#threads; with alan

[letsbenditlikebennett]

TIMING: Back when Alex&Cass were still living their mushroom ring high. PARTIES: @alan-duarte @magmahearts @ironcladrhett & @letsbenditlikebennett SUMMARY: After seeing the Barbie movie, Cass and Alex are feeling especially chaotic and decide to steal some dye and pool noodles to turn Alan's pool into a Barbie dream. They don't realize they're interrupting an Alan and Rhett spending an evening together.

Movie theaters weren’t really an experience that Alex had thought much about missing out on. Sure, she’d heard classmates talk about hitting up the movies on weekends, but the invitations rarely extended to her and she hadn’t really minded. She liked her books and her garden and her long walks through the forest anyway. However, experiencing it with Cass turned it into something else. They’d both worn pink in honor of the Barbie movie and the whole experience had an air of magic to it. From getting photos in the giant Barbie box to playing a couple of the arcade games and holding Cass’s hand in the dark theater as the movie played, it had all felt electric. It had her buzzing long after the credits stopped rolling and maybe that was part of how they’d found themselves with an assortment of pink pool noodles, pink pool dye, and pink pool floaties jumping the fence to Alan’s pool. 

Alex listened carefully as they crossed his property line. She knew if he was home, they’d have to be especially quiet. Sure, she probably could have asked Alan, but then she risked hearing the answer no and trespassing was more fun anyway. She knew Cass would agree on that one. She set the bags down on the ground and offered her hand to Cass to help her down into the yard. “I don’t hear him in there,” she whispered, “So I think we’re good, but should still be quiet anyway.”

Sneaking was part of the fun. They picked up the bags and Alex led them to the pool hand in hand. It was a nice set up, not that she expected anything less from Alan. She wondered if he ever really had people over back here. She knew the wet dog wasn’t exactly the best for a pool party and she had warned Cass about it, but it seemed to be just another thing that the oread was readily able to accept about her. “You wanna get the dye in and I’ll get a couple of these floaties blown up,” she asked, “And then… pool party if you’re still sure the wet dog smell isn’t gonna ruin the mood.” 

—

There was something about seeing a good movie that always made Cass feel like she’d caught fire. It was part of what had drawn her to humanity to begin with, part of what made her reject the notion that humans were bad or scary or inherently wrong. No one who was all bad could make media that captured her so thoroughly. She’d thought, for a long time, that there was no better feeling than sitting in the theater as those credits began to roll and experiencing the euphoria of existing in a space where all you were supposed to do was be. 

And then she’d experienced doing all of it with a pretty girl holding her hand and, well, she figured out she’d been wrong. There was something that could make it better. Who knew, right?

This, too, added to the excitement. The mischief of it, the quiet thrill. When they’d seen the pink pool dye on the shelf at the supermarket, the answer as to what they were going to do next had been obvious. Alex knew a guy with a pool, Cass could carry a whole lot of noodles, and some plans formed themselves without much prompting. 

“No worries,” she whispered, “I can be quiet. And the wet dog thing won’t bother me at all. I can make the water a little warmer for us, too, if you want.” She wasn’t gonna, like, dump magma in Alex’s friend’s pool or anything, but what if the water was cold at night? Cass didn’t like the cold, didn’t do particularly well in it. “But we should prooobably stay in the shallow end. I sink.” She grinned, shooting her friend a wink as they approached the pool. 

Standing on the side, she pulled open the first pack of pool dye. They’d “bought” a few, unsure how many it would take to actually do the deed. “Do you think I just…?” Rather than finishing the thought, she turned the package upside down over the water and began slowly walking around the pool, letting the dye spill out. “Oh, wow, it works fast.”

—

There was a certain music to the whispered words. Maybe it was just that Alex enjoyed them more than any song she’d ever heard. The quiet laughter, the soft hum of the nighttime breeze, their hearts both pounding with excitement— it was all a perfect soundtrack for a perfect night. Somehow Cass had a way of making everything feel like an adventure. Given their outings usually involved some degree of crime, not that breaking into Alan’s backyard was that crazy of a shenanigan. She doubted the elder werewolf would call the cops on her. Werewolf in jail was simply not the vibe. Plus, even if she hadn’t found Alan’s annoyed face funny, the gleeful look on Cass’s face would have been more than enough to make the minor infarction worth it. 

“Good,” she laughed quietly, “Really living up to your role as the hot one here. That’d be awesome though. It’s a little chilly out.” There was a small smirk that she directed at Cass as she got to work on the two coolest floaties– the unicorn and the pink corvette. They had to keep with the Barbie theme and keep some of that movie magic alive and all. “Without the boots, the shallow end is the deep end for me, so sounds like a plan,” she blushed. Something about the wink made it hard to fight the flush from making her cheeks as pink as Alan’s pool was quickly turning. 

“Damn,” she mused, “Couldn’t even answer, but I think you got it more than covered.” She got the remaining floatie blown up and tossed it in the pool alongside some of the pool noodles. She began to kick off her boots and made her way towards the steps, holding her hand out to take Cass’s in her own. “Come on, Barbie,” she whispered playfully, “Let’s go party.” 

—

The blush that flooded her face at Alex’s compliment was more of the orangish glow of magma than the pinkish flush that humans tended to grapple with, but Cass didn’t bother forcing her glamour to work overtime to hide it. She had no reason to. Alex was one of the few people who’d seen her in both her forms and liked them both. She didn’t scoff at her use of a glamour the way some fae did, didn’t flinch at the fiery nature of her true form the way humans tended to do. Alex liked her for her. Both ways. 

So she let her cheeks grow orange, let her smile widen. Here was someone, she thought, who wouldn’t leave her. Here was someone who didn’t even want to. “I can definitely fix that,” she said quietly, returning Alex’s smirk with one of her own. And then Alex was blushing, too, and there was a thrill of excitement at the fact that Cass had made it happen. The idea that she could make someone happy, make them feel good… It was all kinds of exciting.

Alex made quick work of the floaties, and Cass made quick work of the dye. She might have used… a little too much, given the way it seemed to be staining the edge of the liner, but it was fine. The pool was better pink, anyway; why would whoever lived here ever want it to be anything else. Kicking off her shoes, she took Alex’s hand with a grin. “Ready, Barbie?”

—

The pool was bright, Barbie pink and the stars reflecting in it gave it an almost sparkling appearance. Paired with the feeling of a warm and now familiar hand in her own, Alex noted that somehow again they gave their adventures an air of movie magic. Even something like a silly prank could feel bigger when she was with Cass and she found she never wanted to lose that feeling. The happiness and hopefulness of it all didn’t scare her like it normally would. Cass already knew she was a monster and wanted to be here with her anyway. It was hard to feel anything but lucky as she led Cass into the pink pool that the oread was quick to warm. 

“Ready, Barbie,” she joked as they submerged themselves in the water, “The water’s perfect.” It was probably staining her skin as she spoke, but it was hard to care when it was yet another opportunity to be close to Cass. The rockiness in Cass’s true form was apparent as the hand in hers grounded her. She was able to pull herself closer to Cass while floating just above the floor of the shallow end and she placed her other hand on Cass’s cheek. Even with her glamour, Cass had a certain glow that was hard to look away from, hard to pull away from. It was warm in a way that Alex felt like she could wrap herself in it and shield them both from all the cold in the world. Maybe that was a little unnerving, but Cass liked her too and she did say she’d do something about it. 

“You’re the most amazing person I know,” Alex whispered, “You make everything feel like an adventure and I feel really lucky that I get to know you.” She watched Cass’s face, her eyes lingering on the oread’s lips and how they seemed to have a magnetic pull on her. Even if kissing Cass wasn’t the plan, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to convince herself of doing anything else. She felt so warm, so seen, and there was no putting that into words. So she leaned in, prepared to take the metaphorical leap, and her lips were barely a breath away from Cass’s when the backdoor opened. “Damn it,” she breathed, certain that Cass would be able to feel the words before Alex stood taller to look over the edge of the pool. “It’s just me, Al,” she called out. 

—

“Anyhow, if you’re interested, I could probably-” He cut himself off. Why was he hearing noise coming from the garden? That was something that made him want to leave to the countryside. His ears picked up on every single little noise, and while that made for certainly embarrassing discoveries regarding his neighbors, Alan frankly could have done without it. “Excuse me, just going to check on…” His voice trailed off as he walked down the corridor that led to the back of the house and into the garden. 

Through the large bay windows, he first caught sight of the atrocities that had been committed against his carefully curated garden. “What the fuck,” the words, above a breath, were spoken as quietly as they were coated with disgust. He repeated them once again, this time lacing each word with disbelief. What happened? Why was his pool such a fucking mess? 

Exiting through the back door in a pale pink linen suit, the werewolf walked barefoot onto his wooden deck, locking his angered gaze onto Alex. “What the,” don’t swear in front of kids. Pause. Breathe. It’s just a child. “What did you do to my pool?” His jaw clenched as he caught sight of the tainted liner. Motherfucker. “We’re going to have to fix this.” 

—

The water rushed up to meet her, pink and sparkling and perfect, and Cass let out a squeal of delight as she was submerged. All the while, she gripped Alex’s hand in hers. Unable to float, she balanced on the tips of her toes to keep her head fully above water and give Alex something to grip as an anchor as she bobbed. The water was warm and everything felt perfect. More so when Alex’s hand brushed her cheek, making her feel warm and safe and wanted. 

Alex was speaking softly, saying things Cass had wanted to hear all her life. Their faces drew closer and closer together, until she could feel the warmth of Alex’s skin being drawn in by her own fire. Were her skin more sensitive, less rocky, she thought she probably would have been able to feel Alex’s breath against it but for once, she couldn’t bring herself to yearn for things she couldn’t have. What she did have was pretty great, in this moment. There was nothing but air between them not, and Cass smiled as Alex moved to close the rest of that distance, her eyes fluttering shut in anticipation…

…Only to snap open again when the door slammed open.

Cass squeaked comically, pulling away from Alex with a deep blush washing over her features. She turned towards the house to see some old guy standing there, looking… Well, not thrilled. Which was stupid, because they’d made his pool, like, a billion times better. He should really be reimbursing them for all the money they would have spent on that pool dye if they hadn’t stolen it. It was, like, thirty bucks a box!

Having recovered from the initial shock of unexpected company at the worst moment, Cass offered the stranger — Al? — her best smile. She’d perfected it, really. When you were a pickpocket who couldn’t lie your way out of situations, you kind of had to make due with what you had. “We turned your pool pink,” she told him, “in honor of our Lord and Savior, Margot Robbie. Um, I don’t really want you to swim with us right now, but you can keep the floats when we leave. Right, Alex?”

—

The sudden distance between her and Cass made the werewolf pout. Could Alan have not waited like two more minutes to walk out and have a freak out over his swimming pool being pink? He just had to choose the moment that Alex finally mustered the courage to finally kiss the girl she was decidedly crazy about. There was something in his frustration and Cass’s joke that made her giggle despite herself which she was sure would only piss the older werewolf off more. 

“The pink will fade, Olaplex,” Alex joked as she rested her elbows over the edge of the pool, “Chlorine in the pool water is supposed to kill it within a few hours, so embrace your Barbie dreams for the next… however many hours?” She feigned innocence with a tilted head even though she could tell it was starting to stain a little, but surely Alan had a pool person who he paid to keep his pool looking spick and span. 

If she wasn’t running on a little bit of a high and inclined to do whatever Cass wanted, Alex probably would have been a little bit more apologetic. Alan had been good to her and well, she cared about the guy more than she cared to admit. But right now was about fulfilling their Barbie dreams. “We’ll be out soon so you can enjoy it before it’s back to being… the just Ken of pools.” 

—

The pie was good. Not that Rhett had had doubts, not exactly—Alan didn’t really strike him as the baking type, but he also didn’t strike him as a liar, so… he knew there would be a pie, he just didn’t know how fuckin’ delicious it was gonna turn out. And it had been a while since the warden had had a good, proper dessert, so he made sure to sing the realtor’s praises.

Post-pie came the tour (didn’t want to leave a trail of crust crumbs, after all), and the showing-off of the dioramas the man so affectionately curated. What a bizarre hobby, Rhett thought. There were stranger ones, sure—like that warden that collected fae wings—and this one was harmless in the grand scheme of things, but it was… unexpected. Curious how Alan continued to be full of surprises. 

They were good, though. Extremely charming, which was not an emotion the hunter felt often. So he was enjoying it, exploring the miniaturized scenes with his eyes, until something drew Alan’s attention away from what he was explaining. With a raised brow, Rhett straightened up and watched him go, following after a beat, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans. As he came upon the bay windows that revealed the scene outside, he laughed. 

“Oi, mate, why’s yer pool look like pepto bismol?” he questioned, deeply amused. There were two girls in the water that Alan was talking to now, and Rhett sidled up beside him, looking pleased with the situation. “No, no, I think he oughtta keep it pink. Matches yer suit!”

—

"You get out of there. Hurry up." Alan didn't care if they came to take a midnight bath in his swimming pool. If he had known, he would have pretended not to see anything, and he would probably have deserted the house for a while. He liked to go for a walk on the waterfront. Admittedly, the smells coming from the mines didn't make you want to stay outside forever, but he had always enjoyed being outside, even if it didn't seem like it. He loved camping. Proper camping, not that glamping bullshit.

Maybe it was being raised the hard way. Although his parents were much kinder these days, indulgence had not been their forte when he was young, and since he was the eldest and the example to follow for his brothers and sisters, one could not say that he had ever been given time to rest during his childhood. Up until highschool, they had kept him on a tight leash. Good luck doing that to the monster that rested within him now, he bitterly thought. 

Either way, those camping trips with his parents had been one of those few times when he could relax and sit back a little, and he felt a true connection to the activity. “Now,” his voice quivered, hesitant. He didn’t mind them being here, but he didn’t want them here either. They didn’t ask, they didn’t say they’d be here, and the intrusion was too much. “Alex, please, can you and your -” He cut himself off. Rhett had joined them outside and was having a great time. That made him the sour minority. “It matches my suit,” he rubbed his face. “Rhett, that’s not helpful.”

—

Alex’s ‘guy who owned a pool’ seemed pretty mad about the whole ‘pink’ thing. Which was stupid, because the pool was better now. Blue was boring and ordinary and stupid, but pink was hot. Literally. That was why they called it ‘hot pink.’ Another guy joined the first, looking like a punk rock Santa Claus with the beard and the outfit, and Cass’s eyebrows shot up. She looked over to Alex, tilting her head with a smirk as if to ask do you think we interrupted an old man date? 

In any case, Punk Rock Santa seemed like a lot more fun than Al. While Al was yelling at them to get out of the pool, the other guy — Rhett, apparently? — seemed like he was in on the joke. Cass smiled brightly, wading over to the edge of the pool. Rather than climb out, she cupped her hands together and shoved some of the pink water out, in Al’s direction, laughing as she did so. 

“Come on, mate,” she said, glancing over to Rhett with another bright grin as if they were both in on the same great joke now. “Don’t ruin the party! We’re not gonna mess up your boring pool!”

—

Somehow, the night just kept getting better. At first, Alex had been a little bit disappointed when Alan had come out of the house, even if he was perfectly on theme in his pink linen. He was all concerned about his pool which seemed kind of dramatic. Even if the dye wasn’t temporary, the guy was like crazy rich. It wasn’t like it’d be a problem to fix either way. 

But then there was another old guy walking out and Alex felt practically giddy. Was Alan on a date, too? If so, this guy seemed cool and totally liked their joke. Even pointed out how Alan matched his pool now, which was totally a fashion choice, she was sure of it. Still, if this was a date, she could at least listen and get out of the pool. She was pretty sure the moment with Cass was ruined anyway. “Fine,” she said with a dramatic eye roll, “But he is right, you know, it goes perfectly with your outfit. You could be in here with us living your best Barbie life.” 

As she moved to get out, Cass was splashing Alan and despite the fact she tried to stifle her laughter, a few giggles still escaped as she stepped out of the pool. Alex tried to direct them at the ground to be a little less blatantly a menace in front of Alan’s date, but she knew Alan would still hear them loud and clear. “You don’t have to worry about the pool though. Will be gone in a few hours,” she assured, “So enjoy your being on theme while you can.” 

Well, it was a weak attempt at assuring Alan, but she knew Cass would be amused which seemed like priority one as of late. “She’s my date,” she smirked, “You can say date. Because clearly we all have the same idea about what night of the week is date night.” She stood near the edge of the pool and extended a hand toward Cass. “Come on, Cass,” she motioned hoping the oread would take her hand, “I know his pool’s nice, but the guy’s not Jeff Bezos. And I actually kind of like him or something, so we can let him enjoy his Barbie moment before the magic fades.” 

—

“It’s so helpful!” Rhett argued with a grin, giving Alan a pat on the back before approaching the poolside. That was when he actually noticed it—it’d been quiet to start, probably on account of him being distracted by… well, by the situation, but it was clear as day now. 

He looked to the one called Cass and his eyes narrowed imperceptibly. That frantic, uncomfortable energy that buzzed through his head and chest like table saws peaked as his gaze fell on her, and a fist clenched at his side. The urge to grab her and drag her from the pool was instinctual, and he had to fight back against it hard. Not here. Not now. 

Their eyes met as she splashed some water toward Alan and plucked a word from what he’d said a moment ago, the grin on her face doing little to make him reconsider the knowledge of what needed to be done. Still, he could fake amiability. It was a practiced talent, even if a bit rusty. 

The suggestion that this, Rhett being at the realtor’s house to look at his dioramas and eat pie, was a date, didn’t seem to faze him in the slightest. He at least let his attention pull away from the nymph to jump to the one speaking, Alex, and then back to Alan. He gave a shrug as if to say Well, she’s kinda right and even managed to put on a smirk in spite of the hornet’s nest that sat behind those big, brown eyes. 

—

“Unbelievable. Look at the state of the liner. Do you know how much it’ll cost to replace?” Shooting a glare at Rhett who decidedly was proving to be unhelpful, Alan approached the pool’s side, which really was his mistake, considering how irresponsible the two young ladies were. Who, in their right mind, would break into someone’s property, vandalize it, and then have the nerve to complain when the owner called them out on it ? Well, apparently, the same people who were willing to stain his suit too. 

Eyes round like saucers, Alan’s attention went from Alex, to her annoying date, then back to Rhett, looking at him as if to apologize for this nonsense. But he seemed to be having a great time, and that left the werewolf with no other choice than to take a step back and contemplate his loneliness. A crestfallen air on his face, he sat on the end of one of his deck lounging chairs. He wouldn’t argue with teenagers. Come morning, he’d have a conversation with Alex’s cousins. Crossing his arms to hug himself, he looked blankly at the menacingly pink tint of the pool water, jarring and not looking any bit temporary to his eyes. 

