#ditch davey

[ftm-megamind]

get you a cowboy that's obsessed with you

i wanted to finish this last night but i got really caught up with writing something (yeah it s also javey) and then i had to study for a math test and yea but here god ilove them

[image description:

a drawing of jack kelly and david jacobs from newsies (1992). jack is standing behind david, hugging him from behind. both boys are smiling and blushing. david's wearing a blue striped shirt and a black tie, while jack's wearing a red bandana, a grey shirt and a dark-grey striped vest.

end id]

#newsies #newsies 1992 #92sies #jack kelly #david jacobs #davey jacobs #javid #javey #newsies jack kelly #newsies davey jacobs #its the second time now that i ditched studying to draw them #i <3 them so much

[somedayonbroadway]

Newsies Rent AU?

I do love this idea.

Let me know what you think!

Rent AU

Crutchie Morris as Mark Cohen

David Jacobs as Roger Davis

Jack Kelly as Mimi Marquez

Spot Conlon as Tom Collins

Racetrack Higgins as Angel Dumott Schunard

Katherine Plumber as Maureen Johnson

Sarah Jacobs as Joanne Jefferson

Benjamin Coffin III — Morris Delancey

Okay, but why am I actually obsessed?

Crutchie as a film maker who is watching all of his friends get sick and start dying. David as an angsty song writer, Jack as a crackhead stripper, Spot as a rebellious genius, Race as a gender-fluid drag queen, Katherine as an eccentric performer, Sarah as her manager, Morris as the asshole that ditched Davey and Crutchie and also dated Jack and probably treated him like absolute shit.

I love this AU. I think Crutchie dates Katherine and then Kath met Sarah through Crutchie’s roommate, Davey and left him but Crutchie isn’t sure he ever loved her to begin with.

Race is the only person Spot sees as worthy of fighting for. Spot is normally someone who just likes to mess around, but Race isn’t just some fuck buddy, he’s the love of Spot’s life and Spot is the love of Race’s life.

Jack is just a huge mess which I absolutely love.

Let me know if you wanna see more of this AU!

For more mood boards and AUs, click here!

#anonymous #anon #anon ask #newsies #newsies live #newsies musical #much love #newsies au #modern era #modern au #newsies fanfiction #modern newsies #jack kelly #racetrack higgins #david jacobs #crutchie morris #spot conlon #katherine plumber #Sarah jacobs #morris delancey #rent #rent AU #rent musical #hiv #aids #525600 #alternate realities

[felt-squirrels]

Hello I am back with some Newsies quotes

Race: *Points at animal crossing stuffed animals* “look at this capitalistic asshole”

Albert: “Everyone has a ditch in their front yard!”

Jack Kelly: “Your two assumptions of me are that I’m gay and I like Katherine. Choose one.”

Crutchie: “Okay, your soul is full of sparkles.”

Race: “To-do: Cry, commit arson, join the mafia”

Davey: “I think we need to confiscate your egg privileges”

#newsies #quotes #newsies musical #david jacobs #davey jacobs #jack kelly #racetrack higgins #crutchie morris #albert dasilva #livesies #92sies #uksies #newsies movie #newsies 1992 #newsies broadway

[1nm806]

Back on my 92sies Spot bullshit!

He saw Jack as an older brother (as much as he hid it) and it became REALLY obvious after KONY (or whatever you interpret that to be in a non-musical world) because they're all jumping around and having the time of their goddamn life.

He jokingly crowns Race as King of New York and then knights Davey during this I think.

That scene I never shut up about? That one where Jack scabs and Spot is DRAGGED away from him? Yeah I think that he's screaming and sobbing the whole time. "TRAITOR!" he's yelling through streams of tears because that's his fucking brother and he's ditched them.

Even after the strike, Spot doesn't trust Jack again. He never does again - not to the extent he used too. He turns to Davey instead because Davey didn't leave them all. He doesn't replace one with the other, but he DOES turn to Davey in every cross-borough meeting, he checks with Davey instead of Jack, ALL of it.

#jack's hawkin the headlines !! #92sies #spot conlon #newsies #newsies headcanons #davey jacobs #jack kelly

[emmedoesntdomath]

emme’s 92sies review

@sparkedblaze I stole your idea because I was bored xoxo so here's my 92sies thoughts, with occasional running historical commentary:

okay having max do the intro was genius, he's a perfect introduction

they're on the horace greeley statue that's cool (editor of the tribune) (left, came back, died) (yer a nerd, emme)

kloppmannnnnn my guy

we really ditched the cowboy bit in livesies huh

max: *smack*

mush is RIPPED

god I love skittery and his relationship with race so muchhhh

ooh christian did a little dance- kind of. he twirled once. love you babe.

I actually love the 92sies lyrics and I know that's an unpopular opinion, but they're so funny

christian bale was either high or drunk whilst filming this and that's a fact

morris is older. fight me (not you, @noxexistant, I love you. just blaze.) (IM KIDDING IM KIDDING)

race's jokes are funnier here just because max casella looks like he's having the time of his life saying them

"must be from brooklyn"

no way my guy just counted all those papers that quick

I love how jack just straight up mocks davey,., like bro that's not how you get a bf

PULITZER HAS A MAGNIFYING GLASS HE HAS A MAGNIFYING GLASS (at this point, pulitzer was nearly blind because of health issues. we love to see historically accurate choices)(or I do at least)

that is how headlines worked, actually. stealin from the competition, stealin again

GUESS WE BOTH GOT AN EDUCATION

yessssss 92sies les drink that beer

why does every fight scene look like it's from a cartoon

davey's such an asshole. I adore him.

medda I love you but literally every part of your casting and story in this movie is wrong and makes me mad

davey: -and our friend

jack: fucki- excuse you??? since when

sarah's so prettyyyyyyy and not interested in jack at all

this version of santa fe is like,.., sweeter. I'm pretty sure I've fallen asleep to it before

oop except for the dancing bit. forgot about that.

HELP WHY IS THERE A HORSE AIN'T NO WAY FRANCIS SULLIVAN KNOWS HOW TO RIDE A HORSE

Imao oscar imitating kid blink

are you outta your MIND- racetrack higgins, 1899

look at davey being the voice of reason and then immediately doing a 180 after making eye contact with his crush. proud of you bro

FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT

boot's lil solo is the best and so cute oh my god

dentondentondentondenton

you're just gonna let your little brother walk into the world with a guy you met a week ago????

jackie boyyyyyyyyyy

dominic lucero has my entire heart. he does everything with a grin and enthusiasm I,,, *brb sobbing into my pillow*

..they are throwing hundreds of dollars in papers away like it's confetti

NOO CRUTCHYYYY

iS tHaT dAvE hEyA dAvE

cartoon fight.2

gabriel damon is like a literal child and he is doing the absolute most

THE CEILING FAN TRICK YES BUMLETS (I take it back, dominic is still doing the most) 

every word out of crutchy's mouth makes me want to hit a brick wall (affectionate) 

bro sarah's gay and thinks you're an idiot

ON THE GROUNDS OF BROOKLYN YOUR HONOR (-my favorite part of the entire movie)

I love that gabriel and max seem to be actually friends, despite their age difference. that was definitely the reason people started seeing sprace.

denton seemed to care about davey, at least a little bit, which is interesting to me, because he seems to only care about the other newsies a little bit. I feel like it’s a sees himself in him deal.

don't hide under carriages kids

they would not let him use a very expensive printing press as a bed. I refuse. I’m in denial about it. 

RALLY RALLY RALLY

spot conlon is an icon

do I have problems with medda? yes. do I think the swing is kind of cool? also yes. 

jack, you’re an idiot 

NO DAVEY LOOKS SO HURT STOP IT

the jokes weren’t funny I took the money my friends from home don’t know what to say

there’s no bill and darcyyyyyyyy. sad times. 

this version of once and for all is too slow and boring. sorry not sorry.

90s CGIIIIII FOR THE WIN

I feel like this version of the strike has gone on for like three minutes, not two weeks, but that’s fine

pulitzer and jack are both approximately two years old shouting SHUT UP at each other

look at all those kids (is this reality? meh. hundreds to thousands of kids did show, but that seems like overkill)

the goveaNAH

why are all of the jacobs crying??? they’ve known this guy for a month at most???

oooo carrying the banner’s backkkk (again, these lyrics are better, you shall bury me on this hill)

bro he came back and the first thing out of his mouth was davey come over here. gay.

oh hi denton

YES SPOT BE THE KING THAT YOU ARE RIDE THAT CARRIAGE

and then they got a happy ending. so cute. 

okay, okay, so. cinematically? the movie needs some help. it wasn’t very planned out, and it’s clearly a disney movie at some points. 6.5/10

historically? they did better than I remembered. certainly better than the stage production. my biggest issues lie with medda and probably jack himself. 7.5/10

musically? I like their carrying the banner, king of new york, and santa fe a lot. but most of these kids weren’t professionals, which does give the stage production a better quality. still, they worked with what they had. 7/10

overall? I adore this movie. I really do. I’m going to be honest, though, and say 7.5/10

okay I’m done now because it’s midnight. I’ll post this tomorrow. byeeeeee

#newsies #92sies #uksies #livesies #racetrack higgins #jack kelly #spot conlon #sprace #race x spot #manhattan newsies #david moscow #davey jacobs #david jacobs #jack x davey #christian bale #crutchie newsies #crutchy newsies #crutchy morris #les jacobs #kid blink newsies #1992sies #newsies 1992 #emme’s bad ideas

[joeythefrog]

Ok I saw a post from @ethereal-bumble-bee about a newsies zombie apocalypse au and it unlocked the part of my brain that has unfortunately spent many hours thinking about this so here’s my take.

