#and bee is a sheriff of one of those towns

[kingluffy5]

Playing Detectives Pt 7 (Wednesday x Male Reader)

After investigating the Gates’ mansion Wednesday finds herself more alone then ever and Y/N contemplates how much he can trust those around him and how much they trust him, when Mayor Walker thinks he’s cracked the case he’s suddenly hit by a car, and after putting her friends in danger the Sheriff has forbidden Wednesday from investigating the case.

Last night in the hospital someone killed Mayor Walker, pulled out his breathing tube thingies, and I would bet my life on the theory of the person who ran him over was the one who killed him. Now everyone is in attendance at his funeral. It’s raining, me and Wednesday are sharing a black umbrella. Despite our fight it’s not my place to be mad at or to forgive her, it’s Enid and Tyler’s, we’re in a mature healthy relationship so we don’t fight over petty stuff like this. And also despite our fight we have a case to solve and a monster to hunt down, my chest still hurts from the wounds the monster gave me, but Wends’ stitches are holding up alright. During the night Wednesday discovered a music box that belonged to Laurel Gates which contained many pictures of her, I’m not saying I want a stalker taking pictures of me but it feels kind of inconsiderate that only she got stalked.

Me and Wends look over across all the people here, all the potential suspects. Bianca and the mayors son share some glances and Ajax is there for Enid, the Sheriff and his son look at each other.

All of a sudden a shadowy figure is hiding behind some trees, he runs off and me and Wednesday share a quick glance before we run after him through the trees. We lose sight of him and slow down, he then drops down behind us and Wednesday grabs the sword hidden in her umbrella and jabs it towards him.

He then holds the blade between the palms of his hands and he sends an electric shock through it causing Wednesday to quickly drop the sword.

“Still as sharp as ever, my pig-tailed protégé.” The man says, wait what, he knows Wends.

“Uncle Fester.” She says as she gives him a big smile. I’m sorry Uncle who now.

The man takes off his hat to reveal an incredibly bald head.

“Uh, hi.” I greet him.

“Who is this?” He asks.

“Y/N Barron, Wednesday’s partner.” I answer.

“Barron, oh I’ve met a few of you in my lifetime, whenever one’s around you know it’s going to be a good time. And might I inquire what kind of partner you are to Wednesday?”

“A few different kinds.” I answer causing him to laugh a little.

We start to walk through the foggy forest.

“How long have you been stalking me?” She asks.

“Just blew into town this morning and was hit by a wave of nostalgia.”

“I thought you didn’t go to Nevermore.”

“I didn’t. Your dad got all the brains, but I used to drop in on him. Usually from the ceiling with a dagger clutched between my teeth, just to keep him on his toes.”

“Of course.”

“He filled me in on what’s been going on. Monsters, murder, mayhem. What fun! I told him I had a job in Boston, but I’d be checking up on you.”

“What kind of job?”

“The kind that means that I need a place to lay low for a couple of days.” I love Wednesday’s family more every time I meet them.

Me and Wednesday take him over to the bee hives.

“This place belongs to a friend.” She informs Fester.

“You actually made multiple friends. That poor kid will be going home in a body bag.” Wednesday looks down in guilt and I do the same. “I like a hideout that comes with snacks.”

“Those bees are hibernating.” I tell him.

“They’re practically Eugene’s children.” Wednesday says.

Fester opens one of the hives to try and get one.

“That means do not eat them!” She yells at him.

He looks disappointed but puts it back while Wednesday glares at him.

“You know, when you give me that death stare, you remind me of your mother. Speaking of scary things, you know what kind of monster you two are dealing with?” Alright that was just hilarious.

“We haven’t been able to identify it.” Wends says as she shows him the drawing of it.

“It’s called a Hyde.” He says handing back the paper.

“As in Jekyll and Hyde?” I question.

“Hm-mmm.” He confirms.

“You’ve seen one before?” Wednesday asks.

“Oh yeah. In ‘83, during my vacay at the Zurich Institute for the Criminally Insane. Where I got my first lobotomy. But you know lobotomies. They’re like tattoos. Can’t just get one.”

“Tell us about the Hyde.” She cuts him off.

“Ah. Olga Malacova. Jeez, she had it all. Beauty, brains, and a penchant for necrophilia. Olga was a concert pianist, until one night she transformed in the middle of a Chopin sonata. Massacred a dozen audience members, and three music critics.”

“What triggered her? Or did she just change on her own?”

“No idea. I only saw her in group electro-shock therapy.”

“There’s never been any mention of Hydes in any outcast book. And Nevermore is reputed for having the best collection.” I point out.

“You guys try Nathaniel Faulkner’s diary?” He asks us. “Before he founded Nevermore Faulkner traveled the world, cataloging every outcast community.”

“How do you know this?” Wends asks him.

“You think your parents can’t keep their hands off each other now, oy vey. I showed up unannounced one night in Gomez’s dorm room. Let’s just say I wasn’t interrupting a pillow fight.” NO NO NO NO NO, I did not need to hear that now, I did not need to hear that ever, I need to pour bleach into my ear later so that way it will wipe this memory from my brain.

“Uncle Fester. The diary, where is it.”

“The Nightshade’s Library. Your dad parked me there and said I should settle in for a long stretch. And that’s when I found this nifty little safe, I was hoping for a stash of cash or jewels but instead I found a diary.”

“We’l sneak into the Nightshades Library tonight. In the meantime lay low. If you are discovered I will disown you and collect the reward tied to your capture.” Wednesday warns him as we turn to leave.

“I’d expect nothing less.”

After a second Wednesday barges back into the shed and shout at him to leave the bees alone.

— — —

Apparently Enid went to go find something from their room while she’s bunking with Yoko and they got into an argument, she ended up saying that Wednesday endangers everyone that she comes into contact with, which is honestly kind of true.

We are currently heading down into the Nightshade’s Library.

“Uncle Fester?”

“Who’s uncle Fester?” Xavier says appearing from the shadows.

“What are you doing here?”

“Since I’m an actual Nightshade, I don’t have to explain myself. What’s your excuse for creeping around in the middle of the night.”

“Research.”

“On the monster? I’ll save you two some time. There’s nothing in here matching that thing.”

“Isn’t that convenient.” Wednesday says.

“You know what your problem is Wednesday?”

“I would love to hear your piercing insight.”

“You don’t know who your real friends are. I’ve been on your side since day one. I literally saved your life. I believed your theories when nobody else did. And what do I get in return? Just nothing but suspicion and lies.”

“Fine you want honesty? Here it is. Every time the monster’s attacked, you’ve been right there. Starting with Rowan at the Harvest Fest. Then on Outreach day, you arrived just minutes after the monster disappeared, yet you say you didn’t see it.”

“I didn’t realize proximity was a crime.”

“Then there’s your drawing obsession. You have drawn the monster dozens of times yet you’ve never seen it. Or so you claim. You even drew where it lived. Then when Y/N and Eugene went to investigate, you tried to kill them so they wouldn’t spill your secrets.”

“You think I would hurt Eugene? Y/N, you think I would try to kill you?” He asks us, I remain quiet, I haven’t know what to believe over the past few days.

“Let’s not forget your oh-so-convenient appearance after Y/N and Tyler had been attacked at the Gates mansion.”

“If I am the monster then why haven’t I killed you?”

“Because for some reason I cannot fathom or indulge you seem to like me.”

“What’s to like?” He says.

“Dude just back off, she doesn’t owe you blind faith, she deserves to think for herself about who she trusts.” I tell him.

“And your problem, your a psycho. Be honest here, your not trying to stop this monster to avenge it’s victims or to bring peace of mind to their families, you’re just bored and want something interesting to do. You have no empathy, you don’t care about anyone, you are just as heartless as that monster.” He tells me.

This may have started as me being bored, but after Eugene got attacked this was personal. I care about him, he’s my best friend, I care about Wednesday and I don’t want to see her be the monster’s next victim.

Wednesday looks angrier then I’ve ever seen her. “He has to go through more pain then you will ever know.” She says spitefully, her words laced with venom and I smile at her.

She could be talking about my panic attacks, or she could be talking about her vision of me, what did she see, what was so bad that it would garner this kind of a reaction. I’m glad she defended me though, it’s nice to remember that she likes me too despite not showing it much.

With that Xavier leaves and Fester jumps down behind us.

“How long have you been lurking?” Wends asks him.

“Long enough to feel the tension between you guys. Yowza. Seriously, you could cut it with an executioner’s axe.”

Thing comes into the room and Fester hears him. “I’d recognize the patter of those fingertips anywhere. Hello Thing.” Thing taps angrily at him.

“You can’t still be mad about the Kalamazoo job. It wasn’t my fault.” With that Thing lunges at Fester and starts to choke him. “ You said you could crack that safe in 30 seconds. Five minutes later we were still standing there, you’re all thumbs.”

“Enough.” Wednesday says commandingly like a mother breaking up two kids. “Let him go. Show me the diary.”

Fester walks us over to a portrait of Ignatius Itt

“Here it is. Iggy was Faulkner’s right hand. Trained a generation of Nightshades. And behind Iggy Itt.”

“Wait you guys know Ignatius Itt?” I ask them.

“He’s my cousin.” Fester answers. Ok, cool, perfectly normal that my girlfriend is actually related to my personal hero, not like I am freaking out right now. Maybe Wends can introduce us.

“Do I have time for a snooze, or can you crack this quickly?” Fester remarks as Thing begins to try and crack the safe.

After a few times Fester says that this is turning into a replay of Kalamazoo. Finally he opens the safe revealing the diary.

— — —

We make our way back to Wednesday’s room as Wednesday begins to look through the journal.

“These are some sweet diggs. How’d you swing your own single?” Fester asks her.

“My former roommate couldn’t handle my toxic personality.”

She finally lands on the page about Hydes. “Faulkner describes Hydes as artists by nature, but equally vindictive in temperament. Born of mutation, the Hyde lays dormant until unleashed by a traumatic event or unlocked through chemical inducement or hypnosis. This causes the Hyde to develop an immediate bond with its liberator who the creature now sees as its master. It becomes the willing instrument of whatever nefarious agenda this new master might propose.”

“Artist by nature, doesn’t that sound like someone we know?”

“Anyone willing to unlock a Hyde is a next-level sicko.” Fester says.

“That means we’re not looking for one killer but two.” I point out.

“The monster and its master.” Wednesday says.

Someone knocks on the door, me and Fester go to hide in Enid’s pile of stuffed animals.

Ms. Thornhill walks in and begins to talk with Wednesday about how Enid is going to room with Yoko for the rest of the year, how she cares about Enid, how she’s becoming a better person, and that she clearly misses Enid. Stuff like that.

“Uncle Fester, Y/N.” She shouts looking for us, he accidentally knocks over one of the plushies causing Wednesday to walk over and uncovers us.

“Hey! Being a solo lobo has its perks. You get to live by your own rules, do whatever you want. Just look at me.”

— — —

We went to Xavier’s shed.

While Wednesday distracted him me and Fester put a tracker on his bike.

“Did you two place the tracker?” Wends asks us.

“Don’t worry we got you covered.” Fester answers, handing her the device to track Xavier.

“Okay. Let’s hit the road.”

We walk over to the transportation Fester has arranged for us and reveals it to be a dog walking company’s motorbike with a Dalmatian pattern. We look at him for a few seconds.

“What? I picked it up on my way out of town. You know me. I like to travel incognito.” He hands us a couple of helmets with a matching pattern.

Fester drives the bike as Wends sits in the passenger car and I hold onto his back.

We follow Xavier to a secluded spot by the lake where a car is waiting.

Dr. Kinbott’s car. Kinbott’s the master.

— — —

Me and Wednesday go to Weems’ office to tell her about the doctor.

“Principal Weems, it is imperative we speak with you about Dr. Kinbott.”

“Wednesday, Y/N. We were just talking about you.”

“Speak of the devil.” Kinbott says behind us with a tray of tea.

“And she shall appear.” Wednesday says.

“Dr. Kinbott was just discussing your assessment Wednesday. I need to sign off on it before she can send it to court.”

“Well, what’s the verdict, Doctor? Am I cured?” She asks Kinbott.

“I’m glad you find it amusing. The judge assigned to your case won’t.”

“I’ve explained to Dr. Kinbott that you’ve recently been taking small but meaningful steps towards embracing your new Nevermore family.”

“Yes, I think I’ve actually reached the half-hug stage. I’ve been reading about hypnotherapy. It might be a good technique to unlock my inner Wednesday. Are you a devotee?” Babe I love you, but dropping hints that we know that a serial killer is a serial killer isn’t the smartest move.

“Yes, very much so. I applaud your new willingness to delve deep into yourself. We see each other on Monday, we can start then.”

“What did you so urgently need to discuss?” Weems asks us.

“It can wait, now if you excuse us we have homework to finish.”

— — —

Me, Wends, and Fester sit in the Weathervane to discuss our approach.

“Kinbott has to be Xavier’s master. The Hyde lays dormant until unleashed by a traumatic event or unlocked through chemical inducement or hypnosis.” I say.

Fester starts, I don’t know how to say it, drinking, chugging, slurping, the ketchup.

“Are you listening? She must’ve figured out he’s a Hyde and used hypnotherapy to unlock him. That would explain their secret sessions.” Wends says.

“I think the kid behind the counter has clocked me. Yeah, he’s walking over. I’m going to put him in a Romanian sleeper hold. Cover me.” Fester says referring to Tyler. Oh dear god, I would love to see that.

“Relax. He’s not interested in you.” Wednesday tells him. Cmon Wends, it would only have been a few seconds worth of Fester choking out Tyler.

“Uh, made you a quad. On the house.”

“Hey, thanks kid. Need a refill on this puppy too.” Fester thanks him. This man is my idol.

“Tyler, this is my uncle Fester.” Wends introduces right when Tyler started looking confused.

“Oh uh. Hi nice to meet. Ow!” He shouts as Fester zaps him chuckling.

“Is that?” Tyler asks recognizing the monster from when it attacked us.

“It’s called a Hyde.”

“That’s it, from that night.”

“Your father gave you explicit instructions not to be near me.” Wednesday tells him.

“Yeah, my dad’s not here and I’m on my break.”

“Well, apparently a Hyde needs to be unlocked by someone. It’s master.”

“Holy shit.”

“Tyler! What did I say?” The sheriff shouts from the entrance way as Fester disappears again.

“Uh. For the record Wednesday was trying to keep a distance. I was the one that sat down with her and Y/N.”

“All right. Putting these up around town. It’s a bank robbery suspect and he’s a real creep.” He says handing us a wanted poster of Fester. “You haven’t seen him have you?”

“No.” Wends says.

“Yeah, he’d be pretty hard to miss.” Tyler chuckles. “I’ll pin it on the bulletin board.”

“Barron, how’re the stitches holding up?” He asks me.

“They’re alright Sheriff.” I tell him.

The sheriff shakes his head at Wednesday before turning to leave. “Why do I waste my breath.”

“Thank you, but you didn’t have to do that.”

“Yeah your family’s very colorful.”

“Ironic considering Fester’s the black sheep. He’s harmless.”

“So about rescheduling our date.” I’m sorry, what?

“Between the monster and my uncle.” Yeah she’s busy, she doesn’t have time for dates, believe me.

“Hey, no excuses. Figure after what happened last time, you owe me.” That entire sentence was just one big red flag. Plus you got off light compared to me.

“I can’t sneak off of campus. All eyes are on me.”

“You won’t have to, I’ll come to you. 9:00 p.m., Crackstone’s Crypt.”

After that he goes back to work and me and Wends leave to head back to Nevermore.

“I don’t have to go.” She tells me.

“I know but I think you should go.” I tell her despite hating the idea.

“Really?”

“Yeah, I know we’re pretty certain that Xavier’s the Hyde but until we’re one hundred percent sure, we shouldn’t rule out anybody else. I don’t trust Tyler and if we make him think you actually like him then we can keep him from knowing we suspect him. I reason.

She smiles the tiniest smile ever at that. “I knew there was a reason I picked you as my partner, for the case and for life.”

“And believe me Wednesday Addams, when this case is over I will take you on a lovely picnic date in a cemetery.” I tell her, causing her smile to grow.

— — —

While Wednesday is on her “date” Me and Thing are going to watch over the diary.

We are sitting around talking about random stuff, favorite movies, favorite books, opinions on Mondays.

“Look, I understand that you enjoy the consistency of hatred that Monday provides but I personally only find comfort in knowing a grumpy orange cat that enjoys lasagna agrees with me.”

Me and Thing argue a bit more before I go out to get a breath of fresh air.

I wonder how Wednesday’s manipulation of Tyler is going right now. Why did I suggest this plan, it’s stupid, damn it.

Suddenly the door swings open and a hooded figure barges in, before I can reach for my sword they stab me in my back several times and I feel a sudden pain in my head before everything goes black.

— — —

I wake up in the bee shed. Me and Thing are lying on the table both of us seemingly having just woken up. Wednesday seems like she’s about to cry and Fester is standing over us having used his shock powers to save us.

“For a minute we thought you picked your last lock buddy.” Fester tells Thing.

“Who did this to you two?” She asked us.

“They covered their face, it was my own fault, I didn’t keep my sword with me.” I answer.

“Cowards.” Wednesday spits. “I promise that whoever did this to you will suffer. An dit will be slow, long, and excruciatingly painful.”

Thing and Wednesday pinky promise on that before we do the same.

“I’ll stitch you two back up. They found your motorbike so the sheriff wont be far. You need to go.” She says getting up. “Maybe next time steal something a little less conspicuous.”

“Where’s the fun in that? All right I’ll lay low here tonight, keep an eye on Thing, and I’ll skedaddle in the morning.”

“I guess I’ll see you at your arraignment or the next family reunion.”

“You’ll always be my favorite Wednesday.”

“Be sure to tell Pugsley that. It’ll give him a complex.”

While she stitches the wounds on my back she notices my frown. “You’re sulking, more then usual.”

“Scars on someone’s back are their shame.” I answer.

After saying that she kneels in front of me. “I promise I will give whoever did this much worse.”

“I am sure you will.” I say smiling. We kiss and she goes back to stitching me up.

— — —

After stitching me and Thing up Wends went to go report her room being ransacked to Weems.

Turns out she knew of the monster being a Hyde and revealed that they were banned from Nevermore 30 years ago and that she didn’t tell the Sheriff to protect Nevermore. The two of them argued, noting really different from every other interaction they have.

We are now walking to our next class when Bianca walks up to us.

“Come with me. I have information about Mayor Walker’s murder.”

We walk with her down to the Nightshade’s library to find the Mayor’s son handing us some papers.

“Printed these off of my dad’s computer. Seems he was trying to track down someone. Laurel Gates? Looks like he started right after Outreach Day.”

“Must have recognized her there.” I remark.

“According to British police Laurel was presumed drowned, but no body was ever recovered.”

We look through the files.

“The gates mansion was purchased a year ago by a 90-year-old candy heiress. She then mysteriously died and gave all her belongings to her caregiver, Teresa L. Glau. It’s and anagram for Laurel Gates.”

“Laurel secretly buys her old house and then comes back to Jericho as someone else. Why?” Bianca questions.

“Revenge on all the people she blames for her family’s misfortunes. Your father. The coroner. My parents. Most of all, Nevermore.”

“How exactly does the monster fit into all this?” Bianca asks.

“The monster is a Hyde and it’s doing Laurel’s bidding. She controls it.” I answer.

“You know who Laurel is, don’t you?” The Mayor’s kid, Lucas that was his name, that was really bugging me shit, gotta remember that next time.

“Yes, but the real question is how are we going to get her to see us?” Wednesday asks.

“I may have an idea.” I respond.

— — —

“I’m sorry, you two want couple’s counseling?” Kinbott asks.

“Yes, despite how perfect it may seem our relationship has a few problems.” I say.

“Um. Okay, sit down, I guess. What seems to be the problems?” She asks us.

“He doesn’t appreciate my cello playing.” Wednesday said quickly. Okay I asked her one time through factime on Enid’s phone to keep it down because I was trying to sleep.

“She forgot to feed my pets the one time I asked her to.” I retort.

“He has an unhealthy obsession with anime.” She says. Unhealthy is a strong word, do I watch a lot of it yes, does it take up most of my time, yes, do I sometimes ignore other tasks to watch it, yes. Alright I might actually have a problem.

“She doesn’t tell me everything that I need to know.” This gets her attention.

“What?” She asks.

“The night Rowan died, when you touched my hand you had a vision. What was the vision Wends?” I ask her.

“It was nothing important, can we get back to our plan?” She asks referring to our plan to lure Dr. Kinbott into a false sense of security and tricking her into confessing.

“No, it’s about me isn’t it? What did you see?”

“I didn’t see anything.”

“Bullshit. What was it that has you so rattled that not even you are willing to tell me?”

“It wasn’t anything!”

“What was it Wednesday!”

“You’re going to die!” She reveals.

“What?” I ask hoping I misheard her.

“You die fighting the Hyde.” She says again.

I remain silent for a moment before sitting back down. “Ok.” I simply said.

“Aren’t you scared or angry?” Wends asks me.

“No, not really, I mean, I’d rather die fighting then being killed without putting up a fight. Besides I never really believed in fate or destiny to begin with, and if it comes down to a fight between me and the Hyde, I think I’d win, I got great swordsmanship skills and now that we’ve narrowed down our list of suspects then we can stop them before they kill me.” I explain. Honestly even if I die fighting, it’d be good to know that I died protecting everyone I care about and that I’d die as a hero.

“I think this is a little above of my pay grade.” Kinbott says nervously. Understandable, not every day you find out a teenager standing right in front of you is destined to die a horrible, brutal death. Also she probably wants to remain as far away from anything involving the Hyde since it was her who awakened it.

Wednesday gets up looking angry. “This is your fault to begin with. We know you’re Laurel Gates, we found this in your childhood bedroom.” She says handing her the music box from her bag. “You’ve come back to Jericho to seek your revenge. And so did Mayor Walker, which is why you had to kill him. Who better to slide in and out of the hospital undetected than a psychiatrist under the guise of visiting another patient?”

“Wends, what happened to the plan?” I ask. She really has a problem with just explaining to our suspects that we know that they might be killers.

“You’re not actually accusing me of murdering the mayor?”

“The roses you left in Eugene’s room were your mistake. They’re the same variety I found near your childhood bed.”

“I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“There’s only one reason an overqualified psychiatrist like yourself would settle in the inconsequential backwater that is Jericho. It allowed you to crawl through the troubled, young minds of outcasts until you found one that you can manipulate to exact your revenge.”

“You know what. I don’t have time to deal with your delusional fantasies. I have a patient emergency.”

“Who? Xavier?” I ask.

“We know all about the secret sessions you’ve been holding in your car. I also found the cave where you’ve been holding sessions to unlock his Hyde.”

“And even if you guys aren’t the killers, it’d still be kind of weird that you hold sessions in your car.” I point out.

“You are so out of line.” She tells us.

“Do you know hoe violently unpredictable a Hyde can be? It was your plan to have Xavier committed before he could turn on you too.”

“Wednesday, Y/N, you two need help. More help than I can give you.”

She reaches for her phone. “Who you calling? Xavier?” Wends asks.

“Judge Reynolds. I’m going to recommend that you two stay in a juvenile psychiatric facility for observation.”

“Oh, please. We all know that we’d be running that place in a week.” Wednesday says. “Times up Laurel.”

We both leave the office.

— — —

Me, Wednesday, and Weems are sitting in the Jericho ER. Turns out Kinbott just got attacked by the Hyde while calling Weems to talk about our recent visit to her office.

The Sheriff comes out of the room and walks up to us.

“She’s gone. Dr. Kinbott’s dead.” He tells us.

“This ends now.” Wednesday says dramatically.

We both leave the hospital.

— — —

We both go to Xavier’s art shed with an ambush planned. Wends waits inside for Xavier while I hide outside with the cavalry.

We can hear faint talking inside when Xavier goes inside as he and Wednesday argue about the case.

The Sheriff and I barge in seeing Xavier holding a knife.

“Freeze. Drop the knife. Down on your knees.” He says arresting Xavier. “Cuff him. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney, if you cannot afford an attorney one will be appointed for you. Appreciate the help Addams, Barron.

“You framed me! I shoulda let Rowan kill you.” He shouts at us as he gets dragged out by the cops.

— — —

Me and Wends go back to her room to find Enid putting all her stuff back.

“Hey.” She greets us.

“You’re back.” Wednesday says.

“I’m gone for a few days, the place gets trashed, and Thing and Y/N almost die. Someone’s gotta look out for you guys.”

“What happened to rooming with Yoko?” Wednesday asks.

“Yoko’s great. I just decided I needed a few more boundaries.”

Enid starts to put down a line of tape to separate the room in half which is apparently something they’ve been doing.

“Skip the tape.” Wednesday tells her.

“Don’t tell me Wednesday Addams is mellowing out.”

“Never. More like evolving.”

“Well, one inch of duct tape at a time.”

“Why the sudden change of heart?”

