#and the fact that dutch tries to save them in his own fucked up way and how hosea gets killed for it and then he wanders the world becoming

[phasewashere]

dutch and hosea are orpheus and eurydice coded. specifically hadestown orpheus and eurydice. they are what i imagine they were like when they younger like,,,

[its-deputy-caleb]

Micah Bell - Partners in Crime and in Love Pt.1

YES i know there’s 58 requests sitting in my inbox for re8 HOWEVER red dead is my comfort game and i needed to write this verbal mess down. I’ve been thinking of writing a micah fic for weeks now and i finally did it bc as much as i love re8 red dead is my fav and always will be. this is so self indulgent i swear.

for anyone that actually reads this the reader is pretty gn but does lean towards fem this time and i’ll be doing a part 2 for sure bc i love the rat man.

part 2 is now here

—————————————————————

Today was finally the day. The day for the big bank job that Dutch insisted was the right move for the gang. This was despite numerous doubts from Hosea and various other camp members that robbing a bank in broad daylight in the state’s largest city was a risk the gang couldn’t afford to make right now.

The whole morning there had been a sour feeling in your gut, a tiny voice shouting in the back of your mind that something wasn’t right. It wasn’t like you to get nervous on a job, in fact you recently robbed the Valentine bank with Bill on his job. Originally you weren’t interested in going, happy to let Karen go on her own with the guys but Bill insisted you go as you were one of the best gunslingers the gang had.

Robbing and killing came naturally to you and being outlawed in six states had never bothered you during your time as an outlaw. That’s why it was almost impossible for you to ignore the sick feeling in your stomach that was slowly building.

Making your way over to Micah, you see him sitting on a wooden crate cleaning his guns for the inevitable shootout that comes with bank jobs. Taking a seat next to him, Micah doesn’t need to ask you how you are; he can practically see how restless and agitated you look.

That’s the thing about your relationship with Micah, you understood each other (especially in public) and didn’t need grand public displays of affection to know exactly what the other needed in that moment.

The camp mostly stayed clear of your relationship, I mean you were probably two of the camp’s biggest troublemakers and risk takers when it came to planning jobs and robbing folk. Both of you had a shot quicker than lightening and could practically shoot your way out of any situation you found yourselves in. But regardless of how ruthless anyone thought you two were, you always had each other’s backs and wouldn’t stop to think about saving the other.

One night after a successful train job Dutch decided to hold a camp celebration. It was a mostly quiet night for you, having not decided to party with your companions despite Sean, Charles and Javier all offering for you to join in. Instead you decided to spend the mostly quiet night with Micah sharing a bottle of whiskey and splitting your share of the earnings. After each job you always had a bet with Micah over who could shoot the highest number of lawman. It was a bet the two of you had with each other just to cause more mischief and it always brought a smile to your face when Micah would lose and sulk about it for the rest of the afternoon

At one point during the night Bill strolled over to you while Micah went to get another bottle of whiskey. He was nice and polite despite the smell of beer coming from his breath, maybe even a little flirtatious and all was well until he asked the question ‘Why is you with a rat like him when you could be with someone as charming as me?’. Bill ended up with a face full of dirt and a broken nose, not to mention a killer hangover.

So yeah, the gang tended to leave you and Micah alone…

Micah’s knee lightly brushing against your own brings your thoughts back to reality. He’s stopped cleaning his guns and is looking at you with soft eyes and a gentle smile, the one that’s only reserved for you.

Despite being a hardened outlaw that has known nothing but chaos and the open road for most of your life. The gang has observed from afar your softer sides, whether it be the time you both fell asleep next to each other by the campfire or getting shit scared when the other has been shot and the rest of the night is spent with soft kisses and bandage wrapping.

Micah holsters his revolver and gently takes your hand in his.

“Sweetheart we’re gonna be fine, ain’t nothing gonna go wrong, now common let’s go get dressed for such a special occasion.”

~

Everyone is just starting to get into their fancy attire for the job when you and Micah are already packing your saddles and getting ready. You’re wearing matching white suits with a red shirt only yours is tailored to show off your figure a lot more and your plunge top and corset doesn’t leave much to the imagination but hey, if you’re gonna go out it’s gonna be in style.

As Micah finishes tightening up Baylock’s saddle you lean forward and hold his wrist in your hand. Your thumb gently brushes the soft skin there, trying to hide the nerves that have been slowly eating away at you all day.

“I don’t like this Micah, somethings gonna go wrong I can feel it…”

Micah’s never been great with emotions but you’ve known him long enough to know how he comforts you. The arm that’s caught in your grasp turns and brings you forward into a hug, his chin resting on your head as you hold him tightly against you.

“Ain’t nothin gonna happen to us, just think of it as another bank job.”

You nod and hold him closer, a rare event for such a public place where anyone could walk by but neither of you really cared at that moment. You press your face into his shoulder, trying to shake off your uneasiness.

“You better not die on me now Bell, you still owe me that new holster for beating you in five finger fillet.”

~

Fuck did the bank job go wrong. Horribly wrong. From the moment you got off your horses and stepped foot in that bank it all turned to hell.

Bullets where flying everywhere, there were civilians screaming in terror trying not to get caught in the crossfire, glass was being shattered by dynamite and Dutch was trying to formulate a plan while in shock of losing his dear Hosea.

A bullet whizzed past your head and you took out another Pinkerton. It was chaos. Every time you managed to bring down the line of Pinkertons another carriage full of them would arrive with the Saint Denis Police.

You couldn’t see Micah anywhere, but each time you tried to look for him your attention was dragged back to the action in front of you and the numerous Pinkertons shooting at you.

Arthur had snuck onto the roof at some point and some of the other members where making their way towards the rooftop as well. You were about to make a bolt towards Dutch and Javier on the ladder when Charles stopped you with a hand on your shoulder.

“Go that way, we’re the diversion! Karen and Sadie are a waiting near the alleyway of the tavern, we’ll meet you back at camp in a few hours, GO!”

Charles pushes you down the alley way and climbs up the ladder to catch up to the others. You would’ve protested but your body is running on adrenaline so you didn’t think as you snuck your way out of safety.

~

Micah was furious that Charles had sent you off on your own to find your way back, if it wasn’t for the fact that the five of them where hiding from the law in a rundown city apartment he probably would have argued with him for hours.

But deep down he knew it was the right thing to do. He knew that you’d be 100 times safer away from this chaos then if you were here with him, even if you could handle yourself.

For hours they sat in that little room, Dutch formulating a plan on how to get out of here while Micah tried not to worry about whether you made it home safe. Now he understood that sick feeling of worry in your stomach, he only ever got it when he worried about you.

By nightfall Dutch had somewhat of a plan to escape via the docks, sneak out onto a ship that would take them somewhere and it hit Micah in that moment that it would be some time before he saw you again…

The guards where everywhere, the entire city on high alert after the bank and Charles ended up running so everyone could make it onto a boat. As Dutch attempted to negotiate with the captain for a cabin, Micah lit a cigarette from his blazer pocket, trying to take his first deep breath of the night.

“We were fools for thinking we could pull off the bank…”

Arthur rests against the crates, fatigue clear in his eyes but willing himself to stay awake. Micah however didn’t want to sit and talk about what could have happened and what actually did, he had a headache already and certainly didn’t need a lecture from Arthur for another reckless decision he helped create.

“Whatever you say Morgan.”

Sighing defeatedly, Micah flicks his cigarette bud over the side and into the water below, making his way to go sit on the other side of the crates where he can think.

~

Back at camp you pace around the halls of Shady Belle, the floorboards creaking under the weight of your boots.

“Fuck this I’m going to find them-“

Before you make it out the front door however Miss Grimshaw blocks your exits.

“You’re not going anywhere anytime soon. The Pinkertons are everywhere looking for us. Now I know you want your precious Mr. Bell back but you’re just going to have to wait out the next few hours until he returns with the rest.”

You decide to ignore the slight condescending tone of Susan as you see a rider approaching into camp. Your hand is on your holster, everyone who’s left joining you to crowd around the man slowly coming closer. Everyone is relieved to see its Charles, but only slightly. He’s alone and a horrible feeling of fear washes over you.

“Charles… Where is everyone… Where’s Micah?”

[purplecatdad]

Rarepair Week “Darkness”

Part of the RDR Events Rarepair Week 

Prompt: Darkness

Bill/Kieran | Teens an Up | Canon-Divergence

Content Warning for:  Child Abuse (mentioned), Internalised Homophobia, Trauma, Alcoholism, Depression, Tortue

Bill Williamson had never been a brave man. 

In fact he felt like a coward most of the time. Back when his daddy had beaten him up and he never fought back. Back when he applied to the army, simply because he was afraid that he’d end up with nothing in his life. Back when he punched and almost killed the guy who had kissed him just so people wouldn’t know he was a queer. Or when he thought that his life would end as Dutch van der Linde laughed at him because he had tried to steal from him. 

For a long while, Dutch had made Bill feel like he wasn’t all that much of a coward. He had given him purpose, a family, people to take care of. He knew that most of them, especially the other boys, would call him lazy. Often enough they had called him that right into his face and he knew that they were right. But sometimes he’d just lie awake at night, haunted by the things he did and those that had been done to him. They paralysed him and robbed him of his sleep and with the rising sun came the overwhelming sadness. Sadness that made it unable for him to do anything but to drink, like his daddy used to. To drown the memories and the pain in liquor. And every time he felt his consciousness slipping thanks to the Whiskey he was afraid again. That he’d end up like him. Beating folk who didn’t deserve it, children and women. And that was someone he never wanted to be. 

He had run with Dutch and his boys for 6 years. They had gone through both good and bad times but it had rarely been as bad as after Blackwater. They’ve lost folk and money and had been holed up in the cold for far too long. And it had all been the O’Driscoll’s fault. They’ve managed to catch one of his boys, a man named Kieran and while Bill hated his guts for being part of the rival gang he also stirred something else in him … something that made him afraid again. 

Nobody in camp knew that he preferred the company of men over women. At least not as far as Bill knew. During the years he had visited some working boys now and then. To celebrate after a good job or to let off some steam after a job gone wrong - but he had always made sure to keep it to himself. Once or twice he’d almost been caught but he had always managed to make it look that he was just another man fucking some female prostitute. 

But then, Arthur had dragged one of those damn O’Driscolls with them. A scrawny man named Kieran Duffy. Someone who belonged to the enemy. Kieran changed the game. Bill couldn’t help watching him. He was cute, even if a little jumpy at times. The horses loved him, even the Count let him close. And even if he was afraid and even if they had hurt and threatend him, he still pulled his weight and even saved Arthur’s life when there was no need to do so. 

Often, Bill would imagine what he’d do with him if he had him for himself, all on his own. Stripping him down, kissing every inch of his body, holding him close. Of course he couldn’t tell him. Of course he was afraid of something slipping. So he made sure that Kieran was afraid as well. With gelding tongs and fists and snarling at him whenever he got too close. But instead of feeling better, securer about it he just felt like shit. Because he still kept watching Kieran … and couldn’t help but notice what a good man the O’Driscoll actually was. Kind, honest, soft and gentle. Nothing like the other men in camp. Nothing like the boys he had paid before. 

His heart always started to flutter when he approached Kieran to tell him to clean up his tack or groom Brown Jack for him. Kieran always got nervous and jumpy around him and Bill couldn’t blame him for it. It was what he had tried to achieve - but had it really been what he had wanted? He had cursed himself a lot during the first few weeks. Hating himself for ruining a potential relationship, even if it was just friendship, before it had even started. 

Once they had moved to Clemens point, Bill had made a decision. He would no longer be a coward. He would try to approach him. Maybe he could show Kieran that he wasn’t always just a brute. He could be a drinking buddy. Or a friend. 