“You could have asked,” he wouldn’t have said yes to this disaster, obviously, but the benign, very temporary (he tried to remind himself) loss of control left him with a bitter taste in his mouth. Alan didn’t seem like it, perhaps because he always seemed like he had everything in order, but specks of dust in the machine was all it took for him to lose his footing. And that was why he made sure to get rid of any chance of dust, any source of it, anything. He didn’t expect Alex would take such a liking in his company, or grow to trust him like that. Maybe that was what really unsettled him : not the intrusion, but the realization that he was still capable of drawing connections with people. 

—

Cass took no notice of Rhett’s reaction to her. His outward reaction was so minimal, and the events unfolding around it were so much more distracting. Alex was calling her her date, and her heart picked up a tick as it soared in her chest, excitement swirling around it. Alan was talking about his pool liner, and it shouldn’t have been funny but it was anyway. It was hard for anything to harsh her vibe when, even as she climbed out of the pool, she felt as if she was floating. 

At least, until Alan seemed to deflate. Guilt gnawed at her, the expression flickering briefly across her face. She shouldn’t have splashed him, she realized; it was clear that he wasn’t having fun, and when someone wasn’t having fun and you laughed anyway, it was less ‘laughing with’ and more ‘laughing at.’ And Cass had never wanted to be the sort of person who laughed at someone. She never really had been before, either. Things had been so… strangely muddled lately, like murky water rising in her chest. It had her doing things she wouldn’t normally do and saying things she wouldn’t normally say.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, looking down at her feet. “We thought you’d like it.” Her stomach clenched at the lie, and she grit her teeth around the pain of it. It wasn’t a huge lie, so the pain wasn’t overwhelming; they hadn’t thought he’d like it, but they hadn’t really thought he’d hate it, either. Cass couldn’t speak for Alex, of course, but for her… she hadn’t really thought of the owner of the pool at all. Her mind hadn’t gone any farther than the girl whose hand was in hers. “Maybe you and your boyfriend can still enjoy it, though? It really is nice once you’re in there. It’s cool. Do you have goggles? I bet it’d look cool to look around underwater with goggles.” 

—

There was something in the way that Alan seemed to grow a bit smaller that made her almost wish for the sharp anger she was used to from her own father. At least then, it was Alex who was chipped away at and that was how it was supposed to be. It seemed Cass picked up on the shift in his mood too and her apology only further made Alex want to help brighten the older werewolf’s mood. She walked toward him and hesitantly patted his arm with an apologetic look. “You don’t have to pay someone,” she offered quietly, “I can come by tomorrow and clean it if it leaves a stain.” 

Not that the guy didn’t have the money to get it cleaned professionally if it was needed, but Alex felt bad. The anger seemed to dissipate into something more… crestfallen. Which wasn’t fun. It was fun when Alan was annoyed, but this wasn’t that and it never really occurred to her that the man could have such a blank look in his eyes. He was always so put together like a camera could pop out any moment to get a new business card photo or something, but this? It felt all too familiar to expressions she tried to hide and they didn’t fit Alan. “I’m sorry, too,” she said, “I thought it’d be more annoying haha than… Well, I don’t know. I don’t think I was thinking that much.” 

The goggles idea was fun and Alex wondered why they hadn’t stolen those from the store, too. It probably looked super cool in the pink water and at least if she had that to offer, maybe Alan could at least try to enjoy it. Or not. If his date didn’t know about the werewolf thing, the wet dog smell could be off-putting. She’d really lucked out with Cass in that department and instinctively, her hand found Cass’s again. “Goggles are a good idea,” she agreed, “But enjoy your date, I’m sorry. Chlorine should kill off the pink before the morning. I’ll come by and clean anything remaining? I can bring breakfast, too. Don’t worry, it won’t be cooked by me– my cousin or A Latte to Love do all my cooked breakfast items.” 

—

It was a little sad, seeing the normally cocky (or surprisingly helpful) man look so defeated. Though Rhett’s thoughts wanted to turn to one thing and one thing alone, he knew that there was no way he’d be getting to that fae kid tonight. But he knew people who knew it, and could follow up at a less conspicuous time. So, the warden put a padlock on that particular door for now, letting the shitstorm brew somewhere where it couldn’t be seen. 

Boyfriend. Hah. “Ah… c’mon, Al. It ain’t that bad,” Rhett offered, already kicking off his boots and rolling up the legs of his jeans. “They’re sorry, aye? Won’t happen again. Coulda picked a worse color, anyway… imagine green. Or brown.” Pulling a face at the two young women, focusing his gaze on Alex rather than Cass, he did his best to be agreeable. “N’ look, they was in it, n’ they ain’t pink. Yer liner’s gonna be fine.” He parked his butt poolside, dipping his shins into the brightly colored water and smirking down at the sight of it. Leaning back on his hands, he motioned for Alan to come over where he was with a jerk of his head. “Don’t fret ‘bout the shit ya can’t control, mate. Ain’t nothin’ to do ‘bout it but enjoy it.”

—

Rubbing at his face, the older werewolf’s gaze fell to a point in the distance. He knew that whatever he would say wouldn’t be kind and that’s why he chose silence. For better or worse, his days of being bound to kindness had made him reassess his preferred ways of dealing with others. There would still be folks that would prefer his old fashioned way of making conversation, defensive and aggressive at once, but no one, who wasn’t asking for it, deserved his rage pouring out on them. 

And now he sat on the edge of the pool alongside Rhett, who tried his best, just like Alex and her friend, to assure him that it would be okay, or tried to have him see the silverlining in the upsetting situation.

He took a breath. Maybe he just had to accept that not everything in his life could be under his control. Considering all the shit he had gone through, he should have realized by now that all you could ever do was just that : go with the flow and accept things the way they came your way. He'd probably have been a lot less exhausted if he just let things happen, yes.

With a sigh, the werewolf looked over at the two girls, offering them with a reassuring smile. All in all, this was hardly the worst thing they would have done. "You two enjoy the rest of your night, and try to stay safe," with a knowing look, he crossed his legs against the tiles, leaning onto his hands. "Breakfast sounds good Alex. I'll see you tomorrow morning," if you could tell from his tone that he hadn't fully recovered from the bad surprise, at least, for now, most of his distress seemed to have quieted down and he allowed himself to glance over at Rhett, who hadn't say much on the date or boyfriend comments, and who probably was gloating about the realtor's embarrassment. "Don't. Not a damn word."

—

For a moment, Cass was afraid that they’d really messed up. Alex’s friend was mad, and what if that made Alex mad at her? What if the whole ordeal turned Alex off of whatever it was that was building between the two of them? Cass’s heart picked up pace at the idea, fear taking her by the throat in a strangling grip. But the combination of Alex and Alan’s bearded friend seemed to work wonders in calming him down, and after a moment, he relaxed a little. Cass offered him an apologetic smile, trying to push down the leftover anxiety.

“We will,” she replied, looking over to Alex with a small smile. It was kind of hard not to enjoy a night she got to spend with Alex. “You guys have a nice night, too. Um, have fun doing… whatever you were doing?” Better not to think about what the details of that had probably been. “And we’ll clean up when we go!”

—

There was something in Alan's voice that still didn't sound quite right to her. It seemed to be a lot deeper than a pink swimming pool. Alex knew it had to be bigger than a pink swimming pool. As much as he kept both his home and office looking almost coldly pristine, it was still just a pool and couldbe fixed. There was this underlying feeling that ther ewas something bigger that she couldn't quite understand, but she found the older werewolf surprised her in a lot of ways.

”See you tomorrow,“ Alex murmured, ”And please try to enjoy the rest of your night. That pink linen suit is way too slay to have anything but fun in.” 

She offered Alan and Rhett an awkward wave before turning back to Cass to grab the oread's hand. Her gaze fell to the pink pool that she had thought looked so amazing at first and found herself hoping the color faded quickly. They could at least gather all the pool noodles for now so that it looked less like soup. “Come on,” she reassured, “We'll collect the noodles for now and I'll come back in the morning to make sure all the pink gets out... what do say we go try to find some lava cakes or something?” 

[eemiejab]

please, the dark lord, if you can hear us.. save me the dark lord... the dark lord. ..please, please save me

[not-that-dillinger]

(Combining: GUEST :  for one muse to offer the other a place to stay. STORM :  for both muses to find shelter from a severe storm. Same universe as prev Ed and Sam rp?)

Sam had been tucked away in the basement of The Arcade, coding on The Grid’s terminal, so she didn’t hear the sound of the rain right away. When she did however it snapped her out of her trance. A jolt of slight panic coursing through her. The bike!

She raced up the stairs, pushing away the TRON machine she had moved back into place behind her so that Marvin didn’t wander in when she was working, and raced past the other covered, but no longer dusty, cabinet machines in the arcade till she was at the door, swiftly unlocking it. She paused under the covered threshold of the entrance when she saw just how much water was falling out of the sky. That was definitely one hell of a storm.

Well. It’s not like she was going anywhere anytime soon.

She flipped her hood up and walked out to the street towards her Dad’s… well her, Ducati now, kicking up the kickstand and grabbing onto the handlebars to walk it under the covered threshold. She lifted her head up when she heard the shuffling of feet and some splashes nearby. At first she didn’t recognize him through the rain until he got a bit closer. She lifted one of her arms, waving it slightly as she called out to be heard over the pounding of raindrops and howling wind.

“Ed! Hey! Over here!”

She rested the Ducati against the wall, still waving with her hand as she held open the door of the arcade to invite him inside.

@iamnoprogram

It was one of those days where Ed couldn't go home. One of the days where he was afraid of what he might do if he left his thoughts to wander. Usually he would stay at the office and code until he passed out at at the keyboard, but his meeting with Mackey earlier that day had been... it had been a lot of things, but certainly not good. Draining, mostly. And for reasons Ed wasn't quite sure of, it brought up old ghosts that Ed still couldn't put to rest. They were the sort of ghosts that made his office, which was normally a refuge, feel downright oppressive.

He'd hoped that a long walk would exhaust him enough that he could go home and pass out as as soon as he got to bed.

He'd been walking for about an hour and a half when the storm hit. It was one of those rare deluges came so suddenly, and so intensely, that LA's near non-existent storm drainage system quickly overflowed and flooded the streets. The kind he'd only seen a handful of times in the twenty-some-odd years he'd lived there.

Between the dark, and the rain fogging up his glasses, he had pocketed the glasses in hopes of preserving them when he inevitably tripped over his feet, and resigned himself to shuffling blindly back toward the tower and his car.

Not that he had any idea whether it would be better to go home or stay at the office.

He hadn't been walking back long when he heard someone calling his name, though it had still been long enough that he was thoroughly drenched, and shivering mildly from the cold. He froze in place on the sidewalk, having to take a moment to identify her by voice, since he was all but entirely blind.

"...Sam?" he asked, then realizing where he was, and that she was the only person likely to be there. He glanced both directions, and, seeing no lights, nor hearing any vehicles (there rarely were; this part of town had been all but abandoned since he was in middle school), shuffled across the street, navigating toward Sam by voice alone.

"Hi Sam," he said awkwardly, stepping under the eaves. "Uh, thanks," he said awkwardly, hesitantly following her into the Arcade.

[noirhistories]

closed starter for alan / @fatebinds

"Alan, what do you think about karma?" Jen questioned out of nowhere as she leaned back and crossed her legs, sipping at her iced coffee through a straw and living lipstick marks on the plastic. "Do you think it's real? And if it is, do you think it's dispensed by the universe, or by other people?" Either way, Jen thought she should have scored some karma points by bringing Alan lunch.

[velvetjune]

Already making up an entire Alan Wake 3 game with Alice’s perspective going to the dark place guiding Alan and others out of it with her art, and a subplot where Barry (most important character ever) comes back to Bright Falls from influence of the Blessed cult

[myusernamesyes2]

I wanna make a thread:3

Tag your pookie(mutual) with the most followers and if ur tagged,put any ava/m ship everyone loves but you despise it,

For me it's tsc x red

My pookie is @laranomyprisma :3

[ironcladrhett]

TIMING: Current (last night) LOCATION: Alan’s house, World’s End Isle PARTIES: Rhett (@ironcladrhett) & Alan (@alan-duarte) SUMMARY: Definitely worried about Alan’s shoulder after having been shot (and definitely not just an excuse to see him), Rhett drops in on the realtor unannounced. It’s going fine until Alan admits to Rhett, in not so many words, that he knows he’s a hunter, and he knows he attacked Cass and Alex. CONTENT WARNINGS: Wrspice (implied, it fades to black)

—

It had been months since he’d gotten shot by that fucking hunter. The wound had time to mend itself but you couldn’t say the same about Alan. The weather would only get worse and worse as the days went by, and the latest rainfall had made his shoulder ache. Still, how could he possibly regret stepping in the way? Ever since Alex had stepped into the werewolf’s life, he felt as though he had another, new reason to wake up in the morning. There was the purpose that came along with being a mentor of sorts, of course, but he also had to admit to appreciating the girl’s company, even if she spent half her air criticizing his housing projects and the other half talking about Cass. 

His hand idly rubbing at his shoulder, Alan’s eyes scanned through his emails. His empty coffee cup sat nearby, next to a pile of ongoing contracts and a plate that only had a bunch of crumbs to hold now. He didn’t usually bring work home but to say they were short staffed would have been an understatement. Alan could have hired someone extra, but there weren’t many people looking forward to living or working in a town where the floor wanted you dead (or anything close enough to that), and he hadn’t found anyone who could do the job properly among the very few resumes that were sent their way.

His jaw popped as he yawned and if that wasn’t enough proof that he needed a change of mind, a knock on the door finished convincing him out of his duties. And yet, as he opened the door, answering negatively to desperate emails suddenly didn’t seem like such a terrible idea. What was he doing here? 

—

He’d been attacked. Shot out in the woods while… what, hiking? The sudden surge of concern had been alarming, making his steps falter. Ophelia walked on without him for a few seconds before realizing her father wasn’t beside her anymore, slowing and turning around to face him. “What? What is it?” she inquired curiously. Rhett shook his head, his frown deepening as he tapped away at the screen. His daughter let out a huff of breath, closing the distance between them again and putting her hands on her hips. “Dad. What is it?” 

Rhett clicked the screen off and stuffed the device in his pocket, shaking his head again. “Nothin’,” he lied, flashing her a brief, unconvincing smile. She frowned and rolled her eyes, pulling the sleeve of her flannel back to check the time.

“Ah, shit, I have to go—we’ll pick up where we left off tomorrow, okay?” The warden grimaced, rubbing a hand over his face. 

“Do we gotta?” “Yes, we gotta. You need a place to live that isn’t that atrocious van!” Ophelia argued, shutting down his continued protest with a feisty glare. The man relented, holding up his hands in defeat. “Good. Okay. I’ll see you in the morning.” 

“Can… can we do the afternoon, instead?” Rhett tried, giving her a hopeful look and a shrug. Ophelia narrowed her eyes at him for a moment, then nodded. 

“Fine. 11am is late enough. Don’t be hungover,” she warned, grabbing him in a tight hug before hurrying off down the street to the nearest bus stop. Rhett sighed, watching her go for a moment before calling a taxi to take him to World’s End Isle.

The ride wasn’t unfamiliar, and neither was the home that stood before him as he got out of the taxi. Shoving a hand into his pocket, he paid his fare before moving toward the front door, pausing to pull his hair up into a messy bun along the way and push up the sleeves of the dark button-up he was wearing. He was still clad in jeans and boots, but they were a far cry from the ratty old things Alan had insisted he’d tossed. Knocking on the door, he didn’t have to wait long in the bitter cold of the darkening evening (he really should have worn a coat) for Alan to pull it open. 

And just like that, his words failed him and he felt a little stupid for being here. Not unannounced, that’d never been a problem for him, but… ah, forget it. His gaze jumped from Alan’s face to one shoulder, then the other, then back to his face. 

“Hey,” he said stupidly, sucking in a sharp breath. “You, ah… I was… nearby, and I thought… uh. How’s your…” Another deep breath, and the warden closed his eyes. “I been shot ‘afore. Sometimes leaves… chronic pain. Learned a few… massagin’ techniques to take the edge off. Thought I could help. Maybe.”

—

While Alan doubted at first that Rhett just happened to be in the neighborhood, he then remembered Emilio saying that he had moved into the realtor’s neighborhood and it wasn't like they had not spoken recently. It was a bit perilous, to keep talking to him as though he wasn't aware of what had happened between the hunter and Cass, or of Alex’s involvement. 

Alan could get along with hunters, if they were reasonable. He got along with Emilio just fine. This complicated things. He appreciated Emilio, he cared a lot for Alex, which meant that he cared for Cass too, but ultimately, Alan also had a fondness for the man who stood on his doorstep with a bashful, stammering stream of words and what seemed like an attempt at sympathy and honesty. It was in a moment like this Alan wished he hadn't let others soften him up.

“Alright, don't stay here,” crossing his arms to wrap his cardigan around him and attempt to stay warm, he pushed himself aside. “Do you want to drink something?”

—

“Aye, when don’t I?” Rhett chuckled, moving into the home and giving a soft sigh of relief at the warmth that wrapped around him. He was still barely used to actual winters and didn’t quite prepare for them right, always overestimating his ability to handle the cold. A shiver ran up his spine and he let his gaze sweep over the place, still finding new things he’d missed despite having been here a few times. It was… nice. Maybe having a place to live that wasn’t on wheels wouldn’t be so bad.

“Anythin’s fine.” Not picky, he didn’t have to say. Alan knew that, obviously. He turned to the man as they made their way to the kitchen, his brow wrinkling as he thought about what he wanted to say. 

“Hey… maybe you oughtta stick to like, neighborhood trails, aye? The woods out beyond downtown are… fucked.” He stepped a bit closer to minimize the distance between them, one hand gently finding Alan’s shoulder. “... which one?”

—

“I’ll get something from the wine cellar,” Alan’s gaze drifted toward the lights across the street. Some of his neighbors were already decorating for Christmas, and their houses could have replaced the public lighting with ease. His parents always found it wasteful and Alan had always preferred to keep his front lawn decorations to a tasteful minimum, which didn’t clash with the minimalism of his house, or Alan’s less than sunny personality. “You’re alright with Californian wine?” Most likely. 

Two glasses were poured and while Alan focused on that, he could try to ignore just for a little bit the irony of Rhett’s words. One of the reasons the woods were so fucking dangerous for Alan was the presence of people who shared Rhett’s belief that a certain part of the local population didn’t deserve to live. And yet that hand on his shoulder was easy to lean against. “Wrong pick,” Alan glanced up to find the other’s eyes, and tapped on the left shoulder. The hunter didn’t look very frightening right now, did he? “Massaging techniques?” He asked, his eyebrows furrowed slightly, as if he challenged the other’s ability to soothe out pain rather than cause it. “Your hand is cold dear, I’m gonna start a fire in the living room.”

