#while johnny sees himself so lacking and without worth in comparison

[boysborntodie]

I think that Johnnyboy’s potential to complicated and messy is criminally untapped in fanon. Ponyboy ‘fucking sucks at feelings, both his own and of others, and can be a bitch’ Curtis and Johnny ‘imperfect victim with shit self-esteem’ Cade would definitely have their ups and downs

#which is normal!!! #and i think they’d be able to get through rough patches #but they definitely do have their bad and difficult moments #ponyboy gets better at feelings as the book goes on but progress isn’t linear and we see that he reverts back #and johnny doesn’t really stand up for himself with pony #or most people in general #and while pony would definitely realise his mistake and apologize #it would be an issue #they’re both also not super good at comforting the other #the other appreciates the effort but they don’t often feel better #(johnny remarking he prefers when his father hits him when darry hurt pony #and pony teling johnny not to kill himself) #i can see them getting better at it and learning to understand each other more later on but it’s something they’d struggle with #also one of the biggest points of conflict would be the fact pony’s someone pure and gold and destined to leave behind tulsa #while johnny sees himself so lacking and without worth in comparison #also johnny genuinely does see pony as a kid #that’s his bestie and they’re equals but johnny knows pony is immature and doesn’t know much about the world outside his bubble #pony is very much 14 while johnny’s been forced to grow up from a young age #the outsiders #johnny cade #se hinton #ponyboy curtis #johnnyboy

[traincat]

How does Peter feel about Johnny’s past relationships, and vice versa? I feel like Johnny would be alright with Peters main relationships but Peter might become less cool with some of Johnny’s past relationships if he knew more about how certain ones were sketchy. And do you think these feelings about the other’s past relationships would change if Johnny and Peter got together?

I do feel like Peter would view some of Johnny’s past relationships very differently if they were together romantically vs how he currently views them. I.e, currently, I don’t believe he gives them very much thought. It’s not that he doesn’t care, it’s just that Peter has a tendency to be wrapped up in his own thing, and while he loves Johnny, the fact that Johnny’s one of his few close friends with powers I think puts Johnny in a category in his mind where he doesn’t have to be up in his business 24/7 -- something that would definitely change if they were in a relationship. It is worth noting that Peter’s one of the few people to know the truth about Johnny’s divorce from “Alicia” (and one of the very few people Johnny actually told; aside from him, there’s maybe Wyatt in terms of people who weren’t there to witness things themselves):

(Fantastic Four #362)

He later personally witnessed (though he didn’t have full context for) Lyja and Paibok’s attack on Johnny at the courthouse:

(Fantastic Four #372)

Peter was also present in the battle where an alternate universe version of Frankie Raye violently kissed Johnny mid-attack, although he was probably distracted by the fight:

(Fantastic Four v3 #49)

He was also also present during the battle at the end of Daken’s solo series on top of the Baxter Building, when Daken tried to kill Reed after saying some, uh, some things that were definitely about Johnny:

(Daken #22 & #23)

So Peter is both privy to certain information that most people in Johnny’s life aren’t and has been in the vicinity to quite possibly have overheard/seen more than that. But like I said, he can be, for lack of a better term, a little self-involved, so I don’t know how closely he’d consider some things until he was in a relationship with Johnny, at which point Johnny would become his business and then I think he would probably be sitting up reevaluating some things. It’s clear Peter worries about Johnny and is concerned with his safety, especially in recent canon:

(Marvel Two-In-One (2017) #1) He’s observant! So I think he’d start picking up on some stuff, especially since we know Johnny has some rarely depicted but important behavioral tics picked up from past trauma, like the “trivia game” he plays when he suspects someone isn’t who they say they are in situations where Skrulls are present.

(Fantastic Four: Secret Invasion) As someone who had been replaced himself (hello Clone Saga, Chameleon, Superior Spider-Man...) I think that kind of behavior is something he’d be quick to pick up on. For the record, I think Peter is way more likely to state that Johnny’s been abused than Johnny is, which could lead some difficult places. 

I think Johnny’s view on Peter’s past relationships would be very different; I think he’d be tempted to measure himself up against Peter’s past relationships and Peter’s exes, especially Mary Jane, and view himself negatively by comparison, question if Peter could love him as much, etc. (Crystal is the only one of Johnny’s exes where I could maybe see genuine jealousy without other intervening emotions coming up on Peter’s end.) In turn I think Johnny would dislike that jealousy in himself, which would lead to more negative self-opinions, and it snowballs on. The fact is that Peter’s friends with the majority of his exes, especially the major (still alive) ones -- Betty Brant, his first serious girlfriend, is still one of his closest friends, and I think that might be kind of difficult for Johnny, not because he wouldn’t trust Peter but because he’d be comparing himself.   

#spideytorch #losers who deserve each other #traincat talks comics #*replies #long post/

[fantabulousfunnelweb]

Chonky Spider-Tober Prompt dump (12-19)

200+ Words per Prompt, Feedback appreciated.

(Be prepped for a lot of Lore for Funnels Earth, don’t be afraid to send Asks seeking an explanation of things though, I’ll explain gladly)\

Minor Warning:

Mention of Gunshot Wounds

Minor Profanity use

Scars 

Day 12: Cold

Beanies over full-face masks look rather stupid, a token reason Funnel had forgone such a thing in exchange for a cotton-lined Pauper hat. The only problem was that with no receivers for the bioelectric seaming, this piece of headgear was sailing off his head almost every second swing. The Winter streets below echoed with the frantic shouting of the Spider, his once elegant travel turned into a display most akin to a cat in heat, darting across the air to retrieve his hat in every instance it joined the snow in their act of falling. Kyles never wholly disliked the cold, but his perspective changed after swinging around so much. “Gotcha!” he cried as they scooped their hat up from midair once more, posture going lax with relief upon his landing upon an old billboard. “This hats more trouble than it's worth, but I’d really rather not risk getting a literal brain freeze...” “Do you really like hats that much? You seriously could’ve just worn a scarf or something.” The ever investigative tones of their partner Kamala breaking the silence of the thought-to-be inactive comm line, catching the Spider off-guard and nearly causing him to drop the hat again. “Jesus Kamala, were you listening to all that?” “You bet, it's amazing how often you keep forgetting to disconnect all the time.”

Day 13: Sidekick

“Just a minute asshole, since when did I become your sidekick?”

“What? We’ve worked together a few times now, besides you’re… clearly younger.” Kyles clenched at the fists, mask furrowing quite visibly to mimic a low, angered brow. “Seriously!? You’ve been at this for how long compared to me and you think I’m just gonna happily be your sidekick?” The Defender fell silent. Funnel could see the moment of unsureness cross his face before they let out a response, “Okay well... But I’ve saved your life! That's gotta be worth something, huh kid?” “Nighthawk, look, I’m thankful for what you’ve done for me, I truly am. All I’m saying maybe you’re taking this a bit too far, I’ve got no interest playing Sidekick to anyone.” Even if he didn’t want to admit it, the Defenders were certainly right to call this guy rather self-centred, another one in the shortlist of things they agreed on. Nighthawk could see his chances slipping, and went to grasp for some kind of bribe, “But I can pay you! I can get you a better suit! Better Webs!. '' Kyles had certainly heard it all now, expression unchanged as the only thing left to do was walk out, “Get yourself a better attitude, then we’ll talk.” disappearing out the closest skylight without so much as a noise.

Day 14: Winter Suit

The dust pile coating the old closet interior kicked up into Jonathan's face, causing the unfortunate soul to become blasted with a hail of months old dust. “When the hell did you guys last clean this thing!?” Kyles sputtered through his sleeve as he shook the old hairs & dirt off of him. Darcy’s voice echoed from the bathroom down the hall in response, “Beats me, I asked Phil to clean that last month! Remind him if you see him, ‘kay Kyles?” “Yes Miss Marko!” With only minimal dust to complicate things, Jonathan began sifting through the bulging racks of downright ancient jackets, humming to himself as they inspected whatever caught their eye. Whilst he had claimed his want for a different jacket was just to mix things up, he was desperately on the search for whatever he could assemble as part of his more ‘lower-temperature’ suits. His past 2 weeks braving a New York Winter for the first time had left him barely wanting to even get out of bed. But he knew eventually Mayday would kill him if he kept the suit stuck underneath his bed for more than a week. “Do we have any fur jackets?” “Fur Jackets?! What are we, rich?” an unfortunate eavesdropper on Kyle’s own ramblings, Miss Marko barked from her porcelain palace, “Come on Johnny! It's not like you’re in the cold that long, man up!”

Day 15: Scars

“This? Bullpup Slug clipped my thigh.”

Her pale skin exposed to the harsh, crude old lighting, the interested Teens could see the splotches of raw skin faintly, like accidental paint dots blemishing an otherwise perfect canvas. Leaned in from their seats at the table, the young heroes marvelled silently at Chetz’s aging wounds, seeing it as something of a mark of dedication than a past injury. “Alright, someone else’s turn.” Silence struck the dilapidated warehouse room before someone stepped up to the plate. “Alright, Let me see what I got.” Raising a gloved band to his tightly affixed Vest, Patriot popped a button or two, “Funnel, remember the mob front we took down a month or two back in Upper Harlem?”

Eyes darted towards the Spider. His telescopic lenses shooting wide in surprise, his agape mouth shielded by the mask. “So you DID get shot?” He blurted out, curled fingers rapping against the rusted metal bench they all resided, “Why didn’t you tell me?” Patriot shook his head in return, gripping his thick undershirt and pulling it up to reveal. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“You got shot!”

“I got better.”

Funnel arched himself over his chair, head staring up into the dingy, grime coated ceiling lights. “Christ Patey, If all our adventures don’t kill you, I will myself someday.

Day 16: Movie

“Snacks too? I don’t want to take too much of your money...”

Chetznakova didn’t listen, shoving the note into his arms and strutting past him towards the snack booth, followed quickly by Kamala & Elijah. Kyles had no other choice but to follow, kicking off his heel to catch up with them once more, “I’ll try not to get too much, I’d-“

“Jonathan. Seriously, It’s fine.” It hardly felt that way for him, spider-senses rendering them alert to the prying eyes of public onlookers. Compared to his friends, he didn’t look like the sort to be hanging around this part of town. “I-... Okay.” The harsh lighting of the tiled snack booth bathed the quartet of teens in light, reflecting off the weathered plastic candy containers that they began to pick at with the aid of equally small shovels. “I’ve been waiting to see this movie for a while, you guys?” Looking to change the subject to another topic, he gazed towards his compatriots, waiting to see who would receive & answer. 

“Saw the first movie last month, didn’t look like a bad idea to see the sequel when you guys offered.” Chetz relayed, scooping a handful of sour gummy-bears into her snack bag. “It reminds me though, we hitting any more places after this?”

Day 17: Town

KA-CHING

A momentary transaction brought the fresh paper bag into his grasp, weighed down by its cargo as it dangled lightly in the air. “Thanks Sir!”The Spiders eyes fell onto the Umbrakenite to his right, staring her featureless costume in its face. The Shadow-being met his gaze with the void of her own, almost motionless as light ceased around her. “What.”“Say Thank you.”Her head noticeably twitched in confusion, “Sorry, What?”Funnel gestured to the employee at the register, clearly too deep into his graveyard shift to emote to any substantial degree. “He let us buy snacks”“So? That’s his job.”Knocking his head back, the Funnel-Web pulled the shopping bag to his side, “Y-... Whatever Let's go.” Turning on his heel to brush past the counter and onto the short path outside, Dusk followed without a moment's hesitation, taking to his side in an instant. “Did we get those Chips Patriot wanted?”

