#⋆ not so good for the whole... trackin' time. thing. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

spaceskam · 4 years ago

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From A Whisper To A Scream (6/10)

Summary: Michael has a support system whether he likes it or not.

Word Count: ~4k

Warnings: toxic people bein’ toxic lmao

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

ao3

Michael woke up to a hand on his forehead.

He jolted awake at the feeling of someone touching him, only for it to be Sanders sitting on the edge of his bed and looking insanely worried. It took a few seconds of heavy breathing, but Michael settled back into his mattress and balled up more in his blankets that were cocooning him. He felt a little less like he was going to explode with power than the last time he woke up, but he was still uncomfortable.

Then again, he would probably be uncomfortable for the rest of his life.

“In all the years I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you lose control like that,” Sanders said. Michael squeezed his eyes shut and bowed his head. It was too early for that conversation. Technically, he didn’t know what time it was, but it felt too early. “You passed out on the floor.”

“I’m sorry,” Michael said. Sanders didn’t say anything, but the bed creaked as he moved.

“Sit up, drink some water.”

“I don’t want to.”

“You’re going to drink it,” Sanders said, not room in his tone for argument, “And you’re going to eat. You need to flush whatever’s in your system out somehow.”

Michael peeked up at him again. So he knew something. How much did he know? That was a question Michael constantly found himself asking when it came to Sanders. He always seemed to know way more than he was actually willing to say.

“You’re not going to school. You’re going to stay here for a couple days until your system clears,” he said. Michael shook his head.

“No, I-I have practice and‒”

“Michael,” Sanders said, “I know you won’t tell me what’s goin’ on, but you ain’t goin’ anywhere. If your mama saw the way you were last night, she wouldn’t let you out of her sight, so I ain’t either. Not until I figure out why you feel like you’re gonna die.”

“My mom did let me out of her sight.”

“For your own good,” Sanders insisted.

Michael couldn’t help but disagree. Even if she had thought it was, he couldn’t imagine how the life he was leading was better than the time he didn’t get with her. It wasn’t fair at all and it never would be. He just wanted her. He wanted her more than he ever had before.

They were quiet for a moment before Michael eventually sat up a bit and drank the water he was forcing on him. Then he laid back down and Sanders didn’t leave. After a few more seconds of sitting in silence, Michael realized Dog was laying on his bed behind him, both Dog and Sanders seeming to have no intention of leaving him alone as if guarding him.

If only they knew that he wasn’t worth guarding.

“Michael,” Sanders said. Michael looked up at him again. He never used his name like that. “Is it a person?”

“Huh?”

“What you think is tryin’ to kill you, is it a person?” Sanders asked. Michael didn’t answer, but that seemed to do all the speaking for him. “We can grab a bag and go.”

“Sanders…”

“I got people across the country that know too much, Boy, I say I need a safehouse, I can find one,” Sanders said. And, once again, it was saying more than he ever really had before. Sanders didn’t talk about those years in between losing his makeshift family and coming back to Roswell to find him. Michael had just assumed he’d stayed angry and alone everywhere he went.

Apparently that wasn’t the case.

“No, they can track me and I don’t want to put you in danger,” Michael admitted. Sanders huffed a little laugh.

“Boy, you ain’t thinkin’ if you think I’m not already in danger,” he said simply. Michael balled up more. “Didn’t say it was ‘cause of you.”

“We can’t just leave.”

“How are they trackin’ you? If it’s your phone, we can trash that. If it’s somethin’ else, I know a guy up in Montana.”

Michael laughed softly, but it didn’t come without a wave of tears in his eyes. He didn’t know what was the right thing to do. Maybe he should just leave, but what would happen if Eff found him? Or if one of the many people Eff worked with? Or, worse, he took it out on someone else that he’d run away?

“I can’t leave Isobel and Max.”

“Well, I can’t do much about that, but they ain’t my responsibility,” Sanders said. Michael sniffled and shook his head.

“I can’t leave, but you should. I-I don’t want you to be collateral damage,” Michael insisted, rubbing his eye with his fist. Sanders laughed bitterly and his hand gripped Michael’s shoulder.

“I don’t usually like you thinkin’ I’m old, but I am. I promised to keep you safe and if somethin’ happens to me doin’ that, then I ain’t collateral damage. I’m just doin’ my job,” he said like it was simple. Michael sniffled and shook his head.

He hated this. He hated this so fucking much.

“I need to go back to school Tuesday and act normal, go to my games and practice and pretend it’s not bothering me,” Michael said, wiping his face, “It’ll buy me time to figure out what to do. I just, just have to be on my best behavior.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Michael said, taking a deep breath, “But can you do me one favor? Don’t let Alex come over.”

Sanders looked at him in confusion for a moment, but something akin to understanding dawned on him and he nodded. Michael wasn’t sure what exactly he got from that, whether he assumed Alex was at fault or if he jumped to the idea that he was protecting him. Somehow, it was both and neither at the same time.

“Alright, Boy, I trust your judgement. I’mma go make you somethin’ to eat, stay here.”

Michael had no desire to move.

Alex liked having Flint around, he really did, but the silence outside of the clink of silverware was deafening.

He kept looking between Flint and his father, waiting for something to happen. He knew they wouldn’t speak about the business in front of him, but he thought they’d do something. Instead, it seemed to be full of just them staring at each other and angrily eating. If it was anything other than father and son, Alex would’ve assumed he was intruding.

Hell, part of him still felt like he was intruding.

“So, Alex,” his dad said, still not looking away from his brother, “You’re eighteen now.”

“Yes, Sir,” he said, nodding his head.

It was weirdly formal, but his father hadn’t actually acknowledged his birthday on the actual day. He never really did, especially after his mom left. It seemed like he viewed it as a very rude reminder that his wife had left him. Alex was fine with not celebrating as long as it meant he didn’t have to deal with any backlash.

“Dad,” Flint said, voice stoic, “No.”

Their dad tilted his head as he looked to Flint with nothing but sheer contempt. Alex shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The two of them stared at each other, seeming to hold a silent conversation all about Alex. He wasn’t a fan.

“In a few weeks, you and I are going on a trip,” his dad said, turning to Alex again. Alex nodded.

“Yes, sir.”

“Dad,” Flint said.

“What, Flint? You were 18, Gregory and Clay were both 18. Alex is 18, it’s time. He’s a grown man now,” he said. It was the first time he’d spoken like Alex had any agency at all and it was still involving his own decision about what Alex needed to do. Alex didn’t know whether to be excited or not.

“I can handle it,” Alex assured his brother, smiling softly. Flint didn’t smile back. All of his light excitement from the day before was gone and he nodded once before getting up from the table.

“Flint, get your ass back here and pick up your plate,” his dad instructed. Part of Alex expected Flint not to listen, but he still came back and picked up his plate. He rinsed it off in the sink and went to head back to the hallway. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Flint took a loud breath and turned again, picking up their father’s plate and rinsing it off just like Alex had done every night they had dinner together since his brothers moved out and he didn’t have anyone to share the duty with. It was a respect thing, his dad insisted.

However, as much as he loved his brother, watching Flint wash his father’s plate forced Alex to realize just how much his brother was still under their father’s thumb.

Alex couldn’t make himself eat anymore and, thankfully, it wasn’t a night where he was going to be forced to sit at the table the whole night. He pretty quickly finished up and made it back to his room where he immediately pulled out his phone. He hadn’t been able to talk to Michael all day‒it was torture.

Alex: i miss you :(

He tugged his pillow under his head and watched his phone, waiting for a response. However, as the time ticked by, he never did. Which was extremely out of character. He clearly hadn’t been feeling well yesterday, so maybe he’d been sleeping. But he hadn’t texted him all day…

Maybe Alex was being clingy. Liz and Maria were both so sure that he was moving too fast, so maybe he was. They were allowed to go a day without speaking to each other. Even if they hadn’t since they began hooking up… Well, that didn’t matter.

He waited and he waited until he got tired of waiting. He clearly wasn’t going to get a response.

And that was… fine.

Michael kept falling asleep.

He didn’t know how the hell he was even managing it when he was so stressed. He should be unable to do anything but stay awake and worry, but it seemed he just kept passing out. He wasn’t entirely sure Sanders wasn’t drugging him to make sure he slept it off.

Still, it felt good to be somewhat rested by the time Isobel came knocking. He didn’t even get the chance to sit up and properly greet her before he was climbing into his bed. She didn’t speak or scold or question him like he expected. Instead, she crawled beneath the covers and pulled them over both of their heads. He felt young again.

“I wasn’t just paranoid when I thought someone was watching me, was I?” Isobel asked in the safety of his blanket. Michael shook his head slowly and let the two of them sit in silence for a long stretch of time.

Michael didn’t really know what to say to her. He wasn’t going to say it had anything to do with Alex, that simply wasn’t an option. Isobel would blame him and Michael was pretty sure Alex had no idea. Eff seemed convinced that Alex had no idea and wanted to keep it that way.

“You shouldn’t be around me,” Michael said, “For your own safety.”

“What about your safety?”

“Not important.”

“Shut up,” Isobel said, scooting closer. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and tugged his face into the crook of her neck. She was nothing but protective as she cradled him close, shielding him away from the world.

It’d been too long since he’d spent time with her, too long since he’d had his sister. Was a guy really worth all of this? Because he shouldn’t be. No one should be worth all of this. It should be easy to cut Alex off, to go back to just handling Eff and dealing with life. So why was it such an impossible thing to grasp?

“I need your help,” Michael murmured into the soft fabric of her shirt.

“What is it?”

“I need you to keep me from talking to Alex,” he said. Isobel froze for a moment. “It’s to keep him safe. I just… need reinforcements.”

“Okay, I can do that,” Isobel insisted. She held him still as she reached over to grab his phone. She fiddled around on it for a moment and he was pretty sure she blocked his number.

He should really talk to Alex to his face and tell him they couldn’t be together, that would be the right thing to do. But, really, was anything about this right? It didn’t feel like it. It was unfair and cruel and miserable, but he did this to himself. Michael had been reckless and this was his punishment.

Besides, he had Isobel and he had Sanders. He had no room to complain.

“Can I help with anything else?” Isobel asked cautiously. Michael shook his head, taking a deep breath.

“Just, when I go back to school, make sure I don’t do anything stupid,” Michael requested.

“God, Michael, I didn’t say give me a hard job,” she said, teasing to lighten the situation. He smiled and, though it didn’t last long, it was still welcome. “I’ve got you, don’t worry. I’ll do what I can.”

“Thank you.”

“Always.”

Walking into school was hellish.

Michael kept his head down and stayed close to Max and Isobel. Any time he was near Alex, he avoided him. In times when Max and Isobel weren’t around, he chose to stick by his teammates who welcomed him into the group without a thought. He just couldn’t be around Alex. He would cave and that would do no one any good.

But whatever Eff had put in him was now gone and he felt somewhat normal. Or, at least, not like he was a ticking time bomb. So that was good. It also helped that Eff hadn’t shown up to take him to the shed. That part, however, made him more paranoid than anything.

He was able to ignore Alex for a few days, but he should’ve known that that time was limited. This was Alex Manes he was dealing with‒he wasn’t stupid and he wasn’t oblivious either.

He showed up in his Calc class, his normal bored expression on his face. He never showed just anyone that pretty smile. That was sacred and special.

“Michael,” his teacher called, “Mrs. Doyle needs you, take your things.”

And Michael couldn’t exactly say no, could he? With a stifled sigh, Michael grabbed his bag and followed Alex out of the classroom. This was bound to happen anyway. They needed to talk.

Alex didn’t spare him a look over his shoulder as he led them to their spot. They hadn’t really hooked up in there lately, finding themselves much more reliably in Michael’s bed instead. But here they were, back in the dimly lit, abandoned office. And Alex didn’t show him his pretty smile which was probably a good thing.

“You blocked my number,” Alex said, not even bothering to beat around the bush. Michael’s eyes stayed on the ground. “What the fuck? Can’t even say you don’t want me to my face? You have to block me?”

“That’s not…”

“What? That’s not what? That’s what happened. And, look, feel free to fill in the blanks on what I did that pushed you away so fast. I mean, seriously? How do you go from building me a fucking car to blocking me in two days? What kind of bullshit is that?” Alex demanded. Michael closed his eyes and fiddled with the hem of his shirt. Okay, so maybe he should’ve prepared for this conversation more.

“I just… Need space,” Michael said slowly.

“See, that’s what I thought too, at first. Oh, he just needs fucking space, cool, fun, fine,” Alex said, “But then I was like, no, my boyfriend wouldn’t do that without telling me. Then you blocked me. That-that’s not asking for space, that’s cutting me the fuck off.”

“Isobel did it.”

“Okay, and? You didn’t undo it or stop her,” Alex accused. He stopped sounding like he was going to rip Michael’s head off. He had about two seconds to think it was a good thing before he realized Alex had switched over to sounding like he was about to cry.

It was significantly worse.

“What did I do?” Alex asked. His voice didn’t crack, but it wasn’t exactly comforting. “You won’t even look at me. I hate to sound clingy, but, fuck, Guerin, you’re being a dick to me. I get it if you don’t wanna be with me, but have the balls to say it to my face.”

But that was the problem, wasn’t it? He couldn’t say that. It was so remarkably untrue.

Michael reluctantly forced himself to look up at Alex and he took in the sad expression he wore so plainly. It was honest and raw and it hurt.

“I want to be with you,” Michael said‒because he was so, so stupid. Alex, thankfully, didn’t lighten up.

“Then why are you being so mean to me? I thought…” Alex trailed off, looking at him and then the wall, “Did Flint say something to you? Because this changed after you met him.”

“No,” Michael said firmly, “I’ve just… I’ve been training and stressed and, and I won’t get scouted if I’m out. I thought it would be easier if I just…”

“If you just treated me like I’m garbage and won’t even have a conversation with me?” Alex said. Michael closed his eyes and tilted his head back. “Fuck you.”

“I deserve that.”

“Why would you build me a car and meet me brother? Why would you do half the shit you’ve done if you had no intention of being with me for longer than a few months?” Alex demanded. Michael swallowed and laughed softly. Where was Isobel when he needed her to whisk him away?

“Because I didn’t know that this would be an issue. I didn’t know being with you put so many people at risk,” Michael admitted. It was probably too truthful‒he was making it sound like it was more serious than football. Because it was.

But maybe he could convince Alex that he was extremely shallow.

Part of him wished he could simply be honest. If he was around Alex, Flint would find out and he would be completely and utterly fucked. But Alex loved his brother. He was a lot of things, but mean enough to use Alex as a weapon wasn’t one of them. He would just have to push Alex away himself.

“Then talk to me! Be my boyfriend!” Alex snapped, “Don’t just fucking ghost me! We didn’t need to go public. I didn’t want to in the first place and we barely have anyway. I was perfectly content doing nothing but being with you privately.”

Michael kept his eyes on the ceiling. He needed to be rude. He needed Alex to not want him anymore. Hate me. Call me an asshole. Break up with me. You’re better than me, say it.

“You should’ve talked to me,” Alex said.

“Okay.”

Alex was quiet for what really felt like an hour, but was more likely just the worst 30 seconds of Michael’s life. This truly wasn’t fair. In a perfect world, he would get to be miserable and have Alex hold him and make him feel better about this whole shitty situation. They could take a nap together and Alex could shield him from all the bad in the world. Or, actually, in a perfect world he wouldn’t be miserable at all.

“Be nice to me,” Alex demanded. It was in the same tone of voice that he used when he said ‘touch me’, like he was telling Michael to do something that he knew Michael already wanted to do. It almost had him laughing. “I know you. I know you’re not an asshole. That guy who built me a car and let me paint his nails and dreams about being close to me just to keep himself calm is who you are. You’re… You’re not this.”

“And what if I am? What if I’m just really good at pretending to be charming?” Michael asked.

Alex kicked his shin. Not hard enough to hard, but enough to make him look at him in the eyes.

“Be nice to me,” Alex repeated, “Unblock me and be nice to me. If that means breaking up with me to my face, then do it. If it means apologizing to me and working your ass off to make it up to me, then do it.”

The thing about Alex Manes was that his eyes were insane. In a good way, of course, but they were impossible to lie to and impossible to deny. He knew he needed to reject him, that was the safe way to do things. That’s what would keep him and the people he loved safe.

But he wanted Alex.

He wanted slow kisses and warm cuddles. He wanted flirty texts and a place to nap. Alex was everything he wanted and everything he couldn’t have. But, maybe if he was careful…

“We can’t be seen together,” Michael said. Alex shrugged.

“Okay.”

“You deserve someone you can be seen with.”

“Why are you telling me what I deserve? You think I can’t make my own decisions?” Alex asked. Michael sniffled and looked around the room, trying to find the courage to deny him. He needed to. It was the right thing to do.

“We’re going to get hurt,” Michael said. I’ll probably die, he didn’t say. Maybe if Flint was feeling nice he would leave Isobel and Max and Sanders alone. Maybe he could beg. He wasn’t above begging.

“I want to be with you,” Alex said like it was easy, “I’m not afraid of saying it to your face, I don’t care if you think I’m clingy. Either say you don’t want me or act like you fucking do. I’m not here for this passive aggressive shit.”

“You’re a hard man to lie to, Alex Manes,” Michael said softly, shaking his head as he took a step forward. Alex scoffed.

“Then don’t lie.”

Michael took a deep breath and knelt on the ground. Alex didn’t ask what he was doing, simply let him move in close and rest his face against his stomach. Arms went around him and held him there. And, god, it was stupid.

But he felt safe for the first time in days.

“Alex, are you okay?”

“What?”

“You haven’t spoken about Michael in days.”

Alex rolled his eyes and threw a fry at Maria who dodged it with a laugh. For the days that Michael had been vehemently ignoring him, Alex had kept his mouth shut. Liz and Maria had both made it pretty clear they didn’t really approve of them moving so fast, so he kept it to himself when it seemed they were right.

And, well, now that they were going back to keeping it silent, he didn’t know exactly what to say. He really didn’t want to prove them right. But he liked Michael and there was clearly something going on that he wasn’t saying. He could pull the football card all he wanted, but that wasn’t what was actually going on.

Alex didn’t plan on letting him go that easily when he was hiding something that was fucking him up so badly. He’d eventually get him to speak. When he did, he wanted Michael to know that Alex wasn't going anywhere.

“We’re being lowkey,” Alex decided to say. Both girls shared a look that made him want to bash his face into a wall.

“Lowkey?” Liz asked. Alex shrugged, dipping his fry into his shake.

He felt a little bit better about the whole situation after Michael climbed into his bedroom window the night before. Any question on whether he should actually break up with him or not vanished. Michael was shaky and had lost weight, new scars dawning his skin from the last time Alex had touched him. Something was going on. He wasn’t going to let them convince him to change his mind.

“Shit came up, we’re being lowkey.”

“Alex…”

“Nope, not letting you talk me out of it,” Alex insisted, “I don’t want to hear it. If I wanted to, I would bring him up.”

They went through their whole routine anyway. “We don’t want you to get hurt” and “we just care about you” all of which were totally valid, but they didn’t have the full story. They weren’t understanding that something was wrong and he couldn’t tell them because he didn’t know what it was yet. He wasn’t going to just abandon him. Michael had known nothing but abandonment for most of his life and he wasn’t about to be another person on the list.

“It sounds toxic, Alex,” Liz said, “Especially if he’s suddenly trying to force you back into the closet.”

“He’s not forcing me to do anything, it was a mutual agreement. We want to be more lowkey, we liked it better that way,” Alex insisted. It wasn’t even a lie. He preferred being quiet. It was nicer.

And it made it easier for him to scope out what the fuck was going on.

“If you say so…” Maria said.

“I do.”

They lapsed into silence and Alex couldn’t help but feel a little guilty. They were just trying to watch out for him and he was pushing them away. He really just had to stick it out until he was able to help Michael with whatever was fucking with him.

And, more importantly, he just had to hope it was worth it.

#Malex #malex fic #michael guerin #alex manes #roswell new mexico #my fic #verse: from a whisper to a scream

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spookyspaghettisundae · 4 years ago

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A Spark To Ignite the Dead Wood

Cold, angular, gray. One door in, same door out.

A sleek reflective window, in which Jericho Kane could stare into his own sad mug, complete with all the ugly scars. His vision blurred as his mind wandered to what the window might be hiding on the other side of the interrogation room. A little camera on a stand with a blinking red light to indicate it was recording? A person, or two, waiting for some cop to enter the room and grill him for answers?

A thin chain connected his handcuffed wrists to a small metal hook on the table in front of him. The chain’s links rattled and ribbed against the hook whenever he budged, which he had to do every now and then, his fidgeting owed to the hard chair that made his sore butt cheeks ache, and a backrest designed to offer neither comfort nor invitation to lean back and relax. Everything here was perfectly engineered to make a stay as unpleasant as humanly possible.

Even the air in here was cold. A tiny little grate in one high corner of the room, big enough to fit two fists inside, took care of ventilation. Though it probably relied on air conditioning, he had to wonder if it was not allowing the cold wintry air to leak into this dreadful little room.

Following the sound of a key turning in a lock, a chunky clank heralded the door to the room opening. Jericho craned his head and spied the face of the person entering. Unfortunately, he recognized him. That recognition coaxed a groan to growl right out of Jericho’s throat.

It had been years, yet Jericho knew that unkempt beard, those horn-rimmed glasses on a flat nose, the receding hairline that framed a short mane of curly hair turning silvery, and that familiar face—now marked with days of sleep deprivation and wrinkled in what had to be disdain.

Using a hand that already gripped a thick manila folder while he carried a cheap plastic cup of steaming coffee in the other, Detective Augustus Shaw averted his gaze and slammed the door shut behind himself. He approached the table, plopped down the items from his hands, causing some coffee droplets to splash onto the surface, and pulled out the chair with an annoying sound of metal grinding against synthetic floor tiles.

Jericho shot a glance at the cup of coffee but tried not to let his thirsty gaze linger there. Neither would the cheap bitter swill help at all against the unpleasantly fluffy feeling of cottonmouth that plagued him right now, nor did he want to give Shaw any conversation material to work with. The career criminal and con man wanted to keep things short and painless. On some level, he did not want to waste the detective’s time, either.

“Jericho Kane,” Shaw said after demonstratively clearing his throat. “Long time no see. How long has it been since we’ve had the fortune of having your company around here in Maine?”

He took a sip from his cup and his forehead furrowed with crinkles counting both too many years of time on the force as well as from cringing over the coffee’s terrible aftertaste getting stuck on his tongue. Shaw shook it off and set the cup back down.

“Rap sheet tells me you’ve been pretty busy all these years, and up and down the whole East Coast, no less,” Shaw added, gently tapping the folder with his left palm. He cleared his throat again, audibly attempting to fight against the bitter film clinging to the roof of his mouth. Then he asked, “Do you want to hop right in and spill the beans, or do I need to flirt it outta ya?”

Shaw smiled at him, though no sincerity reached the crow’s feet framing the corners of his eyes. The detective hated being here as much as Jericho did, even though he could have walked out of the interrogation room anytime.

“Are we burying the lead here? How’s about you just tell me what business you had in any of the places you were trespassing in all week, and we both get to leave sooner? I know both of—”

“I’m not saying anything without my lawyer,” Jericho interrupted him sharply. He swallowed and stared at the place where the chain and hook on the table met, between the coffee stain and the pointless pile of papers and photographs jammed into the overflowing folder.

He could practically hear Shaw’s frown when a stifled sigh made the detective’s nostrils flare, and the seconds of silence that followed only underlined that air of disappointment.

