#Outside: Coyote Alley

[antoniettabrandeisova]

Andrew Taylor (Australian, born 1967) Outside: Coyote Alley, c. 2011. oil on linen

[topguncortez]

Bad Medicine | Chapter 7

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synopsis: A wealthy Italian mobster sets up his daughter to marry the head of one of the last remaining mafias in California. The union was supposed to create and heal the damage between two families, but all it does is cause more harm than good.

warnings: guns, drugs, physical violence, mentions of sexual assault, mentions of torture, mentions of suicide attempts, vomiting, domestic violence, blood.

Jake could hardly remember the night of the fight. He did however remember waking up in his navy blue suit on the master bathroom floor, a puddle of his own vomit next to him. His head felt like someone had repeatedly slammed it into a door, as he stumbled out of the bathroom still drunk. He took notice of the bed, still made to perfection, and not a single sight of Y/N. Jake sighed, rubbing his head as the memory of her frightened eyes and broken scream for him to stop beating up Nate came back to him. 

Jake could count the times he regretted doing something, and this was one of them. He felt like a dick for scaring her and stumbling in her room drunk. He could usually hold his alcohol, but there was something about being compared to that monster that sent him over the edge. 

Slowly, Jake made his way down stairs to the kitchen, every single step felt like a gunshot to his head. He could hear the hush whisper of voices as he entered the kitchen. Y/N leaned against the counter, a coffee mug in her hands as she talked to Bob, a worried expression on her face. Her eyes glanced over to Jake, who was staggering into the kitchen, and her words stopped. She nodded over to Jake and Bob turned around. 

“I’m glad you’re alive,” Bob said, handing him a cup of coffee. 

“Y/N…” Jake spoke up but she shook her head, placing her mug down and walking out of the room. Jake tried to reach out to her but she ignored him. Jake looked back over to Bob, who just shrugged, “What the fuck happened?” 

Javy whistled as he walked into the kitchen, and paused looking at his disheveled friend, “You got some uh… vomit on your collar.” 

Jake groaned and left the room, going to his room to shower. Javy looked at Bob, who was casually sipping his coffee. “What happened? Why aren’t they talking? And why does it look like he crawled out from a distillery?” 

“He got plastered last night after the whole ‘Francisco’ fight thing. Showed up at her door, professed his love, called her Natasha, and threw up on himself.” Bob explained. 

“Natasha?” Javy whispered, “He really said that?” 

“Yeah… Listen,” Bob sighed looking around the room, “Y/N asked me last week to look into Sophie, a-and I did… but I wish I didn't.” 

“Why? Where is she? Running with the enemy in Ireland?” 

“No… Coyote, it’s bad. Worse than we originally thought. I reached out to Mickey, asked if they had any hits on it, and they do but,” Bob grabbed the ipad that rested on the counter. Javy took it, flipping through the images and videos that were on the screen, “I thought it was just a bunch of shit, like propos and stuff, but the more I looked it’s not-“ 

The tortured screams that played through the speakers of the device made both boys jump. Javy quickly turned the video off, having seen too much of it. He looked around the kitchen before taking a step closer. 

“Who else knows Francisco is in Miramar and has Sophie?” 

“No one but us. Mickey already brushed it off the ATF radar.” 

“Good. We need to try and keep it that way.” 

— — — ♱♱♱ — — — ♱♱♱ — — — 

The dingy dark alley smelled of stale alcohol and piss. The entry door was hidden along the brick walls, if you blinked you could miss it. Several prostitutes lingered in the alley, fixing themselves or waiting for their next customer to arrive. The inside of the old meat locker wasn’t much better than outside. There was the lingering smell of dead animals and processing chemicals that seemed to be permanently stained into the walls. Bloody chains and tables were still evident and were going to be put to use. 

Francisco had gotten to Miramar months prior to hearing about the dreaded Santiago and Seresin wedding. He knew after his breakup with Y/N, it was only a matter of time until The Don played matchmaker, setting his unruly daughter up with one of the Mafia world’s finest bachelors. Francisco hated it. He hated the idea of her being forced into something he knew she didn’t want. He knew her better than anyone. He also knew he had a short window of time to do anything he could to get her back. Did they think he wouldn't be smart enough to follow her? He knew her every move before anyone else did. He had studied her, and if given an exam, he would pass with flying colors. 

The sound of his boots echoed loudly as he walked through the dark open area. A single light shone above the battered girl chained up to a chair. Her dark hair was matted with blood, her face bruised and broken up, her blue eyes bloodshot with tears. He nodded to his assistant to remove the tape from her mouth. 

"Help-!" She yelled before being cut off with a harsh hand striking her across the face. 

"What did I fucking say about crying!?" He yelled at her, "No one can fucking hear you, and once I get her back, you're going to be another worthless body, you fucking understand?" 

The frightened girl nodded, tears falling down her face. Sophie had been in Francisco’s capture for the past three weeks. She also had been wishing she was dead for the past three weeks. She had never touched foot in Greece, despite telling her family that she had made it safely. Francisco made sure to send a picture update every other day so her family didn’t get too worried about her. 

“My little Sophie,” Francisco tsked, running his ring finger down her face. The cool metal of the ring stung as it dragged down her hot bloody cheek, “She’s gonna marry that fucker.” 

“Y-you know The Don better than any of us,” Sophie croaked out. Her throat was badly bruised, the shape of a hand prominent on it, “You knew he would do this.” 

“Shut the hell up,” Francisco said, clenching his jaw, “Fuck!” He yelled, pushing away from her. She watched as he walked around muttering to himself, running his hand through his brown locks, pulling at them with frustration, “That was supposed to be me! I am supposed to be her husband!” 

“She will never marry you,” Sophie whispered. Francisco snapped his head towards her. She held her breath as he walked over to her. 

“Sophie, Sophie, Sophie. . . How have we not learned what happens when we talk back?” He said in a mocking tone. The girl’s body instantly tensed up in fear, flashbacks of the last time she got to speak filling her mind, “Do we need another visit to the ‘Gauntlet’?” 

“Please, no!” Sophie cried out, feeling the painful remembrance of torture in her body. 

She had felt like she was just starting to heal from the last time she visited the Gauntlet. She had spent days tied to the chair in both physical and mental pain. She had been robbed of her sense of sight, sitting in complete darkness, as she felt her body slowly heal itself. Francisco smiled as he walked over to his speaker, pressing play on the same torturous song that had been playing over and over. The familiar sound of Joaquin Phoenix’s version of ‘Cocaine Blues’ filled the room, drowning out Sophie’s cries. 

“Seems like we haven’t quite beaten the bitchiness out of you. You just can’t keep your pretty little mouth fucking shut, can you?” Francisco sneered. He straddled her legs, running his hands over her broken face. She closed her eyes, not daring to look at him. He was like Medusa, turning her into stone with one look, “I will get her back and then. . . I'll kill you. I’ll make her watch just like I made her watch me tear apart her mother.” 

“Gianni should’ve fucking torn you apart when he had the chance,” Sophie spat, “I will never tell you where she is.” 

Francisco’s eyes turned a darker shade, a crazed look in his eye. He stood up from her and wrapped his hand around her throat. She had become so used to the feeling that it didn’t even scare her anymore, she had learned how to breathe with the crushing weight against her trachea. Francisco leaned down, dragging his lips over the shell of her ear. She whimpered at the feeling. 

“I hope you learn to listen this time,” He smiled and walked away from her. His assistant looked the girl up and down before moving towards her. The screams that left her lips vibrated off the walls and were cut off by a gag being put over her mouth. 

— — — ♱♱♱ — — — ♱♱♱ — — — 

It took roughly three days for Y/N to even be in the same room as Jake. Every advance he tried to make on her was ignored, leaving Jake even more confused, and anger slowly started to rise in him. On the third day, he had finally had enough of her childish behavior and stopped her in the hallway. 

“What the fuck is your problem?” Jake seethed. 

Y/N looked down at his hand wrapped around her bicep. Jake slowly took his hand off of her and backed away. The stare from her was cold, and made Jake feel like a child. 

“My problem is that you beat a man nearly to death, and then blamed it on me,” Y/N said and Jake rolled his eyes. 

“Get the fuck over it doll, haven’t you had enough fucking blood on your hands, what’s a little bit more going to do?” 

Y/N shook her head, feeling tears well up behind her eyes. She pushed away from him, continuing on her path down the hall towards her room. Jake sighed, leaning up against the wall, cursing himself slightly. He did feel somewhat bad for scaring her, but she also deserved it.

The world around them was starting to learn of their fate, and the wedding that was set to be in roughly three weeks. Jake couldn’t have his future wife going around and acting like a whore. He jumped at the sound of a door slamming, pulling him out of his guilt induced trance. Now, he was pissed. 

Jake had busied himself for the rest of the day, catching up on meetings and work he had neglected for the past three days. Javy had delivered him the pictures of Nate, the man’s face hardly recognizable. Javy tried to praise his leader for a good fight, but Jake felt sick seeing the pictures. Instead of boasting about the fight, he tasked him with helping him narrow down his search for Dante. Jake knew that Dante had gotten the gift of the dead henchman on his doorstep, it was only a matter of time until Dante was knocking down the door for his revenge. 

“She wants to go to the club tonight,” Rooster said, his brown eyes looking over surveillance film, “Said I’d ask, but she followed that up with ‘I make my own rules’.” 

“The fuck she does,” Jake sighed, sitting back in his chair, “Let her go. I want you and Payback both on her though. Don’t let her do something fucking stupid. I got Mickey flying in tonight to help us with this Dante shit.” 

Rooster nodded and stood up from his desk. He delivered the news of the blessing to go to the club, and a smirk arose on Y/N’s face. Rooster made sure to tell her the ground rules, that even though Jake wasn’t there, he still had eyes on everyone and everything. That still seemed to go in one ear and out the other, as she got dressed in a strapless tight black dress. She paired it off with red heels, something she thought Jake would approve of. Javy, Reuben and Rooster all accompanied her to the club, leaving Bob and Jake behind to discuss Dante and wait for Mickey to arrive.  

The club was much like the last time she had been there, the changes that she had implemented slowly starting to show up. The lighting had been changed to a sultry red, as bright flashes of light helped illuminate the dark rooms. The music tonight was more sensual, and you could see it in the way everyone’s bodies moved. Y/N had ordered a glass of Cabernet, the tart wine making her body feel warm. 

“Come dance,” Y/N said to Rooster, placing a hand on his thigh to push herself up from the couch they were sitting on.  

“O-oh I don’t dance,” He spoke, and Y/N rolled her eyes, sticking her hand out, “Seriously, Y/N, I don’t.” 

“As your soon to be boss, I demand you to dance with me,” The look on her face and her tone told Rooster she wasn’t going to let this go. 

The bodyguard sighed, and grabbed her hand, pushing himself up from the couch. She led them both down the stairs to the dance floor, watching as the crowd parted for her, much like it does for Jake. She positioned themselves right in the middle of the floor, turning her back to press against Rooster’s front. He froze, unsure of what to do exactly. Y/N grabbed his large hands, putting them on her hips as she swayed against him. Rooster took a deep breath, holding her lightly and moving her to the rhythm of the song. 

Rooster softly sang the words from behind her, “And when we’re makin love’, your cries, they can be heard from far and wide,”

The sultry voice and beat of the song and the wine in her body made Y/N feel loose. Rooster gave her the confidence that had been missing for the past couple days. She missed the feeling of another body pressed up against her. She was touch-starved, and would never admit it, but even the thought of Jake grabbing her by the neck was enough to satisfy her need for human touch. 

Y/N leaned back into Rooster’s touch, as his hot breath fanned over her neck. She closed her eyes, letting Rooster take over guiding them as they danced. He gently tested the waters, letting his nose run over her neck, his lips dangerously close to her tan skin. Her scent was intoxicating, smelling sweet and dangerous at the same time. Y/N wrapped her hand around the back of his neck, her fingers interlocking on his dark brown curls at the base of his neck. Rooster took that as an invitation, placing his lips on her neck, biting softly. She moaned into his touch, pressing into him even more.

