#damn maureen you should go

[ywina]

Ashley may be annoying but she prevents at least one person from being brutally wiped out by Homelander every episode

[bovineblogger]

If you want a thoroughly cow-themed restaurant, you should look up Maureen's Kitchen in New York. It's cows all the way down. Big cow statue outside, cow head on the front of the building, hundreds of novelty ceramic cows in glass cases all over the restaurant, other cow knick-knacks on shelves on the walls, cow print seats, cow print tablecloths, cow garden gnomes outside, cow print mugs... its truly the cow lover's dream. Not to mention the best damn breakfast you'll ever have. Bucket list restaurant for anyone who is a fan of cows and is willing to actually go to Long Island.

THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!!!!! this is literally everything..................................cow themed restaurant........

[jonesyjonesyjonesy]

Wildflowers (pt. xxii.i)

a john paul jones x fem!oc fic (in progress)

summary: Julia Morgan knew nannying for three girls who had recently lost their mother would come with many challenges. But she never thought their father, the enigmatic musician John Paul Jones, would be causing her the most trouble. And while Julia is not in the business of saving broken men, her tenderness might be meant for more than little girls and wildflowers.

table of contents │ previous chapter

masterlist│ko-fi

notes: drug use, dubcon, attempted sa, violence, blood, nsfw

a/n: it seems unfair on such a beautiful day as this when i have witnessed joh in the flesh to bring you such an angsty chapter, but...here we are. the story, the fluff as we have known it, is about to take a turn. yet another two parter. please be careful with this one.

pt. xxii.i, jack-go-to-bed-at-noon

“'Damn. Julia. Right. Julia. Maureen is…' He laughed. 'She’s dead.'"

“The veins in your eyes. They look like…lightning.”

I pursed my lips.

“Did you know that?” he asked eagerly.

This wasn’t going well. “Lift your arms, John.”

The sheer curiosity in his expression turned into a smirk that would have been playful in a different moment, but for now made my stomach lunge to expel itself through my mouth. “Are you trying to get into my trousers?”

“I’m trying…to get you ready for bed. You need to rest,” I said as calmly as I could though my blood had been absolutely roiling for the past half hour.

John lifted a hand, unsteady like he was under anesthesia. He gripped the collar of my dressing gown and tried to pull me down toward him, but his strength was buffeted by whatever was in his system and his hand plummeted to the mattress. “You really ought to buy a lady dinner first, Maureen.”

I should explain from the beginning, shouldn’t I?

It started with one of John’s nightly phone calls, the ones I’d been surviving off of once again after he returned to Headley Grange after my birthday. Weeks had passed and the girls and me were…surviving would be the best way to put it.

This night’s phone call, this bloody fucking night’s phone call, was out of the ordinary because it was made from a telephone booth.

“I don’t have long,” John said, no, slurred into the receiver.

“You’re drunk,” I remarked with a giggle. Not the first time I’d dealt with him intoxicated or under the influence of some substance on a phone call. Speaking with him in such a state didn’t sit well in my gut, but clouded by the haze of what I thought to be love, I was willing to overlook it.

“Not drunk. Tipsy,” he replied with an obvious smile on his lips.

I had been awaiting his call on the sofa, nodding off several times before the phone finally rang. I was admittedly grateful the call would be short. “And I’m exhausted.”

“Oh, darling,” he cooed. “Of course you are. You should sleep.”

“I was waiting for your call.”

“Did I keep you awake?”

I let out a laugh, shaking low in my chest. “Yes, you dolt. Now say sweet things to make up for it.”

“Ah…let’s see…”

The seconds ticked by.

I lifted myself onto my elbows. “Have you forgotten all the things you like about me?”

“No, no, not at all. I’m trying to decide how to say what I want to say.”

I stared across the room without seeing, heart pounding at the back of my tongue.

“You’ll say I’m being…I don’t know.”

“Say it, John, just say it.”

There was a thunk on the line. John leaning up against the wall of the phone booth or accidentally knocking the phone against the holder. I wondered if he was really so drunk he was swaying back and forth.

“We should tell them, shouldn’t we? They should know.”

I furrowed my brow. “Your bandmates? What on Earth do they have to do with anything?”

“No, no, no, MmmJulia.”

I sat all the way up, my adrenaline pumping, completely erasing my previous desire for sleep.

“When I get home, I’m going to tell the girls. ‘Bout you and me.”

I sucked in my cheeks to hold in a squeal of delight. I wasn’t sure it was warranted. Had to remain coolheaded. Reasonable. “You’re drunk.”

“So?”

“So, you don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I know what –” He hiccupped. “I know what I’m saying.”

“Mhm. Well, call me in the morning and tell me if you remember, alright?”

“Julia.”

I shut my eyes and pursed my lips. Damn him for the way he said my name like that with such need it made me forget myself.

John breathed harshly into the phone. “I’ll remember.”

I swallowed. “Just because you’ll remember doesn’t mean it’s the right thing to do.”

“You don’t want me to tell them?” His question was equally taunting and disappointed.

“I didn’t say that, I just don’t know if they’re…” The girls would never be ready. It would never be the right time. Regardless of their affection for me, I was explicitly in their eyes that I was Julia. The nanny. I would not fill the role of “mum”. But stepping into the spot next to John would change that. To tell them that we’ve been pulling the wool over their eyes, doing the things their mother did with their father, hiding behind a moniker.

Children are always smarter than we give them credit for.

I could already imagine the betrayal they’d feel.

“They’re ready,” John said firmly. “They’re – I’m ready.”

But I wasn’t going to argue with that.

“Running out of time, got to go.”

“Be careful.”

“Am. Always. Sleep.”

He hung up without another word. And though my heart throbbed excitedly at the idea that maybe our transformative relationship would transform even further, I couldn’t shake the emptiness I felt looking at the phone in my hand.

Being with John, really with him, would mean taking on all parts of his life. He’d have to take on mine too, but not in the same way. Not when mine was so small in comparison. Not when I had packed away my life to fit into his because it was my job. My duty.

As his employee.

As a woman.

I let my mind rove the place I had never let it go before.

To be with John. That would mean an eventual marriage, wouldn’t it? And an eventual marriage would mean a commitment to caring for his children. Having more, should he be agreeable to it. I would go from nanny to mother.

Ostensibly, nothing should change.

But it would.

Because I had not yet seen the hard parts of a musician’s life. Over those few weeks, John was only a phone call away. If something was wrong, he could make the drive back whatever time of day.

How would I survive with him across the ocean?

How would I survive knowing the kind of man he became when the woman he loved was out of reach?

I spiraled so fast for so long that exhaustion returned quickly. I buried myself in bed, trying to push away all of my questions. I could save those for the light of day. For a sober John.

At least that’s what I thought. What I hoped.

Instead, I woke up to a crunching sound outside. Brittle and hard against my eardrums. I leapt out of bed and hurried to the windows overlooking the driveway, peering through the curtains.

There was a dark blue car I’d never seen parked askew in the driveway, illuminated by the yellow lamplight. In its wake, one of the stone planters was left shattered across the ground, dirt in the tire tracks, flowers smashed up.

I held my breath and watched as the driver got out of the car. Feral haired and bearded.

Richard Cole.

An arm shot out from the passenger window and a bellowing voice cried out, “Ya thick fuckin’ wanker!”

A voice I'd recognize anywhere. The voice of Peter Grant.

Richard growled something in return before slamming his car door and tripping toward the front door.

I leapt into action, afraid that in whatever state he was in it would wake the girls, grabbing my robe and sprinting down the backstairs, past the studio, and into the foyer.

The banging began just seconds before I reached the door. Bang, bang –

“One moment!” I hissed as loud as I could, pulling my robe on to at least be somewhat decent. I threw open the door. “What the hell are you doing here?” I say, tying a defiant knot in my robe sash.

Richard, whose first impression had not been terribly pleasant back in Montreux, had a marked look of fear in his eyes. Rather than being tense at the corners, they were loose and…wide. “John, he’s –he made us come here.”

A jab of unease in my chest. “John.”

“Yes, yes, he’s –”

I pushed past Richard and descended the front steps, paying no mind to my bare feet, set on the backdoor of the car.

Peter emerged just in time to intercept me. “Julia, wait, I need to warn you –”

There was an inconsolable sob from the back of the car, one I had not heard since that night on the kitchen floor when John broke the glass and the world shifted on its axis. “What’s wrong? What happened?” I asked, trying to get past him as my insides did everything to lurch me into the car to get to John as fast as possible.

Peter grabbed my bicep. “Listen to me. It’s all just a bad reaction.”

“Please, please, please –” John begged.

His pain was my pain. All of my nerves trembled, desperation rippling through my muscles. I pulled against Peter. Need to get to him. Need to –

John went on and on. “I need to see her, I need –”

“Let me go,” I snapped at Peter.

John shrieked. I’d never heard a sound like that from a grown man.

But it wasn’t wordless.

It was –

“Maureen!”

My entire body went rigid. I stopped fighting Peter’s strength.

“Julia…” Peter said in a soft tone.

I finally looked up at the giant. I was surprised Peter was capable of such gentleness.

“He does not know what he says,” Peter went on, words clipped and precise.

“He misses her,” I said in a vacant tone.

Peter shook his head. “No, no. He thinks she’s here.”

The crying continued. The begging for her. “What did you do to him?” I asked, trying to buy myself time before I had to face the wailing mess.

“No one did anything –” Richard began to argue.

“Cole, fuck off,” Peter pulled out his Mr. Hyde impression before shifting back to Dr. Jekyll. “You know what it’s like? The drinking and then the pills and –”

I ripped my arm from his touch. “I do not know what it’s like.” Not even my torrid past could have prepared me for this.

Peter huffed, holding his last thread of patience for me. “It’s a bad trip. That’s all. He’s confused.”

“If it’s just a bad trip why did you –”

He grimaced. “He’s been going on like this for hours now. We can’t get him to stop. And we thought seeing you would bring him back. Remind him of the…the reality.”

I looked between Peter and Richard. Their expressions told me everything. They knew. Not only in a Montreux, “Let’s get John laid,” way.

They knew everything. 

Gathering my courage, I pulled away from Peter and Richard, grabbed the car door handle, and pulled it open.

John was splayed out in the seat, head resting in the lap of a man I’d never seen before whose exhaustion with the situation was split with a smile of relief at the sight of me. However, John didn't seem to notice me as he convulsed with full body sobs.

“John?” I said, interrupting the weeping.

It took considerable effort for John to lift himself and look at me. His face was streaked with tears, hair a wreck, and his eyes black as night with the kind of high that takes you low. “Oh. Julia.”

Is that disappointment?

A smile crossed his face. “Juuuulia." He slapped his palm to his forehead, a bubbly guffaw tripping out of his mouth. “It’s Julia, of course it is.”

“We told you we’d take you home,” the man says meekly, voice tinged with an Irish accent.

“Yes, but I didn’t – I forgot –” John wiped his hand down his face and collapsed back into the arms of the small Irishman. His expression looked like it was melting. “Not Maureen. Julia.”

My stomach twisted. I leaned down onto the seat and held out my hand. “John, why don’t we head inside?”

John reached out for my hand, fingers stumbling to interlock with mine.

I pulled while the man pushed until John was sat on the edge of the seat, the soles of his shoes landing against the gravel as if for the first time. He curled forward, his head making him top heavy. I braced his shoulders. “John –”

While his body lacked strength everywhere else, his arms looped around me, right under my backside, his face buried into my belly. He inhaled deeply and then, on the exhale, said again, “Julia.”

If we weren’t being watched, I would have reciprocated the intimacy. Instead, I tucked my hands under his arms and started to lift. “Can you –” I grunted. “Stand?”

“Of course, I can stand,” he mumbled, rising to his feet, dragging his face up the length of my body until I forced him away.

“There you go,” I said with an attempted smile, my hands on his shoulders. “Let’s go upstairs and get you ready for bed, hm?”

He nodded hardily. “Oh yes. Yes, yes –“ He spun on his heel and took a step forward. Immediately, his legs gave out, crumpling beneath him like paper.

“Easy, there,” Peter said, catching John by the upper arm before he fell to the ground.

In Peter’s grip, John looked like a toddler being dragged out of a store for throwing a tantrum. I couldn’t help my revulsion. “Let’s get him inside," Peter ordered, almost nonplussed.

Richard grabbed John from the other side and began to drag him into the house.

I padded behind them, trying to get their attention. “You have to be quiet, the girls are –‘”

“Uh huh.”

“Take him up the backstairs. To my room,” I said, no longer afraid of my lack of propriety.

John’s head bobbed backward.

“Jesus Christ, for a little guy he’s dense, isn’t he?” Richard strained as they dragged John to the door.

“For fuck’s sake.” Peter ripped John from Richard’s grip, a doll rather than a person, and threw him over his shoulder. “Lead me, Cole.”

“Please, just not the main bedroom,” I squeaked, trying to snake past them to lead them where I wanted them to go.

John turned his head against Peter’s back toward me, eyes gleaming. “Juuuuulia.”

I stopped in my tracks and contemplated running in the other direction. That was not John. Not the John I knew. This was his doppelganger. It must have been. Otherwise, this was an alternate personality, one I wasn’t supposed to see.

A part of him I had been blissfully ignorant to.

I watched them go inside, remaining planted in one spot, wishing I could go home.

But home was here.

“Mandrax.”

I turned to find the little Irishman at my elbow. He was rearranging his black locks, palming it flat on his head.

“At least some of it was Mandrax,” he said, dropping his hands at his sides and smiling sympathetically. “Pills. Mix them with alcohol and lord knows what else…”

We both stared through the open door, watching Peter and Richard struggling up the stairs.

“He’ll be fine in the morning,” he offered.

“Yes, but will I?” I said, attempting a joke.

His eyebrows lifted. “That is a question, isn’t it?”

I exhaled through my nose, something like a laugh, but pathetic.

“I’m BP. The boys call me Beep.”

I tried to smile. In better circumstances, I would ask for the rest of his story. But tonight I wasn’t allotted that privilege. “I’m Julia.”

“Mm. Yes, well aware.”

I wondered how aware. Was he aware in passing? By accident? Had John tripped into another realm of consciousness and waxed poetic about me? “Sorry you got roped into this.”

He shrugged. “Happens with them.”

“Fuck’s sake, Cole!” Peter boomed from inside.

My body lurched back into action, into the house and up the main staircase. “You need to be quiet!” I scolded in the loudest whisper I could muster.

Peter turned, halfway in the door of the master, causing John’s head to knock into the doorframe. John whimpered.

“Oh, fucking hell," Richard hissed.

I followed Peter and Richard into the master bedroom and monitored John as he was laid out across the bed. I didn’t even care at that point they hadn’t followed instructions. I just wanted them gone.

“There you go, mate. You’re home now, alright? Nothing to cry over. Julia's right 'ere. She'll take care of you, alright?" Peter said, dusting his hands together. “Julia, hope you don’t mind if we bunk up.”

“Here?!” This was sheer lunacy.

Richard snorted, “No, in the stables. Where else?”

“We can’t make that drive again, not after all this. We’ll be out of your hair in the morning and we’ll take ‘im with us,” Peter explained, jerking his thumb at John.

I glanced at John who seemed nearly catatonic with his eyes trained on the ceiling and his hands bunched up on his chest. He’d be fine for a few moments, I reasoned. “Fine. Follow me.”

I led Richard, Peter, and BP, who lingered in the doorway like a phantom, down the hall to the guest rooms, the doors directly across from the girls’. “I swear to god, if you make any noise at all, I’ll have you drawn and quartered tonight.”

"I'd believe her," Beep muttered.

“Promise, all we need is a place to lay our heads, love,” Peter said, giving me a squeeze on the shoulder.

I threw my hands up in the air. “Just don’t wake the girls and we won’t have a problem.”

I started back down the hallway, leaving them to squabble and figure out who would share a room since there were only two to speak of. Before I slipped into the master, I glared over my shoulder and hushed them once more with narrowed, deathly eyes.

In an instant, the three men disappeared into the guest rooms.

With that settled, I could deal with John.

The room was silent except for his breathing.

It was the first time I got a good look at the room. Everything was spotlessly clean, not a hair out of place. Just a thin coating of dust across the room. And a glass on one of the night stands with a dried up ring of dust in the bottom. The water had completely evaporated.

A chill went through me, imagining who might have put the glass there with the intention to return to it at a later date.

Whether it was Maureen or John didn’t change the tragedy of the object.

John began to hum and swing his legs. He flung one hand through the air. It landed on his belt buckle. “Get these off,” he muttered in discomfort. His hand flopped like a dying fish, unable to grip and twist the leather the way he needed to be able to free himself.

“I’ll help.”

And that’s how we got into the conversation of the veins in my eyes being lightning bolts and the attempt at me getting his shirt up over his head and the flirtations and the…

 “You really ought to buy a lady dinner first, Maureen.”

I ignored him though I strained not to cry. I removed his belt, but didn’t dare touch the closure on his trousers. His arms were slack enough that I was able to pull his jumper up his neck, then work it over his head. When he reemerged, he puffed hair away from his mouth, giggling. “Randy,” he said, unable to form a sentence around it.

“I’m not randy, John,” I say with firmness.

“You’re removing my clothes, M –”

“Julia,” I interrupted. “I’m Julia. Not Maureen.”

John’s lazy eyes crimped open, clarity forming somewhere in the back of his mind. “Damn. Julia. Right. Julia. Maureen is…” He laughed. “She’s dead.”

I wanted to get away from him as fast as possible, but I couldn’t just leave him half dressed in the master. In hindsight, I should have. I tried to tune out his repetition of the word, “Dead,” as if it was a beat to a song rather than a horrible truth as I pulled his undershirt up halfway, revealing his pale navel.

John’s hand slid around my wrist. “Jewwwwwwwwwel.”

I suppressed a smile for the nickname. Auntie Gin’s nickname. “Take it off the rest of the way if you can,” I muttered, then went to root through the dresser for a nightshirt or something to cover him up.

Measured breaths. Clenched muscles. Only a few more moments. He’ll be out soon.

John made sounds of struggle behind me. I didn’t turn despite wanting to help. There was the soft sound of fabric falling to the ground followed by a grunt of relief. “I feel funny.”

“Of course you do. That’s why you need to get some sleep,” I say, grabbing a very wrinkled nightshirt from the drawer.

John was no longer squirming; he looked tossed across the bed like a ragdoll. Breath thick and deep. The only thing that made it clear he was still alive.

I returned to him with the shirt. One more step to victory. John seemed unaffected, staring off at something. A hallucination or a waking sleep. I took this as my opportunity to remove his pants. It took a bit of effort to wiggle them out from beneath his body without his help but not much. My heart plummeted to see his bare legs, the slight of skin where his briefs shrouded his crotch. Because for the first time in a long time, I didn’t want him. The feeling of desire…all drained out of me.

Of course, it’s more than natural not to want someone at all times.

But since Montreux, before then even, all I had done was want. And I had had.

What emptiness would arise if desire was not there to fill it?

I didn’t want to think about it.

“Just the shirt and then you can rest, John, alright?” I said softly.

He cooperated as much as he could. Sitting up took all his might, but once upright, I was able to shimmy the shirt over his head, down his torso. It was long enough to hit midthigh, swallowing up his small frame. And his smallness made me even sadder.

“There you are,” I said. “Ready for bed.”

John started to lean forward. If I dared step away, he would teeter off the edge of the bed and come crashing to the floor. I remained before him, let his forehead clunk against my clavicle.

“You didn’t just pass out, did you?” I asked. My pulse quickened. I grabbed his arms to shake him. “John, you’re awake still aren’t you?”

“Yesssss,” he slurred into my chest. “I’m…” he sighed. “Awake.”

His lips traced my skin with each word, like a baby drooling against my breast and…it endeared me to him. I wish it hadn’t.

I tentatively scraped my fingers through his hair to the back of his scalp and dropped a kiss to the crown of his head. He didn't need my ire. Not right now. In the morning, I'd want him to remember the way I cared for him? Not the anger or disdain.

“Mmm…”

“Julia,” I said firmly. “I’m Julia.”

“MmmmJuuuuuuulia…” John self-corrected.

“Yes, that’s right.”

John’s mouth opened wider, a messy kiss against my skin, spit trailing over my clavicle.

“John…” I admonished. But I did not draw away.

A mistake.

I let him kiss the spot over and over. Juvenile. Inexperienced. Like a barrister’s son in a closet.

Something about it…so nostalgic.

I could have a brief moment of longing. Of realizing how good it was to hold him when I expected another week before he'd be home. Of remembering what he said to me earlier that night on the phone. If I was going to be his and vice versa in not only our eyes but those of the girls…I could do this. I was sure I could do this.

Only a brief moment, though.

Because in one singular moment in time, that delight was eclipsed by pain. Sharp pain, potentially skin splitting.

He bit me.

Teeth sunk into skin, viscous and full of claim.

John fucking bit me.

I yelped out, tried to jerk away, not caring if he tore the flesh off my body. Would be better to lose skin than be cannibalized by a lover.

John wrapped his around me, splayed his hands against my back, overcome by a sudden strength, and pulled me toward him.

“John, let go of me,” I cried out, pushing on his shoulders.

His mouth finally released the patch of skin he’d suckled. He growled. Something. Words I didn’t know, could not hear, did not care about.

I just wanted him to let go.

Something was coursing through him that reversed all the lethargy, something that propelled his strength to a level I’d never known and didn’t know he was capable of. Before I could squirm out of his grasp, John pulled me off my feet and rolled himself over me so we were clumsily pressed together on the bed.

He dragged his mouth across my chest to another open plot of skin.

With an open palm, I pressed his forehead away from me.

He laughed, muttered a garble of my name.