It had taken many approaches and even more beers until Kieran had finally accepted Bill‘s invitation to drink with him. Both of them eased into the conversation with the help of the alcohol, feeling more confident because of the drinks they finally managed to get to know each other. Bill always doubted himself come next morning. Wondering if it was really the right thing to do. What if he accidentally said too much? Revealed himself to Kieran only to be pushed away again? But he always came back because he enjoyed Kieran‘s company too much

Sometimes he went away just to beat some people up, to get rid of the restlessness. He knew it wasn’t the right thing to do. It didn’t fit to the “beat people who need beating” mantra of Dutch and his gang. But still he couldn’t help it. Beating them black and blue made him feel in control. He knew how to do it, he was confident when he did it. There was no doubt there, only the knowledge and assurance that he was capable of something. 

One night they had actually met outside of camp, in the Rhodes saloon. Bill had wanted to celebrate another good score with some proper food and some higher brand whiskey and had told Kieran to come along. They had eaten and drunk and enjoyed each other‘s company … and when Kieran had excused himself to pee outside, Bill had followed him. 

Thanks to the Whiskey and the good mood, Bill hadn‘t been afraid anymore. He had been brave. He had taken Kieran‘s face into his hands and kissed him, pressed against the back wall of the saloon. And to his surprise, Kieran had kissed him back. They had rented a room that night to spend it together. Hasty, deep kisses, bodies intertwined. It had left Bill speechless and tired and satisfied in a way he had never felt. 

The next morning he woke up alone. The way back to camp a walk of shame. Fear and anxiety creeping up about what to expect in camp. Had Kieran told them all about Bill? About his desires, about what he had done with him? What if he had ruined whatever they had by just acting up on his desires? If Kieran never wanted to get that far?

But when he reached the camp grounds he realized that there was no need to worry. Kieran greeted him like nothing happened as he was cleaning up after the horses and took Brown Jack from him to be unsaddled and groomed. Javier congratulated him on the „successful night with the ladies of Rhodes'' and after a few more interactions with the people in camp, Bill had realized that Kieran had simply told them that they had been busy with some working girls during the night. A story that apparently all of them believed to be true without a doubt. 

Many nights like that followed, with less and less alcohol involved. They never talked about it, never really spoke about what happened during those nights. Bill woke up alone each day. But he understood - he also didn��t want to risk anybody finding out. It was good, what they had and someone finding out about them would most likely ruin whatever it was that they had. 

More shit went down in Rhodes, more than he could comprehend and they found each other down south at a place called Shady Belle. Bill had never liked the swamps. The air was too humid and hot for him to breathe and always made him a sweaty mess. But Kieran started sleeping closer to him at night in the new camp and he was happier about that than he had expected to be.

One night he took him out to Saint Denis. He hated the big city but it offered them some anonymity that made him feel safer than in Rhodes. They had some drinks, some delicious food and rented another room for the night. Kieran had bought them some Whiskey again and drunk it until he was swaying on his feet before he had pulled Bill to bed with him. He had kissed Bill a lot that night, clinging to him and pulling him closer. When they were done, he had cuddled up into his arms instead of turning away, whispering a soft „I love you, Bill“ that kept Bill awake for a few more hours, repeating the words in his mind, thinking about what it meant for him. What it meant for them. 

Eventually he fell asleep, cuddled up to Kieran who was snoring away peacefully next to him. Bill could pretend that this was their life. That this was how he spent every night, next to his special someone who would whisper sweet words into his ears and keep him warm at night. 

But when the next morning came, reality hit him again. Kieran had left the bed in the morning once again and left him alone. It was okay, of course and what Bill had halfway expected anyway. But when he came back to camp, Kieran wasn‘t there to greet him and to take Brown Jack from him. He wasn‘t at the scouting fire, taking care of the saddles or with the girls talking about books. In fact, he was nowhere to be seen. A part of Bill, the anxious, cowardly beast, told him that Kieran had had enough. That he had left the gang, had left him behind because he didn‘t want to be with him anymore. And the other part? The other part was angry. Angry at Kieran for vanishing, angry at himself for being so stupid and even imagine anybody to actually like him. He felt heartbroken and it was his own damn fault because he was, as always, a fool. 

Another night came and went but Kieran still hadn‘t come back. Bill started to worry now. He knew that there were many dangerous people in the swamps and that Kieran, despite being in multiple gangs of outlaws, wasn‘t a good fighter or great at defending himself. So he asked people in camp if they had seen him but nobody did. Mary-Beth, who Bill rarely spoke a word with but who he knew was a good friend of Kieran‘s, also hadn‘t seen him and was equally worried. So Bill decided that he had to go and look for him. 

He asked Dutch and Arthur and Javier and even John to maybe come with him but none of them felt like Kieran was in danger. It made him angry again and when Micah snarled a “Don‘t you worry about your little girlfriend, I‘m sure he‘ll come back to you“ at him, Bill couldn‘t help but to punch in his nose and storm off on Brown Jack‘s back. If nobody was up to help him, he‘d have to find him on his own. 

It took him two days of traveling through the swamps until he finally found something. A few horses, hitched close to an old water mill… one of them a mare that he knew all to well. Branwen, Kieran‘s beloved horse that he cherished more than anything else in the world. Bill knew that he had found him - and he was certain that Kieran wasn‘t here by choice. If he was even alive anymore. 

Bill had never been a brave man. 

But he knew when it was time to fight and he was ready to risk his own life if he had to. If it meant helping the only man who he could fully trust in this world. The man who loved him. So he jumped off of Brown Jack, approached the house and kicked in the door. He started shooting without asking questions, killing everybody who was raising their guns at him. Most people thought he was a fool and mostly they were right - but he was good with his rifle and could kill multiple men within seconds. After barely a minute, nobody in the house was moving anymore. 

“Kieran?!“ he yelled out and frantically looked around. He couldn‘t see him anywhere so he walked up to the ladder, climbed down as fast as he could - and stopped in his tracks when he saw what they had done to him. 

Kieran‘s hands were tied up to the ceiling above his head, stripped down to his union suit that was smeared with blood. There were cuts all over his body, visible through the holes that they had ripped into the fabric. They had tortured him, he could see a few missing toes, one of his earlobes missing as well. Bill couldn‘t help but to stare at Kieran for a moment. This was not what he had expected. 

“Kieran …“ he said, softer this time and walked up to him. Kieran was unconscious, his head hanging down … but his chest was still rising and falling, slow but steadily. As he moved closer to him, Bill noticed that something else was missing - Kieran’s eyes had been removed, black, bloodied holes now where his eyes used to be. Bill felt his hands shaking from anger and worry but his instinct kicked in quickly. The years spent amidst the violence and struggle to keep alive against all odds had made his subconscious defy his otherwise oafish and lazy nature. He knew that he had to get out of here fast, before anybody else would come. 

He quickly untied Kieran, wrapped him in his long coat and carried him up the ladder. His mind was racing. He wasn‘t sure if Kieran would survive this, wasn‘t sure if the rest of the O‘Driscolls would wait for him outside. But he was sure that, if he brought Kieran back to camp, the O‘Driscolls might follow him there. There was no time to run without leaving a trace. And he was certain that Dutch would never forgive him if he led the enemy right back to them just because of Kieran. 

So he was the one who had to take care of him … and as he stepped out out the mill, Kieran in his arms, he realized that he wouldn‘t be able to do that at camp. Not in the way he wanted, not in the way Kieran deserved. Carefully he placed Kieran on Branwen, making sure that he was safe and secure on her back before he attached her lead to Brown Jack‘s saddle. He had to bring him to safety, somewhere in the heartlands. And maybe, if Kieran wanted, they could make themselves a home there. Far away from everything. Away from the violence and the bloodshed. 

He rode away, always looking back at Kieran who stayed unconscious, even after Bill made camp somewhere in the middle of nowhere. He didn‘t know where they were, he just hoped that this was far enough away from anybody who could be hunting them. After he set up the tent, he finally got around to cleaning up Kieran‘s wounds and bandaging his eyes as best as he could. Bill sure as hell was no doctor but trying to survive alone sure taught you one thing or two. He placed him on the bedroll and sat down next to him, staring at the campfire he made. 

He felt it again, the anxiety creeping up. The feeling of being worthless - he should‘ve been faster, better at hunting down those bastards who had hurt Kieran like this. He should‘ve told Kieran to just stay with him in that hotel room. To enjoy the morning with him as much as the night. But he hadn‘t. He hadn‘t done any of those things and now Kieran was hurt … and he wasn‘t even sure that he‘d survive. 

He felt Kieran stirr awake next to him. He looked over at him, gently touching his hand to let him know that he wasn‘t alone. 

“Kieran …“, he said softly and the other man looked around. “You‘re safe. I … Got you out. Took care of your wounds.“

Kieran stilled, taking Bill‘s hand in his, a whimper escaping him. Bill couldn‘t imagine how hard this must be for him. To wake up and not be able to see. To not know what was happening around him. 

“Can I … should I get you something? Some water? Are you hungry?“ He felt stupid again, unsure what to do. He had never been the one taking care of the wounded, he had only ever taken care of himself and fought alongside the others. This was new. 

“Please just .. lie down .. with me..“, Kieran said, his voice weak and barely audible. 

And Bill did as he asked, carefully lying down next to Kieran, putting his arms around him and pulling him close to his chest. 

“It‘s so dark …“, Kieran whispered, his voice trembling with anxiety.

“I know … I‘m sorry …“, Bill answered, his voice weavering. He‘d give his life for Kieran to see again.

“I‘m glad … that you‘re with me, though. Means I don‘t have to face the darkness all on my own.“

“You won‘t“, Bill agreed and gently caressed his back. “I won‘t ever leave you alone again.“

[navigatrixnarrations]

Sometimes Always, Chapter 1: Thieves Alley

The first chapter of a canon divergent kind-of fix-it set after Season 3 as encouraged by @whenimaunicorn. The beginning looks familiar because I posted it as a WIP, but it continues.

Warnings: Canon-typical violence and profanity

Words: 2034

Charles Vane once heard that a man can only truly possess that which he cannot lose in a shipwreck. For all the times he’s had to run with nothing but his life in his hands, and those times are many, this most recent is the hardest to bear.

The late autumn sleet beats against the drafty window of his rented room by the wharves. Nor'easters, he learned these storms are called, blowing in off the Atlantic, bringing traffic in the harbor to a standstill and turning the muddy streets into debris-strewn rivers.

Until recently, he spent his entire life in the heat of the West Indies. New York City is cold and unceasingly raw. Its damp chill seeps into his bones and makes old injuries ache damnably. Vane finds himself taking a liking to these storms anyway; they match his mood.

Perhaps he should head to the tavern where he works instead of huddling by the small fire trying to ignore the past. The tavern owner is a freedman, known to give a hand to other former slaves. All Vane had to do was show the brand on his chest and scowl a little, and he was given a job as a bouncer. The irony of it: Charles Vane, notorious scourge of the seas, reduced to breaking up drunken brawls and preventing grown men from pissing on the floor under an assumed name. Still, he’s alive and free, right under the noses of the fucking English…

He’s definitely being followed. He dislikes being followed. He turns to see that several of the tavern-goers are coming toward him, an assortment of weapons in hand. He dryly thinks that times must be hard indeed if they intend to rob him of his pay; split several ways it wouldn’t even be enough for a mug of ale each. A pistol goes off, grazing a leg just barely recovered from the last time he was shot, and Vane staggers. His attackers are nearly upon him when a slightly-built figure leaps between them. A low-pitched female voice, an oddly familiar voice, calls out something in what Vane recognizes as Dutch. There is laughter from the others, and they withdraw.

The woman approaches, her hands empty, reaching down to assist him. He gets the impression of large eyes in an angular face, a dark coat wrapped tight against the mist. Is it? Can it be?

She looks at him as if seeing a ghost, albeit a ghost with whom she is slightly cross. Then she remembers herself. “Charles.” Her expression turns wry. “Did I hear them refer to you as ‘Mr. Thatch’ back there at the tavern?”

He checks her face for any sign of fury, and sees none. “I can’t very well go by my own name now, can I, Miss Teach.”

