had the tanned complexion of someone who worked outside shirtless more often than not. Had the physique to match too.
As he turned, Caitlin forced her stare to the floor, hands fidgeting in her lap.
Grabbing clothes from his pack, Booker stood at the foot of the bed to lay them out.
He grinned. “Now who’s blushin’?”
Rolling her eyes, Caitlin stood up. “I’ll wait for you outside.”
“’M hurt, Meadows. Don’t tell me I’ve let myself go.”
“Jackass,” she muttered, striding out into the hall and shutting the door.
“Beg your pardon?”
Jeremiah was stopped on the stairs, eyeing her.
“Oh, uh…” She glanced over her shoulder. “It was… nothing. Sorry.”
He didn’t comment, just continued up the stairs until he was only a couple feet from her on the landing.
“Y’all gettin’ settled alright?”
She tried to seem relaxed but knew it wasn’t working. “Yes, thank you.”
“Shower’s nice, ain’t it?” Jeremiah took a couple steps closer. “I praise the Lord every day we had the foresight to put in extra generators a few years back. And those propane tanks too. ‘Course, we never imagined what we’d be usin’ this place for…”
“I’m not sure anyone knew to expect this.” Her gaze darted behind him, wondering if she would be better off excusing herself or if waiting at the door with Booker in ear shot was safest.
“The day of reckoning is upon us,” Jeremiah continued. “The good book gave us all the signs. Least that’s what I told my congregation anyway.”
Caitlin squinted up at him. “You’re a pastor?”
“Yes’m. Holy Bible Church, about five miles down the main road.”
Something sickly curled in her gut. A pastor that took his family and ran, hiding out in the woods, armed to the teeth with weapons… It didn’t feel very godly to her.
Just then the door behind her opened and Booker walked out.
“Sir,” he greeted Jeremiah. “Thank you again for lettin’ us get cleaned up.”
“Oh, o’course,” Jeremiah said. “Now, y’all save room for dessert?”
Caitlin blinked. “Huh?”
“Constance made a pie. C’mon ‘n’ have some.”
He started back down the stairs and Booker brushed by her, touching her elbow gently.
“Y’alright?”
She nodded, decidedly ignoring the churning in her gut.
***
Dessert with the family was only mildly uncomfortable. Caitlin felt like they were being watched, but not just as outsiders. It was like they were being tested, observed for anything Jeremiah deemed unsavory.
When they finished, Caitlin started to take their plates to the kitchen, but Constance jumped up, taking them instead.
“Let me,” she murmured, quickly rushing into the other room.
As Caitlin settled back in her seat, Jeremiah leaned forward, pegging her and Booker with a stare.
“Now, I’m happy to have y’all here,” he started, and Caitlin’s heart rate double timed. “But there are some house rules we follow as the good Lord has bestowed them on us.”
The more he tried to sound devout, the worse he came across.
“We’re a Christian family, and as such we don’t believe in committing sins of the flesh. Things like premarital relations are against God’s teachings. So, I’m afraid y’all will have to sleep in separate rooms.”
Booker started to chuckle, opening his mouth to speak, but Caitlin jumped in.
“Oh, I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” she said, voice as sweet as she could muster. “We are married.”
Booker cocked his head, careful to keep his expression neutral.
Jeremiah’s stare narrowed. “Y’all ain’t wearing weddin’ bands.”
Wrapping her arm around Booker’s in an affectionate gesture, she leaned into him. “That’s actually my fault. See, it’s actually coming up on our one-year anniversary, and I’d taken our rings in to the jeweler to get them cleaned and… Well, I was gonna get something engraved on sweetie’s here—” She squeezed Booker’s arm, hoping he understood.
Go along with this.
Back me up.
Please.
“—But the day I was supposed to pick them up… The virus outbreak happened.” She held Jeremiah’s gaze, unwavering. “Didn’t even occur to me to try to get our rings. Especially since they’re just material possessions. And a marriage is more than that, right?”
Jeremiah hummed, but he didn’t look completely convinced. “Tell me about your weddin’, Booker.”
Shit.
Booker’s stare met Caitlin’s for a split second before turning to the man, grinning.
“Oh man, did she hate our weddin’,” Booker started, hand covering hers and giving a gentle pat and squeeze. “We both wanted somethin’ simple, real easy, ya know? I’d’ve been happy goin’ to the li’l chapel by the base, but her mom was not havin’ it.”
He squeezed her hand again, thumb rubbing a circle on her palm.
Follow my lead.
I’ve got your back.
We’ll be fine.
“Mom wanted all the family there,” Caitlin supplied with a smile.
Booker nodded. “Both our mamas wanted half of Texas there,” he said with a laugh. “And then nobody liked the food we picked.”
“I thought a taco bar would be a good idea.”
“But my mama wanted sit down style, real classy to impress her friends. And then her daddy—”
“Oh gosh.”
“Her daddy refused to walk her down the aisle if she wasn’t wearin’ pure white.”
Caitlin feigned a giggle. “I’m fair skinned, pure white looks awful on me.”
“I still think you looked gorgeous,” Booker said, looking to her.
“You have to say that, you married me.”
Booker squeezed her hand again, reassuring her.
“Anyway, when it was all said and done, the day itself was a disaster.” He tilted his head towards her once more. “But every day since then has been a blessin’. And it ain’t really ‘bout the day, it’s ‘bout the marriage, right?”
Jeremiah took the bait, believed them totally by the look in his eyes. “That’s right, son. A marriage bond is a blessed thing, ain’t that right Constance?”
Returning from the kitchen with a pitcher of iced tea, Constance nodded jerkily. “Sure is.”
Booker’s thumb pressed against Caitlin’s palm, and it instantly grounded her. The twisting in her gut, the dark edges of panic, all seemed to fade if only for a moment.
“Then the boys can bunk up and they can take the spare,” Constance offered, pouring tea for Jeremiah first. Looking over at them, she said, “It’s not much, but it’s comfy.”
“I’m sure it’ll be perfect,” Caitlin assured her. Her empathy for the woman was growing by the hour.
While convinced, Jeremiah still didn’t look exactly happy. “Guess that’s settled then.”
His tone was one she knew too well, and the dread returned, threatening to choke her.
She didn’t even realize she’d been clutching Booker’s arm with a vice grip until he caught her eye.
***
A mattress. A real mattress.
They were getting to sleep on a real bed, with sheets and pillows and a floral quilted bedspread.
Caitlin wanted to pinch herself.
“See?” Booker whispered, shutting the door. “Silver lining.”
“It’s a little small… We’re gonna get extra cozy.”
