they say these are the golden years.

[indyerstraits]

goldxnmanifest​:

Gang violence? Did Jamie really think he got his hands dirty? Also, last time he checked, Gravewood didn’t have a gang problem. Either way, Elijah shook his head in exasperation. Whatever amount of God-given brownie points he was earning was quickly being overshadowed by the growing headache behind his eyes.

“Your blurring the line between personal wealth and public wealth again,” he warned, though it held an air of holier than thou as he said it. “Why should the rich take their wealth to pad the poor? The rich earned it in the same ways the poor could.” Elijah knew how un-politically correct he sounded and he saw the issue with that way of thinking, but he knew he would rile up Jamie so he couldn’t help himself.

When Jamie naturally gravitated toward the liquor, Elijah slid between the countertop and the smaller man and gently pushed him backward. “Not only is that shelf worth more than you life, you’d have to fight off Father Christmas himself for it.” 

He’d gotten close to Jamie again. And again, the smell of alcohol had overwhelmed him. 

“This has gotten worse,” he motioned broadly to Jamie’s form. “And you run around with that Alec kid, don’t you? With his DUI, I wouldn’t be surprised if the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” He shook his head in disappointment - not for Jamie’s sake. But, because so many people let this happen to their lives.

“I mean, after what happened with the rest of your family, do you really want to go out like them?” If they were close or even friends, it would’ve sounded like genuine concern. But, because they were how they were, it sounded more like another condescending poke.

--

Jamie barked a laugh at Elijah’s obtuse retort. It was truly one of someone who’d never known what it was like to overcome the generational trauma of poverty. Had he been any more sober, he might’ve felt jealous of his ignorance.

“Yeah, you keep telling yourself that while you’ve got a silver spoon in your mouth, Windsor. You’ll never know what it means to work hard at anything.”

It was an easy dismissal on Jamie’s part, at least when there was escape in glass bottles in front of him. His vision was multiplying them into an amber haven before him, beckoning him under the bright lights of the garage.

“Never been a big fan of fathers anyway,” he mumbled before trying again. He swatted belatedly at Elijah’s hand when he pushed him back again and furrowed his brow at their proximity. “Quit touching me.”

He was determined to try again when Elijah mentioned Alec and froze him in place. His annoyance bubbled up like vomit, unable to stay tampered when Alec himself had been another reason why he was drinking. Alone. Outside. 

“How about you keep his name out of your mouth?” Jamie said, looking blankly confrontational. He was not assuaged by his following comments about his family.

It was no secret that his parents were trash, but his siblings weren’t and neither was he. Jamie stood firmly on the fact that he wasn’t like them. That he had everything under control. After all, the lights were still on and the kids were fed.

Jamie scoffed and said, “Rich of you to say, Elijah. I could ask the same of you: after seeing how much vitriol the townies have for your father, do you really want to go down the same path?”

[indyerstraits]

goldxnmanifest​:

Old Yeller. If only it was that easy to put himself and the rest of the town out of their misery.

Elijah rolled his eyes as he sorted through the fridge. The kid sure did know how to make a victim out of himself - maybe he’d have a future in politics if he put his efforts into writing memos instead of tagging government property with shitty paint.

As Jamie stumbled through the room, Elijah leaned carelessly back against the countertops lining the walls. It was perfectly gray in the room, with bright white uplighting to accent the walls around them. Behind him were two rows of liquor bottles nearly as long as the garage wall itself. Unlike most people’s garages, this garage was built to be a hangout space. A space for them to discuss cars and drink top shelf bourbon. Any amount of “dirty” work was done elsewhere. It was how Henry Windsor preferred it and it was how Elijah had learned to prefer it.

With how much racket Jamie was making and how many times the nearest Lincoln had been bumped into it, it was miracle the anti-theft alarm wasn’t blaring out into the night. He crossed his arms over his chest as Jamie continued groaning about the sheriff and taxes.

“Has it ever occurred to you that money can be made other ways? That generational wealth compounds as it grows? Why do you always assume we’re embezzling to get our money? You wound me by thinking me so little.”

Roofie? “An incapacitated idiot on my floor is exactly what I’m trying to avoid. Why the fuck would I roofie you in my own garage?” He uncapped his own water and drank from it to avoid looking at the other. His goal was to get him sobered up enough and send him along his way. Or, the very last option on his list, was to build him a cot somewhere and let him sleep it off. But Jamie was like a raccoon - he would shred his way through the walls and ruin whatever he could find. Elijah couldn’t let him out of his sight.

--

“How? Selling drugs? Gang violence? Prostitution?”

Jamie rolled his eyes, or tried to. What he lacked in coordination, he made up for in brain power and sarcasm. There wasn’t enough liquor in the world to rinse him of a smart mouth. There was, however, enough to rinse him of inhabitations as he prowled around the garage like a cat sniffing out a new apartment. 

The walls of the garage stretched for longer than he’s ever known it to. It was like being transported to a weird alternate dimension where one didn’t have to struggle to maintain interior heating. It was nice, but cold and devoid of signs of life. He understood then where Elijah got it all from.

“You wound me by reveling in all of this extravagant wealth when the rest of the town is struggling to get by. I’m sure even you can see the social disparity. In a town this small? The contrast is stark.”

Jamie held his hand up to block the brightness of the lights from his eyes as he gravitated towards the glistening bottles of liquor, only stopped by the blunt edge of a countertop jutting into his hip.

“Ow,” he said, recoiling with a delayed wince and looked down at his hip as if he could already see the bruise blooming there. 