My whole body was hotter than hell as I tried to wriggle myself out from under him, inching further and further onto the bed. But somehow, John’s body had transformed into a lead curtain over me, pinning me to the bed, one of my hands unceremoniously scrunched behind my back.

I could not move. 

And he had all the control.

“John, don’t,” I said through a tense whisper. I could scream. I could shout. But I wondered who would come running first. The men. Or the girls.

I couldn’t risk it being the latter. 

John’s hands slid down my thighs, moving up the fabric until he cupped my bottom and squeezed. Hard. Until it pinched.

I again tried to squirm away. “You’re hurting me!”

“Randy…” he drawled, lifting his head and smiling stupidly.

John launched himself forward, toward my mouth, his hardened erection grinding into my belly, painful from the poor angle.

His teeth gnashed into my lips. I tasted metal in my mouth, blood drawn from a split lip.

I had only a moment to think.

One of us would be the villain in the morning. And I couldn’t bear for it to be John.

I forced my hand onto his chin, cupping it as hard as I could, then pressed him back away from me, enough that he couldn’t snag another kiss.

Our eyes met for a split second and I nearly lost my bravado.

I couldn’t live with myself if I did, though. That’s what I decided in that moment.

I released his chin, wound my open palm back, and slapped him hard in the side of his face, my palm connecting with his cheek and part of his upper lip, and my fingers clipping his nose.

He howled in pain, retreating back onto his knees.

I was released from the vise of his body and yet I felt as though I was moving through molasses as I dragged myself back across the bed to the opposite edge.

John’s hand covered his face, the wince still settled over his eyes.

I waited. A moment. Another. Praying he would find reality again.

Finally, he withdrew his hand to reveal a streak of cherry red blood pouring from his nose and down his chin. Quite literally dripping. Already a few dots blotted the fabric of the bedspread.

I didn’t know I had that kind of strength in me.

John was at a loss for words. Nonplussed, of course, by the mess. But his eyes were filled with that same distress he met me with when he was laid up in the back of the car, jerking back and forth, full of new tears. “I…” he started.

“I told you to stop,” I said icily. “I told you not to.”

He looked down at the bedspread spattered in his blood. It was a lot of blood, enough to give me cause to worry. Except I couldn’t.

Not with terror gripping my body.

What do you do when the man you know shows you the monster you didn’t think existed in him?

John folded his lips together, blood smearing through the creases. “Mm. Mmm.”

I would not, could not sit here and be called his wife’s name. Not after he nearly had the gall to take from me.

I tore up from the bed without another word. The floor traveled beneath my feet, something in control of my body I had never known before, until I had my hand on the cool door knob. It settled my temperature just enough to come back to reality.

“No, no, no,” John was moaning. Movement. Footsteps. “Don’t go. Don’t go.”

I threw open the door and turned to slam it behind me, getting one last glimpse of John to my horror.

His blue eyes were alert to the point I thought they might fall right out of his head. His hair mussed. His face…bloodied. And the fresh nightshirt looked like a smock he’d worn to butcher a pig.

And he was coming toward me.

I did not wait.

I shut it with all my might and held tight to the knob. It jerked and jittered in my hand, scraping my skin. But I didn’t care. The animal was to stay inside the cage. That was my only goal.

John put up a good fight, clawing at the door, desperate to pull it open. On more than one occasion, he managed to pull hard enough to get an inch or two of space for his fingers to slip through. If he could just wrench the door open, he could pull me back inside.

I leaned back, all my weight going into keeping the door shut, and tucked my head between my biceps, praying he’d give up.

Over my heart pounding in my ears came his sounds. “Please, please, please let me out. Please don’t leave me alone.”

A despondent cry shuddered through the door, so loud it vibrated the door knob. A thud against the wood. No doubt the weight of his body giving up. Giving in. The inching slide of his form to the floor. The repetition of the word “please” until it was shrouded by tearful sobs.

I fell to my knees in front of the door, my hand still on the door knob in case I needed to tame the beast again.

John was only an inch away. Weeping.

Not for me.

Not even because of me.

It was all for her.

All the same, I leant my head against the door and listened to him weep, held vigil. I didn’t have vespers for the mass, but I remained there all the same though I could still feel his fingers dimpling my thighs though I’d said “don’t”.

“What did I do wrong? What did I do? Why did you leave?”

“I’m sorry,” I repeated over and over to every question until eventually not a single question was left.

All that remained was soft, hollow breathing on the other side of the door.

"Go to bed, John," I said hoarsely, trying to smile so my voice sounded soothing. "It will all be better in the morning. Alright?"

There was no answer.

"John?"

Nothing. I thanked the lord he was probably asleep.

I dropped my hand from the door knob. My muscles and bones ached from keeping the position for so long.

“Julia.”

I jumped at the sound of the small voice. I turned to find Tamara in the hallway outside her door, her ruddy hair all askew.

“What’s wrong? Why are you up?”

She rolled her hands in the front of her nightgown. “What’s going on?”

I forced a smile. “Nothi—”

Something thumped against the door to the bedroom. Someone. A final rallying cry.

I grabbed the door knob again just to be sure.

“Who’s in there?” Tamara asked, her eyes widening with fear.

“No one,” I said without thinking. “Don’t…worry, alright?”

Children know more than you give them credit for. They are also children. And sometimes, though it hurts, the children must be lied to.

“Go back to bed,” I said. “Everything is fine.”

Though the hallway was dim, I could see her eyebrows knit together. Her eyes flicked from me to the door and back again. Then, she nodded and did as she was told, disappearing into the other room in an instant.

I sat with my back to the door and closed my eyes. It had started with a drunken promise. One that might break my heart, yes, but a break so minor compared to this.

Lifting a hand to my chest, I carefully slid my fingers along the inflamed bite mark.

The depressions made by his teeth remained.

tag list: @jimmys-zeppelin, @kari-12-10, @grxtsch, @ritacaroline, @kyunisixx, @salixfragilis, @jimmypages, @dollyvandal, @cassiana-on-dark-side, @faisonsunreve, @sastrugie, @seventieswhore, @mayspringcome, @barrettavenue, @foreverandadaydarling, @glimmerofsanity, @montereypopgroupie, @lzep, @jimmysdragonsuit13, @n0quart3r, @larsgoingtomars, @paginate54, @leveeisbreaking, @callmethehunter (let me know if you’d like to be added 💋)

[msookyspooky]

  Fours a Franchise

Part 8

wordcount:7,660

 You sat in the back of Kirby's car with Randy in the passenger seat and Kirby driving. Going to the police station so Perkin's and Hoss could drop off the woman that attacked you at the school and then Kirby was dropping you all off at your houses. 

Kirby finally broke the silence. "So uh, kind of cool we got out after lunch today. I mean, the reasons not, but still. Just saying." She gave with a slight cringe.

Randy sighed with a light shrug. "Hey, we were excited too…Before the Final Act, at least." 

Jill looked apprehensively at you and then Randy. "You think the killers might strike tonight?" 

"For sure. Absolutely. " You and Randy both said in unison just a different word with the same damn meaning.

Randy continued. "It's just standard at this point. Big group of kids, party place in the middle of nowhere, drinking and breaking the rules just to be offed one by one with no one even paying attention because either they're too drunk or too busy screwing-" 

"Or-" You held up a finger; finishing his sentence for him. "They'll think someone getting stabbed to death is a part of a prank…Maureen Evans. Premiere of Stab 1998." 

Randy nodded and snapped his finger towards you. "Yep. No one even helped her. They all thought it was part of the immersive experience of Stab." 

Jill gave a shake of her head and a grimace. "Wow, that's awful." 

Kirby chimed in looking more interested than shocked. "Oh yeah! They totally should have used that in Stab 3's intro kill." 

"Legal issues." Randy was just as casual about it as she was as he told her. 

Kirby looked over at him. "Wait, didn't you work in the film industry? You mentioned it one day...I think when I was getting The Human Centipede last month. " 

Jill glared at her. "Don't ever make me watch that again. Seriously. Something is wrong with you." 

Kirby just snickered to herself as Randy gave a shrug once again. "Eh, just tech. My first movie was Stab 3 directed by none other than Roman Bridger." He gave with a wag of his brows and a tight lipped smile. 

Kirby hissed out. "Oh, shit. But never again?" 

"No, wasn't really qualified-" 

You interrupted him after rolling your eyes. "Randy went to college for a Film Major he refuses to use." You gave him a look from the backseat. 

"What?" Kirby laughed out as she drove. "No way, that's epic! But uh…Why not go be the next Sam Raimi? Shit, if someone can make Human Centipede then any of us can make it in the Industry. " 

 "Because it's a pointless little idea, Kirby." 

Kirby scoffed. "No it isn't! You don't even have to go to Hollywood if you don't want to. You can use your film major in a more…Entrepreneur way." 

Randy raised his brows. "...What?" 

Kirby stopped at a stop sign a bit heavy on the brakes. "I mean, Jenna Marbles can cut up soap for Kermit and people love it!" 

Randy and you blinked a bit at her; having zero idea what she was talking about. 

 Jill explained. "Anyone can be famous now. You just make people laugh or cry or be interesting." 

Randy cringed slightly and mumbled. "I don't really want the fame part. We get enough of that." You looked at the mirror at your cheek as a reminder of how 'famous' you all are.

Kirby quickly added. "But you could use Youtube to get attention and then money. It would be easier to get a job in Hollywood that way if you do decide to go that route. You could make a podcast or a youtube channel dedicated to nothing but movies." Kirby added with a smirk. "I know if you created a podcast talking about Horror movies; I'd give it a listen and so would all those kids in Cinema Club today." 

Randy gave her a skeptical smile with a sigh. "Kirby, I don't know the first thing about that. I'll look like a putz." 

She shrugged with a huff. "I could teach you; No problem. If I can teach my Grandma how to use her new smartphone to play Angry Birds; you'll be fine." 

Randy chuckled. "So the Student has become the Master, huh?" 

Kirby grinned and pointed at him. "Karate Kid. Not one of my favorites, though still. Classic." 

Randy grinned, leaning in his seat. "I know, nothing beats horror, right?" 

"Nah. Absolutely nothing." Kirby gave a serious expression before looking at Jill. "I mean, me and Jill spend our weekends watching Shaun of the Dead, The Devil's Rejects, Slither, Jennifer's Body." 

Jill waved her off with a chuckle. "Yeah I'm not nearly as much of a horror geek as you are…What was the one we watched the other day with Christina Ricci? With the-" 

Jill didn't even finish her sentence as Kirby snapped her fingers and she asked. "Werewolves?" Before her and Randy said in unison. "Cursed." 

Randy shrugged. "But best werewolf movie ever-" 

Kirby grinned and finished for him. "An American Werewolf in London." 

Randy nodded with a grin. "Hell yes!" 

Jill sighed and whispered to you. "Oh God, be prepared. They'll talk about Horror Movies for the entire ride…One day, we stayed an extra hour at the store because they both argued on zombie movies and both of them wouldn't back down. Return of the Living Dead versus the Remake of Night of the Living Dead." She gave you a raise of her brows. 

You smirked slightly and commented at their almost older brother little sister dynamic. "You two seem like two peas in a pod." 

Randy looked back at you almost forgetting you. "Huh? Oh yeah, Kirby comes in all the time to the video store. Been trying to hire her for years because she's one of the only teens around here that actually knows what she's talking about." 

She gave a sly grin. "I like to keep a low profile. I have an image. Besides, I love the surprise on peoples faces…If I worked at the video store, the fun would totally just fizzle out." 

Jill mumbled teasingly. "Yeah and you'd probably eventually embarrass yourself in front of the guy you like there-" Jill nudged Kirby with her knee.

 "I do not." Kirby huffed out with an eye roll. Couldn't tell if she was embarrassed and playing it off or if she was being honest, calm and just annoyed at her friends pestering. 

Randy shrugged with a smirk. "Who? Charlie? He hasn't been in there much." 

 "No, there is no 'guy'. Besides, Charlie and Robbie are big on this internet thing including pirating movies. I mean, look. I'm not the feds or anything but you cannot beat physical media when you can get it." You all pulled into the police station as her and Randy excitedly went back and forth about physical media, horror, etc..

Jill leaned forward towards you as she saw the woman being dragged into the police station by Hoss. "God…I'm sorry you went through that." 

You gave a sad smile and whispered back, Randy and Kirby oblivious in their own conversation as you talked. "Thanks but I've gotten used to it." You felt your phone vibrate with a text and ignored it.

"How? How do you handle it? The police monitoring you, the whispers and stares, the fear?" She asked softly.

You thought a moment before leaning in your seat, telling her. "...Uh  what I do…Is I try not to think about it." You simply told her. Looking at her earnestly. "I remember I'm lucky to be alive. That I know the truth and that my loved ones know the truth and that it doesn't matter what anyone else thinks." You reasoned even if it wasn't nearly as honest as you wish it was. "The rest works out on its own." 

Jill nodded before Kirby put the car back in gear once Hoss returned to the squad car. "Alright, let's get this show on the road, folks! Gotta a party tonight." 

Both Randy and your faces dropped as you asked her. "Kirby, why? Are you seriously going to Stab-a-thon tonight?" 

She laughed good naturally. "Well, yeah. I've gone every year. Can't miss it." 

Randy gave her a look. "I can respect the love of horror and a good time but Kirby…It's clearly the final act!" 

You added. "And you're part of Jill's group. Do you want to have happen to you what happened to our friends? You wanna test your luck and be the new Sidney and Tatum?" You grimaced as you looked at Jill. "Sorry." 

Jill looked perplexed but also slightly offended. "You think…I'm the new Sidney?" 

Kirby added before you could finish. "Well, by what they did, I'm clearly not Tatum. And besides, Olivia would understand. She'd want me to be around people."

You ignored Kirby and hesitated before nodding with a frown to Jill. "Look…Clearly someone is after your group and we kind of think you're the main focus." Jill looked frightened, putting a hand over her mouth as you reached out to her to reassure her. "I swear though, we are not gonna let this guy be the new Billy or Stu." 

Kirby huffed out. "Like Trevor? I can see that." 

Randy gave a shaky 'iffy' hand gesture. "I mean, it would fit in with the trope if this were a remake. It is not…You know who I think it is? If we follow all the franchise rules and weed out suspects?" 

You quirked a brow. "Who?" 

Randy went to speak but relented. "Well…Shit, nevermind. I can't say." He gestured to the girls and Jill gave him an unamused frown and Kirby chuckled.

"God, just say it! Is it someone in our friend group? Trevor, me, J-" Kirby urged.

 "Charlie." 

Everyone's face dropped. Jill and Kirby both kind of laughed out loud at that. Kirby exclaimed with a grin. "What? No way. Charlie wouldn't hurt a fly, he's harmless! A creep, social reject, future neckbeard but harmless." 

Randy gave her a deathly serious look as she pulled onto the street where Jill and Randy lived. "I'm serious, Kirby. I try to relent pointing fingers at film geeks because then me and you would be suspects too." 

Kirby gave him a devilish look. "Maybe I am? I'm going because I'm the killer oooo." She gave mockingly.

"But guess what?" He added. "I suspected Mickey and dropped it because 'Hey! Liking Cinema isn't a crime! I do that too!' and look how that turned out. I'm telling you, just watch your back with Charlie. With any of your friends…Even with each other." Randy gave Kirby a look then Jill. Turning to Jill and saying. "Everyone is a suspect." 

Jill and Kirby both gave him a wide eyed stare.

 You chimed in. "Kirby, I just wish you would reconsider." 

Kirby stepped out of the car and you all opened your doors as well as she said with a smirk. "And miss out on free booze, blood and horror? No way. Just don't tell Danny Glover and Mel Gibson where I'm going, alright?" 

Randy raised a playful brow. "Well that's a generous comparison. Remind me to ask you for my celebrity look alike." 

You grinned to yourself and he pointed at you before you said anything. Knowing he fell right into that one.  "Shut up. Damn, the guy and I had the same hair for a hot minute and he almost got the role for me in Stab and he plays dorky guys and you THINK we're both the same short ass height and you haven't shutted up since." 

"Oh you mean Seth Green? That was my choice too." Kirby added with a smirk. 

He gave her an annoyed look as you and her both tried to hold back laughter. He glared at you both. "Okay. Screw both of you. You both officially suck." He stepped out and so did you as you and Jill chuckled to each other as Kirby tried talking to him again.

The sun was slowly starting to set. The Autumn hours kicking in as the days were growing shorter.

Jill smiled and looked at you. You had to ask her. "...Are you going to Stab-a-Thon?" 

She lost her smile and rolled her eyes lightly. "No. My Mom would kill me. Besides, Sheriff Dewey would have a chaperone with me all night. My room is like a prison cell now." 

You gave her a sad smile. "Hey, I get it. It sucks. Been there, done that... But it's for the best." 

She nodded to herself before asking you. "Can I ask…What was my cousin Sidney like?" 

You blinked realizing she never met Sidney. She was only 2 or 3 when Sidney died. You thought a moment before telling her with a fond smile. "Sidney was kind…She was so kind. Brave. Empathetic. Strong willed. She was the mom friend of our group…Lectured us like one too." 

"What was it like, you know, knowing while Billy and Stu were your friends; they were plotting to kill you?" 

"Not comforting." You cringed lightly before sighing. "It was…It made me develop some trust issues that got worse after college and then after our last round of kills. To think while we were talking about school and 90's bands and teen stuff; they were plotting everyone's murder and we didn't mean anything to them. It sucked." 

Jill fiddled with her necklace with a worried frown. "You think someone close to me is trying to kill me?" 

"...Yes." You looked at Randy and Kirby talking while Kirby leaned against her car before you looked back at Jill. "Please, try to get Kirby to reconsider." 

"Good luck." She muttered with an annoyed eye roll.

"Well…Then keep her and everyone else at distance. Everyone." 

She looked shocked at that. "But Kirby-" 

You shhed her and whispered. "Jill…You think Sidney or I expected Billy? That any of us did? You think Tatum or Randy or me expected Stu?... Kirby going is suspicious, Charlie and Robbie hosting it is suspicious-" 

"And Trevor? My ex?" She softly asked.

You frowned deeply but nodded. "Very suspicious." You hesitated before giving a reassuring smile. "...Just be careful, stay home, and stay safe…Okay?" 

She sighed but nodded with a forced smile. "Okay…I can see why Sidney was friends with you. If-" She chuckled in between her sentences. "If she was the Mom of the friend group, maybe you were that cool aunt you go to for advice?"

You smirked. "No, that was Tatum. For sure. The fashionable, feisty, fun, protective aunt." 

Jill frowned. "...That could be Kirby but…I think Olivia was our Tatum too." She frowned, glancing at Olivia's house. 

You frowned too, guilt eating at you that maybe if you would have tried to shoot at the window or if you would have been there a few seconds sooner; she could've made it. You gently nudged her with a sad smile. "Hey, we're across the street and if not us then Perkin's and Hoss are right there." 

Jill nodded and waved goodbye, walking to her house as Kirby got in her car and you and Randy went to his house across the street.

Randy triple locked the front door behind you both and you both checked every single possible hiding spot in that house before finally settling down. You sat on the couch and Randy on the chair, tired beyond belief. You looked at your phone and saw a vague text about 'oil changes' from your 'mechanic'.

Randy sighed and told you. "Mind if I call Karla and the kids before it gets too late?" 

You smiled and shook your head. "Not at all." 

He called and once he started talking, you walked to the 'bathroom' until you saw he was looking away talking. You heard him tell her he missed her and asking about her family before you darted down the hall and to the kids room. As far away as possible as you sucked in a breath and called them.

"...YN? Took you long enough." Billy's voice huffed out.

"Is that Sweetcheeks? Man, put it on speaker phone-" Stu's voice sounded in the background as you lightly rolled your eyes.

"Yeah well, I was a little busy alright?" You retorted.

"So were we. We got a new location to look at-" 

"The Barn on Fort Dillion Road?" You asked.

You just KNEW Billy was scowling at you beating him to it. "How do you know that?" 

"Highschoolers." 

Stu got on and chuckled. "What a coincidence, same here! All you gotta do is offer the tiniest bit of weed in a baggy and these dumbass kids start talking." Stu laughed out. 

"So you're selling kids pot now?" 

Stu chuckled. "Oh no, has my wonderful image been tarnished in your eyes?" He seemed tickled to say it, giggling like a little kid. 

Billy sighed. "It was fucking oregano that we found in the kitchen of this motel. We saw it and instantly knew what to do with it." 

"That's awful. You swindled that kid with herbs?" You chuckled with a smirk at the imagery that some kid's house was gonna smell like a pizzeria instead of pot. 

To your surprise, you could hear the humor in Billy's voice. "Oh yeah, giving a dipshit kid oregano instead of pot. Truly worse than murder." 

You smirked at the joke before reality set in and you paced the room, looking at the kids' stuff with a frown. "...I'm not going to the party. Neither is Randy." 

"Well that's a relief…Maybe even surprising. Could have sworn you'd be stupid enough to go." 

You almost tried to dig deep inside to find some shitty remark but relented as you sat on one of the kids beds and mumbled. "It would be suicide to go. Besides, I have had enough attempts on my life from people without masks…" 

"What does that mean?" Billy asked. 

"Nothing. Just…Bullshit." You drew out with a sigh. 

Stu chimed in. "Anyways, we wanted to call not only so you would know where the parties at but also wouldn't go, okay YN?" 

You nod as if they're there. You then raised a brow and slowly drew out  "Yeah, sure…Curious…What exactly are you two going to do with this info?" 

"Easy. Gonna go crash a party. Kill the fucker right there." Stu gave nonchalantly.

Your mouth parted. "What??"...You stood up, a shocked look on your face. "Are you crazy?! Don't answer that just-" You closed your eyes and sucked in a breath to stop yourself. "You can't go to this party, okay-" 

Billy sounded annoyed as he replied. "You want this to end or not?" 