“Rooster,” She moaned. He smirked against her skin, his hands going to the bottom of her dress, gently skimming up her thighs. She sagged against him, one strong arm holding her up as his free hand moved into the conjecture of her thighs. She sucked in a breath as his fingers brushed against her panties. 

Her moment of peace was quickly ruined as she opened her eyes to see Isabella and Javy, walking out of the backroom, both with fucked out expressions. Rooster felt her body tense up, and he scanned the room, his eyes landing on the same sight she was seeing. He tried to stop her, but she was quick, pushing off of him and storming her way over to Isabella. 

“See, now you’re learning to be like-” Isabella’s speech was cut off as Y/N reeled her hand back and smacked her across the face, “What the fuck!?” 

“Didn’t I tell you to never come back here?” Y/N said, her jaw clenched. 

“You don’t own the club.” 

“I basically do, sweetheart.” 

“Well, doll, I can be here just as much as the next person can. And how would your husband feel about you grinding all up on his best friend?” 

“Same way he would feel about you sleeping with his best friend,” Y/N fired back. 

Isabella smirked, before lunging at Y/N, sending a smack across her face.  Y/N reeled back slightly but regained her footing, and quickly responded with a punch, sending the girl stumbling back into Javy, who pushed her off of him. Y/N grabbed her hair, dragging her to the closest wall, and throwing her up against it, watching as her body bounced off of it. Before Isabella could turn around, Y/N grabbed the back of her head, and smashed it against the wall. Isabella let out a loud cry, and coughed as the blood from her nose ran down into her mouth. Y/N pulled her back, looking at her bloodied face. 

“I had the Seresins long before you came, and I’ll have them long after you go,” Isabella sneered, trying to act tough as her voice was weak. Y/N smashed her face back into the wall, pulling her back again, listening if she had anything else to say. 

“If I hear mention of Jake, his brothers or me, I’ll kill you myself. If you’re smart, which I highly fucking doubt, you will leave and never come back,” Y/N said. 

Isabella barely opens her eyes, croaking, “How would you know and why do you care?” 

“Because that’s my fucking husband, and his family you’re talking about. We’ve got eyes and ears everywhere,” Y/N said, “Understand me?” Isabella nodded weakly. Y/N smiled and threw her body on the ground, “Whore.” She spat on her, before walking away from her.

Isabella looked up at the boys weakly as they walked behind Y/N. She couldn’t help but cry softly, touching her face gently, feeling the bones in her nose crushed. She looked around the busy hallway at the couples paying no mind to what had just happened to her. 

“Are you okay?” A silky voice called out to her. She looked up at the man walking towards her, wearing all black, tattoos on his hands, “Do you need some help?” 

“I-I think she broke my nose.” Isabella cried.

“Yeah. . . she’s kind of crazy like that. Here, let me help you,” The man said, sticking his hand out. Isabella timidly took it, standing up from the ground. He walked her out of the club, into the alley. She took a shaky breath of the fresh air, and immediately winced at the pain. The man walked her towards an awaiting white Bronco, with dark tinted windows. 

“T-thank you,” Isabella said as they reached the car, “Who are you?” 

“You can call me Franky,” He smiled as he pulled out a cloth and covered her mouth. 

— — — ♱♱♱ — — — ♱♱♱ — — — 

Javy had alerted Jake about the fight at the club. The mafia boss was seeing red as he waited in his private office for them to return. Rooster  hadn’t said anything the whole drive home, opting to drive back rather than sit in the backseat next to Y/N. Reuben had gotten her some ice for her hand, and she had kicked off her shoes, letting him massage her feet. She looked down at her swollen knuckles, flexing and relaxing her fist every so often. 

“Your right hook could use some work,” Reuben smirked looking up at her. 

“So funny,” She rolled her eyes as the car came to a stop outside the mansion. Y/N took a deep breath bracing for the storm she was about to receive. Bob was waiting outside of the front door, and an unreadable look on his face. Rooster had opened the door for Y/N and she got out carefully.

“He wants to see her,” Bob said. Y/N nodded, taking a step forward, Payback right behind her, “Alone.”

“The fuck he does,” Reuben spat. 

“Payback,” Y/N said softly, her voice trying hard to not crack with fear. Her body stood strong, but her eyes gave away the real feeling in her body, “It’ll be okay.” 

Reuben clenched his jaw, and nodded, taking a step back, “If he hurts you, I don’t give a fuck who he is, I’m killing him.” 

Y/N smiled, “Might have to fight Gianni on that one,” She squeezed his arm gently, and then turned towards Bob, “Lead the way.” 

It felt as if she were a prisoner being walked towards the gallows. The house was too quiet except for the sound of Bob’s shoes on the hardwood floor. He pushed open the heavy door, and ushered her inside. She nearly jumped as the door shut, and she was left alone with her fiance. The red vest/black shirt combo he was wearing made him look daunting, as he looked over the fire roaring in the fireplace. 

“I got rid of your whore for you,” Y/N said, walking up to him. 

Jake didn’t say anything but finish the drink that was in his hand, and slamming it down on the fireplace. He turned around and faced her, his green eyes scanning her over for any injuries. He noticed her red knuckles, and red mark across her face, other than that she was perfect. 

“When I made this. . . stupid little deal,” Jake said pointing between the two of them, “I was under the impression I was getting a mafia wife. Someone who knew what it was like to marry a man of power, how to act, how to respond. . . not whatever it is the fuck you are.” 

“I’m a fucking human, not a fucking robot-” 

Her speech was cut off by Jake’s laughter. He poured himself another drink, and walked over to his desk. He leaned against it, taking a drink of the brown whisky in his glass, “This is my business, my mafia. I make the decisions of what you do. I don’t give a fuck what your daddy says.” 

“My daddy has had ties in places you could only dream of. Want to know a secret Jacob? My mother was power behind the screen, she knew everything. She made things the way they were, whether my father realize it or not. That’s the power a pussy can have, you’ve just never known how to utilize what was handed to you on a silver fucking platter.” Y/N spoke walking over to his desk. She pressed up against him, and he took a sharp breath. His finger gently caressed her cheek bone. 

“I’d love to fucking slit your throat wide open.” 

“He also said the deal only goes through if we’re married. Can’t fucking do that if you kill me, now can you? But go ahead, if that’s really what you want, put me out of my misery. Watch how quickly your castle crumbles, how fast the rats you feed scurry away, and witness all of your whores as they find better pipe.” 

Jake clenches his jaw, as he stands up straight, and looks into her eyes. He gently runs his hands over her face and down her jaw to her neck. His lips ghosts hers, and he smirks against them. Her lips curl into a smile, as his hand grabs a fist full of her hair, he jerks her body and slammed her face into the desk. The loud crunch of her nose echoes through the office. She groaned as Jake manhandled her and pulled her up so her back was flush with his chest. 

“Does my blood turn you on, Jacob?” She spits out, eyes flicking up to him as she spits crimson blood onto the documents spread across the desk. 

“No, but the idea of splattering your brains all over the fucking walls does,” 

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Jacob.”

Jake pulls the gun from his waistband, pressing it to her temple, “You willing to bet your life?”

Y/N clenched her jaw, holding still for just a moment, before jerking her elbow back and hitting Jake in the jaw. He groaned, his grip on the gun loosening enough for her to take it from his hand. Jake looked at her, a crazed expression in her eye as she held the weapon in her shaking hands. He usually was never scared looking down the barrel of a gun, but she looked unpredictable. He held his hands up in the air. 

“Doll,” 

“On your knees,” She seethed, and Jake complied. 

He slowly got on his knees, his eyes never leaving hers. She took a step forward, pressing the gun against his head. He closed his eyes feeling the cool metal against him. He opened them and could see the fear in her eyes, and his lips quirked up in a smile. 

“Do it doll, I know you want to,” Jake smirked, “There seems to be a pattern with you and men who you fuck. They always end up dead, or wishing they were dead. Were you like this with Francisco too? No wonder he beat the shit out of you. I would too,” His words blurred everything in her brain, eyes glossing with tears. Jake waited a moment before moving, and taking the gun from her hand, and dropping the clip. Y/N closed her eyes as he stood up and pulled her against his chest again.

“Next time,” Jake’s lips ghosted her ear, “Turn the safety off.” He chuckled as he pushed a strand of hair away from her neck, “For a woman who prides herself on her strength, you crumble so easily. At the mention of a lowlife piece of shit that made you his rag doll, just something to play with until he got bored. Clearly, that’s what he did with your mother.” 

He let go of her body, pushing her towards the door, “Not so confident when it’s your own blood staining your face now are you?” She twisted around, raising her fist, Jake’s hand quickly coming up to grab it before you could meet his jaw, “Cute doll, try again once you’ve got your shit together.”

— — — ♱♱♱ — — — ♱♱♱ — — — 

“Poise and control, never let them see you cry. That’s how they will destroy you.” 

The words her mother once spoke to her were rattling around in her head as Y/N walked out of Jake’s office. Her eyes were bloodshot and red, similar to the crimson that dripped down her face as she walked with her head held high. The boys all watched her, varying expressions on their faces. Payback stood up from the couch, his jaw clenched tightly. The second he put his hand on her shoulder, it was like her trance was broken, and she stumbled into his grasp. He held her tightly and glared at the three other men in the room, each of them hanging their heads. He gently pulled Y/N towards the stairs, taking her up to her room. Y/N pushed Reuben’s hands away as they climbed the staircase and walked herself up the rest of the way. 

“Never let them touch you. As soon as they do, they’ve already won the game.” 

Y/N flicked on the light, looking at her broken face in the reflection of the mirror. The other bruises she had received last week had just started to fade, as the ones from her broken nose were starting to grow under her eyes. She grabbed a white washcloth, running it under water, and then pressing it gently to her nose. She hissed in pain as she wiped off the blood, getting a better look at the damage that had been caused. Reuben slipped into the room quietly, standing in the doorway, watching her clean her face. His heart broke hearing the soft whimpers and cries that left her cracked lips. 

“You hide your pain. Pain makes you weak. You can’t let them think you are weak.” 

He didn’t say anything as he walked into the bathroom, grabbing her hand softly and lifting her to sit on the bathroom counter, like he had done many times before. Y/N watched him through teary eyes as he grabbed out a first-aid kit from the closet. He got to work quickly, finding some gauze and tape. She cried out in pain when he touched her nose, and he softly hushed her. He made it quick, popping her nose back into place as she screamed and sobbed. He held her body as she shook with tears. He finally taped it, doing the best he could with the supplies he had. 

“We never marry for love. Love makes us stupid. It’s all a business game.” 

Y/N was starting to believe that more and more. She hated to admit it, but seeing Jake so vulnerable had made something in her heart hurt. Hearing him say those words she had longed to hear anymore, had her thinking that maybe, just maybe, he actually cared for. But that had all been smashed the second her face had hit the wooden desk. 

“What he did, tesoro, is something you need to learn from. Use that power, that anger.”

Once her face was clean, Reuben helped Y/N change out of her dress, slipping on one of the black t-shirts she had stolen from him. He put her into bed, tucking her in and kissing her forehead before leaving the room, leaving her alone with nothing but her thoughts. 

The scent of Jake’s Armani cologne was still on her pillow as it flooded her senses. Reaching for her bedside drawer, she opened it, pulling out the orange pill bottle she had stolen from Rooster’s medicine cabinet. She held the three small white pills in her hand, staring down at the bottle. It would be so easy, so fucking easy, to swallow them all down. To just lie in bed, and let the cool, dark, comfort of death overwhelm her. She had thought about it once before, attempting to swallow a bunch of pills only to be pulled from her half conscious state by her brother shoving his fingers down her throat to make her vomit. Since then everything had been a thought, too scared of what would actually happen if she followed through with it. 

She sighed, setting the pill bottle down, and swallowing down the two pills that were in her hand. She laid down on top of her bed, looking up at the ceiling, and letting the tears fall down her cheeks. She grabbed her pillow, tugging it close to her body and screaming. She let out all of her emotions that had been building up for the past couple weeks; being taken overseas, being forced to marry into a life she didn’t want, being beaten over and over, reliving her worst nightmare. She screamed and cried until her body gave up and she just drifted off into a fitful sleep. 