Booker faltered from where he was grabbing a pillow off the bed. “I was… just gonna…” He motioned to the floor.
Caitlin wanted to smack him. “I’m not gonna deprive you of sleeping in a real bed, Booker. You’re just as exhausted as I am. Besides, what if they walk in and see you on the floor?”
“We pretend we had a fight and you kicked me outta bed?”
“And you really think they’ll buy that?”
“Prob’ly not.”
“Exactly. So be an adult and pretend to be my husband already.”
She turned down the covers and started to climb in when Booker made a noise.
“You’re sleepin’ in a bed with your shoes on?”
Caitlin leveled her stare on him. “I have slept with my shoes on every night since this hell began. And I’ve never been woken up in the middle of the night and had to run. So…”
He nodded. “Ahh, so it’s a Murphy’s Law kinda situation.”
“Yup,” she said, settling in on her side of the twin bed.
“Want me to do the same?”
She grinned. “I should tell you no, so I’ll have a thirty second head start, just in case.”
Booker shook his head at her and climbed in, still in his boots. “One of these days, you’re gunna feel real bad ‘bout these jokes if somethin’ happens to me.”
“Maybe. Maybe I’ll pour one out for you and move on.”
Shifting to get comfortable against the pillows, he said, “I prefer Johnny Walker Blue, if the occasion ever comes.”
“Noted.”
The bed really was small for two people, but Caitlin was so bone-deep tired, she was already dozing off halfway through rolling onto her side. She vaguely remembered mumbling ‘goodnight’ to Booker before she was out.
***
Run! Run! Run!
Caitlin awoke with a violent jerk, gasping for air.
“Shh, shh, hey,” Booker’s voice was right in her ear. “It’s alright, you’re safe, Cae.”
Sucking air into her lungs, she tried to sit up, but something kept her pinned. “Jack?”
“Y’started kickin’ in your sleep,” he murmured. “I was worried you’d roll outta bed, so…”
She slowly understood, could feel in the dark what he meant. Her back was pressed firmly against Booker’s chest, his thick arm around her waist. His hand was balled into a fist against the mattress, she guessed as his way of assuring her he wasn’t coping a feel.
“Y’want some water, or--?”
She shook her head. “No, no, I’m…” She took a deep breath. “I’m alright. Thank you.”
He started to lift his arm off her when she grabbed his wrist and kept him where he was.
“Just in case,” she murmured, letting her head settle back on the pillows.
She felt him nod and adjust his position a little, attempting to give her space.
It wasn’t necessary. They might’ve lied about being married, but they’d gained a level of intimacy in their time together. To call each other friends felt weirdly hollow, but there wasn’t another, more accurate word for them.
Friends. They were friends.
Easing into the mattress, Caitlin closed her eyes and tried to remember the sounds from the trees. The birds. The crickets.
And then Booker started humming “Jolene” by Dolly Parton, and she almost cried.
They weren’t friends. They were something else, something more careful, something fiercer. Viscerally interdependent. A blood oath made by children in a backyard fort—Innocent and vicious with the same swipe of a blade.
“Thank you,” Caitlin croaked, pressing her face into her pillow.
Booker’s response was a soft pull of his arm, securing her, and a smooth transition to the next verse.
#Bloody Sunrise#free novels for pandemic times#free fiction#my writing#ZA romance#zombie apocalypse romance
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Long Live the King
*Walks in with a smoothie* Yo. I finally have another fic after being gone forever. And of course it deals with angst ;D
Bless @sidespromptblog for coming up with the prompt that inspired me to write again, and I’m just gonna casually tag @starwarsdestroyedme and @ky-likes-sanders-sides because I saw their expanded ideas in the notes and decided to use those in here too! Because more angst is the best!
I’m gonna be basing King Creativity’s, Mars, outfit from these pics
Tw: Getting sliced in half; though it’s not graphic I don’t wanna risk anyone getting uncomfortable when getting to the part. If I need to add something, let me know.
Free Cookies to anyone who gets why I named King Creativity ‘Mars’
Wordcount: 1832
Things were not looking good in Patton’s eyes.
With Thomas now a teenager and the horrifying thing that is puberty starting to kick in at full force, the Mindscape was a mess.
Logan was swamped with work. While he did enjoy learning everything Thomas learned in school, he struggled to ensure Thomas kept the dang knowledge in his long term memory. He was also in a losing battle with him to make sure he ate healthy and went to sleep at a reasonable hour, though Patton would take the blame on that one since he just wants Thomas to have as much fun as he can and eat all the yummy treats he can too.
And then Anxiety fully made himself known. Sure he was always around, but now he practically took over the driver's seat and is steering the poor boy down an angsty path. Sure, this is the time where Thomas is supposed to discover who he is, but it doesn’t have to be like this! Thank goodness Patton knows how to steer Thomas onto a ‘better’ path, even if for a little while.
Patton isn’t even gonna think about what Deceit will be capable of later on in Thomas’s life. Although he does wonder if that snake is the reason Anxiety is the way he is… And then starts to wonder if Deceit’s influence over Anxiety is the reason his friend started changing for the worst.
The King of Creativity, or Mars, was noticeably getting more and more disturbing, to say the least. While he of course continued to create the loveable fantasy ideas that he was supposed to be known for, he had started to make very crude jokes and began to delve into dark humor. And to top it all off, he started to go a bit insane and took an interest to more ‘physical humor,’ to put it lightly. Patton gags every time he thinks about the last ‘joke’ Mars showed him.
Patton had asked Logan if he noticed these changes in their friend, and while Logan did notice, he only said that this is just a normal phase that will pass. When asked how long it would take to pass, Logan couldn’t give Patton a straight answer since it could be a few years at best, if that.
That, however, was not the answer Patton wanted to hear.
It’s been roughly a year since Mars started falling down the rabbit hole of ‘impureness,’ and Patton have had enough. Instead of improving, Mars got worse, and Patton was going to put an end to this once and for all.
He stood in front of his best friends door, starting to question his if his decision was a good one or not. He let out a stuttered breath as he reached for the doorknob, only to hesitantly pull away.
...No, he had to do this. He had to go through with this. For the good of Thomas, this was something that needed to be done.
Patton is Morality; he knows what’s best for Thomas.
Besides, if he doesn’t do this, then no one would accept Thomas. He wouldn’t ever grow and would devolve into something horrible and would thus be shunned by everyone around him.
Taking a deep breath, Morality finally entered Mars’s room. It was a mess; filled with many journals containing ideas for different things that Thomas could create, good, angsty, and disgusting, and a lot of art equipment. Though Morality would prefer to ignore some of the unfinished paintings that’s in his peripheral vision.