“It’s Mrs. Sullivan now. And no, I suppose you can’t. I’m sure my father wouldn’t mind you using one of his last names; you’re more his child than I ever was.” Her tone is matter-of-fact, without bitterness.

He forces a levity to his voice that he does not feel. “So you married Sully? How is he, anyway?” At least she wedded a brave man and a kind one.

She shuts her eyes slowly, shakes her head, then reopens them. “He’s been dead three years. Took a bullet to the head in a raid.”

“Margaret, I’m…”

“Save the platitudes, Charles. They don’t suit you.” She looks tired, her eyes far away. “He was right beside me when it happened. He died free and he didn’t suffer.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that. What can he possibly say to that. Memories of the three of them as teenagers, skylarking in the rigging of the Revenge. Vane was the strongest, Margaret was the fastest, and Sully, well, Sully was acrobatic and fearless. And Sully made her laugh, something she did far too seldom. Vane envied him that ability.

She turns her sharp gaze back to him. "If you’re wondering what I said to your new friends back there, I told them that while it is clear that the only thing you use your head for is growing hair, entering Thieves Alley alone as you did with a pocket full of coin, it would be cruel to deprive you of it."

In spite of himself, he huffs out a short laugh. She’s studying him, and he thinks she sees the question that he cannot bring himself to ask aloud. I missed you. Did you miss me?

“My last words to you were cruel.” She takes a deep breath, steeling herself. “I regret them. I’m glad I have the opportunity to tell you so.” Why did I get you out of there if you’re going to go do her bidding, be her attack dog? She doesn’t love you, Charles, she’s incapable of loving anyone. And now you’re walking right back into another kind of slavery and it was all for nothing. If I never see you again, it will be too soon. She jumped into one of the longboats and never once looked back at him as the men rowed it out to the ship. He wanted to call out to her to stay, that he changed his mind, but youthful stupid pride made the words stick in his throat. In the end he watched her climb the rope ladder to the Revenge, watched her sail out of Nassau Harbor, watched her disappear over the horizon...

Vane holds her gaze because he’s certain that she would not welcome him holding her body. “Everything you said to me was true, though I couldn’t see that at the time. You had every reason to hate me.”

Margaret tilts her head to one side. “I never hated you, though I tried. Never even resented you, really.” She sighs. “I resented my father for wanting a son so badly that he all but ignored me once you arrived, and I resented the hell out of myself for trying so hard to win his approval.” She pauses. “You’re shivering.”

He starts to deny it but Margaret rolls her eyes at him. “Yes, I know, you’re tougher than the rain and wind and you’re made out of pain and hunger, but you’re not dressed for this climate. Let’s get you in front of a fire. I didn’t come to your aid yet again for you to catch consumption in fucking stinking Thieves Alley.” Vane knows better than to argue with her when she takes that tone.

He falls into step beside her and follows her through a series of alleyways, up some back stairs to a garret. It’s two rooms, sparse but clean, a fire burned down to embers in the small hearth. She drags two chairs and a small table closer to the fireplace and gestures for him to sit while she sets about stoking the fire. He finds himself admiring the quiet confidence with which she moves, the deft precision of her hands. That hasn’t changed. The wooden chair feels like heaven after a night on his feet, and the fire quickly warms the small room. He slouches back and stares into the flames while Margaret bustles around, hanging her coat on a peg, boiling the kettle. Unconsciously, the fingers of one hand worry at the scar on his neck left by the hangman’s noose. It’s slight, but it’s there. In most ways he’s recovered from his brief hempen jig. He can sometimes go hours without thinking of it, but there will always be reminders. Much, Vane muses, like his years sailing with Edward Teach and daughter.

Everything hurt. The latest flogging from the taskmaster tore his back open from shoulder to waist, and he could barely stand. His whole body was wracked with fever. He heard a girl’s voice, and a man’s voice, both unfamiliar, distorted-sounding, and then he was being carried. He must have lost consciousness; when he came to, the whole world was swaying and he heard the creaking of boards, waves lapping against the...hull? Why was he on a ship? Had he been sold again? And then a girl about his own age was looking down at him with a grave expression, her hair in a braid and her big eyes curious. “Where am I?” he asked her. “You’re on the Revenge,“ she said, and, seeming to intuit his next question, she added “you’re free now. We’re all free here. We’re pirates.” There was pride in her voice and her posture at that last. He later learned he was free because Margaret Teach talked her father into taking him with them.

In the silence that has fallen between them, his stomach growls. He tries to ignore it, but she’s heard. She fetches bread and cheese from a box on the windowsill, a bottle of rum, and a pair of dented tin mugs into which she pours tea, putting it all on the table between them.

That’s what seemed off. She’s wearing a dress, and it’s all wrong. It flatters her well, but it’s all wrong. A proper pirate like her, dressed like a merchant’s wife.

Margaret raises an eyebrow at the look on his face. “It isn't poisoned, Charles” she says dryly as she pours rum into her tea. “If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead by now. I wouldn’t waste good rum.”

He takes the offered bottle and adds a heavy pour to his own tea, then takes a sip and lets it burn all the way down to his belly. “Thrown your lot in with civilization, have you?”

“No.” Her knuckles whiten on the edge of the table and she scowls. “I fucking hate it here.”

He reaches over and places a hand on hers, and is gratified when she doesn’t pull it away. “You’re like me, Magpie. We belong at sea.”

“We do.” Her voice is quiet, wistful. “Nobody’s called me that since Sully died.”

Sully grinned at the way Margaret's eyes tracked the doubloon that Vane set dancing back and forth across his knuckles. “You’re a magpie, that’s what you are.”

“ What’s a magpie?” she asked.

“Very clever little bird, a bit like a crow. They’ll steal anything that catches their eye, especially if it’s shiny, and they’ll have a go at birds of prey many times their size. They live in England.”

Margaret curled her lip. “Fuck England.”

“Fuck England,” Sully agreed. “Rest of it suits you, though.”

Vane thought it was apt for the clever dark-haired pirate girl. His fierce little Magpie.

She turns her hand over in his and gives it a brief squeeze. “I don’t mind you calling me that.” They finish their meal in silence, but it almost feels like the silence of old times. As in old times, it’s easy to fall back into task organizing without needing to discuss it much; he clears up the remnants of their meal while she makes up a cot for him near the hearth.

He hadn’t expected her to invite him to her bed, not really; she never did in the past, and the disastrous choices he made when he was a young man likely destroyed any chance of that in the future. They’re no longer children with a habit of falling asleep in a pile among coils of rope like a litter of alley cats between their watches. But now, all these years later, they’re reunited. It will have to be enough.

From the other room, he hears a sob, quickly stifled. Vane knows Margaret doesn’t want him to know she’s crying, perhaps wants it less even than he wants her to cry, yet how can he ignore the pain she’s in? He tries her door, only to find she’s bolted it from within. He returns to his cot. Eventually sleep takes him, and by some mercy, he does not dream.

[cherry3point14]

What Does The Fox Say?

Pairing: Dean x Reader Warnings: Crack. Orgy. Sex Party. Don’t let your nethers tingle, it’s barely flirting. SYNONYMS. Word Count: 2,300ish.   Summary/Prompt: There’s a case. Witches or something, and they’re killing people, specifically furries, maybe. As such one Dean Winchester goes to a furry sex party to look for clues... A/N: Written for @kalesrebellion​ “Bring On the Giggles” challenge. I think hope my synonyms for this challenge will be fairly obvious. Also, shoutout to @winchesters-meaty-feast​ who entertained my panic as this deadline loomed and pretty much talked me into birthing this ~thing. Sidenote - no disrespect to the furries who walk among us. It’s all exaggerated crack!fic. Peace and love. Yiffy on friends.