—

“Where yer other scar is? Man. Unlucky shoulder,” the hunter mused, catching that look in Alan’s eyes and letting out a soft sigh. As the other announced his intention to make a fire, Rhett picked up his glass from the counter, leaning instead onto his cane as he stepped forward after his friend to slowly follow him into the next room. “S’what I said,” he answered, albeit delayed, at Alan’s apparent disbelief that there was much to be done about the aching wound. Or at least that there wasn’t much Rhett could do. Which was… fair. More fair than he figured the man knew, considering there’d not been any threats of violence yet. The way they’d carried on online, he assumed that news of the girls hadn’t made it back to Alan, which told him two things: Alan was unaware of the supernatural (which would stop the girls from having said anything, most likely), and by extension, he himself was quite normal. Human. 

Or at least this was the logic that he applied because he hoped it was true. He couldn’t imagine someone putting on a facade just to fool him, pretending that they didn’t know something as devastating as what he’d done to those girls just to… to what? Get the jump on him? It didn’t make sense, so that couldn’t be it. No, he had no idea, and Rhett found himself clinging to that idea more desperately with each moment of calm familiarity that passed between them. 

Parking himself on the couch while his host went about building a fire, Rhett rested his cane against the coffee table, keeping his eye trained on the other man. A finger reached up idly to push itself beneath the eyepatch and scratch at skin unseen. “Kinda good I been half-blind fer a couple years now,” he said suddenly, gesturing vaguely at the eyepatch when Alan looked over. “Would be havin’ a hell of a time with depth perception, otherwise.” It was said with a dry, nearly humorless chuckle. He’d long since adjusted, and the eye he’d lost to trauma was no more useful when it was still plugged into his head. It wasn’t something he readily told people, because it was a weakness, and he hated admitting those, but… well, it was a lot more obvious now anyway, wasn’t it? Anyway, he didn’t have to mention the fact that he could barely see out of the eye that remained. Even Emilio didn’t know about that.

— 

“Same one,” Alan confirmed. Right above that one bite mark he considered still a curse rather than a blessing. It was easier to tell Alex that she should embrace it than to make her feel the same way he did. There was no cure to the evil they suffered, and there was no undoing the things Alan did. There were some things he didn’t regret, of course, but there was too much he had lost for the benefits to outweigh the disadvantages. 

Sitting by the fireplace with a log in his hands, he looked over at Rhett, unaware of the hunter’s mental peregrinations. He was going through his own : it seemed unlikely that man was going to be able to do anyone harm in that state, but there was a chance he’d want to get his revenge. That is what Alan would have done if he’d been standing in his shoes. Maybe now was the right moment to ask Rhett about it. What could he do to him anyway? He had a bad leg and worse eyesight than before, and Alan liked to think he wouldn’t have come all the way to his house if he hadn’t appreciated him at all. “Since we’re talking about things that we’ve carried around for a few years,” he pushed himself back up, as the firestarter did its work and the wood started cracking gently against the new flames, “you know that old scar of mine?” He rubbed his fingers over his sweater, right where he knew the irregular scar remained. You could tell that he wasn’t the most comfortable talking about it, after all these years. Still, he took a seat, on the other end of the couch, and picked up his glass of wine. “That’s something Alex and I have in common,” with a clearly knowing look, he turned his attention toward the hunter’s face. There was no trace of amusement on Alan’s face. He didn’t particularly enjoy having this conversation with Rhett, but it wasn’t like the other had left him with much of a choice. “I’m not trying to ambush you. You’d have joined the club already if I did,” but that was not the sort of fate he wished on anyone and Alan hoped he never did such a thing on one of his full moons.

—

Alan was uncomfortable. The things he was saying didn't quite click at first, and the warden just cocked his head at the man, wearing a soft, bemused smile. That’s something Alex and I have in common. His heart leapt into his throat at the girl’s name, body tensing reflexively. He felt his too-strong grip on the glass threatening to shatter it, and instead leaned forward to set it down on the coffee table, realizing that his hand was shaking as he pulled back again. “What?” he balked, refusing to believe what he was being told. 

Alan was a fucking werewolf? And he knew—he knew, this whole time. There was a vague threat in there, one that had been restrained only because of… whatever this was that they shared, apparently. The hunter’s heartbeat had kicked up significantly, fearful in spite of Alan’s assurances that if he wanted Rhett dead—or worse—it would’ve already come to pass. There was no pretending now. No reason to act like he wasn’t a killer, like Alan didn’t know that he’d attacked Cass and Alex in the woods, and that his fresh scars and permanent injuries were a result of the young werewolf protecting what she loved. 

Before her, he would have been angry. He would have been furious for being duped like this, duped into caring for someone who was… was… The insults felt bitter on his tongue, and of course his thoughts went briefly to his daughter. He’d been a hypocrite plenty of times in his life, he knew that, but he couldn’t—he’d said he wouldn’t. He was retired now. He couldn’t—

“You’re… I…” He didn’t know what to say, hating the feeling of fear and hurt taking up residence where the anger should have been. “I didn’t know—she… I thought I was protectin’ her,” he breathed, rising from the couch and grabbing his cane before he sank back to the floor without it. For the brief few moments before she turned and attacked us, sure. “Then she—look. Listen. I ain’t—I’m retired now, aye? I don’t…” He felt sick. Whatever sort of affection he held for the man—no, the werewolf—sitting at the other end of the couch felt tainted by his deeply ingrained disgust for inhuman things, but he was wrestling with his acceptance of his daughter at the same time. He couldn’t have it both ways, and yet his mind was trying to put the blinders back on. 

He took a wobbly step backward, waving his free hand in the air defensively. “I don’t want no more trouble,” he muttered, turning away from Alan to try and hobble back toward the front door.

—

“I…” Well this wasn’t what Alan had expected. For a moment, he thought he saw it : the anger, the disgust, but there was nothing but worry and something akin to fright there. At least Alan figured that must have been fright, and he realized that perhaps he had just fucked up here. “Rhett, please…” It wasn’t like he was gonna outrun the werewolf, not in the state he was in and Alan still rushed past him, if only to stand in his way and attempt to have a conversation. “I’m sorry, I…” Putting his hands before him, Alan felt oddly vulnerable, for someone who wasn’t precisely under any threat other than Rhett’s sudden departure. 

It was too much at once. Finding out Alan was a werewolf, finding out he knew about the hunting thing, about the incident with Cass, about the incident with Alex. But the werewolf was feeling a whirl of conflicting emotions ever since he had heard what happened, and the more he spoke with the hunter, the more confused he was with what was the right course of action. If he hadn’t known Rhett at all, it wouldn’t have been difficult. It would have been quite simple, really. With a sigh, Alan looked down to the side,  finding it difficult to hold up his gaze. 

“Can we just sit down and talk?” Because he’d just follow him outside, stubborn as he was. “You said you retired, yeah?” Whatever that meant. Retirement didn’t make anyone like Rhett completely harmless, but the way he said it made Alan wonder what had pushed him to make that call. He had mentioned a daughter earlier today, and now that the werewolf saw the damage done by Alex, he could take a wild guess and claim that the hunter was now unfit for carrying out his duties. “I wish I could do the same,” with a bitter scoff, he glanced the other way, still avoiding looking him in the eyes.

—

Alan stopping him, apologizing and asking him to just talk were things that desperately confused the warden. He came to an abrupt halt, of course, keeping his distance from Alan, knowing that there was no chance of him forcing his way through. Even with his enhanced strength, he was crippled. There was nothing to do about it, so he stayed, trapped like a stray dog for the second time in as many months. 

At least this werewolf wasn’t trying to gut him like a fish. 

There was a weak attempt at humor that was met with a soft exhale from Rhett, not quite a laugh, but an acknowledgement of what Alan was saying. He looked as bewildered as he felt, the grip on his cane tightening as he steadied himself on his feet and lifted it to his waist, like he was afraid he was going to have to use it to defend himself. It was clear he didn’t want a fight, because they both knew it would be his last one, but he couldn’t help the reaction. 

“Nothin’ to talk about,” he argued, his voice strained with emotion. He too was looking anywhere but at Alan, his one-eyed gaze raking over the ceiling as he spoke again in a voice that was nearly too soft and too upset to be coming from such a typically gruff, loud man. “I fucked up,” he breathed, his knuckles turning white as they clutched the cane even tighter. It wasn’t clear what exactly he was referring to, though one could surmise that it was likely his attack on Alex and Cass—though in his mind, coming here had been part of it. Engaging with Alan had been part of it, even back when he thought nothing of it, because it always just made things harder. He wasn’t built for this. Never had been, and he shouldn’t have tried again. Not even to the level that they had… which was far from falling in love, but still. He cared for Alan in a way that was mostly foreign to him these days, and caring for people… well, shit, look what it had put him through with Emilio. Hell and back again. 

His eye finally found Alan’s face and he hissed in a sharp breath when he felt it welling with tears. “Please,” he begged, not sure what he was begging for. He just wanted to leave, but… he also didn’t. He wanted them to be okay, but some part of him was ready to convince him that they never could. That made sense, right? How could it ever be okay? 

This was why he shouldn’t be looking for a place to live. He’d fucked things up here, beyond the point of repair. There was no home to be had here. And Ophelia… she’d be better off without him. He was a destroyer, nothing more. 

—

“Really? You’re gonna tell me that what happened in the woods was nothing?” The bitterness of Alan’s tone clashed with Rhett’s, and it took the werewolf aback as well, as if he had expected their tones to match instead. They both had a right to be furious at the other, didn’t they? 

Confused, but not defeated yet, he pressed his lips into a thin line. “This makes things easier, don’t you think?” A monster meets a monster ; a killer, a killer, and a liar, a liar. They both had a lot of terrible things on their ledger, without a doubt, but Alan didn’t ask Rhett to stay because he wanted to have a look at an hypothetical moral balance if only because he worried his own would be just as bad, if not worse. 

“You don’t precisely have a monopoly on having done terrible things or fucking up,” and he held out his hand, not entirely sure of whether the other would reject it or not. “I’m not… I just want to talk and sort things out,” because he was tired of seeing people he cared about hurt, and of losing people. He didn’t want to lose Alex, but he had come to realize he didn’t really want to lose Rhett either. What they had might have been new, he cared for that fool enough to ask him, once again to have a word with him. Maybe Alan was the fool here, who knew? 

“I’m not a good person myself, but… I’m trying to be better,” because he’d seen the kind of change it made. Alan kept to himself the fact that a fae had been partly responsible for the change, at first. Forced kindness surely had done a lot for Alan’s morale at first, worsening it each passing day until he realized how different things were when he addressed others with consideration. “C’mon. You’ll be sorry you didn’t try the wine, and it’s warmer by the fireplace than out there, and…” then, and only then, he tried looking at Rhett, catching sight of near teary eyes and the look he gave him was an apologetic one. “I really am sorry for the way I brought this up.”

—

He stared at the extended hand, knowing it for what it was: an olive branch, and yet… His gaze jumped back up to find Alan’s just as he was looking at him. And he apologized again. And Rhett realized he still had yet to do that, but didn’t know if he could. He swallowed hard, finally releasing the cane with his left hand and setting it back against the floor where it belonged, leaning onto it as he realized his leg was aching. 

He opened his mouth to speak, hesitated, sighed, and tried again. “I’m tryin’, too. To be better.” Annoyed that his body had betrayed him, the warden pressed the sleeve of his shirt over his ‘good’ eye to soak up the unspilled tears, lowering his arm again and shaking out the nervous energy that was building up in him like a terrible storm. Again his gaze fell to Alan’s hand, and he sighed, dropped his head, and reached for it. “Stop apologizin’,” he grumbled at the other, keeping his chin down as he was led back into the living room where the fireplace and wine still waited for them. 

Once they were seated again, the warden leaned forward onto his knees, hands clasped in front of him. “... what you wanna sort out, then? Before you ask, no—I ain’t gonna go after them again. Hence the whole…” Retirement thing, he left out, his voice trailing off instead as it threatened to waver and betray him once more. 

—

Alan was grateful for Rhett’s pragmatism then. He didn't precisely want to ask whether or not he would have to worry for Cass’ or Alex’s safety although he was curious as to what had caused him to change his mind. Was it the fact that he’d lost an eye, or that he most likely would walk with a cane from now on? Or was it that recent revelation he had had. 

It was another thing he wasn't sure how to bring up. Rhett had been evasive on the matter while they spoke online, and back then Alan was more interested in his girls’ well-being to care to push the subject any further. “What are you gonna do now? Focus on the forge business ?” Perhaps kicking around the bush was easier, for now. It wasn't like he didn't care for Rhett’s answer. Even though he was furious he had attacked Cass (especially since he’d first seen her at his place), when Alex told him what she’d done, he couldn't help but feel worried for both sides instead of just hers. And then, Alan had felt terrible about that. 

He still felt conflicted. How could he not ?

“Would you like me to let them know that they’re safe?” Part of him felt like an idiot for blindly believing his word, and the other part just had to look at the poor man to forget about any sense of doubt. “Do you want something stronger than wine?” Because one glass wouldn't suffice to soothe Alan’s nerves and he assumed Rhett, much like his brother, favored stronger liquor.

—

“I guess,” he responded dejectedly. It was true, it wasn’t like hunting was the only thing he spent his time on, and he could certainly put in more hours at the forge. They’d extend his contract if he asked, he knew that. His work made them a lot of money, after all. And that would fill the days, but what of the nights? He’d been horribly restless since Alex kicked his ass six ways to Sunday, stuck in bed all day and night, shuffling aimlessly around Parker’s house, irritated by his own uselessness. He slept enough, but not much. How would he fill the rest of those hours? It was why, in his conversation with Emilio, he’d wanted to make sure he ended up living somewhere near a pub, if that was a thing that was going to happen at all. He needed a distraction. He needed to medicate. 

Glancing sideways at his friend, Rhett scoffed, but it wasn’t out of malice. He was just… well, it was difficult to describe. “They know. Er… Alex does, anyway. She… reached out, after. Told ‘er as much. Guess hearin’ it from you too ain’t gonna hurt none, though.” At the offer for something harder than wine, the warden nodded silently. It wasn’t until Alan had returned with said liquor (and Rhett had drained his glass already) that the hunter spoke of the elephant in the room. 

“It’s my kid,” he offered quietly, downing a gulp of the hard liquor Alan had brought back to the living room, not much caring to know what it was, and just wanting it to help him fucking relax. “She’s… like Cass. A nymph.” He dragged a hand down his face, shaking his head. A moment of silence fell over them while Alan absorbed what he’d said and Rhett reached deep for the next thing he wanted to say. 

“I wasn’t… always like this.” Like this meaning, of course, the sort of hunter, the sort of man that would attempt to murder a girl who had committed no crime other than being different from him. “I used to… I was, y’know. More… live n’ let live.” The explanations were not coming easily, strangled out of him like he’d never spoken them before (which he hadn’t), an admission of the person he’d been before everything went wrong only making him feel worse for the way he’d become. He couldn’t claim to have been born this way, no… it was learned. It was adopted from grief, and he’d clung to that grief so bitterly and for so long that it had overtaken him like a parasite. Why? What changed? He knew the questions were coming. He could see Desmond’s face in his mind’s eye, hear his friend accusing him of failing. Fuck. Fuck. 

—

Although Alan felt as though speaking would do more harm than good, remaining quiet when someone unfolded themselves like that wasn't exactly easy. He would have liked to ask questions, but rather than push to know more, he sat back, getting his feet and his knees up on the couch to get comfortable and just listen. Nursing his glass of wine against his cashmere sweater, he shifted again, pushing on his shoulder briefly before humming quietly. 

Rhett had had a child with a nymph and then decided that not one single fae deserved to live. Alan knew he was missing a piece of the puzzle here, one that Rhett kept without a doubt, close to his chest. But he had already shared so much. Was it fair to ask ? Should he have waited for him to tell by himself? Was he supposed to piece it all together on his own ? 

With no clear answer to his thoughts, Alan took a long sip from his glass and leaned forward to give his pal a refill. He scooted a bit closer too, if only to put a friendly hand on his forearm. “What's her name ?” He inquired. “Did you… reach out to her?” He imagined easily that facing an angry werewolf could make one reflect on the meaning of their life. “Is she staying with you?” Neither the van nor the bunker seemed like a suitable place for a young woman to live, but Alan felt like now was a good time for kindness. 

The wood cracked a bit in the fireplace, and Alan’s gaze fell onto the flames for a moment. “You’ll have to tell me more about that live and let live guy. He sounds fun,” with a light smile he picked up his wine glass, taking another sip. 

—

What’s her name? Rhett stared down at his hands, at Alan’s hand on his tattooed arm, and hesitated. “Ophelia,” he finally answered, trying to make a list of the rest of them in his mind so he could rattle them off more easily and satisfy Alan’s curiosity. “And no. She.. found me. After… after this.” He gestured at his leg and eye. “Reached out once. Ignored her. Then she tracked down ‘Milio, made him agree to have us meet. N’ no. She ain’t stayin’ with me. She n’... her mum, they’re… they got a community’ah their own. One I was huntin’ down. I was ready to raze that place to the fuckin’ ground, mate.” He lifted his free hand to his face again, hiding behind his palm as he struggled with the reality of his situation. “She’s… she’s a good kid. Grown now, but… fuck’s sake.” He was crying again, gritting his teeth angrily and swiping at the tears with the back of his hand. 

Rhett actually managed a weak laugh when Alan smiled as his own little half-joke. He felt like he was shaking his head too much, but it was all he could think to do half the time. All of this just felt… stupid. Wrong. He’d not talked to anyone about any of this and he didn’t know how he was supposed to feel. Was he mourning who he used to be? Relieved to have a chance to get back to that? Afraid? He couldn’t fucking decide. “He was fun,” came his answer, finally. “Fun enough to… to keep his stupid, angry brother in line, anyway. Desmond, he… he hated nonhumans. Hated ‘em all, always wanted to kill every single one we came across. I talked him outta a lot of ‘em, but after he—” Rhett’s breath caught in his throat and he shivered, pushing the thought away. He turned his head to look at Alan, distraught. “M’sorry. Fer all of it. I ain’t been right in a… a long time.”

—

That wasn't the sort of spectacle he’d have ever expected to see. Some men looked like they had never shed a tear in their entire life and up until now, Alan figured that Rhett was one of them. For a few more seconds, he didn't budge, sympathetically brushing his thumb against the tattooed forearm. “She’s a brave kid,” at least from what he understood. Searching for the guy who wanted her whole species dead took guts. “I guess she got that much from you,” moving his hand to Rhett’s cheek, Alan couldn't help but smile a bit more as he elicited a laugh out of him.

His hand dropped back to his lap, and he once again fell silent. He didn't know everything about Emilio and Rhett’s lives clearly, but he always assumed their family bond might have gone a bit further than blood. Desmond was a name he had never heard before, one Rhett spoke of past tense, he noticed. It didn't take the full sentence for Alan to connect the dots. 

He remained silent, even as Rhett's apology finally arrived. With all that he had just unpacked, Alan even had to stop himself from saying sorry for the third time. “You know, if you can change once, you can change twice. I meant it when I said I'd like to know more about the live and let live version of you,” and how could that happen without support ? 

His empty glass of wine was set down on the coffee table, and an offer to get or make something to eat was made. “You’re not alone, alright ?”