“I’m not going to pass out,” he interjected, sounding petulant about it. “Why do you care anyway? You said it yourself, murder’s an easy thing to get away with in this town.”

[indyerstraits]

goldxnmanifest​:

Elijah narrowed his eyes as Jamie took a step back from him. He wasn’t sure what drew him to focus so much on the other’s wellbeing. Perhaps it was an amount of acknowledgment that Elijah knew what that was like, though he’d never admit it. To cover up pain with whatever he could get his hands on. To push down thoughts he wasn’t prepared for.

At first, Elijah didn’t answer Jamie’s question. His jaw flexed as tension roiled through him. What the hell was happening? He came out here to stop a break-in and now he’s concerned about the graffiti artist extraordinaire’s wellbeing. Is that was sobriety was? Empathy? It tasted bitter on his tongue. Above them, the clouds rolled by lazily to block out the moon. The soft orange glow of the home’s up-lighting kept them lit, but small, wet droplets started to patter the ground around them. He took a deep breath in - still unsure of his motives but coming to a conclusion anyway.

“No. I’m not.” He dropped his gaze for a moment, just a brief flash, before lifting up a hand to beckon him over. “Come on, man. You look awful and the rain’s only going to make it worse.” 

This time the vitriol was small, and it was there to cover up any amount of empathy that Elijah might be feeling. It was foreign and he didn’t like it. But, if Jamie accepted without too much lip, Elijah would take him around the backside of the east wing of the house and duck through the garage’s exterior door. Once inside, he’d flick on the light overhead and illuminate the pristine garage within. It was devoid of any semblance of a lived-in home like boxes or crates and instead had three luxury vehicles parked in a row, without an oil smudge in sight. Elijah ignored them and headed for a fridge near the door they came in. He grabbed two bottles of water and tossed one at Jamie. 

--

Jamie’s expression recoiled in disgust when Elijah didn’t take his bait, his scowl worsening when the next words came out of his mouth. There was no amount of liquor that could’ve prepared him for Elijah’s... what. Condescension? Mercy? Pity? He scoffed.

“Now you have an objection to dousing me with water? And here I thought you liked me wet.”

He could feel the pitter-patter of rain on his forehead, the wet droplets trickling down his cheeks now as if in reminder of junior year. Why was it that Elijah always came with a downpour? Jamie didn’t have the wherewithal to ponder that at the moment, but he would come morning if he remembered. 

Jamie watched as Elijah beckoned him like a stray, rounding around the house as if he’d be inclined to listen to anything he had to say. 

“You know, I’m seen Old Yeller. I know how this ends,” he called out as Elijah disappeared and left him alone in the dark. He waited a beat as the rain fell down harder on him, drenching him through his jacket and making his skin crawl. After another second of deliberation, Jamie followed after Elijah, each step clumsy but guarded like it took all his effort to keep his movements steady. 

The mayor’s manor was as grand as he expected it to be, lavish and undeservingly luxurious after knowing what the rest of Gravewood looked like. Jamie clipped the headlights of a car on his way in, cursing aloud only to bump into another one. He then missed the bottle thrown his way, his athleticism absent whether he was drunk or not. He also watched it smash into the wheels of one of the car with complete apathy. Served it right.

“The taxes are going to the Sheriff, sure,” he said as he bent to pick up the bottle, uncapping it and taking a drink only to look at it, betrayed. “Is this fucking water? The least you do is roofie me.”

[indyerstraits]

goldxnmanifest​:

It was all so trivial. His silly remarks about Jamie’s fragile and, quite frankly, embarrassing state. Their relationship was completely built on high school prejudices. If he was honest, Elijah was too grown with too much happening around him to even give Jamie the time of day. He should’ve called the Sheriff and had it handled. But no, he wanted to play the hero and come marching out to protect the home. Fat lot of good it did. 

Just as he moved his gaze back to the side of the house, he heard Jamie’s response. He blinked. It was strange how it sounded. It was not unlike Jamie to be self-deprecating - years of being vaguely involved with one another had shown that enough. But, something about this admission was different. Before he could think about it too long, his hand was batted away and his space was invaded even more than it already had been.

Reflexively, Elijah caught him by the shoulders and steadied him upright. “Jesus Christ, dude,” he grunted as he tried to keep him on his feet, despite the drunken pitter patter of his steps. He answered offhandedly, “West Virgina’s too cold for serial killers.”

Up close now, Elijah found himself finally taking stock of the other guy. The clammy skin, the eyes that didn’t seem to fully focus, and that comment. An unfamiliar knot formed in his chest. 

“Jamie, how much have you had to drink tonight?” He asked, his voice suddenly even.

--

No smart remark came to mind when Elijah made a comment about the weather and serial killers. Certainly if he had more of his bearings, he’d know to interject that he was wrong when Canada had its fair share of cold hearted killers. 

Instead, he was caught the way Elijah was looking at him. He didn’t know how long he was staring before he realized that the heat between them had simmered down into a quiet stalemate. Elijah’s eyes were piercing and dark like little bullets, puncturing him in a way he wasn’t sure he liked. Jamie had always wanted to be seen. But not this way.

He stumbled back with a little more clarity-- or at least an attempt to hold onto some. Suddenly, his body felt too heavy.

Jamie sniffed and swiped a hand over his face, hoping for a moment’s reprieve from Elijah’s gaze. “What’s it to you?” he snapped, making up for the lack of vitriol in the other’s voice with his own. 