From the outside, it looks like any other two-story townhouse. There’s a car parked out front, normal mailbox, the works. Regular suburban home. The first clue that something out of the ordinary is happening inside—where the ordinary is mom, dad, and two-point four ankle-biters having dinner—is the windows. They’re all covered, curtains or blinds, it doesn’t matter. This is what it looks like when humans try to cover their tracks. Monsters choose places that are already deserted and forgotten. Humans hide in plain sight and end up sticking out like a sore thumb. Plus Dean has spent all day talking to furries about this house. Yeah, that’s the biggest clue, not the damn curtains. He’s had multiple lectures, not only from Sam but the furries, people, themselves. It’s not all about porn. They’d told him adamantly. Showed him drawings and all these things they’d made each other, and pictures from their conventions. We’re not all perverts! They could say it until they were blue in the face (they had), but Dean’s standing here looking at this house, knowing what’s inside, and it’s hard to believe the furries-are-innocent propaganda. It’s even harder to believe he’s walking in there of his own free will. The things he’ll do to save lives. Sam told him to change because “Freeze, FBI” might not go down well at this particular house party. What’s he supposed to change into? A Halloween costume? That suggestion earned him yet another talk about respecting people’s interests. Whatever. He gets it, they don’t all have full fursuit things and even the ones that do, don’t generally fuck in them, and really? Is it really fucking necessary that he knows this much about furries? At least he can put on a plain black tee and some jeans and Sam only half presses his lips together in disapproval. What is his brother expecting him to wear to a furry sex party? Cat ears? (Dean is offended by the implication even if Sam didn't say it out loud). Eventually, shuffling his feet, he makes it to the door and knocks. He doesn’t want to be here but Sam’s working another lead on the other side of town at a D&D meet up. All jokes about dungeons aside, Dean would have given up his music privileges all the way back to Kansas to switch places. Once again, scissors bit him in the ass. The door opens a few inches, enough to see, hand to god, a guy in white rabbit-ish body paint. He raises his eyebrows in Dean’s direction like he’s asking for something without saying the words. The guy definitely doesn’t twitch his nose and it definitely doesn’t remind Dean of that bunny from Bambi. Oh shit. The password. Right, because that was how you made a gathering like this more legit and less embarrassing. Dean’s throat tightens like the words don’t want to come out, or like he doesn’t want them to exist, “Yiffy Ki Yay.” Furry sons of bitches have even ruined Die Hard. The guy nods and pulls the door open enough to let Dean slide in, but not reveal too much of the clandestine activities to the outside world. Not that anyone on Maple Avenue is looking into this particular door. Either the neighbors know better or they don’t care. Although now that he’s inside Dean can see his nameless host is also wearing tall, white ears and furry cuffs on his ankles and wrists. The first of what, Dean assumes, will be many red flags that he should leave. Not that he heeds the warning. “First time?” The rabbit asks while Dean attempts to scan as much as he can see without a slack jaw. “Yeah,” he breathes out. Dean has been around the block. He’s seen the inside of more than just strip clubs. His number one use of the Internet is porn, his second? More porn. This is something else. He’s not judging, well, he's trying not to judge and failing miserably. These people aren’t hurting anyone though. In fact, someone might be trying to hurt them. Or the D&D players. They were still on the fence about how the groups were linked beside the weird deaths. Granted some of this party seems very vanilla from what he can see. He catches a glimpse of the dining room, which has been cleared of most of its furniture, and there’s your everyday orgy of mangled limbs. Those limbs happen to be a little furrier than normal is all. Thankfully not everyone is dressed as an animal. Not that anybody will be telling Sam that he was right. Some people are dotted around watching, or drinking like the sex isn’t happening, and some of the people getting involved are in plain clothes. Or, naked but not wearing any sort of animal accessory. At first glance, there’s a part of Dean that thinks he can appreciate the hedonism of it, without being bogged down by the fact that they're all cosplaying as goddamn animals. Animal enthusiasts, he corrects in his head before Sam telepathically delivers a bitch face from across town. And then he’s walking through the kitchen and there are two people nuzzling each other. People might not be the right word because they’re dressed as cats. Holding each other and stretching and bending their limbs. All feline movements and what he thinks is a purring noise, but he can’t confirm or deny because of the music coming from the cheap speakers on the counter. It might be sweet if it wasn’t in the middle of a sex party. Yeah, this is still going to take some getting used to. The rabbit is yammering, mentioning ground rules that Dean is only half listening to while he tries not to stare at the cats. He’s listening enough to follow the rules but actually, he can’t bring himself to look away from the most PC thing happening in the joint. “Did you get that because I heard the door…?” This time Floppy speaks with enough urgency that Dean snaps his focus back to the white rabbit. “Yeah, that’s fine. I’ll-” he wants to say ‘mingle’ like it’s a seventies swingers party and his biggest concern is where his car keys are. He licks his dry lips and they still feel like sandpaper, “-look around.” He does need to look around, talk to people, do his job. That’s why he’s here feeling like the spare dick at a fucking contest. Dean knows his limits though and before he investigates he's gonna need a beer.  Once he’s got a bottle in his hand, which he got from the fridge because he doesn’t trust anything that was sitting on any surface, even unopened, he starts climbing the stairs. The tinny music, the sound of bodies slapping against each other, and the low din of people talking like normal adults all fade with each step until he’s at the top. Practically not at a furry orgy anymore. Except it’s a new horrific game now. What’s behind door number one? Somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembers Whiskers going on about the rules of the rooms. Lock up if you want privacy. Unlocked and shut means viewers welcome. Open doors are an invitation to play. That’s the word Thumper had used, play. The first door is locked. He skips the second because he can hear what's going on inside and even if he was in the mood to creep (he’s not), you don't walk in on the money shot. The third room is a bathroom, a stark reminder he's in a house that people live in. The fourth door he tries is blissfully empty. It looks like a guest room. Walls that are basic beige and nothing identifying. Then he sits on the bed and presses his back into the wall. He realizes this bed has probably been used for the activities he’s already seen tonight. Out of sight, out of mind. Dean takes out his phone and stares, annoyed, at the screen. Sam hasn’t messaged him, so the case isn’t solved and he doesn’t have an excuse to leave. He takes a swig of his beer and types with his free hand, trying to make an excuse. Find anything yet? Another long drag while he waits, forcing the drink down his throat in the hopes of some small semblance of dutch courage. Or in the hopes that everything is solved, so he can go back to the motel and beat his meat to hentai like a normal person. No, but this is actually really interesting. You? Dean’s fingers twitch wanting nothing more than to throw the phone against a wall. If he wasn’t obligated to text back to illustrate that he’s still alive then he might leave Sam high and dry. As it is his reply is short and simple. Nothing. He feels no need to mention that he hasn’t actually looked yet. Dean puts his phone away and throws his head back against the wall at the exact moment the door opens. She stumbles in with the ghost of a giggle on her lips. He’s expecting there to be someone following her considering the party he’s attending. Two people blundering into a room looking for a place to get some privacy. Except she’s alone and she’s not concerned to find him alone either. Her eyes widen a little but her smile is soft, “sorry, you’re not waiting on someone are you?” “Me?” He asks, concerned that he has picked up some paraphernalia along the way. Anything that might suggest he’s a part of this. She continues to wait for an answer to her question instead of answering his. “No, Nah. Just taking a breather.” “Thank god, me too.” She blows out a relieved puff of air before shutting the door behind her. In doing so she flashes him her tail. She’s a fox. Or some version of a fox. She hasn’t gone as far as body paint. Her outfit almost seems costumey rather than serious. It’s this orange mini dress—if it could be called a dress for how little it leaves to his imagination—with a bushy, foxtail attached. He hadn’t noticed her ears immediately, but now he’s seen them, there they are. Ginger and pointed on top of her head, and when she turns back to him he finally notices the little, black nose she has painted on. She sits down next to him, scoots herself on top of the sheets making them bunch under her. She doesn’t seem to care about him having dibs over the bed or room and it only takes a few seconds for him to not care either. In this close proximity, inches apart, he doesn’t see a fox, even if she is definitely dressed up as a fox. He sees bare legs crossed at the ankle, her dress fighting to contain her cleavage and the sheen of her skin from dancing. She’s holding a red solo cup, he assumes half full of alcohol considering the pink flushing her cheeks. “I’m going to take a guess,” she leans until her shoulder is pressed against his arm, “you’re either a first-timer or you’re lost.” Dean laughs because he feels lost even if his cover is supposed to be the former. “First time, that obvious, huh? Thanks for pointing it out. Real considerate of you.” She bites her lip enough to get him looking at her mouth. Thinking about her mouth. “Wolf?” “What?” “I get it, first-timers are still trying to be normal, but the dark colors and the brooding loner thing you have going on in here. A wolf missing his pack?” She brings her knees up and bends her legs under herself while she guesses. Twists her body in his direction. He can’t tell if she’s joking. It sounds half ridiculous and makes him think of the kind of wolves he hunts. Dean lies anyway, “ding ding. Tell the woman what she’s won. Or do you prefer..?” Dean waves a hand to her everything fox related as if he might seriously start using ‘fox’ instead of ��woman’. His gesturing hand lands on her waist while the other takes another swig from his brown bottle. “‘S fine. We’re all still people underneath. I’ve got a job and everything.” She rolls her shoulders like she’s showing off for being employed, which shuffles her whole body half an inch closer to his until her knees are touching his thigh. She’s facing him, his arm still lazily, half wrapped around her as she raises her cup to her lips. “Oh yeah, what do you do, sweetheart?” He lets the syrup fall from his mouth because foxes like honey.

She laughs, the sound tinkles in the space between them. “I’m a diner chef. Nothing exciting unless you like to eat?” His tongue peeks out between his teeth, his lips smirking suggestively. “I’ve been known to enjoy a-,” Dean's eyes flick down her body to where her dress is stretching over her thighs, and then back to her face, “fur burger.” Nowhere else on the fucking planet would he get away with saying that. Only at a furry sex party. She doesn’t just smile at his line though, she hums, pleased he’s playing along, and slides a hand along the outer hem of his jeans. Fingers slowly crawling up his leg and tracing the denim.

One blink and the air is thicker, heavier, and Dean doesn’t give a shit when it happened.

Her eyes flash playfully as she finishes her drink. “Mmm, the only way to make sure a burger is done is a good thrust of a meat thermometer.” 

5eva tags: @divadinag​ @darthdeziewok​ @fluentinfiction​ @witch-of-letters​ @supernatural-teamfreewill-blog​​ @magnitude101999​ @alexwinchester23​ @jesseswartzwelder​ Dean babes: @thewinchesterchronicles​ @akshi8278​ @erins-culinary-service​ @bloodydaydreamer​ @iamabeautifulperson18​ @ellewritesfix05​

[neon-junkie]

Could I request a Micah Angsty oneshot where his high honour s/o sacrifices themselves for him? Maybe angry dad Hosea and Arthur when he comes back to camp?

sorry this is a lil short!! gender neutral reader, and fics under the cut as theres death involved (obviously lol) 

my followers: please rat, please not another micah fic, please.

me: hehehe but this ones angsty 

It all happened so fast. Within a heartbeat, a blink of an eye, a short and quick breath. The bullet tore through you and everything went black, like the lights were suddenly flicked off. Micah saw your body hit the ground and in that moment, he knew that you were gone.

You'd seen an enemy appear from behind, aiming for Micah and firing their gun. As you shot them back, you rode behind Micah, blocking the bullet with your own body. Your corpse slumped off your horse, lifeless by the time it hit the dirt.

Your passing made his blood boil. He felt sick, ready to vomit at any moment. He was quick to kill the remaining enemies, shouting as he did so, screaming and cursing them for ending you. Micah practically jumped off Baylock, quickly holstering his guns as he scurried over to you.

"No... No, darlin', c'mon," Micah muttered as he rolled your body over. He jumped to his feet in shock when he confirmed that you were gone. Micah screamed, stomping around, kicking the enemy's bodies as he tried to walk his anger off. He couldn't burn it off, no matter how many times he kicked them, no matter how many extra bullets he shot into their corpses. It wasn't going to bring you back.

Tears were streaming down his already puffy eyes as he went back over to you, sitting on his knees as he cradled you in his arms, sobbing into you. "Please..." he muttered over and over, asking whatever superior power that's in the sky to bring you back. "You shouldn't have done that, sweetheart," he tells you, his hands kneading the fabric of your shirt, clinging onto you.

Micah's list of priorities now shuffled back down to three - Baylock, his guns, and himself. He had always held you at his highest, still in shock that an angel like you was so sweet on a devil like him.

Through his tears, he could see the ring on your finger. He was so close to making you his, just days away from saying that wholesome "I do" line. He once swore that he'd never get soft on anybody, that all he needed was himself, but you turned him into mush when you first met.

Micah continued sobbing into you, the voice in the back of his head screaming at him to get a move on. He needed to get out of there fast. This commotion happened far too close to town and the law was definitely on the way. Micah, with tears still flooding from his eyes, picked up your body, managing to mount Baylock with you in his arms. He holds onto you like a mother holds their baby, cradling you against him as he rode away, your horse following him.

By the time evening arrived, Micah had picked out a nice spot for you to lay. He felt sick as he dug your grave, shivering at the thought of your corpse lying a few meters away. Before he laid you into the ground, he took your wedding ring that he had stowed in his saddlebags, so eager for that day to come. The pair were one of the few things he had ever paid for. His heart ached as he placed the ring on your finger, just above your engagement ring that he couldn't bear to remove.

Micah laid you to rest, deciding he would pick out a nice headstone for you when he came to visit you next. He was shaking, wanting to vomit but nothing would come up. His beard had been washed many times over from the tears that wouldn't stop streaming from his eyes, the taste of salt fresh on his lips.

Micah took his bedroll from Baylock, lying it beside your grave as he laid next to you, wallowing in despair as he tried to come to terms with the fact that you were gone.

Why did you sacrifice yourself for him? Micah asks the question over and over. He'd been raised to know how cruel and cynical this world was, but to have this happen to him made him shake. He lay beside you for hours, thinking, beating himself up for being the cause of your death. He wasn't, but he felt certain he was, despite knowing that this is what you wanted. He thought of every split second where he could have saved you, or just not taken you with him in the first place. If only he saw that enemy approaching, then you'd be here right now.

You'd been riding with Micah for so long. You knew the risk of your chosen lifestyle, you knew that you'd die from a bullet one day, but neither of you expected that day to come so soon. Especially not with your wedding around the corner.

He eventually cries himself to sleep, his body practically passing out from exhaustion. Micah's drained. His heart is empty and shattered. He spends the next day beside you, eventually forcing himself up and deciding to return to camp in the evening.

Micah takes his time returning to camp, his stomach rumbling but he doesn't have the energy nor appetite to eat. He looks worn down, his eyes are heavy and empty, and he barely has the energy to stand or ride.

Micah arrives, your horse and their empty saddle following behind. It's normal to have members trail in and out of camp, but everybody's attention is drawn to your empty horse. That sight was definitely not normal.

Arthur's quick to his feet, storming through the camp. "Where's (Y/N)?" Arthur asks as he approaches Micah. Micah avoids looking at him as he dismounts, trying to walk away.

"They're gone," Micah bluntly tells him, head down as he walks. Arthur grabs him by the scruff of his shirt.

"You mean they've been killed?" Arthur grits his teeth. Micah swats Arthur's hand away, attempting to walk away again but Arthur's right on his tail.

"Yes. That's what gone means," Micah tells him.

"What'd you do, Micah?" Arthur asks.

"I didn't do anything."

"Of course you fucking didn't. That why they're dead!"

Micah stops, snapping his head around at that remark. He see's red, his blood reaching boiling point.

"Don't you talk to me like that, Morgan. You don't know the circumstances," Micah tells him, trying to push him away.

"Well, I know you fucked up and got 'em killed, and that's enough for me," Arthur shakes his head as he squares up to Micah, the two of them ready to scrap.

"You have no idea on what you're talking about. You weren't there. It ain't my fault, Morgan," Micah spits back. All he wants is some time alone but there's no way he's getting that soon.

"This is your fucking fault! Dutch is gonna have your head when he hears about this," Arthur spat at him, the sound of his voice echoing for miles. Micah pushes him away. Arthur's about to swing for him until the camp's grandpa gets involved, trying to break this commotion up.

