angsty lyrics here

[samueladamsdyer]

isadoramorgan​:

- $$$ -

In most instances, Isa appreciated when her sense of style was validated. Knowing designers just based on silhouettes or colors, being able to place the season of a piece, all of the typical Devil Wears Prada shit. Having without a doubt known that a man’s cheap face paint had come from the dollar store, however? Not so exciting. And yet terribly Gravewood.

“Mmm,” she murmured to keep herself from making any other remark, the desire to contradict Sam’s statement with a cerulean monologue of her own contained easily enough. After all, though what a person chose to wear was that deep, he’d just given her a whole meal to devour. She certainly wasn’t going to waste the opportunity.

I can’t really figure you out.

Delightful.

“What came first - the makeup or the monster?” she questioned, eyes scanning Sam’s face before settling on his eyes once again. They hadn’t yet given anything away, but there was still time.

“Did you do the makeup yourself? How long did you think about what you were going to wear? Were you excited about it? Did you dread it?”

It felt almost like she was an unsuspecting villain giving her whole evil plan monologue to a hero on the cusp of greatness, but Isa knew that she was no villain. And she knew just how much to give away while still holding the power… even a couple of drinks in. Probably.

“Intention matters, Dyer. Your brother? Sisyphus. The man cursed to roll a rock up a hill for the rest of his miserable existence, knowing that no matter what he does, the boulder is still going to roll right back down and he’ll have to start again. Neither a god nor a monster, but he tried. He clearly wanted to be here. This room is full of people who don’t know me, don’t like me, only know of my family’s history in this town. But in a room full of what are essentially strangers, the people who put in effort? Those are the people I just might want to get to know.”

The bar was probably on the floor, given that Isa was about to give him credit for choosing makeup over a mask. In the smallest of ways, it had been proof that he did actually care. Luckily, their sustained eye contact while he claimed to want to make an enemy out of her for the evening had her mind going in a different direction.

“And what would make it more interesting? For you. Specifically.”

.

“The monster,” Sam responded without missing a beat. His eyes narrowed on her rapid fire questioning, lips pressed together in a way that made it clear he had no intention of entertaining her. It all sort of read like a very small dog posturing when faced with a wolf, rather than tucking tail and running in the opposite direction.

It would have been the smarter move. 

He could see the gears turning in her mind, could even respect that she was smarter than he’d originally given her credit for. But there was only so much he was willing to grant. Someone born into wealth could never and would never understand the hard won lessons of the streets. Craftiness and cunning was a whole different ballgame in the circles he ran in. And there was an angry little boy buried somewhere deep inside him that raged against the fact that he’d had to pay a price he wasn’t sure even Isa Morgan could afford in order to be standing here right now.

“Actually, my first choice was to hot glue cheap rhinestones onto my prettiest dress, but isn’t it good I didn’t? We would have clashed.” He dragged another gaze down the length of her for good measure.

It was the mention of Jamie— and Jamie’s costume— that did manage to penetrate his impassive façade. He didn’t know much about mythology and knew shit all about whoever Sisyphus was, but his mind conjured a strikingly vivid image of Jamie desperately pushing a boulder up a hill only to watch it roll back to the bottom every single time. Jamie was Sisyphus and that realization felt like failure. 

Sam finished off the rest of his drink.

His fire reignited, he turned burning eyes back on Isa. “If those are the kinds of people you want to know, then what are you doing here with me?” The question was almost curiosity more than it was more bait, but the one she posed in return had his eyes trailing out across the crowd, lingering on the overdone decorations and overly grand presentation. Nothing said Gravewood quite like an extravagant party. “For me specifically? Remembering that this is Gravewood is probably a good place to start. I’m curious, though,” he said, cutting his eyes back to her. “Do you hide behind the money or is it just who you are?”

[samueladamsdyer]

indyerstraits​:

–

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.”

.

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.”

[samueladamsdyer]

mackenziegthomas​:

- - -

Mack couldn’t quite recall exactly what Sam had said, but she knew it wasn’t that he’d be there. If he had said that, she definitely would’ve remembered, or spent some time thinking deeper on what she’d confront him with.

But she was walking away– except a moment passed and she was looking Sam directly in the eye, the tight grip around her wrist drawing most of her attention. Like a flashing warning sign, quickly sobering her up to focus on the fire she could see in Sam’s eyes.