Jack would not survive without help. Yes he has the natural leadership skills and was able to presumably keep the newsies alive for years. But this is an entirely new situation and he had it pretty easy as a leader with his reputation doing most of the work to keep him and his newsies safe. And if we are talking modern au then he wasn’t forced into that situation and has no real natural leadership skills other than public speaking. He’s disorganised, doesn’t keep track of everyone, tries to focus on the human side of it. He could live, but only with someone else helping. 40% chance of survival alone, 80% with someone

Davey is actually better than Jack. He would focus on claiming one safe house and slowly expanding past that. Big on sustainability, literally never leaves base unless it’s necessary. Keeps meticulous lists of everything and has it all organised. Collects survivors because he feels like he has to but if they get on his nerves or they don’t get along he won’t be able to put up with them and boots them as soon and safely as possible. 70% chance he lives, 30% chance there’s some form of accident he couldn’t see coming. Or really a survivor he took in who he thought he got along with gets sick of him and throws him in.

Spot would prioritise land similar to David. Main base, probably upgrades to interconnected ones when he collects survivors. But he also wants to make a large strip of land a safe zone. Definitely collects survivors but ditches them if they become a risk, will not stand to not be leader because he’s convinced that unless they prove their competence that they won’t be useful. (He’s not wrong) Also probably owns a map of the town with thumb tacks colour coded to indicate looted areas, safe and unsafe areas, high loot areas ect. And definitely has a high school yearbook and crosses off each person as soon as he sees evidence that they died. Profiled the ones who he thought would live and tried to track them down. He has probably been preparing for this his whole life in the back of his mind. Isn’t a big fan of anyone older joining him. Definitely lives

Race would find some nearby abandoned treehouse and claim it as his because of the high ground. Treats it like a video game but shockingly manages to survive the whole time. Gets tracked down by Spot, absolutely decks the guy with a baseball bat to the face because he thought a zombie got in somehow. Probably convinces Spot to move into the treehouse. Is actually pretty tactical and will live through the whole thing, even if alone.

Katherine stays alone until whoever wants to take her proves themselves. Documents everything. Really just stays in her house and focuses on sustainability so she never has to leave. It probably gets raided at some point by survivors bc it’s a rich area. If she chooses to go with them there’s a 85% chance of survival (It’s Race and Spot) but if she chooses not to go with them because their men (fair) then she dies due to zombies entering in the way Race and Spot blew their way in. But her records are used to show the past civilisations and are considered monumental historical documents.

Crutchie would live for a while despite the disadvantage of his leg. But he needs to live with someone and isn’t useful on raids. (Unstable land, can’t move fast enough) probably tries to go anyway because he refuses to be limited. Since the ground is unstable under him he ends up falling a heap and getting injured. Probably dies due to infections gained from it or gets eaten after falling and he can’t run away quick enough. 60% chance of survival

#newsies #newsies au #sprace #david jacobs #spot newsies #jack kelly #crutchie morris #katherine plumber #katherine pulitzer #I love Crutchie but I just don’t think he would live in situations where the ground isn’t stable and he needs to outrun people #he’s tough but not that tough #zombie apocalypse

[stevethehairington]

okay WOW that. ENTIRE sequence gave me the biggest ick oof.

first al pushing eddie off onto paige, basically GOADING him to leave with her and making all these skeevy comments about her being pretty and "if a girl gives you attention eddie you take it" kinds of sentiments.

then paige tells him davey liked what he saw and eddie gets excited and they kiss but he IMMEDIATELY loses that train of thought becuase he thinks of his band and how he has to tell them only for paige to shatter the illusion by explaining davey only liked HIM and not the rest of the band and when eddie starts to feel shitty about that because this was a thing his BAND did not a thing HE did, she talks him out of that?? and makes it about her too?? and basically convinces him that he has to take this chance and ditch his friends and if they're real friend she'll understand (which — HELLO that is SO shitty).

and then paige kisses him again and they have sex,,,,,,,,

oh the ick factor is SO HUGE ITS SO HUGE

#this power dynamic is Not It #it is SOOOO VERY NOT IT #flight of icarus spoilers

[ebolagranola]

i see you answer some chainmail chasers questions here so i was wondering ….. silly question but do you have any fun facts about grace because i love her as a protagonist

Uhh she's 19 at the start of ChainmailChasers, and lives in Canada.

She met Davey online years ago and became friends, though he's stateside.

A lot of people think Davey started editing the videos, but it's still Grace, her skills just improved and she started to ditch the Movie Maker style.

Her last name is Ackermann.

Her awkwardness and sobbing with The Dragon is not an overreaction- since Dogey is controlling the flow of information, he's deliberately obscuring things like discussion of symptoms and what she's going through. The blurred parts in Interrogation are actually painful to see, for example.

#chainmailchasers #chainmail chasers

[peacockeryabound]

The Last Honest Men - Part 1 (Reupload)

(From the Story of the same name on my Archive- Reuploaded to include all segments of Chapter 1.)

Synopsis:

"Have a little faith", that's what he always said. He, of all people, shouldn't have to worry about doubting himself. On the cusp of a new chapter in his life, cracking slowly under the pressures of his cause, Dutch Van der Linde begins to question whether his heart is in the right place, and with the right people.

(Pairings: Dutch/Grimshaw, Dutch/Molly, Dutch/Hosea)

-

There was something liberating, about standing at the cliff end of the camp to look out at the unspoiled frontier beyond. Horseshoe Overlook...it was still cold as sin and the camp assembly had staggered due to fatigue and hunger but what was important was they were out of Colter. This was the true spring lands, their little patch of haven in the spry woods. There was fresh wood, abundant game, berries and herbs...they had made it.

Not for long, not without sacrifice, but they made it. In celebration, Dutch perched upon the finest fallen log he could find and took to wafting a cigar while he enjoyed the beauty that the Heartlands offered. He could hear the girls behind him, fussing about with organizing, of Uncle sassing back over some unclean retort about his appearance. Pearson was preparing a stew that actually smelled halfway decent. It brought a smile to his face.

But only for a moment.

Prideful as he was, satisfied as he was, it was not easy to savor the entirety of the morning when Arthur was instigating a rundown behind him with Hosea over the losses they had sustained. They had to bury Davey up there in the mountains, forever alone in a land he had no choice to die in. Jenny had to go even higher, up near a frozen river with just two bits of wood to resemble her cross, miles away from any beaten road. Alone. At least Davey got to rest in Colter when they left.

The reverend gave him hell on that one, and that was a sermon coming from a man who couldn't say a straight sentence on a good day. It was pitiful, Dutch now remembered. Sean was still missing. Mac too, probably dead as well. Hosea nearly froze himself to death beside him on the wagon train. Little Jack, trembling against his mama in some broke down cabin in a godless blizzard...

He leaned forward, as if those few inches were enough to get out of earshot. Hand firmly cupping a knee, he indulged in his smoke again and licked the plumes rolling down his tongue.

Blackwater was a hot mess. It was the whole damn reason they were all here right now, running further into east territory when he had been scolded too many times by Hosea and Grimshaw about his original hard sell on settling west...southwest. Southern California?...all minute details in the big plan, unimportant right now. That he nodded too and exhaled through his nose, right down into the belly to savor the musk of the forest, all the pine and wood smoke that made his knees weak.

Losses had to happen sometimes. He had his time to mourn, but through sacrifice came victory, and they made it. He pushed himself back onto his feet and tightened his back, windmilling his arms to crack his shoulders into a pose that meant business.

"Friends," He started with open arms, "It's a fine morning." He took some steps closer to the two men, who each gave him tired expressions. "The birds are singing. The dew is fresh. It's a beautiful day in Eden, and we are its children." He slung arms around both of them, but only Arthur managed some semblance of a smile. Kid knew his place well; he had that faith in him. That could make any man feel like a powerhouse. Hosea...

There was one hell of a cold squint coming his way.

"You can talk of the Good Book with Swanson in a ditch. We are farther east now than the plan intended." The old man pulled out of the embrace. His nose curled to match Dutch's. "Arthur has the damn right to talk about Blackwater as it was what got us all into this mess."

Dutch stared for a moment until he gave a snort and drew Arthur in closer. He was mindful of the cigar as he gave the young buck a good smack on the back for his presence. 

"And we can talk about Blackwater, later. Let's not spoil the good fortunes we find ourselves in this morning, eh Mr. Matthews? Mr. Morgan?" 

There was something always charming, about the reception of Arthur's clueless stare and that exasperated sneer from Hosea that just made him want to grin. They both side glanced to each other, shared a sigh and both backed off to resume whatever duties had possessed them. He waited with a hand in his pocket and his cigar to his lips, smiling behind the smoke when the old man only took a few more steps before tensing his shoulders and pivoting back around.

Hosea pointed at him. 

"You and me, tonight. We're going to have a talk."

Dutch raised his cigar and gave a proper head bow. 

"Of course, old friend. Until then, go and take a walk under the warm sun. It'll do your legs some good."

Hosea made a dismissive gesture at him and stomped off, leaving him with his thumbs hitched into his belt loops while he surveyed the camp. It was coming together very nicely, not bad for a bunch of heathens on the run. With the majority of the tents set up, everyone was finding their own place amongst the chores. Jack was watching Javier tune his guitar. Strauss fussed over the log books under his tent. Susan barked orders for the girls to wipe down the tables while she smacked Bill upside the head in passing for nodding off against some crates.