"Enough!" Hosea says as he approaches, his hands resting on both of their chests as he pushes them away from each other. "The two of you, stop this foolishness. Arguments won't bring our dear (Y/N) back."

Hosea ensure's there a few meter distance from the two of them, physically dragging them away from each other. The two of them are still alert, staring each other down like two bucks waiting to smash their antlers.

"Mister Bell, how did this happen?" Hosea asks.

"They were shot when we bumped into a couple of our friends, the O'Driscolls," Micah tells him, his eyes still on Arthur. Hosea notices this and moves so he's blocking Arthur from Micah's line of sight, drawing Micah's attention to him.

"And the body?"

"Buried."

"And why couldn't you save them?" Hosea asks with a tint of frustration to his voice. Micah rolls his eyes, raising his arms out, sighing.

"Because they jumped in the way to save me," he states. Arthur and Hosea take a step back, shaking at the idea that you had sacrificed yourself for this man. "I don't understand why I'm being attacked here, I did what I could, now leave me be, would ya?" Micah turns heel and starts walking away.

"It should have been you!" Arthur shouts at him. Micah mutters 'I know' under his breath as leaves the camp.

This time, he manages to get away. Arthur goes to follow him but Hosea is quick to stop him, telling Arthur to give him some time alone.

"Hosea," Arthur says.

"I know, Arthur. We'll let Dutch handle this," Hosea tells him, placing his arm on Arthurs back as he urges the larger man to walk back to camp with him.

Micah storms out of the camp, finding a spot in the forest to wallow for a while. He leans against a tree, letting out a deep sigh as he allows himself to start crying again. His body feels exhausted, begging for rest from all this mourning.

Micah spends hours by himself, thinking, crying, aching to have you back. He reaches into his pocket, taking out his wedding ring. Micah places the ring on his finger, staring at it. His thumb rubs over it, twiddling the gold ring as he gets used to the feeling of it. Being a married man was never on his list of life goals, but he classes himself as one now.

He vows to keep this ring on for as long as he lives, he'll take it to the grave with him too, hopefully finding you in another life.

[mesangelique]

Part 1/2 of a story with a pairing no one requested : JOHN MARSTON/KIERAN DUFFY (I will post it on AO3 tomorrow)

Rating : R / 18+

Warning : alcohol, drunk sex, SMUT (but not in this part)

Thanks to @bluesilksilverspurs for the beta reading 🤠, I hope you will give this pairing a chance and like this first part ~

It's been a long day, an exhausting one. Arthur, John, Bill and Kieran went to Six Points cabin, hoping to find Colm O'Driscoll, but they found nothing spare a little cash, and Arthur's life had been saved by the « ex O'Driscoll boy » - otherwise known as Kieran Duffy. In doing so, Kieran had earned the right to be able to stay with the gang like any other member, doing chores and taking care of horses. Oh, he is well aware he won’t be able to disappear for days on end as Arthur or Micah do, but at least he won’t be tied to that tree anymore.

 

 When the group got back to the camp and were explaining to Dutch what had happened, Lenny had arrived, panting, terrified, babbling about Micah waiting to be hung in Strawberry’s jail. At that point, Dutch suggested Arthur take Lenny into Valentine to relax a little, and now, hours later, John noticed he himself was drunk as he stood up from the stool in the saloon. The world started to turn around as if he was on a roller coaster, but all he managed to do was order another drink.

 

 Arthur and Lenny had the great idea to invite John and Kieran to their little "having only one drink” thing. John was invited because he was standing there when Dutch suggested the outing, and Kieran mostly because that kid saved Mister Morgan's life - and desperately needed a bath. Hosea had also told Arthur that they had to accept him in the gang. John didn’t care much for stuff like that as long as this O’Driscoll was getting a good wash first.

 

 And speaking of the O'Driscoll boy - he had just taken a whiskey and sat right next to John, drinking thirstily straight from the bottle. John couldn't help but look at him, squinting his eyes. Now that he was clean, smelling of soap and tobacco instead of horseshit and piss, with his hair framing his thin face, he was not THAT disgusting… Actually, it was maybe the first time John was really looking at him; at his thin beard, his worried dark green eyes, his nose. John frowned. He shouldn’t be looking at him like that. But he was drunk.

 

 Yes, that's why.

 

 "Think ye can drink better than me, O'Driscoll boy?" He chuckled deeply, his laugh raspy like his voice. He didn't have to find anything else to say to have Kieran looking at him with his scared deer eyes, a rabbit about to run for his dear life. "C'mere I'll show ya how WE drink."

 

 Not giving him time to answer, he grabbed Kieran's whiskey bottle and brought it to his lips, taking big gulps, the whisky running right down his throat, burning and warming him up, and once he had run out of breath he handed the bottle back. John had to admit he was quite proud of his performance - he didn't choke or end up coughing.

 

 "Dare you to do better than that. O'Driscoll." He whispered, leaning a bit towards Kieran, smirking arrogantly. Why was he like this suddenly? Why did he suddenly want to impress that O'Driscoll boy? Ah yes, he was drunk, maybe he didn’t have to search further for a reason, maybe …

 

 Kieran’s eyes were wide, seeing his bottle being stolen like that. He was already tipsy, so he didn’t react like he normally would. Actually, he had been focusing on John Adam’s apple, the way it had bobbed up and down as he swallowed the alcohol… That ride earlier, where his body was fully pressed against the other man’s had made him look at John Marston differently.

 

 And here, now, he was mostly drunk, and his initial shyness was gone. He was just chuckling, cheeks red like a teenager, a happy one, the one he never was. Being alone like this with John should be quite embarrassing, to be honest, and at first he had been afraid. But now... John was so drunk he probably wouldn’t be able to walk straight. He was giggling and evidently really proud of his drinking performance.

 "Gimme that- you'll see I can!" Kieran retorted, reacting to John’s arrogant smirk and trying to avoid looking too long at the man’s lips and at that drop of whisky on his neck. Without much more thought, he took the bottle and emptied it. A delicious burning sensation in his throat, his head feeling so light he could float. All his anxiety, all his problems just drowned in the liquor, and so he laughed, pushing the bottle away, proudly looking at the other man.

 "Ah ah! See Marston? Was able to follow you on this!" Kieran chuckled, smiling and wiggling his eyebrows (or trying to do so at least). He closed his eyes for a few seconds and suddenly, a hot wave was spreading all over his body, thickening his saliva. Now he was looking at John, at his dirty hair, his three days old beard, his scars … How fascinating are these scars, how marvellous they are … That very one on his lips.

 "Pheeew, it’s so hot in here." The ex-O’Driscoll breathed out, looking at the ceiling, taking his dust coat off. He felt like he was on fire right now. He would love to jump naked in some river... or in some horse's trough. His cheeks were red and burning, and he could almost feel sweat droplets forming on the back of his neck. He continued, "So hot in here…. So, what we doin' now – ya know, since I finished the bottle" Kieran chuckled, trying to get rid of his neckerchief.

 

 Oh he is a mess, a fucking mess right now, unable to talk properly, babbling shitty stuff that is ricocheting about in his head. He must be mad - drinking that whole bottle hadn’t really been a good idea. Even if he thought it had impressed John… John had watched him emptying the bottle, mesmerized, in fact, by the sight of that boy drinking like he hadn't drank in days.

 

 "Ain'tcha a thirsty one, eh?" John had given a husky laugh when Kieran lowered the empty bottle and then started whining about the temperature. He can feel a warm feeling in his groin, spreading up his spine right now, and it is making him feel like he is burning too. That very same feeling he has when a pretty lady walks by and he pulls her onto his lap. The only problem is that he ain't looking at a pretty lady right now. He is looking at a very drunk O'Driscoll boy. Well, an ex-O’Driscoll boy. He is looking at Mister Duffy. Kieran. Kieran Duffy. What kind of a fool is he, John Marston, to be looking at a guy like this? The last time it happened was a decade ago. But he is drunk tonight, so that must be why. That’s obviously why.

 

 "I suppose you're pretty hot now what with all that booze you've been drinkin'. C'mon, let's get out of here and take some air" John grumbled, pushing away from the counter and bumping into some tables before finally making it to the back door. He opened it roughly, almost knocking an old man backwards while doing so. John could hear Kieran behind him, trying to act naturally, as if they hadn’t just been drinking like two sailors, and as he held the door open for him, he was able to clearly see that Kieran was having a hard time even walking straight.

 

 As Kieran drew level with John, he even tripped, and although John did not know how, or why, his reflex was to react fast, fast enough to grab him. The amount of alcohol in his own blood was sapping away at his strength though and ultimately he found himself pinning Kieran against the nearest wall with the weight of his whole body, his hands on each side of Kieran’s head and his face almost buried in his neck. His body felt spineless and he was suddenly very tired. Both of them were giggling like teenagers after their first beer. He couldn’t even feel his legs anymore. In fact, neither of them could feel their legs right now.

 

After almost collapsing on at least three occasions, they were both outside proper now. Navigating the tiny step outside of the saloon almost pitched both of them over, which was no surprise at all seeing as how drunk they were, but now they were here, leaning against another wall. How did they even make it this far? No one will ever know.

 

"You alright?" John asked in a thick voice, their noses nearly touching. They are close. Really, really close. Kieran can feel every piece of the wood behind him snagging on his shirt and scratching his back, he can feel how muddy the ground is, how cold the air is but how hot he feels, like he is burning inside. He tried to focus on everything but their sudden closeness. Because the problem is the ex-O’Driscoll is far more into men than the church wants him to be, than society wants him to be – it’s a problem he has known about for a long time, and has tried to hide for even longer… people get hanged for it. Kieran could hear his heart in his ears, his blood pumping roughly, and his lungs running out of air, his tongue heavy in his mouth but most importantly that warmth waking up in his lower belly, spreading in his groin, curling up his spine. Having John Marston, drunk, his nose almost against his, his body flush against him... He swallowed thickly, looking at John’s lips as though hypnotised, and managed to nod, his green, greyish eyes glancing over John’s scars.

 

"Y-es. 'Am alright, Mister." He whispers.

 

 John's breathing was suddenly deep and fast. He could feel Kieran's warmth mixing with his own. Strangely, he didn’t mind. He knew damn well he was already growing hard, mostly because of the  alcohol, of course. He always got so horny when he started getting drunk, so the fact that it was Kieran and not another cheap whore isn’t so surprising, right? The fact that he found Kieran’s eyes fascinating and his lips kissable right now, and his so thin, fragile collarbone beautiful – that was just the alcohol. This closeness wasn’t helping, creating friction on his - their - cock under his – their - pants, having him - them - hum deeply, both acting like they did not hear or feel the other.

 

"Yea? That's good then. Yea."

 

 There was a silence then when John met Kieran's eyes, and his mind was filled up with dark fantasy and desire and want and that need of possession. He rarely felt that with a girl, that possessiveness rising. But he had really drank a lot tonight, they both had really drank a lot, and Kieran looked like a lamb waiting for a wolf to eat him.

 

 "Thought you were hot? Gotta do something about that, right?" John whispered thickly, lowering his eyes to Kieran's throat, almost able to hear his thundering beating heart when his hands went to the collar of his shirt and started working on the buttons. The alcohol doesn’t help his fingers at all, but he was slipping one button free and then another…

 

"Yeah- I'm… I'm hot - but w...whatabout you ?" Kieran whispered back, trying to keep his voice steady, but freezing immediately, unsure. He could feel John’s hands on his shirt, feel his fingers working on opening it – the way his breath was coming quicker and his eyes had grown significantly darker. Kieran couldn’t help but bite his lip, and couldn’t decide if he hoped John would notice it or not, the way he himself has noticed John’s hooded lustful gaze and the way he is staring at his face, his neck.