“Okay,” Shaw said, taking another sip from his coffee and the smacking his lips indicating instant regret. “Alright. Fast-trackin’ this, then we both get to leave sooner. You work for the group that runs drugs across the northern border?”

“When’s the lawyer getting here?”

“Sources tell me you’ve worked for two crime syndicates—at least. One in NYC and the other all the way down in Miami. Any others send you onto an errand in our neck of the woods?”

“Not saying anything without a lawyer, man.”

“You went from being a two-bit drifter and con artist, constantly getting evicted from really terrible apartments, to your parole officer in Rhode Island refusing to offer any statement and looking like he had seen a ghost after you got out of the slammer.”

Jericho just kept his mouth shut. He jutted his jaw out and his lips curled inward, turning into a hard-pressed, thin, white line.

“Listen, man, I know you’re not a terrible person. Probably still got debt to pay off to some heavy hitters, right?”

Nothing.

“Some people in my position would mistake this monstrous pile of paper for proof that you’re a monstrous person, but I know better. Most people in your position got your reasons, constantly wonder if they’re bad people themselves, and deep down somewhere, buried underneath all the rotten things you experienced and any crimes you committed, you’re just—just a human being.”

Jericho deeply disagreed and looked up at the detective, locking eyes with him. He silently mouthed “lawyer” at him. Shaw ignored that and continued.

“You’re always down on your luck ‘cause people like us don’t get to win the lottery. We get dealt a bad hand in life, and we roll with whatever we’ve got.”

Shaw cradled the plastic cup, balancing it on an edge as his fingers idly circled it in his hand.

“Well, today’s your lucky day for a change, Jericho. Work with me here. You tell me what I want to know, and I’ll make sure you’re out of here in no time.”

Lawyer, Jericho thought, hoping that telepathy might finally work for him, one of these days.

“See, you can disappear behind bars for a while for some petty bullshit, or you can cooperate with me, because I’m really not that interested in you,” Shaw said, taking another pained sip from the cup. “No offense.”

Lawyer?

The telepathy did not seem to be working, or Shaw was blowing it off. No way to tell. Maybe this was not the best opportunity to try it out, but it was not like Jericho had anything better to do right now.

“See, I know things got weird at some point,” Shaw said. The cup plopped down onto the table’s surface and he leaned over it, closer towards Jericho.

He was playing to make their exchange feel more intimate, the crook figured. But the detective’s tone had shifted, and a strange glint flashed across his eyes. Jericho could not help but feel intrigued.

Did Shaw know more than he was letting on?

“A cigar-smoking guy in a stretch limo invites you in after a botched 'milk run’ in a meat packing plant, says he can make all your problems go away,” Shaw said.

Jericho kept his eyes locked onto the detective’s. How in the hell did he know about that?

“He offered you new work and the money he was offering was too good to turn down, so of course you took it. Who in your position wouldn’t have? Lemme guess, he had big mean-looking fellas in white suits with big mean-looking guns, and Cigar Man’s speech was a monologue with you for an audience.”

Frighteningly on point. Shaw had arrested Jericho’s full attention. Not a single thought trailed off, not a single word formed inside his head. He still wanted a lawyer before he admitted to anything, but the eerie accuracy of Shaw’s description rendered Jericho’s attention rapt.

“But the guy in the packing plant made your mouth melt shut and you had some voodoo man in New Orleans get that fixed. And there was that crumpled bag from the golden arches that provided a happy meal and a poisoned apple every day. Or a serial killer priest who ritually crucified himself after mass and could turn into the Incredible fucking Hulk before you and some of Cigar Man’s boys put him down like a dog and several dozen rounds of point-fifty caliber ammo,” Shaw said.

Jericho’s heart skipped a beat. Though Shaw was only scratching at the surface of all the unreal things he had witnessed in his recent years working for the “club"—the detective somehow knew. Knew of what Jericho liked to call "the weird shit.”

Shaw shot a glance at the mirrored window and said in a hushed murmur, “There’s nobody over there, Kane. No camera, nothing. I know better than to let anybody else in on this. I know how weird and un-fucking-believable all of this is. Hell, I question my own sanity just saying any of this out loud, but I have seen some shit myself. And—listen—I’m here to hear you out. I just want to—I wanna know the truth.”

Jericho swallowed the big empty wad of nothing that suddenly lodged itself inside this throat, yet it refused to go down no matter how many times he repeated the useless motion. That ball of anxiety stayed stuck right there, a slimy void only adding to the rest of his discomfort. He leaned back in his chair despite how painful the metal bars bracing the backrest felt.

“Look, I know of the Carcosa Casino job you were part of, down in Atlantic City. What did they call the 'package’ you were supposed to take from those thugs? 'Lightweight ghosts?’ What in God’s name is that, anyway?”

Jericho shook his head, croaked out a clipped, “Dunno.”

“You didn’t ask questions. Can’t say I blame you,” Shaw said, shaking his head in unison. “Probably woulda done the same in your shoes.”

He broke eye contact and shoved the folder in between the two of them. Flipped it open. Papers rustled; glossy prints of pictures glided from the main pile onto the discard pile he started right next to it.

Jericho recognized the Heavenly Night bar from one of the big photos even though this image depicted it as charred black and burnt down—from that one time when he had set it on fire with a thought. From that one time when he had discovered what unnatural abilities he possessed.

Another picture portrayed Jericho in a black raincoat with a green surgical mask on his face and sunglasses concealing his eyes, toting a silenced pistol in one hand—but he easily identified the distinct shape of his own head despite the stubble left behind after shaving it.

His typical “job attire” whenever he worked for Cigar Man.

“You usually get self-deleting messages with simple, straightforward instructions and are left to figure out the rest. You’re pretty good at that, right?” Shaw asked.

More pictures. Incident reports. A timeline of all the weirdness that Jericho had lived through. Hints at the world hidden behind the world, a world of human monsters that could alter reality on a whim as soon as they figured out the cosmic cheat codes. Most people do their damnedest to rationalize the weird to the best of their ability, but at some point, it gets hard to deny it all. Shaw must have gotten there on his own.

“The four-digit numbers just kept piling up in your bank account and everything stayed untraceable. Shit, Jericho, one of the guys at Homeland Security admitted to me that they didn’t just fail to trace anything—they couldn’t. Every data trail just vanishes into thin fuckin’ air. Like the hand of God reached through every computer and wiped every record clean.”

Jericho had gotten a message from Cigar Man just last week, so his mind went there. The new job. He dispelled the thoughts, focusing on trying to get a read on the seasoned detective. What was his deal? Was he on the payroll of the other syndicate? The douchebags over in Europe?

“And I get it, man. You never ever stopped to question this, because it’s both too good to be true—and too scary to fuck with,” Shaw droned on.

His sympathy was grating on his Jericho’s nerves but clearly genuine. The crook sensed it. The detective felt that same spark he had felt himself, all those years ago.

That time when he still struggled to understand it all. When he felt ambition, wanting to know how the secret world worked. How things like magick functioned, and trying to understand what, if any, difference existed between ghosts and demons.

That spark always struck dry wood, igniting the debris that rested, dead and dormant at the back of one’s mind, bursting into flames and feeding roaring fires of burning curiosity.

Shaw finally fell silent and stopped shuffling through the papers and photos. He let his gaze wander back upwards, scanning Jericho’s face for a reaction until they locked eyes again. That glint in his eyes—it reflected the hungry fires, consuming any knowledge it could get.

“C'mon. I know you wanna talk to me. You wanna talk to somebody, anybody. I’m not your enemy, Jericho. I’m not like him. I’m not—”

Jericho’s heart began to race in that instance and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up, knowing in advance what name Shaw was about to utter. A horrid premonition during which time almost slowed to a complete halt and his eyes went wide.

“No!” Jericho suddenly shouted. “Don’t say—”

Shaw’s brow furrowed but he continued anyway, oblivious to the trigger he was pulling, “I’m not The Way King.”

Jericho’s heart skipped a beat and his blood curdled. The harsh white light from the neon tube overhead in the interrogation room flickered in response to that name being spoken.

“Fuuuuuck,” Jericho hissed, elongating the vowel in agonized defeat.

“Something wrong with me saying that? The Way King?” Shaw asked, continuing to shoot his mouth off, oblivious to the smoking gun he unwittingly kept firing every time he flapped his gums.

“Shut the fuck up! Stop saying his fucking name!”

The lights flickered again. The background noise—that constant buzz of chatter and drawers and metal doors and shoes tapping against hard floors and someone shouting and some chuckling and people on the phones and—all the life in the police station, muffled through the steel door, it all went dead. All at once.

Jericho lurched forward, causing Shaw to shift back in his seat, startled. But the surprise written across the detective’s visage mirrored the dread that must have taken hold of Jericho’s own face. Jericho showed him his empty palms in surrender.

“I will tell you whatever the fuck you wanna know. But you gotta—you have to fucking unlock me, right now. We need to get out of here,” Jericho whispered at him, enunciating every syllable with sharp endings and harsh gravity punctuating every stop.

Shaw stared at him, slack jawed. Now it was the detective’s turn to swallow a big lump of nothing that had gotten lodged in his throat. He bit his lip for a second and his hand went for his pocket. Crammed his fist right in there and dug around to look for the key.

Then the detective started shaking, wracked with spasms like he was being seized by an epileptic attack. His mouth started to foam while he gurgled.

The chain ribbed and rattled as Jericho leaned back as far as he could, trying to gain as much distance as possible, until he felt the tug of cold metal keeping him locked in place, and he heard the crunch of the chain accompany his bondage bringing him to a helpless stop.

Shaw’s eyes rolled back so far into his head that they looked only white and bloodshot. Then a hideous grin shaped across his face, clearly not his own. Drool dribbled down from the curve of his lip, forming pearls on the way down Shaw’s beard until the saliva dripped down onto his lap.

“There you are,” the Way King spoke through Shaw’s mouth, stealing his voice but spewing it out in a different cadence and tone. “Told you, boy. I will always find you, no matter where you go.”

Blood rushed in Jericho’s ears, his heart pounded like one of those huge Japanese drums; just thundering away and drowning out everything, leaving him deaf to the rest of the world and mesmerized by the spiderweb of crimson in Shaw’s white eyes, knowing that the Way King now stared at him through the powerless borrowed vessel.

“Let’s have a little chat, shall we?”

The handcuffs sprung open without anybody manipulating them. Jericho froze. Did not dare budge.

There was no point in running.

He was going to have to hear this demonic dickhead out now.

His deals always sucked.

—Submitted by Wratts

6 notes · View notes

the-awkward-outlaw · 5 years ago

Text

Second Chances - Ch. 23

Hell’s Gate

Warnings: swearing, blood, murder, angst

Word count: ~10,300 (I know, it’s long!)

Masterlist

Read on AO3

Your stomach drops painfully at Charles’s words. Hosea. Lenny. Dead? The others on a boat to God knows where, the question of if and when they return hanging in the air.

“What exactly happened?” Sadie asks, stepping towards Charles as the others gasp and begin to murmur.

Charles recounts the story of how Hosea’s distraction worked and they got into the bank just fine. He then says how just as everything seemed to be going to plan, the Pinkertons showed up with Hosea and shot him in the street. The story brings tears to your eyes. Charles goes on to say how they shot their way to the rooftops, where Lenny was cornered and shot and how John was captured by policemen.

“Arthur refused to leave him until we knew Lenny was gone,” Charles says sadly. He explains how they found their way into an abandoned building and waited until nightfall, where he lured Pinkertons away from a boat so the others could sneak on.

“I was just making my way back when I ran into Y/N and Abigail,” he finishes.

The others look at one another before Grimshaw marches over to you and Abigail.

“You were with Hosea before the Pinkertons found him. How did you get away and he didn’t?”

You sniff, tears cascading down your cheeks. “He… he sacrificed himself for us.” Your voice breaks and you put your face in your hands. Abigail places a hand on your shoulder and tells the others what happened. Everyone stares at the pair of you quietly as she finishes.

“What do we do now?” Tilly asks. “It’s only a matter of time before they find us, too.”

No one seems to have an answer until Sadie steps forward. “We’re gonna find somewhere else. Grimshaw, Pearson, get everything packed up and ready to move out. In a day or two, Swanson and I will go in Saint Denis, find Hosea’s and Lenny’s bodies. Give ‘em a proper burial.”

“I’ll go, too,” you say, finally composing yourself.

“No,” Sadie says. “You’re too easily recognizable. You stay here and help pack things up.”

“And what about if they come back and come here lookin’ for us?” Mary-Beth says.

“We should write a letter,” Pearson says. “But code it so that if someone else finds it, they won’t know where we are. When I was in the Navy, we sent and received messages like that constantly.”

The others agree and Grimshaw begins barking orders at the others, telling them to get packed up. When she reaches you, she pauses.

“Focus on Arthur’s room, dear. I think you’ll be the most use in there.”

You nod gratefully and go up to your room. You’re just about to pick up a wooden box to throw in Arthur’s photos when a wave of exhaustion hits you. Despite the pain and fear in your chest, you lay down and fall into a dreamless sleep.

You’re awoken by someone knocking sharply on the door. Grimshaw storms in just as you rub your eyes and sit up.

“Ms. Y/L/N! We need to be packin’ up!” she snaps.

“Sorry, Miss Grimshaw. Just… just needed to lie down a moment.” You don’t look at her, your heart heavy. She visibly relaxes and sits down next to you.

“He’ll be alright. They’ll all be fine. I’m sure they’ll all come back, probably in some rough shape, but they’ll be fine.”

You nod, clasping your hands. “I’ve no doubt about that.”

She puts a hand on your shoulder. “I know, Y/N. I miss Hosea too. There ain’t a word for how sad I am.”

You nod, your eyes tearing up again. “He… he was gonna walk me down the aisle on my wedding day.”

“I know, I know. I’ve no doubt that when you do finally have your day, he’ll be there with ya.”

You wipe your cheeks dry and nod. “Thanks, Susan. I’ll pack up.”

“Good girl. I’ll bring ya some coffee.” She stands up and leaves. You stand and see Arthur’s hat, sitting on the ammo crates. You grab it and put it on your head. A moment later, Grimshaw returns as you’re packing up the wooden box with a cup. You thank her and take a drink.

“Any idea where we’re going?” you ask.

“Strauss says he knows a place up north in the swamps. Place called Lakay.”

“Never heard of it.”

“He seems to be the only one who has. Anyways, sounds like most people are scared of the place. Charles is doing a reconnaissance trip up there, he should be back soon.”

Over the next few hours, you finish packing up your room and then help Tilly pack up Dutch’s room. You open the nightstand and find a brush, the bristles woven with red strands of hair.

“Has anyone seen Molly since she left?” you ask.

“No one’s seen her,” Tilly says. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she just decided to leave, way Dutch was treatin’ her.”

“Yeah,” you say quietly, an odd feeling creeping into your gut.

By the end of the night, the majority of camp’s packed up. Charles returns and reports that the village of Lakay is inhabited by what the people in Lagras call Night Folk. He and Sadie decide to go and chase them out in order to claim the place.

“What about Hosea and Lenny?” you ask as Sadie hops up on her horse.

“We’ll get ‘em, Y/N,” Sadie says. “When we know the city’s calmed down, we’ll get ‘em. Pearson also helped me write a letter in case anyone comes back lookin’ for us.”

You nod and the two run off ahead. You climb up on the wagon Hosea usually drives, sitting next to Karen, who holds a whiskey bottle in her hand. She takes a swig just as you flick the reins and follow the wagon driven by Pearson and Susan.

You look behind you, watching the old mansion fading into the darkness, hoping that the others will return safely.

The eastern horizon is just beginning to lighten when Sadie and Charles returns, meeting up with the train, announcing that the Night Folk have been driven out of Lakay. They guide the train through the thick swamps until, through the fog, a miserable looking village comprised of three mossy buildings comes into view. It sits on the edge of the massive lake you recognize from when you and Arthur had gone with Dutch to discuss Bronte. The wagons stop, further cramping the small area. Pearson and Grimshaw inspect the small buildings, declaring the largest to be the main area for everyone to settle down in. Despite it being the largest, everyone’s still nearly on top of each other as they claim a sleeping spot. You take your bedroll from Rannoch and lay it out near the back of the building. You don’t bother to unpack Arthur’s possessions; there’s hardly enough room for them.

By midday, most of what can be unpacked has been. Pearson and Grimshaw gather everyone in the middle of the village. They tell everyone that camp will function as normally as possible, but it will not move until it has been determined whether or not Dutch and the others will return. Pearson reminds everyone that hunting needs to be done in order to keep everyone fed.

The next few days move in a haze of confusion and mourning. The entire camp’s sedated with the loss of Hosea and Lenny. The conversations of whether or not Dutch and the others will return circles constantly around. Abigail’s unreachable, worried about John in prison.

Sadie and Swanson, who has surprisingly become clean of alcohol and morphine, sneak into Saint Denis three days after the camp arrived in Lakay. They return hours later, stating they managed to get the bodies buried properly just north of the city. They bring along the horses that got left behind, making you smile for the first time in days at the sight of Artemis.

Every few days, someone will go into town to find out as much as they can about the situation. Little news is brought back. You, Charles and Abigail are banned from the city by Grimshaw since you were directly involved in the bank heist.

Despite your determination to stay as involved in the camp as you can, you find yourself becoming distant. You crave the quiet hours you spend alone hunting or fishing with Rannoch. You’ve become heavily attached to the horse, nearly as much as you were with Rain. Sometimes, you take Artemis out to hunt in order to stretch her legs. Every time you return from a hunt, you force yourself to keep company with the others. It seems that without Hosea and Dutch, there isn’t much stitching camp together.

Sadie has come into her element. She takes over assigning tasks and even helps find new, small scores in order to keep money flowing in.

You sit in camp one morning, feeling frustrated. You had tried to leave early to go off hunting with Artemis, but Grimshaw has become irritated with the lack of your presence in camp again. She knows you’re in mourning and that hunting has become your way to deal with it, but she asks you spend the day in camp.

Sadie sits down next to you, a rifle drawn behind your back. She smiles at you, and you try to return it without much success.

“How you holdin’ up?” she asks. You simply shrug your shoulders. She sits quietly for a moment.

“I’m real happy for you, despite this whole mess,” she says.

“Happy? What for?”

“You’re gettin’ married!”

You furrow your brow, returning to your sewing. “Well, that’s as long as he comes back.” You look at the ring on your finger, a constant reminder of him.

“He will. He’s got you to come back to. Arthur, he’s a wonderful man. He and Dutch helped me when I needed it most.”

You finally smile. “Yeah, seems like that’s what they do for lost souls like you and I. Even so, you happy you fell in with this bunch?”

“If it weren’t for Dutch, Arthur, all of you, I’d be dead,” she says. “And you all been real kind to me. Mm, that reminds me. I been trackin’ signs of them O’Driscoll bastards. Looks like some of ‘em have found their way up to north New Hanover.”

“Ah, so while I been huntin’ game, you been huntin’ O’Driscolls.”

“Exactly. If you ever wanted to come with me, you could.”

“I might just take you up on that offer. I been wantin’ to murder them all since they tried to use Arthur as bait.”

Sadie grabs your knee. “We all got reasons to want ‘em dead, Y/N. You and I are some of the only ones to actually get after ‘em.”

You pause and look at your ring again. “You think they’d want this, though?”

“Who?”

“Jake? Arthur? He always says revenge is a fool’s game.”

“That might be Arthur’s philosophy, but it ain’t mine,” Sadie snarls. “Those bastards took more from me than just my husband. If we don’t do somethin’, how many more women they gonna turn into widows? How long before they try to use Arthur or one of the others as bait again? I doubt they’ll make the same mistake of lettin’ ‘em get away alive a second time.”

You clench your jaw and nod, knowing she’s right. Killing O’Driscolls, hunting Colm, won’t be about revenge but prevention. You and Sadie are only two of his countless victims.

Three weeks have gone by since the camp has taken over Lakay. Still no word has come about Dutch, Arthur or any of the others. The only news to come from the city is that John is still in prison, and there’s word he may be hung. Pinkertons have been spotted still searching the area surrounding Saint Denis. Abigail’s become irritable and angry, you and Sadie try to think up a plan to get him out but each one has more holes in it than the last.

You’ve become angry and irritable yourself. You miss Hosea, along with everybody else, but more than anything you miss Arthur. You struggle to sleep most nights, unused to being alone. You miss your hunting trips with him, his laugh, the way he blushes when you tell him how handsome you think he is. The way he talks to the others, his jokes, the way his mere presence demands respect, how he holds you, kisses you, touches you. You channel your anger and frustration into hunting O’Driscolls with Sadie, although there’s few leads to go off of.

You return in the morning with Sadie, having spent the night tracking a party of O’Driscolls north of Emerald Ranch. You inspect the gold locket you had taken from one of them after you had shot him, a photo of an attractive young woman inside it. You hope she finds someone better than the scum you killed.

Grimshaw glares at you as you and Sadie dismount. She doesn’t approve of how much you aren’t in camp, but each trip you either bring back food or money, so she never says anything about it. You throw the locket into the donation box and head towards the main cabin, wanting to get some sleep. You walk in and are immediately greeted by Abigail yelling at everyone who’s sitting inside. Jack’s crying in the corner and Uncle’s yelling back at her.

You sigh and close the door, deciding you’re not that tired after all. Pearson, standing next to his table, sighs. He looks over at you.

“We could use more fish, Y/N,” he says. You look at his table and see three rabbits and a slab of deer on his table. He doesn’t really need meat. You smile appreciatively.

“Sure. At least you didn’t invite me to go crawfish hunting.”

He chuckles and goes back to skinning one of the rabbits. You wander over to the shallow lake, sitting down on a rock against a thick tree you’ve frequently used. You lean against the trunk, sighing and quickly inspect the area for gators. You swipe at a swarm of mosquitoes hovering in front of you.

After a while, you give up on napping and get out your pole. For the next few hours, you pull fish from the shallow lake, occasionally losing one to a greedy gator. You decide to take a break, collapsing your pole and sitting on the rock again. You lean your elbows on your knees, setting your chin on your hands. A tear leaks from your eye; you feel incredibly lonely. You wonder for the millionth time how things have gotten so bad.

A wave of anger suddenly hits you and you grab a rock, standing up and throw it as hard as you can into the green water.

“Keep doin’ that and them gators are gonna hop out to get ya,” a painfully familiar voice says.

You turn and see Arthur walking towards you. His face, neck and arms are heavily sunburnt, his beard thick and his white shirt sticks to his body. You feel the air leave your body, almost as though you’ve been holding in your breath for a long time.

“Arthur?” you gasp.

He smiles and closes the gap between you, folding you into his arms. Pain rips through your chest as the sobs come and you lose what little control you have left. You gently touch his cheek, inspecting his blue eyes.

“Arthur!” you say again through watery eyes.

“That’s right, darlin’. I’m back. I came back to ya.”

You smile at him. “I think this is yours.” You take off his hat, which you’ve been wearing since the bank job. You put it on his head as he grins at you.

“Still think it looks better on you, darlin.”

You close what little space is left between you, pulling him into a tight hug. He holds you so close, he nearly crushes you, but you don’t care. All you know is the man you love, the man who has saved you time and time again, is finally back in your arms where he belongs. He buries his face into your neck as you take in his scent. He smells like salt and sweat, but you swear you can still detect a hint of pine and leather.

After a few moments, he releases you, but you don’t take your hands away from each other.

“When did you get back?”

“Just a few minutes ago,” he says. He gestures to the rock you were sitting on and sits down, pulling you into his lap. You rest your head against his chest, listening to his comforting heartbeat as he tells you his story.