—

She was brave… braver than Alan knew. Braver than Rhett could bring himself to admit. She’d sought him out, even though he was the reason she and her mother had to run from place to place. She looked for him knowing that he might want to kill her, and… and he had, hadn’t he? For a moment. The first time she called him, he was angry. Angry that she existed, angry that she’d found him, angry that her presence was going to complicate his plans. 

For a moment, he’d wanted her dead. For a moment, he’d settled on the idea that he’d be the one to do it. A moment turned into a week, turned into two. He’d kill her, he thought. Be done with it. Only Emilio wouldn’t let him, wouldn’t allow them to be alone together. Smart. He’d been bluffing when he told his brother that she was safe because she was his daughter—what did blood matter? He’d never been a part of her life. What did any of it matter? 

But then he saw her face to face, and his fury had withered beneath her warm gaze and bright smile. All the fight had left him in one fell swoop, and he found himself wishing it’d happened just a few days sooner. Before he tracked Cass to her cave. Before Alex attacked him to save her, before she crippled him further, before all of it. But… maybe it wasn’t a bad thing, being physically unable to fight, to match how he felt inside. Maybe it made all this easier. Maybe if he hadn’t been so injured, he still would have been angry when Ophelia looked him in the eye and told him he had to stop hunting her mother. Maybe he would have done something stupid, and maybe Emilio would have been the one to put him down. 

It was all for the best, probably. Except for that girl, that nymph. None of it was fair to her. Ugh. 

The offer of food was turned down, the warden’s interest in anything other than booze proving to be lackluster. And the more he drank of that, the less reactive he became to the things he was saying. The pent up fear and frustration and guilt didn’t force itself out by way of tears or stammered words anymore, and for a while, Rhett was quiet. He simply existed, sitting beside Alan on the couch as they watched the flames eat up the logs in the fireplace, the comfortable but heavy silence stretching on until he felt compelled to break it with a question. 

“Alan,” he began, his voice hoarse, “why don’t you hate me?”

—

Why didn't he hate him? Alan couldn't say he had tried very much. His anger against Rhett’s action had almost immediately become laced to worry and, little by little with an unsettling echo. The werewolf might have not hunted down any specific hunter in his life, most of those who had crossed his path had either come to regret it or didn't even have time to reflect on their mistake. 

A few months ago, he wouldn't have seen hypocrisy in condemning what Rhett had done because it wasn't the same, right? At least Alan was protecting himself, and those hunters were probably going to try to hurt him or another werewolf. It was only self preservation. Nothing more. These last few weeks, yes, Alan felt a different way. On both sides of the story, there were people with lives and loved ones and he knew for certain that this wasn't how he’d get hunters to stop roaming the woods looking for revenge or ultimately… trying to protect their own people.  Maybe it was not the same, no, but that didn't make it right.

Alan’s gaze remained fixed on the flames for a while more and he served himself another glass of wine as he thought some more on his reply. 

He didn't want to give Rhett the wrong idea. Even if he did something similar, he didn't convince himself that what he did was right, even if that would have helped him sleep better some nights. And eventually what did the trick was thinking of what else defined him and telling oneself that there was more to him than his wrong doings. 

“I suppose I have been reflecting on my own actions a lot lately,” and the eulogy that would have gotten him. He realized he would have been glad not to hear it. Maybe he didn't have it in him to do grand gestures of kindness but he could try at least to be kinder. That came with showing Alex how to live her lycanthropy better, helping his neighbors replace into a new home and quite frankly changing his methods. This wouldn't change how he got successful or buy him a ticket to heaven but peace of mind was good enough.

“Trying this thing called kindness,” he took a sip and didn't even grimace when he said that last word. “I wouldn't be doing a good job at that if I refused to see the good in you,” if you put aside some quirks that were anything but usual, the version of Rhett he had been around was nothing like the one he imagined the girls had faced. It didn't change what he had done, but Alan couldn't unsee it, or pretend he didn't appreciate him. “I have a lot of reasons to despise myself but I don't think I'd even try changing if there was no one to give me hope that it’ll be okay,” he looked up from the fireplace, at last, to set his eyes on the hunter. “I don't hate you, because you are so much more.” 

—

He didn't deserve it, he knew that. Alan making an effort to see the goodness in him was a waste, but was it fair to tell the man that? He'd likely just argue it, anyway. But Rhett knew better than anyone that he wasn't worth anyone's pity or concern, not for all the hellish things he'd done in his life. He didn't deserve his daughter, who seemed to love him unconditionally in spite of those terrible things, or perhaps because of them, because she felt like she could fix him. But there was nothing left to fix. The warden could claim to be retired, he could claim to have no interest in hunting intelligent supernatural species anymore, but the damage was done. The bias was there, and it was never going away. He'd never be able to love his girl the way he should, he'd never be able to look past the things that made him and Alan so different. He could lie and say he was, but deep down, he knew. He was a hunter. He was a tool, raised for one thing, and he'd been doing it for forty years. There was more bad in him than good, and anyone who knew hunters would know that he didn't have the time to make up for it. 

But... if that's what Alan chose to see, that small percentage of decency, who was Rhett to say he shouldn't? Life was fucking lonely enough already. 

He shook his head like he didn't really believe what Alan was saying, the silent response cut with a soft sigh. “Flattered you think so,” he finally responded. He wasn't confirming that Alan was right or wrong, just that it was nice to hear. Because... it was. For better or worse, Rhett and Emilio clung to one another like they were the only thing keeping each other afloat, and sometimes Rhett wondered if that wasn't the truth. They were family, but that didn't mean that Emilio saw anything in Rhett that he liked. He loved him, unconditionally, just like Ophelia... but that didn't make it right. That didn't mean that Rhett was worth saving, it didn't mean that the warden had any chance of changing again. 

He glanced over and found Alan looking back at him, and his throat tightened. “Don't mean it'll be okay, though. Caused a lotta damage. Figure there's plenty'ah folks that ain't gonna forgive me.” I shouldn't be staying in this town, he thought, but I have to if I want any kind of relationship with my daughter. “I'd leave, if not for...” The thought drifted away from him, dead in the air. If not for her. If not for Emilio. If not for the one person that doesn't have to like him, who shouldn’t like him, still giving him a chance. Alan. 

“Guess I just don't want you gettin' the wrong sorta idea, mate. Too mercurial for anythin' like that. Not long for this world, considerin'.” Don't get attached, was what he was trying to say. “So don't go givin’ me anythin' more than I've earned, aye?” Which was next to nothing. Polite company, someone to spend the night with. He hoped Alan could understand.

—

“I think we’re both old enough to know saying it will be okay doesn't fix much, but…” he fell silent. “What I'm trying to say is don't overthink it. You’re not alone, and that has to be a relief, hasn't it?” Or maybe that was just Alan speaking out loud, reflecting on his own needs. He found relief in having his family, yes, but it weighed a lot, knowing that he was lying to them every full moon. He had missed, over the last ten years, a good share of family events that had the misfortune of happening on one of these evenings.

He offered the other man a slight smile. He didn't have much more to offer in terms of comfort. Yes, there would be folks coming at him for revenge, and perhaps they’d want more than Alex had gotten here. He knew the sentiment. 

Now all Rhett could hope for was for these people to see his cane and eye patch and realize that someone had been quicker than them at getting back at him. That was also what Alan could hope for. 

“Rhett, I don't want to alarm you, but you’re being extremely gentle here,” he teased, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth and wrinkling his eyes. It was also quite clumsy, but what else did he expect from the New Zealander? The werewolf reached out, plucking flyaway hair from the hunter's cheek and pushing it back behind his ear. “I’m fine with what we have,” he finally stated. “I’ll let you know if that changes,” it wasn't reasonable to expect much more at his age, with his track record. “Another glass of Martinique rum?” 

—

It was a relief. Rhett nodded to indicate as much, but let the man's words roll around in his head in quiet contemplation. He'd been overthinking a lot of things lately, since thinking was all he could fucking do. 

Whatever will be will be. There was no point in agonizing over it. Worrying wouldn't make anything better or prevent the inevitable… so he may as well just focus on existing in the moment. 

When Alan accused him of being gentle, the warden scoffed as if offended, though he did wear a slight grin at the same time. “Shut up,” he grumbled, not seeing the hand coming his way until it was touching his face. He tried not to flinch but was only partially successful, and an attempt to mask it was made as he turned his head again to look at Alan. His expression was… difficult to read. On the one hand, he was glad for the company. On the other… Alan was a werewolf. And sure, that boundary had been crossed some months ago already, but he hadn't known this then. If he had, he would have killed him. Tried, anyway. Probably ended up worse than he was now. 

Alan was a werewolf, but he was also a friend. One of the very few that Rhett actually had, and certainly the only one willing to offer physical comfort—a thing the warden hadn't been aware he so desperately wanted until it had been given. He glanced at his emptied glass when Alan offered to refill it, and sighed. He'd promised Ophelia he wouldn't be hungover in the morning, but… “Sure,” he conceded, and when Alan had finished pouring from the bottle, he motioned for him to turn around. “Now, ‘bout that shoulder…” His hands quickly found a home on the correct side of Alan's neck, uncharacteristically cautious in the way they applied pressure meant to soothe, listening for any sounds of discomfort. The two-handed action was interrupted only as he moved one to grab his glass and take a sip. “Call me gentle again ‘n I'll make ya regret it,” he teased back as both thumbs dug into the muscle with care.

—

It was Alan’s turn to flinch, then. Clearly he wasn't scared too much by the hunter’s presence, but his shoulder had been giving him a hard time and while the idea of Rhett’s rough hands meddling with it didn't sound like a good one on paper, it didn’t prove so bad for now.

His nerves relaxed, and the werewolf who had no reason to feel uncomfortable by his own doing, rested his weight against the back of the couch, letting the hunter's fingers knead his tired shoulder. Alan found himself thinking of what his reaction could have been. 

A year ago, if Alex had told him of Rhett’s wrong doings, the werewolf would not have thought about it at all. He would have found him and attempted to put a more permanent end to the threat. 

While he was leaning into the hunter's definitely gentle touch, Alan’s smile grew up to his eyes. That wasn't supposed to be his reaction to a threat but in this instant it was difficult to feel anything but safe and warm. 

“I’m glad we had this conversation,” not as eye opening as figuring out the other could be soft, but certainly important. “I always feel lighter telling people I…” 

He still had his difficulties admitting to caring for others, even if he showed it in every way but words. 

“Well, telling them the truth. I hope you feel lighter knowing you’re not lying to me either.”

—

“Aye,” was all Rhett could say to the sentiment, struggling even more than his counterpart to admit when he gave a shit about someone. All other soft dialogue was shoved back into a trunk and locked away, the key discarded carelessly somewhere in the maze of barren rooms that made up his mind. His stubbornness would always put up a fight, a staunch refusal to accept such things boiling down into denial that kept him, in a way, at arm’s length from everyone. Not literally, of course—hands worked deftly at easing the pain in Alan’s shoulder, quite practiced in the motions after so many years of performing them on himself after difficult hunts. 

The silence that settled between them was comfortable, neither feeling the need to fill it with inanity, talking for the sake of talking. Anyway, Rhett was terrible with chit chat, a fact that Alan seemed to have already understood and internalized. He was grateful for it. 

His fingers slipped beneath the collar of Alan’s shirt in the front, sliding over bare skin to the scar on his shoulder that he now knew came from a werewolf. Still massaging with the other hand, Rhett drifted his fingertips over the uneven skin, his gaze flicking up to Alan’s profile. He’d never killed a werewolf before. Had a good idea of what it’d take, and it sure as hell didn’t sound easy. Not only that, but the man’s earlier insinuation that he could’ve been turned by now was… well, accurate, for one, but it was a thought that elbowed its way to the forefront of his mind as he took in the other’s visage. What was it like, he wondered. Losing control like that, but on such a strict schedule. How did Alan cope with it? How many people had he killed? How many hunters? When had Rhett stopped being just another body to add to the pile and started being something worth protecting? 

He was reminded, for a moment, of Emilio and how he had tried to protect the people in his life from Rhett. Funny, how the roles had been reversed. It was a perspective that he’d do well to think on for a while, but as his hands became distracted from their duty, wandering farther from Alan’s shoulder, so too did his thoughts. They were already quite close, but the warden leaned in to speak into his ear. 

“Mind if I stay here tonight?” 

—

“Aye indeed,” there was no denying that Alan, as respectful of silence as he was, was usually a little more talkative. It wasn't that he and Rhett had nothing more to say to each other but their conversation had been quite trying and the werewolf didn't want to go back there just yet. The subject would probably come back on the agenda later. Alan had a lot to make up for, too. Not that he had harmed Rhett, but among the hunters who had passed through his clutches, there were some who would come back to haunt him one day. He sometimes hoped that the large number of wolves in the region protected him. In truth, he knew nothing about it. Maybe no one was looking for him, and maybe living worried was the worst punishment he would have to endure.

Distracted by his thoughts, he was quick to notice that the hunter's hands had taken a more direct approach, and after a brief glance over his shoulder, unbuttoned the first few buttons of his white shirt to let him further examine the hideous scar that he had on his shoulder, now adorned with a second scar, more marked, recent, blistered. That silver bullet had left quite a mess.

When Rhett had flinched, Alan had told himself that his condition made him unattractive, even repulsive to the hunter, and he would have understood if that had been the case. Although he behaved like someone who had everything under control, that was how he managed to hide his weaknesses and faults from everyone. According to him, it was easier to live looking perfect for everyone to see, even if it meant being alone with your pain and difficulties, because that also meant that everyone envied what he had and that sounded better than pity. Besides, people had better things to do than deal with his personal problems.

The hunter's breath against his ear was a welcome distraction, and his unpleasant thoughts gave way to a relieved sigh as he sank into sturdy arms. “I would not mind at all,” and reaching over his head to weave fingers through unruly (but softer than usual, he noted) hair, Alan shifted to the side to grant the man an affectionate kiss on the corner of his lips. 

—

The mistake had already been made, if you could call it that, so what was the point in holding back now? Rhett would gain nothing by shutting Alan out at this point except more loneliness. He'd had plenty of that over the last couple of decades, why insist that it continue unless he sought misery? Sometimes he wondered if that wasn't the case, and he just couldn't or wouldn't admit it to himself. 

Oh well. Made no difference to him now. 

The feeling of fingers in his hair elicited a soft sigh from the warden, all the hostility that typically filled his days ebbing away to make room for something softer and warmer. Was this how other people often felt? Was the cold, dark grip of a life resigned to violence his own fault, or was that something he was always destined to ride out? He couldn’t say for certain, but he did recognize that it was becoming easier to forget that anger the more time he spent around people like Ophelia and Alan. People that, for all the world, should want him dead, and yet…

He chased Alan's kiss with one of his own, angling his head to better catch his mouth fully. There was something akin to desperation in the way he grasped at Alan, like he might slip away if Rhett wasn't quick enough to show his interest, like he'd come back to his senses and realize that what the warden had done was inexcusable. He guided the man to turn and face him, his bum leg dangling uselessly off the couch as the other tucked itself beneath him. 

“Was hopin’ you'd say that,” he answered breathlessly before pulling Alan over the top of him as he laid back on the cushions. 

—

From someone who would have happily massacred him a few months ago, Alan expected hesitant gestures as if inviting him to slow down the course of things, a kind of new timidity, as if they had actually met only a few moments ago. The fervor was as much a surprise as it was a welcomed one.

All this changed a lot of things. He knew it well. But he didn't want them to become strangers again. Doubts dissipated with each kiss given, each breath shared, each sigh whispered against the skin. Running his hand through his own hair to discipline it (a futile effort if there was one right now), Alan studied him for a short moment, his eyes wandering along those long eyelashes, the pronounced bridge of his nose, the scars more or less less recent speckling the face of the hunter like a constellation traced on his skin, up until he decided it was no longer time for contemplation.

For now at least. Because it resumed later.

It was entirely dark out now, and through the large windows that faced the living room, there was nothing to see. The fire still crackled in the attic, covering white noise and outdoor sounds. Alan often had something of the sort going, if only to cover the hum of kitchen appliances, cars in the street, or any distraction that he imagined had dogs barking. 

It didn't prevent him from monitoring every breath the hunter was taking, however, his face nuzzled as it was against the crook of his neck. It was a warm, comfortable embrace, and a younger Alan would have probably agreed on greeting slumber here with just a throw blanket and a shoulder for a pillow. “How does a proper bed sound to you? Or a shower and toothbrush?” He would have rather not moved, still, the werewolf pushed himself off the couch, stepping over discarded clothes to bravely lead the way there. “Unless you’d rather stay here on your own of course.” With a glance over his shoulder, and a kind smile he disappeared around the corner.

—

As their heartbeats slowed and breaths evened out, Rhett stared blankly at the ceiling. Alan was half draped over him, perhaps the only thing keeping him from floating off into that unseen abyss that was his fractured mind. He could hear Desmond, he could see him in some capacity, like a hallucination, loudly announcing his disgust at the sight of his brother in this state. It was the same as before, the same as when Desmond realized Rhett was falling in love with Mariela. I don’t know how you’ve managed it, but you love her more than me, and you’ve only known her for six months! You’re choosing her! 

It’s not that simple, Rhett had protested, and it was certainly a sentiment that could apply to the present as well. He looked down at the semi-opaque figure of his brother that stood at his feet. I’m lonely, he told the apparition in their private, shared headspace. What the fuck does it matter? I’ll be dead this time next year anyway. Desmond shook his head and turned away, just in time for Alan to stir and say something. Rhett watched him get to his feet, his chest tight. He hesitated on the couch for a few moments before pushing himself up and grabbing his cane to follow after his bedfellow, thinking that a shower, brush, and bed all sounded pretty damn nice.

[lucky-dyse]

[From

My muse has just been slapped across the face in front of yours…                                                                  how does your muse react? 

Does not have to be a thread... Not sure if they're all on the grid, or if Flynn managed to escape, but probably something along those lines.]

Ed stepped between Alan and Flynn before he could even think about what he was doing (no time to think, if he did, he'd panic, and he couldn't afford that right now), face red and shaking with anger. "Try that again, and I will make your life so miserable, what happened to my Father would seem like a joke."

He'd need his father's help. Flynn didn't know what his relationship with his father was like, a fact that Ed was counting on. He wasn't sure if he was bluffing. He knew his father would gladly take the chance to ruin Flynn, that was not in doubt, and Ed would still make good on that threat, if he had to, but he really didn't want to. Ed just hoped Alan wouldn't call his bluff for Flynn.

He schooled his face to neutral, then turned to face Alan. "Come on, let's get some ice for that, alright?" he said softly.

Alan was more numb than anything. He didn't know why he expected anything but pain from Flynn anymore. He brought a shaking hand to his cheek, just now realizing it was wet with tears.

"I waited for you.." he said to Flynn, his voice soft - and sounding more broken than he ever had since Lora died.

I waited for you, for over twenty years I believed in you. I slept with that pager. I took care of your son. Why can't you love me?

