#fine whatever. you get him crunchy. who the fuck cares. not me thats for sure. i dont care

[wtfforged]

colored in a sketch that i liked a lot from a collab. i imagine hes going eeeeeeeeeee in this image

#id post the actual collab image/result but id feel shy and awkward bc my friends arent active art-wise on here. #but i was too proud of this sketch so i stole it and recolored it #hey tumblr image quality? stop it. leave my images alone #fine whatever. you get him crunchy. who the fuck cares. not me thats for sure. i dont care #wtf... art #mayfeld #dnd #dnd 5e #tiefling #oc

[thiswasinevitableid]

The Wicked House

Prompt for the 31st was: Wicked. Thanks to @thats-amnesty-babe and Morgan E Ashton for the help brainstorming.

Duck whacks his hands together, clearing the dust from them, before raising a hand in friendly farewell to the movers. He picks his way through the boxes, up the stairs, and to his bedroom. Opening the door sends a bolt of dark, fluffed-up fur into the hallway.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m sorry fuzzball, but I couldn’t have you bein underfoot or runnin out the door.” He scratches the cat behind her ears, and her affronted glare gives way to forgiving purrs. 

He unpacks for awhile, finds a good luck note from Juno tucked in the winter coat she gave him (“I mean it, Duck, winter up there’s a hell of a lot colder than here in West Virginia”). Orders pizza, gets the kitchen table set up in time to eat it. Flips through his to-do list for the next few days as he does. 

ka-BOOM

Winnie yowls and runs from the room as Duck nearly falls out of his chair. 

“What the fuck?” He dashes outside, expecting to find an exploded car or downed powerline.

He finds nothing of the sort. None of his neighbors are even poking their heads out. There’s a smaller boom, from the house next to his (his is on the corner, so only has one neighbor). 

“Well, Woodbridge finally managed to offload one of these places, huh?”

He turns to find a rather prim looking woman walking a furious looking Pomeranian. 

“Beg pardon?”

“You’re the first person to buy any of the houses near that wicked place in years.”

Duck looks around again. Every house on the block, save for his own darkly painted victiorian and the brightly painted one next to it, has a sun-worn for sale sign in the yard. 

“What the fuck?”

---------------------------------------------

“Oh, so you’re the guy who bought the house next to Indrid Colds place?” The man at the grocery store asks as he rings him up. Duck  was overjoyed to find a real mom and pop place near his house and Leo, the owner, has been chatting with him.

“So it seems.”

“Don’t let folks make you too jittery about it. Indrid’s an odd guy, but he don’t mean no harm.”

“What the hell does he do? All kinds of weird lights and noises and shit coming from that place.”

“Not a clue. Seems like you’re in a better position to find out than most of us.” He tilts his head towards the beer Duck is loading into a bag.

“Dunno, kinda like havin all my limbs. Not sure I’ll keep ‘em all if I go in there.”

Leo shrugs, “suit yourself.”

As Duck walks home with his groceries, he mulls over the suggestion; sure, the loud noises aren’t great, but they no worse and no more frequent than a loud party or a neighbor with barky dogs. 

He sets the bags down on his front step, fumbling to find which pocket he put his keys in. 

“Don’t move!”

He freezes, finds a tall man with silvery hair moving purposefully up his drive. He’s in a long, silk bathrobe and bunny slippers, bright red glasses perched on his nose. When he places his hands on Ducks shoulders and starts moving him back off the porch, Duck tenses, tries to pull away.

He can’t. The man is surprisingly strong for such a beanpole.

“Hey, pal, look-”

“No, you look.” He points a finger, and Duck squints for a beat before seeing it; a black widow, dangling on a thread as she lowers down from his door frame. 

“Shit, almost walked right into her.”

“Yes, you did. I thought you might prefer not to.”

Duck takes another look at the stranger, including the spot where his hand is still resting on Ducks arm. The other man follows the gaze, pulls his hand back apologetically. 

“Gonna go out on a limb here and say you’re Indrid Cold.”