Mars’s room is significantly bigger than everyone else's due to him wanting to wanting to feel like he’s actually in a castle, so it takes Morality a few minutes before he actually finds Mars.
When he finds him, he has his back turned to the other Side and is aggressively painting a new picture with both hands, not at all noticing that Morality stepped into the room. Using this opportunity to his advantage, Morality quickly looked around for Mars’s favorite sword. It was always in the same room as him, so it had to be around here somewhere. To his delight(?), he left it against the wall, almost as if he just left it there while in a rush to paint whatever new thing he thought of. Morality made sure to take it without making a noise, then hid it behind his back.
He has reached the point of no return.
Clearing his throat and putting his happy persona on, Patton tapped on Mars’s shoulder.
“Hey there, kiddo!”
“wHO GOES THERE-” Mars wildly spun around to face the other man, almost hitting him in the face with a paint brush, and didn’t realize that Patton was trying to hide something behind his back. “Oh! It’s just you, Pa! Erm, I’m afraid I cannot show you my next masterpiece because it’s not yet PERFECT! And therefore not actually a MASTERpiece yet. And you know how I HATE showing things that aren’t a perfect masterpiece!”
Patton chuckled nervously, “It’s fine. I, uh… I actually wanted to talk to you about something, if you have the time.”
Mars gasped, offended at the thought he wouldn’t have the time to listen to his best friend. “Have the time?! Patton, you know I always have time for you, my friend! So, what can I do for you?” He asked, throwing the paintbrushes he was holding to his sides.
“Well… I wanted to talk to you about your… recent behavior.” Patton gulped.
Mars tilted his head curiously at him. He honestly had no idea what Patton was talking about. For all he knew, he was acting normal and adapting to whatever Thomas seemingly had an interest to.
“You’ve been, how do I put this? Erratic and really disturbing. The crude jokes and the ‘physical humor’ just isn’t right!” Patton continued with the feeling of dread starting to wash over him.
Mars was quick to defend himself. “What do you mean? I’m just adapting to what Thomas is growing interested in, or at least what he takes in from his environment! It’s fine!”
“No! It’s not fine!” Patton’s breathing started to stutter. “I… I don’t want to do this, but… If that’s what you think, and you’re sticking to it, then you give me no choice.”
Slowly, Patton revealed the sword and held it in both hands. Mars’s eyes immediately widened as he took a step back and Patton lifted the sword so it was above his head.
“W-Wait… Pa… Dad… What are you doing!? Y-You don’t have to do this! Please, think this through!” Mars began to plead, holding his arms up in a defensive position.
“I’m sorry…” Patton whispered as he closed his tear-filled eyes.
“...Long live the king.”
With a quick slice of the sword, Mars, King of Creativity, was sliced in two.
As the two halves slid apart and hit the floor, the Mindscape shook violently. Everything in the room, and probably everywhere else, fell off the walls and onto the floor.
The reality of what Morality did hit him quickly. He dropped the sword and looked at the scene in front of him, dropped to his knees, then looked down to his hands. He did this. This was his doing. But… it was for the best, right?
He didn’t have time to really fully process what happened before he heard the sound of footsteps running towards him and stop at the doorway.
“...Patton… What have you done?” A shocked Logan asked.
Morality didn’t answer right away as he was still staring into his hands in horror. Logan is only able to take a step forward before Morality looks over at him, tears streaming down his face.
“L-Logan… I… I… I had to do it… I couldn’t take it anymore so I… I cut him in half… I-It was the only way… O-Otherwise poor Thomas would have been rejected by others...”
Logan, unsure of how to comfort him, just stood there in the doorway. Why in the world Patton would go this far to stop those intrusive thoughts Mars produced was beyond him, but what's done is done. All he can do now is watch as the two halves regenerate to form their own whole body, and watch as Patton continues to break down in the middle of the room.
What intrigued Logan was that as the halves regenerated, so did their clothes. One half had his clothes turn white, his sash remain red, and had a small bit of gold on his clothes. He looked the most like the former king.
The other half, however, was almost dramatically different. He kept the primarily black outfit, but had a green sash, a silver quiff in his hair, his eyes looked like they were both bruised, and his outfit human teeth and eyeballs.
It was obvious which half had which traits.
While Logan was still observing the halves, Patton managed to get up and stumble to him, falling into him grabbing his shirt before he fell to the floor.
“Y-You need to help me… They can’t remember this. They can’t remember what I did to them!” He pleaded, looking the other man right in the eyes. “A-And we need to figure out what to do with… him…” He then glanced at the more disturbing looking half.
Logan felt bad, which was new, but Patton was right. If they remembered what Patton did, it wouldn’t end well. Also, something did have to be done with the two new sides anyway.
He gently nudged Patton off and carefully helped him sit onto the floor so he wouldn’t fall down. Then he goes over to the now fully formed sides and crouches next to them.
“...They’re gonna need names you know…” He said. There was silence between the two before Logan finally spoke up again. “...I think Romulus and Remus are adequate names for them. Romulus shall be the one in white while Remus is the… more disturbing one…”
Patton had to think about it for a moment, all while still trying to calm himself down, and nodded at the name suggestions.
“I think those are good names… But, Romulus is a bit much, don’t you think? How about just Roman?”
“Well, Romulus named his city Rome, so I suppose Roman shall suffice.” Logan agreed. “Now, Patton, I would suggest you go to your room to calm down. I’ll… figure out what to do from here. You’ve done enough today.”
“...No. Let me at least finish what I started.” Logan looked back at him and raised an eyebrow. “I know what to do with Remus. Just… figure out how to wipe their memories and I’ll handle the rest.”
Normally Logan wouldn’t want Patton to handle anything by himself, especially after this mess, but something told him this was an argument he wouldn’t win, so he allowed it.
Nothing would be the same ever again.
The king was gone forever.
All that was left was the Prince and the Duke.
...Interestingly enough, the painting Mars was working on depicted an army of red exiting a castle to face an army of green, coming from a tower.
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Oh, Brother (RDR2 Fanfic Ch.1)
Summary: 1885, Illinois. A young Dutch, Hosea, and Arthur wander into a country town following a lead to swindle a wealthy homestead and break their control over the town. But while scoping it out, Arthur encounters a young John Marston, setting fate in motion that will eventually become a rocky, yet loyal brotherhood. A short multi-chapter fic revolving around how Dutch, Hosea, and Arthur met John, further developing what would eventually become the Van der Linde gang. Rated T for language, some violence, drinking/drugs and mischief. It will mostly be Frienship/Family and Humor, but there will be Action/Adventure with some violence!