“Because we work. We shouldn’t but we do. It’s like some sort of weird, friendship anomaly. Everything you’ve said about me is true. But I don’t apologize for it not anymore. It’s just who I am.”

“Thing said he missed you.”

“I missed him to. I’m sorry about Xavier.”

“We’re not. He’s a liar and a killer.” Wednesday says

“Besides there’s nothing quite like the feeling of being proven right.” I say as me and Wends smirk at each other.

“OMG, I ship you two so hard. I was honestly expecting you to get with Tyler at first but you two just work so well together.” Oh shit, right, Tyler.

“I still need to tell him about us and how he and I won’t be together.” Wednesday says.

“Well I heard he’s working the late shift.” Enid says.

“Alright, you go talk to Tyler, and I’ll leave so you guys can catch up.” I say before leaving.

— — —

I make it back to my room. I feed my pets. I lay down on my bed.

I look over to Eugene’s empty one. “We got him buddy. I can’t wait for you to come back.”

I start to contemplate the future. Now that the case is over me and Wednesday can go on a few dates, the Nevermore Hummers can get back to it’s usual routine when Eugene get’s back, Wednesday’s made peace with both Enid and Bianca. Everything feels perfect. It’s never felt this way before. Why does it feel like this won’t last, I’m probably just being paranoid but it feels like there’s one piece missing.

Suddenly I get a text from Enid, or at least Wednesday using Enid’s phone. When I read it I’m shocked, it makes so much sense yet I can’t believe it.

Tyler’s the Hyde.

[hannibalzero]

Can you provide anymore background on Arthur when he was 13, or his childhood? I love your headcanons.

I would be happy too, but just a heads up it’s a bit dark. 🙃. Arthur is the oldest of the Morgan clan. Nora, Yvette and Emily where his little sisters. (Actually canon sisters! I didn’t know until 5 minutes ago.) Beatrice ran off in the middle of the night with her beloved little girls. Arthur looked to much like Lyle for her to take him with her. Let that man have the boy he wanted so desperately.

Really quick, Beatrice going under the name Bea moved to a Chicago with her ‘honey bees’ and worked in vaudeville. She married the theater owner and made her babies into stars. They are a group of popular singers, Emily became a actress in silent movies. Think Mary Pickford. Nora living up to the Morgan name even if she didn’t use it, killed her first husband and became one of the first “merry murderesses” to win over the courts and win her freedom…along with a stage show. Yvette is a popular romance writer who’s novels make most fine ladies clutch their pearls.

Arthur doesn’t know any of this. Just thought his mama and sisters ran off and got killed somehow. He was hardly six and left with Lyle. The memory of his mother and sisters are very fuzzy now. As fate would have it, Arthur has one of Yvette’s books. “The wreck less bandit and the runway bride.”

Lyle, wasn’t good to Arthur but he wasn’t mean ether. Arthur was just there, not to be spoken too and given orders to do. Arthur kept quite, cleaned the guns he was given. Cooked whatever food was around and patched Lyle up when he was hurt. Hard work is a corner stone for Arthur Morgan. It’s always waiting for him. Always expected of him. What else would Arthur do?

Lyle was caught strangling his(?) pregnant prostitute, mistress in a drunken rage in broad daylight. By the time Arthur made it to town to see what was happening? Lyle’s boots where swinging in the air. The sheriff gave Arthur, Lyle’s hat and gun belt. Told Arthur to get outta town. Arthur hardly got a old trunk of his mamas and that poor old horse ‘black jack’ loaded up and road out of the old mining town. Arthur was eleven. Just because I’m evil the town was Colter but when rdr2 starts Arthur doesn’t recognize it, the house Dutch, Hosea, Molly and Arthur share was the home Arthur was born in.

So far everything goes by canon, Arthur was saved by Dutch and Hosea. Welcomed into the family, thought to read and write, honestly talk too. Arthur flourished under Dutch and Hosea’s guidance. But Arthur was growing up and much to everyone’s shock, he presented as an omega at the age of 13. Still young, he didn’t know why this would cause trouble.

Scouting out a new job with Hosea around a horse ranch. Arthur met Nicholas, a handsome young alpha that was 13 years older than Arthur. (26) His attention was focused, addictive and would sweet talk Arthur so nicely. Yeah he groomed Arthur promising him they would be married and mated. Arthur won’t have to be a thief anymore, he would be spoiled and loved. Safe…Arthur believed him. Wound up pregnant, ran off to be with Hosea and Bessie. They where trying to go straight (Dutch broke his bond with Hosea for Grimshaw at the time…then Abigail…then Molly.)

Arthur wouldn’t hear Hosea and Bessie, Nicholas loved him. He would love their puppy. Arthur gave birth sometime during the fall, once Arthur was healed enough to ride a horse. He loaded up Isaac and went to be with his mate.

Nicholas rejected him, claimed the puppy wasn’t his and that Arthur was a whore. Arthur killed him and fed Nicholas to the pigs. He stole everything he could before going back to Dutch. Dutch welcomed him back with a hard backhanded slap across the face, rings cutting into Arthur’s face. It’s where those scars on his chin came from.

“I don’t need no omega bitch. I need a enforcer, an alpha son. Fix it or get out.” Dutch held Issac “….keep those god dammed legs closed.” He ordered Arthur.

Arthur did just that. Changed himself to look like an alpha as much he could. He bought a potion from someone in the swamps to change him into a alpha. Brought legendary animals to be made into talismans. Maybe it was just Arthur growing up, maybe it was the effort he made to be an alpha. smoked up a storm and hides his scent with that awful smelling pomade.

(Tw child death) so I’m changing this part, Isaac got sick. He wouldn’t nurse, wouldn’t sleep. No matter what Arthur did he couldn’t help his son. Arsenic from Mrs. Grimshaw under Dutch’s orders when Arthur was out running jobs. Grimshaw would do anything for Dutch. Arthur would never know this, he just knew Isaac got a fever.

So that’s all I have so far! I know this is dark but this is Arthur’s past so far!

[wilkes-barre-history]

161 Blackman Street

Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania

Now a modest two-bedroom apartment, 161 Blackman Street was once home to Wilkes-Barre’s most infamous royal couple. The Higgenbottoms were long rulers of a vast land — until a terrible twist of fate and passion destroyed them both.

Construction on 161 Blackman Street ended in 1862. The Higgenbottoms — Zeb and Patricia — were the king and queen of Wilkes-Barre. A then-booming land of industry, Zeb and Patricia sought to live in a home as grandiose as the city over which they ruled; now its history known by only a few local anthropologists, it was once a towering castle that claimed its place in the Wilkes-Barre skyline.

Life in this 19th-century chateau was idyllic. Zeb spent his time in the courtyards, tending to his many impressive root vegetable patches. Patricia oversaw local government organizations, acted as fiduciary of the Wilkes-Barre money chests, and led charity work for the city’s youth born without fingers.

Although their relationship seemed perfect, Patricia grew more jealous of Zeb’s power as time pressed on. She longed to be the one true ruler of Wilkes-Barre, and in 1869, fate shone a light on her darkest desire.

Zeb had become increasingly ill in their time at 161 Blackman Street. Every morning his hands would swell to the size of gourds, and every evening his feet would shrivel like dirty old raisins. Within a few months he became bound to his second floor chambers, laying in bed from sun up to sun down. His spirits began to fade as the grounds of the estate deteriorated.

Patricia watched as her husband grew weak and weary; while Zeb was trapped in their bedroom, she began her plot to become the only Royal of Wilkes-Barre. It didn’t take long for her to hatch a truly devious plan: leave him to perish in his own bed, wrap him in the mattress between the chambermaids’ linens and send him off to port with the other town dross.

In the early summer days of June 1869, Patricia made the decision to pursue her husband’s demise. At the bottom of the spiral staircase leading to Zeb’s bedprison, Patricia ordered the Royal Metal Men (Illuminati) of Wilkes-Barre to remove all steps and access to the second floor. Though Zeb heard this order and cried out for help, it was bee season in Wilkes-Barre — hoards of Wilkes-Barre bees surrounded the second floor windows and their buzzing drowned out the pleas coming from his bed. The staircase was removed from the castle; now all that Patricia needed to do was wait.

It wasn’t long before Patricia noticed the smell of her husband’s remains. After all, his shrunken feet and oversized hands turned him into a human anchor in his own bed. While the official cause of death has been sealed off by the Wilkes-Barre Towne Sheriff for the last century, some in the town say he died from exposure, others say consumption. Sentimentalists say he died from a broken heart. As historians, we may never know the truth.

When the scent became too much to bear, Patricia ordered the town forklift to come into 161 Blackman Street to assist her to the second floor. Once she ascended the upper level, she cautiously looked around for Zeb’s corpse — to her surprise, she found nothing. Patricia carefully navigated the floor, looking all around the Royal Bed for the Zeb bones she’d been waiting to discover.

As Patricia fumbled through the linens on the mattress searching for any signs of her late husband, she found a cavernous hole in the center of the sheets. She nervously pulled back the fabric covering the hole and heard a low buzzing sound. The noise grew louder, but Patricia was frozen with fear. She stood over the mattress and the buzzing moved towards her — out of the bed hole came a swarm of Wilkes-Barre bees. Hundreds of thousands of bees surrounded Patricia as she screamed for help, though no one on the lower level could her hear cries, much like those of Zeb just a few days earlier.

The bees chased Patricia across the upper floor into the bedroom closet, and the door slammed behind her. Over 150 years later, no one has seen or heard from Patricia or Zeb Higgenbottom ever again.

A replica staircase has since been installed in the building, and the historical landmark has now been converted into apartment space. Many are unaware of the history behind 161 Blackman Street, but some say if you’re on the street at night and the police sirens are quiet, you can still hear the buzzing of the Wilkes-Barre bees trapped in the upstairs closet.

[aurumjank]

The second episode of Wednesday is finished. What can I say. Purr-fect 😸

⚠️ Warning for spoilers if you still haven't watched the show ⚠️

Things I personally liked about episode:

Edgar Allan Poe. I love the guy as much as Stephen King - they're gods of horror, dark fantasy and suspense (in my humble opinion).

Cats. I love them. And especially black ones (I don't know why people think they bring misfortune - I know they bring luck 🐈‍⬛💜) So yeah, Wednesday on a "cat" team? Amazing. And some additional points for cat puns - I have a soft spot furr them 😹

Enid. She's such a puppy! I mean, all those hugs, and "You'll do this for me?", "We're friends!" - I can almost see her wiggling her tail, and "WWWD?" for me sounded a little like "I did a good job, didn't I? I'm a good girl! Praise me!" She reminds me of my little brother - I call him "my kitten", but he actually acts a lot like a puppy 🐶

The fact that sheriff agreed to listen to Wednesday. That was a really nice surprise. Because I'm used to seeing in the shows where adults think that if it's a kid, then they're stupid. Like "What can you possibly know - you're just a kid!", "Stay out of here, little one", etc.

Things I didn't really like (they didn't ruin anything for me, but they are still exist):

The bee guy - a little secondhand embarrassment, but overall...ugh, okay. I guess, let him be.

The principal. I don't know, maybe she thinks she knows what's good for Wednesday and tries her best to help. But the way she kind of forces her to socialize? I don't like it. I also don't like the fact that she pretended to be Rowan, so that the case was closed (at least I think it was her and that was the reason). I mean, some kind of beast is running around in the woods and killing people - including her students - and she decided that there's no need for investigation? And she made everyone think that Wednesday is a liar. That's probably even worse. We all know Wednesday will more likely just say what she thinks right in your face or at least won't say anything at all.

Sheriff. As sheriff he's kind of good - he goes to investigate Rowan's murder even after he saw the boy alive, he knows that the school of supernatural is the most logical place for the beast to hide (after forest, of course, but they had a search party there and didn't find either body or beast, so...), he agrees to listen to Wednesday (as I mentioned before). But! He's clearly a shitty dad. And a person. It's my personal opinion, of course.

I also have three suspects for the role of beast.

Enid.

I mean, the beast looked like a werewolf-y thing, she could not know that she actually can turn into this and the beast protected Wednesday, so it's a possibility. Right?

Ms. Thornhill (a.k.a. "dorm mom").

Okay, maybe she's not a beast, but she's kind of shady... She seems nice, but I have this strange vibes from her, this feeling that something is off. Is she even a "Normie" or is she just really good at hiding?

Tyler.

Okay, yeah. This sounds CRAZY! Believe me, I know. At first it was just a ridiculous suggestion (to myself, I'm watching aaaall alone, that's why you - Tumblr people - have to struggle with my thoughts and theories). I laughed and then thought about it a little more and...

He lives in town near the woods where the murders are happening. Everyone thinks he's "Normie" so no one would suspect him, which makes it easier to kill.

His father is a sheriff, so he knows things about investigation and can do something. He also, probably, knows how to hide a body...

He definitely knows how to throw dogs off the trail (isn't it exactly what he did with the coffee beans?). He could've done something, so the dogs didn't find a body.

He was there when Wednesday ran after Rowan. As a sheriff's son (and a nice person) it wouldn't be surprising if he ran after her. If he's the beast, then it's understandable why he killed Rowan but didn't touch Wednesday - he was protecting her.

He said he believes Wednesday. Meaning he believes that Rowan is dead. If he's the one who killed him, then of course he believes her!

Of course, I might just be going crazy. Maybe all this detective TV shows and books I'm fond of are messing with my head. Or maybe I'm actually onto something? We'll see 🤷🏼‍♀️

[bumbleblurr]

fellas I am thinking of cowboy blurrbee at the worst time when I should be focused on other art projects

[jadelotusflower]

Robin Hood Rewatch - 3x04 Sins of the Father

I bet they regret not saving this episode title for later in the season.

But I had absolutely no memory of this episode! I honestly thought this, episode four, was when Prince John/Isabella showed up but no, we have more filler. The only notable event is Kate being outlawed, which I knew happened at some stage, but had zero memory of how. Oh and a plot about a conman father and son pretending to be tax collectors, and hmm doesn’t that seem familiar?

But there’s no actual movement in the overall arc, to the extent that this season even has an overall arc. I mean the season is 1/3 over, and it feels like nothing has happened?

This episode also has the distinction of being one of the few written by a woman - Holly Phillips, although this was her only one. For those keeping track, the others were Bev Doyle (3 eps), Debbie Oates (2 eps), and Lisa Holdsworth (2 eps).

Vaisey’s bookeeper (?) Scrope is working the abacus hard trying to calculate the cash that can be sent to Prince John (still 1000 crowns - guess he didn’t get a discount for turning over Guy, who is again not in this episode).

He does get mentioned though, as Vaisey is paranoid that Guy is in London “gallivanting with Prince John, scheming against me” - well, you’re the one who sent him there ! ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 

Scrope provides exposition that the new tax collector will be arriving, and his name is Rufus.

And his son, apparently, whose name is Edmund. Yeah. these dudes look trustworthy. But the Sheriff really couldn’t be fooled by a fake father-and-son tax collectors again, could he?

Meanwhile, the gang steal the Sheriff’s winter food store by setting loose some bees, and Rufus watches with interest and compliments Robin on the slight of hand.

He then reveals to Vaisey that Nottingham is his home town, and he’s come back to make them pay. DUN DUN.

He proceeds straight to Locksley to swing his dick around make an example of people who don’t pay their taxes. When Kate makes a comment that they do, he destroys their pottery stall, and the kiln explodes, starting a fire.

Now, this has been bugging me since the start of the season, but the pots could not look more industrially made right down to the perfectly glazed paint, so perhaps nothing of value was lost.

Kate stands up to Rufus, and honestly I think this is a pretty fair reaction and actually pretty steely of Kate to hold firm. However, when Rufus sees she won’t back down, he threatens to hurt Rebecca and she is cowed, agreeing to go to Locksley Manor to make him “smile.” Ah, our old friend, Threat of Sexual Assault.

I actually think this is an interesting position for Kate to be in - she has berated Robin for causing collateral damage by standing up to Vaisey, and now she’s experiencing the fallout of her own bravery. Will this prompt any self-reflection or character development on Kate’s part? Of course not!

There’s a very creepy and uncomfortable scene where Rufus makes Kate dance for him. A discomfort shared by Edmund, who excuses himself.

John thinks he knows Rufus from somewhere, but they rush of the Locksley when they hear of the fire. He tells Robin that he’s the new tax collector and started the fire, and Robin wonders where Guy is before rushing off to the Manor when he hears Kate needs help.

She pulls a dagger on Rufus just as Robin and Much barrel in through the windows.

A trope I really hate is someone in immediate danger proclaiming “I was doing fine on my own!” when another person arrives to help. I just hate it.

Now, maybe Kate could have fought Rufus of with that dagger, but he quickly overpowers Much who has a sword, so maybe not. In any event, Robin and Much weren’t to know she was “doing fine” so blaming them for Rufus forcing her into hiding kind of eats away the sympathy for her in the moment.

Scrope convinces Vaisey to send his guards to the Earl of Northumberland in return for gold, leaving him unprotected in the castle.

Kate says a very sweet goodbye to Maggie, who still has not spoken a word.

“First you get my son killed, now you take my daughter.” Rebecca continues to be The Worst. But Robin takes the undeserved blame very graciously, promising to look after Kate.

Allan spits some facts, but I think it’s meant to come across as flirty banter?:

Allan: You’re so angry we saved you Kate. Seriously, what were you going to do? Stab the guy?

Kate: Yeah, if I had to. No great loss to the world.

Allan: We helped you. We’re giving you a bed for the night. Aren’t you even slightly grateful?

Kate: Ah, I’m so grateful! Thank you all for ruining everything! I can really see why you’re so legendary.

Allan: Well aren’t you sweet and charming, eh?

Kate: And aren’t you full of yourself?

Allan: Full of myself? Oh now you’ve gone too far, Kate. I’m wounded! Truly my heart is broken!

I do actually quite like this exchange, I just wish they were going to remain foils - that would be a more interesting dynamic and undercut the overselling they’re doing of Kate - imo the key to any lead character is having another character that calls them on their bullshit.

Robin expresses concern for her that diffuses the sniping - honestly he feels rather paternalistic towards her at this point (twice referring to her a “little girl” in earlier scenes).

Much is still enamored with Kate for reasons I cannot fathom, and admits that she turned him down, but consoles himself that she thinks they (“the gang - not just Robin”) are legendary. No, Much. No. She’s been very clear, it’s time to back off.

Vaisey sends the guards away, and the castle goes into lockdown, while Rufus roughs up the locals in Nottingham.

He and Edmund find his father’s old butcher’s shop, which we learn was taken from him when Rufus was seventeen. The same age as Edmund - placing that event at least seventeen years before this episode, which is important to remember for a rant I’m going to go on later.

Rufus berates Edmund him for being weak i.e. not wanting to watch people suffer. Why are we spending so much time on these people? Rufus is getting more character exploration than Allan, John, and Much put together!

Back at camp, John resumes his role as resident Dad and comforts Kate that she’ll get used to being an outlaw. She asks if he ever gets used to being away from his family, and he says no, but that whatever happens she’s not alone. Now, this would have been an excellent time for John to actually talk about his family, to give some follow up to his breakdown/deathwish in 2x12, but he doesn’t, because we can’t have nice things.

The gang traps Rufus and Edmund in a stable, and Kate’s contribution is to trip Edmund as he tries to run away. Which is fine, except the TWO closeups we get of John and Tuck sharing impressed looks and this is what I mean by overselling a character. Just let Kate contribute without comment/emphasis, like everyone else does! Unless it is truly exceptional, which sticking out your leg to trip someone is not.

Honestly, the best critique I’ve ever seen of this is the Poochie episode of The Simpsons, something every writer should watch before introducing a new character to an established group, but clearly this seasons producers took as an instruction manual.

Although to be fair, I don’t think Kate is too bad in this episode.

Anyway there’s a fight, and Robin, Much, John and Tuck escape having captured Edmund (Robin riding backwards on his horse shooting arrows, which is impressive but gets less emphasis than Kate’s ability to trip someone over), and Rufus escapes having captured Kate and Allan.

The latter are imprisoned in the old butcher’s shop, and there is some bad banter. However, the thrust of the scene, in which Allan does in fact successfully distract Kate from anger at being captured and impending death, to annoyance at him, is quite nice. Allan is a good egg.

Edmund is tied to a tree while John asks for his family name, certain he knows Rufus. Hey, remember in 1x06 when the fake tax collector’s son was also captured by the gang and tied to a tree for interrogation?

The gang leave Tuck in charge of Edmund, and he uses Ye Olde Polygraph (i.e. feeling his pulse) to tell that he’s lying, then Ye Olde Talk Therapy to help him see that kindness is not a weakness.

We get a close up of Tuck sensuously rubbing sage leaves into a rabbit and it makes me laugh. Oh director Alex Pillai, what weird choices you make.

Oh, so Scrope was in league with Rufus because he threatened his wife, and Vaisey finds Scrope tied up and figures it out, realising that he’s all alone in the castle without protection.

“Underneath this harsh surface there’s just more harsh surface.” LOL. 

Vaisey stabs Scrope, so bye bye oily henchman.

Tuck tempts Edmund with the chance to kill him, but he instead chooses to eat with Tuck. Look, it’s a nice scene for Tuck, and there’s some good stuff here about fathers and sons, the cycle of violence, the power of choice etc, and I wish I cared more but I don’t. Because it feels like there needs to be a parallel to one of our main characters - the plot of the episode should serve the overall character narrative, otherwise what’s the point? I think it’s pretty clear that the upcoming plot about Robin’s father had not been decided on yet, since it would have been the perfect episode to set that up.

Or it could have been about Kate choosing not to follow her mother’s example of blaming everyone else when things go wrong, and instead deciding that she can help her family best by working with the gang. But that would require Kate to have an ounce of self reflection in that scene with Allan, and instead all it is is her being angry then mopey, and him cheering her up. 

Robin tells Rebecca Kate’s been captured and promises to save her, while Much finds a butcher’s hook, and this jogs John’s memory of the old butcher, a good man, and his son, who was not.

John and Rebecca recall a wedding from many years ago, and...wait, WHAT!?! I’m sorry, I refuse to accept that Rebecca has lived in Locksley for long enough to remember a time before John being outlawed (at this point around 13 years), and presumably when Robin was still a boy since he has no recollection of the family name or the circumstances.

Now, it’s perfect for John to drop some knowledge here, I like it when they let John be smart! But why include Rebecca in this scene it all, because it seriously strains credulity that she’s a Locksley lifer. I mean it’s just completely unbelievable based on what we’ve been presented so far.

This also means that Kate has lived at the very least most of her life in Locksley, i.e. lands under Robins control, so there is absolutely no way he would not have recognised her in 3x02. Robin remembers everyone! It is his thing! He greeted each and every villager by name in 1x01 after five years away! Ugggh this infuriates me.

It also makes the impending Robin/Kate nonsense even worse! It’s unclear if the family are serfs or not (I assume not, since Kate tells Matthew to “find them somewhere better” in 3x02) but there is absolutely a gross power dynamic between Earl and peasant, for all that Robin has technically lost his title (he has certainly called himself the “true lord of Locksley” more than once).

Anyway, Rufus stole the money from the bride and groom from the wedding...and I’m sorry, I can’t get over this. Robin doesn’t remember?!? A wedding in his own village where a major scandal occurred?

I suppose it has been at least 17 years, making Robin very likely less than ten at the time, but he was never even told about this extremely scandalous event? Unless all those concussions from season 1 are finally catching up with him.

Robin figures out Rufus would “go home” to the butchers, and rescues Allan and Kate. They fight, and Tuck and Edmund arrive to stop Robin killing him. Robin’s “no kill” policy has become, as articulated by Rufus earlier in the episode: “no killing unless he has to”. The “has to” is being interpreted very loosely it seems.

Vaisey arrives, and recalls that Rufus’s father Daniel was his “very first execution” and excuse me but this timeline is extremely fucked up. Vaisey only became the Sheriff while Robin was away, at most 8 years earlier, but Daniel was executed because he admitted guilt to save his son. Was this the same wedding theft we’re talking about? It can’t be, because Edward would have been Sheriff at that time, but John says Daniel and Rufus ran off after the wedding and weren’t heard from again, which again doesn’t make sense, because you’d think John would have known that someone was executed for the crime?

Unless this was meant to be a subsequent theft happening in a different town where Vaisey was in charge, but no, that doesn’t work either based on Rufus declaring that “this town took my father from me” and prompting Vaisey’s memory by urging him to remember “the old butcher”.

This whole backstory is a mess.

Edmund stands up to Rufus, who then tries to kill him, so Robin shoots him, and I am once again asking what was the point of this episode was.

Back in the forest, Edmund sets off on his own. Kate, sadly, did not die on the way back to her home planet, but agrees to stay with the gang after Robin in particular says he wants her to. At this point it seems more about his sense of obligation and general kindness, but Kate gives him heart eyes in return.

Allan and Kate banter again, while Much looks forlorn and makes a very gross comment that he saw her first.

Love quadrangle, everyone! What a joy.