He begins with the bank robbery. You cry when he tells about Hosea and Lenny. He describes how they snuck onto a boat, which sank and dumped them on an island called Guarma. You listen quietly as he talks about how they were captured, enslaved and saved by a man named Hercule, who they helped liberate the island. The way he describes Guarma, it sounds like hell and you tell him so.

“You ain’t wrong, darlin’. If Tahiti’s anything like Guarma, I don’t think I’ll be goin’.” You laugh as he finishes his story about freeing the island. His eyes suddenly go dark.

“What is it?”

He purses his lips beneath his thick beard. “It’s Dutch. He’s… he’s different. When we went to get Javier, he strangled this old woman. Said she was gonna betray us but I think all she wanted was more money. Not only that, he seemed to like it. I don’t know, he ain’t himself.”

You grab his hand, rubbing your thumb across it.

“He’s been different for a while, honey.”

“I know, but he keeps killin’ folk. I just hope he don’t get worse.”

You sigh and kiss his hand. “Come on, let’s get you something to eat. I’d say it’s the first proper meal you’ve had in weeks, but it’s just Pearson’s stew.”

He chuckles as he gets to his feet. The two of you head into the crowded cabin just as it begins to rain lightly. The others greet you both fondly as you make him sit down and grab a plate of stew. When he’s done, you lead him over to the corner where you’ve set your things. He changes into his black shirt and red leather vest.

“Hey,” you say, grabbing his shoulder. “You need a shave, cowboy. Let me.”

He smiles as you take his hand and lead him outside, sitting him down in a chair. You lather up his face and carefully begin scraping his face lightly, trying to be gentle on his burnt skin. He sighs happily.

“Don’t enjoy this too much,” you tease, wiping the blade clean and returning to his face.

“Why not?” he grins. “I missed you somethin’ terrible.”

You wipe the blade clean for the last time and he grabs your hand, kissing your palm.

“I missed you too, Arthur.”

“God damn it,” a voice snarls behind you. You whip around and see Micah, looking greasy and sunburnt. “Just when I was starting to enjoy the peace and quiet of not havin’ lovesick Morgan.”

“Fuck off, Micah!” you snarl, gripping the blade you’d just used. Arthur stands up and grabs your wrist as Micah raises his hands.

“Ooh, sorry. Guess I won’t be getting an invitation to the wedding.” He sneers at you and heads into the cabin.

“Can I kill him yet?” you hiss. Arthur chuckles and puts an arm around your shoulders.

“Not just yet. Well, maybe. Come on, you look exhausted, darlin’. You been sleepin’?”

You look back at him and shrug your shoulders. “It’s been hard in that cabin with everyone on top of each other. Not only that, seems like someone’s always fighting.”

“Well come on, then,” he says. He heads over to the empty cabin that’s being used for storage. He inspects the single small room and takes one of the canvases that’s usually used as a canopy. He ties it between two beams, creating a hammock. After removing his boots, he swings into it and gestures for you to come to him. You smile and remove your boots, carefully climbing onto him. He sighs as you settle down against his chest, your eyes immediately feeling droopy. With the swinging of the hammock and his fingers combing through your hair, sleep comes easily.

Arthur pats you awake gently and you yawn, still nuzzled into his neck. He chuckles when you snuggle into him again.

“Sweetheart, let’s go check on the others. Come on.” He helps you get out of the hammock and you both go back to the main cabin through the downpour of rain. You see Micah laying in a hammock tied next to Uncle’s while Javier eats a bowl of stew. You wave to him, happy to see he’s in relatively good condition, despite having been shot in the leg in Guarma.

The front door of the cabin swings open and Dutch walks in, looking wild in the rain. He smiles proudly as everyone greets him gratefully. You smile, despite the doubts festering in your mind. Arthur waves to him, his other hand around your waist.

“How’d you folks find each other?” Dutch laughs as he walks in. “What happened?”

Strauss explains how Sadie and Charles cleared the place of Night Folk.

“Mrs. Adler, we owe you.”

She smiles humbly from her seat on one of the crates. The others cheer and lift their glasses to her, you included.

“It’s been real hard, Dutch,” Tilly says desperately. “We been survivin’, but only just. What we gonna do?”

“Things have been tough,” he replies. “Ain’t no doubt about that. I am gonna get us out of here.”

“Ain’t none of you folks interested in our adventures?” Micah says, stepping out from behind Dutch.

“Guess we’re more interested in escapin’ the hangmen on our tail,” Abigail snaps.

“Cheerful nymph of the prairie, wasn’t you, Abigail?” “Oh sure, my heart jumps for joy when I set eyes on you, Micah.” Micah laughs nastily as Abigail approaches Dutch and hands him a mug of coffee. “We buried Hosea, Dutch. Sadie and Swanson stole his body from the law one night and gave him a proper burial. It was real nice.”

You recall the funeral, it had been nice. Painful, but nice. You had taken a long hunting trip afterwards.

The front door swings open and Bill stomps in. “Well here you is! I asked everyone I could find and eventually someone knew. Said you fools were out here.” He glares at Sadie. “Get me a drink or somethin’!”

“Get your own damn drink!” she snarls.

“In our absence,” Dutch interrupts. “Mrs. Adler has been looking after things. Now sit down!”

Just as Bill does, a horribly familiar voice hollers from outside.

“This is Agent Milton with the Pinkerton Detective Agency! On behalf of Cornwall Kerosene and Tar, we are here to arrest you!”

Arthur walks towards the window looking out to the front. “They got a gatling gun!” he hisses to Dutch. “Everybody get down!” he yells. You and the rest slam into the ground as gunshots fire through the cabin. Arthur begins crawling to the back towards Sadie. You’re about to follow him when he drapes an arm across your back, stopping you.

“Stay here and look after the others!”

“Arthur, come on!” Sadie calls to him.

He continues on as a lantern explodes on the wall. He and Sadie disappear out the back in the direction of the lake as shots continue to rip through the cabin.

“Asked everybody you could find, didn’t ya Bill?” Micah roars.

“Shut up, Micah!” you yell.

For the next few moments, bullets ring through, screams intermixing with the bangs. You and Dutch holler at the others until the rapid gunfire suddenly moves in a different direction. The Pinkertons begin yelling at each other.

“Get out there, all of you!” Dutch demands, pointing to you, Bill, Micah and a few others. You hop up, grabbing a rifle hanging from the wall and burst out of the cabin, shooting a Pinkerton in the chest. The wind roars around you, the rain dripping off your hat as you hide behind a few crates and shoot at another agent. Arthur hops onto the wagon with the gatling gun and opens fire on them. After a few moments, the few remaining Pinkertons flee into the swamp.

Arthur hops off the wagon and spots you, hiding behind the crate.

“I told you to stay inside!” he growls, approaching you.

“Dutch told me to help and so I did. I can handle a gun just fine, Arthur.”

He shakes his head but doesn’t argue as Dutch walks out of the cabin, holstering his pistol. “You saved us, Arthur.”

“Well, me, Sadie and Y/N here.”

“It’ll take time for them to regroup,” Dutch continues. He orders Grimshaw and Pearson to begin packing up. Sadie, Micah and Abigail approach him as you lean against the wagon next to Arthur. Dutch tosses out a few more orders and places his hands on the wagon, looking drained.

“What next, Dutch?” Arthur asks.

“I just need some time. We can’t go west, there ain’t no more south or east, so we’re gonna have to go north I guess. I just need somebody to buy me some goddamn time!” he pounds the wagon.

“You’ll figure it out, boss, you always do,” Micah simpers.

“What are we gonna do about John, Dutch?” Abigail demands as he turns around.

“We’ll get him, just not-not yet.”

“There’s talk of hangin’ him!”

“It’s not gonna come to that!” He starts walking away and Abigail calls after him. “Not now, miss, not now!”

Abigail desperately turns to you, Arthur and Sadie. “I’m beggin’ you three. He’s… They’re gonna hang him. It would break my--the boy’s heart. Please do something.”

“We will,” Sadie consoles her.

Abigail nods and walks away, wringing her hands. Sadie looks at you and Arthur. “Okay, I’m gonna go figure out how we rescue this bastard. You two meet me at Doyle’s Tavern in Saint Denis.”

“No, I will meet you there. Alone,” Arthur says, beckoning between him and Sadie. It’s clear he wants you to stay back. He seems to be even more protective of you than before.

“I’m going with you whether you like it or not, Arthur. Sadie and I did plenty of things like this while you were gone.”

“She’s a good gun, Arthur. Besides, we don’t know exactly what we’re headin’ into.”

“A’right, fine, guess I can’t stop you anyways.”

Sadie nods at you and walks away, adjusting her gun belt.

Arthur looks at you. “What you mean you been doin’ plenty of things while I been away?”

“Oh,” you say, wrapping your arm around his waist as you walk back towards the wagon. “We just been huntin’ down some O’Driscolls.”

“What! Why the hell-”

“Arthur, relax! We knew what we were doing.”

“I don’t care,” he stops you, putting his hands on your shoulders. “There ain’t no point in goin’ after them. It ain’t gonna change the past.”

“I know, Arthur, but we can prevent them from destroying lives in the future.”

“With that line of thinkin’, you might as well kill every person in this camp, darlin’. We killed and robbed just as much as they have.”

You sigh and look down. “I know, Arthur. But you and the others around here don’t go rapin’ women and killin’ their husbands for sport. We don’t go capturing their men in order to bait the others into a trap to turn them in and run off to Mexico.”

“No, but we’ve all killed indiscriminately. We’ve all ruined people’s lives.”

“Arthur, please. Don’t tell me you hate the idea of killing O’Driscolls too. Besides, it was a way for me to deal with… losing you and Hosea.”

Arthur sighs and pauses. “I know, darlin’. I miss him, too. I understand why you did that, but please don’t do it anymore. They already almost got you, I don’t know what I’d do if they succeed.”

“Okay,” you say. You stretch up on your toes and kiss him.

The rest of the night, everyone works together to get camped packed up, although no one knows where you’re moving to. Dutch sits on the deck of the empty cabin, muttering to himself. By early morning, everything’s nearly packed up, but Arthur grabs you and decides it’s time to meet Sadie, figuring this is the perfect opportunity to slip away and discover John’s situation.

When you reach town, he stops at the hotel, wanting to take a bath. You decide to wait on the street, having only bathed the day before. You lean on a pillar outside the hotel doors, reading a newspaper. Glancing up, you spot someone you recognize and a sour taste enters your mouth: Mary Linton. She walks down the street towards you, completely unaware of your glare. You fold the newspaper without taking your eyes off her.

Arthur walks out, adjusting his hat. “A’right, darlin’.”

“Arthur!” Mary calls to him. He looks up and his face pales.

“Mary?”

“Oh, Arthur,” she says, approaching you both, her eyes only on him. “Arthur, I’ve missed you. I’ve been hoping to run into you again.”

“Oh I’ve no doubt, surely with some wretched job involving your daddy or foolish brother,” he growls at her.

Her brow furrows as she takes a step back from him. “Arthur, I never wanted you around just to help me with things. I never made you choose your way of life!”

“No, but you didn’t mind its benefits, did you? And when it no longer suited ya, you wanted nothin’ more than to see me swing.”

“That is not true, Arthur! I loved you, I still love-”

“Enough!” You finally spit, stepping between them and glowering at her.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” she says. “I am trying to talk-”

“You are talking to my future husband, Mary!”

She pauses and you lift your hand, showing Arthur’s ring.

“Your… your future husband?”

Arthur puts his hands on your shoulders and gently pushes you aside. “That’s right, Mary. I told you last time I saw ya that I couldn’t be with ya anymore, that I found somethin’ else. She’s what I meant. And for the record, she’s never threatened to turn me in or have me hung.”

Mary’s breathing in hard. “Probably because she’s as wanted as you are, Mr. Morgan.”

Before Arthur has a chance to react, you step forward and slap her hard in the face. Her head twists down from the blow and she grabs her cheek as people on the street turn to see the commotion. “You ever come near him again,” you whisper. “I’ll put you in the ground, ya hear?”

Arthur puts his hands on your shoulders and tries pushing you to the side again, but Mary straightens up and stares at him. “Good bye, Arthur.”

She walks away quickly, the onlookers go back to what they were doing before.

“What the hell was that?” Arthur says as you both mount up on your horses. “Ya didn’t have to hit her, darlin’.”

“I know,” you sigh, “but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t feel good, Arthur.”

“Well, if we run into her again, please do me a favor and let me tell her to leave me be. Don’t think it’s wise of you to go around smackin’ people in the middle of a city.”

“Arthur, I doubt either of us will ever see her again. If she’s smart, she’ll run off and marry some other dumb bastard.”

He chuckles and leads you through the streets towards the poor side where the tavern is that Sadie mentioned.

You hitch up and walk in with him, his hand wrapped around yours. Sadie’s nowhere to be found, so he approaches the bar and leans against it. You throw down a few quarters and the barman puts down two bottles of beer. Juts as you’re about to take a drink, Arthur stops you.

“I wouldn’t drink anythin’ from this place. Helped this guy rid it of rats once. Plus, that artist we met some time ago shat on his bar.”

“What?” you say incredulously, lowering your bottle.

Arthur chuckles. “Yes, said it was better than what he serves. Don’t quite know what he meant, but I wouldn’t touch it.”

You set the bottle down with a grimace just as Sadie walks in from the back room.

“Any problems comin’ in?” she asks

“Nah,” Arthur responds.

“Well, guess they know we ain’t in the city.”

“Who? Mr. Milton’s friends?”

“They’ve had patrols out in the city since you boys left. Poor Y/N and Abigail were banned by Grimshaw to come.”

“Trust me when I say I ain’t missed it,” you smile.

Sadie smiles but then becomes serious. “What happened in-”

“Guarma?” Arthur says, leaning his hip on the bar. “Nothin’ nice.”

“What happened to Dutch? Cause he seems...”

“I don’t know. Seems as what happened in Blackwater began happening years ago, maybe. A slow decline, I guess.”

He began walking to the door, you and Sadie following somberly. She and Arthur began discussing what happened here on your end while they were gone, the parts you managed to skip anyways.

“Just a shame about Hosea and Lenny,” she says, hopping up onto her horse.

“Yeah, saw all that,” he sighs. You pat Rannoch and mount up, following them as Sadie takes the lead and heads to the north end of Saint Denis.

“So what’s your plan?” you holler up to Sadie.

“Figure we need to see how John’s bein’ held over there, so we’ll need a high enough vantage point to get a proper look.”

“How you plannin’ on doin’ that? It’s on an island. Unless you’re plannin’ on learnin’ to fly,” Arthur says.

“That’s exactly what we’re doin’. I found us a hot air balloon. Now the pilot, he just thinks we’re in for a lesson, a tour. He’s a character, think you’ll like him.”

“I gotta say,” Arthur says. “I’m impressed with you both. Really stepped things up while we was gone.”

“More Sadie than me.”

“Yeah, except we woulda starved if it weren’t for you, Y/N. And we didn’t know if you was comin’ back.”

Sadie begins describing how badly things have gone in camp. Karen’s become fully dependent on alcohol, Strauss is constantly on edge and Grimshaw’s more irritable than ever. The only upside is that Swanson has cleaned himself up, hasn’t touched his morphine or whiskey in weeks. She also describes how you and her have been hunting O’Driscolls.

“Sounds like you two been busy,” he says as you ride across the bridge. Up ahead in the grass, a massive red and white balloon points lazily into the sky, tied to a large basket. A stout man sits inside, moving things about.

You dismount after Arthur shoulders two rifles and as Sadie calls, “Mr. Bullard!”

A stout man straightens up and adjusts his goggles, a leather helmet covering his head. “Ah, Mrs. Adler! Good to see you!”

“This is my friend, the one takin’ the tour,” she gestures to Arthur. “Mr. Morgan.”

“Ah, yes!” he says, offering his hand to Arthur. “Arturo Bullard, at your service, sir.” He sees you and offers his hand as well, which you take. “And you must be?”

“Y/N Morgan.”

“Ah! Lovely couple you make,” he smiles. He turns back to Arthur. “It’s a fresh day for flying, sir. A day like today and Icarus would have made it across the sea.”

He begins moving Arthur towards the balloon.”You ever flown before, sir?” Arthur shakes his head. “Ah, it’s quite a thing. Well, hop in.”

“Ain’t they comin’?” he asks, gesturing to you and Sadie.

“Oh no, women can’t fly sir. Does horrible things to their vapors. I thought everyone knew that. Why, delicate flowers like your wife and Mrs. Adler, heavens above!”

Sadie chuckles and spits to the side. Arthur looks back at you and furrows his brow. “Well, I want her to come,” he points to you. “We… we just got married, ya see, I want her to enjoy this. Think it’d be a treat.”

“But Mr. Morgan, surely you don’t want her to become ill? I’d hate for her to do so soon after-”

“I insist on it, Mr. Bullard,” Arthur says, placing a hand on your shoulder. “You want a happy customer, don’t ya?”

Bullard sighs but gives in. Arthur guides you to the basket and you try to hide your shaking. You’ve always been afraid of heights. He must be too if he’s demanding you come with him. Resolving yourself, you get into the basket and Arthur climbs in after you. The basket’s quite tight and you plant yourself against him, dreading going up.

“You sure about this?” Arthur asks, pressing a hand to your back.

“Absolutely certain. Mrs. Adler! Wish us luck. Now don’t worry, Mr. and Mrs. Morgan, I’ve only crashed twice.” He claps Arthur on the shoulders happily.

Bullard guides Arthur on how to operate the balloon and after a moment, Arthur pulls on the lever and the basket lifts. Sadie bids you farewell as she shrinks. Bullard begins commenting on the cloud cover and wind currents, but you ignore him as the tops of the trees drift down beneath your feet. You cling tighter to Arthur, your heart pumping.

“Now, Mrs. Morgan, please don’t blame me when you fall ill,” Bullard says.

“I feel fine,” you say, “just don’t like heights is all.”

“Well, I feel I should mention the subject of ablutions. Liquids over the sides, solids do your utmost to levee the situation. I had a client who once fell ill to a rotten oyster on the ascend. A decidedly harrowing experience for all involved.”

Despite how nervous you are, you giggle into Arthur’s shirt. The basket drifts high above the city, nearly touching the clouds.

“It really is stunning up there, you’ll have seen nothing like it,” Bullard says. Arthur pulls the lever further, the fire above flares and the basket lifts into the clouds. A fine mist covers you, chilling you slightly until the basket breaks over the clouds, dazzling you as the sun bathes the cottony surface.

“Heavenly. Quite remarkable, isn’t it?” Bullard comments.

The basket begins to drop back through the clouds once more and you see slight hints of the wide Lannahasee River below.

“I’m surprised you haven’t fallen ill yet, Mrs. Morgan, although I’m appreciative you haven’t.”

“Think you’ll find my wife’s full of surprises.”

You smile at Bullard and then gaze around, astounded by the vast flatness of the swamps and the city far below. In the far off distance, you see the tiny, snowy mountains of New Hanover. Arthur’s hand adjusts on your back and you gaze up front with him. Below, a miniature train travels out of the city.

“Did you and Mrs. Morgan breakfast in the city this morning?”

“Hmm, not exactly,” he says.

“Well, I have a boiled egg in my pocket that either of you are perfectly welcome to.”

You turn him down kindly. Arthur speaks up. “I think I’m a’right, recalling the ablutions discussion.”

The next few moments pass in relative silence as Arthur guides the balloon across the river. An island comes into view out of the mist, a large building sitting on it.

“If I may ask, what interested you in the pursuit of aviation, Mr. Morgan?”

“I didn’t. Mrs. Adler thought she’d surprise me.”

“Ah, no shrinking violet. Along with your missus, I must say. I had thought by now she’d have fallen terribly ill.”

“Like I said, she’s full of surprises. Mrs. Adler is as well.”

“I prefer more feminine attire on a lady, if you will forgive me, Mrs. Morgan,” Bullard says, gesturing to your button down shirt and jeans. “But variety is the very spice of life, as they say.”

Arthur guides the balloon further to the island and the building on it becomes more pronounced. You can see now that it’s surrounded by fields, a few trees speckle the island.

“That building is Sisika Penitentiary,” Bullard explains. “We shouldn’t fly too near to it though.”

“Sorry, we’re goin’ in for a closer look,” Arthur says, guiding the balloon further.

“What do you mean? Mr. Morgan, this is most irregular!”

“Like I said, you wanna happy customer, don’t ya?”

“Look this isn’t funny now. I let your wife on board, against my better judgement, but what on earth are you doing?”

“My wife’s doin’ just fine! Ain’t that right, darlin’?”

You’re leaning over a bit, having gained more confidence now that you’re not nearly as high above the ground as before. You smile at Bullard. “I feel just fine, Arturo. Ain’t gotta worry about me.”

“Even so!” Bullard continues, getting hysterical. “The guards are bound to spot us!”

“Calm down,” Arthur says. “They won’t care if we stay high enough. I’m just lookin’ for a friend of mine. Poor bastard has a habit of bein’ in the wrong place at the wrong time. Got himself workin’ on a chain gang.”

Arthur lowers the balloon further above the island and the wind suddenly dies down. The balloon sinks considerably until the it’s only about 100 feet away from the ground. Arthur asks Bullard to take over and he pulls out his binoculars. You take out yours as well and you begin scanning the fields, looking for anyone who looks like John.

After a few moments, Arthur points out ahead of him. “Think I see him.”

Without warning, a shot rings out towards the balloon and a bell begins tolling rapidly. Bullard panics and ducks down in the basket. “Ascend! Ascend!”

Arthur grabs the lever and pulls as hard as he can and the wind picks up. The balloon shoots up into the sky as more guards begin shooting. You clasp onto Arthur again; your stomach seems to have been left behind.

“This is absolutely insane!” Bullard complains as the wind begins blowing you in a north western direction. “Good grief, I’m shaking like a leaf!”

“We’re in the clear now, Mr. Bullard,” Arthur says. “You can get up.” He pats your back and you remove yourself from him, sighing.

“Good Lord, my heart is pounding! The specifics of this job were not disclosed to me!”

“Well, it’s done now,” Arthur says.

For the next short while, the wind continues carrying you on up the river. Bullard finally calms himself and pulls out a short telescope, inspecting the land ahead where a small town sits on the river’s edge.

“Ah, there’s Annesburg,” he says. “Good Lord, is that Mrs. Adler? I think she’s being chased!”

Arthur pulls out his binoculars again and looks ahead. You peer to the main street and see someone on horseback running from several others.

“Yeah, that’s her,” Arthur growls. “Mr. Bullard, try and get us nearer. I’ll deal with these fools.”

“I think they’re O’Driscolls, Arthur,” you say, having pulled out your binoculars. Arthur grabs a rifle and loads it. You yank the other one off his back and aim it down to the group of men.

“I was starting to rather enjoy this,” Bullard says, pulling on the lever. You and Arthur ready your rifles. Sadie comes into view from behind the buildings and you both open fire on the O’Driscolls chasing her.

“Just in time!” Sadie hollers. Arthur pauses to reload.

“Mrs. Adler has a lot to answer for!” Bullard declares.

“Yes she does,” Arthur says as you shoot a rider in the head. “What was she thinkin’ messin’ with O’Driscolls right now!”

“I think I might need to adjust my fee!” Bullard says.

“Come on, Arthur!” Sadie screams.

“Just ride, we’ll deal with them!” He takes down another O’Driscoll.

“Yes! Show them, Mr. Morgan!” Bullard says excitedly. You shoot another one and he cheers. “I had no idea your wife was such a marksman!”

