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itjazzbicch · 3 years

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Lessons

Pairing: Santana x Fem Reader

Summary: The reader is the Princess of Long Island, now the women's champion in AEW. She had always been cocky and confident, that doubling now that she is champion and when she crosses paths with the Inner Circle, she isn't afraid to speak her mind, but also triggers Santana, her attitude wanting to make him teach her a lesson and put her in her place...

Warnings: SMUT!! (LIKE A LOT) (18+!!)

Requested by: Anon (Whoever you are, I hope you enjoy!)

Word Count: 3209

Tag List: @demonqueen29 @jessiebean00 @new-zealand-chic @crowleysqueenofhell @justamess44 @thatpanpal @hungmanhorsecarriage @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @linziland13 @xxx-jazz-xxx @writtingrose

I DO OWN THIS GIF

Just when we all thought the beef between the Inner Circle and the Pinnacle would die down, it didn't. Which became a nuisance for everyone.

I had just won the AEW women's championship at Double or Nothing. My match should have been the main event! Not all of these childish boys bickering.

Inner Circle had some screen time, celebrating their victory, but of course, MJF tried to ruin that and their little moment ran up part of my time, and little did they know, they made a big mistake because the time they took was mine.

Everyone was a bit confused whenever they heard my music playing, strutting in my red bottom heels and brand-new black, cocktail dress and that new, shiny title over my shoulder.

"Aye, cut my music," I demanded, smiling at all of the men in the ring, all of their eyes on me, "Don't get me wrong. Inner Circle versus Pinnacle. You have had your shining moments. Your stadium stampede match, not bad at all. Nowhere near as good as mine, but not bad."

I was laughing at all of them, they were clearly upset by my words and I wasn't even done yet, sighing:

"You all are talented, but this feud, oh god! It's more stale than Shida's run as women's champion, haha! You guys got to have your Lion King moment at Blood and Guts, you had your pathetic excuse for a stadium stampede match. Now, get the hell out of here."

They all were exchanging looks, in disbelief, but I snapped some sense into them, my inner bitch coming out when I cocked my hip, scoffing, "Did I stutter? The princess of Long Island is here and I am your women's champion. Show some respect, let the real star here shine, and get the hell out of my ring."

Finally, one of them did something, Wardlow sitting on the ropes for me so I could enter the ring.

"Nice to see one of you have manners," I groaned, but smiling at Wardlow, "Thanks, honey."

"Congrats on winning the title," MJF tried to smile at me, but I always saw through his fakeness, just rolling my eyes, taking the center of the ring with my microphone.

I was ready to have my moment, addressing my victory, but Inner Circle was still in the ring and it annoyed me quickly.

"You boys sure are stubborn," I murmured under my breath, but let them have a moment whenever Jericho stepped up to me, saying:

"The princess of Long Island, Y/N! Nice to see that you're an even bigger brat now that you are champion."

Any time someone called me a brat, it never bothered me. I just smiled, being sarcastic like usual when I smiled at Chris:

"Thank you for addressing me by my titles. I really appreciate it. Now Chris, you know what it's like to be a champion here in AEW. You sure had your moments and celebrations while you were the world champ. Let the princess enjoy hers. Now, go make yourself useful and get me a bottle of champagne backstage and not that disgusting thing you call the bubbly."

The crowd had mixed emotions about me, but one thing I did know was that they sure loved it whenever I was making rude comments to someone and embarrassing them. Again, I went to the middle of the ring, expecting them to leave, but I heard behind me:

"Naw, shorty needs to learn a lesson."

Quickly, I turned around to see Santana in front of Chris, clearly pissed off. I didn't back down at all; I was the one to take a step closer, smiling in Santana's face. Even though I was smiling, I was pissed off too.

When I lifted my microphone, my New Yorker accent began to came out, making sure there was plenty of attitude when I scoffed, "I need to learn a lesson?"

"Yeah, you do and I'll gladly put you in your place!" Santana yelled at me, taking Chris's microphone, "We fought like hell at Double or Nothing. We fought for something a lot more important than a title! We-"

"That's exactly your problem!" I yelled interrupting him, all of them listening when I continued, "Here's the thing about wrestling. It's about wrestling and winning championships! Everyone wants to make alliances, make 'families' and that leads to failure! I've been solo my whole career and you see, everywhere I go, I got boys drooling, girls wanting to be me, always being booked, and most importantly, winning titles!"

Santana had nothing to say just yet, but steaming with anger whenever I added:

"For example, other than Chris, when the hell did any of you win a title here in AEW?"

I left a moment of silence, waiting for an answer but there wasn't any.

"Oof," I cringed, "That's what I thought. You guys think you're the shit but in reality, you're a bunch of losers!"

"Losers, my ass!" Santana snapped and seeing how angry he was made me laugh hysterically, but I snapped back into bitch mode, flashing my title, cocking my hip, and flipping my hair.

"My time is very expensive and you boys wasted enough of it. And Santana, you better watch who you're talking to. You're lucky I'm in my red bottoms and this dress or I'd show you how a champion does it right here in this ring."

"Is that right?" Santana smiled, licking his lip and getting in my face.

He was hiding his anger by smiling, but I smiled right back, inches away from his face, if I got any closer our noses would have touched.

"That's right," I whispered, "Unless you want to prove me wrong. Actually, it wouldn't be the first time I wrestled in a dress."

"I got you, girl," Santana smiled, backing away, "You just wait!"

"Don't keep me waiting too long," I smiled back, winking at him, but when I turned to the crowd, I rolled my eyes.

Finally! Finally! I had my time in the ring and I also sat on commentary for one of the women's matches. It annoyed me that Tony tried to keep asking me questions about what just took place between me and the Inner Circle, but I told him to shut up and he listened. Thankfully, Jim told him how he shouldn't piss of royalty.

Right after that match, I went back to my dressing room. A bottle of champagne was truly calling my name. Too much annoyance consumed my mind for the night.

"Y/N," One of the backstage crew members called out, a bottle in his hands when he approached me, "A gift for you."

"No way," I laughed, taking the bottle that was champagne, one of my favorites actually, "That stupid idiot actually got me a bottle!"

"Actually," The member murmured, a bit scared as he did interrupt me a bit, "Here's the note."

I took the note from him, reading it and it said, "From one New Yorker to another."

MJF maybe? I tried thinking of who would have left it behind. After what I said out there, it definitely wasn't anyone in the Inner Circle. Either way, I didn't care. I just took it and went inside my room, demanding from the crew member:

"A Champagne glass. Now."

That member did not hesitate and while in my room, I was just watching the show, opening up the bottle while waiting. After what felt like forever, I heard a knock on my door.

"Finally," I groaned, "It's open!"

That same crew member opened the door, but then someone grabbed it. I couldn't tell who it was, but I saw their hand taking the champagne glass and a small bucket of ice.

"Thanks, but I got it from here."

Santana? Well, I found my fellow New Yorker who gifted me with champagne.

"Aww," I smiled while sitting up, "I only asked for a glass and he also brought me some ice for the bottle. How sweet is that?"

Santana wasn't thrilled to see me and I made sure he didn't get away from my smart comments whenever I stood up, mumbling, "Only if he got here sooner."

Without any words, I took the glass and ice over to the small table where I had the bottle waiting.

"So, you came over here for a reason. Care to tell?" I asked, pouring a glass, "Also, nice choice."

"I already told you out in the ring," Santana sighed, his hands in his pockets while he came around the couch and to the table where I was standing, "Maybe now that you're not on camera with the crowd around you, just maybe your ego won't get to your head."

"You're funny," I whispered, giggling while taking a sip, "Nothing about an ego. I just know my worth."

"Chris was right whenever he called you a brat," He mumbled, becoming annoyed with me, but I stopped beating around the bush.

"As I recall, you said that I need to be taught a lesson," I reminded him, smiling, "It would be a shame if I passed up the offer, but I don't think this would be the place to have a proper wrestling match."

"You really think you can beat me in the ring?" He smirked, thinking I was crazy.

"I know that I can," I smiled, "You think I'm afraid to wrestle a man? I could take that world title off of Omega if I wanted to."

Santana just laughed at me, shaking his head when he said, "You're crazy."

"Not crazy, just very ambitious and self-confident. What's wrong with that?" I asked, cocking an eyebrow, "No matter what 'lesson' you teach me-"

I was sure we both knew what was going to happen next, so I made the first move, getting close to him like when we were in the ring, just inches away from one another, finishing with:

"It's not going to change a thing."

There was no fighting the smile that was creeping onto my face when Santana got even closer, towering over me but still keeping direct eye contact, leaning his head down a little, our noses almost touching when he whispered:

"You sure about that?"

"We just went through this. Go ahead. Try to prove me wrong," I chuckled, seeing him shake a little when I picked up my leg, my thigh running between both of his, whispering, "But be careful how you hold me. I'm not just a princess, I'm a weapon."

All of the tension between us shattered like glass, about dropping my glass whenever his lips hit mine like a truck. There was no way I could deny it, he was a damn good kisser and it drove me crazy, taking him by surprise when I pushed him against the wall.

His hands were tugging at my dress, pulling it above my hips. I was smiling more when I felt his large, warm hands sliding down, taking two handfuls of my ass, biting my lip, and making me gasp hard when he planted a firm, swift smack on my ass.

It had me breathing heavily and it fired me up. I took two handfuls of his shirt, whispering against his lips, "Damn, you trying to make me cum already?"

"You like that?" Santana smiled, getting a moan out of me when he hit me with another one.

After that one, I snapped, wanting to get down and dirty. His eyes were locked on me, smiling when I stepped out of my panties, letting my dress fall, staying in my heels.

"You must not have listened when I told you that I'm a weapon," I huffed, ready to go back to him, but he came at me, throwing off his jacket, sitting me on the back of the couch, his shirt going next, hands at his jeans when I pulled him by his shoulders into another kiss.

I hopped down from the couch the moment I saw his briefs, getting a good look for myself, liking what I saw, making the rush in me pick up the speed.

"I'm not known for being speechless, but damn," I chuckled, my hand stroking his cock softly, watching him bite his lip.

He let me have my own little moment of fun, but immediately after, he took me by the wrist, twirling me around so that I was facing the couch, bending me over it. The anticipation was killing me; Santana adding to it with every move he made, his hand around my throat, bringing my head back a little so he could whisper in my ear:

"It's time you learn your lesson."

"This seems like a very fun lesson if you ask me-" I chuckled, but ended up breathless, gasping for a moment, then biting my lip.

I felt his crown pop into me, having to stretch me wide with every inch that slid up, which was a good bit, hitting every sensitive part along my walls. I had to bite my lip hard, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of hearing me truly moan just yet.

"Got nothing smart to say now huh?" He snickered, thrusting into me hard, keeping his hips pinned against me and that made the moans I was holding back jump out, "Come on, I know you have a loud mouth."

"Got damn you," I whispered under my breath, closing my eyes and just taking in the crazy good feeling, it becoming hard to handle how he was bottoming me out already.

It was hard to believe how hard and fast he could go for so long, my hands gripping onto the end of the couch, trying to rock my hips back into him, but his pace was a bit too fast for me, his hands at my hips, sliding down to my thighs a bit, squeezing them hard with each thrust.

Again, I tried rocking back into him and when I did, his crown went past my sweet spot, making my legs shake like hell, bending over a little further, burying my face in the couch cushion.

Of course, he had to add to it, slapping my ass hard, then taking my hair, pulling my head back.

"Trying to hide something?" He huffed, laughing a bit, but burying himself deep, making me moan out so loudly, barely pulling his hips back, then pounding into me, growling in my ear, "Everyone in this damn building is going to hear you screaming my name. There ain't no hiding it, Y/N."

I was already a moaning mess, but there was one thing I wasn't doing and that was saying his name. With the mindset I have, I didn't want to give him that satisfaction, but that mindset was broken.

Being in heels definitely didn't help my legs, they were still shaking like hell, Santana's hand still pulling at my hair when he leaned back, pulling his cock all the way down and slamming every inch back.

"Fuck Santana!" I cried out, not even trying to fight it anymore.

"Huh?" He huffed, pulling back on me a little more so that I was almost standing, "I couldn't hear you."

I could feel tears form a bit from the way every nerve in my body was burning. My whole body burning like a wildfire. All of the heat coiling up in my core, the burning making my knees weak; I was barely able to stand up and if that wasn't enough, my ass received another swift smack. It made me smile, my ass tingling and I could feel it steaming.

"You're fucking amazing, Santana," I praised, smiling with more moans, but he had me right back to whining and nearly screaming, using his foot to move my legs, spreading them a little wider, bringing me up all the way, his chest against my back.

My body was ready to fall like a game of Jenga, his hand sliding down my inner hip and rubbing my clit rapidly, his hips still rolling, using his forearm to push mine down, making his crown go even deeper. I was sure he was at my lower stomach, that's where I felt all of the impact.

All I could do was whine and moan helplessly, my walls beginning to pulsate hard and I was ready to let it all go, let my orgasm run free, but he started slowing down.

"Santana," I whined, trying to move my hips, "Don't do this to me."

"I'm not fully convinced that you learned your lesson," Santana scoffed, "But I'm about to find out."

He began to give me slow thrusts, but every single one was hard, still able to keep the sense of my orgasm around, almost triggering it, but not letting it happen. Sharp whines fell from my lips with every thrust, his hand still at my clit.

"Please, Santana," I asked, trying not to sound like I was begging, but that's what he wanted.

"Huh?" He teased, beginning to pick up his pace a little more, "I'm having a hard time hearing you. Especially with you moaning like that."

He knew I was ready to snap. I tried to fight it, but with every thrust, every moan, I was becoming desperate, his ungodly speed bringing my orgasm right back again and I didn't want it going anywhere; So, I gave him what he wanted.

"Please just-" I began, having to swallow my pride, "Please just let me cum, Santana. Please, please."

"That's all you had to do," He whispered, bending me over the couch again, lifting one of my legs and going so hard, but finally, with a super tight clench of my walls, wrapped around him so tight, I could feel every part of his cock slide up and when his crown went past my sweet spot again, I actually let out a loud scream.

"Oh, my fuc-" I cried, holding onto one of his hands for dear life, "Santana!"

My body was going crazy, shaking and tensing up at the same time. Santana actually helped a bit when he held me by the sides, feeding me some softer thrusts while all of the wet heat just fell out onto him, still getting some faint moans out of me while I was trying to catch my breath.

"Told you I was going to put you in your place," Santana chuckled, but I just ignored his comment for now.

My brain felt like it was lagging, my body ready to just drop and I even admitted that when I whispered, "And I thought wrestling was rough."

Santana heard me and laughed, leaning down, teasing me, "Aww, the princess can't take a few rough strokes?"

"I'm still standing ain't I?" I smirked, fighting through the shaking and standing up, "In red bottoms too."

"They ain't as red as your ass though," He noted, stroking my ass where he slapped it, and even, I laughed at it.

"I will admit," I sighed, swallowing my pride, looking back at him to say, "Maybe you did actually teach me a lesson."

"Trust me, whether if you admit it or not," Santana smiled, lighting tapping my ass again, kissing me when he whispered, "I know I did."

#wrestling #wrestling imagine #wrestling fic #wrestling smut #wrestling oneshot #aew #aew imagine #aew fic #aew smut #aew oneshot #Santana #Santana x reader #santana imagine #santana fic #santana smut #santana oneshot #request #read and enjoy

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elizacornwall · 3 years

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Vengeance is an Idiot's Game - Chapter 24 - After Effects

Read all the published chapters here. -------------------------------------------------- Her head was pounding something fierce. Waking up later than usual, the sun was glaring into Eliza’s face and all she wanted to do was to cover herself with her blanket, disappearing from life. She felt sick and hungry at the same time, not sure which feeling should take priority. Turning away from the painful blazing ball in the sky, she pulled the blanket over her head, not ready to face the day yet. How much did she drink last night? She had a couple beers before the dance, then there was whiskey at the campfire… The dance. She could feel her face flush red as the memory came back. Dutch’s initial invitation and then Sadie, practically throwing her into Arthur’s arms. Sure, Sadie had done it in a very elegant way, an elegance she wouldn’t have attributed the woman before, yet she still… What, passed her on? Set her up? For the last ten years of her life, this was what she had tried to escape. Her father wanting to fix her up with some man of his choosing, and now Sadie Adler was playing matchmaker too? It was infuriating, humiliating. Knowing what she did about Eliza’s feelings towards her father, how could she have done this to her? Yet… Dancing with Arthur had certainly been preferable to dancing with Dutch. Maybe she had just wanted to spare her from Molly’s anger… She had admitted to Sadie that all she’d gotten from the pretty redhead was angry glances and cold silence whenever she had tried to talk to her. The pounding in her temples intensified and she decided not to think about this conflict in her mind anymore for the time being. It was bad enough to wake up as if she had been rolled over by a stagecoach, she didn’t need to ponder over whether she’d been thrown in front of it by someone she trusted too. Bottom line was, she had liked dancing with Morgan and thinking back to the way he’d gently held her waist… Her stomach lurched as the strange sensation bubbled up again, and she could just about throw off her cover and stumble around Sadie’s wagon before she involuntarily emptied the contents of her gut onto the ground behind it. She felt dizzy and the whole world was still spinning. Keeping herself upright by desperately clutching onto the wagon next to her, she managed to shuffle back to her cot. The sunlight still hurt her eyes, and she groaned loudly as she let herself fall on the edge, annoyed to have let it get that far.

“Welcome back to the livin’, little Miss Sunshine”, Sadie’s hoarse voice sounded from her right, the grin on her lips audible without needing to see her face. “You sleep well?” The blonde woman was leaning against the wagon, taking in her undoubtedly pitiful appearance. Eliza was even wearing the same clothes as last night, boots included. Her answer only consisted in another pained groan and she buried her head in her palms, elbows resting on the knees. She was not ready to welcome the world right now. She ignored the approaching footsteps, wishing everyone would just go away. “You’re awake! Here, I got some yarrow off Charles, I’mma make you some tea with it. Should help with your head.” With great effort she lifted her head, squinting up at Morgan who was holding out a bunch of pretty red flowers in front of her face. She couldn’t help but cock one eyebrow, smiling slyly. “I thought you’re supposed to bring the lady flowers before you ask her to dance.” The range of expressions on his face was all worth it, surprise at her quick thinking quickly transforming into a bashful glance, then there was a trace of embarrassment and finally concluding in an eye roll of annoyance. She stifled a laugh. “I ain’t asked you to dance”, he just muttered, but the colour in his cheeks betrayed his overly blasé tone. “If you’re well enough to go spewing sarcasm I wonder if ya need this tea at all.” So, he was shy too, as well as a gentleman. How in the world was he a murdering, thieving outlaw again…? Eliza laughed, wincing as it sent a fresh jolt of throbbing pain through her head. “Thank you, and my apologies. Some tea would be lovely”, she answered, eyes closed and rubbing her fingers against her temples in a fruitless attempt to ease the headache. He returned a few minutes later, passing her a cup with steaming water. The flowers were now submerged at the bottom, releasing a touch of orange colour and a strange, astringent smell. Morgan sat down on the little stool, Sadie had taken up the space next to her on the cot. Eliza bowed her head, stretching her neck out slowly. “Thanks guys. You can head off and do whatever, I’ll be fine. There’s no use in sitting here mothering me”, she murmured, half irritated and half ashamed by their overprotective manner towards her self-inflicted misery. Sadie chuckled. “We ain’t goin’ anywhere, might not look like I’m dyin’ like you do, but I ain’t feelin’ like a spring chicken either.” Arthur hummed in agreement. “Where’s your flower soup then?” Eliza replied in slight jest, lifting the cup to her lips. It was still too hot to drink, so she blew on the surface. She tried a careful sip to taste, but ended up singing the tip of her tongue anyway. What was a little extra discomfort in her current state. It was bitter, with a hint of a heavy sweetness in it and she pulled her face into a grimace. “Couldn’t you get some nicer tasting flowers?” “Hmm, might have, but they wouldn’t help ya with the headache, Miss.” Grumbling, she shot Arthur a dark look. Tea against headache, she didn’t quite believe in it, but there would hardly be any Laudanum to be found in an outlaw camp who’s only drug addict recently decided to come clean. Curse the Reverend and his righteous virtues. Morgan was observing her, a measuring look in his eyes. “When’s the last time you’ve eaten?” His question caught her off guard, she couldn’t remember being put on the spot like that. She could feel him exchanging a glance over her head with Sadie. “Err, yesterday morning, I think? I was out on my walk for the rest of the day, didn’t think to take anything with me.” Sadie gave her a little clap on the head which immediately flared up in a new wave of pulsating pain. “Ow, Sadie! What was that for?!” “No wonder you’re feelin’ so darned lousy girl! You’re s’posed to eat before you’re downing beers an’ whiskey like ya did!” Sadie’s volume exceeded her temporarily very low noise tolerance and she shrugged her head between the shoulders like a tortoise. The blonde woman tutted but Arthur was already on it, picking some

food from the kitchen wagon, ignoring the complaining Pearson. Eliza would have to bring him an extra fat kill soon to thank him. Her stomach didn’t feel as bad as it had done earlier, but the thought of food made her a bit queasy. Nibbling at the oat cake he passed her, she tried to think of an excuse for them to leave her company, she didn’t fancy being babysitted too much. Arthur spoke up, pulling her out of her thoughts. “How much do you remember? You wasn’t shy drinking down that whiskey at the fire.” She could see him looking at her out of the corner of her eyes and avoided his gaze, concentrating intensely on the cookie in her hand. “A fair bit I think. Everything up to the campfire, the songs there and… didn’t you pull me away? Because of something the boys said?” Frowning, she tried to recall the events of last night at the fire. There was a bit of flirting, an argument, then Arthur and her sat at the cliff. “Oh. I got angry at you. I’m sorry”, she murmured, still not looking at the man. “’t’s alright, you was drunk. I been yelled at before, don’t bother me much no more”, he laughed, making her feel a bit better. “You weren’t entirely wrong either I suppose. I ain’t the best explaining myself, don't think I worded things the right way.” She stole a shy look at him through the strands of her hair that had fallen out of the plait in the night. He smiled a warm smile, but his eyes had a sadness in them. Clearly he wasn’t happy about his inability to express himself. He didn’t strike Eliza as someone who couldn’t put things into words however, even if he was a bit blunt at times. She had always liked blunt honesty better than sweet lies. “I also remember you showing me the north star”, she said gently in an effort to make him feel better. It worked, a little at least, and his smile widened. “Yeah? We gotta be careful what we’re getting’ up to, you seem to remember an awful lot for having been in such a state last night”, he chuckled. “At least you won’t be gettin’ lost anytime soon.” Sadie gave a hearty kackle when a loud voice sounded from halfway across the camp. It was the Irish lad that had come home last night, Sean. “And t‘ere she is, the famous lady Cornwall! Fallen out ‘er pop’s hands into ours!” He approached with wide steps, coming to a standstill in front of her and taking her hand into his with a bow, planting a kiss on the back of it. “Name’s Sean MacGuire mylady, pleasure ta make your acquaintance!” Learned politeness made her smile and nod as she stared up at him. The volume he spoke in hurt her head and he was no less energetic now than last night when he had been drunk. She ignored her inner groan and stood up, giving him a little curtsy to play along with his overly flamboyant introduction. “Please, call me Eliza. I’m not overly fond of my father’s name I’m afraid. How do you do?” She put on her thickest English accent and had to swallow her giggle at the look on the faces of Sadie and Arthur. Now that was entertainment. “An’ you’re from the island! Ain’t she a wonderful sight. Never seen a fairer lass in all of the old kingdom If ye allow me to be so blunt.” He grinned at her, quite handsomely she had to admit to herself, with his boyish charisma. She faked a high pitched titter and held her hand in front of her face as if to hide a flattered blush. “She’s a right catch, ain’t she! Don’t you go and fish in the wrong pond now boy.” Karen had appeared in her night gown still, even though the sun was way past it’s highest point now. Her voice was light and playful but had a warning tone to it which Sean too seemed to notice as he stepped back quickly, letting go of Eliza’s hand. The blonde girl flung her arm around his shoulders, and he held her waist. “Don’t you go get a crush on the bastard here, he’s broken many hearts and none of ‘em deserved it. Well, maybe some did”, Karen mused, “but you wouldn’t. He likes putting on his charm with beautiful women.” She still sounded light hearted, but her body language was stiff and almost possessive, gripping Sean’s shoulder tightly. Eliza