Disclaimer: I do not own the Red Dead Redemption franchise, Rockstar, or its characters, etc. This is just for fun.
Chapter 1
"I did no such thing."
Hosea's tone was playful as he rubbed a hand through his light-blond hair before placing a hat upon his head. Dutch made a sound nearby, a mix between a chuckle and a snort as he spurred his horse to canter alongside them.
"Oh, dear brother, don't play sly with me. Even Arthur can see straight through your façade. That much is painfully clear."
"His what?" Arthur drawled, shaking his head, already impatient. "Are we lost or not?"
"I may have slightly got us off course."
"Hosea, you said it was due southeast of the camp."
"Southeast?" Arthur grunted, glaring at Dutch. "Bessie said southwest."
"Did she?" Hosea asked, glancing over his shoulder at the path behind them. "Huh, that explains a lot."
They halted their horses on the road, Arthur voicing his displeasure with a groan. Dutch wheezed a laugh beside him. A gust of wind brushed by, plains surrounding them. The same, dull prairie had been their only scenery for the couple hour ride they've done.
"My friend the master con artist, horrible with directions."
Hosea waved them off. "I haven't been down this way in ten goddamn years. What do you expect? And every blade of grass looks the same."
"Next time maybe you should stay behind, old man, an' we can bring Bessie instead," Arthur said.
"Very funny, my boy."
"Jus' sayin'."
"Now come on, son, where is the fun in that? We couldn't get into quite as much trouble with 'ol Bessie and Susan around."
"That's the point!" Arthur looked around. "Can we move? I feel exposed here."
"We're exposed everywhere," Dutch replied. "What, you missing Chicago?"
"Hell no!"
"Okay then."
"We got company," Hosea announced.
A wagon pulled by two draft horses met them on the road, coming from behind them. The wagon was full of produce, skins, and other materials. Two men rode in the front while two sat in the back, and all four were armed. Arthur was quick to notice the men's suspicious glares as they rode up on them.
Dutch cleared his throat. "Let me handle this." And directed his horse over to the wagon. The men got their repeaters ready, but Arthur knew Dutch's charm would pacify them easily.
"Hello, gentlemen! My dear friend, his nephew, and I are sight seeing 'round these parts. Decided to get away from Chicago for a bit, and got a little lost. They're as stubborn as mules asking for directions. We're trying to find the town of Andell, could you so kindly point us in the right direction?"
"Andell?" the older man echoed, eyebrows furrowing. He scratched at his full beard. "That's across the river. You a ways off, pal. Ya'll have to head back yonder to Canker Point and take the trail to the river and find the 'ol run down station before headin' west into Andell."
Dutch smiled, a hand to his chest as he dipped his head. "Thank you, friend. You may have saved our necks."
"Not sure why ya boys would wanna go to Andell though," the older man continued. "Fire took out most of it 'bout a year ago or so. It's not near as populated as it was."
Arthur sighed. Well, there went their chance at poking around for jobs. The young man slouched atop his horse, but Hosea didn't break his "hello, I'm a polite gentleman and harmless" expression. Dutch didn't show any falter to the news.
"Is that right? That's quite a shame. I was hoping to surprise an 'ol friend down this way. He's from Chicago too. Had ambitions to start up a livery stable in these parts, if I remember correctly."
One of the younger men in the back of the wagon perked up. He looked to be in his early twenties just like Arthur, only wasn't near as large and sturdy as he was. "Oh, we know that feller. You talkin' 'bout a Mister Galligan right?"
A sly smirk eased on Dutch's face. "Why yes, that's him. I hope he is well?"
"He moved over to the town of Hickory, which is where we're headin'."
Dutch glanced back at his older partner-in-crime, their subtle exchange something only the two of them understood. Dutch turned back to the travelers.
"Why, you fellas are our saving grace today. May we join you on your ride to Hickory?"
The older wagon driver glanced at his passengers then back to Dutch. "Sure. We don't want no trouble though."
Dutch eased their new traveling companions with a gentle laugh, a hand to his chest. "You'll get no such thing from us. Well, except for my brooding friend right there, he's a little grumpy at times."
Arthur gave Dutch a look. He and Hosea trotted alongside the wagon with Dutch as it followed the road to Hickory. Arthur stayed quiet, letting Dutch and Hosea sweet-talk the wagon riders and only talking when spoken to. It wasn't long before Hosea was drawing them in with some humorous story about a faulty fishing trip while portraying one of his many personas.
The wagon riders laughed and after that they were a lot more open and talkative, which is exactly what Dutch and Hosea wanted. Arthur heard the exchange of names, the aliases that his mentors chose this time around. The wagon driver, Hester, and his son, and the other two men were ranch hands for a wealthy homesteader family within the area. They explained how the Warrens were strict and hard to work for, how they used their prosperity to take over the town of Hickory.
Their complaints and frankness drove Dutch and Hosea to exchange knowing smirks with each other. Arthur knew them well enough to know that an idea was hatching. He swore it was like the two men could read each other's thoughts at times. He didn't quite understand it.
After traveling together on the road for an hour, the town of Hickory came into view. It was a bit smaller than what they were used to in scouting for jobs, but it would do. It was average, nothing quite unique stood out to Arthur, and he noticed the typical stores, homes, and dirt roads. The small town seemed to be quite populated, however. Men, women, and children walked the streets, some hollered out to others. Horseback riders and those on wagons kept the roads busy with traffic.
"Now this is quite a town you have here, Mister Foll," Hosea said. "Ya know, I think I've been here years before, and well, seems to have grown considerably."
"I'm sure it ain't nothin' like what you boys are used to in Chicago, but it's an alright town. The Warrens are to thank for its growth, but since they've taken over most stores and businesses, prices have gone up and, well, there're far more poor folk than there should be."
"Such a shame," Dutch said, dark eyes already scanning for opportunities.
"Anyways, this is where we go our separate ways, we gotta get these supplies to Mister Warren. You fellas be careful. Hickory has a thievin’ problem. Ya'll find your friend Mister Galligan on the far side of town at the stables."
Hosea and Dutch waved them off as the wagon turned down a different road. Dutch turned his horse to face Hosea and Arthur as they looked over the town before them. The town was surrounded by more plains, a forest not far to the west. Besides the stores and houses, there were also livestock barns and pens. It looked to be mostly sheep and pigs here.
"Smell that gentlemen?"
"Yeah, smells like shit," Arthur grumbled.
"No, opportunities, Arthur. Did you not pay attention?" Dutch said, shaking his head.