A shot fires up in your direction and Bullard grunts loudly. “Good grief!” You look back at him and see a scarlet circle growing over his yellow coat. “I think I’ve been-” Another shot strikes him and he falls limp, his body falling over the side.

“Shit!” Arthur yells. “Y/N, take over the balloon!”

You reach up and grab the lever, pulling on it slightly as Arthur shoots more of the riders.

“Sadie! Grab the rope!” Arthur yells as he throws one to dangle out of the basket. You lift the balloon further to avoid colliding into a bridge.

“I can’t reach it!” she shrieks. You allow the balloon to drift down and Sadie jumps from her horse and onto it. Arthur begins pulling her up when a bullet suddenly rips through the balloon. The hole is small, but just as you pull the lever to lift it more, a strong gust of wind catches it and rips it further. Arthur yanks Sadie into the basket and looks up, seeing the massive tear.

“I think we’re gonna crash,” he says as the balloon begins plummeting towards a river.

“You got a real habit of stating the obvious,” you say, still pulling on the useless lever. The balloon lands on the water but skips across the river, finally smashing into the bank and throwing you and the others heavily onto the hardened mud.

“You break your necks?” Sadie says.

“Ah, not quite. Maybe,” Arthur groans, rubbing the back of his head. More shots suddenly ring out from across the river. The three of you launch to your feet and find cover behind some boulders, aiming your rifles at them.

“You can’t leave it for one day?!” Arthur shouts at Sadie as he opens fire.

“Just kill these sons of bitches!”

The three of you continue to fire on them. Most of the pursuing O’Driscolls fall into the river until the boulder next to your hand explodes.

“They’re coming at us from behind!” you yell. You all take new positions, meeting them head on. The forest comes alive with gunshots and yells as the O’Driscolls shoot and die.

“You fuckers, I’ll kill you all!” Sadie shrieks.

The few O’Driscolls left alive turn tail and run as Sadie throws taunts at them. You rejoin her and Arthur marches over.

“The hell is wrong with you? I only left you an hour ago! You can’t stay out of trouble for one goddamn hour? And you got that poor bastard killed for his troubles, I kinda liked him!”

“They got Colm!” Sadie says. “The government, they got Colm O’Driscoll. They’re gonna hang him in Saint Denis.”

“Okay,” Arthur says, turning away. “Let ‘em deal with him.”

“Nuh-ugh!” Sadie stops him. “He’s already been tried twice for murder and found guilty.”

“Sure, and no doubt he’ll escape again!”

“No he won’t, ‘cause we’re gonna make sure of it.”

“We have our own problems with the law right now,” you say, siding with Arthur. As much as you’d love to see Colm swing, now isn’t the time to worry about him.

“Dutch’ll wanna see him swing,” Sadie responds.

Arthur huffs. “Dutch. He wouldn’t even help us with Marston! And our situation is really messed up right now. You know how things is.”

“That bastard’s gonna swing, I’m gonna make sure of it.”

“Yeah, and closely followed by Marston!” Arthur hollers.

“You saw him?”

“Yeah, we did,” you say. “In the fields.”

“Okay,” Sadie puts her hand on her hip. “Then let’s go rescue him. We can manage rescuin’ him from the fields.”

“It’s well guarded,” Arthur argues.

“Guarded, sure, but not behind bars.”

Arthur pauses and rubs his chin. “No, he’s not behind bars.”

Sadie smiles proudly and whistles for her horse. “So we’ll bust him from his work detail. It’s best just the three of us go.”

Arthur chuckles. “Three of us is all there is, anyhow.”

“Good. I’ll get us a little boat. Then we’ll sneak in and get him out of there. Thank you, Arthur!” she mounts up on her horse.

“Whatever you say, boss,” Arthur says, walking towards you.

“I heard that!” she yells as she rides away.

“Goddamn it,” he mutters as he stands next to you.

“Hey,” you say, putting your hand on his arm. “It’s okay. We’ll be okay. We can get John out.”

“I know, but Dutch ain’t gonna be happy.”

“Who cares what Dutch thinks? He obviously doesn’t care what happens to John.”

“I know, just wish things were different. Come on, we need to get back to camp, see if we’ve found a new place to move yet.”

You both whistle for your horses. Rannoch snorts in greeting as you climb into the saddle. On the way back to camp, you and Arthur talk little. He seems distracted, and you dread returning to Lakay. The way things have been going, you doubt anything good has happened over the day.

Arthur stops at the border of New Hanover and Lemoyne and sets up camp since neither of you have slept in the past 24 hours.

In the morning, you both journey back to Lakay. Grimshaw and Pearson are raging at everyone since everything is packed up but they’ve hit a dead end. Grimshaw immediately tackles you, setting you on Pearson to help make what little food he can. You see Arthur marching over to the other cabin where Dutch still sits on the deck and muttering to himself. Charles comes and sits on some nearby crates, sharpening his knife. He’s shaved the sides of his head, the remainder of his hair tied back in a braid. You wonder what inspired him to do so.

A few moments later, Arthur approaches him and says something. You can tell by the way Charles stands and checks his sawed-off they’re about to go do something. You wipe your hands on your jeans and run over to them.

“You guys gonna find a new camping spot?”

“Sure,” Arthur says. He looks at you, almost as though he’s worried. He puts a hand on you shoulder. “Listen, sweetheart, I know ya wanna come, but do me a favor and stay here. They need ya.”

“Okay,” you say slowly. It’s been a long time since he’s asked you to stay behind. Arthur kisses you gently before following Charles over to the horses.

Dutch marches down from the cabin. He’s back to looking like himself, his hair and beard trimmed.

“Alright, everyone. We’ll be moving to our new camp tonight, so finish packing and get some rest.”

You and Pearson finish cooking while the last few crates and barrels are loaded into wagons and the horses are fed. Despite having slept through most of the night, you crawl into your bedroll and manage to fall asleep quickly.

Night falls and you climb into a wagon to drive next to Grimshaw. Pearson and Sadie drives the third while Micah sits with Dutch where Hosea once sat. For some reason, this gives you a bad feeling. Dutch announces you’re travelling north into New Hanover to a place not far from Annesburg in Roanoke Valley. The name sounds horribly familiar for some odd reason. You try to recall where you’ve heard the name before. Dutch whips the horses and the train sets off, illuminated by the moonlight.

You’re glad to be leaving the muggy swamps, glad to go somewhere the water won’t have gators lurking beneath the surface. During the trip, little discussion is traded. Swanson reads aloud from the bible in the back of your wagon. Grimshaw, irritable, smokes a cigarette beside you but she says nothing.

The land begins to change as you head further north. The mossy trees and slimy ground has vanished, replaced by thick grass and tall, broad leafy trees. A fast moving, winding river burbles happily. The trails become windy as they edge the river.

The horizon’s fading into a soft light blue when the train hits a small village set on a cliff’s edge above the river. Skinny, mangy dogs wander, searching for anything to eat while fly-infested goats watch the train. The few people that are out are bone thin with strange growths on their limbs and faces. They look at you and the others with odd, glassy eyes. Something about the village seems sick.

The train continues on just as the sun rises. Now that you can see better, you’re beginning to recognize the forest. It seems terribly familiar. Up ahead, a smaller trail forks to the left, down towards the river. A doe bursts from the hill on the right side of the main path, just like it had been on that horrible day. Your heart begins pumping as you look up the hill and you know that on top of it lies what is left of Rain’s body.

“Give me those reins, Y/N,” Grimshaw snaps, grabbing them from you and making you jump. “The way you’re driving, we’ll end up in the river.”

She guides the wagon down the left path and you begin to breathe heavily. The forest has become thick, the ground strewn with old leaves. You close your eyes, willing it to just be a dream, for you to be imagining things. The wagon lurches to a stop and you crack your eyes open enough to climb off it.

You stand with your back to the river, the rest of the view blocked by the wagon. Swallowing heavily, you resign yourself and make your way around to the back of the wagon. Swanson hands you a box with some of Pearson’s cooking supplies. Adjusting it, you head out the main view of the camp and the box slips from your hands.

Before you lies the wide mouth of a cavern. Near it lies a cage with a mutilated body, and on the other side is the horrible shrine made of dismembered people jammed together. The last time you had seen it had been in your nightmares, the hands coming alive and reaching for you. Someone’s screaming in your ear.

“Ms. Y/L/N!” A voice shouts. “Quit dawdling and get to work!”

You don’t respond, you can’t respond. Your eyes can’t leave the horrible scene lying before you.

“No,” you mumble, tears flooding your eyes. “No!”

“What did you say?” Grimshaw stands in front of you, looking angry. “Get to work before I get my hands on you, girl!”

“No!” you scream and you bolt backwards, immediately crashing into a firm body. You don’t know who it is, but that someone wraps their arms around you tightly. You bury your face into his chest, trembling.

“Ms. Grimshaw, let me handle her,” Arthur says, his voice rumbling through your body. You clutch him tighter upon realizing it’s him. You clasp your hand over your exposed ear, planting the other directly over his heart. Grimshaw says something.

“I know, but please Susan, let me. I’ll take care of her.”

Without warning, Arthur picks you up and carries you off, away from the cavern and down to the river. He sits down on the bank and sets you beside him. Your hands are still over your ears and you begin rocking back and forth, shaking. He gently grabs your shaking hands and lowers them as the tears begin falling.

“It’s okay, darlin’,” he says, dipping his tin cup into the river and offering it to you.

“Arthur,” your voice shakes. “That’s…. That’s…”

“I know, darlin’. I didn’t want us to set up here either, knowin’ what those monsters did to ya. But unfortunately this is the best place for us right now. Everyone’s so terrified of it not even the police will come this way. We’ve got a good shot the Pinkertons won’t follow us here.”

“Arthur, I don’t wanna be here!” you say through the tears.

“I know, I know. I promise we won’t be here very long. They’re gonna get them bodies cleaned up.”

He shoves the cup into your hand and puts a hand on your back, his fingertips running up and down as he tries to calm you. After a while, you take a sip but it’s all you can manage. Arthur takes the cup from you and then pulls you into his lap. He rests his chin on your forehead as he rocks you gently and you listen to his heartbeat.

It’s late morning by the time you finally compose yourself. You start to pull yourself from Arthur’s hold, feeling ashamed of your childish behavior.

“I… I’m sorry, Arthur,” you sniff, running a hand through your hair.

“Don’t be, darlin’. I don’t blame ya for hatin’ the place. Like I said, we won’t be here more than a couple of weeks. Just long enough to shake off the Pinkertons and give Dutch time to figure out where we’ll be goin’.”

He offers you the cup of water again and you manage to drink the rest of it.

“Just promise me you’ll take me out as much as you can?”

He smiles and drapes an arm around you. “Of course, darlin’. We’ll stay out of camp as much as I can manage. I don’t even care what Grimshaw says.”

You offer him a small smile. “Thank you.”

“You ready to go up? I won’t leave your side.”

You sigh and nod, determined to be stronger. Arthur offers you his hand as you walk up the hill towards the clearing and you latch onto his arm. Just as you reach it, Javier and Bill come back with one of the wagons, announcing the bodies have been burned. The clearing does look a little better without the corpses, and the broken bits of wagons and carriages have also disappeared. The cage has been removed and replaced with Dutch’s large tent. The wagon that acts as part of your tent has been placed on the far side of the clearing, overlooking the river.

“Well it’s about time!” Grimshaw shrieks as she stomps over to you. “What the hell you been doing?”

Arthur holds up his free hand. “Susan, I will explain later. But please do me a favor: go easy on her while we’re here. This place, well, somethin’ real bad happened to her here.”

“As long as she works, Mr. Morgan.”

“I’ll work,” you say in a weak voice. “I promise I will.”

Grimshaw nods and marches off to bully Tilly. Arthur squeezes your hand.

“Come on, I gotta go talk to Dutch.” He leads you closer to the cave mouth. Some of the others stare at you before returning to work. You feel ashamed again for your tantrum.

“How’d you get on?” Dutch says.

“Fine. Found a girl, took her home,” Arthur says. He had mentioned down by the river he’d found another girl in the same situation you’d been in, locked in a cage. “You and Micah find anything?”

“Maybe, I think. I found our old friend, Mr. Cornwall. He’s buying a stake in the mine in Annesburg.”

“Relentlessly ambitious feller, ain’t he?”

“Micah and I will sniff about, see exactly what his plans are.”

“So Dutch!” a familiar voice hollers from across the clearing. You and the others look to see Molly stumbling forward, Uncle following her close behind. “Did you miss me?”

“I found her drunk in Saint Denis,” Uncle says.

“You’re back,” Dutch says almost mockingly. “How jolly, Ms. O’Shea.”

“It’s Molly, you sack of shit!” she screams. Even from where you’re standing, you can smell the alcohol.

“Back and drunk.”

“Who are you, the master, the Lord God almighty!”

“Molly, calm down!”

“I won’t be ignored, Dutch van der Linde! I aren’t him!” She swipes at Arthur. “I ain’t her!” she points to you. “Or her!” she gestures to Mary-Beth. The whole camp has gathered to watch. “Or any of your stooges!”

“Calm yourself, miss!”

“You don’t owe me nothing. I don’t owe you nothing. Nothing!”

“Okay!” Dutch snarls.

“I’ll spit in your eye!” Molly continues to stumble around in the circle. “I did. I told them!”

“I’m sorry?” Dutch growls. The fire that has constantly been in his eyes flares again.

“Yeah, I told ‘em and I’d tell ‘em again! Now I’ve got God’s ear!”

“You told them what?!”

“Mr. Milton and Mr. Ross,” Molly slurs, pacing. “About the bank robbery and I wanted them to kill you!”

“You did what!” Dutch whips out his pistol but doesn’t point it.

“I loved ya, you goddamn bastard!” Molly screams, tears flowing down her cheeks. “Go on, shoot me!”

Arthur drops your hand and grabs Dutch’s shoulder, reaching for his pistol. “She ain’t worth it.”

“You told on me? You betrayed me!” Dutch roars. Molly continues to slur as walks in a circle.

“Quiet!” Arthur yells. “Just calm down.”

“Arthur?” Dutch snarls.

“She’s a fool. Get her outta here.”

“You know the rules!” Dutch glares at Molly who has begun to laugh.

“Not so big now are we, your majesty?”

“You-”

A loud blasts goes off, nearly causing you to come out of your skin, and Molly’s lower torso explodes in a cloud of blood. Grimshaw steps forward from your right, cocking the shotgun in her hands.

“She knew the rules, Arthur,” she snaps as Molly collapses. “What the hell is wrong with you?” She orders Pearson and Bill to haul the body out of camp as Mary-Beth and Tilly quietly sob. “Get back to work, all of you! Quit your lollygagging!” Grimshaw throws a harsh glare your way as she marches off.

Arthur grabs your hand and stomps off towards your wagon, his eyes hard.

#red dead redemption 2 #Red Dead Redemption #red dead fanfic #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan #arthur x reader #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x fem #arthur morgan x female reader #van der linde gang #R* Games #rockstar games #i'm awkward #second chances #it hurts #sorry it's so long!

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flamehairedwritings · 5 years ago

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The Fire In Your Eyes: Chapter Two

Main Characters: Arthur Morgan x Original Female Character

Rating: The whole series will be E, 18+ ONLY for violence, gore, character deaths, animal deaths, parent deaths, swearing, grief, sexual themes and sex.

Summary: Saved by Arthur Morgan when her town is attacked, a young woman’s past comes back to haunt her when she has no choice but to join the Van der Linde Gang.

The Fire In Your Eyes Masterlist

Please don’t copy, steal or re-post my work; credit does not count.

The Mercy of Thieves

Lush green fields and full-leafed trees blurred into one, the only clear thing in her focus the path.

Watch the treeline, they could appear at any moment.

Ada didn’t know how long they rode for, but she didn’t take her eyes off the path for the entirety of it.

Arthur had been maintaining a hard, steady pace, though he would slow when rounding corners and passing other travellers, and seemed to know when the horse needed a short rest. She saw the people they passed eye her as they rode away, but spared them no attention.

They hadn’t spoken a word to each other.

Only when he slowed the horse to a walk did she realise the sun had started to rise, her knuckles were white from her grip on his coat and the path was now lined with thick shrubbery and tall trees, making it unrecognisable. They could be a few miles away from Strawberry, or on the other side of the country, she had no idea.

“Hey, who’s there? State your business!” a voice called suddenly, startling her.

In trying to turn her head to locate the source, she winced and hissed out a short breath, her neck painfully stiff.

“It’s Arthur, Bill, calm down.”

A bearded man stepped out from behind a tree, a shotgun in his hands. She stiffened, but Arthur just urged the horse on.

“The hero returns—” the man, Bill, began to say with a great deal of sarcasm, when his gaze landed on her, suspicion instantly clouding his features. “Who’s this?”

“None of your business, Bill.”

“It is my damn business, Morgan, and you know it is—”

Arthur clicked his tongue, the horse instantly quickening into a trot, and she heard Bill grumble a litany of curse words. Her attention was swiftly drawn from him, though, as they emerged into a large, open clearing. Unease crept up on her as her gaze darted across the array of tents, wagons and horses that covered the area, and people, men and women, sat around talking or working. She could hear music playing from somewhere; gentle, soothing music that wouldn’t have been out of place in a grand music hall.

There was a sense of... Calm.

That was not what Ada had expected from what she’d read about the band of outlaws in the newspapers, not at all, and that made her incredibly uneasy.

“Arthur!” A woman’s voice calling out made her jolt. Her eyes instantly found the source this time though as a blonde woman strode towards them, grinning.

The whole camp seemed to pause in their activities at realising he had returned, various greetings overlapping each other, and all eyes turned to them. Ada felt beads of sweat slide down her back as, in an unsettling contrast, a coldness overcame her, spreading from her scalp right down to the base of her spine.

She didn’t think there would be this many people.

Had she thought at all?

No, you stupid, stupid woman, you haven’t thought any of this through, how could you be so stupid—

The blonde woman rested a hand against the post Arthur had brought the horse to a halt at, her other hand on her hip, her grin still in place.

“You took your sweet time gettin’ back, Morgan. Thought the law had taken you.”

“They ain’t got me yet, Karen.”

Ada quickly released Arthur’s coat as he removed his feet from the stirrups and lifted a leg over the horse’s neck, sliding down to the ground. Exposed, her eyes met Karen’s.

The woman stared at her as her eyebrows shot up, her lips parting. “Sweet Jesus. Who’s this?”

“Yes, Arthur, who have you brought back from your travels?”

Tearing her gaze from Karen’s, she saw him.

Oh, God...

Approaching, a cigar in his hand, thumb tucked into his waistcoat pocket, was Dutch van der Linde.

Hands on her waist made her head whip to the side and automatically reach out to grab forearms before she realised it was Arthur helping her down, quickly lifting her leg over the saddle to aid him. Settling her on the ground, Arthur then released her, looking to the older man.

“This is Annie Sawyer, Dutch. I was up in Strawberry and there was some trouble. Colm O’Driscoll’s boys thought they’d have some fun. Whole town’s up in flames.”

“Dear God.”

Ada couldn’t help but stare at Dutch as he appraised her, her hands slightly curled, her shoulders stiff. Just from his appearance alone, ‘Gentleman Dutch’ would be correct. His eyes then met hers. He smiled.

“Miss Sawyer, I’m Dutch van der Linde.” He removed his hand from his waistcoat and offered it to her. “I can guarantee you’ll be safe here.”

She took his hand firmly, holding his gaze. “I know who you are, sir.”

“She’s read all about us in the papers,” Arthur added from behind her, thinly veiled amusement lacing his tone.

She heard him huff out what might be a laugh as Dutch raised an eyebrow, shaking her hand, his grip gentle.

“Have you, indeed?” He released her hand, just as amused as Arthur. “You’ll have to tell us all about what they’re saying. I’m sure it’s wonderful.” He finally broke their gaze, sweeping it over her once more. “Now, though, we’ll get you food and clothes. Karen, will you kindly get Miss Grimshaw, please?”

Karen nodded, a kind smile having replaced the previous grin, already moving. “Of course.”

“Thank you.” Dutch shifted his stance as his own smile widened. “We’ll talk a little more later, Miss Sawyer, I’m sure you’ll want to rest now. Please, make yourself at home, Miss Grimshaw will take good care of you.” Looking behind her, he gestured for the younger man to follow as he began to walk away. “Arthur...”

Arthur glanced down at the woman as Dutch headed towards his tent. She hadn’t moved an inch since he’d taken her down from his horse, only to shake Dutch’s hand and even that had been stiff, as if she didn’t know how to coordinate her own body, and cleared his throat. “Lenny.”

The young man raised his head from where he was sitting a few feet away at a table, having been trying to hide his eavesdropping under the guise of enjoying his bowl of stew. “Yes, Arthur?”

“Will you get Miss Sawyer some water, please? Maybe let her have some of your stew while Karen finds Miss Grimshaw?”

“Sure thing.”

Arthur stepped around the woman as Lenny got to his feet and began to follow after Dutch.

He thought he heard her whisper a ‘thank you’, but he didn’t pause to find out, not wanting to keep Dutch waiting. And he didn’t want her gratitude.

Lenny approached her with a warm smile as her gaze darted to him, a cup of water in his hand. It was his own but it would have to do. “Here you go, miss. Would you like to sit down?”

Her gaze fell to the cup, staring at it like she’d never encountered one before. Then, she reached out to it, her fingers uncurling, and accepted it from him, though she didn’t raise it to her lips. His smile faltered as his brow dipped, trying to catch her eyes with his.

“Miss? You okay?”

She actually took a moment to consider his question, staring at the cup.

That was a mistake.

Here, in the safety of this camp, surrounded by strangers who were showing her basic, decent kindness, her fear and adrenaline suddenly gone, the gravity of the situation finally descended upon her; nothing could now hold back the wave of emotions she had had to ignore.

“No. No, I’m not.”

She had killed a man. He’d deserved it but she had killed a man. The three people she held so firmly in her heart were gone. She was alone. She had no one. Her body ached, she was cold, mud clinging to her. She could feel her cheekbone throbbing from the kick back of the gun. No wonder people on the road had stared at her, and were staring now.

Dirt streaked feet and legs, her long auburn curls matted and flat from the smoke, her face pale, her eyes wide, a bruise blossoming across her cheekbone, her hands shaking, her once white robe now grey and brown and spattered with blood, blood on her, blood was on her...

“My gun.” Her voice sounded strange, even to her own ears. “I left my gun back there."

“What?”

“I left... I left my gun back there. I shouldn’t have done that—”

“Miss—”

Her chest felt unbearably tight as her eyes suddenly darted around the camp, unable to focus on anything.

“I shouldn’t have done that, I shouldn’t have done that, I shouldn’t have done that—” She was gasping in breaths now as the cup fell from her hand, spilling water across her feet.

“Hey, hey, hey...” Lenny stared at her, catching her shoulders before quickly releasing her as she jerked away. "Miss, please, breathe, you have to breathe. Arthur? Arthur?!”

“I shouldn’t—” She batted his hands away with her trembling own as he reached for her again, releasing a strained, choked sound.

She couldn’t breathe. Turning away from Lenny, she closed her eyes tightly but she couldn’t stop seeing Adam falling, blood pouring from his neck, or hearing Annie’s scream or seeing her mother... Seeing her... Seeing her...

I am alone and it is my fault.

“So, you want to tell me what in the hell you were doin’ in Strawberry?” Dutch arched an eyebrow at him as he took a seat on the edge of the bed, placing the cigar between his lips.

