along w/ being a queer woc, i’m a writer, maxi skirt enthusiasts, professional fan girl, and aspiring journalist!
she / they
i love supernatural, lizzy mcalpine, technical theater, role model, the smashing pumpkins, being a bitch (lovingly), fruit, found family, ratty looking white men, and crying.
like my writing? think i’m funny? just wanna talk / ask abt shared interests / experiences?
TELL ME. please! i love targeted yapping.
. ☘︎ ݁˖ my masterlist 😝
the rules / tw that ALWAYS apply;
smut n’ triggering content will ALWAYS be tagged, if you notice a time where it isn’t, tell me!!!
if ur into anything traditionally triggering (1ncest, ageplay, etc.) or down right illegal, GET OUT! im not into it and there is no space for you here.
never EVER feed my writing through ai, i do have a cai account and will take bot request, just stay away from my fanfics (please).
my (keyword being MY) headcannons for how married life would be with the musketeers 😼) (normal au)
author’s note!; i am not married so…sorry if this is inaccurate ig? based on a request for ray (sorry anon, i got carried away). unfortunately ray is my favorite so do w that what you will. this might as well be all of my tlw brain vomit spilled into one post
squad…i wanna do the other boys but this has been rotting in my drafts for EVER…so sorry…
tw; suggestive, talks of pregnancy / having kids
-> raymond “ray” garraty
LEMMEATHIM PLEASEPLEASEPLEASE INEEDHIM HES THE ONLY MAN EVER
first things first, he cried like a baby when you walked down the aisle, like he could barely get through his vows because you’re so pretty and you’re one of the only people willing to tolerate his bullshit
gets married fairly young, like mid 20’s, but he never regrets it bc he still feels giddy like he has a crush on you
the wedding bands for the ceremony belonged to his parents, but he also saved up to get a set just for you two
okay! post wedding!
in my minds eye you either live in a decently large apartment or even a townhouse in a city, or a big ol’ ranch style house somewhere in the south
in either situation he goes nuts for all the his and hers (theirs? his? whatever you want bud) merch. i’m talking towels; both for dishes and to shower, magnets, instagram bios, aprons, bracelets, shirts. he’s just so happy you love him
if you thought he was clingy while dating, the affection triples after you get married. he’s on top of you like white on rice, and after a scientific study (a running delusion) he’s come to the conclusion that rooms get darker when you leave them
in my head he’s a twin dad (two girls) but no matter what he wanted at least two kids because he refuses to let his children grow up envious of other kids like he did (sorry only children.)
i could write a whole spin off on tlw as parents, someone ask for that
-> peter “pete” mcvries
talks sm shit abt guys who cry at their weddings, but when he actually sees you in your dress / suit / whatever you’re wearing, he cries like a fucking baby
he waited a while before proposing, he knew he wanted you since day one but wanted you to be sure of him as well
the wedding was really private; a solo first look + dance and a relatively short reception with your immediate family and closest friends, the venue is probably somewhere cold (NOT maine), and the menu is pretty simple
your honeymoon is to a cabin in the alps, and he insists on lighting a campfire every night because he’s one of those guys with the masculine urge to chop wood and kindle a flame to impress you
keeps flowers all over your house, like at least 2 vases in all of the rooms
after being married for a while he develops old man hobbies and mannerisms, like the loud groans when he sits and complaining about his knees, he’s also picked up crochet and dabbles in botany
hot take!!! so no one kill me, but i don’t thing mcvries wants kids, i think he’d be a great dad but the minute your daughter tries to leave the house in booty shorts he’s tweaking. so any kids were an accident
he’s also such a shotgun dad, like if any of your kids bring home a partner, regardless of gender he’s sitting on the porch and throwing the nastiest side eyes
for sure has at least one pet, i wanna say a dog but i know in my heart he wants a bird
all in all he has my stamp of approval! 8/10 would wed again
-> hank olson
☝️first of all, is ur name clementine and are you a miner’s daughter? cause no deal if you aren’t
he’s kind of a dork, like pete just less suave. also talks sm shit about being corny but when you smile at him he’s giggling and kicking his feet.
gets married really young, but one of his favorite parts of being locked in from such a young age is that you grow and change together
i imagine that most (most…) of the boys want to live somewhere on the country side, but NOT HANK OLSON, he’s content with living in his twinky little apartment with an LED bedframe and the love of his life forever
you’re his designated driver no matter what, he doesn’t know that though, he just always ends up drunk in a car with the hottest thing he’s ever seen
YES KIDS!!! IM TALKING A SOFT BALL TEAM OF EM!!!!!