"Of course I do! But you don't think two original murderers going to a Stab movie with a bunch of fans from their hometown isn't suspicious?! You don't think cops won't be there eventually?!" You hiss out so low they probably barely heard you.

Stu puffed air. "Relax! None of those kids are even going to notice us and we'll split before the po-po even gets there." 

You shake your head. "It's not JUST that, idiots! We don't need to be splitting up and going rogue, okay?! I have enough of that with Gale and Dewey on edge constantly going in different directions instead of helping each other out. I don't need you two doing something stupid!" 

"Aww." Stu drew out and you glared at the wall knowing he had a shit eating grin on his face as he dismissed your concern. "Someone cares about us and if we're safe. That's so adorable, man." He teased sarcastically 

You rolled your eyes and thought. 'It's been 10 years Stu; give it a break.'

Before you gritted your teeth. "OR this someone's entire life will be ruined if you two are caught; dead or alive!" 

 "You think we're idiots? We're not new to this. You just keep your ass at Randy's on Walnut Drive at that little gray house and we'll do what we do best. Kill." 

Your mouth stretched in outrage. "How did you-" 

Billy gave a bit of a dark chuckle. "I told you, we aren't new to this…Just do us a damn favor and stay home. I don't need to babysit you while ripping this guy's liver out." 

"Damn it, both of you don't!" You said urgently as the other line was quiet for a second. "Just don't go to that party tonight, okay? Let this idiot show themselves then get them. Hell, if you're ballsy enough you can watch this house from afar and wait till they inevitably strike but that party is a suicide mission if you go! And guess what? What's gonna happen if that killer doesn't show up there OR he does and you two get caught?" 

…

Billy spoke up finally. "...You really feel that strongly about it?" 

"Yes!" 

He released a heavy sigh and then huffed out. "Okay…Fine but if we get news of a kill tonight-" 

"Then come here. Because the killer always follows the Final Girl after the party has ended…Just hide yourself from Randy." 

"No shit...Alright. Okay just stay put then." 

"Okay." You simply gave. Billy hung up and you sighed out of mild relief even if a part of you didn't believe them.

While you had your phone call, Randy had his. 

Randy smiled while looking down after talking to Mindy and Chad. "Be good, alright? Okay…Love you both…" He quietly knew that with this new killer, anyone could be hit. He swallowed and told them. "...I want you both to know I'm proud of you and I love you both more than anything. I miss you rugrats annoying me here at the house and 'll see you both soon, alright? Okay put your Mommy on the phone." Randy frowned, swallowing at his eyes stinging a bit imagining the worst before he shook his head and whispered to himself. "Stop it. Be the man here. Just follow the rules and everything will be fine." 

He heard Karla back on and his smile returned. She asked him. "...They found anything?"

"No, nothing. But don't worry, there's a party tonight and me and YN aren't going. If Jill Robert's is the new Sidney Prescott then let them keep that shit across the road or over at the barn they're hosting at." 

She sighed heavily, talking quietly. "I really wish you would just get out of there." 

"...Maybe if the cops are busy at that barn where we know a murder is gonna happen then me and YN can haul ass out of here?" He glanced through the window at Jill's house. "Us being neighbors to the new final girl IF that's what she is and being the original survivors? It's just a recipe for disaster." 

"Tell Dewey he's not invited to any events at this point." 

Randy smiled at his wife's remark…Before whispering to her on the phone. "...Just stay safe on your end too. Some horror movies have had the killer travel just to kill someone close to the guy that he really wants. And you're definitely top 3 for me. Don't ask me the order because I could never decide between the twins." 

She sighed with a slight chuckle before telling him. "I love you baby. Just…Get your ass here as soon as possible." 

He smiled to himself. "Love you too. I'll damn well try." 

He knew that probably wasn't happening but if it eased her a bit. He went to say something else when he saw Dewey was ringing him. "Karla, Dewey's calling-" She told him bye and to just call her tomorrow. He answered and Dewey just RANTED so fast Randy blinked repeatedly.

"Randy, I gotta tell you something. It's real important that YN isn't in the room." 

Randy gave an odd look."...What?" 

"Is she?" 

He looked around the corner to see you pacing the kids room on the phone yourself. He told him. "No??? What the hell-" 

"Are you sure? I'm serious Randy…I think…I think YN is in danger but she can't hear this." 

Randy furrowed his brows and nodded. "Yeah, honest. She's on the phone in another room." 

"With who?" He urgently demanded and Randy shrugged his shoulders with a disgruntled look.

"How the hell should I know? She's on the phone." 

Dewey sucked in a breath and Randy could just tell how nervous and wound up he was. Randy grunted with a scowl. "Dewey, just spit it out-" 

"I think Billy and Stu are alive!"  

….

….

Randy was dead silent for a good 5 seconds before muttering. "...What the ever loving fuck are you even talking about???" 

Dewey urgently hissed out. "Look! I know how crazy it sounds but I can't deny it anymore! Never finding their remains in the fire just like Neil Prescott, the door kicked out from the inside, tire tracks in the woods matching Billy Loomis's Camaro, Tim and James matching the description of Billy and Stu despite the hair-" 

Randy closed his eyes and looked beyond annoyed. "Woah, woah, woah. Fucking BREATHE Dew." 

"Randy, I've been sitting on this for a decade and after last night there's no denying it! Something isn't right here!" 

"What?? Damn Dewey, start making sense! Whaddya mean by a decade of this info you're hurling at me?!" 

Dewey took a shaky sigh…A very pained and shaky sigh that sounded almost heavy. "...YN…YN is lying to us…I…I…" He acted like he couldn't get it out. "...I found a photo on the crime scene of the motel room Neil was spying on her a decade ago. I pocketed it because I was trying to protect her from the media but…I wasn't sure. But…In that photo…Randy it's insane!... But it looks like Billy and Stu in her motel." 

Randy stared at the wall…Beyond unsure WHAT to say other than. "You're for sure, huh?" 

"Well…Not entirely. " 

Randy rolled his eyes and smacked his knee as he sat down and hissed out low so you couldn't hear. "Insane is the word of the night. Oh my God, are you serious? Jesus Christ, you've been around your wife and her bullshit too long!" 

Randy struck a nerve with that one as Dewey grumbled. "Gale has nothing to do with this!" 

"Fine, then you're acting like her then. You actually believe those bullshit theories? Okay, YN got attacked today-" 

"What?" 

"You didn't know? Some parents tried to attack her at the Highschool today." 

"Oh God…Why?-...You were at the school?" 

Randy pinched his nose bridge. "Aaannddd this is the basic rundown of every horror movie in every small town ever made. Starting with the clueless Sheriff." He released his nose bridge and huffed under his breath. "Okay. Explain WHY you think you saw what you saw in this so called photo?"

He stammered. "Y-You think I want to ever in a million years think this of YN?! I don't but…I found the photo of those two guys in her motel room as she was walking out. All of them talking inside. She swore she was alone!" 

"Two guys? You're for real right now? There's a picture of her sneaking two guys in her room?" Randy couldn't help snickering to himself. "Ooh really? That dirty slut!" He joked with a mischievous chuckle and with almost a hint of approval. "Damn so she had two guys there? Plus that Detective after her? Jesus, I'm almost jealous…Not that I swing that way but hey. Good for her for being a player." 

"I'm serious Randy! She lied!" 

"So???" Randy huffed out with a mocking look as switched the phone to his other hand. "Of course she did! What was she supposed to tell us? That she was having two guys sleep in her bed, mind you, to her former ex slash best guy friend and a guy that's like a big brother to her?" He shrugged. "I mean, the timing was bad and stupid of her and they COULD have been potential killers but they weren't. Case closed…Ohohohooo, I can't wait to use this as-" 

"NO." Dewey harshly gave. "She can't know!...Okay?! That's not all…The one guy I'm positive about was Dennis Rafkin…In fact, I know it was that actor in her motel room in the photo and…I think Dennis Rafkin isn't Dennis Rafkin." 

Randy blinked at that. "...Oh." That did strike him as odd if you got with the guy that played Stu or was going to AND that played in Scooby Doo…It explained how odd you acted while watching it the other night. But he quickly shook his head. "Well, he was a douchebag so who's to say they didn't just talk? I mean, was this photo of them making out or something?" 

"Well no." 

"Then you don't have proof of anything Dewey! And what the hell do you mean that he's not who he says?" Randy laughed in a mocking tone.

"Listen to me, Randy. I don't think Dennis Rafkin is who he says he is…Have you EVER seen a guy look similar to Stu Macher as much as that actor does? I didn't talk to him on set but I saw interviews of him when he drops that Australian Accent…Randy…That is Stu! I-It's CRAZY but-" 

"Dewey, what fucking idiot would do that? Not even Stu would be stupid enough to play himself in a movie. You are DELUSIONAL with this case!" Randy groaned to himself. "So you think…You actually think that they're alive, they were Tim and James and Stu tried to play himself in a movie and that…YN knows about it? Is that what you're trying to tell me?" Dewey fumbled and Randy continued. "And to make an allegation that it's Billy and Stu and YN was WITH them??? You better pray she NEVER hears that. She'll never forgive you and honestly? If it wasn't for how insane it sounds, I'd be more pissed at you too. I expect this shit from Gale, not you." 

"Randy, that's not all of the story here." Randy was quiet as he glanced around the corner seeing you still talking before Dewey told him. "...Deputy Hicks watched her sneak out while you were gone and she went to that motel at the edge of town…The same men were inside as a decade ago. The one looks different but I know my sister's old boyfriend…If that isn't Stu Macher, I-" Dewey firmly gave before trailing off with a sigh. "That guy. Put it this way…If it's not Stu then it's Dennis Rafkin IF they're not the same person." 

Randy scrunched his face and shook his head with a disbelieving smirk. "What?...No. She wouldn't do that-":

"I have a picture…Hold on I'll send it-" 

Randy heard fumbling and cursing on the other line as he prayed Dewey didn't accidentally send him a scary picture of some private thing with Gale or God knows what else..

Randy finally looked at his phone and saw…Exactly what Dewey described.

"Did you get it?" 

Randy didn't answer for a moment. His stomach sank a bit realizing you really did lie. Those were the clothes you were wearing last night. You actually snuck out to meet these guys and lied to him. 

Randy swallowed and looked around the corner at you still on the phone from what he could tell as he spoke low and told him. "Yeah…I see it." 

"Look at the men, Randy. Just hear me out and look at them." 

Randy pulled his phone back again and looked. The men's faces were blurry. He didn't see this Dennis Rafkin / Stu / Tim that Dewey was so adamant about but…His stomach sank and his eyes narrowed in confusion as he saw the man's face that was most clear…He was older than when he saw him in the 90's but…He really did resemble Billy Loomis. Dark deep set eyes, high cheekbones, similar face shape this guy was just older and more 'filled out'...It created this instant reaction of…Fear and contempt just looking at him. But that was…It was insane! Billy Loomis was dead...He was fucking dead.

Randy shook his head. "No…No, what you're saying is wackodoo shit, Dewey. YN would NEVER be with them and she would have told us if they're alive." 

"Well not if-" 

"STOP." Randy cut in harsher than he meant to before shaking his head. "Okay, so she's clearly either doing drug deals with these guys or having some strange affair with them for the last decade because that's the only reason she'd hide this. And you know what? Are they suspects? Sure but she's a grown woman. If she wants to keep her private life private, that's none of our damn business." 

"It is when it's potential killers!" 

Randy rolled his eyes and hissed out under his breath. "Jesus, Dewey! That is NOT those two idiots, okay?! They died in that fire, YN would never ever keep them secret from us, and she definitely wouldn't be meeting them at motels! I hope she's safe but if this has been going on for over 10 years then who the fuck are we to tell her what to do with her life?" He sighed. "Maybe she didn't tell us because she knew we'd be overbearing or judge her or some shit?" 

"But Randy!" 

"She's not Tatum, Dewey." Randy had an edge to his voice as he said it…He instantly felt guilt and mumbled. "I-I'm…Sorry. But she's not your kid sister you gotta monitor, she's a grown woman.  If this has happened this long; maybe we just need to let her be? Ever think of that?" 

Dewey was quiet before reluctantly sighing. "...Maybe you're right…I feel terrible thinking she would do that but her sneaking out and HOW MUCH they look like them-"

"Maybe it's some psychological thing? She's going for two guys that resemble them to bury those feelings for good-" 

Dewey interrupted him. "Do you think she had feelings for them? It's just us, honest. I just…I just wonder with her." 

Randy hesitated, not trusting Gale not to be eavesdropping. "Does it matter? If she did, they betrayed her just like us. They're dead and rotting in Hell, Dewey…And ya know what? You're kind of pissing me off right now." 

"Me??" 

"Yeah, you. We…" He trailed off. "We don't make time to be our Woodsboro family anymore and NOW you suddenly want to analyze her personal business here? And accuse her of the very rumor your wife created that ruined her life?...You've changed." 

Dewey scoffed, seeming offended. "I have not!" 

"Yeah, as soon as you put that badge back on; you've become a by the book's asshole that puts laws and rules above common sense and his friends…Sometimes, in cases like this, I liked you better when you were a regular guy, Dewey...I think you need a long ass vacation once this over and to stop being a cop for 2 seconds." 

Randy knew that hurt him as Dewey sucked in a breath on the other line. His voice is heavier. "Well I'm sorry you feel that way, Randy. But I have a job to protect people…I'm only trying to save you and YN from…From what happened to others." 

"Dewey, listen-" Randy gave, regret in his voice.

"Okay, maybe Billy and Stu are dead? Then what if these guys are Tim and James? What if it's that actor that was going to play Stu we coincidentally never met on set while everyone else did? Roman was involved in the first case and we had no idea so why not this actor? Regardless, she's been lying to us and hiding things and if they're just regular guys she's…Doing things with, I'll drop it and let her live her life. But I'm getting to the bottom of it. No more people are dying on my watch ever again and these new guys are suspects. " 

"Dewey, wait a minute!...Dewey? Dew?!" Randy groaned as the line ended. "Oh…Fuck Jesus." 

"Something wrong?" 

He jumped when he heard your voice. "W-What? No nothing!" He eyed you. 

The idea that you lied to him was already eating him. He wanted so badly to yell at you or to just openly let you know as less pissy as he could that you didn't have to hide shit and lie to him about your private life and that he thought you were close enough to each other to know that!...But he held it in.

 "...Were you talking on the phone?" He couldn't help asking.

You stared a moment but nodded. "...Oh yeah. My uh…My car is out of whack. Something about the transmission. I was just talking to my mechanic about it." 

"Really?" Randy tried so hard not to look too interested but he couldn't help it.  He could tell you weren't telling the whole truth. "You sure were talking a long time…To your mechanic." 

"Just small talk…Who were you talking to? I heard Dewey's name." You gave him the same look he knew he gave you. 

Randy faltered, mouth parted before he swallowed and while looking away with a dismissive wave. "Yeah, yeah. Dewey called to…Make sure you were okay! You know, after the incident today." 

You folded your arms. "Why didn't he call me?"

'Shit.' Randy thought as he shrugged. "Um…Well, he just wanted to ask me. I don't think he wants you thinking he's hovering over you." 

You stared a moment before nodding as Randy asked. "How does your face feel?" 

You shook your head and got something to drink from the fridge. "It's okay. Thanks but I've had ten times worse." 

Randy nodded before you sat down on the couch next to him at the other end. 

"How were Karla and the kids?" 

"Fine…Just missing them." 

You gave him a soft but sad smile. "Yeah. I'm sure you do…I bet they miss you too." 

Randy fiddled with his keys in his pocket. Getting up to distract himself before he just blurted out that he knew you lied to him. "What movie do you want to watch?" 

You shrugged. "I'm game for anything." 

A few moments passed in silence as Randy put on a random movie he had. Both of you clearly had stuff on your minds.

Randy started thinking not only of you lying but…Of his kids…What if they had to go through this when they got older? What if they were Kirby's age, then what? Would they go through this shit too? All because he was in denial and swore a Trilogy was the end and after Roman this nightmare was over?...Kirby was a cool kid. He could imagine Mindy being like her when she was a teen…That thought made his stomach sink.

You glanced over at him deep in thought. "...Ray…What is it?" You asked in a drawn out dreaded 'Don't say it' sort of tone.

He shrugged, quietly telling you. "Just…Wishing we weren't here." 

"Yeah. If we could, I'd be out of this place." 

Randy sighed. "I've been thinking about that...It's probably just wishful thinking though. If the killer is anything like Horror movies; they'll follow their target or their target's closest friends." 

You cringed. "This sounds heartless but if it's a remake and Jill is the target then we could still get away…At least you could. Go to your kids and wife. I'll manage." 

Randy thought. 'Yeah cause apparently you have two guys to help you in case...' He sourly thought, not sure how long he could hide the fact he knew what he knew from you.

Randy shook his head, still not looking at you fully. "No, I'm still dead set this is a Franchise and you, me, Dewey and Gale are still the main targets…Something just isn't right about this. It's like…It's like they're baiting everyone." 

You leaned forward in interest. "Whaddya mean?" 

He finally looked over at you with a frown. "...What if…Jill isn't the target? What if…What if you're the target but they're making it look like Jill in order to get attention off of you? That way, when they kill you, it's easier." 

You frowned as well, brows furrowed at that. "That would be convenient." 

You adjusted in your seat to look at him fully. "I know it's not a remake but hyperthetically if Jill is a target…Is it the boyfriend killing or is she a target just because she's a Prescott?" You slowly asked.

He opened his mouth and shrugged. "I-I…Don't know? Both seem plausible." He released a humorless chuckle. "...Um…Well shit."

"What?" 

"If this is a Franchise, we're kind of sitting ducks here at the house. Alone. At night…Officer Tweedle Dee and Dumb out there. If this is a remake, then we're right across the street from the Final girl." 

You gave Randy a wary look and mumbled. "So…We're fucked." 

He concluded. "And Kirby and a bunch of other kids including reporter Barbie will die or we will tonight. Here at the house alone or at that party. We're probably getting attacked." 

You held up your finger as you saw the look in his eyes. "No, no, no. We are NOT going to the party!" 

"Well no, that would be stupid! But…I'm reevaluating whether staying here was the right choice." 

"Ray, come on. It's your house, we have cops out front, we have a gun, we-" 

You both stopped. Hearing something…You both didn't know if it was outside or inside. But you both jumped up. 

Randy faltered. "Okay, okay. We're just getting spooked. W-We're just getting worked up-" 

You both swore you heard it again. You weren't sure what it was but you and him gave each other looks before saying. "Okay, fuck this." Randy wholeheartedly agreed as you grabbed your jackets, still dressed from that day, and went to his car. 

You both checked under it and the back seat; tag teaming in unison before getting in and locking the doors. It was that odd time of dusk where it's almost completely dark but not quite.

Randy nervously drew out as he started it. "Ooookay who is ready for a 2 hour drive around town going in circles?" 

 You nodded. "Me. Back this thing up and let's keep moving." 

He backed up. And you saw Perkin's and Hoss for whatever reason weren't following you. You huffed and threw a hand up. "Oh, NOW you assholes leave us alone!" You gave him a hopeful look. "Hey…They're not following! We could…We could just drive. Just drive out of here and Dewey would never know. What's he gonna do? Waste time tracking us down? Arrest us? The killer could be caught by then!"  

He grimaced. "Damn it, I wish we could but the more I think about it…We can't! If I go to my wife and kids, so will the killer because this IS a goddamn franchise disguised as a shitty remake. Where we go, they follow. These dumbass kids don't understand we're in a fucking Franchise, damn it!" 

"Then let's go to another state for all I care!"

"Again. They'll follow and we're REALLY sitting ducks then."

You tsked and leaned in your seat. "So what do we do? Just drive all night?" 

Randy shrugged. "Why not?" 

"You said it, they'll follow. I was in one high speed chase and almost died. I don't want to do that again." 

"How did you even get through that alone??" Randy asked with a curious look.

You looked away. "I just…Did." 

Randy smacked the steering wheel lightly. "Shit. Okay okay, okay…We gotta do SOMETHING. At that house, we're sitting ducks. In this car, eventually we could be stranded from some flat tire or a killer running us off the roads. Yes, it's in town but still it happens in horror small town or middle of nowhere…So…" 

You gave him a dirty look. "NO. No way, Ray!" 

"Where else are we going?!" 

"Not there! I will sit all night at the police station first!" 

"Oh right, so Dewey can do something stupid like send all his Deputies out when a kill happens and we're slaughtered there instead?" 

You argued back. "Well it's better than going to a fucking party that is so obviously a trap!" 

"Look…Gale is there. Kirby is there. Either they're going to die and lure us as bait or we're going to die while the party is a distraction …Or we go there and we follow the rules and end this. Tonight. It's the final act. I'm done with this shit and I know you are too." 

"Randy. You have kids and a wife to worry about. We don't need to go there!" 

"Yeah well, Kirby feels like what Mindy might be as she gets older and I'd want some legacy character to help her too. If you want, I can drop you off at the station but I'm going there and getting her out at least…Possibly Gale but if not. Meh. She lived a good life." 

Your face soured. Usually YOU were the one giving these hairbrained brave ideas because of Billy or Stu…You grunted and smacked your hand on the window. "Damn it, Ray!" You sighed loudly. "I can't beileve were fucking doing this. We stick together no matter what. We keep a weapon on us-" You handed him Pepper Spray from your pocket and a knife. He took it while at a stop sign. "We try to get Kirby out. If not? We leave. We drive to at least the outside of the police station. Lock the doors and wait till sun up or we drive till the wheels fall off this thing, alright?" 

Randy gave a firm nod  "Sounds like a plan." 

You looked out the window with a bad feeling in your stomach. You knew the killer was going to strike you tonight no matter who you were with or where you went. At least at the party there were a bunch of people and open space for you and Randy to get away. 