Arthur exhaled a long breath as he placed a foot on the raised platform, hooking his thumbs into his gun belt. After all this time, he still felt like a kid whenever he had to explain himself.

“I thought it would be best after the bank job in Valentine if me, Karen, Bill and Lenny split up, stop the law from trackin’ us here. Thought it would be easier to lose ‘em if I went west across the river and I did. I was meanin’ to collect a debt for Strauss, too, while I was up there, just plannin’ on maybe spendin’ the night in Strawberry or settin’ up a camp outside it when I heard shots.” He adjusted his position slightly, rolling his shoulders. “O’Driscolls were killin’ everyone, Dutch, it was a God damn massacre. I found her in a cabin.”

The other man exhaled a puff of smoke. "Where are her people?”

“Don’t think she had any. Town seemed deserted when we left so she either had none, they’re dead or they left her to fend for herself. She didn’t mention needin’ to find anyone or anythin’ like that.”

“Could’ve taken her to Valentine, or dropped her just outside of it. Hell, you could’ve dropped her in Rhodes.”

“Valentine would be too dangerous and you know it, ‘specially after the bank job. Besides, O’Driscolls could be ridin’ through there next. And Rhodes...” He trailed off, his jaw moving before he muttered, “I told her my name.”

Dutch raised his eyebrows. “And why in God’s name did you do that?”

“I needed her to trust me, she was aimin’ a damn gun at me.” Arthur ran a hand over his mouth, shrugging a shoulder. “She’s got steady hands, too.”

“Well, be that as it may, I figure you’ve done the right thing. Obviously can’t have the town findin’ out who we are if we want our next venture to go well.” Dutch took a long drag of the cigar, seemingly debating something. When he exhaled, he waved his hand slightly. “She can stay, of course, pull her weight like everyone else. It’ll be another mouth to feed but—”

“Like you say, save people as need savin’.”

Dutch chuckled, resting his hand on his knee. “I’m glad you still follow some of my teachings.”

Arthur’s lips twitched as he shook his head, shifting his weight to his other foot. “Yeah, yeah, you—”

“Arthur? Arthur?!”

Dutch and Arthur instantly turned at the sound of Lenny’s shout, hands going for their guns, when they saw him reaching out to Miss Sawyer who shied away from him, her hands raised slightly. Her chest was heaving and all the colour had drained from her face.

“Ah, shit...” Arthur immediately turned from Dutch, striding across the grass to the woman, his eyes fixed on her.

Dutch watched him go, raising the cigar to his lips once more.

“Miss Sawyer?”

Something strong gripped her upper arms and Ada’s eyes snapped open. Arthur stood before her, frowning as he searched her features and kept his grip tight on her.

“You need to breathe, all righ’? Take a deep breath.”

“Get off me,” she demanded as panic surged within her, trying to push his hands away.

Mercifully, he quickly released her and nodded over her shoulder at someone, though she didn’t know or care who. Stumbling past him, she pressed her hand to her stomach as she moved, her throat feeling raw with suppressed emotion.

Reaching a wagon and realising she could walk no further, she leaned her shoulder against it, supporting herself, her entire body now shaking.

Mama...

She stared out at the water gently lapping at the small beach a short distance away, trying to focus on it, trying so hard not to think about all she’d lost, and failing.

She didn’t get to say goodbye. She didn’t get to see her. She should have stopped the men, she should have shot at them and stopped them—

“Miss Sawyer?” Arthur stood to her side, giving her some space, though she could feel his eyes on her and that was just as oppressive as if he were gripping her again. “Can you breathe?”

She shook her head slowly, taking harsh, shuddering breaths to try and calm her pounding heart and her burning lungs, keeping her eyes on the water. “I shouldn’t have told them to do it...”

“Do what?”

“It was my plan, it was so stupid, it was my fault and now they’re dead and I...” She couldn’t carry on as she finally drew in a full breath, and the tears finally came.

Bowing her head, Ada covered her eyes with her hand as she wept.

It’s my fault, it’s my fault, it’s my fault, a voice chanted over and over in her mind.

She should have gone with them. She should have gotten into the wagon with them, she could have shot at the men from there, she had good aim, she could have shot them, there would have been no guilt in killing then, she would have been protecting her family, she should have been protecting her family—

“Annie, what can I... Can I get you anythin’?”

His voice drew her back to the present. She didn’t want to think about the now, she couldn’t bear it. What was she to do? What purpose did she have now?

“Miss—”

“I just...” She broke off, her voice shaking to near incoherence. Dropping her hand from her eyes, she gasped in a breath as she began to massage her chest, trying to ease the pain clutching at her heart. She didn’t attempt to finish her sentence.

Arthur watched her as she tried to regain control of her breathing, his jaw moving slightly. He couldn’t think of a damn thing to say. What made it worse was he could imagine all she had seen, all that might have happened, hell, he even knew how she was feeling, but he just couldn’t think of what to say.

It never got any easier.

“It’s all right now, miss,” he murmured after a few moments, repeating words he’d heard others say. “You’re safe here now, we’ll protect you. We ain’t gonna let them hurt you. None of what happened was your fault.”

Her features crumbled at that and she bowed her head again, her eyes closing. Instead of fresh tears appearing, however, the woman seemed to be battling with a Herculean effort to pull herself together.

Arthur shifted, the silence and her suddenly deep, steady breaths unnerving him slightly.

“I can—”

“You don’t have to be here.” She didn’t open her eyes, her voice stronger now. “You don’t have to try and make me feel better, it’s all right.”

That silenced him. She was right, and she was giving him the opportunity to be relieved of the duty.

He should have jumped at the chance, made a half-hearted attempt to comfort her once more for decencies sake before finding one of the women to hand her over to. He hesitated, though.

“Go.”

Her firm dismissal made his decision for him.

“All righ’.”

After a moment, she heard him move away, the sound of his boots gradually lessening. Finally alone, all the tension left her body. Lowering to her knees with a long exhale, Ada leaned against the large wheel of the wagon, wrapping her arms around herself.

Just stay here. Just stay here for a little while. Just keep your eyes closed and stay here. It’ll be all right. Stay here.

“Darlin’?”

Please, please leave me alone.

Ada lifted her head and opened her eyes, looking up to find a woman older than Karen staring down at her, smiling kindly.

“Hello, darlin’, I’m Susan, Susan Grimshaw. How about you come with me and we get you cleaned up, hm?”

The woman held a hand out to her and her gaze fell to it. She knew she wasn’t going to be left alone. Numbness had now settled within her, too... and it seemed quite nice to have someone else make decisions for her.

“Okay.”

Placing her hand in the woman’s, Ada let her help her to her feet.

Water lapped gently before her. A light breeze blew her curls about her shoulders and arms. It was peaceful, the strangeness of it making the morning seem like an eternity ago.

After finding her, Miss Grimshaw had helped her to bathe in relative privacy behind a screen against a wagon with the help of a bucket of fresh water and cloth, and changed her into fresh undergarments and a clean, if slightly worn, brown skirt, “Now, you got good, wide hips, not as big as Karen’s, but this should do, it’s one of her old ones,” and white blouse, “broad shoulders, too, hm, but this should do, here’s a belt so we can actually see you got a waist!”, promising afterwards to find boots for her. Ada had then been ushered to a chair on the other side of the wagon.

A bowl of watery stew had been placed in her hands and she’d eaten little of it, finding it tasteless and her stomach threatening to rebel. Giving in and realising that would be it, Miss Grimshaw had taken the bowl with a slight frown, though thankfully no verbal admonishment, and had gently reminded her to let her know if she needed anything.

Then, she’d been left alone.

She’d stared down at her hands, still flushed pink from where Miss Grimshaw had had to scrub hard to wash the blood away, the intricately carved silver ring on her right middle finger gleaming.

She’d risen from the chair and stumbled to a nearby tree, nausea suddenly rising within her. Pressing her hand against the tree, she’d bent over and thrown up the meagre spoonfuls of the stew she’d had and whatever she’d had for supper the night before.

What had they eaten for their last meal?

Don’t think about that.

She’d spent a few minutes dry heaving, nothing left in her. She’d trembled, trying to be as quiet as possible. No one came to her. Finally straightening, she’d wiped her mouth and lifted her gaze to the lake, calming her breathing.

Then, she’d walked forward, down onto the bank, and sat down on a fallen, dead tree, the sand and mud cold and damp beneath her feet but it didn’t matter; it grounded her.

And that’s where she’d sat for she didn’t know how long. It was barely away from the camp but the space was enough, enough that she couldn’t hear any voices, only the wind, birds and the occasional splash of a fish in the water.

It sounded like home, and felt like purgatory.

A caged part of her mind kept needling at her to think what next, but staring out across the lake was easier. It was warm, too. Calm and warm. Flowers would be blooming soon, the grass behind her was a beautiful, lush green—

“Hi.”

A child’s voice broke her out of her reverie, making her blink a few times. Turning her head, she found a young boy stood at the end of the log, a book in his hands.

“Hello.”

He looked to be five or six years old, and slightly put out.

“I like to read here.”

“Oh.” She actually found herself nearly going to stand to give him peace. “I’m sorry, would you like me to go?”

He shook his head, even as he gave a small sigh, and took a seat on the log, his legs dangling a little. “No, it’s okay. You look sad and I don’t want to make you sadder.”

Her lips twitched. “That’s very kind of you.”

“Mama said I have to be polite and remember my manners.”

“Well, she’s right, but you seem to be doing just fine.”

“Thanks.” That cheered him, a smile lifting his features as he swung his legs. “What are you sad about?”

Ada inhaled a long breath, clasping her hands in her lap as she tried to think of the right words, very much not wanting to have a discussion about mortality with a child.

“I can’t see my family anymore.”

Saying the words out loud, no matter how hard she was fighting to stay detached, made her clear her throat.

“Oh.” He tipped his head to the side. “Why not?”

“They’re... They’re not here anymore.”

“Have they gone to a different town?”

“Uhm... Yeah, something like that.”

“That’s okay.”

“It is?”

“Yeah, ‘cause we move a lot so maybe we’ll go to the same town as them and you’ll see them again.”

Ada couldn’t help but smile gently at how earnestly he said it.

“I suppose you’re right.”

The boy nodded, confident he was indeed right, and looked down at his book. “I’m gonna read now—”

“Jack!”

An exasperated, feminine voice sounded from behind them.

How many more times am I going to be startled today before my heart gives out.

Turning, Ada watched a brown-haired woman stride down onto the bank and place her hands on the boy’s shoulders, guiding him up and turning him so she could bend and look at him.

“Jack, what did I say about leaving the new lady alone?”

“I know, Mama, I just wanted to read and she was already here, it wasn’t my fault.”

“He’s right,” Ada interjected gently as the woman opened her mouth, her gaze darting to her. “I’m afraid I’ve taken over his tree.”

Straightening, the woman smiled sheepishly, pushing her hair out of her face. “God, I’m so sorry. I wouldn’t have said he could go an’ read if I knew you were here. I hope he hasn’t been a nuisance—”

“No, it’s fine. He’s been lovely, he’s a lovely boy.”

He beamed at that, looking up at the woman. She glanced down at him, arching an eyebrow even as she smiled, and Ada noted the resemblance.

“I hope that doesn’t go to your head, young man, can’t have you endin’ up like your father.”

He giggled as she dropped her hand and tickled his side, returning her gaze to Ada’s.

“Sorry, where are my manners, I’m Abigail, and this is my son, Jack.”

“It’s nice to meet you both. I’m Annie,” she added after a moment, a smile lingering on her lips as Jack squirmed away and ran back up the bank towards camp, still giggling.

"You, too, Annie.”

Then came the pause she dreaded as Abigail’s smile slowly vanished.

“I’m real sorry about what happened to you.”

There was that gentle tone she dreaded, too.

“Thank you,” Ada answered, the familiar, bizarre feeling to put the other person at ease rising within her as she forced her smile to remain in place. “It’s over now.”

“Yes, it is.” Abigail shook her head, anger clouding her features. “Those O’Driscolls are pure evil, they’re animals.”

“Yes, they are.”

“Anyway, you’re safe here. And if you need anythin’, I’ll be glad to help you.”

The smile became easier to maintain at Abigail’s genuine tone and earnest words that reminded her so much of Jack.

“Thank you, Abigail.”

The other woman nodded, before taking another pause.

“... Also, Dutch says he’d like to speak to you, when you’re up to it.”

Christ...

“Where is he?”

"In his tent. It’s the one playin’ the music.”

“Thank you.”

Ada heard Abigail bid her a good day but she didn’t reply, her mind already racing. She could predict the kind of questions he would ask, but how to answer them?

‘Always stay as close to the truth as possible, my girl.’

Smoothing her skirt down, she rose to her feet and straightened her back. Inhaling a slow breath, Ada steeled herself as she stared at the camp, then stepped around the tree and headed towards Dutch van der Linde.

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redknight3996 · 5 years ago

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The Demon Lord’s Generals 2

Chapter 2 – The Lion’s Bane

Leok earned her name when she was twelve, still a whelp by any standard out there. ‘Sides goblins, maybe? Or summa those other smaller folks out there, though most folk were small to her.

The Ferrus Lion she fought way back then was a very big bastard though, and a hell of a fun match to fight. Its steel fur and solid hide made it practically impossible to wound with any bladed or pointed weapons, and even blunt stuff tended to bounce right off.

So her beating it down, choking it out, and snapping its neck, all with her own two hands, earned her some damn high praise when she dragged the mountain beast’s carcass back, far ahead of the rest of her hunting party. But it also earned her a cuff upside the head from the chief, so goods and bads.

“Ya don’t run off from yer party, brat,” Chief chided later on in her tent as she helped Leok carve her totem for the lion, letting the young, gold-blonde orc sit in her lap as she guided the whit-knife in her hand along a block of yellow-wood, “Even if yer goin’ up a beast alone, yer gonna want yer group ta know where ya are. One good knick and ya could be bleedin’ out fast.”

“Not my fault they're slow. If it were up ta them, we'd still be up there huntin’ the thin’...”

“Cause huntin’ requires patience. If ya keep chargin’ in head first, the beast yer huntin’ will just run off.”

“This one didn’t. I got him quick ‘nough.”

“Yeah, ya got lucky.”

That got Leok to scowl back at her chief, before pausing as Chief gripped her wrist a little tighter with one of her dark hands, keeping her from making a miscut. “...” She looked back at the on-going carving, still frowning. “Weren’t luck…”

“Hey now, no shame in luck. Luck’s important. Let’s ya know the gods like ya.” Chief chuckled, letting Leok carve on her own for a sec as she reached up and pet her short, messy hair down. “Plenty’a stuff facter inta a hunt. Strength’s important, sure, and ya got plenty’a that. Sensin’s also important. Gotta see where it goes, gotta listen close, gotta track its scents, so on.”

“And I‘m good at trackin’!”

“Yer good, but ya ain’t great. Patience is ‘portant, little lion. Sometimes ya get lucky and run inta a big, hungry beastie lookin’ fer a fight, but plenty’a times, y’ll be runnin’ fer weeks tryin’ ta track just one big, angry beastie who’s far too clever fer ya.”

“Hmph...I’m smarter than a beast…”

“Not all beasts, and it’s not always ‘bout bein’ smart. Ya can be the smartest, cleverest hunter out there, but if yer goin’ inta a new place, no idea what’s lyin’ out there, y’ll wind up gettin’ killed by somethin’ that just knows the area better’n ya.”

“...Like Tuzik Spike-Heart?”

“Oh, so ya are listenin’ ta Gran’s stories.”

Leok shrugged then, trying to focus on getting the small totem rounded right. Least that’s what she’d say if asked. Truth was, she was a proud girl, and embarrassment was painful. “...Summa ‘em. The smart ones.”

“Heh. And which ones’re those?”

“Summa ‘em. Ya probably know more’n me since yer listenin’ ta everyone all the time.”

“Probably do. Y’d learn just as many if ya listened too.”

Leok snorted. “Listenin’s fer chiefs. I’m gonna be a warrior, and make my own tribe’a warriors! Maybe unite all’a the orcs out there, make somethin’...big!”

“Ha! Really now? Ya got a conqueror’s heart in ya now?”

“I might!” Chief’s heavy hand dropped right on her head and started mussing her hair, earning a yelp from Leok. “H-Hey! Yer ruinin’ my concentration!”

“Gra ha ha! Bet I am! Can’t help it though, not when yer bein’ this cute.”

“I ain’t cute!”

“Yer a kid, kids are cute, deal with it. Also, speakin’ as an old warrior here, I’m gonna say that ya don’t have a conqueror’s heart. Ya got a warrior’s.”

“Yeah yeah…” Leok would’ve just grumbled and went on as usual, but...some little curiosity made her ask, “What’s the difference?”

“Heh. Big difference.” Chief let out a sigh. “...Real big difference. Startin’...ya remember Harvest-Maker and Harvest-Taker?”

“Eh? That kid story?”

“Yup, that’s the one. What d’ya ‘member ‘bout it?”

Leok shrugged, trying to think as she worked. “Uh...Once there were two orc brothers. Both were strong and tough, but one decided ta guard his tribe and the other turned bandit. The first brother, was the younger one I think?” At Chief’s nod, she continued, “He talked ta a lotta folk and orc as he walked with his tribe and made his people happy ‘cause he brought in food and coin by talkin’ good. Second brother, who was older, was meaner though, and got a buncha other meaner orcs t’gether ta rob folk. He was good at it and got a lot, but got the folks mad at ‘im and they dragged ‘im offa his horse and hacked ‘im ta pieces. His brother though, he lived long and happy ‘cause he made ‘is tribe happy, right?”

Chief grinned. “Close. See, Maker was a warrior. He worked fer his own good, ‘long with his tribe’s good. By bein’ smart and workin’ with folk, tradin’ with ‘em, huntin’ the beasts that gave ‘em trouble, he didn’t get rich, but he got enough. Enough ta live, not just survive. And he was a whole lot happier, cause he had people that loved him and wanted ta see him happy.

“Taker though, he wanted ta take. He didn’t respect folk and he didn’t respect orc; he only cared ‘bout gainin’. Not keepin’, but gainin’. More and more, always more. What he got, he wasted on drink and feasts. He was a glutton, and his new tribe weren’t even a real tribe, ‘cause none’a ‘em really cared ‘bout each other, not deep down. They could pal, sure, but they only wanted ta have their wants. Was why none’a ‘em helped when the folk came after Taker. Real tribe, they keep ya safe and ya keep ‘em safe in return.”

“...” Leok considered that, frowning as she carved the mouth. “So...I shouldn’t make a tribe’a warriors?”

“Ya could. But thin’ is, fighters gotta have reasons ta fight. What would they do if they ain’t got someone ta fight fer?”

“...Huh…”

“‘Sides, wouldn’t ya rather have plenty’a people around ta help out? Gotta have coinkeepers ta keep track’a accounts, and yer little pal there, Bekah, she don’t wanna be a warrior, does she?”

“Nah, she likes cookin’...Sero’s good at axe-throwin’ though. He could help.”

“Ya really wanna trust yer tribe ta just Sero?”

“Nah, he’s kinda shit.”

Chief let out a bark of laughter and ruffled her hair again, grinning wide, her larger tusks almost gleaming in tent’s lantern-light. “Ya see what I mean? Though don’t cuss.”

“Hm...Hyp’crite.”

“Hypocrite, ya little brat. Use yer words right.”

“Yes chief…” So young Leok grumbled, got back to work, and carved her totem. It was simple enough, and worked fine for a belt buckle, but the main, most important thing was that she’d earned her name and it was a big one. Not Leok Lion-Break or Leok Lion-Hunt.

No, she was a Bane of the Beast-Bane tribe. She was Leok Lion-Bane. And every orc out there was gonna know her name.

–2 Years Later–

Chief was a weird orc. Plenty nice to Leok and all the rest of the tribe, but she stood out, partially cause of her attitude and partially cause of her looks.

Her looks were the obvious part, on account of the Chief being a High Orc.

High Orcs were a rare type of orc, like a weird thing. Not a mutation, like Gura Three-Tusk or Lurtol Six-Finger, but like a special type. One way she heard it described was that High Orcs were like Lycans were to humans, but then there were Kapros out there that weren’t High Orcs, so…

To be more clear, appearance-wise, the Chief was taller than the average orc–at around 6’8” instead of the 6’4” average–and had dark brown skin instead of green or gray, or even the pink of Sun Land orcs. Apparently it was a sign of her type being closer to the gods or something, like those old Sun Land Imperials and all.

She also had longer tusks–which, orc-ishly speaking, was a lot more of a sign of status than any skin stuff–and a tail. A longish one, with a tuft of hair at the end that she liked poking at people with to mess with them, or just to play with kids, who liked grabbing at it. Not that Leok ever did that kinda thing when she was tiny.

Oh, and the Chief also had really shaggy white hair–like a ‘platinum blonde’ instead of Leok’s golden blonde–and her eyes were like a kinda...green-amber. Lots a little flecks and looked pretty weird at times, but the Chief was weird in general, so that was that.

And she could also turn into a boar. Like, a big boar, like a kaprothrope. Was interesting and sometimes she’d let people ride on her back if they were having trouble. Chief didn’t have a lot of pride, but she did have confidence.

Least that’s how she explained it to Leok. Apparently there was a difference?

Maybe it was a “conqueror/warrior” thing, where the difference seemed small but meant a lot. She didn’t understand, not at that point, but Leok did give an effort to watch how her chief talked with people, whether they were folk or orc.

She tended to be real polite with folk, speaking nice and polite and offering help and trade, and be a lot more casual and boisterous with other orc, though she was plenty friendly either way. There was more than a couple times she’d sell hides and meat for less than it was worth when she saw a tribe or town was going through rough times, apparently because “gainin’ goodwill’s worth more than havin’ a ton we’ll never use”.

Chief didn’t care about being rich, but it was still kinda a surprise to Leok to see how much worse off a lot of folk and orc were. Gobs especially seemed to have it rougher than most–something about hobs coming from up north looking for territory–and their tribe wound up playing escort to a few of them more than a few times.

It was interesting, talking with folk that’d lost their lands. Some orcs settled in places, but most tribes were nomads, heading to wherever game and grazing were good on the plains, so the concept of outright losing land felt kinda weird to think. It did make some sense though. Gobs and humans weren’t as tough as orcs, so they settled in places and made forts and alliances to keep out the dangers.

Didn’t feel fair though. If the dangers were too much, if folk like hobs or even orc bandit bands came after them, then they didn’t have anywhere to go at all.

Didn’t feel fair at all, and she said as much to the chief as the two rode alongside each other, following the trails to one the eastward towns.

“Yeah, it ain’t,” Chief agreed, “But it is how it is.”

“Yeah, but...why? Ya said folk were tough, right? So why don’t they all join up? Like a big army?”

Chief snorted. “I thought ya said ya were too big fer stories?”

Leok shook her head, her hair longer, but braided nicely. “Nah. The gob grans have interestin’ ones. Lotta stuff ‘bout old builders’n leaders.”

“I noticed. Why ya think I asked that?” She chuckled, leaning back in her saddle and patting Strider’s white mane, earning a whinny from the huge black horse. “Yer listenin’ ta a lotta tales’a leaders then?”

“Yeah, lotta ‘em. Big ones, unitin’ towns and tribes and stuff. Like...Jee-ahnma...Ghian…” She frowned, trying to figure out the unfamiliar syllables.

“Don’t hurt yerself.”

“Ah fuck off.”

“And no cussin’!” Chief pointed at her, then sighed again, still grinning. “They ever mention how most’a those leaders got their idiot selves killed?”