let her lips curl into a slanted smile and shook her head. “Don’t worry, my mother taught me not to trust Irishmen, no matter how charming”, she replied, hearing Sadie give a chuckle in the background. Sean was appalled, but he didn’t speak. “Besides, I wouldn’t dare cross you, you can be well scary did you know?” Karen gave a barking laugh and seemed to ease up a bit. Sean gave her an uncertain smile, visibly relieved. “I just had to welcome our newest member, always good to ‘ave some new blood on board ain’t it! No big deal”, he justified, a bit too quick for it to be natural. Karen steered him around, pulling him away. “Well you met her now, let’s go before Sadie knocks you out again. She ain’t looking too happy and I can’t blame her, you bein’ such a loudmouth all the time. Sorry ya had to deal with him”, she added, directed towards them, “He just gets excited every time he sees a new pair of knockers. We’ll leave ya in peace now.” And with that he was pushed towards the girls’ tents. Eliza let herself fall back down onto the cot with a sigh. “How do you do, ey?”, Sadie mocked. “I see we’ve got to work on your language yet!” “You’ve got something against my accent? At least one of us can speak English properly!” Eliza replied, laughing. Sadie jostled her elbow into her ribs. “You mean fancy speech, with lots’a words and no meaning behind ‘em. Don’t seem so proper to me, don’t you agree Arthur?” The man had sat there in silence for a few minutes now, quietly watching the exchange with Sean and Karen unfold. He hummed. “I don’t mind it, think it sounds quite nice.” Sadie threw the butt of her cigarette at him in protest. Eliza just laughed as they squabbled and sipped the rest of her yarrow tea. It made her face scrunch up in distaste, but if Charles reckoned this helped with headache it was worth a try, he had yet to let her down with his knowledge of the nature all around them. She might ask him to accompany her on another hunt if he could spare the time, would be good to feel useful once more. One day she would have to find her own way of making money for the camp, doing daily chores wasn’t exactly her idea of an exciting life running with an outlaw gang. If she asked nicely, he might show her how to hunt bison, one of those beasts would feed the entire gang for a week! Sadie’s loud exclamation snapped her back into reality. “How dare you Morgan! I ain’t never been unfaithful to my Jakey. Not in life and not in death!” She crossed her arms and puffed up her cheeks. Eliza set her empty cup on the dirt before her and looked anxiously from one to the other, trying to figure out why on earth Arthur would make such an insulting suggestion. It wasn’t long before Sadie’s lips twitched however and betrayed her act. Arthur just sat there, eyebrows raised expectantly, giving her a quick look and eyeroll that made her chuckle. “You’ll have to forgive her behaviour, she’s a bit of an actress, our Miss Adler. Don’t like to make it easy for anyone to understand her.” He stretched indulgently and groaned, getting to his feet. “I better get on some task or other, Dutch’s gonna chew me out if I don’t do anythin’ useful today.” Sadie gave up her play at this, her face suddenly fierce with excitement. “Got anything in mind, cowboy?” “Nah, Hosea mentioned he might have a lead on somethin’. Figured I’d check up with him. You stay here and sleep off yer bottle ache.” He collected his hat and made to leave, when he seemed to think of something and stopped, turning to look at the younger woman. “Hosea also said something ‘bout it possibly involving you, I’ll see what he has to say and let ya know when we got a plan, alright?” Her heartbeat quickened at the prospect of a job. She swallowed and nodded, suddenly half excited and half terrified. He let his eyes linger on her for a moment before he set off towards the horses, where Hosea was brushing his Silver Dollar. Sadie cleared her throat and got to her feet as well. “Imma go try and sleep off this nasty day, you should do the same. Little doe like you needs all her

strength for a job!” The blonde grinned at her, but Eliza thought it looked rather kind. Her idea of some more sleep sounded like exactly the thing she felt up to right now.

#rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption 2 fanfic #mywriting #eliza cornwall #arthur morgan #Vengeance is an Idiot’s Game #arthur morgan x original female character

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helenarlett-rex · 4 years

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Why all the spooky Christmas stuff?

Christmas has always been spooky. We tend to put all of the focus on Santa because he’s the fun one who gives us free stuff, but dating back over the centuries and spanning all over the world, Christmas has always been a spooky holiday full of monsters. I don’t just mean Charles Dickens and his ghosts either… Sure, that’s a nice start… but I’m talking about actual folklore that has inspired the traditions of Christmas. The current incarnation of Christmas is more of a modern thing. But before it was what it is today it was full of monsters and you can thank many (if not most) of the traditions we practice today to those monsters. Let me give you some examples.

Gryla Icelandic Christmas folklore

Sometimes described as an Icelandic giantess, sometimes as a parasitic beggar, Gryla walks around asking parents to give her their disobedient children. She devours children as her favorite snack. Her favorite dish is a stew of naughty kids for which she has an insatiable appetite. She even has extra-sensory powers that allow her to detect misbehaving children in nearby towns. Her plans can be thwarted by giving her food.

Jolakotturinn, the Yule Cat Icelandic Christmas folklore

The Yule Cat wasa huge and vicious cat who is described as lurking about the snowy countryside during Christmas time and eating people who have not received any new clothes to wear before Christmas Eve. Legend has it that wool farmers used to invoke Jolakotturinn as a way to scare workers into quickly processing the autumn wool before the holidays. Quick workers would get new clothes as gifts, slow ones would just get eaten.

The Yule Lads Icelandic Christmas folklore

The 13 Yule Lads, Sheep-Cote Clod, Gully Gawk, Stubby, Spoon-Licker, Pot-Scraper, Bowl-Licker, Door-Slammer, Skyr-Gobbler, Sausage-Swiper, Window-Peeper, Doorway-Sniffer, Meat-Hook, and Candle-Stealer, are the sons of Gryla. They are a group of 13 mischievous pranksters who steal from or otherwise harass the population and all have descriptive names that convey their favorite way of harassing. They come to town one by one during the last 13 nights before Christmas and They leave small gifts in shoes that children have placed on window sills, but if the child has been disobedient they instead leave a potato in the shoe. Being good or bad has nothing to do with the other things their names imply they do. They’re going to do that stuff regardless.

Père Fouettard (Father Whipper) French Christmas folklore

Father Whipper was a cannibal innkeeper who drugged and slitting the throats of three wealthy children then dismembered and stewed them in large barrels until Saint Nicholas learned of his crime. St. Nick then forced Father Whipper to become his helper to atone for it. Now, dressed in dark robes, bound in chains, and covered in soot, Father Whipper helps out on St. Nicholas Day (Dec. 6) by giving lumps of coal and severe whippings to naughty kids. He puts the extra bad ones in the wicker cage on his back and eats them later.

Zwarte Piet (Black Peter) Dutch Christmas Folklore

A 19th century schoolteacher changed the character of Black Peter to be Saint Nicholas’ black slave. So most people who know the name are probably more familiar with the rather… unfortunate depiction used today… I guess that teacher preferred racism over the far more badass original version… In which Black Peter was actually a demon Saint Nicholas had chained and tasked with whipping bad kids with birch rods. In the gentler version, he merely leaves bundles of sticks as gifts/veiled threats for disobedient children.

Krampus Germanic Christmas Folklore

Krampus is pretty much the more popular version of Father Whipper and Black Peter. He’s the one most people know. On Krampusnacht (December 5th) he comes to leave coal as gifts and whips unruly children with birch reeds, carrying off the really bad ones in his wicker basket so he can drown them, eat them, or literally send them to Hell.

Perchta Germanic Christmas Folklore

Going way back to somewhere between 500 to 900 AD, Perchta is a domestic goddess, either a beautiful one with snow-white skin or a wrinkled hag with a hook nose and raggedy clothes, and her reputation ranges from sweet to sadistic. She also has the ability to shapeshift into a goose, so probably leaning more on the sadistic side… She’s obsessed with cleanliness and good manners. So obsessed that she leaves obedient children and young servants silver coins. Bad kids, however, get disemboweled, have their innards replaced with garbage, straw and pebbles, and get sewn up to suffer in ungodly pain afterwards. She also employs horned demons to help her punish bad kids. These creatures are known as Straggele. She can be seen at various Christmas celebrations around Europe sharing candies or planning her next ritualistic torture.

Straggele Germanic Christmas Folklore

The servants of Perchta, the Straggele are shaggy horned beasts that enjoy stealing from naughty children and occasionally tearing them to pieces. It’s said that you can avoid their wrath by leaving out some food so they’ll feast on leftovers rather than your children.

Belsnickel Germanic Christmas Folklore

Belsnickel is basically crotchety, fur-clad, hobo who hangs out with Krampus (and occasionally Santa). He generally visits children alone, but sometimes brings Krampus along, and he doesn’t particularly care whether or not you’ve been good. He has a sack of treats that he’ll spill out for the kids, but then as they scramble for the gifts, he whips them with a switch, naughty and nice alike.

Mari Lwyd (Gray Mare) Welsh Christmas Folklore

The wraith-like equine walks the dark streets, normally with a procession of human followers, to bother neighbors for free grub and hooch. Traditionally the horse knocks on a door and sings a song requesting entry, the home owners refuse with a counter-song and they go back and forth until the homeowners run out of songs. If the home owner forgets to tell the Mari Lwyd and her friends to behave themselves before they enter, they are free to trash the place and harass the women once inside. Some stories introduced by the church in an attempt to Christianize the pagans state that the Mari Lwyd was a pregnant mare that was kicked out of the stable to make room for The Virgin Mary to give birth to Jesus, so allowing the Mari Lwyd into your home is generally considered a good show of respect for her sacrifice. Although that sacrifice wasn’t really her choice to make so she’s still going to eat your food, drink your booze, and trash your house if you aren’t careful.

Láir Bhán (White Mare) Irish Christmas Folklore

She’s literally the same thing as the Mari Lwyd. Just a horse wraith of a different color.

La Befana (Baboushka) Italian, Russian, and Eastern European Christmas Folklore

Also known as the Christmas Witch, La Befana will give both punishments and prizes. If you’re good, you’ll get cookies and gifts, but if you’re bad you’ll get coal. And if you stay up and catch a glimpse of her, you’ll get a beating.

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sweets-fanfics · 5 years

Text

Homecoming (4/?)

Title: I was bein’ nosey

Wordcount: 2754

warnings: Fluff

AN: This will be the last chapter for the week, I work until Tuseday so I’ll write the next chapter on Wedensday. But please enjoy this one.

Tags: @rollyjogerjones

Dutch’s surprise when he saw all four of you ride into camp gave you a bit of enjoyment. He seemed too happy until he saw you covered in soot and Javier explained what happened. Dutch had sighed and apologized. What ended up happening when it came to sleeping was both you and Henry slept in Arthur’s tent while he slept outside. Dutch had originally tried to give up his tent but Molly wouldn’t have it.

“Why do I have to give up my bed for them? I didn’t burn their house down.” She had said. That was about a month ago. You now had your own tent near your fathers and Arthur’s. Henry’s tent was behind yours.

You got up and stretched your arms above your head. It felt good to move your arm again. You knew Susan would probably start giving you chores today as well. You pulled your dark brown boots on and tried to look at your outfit. You had on a white button-up shirt with small colorful designs stitched into the shoulders, tucked into black riding pants. You had started wearing pants more since you had been trying to help out more with the camp when you could.

You stepped out of your tent and stretched again. The smell of coffee pulled you to the fire where you poured yourself a cup. You had never been a fan of coffee until moving here. You happily sighed after your first sip.

“Goodmorning princess,” Arthur said as he poured himself a cup. He had on his blue shirt you loved.

“Good morning Arthur. Shocking to see ya awake this early.” You smiled into your cup as you took another sip. You and Arthur had been… flirting… kinda. It was hard to do when your father and brother were everywhere you were. It was small moments alone like this when he seemed a bit more confident in his approach towards you. You definitely were falling for this blue-eyed cowboy.

“Well, that ain’t fair… I woke up this early last week.” You giggled a bit, “You look much better, Y/N.” He smiled at you and seemed to gaze into your eyes just a bit longer then if someone had been around.

“Feeling much better, I don’t think I will be trying to get stabbed anytime soon.” You finished your coffee and walked behind the wagon to put your cup in the water. He followed you so that you were both hidden behind the wagon. He seemed to drink his coffee faster just to have an excuse to follow.

“Y/N I was wondering if you are somehow able to get away from Henry or Dutch if you would go with me on a little huntin’ trip. You have been seeming eager to get outta camp.”

A smile widened on your face as you looked up at him. “That sounds good. Would we go hunt a bear?”

He laughed and patted your shoulder, “Let’s start with rabbits and work our way up.” He left his hand on your shoulder for a moment. Your cheeks started to blush as he let his fingers softly glide down your arm.

“Are we… are we ever going to talk about this? Or are we going to keep sneaking around like criminals?” You ask knowing full well your face is bright red.

“I don’t know Y/N, you know how your dad would feel…” Arthur started to say.

“What if Dutch wasn’t an issue?” You looked into his blue eyes. You could see how he fought himself. Finally smiled at you softly.

“Well, I don’t believe we’d be hiding behind a wagon just to talk.”

You smiled hopeful and began to speak when you heard someone walking up. You pushed Arthur so he wouldn’t be so close to you. Susan walked around the corner and dropped her cup into the wash bin eyeing you both.

“Ms. Van Der Linde, how’s your arm?”

“It’s good Susan. I’m ready to work if you have any chores for me.” You smiled.

“First person I’ve ever heard who offered to do some damn work around here.” She took your hand and lead you away from Arthur. She sat you at the campfire and placed some clothes, needle, and string in your hands. “Do you know how to sow?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Good. Just sow up this stuff and then rest for the rest of the day. Dutch will kill me if I overwork ya.” She patted your cheek before walking off yelling at the girls to get up.

You started getting to work, greeting people as they woke up and walked by. Henry finally walked out of his tent with bed-head and sat next to you. “Sister, why are you working already?”

“It’s nine in the morning, brother. But I did wake up around seven.” He leaned against you as you continued working. You looked at him as he sighed. “What is it?”

“Dutch asked me to go out with him today.” You put your work down and smiled.

“That’s great! You should try to like him he is our father.” He rolled his eyes. “Henry, I’m serious. I would greatly appreciate if ya got to know our father. He reminds me of you in some ways. I think you two would get along.”

He groaned and got up. “Fine. But I’m only trying cause you are beggin’ me.”

You shrugged and went back to working as Henry walked off. Shortly after two strong hands landed on your shoulders. You looked up as your father kissed your head.

“How are you this morning, Y/N?” He asked.

“I’m ok, getting work done. Pa, can I ask you somethin’?” You knew not calling him Dutch would already give you a higher chance of accepting whatever you ask.

“Of course my dear. What is it?” He moved so he was next to you.

“I want to get better at huntin’ and I was wonderin’ if I could ask Mr. Morgan to show me since he brings in the most meat we use.” You peaked up from your work to try and read his face. He seemed annoyed. Very annoyed.

“Has Mr. Morgan heard this idea?” He asked in an irritated manner.

“No. I just wanted to check with you first. Why are you getting so angry soundin’? Is it me wanting to use a weapon thing? Or is it the Arthur thing?” You asked. You had become better at flat out asking about your Father’s mood since it changes so often.

“To be honest my dear, it’s a bit of both. You are barely able to use the arm again. And on top of that, I’m not blind. I see how you two look at each other.”

Your work suddenly became a lot more interesting as he said the last part.

“I just… I’m not sure how I feel about you two together.” He said softly so only you’d hear.

“Pa, it’s just hunting, and second even if Mr. Morgan and I ended up having feelings for each other, we are both two grown adults.” You said matching his volume. “And he wouldn’t even be my first relationship.” You admitted out loud on accident. You slammed your mouth shut.

“Ah. So you are already thinking about a… relationship with Arthur.” You heard someone choke on something and start coughing. You both looked over your shoulders as you saw Arthur near his tent hitting his chest. He had definitely heard that.

“No no. I just mean…” You lower your voice more. “I.. I do like him, Pa. But I’ll keep it to myself if you want me too. I don’t want you kicking me out.” You try to joke. You hope he doesn’t ask about the first relationship you mentioned.

“I would never kick you out, my darling daughter. Just don’t do something stupid. I won’t stop you, but you have heard my feelings on the matter. I will consider about a hunting trip.”

You perked up, “So yes?”

“Consider.” He repeated walking towards his tent.

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

The next day when you had woken up when you usually do you saw Arthur’s tent was empty. You sighed sadly knowing you wouldn’t be able to talk to him as you usually do. You walked up to Suzie giving her an apple you grabbed.

She hesitated a bit, “Come on, I know it’s not your favorite.” She seemed to whine a bit before finally taking it. “Good girl.” You rubbed her velvety nose.

You looked up as Charles was waking in from his guard shift. “You sure seem to be an early riser.” He comments.

“Who’s replacing you?” You ask.

“Supposed to be Bill, but he was drinking pretty heavily last night.” Javier had brought back an Irish guy named Sean last night. He had been apparently caught by bounty hunters and Javier, Arthur and Charles got him out. You were able to see Uncle Trelawny again as well for a brief moment. In fact, most of the camp was still passed out.

“I didn’t drink last night. I could stand watch for a bit while you try to get Bill up. I know it’ll take some time.” Charles looked at me a bit suspiciously. “I promise I won’t get into any trouble. I just want to be doing more then I am.”

“Fine, but if you get in trouble, you forced me.” He handed you the pump-action rifle.

“Thank you!” You smiled and practically skipped to the place where you’d stand.

You stood there for a few hours before seeing why no one wanted to do this ever. Bill never showed up so you figured you’d just wait for whoever would come in the afternoon. You heard a horse riding up, “Who’s there?” You ask.

“Y/N?” You heard Arthur ask. “Who let you be on watch?”

“I was bored so I forced Charles to let me.” He got off his horse and sat next to where you were sitting leaning against a tree. “But now, I’m realllly bored.”

Arthur chuckled. “Yeah, this chore is not fun.” He looked around for a second before quickly leaning in and kissing your cheek.

You seemed to freeze entirely, you had not been expecting that. You were frozen for so long Arthur started tog et worried. “I… I’m sorry if I crossed a lin-”

You yanked his collar down and kissed him hard on the lips. His hand didn’t hesitate as they gently cupped your face. It was a warm and welcoming kiss. His smell was intoxicating. He smelt like leather and cigarettes and pine. You usually weren’t a fan of smoking but at that moment the only time you’d accept that smell is if it was Arthur. You both pulled back for a breath. You looked at his eyes as they stared back in shock.

“I’m sorry.” You said quickly.

“No, don’t. I…” His face was turning red. “I really enjoyed it. Best we keep what just happened between us for a bit.”

“Agreed.”

“I also agree,” John said as he walks up and takes the gun from you as you jump. “My turn.”

“Please don’t tell my dad…” You begged. Arthur was quickly getting back on his horse.

“I won’t, but ya guys gotta figure out what you two are. I should let you know that there is a bet between some of the people in camp and if I lose twenty dollars because you two decide to not be together I may shoot Arthur.”

You smiled as Arthur laughed, “You could try.”

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

As you walked into camp Abigail approached Arthur as he got off his horse. “Hey Arthur, can you do me a favor?”

“Sure, Miss Abigail, what is it?”

“I was wonderin’ if you could take Jack to do somethin’ he’s been really down since the move.”

“And I’m your personal nursemaid?” He retorted back.

“I just think it’ll be good for him.” She sighed.

“Actually, I would like to go too if I can. I’ve always wanted to fish.” You smiled at Arthur, kinda hoping he wouldn’t be able to say no to you. He groaned a bit, “Oh… oh ok, fine. I’ll go ask him.” He walked off towards Jack as Abigail stood next to you.

“You didn’t have to do that, but thank you.”

You shrugged acting innocent. “I have no idea what you mean Abigail.”

She laughed as she started to walk away. “You two are so cute.”

You joined Arthur as he pulled Jack onto his horse. “You two look ready to go I reckon.” You smiled pulling yourself onto Suzie’s back.

“Are you coming with us aunt Y/N?” Jack asked smiling.

“Only if you’ll have me, Jack.”

“Of course, aunt Y/N. You can help me catch some fish!” He looked up at Arthur, “Uncle Arthur, she’s going to come with us okay?”

Arthur chuckled starting to walk his horse. “I guess she could come, hopefully, she won’t scare the fish.”

“No, she won’t. Uncle Hosea said she’s a princess and princesses aren’t scary.” Jack said missing the joke.

“He even calls me that when I’m not around?” You sigh. “I may have to have a talk with Hosea tonight.”

The three of you stopped by the edge of the lake. “This is a nice spot, Mr. Morgan. I can’t feel my family’s eyes on me and it feels wonderful.”

He chuckled as he put bait on all of our poles. “This is your first time outta camp in a while huh?” You nodded holding on to your pole. “Alright, so you’ll swing your arm back and when you throw it back over you'll let the line release.”

“And what then the fish just grabs it?” You ask slowly.

“Eventually, but then you gotta wait.”

“How long?” Jack asked.

“Depends on the fish.” You and Jack didn’t seem to like that idea. “Oh come on, it’ll be fun.”

“If you say so uncle Arthur.” Jack sighed.

The three of you stood at the riverbank. “Maybe I should have brought a book or somethin’” Arthur looked at you raising his eyebrows.

“Y/N it’s been twenty minutes.”

“Yes, and the only thing that’s happened is you catching a fish you threw back and Jack is now making flower necklaces for me and his Momma.” You pulled your line in and started breaking down your pole.

“Unlike you to give up,” Arthur started.

“Not giving up, just making a smart move to benefit my win later.” You shrugged and gave him a small wink before going to sit by Jack.

“I made you a crown instead, aunt Y/N since you’re a princess.” Jack stood up and placed it on my head.

“Thank you so much jack!”

“How sweet.” A new voice said sarcastically. You looked over your shoulder as Arthur stood between you and the stranger.

“My name is agent Milton, this is my associate agent Ross.” Milton gestured to an angry-looking mustached man. “We know who you are Arthur Morgan, five thousand for your head alone.”

“Can I turn myself in?” Arthur asked.

“And who’s the… the boy called her a... princess?” He gestured towards you as you held Jack behind your back.

“No one that concerns you, just passin’ through.” You mumbled.

“Uh-huh… If you are just passing, then you and your ‘son’ need to leave.” You glanced at Jack before taking Jack to your horse, “Mr. Morgan, we are looking for Van Der Linde.”

“Haven’t seen him in months,” Arthur replied. You put Jack on Suzie before fiddling with her bags pretending to be looking for something.

“Now you know I don’t believe that. If you bring him to me I’ll make sure you don’t hang.” Milton started getting a little heated, and so did Arthur.

A strong wind started blowing making it hard for you to hear them. “Aunt Y/N, the wind is going to blow momma’s necklace away.” You took it and slid it into your bag.

“It’ll be safe now.” You smiled at him.

Arthur’s hand on your shoulder suddenly made you jump a bit.

“Why didn’t you two ride away?” He asked a bit angry.

“I… I was bein’ nosey, but then the wind got too loud for me to hear.” You looked down. “Sorry Arthur.”