'FUCK!' 

[homeofair]

“bend, little willow

wind's going to blow

you hard and

cold tonight

life, as it happens

nobody warns you,

willow, hold on tight”

- from paul mccartney's song about maureen cox, called little willow

MAUREEN COX . . .

she was a shy girl with a unique talent in cosmetology. using scissors, she formed her art on a client's head. it was pretty damn good in her opinion. and despite her timid manner often presented in her work environment, she would always find a way to voice her opinion to the world .. sarcastically, of course. her style was dark and bleak, but it was so perfectly feminine and ethereal.

she was maureen cox, the little willow, the epitome of beauty.

ADMIN INFO ..

alice, seventeen, they/them. account is 16+ due to nsfw themes. interacts with every verse, era, and character. soft block if need be!

CHARACTER INFO ..

an original portrayal of maureen cox. single-ship, unreserved. will not ship with anyone younger than sixteen or older than eighteen. is typically portrayed in the sixties to seventies era. age is flexible within these eras. portrayal primarily focuses on maureen herself and how she might've been had we seen more of her life. the goal is to convey her loveliness and even her flaws, to introduce readers to the little willow herself.

admin note .. this pinned was inspired by @fantasmaqoria and their lovely, stunning post. I LOVE YOU,, MWAH!

consider this to be a roleplay/shitposting/appreciation page for the lovely mo. i adore her so much and i really want everyone to know more about the lovely woman. i know way too much (i've been hyperfixated) and i think everyone else should know more about her too.

never be afraid to interact!! i don't bite .. much. regardless, i love all sorts of interactions and appreciate any sort of support from you lovely people. it means a lot.

anywho, let me end this now! mwah.

love, alice.

[what-if-nct]

Han: Aww their wearing black and pink wedding dresses.

Felix: Like Avril Lavigne's best damn thing album.

Changbin: My Kuromi.

Hyunjin: My, My Melody

Seungmin: Is the pink one a dress or really elaborate lingerie with a train.

Hyunjin: Both, it's both. She's beautiful.

Han: Chan mama pretty, so sparkly.

Chan: She sure is. Like a vampire queen.

Lee know: Why does one side look like a gothic vampire ceremony and the other side looks like Barbie and Ken are getting married?

Seungmin: I'm surprised Hyunjin isn't wearing a pink suit but not surprised Chan is in shorts.

Chan: It's hot

Hyunjin: She tried but decided white looked better after making sure I tanned in the sun.

Jeongin: Am I the only one wondering how Taylor Swift is the officiator.

Hyunjin: She's Jisung's mom. Johnny did one thing right.

Taylor Swift: Does anyone here object to this union and have reasons these 2, 4, 5? God there's a lot of people should not be wed.

Doyoung: *stands up* I object. *Gets on bended knee.* Maureen, I never understood any of this but I knew I loved you the day Johnny introduced us.

Hyunjin: Oh thank god. Taylor continue for us till they figure that out.

Changbin & Chan: Another man!?

Doyoung: You can still marry them but give me a chance as well. Yes?! She said yes!

Changbin: Now go back to your seat you can talk to her at the reception.

Chan: Miss Swift carry on.

Taylor Swift: Alright but I'm definitely writing a song about this later.

[snailsandpuppy-dogtails]

Damn Kids

Also posted to Ao3 A year ago, but never posted here! Robinwest Smut WC: 2,951 "And if we survive today and I catch you and your underage friends trying to break in and party, I'll whoop your ass."

I was just like, but what if one of them did break in and throw a party at the dam? So this is that.

-----

He jerked awake, panicked, the sharp trill of an alarm pulling him out of sleep. It was the alarm for the dam synched to his comm, someone had accessed it without inputting the all clear code. Disoriented, he swiped at the device from his side table turning it off, trying not to disturb the still sleeping chicken in the crate next to his bed. He rubbed at his sleep bleared eyes before checking the clock, it was midnight.

Fuuuuuu.

That wasn’t right. That meant it wasn’t a worker, it wasn’t repairs, that was someone (or something) who should not be there. And while he was above board now, no longer doing the smuggling thing, he still had reserves that could be handy needing protection (and because he had supposedly disclosed all his remaining stash to the panel deciding whether or not he could stay on Alpha Centauri). He would have to go see who, or what, it was. Unfortunately, he would have to do it alone…couldn’t really wake up Maureen and John for this. Plus, he’d been kind of distancing himself from the family lately and a late night call for backup was the opposite of what he was trying for. But that was another problem for another day.

He scrubbed his face one more time, rough hands rolling stubbled skin up and down, the warm friction stimulating blood flow and pushing him ever more mentally awake. He swung his legs free from the sheets thinking out a plan. He would need to wear something commanding if he wanted to scare off whoever was over there, he needed to look like he had the authority to do something nasty should they not immediately comply or scurry at being caught, but basic enough to sneak in and move the load should need be. Of course, first, he’d scope it out, Don West wasn’t stupid, he wasn’t going to jump into a situation where he could be outnumbered or overpowered.

Flipping through his small closet of things he found a nice pair of pants and a sturdy leather jacket, a gift from John and Maureen this past Christmas. He always thought it looked too expensive for everyday, so he only wore it for special occasions… there hadn’t really been many of those lately. He loved the jacket, he love the people, but it felt a bit like playing dress up.

What did he need? What did he need?

Boots were on, Debbie’s lucky feather was tucked in his pocket, he had a wrench, he looked tough and authoritative... night-vision binoculars. That would be helpful. Convenient that mechanic’s kits for space had things for working in the pitch dark. Nice, Maureen. Don made sure the binoculars were in his bag before simply taking the whole duffle with him. You never know what might be of use when you don’t really know what you’re walking into.

He mumbled to himself as he drove, I hope to god this is just some malfunction. Or some stupid kids. Better than the alternative…rogue robots. He shudders at the thought. He didn’t worry too much about it being another criminal, someone who could make trouble and be dangerous. There weren’t any of those really on Alpha Centauri, not with the vetting process to get here.

Don decided on using the paved road to the dam rather than the park-and-walk-miles rout he’d used with the girls and Vijay the day they’d gone to war with the robots, but made sure to park in a space off road. There were chariots lining the drive, out in the open and obvious, at least 15 of them. This told him there were lots of people here, and lots of stupid people at that. Who was smart enough to break into a secure dam, but dumb enough to leave such obvious signs of being present?

People who thought they wouldn’t get caught all the way out here...This was weird. This. He knew what this was. And he was pretty sure he knew who this was. He left the kit, he wouldn’t be needing anything from it. He could hear the quiet melody of music thumping as he got closer, could see light pouring out as he crept through the underbrush approaching stealthily.

Penny, you are in so much shit.

As he came closer, the sound of music growing louder, he could hear the chatter of people. He snuck in through the side access and down a short hall, observing from behind a large stack of wooden crates left over from rebuilding the turbine. A group of about 30 youngish colonists were gathered. He watched the crowd of people dancing, drinking, and carrying on in the murky darkness. Makeshift lights from groups of lanterns were stacked on every available surface casting strange shadows all around. They were without a doubt students, young, but not high school young. He hadn’t been around the Robinson’s home in a while, personal feelings needing sorted, emotions becoming too difficult to keep in check, just avoiding like he used to do, but he was sure Maureen would have said something at work if Penny or Will were hanging out with an older crowd...He looked around for anyone he recognized, glowing copper hair, Vijay,…Will? No robots...

And then, there she was. The back of a head he’d know anywhere. He stayed crouched down, waiting for her to turn around, hoping, praying he was wrong. That he wouldn’t have to do this with her, disrupt this, ruin a night she without a doubt deserved. He fought internally over wether or not he should break it up, but no, he couldn’t risk it, he had to. And he found himself asking why. Why would she do this? Why would she abuse his trust, go against what he’d asked? If it was Penny he’d understand, it would make sense, and there would be plenty more in the future he was sure.

But the problem was that wasn’t Penny. That was Judy. Responsible, dependable, older-than-she-was Judy Robinson. In a glittering red dress wrapped so tight around her he could see every precious curve. And some guy. Some tall, strong-jawed, handsome moron with his hands all over her. And Judy who didn’t dance moving like that against him...

He ducked his head looking away, heat flaring from neck to face. She was like a little sister to him- no, that wasn’t right. If that’s what she was he was going to hell or jail for…anyway. She was someone he wanted to protect at any rate, didn’t want to see her get hurt, or taken advantage of, which this guy was clearly set on doing judging by the way he…Don knew guys, knew himself, and knew what that one was working very quickly towards.

He watched as the younger man’s face came to her ear, Judy laughing, and then moved to her neck and down across her collar, all the while hands drifting lower on her body squeezing. His hands gripped hard into the wood box he was behind, splinters biting into flesh. Judy’s head tipping back, eyes closed, his hand slipping her skirt up in the middle of all these people and god he wanted to kill this kid. You’re really letting him do that?

He thought back to when he’d been in that place. Back when they were all stranded a lifetime ago, before she took on charge of all the 24th colony children, before they’d almost lost John, before they’d lost and miraculously regained Will…before they really knew what the hell was going on and before it was all resolved. When they'd felt a little like The Swiss Family Robinsons, stranded in an unfamiliar land with only their ingenuity and ship parts to survive. Back when he knew they’d get out of anything, but felt a little like they never would…and so he might have taken advantage of someone who felt the same, was having the same resignations.

It wasn’t like that

Someone younger, less experienced…someone who wouldn’t stop running past his bunk at night. Things changed though. They all grew closer, in a different way and he had to let go of the guilt or let it eat him. And so when they’d gotten settled here, everyone finding their place, he decided the best thing to do would be to slowly break away…just. Drift off. It hurt seeing her, being reminded of what he wanted but couldn't have, now that they were settled. He needed to move on.

Her here with that guy, that was natural, that was right. That was what he was creating the space for, wasn’t it? For her to be with someone like that, someone more appropriate for her. So why did he want to march over there and punch this guys lights out for dancing with Judy when he'd never been the brawling kind to begin with?

You know why.

It didn’t matter. He needed to get all these people out of here and make sure they’d never come back. Wouldn’t see this as a good place to party. He needed his stash protected and he needed a quiet place for it. If the council found out people were partying on their property they’d definitely be looking into how and why and he wanted no part of being connected with that. And he definitely couldn’t have Judy getting caught.

Time to break up the fun.

Don walked back out through the access tunnel and side entrance, heading for the main doors, still open. Stupid fucking kids. He was never this dumb. They were lucky it was just him that caught them. He drew himself up, standing as straight and tall as he could, put on his meanest face, then finding the light panel, switched on all the lights. His booming voice called out over the startled crowed “THIS IS COUNCIL PROPERTY, UNLESS YOU ALL WOULD LIKE TO BE ARRESTED AND HAVE THIS MARK YOUR RECORD, I SUGGEST YOU PACK UP AND LEAVE!” The shocked group stared on blinking in the bright light, not sure what to do, freeze taking the reins in their fight or flight sequence. Through the crowd, Judy’s eye caught his holding her gaze firm and he was sure that he'd seen her smirk.

“NOW! MOVE IT!” He clapped loudly walking into the group, the clap and additional directives seemed to trigger their flight mode, music shutting off, students quickly filing out, hands grabbing lanterns as they did. All but one who stayed where she was, arms to her side watching him. Waiting for him.

Everyone else fleeing, he dropped the persona taking off the stiff jacket, shoulders relaxing, and approached her, hands stuffed in pockets. Standing in front of her, he took in the glassy eyes of someone a few drinks in. “Princess.” he tipped his head forward, “There a reason you let your date leave you?”

Her hand came up to his face, fingers brushing behind his ear, ignoring the question, “Mmm, no aftershave tonight…Just.You. I like it.”

He gently grasped her wrist, “Stop. Judy, just go." pulling her hand away he turned to walk out.

She didn’t move with him though, arm tugging slightly as he walked on anticipating her following him. "Are you mad? Why?! We didn’t break into your stash, I didn’t even tell them about it."

Don turned back to face her, but kept moving backward, they really did need to leave incase someone else came to investigate. "Why choose the dam? Judy, this was so irresponsible."

She advanced on him, anger rising at what she took as a dig. He knew how she felt about being “the responsible one” the pressure it put on her. "Says the man who still has contraband squirreled away around the planet! They asked if anyone knew of a place out of the way where we could have privacy, I did!"

"Half the planet is undeveloped, you could have gone anywhere!” Both yelling now into the echoing room.

It was at that point a voice broke in from behind them “Uh, Jude? Do you need help?” the man pointedly stared to where the two were still connected, wrist in hand. ”We should probably go-"

They rounded on the intrusion, Don shoving his hands back in his pocket as he barked out a laugh. Judy glared at him before turning back to the man who had come back for her.

“I’m fine, you can go.”

He took a step toward her, uncertainty on his face “I really-“

“Kenneth, this is between me and him. Leave.” She pointed between herself and Don before pointing to the exit. The man frowned, but exited without further protest.

Don leaned back, bitter smile and amusement in his voice "Oh! He calls you Jude!”

“Shut up.” she scoffed.

"And so obedient!” he mused backing away.

"Shut up!” she chased after him.

He continued on his path, pied piper leading her out. “So, what? None of the dozen fields you passed to get here would work?"

"You don’t get it.” she was following, not done with this, not done with him.

“Princess, I don’t really care. You broke my trust.” With both of them outside, he turned out the lights and punched in the lock code.

“That’s laughable, YOU are using a public dam as a WINE CELLAR! You have no right treating me this way!” The anger bubbled up, hands sweeping widely, exploding.

"What way?"

"Like a child!"

"Act like a child, get treated like a child. Partying in a dam? Child.”

“So is this where you whoop my ass then, Don?” Her arms were crossed defiantly, standing near the last vehicle around.

“Judy, just get in the chariot.”

“No." She knew she was being petulant, that she should be able to have this conversation with the words she meant, but alcohol coursing through her veins and emotions running high and a plan working had her all mixed up. She needed him. She'd thought he needed her, instead he'd abandoned them like John...trying to slowly pull away. She wasn't having it. She wouldn't let him.

Don came closer, voice firm, "Judy Robinson get in the damn chariot.” He couldn’t believe she was being such a brat. After all this. After waking him up and making him drag his ass down here. But he couldn’t leave her alone all the way out here.

"Or what?" face coming closer, heat filling her eyes. “You gonna bend me over, Don? Spank me?”

He let the image rush through his mind, shutting his eyes and breathing in. He opened them, tight smile pursing his lips. “Why here?”

“One thing guarantied to make you come running. And look at that, I was right.” Her voice was soft, sad, tone matching his own.

Her hands came up again to touch him, Don catching them and pinning them at her shoulders against the cool metal of the vehicle. "Don't-" There was a beat, and then she surged forward, lips colliding with his, grip tightening on wrists, Judy relaxing against the vehicle once she was sure he’d follow, Don tumbling after her.

He moved, body weighing her own, the pleasant crush of him against her and this time it was his hands traveling the curves of her body, her waist, her hips, mouth covering neck and collar, nipping away earlier explorers, smothering the feel and leaving only him behind. Hating himself for thinking of her as his, touching her, claiming her, and not wanting another person's hands on her ever. Fire burned in him needing her, thinking of brilliant Judy Robinson setting a trap to see him and all that implied.

Don moved lower, mouthing at her chest, her breasts, teeth grazing over nipples under fabric, Judy moaning, head rolling back and fingers threading through hair. Don dropping to his knees, kissing frantic trails down her stomach, hands gliding up legs and under skirt, fingers hooking around lace before glancing up in question. She looked down, gaze meeting his, and gave the smallest of nods, Don stripping her of her underwear and tucking them in a pocket.

He guided a smooth leg over his shoulder, skirt hitching up exposing her to the night, hand pressing firmly against stomach holding her in place as he ate her out against the chariot. Judy writhing above him, small gasps and thunks against metal and glass, fingers tightening through curls and an airy “Don” providing further motivation. Justification. Hand moving and seizing bucking hips, fingers stroking harshly as his tongue lashed, mouth sucking against her. Judy building, clenching, hands gripping harder, holding him closer, almost there- almost- abs flexing and walls spasming, air rushing out of her in a yell and Don continuing. Fingers slipping in, thrusting, crooking and spreading her newly tightened entrance, Judy panting and begging mindlessly above him trying to sinking lower into him. He stood, hand never ceasing, bringing his body to pin her, pushing against her and in her, mouth meeting hers swallowing the sound as she came again quaking against him. Slowly he stopped, arms propping him against the window on either side of her, letting the scarlet dress fall between them. His breath fogging the window behind her as they roughly regained control.

“…So, Kenneth…” he asked once breathing had steadied, voice low. She turned her head to the side placing a soft kiss to his jaw. “Doesn’t mean anything this does.” She brought adrenaline shaken arms to wrap around his waist, holding him loosely, head falling to his shoulder. “I don’t want anyone but you... Don't leave." He nodded, kissing the top of her head. "Let's get you home."

[liltaz-asatreat]

I posted 2,958 times in 2022

That's 2,010 more posts than 2021!

670 posts created (23%)

2,288 posts reblogged (77%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@/idkanameatall

@/barry-j-blupjeans

@/holdmecloser-gandydancer

@/institute-of-planar-shitposts

@/taakosleftshoe

I tagged 2,458 of my posts in 2022

Only 17% of my posts had no tags

#taz balance - 840 posts

#taz ethersea - 552 posts

#taz - 517 posts

#taz ethersea spoilers - 419 posts

#fav - 356 posts

#taz fanfic - 326 posts

#taz art - 313 posts

#lup - 292 posts

#taako - 284 posts

#barry bluejeans - 220 posts

Longest Tag: 138 characters

#i'll reblog this to both blogs because i think i have more followers who listen to tma on my main and you should be recognized for this 💜

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Just had a depressing thought

How the hell did Lucretia not lose her God damn mind between the time she erased everyone's memory and sent them on their way to starting the Bureau of Balance and even beyond that? Like, I lived in a small house with 9 other people for a good few years, and when I went to college and moved into the dorms there, one of the things I had the hardest time dealing with was the utter silence I was left in. My roommate moved into the dorm late because of rooming and organizational issues on the university's part, and then her mom didn't want to pay for her to stay in the dorm in the second semester, and they didn't move anyone else in with me. Among the many other issues I was having, the silence and loneliness was crippling in a really major way, and I had friends I was with at every chance I got to be with them. It was the most social year I had ever had, and I was still hardcore struggling with the fact that I had to go home to no one.

Lucretia didn't even have anyone to hang out with or talk to at all ever until she met Maureen and Lucas and started the Bureau. And even with having as many people on the base as she did, she still had to go home to no one. I just about lost my God damn mind in my situation, how. The fuck. Did she do it??? And for 10-12 years????

469 notes - Posted August 5, 2022

#4

One of my favorite meta things about the Stolen Century is how Griffin really thought he could cover 100 years of backstory in two episodes lmfao Like, as someone with ADHD, I understand how hard it is to figure out how long something is going to take, and I underestimate how long I'm going to need to do tasks and finish projects all of the time, but like, even if he wasn't expecting to get as deep with it as they ended up doing, the absolute confidence he had going in that he could cover 100 years in 2 hours, like, king there was no way but I admire how over confident you were about that lmao

484 notes - Posted May 13, 2022

#3

Angus really did have a big day on the Day of Story and Song. Like, first the Director had some shady shit going on with the Relic disposal chamber, then a strange man hops out of Taako's bag whom Taako and Merle claim said the Bureau is bad, then there's the discovery of the baby voidfish, then the Director has guards take them to a room where she is kneeling over the balls that had contained the Relics and is channeling energy out of the undestroyed bell into her staff, then she talks mad shit about coming from another reality with tres horny bois, the guy whose name is Barry, and some person named Lup who is dead(?) while Taako and Merle are trying to keep their heads from exploding, then Davenport can actually talk and was captain of this past mission this whole time, then Magnus comes barging in and he can see the absolute chaos of the apocalypse outside, so he tries to barracade the door while the others are going down memory lane, then the others start debating about leaving everyone to the forces outside versus putting up a shield that would still end up destroying the world in a manner that suggests they've had this argument exhaustively before, then they get attacked and BOOM a lich comes out of Taako's umbrella who is apparently Lup who is apparently his sister, then Lucretia disappears and Davenport wants him to help find her even though he still has no clear idea of what the fuck is happening, then he hears the story and song and suddenly gains the knowledge of their 100 year journey and the impending end of the world, then he meets up with the others again when he and Davenport can't find her only to find Lucas is also not dead, then Lucretia turns up, a crystal shows them a possible future, and Taako knew the answer to save everything all along, then he's expected to help fight against a world ending evil force, and then FINALLY they defeat the Hunger, and he's got time to process the absolute wild day he just had.

And just like, I feel like probably around the time he found out Lucas was still alive he was just like:

560 notes - Posted March 29, 2022

#2

Balance: Don't split up the party or you will die

Amnesty: Splitting up the party is tentatively okay depending on what you're doing except it did, in fact, get someone killed

Graduation: We're going to refuse to split up as much as possible because we're best buds

Ethersea: If we don't split up and do wild ass stunts before somehow reconvening back at the ship then what even is the fucking point

1,362 notes - Posted April 7, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

What I like about the scene where Magnus spins mind in Wonderland is that Griffin chose the lesser of two evils because it would have been really fucked to make him choose whether or not he forgets Julia which most definitely would have resulted in a no and forced them to take another two spins without much deliberation, but I think it also paints an interesting picture in-game of the characterization of Lydia and Edward. They believed that love wasn't a strong enough force to sustain them anymore and that it wasn't as important, and I think that's also reflected in how they thought the worst memory to take from him would be the person who caused his suffering and not the person he loves. Because to them, suffering is more important now, and it's how they sustain themselves, so why wouldn't it be the thing sustaining him too?