Normally- she was the kind of girl that ignored warnings, but something about Sam like this put fear in her. She’d seen asshole sides of him, plenty of times, but nothing quite like this. “Sorry.” She said, uncharacteristically meek and quiet, “Message received.”

She rubbed at her wrist, “Clearly received. I’m going to- I’ll just.. leave you alone.”

.

Sam didn’t often feel regret or remorse; not in a world that had done nothing but take from him and his family. But the moment Mack pulled away from him, the flash of real fear in her eyes, Sam’s thoughts stuttered to a stop. 

Less than an hour before, Sam had stood in front of Jamie, accusing him of turning into their father. His job here tonight had gotten into his head, Jamie had gotten into his head, his dad fucking lived in his head. And now it felt like looking him right in the face, a distorted funhouse mirror that echoed back his own worst fears. Not to mention, he really didn’t need Mack spouting off what had just happened between them. 

Scrubbing a hand through his hair, he reached out towards Mack, dropping his hands back to his sides before making contact. “Sorry,” he barked out, the apology sincere even if it didn’t sound all that genuine. This wasn’t about Mack, she was just the easiest one to take it out on. It made him a piece of shit to even acknowledge that he knew that, but it was what it was. “It’s been a bad fucking day, alright?” Adrenaline still coursed through him, some part of him still that young boy who had been powerless against a grown man. He shut his eyes tight for a moment before blinking them back open. Softer now, almost pleading. Masks, all of them. “I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. Okay? It won’t happen again.”

[samueladamsdyer]

isadoramorgan​:

- $$$ -

“Do you think you’re a real boogeyman?” Isa questioned, the remark just as much a deflection of Sam’s question as it was something that needed clarification. Was he the implied devil? And was their conversation thus far the play? Because if so… well, the devil was a bit of a disappointment. Wasn’t that particular dance meant to be more fun?

Perhaps she should have been a bit less outwardly curious, but she could tell from the moment her head had involuntarily tilted in contemplation that the alcohol in her system was impacting her ability to play things cool. Sadly, she simply knew too little about Sam Dyer not to take some level of interest in what he had to say.

And what he was saying (without so much speaking the words) was that he wanted to be at her party, actually. Why else would he defend his costume?

“You think I haven’t gone after the werewolves? I overheard some little nerd ranting about how appropriate they are for the theme, but it sounded fake. I’m a regular Allison Argent over here,” she insisted, the eye contact she was maintaining as she spoke purposeful. What was his reaction to what she was saying? Was he dismissive? Why was he actually engaging with her?

The face could lie, but the eyes had a harder time. Such knowledge had come in handy several times prior during her business negotiations. It was more rare for her to employ it in a casual conversation, but when dealing with an unknown who was seemingly trying to give off villain vibes, any little trick to see behind the façade could be useful.

“I think that following a dress code is a pretty simple thing to do, so if you’re asking if you’re the first person I’ve costume checked, the answer is no. But since I’m very generous, I’ve chosen to let the werewolf thing slide. I was thinking about doing the same for you, but, y’know, the jury’s still out on that. Do you want me to have a problem with you?”

“I think I’m wearing dollar store face paint. It’s not that deep.” 

His intention was to knock her a little off balance, but perhaps he hadn’t given her enough credit. She was calculating, assessing, when he’d wrongly assumed she’d be all money and brain atrophy. 

But she was curious, judging by the way she seemed to subconsciously lean towards him. He could do something with that, anyway, even if he had to do some reassessments and calculations himself.

And honestly? Part of him was kind of hoping she might go in on him for the obvious lack of effort and funds that had gone into his costume. He knew she as probably already looking down her nose at him. At the Dyers in general, really. Were they not the exact type of people the Morgans were trying to run out of town? He wanted to poke at that part of her, wanted to dismantle her carefully crafted words and thrust the ugly truth of them into the light. 

Whoever Allison Argent was, though, he didn’t know, the name dragging his wandering mind back to the present for long enough to frown. “You know, I can’t really figure you out,” he said. Not a lie because he hadn’t tried. More so, he was hoping she might take it was the bait it was. “You throw this party with an incredibly broad theme that leaves the dress code up to interpretation, really. It depends on what your definition of a monster is, doesn’t it? But then you spend the night very generously hunting down werewolves and boogeymen because, what? They don’t quite fit with your aesthetic? Do I have that right?” He took a sip of his drink without breaking eye contact. Did he want her to have a problem with him? “Maybe I do.” He grinned, eyes glittering with challenge. “The party’s been a little bit... boring otherwise.”