A glance to his side took his focus back to his tent, where she stood there waiting for him. Dutch smoothed back his hair as he began to saunter close, performing a more appropriate bow when he was able to smell her perfume. 

"Mornin', Miss O'Shea." He mumbled into the back of her offered hand.

-----

Yes, even a man such as himself could have doubts, but he would have been a poor and sorry fool if he had turned back on his own beliefs for a second. Times had been tough and supplies were almost bone dry for the next few days, but the Van der Linde gang was nothing if not tenacious. A few of his boys were already out scouting towns and stalking targets, and blessed be the angels who stayed behind to ensure the camp was comfortable. 

He looked over his coffee cup, eyes following the shambling Uncle who stumbled by while digging for gold down his pants.

Alright...most of them. 

Dutch took a swig as if it were a shot and perked from a heavy grunting that sounded off behind his tent. He recognized that unrepentant growl anywhere.

"Arthur! What in God's name-"

"Yeh, well..." the outlaw shifted to keep the drunk man over his shoulder. "God don't want him today."

They both shared a chuckle and he watched the good reverend be carried off and daintily dumped onto his bedroll like a bag of sand. Arthur was dusting his hands as he sauntered back, waving off Dutch while he was given an appreciative clap on the bicep.

"Much appreciated, for going out and checking on him, Arthur." Dutch smiled through a nod. 

"Sure. Father Swanson told me all about his declarations of giving up the hard stuff." Arthur mused as he reached into one of his pockets. He deposited a stack of bills into Dutch's hand, returning the pat while taking pride in the stunned expression on the big man's face. "That came from his little confession at the poker table."

Dutch guffawed as he counted every dollar, glancing up as he watched his number one sauntering off with a whistle to his tune and a pep to his step. Arthur didn't seem any worse for wear after carrying an entire drunk over one shoulder, which would explain the energy behind his hat tip during his walk past both Hosea and the large rifle the man was cleaning.

Now, that was an interesting sight...

Dutch took a long drink while blindly dumping the bills into the collection box, observing the old blonde stand and mumble something to Arthur when they reunited. They both inspected the gun and Arthur made a jab about shooting elephants, earning himself a warm smile that wasn't too common these days. They walked off together, guns in hand and satchels slung around their shoulders, fat with supplies for some grand adventure.

He'd have to ask, what the big occasion was. In due time...

Dutch smiled at Mary-Beth when she sauntered past on her way to the cooking pot. She caught his eye and brought her book up to hide her face and the shy grin he swore he caught.

She ended up being on his mind for a good portion of the day, enough to distract from both the suspicious glances from Molly and thoughts of Hosea. It was only when Dutch sat down in his tent to draw up a pencil and his notebook that he truly knit his brows, licked his lips and really reconsidered his priorities. 

As he scratched down unrelated notes, he thought back to their time in Colter. Blackwater was enough of a stress riding on his ass but the bigger priority of sheltering and feeding their family had allowed him to stuff down the guilt of it for a time. He remembered the half frozen lethargy of the women, of Micah cussing up a storm over the living conditions, of Pearson trying to take a cleaver through what frozen game Arthur and Charles hauled back. He remembered the skin of his own cheeks feeling like it was going to chip away from the biting cold as he led a few of his boys up the hillside to eliminate the nearby O'Driscoll competition.

Dutch realized he had been scribbling a growing circle around a freckle in the paper. He sighed, dropped the pencil into the center of the splayed pages and leaned back to stare up at the roof of his tent. He couldn't get Blackwater off his mind.

No, he was not going to spook the gang by admitting to the horror show in the presence of those who had not witnessed it. It was not right, to bring the ghosts of that botched job back into the minds of the survivors who had outrun the bullets with him. He closed his eyes. Try as he could, he couldn't shake the image of Hosea, shaking like a shitting dog in front of a pitiful fire in Colter.

He had overheard Arthur mumbling to Javier one night over a campfire dinner, that he had been concerned over that harsh weather which was going to do the old man in. Everyone had suffered during the storm in Colter, but Hosea's poor health had dipped into a terrifying low that had left him sluggish and slow on the up draw. It had gotten to one point where it was uncertain to distinguish the rattle of his coughs and the shivering from the cold. 

Colter was the result of those Pinkerton dogs back in Blackwater...but it was also because of his own poor shots. That dead girl's face was going to haunt his mind for years to come.

"Dutch?" Molly's voice caused him to jolt. She was peeking through from a lifted flap, her expression suggesting she had been talking for a few seconds without him noticing. "Did you hear me?"

"Molly...Molly." He greeted back with a distant smile. "My sweet garnet from the Isles...c'mere, darlin'."

Her approach was slow, hesitant. This hadn't been the first time they got into it over his headspace lately, though she bit her tongue and sighed through her nostrils. Instead, the ornery thing folded her hands and cocked her head with all the presence of a scolding mother.

"You told me that you were going to take me to Valentine. For the picture show."

Dutch blinked. He might have been staring longer than he thought, as her nose was scrunching her face more and more into a tight glare. In the face of impending chaos, he did the sensible thing and closed his book. It strained a bit between his hands due to the pencil still trapped inside, but if bulging at the seams under pressure wasn't a metaphor that Hosea always lectured...

He grinned.

"The picture show! Yes, of course, Miss O'Shea I did promise you that." He stood up and looped an arm around her waist. The haphazard crash of the book behind him made the corner of his lip twitch. "This was...tonight, wasn't it- OW! Damn you, woman!"

Molly smacked him again, hard across his chest. 

"Well, if it was next Tuesday, I wouldn't be harping on you now, would I?"

She huffed at him and gave his mustache a light tug, her expression fighting to remain bitter. The longer they looked at one another, his hand upon her own cupping his cheek, all that came out of her was a small sniffle.

"Darlin'..." His voice was soft as he moved, chest to chest with his free hand settled on her hip. "You know I would give you the world. Do you doubt me on that?"

Molly looked uncomfortable. "Dutch..."

"Mo-lly..." He was kissing along her knuckles.

"No, I don't doubt you, Dutch..." her voice became hushed at the end. She made a defeated gesture with her hands before she crossed her arms and looked elsewhere. "Even if you make me want to." 

He watched her push by to take a seat on their shared cot. It had felt a bit cold these last two nights, despite the body heat shared between them. Something twinged inside of his gut during his approach, himself bracing for the tutting on the last time they had even made love during all of this mess. After he had taken a seat next to her, Dutch offered his palm to her back, noting her refusal to lean back against the sway of his stroking.

"I promised you a picture show." He repeated. She nodded. "I...got a little carried away, it seems."

If that wasn't a bullseye of an answer. Every member of this damned stubborn gang reveled in hammering that point in every day. Dutch Van der Linde, the dreamer, the fool (and all its variations), the huckster, the murderer. 

That last one struck deep, as was the dirty price of freedom. That McCourt girl's face was back in his mind, overlayed on Molly's face. Young, big doe eyes, lips parted in dawning horror from the crazed look of a madman pointing at her...a small coo was made and he blinked. It was so simple a sound and yet it unlocked a memory he had desperately tried to keep smothered down inside of him; Annabelle's voice. She made sounds just like that, right when he would tuck a curl behind her ear or draw pleasure out of her from his mustache kissing her neck...he flinched from her hand suddenly stroking his jaw, wiping something wet that had settled down his cheek.

"Such a softie." The voice gave a small hum and her lips were pressing against his.

--------

"I heard that Arthur ran into his old girl back in town." Abigail mused while stirring her breakfast.

"Did he now." Dutch deadpanned. He had his bowl before his knees, elbows pressed on top as he leaned into the smoke of the morning fire.  Normally, he would give a rat's ass about the daily affairs around camp. Rather, he had given that drawling idiot very precise instructions to go and fetch Micah from whatever disaster he had crawled into, out in some pokey little outpost called Strawberry. Needless to say, hearing about Arthur instead pulling a Romeo out in bum-fuck-nowhere put a bit of a sour taste in his mouth.

"Bad seasoning?" Pearson caught him rolling his tongue over his teeth to spit out some gristle. "I told Javier to get the good stuff in town, but I think he ran out on me to the saloon instead." The camp cook chuckled and continued chopping carrots.

Abigail glanced between the men, feeling a bit caught between the attitudes. Dutch could tell that she wanted to laugh over his puckering look but its persistence hushed her. She instead shoved her next spoonful deep into her mouth and chewed on it to keep quiet. 

The next voice he heard made the hairs behind his collar prickle.

"And what's this about Mary?"

"It's nothing, Hosea. Don't you start fretting over him." Dutch warned him.

He knew he was about to get an earful when he heard that wheezy windup from the blonde. Dutch shoveled down a mouthful of his slop and blinked away the pain from the heat. It didn't distract him as he had hoped.

Hosea Matthews, his Old Girl...and with the shrewdness of one too. Only a true conman would just sit down without a care to another's frets and dig right into them. Dutch glowered at the man suddenly almost elbow-to-elbow with him, making a point to clear his throat as Hosea adjusted his hat and squinted up at the morning sky, watching where the smoke trail was billowing to.

"Yes, well, he sure as hell fretted over me many times. It must be like we're a family here." Hosea side glanced him, smiling. "He isn't a boy anymore, Dutch. We of all people should know what it is like to wander back into old arms."