"And yet you're still useless." Flynn hissed back, balling his hands into fists. He decided it was best to leave the matter for now, but he'd certainly continue this 'conversation' with Alan later when Ed wasn't there to be a witness.

That seemed to hit Alan hard, but he barely reacted. It was clear he was dissociated, seeming to barely realize what was happening anymore.

[empressofthelibrary]

Y'know, knowing this website, I should have expected the Knightriders tag to be full of people drooling over the acrobat jester with zero lines

Setting that aside, it was a very good movie about the line between feeding the soul vs feeding the stomach, and how and where you find the balance. My only hangup was that Alan shouldn't have left Julie at that house. I wanna see her show up on her own bike later and join for real.

[howdy-cowpoke]

TIMING: Some time shortly after Monty rescued Manzanita. LOCATION: Alan’s boat / The Cave of Voices PARTIES: Alan (@alan-duarte) & Monty (@howdy-cowpoke) SUMMARY: Monty and Alan go on a boating trip which leads them to the Cave of Voices and down in an unexpected place. They meet a friend and a foe. CONTENT WARNINGS: None.

—

Alan was checking the equipment when Monty arrived. It had been a while since he last went to sea. Escaping from the stench of that black sludge could only be a relief. His shop being in oldtown, he didn’t have to suffer from it at all times, but most of the properties he sold were downtown. Alan’s employees seemed to have been just as disturbed with the smell which was the only comfort he found about the situation. It was easier to go through hardship with people willing to rant over the same things. It was easier even to leave the town for an afternoon with a friend. He liked hanging out with his employees, but there was always a certain distance there. He was their boss, and he couldn’t really talk about everything with them. Monty was someone he could trust with anything, down to his own life. 

“We’ve been blessed with nice weather,” he exclaimed, walking down the deck to give him a proper greeting. “How have you been doing?” He hadn’t really conversed with Monty since they had dinner at his house. Dropping off a severed head for him to eat was not precisely what he would qualify as hanging out. He wasn’t too worried about it, per say, but it meant a lot to him, knowing that his friend was doing okay. One of the good things about Monty was that he always knew when he was lying. Alan sometimes let him get away with it. “I’m gonna get my shoes back on. You can undo the moorings if you want.”

—

Monty had a slight preference for the cold since dying, but his conflicting love of spring meant that on days like today, he wasn’t going to complain about the sudden heat wave. Anyway, it wasn’t hot—a place like this rarely got hot. Not like in México. It was warm in the sun, warm enough that he could barely feel it, which was nice. 

Alan’s request to go boating hadn’t exactly come as a surprise—the man was often itching to get out on the water the moment the weather improved after the long winter. Monty had hesitated, however, worrying more than usual about leaving the farm hands on their own, in case that nasty slayer decided to return for round two. He knew Monty was undead at the very least, and it wouldn’t take much more snooping for him to realize that everyone working on that farm was.

Trying to push the fears from his mind, the zombie reluctantly agreed to join his friend. Recalling the gentle admonishment he’d gotten for his attire the first time they’d done this, he made sure to pull out the only clothes he owned that weren’t also work clothes, helpfully provided by the very same werewolf that wanted to see him make an attempt at not looking grungy once in a while. He even showered before leaving! Alan would be pleased.

Arriving at the docks a few minutes late, the zombie broke into a soft grin as he spotted Alan coming his way to greet him, barefoot as the day he was born. “Oh, you know… surviving,” he answered, letting his gaze fall to his friend’s bare feet. “You’ll get splinters doing that,” Monty commented casually, clapping a hand against Alan’s shoulder. “Sure, amigo. I got it.” Following him a short distance back to the boat, Monty threw his jacket on board and proceeded to detach the boat from the deck, tossing the lines back and hopping over the small gap onto the boat when he was done. The smell of the ocean was strong enough to cut through his deadened senses and he turned his face to the wind, closing his eyes for a brief moment to enjoy it before finding Alan again. “Please tell me we’re heading into Storm’s Eye Trench, to both our deaths,” he joked with a cheeky grin.

—

“I’m not going to get splinters,” well, probably not on his feet at least. Running around the woods had made his feet feel more calloused over time. Though he generally brought a change of shoes, Alan wondered if running around on paws didn’t have a slow effect on the state of his feet and hands. “I like the shirt, and the rest. Nice outfit,” if the other had lost his usual scent of hay, farm life and horses, Alan didn’t comment on that. Sitting at the front of the ship, against the railing, the werewolf was putting on a pair of boat shoes, if only not to slip and fall on such a quiet sea. 

“Storm’s Eye Trench?” Alan glanced up at Monty with his eyebrows furrowed. It wasn’t unlike him to make jokes, but they didn’t usually have such a dark undertone. “If you want to die by my side, just say it,” with a saccharine grin, the realtor got up to his feet and headed toward the other end of the boat. 

Its sails swelled by the wind, the sailboat slowly moved away from the shore. The sound of the wavelets crashing on the pier quieted down the more they sailed. Above their heads, gulls and kingfishers continued their ballet, controlled by the breeze which carried the two friends far from their town.

Alan, if he was more comfortable at the controls of his plane, had acquired a taste for the sea in the last few years. It was a much quieter activity, and he enjoyed being alone in the middle of nowhere almost as much as he enjoyed spending the afternoon with him. His eyes fell on his friend. He worried about what was going on in his head. He had experienced a painful event not long ago, and it seemed obvious that it would stick in his throat. 

—

“You say that like you didn’t pick all of these for me,” Monty chuckled. Still, it was something. 

Offering a shrug, Monty realized with a bit of regret that it had been an usually dark joke for him to make—surely that wasn’t the result of… everything that had been going on lately. Surely not. Biting the inside of his cheek to quell the embarrassment that threatened to rise, he did his best to look cavalier about the whole thing as he added, “Oh, sure, I’d love that. Someone could write one heck of a novel about it someday.” 

Distracted by the birds, Monty failed to notice his friend looking at him. A soft smile had settled on his face, and for what was far from the first time in his unlife, he was thankful that the sun didn’t have such a negative impact on him as it did vampires. He might have given in to the call of the void a long time ago if he was never permitted to sit in the sun again, wind whipping his messy hair around as he watched a kingfisher dive and burst from the surface with a fish in its beak. 

Turning to ask Alan if he’d seen it, Monty’s voice caught in his throat when he realized he was already being watched. It was a momentary stutter, fixed with a grin, though what he’d been about to say had entirely left his head. “What?” he laughed, hugging his arms a little tighter around his knees. 

—

“Nothing,” it was tricky to tell Monty he’d been worried about him when he looked radiant. “You looked like you’d been sucked in by the ocean,” that might have not been his first thought, it was true. “I’m glad you agreed to leave the farm for a bit,” Alan might have done his best trying to reassure Monty, he knew that it would be a while before he felt safe in his home again. 

Hand on the tiller, he returned his gaze toward the horizon, his eye darting toward the sails for a second. “I understand if you would rather speak of anything but that,” wasn’t that the point of all this? They left their problems behind here. There was nothing to worry about here : no hunters, no angry homeowners, no problems. He wanted to keep it that way. Otherwise, what was the point in running away? What was the fucking point? 

He had to change the subject. “I had a meeting with the city council the other day,” he began. He wanted to build somewhere, and of course some ecologists wanted to save the frogs. “Anyway, I guess it went well,” he had to figure how he’d get the frogs to fuck off some place else, which meant he’d need to collaborate with the leaf fuckers. “You know, it’s the thing with the toads, the frogs, the… bog creatures,” he wrinkled his nose. “I don’t know what to do man,” it was easier when he was fucking with people. Even he didn’t like to disturb the peace of animals. 

—

Not only was Monty bad at lying, but he was equally terrible at being able to tell when he was being lied to. So he took Alan’s answer at face value, grinning widely for a moment before that little twinge of fear, of regret crept back in, and made the smile grow smaller. “Ah… yeah. Yeah.” He didn’t know what to say so he just left it at that, only nodding his head as he looked out at the ocean as Alan offered an out.

Thankful when the werewolf turned the conversation elsewhere, Monty finally dragged his gaze back to his friend, stretching his legs out in front of him. “Well, you could always build somewhere that isn’t a stinky bog,” Monty laughed with a shrug. “Or… I don’t know. Get yourself a pied piper, but for frogs instead of rats.” It was an utterly unhelpful suggestion, which Monty knew, based on the humorous glint in his dark eyes. 

“Ah, really though… maybe make them a really enticing habitat nearby, so they’ll want to move. Then everyone wins. Frog rights, and so on.” 

—

Why did Alan have to mention the farm. Now Monty was probably picturing Emilio waltzing, or rather cha-cha-ing his way around the place with a stake in one hand and a knife in the other, stabbing away his grudge and sorrow. 

Alan couldn’t help but laugh at the other’s offer. Yeah. Alan didn’t purposefully pick plots because they’d bring controversy. Most of the time, he didn’t get into any trouble buying land, homes… But there was always, every once in a while, a Tobias Greene (usually sans mafiosi), or a bog of frogs. “A pied piper?” That’s when he chortled. If the other had been closer, he’d have shoved him away. “You prick. That’s…” He sighed, his shoulders still shaking with amusement. 

“I know. I will work with the associations. Council likes me, I’m probably going to get the okay,” he blew a raspberry and reached down to tie the tiller still. “How’s the sludge situation on the farm?” Giving it a go to make sure it was secure, he let go of some of the wind in the sails and went to sit at the front. “It’s hasn’t reached the office yet, but going downtown is torture.” 

—

“Hope you do,” Monty answered honestly, marrying it with a soft smile. As the boat slowed and Alan came to join him at the front,the zombie made a face at the next question. “It could be worse, for sure… just some out on the eastern fringes, nearest the Flat.” He shook his head, wondering what on earth that crap was. “My catoblepones seem curious about it, but I don’t think I want them eating it.” Sure, they were designed to eat poisonous flora, but this sludge was… well, it was something else.

“At the very least, it doesn’t seem to affect the stink levels much,” Monty added with a breathy chuckle. Farms always had a particular smell to them, and Prickly Pear Acres’ proximity to the death pit certainly didn’t make matters any better. It really wasn’t a surprise that whenever their weekly visit came around, Monty was the one going to Alan’s. The poor wolf’s nose just couldn’t take it. 

“What do you think, wey? Will it overrun the whole place?”

—

“If I had known… I’d have found you a plot north of the town,” what was it with that fucking abnormality. How bad would it get? He heard the noises in the past weeks, whenever he drove in the area, worked around Serpent’s Flat. “Mmmh, I spoke to a geologist who works at the university. They didn’t want him to investigate. That’s fucking weird, don’t you think?” Running a hand over his face, he let go of the railing to let himself slip to the wooden deck, crossing his ankles as he looked up at him. “I wouldn’t let them eat that. Poor things might get sick.” And finding a veterinarian who could care for them mustn’t have been easy.

Not that Alan would know. 

“Huh uh,” surely, someone who lived there all the time would forget about the smell, but Alan had a feeling his nose wouldn’t. He didn’t seem too keen to laugh about it. This was worrying. People wouldn’t want to invest in a town who was covered in goo and stenched of that god awful smell. “I don’t know. I don’t fucking know,” rubbing at his face, he pulled his knee up against his chest and sighed. “This town man…” He sighed and turned his gaze toward the horizon. You could see the town from here. It looked normal, peaceful even, in a word : deceptive. 

“Anyhow, surely there are nicer subjects to discuss.” Nothing quite like death and doom to spend a great afternoon with a friend.

—

“A nice sentiment, but you and I both know I was only able to afford the land you got me because it’s by that pit of dead people.” Monty threw Alan a knowing glance, and then a smile. He was sweet. Brows rose at the mentioned of the geologist—that was weird. “The… whoever runs this place, yeah, they sure are being… what’s the word… ah, cagey about it all. Like they know things we don’t. Or they don’t know anything, and that’s even scarier to them.” He shrugged. “Guess we’ll find out.”

Of course Alan had a larger stake in whether or not this town went belly-up, and Monty suddenly felt bad for laughing about it. “Ah, I’m sure it will all work out, my friend,” he tried to reassure the other, though his comforting skills left something to be desired. It always did in this place, didn’t it? 

“Right. Well. Umm—oh! Oh, I didn’t get a chance to tell you yet, but a very nice man that works for the town’s animal control contacted me the other day!” About… “He—someone surrendered a horse at their shelter, and they didn’t have the facilities to take care of it, so he asked if I’d come get her.” Monty smiled, remembering seeing her for the first time. Definitely… just her. “She’s beautiful, Alan. Champagne coat and a bright red mane and tail, like fire. I’m still trying to decide what to name her.”

—

“I know, I know,” and the price per square meter had gone up ever since. Alan figured that with the state of the town now, it could substantially drop. If people started to leave the town en masse, it certainly would. Yet, it would be a while before that happened. People didn’t like to leave their home behind. Alan knew he would never be able to leave. His whole life was here, and he was too old now to restart over somewhere else. His shoulders relaxed, they often would in the face of the inevitable. He never was one to fight the current. Instead, he preferred to learn how to sail on bad waters. 

“Animal control huh?” Although Alan was still listening to the other, his cheeks turned pink as he remembered his embarrassing encounter with that guy. That was a moment he would have happily forgotten about. “Champagne coat?” He reached at his collar for his sunglasses, pushing them up his nose. “You could call her Cliquot or Ruinart,” it was perhaps a bit of a cliché but champagne perhaps ought to be called like champagne. Leaning back, he looked at his friend, wrinkling his nose a little. “You took pictures, right? Of your new girl?”

—

Monty rolled his eyes at the suggestions, letting out a laugh. “How very Alan of you,” he teased, lifting his butt off the boat to fetch the phone in his back pocket. “But yes, I did.” Pulling up the photo album before passing the phone to Alan, the zombie leaned back on his hands. “Kaden—the man that helped me get her settled—seemed to like Manzanita, so I might stick with that. It was the first thing that came to mind, but I wasn’t positive about it.” He smiled, running a hand through his hair to get it out of his face. There was a beat of comfortable silence before Monty decided to elaborate a bit, hoping that Alan would be pleased with the news. 

“I asked him if he’d—well,” he struggled for a moment, clearing his throat. “He seemed fond of her in the short time we had together, so I said he could come visit anytime. The horse, or… me.” An exasperated laugh made an appearance then, and Monty gestured at his friend with brows raised. “I’m trying to make friends, like you keep saying I should. So there’s one. Maybe. We’ll see.” 

—

“What is that supposed to mean? It’s on theme,” he furrowed his eyebrows in apparent shock. Anyone who dared question his taste clearly had none, after all. Reaching out to take the phone from him, Alan pinched at the screen to zoom in. “Manzanita?” He would have guessed a French name would be the man’s pick but it seemed he was wrong to assume that. Handing back the phone, the realtor offered his friend a fond smile. “She’s a beauty. Makes you wonder why people can ever give up on their animals,” Alan knew he couldn’t commit to a pet. He was too busy, of course, but he also wondered what would happen to the poor thing if something happened to him. He might have a tendency to boast, but the werewolf was all too aware that tomorrow might be his last day on Earth. 

His brows furrowed some more, but this time, there was a hint of amusement and a wrinkle of his nose added to the shock. “Would you look at that, making friends with the not so local locals, heh?” This was new. Crossing his arms over his chest, Alan’s fondness grew and reached his eyes. “I’m glad you’re trying. That’s what counts,” reaching over to pat his shoulder, the wolf turned to gaze at the sea. “This being said, if he’s the guy I think he is… I didn’t tell you about something that happened to me, the other day.” 

—

“You know I can’t pronounce French words for crap,” Monty laughed, just… assuming that both those champagne names were French. Or maybe Italian, which was a little easier for him, but still bad all the same. Taking back the phone, he smiled at the photo for a few seconds longer before storing it away again, drawing his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. “Beats me, hermano. But I’m happy to help them as much as I can.”

Alan’s praise really and truly meant the world to him, and Monty smiled widely. “Thanks,” he answered in a hushed tone, perhaps too quiet for the werewolf to even hear over the slap of the waves against the side of the sailboat. At the next statement, though, his head cocked to the side curiously. “Well, how many animal control officers named Kaden can there be in a town this size?” He paused, brow furrowing. “What… happened?” He hoped to God it wasn’t bad, something that would have put the pair at odds. 

—

“And I can?” Well, yes. Alan knew French just enough to know how wines were pronounced. Since he wasn’t trying to be elected douchebag has-been of the decade, he refrained from pronouncing it the French way however. It didn’t help that he didn’t speak a word of French aside from Pinot Gris or Sauvignon. “I don’t think I should ever go anywhere near a shelter,” he’d end up bringing home more than he could care for.

Returning that bright smile right back, he didn’t quite catch what the other said. Alan wondered how the other would react to his story. It was quite ridiculous, and one he wasn’t really proud to tell. “I told you about the kid who stole my sandwich one noon and didn’t even say thanks?” Who cared if she never said thanks, honestly? Alan didn’t even care, but he was proud and he wanted her to apologize, at the very least. “Well, I found her, and well, I had to … well…shift. It was an emergency.” The wolf hadn’t even gotten to the part he was mortified about yet his cheeks were tinted pink again. Maybe it was that he always sought to impress his friend, but showing vulnerability never failed to make him feel naked. Not to say that he would have rather ran into someone with only a duvet to save his dignity, but his cheeks sure were burning now. “I didn’t have my backpack with me this time and I walked back to my car near-naked. I say near because I had a duvet,” he was aware that this really wasn’t a good look for him. If he had seen himself that day, Alan would have cringed so much he’d have turned into diamonds. “Anyhow…” He pressed his lips together. Did he really need to add more to this? 

—

Nodding slowly and wondering where on earth this could possibly be going, Monty listened with an attentive ear and a curious mind. He let the other seemingly finish before speaking, though there was still a lot left unsaid. 

“Wait, hang on. Okay. First of all, why did you have to shift when you found her? Who—what was she? It was an emergency?” His brow furrowed in confusion and he shook his head, continuing, “And what does this have to do with Kaden?”

—

It took a moment, but before Alan could muster the strength to respond, the pieces sort of clicked into place. Monty’s eyes widened and he let out an explosive laugh, slapping his hands against his legs. “Alan! No! You ran into him while you were post-shift naked?!” The zombie howled with laughter, squinting his eyes shut and flopping back onto the cushion, hands splayed over his stomach. “¡Ay, Dios mío! It’s the freaking oral exam all over again!” he cackled, not feeling the slightest bit bad for getting a kick out of his best friend’s embarrassment. 

“I don’t fucking know, she turned into a damn bear. I don’t know if it was the surprise or something else, but I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared in a long time,” part of his explanation was a call for empathy in those trying times, the rest was the actual truth. He was more concerned about his life around her than he had been with these damn mafia guys. 

But it seemed he’d have to explain everything, didn’t it? Why did his friend have to be so cruel ? 