[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​

[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?”

[samueladamsdyer]

isadoramorgan​:

***

If there was one thing that must be understood about Isa, it was that she considered herself to be a strong, smart, independent woman. She was a girlboss. She was unafraid to call people out on their shit… or find a way to manipulate them into feeling really bad about it in the first place.

But sometimes… she was also stupid.

It was rare, but on occasion she’d go to war with the little voice in the back of her mind telling her to be impulsive and ignore her self-preservation instincts. Maybe that was why she’d approached Sam Dyer in the first place - alcohol had nearly muted that little voice.

It was only once she was facing off against him that she clocked the vibes - very Little Red/Big Bad Wolf in “Hello, Little Girl” from the brilliant Sondheim’s Into the Woods. But she wasn’t a child, and even her internal thoughts had flagged that the comparison wasn’t very #girlboss of her.

No, they were two wolves meeting and sussing each other out.

But like… not in an A/B/O way, like those weirdos she’d had to befriend in high school would have dreamt up. In a normal way.

Anyway.

The voice inside her head continued to head towards mute as questions began to swirl around her mind instead. Questions including: What did she know about Sam Dyer? What had made him decide to show up? And perhaps most importantly, why, specifically, was he looking at her like that?

“Mmm, how very Don’t Look Under the Bed,” she remarked, temporarily at a loss for something better to say. Even though it wasn’t. Because he hadn’t even tried. And the makeup had even obscured the one thing he really had going for him.

Luckily, Sam soon said something absolutely idiotic and she was able to snap back to reality, a defensive “Persephone” escaping before she could craft a more measured approach.

It was very possible that Sam Dyer was stupid, so she quickly offered even more of an explanation. “Queen of the Underworld and goddess of spring, the dead, destruction, life, grain, and nature,” she listed off.

The purposeful pause that followed her words may have been brief, but it allowed her to truly look over the shoddy makeup job the male had shown up with. Also him in general… but mostly the makeup. Between the comment and the lack of effort, could she really let things slide?

“Has anyone ever really continued to believe in the boogeyman after reaching the age of four and/or ceasing to be afraid of the dark?”

.

Sam was satisfied with Isadora’s clear disapproval in his choice of attire. The fact that he’d had to adhere to a dress code at all had been irritating enough. The face paint had simply been emasculation. He wasn’t here for a party. 

Though to be fair, he wasn’t here for her either, but perhaps concessions could be made.

The Morgans were everything wrong with Gravewood. They came in with their shiny toys, flashing their no-limit black cards like it somehow made them better, and everyone else, the little people who had built this town, fell to the wayside. All they saw was undeveloped land and dollar signs, what businesses they could bring in that might drive out the riffraff and drive up the rent.

It disgusted him. She disgusted him. 

He’d been powerless before, a David and Goliath story with no slain giant. But he’d been learning to hit back. 

A slow, predatory smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He’d rankled her, if even a little, and he liked that. He liked her off-balance. And while he’d never been a scholar like Jamie, he wasn’t totally clueless. At least not in his bare minimum knowledge of Hades and Persephone. “Do you like to play with the devil, Morgan?”

His lips pulled back from his teeth in a smile that might have been more snarl at her challenge. His head canted to the side as he assessed her. As far as sparring partners were concerned, she left a lot to be desired. But this was a party, wasn’t it? He could have a little fun. “I wasn’t aware believability was part of the gods and monsters theme. I saw some werewolves earlier you might want to hunt down.” A pause, a narrowing of his eyes. A dare. “Or is it just me you have a problem with?”

[samueladamsdyer]

mackenziegthomas​:

- - -

“No! No.” Mack corrected quickly, because she knew Sam wasn’t dumb. She knew that tone. “Not that you’re drinking. That you’re- you’re here. So casually!” She continued, as if that explained anything at all, but she was just trying to talk around her issue. She didn’t want to be the idiot that said it out loud- it annoyed her that he didn’t care. He could see her, in the flesh, and so easily be that guy.

Mack opened her mouth to say something, but stopped, hanging mid-air for a moment before closing it. She wanted that not to hurt. She knew– they didn’t label anything, ever, but each time they did this she had herself believing that maybe this time was the time he cared back. Maybe finally, it was, but instead she got smacked in the face with reality. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re not my boyfriend.” She finally said, the sting still tingling, “Fine. We won’t do this nagging shit. Fuck you, Sam Dyer.”