[himbowelsh]

If you want to, 9 or 19 with webgott? I hope you have a wonderful week 💕

i’ve got another prompt for #19, so how about #9?

sha-la-la-la my oh my, looks like the boy’s too shy  💋 (accepting!)  9.  one small kiss, pulling away for an instant, then devouring each other 

The stars are brighter tonight than any other time in recent memory... and it’s not like Austrian skies aren’t impressive as a rule. The nights shine brighter in the countryside than they ever did over the bustle of New York City. No matter how many times he sees the skies alight, David will never get used to it. Something divine shimmers in each blinking star, something earnest and mythical in the constellations strewn like New Years’ confetti across the sky. He is not a spiritual man, but Austrian nights make him feel like he could be, maybe.

Tonight, the sky is putting in extra effort. Each star feels like a beacon, calling him away from war and mourning. One of them, he muses, might be Janovec. 

He spun off the road just that morning, with little warning and no fanfare. One second, he was alive. The next... the war had claimed him too, and he didn’t even have a bullet wound to show for it.

The men who died on D-Day were heroes. David saw them drown in waist-deep swamps... gurgle to death on blood and bullets... strangled by their own risers and left hanging from trees like Halloween decorations. Heroic deaths, all of them, and their parents must claim some sense of pride in knowing their sons lives ended, not in agony and fear, but in resolute patriotism.

American heroes still sob for their mothers in their last moments. David still hears their screams.

Isn’t it such a privilege to die for one’s country?

Janovec didn’t even get that. He wasn’t taken out by enemy gunfire — only it was an American Jeep, and an enemy tree. Hoobler didn’t die in the heat of battle. His killer was a German pistol, but an American hand. Van Klinken caught machine gun fire, but he bled to death on Dutch soil, with Dutch dirt in his mouth and Dutch ash mixing with his tears.

Will they be called heroes, now that the fighting is done?

Austrian summer is warm, but there’s always a chill this high up. It bites at David’s exposed skin. He draws himself up a bit tighter, knees pulling close to his chest. There’s no real danger of overbalancing. The street may be a dizzying distance below, but this part of the rooftop is steady and nearly flat. He’d never have climbed out otherwise. David is not in the business of risking his own life unnecessarily. He fought a war, which ought to be enough; he’s got no intention of dying now that it’s done.

(Done for some, in limbo for others. In a few months, will they all be speaking Japanese?)

It’s chilly up here, but quiet, and perfectly dark — exactly what he was looking for. The sky sprawls above him, endless and alive with constellations. Each one welcomes him, calls out to him, tugs at the exposed threads of his soul. There, glistening brightly off to the right — is that Janovec? There, the one with the steady glow — Hoobler? Or maybe it’s Jackson — maybe those twin stars, glittering playfully side by side, are Muck and Penkala. Maybe there’s a place in the sky for more — hundreds, thousands, him —

“You gotta be kidding me.”

The unexpected voice jars him, like waking from a deep sleep. David flails. If the roof were any more perilous, he’d have certainly gone over the edge — but if this occurs to the intruder clambering out the rooftop window, he doesn’t seem to care.

“Of all the places — ow, fuck —“ Joe Liebgott smacks his head against the top of the frame. He’s too lanky; on the ground, he carries his long limbs with the grace of a feline, but he clearly wasn’t made for cat burglary. David sucks his lip, determined not to laugh, as Joe awkwardly forces his too-big body through the opening. “Of all the places to get yourself killed, Web, you know how to pick ‘em.”

“Figured it would have happened by now, in some way or another,” he replies with an easy shrug. “Why wait for anyone’s help?”

Joe says nothing — unless another muffled curse as his foot gets caught on the frame counts. By the time he manages to haul himself out onto the rooftop, he’s got a tear in his shirt sleeve, and multiple bruises to show for the effort. Never mind the fact that David didn’t invite him, or tell him where he was going; Joe still huffs at him as if it’s somehow his fault.

“People who can’t climb out windows typically shouldn’t,” is all David has to say on the subject.

“If they were made to be climbed out of, they’d be bigger.” Joe inches forward on his hands and knees, peering over the ledge with his typical morbid curiosity. A low whistle echoes through the quiet night. With a sigh, David settles back in his comfortable spot, watching the interloper warily. He doesn’t know why Joe’s here. Nevermind what he wants — he’s never been able to figure that out, and they’ve known each other for nearly a year now.

Instead of explaining himself, as he can usually be relied on to do, Joe goes quiet. It’s... somehow worse than chatter. Silence is heavy, like a lead blanket draped over their shoulders, weighing them both down. It feels more intimate, somehow. There’s not much space on this rooftop, only a few feet of distance between them, but the longer the quiet stretches on the more that distance shrinks to inches.

If only he’d brought cigarettes — that’s something to share, and a good excuse for sitting alone at night. As it is, if Joe asks what he’s doing out here... David doesn’t know what he’d say.

Joe isn’t paying attention to him, though. His gaze, too, is trained on the sky. No one can escape it tonight.

Unexpected, unbidden, Joe breaks the silence. “You ever think about what’s up there?”

David tenses. Too close to home. “I mean... sure. Sometimes. I guess... lots of gasses, and dust particles, water vapor... and that’s just in our atmosphere.”

Joe casts him a glance that’s half-annoyed, in the way that isn’t really annoyed at all. David hates how  accustomed he’s grown to all those outspoken looks. “You know what I mean,” Joe says — and David says nothing, because he does.

“I used to... think there had to be something up there. Not really people, y’know? My Mom, she tried to raise us the right way — when our pet hamster died, she told us about immortal souls, olam haba, everything that’s supposed to come after. Except I never really...” He gestures for a minute, snapping his fingers like the words elude him. “Got it. My Mom will give you her opinion on anything, but even she can’t say for sure what happens when you die. It was all too hazy for me as a kid. I didn’t know what to look for, or... what it meant.”

David tries to understand. He comes up short, in ways he can’t identify but is painfully aware of. Even so, he tries.

“My mother’s family was Protestant. She used to say there were angels watching over us all the time.” His nose crinkles. “Just to get me to eat my Brussels sprouts, I think. The angels saw me feed them to the dog.”

Joe laughs, sound sharp as a knife in the gentle night. David can’t say why he’s pleased.

“Exactly, though. You Christians pretend to have it all figured out. God’s up there, he’s watching everything, and when your time’s up you’ll either go upstairs or downstairs.” His lips purse, the way they do when he’s trying and failing not to grin. “Jews are still arguing about how many heavens there are.”

“What do you think?” He asks the question before he means to, without really thinking. As soon as it’s out, David regrets it... but Joe doesn’t even spare him a glance.

“Aliens. Real ‘War of The Worlds’ type shit.” Finally, he allows himself to grin, and it only widens as he keeps talking. “Like to think Flash Gordon’s saving the universe up there somewhere. Maybe Superman too, but he’s kind of a chump. Probably some planets we ain’t found yet, suns and moons we ain’t seen.” He’s hesitates. “But I think I like that other idea now... that maybe there are people up there. Maybe there is something... something real after.”

He falls quiet. His hands are braced in front of him, taut as straining metal. David studies them, and doesn’t dare look at Joe.

“How many stars d’you think there are, Web?” Joe asks after a moment.

David has no damned clue. “A lot,” he answers confidently. “Millions.”

“Millions,” echoes Joe. The glittering stars are reflected in his eyes, like black pits sending each beam of light back outward. It’s almost hypnotizing, the way they flicker. If he stares too long, David knows he will get lost in them, so he forcibly tears himself away. Wherever Joe’s mind is going, he can’t — possibly shouldn’t — follow.

Guessing isn’t safe. Wondering isn’t safe. Seeking insight into Joe Liebgott’s mind, when it’s so… enigmatic to Webster’s own has never been, and will never be, safe.

The acrid smell of tobacco startles him. When he looks back over, Joe has lit up a cigarette, and is blowing a long cloud of smoke against the black sky.

“No, really, I’m fine. Thanks for offering,” David drawls, inching closer. Joe’s eyes flicker towards him; his mouth curls up around the cigarette. 

“Only got this one left, Web. If I had one to offer, you know I would.” He clicks his tongue. “I’m generous like that.”

“A modern day Santa Claus, huh?”

“Ho ho,” Joe replies.

David reaches for the cigarette. He doesn’t know why — it’s not like he really wants a smoke — but the idea of doing nothing, of letting silence linger between them as they both stew in their own thoughts, is worse. Also, if Joe gets a bit of relief via Lucky Strike, he’s got no right to hoard it. Determined, David leans forward, even as Joe angles away from him.

“Yeah, no, nice try.”

“Share! You — quit moving, we’re going to fall off the roof.”

“You’ll fall, and I won’t catch you.”

“I’ll drag you down with me!”

He catches the cigarette between his thumb and forefinger, and deftly plucks it from Joe’s grasp. Victorious, David brandishes it high, letting a thin stream of smoke blaze into the night. Over the chorus of Joe’s curses, he takes a drag. It goes too deep into his lungs, too quickly; he ends up sputtering, lurching forward in a chest-rattling burst of coughs. His grip on the cigarette goes loose, and it falls from his hand.

“Shit, Web!”

David is too preoccupied with his lungs turning themselves inside-out to pay attention to Joe… until a hand finds his back, rubbing steady curves between his shoulder blades. He sputters, but Joe is there, coaching him through it, until he’s finally able to take a breath without gagging.

“Oh boy,” he mutters. “Oh god.” Then, realizing Joe’s last cigarette has fumbled straight off the roof, to the cobblestones down below, he hisses. “Shit. Sorry.”

“Nah. Don’t bother.” Joe is still rubbing his back, even though there’s no need to — really, he’s fine. “I can get more when I need ‘em.”

“No, I’ll — I’ll give you some of mine when we get back inside.” He breaks off with another harsh cough. By the time he’s done, David is spent; only a moment too late does he realize he’s slumped back against Joe’s chest.

The other man doesn’t pull away. Joe supports him, easing David upright and bracing his weight. He handles him like a delicate thing… and from Joe Liebgott, who David has never known to be delicate in his life, the treatment is jarring. David looks up at him, gaze pulled as though caught in a magnetic current; he finds Joe staring back. His eyes are dark as ever, still lit with starlight. His lips are wet.

“You okay?” Joe asks.

“Yeah. Fine,” David replies.

“I ain’t mad, Web,” he says, “but I would’ve liked a little more of that smoke before you tried to eat it.”

“I got enough of it to share.”

David’s not sure what the hell he's saying. It doesn’t matter. Joe’s lips twitch.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

His head tilts. David’s eyes close. A second later, Joe’s mouth is on his, warm and tender, and he couldn’t exhale even if he remembered how.

Maybe David’s the first one to cup Joe’s face; maybe Joe’s hand is the first to find his hair; maybe they're twined together for hours, or only a few precious seconds. When they break apart, none of it matters. Joe’s eyes are wide, pitch black. Surely his incredulity must be reflected back in David’s own face, because right now, his heart wants to pound out of his chest.

Joe’s hand is still on his face. He only realizes this when a rough-padded thumb caresses his cheekbone, unspeakably tender. “You okay, Web?” Joe asks again.

“Yeah,” he replies, voice shuddering. “Incredible.”

He’s not sure who moves forward then — it’s probably both of them at once, seizing that impossible instinct driven only by heat and instinct. Everywhere Joe’s skin brushes against his, his nerves explode into an electric shower; his mouth is hot and needy, consuming David’s as soon as they find each other again. Joe draws him in like he’s the only thing left that matters, and David is helpless in his desire to give himself up.

Please, he thinks desperately, kiss me like I matter. Kiss me like we’re both alive, and going to stay that way. Kiss me like the stars aren’t watching, and we’ll live forever.

Joe’s lips are a fantasy, and they thoroughly carry him away. For a moment, he lets himself go. Nothing matters but the pressure of Joe’s lips, sucking dark bruises along his jaw, or the determined hands that grasp at his shoulders. In the heat battle, you learn to zero your focus in on one thing, and that concentration keeps you alive. This is a different heat, a different ear waging between them, but David gives every ounce of attention to Joe all the same. He drives him forward, keeps them moving even when their hearts are beating out an urgent symphony in twin ribcages, and David’s is ready to burst.