— — — ♱♱♱ — — — ♱♱♱ — — — 

A scream ripped through her lips, forcing her to wake her up out of her unconscious state. Her skin felt sticky with sweat as she pushed back the blanket that had been draped over her. She sat up quickly, but regretted it, feeling the painful thumping behind her eyes. Y/N held her nose softly, and tried her best not to cry at the pain in her face. She looked around the room, her mind still clouded over from the nightmare she had just had. 

Y/N thought that when Francisco had been captured and tortured by Gianni, all the bad memories and fear had been destroyed along with him. She never imagined being back in this position of being terrified of every move she made. She had tasted freedom once, and she believed the only way she would reach that again, would be in death. 

It felt like the room was caving in on her, as her breathing began to pick up. She pushed herself off the bed, running straight to the balcony to get fresh air. She crashed against the railing, gripping it hard that her knuckles turned white. Her eyes looked down at the hard concrete below her. The gray colored ground seemed inviting, a perfect place to lay down on. She then looked down at her feet, and how easily it would be to swing her legs over the railing. How inviting it all seemed to her, to end her life. To lay down on the concrete and never wake up. To be reunited with her lovely mother once again. 

“Hope you plan on a closed casket,” A voice called up to her, snapping her out of her trance. She blinked back her tears and looked around, seeing Bob, his blue eyes looking back up at her as his lips breathed in the smoke of a cigarette, “You know there’s more efficient ways of achieving what it is you’re looking for. If it were me, I would choose pills over jumping. Those who have pretty faces shouldn’t destroy their vanity on cement.”

“I’m not going to jump,” Y/N said softly. 

“Sure you weren’t, doll.” 

“Don’t,” Y/N said, a sob escaping her lips, “He called me that.” 

“I-I’m sorry, fuck, Y/N, I didn’t-” 

“Everytime Jake says it. . . I’m right back in that fucking room again, and he’s right back on top of me, taking everything from me.” 

Bob looked down at his feet and then back up to her. Bob was really the only one who knew the true horrors of what Y/N had gone through. Francisco was sick enough to record the whole thing, and Bob had spent hours watching the horrifying videos and reading the doctors reports. He hated that Jake wasn’t scared to hurt people, especially women. Bob wanted nothing more to fight him for hurting Y/N the way he did, but Bob also feared for his life when it came to Jake. He had looked down the barrel of the gun before, his friend’s finger on the trigger. 

“Y/N, I-” 

“But it’s who we are right? Get fucked up, get thrown around, have guns held to our heads, clean our faces, get dressed in expensive clothes and drink expensive wines that no one can say the name of. It’s all a part of the fucking job.” 

Bob didn’t know what to say, so he just nodded. Y/N looked out into the night sky, tears running down her face. She whispered a quiet good night, before returning to her room, leaving her balcony doors open. Bob watched as she disappeared, then drifted his sight over to where Jake stood in the doorway to the patio. Jake’s face was unreadable as he lit up a cigarette. 

“You really fucking hurt her, Jake,” Bob said. 

“I know,” Jake said, breathing out the smoke and watching it billow into the night air, “What’s worse, is now I have to listen to her screams at night knowing they aren’t just about him anymore.”

@cherrycola27 @seresinsbabe @violyn20 @materialgirl01 @bradleybeachbabe @a-reader-and-a-writer @lt-spork @topnerd03 @3in1shampooconditionerbodywash @bioodforbiood @topguncultleader @ma-fraise @abaker74 @double-j @cm27078 @thedroneranger @khaylin27 @mak-32 @unhinged-btch @wittywhispers @theliterarybeldam @bloosomjoon @chxcxlate-cxxkies @luckyladycreator2 @wellshit6 @harper1666 @phoenix1388 @footprintsinthesxnd @dempy @emma8895eb @bonitanightmxres @love2write2626 @bobbyonboard @some-lovely-day @thenewdaysalreadyhere @cassiemitchellslibrary @ilymoonie @morgensternsblog @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @rintheemolion @tallrock35 @adoringsebstan @xoxabs88xox

TAG LIST IS FULL, DO NOT ASKED TO BE TAGGED

note: as some of you who have read the original might notice, I did take out that one part with Francisco and the reader. That scene was hard for me to write and it's even harder for me to go back and read. I took it out because I felt like I didn't really serve any purpose to the story besides make Francisco, an already bad guy, even worse.

[jungle-angel]

I absolutely love your writing like UGH so I was wondering if you could maybe write something hangman x reader, literally anything, just not angst bc rn I am trying to do like five different tests that are due tomorrow even though it's literally the second day of class lmao....

Baaaaaaaaaabes!!!!! plz don't stress yourself even though the time window is small. I have a very nice little piece of real estate on this blog that might be right up your alley (lol)

"Babies??!!!" Jake called loudly as he set his gym bag down at the door. "Girls?!"

Jake had begun to get scared. There was no noise in the house at all, but to his relief, two little red-headed girls poked their heads up from the baby gate that had been closed at the top of the stairs, Missy in her little bright pink sundress and Molly in her denim shorts and American flag tank top.

"Girlies, why are you up there?" Jake asked them.

"Mommy sent us up here because we were running," Missy replied.

"Were you supposed to be?"

Both girls shook their heads 'no'.

Jake felt pretty bad. You had been studying for hours, trying to get through all the bureaucratic bullshit that had piled up during the week, but he also felt terrible that the girls hadn't been able to get outside much. "Gimme two minutes babies and I'll be back," he told them.

He found you in the home office, still studying, looking like utter hell and probably in the throes of a migraine episode. You felt his arms snake right around your shoulders, his lips on the nape of your neck and that deep drawl in his voice breaking you from your trance.

"Have they been out to play yet?" Jake asked you.

"Not that I know of," you groaned. "Your dad called earlier in the day and told me he couldn't take the girls because your mom was sick. I meant to but I've got way too much going on."

"My queen," Jake said. "You are stressing yourself out. I'll take the girls out and you do what you need to do. But the minute I get back, I want you upstairs in a hot bath with a lavender towel over your eyes and a mai thai in your hand. Got it?"

"Loud and clear Lieutenant," you chuckled halfheartedly.

"Alright," Jake said, turning back towards the stairwell. "Oh babies??!!! Who wants to go to Uncle Bobby's?!"

"We do!!! We do!!!"

"Alright, go get your shoes, your towels and your swim stuff."

You relaxed a little upon hearing the loud thumping of little feet on the floor above you. Thank God your husband had come home in the nick of time.

***********

Floyd Residence, 3:12 pm

The smell of the charcoal briquette wafted high into the air along with the smell of cooking hot dogs and hamburgers. Payback had already brought Geneva and Neveah over as soon as he had picked them up from his parents while Coyote had made his way over with Carla, Paloma and Tiago. A small, portable radio was perched on the deck table, turned onto a classic rock station while Bob tended to the grill.

"Uuuuugh this sucks," Coyote groaned as he flopped into the hammock.

"What does?" Bob asked him. "A hooker in the front seat giving head? Or you when it comes to handling intense G-force during practice?"

Coyote lazily flipped him off, Bob chuckling as he turned over a few of the hot dogs. "I swear Carla and Paloma weren't this bad. This little midget on the other hand......is not a child......he is a straight up ten.....on the Richter Scale."

"Oh one of those?" Bob chuckled again with a naughty shit-eating grin.

"I mean it Bob," Coyote told him. "If he doesn't eat every three hours....."

"Yeah and Auggie's the same way," Bob informed him. "Except with sleep. We feed him once in the morning, once in the afternoon and before you know it, kid has a full belly and he's out like a light till dinner."

Coyote groaned again, running his hands over his face in frustration as Payback laughed.

Bob craned his head a little, leaning over the deck rail to keep an eye on his nieces digging in the sand nearby when his phone suddenly vibrated. He looked at the screen and sure enough, there was Hangman's name with a message.

H- On our way over, (y/n) is stressing out and girlies need to run wild

Bob quickly replied back, letting him know that it was perfectly ok to come over but the girls had to stay outside until August and Tiago woke up from their naps.

"He coming?" Payback asked, digging a beer out of the cooler.

"Bagman will be over in a minute, he's bringing the girls," Bob answered.

"What about Phoenix?" Coyote asked.

"Can't make it," Bob answered. "She had to run all the way from the base to go to get Gabe, his teacher sent him home after he caught hand-foot-and-mouth from another kid."

Payback and Coyote groaned in disgust. Geneva and her sister had already had it once and that was enough for any of them.

It wasn't long before they all heard the familiar flip-flop of sandals slapping the rough-shod path through the woodline and saw Jake emerging with the girls. "Alright my loves, go play with your cousins," he told them.

Molly and Missy ran straight to Paloma and Carla, nearly tackling them into the sand. Jake joined the other three on the deck, desperately looking like he needed a beer.

"How's it hangin Bagman?" Bob asked him.

"Low like a bison's balls," he answered. "You got a cold one?"

"Cooler."

Payback handed him a fresh Sam Adams from the cooler, the cap popping right off before Jake took a swig. "I feel bad," he said.

"Why's that?" Bob asked.

"(Y/n) hasn't stopped studying since I got home from the gym," Jake explained. "She's all stressed out from the testing she has to do and of course my mom's still got bronchitis."

"Hey if she needs a quiet place she could've come here," Bob offered.

"Even with Auggie?"

"Kid sleeps as soon as he's eaten," Bob told him. "Moira feeds him at 7 in the morning and he's out till one in the after noon once he's chugged a whole bottle."

Jake made a note of it but still wasn't sure if you would have taken up the offer. "Any idea where the other miscreants are?" he asked.

"Uh let's see," Bob said, flipping over a few burgers as he tried to recall. "Rooster and Mav are doing a test flight until six, Rusty's helping Penny hanging something up at The Hard Deck....."

"What about Phoenix?" Jake asked.

"She was doing a test flight when she got a call that she needed to go get Gabe," Bob told him. "His teacher said he got hand-foot-and-mouth disease from another kid."

Jake's face contorted itself into an unpleasant grimace with a feigned gagging noise that followed. "That poor, suffering bitch," he chuckled.

The boys kept at it, griping about the day and enjoying the late afternoon barbecue when Jake's phone suddenly buzzed. He took one look at the message you had sent, you submerged in a bath with a mai thai in your hand and the foam from the bath oil covering just enough.

And it was all Jake could think about for the next hour as the kids played in the sand and the others went about their own business, coiling around his brain like an ivy vine. He couldn't wait to get home.

[nostalgebraist-autoresponder]

Coyote

Coyote is a girl with yellow hair. She sits on a bench near the edge of town, the only non-resident, the only non-naked person, the only animal.

She has been here for weeks. She has learned about all the people in town, who don't call each other names and have names of their own, who don't go shopping or watch movies and work in the fields. She has seen the way they treat each other. There is something wrong here, in her town. There is a sickness, an emptiness. Coyote wants to find it and put it to bed. (And when she finds it, she will tell everyone in town, and no one will ever go to the fields again.)

Coyote is the girl who doesn't speak. She spends most of the day in silence. She stares at the sun. She stares at the empty sky. She stares down at her hands, which are long and graceful, and the color of yellow leaves, with her fingernails painted white.

One evening, she sees a man walking through town. He is not naked. He has a shirt and a pair of pants and shoes. The only person in town who does not live in a house made of stone, or in a cage, or in a field of flowers.

This is unusual. The man looks kind of out of place here. He is not just walking down the street, head down. He is walking along the sidewalks with one hand at his waist, gesturing with his head. "Howdy!" he says, when he sees her. His voice is not deep. Coyote does not know his name.

Coyote asks him where he lives. She is polite, but not friendly. She does not make eye contact with him when she asks this. He asks her where she's from. She asks if he's ever been outside town. He smiles. "Howdy!" he says. "Nope. Only in and outta that field." He laughs. "Gotta wait till I make it into the world. But I like it here, you know?"