“Yes.” Parting the bag open with a thumb to double-check its contents before scrunching it back closed in a fist. “...Do you want your thing yet?” choosing to look past her lack of gratitude for the team being, he awaited her answer.

“...Yes, Thank You.” A surge of momentary anger dashed through his system, snapping in & out of gaze with the Unregistered as they frustratingly reach into their bag and snatch a carton of Orange Juice from within, thrusting it into her grasp in their attempt to avoid doing anything overly aggressive

Day 18: Luck

The moments between the bullet graze & the ensuing pain certainly made top-list of worst moments Kyles ever had this week. An almost deadly High-caliber round piercing the dense mesh of his suit as the albeit minor impact still sent him flailing through the sky, buckling the reinforced steel of a car roof upon touchdown with the street. The aches of a bruised back paled in comparison to the torn flesh & muscle of his left arm, a holeshot clean through the Spiders tricep and leaving him to bleed across his side and the dented metal of some unfortunate person car.

Sensations dulled as the world around him began to fade, the blinking lenses of his mask informing its hazy user of the blood they’ve lost before coming to reap the consequences of such loss, vision going dark as the disturbing bliss of silence washed over them…

“Jonathan...”

The word prodded at his subconscious like a fly, persisting as the world around the Spider began slowly, yet surely creeping back into conscious. Shapes formed, colours came into sight, and the fuzzy blob in the near-distance was saying something.

“Woah Woah, stay still there Kyles, We-... You’re still hurt.”

Without so much as thinking, the wounded youth shifted his feet, unable to feel them underneath the electric blanket coating them, inciting a tired groan of partial panic & frustration.

“The hell did I just say?! Just… Lay down okay? You’re lucky to even be awake right now after that.”

Day 19: Freestyle

Kyles always considered himself to have a weird relationship with pets, minor allergies aside, he enjoyed their presence, yet whenever one got close, strings of panic never failed to dart his mind, feeling as if at any point they would grow hostile and attack him, and now? His latent fears had paid off after so long. His soles met the intricate ceiling with a hard thud, curling up with his hat firmly within hold as Miss Hardy's ravenous cats hissed and leapt in an attempt to claw & maim the intruder, their wild scampering rousing the attention of their owner from their slumber.

“Castel!?! What’s all the noise about-”

“Uh… Hello Miss Hardy!”

Her snow-white hair frayed and her night-gown creased, Felicia Hardy gazed upwards to the unexpected entry, currently cowering in fear on the ceiling to escape her… aggressive family.

Furrowing her wrinkled brow, she reached the cat bell from the high-shelf and jostled it, the piercing brass-on-brass echoing across the room and bringing the ravenous feline herd to a stop. “Run along now children, Mommy has business.” a dismissive gesture scattering them in flocks back to their mundane cat lives.

“Th-Thank you Miss Hardy.”

“Save it Little Spider, Care to explain what you’re doing here?”

The affectionate nicknames never failed to irk Kyles the wrong way, feeling the hair stand up on his arms as he fumbled for his purpose of coming here.

“Its Barracuda, I think he's sent someone after you.”

#spidertober #spidersona #spiderverseoc #spider sona #writing #feedback appreciated

[billymoon13]

This explains the Gater

Swamp Salvation

Johnny Isaac sat at a small table balancing his knife on its point with one finger at the end of the handle. The barn where he sat was large and tall with a sweet, damp smell that permeated the wood. In the rafters above his head were many poles strung with tobacco leaves hanging from them in the process of drying and curing before being sold at market. It was a dark location with only light coming from the gaps in the barn slats and from the partially open door. Johnny was deep in thought reflecting on the plans put into place over the last thirteen days. Thirteen…his mind stuck on that number…he was not a superstitious man, but it captured his attention. He put his faith in the directing hand of Almighty God and not in the influence of man-made superstition to guide fate. However, he did chuckle to himself thinking that the thirteenth day of this fortnight waiting period perhaps might prove to be an ominous one. “Wouldn’t that just confound all reason,” he said out loud while shaking his head. He dismissed the notion and returned to considering his current situation and what may lay ahead. The capture and interrogation of the Redcoat nearly two weeks ago resulted in valuable information, but very risky. Intercepting the reported shipment would give the militia the necessary powder, ammunition, and provisions to keep their efforts alive for a few months. The risk was worth the expected return and the planning had been meticulous to discern how the Redcoats possibly would move the items from the bay to Stevens Chapel without drawing attention.

His thoughts were cut dead as Johnny heard footsteps through the grass crunching twigs and leaves. The sound grew closer and a moving shadow began to grow on the partially open door. He slid his hand to his pistol stock tucked inside his waistband sash, drew the pistol, and cocked it without making a revealing sound. The pistol barrel was leveled at the door in wait for the unknown visitor. The door was pushed open by the shadow and a face peered in.

“Is the crop ready for King George?” asked the shadow in a broad voice.

“Only if he is able to come claim it” replied Johnny to the shadow.

The shadow moved fully into the door and walked toward the table. The streaming light changed on the figure to reveal a man of young adult age in an average frame. “Good to see you, Mr. Isaac…God protect you and God protect those who love Liberty.”

Johnny stood and carefully laid his pistol on the table pointing away from the door. He extended a hand to the young man waiting for him to reach the table to greet him. “God protect you, as well, Mr. Smyth.” Johnny paused to then shake the man’s hand with a double-handed grip. “It is very good to see you. Thank you for coming to stand watch.” The two men sat at the table across from each other getting comfortable in a way that indicated they might be there for some time. Mr. Smyth was a blacksmith in town and even in the partial light, Johnny could tell his hands still showed the course, calloused, texture of handling a hammer and tongs over a scorching fire for way too long. It was an odd sight to see such a young man with the hands of someone at least two decades older.

“I reckon there’s no word yet, Mr. Isaac?” asked Smyth as he lit a pipe by striking a match across the rough knuckles of his left hand.

“No, none. However, the time is short and should be soon,” confirmed Johnny. “All that’s needed now is fastidious waiting, which is always the most difficult.”

“Aye, agreed. I would prefer just to know and to deal with the knowing,” affirmed Smyth. He leaned back in his chair and propped his feet on the table corner. After taking a few billowing puffs on his pipe, his expression changed to a questioning look.

“I know ‘tis not my place to ask but are you sure all options of movement have been considered?” questioned Smyth.

“That’s just fine, all of us are equal in this effort…every voice has the same weight as we all share the same risk,” consoled Johnny to the younger man. “There are a number of ways to get to Stevens Chapel with a load but going by land from the harbor would take multiple wagons and many men to clear the roads and provide protection. It would be far too obvious with no measure of stealth. Even doing so at night would be difficult with little light. There is no moon these days and many lanterns would be needed for night travel. Far too obvious.” Johnny looked toward the door with a crinkled brow thinking he had heard a sound, but nothing was there.

“I see. Well then, by water it would seem to be then. At least we now have no need for lanterns in a church tower to tell if the British are coming by land or sea then, eh?” joked Smyth as he chuckled at his own joke.

Johnny smiled at the comparison of the situation. “Aye. I am firmly certain we have narrowed the options. The easiest water route would be up the Cooper river from the bay. The river is deep enough at the branch to guide a ship farther up and drop anchor to make it appear shelter from a storm is being sought.” He paused to clean off his knife and gaze up at the hanging tobacco. “The waters are too shallow upstream, so longboats are required to gain access and reach a landing point near the chapel. From there, it seems only logical the British would require horse and cart to move from the boats to the chapel.” Johnny once again quickly turned his head toward the door believing another sound was heard.

“And that loading would have them lobsters distracted…ripe for surprise,” concluded Smyth.

“Yes, you are learning very quickly, Mr. Smyth,” Johnny confirmed while returning to look at the blacksmith. He was becoming impressed with the young man by his willingness to serve and quick thought process. “That’s where we will catch them unawares. All we must do is wait and be ready to move at the appointed time.”

The two continued to sit and wait. Some time went on with the two men sitting in silence both deep in thought. Smyth stood up and walked a few paces away, stretched his back, rubbed his hands and tamped out his pipe across his arm.

“How many men do you figure they’ll…” started Smyth. Johnny quickly interrupted him with a low tone “ssshhhh” while gesturing with an open hand to him. Johnny pointed to the corner of the barn where a small shadow could be seen moving from around the side and to the front of the barn. It was a figure creeping slowly to the barn door.

Johnny picked up the pistol leveling it back at the barn door. Smyth pulled a large knife from his belt sash and silently moved forward and to the side of the barn door planning to get a jump on the figure as they entered. The figure moved closer to the door coming upon the entry. The door slowly swung open and a small shadowed head peered inside.

“Is the crop ready for King George?” said the voice of a boy.

“Only if he is able to come claim it” replied Johnny to the voice.

The figure stepped fully into the barn. It was a young boy with a dirty face, ragged clothing, and bare feet. Despite the rough appearance, he had a strong face with a determined street-trained look that projected a lack of fear or apprehension. There was a barrel hoop slung over his head resting on one shoulder and angled across his body to the opposite waist. He held a stick in his left hand.

“Master, Bartholomew!” Johnny said to the boy. “Come in. It is always a pleasure to see you.” Johnny pushed out a chair from the table with his foot and motioned for the boy to sit. Smyth replaced the knife in his belt and returned to his chair at the table.

“No, sir. I know ‘tis proper to stand before one’s elders,” said the boy as he stood at what seemed to be some stance of attention as if a soldier reporting to his general.

“I very much appreciate the respect, son, but as I was telling our friend Mr. Smyth here…we are all equal in this task.” Johnny again gestured to the chair and the boy relented plopping down and putting both hands on the table with entwined fingers. “What news do you bring?” Johnny asked.

“Mr. Isaac...Mr. Smyth…” said the boy as he looked at both men in sequence. “I was down at the docks, as instructed, and the troops…they are moving.”

Smyth leaned forward. “What do you mean by moving?”

Bartholomew looked directly into his eyes and said “They always have the same number at the docks. Two at the market house near the road. Three at the harbormaster office. Some patrolling the dock gangways and some observing shipments as they are offloaded. It is always the same.”

“So, what is different, lad?” quizzed Johnny.

“There are more now, sir. They arrived earlier this morning. I overheard the Captain saying most of them are instructed to remain in the harbormaster office and gather tomorrow morning with horse and wagons that are coming,” clarified the boy with additional energy. “They are preparing for something. The docks have not been like this with activity.”

Johnny leaned back in his chair. The thought about the thirteenth day struck him again, but he dismissed it with a resolved decision. He looked toward Smyth. “This must be it. They need the extra troops to guard the shipment and meet for the transfer.” He looked back at the boy.

“Very good work, Master Bartholomew,” said Johnny as the clapped the boy on the shoulder and rustled his hair. “I now have more instructions for you. Please go to the stable and tell Mr. Farris to prepare. After that, and only then, go to the inn and tell Mr. Clancy that you have been of good service to me. He will give you a proper meal and some food for later.” Johnny smiled at the boy and took note of how brave he is for taking on the role of spy.

“Yes, sir,” said the boy as he stood up from the chair straight at attention. He started to leave, but Johnny grabbed his arm.

“Wait…there is one more thing you need.” Johnny reached in his vest pocked and produced a large coin. He placed it in the boy’s hand and closed his fingers around it. The boy didn’t even have to look at the coin, but instantly knew it’s worth just from feel. “This is for your faithful service and for your protection. We will talk more soon.”