[perfectlyelegantdelusion]

Hey, @atomicdetectivehideout I’m happy to be your  @destielsecretsanta2020

Merry Christmas! Please, accept my humble gift for the holiday. It’s a 3k of fluff and stuff (well, when I say fluff, I mean, I really tried!). I sincerely hope you enjoy it. 

Thank you to the most awesomest people to ever awesome @campchitaquamemories and @amyoatmeal for offering to beta this little thing. You guys rock!

Here it is on ao3 if you prefer

Those Things That Couples Do

Come to think of it, it wasn’t such a lame idea. Not lame at all, Dean thought, to the extent he might even have to thank Sam later. Well, maybe not outright thank him, but definitely bake a cherry pie for Eileen (her favorite; the woman sure knew how to enjoy life). It felt nice, lying on the bed with Cas in the semi-darkness, Christmas lights on the dresser and a couple of the apple cider and cinnamon scented candles Cas liked so much (and Dean grumbled about but secretly enjoyed too) being the only source of light. It felt cozy. Safe. They talked in hushed voices so as not to disturb the quiet magic of the bubble they had created in that moment, and dammit, but Dean was grateful to his brother and soon-to-be sister-in-law for this particular chick-flick.

“So, you sure you want this to go on your list as the first item?” Dean nudged Cas gently with an elbow. “Sick of my cooking already? I’m hurt, man,” he added, only half-jokingly.

The idea Eileen pitched to them was to write down three items each to reflect their hopes and plans for the upcoming year. At first, Dean laughed when Sam handed him a blue envelope with four blank craft paper cards to be written on. He had been about to suggest Sam find someone more age-appropriate to participate in that particular brand of cute (Dean could almost see the faces Claire and Kaia would make at the suggestion), but Cas’s quiet ‘It’s a lovely idea’ made him silently accept the package at the last second. This provided Sam with the pleasure of witnessing his older brother biting his tongue and smiling reassuringly at Cas who’d been busy searching Dean’s face for a reaction.

Per the rules Sam had explained to them, they were supposed to write down their plans (which they were encouraged to discuss, because that’s apparently what couples do) and complete a bonus task – individually, this time – describing where they see themselves next year at Christmas. Then, they were to seal their envelope and give it to Sam and Eileen for safekeeping, accepting theirs in exchange. That way next year there would be an additional reason to spend Christmas together and see which things have come to pass.

“Stop fishing for a compliment. You know your cooking is delicious.” Cas turned to look at Dean. “I want to be able to do nice things for you, Dean. Like you do for me. Cooking for people you care about is how you show affection and those small, but meaningful gestures go a long way. I’d love to be able to surprise you with a breakfast pie in bed, or make soup for when you catch a cold, or-“ Dean interrupted him with a chaste and gentle kiss on the lips. “You had me at the breakfast pie, Cas. Cooking and baking: 101 it is.” Cas smiled, reached for Dean’s hand, and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. Laying back on the pillow, he rested Dean’s hand on his belly, gently stroking the fingers. Dean closed his eyes and sighed contentedly.

“What will you put as your first item?” Cas asked a moment later.

“That’s easy,” Dean murmured into Cas’s shoulder. “Beach vacay. Never had the time for that before. What do you think about some sand between our toes? Maybe even skinny-dipping with enough margaritas?”

“You do look extremely hot in those aviators of yours,” Cas replied in a thoughtful voice, as if mulling it over. “And skinny-dipping does sound promising. A beach vacation certainly belongs on that list.”

“Cas, if you want me naked and in sunglasses, that can be arranged anytime, anywhere.”

“I want you in those cut-off shorts of yours, and then I want you out of them,” Cas continued in a low voice, and Dean felt the hairs on his arm stand up under Castiel’s fingertips. “I want to explore your sun-kissed skin and count the freckles on your back. I want you to enjoy yourself in all the ways that appeal to you, so yes. You’re writing that down. I’m taking you to the beach.”

“Just like that?” Dean asked, teasingly. “Pretty goal-oriented, aren’t you?”

Cas glared at him; Christmas lights caught in his dark blue eyes. “I was a Seraph, Dean. Goal-oriented was in the job description.”

“Bossy,” Dean suggestively wiggled his eyebrows.

“You like that.”

“Touché.”

Cas turned on his side, facing Dean. They were lying so close now they breathed the same air, noses just shy of touching. Dean took Cas’s hand and laced their fingers, nudging a knee between Cas’s thighs. “What else is on your list?” Dean asked.

Cas didn’t answer right away, and Dean closed his eyes to bask in the warmth of their bodies.

“There’s a small plot of land behind the bunker,” Cas began, “I was wondering whether it’s okay with you and Sam if I make a garden there?” He sounded uncertain, for some unknown reason, and Dean frowned at that. “It wouldn’t be anything fancy, just some flowerbeds with sunflowers or maybe lavender-“

“Cas,” Dean interjected, still frowning, “why would you even ask? You don’t need anyone’s permission to do what you want to do, come on. The bunker belongs to you just as much it does to me or Sammy or Eileen or the rest of our extended family.” He propped himself up on one elbow and gently freed his hand from Castiel’s hold to cup his cheek. “If you want a garden, I’ll help you make one. Or just as happily will mind my own business if it’s something you want to do on your own. Okay?”

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas whispered, earnestly. And it wasn’t about the garden, really. It was about being reassured he belonged, was wanted. Accepted.

“You should definitely add the garden to your list, Cas. And, while we’re on the topic, there was actually something I wanted to ask you about.” Dean cleared his throat, his heart rate quickened. He’d been thinking about this for quite a while, but never seemed to find the right moment to broach the topic. Frankly, he’d never felt brave enough to do so. Why mess up a good thing? But the idea lived in his head rent free, and there was no lying to himself, no tricking his mind out of it. “What would you say about a real garden, though?  With an apple tree, some benches, maybe even a gazebo? Where you can plant all kinds of flowers to appease those honeybees of yours?”

“That- That sounds lovely, Dean,” Cas replied, obviously a little bit at a loss. “What do you have in mind?”

Dean was grateful it was dark in the room because he could feel himself blushing, chest burning as if someone had put a hot iron on it. He took a deep breath that didn’t do much to lessen the anxiety.

“Remember, back in Sioux Falls, Bobby’s old property?” Dean paused, waiting for Castiel to nod in agreement. “So, it’s all still there. It’s a pretty big plot of land, and the house burned down, obviously, but I was thinking,” the words kept jumping one in front of the other, and Dean felt the blush deepen, desperately hoping Cas would understand what he was trying to say. “I ain’t that bad at rebuilding things, and, of course, it’s gonna be quite a lot of work, but who doesn’t like a fixer-upper, right? There’s the salvage yard, too, we can do something with that. I’m sure Bobby wouldn’t mind, and there shouldn’t be any problems with the documents, given who’s the sheriff in town. And that way you and I get to be closer to Claire, and Donna, the whole gang-“

“You and I?” Cas asked quietly, and Dean took a deep breath, grateful for the interjection.

“You and I. And some bees, apparently,” Dean gave Cas a weak smile, searching his eyes.

Green met blue, and for the better part of a minute (eternity, really) Cas just kept looking at him silently. Dean’s heart was hammering in his chest so loudly, he wondered if maybe he just couldn’t hear Cas’s answer because of the pounding in his ears. But Castiel’s lips didn’t move, and Dean felt like he couldn’t breathe, like he needed to get out before he went into a full-blown panic attack. It was too much. Why would Cas want to leave the bunker? It was way safer there. There were other people, hunters, coming and going, Sam and Eileen lived barely an hour away, why would he even consider moving in with Dean, let alone-

Suddenly, Cas was on Dean, left hand on Dean’s pillow for support, right hand cupping Dean’s face. Cas pressed kisses everywhere, holding on to Dean like it was the last thing on Earth worth doing. Cas moved his hand into Dean’s hair, gripping tight, and Dean moaned, capturing Cas’s mouth with his own, deepening the kiss. Dean’s anxiety turned into exhilaration, because that was very clearly a yes, and somewhere at the back of his mind he wondered if maybe he’d just suffered a mild heart attack. In mere seconds, though, his body went pliant under Cas’s weight, the kiss grew even more urgent and heated. Dean’s brain short-circuited, the only thing that registered was the press of Cas’s groin to his own, the sounds Cas was making, the texture of his tongue, the softness of his palms, his smell, his taste, the overwhelming need to be closer, to become one, to forget there ever was an outside world at all. But as Dean slipped his hands under Cas’s T-shirt, Cas groaned and broke the kiss, panting. He pressed his forehead to Dean’s, eyes closed and breathing heavy.

“I believe we’ve gotten carried away,” Cas said, hoarsely. “We still have to finish the lists before Sam leaves for Eileen’s.”

“Screw Sam,” Dean rasped, “I don’t care, just take off your clothes and keep kissing me senseless.”

Cas growled and bit his lip to keep himself from grinding.

“There will be no screwing Sam,” he said in a low voice. “We finish the lists, give Sam the envelope, bid him goodnight,” Cas took a deep breath, his body looming over Dean. “And then we pick up right where we left off.”

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean whined.

“Patience, Dean,” Cas pressed a kiss behind his ear, where he knew Dean was especially sensitive. “All in due time.”

With that, Castiel got up, went to click his bedside lamp on, fluffed his pillow, propped it against the headboard, and took the writing supplies from the nightstand. When he got back on the bed, he made sure to leave a few inches of space between them.

Dean groaned. “Fuck my life,” he muttered, but took a couple of deep breaths, willing his heart rate to friggin’ slow down already.  He sat up and reached to switch on the lamp on his side of the bed. He watched Cas for a moment before clarifying, “Yes to the house, though?”

Cas looked at him, pen pausing in the middle of a sentence. “I love you, Dean. Yes to the house.”

Dean grinned. “So, two down, one to go. Item number three for 2021?”

Castiel chewed on the cap, thoughtfully. “This one is less specific, but I’d like to try things I haven’t tried before. Unusual food, new experiences, all kinds of activities – with you.”

“Cas, I swear, if you hadn’t stopped just now, I’d have given you a thing or two to cross out from that bucket list,” Dean smiled, cockily.

Cas grinned. “I should think so.”

“Just say the word,” Dean winked, “and we can go baptize the library.”

“Noted. Let’s just not traumatize your brother any further.”

“He’ll live.”

Cas sighed, a mix of fondness and exasperation. “We’ll get back to this conversation as soon as we’re finished with the task at hand. What’s your item number three for the list?”

“Well,” Dean sat up straighter to get himself into business mode, “I’d love to spend more time with family. Get to know them better, maybe set up some family traditions? I don’t know if everyone will appreciate the idea, but it would be kinda awesome.” He glanced at the framed photos proudly sitting on his shelf.

“I think it’s a wonderful thing to put on your list,” Castiel reached for his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, “and I don’t have a shadow of a doubt, everyone will be thrilled.”

“They’d better be. Otherwise, they’ll be missing out on the greatest feasts humanity’s ever known.”

“Yes,” Cas agreed easily, “among other things.”

Dean smiled and reached for his own supplies.

For the next five minutes the only sound that filled the room was rustling of paper. Having finished writing, Dean clicked his pen off. “So, what’s with the bonus task? The one where we describe where we see ourselves this time next year?”

Cas bent the card he was writing on in half and slid it into the envelope. “We’re not supposed to discuss it, but, seeing that we will be exchanging our predictions next year, I figure we just address it to each other?”

“Let’s do that,” Dean nodded. “So, no consulting, huh?”

Castiel hummed. “If we were to respect the rules. You know, though, my prediction doesn’t make much of a secret,” he shrugged, smiling. “This time next year, and all the years to come, I see myself watching a Christmas movie with you. I can’t keep up with the plot, really, because mostly I’m watching you watching the movie, watching you smile, listening to you laugh. And I am overwhelmed by how grateful I am for everything that has led me there, in that moment. I’m happy. I’m with you.”

Dean’s throat felt tight and his eyes started prickling with tears somewhere between ‘all the years to come’ and ‘watching you watching the movie’. Cas was looking at him with such adoration, reverence even, blue eyes glistening, pen and paper forgotten.

“Yeah,” Dean said, wrapping Cas in a bear hug. “Yeah.” He hid his face in the crook of Castiel’s neck and felt an awkward kiss being pressed to the side of his head. “You’re such a sap, man,” he breathed a somewhat wet laugh. “You’re such a sap, and I wouldn’t change a single thing about you. I hope you know that.”

“I know,” Cas mumbled, “I know.”

“You should still put all of that in writing. You know, for posterity.”

“I will. Will you write yours?”

Dean withdrew a little to give Cas a kiss on the cheek. “I will. But I’m gonna need you to bear with me, ‘cause for once in my life I would actually like to stick to the rules.” He caught Cas’s eyes, “Is that okay with you?” he asked, with a hint of a mischievous smile.

“Of course, Dean.”

“Good. Good.” Dean grinned. “And Cas? I love you, too.”

***

Eileen was supposed to pick him up in about an hour, so Sam sat at his desk browsing true crime documentaries on Netflix when Dean burst in his room without knocking.

“Would you appreciate it if I barged into your room like that?” Sam asked flatly, not looking up from the screen.

“We both know that’s an empty threat,” Dean replied without missing a beat. “Not with those delicate sensibilities of yours.”  He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Sam bristled, “You guys were doing it against the kitchen sink! A man should expect the kitchen to be a safe space!”

“Yes, yes,” Dean nodded vigorously, “he should. But it’s still ill-advised.”

Sam closed the lid of his laptop with a click . “Please, tell me you’ve got the envelope and I can go see my girl and bring home the victory of getting you and Cas to participate?”

“Sure thing, Sammy,” Dean dropped the envelope in question on the desk. “Take good care of that for us,” he winked at his brother mischievously. “Cas has already stashed yours in some dusty old book. And hey,” he added in a more serious voice, “tell Eileen thank you?”

“Wait, really?” Sam started, but Dean was already out in the hall.

“Can’t talk, gotta run, Cas says he wants to try new things, and believe me, Sammy, I am gonna deliver!”

“TMI, jerk!” Sam yelled after him, leaning his chair back on two legs to try and catch sight of his older brother.

“Drive safe, bitch!” Dean yelled back from down the hall.

Sam sighed and picked up the blue envelope titled Dean & Cas: 2021 Edition in Castiel’s neat handwriting. The envelope wasn’t sealed properly, and as soon as Sam turned it over in his hands the contents slipped out onto the desk.

“You’re so whipped, Dean,” Sam muttered under his breath picking up the papers. One of the cards fell onto the floor, and as Sam leaned to pick it up, he recognized Dean’s handwriting. Not his finest hour, he would figure later, but the eyes started skimming the text before the brain could actually approve the action.

Hey, Cas. So, we’re talking this time next year, huh? Let’s see. I’m most probably sitting on the couch with you, and we’re in the middle of binge-watching one of those shows you like or watching a documentary. I can’t really tell, because I’m having trouble focusing on what’s going on on the screen. The reason probably being that I have this ring in my pocket, and I keep thinking I should come up with more fitting words. I keep overanalyzing things, wondering if this is even something you might want. And then, we open the envelope, and I’m giving you this little piece of paper, and you start reading it. And I- I can see you frowning in concentration, and it’s been a year since I wrote this, and I still haven’t found the words, because really there are no words to even begin to describe what we have. So- So I take your hand, I kiss your knuckles, and I slip the ring on your finger, and I hope-

Man, I hope I get to spend the rest of my life with you.

With a dopey smile, Sam slipped the card back into the envelope, sealing it carefully. “So whipped,” he repeated quietly, but proudly. 2021 was going to be one for the books.

[shyrose57]

Changed Tales:

The Village That Went Mad/A Not Too Bad Town: A little village in the wood, run by Mayor Jimmy, and his wife, Helga, a mischievous shapeshifter. The two have a young son named Salem. Other residents of the village include Miles, a rich cattle breeder, Patch, a blind cat hybrid who was formerly a soldier in the Red Eyed Villager wars, Cornelius, a wandering traveler who settled down in the town after meeting Patch, Bob, the local builder, Jack, a farmer who produces most of the village’s food, and Robin, a young and talented doctor who’s quickly making a name for himself outside of the village.

The Lost City Of Mizu/The Region Of Mizu: A region of the distant future, most well known for it’s capital, The City Of Mizu. It’s a popular tourist sight, both due to it’s amazingly preserved records of history, as well as being one of the few accessible underwater cities open to tourists. It’s residents both live and work here, typically as historians, or tour guides.

The Masquerade/A Regency Ball: A social gathering in the late regency era, hosted by Billiam the Third, who’s most well known for his ‘Red Grounds’, a vast garden surrounding the estate filled with many beautiful and exotic red flora and fauna. It’s attendees were Lyaria and Oliver, two close high class friends from London, Sebastian, a wealthy wine seller, James, a big name business man with a reputation, and Drew, a friend of James who was invited to the party as a plus one.

The Wild West/Beauty Of The West: A large town in the west, and a popular place for people to visit. It’s main attraction is the Celestial Saloon, a large saloon that offers a variety of drinks, games, and other activities. It’s a place well known for wealthy aristocrats to wind down in, and is funded by Billiam. The town is also known for being surprisingly safe, with Sheriff Sherman working with the local bandits to make sure other criminals keep their distance. 

The Haunted Mansion/Cold Spot Club: A club that searches out haunted places and urban myths to check them out themselves. It’s located in the City That Never Was, and consist of Greg, the mayor’s son, Ash and Zachary, twins who work in a cafe for a living, Joey, a social jock who’s got a good eye for detail, Porkums, a hat maker who works in the family business, Francis, a kind baker who owns a cafe, Rash, a student who works part time at the library, and Gump, a construction worker who’s somewhat known as the neighborhood cryptid. 

The Pit/Subbin’s Capital: Subbin is a militaristic empire who’s culture heavily integrates combat and battle into it’s people’s life styles. That’s why it’s Capital’s main attraction is The Pit, a gladiator ring personally funded by Porkius, where people can choose to fight for money, fun, or simply to learn how to.  

Assignments:

Ranbob: Dream, DreamXD, Drista, Mamacita, and Mexican Dream.

Cornelius: Dream, DreamXD, Drista, Mamacita, Mexican Dream, and Foolish.

Hubert: Dream, DreamXD, Drista, Mamacita, Mexican Dream, and Eret. 

Isaac: Karl, Quackity, Sapnap,  George. 

Cleetus: Karl, Quackity, Sapnap, George.

Benjamin: Karl, Quackity, Sapnap, George, Bad, Skeppy, Ant.

Charles: Karl, Quackity, Sapnap, George, Ranboo. 

John John: Ranboo, Tommy.

Ranbutler/Moon: Ranboo, Tommy.

Zachary: Ranboo, Connor, Tubbo, Ghostbur.

Ran: Ranboo, Techno.

Sebastian: Bad, Skeppy, Glatt.

Levi: Punz, Purpled, Ponk.

Laggius: Fundy, Sam.

Oliver: Fundy, Niki, Eret.

Lyaria: Niki, Hannah.

James: Sapnap, Drista.

Mason: Sapnap, Connor.

Jack: Quackity, Connor.

Patch(Catboy): Hbomb, Antfrost, Tubbo.

Billiam: Techno, Philza.

Sherman: Techno, Philza.

Watson: Techno, Philza. 

Greg: George, Connor, Glatt.

Ash: Tubbo, Tommy, Ranboo, Ghostbur.

Robin: Tubbo, Puffy, Ponk, Purpled, Foolish.

Jackie: Tubbo, Purpled, Jack, Charlie.

Bartholomew: Jack, Tubbo.

Genevieve: Niki, Hannah, Callahan.

Things:

Oliver and Lyaria have known each other for quite awhile, and she thinks of him somewhat as a mentor, as he took her under his wing when she was introduced to this world. Both have a lot of dirt on people, though they rarely make use of it, preferring to make fun of their dress or arrogance instead from the side.

Ranbob is a bit of a loner. This stems from the fact that he was born with a weak Pearl, that cracked the first, and last, time he ever attempted to teleport. If it ever broke, he’d suffer from Perma-death. Seeing as teleportation is more or less instinct, he was forced to learn how to show down his instincts and distant himself from them in order to avoid accidentally doing so. This has more or less made him seem odd to others, and he himself doesn’t understand how to react to some of their more instinct-driven gestures, having long since suppressed his own.

In other words, he has no idea what he’s doing. Luckily, there’s quite a few Enderman hybrid on the server that do.

The Tales character appear before Tommy visits the prison and dies. Because I would like to attempt to redeem Dream a tiny bit, and y’know, I don’t think you can really do that after he murders Tommy. So, that just never happens here.

Jackie’s father runs an old rickety inn called Bee ‘n Boo, which he intends to pass on to Jackie. However, Jackie’s passion has always been fighting, so, knowing his father would disprove, he fights in the Pit in secret.

Levi is a gardener who fights in the Pit to keep his skills sharp, as well as earn money when he’s not on the job. He’s got a special touch with plants, and quite the green thumb.

Genevieve is a professional fighter who originates from Subbin. Though she often returns, she spends more of her time outside of the empire, mastering new styles and honing her abilities. She’s also Jackie’s role model.

Ash and Zachary tend to unintentionally spook people a lot. They walk incredibly quietly, know a lot of scary stories, can tell when somebody is nearby, and occasionally talk in sync with no prior planning. Hilariously, Techno is probably the most weary of them. 

They’re also both bat hybrids, though for most of the time, those traits remain dormant, so the most people notice is that they have really good hearing, not too great eye-sight, and pointed ears. They’ve also got little bat wings hidden under their jacket, but nobody really notices those. Under a lot of distress, their traits manifest more, typically rather violently.

Ranbob is also pretty short. He inherited more of his mother’s genes than his Enderman father, so though he has some Enderman traits, it’s not many. 

He’s incredibly weak to water though. His mother was a third blaze, and both parents passed down that particular weakness, except doubled. He inherited both a fair amount of heat resistance, and his golden eye from her side.

Hubert is an old childhood friend of Billiam’s, and the two took in Moon when he ended up lost and injured nearby. They even helped him get home to his brother John John. Moon ultimately decided to continue working for Billiam, having grown close with them, though he keeps in contact with his brother.

[jarienn972]

Weathering the Storm - Part Four

For a multitude of reasons, it has been ages since I've been able to update this story. I had the chapter all plotted out, but never seemed to be able to find time (or sometimes just motivation) to write. I appreciate those who reached out to me asking if I planned to update it and I thank you so much for your patience! I absolutely plan to finish it and right now, there are 2 more planned chapters to close everything out.

For now though, since it has been a few months, here’s a quick recap of where we left off in the last chapter: Emma braved the elements to investigate the abandoned Sheriff cruiser, and after seeing the dashcam video, knows that her husband is injured after the disastrous traffic stop. She's made the assumption that Killian would try to make his way to the closest dwelling to the lonely stretch of highway - Zelena's farmhouse. We're going to pick up at that same farmhouse as the unrelenting thunderstorm continues. 

If you’d like to catch up from the beginning, you can find all of the current chapters on FF.net and AO3. Tumblr: Part One  Part Two  Part Three

Despite the warm glow from the flickering orange and gold flames in the fireplace behind her chair, the lingering dreariness of the day was wearing heavily on Zelena's mood. The sky was still laden with dull, grey clouds unleashing unholy torrents of rain upon the farmhouse's metal roof and continuous gusts of wind threatened to blow away the fluttering blue tarp which was only barely protecting them from the elements.

Oh, what she wouldn't have given right now if she could still possess the ability to poof them all away from this isolated outpost deep in the forest. Maybe she shouldn't have been so hasty and rammed that beat up old jalopy of hers into the Black Fairy. She wasn't particularly good at driving the beast but perhaps she could have managed to get into town… Oh, heavens...who was she kidding? In this weather, she wouldn't have made it to the end of the drive, and anyway, the ugly, metal death-trap was still sitting on a lot in town, rusting away as it awaited repairs. It hadn't been a high priority to fix when she'd had electricity and a working telephone to call Regina who'd pop in with supplies and whatever if she needed a hand with something. If she couldn't solve the problem with magic from a distance, she'd drive out to help her sister and niece, but she certainly couldn't do that right now.

At least, she could be thankful for the simple fact that Robin would sleep through almost anything when she had a full tummy. She couldn't recall the exact time she'd put her daughter down for her afternoon nap, but she estimated that it had been about an hour and a half, meaning her child was going to awaken soon and Zelena would have to figure out a way to entertain a cranky toddler in a dark, drafty house. For now though, the exasperated mom was enjoying the quiet reprieve from this stress-filled day before Robin was awake and wanting to play ,and then Zelena would also have to figure a way to keep the baby from bothering their guest.

Their guest.

How long had it been now since Hook showed up sopping wet on her doorstep? Two hours? Closer to three? Surely Emma would have realized that something was amiss if she'd not heard from her husband by now. How long might it take before someone realized that he was lying on her sofa right at this very moment? He was still semi-peacefully slumbering after taking a swig of the children's pain reliever which might have taken enough of the edge off to allow him to rest - or he'd just passed out from sheer agony and exhaustion.