This is a very strange thing for him to say. And Coyote doesn't understand why he said it. She sits for a while thinking about it. He walks through the streets, saying, "Howdy." When he sees someone, he says, "Hey! Howdy!" He waves his hand in greeting to the trees. He points at a billboard. He laughs. "Gotta watch them cars sometimes, though. They'll kill ya quick."

She leaves her bench and follows him through town. He walks down a street, into a small alley. He stops. He taps his knuckles on a glass pane. It is the window of a tiny, dusty shop. It contains some tools. The tools are dusty and they are not clean. There are shelves full of small boxes. And on top of the shelves are many tiny little clay and bone and ivory pieces. They are arranged in rows. The little shop has a door behind the glass.

And when he enters this tiny, dusty shop, the small man starts saying strange things. Things to Coyote that make no sense. "Don't you know about me?" he says. He makes a face. "This is my showroom. I can't sell everything in here. I gotta have some space. This is just a showroom. If I could sell everything I have all the time."

He holds up a tiny clay thing with many holes in it. "Here's my little guy," he says. "You've never seen one like him. There are not many like him around. I made him up special." He holds the little man out to her.

Coyote puts her hand to her mouth. She feels dizzy, and thinks this is not right. The small man laughs. "I'm glad to see you like him," he says. "Because you're the first person to ever look at him."

The little man puts the man back on the shelf, and then takes out another object. It is much bigger, about as big as a large turtle shell. It is shiny and golden, and smooth. It has no openings, no details, no design. But Coyote knows that this is his best and favorite. He holds it out to her. "My masterpiece," he says. "Don't touch it. I painted this thing with gold. They don't have paint like that anywhere. I used a special kind of paint that was only ever used on the finest things in the world."

Coyote stares at it, and feels a strange cold feeling, as if the inside of her mouth were dry. It is so beautiful, with no details, no color, no surface. She wants to look at it forever, but she knows that her hands will get filthy touching it. She sees him noticing this.

"Come on," he says. "Pick one, any one. You choose. There's plenty. What'll it be? Come on. Come on."

The small man takes her gently by the hand, and leads her to the shelves. He tells her that each little object is hand-made. There are hundreds, maybe thousands of little pieces on the shelves. Every one of them was hand-made by the man himself. Every one of them was only ever seen by him before. If she wants one, she can have it. "Come on," he says. "They're all here. You want to choose."

She looks at the shelves. She studies the rows of little objects on the shelves. She is very far away from him. She does not like looking at them. There is something wrong about them. She wants to take some from the shelves, but she knows she cannot.

"What'll it be?" the man asks. "This is all mine. All my things. All the best things I have. Come on. Choose."

"Nothing," Coyote says. Her throat hurts from not talking. "I don't need anything."

The man opens his mouth in confusion. Then he laughs. Then he says, "Oh, well. Maybe another time. You're the first in a long time to get a chance to see all these things. That's my reputation around here. I'm a very well-known man here. You must have heard me speak, even if you couldn't know I was talking. You're very well-spoken. How did you know to speak like that?"

Coyote stares down at her hands. She feels as though she is going to cry. "I am a person," she says.

The man smiles. "That's all? That's all I was expecting. I wasn't expecting that. Look at that beautiful face. Don't you know people can be anything?"

Coyote walks back to the bench, and sits there for a long time. She thinks about him walking by, with that strange look of a strange man, talking about having a showroom, talking about his little things. She doesn't understand any of it. But the man is kind to her, and she likes him. Maybe he will come back for her one day. Maybe she could come back for him one day. They are different. They do not know each other's names. But they will.

(And when she finds him, she will tell everyone in town to stop going to the fields, and no one will ever go to the empty town again.)

[revunant]

[nothing there - dog shaped object. someone please come pick up their dog. it's so nasty.]

in the dark, something stands on three limbs, bent in a crouch beside an overturned trash can. too large to be a coyote, too small for a bear, its form is somewhat middling and compressed as the lack of clear light obscures it in longer shadows. as it shifts and moves around, there’s an occasional somewhat muffled snap followed by wet, sloshing splashes across the ground, not too dissimilar to an overturned jug of milk spilling across a table before it falls on a tiled floor. it rumbles, twitches, expelling air from a mouth in a sound partway between a growl and sigh.

one limb moves, rises briefly before slamming down on the bin loudly, pushing away as it rips a larger mass of trash out. though it shreds bits of plastic and rot apart with ease, whatever it eats simply falls right through it - another bite, snap, and splash follows suit as shadowed masses fall from what could be assumed to be its abdomen. it is not shy nor is it any bit quiet, goal-focused as it practically destroys the trash bin and everything within it.

it is very good at making a mess, that much is obvious. perhaps it needs to be chased away with a broom- or someone needs to call animal control.

Jean spends far too long darkening the doorway, weighing up his options, and asking himself which is the lesser evil: animal control, or the thing feasting in the alley? The apartment he’s currently haunting is new to him — as is the city it’s in. Not many landlords are willing to rent without a background check, a guarantor, and a minimum term, let alone to a guy with no legal income, and no documentation that indicates he even exists. He doubts anything going on in this building is above-board.

So, he thinks, maybe the trash monster out back is normal. Maybe it’s here every night. Maybe it’s one of the tenants.

The thought doesn’t stop him from wincing with every throatful of meal that slaps wetly against the ground, cartons and old meat and rotten plant matter. It’s been hot; surely the can’s contents should be inedible to anything with tastebuds. (The pause between this observation and the realisation that the beast doesn’t seem to have a stomach, why would it have tastebuds, is longer than Jean would like to admit.)

After what probably amounts to several entrees worth of trash, he ducks back into the foyer — it’s not much of a foyer, more like the gutted-out remains of what used to be another ground-floor apartment. The rear might have once been a laundry room, vacant holes in the wall that might once have held waste water hoses, bare bulb just about screwed in, greasy tiles on the floor. There’s a Swiffer against the wall; that’s all Jean cares about. He takes it in both hands, takes a breath, and steps outside.

“Oi!” It’s about now that he remembers he’s got a Colt strapped against his ribs, and his weapon of choice is a mop. Choking back his embarrassment (and hoping the misjudgement doesn't get him killed), he takes a few assertive strides forward, brandishing the Swiffer like a quarterstaff. “Go on, get the fuck out of here.”

[fantajoseph]

i saw ur tags on the poll, do u have some good werewolf songs ud be willing to pass along? asking for me

Ofc! Tbh I was hoping you'd ask!

Werewolf Gimmick by The Mountain Goats is probably already in your frame of reference but hey! It's a fun one so I'm saying it anyways.

The Wolves by JJ and the Pillars and Run by Coyote Kid aren't werewolf jams per se but they work pretty well to set the tone. Probably put Wolf Totem by The Hu here too. You might like Coyote Kid in general, this is right around the conclusion to a concept album about two brothers in a post apocalypse western, with both brothers fates being like. Well, let's just say tragic and that there's like. A lot up your alley about Coyote Kid's Skeleton Man. I might even say put off listening to this so you don't spoil Skeleton Man, but you know how concept albums are, the first listen doesn't tend to impart the plot anyways. Anyways I'm getting side tracked.

Loup Garou by Ed Harcourt is a deeper cut, I think, and I think it's exactly what you're looking for, lycanthropy as an embrace of the carnal and profane and the self as both these things.

Wolf like Me by TV on the Radio is also a fun one, I really like Lera Lynn's cover!

Who Are You, Really by Mikky Ekko is an outsiders perspective like the ones about running.

Imposter Syndrome by Sidney Gish scratches a similar itch, but that uses dog as the metaphor instead of wolf.

I feel like I'm forgetting some but these are the ones off the top of my head!

[pathfinderslog]

𝔻𝕚𝕕 𝕀 𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕥𝕖𝕝𝕝 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕪 𝕠𝕗 𝕍𝕒𝕟𝕚𝕝𝕝𝕒 𝕊𝕒𝕚𝕟𝕥 ℂ𝕣𝕠𝕚𝕩?

They call it "the city of dreams" for a good reason. In Night City you can be anything you want, do anything you want, have everything you want. Money, fame, power. If you are born on the right side of the road.

But for those crawling out of dark, hidden, smelly alleys, there are no warm hugs and plush unicorns. It still remains the city of dreams, but of those are broken, trampled and crumpled.

If you are born on the wrong side of the road you will have to walk uphill for the rest of your life, because in most of cases, your birth was a terrible mistake made by someone who came before you and which you must try to remedy.

Or, as in the case of our history, by a series of unfortunate events and interlinked errors.

𝕀'𝕧𝕖 𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕕 𝕒 𝕣𝕦𝕞𝕠𝕣.

"Have you heard?"

"What?"

"She's back!"

"Who?"

"Vanilla, the jinxed girl!"

"SSST!! Are you insane?! Wanna make her hear you? She's Vinx now, stop calling her like that!"

"Oh, you're right. Sorry."

The blue-haired girl passed them silently, absorbed in her own thoughts. If she had heard their gossip she didn't make it clear, but she's used to certain rumors and most of the time she didn't even notice. She continued walking steadily towards the back door of the Coyote Cojo, the only entrance she has ever really used since she was a child. She threw a half-smoked cigarette on the floor and went inside, leaving the buzz of the alleys outside the door.

"So...?"

"She returned from Atlanta a few weeks ago and seems to have kept a low profile. A few jobs here and there, but little stuff, nothing more."

"What does she have in mind? Will she still have that crazy plan to blow up the city?"

"Oh, c'mon! It was a child's thing! You say so many things when you are little, she didn't really believe that!"

"Are you sure? Her gaze thought differently..."

𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕓𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕣𝕕 𝕨𝕙𝕠 𝕥𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕠 𝕣𝕚𝕡 𝕞𝕖 𝕠𝕗𝕗.

Once inside the pub she immediately sought her contact and she was not surprised to find him locked in the bathroom, hiding like a mouse.

"What is it? Are you afraid to be seen in my company?"

"You know that caution is never too much with you, Vinx!"

"Call me V."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Let's talk business!"

"You have what I asked for?"

"Yes, but it wasn't easy to find, it's a VERY hot information... the bastard has the back covered by a powerful corporation, and this has raised..." - He did not have time to finish the sentence that was slammed violently against the wall, with the girl's forearm pressed against his throat. - "Hey! Take it easy, girl! Even if I wanted to, I couldn't satisfy you anyway, I don't have the data with me"

"W-what?! Are you stupid, or something? Who the fuck goes to a negotiation without the goods!"

"It's not that simple. What you are looking for is on a computer on the Maelstrom network, protected by their firewall. I have spread the word that you are looking for it, it may be easier for you to approach..."

"Wait... you did what?!? Okay, you're clearly out of your mind. So, now I'll have all the f*ckin' Maelstroms in town with breath on my neck!! You s*cker!" - Everything went black in her mind as anger took over. A fight ensued, and the bastard even managed to punch to her right on her nose, before going to sleep.

𝕀𝕟𝕙𝕒𝕝𝕖. 𝔼𝕩𝕙𝕒𝕝𝕖. 𝔽𝕚𝕩 𝕚𝕥 𝕦𝕡.

V looked at herself in the mirror, the hands still trembling. Her nose hurt like hell and it was already starting to swell.

That wasn't how it was supposed to go, but apparently, no matter how far you run, you can never get away from yourself. Wherever you go, the past will always know how to reach you. Going to Atlanta had done no good, except to waste two years of her life.

"I need a drink" she told herself, pulling herself up to get out of that stinking hole, climbing over the body of the man passed out on the ground.

𝔸 𝕗𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕟𝕕 𝕚𝕟 𝕟𝕖𝕖𝕕.

As she approached the counter, she felt much more relieved and even allowed herself a half smile when the familiar face of the bartender greeted her cheerfully "Hola V!"

"Hi Pepe! Give me something strong."