He lifted your chin up with his fingers softly, “Don’t be sorry, I just got worried when I saw you two still here.” He helped you onto your horse and then went to his. “We should head back, I gotta talk to your father.”

#rdr2 #rdr2 fandom #rdr2 fanfic #rdr #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #jack marston #john marston #abigail roberts #dutch van der linde #charles smith #writing #write #fanfic

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sanderssidesfanfiction · 5 years

Text

Does It Matter?

A/N: Have a mini writing exercise we did just to practice different pronoun usage. Be aware that this does use “it/its” pronouns in reference to a human person, so if that squicks you out, I recommend skipping this fic. Otherwise, enjoy!

Contains: it/its pronouns, sympathetic Deceit, sympathetic Remus

"Does it matter?" Remus asked aloud, staring at the ceiling of the Mind Palace from the position Remus had taken up on the couch.

Deceit, trapped under Remus' long legs and trying to read a magazine, sighed. "Does what matter, Remus?" he asked.

"Pronouns," Remus said.

"Pronouns are often seen as beneficial to most people and are frequently used so as to not repeat a person's name to death," Deceit said. "And to transgender individuals, pronouns can be very affirming, so I'd say pronouns matter."

"No, not what I meant," Remus said. "Does it matter?"

"The pronoun 'it'?" Deceit asked.

Remus nodded.

"It is a very important part of the English language," Deceit said. "It is used to denote many different objects and places."

"And people," Remus added.

Deceit slowly put down the magazine, looking over at Remus. "People?" he asked.

"People," Remus confirmed. "People can use it pronouns."

"I...suppose so," Deceit said, frowning. "But it is considerably rare, and controversial."

"Why should someone's pronouns be controversial?" Remus asked. "It's that individual's choice! It should be respected!"

"Remus, you're giving me a headache," Deceit sighed. "Can you explain what you mean in a simple manner?"

Remus groaned. "It...is me. I'm it."

"Oh," Deceit said. "Okay."

Remus sat up. "Okay?"

"Okay. I wish you would have told me sooner, so I could respect your pronouns, but now that I know I will work on using them. I will warn you, it may take time."

"That's okay," Remus said. "If you use them, and try to use them, then it's okay."

Deceit nodded. "Of course I'd use them...or, should I say 'it'?"

Remus grinned, briefly, before its expression turned thoughtful. "Back to my original question," it said. "Does it matter?"

Deceit fell back into confusion. "I thought we just answered that question."

"No, we established the background for that question. Does it matter?" Remus asked.

Deceit blinked. Rolled his eyes. "Remus, you know I hate it when you refer to yourself in the third person." He took its hands in his own. "Of course you matter, you dummy."

Remus offered a smile. "If only the others could see that."

"The others will see it, come Hell or high water," Deceit said. "If you feel like you don't matter, we'll have to rectify that."

"How?" Remus asked.

"Well, for a start, we can get the others using your proper pronouns," Deceit said. "Using the correct pronouns for someone generally makes them feel more important. Like their opinion, their life, matters. And once we have them respecting your pronouns, we'll work on other things."

"Like what?" Remus asked.

"Like showing that sometimes darker content can be useful," Deceit said. "That exploring dark thoughts is healthy, and even encouraged in safe environments. And they'll see that 'Dark' Creativity has its own place in Thomas."

"I really love you sometimes," Remus said, grinning wide. "I hope you know that."

Deceit rolled his eyes and forced Remus' legs off him. "Come on, let's go find the others. We can tell them about your pronouns, provided you're ready?"

Remus shrugged. "I'm not against telling them. I wouldn't actively seek them out to tell them."

"And that's where I'm the more proactive out of the two of us," Deceit said. "Just know you'll have to be the one to tell them, because they'll assume I'm lying."

Remus fixed its collar. "Yeah, I figured. But if you're there for moral support, I should be able to handle it."

"Good," Deceit said. "Who should we talk to first?"

Tag List: @loganpatton @lilbeanblr @kittyboof8 @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @sanders-trash-4ever @hamilspntrash @swords-and-kittens @phantomfander @narniasfinestavengingsociopath @rjmeta @ambersky0319 @anni-cat-flower @idosanderssidespromptssometimes

#sanders sides fanfiction #remus sanders #ts remus #deceit sanders #sympathetic deceit #intrusive thots #it/its #our creations

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myfairgunslinger · 4 years

Text

Title: Red Dead Revenge: Kiss of Death [Part 2]

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x OC x John Marston

Warnings: Graphic Violence, Cursing

Summary: After Arthur saves a woman's life he takes her back to the Vanderlinde Gang where she can get the help she needs. Maeve recalls past events as she takes time to heal.

A/N: Hi guys! I’m back with a new chapter in this story. It took forever because I wanted it to be the best that I could make it. So hopefully it was worth the wait. We’re gonna be looking at Maeve at a time prior to meeting Arthur, also Arthur isn’t really in this chapter...I promise to make up for that in the next chapter! Also note about John, this story is set before his scars, so there will be no mention of them. Anyway, I hope you enjoy none the less.

- Italics means the past

Chapter Two: I Know You

"No! No!" Her neck sliced open to flood out with blood. Cecilia's eyes were wide as they stared over at her daughter. Blam! Everett's body fell to the floor as he held his stomach trying to hold in his red gore. All she could hear was her own screaming only for it all to be silenced by the last gasps of life from her mother.

"Ahhh!" She screamed herself awake followed by a pained groan remembering the gun shot. Maeve went to sit up noticing she was not wearing her own shirt anymore. This one was a faded maroon color that served as an under shirt. The cut on her skin where her collar bone was had a bandage over it. She lifted the foreign shirt to see her waist and stomach were tightly wrapped in medical cloth.

"Do not ruin that wrap," a German accented voice startled Maeve. It was here she realized they were in a large tent, "Who the hell are you?" her voice was horse, layered with rudeness. The old man had pointed at her wound, "You had a gunshot. Lucky for you it hit nothing and went through you. It was only a matter of stitching up the hole."

Maeve stared at him saying nothing. He called her lucky when that was the last of what she was feeling, "I believe a thank you is what you say," the old man said to her shutting his book to stand up. Maeve still didn't say thank you, but asked again, "Who are you?"

He scoffed out, "Americans," then left the tent. She was confused while being alone until an older woman came in. Her dark, graying hair was piled on top of her head in a pompadour style, "Ah, you're awake, Miss Milley. Gave us a fright there," she placed a hand on her hip.

"I'm sorry, who are you? Where am I? How do you even know my name?" Maeve's head had so many thoughts running through it.

"Well, you have been unconscious for about a day and a half. Mr. Morgan brought you here after you'd been shot--."

"Who?" Maeve winced her eyes never hearing that name before. The woman let out a frustrated sigh then said out slowly, "Arthur, you owl! Said you gave him a bath?"

Maeve's cheeked reddened, letting out an, "Oh," his name was Arthur Morgan, "Where is he?"

"He's out on business. Anyway, he brought you to us and Mr. Strauss, the German fella stitched you up, I cleaned ya," and that explained the man earlier, "My name's Susan Grimshaw, that's Mrs. Grimshaw around camp."

Maeve went to stand up, but stumbled a bit. Mrs. Grimshaw caught her and helped her stance, "Easy now, what's the hurry?" Maeve took her steps outside the camp, "I have to see where I am," she pushed the flap back to be met with a scorching hot sun beaming down on her. Maeve held a hand up to block out some of the light but it was a failure due to how much it flooded over her.

"New Austin, just outside a town called Armadillo," Mrs. Grimshaw filled her in while passing her a white over-shirt to wear. Maeve slipped it on looking over at the older woman then around the camp site, "Who are you people?" _______________________________________________________________

"Outlaws...every single one of you?" Maeve was walking with Mrs. Grimshaw along the outskirts. She had filled the newcomer in on who Dutch Van Der Linde was, what he and Hosea believed in and along with a majority of the camp.

They were different than other gangs, sure they robbed people but at least they weren't going around murdering fine folk for the hell of it. Mrs. Grimshaw named off who ever she saw passing by in the camp. There weren't that many people, "That Irish bug, is Sean. Stay clear of him, he thinks he's a womanizer."

Maeve made a face that could be read as, 'Don't have to tell me twice.' Maeve saw a small boy, toddler age, running by, "Children are here too?"

"Child, that's little Jack. He stays with his mother, Abigail. We all watch after him," Maeve was about to ask where his father was, but as her eyes followed the boy she saw him go embrace a woman. The sight alone caused Maeve's eyes to well up and her throat swell. Mrs. Grimshaw saw, "Miss Milley?" She couldn't take it or hold it in, Maeve walked off, out of the camp as her tears fell down her face. She was so curious and wondering where she was that it distracted Maeve enough to forget why she was here in the first place.

She collapsed into the dirt, sobbing out from all her heart ache. Maeve's hands gripped the hot sand between her fingers, screaming out from either the heat or grief, it didn't matter. Mrs. Grimshaw came over to her, "Get out of the dirt or you'll reopen your stitches!" Maeve was still crying, hunched over. She didn't care.

"Maeve! Maeve please," she tried again, "You gotta get up!" Maeve's hand came up to cover her face, "They're gone..." she whined out, "Ma, Pa....gone!" The older woman placed a hand on the woman's back, "That may be, Miss Milley, that may be. But you are still here. And you need to get yourself out of the dirt." Maeve sniffled, tears dropping on the earth.

After a moment Maeve started to stand up with the aid of Mrs. Grimshaw, "There you go, let's get you back in the tent to get you cleaned up." As the older lady started to lead her back, only Maeve had noticed that there were people staring over in her direction. Her eyes glanced over the faces of these unfamiliar people until they met with a pair of dark eyes belonging to a man with long, stringy hair. That wasn't a stranger. 'I Know You'

Mrs. Grimshaw had cleaned off Maeve as she sat there, telling the woman what happened to her family, "That's a nasty thing and you have my deepest of sympathies, Miss Milley," she threw the rag over her shoulder then said in a soft manner, "It's not easy dealing with loss, and it sure as hell never should be when it comes to loved ones. But trust me when I say, your parents wouldn't want you to be like this. They would want you to be strong. And surviving all of that, a gunshot wound...well I think you might just be a fighter Miss Milley."

Maeve watched the woman leave the tent, thinking on what she had to say. What a strange place she was in. The flap was left open and she could see the only familiar face, peaking in but trying not to seem so obvious. John Marston. _______________________________________________________________ Maeve pulled at the collar of her blue, frilled shirt trying to get air to vent through the silk. She felt so confined in the outfit her mother put together for Blackwater's Tenth Annual Bird Shooting Contest. It was the one day that a lot of the residents, including Maeve, looked forward to since the town was still growing. The Winner gets one hundred dollars and a new bolt action rifle.

"Mama, do I really have to wear all this?" the young lady was fidgeting with her yellow skirt. Her mother was standing to the side of her daughter and smacked her hand away, "Yes, yes you do. I call it 'the Kimberly'. Do you like it?"

"Who the hell is Kimberly?" Maeve kept looking over to outfit through the mirror, trying to breath through the corset that was rather tight, "It's too hot...not to mention hard to breath. I might miss my shots."

Cecilia was picking dust off the shirt that had landed on Maeve between her putting on the new clothes and now modeling in front of the looking glass, "My daughter? Miss?" Cecilia let out an amused chuckle while taking out a riverboat hat to place on Maeve's head, "You've won the last four years--"

"Five, Mama," the daughter corrected while adjusting the hat, "Five. Anyway, when all the fine citizens of Blackwater see who the winner is, I want them to see she dresses her best," Cecilia stared at her, holding such pride.

Maeve made a lop-sided smile at her, "And then come find you for pretty outfits for themselves," she said watching her mother open up a bottle of fine brandy. Cecilia rises the bottle up for a moment, "What good is havin' a beautiful daughter if I can't use her for advertisement?" the woman took a swig from the bottle. She escorted Maeve to the door who had a cheeky reply to that, "Next ya know, daddy is gonna have me ride horses around town... Oh wait!"

Cecilia rolled her eyes, "Go get shootin', smart mouth. And don't get that outfit dirty!" she hollered.

"See you down there," Maeve started to walk down to where the contest was being held, rifle over her shoulder by the strap. She waved at some of the people there, residents Maeve's grown to know, especially from the previous years of her attending the contest. Some of the men would grumble under their breath upon seeing the girl, the one that was a spectacular shot and taking the win year after year.

Maeve took out a cigarette, lighting it up then inhaling a drag while standing alone on the outskirts of the group of people. She recognized most of these people, all except one man. Her eyes were drawn to this stranger, he had a dangerous look to his eye but it just intrigued her all the more.

He stared back at her, wondering what exactly was it that had this girl's eyes on him. The man sauntered over towards her, eyeing the rifle on her shoulder, "Also 'ere for the contest? Gotta say Miss, that corset won't make things easy."

"You must have a talent in observing the obvious, Mister..." Maeve tilted her head to him. He caught on to what she wanted, "Sorry Miss, hadn't thought to introduce myself. John Marston," he offered his hand to her.

Giving him a gentle smile, she took his hand to shake it, "Maeve Milley, Miss Milley if you're feelin' fancy," Maeve then raised her shoulders up, "Although I think you might be callin' me a 'son of a bitch' after today when I win. I know the others do."

Her mouthy answer startled a chuckle from him, she may have looked like little lady, but she had a roughness to her that he liked, "Nah wouldn't dream of it. Ain't that much of a sore loser."

Maeve smiled at him, wincing her eyes as the sun shined down on them, cigarette between her two fingers. Her posture was that of confidence, willing to take on anything. She was on top of her world, "Seein' as you're new to these parts; welcome Mister Marston." She brought the cigarette to her mouth to take a couple puffs before tossing it on the ground to step on it, "So you in town just for the contest?"

"Looks that way unless there's any other reason to stick around," his eyes stayed on her face, "Anything of note that would make passin' through worth wild?" Maeve moved to where they could face Blackwater and she pointed at some of the buildings, "Still a growin' town and in a few days they'll be another contest of sorts but I find them boring. No gun, no fun," she shrugged.

"I'll have to remember that saying," he half grinned at her, "What else?" John took out a cigarette of his own to light. Maeve raised her arm up to point down the main street, "Town Hall is up if you're the political type. A ferry is up 'n' runnin' that takes you all the way across Flat Iron Lake. Never been on it though." Her father had requested she never venture off too far from home or town for that matter. Her finger pointed to her work, "Then for a decent stay there's always the saloon. Decent is the key word to describe that place. Decent rooms, decent baths, and not very decent breakfast," her voice joked. John chuckled at her review, "Doesn't sound too bad."

There was a trumpet that notified all of the crowd that it was time to start the contest. Maeve turned her head to look over then back to John, "Well, nice meetin' you, Mister Marston. May the best shooter win," she gave a gentle wave to him.

"Yeah, good luck," he watched her go off to find a decent spot. Everyone lines up, firing off their rifles as soon as birds were released to fly out. Some of the contestants got at least one or two shots in. But all of the contestants paled in comparison to Maeve's score, all except the stranger John Marston. "Not bad!" Maeve would comment on his shots, "Not too bad yourself," he would say back.

By the third round the score had tied twelve to twelve, Maeve was reloading her gun while John was looking over at her, "Tell you what, you win this and I'll buy you a drink, if I win you buy me a drink?"

"Hmm tempting, but you don't need to win a contest to get my company," Maeve suggested as John smirked, "Okay what did you have in mind?"

"Blackwater Saloon at six o'clock. Win or lose," she cocked the gun, "What do ya say?"

John nodded, "Win or Lose? I say that sounds perfect."

"Okay, just be ready to lose," Maeve grinned getting ready to fire her gun. The final birds were released and the two shooters started to unload their rifles into the air. The winged creatures fell to the earth along with their feathers. Just as John had five more birds to his name, Maeve would get six, capping off the final score of eighteen, making her the winner once more.

"Our winner, for the sixth time in a row, Miss Maeve Milley!" the announcer belted out then gave Maeve a blue ribbon with the money and rifle. She had taken a picture, smiling brightly as the flash bulb went off. Maeve saw her parents cheering and yelling out which made her blush. Her eyes then looked over to see John, clapping for her too while some of the others were grumbling to themselves.

Maeve went over to John as he said, "Well, I'll never bet against a lady in a corset again. Especially one that even told me I was gonna lose."

"I'm usually right, Mister. It's a gift and curse," she gave him the money. He looked down confused, "What's this?"

"You shot just as good as me, and trust me when I say I have not had any competition like you in years. Maybe when I was bad at shootin', but now? Not one man comes close," she explained, "And if my feeling about you is right, then you need the money more."

"What's your feelin'?" he asked, curious to know her theory.

"Passin' through, so you're a little lost...don't know where to go."

He stared at her, "GO on." Maeve shrugged, "You're a wanderer. Nothing wrong with that in the slightest, just need a break now and again."

John still had the money, "I still can't accept this. You won it fair 'n' square." Maeve shrugged, not taking it back, "And I can do with it as I want. And I want to give it to a man that needs it. Winning the contest, it never was about the money," Maeve said to him, "I just like rubbin' this pretty ribbon in a man's face, that and the rifle. Fine gun this is," she said admiring the one on her shoulder.

John barked out a laugh, then put the money in his pocket, "All I can offer is my thanks then, Miss Milley."

"Thank you..." she then glanced back at her parents who wanted to talk to their daughter. "I gotta get, but I'll see you tonight?"

"You sure will," John took out a cigarette from his pocket, "Six o'clock." Maeve stepped back, with a grin, "Six o'clock.

______________________________________________________________

Maeve had spent most of her time in the tent, laying down on the cot rethinking the stormy night. She wasn't frightened so much, just becoming angry at the events, at herself for not doing more. It just kept eating at her, all the while she wondered when Arthur was coming back from his 'business'. The last thing Maeve remembers is Arthur trying to help her while she rejected him, yelling in his face hysterically. She had to apologize for not being in the right state of mind.

She got up to go check outside, to see if he had come back yet. The girl had to talk to someone about what she was going through. Maeve's eyes observed the camp before landing on John who was looking at her. Him. He knew who she was, or close enough. Why hasn't he said anything to her yet? It was time to settle this, Maeve started to walk over to John wanting some answers to how he's here. He was an outlaw that ran with this gang, it had her wondering how long he’s been on the run. When she really thought about it, Maeve didn’t know much about John at all.

When she was close enough, Maeve cleared her throat to get his attention. John had turned his head up to her, "Yeah?" Her heart started to skip a beat when he spoke, "Um...hi. It's been a while." He said nothing, making the silence unbearable enough for Maeve to keep going, "I know things didn't exactly end well for us...I said some things, you left," her voice was descending it's volume as it recalled old times, "I just wanted to say things have been looking down for me right now, but I am glad to see a face that I recognize."

Maeve's brown orbs stared at him, begging for him to talk to her. Or acknowledge he was here with her instead the crippling isolation that was overwhelming her. No, he didn’t do any of that. Instead John still was silent as he reached for his gun holster to put on around his waist.

Waiting impatiently, Maeve broke out saying, "Can you please say something to me? I’m wanna talk and frankly all I feel is crazy."

Taking in a deep breath, the man glanced at her face with his dark eyes, "Afraid you are."

Maeve's breath was still. He just told her she was crazy? "What?"

John shrugged his shoulder, "Never met you before in my life," he then started to walk off back towards the stew pot to get a bowl. Maeve stood there with watery eyes hoping she could have at least had someone to talk to, someone that knew her before the great loss Maeve suffered. He just brushed her off. Maeve felt her heart sink.

______________________________________________________________

Maeve came in to the saloon with a blue ribbon pinned to her frilled shirt. She was still wearing the outfit her mother dressed her in. Cecilia got a lot of orders for ‘the Kimberly’ after the contest that she had to go to the shop with some customers. Mrs. McCourt only wanted the best for her own daughter. Everett wanted to keep his wife company so he went with her to the tailor's. Maeve approached the bar, Lou noticing the ribbon said, "Again? Ya won again? I'm not surprised," he gave her a glass of fine brandy. She downed it then set the glass on the counter, "You betcha! Not without a challenger this year. Meetin' him in a bit."

"You mean tall, dark and standin' in the corner?" Lou pointed with his thumb. Maeve saw John with his hat tipped down over his eyes and she said to Lou, "That's him! How do I look?"

"Ridiculous."

"As opposed to always!" Maeve twisted the corner of her lips down. Lou shrugged, "Ehhh," the girl took off her riverboat hat, "Hide that for me. Also two whiskeys," then made her way over to John. He looked up at her and smirked, "Howdy, winner."

"Howdy...number two...That doesn't sound great either," They chuckled as Maeve gave him his whiskey, "Cheers," he said when they drank. Using the same hand that was holding the small glass, John wiped the side of his lip.

"So, Mister Marston, since you are a wanderer, where you from originally?" Maeve asked him rolling her glass between her fingers.

"Oh you know, here and there."

She tilted her head, "Here and There? Never heard of it. Tell me more," her voice was sarcastic. John couldn't helped but be humored by her wit, "You're sharp."

"And you're an enigma. I think I like that," she went to lean against the wall. John got closer to her placing a hand by her head to lean on, "Really now? Not many people would."

"Only cause every other folk 'round these parts is borin' as all hell. 'Cept Lou," her voice raised a bit so the bartender can hear. He raised up the glass he was cleaning to acknowledge her.

John made a subtle frown, but kept meeting her stare, "You don't like a quite, borin' life?"

"You do?" Maeve countered. John made a face that read as not minding the idea, then nodded, "I could use one." The girl smiled with amusement then pushed herself off the wall, "Have mine then." John reached out to grab her wrist to stop her from going too far. He was gentle though as he said, "You got a good thing, Miss Milley. I wish I had it."

"What's yours like?" she asked noticing that John was still holding on to her. He shook his head, "You wouldn't like it."

"You better not be some rancher's son that I've never met before. I will shoot you," he grinned at that, thinking of how pretty she was when saying it. He leaned in to peck her lips and to Maeve's surprise had her eyes open. As he pulled away, John gazed, hoping Maeve wouldn't slap him.

She was looking down at her boots, her cheeks reddening at his eyes, "You definitely like to live dangerously," Maeve tried to not look at him again while biting her bottom lip, "Look it's not that I don't like you...I do. But you did say you were passin' through."

John leaned in a bit, "I haven't passed yet, have I?"

Maeve rolled her brown orbs, "But you will. That's my point," John loosened his hand so she can have her arm back, then Maeve started to walk away, "Have safe travels, Mister Marston. It was a pleasure meetin' you."

John watched her leave the saloon then went over to lean on the bar. Just as Lou came over to give him another whiskey, the bartender said, "She works here, ya know."

"Why you tellin' me?"

"Oh no reason. She's pretty, ain't she?" John stared at the man listening to what he was saying. Lou glanced at John, "You look like you can use a bath too."

"Excuse me?"

"Get one in the mornin', will ya?" he nodded his head towards the direction Maeve walked off. John then understood what he was trying to tell him.

______________________________________________________________

Mrs. Grimshaw had given Maeve a bed roll, "You can sleep next to all the other ladies we have here. Should be some space by Miss Jackson and Miss Jones." Maeve unrolled it on the ground then went to lay down on it. It was not very comfortable down there, rather lumpy beneath the fabric. The sun was starting to go down when she saw a couple men ride in, one of them covered in mud, and Maeve looked over to see if one of them was Arthur. Neither were, "When is Arthur coming back?" she asked the woman.

"Hm? Oh he usually runs off and does his own thing sometimes. Don't worry, he always comes back. Excuse me. Mister Williamson? Why are you covered up in filth like a pig?" Mrs. Grimshaw then stormed off to go talk to Mr. Williamson. Maeve watched the interaction, Mrs. Grimshaw was that maternal figure in the camp that had an order to things. With a smack of her hand upside the larger man's head he went over to wash up in the barrel of water. Susan rolled her eyes and shouted, "Don't ever come in to my camp like that again or I'll have you thrown into the closest river or lake!" This was a woman that ruled her world. Maeve admired that.