But that didn’t feel like enough. It didn’t feel like the sting he had so casually smacked her in the chest with, and she planted a hand on his shoulder, shoving hard.

.

“’That I’m here’?” he repeated with an edge. “Do you lack basic reading comprehension or are you being purposely obtuse? I said I’d be here, I’m here.” If he remembered correctly, he’d said he didn’t know, but it was semantics at this point. 

He could see the moment his words struck home and maybe he did feel a little bad for the low blow. He, like everyone else in town, was well aware of the missing Thomas girl. And Sam knew Mack, perhaps in some ways better than most people did, and he knew how it was destroying her. He knew how he’d feel in the same position.

But then she shoved him and while he might have had it coming, all he saw in that moment was John Dyer and his heavy hand, John Dyer with alcohol on his breath and a sneer on his lips. His hand snapped out, grabbing her by the wrist hard as he tugged her towards him. His eyes were hard, mouth set in a straight line. “Don’t ever put your hands on me like that again. You get one.” He held on for a beat longer before he finally released her.

[samueladamsdyer]

indyerstraits​:

–

“I’m starting to doubt that everyday,” Jamie muttered as he searched Sam’s eyes for some semblance of the brother he knew. It was there behind the stormy grey clouds and brooding like a distant star in the galaxy. 

“What rabbit hole? Partying? Drugs?” You? he wanted to add, but couldn’t bring himself to throw that into Sam’s face either. He’d thought about following in Sam’s footsteps before, escaping the never ending cycle of labor and responsibilities. Of Gravewood, and their family. But Jamie wasn’t made of the same stuff. Behind his steel and Teflon was a soft heart and a need to provide, unwilling to pass the buck onto the next sorry soul when his life had already become disposable. 

“I don’t fuck around with that shit, you know that,” he said, annoyed at the mere suggestion of it. Jamie drank like a fish and smoked like a chimney but he had his limits too. Nights with Alec exposed him more to things he’d have never bothered with but Jamie rarely partook. A joint here, a cap there. He’d never lose himself in substances the way John and Margie had. He’d sworn not to. 

But then it hit him, the way Sam was speaking hardly sounded like he was referring to the chemicals in his pocket. Jamie furrowed his brow. “What are you really here for?” he asked, voice low even as he inched away. The pieces began to file together. Drugs, Sam’s presence, ‘working’. He could only think of one person who’d run a dealer up a mountain at an elite party. 

“Did Frank send you here?”

.

Sam resisted the urge to say that he didn’t know that, but that would have only served as more cannon fodder for Jamie, so he just pressed his lips together instead. There had to be some kind of balance Sam hadn’t found yet. Some way to have his hand in both worlds, because while out of sight, out of mind was nice in theory, it didn’t exactly stand in practice. They’d been through so much together, were haunted by the same ghosts, were carrying around the same traumas. And yet, the chasm between them felt impossibly wide.

“I mean you,” he said pointedly, “playing Sherlock fucking Holmes because I’m here and that makes you suspicious. I’m asking you to leave it.” Jamie wasn’t an idiot. He could connect dots with his eyes closed and Sam was certain no matter how tonight went, he would be on the receiving end of his brother’s ire. And likely disappointment. 

And then, as if just the thought had been a manifestation, he saw Jamie’s mind working, assessing, drawing conclusions. Sam had always been in awe of Jamie’s mind. He’d been running circles around everyone his entire life and Sam had been so sure it’d run him right out of town and into something better. Someplace better.

It made him so fucking mad that instead, they were here, toe to toe at a Morgan party like two strangers at war.

At the mention of Frank, Sam straightened ever so slightly, crossed his arms even tighter around his chest. The silence was thick between them. He didn’t answer Jamie’s question, but it was an answer all the same.

[samueladamsdyer]

indyerstraits​:

–

Jamie scoffed and rolled his eyes. There was a time he wished to be more like him, only now he found the distaste others had whenever they were dealing with him. It was like a familial trait to be unbearably smug, though Jamie thought he carried it much better.

“Yeah? Tell that to the guy who owns the Bodega,” he told him, recalling a time in the past where Sam went the extra mile for cheese and bologna sandwiches. He gave another laugh, dry and humorless. “Besides, I wouldn’t call the Gravewood Ghouls ‘personal security’.”