“Oh, you’ve heard of me!”  Indrid smiles brightly, only to have the expression falter, “oh, ah, you’ve heard of me. I can’t say I blame people for trying to warn you away from me, given my reputation.” The last few words come out so soft and resigned, the kind of vulnerability that’s either a trap or the truth of someone who has gone a little too long without the benefit of the doubt.

“Reputation don’t matter half as much as your actions. Far as I’m concerned, the only thing I know you done for sure is save me from a nasty spider bite.” He smiles kindly, holds out his hand, “I’m-”

“-Duck Newton.” Indrid takes it, shaking it with an oddly wide smile. 

“Uh, right. Well, I’m gonna get rid of that widow, but if you wanted to come in for a beer or coffee or somethin I wouldn’t be opposed.”

“That sounds wonderful but, oh, oh dear, um, excuse me something’s just come up. Hope to see you again.” He dashes back down the path, down the sidewalk, and up the steps to his bright yellow door. 

“Huh.” Duck watches the door for a moment, then goes to get a broom. 

--------------------------------------------------------

The diner smells like eggs, bacon, and butter when Duck steps in from the chill of the early September air. 

It’s quiet, but he settles on a spot at the counter all the same, in case they need the booths for bigger groups. 

“Good morning,” a cheerful, somewhat crunchy-granola looking blonde woman greets him, pad in hand “any coffee or tea this morning?” 

“Coffee, please.”

“You got it.” She spins, grabs the pot, and pours him a mug. Several of the flatops are where Duck can see them, being worked expertly by a man who must be well over six feet tall. Whatever he’s moving about on them smells incredible.

“Ready to order.”

“Whatever he’s cookin right there.”

“Hash it is.” She smiles again.

The cook nods, and as he sets to work he asks, “you just passing through?”

“Naw, moved here a few weeks ago, got a job in the national forest.”

“Right on.”

“Oh yeah.” A voice behind him says, and he finds two older men sizing him up, “you’re the fella who got duped into buying next to Cold’s place.”

“He’s a man, Clarence, not fucking black mold.” The cook grumbles.

“How’s living next to the wicked witch treating you?” The second man, in a red ball-cap, asks.

“Warlock.” Says a clipped voice. It takes Duck a moment to see it belongs to the man going over receipts at the register, slick dark hair flecked with grey and face movie-star handsome, “if Indrid did have those abilities you all seem convinced he does, he’d be a warlock, not a witch.”

“How would you know?” Red cap retorts.

“Ey, shut up Jim, you know the boy was in the CIA. Better not disrespect him.”

“FBI, not CIA

“All I’m saying is that wherever Cold goes, disaster follows. Not to mention the man’s a known f-”

“One more syllable and you’ve got a lifetime ban.” Barclay points the spatula towards the men.

In the midst of the standoff, the bell dings. 

And Indrid Cold walks into the diner.

 He’s bundled up like it’s snowing, walks up to the counter and pauses when he sees Duck. 

Duck pats the stool next to him, “Nice to see you again, neighbor.”

“Likewise.” Indrid gives that odd smile again and sits down, “Good morning Barclay, Joseph.” He nods first to the cook, then the man at the register, “Oh, and hello Dani. The usual, please.”

Dani grins, turns to one of the drink machines and comes back moments later with a cup of cocoa.

“I can’t handle how bitter coffee is, even with sugar.” Indrid says, two seconds before Duck is going to ask him why that drink.

“You’re braver than I am, that much sugar this early’d have me on the ceilin.”

Indrid smiles softly, “Lightweight.”

Duck barks out a laugh, making Indrid snicker as well. 

“Any plans for this weekend, Duck?” 

“Got some new model ships to work on, might go for a hike, nothin too excitin.”

“You don’t get enough hiking at work?” Indrid cocks his head.

“I mean, not really? It’s different when I’m on my own; I don’t got an agenda or shit I’m supposed to be takin care of. I can just go at my own pace.”

Indrid makes a noise of understanding right as Barclay sets two plates down. Indrids’ is piled with pancakes and strawberries. 

Barclay points a can of whipped cream down at the plate, “say when.”