“Oh! Thank you, sir!” said the boy with tears nearly welling up in his eyes. He ran from the barn and his shadow across the outer facing of the barn disappeared quickly.

“Shall I begin, Mr. Isaac?” quizzed the blacksmith, but already knowing the answer and starting to move toward the door.

“Yes, go tell the others to mass where we planned near Goose Creek. It is the only water access off the Cooper near the chapel. There is a trail off the road to the creek. We’ve scouted it and that must be the place. Tell them to meet in the woods where we found and you and I will follow the boats,” summarized Johnny. Smyth quickly left with no other word.

Johnny paused a moment, de-cocked the pistol and placed it back in his belt. He looked around for any other signs they were there. With nothing else to adjust, he backed toward the barn door while moving his foot in the dirt to erase the footprints seen. He took one more look around the barn while moving the door closed. The afternoon sun was warm. Johnny closed his eyes and tilted his head toward the sun allowing the light and warmth to fill him. He took a long, deep breath and began walking forward disappearing into a small trail through the woods.

The evening and night passed with all working their assignments. The plan was that everything would align, and the Colonials trap would be sprung at the transfer point between the longboats and any ground troops or wagons waiting for them. Johnny sat atop his horse with overcoat pulled up tight against the early morning chill. It was some time before daybreak and he was still groggy from the late night of gathering resources. He looked out through the grove of trees and could see the inlet merging the Cooper River and the bay. In the distance was a large, three mast ship with about 15 cannons seen on one side. It was an imposing vessel with enough firepower to push back any attack. She was anchored with sails tied up and some movement could be seen on deck with only a few lanterns lit. The vantage point was good enough to see what was going on without giving away his position even by someone on desk using a spyglass. Johnny had his pistol and knife tucked into his belt. The long musket was cradled in his left arm while he adjusted the coat collar up further to block the chill. Another horse was heard coming up slowly behind him.

“It be early for a ride in the woods, eh, Mr. Isaac?” said the familiar voice of the blacksmith.

“Indeed, but to borrow from Poor Richard, the early bird gets the lobster, Mr. Smyth,” answered Johnny.

“What be there? Any change?” asked Smyth.

“There is some movement on deck. It seems they may be starting preparations for offloading,” reported Johnny. “What of your preparations?”

“All’s well. Everyone is moving and will meet at the location,” confirmed Smyth.

Johnny nodded his head in understanding, “Good. We have done all we can do now. Watching the British do their work is what remains.”

The two men sat atop their horses watching the ship. After a while, Smyth pulled his pipe from the vest inside his coat and slipped it into his mouth. He then pulled a match from an interior pocket and moved to strike it on his knuckles. Johnny saw the movement from the corner of his eye and placed his hand on top of the blacksmith’s knuckles preventing the strike to Smyth’s surprise.

“No flame. They will see the light even from this distance,” chided Johnny. “We must remain in stealth.”

They remained in silence and in the pre-dawn darkness watching the ship. Before long, the horizon started glowing with a yellow and pink hue signaling sunrise was soon. Johnny noticed something different about the activity on the ship and tapped the shoulder of Smyth to get his attention as he was starting to nod off in the silence. Smyth jolted alert and the two watched as three longboats were swung over the side of the large ship held by ropes from the rigging. Boxes and chests were being loaded into the boats. It did not take long for the loading to be complete and eight men boarded the longboats; two in the center boat, three in the first, and three in the third. The middle figures in the first and third boats looked different than all the others, but exactly why could not be discerned from the distance. As the eight men were settling into the longboats, the three vessels were lowered down the side of the large sailing ship until they were floating independently. The ropes were pulled free from the boats by the crew above them. All three boats pushed away from the ship and oars were extended from each reaching into the water. The move was beginning.

Johnny and Smyth remained at their position until the boats were heading up the river and about to pass them. At this vantage point, a better view could be had of how the boats were loaded and of the men in the boats. All three had the same method of propulsion with two rowers; one at the bow and one at the stern. Both rowers operated two oars and stroking with their backs toward the forward position. All the rowers appeared to be sailors as their uniforms were different and typical of seafaring men. The first and third boat each had one Redcoat sentry seated with musket at the low-ready position being held horizontally across the chest pointing forward at a diagonal angle. The cargo in all three were indeed a mix of chests and boxes organized in a way that evenly distributed the weight and dimension across the open space in each boat. They were stacked to be about chest high to each of the seated men. The two stealthy riders kept watching the boats while still in their concealed view in the woods until the boats passed by them by about 50 yards.

“Eight men…only two heavily armed…what are the chances that will be all they will use?” asked Smyth in a very low whisper.

“That is not likely,” quietly answered Johnny. “This is to reduce attention and uses just enough without sacrificing cargo space. There will be more to meet them at the landing point based on what young Bartholomew reported.” Johnny had a dire, but confident feeling. He knew there would be a larger obstacle to face with the Redcoats. He knew they had surprise on their side. He did not know exactly whether that surprise was enough to give their band of raiders an advantage over possibly being outnumbered. All they could do is press on and trust in Divine Providence.

The men gently spurned on their horses and quietly trotted through the woods until they came across a small path. They then nudged their horses to move faster at a run to make more ground in a faster time frame. As they rode, the trees flashed past them in a blur and the sky became much brighter with the sun coming up. There was a light cloud cover which made the light evenly diffused and not harsh. They rode a little farther and then slowed to a point where the river would bend. The trees were thicker, but open enough to allow them a good, concealed spot to view the river. From there, they waited…and watched.

After several minutes, the three boats could be seen coming around the bend and fully into view on the river. Rowing against the current allowed Johnny and Smyth to catch up and pass the boats thereby tracking their floating movement up the river. Again, they waited for the boats to pass watching them in silence. There were still three boats; there were still eight men; there were still boxes of cargo. The men in the boats were all silent with no extra movement beyond the rowing action of the sailors. The Redcoats could be seen scanning the riverbank as they passed and moving their eyes ahead. They were on alert and expecting some interception at any moment. The boats continued past the hidden riders until they were again about fifty yards ahead. At that point, Johnny and Smyth quietly guided their horses back to the road and moved forward at a gallop pace to get ahead of the boats to another viewing spot. This pattern was repeated for about two hours as the riders would move forward to an accessible spot on the river…watch the boats float by…then move forward again to another spot. Each time, Johnny and Smyth silently and stealthily watched with no words uttered. They feared even not breathing too loud for risk of being discovered. Their horses even sensed the impending danger and uttered not even a whinny or chortle to give away their location.

At long last, the two riders endured the last stretch when they reached a point where the river turned to the left making a natural, flat banked landing suitable for any shallow boat to gain shore access. This bend was just off a main road leading past the nearby Stevens Chapel, which was only a short distance away and could be seen from the river’s edge. Their hiding spot was still in the trees and brush just before reaching the natural landing. They could see everything between the shore, the open space leading up from the bank, to the road, and then on to Stevens Chapel. It looked like a perfect spot to drop cargo to this part of the countryside. The two tied up their horses deeper in the woods and made their way by foot closer to the edge of the underbrush for a better view while still being concealed.

A rustling sound was heard by Smyth to his left and behind him. He placed a hand on his pistol and quickly spun around with pistol drawn. It was a farmer crouching through the brush as quiet as possible moving toward them. Smyth recognized the man as part of their raiding party and returned his pistol. The man reached Johnny and Smyth and crouched lower next to Johnny. He did not speak but shook Johnny’s hand and nodded to Smyth. Johnny made movements with his hands in a rough form of sign language to communicate. He moved a hand flat along an imaginary horizontal line and then held up three fingers; three boats was the interpretation. He moved his index and middle finger in a walking motion and then held up eight fingers; eight men was the interpretation. He grabbed his coat lapel and pointed to some red trim on his vest and then held up two fingers; two Redcoats was the interpretation. The farmer nodded in understanding and then performed his own hand movements. He made a fist with his hand and held his forearm upright drawing an imaginary circle in the air and then flashed 10 fingers and then flashed six fingers; the interpretation was that 16 men were in their group hiding nearby in wait. Johnny nodded and made another motion. He made both his hands flap like a bird and pointed to a large tree nearer the clearing to the road which had strong branches that were covered with much foliage. The farmer nodded, turned his head away from Johnny facing the woods and made a whippoorwill bird call. In a moment, another man with a musket slung on his back could be seen sliding out of the brush and quickly climbing the tree stopping on a branch crook hidden in the upper foliage. The spot was so well camouflaged that the climber was unseen and totally blended in. After that, there was only the sound of wind and water lapping the shoreline.

Only a few minutes passed, but it seemed like half the day had gone by. So much was depending upon this moment. They needed the supplies badly. A successful raid would hinder the ability of the Redcoats to assert power in the area and give the militia necessary resources to thwart the British even more. The main concern Johnny had was the safety of their party, but each man had been fully vetted for their commitment. It was a commitment that freedom and liberty from the King’s will was more important than temporary comfort or even their own lives. The three waited…and watched. They each cast eyes on the road through the clearing and then back to the river looking for some sign that the shipment was indeed going to land there. Johnny was starting to wonder if maybe the boats had taken a smaller creek branch and that they had lost the track of the boats. His doubt was broken by the sound of a whippoorwill call coming from the tree where the man was hidden. The three quickly turned their heads in the direction of the road and remained quiet.

A sound began to build from the road. It was the sound of horse hooves moving at a medium pace and wagon wheels. The noise grew louder and louder until the sight of two wagons being pulled by two very large draft horses came into view stopping on the road right at the clearing. The three watched as six Redcoats climbed out of the back of the wagons and the two Redcoat drivers remained seated with the reigns tied up to the side railing of the driver’s seat. A total of eight Redcoats fully armed…just out in the countryside with wagons waiting for something. This was starting to look good. It wasn’t much longer when the sound of oars in water was heard through the trees coming from the river. One of the Redcoats by the wagons went down to the riverbank with musket leveled to see. All three boats were maneuvering to steer toward the landing and gaining speed to let momentum slide the boats up the bank side. The boats came to a stop and the two Redcoat sentries jumped out and joined the Redcoat on the bank. Johnny quickly made another mental count and came to a total of sixteen men; ten Redcoats and six sailors. It seemed the raid was going to be in their favor. They had the British outnumbered by two men and still the element of surprise. Johnny smiled and looked at both the farmer and Smyth. Their planning and estimation of where the shipment would land completely paid off.

Johnny made eye contact with the farmer and gave a firm nod of his head. The farmer then turned to face the forest and made another whippoorwill call. When done, the farmer, Johnny, and Smyth burst from the underbrush to directly charge the three Redcoats at the shoreline. BLAM-BLAM-BLAM! All three of the men fired their muskets almost simultaneously as they emerged from the brush toward the British targets hitting each squarely in the chest. All three soldiers stumbled backward instantly dead. The remaining Redcoats were startled by the suddenly appearing attackers and shocked into action by the instant death of their comrades. All but the two Redcoat drivers worked to shoulder their muskets at the trio who were drawing pistols preparing for return fire.

BLAM! A musket shot came from the upper branch of the tree hitting one of the drivers while reaching for a pistol who then fell off the wagon dead with blood already beginning to pool in the dirt. The sound again startled the Redcoats remaining with half of them spinning around to locate the source of the shot. The remaining raiding party exploded from the brush with rifles leveled at the remaining Redcoats.