Abigail was giving them a funny look, and he did neither of them any honors from the vehement snort he took. Damn them all, giving him looks and those shitty little side looks...it took everything he had to not just toss his bowl into the flames right there, but he couldn't stop the light bounce to his foot. A few "Mm." sounds came out of him, which were better to process with his eyes closed. Mm-mm-mmm....A nod here, a few shakes there and he was exhaling with a fixed smile.

"That we do, my friend." He stressed the last two syllables. "And that we do, to mourn the loss of great women that raised us up into honest men."

He maintained his stare with Hosea, who also was resting in the same position as him. The little shit glanced over him to hand wave Abigail, giving an apologetic smile when she took her cue to leave. Once they were alone at the fire, side by side, did Hosea's expression settle back into that so-tight squint it almost looked like his eyes were mere slits.

"What's eating you now?" He asked. "You've been chasing everyone off all morning with that rotten look of yours."

Dutch slapped a knee and leaned back, groaning up at the sky.

"Not you too. I already got a good cussin' from Molly."

"Trouble in paradise, huh."

Dutch glared at him. 

"You would know, you incessant bastard."

Hosea maintained his agitating calmness. His smile was far too pleasant for the tone of the matter. He too sat up and fussed with his scarf, which had collected some wayward bits of ash.

"Yes, well, twenty-odd years of being your work wife certainly does that to one's intuition." He looked over his longtime partner and gave him a shoulder bump to help lighten the mood. "The best I can do, of course." 

Dutch had to smile at that. He knew Hosea could never hold back his tender nature for long. 

He clapped a hand on the man's back and gave it a rub, though it only took him a moment to feel haunted by how similar this gesture was compared to last night with Molly. The affectionate press against his palm made for a nauseating tingle to crawl up his arm and deep beyond his shoulder. Dutch glanced around them, but everyone else was content to their own morning routines.

"You do it well, I know." He conceded, head down. He dumped his stew into the fire and tossed the plate and spoon into the dirt. Pearson barked something at him from a distance, but all that mattered now was listening to the tranquil hum of his better half. "You're right, I...am just having a morning."

"You riled up more over Arthur, or Micah?" Hosea frowned. He was warming his hands, fingers almost getting licked by stray lines of smoke. "If it's the former then I wouldn't worry. He'll turn up sooner or later."

Dutch squeezed at his knees, thinking for a moment.

"And...Micah?"

It was Hosea's turn to twist his face into a sneer. He nudged a stray ember back into the fire with the toe of his boot.

"If I can project onto Arthur, I'd say he's dragging his feet in fetching that bullheaded buffoon for you."

Hosea was not a lying man, which was amusing in reflection of his trade. Dutch wanted to snort at the spiciness of that answer but to know there were multiple folk in his gang that were not fans of Mr. Bell prodded something twitchy inside of him. He leaned in to get a good look at that cracked old muzzle.

"Is there a problem with Micah, Mr. Matthews?"

Hosea was quiet for a moment, staring at the fire. His nose gave a sharp exhale as he wiped a palm down his face in a tired, exasperated tell. 

"I have faith in you, Dutch." He hissed. "I would have walked away by now if I hadn't. I just fear he will get us into hotter water with that temper of his." His voice dipped into that emotional little rasp that always hurt them both to hear. It was enough to even crumble Dutch's resolve a bit, as they both wore the same concerned expressions for each other.

Twenty-odd years, Dutch repeated in his mind. Twenty-plus long, happy, agonizing years with this fussy old mare who matched him in every duel he could ever instigate. Wits, bullets, some stray hands in questionable places...their bond was their own, tested and fortified by fights like this, by tough choices they had to swallow down. Memories of Colter returned to him, those frigid old ghosts who coughed and shivered, struggling to not crack under the weight of his own pressures...

"Dutch."

He blinked. Hosea was giving him a funny look.

"Maybe you should worry more about your sleep, Dutch...or lack thereof."

--------

Micah was back, much to everyone's bitching. Rather, it was the news, of which Arthur kept his answers curt as he slapped a few more dollars into the collection box. The tired bastard looked more trouble than it was worth to prod, covered in dust, scrapes and a few questionable splattering along his face and jacket. Reluctant as Dutch was to ask just what in God's name happened in Strawberry, he was left to ponder while huffing and puffing away from the rumor mill around the stew pot. 

He took to one of his favorite rocks over by the camp ledge, American Inferno in hand and a heavy exhale to calm his nerves. Micah would be back soon, bless him. A visionary, a no-bars-held sorta fella, so willing and eager to get down and dirty for the sake of progress. The only scrap of information Dutch could glean about Mr. Bell's whereabouts came from an offhand grumble from Arthur that the convict was out scrounging around for a sort of peace offering. 

Now, that was loyalty.

Feeling a bit more satisfied, Dutch opened his book and thumbed to where he had left off. He read a few pages, half focused, as he was also listening to the reverend sounding sober enough to give his daily sermon:

"Yes, as it was said in the writings of good James, he said this- my brethren! If any among you strays from the truth! And one turns him back, let him know. That he who turns a sinner. A sinner! From the error of his way will save his soul from death! And, and, my good friends...will cover a multitude of sins..."

Dutch paused at his current passage. It warmed him to hear Swanson's voice, so full of life again. Even if it only was for the night, the man was free from his devils, free to speak with the zeal of Moses on the Mount, full of love he pleaded for his fellows. In a way, he figured they both weren't so different. He rolled his tongue in his mouth while he thought. Something about the passage just hit him in a funny way, but it was one he couldn't focus on for long.

His back hurt and his right eye had been twitching a bit these last few days. The tiff with Molly and the reminders from Hosea had kept him distant from them both. Sleep had not been a fair weather friend for years and especially not since Blackwater, or Colter...or resigning that he couldn't even go to a picture show in a little dump like Valentine. It had been a blue eyed miracle that he had been free to walk down main street with Trelawny to fetch his boys without being shot at on sight.

"Hi, Uncle Dutch." The sweet voice of Jack came up behind him.

He blinked and cleared his throat, exhaling to prepare a charming smile as he watched the boy step into view, playing with some stick he had found nearby.

"Hey, Jack." He smiled. "What's goin' on, little man?"

"Nothing." The child pouted as he tore some smaller twigs off. "I don't like the church talks."

Dutch watched him for a moment before he shifted his book to one knee and patted the other.

"Come here, son. Let's talk."

The little boy hopped onto his knee without hesitation, staring up at him with those big doe eyes full of wonder. Good kid.

He never had children of his own, but Dutch held pride in feeling that he helped raise plenty of fine men and women in this family he had built with Hosea. Jack was undoubtedly the first grandchild he could say he had, a product of their success for going so long against all the world's evils. 

"Am I in trouble?"

"No, no, nothing of the sort." Dutch smoothed out the dust collecting in the kid's hair. "Now, you tell old Uncle Dutch why you don't listen to Uncle Swanson's stories."

Jack opened his mouth but paused and closed it, instead looking back down to play with his stick. 

"I don't know what he says. They're all boring."

Dutch blinked and gave a nod. Made sense in the eyes of a four year old. But, this was nothing that a little conman magic couldn't fix. He stroked his mustache while feigning thought, chuckling a moment later.

"You know what, you're right. Even us grownups can find them a little boring." He looked down at the boy, who was now swishing his stick around like a fishing rod. "But, every story has a value, Jack, and one day when you are big and strong, I want to see you with your nose in a book and out of trouble. You understand?"

Jack looked at him funny, said nose scrunched. 

"OK...uh...why?" Clearly, the idea of reading didn't seem too cozy with him. 

Dutch mused and gave that little chin a light knuckle.

"Well, for one, you can learn a lot of things from a book." To prove his point, he picked up his own and situated it just right along his thigh to keep it balanced while he flipped through the pages. "You can...well, you can see new ideas, or you can picture a wild adventure in your head. You might even think up something new that you might want to make your own, one day." He tapped a random paragraph on a page, grinning at the gawking child. "This right here, Mr. Marston, is a whole different world."

Jack looked like he was reeling. His eyes were almost glazed over, that little putty mind working hard to shape everything that was just dumped onto him. This might have been a world of toxic order bearing down on them all, but Dutch would see to it that every child of his had the freedom to think, to challenge, to be.

"Do you understand now, Jack?" He asked, hushed.

"I...think so." Jack whimpered. He lowered his stick and looked up to the biggest man he knew. Dutch could see that obedient sense of wonder in those twinkling little eyes- that sort of look that was taken as gospel. "But...reading is so hard! I don't like it..." He played with his hands. "Mama told me no, but I wanna be a gunslinger!"

Dutch stared. His mustache twitched. Now...that was a proud thing to hear, such a vigorous claim for the cause...but he hesitated to say anything. Memories of Jenny flashed before his eyes. Such a sweet young girl, barely old enough to fill her boots, struck down before she could get the taste of his vision. Jenny...that McCourt girl...he wrenched his eyes shut for a moment to squeeze down the pain. The Adler Miss...too many young bloods, subject to so much loss, so very young...

Now he, he absolutely deserved every bullet for them in this crusade. He demanded their loyalty while knowing their fates. It was enough for him to wheeze and look elsewhere, trying to look past their faces in his mind's eyes. Jenny...

"Hey, Lenny." He croaked.

"Huh?" The young man lowered his axe.

"Stop hitting those logs and come over here."

"Uh, OK Dutch." Lenny was by his side a moment later. He smiled at Jack. "Hey."