"She's a pleasure, ain't she?" a blonde, busty woman said while smoking a cigarette. Maeve nodded, "Been helpin' me get settled, so yes. I'd say so." The woman chuckled softly as if she knew what was to come. She flicked ash off her burning ember, "Just wait. She'll get real lovely in a matter of days. Name's Karen Jones."

Another woman that had been quiet while folding some clothes raised her hand, "Tilly Jackson," Maeve glanced at them both, "Maeve Milley." "You're that girl Arthur rescued. Gotta say, that's something. Gettin' shot I mean, Never been," Karen said, "Was it a robber?"

Maeve placed a hand over her bandaged wound. She did not wanna start crying again, so she kept her answers short, "Yeah..." Karen took a final drag of her cigarette, noticing her expression. She stole a glance from Tilly who was still folding her laundry, Tilly's eyebrows rose up, as a warning for Karen to tread carefully.

"The bullet went through you, so that makes you lucky," Karen said just as Maeve got up feeling overwhelmed. There was that word again, the one that was supposed to make her feel better but did no such thing, "I'm not lucky. Stop callin' me lucky because I certainly don't feel lucky!" Maeve shouted then had stormed off to get out of there. Karen threw her hands up to Tilly in a frustrated manner, "What's her deal?" "She watched her parents die in front of her," Tilly hissed out in a whisper. Karen whispered back, "No one told me! How was I supposed to know?"

Maeve was walking towards the edge of camp where the horses were kept, looking over them all she saw Liability among them eating some hay. Maeve went up to old bay mare to pet her white mane, "Hey girl...you seem to be gettin' along with these guys." The horse exhaled loudly then pressed her nose to the girl's hand. "I know...it's just us now," Maeve spoke softly before reaching into her saddle bag to take out a brush. Her horse should have been much dirtier than it was, being out here in the desert could make anyone dusty, "Who's been takin' care of you, girl?" Maeve asked as if she was gonna get an answer.

"Me," Maeve turned around to see John standing there with a bundle of hay. He tossed it down and stepped closer to Maeve while she continued to groom the mare, "That's funny...Liability doesn't really let strangers near her."

"I'm-."

"You're what? A stranger?" Maeve lashed out in questions, "Do I know you? Can't recall your name, Mister," her eyes were burning a hole into him. John's gaze at her was not amused, but he said, "You done? I was hoping we could have a word."

"Why? What was wrong with earlier that you had to call me crazy?" Maeve stopped brushing Liability, "What your friends here wouldn't think highly of me? Make fun of you for talking to me? Was I such a bad person to you that you have to lie about knowin' me?"

"No--It's--," he took a breath to step closer, "Look...I wasn't the most open when we were--"

"You sure as hell weren't. Made me pry for any information on you," Maeve interrupted. John glanced over to look to the camp, "I didn't tell you somethings because I just...at the time I was lookin' for a new start and I met you--."

Maeve watched John find difficulty in forming his sentence, but he was taking so long, "What are you tryin' to tell me, John? What didn't I know when we were--."

"I'm married...unofficially?" Maeve's mouth dropped as he continued, "And I have a kid, I think?" Maeve shook her head in confusion, "Are you married or not? Do you have a kid or not? It's not that hard to know!" As she was shouting, John tried to quiet her by placing his hands on her shoulder, "It's... complicated."

She winced her eyes at him, "It's always complicated with you. Jesus, you were runnin' away from them then weren't you?" John sighed out, "It's a long story if you wanna hear."

"I don't!" Maeve hitched Liability to a stable post, "I'd rather throw myself off a cliff instead of listenin’ to you try and explain all your shitty lies, John!"

"Not tellin' isn't lying!" John defended.

"It ain't any better, neither! Christ John! The entire time you were with me, you had a wife and kid at-- out here?" She stared at him expecting him to try and defend that, only he didn't. John simply said, "Yes."

"You're horrible."

John gave a single nod, "I know...I wasn't expecting to ever see you again," he admitted to her. Maeve scoffed out, "Excuse me for being a giant inconvenience for you and your marriage or whatever you have."

"Maeve, please...just," his hand was on her wrist, not in a rough way, "I need you to understand that what I had with you...It was-- I shouldn't have used you like that when you were nice to me," Maeve watched him closely, wondering what all of their time was. He then said, "I need you to not tell anyone about me and you...at least until I've told my-- until I've told Abigail."

"You want me to lie for you now?" Maeve said to him. John nodded, "I know it's askin' a lot, but please."

She glared at him with those big brown eyes, "Not like it will be hard...I never knew you at all," Maeve pulled away from him, "Mae..." he said with a breath. The girl shook her head, "You wanna be strangers? Fine...let's be strangers. Just stay the hell away from me."

Maeve walked back to camp as John watched her. It was better for her if they lied like this. It was better that John let her go. Still, it hurt him having to do this due to the fact he was still fond of her. _____________________________________________________________

She threw her hair in a bun while walking into the saloon, "Mornin' Lou," she greeted the bartender as he was moving stools around, "Mornin' Miss Milley. Got someone waitin' on ya."

Maeve’s face made a pouted expression, "I just walked in!" she complained. Lou smirking, shook his head, "And he just paid! So get your pompous arse up there and scrub him clean!" Maeve tossed her coat over the bar and stomped upstairs. When getting to the door, Maeve knocked, "Need some help in there?"

"Yeah," Maeve rolled her eyes not paying attention to the voice then opened the door. She was expecting to see a naked man in the tub but instead, Maeve saw a fully clothed one standing by the porcelain, "John?"

"Howdy," he greeted taking off his gloves. Maeve shut the door behind her and was rather surprised he was still around, "Thought you were passin' through?" her head tilted to the side as she sauntered forward. John gave her a small shrug, "I did mention I would stay if there's any reason to stick around."

The corners of her mouth raised a bit just as she was arms length away, "Am I a reason?" John took off his hat and nodded, "You are. Do you wanna be?" he moved closer being inches from her now. Maeve bit the side of her bottom lip before standing on her toes to kiss John. His arms wrapped around her waist to hold her up as they deepened the passionate kiss. Maeve's hands were on the side of his face as he stopped kissing for a moment, "That a yes?"

Maeve laughed out in glee, "You're horrible!"

"I know," John, smiling brightly, pressed his lips to hers again.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan/oc #John Marston #john marston/oc #red dead redemption 2.#rdr2

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eatsanditsgood4you · 5 years

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Cooking Show AU

Ok, ok hear me out. It's rvb but they're all on some horrendously cheesy cooking show on TV. It's almost like Beat Bobby Flay except it's the whole lot of them versus the villain of the week. They're supposed to work together but instead they both try to outdo eachother and beat the pro. Naturally, the reds and blues are on opposite sides of the studio. Constantly bargaining with each other over use of utensils/ovens/appliances/ect. Complete with color coded aprons.

Red team

Sarge: All of his meals are greasy, patriotic, or both. Creates the meal with the highest calorie count by miles every single time. Ex-military who radiates raw "back in my day energy." Cooks things in the most unconventional ways possible. The judges have never seen a man cook by setting a pan of oil on fire and using it to toast food on skewers. If something in the studio breaks, more often than not he fixes it himself. Now the red teams food processor can chip wood. Always yells at Grif over his sloppy technique.

Simmons: Always follows a recipe down to the milligram. Has also memorized so many recipes. Could not cook without an electronic scale or leveled teaspoons. Makes some Dutch-Irish dishes. Prone to going into flights of panic near the end of the round that usually cause him to screw up. Grif will either calm him down or rile him up, depending on his mood. Chemistry major. Uses chemistry knowledge when he bakes. "Gastronomy is a science Grif!" Work station is always neat and organized; even in the middle of a round. Radiates big anxiety energy.

Grif: Never follows a recipe. Ever. Just adds what he feels like is enough of everything Some sort of otherworldly talent for comfort and junk food. Makes some traditional Hawaiian foods. More often than not is either "taste testing" his food or just straight up eating out of the pantry. Once took a nap in the middle of a round while he waited for something to cook. "Simmons just improvise for once in your life." Work station is always a wreck and he constantly gets shit from Simmons about it. He and Simmons constantly banter through the middle of a round. Big foodie energy.

Donut: Instagram ready plating every time. Extreme attention to detail. Trendy and hip flavors, usually vegan. No matter what he does somehow some foods just manage looking phallic. Endless innuendos. "Let's fill these holes boys!" *red team groans of agony* Makes mixed drinks and desserts like nobody's business. Really good at tossing pizza. Tries to socialize with Lopez during rounds and translate to him the cooking challenge in Spanish. Big social media influencer energy.

Lopez: Understands the challenges just fine. Wishes that Donut would stop trying to translate. The challenge could be the most American food possible and he would still manage to make some kind of Hispanic recipe out of pure spite. Constantly grumbling about how his team is a bunch of dumbasses. If something breaks he tries to fix it before Sarge can get his hands on it, the food processor almost took his fingers. Finishes his meals in the most perfunctory manner possible. Keeps hoping that somehow he'll get sent home so that he doesn't have to deal with these morons anymore. Never happens. Big tired of this shit energy.

Blue Team

Church: Nobody has to restart their food more than Church. Whether it's because Caboose bumped into him and made him drop it, something glass shattered and got in the food, or he cut his finger and got blood everywhere. Church has to restart at least once per round, but the record is four times. Nobody knows how he's still there. Once had a light fixture fall from the ceiling, nearly hit him, and slam right into his work station. Everyone jokes that he has more than one life. Caboose drives him up the damn wall but he really appreciates his encouragement, even if he would never ever admit it. Does surprisingly good with technical dishes. Bags under his eyes for days. Big ready to die energy.

Tucker: Originally learned how to cook because he thought it would impress chicks. Originally got on the cooking show because he thought it would impress chicks. Now does both for his son Junior. Talks about him constantly. Has a fancy heated knife that he uses perhaps in excess. Always flirting with production manager Kai during rounds. Really good at rolling with the punches and thinking on his feet. Has saved many dishes from the point of no return just because he acted fast instead of freezing up. Big flirt energy.

Caboose: Is just so happy that he gets to be on the show with his best friend Church. Pulls the weirdest flavor combinations that should by no means work, but they do. Nobody knew you could put sprinkles on macaroni and get away with it. Always tries to encourage Church when he has to restart a dish. Again. Has some weird bond with the kitchen appliances. If the appliance won't work for someone on blue team it will usually work for Caboose. Uses a large electric carving knife he named Freckles. Should probably not be allowed to. Big child energy.

Sheila: Is the team's big ass oven. Grif tried to use her once and she burned the hell out of him. Burns the hell out of Church on regular intervals. Caboose talks to her constantly. Big hot energy.

That's all I've got for now but I'm sure I could come up with more.

#red vs blue #rvb #rvb red team #rvb blue team #rvb sarge #rvb simmons #rvb grif #rvb donut #rvb lopez #rvb church #rvb tucker #rvb caboose #rvb sheila

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ashandboneca · 5 years

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The Gods and UPG

I should start out by saying that this is my own viewpoint, but I know a number of people who see things similarly to me. Theology, religion, and spirituality have always been an interest of mine. I'm drawn to it, because my scientific mind is always trying to make sense of the things I read, see, hear, and experience.

The questions we really need to ask are this: what are gods? Who are they? Why do they differ depending on culture, and why are there similarities in tandem with the differences? How do we define them in our modern age of reason?

To me, the gods can be many things. I have seen them described as an energy force, as living beings, as archetypes, as parts of a giant whole, as venerated ancestors. Depending on the culture and the other permeating beliefs, you see different parts of these more predominantly in some cultures than others. To the Egyptians, the gods represented the natural world - figures melded with animal parts, with recurrent themes of life, death, resurrection. To the Greeks (and Romans), the gods were tempestuous archetypes, mingled with sex and fear and anger, full of vengeance. To the Celtic, Germanic, and Scandinavian people, the gods were living beings, venerated ancestors or great kings and queens who were mortal and flawed but wise and eternal. In some cultures, the gods represented a physical feature - a hill, a mountain, the sea.

The ancient people were superstitious and wary. They did not have the scientific enlightenment we do now, but they had a very deep relationship with the land. Even the ancient kings and queens relied heavily on their farmers and serfs to provide food for their people. Everything that we know now - ph levels of the soil, herbicides to keep pests away - would have been considered magic back then. We have science and reason to explain things (and even so, we cannot explain everything), they had the gods. Whether the gods themselves existed before the people started praying to them, or the prayers brought the gods into being is a chicken/egg question. The people were seeking to please the gods, or work the will of the gods, or curry the favour of the gods. In the case of venerated ancestors, the same clause stands. You have someone who is renown for being brave, wise, and cunning - people admire, honour, and seek to emulate that person. Stories are told, embellished, and gods are born.

The gods, like most deities, are products of their time. Practices that would have been very common 2000 years ago are not something we would necessarily practice today - at least, not in it's original form. We may offer sacrifice, but it is doubtful we would use a human, or even an animal (without consuming the animal, at least). We do not necessarily fear the gods, as most cultures did then - we now seek to work with them and gain their favour, and we relish their attention. We live in an age of advanced science, where it is unlikely we are surrounded with likeminded believers. While we all recognize that each sect of pagan theology is gaining and maintaining followers and celebrants, we are not as populous or plentiful as we once were. To most modern day people, believing in any of the old gods seems silly and superstitious (and to some, outright stupid). It goes against the grain, and we are the minorities.

There are theories that the belief in something somehow makes it’s stronger - many people funnelling their energy and focus to one being gives that being more standing and power. Could it not be said that the opposite is also true? As people converted their belief from the pagan gods to the Christian god, would those beings not wane in power? The centres of power for these gods - the Parthenon, Gamla Uppsala, and Stonehenge, for example - have been christianized, left to ruin, or left to neglect.

Thus, I wholly believe that in order for the gods to survive, they need to adapt. They need to evolve and grow, as people and society have done, in order to remain in tact. I think that recognizing our roots, ancestry, and where we come from is very, very important. I think honouring those things is also important. However, I think that everyone experiences the gods in a different way, and I think these gods are wise enough to be able to choose with whom they cavort. People, especially in North America, are more diverse than we would have been 2000 years ago - how many of us can claim a vast cultural canvas as our genetic makeup? I myself have French, English, Scottish, German, Swedish and Danish (with bits of Dutch, Luxembourger, and Irish), but large parts of my family have been in Canada since the 1600’s. Which parts of our genetics should we tap into? Should the circumstances of our birth force us to turn our backs on what we are drawn to work with? What about those who are adopted, should they just guess, or choose the genetics of their adoptive families?

The gods, if they are as powerful as I believe they are, are not foolish. They know that to survive, they must adapt. It is a very scientific way of thinking - sort of like behavioural modernity. Just as we evolved to start making clothes out of animal hide or how we evolved lactase persistence (which allows modern humans to continue drinking milk past childhood), the gods have had to be less picky and learn new ways in which people worship. It’s not that they are settling or that it’s somehow lesser than it was - it’s more learning to work with new tools. Like moving to a new climate and having to adjust how you dress and travel.

This theory that I hold is why I am so vocal in supporting people working with whichever pantheon they are drawn to, and why I think UPG is so important.

UPG (unverified personal gnosis) is almost essential when you are working with gods or doing any manner of ecstatic practice. Wikipedia states

“…attempts at recreating or restarting ancient religions continue, the difficulty in telling the difference between historically attested sources and modern, personal interpretations grows. All myths and legends started at some point in the human past with one person or group's experience; thus it would be inappropriate to dismiss out-of-hand a new experience. UPG grew out of the need for a shorthand in differentiating the two.”

Dismissing someone’s experience simply because it is not something you experienced is like dismissing someone’s pain experience with a sunburn because you have never had one. All we have as human beings is experienced - we are constantly taking in information, and outputting thoughts and ideas. All of our innovations and inventions came from experiences that the inventors had that others hadn’t.

If someone’s personal experience isn’t the same as yours, it is not a slight. It’s simply something they have experienced that you haven’t that holds significance to them and not you. That is okay and perfectly normal.

I think if we constantly work in a state of historical accuracy, we are missing the mystic, and if constantly work in a state of UPG, we are missing the sage. There is wisdom in the lessons and words of others - we need those to ground us and centre us. There is enlightenment in personal experience - we need to think outside of the box. It is a beautiful marriage of both of these halves that gives us the enriching experience of working with magic, the gods, and the universe. We seek to emulate the gods, and so we should evolve as they do.

#ash and bone #ashandbone.ca #witchcraft #traditional witchcraft #heathenry #the crooked path

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unofferable-fic · 5 years

Text

The Flower & The Serpent (Arthur Morgan x OFC)

Chapter 1 - Orphans from the East

Summary: In the early 1890s, the Van der Linde Gang were truly at their finest. Experts at stealing from the rich and giving to the poor, they've made a name for themselves across the West. Two of their newest recruits, a pair of rebellious Irish siblings with an unknown past, slowly find their footing and settle into their new lives as outlaws. And yet, as they grow older, threats from all sides begin to appear. A strained relationship with Colm O'Driscoll spells disaster for the gang, and no matter how far they roam across America, the world continues to change around them. If they want to survive, difficult choices must be made. No one is as they seem and the impending arrival of law and order threatens to tear the siblings, and everything they hold dear, apart. Is it too late for anyone to find a happy ending?

Originally posted by loga-boga

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Pairing: Arthur Morgan x OFC

Warnings: Language, violence.

Word Count: 4,699

Next Chapter

Playlist: “Red Dead Redemption 2 Trailer Theme” — L’Orchestra Cinematique, “Blessed Are The Peacemakers” — Woody Jackson, “Old Dog” — The Scratch

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A/N: Also available on AO3. So I've been obsessing over the Red Dead series since December and decided to finally bite the bullet and write a fic about my favourite cowboys and gals. That being said, this bad boy is the result of smashing heads together with a friend of mine, who is also a writer and contributing just as much to the narrative and characters. So this is essentially a mutual creation of ours and we hope y'all enjoy some western shenanigans with some Irish patriotism sprinkled on top. This is my first attempt at anything Red Dead related, so hopefully it isn't a steaming pile of trash! Any thoughts at all, comments are always welcome.

“What the hell is this?”

Arthur Morgan had found himself in many sticky situations in his short life, but standing with his revolver pointed at a pair of kids was definitely a new one.

Well, they were pointing their own guns right back at him, so it wasn’t exactly a situation that required basic manners.

“Looks like they got to our take first,” Dutch replied in disbelief from his spot between the two parties. Their agitated mounts continuously shuffled on their hooves, neighing restlessly as each rider did their best to focus on the newest threat before them. “Hold on a minute there, son—”

“Who are you lot?” the young boy demanded, with his revolver currently pointed directly at Dutch. Behind him, a girl had just finished shoving the much sought after contents of the stagecoach lockbox into a large bag. In her other hand was a gun pointed directly between Arthur’s eyes.

“You best drop that gun, you little shit!” a very wound up John Marston ordered. “Before I put a bullet in your head!”

The girl swiftly pointed her gun towards John, the threat apparently cutting deep. Despite her slight frame and obvious youth, her voice sounded confident from beneath her bandana. “Try it, greasy! I’ll take great pleasure in riddlin’ your fuck-ugly face!”

Of course, John was never one for staying calm. “You ain’t in charge here, little missy!”

“Marston!” Arthur cut in, seeing things spiralling quickly if they didn’t do something. His furrowed brow was already covered in sweat beneath his hat. “Shut your damn mouth and take it easy!”

“No one needs to die here,” Hosea added, his voice surprisingly calm despite their current predicament. “We all need to relax.”

Dutch agreed and tried to take control of the situation as he always did. “My good friend here is right. How about lowerin’ your guns, fellers, and we can talk this out.”

The boy’s eyes flared on his mostly hidden face. “How about you get your monkeys to lower theirs first!”

While the insult barely fazed Arthur, John was a little more sensitive. “Shut your damn mouth!”

Well Jesus, this couldn’t possibly end well…

* * *

8th June, 1890, outside Waukesha, Wisconsin

Today is the day. Dutch wants me and Marston to scout out the road before the stagecoach comes through later this evening. It’ll be the kid’s first real try at a robbery like this, so Dutch thinks getting familiar with the area might help settle his nerves a little… I was against it at first, but he said we need the extra man if we’re going to deal with the Pinkerton escort afterwards.

As long as he keeps a cool head he should be fine, but he’s still not one for taking orders very well, even if he’s been with us for five years. Still young, dumb as shit, and eager to prove himself. I’m hoping he learns to listen though — Lord knows I’d hate to see anything happen to him.

* * *

“Grub’s up, folks! Grub’s up!”

Arthur closed over his journal at Pearson’s call. Glancing up to see the cook placing a steaming pot of stew over the fire, he returned the book to its spot on his bedside table. Morning had swiftly arrived at the camp, and most of the inhabitants were up and about already, attending to the many chores that needed doing. It was a clear and sunny day, with only a few fluffy white clouds littering the blue sky. The heat was somewhat intense despite the early hour and brought a light sheen of sweat to his forehead. This camp had been their home for some weeks now, and Arthur really didn’t mind. He quite liked it out here — he always preferred the open plains to dense cities. The cosy field where they now resided was situated on the bank of a river outside a small city called Waukesha. The surrounding lowlands were flat, open, and easy to traverse, but the gang was safely hidden from the nearest trail by a thick group of green trees. Though the region was home to some of Wisconsin’s largest cities, most of it was made up of farmland, so it was relatively easy for them to remain here without being noticed. He really hoped they could stay in these vast fields for some time. He could get used to travelling across the stretching green pastures atop Boadicea, and the first breath of fresh air he inhaled every morning bought a genuine smile to his face.

Arthur’s eyes flitted over the lightly dancing trees on the camp’s outskirts before looking to what had originally grabbed his attention. Though Pearson’s food was in dire need of some seasoning, his stomach rumbled at the prospects of a hot meal. He got to his feet, wiping some of his unruly hair out of his eyes, and went to get his share.

“Mornin’, Mr Morgan,” Susan greeted him as she grabbed a cup of coffee.

“Miss Grimshaw,” he replied with a nod, helping himself to a large bowl of stew. “Mornin’.”

She took a seat on one of the nearby tables and urged him to join her.

With a shrug, he took a seat and set his bowl down. “Coffee good?”

“As always,” she said. “As long as it calms my nerves it’ll do.”

“What do you have to be nervous about?” he asked before taking a mouthful of stew and ignoring the mild bland taste.

“I seem to be more concerned with this stagecoach than you are!”

“You concerned about the coach, or the fact Marston will be near the coach?”

“He can be a headstrong little brat at times, but I’d rather not see him with a hole in his head.”

Miss Grimshaw shook her head in exasperation, but the gesture only brought a smirk to Arthur’s lips. She could be quite a harsh woman, especially when people lounged around and didn’t do their part in keeping everything running smoothly. Despite being the current flame of the ever flirtatious Dutch van der Linde, Susan Grimshaw refused to sit idly by and act like the lady of the manor. She was very much involved in ensuring that the camp remained a functioning unit. She was perfect for the role, probably because she could be positively terrifying if you didn’t help out.

“I’ll admit,” Arthur began, swallowing some food. “I wasn’t exactly happy ’bout the idea at first, but Dutch has faith in the little brat. And besides, he’s got me, Dutch, and Hosea lookin’ out for him. He’ll be fine as long as he does what we say.”

Susan eyed him carefully, but nodded, seemingly happy with his words. “As long as you do look out for him, Mr Morgan. You know how he can be — he reminds me a lot of you at that age.”