“DROP YOUR MUSKETS!” yelled a stocky man in a wide brimmed hat with bits of foliage stuck to his coat. The Redcoats paused, looked at each other, and slowly laid down their muskets on the ground. The last driver on the wagon quickly pulled his pistol to fire on the stocky man and was immediately hit with…BLAM!... a shot from a short man standing closer to the woods but with a much better angle view of the driver to see the move before damage could be done. The hit driver also fell off and landed dead on the ground.

Smyth turned to the sailors in the boats with his pistol trained on them. “You lot stay where you are with hands visible or the devil may take ya.” The six unarmed sailors were terrified and kept their hands on the oars while elevated in the air.

Johnny surveyed the situation. There were five Redcoats dead and eleven British total in custody. The shipment was now under their control. “Search the dead for weapons and gather all you find together,” he said toward the stocky man in the hat who instantly went to work on all the uniformed corpses. Johnny turned to another man, “Gather the captives over by the edge of the woods, disarm them, and seat them on the ground.” Three of the raiding party guided the remaining Redcoats by musket barrel over to the side of the clearing forcing them on the ground while removing pistols and some swords. “Pull the bodies of the dead by the clearing as well,” directed Johnny once they were done. The same three slung their muskets over their heads and progressively dragged the dead Redcoats just to the edge of the brush line. Johnny then turned to Smyth. “Let’s start the unloading.”

Smyth waved his pistol toward the longboat cargo and addressed the clearly frightened sailors who had no idea they would be caught up in such a situation undefended. “You heard the man, you limey dogs! Unload that cargo to the bank here!” The sailors immediately stepped out of the longboats, put down the oars, and began moving boxes and crates one by one setting them on solid ground just away from the water.

As the unloading began, Johnny turned to observe their captives. They had a total of eleven between the five remaining Redcoats and the six sailors. Their plan had anticipated some captives with a successful capture of the shipment, but not this many. He tried to reason the best way to transport and hold them. One extreme option is outright execution, but that was not an action he really wanted to take. They wanted the supplies. If some British casualties happened because of battle, then that’s just war. Execution without a court hearing of some sort, even a militia court proceeding, seemed too brutal…even immoral. He decided they would transport the captives and question them later hoping to yield more valuable intel. However, there was something not right about the group of Redcoats seated before him. Something was missing…out of place…not normal to a group of British soldiers on such a detail. But what was it?? The enigma became larger in his mind growing into a genuine concern. Whatever this missing element was, it was starting to generate risk…even fear in his mind. “Think, lad,” Johnny said to himself. He looked carefully at each soldier examining the detail of each uniform. What he saw…or, rather didn’t see, caused his eyes to go wide and his jaw drop open a little with the realization. There were no officers in the group of captives and no officers among the dead! This bunch of soldiers were on a crucial supplies transport mission with zero leadership whatsoever. That was never done in British military procedure and the thought made Johnny’s blood run cold. Why did they have no officers on the detail?

BLAM!...AAAUUUGH! The almost simultaneous sound of a musket shot and a scream in agony came from behind Johnny and to his left. All eyes spun in the direction of the sound just in time to see a Colonial fall from a tree limb with musket still in hand landing with a thud and bounce on the ground. Their treetop sentry had been shot! All the raiding party was still in shock at the sight when a large group of Redcoats swiftly ran from the edge of the clearing near the road all with muskets drawn and pointed in their full direction. They were followed up by a regal looking man on horseback in an extremely fine uniform with full regalia…medals…hat plumage…sword drawn. Johnny recognized the uniform insignia as a Captain’s rank. The captive Redcoats instantly got up and joined their unit.

“Good day, my Colonial friends,” said the horse-mounted man in a very cold, sinister voice. “I would like to thank you for aiding us in offloading our supplies.” Johnny turned to look at the longboats. Only about half the boxes and crates were on the shoreline. The sailors had sneers on their faces, glaring at the mounted figure, since the labor of offloading was done by them and not by the Colonials. He looked back at the blockade of Redcoats between his crew and the road. They were pinned in-between a row of musket and bayonet and the river. A total of twelve Redcoats and the mounted Captain completely surprised them. Johnny concluded the reason there were no officers for the shipment transfer is that it was a trap all along. They knew the raid was going to happen somehow. Johnny’s band had lost only one man. The Redcoats lost five, but they were now outnumbered; seventeen Colonials against twenty-five British including the sailors…and they were caught off-guard with no retreat.

“Disarm them!” barked the mounted figure toward the line of soldiers. Three of the Redcoats broke rank and began gathering the muskets and pistols from the still shocked raiders. The muskets were leaned against each other in groups of four in a pyramid shape by the Redcoats; the pistols were thrown on the ground in front of each musket stack. “Line them up!” he said gruffly and then with a frightening change of tone looked toward the Colonial captives said, “We need a proper examination of our prize,” in a devilishly smooth manner. Another three Redcoats advanced toward the captives and moved them along the tree line to stand side-by-side in a review line. The Redcoat leader dismounted handing the reigns to a nearby soldier to hold. He walked slowly toward the line of Colonials and started looking them over one-by-one with a look of repulsion on his face.

“Well, now, it seems we have captured some of the rebellious vermin who have vexed us these last months,” said the man as he walked and looked each man up and down. “What a pathetic group of rabble. Hardly a match for His Majesty’s regular army.” He had removed gloves from his hands and was slapping the gloves against his now bare palm repeatedly. The sound became instantly annoying to Johnny. It was something that one with an elitist attitude would do. He’s seen it done before and the action always galled him. “Now, then, what to do with these,” the Captain said to himself, but loud enough for the entire group to hear. He was rubbing his chin as if in deep thought. “The efficient thing to do,” he continued, “is to just execute them here and be done with this business.” He gave an approving nod to himself, but then his face changed to a frown. “However, the proper thing to do is to take you all back to Charlestown for some routine but painful questioning, a proper trial, and a very public hanging.”

The officer paced some more clearly pretending to be deep in thought. Each of the Colonials stood straight with steely determination in their eyes looking full-faced at the peacock-like British leader. The man stopped before the stocky Colonial captive and stood very close to him. “What say you about this decision my good man?” The large man didn’t answer, but just stared directly into the eyes of his captor. “I need an answer. Your opinion is valued.” There was still no answer. Then, in a swift move, the officer slapped the Colonial in the face with his gloves turning the man’s head with the force. There was a red streak already starting to show on the man’s cheek from the impact of the leather. He slowly returned his face the officer and ejected a large wad of saliva right in-between the officer’s eyes which swiftly ran down his nose line.

“My apologies, me lord, I’m allergic to shellfish,” said the burly Colonial. Johnny found himself amused at the humorous insult despite the dire situation. He could even feel Smyth next to him silently trying to stifle a laugh.

The officer calmly removed a handkerchief, wiped his face, and said, “I hate to see a man suffer. I happen to have just the remedy.” He then quickly drew his pistol cocking it in one move and shot the large man directly into the chest. The victim fell instantly backward falling dead on the ground. The entire Colonial party was shocked and angered.

One Colonial raider at the beginning of the review line rushed forward toward a Redcoat in front of him. He collided with the soldier, pulled the pistol from the soldier’s belt and shot him with it. He then started to advance on another intending to use the spent pistol as a club but was instantly shot by two Redcoat guards. Johnny’s band was now down to fifteen men to the British twenty-four. Still horrible odds with no option for escape.

“Well, that was useful,” oozed the Captain while refolding his handkerchief. “We now know what to do with these.” He turned away from facing the captives and looked toward his soldiers. “It is clear our quarry will be a troublesome lot. Taking them back to Charleston will be more tiresome than I care to endure. We shall execute them one-by-one and let the river take their wretched corpses.” Johnny could see Smyth start to lunge forward at the Captain since his back was turned, but he grabbed Smyth’s arm to hold him back. Maybe it would have been better to die while resisting, but the effort seemed futile to Johnny. If execution be their end, then so be it. That was always a known risk of their rebellious actions.

“Who shall be first, then?” said the Captain as he turned again to the captives. He started briskly walking up and down the line of men looking each in the face. Every man stared the Captain down with steely resolve as he passed. No one answered. “No one? Oh, I so tire of having to make the decision all the time,” he said in a tone of fake complaint.

“Captain Stilton, sir!” spoke up one Redcoat from the line of guards. “May I be of assistance, sir?”

“Indeed, Jenkins. What have you to offer?” said the Captain optimistically.

“Well, sir. The one man there. The fat one with glasses,” gestured the Redcoat toward Johnny with his musket. “He should be first, sir.”

Johnny felt all the Colonials look his direction. Johnny was just as surprised by being called fat as he was being singled out as the first to be executed. He always considered himself stocky, but it was an odd time to be dwelling on body shape when there was about to be a sudden end to the body.

“Why this man, Jenkins?” gestured the Captain toward Johnny while still looking at the soldier.

Jenkins walked toward Johnny coming within the length of his musket in front of him. Johnny looked at the man and realized something was familiar about him. The mystery instantly consumed him and something seemed dangerous about the man beyond the fact that his rifle was pointed at Johnny’s chest.

“I’ve witnessed him murder a soldier of the Crown, sir. I was also held captive by him and tortured, sir,” answered Jenkins while staring down Johnny. It was the sort of look one would give as revenge was about to be enjoyed.

Johnny instantly realized Jenkins was the captive soldier they interrogated in the barrel! He must have reported the incident and what information was revealed! Johnny went into a mental panic. He didn’t kill the soldier when he had the chance but let him go believing nothing would be revealed. That was wrong…so wrong that now his band would die because of his mistake. Guilt instantly consumed Johnny and he diverted his eyes toward the ground to avoid looking at his comrades.

“That’s right, Jenkins. I recall you telling that tale to Major Hartfield,” cooed the Captain. It was clear the Captain understood the entire situation. “Now, the rest of you can take a lesson in courage from Jenkins here. Not only did he endure harsh treatment from this cretin, but he bravely accepted his punishment of the gauntlet because of being captured.” The Captain seemed to be taking the moment to teach an object lesson to the rest of the soldiers.

“Well, then, Jenkins. I suggest you take this man and exact your just cause. I believe that large tree near the bank will serve as a fine execution post.” Jenkins grabbed Johnny’s upper arm with as strong a grip as he could muster pulling Johnny out of line and shoving him ahead a few paces toward the tree. Johnny was still overwhelmed with guilt and remorse at his miscalculation and walked alone the last few steps and leaned with his back against the tree trunk. It was not supposed to end like this. His men were to quickly take the supplies, leave the remaining soldiers, and be done. All would have been either home or back to their hideout for a celebration of mission well completed. He had been sure their planning had foreseen all possibilities. There was a high surety of success. Now, he alone had doomed them all with a simple wrong decision done with the most innocent of intention. He mentally pushed aside the guilt and accepted that death was to be welcomed with as much pride as he could conjure. Jenkins adjusted his footing in the loose, sandy soil and checked the powder in his musket preparing to execute Johnny. He cocked back the flint hammer and raised the rifle.

At that moment, a large tree limb could be heard cracking across the small river stream. Two of the sailors who were standing in the water watching the entire scene instead of unloading the boxes turned toward the sound behind them.

“AAAAAGH!! CROCODILES!” one of the sailors exclaimed while pointing across the river.

BLAM! Jenkins’ musket went off, but the yelling startled the soldier who jerked in reaction and missed hitting Johnny striking the tree above his head. Johnny winced at the impact of the ball into the tree sending splinters down his cheek cutting his skin. A small stream of blood began running to his jawline.