The tower of cream is almost a foot high before Indrid goes, “when.”

As they eat, they chat about this and that, though mostly Indrid asks Duck about his move, and how he’s liking the town. Then he muses, “I’d like to go hiking sometime. I really ought to get out a bit more.”

“You can come with me sometime, if you want.”

“Really?”

“Sure, long as you don’t mind me talkin about trees.”

“Not in the slightest.”

Duck raises his glass in cheers, “well, if you decide you want to, you know where to find me.”

---------------------------------------------------------------

Duck balances the plate of cornbread (his fathers no-fail recipe)  in one hand as he lifts the other to knock on the door.

“Come in!” Indrid calls a half-second before his hands meets the wood. 

The inside of Indrid’s house is laid out much the same as Ducks own. This is where the similarities end. There are drawings scattered everywhere, pinned to walls and strewn across tables. Art and posters and letters cover the walls, each of which is painted a different color.

As he makes his way into the kitchen he notices chalk and bottles of salt, piles of old books, and many, many, many sweaters. 

Indrid is at the sink, filling a kettle with water. 

“You’re right on time, I was just making myself some tea. Though I can make something stronger if you prefer.”

“Tea’s fine.” Duck sets the plate down, “figured I oughta make a proper, neighborly introduction.”

He leaves out the part where, in the two days since they spoke at the diner, he’s thought about Indrid quite a bit. And that whenever an explosion or other odd occurrence came from next door, Ducks’ first response is no longer annoyance; it’s worry. What if something bad happened and Indrid had no one checking on him?

“I’ve been thinking” Indrid sets a mug down in front of him, sits across from him at the rickety table, “there’s a little get-together at the Lodge, that hotel on the edge of town, this weekend. If you were interested, we could hike out that way and then stop by after.”

“You know the folks there?”

“I do. Barclay and Joseph live in one of the cottages, Dani lives in the lodge proper, and they were kind enough to invite me to movie night once. I suppose I found my people, so to speak, there even if I still am a bit solitary.”

“Be happy to come, like to get to know more folks in town myself.” Duck glances back from examining some nearby drawings, and immediately knows he gave the right answer. Indrid is looking at him like he hung every star in the sky. 

------------------------------

Ducks’ gotten used to the occasional smoke detector cry from next door.

But this one isn’t stopping. 

He grabs the fire extinguisher from under his sink and bolts out one front door and into another. 

Smoke drifts down the stairs and Indrid is nowhere in sight. So up the stairs he goes, turning into the room where the smoke is the worst. Mercifully, there is no actual fire, just clear signs of one being hastily and messily put out. He opens the windows, and after a few minutes of cross-breeze the alarm shuts off. 

It’s only then that he hears a tap running and someone muttering. 

He crosses the hall, finds Indrid glaring into the mirror over the bathroom sink, trying to sooth a nasty looking burn on his arm. 

“Shit, what happened?” 

Indrid stares at the water, “just an accident. I was careless. I’ll be alright.”

“Here, lemme look at your arm-yeah, okay, I’m gonna go grab my first aid kit from my place.”  

He’s out and back as fast as he can manage, returns to find Indrid sitting on the toilet lid, sulking. 

Duck holds out his hand and Indrid flops his wrist into it. As gently as he can, Duck tends to the burn. It’s not bad enough to need a hospital, but it’s still a nasty looking mark.

“What were you tryin to do?” He asks softly.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me?”

“I have certain...abilities. Magic. Most of it related to seeing the future. But some of it is more general, or is in other fields of the discipline, and I was trying to use one field to influence a future and it backfired.”

Duck considers him a moment, then gently squeezes his hand, “hey, it’s okay if you don’t wanna tell me. Don’t gotta make a story up on my behalf.”

“I’m not MAKING IT UP!” Indrid shouts, yanking his hand away and standing up.

“Indrid, you don’t expect me to believe-”

“ What? That I’m stuck seeing futures I can’t stop, stuck with powers I still can’t fully control, that I’ve made myself an outcast time and again all because of these blasted things.” He rips off his glasses and chucks them down the hall. Crumples to the floor, head in his hands.