“Hey now! Don’t go comparin’ me to that fool—”

Miss Grimshaw cut across him with ease. “It is the reason you two get on so well, what with bein’ such like-minded individuals…”

Arthur finished his breakfast while she reeled off the many reasons why he and John were one and the same. Sometimes it as best just to keep his mouth shut, and this seemed like one such moment. His saving grace came when Dutch called him over to his tent.

“Mornin’, Dutch.”

“And a fine morning it is, son,” he replied with gusto and set down the book he had been reading. He offered Arthur a cigarette before taking one for himself. He lit the two, then continued on. “Hosea and Bessie took young John into town to get some supplies for tonight.”

“How’s he seem?” Arthur asked and took a drag.

“John? Seems fine to me. Maybe a little… let’s say, eager, to get goin’.”

“Still got faith in him?”

“O’course,” Dutch said, his voice firm. “We all gotta start somewhere, Arthur, you know that. He’s seventeen now, so it ain’t a bad age to get goin’. Heck, you did it even younger.”

He knew Dutch was right — there was no point letting John fester around camp doing nothing. They definitely didn’t need a second Uncle around the place, and Marston seemed keen to please… Or maybe he was just passionate about shooting something, who knew? It seemed that Dutch did though, and if there was someone whose opinion mattered, it was Dutch.

Arthur kept busy around the camp doing numerous chores while he waited for the trio to return. Chopping firewood and helping Pearson prepare their dinner for later at least meant that time flew by for him. He was playing fetch with Copper when John finally returned with Hosea and Bessie in tow. While the older couple went to check in with Dutch, Arthur and John mounted their horses and, with Copper running along side them, headed out down the road to the spot where they intended to rob the stagecoach.

“Why are we robbin’ it at this spot exactly?” Marston asked, scanning his eyes over the strip of dirt road.

“It’s the best distance outside town where a robbery won’t attract any attention,” Arthur explained, gently patting Boadicea. “The stagecoach is carryin’ bank transfers into Milwaukee, so you can bet that robbin’ it close to town would bring a whole heap of law on us. See that turn there?” He pointed off in the distance, tipping the brim of his hat to keep the shimmering sunlight out of his eyes. “It’s gonna come down that road there and loop this way. We’ll be waitin’ on this here ridge and hidden in some of the trees so that they don’t spot us.”

“What about them?” the younger boy asked. “They got any guns?”

“Four in total, if Hosea’s intel is right. So we should be able to take ’em out with the four of us. They’ll have a backup escort comin’ in from there, though.” He pointed up the road in the opposite direction. “’The bank in Milwaukee will be sendin’ out some of their own guns to meet the stagecoach just a little ways up the road, considerin’ this lil strip is so deserted. So we’re expectin’ maybe four more guns to show, which is why Dutch wants you involved. Once we rob the coach and the extra men arrive, there’ll be enough of us to take ’em out if needs be.”

“Sounds dangerous,” John mused, hanging on his every word.

Arthur let out a chuckle and proceeded to light himself a cigarette. “What, you scared, boy?”

“No! I ain’t scared, just bein’ honest about things.”

“You’ll do just fine,” the older man reassured him and offered him a cigarette. “You just need’a keep a cool head, and do as Dutch says. That’s how we make sure things go smoothly.” He paused to take a drag. “You ain’t got nothin’ to worry about if you do that.”

John nodded and puffed away to calm his nerves. “Thanks. I’m just glad that you’ll have my back, brother.”

“That’s what family is for,” Arthur responded with a small grin. He watched Copper as the dog sniffed along the roadside. “You’ll be fine.”

The two of them remained there for a few moments more as Arthur went over their plan of action in more detail. Though he knew how John could be, he was glad to see that he was eager to get to work. He hoped this wouldn’t make him over excited when the time came, but he thought back on what Dutch had said — he needed to put faith in his brother to do the job right. Thankfully, Marston had yet to give him a reason to doubt him so aggressively.

They returned to camp and waited out the rest of the day going over their plan with Hosea and Dutch. They had everything planned perfectly — it had to be, otherwise they could find themselves in a sticky situation once the Pinkerton escort arrived. Regardless, spirits were high at dinner time when Arthur, Dutch, Hosea, and young John mounted up and headed out to rob the stagecoach. They road through the fields in the late evening sun, avoiding the main road so that they wouldn’t be spotted ahead of time. The familiar buzz that came with performing robberies and the like was already stirring within Arthur’s chest. It was always risky business, but a part of him loved the thrill and feeling of power that came with these takes. Knowing that the money would be given to those who needed it most also gave him a nice sense of self-worth — it was one of the only things in his life that made him feel that way. He wasn’t a good man by any means, but he still tried to do some small bit of good where he could.

“And here we are,” Dutch announced from atop his horse as the group arrived at the waiting spot. He glanced at his pocket watch and nodded. “Right on time. Does everyone remember the plan?”

“O’course,” Arthur confirmed.

“Good. Now, cover your faces; we won’t be waitin’ too long for the stage to swing by.”

Arthur quickly pulled his bandana up to cover his mouth and nose and double-checked that his guns were fully loaded and ready to be used if things took a turn.

“Remember, gentlemen,” Dutch continued on. “No killing unless absolutely necessary.”

“Best of luck, everyone,” Hosea added.

Then the group descended into silence and waited.

And waited.

Arthur’s fingers flexed on his reigns. He could see John beginning to get anxious. Something definitely wasn’t right.

The only noise they could hear was the light breeze on the leaves above their heads, and the persistent ticking of Dutch’s pocket watch as he checked the time again.

“Somethin’ ain’t right,” Hosea whispered, mimicking Arthur’s own concerns. “They should have come through here by now.”

“Maybe you got the times wrong?” John suggested. “Or the place?”

Arthur shook his head. “That ain’t it. We heard from multiple people and all of them said it would come through this road at this time.”

“So what do we do then?”

“Well,” Dutch sighed, somewhat vexed with the development. He pulled down his bandana and turned to the rest of them. “We can’t stay here and wait for it to possibly arrive. I suggest we head up road and see do we come across it. But we stay out of sight and appear as inconspicuous as we can until I say otherwise.”

Hosea nodded and uncovered his face. “I agree. It’s definitely a better idea than waitin’ here and hopin’ for the best.”

“In that case, follow me, gentlemen.”

Arthur followed as the group made their way through the fields adjacent to the strip of road. They kept an eye out, but met no one along the way, and their anxiety only grew with each passing second. This was some take according to the locals, so missing it would be a great loss to the gang.

“Up ahead!” Dutch suddenly announced in a hushed tone.

Arthur looked up to see a stagecoach in the distance, stationary on the road. “Why’s it stopped?”

“Because,” Dutch growled out. “It’s bein’ robbed.”

“It’s what?”

“Somebody beat us to it! C’mon!”

Right well, this certainly wasn’t an outcome for which the gang was prepared. Arthur hastily followed Dutch’s lead as their horses galloped up to the precious stage. He strained his eyes to get a look at who had intercepted the take before they even had a chance. The closer he got, the more information became apparent to him — two figures crowded the rear of the coach, one of whom was emptying its contents into a bag. The other stood by guarding her every move. The drivers and guards were nowhere to be found. At first, Arthur just assumed that the figures were small because of their position in the distance, but the closer he got, the more he realised that this was no normal robbery.

“It’s a pair of kids!” John exclaimed, disgust evident in his tone. “We got beaten to it by some damn kids!”

“Kids?” Arthur repeated in disbelief.

With the noise of their arrival, the pair of young thieves looked up from their prize to see four men thundering towards them on horseback. They were clothed in dirty outfits with bandanas hiding their identities. A quick once over told Arthur that it was boy and a girl who had managed to rob an obscene amount of money from the stage. How in the hell had two kids manage that?

Perhaps riding directly to them hadn’t been the best idea, as the pair were quick to point their guns at the gang.

“Hold on there!” Dutch called, grinding his mount to a halt and holding up his hands. The trio behind him followed suit, but Arthur and John instead chose to aim a weapon at each of them just in case.

“What the hell is this?” Arthur asked, completely dumbfounded with the situation they found themselves in.

“Cé hiad na leaids sin?” the girl asked her companion.

“The fuck you say?” John demanded, already losing his temper.

“Who are you lot?” the boy demanded, his eyes very skeptical already and completely unfazed by this strange man’s apparent aggression.

And now here they were — facing off against a pair of kids on a quiet dirt road. Sometimes Arthur really got tired of this shit.

“How about you get your monkeys to lower theirs first!”

“Take it easy, son,” Dutch answered calmly with his hands still raised. “We mean you no harm.”

“Your friends with the guns there don’t give us much comfort,” the girl replied in a thick Irish accent. “Now do as he said and get them to lower their weapons!”

“If you give me your word that you won’t shoot ’em, I will.”

“Is that a good idea?” Arthur asked, not exactly enjoying pointing his gun at a kid, but also not liking the idea of being defenceless.

“Trust me, Arthur. You and John, put the guns away.”

Arthur released a heavy sigh, but listened to his mentor and returned his gun to its holster. “Goddammit…”

John obliged, though he was far more hesitant to listen. A stern look from Hosea got the point across.

“Now,” Dutch announced. “We did as you asked. How about you meet us halfway and lower yours?”

The pair exchanged a knowing look before slowly lowering their revolvers, but not putting them away. The boy called out to them again. “Now, as I was sayin’, who are you lot and what do you want?”

“No harm in bein’ honest. We were the ones plannin’ on gettin’ that coach, but it seems like you beat us to it.”

“Not our problem,” the girl replied. “We got to it first, so you’s aren’t gettin’ any of it.”

Dutch shook his head. “We ain’t gonna steal it from you. You two earned it, fair and square. I don’t quite know how you managed it, but I’d be lyin’ if I said I wasn’t impressed.”

“We’re used to bumping into rival gangs every now and then,” Hosea added with a goodnatured chuckle. “But not so used to seein’ kids out on jobs.”

“Yeah, well,” the girl grumbled. “You gotta get by somehow when you’ve nothin’ else.”

“Of course!” Dutch agreed. “We ain’t here to judge.”

As they spoke, Arthur briefly turned his head as the sound of horses grabbed his attention. He looked back down the road from where they came, and suddenly remembered an important detail of the plan. “Awh, shit. We got company!”

“Wait, what?” the boy asked, looking baffled. “What’s goin’ on?”

“The Pinkertons!” Hosea confirmed just as the escort appeared at the end of the trail. “How many we got, Arthur?”

“I see six comin’ in!” he confirmed, looking through his binoculars at the patrol heading down the road.

“That’s more than expected!” John commented in dismay.

“Pinkertons?” the young girl repeated. “What Pinkertons?”

“An escort sent to meet the stagecoach,” Dutch elaborated. “I assume by your confused expressions that you two didn’t know about that part.”

“Jaysus Christ,” the boy muttered and drew a carbine from his back. “No, we didn’t.”

“Well then I think your best odds are to come with us, or you can stay here and try to fight off six guns.”

The kids shared a look again before the girl spoke first in a language that Arthur didn’t understand. “Cad a dhéanfaimid anois?”

The boy shook his and gave her hand a squeeze. “Níl an dara rogha againn. Let’s get outta here.”

“You got horses?”

“No,” the girl explained. “We came on foot.”

“Well then, you hop up here with me, son, and your partner can jump on with my friend, Mr Morgan, there.”

The boy took Dutch’s outstretched hand and hauled himself on to the back of the horse, while Arthur offered the girl a hand and helped to pull her up behind him. “Hold on tight now, you hear?”

“I’ll be grand,” she replied, though he could hear the hint of fear in her voice. “Just move.”

Just as shouts and some shots rang out from the arriving escort, the gang sped off and through a nearby bunch of trees in an effort to lose their pursuers. Arthur felt the young girl hold on to his shoulders tightly as he pushed Boadicea as hard as she could go. The noise of the horses thundering along and jumping over bushes and fences was one that he knew well, and one that was always accompanied by a small amount of worry and excitement. He could hear John and Hosea urging their mounts forwards, realising how risky it was being out in the open like this. The head start thankfully gave them a decent advantage over the Pinkertons as they spend through the Wisconsin fields. Unfortunately, despite the distance between them and the men chasing them, the Pinkertons persisted and were hard to lose.

“They’re still on us,” the girl shouted from behind him. “You’s need to do somethin’!”

“I know,” Arthur answered, breathing in deep. “Just lemme think.”

“What about those trees?” William called, pointing to the outskirts of a bunch of greenery just in front of them.

Right on queue, bullets whizzed over their heads, some a mile off and others unnervingly close.

Arthur let out a huff and ducked his head down as one very nearly got him. “Keep your head down, girl! We’re sittin’ ducks out in the open like this!”

“We can lose them in there!” Dutch confirmed. “We just need to make it past the tree line.”

Behind them, the rate of gunfire began to increase the closer they got to the safety of the trees. The escort clearly knew that they’d lose them amidst the thick foliage. Thankfully, the trees drew closer and closer and their bullets managed to miss their targets as they shifted side to side to throw them off. Arthur breathed a sigh of relief as they breached the tree line and slowed to navigate between the brush. He felt the girl’s grip on his frame ease up a little with their new cover and he gave her a swift glance to see how she was holding up.

Dutch called out orders to once more grab their attention. “Everyone, veer left and follow me!”

They manoeuvred carefully between the tall trees and bushes, keeping a careful eye out behind them incase the escort appeared on their tail once more. Thankfully, as they weaved to and fro between the shrubbery, the Pinkertons weren’t seen again. When they finally broke through the edge of the forest and reappeared in an open field, the sun had just about set on the distance and the threat seemed to have been lost.

The horses were eased to a halt and Arthur placed a loving pat on trusty Boadicea’s neck. “You did good, girl.”

“Everyone alright?” Hosea asked the group. The responses he received were unanimously positive though out of breath.

“That certainly could’ve gone worse,” the boy mused as he jumped from The Count. Seeing no danger around, he pulled his bandana back down to reveal his youthful face. Arthur was surprised to see just how young he was — he looked to be about the same age as he was when he first joined the gang. Despite this, he looked like he was sleeping rough, with a dirty face and a fresh red scar that ran over his right brow and down his cheek. “But at least nobody got shot.”

Arthur noticed the girl dismounting to join her companion and she too pulled off her mask. She seemed just as young as him and showed signs of dirt and older scars. Immediately she went to the boy’s side and gave him a once over. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he said with a small smile and let out a huff as he got his breath back. “I’m grand. Are you?”

“Yeah. Thankfully these lads are good riders.”

She wiped her brow and reached back to tie her messy brown hair out of her face as Dutch addressed them. “I thought you two did pretty good out there, considerin’ you managed that stage all on your own.”

“Yeah, bar the squad that we weren’t even remotely prepared for showin’ up,” the girl replied with a pained smile. She looked up at Dutch and gave him a thankful nod. “We definitely would’a been captured or worse if it wasn’t for you lot.”

“Outlaws gotta stick together in times like these,” he said calmly. “We’re livin’ in different times, and we’re just tryin’ to survive.”

The boy nodded in agreement and then shared a look with the girl. “We appreciate the help Mister, uh…”

“Van der Linde,” Dutch replied and reached out to shake their hands. “Dutch van der Linde. These are my friends, Hosea Matthews, Arthur Morgan, and young John Marston.”

“I’m Maebh Hennigan,” the girl replied. “And this is my brother, William.”

“A pleasure. Can I ask, is it just the two of you? No parents or family around?”

Maebh flinched slightly at the question. “Uh, yeah. Our parents died a while back and the rest of our family is back in Ireland. We have nothin’, so we have to rob sometimes to get by. But that doesn’t matter, we owe you’s a lot for this. I suppose it's only fair that we give you’s a bit of the money from the stage.”

Dutch grinned at her suggestion and Arthur recognised that look almost immediately. He could already see his leader’s mind coming up with his next plan of action. Based on everything that happened today, he thought he had an idea of what it might be. “That’s a very kind offer, Miss Hennigan, but I actually have an offer for you.”

Maebh and William met each others gaze before the latter sceptically asked. “You have an offer for us?”

“As I already said, outlaws have to stick together if we want to get by out here. It’s the best way to ensure that we survive, that we live.”

Dutch was descending into a classic rousing speech with which Arthur and the group were quite familiar. He had heard it many times himself when he needed a bit of self belief in what they were doing. The most notable time he heard it was when he first met Dutch and Hosea as an unruly fifteen year old with nowhere to go and no one to turn to. Yes, this was certainly an encounter with which he had some personal experience.

Atop The Count, Dutch stretched out his arms in a welcoming gesture and grinned from ear to ear. “If we want to live like Americans, then we got to have each others backs, no matter how tough or worrisome things may be. You need a family, you need stability, you need to know that you are safe. But I think that today is a sign of what you both could have.” He paused and Maebh and William hung on every word. “My offer to you two, is how’d you like to join my gang?”

#red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x oc #john marston #red dead redemption fandom #rdr #rdr2 #fanfiction #fanfic #arthur morgan fanfic #the flower and the serpent #dutch van der linde #hosea mathews #rdr fanfiction #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan x ofc

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imladris-soldier · 6 years

Text

Lashes (pt 14)

Bill Williamson is a racist asshole. Everyone knows it. They just punch him and go on about their day. When a Lakota woman joins the gang, everyone expects things to go on as normal, slurs and all, and for a time, it does. But her curiosity gets the better of her, and she finds that hatred is something learned - which means it can be unlearned, if given time, care, and patience. And she has plenty of those… the first two, anyway.

Bill Williamson x OC

The caravan rattled out of Clemens Point, leaving the land slightly scarred behind it. It seemed that no matter where the Van Der Linde gang settled they left a mark, good or bad.

Star sat with Bill on the wagon he was driving, keeping an eye on all the horses that weren't being ridden. They mostly filed along, now unfortunately accustomed to this shifting camp ordeal. Once she was satisfied that they were alright, she settled next to her companion and allowed her eyes to drift over the country. The farther they went, the wetter everything became. The air stuck to her skin and felt heavy in her lungs. Her clothes hung in a vaguely damp manner off her body. Things squished and reeked in ways she had never known. Where in the world was Dutch taking them?

“You seem quiet,” Bill murmured, glancing over at her.

There was a hint of concern in his voice that she couldn't ignore, and it struck her that maybe there was some lingering tension from the night of the attack on the Braithwaites. He'd been considerate enough not to ask her directly what had happened, and she had appreciated it. However, she would have to tell him sooner or later.

“If you want to ask something, just ask me.”

He blushed slightly at having been called out so easily, but he shrugged it off. “Just been worried is all. What happened with the Braithwaites... seemed to take a lot outta ya.”

He was still dancing around the question, but it felt like he was protecting her from it. He wanted to know, but he didn't want to cause her the pain of telling him. It equal parts frustrated and warmed her, though she couldn't put a finger on her frustration. So, she let it out in a heavy sigh.

“It did. I was forced to remember things that I had carefully hidden away, and those memories did not resurface kindly.”

Bill nodded a bit, eyes on the road in front of them. “Been there.”

“I... imagine you have.” She had probably caused one or two of those events just by appearing in his life. “It's not a nice story. And... I'll tell it to you sometime. Just... not now.”

“Alright,” he conceded easily, no hint of disappointment in his voice. “I got a story or two you ain't heard neither, so...” He shrugged, glancing over at her. “I guess... well... guess we'll both just take our time. We got plenty of it.”

The frustration melted away as she filled with fondness. “I hope so,” she replied softly.

As the caravan rolled through the South, heading ever farther in the opposite direction of that they had hoped for, the mood felt... mixed. Some of the others seemed to have found hope to hold on to, but Star herself felt very apprehensive, so she picked up more on those who mirrored her sentiments. John, who had returned to guide them to Shady Belle, and Abigail were understandably worried, though they seemed to be avoiding each other. Micah was grumpier than usual, though he professed undying faith in Dutch's decisions. Hosea kept up his smile for the gang, but when he thought no one was looking, his gaze drifted to the countryside and became wistful. Things felt... different.

The twists and turns of the road carried the gang into swampland. New animal noises began to crop up that Star had never heard before in her life, and it put her on edge. This entire land was nothing but threat. She had already learned to dislike the South in general, but this part? It was repulsive.

It took the better part of the day to reach Shady Belle, and Star was appalled to find that the house was of a similar make to the Braithwaite mansion, though it had seen significantly better days. It was surrounded on three sides by swamp, and there were multiple battlements left from the previous occupiers.

While the wagons rolled in, Arthur emerged from the house with a wave. “Welcome home, all of ya, to my humble abode! We got fine livin', if you ignore the corpses and the alligators. A real paradise.”

Dutch jumped down from The Count, spinning with a grin. “I love it! Ms. Grimshaw, Mr. Pearson, would you kindly work your magic?”

The wagons fanned out across the yard to make space for each other as they organized the camp into something livable. Star squeezed Bill's shoulder before jumping down from the still moving wagon to see to the horses. As she made her way to the nervous animals, she saw Dutch and Arthur mounting back up.

“Dutch?” Molly called, running to catch up.

“Yes?”

“Could I have a word with ye?”

“Not now,” Dutch replied dismissively.

He and Arthur rode off, leaving a dejected Molly in her place. Star stood with her hand on Old Boy's neck, watching as the Irish woman's shoulders slumped and she turned to go back to the house. While it was true that Star had never been particularly fond of Miss O'Shea, she couldn't help but feel for the woman.

“He's just stressed, Molly,” she called.

Molly's red hair bounced as she turned, surprised at having been spoken to. Star expected her not to respond and move on, but she made her way awkwardly between the horses to stand with Star. “I dunno. He hardly speaks a word to me. Been this way for a while now.”

“Well... he's been stressed for a while now. After everything this gang has been through, can you blame him?”

“I just wish he'd talk to me. I... I really love 'im, and I wanna help 'im, but...” She shrugged helplessly. “How do you do it?”

That caught Star off guard. “Do what?”

“Get Bill to talk to ye. I seen you two 'round camp. Yer always talkin' and doin' stuff together. He's got a lot better since 'e met you. Nicer. Quieter.”

Star ran her fingernails through Old Boy's coat, considering the question. She didn't really think she'd done anything to get Bill to talk to her. Except maybe listen. He had a lot to say, but no one ever listened to him. Once she did, and he was convinced that she wasn't making fun of him, he just... talked.

“I don't know, Molly. We just... he trusts me, is all. Knows I'm not going to use his words against him, like everyone else seems to.”

The woman's freckled face twisted into an expression of despair. “Why doesn't Dutch trust me?! I've been by his side through all'a this. He should trust me!”

With that, Molly stormed off, crying. Star stared after the Irishwoman, baffled. She'd tried to help, but it wasn't her fault that Dutch found nothing to trust in his companion, though why he felt the need to keep her around was beyond understanding. They weren't even sharing a bed much anymore, so what was the point? Although, perhaps there was simply no convincing Molly that it was over. She still seemed to feel strongly about Dutch.

With a shrug, Star returned to her work, though she as soon joined by another.

“What was that about?” Hosea asked quietly, taking a brush to Silver Dollar.

Star glanced at the forming camp, making sure that Molly was nowhere in earshot. “Dutch brushed her off again. She wanted to know how I got Bill to talk to me. I told her that he trusted me. She... did not take it well.”

Hosea let out a sigh as a slight, humorless smile touched his lips. “So we saw.”

“Did I do something wrong?”

“Honesty is never wrong, girl. Except for when it gets you into trouble.” His smile grew genuine. “I knew when she arrived that the outlaw life would sit poorly with Molly O'Shea. It was just a matter of time.”

“Why does Dutch keep her around?”

“I don't think Dutch has spared a thought for Molly in months. She's here because she chooses to be. I don't wish the girl any ill will, but I do wish she'd move on. Dutch will never be the man she hopes him to be.”

Something about that troubled Star. If Hosea saw cracks in what Dutch was building...

“Don't mind me, Star,” he cut across her thoughts. “It's been a long road. Perhaps I'm a bit crankier than usual.”

Star smiled. “We're all tired. And this place... it's...”