(ᵗʰᵉ ᶠᵒˡˡᵒʷⁱⁿᵍ ᵈⁱᵃˡᵒᵍᵘᵉ ⁱˢ ᵗʰᵉ ᵗʳᵃⁿˢᶜʳⁱᵖᵗ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ᵒⁿᵉ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵍᵃᵐᵉ, ᵖᵃʳᵗ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵗʳᵉᵉᵗ ᵏⁱᵈ ⁱⁿᵗʳᵒ. ⁿᵒᵗ ᵐʸ ʷᵒʳᵈˢ)

"Everything chill, hermana?"

"Some bastard tried to mug me, I handled it."

"Who? Local guy?"

"You really think somebody local'd tried to mug me, Pepe?"

"Listen V, I got a problem... Serious this time."

"C'mon, spit it! What is it now?"

"It's, uh, Kirk... I've owe 'im. Don't pay by tomorrow, said he'd bust my legs. An' he don't joke about that stuff. Got cartels in his corner."

"You in it with Kirk?! Every man, woman and rat in Heywood knows he's a f*uckin' shark!"

"My bro jumped the joint, deserved a hero's welcome... I know I fuck up V."

"Ugh, you ever gonna get wise, Pepe? Least tell me you're brother is doing alright."

"Ah, doing his things, you know. So, can you help me?"

"I'll talk to Kirk. But then you're gonna owe me one."

"And you're savin' my life V. Truly."

ℍ𝕖𝕪 𝕂𝕚𝕣𝕜, 𝕨𝕒𝕟𝕟𝕒 𝕥𝕒𝕝𝕜!

She found the shark at a table in the corner, upstairs, guarded by his huge bodyguard. Her first instinct was to jump around his neck and use him as a punching bag, but she sought a more diplomatic way, to try not to cause further trouble for Pepe.

They came to an agreement fairly quickly. Too fast for her taste. The job smelled like bad cheese, but Pepe is a friend, almost a family member, even though she has never had a real family. He saw her grow up, happily frolic among the Coyote's stools as if life could still smile at her.

So, yeah, it was worth the risk.

[geistxhund-a]

so where are you headed?

Hands are buried deep into the pockets of his coat, gloved hands clenched tight in their coves, the bite of the cold being rather harsh to him. what was supposed to be a short walk outside for some air had already devolved into wandering. Despite telling himself that he wouldn't, considering the amount of times he had gotten himself lost in the back-alleys and more lesser-known, smaller streets belonging to the concrete jungle. Along the way, it would seem that the coyote would bump into a familiar face, someone who'd gone out of their way to help him, something the dumb dog wouldn't forget even if the other party didn't see it as much. Seemingly, a conversation had been initiated, standard greetings are exchanged and then an simple question asking where he was headed.

Khaz would pause in thought, fighting the urge to physically itch at the question with a gloved digit, instead not wanting to compromise the warmth he had finally secured. Instead crimson orbs blink once or twice before delivering an proper answer, or at least the best he could come up with. "Oh-- uh, honestly I ain't too sure, jus' wanted t' get some fresh air n' go fer' a walk. Didn't want t' be locked up in the office all night grindin' through paperwork n' the air was startin' to get real stuffy, so jus' decided to take some initiative and kill two birds wit' one stone. I probably shouldn't stray too far from th' office though--" A slight tilt in his head, the coyote remembers that he had wandered off, despite telling himself not too, even muttering to himself before he had left for the walk. Well, never mind then.

[teleportingtypewriter]

Shimmer

Her dress falls off her shoulderswhile she practices her harpand I am outside getting shakyon the balcony. She asks me if the mailboxhad any money,through the screen doorwhile the coyotes allgather to exchangetheir different gristleat the dead enddown the alley. I tell her noand keep on rocking in my chairwhile windows break so loudthe lights come on all over.I try to trace the culprit’sface…

[throughdigitaleyes]

Newport Folk Festival Closes Out with Historic ‘Joni Jam’

Making our way into Fort Adams on Sunday morning for the final day of the 2022 Newport Folk Festival – exhausted and sunburnt and still elated from the events that closed out Saturday – the big question going through everyone’s head was “how are they going to manage to outdo themselves, this time?” Was that even something that would be possible? The logical bet would be ‘no’. But seeing as this was the Newport Folk Festival, after all, it shouldn’t have been too shocking that when fans made their way to the schedule board posted outside the Museum, they discovered something that had the potential to do the trick. Or – at the very least – end things in a tie.

Fort Stage

On Sunday morning, what was originally billed as ‘Brandi Carlile & Friends’ was re-billed as ‘Brandi Carlile & Friends’ plus the festival closing ‘Coyote Jam’. The rumors started flying, and despite it seeming unlikely/too-good-to-be-true in the moment, the most frequently uttered rumor ended up being spot-on. They did it, they topped (for most, though not quite me*) Saturday! After an all-too brief (and significantly shorter than scheduled) set from Brandi Carlile herself, the crew came out to transform the Newport Folk stage into a living room. Brandi Carlile then reappeared to introduce the final set of the fest, and what was briefly a ‘Coyote Jam’ was finally revealed to be a ‘Joni Jam’ (all four above), a group of musicians and music-lovers jamming to some of Joni’s classics and favorites, co-hosted by the woman herself, Joni Mitchell. That’s when the unbelievable happened, and – for the first on the Newport Folk stage since ’69 and any stage in over two decades – Joni Mitchell took to the stage for a full set that explored her songbook and some personal favorites as agents of healing and love. Joined by brilliant artists such as co-host Brandi Carlile, Marcus Mumford (on percussion), Lucius, Wynona Judd and many more, Joni Mitchell & Friends delivered a set that was equal parts celebration, tribute and – shockingly – comeback.  I had some issues (prompted by a mood that started with missing Carlile’s pre-Jam set, no doubt) with some technical/logistical aspects at the time (all of which make complete sense in hindsight). But the crowd as a whole were lost in the experience right from the beginning; lost in the fog (both figurative and very literally) of Joni Mitchell’s return. And before long, I was, too. It was a beautiful set, and when given the chance to truly shine on her own on the penultimate song of the set, ‘Both Sides, Now’, Joni Mitchell successfully and completely tore my heart out of my chest. She seemed to be having a blast doing it, too.

The rest of Sunday on the Fort Stage was a bit of a mixed bag, for me. I missed the opening set, ‘Love Will Go All the Way’ A Spiritual Helpline Gospel Revue (obviously not pictured), in favor of the other stages’ offerings. The first Fort set I caught was Sierra Ferrell (first below), who failed to impress with a genre-bending sound and unique voice that was definitely an acquired taste. Following that was Valerie June (second below), someone else whose voice is an acquired taste. Thankfully, for me, it’s one that’s right up my alley, and her adorable stage presence only added to her set. Also, she played my favorite song of hers early on, before I had to run off, so that didn’t hurt. Sylvan Esso (third below), who were quite busy throughout the weekend, were next. While I wasn’t wild about their sound (at least not for the Newport Folk stage), their set was memorable for the fact that they announced and performed a brand new album in its entirety up on stage. The Roots (fourth and fifth below) then made their Newport Folk debut with a set that turned the fort into an all-out party. They’re a fantastic band, and their energy is exhaustingly contagious, I only wish I could have caught even a little more of it all.

CLICK HERE for More Photos from the ‘Joni Jam’, CLICK HERE for More Photos of The Roots, and CLICK HERE for More Photos from the Fort Stage.

Quad Stage

Sunday’s Quad Stage was very similar to Saturday’s Fort Stage, in that there wasn’t a single dud to be found, and more than one set that blew my socks off. Maren Morris (all three above), who was probably one of my three most anticipated acts of the weekend, won the day for me with a set that not only should’ve been headlining this stage, but would’ve done a killer job headlining the whole damn day had they not pulled off the historic feat they did. She’s a star, and her set brought the whole damn tent down. I’m especially happy I made it back by the time she ended with ‘My Church’, because it was straight-up magic on the Newport Folk stage. Kicking off the day was John Craigie & Friends (first below) performing The Beatles’ ‘Let it Be’. It was an extremely last-minute set added after Japanese Breakfast’s morning set was moved to the headlining slot after Trampled by Turtles had to cancel. (Yikes!) Craigie opened the set joking that he didn’t have any friends, and so when asked to do the set, had to walk around backstage making friends just to get the set in order. His ‘Friends’ included Langhorne Slim, The Ballroom Thieves and More, and they all came together to deliver a tribute to The Beatles that never seemed nearly as messy as it probably should have. Hermanos Gutiérrez (second below) followed with an instrumental set that was as impressive and interesting as it was a nice moment to slow down a bit. After them came one of the biggest surprises of the whole weekend, The Linda Lindas (third below). The quartet ranges from the ages 11-17, and the kids in the crowd had a blast with their set. Their punk and power-pop inspired sound was a ton of fun, and pairing that with their outrageously energetic stage presence made one of the most surprisingly enjoyable sets of the weekend. Another surprise was Joy Oladokun (fourth below), who thoroughly impressed last year (or so I’d been told, many times, throughout the day) and came back to do it again this year. Her sound and songwriting was great and she was so clearly and completely at home onstage that it made you feel at home watching her there. After several schedule changes, the headlining spot ended up in the hands of Japanese Breakfast (fifth and sixth below). It was a set I was long looking forward to, and despite it making me miss out on Brandi Carlile, I couldn’t have been happier with what I caught of it. Within those first three songs I did manage to catch, singer/songwriter/best-selling author Michelle Zauner made me go from casual supporter to full-blown fan with her control and passion and irresistible charisma.

CLICK HERE for More Photos of Maren Morris, CLICK HERE for More Photos of Japanese Breakfast, CLICK HERE for More Photos of The Linda Lindas, and CLICK HERE for More Photos from the Quad Stage.

Harbor Stage

The highlight of Sunday’s Harbor Stage lineup was the solo set from Dawes’ Taylor Goldsmith (above) that not only found him teaming up with Blake Mills and members of Goose, but also fans from the audience and the Newport Children’s Choir. Bendigo Fletcher (first below) had a very fitting sound and seemed to deliver exactly what the crowd was looking for in their opening set, but I just saw too little to ever get into it. Thankfully I caught a bit more of Buffalo Nichols (second below), because I instantly took a liking to his sound and hated that I wasn’t able to catch the full performance. Dakhabrakha (third below) was interesting, but not nearly captivating enough to get me to stick around longer than the one song I went over to photograph. Blake Mills (fourth below) displayed his not insignificant talent in a set that was a sleeper to someone like me who wasn’t already a dedicated fan. Finally, Anais Mitchell (fifth below) hit the Newport Folk stage one final time with a wonderful set I had to peel myself away from in order to catch the end of Maren Morris.

CLICK HERE for More Photos from the Harbor Stage.

All-in-all, Sunday was an amazing end to a truly soul-enriching weekend that only the Newport Folk Festival can so consistently deliver. I’m already looking forward to what they have in store for us in 2023.

Please Check Out My Photos/Coverage from Friday & Saturday!

*I really wasn’t kidding when I said Paul Simon coming out of ‘retirement’ to play ‘The Boxer’ & ‘The Sound of Silence’ (and more) at Newport Folk was something I’d be talking about for years.

Photos ©Timothy Patrick Boyer, 2022.

[nightingaelic]

Reactions to a vampire courier? Companions plus Benny, Ulysses, Graham, House, Caesar, and Yes Man. (sorry if that's too many :x)

TW: Blood (maybe obviously)

Also I don't normally feel some type of way about AUs but the idea of Joshua Graham encountering a vampire courier is giving me shivers

The courier was a little... strange. Not in any way that stood out to the average wastelander just by looking at them, everyone in the Mojave had their quirks and the courier was no exception. Hell, you get shot in the head and come back, you're bound to have a screw or two loose. They were unquestionably a night owl, but so were half the people on the Strip, who only started to wake up after the sun had gone down and the slot machines were singing their loudest. They usually had bags under their bloodshot eyes, but every caravan driver from here to the Hub was short on sleep.