Cautiously, Duck scooches across the hardwood. He wants to reach out, to soothe the tensed lines of Indrids’ body. But he’s not sure that’s what Indrid wants. Not sure if he’s royally fucked everything up.

“Okay, I’m listenin.” His voice, gentle as it is, may as well be coming through a megaphone for how Indrid flinches. Then he looks at his newly bandaged arm. 

“Ten years ago, I bought those glasses from a little curio shop. I thought they were stylish. I put them on when I got home and everything changed. Long story short, the glasses are a conduit to a demonish creature. When I put them on, he became my patron. I gained his ability to see the future, as well as some other powers. I panicked, tried to take the glasses back, but the store was simply gone. Turns out if I try to forsake his gift, it will go very badly for me, so I have to wear them all the time, save for sleep and things like that.”

“Jesus.”

“I’ve been trying to use my powers to stop the disasters I see coming but so often it doesn’t work, and then I have to watch it play out in real time after seeing it again and again in my head.” He stands, slowly, and walks to retrieve the glasses, “or when I try to do enchantments, sometimes things go haywire. Did you happen to see the little succulent garden in the living room?”

“You mean the one that’s as big as your coffee table?”

“Yes. That was originally two succulents. I bought them as a housewarming gift for you then decided maybe four was better. So I tried to magic up two more. And got a garden instead.” He’s still as he speaks, glasses held in his palm, “It isn’t all bad. I have been able to stop some things, and I’ve gotten much better at magic. But the failures so often dwarf that.”

“Indrid?” Duck stands in the bathroom doorway, waits for his friend to turn around before continuing, “thank you for tellin me all that. And I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.”

Indrid’s smile is weak, but genuine.

“Are there, uh, things that help when this happens? You seem real upset and if I can help you feel better, I’d like to.”

“T.V, the mindless kind.”

Duck holds out his hand, “C’mon, let’s go downstairs.”

Indrid settles on the violet couch, wrapping himself in a thick blanket as Duck flips channels. 

“You’re from West Virgina, right?”

“Yep.”

“Then you may be familiar with my patron. I don’t know his true name, but everyone just calls him mothman.”

Duck drops the remote.

“Mothman? As in Silver Bridge, Point Pleasant, TNT plant, and all that shit?”

“Yes.” Indrid says mildly. 

“Holy shit.” He fishes the remote from under the couch.

“That’s a remarkably succinct reaction.”

“Hush you, you know I ain’t a man of many words.”

“Duck, two days ago you talked for half an hour about Kudzu.” Indrid shoots him a teasing smile, and Duck elbows him lightly. 

“Oooh, a Halloween cooking championship! Let’s watch that.”

Duck sets the remote down, joins Indrid under the blanket when the taller man opens it for him.

“You doin anythin for Halloween?”

“No” Indrid sighs, “I love it, but after the ‘living pumpkin incident,’ parents stopped letting their children trick or treat here.”

“Hmmmmm” Duck rests his hand just beside Indrids’, strokes it absentmindedly with his pinkie “y’know, Indrid, I think I got a way to fix that…..”

-----------------------------------

Duck waves goodbye to the group of trick or treaters as they scurry back down the walkway. He has to hand it to Indrid: the man really has an eye for decoration.

The yard is strung with glowing cobwebs and purple lights, bats made of purple shadow and glitter flitting through the air.  The multitude of Jack’O Lanterns flicker in a rainbow of colors, thanks to Indrid doing an enchantment on the flames. 

Ducks house is equally festive, Indrid choosing orange lights and one (magically) large pumpkin to contrast with the dark wood of the building. Currently Aubrey (Dani’s wife) and her giant rabbit (Dr Harris Bonkers, PhD) are seated on Duck’s front step on candy duty. Duck had asked for his new friends help after realizing just how nervous Indrid was that something would go haywire, and decided it was best if he was there to keep him company.