“I know. Revolting. Though the stagnant water adds a pleasant aroma, wouldn't you say?”

They laughed together, finishing up with the horses. By that time, camp was more or less assembled. By nightfall, Dutch and Arthur had returned saying that they had found Angelo Bronte. Plans were laid for them and John to pay a visit the next day. Everything seemed to be on track to retrieve Jack and get the hell out of there.

The gang fell to their usual habits, eating dinner, drinking, playing the occasional game of poker. But underneath it all, there was an unrest, and they all could feel it.

Late into the night, Star and Bill sat on the ground outside of their tent. Star was sat between his legs, leaned back against his chest, and his chin rested on her shoulder. They were content in silence for a while until an alligator hiss made Star jump, knocking Bill's teeth together.

“Shit,” she breathed. “Sorry.”

“Ain't never seen you so jumpy,” he remarked, rubbing his jaw. “What's got you so wound up?”

“Everything,” she admitted, taking his hand to play with in her lap. “But especially this place. I don't like being this close to a city. I don't like the sounds those leviathans make. I don't like that I've been bitten by more bugs than I can count since we arrived. I want to go home.”

“Where's home?”

It was a genuine question, but Star realized that she didn't really know what to tell him. It wasn't the reservation that she spoke of, but that direction wasn't a bad one. North and West to the plains. To the buffalo. To the rocky buttes and clear skies. Home.

“Somewhere the wind actually moves and the air doesn't sit on you like wet fabric. Somewhere that horses can run without fear of breaking a leg in the mire.” She paused, then looked over her shoulder. “Somewhere with you.”

He smiled and gently placed his chin back onto her shoulder, arms wrapping around her torso to hold her close. “Sounds good to me.”

They sat together a while longer – long enough for Karen and Pearson to begin singing a little drunkenly from the poker table, accompanied by Javier on his guitar.

“I'm a poor lonesome cowboy/ Poor lonesome cowboy/ Poor lonesome cowboy/ A long way from home/ I ain't got no mother/ I ain't got no mother/ I ain't got no mother/ To mend the clothes I wear/ I'm a poor lonesome cowboy/ Poor lonesome cowboy/ Poor lonesome cowboy/ A long way from home.”

As they sang, Bill began to hum the tune in Star's ear, gently rocking her side to side. She couldn't for a second maintain her worries when his voice sent pleasant shivers down her spine. A smile blossomed on her face as her arms went atop his. To say that she had ever thought to have something like this was a stretch. To say that she had imagined it would be someone like Bill Williamson is an outright lie.

….

In the morning, the camp was abuzz as Dutch, Arthur, and John rode off to Saint Denis to get Jack back. Abigail was a nervous wreck and spent most of her time pacing the camp. No one got in her way, though Sadie tried to offer some comfort.

Star spent the day with a constant watchful eye sweeping her surroundings. She had faith – or at the very least, had hope – that they would bring the boy back with no trouble, but enough had gone wrong up to that point to leave her restless. She also began to pace the camp, though slightly less fevered than Abigail.

At one point, Micah sidled across her path, lips twisted into a smirk. “What's got your britches in a knot?”

“Right now? You,” she replied, walking around him.

He chuckled, following her. “Ain't no reason to be hostile. Just makin' conversation.”

“Find someone else to talk to.”

“But I want to talk to you. I think we got off on the wrong foot.”

“Yes, I suppose nearly running me over, then proceeding to hurl offensive remarks might make things somewhat tense.”

“I thought you liked bein' called nasty names. Ain't that what Bill did to get your attention?”

Star spun around so fast that Micah nearly smacked into her. He took a staggering step backwards as her nose came very close to his. “Think you're funny, ugly man? Do you? Do you know the difference between you and Bill? He's capable of learning. He cares enough to try. There's a good man inside him that this gang tried so hard to repress because they needed someone to be the butt of their jokes. And he let them. Because he just wanted someone to want him back. You? You're rotten to the core. No amount of care or friendship would ever change you because you like being the way you are. You're a snake, Micah. Be careful someone doesn't turn you into boots.”

For a screaming, silent moment, Micah just stared at her. His face betrayed the tiniest hint of shock, though most of it hid in his biting blue eyes. And then, he laughed. “Oho, I seem to have struck a nerve. Alright, there, princess. Don't get yourself all worked up. I'll go my merry way.” His smile cracked, and his voice dropped. “But threaten me again, and we'll just see who does the skinning around here.”

He stepped back from her, his smirk back on his face, and then he sauntered off as if nothing had happened. Star made sure he was good and gone before letting out the breath she was holding. She knew it was unwise to rile him. He had always felt dangerous, and he had zero respect for her as a human being. Still, she refused to take his shit lying down.

As she turned to continue on, a voice called, “You alright?”

Charles was leaned up against a tree, easily blending into the bark and the foliage around him. Star nodded and crossed to him. “Fine.”

“He's mostly harmless, but... I don't like the idea of you facing him alone.”

Star's gaze went over her shoulder. “I don't believe for a second that he's harmless. Something about him has always set my teeth on edge. I don't know what it is... but, I don't trust him.”

Charles nodded. “Neither do I. Hunter's instinct maybe.”

“Maybe.” Her eyes returned to him. “What are you doing over here?”

He pointed at an alligator on the opposite shore. “Watching that.”

Star's lip curled up in displeasure. “Why?”

“It's fascinating.”

“It's horrific.”

The beast accentuated her point by snarling and hissing at some bird innocently passing by. She just pointed. Charles chuckled. “I didn't say it was kind.”

“Well, I hate it. I hate this place and all its animals.”

“Fair enough. Come on. Have you had lunch?”

The pair made their way back to the camp interior and tracked down some food. Bill was on watch duty, so the pair ate alone, swapping stories from their childhoods. Though the day had started out on shaky ground, it improved the longer they sat together. They only hoped it would last.

As the day dragged on, nerves around camp grew more frayed. The longer Dutch and the others were gone, the more worried everyone got. Had it been anything other than Jack, the stakes would not feel so high. He was just a boy, and everyone was fond of him. Except maybe Micah, who was annoyingly calm.

When darkness had fallen and they still hadn't returned, Abigail was nearly inconsolable. No one else could focus on much either. But, when the sounds of hooves reached them, every head popped up hopefully. Bill's voice called out, “Hey! They're back! I think I see Jack!”

“Abigail!!” Dutch called. “We got you your son!”

“We got him!” John practically whooped. “He's ok!”

Jack's little voice piped up, “Momma! I'm fine, Momma!”

The dam broke. Everyone came running, smiles all around.

“My son!” Abigail cried. “You got him! You got my son back!”

She whipped her little boy into her arms, spinning around with a laugh. Jack looked none the worse for wear and said, “They fed me good! Italian food. Have you ever had that?”

“Good luck living up to that, Pearson,” Star murmured to the cook. He just grinned and waved her off.

Abigail brought Jack to the crowd of people waiting to greet him, though he soon lost interest in it all and asked to play. Abigail let him, but never let her eyes leave him. Dutch, Hosea, Arthur, and John shared a quiet word together, but then Dutch broke away, speaking louder. “Boys, we got work to do. Interesting work. But first, let's have a drink. We got Jack back! It's time to celebrate!”

The gang let out cries of joy and almost immediately managed to become merry. Alcohol was opened and passed around. Songs were sung, the most rousing of which was Javier's “Cielito Lindo”. Star didn't know the words, so she simply stood with the gang, watching, smiling, and laughing.

The echoes of Sean's party came back to her, leaving a weight of sadness atop her joy, but it was not so heavy that she couldn't enjoy this new celebration. She laughed with the girls, drank with the boys, played with Jack. It was wonderful.

At one point, Bill approached her, bottle in hand, though he immediately offered it to her when he reached her. She took it and drank a large swig. He was obviously feeling the effects of the alcohol, but she had certainly seen him far worse off. He took her hand in his, letting it dangle between them. “R-remember the party at Horseshoe?” he asked, swinging her hand slightly.

“Course I do.”

“Well... me too, but... I don't... I don't remember the part I wanna remember. So, let's do it over.”

She smiled, grateful that the fire would hide her blush. “I mean... we've done so before...”

“But not like this,” he answered, waving around at everything. “It's a party! We got Jack back. Everything's gonna be alright. I just... I wanna spend it with you is all. Proper like this time.”

She took another drink, smiling around the bottle. “Alright, fine. I'll slip away, then you follow me in a bit.” Handing the bottle back, Star reclaimed her hand and slowly made her way to their tent, stopping to talk to a few people along the way.

One of those people was Kieran. He lingered on the outside of the festivities, though his demeanor was more relaxed than usual. He even smiled when she approached. “Hi, Star!”

“Hey!” The alcohol had loosened her tongue slightly, making her a bit louder than normal, so she jumped at her own voice. “Oh, geez. Sorry. That was noisy.” Kieran giggled and took another sip from his bottle. “Anyway, I came over here to tell you something. I don't want you to think it was your fault.”

“What do you mean?”

“Jack getting taken. You said you'd seen some men being suspicious and the like before he was kidnapped. It wasn't your fault. If you'd tried to stop them, they might've killed you, and that wouldn't have been better. We got him back ok. Everything worked out. So... it's not your fault.”

He swirled his drink around and shrugged. “I dunno 'bout all that, but... thanks, Star.”

“You don't need to know, 'cause I know,” she replied, poking him in the chest. “Now enjoy yourself, Kieran Duffy.”

“Yes, ma'am,” he replied, smiling.

With that, she found her way to her tent, dropping the flap closed behind her. She didn't imagine Bill would take long following her, so she rather quickly disposed of her clothes, then sat on her bedroll to brush through her hair. The humidity had caused it to become a frizzy, sticky mess, and she was fed up with it.

As predicted, Bill appeared only a few minutes later, hurrying himself into the tent and tying it shut. When he turned back around, he almost balked. Star looked up innocently. “What?”

“Didn't expect ya to... well...” He gestured at her naked form vaguely.

“You've seen it before.”

“I know that!” he replied, unbuttoning his shirt. “Just weren't expectin' it is all.”

A sly smile slid up her face, and she leaned back on her elbows, stretching out and exposing her body. “You mean to say that I still have an affect on you? Even just... innocently sitting here. Minding my own business?”

He gave her a disparaging glance that turned into a longing grimace. “Why are you like this?”

She chuckled. “Like what?”

“Like you enjoy tormentin' me!”

“Maybe I do.”

He yanked his usual plaid shirt off, then ripped off his undershirt as well. “I guess we'll just see about that.”

He joined her on the ground, crawling over top of her as she just ginned. “You're sober enough to remember this one, right?”

“Yes!”

“Alright! Just making sure. How did it start last time? Something like this?” She lifted up to claim his lips, running her fingers through his beard and into his hair. He practically melted.

“Somethin' like that,” he agreed softly when she pulled away.

She laid down, pulling him with her. The kisses he placed on her lips, soon moved to her neck, her collarbone, and her breasts. His beard tickled, causing her to squirm and giggle every once in a while which just made him smile against her skin.

To be fair, Star did not believe for a second that their drunken hook-up so many months ago had been anything like this. It had probably been a horrible, awkward, mess of a time and wasn't worth remembering anyway. So it was nice to be able to put a more pleasant memory in its place instead.

Bill's lips eventually reached her hips, and he paused to graze his teeth over her hip bone, eliciting a shiver. “Now who's tormentin' who?” he rumbled against her stomach, dragging his nose along the sensitive skin just below her belly button.

“I don't know that I'm tormented just yet,” she replied.

He looked up to catch her gaze and shake his head. “Incorrigible, you are.”

She shrugged. “Now, are you gonna talk all night, or are you...” His index finger slid between her legs, taking the words right out of her mouth. She cleared her throat and nodded. “Better.”

When his tongue replaced his finger, Star lost the ability to tease him in any way. He'd never done that before, and it was an entirely new sensation that sent radiating heat up her torso. She never wanted him to stop. So, when he pulled away to free himself from his boots and pants, she whined softly. He just smirked.

He was slow pushing into her the first time, causing her to throw her head back happily. More than anything, she enjoyed sex as a bonding activity, and prolonged contact of that sort felt far more personal. Every touch of their skin seemed to have an emotion behind it, despite their physical desire for one another.

After some time on the ground, they shifted around a bit. Bill sat on the bedroll, and Star straddled him, taking control of things. It all started out as fun and games, but the emotions seemed to come back into it ten-fold with them so close to one another. Their eyes seemed locked into one another, and the heat between them was like fire.

Outside, thunder began to rumble, but even that wasn't enough to break the two apart. Star's arms were around his shoulders, and one of her hands was buried in his messy hair. He had one hand on her lower back while the other helped hold him up. He alternated between squeezing her ass and her hip as she moved on him. The hand that wasn't in his hair slipped between her thighs to heighten her pleasure which made her whimper softly. Of course, at this point, she knew well that her noises were one of his favorite things, so it surprised her none when his grip on her tightened and he began to buck up into her some.

She leaned her forehead against his, eyes slipping shut and mouth falling slightly open as she focused on the feeling of him inside her. “I fucking love you,” she breathed. “God help me, but I do.”

He responded by practically throwing her back onto the ground and pounding into her until she was moaning with every thrust. Her back arched wildly when she came. He fucked her through her orgasm, and just as she began to shy away from the stimulation, he pulled free and came as well – spilling his seed on the ground and grunting a small laugh.

Star stared at the tent top for a moment to catch her breath, but soon rolled upwards to her knees to throw her arms around him again. He caught her, giggling. “Good enough for the memory books?” she asked, kissing his nose.

He got slightly bashful and murmured, “Any time you say you love me is good 'nough for that.”

She stared into his eyes for a moment, wanting so much for him to know just how much she meant it. There didn't seem to be a way to fully express the extent of the emotion in her chest, so she settled on a kiss. A long, careful, emotional kiss. “I do love you,” she whispered, leaning her head against his. “And don't you forget it. Not even when you're drunk out of your mind.”

He nuzzled her jaw gently. “Never.”

#my writing #red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #bill williamson #bill williamson x oc #lashes #micah bell #charles smith #hosea matthews #molly o'shea #kieran duffy #so this one gets a little smutty #fair warning

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ts-virgil-angst · 6 years

Note

Story prompt of an old woman, and war and a fireplace

TW: none that i can think of just message me

Word Count: 1591

Prompt: Alcohol changes everything. Even love.

Note: this takes place in a fantasy like world and if you need an explanations hmu

Logan and his sibling had been travelling for longer than he could remember.They had been running for so long, too long. As the winter had set in, thewar had followed. Logan remembered the slow way the soldiers came vividly. Theway the stores got shut down one by one. How the streets slowly becamedeserted. When the mornings became something to dread instead of something tolook forward to.

He remembered the day their parents were killed infront of him, how Patton had cried silently as Logan kept his hand clapped overtheir mouth to keep the sound.

Now, the two of them were walking east. He had heardof a haven for people like them. For kids without parents. And for magic usersthem.

“Logan?” Patton tightened their hold on Logan’sshoulders, as Logan readjusted them on his back. “Are we almost there?”

“We’re close, Patton.” Logan huffed, his breathcoming out in a puff of smoke. He wasn’t actually sure how close they were. He was going on a hunch after all. He couldn’tbe sure that there even was a haven after all, but that hope was the only thingkeeping him going.

There had to be something, though. There had to be. Magic users weren’t weak andfor the most part they were smart. Before the war, they had been ordinary citizens,most of which used their magic to help others. Like Kanikós, normal humans, there were goodand bad Gifted—it truly just depended on the person. But now…

A rustle to his right cut his train of thoughtshort. His heartbeat shot out of his chest as he slowed moving the side of the path,setting down Patton. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good news in the forest thislate at night.

Two men on horses slowed down next to them, gunsdrawn.

“The hell are you two doing out here?”

“Our home was burned down in a raid a few nights ago.We’re on our way to our cousins house.” Logan kept his eyes to the ground,careful not to look him in the eyes. Lawmen saw that as disrespectful and hecouldn’t risk them accidently glowing. His story wasn’t a total lie. Their housedid get burned down, but only after Lawmen killed their parents.

“I’m sure.” The one on the bigger horse dismounted, bootskicking up dust as he landed. “Eyes up boy.” Logan’s gaze flickered up for amoment, taking in the man’s face, clothes, his partner, the trees around them. Ithad taken time to be able to do this, but with the practice of being on therun, taking in his surroundings was nothing he wasn’t used to now.

The man shuffled his feet, taking a stronger stance.“I said: eyes up boy.”

Patton tightened their grip on Logan’s legs, shufflingtheir feet before looking up.

Two things happened as Patton looked up: the secondman dropped from his horse and Logan dropped, placing his hands flat on theground. His eyes glowed green as the earth opened up, dropping the two men intoa new hole in the ground. As an Earthen, he had a certain sway over the earth. Shewas happy to help any of her children and right now, Logan needed all the helphe could get.

As they fell, the Lawmen’s guns went off, clipping Patton’sshoulder. Patton’s eyes welled up with tears as they bit their lip to keep in theirscream. Their eyes were glowing yellow as they pressed their hand against thewound.

“You Goddamn, Heathens!” The men were jumping up,trying to get a grip on the side, but they were too sheer to grasp. Theyspouted curses, but Logan ignored them, carefully approaching the horse. If hewas lucky, then maybe they’d have to health supplies. Either way, maybe hecould win over the horse to make it easier for them to travel.

Logan held his hands up in a placating manner. He wentto the bigger horse first, watching for signs of distrust. After the gunshotwent off, both were skittish. One misstep and it took off, kicking up dust inits trail. He glanced at Patton, making sure their wound was covered. Pattonhad torn part of their coat and with a gust of wind, cleaned off the dust andwas tying it around their arm. It broke Logan’s heart to see this. Not that hewasn’t glad they couldn’t take care of it, but because they had to take care of it. They were tenyears old—too young to know how to take care of a bullet wound.

He turned back to the remaining horse, going slowerthis time. He didn’t have time to lament his sibling’s loss of innocence. The temperaturewas dropping, and they needed to put distance between them and the Lawmen.

This horse was thankfully less skittish. Horses,like most animals, understood that Gifted were different, but no inherently anymoredangerous than anyone else. Logan pressed his hand against its side, trailingalong until he reached the bag.

Logan sighed, almost ready to close up the hole he’ddropped the Lawmen in for their bags being so useless. There was only anothergun, some bullets, and a few Wanted flyers.

He managed to mount of horse with little fight fromthe steed. A few calming words and he was able to lead her toward Patton. With oneheft, he pulled Patton up on the horse with him. Patton leaned back against Logan’schest, still pressing against the wound.

“You’ll pay for this, Heathen!” The men cried. “We’llget out of here and then we’ll kill you. Both of you!”

Patton lifted one hand slightly, blowing some snow ontop of the men. They very rarely used their powers as an Ether, but now they weremore inclined to use them.

“That will fix itself in an hour.”

“You bastard! We’ll freeze out here.”

Logan whipped the reins. “I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

- - -

“Logan, are we there yet?”

“There’s a house up there. We can ask if we can staythe night.” It had been a month since they’d run into those Lawmen and sincethen they’d almost managed to hide again. Almost.

In the woods once again, they were off the trail inthe hopes of avoiding attracting attention. There was nothing they wanted morethan to just stop. Stop moving, stop hiding, stop being scared to turn acorner.

The only good thing was that he had grown betterinto his powers, using the earth to track safe places to stay—even they onlylast a short while.

As they trotted up to the small cottage, Loganchecked around the place again. The earth had never steered them wrong, but hecould never be too careful.

Patton slid off, patting the horse they’d affectionatelynamed Remy, while Logan dismounted and brushed off his clothes and hair. Beforehe could even approach the door, it opened viciously, an old womanframed by the light of the room.

“Who the hell are you two?”

Patton tensed, standing closer horse, but notbacking down. Logan stepped forward. “We have nowhere to go. I was hoping that perhapsyou could help us. Shelter us for the night.”

It was hard to make out her features from her shadowysilhouette. “And why the hell would I do that? How do I know you’re not Heathens?”

Logan gritted his teeth as he always did but managedto keep his civil tone. “Our house was burned down by them. If you won’t takeus both, at least take my brother.”

“But Lo—”

“It’s fine, Pat. I’m fine.” It wouldn’t have beenthe first time the two of them were split for the night.

The woman stared at them, eyeing both cautiouslybefore stepping aside. “Get in here both of you. Can’t have the heat escaping.”Patton led the horse to the side of the cottage, tying him before grabbingtheir things.

“Thank you for keeping us, ma’am.”

“Not a ma’am, kid.” She shut the door behind them. “Justcall me Joana.”

“Thank you, Joana.” Patton set down their things bythe door as Logan surveyed the place. It was one large room with a kitchen/dinningroom on the left and a bedroom/living room to the right. Two couches wereacross from the bed and a hearth sat between them. “I could start the fire, ifyou’d like.”

“No, no. I can take care of it.” Joana winked, eyes flashingred lighting the fireplace. He and Patton froze for a moment as shesaid, “Like recognizes like.”

“But how did— We were—” Logan was at a loss for words.There were so many emotions going through him, but the only thing coming forwas anger. How did she figure them out when he had been so careful as to not doanything that would make them seem different?

“Don’t worry, hun.” Joana moved to the kitchen,opening up a cupboard and taking out three teacups, grinning. “When you’re oldlike me, you get great at recognizing someone on the run. Can I know your names,dears?”

Patton looked at Logan, and though he knew they weretrying not to, hope was working its way into their features. Perhaps they weren’twrong to have some kind of…positive thoughts about her.

“Logan Sanders and my sibling, Patton.”

Joana held out her hand. It was pleasantly warm. “Niceto meet you, dear.”

@fugitive-angel @netzoflix @paragonofsophistication @angsty-anxxiety @thesmallestalien @saltequeen @theanxofthethomas @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @miniritzcrackers @ninjas-forever @stjernemaskin @deathshadowrules @nessie-drawgon @misty2-0 @kenanscloud @tea–ghost @massivehoagiepastahumanoid @aznasalon @lilreadergurl @thagrinbery @fury-of-rome @spooky-ash-because-its-halloween @cosplayingdisn3rd @lunareclipse-13 @probablysomeproblems @choppedfestdelusion @julia-loves-cupcakes

#logan sanders #patton sanders #prompt ask #answered ask #my shitty fic

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five-hour-anxiety · 6 years

Text

CREEPY HAUNTED HOUSE TOUR: DON'T FOLLOW US IN 👻💀👽😦😈 | The Theory of Real-Activity | LOGAN FOUND A BODY YOU GUYS

@zerogettie @spacevirgil @tree4life25 @thebiggestnaturaldisaster@pailettehazel @jordandobbertin @thecityofthefireflies @the-fabulous-kimball @azuranightsong @virmillion @erlenmeyertrash @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @the-sanders-sides @punch-you-with-friendship @captaincantatrice @clovenpinetree @jughead-is-canonically-aroace @aplaceinthevoid @zennyo

Word Count: 4500

Warnings: panic attacks, arguments, haunted houses, talk of demons

Pairing: platonic analogical

Summary: Logan and Virgil run a vlog together, and have decided to film in a haunted house.

“Virgil, for the last time, ghosts aren’t real.”

“Yes, I know that! You know that! Roman and Patton don’t, though, so we need to go ‘ghost hunting’ to prove it once and for all!”

“I understand where you are coming from, but do we really need to do this? There must be a better approach to the issue – one that will not cost as much and save us the tour of a condemned building.”

“Oh, that’s hilarious – you think I want to step foot in there? My anxiety is spiked at the thought of what could go wrong on the way out there, much less once we actually go in.” Virgil sighed and ran his hands down his face. His grape colored bangs fell back into place, and he blew on them in an annoyed manner. “Unfortunately, Roman has access to our Twitter and already made a poll.”

“You mean to tell me-”

“Yep. The people want a ghost busting episode.”