Jamie took a step back, ready to walk away from the argument that seemed to be going nowhere. He didn’t know what he was expecting from Sam when the guy had been dodging the family for ages but he wasn’t expecting cold apathy the way he was exuding it now. As he turned, Sam piped up with an offer he couldn’t help but spring at, eyes darting from left to right in fear of having been overheard.

“Drugs? You’re dealing drugs now?” he hissed, closing the gap between them as he planted a hand over Sam’s pocket. His eyes bore into his brother’s fiercely. “What the fuck, Sam. After what you’ve seen that shit do to Mom and Dad, you’re going around passing out the poison destroying this town?”

The drug epidemic in Gravewood was a poorly kept secret. After all, there wasn’t much else to do but try to escape the deluge of depression under illusions of grandeur and neon lights. Jamie had seen it happen time and time again, only he didn’t expect Sam to have sunken so low. It all made sense now. The thought of him injecting drugs directly into their parents came into full view.

Jamie narrowed his eyes, a creeping suspicion edging into his head. “Are you doing this shit too?”

.

Apathy was, in its own way, a wall. And Sam would swear it was a necessary one. The deeper he got into this, the more he knew he needed to disentangle himself from his old life. He was under no disillusions about how this was all likely to end for him. But if he could work his way up, if he could grab at that power and find a way to disperse it back into the hands of the people he cared about, then he figured it was an even trade.

Sam shrugged, flashed his palms. “Guess you caught me then.” His smarmy smirk fell from his face, eyebrows drawn as he let something serious pass over his features. “Look, I know what you probably think of me, okay? So can we just skip over the third degree?” His voice wasn’t pleading— he would never beg for anything again— but there was an undertone of something there. A warning, maybe. A request. Don’t get involved. 

He really should have foreseen the way his words might land with one of the only other people who understood what it was like to grow up the way they had. But maybe Sam just gave Jamie too much credit, expecting him to fill in the blanks like they weren’t entire books full of those blank, contextless pages. The only way to change anything was to get down and dirty with it. Why else did Jamie think he was even here?

“Jesus Christ, Jamie. No.” He darted a quick glance around as he pressed his head in close to Jamie’s, the act all but dropped as his voice fell to a harsh whisper. “Give me some fucking credit, alright? I might not be the genius between us, but I’m not an idiot.” He tossed another suspicious glance around at the people in their immediate vicinity, searching for prying ears or curious eyes. “Don’t go down this rabbit hole, you hear me? Tonight you make sure you stay as far away from it as you can. Got it?”

[samueladamsdyer]

mackenziegthomas​:

- - -

Mack wanted to be able to match the uncaring, aloof attitude Sam had right now. It would be so much easier if she didn’t care about this, but she did. She hated the way Sam standing her up had sunk the very small amount of good she felt about tonight. It ignited a rage in her that she couldn’t tamper, which further ignited the flame, like some pointless rage circle.

“Late enough to stand me up, but not too late to put on makeup?” She rolled her eyes, realizing that she was on that edge of too drunk when it took her a moment to settle back on his face, “Just fine. Only had to beg Leo to drive me. My problem is that you’re here and just, drinking. Just drinking. Casually late, and were you even going to say hello? What made you so late?”

.

It didn’t take an expert on the subject to know that Mack was wasted. Sam had a lot of practice with even the most functioning of alcoholics, but messy drunks tended to irritate him. He set his jaw against that annoyance, self-aware enough to know that it was almost entirely misplaced. His machinations tonight were intricate: he needed to be seen, but he couldn’t be a spectacle. 

So he allowed himself a second to draw in a steadying breath. Years had whittled away his patience to nothing and he was on no one’s leash, so he had nothing to answer for. “You’re mad that I’m drinking?” he questioned, saying each word slowly, tone needling at her with condescension. “Real fuckin’ mature, Thomas. Are you gonna ground me?” He barked out a laugh, made entirely of serrated edges. “I told you I had something come up. And we’re not gonna do this nagging bullshit. I’m not your boyfriend.”

[samueladamsdyer]

indyerstraits​:

–

The tension between them was palpable. Sam was dodging the question and Jamie was scouring the lines of his face for answers he’d been looking for since Sam had left. Perhaps this was a thing Jamie remained naïve in. Willfully ignorant of. He didn’t want to think that Sam had become as much of a monster everyone said he was, dodging birthdays and the people he called family for money and infamy. Not when he still remembered him making KD and hotdogs for Friday night movies on VHS. 