All eyes looked toward the opposite riverbank. Sure enough, there were two long reptilian figures gliding through the water with eyes above the surface…tails swishing behind. The creatures were moving directly toward the boats and the two sailors standing in the water. Both sailors began to panic and started flailing back toward the nearest boat…both diving in to same themselves from possibly losing legs, or worse.

“OPEN FIRE!” yelled the Captain. Half of the Redcoats turned their muskets and began firing upon the floating lizards. Muskets ignited creating a massive convulsion of sound, sparks, and smoke. The shots were impacting either near or on the figures, but they kept gliding forward as if Death itself was propelling them.

In the cloud of smoke and concussive sound, Johnny saw that Jenkins was distracted and he lunged at Jenkins landing a full-fisted punch right on the nose bridge of his captor. A disgusting crunch was heard and blood splattered from Jenkins’ nose. The soldier fell backward onto his side clutching at his crushed nose. Johnny leapt upon him sitting on Jenkins’ chest. He wrestled the spent musket from Jenkins’ hand and began pressing the barrel against the soldier’s throat in an effort to choke him. Jenkins’ tried to fight back, but Johnny’s knees pinned the Redcoat’s arms against the ground.

Once the other Colonials saw the river-borne confusion and Johnny fight back against his captor, all hell broke loose. Each man converged against a Redcoat in direct hand-to-hand fighting. The captive men suddenly produced hidden knives from boots, sleeves, belt sashes, and coat linings slashing at any vulnerable part available of the Redcoat soldiers. Fists rained down on faces, ribs, kidneys…fired muskets were used as clubs and blocking tools…boots were kicking in kneecaps and breaking legs. There was shouting…some random musket fire hitting nothing…dust and soil flying. It seemed to be a futile effort given the outnumbered state of the Colonials, but their frenetic slash-and-disable fighting style was helping them hold their own for the moment.

Johnny continued to apply pressure on the musket crushing the throat of the gasping, writhing Jenkins. He could see the sailors still panicking about the advancing creatures and grabbing oars to begin a bludgeon assault once they were close enough. It was a surreal sight. The lizards were getting closer and closer with nothing seeming to deter them. They appeared big enough to overturn a longboat if they chose, which kept feeding the fear of the sailors.

Then, he noticed movement on the opposite bank were the creatures seemed to originate. A man made a running leap from the bank with what appeared to be a half-barrel in his hands. He flew off the bank while placing his knees on the half-barrel. The result allowed the man to swiftly glide across the top of the water sliding at a rapid pace gaining quick ground across the small river. The figure struck an odd appearance of a man on his knees in a makeshift skiff swiftly crossing the river without oars or a sail.

The barrel-floating man made it close to the nearest longboat before his skiff started to sink. He leapt from the makeshift water craft and landed in the longboat running along the length of it to the shore. The sailors were so astonished that they completely forgot about the floating reptilian attack and sat dumbfounded in the boats watching him pass to the shore. He struck a fearsome appearance as his eyes were concealed by a black stripe across the top of his face. He had a kerchief pulled up to cover his nose and mouth but on the outside of the kerchief there appeared to be a drawing in tar of a huge fang-filled mouth. It provided an intimidating image of a man turned half-animal quickly advancing toward the fight with a hatchet being pulled from a belt sash as he ran across the top of the boat.

This unbelievable scene so captivated Johnny that he inadvertently released pressure from Jenkins’ neck. The break in the choking pressure allowed Jenkins to flip his legs strongly enough that it created a ripple moving up his body flipping Johnny off his chest flying over his head and onto the ground. Jenkins still in revenge-filled rage violently pounced on Johnny’s chest kneeling on his arms just as Johnny had Jenkins pinned. Jenkins then swiftly pulled a large knife, raised it in both fists above his head preparing to plunge it into Johnny’s chest with blood-lust in his eyes. Johnny braced for the fatal sharp pain…

THWACK!!

Johnny was jolted by the wet impact of a sound and looked up at Jenkins to see a hatchet firmly lodged in his chest and Jenkins’ eyes rolling back in his head…hands were falling limp…knife slipping harmlessly down his arm and into the dirt. Johnny thankfully surprised, craned his head up to look above him as he still lay on the ground in enough time to see the barrell-skimming figure running by with a still outstretched right arm from where the hatchet was thrown sidearm style. The figure continued forward without looking back…grabbed a dropped musket… and wielded it like a long club to shatter the knee joint of a Redcoat…then pulling the pistol of the Redcoat and shooting him dead in the chest with it.

Johnny looked back at the slumped, dead body of Jenkins and examined the hatchet while pulling it from his foe’s chest. “This looks suspiciously familiar…” Johnny thought. He looked back at the battle to see the masked figure moving on to shatter the collarbone of another British soldier and then clubbing his head as he slumped to the ground. “COTTON!” Johnny yelled to himself. “That damn fool cooper!” Johnny pushed the dead Jenkins off and got up to get back into the battle. He tucked the hatchet in his sash. A hatchet was not as handy to him in battle and thought it not as effective as more familiar weapons. He pulled his backup knife from his boot and ran toward their captured rifles slashing and stabbing any Redcoat in his way. Musket and pistol fire was still randomly going off by some who accessed discarded weapons…Colonials were still in the fight with what seemed like minor non-fatal injuries…Redcoats were falling with most fatalities happening on their side.

Johnny found his hunting rifle and climbed up on one of the British wagons to have a higher vantage point for what was happening. It was currently an evenly matched fight. The masked Cotton finished off a British soldier and bumped backward into another figure. He spun around with his knife positioned coming out of the bottom of his right fist to be face-to-face with Smyth. Once Smyth was determined to not be a Redcoat, Cotton tipped his fingers to the tip of his cap in greeting and turned to find another foe. “OI!” Johnny yelled at Cotton getting his attention. Johnny tossed the hatchet to the still-masked man who seemed to kiss it through the mask, cradle it to his cheek like a lost puppy and ran off back into the fray.

Johnny maintained his wagon perch selectively picking off Redcoats with is rifle as they became clear-shot available. As he scanned the skirmish field, what he did not see was the British Captain. He was not found…his horse was not found…no sight of him. While still making selective shots at the soldiers, he considered the options of what may have happened. With no conclusions coming to him, he jumped down from the wagon and ran up to the road outside the clearing to get a broader look. In the distance about two hundred yards away, he could see a mounted figure riding away with two soldiers on foot running behind. The Captain deserted his troops during the fight! “Amazing…never would I have considered that in a British officer,” mused Johnny.

Seeing that all they had left to deal with were the remaining Redcoats in the skirmish, he returned to the wagon position to find his compatriots were just finishing off the last two soldiers. Cotton was seen mask-less talking calmly with the sailors who seemed relieved and their body language indicated they were having a good laugh with his barrel-making friend. As things ended, they only had three dead and minor injuries…mostly cuts, bruising, some broken ribs, and a couple of shots sustained in an arm and leg. The British had twenty-two dead and three retreated. An amazing outcome given that they were all about to be executed Johnny surmised.

He continued to survey the result and walked back through the clearing giving direction to the raiding party.

“Collect all the arms and supplies you can find from the dead,” he said to one man.

“Let’s place our deceased brothers on one wagon, cover them out of respect, we will take them back for an honorable burial,” he said to a handful of others.

“We can treat our wounded farther up the bank to avoid more dirt infection,” he pointed out to a man who was opening up a medical kit beginning to treat injuries while passing out whiskey to dull the pain.

“Pile the British dead on the other wagon at dusk and we’ll drive it to the middle of Charleston in the dead of night as a gift, or rather a warning, to Major Hartfield,” he directed to a group.

“With the Captain in flight, we will need to compel the sailors to relinquish the longboats for river passage with the captured supplies to avoid recapture on the road,” he told Smyth.

“No compulsion needed, me boyo!” yelled Cotton from the river bank. “Come and see!” Cotton gestured for his friend to come to the boats where he and the sailors were. As Johnny was a few steps away, Cotton continued, “I’ve jus’ struck a keen bargain w’ dese laddies fer tha’ boats and the supplies.”

“How so, my highly psychotic friend?…Who I’m infinitely surprised to see here, by the way,” asked Johnny while tipping his hat backward and scratching his head. He was still in disbelief that Cotton was even here much less the weirdness of his arrival. The black band around Cotton’s eyes was smeared soot which was starting to run from sweat lines streaming down from the cooper’s head.

“Dese boys say they ‘ave no beef with you lot. Day say the Redcoats treat the navy lika stray dog and see nay problem with them all bein’ dead in self-defense,” explained Cotton. “They wanna jus’ get back ta their mates at the ship, ya see. So, I said ye’d let dem’ free in one boat if’n the other two be left with the supplies.”

Johnny considered this. They would end up with all the supplies and two of the longboats for transport in exchange for the sailors to leave unharmed. They essentially had that anyway due to overpowering the Redcoats and the sailors were unarmed. However, Cotton did save their lives and it was a fair bargain. One he likely would have struck with the sailors anyway.

“Sounds wise and gracious of these men. I agree so long as the sailors swear to tell their Captain they were released under their promise of parole. That they are not to be involved in another landing party for the British on the American Colonies,” added Johnny.

“AYE!” yelled all the sailors in unison which made Johnny flinch a bit.

“An ta boot, MacDuggal there was press ganged in Orkney. Me gran-pap was an Orkney lad, so he’s right near family, he is!” Cotton gestured to a grizzled sailor near the last boat who gave Johnny a wink and a tip of his cap in greeting. The man then held up a large flask in salute. “Oh, ya, I gave ‘em me rum flask fer da trip back…you owe me a new, FULL, one now, boyo,” continued Cotton as he punched Johnny in the shoulder. Johnny nodded and smiled in agreement.

“I see you lads beat back those alligators. Here in the Colonies we have alligators instead of crocodiles. They are different in name only with a slight variance, but still as deadly,” Johnny congratulated the sailors.

They all laughed and some pointed toward Cotton. Cotton then turned back a couple of steps and reached down with both hands behind a boat just beyond Johnny’s view. Cotton then rapidly hauled up the two alligators by the snout and flung them toward Johnny’s feet with both landing with a wet thud in the sandy soil bank. Johnny was so startled he stumbled backward tripping on his own boots, falling on his backside. The sailors and Cotton roared with laughter with some doubling over at the sight of the brave rebel they previously witnessed fighting off an overpowering number of Redcoats now cowering at these once floating figures.

Johnny got up, adjusted his glasses, and examined the alligators closely. They were alligators in shape only. The floating death creatures were nothing but bits of different sized half barrels lashed together. Sections forming the tail were gradually smaller in size and connected by strips of leather to allow them to move in a swishing motion in the water. The tops were painted in a crude fashion to simulate scales, ridges, even eyes and a snout. In brackish river water, these clever creations which now look so obvious a fake on shore, would have been seen by anyone as realistic. To allow buoyancy, there was cork placed in the underside barrel cavity. It was a masterful ruse and Johnny found himself not just impressed but marveled at the creativity.

By now, the rest of the raiding party was curious about the scene and came over to view the source of their salvation. All were equally amazed at the barrel-gators and each man began to be so overcome with the sight, they broke out in laughter which became so contagious that all were having a hard time breathing from the belly shaking laughs. Most of the party came to shake Cotton’s hand and some wanted to try on the tar-streaked fang kerchief.