It wouldn’t have been the first time someone asked, Alec’s voice too loud in his head all of a sudden. Naturally, Jamie grew defensive. He was convinced that he would’ve graffiti’d the mayor’s office whether he was stone cold sober or not. It was just a matter of when.

Bile filled his mouth as the pauses between their statements drew out long and heavy with implications of acknowledgement. Jamie took another shaky step backwards to put more space between them, gulping down air like he couldn’t get enough of it. 

“Well?” he taunted, holding his hands out before letting them drop to his sides. “Are you going to call the Sheriff on me or not?”

[indyerstraits]

goldxnmanifest​:

What a night to be sober.

Elijah shoved the weapon into the rear waistband of his jeans, hopefully before he got the wrong idea to scare Jamie enough to get him to fuck off without involving the Sheriff. Sometimes he remembered the one night he was somewhat cordial to Jamie, somewhat genuine as they talked at the café - fat lot of good that did. Jamie was more of a thorn in his side than ever before and he blamed practically everything wrong with his life on Elijah and his family. 

Jamie could have never been an ally to him. They were on polar opposite sides of the spectrum. The universe liked to remind him of the “other” by putting Jamie in his way every now and again.

Elijah stepped over the shrubs outlining the small courtyard they stood in. When he stepped fully into the light, he could see the crude drawings Jamie had managed to put down - including enough obscenities that Elijah was surprised he hadn’t brought a thesaurus.

Already, Elijah was mulling over ways to get him off the property and make him someone else’s problem. But, watching him stumble all over the place, he was more likely to get hit by a car than make it back home and suddenly, Elijah was the last one to see him alive. Of course, they would just happen to wipe their security cameras and pay off the Sheriff again, but that was work.

Elijah had just about decided what to do when he watched Jamie lumber toward him out of the corner of his eye. He straightened out his arm between them, aiming to place his hand in the middle of Jamie’s chest to halt his drunken advance.

“What? Are you afraid that the big bad killer is going to come after you next? Because you’d be such a prize to catch. You wouldn’t even be a challenge.” Elijah shook his head in disgust - as if being near him was bringing down the property value. “Actually, that’s not a bad idea. Your death would be one of the easiest to cover up. Because, as we all know, we have so much practice,” he said sarcastically.

--

Jamie careened into Elijah’s palm, both drunk and brazen with his advances. He was not much of a brute, his weight easily propped up by a locked elbow, but he wasn’t trying to get into his face. Depth perception was out the window. Or maybe it was just his eyesight flickering in and out with every slow blink of his eyes.

His judgment was impaired, but his humor was not. He barked a dry laugh at Elijah’s threat.

“I fucking wish he would,” he told him with his whole chest. There was a level of vulnerability that came with his level of intoxication. It was one that rarely made it past the walls of his guard, despite how brutally honest he was at all times. In a way, his disparaging commentary about society and the mundane mortal coil made for good camouflage whenever he let it slip that death was welcome as long as it meant he didn’t have to continue paying taxes to live.

 The poignancy of his response was lost in the sincerity of it and it took Jamie a minute to realize in the strange silence between them. He furrowed his brow and slapped Elijah’s hand from his chest for lack of something better to do.

It was a mistake on his part as his weight shifted forward. He caught himself before he bunted into Elijah like a particularly petulant basketball, head swaying dangerously close to butting the other’s.

“You know, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was you,” he spat. “If you can’t make Gravewood great again, why not make it the worst? ‘Serial Killer state of America’ sure has a ring to it, doesn’t it?”

[indyerstraits]

goldxnmanifest​:​

Ding ding. Ding ding.

Constant. Incessant. Tiring. Both of his phones going off at all hours of the night and he was simply drawn to answer them. One phone, in a gray leather case, was his more public one - it contained the password to LinkedIn and his more formal communication. His other phone, the one in a sleek black case, was his more nefarious one. The one locked with a 10 -digit code and was set to wipe after 2 failed attempts. The one that contained every ounce of criminal history he had. That was the one he was ignoring most right now.

For once, it was nearly early morning and he was sober and wide awake. Something about having a luncheon with his new fiancé tomorrow was keeping him awake. Maybe it was because Isadora would be there and he would have to try harder than usual to keep his eye on the woman he was meant to be there with. Isa was bound to make that difficult. 

Ding.

That was his formal phone. That could wait even longer than his criminal one. He’d ignored the notifications for hours - what’s a few minutes more?

Ding.

Elijah drew in a deep breath to calm himself. It was just a notification, he didn’t need-

Ding. Ding.

“What the FUCK,” he growled as he shoved himself away from the chair he’d slouched in. HE crossed the room to where he’d chucked the phone in frustration hours earlier and picked it up from the floor. Dozens of notifications covered his homepage - congratulations on new adventures, and a ribbon cutting on the new bakery that he managed, texts from Isa and his fiancé. But, what drew his eye was the most recent notification.

Security System Alert: Movement Detected on East Wing.

They got notifications like this all the time. But not at 3 am. And not 8 times in a row in the span of 10 minutes. While they normally had a security guard roaming, Henry Windsor in his all-perfect knowledge had given him the night off. Could the intruder have known that? Alarm bells sounded in Elijah’s ears. 