“Joe —“ He gasps, over the sound of the other man’s harsh breathing. Joe shushes him, fingers brushing his swollen lips. David leans into the touch. Joe leans back to accommodate him. They both lean too far.

“Shit!”

For a second, it’s blind terror — the ground sliding away beneath them, fumbling for a hand of foothold as the ledge looms closer… 

David catches them both, his heels catching on a gutter and halting his descent. Joe’s still holding onto him, so the momentum carries over. They’re dangerously far down the inclined roof; a certain broken back looks twenty feet below, the ledge within spitting distance. They don’t go over, though, and that makes the difference.

After a moment, Joe exhales a great, shuddering breath. One hand runs through his hair. “Fuck. Jesus fuck. Just lost two decades off my life.”

“Better than losing it all,” David mutters. He’s determined not to look over the ledge. Unconsciously, his grip tightens around Joe; he doesn’t realize Joe’s holding him just as fast until a small tug pulls him back from the roof.

“Come on,” Joe mutters. “Let’s get the hell outta here before we both end up weird stains on the ground.”

He doesn’t need to tell him twice. David casts one last look up at the night sky — serene, twinkling like it knows a secret but doesn’t dare say — before huffing, and clambering up in Joe’s wake.

Existential questions can wait until morning. Joe, on the other hand, has never been good at waiting.

[iam-kenough]

Will you ever notice me? (Arthur Morgan x Original Female Character)

Summary:  Dutch and his boys found a girl hidden inside wrecked shack near their camp. She introduces herself as Iris and starts leading outlaw life with Van der Linde gang, quickly developing feelings towards one, special cowboy. However there is big year gap between them and Arthur sees Iris just as a kid...And girl won’t take that!

Authors notes: I updated two chapters today and I hope few of those who read this story will be happy! It’s just another chapter and you can find the rest of them following masterlist on my blog if you  want to read more of my  fanfiction. Hope you gonna enjoy it! Words count:2921 Chapter 13 Arthur Morgan wasn't leading the best life. It was full of danger, stress and runaways. Man did many things wrong, not looking after Eliza and Isaac to start with,  not learning a lesson to not fuck with young girls as it will ruin their life. And there was Arthur, clinging onto memory of his last fallout with Iris. It was something horrible, something that dragged him down for couple days now. Arthur really wanted to talk with Iris but every time he saw her alone, he couldn't. He had lump in his throat just by looking at girl and when was just sure about what he's gonna say, he forgot all the words. But maybe there were none? Maybe he fucked up another thing that was important to him and he had to cope with it? And finally, maybe it will be easier to shut her out?

She was sitting on the grass and washing up clothes, her hair falling onto her beauitful face. Arthur was worried that broken nose is gonna change her appearance but it was the same, it healed well and quickly as she had vigor in herself. Arthur started sketching Iris, hiding away from her gaze so he could memorize every of her feautures without being noticed.

She's leaving, he overheard, now for sure. The night after John's wedding she's gonna be long gone, moving to some big city. She's leaving even if only to became a waitress instead of robbing people and to live on her own.

All ideas he had were terrible. Arthur was thinking about stealing her money so Iris won't be able to leave so soon but he wanted her to stay and love him, not just make her life more miserable. He noticed piece of his own face reflecting in the mirror that he usually used for shaving and he felt disgusted with himself, putting object face down. Arthur overheard her sobbing in a tent one night and that was it. Do or die - Arthur said to himself, because if he's gonna leave her like that in this very moment, he's gonna become even worse cold motherfucker.

Cowboy peeked inside between two flaps and found Iris lying on the bed, makeup running down her cheeks, visibly drunk. She haven't notice him at first. She was holding a letter and one of he's shirts, cuddling with it.

- Can I come in? - he felt like an idiot even for asking that, knowing the answer. But there was still a blink of hope, right? Iris looked stuttered and embarassed when she noticed his presence but then her features softened. She was drinking again, but it was different. Iris got sentimental today rather than furious or playful and Arthur knew the feeling, he was getting like this too whe he had too much.

Arthur rested on the cot, near to her feet. Without any thinking he started carresing Iris's leg. - I'm okay, not need to pity me - she murmured after a while, wiping tears away, turning face into opposite direction from Arthur's gaze.

- You don't look like ''okay''. I feel like I can help even to pay for small piece of my faults...?

She was starving for his touch, that's why she straightened her legs so he would be more comfortable to reach them. They remained like this in another moment of silence, Arthurs fingers tickling girl's skin.

- Is that my shirt? - he asked, not getting the point of having it.

- Yes, I stole it from your tent last week. Yes, it might be creepy. But...I don't care what you think about me anymore - Iris mumbled.

- I ain't gettin' it, girl, it's just dirty shirt of mine - Arthur shaked his head, eyes widening.

- It's the closest thing to hugging you when I am drunk enough to fool myself it's you lying next to me. Helps me sleepin' too. Arthur rarely felt like falling apart to cry, but this was this moment. After all of that he was still in her heart and she associated him with safety. He decided he's gonna take a bit of luck and he aproached her slowly, takin' her into bear hug. Iris's hands curled around his chest in no time. Arthur was rocking her a little, stroking her hair and small of her back. Iris couldn't fight anymore, even she didn't have enough pride to push Arthur away and shut him out. Cpwboy was needed right now.

- What did I do to deserve it? - she whispered, her voice sad - I will do that again just to have you over even one more time in the future if you'd share this secret...  

- You don't have to to do anythin'. I am the problem here, honey, not you - Arthur's voice was soothing as he planted kiss ontop of Iris's head.

- Arthur, I became homeless today - Iris suddenty changed topic, passing him a piece of paper. It was a poster with her face on it. "Iris Rhiannon/ from Van Der Linde Gang/ Wanted dead or alive/ 2000$".

- That means I have to take all money I saved and probably sell everything I own - girl said as noticed Arthur familiarised himself with poster -  That thing I pulled out with the train couldn't work out without slapping me back. I should've know better.

- Iris, listen - Arthur cut in suddenly, maybe it wasn't the nicest but he didn't care, it was intentions that mattered now - I can help you.

- I'm not pregnant with your child anymore so there's no reason for you looking after me, Arthur. I'm gonna be fine... somehow - Iris hesistated like she tried to convince himself, not Morgan.

- You gonna be fine? Ah, goddamn, woman, don't try to be proud when you obviously need me! You can't even leave the camp now! - Arthur shaked his head, speaking impatiently but she backed off, visibly scared.

- Why did you come here yelling at me, I don't need you! - she pushed him away

- Jesus, I'm sorry - man lowered his tone right away  -  I just ain't gonna let it happen, money means nothin' to me now, okay? Let me save you - he demanded, cupping Iris's small hand with his bigger one.

Iris suddenly gave in and nodded,  blushing briefly. Even if she wasn't thinking about accepting offer for real it was heartwarming and flattering that he tried to fight. Arthur decided he's gonna drink with her tonight, unless none of these words will come out. Man wasn't used to showing weakness, he'd rather be dominant asshole. So he took big gulp from the bottle, preparing for being more tender.

- If the bounty hunters are gonna come for you they won't simply kill you, they gonna take you to town and I'm gonna watch you hang, you know that? That's why I will help you and that's it. - he was giving her this fatherly speech, with low, demanding voice.

- Only if it'll make you feel better - Iris shrugged, tucking strand of  hair behind her ear.

- It's not about me, Darlin' - he caressed girl's head, playing with one of locks - I will probably never gonna pay you back for my deeds so that's good start for me to be a better man, for you.

Iris took a place with her back against tent's wall and started looking at her nails with embarrassment. Her fantasies weren't going so far when she expected to see him, so now it was akward to sit next to him as all of those words didn't seem honest or true.

- Don't overthink it, even if it's gonna be only for now, 'kay?

- I guess you're right. If you are here, we could use this time better. They drank together that night and cuddled like they had no worries. Arthur was telling Iris stories about the craziest things he did with the gang so far, and she giggled, admiring he's composed face when he tried to collect thoughts to describe everything in best way. It seemed almost like they never argued, like man never hurt Iris so badly...like they were a real couple.

- That's why I don't like to see you risking your life. I was to close to dying stupid death many times in my life - Arthur said finally, eyes softing at sight of Iris's face.

- I kind of like it - Iris exclaimed and then she noticed how close to each other they were, their noses millimeters apart - I mean, the adrenaline rush - she finished slowly, looking at Arthur's lips.

Suddenly Arthur realized that if they would kiss he wouldn't mind. He smiled with charming manner and caressed Iris's arm, inhaling her scent floating in the air. She always smelled like honey and flowers.

Then their lips met, both surprised with reaction of opposite side. Arthur and Iris was kissing like they were starving and this act were supposed to feed them. Arthur started to purr like a cat, parting girls lips with his tongue, tangling  fingers into her hair. Iris climbed on his lap right away, Arthur's hips between her tights as she was facing him and she deepened the kiss. They both started to sweat and their hands were running all around each other's bodies. Iris was trembling, melting away Arthur's body, playing with buttons of his shirt and with his suspenders. She moaned against his lips. It was hot, too hot and Arthur decided it has to stop or someone is gonna feel guilty in the morning.

- Iris, baby, we can't do that - he catched breath and tried to calm himself, ignoring her proximity and the fact he was horny as hell.

- Why? - girl asked, her face going sad and in pain in not time - I want you now...

- You just think you want me and I have one rule, I don't have sex when one of the sides is too drunk to decide about it properly - he explained, trying to look away from her cleavage right in front his eyes.  

- What a gentelman you are - Iris said, backing off and resting on the edge of bed. Her back was facing Arthur right now. Girl was trying to collect her thoughts, surprised with an outcome of their actions but in very bad way. Like she was opening a present and there was nothing inside the box.

- I just don't want to use you, and-

- Just cut it. You don't want me and that's it - she shrugged, eyes pierced into the floor - but of course you don't.

- Oh - Arthur murmured to her ear, his warm breath ticklish- I want you more than ever, you can clearly see what you can do to me...

- If it was true you wouldn't stop. But it's all calculated, eh? Your feelings even don't behave like ones. You are... the coldest person I know.

- I would never turn you down, you know that - he started caressing her back with his lips, it gave Iris this weird sensation in her stomach.

- At morning when I saw my poster I thought I hit my rock bottom, but no. I did it right now - she giggled but there was nothing happy to it- I'm not even good enough for one night stand. I never expected being this low that man I consider as handsome doesn't even want to use me, hiding behind explanations. Guess life is full of surprises for me.

- How can you be like this? You want me to use you?! - Arthur was shoked and maybe even offened by the was Iris was thinking.

- I just thought for a moment it's somehow normal again. It felt normal, being like this with you. Don't bother yourself with any more explanations, please - Iris quickly wiped away her tears so he wouldn't see them - Goodnight, Arthur.

- Let me stay with you, please? - Arthur said with hope in the last word.

- If that's what you need - sgirl shaked her head with disappointment. Normally she would just chug on the bottle and fall asleep drunk but she just simply rested on the bed and curled up with his shirt. Arthur was unbelievable.

- I think that's what you need, eh, girl?

- I don't know anymore - she shrugged - But yea, stay. You are more than welcome.

Iris looked at him as he undressed to his union suit and she saw his chest peeking from between the buttons. She blushed and looked away. Arthur's skin was nicely tanned, soft and peppered with hair. Arthur run fingers through his hair and yawned. He looked incredible adorable when he was sleepy, 'cause it was one of those moments he fully let down his guard. She started feeling guilt, she had no right to have him and he was right turning her down. Iris suddenly appreciated the fact he lost enough time to figure out something smart and nice to tell her instead of that he's simply not interested in her anymore. Girl wouldn't sure if she would keep herself together if it were the words he would use. Real gentelman like Arthur wasn't meant for insufferable brat like her.

- What're you thinking about? - Arthur rested behind her back and closed the distance between them, Iris felt like wave of warmth is going through her body.

- Nothin' - she lied briefly - I guess... I'm too drunk to think. That's why I do that in the first place, I mean, drinking.