It’s been a successful Halloween so far; no explosions, no disasters, no decorations accidentally coming to life. He and Indrid chat between visitors, The Creature from the Black Lagoon plays in the background, and both of them have eaten more candy than two grown men probably should. Not a single kid who’s come to the door seems afraid of Indrid. Some are curious, and some have parents that definitely watch them closely. But most are just happy to get candy.

Best of all, whenever they’re seated on the couch, or waiting to open the door, Indrid holds Ducks hand, or sighs happily when Duck rests his arm around his shoulder.

The groups are becoming less and less frequent, and stars peek out from behind the clouds, when Indrid turns to him.

“Thank you, Duck.”

“Hey, wasn’t gonna miss an excuse to hang out with you and poach your candy.”

Indrid chuckles, “Not just for that. For everything, for being kind, for getting to know me and not writing me off as wicked. I-” He falters, turns away suddenly.

Duck may not have foresight, but he’s perceptive all the same.

“Want me to finish that sentence for you?”

Indrid looks at him wide-eyed as the ranger steps into his space, “Please.”

“I wanna get to know you better.” Duck grins, moves to pull Indrid to him.

Indrid beats him to it, grabbing his shirt and pulling him into a kiss. Ducks back hits the door, Indrids fingers digging into his hair. He holds him tight, and as demanding as his kisses are the taller man’s whole body is shaking like the last leaf on a tree.

When they pull apart, Indrid rests their foreheads together.

“Yes, Duck, I would very much like to get to know you better.”

Duck kisses him again, keeps him close as he whispers, “well, happy fuckin halloween to me.”

Indrid kisses his cheek, “Indeed.”

#Indruck #indrid cold/duck newton #promptober #au

[batslime]

taggt ( by @wesminator )

Last:

Drink- im schlurpin mtn dew rn

Phone call- my mom to make sure she knew we needed cat food

Text- showing this awful thing to @succubus

Song- ddu-du ddu-du by black pink ( that doesnt even sound the way its spelled and i had to look at it again bc of that )

Time you cried- i dont remember probably while i was watching a movie or smt

Ever:

Been depressed- b o y

Gotten drunk and thrown up- i dont go to parties because i live in the middle of nowhere and ive never been drunk i dont like alcohol enough to get to that point

In the last year have you:

Made new friends- ya

Fallen outta love- YA

Laughed until you cried- no

Found out someone was talking about you- just today my manager told me one of the part time mans texts him to say ive been “acting up” ( i said something to her she didnt get so i told her not to try so hard bc i could smell the smoke coming from her ears ) and he straight up tells her shes stupid fgvhjb

Met someone who changed you- for the worse yes lmao

Found out who your friends are- I’ve found out who my friends aren’t!

Kissed someone on your Facebook friends list- Maybe???? ive remade it so many times/ never go on i dont remember if i have any exes besides @succubus

General:

Fave color- im always a slut for pink but i also love rich greens and lavender

How many Facebook friends do you know IRL - why is a tumblr meme probably aged at like teenage-twenty year olds even asking about facebook

Any pets - rn i have three cats

Do you wanna change your name - legally ya

What did you do for your last birthday - I dont remember i was probably still at home jobless and sad

What were you doing last night at midnight - working on miniatures

What is something you can’t wait for - @succubus is coming over next month, next paycheck, to get the energy to work on all my projects again, genji nendroid

What are you listening to - i just left blackpink playing after i had to look that title up

Have you ever talked to a person named Tom - idk

Something that gets on your nerves - god everything lately im like a time bomb

Most visited website - Tumblr and Youtube

Hair colour - Black/ dark brown

Hair length - i cut it asymmetrically l recently and shaved it back in march on the sides so its. all over the place

Do you have crush on someone - i have a crush on being a better and more productive and happier and richer person

What do you like about yourself - lets not start this lol

Want any piercing - not rn im too depressed to take care of my body on a regular basis

Blood type-  b+

Nicknames- 

Zodiac - capricorn

Pronouns - She/Her or They/Them is fine.