He moved quickly around the room. Sliding on tennis shoes, he then navigated to the bottom drawer in his huge desk to take out the loaded Glock he kept there. He verified there were bullets and slid on a coat over his thin t-shirt. But, natural adrenaline had a way of keeping him warm. He exited the home through the west wing, and rounded the perimeter of the home until he neared the east wing where the the alert came from. He could heard someone speaking, but he couldn’t make out their words. He paused by the corner to try and listen, his finger resting on the safety trigger on the gun. When he heard someone smash against a window, he stepped out from the corner and raised the gun.

“Oh, god damnit,” He groaned when he saw it was Jamie. He dropped the gun to his side, his finger moving away from the safety.  Elijah wasn’t surprised when the smell of cheap alcohol flooded his senses.

“Jamie, what the fuck are you doing?!” He motioned to the wall with his open hand, where obscenities and vulgarities. They would have to get this cleaned off before first light if he was going to keep it out of the papers. “You know damn well your taxes pay the Sheriff’s salary - and for the record, your taxes will be the one paying for his overtime when he comes out here to arrest you. AGAIN.”

--

Intoxication made his reactions sluggish but Jamie had a feeling that he wouldn’t have done anything different in the face of Elijah’s ire and a firearm. Getting shot would’ve been a mercy.

Jamie opened his arms to present his masterpiece to the man himself, his drunken graffiti in dull display. Somehow, even plastered to the nine hells, Jamie had managed to spell every insulting thing he could think of correctly, even if it was just a collage of every unfiltered thought that came through his head.

“Redecorating. Thought you could use a little more democracy,” he replied sarcastically. He rolled his eyes at the thinly veiled threat of incarceration, and then regretted that when the world kept spinning. 

Jamie swayed in place as if his feet were uncertain if they were still touching ground. He steadied himself on the side of the house as he gesticulated with the other hand.

“Yeah, reassuring considering the Sheriff does a whole lot of nothing,” he said. “There’s a murderer on the loose and he’s preoccupied with speeding tickets and misdemeanors. For all we know, there’s another Dollmaker on the horizon.”

Was he being petty? Sure. But he was owed that much after how many fees he was chipping away at since the Halloween party at the Astoria. The ski resort had done nothing but become the bane of his existence since it was erected and he could only think of one family to blame it all on. 

Jamie staggered forwards towards Elijah, tempting fate with all the bravado of a drunkard. “What then, huh, Windsor? How are you gonna brush that under the rug?”

[indyerstraits]

Alcohol and misdemeanors seemed to go hand in hand with Jamie. It was a rare day off which meant twelve hours of consecutive drinking. His wallet had been emptied hours ago, but locals at The Gallows had taken pity on him. Poor Jamie Dyer, what a shame he’d gotten into a car accident. Had he finally broken his brain? The teasing was in good fun, but Jamie couldn’t help but wonder if the impact had shaken something loose.

There was an indescribable anger that roared deep within his belly, unrelenting in its fury as it charred his ribs and seared his throat. Vile, caustic thoughts made homes in the cracks between responsibilities and mental accounting. It was sick and unbearable. Jamie usually knew better than to let it out, but the beer had whittled down any semblance of restraint he had left. Which was how he ended up at the Windsor residence with a can of spray paint for an encore of the last time he’d gotten arrested. 

He shook the can before he released it along the side of the house in long streaks that were meant to be letters. The darkness leant no clarity to his drunken poetry, but at least he had conviction.

“That’s how it all starts, doesn’t it? A ski lodge here. A Starbucks there. Soon, you’ll be buying up all the houses on Elm street for double the price,” Jamie ranted aloud to no one as he vandalized the house with colourful insults and vulgar graffiti. 

Jamie stumbled back to look over his artistry before deciding to go in again for finishing touches only to be met with a hiss. He shook the can and tried again before his patience dissolved in liquor. 

“Take all my paint too, why don’t you, you piece of shit,” he  barked at the house, pitching the can at a window in frustration. He swayed where he stood, staring up at the darkened glass.

“Why don’t you try spending our taxes on something worthwhile for once? Like trying to find the person who murdered Tommy Richter!”

@goldxnmanifest​

[floralpinktaylor]

and my words shoot to kill when I’m mad, i have a lot of regrets about that

[indyerstraits]

tobegriffb​:

The Andreyev family were notorious in Gravewood for their long-standing feud. Boris and his brother hated each other for reasons even the two of them had likely forgotten. Years ago, Boris had left town and traveled the world to escape the abhorrent presence of his younger brother, who had stayed behind in Gravewood with his middle-management job at the Banshee that would soon become the editing gig he had today. 

When Boris moved back to house and raise a teenage Griffin, he didn’t even tell his brother. The Banshee, in return, refused to print any ad space for The Gallery of the Uncommon, despite Boris’s multiple attempts to rent some out. 

Griffin’s cushy new job working for Grandpa was, then, a point of contention between him and his uncle slash roommate. Working from home was a no go. Boris was not violent or incredibly argumentative when it came to things he disliked - but he was very, very annoying about them. It was impossible to focus on anything with him buzzing around, interrupting every other minute with some anecdote about mermaids in the Caspian Sea or a great dragon he met outside of Guangzhou. 

Griffin’s normal spot when he couldn’t focus at home was Java Junkie. They kept him caffeinated and the other patrons were rarely rowdy enough to become bothersome. However, on that particular afternoon, Griffin found himself walking past Java Junkie’s doors, further down Main St a ways until…

It was the perfect time to be at Marie’s. Just past the breakfast rush, but not quite into the lunch crowd. The booths provided so much space for Griffin to splay out his laptop and notebooks. Plus, he could grab something to eat more substantial than a scone. It was perfect. Why wouldn’t he do work here everyday?