realistically you start having kids in your late twenties, and my personal vision is 4 kids, your oldest and youngest are girls but there’s two boys in the middle
10/10 dad, solid 7/10 on the husband scale
-> arthur “art” baker
SWEETEST EVER
also a crier, but everyone was expecting it
after getting married you two move in with his grandma because he doesn’t want her to be alone. it sounds like an annoying situation, but she loves you and she stays out of your way + free food bc i KNOW that the baker family is full of good cooks
the venue was in a church garden, like one of the cool ones with the labyrinths and honeybee stalls (stands? the honey cages? YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN)
caps it off at 2 kids, they have family names from both sides
he’s really into holidays, im talking STUFFED stockings for christmas (i celebrate christmas, take it w a grain of salt), green everything on saint patricks day, craziest cook outs on the 4th, all that shiz
sam winchester (MY MAIN MAN) x (what i think is gender neutral!) reader
author’s note (😝); again, based on a request. him an ray garraty are currently fighting to the death for my love and there is no clear winner, DAMN this is short 😋
tw; suggestive
“you owe me 3000 dollars.” sam states, not even looking at you as he flips through his stack of monopoly money.
game night was going…well? dean had quit after losing in cards against humanity, bobby tried to hold out during an intense round of uno but eventually he opted for a beer, and cas; sweet, sweet cas, doesn’t understand the intensity of a winchester game night (he didn’t even get the chance to play anything).
so now it was between you and sam, comfy on bobby’s livingroom floor, head to head in monopoly (of all games), and he was wiping the floor with you.
“you owe me 3000 dollars.” he repeats, smiling a bit at your slack jaw. he loved that expression on you, reminded him of other good times that involved your open mouth. “you gonna hand over the money? or do i need to send a cease and desist?” he grins like a fool when you slide over most of your money.
“you’re a bitch!” you squeak, counting the little money you had left while he rolls the dice.
he lands on your property, but instead of letting you send him into (fictional) financial ruin, he gives you a sly little grin like “oh no, i owe you money? that can’t be right.” and it almost works, especially when two perfect dimples get their close ups.
but you extend your hand, palm up and expecting. “$7000 please.”
“you’re kidding—”
“NOPE! read the card, winchester. the apartment complex, plus my reno, means you owe me $7000 american dollars.”
his eyes narrow, and he’s almost impressed by your sudden cockiness. one of sam’s hands come up to your face, squeezing your cheeks as a means to get out the aggression board games can bring.
“is monopoly money really american dollars?” he whispers.
“i don’t think so,” you giggle while he pinches your face, “i just said that for dramatic effect.”
he clicks his tongue once. his hands dance over your features, like he’s sculpting a bust of you. “see that makes sense.”
being an x reader writer and trying to be inclusive of all readers makes me overthink so much like should i write about you having smth with milk in it? no no what if the reader is lactose-intolerant. about the reader being the big spoon? noo what if they wanna be cuddled like a little spoon. about fingers through your hair? noooo what if the person reading it is bald
Could you please write another one? I saw a creator make an idea where there's one girl and one guy from each state maybe something like that where there on the walk together?❤️👀
‧₊ pg. 006 (sector #2) ˚.
“𝓞ver and over,
⋆˚꩜｡ 𝒊 let you down…”
ray garraty x (VERY self insert-y) fem!reader
a/n (my formal apology); i am nothing if not self obsessed and i have a very clear vision for what the walk would be like if girls were present, along with my preferred plot, sorry! if we’re truly pressed i’ll write another one 😛 but this has just been floating around my brain for a while.
also! all props go to whoever wrote / posted any content like this before i did, mwah!
this was sick. nauseating, rage inducing, ironic, take your pick of adjectives. ray’s current favorite was cruel. the way your smile made him feel was cruel. of all times to meet you, it was when one of you was doomed to die.
before the walk, he noticed you immediately. in a sea of scrappy and determined girls you sat teary-eyed under the shade of a nearby tree, stretching out your hamstrings, eating your mom’s homemade cookies, and looking terrified. he was tempted to talk to you, but sitting while he could seemed more important. all he could do was hope that you’d make it long enough to get to know each other. but with the way your lip was already trembling he doubted it.
about eight hours into the walk, 100 young “adults” had turned to 91. including a kid who had definitely lied about his age, one girl asked to go home and was met with a gun, and 2 people with medical conditions who had also lied for the chance to win.