Fave TV show - I dont watch tv occasionally tho ill go into netflix and play whatevers nice to listen to while i work, like forensic files or movies im really familiar with 

Tattoos - i dont rly like the way they look i think n when i do see designs i like i like seeing them on other ppl, im too fickle for them myself. i used to do designs for ppl tho

Right or left handed - Right-handed

Ever had surgery - to have my teeth removed and tbh id be terrified and i think id really rather just die if i ever needed under-anesthetic under-the-knife surgery for multiple reasons 

Sports - no

Vacation - i like vegas, theres lots of countries id love to see but ive never been out of the states. im too poor and scared to do that rn esp alone

More general:

Eating - i love squishy foods but ive been craving crunchy stuff a lot lately too. ive been getting bowls of ice to take to my room while i work

Drinking- i drink like three things and that mtn dew, water w crystal lite, and match fraps

About to watch- i dont watch stuff much i just play whatever i can presently stand hearing while i work

Waiting to-

Get married - god no i literally just wanna live alone i dont wanna have to see people in my house while im trying to force myself to work or walking around naked i dont wanna be responsible for another person

Which is better:

Hugs or kisses - i dont like to be tocuhed

Lips or eyes - 

Shorter or taller -  

Nice arms or stomach -  these are like. really obscure selections 

Troublemaker or hesitant -  

Have you ever:

Kissed a stranger - no

Drunk hard liquor - no

Lost glasses - yeah i just toss em at the end of my bed at night

Turned someone down - um i work retail and look like a teenager i can hardly fucking go in public without some random ugly ass dude thinking he can talk to me lol 

Been arrested - no

Cried when someone died - i dont think so just animals as far as i can recall, i havent lost anyone close.

Fallen for a friend - ya

Do you believe in:

Yourself - Yeh boi!

st sight - for like animals or shows or smt. if youre talking about another person. thats called attraction and calling it love is creepy and unhealthy and an obsolete concept that we need to nip in the ass tbh. i hear a disproportionate amnt of guys to girls say this and its like always someone they meet in public or whatever. im sure if i were desperate and self hating enough to humor any of the losers who try me theyd say it like five years down the line too. you dont know who tf somebody really is til youve known them for years and gone though real shit and seen how they respond. ive always found “love at first sight” creepy 

Kiss on the first date - idk

Angels - maybe

Others:

Best friend’s name - i call her a disgrace and the cause of my death but other ppl call her franky/ alexa 

Eye colour - Brown

Fave movie - 

Fave actors -

franky ive already tagged you like eight times. also im done working for the day. if you wanna be tagged reblog it and tag yourself im not doing anything else for any more people today 

#im sorry im such a downer lately i feel so fucking manic like im tryin but my brains tellin me to bitch about it!

[limpblotter]

“Bringing Home Ham”