“You were invited,” Jamie repeated incredulously. Somehow he doubted it but he didn’t know what Sam had gotten himself into lately, whose pies he’d stuck his fingers into. The Dyer name was a natural repellant for most of the well-to-do families in town, but a beacon for their rebellious daughters. Sam was a bit old to be playing Danny Zuko, but Jamie didn’t have a whole lot of confidence in the youths of Gravewood when they looked up to people like Charlotte Delyle.

Jamie scoffed at Sam’s posturing, folding his own arms across his chest as he raised his chin to meet his smarminess with a blank stare. Sam had grown up, but so did he. They stood nearly eye to eye now, Sam only taller by a few inches.

“By whom? Last I checked, Morgan didn’t consort with criminals. She barely consorts with human beings,” he said, “Not that I’d consider you much of one these days either. You look like a fuckin’ old geezer trying to relive his glory days and the crusty make-up isn’t fooling anybody.”

He narrowed his eyes at the pointed jab at his ‘alcoholism’ as if liquor wasn’t something everyone around them indulged in. Jamie had heard the judgement in Sam’s voice before in arguments past, long ago when they had still been real brothers. It annoyed him to the point of wanting to spit out that he’d come to desecrate the Astoria with Alec’s greasy butt print on Isadora’s bill but he clamped his mouth shut instead and glared.

.

This right here was exactly why Sam made himself scarce. The judgment in Jamie’s eyes, the way he saw far too much of him, made Sam uncomfortable. He had worked hard to grab a fistful of power for himself, to not be another small town statistic buried beneath poverty and left to rot in the periphery. But defenses were nothing against people who knew your true weaknesses, and Jamie might as well been clutching the blueprints in a fist.

“Is there an echo in here?” He watched with a sharp eye as Jamie met his stance with one of his own, folding his arms and staring Sam down like they were evenly matched. It was strange, existing on this side of the line. For most of Sam’s life, they had been fighting the same war and now they stood toe to toe on what felt like a battlefield, exchanging glares like bullets. 

He chuckled darkly at Jamie’s jabs. Words might have been his little brother’s weapon of choice, but Sam’s world was grittier now and they glanced off him like foam against armor. “I think if they didn’t want me here, I wouldn’t be here. That’s the sort of thing that comes with having enough money to hire personal security.” That was distinctly untrue. If Sam hadn’t been allowed in, he would have found a way. Not because he was chasing some nostalgic feeling of lost ‘glory days’— he’d never had those to begin with— but because he had a job to do.

“Jesus, Jamie. loosen up. It’s a party.” He patted his pocket and lifted a brow. “Need a party favor?” A smile stretched across his mouth that was little more than bared teeth. “First hit’s free for family.”

[mackenziegthomas]

for @samueladamsdyer​

There were a myriad of reasons Mack did not want to be at this party as it wore on. Very briefly, it had been saved by a ride from Leo, but as the night wore on, Mack couldn’t hide from the dangerous cocktail of emotions that stirred inside of her.

Guilt, fear, annoyance, and anger mixed around and clouded any other emotions, to create something close to eruption. Which was fine, Mack had a firm grip on the cap and held it closed.

Enter, Sam Dyer. Or well, enter Sam Dyer in Mack’s line of sight. Whatever grip she had on that explosion, slipped, and Mack stormed up to him, ready to unleash.

“Oh, so you finally made it!” Mack grumbles, “I’m glad you look like the dead- because that’s what you are to me right now.”

[samueladamsdyer]

Sam cursed under his breath as he scratched at an itch at his brow only to come away with fingers smeared in black and white face paint. He hadn’t wanted to come to this in the first place, but the mandatory themed costumes had been mocking him all night. He felt ridiculous on top of anxious and irritated and he pulled his phone from his pocket to check the time.

A shrill voice stabbed into his subconscious, recognition immediately setting the hunch of his shoulders as he loosed a sigh. “Like I said,” he started, voice measured and bored, “I was running late.” With the free hand not currently clutching his phone in his pocket, he took a casual sip of his drink. “But, alright Sixth Sense, I’ll bite. It looks like you made it here just fine, so what exactly is the problem?”

[isadoramorgan]

There were various reasons for one to throw a party. To flaunt your wealth. To make the level of your influence crystal clear to all attendees. To make connections.