the group was slowly thinning, but before he knew it ray had found some friends and built up a strategy. you were almost completely out of his mind when he caught sight of the back of your head.
he physically stutters, tripping over his own feet and earning a warning. ray scrambles back to his feet and quickly makes pace, moving on with only one warning.
mcvries almost immediately knew something was up (pun intended 😉), and the rest of the boys were quick to connect the dots. “hey hot stuff!” hank shouts despite ray’s whispered protests, you only turn around because every time the walk gets loud, someone tends to die.
the group of girls you’re walking with also turn around, but you make eye contact with the loudest boy of the bunch. hank waves you over while the two boys bracketing him laugh, you didn’t know the awkward looking one’s name, but he was certainly cute.
you slow a bit, not enough to earn a warning but enough so that you’re walking with the group. behind you the sounds of teenagers pumped with hormones run rampant, the slapping of kisses, giggles, and moans. it almost makes you anxious.
“so my friend here,” he slaps ray’s arm, grinning, “thinks you’re hot, and y’know, we’re dyin’! why not make his dreams come true?”
“oh…” you can’t avoid how quickly your nose scrunches, “yeah, maybe later…i guess.” you laugh awkwardly while running back up to your friends.
you’d think that was the end of it, until the sun set. at first it was fine, shitty, and hot, but fine.
then the hill came.
your chest burnt, and kids died left and right. the only motivation came from your friends, who were struggling like you, but joking and smiling through the pain. tears welled in your eyes, blurring your vision till all you could see was warm headlights. part of you wanted to run towards the light, beg for the bullet. but then the ground began to even out. your group of 6 girls was down to 4 survivors, you hadn’t even seen them die, that alone made you nauseous. like really nauseous.
you stumbled forward in the dark, tripping over yourself while tears began to fall. you remember your knees hitting concrete, and your number being called out somewhere in the distance, then there were two arms under your own. pulling you along to help you keep pace. it was the kid from earlier! (the cute one, not the little one with the gum)
ray didn’t look too hot himself, but in that moment you would have married mystery boy right away. he gives you the softest of smiles, “you gotta keep goin’ okay? even when i let go.”
you nod like a idiot, forcing your feet to fall in line with his. “we’re goin’ a little fast, huh?” he whispers right in your ear, “slow down to 3.1 for me, yeah?” you almost giggle, kids were dying left and right while you giggled like a schoolgirl.
“i’m ray.” he lets go of you, smiling a little wider when you keep pace without help. you introduce yourself, and he repeats your name like it was an incantation, an oath of sorts.
if only you could hear how fast ray’s heart was pumping. blood was rushing through his entire body, and he couldn’t tell what was adrenaline and what was desire, and he almost didn’t want to.
from then on you two had a silent deal, you help me, i help you. when ray needed a nap, he’d lean on you and vice versa. you even shared some or your mom’s cookies with him and his friends.
eventually 70 became 57, and 57 became 44, but you and ray stayed side by side, making jokes and getting to know each other. he loves the way you smile when he talks about his mom, something aboug hearing stories of your past, sharing secrets, and holding hands, makes him dizzy with infatuation.
…
day 3 of the walk, the groups down to 15.
your little knee scrapes from the hill began to get worse. blood was sticky in your cargo pants, not to mention the sweat, rain, and probably a little piss that was constantly rubbing against the injuries. your knees felt like broken hinges, and they’d begun to seep pus.
one morning stebbins made a snide comment about the infection, and how he wonders if love really does fix everything. you’d had to hold ray back, reminding him that stebbins’ “allergies” were getting worse, and his disposition was probably in response to the fear of getting his tickets.
you knew exactly what that was like; teetering on the line of death. you could feel the tainted cells moving within you, seeping into your fingertips and clouding your vision so badly that each step felt like a guess, the sore throat might’ve been the worst part. swallowing razor blades with rations, you didn’t look good.
ray’s friends even began giving you some of their food supply, it was a sweet gesture, but after watching your friends die from sleepwalking, madness, and fatigue, that money seemed less and less worth it.
then the tears came. floods of them, constantly streaming down your cheeks and wracking your chest. you were dehydrating yourself, and that thought made you cry more. it was constant, horrible, for you and ray, but he still stood by you, denying the inevitable.
“ray.” you sob, your voice had begun to go too, and he was constantly holding you up, just so you could keep pace. it wasn’t fair, it never would be, but he held you despite your protest.
“yeah, sweetheart?” he tries to smile, but you stumble and his face drops ever so slightly.
“shoot him in the heart for me, will ya?”
“what?”