Either way, she tried to distract herself with a little bit of reading by the firelight. The dancing flames cast odd shadows across the pages making the text difficult to see at times, but then she wasn't fully paying attention to the prose before her. She could scarcely recall a thing she'd read from the prior chapter, much less the last paragraph. She just needed something - anything - to keep her weary mind occupied during this brief reprieve. She was going bloody stir crazy, even beginning to believe she was hearing things that weren't there. She'd swear she just heard something rapping on the kitchen window, but quickly dismissed the thought, figuring it was just the swirling wind rattling the creaky door.

Until she was certain that she heard the sound of her name being called over the howling of the storm.

**********

Emma had briefly considered poofing herself right into the center of Zelena's kitchen, but decided against it at the last second, instead materializing from a cloud of pale grey smoke on the front porch instead. While she was somewhat protected from the storm by the narrow extension of the roof, rain water poured over the eaves in sheets. Considering that the gravel driveway leading up from the road had morphed into a shallow, muddy lake, the porch was relatively dry in comparison, although Emma wasn't certain just how protected she was from Mother Nature's fury when a bolt of lightning lit up the darkened skies. The tin roof above her head probably wasn't the safest right now…

She took a long stride closer to the door, wiping away some condensation from the glass with her sleeve as she peered through the window. She couldn't make out much inside the empty kitchen as it was fairly dark with a faint orangish glow in the distance. Zelena probably had a fire burning to provide some light and heat to stave off the chills with the power still out. She couldn't hear any voices emanating from the interior of the house, but it was possible that the noise of the rain striking the metal roof was drowning out any sounds from inside. But in the dim backlight provided by the firelight, Emma could make out a dark mass draped around the back of one of the ladderback chairs - a shape that looked decidedly like the collar and shoulders of a coat. A dark coat that had enough of a sheen on its surface to reflect the warm hue of the flames. Just like a certain black leather coat that her husband had been wearing when he departed for the station this morning.

Please, let that be Killian's coat, she begged of whatever higher power might be listening as she knocked anxiously on the window. Not noticing any movement inside the farmhouse, she rapped again, but this time on the wooden door instead of the glass as her sight fell upon a ruddy stain upon the white paint. Was that blood?

"Zelena?" she shouted, hoping that her voice would carry louder than her knocking. "Zelena? Are you in there?" Well, that was a stupid question...Of course she had to be inside. Most people wouldn't leave home with a fire still burning and where exactly would she go? Even if she'd managed to get her crappy car running, there was no way she would have made it into town in this downpour. She probably wouldn't have reached the end of the driveway… "Zelena!" she cried out even louder this time.

Seeing the familiar hue of the former witch's wild auburn hair through the steamed up glass, Emma's nerves abated momentarily and she let out a relieved exhale as the door was yanked open.

"Emma?" a startled Zelena muttered as she found the drenched, blonde sheriff standing at her doorstep, but her mood instantly lifted. "I am so happy to see you! I was hoping that you'd soon figure out your husband came here to seek help."

"Thank goodness. There weren't many places he could have gone, so I was really hoping he made it here. He recorded the whole thing on the dashcam, so I know he was shot. Is he alright?" Emma tried to keep her nerves in check, but as she rambled on, she knew she was failing miserably.

"He's in on the sofa. He's sleeping right now. Well, at least I think he's sleeping… He's been in and out of consciousness," Zelena explained as she waved Emma inside. Emma brushed past the redhead who closed the door quickly before the wind blew any more of the never-ending precipitation into the kitchen. Zelena continued detailing all she'd done to help, even though she doubted Emma heard half of it. "I've tried my best to get the bleeding under control. It isn't near as heavy as it was before, but he still lost a lot. The bullet that hit him went clean through and I don't think anything too vital was struck, but I really don't know for certain. He's still a bloody mess and a bit feverish. I tried giving him some of Robin's baby ibuprofen to help with the pain too, but I don't have a bloody clue how well that worked..."

Half-listening as she rounded the corner into the living room, Emma made a bee-line over to the sofa where she discovered her husband curled on his side with a woolen blanket draped over him. Even with the golden glow cast by the flames, his skin bore a deathly pallor. "Oh, Killian…," she sighed as she dropped to her knees on the floor beside him. She cupped her palm around his cheek, finding it cool and clammy beneath the warmth of her fingers. A muted, but guttural moan escaped his throat as he stirred at her touch. He blinked twice in the low light but as his sight adjusted, his eyelids parted fully to focus on the unexpected, but magnificent face of his true love.

"Swan?" he mumbled, his muddled brain trying to determine if she was real or just a cruel hallucination.

"It's me," Emma smiled, happy to find him conscious and communicative. "I'm here and I'm going to get you help…"

"Now that you can heal him, it'll all be fine," Zelena spoke up. "I would have already done that if I still had my magic, but now Emma can get you all fixed up," she gave a nod to Killian but the expression that crossed Emma's face confused her.

"Unfortunately, it isn't quite that simple…," Emma groaned in frustration. "Because this situation involved criminals from outside of Storybrooke, I had to have David notify the state police and put out a bulletin to watch for the vehicle. They'll have questions about the shooting, and if the deputy who they can see being shot on dashcam footage is suddenly, miraculously healed, those questions are going to get uncomfortable and weird and cast doubt on the whole thing. I don't even think that saying Killian was wearing a bulletproof vest would hold up under the circumstances…"

"So, what does that mean?" Zelena questioned.

"I'll have to get him back to Whale - transport him directly to the hospital…"

Emma was cut off mid-sentence as the storm unleashed a tremendous gust of wind that blasted through the broken window, billowing out the tarp until the nails could no longer hold and the resulting gush extinguished the fire. Swirls of raindrops, leaves and other debris were forced through the opening as the tarp floundered and flopped about the floor. Without a moment's hesitation, she spun around and raised her hands. In a split-second, a magical wave of bright light filled the room, vanquishing the tarp and all of the storm debris as it repaired the damaged window, restoring it to its original state like its twin further down the living room wall.

Zelena breathed a sigh of relief as the threat of further damage subsided for the time being, even though the room was plunged into darkness without the flames illuminating it. She wasn't going to miss that ugly plastic sheet, nor would she miss the drafts and rainwater that seeped in around its edges.

"Thank you for fixing that awful eyesore," Zelena said as Robin let out a terrified wail after being awakened by all of the commotion. "I'm coming, my love," she assured her daughter but she also gave Emma a quizzical look before heading over to the play yard. "Do you think you're going to have to explain that one?" she asked Emma with a gesture towards the repaired window.

"Hopefully, it won't come to it, but I suppose I'll think of something, if necessary," Emma replied as she turned her attention back to her wounded husband while Zelena scooped up a whimpering toddler. "Okay, one crisis averted," she whispered as she gently squeezed her husband's bicep through the blanket. "Let's get you into town so we can get you fixed up too."

Killian gave a weak nod and allowed his eyes to fall closed again as he steeled himself for teleportation, never knowing how rough the landing may be when they re-materialized. The commonplace of magical transport was something this grizzled mariner was still getting used to.

"Take us with you," Zelena interrupted. Unprepared for such a request, Emma glanced upward into the pleading eyes of the redhead who was still bouncing a teary-eyed toddler on her hip.

"What?" Emma stammered, her brow knitted in confusion. Had she heard that right?

"Please… Will you transport us there with you? I promise, we will be out of your way as soon as we get there. I'll call Regina to come pick us up, but I can't stay isolated out here in this bloody storm with no power and no way to get in touch with anyone. I hate not having magic anymore… I don't want to be a bother, but please…?"

"Um...sure, I guess," Emma responded. "For everything you've done for Killian today, I suppose it's the least I could do."

"Oh, thank you! Thank you!" the former witch gushed. "Let me grab Robin's things. I'll be less than a minute!" She scurried into the bedroom to collect Robin's diaper bag as well as a jacket for each of them, then quickly darted into the kitchen to grab the baby's pre-made evening bottle, which the little one eyed greedily as they returned to the living room. Her final task was to toss a pitcher of water onto the smoldering remnants of the fire to ensure it was completely out before they vacated the farmhouse. Returning to Emma's side, Zelena gave her daughter a tight hug and exclaimed: "All ready."

"Then off to Storybrooke Hospital we go," Emma stated, swishing her wrist before the magical cloud enveloped them.

[scotianostra]

On July 7th 1575 the skirmish called “The Raid of the Redeswire”, took place between Scottish and English borderers.

Second mention of the day for Sir Walter Scott who wrote about this in Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, an anthology of Border ballads. I will post the said ballad below.

The incident cited is sometimes as the last “battle” between Scottish and English forces, and it was the first reported conflict since 1547 at Pinkie Cleugh, a connection to another post today, it was during The Rough Wooing. Anyway this was a regular Warden’s meeting that got a wee bit out of hand.

The meeting was between John Carmichael, the Keeper of Liddesdale, and the English Middle March Warden, Sir John Forster, there would have been fines to be paid, men to be handed over to answer for their crimes, and paperwork to be exchanged. It is unlikely that either side had considered an all-out fight. Things seems to have gone well enough, until the case of one individual was raised. Carmichael demanded that he was handed over, Forster told Carmichael the man had taken leg bail, meaning had escaped from custody, which was not believed.

Insults were exchanged and then the entire meeting got out of hand when the English lost their tempers, and attacked, killing two men and wounding several others.

There are different versions of what happened next, one states that the Scottish Borderers were onto a hiding if it hadn’t been for the men of Jedburgh turning up shouting their slogan: “Stand firm and sure - Jethart’s here!”, Jethart was the old name for Jedburgh. The other version says that the skirmish seemed to have gone the Scots way due to the the fact that the English mainly fought with bows and swords, but the Scots were armed with firearms as well as more traditional weapons. Either way about two dozen English were killed, Forster and several other nobles were captured.

In the immediate aftermath the Scots decided to a wee bit Reiving, meaning, “plunder or rob”, and also made off with 300 cattle from local farms.

Forster and the other prisoners were delivered to James VI Regent, James Douglas, and held at Dalkeith Castle. Douglas said, for their own safety, but initially a ransom would have been in the minds of the Scots who captured them. Douglas wrote to the English monarch, Queen Elizabeth, who was none too pleased, but an amicable arrangement was made, neither side wanting the incident to lead into a full scale war.

Forster and the others had been treated with kindness and were released with gifts and an apology for being held. As part of the deal Carmichael was delivered to York to stand trial, but fair does to the English, he was acquitted as the court found that Forster had engaged in an unprovoked attack.

On the Cheviot Hills, near the place where the battle was fought a monument known as the Redeswire Stone was built in commemoration of the battle. It reads, “On this ridge, June 7th, 1575 was fought one of the last border raids, known as The Raid of the Redeswire”.

The battle is commemorated by the Jedburgh Reidswire common riding each year, this ride is the longest of the festival and is undertaken on two horses at a fast pace, watch the video above  for the arrival at Redeswire.

For those not familiar with the area, Redeswire is not far from the famous stop on the Scotland-England Border at Carter’s Bar.

The Raid of the Reidswire

   The seventh of July, the suith to say,     At the Reidswire the tryst was set;     Our Wardens they affixed the day,     And as they promised, so they met.     Alas! that day I’ll ne’er forgett!     Was sure sae feard and then sae faine—     They came theare justice for to gett,     Will never green to come again.

    Carmichael was our Warden then,     He caused the country to conveen;     And the Laird’s Wat, that worthie man,     Brought in that sirname weil beseen:     The Armestranges, that aye hae been     A hardie house, but not a hail,     The Elliots’ honnors to maintaine,     Brought down the lave o’ Liddesdale.

    Then Tividale came to wi’ speid;     The Sheriffe brought the Douglas down,     Wi’ Cranstane, Gladstain, good at need,     Baith Rewle water, and Hawick town.     Beanjeddart baldly made him boun,     Wi’ a’ the Trumbills, stronge and stout;     The Rutherfoords, with grit renown,     Convoyed the town of Jedbrugh out.

    Of other clans I cannot tell,     Because our warning was not wide.     Be this our folks hae tane the fell,     And planted down palliones their to bide.     We looked down the other side,     And saw come breasting ower the brae,     Wi’ Sir John Forster for their guyde,     Full fiftene hundred men and mae.

    It grieved him sair that day, I trow,     Wi’ Sir George Hinrome of Schipsydehouse;     Because we were not men enow,     They counted us not worth a louse.     Sir George was gentle, meek, and douse,     But he was hail and hett as fire;     And yet, for all his cracking crouse,     He rewd the raid o’ the Reidswire.

    To deal with proud men is but pain;     For either must ye fight or flee,     Or else no answer make again,     But play the beast, and let them be.     It was na wonder he was hie,     Had Tindaill, Reedsdaill, at his hand,     Wi’ Cukdaill, Gladsdaill on the lee,     And Hebsrime, and Northumberland.

    Yett was our meeting meek enough,     Begun wi’ merriment and mowes,     And at the brae, aboon the heugh,     The clark sate down to call the rowes.     And some for kyne, and some for ewes,     Called in of Dandrie, Hob, and Jock—     We saw come marching ower the knows,     Five hundred Fennicks in a flock.

    With jack and speir, and bowes all bent,     And warlike weapons at their will:     Although we were na weel content,     Yet, be my trouth, we feard no ill.     Some gaed to drink, and some stude still,     And some to cairds and dice them sped,     Till on ane Farnstein they fyled a bill,     And he was fugitive and fled.

    Carmichaell bade them speik out plainlie,     And cloke no cause for ill nor good;     The other answering him as vainlie,     Began to reckon kin and blood:     He raise, and raxed him where he stood,     And bade him match him with his marrows:     Then Tindaill heard them reasun rude,     And they loot off a flight of arrows.

   Then was there nought but bow and speir,     And every man pulled out a brand;     “A Schaftan and a Fenwick” thare:     Gude Symington was slain frae hand.     The Scotsmen cried on other to stand,     Frae time they saw John Robson slain—     What should they cry? the King’s command     Could cause no cowards turn again.

    Up rose the Laird to red the cumber,     Which would not be for all his boast;—     What could we doe with sic a number?     Fyve thousand men into a host.     Then Henry Purdie proved his cost,     And very narrowlie had mischiefed him,     And there we had our Warden lost,     Wert not the grit God he reliev’d him.

    Another throw the breikes him bair,     Whill flatlies to the grund he fell:     Than thought I weel we had lost him there,     Into my stomach it struck a knell!     Yet up he raise, the treuth to tell ye,     And laid about him dints full dour,     His horsemen they raid sturdilie,     And stude about him in the stoure.

    Then raise the slogan with ane shout—     “Fy Tindaill, to it! Jedbrugh’s here!”     I trow he was not half sae stout,     But anis his stomach was asteir.     With gun and genzie, bow and speir,     Men might see mony a cracked crown;     But up amang the merchant geir,     They were as busie as we were down.

    The swallow taill frae tackles flew,     Five hundreth flain into the flight,     But we had pestelets enow,     And shot amang them as we might.     With help of God the game gade right,     Frae time the foremost of them fell;     Then over the know, without goodnight,     They ran with mony a shout and yell.

    But after they had turned backs,     Yet Tindaill men they turned again;     And had not been the merchant packs,     There had been mae of Scotland slain.     But Jesu! if the folks were fain     To put the bussing on their thies;     And so they fled, wi’ a’ their main,     Down ower the brae like clogged bees.

    Sir Francis Russell ta’en was their,     And hurt, as we hear men rehearse;     Proud Wallinton was wounded sair,     Albeit he be a Fennick fierce.     But if ye wald a souldier search,     Among them a’ were ta’en that night,     Was nane sae wordie to put in verse,     As Colingwood, that courteous knight.

    Young Henry, scaiped home, is hurt;     A souldier shot him with a bow:     Scotland has cause to mak great sturt,     For laiming of the Laird of Mow.     The Laird’s Wat did weel indeed,     His freinds stood stoutlie by himsel’,     With little Gladstain, gude in need,     For Gretein kend na gude be ill.

    The Sheriff wanted not gude will,     Howbeit he might not fight so fast;     Beanjeddart, Hundlie, and Hunthill,     Three, on they laid weel at the last.     Except the horsemen of the guard,     If I could put men to availe,     None stoutlier stood out for their laird,     Nor did the lads of Liddesdail.

    But little harness had we there;     But auld Badreule had on a jack,     And did right weel, I you declare,     With all his Trumbills at his back.     Gude Ederstane was not to lack,     Nor Kirktoun, Newtoun, noble men!     Thir’s all the specials I of speake,     By others that I could not ken.

    Who did invent that day of play,     We need not fear to find him soon;     For Sir John Forster, I dare well say,     Made us this noisome afternoon.     Not that I speak preceislie out,     That he supposed it would be perril;     But pride, and breaking out of feuid,     Garr’d Tindaill lads begin the quarrel.

[cecilspeaks]

166 - Delta

The stars tell us our future. They’re rarely correct, but yet there they are, blathering on night after night. Welcome to Night Vale.

At the foot of a sandy hill, a woman explains to her son what a flower is. She’s pointing at an orange starburst atop a squat bulbous cactus. She says: “Flowers are beautiful, aren’t they?” I cannot hear what her son says. She answers: “Because bees like beautiful things and flowers want the bees to take their pollen, that little bit of yellow powder, right down there inside, and give it to other plants, so they can grow up and be beautiful too.” There’s a long pause. Then she says: “Nature wants to make more and more beauty all the time. That’s all it wants to do. If it is not beautiful, it cannot live.” She’s upset at her son’s next question. “Humans wish to make beauty too, but not for nature,” she snaps. “They want computers and airplanes and factories, oh Benny, don’t touch.” She sighs. Then she says: “The cactus hurt you, didn’t it? The cactus knows you’re human and it does not want you to watch it, and now it has let you know that, you won’t touch it again, will you? No Benny, you won’t.”

Underneath the scant shade of a dilapidated wing of an MD-90 aircraft, a middle aged man tells another middle aged man about a time he went to New Orleans. He thought the French Quarter was too crowded and the jazz scene overrated, so he drove east along the upper neck of the Mississippi Delta to a Swapshack, where he paid a man 50 dollars to take him on a hovercraft to look at alligators. “Such majestic and hideous creatures,” the middle aged man says to the other. “You know, when I was little, I cried thinking about how I would never see a real live dinosaur. All the world had left were bones. But right there in southern Louisiana lay dozens of living dinosaurs. It’s an extraordinary world when you finally realize that all life is magic,” he says. The other middle aged man had heard the story dozens of times, but still he replies: “I hear you, I hear you.”

A young woman thinks about a job interview she never attended. She is happy without that job, yet she feels regret for what could have been. “I cannot imagine myself behind a desk making spreadsheets and memos,” she says to no one. “But I cannot imagine a 5-dimensional horse, nor the width of the void, nor the language of whales. I cannot imagine a lot of things but the pay, the pay would have been pretty good.”

Behind a blighted Palo Verde Tree, hidden between lush acacia shrubs, two teenaged boys kiss for the 50th time or so. It is brief, as one stops to look around, on alert for overbearing parents. They kiss for the 51st time or so and then laugh. Their fingers clumsily fumbling over each other, trying to decide on the perfect grip, the perfect touch. They melt like marshmallows in the flame of inexperienced joy. This moment in their lives is as pure and powerful as they have ever felt and may ever feel again.

My mind is crowded with voices, with people living their lives all day listeners. these are the stories, they are eating fruit and playing cards. They are arguing about who said what and when. They are meditating and conversing, retelling old shows and books they remember from when they had such things. A copy of Tina Fey’s memoir “Bossy Pants” was found in  a suitcase seven years ago, and everyone in the group has read it at least once. Someone mutters that they used to have a copy of Karen Russel’s “Swamplandia!”. It was in her purse when they landed here, but someone won’t own up to stealing it. another says the book might have been used to make a fire one night, because whoever made the fire might have thought the owner was done reading it, hypothetically.

It’s been several days since the voices came into my head, and at first it was new and interesting, but already I have grown tired of it. I do not know how Amelia Anna Alfaro lived her whole life with these sounds in her mind. It’s unceasing and I’ve not gotten much sleep. The teenage lovers sneak away each night to hold hands and talk big dreams underneath the moon. It’s sweet and romantic, but at 2 AM, give it a rest boys! I could try to talk back, but none of the voices can hear me. It’s like asking the rain to return to its cloud. But when I talk to Carlos, the voices go way. Thankfully I have my greatest peace when I’m with my favorite person. I can’t keep Carlos awake at all hours or have him skip work to be with me, so I have to learn to make peace with the voices, as they are noisy but permanent room mates in my brain now.

I do have news to report, but it’s mostly stuff you already know about. The high school basketball team has tryouts on Saturday. The library is doing open mic poetry nights on Tuesdays at 7, and we all know it’s a trap. Don’t do it unless you’re well armed. And the Opera House is extending its run of Verdi’s “2 Fast 2 Furious”, starring Renée Fleming, through the end of the month.

It’s hard to concentrate on reading these news stories with so much other language running through my head. Like this: there’s a guy who’s complaining about metal scraps that haven’t been cleaned, and the woman he’s talking to is explaining that they are conserving water for drinking and the guy is saying that it’s unsanitary to make dining utensils out of dirty metal, and she replies that they’re not making any more forks or spoons, they don’t need any more forks or spoons, they need knives but not for eating. What am I supposed to do with this information, it’s been going on nonstop for days? You cannot possibly understand what its’ like to listen to someone you don’t know, who you’ve never even met, who you can’t even see, ramble on and on about their boring personal life straight into your head, it’s awful. I can hear another person saying he’s found something. Good for you pal, way to find another rock or stick or lizard or whatever.

Wait. “Weeeee have founnnnnd ittt,” the voice says. I know this voice. It’s the first voice that’s been familiar to me, where do I know this voice, he is saying “first weeeeeeeee found you. You who are – no where – now weeeeeee have founnnnnnnd itt.” And other men are barking in agreement. Listeners, that voice is Doug Biondi from the asylum, and the voices around him are the agents from the National Safety and Transportation Bureau, all of whom escaped the Night Vale Asyulm two months ago. They are in nowhere, in an otherworld desert standing near a door attached to no building. Not far from a passenger set, long since rotted away. A jet that has been home to 143 passengers and crew members, one of those 143 – the pilot. Asylum warden Charles Rainier warned us of this. He had been a been a passenger on that plane, he became part of a small commune that grew into an angry cult under the leadership and telepathic influence of the pilot. Charles told us that the pilot would find those who could help him find Night Vale. Help him find the real world, and Doug Biondi knows the way back.

The pilot found Doug and Doug found the pilot. “Iii know the wayyy,” Doug Biondi says, laughing the laugh of a man whose smile is too big for his face. At the foot of a sandy hill, a mother tells her son it is time. “Stop crying, Benny. Stop crying so that there will be more flowers, more beauty.”

Underneath the scant shade of a dilapidated wing of an MD-90 air craft, two middle aged men argue over which hand made axe is sharper. At last, they agree that the one crafted from the rotor flap and held together with the hand belt is the better blade. “No you take it,” one says. “No, I insist you, I’m happy to use the smaller axe,” the other says, “because it is easier to manage what with my back spasms.”

And behind a blighted Paolo Verde Tree, hidden between lush acacia shrubs, two teenage boys kiss the way you kiss when you think it may be your last. They whisper impossible promises and raise high their rusty shovels, the spades’ tips having already been sharpened to deadly points. They race toward the gathering crowd.

A young woman who thinks often about the job interview she never attended shouts: “Nature is beauty!” “We are beauty!” replies antoher woman. They repeate these calls. “Nature is beauty! We are beauty!” And now every voice in my head is chanting the phrases, chanting and chanting and chanting, it’s too… it’s too much!

Silence. They’re silent suddenly. My head is clear. I can think my own thoughts.

Night Vale, I’m getting word that Sheriff Sam is barring all known passages into our town. This includes roads, trails, sewer grates, even the Dog Park which is not officially an entrance to the Desert Otherworld, but you know, let’s be honest here. We’re on lockdown, Night Vale. No one enters or leaves.

Good. This is good. If the voices can reach me, they can reach any of us. In fact, if the voices can enter my mind, then the pilot and passengers of flight 18713 may well already be here, or some of them anyway. Or maybe the voices come and go. This is the first moment of silence I’ve had alone in nearly a week. Maybe the voices aren’t always there like, like radio signals as you leave a city or, or a cell phone in an elevator, maybe the voices can’t permeate us under certain conditions or maybe… Or maybe… The voices are silent because… they are listening. Maybe they’re listening to their leader, their pilot who is giving instructions on what to do next, when and where to attack.