In Isa’s case, it was all of the above. But she’d also done it for the fashion.

Ever since she was a girl, she’d taken any excuse she could get to drape herself in expensive fabrics and beautiful jewelry. And Halloween? It was a theatre kid’s dream. Who better to throw the party of the century than a girl who had always gone entirely too hard for the holiday?

She had made sure that her outfit for the evening would be pitch perfect, the gold standard for the theme. She’d hired one of her favorite designers to craft a unique dress, arranged for equally as unique accessories that conveyed the story of Persephone, and brought in a makeup artist from out of town. New York out of town - not some rinky-dink little West Virginia spot just a smidge larger than Gravewood.

And she looked fucking spectacular.

The same, sadly, could not be said for Samuel Dyer.

She’d just emerged from the dance floor when she spotted a tall man with skeleton makeup on nearby, and it hadn’t been difficult to make an identification from there.

Two-dollar carnival face painting and jeans? Several people had put in a valiant effort to be up to par for an Isadora Morgan™ soiree, but he was not one of them. It barely helped that the jeans were black.

God, did an embossed invitation mean nothing?

“And the specific god or monster that you are is…?” she questioned, grateful that she’d stepped far enough away from the music to be heard. She’d maybe had a glass of champagne or two by that point (stashed away specifically for her), but inebriated or not, she knew she’d want to be heard.

@samueladamsdyer​

[samueladamsdyer]

Isadora Morgan.

If the name didn’t scream pretentious then the gaudy, overdone grandness of the party would have done it for her. All this was was public masturbation, rubbing money in the faces of a town that existed almost exclusively below the poverty line. A pile of shit that shone like glitter was still just shit. 

Disdain pinched his features as he made his way through the party. He mingled as much as he could stomach, helped himself to more than his fair share of food, and ensured he had been seen. 

That had, inevitably, caught the attention of said pretentious party host herself.

Lithe body leaned casually against the wall, dragging a lazy, leering gaze up the length of her bright red, bejeweled dress as she prowled to a stop in front of him. He traced curves and planes until his eyes locked on hers. A sly smile curled one side of his mouth and he leaned forward as if he might clue her in on a secret. “I’m the boogeyman,” he whispered, straightening and allowing his smile to spread slow but wide. Eyeing her again, he nodded his chin in her direction. “And what are you supposed to be?” His eyes gleamed and glittered with mischief, harboring a darkness that tried to beckon her towards it. A trap, the open jaws of a Venus flytrap. “The god of craft room drawers?”

[samueladamsdyer]

indyerstraits​:

–

“Working on what? What’s more important than family?” 

Jamie knew exactly where Sam’s priorities laid recently, but he was unwilling to let go of the notion that they’d all held each other in the same place. There had been a time that Jamie remembered looking up to his older brother, believing that Sam had all the answers until he one day disappeared and became an elusive cryptid only spotted in news reports about local gang dealings. It was surreal. Absurd. Jamie could hardly believe it was his life. 

“Seriously, Sam. What the hell’s been so important that you can’t drop by every now and again? Stella still remembers you, you know.”

And mom and dad. And Johnnie, and him. Jamie couldn’t bring it in himself to say that he’d missed him when he wasn’t even sure that was what he missed anymore. It was no secret that Sam had held the tent up while he lived at home, but all of them would’ve if he had stayed. Now it was just him and Johnnie, but mostly him. Jamie wasn’t the one who wanted a family of his own. He couldn’t even fathom it.

The resentment clogged his sentiment like a rusty drain pipe. He huffed at Sam’s dismissal, glancing over his darkened garb with distaste. 

“Screw you, man. If you’re such a badass, how’d the hell you even get in here? Morgan’s got an iron lock on the gate and you don’t exactly fit the vibe.”

.

Sam didn’t answer Jamie’s question, simply folded his arms across his chest. The reality of his presence here made him a little uneasy to think about, if he was being honest. He’d seen— and done— his fair share, but there was an uncomfortable foreboding slithering beneath his skin. Anticipation clenched its fist around his chest as his face remained impassive. Bored, even. 

There was a churning in Sam’s stomach he didn’t appreciate, his eyes flitting around the room rather than settle on his little brother. Because the Jamie that stood before him wasn’t just the jaded, hollowed out version he’d grown into, but he was also that wide-eyed six year old clinging to a single shred of innocence.