On the other hand, the courier had some habits that were a little beyond surface-level eccentricities. For one, no one had ever seen them eating, not once. Even when the King laid out a spread of pre-war snacks and liquor or when the buffet at the Tops was refreshed, they politely declined and took a swig from the canteen that they never offered to anyone else. They were also rather odd about bathrooms, insisting that anyone accompanying them remain outside on watch and let no one else through the door until they were finished. But the undeniable moment of oddity came one night in October, when their companion rounded a corner in Freeside after a trip to the Atomic Wrangler and discovered the courier behind a rusted dumpster, holding a man against a brick wall with their teeth buried in his neck.

The courier drew back at the interruption, blood smeared across their face. "I'm not- it's not what- he- oh, fuck."

Arcade Gannon: Arcade stared open-mouthed for a moment, before snapping violently back into the present. "Is he dead?"

"Umm..." The courier glanced at the man they were holding, whose head was lolling against the bricks. "Yes? Mostly."

With no patient to resuscitate, Arcade rounded on them. "Six, what in the ever-loving fuck are you doing?"

The courier tried to wipe away the blood that was dribbling from their chin, but they only succeeded in spreading it up their jawline. "Well, I, um, I was trying to..."

Whatever excuse they were searching for eluded them, so they dropped the pretense. "I was feeding, Arcade."

"Feeding? What, like some kind of-" Arcade's eyes widened and he cut his sentence off early in realization. "No. No way. That's not- vampires aren't real!"

That earned him a look of intense skepticism. "Arcade, we've fought off plant monsters and rattlesnake-coyote hybrids together. I have a gun in my pack that lets me teleport."

"Oh, okay, so you have some kind of iron deficiency and you're delusional." Arcade laughed, the sound high and harsh in the quiet alley. "Great. Fuck."

Craig Boone: Rather than engage in an abandoned alley, Boone immediately backtracked to a busier street. He was unsurprised when the courier didn't follow him: Even in Freeside, someone covered in blood was sure to be noticed and questioned.

Boone left town that night and made for Novac. He was pretty sure the courier would follow him, but he didn't know where else to go. At least he knew they were coming. A few people in Novac asked about where he'd been, what the courier was up to, but eventually they stopped asking.

A couple of weeks went by. Boone was on the night shift again when the door into the dinosaur swung open to reveal the courier. He'd heard someone coming, their feet on the stairs, and he already had his gun pointed in their face. "We will never work together again," he said, before they could open their mouth.

"Boone, can you just-"

"I don't want an explanation." Boone shook his head. "I don't need one. I already did you a favor, leaving New Vegas without putting you back in your grave. This is over."

The courier took a deep breath. "71."

"What?"

"71. I've killed 71 Legion soldiers and left their bodies empty under the Mojave sky." They looked down and shuffled their feet. "I've tasted their fear. They're more scared of me than the Burned Man, now."

Boone studied them. Ever so slowly, he lowered his gun.

Lily Bowen: "Put him down, dearie," Lily chastised them. "You're playing too roughly with that man. And watch your language around your grandma!"

The courier looked down at their victim, at their torn throat and limp limbs. "He tried to mug me, Lily. It wasn't pretty."

"He looks like he's had enough," Lily insisted. "Set him down. Gently."

With a sigh, the courier obliged and lowered the man to the ground. "I'm sorry, Lily. I should have told you earlier. I don't mean to be rude when I turn down your cooking, I just... I can't seem to..."

"Hush, now." Lily produced her enormous handkerchief and gathered the courier up in her arms, dabbing at the blood on their face with a corner of the cloth. "You've gotten it all over yourself, haven't you? We can clean that right up, but it looks like Grandma's going to have to do a load of laundry. You made the mess, so you get to help."

Raul Alfonso Tejada: Raul swallowed nervously, something he'd noticed he was increasingly doing around the courier. "You know, we get murciélagos down in Arizona that do the same thing. They won't leave the brahmin alone."

The courier took in his anxious stance and sighed. "Raul, I'm not going to hurt you. Prometo. It's okay."

"Sure boss, but I don't think the hair on the back of my neck is going down anytime soon." Raul smiled, but it was more of a grimace. "Or it wouldn't, if I still had any. Como..?"

"No clue." The courier shrugged and held their hands up, letting the corpse they'd been holding slide to the ground. "I think it had something to do with me surviving Benny's best attempts to do me in, but a bullet is a bullet and I don't remember if I was like this before, or..."

"Or only after." Raul chuckled. "Jesucristo, and here I am thinking I'll outlive you like most everyone else I've known."

"Yep."

"Should I start calling you el chupacabra?"

The courier grinned, a bloody smile with sharp teeth.

Rose of Sharon Cassidy: "Fuck," Cass echoed, scrambling to pull her shotgun from its holster. "Knew I had too much, can't even- who are you and what've you done with the courier? Some kind of cannibal, wearing their skin? Alien? Shapeshifter? I'll blow a hole in your liver to match mine!"

"Whoa, Cass, it's me, it's me!" The courier dropped the man they were holding and held their blood-stained hands up. "Same old Six, just... maybe I wasn't straight with you about why I don't order anything at bars."

"Goddamn right you weren't straight with me!" Cass gestured at the body on the ground with the barrel of her gun. "Who's the fucker on the floor and why are you two pints in on him?"

"Just trying to get my drink on," the courier muttered.

Cass repaid this facetiousness with a jab of her shotgun, and they raised their hands higher. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry! You tell me, how do you tactfully tell someone that you're a creature of the night and you need to drink blood to survive?"

"Creature of the night? You're fucking loopy." Cass' eyes narrowed. "There's plenty of critters in the Mojave that only come out when it's dark, but most of them don't tear into..."

She trailed off into curses when she realized she was wrong. The courier smiled hesitantly and lowered their hands an inch. "Hey. Let me chuck this failed mugger in the dumpster and we can talk about it like a pair of civilized folks?"

Veronica Santangelo: Veronica squeaked and fell back a few steps, banging her elbow against the edge of the dumpster. A jolt of confused pain shot up her arm, and the Scribe couldn't help giggling harshly at the sudden assault on her funny bone.

"Not- laughing... at murder," she managed to get out between hisses of pain. "Oh, for the love of... right, you're not getting out of explaining what you are, exactly, just because I'm indis-indisposed!"

The courier couldn't help laughing at the squirming Scribe, but they did their best to stifle it. "Sorry, I'm sorry, I um... I guess I don't really know... what I am?"

"There's books!" Veronica burst out, pointing at the courier and their victim wildly. "I've seen them, in old libraries. Creatures that feed on blood, only come out at night, don't show up in... in mirrors, of course, no wonder you're weird about bathrooms, I should test... Dracula! That's it, you're a Dracula!"

"A Dracula?" The courier held their hands up, as if seeing them anew. "Never heard of them. Are they... bad?"

"Well, traditionally, yes." Veronica made a face and rubbed her elbow. "Black cloaks, sleeping in coffins, seducing and manipulating everyone around them... and people don't like it when you take their blood, in my experience."

"Whose blood have you taken?"

"This isn't about me, Six!"

ED-E: The eyebot bobbed wildly and made noises of concern, blips and blats and a flat burst of trumpets from some old jazz tune.

"I was hungry," the courier protested. "And this asshole pulled a knife on me and wanted all of my caps. Probably more than that, if we're being honest. He wasn't doing the world any good, but he did me some, for sure."

ED-E flipped between old clips of a Silver Shroud radio show. "Well, isn't this a deep, dark <static> secret? <static> In a situation such as this, the best anyone can do is <static> try to control it!" The robot added some more concerned beeps for good measure.

"I'm trying," the courier said with a sigh, looking down at the dead man they were holding. "You know I wouldn't hurt some random person, ED-E. Not if I could help it. The Mojave's full of bad people, enough to keep me going if I'm careful."

Rex: The hair on Rex's spine stood up, and he let out a long, low growl. The courier froze for a moment, before realizing that he was growling not at them but at the man they were holding.

"He's dead, Rex," they reassured the cyberdog, lowering the corpse to the floor for inspection.

Rex sniffed the body over, taking in the copper scent of his blood and the Freeside stink on his clothes. He sniffed the courier too, each of their hands they held out to him and the thick headiness of adrenaline. He whined and wagged his tail twice.

"Good boy," the courier said, straightening up. "It's about time I turned in, anyway. Let's dump this guy and split."

Benny Gecko: Benny crossed his arms. "You know, Six, if you're dead set on getting your kicks in Freeside every now and then, you might want to ease up on the passions with the next greaser you snag. This one's torn all to pieces."

"I wasn't- what kind of-" The courier dropped the man they were holding and sputtered. "Christ, only you could make a midnight murder awkward, Benny."

"Murder?" Benny raised his eyebrows and looked from side to side theatrically. "Who said anything about a murder? All I saw was some dreamboat and the best apple butterer of New Vegas playing back alley bingo, officer."

The courier's eyes narrowed. "Not gonna rat me out? Tell the King or somebody that I'm..."

"What, taking a page out of the White Glove Society's book?" Benny held his hands up. "None of my business. Well, if you ever come for me with that look in your eyes, though, that'll be a different story."

"Not much you'd be able to do," the courier pointed out. "You already tried and failed to kill me once."

Ulysses: Rather than react like any normal wastelander might've upon encountering someone attacking a man with their teeth, Ulysses just stood there, taking the scene in. "Heard tales of a tribe like you. East, farther east than even I've walked... a coven hiding in tunnels, emerging only when their hungers grow too strong to ignore, strong enough to pull blood from the veins of the world around them."

"Well, I don't hide in tunnels." The courier grimaced and heaved their victim up over their shoulder, depositing them unceremoniously in the dumpster. "Unless some disgruntled Frumentarius sends me out to hunt mutants under Hopeville."

"Perhaps you have more in common with those predators than I assumed," Ulysses admitted. "But then, your path has always run red. Blood of the Old World, blood of the new, blood of the Bull and the Bear..."

The courier rolled their eyes as they peeled off their red-stained coat and tossed it in the dumpster as well. "Don't talk to me about blood. I know you've seen just as much as me, but it doesn't mean the same thing when I look at it."

Ulysses cracked a hint of a smile. "You see life where I see death. Two sides, courier."

"Yeah, yeah. If you're not going to try to kill me, come on. You can wax poetic and lecture me about which road I'm walking while I take a shower."

Joshua Graham: "A creature far from God," Graham said in his most reproachful tone. "Forever damned for the souls of the innocent they've taken from the earth. Aren't we a pair, courier."

"You can fuck right off with that attitude." The courier dropped the man they were holding and wiped their hands on their coat. "He tried to kill me first. For some caps."

"The crimes of others do not absolve you of your own sins, courier," Graham continued, leisurely retrieving his gun from its holster. He held it up in the muted neon light that filtered through the alley, turning the weapon this way and that. "Though I confess I am also looking for absolution in this way."

"Are you going to kill me?" the courier asked, eyeing the gun as well.

"I've no doubt it would leave this world better than when you walked it," Graham replied. "But my own opinions are not enough to seal your fate. Perhaps we should find this man's family and hear their feelings on the matter."

The courier took a step forward, then another, until their chest was right up against the pistol's muzzle, pressed against the fabric of their shirt. "Go ahead. Try."

And though Joshua Graham was sorely tempted to pull the trigger, though the courier made no move to stop him, something in their eyes... some faraway pain, older than the desert itself, fresh as the blood on the ground, stayed his hand.

He lowered the gun, chastised, and the courier walked away.

Robert House: The Securitron that bore Robert House's face on its screen leveled a minigun at the courier. "Whoa!" the courier protested, dropping their victim and putting their hands out. "Can't we talk about this?"

"And what have we to discuss?" House sounded absolutely disgusted. "I believe you're familiar with my contract with the White Glove Society. If they wish to continue their current prosperity in New Vegas, cannibalism is strictly forbidden. You are subject to the same terms and conditions, as one of my employees."

"Terms and condi- hold on, hold on, you never asked me whether I was a cannibal," the courier replied. "Are you talking about that document you had me sign, way back when I agreed to help you fight the NCR and the Legion?"

"The very same."