That was the mantra he kept in his head as he avoided eye contact with Jamie across the room. Just a casual day, doing some casual work. No ulterior motives. What’s the special today? Oh, Marie’s famous club sandwich. Yes. That is the reason Griffin has sat himself on the booth cushion with the split vinyl. 

He busied himself with setting up a work station until Jamie approached, at which point he put on airs that this was all a funny coincidence. 

“Oh, hey. I completely forgot you worked here,” he said in greeting. “I’ve got this brain fog lately. It’s been hell week at The Banshee for the past five, so…” 

@indyerstraits​

--

Jamie hadn’t spent a single day sober since Halloween, his sips of cheap vodka from behind the serving counter increasing to mouthfuls with every shitty table he had to clear without a proper tip left behind to balm his mounting debts.

It was the accident, the bail, the hospital bills, the sudden realization at 3AM on the way home from work on a Tuesday that Alec didn’t have insurance either if he didn’t have a bank account-- which was something he’d overlooked the last time he made a tally of all the bills he had to pay now.

Stress accumulated like the bags under his eyes, heavy and inescapable to the point that even he couldn’t remember who he was before he’d become a lifeless drone of grease stains and dirty dishrags. He’d just gotten in that morning but it felt like he’d already been there all day.

Jamie busied himself behind the counter, changing out coffee filters and rolling cutlery when the door chimed behind him. His deadpan scowl and unenthusiastic ‘sit wherever’ was an unfortunate consequence of coming to Marie’s while no one else was working the front. Even more so if you worked for The Banshee.

He’d nearly forgotten that someone had offed the pool guy’s son if it hadn’t made it into the headlines of The Banshee for an entire month, plastering his booths and floors with pointless, circular speculation about the investigation. If Tommy Richter hadn’t died yet, then his corpse would’ve surely been beaten into Hades by then.

Grabbing the newly brewed pot of coffee, Jamie made his way to Griffin’s table and loomed over it like a gloomy rain cloud determined to dampen any of his efforts to be cordial. 

“Did you?” he asked. The raise of his brows suggested he cut the bullshit, but his deadened expression dared him to see how long he could keep it up in front of a brick wall. 

Jamie hadn’t forgotten the grudge or the argument. He didn’t think there was enough liquor in the world to scrub himself of such betrayal. 

So after a moment, he raised the carafe. “Maybe some cheap coffee from a cracked pot will help jog your memory a little. Might even clear out some of that fog.”

[indyerstraits]

alec-flynn​:​

Pink Floyd sang about two lost souls in a fishbowl as the sound of buttered bread frying in a pan sizzled its approval. Alec sang along, spatula in hand doubling as a microphone. After a string of incredibly shit days, it’d been nice to be gifted this slight reprieve. At first, his day off seemed content to loom over him, to draw him into the shadowy corners of his mind where his doubts lived and apparently fucked like rabbits, multiplying until he was infested by them.

But it’d actually been a good day. He hadn’t just kept Kahlua alive, he’d made her laugh. Her stuffed animal army had taken on his league of Legos and after a long and harrowing battle, he’d been wiped clean out. He’d acted out several dramatic deaths for her entertainment, to which she’d rewarded him with a belly laugh that had made him feel like a rockstar (and he would know). When she’d gotten bored with that, Alec had read her books and fed her chocolate and taken pictures of her passed out facedown on the couch with said chocolate smeared all over her face to show Jamie later. The house hadn’t burned down, the kids had been fed, and for now, the house slept soundly.

All except for Alec who’d been hit with a serious case of the munchies about thirty minutes ago. Two slices of buttered up bread and three slices of cheese later and here he was.

The sound of the door drew his attention away, though he still held the spatula microphone to his mouth as he turned. Jamie looked grumpy and that made Alec smile. He didn’t love being here, loved even less that he felt stuck, but it was temporary. And there Jamie was looking like Jamie again. Alec’s smile widened, dragging a cursory glance at the mess of a living room he and Kahlua had left behind. He laughed, waving a hand dismissively. “Dude, I had no idea such a tiny person could do so much damage.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Want a grilled cheese?”

--

Jamie prickled at the offer, eyes practically bulging out of his head in disbelief. He’d come home to a lot before, but it had been family. Family he couldn’t maim and kill and drag out back for Steve the Garbageman to dispose of. Alec, though, Alec looked like he was born in a trash can and wouldn’t mind being taken home.

He tempered his breathing, trying to tamp down on the unyielding desire to demand what the fuck Alec was thinking until he caught a glance at Kahlua passed out on the couch like a terrible facsimile of Gusov from Wonka’s factory.

 “Is that chocolate?” he asked, thumbing at her chubby little cheek. Kahlua batted his hand away in her sleep.

Something in him snapped at the sight of Alec’s cheerful, carefree face. He marched into the kitchen and shut off the radio with a vengeance.

“You gave her chocolate? She’s a fucking baby, Alec. She doesn’t need the sugar, or the rock ‘n roll or fucking Legos to choke on.”

Jamie’s hand shot under Alec’s hip to turn off the stove before he shoved the pan across the element and out from under his spatula with a noisy clatter. Buttered bread and cheese scattered over the stovetop, rapidly cooling down with a sizzle.

“Are you fucking listening to me?” he hissed. “You’re here because you ruined your own fucking house. It doesn’t mean you have to ruin mine.” 

[indyerstraits]

samueladamsdyer​:

.