Truth is, Alan couldn’t say whether having to explain or seeing Monty burst in tear-inducing laughter was the most painful to his self-esteem. The wolf kept his gaze fixated on the horizon, his lips pressed into a thin line that could have spelled out pain and a desire to disappear right on the spot. His cheeks were burning red, he knew that. Fucksake. “I sure did. He had a lot of questions about it, let me tell you.” With a sound of anguish, Alan let his back fall onto the deck and sighed. “I mean you’ve seen the guy. He looks like a Ken doll or something,” not that it should have mattered, but pretty people’s opinions somehow had more importance to him. It was incredibly shallow, he was not proud of it, but this was how things worked for him. “I told him I’d give him a discount if he didn’t mention this to anyone. D’you think he’ll call me back?” It was Alan’s turn to snort and chortle. “Oh man, I … Hey ! Fuck you with the oral exams,” he reached over with his hand to clumsily slap him quiet. “Fuck off, you…” At loss of words, the werewolf covered his face with both hands, falling again into a fit of laughter. “Let’s just say, don’t invite him when I’m around. I might make it very awkward.” 

—

A werebear? That was new. Sounded like it was new to Alan, too, or at least alarming enough to make him shift unexpectedly. He didn’t have time to feel bad about that now, though, because everything was falling into place in the most hilarious way. 

“I bet!” Trying to rein in his giggling, Monty pressed a hand to his own chest and muttered a string of Spanish kid-friendly expletives, but it wouldn’t do him any good, because Alan was doing nothing to help make this less funny. “A Ken doll! Ahh, I—” he had to stop again, snickering too hard to continue. “Mi hermano… te amo, pero no estás bien,” he wheezed, waving a hand in Alan’s general direction. 

Feeling the smack only exacerbated the humor of the situation, but finally, Monty was able to calm himself down and quit cracking up at his best friend’s expense. Wiping the tears from his eyes, the zombie reached blindly for Alan and gave whatever part of him his hand found first a soft pat. “I tell you what, I tell you what,” he chuckled, grinning up at the sky, “I’ll make sure he sees me naked at least once, eh? Then we’re even.” He was joking, of course, pressing his free hand over his eyes and fighting the urge to start laughing again. 

—

“What? You’ve seen his hair. It’s ridiculously shiny,” Alan said matter-of-factly. Sure, he managed to tame his own mane after all this time, but it was graying already, which was something that made him feel self conscious. The other kept on laughing in the meantime. The wolf looked down at the zombie, his jaded expression ruined by hints of amusement, a twinkle in his eye, sketches of a smile. Fucking hell. “No? ¿No estoy bien, en serio?” He gave him another smack for that. “No estoy bien. Vete a la…” Biting on the inside of his cheek, he found himself once again fighting back a smile, then laughter. “Oh fuck off,” he scoffed. 

One knee folded up to support his arm and chin, the other leg folded to rest under his ass, Alan watched his friend search for his leg before settling his hand on his knee. Though it didn’t match Monty’s words, he found comfort in that touch. He knew there was more truth there than in those words, and it managed to make him feel better just as much as the thought of poor Kaden being introduced to the local nudist club. “And then you dare say you’re not an asshole,” he gave Monty’s ankle a pat. “D’you wanna go somewhere specific or do you wanna stick around here for a while?” The wolf usually had trouble staying grounded, and more often than not, the other managed to help with that. He could thank his childhood, and being the first of his siblings for that. No time to rest when you were the house’ cook, cleaner, courrier and example. 

—

All he could was shake his head, still grinning as Alan tried to tell him off. “I’m not a—I’m so nice,” the zombie argued with one final chuckle, sitting up again and scrubbing his hands over his face. At the question of where to go, Monty glanced around them, trying to get a sense of their position. “We could go check out that weird sea cave at Harborside’s south point,” he suggested with a cheeky grin, knowing that disembarking anywhere but at the docks would mean getting wet. “Or, you know. Float here. Here’s nice, too.” He glanced at all the birds flying overhead, squinting against the sun. “Could get pooped on, though.” 

And then, as an afterthought, Monty leaned forward until his hands met the deck, scooting closer to his friend until he was well within reach. “Also, I like your hair. I think it looks nice.” Even windswept as it was, what with their being on the open ocean, and all. He was sure he didn’t look any more kempt, himself. He smirked for a moment, then pushed himself up onto his feet to go retrieve his jacket and pull the sunglasses out of its pocket, holding onto the rope railing for support. “Up to you, though!”

—

“So nice,” Alan repeated with a roll of his eyes and a fed up smile. Turning his head the other way, in the direction of the Cave of Voices. Weird certainly covered the stories they had both heard about that place. You heard the same stories about the woods, the sea, the mountains, and even some of the streets of Wicked’s Rest. Alan knew some were true, and some were fabricated. The trick was to know which were which. “Could get pooped on,” he agreed, turning to find the other scooting closer. 

His expression softened, and his eyebrows furrowed slightly. Switching his posture to hide the pink hue of his cheeks against his palm, Alan then stood up and attempted to fix his hair, which had been ruffled by the wind. Heh, Monty must have been teasing him about a cow lick spike in his hair. He looked over his shoulder while the other scouted away, though he didn’t have the heart to ask him what he meant by that. With a scrunched up nose, the disgruntled wolf headed toward the stern. “Let’s head to the cave. Maybe there will be a bit less wind over there,” he agreed. Pulling on the rope attached to the sails, he tied a knot once he had enough winds caught in here. “If you want something to drink, help yourself,” he motioned toward the cooler, while he checked on his phone for tides. 

—

The boat tilted as the sails caught the wind and started to move again, and Monty was glad he’d had a firm grip on the rope. Stepping carefully, he moved back toward the stern and plopped down nearish the tiller, beside Alan, then reached for the cooler to pull it closer and fetch a couple drinks for them. 

It was a bit of sail over to and then around the rocky outcrop that hid the cave in question, but the journey was far from a bad one. The pair had fallen into comfortable chitchat, which somehow felt even easier now that he didn’t have that rain cloud hanging over his head. He had no more secrets from his best friend, and that was honestly an incredible relief. Alan knew him like no one else did, and it was freeing. 

Hopping up to his feet when he saw the dark, gaping maw of the Cave of Voices come into view, Monty looked back excitedly at Alan. “There it is!” He pointed with his free hand, the other still clutching his drink to his chest. He knew the story behind the name, and was painfully curious about hearing it first-hand. He couldn’t help but wonder what he would hear.

—

“There it is,” he confirmed, though his voice wasn’t as vibrant as his friend’s. Those stories were always a source of worry. If there was something to hear in here, he’d be the first to know. Though Alan tried not to show it, that thought frightened him. He always tried to keep his chin up. Call it being the big brother to 3 younger siblings, it just wouldn’t have done him any good to show frailty. 

He took a sip from his bottle, before reaching over to release the wind. If they were to approach that place, they’d do it slowly. “That’s a fucking big cave,” the realtor commented. It resembled what the maw of the void must have looked like, uninviting, cold, empty and stunningly dark and quiet. 

There wasn’t one bit of wind now, and yet, as they stilled, Alan could have sworn he heard a whisper. He glanced over at Monty, half expecting him to look back at him with a cocky grin on his face, muffling back his laughter as best as he could. “You didn’t hear that, I presume?” Nope, he didn’t like this at all.

—

Oh, Alan was already getting a taste, and they weren’t even in the cave yet! It made sense, what with his keen senses and all, and the zombie was eager to get in there himself. “No—come on!” His deeply buried sense of adventure was clawing its way out now, making him more closely resemble the young man he’d been that first year after meeting Hector, and the near twenty that had followed. Taking a long swig of his drink before setting it aside, Monty went to the bow of the sailboat and laid flat on his stomach, reaching for the nearest rock. His fingers gripped it and tugged, pulling them closer. “Anchor her!”

He didn’t exactly wait for his friend to join him, scrambling to his feet and tethering the rope between the rock and the boat, which left him standing alone on its slippery surface. Something deep in the cave made a sound—it was a little bit ethereal, like a voice calling to him, and his grin cracked wide. “I hear it,” he breathed, motioning for Alan to follow as he scampered over the rocks to head into the darkness. 

What he found, though, was not an empty cave as expected. Instead, a black stallion stood in the spot where the ground evened out, its coat wet from the ocean mist, seaweed dangling from its mane like it’d gotten caught there after a swim. Monty slowed to a stop, mouth agape. “... what.” It wasn’t an intelligent reaction, but the farmer had never claimed to be that. “Alan…!” His voice was uncertain as he called for his friend, gaze never leaving the horse. It lifted its head and stared at him, big eyes blinking as it craned its head forward curiously. What the heck? What the heck?

—

He had seen Monty before in a similar state, close to euphoria. Alan never got tired of it and it was difficult for him to hide his smile. Seeing them both, it was hard to tell ourselves that it was the zombie who had the taste for adventure and not the werewolf, but Alan had had his dose of adrenaline when he was in the army, when he was attacked by this beast. To be honest, he got his adrenaline fix every month, every full moon. He knew full well that every full moon could be the last. That sort of realization certainly didn’t make you crave any other sort of danger. 

“He hears it,” Alan repeated, though he lacked the unchained enthusiasm the other displayed. “Alright, wait for me,” he called out, and checking the ties on his shoe laces, jumped off the boat to follow him inside that damn cave. His eyes adjusted to the darkness with ease and he kept them fixated on Monty’s back, worried as he was to see him slip or disappear, somehow. In the past five years, that man had been one of three fixed points in the werewolf’s life, the other two being the course of the moon and his business. It was nice to have something that wasn’t either a burden or a responsibility. Something easy, at last, that made him unconditionally happy. To risk losing that, it wasn’t a good thought, it would be a terrible truth. And so he stared, even as a second silhouette showed itself. 

Approaching his side, he finally looked at that animal in wonder. It wasn’t a ghost. It seemed real, although it didn’t precisely look like that champagne horse or Habanero. It was beautiful, for certain, but you had to wonder what it was doing here, and how it got here. Could horses swim at all? “How did it get in here?” He asked, eyes darting toward his friend. He knew the other was passionate about those animals and probably would want to get closer. 

—

There shouldn’t have been a horse in here. But there was. I mean, sure, they could swim, but this wasn’t exactly an easy spot to get to. It was a miracle the creature wasn’t hurt. Unless it was, and he just couldn’t see it yet.

“I… it must have… swam. But I don’t know why it would have? There’s nothing in here for it, except shelter…” Maybe something had chased it in here. Given it no choice but to flee to a damp, dark, treacherous cave. “I need to make sure he isn’t hurt, hermano,” the zombie breathed, looking at Alan with concern etched into his features. He gave the werewolf a pat on his arm and then moved closer to the horse, hand outstretched for him to sniff. Soft Spanish words of assurance spilled from him as he stepped forward, allowing the animal to lean his nose closer to Monty’s hand. His ears flicked forward, intrigued rather than afraid, and Monty smiled. “Buen niño…” he hummed, running his palm up the animal’s muzzle. 

Now that some trust had been established, Monty made a slow circle around the animal to check him for wounds, but didn’t find anything. His hands glided across the horse’s damp flanks, his eyes bright with wonder. “Why are you here, niño? A cave is no place for a caballo.” He turned, looking back at Alan. “... I don’t feel right leaving him here.”

—

"Swam?" Alan looked over his shoulder. It was a dangerous walk for someone who came from the nearest beach, with a chance to twist your ankle or slip and injure yourself. The horse would have swam for a bit. "That's a long way," he commented, rubbing at the back of his neck in apparent confusion. He doubted that to be likely, but he supposed it was plausible.

Dropping his hands to his hips, the werewolf stayed one step behind. He didn't know a damn thing about horses or tending to animals. If there was something unexpected to come, he supposed Monty would know best. 

"No te preocupes, I don't see anything," as far as he was aware he was the only one out of them who could see as clearly as if it were broad daylight, and the animal seemed unharmed. 

“Monty, we’re not gonna manage to make him climb into the boat,” he began. He was pretty damn sure the poor animal would freak out and try to escape anyway. “We could try animal control but I’m not sure they’re equipped for that,” Alan commented. Squatting down, he took a look up at the horse, his eyes narrowing as he wondered how the fuck he got in here. Swimming, right. But from where? 

—

“No, no, I know…” Getting the animal on the boat had been the furthest thing from his mind. But as he stood in front of the stallion, stroking his nose, he didn’t know what to do. 

Then a voice came like a whisper in his ear, and he knew. “He swam here. It’s the only thing that makes sense. But he has to swim back out.” Monty glanced back at Alan, shooting him a soft, lopsided smile. “I’ll ride him out.” It was by no means safe, but it was the only idea he had. He absolutely could not leave this cave without helping the animal, and as he already knew… animal control was not equipped to deal with this. “It’s the easiest way. Getting other people involved will only make it more challenging.” The horse tossed his head almost like he understood, pushing his forehead against Monty’s chest and angling his body toward the cowboy. Like he wanted to be ridden. 

A peculiar feeling settled in Monty’s head and chest, and he decided he wasn’t going to question this, even if Alan did protest. 

—

“Well he’ll swim ba-” ck out by himself, was what the werewolf meant to retort. Cut off by the other’s counter offer, he fell silent. That wasn’t a good idea. Wouldn’t that make it harder for the horse to swim? And what if the animal started drowning? What then? Monty wouldn’t allow it to happen, and while there was a chance he didn’t need to breathe underwater, Alan’s chest felt tighter at the idea of watching him sink below sea level for a time that was just too long for anyone who resembled a human being. “You’re not serious,” he finally retorted, his voice echoing against the walls of the cave. Quieter this once, he glanced at the horse, who seemed to agree with Monty. Well that was a ridiculous thought. Horses couldn’t possibly be so clever. Ignoring that thought, Alan looked back at his friend and shook his head. 

“That’s fucking stupid, Monty. I’m calling animal control,” he warned, stepping a couple feet away to get reception on his phone. “Just stay there, alright, I’ll call the damn…” He fell quiet while he searched online for their phone number, oblivious to what happened beyond that small screen.

—

“I am serious!” His hands came up to the animal’s neck almost protectively as he pouted at his friend. “I have ridden horses through deep water before. It’s fine.” Rivers, sure. The occasional lake. But not a sea cave with jagged rocks and swelling tides. But if this stallion had made it all the way in here on his own, then he had to be a strong swimmer.

“It’s not stupid,” Monty grumbled, looking away from Alan. “I already know they can’t handle horses. That’s why Kaden called me.” There was a chance he wasn’t even speaking loud enough for his friend to hear, his words more directed at the horse in question. His resolve was solidified, and he nodded. “Right. C’mon, niño. I’ll guide you back out.” 

Shrugging off his jacket and dumping it on the rocks, it was quickly joined by his shoes and his phone. Alan could get those, if he saw fit. And with that, the cowboy gripped a handful of the stallion’s mane and jumped, heaving himself up and over the animal’s back. 

There! That wasn’t so bad! 

“Alan,” Monty called to get his attention, wearing a grin, “we’ll be heading due… west.” He pointed to the left. “See you there!” The horse was already making his way into the water, somewhat to Monty’s surprise, who had thought it was going to take a bit of coaxing. But everything seemed fine, and for a moment, they bobbed in waves as the horse kicked off the land and began to swim. Perfect. No problems. 

Until of course, there was. With a startled gasp, Monty watched the stallion drive his head down into the water, with the rest of him quickly following. Which included Monty, who was now… somehow stuck to the animal’s back. He didn’t even have time to look Alan’s way before he disappeared beneath the surface, a stream of bubbles in their wake as he yelled and attempted to pull himself free.

It was no use. He was trapped. 

—

He didn’t try to further argue any of it. It was absolute nonsense and Alan knew better than to throw himself into a conversation that would only turn sour. The tide would move into the cave before they agreed to anything. Hearing that Kaden, the animal control guy, was no good with horses didn’t manage to make him put away his phone. “There’s no fucking reception,” he mumbled, climbing up on a rock to get closer to the cave’s opening.

He just had to befriend the most fucking stubborn guy in town, huh? 

Truth was, he fully expected every single attempt to get the horse to move out of here to fail, and he wasn’t really worried about the noises he heard in his back. What worried him, however, was what would happen if Monty had to accept that they couldn’t save that poor animal. 

And still no reception. The forty-something moved further away, his eyes riveted on the small bars at the top of his screen. Of course, he would never pick up any signal while they were inside that fucking damp cave. He put the phone back in his pocket, glanced briefly at Monty who was happily perched on the horse’s back. “You’re a moron, you know that, right?” With a smile, and a scoff, he turned his back on him again, hands on his hips and tried to think of a solution, one more time, even if there was most likely no way to make it work. 

It was expected : he blanked, and his mind only offered him thoughts regarding what he should say to convince him that there was nothing they could do. But while he mentally peregrinated, Alan was no longer focusing on what was happening behind him. If he figured the horse would back out of the water, neigh in fear, rear up and cause ruckus, it took a few seconds too much before he realized the cave was a bit too silent. They couldn’t have swam so far already. He would have seen them pass him by. He would have spotted Monty’s gloating expression. Fuck. 

“Monty?” He called out. “Monty ?!” The werewolf roared this once, his eyes searching frantically  around until they finally spotted them, underneath the surface. The zombie’s name was uttered once more, hurriedly, while Alan rid himself of his jacket, kicked off his shoes and entered the water without hesitation. It was nowhere near as warm as he would have liked it to be, but a force commanded that he ignore that and instead dove head first after the drowning pair, noticing only then that Monty was not trying to bring the horse back up, but rather fighting to get off of it. What the fuck. 

It was one of those situations where being a monster wouldn’t have helped him. He could only rely on himself. What a terrifying thought that was. 

Catching up on the pair, he wrapped his fingers around Monty’s wrist first, to let him know he was here, and with the hopes that he could just pull him out of here. 

—

Feeling something grab onto his wrist, the zombie’s frightened gaze flicked to Alan as he tilted his head back. He wanted to say no, to tell the other to get back to the surface, but he couldn’t. Any sound he attempted to make was lost in the water that filled the space between them, and the horse… thing was just dragging him deeper. It craned its neck and bared its teeth, which were now much sharper than they ought to have been. 

Monty shook his head, trying to pull Alan’s hand free from his wrist. He’d drown down here, and Monty, well… he didn’t need to breathe. He still often did, but the seawater that filled his throat now was pretty good at preventing that. Still, the force his friend was managing to exert in the opposite direction seemed to have slowed the creature enough to agitate it, and it turned its gaze on Alan. The equine body twisted sharply, unnaturally, and those teeth snapped at the werewolf, missing only by centimeters. Monty let loose another muffled cry, reaching forward to wrap his free arm around the monster’s neck and heave it back toward his chest. He’d… have to kill it, wouldn’t he? Or they’d both die down here. And his bite was much stronger than Alan’s, at least when he wasn’t shifted. 

As his gaze focused on the animal’s throat—no, not animal. It wasn’t real. Whatever it was, it was a trick. He still felt sick. The horse-thing fought against him, kicking with its powerful legs in an attempt to separate the two men. Monty felt the clock ticking and again urged Alan to return to the surface as best he could, but… well, his friend knew he was not a strong swimmer. He would likely be loath to leave Monty behind, even if he wouldn’t drown, knowing he would simply sink to the bottom. 