“i mean get him in the brain first but afterwards y’know?” that made it click, and while it was admirable that you were still so funny in times like this, his heart sunk.
“i never should have told you my wish, y’know that?” he presses a kiss to your forehead, rubbing your shoulder with his thumb. “yeah,” you smile, “yeah, you shouldn’t’ve.”
“i gotta go.” you mumble, “no you don’t.” he counters, keeping his eyes forward like if he didn’t look at you, you couldn’t leave him.
“v’ never loved anyone like i’ve loved you.” you admit, leaning on him and getting his shirt all wet with tears. “yeah,” he presses a kiss into your hair, “me neither, baby.”
you looked up at him and he knew. your knees were giving out, and your will was thinning.
“you did good.”
“yeah…” your eyes were far off but they focus on him for a few seconds. ray’s convinced that even all clouded with tears, those eyes could end worlds, and he kisses you for the first and last time, savoring the taste of you, and wondering why he didn’t do this earlier. he thinks that’s the end of the conversation, then you start fighting his hold.
he grabs you by the forearms, trying to force you next to him but failing.
1st warning, number 47.
and your number is called out a few seconds before, “stop!” he shouts, trying to pull you along. he thought he could let go. he thought he was ready but a world without you wasn’t one he wanted to live in.
you were on your 3rd warning, and he’s on his 2nd, if he couldn’t get you moving before then you’d be—
ray screams when pete and art grab him, pulling him off and away from you while he fights. all he hears is the pound of his own heart and a strangled “i’m sorry.” from you? from art? maybe he was speaking without realizing.
all he remembers is watching the first bullet explode through your kneecap while you both screamed. the first attack was quickly followed by a second and third, bursting through your stomach and sending you to the floor. despite his better judgement he watches you claw at your stomach, trying to piece yourself together despite seeing bits of organ on the pavement. your eyes meet for a split second and he sees a smile cross your cracked and bloody lips. he screams a little louder when you wink at him. a gesture like that was a sign of weakness, humanity in these trying times, and humanity was punished on the walk, everything was punishment on the walk.
he hadn’t known you for long, but he knew what was going through your head. his mind flashed with images of your family, summers spent on the coast, the smell of holidays and birthday cake, the pets and friends you’d left behind for some childish dream of glory and wealth. he wishes he’d never known you, or at least never made his love known, because a soldier hits you with the barrel of their gun. forcing your head on the pavement while you scream, it was a reminder. love won’t save you now. no matter how strong. he’s begging them to stop by the time the final shot rings through the air, making your skull blossom open like a firework and paint the road in front of you red.
a/n (my ramblings); an anon requested this! so if it’s bad writing i say we blame them. also i rarely write non-angst so anon, if ya see this, know im doing this 4 YOU 🫵. not entirely proofread, sorry. unreasonably long, sorry x2.
tw; ray throws up!! (not in a kinky way, the poor boy is anxious and scared and he doesnt wanna die), canon typical violence (gunshots, blood, swearing, etc.), no explicit smut, but it is implied, we mention reader’s parents
ray was deflecting. he had been since his acceptance letter for the long walk came in. every time you asked a question with the word “long” or “walk” in it, he changed the subject. which lead to a very awkward conversation about how long he wanted his laundry washed for, or if he preferred to walk or drive to the library.
he knew he had to tell you eventually, i mean, he was risking his life, and would very likely die, you had to know.
maybe that’s why he used the money he had stored under his bed for a date at the movies. you’d been raving about this movie, oceans ten? something like that. and maybe a stupid heist movie was the perfect place to confess that he’s done the unthinkable.
you’d known he was hiding something. his mother had been a lot shakier lately, and every time you two left his house they hugged each other like it was the end of the world. it didn’t seem like your place to intervene. your families had always been close, but since his father had been put down, it didn’t seem your place to comment on the garraty family’s habits.
you and ray have been dating for what felt like forever. he’d had a crush on you since before starting school, and you’d reciprocated ever since he gave you extra crackers at the kindergarten snack table. although you two only started dating after figuring out your places in the community. ray was your best friend, and you were his.
so why was he so obviously lying to you? he’d been anxious lately, and so spacey that even now, he almost trips walking up the 3 stairs that lead up to your house. he raps on the door, tapping out the intro to ben e. king’s “stand by me”.
knockknockknock (when the night…) knock knock (is young…)
before he can get to “and the land is dark…” you swing open the door, giggling when he jumps from how eager you seem.
“hey…” he smiles, waiting for the kiss he knew he was gonna get.