I don’t know. But I must use my moment of clarity to tell you some news. Nope, the voices are back. A single voice is back. I know, without knowing, that it is the voice of the pilot. He says: [in a neutral tone] “Uh, hi there, this is your pilot speaking. Just wanted to let you know that nature is beauty, we are beauty. We propagate our pollen, we spread our seeds, we grow new life over old life, we cleanse the toxins of technology. We depose the human king and return natural instinct to its rightful throne. If you can hear my voice, then you are chosen. You are chosen to join all who join our nature. All who join our beauty. All who refuse will be recycled into the earth, destroyed and dispersed to fertilize new more beautiful life. All those who are beautiful are chosen. All those who are not, are a cancer, blight, infection and disease. All who are not beautiful will be cut away, amputated, so that the Earth’s wounds may finally leave, so the Earth may grow beautiful once again.

We have been found and we will return. Open the gates to freedom, end the tyranny of artifice. That’s all for now, we’ll be arriving in just a few moments, Night Vale. There is going to be some turbulence.”

[distraught] I’m sorry, listeners! I did not meant to do that, I did not want to do that! The voice of the pilot overtook me and I, oh, I need to lock myself inside the studio, I have to protect you from me, but first the weather.

[“A Prayer for the Sane” by Danny Schmidt http://dannyschmidt.com]

I brought Carlos to the studio. When I talk to Carlos, I don’t hear the voices of the passengers from 18713. I don’t hear the voices even now as I look directly at Carlos while I’m speaking. Like Charles Rainier’s fishing hole or, or Amelia Anna Alfaro’s puzzles, Carlos grounds me, lets me be wholly me.

Thank you, Carlos.

Oh, I also had Carlos bring a pair of handcuffs with him that he bought at –Target on his way to the station, and used them to shackle me to my desk. If Charles Rainier is correct, then once the pilot can speak to you, he can control you. And if that should happen, it won’t happen but if it should, then now I won’t be able to leave here and do harm to anyone else.

From my window, I can see far down the street a spiral of black smoke. There are flashes of emergency sirens. Now I can see people coming up the road. They are long-haired, sun-scorched and nearly naked, wearing not much more than flat wide-brimmed hats and short tunics fashioned from seat upholstery. These people are carrying large blades, roughly honed from scrap metal. Some have widdled down pieces of plexiglass windows into sharp points and tied them to ends of long sticks. They’re deliberately walking up the hoods of parked cars and smashing windows and caving in the roofs with their bare feet.

It is no doubt that the passengers of 18713 are here, Night Vale. If you can hear me, sty inside and lock your doors. If you can her the pilot, then do as I have done. Secure your position so securely that not even your own mind can talk you out of it. Sheriff Sam has stubbornly kept up all roadblocks in and out of town, so we have no choice but to stay. The long unmoving lines of traffic at the edges of the city are easy prey now for the 18713. The pilot offered the choice of joining or refusing, but it is not a choice, not really. He either can control you or he cannot. Those whom he cannot control will be killed at the hands of those who can.

[anxiously] Carlos? You don’t hear the pilot voice, and thus cannot be controlled. But I do, and I can. I have been controlled. We’re in trouble, Carlos. I can’t stay chained to this desk forever, can I? And if the pilot means to destroy you, he might make – me do it myself. Just promise me you’ll run. Leave me behind if that happens, OK? OK. But for now, do not let me out of these cuffs, not even if I use a safe word, which I hear is something quite a few people use in healthy fun intimate relationships.

The people of 18713 are climbing up storefronts and tearing off signs. I can see about 10 or 15 in normal street clothes in the crowd now, which means the group is growing. They are recruiting quickly.

But something else is eating at me. In the asylum, in Doug Biondi’s journal and among the myriad voices in my mind, I still have not seen nor heard Amelia Anna Alfaro, the first person to make contact with the pilot. She disappeared in 2012 and no one has heard from her since. I need to find her. Somehow, if anyone can solve this, it might be her. She was always the best at everything.

Stay tuned next for the sound of me talking to Carlos forever and ever.

Good night, Night Vale. [creepily] Gooood night.

Today’s proverb: People who live in glass houses shouldn’t hire that realtor again.

[abusybuzzingbee]

Pilot | Supernatural Season 1 Episode 1 Rewrite | Dean x Reader

A/N:::: Hello!! I am a royal dumbass and just accidentally deleted my whole tumblr. I was trying to get rid of my main account and accidentally got rid of it all!! So, this is bee from @abusybuzzingbee coming back at you with reuploads of my supernatural rewrites. So sorry to all of my supporters for my tomfoolery.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Major Characters: Dean Winchester, Reader, Sam Winchester

Warnings: Canon violence, language, Dean and the reader being assholes to each other, this is going to be the slowest burn that ever did burn, so buckle up!

Word Count: 7,643

Summary: The reader is a lonely young hunter on the road to Jericho, California where she bumps into two boys on the search for their father.

Series Rewrite Masterlist

Season 1 Masterlist

It was an early morning yesterday

I was up before the dawn.’

‘Funny how the sun’s just rising,’ you thought.

‘And I really have enjoyed my stay

But I must be moving on.’

The sound of the familiar tune of “Goodbye Stranger” coming from the radio of your new hijacked wheels-- a 2002 Toyota Camry, to be exact-- put a smile on your face.

‘Like a king without a castle

Like a queen without a throne

I’m an early morning lover

And I must be moving on.’

As you drove along a remote highway on the way to Jericho, California, you threw a glance to the wind lightly rustling the leaves of the trees outside of your driver’s side mirror.

‘Now I believe in what you say

Is the undisputed truth.’

Scenes such as this have always calmed you. The first beams of light stretching up from over the horizon, the vivid colors of the tree leaves, the hum of the radio of your newest car, and the sound of your tires gliding over the pavement. 

‘But I have to have things my own way

To keep me in my youth.’

These road trips in between hunts were the only taste you had ever had of a normal life. Not that you wanted a normal life, you think you would be too bored in the suburbs. However, it is comforting to have a small break from monsters while driving from place to place to relax.

‘Like a ship without an anchor

Like a slave without a chain

Just a thought of those sweet ladies

Sends a shiver through my veins.’

The latest case you had picked up on was the disappearance of several men on Centennial Highway in Jericho. 

‘And I will go on shining

Shining like brand new

I’ll never look behind me

My troubles will be few.’

The last disappearance had been some kid named Troy. Poor bastard.

You had very little knowledge of what you were walking into. You decided that you would head to the scene of the crime to try and get a better idea of what you were dealing with.

‘Goodbye stranger

It’s been nice

Hope you find your paradise

Tried to see your point of view

Hope your dreams will all come true.’

Just a few more hours and you’d be there.

‘Goodbye Mary, goodbye Jane--’

You turned the music up just a bit as you picked up your speed on the highway and thought about my last successful hunt in Alexandria, Louisiana. 

‘Will we ever meet again?’

You were proud of how you did on that hunt, but it was freeing to leave towns you had previously hunted in in your rearview mirror.

‘Feel no sorrow, feel no shame--’

It wasn’t a matter of feeling guilty about what you had done while you were in that town; you had nothing to feel guilty about. It just always hurt you to think of the sad faces of the people who had already lost family members before you got there to do your job.

‘Come tomorrow, feel no pain--’

There would always be that little bit of trauma that you carried with you because of all you had seen on hunts, but c’est la vie.

‘Sweet devotion (Goodbye, Mary)

It’s not for me (Goodbye, Jane).’

You let your mind go blank and get completely absorbed in the music as you continued to drive along.

‘Just give me motion (Will we ever)

To set me free (Meet again?)’

Music was the one constant in your life that kept you grounded. It was so powerful. Music could express so many feelings and bring those same emotions out of its listeners.

‘In the land and the ocean (Feel no sorrow)

Far away (Feel no shame)--’

You loved oldies music. From ‘70′s hippie music to ‘80′s rock, all the way back to Edith Piaf in the 1940′s. 

‘It’s the life I’ve chosen (Come tomorrow)

Every day (Feel no pain)’

You wished you had the time to sit down for long enough to learn to play an instrument. There was a whole list of things you wanted to learn to play including piano, guitar, ukelele, and drums. 

‘Maybe one day,’ you thought.

‘So goodbye, Mary (Goodbye, Mary)

Goodbye, Jane (Goodbye, Jane)

Will we ever (Will we ever)

Meet again? (Meet again?)’

**** 

A few hours later, you were parked on Sylvania Bridge in Jericho. You had stopped a few miles back at a gas station to change into an outfit that looked a little more professional than a pair of baggy sweatpants and a t-shirt and opted for one of the many police uniforms you carried around with you. This one was a federal marshal suit. Included the khakis, shirt with a little police badge on the pocket, and a belt with your fake badge on it. It was your mom’s. She threw herself into the many roles she played on the job and made sure she had the costumes to fit the part. Once she passed, you just couldn’t let them go.

You hopped out of the car and walked over to the scene of the crime. You noticed two boys that looked about my age talking to one of the deputies on site. You watched them flash badges to the deputy, but neither was in uniform. 

‘Oh, boy.’

"You two are a little young for marshals, aren't you?” you heard the deputy remark as you walked up to them. 

“Thanks, that’s awfully kind of you,” the shorter guy laughed. 

'That’s my cue,’ you thought.

“Hiya, fellas,” you smiled brightly, glancing between the three of them.

The two guys turned back to look at you. The shorter one pointed at himself with a questioning look on his face directed at you. You eyed him, attempting to tell him to just go with it. 

“Why aren’t you two in uniform?” you asked, standing next to the taller boy and glancing between the two of them. You looked at the deputy. “Sorry to have them bothering you. New hires,” you lied, rolling your eyes. “I’m supposed to oversee how they handle this case.”

“Mm-hmm...” the deputy said, squinting at you. He was clearly suspicious.

I extended my right hand to the deputy and reached for my badge with the other. “I’m Agent Nicks, nice to meet you.” I showed him my badge.

“Deputy Jaffe.” He shook my hand and nodded at my badge.

“Man, you guys can’t catch a break. You just had another killing like this, right?” I nodded my head at Troy’s car at the center of the crime scene as I spoke. 

“Yeah, that's right. About a mile up the road. There've been others before that,” the deputy spoke as I walked over to the car, the two boys trailing behind me.

“So, this victim, you knew him?” The taller boy questioned.

The deputy nodded. “Town like this, everybody knows everybody.”

The shorter boy circled the car once and stopped between the taller boy and I. “Any connection between the victims, besides that they're all men?” he asked.

“No,” Jaffe answered, “Not so far as we can tell.”

“So what's the theory?” The taller guy asked.

“Honestly, we don't know. Serial murder? Kidnapping ring?”

“Well, that is exactly the kind of crack police work I'd expect out of you guys,” the shorter guy quipped.

Your eyes widened as you watched the deputy’s incredulous expression. You didn’t like this kid already. You bit back a snicker when the dude who was with him stomped on his foot.

“Thank you for your time. Gentlemen,” the tall guy nodded.

You turned to follow your two “colleagues” away from the crime scene. The shorter guy smacked the taller one on the back of the head.

“Ow! What was that for?” 

“Why'd you have to step on my foot?”

“Why do you have to talk to the police like that?”

The two men realized you were following them and turned to look at you.

“Uh, can we help you?” the shorter one asked.

“No,” you replied. “I’ll be out of your hair in a second. I just think it’d be a little weird if I left the scene of the crime without regrouping with my ‘proteges’ first.”

The taller one nodded. It became clear to you he was the sensible one of the two.

“About that--” the shorter one came back, implying that you should explain yourself.

“Yeah, sorry for stepping all over your hunt.”

The two seemed in disbelief that you had figured out their secret.

“Takes one to know one,” You snickered. “I had to get the same information you two did, and it’d look really weird if two rounds of federal marshals came through for one case. I’m (Y/N), by the way.” You stuck out your hand for the two of them to shake.

The taller one took it first. “I’m Sam,” he smiled, “that’s my brother, Dean.” 

You shook Dean’s hand after Sam’s.

“You shake hands?” Dean asked.

You shrugged with a tilt of your head to the side.

“Weird.”

You raised an eyebrow at him.

“Well,” you sighed, “I got this hunt under control if you boys wanna hit the road.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, lady,” Dean started, “We were here first.”

“Geez, sorry. I thought I was doing you guys a favor by letting you hit the road.”

“Sorry,” Sam spoke for his brother, “We’re looking for our dad. The only information we have on where he could be is here, so we’ve got this covered.”

You nodded. “I hope you find him soon. Good meeting you two.” You turned to leave.

“Wait,” Sam called after you. “Three heads are better than two. We could use your help.”

Dean was quick to cut in. “No, no we do not--”

“What?” you asked, smirking. “You don’t like me Dean-o?”

He opened his mouth to respond, obviously trying to think of something to say. He came up blank after a few seconds.

You chuckled. “I’m down to help.”

Sam smiled brightly at you. “Great!” 

You glanced over Sam’s shoulder and your jaw clenched. Sam turned to follow your gaze.

The sheriff was talking to two FBI agents. He looked at you three pointedly. “Can I help you kids?”

“No, sir, we were just leaving,” Dean told him. He then nodded at the FBI agents as they walked past your trio. “Agent Mulder. Agent Scully.”

The three of you headed past the sheriff, whose gaze you could feel piercing through your back.

You noticed the 1967 Impala parked a little farther back than your car, wondering how you could have missed it when you pulled up to the scene.

“Aw, cool!” you exclaimed, quickly walking over to it. “Sweet ride.”  You ran your hand over the hood.

“Hey,” Dean called, “Hands off my baby.”

“You dating a car, Grumpy?” you smirked. 

He rolled his eyes at you. 

“Those your wheels over there?” Sam asked. He nodded towards your Camry.

“Unfortunately. Had to jack that car a few states back,” you responded.

Sam nodded. “You can catch a ride back with us if you want.”

Dean tossed a look at his brother.

“Cool, thanks,” you answered, smiling. “Let me just pull it off the road into some trees or something.”

***

"Who are we looking for again?” you asked the boys as you strolled around town. You had ditched your federal marshal getup and left it along with the rest of your stuff in the back of Dean’s car. 

Dean scoffed at your question.

“Hey, you didn’t answer the first time I asked, so I had to do it again,” you threw back.

“Troy’s girlfriend,” Sam answered.

“Thank you, Sam.” You threw a pointed look at Dean. He just turned his face away from you.

A few paces down from your pack, a young girl with brown hair was putting missing posters up with Troy’s face on them. 

"I'll bet you that's her,” Dean pointed out.

“Yeah,” Sam affirmed.

Your group walked up to her as Dean spoke, “You must be Amy.”

“Yeah,” she answered plainly.

“Yeah, Troy told us about you. We're his uncles. I'm Dean, this is Sammy.”

“And who’s that?” Amy glanced at you.

“I’m (Y/N). A friend of theirs.”

Amy nodded, looking back to Sam and Dean. “He never mentioned you to me.” She began to walk away with her posters.

Dean was quick to follow her. “Well, that's Troy, I guess. We're not around much, we're up in Modesto.”

“So, we're looking for him too, and we're kinda asking around,” Sam continued for Dean.

A friend of Amy’s came up to her and asked, “Hey, are you okay?”

Once Amy responded with a simple, “Yeah,” her friend stayed with her.

"You mind if we ask you a couple questions?” I asked Amy.

***

You, Amy’s friend, Rachel, and Amy were packed into one side of a diner booth while Sam and Dean sat opposite you.  

Amy spoke about what happened the night Troy went “missing.” “I was on the phone with Troy. He was driving home. He said he would call me right back, and...he never did.”

“He didn't say anything strange, or out of the ordinary?” Sam asked.

Amy shook her head. “No. Nothing I can remember.”

You glanced at the pentagram pendant she was wearing. “I like your necklace.”

“Troy gave it to me. Mostly to scare my parents with all that devil stuff,” Amy laughed. 

You smiled. “Actually, it means just the opposite. A pentagram is protection against evil. Really powerful. I mean, if you believe in that kind of thing.” 

“Okay,” Dean cut in. “Thank you, Unsolved Mysteries.”

You rolled your eyes at him while he took his arm off of the back of Sam’s seat and leaned forward on his elbows. “Here's the deal, ladies. The way Troy disappeared, something's not right. So if you've heard anything...” he trailed off, waiting for them to answer.

Amy and Rachel glanced between each other. 

“What is it?” Dean asked.

“Well, it's just,” Rachel began, “I mean, with all these guys going missing, people talk."

“About?” You questioned turning a bit more inward to Rachel. 

“It's kind of this local legend. This one girl? She got murdered out on Centennial, like decades ago,” Rachel stated.

You watched Rachel attentively, nodding.

“Well, supposedly she's still out there. She hitchhikes, and whoever picks her up? Well, they disappear forever.”

You glanced at the boys with a quirked eyebrow.

***

Dean typed away on the library computer on the archive search page for the Jericho Herald. He had the words “Female Murder Hitchhiking" typed into the search bar. When he pressed enter, nothing came up. Dean replaced “Hitchhiking” with “Centennial Highway,” and once again, crickets. 

“Wait a minute,” Sam started, “So angry spirits are born out of violent death, right?”

“Yeah,” Dean replied as if it was obvious.

“Well, maybe it’s not murder,” Sam stated.

“Ohhh,” you started, “I’m pickin’ up what you’re puttin’ down.” You knew Sam was thinking suicide.

Sam smiled at you.

“Let me try,” Sam told Dean.

“I got it,” Dean came back.

Sam shoved Dean out of the chair and took over.

“Dude!” Dean hit Sam on the shoulder. “You're such a control freak.”

You laughed at their banter.

“Can it, (Y/N),” Dean told you.

“So, what I can’t laugh?”

“No, no, you can’t.”

“I literally just met you and I’ve had it up to here--” you flattened your hand and put it up by your eyebrow, “--with you already--”

“The feeling is mutual, sweetheart,” Dean cut you off. 

“You two wanna stop?” Sam asked. “Come look at this.”

Just as you thought, Sam had put “suicide” in place of “murder” in the search bar.

Sam snapped you out of your thoughts by saying, “This was 1981. Constance Welch, twenty-four years old, jumps off Sylvania Bridge, drowns in the river.”

“Does it say why she did it?” Dean asked.

“Yeah,” you started, leaning over Sam’s shoulder to get a better look at the screen, “An hour before they found her, she calls 911. Apparently, her two little kids are in the bathtub. She leaves them alone for a minute, and when she comes back, they aren't breathing. Both die.”

Something about the situation did not sit right with you; it sounded familiar. 

Sam continued reading. “‘ 'Our babies were gone, and Constance just couldn't bear it,' said husband Joseph Welch.’”

“The bridge look familiar to you?” Dean pointed out, looking at a picture of a man-- presumably Constance’s husband-- crying standing next to Sylvania Bridge.

“Well, we know where we’re headed,” you commented, walking toward the exit of the library. You could feel Dean’s eyes on you as you left.

***

By the time you finally got to Sylvania Bridge, it was late at night. You and the boys had stopped for a bite to eat before going back to the bridge. Troy’s car had long since been removed, the crime scene completely cleared out. 

Dean looked out over the edge of the bridge, standing next to you and Sam. “So this is where Constance took the swan dive.”

“So you think Dad would have been here?” Sam looked over at his brother.

"Well, he's chasing the same story and we're chasing him.” Dean continued down the bridge, the taller boy trailing behind him.

“Okay, so now what?”

“Now we keep digging until we find him. Might take a while.”

Sam stopped. “Dean, I told you, I've gotta get back by Monday—”

The brunet stopped, turning around. “Monday. Right. The interview.” Aggravation was clear in his tone.

“Yeah.”

You thought it best to take a step back while they had this discussion.

"Yeah, I forgot. You're really serious about this, aren't you? You think you're just going to become some lawyer? Marry your girl?” Dean’s tone got a bit more of an edge to it.

“Maybe. Why not?” Sam pushed back.

“Does Jessica know the truth about you? I mean, does she know about the things you've done?”

Sam stepped closer to Dean. “No, and she's not ever going to know.”

The older boy did not back down. “Well, that's healthy. You can pretend all you want, Sammy. But sooner or later you're going to have to face up to who you really are.” He turned around and kept walking.

Sam followed him, his arms out in question. “And who's that?”

“You're one of us.” Dean gestured to himself and back to you staying several paces back,

Sam hurried to get in front of his brother. “No. I'm not like you. This is not going to be my life.”

“You have a responsibility to—”

“To Dad? And his crusade? If it weren't for pictures I wouldn't even know what Mom looks like. And what difference would it make? Even if we do find the thing that killed her, Mom's gone. And she isn't coming back.”

When Dean grabbed his brother by the collar and shoved him against the bridge, you jumped into action.

“Hey, knock it off, Dean.”

“(Y/N)--” Dean warned, giving you a sideways glare. He looked back at Sam. “Don't talk about her like that.” He let Sam go and walked away from him.

You hurried over to Sam. “You okay?” You put your hand on his shoulder and met his hazel eyes.

“Yeah, I’m good.”

“Guys,” Dean called.

You looked to Dean who stared down to the railing at the edge of the bridge.

“Constance,” you let out, coming to stand next to Dean.

Constance looked back at your group before stepping off of the railing.

The three of you ran to the railing. 

“Where'd she go?” Dean asked.

“I don’t know, wanna jump down there and find out?” you sassed.

Dean glared at you as the sound of the Impala’s engine roared behind you.

The older Winchester flipped around. “What the—” 

Sam wheeled around, too. “Who's driving your car?” 

Dean pulled the keys out of his pocket and jingled them, his green eyes never leaving the Impala.

The car jerked into motion, barrelling over the bridge straight toward you and the Winchesters.

“Go! Go!” you yelled, turning and sprinting away.

Dean and Sam sped ahead of you, and you noticed the car gaining on you. Your heart raced and your breathing was labored. The car was way too close for comfort and left you with just one option.

You threw yourself over the railing, just barely managing to hang onto the edge of the bridge.

You heard the car engine stop just as something-- or someone-- hit the water.

You pulled yourself back over the railing and noticed Sam sitting on the railing calling for Dean.

You rushed over to Sam, leaning over the railing to try to find Dean.

He popped up a second later, his usually spikey hair flattened to his head with mud. In fact, his whole body was covered in mud.

“You okay?” You called down to him.

Dean sarcastically held up a thumb and pursed his lips. 

“Hey, I’m just checking on you, don’t be an ass,” you yelled back, a small smile playing on your lips.

“Fuck off,” he grunted, annoyed.

Sam laughed and got back onto the bridge.

You headed over to the Impala and checked it over, grabbing a towel out of your bag.

Dean had managed to climb back onto the bridge and made his way over to his baby. He opened the car’s hood and poked around to see if Constance had damaged it at all. After a moment, he shut the hood and leaned on it.

“Your car all right?” you heard Sam ask are you walked over to Dean with the towel.

“Yeah, whatever she did to it, seems all right now. That Constance chick, what a bitch!” He yelled at the spirit. 

You put the towel on Dean’s head and started to dry his hair off when he jerked away from you.

“What are you doing?”

You were quick to put the towel back on his head. “Helping.”

The dirty blond ripped the towel out of your hands. “I got it.”

“Fine.” You raised your hands up in surrender. You leaned against the car next to Dean. “You know, I been thinkin’.”

“That’s dangerous.”

“Shut up, Dean. I’m serious.” You paused, taking in a breath. “Constance is a woman in white.”

Sam pursed his lips, shrugging. “Makes sense. I mean, the dead kids, suicide, killing unfaithful men.”

“Maybe.” The older Winchester’s monotone voice was followed by silence. A silence that was broken a few moments later by Sam.

“You smell like a toilet.”

You scrunched up your nose and giggled. 

“Can it, (Y/N).”

***

“You guys having a reunion or something?” the clerk asked, looking at the credit card Dean had placed on the motel’s front desk.

Sam cocked his head to the side. “What do you mean?”

“I had another guy, Burt Aframian. He came and bought out a room for the whole month.”

Dean looked over to his brother briefly and then turns his head back to the clerk. “What room’s he in?”

“Listen, kid, I can’t go around giving out people’s room numbers.”

Dean rolled his eyes.

You stepped out from behind the two boys. “Oh, please sir? He’s family, and we haven’t seen him in a while.” You gave him your best puppy dog eyes.

“Fine.”

***

“That how you get all the guys?”

“What?” you asked, not bothering to face Dean to answer his question. The two of you were stationed outside of John Winchester's room playing lookout while Sam picked the lock on the door.

“You know what I mean. I saw you makin’ eyes at the clerk.”

“Yeah, to get a room number.” You turned to face him, crossing your arms over your chest. “And it worked, didn’t it?”

“Oh, yeah. It worked real well.” He turned to face you.

“You know, you don’t have to be such a dick all the time. I met you yesterday and have given you no reason not to like me. What’s your deal?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, my plate is kind of full. I’m trying to figure out what the hell happened to my dad. I have no idea whether he’s alive, dead, or captured, and he’s the only parent I have left. And my little brother is solely concerned about getting back to fucking Stanford, and I’m not even sure he cares about what happened to our dad. And now, enter (Y/N) trying to take over a hunt that is the only tie I have to my dad.” Dean’s face was incredibly close to yours.

Sam had long since gone into the room and decided to leave the two of you alone to hash out your frustrations.