"Hi, Uncle Lenny." Jack smiled back, though he looked more nervous than ever.

"What'd you call me over here for, Dutch?" Lenny now had his hands on his hips. As he waited, he took a deep inhale through his nose and looked up at the dandelion puffs floating in the breeze.

It was a very handsome visage. A true man, unshackled and unbothered. At home where he was happiest, but shrewd to philosophy. Agitating as the kid was for digging deep, Dutch appreciated their literary debates. He made a gesture at the young man and found his chuckle wavering a bit from the emotion that surprised him.

"Jack, this man...right here. He is strong, he is proud, he gets his way in this world because he does not listen to those fool men that are out there." His voice shook. "And he does it, right from the heart, with the help of books." He laughed in tandem with Lenny, who had raised his brows as if the old man had gone mad.

"What? I don't know about that, Dutch. The books help a lot but..." He gave pause when he saw the challenge in Dutch's stare. Maybe it was that fancy learning that made him catch on quick and change his tune. Maybe he just knew how to fight his battles, but Lenny wagged a finger while nodding, no doubt playing the same fake revelation game. "Yeah...you know what Dutch...I shouldn't doubt them. After all, they helped you too." 

He bent down, hands on knees as he too smiled at Jack. "I overheard one day that your mama and Mister Hosea Matthews himself were teaching you how to read. It's a big honor to know how, Jack, believe me. Any big man can pick up a gun but a bigger man settles his problems right here." He tapped the side of his head and stood back up. "Dutch and I talk all the time about how great books are, don't we?"

"Right you are, my friend." Dutch mused. 

His smile grew a bit bigger when Lenny stepped away to bring back a stool, took a seat and began to scratch at his chin while recalling some of his favorite childhood stories. Together they swapped old tall tales and nursery rhymes, laughing over the silliness of them while a wide eyed boy with twinkling eyes listened while clutching American Inferno close to his chest.

-----

"And what are you doing?" Grimshaw's voice made him sigh. He peeked around the neck of The Count.

"Just giving my horse some tender care, Susan. Calm your britches."

It wasn't entirely a lie. Being at camp for so long, Dutch knew his old boy was getting restless. The weather was pleasant today, the grass was fresh and dewy...and Arthur ran off to go hunting bison with Charles, which might have made him feel a bit jealous. Him, the poet, preaching of the whole country as every man's backyard...and here he was, stuck at home.

The old buzzard was staring at him with her arms crossed, always unconvinced.

"Then tell me why he has a fresh blanket and a saddle on, Dutch Van der Linde."

"For god's sakes, woman, you aren't my mother!" 

She followed him right into his plane of view, staring down right over the horse's neck.

"Well, for what we used to do, I sure as hell hope not!" She reached for the bridle and began to loosen it. "Damn fool, you're going to ride out and get yourself shot, aren't you?"

Dutch dropped his brush and grabbed the other side of the beast's gear. The Count began to roll his ears back and snort vehemently, prancing in his spot.

"You want a kick in the teeth?" Dutch snatched the reigns out of her hand and grumbled as he began to tuck them back around the hitching post. "Won't be me this time..."

He turned around in time to see her pinching her nose. When Susan looked at him again, she sighed and shook her head.

"What were you going to do, Dutch?"

It was times like this that a stare-down felt more intimidating than just reaching for the holster. Twenty-something years too...Hosea wasn't the only one that could read him like a map. This was a woman who could tear down saloons back in her day with just the spite of charmed men itching to die for her. She had been the head on his shoulder around campfires, the confidante nipping at his ear and one of the few who made him sob for God, disarmed and exposed. As much as he wanted to scowl and sass, he could see the same troubled love in her gaze that came right back to him. He sighed too and rubbed at one of his eyes.

"Just wanted to get out for a bit. Get some fresh air." 

He gestured to the poker table. As they walked together, he felt her arm looping around his. Once they took a seat, opposite of one another, did she shake her head at him, partly amused but mostly flustered.

"You've been a sour one all week, Dutch. Even Karen's been asking about you." She mused from behind threaded fingers. "Said she heard you and Molly going at it, and not in the holy way either."

The best thing to help with biting back his tongue was to grab the box of cards and pop them out. Even just shuffling was a good distraction- a good way to channel that control. Dutch Van der Linde was not falling apart. He just...had a lot on his mind. There was a plan somewhere to get them all out of this, just like...poker, he supposed. As he cut the deck and messed around with a spread on the table, he reckoned that his plans were like poker. He knew the outcomes, knew his cards, figured a little cheat here and there...

"I just got a lot on my mind, Susan." He mumbled, bouncing a Joker card between his fingers. Down it dropped, right into the ratty mess beneath it.

When he glanced up, he was relieved that she was polite enough not to stare at him like an animal. Her eyes too were cast down onto the pool of fading colors, as if there were some spiritual message waiting to be arranged. She nodded, a small breathy chuckle leaving her a moment later.

"That I can agree. Can't say it's been comfortable just waiting here for this long without action but...the people are fed and keeping the place clean." She used her elbow on the table to help pivot back, glancing around the camp behind them. Despite the creeping smoke wafting through the place at the moment, it was relatively peaceful. Jack was struggling through a reading lesson with Hosea and Lenny, Bill and John were arguing about something unimportant at Pearson's table...she watched her girls giggling over an inside joke as they walked by with buckets of water and dirty linens. It wasn't home, but it was a haven.

She turned back to look at him. 

"What is on your mind, dear?"

It wasn't often that she talked like that, not these days. Not with them on the run, not with Molly or the ghost of Annabelle. The affection in her gaze loosened his shoulders and he blinked furiously, convincing himself it was just the smoke stinging at him. Dutch cleared his throat while distracting his eyes with the cards again.

"OK, fine...it is about Molly." He grumbled. "Got up in arms because I forgot to take her to the picture show in town."

Grimshaw snorted.

"Oh, just up in arms? Still the romantic, I see." 

Dutch started, sneering as she shushed right over him.

"Listen, stop for a second." She continued, one elbow on the table now. "Get out of your head, right now. Look at her." She pointed to Miss O'Shea, who was the farthest possible distance between them, sitting at the same rock overlooking the cliff edge that he had been on just yesterday with Jack. "This life ain't proper for a girl like her. We all know she just sticks with us because of you, Mr. Van der Linde."

Grimshaw looked just a moment longer, shaking her head while turning back to knit her brows at him. 

"Taking her halfway across the world, through a blizzard and bullets and the sticky dust here and you have the mind to think her a criminal for wanting one night of decency with you?" She squinted. "I know you better than that, Dutch. It isn't your nature to be so petty, but you sure like to act it when things don't go your way."

Dutch just stared for a moment. His brain struggled to catch up to her mouthing but there was something hot in his chest and wriggly in his gut. His jaw opened, closed, ground his teeth for a moment before a small growl pried them back open in a scrunched, toothy sneer.

"And what do you know about being petty." He said, in almost a whisper.

Grimshaw narrowed her eyes at him, staring long and hard. She shook her head and reached out, grabbing that Joker card and slapping it right on his hand as she stood up and walked away.

"You'll be the death of us all one day, Van der Linde." 

It took a lot in his willpower to not rip the thing in half. He instead tossed it into the grass and brushed it out of his hairs as if he had been soiled. By the time he had returned to the comfort of his tent's front step, fresh cigar plucked and readied, he sighed and turned his head up to the sky. 

He watched the clouds, taking note of the shapes and what they could mean. He was reminded of his younger days, when he used to cloud watch after a big heist to calm down or when he needed to lick his wounds. It had become something of a game between himself, Hosea and Susan back then, to try and one up each other with the most ridiculous finds.

And Arthur...lord, could that kid find a cotton ball through a knitted masterpiece across the heavens. So many times, he had to point out specific shapes to the kid back then, trying to instigate some sort of creativity beyond things at face value. Good times...

He looked down at his cigar and bit through the pain of the deeper puff he took from it. 

"How ya doin?" Hosea's voice caught up to him faster than his boots. Dutch puckered his lips and parted them to waft out the smoke.

"Good, brother." He lied, as did his smile. "How are you feeling?"

After so much hush and questionable rips in his clothes, Hosea had confided in him over a game of dominoes as to what happened between him and Arthur on that big rush out of camp. To think this sensible old badger still had the ornery stupidity to charge out with all the confidence of Nimrod on the hunt for a great bear...it was admirable, but foolish. Colter nearly killed the man, who stood before him now with his sunken face and pained expression, trying to force down the cough that made everyone awkward. Hosea was giving him a small smile while he stepped up onto the planks of the grand tent, waving away the cigar smoke that was coming closer to him.

"Much better...thought those mountains were going to kill me." He admitted while surveying the camp. His chest puffed out as he looked to his friend. "Seems I'll live a while yet."

"Oh, I know." Dutch mused, but he kept his eyes to his boots. He didn't want to think it, but there was a sudden pull to not look his old partner in the face. It had been a sore topic for a while now, the idea of another loss to anticipate.

Hosea clearly recognized the tension, for he swayed in his boots for a few seconds.

"...Found a couple of things in town." He was fumbling for small talk. "Made us some money."

Dutch was staring hard at a tromped-in rock in the dirt. How nice it was, to keep hearing stories of everyone riding out into these escapades, making a mess in saloons and getting handsy with folk with no strings holding them back. Even Hosea, a bastard with one foot early into his grave, was telling him now without remorse of what swindles he had happily foxed his way into. In a way, equally hard to understand, Dutch found himself smiling. Maybe he was getting a bit jealous- stir crazy.