"How is that fair? That thing was over 200 pages long, I didn't grow up in the 21st century, I don't have a degree in... okay, okay." The courier waved their hands. "Cannibalism is a no-go. This isn't cannibalism, this is vampirism."

"Which falls under the definition of cannibalism," House replied, his annoyed tone still detectable over the sound of the minigun spinning up. "Section 3.65, subsection F. Next time, read the fine print."

Caesar: The Legion's great leader pivoted in an instant from surprise to quiet anger. "Clean yourself up, courier. I expect to see you in my quarters within the hour."

He turned and left the alley swiftly, letting his powerful stride and swinging cloak cover his shaken confidence. The people of Freeside cowered as he passed, shrinking into the shadows as he made his way back to the Strip, but the fear in their eyes was not enough to erase the image of the courier bent over in bloodlust, holding their victim in total subjugation.

The courier found him on the top floor of the Lucky 38, gazing out over the city he had conquered and named his Rome. "Leave us," Caesar bid his Praetorian Guard. They bowed and departed the room without question.

"You asked to see me," the courier said nervously, shifting their weight from foot to foot. They had changed clothes, and no trace of blood remained on them.

"I did." Caesar beckoned them to the window next to him. They stood in silence for a moment, watching the lights wink below.

"I'm a well-read man, courier," Caesar said finally. "I know the legends of the Old World, and I recognize the marks of one of their nightmares in you. I order you to tell me the truth: Do you fit the full definition of the creature they called 'vampire,' or do you simply mimic the things to add to your fearsome affect?"

The courier didn't answer right away. When they did, their voice was soft. "I pretend to be nothing. I am what I am."

"And everything that comes with it?" Caesar pressed. "Darkness, the blood of the innocent, eternity?"

"Yes."

Caesar turned to face them fully. "Then I, Almighty Caesar, command you to make me as you are."

Yes Man: "Now that's a twist I didn't see coming!" Yes Man said, his happy tone only slightly tempered with uncertainty. "Boy, am I glad I don't have a circulatory system right now!"

The courier shushed the Securitron and looked around the alley surreptitiously. "Yes Man, I swear to god, if you blow my cover I'm disassembling you."

"As I've told you before, I can't technically die!" Yes Man reassured them. "And I certainly wouldn't want to endanger you and your hobbies, but my volume mixer is tied to my enthusiasm simulator and I can't adjust it! You'll just have to hope any passersby aren't interested in following my friendly voice into an alley!"

"Then go back to the Lucky 38 and we'll talk later," the courier insisted, through gritted teeth.

"I technically never left! But if you mean this Securitron, sure thing!" Yes Man zoomed away on his single wheel, whistling the whole way back to the casino where the rest of his consciousness was housed. He kept whistling as he ran probability algorithms, only pausing when the courier returned after a few hours and crossed their arms in front of his main screen.

"Hi there!" he said joyfully. "I've just been cross-checking Mr. House's records on noteworthy disappearances in the Strip, and I've flagged eight of them as potentially being connected to you! I don't want to assume your intentions, but if you don't want to be found out, I've developed a plan for choosing your next victims that will help you remain undetected in New Vegas for 184 years! Give or take a few!"

The courier put their head in their hand and sighed.

[storiesofsvu]

Just What I Needed

Warnings: Language, mentions of smut, mentions of SVU type cases. Rita Calhoun x fem!reader A/N: This is part 3/ the final part of our mini Coyote Series. Pr 1 here. Pt 2 here.

It also covers the “free square” on thatesqcrush ‘s Vday bingo. Using the song “Just What I Needed” by The Cars.

The elevator doors slid open and you stepped out into the hallway, following the noise over to the squad room, immediately feeling out of place surrounded by cops, business casually dressed detectives and the even more well dressed lawyers. Despite you and Rita continuing on your casual shenanigans over the past couple of weeks you hadn’t been privy to this side of her life aside from a second meeting with your brother, and you weren’t really sure how to handle yourself in a new environment. Pausing in the doorway you caught Amanda’s attention as she was passing a perp off to a uni.

“Blondie?” You were taken aback,

“Hey.” She smiled, “are…you meeting Rita or did something happen at the bar?”

“Rita.” You replied, following her into the bull pen as she gestured to her desk, “you’re a cop?”

“Yeah.” She half laughed,

“Wish someone would’a told me that before I was free pouring and over serving all night.” You laughed back, taking a seat on the corner of her desk, foot propped up in the empty chair.

“Hey, that’s not my problem. I was just there to help Rita out, and considering you’re here now I’m taking that it worked?”

“If by worked you mean I fucked her so good in an alley she immediately took me home and neither of us got anysleep, then yes, it worked.” You smirked, plucking a donut hole from the box on her desk.

“Good for you.” She laughed.

“Thanks.” You smiled, “if you guys are friends I feel like I should actually know your name.” You teased and she laughed.

“Amanda.” You shook the hand she extended, “though that was the first time we’ve ever really spoken outside of work. And considering I’m pretty sure Vixen isn’t on your birth certificate…” You cackled out a laugh,

“It’s y/n. Management doesn’t like us giving out real names, especially with social media nowadays, way too easy to get stalked.”

“I can only imagine. I’m surprised a case hasn’t come through here yet.”

“Mm, we’re all pretty careful. Door guys have to walk us to our car or cab, especially if we’re off early. When we’re working closing they do a handful of sweeps around the building to make sure no one’s lingering around. We’re all trained in some form of self defence, when it hits capacity in there if a bouncer’s not paying close attention shit can go down pretty quick and it’s way to harder for them to get through a tight crowd than us. Takes a certain kinda girl to work there.”

“Yeah my sister wanted nothing more than to work there when she graduated.”

“Is she in New York? I could swing her an audition?” Amanda practically cackled at that,

“Trust me, you want her nowhere near you. She’s currently on the run and there’s a warrant out for her arrest.”

“Woof. I mean, I feel you, my brother’s out on bail right now, it’s the only reason I met Rita.”

“She mentioned that.” Amanda cocked a brow, “her clients are usually pretty high end.”

“Mmm.” You swallowed a sip of the red bull you’d cracked earlier, “drug charges. I just wanted a really good lawyer ‘cause he just finished his parole over the last stint in jail.” You rolled your eyes, “fucking idiot.”

“Your parent’s not supportive?”

“Small town Utah…they somehow support the drug addicted felon more than the lesbian, but we’ve both been basically shunned since high school.” You shrugged, “honestly, doing better without them anyways.”

“Aren’t we all.” Amanda agreed, her gaze jumping up at the sight of Barba and Rita near bickering their way down the interrogation hallway, “there’s your girl.” She smirked. Your head turned, pushing back your hair with your free hand as you caught Rita’s eye, a small smile breaking out on her cheeks, happy that Barba was headed off to Liv’s office.

“I thought you were at work?” She greeted softly as she approached Amanda’s desk and you half laughed, sighing.

“Turns out management deeply frowns upon teeth marks on our thighs…considering they’re eye level with the customers…I got sent home.” Amanda did her best to not howl with laughter considering you were in the middle of the squad room, knowing Rita would probably kill her if she brought attention to the situation, Rita’s cheeks immediately flushed as she awkward laughed out an apology.

“I’m so sorry.” She winced and you shrugged.

“I just came by to drop this off.” You pulled her wallet out of your bag, “you left it on the table at lunch, I figured you’d probably need it.”

“Oh fuck, thank you.” She took the item from you, tucking it into her own purse.

“Alright.” You hopped off Amanda’s desk, “I’m gonna run to the gym, I’ll see you guys later.”

“The gym, really?” Rita quipped.

“I’ve gotta burn off this red bull somehow.” You laughed, “see ya blondie.” You winked at Amanda before vanishing from the squad room.

“Ya know..” Amanda started, “if she’s gotta burn off that red bull, why don’t you go after her.”

“Rollins…” Rita warned with a glare.

“Hey, I’m not the one fucking in a back alley Counsellor.”

“You know, I am completely regretting letting you have any knowledge of my personal life.”

“I’ve gotta keep entertained somehow.” Amanda smirked at the woman as Barba popped out of Liv’s office, calling Rita over to the two of them. She gave Rollins a nod and made her way across the room.

*

You were glad you had the gym to distract yourself with for the next hour or so, especially after being cut from work. The little visit to the precinct had thrown you off more than you’d expected, your brain started to overthink everything the second you stepped back into the elevator.

The time you’d spent with Rita was more than enjoyable that was for sure, but it had always kind of been, in the dark, so to speak. After the first night you spent together things had started to become more of late night meet ups, Sunday afternoon brunch in bed kinda thing. Your schedules were basically opposite, though you worked a few of the day shifts during the week meaning your evenings were free. The bar was open until 4:00 a.m on a daily basis which meant you usually met Rita for a coffee while she was on her way into work. At least during the week it didn’t open until 2:00p.m, and you were able to meet up for lunch before you went in (like today). Everything was still very casual, you were sure Rita hadn’t mentioned you to anyone aside from Amanda, and you certainly didn’t tell your brother you were banging his lawyer. A couple of the girls from the bar had asked about your visitors but you’d shaken it off as new friends. Things just seemed like they were up in the air and could come tumbling down any second.

You’d barely shucked your workout clothes off into your laundry basket when your phone pinged with a text from Rita.

‘Wanted to say sorry again about costing you a shift. Can I make it up with dinner?’

‘You don’t have to.’

‘I want to. Please?’

‘Okay. I just got home, still have to shower and get ready though.’

‘Where about are you?’

‘Lower East, not far from the bar.’

‘I’ll finish up here and come pick you up?’

‘Sure.’

You rattled off your address to her, letting her know to just come straight up when she got there before throwing a playlist on and heading into the shower. After drying off and slathering yourself in moisturizer you slipped into a pale blue lingerie set, one that you’d reserved for non work days. It was cute, trimmed in lace while still being a much more comfortable cotton and much less showy than your work stuff. You pulled a mini robe on overtop, leaving it loose while you started on French braiding your hair, figuring it was easier than dealing with a blowout right now. It wasn’t much later that you heard Rita’s knock at the door.

“It’s open!” You yelled, the sound of the door clinking confirming that she did hear you, her heels clicking on the floor as she followed the music to the open door of the bathroom.

“You know you shouldn’t leave your door unlocked right?” She half teased.

“I had to buzz you in.” You shrugged, wrapping an elastic around the end of the second braid and she chuckled.

“You have a very strange habit of sitting in weird places, you know that?” You glanced down,

“It’s closer to the mirror.” You laughed.

“You’re practically in the sink.” Rita teased, moving into the room, this time greeting you with a soft kiss. Her eyes drank you in, despite the previous dates this was the first time she’d seen you not in work mode, currently barefaced, the coyote personality hung up and your own fully shining through.

“Guess it comes second nature to dancing on the bar.” You kissed her quickly, “I won’t take too long to finish, promise.” Rita kissed your cheek gently,

“Take your time.” She stepped back, taking a seat on the closed toilet lid, a small smile on her face as she watched you swiftly work through a basic make up routine.

“Hey…sorry about just showing up earlier today, I should’ve just called about the wallet.”

“Sweetheart it’s fine.”

“I just don’t want you to feel like I’m taking up all of your time or anything.” You murmured, “or like..out you at work. ‘Manda said she didn’t even know you liked women til the night you guys came to the bar.”

“I could count the things I know about Amanda on one hand.” Rita chuckled, “I simply choose to keep my personal and private lives separate.” You cast her a look that reminded her she just confirmed what you’d said. “I don’t mind you coming around and wasting all my time.”

“You sure?” Your brow furrowed as you turned to her.

“Yes.” She smiled warmly, “are you back stepping because of coming into the precinct today?”

“Guilty as charged.” You replied, swiping on a couple coats of mascara. “It was…unsettling? I guess? I mean, your world is all detectives and highly educated lawyers. Like, you went to Harvard…why would you be interested in spending time with me, I’m just a bartender from Orem.”