“Why on Earth did I give him the password for the account? What was I thinking?” Logan brought his tie up to his mouth, and Virgil strained to hear the muffled curses over the mouthful of cotton.

“Roman basically just challenged you to a giant game of chicken – a public one, and are you really gonna let him win that easy?”

“Grammar, Virgil, but you have a point. I cannot let that day-dreaming ditz best me. Clear your weekend schedule, we are going on a… what did you call it? Spirit pursuit?”

“Okay, first – I have no weekend plans as that would require having more than three friends, and two – it’s a ghost hunt so unless you want me to meme the shit out of you again, never call this a spirit pursuit again.”

“Oh, please, our audience does not need another joke – it’s bad enough you got everyone and their cousin to call the video blog ‘The Theory of Real-Activity” instead of its official name.”

“Look, that’s better than ‘VirgeofDiscovery’, and it’s a vlog Logan stop trying to sound smart for once in your life.”

***

“I think that I saw this on Buzzfeed Unsolved, once. Just put the flashlight down and ask… something… to turn it on.”

“You know this won’t work, right?” The camera’s mic picks up Logan, who was exploring another room. “And it’s Buzzfeed, why were you watching that garbage?”

“Because I love Shane Madej, the only perfect human.” The camera swings upward so that we see Virgil’s face, and he points at the lens. “You can all quote me on that – make sure he knows that Virge from The Theory of Real-Activity loves his work.”

“Oh my God, Virgil, are you using our video blog in a sad attempt to get your internet crush to notice you?”

“I-No! It’s a squish! And stop calling it a video blog!”

“If I were as childish as Patton, I would begin to sing one of those schoolyard chants about you and Mr. Madej sitting in a tree.”

“Well, gee, thanks for-”

“I am going to rap it instead.”

“LOGAN, I SWEAR TO GOD.”

“Virgil and Shane, sitting in-” The camera stops recording.

***

“Alright, do we have everything we need? My bag has a portable charger, extra batteries, and some water bottles as well as the camera I plan to use.”

“I have the salt.”

“Virgil, didn’t we agree that ghosts aren’t real?”

“Yes, but you can never be too safe. Besides – Patton wouldn’t let me leave without it, so now we have a pound of salt.” Virgil shook it around and shimmied. Logan groaned, and reached for the other’s bag, looking to see if anything else was in there.

“Oh, I see you have a first aid kit – that’s a good addition. You also have the snacks, flashlights, and a camera but I don’t see your stress ball? Are you sure you wish to go without?”

“No worries, man, I got it in the car.”

“Why is it in your car?”

“Roman had to drive me to my therapy session, and the chariot-”

“You mean that disgusting minivan?”

“Yeah, the chariot. Anyway, I have it in there because Roman was driving.”

Logan frowned at the thought, knowing that the man often bragged about having a lead foot while driving. Virgil just shrugged and hoisted his bag over his shoulder, shaking the salt container as he went out the door.

“Hey, we both made it to the office in one piece, it’s all good. Moving on, we should probably do the intro before we leave the house. Get at least one shot with decent lighting.”

“Ah, yes, that is a good idea – do you wish to hold the camera or should I?” Logan locked the door behind him, making sure the spare key hadn’t been moved in case he misplaced his set.

“I’ll film, whenever you try to do anything in selfie mode you trim off half our heads.” Virgil threw his bag in the trunk and moved over to the passenger side door.

“Why is it whenever we go anywhere in i car you refuse to drive, Virgil?”

“If you didn’t leave your car at the university this weekend, we would’ve taken yours. And driving makes me anxious.”

“Then why do you own a car?” It was a question Logan asked frequently, and never got a satisfying answer to.

“I have a car because I’m too lazy to skateboard everywhere.”

Logan rolled his eyes, and slipped into the car, taking the keys from the lanky man. He tied his hair back into a ponytail and motioned to Virgil to start filming.

“Sup everyone, we still need an official video intro so keep sending in ideas. And I’m sure that you read the title, so y’all know we’re going on a ghost hunt today.”

“Please, Virgil, don’t make it a clickbait title. Please don’t hurt me like that.”

“I do what I want, nerd.” Logan groaned and started the engine as Virgil continued to talk, only interrupting to correct the brand name and to offer his stance when Virgil asked if he believed in ghosts. Despite his easy tone, though, Virgil seemed tense and his shoulders were drawn up close.

The drive was by no means a long one, but by the time they finally reached the old house, Virgil had somehow managed to go through his entire playlist, having skipped each song after one or two measures. Logan found it annoying but said nothing, as he could see Virgil gripping his stress ball out of the corner of his eye.

This wouldn’t end well.

***

“Logan, Logan it turned the flashlight on please, please tell me there’s a logical explanation for that!”

“I don’t know! Maybe it’s a faulty battery, or… or the switch isn’t fully on so it’s flipping between its off and on mode!”

“OH MY GOD IT’S MOVING!”

There’s a high-pitched scream, and the sound of footsteps retreating. The recording cuts to Virgil’s camera and shows Logan sprinting away as fast as he can.

“YOU COWARD, DON’T LEAVE ME HERE! LOGAN!”

***

“So, this is the place – leave it to Roman to pick a fucking mansion.”

“Yes, well, I would expect no less from him. The Victorian style is quite breathtaking, despite it’s less than perfect condition.” Logan was leaning against the car, cleaning his glasses. Virgil shifted from foot to foot and fiddled with the straps on his bag.

“Do we really have to go in? We could just tell Roman there was like, a cop here or something, and he of all people should know that trespassing on private property doesn’t end well.”

“I do not believe breaking and entering the theatre to steal a prince costume is quite the same, Virgil, and Roman would find that story compelling. No, we would have to mention that the officer was angered by our intent to enter a condemned area – we would at least have Patton on our side with that.”

“Please don’t remind me of how unsafe this is. Not while I’m holding the car keys.”

“You won’t drive anywhere.”

“At this point, self-preservation would let me do anything.” Virgil sighed and threw the keys at Logan. “Just hold on to these – don’t think you want me driving off without ya.”

Logan hummed in agreement, pocketing the keys as he walked towards the front door. By the time he reached the porch, he looked back to Virgil who still hadn’t moved. Logan gestured towards the door.

“Okay! Fine! But if something happens, this is all on you and your ego!”

“If I recall correctly, you were the one who wanted to come here.”

“Well, I changed my mind. C’mon, let’s just get this over with. Camera’s rolling.”

***

“Logan, this isn’t funny!” The camera picks up a breeze from Virgil’s jacket as he sprints in the direction he thinks Logan went, his cries ignored.

The camera shifts suddenly, and we come face to face with the man himself. Virgil had stopped running and is standing in the front room.

“I never thought I’d say this, but I wish I was back in Logan’s basement listening to him rant about Mothman again.” He sighs, putting his free hand behind his head. “I’d rather listen to him confess his undying love for the thing than be here, choking on dust.

“But! Instead, I let Roman win – which, by saying that, I feel nauseous – and now we’re here running around a death maze. There’s a ton of rusty nails and if we get cut on those we aren’t gonna get to a hospital in time. I think I saw a bat earlier? And where there’s bats, there’s disease-carrying mosquitoes. Not to mention those jacked up stairs.” The camera focuses on a flight of rotted stairs, the floorboards broken and, in some spots, missing altogether.

“Yeah, stairs aren’t supposed to be bouncy. I’m just-I’m just gonna call Patton and see if he knows what to do from here.”

***

“I think there’s more dust in here than in Aunt Patty’s attic, and that’s saying something.”

The house was older than anything the two had ever seen, and there was a fine film of filth covering every available surface. Logan couldn’t help but notice the numerous cobwebs and think of Patton – specifically, how much the man would hate being around so many.

“Hey, do you, uh…” Virgil moved his flashlight over to one of the webs and stuttered out a few more false starts. “Do you think any of the spiders who made those things are, like, poisonous?”

“If there are any venomous spiders, they will not bite you unless you give them a reason. They cannot eat you, so there is no purpose in wasting their venom on a large creature like you.” This seemed to calm the taller man down, and Logan moved over to the staircase.

“Hey, don’t go up those, nerd, I already checked them. They’re not safe – the wood’s so rotted it’s squishy and soft.” Logan nodded and made a mental note to locate a different way upstairs.

The two continued to look around for a while longer, not finding anything remotely interesting. After about half an hour of quiet observation, Virgil suggested they started filming, claiming that the sooner they wrapped this up, the sooner they could drive away and never come back.

“Salutations, class-”

“Logan, you’re boring.”

“I am talking like I normally do, Virgil, how else should I speak? Like Roman, perhaps?”

“God, no, please. Anything but that.”

“Well, in that case – greetings one and all! We’ve finally arrived at our grand destination and have been parading around the grounds for a few hours!”

“I will throw this salt at you.”

“Little grains of salt are no match for a prin- oof!”

“I told you I would.”

“You threw the entire container at me! Like a savage!”

“What, you can pretend to Roman and I can’t?”

***

“Okay, so calling Patton was a bust. He told me to use the salt like a weapon and I had to tell him I already chucked it at Logan’s face.” Virgil snickers, running a finger under his nose. “That was the best thing to happen today if I’m being honest. Pat didn’t really appreciate it, though.

“Roman was also a wasted call – apparently he’s at some audition and when he answered, well, he just started screaming about newspapers.” Virgil pauses, and we hear something shatter off-screen.

“H-Hello? Demons?” The camera slowly pans across the room, almost making a full circle as even more thumps can be heard. Before it can finish, Virgil screams and drops the camera.

The screen is filled with static.

***

It had been about two hours, and in that time Logan had somehow managed to: find a way upstairs, provoke something into turning that flashlight on, proceed to run upstairs, get lost, and find a new respect for supernatural beliefs.

“I cannot believe I’m saying this, but I believe in ghosts now.” His words echoed around the attic, unheard by anyone but him and perhaps the mouse he saw earlier. At least, he hoped that’s what it was. He couldn’t stand the thought of sharing space with a rat.

“I believe in ghosts, so can we stop playing this juvenile game? How on Earth do I get back downstairs?” He waited for an answer as the logical part of his brain scolded him for speaking to thin air.

He didn’t get one.

“This is ridiculous, I should know better.” He paused and listened again. “If I change my mind and say ghost are not real, will one of you tell me how to get back downstairs?” Logan removed his glasses and began to pace the room. The amount of dirt that had gathered on his frames was astounding – perhaps he had stumbled through a cobweb in his hasty exit.

“Well, what would Patton do in this situation? At present, he may make a joke about his poor eyesight and lack of- ow!” As he spoke, Logan ran into an old china cabinet – it didn’t fall, but he still held his breath as it swayed back and forth.

“Well, that was embarrassing,” Logan whispered, moving to the front to see if anything was inside. He found a few plates and teacups, though none were particularly impressive. If he were Roman or Patton he may have found the painted flowers beautiful, but he wasn’t, and he didn’t. The maroon one rimmed in gold paint did remind him of a set Roman owned, however, and made a mental note to come back for it if there was time.

But first, he had to find his way downstairs and reunite with Virgil.

***

“So, as you may have seen – though I can’t be sure because obviously, I do not know how this will be edited – I was forced to make a hasty, yet calm, retreat from the study.”

The screen cuts to a replay of Logan fleeing the room, and trombones play as he screams. Text pops up and it says “logan lies” in comic sans.

“After my exit, I managed to find my way upstairs and now I am unsure how to get down – much like a cat climbing a tree. But I did stumble across a cabinet full of teacups that I think a friend of mine would enjoy. I have also concluded that there are too many mothballs in this house and I will not cross meeting the Mothman off my bucket list today.”

Logan crosses the room as he paces, chewing on his lip in between sentences. “Despite my own disappointment, I find myself upset the most over being separated from Virgil. I do not believe he is well – I am ashamed to admit that I have only now realized he was suppressing a panic attack as we drove out here.

“To be quite honest, camera, there is a very good chance this footage won’t be posted online. It depends on how Virgil is doing and whether he is okay with releasing footage taken of him during an atta-”

Logan trips and falls into the china cabinet once more, a plate shattering upon impact. The camera swings around to show the floor and a trap door that was slightly ajar. A ladder falls from the floor, designed to be hidden when not in use.

“Well, here is my way down. This ladder does not look up to code,” He steps down on a rung, testing his weight, “but it should hold long enough for me to get down.” He begins his descent but stops suddenly. Logan moves over to the cabinet and pulls out a teacup, placing it carefully in his bag. His footsteps are heavy and echo as he travels down the ladder.

At the bottom, he screams out Virgil’s name.

***

“Virgil! Virgil, can you hear me?”

Logan shook him hard, but he got no response.

“Virgil, please, you need to get up. I need to know you are okay.” Logan had spotted him collapsed in the middle of the room and jumped down the ladder as soon as he could, forgoing the last four rungs and sliding over to where Virgil lay.

“Mm, not so loud Logan. My ears are ringing.”

“Well, I expected that. You must have hit your head when you collapsed – can you tell me if I sound muffled as if I were underwater?”

“No, everything’s just beyond loud.” Virgil winced as he sat up, Logan taking note of where he grabbed his head. “Logan, are you okay? You’re crying!”

A quick swipe at his eye revealed that a few tears had formed and escaped.

“Well, of course – I am not without a heart, Virgil. The sight of you sprawled out like that was… immensely alarming, to say the very least.” Logan’s breath shuddered, and a few minutes of silence passed between the two, interrupted by an occasional hum from Virgil.

“The ringing is gone.” The silence was broken, and with its absence came Logan’s ability to breath deeply.

“That is wonderful, Virgil.” Logan stood up and dusted his jeans off before offering a hand to the other man. “May I ask what circumstances led to you losing consciousness?”

“I don’t know.” Virgil kicks at the floor. “So, don’t ask.”

“Well, may I share some theories I have developed?”

“Knock yourself out.” Logan winced at the phrase, and Virgil mumbled an apology as he collected his equipment.

“Virgil, I knew you were edging toward a panic attack on the way here – so I would like to start by offering a sincere apology for not saying anything sooner.”

“Don’t. I didn’t tell you, so it’s my fault. I just didn’t want you to worry too much – or to turn around. I know Roman would have given you a hard time if we didn’t film an episode here, so I figured I would just deal.”

“As I have told you many times, there is no ‘dealing’ with these situations alone in our friendship. Regardless, I knew you were not okay and didn’t say anything.”

“God, Logan, can’t you let me blame myself for once? At least let me share the blame.”

“Fine, we shall share at your insistence. Moving on, I believe the building panic caused you to experience an irregular breathing pattern. I deduce that the lack of oxygen led to you losing-”

“No. You’re wrong.”

“I beg your pardon? You just told said you did not know what happened how can you say I am wrong?”

“Because it’s embarrassing, okay?! Damnit, Logan, it’s embarrassing how bad this attack was and how ridiculous my shit brain makes me react.” Virgil strode away, and out of the room, calling over his shoulder.

“Just help me film some stuff so people don’t know that the passing out act was real. I’ll lay down over there, and just… I dunno we’ll improvise.”

“Is it wise to publish this footage? Roman and his teasing be damned, it is more important that you are okay, Virgil! These cameras likely have footage of you panicking and us arguing! Are a few views really worth it?”

“Yes, because I wanted this episode! I put the poll on Twitter, not Roman, okay? So please, let’s film something stupid, make the whole thing look staged, and leave.”

“Virgil-”

“Please, Logan.”

“No.” Logan crossed his arms and stood up straight. He was taller than Virgil, and his glare was cold enough to give Virgil goosebumps.

“I’m sorry, ‘no’? Oh, so now you say no! Not when I asked to come here, not when I asked for demons to turn a flashlight, not when-”

“Virgil, stop this. You are behaving in an immature manner and this needs to stop. How was I supposed to know that you wanted me to tell you ‘no’? I am not a mind reader, so you cannot blame your poor communication skills on my inability to instantly know what you want.”

Virgil said nothing. He glared at Logan and sat down on the floor, eventually inviting him to do the same. They sat there for a while, as both needed time to calm down before speaking.

After what felt like an eternity later, Virgil finally spoke up.

“I’m gonna start, but you need to let me finish before you cut in, okay?” Logan nodded, and Virgil took a deep breath. “I wanted to film at a haunted house because I knew we would get way more views than we normally do.

“I thought, hey! More views means more add revenue – and yes, I know it’s not a lot – but with that extra money, we could start building up the funds to rent an apartment. I’m sick of living with my parents, Logan, and I know you are too.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, Virgil, but I would rather endure a few more years with them than have you hurting for the sake of loose change.”

“Yeah, well. What’s done is done, I guess.” Virgil sighed and leaned over on Logan. “I lied, you know. I do know why I passed out earlier.” He sighed and buried his nose into Logan’s shoulder.

“I will not deny that I want to know why, Virgil, but I do not want you to share if you are uncomfortable.”

“Heh, well, maybe you’ll learn something new – did you know that anxiety can make you see hallucinations? Specifically, when the fight or flight stuff kicks in?” Logan raises an eyebrow but remains silent. “When the, uh, the – instinct, for lack of better word – kicks in, your pupils dilate.

“And when that happens, the sudden light change can cause a person – like me – to see shadows and figures at the edge of my vision.”

“Fascinating – but I assume this is a rare situation and does not happen to you often?”

“No, it doesn’t. But it did when… did you break something upstairs? Because something shattered, there was a lot of thumping, and then they just- appeared. I think that made me panic even more, and then yes – the lack of oxygen probably did the rest.”

“Ah, yes, I fell into a cabinet of china, and I believe a plate was shattered. I apologize for my involvement.”

“Nah, no worries about that. It was just shoddy circumstances. And,” Virgil looked up, offering a weak grin to Logan, “As cheesy as it sounds, we are probably a bit closer than we were before this whole trip.”

“You are right, that is extremely cliché. I appreciate the sentiment, however, despite how infuriating your statement is. Shall we film the ending of this video, now?”

Virgil snorted, pushing himself up using Logan’s shoulder.

“Yeah, let’s this thing wrapped up.”

***

“Virgil! Virgil, please get up!” Logan is frantically shaking Virgil’s shoulder, his voice wobbly. The camera has been left on after being discarded in a hurry.

“Logan… Logan no, don’t- don’t go in the closet.”

“I spent ten years in the closet, I have no intention of going back in.” Logan sniffs as he speaks, and Virgil gasps awake, shooting upward.

“Huh? Wait, what happened? …Why would you go back in the closet?”

“You said not to go in there – what happened to you?”

“I don’t- I don’t remember. There was a- I think I saw something, Logan. A shadow, maybe?”

“You must have seen my shadow as I came down the ladder.”

“No, I don’t think so.” Virgil pauses and stares at a spot on the wall behind Logan. “Where is the ladder you came down?”

“To your left.” Logan gestures with his head as he hoists Virgil to his feet.

“That means it couldn’t have been your shadow. The light wouldn’t have hit you correctly to cast a shadow over there.” Virgil points to a closet off to the side of the ladder. “Besides, the shadow didn’t look… well not to be cliché, but it didn’t look human.”

“Preposterous.” Logan has moved over to the camera, and the screen goes black as he picks it up. A few moments later, it’s aimed at Virgil as he talks about what he saw in detail.

“…and it had, well they weren’t horns per say, but they were definitely not something that’s on your head, nerd. But, whatever,” Virgil rolls his eyes, “I can tell you don’t believe me. Let’s just get out of here.”

Logan hums in agreement, and the screen goes black.

***

“Goodbye, murder house, see you never!”

“Well, this footage is unusable.”

“Wait, why?”

“I am not ending the video with you flipping off an old house.” Logan sighed and turned the camera off. Virgil pouted and turned to finish packing the equipment into his car.

“Hey, I know what I’mma call this video. ‘Logan finds a body’!” Virgil spread his arms out in emphasis, narrowly missing Logan’s face in the process.

“That is absolutely morbid, Virgil, and uncharacteristically short.” Logan shut the trunk with a slam and fished the keys out of his bag as Virgil moved to the front seat.

“Yeah, no, it’ll have emojis in it, the vlog title of course, and-”

“By chance, will it be the proper title?” The car started with a roar, and the two were met with a blast of warm air. Virgil scrambled to open his window and Logan quickly shut off the air flow. “Because the channel is called ‘VergeofDiscovery’, not the childish pun Patton came up with.”

“The Theory of Real-Activity is an amazing name, and I will fight you on this. You’re just jealous that you didn’t come up with it.”

“Falsehood!”

“Keep telling yourself that, nerd. Pass me the aux cord.”

The drive home was lighter than the last one – Virgil never once changed the music and the two could be heard screaming along as they flew down the road. The stress ball remained in the cup holder, untouched until the next big adventure.

#sanders sides fic #virgil sanders #logan sanders #analogical #thomas sanders fic #ali writes #yall this has been in the works for m o n t h s #im just #so proud of this one #for once #the theory of real activity

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gloomy-goober · 6 years

Text

Make Believe (Part 5)

@but-jesuschrist-im-never-good @vergeangst @louvrejpeg @here-to-vent @justanotherpurplebutterfly @holdnarrytight @fangirl4ever07 @twinkly-lights@fandomsandanythingelse @that-space-gay-writes @abstractedthinking @fandomsofrandom @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch

A ROMAN’S KINGDOM SPECIAL! 1, 2, 3, 4, 5! Buy me a Ko-Fi?

Note: This takes place late highschool-early college. Not sure where it fits perfectly into the time line of GUPoaW but I wanted to do a thing that was more fantasy but based in this universe.

Daring sword fights, magic spells, a prince in disguise! What could be more amazing than a world that can be shaped to the whim of the pure creative energy of a man? Or could it be something terrifying as pure energy can sometimes run without reason?

No sunlight appeared over the small village as morning began; the sky was completely overcast. It was like the universe was reflecting the terrible feeling of dread that permeated the air. Not even the birds dared to sing their morning song as if they understood the dark nature of the day to come.

Roman groaned as he slowly came out of the unconscious and dreamless sleep the night had brought him. The nature of the rising day seemed to cut into his very being.

His mind felt groggy and every muscle ached from the battle of the day before. Despite how quickly he fell asleep, he did not feel well rested. In fact, Roman felt like he had stayed up the whole night without even a quick dose.

The prince shifted onto his back and grimaced as his side flared up in pain. He did not have to look under his shirt to know that Patton’s steed had left a nasty bruise on his side. If anyone on their small band of merry men saw the bruise they would insist on him resting but the prince had a quest to lead and an investigation to begin. He could not let mundane things such as that stop them.

“Anxiety,” Roman mumbled the name as he rubbed his face to try and wipe off the sleep. Tired brown eyes stared up at the ceiling as he tried to fight a yawn. “Anxiety, I know you are a creature of the night, but we have a quest to start. There is simply no time to wait for you to rise from your coffin.”

Creativity’s eyes traced a crack in the ceiling as he waited for a grumbled answer.

A light breeze carried in the smell of rain that had not yet fallen and ruffled the prince’s messy hair. He did not remember opening the window the night before or if it had been opened by the anxious side. The thought of the oddity moved from his mind as he noticed a lack of grumbled words or the sound of someone shifting on a bed.

It was just the wind.

“Anxiety?” Roman grit his teeth and forced himself to sit up. His side screamed in protest at the movement, but he shrugged it off. “Anxiety it is time to-.”

His words died on his tongue as he turned to the bed across the room.

The window that was beside it was wide open; showing the dark clouds that had blanketed the sky. The bed itself was empty of the side Creativity was looking for. The blankets were strewn on the floor at the foot of the bed and the pillow had landed next to Roman’s.

“Well then,” Roman frowned at the scene before him. “Gets up early for once in his life and leaves the room a complete mess. Does he have no manners?”

Roman scoffed at the rude actions of the darker side as he turned to the more pressing matter of how much longer this journey would be. Without another glance at the bed the prince pushed himself up to his feet and stretched. The bruise once again reeled its ugly head and sending Roman into other thoughts he did not want to entertain.