Sam was impassive as stone beneath Jamie’s sharp tongue. Unmoved, at least on the outside, by the harsh truth or Jamie’s clear distaste for the brother who had raised him when they’d had no one else. He didn’t often linger in that, barely even let himself think about it, but it’d been circling the drain in his mind since he’d run into Jamie at the party.

And it was so much louder now with the weight of the .45 tucked in the waistband of his jeans.

But it had climbed to the forefront of his mind now, that bitter resentment that he’d become the bad guy because he’d walked away, because he wanted something in his life that was his returning with a vengeance. Fear for the line he was about to cross compounded into anger which he spat back at Jamie in a wry smile. 

He kept a tight hold on the money even as Jamie managed to snag it, his teeth gritting against the effort to remain stoic. “I’ve got some nerve? Tell me, does our father still come and go as he pleases? What about Margie? When was the last time they paid the mortgage, huh? But yeah, you do that, Jamie. You go ahead and bog yourself down with another drunken freeloader.” He shook his head in disgust, releasing his hold on the money in the hope that it might send Jamie stumbling back a step or two. 

The insinuation that he wouldn’t care simply because he wasn’t there hit a little harder than Sam anticipated and he worked his jaw as the air around them seemed to thicken. “He was driving drunk with you in the car and you’re gonna let him around our family? Around Kahlua?” Sam understood exactly what kind of a hypocrite that made him considering what he was about to do, but he felt right in this one thing. “I care because I fucking care.”

--

Anger rose in his chest with every beat of stoic silence Sam met him with. He could remember a time when Sam hadn’t been so cold, which was the worse part. To know that their family had bled his brother dry of feeling was something Jamie didn’t know how to deal with.

His brow twitched at the mention of their parents, Sam’s point sharp and jagged as it punctured him like a balloon. Alec was different, he wanted to argue, he was sweet and kind and just so different that it felt like a crime to lump them all together in one pile of irresponsible leeches. 

But all that flickered through his mind then were the messes and Alec’s frustration. His emotional absence. Kahlua’s muddy face. Jamie grit his teeth as he fell back with the money, the bills feeling like iron in his hands. He took another step back with the momentum.

“At least he hasn’t left,” Jamie spat, sounding more wounded despite trying to bury it under spite. There was hurt in his eyes, but more than that, a deep scowl bolstering the denial that laid there. Alec was different. He’s stayed when others didn’t. Jamie had to give him credit for that when not even his own blood deemed him worthy to look after.

Sam’s insistence fell upon deaf ears.

“Worry not, dear brother. Don’t think he’ll get into another accident with Hot Wheels,” he said, swinging his arms out to his sides before letting them fall with a sarcastic slap. He turned away.

“Thanks for the cash.”

[indyerstraits]

It had been a long day at work, but when wasn’t it? Something about the cold months drew everyone into the warmth of Marie’s for comfort and while Jamie would’ve normally been thankful for the additional tips, the burgeoning weight of responsibilities sat heavily on his shoulders.

There were four heads to feed, five including his own, and Johnnie’s presence lately had been scarce in the household. Something about Magenta and a doctor. Johnnie had mentioned taking her to the clinic twice in a week but Jamie couldn’t be bothered to keep track of how many girls he’d given the clap to. All he noticed was the lack of support.

With one less working hand, Alec was all but a big child. A big, irresponsible child that had destroyed his own home. His own career. His own purpose in life. What had once been charming quickly turned caustic as he left and returned to the same body strewn over his sofa and in his bed. The warm fondness of fun, summer nights and tiny kisses had dissolved into acid and burned a hole where affection used to bloom.

Cheap beer turned into cheap vodka and cheap vodka turned into Everclear as he scrounged up their last dollar to fuel himself with his own kind of painkiller. It was the only thing that seemed to take the edge off of his day anymore as the image of Sam decked in red haunted his dreams. A shot here and mouthful there. With the ever-flowing pots of coffee at work, Jamie found a good but precarious system to keep himself going.

It was just going to be a few weeks. That was what he told himself to bolster his entry past the door of his own home.

“What the hell, Alec?” he said, pausing at the lit living room as if it wasn’t 2:30 AM. The floor was littered with snack wraps and plush toys, books and lost pen caps. Jamie paused for a moment to stare at the wreckage of the living room, trying to convince his soul not to leave his body at the sight of more work. Annoyance burned in his gut, hot and painful like coals.

“Do you know what time it is? Why the hell are you--Ow!” Jamie stopped in his march towards the sofa, jerking back as a sharp pain dug into his socked foot. He clenched his teeth as he looked down to find a tiny Lego there and sucked in a breath before glaring in Alec’s direction as if to say ’what do you have to say for yourself?’

@alec-flynn​

[indyerstraits]

samueladamsdyer​:​

An icy sort of numbness had seized control over Sam’s fine motor skills. This day had been a long time coming and he’d told himself that he was ready. He’d insisted he was ready, tired of being a fucking runner like he was still a desperate, green fourteen year old. He might have been Frank’s nephew, but it had never afforded him any perks. If anything, it had only served to make him feel as if he had to prove himself even more.

So as he slid the .45 into the waistband of his jeans and smoothed over the front of his shirt, he dodged his own reflection and instead cut his eyes to the clock hanging on the wall, ticking down the seconds between his Before and After.

He couldn’t stay inside for long, though. Not with the way the walls seemed to close in on him. He lit up a cigarette and smoked it down to the filter in silence, gravel crunching beneath booted feet as he paced. Once he was finished, he crushed it under his boot, fingers drumming against his pocket like he might fish out another.