As the beast struggled, the zombie bit down on its neck. Which was a big neck, but he had the benefit of being very familiar with horse anatomy… assuming this thing wasn’t different on the inside. One bite wouldn’t do it, though. No, he had to rip and tear and dig, employing his hand when he could. The water filled with blood and the creature began to panic. As it panicked, something else started happening. Its horse-like features were slowly melting away, giving way to a much more human appearance that had hands that could fight back. They scrambled to gain purchase on Monty’s lithe form, but the human neck that was now his target was much, much easier to destroy. He couldn’t think about how horrifying this was, first having to maul his favorite animal (or what had appeared to be his favorite), and now having to do the same to… a man. Just a fucking man. 

—

Kicking away from that monstrous jaw, Alan didn’t try to make sense of anything that happened. They were both in peril, down here, fighting this beast in an element that was playing against them. This was all Alan could focus on, the fright, the urgency of it all. Even if Monty couldn’t drown, he couldn’t possibly survive being devoured by that monster. 

He’d have to act quickly for his own sake too : the more time the wolf spent down here, the more he exposed himself to the chance of never coming back to the surface. Nowadays, he wasn’t much of an athlete. His days as a footballer were far behind him, as were his days in the army. Yet, running through the woods still counted as exercise, right? Perhaps it would have been wise to think about all this before he dove in, but he hadn’t thought about that at all. All that mattered was saving him.

Shaking his head if only to voice his refusal the only way he could and denying his friend the right to end up all by himself in this hostile environment, Alan swam back to his side, careful not to get too close to the death trap that constituted the horse’s jaw. 

The water turned red, and Alan felt his heart drop in his chest, while he stared with wide eyes through the sea water. He didn’t expect to see Monty digging his teeth into the beast’s neck. He’d never have expected violence from him, even more so when facing something that looked like that animal he cherished. Many times, he had listened to the zombie as he told him about Habanero. Alan couldn’t really understand that connection the other had with his horse, but it didn’t take understanding it to realize how heart wrenching this must have all been. Perhaps it was a relief to see the monster switch into something else, into a human. Hands wouldn’t do much to Monty, and they wouldn’t do much to Alan either. 

Approaching the wrestling pair, Alan wrapped an arm around the shapeshifter’s neck. Strangling him would be a waste of time : Alan would suffocate long before the other met its end. Bringing his other hand up to cradle that thing’s cheek, the wolf counted on Monty to hold away their arms and help him get over with it. 

—

As Alan’s arm came to wrap around the creature’s neck, Monty pulled his head back, eyes fixed on the open wound before refocusing on his friend’s face. Taking his cue, the zombie held on tightly to the fighting assailant, holding it still so Alan could snap its neck. The moment it went still, Monty was pushing on Alan, pushing on him to get back up to the surface. He was a much slower swimmer, though, and couldn’t help his friend get any higher any faster. He just hoped the idiot wouldn’t waste time trying to help him. 

Slow progress became no progress, and Monty growled in frustration as he sank all the way down to the bottom, his bare feet meeting rock and sand as he looked up at the far off, glimmering waves above. There was a dark, vaguely-human shaped spot, which he hoped was Alan, breaking through them and lingering for a few moments. 

Well, at least he hadn’t drowned. 

So began the long trek back toward the cave, and the cliff that rose up to form its bottom where Monty had found the horse—the thing—in the first place. At least climbing would be easier underwater. 

—

The cave’s ceiling reflected onto the water above Alan’s head, dark and menacing, and as he swam up, his lungs burning, begging for fresh air, the werewolf told himself that perhaps he wouldn’t manage to make it. Maybe he dove too deep, maybe it was too far above him. Maybe. 

And yet, after a while, he could tell the surface was right there, just an arm’s length away, right there. Just right there. His hands pierced through the veil first, followed soon by his head. The sound of the waves crashing gently against the shore, that gentle melody was broken by Alan’s gasping and coughing as he filled once again his lungs with oxygen, and tasted the salt on his tongue. 

Well aware that the other wouldn’t miss the fresh air as much as he had, he took a few more moments before he dipped his face in the water again, if only to get an idea of where he was. One day, he’d need to teach him how to swim, he told himself. Defending himself seemed to be far from an issue. It was a relief, the sort that brought a light to his face. At last, he swam back toward the shore, and took a seat on the rocks, pinching at the top of his nose and running his hand through his hair. He could hear the voices again, coming from the cave, though he was too busy with his thoughts to care at all this time. What would have happened if he hadn’t jumped into the water? What could have happened in the water. They were both safe now, but if he had just listened. What fucking madness had this all been. Alan wiped at the corners of his mouth, trying to get that bitter taste out of his mouth. Maybe he had no right being furious. It all had gone well, in the end. Maybe so, but maybe he was terrified of what could have been. His mouth trembled briefly before he decided to pull his shit together and stand back up. 

—

It took a few minutes, but finally Monty was heaving himself up from the edge of the pool of ocean water that lapped at the rocks of the cave, retching as he did so, his body expelling all the water he’d… inhaled? Swallowed? Whatever the case, it felt terrible. But as soon as he could lift his head again, his gaze darted around the darkness of the cavern until it fell on Alan, and he could breathe a sigh of relief. He spoke in frantic Spanish as he struggled to his feet, wading through the shallow water over to where Alan was standing. “Alan, I’m sorry, I-I didn’t think—I didn’t realize—!” He couldn’t quite form his thoughts into words, feeling them catch in his throat as his emotions got the better of him. 

You should have just left me was what he was thinking, of course, but he dared not say it aloud. Because he knew, really, that he shouldn’t have put Alan in the position of needing to rescue him in the first place. Hadn’t he done that enough for one lifetime? “I’m so sorry, my brother. I—” He wanted to reach for him but couldn’t and so he remained awkwardly standing in the water up to his knees, looking just as wet and bedraggled as his companion. Also, there was horse hair stuck in the back of his throat. 

—

“You think I don’t already know that?” Alan gave him a glance. His lips quivered. Fuck. He shook his head and wiped his fingers beneath his nose. What was even the fucking point. They were fine, weren’t they? 

But what if they hadn’t been fine. Alan shook his head, chasing those thoughts away, trying to pry that possibility away. “You could have fucking…” He stopped himself mid sentence. He couldn’t say that word. The word felt like needles in his throat, and Alan who always longed to have someone who could understand him, and who had found just that in Monty was beginning to realize that perhaps the zombie didn’t understand how necessary it was that he just lived. Or perhaps Alan hadn’t realized before that he wasn’t really immortal. Perhaps he should have told him to stay away from that damn fucking horse with more conviction or even said no to going anywhere near that damn cave. 

Closing his eyes, he brought his hand up to his lids. They trembled beneath his finger tips. “I don’t…” He took a breath, and another, collecting himself with every single sip of air that he took. “We should head back to port,” if his voice sounded too even for the occasion, the look in his eye betrayed all of his efforts, and it was swiftly that he turned on his heels to pick up his shoes and his jacket. 

—

As the events of the day settled over him, sinking in deep just how foolish he’d been and how badly that could have gone, Monty lapsed into silence. He could only nod when Alan spoke, announcing that it was time for their departure. 

He still didn’t know what they’d killed down there, and a part of him never wanted to know. But the warmth of its blood was not a memory quickly pushed away and it lingered like a bad taste on his tongue, reminding him of the one of two types of brutality he was capable of. But worse than that was what he’d done to Alan. Put him through. Just another mistake in a long line of mistakes, ones that Alan always had to bail him out of.

He deserved better than that. Monty knew this, but the truth of the matter was that he was selfish when it came to Alan, and he couldn’t make himself walk away. Besides, Alan wouldn’t let him. Just like he wouldn’t leave him to sort out his own problems when he got dragged underwater by some bloodthirsty beast because of his own idiocy, and just like he had covered up the other’s fuckup in the woods all those years ago to help him stay… It was a useless thought.

What he could do, though, was be better. So he quietly gathered his things and rejoined his friend on the boat, helping as was needed to get them out of there, but otherwise keeping to himself with his head down and knees pulled to his chest. He hated that the expression his friend had worn was his fault. But he could apologize until he was metaphorically blue in the face, and that wouldn’t change a damn thing.

So, he thought, he just had to be better.

[elektroblues]

alan wilder is so shapes i love him sm

[letsbenditlikebennett]

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @alan-duarte & @letsbenditlikebennett SUMMARY: Alex meets up with Alan so that he can teach her how to shift outside the full moon. Unfortunately, their training session is rudely interrupted. CONTENT: Gun use, parental death, domestic abuse

Part of Alex had half a mind to cancel this meeting. After all, she had gotten by for thirteen years without changing outside of the full moon, did she really need to start now? She wanted to go home, back to her garden or her guitar, and forget all about the monster she became three nights a month. That was weak though and even if she hadn’t donned the name in years, somehow the Durand family legacy still hung over her head like a dark cloud, always casting a haze over anything good she tried to find in herself. She desperately wanted these lessons to change that. For her to be able to use the monster she’d become for something good. Maybe she couldn’t engage in combat with grace or agility, but if she could bring out the wolf in a more controlled setting, she could still protect people. If she couldn’t do that, why did she even survive that night? There had to be a reason for it. She had to be more than this. More than a monster. 

There was some unease that settled in the pit of her stomach as Alex walked up to their meeting spot. They would be far away from anyone, surrounded by the comforting blanket of trees and foliage that blanketed the depths of the forest this time of year. Normally, they grounded her, but the tension settled in her shoulders all the same. She still couldn’t fully wrap her mind around Alan killing hunters. Andy made it seem like it was understandable, but how could it be? Moreover, she wanted to get this right and still felt the pathological urge to make sure Alan liked her. Even if she couldn’t let herself parse through the whole murder thing, he was helping her. He was experienced in all of this. He carried himself like he knew what the fuck he was doing and Alex so desperately wanted to know what that felt like. 

A few calming breaths and taking in the smell of damp wood that hung in the air helped Alex bring her heart back down to a normal pace as she approached Alan. “Hey,” she waved with a half smile, “I feel like there should be some pop-culture mentor reference sorta deal here… but…” She shrugged, “Haven’t seen a lot of movies or TV shows.” Something she’d hoped would change as she spent more time with Cass, who loved both with a gusto. 

“So, uh,” Alex made a sort of ‘lead the way’ gesture toward Alan, “Where do we start, old man?” 

—

"Is that what I am?" A mentor. The idea of becoming someone's role model sat uncomfortably on his stomach. 

There was a time, a while ago, where Alan saw himself build a family with someone. Well, not someone. Rafael Brown wasn't just someone to him. He was not his first love, although he'd been his second, and the longest relationship he ever had. They got together before marriage became legal for them, and swiftly got married a year after they allowed it. Then, he got bitten, and Rafael started to suspect Alan didn't spend his all-nighters at work but in good company. Alan hadn't figured out yet why he was blacking out three nights a month when the other filed for a divorce. There was no amount of promising or begging that could have changed a thing for them. He got married again, a few years later, but that had been a terrible choice this time, even if his second husband was in the know. Especially, perhaps, because he was in the know.

He was now too old for this, for being a role model for his own kids. If he accepted to help Alex, he'd have to be at peace with it. He'd have to own it. 

The werewolf took a deep breath, brushing off a wrinkle from his tee-shirt. He'd grabbed something simple at the store. Target clothes were the sort he didn't mind tearing to pieces. 

He'd brought a backpack too. That was one of the things she'd have to learn about: leave a whole bunch of those around, just in case. "I grabbed you a change. You'll need one, so I hope you're not wearing your favourite clothes," because they weren't precisely pretty. He smiled. 

—

If nothing else, Alex had at least gotten the dress code for werewolf shifting club correct. She donned thrift store jeans that were several inches too long on her and a t-shirt from some movie she’d never heard of that she’d nicked because she liked the color. If this outfit was ripped to shreds by the end of the day, she wouldn’t really care. Though Alan had the forethought to think ahead with the whole change of clothes thing. Some part of her wanted to interject humor, place doubt in his ability to pick out a change of clothes, but she really doubted she’d have an issue with the change of clothes. Alan was nothing if not well dressed. Plus, her nerves would make it even harder to give any sort of convincing delivery. 

The idea of honesty had crossed Alex’s mind. It wasn’t too late to tell Alan everything. About the hunter, about how he recognized her sister and would likely recognize her. Some smaller part even wanted to scream about being a monster, about not wanting any of this, but instead, the thoughts were silenced and tucked away in some metaphorical vault. 

“Thanks,” she offered as smoothly as she could, “Did have enough sense to wear clothes I don’t care about.” She gestured at the bottoms of her jeans dragging in the mud, “In case we couldn’t tell by the terrible fit.” She sucked in a deep breath in hopes of finding some balance on the knife’s edge she felt like she was standing on. Even asking for these lessons was some sort of embracing of the monster she was. Was she ready for that? Did it really matter whether she was ready for it? It didn’t and she knew as much. This town didn’t care what you were ready for, it’d throw it at you. 

“So,” she started, looking between the two of them, “How does this work? You’re not gonna go into some capitalist meditative retreat schtick, are you?” 

—

“Not funny,” Alan pointed out. Capitalist meditative retreat schtick. Did he need to remind her that the ugly mean capitalist was offering gracefully, free of charge, to help her, and absolutely not to fill the hole in heart that had been left by crushed dreams of a perfect life with a happy American family. He had the picket fence, he didn’t precisely need a dog, considering he had a nice house, a pool, a best friend, a job, a business he owned. He couldn’t shake off this much : he wasn’t always very happy. 

Lately, happiness had been outnumbered by dimmer days. He couldn’t really pinpoint why. He’d wake up in the morning, feeling grey. Sometimes, passing the threshold of his work place made him take a U turn on those feelings. Sometimes. Maybe this was why he was doing this. It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t selfless. He just wanted to try something new. At his age, it was about damn time. He also wanted to slap himself. He didn’t have to be so fucking dramatic, did he? He just had to kick his own ass and get back into the right track. 

With a sigh, one that was destined to himself, and his stupid tribulations, Alan turned to face the kid. He put his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants, took a moment to collect his thoughts, and get started. “How does it work?” A tough question. No one had a guide for this. He had gotten help, himself, from wolves that wound up dead months, years later. Hunters. They knew how to make things harder. “You want to control something that won’t want you to control it,” he paused, “but that something. It’s just you.” Which made it more complicated. He couldn’t get in her head, and she couldn’t get in his own. “We’re not the same but, we both want to be aware of what the fuck we’re doing,” no dissociative bullshit. None of it. 

“You’re gonna need to find within you, that thing that takes over during full moons,” it sounded stupid. Perhaps it wasn’t even material, but that’s how he had managed to control it. He located it, or imagined that he did, and he pictured himself controlling it. 

—

“It was kind of funny,” Alex shrugged, “I was only joking anyway.” There was something a little heavier in the way Alan carried himself that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. So much of her childhood had been spent being so tuned into other’s energy that it was hard not to notice the subtle shift. It wasn’t the same as it had been with her father though, she didn’t feel the edge brewing in her that came whenever her father had looked less than pleased. In the context of training especially, it was unnerving. Too many of the cruel things her father had done to make her a better ranger had been in the name of training and she didn’t resent those things, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to welcome them in either. Even with the slight slump in his shoulders, she still felt safe around Alan. In the very back of her mind, she could acknowledge that she felt safer with him than she ever had with her father, but she wasn’t prepared to fully accept that reality just yet. 

As much shit as she liked to give him, Alex had to admit that he was insightful. There wasn’t sugarcoating in his words and he was able to find their common ground with ease. It was funny as different as they were, they shared so much because of what they were. Even if they wanted entirely different things out of life, there was a certain kinship to be had in wanting their lives to be on their own terms. He understood grasping for those threads of control when it felt like everything else had been all but ripped from you. She hated that she could relate to his words, hated that he was right on the money, and most of all, she hated that it furthered her from the mold of a ranger her parents had so tenaciously tried to fit her into. 

“Yeah,” she answered softly, still letting the words sink in. It was hard to acknowledge the werewolf as part of her. There was comfort in the fallacy that a monster wasn’t the only thing she was, that there was somehow more to her, to both of them. Alex shifted on her feet and tried to think of how she felt on the full moon despite the fact she had no desire to immerse herself in those memories. “So more tune into that part of my brain and memories than dissociate,” she clarified. It was admittedly better than the new age bullshit she suspected most people would recommend, not that she was expecting Alan to be an undercover zen girlie or something. 

It sounded simple enough and in reality, it probably was that simple. It’s not like it would be a huge surprise to Alex if she was as shitty of a werewolf as she was a ranger. She shook that thought, the wolf never doubted. At least, in her memories, it never did. 

“Okay, I think I get what you’re going for,” she nodded, “I guess I’ll give it a go with focusing and you… I don’t know, maybe if it’s not kicking in a little show and tell or something?” Maybe the other wolf could coax hers out. Maybe not. She both wanted to master her shift and dreaded it at the same time, but she let her eyes flutter close so she could focus on her full moon memories and the way the beast’s mind worked, how it was driven by instinct and the hunt. 

—

He didn’t reply. Arms crossed over his chest, the werewolf took a look at her. He wondered what was going through her head. It mustn’t have been easy for her either. Alan worried that he might not be a good instructor. She must have been just as worried. Alan didn’t want to think of what he would have done if he had been in her shoes, so young and unable to control himself. “Remember, you’re doing this for yourself,” he pointed out, squatting down to be lower than her, shorter. “You’re not doing this for me, or anyone else. I don’t care if we don’t get results today,” he offered her a smile before he took a seat on the ground. 

It hadn’t rained in a few days, still, he could feel the soil was fresh beneath the fallen leaves. 

“Sit down. You’ll focus better if you relax,” resting his arms on his knees, he nodded. “We don’t want to dissociate. Fuck that,” it was awful, scary, and not something he ever wanted to go through ever again. It wouldn’t be easy, and she’d need to train to achieve that at all times, but even if she never gained full control (God knew he tried), she could at least attempt to. 

Alan nodded along. “We’ll let you try and if it doesn’t work, I’ll show you,” he wasn’t sure if that would help, but didn’t people learn new things by watching how it’s done? He fell silent then, if only to give her all she needed to find that bubble of unhinged feral energy within, dormant, but very much there. 

—

There was something gentle in the way that Alan spoke and explained shifting to her that was unexpected. On their own merit, the interactions Alex shared with the older werewolf had been filled with a number of quips, but something about the kind approach to training was so foreign that it left her momentarily stunned. The environment was already better than the training room in her parents’ house, there was no locking her out here until she got it exactly right. The delivery was already softer, too, and there was something in the way he spoke that she couldn’t see him striking her out of any frustration in the name of building her skills. She felt safe and that was such a stark contrast to any training experience she had when it came to turning her into a ranger worthy of the Durand name. It was alarming that she felt safer here than she ever had training with her own father and she felt guilty for even thinking as much. 