And Sam felt every bit the eleven year old boy burdened with an impossible task and drowning in his desperate need to do the right thing without having any idea what that looked like in the face of Jamie’s questioning.

The truth was, he’d buried himself so deep in the Revenants that days of the week meant nothing to him. There was no use measuring time in months and weeks when any day could be his last. He didn’t care what the days wanted to call themselves so long as he was around to see the next one. So, Stella’s birthday had gone by unnoticed, unacknowledged by him. And that made him wish she didn’t remember him. At least then maybe the bitter burn of guilt wouldn’t be creeping up his throat like bile.

He laughed, though. A single, harsh scoff of a thing. “I was invited,” he said haughtily, goading, “walked right through those doors.” He narrowed his eyes in the direction of the entrance before they slid back to Jamie, glinting in a way that dared him to call him on it. But then he straightened, leaned back casually on a heel. It was easier to blend in behind Jamie’s ire, so he couldn’t resist the taunt. “And everyone knows Dyers don’t turn down free booze. Or is that not why you’re here?”

[indyerstraits]

Jamie wouldn’t have gone so far to say that he was having a good time at the party but he could admit that dragging Alec along was a good move. At least for him. Watching his antics from the plush, velvet couches while flanked by treats and liquor was as close to Olympus as he would ever get. His tired bones were satiated by the 5-star comfort and although he’d fallen asleep twice, he’d always woken up better than the last. 

“You’re an idiot,” he said up at Alec while others circling the table he’d launched himself onto clapped and cheered at his impression of Mick Jagger. Even Jamie felt a small smile creep up onto his face as he sipped his drink and watched his friend make a fool out of himself. 

He couldn’t remember the last time he felt so relaxed, almost certain that it was because of the top shelf liquor and secret puppy kisses behind marble pillars. It was sickening. 

And he loved it.

He surveyed the party with a sense of nostalgia for all that he’d missed as a teenager. For all the times he spent weekends cleaning grease from air vents and tidying tables. For all the youth that he’d missed. One night of debauchery wasn’t enough to make up for all that he’d lost, but it was something. 

His gaze stopped on a figure through the doorway into the next room, a dark smudge upon the white-gold decor. Jamie watched for a bit as the too-familiar man chortled and lumbered through the small swathe of nymphs that had flocked towards him.

Slugging back the rest of his drink, he placed his glass down on the table before getting up to approach him. He cut through the girls like a lightning bolt in a rainstorm. Nothing good ever lasted too long for him, did it?

“You can show up at a party but you can’t even show up at home?” he said, his stiff stance screaming confrontational. “The fuck is wrong with you? It was Stella’s birthday last month, you jackass.”

@samueladamsdyer​

[samueladamsdyer]

Sam surveyed the scene with a look of disdain, a drink appearing in his hand despite the fact that he hadn’t asked, but he threw it back all the same. Two other men flanked him as they walked through grand archways, the place decorated to the nines. It was all so very... anti-Gravewood.

Sam didn’t like it.

But he wasn’t here for a party, he had a job to do. It was easier to focus on the task at hand than to think about what came next. And easier still as the desperate women of Gravewood began to orbit him, revolving closer and closer still until a few were brave enough to begin vying for his attention.

He supposed he could entertain them.

Enter Jamie.

Sam’s eyes rolled towards the ceiling as swallowed down another sip of another drink he hadn’t fetched for himself. “I’m working,” he said, eyes on the room before cutting back to his younger brother. Surprise warred with indignation. He hadn’t been under any sort of impression he’d been needed, let alone wanted, back at the shithole they called home. 

He figured this was just a Jamie tactic, to try and poke at him for things he should have felt guilty for. If it hadn’t been Stella’s birthday, surely it would have been something else. Every tense bone in Jamie’s body screamed that he was looking for a fight, and for once, Sam didn’t have the energy to give it to him. Intricately complicated feelings spiderwebbed themselves through his insides, a tangled mess of shit that say uncomfortably on his chest. Looking at Jamie only made it sharpen. “Why don’t you just go grab yourself another drink and leave me to it?”

[samueladamsdyer]

if you squint and use your imagination a lot with this photo, you will see Sam Dyer at the party in a leather jacket, black jeans, and the bare minimum effort put into skull makeup on his face. just enough to get through the door. that and a really threatening glare, I’m sure

[mattdaddario-online]

Matthew Daddario x Knotted. (2022)