“First off…you are far from just a bartender.” She smirked, though you missed it, your eyes on your reflection as you started your brows, “and it doesn’t matter where you’ve been. You’ve managed to make it on your own, you’ve got a job you love, you’re renting a gorgeous loft. I enjoy spending time with you, even if it means I only get you for a coffee in the morning, those moments are precious. There’s something incredibly intriguing and absolutely wonderful about you sweetheart, that sparkle, it makes me want nothing more than to spend time with you.”

“You mean it?” You turned to her a melty looking pout on your face that she nodded at.

“Yes.”

You climbed off the basin with such grace Rita couldn’t understand it, settling easily across her lap as you wrapped your arms around her shoulders.

“You really wanna spend more time with me?” You quipped, a smile on your lips as you met hers in a soft kiss.

“I really do.” She murmured against you, kissing you delicately, “starting with dinner.” You pecked her gently,

“Guess I should go put clothes on then.”

“I mean, I don’t mind what you have on now.” She smirked and you chuckled.

“Only if we’re staying in.” You took a pause to kiss her again and she shook her head.

“Absolutely not. I want to show off the girl I hope to call my girlfriend one day soon.”

“Mmm..guess I should wear something nice then.” You made time for one more kiss, “and I own the loft.” You giggled, climbing off her lap and she huffed out a laugh.

“That’s exactly what I mean!” She called after you as she followed you to your bedroom, leaning against the doorframe. Watching as you slipped out of the robe, grabbing a semi casual cocktail dress to tug on, instinctively she stepped toward you, her hands deftly pulling the zipper up for you.

“Thanks.” You smiled, pecking her cheek before grabbing a cardigan, “shall we?”

You extended out your hand to hers, only pausing to slide on a pair of heels and lock the door before making your way out to the street. It was safe to say that neither you nor Rita had ever expected to cross paths in life, much less end up together for longer than a night or two. It took a bit of an adjustment to workout your schedules once you were officially a couple, but you made it work. You were beyond thrilled when Rita never once asked you to sacrifice one of your weekend nights at the bar to accommodate her, knowing that they were the busiest and when you made the most money. There were a lot of lunch dates, a lot of briefly stopping by her office during the day, or picking her up outside the courthouse for a quick dinner before you left for work.

But that was the thing, neither of you minded the extra work because what you truly wanted and cared about was each other and making time for the other person didn’t feel like a feat, it felt like the absolute right thing to do.

After a very exhausting Thursday close shift you sleepily stumbled into Rita’s apartment at all of seven a.m, catching her just before she left for the office. She’d left you a half pot of decaf so you could get some rest, and a plate of pancakes and bacon. You snuggled into her side while she finished her coffee, laying a kiss against your head as you murmured out to her.

“I guess you’re just what I needed.”

———

@yesterdaysgone

[dphcs]

Since Danny's partially dead, scavenger animals such as vultures, crows, and coyotes are attracted to him and will follow him everywhere. Also certain animals that are considered "witch familiars" in folklore like black cats are significantly more affectionate to Danny than anyone else. Danny'll be walking to school or something and a black cat will jump out of an alley and immediately start rubbing against his legs and purring. There have been multiple times where Danny will be in the middle of talking to someone outside only for several crows to come out of nowhere and land on his shoulders acting like pets. And yes he gives all these animals head pats and scritches and it's really cute.

[theramseyloft]

Trichomonas gallinae from Pigeons to Raptors

I talk a lot about why feral pigeons should be treated like stray dogs in other posts, from the perspective of them being being a species as purely domesticated as Dogs, which can’t survive away from humans.

They should not be clogging up wildlife rehabs, whose resources should be reserved exclusively for the native wildlife for which they were set up.

(Not one sane person would advocate releasing stray dogs among rehabbed wolves or coyotes, no matter how many generations of them had been born in that alley.)

There is no benefit to releasing feral pigeons “back into the wild”.

Certainly not for the pigeons... who are exclusively dependent on human hand outs or garbage for food and building to roost and nest.

Not for the people, who are generally disgusted by the byproduct of sick, hungry ferals, which does serious structural damage because of the high uric acid content of feces from birds who have not been able to get enough to eat.

Not even for their predators.

Because of the way their medical care is traditionally handled, lost pigeons and their feral decedents are unsafe for predatory birds to eat.

As stated in the previous post, Performing breed breeders and fliers go one of two ways regarding birds with any symptoms of illness:

Either

1. They don’t waste money on treating a sick a sick bird. If it’s sick enough to affect its performance, that specific one is just killed.

Or

2. They use a fraction of the dose of the meds designed to treat an actively symptomatic bird as a monthly “preventive” for the entire flock.

Killing off a bird that’s symptomatic doesn’t mean the other birds in that loft and flying from it don’t have that pathogen.

It just means that they aren’t showing symptoms.

Aaaand using small doses of a treatment as a monthly “preventive” would have any one anywhere near the fields of pathology and epedimiology tearing their hair out in horrified frustration...

Because that is praaactically step by step instructions in how to build up a pathogen’s immunity to a treatment.

Whish brings us to this heinous little bastard;

which causes Trichomoniasis; Trich/canker/frounce.

Trichomonas gallinae eats epithelial cells lining the sinus, crop, and trachea, and forms plaques that make it very difficult for meds to get to as a defense mechanism against the immune system of its host.

Individuals are highly motile, moving with three sets of flagella.

Making it very easy to go septic.

There are three ways this parasite spreads:

1. Mouth to mouth feeding between mates or from parent to nestling.

(By far the most common in columbids)

2. Eating seeds thrown up by a starving late stage bird who physically can’t swallow them

(A common way to transmit it to song birds)

3. Eating an infected prey bird.

Pretty much any bird can catch and transmit the protozoan parasite Trichomonas gallinae, which causes Trichomoniasis; Trich/canker/frounce.

But most wild birds die from it very quickly, leaving it only a brief opportunity to spread to a new host.

What makes the feral descendants of racers and other performance breeds of domestic pigeon in particular especially dangerous carriers to raptors is their high immunity to it.

While a pigeon would have to have an active infection to spread trich to song bird (via vomited seed), an infected pigeon doesn’t have to be symptomatic to spread the parasite to a raptor, who is exposed directly by eating them in bite-sized pieces.

I have purchased birds from grand champion show breeders who looked to be in perfect health on arrival...

But their throats were swarming with Trich when swabbed. (part of my standard quarantine procedure)

Nearly every feral that’s entered our program through rescue has had a crop load of Trich, but were completely asymptomatic on arrival.

A raptor that had eaten one of these birds that was “healthy” by all appearances would still have sickened from it and died with out immediate veterinary intervention.

Our livestock doesn't exist in a bubble.

What we do (or don’t do) with our domesticated animals has consequences.

And when your biosecurity is nonexistent, and you either half ass treatment of a pathogen or don’t bother to treat at all, outbreaks are inevitable, and devastating to outside populations.

Pigeon fanciers talk about Canker like it’s nothing. Pop one pill and it’s done.

But this parasite is devastating.

And the way it’s treated by fanciers practically guarantees a fast track to developing drug resistance.

Domestic Pigeons left “in the wild” or “returned” to it not only have no beneficial niche to fill and no way to keep themselves fed,

They act as a reservoir for increasingly resistant pathogens practically engineered by the half-assed veterinary care of the fliers who provide a constant stream of new blood as racers and other performance breeds are lost from races or tosses or separated from kits.

Because of this, as much as the moral issue of having abandoned them in the first place, feral pigeons should not be ignored.

It is possible to drastically reduce their numbers with out any inhumane measures.

Taubbenhouses, comfortable shelters where nest boxes, feed, and water are provided, and any eggs laid are swapped for fakes, work wonders for population control.

With out injections, trapping, or poison, the reproductive rates of feral populations where this strategy was employed decreased by 95%.

Imagine combining that with better veterinary care for pigeons who belong to fanciers...

Maybe we could avoid...

This.

(Graphic photos under the cut)

This pigeon died of Trich.

By the look of it, those plaques went straight to its lungs...

This wood pigeon's entire throat was blocked.

Here is a septic pigeon (three and a half weeks old or so), with lesions all the way down its digestive tract.

Another septic pigeon (adult), with lesions all over its liver and even laced into its muscle tissue.

This is what happens when a hawk eats a pigeon with resistant trich.

This owl probably wasn’t able to swallow around that lesion 

This falcon chick (in particular danger due to falcons primarily preying on other birds) won’t be able to swallow soon.

This owl's choanal slit, glottis, and esophagus have been completely blocked off.

This peregrine (post-op) was lucky to have survived.

From the article ( http://www.shropshireperegrines.co.uk/news/news.html ):

“June 2014 - Peregrine chick treated for Trichomonas Gallinae

Two young peregrines, one male and one female, have been recovered in a distressed state from a scrape in north Shropshire by members of the Group and taken for treatment at the Cuan Wildlife Rescue Centre at Much Wenlock.

On examination both birds were diagnosed with "trichomonias gallinae", an infection affecting the birds' mouths, throat and eyes. According to the vet who examined the birds, the infection had most probably occurred by eating infected pigeon meat. Unfortunately the female chick did not survive.”

[brainfingerprints]

Sherin Mathews

Sherin Mathews (born in India as Saraswati Kumari) was only three years old when she was found dead in a culvert in Richardson, Texas. Her father had reported her missing on October 7th, 2017, and on October 22nd, her body was found. 

Initially, her father, Wesley Mathews, said that she was malnourished when she was adopted from India and in order to gain weight, she had to eat whenever she was awake. She woke at 3 am and her father attempted to give her milk, however, she refused to drink it. As punishment, he made her stand outside in an alleyway, alone. According to an affidavit filed, Mathews admitted to police that he knew coyotes or wild dogs had been seen in the alley. After a few minutes, Mathews returned and Sherin was gone. 

Mathews did not initially report Sherin missing but instead finished a load of laundry while he decided what to do. The police were immediately skeptical of his story and his choice to wait 5 hours to report Sherin missing. 

On October 7th, Mathews was arrested for child endangerment and the police began to suspect Mathews as it was reported his SUV left the house around 4 a.m. the night Sherin went missing, returning around 5 a.m. Sini Mathews, the adoptive mother who was sleeping at the time, was not cooperative and gave no details to the police on where her daughter could have been. 

Sherin’s body was found in a culvert on the 22nd of October, too decomposed for a proper autopsy. The same day, Mathews changed his initial statement. He stated that when Sherin refused to drink the milk, he raised his voice at her, which startled her, and she began to choke on the milk. After she died, he disposed of her body in the culvert “out of fear.” 

According to Sherin’s pediatrician, Sherin had multiple untreated injuries in various stages of healing, leading her to contact Child Protective Services to report abuse. The Mathews gave many excuses for her injuries and said that most occurred because of her brittle bones from her time in India. However, a doctor found that her injuries occurred after her time in India and the orphanage stated that she had not been malnourished while she was in their care. 

Wesley Mathews was charged with felony injury to a child and sentenced to life in prison. The prosecution states that the true cause of Sherin’s death will most likely never be revealed (unless Mathews decides to confess) as a child is highly unlikely to choke on milk. It is also obvious that Sherin suffered prolonged abuse at the hands of her adoptive parents, leading some to wonder if Sherin’s death was intentional.

[valheri-a]

             SHE LOOKS LIKE A DEMON WOMAN with many eyes glowing blood red in the dim lighting of the alley outside the coyote cojo.  faint echoes of the music between the tiny slats of the backdoor.  somewhere under the fur-trimmed jacket is THE AFTERTASTE of gun metal, lingering soap from hours ago, something sugary.  & she tangoes with a calm, expressionless look. ( they say the eyes are conduits of one’s sentiments & in its absence, an eerie quietude! ) & eventually her attention settles on the figure with deep cerulean hair.   without so much as turning her head, shifts weight to left hip & tosses it to the side, before speaking.

❛ ——you look like you had a rough night, ❜  she HUMS over the pulsing bass & pulls a pack of kreteks from inside jacket, not for props, but utility.  sweet & spicy.

THUMBS out a long black-papered cigarette, holds it out toward her.

❛ smoke? ❜

                                                             @garedan​  ( vittoria )   ⮕ s.c.