"Aw c'mon, Dutch. There ain't nothin' here. I betchu that Mister Galligan lost all that money. Why else would he leave the city? He gon' have worse men than us after him."
Hosea chuckled. "He left because he has the money, you sulky buffoon. You still upset about what happened?"
"It weren't my fault."
"We never said it was, son."
"Eh, it wasn't that big of a loss anyway. We've been doing this for eight years, Arthur. Some jobs just don't pan out. Best to get over it," Hosea explained.
"Sure."
"Let's hit the saloon. I'm parched. We can discuss some ideas there, get a feel of the town," Dutch ordered, spurring his horse into a trot.
"Okay, Dutch," Hosea answered.
Arthur rode behind his mentors. They hitched their horses outside the small saloon. Inside, several folks drank and laughed away. The voices bounced through the walls, and Arthur scanned the room, the faces, the behaviors. It looked like there would be no trouble.
Dutch got them some drinks and they talked to the side, watching the townsfolk drink and chatter away.
Dutch and Hosea stood out amongst most of the people. They always wore nicer clothes, Dutch especially. Dutch had grown a mustache in the past couple years and kept it trimmed and neat, but Hosea remained clean-shaven as always. Despite Hosea being nearly twelve years older than Dutch, his eyes shown with the same youth, the same passion and ambition.
Arthur himself had grown considerably since they found him eight years ago. No longer a lanky, dirty teenager, he bulked up some and now had some scruff on his face. He wasn't as rowdy or impolite as he was when they first found him, the typical orphan delinquent. Although, he kept Dutch and Hosea on their toes with his sarcastic, often cynical nature.
His clothes weren't near as kept and clean as his mentors', but he often had the dirtier jobs. He finally could wear his father's hat without it swallowing his head. He may have not have liked his blood father too much, but he sure as hell liked his hat.
"Seems like good people here," Dutch said finally. "I'm quite interested about these Warrens our talkative friends spoke of."
"They didn't shut up once you charmed them," Hosea joked. "I'm curious though."
"You thinking what I'm thinking?"
Hosea grinned and Arthur rolled his eyes. "I thought we was here for Mister Galligan, not these Warren folks?"
Dutch patted him on the back. "If you'd paid attention on our humble ride into town, you would've heard the plight of our friends. The Warrens sound like your typical wealthy overlords of the region. Can you imagine what we could take from them?"
Hosea took a shot, letting the bartender give him another. "I'll look into the Warrens, see what I can find. Dutch, you've been wanting a crack at Mister Galligan for three weeks. Maybe you should go check that out?"
Dutch took his own shot, puffing from its bitterness. "Sure. I mean, if you’re confident you can handle some hillbilly homesteaders who think they run this place?"
"You offend me, sir," Hosea mocked.
Dutch laughed. "Well, Arthur. How about you survey the town? See what else there is that we can take advantage of?"
"Sure, Dutch." Arthur raised his glass and gulped it down, hissing at the burn. "Jus' don't leave me here. I'd love to see Miss Grimshaw and Misses Matthews tan both yer hides once this is over."
Dutch lit a cigar as they headed out of the saloon. "Knowing them, they're getting into their own trouble."
Arthur laughed. "No doubt!"
Dutch bowed once they were outside. "I bid you adieu, my dear brothers. See you soon."
"Hey, make sure you drag 'em behind a horse when you're through with 'em!" Arthur hollered.
"Shh," Hosea hissed, a hand going to the younger man's shoulder. "Don't give him any ideas."
"He's the one with the ideas, I'm jus' sayin'! That fool ruined our last job outside Chicago. Nearly broke my goddamn neck."
"We aren't here for revenge. We don't do that. We're here for his money, that's all. The job just didn't go as planned, Arthur. We're outta here once it's done, alright?"
Hosea was always able to settle him with his calm words and caring, wise eyes. "Yeah, sure."
Hosea smiled, patting Arthur's arm. "Alright. Well, get out there, boy, and see what you can find. We'll meet back here later."
Hosea went his own way in town. Arthur heaved a sigh, looking about. Time to get to work, he guessed. Straightening his hat, he stepped away from the saloon over to his horse.
"You be good, fella," Arthur said, patting the bay gelding's neck.
The next few hours, Arthur spent his time going into businesses and stores, getting the feel of the people and the town of Hickory. He eavesdropped on any interesting conversations his ears picked up. Apparently, the Warrens had a livestock auction every Thursday. It was something they could look into.
Later, he overheard the Warrens had some kind of cellar behind one of their barns that they always kept locked up and guarded. This piqued Arthur's interest, and he was excited to tell Dutch and Hosea about it.
While he waited for his father figures to return to him, he leaned on a hitch near their horses smoking a cigarette. He nodded and waved at passersby, just to keep up a friendly appearance. The town of Hickory must've had strangers coming and going a lot, because the townsfolk barely paid him any mind. Arthur liked that.
"Hey, Mister!"
Arthur turned around, only to see the body of a young boy flying through the air. The boy crashed into him, throwing Arthur onto his back, the wind knocked out of him from the kid's legs slamming his gut.
"Oof! What the hell?!" He coughed.
The boy had dark hair, and laughed as he cut his satchel strap, taking it and the hat atop Arthur's head before dashing off. Arthur scrambled to his feet, anger coming over him as he realized he had just been robbed by a damn kid.
"Get back here, you little shit!"
He chased after the boy as he took an alleyway between two stores. He looked to be around eleven or twelve, although Arthur could tell he was scrawny for his age. His hair fell past his chin in greasy dark locks, and his clothes were tattered and dirty.
For being small and thin, the kid could run fast and was nimble, ducking and swerving out of Arthur's grasp each time he went to snatch him. He knew the town well, weaving through people and farm equipment. Arthur barreled his way through folks, keeping the boy in his sights.
The boy climbed up and ran along a fence top before jumping into a pig pen and cutting away. Arthur heaved himself over, kicking and yelling at pigs to get through.
"I'm gonna wring yer neck! Com'ere, boy!"
"Catch me if ya can, ya big oaf!" He had a distinct, raspy voice.
The kid ducked under another wood fence. Arthur vaulted over it seconds later. He kept at the boy's heels, but the slippery little heathen would only veer away, using obstacles and people to stop Arthur. He jumped and grabbed onto a moving wagon as Arthur came back out into the street. Arthur ran after him on foot, the boy laughing.
"Nah nah, ya can't catch me. Why don'tchu give up?"
"Stop that wagon, mister! Ya got a little monster on the back of it!"