You held your ground, but your voice took on less of an angry tone. You were strictly playing defense at this point. “But I wasn’t trying to take it over to be mean, and as soon as you got so defensive about the hunt, I backed down and just offered to help--”

“Yeah, and I didn't want your help. Sam was the one who let you in, probably hoping that if you were here he could shag ass back to Stanford. So forgive me if I’m a little on edge.” He pulled his face away from yours, wheeling around to pinch the bridge of his nose. 

“Well, I’m sorry for being such an inconvenience. Perhaps you’ve forgotten the fact that I’ve helped you guys more than I’ve hurt you. I pulled your asses out of a crack when you were talking to the police. I was the one who figured out what kind of a spook we’re dealing with here. I want you to find your dad. I really do. But I also want you to stop being so awful to me. And it’s just me specifically!” You threw your arms up in the air. At some point during the first part of your rant, Dean had looked back at you over his shoulder. “You’re so nice to Sam--I mean, about as nice as brothers are to each other-- and I can tell you care about him. I can tell you have a good heart. So why choose to be an ass?”

When Dean didn’t answer, you shook your head. “Whatever. I’m leaving.” You clutched your duffel bag strap on your shoulder tightly, your knuckles turning white.

“To go where?”

“Away. You win. Ya got what you wanted.”

“Wait, (Y/N)--”

“Tell Sam I said ‘bye.’”

***

The heat of midday had your baby hairs stuck to your head with sweat. You had been walking for a while now, just trying to find somewhere remote enough that you could steal a car without getting seen. 

You hiked along a highway surrounded by dense trees, the rustling sound of the green leaves filling your head. You took a deep breath, allowing peace to wash over you. You never had to see Dean Winchester again, although you would miss Sam. He was the closest thing to a friend you’ve had in a while. 

A familiar engine roar overpowered the sound of the rustling you had been hearing. The car pulled off of the highway just behind you, coming to a stop. 

You took your bottom lip in your mouth under your top one, closing your eyes and stopping your walk.

You heard the opening and closing of the car’s door as you turned around, a small smile on your lips.

“You know,” Sam started, walking toward you, “It’s kind of rude to leave without saying ‘goodbye.’“ 

You let out a laugh. “Hey, Sam.”

He pulled you into a quick hug. “Hey. I heard what happened.”

You looked down at the mixture of grass and gravel below your combat boots. “Yeah.”

“And I know you probably never wanna see Dean’s face again, but we need your help. I do, and he does, whether he wants to admit it or not. We can all get out of here a lot quicker if we work together. You can get away from Dean, I can get back to Stanford, and Dean can find our dad.”

“Where is Dean?”

“Arrested.”

“Oh,” you said quietly, nodding.  “Okay.” You put on a smile. “What now?”

***

Much later in the day, after going to visit Joseph Welch, you and Sam were sitting in a diner grabbing a bite to eat. The both of you were brainstorming what to do to get Dean out of jail and what to do about that Constance bitch. The conversation had shifted from those two topics once you had a solid plan to simply small talk between friends.

“So what’s your story?” you asked, taking a bite out of one of your fries.

“What?”

“I picked up from conversations between you and Dean over the past two days and the very loud conversation I had with your brother earlier that you left hunting to go to Stanford. What happened there?”

Sam chuckled, looking down. 

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that. I crossed a line,” you told him sincerely. You stared at your ketchup. 

“No, no,” he responded. He took in a sharp breath. “My dad and I had a big blowout fight before I left for college. He told me if I left for college to never come back. Haven’t talked to him in two years.” He took a bite of his salad after he finished talking.

“Oh,” you said softly. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

You decided to change the subject. “Alright, we’ve let Dean rot long enough. I’m gonna go call the police.”

Sam laughed, shaking his head. “I’ll get the check.” 

You walked outside of the diner, heading to the payphone you spotted at the entrance of the parking lot. You picked it up and dialed ‘9-1-1.’

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

You made your voice frantic, forcing tears to well up in your eyes. “My-My husband! He’s been shot!”

“Ma’am, calm down for me, okay? Where are you?”

You screamed. “He- He just shot another guy! Oh, my god!”

“Ma’am, where are you?”

“I’m on Whiteford Road,” you said. “Please, please, please hurry!”

“Okay, okay, um, w-we’re sending a unit out to you now. Can you stay on the line for me?”

“No, no! Please!” you cried. “Plea--” You cut yourself off and hung up the phone. 

You noticed Sam standing next to you using one of his forearms to hold the door open as he leaned on the door frame. 

“What?”

“That was damn good acting,” he noted.

“Thanks,” you chuckled. “I actually wanted to be an actress growing up.”

“Hunting got in the way,” Sam figured.

“Exactly. But, acting is kind of part of the job. Gotta be real good at lying and pretending to be feds,” you shrugged, making light of the situation.

A comfortable silence blanketed you and Sam as you lamented over what life could’ve been for you. You sucked in a breath and said, “We better get going. To Constance!”

***

Sam’s phone ringing pulled the two of you out of a conversation about his girlfriend, Jess, and his life at Stanford. 

Sam looked at the caller ID, shrugging at you when he didn’t recognize it.

“Fake 911 phone call? Sammy, I don't know, that's pretty illegal,” you could hear Dean jest through the phone.

The brunet grinned. “It was (Y/N), actually.”

He paused. “(Y/N)? She’s with you?”

You took Sam’s phone out of his hands and said, “Yup. Hi, Dean,” into the receiver. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

You gave the phone back to Sam. 

The older Winchester changed the topic from you to something else. “Listen, we gotta talk.” 

“Tell me about it,” Sam jumped in. “So the husband was unfaithful. We are dealing with a woman in white. And she's buried behind her old house, so that should have been Dad's next stop--”

His brother tried to cut him off. “Sammy, would you shut up for a second?”

“--I just can't figure out why Dad hasn't destroyed the corpse yet.”

“Well, that's what I'm trying to tell you. He's gone. Dad left Jericho.”

Sam threw a look to you before glancing back to the road. “What? How do you know?”

“I've got his journal,” you heard the dirty blond explain.

“He doesn't go anywhere without that thing.”

“Yeah, well, he did this time.”

“What's it say?”

“Ah, the same old ex-Marine crap, when he wants to let us know where he's going.”

‘Ex-Marine crap?’ you thought to yourself.

Sam noticed your puzzled expression and directed toward you, “Coordinates.” He spoke his following words to Dean. “Where to?”

“I'm not sure yet.”

You propped your head up on your elbow on the passenger’s side door, legs tossed in an ‘L’ shape on the seat beside you. You stared out of the window into the dark night, taking in the gloomy appearance of the dead trees and fallen leaves. 

The younger Winchester shook his head. “I don't understand. I mean, what could be so important that Dad would just skip out in the middle of a job?”

A figure in the road caught your eye, causing you to squint and look out the windshield. 

Sam was still rambling to his brother. “Dean, what the hell is going on?”

You registered that Constance was in the road. “Sam, look out!” you shrieked.

Sam looked up, dropping the phone and slamming the brakes hard. You had to brace yourself on the dashboard in front of you, your body jerking forward and backward in your seat. 

Constance was gone, and you and Sam tried to catch your breaths. 

“Sam? Sam!” Dean’s voice came through the phone.

You picked up the phone from under the glove box. Dean had hung up before you got the chance to tell him Sam was alright.

You turned to the brunet, who swallowed hard and looked into the backseat through the rearview mirror.

You whirled around to look in the backseat, and there Constance was. “Take me home,” she ordered. She looked directly at you. “Take me home!”

“No,” you stated firmly, holding her gaze. 

Constance glared back at you as you heard the doors of the car lock. You wheel around in your seat and try to reopen them. Suddenly, your body was thrust back into the seat as the car began to drive. 

“Sam?” you yelled over the roar of the engine.

“That’s not me!” He tried to grab the steering wheel to drive, but Constance wouldn’t let him. 

You continued to struggle with the doors until the two-- well, three, counting Constance-- of you pulled up to an abandoned house, presumably the Welches’ old house. The windows on both of the two floors had been covered with boards, the paint was peeling off of the wood slats, and the screen door had been ripped. The house looked like it was falling apart more and more with every passing day. It had the stereotypical appearance of a horror movie house.

The engine of the Impala shut off.

“Don't do this,” the younger Winchester pleaded.

Constance flickered in the backseat. “I can never go home,” she moaned, her voice sad.

As if a switch had been flipped in your brain, your face shifted from scared to enlightened. “You're scared to go home.” You turned to look in the back seat, but Constance was gone. As soon as you turned back around, you noticed Constance in between you and Sam on the leather bench seat. 

You jumped, back pressed against the passenger’s side door. Constance climbed on Sam’s lap, shoving him back against the seat hard enough to tilt it backward. 

You tried to lunge for Constance, but she shoved you against the Impala’s door hard enough with a flick of her wrist to send the door flying open and you sailing through the air.

“(Y/N)!” You heard Sam yell.

You skidded to a halt on the rocky gravel surrounding the house, feeling your arms and legs get cut up. The wind was knocked out of you, and your head bounced against the small rocks. 

“Ow,” you groaned, trying to get up. You saw Constance had closed the passenger’s side door once more, and through the window could see her kissing Sam as he reached for the keys.

Another thing you saw was a figure appearing on the other side of the car through the driver’s side window. You hoped to god it was Dean.

You heard whoever it was fire a shot as Sam screamed in what seemed to be pain, so you immediately ducked. A few more shots were fired and you felt safe enough to raise your head.

You scrambled to your feet when you saw the Impala go careening through the porch and into the old Welch house. You ran into the house, being as careful as you could to avoid any of the broken pieces of wood and furniture the car had left in its path.

Dean was quick to follow you, calling out to his younger brother. “You okay?”

Sam groaned. “I think...”

“Can you move?” you asked, leaning through the passenger’s window. You looked him over for serious injury.

“Yeah,” he told you. He reached a hand out to his brother. “Help me?”

You stepped to the side as Dean pulled Sam out through the rolled-down window. 

You noticed Constance picking up a picture frame of her and her children that had fallen to the ground. 

She turned her attention from the picture to you and met your eyes.

She pinned you and the boys against the Impala with a bureau. It hit the boys in their pelvis but nailed you right in the stomach. You groaned in pain, desperately trying to push it off of you. 

You stopped your struggle when a sound caught your ear. It sounded like liquid trickling and watched as a stream of water just thick enough to cover each step cascaded to the ground.  You followed the stream to the top of the stairs to see the dark silhouettes of a little girl and a little boy holding hands.

“You've come home to us, Mommy,” they spoke in chorus.

Constance looked distraught as she got closer to the stairs. They were suddenly gone from the stairs and appeared behind her, hugging her and looking up at her with warm yet slightly disturbing smiles. 

Constance screamed, and she and her children melted to the floor flickering between apparitions of skinless and skeletal forms of humans. They melted into a puddle of an electric purple goo that seeped through the floorboards as the ringing in your ears from Constance’s shrieks subsided. 

You and the Winchesters shoved the bureau over, and you dusted off your hands as Dean spoke.

“So this is where she drowned her kids.”

“That's why she could never go home. She was too scared to face them,” Sam told you and his brother.

“You found her weak spot. Nice work, Sammy.” Dean slapped him on the chest where holes had been burned through his shirt that you were assumed were the products of Constance. Sam groaned out in pain but laughed nonetheless.

“Actually, it was all (Y/N). I’m just the jackass who drove your car through the side of a house,” Sam smiled, jutting his thumb back at you.

Dean hummed as he continued to walk away, clearly disinterested but making an effort to sound impressed. He leaned on the open window of the passenger’s side door, looking over his baby. “Speaking of that, if you screwed up my car--” he paused, looking back at Sam, “--I’ll kill you.”

“Aw, shame,” you cut in, “Sam’s my favorite Winchester.”

Dean glared at you. “Can it, (Y/N).”

***

You lip-synced the words to AC/DC’s “Highway to Hell” which boomed through the speakers of the Impala. You were sat in the backseat, leaning on the front seat between the two Winchesters with your forearms atop their bench seat. You looked over Sam’s shoulder as he opened up a giant map and opened his dad’s journal. He went to tuck a flashlight under his chin so he could actually see what he was doing, but you stopped him.

“I can hold that for you.”

“Thanks,” was his short reply as he handed off the flashlight to you, his eyes never leaving the things on his lap. You clicked the flashlight on and held it over his shoulder as he scanned the map for the coordinates “35-111″ as was written in his dad’s journal.

Sam tapped the spot on the map once he found it. “Okay, here's where Dad went. It's called Blackwater Ridge, Colorado.”

“Charming,” you quipped.

“How far?” came Dean’s question.

“About six hundred miles,” the younger Winchester told his brother.

“Hey, if we shag ass after we drop (Y/N) off in the next town over we could make it by morning,” Dean suggested, looking over at Sam. 

‘This guy is so ready to get rid of me,’ you thought, shaking your head.

Sam cocked his head to the side and looked to his brother. “Dean--”

Dean stared back to the road, his pitch dropping lower and his disappointment apparent. “You're not going.”

“The interview's in like, ten hours. I gotta be there,” Sam reminded him.

“Yeah. Yeah, whatever. I'll take you home.”

You clicked the flashlight off, sinking back into the backseat. 

‘Awkward.’

***

Dean’s face was still set in a frown as the Impala pulled up to Sam’s apartment complex. You jumped out of the car as Sam did, pulling him into a tight hug. 

“I’m gonna miss you,” you told him, squeezing him harder with your eyes shut. You were genuinely disappointed. Sam was so nice and the two of you had become great friends very quickly.

“Hey, you have my number. Call me.”

“Yeah, but it’s not the same.” You pulled away from him. “Say ‘hi’ to Jess for me.”

The brunet chuckled. “I will.” He leaned down into the open window of Dean’s car. “Call me if you find him?”

Dean nodded. 

“And maybe I can meet up with you later, huh?”

“Yeah, all right.”

Sam clearly did not know how to end the conversation from there, so he simply patted the inside of the car door twice and turned away. Dean leaned toward the passenger door, calling out to Sam in one last attempt to get him to come with him. “You know, we made a hell of a team back there.” 

“Yeah,” Sam nodded, which was clearly not the reaction Dean was expecting. He just sighed and waited for you to get back in the car. You had barely shut the door before Dean shoved off. 

You jerked around in your seat. “Easy, tiger. Jesus.” You slumped down in your seat after getting no response from Dean. You crossed your arms and looked out of your window. 

The familiar smells of coconut and tobacco filled your nose, and you immediately straightened up. 

“Turn around,” you told Dean, your eyes wide.

“What? No,” he snorted. “Why?”

“Just do it!”

Your exclamation caught Dean off guard. “Jesus, fine.”

He put the car in reverse and headed back up the street. 

Dean hadn’t even stopped in front of Sam’s apartment complex before you threw the car door open and sprinted toward the apartment as fast as you could.

“Whoa, crazy lady, where are you going?” Dean caught up to you and grabbed your arm, spinning you around. 

“Sam’s apartment. Which one is it?!” You asked in a panic. 

“Uh--” He glanced away from you, still puzzled as to why you were a basketcase at the present moment.

“Dean!”

He looked back at you, shaking his head, but he ran up the stairs and led you to Sam and Jess’s shared apartment. 

He stopped in front of the door, turning back to face you. “Now, why--”

Before he could finish his statement, you used all your might to kick the wooden door in, yelling Sam’s name in concern.

“No!” you heard him yell from another room.

Dean jumped into action, sprinting through the apartment with you hot on his heels. The two of you got to the younger Winchester’s bedroom just in time to see a woman in a white nightgown stained red at her belly from bleeding with blonde hair on the ceiling burst into flames. 

“Jess!” Sam yelled, paralyzed on his bed in shock. He quickly moved one arm to shield his face as the flames got closer to him. “No!”

‘Oh, shit. His girlfriend...’

You shook your thoughts away from you and helped Dean lug a screaming Sam out of the door and out of the apartment complex. You fished through your bag in Dean’s car for your phone and called the fire department as Dean tried to hold Sam back from going back in for his charred girlfriend.

***

Flashes of red and blue broke through the black of night, emanating from police cars and firetrucks all around you. You walked through the chaotic scene of police and firemen holding back onlookers and firemen dousing the remaining embers of the fire in water. Black, charred wood stuck out from the turquoise exterior of the complex, and you could see into the apartment through giant holes that had been burnt out of the wall. 

You walked back over to the boys who stood by the Impala. Sam was fooling with weapons concealed within the hollowed-out bottom of the trunk, and Dean stood next to him, watching his brother’s face. As you got to them, you put a hand on Sam’s shoulder in an attempt to comfort him. He looked up at you, his normally soft and cheery expression suppressed by a look of both desperation and anger. He shut the trunk with a hard slam.

“We got work to do.”

Tags are open and feedback is always appreciated!

Series Rewrite Tags:

@rach5ive​ @ppeachygemss​

[slippinmickeys]

Of the Eight Winds, Part 8

This is the last chapter (there will be an epilogue) from the prompt from @sunflowerseedsandscience : “Mulder is unhappily married when Scully is partnered with him, and while he doesn’t cheat (because sorry that’s not romantic), he falls for her so hard that he finally gets the courage to end the marriage and start fresh.”

Links to parts one, two, three, four, five, six, and seven.

1

He wanted to go to Scully’s door the second he left the courtroom after his divorce was finalized but it felt sordid, fast. He needs to try to be on his own, live in his own head, if only for a few weeks, months. The thing is, needs and wants are two different things.

They took a few out of state cases, and one local one. He discovered that she had a cat.

Skinner sent her to the West Coast and after three days, he decided he was done waiting.

2

His divorce was final and their coupling was imminent. She could feel the inevitable slide toward him like she was teetering on a hillside, his pull as inexorable as gravity.

They were tentative and shy with each other in the office, and the whole waiting thing felt as stupid as it felt necessary. She had to wait until he came to her. The weeks grinded on, a weight pressing onto her.

Skinner asked her for a consult and so she flew west. With every mile that passed below her, something unclenched around her heart, so by the time she pulled into the small parking lot of the Santa Barbara Field Office, she felt an insouciant lightness.

The local SAC was a woman, and they formed an instant rapport. On her last night, Agent Fielding took her to a small tasting room just off the beaten path and they got tipsy on the local Pinot Noir and shared trench stories from the field and Quantico.

“I had this one case,” Fielding said, draining the last of her glass, “where the local Sheriff called the two other male agents working the case ‘Special Agent,’ but insisted on calling me ‘Miss.’”

Scully gave an exaggerated eye roll.

“Exactly,” Fielding went on, “Finally, I told him if he was going to call me miss, he’d better use my last name along with it, and when he asked what it was, I told him it was ‘Andry.’”

“Oh no,” Scully said.

“Oh yes. That fucker called me Miss Andry for the better part of a week and had no clue.”

They both laughed.

“Tell me about your partner,” Fielding said, running her fingers over the rim of her glass.

“Mulder?” Scully said, “He’s never treated me as anything but an equal.”

“So he’s a good one, huh?”

“The best,” Scully said, missing him suddenly.

As if they shared a heart, her cell phone chirped from her pocket.

It was after midnight on the East Coast.

“Mulder, everything okay?” she said, holding up a finger to Fielding, who watched with interest.

“I miss you,” he said, point blank, “when are you coming home?”

She could feel her cheeks color, adrenaline dumping into her bloodstream.

“Tomorrow,” she said. Tomorrow is a Friday.

“Tomorrow,” he said, the word imbued with implication. They both hung up.

“One of those good ones,” Fielding said, wearing a knowing smile.

Scully nodded, returned the smile. He was.

When she flew back east, his pull was as strong as the jet stream, and everything about the air was verging, each breath in; anticipation, each breath out; hope.

3

Two weeks in and she didn’t know what she’d been expecting, but it wasn’t this. This kind of sex was as desperate as it was sweet; pure and carnal and sybaritic. They’d scarcely left the bed in two days and she was certain by Monday she’d barely be able to walk.

She stared at her reflection, at her bee-stung lips, the beard burn scrape along her throat. It was 7:00am, time for her contraceptive. She’d gotten on the pill a month ago, and even as she understood the science, she has the urge to take two, just in case—she’d never had so much sex in her life.

Pop it through the foil, water from the faucet. She let it drip onto her bare chest from her chin.

When she got back into bed, Mulder, newly awake, reached for her.

“Is there a word for this?” he whispered to her, his nose pressing into her neck, his erection into her thigh.

“Satyriasis,” she said clinically, and he huffed a laugh into her skin.

“I knew you’d know,” he said.

She rolled to face him.

“I was thinking we could just call it love,” she said, and she saw emotion reach his eyes.

He gave her a tiny, serious nod.

4

They investigated a mercenary rainmaker in a drought-stricken Midwestern town and encountered a force more powerful than the weather. Here was a man who may love a woman with more passion and devotion than he loved Scully. He was humbled before him; a man with the improbable name of Holman Hardt.

When Holman came to him for advice, he gave it freely. Yes, he was in love with Agent Scully. There was a reason for the mutual gazing. He told him how he had been married to someone else but had been in love with her for five years before he had the courage to end his marriage and tell Scully how he felt. He encouraged Holman to do the same.

“If you love her,” Mulder said, growing emotional despite the ridiculousness of the entire case, “Holman, you gotta tell her.”

Holman marched to Sheila’s office and kissed her soundly.

The happy couple invited him and Scully to join them at their high school reunion, and they surprised themselves by accepting.

They danced to 10CC and The Hues Corporation and they drank watered down cocktails and made out in a high school hallway.

When they flew out the next day, the clouds--every last one from here into the horizon—were in the shape of hearts.

5

“There’s a place I want to show you,” he said, “get dressed.”

He hauled on jeans and had to lift up Blackwell to find his other sock, which she’d been using as a pillow.

He’d been wanting to broach the topic of moving in together for months, though when he’d asked her five minutes ago, he did so casually, like he’d only just thought of it.

When they pulled up to 42 Magnolia Avenue in Alexandria, Scully looked over at him, confused.

“Mulder, what is this?” she asked.

The house was gorgeous. It was a two-level, craftsman-inspired behemoth with a large two car garage and a deep front yard. There were twin magnolia trees on the front of the property, and while the yard was shaded, it got lots of light.

“It’s an Open House,” he said, not quite lying.

“Mulder, we could never afford this,” she said, looking at the neighboring houses. This was a neighborhood of lobbyists, congressmen, even. The lots were large, beautiful, and so were the homes.

“So?” he said, stepping out of the car, “we’ll get an idea of what we like.”

She looked dubious, but got out of the car, too.

When they got to the front door, the realtor opened it and gave Mulder a nod.

“Welcome,” she said, “come on in and take a look around.”

“Wow,” Scully said, impressed. The foyer wasn’t overly large, but was big enough for bench seating and and had a decent sized closet. But what was beyond the foyer seemed to have grabbed her attention. It opened up to a large open concept living room that rolled into an impressive kitchen. The appliances were new and stainless steel. There was a fireplace in the corner and a large bay window that looked out over a spacious back yard dotted with dogwoods and lined with large trees.

After touring the upstairs (“Blackwood would love the sun in that third bedroom,” she said “and that master bath is lovely,”) she came to stand in front of the big window in the living room, looking out over the back. The realtor was standing in the kitchen with her arms behind her back and a confident smile on her face.

“So,” Mulder said, coming up behind her, “can you see yourself living in a house like this?”

“Only if I’d married that thoracic surgeon,” she said wistfully, stepping into him and smiling into his chin.

“Is that a yes?” Mulder said.

“It’s a yes,” she said, tilting her head back, “this house is perfect. Maybe it’ll be up for sale in another 20 years when I’m running the Bureau.”

Mulder turned to the realtor.

“What do you think, Marie? Could you see us in this house 20 years from now?”

“And beyond,” Marie said, with a pleased smile.

Mulder nodded at her and she nodded back, stepping out into the foyer and closing the front door behind her softly.

“Mulder?” Scully said, giving him a look, “what’s going on?”

“I’m glad you like the house, Scully,” he said, leaning down to give the end of her nose a gentle peck, “it’s yours.”

Despite the huge fight it had caused, he was glad he had gone ahead with the pre-nup with Lauren. The money he’d inherited from his maternal grandmother had finally been put to good use.

Scully’s brows were creased in confusion.

“Both of our names are on the deed,” he said, “it’s just waiting for your signature. Marie has it out in her car.”

6

In Winston-Salem, she would not leave his bedside. He was her medical puzzle to solve and she left the policing to Skinner. Weaver, Drs. Voss and Scobie, even the malevolent Morley Tobacco Company, none of them mattered. Eventually, she figured it out, and Mulder was saved.

It wasn’t until nearly a week later that she looked at her birth control pack and realized that the days did not line up. Somewhere in North Carolina, she lost track of time.

7

Scully was waiting on a bench outside of the Smithsonian Museum of Natural History when he pushed Lily up in the stroller. The baby was making fretting noises, just on the verge of all-out tears. She stood when they approached.

“Hey you two, everything go okay?”

Mulder nodded and kicked the brake on the stroller, lifting the muslin blanket he’d had draped over the top of the bassinet compartment.