“hey.” you smile, leaning in to give him exactly what he wants.
he immediately moves to deepen the kiss, reminding you that he is but a teenager at heart, but you stop him. “aren’t we s’possed to be goin’ to the movies?” he laughs softly against your lips. “yeah, sure.”
he pulls back, cheeks flushed like they always were when you got so close. you knew that if you pulled off that ratty flannel (that was no doubt his father’s) you’d see that the redness travels down his chest and over his shoulders, dancing in tandem with the freckles all over his body.
he took in the sight of you all dressed up for him, wearing a pretty dress that definitely belonged to your mother. it was long enough to hang over your ankles, and the neckline was short enough to show a little more cleavage than necessary for a simple movie date. the whole piece was a sunset kind of orange. you looked so radiant that it made him sentimental, although lately he’d been taking in everything he could.
in a few weeks he would be fighting for his life, fighting for his mom, the ghost of his father, and you. seeing you like this, all dolled up, made that reality easier. the knowledge that you didn’t know what he was going to do, made the comfort of your beauty almost obsolete.
he’d been thinking so deeply that he’d forgotten how long he’d been standing there, watching you breathe and slide on your mud-stained boots. the terrain of your hometown never suited heels, but he dreamed of a time, either before or after the walk, where you could walk around in clogs or pumps, maybe even a pair of those crazy tall heels, with all the ribbons and bows, from the magazines you collect. but for now you we’re condemned to an old pair of hand-me-down hiking boots and one pair of converse.
“can…we go? i wanna get some snacks before it starts.” you hum, rocking back and forth on your heels.
“yeah-yeah!” he stammers, almost robotically turning and walking out of the entryway.
the walk to your town’s one room theater was decently long, just over 2.5 miles, and you two didn’t have the money for gas anyways. nowadays cars were only used for big trips or emergencies. most of the time people walked (or ran) everywhere.
the whole time you two walked, ray imagined what he would be going through on the walk. if even now his breath was getting heavy, and the sun was a bother after 20-ish minutes, what would it be like for days? would he make it days? would he trip an hour in and cry for his mother as a carbine presses into his forehead?
the countless hypotheticals running around his head made him quiet, and the ray garraty you knew was rarely quiet, thoughtful at times, and certainly a listener but never plain quiet.
you tried to kickstart the conversation, but the most you got was a breathy chuckle followed by “you’re funny.” when you two actually arrive at the theater, after trying so hard to find out what was bothering him, you feel somewhat discouraged, and almost annoyed that you had to sit in silence for over an hour.
the sky is beginning to blur orange as he holds the door open for you, placing a hand on your shoulder as you enter.
the worker was another kid your age, you didn’t know him personally, but not knowing someone personally in your town still meant that you knew this kid’s parents, his main job (because working at the theater wouldn’t pay bills), if he did sports or not, and his entire dating history. ray greets the kid by name, earning a cordial smile and a head nod as he prints the tickets.
“‘re you the only one workin’ tonight?” ray asks.
“yeah.” the kid sighs, walking you two over to concessions, “travis has his mental exam for the walk tomorrow, so he’s resting up.”
“but i thought selections were already made?” ray’s brows crinkle.
“we’re always hopin’ to be backups.”
that statement sends shivers down your spine, but ray raises his eyebrows in a kind of knowing that only boys his age knew. ray slides a $20 bill over the counter, making the kid exhume a low whistle. “you must be real special.” he winks at you. ray laughs. you blush. ray squeezes your shoulder a little harder.
you blush again.
“2 popcorns, um...a box of razzles, and a mountain dew.” rays rattles off, turning to you expectantly when he’s done. “just a diet coke.” you smile.
…
after collecting your spoils and settling into the theater, you aren’t surprised to see it entirely empty. you sit close to the screen, but not too close, but with how small the theater is almost everywhere is too close. ray sets a popcorn in your lap just as an advertisement ends.
the majors voice makes goosebumps spread over both your and ray’s cheeks. especially with how booming it sounds coming from the speakers around you. you watch with wide eyes as the state mandated add for The Long Walk begins. ray’s face is completely slacked. he drops your hand while the major describes the competition. and when the camera pans in on the military sanctioned vehicles and armed soldiers surrounding the street that wasn’t all that far from his house, he snaps.
he coughs and he dry heaves, buckling over. your hand meets his back but before you can even ask how long he’s felt sick for, he’s crying and pushing you off of him.