The wagon driver turned around at the holler, pulling on the reins to stop the horses. The boy ditched the wagon and darted for another building, Arthur cut him off. He blocked the boy's path, keeping his body as a barrier as he tried to get around him. The boy dove through his legs and got up and scampered off once more.
"Stop, ya little thief!"
As he came around the corner, huffing, the boy was finally caught. Like a little wild animal, he fought Hosea's hold. Hosea tried to calm the boy down. Arthur, jaw clenched, came over and snatched his satchel back. But just as he was about to grab his hat, the boy kicked Hosea in the groin. Hosea yelped, letting the boy go and he escaped.
"Ugh, so much for a polite introduction," Hosea groaned, holding himself.
Arthur, still annoyed, couldn't help but to laugh at the sight. "He got ya too, huh? Little shit was as slippery as the devil." Then Arthur realized the small thief still had his hat. "He got my goddam hat!"
Hosea grabbed him as he started after the boy once more. "Forget it, Arthur. We'll find him. Don't worry."
The boy was probably long gone anyway.
Dutch arrived shortly after. He took in their disheveled appearance, the pained scowl on Hosea's face as he gripped his crotch and Arthur's huffing breaths as he dusted himself off, mumbling a whole range of curses. Arthur reached into his satchel to make sure his journal was still intact. He was relieved to see it was.
Dutch raised his eyebrows. "What the hell did I miss?"
"You don't want to know," Hosea said, finally standing up straight.
"Got robbed by a goddam kid."
Dutch chuckled, earning him a glare from Arthur. "You mean a little bumpkin got the best of you, Arthur? My boy, come now!"
"Not funny, Dutch. He still has my damn hat. And well, damaged Hosea's tallywags."
Hosea wheezed. "I'm fine."
"Come on, we should head back to camp. Got some planning to do," Dutch said.
"But my hat!"
"We'll get it back, Arthur. We're gonna stick around a few days. We will see that brat again, no doubt," Hosea assured.
Arthur groaned. "Fine."
"I leave you both for a few hours and a child wreaks havoc on both your prides. What ever am I going to do with you two?"
"Easy for you to say. You didn't get kicked where it counts," Hosea huffed.
"Low blow, huh Hosea?"
"Hah, you're funny, dear friend."
Dutch feigned innocence, motioning to himself. "It's not my fault you two provide me opportunities for such jokes."
"If I don't get my hat back, I'm siccing Miss Grimshaw on that little heathen."
Hosea chortled. "Dear god, Arthur. The boy doesn't deserve that much torture."
The three of them laughed.
https://archiveofourown.org/works/16932513/chapters/39785013
https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13143281/1/Oh-Brother
#red dead redemption 2#red dead redemption 2 fanfiction#red dead redemption 2 fanfic#rdr2#rdr2 fanfiction#rdr2 fanfic#arthur morgan#dutch van der linde#hosea matthews#john marston#fanfiction#fanfic#short story#have some goddamn faith#i have a plan
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Newt x British!Reader (Soulmate au)
This idea came to me randomly and was slightly inspired by Melanie Martinez’ Mad Hatter. I made the reader British bc why not! I’m British so I can help with the vocabulary. Just to make it interesting I’ll make the tattoo if each other’s names au a thing in this ;) Imagine: The reader hears voices and sees shadows and monsters towering over everyone except Newt which makes her trust him the most. ♪───Ｏ（≧∇≦）Ｏ────♪ Readers P.O.V Jotting up, I gasped for air and looked around to notice I was in a metal box which seemed more like a cage. I looked around and noticed a small box and I moved towards it, opening it and seeing syringes with blue liquid in it. I shrugged and closed the box before hearing a voice whisper to me. “You’re not alone (Y/N).” I blinked in confusion and slight fear, wondering if that was my name before settling with it was. The box accelerated quickly before it came to a complete stop, making me jump slightly from the jolt. I sighed to myself and backed to the wall, curling up slightly and heard the top of the box opening and seeing light pour in. I looked up and saw about 20 boys standing around the box. I’m not sure why but I started to laugh loudly without control, lying on my back as I looked at the wall next to me. I heard a thump but my laughing didn’t calm down. He got closer so I got up and threw a rock that had made it into the box laughing louder. He looked at me with his arched eyebrows furrowed together in confusion. He then came forward and saw there was a note in my trousers. He lunged for it and grabbed it, opening it “Syringes to keep her sane for a while” was scribbled onto the paper. He then looked at the small box and saw the syringes, not seeing me jump on h from behind. I giggled into his ear and bashed onto his back with my fists before he grabbed the strife and plunged it into my arm. The liquid circling my blood making my sanity go more stable before I slid down the wall of the box, drained from the liquid. The boys above then started talking all at once. "It’s a girl?” “What’s wrong with her?” “I bet she could’ve taken Gally if there weren’t syringes.” “Is she hot?” “It’s about shucking time a girl came!” “I call dibs!” The boy I guessed called Gally put my on his back and climbed out the box. Putting me down on the grass, not very gently. I landed with a thud and a small giggle. I stood up and sighed before hearing a dominating voice shout. “Alright shuckfaces, get back to work!” There were grunts of disapproval but they all seemed to scatter. All that was left was the dark skinned boy that shouted and a sandy haired boy. Blinking in surprise, I saw a shadowy figure grow from the dark skinned boy’s back and loom over him like a bully. The eyes were only white circles with no pupils or colour. I looked down behind him and there wasn’t any feet, the figures body slowly faded into nothing until the floor. Seeing this, I looked back to all the boys and saw the same figure but in different shapes and sizes to fit the boy’s body type. I then whipped back and looked at the other boy with sandy blond hair. I was taken back to see him with a faint glow around the outline of his body. The more I looked, the more it dimmed but it never disappeared. He was different from all the others. The other boy spoke up. “Welcome to the glade greenie, I’m Alby. I’m the first in command here and this is Newt, he’s second in command.” He motioned to the glowing, blond boy. I nodded. “My name’s (Y/N).” I responded without hesitating, they both looked at me with a little bit of shock before Newt smiled at me and Alby nodded. “Newt will give you a tour of the glade and all the jobs and gladers here.” He spoke before walking off and I looked back over to Newt. He showed me a kind smile before saying, "Are you alright love? That looked a bit painful, having the syringe in your arm like that." I giggled at his nervousness and shrugged. "It didn't really hurt. Shall we start the tour? It's boring standing here." I smiled and he nodded before walking around the massive glade. I looked at the walls covered in ivy and saw a massive gap in the wall. I blinked at them then tugged on Newt's sleeve. "Newt, what's in there?" I asked not taking my eyes off it, looking in to see a path. I heard him shuffle to see what I pointed at. "Ah, that's the maze. You don't want to go in there, trust me. It's absolute hell and you have to be a bloody fast runner to be able to go in there." As he was telling me about the maze, my feet started moving on their own and I lost control. My body started running towards the doors before stopping right in front of the entrance. Before I could be forced into the maze, I felt a hand on my shoulder whip me around quickly. "What the bloody hell do you think you're doing? Were you not listening to a word I jus said?" I could tell he was slightly annoyed but I felt as if there was something out there that was important but I couldn't put my finger on it. I looked at him shyly and my face went pink. "S-Sorry, it felt like something made me run here..." I trailed off and he looked at me with his eyebrows knotted together in confusion. He then just chuckled and ruffled my hair. "You're a strange one aren't you love?" ~Bonfire time!