“...Uh...Not really? They aren’t around, so I thought they were gone, but...what d’ya mean?”

Chief shrugged. “Remind me ta talk ta ya about ‘Demon Lords’ later.”

Leok blinked. “What, like the ones in Gran’s old stories?”

“Nah, different. Not ‘Demon Princes’, not ‘Demon Kings’. Somethin’ both better and worse, in a whole lotta ways.”

“...” Leok glanced at her chief again. She was staring straight ahead, and her eyes seemed...more tired than usual. And for a moment, Leok wondered if Chief always had such deep bags under her eyes. “...Why can’t ya tell me now?”

“Easy. Cause town’s comin’ up ahead, and looks like we’re not the only tribe stayin’.” Chief suddenly grinned, then urged Strider into a gallop, leaving Leok and Apple-Eater in the literal dust, blinking after her in confusion.

And sure enough, right outside the town of Dasloh were a number of tents set up, though they were all a bright red instead of the shades of yellow most Hayland orcs tended to use to blend into the plants around. Leok didn’t know of any red forests out in the Dark Lands, so this new tribe would probably stand out just about anywhere.

“Ho the camp!” Chief called out from a decent distance, grinning easily as a couple of the camp’s orcs glanced over, letting Leok get a good look at the noticeably gray orcs–which probably meant they were coming from further east. They were all wearing feathered cloaks and coats over their leathers too, mostly in reds and browns.

“Is there somethin’ you need, traveler?” One of the orcs asked as he raised a hand, returning her greeting. He and the other orcs around had a whole lot of red-orange tattoos across their arms and faces, marking and making it obvious which Ancient they followed.

“Just ta inform ya my tribe is going to be stoppin’ here too. Don't worry, I'll lead them ta the other side of the town.”

“Is that so?” The orc grinned, standing straighter. “Well, if you and yours are in need of some entertainment, we’re more than willin’ to oblige. For a price, of course.”

“That so?” Chief echoed with a smirk of her own, “Never seen a troupe’a all orcs before.”

“In that case, you can consider this a rare opportunity well worth the price of admission!” he replied, gesturing with his hands as he spoke. Real theatric guy.

“Ha! Guess I'll have ta take ya up on that. Try not ta leave before we're done settin’ up.”

“We'll save you a spot in tonight's show,” the orc said as he bowed to her with a flourish.

Staying aways back as Chief returned to her, Leok looked over at the camp itself. Seemed most orcs had gone back to what they were doing once they realized it was just another tribe. Went a lot better than how it usually did there, since most tribes didn't like sharing spots, especially when it came to towns. One orc tribe being nearby was a good trading partner to most folk, but there were plenty who got suspicious, and those paranoid voices got a lot louder the more orcs were around.

Though, before she pulled the reins on Apple-Eater to head on back with Chief, she paused as she noticed an odd orc in particular was staring at her. A small thing, probably younger than her, but wearing full black instead of the browns and reds everyone else had.

“...” After a second, she raised a hand and waved over to the kid, who blinked, staring right back at her. Another few seconds passed, and the kid–looked like a girl, from what Leok could tell–raised a hand in return and waved hesitantly. So of course Leok smiled back at the shy kid, waving again before riding off to catch up with her chief.

And much later on, once they’d got all their tents set up and carriages set, Leok decided to seek out that kid again. She didn’t know what was up with the girl and her black feather cloak, but if she was standing out for some reason, there had to be something interesting going on with her.

The rest of the Fire-Art tribe was pretty amazing already, with all the fancy tricks they were showing off at their carnival. Lotta fire magic going off–made sense, considering the name–in big shows, like plays featuring dragons and monsters made of flames or glass sculptures made easy for folks to buy. Add in the lively music and cheerful feeling the whole place gave off, and it was hard for Leok to keep from smiling as she walked around.

Still, she had a self-appointed mission she was on–though the sight of a big lion made out of flames chasing an equally fiery gazelle through the sky was damn impressive–so she definitely couldn’t afford any distractions. Though barbecued meat at the food stands smelled fantastic…

Eventually, she did manage to catch sight of the black-cloaked kid again while she was munching on a skewer, and for the briefest moment, she felt kinda stupid for thinking the kid might be hanging around somewhere special instead of just sitting with her knees up to her chest and watching one of the fire shows with the other kids, but that moment passed quick and Leok headed right on over, taking a seat beside the kid.

“Hey there!” she greeted, grinning. Then she paused and tried to get some of the beef out from between her teeth with her tongue.

“Heh...hi yerself.”

“Nn...I get it?”

“Most’a it.”

“Nice!” Leok grinned again, moving her skewer to her left hand then leaning over with her right to shake the kid’s. “Name’s Leok Lion-Bane!”

The kid blinked. “Y’have a surname?” Then once that sunk in, she finally shook Leok’s hand, her face turning a little red. “Sorry. Uh, my name’s Crow.”

“I sure do! And nice ta meetcha Crow. Were ya named that fer yer coat or did that come later?”

“Came later. Gramma Col said I was all small and dark when I was born, like a crow.”

Leok nodded, continuing to grin. “Makes sense ta me. My tribe’s Gran named me Leok cause that’s like a lion’s name, and I got all this gold hair like one.”

“Huh...Lions’re named Leok?”

“Nah, they’re named Leo. No ‘K’, cause they’re not orcs.”

“Oohh…”

Leok giggled at the smaller orc’s nod of understanding, then leaned back, watching the show for a minute or so. “So how old are ya?”

“Eleven.”

“Yeah, that makes sense too. I’m fourteen!”

“Makes sense ta me,” Crow echoed, nodding again and earning another giggle from Leok, who really couldn’t help it. The smaller orc was just too serious sounding, it was cute. “Why’d ya look fer me?”

“Cause you were lookin’ at me. Made me curious.” Leok glanced at her. “So why were ya doin’ that?”

“...I got a feelin’ when I saw ya.”

“A good feelin’?”

Crow shrugged. “...Somethin’ like one? Just saw ya and thought…’she’s important’. Jus’ that thought...Might’a saw somethin’ too.”

Leok was trying to seem casual, still leaned back, but her attention was fully on Crow. “And what’d ya see? Other than me, a’course.”

“Nah, was still ya, but y’were...bigger. Adult, I think. And ya had this armor on, all gold and...big, fancy. And I was followin’ ya, along with a lotta other orcs...Not just orc, also other folks.”

“...Like a lord?”

Crow tilted her head, obviously thinking, and apparently not noticing...whatever was in Leok’s tone there. She herself didn’t really know what it was. Eagerness? Fear? Something. “Maybe? Ya were a leader though, that I’m sure.”

“...Heh. Huh.”

“Or could be nothin’, sorry.” Crow seemed to shrink in on herself, maybe mistaking Leok’s thoughtful tone for skepticism. “I’m still just learnin’ from Gram in the fortune stuff, I haven’t-”

Leok clapped a hand to her back, earning an abrupt squeak from the younger orc. Once Crow’s attention was on her again though, Leok grinned wide. “Thanks fer tellin’ me that. Ya just gave me a lot ta think about.”

“...Y-Yer welcome.”

Then Leok studied Crow for a moment, a slow smile creeping up her face. “Hey. When yer older, I’m gonna be even bigger and better than I am now. So when I’m at that point, and I find ya again, do ya wanna become my shaman?”

“...” And with wide eyes, Crow slowly nodded. “Y-Yeah. Yeah, definitely!”

“Good! Then work hard ta be the best ya can, because when I come back, I’m gonna be more than worthy’a bein’ yer boss.”

–Four Years Later–

Even at eighteen, Crow’s words from that one evening burned in the back of Leok’s mind. They stuck in her head, sounding out like echoes in a valley. Sometimes louder, sometimes quiet, but always there.

It’s what drove her to improve. If she was gonna be any kind of leader, she’d have to be stronger and smarter. The type who would never lose in any fight, physical or magical, and smart enough to know how to lead.

Those words–that promise that she’d be great–was why she was sitting on a lake island, completely naked with her legs crossed on the cold grass. Gran sat opposite her, her own darker, scarred body just as bare, letting Leok see the deep blue tattoos that crossed her old, weathered skin. At two hundred and sixteen, she was the oldest orc Leok knew, but she still looked damn strong, her green skin wrinkled and leathery but her muscles as solid as ever, same as her tusks. Though a few of her teeth had been replaced with iron ones over the years.

Sure, she looked all saggy in places and her white hair had thinned to the point that the half-blind elder just chopped it short, but there was no mistaking the power going through her. A different kind of power than the chief though. More...wise, instead of strong.

The tribe had stopped in a nice spot on the plains, nearby Tarkus Lake, some kinda sacred place. She didn’t really know why it was sacred, but when she went to Gran, telling her she was ready to earn her colors, Gran went right to the chief and told her to divert their course thataway. And the chief didn’t argue at all, so it was definitely an important thing.

“...Well I’ll be damned,” Gran finally spoke, her thin lips cracking in a grin as her eyes opened up again, one a deep green, the other a milky white, “Ya really are ready.”

“What, ya doubted me?” Leok almost grinned back, but this was a sacred thing. She had to take it seriously. But one thought did nag at her. “Why’d ya have Chief head here if ya weren’t sure?”

“The mystic thoughts of an elder can only be understood by reachin’ that age yerself,” she replied, closing her eyes and nodding serenely as though that answered things. It didn't mean much to Leok, but since the wisest of her tribe had said it, it probably meant a lot.

“Right, so since I'm ready, come on! Let's go ta the next step!”

Gran shrugged. “Alright, if ya want.”

“Come on, I–Wait, really?” Leok blinked. “Yer not gonna say somethin’ about how ‘patience is good’ or somethin’?”

“Course not. If yer ready, yer ready.” Gran smiled, a few of her iron teeth glimmering in the noon-day sunlight. “Takin’ a step like this means becomin’ an adult, Leok Lion-Bane. It ain’t somethin’ ya get inta if ya really aren’t ready fer it, and everythin’ about yer soul says yer ready. Sure, Rishak would probably prefer if I waited two years so ya get there the same as everyone else, but that’s cause she worries easy.”

“...Ya were talking about the chief there, right? She worries easy?”

“Course she does. Chiefs worry. They need ta. It’s part’a their responsibilities, and I’ve told ya plenty’a stories’a those chiefs that were so confident in themselves, they didn’t even think’a worryin’ when they really shoulda.”

“Yeah, ya have...So...What comes next?”

Gran cracked another grin. “First, yer gonna needa center yerself. Ya remember how ta meditate?”

“Ah, right.” Leok nodded, then took a breath and clenched her hands into fists, pressing them together in front of her stomach, at her core. She took another breath–in and out, slow as could be; five in, six out–and let herself fall into that rhythm.

“Good good, yer doin’ good. Keep up that breath. Now, I want ya ta think back ta my lessons. Not the stories, but the theology. Who are the gods?”

“...” Leok wasn’t sure if she was supposed to answer at that moment, but she gave it a try. “The Ouza?”

Gran chuckled. “Yeah, that’s one answer. But we’re lookin’ fer a more complete one. And not fer the lower ones. Fer the Ancients. Who are they?”

Their creators, the ones who formed all demons, all dragons, all leviathans, all– “They’re the mothers of us all.”

“Right. Now specifics. What are their Names?”

Leok took a deep breath there. She needed it to help focus, to remember lessons she knew by heart, but kept in the back of her mind in favor of more immediately important things. “Rupture, the Ancient Eruption, Grandmother’a Molten Flames. Fathom, the Ancient Deep, Grandmother’a Kaz...Chasmic Seas? Uh, Tempest, the Ancient Sky, Grandmother’a Ragin’ Squalls. Stygian, the Ancient Thought, Grandmother’a...uh...Bound…” She grimaced, sure she knew the answer, then nodded firmly once she got it. “Boundless Minds.”

“Hmmmm...Yup, that’s all’a ‘em. Nice work rememberin’. Now, hold out yer hands.”

Leok did, and tried her best not to open her eyes when she felt heavy weight settle in her open palms.

“Y’know ya can open yer eyes now, right?”

She did not, but open them she did, which let her see the chunk of clear quartz in her hands. “...Huh. What’m I doin’ with this?”

“Yer holdin’ it.” Gran chuckled as Leok frowned at her. “That little jewel there’s gonna help ya figure some stuff out. First, I want ya ta look at it. What color would ya say it is?”

Leok blinked, then stared at the jagged crystal, small points jutting up from a smooth base like trees on a hill. “...Uh, like...white? It’s clear, mostly, but kinda towards the bottom…?”

“That’s a good ‘nough way’a sayin’ it. The white there isn’t exactly white though. It’s more like ‘absence’.”

“...’n that means?”

“Means nothin’s in there yet. Like yer marks.”

Leok blinked, then glanced at the white lines going up her right forearm, connecting straight from the circle around her elbow to the one around her wrist, kinda like a painted bracer. She’d gotten it done years ago as a way to practice magic, like the other kids her age. “Huh? What’s wrong with my marks?”

“Nothin’ wrong with ‘em, they’re just not complete yet. Ya haven’t found yer type yet, yer ‘affinity’. Ya wanna do more’n just make light balls and signals, right?”

“Well yeah, course. Just...How does this thin’ let me do that?”

“Easy. Ya already know how ta make light. Just push that same power out here, inta the crystal.”

And when Leok did exactly that, she saw what was easily the most beautiful sight she could’ve ever seen.

In that one chunk of quartz–which had gone from its pale, clear, white, to a burning, vibrate mix of molten reds speckled with black–she saw the fire she’d felt burning in the back of her head for all those years.

And with that beautiful sight, her fire burst free, and lit her soul alight.

–Eight Years Later–

Leok panted, her breath coming heavier than it ever had before. Sweat ran down her face and mixed with the blood leaking from her busted nose and split lips, soaking down her bare chest like it would mix with the crimson flames tattooed into her bruised and scraped skin.

“C’mon. Get up,” she commanded, like her arms didn’t feel like dead weights at her sides. She’d cut her hair short for this match. It was that damn important.

And about three hours into it, her Chief was lying in the sand, flat on her back for the first time Leok had ever seen. For the first time most of their tribe had ever seen, if she was right.

And everyone was seeing it. All the adults of her tribe waited outside the ring they’d formed, distant enough for respect, close enough to see. To see their Chief, the greatest beast of their tribe, down in the sand of a lakeside beach.

“Come on. Get up.” Little more insistently that time. Even years later, she’d wonder why she was so insistent there. She knew this was a step she had to take. She knew she would have to beat her own chief to reach that point. But a part of her, on that sunny day, had insisted that the Chief never lost to anyone. Not even her.

It wasn’t like the Chief hadn’t fought her hard. For the first time, Chief had let her beast slip in a fight. She’d let that thick fur cover her, let her feet harden into hooves, let her tusks get longer and curved like blades, and Leok had still laid her flat. Not without injury, not without effort.

But one of them was standing, and the other was on the ground, and in the eyes of the world and its history, that was the only thing that would ever matter.

“...hgh…ghh...ghh-hh…” Chief lifted her hand–slowly, painfully, like she was trying to lift the sky–and let it fall against her face, her shoulders shaking as she covered her face.

“...Don’t...Don’t cry ‘cause ya lost,” Leok said. She didn’t beg there. She couldn’t. She was the chief now.

“N’t...d-dun’t...f-f’ckin’ f-fladder yerzelf...b-brat.” Her voice was made of broken things. A broken nose, broken teeth, broken jaw, broken ribs and collarbones, but it all held together strong, and there wasn’t even a hint of a broken spirit in it. “Gh hh hh…’m zo f’ckin’...zo f’ckin’ prowd.”

And that was the breaking point for Leok. Tears fell from her eyes as she fell to her knees, a little laugh that sounded like a sob sounding out over the lake, before strong arms wrapped around her and helped her up, a wide grin on Gran’s face.

“Congratulations, Chief.”

That seemed to be the signal for everyone to immediately start crowding, shouting congratulations, cheering the ‘awesome match’, and helping Chief...helping Rishak up to her feet.

That night, they had a feast to fully swear her in, and Leok Lion-Bane–sitting at the honored spot among all her tribe, all laughing and cheering her name, with Rishak’s voice easily being the loudest–became the newest Chief of the Beast-Bane Tribe.

–Five Years Later–

“Yer leavin’?”

“Yup. Soon enough, I will be,” Rishak replied, grinning at Leok in the lights of her tent. Of Leok’s tent. The Chief’s tent.

Still felt weird, sitting on the chief’s pillow. It was a simple thing, large and yellow, like the fields of Korikala. Felt comfy enough. Made her seem taller than she was. “...Why? I mean...I know ya weren’t born in the tribe, but…”

“Yer my family,” Rishak confirmed, even though Leok should’ve known it would be her answer, “And don’t get all insecure, yer better than that.”

“Sure, Gran.”

Rishak’s eye twitched. “...I swear ya told the kids ta start callin’ me that. Rulak ain’t even dead yet and yer already settin’ me up ta take her over.”

Leok snorted, ignoring the little pang at the idea of her Gran dying. She was getting older by the day and all… “I can’t help what the kids call ya. Besides, is it a bad thing?”

“Nah, it ain’t. It’s kinda cute.” Rishak shrugged. “Still. I’m thinkin’ yer set here. Y’ve got a good handle on the tribe, y’ve got a good feel fer the folk around, yer good at talkin’, and yer damn good at fightin’. Ain’t lost a fight yet, right?”

“Only ever lost ta ya, and ya know it.”

“And ya won against me.”

Leok nodded. “And I won against ya. And y’still stuck around afterward. So why now?”

“...Yer movin’ the tribe east, ain’tcha?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Yeah. I ain’t been keepin’ it a secret. Thin’s sound bad down south. Folk and orc say some crazy shit goin’ on in the swamps.”

“Sayin’ more’n that.” Rishak scratched at her neck, stretching it a little. “Hm...Ya know what they’re sayin’, yeah?”

Leok’s eyes narrowed. “That there’s a Demon Lord risin’ up.”

Rishak nodded. “Last one’a those...think it was back when ya weren’t even crawlin’ yet. Name was Orast. Kinda a prick.”

That was the moment it all fit together for Leok, truth hitting her like a rock to the head. “So why’re ya stayin’?”

Rishak winced, let out a little sigh, and stared at her much more evenly and seriously. “Cause not everyone can just up an’ leave their homes. So someone has ta make sure they're safe.”

“Then-Then we'll sta-”

“No, ya won't. It's yer job as the chief to protect the tribe. So keep ‘em safe, and keep ‘em movin’.”

“...Only if ya stay safe too.”

“Ha! I lose one fight and ya think I'm just a pushover?”

“...”

“...Look, Lee, I'll be alright. I'm the second strongest orc on all’a Estus, I won't go down that easy.”

“Why d’ya need ta do this? Just tell me that.”

“...” Rishak let out another sigh and scratched her head. “... I made a lotta mistakes in the past. Teamed up with the wrong folk ‘n treated my tribe like trash. Eventually, it all caught up ta me, but I was lucky enough ta make it out alive. ‘n once I met this tribe, I made it my mission ta keep them safe. And now that they have you, I'm gonna keep others safe.”

“And what about you? Who’s gonna keep ya safe?”

Rishak snorted. “I am, a’course. Seriously, ya can’t be-”

“I could order ya ta stay here.”

“...”

Leok tried to keep her gaze steady on Rishak. “I’m yer chief. We both know I can beat ya in a fight. I could keep ya here.”

“...” Rishak sighed. “Ya could. Yeah.”

“...Rishak, as yer chief, I’m orderin’ ya not ta throw yer life away.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Lee-”

“I ain’t orderin’ ya ta stay.” Leok took a little breath. “...Ya can go out, ya can protect people. That’s fine. Just don’t die. No playin’ hero, no grand last stands, no old warrior sacrificin’ herself against a stronger fighter. Yer survivin’, ya got it?”

“...” Rishak visibly swallowed, her voice tight. “Y-Yeah Chief. I understand ya.”

“...And when yer out there, rescuin’ folk ‘n all...tell the ones that can go out that the Beast-Bane tribe’s acceptin’ any refugees. Orc or folk, long as they wanna travel with us. Even if it’s just ta the nearest safe town.”

“...Heh. Geh heh…Yer a good...A real good chief, Chief.” Rishak smiled wide. “I’m gonna meet up with ya again. Promise.”

Leok smiled back. “And I’ll be waitin’ fer ya. Promise.”

Despite their big, sappy goodbye there, it took some time for Rishak Folk-Bane to actually leave the tribe. A lotta people needed to be said goodbye to, after all, and Leok was pretty sure her old chief was putting off leaving, at least a little.

Still, the time came, as it had to, and Leok saw her mentor off with a tight hug and a promise that they’d see each other again.

And sure, it would be some time before they did, but it was, thankfully, a promise they both kept.

–2 Years Later–

So Irascagan got fucking dead after two years of being a jackass. Woo.

Some lightlander brats offed him and his band of murdering monsters–good riddance to bad garbage–and with him gone, all the tension of the last two years just melted away.

Leok also met up with Crow again in those two years. Took a little while, lots of travel time, lots of transporting people through all the marshy, rainy lands of Inrapaba–which was a real pain in the ass, especially since it seemed like everybody out there was way into the idea of “taxes” and making sure her caravan “paid their dues”–and a few moments of punching out asshole bandits–or “gangsters”, since apparently they were more organized than the normal sort–but she eventually ran into Crow and the Fire-Art tribe outside a decently-sized city called Lordsgrave.

“Holy shit, y’look awesome,” was how Leok greeted the gal she hadn’t seen in 19 years. Though it was a plenty appropriate greeting, considering how awesome Crow looked.

“Yer lookin’ good yerself,” Crow greeted in turn, her black-painted lips quirked up in obvious amusement and matching the pitch-black tattoos curving all around her taller, broader and much more muscular body. Though she was still at least two inches shorter than Leok, much to her own amusement. “Beast-Bane Chief now, huh, Lion-Bane?”

“Yup. Been it fer a good seven years now, Crow…?”

Crow’s grin took on a smugger look. “Shaman Crow Black-Art. At yer service, Chief.” And then she bowed low, her feathered, hooded cloak almost making her look like the bird she was named for. “If you’ll have me, of course.”

“Ha! D’ya even need ta ask? Welcome ta the tribe!”

And that was that. No dramatics, no big event, just a simple transfer of an awesome shaman from one tribe to another. Sure, there were more big goodbyes and such, but that was mostly the Fire-Arts just saying they’d miss Crow and giving hugs and all, and Leok did offer to join up their tribes, but their chief, Rola Red-Art, declined, saying that he and his people preferred performing and all.

Leok didn’t consider that an issue, so more fond goodbyes were said and the Beast-Bane tribe moved on. And after that, things fell into a pretty peaceful routine, for an orc tribe.

Plenty of things happened, sure. Lots of traveling tended to bring lots of adventures, like hunting down deadly beasts that were bothering towns, having some sporting competitions with other tribes, and punching out some wereshark prick and his weird gang of other therians that were calling themselves the “Menagerie” for some reason, like they were some dumbass zoo, like in the bigger cities.

Speaking of, the Beast-Banes had gotten a decent reputation in a lotta cities and towns, both in Korikala and Inrapa, and that meant plenty of travel, trade, and good opportunities for growing the tribe and making sure everyone was taken care of, to the point that they’d turned into one of the biggest tribes out there.

And really, at that point, then and there, Leok thought she was pretty damn satisfied. Like she’d gotten almost everything settled, and now her life would just be one of peaceful growth, no need to worry about the assholes out there that could never beat her in a fight. Hell, she even fought an outworlder martial artist, using moves she’d never seen before, and still beat him. Granted, it was a slow-going growth, one that took a lotta time and a lotta work.