And then, he heard Jamie’s voice.

It wasn’t the disappointed little brother in his mind, his scathing words playing on some sort of punishing loop, but the real thing, and Sam turned. He’d long since mastered the art of cool indifference, his stance casual as he took in the sight of Jamie. And it was then that he realized maybe he wasn’t a master after all, the sight of Jamie looking so much like their father causing him to falter for a moment, red hot anger burning away the icy numbness. 

He’d heard about the accident, had heard about the punk who’d been driving and the whispers that made its way to his ears that the very same one was currently staying at his house. With his family. Jamie was the smartest person Sam knew, so he couldn’t understand how he could be so fucking stupid.

But for all the hell he wanted to raise and all the buttons he wanted to push, he wordlessly fished his wallet from his pocket, keeping his eyes fixed on Jamie all the while. Uncertainty over how the day might play out kept him from pushing, though. At least, not entirely. He counted what he had currently in his wallet— a cool fifty-seven bucks— and held it out. But before Jamie could manage to snatch it out of his hands, he held it up and out of reach. “Explain one thing to me first and you can have all of it. When were you gonna tell me you moved that little shit into our house?”

--

For once, Sam seemed to be agreeable. Jamie breathed relief when Sam took out his wallet and began pulling out money. It wasn’t a whole lot but beggars couldn’t be choosers and Jamie could already taste the sweet malty taste of cheap beer already. He reached out only for Sam to pull away. Of course. He’d spoken too soon.

“I’m sorry, but when was the last time you paid the mortgage?” Jamie retorted, cocking his head. It was getting annoying how much Sam had been trying to father him lately. ‘Don’t do drugs’. ‘Don’t ask questions’. ‘Don’t invite greasy hobos into the house’. The mere thought of being babied pissed him off, even more so when it was by someone who had abandoned the family for... what? Car parts and couch lice? 

Jamie scoffed, glancing around the decrepit junk that littered the yard as if showcasing Sam what he had given ownership of the house for.

“You’ve seriously got some nerve, Sam,” he added, in case his dear brother didn’t get the message in the negativity radiating off of him. Jamie boldly stepped forward and grabbed the bills, caught in a weird little tug-of-war as they wrestled with who had a better grip now that Sam no longer lorded height over him like a tyrant. He narrowed his eyes.

“It’s my house now and if I want to move Alec in, I can. Besides, why the hell do you care? You don’t even live there anymore.”

[indyerstraits]

ellexreynolds​:

When Jamie turned his anger from the house to her, Elle wasn’t surprised. Despite their close friendship when they were younger, in more recent years the two had found little to no common ground.

To anyone else, the words being spat at her may have seemed hurtful. But, deep down, Elle agreed with what her former friend was saying. She wasn’t the girl he used to know. She’d become someone she often didn’t recognize herself. But, there was little she could do about it.

Putting her hands up in defense (mainly hoping one of those filled cans didn’t end up being thrown in her direction), Elle took a couple of small steps forward. “I know, I’m part of everything that’s wrong with this town. Encouraging all the bad shit, marrying into the corrupted family that runs things, yada yada yada.” It felt like a risky move to somewhat agree with Jamie, especially when he was this far gone. But Elle really had no counter argument.

“Why don’t you tell me all about how shitty of a person I am while I drive you home before Windsor has you arrested, hmm?” It was an offer she wasn’t sure Jamie would take her up on, but she knew that she needed to try and get him out of there before anyone else found him.

--

Admittedly, Jamie hadn’t anticipated Elle agreeing with him. Dare he say that it took the wind out of his proverbial sails. He huffed and puffed and furrowed his brow, trying to come up with something more intelligent than “Yeah, you fucking think about that for a while.”

Nothing came but another long-winded rant about taxes, gentrification, the whole pastel pretenses that the town kept foisting upon its inhabitants as if they couldn’t see the opioid epidemic sweeping over them all. Jamie was lost in the sauce, his brain cycling through arguments as if someone had upended an archive of every civil rights movement in the past decade.

He didn’t notice the gentle coaxing out of the driveway or the hand on his head, guarding it from smashing into the top of the car. He was busy slurring about the domestic terrorists eating up Gravewood. 

Jamie deflated easily once seated as if his legs were tired of holding up so much anger. The intoxication swallowed him whole once he was at its mercy, bouncing his head off of the car window before lolling against the backrest and letting  him slide prone. 

“I swear to God no one cares about this place anymore,” he grumbled. “It’s just so fucking pathetic how we’re not even considered people. Just cautionary tales about having children in small towns.”

[indyerstraits]

ellexreynolds​:​​

Since the engagement, Elle had been required to attend weekly dinners with the Windsors. It was her least favourite day of the week, and she often made very little effort to look like she was enjoying herself in the hopes that maybe they would stop making her go. However, it had been months and they hadn’t seemed to notice. Thankfully, she usually made it through the evening unscathed. Everyone around her would talk amongst themselves, letting her sit there in peace. Occasionally, she would nod or agree to something, but outside of that, she ate and then left.

She’d just stepped outside and was pulling on her coat when she heard a crack from the side of the house. Her curiousity got the better of her and she headed across the grass to find the source.

It was no surprise to see that Jamie was behind it. The smell of urine was strong as she got closer. “God, Jamie, what the hell are in those? Pee or something?” She asked, worried that the answer might be yes. She wouldn’t put it past him to have actually brought pee-filled cans to throw.