The joy was broken up by Johnny feeling the urgency to get the shipment moving lest the British Captain return with reinforcements. He directed the men to return to the post-battle duties. The sailors helped combine the shipment evenly into two of the boats distributing the weight to avoid imbalance as only sailors can. Once loaded, the sailors bid farewell to the group and some shook Cotton’s hand while others clapping him on the shoulder. They pushed off and started rowing back down river toward the harbor. The raiding party all gathered in a circle in a moment of thankful prayer. Cotton felt out of place and stood to the side with cap in hand in respect. The men then all parted to their duties. Some left with the wagon, a handful of others took the boats upriver, Johnny helped Cotton deconstruct the fake alligators sinking some obvious parts into the river while keeping some parts that Cotton could salvage for his craft. Cotton offered a ride back to town on his mule-driven wagon with some accepting, but others went back to horses they had hidden in the woods to wait for dusk to transport the British dead.

The ride back to town was largely silent with most of the men mentally reliving the events and eternally thankful to be alive to resist the British another day. Cotton finally spoke up.

“I told ye … lettn’ that lobster go would be trouble,” he reminded Johnny.

“In reflection, yes, you were right, my friend,” said Johnny recalling his remorse from earlier. “We shall have to be much more careful.”

Cotton laughed…”An’ maybe keep a few gators handy, eh?” The idea sparked a chuckle with Johnny and even some of the men in the back found the humor and couldn’t resist another laugh.

“Thank you, my friend. We are alive today due to your courage and craftiness, but how did you know where we would be” asked Johnny humbly.

“Tis all good, me boyo…your’n not the only one who can read a map an do some proper lobster schemin’,” comforted Cotton. “Just dunna ferget about replacin’ me rum.” Cotton squished one eye closed and looked in Johnny’s direction in an I’m-serious-about-the-rum sort of way which again amused Johnny.

[autisticmrfantastic]

Excerpts from Zak-Site

Chris of zak-site (http://zak-site.com/Great-American-Novel/index.html) has basically written a whole dissertation on the early years of the Fantastic Four which is worth reading.

However for our purposes I will just be quoting his entries about Reed’s autism:

Issue 182: Reed's autism - the evidence

[Image depicts two comic panels, on the left Sue Richards is crying and says “ Franklin-- He’s been kidnapped!” On the right, the text box says “Reed Richards struggles to find the right words. What would his counterpart say? How would Susan Richard’s real husband react? So many questions, and by the time the answers are formulated-- the game is up!” We see Reed facing away from Sue with a scowl, Sue looks at him with a similar expression and says “now I know you!”]

This issue gives perhaps more evidence that Reed may be autistic. Maybe it's time to summarize the case:

Reed is highly intelligent, but only when he focuses on a narrow area. In other areas he seems less intelligent than his peers (see later examples)

In FF182 we see that he has difficulty with neuro-typical emotional responses. The parallel world Reed provides a useful experimental control for comparison with "our" Reed. As a parallel world Reed, we should assume he's the same in every way unless stated. Notice what happens here: Sue tells him that Franklin has been kidnapped, and this Reed struggles to find the right thing to say. This is classic autistic behavior. Note that a small delay is normal: we should expect a second or so of shock. After that, any fake actor would know what to say. It's not difficult to come up with a look of shock. But for this fake Reed it's very difficult. He stands here struggling to think of the appropriate response. The Real Reed of course has had years of experience in Franklin getting hurt, so he would know what to say. This is why it's so difficult to diagnose adults with autism: adults learn the right thing to say, even if they find it difficult. But this adult does not have a son, so he never learned, so it's really hard for him to fake the emotion.

Reed is obsessively narrowly focused. He will happily spend days in his lab and even forget to eat. This goes beyond a normal obsession or interest.

Reed lacks social awareness. He does not see how his put downs affect the others emotionally. He genuinely cares for Ben, and cannot see how his criticisms (especially in acts 1 and 2) have driven Ben to depression. He loves Sue, and cannot see how his actions almost led to divorce. he cares for Johnny, but cannot see how Johnny feels so trapped.

Reed prefers solitude, and if he has to deal with others he wants to make all the decisions: his world seems to be filled with himself. (The word "autism" comes from the same root as "automatic" and comes from the prefix "auto" meaning "alone".)

He avoids eye contact. We often see him, as in the sequence above, looking way from the person he's talking to. FF51 is another classic example, when Sue stumbles on his secret work and he says "how did you find out?" without looking at her. In FF271 it's a big deal that he can't remember his mother's eyes. Possibly she was he only person he would look in the eye. Of course, adults eventually learn what's appropriate, so he will look into eyes when he remembers to, but it doesn't come naturally.

He gets angry and frustrated or depressed when things don't go his way. FF9 is a good example of this. This leads to his need to be in control. In FF184 he's depressed that he cannot stretch, even though as Sue points out that is not his main power so rationally it doesn't matter.

His speech patterns show he isn't really aware of how he comes across; he's very verbose even though others ask him not to be.

He takes things very literally. This is most clearly seen in John Byrne's run where Reed is at his most socially withdrawn.

He is more paranoid than the others, seeing danger everywhere. Johnny has more fun, Ben is more relaxed about beating foes, and Sue likes to sometimes leave a danger alone (e.g. the first time they saw the creature from the black lagoon) but Reed is constantly on edge.

He doesn't like to change routine, though his lifestyle forces him to. Franklin would interfere with his routine some he likes to send the boy away to Agatha Harkness, and won't change that routine even when it's obvious that Agatha's house is not safe. Reed is also the only one who has never deliberately changed his uniform. Sue has tried skirts, Ben occasionally has an all over suit and even a helmet, and Johnny tried a red suit for a while, but Reed is happy with the same uniform every single time.

he seems to hate social complexity: how else do we explain why he did so well in FF181 in the negative zone? He was superb! Such a simple situation, just Reed on a rock against Annihilus. No powers, no other people, no stress. This shows that losing his powers is not the cause of his stress: it's the fact that losing his powers makes his life complicated that he can't cope with.

And so on and so on. None of this is proof of course, but the circumstantial evidence is very high.

Issue 200:

[Image description: Three panels depicting a struggle between Dr.Doom and Mr.Fantastic. Dialogue:

Reed: Don’t you realise you can never succeed? All your life you’ve been seeking vengeance on a world you believe has despised you...There’s still time, Doom--work with us! Your genius can benefit the very people you think hate you!

Doom: Insufferable idiot! You believe Doom is so petty that he seeks mere vengeance? Ignorant poltroon! I seek power because it is rightfully mine! It is a birthright I inherited from my mother--a woman who was murdered by a suspicious, frightened pack of cloddish morons who were too stupid to see the truth! I have ever sought to claim that with is already mine!

Doom freezes Reed in a block of ice

Doom: When we first met, Richards, I thought you a somewhat intelligent student with some promise. Perhaps your scientific intellect grew, but your understanding of human motivation is astonishingly limited! Vengeance? Bah! Doom is above such petty things ]

Reed' doesn't get it This issue contains possible evidence for Reed's autism, in not appreciating Doom's motivation. At the very least, it shows Doom's depth. It is easy to pretend that Doom as a two dimensional villain who simply wishes power for its own sake, or who just wants revenge. No, such a shallow motivation is an insult. Doom simply wants what anyone wants: what he sees as justice. Reed's remark about working with others to help mankind was especially naive: from Doom's point of view everything he does is to help mankind: Doom sees himself as a superior ruler, able to bring the order and plenty that mankind needs. There is some logic to this, as we shall see in later issues when Zorba gains power. 

Reed's diplomacy (or lack of it) Further evidence of Reed's autism is the flashback: when Reed told Doom about the error in his calculation he was incredibly insensitive. Doom was trying to rescue his dead mother. He was breaking all the rules in the most dangerous way possible, all to save his mother. Imagine how Doom was feeling! Doom was not good at handling emotion at the best of times, and here he was on a knife edge, emotionally laid bare and vulnerable. All he asked of others was privacy. And Reed just burst in and said "you got the sums wrong." Does Reed have no appreciation for feelings? Yes, Reed was right, but being right is not enough: you have to think of the other persons feelings. Knowing what Reed did about Doom, there is absolutely no way Doom could have accepted Reed's advice. So why bother? Instead, Reed could have said something diplomatic, like "somebody may have tampered with your sums", and give Doom a way to save face. Literally: because Doom, unable to "save face", literally lost his face.

Great writing The passage on revenge is another example of this being The Great American Novel. What might appears to be a childish revenge story is in fact a discussion of justice and what is best for humanity. The fact that we can sympathize with Doom and share his frustration, even at the same time that we side with Reed, is a testament to the quality of the writing.

Source: http://zak-site.com/Great-American-Novel/ff-act4-FF176.html

#autism #autistic #reed richards #mr.fantastic #fantastic four #marvel #aspergers #asd

[artificialqueens]

Say You Won't Let Go Part 1 (Biadore) - Fucking Awful

A/N: Hey Qweens! Fucking Awful again, back with another song-based Biadore fic.

Summary: A song inspires Danny to think back on his relationship with Roy, from their first meetings to present.

Song: This one is based on “Say You Won’t Let Go” by James Arthur, linked here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0yW7w8F2TVA

Structure: This one will be somewhere between 7-8 parts, if you guys are down to stick it out! Each part is associated with a couplet or verse from the song. Song lyrics are in bold and just there to set the tone; if they come into play in the story/dialogue you’ll see them again. Internal monologue/thoughts are in italics.

 Danny was laid out on his tiny couch, feet propped up on the arm rest and his laptop balanced on his stomach. It was a gray, rainy day in Seattle, which he took as the universe’s cue that he should just hibernate for a bit. He’d just finished watching Amy Schumer’s latest comedy special on Netflix, and needed something else to do for a few hours until he was supposed to go out with Johnny. 

It had been a minute since he found any new music he was really into, so Danny decided to go hunting through Spotify. Not feeling particularly adventurous, and curious as to what exactly was getting radio play right now, he went straight for the Global Top 50 playlist. He put it on shuffle and sat up to pack another baby bowl for himself.

He lit up and listened to the first few songs that played. He dug a couple of them – he was always into whatever Kendrick and Lorde were putting out, and was slowly being one over by those little fuck faces The Chainsmokers – but he was disappointed with how little variety there was. Everything sounded overproduced and more than a little electronic, which were not inherently bad qualities to Danny…just bad when they all started to sound the same.

He was just about to change playlists when he was surprised – the sound of an actual acoustic guitar, not a synth or an drum kit. Danny decided to give the song a shot, and was again pleasantly surprised by the guy’s voice. He listened to the song once and really enjoyed it – enough that when the playlist rolled into a Post Malone song, he clicked back to listen again.

Before Danny knew it, he’d listened to the song 8 times and had almost burned through his whole bowl. The melody, the voice – it was all great. But he couldn’t bring himself to turn the song off because it kept making him think of one thing, a person really: Roy.

Some combination of weed, the music and thoughts of Roy was giving him an unbelievable high. He felt warm, happy, and totally relaxed. As he let the song continue to play, Danny started to think back about spending time with Roy…

—

I met you in the dark, you lit me up You made me feel as though I was enough

They’d been in the competition for about 10 days at this point, together as a group for less than a week. Danny felt lucky that he’d come into Drag Race with his friend Jay – at first. He was quickly disappointed to find out that his homie was more concerned about selling a packaged Laganja personality than being an ally and confidante in what was turning out to be a really brutal experience.  Danny found himself feeling closer to Gia and Dela, strangers to him only a few days before, than to the person he’d known for years.

That Jay was not going to be the support system he hoped for became crystal clear the night before, when Michelle had called him out for his lack of corseting. Danny had been totally crushed by her comment. He knew that he absolutely killed the Rusical challenge, but got the distinct sense his lack of cinching cost him the win. Coming off 2 straight weeks of almost going home, he had been so close to the validation he desperately wanted; he knew it was spoiled of him to think this way, but 2nd place for something so stupid and superficial felt as bad as lip-syncing for his life – again.