Maybe that’s why it took so long for Rishak to find them again.

–Around 5 Years After That–

“What the fuck happened ta yer leg?” was how Leok decided to greet her former chief and mentor who she hadn’t seen in seven years. Though it wasn’t exactly like she decided to say that. More like it just slipped out the instant she saw the brass prosthetic replacing her mentor’s right leg all the way up to the thigh.

“Is that how ya greet yer elder ya disrespectful little shit!?” was how her loving ex-chief and mentor decided to greet her back.

“It is when yer damn leg’s gone! And I’m only two inches shorter than ya!”

“Yer still shorter, and yeah, it is. It’s what happens when yer tryin’ ta get folk outta town and ya get pinned by rubble.”

Leok blinked. “...Oh. Ah, sorry. It just…” She paused. “...Is that what really happened?”

“...” Rishak glanced to the side, staring at the lounge’s wall as she scratched at her cheek. “...Well, uh...ya see, sometimes, someone loses a leg when they get pinned and it just gets wrecked beyond fixin’. Other times...they might pick a fight with a beastfolk general and wind up gettin’ their leg torn off by a direwolf when they weren’t lookin’...”

Leok just sighed, then hugged Rishak tight. “I missed ya.”

“...Missed ya too.”

“...Hn.” Leok paused, remembering that there was someone else still in the room. Two someones.

She glanced over at the young, dark-skinned human woman in all white who’d made that small, conflicted noise, who just looked away and took a sip of her tea while her way paler and blatantly vampiric friend chuckled at his own chair. “Oh no, don’t mind us, please! Enjoy your reunion!”

“...Right.” Leok let go of Rishak and took a seat at one of the remaining chairs around the tea table, which was in the lounge–or a lounge–in Bleaksky Manor, which was in Blekhon County, which was a county in Inrapaba. Noble territories worked in some weird ways, but all Leok really knew was that they hadn’t had to pay any taxes while in the county, so she was already pretty damn sure these nobles hosting her reunion with Rishak wanted something. “I think we’ve been ‘reunioned’ enough here, and I’d like ta get down ta business here. Why’d ya put this meetin’ together?”

Turned out, the answer was a really simple one. The young lady, who was apparently Countess Valondrac–which was weird, because the vampire was the actual Bleaksky there–wanted Rishak to join her household as some kinda commander, but Rishak decided somebody else would be better suited for the job.

“...Yer kiddin’, right? Rishak, I got the tribe ta take care of-”

“No no, see, that’s the nice part. In exchange fer becomin’ Claire’s general here, she’s gonna give our tribe free reign ta go wherever we want in the County.”

“That I will,” Valondrac added in with a grin, “No travel tax, no worrying about permits, you’ll have complete freedom to go wherever you feel like, and even settle down if you want to.”

“...Yer willin’ ta give us that much?”

“Yup! It’s part of the price I negotiated with Miss Folk-Bane, so transferring it over your way should be fine, no?”

“No.”

Valondrac blinked. “No?”

Leok shook her head. “No. That’s a good deal, but I ain’t lookin’ ta join up with some noble’s guard. I appreciate the offer, but I’m gonna hafta decline.”

“...” Valondrac studied her for a moment, then smirked. “I’m not looking for a guard. I’m looking for a general. After all, I need strong people by my side if I’m ever going to take over the world.”

“Look, I appreciate what yer-...” Then it was Leok’s turn to blink. “...Take over the world?”

“That’s the plan! Though you may want to keep it a secret for a while. Jonny pointed out that I’ll need to build up my base a lot more before I go all out and declare myself the newest Demon Lord.”

Leok looked to “Jonny”, who grinned and waved, then over at Rishak. “...Did ya know about this?”

“Yup.”

“...I thought ya didn’t like Demon Lords?”

Rishak grinned. “Most’a ‘em. But her honesty appeals ta me, and...well, let’s say she reminded me a lot’a some other proud brat I know.”

Leok paused there, then looked at Valondrac, who was frowning at Rishak for the “brat” comment. “...Hm. Alright, ya got my interest. But. I ain’t workin’ fer someone weaker than I am. Protectin’, sure. Guardin’, sure. But if ya want me ta call ya my boss, my actual, full superior, ya gotta prove yer worth it.”

“Huh...Alright, you’re on.” Valondrac grinned. “Don’t go easy on me. I want this to be fun.”

Leok snorted, grinning back at the arrogant kid and definitely seeing why Rishak liked her. In that moment, the thought crossed her mind that, when Claire lost to her, she might just stick around anyway. She could train the brat up, like her chief did for her… “Don’t go cryin’ when ya lose, ya got it?”

Claire’s yellow eyes gleamed. “Got it~.”

And that’s how Leok met the second person out there who could consistently kick her ass, along with the only one she still couldn’t beat in a fight. Not that she minded. Working with Claire gave her tribe a good chunk of land to live and her plenty of opportunities to try again.

And hey, it wasn’t like her Boss was a bad person to work for. Hell, considering everything she knew about the world, maybe it needed someone powerful enough to take charge.

Still, she couldn’t help laughing when she realized Crow’s vision had come true. Her shaman just made one little mistake about who was actually leading that army.

#writing #fantasy #the demon lord's generals #dlg #story #my writing #orcs

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inkribbon796 · 5 years ago

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Golden Hour

EGOTOBER 2019: DAY 18

Prompt: Gold

Word Count: 662

Summary: Jackie is a career superhero. He’s seen a lot of weird stuff and done a lot of weird stuff in his line of work. Two-bit villains who think they’re hot stuff in a champagne glass, he’s dealt with that before. This is the first time anyone’s ever tried to kill him quite like this before.

Jackieboy Man knew he should be feeling a lot more worried than he currently was.

“So hero, any last words?” The thug gloated. He was currently in a suit way above his villainy level, that had managed to trap the speedy hero by surprise. Of course his first action wasn’t to try to unmask Jackie, but to tie him up over a vat of what looked like gold, or at least gold paint.

If Jackie still had the use of his hands, he’d slap himself on the forehead. Well, if Jackie didn’t also have to content with a bruised and bloodied face as well.

“So are ye just gonna’ leave and put on the Bachorette?” Jackieboy deadpanned.

“No, I plan on watching,” the villain cackled gleefully.

Jackieboy Man was almost impressed, he would be sarcastically clapping if he could have, “Points for creativity.”

“Say goodbye hero!” the guy flipped an actual huge switch and the rope began to lower at a snail’s pace.

Jackie just chuckled, because this had to be stupidest way someone had tried to kill him. “So,” Jackie drawled, “Yah got a thing fer this stuff, like a fetish or somethin’? ‘Cause this is a bit extreme.”

“I’m going to present Dark with a hero dipped in gold!” he exclaimed.

“Yah know,” Jackie decided. “I’m tempted ta let yah, just so I can see how much Dark is gunna kill yah fer trackin’ a statue dripping with fake gold all o’er his office.”

“You can’t trick me hero, shut up and die already,” he spat at Jackie.

“Maybe I would if yah lowed the rope faster,” Jackie goaded.

“You’ll die and it’ll be slow,” the villain promised.

“I think I’ll die of boredom ‘fore I die ‘a this,” Jackie laughed.

“No two-bit hero is going to tell me how to do my job,” Jackie’s kidnapper shouted as Jackieboy watched a maintenance panel in the ceiling move. Which was good because the speedster was about five feet from death at this point.

“Hey, look,” Jackieboy shrugged. “I’m just warning yah, that the ego nightmare on hill house might want somethin’ a bit more expensive than a skinny Irish kid dipped in a vat of paint, Goldfinger-style.”

“I’m going to cut the rope,” the criminal threatened.

“Did ya marathon James Bond or is there some kinda villains’ memo they pass out e’ery month,” Jackie laughed. Then he began to mimic Dark’s voice a bit, “you must burn this many orphanages or dip 10 civilians in gold before you can earn another villain badge.”

“That’s it!” The man pulled out a gun and there was a winding sound before Chase suddenly appeared behind the villain.

“Hey, Golddipper,” Chase called out, the 90’s themed masked hero had a stun blaster, which was just a NERF riffle that had been upgraded, to the back of the criminal’s head. The blast knocked the villain out cold.

“You know, a heads up would have been nice,” Chase reminded, J.J flipping out of the maintenance hatch, immediately looking at the still bound hero in worry.

“You okay?” Jameson signed, the mute’s hand moving in concern.

Chase however, had the widest smile on his face, “Hey, Jack, how yah hanging?”

“Yer the worst,” Jackieboy decided. “Now get me outta this.”

Brody reached over and flipped the switch, stopping the machine. “I don’t know, looks like yer havin’ fun.”

“Yeah, Average, cause I love the idea ‘a bein’ turned int’a first place trophy,” Jackieboy spat angrily.

“I hear yah,” Chase smiled and kicked the grate closed so a protective barrier was now in-between the hero and a vat of liquid paint. Working together they were able to help Jackieboy Man get free so he could get himself down. Then they called the police and turned the guy over, happy to be rid of him.

Finally, Jackie got a shower and took a well-deserved nap, promising to laugh about the whole mess with the others after he woke up.

#Egotober 2019 #Superhero AU #Masks and Maladies #Jacksepticeye #Jackieboy Man #Chase Brody #J.J #Jameson Jackson #a villain who’s seen way too much James Bond

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verai-marcel · 6 years ago

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A Fortnight of Falling (RDR2 Fanfic, 18+ ONLY, Chapter 3 of 3)

Notes: I drilled a tree and took all the sap for this part.

WC: 2728

Part 1 | Part 2

AO3 Link here!

Chapter 3 - An Unforeseen Fall

Eleven days into your stay, and you had felt like your routine of cleaning & cooking together was going to be something you actually missed. As you washed the dishes and pondered your change of heart, Arthur was in the bedroom, packing a bag with an extra set of clothes and some trail rations.

“I’ll be heading out with the sheriff and some of the other deputies on a hunt,” he said as he rolled a shirt tightly and stuffed it into his pack. “Pack your stuff. Tomorrow morning I’ll drop you off at the hotel in town. Stay there until I come back. I’ll pay for it.”

You looked at him, irked that he would just order you to do something without any explanation. “You better have a damn good reason—”

“We’re huntin’ a serial killer out there. It ain’t safe out here alone.”

Your eyes went wide. Staring at him, you wondered about everything else. How long had the killer been out there? How long had Arthur known about it? Where could the killer be now?

Arthur stopped packing when he saw the look in your eyes and walked over to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his head on yours. “It’s why I’m here, kitten. Rangers have been trackin’ him all over the state. Got sent here in case he made his way down to these parts. Now he has. So we’re goin’ to stop him.”

You kept silent as you finished cleaning, letting him hold you the rest of the time. Once you finished, you turned in his arms and looked up at him, searching for answers.

“So why have you been wasting your time watching over me?”

Arthur looked away before speaking. “He tends to murder women. Picks off the lonely lookin’ ones ‘cause they’re easy prey.” He turned back to you, his eyes pleading with you to listen to him. He took your hands and held them gently. “So please. Do as I ask. Stay in town where there’s other people around.”

You gulped. Yeah, alright, you understood now why he was on edge when the doctor’s office had been robbed. He had never begged you before; it must be extraordinarily serious.

Nodding, you replied, “Alright, I’ll stay at the hotel.”

Arthur blew out a breath, relieved that you would listen. He let go of you and stepped away, going back to packing his things. You followed him into the bedroom, and watching his broad back as he moved around, you realized something as your heart clenched in pain.

You might be falling for him.

“Arthur,” you said quietly, not sure why you were calling to him.

“Yes, kitten?” He turned to you so you had his full attention.

You paused, looking down at your lap, unsure of what to say. You looked up again when he had dropped to one knee in front of you, taking your hands in his once more. His thumbs rubbed your skin in soothing circles as he patiently waited for you to continue.

“Stay safe out there,” you finally said, feeling rather sheepish. You couldn’t say out loud what you wanted, so you just hope he understood what you really meant.

Come back to me.

He smiled softly at you as he kissed your hands, his eyes answering your unspoken request.

I promise.

***

Letting the morning sun warm your skin, you stood outside the hotel, where Arthur had bought a room for you and had given you some cash in case he was gone for longer than the one night. He had taken your suitcase upstairs for you, given you a chaste kiss on the cheek, and left you alone. You had sat in the hotel room quietly for a few minutes before you realized you were crying. Wiping your tears, you got yourself ready for work, and now you were here, outside, breathing in the fresh air, and recognized the feeling in your heart.

You had not expected this to happen. You never could have foreseen this in a million years. And yet, deep in your soul, you felt it. Arthur Morgan, deputy, ranger, all around aggravating gentleman, had won your love.

Stomping towards the doctor’s office, you put your thoughts aside to focus on work, because you were not ready to deal with this new emotion. You sure as hell didn’t want to think about the possibility that Arthur might not come back.

***

One night passed. You hadn't heard any news, hadn't seen any signs of the posse returning. The town was the same as usual, maybe a bit rowdier with most of the lawmen out. But everyone knew why they were gone, and people were hurrying home in groups, staying together for safety.

“I think he's been good for you,” he said as the two of you closed the office for the evening.

“How so?”

“You've been calmer. You were such a jittery thing when you first started working for me, and that never fully went away.”

You just laughed. You used to find it hard to speak to people casually, having never grown up around talkative people. So you'd stutter and stammer your way through most small talk, or say nothing at all and just grunt. Very ladylike, surely.

“And I can see how much he loves you.”

You sputtered and stared at him. The doctor looked back at you with a look that said you were blind as a bat if you had not noticed

“He takes the time every day to bring you to work and bring you home. He pays for a hotel so you can stay safe in town while he's out catching a killer. And you may not notice, but he looks at you like you're his whole world.”

Huffing, you looked away. That couldn't be true. Could it? You turned back to the doctor.

“I don't know what to do,” you confessed.

“Child, none of us who were put on God's earth really know what to do. But we try until we find out.”

You nodded. Weighing everything that had happened, you thought about all of your interactions with him since he came to town. He was not the man you thought he was in the beginning. He kept showing different sides of himself, but it was all wrapped up in one package named Arthur. But one thing kept ringing true; he only ever had eyes for you.

“Also, the deputy asked me if I could escort you to the hotel every night until he came back.”

You laughed. Of course he did.

***

It was the third day since Arthur had left. You were staring out the window, your notes forgotten.

You heard the doctor call out your name, and turned to him to apologize for daydreaming.

‘It's alright, I understand. I’m worried about the lads myself. I think we'll have some serious work to do when they return. Let's get the office ready when they do.”

Grateful for the doctor's forethought, you busied yourself with getting the office ready for multiple patients. A couple of hours flew by, and you were thankful for the distraction.

Just as you were finishing up preparing the office around midday, you heard shouts from down the road. Both you and the doctor headed outside to look. You glanced at him, and he nodded at you, and you both immediately took off towards the posse.

They looked haggard; a couple dead bodies were on their horses, and several injured men were riding with the healthy ones. You started looking for Arthur's white horse, but couldn't see him.

The doctor called out to you, and your attention switched to him, helping one of the injured men off a horse. You immediately rolled up your sleeves and got to work.

***

The afternoon was filled with nursing the injured, stitching wounds and digging out bullets. Your hands were bloody and sore from wrapping bandages and holding down patients. But you had learned a lot from this experience. You were just cleaning up when you saw the sheriff come in.

“Where’s Ar- I mean, Deputy Morgan?” you blurted out.

The sheriff took off his hat, and you feared the worst.

“He took the killer to St. Denis to be hung by the officials there. Was a helluva a surprise when he flashed that ranger badge,” the sheriff drawled.

You breathed a sigh of relief and suppressed a laugh. “Did he say he was coming back?”

The sheriff nodded. “Yeah, said he would be back around sundown. Dunno why he’d stay in a town as small as this, though.”

“Maybe he found a reason to stay,” the doctor said, winking at you. You furiously turned around to hide the blush forming on your cheeks.

“Anyway, just came here to check on my men, then I’ll be on my way.” He clapped the doctor on the shoulder. “Thank you for all your help, sir.”

The doctor pointed out that you had done a lot of the work as well; the sheriff looked at you, surprised for a moment, before nodding his thanks. Old fashioned men. Sigh.

After the sheriff left and you had helped the doctor clean up the office, helping the less injured men out the door to return to their homes, you offered to stay with the doctor to tend to the more critically injured.

“It’s alright, dear, you can go and get some rest.” The doctor paused, looking past you for a few moments. “I think your ride home is here.”

You turned around.

Arthur stood in the doorway, a little worse for wear. A makeshift bandage was wrapped around his forearm. He had small cuts everywhere, a bruise on his face, and you were sure he’d have more on his body.

“Killer had a posse of his own,” he said at your unasked question.

You stepped forward. “Do… do you need anything here?”

“Nah, I’ll be fine. Just a scratch,” he said, holding up his bandaged arm. Then he held his hand out to you.

“Let’s go home.”

You turned to look at the doctor, and he just smiled and nodded at you. You bid him a good night, and turned to walk towards Arthur. With each step, your heart beat louder. When you finally took his hand, it was like a lock fell into place, and all felt right with the world. He led you out like a gentleman, escorting you to the hotel to get your things.

“Did you want to take a bath here? I need to pack,” you said, looking him over. He looked like he had ridden nonstop to get back here from St. Denis. He probably had.

“Is that your way of sayin’ I smell?” he joked, giving you a teasing smile.

You slapped his arm and went upstairs. Packing your things, you lugged your suitcase back downstairs and asked the clerk where Arthur went.

“He’s in the bath, second door on the left down this hallway,” he replied, pointing the way. You thanked him and made your way towards the room. Knocking, you told him you would wait for him in the lobby while he bathed.

“Come in here,” he said through the door. Your face turned bright red.

“I can’t do that!”

“Please.”

Sighing, you let yourself in, putting your suitcase by the door and refusing to look at him.

“I’m almost done, but….” he trailed off. You finally looked up at him shyly. You couldn’t really see anything below his waist, but you winced at all the bruises on his body.

“I’m alright, darlin’,” he said in a hushed tone. “Could you get my back? It’s hard to reach.”

You nodded, and rolling up your sleeves, grabbed the loofah and scrubbed his back. When you had gotten him as clean as possible, you handed the loofah back to him and quickly scurried back to the door.

“I’ll meet you in the lobby,” you said, grabbing your suitcase and shutting it behind you as you fled. You couldn't face him, even when he came out and took your suitcase, and led you back home.

***

The moment both of you entered the house, Arthur wrapped his arms around you. Turning in his embrace, you looked up at him.

“It’s your last night, kitten. What do you wanna do?”

You blinked. You had stopped counting. Had two weeks passed so quickly?

“What about you?” you asked him back. “You’re the one who just saved everyone.”

“Weren’t nothin’,” he mumbled. “Just doin’ my job.”

You cradled his face in your hands, and he closed his eyes and leaned into your touch.

“I’m not blind,” you said. “I see the good you do in this town; I see the lawbreakers you put away. Granted, I’m one of them…”

He touched your hands and held your gaze. “You never hurt nobody.” He leaned in and kissed your forehead. “I wasn’t goin’ to give you to that man in St. Denis,” he confessed. “I’d never give you to anyone.”

He suddenly became stock-still, his eyes wide for a split second before closing them again. You heard what he said, understood what he meant, and he knew it. He finally opened his eyes after a handful of moments and you couldn't ignore the look of love in his ocean-colored gaze.

“What do you want?” you asked again quietly.

Arthur closed the distance and kissed you, gentle in touch but desperate in feel.

“You,” he whispered. “Always you.”

***

You weren’t sure how you got into the bedroom, and you weren’t sure how you both ended up naked, wrapped up in each other’s arms, just kissing, caressing, touching every inch of skin, reminding the other than they were alive and real and here, right now.

Spreading your legs, you opened yourself for him without being asked, and his eyes never left yours as he slid inside of you and held you tight. None of the other nights were like this; they had been like a forest fire, sweeping desire and a torrent of lust tumbling through you. Tonight was a campfire, passionate heat wrapped up in soft kisses and tender embraces. He only whispered of your beauty, your courage, your personality, how much he missed you while he was gone.

And you hardly said a word; it wasn’t in your nature. You just clung to him, encouraging him to take what he wanted with your actions; you lifted your hips to meet his thrusts, you wrapped your arms and legs around him, you kissed him and begged for more. He touched you, knowing exactly how to make you fly apart, and when he joined you in blissful ecstasy, pulling out and finishing on your stomach, he pressed his forehead against yours.

“Love you,” he whispered so quietly that you almost didn’t hear it.

***

The morning light came in the small window in the corner as you packed your suitcase. You could feel Arthur’s eyes on you, burning a hole in your back. Finally you turned to him to tell him to stop staring, but your words caught in your throat. He was trying to look neutral, but the sadness in his eyes was too hard to ignore, so you asked him the one thing you told yourself you wouldn’t ask.

“Do you want me to stay?”

“Only if you want to.”

“I’m asking what you want.”

He stepped closer and held you in his arms; you could feel heartache in his touch, like he was never going to see you again.

“I want you here forever. But only if you’re willin’.” He sighed. “I know I gave you no choice in the beginnin’, I wanted you so bad. But I know it was wrong.” He gently pressed his lips to your forehead. “You shouldn’t forgive me. I don’t forgive me.”

You rested your head against his shoulder. “I know. I should hate you. But I don’t.” You looked up at him, making up your mind. “I do forgive you.”

You stepped out of his arms and continued to pack, but you spoke over your shoulder. “I’m going to leave, and you’re going to court me properly. Then we’ll see where that goes.” You smirked at him. “Who knows, I may end up back here after all, if you play your cards right.”

The smile he gave you was full of hope.

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

End Notes: UGH, I’M SORRY THIS CAME OUT ALL FEELS AND LITTLE SMUT. I seriously started this fic thinking, “Oh boy, I’m gonna write all the smut!” And then I didn’t. Like a liar.

Well, I hope you enjoyed this anyway, for those of you who kept going with this. *bows* Thank you for reading.

#arthur morgan #arthur x reader #Writing #fanfic #rdr2 fanfic #nsft #lemon fanfic #deputy arthur #red dead redemption 2 #deputy AU

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imaginetonyandbucky · 6 years ago

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Present!Tony gets swapped with future!Tony for a few days due to villain shenanigans. Tony realizes right away and tries not to give away anything about the future, but Bucky notices things--there's always a deep warmth when Tony talks to him (even to say "pass the salt"), Tony slips up and calls him James (present!Tony only ever calls him Barnes), etc. It makes Bucky ache for something he didn't know he even wanted, and he can't forget that when present!Tony comes back.

Tony can’t meet Bucky’s gaze. That’s Bucky’sfirst clue.

Bucky had been standing, waiting, staring atTony-from-the-future, their eyes locked. There had been a flash of green light,the Asgardian symbols glowing where Thor had inscribed them on the time machine(future-Tony had sworn up and down that it was not a time machine, butit acted like one to Bucky so that’s what he’s calling it), and then their Tony,Tony-from-the-present, was there instead.

And present-Tony looks away from Bucky, eyesdarting to the side.

Bucky stays standing, doesn’t reel back fromwhat feels like a blow. It shouldn’t be a surprise - it’s not, he firmlytells himself - but Bucky still had hoped, somehow. Stupidly, he had hoped thathe could find a smidgeon of the warmth in future-Tony’s gaze inside ofpresent-Tony’s too.

But Tony looks away, turns away, finds Steve andcracks a joke about portals being better than ice baths for time travelings andthen runs away.