1,603 notes - Posted March 23, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[midnighthangintree]

Eras Tour Setlist and Surprise Songs (as of May 5, 2023)

I figured with this weekend being Nashville I should update this month old post. 

Taylor Swift

Tim McGraw - March 17

Picture to Burn

Teardrops on My Guitar

A Place in this World - April 22

Cold as You - April 23

The Outside

Tied Together with a Smile

Stay Beautiful

Should’ve Said No

Mary’s Song

Our Song - March 24

I’m Only Me When I’m with You

Invisible

A Perfectly Good Heart

Fearless (Taylor’s Version)

Fearless

Fifteen

Love Story

Hey Stephen

White Horse -  March 25

You Belong With Me

Breathe (feat. Colbie Callait)

Tell Me Why

You’re Not Sorry - April 21

The Way I Loved You

Forever & Always

The Best Day

Change

Jump Then Fall - April 2

Untouchable

Forever & Always (Piano Version)

Come In with the Rain

Superstar

The Other Side of the Door - April 28

Today Was a Fairytale - April 22

You All Over Me (feat. Maureen Morris)

Mr. Perfectly Fine

We Were Happy

That’s When (feat. Keith Urban)

Don’t You

Bye Bye Baby

Speak Now

Mine

Sparks Fly

Back to December

Speak Now - April 13

Dear John

Mean - April 15

The Story of Us

Never Grow Up

Enchanted

Better than Revenge

Innocent

Haunted

Last Kiss

Long Live

Ours - March 31

If This Was a Movie

Superman

Red (Taylor’s Version)

State of Grace - March 18

Red

Treacherous - April 13

I Knew You Were Trouble

22

I Almost Do

We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together

Stay Stay Stay

The Last Time (featuring Gary Lightbody of Snow Patrol)

Holy Ground

Sad Beautiful Tragic - March 31

The Lucky One - April 2

Everything Has Changed (featuring Ed Sheeran)

Starlight

Begin Again - April 23

The Moment I Knew

Come Back… Be Here

Girl at Home

Ronan

Better Man

Nothing New (featuring Phoebe Bridgers)

Babe

Message in a Bottle

I Bet You Think About Me (featuring Chris Stapleton) - April 30

Forever Winter

Run (featuring Ed Sheeran)

The Very First Night

All Too Well (10 Minute Version)

1989

Welcome to New York

Blank Space

Style

Out of the Woods

All You Had to Do Was Stay

Shake It Off

I Wish You Would

Bad Blood

Wildest Dreams

How You Get the Girl - April 30

This Love

I Know Places

Clean - April 1

Wonderland - April 21

You Are in Love

New Romantics

Reputation

…Ready for It?

End Game (featuring Ed Sheeran and Future)

I Did Something Bad

Don’t Blame Me

Delicate

Look What You Made Me Do

So It Goes…

Gorgeous - April 29

Getaway Car

King of My Heart

Dancing with Our Hands Tied

Dress

This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things

Call It What You Want

New Year’s Day

Lover

Forgot That You Existed

Cruel Summer

Lover

The Man

The Archer

I Think He Knows

Miss Americana & the Heartbreak Prince

Paper Rings

Cornelia Street

Death by a Thousand Cuts - April 1

London Boy

Soon You’ll Get Better (featuring The Chicks)

False God

You Need to Calm Down

Afterglow

Me! (feat. Brendon Urie of Panic! at the Disco)

It’s Nice to Have a Friend

Daylight

Folklore

The 1 (era opener as of 3/31)

Cardigan

The Last Great American Dynasty

Exile (featuring Bon Iver)

My Tears Ricochet

Mirrorball - March 17

Seven (spoken)

August

This Is Me Trying - March 18

Illicit Affairs

Invisible String

Mad Woman - April 15

Epiphany

Betty

Peace

Hoax

The Lakes

Evermore

Willow

Champagne Problems

Gold Rush

‘Tis the Damn Season

Tolerate It

No Body, No Crime (feat. Haim)

Happiness

Dorothea

Coney Island (feat. the National) - April 28

Ivy

Cowboy Like Me - March 25 (with special guest Marcus Mumford)

Long Story Short

Marjorie

Closure

Evermore (feat. Bon Iver)

Right Where You Left Me

It’s Time to Go

Midnights

Lavender Haze

Maroon

Anti-Hero

Snow on the Beach (feat. Lana Del Rey) - March 24

You’re on Your Own, Kid - April 14

Midnight Rain

Question…?

Vigilante Shit

Bejeweled

Labyrinth

Karma

Sweet Nothing

Mastermind

The Great War - April 14

Bigger Than the Whole Sky

Paris

High Infidelity - April 29

Glitch

Would’ve, Could’ve, Should’ve

Dear Reader

Hits Different

[phoneybeatlemania]

Do you know of any good posts about George and Pattie's relationship? It's a relationship I find very puzzling (mostly because of how it ended) but the corners of Beatledom I've explored haven't included anyone really talking about their relationship. Thanks!

Hiya anon! Im not a George and Pattie expert (except when it comes to their fashion because damn), but here's some interesting stuff:

Pattie Boyd, marriage to George Harrison, Wikipedia

In March 1970, a month before the Beatles' break-up, Boyd moved with Harrison to Friar Park, a Victorianneo-Gothic mansion in Henley-on-Thames. By this point, Harrison's devotion to Indian spirituality, particularly the Hare Krishna movement, had begun to divide the couple. They were also unsuccessful in starting a family, and Harrison would not consider adoption. Boyd resumed her modelling career in May 1971, in defiance of Harrison's spiritual convictions. In 1973, she had an affair with Faces guitarist Ronnie Wood while Harrison romanced Wood's wife Krissie. Boyd said her decision to leave Harrison, in July 1974, was based largely on his repeated infidelities, culminating in his affair with Starr's wife Maureen, which Boyd called "the final straw".

The couple's divorce was finalised on 9 June 1977. Boyd's solicitor, Paddy Grafton-Green of the London firm Theodore Goddard, later remarked on the sensitivity shown by each party towards the other, which he found particularly rare in his experience of high-stakes divorces. He said: "There was no overreacting, no greed or playing with each other's emotions – I wish all divorces were so well handled."

Pattie Boyd, marriage to Eric Clapton, Wikipedia

When Boyd rebuffed his advances in late 1970, Clapton descended into heroin addiction and self-imposed exile for three years. Once cured of his addiction in 1974, Clapton again pursued Boyd. Actor John Hurt later recalled that Harrison and Clapton staged a guitar "duel" over Boyd at Friar Park; Hurt added that it was "extraordinary...The air was electric. Nobody dare say a word." While Boyd supports this account, Clapton has dismissed its significance. Boyd finally left Harrison on 4 July that year. She and Clapton were married on 27 March 1979 in Tucson, Arizona. 

Pattie Boyd interview w/ Ken Sharp, 2007 via @harrisonstories

"It may have been two or three years before [me and Eric Clapton] became involved. Things were going so bad at home, my relationship with George was collapsing. I thought it was best to go off and visit with my sister who was living in LA. I just wanted to get away and work out what I was going to do next. Eric phoned up and said, “Come join me on tour and see what it’s like.” I’d never been on a tour before. It’s really exhilarating and sexy. I thought, this is the life, this is wonderful. I think that was it. I’d made that choice. I was still not sure if I’d made the right decision."

Pattie Boyd: What my marriage to George Harrison and Eric Clapton taught me

Super quick read, should tell you the basics though!

The song George Harrison wrote to break up with Pattie Boyd

It was 1972 when it first dawned on Harrison – while he was in New York – that perhaps he and Patti weren’t meant to be. His affair with Maureen was yet to begin, but the writing was already on the wall for their relationship. Sitting alone in his hotel room with nothing but his thoughts to occupy him, Harrison wrote the heartbreaking song ‘So Sad’ about the collapse of his marriage.

While Harrison knew that their time together was over, he couldn’t bring himself to end the relationship with Boyd and instead endeavoured to make it work. Alas, two years later, he wrote ‘So Sad’, and his affair emerged. Boyd would later leave him for Eric Clapton, who had pursued Boyd for years.

Information on the George and Maureen affair via @the-cosmic-empire and @georgeharrisonsaccent

Pattie spends some time in Devon (where her mother lived) and when she comes home, she finds photos that show Maureen’s been at Friar Park while she’s been away. Maureen by now has also got into the habit of arriving at Friar Park late at night to spend time with George in his studio. On one final occasion, Pattie comes home to find them locked in a bedroom together. When she bangs on the door, demanding to know what’s going on, George tells her Maureen’s having a lie down as she was tired. A lie down. With George. 

Pattie calls Ringo and tells him his wife and her husband are locked in a bedroom together and he’d better get over there right away. 

Also some extracts added by @georgeharrisonsaccent from Chris O'Dells book which are worth a read!

A Conversation With George Harrison, Rolling Stone Magazine, 1979

"...after I split up from Pattie I went on a bit of a bender to make up for all the years I’d been married. If you listen to “Simply Shady,” on Dark Horse, it’s all in there – my whole life at that time was a bit like [laughing] Mrs. Dale’s Diary [a now defunct British radio soap opera]."

Wonderful Tonight by Pattie Boyd

"In hindsight I wonder whether George’s pursuit of other women was a challenge: perhaps he was hoping to provoke me, hoping to make me put my foot down and reclaim him. At the time I saw it as rejection, and ever since the day my mother left me in Kenya while she sailed to England with Bobbie and Paula, I have lived in fear of being abandoned."

"The final straw was his affair with Maureen Starr, Ringo’s wife."

"Cocaine was different and I think it froze George’s emotions and hardened his heart."

By the way, I haven't read Patties book yet so I can't say much on it (besides the quotes I found on Goodreads), but I imagine it would probably be the best place to start with learning about their marriage and divorce?

I have read Georges book I, Me, Mine though and I don't remember him speaking much about his relationship with Pattie (could be remembering wrongly though?), so I probably wouldn't recommend that—although, its a book you can read in one sitting so maybe pick it up, its not a massive commitment.

Also, its worth just listening to the whole Dark Horse album (which is my personal favourite solo George record!), specifically the tracks Simply Shady, So Sad and Dark Horse.

[theboysfromaustin]

March 26, 2020

"If I eat any more bread, I'm going to hurl."

"I - I know, Kaz," Gav held his hands up, "He's turned into an absolute menace." "In the kitchen all day, surrounded by mountains of bread dough, he's like the Pillsbury Scarface. I want my husband normal again." "Normal." "Well, usual Ian, sweet and goofy.  The guy in the kitchen is covered in flour and slightly crazed." "The neighbors can't take it either."

"How much bread has he made in less than a month?" "I lost count after 300." "Jesus." "I think even Jesus would be sick of bread at this point." "How do we tell him?  I'm kind of scared…" "We should make Anders do it." "Yeah, distract Ian with the baby, then talk him down."  Martha pushed through the screen door and out onto the porch.

She made a beeline for the front garden, dropped a loaf of bread, and began digging.  "Shit, that's a good idea." "Even the dog who eats everything given to her is sick of bread." "Call the kid." Gav nodded, pulling out his phone, hit the contact, and put on a syrupy-sweet voice, "Heyyyyy, son.  How ya doin'?" "Dad, I swear to god if this is about bread…" "It is." There was no response other than a long, exasperated sigh.

"I'm sorry."

"He needs to be stopped." "We know, we know.  We're kind of scared of him." "He smells like yeast." "We thought you and Dermot could distract him with the baby." "That hasn't really worked.  This started after you guys watched him for the first time." "Maybe if we watch him overnight again…" "I bet I can convince Dermot this may fix a broken half-Welsh idiot.  Give me like, half an hour.  Wait, what about Maureen." "Maureen is not sick of bread." "Damn."

Anders hung up, and Gav sighed, "Well…" "I'm going to go talk to him," Kazuo stood, a bit wobbly, and headed to the kitchen, a place he now feared.  Ian was standing at the counter, arms caked in flour, the mixer working hard to knead dough.  The oven was also in use, while another loaf was covered to rise.  His hair was disheveled, dark circles under his eyes.

"Heyyy…." Kazuo crept in, "How ya doin'?" "I think I've got a good rye recipe going." "Um," Kazuo bit his lip, "Have you thought about going back to work?" "Why would I?" "Well," Kazuo thought quickly, "It would give you more of a challenge than baking bread."  Gav poked his head around the screen door, Martha pushing past him.  The dog trotted into the kitchen, planted all four feet on the ground, and screamed like a hoarse seal.

"What the…?"

Kazuo inhaled shakily.  He was upset, and he was tired of pretending that he wasn't, "Ian!" "Huh?" Ian cocked his head, "What is it?" "You're fucking neglecting everyone and everything that isn't your bread obsession!  I'm sick of it!  Everyone's sick of it!  Even the fucking dog is sick of it!"  Kazuo was letting everything out, there was no stopping him now, "You'd better get your ass back to the law office real fucking quick!  I…I…I just…." He was breaking down now, "I just want my husband back!"

Kazuo let out a hiccuping sob, swiping at his eye.  Ian approached him.  He looked different, like he'd just woken up, "Have I really been that terrible?" "Yes!" Kazuo choked out, "You stay in here practically all day, you don't sleep, and…I miss you.  We all do.  I miss hanging out at the office, going to get drinks…just being together."  

Ian pulled him into a tight hug, "I'm sorry, I didn't realize…I'm going back to work.  I'll work until the day I die.  I can't believe I did this to you guys, I need to make up for it.  Just…keep the finished stuff.  Get rid of the rest, and keep me out of the kitchen for a while.  How can I make it up?" Gav entered and began cleaning.  "Take us out tonight.  Dinner, drinks, dancing."  

Gav's phone chimed, "Maybe not tonight.  That's what Anders and Dermot are doing.  We'll be watching the boy." "Well, that's good, too.  We can go out tomorrow," Kazuo looped his arm around his husband's neck, "We can still be together tonight." "We can play Street Fighter tonight.  Or dirty Scrabble.  Strip Monopoly?" Gav offered up.  Ian laughed, 

"Sounds like a great way to reconnect.  I'm in."

[amitapaul]

Poem 38/30 th Day April 2023

Palinode Prompt Response 2

********************************

An Abecedarian PALINODE :

A Poetic Way Of Saying Sorry

********************************

All right then!

Because I was in a bad mood that day , I

cursed Abecedarian poems, but I’m sure you know I

didn’t mean it,because I did two of them: that’s not

exactly a sign of

firm

grit- toothed

hostility,

is it ?

Just becauseIdidn’t feel like it thendoesn’t mean I’ll

keep feeling that way forever.

Love

me, or leave me, that’s how I am.

No telling how I’ll be from

one day to the next.

People differ. People change their minds

quite often,

really, they do, that’s my experience. How many

stay the same always,

tell me ?

Under the circumstances,

vexing though it is, I hereby

withdraw my rant against Abecedarian Poems.

Xerox this and keep it to show me. Say

“You wrote this palinode,“ if I retract. That’s my

zigzag way of saying, ”Sorry for my rant, All.”

( Especially Maureen.

Sorry for being mean on Day Eighteen

and

a Big Thank You for Everything, Ms Thorson ! -

including giving me an “out” for my guilt at my rants ! )

See y’all next April !

There’s also tomorrow, of course.

*******

Context

My 2 Poems on Day 18

Day 18 Response 1

Again ? Blast !

****************

An Abecedarian Poem ? Again ? Damn !

Blast these monkey- tricks I agree to play

Coaxed then coerced by my own competitiveness

Dragged into this morass year after year

Exasperated each time but egged on by ego

Floundering always at Q, X, Y, Z

Gritting my teeth and carrying on regardless

Hounded by fellow poets running the same race

Intensely angry at self for this charade

Joke it is not nor jest nor a joust

Killing time is what this was made for

Laughing and crying at once I go on

Making a fool of myself the whole time

Pestering my mind for more words while old ones

Queue up dutifully to play their set roles

Rudely disturbed still by the thought of conforming

Sticking doggedly to the Pavlovian task

Taxing my mind for right words in right places

Underperforming as per my own standards

Vowing I’ll never do this again

Why should I when I never do it

X- asperating Xercise that one could Xerox

Year’s end to year’s end till NaPoWriMo comes

Zapped by the fact I’ve just done it once more !

( ASA )

Day 18 Response 2

Again! Zounds!

****************

Absolutely bloody cursed damned exercise

Frustrating gobbledegooky harrowing ink- wasting

Jeremiad- inducing kinky loutish mawkish narrow

Oppressive pernicious quinine- bitter reprehensible

Stodgy twee uninspiring vacuous waste

Xylophone - hunting yakkety- yakking. Zounds !

( ASA )

#23GloPoWriMo

[ziracona]

There is nothing I don’t like about Maureen Robinson

[msookyspooky]

Terrible Trilogy

Part 14

wordcount: 7,636

You all sat in silence as the sun approached over the city you wanted nothing more than to run away from. Run away back home to your solitude, your dog, your security system, your privacy. Where everything made sense...But you couldn't.  None of you could.

You all barely had any sleep. Stu rested his chin on his forearms as he sat backwards in a chair. Billy was on the ground, his head leaning back against the wall behind him. You sat hunched over on the edge of the bed staring at the faint blue light of dawn creeping through the curtain.

You all were in your own private little hells in silence together. The stress getting to you all, lack of sleep, unable to leave, unable to fight back the one causing all of this. All of you were at a loss, unable to truly say anything out loud without it feeling pointless.

Stu broke the silence first, gazing over at the alarm clock on the table. "Shit...I have rehearsal." 

"You-" Billy drew out, closing his eyes with a heavy edge to his voice. "- Cannot be fucking serious." 

Stu sighed heavily with a glare. "What is your malfunction now?" 

Billy slowly rolled his head over to look at Stu. Dark under circles making him look older than what he was. Stu looked exhausted himself.  You could only imagine what you looked like. A red mark formed on Billy's cheek to match the healing gash on his temple from the steering wheel a few nights prior. Stu also had a red mark on his jawline you knew would bruise from their fight. 

Billy scowled at him as he mumbled. "This new guy has pictures of us and you want to give him more? Are you that out of your freaking mind? Or are you just...That. God. Damn. Stupid?" 

Stu gave him a bewildered look. "One is too many so what does it matter if he has one or a dozen? One is enough to get us caught! You want to just wait it out while he collects more because he's going to regardless! Besides, it looks more suspicious if I don't show up." 

"Or, hear me out, you could lay low like you should have from the beginning and see what this new guy's next move is." Billy ground out low in his throat. 

Stu's hands gestured wildly around the room with every word he ranted. "So, you wanna just sit around and wait for him? Just a while ago, you were ready to tear peoples throats out to get through that door and now you just want to wait here for Mr. Unoriginal to make his move?!" 

"Things changed after that call, alright?!" Billy snapped. "That fucking picture is enough to have a warrant on all of our heads...We fell into a trap and I'm fucking pissed off I let you both sucker me into it with you!" 

Stu released a mocking laugh. "Damn, you really lost your edge these last few years. You went from calling the shots and framing Cotton and getting away with murder to sitting in a crappy motel just waiting for the new meat to tell you how high to jump." 

Billy's lip rose in disdain as he hissed his words out towards Stu. "Do I need to remind you who suggested we wait a year before killing again so we could get away with it? Who fucking carefully planned all of it? If it wasn't for me, you would have got us caught with Maureen!" 

You listened, taken aback by them so openly talking about their plans and murders. Then again, in Woodsboro they lied and only told you the bare minimum. Windsor they told you nothing; and you tried not to bring up such a sore subject with Stu these last few years. This awful adventure with them just became more and more surreal by the day. 

Stu huffed with a haughty look. "Yeah, that really got us far, huh?...Look, I'm not letting this freak have the cops on our doorstep from waiting. At least if I go to rehearsal and act normal; I have a chance of throwing them off our trail!" 

"We don't need to be out in the open right now, dumbfuck! What part of that do you not get?! ESPECIALLY on the set of a movie about us." 

You swallowed, forcing yourself to speak even if you didn't want to. "I get it but he's right, Billy... If he doesn't show up, then it's going to draw more attention to us than him just showing up and going with the flow." 

Billy huffed, a humorless chuckle escaping him as he leaned his head back against the wall. "Perfect...No, that's just perfect…Let's just plaster our names on our freaking forehead at this point! Why let the killer wait to tell everyone who we are when we might as well be doing it ourselves?" 

Stu stood up. "What the fuck do you want me to do, man? I got to go!" 

"Yeah well maybe if you wouldn't have shown up, broadcasted yourself and strutted around as Stu Macher; Maybe we wouldn't be in this situation...What the fuck did you think was gonna  happen?! If I would have know you were that stupid, I would have never got in that damn Honda in the first place...AND YOU!" He pointed an accusing finger your way. "You fucking knew and didn't tell me. Cause you knew I would be GONE the second I knew he was going to blow our cover-" 

Stu interrupted him. "Oh for fuckssake, man-... If I have to hear you putting on a big dramatic show about how you're going to leave one more freaking time." 

You rubbed your tired eyes. "Guys, please. We're tired, we're stressed but I think we've had enough fights for one day." 

Billy scoffed. "Well thank you, Mary Poppins for trying to mother hen us again." Billy smacked the floor beside him. "One day, ONE DAY here and this shit has already begun." 

"Well, sitting around isn't gonna solve it. So stop worrying and stressing everyone out with you!" 

"You need to be fucking stressed!" He exclaimed with emphasis. "You are the biggest idiot I've ever met! Do you have any idea how serious this is or are you just that in your own little make believe world that much?!" 

Stu groaned and ran a hand down his face. "As much fun as it is beating your ass; I can't afford to bruise up this pretty face too much, alright? I've got a performance to do." He pointed to his face as he went to the bathroom to take a shower.

Billy eyed him the whole way. "Break a leg or two...Maybe your neck for extra measure." 