This is going to be a three part introduction to what might turn into a full fledged Tumblr-base Hamilton (and other musical inspired) fanfiction. I wanted to keep going but I as nearing 2000 words and decided to break it up, see how I feel…idk I had this really vivid idea how the cat and Alexander, the modern day and all sorts of stuff. So this is my take on it all. I will include rating and themes as I post. As of right now, its as safe as you can get lol. No trigger, no smut, no cursing. (Enjoy, comments are greatly appreicated and desired) Cast: Martha Washington, George Washington, Marquis de Lafayette Word Count: 1,962 Part 1 , Part 2 Setting: February 2017, New York, New York Themes: Hamilton, sitcom-ish themes, possibly other themes ___________________________________________________________ “What am I doing?” George breathed through clattering teeth. It was easily below freezing now. The snow was not light, fluffy cinematic perspiration. He was tired. A part of him could not believe he was out in the middle of winter looking for a damn cat. He had trudged through hard, crunchy snow covered sidewalks for about six blocks. He was getting less and less hopeful he was going to find this cat. Was he going to retreat? Probably, George didn’t want to catch his death…surely there was some other way he could make it up to Martha?  He paused by a dumpster near a busted street light. Perhaps it was fate working its strange ways, he convinced himself as he texted Lafayette that he was returning home without the cat. Before he could wait for a response something breezed by him. His instincts kicked in, the moment a figure brushed past him. His entire body lurched away from whatever it was before it could touch him. The figure ducked behind a dumpster and didn’t move from its shadow. “Hey!” George glared at the shadow, just as he turned back around the familiar flashes of red and blue blinded him for a second. He held his hand over his eyes as the lights died down and a figure marched out of the car. “George?” A tall, lanky looking man smirked a bit. “George Washington, well I be damned!” He brunette walked over holding out his hand. “Its been …fuck years.” It took Washington a second to realize who he was talking to. In his defense, the last time he saw this man he was a young recruit at George’s retirement party. Now he was a full fledge officer on the force. “Henry Knox.” He smiled taking the hand in a firm grasp and giving him a solid shake. “I haven’t seen you since…05? 04” He chuckled. “Patrolling?” Knox shook his head. “Yea, I got a call from the library turns out some dunce stole some books from the shelves and made out with them.” He shrugged. “Some goon kid no doubt. Really not worth my time if you ask me, but I gotta make that quota. A night in jail should shake him up.” There was a sinister smirk on the man’s face. George’s spine chilled, this was not the line of work he enjoyed. Watching as men only filled quota, not taking the time to make good judgment. Sure burglary is wrong but clearly at this level it was hardly worth scaring a boy half to death. Still… George felt his old honor egg him on to check the dumpster. Instincts told him the kid was that thing that ran by him, no doubt. “So how’s the wife and you’re little African kid.” Knox spoke casually. George’s eyes hardened. “He still part of that charity you and your lady do right?” “Martha and Lafayette are fine. Actually Marquis made the honor roll.” He paused. “He’s our home-stay transfer student from France. He’s French.” George corrected him trying hard to keep his cool. “Honor roll?” He was definitely surprised now. “Damn I should send you my kid, I can’t get him to pass a class for the life of me.” Knox rolled his eyes. “Its all about the parenting.” George smirked a bit, letting his small jab sink in. Knox’s face was no longer amused as he walked back to the car. “Well, if I see anything, I’ll let you know officer.” There was no way he was going to tell Knox now. No way no how. He watched as Knox drove off and once he was out of sight he turned to the dumpster. “Come out kid.” He commanded, crossing his arms. “I know you’re in there, some get out before I drag you out and right to that cop.” George waited patiently. Seconds later there was some shuffling as the figure came from his hiding spot. George looked down and noticed he was looking at a long haired, somewhat short…kid with olive tone skin, half lidded eyes and dressed in a light jacket probably freezing. He did notice the bag he was carrying and wondered what else he had. “Why didn’t you turn me in?” He commanded his eyes not on Washington at all. He was looking off to the side, hands in his pockets trying to keep warm. “Because I didn’t want to kid, at least not to him. I have other friends who can pick you up.” He spoke glancing at his phone. He watched as the boy started looking side to side, looking for an escape. “Stealing hm? Thats quite the crime but I have to laugh” He smirked. “What?” “Why did you steal books.” “Cause I wanted to ok? Is there a fucking problem, OLD MAN” He hissed, watching George just outright laugh at him. His light tanned face heated up in a deep red color but he made no moves to leave now. He grabbed his straps a little tighter. “Now, why are you upset?” He snickered a bit, the kid had some nerve. That was something George could entertain. He didn’t …feel like a thug. Twenty years on the force and George knew what he was looking for. The kid looked clean, he was anxious, he didn’t look like someone who was used to stealing or at least didn’t like it. “I’m not.” He looked to