One foot in the grave, indeed, and still flipping the bird to the Judge. Never change, old girl.

"That you do." He mused, finally looking the blonde in the eye. The spark of light in those sweet old sights surely wasn't just the sunlight playing a trick.

"Yes, I like to think I am good at that." Hosea wheezed out a smile. It was kind and patient, just as it always had been; a sort of warm spell that spooked away the demons they both riled.

Dutch felt it again, that heavy writhing deep in the pits of his being, something indecent and rebellious that made his heart stamp like a race horse from the comfort he felt, just as he had stood there like a fool on the very first night he had been an audience to that gentle face and had reveled in that same sense of security ever since.

His eyes were stinging again.

"I..." The sound spilled out faster than he could catch it, but despite the terror of letting it slip, he didn't stop himself.

"I messed up in Blackwater." He admitted, glancing to Hosea and then to somewhere else. Damned him for just happening to chance on Grimshaw as she walked back to her tent that just happened to be in front of him. She gave a fleeting side glance and put up a faster pace to grab what she needed and leave his sights again. The knuckling he felt on his shoulder was enough to keep him focused.

"I made a...god damn fool, out of myself." 

Another nudge to his shoulder. Hosea was chuckling, something that was much nicer to bear than Susan's hissing.

"Yes, well you've done that before."

It wasn't often that Hosea could laugh like this, to be so unburdened by his own well being or that of the others. The man was a natural fusser but now, without any context to go off of besides the same thing they had bickered over consistently since Blackwater...Dutch clicked his teeth and snorted. 

"I know." 

He knew. He was a damned fool, through and through. Maybe later, he'd have a go again at Molly, maybe sweep by and jaw a bit more to Susan. Kind and saintly patient these people all were, his kin- his family. He studied his cigar and tossed it into the dirt, crushing it with the heel of his boot while shrugging off the protest. These things weren't cheap, but...

"Don't want to hurt your lungs, is all." He finally pivoted to face his partner, chest to chest like a true man would. The other looked flattered.

"I ain't fragile, Dutch. You worry too much." 

Dutch flared his nostrils and managed a grin as he returned the knuckle. A cursory look around to ensure that nobody was within earshot, he leaned a bit closer. Hosea's breath hitched.

"I want to believe that I do, old girl."

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #fanfiction #dutch van der linde #hosea matthews #vandermatthews #arthur morgan #susan grimshaw #lenny summers #molly o'shea #abigail marston

[captainknell]

BOOK REPORT

I had wanted to read this book eventually but it got immediately bumped up on the list when someone pointed out that it had basically the same plot as my WIP. I dropped everything and started reading to make sure it wasn't too similar. The book was just getting good and explaining things when the free pages on the internet ran out so I had to wait for the physical copy to come in the mail. I am pleased to say that besides the basic plot, it is not like my book. And now I'd like to read the next two in the series.

Anyways, the report!

The book is about a history teacher named Richard Davey that has a very boring life. He is a fan of Napoleon and finds out that time travel is real and possible through a mysterious shop keeper so he goes back to Waterloo to try and change history and give his life more meaning.

It was an interesting story and I never knew what was going to happen next. It starts right when he goes back in time but explains how he got there by use of flashbacks. I actually loved how this worked. Usually when there's a back and forth or either time or characters, I find myself having a clear favorite and wishing the other one would hurry up so I can get back to the good part. In this book, both were the good parts! I was just as happy to be back in time as I was to be getting the explanation of how he got there and vice versa.

Unfortunately, the tense of the story was driving me crazy. If I wasn't already interested in the topic, I probably would've ditched it by the end of the first page. Here's an example of what I'm talking about that doesn't contain any important information:

He returns to the carriage and rummages in his bag. He extracts his penknife and the dried sausage wrapped in his handkerchief. Standing at the open end of the cart, he spreads the square of linen as a tablecloth and carefully cuts several slices. He throws the small hunk of meat attached to the string to the back of the barn. At least he will know where the rodents are for a while. The sausage's pink flesh is mottled with white fat and shreds of garlic. The skin is covered in fine white mould with the texture of paper. He teases it free and adds it to his offering among the fallen timbers.

He chews each slice slowly, savouring the taste as the rich meat replenishes his energy. When finished, he takes a gulp from his round, wooden water canister. British army issue is pale blue but his is plain inside a hessian jacket. It would not help his cause to fall into French hands in possession of British army kit. He replaces the cork stopper and repacks his haversack.

My other big problem with the book, is that Richard is being described as being middle aged, balding, and kinda pudgy yet every young attractive girl in the book is flirting with him/throwing themselves at him. The other characters are good though!

Bonus (?) we get to see Napoleon in a dress

#napoleon #napoleon bonaparte #fiction book #historical fiction #Needing Napoleon #Gareth Williams #book report

[ftm-megamind]

something about the contrast between david's school life and outside of it. how at school he's quiet and reserved and maybe even a little somber and he doesn't really look at anyone and just wants to get out as quickly as possible. he wears his tie and his buttons are all done and his hands get sweaty whenever one of his classmates talk to him. he's david. and then it's over and he exits the school building. and at the gates he can already see jack waving him over. and he's no longer just david, he's davey. and he's relaxed and unties that stupid tie as quickly as possible and unbuttons the shirt to give himself some beathing room and he ditches the school uniform as quickly as possible when he and jack quickly swing by david's home. and sometimes school is so bad that davey's mood lingers but with jack it's never long before he's laughing and being sarcastic and not holding back and being himself and forgetting about everything bad that happened. and sometimes when david joins jack to sell for the evening edition a few of david's classmates end up buying from them and davey knows that tomorrow at school he'll never hear the end of it and he'll get called names again. but that's okay. because after school he'll get to see jack again. and he'll get to see his friends again. and he'll get to be himself again

#this is Nothing #but the contrast means so much to me #whatever man #newsies #newsies 1992 #92sies #jack kelly #david jacobs #javid

[thatonecurlygirl]

Biology of Billy Hargrove 12

Fandom: Stranger Things

Pairing: Billy x Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

Warning: none

Read more: Biology of Billy Hargrove Masterlist

“Y/N! Are you dressed? We are coming in!” Angie shouts from downstairs as the door quietly closes behind her.

“Upstairs!” You call out of your bedroom door, finishing your light makeup and making sure your hair is perfect.

“You’re going to want to change. Vickie’s parents aren’t leaving after all, the party has been moved to Lover’s Lake.” Angie pops into your bedroom with both Joseph and Davey in tow.

“You’re kidding, right?” You groan, hoping she is in fact joking.

“No, we got the call right before we left the house. That’s why we are so late. Angie took forever.” Joseph sighs.

“Luckily, Y/N won’t have the same problem.” Angie shuffles though my drawers, pulling out your favorite swimsuit and tossing it at you.

“We will be in the car when you are done. We expect to see you in the car in no more than-” she pauses, lifting Joseph’s arm and looking at the watch on his wrist. “Eight minutes!”

Angie turns and rushes out of your room, pulling both guys with her by the wrists as she goes. Angie has never been one to be patient. She always takes her time in what she does, ensuring perfection, but is always rushing everyone else as soon as she is ready. She alway blames it on being the youngest sister to three brothers. They were always racing, racing to the bathroom, racing to finish eating first, racing for absolutely everything. Hell, one time Angie and her brothers raced to see who could pee faster. You were enlisted to sit outside the bathroom door and listen to each of them individually pee, time it and report who the winner was.

“Perfect.” You huff, quickly pulling off your party wear and slipping into the neon green one piece cut-out swimsuit and shorts, washing your makeup off with a wet washcloth before running down the stairs, skipping multiple steps as you do. You land on both feet at the bottom of the stair with a old thud, booking it to the front door.

“Took you long enough!” Angie calls out the window as you shut and lock the front door behind you.

“You annoy the hell out of me sometimes Ang.” You grumble, sliding into the backseat beside Davey.

“Yeah, but you still love me.” She turns all the way around in the passenger seat, with a wide smile on her face as she batts her eyelashes dramatically.

“You sure about that?” You ask, raising a questioning brow.

“100%” She nods, turning back around.

“Hey Davey, nice to see you again.” You chuckle, turning to greet Davey who sits beside you with an amused smile.

“Yeah, you too. That color looks great on you.” His eyes quickly rove your body.

“Thanks.”

“Angie told me that you, Miss. Goody-Two-Shoes, got suspended for fighting some jock.” Joseph chuckles at the mental image of you fighting some big jock. “Impressive.”

“He was a dick.” You scoff.

“Yeah, then Billy knocked him on his ass. Billy and Y/N were almost dating, but he ditched her.” Angie blabbers on.

“Yeah, he is a dick too.” You growl.

“Some dick ditched you? He got the opportunity to date you and ditched you?” Davey asks, unable to believe that someone would miss the chance to date you.

“Yeah, I’d prefer not to talk about it.”

“You know he is probably going to be there right?” Angie asks, slight concern in her voice.

“If you are wanting to make him jealous I’m down.” Davey smirks.

“I’m wanting to not think about Billy.”

“I can help with that too.”

“I may take you up on that.” You playfully wink at him.

“We are here!” Angie bounces up and down in here seat, excited energy oozing from her. “Right here Joe!”

Joseph quickly pulls in to the spot in the gray that Angie directs him into and quickly follows after her when she jumps out and takes off running to the water. You and Davey take your time exiting the car, you slip the shorts down your legs and neatly fold them into the backseat, turning to quickly scan the large group of teens amble around, chatting and having a good time.