He’d gone to talk to Jay about it after the elimination, hoping for a friendly face to spend a few minutes venting before flipping the situation. Jay was always good for laughs and distractions, and had frequently drug him out of the dumps before. But when Danny bounded up calling him “Ganj Ganj,” he was met with another pre-prepared round of drama.

Jay went on about his parents coming up on the Untucked screen and how the other girls – led by Roy/Bianca – had been mean or rude or something that he interpreted as less than empathetic to his situation…whatever it was, Danny couldn’t follow the story. In the years he had known Jay, his parents had been nothing but supportive. Not unlike Danny’s mom, they took a little while to come around at first. But, after a few months of their son death dropping across West Hollywood, they’d become his biggest fans. Hell, Danny had met them on several occasions and they’d proven to be heavy tippers with enough tequila in them. So why Jay was making a big deal about his parents “finally” accepting him after 20-something years, Danny could not understand.  

What he did understand was that, like himself, Jay understood how this show worked. Ever perceptive – they were both ESFPs after all – Jay and Danny knew how the camera guys worked. Their lenses were trained to catch drama, and it was so transparent that the insecure and victimized Laganja was on display to get airtime.

And so the next day after Snatch Game, Danny chose to take his emotional needs elsewhere. Just like in the Rusical, he knew he fucking killed this challenge. He’d been low-key doing Anna Nicole as a part of his Adore act for years, so when the opportunity presented itself to bring her (back to) life he slayed.

But today on the runway he was supposed to look like RuPaul, a challenge where he once again felt set up for failure. The polished, Glamazon aesthetic was so far away from what Danny was equipped to do. He saw zero opportunity to go out on stage and have Michelle do anything but wag a rhinestoned talon in his face.

Danny knew without question he was going to be read for two things: his dress being too short, and his waist not being cinched. The first he knew was his fault, but was ready to defend it – he preferred shorter things that didn’t sop up the spilled beer on a club stage, fuck hemlines that hit the floor. But the second he felt was both personal and petty. The body stuff, it dinged his self-esteem more than he wanted to admit. He was starting to wonder if he was misshapen for real, not just misshapen for a man dressing as a woman.

So when he needed to voice his fears out loud – Bonnie always taught him that insecurities lose their power when you talk about them – he brought it up at the mirror with Ben. Shane happened to be there as well, but Danny felt a weird kinship with his fellow Idol and wasn’t too shy about bringing up his issues in front of the Aussie.

“Am I the only one that’s, like, having a problem with, like, my body?” Danny put the question out there, expecting the empathetic Ben to jump in immediately. He was surprised when Shane engaged him first.

“Well maybe you do, and so what?” Shane replied – not what Danny expected him to say. For someone who presented so beautifully – Courtney was un-clockable as a woman, and really could’ve won America’s Next Top Model in a heartbeat – he sure did have a lot to say about body acceptance and self love.

The conversation opened up into a broader discussion about weight and body issues, as Ben spoke about his struggles with weight as a child. Hearing him talk about his own obesity and bullying gave Danny some much-needed perspective on the situation. He started to feel really stupid for bringing up “hog body” when he knew damn well he was actually pretty slim and had nothing to complain about.

Now he was feeling insecure on 2 fronts – about his body, and about whether or not his concerns about his shape came off as bratty in comparison to Ben’s very real story.  Again, he knew about how the cameramen worked. He could only imagine people twisting his words into fat shaming, fishing for compliments, self pity…He walked away from the mirror, lost in his own worries.

When Roy piped up from the work table behind him, Danny was shocked. “Adore!”

Damn, he’s so good at remembering to use people’s drag names. “Yes baby?” Holy fuck, why did I just call this old ass dude ‘baby’? Danny walked over to Roy’s station. I like that newsboy hat, I should get one of my own. But in black. And leather.

And then the moment that would no doubt prove to be the biggest surprise of his Drag Race experience happened. Funny how 30 seconds can change the course of 5 weeks, 3 years, forever…

With no apparent ulterior motive, Roy offered to lend Danny his extra waist cincher – not only to lend it to him, but to lace him in it so he didn’t go out there looking like a fucking idiot wearing a corset for the first time.

To say this confused Danny was an understatement. He knew he had been dismissive of Roy from the first day they’d combined the premiere groups, but in his defense he thought it was totally justified. From his perspective, everything Roy had said to and about Laganja, Gia, himself – and even some of the less vocal queens under 25 – was rude and condescending. Roy presented himself as someone who would treat Danny and his art just like any other “seasoned” queen had in the past – as if it was a joke, and not worth his time or appreciation.

That had changed a bit in the last 24 hours, when he started to see that maybe Roy was just there to call people out on their bullshit. He was basically right about the Laganja situation, though maybe a little harsh with his delivery. Danny had to appreciate that the older man seemed to at least be honest to the drag personality he’d built over (so many!) years – even if Bianca del Rio was truly a hateful cunt.

All this was processing in Danny’s mind as Roy made the offer, and he realized he was standing there with his mouth half open and subconsciously licking his lips. Why am I doing that?  

“I’m down!” How could Danny possibly turn down the offer? Here was someone giving him a golden ticket into Michelle’s good graces – or at least spotting him some of the bus fare to get there – and goddammit he was going to say yes. The fact that it was Roy of all people, though, was still a shocker.

Roy said he would lace him in as soon as he got dressed, and that was that. Danny started to walk away, but then turned around to linger at the table for a few seconds afterwards. He noticed more than a few things in those moments – again he was perceptive one, for a Libra at least.  

First, he noticed that Roy had a little self-satisfied smile when he thought Danny had walked away. It was close-lipped and just barely noticeable as he took off his hat, but his eyes betrayed the grin independent of the curve of his lips that showed Danny he was pretty happy about something.

Second, he noticed what Roy looked like. Danny had spent so long looking at – and kind of hating – Bianca del Rio that he’d never taken the time to look at Roy. Roy was undeniably handsome, with a youthful face that never revealed his age and dimples that you could take a shot of Fireball out of. His olive skin gave off a perma-tanned glow, and his deep brown eyes projected a kindness that even his most cutting words and facial expressions couldn’t over power. Danny found himself quickly wondering about what he couldn’t see; Roy was an inch or two shorter than him, but from what he could tell it was made up of mostly muscle and would certainly feel nice and strong up against…

Danny cut off his own thoughts. He had to, knowing that the hands he had momentarily been fantasizing about were soon going to be touching his bare skin and lacing him into what was one-part body shaper and one-part sex toy.

Too late. When Roy was done transforming himself into Bianca-as-Ru, he came over to help Danny.

“Alright Delano, strip down so I can see what I’m working with.”

“What-“ Danny almost had to bite his own tongue to not finish the sentence as he removed his shirt. You were honestly about to say ‘Whatever you want, Daddy.’ Jesus! Get it together. Roy slipped the corset over his head and began tightening from the back.

“It’s got to be tight, but you should still feel like you can breathe even if your heart is in your throat. I can’t be responsible for the death of yet another drag queen.” Danny laughed, and so did Roy.  

“Ok, now lean over and grab table, it’ll give me some more leverage to pull from and you’ll be a little more comfortable. Does that feel okay, the way I’m pulling? Is it too hard?”

Danny honestly couldn’t tell if Roy was doing this on purpose.

“Usually a guy buys me a pizza or at least a few beers before he’s bending me over and asking about how hard he’s going.”

He could literally feel Roy rolling his eyes behind him.

“Oh please, kid. In your dreams.”

Danny wasn’t sure, but he thought he could also feel Roy smile. How can I feel someone smile when I can’t even see their face?

Roy wasn’t wrong about the dreams, though. Danny already knew that he was going to have all kinds of fucked up sex dreams about Roy-as-Bianca-as-Ru and Roy-as-Bianca-as-Judge Judy and Roy-as-sexy AF Roy himself…good thing he wasn’t hung up on defining his own sexuality.

But what surprised Danny was when, later that night during the judge’s panel and his second time coming in second, he wasn’t upset like the day before. For the first time this whole competition, he felt truly proud of everything he’d done in the challenge AND on the runway.

The latter was in no small part due to Roy, who Danny got the distinct sense was proud of him, too. Danny could feel his smile – that smile he could some how sense even without seeing it – during all his critiques, and it helped him carry his confidence through Michelle’s comments about his dress length and wig. He stood a little bit taller and beamed a little bit brighter knowing Roy was even a little bit impressed with him.

Why do I care so much about what Roy thinks of me? This would remain a mystery to Danny for longer than he was proud to admit.

When the top and bottom queens walked back into the Untucked lounge, Danny stole a second away from the cameras to grab Roy and pull him aside. He hugged Roy tightly – did I hug him too tight? – and thanked him for his help.

“You just saved me from getting ripped a new asshole by Michelle, thank you so much B.” Stopping his impulse to say “baby” again, “B” seemed like a good catch-all that he could always say stood for Bianca.

“Please, you wish I would rip you a new asshole.” Roy broke out of the hug, and gave Danny a peck on the cheek. “You’ve got a lot going for you, Danny. You’re so talented and really very special. I’m glad I could help them see it, now it’s your job to remind them every time.”

Roy walked away while Danny hung back to savor the words for a minute. The most judgmental, honest person he’d ever met just told him he was talented and special. It took him a few seconds of head-in-the-clouds awe before he wandered into the Interior Illusions lounge and leaned himself onto a chair – Fuck, sitting in a corset is hard.

His buzz was quickly killed by the latest episode of Ganja drama, another round of accusations hurled equally at him and Roy from an incredibly insecure Jay. It actually distressed Danny to see Jay so upset, but at the same time he knew it was at least 50% bullshit and totally at his expense.

That Roy practically leaped to his defense (at least Danny saw it that way) only added to the mind-fuck of the day. The stranger he thought would be his biggest detractor was instead acting as more of a support system than the friend he usually counted on.

After the night’s cluster-fucked Untucked session – during which Danny allowed himself to really enjoy Roy’s humor for the first time, but was also accused of being heartless and cruel – and elimination, Danny was feeling pretty shitty. “Did you or did you not come for me?”-gate drained him completely, and he was genuinely sad to see Gia leave. Yes, had Gia spent the last few days rallying around Jay, but Danny knew that was just because G was incredibly empathetic and trying to help a girl out when no one else would. They had become good friends, and Danny was bummed to see someone he started to feel close to go home.

He was last on the van back to the hotel, and ended up sitting alone towards the front. He popped in his headphones and turned on some upbeat music, trying to drown out the negativity in his head: Even when you do well, you’re going to lose friends. This is like the fucking Hunger Games, you win or you die. Or is that Game of Thrones? Whatever, either way it sucks. Gia was rad. Oh god, things are only going to get worse with Jay. Now that he’s –

“You ok, kid?”

Danny’s spiraling thoughts were cut off by Roy, who had sat down next to him and plucked out one of his ear phones. He had a genuine look of concern on his face, but tried to mask it with an exaggerated eyebrow raise.

“Yeah, yeah totally fine.” Danny could feel his own expressionless face and quiet voice giving him away; as someone who was naturally so animated and loud, he knew he was transparent.

“Liar.” Roy scoffed and elbowed him in the side. “Hey, don’t let Jay get to you. He’s playing a game, not a very good one, but it’s just a game. I hope he figures out it won’t work before he self-implodes, it’s driving me out of my goddamn mind. And he’s going to lose a good friend in the process.”