You held yourself as you tried to ignore them. You didn't know what to think. That dream making you feel like a traitor just being in the same room as these two but cornered with nowhere to go with this new killer on the loose.

In less than 24 hours you: Arrived in Hollywood to a set of a movie based on your biggest traumatic events in your life, had a duplicate letter shoved in your purse in a crowded restaurant in front of Randy and Dewey, had to hide the biggest secret of your life from them, got a picture that was incriminating evidence of you three together, got a threatening call from this new killer and then a second photo from your past. All with no leads and no suspects other than the two people that ruined your life or the two people you were closest to...For your sake, you were trying to blame Gale in your head just to keep going because you didn't know how much more mental stress you could endure.

The minute Stu shut the door, Billy's eyes landed on you. You tried not to pay attention until his staring didn't stop. You tentatively raised your gaze as you heard Stu run the water in the bathroom. 

He raised a brow at you. "...Can you believe this?" 

"No." You replied tiredly. "But we don't have a choice." 

Billy crawled over to you as you stayed on the bed as he got close enough to whisper. "We do...We can make some headway here and write off suspects. We need to look through Stu's phone." 

You looked at him with a shake of your head. "You both can't seriously still suspect each other?" 

"Just do it." 

"No." 

"Then give it to me and I'll fucking do it. He is way too calm about this and he's putting us in danger, okay? He could just be nuts or he could be hiding something...You want to just wait around and find out when it's too late?" 

"I just...-" 

You faltered as he raised an accusing brow at you. "So, you can snoop through my shit but not his?" 

"I didn't do that, Stu did. I-" 

"I don't care, I'll do it myself then." He grumbled. Quickly getting up to go to the jacket hanging on the chair. He rummaged through the pockets before he found it.

You rolled your eyes anxiously with a harsh bite of your lower lip.  Half tempted to get out of the room and blame it all on Billy if you got caught...But you had to admit Stu felt off and you had already snooped into Billy's belongings and life but not Stu's. It only felt logical to find his secrets out too by staying. Even if it didn't help your problem at the moment, it was still someway to figure Stu's true intentions out.

You rushed out in a whisper as you eyed the bathroom door. "Hurry up." 

"No, I'm just gonna take my time till he comes back out. " He sarcastically muttured. Billy instantly started clicking buttons, his eyes scanning the small screen for a few moments. It felt like forever as you watched him.

He glanced over at you a few times and you knew Stu probably had more candid pictures of you. Suddenly, his features changed as a light noise escaped him. "Oh." 

"What?" 

"Uh...Since when does Stu have Randy and Dewey's numbers?" 

"What?..." You leaned over near his shoulder to look at the screen. Your mouth hung open at their names and numbers right there.

You knew Billy could care less who it was or who got killed, that his shock and anger came from suspecting Stu being involved. All you could do was panic at the idea of Stu being after your friends once again. 

Billy shook his head with a roll of his lips. "I knew it, that lying fucker." He mumbled, marching to the bathroom.

"What are you doing?!" You hissed under your breath.

"A reenactment of Anthony Perkins 'Psycho' if I don't get a good enough answer." 

You tugged at the arm of his coat so he'd look at you. "Wait, you can't!" 

He ripped his arm away as well as the phone.  "I'm not waiting anymore! I fucking told you, Stu is a backstabbing lunatic and I know he has something to do with this! What more proof do you need?! Your friend's head's at our doorstep or a knife in your back?!"

"Or you could kill an ally in all of this, something you don't have much of AND have cops here. You just can't go stabbing every time!-" 

You both jumped as Stu came out of the bathroom sooner than you anticipated. You didn't even hear the water shut off. He stood there wearing nothing but a towel as he froze, seeing both of you there with his phone. His eyes narrowed as he folded his arms over his chest.

"Damn, a guy can't leave the room without his privacy being invaded?" 

"What privacy? You don't have the decency to even have privacy." Billy retorted, as your eyes darted to the towel 'accidentally' slipping off Stu's hips. 

Stu adjusted it. You closed your eyes, not putting it past him to flash you. You opened them again as you heard him sigh and lean against the doorframe. The muscles in his shoulders and arms flex as he eyes you both.

Billy tossed him the phone. "We saw it." 

"What? The stripper pics, the boobs, the line on the table-" 

You felt your own betrayal rising as you spoke before Billy even could. "Cut the shit, Stu. Why the hell do you have my friends on your phone?" 

He blinked but wore a poker face. 

He didn't answer and you gritted your teeth. "WHY Stu? Why do you have people's names on your phone you would never talk to without outing yourself?!" 

He rolled his eyes and sighed. "I'm playing, babe. It's not what you think. The director gave me the numbers of all the cast and vice versa. I'm Dennis, remember? Isn't it normal to be in touch with coworkers?" 

"Not when you tried killing them. You don't need their numbers, alright? You can delete them right now." 

Stu raised his brows, looking away with a cocky grin and a chuckle before looking back at you. Showing his phone to you. "Are you ordering me?" 

"I'm telling you I'm not comfortable with it and I want their numbers gone." 

"Or what, Sweetcheeks?" 

"Stu, this isn't funny or cute in the slightest!" 

Billy eyed him. "Why are you so damn desperate to keep them, Stu? Gotta save them for later? She's right, there's no reason to keep two numbers that you'll never call...Right?" Billy growled in a warning. 

Stu stared at you both a moment before huffing and shaking his head in bewilderment. "Alright, alright...Jeez. Just goofing around." He started typing and then showed you. "There! All gone. Happy?" 

You looked as he held the phone to you at a low angle on purpose. You glared at him trying to get you to look at his lower body before you snatched it. You glossed over it to see both Dewey and Randy gone before handing it back to him.

Stu mumbled as he snapped the phone shut. "Honestly, you both don't trust me? Seriously? After what happened tonight-" 

Billy cut him off in an instant. "Tonight proves nothing, Stu. We have no evidence, no leads, no proof. Don't act like me and you didn't lead people off our trail by calling Sidney while I was in jail. The fact you're in this movie and you're going along with all this is prime suspect material." 

"Man, I don't have a partner for the millionth time! If anyone does, it's you." 

You sighed heavily at them both. The photo, the dream and the call heavy on your mind and their antics were getting old very fast. 

You looked at them both. " Seriously, I've heard this argument over and over again for days! You both are making me nuts just listening to it!...I mean, what am I? Just a witness?...You both could be as guilty as the other one, so why point fingers? You both put on an elaborate show in Woodsboro. Even Billy getting himself arrested…I have zero proof that you haven't talked to each other in years; just what you claim..." Your mind started turning. "So since we love pointing fingers around here; How do I know you both aren't in on it with a new partner?" 

You said just to show them how ridiculous it sounded...But the more thought, it didn't sound as ridiculous as you wished it did. 

"WHAT?" They both unisoned.

Stu huffed. "Why would we go to this length to kill you when we could have done that days ago?" 

You backed up a bit, the idea that your crazy idea may not be so crazy making you aware of the close proximity you were all in. "I...I don't know. Why did you try making me look insane 3 years ago? For the satisfaction of ruining my life before you killed me." 

Billy huffed. "You really have lost your lid these last few years. You think I'm working with him? You think I got a mark on my fucking face for what? To match the one you gave me?" 

 "Join the club." You jerked your jacket away to show your shoulder. "And don't act like it's irrational when I've heard NOTHING but irrational finger pointing from both of you! I've had to hear you two pointing fingers at each other for days to the point it's getting suspicious...Like you're trying to act it out again to make it look good." You trailed off. All of the memories coming back to you.

"What? What could possibly be my motive to kill you after 3 years of not giving a shit?" Billy asked with an outrageous smirk.

You glared at him. "Easy. You're lying, you actually give a shit and you want revenge. You never finished the job at Windsor, I remind you of all the failures at Woodsboro...You could easily blame me as the reason your mom was killed." 

His face fell and his voice lowered in warning. "Don't go there." 

Stu grimaced. "Exnay on the Woodsboro aye. We have neighbors in this shithole that could be woken up by us yelling at each other you know." 

Billy and you glanced at him as you tried lowering your voice.  "Oh, okay. So...You clearly moved on. Definitely not a motive. We can't even discuss the past with you and you expect me to believe you moved on?" 

Stu eyed Billy with a tsk. "Girl has a point. At least I can talk about the past...You can't even acknowledge it." 

 Billy glared at you both. "Hey, not wanting to rehash old bullshit isn't enough to be a motive. If we're using the past as a motive then what about you?" 

"Me?! What about me?" You snapped in outrage, your voice rising a few octaves. 

"Yeah, you! We killed your best friends, we tried to kill you twice, we fucked your life up. I think that's more motivation for revenge than me...In fact, how do we know that letter wasn't planted by you in your purse and you just acted out the part?" 

"Get real!" 

"That is literally the opposite of what I suggested we not do...Yeah well, what the hell could my motive be?" Stu urged with raised brows.

"I don't know! Did you even have one the first time around? The only thing I can think of is getting me and getting rid of Billy." 

Stu laughed. "What?" 

"No, don't play it off! You have pictures of me on your phone, you found my house, been trying to get with me the last few years, you and Billy were-" 

Billy's cut you off.  "We aren't talking about me or Stu's fuck ups. I think we've already talked about it enough but we haven't even grazed the surface of yours.... I say if you're willing to point fingers; you're just as much of a suspect as us." 

You stepped back, putting a few feet of distance between them and yourself. "Okay, so we can do this all fucking day! We don't have any proof other than past experiences we're all running on." 

Stu huffed. "Right... As much as it hurts for you to even think of accusing me, Sweetcheeks; I don't think it's you...You know who it is though?" 

You gave him an annoyed glare. "Don't-" 

"Randy Meeks. Whoever called us clearly liked Sidney and weren't you with the dorklord last night when you got the letter?" 

Billy thrusted a hand towards Stu. "Well damn, look who got control of the one brain cell he has. I didn't like Sidney, Stu didn't like Sidney so why would we be working with someone that liked Sidney? YOU on the other hand-" 

"Or friends!" Stu interrupted. "Ray is as suspicious as it gets. I mean, he's got the whole love sick desperate guy friend act down to a tee! How do you know he doesn't know and wants to get closer to you just to catch you off guard and get revenge?" Stu jeered. 

You gripped your temples with a frustrated growl. "No! It's not Randy. Jealousy isn't proof-" 

"Jealous?" Stu gapped with an outraged laugh. "Jealous? I am NOT jealous! I just have eyes and I'm a guy and I know when another guy is prowling!" 

"And I already told you, just cause you're predatory and always looking for an opportunity to get laid doesn't mean every other guy is, Stu!" 

Billy interrupted both of you. "Or Dewey. Imagine how he'd react to finding out about this?" 

"How the hell did this go from you both accusing each other to accusing me?!" 

"Since things are adding up and you wanted to point fingers too. And if it's not you then it's Dewey or Randy that are pissed off from finding out about us and they're killing to get to you or protect you." Billy informed you.

You rolled your eyes. "Deja vu, much? Weren't you shoving Ray into a locker for saying the same thing?" 

Billy faltered. You clearly jogged his memory to a part of his life he left behind. He soon replaced his surprise with a defensive scowl once again.

"That's ancient history, okay!? I was pissed he was pointing fingers at us since we were the only ones that gave a shit enough to kill for you. Not like he did; he was too enraptured in my girlfriend, Dewey didn't care about you until AFTER his sister died, and we know how James felt." 

You shook your head. "You're so full of shit." 

"Yeah? You're in fucking denial. If it's not you or me or Stu then it's Dewey or Randy... Gale! If you're lucky!"  

Your worst thoughts were being brought to the surface and you felt backed in a corner. "No! It is not Randy or Dewey! You both just can't wait to off anyone you didn't get to at that party! I'm probably on the chopping block too as soon as the 'killer' is revealed!" You used quotation marks. 

"Again. We have neighbors. Talking about me putting us at risk with you both yelling." Stu grumbled as he jerked his head to the walls. 

Billy glanced at Stu before he huffed in a lower tone. "Maybe yes, maybe no. Depends." 

"On what?" You growled out.

"On how much you piss me off during all this." 

Stu released a snort of laughter. "That's a given… And no, she's not." 

"I wasn't talking to you, jackass." 

"Like I give a shit. If YN isn't involved then you aren't killing her after all this is done. You'll have to get through me first." 

You all glared at each other, the air thick.

You tried once again to be the mediator somehow. "Look, we aren't getting anywhere like this!" 

"Yes, we are. We're talking out suspects and you just don't want to admit the obvious." Billy glanced over at you. "Face it, YN. You have more enemies than you have friends." 

That cut right through you as your chest heated and you felt your fist clench. "Yeah, no shit. That was made pretty clear to me at Windsor with Hallie and Mickey and in Woodsboro when you both lied to me and stabbed me in the back. Correction; you stabbed all of your 'friends' in the back including each other." 

Billy's eyes widened at that before narrowing as you saw his fist clench. 

Stu grimaced as he turned around and threw his phone on the nearby bed. "Okay, let me get on pants first-" 

Billy tilted his head. You almost took that step back but forced your feet to stay in place as he crept towards you as he spoke.

"Really?...You want to tell me about backstabbing? You REALLY want to go there with me?" 

You swallowed but nodded, glaring right back at him. "Since we're airing out the past...I don't see why not. I'm sick and tired of you acting like all of this isn't your fault. You wanted to bring up that phone call in the car yesterday? You want to talk about the trauma you put me through just to prove a point? Fine, let's rip off the bandaid then." 

Billy glared at you as Stu came back out struggling to get his other leg in his jeans. 

"What part? The part where I threatened to gut you like a fish for the things coming out of your mouth 3 years ago? That part? Cause that is long overdue." 

"How about the part where you can't take responsibility for your actions? How about that part?" You argued. "You love putting blame on me or Stu or anyone else. But THIS wouldn't be happening if you hadn't did what you fucking did. I could have had a normal life! We all could have had normal lives if you both could control your sick, fucked up impulsive thoughts in your heads or get help for it!" 

Billy smirked at you with zero humor in his eyes. "Cry me a fucking river, YN. Boo hoo, poor you. Poor you and your lonely little life...You act like everyone has to feel sorry for you." 

"Not everyone, just you two. I mean, my God! ...Don't you feel ashamed? Don't you feel guilt? Don't you feel like a piece of shit for what you've done?" 

He eyed you long and hard before it drew out of him with a predatory grin stretching across his face. "Oohhh...I know what this is. It's about the time frame we killed your boyfriend, isn't it? Having nightmares because of it too, huh?" 

You clenched your teeth and your voice rose whether you liked it or not. "Don't bring ANY of them up! You don't have the right to; Not even him! Because no matter what he did, you did way worse!" 

Billy had a dangerous look in his eye as he got closer. His voice low enough for you and Stu only to hear. "Like what? That Stu ripped his face off while I called you that night to let you hear him? That I killed Tatum in the garage and had her hanging BEFORE I had my tongue down your throat-" 

You bristled at that, eyes burning and your fist shaking with how badly you wanted to smack him upside the mouth. 

Billy's gave you a dark chuckle at the reaction you accidentally gave him. "And then... I took Sidney's virginity. I penetrated her with my dick and my knife that night after using you as motivation to do both." 

Stu didn't even have his jeans buttoned as he got between you both, pushing you back a bit for your own protection. "Easy, easy-" 

You ignored him, feeling yourself practically snarling at Billy. "...I should have!...This never would have happened if!…" You almost got it out and held it back with a harsh bite of your lip. Trying so hard to keep it from escaping knowing it could end in a blood bath for any of you if you did.

Billy lost the smirk as his own rage took over. "What?...Go on, say it! If you would have what?!" 

Stu glared at Billy over his shoulder as Billy got closer. Eyeing his hands to make sure he didn't reach for his knife. "If you don't back the hell up, man-" 

"Go on, YN. I'm waiting. SAY IT." 

You glared at him, fighting a losing battle as it came out. It was bound to.

"...I should have let Gale kill you, you sorry bastard…" It came out through your teeth. Stu practically shielded you as Billy's entire face dropped and you yelled over Stu's arm at him. "It's not like you ever thanked me, it's not like you were ever grateful for the bullet I took for you. I shouldn't have! At least Sidney would still be alive, Gale would have never written me to be the villain in her book and I wouldn't be in the situation that I am right now!"

Billy's entire face dropped at your admission. His dark eyes wide and his mouth slightly parted. You stared at him, your eyes never leaving his before his brows furrowed and his mouth closed into a bitter smile. 

"...Yeah, you should have. Did you actually think the killers would change their ways just for you? Just for you, YN, because you're just so special?" He mocked, laughing under his breath as he walked closer to you before his face fell into a hostile glare. So much hate in it you felt ready to get your gun just as a precaution...All you could do was stare back as Stu glared at Billy.

"I'm warning you, man. Back. UP." 

Billy ignored him and held his glare at you. "...You can blame me all you want but the real one at fault here is you for being so god damn stupid. You're just as much at fault for their deaths as us. Gale was right about you, you just don't want to admit it." 

He shoved past you and Stu both. 

You felt yourself shake in anger. Any rational thought was gone at that point.  A burning in your throat and chest as you screamed at him in Stu's hold. "FUCK YOU!"

He slammed the door behind himself and left you to simmer with Stu in the room.

Stu had a hold of you still. "Hey, easy! I know how much he pisses people off but you aren't going to win in a fist fight against him." 

"It'd be worth it!" You snapped, swallowing down the hot anger burning in your chest. "He can't just say whatever he wants and get his way!... He can't!" You countered, eyes burning and a sick feeling in your stomach you tried to prevent happening. The lack of sleep had you frazzled enough as it was; let alone this. 

Stu smirked at you. "I love your energy, babe. Definitely hot but…" He chuckled under his throat. "I also want you alive. Besides, you really got under his skin even more than I do. Kind of impressed." 

You blinked at that as Stu continued with an amused cringe. "You telling him you should have let him die? Youch! I bet that stung...But hey, it's true. I wonder all the time if saving his stupid ass from jumping off that bridge was the right move. Not like he's been grateful...Me and you are in the same boat with his scrawny ass. He betrayed both of us, he used both of us and we both tried to save his life with not so much as a 'thank you'." 

Your shoulders slacked at that as you continued to glare at the door he went out of. 

"Stu...What if he doesn't come back-" 

"Good riddance. I didn't want him third wheeling anyways." 

"The pictures, Stu." 

"Babe." He forced you to look at him as he raised his pierced brow at you. "You can't change it. It's his ass too. The moron won't get far." Stu continued with a smirk. "I really hope we don't have any neighbors beside us or at least ones that listen. I guess we'll lie and say I was practicing my acting role with friends?" 

He released you finally. "We'll figure it out...So, better get dressed." 

You turned your head to look at him. "...Huh?" 

"Come on, get ready! We got rehearsal in 30 minutes." 

You shook your head with a frown. "I'm not going." 

Stu's features dropped. "What? Oh, come on! Don't let Billy ruin your entire day." 

"It's not just Billy, Stu! We have a killer after us, we have fought none stop, no sleep. I can't just go there and pretend everythings fine! Not today." 

"Yeah and staying in a motel room by yourself is totally the right move" 

"I have a gun and it's daylight." 

"And what happens when I run into Dewey or Randy on set because you weren't there to distract them from going wherever I go?" 

You rolled your lips knowing he was right even if it wasn't what you wanted.

"Come on, Sweetcheeks. You were an amazing actress! I need pointers." 

You sighed and looked away. "Please, I auditioned for one role just to combat my anxiety and look where it got me." 

"But that's just it! One time and you're that good? I'm a newbie too, I need some type of direction here...You can be my...Teacher. I'm a good student. " He mumbled with a smirk. He got in your space to look down at you as he placed his hands on your shoulders. Your eyes scanned his body and he looked down with a smirk before raising a brow at you. "Like what you see?" 

"How can you think of flirting right now??" You gave him an annoyed look and he just chuckled. He pointed at the scar you noticed above his navel. "Eh, it's easy when I'm half naked...Saw you eyeing it just now. I used to have a belly button ring here with a chain...Guess what that chain led to?" 

You sighed heavily and looked away as he chuckled. 

"Anyway, fuckface ripped it out and it kept rejecting after that." 

"Ouch, it...Ripped there too??" You mumbled with wide eyes.

He snorted. "God no! I would have unalived him for that...Should have anyway...No, it was just a decorative chain dangling that day. Still hurt like a bitch but the main Stu attraction is still in perfect condition." 

 "I'm sure your other scars probably hurt a lot worse." Your eyes glancing at him here and there as you tried not to. Falling on the deep scar on his right side near his ribs and another lower towards his hip. He had his nipples pierced, scars and had more muscle than you had ever seen on him. You had to wonder how Billy kept almost winning fights with a guy that could hurl him through a window if he wanted to.

You were snapped out of your thoughts as he gently squeezed your shoulders with a grin. "Babe, I need your expertise. You were mesmerizing up on that stage! Look...I know for you the memory afterwards probably ruined it...But I really was loving your performance. The wind bellowing that red gown you had on, your makeup, your hair-" 

You were surprised by that. "You actually liked my performance as Cassandra? You weren't just mocking me when you said it in the backroom?" 

"Hell no! You were great, Sweetcheeks. I need some pointers today. You'll be my good luck charm! Come on." He practically begged.

 You pouted with a groan. "...As if I have a choice." 

"No, not really. I think you just like seeing me beg." 

You rolled your lips, trying to not show any emotion as you nodded and his entire face lit up. He clasped his hands together. "Alright! And don't worry. I'm not holding it over your head that you pointed fingers at me and helped Billy snoop through my phone." 

"But I-" 

"We'll just chalk up this dangerous experience as hardly any sleep, 'Kay?" He gave with a smile that didn't fully meet his eyes.