the side, upset, his lower lip quivering from the cold and nothing else. Nothing. Else. “Its alright you want to steal, its easy but it is also illegal…why do you want books anyway?” “None of your business, old man.” He paused for a second. George wasn’t taking him in so many he could play nice and get home before he turned into an icicle. “I don’t have a library card ok.” “Son…” George felt the laughter bubble up again. “I’m NOT your Son.” He felt his anger bubble up. He wasn’t usually angry but god he couldn’t stand being made fun of. “Look all you have to be is eighteen or have an adult, a parent or someone sign for you.” He spoke, his smile died a bit when a sudden flash of emotion came over the kid’s face. A certain…color of defeat colored his eyes as he looked off to the side again. This time not to avoid eye contact, he was looking off…somewhere to something that only he could see. “Well, I don’t have either of those requirements.” He frowned. “Dad split, mom is dead and my cousin OD’d in his bodega a week ago. So…” He shrugged. “I’m up shit’s creek without a paddle.” George scanned his face for the lie and got nothing. He was telling the truth. Washington felt something in him change as the boy spoke. “And you’ve been out here for a week? I’m sure you have other family.” He watched the teen shake his head. “Foster care?” “Yeah ok, those losers haven’t even noticed I haven’t been in school for days. I’ve been out selling what I can to get some cash to make it through the winter.” This kid wasn’t living, he was surviving. Everyday was a chance battle to find food, steal and make a profit. George saw this boy was much older than he seemed but even that couldn’t protect him from the merciless winter of New York. He could tell this kid was cold and perhaps even hungry. He was small and Washington couldn’t tell if it was natural for him or the fact he was out on the streets. With that, George took off his scarf and handed it to him. “I don’t need that.” He immediately retorted. “Why are you giving me this?” “You look cold” George answered. “And if you’re hungry my wife made roast, I’m sure there is some left over.” He held out his hand. “I can take you home, get you some food, maybe help you find a place to stay.” He could pull some strings with the police, use the search engine to find other family anywhere in the country. The kid looked at his hand and then at his face. “Catch is you give me your bag.” Washington didn’t know what this street kid had on him. He didn’t look like a thug but he had a family to protect. Whatever he had in his bag could have been a weapon or drugs. Something he would not risk Martha and Lafayette with. After a minute or two of deliberating, the teen shivered, the cold deciding it for him. He shrugged off his bag and handed it to George who found it heavy. He was a man that kept fit but the bag had to be close to seventy pounds, he noticed the straps were barely together. “What’s your name, kid?” “Alexander Hamilton.” He muttered softly, Alex looked up and noticed he had probably said it too soft and opened up his mouth again. “My name is Alexander Hamilton.” After getting his name the rest of the walk was silent and awkward. Alex was worried that he was getting into a bad situation, what if George was a drug dealer or a pedophile…but a warm bed was all he needed. He was not throwing away his shot at a shower either. George on the other hand had a lot on his mind. Like how to tell his wife he was bringing home some strange kid. Hopefully she would still be upset at him and in the room so he could have more time to think. “Here we are.” He smiled back at Alex who was looking around at the nice home. He whistled feeling a bit impressed. The door opened slowly, George turning the key so slowly that the click was muffled. Just as he managed to get it cracked open it was jerked open from the other side. “George, bless your damn stars!” Martha jumped at him, wrapping her arms around his neck. She was practically hanging on him. George quickly dropped the bag and held her up, slightly dumbfounded and entirely nervous. “What were you thinking going out there in the cold over some cat!” She wanted to hit him for being so foolish…and terribly kind. “Look George there is something I want to say…” “Me first.” He gently placed her back on her feet and backed up, from behind him Alex poked his head in and frowned. “Can we come in? I’m still freezing my ass off out here.” He moved around Washington and glanced at Martha. At first glance most people didn’t know how to take her vitiligo but Alex didn’t stare for long. “Where is your bathroom, Mister?” “Down the hall to the left.” George instructed then turned back at Martha who was left, staring at Alex as he waltzed in, her mouth opened. “I…might have lost the cat but I found a kid.” “George…” She began looking up at him still confused. “Look I know, its insane but he was homeless and cold.” He began. She opened her mouth to speak again and he kept going. “I couldn’t leave him in the cold, he said he had nowhere to go. He was stealing library books of all things. No doubt this kid has no street sense…” George couldn’t imagine how Alex managed to even survive a week out there. Martha’s eyes softened a little. “I’m going to call a favor, see if Greene can run his name or Social in the database and find him another relative somewhere… He’s got none for now…” “So we’re keeping him?” Martha smiled. “...he’s not a pet Martha. We’re keeping him until tomorrow and I’ll find him a real family, his family, he can stay with.”  

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