“i can’t—” he gasps, trying to fill his lungs with air and failing, “i, i—” he stops trying to talk and makes a break for the emergency exit. he slams himself against the door, barely making it a few steps before throwing up razzles and his breakfast. the emergency alarm blares in the back of his mind, but the cool air filling his lungs grounds him a bit.
“jesus ray!” you shriek while you watch everything unfold. the emergency exit leads to the alley on the eastern side of the building. warm tears fall down his face while he slides down the brick wall farthest from you. you have to side step around his vomit to crouch next to him.
the sun had set by now, caking the both of you in darkness. “i—i got in.” ray whimpers, flopping his head on your shoulder. “you, you did what?—” disbelief tingles in your fingers and tickles your nose, he can’t be talking about…there’s no way! he would never.
ray knows that tone of voice, he knows the horror behind it. he’d heard it from his mother before his dad died. whenever he showed ray a stolen cd or a banned movie, she’d cross her arms and warn them; in that exact tone of voice, “you wouldn’t want the major to kill you over a song? now would you?” then she would tousle ray’s hair or kiss his father’s hairline.
at the time it was a just a funny thing she’d say, but now it was real. it was real the moment ray watched his father’s blood drip down the storm drain while his mother screamed bloody murder.
he’s pulled back to the present by you whispering his name, using that exact tone. “the walk.” he coughs out, “i signed up for the walk, a-and i got in.” he feels tears; your tears, dripping down his neck. he almost immediately regrets telling you about the walk, even though he knew you had to talk about it.
ray never wanted you to cry because of him. of course he was okay with you crying, but it broke his heart everytime, and even now he just wants it to stop. he sits up, looking you dead in the eyes.
the shock at what he’s done still hasn’t left your face. he hadn’t even realized that you were wearing makeup, and he felt even worse at the thought that you’d wasted something you saved for special moments, on him. his chest is still quivering, but he swipes the mascara streaks off your cheek, smiling ever so slightly.
“hey…” he coos.
“hey.” you whisper.
“i have to do this y’know?” he mumbles, laser-focused on cleaning your face. “i love you and i want you to be happy. we can’t be happy like this.” “like what—”
“you know ‘like what’. i don’t want to have to save up money for months, just to take you on a date. im tired of you counting paychecks just to buy nice clothes for me. it isn’t fair! this entire system isn’t fair! my father died because he wanted to fix the world, and i can’t do that. i-i won’t do that, i wish i was the kind of person who could, but i can’t. baby, i can’t but i can do this.”
you shake your head, slowly. the gravity of the situation, the cold of the night, his dried tears, and the wafting smell of your boyfriend’s sick was too much.
more tears come, and for the next 30 minutes all ray hears is you begging him not to go. saying you’ll do anything for him to change his mind, and he stays there, rocking you gently while you cling to him and scream. eventually the alarm stops, is turned off, looses battery, whatever. your cries echo through the night, he was okay with this, he was okay with you wailing as long as you were speaking. he was terrified of the silence, more so the acceptance of your reality. you taking this well was his worst nightmare.
ray would rather hold you in this filthy alleyway a million times than for you to see how he reacted when he received the letter. his mother spoke to his door all night, trying to get something from him while choking back her own tears. he felt pathetic, like a caged animal bashing it’s head against it’s enclosure.
he never wanted to feel like that in front of you.
“let’s go home.” he whispers once your sobs turn to sniffles. “s’ getting late.” he repeats, waiting for you to look at him before continuing, “lemme walk you home. we’ll talk about this in the morning.”
he helps you up. your dress is stained with the grime that came from weather and dirt, but you couldn’t care less. all you could think about was ray, and how he would be dead in less than a month. this person, that you had known, loved, would be reduced to just a number and a body. just another boy who had gotten his “ticket”.
you would never speak out against the walk, you would never break the rules that had been hammered into you since before you could talk, but right now you could see the flaws in your world. the paint of society was peeling and no one cared to fix it.
2 and a half miles felt like years, but with ray letting you lean on him, and being okay with sitting in your silence, as long as you’d tell him you were okay when he asked, it only seemed half bad.
an hour later ray was being lit by your porch light, opening the door for you because your shaky hands couldn’t grip the knob right. he hangs in the doorway, not sure where you stand with him while you take off your boots and do a final once over of your disheveled appearance. once your done he opens his mouth to speak, but your body rushing his catches him off guard.
he accepts the hug like water in the desert, visibly relaxing due to your warmth.