You hesitated before getting your clothes for the day...Wondering who was the danger he was talking about exactly…

————————————

You both arrived on set, pulling your car up just for both of your faces to drop.

"...Holy shit, who died?" Stu sarcastically mumbled before you both exchanged glances. A silent answer between you both that made your heart sink. 

You eyed the rows of police cars and havoc from your parking spot.

Stu grimaced. "Uh, I hate to say rat boy was right but...Think it's too late to NOT go in? Just back out and hope no one notices?" 

You licked your lips and slowly backed up and pulled out. Stu relaxed until you started fidgeting your fingers against your steering wheel and turned down an alley.

"Hey, what are you doing?" 

"Stu...I have to make sure Randy and Dewey are okay. You can stay here but I have to go in."  

He shot up from his seat, straining the seat belt with a loud scoff. "Just call them!" 

You parked the car behind a less crowded group of buildings and pulled out your phone. You dialed, eyeing him as he folded his arms.

You called Randy first. You shook your head when it didn't even ring for you. "Randy went straight to voicemail…" 

"Call Dewey then...I'd offer but you know. Deleted numbers." 

You side eyed his petty remark knowing he couldn't call anyways. 

You quickly dialed his number. It rang...And rang...And rang until finally an unfamiliar voice picked up.

"Hello?" 

Your face scrunched. "Uhh...H-Hello?" 

"Sorry, Dewey's busy at the moment. This is Detective Kincaid. If-"

Stu shut your phone for you. You gawked at him. "What the hell, Stu?!" 

"I heard 'detective' clear from here. It's a cop. He could trace your phone if he doesn't have your caller ID already." 

"So?! I need to know why a Detective has Dewey's phone!" 

"A DETECTIVE, Yn. We don't want cops, remember?" 

You gave him a determined look. "Then we're going in to find out. At least I am. " 

 Stu tried to stop you. "With cops this heavy, are you for real? We are trying to hide from the cops, dumby." 

You gave him a frustrated stare. "Listen here...You knew the risk of coming here today. But not looking suspicious outweighs that. If you want to wait out here, you can...However, imagine if something happened and the guy that just arrived on set yesterday was the only one that didn't show up? Bonus points if they track my number somehow from just this call and it leads to me with you." 

Stu mumbled to himself more than you. "And we can't leave town without the copycat outing us...Sshhhiittt-" He shoved himself out of the seat and untangled from his belt. He gave you a look as you both opened your doors.  "We're sneaking in together. Can't say Stu- Dennis is a pussy, alright? And if it looks too risky; we get the hell out of there and we'll figure something else out…. It's not ideal but I can easily manipulate a few cops." 

"Like hell you are! No!" 

"Sweetcheeks, if they get a hold of me and question me and I refuse...You don't think they aren't gonna be hot on my ass after that?" 

"What's your alibi? You can't use me or Billy!" 

"I don't know but I'm sure Roman will vouch for any of the cast." 

"How are you so sure about that?!" 

"Listen, he's desperate to make this movie. He'll do anything to make it...He'll work with me. If not then I'll just tell them our room and hopefully you can leave unnoticed once I'm questioned and get there in time to clean up any...Stabby things." 

You faltered at the idea and he gave a serious stare. 

"The sooner we get in there, the sooner we can gauge the situation and make a choice. Times of the essence, baby." 

You relented with a forced breath from your mouth. "Okay, okay! Deal...What if one of us can't leave?" 

He sighed and gave an annoyed look with a bite of his lower lip. "....Then we meet up at the car and if that doesn't work then we go straight back to our motel and wait. Clean up any possible evidence just in case. Weapons, the letters, the pictures. Anything."

You swallowed but gave a firm nod. Shutting your door and locking up before you and him crouched down and eased your way to the back of the building. A security guard there, looking down at his phone for a split second before shoving it in his pocket. 

Stu thought a moment before he whispered in your ear. "Get your game face on." 

 You flinched when Stu ran out past you yelling. "HEY! HEY STOP HIM!" 

The guard raised a brow and looked in the direction Stu pointed as you ducked down by a trash can.

 "Who?" 

Stu acted out of breath and threw up a hand. "The guy that ran that way! He was going to be questioned and he left!" 

The guard squared his shoulders. "I didn't see or hear anyone come this way, pal." 

"Well MAYBE if you were doing your job and not looking at your phone; you would have noticed!" 

You nervously watched. 'What the fuck is he doing?!' 

The guard came towards him with his hand outstretched. "Hey, listen here kid-" 

"Look, the cops should be here soon and you're the guy with the gun; I'm guessing! You want to explain to them and Milton how you let the possible killer get away?!" Stu shook his head and went to run off in that direction. "Screw it! I'll be the hero here-" 

The guard shoved him away. "Hey! I'll be the one to do my job, okay?! Description?" 

Stu faltered a moment and just ran a hand over his hair and faked being winded. "U-Uh...Tall, blonde with uh...I don't know an oversized white t-shirt on!" 

The guard gave him an annoyed glare. "That could be anyone here!" 

"Look, man. I know who I saw!...LOOK!" 

You saw Stu urgently motion you with his hand behind his back. You wanted to freeze. It wasn't everyday you snuck into a building like your life depending on it. But it did...You hesitated only a moment before rushing their way. Staying close to the building crouched down. 

The guard almost turned around once you got to the door and Stu jerked him to look away. "DUDE. RIGHT THERE. YOU DIDN'T SEE HIM JUST NOW GO BEHIND THAT BUILDING?!" 

You quickly slipped through the sliding door, heart hammering as you stayed near the dark wall. Waiting for Stu. 

You heard him outside. "What are you waiting for?!" 

"I have a job here, kid….If it keeps you from having a fit, I'll call for backup." 

"Thank you!" Stu exclaimed sarcastically. "...SHIT…" 

"What?" You heard the guard ask. 

"...Is that Milton?...What's he doing way over there?" 

"John Milton? I don't see him…" 

"Yeah, there...How does he not see the guy? I mean, he went right by!" 

"What guy?" 

"THE GUY, MAN… LOOK!" 

You heard footsteps walking away as Stu quickly slipped inside. He grabbed your arm and hauled ass deeper into the building as you heard the guard outside getting fainter as you moved away.

"Kid, I don't know what you're pulling but I need I.D...HEY!" 

"You definitely don't need my help with acting." You whisper as he dragged you along. 

"Thanks babe...Shit, won't be long before we have someone looking for me." 

You hissed as you dodged people and tried to stay hidden. "Wouldn't I.D. in the front be easier than this?" 

"And risk being a suspect if it gets too personal here? Worst they can do without knowing I work here now is kick me out thinking I'm the media. If they know I'm Dennis; boom. Taking me in to interrogate me." 

"I hate that you're right...Billy's got a point, when did you activate that brain cell?" 

"Ha. Ha. So fucking funny." He mocked in a goofy voice before nudging you. "Focus...Okay, what should we do?" 

"I think we need to split up and see what's happening here. Best case scenario; we don't have to hide and can talk normally to everyone to find out what the deal is. Worst case scenario, we make our way back to the car and wait for each other." 

"Cool, good plan. You go...That way. I'll go over there." 

You nodded as you snuck your way. Your heart hammering and palms sweating. No matter how many times you had to run for your life, it was never as nerve wracking as hiding. Just waiting for anyone to pop out at you. Your anxiety got the better of you as people rushed by and you flattened yourself against the darkened walls to avoid them. You just prayed you saw no Ghostface or fake knives or blood. A trigger was the last thing you needed right now. 

"YN-" 

You jumped out of your skin as someone touched you. You released a gasp and instinctively went to hit them before a hand grabbed your wrist.

"It's me!" 

"Randy, what the hell?" 

"I could ask you the same thing, what the hell?! Why are you here?!" He hissed, trying to keep you both in the shadows. "It's not exactly the best place for you to be hiding from cops, if you haven't noticed." 

"Yeah well when you didn't answer, I got worried." 

He faltered before he sighed heavily and released you. "Crap. Sorry, I've been in such a rush around here and Milton gets pissy if one of our ringers goes off while he's around. He's a real hard ass about Capitalism and people working for him on HIS time. I meant to turn it down, not mute it!" 

"Milton's here?" You subconsciously looked around before Randy gripped your shoulder to hunker you down and whisper to you.

"Yeah and I know he just adores you. Even more of a reason to get out of here. I was gonna call you as soon as I got a break." 

You gently pushed away to question him. "Ray, what happened? A Detective answered Dewey's phone and you wouldn't answer and the entire place is littered with cops." 

"...You haven't heard?" 

"No of course not, what?" 

He stared a moment before telling you. "...Sarah Darling is dead." 

[cecilysass]

The Boy on the Beach (5/16)

Read on AO3 | Tagging@today-in-fic

Chapter 5: Who Do You Think You're Fooling?

The soundtrack for this chapter is Loves Me Like a Rock, by Paul Simon, from his 1973 album There Goes Rhymin’ Simon. This song peaked at #2 on the Billboard Hot 200 in October 1973.

November 23, 1973 Victorville, California

The bus rattled. Scully’s eyes were half closed, and her face tilted at the blurred landscape outside the window. In hazy half-sleep, she saw it again: Mulder’s face, weeks ago, desperate, intent.

“I don’t have all the answers to what you’re saying—I don’t. But whatever else might be true, I know I need you.”

Not weeks ago, decades away now. All by herself on this bus, with no one even to see or to know, the memory made her flush. She had wanted to believe him so badly, and it made her ashamed, so ashamed.

*** The first thing she did when she settled into the seat on the Greyhound bus—hours ago, back when it was still the middle of the night—was pull out the body cam.

Her reasonable side told her it probably wasn’t sending images anywhere. Even if it were, it was questionable anyone would ever receive the images. It was questionable a timeline currently existed where anyone would be looking.

Turning the device over in her hands, Scully knew that just didn't matter. She knew she would do it. She felt the need to do it almost instinctively. It was like dropping a message in a bottle into an infinite sea: an action you took for yourself, to feed your hope.

With the lights of the bus terminal in San Diego still spilling garishly through the window, she took the camera in her hands and aimed it straight at Mo’s cardboard Ameripass.

Mo giving her the Ameripass had been such a miracle. She should document this little act of human decency, she reasoned, sending the moment out into the oblivion. She pressed the button she knew would take a still photo.

Whir and click.

A few hours later, Scully had fallen asleep with her head pressed uncomfortably against the window. She woke, blinking in confusion, to the fuzzy lights of Los Angeles, streaming past through the glass. It was an unfamiliar Los Angeles, different from the one she knew from so much travel with Mulder. She stared blearily. In her mind, clouded from sleep, it struck her as amazing—like seeing a natural wonder—this L.A. of the past. She wished she had someone to share the experience with.

In the darkness of the bus, she felt for the body cam again, and, barely awake, pressed it flush to the window in the direction of the city lights, placing pressure on the button.

Look, infinite universe, she thought. But that wasn’t honest. She wasn’t really dropping bottles in an infinite sea. She knew who she was talking to, and there was no point in pretending otherwise.

Look, Mulder, she corrected herself. It’s 1973 Los Angeles.

The button pressed all the way down.

Whir and click.

*** Hours before, back in the San Diego Greyhound terminal, just minutes after she said her good-byes to Mo and Silvia, Scully almost had a failure of nerve. Part of it was the sundress. It made her feel short and out-of-character, like someone who should be picking flowers instead of attempting something significant.

Feeling vulnerable, she had walked stiffly to the counter, her lips in a grim line, and presented the Ameripass with the name Maureen O’Byrne typed across it, fully expecting to be challenged. But just as Mo had predicted, the man only glanced uninterestedly at the pass, glanced at her, and handed her a ticket.

“Listen, you have red hair, I have an Irish name,” Mo shrugged, back at Casa Que Pasa. “Nobody is going to question you about the damn Ameripass. Don’t overthink it.”

Once she stepped on to the bus, Scully had followed Mo’s directions to the letter. Find a seat near the front of the bus, Mo said, because the bathroom in the back stinks. Plus, Mo added, you want to be somewhere closer to the driver in case you end up sitting next to a toad.

“But don’t sit directly behind the driver,” Mo warned, “in case he wants to put his own bags on that seat, because then he’ll ask you to move at the last minute. If that happens, you’re fucked. There probably won’t be any good seats left, or only one next to some toad.”

Scully had nodded studiously, absorbing Mo’s words, assuming that “toad” in this context meant something like “creep” or “pervert” or “sex offender,” someone who would not respect the boundaries of a young woman travelling alone on a bus. Mo didn’t know that Scully was armed, or that Scully was Quantico-trained in basic self defense, but this seemed like sound advice anyway.

Mo had just recently returned from an epic, eventful trip to Minneapolis using her Ameripass — good for unlimited Greyhound bus travel anywhere in the continental U.S. — to visit her sister. The pass was good for 30 days, and, Mo said triumphantly, there were four days left. So long as Scully could use it within those four days, she was welcome to travel as far as Greyhound could take her.

“It’s just going to go to waste otherwise,” Mo had said, folding Scully’s hand around the cardboard pass and patting her fingers. “So it works out perfectly. Do your thing, pilgrim.”

Hours later now, sitting slumped against the green-tinted window on the bus — thankfully, no toads next to her — Scully felt a pang of regret at leaving Mo and Silvia behind. For a little while there, in their company, she had not felt quite so alone. Obviously she hardly knew them, knew nothing at all about their lives really, so this sentimentalism was a bit silly. Still, they had shown her such unexpected kindness. For no reason other than just that they felt they should and could.

And they were the only people in 1973 who knew her name.

She sucked in a breath, staring out the window at the bleak brown California landscape rushing by, trying to keep this swell of sadness at bay. She stirred in her seat, limbs restless, looking around the bus at those sitting around her.

A middle-aged couple, sitting a row ahead of her and across the aisle, were sharing a newspaper and a bag of gumdrops. The woman had a beehive hairdo and tortoiseshell cat-eye glasses, like Scully remembered her Aunt Olive wearing at one point in her childhood, and the man wore a bow tie she thought was probably old-fashioned even in 1973.

“You want a section to read?” the man offered a part of the newspaper, noticing her watching him. “It’s yesterday’s paper, but we’re done with the front section.”

“No,” Scully said with a small, tight smile, “but thank you.”

The man lifted the front page and directed it towards Scully, tapping it with his forefinger. “Golly, can you believe this? Ten years,” he said, whistling lightly. “I can hardly wrap my mind around it. Seems like yesterday to me.”

Scully quickly scanned the headline: “Americans Observe Tenth Anniversary of President Kennedy’s Assassination.” Yesterday, she realized: November 22, 1973, the day she arrived.

“I will never forget where I was when I heard that news,” his wife added. “I was at the dentist’s office, and they made an announcement that the President had been shot, and we turned on the radio, and we all just sat there in the waiting room and cried. You remember that, Joe?”

“I was at work,” nodded the man. “Covering Larry’s shift. Can’t believe that was ten years ago.” He turned to Scully. “Where were you, miss?”

In my mother’s womb. Not born yet.

“I was … at home,” Scully said, thinking of something her mother had told her about her own memories of that day. “Listening to music on the radio.”

She leaned back against her seat, introspectively, remembering Mulder telling her once that Byers was born the day Kennedy was assassinated. That meant yesterday was Byers’ tenth birthday. She wondered how little boy Byers spent the day. She imagined him wearing a tiny suit to his birthday party.

“You want some gumdrops?” the woman interrupted her reverie, looking over her glasses at Scully. “We got a whole bag, and Joe gets sick if he eats too many.”

Scully’s brow crinkled. She would normally say a confident no to gumdrops, but she was hungry, and her next meal was not a solidly worked-out plan. “I’d love some,” she said, a hesitant smile. “Thank you.”

The woman leaned over her husband to fill Scully’s palm with a small sparkling heap, and as she did so, Scully noticed her eyes run over her ring finger. “Not married yet?” she said with a sad, sympathetic look, as if it were a shameful secret.

“No,” Scully said, slipping some gumdrops into her mouth to avoid saying anything else. Gelatinous. Sugary. Not especially flavorful.

“Aw, pretty girl like you, I wouldn’t worry too much,” the man said, no doubt attempting to be kind. “You still have some years to start a family.” His eyes took in Scully’s dress and his expression wavered a moment, as if he were second guessing his words, maybe wondering whether hippie girls even wanted babies.

Scully just nodded awkwardly, chewing her gumdrops. Mentioning that her career was a high priority to her didn’t seem like it would get her very far here.

She thought, with a sudden stab of sorrow, of the IVF technology that didn’t even exist in 1973. The technology that might have made her a mother, although probably not the sort this couple imagined. And not with the man you imagined, either.

Her eyes fell on the man’s newspaper again, sitting half-folded on his lap, and she had an idea. “Sir,” she said, suddenly, leaning forward, swallowing. “I think I would like to look at that newspaper, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course,” he said, folding it up and handing it to her. “Yesterday’s news, but it’s like you’re going back in time, right?”

Scully smiled, weakly, looking over the paper. She then subtly shifted her body so that the chatty couple would not be able to see what she was about to do next.

Reaching into the old duffel bag that Silvia had given her, her fingers found the body cam apparatus. Scully’s eyes quickly scanned the back of the bus. The seats were not very full right now. A woman and a small child three rows back were sleeping, propped up against one another.

No one would be able to see. She slowly lifted the camera from the bag, keeping it low and out of sight, and framed the front page of the Los Angeles Times sitting on her lap, making certain the date would be visible.

This is what year it is, she thought, methodically straightening the paper so that it was even. This is where I went, Mulder.

With satisfaction she pressed the button.

Whir and click.

Berkeley, California 20 Hours After Scully Vanishes 1999

Everyone was being tactful about it, but Mulder was being strange and possessive about the images Scully sent. He had them arranged perfectly in two rows of three on the table — the table he had now completely claimed as his domain in Hays’ lab. Anish helped him clear his space of almost everything else, just a desktop computer and a phone, so Mulder was using it as a kind of makeshift office.

Anish appeared regularly with cups of coffee, bagels, questions, and Mulder knew, like him, the young man probably had slept very little. There were now also a few other grad students who were starting to become involved in the case of the time-traveling FBI agent. He found them all surprisingly... helpful. They were open-minded, eager, ready to help him research or brainstorm an idea.

But Mulder was in charge of the photos. He didn’t even like other people touching them.

Now that Skinner was here, Mulder sat very close to the table, refusing to back up his chair, forcing Skinner to stare at the images over his shoulder. Mulder watched the assistant director’s face carefully as he moved from photo to photo.

When Skinner had returned to the lab that afternoon, he’d taken a look at Mulder’s wild hair, rumpled clothes, bloodshot eyes and sighed deeply. He had tried his best to convince Mulder to leave with him—to leave these poor grad students alone—and to go back with him to the field office. But he had also refused, adamantly, to let Mulder speak to Hays. Other agents had that covered, Skinner insisted, and it was better for everyone if Mulder kept his distance.

Unless speaking to Hays were an option, Mulder could see no point in leaving.

The lab was, as of now, his only link back to Scully. He didn’t put it quite like that in his explanation to Skinner, but Skinner’s face seemed to take in his meaning anyway.

So the assistant director agreed to look at the photos with Mulder there, listening to Mulder’s explanations with a kind of cautious interest. He leaned in closely to each image, his eyes skimming over them, closely absorbing the details for himself.

“There’s a difference between the first group of photos and the second,” Mulder told him. “The first photos were accidents, probably taken by the camera on its own. But now she’s sending them intentionally, deliberately choosing her images.”

“How do you know that?” Skinner looked at him, a furrow in his brow.

Because, Mulder thought. Because I know who this message is for. She’s saying, Mulder, it’s me.

“Take this one, for example,” Mulder lightly touched the corner of photo 4. “The one that came around midnight, the bus pass. Those are her fingers, holding the corner of the pass, aiming the corner towards the camera. She wants us to see that she’s getting on a bus.”

“You’re certain those are her fingers?” Skinner said.

“I’m certain,” Mulder answered, looking hard at the photo. Skinner didn’t question why he was certain, for which Mulder was glad. Photo 4 was his favorite. Seeing those small pale fingers, the intention behind what they were showing him, had been almost like hearing her voice.

Skinner regarded him, his expression stony. “Okay, Mulder. What about Photo 5? What’s your theory about what is going on there?”

“Obviously blurry, very little in focus to identify, but it looks like city lights at night. She may have thought she was showing us where she was, but it is harder to see than she might have guessed. We see one sign that says ‘car wash’ over here, and another that seems to be the name of a Chinese restaurant. Possibly this was taken from the window of a bus. We thought it was San Diego, but now we’re not so sure,” Mulder said. “Because of …. well, the next photo.”

Skinner leaned over to look closely at Photo 6. It was a closely framed image, just a newspaper, sitting on someone’s lap, possibly Scully’s.

“Yeah,” Skinner said. “Los Angeles Times. And the date here at the top. November 22, 1973.” He looked sharply up at Mulder.

“Which also fits with what Mrs. Scully said this morning, when I called her,” Mulder said, biting the corner of his lip slightly. The conversation with Maggie had not been pleasant. “I emailed her the bedroom picture, and she also guessed 1973. Scully would have been nine years old, if she were in a typical, you know, timeline situation.”

Skinner rolled a chair up next to Mulder’s at the table, watching him very closely. “Huh,” he said.

“Notice the way the newspaper is perfectly framed in the photo, sir,” Mulder said. “Symmetrical. Not an accident. This is Scully showing us the exact date, the location. So that when we know more from Hays, we’ll know where to get her.”

Skinner nodded grimly. “So somehow she got herself on a Greyhound bus to Los Angeles,” Skinner said. “Why?”

“It’s not her final stop,” Mulder said. “Anish and his friends found some 1973 Greyhound bus routes online for me, and it looks like she most likely had to go north through Los Angeles in order to continue on east. At any rate, I know where she’s headed.”