Roy paused, and Danny could feel that he was waiting for a response. Danny wasn’t really sure what to say; Roy was right, but he didn’t want to talk about it anymore.

“Look, just keep doing what you’ve been doing the last two weeks.” Roy had grabbed his knee when he started the sentence, and Danny could’ve sworn he felt actual bolts of lightning shoot from that hand out through the rest of his body. “I meant what I said in the hallway – you’re unique and so fucking talented I can’t stand it. Get out of your own way – and if you forget how great you are, I’ll just keep reminding you.”

There was a squeeze of his knee and a genuine smile to punctuate the sentence.  Danny felt the lighting strike twice. Roy handed him back his headphone and stood up to take his old seat –

“Wait, stay up here.” What are you doing? Before he could stop his words or his actions, Danny grabbed Roy’s wrist and pulled him back down.

Roy obliged, and that was that. For the rest of the season it was always he and Danny in the front of the van together. Sometimes Greg and Shane would join them, but no matter what it was always Adore and Bianca riding together on the way back to the hotel – laughing, stressing, supporting, falling asleep on each other. He never told anyone, but those van rides were his favorite part about Drag Race. 

—

We danced the night away, we drank too much I held your hair back when You were throwing up

If the first 10 days felt like a millennium, the rest of the competition flew by in a heartbeat. At least that’s how it felt to Danny, but he suspected that was because every day was such a rollercoaster ride. From Snatch Game to Glitter Ball it was a total blur, a super stressful mix of his massive victories and equally massive failures. By the time they got down to the Final 4 and shooting the “Sissy That Walk” video, Danny felt like he had aged at least 15 years in the span of about 15 minutes.

But through it all Roy was his constant. He never quite ceased to be surprised by this fact. It gave him confidence (and something else) to know that he had a cheerleader in someone so discerning and masterful at the artistry of drag. Roy was always there with either a corset, a joke, a sewing kit or a hug –

Those hugs, man those hugs became like heroin to Danny. Anytime it was getting to be too much he could just sidle up to Roy, who would almost instinctively open his arms and wrap himself around Danny. It made him feel so safe and protected, but also built him back up; the Bianca Del Rio was willing to break her hard shell to comfort him, messy little Adore Delano, and that made him feel like he was special again.

So when Danny was the one hugging Roy, rubbing his back as he crouched over a toilet in Shane’s hotel room, it was a strange reversal of roles.

It all started after Greg’s elimination, which solidified Adore, Bianca and Courtney as the top 3 of Season 6. They were all devastated to see Darienne Lake sashay away, but Danny assumed that, like him, Roy and Shane were just so happy to make it to the finale.

“Guys, we need to celebrate. I know it sucks that Greg is gone, but holy shit we made it!” Danny tried to lighten the mood in the van. “Come on, we need to do something special. It’s our last night in the hotel, we have to make it special.” His knew his face was a-light with excitement, all a part of the Danny Noriega sure-fire pump-up experience.

“Ok you little party animal, what did you have in mind?” Shane got a mischievous look on his face, and Danny was instantly thankful that the Aussie was so down.

“It’s seriously our last night in sequester or whatever they call it. We should be able to do something, go out back in WeHo or –“

“I doubt they’ll let us go out, but maybe they’ll let us hang out together for once.” Roy, ever the practical one, joined in the scheming. “Danny, think you can charm the PA’s into letting us all bunk up in Shane’s room tonight?”

Roy thinks I’m charming? Danny’s thoughts were quickly interrupted.

“Ooh, a threesome? I never took you for a kinky one, Haylock.” Danny nearly spit out his water laughing at Shane’s comment. Roy in a threesome, yeah right.

“Don’t knock in ‘til you’ve tried it, kanga.” Roy winked at Shane, which shot a strange jolt through Danny that felt something like jealousy. “Danny, if you can get them to let us all crash together then we can use the Post-Its to order some Fireball – “

“And tequila!” Shane wasn’t going to let a night pass without tequila.

And it was tequila that led the holy trinity into several games of Never Have I Ever.

They decided from the outset that they’d play with 10 fingers to start – as Shane said, “More fingers are always better, and let’s face it we’ve all probably done everything.” They had made it through 2 rounds – Shane lost the first, and Roy the second – before changing the rules to include a shot for every finger they put down.

“You realize that means the loser is taking 10 shots, right? They teach math in Australia?” Danny could feel himself slurring his words a little bit.

“We’re pouring, like, half shots, you pussy! Not even half shots. Third shots, even. Fourths or eighths – I dunno, I can’t remember the stupid fractions. Point is they’re tiny and you need to just suck it up.” Shane laid out a stack of small tequila shots for them all.

“If you kill my chola I will murder you dead, Shane.” Roy, who was slurring the most at this point, draped an arm across Danny. “I’m from New Orleans, I know some dark Cajun mafia shit. Voodoo.” He hiccupped. “Don’t worry baby, I’ll take care of you.” Danny felt Roy moving closer to his face, whispering the last sentence into his ear.

15 questions into what would be the final game, and Roy and Danny were in a dead heat. Shane had lost total interest around question 5 – maybe not so much lost interest as passed out, Danny thought. But he and Roy were tied, each with only one digit left in their hands.

It was Roy’s turn to ask a question, and Danny could see the wheels in his head turning – slowly, drunkenly. There’s a reason you don’t operate heavy machinery while drunk.

In a flash, Roy sat up a little straighter. He let out a clearly self-satisfied huff and locked eyes with Danny.

“Alright, Danny. Daniel, if that even is your name. My question to you –“

“You don’t ask questions, idiot. You make a statement. Never have you ever –“

“No one likes a know-it-all, shut up. Ok, never have I ever – “ Roy suddenly dropped the snarky voice he’d been using to taunt Danny – “been with an older man.”

Danny was confused: one, he was pretty sure that was a lie, and two, Roy was staring at him really intensely when he said it. He was watching Danny closely, almost studying him while he waited for an answer.

“Well, I guess the game continues. Neither have I!” Danny was feeling triumphant – happy anytime he got to win in a game – but that quickly went away when he saw Roy. The normally bright, dimpled face he’d grown to adore had fallen completely. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought maybe Roy looked sad. That wasn’t quite right – Disappointed? Hurt? Danny was trying to figure it out when –

“Whatever, I lied. I’m out of fingers. Game over.” Roy grabbed the remaining baby shots – all 10 of them, which easily made 4 or 5 real ones – and slammed them down.

 "Jesus Roy, that’s straight tequila.” Danny didn’t know if he should be concerned or impressed.

The answer came not 10 minutes later, when Roy was hunched over that toilet. Danny sat next to him on the hotel bathroom floor, rhythmically stroking his back and humming absentmindedly while Roy wretched. Danny got lost in the motion, starting to trace abstract patterns into the fabric of Roy’s t-shirt. As he started to learn the layout of the taught muscles that made up his friend’s back…

Danny was snapped out of his little drawing session when he felt Roy humming under his touch. He didn’t notice at first, because of the vomiting that he was trying to ignore, but as the older man started to relax he began to almost purr every time Danny’s hands would cross certain places. Danny began to focus on those places, telling himself it was to comfort a friend and definitely NOT because he liked hearing Roy make those sounds…

“I’m sorry, kiddo. Sorry you have to take care of me, I can’t imagine this is how you wanted this night to go.” Roy got words out for the first time since he got sick, and of course they were kind and thoughtful.

“B, spending time with you is the best any night can go. Even if it means sitting here to make sure you don’t cough up a lung or break a hip.”

Roy chuckled, leaning himself away from the toilet and against the bathtub. Danny caught his eyes, trying to read them. It was a combination of exhaustion, affection, fear, and something else that Danny had never seen before.

“Are you ok, Roy? Seriously, are you?”

“Come on, I drink more than that on most Monday nights. Just exhausted from all of this.” Roy gestured to the nearly empty bottles.

“No, I know we’re basically murdering our own livers by mixing Fireball and Patron” – Danny was surprised by his own level of articulation with so much liquor coursing through his body – “but something else is up.”

“Well aren’t you a perceptive bitch? Don’t worry about it, it’s just…I….look, it’s nothing for you to worry about.”

“Why not? Shane’s passed the fuck out, it’s just me. You know you can tell me anything, I told you about the time I –“

“Don’t need reminding, Danny, but thanks. No, I just can’t…specifically…” Roy was staring to slur more, and his sentences were losing structure. “I can’t tell you, because…”

Danny thought he got it. Roy’s worried about the competition, he’s stressed about what’s going to happen next. That’s why he can’t tell me, because he thinks I’m burnt out enough myself and doesn’t want to add on. Or he because he wants to beat me.

“I get it, I do. You’re stressed about top 3. It’s a lot of pressure, or whatever. Look, Roy, we all know you’re going to win and take over the world, become something really amazing. Whatever you’re feeling, forget about it. It doesn’t matter, because you now what? You’re gonna be America’s Next Goddamn Drag Superstar.” 

Danny tried to read the expression on Roy’s face after his drunken attempt at a pep talk. There was a clear – and clearly faked – layer of happiness and appreciation trying to cover one of total disappointment and confusion.

“You’re right. I am gonna win, just like Laganja’s parents always said I would.”

And with that, Roy hoisted himself up off the bathroom floor and then lent Danny a hand to do the same. “We should probably go to sleep, since we all have to leave early tomorrow. Walk you back to your room?”

Danny saw those same wheels turning in Roy’s head, some drunk guy still running the machine. 

“If you’re sure you’ll be ok, then yeah. I think we leave Shane to handle the mess we made in the morning.”

Danny walked with Roy back to his own room. It was all of 50 steps, but Roy held his hand while they walked anyway. It might’ve seem strange to anyone else, but they were drunk and both known to be touchy-feely at any level of inebriation. 

Danny slid the keycard in the lock and opened the door. As he backed into his room, he felt Roy hover in the doorway. He looked up to see his friend staring at him, his sharp and deep eyes focusing with a burning intensity he had never seen before and couldn’t really define. It almost seemed like he wanted to pounce on Danny, to –

“Look, about tonight…” Roy slowly started into a commentary on how he should’ve taken the shots slower, how he hadn’t eaten, how bad he felt that Danny had to take care of him. “And I guess what I really wanted to say to you tonight was – “

“I know, you’re proud of me. Thank you for that, you changed my life and I changed yours. All that kumbaya shit.” Danny thought he knew exactly what Roy was going to say, and wanted to spare his Bianca façade the indignity of once again being kind. He wrapped his friend in a hug and kissed him on the cheek.

When Danny let go, he expected to see a relieved and ready-to-joke Roy. Instead he saw that same face from earlier – a little fake happiness haphazardly spread across something sad.

“Yeah, that’s it. I just wanted to say that I – I’m proud of you.” Roy grabbed both of Danny’s hands. “I really am.” He leaned in to kiss Danny on the cheek. He lingered longer than usual, but Danny wrote it off on the alcohol again.

Danny smiled. “Well thanks, Dad. Goodnight!” He meant it as a joke, but he got the distinct feeling Roy didn’t take it that way. Roy squeezed his hands – just like he had with his knee, all those weeks ago – and went back to his room.

Laying in bed and trying to sleep, Danny found himself confused. Why was Roy so weird at the end of the night, almost like he was sad or in a bad mood?

Again, this would remain a mystery to Danny for longer than he was proud to admit. He was never as perceptive as he thought he was.

#adore delano #bianca del rio #biadore #say you won't let go #fucking awful #rpdr fanfiction #submission #sywlg #canon compliant