“Someone’s getting hungry,” he said, and Scully reached in and pulled Lily out, sitting down on the bench and unhooking the strap of her nursing bra.

Mulder dug a hand deep into the pocket of his jeans as if checking for change before he sat down next to her. Lily latched on and began to nurse. He reached out and tucked a piece of hair behind Scully’s ear.

“Is Lauren okay?” Scully asked kindly.  

He leaned back, surveying the mall behind the Smithsonian.

“She’s good,” he said.

“I’m glad.”

He felt a sense of peace descend on him. A part of him had always felt responsible for the bad years with Lauren--he should have never asked her to marry him in the first place. To see her happy and light brought him a lightness, too.

8

His father died when Lily was 15 and William was 12. The whole of the Scully/Mulders packed up for a week and drove up to Massachusetts.

His mother met them there from Raleigh, looking frail. There was a dowager’s hump starting to form on her spine and her hair looked thin and impossibly white. Looking at his father’s casket, he felt all of his fifty-five years.

He recognized nearly everyone at the wake, but there was a woman lingering over the cheese plate that looked out of place, but he couldn’t put his finger on why. When he approached her, she drifted away ahead of him and he was about to search for her in earnest when Scully grabbed him by the arm.

“I’m going to take the kids down to the beach, give them a little reprieve from Aunt Edna asking about Tinder.”

He nodded, kissed her cheek.

He was grabbed by a distant cousin as soon as Scully left his side, and was caught in small talk for the next forty five minutes.

9

“You’re… you’re what?” he asked, certain he didn’t hear right. He’d been expecting the worst.

“Pregnant,” she said again, and for a moment he was too stunned by the reversal. Then it dawned on him that it was not bad news. That it was traditionally good news.

He grabbed her face in both hands and bent his knees until his face was level with hers.

“Holy shit ,” he said, practically laughing. He flashed on the moment he found out she was pregnant with Lily and felt a kind of synergy.

“You’re happy?” she asked, hedging.

“I’m… are you ?”

“I’m stunned,” she said, “after Will was born…”

Mulder remembered her slick hand in his, her white-knuckled grip when Dr. Wong told them she would no longer be able to conceive.

He dropped to his knees before her, put his hands on her hips, his forehead over her womb. After a moment he leaned back.

“We got rid of all our baby stuff,” he said.

“We did,” she said.

“We specifically had a garage sale to get rid of it.”

“Yes.”

“Our hoity-toity neighbors were really irritated by the whole thing.”

“They were.”

“We’re going to have to buy all new stuff,” he said, his enthusiasm starting to wane.

“We are,” she said, “though the safety stuff would be expired now, anyway.”

The wheels were spinning in Mulder’s head. They would have to start a whole new college fund.

Scully grabbed his hands and sunk down to sit next to him.

“I was afraid you were going to be upset,” she finally said.

He gave her a look and squeezed her hand.

“Never,” he said, and she nodded, believing him.

“I warn you now, if you bring up my age in relation to this pregnancy, I will handcuff you to the pipes in the basement.”

Mulder pursed his lips, huffed out one small laugh.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, Scully,” he said.

She shook her head, tipped it until it was leaning on his shoulder.

“Do you really think we can do this again?” she asked him earnestly.

He grabbed both sides of her face and they connected eyes.

“You might be the skeptic here, Scully,” he said, “me? I’m the believer.”

[florenceandthemachine]

i need u to talk to me about stiles and jackson and their baby girl. i need u to talk to me about how they name her claudia and how they spoil the actual everloving shit out of her and how all the single moms at the supermarket lose their entire minds when they see jackson walking around with her strapped to his chest and how stiles absolutely cannot blame them because his man is literally the world’s biggest dilf. i need u to talk to me about happy domestic stackson thank u and goodnight.

Honestly boo, I told you I had to prepare for this and sit down at a computer and I accidentally wrote a novel. But I had to, because here’s the thing.

Nothing in Stiles and Jackson’s life has ever been easy.

Stiles would start recounting the happiest moments in his life by talking about the time he almost died in high school (he remembers it fondly). Not because he’s fond of the fact that he almost died, but because while he was lying on Deatons table, bleeding out, pixie claws still dug too deeply into his chest, Jackson kissed him for the first time. Jackson was crying, and he was crying, and Jackson was begging him to stay alive, and Stiles, honestly, could have died a happy man right then and there with Jackson kissing him.

He and Jackson get married, less than a year after Stiles graduates with his masters in mythology and Jackson finishes an associates degree in Criminal Justice. Stiles gets a part time job in a local library, and Jackson starts work as his dads newest officer, and Stiles never lets him forget how good the uniform looks on him; and, he thinks as he looks over Jackson, writhing beneath him, cuffed to the headboard, it looks even better off of him.

(The wedding is a small ceremony, with the pack and Stiles’ dad there. Stiles cries the entire time. Jackson only makes fun of him a little. When the justice of the peace asks if they’ll be hyphenating their last names, Jackson snorts and takes Stiles hand and “no, absolutely not. I’ve been waiting my entire life to be a Stilinski.” Stiles cries again. Jackson just beams at him, the asshole.

[Later that night, Lydia almost passes out when a group of rouge banshees breech their territory, screeching like… well, banshees. It happens during their wedding reception, of course, because as previously stated, nothing in Stiles and Jackson’s life has ever been easy.])

They live together. They love each other. They love the pack. They still do things like patrols, once in a while, and of course it’s during a patrol that their life flips again.

They’ve only been back in town for a week after taking some time off for their wedding anniversary when they come across a woman on the side of the road. Jackson is still in full uniform and swoops in (Stiles swoons, he can admit it) to help the very dirty, very young woman, and her very small, very loud, very much a newborn, infant. The woman is crying, talking about how she didn’t mean for this to happen, she doesn’t know what to do, and the baby is crying because it’s a baby. Stiles is out of the car right behind Jackson, jacket in arms, ready to help warm the baby up.

In hindsight, he probably should have realized something was up when the woman seemed all too eager to let Stiles take the child from her. Because in less than three seconds, when Jackson and he are both focused on the baby, the woman is gone.

Whelp.

~

Jackson takes to caring for a child immediately. While Stiles is meeting with a social worker and loading a bassinet into the Jeep, Jackson bounces her in his arms—god, she couldn’t be more than three months old—and Stiles has to stop himself from looking, worried he might start to want something he can’t have. High school Stiles would have been shocked by the sight, but older, wiser Stiles knows that Jackson is one of the most caring, warm people on the planet, just beneath a crunchy exterior. Stiles loves him for it, so much, but watching the two of them interact makes his bones ache. The social worker assures him it will be temporary. Two weeks at the most, before they’re able to find some blood relation.

Two weeks turns into three, and three turns into five, and soon Stiles has worked their routine around a child that they just call “baby” because they have no right to name it (“and besides, Jacks, it’s not like she’ll remember any of this anyway”).

Stiles is glad, though, that he’s not the first one to approach the topic of adoption. Their idiot social worker does, when five weeks turns into three months with no luck. The topic comes up, about what a match they would be, and how well they work with the baby, and Stiles rudely cuts her off by dragging Jackson into the hall, knowing that Jackson wolfing out was the least of their concerns if the conversation carried on any further down that path.

Because at the mere mention of adoption, confident, smooth Jackson almost broke Stiles hand squeezing so hard. His eyes widen minutely, his smile freezes in place, and to the untrained eye, it might seem like Jackson was just a little surprised. Stiles knows Jackson well enough to know that his husband just plunged into a hell of his own making, through stress and fears and issues that years of therapy have eased, but not entirely. Sure enough, no sooner than the door closes is Jackson leaned against the wall, clutching Stiles close to him, breathing in his scent as Stiles soothes him.

His heart is breaking as he tells Jackson it’s okay. They don’t have to adopt her. It’s just an option. And he knows he’s a terrible liar but he isn’t lying when he said he would never ask Jackson to do anything that he isn’t comfortable with.

It takes a good twenty minutes before Jackson calms down enough to pull back from the embrace, eyes red with tears and hands shaking. But it’s with the same stubborn determination that he approaches everything with—everything he really wants—even if his voice is shaking when he meets Stiles eyes.

“I want, Stiles. I… I do. With you.”

Stiles can only smile, his heart soaring, terrified but optimistic. He clears his throat to speak, but once more, Jackson beats him to the punch.

“We could name her Claudia.”

Stiles is crying again.

~

Less than a week later, as Stiles is pouring over every single parenting book he could find, Jackson makes a grand entrance into their bedroom and announces that he got Claudia to go to sleep. In the same breath, he tells Stiles that he’s transferred his entire inheritance into a college fund in her name.

Stiles drops the book he’s holding and pulls Jackson to the bed with such vigor (in the name of higher education) that he’s shocked they don’t end up waking the baby.

~

They are both passable parents, but if you ask either of them, it’s because Claudia is such a chill fucking baby. She cries when she’s hungry and that’s about it. She naps when she wants to, she chatters when she wants to, she giggles and grabs Jackson’s sideburns when he wolfs out for her amusement. She has Jackson wrapped around her finger in no time flat, and when she takes her first steps well before her first birthday, Jackson is the asshole dad in Mommy and Me class talking about how advanced his baby is. Stiles would find it really annoying, but something about watching Jackson push a shopping cart with a baby strapped to his chest makes him forget anything but love. He’s a sap.

Getting Jackson one of those baby bjorn things was the best ideas of Stiles’ entire life, because there was nothing that Stiles loved more than watching Jackson go on his early morning run, in a tank top and shorts, nasty green smoothie in hand—and a baby strapped to his chest. Stiles wasn’t sure what he loved more—getting the early morning kiss from his husband (and puckering up to smack one on his daughters head), or the deeper, sweatier, longer kiss that Jackson woke him up with after coming back from his run, which Stiles regularly fed back into, tugging Jackson into the bed without a second thought.

Jackson loved any time he could spend with his daughter, but his favorite times by far were the random days that he had off. Call him... boring, or old fashioned, or lame, or— “Jackson, shut up. There is nothing wrong with spending time with your family. We’re your family, you idiot, we love spending time with you too.” ...well, whatever the case, he loved it. Running errands on a Saturday became a family affair. 

The old ladies in the natural grocer near their home love them. Stiles take full advantage of that, kissing his husband and cooing at his baby whenever they’re nearby to score an extra free sample of free range bacon or to get the latest gossip from the retirement home. He has a few of them on Sheriff Watch, and it would honestly be sad that Stiles’ dad couldn’t eat a jelly doughnut anywhere in town without Stiles knowing about it If it weren’t so funny.

Stiles finds his natural enemies in the yoga moms, though. Or at least, he would, if Jackson wasn’t Jackson. He could honestly watch hours of these single moms trying to flirt with Jackson in the produce aisle, while Stiles is standing right next to him, only to have Jackson completely dote on their kid and completely ignore them. He only intervenes once, when a busty blond thirty something mother of three reaches forward to pinch Claudia’s cheek. Stiles smiles, reaches forward, gently pulls the woman’s wrist away, and tells her that if she ever touches his daughter again, he will break her arm.

So maybe Jackson wasn’t the only one Claudia had wrapped around her pudgy fingers.

~

Claudia’s first word is “Papa”, directed solely at Jackson, and Stiles... well, Stiles couldn’t even find it in himself to be jealous, because Jackson was staring at Claudia in shock and wonder, and Stiles is falling in love all over again with him. Jackson takes in a deep breath and smiles, letting her grab on to both of his fingers, his voice crushingly soft as he nods his head.

“Yeah, sweetheart. I’m your Papa, and you’re my baby girl. Can you say baby? Bayyy-bee?”

She giggles and smacks him in the cheek, and the moment is over, but Jackson’s smile will be burned into Stiles brain forever. 

(Two months later, Jackson is trying to get a clean onesie on a very fussy Claudia when Stiles walks in, and she goes ramrod straight in his arms, reaching for Stiles, making grabby motions and yelling “Dada! Dada!” in her adorably desperate little baby voice. Jackson feels his heart swell as Stiles jaw hits the floor, but only for a moment, before he swoops in and plucks their daughter from his arms.)

~

Things are easy with them, and honestly, Stiles should have been suspicious—because, rule of thumb, nothing is ever easy with Stiles and Jackson. Claudia is two and things are easy. Claudia is two and she falls while toddling across the kitchen. Claudia is two and Stiles is picking her up, comforting her while Jackson kisses her booboo. Claudia is two, in Stiles arms, her tears turning into laughter. Claudia is two, and she hiccups, and suddenly Claudia has golden eyes, sharp little nails, and an alarming amount of facial hair for a two year old.

Stiles and Jackson both freeze—Stiles, because in all the parenting books he has read, nothing has prepared him for the possibility of raising a werewolf baby. Jackson freezes for a slightly more dramatic reason, his own eyes burning blue in response to his daughters gold, mouth hanging open in shock. She’s not crying anymore, at least, and Stiles can count that as a win. Hell, out of the three of them, the person who is most surprised is Claudia, who is now giggling and smacking Stiles’ cheeks, clearly enjoying the hollow sound his gaping mouth makes when hit.

Stiles immediately invites everyone over, thinking it would be easier to show everyone in person. Derek will need to do some Alpha thing to cement her place in the pack, he rationalizes, pacing the living room while texting up a storm, and Jackson... Jackson is nervous for reasons he doesn’t fully know how to articulate, bouncing Claudia on his hip. He’s come a long way since he was the angry, self obsessed sixteen year old, asking for the bite, and he knows that, but there will always be a small part of him that worries Derek is on the verge of kicking him out. He’s can feel his heart picking up as he starts to sink into his own thoughts, because what if Derek—

He doesn't get a chance to follow that rabbit hole, because a tiny, disgruntled noise is all it takes from Claudia to garner Stiles entire attention, and it isn’t even a second before Stiles is up close and personal.

“I know that look. Jackson, stop thinking. This doesn’t change anything—they already love her, and they already love you. Now they just know to count her in for future training sessions and full moon parties. Breathe, baby. Claudia and I are here to stay.”

Jackson doesn’t know when his anchor expanded to include their daughter, but honestly, it probably always did.

Erica and Boyd show up first, Erica heavily pregnant with their own kid, and Scott and Kira arrive shortly after—they’ve been looking into following their lead in the adoption game, though Stiles secretly wished any adoption they go through was no where near as eventful as theirs. Derek arrives last, unintentionally making the dramatic entrance he’s known for, and he is barely in the door for a half moment before he freezes, eyes wide, looking at the baby in Jackson’s arms. 

In his surprise, he moves quickly, too quick for Jackson’s liking—Derek is an arms reach away from him and Jackson growls, his eyes flaring blue, instinctively clutching Claudia closer to his chest. Stiles swallows and grips Jackson’s hand a little tighter, gearing up for this to be A Thing, and the rest of them are equally confused, considering they are still looking at a purely human child. One that Derek has babysat for, for fucks sake. Derek, though, has a huge grin on his face, and moves much slower as he reaches to put a hand on Jackson’s shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly. 

Derek takes a knee and takes Claudia’s little pudgy hand in his own, and honestly, it would be a hilarious sight, except Derek’s eyes are burning red and Claudia wolfs out immediately, sitting shock still, mesmerized by Derek’s own eyes. It only lasts for a moment before she’s screams with joy, reaching for Derek’s sideburns, but Derek is already standing again, pulling Stiles and Jackson into a hug. The air almost crackles with electricity and even tiny, human Stiles feels something settle as the new pack bond takes form, with Derek’s arms tight around the two of them—

—the three of them, sorry, because Claudia is currently giggling like a fool from where she’s more or less suspended between the two wolves.

~

It was kind of perfect. Derek’s first beta raising the first born wolf of their new pack. If Stiles could pause that moment in time, he would have. Because raising a toddler was easy when Claudia was a relatively chill human baby. Now, though, it was like she had been saving up all her energy for the past two years—and now that her wolf was awake, it was time to let it loose.

Claudia became a terror. A terror they loved, of course, but a terror none the less because apparently “the terrible twos” were a very real thing, even for werewolves. She pushed every limit and every boundary, getting to the point where even Derek was wary about agreeing to babysit—Derek, the worlds biggest pushover when it came to babies. “No” became her favorite word at two—by three, it was “stop”—and when she was four, she had only one thing to say to a very sleep deprived, very emotional Stiles when he brought down the wrong pair of shoes for their weekly trip to see Papa for lunch.

“No, daddy, no! I want blue shoes, not green shoes! You never listen to me! I hate you! I hate you!”

Stiles was aware that he’s probably a little hysterical at that point—but when he hears that, something inside of him just breaks. He drops the shoes and just stands there and has to remind himself to breathe, and suddenly he’s crying, and somehow Claudia’s tantrum is over before it even begins. The first tear falls, and then ten seconds later his arms are full of his daughter, frantically scrambling to be close to him, apologizing profusely for being mean, her shouts turning into tears of her own.

Stiles is beyond comprehension at this point, but it feels like a switch has been flipped, as he and his daughter dissolve into tears while sitting on the kitchen floor.

At some point, Jackson comes home when he realizes he’s being stood up for lunch. They had more or less calmed down; though they were still on the kitchen floor, Stiles had fished his tablet off of the counter and was entertaining her with old pictures—of his mother, of Jackson in high school, of her as a baby. 

He had just flicked to a picture of the three of them on Claudia’s adoption day—Stiles was beaming at the camera as his dad snapped a photo, and Jackson had a look of wonder on his face, looking down at the tiny baby swaddled in Jackson’s arms. Like he was summoned by the photo itself, Jackson comes in through the side door after parking his cruiser, takes less than three seconds to assess the situation (husband and child; on floor. scents; tears and sadness. threat level; moderate.) before shucking his utility belt and his badge and scooping them both into his arms. Claudia is crying again, but softer this time, still worn out from her earlier tantrum, apologizing in between hiccups for being so mean, but nothing could prepare either of them for the tumble of words that leaves her lips as she buries her face into Jackson’s shoulder.

“You and Daddy are still gonna keep me, right?”

Jackson is heartbroken, but... not surprised. He had gone through the same thing, more times than he can count, growing up. His parents had always brushed it off with platitudes—don’t be silly, Jackson, you’re overreacting Jackson. He finally had the chance to right some of their wrongs, the seriousness in his voice reflecting 

“You got mad, and that happens sometimes. Daddy and I can get mad sometimes too. But we never stay mad at one another, and we always apologize, right sweetpea?”

He waits for Claudia to nod before he continues, aware that Stiles is staring at him too.

“Well, you already apologized to Daddy and I. You apologized because you realize you made a mistake, and it’s okay to make mistakes. You apologize because you love us, and we love you too. We love you, Claudia. And we are never, ever going to let you go.”

(Stiles and Claudia fall asleep in Jackson’s arms, and Jackson takes a selfie, sending it to the sheriff with an apology for missing his afternoon shift. He waits until the Sheriff responds, with a laughing emoji of all things [who taught him how to do that?!], before uploading it to their digital album too.)

~

When Claudia turns five, she begs for a ladybug party at the Hale House with all her “woofpack”. Honestly, Stiles was just thankful that Derek was an absolute pushover for all of the kids in the pack—between all of their original betas, there were six little rats running around at any given time, four of which were human, and Derek was a sucker for all of them.

(Boyd and Erica’s son had popped his fangs five days earlier. Claudia is ecstatic to have a new member of her woofpack. Jackson spends a lot of time playing with the baby chubby cheeks. Stiles grins and gives them a very brief warning about the terrible twos, before calling this karmic payback for the time Erica clocked him with a piece of his own Jeep, because he will never let that go.)

Stiles was just happy that it meant he didn’t have to clean up after the party, even if he did spend the entire night beforehand icing about a million ladybug cupcakes.

“It was three dozen, Stiles, and you’re the one who didn’t want to pay a baker to make them.”

“Aw, thanks babe, your devotion and respect for me really knows no bounds.”

Jackson smirks at him and Stiles smooshes a cupcake against his nose, throwing his head back in laughter as Jackson pulls back, looking incredibly offended. They’re on the second story balcony overlooking the yard, and Stiles is only half paying attention to Jackson’s protests as he hears shrieks of joy coming from the grass below. Their daughter is running through the field with a red and black cape flying behind her, eyes gold with mirth as she avoids Erica’s outstretched hand in what appears to be a very fair game of tag.

He lets his free hand sneak into Jackson’s, like it was some kind of secret—Jackson, who has no chill, pulls him close, arms going around him from behind. Stiles laughs again as he turns to his husband, basking in the warmth that pools in his chest with another happy shriek sounds from his family below.

“Hey Jacks?”

“Yeah baby?”

Nothing in Stiles and Jackson’s life has ever been easy.

“… I want another one.”

And neither of them would change a damn thing.

[rosiethots]

the count of monte cristo inspired reddie !! please just imagine:

young richie with the rest of the losers, living happily with his friends, cracking jokes. sure he’d get an eye roll or a punch on the arm for some of them but that just made it funnier.

even if no one generally took him seriously, that was okay. he didn’t care for serious.

which is why it got harder for him to be around bill. bill who was way too old for his age. they clashed often, and who could ever forget the summer fight of ‘89?

the rest of the losers had sort of an unspoken agreement to keep bill and richie as far apart as possible ever since then. but sometimes it wasn’t enough.

sometimes richie joked too much. he was too immature. he didn’t know anything about the real world and it’s cruelties.

bill had glared at richie as he was tugged away by mike and bev. richie could hear ben saying to bill,

“don’t be so mean, he’s a nice enough guy.”

nice enough guy, richie scoffed as he stormed away.

he’s alright

an okay kid

kinda annoying

probably won’t make it far

he’s heard it all. from his parents, to his teachers.

he hadn’t realized someone had followed him out of bill’s basement until there came a flick to his arm. the glare he sent to his attacker had no effect at all seeing as it was eddie and all the smaller did was laugh.

“i come in peace.” eddie threw his hands up in surrender.

richie wanted to soften. he was mad at bill, not eddie. but for some reason the line on his forehead wouldn’t disappear.

the world was moving and before he could process the blurred images, he found himself sitting in the grass in bill’s backyard. eddie’s small hands still wrapped around his arm from where he pulled him.

“bill didn’t me-“

“yes he did.” richie was fucking tired. he didn’t meant this, she didn’t mean that.

if they didn’t mean it why’d they fucking say it?

“okay yeah he did. but he wasn’t right.”

richie spared a glance at eddie’s face only to be greeted with wide brown eyes shining with determination and.. something else. richie took note that eddie’s hands still rested on his bicep.

“look, i’m probably the last person you wanna hear this from but, i think you’re great.” eddie admitted softly. “sometimes your jokes are lame, but i’d deal with a day of bad jokes if it meant hanging out with you.”

richie felt his bottom lip wobble but he swallowed the feeling down.

“edward kaspbrak, are you in love with me?”

eddie burned a bright red, snatching his hands from richie’s arm before delivering a tiny punch.

“i’m trying to have a nice moment, jackass.”

richie cackled and threw his hands up in mock surrender before gathering eddie’s squirming form into his arms.

“listen if you wanna go on a date with me all you have to do is ask.”

“in your dreams” eddie grumbled, breaking free from richie’s hug before straightening out his now crumpled shirt. richie chuckled softly as he watched the smaller’s face.

“thank you, eddie. sorry for being a dick. bill just makes me so fucking mad sometimes. like yeah i get it, georgie’s gone, it’s sad. i’m not happy it happened, no one is. but that doesn’t mean the people around you can’t try to move on? enjoy their pathetic lives? make the most out of nothing?”

eddie was quiet for a moment and richie worried it meant he was upset with his confession. he wouldn’t take what he said back, because he knows he’s right. bill has every right to mourn and grieve. but lashing out of people for no fucking reason wont get you far.

a small warm hand rested on richie’s shoulder. richie turned his attention to the owner of said hand.

“for what it’s worth, ever since i’ve met you, i’ve enjoyed life a lot more.”

richie nearly choked on his own breath.

“it’s so fucking sappy i know but i mean it. and you know something? i believe, out of all of us, you’re going to go the farthest. really make something of yourself. i just know it. you’re too amazing not to.”

richie felt his eyes burning but honestly he didn’t care. he was too busy throwing his arms around eddie to care.

more importantly, he was too focused on eddie hugging him back to care.

richie sniffled softly from where his face was buried in eddie’s shoulder.

“i promise you i’ll make something of myself. i’ll get all the way to the top of the world. i’ll even make Bill my servant.”

eddie giggled, albeit muffled since he was pressed against richie’s chest.

“promise you’ll remember me when you’re at the top?”

richie pulled away from the hug, both hands holding onto eddie’s shoulders as he looked the smaller in the eye.

“i’m going to take you to the top with me. you’ll never leave my side. like my lil pocket companion.”

eddie swatted at richie playfully, a bashful smile on his face.

“you promise?”