--

“It’s called l’eau de fucking poverty,” Jamie responded without looking at the source of the voice. Frankly, he could hardly tell which direction it was coming from and he already had another can in his hands, wound up and ready to pitch.

Crack! The second can splattered against the side of the building. It was less damage, but no less disgusting. 

“Do we really need more ugly subdivisions and HOAs?” he beckoned to nothing at all. The lights in the upstairs windows began to flip on one by one as if drawn by his yelling. “We all know where our taxes are really going. Maybe if you spent less on your fucking pools and ski lodges, we could get a fucking working motel sign!”

Jamie grabbed another can, this time only whipping it weakly onto the lawn. All that movement and yelling was making him sicker, his stomach revolting against all the liquid in there. He stopped and doubled over and propped himself with his hands on his knees, taking a few deep breaths before rising again like a phoenix, rekindled by indignant rage. 

He turned then, to the source of the voice and didn’t look any more relieved to see Elle there.

“And you,” he snarled, jutting a finger at her. “You pathetic, sycophantic cocksucker. Have you no pride? Shacking up with this piece of shit? You’re not the girl I used to know.”

[indyerstraits]

Jamie hated going to the junkyard for any reason. It was at the edge of town where the Winsors had pushed the rest of the rubble of Gravewood. RVs littered the empty lots where trailers hadn’t been erected. The short walk to the Gallows and Cid’s didn’t make it any more enticing than the motel sign that had been out for decades. 

He couldn’t help but scan the lot, eyeing the rickety old RV his uncle lived in for signs of the boogeyman himself or any of his cronies. Memories of hiding beneath the kitchen table while Frank went to town on someone outside came flooding back in like he’d accidentally poked a hole into a mental barrier erected to protect himself. Jamie walked briskly past the gates and around a pile of junk, hoping to get away from the thoughts before they caught up to him.

The smell of cigarette smoke and the faint lingering smell of beer suggested that he was nearing a hangout spot for the local dredges of town. It had once been a stench he hated, only now it couldn’t have smelled more enticing. His skin was crawling, sensitive and raw from just a few hours without a sip of something. Jamie loathed to think he was reliant on anything other than himself, but he knew he was in trouble when he stared a beat too long the Listerine. 

“I need money,” Jamie announced with little fanfare as he came up behind Sam’s hulking figure, hand reaching for the back of his jacket for a tug like he was eight and hungry again. He stopped midway and stuffed his hands into his pockets, furrowing his brow like he was fighting an instinctual need to regress into a child near his brother.

“I don’t want to hear it, okay? Money’s tight. Money’s always been tight and I just need a couple bucks.”

@samueladamsdyer​

[indyerstraits]

alec-flynn​:

.

Alec tried not to take it personally. He really did. If he considered the amount of absolute shit that had happened in the last couple of days, he could hardly blame Jamie for being a little on edge. He was, too. Part of him was sure he was still in some stage of shock on a slow thaw back to reality. All of him just wanted to sleep.

“Yeah…” Alec said slowly, shoving his hands into his pockets as he forced his eyes to look ahead or away or just anywhere else at all. The silence was heavy and uncomfortable, like opening a dryer full of half-wet clothes, the air so hot and thick you could choke on it. But for some reason, Alec thought it was probably better than the alternative.

Alec swiped a hand through his hair, yanking his fingers through knots before finishing off the rest of his cigarette in silence and flicking it off into oblivion. It did little to soothe his fraying nerves, his night in captivity still clinging to him like a too-tight wet shirt.

He nodded robotically at the rules. No flower shirts, flannels okay. No beer, no fruit cups, everything else up for grabs. All the while he reminded himself that this was temporary. So were the feelings. He watched Jamie grab a beer from the fridge, watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. He traced the lines of him with his eyes and realized that now, he was the closest thing he had to home. And maybe that was why he felt so off balance. He’d lost so much and his only other safety net felt so far away.

So Alec tried again because he couldn’t just leave things alone. He needed reassurance. Or just a small smile. Something. Anything. “I think I’m just gonna grab a shower.” He tipped his head as he eyed Jamie with playful intention, a small grin dimpling one corner of his mouth. He already knew the answer to his question would be a resounding no, but the answer wasn’t the point. “Wanna join me?”

--

Jamie was lost in his thoughts again as he watched the head of his beer foam through the top, already calculating how much bigger the bills were going to be with one more person to account for. $150 for electricity, $65 for gas, $120 for cable, $70 for water... Another $50 for food.

He massaged his temple with the back of his thumb as he began pacing the kitchen. Their bills were going to go up by 10%. A 10% he wasn’t sure he could make at a little diner where all the customers knew he was crabby. His fault, but it still weighed on him like anchors. Jamie knew he had been drowning, but he was sinking now. Plummeting into the deep like a broken torpedo.

It was only for a little while, he told himself. He could handle a little while.

Jamie was taken aback by the playful jab on Alec’s part, blinking back to the world of people. His tiny smile and pleading eyes always found a way to warm him straight to his heart.

“Maybe later. I want to lay down for a bit before work,” he said, voice softening a bit as he looked Alec over. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to have Alec around more often... Maybe.

Putting down his beer, Jamie reached into the cabinet under the sink and took out a plastic grocery bag. He fanned it out before sticking Alec’s cast into it and tying it off where it ended.

“Try not to get that wet,” he instructed before picking up his drink again. “You’ve gotta jostle the knob to the right before turning it to the left for hot water. Don’t take forever in there, okay?”