~ Newt assigned me to the Med-Jacks and I spent the rest of the day learning how to patch up different types of wounds in the hut. I sighed as I walked outside and saw all the guys huddled around what looked like an offering to me. I raised an eyebrow then they all got spears and lit them on fire, throwing them into the middle to create a massive fire. I smiled at the sight of them all laughing and smiling like a happy family, despite being trapped. I looked over at the doors and frowned when I saw they were shut, remembering the loud noise it made whilst closing. I had finished eating alone and sat far from the bonfire than everyone else with my back against a log in the floor. I looked at the bonfire in the middle and saw the flames dancing swiftly. I could see the outline of a woman dancing and I smiled to myself warmly. I was brought back from my trance when I heard footsteps approach me. There stood Thomas, the greenie before me. "Hey, you're the new greenie right? I'm Thomas." He smiled and sat down next to me with a drink in his hand, almost full. He took a drink and looked back at me. "Why is everyone calling me greenie? My name is (Y/N)..." I trailed off mumbling and he smiled at me. "You're called that because you're the newbie, the green bean ya know?" I nodded with a small giggle. We both spent about 20 minutes talking about each other as he slowly got tipsy but before he could get worse, I took his drink and finished it. The drink had a weird twang to it, making my face scrunch up when I finished drinking it. He pouted at me and put his arm around my shoulder. "You have a weird accent, you sound like Newt. Maybe you're both from the same place." He sounded clearly drunk so you took him over to Minho who took him to bed. I laughed at the sight but awed slightly, shipping them together in my mind. I sat back down against my log and saw Newt walk over to me, plopping down next to me. "How's your first day been love?" He asked with a slight smile on his lips and I noticed then just how handsome he was. I blushed at the closeness we had before replying. "Nothing really happened, apart from stitching up a slicer. Whoever that was." We both laughed softly at the end. I felt as if I could trust Newt, I decided to tell him about the shadow figures I saw behind everyone but him. Turning towards Newt, I took in a deep breath stabling my fears. "Newt, do you think being different is good?" I asked him trying to ease into the topic and he nodded. "Yeah, not all different is good but sometimes a bad different can turn into a good kind of different." He said wisely and I smiled, blushing. "I'm different from the rest of the gladers, so are you." I started talking and then saw him motion for me to carry on. I looked at the guys and pointed at the closest one. "For example, on that boy I see a shadowy figure looking above him on his shoulders like a bully. The eyes are just white wth no pupils and the end of them disappears at the bottoms near the floor so it doesn't touch the ground. They're all different shapes and sizes to fit the different body types. But you..." I looked back at him with a blush. "You don't have the figure on you like everyone else. You have a glow around you like you're the sun. Although it starts off bright when I first looked, my eyes adjusted but I still see the glow. Why are you different?" I asked with curiosity and a little bit of sadness trying to find out. He seemed chocked and confused from what I said but didn't leave. He was listening to what I said. "I'm not sure love, maybe you and I had something before we came up into the glade. The people who put us here might have tortured you or made you go insane to make you different..." He trailed off but I felt a warm mess from him as if we had met before the glade. He must have felt it too as he leaned in closer to me with a red face. Before our lips could touch, he pulled away. "Even if we knew each other before, I think we should hold back for a week or two. That way we know more about each other." I could see it hurt him slightly but I smiled and nodded. Although we just met that day, we felt a connection. I was the Mad Hatter and I had found my Alice. He understood my differences from the rest of the gladers and we both came together after a week of knowing each other. There were lots of cuddles.
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3.12 is a test for 5.01: Sympathy for Jus in Bello
So... this was meant to be my Round 4 of @elizabethrobertajones Great Meta Scavenger Hunt. Comparing 3x12: Jus in Bello and 5x01: Sympathy for the Devil. I had a lot of this written but was really lazy about editing it and um… I don’t care if I don’t get points. I just want to get this thing out.
This isn’t the best organized thing in the world. I took a look at some parallels I found and looked at the ladies a little. Other people have looked into them better than I did here, though, in my opinion. I mostly talk about the parallels I see here.
Nancy, Nick, the Supernatural and world views:
Nancy and Nick are the “Cats” in these episodes. They are the innocents. They’re the ones that the plot needs to convince for the drama and message to be conveyed and for the audience to find it’s moral seat. They’re both told by their respective convincers that they aren’t the bad guys and are misunderstood. Both eventually believe them and both pay the price for it whether intentional or not on the part of the convincers. We know and care about the Winchesters, we know they don’t mean Nancy harm but from her perspective, they are the scariest of the scary. They go against her beliefs and are considered worshippers of the devil. They are “As Satan” to her. She is convinced by the end of the episode and is willing to say yes to her sacrifice. Just like Nick. Nick is also approached from a prisoner who needs him for a purpose but Lucifer's purpose is much more selfish despite the nuanced framing. Even though both Nancy and Nick are discarded for their trust, the context is very different.
Through these two episodes we are shown the difference and similarities between the Winchesters and Lucifer. We are also given a Lucifer catalyst as a mirror context in the form of Ruby. The Winchesters would never put Nancy into that position themselves and would never really want her to sacrifice herself for them. Even though they have approached Nancy in a similar manner, they are literally not the devil as he is later seen in SPN. The Winchesters and Ruby comprise the Lucifer parallel for this episode. By their powers combined they are Luci, but only combined. They may feel toxic by losing the PD to Lilith at the end, but they would never be Lucifer on their own(outside of metaphor) and they would never go through with it. I believe this is why Nancy is framed as the little Christian innocent. She is posing that question as we would, the audience: So boys, who are you and how far are you willing to go for people you don’t know? This is a “you are not our tools” display. Sam and Dean really do try to be the good guys here.