“don’t go.” you mumble, pulling back and looking at him with wild eyes “you…you can stay the night, d-do whatever you want with me just—”
ray stops you by grabbing both your hands, cupping your fists with his. “stop. don’t do that. it won’t work.” ray hated that the world told you that your sexuality was a commodity, an asset to be exploited to get what you want. he only wanted to touch you when you wanted it genuinely, not because it could change his mind. “i have no other ideas.” he continues, “this is it. i can’t let this opportunity pass us by because i might get hurt.”
he waits for your nod, a silent conformation that you were listening. “m’ glad you get it.” he pulls you back in for a hug. his thumb rubs over your shoulder, his index finger slides in, pulling the sleeve of your dress down so that when his lips graze over your shoulder he’s touching skin, not fabric.
“goodnight.” he muffles against your shoulder. he pulls back and kisses your forehead, “i’ll miss you.”
“on the walk or overnight?” your voice is gritty from the crying, but he pauses nonetheless.
“both.” he squeezes your arm once before turning around and walking down the porch stairs. he walks to the road and turns around, trying to get a look at you but frowning at how the buzzy lightbulb obscures your face. he kisses the tips of his pointer, middle, and ring fingers, holding them up to the sky. he almost smiles when he sees your silhouette mimicking his movements.
he stands at the start of the road till you shut the door, flicking off the porch light and collapsing on the couch.
you tried to be quiet, but while raymond walked home, you sobbed on the couch because of what he’s done. it got to the point where your mother came down to stroke your hair and tell you that it’ll be okay.
“ray’s a tough boy. he can handle it.”
your ray never needed to be “tough”. he was brave, and strong, and sometimes his life was a living hell but he stayed soft, for you mostly, but also for the kid he was before his father died.
he cried once when he got a particularly nasty sunburn, not because it hurt, but because his mother told him to reapply and he felt like he neglected her by not listening. he pretends to hate the movies you like because he get’s way into the romance aspect, and will often think about the characters weeks after you watched the movie. when you first kissed him he thanked you, then apologized, then said it was a mistake, then tripped over his own feet in an attempt to run away because he was so embarrassed.
your ray wanted to be a family man. he was ready to work a boring blue-collar job as long as he could come home to you and however many kids you wanted to give him. he would have proposed by now but the right moment never seemed to come, no day, or hour was good enough. your love wasn’t suited for the world. in a time where marriages were rarely of anything but convenience, ray treasured every milestone dearly.
you cried yourself to sleep with your head in your mother’s lap, her hands raking through your hair. after you were for sure asleep. she slipped out from under you and tucked you in with a spare blanket.
as you were falling asleep ray was pulling off his boots. his mom had fallen asleep hours ago, but all his nerve endings were fizzling with energy. he pulled off his pants while walking up the stairs, and his shirt while he tucked himself in.
his sheets were scratchy, and he’d outgrown his bed a long time ago, but the blankets smelled like you, and the pillows reflected your favored sleeping (sure, sleeping…) positions. even though your house was 20 minutes away, he felt like you were burrowed in his chest or pacing around his room.
as you sniffled he snored with a smile. you both dreamed of the other. while ray’s dreams were of you smiling, yours were of him dying, gasping for air and reaching for you while the blood pools from his chest.
…
you wake up sometime around noon, still in the living room and still in your mother’s dress. you could smell the dirt wafting off of you, so a shower was the top of your todo list. while walking up the stairs to the bathroom you recount what happened last night.
ray was dying, your parents had left for work already, ray was abandoning you while dying, your mother’s dress was ruined, and you hate the movie theater.
you think similar thoughts while the spray of the shower shoots you. your house was one of the luckier ones in your neighborhood. it had actual water pressure, while the surrounding houses had to fight for a warm trickle. the only issue being that there was too much pressure. the water sprayed so hard it hurt, but who were you to complain over a blessing.
ray’s house was one of those inbetween houses that only had water pressure during the first shower of the day, and with his mother out of the house, and definitely clean. he stands under a sprinkle at best, trying to wash his hair but giving up in favor for leaning over his sink to wash out the 3 and 1 he used religiously.
ray’s mother once told him that years before they got married, his father and her had very similar morning routines. their eyes would flick open at the same time, they’d need morning showers on the same days, and they’d get hungry around the same time. this lead to arguments over who got the sink when, and and whether lavender or pine body wash was more invasive. sharing a space was hard at first, but after he died ginny talked about missing fights over the sink and sharing her lavender body wash.
ray always hoped that you two would be like that. he rarely sleeps over at your place but the few times he has, you’ve gotten up before him to make breakfast. today you both woke up alone at noon, and while he rinsed his hair in the sink you washed your face. 20 minutes away you brushed your teeth in sync. you decided what to wear while he stared at himself in the mirror, debating on whether to shave or not.
you landed on a pair of overalls and a white sports bra. it wasn’t deeply modest but the only person seeing you today had seen you in both everything and nothing. ray decided against shaving, maybe you’d be less mad at him with a 5 o’clock shadow.
as the clock ticked to 1, ray stepped out of his house, you raided the fridge for lunch.