That’s Bucky’s second clue.

Wherever Bucky is, suddenly Tony’s isn’t. Tonydoesn’t run, wouldn’t be seen running, but he’s sneaky andpracticed enough so that whenever Bucky enters a room, Tony is out of it threesteps later with an excuse, an emergency, or simply sly footwork. Bucky isimpressed, most definitely, but the not-chase still makes his chest ache.

Bucky misses Tony’s teasing glance from acrossthe room, letting Bucky in an inside joke. He misses the warmth in Tony’s voicewhen Bucky joins the conversation. He misses Tony’s occasional slip of ‘James,’the way it rolled off Tony’s tongue. He misses the lack of space, when steppedclose, would touch Bucky’s arm or his shoulder or his waist. That was allfuture-Tony though, giving Bucky glimpses of what could be.

Not that present-Tony had been rude before.Present-Tony had, up until the swap, been civil to Bucky. A friend, to thedegree that Bucky had friends other than Steve, because Bucky still kept mostlyto himself.

But Bucky finds himself wanting that extra bitof attention, that extra warmth, and he’s not ready to let it go completely.Not yet.

(More after the break!)

Tracking Tony down isn’t hard, not really. Buckystrolls through the common spaces, slowly enough so that Tony has plenty oftime to depart ahead of him, and then steps into the elevator and presses thefloor to the workshop.

The workshop - most likely the place Tony wouldrun to, and a place Bucky has never been. Any arm maintenance happened in thegym to help prevent flashbacks, and then Steve could hang around nearby withoutobviously hovering over them. The workshop is Tony’s safe space, and Bucky is intruding.

Tony’s avoidance should tell Bucky that Tonyisn’t interested in having a relationship with Bucky. Tony doesn’t seeminterested in exploring anything like what future-Tony and James have, with theclues he has laid out for Bucky.

Except future-Tony had given Bucky some advicebefore they had swapped back.

“I’m a genius,” future-Tony had said. His lipshad quirked. “But, uh, you call me your idiot genius sometimes when I’m being abit thick. And trust me to know myself - I’m going to be a massive idiot geniuswhen I get back. Got issues, you know? Might have to track me down and make mesee sense.”

“I’m good at trackin’,” Bucky had replied,trying not let his mind stick on the phrase ‘my idiot genius’ and how easily hethinks that would roll off his tongue.

Tony had smiled, his eyes crinkling at thecorners. Bucky had felt warm at being the cause of that. Bucky wanted to putthat look on all of Tony’s faces, of all the time periods, but especially hisown.

“Yeah, you are,” Tony had agreed softly. Hishands twitched, an abortive move to reach out to Bucky. “Put those skills togood use, snowflake.”

“JARVIS,” Bucky questions as he rides theelevator down. “Is Tony working on anything time-sensitive? Like, he can’t orshouldn’t be interrupted?”

“Sir’s current project can be paused if neededwithout any harm,” JARVIS answers.

Bucky takes that as tacit permission to proceedwith his mission objective.

The elevator door opens and Bucky strides intothe workshop. Tony does a double-take, but then schools his face into a politeexpression and his body language into something less tense.

“Hey, thanks for stopping by but I’m in themiddle of something here. Mind coming back later? JARVIS can let you know whenI’m free,” Tony says, his tone regretful and apologetic. He waves a hand with awrench though, and then tap, tap, taps it against his other palm.

“JARVIS already said you can pause,” Bucky says,then pulls back a step. “If you want…” Bucky turns his shoulder though,displaying his willingness to leave if Tony really wants without outrightgiving Tony the option.

“JARVIS did, huh?” Tony says with a twist to hismouth. He knuckles the wrench for a moment, but then drops his shoulders with asigh. “Sure, whatever, take a seat. Give me a second to get this thought down -because you can’t pause the brain like I can your hard drive, JARVIS! - andthen we’ll get to you, yeah? There works, or there, or -”

Bucky takes a seat on the couch, a ragged thingthat sags in the middle cushion. By the time that Bucky looks back to Tony,he’s already lost Tony’s attention.

Tony gets absorbed in the holographic screen,tossing aside the wrench he’d been fiddling with to set both hands at thekeyboard and type. A bot wheels by Bucky to come over and pick the wrench up,taking it to another corner of the workshop.

“Don’t lose that, I need that!” Tony calls afterthe bot. The bot beeps at Tony, and Tony snorts. “I’ll have to use youto unscrew bolts, and you won’t like what it does to your joints.”

Bucky sits back and watches.

Tony gets reabsorbed back into his project,completely forgetting about Bucky. Bucky hears Tony muttering obscenities andcurses - mostly at himself, specifically his future self. The bot wheels by,beeping what might be a semblance of a hello at Bucky, before taking anothertool to a different corner of the workshop.

Bucky sinks further down into the couch andwatches.

Tony’s fingers fly over the keys, or sometimespause and Tony says a string of nonsense words to JARVIS and watches the codecontinue to scroll. Tony flips from one thing to the next, to the next,occasionally calling out a flippant comment to the bot that keeps whirlingaround the workshop.

Bucky watches Tony be loose and free and brightin a way that Bucky hasn’t seen before, and all of a sudden Bucky gets it. Hegets how and why he fell in love with Tony.

Bucky relaxes, warm and content to sit there forhours, until he jerks to his feet.

“Is that my arm?” Bucky asks, staring.

Tony startles, whipping around to blink at Buckywith wide, brown eyes. Tony glances back over at the image which is a metal arm- undoubtedly Bucky’s, but also not his current version.

“Yeah,” Tony admits. “Or, well, not yours, notyet. Alt-universe you. My time traveling counterpart left some surprises forme,” Tony admits. “JARVIS and I have been running decryption codes since I’vegot back because of course I left all the good stuff locked away, because of courseI’m an asshole.”

“Seemed a good enough guy to me,” Bucky says,swallowing. He takes a few steps forward, keeping his eyes trained on the imageof the metal arm rather than Tony.

Tony snorts. “Uh huh. Sure, if you want tobelieve that.”

Bucky opens his mouth to defend, but Tony cutshim off with a wave.

“Did he mess with you too?” Tony asks, voicesnide. “Tell you things about ‘the future?’”

Bucky looks at Tony, and Tony’s dark gaze meetshis. Bucky feels a thrill, a dark curl of pleasure in his stomach at thosebrown eyes, but keeps it hidden behind a frown. “Kept most things to himself,”Bucky says.

“But implied,” Tony snorts. “Insinuated. Righton point. Hate to break it to you, Barnes, but whatever he might’ve got youthinking, that’s not our future. Not any of our future, the whole team’s. We would’ve remembered this happening, and then I might’ve avoided gettingcaught in that warp portal in the future, and then loopholes and paradoxes andtime and space shenanigans,” Tony says, waving his arms. “They’re a separateworld, one that I’ll admit it set in the future, but alternate universe toours. Not us, not exactly.”

“Seemed similar,” Bucky voices.

“Ugh. Judging by alt-me’s level of assholery inmessing with my stuff… maybe,” Tony admits with a smile.

The smile reaches Tony’s eyes, puts a slightcrinkle in the corner. That one, Bucky recognizes. The one Bucky wants to seemore.

“That mean you’ll let me take you out?” Buckyforces out his mouth, trying to keep his heart rate steady.

Tony loses his smile. “You don’t - look, let’sjust not go there.”

Bucky blinks, surprised. “Why?”

“Because I just told you!” Tony exclaims,whirling back to the screen. “We’re not them! Just because that Tony andthat James,” Bucky can’t stop it, he flinches, but at least Tony doesn’tsee, “are together doesn’t mean we have to be.”

“No ‘have to’ about it,” Bucky replies hotly.

Tony stills, and then turns back around to faceBucky with a rigid smirk on his face. “Right. I’m sure you were just about toask me out before all this universe-hopping, time-traveling business happened,huh? What poor timing,” Tony says with mock sympathy.

Bucky closes his eyes for a second and breathes.My idiot genius. Bucky can almost taste the words.

“Gonna tell me no, then?” Bucky asks quietly. Heopens his eyes and meets Tony’s gaze with a challenge. “Turn me down. I canhandle it. Or are you just going to try to convince me that I don’t want todate you?”

“You don’t,” Tony insists. “Next week we mighthave more universe-traveling, and then you’ll be with - oh, I don’t know, Samprobably - and you can -”

Bucky cuts Tony off with a snort. “Fickle ain’tone of my flaws. Another future isn’t going to change how I feel.”

“You don’t -”

“Don’t tell me what I want,” Bucky interrupts.He steps toward Tony, but then back because Bucky doesn’t want to intimidate.“Don’t tell me how I feel,” he continues, throat aching. “I do that enoughmyself.”

Tony sighs. “Yeah, ok. But Bucky…”

Bucky talks over Tony, confessing before heloses his nerve. “I told myself that I didn’t want it - dating, romance, any ofit. I’d rather pretend I didn’t want someone than to spend time pinin’ aftersomethin’ I wasn’t going to get anyway. But now, after you - alternateuniverse you,” Bucky corrects when Tony opens his mouth. “Made me realizethat I do want it. With you,” Bucky admits with a gulp. “So turn me down,that’s fine if you don’t… want to, but don’t convince me that I don’t want totake you out. Because I do.”

Tony’s mouth hangs open, his eyes wide andsearching Bucky’s.

Bucky fidgets, running a hand through his hair.

Still, Tony stares.

There’s a crash in the corner of the workshop,and both of them whirl to find the bot beeping sadly over the mess.

“DUM-E you bumbling bot, pick that up! You’resupposed to clean up the messes I make, not make them yourself. Have todonate you to a college, see what they make of you,” Tony threatens.

Bucky turns back to Tony, who is now unfrozen.Tony looks up at Bucky with his still-wide eyes, but at least Tony’s mouthisn’t frozen open anymore.

“Still interested? Package deal. I don’t knowwhat issues alt-me might have had but…”

“Yes,” Bucky confirms. “How good is your bot atdancin’?”

Tony laughs. “Oh, no, absolutely not. Do nottake DUM-E dancing, or U, or Butterfingers - oh, we’ll do some introductions,you haven’t met everyone, have you? But no, hard core no across the board, noneof the bots dance.”

“Just have to be us, then?” Bucky offers, hoperising in his chest.

Tony pauses for a second, but then smiles. “Yes.Okay, take me out. Just us. You hear that JARVIS? No spying.”

“It had not even crossed my circuits, Sir,”JARVIS replies.

The end of the first date has Bucky feelinggiddy. He has his arm thrown around Tony’s shoulders, Tony tucked in tight andlaughing over how the both of them had tripped over themselves square dancingwith Bucky’s cohort over over-eighty year olds. Neither of them are ready forthe night to end, and so they head up to the common floor to set up a movie.

Clint is throwing cheese puffs into Sam’s openmouth, with increasingly elaborate tricks on Clint’s part to show that he can’tmiss.

Bucky snorts. “I would never date you in anyuniverse,” he says as Sam catches a string of five cheese puffs in his mouth.

Sam chokes on his puffs, cheeks bulging. “Whatthe hell, man? These are delicious!”

Sam flips Bucky off, then both of them when Tonybursts out laughing. Clint throws cheese puffs at their heads in solidarityuntil Tony tugs Bucky out of the room and into the penthouse.

“Alright, Buckaroo. Show me those moves ofyours,” Tony purrs as they slide onto the couch together, pressed side to side.“Can’t say I haven’t been dying to kiss you again.”

Bucky shifts back, just a little. “What?”

Tony blinks at him. “What?”

“What do you mean ‘again?’ We haven’t…” Buckytrails off, his mind whirling.

“You didn’t kiss me? The alternate universe me?”Tony questions, puzzled.

“You did?”

“Don’t look at me like that!” Tony defends.“When was I going to get an opportunity like that? It’s not like you showedany interest in me at all, I figured that was my only chance!”

“It’s damn well not,” Bucky argues, toomany emotions mixing in his chest to identify which is what. Except jealousy,there’s definitely some of that in there. He tugs Tony to him, their breathsmingling. He can’t keep his gaze off Tony’s lips and brushes them with his own.“Going to convince me I don’t want this?”

Tony growls. “I didn’t want to pressure you -”

Bucky shuts Tony up with a kiss. His idiotgenius, indeed.

#winteriron #tony x bucky #tony stark #bucky barnes #time travel #prompts #hddnone #Anonymous

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some-cookie-crumbz · 6 years ago

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I NeED MORE BABY KADEN AND BABY OLIVERRR,,,, they are too cute for this and any other world 😭😩😍 KIDGE BABIESSS 👌🏻👌🏻👌🏻 Love you crumbz!

MDSALKNF;ASONF!!!! I love you too!!! I’m so glad you love these dorky boys! Hopefully some full shenanigans with a focus on them will be good~! x3

They’d been traveling for a good few days, followingwhatever leads they could get to help guide them towards their target. Thankfullyenough, their mark tended to leave gossip behind from every place he breezedthrough. The man was well-known for his callous, cruel ways; had takencountless lives with no regard for the damage he caused. They couldn’t rely onthe locale sheriff from town to town to do much to bring the villain down.There was a long line of graves from the ones that had tried to bring him tojustice, and the ones still above snakes saw that as reason enough to step down.And so, knowing that no one else would be able to bring the lily-liveredoutlaw.

Finally, they caught up with him a small town well off thebeaten path.

He took a deep breath in, letting the scent of gun smokefill his nostrils. He had heard the shots before he’d reached the outskirts oftown but thought it to be the usual suspects. Just a couple of patrons at thesaloon getting a little too wild on their drinks of choice. As they enteredtown, however, he couldn’t help but think that it had to be something more. Theonly sounds that could be heard came from the saloon a ways down from them,with no townsfolk milling about. The shops had their doors and windows drawnshut tight, too.

He gently patted his steed’s thick neck and guided him throughthe long dirt street, pressing forward so he could see the aftermath of whatactually happened. There was a darkened patch in the soil in front of thesaloon, though the body had already been relocated. Not far from the dark spot,he could see the slight glint of metal, partially hidden by the dirt. Despitethe dark patch and what it represented, the usual excited, boisterous calamityof every other saloon could be heard past the doors.

He hopped from his horse, pausing to give him another quickpat, before taking the reins and guiding him towards the spark that had caughthis eyes. He knelt down and carefully plucked the item up, dusting it on pantleg before inspecting it. He let out a small sigh before pushing himselfupright again, still clutching the item.

“What’cha reckon happened ‘round here?” His comrade asked,letting out a small whistle as he maneuvered his own steed around the dark spotin the dirt. In one hand he held a journal, where they’d been logging theirtravels, with a map tucked safely inside as a page marker. The other wassmoothing out the pale beige mane of his horse, seeming to sense the beast’sapprehension at the unnerving silence around them. He’d always appreciated howhis partner could read a map and keep the animals calm.

“Nothin’ good,” He said, short and blunt, while holding theabandoned sheriff’s badge at him. The other let out a small swear under hisbreath while he himself guided his horse over to the small tethering post justbeside the saloon. He never tied his own horse down, knowing he was awell-behaved sort, but he still had him stay close by to avoid causing a fusswith the local sheriff. He stole a glance at the multiple other horses teethedup.

Yup, this was definitely the crew they were looking for.

He pocketed the sheriff’s badge and waited for the other toge this own horse settled by the tether. Kosmo was an older stallion, but hewas loyal and smart; knew better than to go running off by his lonesome. He didgood about listening to his handler, but even he was also an incrediblyprotective horse. Probably had something to do with how Pa had trained him, ifhe reasoned a guess. “Gotta be the ones we’re looking for, huh, Boss?”

“Any luck, yeah,”

“Any luck, ya say!” The younger man scoffed before leaningin to quietly hush his horse, who had turned his head to press his snoutagainst the side of the human’s face. “We been trackin’ him ‘long for a good longwhile! Bout time we get to beat him hollow after all he done!”

“Hold yer horses, now. Gotta go at this in a wise way,” Bosschided evenly, taking a moment to readjust his gun holster again. He pulled hispistol out and double-checked it, making sure it was fully loaded, then slid itback into place.

“Ah, so ya’ got a plan?” The other asked over his shoulderas he tucked his journal away in his saddle bag for safe keeping.

“Reckon’ so,” He shrugged, rolling his shoulders andadjusting the gun holster on his hip.

“Oh yeah? And wazzat?” The other asked as he stepped upbeside him.

“Call him out, shoot him down, and end all this nonsense,”

The other blinked and then started laughing. “M’ sure theold man woulda been real proud of that plan, Boss,” He teased, giving him asmall shove. He offered a smile back before letting his expression turn neutralagain before pushing open the doors to the saloon.

The quiet creak of the doors did nothing to silence theuproar taking place over at the card table, most of the patrons gathered aroundin an enthusiastic debate. He opted against heading that way right off the bat,though, and instead swerved over to the bar. The bartender kept glancing overat the ruckus, clearly uneasy, wincing whenever there seemed to be any kind ofphysicality to the whole thing. “Real excitable sort ya got’n ‘ere, friend,” Hesaid as he slipped into one of the empty stool.

The tender jumped in surprise before offering an attempt ata smile. “Keeps things lively ‘round here. What’re ya havin’?” He asked,choosing his words carefully and moving to set his cleaning rag aside.

“Surprise us,” The other said with a grin as he hopped upinto the vacant seat beside Boss. The bar keep stared for a moment beforenodding, turning his attention over to the selection behind him.

“Never seen you boys before. Ain’t from around here, eh?”

“Nowhere near. It that obvious?”

“Could tell the minute I got a look at the pair of ya,” Thebartender said as he set the drinks in front of them. Boss took his and turnedto look at the crowd, vaguely aware of the chatter between his partner and barkeep. His eyes roved over the crowd, listing off each member of the group inhis head, trying to snuff out the leader.

His eyes flashed when he spotted a black hat with a red bandamong the crowd. The hat was all too familiar to him.

He chugged his drink down, wanting the liquid courage morebecause it would be wasteful not to take it, and pushed out of his seat.“Boss?” The other asked, raising an eyebrow.

But he didn’t look at the other. “Square up, Big Gun, yalily-livered snake!” He shouted.

The figure sporting the hat shifted, a pair of piercing blueeyes peering over the brim at him. He shifted to lean back in his seat, cockinghis head up further, and offering a lofty smile. “Ya hankerin’ to get shot deadlike that uppity lil’ Sheriff, boy?” He goaded, tilting his seat back andpropping his muddy boots up on the edge of the card table.

The Bar keep made a quiet whine in the back of his throat,distressed by the muck getting on his furniture.

“No, Sir. Ya gonna dig ya own grave and then I’m gonna shootya into it,” He scoffed, settling a hand on his hips. His fingers were itchingtowards his gun in the holster, but he forced himself to hold back. He had tomake sure he was going about this with some amount of finesse.

“Izzat how ya think’ll go down, boy?” Big Gun asked, a smilestill in place but a spark of fury dancing in his eyes. He didn’t take tokindly to threats.

“Know it will,” The younger male suddenly declared, hoppingdown from his own seat and standing beside Boss. A determined glare settled onto his face, amber eyes bright with a mix of hostility and giddiness. “We beentrackin’ ya sorry tail ever since ya blazed on through our town! Came in withyer heap of knuckleheads and shot up the place!”

Big Gun cocked his head, sizing them both up before smirkingand tapping the brim of his hat. “Ah, ‘member the pair a’ ya! The littleankle-biters a’ that nose-up Sheriff who gave me this nice lil’ trinket!”

“Hobble yer damn lip!”Boss all but roared, hand gripping around the gun and pulling it free. Thesecond he pulled it out, the four other figures at the table bursting up totheir feet with their own guns in retaliation. “Ya’ll gonna pay fer what yadid!”

Big Gun shifted himself, dropping his feet from the tableand rising to stand in a surprisingly smooth motion. “Ya think yer so slick?Let’s see what ya got,” He scoffed, reaching for his own holster and pullingout his gun.

For a moment, there was a tense standoff, eyes swiveling fromface to face, before the saloon erupted into a chorus of gun fire.

Boss fired back, managing to clip one guy in the shoulderand another in the chest before flipping another table for them to duck behind.“Wanted to get-em outside before we got right in ta it,” Boss, huffed, pressinghis back against the flipped tabletop and sliding down a bit. He checked hisgun to reload the four shots he’d taken before glancing over at his partner. “Yagot yer gun?” He asked.

The other blinked before patting at his belt and mutteringunder his breath. Suddenly, he stood up and held his hands up in the shape of aletter T. “Time out! I forgot my gun!” He proclaimed before whistling.

In a shimmering puff, Kosmo appeared, yellow eyes bright andears perked up. He beamed at the pooch, leaning forward to scratch behind hisears and nuzzle their faces together. He then shifted and started to rummagethrough the pseudo-saddlebags they’d attached to Kosmo and Wink, Kosmo andBae-Bae’s oldest son, to produce his own bright orange squirt gun. “Sorry, Ishould have mentioned that to you when we were heading in,” Boss chimed calmly.

“S’fine,” He mused before holding the gun up and waving it abit for the others to see. “Mkay, I got my gun! We can get started again!”

“You can’t do that, Newt! It’s cheating!” Big Gun suddenly shouted, pointing at him accusingly.

Newt blinked then scowled. “You called time out last time weplayed pirates because you got thrown overboard and we didn’t call you out onthat! You’re just being a big doofus, Alfor!”

“That’s different!I only got thrown overboard because I was distracted cause I had to pee!” Alforsnapped back.

“Then why didn’t you call timeout when you had to pee? We’vealways had time outs for pee breaks allowed!” Kaden chimed in suddenly.

“Yeah! You just said that so you could redo that part andnot get fed to sharks!”

“Nuh uh!”

“Yeah huh!”

From behind the cardboard bar, the figure of little RichterGarrett poked up and let out a small sigh. “Geez, again with this?” He mumbledto himself. He shook his head and carefully walked around the bar, motioning tothe other boys at the cardboard card table. “Come on, guys. This might take awhile so we may as well go inside and get some more snacks.”

The others nodded eagerly and tailed after him, settingtheir cowboy hats and water pistols on the back patio table as they did. Whenthey headed inside, the three adults all perked up from the kitchen table tostare at them. “Richter, are you all done playing already?” His mom askedworriedly.

He shook his head. “Nah, Newt and Kaden and Alfor are justarguing about the rules again,”

Alfor’s mother let out a small sigh and pinched the bridgeof her nose. “Oh, honestly. It seems like they can’t go a week withoutbickering over something with their games. They take them so seriously, don’tthey?”

Kaden and Newt’s dad chuckled a bit. “I guess playtime isserious business when you’re that age. Think maybe a piece offering will helpthem all settle down?” The other young boys all perked up and nodded eagerly. “Let’ssee… I think we have enough apples, so let’s do some apple slices and peanutbutter today.” He said while pushing up from the table and heading over to getstarted.

A few minutes later, Keith came out only to be slightly surprisedto find Alfie, who was completely drenched and covered in mud from the now-soakedyard, standing beneath the big tree in the backyard, shouting up at it, andboth his sons and their two cosmic canines relatively high up in the branches.He wasn’t sure if he was impressed by their quick thinking, surprised thatKosmo and Wink seemed relatively content in the tree, or miffed that the twohad busted out the hose to win the fight.

Eh, maybe a little bit of them all, he surmised.

#crumbles grumbles #Voltron legendary defender #Keidge #Kidge #Peith #Kidgemas #my fics #I'm planning AT LEAST 2 more fics with a focus on these two's shenanigans #And how their sisters deal with them #I'M SORRY I'M WEAK FOR FAMILY INTERACTIONS

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