“fuck yes i promise!” richie exclaimed before digging his hands through his pockets. eddie watched him with a single quirked eyebrow in curiosity. richie huffed as he pulled his hands out empty before zoning in on the frayed part of his shirt. there were several loose strings but there was one particular thread that was longer than the others.

without hesitation, richie reached down and yanked the thread. he ignored eddie’s cries of “be careful richie don’t tear your shirt!” to grab eddie’s left hand and rest it on his knee.

with careful movements, richie tied the thread around eddie’s ring finger before holding his hand up to show eddie his work.

“here. my promise to you, that i’ll take you with me. wherever i go.”

eddie smiled richie’s favorite kind of smile. that one smile where his eyes disappear and his cheeks bunch up.

“i’ll never take it off.”

in that moment, richie feels an urge but he can’t quite put a name to it. but he knows it gets stronger when he looks down at eddie’s lips.

but of course life is cruel.

fast forward a few weeks and richie is coming home to police cars in his drive way. immediately thinking the worse, someone has died, he darts into the house.

his mother is crying as the sheriff squares his shoulders and approaches her son.

“mr. tozier, is it true you attacked bill denbrough?”

richie has no fucking idea where this is coming from. he hasn’t seen bill all day. not to mention, he hadn’t seen the fucker all week.

“no it’s not true. why would i?”

“there’s been reports of you two having previous altercations.”

“well yeah, he’s a dick-“

“richard!” richie flinched at the harsh sharp tone of his father.

“if you don’t mind, i’d like to take you down to the station. for just a few more questions.”

that’s only the beginning. word travels fast in a small toxic town like derry. everyone heard of the tozier boy with a violent nature. even if richie screams it isn’t true.

he sees bill one day, just passing by in school. and richie is honestly surprised by the condition bill’s face is in. someone sure went to town on him. richie normally would be concerned, except for the fact that everyone thinks it’s his fault.

the scrutiny gets so bad that the toziers are practically forced out of town. but at that point richie couldn’t bring himself to care. all he can think about was the last time he would lay eyes on eddie.

the small boy would lock eyes with him in the hallway and make a bee line for him. richie wants to cry because it’s the first time someone isn’t looking at him like he’s a monster.

they’ve almost reached each other when stan plows his way through and crowd to drag a protesting eddie away. richie has half a mind to chase them down but he feels prying eyes on him everywhere.

every move he makes is examined thoroughly out of “the safety of others”. or whatever bullshit. so he watches as eddie is hauled away from richie. and that would be the last image he would have of the small boy.

fast forward 25 years and richie finds himself standing in front of the restaurant.

he isn’t the same richie the rest knew all those years ago.

he made a name for himself.

trashmouth.

it was nearly a household name at this point. he had a faithful fan base following him, a full bank account, and even a solid show on a mainstream channel in the works.

but even with all of that, there were still some loose ends keeping him up at nights.

quickly he found out that he remembered a lot more about the past than the others did, besides mike.

even bill didn’t remember him.

but richie sure as hell remembered. he never let himself forget.

he almost loses himself when he sees eddie, however. even moreso when it’s announced that eddie has since gotten married.

richie finds out why he was falsely accused of bill’s attack. turns out victor, as revenge for henry, planned on seeking out each loser. bill had been the first. victor had broken bill’s nose, collarbone, and one of his ribs. while victor had done his damage, bill manage to wrestle him to the edge of the quarry’s cliff, shoving him off. unfortunately, during winter time in derry, it was cold enough for the lake to freeze over multiple times.

bill had panicked. what would he tell everyone?

richie simply nodded, a calm smile over his lips as bill recalled the story. he’ll take care of that later.

fast forward a bit more, pennywise is successfully laid to rest. eddie narrowly avoids being impales due to richie shoving him out of the way.

a celebration is had down by the quarry and that’s where richie sees it. a piece of thread peeking out from under eddie’s wedding band.

richie corners eddie and forces the ring off of his finger so he could see. eddie lets him.

“i forgot why i had it on, but part of me knew to never take it off. so i never did. but now i know.” eddie cups richie’s face with his free hand.

anyways eddie divorces myra and marries richie. richie gets him a new ring, which eddie wears, but he keeps the thread on as well.

[unofficialkfamtranscripts]

King Falls AM - Episode Thirteen: Crop Circle Jerk

View on Google Docs Summary: November 1, 2015 - An emergency at Libbydale Farms has Deputy Troy and King Falls AM on high alert. Mysterious lights? Check. Crop Circles? Check. Intergalactic Gang War? Stay tuned to 660 on the AM Dial to find out.

[podcast intro music]

[S&B show intro]

Ben Good evening! You’re listening to King Falls AM – that’s 660 on the radio dial.

Sammy Folks, we are jumping right into it tonight. We got Deputy Troy on the line, live from Libbydale Farms. Hey, Troy, can you hear us alright?

Troy Loud and clear, Sammy. Heard you real fine, too, Ben.

Ben [muttered] Suck an egg.

Sammy Okay. So, Troy. Tell the listeners what you just told us right before we went on air.

Troy Ladies and gents, in all my years— and I mean all of ‘em— I ain’t never seen anything like this! Not even comparatively close to what I’m lookin’ at right this instant. [faint sounds of police radio in bg]

Ben POINT. GET TO IT.

Troy Gosh darnit, Ben. I’m trying to sell the magnitude of what I’m feastin’ my eyes on!

Ben Who even knew you could see Libbydale Farms from so far out in the Kiss Ass Sea aboard the SS Backstabber.

Troy You know G-D well I’m not on a ship nor would it be called the SS Backstabber if I were. Don’t be so damn sore, Ben! Everybody knows I’m sorry! Plus- [kinda shyly] I reckon my ship be called the- USS Super Badass.

Sammy *pointedly clears throat* Troy. Ben. Let’s put our differences aside and let’s get to the matter at hand. So, Troy, you’re live at—?

Ben & Troy Libbydale Farms…

Troy & Ben I’m trying to talk!

Sammy GUYS!

Troy A-a-as I was sayin. I’m out here at the farm and out past the barns just hours ago, Old Man Libbydale called us in, and acres upon acres, boys, have been De.Stroyed out here.

Ben [accusingly] Where were yoouu, earlier this evening, Troy?

Troy Using my keen detective skills and ninja-like mental agility, I can see you’re trying to place me at the scene of the crime, little buddy. However Ol’ Troy was sawin’ logs next to the Mrs. before. my. shift.

Ben While crimes are being committed? *scoffs* Typical.

Troy Now that’s a low blow just be—

[shouting over each other] Ben NO! NO! Troy —low my pistol belt— Ben YOUU— N— TROOYY!— Troy — Ben come on— Ben — T— OHH Troy — this ain’t about the farm— Ben [mocking] OHH YEAHHH- OHHH YOU’RE SOOO— Troy — and you know— Ben —GOOD AT FIGHTING—

Sammy GUYS! GUYS! [“break it up kids”/dad-voice] I understand there’s renewed intensity between you two, but Ben, as co-host of this show and a respected journalist— put it away. Troy, you’re the first friend of the Sammy & Ben Show and a deputy sheriff. You guys don’t have to be best buddies, but let’s please report- on the news story- at hand.

Troy Couldn’t have said it better myself, Sammy.

Ben [hissed] Jesus.

Sammy So, Troy. Old Man Libbydale called you out— Acres of his lands destroyed. How so?

Troy Y’all ain’t gonna believe it, but you know I always shoot you straight… Two words: Crop. Circles.

Sammy [incredulous] Crop circles?

Troy It’s like a live action Led Zeppelin album cover as far as the eye can see! Big ones, little ones. The craziest damn designs you ever could imagine.

Ben Troy, I assume you and the rest of Gunderson’s thugs— I-mean-”deputies”— inspected the circles, and the surrounding areas, for man-made tools? There have been stories that men with boards tied to ropes can replicate what people believe crop circles to look like. Bending the crops at the right angles, etcetera… did you find—

Troy Didn’t find anything, Ben. Not a board… not a footprint… nothin’ but hunched over crops.

Ben So you think—?

Troy Oh, there isn’t a doubt in my mind it’s from the UFOs or those lights. I mean, whichever you wanna call it. No man made these! And in just a few hours to boot!

Sammy Okay. So, has this ever happened here before, Ben?

Ben No! Nor abductions! Not even lights being so close to town. The past few months- have been a hotbed for extraterrestrial activity— it would seem.

Sammy “It would seem”? So you aren’t certain?

Ben *scoff/laugh* I only said “it would seem” so you wouldn’t get all defensive about it.

Sammy Okay, alright. Well, as much as I hate to say it, I definitely feel there’s a lot more than meets the eye here in Kings Falls.

Ben I’m not one to say “I told you so”… But I DID tell you so!

Troy Just so everybody out there knows: Libbydale Farms is private property. So, unless you’re doing the dairy farm tour in mornin’, this is not an attraction for looky-loos. There is an official investigation still ongoin’ here. Plus, don’t nobody need another person gettin’ snatched up by the Martians either.

Ben *smug snort* Martians are from Mars, Troy. They aren’t representative of all extraterrestrials?.

Troy [defensive] Whatever— Ben Nye the Science Guy. I’m headin’ out to the field again. I might not be smart as Ben about the aliens and such, but I can definitely sniff out a spot where the Williams boys will come lookin’ for Mischief and Mayhem. [click]

[dial tone]

Sammy Deputy Troy, folks. Now, I didn’t realize you and Troy were still so angry at one another, Ben. You can’t let that hostility clou—

Ben THANKS, DAD! — We’re just gonna take a break to hear from one of our fine sponsors. Maybe Sammy here can talk to me about the birds and the bees after we get back.

Sammy [quietly] Maybe…

[disquieting, melancholic piano music]

Soft, disquieting voice What if what you thought wasn’t really what you thought you thought? … Ever think of that? … Here at the Institute of Science, we can help you become what you’ve always wanted to become… A better you, for a better mankind! Call us today for a free brochure and a C-meter reading. That’s “C” as in “cat.” … We’re coming King Falls… Be well! … And be ready.

[piano fades out]

[S&B theme]

Sammy You’re listening to King Falls AM and we are opening up the phone lines to you. 424-279-3858.

Ben We’ll be talking about the apparent crop circle- situation at Libbydale Farms. As well as if any of you out there have had any experience with this phenomenon.

Sammy So give us a call or tweet us @kingfallsam. So, you’ve heard our story, now let’s hear yours.

Ben Line 3.

Sammy Good evening, you’re live with Sammy and Ben.

Cynthia Good evening? For who? Certainly not King Falls!

Sammy Hi, Cynthia. How ‘bout you tell us how you really feel tonight.

Cynthia Weellll, to be honessst, I’m a little rattled over these gang signs the aliens are leaving on our turf. Literally.

Ben Cynthia— there is no way to tell if those circles are- angry orrr happy! even. They’re *huff/laugh* just symbols.

Cynthia So’s a swastika, Ben Arnold. Get your head out of your tuchus!

Sammy Okay, obviously, we aren’t trying to raise alarms here, Cynthia. It’s just, uh— it’s an interesting story. Especially here in our backyard. Would you not agree? Uh, you know, it’s not every day you can see this kind of handiwork – man-made or otherwise.

Cynthia You two sound sooo happy. We’re getting tagged in an intergalactic war and all of us in the Falls are sitting around at ground zero.

Ben I- don’t think that’s fair t—

Cynthia That’s the problem! You just. don’t. think! It’s all Tim Jenson’s fault, I just know it. We didn’t have any flying saucer, land-tattooing bedlam before he chased those lights.

Ben He didn’t “chase” anything! He was driving from work and called to report on a breaking news story.

Cynthia Watch your tone, Ben. I’ll buy one of those rabid, disease-ridden sugar flyers and toss it in Lake Hatchenhaw. just to spite you!

Sammy Goodnight, Cynthia.

Ben Sugar glider. And- they are. illegal.

Cynthia So are illegal aliens, but you’re just getting ready to throw ‘em a parade! I can’t! I just can’t! [click]

[dial tone]

Sammy Heh, alright, uh… Line 12, you’re live on King Falls AM.

Emily Hi, Sammy! Hi, Ben!

Ben Emily! I–I didn’t realize you were back in town!

Emily I just got back. I was listening on the way in! My mom and I actually drove by the farm and saw all the commotion over there. Police; reporters— big lawn-mower thingies…

Ben Lawn mowers?

Sammy Uh, y’ know, if you don’t mind me asking, Emily, why were you out of town?

Emily Oh, I flew out to Buford, Wyoming,[1] for the annual small town librarian expo! And I had my mom pick me up from the airport since— Ben was on the air.

Sammy Wow. So you guys are in the taking and picking up from the airport stage of yourrr—

Ben Friendship. Is that the- word- you’re- searching for, Sammy?

Sammy [kinda smug] Thaaat was exactly the one, Ben.

Emily *soft laugh* You guys are so silly. But I just wanted to say “hi” and tell Ben I’m back home now!— Oh! And starting next week, I’ve got a whole bunch of fun activities I learned from the expo to start doing at the library! Hopefully we can get some of the scared kids back now.

Ben I’ll call you later, Emily.

Emily Goodnight, Ben! Night, Sammy!

[click, dial tone]

Sammy Emily Potter, ladies and gents. King Falls Librarian and Ben’s… Friend.

Ben [shyly] Yeah-yeah… Lucky Line 1, you’re on King Falls AM.

Greg Hey, guys! It’s Greg Frickard!

Sammy Hi, Greg! You know, we appreciate you running the ads on the show, sir. It’s so nice to meet youuu… uh, over the phone, of course.

Greg Thanks, Sammy! I— think— we’ve- talked before, and uh, glad to run the spot! Me and Granny Frickard love the show! You should hop on down to the Froggery and we’ll hook ya up!

Sammy I might have to take you up on that offer, Greg!

Greg We’d love to have you! You too, Ben…

Ben Greg, you’re a lifelong King Falls resident… w-we’ve been talking about the crop circles out at –

Greg Oh I know. I’ve been listening, but— I was actually calling about- sssomething else— if that’s okay.

Sammy Uh, yyyeah. Sure thing, Greg. What’s on your mind?

Greg Well, I heard Ben and Miss Potter a second ago and they made a— declaration of friendship? Is that correct?

Sammy Oh! U-uh. Is- this about Emily?

Ben [suspicious] Did you- call before, when Emily was in the studio, Greg?

Greg Uh, noo… *nervous laugh* that must have beeeen… somebody else. But is that true, Ben? Are you and Miss Potter just friends?

Ben [terse] Good friends. *tsk* Close. Friends… Real close.

Greg Huhhh! … Well th- okay! That’s all I needed to know! Thanks a million, buddy.

Sammy Hey— Greg. You didn’t have a comment orr—

Greg Oh, no, no! I j— *chuckles* I don’t know the first thing about crop circles and— what-have-you. Uhh, it’s real interesting and all! but- Miss Potter’s lovely voice just… [sighing dreamily] speaks to me. I always just assumed that Ben and Emily were… “bf” and “gf” respectively, *laughs* but… if that’s not the case, thennn…

Sammy Ben? You okay?

Ben I don’t like putting our— personal lives out there in the public eye…

Greg Well, gee, Ben, I’m— only asking because ifff you’re into friendship with the lovely Miss Potter, and— I’m afraid, uhhh, I might just have to be into courtship. *chuckle* Granny wants to see me married before going into the great By-and-By—

Ben Bye-bye to you too! Greg. Looks like we lost line—

Greg I’m still here, pals! Now about that thing—

Ben [click, dial tone] Line 7, you’re on King Falls AM?

Sammy Did you just hang up onnn—

Ben I would never. LINE 7.

Herschel I’d like to place a complaint, rrright this instant.

Sammy Herschel?

Ben Is everything okay, Mr. Baumgartner?

Herschel Would I call into you nincompoops if everything was hunky-dory?

Ben I guess not… No.

Sammy So, what seems to be the issue, Herschel?

Herschel All this yackin’ about G-D UFOs and crop circles, for starters. Makes my damn d[bleep]k itch.

Sammy Sir! This is—

Herschel Did you call me to tell me what to think, comrade? Or did I call you to talk about an issue?

Sammy Please continue, Mr. Baumgartner…

Herschel Thank you. So, I’m out on the lake tonight— got up brright and early, so I could make sure I got my special spot.

Ben “Got up early”? It’s— just now a little past 2…

Herschel You the sleep police?! Ya little bastard… I thought not.

Ben Sorry, Herschel.

Herschel So I’m trollin, out on the… well. That parts Top Secret, boys. But I’m trollin, so I don’t scare the bigguns away, and those g[bleep]ddamn sons of b[bleep]chin’ rainbow lights start blowin’ through the sky. Looked like Joseph’s Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat[2] was fightin’ that big Jap lizard!

Sammy Godzilla? Please don’t use derogatory wor—

Herschel McCarthy[3] would’a skinned your ass alive, you Red[4] sack ‘a sh[bleep]t! Can I tell my story?!

Sammy Of course, I’m just asking you not to—

Ben [quickly] I’m on the button. Sammy. Heh. Herschel’s gonna Herschel!

Sammy Okay. So, you saw the lights tonight…

Herschel Saw ‘em? Hell. They scared the literal piss out of me. Got a trickle down my Carhartts[5] look like the state of Florida. I’m out here naked as a jaybird! Not a fish in sight.

Ben I’m sorry, did you just reference a musical, Mr. Baumgartner?

Herschel Oh, just ‘cause I like some colorful metaphors, means I can’t be refined, Ben?!

Ben I wasn’t— I didn’t– im-imply— I’m-I’m just saying—

Herschel [softly, for Herschel] Ol’ Mrs. Baumgartner, (god rest your sexy soul, Edna), used to love those hippy-dippy singing plays. And I’d do anything to keep in those pants, fellas.

Sammy Oh, god.

Ben Awww. [pleading] Can we get back to the lights?

Herschel That Edna. Oh, lemme tell ya… Oh! Uh, yeah– the damn lights! Yeah, so, I saw ‘em. What the hell else am I supposed to tell ya about it?!

Sammy Well, you were calling to complain about them, I’m sure.

Herschel That’s right! I’d like to report that no-good drunkard! Cecil Sheffield! Called that cumbersome ass-wart damn near 15 times to come bring me a pair of skivvies to no avail! Avoiding my calls and his duties as the co-winner of this damn boat!

Ben It’s— so late, Mr. Baumgartner. I’m-I’m sure he’s sleeping now.

Herschel You would take up with him!

Sammy W-well, Ben’s just sayin’ that he isn’t avoiding you so much as he’s, you know— probably asleep.

Herschel Sleeping one off! Soggy son of a b[bleep]h. He knows if I ring the special line, it’s a damn emergency.

Ben So, you guys have made up?

Herschel Made up my ass! If he’s gonna be “co”-anything with Herschel F. Baumgartner, that tally-whacker’s gonna have to keep up his end of the bargain.

Sammy To be at your beck and call in case you… soil yourself…

Herschel Don’t be crass!

Ben So, you guys are actually sharing the boat? That’s awesome! I figured you only—

Herschel I ain’t sharin a damn thing with that son of a b[bleep]h! Stop stirrin’ the pot or I’ll make what Charlie did to John McCain look like foreplay, Ben Arnold!

Sammy So, to the point. You’re calling to complain about Cecil because he’s sleeping through your time of need?

Ben But! He is corroborating seeing the lights, Sammy! That’s a big deal.

Herschel Just have an intern or something bring me some britches and stop fiddle fu[bleep]ing fuss! 32 long! I’ll be at Begley’s. He’s probably peering out his window lookin for a damn show… I don’t like beige! [click]

[dial tone]

Sammy You’re on King Falls AM with Sammy and Ben.

Riley Please hold the line for Mayor Grisham.

Sammy This again?

Ben *groans*

Sammy You know, I wonder, do you wake him when we say special keywords, or…?

Riley Mayor? You’re on with Sammy and Ben.

Grisham Sammy. Ben. I hate to rain on your little topic of discussion tonight, but let’s shut it down. It’d be much appreciated.

Ben What??

Sammy The always-fair, Mayor Grisham, folks. Remember this come election time next year.

Grisham Do you think that a public servant should have to call the local “Tom & Joe Chucklehut Show” to ask them not to jeopardize a police investigation?

Sammy Do you ever call Channel 13 and tell them what to report and how? We are a topical late night talk show, Grisham.

Grisham Mayor.

Sammy I didn’t vote for you.

Grisham Fair enough. I don’t expect you to respect anything but your own pathetic grab for ratings. Now, regarding Channel 13—

Ben Sorry, Mayor. Obviously, Sammy is flustered. He wouldn’t have used such a bad example if he was thinking straight—

Grisham The answer to your question, Sammy, is no. I wouldn’t call in and tell a reputable news agency how to do their job. BUT, amazingly enough, I continue to have to ask you to stop your rhetoric— seemingly once a month or so. Interesting, don’t you think?

Ben You do realize the only people that watch Channel 13 are drunks that can’t find the remote and animals left alone with the TV on, right?

Grisham Whatever helps you sleep better, Ben. I can tell you for a fact that, right now, Storm Sanders is probably not working a “local yokel” interview and digging up the muck. He’s reporting on city ordinance 29.44371.

Ben Storm is knee deep in a barrel of backyard bathtub hooch during commercial breaks.

Sammy So, Mayor. What is this ordinance? Ya know, since we aren’t reporting the news to your liking, give us a glimpse into what works for you.

Grisham The add-on to the local YMCA? The new menu over at Rose’s! I’m not paid a handsome salary to do your job.

Sammy Oh, right! I forget you think you can dictate what we report on, for free.

Ben Sammy… they’re destroying the crop circles! That’s the ordinance!

Grisham There’s hope for you yet, Ben. Don’t go down with this ship. I’ll put a good word in for you elsewhere.

Sammy You son of a b[bleep]h! You’re destroying the crop circles?! That could be the only thing that brings Tim Jenson home!

Grisham Don’t bring Tim Jenson into this! The city is paying Libbydale Farms a fair share for their remaining crops! But it is in the public’s best interest to mow down this batch of mischief accordingly! Especially after this broadcast.

Sammy *derisive scoff/laugh* You are despicable.

Grisham These affairs aren’t your business to ramble on about… Do the weather! Talk about traffic! I mean, I filled those potholes! Stop making trouble!

Sammy Freedom of the Press. When your assistant isn’t typing out our every word, maybe have her look it up and tell you all about it.

Grisham I can’t wait to hear about it! And here’s a little phrase for you to look up too! OBSTRUCTION OF JUSTICE.

Sammy Uh-huh.

Grisham Do you think using your connections to officers of the law to report on “breaking news” is fine and dandy, Stevens?? *sniffs* You are perverting the course of this case. Things— especially ongoing issues— aren’t meant to be talked about until all the facts are out there! And you— *sniffs* IDIOTS are playing on the scene, reporting with your bagel-eating buddy! who happens to be a cop.

Ben *scoffs* ‘s not my buddy.

Sammy BEN.

Ben I’m not throwing you under the bus, Sammy. I just hate Troy.

Grisham So, the moral of the story would be, gents… some things require couth. Some things require kid gloves when handling. And most things don’t need to be aired in the public for ratings and entertainment. A perfect example being how, I’m sure Sheriff Gunderson will handle Deputy Krieghauser on his own, for calling into this joke of a show with police business constantly. Doubt you’ll see that done during a press conference.

Ben Uh… is that… really necessary, sir?

Grisham This show is a breeding ground for incompetence, and you’re now dragging your pals down with you. Straighten Up and Fly Right.

Sammy Troy doesn’t need to be punished for you to make your point, Grisham.

Grisham Out Of My Hands… I’ve already had Riley send my opinions on it over to the good sheriff! Now again, I ask you: pick a different topic of discussion. Maybe one that won’t lead to the continued pain and misery for all those around you. Night night, fellas! [click]

[dial tone]

Sammy [quickly] I’m gonna call Troy.

Ben Umm, uh *nervous stuttering* W-we’ll be back after this— King Falls. We’ll- we’ll take some- calls about uhh… *helpless scoff* I guess we’ll- see…

[KFAM outro]

[CREDITS]

References

[1] Buford, Wyoming - “America’s Smallest Town”, Buford is mostly just a convenience store/gas station. The population was 1-2 from ~1995 until it was completely abandoned in 2017.

[2] Joseph’s Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat - Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat is a musical comedy with lyrics by Tim Rice and music by Andrew Lloyd Webber. The story is based on the "coat of many colors" story of Joseph from the Bible's Book of Genesis.

[3] McCarthy - Joseph Raymond McCarthy was a Republican U.S. Senator from 1947 until his death in 1957. Beginning in 1950, McCarthy became the most visible public face of the “Red Scare”, a period in the United States in which Cold War tensions fueled fears of widespread Communist subversion. He is known for alleging that numerous Communists and Soviet spies and sympathizers had infiltrated the United States federal government, universities, film industry, and elsewhere.

[4] Red - Communist

[5] Carhartts - Carhartt, Inc., is a U.S.-based apparel company founded in 1889. Carhartt is known for its work clothes, such as jackets, coats, overalls, coveralls, vests, shirts, jeans, dungarees, fire-resistant clothing and hunting clothing.