“Up you go.” Davey swoops you up, tossing you up over his shoulders. The ease in which he did so was a shock, leaving you to gasp in surprise followed by a fit of giggles as he turns toward the water’ edge.

“Davey!” You squeal, playfully beating on his back as he chuckles and continues into the water. “What are you—” As you glance up into the crowd of people up on the dry land, you catch Billy glaring back at you, unamused as girl attempt to grab his attention.

“In you go!” Davey collapses into the water, taking you down with him.

When you surface the water, you laugh and wipe the lake water from your face, scanning the water around to to find Davey, who should have surfaced along with you. You spin in a circle, eyebrows knit in confusion as he is nowhere to be seen.

“Davey?” You begin to worry. “Dav—”

“Looking for me?” He asks in your ear as his chest presses against your back.

“God, you scared me.” You quickly turn and splash at him.

“You worried about me?” He asks, smirk plastered to his —honestly gorgeous— face.

“Not as much as you would hope.” You shrug, trying to play off the fact that you were getting a bit nervous.

“Y/N, you aren’t lying to me now are you?” His smirk suddenly turned incredibly sexy as he wades up close to you in the water.

“And if I was lying?”

“Then I won’t kiss you.”

“Then you should ask again.” You take a small step closer, leaving you and Davey chest to chest.

“Were you worried about me, Y/N?” He asks in a hushed voice.

“So worried.” You pout, looking up at Davey through your lashes.

Davey smiles, bending down to scoop you up and wrap your legs around his waist. His lips softly meet yours and you can almost get lost in the kiss. You can almost let yourself be taken into the moment in which you focus on nothing but his large hands gripping the backs of your thighs, his lips moving in sync with yours and teeth gently nipping at your lip.

Almost.

You can almost forget about Billy who was glaring at you from afar. You can almost forget about Billy’s lips on yours, his hands on you. That smile of his. You can almost forget Billy’s fingers twirling in your hair and breath on the back of your neck. You can almost forget that Billy got suspended too for hitting the Jonas for being an ass to you. You can almost feel not guilty for kissing someone other than him. You keep kissing Davey though, pretending to get lost in the kiss and smile when the two of you pull away.

“I’m going to go get a drink.” You smile and slide out of Davey’s arms. “You want one?”

“Uhm, sure.” He nods, watching you make your way out of the water.

“Shit shit shit.” You mutter under your breath as you slowly make your way to the coolers and small folding tables that are holding the drinks.

“Damn, how many does that one make?” You hear Billy’s unmistakable voice behind you.

“What’s that supposed to mean, Billy?” You ask, back still turned to him as you look through all the drinks, trying to decide on one.

“You know what I mean, little rabbit.”

The use of that nickname makes you roll your eyes, “Billy, don’t fucking start with me. I’ve not slept with anyone, if that’s what you are trying to refer to. Davey is the the only guy I’ve had any kind of interest in since you ditched me.” You slam the cooler lid closed and quickly turn to face Billy. “Not like it’s any of your business, Billy. It’s not like we are even seeing each other.”

“You okay, y/n?” Davey asks, walking up and taking space beside you.

“Yeah, all good.” You nod.

“Yeah and we’re having a private fucking conversation.” Billy growls.

“Doesn’t look like she is too interested in what you have to say.” Davey chuckles. “You the asshole I’ve heard about.”

“Davey, please don’t.” You press into his side, trying to push him along but he doesn’t budge.

Heads start to turn and you can feel eyes on you, a feeling that you really didn’t want to get use to. Yet again, you are thrown into the middle of a confrontation involving Billy Hargrove and another guy in the middle of the crowd and it makes your skin clammy and your heart race.

“Sounds like my Little Rabbit has been talking about me.” Billy smirks, harsh eyes dead set on Davey.

“You think you’re hot shit don’t you?” Davey takes a step forward.

“I don’t know, ask y/n what she thinks. I know she never ran away from me when we were making out.” Billy winks, eyes seductive when glancing at you before glaring back at Davey.

Whispers in the crowd get louder as Billy exposes the fact that there has been something going on between the two of you. The whole senior class and nearly the whole school had suspected that there was something as your chemistry is undeniable, but no one knew for sure until now. You can feel the heat rising to your cheeks and your chest tightens.

“I’m only going to tell you once to back the hell off. She doesn’t want you.” Davey’s voice hardens.

“Davey!” You tug at his arm but he ignores you.

“Is that what you think?” Billy laughs a full bellied laugh. “You think making out with her for thirty seconds means she wants you?”

Davey’s back straightens and the veins in his neck bulges. Billy stands there, egging Davey on with his smirk and challenging him with his eyes. Davey’s not backing down, despite the fact that you are trying to pull him in the opposite direction.

“Davey stop.” You step in the space between the boys.

“Y/n, tell this prick you don’t want him.” Davey practically stares through him. “Tell him you’re with me now.”

“No.” You shake your head with a scowl on your face.

“What?” He asks surprised.

“No, I’m not WITH you.”

“So, what? You’re just leading me on like a whore?” Davey raises his voice.

“What did you fucking say!” Billy growls, preparing to lunge at Davey, but stops when you reach out toward him, gently placing a hand on the center of his chest to stop him. A calming warmth spreads cross his chest from where your touched him.

“Davey, never once did I even hint that we were together. That kiss meant absolutely nothing other than me trying to have a good time and enjoy this fucking party. Now take this hint.” You lift your middle finger at him, “And fuck all the way off!”

“Y/n!” You can hear Angie call out from the crowd, voice quiet and muffled by the chattering of everyone else watching the scene unfold.

“Ruined my fucking night.” You flounce toward the street in anger, prepared to walk the nearly half an hour it would take you to walk home, soaking wet and without shoes as you left them somewhere between getting thrown into the water and breaking up the potential fight.

A few minutes into walking down the street you hear the familiar roar of a car pulling behind you, “Get in the car, y/l/n.”

“I’m not getting in the car with you, Billy.”

“Y/n, you are going to need your keys to get in your house and I found your shoes and shorts too. Get in the car.”

“What the fuck do you want from me, Billy?” You stop in the middle of the street, yelling in frustration.

“Get in the fucking car, y/n.”

“Why’d you bail on our date? Answer that and I will get in the car.” You stand in the middle of the road, arms folded across your chest, watching Billy’s jaw tighten as he grinds his teeth.

“Get in and car and I will tell you.” He tries to negotiate with you.

“Tell me now or I’m going to start walking again.”

You watch some emotion cross Billy’s face and with a huff he throws open his door and steps out, slamming it behind him as he stalks around the car to you. “Fine,” he throws his muscled arms in the air in defeat. “I screwed up and I apologize. I’m not getting into family shit. Right now this isn’t about my fuck ups, it’s about you getting in the car so I can get you home.”

“Was it your dad?” You ask softly. You don’t know much about the Hargrove-Mayfield household as the parents aren’t the most neighborly, but you’ve heard the arguing and crashed many times. You’ve watched a disheveled Billy fly out of the house and to his beloved car more times that you can count.

“Get in the car.” Billy opens your car door and makes his way around to his side, shouting you an annoyed look and motioning to the passenger seat before getting in, himself

—————

Tag list:

@magicwithaknife @charmed-asylum @xxemoluverxx @thescarlettvvitch @cynthianokamaria @chims-kookies @spideytetsu @gingertalksshit @katieemrald @devilslittlebabygirl @nooneshappy @naiomiwinchester @killtherandomness​ @xicarcalii @speedmetalqueen @softsleepyeyes @sherxoo @themillenialfangirl

#stranger things #billy hargrove #stranger things x reader #stranger things fandom #billy hargrove fic #billy x reader #billy hargrove x reader #biology of billy Hargrove

[snow-shelter]

TELL ME MORE ABOUT THIS AU PELASEEEEE I DONT HAVE SPECIFIC QUESTIONS IM NOTORIUS FOR BEING BAD AT THAT BUT I RLLY WANNA KNOW ABT THIS NOW RAAHHH

GIGGLES OK

FrostBite is heavily inspired by the game FrostPunk, where you run a town in a post-apocalyptic never ending blizzard.

this au is based around that.

it's naturally very dark and the very first thing you read in the first chapter is: "The cold shows no mercy. The cold does not discriminate between sinners and saints- It will take all. Consume everything in it's path, a neverending game of cat and mouse which the world continually loses. The cold will always win."

Davey, our protagonist has to learn this the hard way. The first thing after that lovely little snippet being Esther passing in his arms- But I won't get too into that.

In a last ditch attempt to run away from his deceased parents, he drags his sisters to find a new place to call home. The shack having their parents bodies and a perpetual state of agonizing fear permanently tagged to the home.

After months, David finds what he had only heard of in passing- The world.

a pre-fall location (a large, enclosed football field. those ones with the big walls? yeah) turned into a bustling town, notoriously safe and hard to get into as a resident. David, viewing this as a challenge, decides to try his luck.