Skinner crossed his arms and leaned back, eyeing Mulder carefully. “You do?”

“I do.”

“And where’s that?”

“She's going to Albany,” Mulder said. “She’s going to Albany, New York.”

Skinner scowled. “I don’t follow, Mulder. Why Albany?”

“Because that’s where Hays is in 1973,” Mulder said, bringing his hand down on the table unexpectedly hard. He swallowed. “He’s junior faculty at University of Albany in 1973. Which she knows very well, because we discussed it, and she remembers details. She knows that in 1973 Hays is already working on the research that will lead up to this experiment. And she’s Scully, sir, so she’s strategic. She thinks that her best chance of getting back here is to find him and question him. And she wants to get back to us. To 1999, I mean.”

Skinner exhaled, his eyes still on Mulder, wary. “Okay,” he said, after a beat. “You may be right.”

Of course I’m right, Mulder thought. I am the goddamned profiler, and I am the goddamned expert on Dana Katherine Scully.

“We can confirm as she sends more images,” Mulder said. “I imagine it’s difficult for her, because she probably feels she can’t use the camera device easily in public, and there’s not a lot of privacy on a bus.”

“All right,” Skinner nodded. “Then all we can do is wait for more.”

“But there’s more to report, sir,” Mulder said. “My team and I have been working on more.”

“Your ... team, Mulder?” Skinner cast an uneasy glance at Anish, who was at his computer six feet away, pretending not to listen to their conversation.

“Take a look at this,” Mulder handed Skinner a small file of paper, including a printed photo of a middle-aged woman.

“What am I looking at?” Skinner’s eyes were narrowed.

“Our research on Maureen Jean O’Byrne.” Mulder said. “That’s the name on the bus pass. Maureen O’Byrne, known by friends as Mo. Born April 2, 1949, age fifty, resident of San Diego, California, originally from Minneapolis, Minnesota. Social worker. Graduate of University of California, San Diego. Lives with her longtime partner, Silvia Raygoza, who runs a shelter for victims of domestic violence. I spoke to them both on the phone this morning.”

“And?”

“They’ve never heard of Scully,” Mulder said. “Never met anyone by the name Dana Scully, not now, and not in 1973. They were certain. Mo O’Byrne definitely never gave her a bus pass.”

“Well,” Skinner lifted his eyebrows. “Maybe Scully was, uh ... creative in how she got her hands on the bus pass. She’s not without her talents.”

“Agreed,” Mulder nodded. “But this is what’s really wild, sir. Mo O’Byrne could be certain Scully never took her bus pass because she still had it. She went to some ancient file cabinet somewhere and produced her 1973 Ameripass from a scrapbook, with four days still left on the pass.”

Skinner’s eyebrows raised. “Okay,” he shook his head. “So help me out here, Mulder. What does it mean?”

“It means that whatever Scully is doing, whatever effect she is having in the past,” Mulder said, “it doesn’t seem to be affecting our present. At least … not yet. We don’t seem to be experiencing the consequences of her actions. Because if Scully had ended up walking away with Mo O’Byrne’s bus pass in the past, then 50-year old Mo O’Byrne wouldn’t have it now.”

“Multiverses,” called Anish, who forgot he was not supposed to be listening. “She’s in another multiverse, on another timeline, that has no causal relationship to this timeline. She might be impacting some Dana Scully’s present, but not ours.”

“Maybe,” Mulder said, his head whipping around to look at Anish. “Or maybe it doesn’t work like that. Maybe the effect builds up … and our timeline changes suddenly, snaps like a rubber band into a new reality.”

“She’s affecting more than bus passes,” chimed in Anish’s colleague Georgette, sitting at the next desk from Anish. She was also not supposed to be listening. “She was in her childhood home, right? Did she talk to anyone? Her family?”

“Her mom had no memory of it,” Mulder said, biting the corner of his lip. “But Scully would probably have chosen not to speak to them on purpose, if she could avoid it. To avoid disrupting the timeline.”

“If she jumped into herself as a kid,” Anish said, “like, if her adult body took the physical place of her child body, then when she left her home, she pretty dramatically changed her timeline. Her kid self basically was kidnapped. From her family’s point of view.”

Mulder nodded gloomily. He had thought of this, too. That was a grave change in an established timeline, the sort that could alter Scully’s whole future, that could send her on trajectories that did not involve medical school or the Federal Bureau of Investigation or the X-files. If there was going to be a sudden switch over into a new reality, an adjusted timeline, Mulder himself might, all at once, not remember Scully at all. She might just vanish from his mind. Be replaced by a new partner, a whole new history. Or, really, who knew what was possible? Maybe he would be dead. Scully certainly had saved his life often enough, and if she had never been his partner, that would no longer have happened in the same way. He felt his jaw clenching.

Skinner was watching him. “All right,” he said. “Listen, Mulder—and, uh, team,” he made a half-hearted gesture to the grad students, “let’s focus on what we know, the information that’s coming in right now. We can’t imagine every worst-case scenario we’ve ever seen in a movie or read in some comic book.”

He looked significantly at Mulder. “You’re not going to be able to work if you do this ‘anything goes’ bullshit, and we need you to be the one to help us with these images, Mulder.”

Mulder nodded, shakily.

Then, his own hands trembling just slightly, he picked up the photo with the bus pass, to stare at Scully’s fingers again.

November 23, 1973 Las Vegas, Nevada

In Las Vegas, Scully needed to change buses, something she found herself looking forward to. She was feeling achy and restless; it had been hours since she had a meal. She hoped there would be someplace in the bus terminal to get some real, non-gumdrop food.

The Greyhound terminal in Vegas in 1973 the Friday after Thanksgiving was as surreal as one might have expected: brightly lit, choked with people, some entirely too dressed up for their environs, others looking wrinkled and despondent and hung over.

There was a little snack counter. Scully, nearly faint with relief and hunger, eagerly purchased a cheeseburger and a milkshake with her 1988 twenty dollar bill.

Everything cost almost nothing in 1973, she realized. Her burger was only 75 cents. She had plenty of change, which was useful; she would need it for the rest of the trip. (And after that, who knew?) She found a vending machine and bought an additional assortment of snacks, which she tucked away in her duffel bag for later.

Unwrapping the foil from her burger with giddy excitement, she sat down on a bench. There was, perhaps, a twenty minute wait before the next bus. Scully sank her teeth into her cheeseburger, closing her eyes, in bliss, to savor it. Maybe she should buy a second one before the bus came, she thought. Only 75 cents, after all.

A flash of something sparkly from the corner of her eye caught her attention. She looked up to see Elvis walking past her, in his complete white characteristic jumpsuit, replete with rhinestones and sequins.

Scully’s mouth dropped. She scrambled around in her seat to see him better.

Of course it wasn’t the real Elvis. Why would the real Elvis be taking a Greyhound bus? Although, she realized, the real Elvis was alive in 1973, and maybe somewhere in Vegas. No, this was a convincing impersonator. He seemed to be in the middle of an intense argument with a woman wearing frosted lipstick and a coordinating white halter jumpsuit.

The woman in the halter was saying something angry to Elvis, something difficult to make out and laced with profanity. Scully took a deep, thoughtful sip of her milkshake and watched them closely.

“What it boils down to is that I can’t fucking trust you any more,” the woman said, her voice cracking as she emphasized each word. “You haven’t been the same man since you came back from Vietnam. Everyone says that.”

“It’s you that hasn’t been the same, Nancy,” Elvis hissed. “I’m the same man I always was. You say you love me, but you sure act otherwise, don’t you?”

“You can’t love someone if you don’t fucking trust them,” Nancy retorted, as they walked away.

Scully’s eyes tracked the pair as they moved across the terminal, stray remnants of their angry words still trailing behind them. She swallowed her milkshake.

The couple’s fight should not remind her of Mulder. She and Mulder were not a couple, never had been a couple. It was just embarrassing for her to have these associations. But it only seemed to take the slightest push to tip her over into thinking of that awful morning at her apartment. His determination. Her fury. In the weeks since she hadn’t been able to get any of it out of her mind.

The most horrible moment, the moment that made her physically ill: when his mouth was behind her ear, when painful shivers were moving through her and she was ready to give over entirely, and she was hit with cold, clear certainty. A pattern lighting up before her face, and oh, how metastatic it was. He had peeked inside of her mind, knew precisely how she felt about him, and was looking to use it for the purposes of his all-important mission.

She couldn’t even fully express the violation of that, the humiliation of that. Her creeping suspicion that he might have done it before, even without the insight of literal mind reading, and that it had worked. Her horror that she was so weak, so predictable, so unprofessional.

Scully slowly chewed her cheeseburger. Separated now, across this chasm of time from Mulder, this certainty about his betrayal seemed … less certain. Because whatever else she knew about Mulder, whatever his flaws, surely she knew that she trusted him?

Later, she was getting on to the bus, still sucking the remains of her milkshake through the straw, when she noticed a postcard someone had dropped lying on the curb. It was bright and gaudy, from a casino and hotel she didn’t know, that she didn’t think existed in 1999, The Dunes.

She bent down to pick it up. It was blank, unwritten.

On the bus she turned the empty postcard over again and again in her fingers, thinking of Mulder and his troublesome visions. She had been so angry, so frustrated with him for his talk of putting the mission first. How many more times must she watch him self-destruct? How many more times must she see him put himself, and her, on the sacrificial fire?

She still believed he was wrong. She still thought he had childishly misconstrued his own purpose. Seeing no balance, seeing no gray area. But it was who he was. This was the man he had become when his sister was taken. Wasn’t it simply cruel – and futile – to blame someone for being who they were?

Besides, Scully thought, you are hardly in a position to criticize Mulder for taking on a quest at great personal cost.

She wondered if someone would loan her a pen.

Berkeley, California 84 Hours After Scully Vanishes 1999

Fifteen photographs now. Spread out over the table in five rows of three.

The original three, the outliers, at the top. Those were the three Mulder believed were taken at random by the camera. But since then, as Mulder kept telling Skinner: there was a definite, recognizable pattern.

First, Scully took pictures of things that had some personal meaning to her. Sometimes, the meaning was indecipherable, even to Mulder. Like the sweater. There was a photo of a sweater (a cardigan, he thought it was, technically) sitting on a bus seat on day two, and Mulder’s best guess was that Scully had somehow acquired a warmer layer and was just happy about it.

But usually Mulder could figure out her thought process. There was a shot of a movie marquee sign playing The Exorcist, for example, and he knew it was one of her favorite films. She was probably amazed at seeing it playing in a theater, on its first release, so she took a picture.

Second, there were pictures showing him where she was: giving specific information about her location. For hours the images would stop, and Mulder assumed during this time she was probably asleep. Then, like a miracle, an image would surface again, demonstrating she had moved across the continent some great distance: a picture showing an Illinois rest stop sign, or the identifiable skyline of downtown Pittsburgh.

Sometimes the images combined both purposes. There was one image that showed a road sign marking the turn-off and number of miles to Kroner, Kansas. It showed where she was, yes. But Scully had also seen the sign and thought about lovesick weathermen and flying cows, of that oddball case that was simultaneously in their past and in her future.

Or there was the haunting image from Las Vegas, the image of the postcard. Mulder and the grad students could tell it was Las Vegas because the postcard had the logo of a now-defunct hotel and casino on it, The Dunes.

Scully had written a message, and as the image filled in on the monitor, Mulder just stood and stared at it, his body rigid at the sight of her neat and recognizable handwriting, motionless by reading what she had written: “Saw an Elvis impersonator. Thought of you. Wish you were here. - DKS”

Nothing is going to stop me from getting her back, Mulder promised himself. Even if it means living the rest of my fucking life in this lab.

Knowing Scully as he did, he guessed she had her doubts about whether he would ever see these pictures she was taking. He speculated that she might be taking these photos more for herself than for him, as a way of offering herself comfort.

That idea made him inexpressibly sad. Not for himself, because he did receive her messages, after all—but for her, not knowing that he had. He pictured her writing a postcard to him in some lonely bus terminal, taking a picture, all the time feeling that it was a futile act. That was not what life for Scully was supposed to be. Acts of sad futility were not supposed to be her modus operandi. If happiness was supposed to be sacrificed for his mission, it was not supposed to be hers.

“Mulder,” Anish’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “Heads up. There’s a new image.”

“Is she in Albany?” Mulder said, springing up from his table. “Did she get there?” Her last image had been in Port Authority in Manhattan, so he knew she was close. She would have only needed to take a Greyhound upstate, a relatively short leg of her trip.

Skinner was standing with Anish over the monitor, watching the image finish filling in. He glanced up at Mulder as he approached.

“Well?” Mulder said. “Did she make it to Albany?”

Skinner’s expression was inscrutable. “As a matter of fact, no,” he said. “She is in Providence, Rhode Island.”

Mulder scowled and pushed past them to see. Sure enough, the monitor showed a tourist sign saying “Historic Providence, Rhode Island, Est. 1636” in a swirling typeface, meant to evoke a colonial past. In the sign’s background, he could see the contours and shadows of buildings, a cityscape, downtown Providence. The picture looked to be taken from a bus window.

“Providence,” Mulder shook his head, dumbfounded. He had been so certain he would see evidence she was in Albany. “But .... why? Why would she go to Providence?”

Skinner said nothing, but kept his eyes trained on Mulder.

“Unless the bus was rerouted for some reason,” Mulder said. “But she would have found a way to tell us that, wouldn’t she?”

“Let’s go sit down at your table, Mulder,” Skinner said, touching his arm. Anish, tactfully, moved back to his own desk.

Mulder looked in faint surprise at Skinner. “Do you think she knows Hays isn’t in Albany? Maybe she has reason to believe he is at an academic conference somewhere.”

At the table, Skinner slid a chair out, sat down, and gestured for Mulder to do the same. But Mulder remained standing, still staring, perplexed, across the room at the monitor.

“She isn’t looking for Hays,” Skinner said. “Come on, Mulder. You must have guessed by now.”

“Guessed? Guessed what?” Mulder looked now at Skinner, who had a look of grim certainty on his face that made him uneasy.

“Jesus Christ,” Skinner shook his head and put his fingers on his temples. “This is a hell of a blind spot for you, Mulder. If I’m being honest, you’re scaring me.”

“What?” repeated Mulder urgently. “What do you know?”

“She’s going to Martha’s Vineyard, you dumbass,” Skinner said.

Mulder just stared, dumbly.

“She’s clearly trying to get there fast. Presumably before November 27, 1973. That’s a date you still recognize? You haven’t lost all perspective yet?”

Mulder still said nothing, but sat down now, next to Skinner, in a stunned silence.

“I‘m pretty damn sure she has in mind to offer Samantha Mulder—the Mulder siblings—her protection as a trained federal agent, although I have no idea how.”

Mulder looked at his own hands, considering this. He shook his head, stubbornly.

“No. She doesn’t know what changing the timeline like that would do,” Mulder said softly. “It might make it impossible for her to return.”

“I‘m sure she has given some thought to the implications of that,” Skinner said. “Don’t you think she has? This is Scully.”

“She should be trying to get back,” Mulder said, his voice rising a little. “It— it doesn’t sound like her. To go off-mission like this. To do something so risky and irrational. I don’t think you’re right. She wouldn’t do it.”

“One hell of a blind spot,” repeated Skinner. “Have you not noticed that she does some pretty batshit crazy and risky things sometimes? And have you noticed she does them always, always, always for the same motivation?”

Mulder looked up at Skinner uneasily.

“You, dumbass,” Skinner said. “For your well-being. This definitely tracks.”

Mulder couldn’t say anything.

Skinner sighed. “All right, listen. How can I put this so you’ll get it?” he said, a kinder quality to his voice. “You know how you feel about her, Mulder? All that stuff you probably don’t tell her? Well, I think it’s ... a pretty safe bet that’s how she feels about you, too.”

There was an uneasy pause.

“I don’t think that’s true,” Mulder said.

Because there was no world, no timeline, no universe, in which anyone could feel about Fox Mulder the devastating love he felt for Scully. He couldn’t even put the feelings into words.

Skinner just looked at him with a sad, curious expression that Mulder couldn’t completely process.

Mulder’s voice trembled when he spoke. “Sir, I don’t even know what happened with Samantha that night, exactly. And I was there the first time. I don’t know for sure whether it could be stopped … by anyone, much less a single agent, with no back up, no one to call for help, no Bureau support. I don’t know what kind of danger Scully might be putting herself in.”

Skinner nodded. “Yep,” he said. He sighed heavily. “Yep, I know.”

Neither man spoke for a moment. Skinner looked up at Mulder again. “The good news is, Mulder, everything you know about that night, every detail, she knows, too, since she is one of the few people on the planet who has been listening to you.”

Mulder met Skinner’s eyes, and his view of his boss went blurry. He blinked. A few tears fell.

“I don’t know what one person could do,” Mulder said, his voice broken. “Against … them. Alone like that.”

Skinner inclined his head. “Well, technically speaking, she wouldn’t be all alone .... exactly, would she?” he said. “I mean … she’d be with you.”

A bonus track for this chapter, the number one song on the Billboard chart the week of 11/25/73, the week Samantha Mulder was abducted: Photograph, by Ringo Starr.

Source:

“Learning to Love the Bus on Across-Country Odyssey,” New York Times, 27 October 74

[polyghostfacehours]

This is so random and far far too long and I WISH I had fit the fifth movie into this but "The Goose and The Wren" by Hop Along... fits the Scream movies well I feel like?

I really hope read mores work on asks oh my god I'm so sorry either way-

Also sorry if any details are wrong I need to do a rewatch marathon and you are my personal Scream wiki and know this franchise better than I ever will

“While in the form of the ant, the goose, and the wren, left the shores of Maryland to find better oxygen. While the outcry of twenty men run from the nearby battalion. As if we avoid their light, then we might make it home tonight!” The two kills at the very beginning of the first movie, Sid and everyone else being at that point totally oblivious to the murders and that Ghostface will be prominent throughout their lives from that moment on.

“And one old crook carries a very heavy book. Friends would say "Sir, are you sure some good could come of your learning?” and he said, “My girl gave it to me just before the war.” I ain’t never read a book like this before, it’s givin’ me kind of a- kind of a binding.“ "Everyone is a suspect," having to rely on the rules of Horror movies to guess Ghostface’s ways of attacking and where he’ll appear next.

"But if it is love, then I’m not quite sure I should keep it. But I heard it’s part of the whole, so, I guess I need it.. But I’ll certainly be sure to stay above the ground!" Sidney and Billy and their issues.

"Lately, beautiful things got a way of bringing me down." Sid finds Tatum’s body in the garage door and then kills Billy herself.

“Here lie one hundred men! Fighters every one of them! They went into the light and oh no, they won’t be home tonight!” Randy being killed and pretty much all victims from the first movie getting to Sid’s head and causing her trust issues. Derek dies right in front of her at the hands of who they considered their friend and then she kills Mickey and Debbie with Gale helping her.

“And I came upon a kid with a kite, despite the storms said he’s going to fly. So I said, "Brother, what would your mother say?” And he said “Hold your tongue! It was a present.. and GOD DAMN I AM A MAN! I AIN’T AFRAID OF THE RAIN!”.“ Roman talking about Maureen abandoning him and how he wants Sid gone because of it, revealing to her that he told Billy who tore his family apart, and telling her that he created the original Ghostface pair. Sid not really believing it at first and feeling slightly guilty when she has to kill and/or fight him.

"But what can a bystander do? No more than watch the spidery lights take ahold of you. But you know I warned you boy, you know I told you, boy, I’ll hold you back boy. But now I don’t know boy-" Sid realizing that Roman is beyond saving and having to kill him.

"‘cause in a curious kind of way, I want to go along with you.” being Gale and Dewey leaving together this time around.

"And morning did come, I was standing struck dumb by the man in the sun, and the only live one held a string from his thumb that stretched up to the sky where the heron flew by signing "oh me, oh my!”." Sid deciding to write her book and deny being a victim, leaving Woodsboro and thinking she’s leaving Ghostface behind.

"And the goose and the wren, no I have not seen them, but the water looks nice, so I dare not think twice. And I’m sure that they’re fine, very good friends of mine. 'Cause sometimes I can’t tell when things are unwell, by the look of the sea, staring straight back at me. And I miss 'em, I do. But I think it is true that when the loved go, it’s the lovers who show just how lovely they are. In a song or a scar.” Traveling around on her book tour with Rebecca and not speaking to Dewey or Gale for a painfully long time, missing them but not really wanting to go back to Woodsboro. Kind of losing contact with Gale and Dewey and wondering how they're doing when she and Dewey talk.

“Sincerely, your friend. Write back to me, wren? I’ve been thinking too much out here in the sand.” Not knowing if Gale will show at her book signing and being both relieved and surprised when she does, letting her guard down and not knowing about the murders or the blood/knife in her car. Finding out that Ghostface called Jill and assuming that Jill will be the newest final girl and wanting to protect her.

“The farmer stands and says, "What happened to the land? It used to be fertile, it used to be good! When I was a lad!”" Dewey being taken aback by Jenny and Marnie being murdered, finding the evidence in Sid’s car, and all of them realizing that it’s Ghostface the moment they hear of Jill and Olivia getting phone calls.

"The farmer calls out to his men and says “It’s getting late boys, it’s best to come back in”" Deciding that they should all stay together and have Sidney shadowed by Hoss and Perkins.

It’s kinda impossible to type the last verses and they’re also just much louder repeats but it'd through the duration of Scream 4, "Everybody together!” Being when Jill and Charlie go for it and start things off for the finale at Kirby’s house. The final two verses being Jill and Sidney at the house and the very last being the last fight in the hospital.

This was an excellent read. All the stuff here with Roman is spot on! Thank you for sharing!

(Also being called someone's personal Scream wiki is the nicest thing anyone has said to me OML ty 😭)