Now the above is involving humans. If you want to delve into fun fun land, consider the scene in 5.01 with Zachariah.. Different approach but also kinda Winchestery If you’re not human. They treat the Supernatural in a similar way to Zachariah(minus the sexual assault references) willing to torture and give ultimatums for compliance. Zachariah seemingly views the humans and other species in a similar way Dean and Sam view most Supernatural beings. Gotta love characterization and world view! I think the earlier set is what the show is going for though *cough* SPN is very anthropocentric most of the time. I have some thoughts on that but they’re probably best somewhere else.
More under the cut:
Nancy is interesting, if unfortunate
There are several instances of Nancy being resourceful in 3.12. Even if it is all in a typically female coded, nurturer way. I think it’s meant to frame her as innocently as possible even if it’s cheap. She is our Perspective Lens of the “not audience” so we can sort of understand the situation for the people who don’t know the Winchesters and recognize them as the dangerous people they are instead of just the guys we know. She knows her way around the place and how to dress a wound (or at least how to tend to one) She knows the people in the town and is the only one to show genuine care for them on a personal level. She shows agency on multiple occasions even if it’s a little contrived and focused on her sexuality and sacrifice.(ugh) She’s better than some others at least. I think the most interesting thing about her interactions with the Winchesters is how despite her framed innocence, Dean still can’t believe she’s a virgin. Virginity is so strange and Supernatural to him that he can’t believe it.
I didn’t get to re-watch further episodes with Meg, Bella. Lillith and Becky so I focused more on other characters.
Ruby and Lucifer
Ruby was kind of the perfect pawn of Lucifer and I’d say she’s the most like him of the demons we meet. She also uses trust, blood and a loved one as an avatar of herself to get what she wants. She plays the long game pretty well and just like Lucifer, technically targets individual people by offering them power and a means to an end. Her end was with Lilith’s, the final seal to open Lucifer’s cage.
Means to an end
There’s a lot of talk or at least parallels to the idea of “a means to an end” with Ruby or the lives of innocence against the lives of the few as the catalysts. The name of 3.12; Jus in Bello, even basically translates to the humanitarian law of preventing as much suffering as possible. It is sort of a question of “What is the measure of suffering and innocence in times of war” This idea gets pulled directly into 5.01 with Dean basically asking that question entirely to Zachariah. In 3.12, the question is posed to Dean and Sam by Ruby with a similar situation. Zachariah’s method of winning the war stands as another answer to this question: with the idea that sacrifice is necessary. 3.12 is in a lot of ways, a test for season 5. In fact, a lot of season 3 is. It’s the setup for the war arc, it’s the gun that we’re shown. We’re reminded of in season 4 and is fired in season 5. In some ways, it’s setting up the audience for the Winchester’s answer to this question in season 5: the innocents are everything. 3.12 is like a microcausan and a confirmation of the Winchester’s stance before the real test begins. Even with the death of the PD, we still know the ultimate answer.
Wardings
Both these episodes also containing wardings that are new to the series as far as I know. I don’t remember the little pendants anytime before or since. The rib sigil sticks around though. Speaking of the pendants: Why don’t they give these to every person they ever encounter when demons are involved? Oh yeah, that’s why we don’t see them again. Watching 3.12 and seeing the convenient pendants and then seeing inexplicably unwarded-ass Bobby getting possessed in 5.01 was awkward to say the least. How is Bobby not warded? Was his tattoo burned or cut off? The wardings and rules in this show get so muddled sometimes.
Henriksen
Henriksen kind of reminded me of Bobby actually and a lot of Dean as well. He somehow gave me a vibe of Dean finding a similar outlet regardless of whether he was a hunter which made me think of his apparent dissatisfaction with his life with Ben and Lisa later. He mostly reminded me of Bobby in the context of the episode comparison though. A veteran of their field being possessed by a demon on their home turf and suffering for it. Henriksen is also what happens when you combine Somerset and Mills from Se7en into one dude. This is why they aren’t one dude. I like Henriksen and he works here but that movie would would not have worked the same way with one character instead of two. I believe a similar reason is a step in the decision to make Dean and Sam separate people. The dynamic of the show and how we are given plot would be so much different if Sam and Dean were a single person.(despite how deuteragonists work) The show needs that dual dynamic to function how it does and not just from a characterization standpoint.
Some parallels between Zachariah and Ruby:
And now we come back to Zachariah. The scene in 5.01 where he shows up and confronts Dean and Sam in the storage unit mirrors the scene where Ruby comes to convince everyone to sacrifice Nancy in 3.12. Demons are destroyed, the possibility of innocent deaths on the table and individual lives at stake. Again, Dean denies the sacrifice. Both scenes are very manipulative with Zachariah operating in an actively antagonistic(sexually assault coded) way and Ruby playing the long game. Sex and trust are also in her arsenal with Sam. She’s relying on her relationship with Sam to keep him on her side. Both lay out how it’s gonna be, both lay out the order of things and their bargain. These two scenes culminate the main tension of the episode. We know Nick will accept Lucifer’s offer, they wouldn’t bother with the setup if he didn’t. The scenes with Zachariah and Ruby are the “debates” they are the main conflict for the characters and the A-Plot. I find it interesting that the scene in 3.12 ends with them deciding on a different path and Castiel “captain flip the script” shows up to end the 5.01 scene. Both offer an impossible situation with lots of casualties. One succeeds on delivering them, one fails mostly. Both decided no to sacrifice. The 3.12 one probably really fed the seed of them being toxic to them. Poor guys.
BMoL and Angels
Part of these two episodes present a lot of similarities between each other and the Men of Letters. The eps and BMoL involve instances of a designated law enforcement (the police/FBI and The Host) deciding on how to deal with the Winchesters and how they operate. In all cases, they also seem to have false information involving them. 3.12 and 12.01 even show similar charts with false information on them. There have been several instances of the Host being confused by the operation methods of Cas and the Winchesters and wanting to “set that right” by whatever means they deem necessary.
Bonus notes:
If you squint you can see all of the “Don’t” on the cell wall (No spitting, No shouting, No smoking) demonstrated by possessed Agent Steven. He shoots Dean to spit Dean’s blood(on the sign no less in case you needed convincing), he shouts when expelling the demon, it smokes out.
Who the hell is Molly Baker? The camera focuses on her Wanted Poster in 3.12 a few times and it’s weird.
#great meta scavenger hunt#sort of#late work in#5.01#3.12#eh its ok#spn meta#my meta#characterization#character parallels#episode parallels#spn parallels#character comparisons#setups#a-plot setups#supernatural meta#dean winchester#sam winchester#lucifer spn#ruby spn#nick spn#Nancy Fitzgerald#bad at titles#winchester brothers
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