Upon some strange miracle, or maybe pity from the "council", the Jacobs are reluctantly allowed inside. it was... warm... er. warmer. a thin sheet of permafrost clinging to what looked like green plastic floors.

assigned an all-too-tired 'tourguide' named morris, the reader and the Jacobs begin meeting the bizzare people of this strange town.

its insanely dark and extremely sad, and multiple do die/get severely injured as well as deep rooted c-ptsd in davey- so this will not be for the faint of heart. however, I will be posting a little tldr when I finish the whole series (I'm aimiing for 50k words in an unknown amount of chapters before I round off the fic!)

also endgame crutchie / davey + newsbiand and very very heavily implied jack / oscar (you get no context :3)

ermmmmmm.... ya!!!!! x3

#frostbite au #newsies au #newsies fanfic #tw death #death #cw death #natural apocalypse au #your-lover-crutchy

[adoranoia]

parker leans his chin on the palm of his hand, a half-hidden grin curving his lips. " oh yeah? " he says, humour obvious in his tone as he all but bats his eyes, blue eyes alight with mischief. " you'd eat me, huh? " clearly, the 'threat' is not taken seriously, smile curving his lips further. " well, go on-- how'd you do it? " ( it seems that he can match you weird-for-weird, owen! your threats mean-- well, not quite nothing, but something more than that to him!! ) // from parker, to owen, obvs!! <33

@wyrding // random asks, always accepting!

the threat itself it hissed out through bared, sharpened teeth: owen gla -res metaphorical daggers with arms crossed. the other boy stands a few paces away, threatening to step past the curtain's threshold, and into his area of the garage, his space. parker had been visiting more and more lately, to visit his brother, of course--but occasionally that wide-eyed gaze would turn his way, much to the redhead's chagrin. 🐱‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ the other's purple backpack is ditched, casually set to the side as a smile slowly grew on tan features, owen lightly huffs in annoyance, turning his head as he does his damndest to avoid eye contact. he hated the way parker made him feel small, hated the way he made him feel in general: bile rising, or butterflies, was there a difference? 🐱 ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ 'you'd eat me, huh?'--owen goes to say something, to continue his threat, show off his colorful array of expletives, but... 'how'd you do it?', the aware basically chokes on his words, his surprise. his head snaps forward to look at the other, eye's widening slightly, he'd be blushing, if he physically could, that is. grumble, grumble... 🐱‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ " ya' a real freak, y'know that, princess? " he sighs, dragging his palm down his face, " ugh... whateva', davey's outside, spraypaintin' somethin', i think. now, buzz off, would ya'? " (there's not much weight to his words, surprisingly enough.) 🐱 ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

#* && IC #* && OWEN '100% BITCH' WRIGHT. #v01 * ( canon ) #i say teehee............... they're sooooooo. they're just like that #anyway owen says davey dni <3 asdfghjkl /lhj #wyrding #cannibalism tw #(i guess?)

[maxwell-grant]

Pulp heroes are well known for wielding guns, but are there any that have different signature weapons? Are there any weapons you would love to see a pulp hero wield?

(Green Lama art by edude-makes-comics)

Quite a few, yeah. In general, because there was only so much violence the heroes could get away with, most of the really out-there batshit weapons tended to be the ones created and wielded by the villains, with “guy with a really weird weapon or method of murder that, either presents a mystery too confusing for regular law enforcement to solve, or a threat too dangerous to be allowed to exist” being easily one of the most reocurring kind of monster-of-the-week for most long-running pulp heroes. Guns were popular and ubiquotuous but not the only kind, even the more famous gun-toters like The Shadow or The Spider mixed things on occasion.

Some particular stand-outs among the gun-free pulp heroes, not counting the outright superpowers or non-boolit kinds of guns:

Doc Savage: I mean, kind of, partially included here because he’s a weird example of how gun-toting pulp heroes are so ubiquotous we attribute excessive gun usage even to characters who didn’t actually use them. Doc didn’t particularly have a “signature weapon”, but a lot of modern renditions of Doc Savage based on the James Bama rendition depict him with big bulky guns to the point that Doc’s “signature weapon” nowadays might as well be a Flash Gordon flare gun, but despite the existence of “mercy bullets”, Doc Savage actually hated using guns of any kind as anything other than a last-resort (and even then, that’s what the mercy bullets were for). Doc sometimes invented new forms of weaponry, like miniature grenades, specialized explosives and gas-filled glass balls, to be used on occasion.

Doc is mostly included here because his assistant Ham Brooks actually did have one of the more famous signature weapons of the pulps: a black cane with a concealed sword, coated with a potent anesthetic.

The Green Lama: Who detested guns about as much as Batman. His signature weapon consisted of his long red scarf that he used as a whip and garrote, which makes a pretty funny contrast with the fact that he’s the pacifist American pulp hero, so that means he non-lethally strangles the absolute shit out of criminals instead of shooting them.

Zenigata Heiji: A highly popular detective who appeared in novels, collections and short stories from 1931 to 1958, probably the most direct example of a Japanese Pulp Hero I’ve seen thus far. He’s an Edo-period working class Great Detective who unofficially works for the government in assisting the police without being quite one of them himself. He is most famous for his signature weapons: a jutte he wields, and the heavy coins (called zeni, hence his name) he throws at criminals to catch them.

Zorro: Kinda goes with saying and that goes for all the other Zorro knock-offs / alikes who also largely employed physical bladed weaponry like swords, rapiers, sabers, and etc.

Indiana Jones: Also kinda goes without saying.

(Dossouye art by Paul Davey)

Sword and Sorcery characters in general: Robert E.Howard’s Conan and Conan-alikes (as well as Solomon Kane, whose signature weapon is a staff), figures that veer into an opposite end like Elric and his Stormbringer, and Charles R Saunders’ Dossouye tends to be depicted often with spears and machetes. You rarely see guns brought into sword-and-sorcery kind of pulp heroes, to not diminish the appeal of cutting down armies while going buck-wild naked with swords intrinsic to the genre.

The Avenger: His signature weapons consist of a gun named “Mike”, and a knife named “Ike”. That’s like, half of what you prompted, but still counts.

Occult Detectives: Several Occult Detective characters who follow closer on the Manly Wade Wellman / Carnacki approach tend to ditch guns in favor of classier or more occult-themed stuff, with both Judge Pursuivant and John Thunstone wielding sword canes, and Luna Bartendale’s divining rod.

Lavender Jack: Who has two signature weapons in the form of his clawed gloves that transmit explosive waves via fingersnap, and the canes that he uses for more direct combat.

Bob Larkin, a Black Mask detective created by Erle Stanley Gardner. The character uses a billliard cue as his main weapon and has 15 years worth of practice as a juggler to make the most use of it.

If we count Scrooge McDuck as a pulp hero, which we have to, we definitely gotta include his cane here as well.

Brutus Lloyd, who was created by The Golden Amazon’s creator John Russell Fearn and appeared in 3 stories for Amazing Stories. He’s a four-foot tall, deep-voiced scientist, criminologist and consulting detective who specializes in solving sci-fi crimes via unorthodox methods, and his main weapon consists of an umbrella tipped with acid he uses to defend himself. He debuted about a year before The Penguin did.

I’m sure there’s gotta be others I’m missing either in pulps or pulp-adjacent material, feel free to point out others in the notes. Now, as to the other part of your question, what kind of weapons I’d like to see pulp heroes wield,

Pretty much anything but pistols. Even other kinds of guns are fine, there’s a trillion wacky kinds of guns out there that can be used to mix things up.

Wrenches, Shovels, Fish wrapped in newspaper, Bottles, Russian Fists for Smashing Baybeez, etc: TF2 as a whole has a painfully massive extensive catalogue of just how many kinds of guns and weapons you can give your characters and it’s a huge source of inspiration for design, that’s where I’d be pulling a lot from. The wrench as a dramatic physical weapon in particular I think works really well for a pulp hero aesthetic.

Chainsaws: I have not been the same since Mandy gave me that sick stupid ass chainsaw duel. Nothing has ever tasted the same. I want more of it.

Gadgets that are completely fucking stupid but still work anyway because this is fiction and if anything this is another reason to do it, taking something that shouldn’t work and make it work.

A kitchen sink, because why should Batman get to have all the fun?

And everything in Weird Al’s Hardware Store. For a start. Make it work.

#replies tag #pulp heroes #pulp magazines #pulp fiction #green lama #heiji zenigata #doc savage #dossouye #lavender jack #the avenger #tf2

[garthcelyn]

It iiiis.... eve's weird question time, now with people with multiple wips. how would your mcs could manage if they swap places? Results will be funnier if randomized

Oh man, I have so many wips and so many protags so this is going to be fun to think about, especially since no one in the Cwm Gelert series has a shared experience

Toby "Man I hate Llanelli" [REDACTED](The Night Society) and Peregrin "Man I love Llanelli" Dogwood (Dear Dogwood) would have absolutely no difference and I think that's kinda funny in itself. One deals with cannibals and shit bosses, and the other is off falling in love with zombies and making wives out of mud. I think they should catch up over coffee sometime.

Celyn King(Deadline) and Davey Blue(Witching Hour) would love to be in Heledd Bell(Hel's Bells)'s place, mildly popular and there's some kind of demon? They'd be pumped. Heledd, however, would be so so stressed out that she has to solve a murder, and frankly the existence of ghosts in their shared town would drive her over the edge. She just needs a break honestly. Davey would also love to be in Hel's place because that means she would be alive and survive the intro of Deadline.

Cooper(Risen) would absolutely thrive in Ram's Blood, she would hate every second of it but she'd make it out of there faster than Lamb(Ram's Blood) ever could. Lamb would like to be in Cooper's place simply because there's So Many Swords and she's allowed to fight things. If they swapped places there would be no wips, they'd just sort it quickly and be annoyed about it the entire time. (I also just realised that they're both in a cult and at least a part of their storyline is ditching said cult so there's that?)