20 minutes later he was cracking open your door and you were plating yellow, fluffy, eggs. he sits down at the small circle dining table, it had been inherited from your grandfather, or maybe grandmother? ray didn’t remember. he just knew it was mahogany, and if food ever got too expensive (again) your family would sell it.
you wordlessly slide a plate in front of him, sitting down across from him and picking at the food in front of you. truly you were starving, but eating in a time like this felt like some kind of mockery. ray watches you twitch in the seat in front of him, not even the salty goodness of your “magic eggs” were enough to distract him from the bags under your eyes.
you were trying not to feel anything, but fighting back tears and snarky comments made everything worse. the anger came out in little ways, the way you held your fork, and the way your shoulders never dropped all the way. it shouldn’t have been noticeable, but ray noticed. he always did.
“don’t still be mad.” he was begging with you but trying to seem nonchalant.
“don’t still be mad.” you repeat back to him, dropping the fork you had been fiddling with in favor of staring him down.
“the only guy i’ve ever loved is willingly sacrificing himself for some childish dream. i’m not mad, raymond.” you stand up, jostling the whole table. “i’m devastated.”
“no.” ray whispers, reaching out for your wrist and verbally wincing when you pull away from him. “don’t do that. don’tchu dare do that.” he whispers, snagging his finger in your belt loop. it was an attempt to connect, force you to see his side through touch. he’s shocked to get no reaction from you, even as his hand travels up your bare hip.
ray was scared of the silence, but the anger, and the hatred in your eyes was worse. partly because he knew he caused this anger, and because he didn’t know who that hatred was directed at. it made his chest tight like an elephant was sitting on top of it.
he wants to fall to his knees and cry against the denim that holds your legs, he wants to lie in your lap like a child, any sign of forgiveness would make this easier, make this right.
“i have to.” you rake a hand through your hair, “because…if i don’t, you’ll actually do this, and you can’t.” you actually look him in the eyes. “you can’t leave me!” you rarely raised your voice at him, but it made something in his brain switch.
the world seemed to slow down as he surveyed his options, although the only two paths seemed to be you or you.
if he went on the walk you’d be rich because of his sacrifice. you may hate him but at least you’re comfortable. this version of you could love another man, give someone else your time and energy. that life he wanted; kids and a domestic kind of love, would be gone. not because no one could love the victor, ray was sure that if he won the long walk lovers would line up outside his door, but because the victor couldn’t love someone that wasn’t you.
or, he could stay. he could be happy with saving pennies and roughing up his hands. it wouldn’t be fair, or comfortable, but every day you’d kiss him goodnight and every morning you’d get ready together. you’d laugh with him and dance in the kitchen. while dealing with frozen pipes in the winter and mosquitoes in the summer. it would suck. horribly.
the choice was obvious.
“marry me.” ray mumbles against your waist. he hadn’t even noticed your tears, but as those eyes, beautiful eyes, got wide, he stood up. his hands, soft but calloused, tucked into your overalls. one of his thumbs rubs against bare skin, while the other swipes at your tears.
“what?” you breathe, so softly it tickles his nose. he smiles, he smiles hard.
“marry me and i won’t go on the walk.”
“that’s an ultimatum.”
“yep.”
you wanted to punch him, kiss him, and scream at him all at once, but you settled for sarcasm.
“i hate you y’know that?”
he pulls your hand to his lips, kissing along your knuckles and smiling against the skin. he hums a quiet “yeah”, before kissing your other hand, lingering on the ring finger. the whole time his eyes never leave yours, you hadn’t officially answered. so under that suave smile of his was pure anxiety.
“fine.” you scoff.
“fine?” he chirps, tightening his grip on your waist.
“fine. i’ll marry you garraty, but only so you don’t shit yourself on live television.”
“thank you for that. dunno what i would do without you.” he grins, stepping a little closer.
Ahhh so excited someone is writing for the long walk! Would you think about something for garraty? Maybe where his partner convinces him to not go on the long walk ?
THANK THE LORDS SOMEONE ASKED FOR SOMETHING TLW RELATED 🙏🏽🙏🏽