If he could not beat this pain, any other battle that they may face on this long quest would be very difficult for him to fight. His companions would be vulnerable. The hero that he was supposed to be would be allowing them to be hurt for him when he should be the one to protect them.

Roman curled more into himself as the pain slowly began to subside. He could not let that happen; his family would not get in harms way because of a small battle wound. I cannot allow that.

He took a deep breath and moved towards the chair that sat near the door. His white uniform laid on the seat; ready to be worn out once again. He moved slowly to get it on but once he did he felt some more confidence about his ability to help the others.

Whatever that they would cross he would be ready for it.

A knock on the door pulled him from the imagined horrors that they had yet to face. His world coming back to the current present of the Inn.

“Come in,” Roman stood up straighter and forced a smile onto this face to hide the concerns.

The smile turned more relaxed and less like a mask when Patton’s bright smile peeked into the room.

“Came to wake you kiddos up for breakfast. I helped make some chocolate chip pancakes, your favorite~.” The door opened fully as he spoke to show a borrowed apron covered in flour.

“That sound great, Patton. I was just about to head downstairs.”

“I’m sure you were, Mr. ‘We need to leave at sunrise’,” Patton laughed and turned to leave the room. “Make sure Anxiety is up and downstairs with you. Don’t want anyone getting cold pancakes.”

That last comment made the smile on Roman’s face freeze and slowly morph into a look of confusion. “I thought Anxiety was already awake and downstairs with you?”

Patton stopped in the doorway and looked back at the princely side. “No?” He seemed to look around the room as if he had just looked over the youngest side. “I thought he was still asleep up here.””

“No,” Roman threw the red sash over his shoulder, “I assumed he got up before me and was already downstairs being his gloomy self. Maybe he simply moved to another room while I was asleep. My mistake.”

“B-but I haven’t seen him all morning since I got up.” Morality’s smile had disappeared, and a dark cloud of worry seemed to over take him, “Roman you don’t think he got-.”

Creativity cut him off with the wave of his hand as he moved past the older side into the hallway. “Impossible. A creature would not dare take Anxiety when we are on our own tale’s path. More-so, while I was in the room. I am sure he just went to sulk in some hidden corner that has not been checked.”

“But-.”

“Look, you can check up here if you are so worried. I am sure he will turn up when we need him or when we don’t. He is good at just appearing.”

Roman started towards the stairs but stopped when he did not feel Patton following him. He turned to find the moral side staring back into the empty room.

“Morality,” Roman sighed and walked back over to the other, “If it worries you so much we can search for him. He has to be somewhere in the Inn, after all.”

There was none of the usual over excited energy that Patton gave when he got his way; only the worried eyes of, what one would call, a parent as he turned to look at Roman. The older side gave a nod, “Thank you.”

The lack of excitement brought a small seed of worry into Creativity’s mind. Patton was attached to the anxious side, everyone in the mind palace knew this, but he was just realizing how much that attachment went. There could be a slight chance this was more serious then Roman wanted to believe.

“You can start with the upstairs. Make sure he did not just sneak into your room after you and Logic woke up. I will go downstairs to search. When you are done up here, we can go check outside if this place is empty.”

“And if we find him?” Patton asked nervously.

“Then we can all have a nice breakfast.”

“And if we don’t?”

Silence hung between the two sides. Roman shook his head and started to the stairs with quicker footsteps. “That won’t happen, Padre. Trust me.”

He did not give Morality a chance to say anything more as he hurried down into the main room of the Rainbow Otter.

The common room was a scene of morning peace, just as Roman would have expected. Logan sat at a table with a mug next to the book he was reading intensely. Marge was over by the counter, the girl looked tired in more then the physical sense. The conversation yesterday evening seemed to have drained her.

The sounds from the kitchen led Roman to believe that her father was cleaning up the dishes that Patton had left.

There was no sign of Anxiety. Not that Roman expected it to be that easy.

“Good morning, my friends,” the prince greeted them grandly, “How are you this stormy morn’?”

“Unenthusiastic to be riding in this rain,” Logic answered without even looking away from his book. “But the sooner we get this journey over with the better.”

“Ah, Logan, I can always count on you to give the longest of answers,” Roman gave a small chuckle and looked over at Marge. “And, how are you?”

“Fine,” Was her short answer as she busied herself with an already spotless glass.

“Good. Good.” Roman nodded his head and looked between the two.

It took a few seconds of awkward silence to pass before Logan sighed and closed the book to look over at Creativity. “Yes, Roman?”

“Well, you know I never wish to be a bother-.”

“All evidence proves contrary.”

“But Patton is a little on edge because Annnn-,” he paused and glanced at Marge. His mind worked quick to fix his near error.

“Anon,” the name did not sit right but it was all he had, “was not up in the room with me. I just wanted to know if you have seen him,” He moved further into the room and started to open doors to look in. The restroom was clear and so was the coat closet. “It is no trouble. I am sure he just hid away somewhere.”

Logan looked quizzically at the other. “Whom?”

“You know,” Roman made a vague gesture, “Dark, stormy knight.”

“Oh,” Logan nodded, “No. I have not seen him this morning. I thought he was still asleep.”

“Ah well, he probably just took a morning walk,” Roman shrugged and grabbed an apple from the bowl on the counter. He rubbed it on his shirt to make the red surface shine.

“Was the window open?” Marge asked as she set the glass down.

Roman paused just before he got a chance to bite down on the apple. He thought back to the smell of rain in the shared room and the breeze that had pushed it in.

“Yes?” He answered slowly and put the fruit down, “But I do not see how that is-.”

“Was it open before you went to sleep?” Came the next question before Roman could finish his thought.

“Well, I do not remember it being open,” Roman confessed and shifted on the balls of his feet at the gaze Marge had him pinned with, “But… but it is possible he opened it during the night. He does have this thing against small spaces. And new places. And old places. Just life in general, really.”

Her gaze did not faulter and Roman felt his guard go up. She was obviously not amused by his ramble of information. The look that Marge had on him was one of accusation; like he had done something wrong. “What does this have to do with anything? Did you suddenly get a no open window policy?”

Marge shook her head and went back to her already cleaned glass. “Most of the people that disappeared were taken at night through the window. Just thought it is strange that you can’t find him and that the window was open.”

“Most,” Roman countered weakly, “This…this does not mean anything. I was there all night, I would have heard something.”

“Roman,” Logan seemed to appear at the prince’s side, “Did you hear anything strange last night?”

“What? No!” Roman stepped away from them both, “I went to sleep faster then I ever had. Did not even dream.”

Logan gave the man a look that made the prince bristle.

“If anything had taken him I would have known!” Roman insisted, “Look, he is probably just somewhere we can’t find him.”

Logic did not react to the “We cannot just discard the possibility that we need to rescue him just because you are overconfident in your abilities.”

Marge stared down at her glass, “Or not seeing as you don’t want to help us.”

Roman’s eyes flickered between the two people in front of him. He felt helpless. He wanted to help the little town he loved like the second family. He should have been able to protect a person he was in the same room with.

“Villains don’t get kidnapped! He is not missing!”

Marge put down the cup down with a clatter and glared at Roman with fire in her eyes.

“But should the dancers, or the baker, or the Tailor’s daughter be allowed to be kidnapped? They are all loved by someone and yet they were taken because something out there thought they weren’t.” She came out from behind the counter and poked Roman with her finger, “And you want to keep on with this quest instead of even trying to help us. You don’t even think one of your own is important enough to go after! Do you just not care for anyone?”

“I want to help you, Marge, I really do,” Roman protested, “But I also owe it to them that I complete this quest and get them home safe.”

“Can’t do that if you are missing one.”

“We don’t know that he is missing,” Roman stood up taller, but he still felt small under her gaze, “Plus we don’t have a lead, so it would be impossible to even start looking for anyone.”

“You never asked for one,” she stated and crossed her arms.

Logan put a hand on Roman’s shoulder before the prince could say anything else. The side stepped forward and placed himself between the two.

“Do you know where we should look?” Logic stared at the woman calmly.

“What!?!” Roman expected last night’s speech to be restated by the collected side.

“Only care because your friend is missing?” Marge countered harshly.

Logan sighed, “I admit that I was…” he paused, “that I worded my ideals the wrong way yesterday. I am not an emotional man and I was explained the full situation. Your situation is something that should take priority in Roman’s life since it is his responsibility. Now that one of our own is missing it is now all our problems. I apologize.”

Roman stared at Logic in shock. That was the closest he would ever get to having Logan admit he was wrong. If he was not so annoyed that his own view was being ignored he would have thought this moment special.

Marge seemed to understand the gravity of the situation and flushed slightly. “No, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking clearly. Your loss is just as important as mine.” She shook her head, “Gosh, I’m such an idiot.”

“Apology accepted,” Logan gave a small smile before he focused right back in on the problem at hand, “But I do think we should start on this rescue soon before the storm outside begins.”

“You are right,” Marge moved past them and headed over to the entry way wall. The two watched her as she took down one of the framed pictures and set it down on the table.

With a wave of her hand, they were both summoned to her side.

“This is a map of the town,” she explained, “Since the kidnapping began the old manor has been active. No one has really thought about it since mostly squatters live there but I have been keeping an eye on it.”

Her finger rested on the place that was labeled ‘Duke of Chicanery Manor’ in a neat, faded scrawl. Roman barely glanced at it as he followed the path back to where the Inn currently resided in the town.

“Chicanery,” Logan said the word slowly, “That word means trickery. Mostly in the sense of legal or political purpose. Interesting title.”

“Really, Nerd, that is the first thing you think of?” Roman grumbled under his breath and looked at the map, “This does not even matter. We have no proof that Anon is even missing. He could just be sulking in a corner somewhere. I bet this is all usel-.”

“Roman!” The sound of hurried footsteps came from the stairwell and Patton appeared. There were tears in his eyes as he clutched at something dark in his hands. “I can’t find him anywhere! All I found find was this and it is hanging in the window box. Please tell me you found him!”

The distraught side shoved what he had into Princey’s hands. The dark cloth was from the cloak that replaced Anxiety’s hoodie when he entered the imaginary kingdom. It was only a scarp, but it looked like it had broken off because it was pulled too hard to stay together.

Roman looked at Morality’s crushed expression when he did not get an immediate answer and then looked back at Logan and Marge. He pocketed the material and stood at the head of the table. His eyes locked directly onto Marge’s.

“What can you tell me about the manor?”

“Glad to have you on board,” Marge gave a weak smile before her attention was back on the picture of the manor. “The Duke used to live up there when I was younger, but he just disappeared one day. No one knew why or really cared to ask,” Marge said with a shrug, “But that does not matter. What matters is that it is the only location that could be the best lead.”

“What makes you think that the people will even be in there?” Roman asked as he broke his gaze away from Marge to focus on the path they would need to take, “They could be hiding in the woods.”

“I went up there,” Marge admitted nervously, “With Julia…after a few of her mother’s customers went missing. We heard things. It looked like someone had been staying there but we never saw anyone to confirm it.”

“Well, it could be squatters like you suggested,” Logan pointed out and then glanced at the path from the Inn to the manor, “But I suppose it is the best lead we have.”

Roman sighed and looked out the nearest window just as the rain began to fall. They did not have a lot of time before it would begin to pour, and their vision would be obscured.

“Lead?” Patton wiped at his face and moved over to look at the map. “What are we doing?”

“Staging a rescue for your friend,” Marge answered with an encouraging smile. “We are going to get them back. Everyone.”

“Yes, and I suppose we should not delay any further,” the prince sighed and stood up straighter and tried to flash them an encouraging smile to the three of them. “Our Dreary Damsel is in distress and these people have been gone for far too long.”

“You really think we can save them?” Marge looked up at her friend with hope filling her eyes.

“Of course. I am the hero, it is what I do.”

Roman did not have a chance to prepare himself before Marge launched herself into his arms. The girl hugged him tightly and buried her face in his chest. If Roman wanted to embarrass her, he would have pointed out the tears in her eyes. Instead he held back just as tightly despite how much his body wanted the hold to be gentler.

“Thank you, Roman.”

“Don’t thank me just yet, Princess,” he kissed the top of her head in a brotherly manner before their hug parted.

A clear of the throat broke the moment between the two and they both looked over at Logan, who now stood by the map.

“I do not wish to disturb but we really should not delay,” the logical side said, “I shall fetch whatever supplies we may need. If you could get the horses ready and by the door.”

“Of course,” Roman nodded and straightened out the white jacket.

“I’ll help Logan,” Patton said with a small sniffle and trailed after Logic as they moved to pack some more provisions for their journey.

Roman watched until they had disappeared before he started to the door that would lead to the rainy exterior.

Creativity wished it would stop raining but he could not will it to happen. His usual bend to the world around him would not listen to his desire. He tried not to let this worry him, it happed from time to time when the story got a little bit crazy. When this side quest had ended he would be able to focus his powers back into control once again.

He opened the door and stared out at the fat drops of water that were turning the dirt path to mud. His outfit would not stay white. He could feel it in his gut. What a shame.

“I’m coming with you.”

Roman turned around to face the inside of the Inn quickly and stared at Marge with wide eyes.

“You are doing no such thing!”

“I can help,” the Innkeeper’s daughter insisted and walked towards the prince, “I know the path to the manor like the back of my hand. I know who is missing.”

“It is out of the question, Marge,” Roman waved his arms in an ‘X’-like motion, “I have already risked one person on this journey and I will not risk you. It will be better if you stay here and take care of your father.”

Marge crossed her arms and glared at him, “You would not even know where to go if it was not for me.”

Roman mirrored her stance, “And I am grateful for that, but I am not risking your life and your father’s only child on this mission. Too many people are already gone.”

“Roman-.”

“That is final!” The prince turned on his heel and walked out into the storm.

He wished that the old Inn door could slam loudly but it just slowly closed as he trudged through the mud toward the stables. The jacket he had on stuck to his body as he pushed open the doors and let himself into the musty dryness.

The stables smelled like hay and poo. He was used to it but with the added humidity it made the royal scrunch up his nose in disgust. He loved his animals but sometimes they could just be messy.

Darling whinnied in greeting as his mud-covered boots made their way across the wooden floor over to her. The white horse looking perfectly content on staying inside as the rain pelted the roof over her head.

“Good morning, Darling. I hope you are ready for a ride.”

As if you answer him, the horse turned away just as he got to her gate. Her tail flicked as if she was offended he wanted her to ride in such conditions.

“I know, I know. I do not want to ride in this storm either, but this is of great importance,” Roman sighed and started to search for her saddle. “One of our own as been taken by an unknown enemy and we cannot hesitate any longer then we already have.”

The dramatic speech did not seem to sway the stubborn animal from where she was. She just ate some hay and refused to look at her owner. Roman held the saddle and glared at her back. He and his horse were too much alike sometimes. He loved and hated it.

“I will give you so many apples when we get home if you would cooperate with me.”

Darling’s ears perked, and her white head slowly rose from the hay to look back at him.

“I will not name numbers, but it will be so many,” He gave a blinding smile for good measure.

The horse clicked her teeth and fully turned for him to saddle her up. He made sure nothing was too tight for her to be uncomfortable but still enough to hold him in case of an emergency. Darling playfully nipped at him when he finished, and he gave her a mock glare in return.

Patton’s horse was more willing to be saddled then the royal steed. The chestnut colored animal did not even move as they were saddled and pet. They even seemed delighted to be led by the reigns out into the rainfall. Their ears were perked in interest while, in contrast, Darling’s were pressed back against her head.

The prince got to the doorway just as the other two sides stepped out into the morning air. Patton’s hood was pulled up over his head to protect him from the falling drops. Logan just allowed the water to fall onto his face and over his glasses.

Logan nodded to Roman as he helped Patton up onto the brown steed before he climbed up himself.

“We just have to head up this road,” Logan instructed as Roman climbed up onto Darling’s back. “It should not take us too long if the weather is kind to us.”

Roman took in a breath as the sky rumbled ominously, “Then let us get moving.”

With a flick of the reigns, both horses began to move down the muddy road out of town. Darling moved slightly faster to put Roman in the lead. Rain stuck his hair to his head and seeped into his clothes. He let himself move to the story that should be played out.

The prince and his party moved into the unknown to save one that they assumed was their enemy in disguise. Another road in their long quest to the Dragon Witch’s keep. It should feel like a great act of heroism…

But for some reason all the prince felt was dread.

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #Growing Up Part of a Whole #creativity #princey sanders #prince roman #morality #patton sanders #logic #logan sanders #anxiety #virgil sanders #roman sanders #unedited #ROMAN'S KINGDOM SPECIAL

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sidewritings · 7 years

Text

Fortunate Negotiations

Prompt: This post here

Pairings: Analogical, Royality

Genres: Fluff, romance,

Warnings: anxiety mention, college education mention

Word Count: 1370

Author’s Note: This is my gift for @analogically-prinxiety . Happy @fander-secret-santa !!! For quality control, this fic was edited by the wonderful @tinysidestrashcaptain who was also good enough to help me devise a title for this story. Enjoy!

Logan straightened his tie one last time, checking his reflection in the full-length mirror on the back of his bedroom door. He and Virgil were going to dinner at a moderately upscale restaurant with Roman and Patton, and while the four of them usually got together at least once a week for informal hangout activities, this was their first time going out as two couples on a double date.

Logan frowned at his reflection, picked up a comb, and started fixing his hair. Roman and Patton had gotten together a month into their first semester at Uni and been a couple ever since. He had met Patton in an ethics class and been introduced to Roman shortly thereafter. Logan and Virgil had met at University as well in an English class where they had been partnered for peer editing exercises. The four of them had quickly become close friends, even sharing an apartment for the last couple years of their undergrad programs.

After graduation, Roman and Patton had purchased a house together. Patton had gone on to open Pattonly Adorable, a daycare service for children, with his double major in business and child development. Roman had gotten a job running the local theater and occasionally helped Patton with the daycare run out of the first floor of their home.

Logan had gone on to graduate school for a masters degree in astronomy and had taken a job at the University's planetarium immediately after receiving his second degree. He'd kept the apartment the four of them had shared, taking out a four-year lease on the place after Roman and Patton had bought their house, and asked Virgil to stay with him. Virgil had a degree in web design and could work from home, designing, maintaining, and fixing websites and social media accounts for various companies.

Logan checked his hair in the mirror and, satisfied, reached for the lens wipes to clean his glasses. Logan had only admitted his romantic feelings for Virgil to himself a year ago, but Virgil had been dating a nice young librarian at the time and he'd kept his feelings to himself. When Virgil had come home strangely quiet and very early from one of his dates, Logan had watched Steven Universe with him over tubs of ice cream and let Virgil tell him about his breakup. He still hadn't said anything. He'd only asked Virgil out a week ago when Virgil had made an account on Grindr.

He wasn't proud of it, but Logan had made an account too, and asked Virgil out through the app. Not his most shining moment, but it had worked. Virgil had shown up for their date and had not been at all surprised when StarProf72 had turned out to be him. They'd been together ever since that first awful date. Logan had spilled hot coffee on both of them, it had started raining while they walked home together, Virgil had tripped and headbutted Logan instead of a good night kiss. They both laughed about it and Virgil had made a joke that he was definitely the right person, since he still wanted to be with him after that terrible date.

Logan checked his glasses and put them back on. His appearance was satisfactory and he was determined that this date would go much smoother than their first. He would not order hot beverages or anything that could stain fabric if spilled. They were taking his car (Virgil didn't drive) and there was an umbrella in the trunk and one in the glove compartment. There wasn't really anything he could do to prevent Virgil from tripping but he intended to stay alert for any and all mishaps tonight and be prepared for anything.

Logan went to Virgil's room and knocked on the door. There was no answer and a quick peek inside showed that Virgil wasn't there and the bed was stripped. Odd, Virgil usually did laundry on Monday. Logan frowned a bit and closed Virgil's door. They should be leaving soon, perhaps he was already waiting for him. He went down the stairs and turned into the living room only to stop abruptly at the sight before him.

Well, he'd found Virgil's blankets and what looked like every pillow and cushion from the living room. There was an elaborate blanket and pillow fort complete with LED string lights inside taking up most of the living room floor.

“Virgil?” Logan asked.

He wasn't surprised when Virgil's head appeared in what he guessed was the 'door' to the pillow fort.

“Logan!” Virgil smiled at him, not an uncommon expression these days, but it was too forced and too bright. “I just finished the fort, what do you think?”

Logan noted the bags under Virgil's eyes, the slight edge to his voice, and the absence of creases at the corners of his eyes. He was definitely faking the smile and probably struggling with his anxiety again.

“It's a very well-constructed fort,” Logan replied, “you should be able to enjoy it when we get back. Are you ready?”

Virgil's smile vanished as he ducked back into the fort. “Not really feeling it, pocket protector. Go without me.”

Logan frowned. He understood Virgil had social anxiety which from time to time made him anxious about spending time with people, but these were their friends who had seen each other through illness and panic attacks and sleep deprivation and all manner of difficulties. Logan had thought they'd moved beyond this.

“That would rather defeat the purpose of a double date,” Logan replied, sitting at the foot of the stairs. “Virgil, please get out of that pillow fort. We’re supposed to have dinner with friends!”

“Counter-offer,” Virgil's voice came from inside the fort, “you join me, we rule this pillow kingdom together, watch Hocus Pocus, and eat popcorn for dinner.”

Logan chuckled, the offer was tempting but they'd made plans. At least Virgil was bargaining now; he could work with that.

“Counter-Counter Offer: You come out of there, we go to dinner as a couple with our friends, then we come back and cuddle in the pillow fort and watch any movie of your choice.”

“Counterproposal to your counter-counter offer: We cancel fancy dinner plans with Sir-Sing-Alot and the love of his life and just do our normal hang-out this weekend, then order takeout and cuddle in the fort, my treat.”

Logan groaned. Negotiations were not going his way at all.

“Why don't you want to go to dinner, Verge? Is it the restaurant? Is it...” Logan didn't want to voice that terrible little thought in the back of his mind, but it was a concern he'd have to voice to get rid of, “Is it me? Is it that you don't want to be seen as a couple with me?”

Virgil crawled out of the pillow fort and over to Logan who he hugged tight. Now that he was out of the pillow fort, Logan could see he was wearing a nice pair of black slacks and a plain black tee shirt.

“Of course not, Logan. You're my boyfriend, and I'm proud to be with you.”

Logan took a slow steadying breath, “Okay, then why-”

“I got makeup on my last clean shirt that's nice enough to wear to this restaurant.”

Logan looked at Virgil to see if he was joking. At the earnest expression on Virgil's face, Logan tried unsuccessfully to stifle a giggle. Next thing he knew they were both howling with laughter, clutching each other and gasping for breath.

“My pillow fort for a clean shirt.” Virgil deadpanned when they'd both finally calmed down enough to speak.

Logan sniggered and stood up, pulling his ridiculous boyfriend with him.

“Come on, you can borrow one of my shirts. We're going to be late.”

“Fine,” Virgil said, still smiling as he followed Logan back up to his room, “but we still get to cuddle in the pillow fort afterward, okay?”

“We'll resume negotiations after dinner,” Logan said, but he knew they'd be cuddled up in Virgil's blanket fort later. The rest was just enjoyable banter over the details.

Tag List: @aikogumi @justanotherpurplebutterfly @anxietyisahufflepuff @tinysidestrashcaptain @logan-must-be-serious @myspace-anxiety @andy-the-anon @starving-for-stability @celiawhatsherlastname @emo-space-trash @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @silver-owl413 @bubblycricket @sanderssunshinesides @bbcanimephangirl

#Analogical #Royality #Fluff #Romance #Fortunate Negotiations #Fander Secret Santa #Sanders Sides Fanfiction #sidewritten

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