Thoughts of her last name sent another wave of guilt through Alex. There was a hunter out there that recognized the family resemblance and she hadn’t told Alan. Here he was going out of his way to help her despite the fact she’d made it her mission to be the biggest pain in the ass possible and she hadn’t shared such an important piece of information with him. Maybe she could. She wanted to trust Alan. 

“Thank you,” Alex managed after a moment of quiet thought. It was all she could say, at least for the moment. She wasn’t even sure she could understand why the patience in this context meant everything to her and for once, part of her wished that maybe she could. “That kinda takes the pressure off,” she added. Because it did. She was always trying to impress and the fact Alan didn’t care whether or not she got it down today made it feel less big and scary. The idea of practicing shifting was becoming easier to warm up to. 

As directed, Alex took a seat on the ground. It had always been her preferred seat anyhow, especially when it was warm and lush with grass like it was in the midst of summer. She listened to what Alan said and relaxed. That should have been the simplest part of the whole exercise, but when did she ever feel relaxed? Her eyes fluttered shut and she tried to focus on the sound of the wind in the trees and how it rustled the leaves. It helped slow her heart and she tried to bring her mind to the place it was on full moon’s. She tried to embrace the instinctive nature of those thoughts, but her more human mind fought it. There was a certain ferocity to the wolf that Alex just didn’t possess even if the wolf was still her like Alan had said. 

Flashes of her tearing apart various critters flashed through her mind and the bloody images twisted her stomach into knots. Wasn’t that ferocity better than being too soft? Too weak? Alex could still remember the hushed words spoken between her parents like it was only moments ago. She finally had something in her that gave her an edge, but it still felt like forcing herself into a puzzle she wasn’t a part of. Her eyes flew back open. “Did you have a hard time letting that part of your mind in at first,” she asked, “I don’t think I can… make this me shut up enough.” 

—

She looked confused. Alan told himself that she must have had trouble following him, despite the fact that he was convinced of the simplicity of his explanations. What had happened to them was written in many books, but there really wasn't a manual for werewolves. The psychologists had not looked into the question, nor had the pedagogues. Alan would be the only help she could count on. For the first time since they had arrived, he was thinking about that truth again. Their condition left them very lonely in the face of the difficulties encountered. It was chilling.

With his will to control everything, Alan had long since taken control of the wolf that inhabited him, fiercely refusing to be manipulated in any way. If the full moons didn't give him that satisfaction, he could still decide how he wanted to act, but unfortunately not what decisions were made.

"There's no need to thank me," he let his hands slide against the dry leaves. The ground was cool below, even more than the shady forest air. "Just try your best, and remember, it's alright not to immediately get it right," he knew today wouldn't be when she would be in full control. But perhaps she'd manage to transform.

She spoke, and he couldn't hold back a smile. Impatient, weren't we?

"If you want, you can try to materialise it, as if it was a bubble within." He crossed his ankles. It had been a while since he last needed to do so, but he remembered his first time trying. There was always this anger bubbling up in his hand. He'd moved it through him, he was not sure of how, up until it took up all the room. "You need to imagine it grows or… you could try to imagine it moving across your body." 

—

The patience exhibited by the elder wolf seemed to come in endless supply which was a stark contrast to their first meeting. Alex knew which she preferred, but that felt too much like admitting maybe her parents didn’t have things all right. If she was worthy of this sort of calm and respect now, that would mean she had been then too and that was too much to grapple with. The feeling of standing at a ledge waiting for the metaphorical other shoe to drop was easier to swallow. Maybe she was weaving a bit of a self-fulfilling prophecy with the inconvenient truth she kept stowed away in her back pocket, but it was becoming more difficult to not trust Alan. If he was singing the same tune at the end of this lesson when she inevitably failed then maybe she would tell him about the hunter and all the other reasons she felt like she needed to master this. But for right now, she would focus on the matter at hand. He was giving sage advice and she wanted to make him proud. 

“I do like bubbles,” she smiled with a feigned confidence. She knew well enough that the werewolf was always part of her. It could be felt in small parts of every day when instincts kicked in. Her reflexes weren’t necessarily better, but senses that allowed you to anticipate the smallest changes in the environment did make a difference. Sometimes, she could even feel the ferocity that wasn’t all her own. 

“I’ll give it a try.” Her eyes fluttered shut again and she tried to imagine the feeling of being in her werewolf form as something tangible. The experience was so heavily based in senses that she tried to engage all of them– the grass tickling her ankles, the rustling of leaves in trees, the thumping of their hearts, the smell of wet earth and something vaguely canine that had grown pleasantly familiar. She tried to move that bubble towards the sensory input and visualize how the werewolf would react. She tried to embrace how the wolf would feel it. Part of that was to keep close to Alan, some form of pack instinct she was sure, but also she found her head inclined to move toward directions of different stimuli. Still, something was holding her back. She tried to cling to that feeling, but it felt… vulnerable. She couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.

She chewed nervously on her lower lip. “Do you think,” she started and trailed off uncertainly. There was a long pause as she tried to think of what would help. Maybe she’d feel less observed, less like she was being tested if he wasn’t watching… which seemed a little unfeasible, but maybe if he went first. “Sorry, uh, do you think you could go first? I think I’ll feel… less nervous. The bubble thing was definitely helping just… yeah.” 

—

“You want me to go first?” Alan wondered if she’d ever seen someone transform before. It wasn’t a pretty sight, bones popping, creaking, moving under the skin, adopting abnormal angles. He worried for no reason. She’d been doing this longer than him, but he couldn’t put her youthful looks behind that. It just made no sense to him, that someone would harm someone her age and yet, here they were. It was very stupid of him to be worried he might spook her. This hit him like a second thought, and made him smile. “Alright,” looking over at the young woman, the werewolf got himself up, his age showing as he pushed on his hands and failed to repress a grunt. 

He wondered, sometimes, if lycanthropy made it all worse or better. Was it slowly fucking up his bones or would he have had it so much worse without it? Either way, his back was not as young as before. 

Now what was the right course of action : shift effortlessly or pretend it was hard? He felt like either way, she would be concerned but perhaps there was more hope to be found in an easy looking feat. Alan had long replaced the anger within with something more contained, still, the pain of shifting was for a long while what made him lose control over himself. One last time, he looked at Alex, a reassuring look in his eyes letting her know that he trusted her. “And remember, it’s alright if you don’t get it right today. It might take longer,” his smile grew more confident and he left the werewolf take all the room, pushing against every bone, every muscle until there was nothing human about his groans, nothing left of him but what was inside.

—

Alex nodded. The idea of him going first felt like it took some of the pressure off her, not that he was the one applying any pressure to her in the first place. It was becoming more and more apparent that was of her own design, that Alan had no expectations for her other than that she tried which didn’t seem right. How could he not expect more from her? “Please,” she answered meekly. 

There were more reassurances that she gave a soft smile for before she watched Alan turn into a wolf. Alex had never seen the shift from this side before, but she could imagine based on her own experiences that it was about as brutal as it looked. It was fascinating in its own way too and thankfully not quite so bloody that it made her stomach turn. If anything it made her feel the presence of the wolf in her more. As she watched his limbs twist and turn into something more lupine and covered in dust-speckled brown fur, her own instincts and senses felt heightened as if the werewolf in her knew this was her pack. 

For a few moments, all Alex could do was stare at Alan in his werewolf form. He already towered over her normally, but like this he seemed larger than life. When she was a kid, the sheer size of werewolves always intimidated her. She never really wanted to fight them, she’d wanted to hide. Some weird twist of fate meant she never made it to that stage of her training, but she felt no need to hide now. The beast before her was a friend and when he was like this, the wolf in her wouldn’t let her deny that he was becoming something closer to family. She smiled at the shifted werewolf, “You look pretty badass for an old guy.” 

Her own laughter followed her joke and she could practically imagine the wolf giving her an eye roll for continuing to call him old. It became easier to connect with and feel the werewolf within herself and the balance between the two felt foreign, but nice. Alex held onto the feeling and let her mind race through her senses instinctively as the wolf would. Alan in his majestic yet undoubtedly dangerous form seemed to be watching her, as if silently guiding her through the process. 

With every sound, her eyes flicked to follow it or her nose turned to pull in the scent. The werewolf in her felt like it was just at the surface, ready to come out, when the smallest sound in the brush caught her attention. Alex found her eyes falling on a familiar face though not one she had met personally. She’d memorized his features from the photo Andy sent her and the way his dark eyes scrutinized her from a distance. Something ferocious crawled under her skin and she found herself caught in a web of both shame and anger as he studied her. Her fists clenched at her side in an effort to play it off as her own attempt to shift, but then she saw the flash of metal in his hand and the gun cocking which fired off every instinct in her. 

The wolf within that she had been grasping at came to the forefront and her bones mashed themselves into the monstrous form she’d spent so long being ashamed of. A small part of Alex wondered what the hunter’s face looked like as he watched her shift. Had he known he was dealing with two werewolves or had he assumed she was a traitor to their hunter code? It didn’t matter, the more human thoughts quickly subsided as the freshly transformed werewolf barreled toward Alan as the gunshot rang through the field. All four of her paws found the ground to give her as much speed as possible as she raced to intercept the bullet. There were barely seconds between her colliding into Alan to move him from the bullet’s path and her own yowl escaping as silver burned into her back left hip. As if in argument, the pained howl continued as icy blue lycanthrope eyes stared the hunter down. She didn’t want to hurt the man, but she hoped the prospect of two werewolves was enough to make him run before Alan attacked. 

—

This was how it all went. Everything. One minute, everything was fine, the next, a shit storm. Such was life. Or such was his life the moment he left his parents' house. He wondered if perhaps any and all people could relate to it, if any and all parents tried their best to shield their kids for as long as they could from the storm. In Alex's case, Alan knew that she didn't even get that. She never got quiet,simpler times. Things were always complicated. 

Maybe this was why she reacted faster. 

By the time the older werewolf's eyes set on the hunter, he already had taken an aim at him. He didn't see the girl transform, and she took him by surprise as well, pushing him aside, out of harm's way. All for what. Once again, Alan wondered how someone would harm someone her age. Werewolves and hunters, both equally monstrous.

He could hear her pain, heart wrenching and unfair. Picking himself up, the grey wolf, worried as he might have been, moved forward. If he put up a fight, maybe she’d have time to run away from here. Hope. It was all he had. Alan rushed towards the hunter, his brown eyes filled with pain and disgust. The werewolf deserved to be hunted. He had used his abilities for his own gain, he had also killed many hunters to feed his friend. If he could regret the former, he felt not the slightest ounce of sorrow for the latter.

The hunter busying himself with his weapon, Alan thought he had a chance of knocking him down before he reloaded. A shot contradicted him, then a burn in his shoulder confirmed his mistake. He who often thought he was smarter than everyone else, howled in pain, and came to rest his back against a trunk, hoping to escape the hunter while he regained his wits.

—

The fact the afternoon had been going so well should have been a giveaway. Despite her nerves, Alex had been shown patience over and over again by the older werewolf. Just like dancing in the cave with Cass, this lesson with an older werewolf who was easy to see as a father figure was too good to be true. Those kinds of connections were only afforded to people who deserved them and she knew she didn’t, especially considering she hadn’t even warned Alan about the hunter who was crashing the lesson he was so kindly giving her. 

Pushing Alan out of the way had gone well enough, but time felt like it froze around the younger wolf as the silver bullet burned into her hip. No amount of training had made Alex any better at handling pain, at least not such violent pain. The shift had become more natural and didn’t leave her bones feeling heavy for days following the full moon, but this seared and dug into her in a way that felt unbearable. It was almost impossible to ignore, but her nose was quick to pick up the change in Alan’s scent. 

The older werewolf was ready to attack and protect. The thoughts were a bit different as a wolf, Alan’s instinct to protect felt natural, but her own self-loathing thoughts were still mixed with the instinct. She let out a sound between a howl and a grumble in protest, but he was already rushing toward the hunter. The younger werewolf wanted to stop him, to keep him from inevitably eating the hunter because it was wrong, but every breath through the pain felt labored. 

Her own heart pounded in her ears as she watched Alan race toward the hunter only for the deafening sound of another gunshot to echo through the field. Another pained yelp escaped from Alex, but this time, it was not from her own pain. For a flash, she saw Alan’s life and death flash before her eyes, but he was moving again and she felt a wave of relief. He was leaning against a tree and she looked to the hunter… who was running off? Why was he running off? She guessed two werewolves was a bit much for any hunter, but the fact he was running off didn’t bring her any comfort. 

The younger werewolf looked to Alan whose dusty brown fur was becoming coated in blood as he leaned against a tree that was surely bearing the brunt of his weight. He was hurt and it was her fault. She’d lied to him and now he was hurt. She’d put him in danger despite all he was doing for her and the guilt coiled through her like a hurricane. Somehow, even her werewolf form could tremble and she hated herself for that on top of everything else. The blood seemed to be coming from the shoulder and he appeared okay enough leaning against the tree he was at. With the hunter out of sight, that just left the two of them… which meant facing Alan and the inevitable disappointment with the fact she’d lied, with the fact she’d wanted to protect that hunter, too. 

After all the patience and diverted expectations, Alex didn’t think she could face him. She’d let herself feel hopeful that she could find something in the older werewolf. A pack? Maybe? Some part of her knew it was deeper than that and the guilt made everything in her feel like it was on edge, so all she could do was run. It was part instinct, but Alex knew she couldn’t chalk it all up to that. Her own fear had a death grip on the wheel as she barreled away from the scene of the attack and toward anywhere else. After all, why had she thought she could be any less disappointing to a defacto father figure than she had been to her own father? Alan would be okay and better without her bringing problems into his life, even if it was a lot more than the bullet in her hip that ached as she raced away through the trees. 

[beatlesforsale]

Listen, I'm having a blast playing Alan Wake II but the incessant jump scares are SO annoying. They're good in certain places but several in the span of a few minutes is going to give me a heart attack.

[not-that-dillinger]

[Sanctuary: receiver pulls sender into their house to protect them from an impending danger/storm] Your choice between Alan or Sam

Ed barely beat the storm on his way home from the board meeting. The storm was one of those storms that just randomly popped up off the coast as if out of nowhere on occasion. He tossed his coat on a hanger in the closet and wandered to the kitchen to scrounge something up for dinner, still thinking about the meeting.

The board meeting was... tedious. That had been the fourth board meeting since Sam took over as CEO, and Ed still knew neither what the new dynamic within the board was, nor what role he was supposed to play.

What he did know, was he was on thin fucking ice with the board again. That was fine. He'd dealt with it before, and he'd do it again.

And that Sam only seemed to listen to Alan, which only seemed to frustrate everyone else.

Ed glanced out the window across the living room, and caught glimpse of a lone figure across the street, looking much like a phantom shrouded in fog from the heavy rain.

Speak of the devil.

What the hell was Alan doing out in a storm like this? Ed could barely see him across the street, and with those glasses he wore, it was a wonder he had any clue where he was going.

Before Ed could think about what he was doing, he was out the door, not bothering with a rain coat.

"Alan!" he called, barely pausing long enough to make sure the road was clear before sprinting across to Alan.

He caught up to Alan, and gripped his arm lightly.

"Hey, Alan," he said. "this weather's pretty bad. My house is across the street, how about you come inside?"

[ufonaut]

here’s the ranking nobody asked for, done purely from memory (which means there may be half a dozen outfits that escape me at the present moment). my favourite alan scott civilian outfits: 

10. captain of a sinking ship

you may be thinking. well, it’s just a black suit. but the fact of the matter is that -- as the entries below will prove -- it used to be that you couldn’t pay alan to wear black so this sharp look takes a particular significance when you know it comes from all-star comics 1976 #64 when gbc goes resolutely bankrupt and the last of alan’s sanity takes a dive out the window. it’s a great suit! a real classic!

9. relaxing at home :)

every other good alan outfit comes immediately before an all out mental breakdown and this one’s no different! direct from comic cavalcade 1942 #19, artist paul reinman gives us a deliciously cozy little outfit: pyjama pants & dressing gown after a hard night of crime-fighting. the ascot just makes it for me!

8. lonesome cowboy

alan’s vacation outfits are famously unbeatable (you’ll see what i mean in just a moment) but this fringe jacket & cowboy hat look from all-american comics 1939 #99 is a real early one and a personal favourite. alan goes on a fishing day trip upstate with streak the wonder dog and makes sure to dress for the occasion!

7. cool & casual

post-bankruptcy and whilst living in jay garrick’s guest room, alan started dressing a lot more casually now that he wasn’t busy playing ceo all day long. i love this look so much, the sports jacket with the turtleneck underneath is simply fantastic and the bright colours are immensely in character. a real winner from green lantern 1960 #109!

6. cool & casual (continued)

i always enjoy alan’s personal style when he’s off the clock and this specific outfit from solomon grundy 2009 #7 feels like a nice little continuation of the above, it denotes a genuine preference for these jackets even if the colour palette is reversed. ranking-wise, places could be switched in either direction with these two but i’m a big fan of the red!

5. something to hide

back in the nineties when alan had regained his youth via the starheart and ended up looking as young as his children, he’d spent most of his time as sentinel and there had been very little seen of him at gbc for various reasons. chase 1998 #8 dares to break that pattern and proposes that when attending events as the head of gotham broadcasting, alan would take certain steps to try and hide his unnatural youth -- note the unnecessary glasses, the never-before-seen slicked back hair. i love the details and boy do i love that manic grin!

4. short shorts

i mean. really. what is there to say? alan’s wearing short shorts while on a cruise with the rest of the gang in justice society of america 1992 #6. it speaks for itself!

3. mr ceo

paul smith’s leyendecker-style alan scott in the golden age 1993 #1 is perhaps the greatest representation of Mr. GBC CEO -- one of the most vital aspects of who alan is as a person. it’s a fantastic outfit, clearly tailored, and in milder tones than he’d generally wear. this one’s all business and up there with the alan designs & looks of all time!

2. cool and collected

two things alan has never been but this outfit might have you believing otherwise! this is utterly magnificent to me. the sunglasses, the shirt & blazer, the undercover bruce wayne flinching in the background -- it’s all there. detective comics 1937 #786 gives us one of the best off-duty alan looks and i’ll stand by that forever and ever!

1. variations on a theme

at the end of the day, paul reinman’s variations on alan’s every day outfits throughout his run on comic cavalcade 1942 are completely unbeatable to me! the characteristically bright colours, era-appropriate semi-formal looks, the preference for the green suit (his best suit!) sometimes worn with its matching trousers and sometimes not, details like the bracelet in the bottom middle panel or the ever-changing ties... this is the absolute height of alan’s non-lantern outfits!

thank you & goodnight

[honeysmokedham]

@alan-duarte

[Pm] Yeah. Like how Batman is the night? I am fear.

Are you too scared to tell me? Fear is always fun. It's my favorite subject.

I like the big pocket in front. It's where I keep my knife.