He hummed with aproval, burrying his face in crook of Iris's neck

- Wanna sleep already? This was a really long day for you.

It wasn't only guilt now, this feeling quickly mixed up with shame and realisation. They were lying in her bed, wearing only their undergarments and even in this very moment, he just cuddled her instead of tearing her apart like lover would do. Iris was no woman for him. Few minutes passed before brunette interrupted this tense silence.

- How are you feeling, Arthur? I mean, any coughing lately?

-...no. Surprisingly - he opened his eyes with realisation. He wasn't in pain anymore but lately so many things happened he couldn't even think about being sick. Untill now.

- Guess I did good. Feeding you with all those weird herbs back then - she stopped and collected her thoughts - I know you got TB. Or had it, as I see now, thanks to book you bought me for birthday.

Arthur got up quickly, his eyes full of questions. Like she just dropped the bomb.

- When you got back from being O'Driscolls hostage and I was taking care of you I noticed that you spit blood while you cough. I had to do something - she was playing with buttons of Arthur's shirt, the one she still cuddled instead of turning around to face him - Just wasn't sure it would work, so I observed you without letting you false hopes. But today I lie next to you and listen to your breath knowing I did good.

- You cured my tuberculosis?! H-how? I've been told I'm gonna die soon, so-

- And even with this thought you wouldn't have me tonight to be real gentelman, how sweet of you - she smirked and got up, grabbing bottle of booze from the floor - Goodnight, Arthur. Hope it's last time we see each other like this.

- Where are you going, eh? - Arthur got up and catched her arm, squeezing it. She hissed.

- Away from you, that's where. Everything you do is pushing me away and pulling me back when you have no one else to go, but...- she looked up into his eyes, those eyes devil would be proud to have and smiled sadly - I guess I can't do that anymore. Even if it means breaking up forever with you.

- What are you talking about, you can't just do that, you need my help! - Arthur spreaded his arms in gesture of disbelief.

- So give me it if it's really meaningless for you to pay two thousand dollars for my head. And then fuck off. But you wouldn't do that, will ya? You don't want to help me, you want to buy me so I'll keep meeting with you on those pathetic terms like nothing ever happened.

- What did I do now to deserve this? I am no saint but I came here today to help and all I get is this angry face of yours - Arthur's tone was showing visible irritation. Iris was the only person who could put him from peace to boiling anger in few seconds.

- Guess people don't work like that, Mr Morgan - Iris looked aside with unsure expression, like she was afraid to look at his face and see something in there - I still remember everything, despite fact loving you and... there will be a time for me I will have to run and don't look back. Not even after you.

- You still want to move? Even now? You are crazy, probably half of people around are waiting to catch you! - he gestured towards tent's entrace.

- So let them try, there is nothing much left of me anyway. You say I'm crazy pulling out stunts like I was a cat with 7 lifes behind my belt but no, I am doing that because I have only one and it's shitty as hell. Drink to that, Mr Morgan!

And with those words she left Arthur speechless, as he was looking after her silhuette fading away into the warm night. 

[nightwingshero]

Hold Me Down Chapter Three

Here’s that stuff. It’s a long one, which is shocking. I’ve been doing a lot of writing recently, but I tried to get this done before I focused solely on my commission queue. I figured a nice, long chapter would be good to put out for Wren content. @dieguzguz @ja-crispea y’all can laugh at Jacob now, lovelies!

I didn’t fidget often. Not anymore, at least. Those kinds of things were drilled out of you immediately. Maybe that should have been my first red flag, the way that he broke down every little tick that made you human and unique. But I suppose that would have been a needle in a haystack, and what 12-year-old kid looks for those kinds of things when someone saves them from the system? None of them.

But here I was, bouncing my leg as I sat in the chair, my table by the front window, giving me the perfect view of the people going about their day. I envied them, so wrapped up in their own little worlds. What I wouldn’t give to unfuck my life. Wishful thinking got me nowhere, though.

As much as I would have loved to allow myself to disassociate, I had too much on my plate that needed to be handled. And just being in this fucking restaurant was risky. I couldn’t help my mind wander to Rowan. All these years…I sighed, throwing a glance around the room. She didn’t recognize me, but what had I expected? There was at least eight years between us. She was someone that I could look up to, someone I was close to until she left. Someone I aspired to be as Dutch put her on that pedestal. At the end, it was all just bullshit.

Giving a look around, the place seemed dead, but I had to keep in mind that I was in the door the second the damn place opened. I didn’t care much for the old rustic country style, to be honest. It wasn’t my style, but god did it resonate the same aesthetic of its owner. I could never say a word against that. I furrowed my brow a bit as I caught sight of one of the other customers here. The man was sitting in the middle of the room at one of the two-chaired tables facing the window. If I had been on a job, I would’ve chosen the same seat, it was perfect. You could see what was going on outside while keeping an eye on the entrance, and it was deep enough in the room so he could easily check the exits and the coming and going of the employees.

I eyed his clothes, trying hard not to scoff. If I had to label him, it would be hipster mountain main with the big dark beard and flannel. Slowly, I grab my cloth napkin, quickly hiding a knife under it as I placed it across my lap. Was I paranoid? Probably. But after thing that had happened, I wasn’t about to take a chance. Not by a long-shot.

I turn at the sound of the bowl being set down in front of me and I wrinkled my nose. “What the hell is that?” I asked, glancing up at the blonde.

Mary May sighed heavily, placing a hand on her hip with a shrug. “Casey is experimenting, trying new things.”

“You sure he isn’t trying to poison me instead?” I looked wearily at the dish as I poked around with my spoon.

“It’s greasy and unhealthy. He said it would do you some good and that he’d cover it.” She wiped her hands on the white apron wrapped around her bright blue flannel. Was that a fashion thing I had missed out on? “Says that you’re his favorite, so gotta treat you special every now and then.”

I threw her look. “He saw my face. That’s what you’re saying.”

Mary May gave me a sheepish look. “You do look pretty rough, Wren.”

She wasn’t wrong. I hadn’t gotten much sleep last night, so there were dark marks under my eyes, but that was nothing compared to the massive bruise on the side of my face with the split lip. The back of my head was still rather tender from being knocked out and if I wasn’t so adamant about getting out of here, I would definitely be planning my revenge. I don’t normally leave a score unsettled, but things were heating up way too quickly. “Yeah, your locals here are super friendly and welcoming, by the way.”

Mary May pulled out the chair across from me, sitting down as she leaned against the wall, resting her arm over the back of the chair. “Someone I know?”

“Depends. Have you heard of the Drubmans?” I asked, taking a bite. I chewed a bit, discovering it to be some sort of stew that I couldn’t pin down. I made a face at the unexpected heat to it, eyes watering as I tried to swallow and clear my throat. “Holy shit.” I gasped out.

“The Drubmans? Like, I-will-sell-you-this-boat Drumbans?”

I looked up at her exasperated expression and pursed my lips. “You couldn’t have fucking warned me—”

“I’m sorry, I took you for someone who knew not to do something stupid.”

“Stupid--? I’m not from here, Fairgrave! You and Sharky—”

I was caught off by the sound of the front doorbell, a young brunette rushing in. His brown eyes landed on me with a smile and wave, before his brows furrowed at my appearance. “Hey, Wren. What happened to your face?” he asked, walking closer to the table as Mary May gave him a stern look. “You look like shit.”

“And you’re late.” Fairgrave taunted, but he just rolled his eyes.

“Good to see you too, Xander.” I muttered, taking another bite, forgetting momentarily what I was eating. I made another face as he laughed.

“Ah, yeah. Casey is playing around with the Brunswick stew. Has a kick to it, doesn’t it?”

“Can I have a cheeseburger, for fuck’s sake?” I wheezed before taking a drink of water. Xander nodded, grabbing the bowl and tugging at my ponytail playfully before walking away. Mary May sighed, leaning forward and resting her elbows against the table as she watched him go. I frowned. “Everything okay?”

“Xander has been coming in late more and more. His head is always somewhere else.” She threw me a rueful smirk. “Apparently he’s been seeing a little blonde thing on the side. Married, too.”

I scoffed, leaning back as I placed the napkin and knife back on the table. I threw the man another glance to see him playing on his phone as he continued with his lobster mac ‘n’ cheese. “What a fucking cliché. That’s so damn disappointing. What’s her name? Have you met her?”

“Nah, he says they have to keep it on the downlow. Swears they’re the new Romeo and Juliet.”

“They both die in the end.”

“That’s what I told him. And then he told me that they lived in the movie.” Mary May laughed with a shake of her head. “That’s when I realized that he was referring to that stupid kid’s movie with the gnomes.”

“I don’t have any words for that. At all. I couldn’t even attempt to bullshit my way through that conversation to save my fucking life.” I replied as I tried to fight the laughter, but I was failing. Mary May sobered up a bit, giving me a serious look.

“So, the Drubmans is why you wanted to meet then?”

I sighed, watching as my fingers played with the napkin, rolling and twisting it. “I need to get out of Atlanta, May. I…I’ve gotten into a lot of trouble, a big shit storm.”

“How big we talking?” she whispered. I glanced up at her, playing with one of my chain earrings, swaying with my movements.

“Two detectives showed up at my place yesterday morning. There’s a fed in Atlanta that’s taking a look at some of the criminal activity. They’re wanting me to play ball or I go to prison. And this,” I pointed at my face with a sickly-sweet smile. “Was Hurk Drubman trying to blackmail me into helping his family.”

She let out a whistle. “Two sides breathing down your neck? Fuck. Who’s the target? Like, what’s the motive?”

I glanced around before I leaned in. “Remember that gala? The one you said would be a good hit?”

“Yeah?”

“You never told me it was for the Seeds, May. I ran into John Seed.”

Her eyes widened, the shock having her lean back. “No…no, the tip was on Charles Laney. I didn’t say anything about the Seeds—”

“It was John’s event and his man—”

“Charles was not in John’s pocket when I handed you that tip, Wren.” She pointed at me, pursing her lips. “John Seed wasn’t even on the radar. And John never attends his own events, it would be unlikely for you to run into him regardless.”

“Well, he attended this one. And he caught me.” I shake my head. “Honestly, it was my fault for not digging deeper, making sure I had all the facts before making the move.”

“So what? You had a little run in, and he caught you? And you’re not dead…because…?”

“Yeah, that’s a long story. But at the end of the day, I refuse to be in the crosshairs of two rival families and the fucking cops.” Mary May frowned at me as I bit my lip, my hands shaking. “I need out of here as soon as possible. I lost most of my money in L.A., so I don’t have enough to get my ass out of the country and to get a comfortable set-up going. But I’m hoping Sharky could give me some sort of deal, and I can get him back later. He knows I’m good for it.”

She nodded slowly, deep in thought. “He could. And you getting overseas would put some good distance from the feds, and I think that’s the biggest thing.” She chuckled, throwing me a smirk. “Such a shame you can’t start over and hire John as your lawyer. Now that is something I would pay to see.”

I rolled my eyes. “Not a fucking chance. That arrogant asshole would drive me to murder, I swear it.”

“Oh yeah?” she cocked her head. “No chance of the two of you working together?”

I narrowed my eyes at her as Xander returned. I threw him a smile before he walked away. Grabbing some ketchup for my fries, I threw her another glance. “What are you getting at? I know your scheming face when I see it.”

She just shrugged. “I don’t know why you don’t come clean. Just tell them what’s going on, you know? You scratch their back, they scratch yours. I know Seeds are a crime family, but they’re still a bit honorable with how they work. It won’t go unnoticed.”

“Yeah, about that.” I dipped a fry in the red sauce, popping it in my mouth. “I had another run in with the baby brother last night. I held him at knife point, kinda ruffled his feathers a bit. I think that bridge is beyond burned at this point. He’ll probably kill me the next time I see him.”

“Jesus.” She breathed. “You know, as approachable as you really are, you definitely know how to make enemies and choose them, too. I think that you might’ve shot yourself in the foot on this one, Wren. John Seed is a powerful person, it’s better to have him as an ally than an enemy.”

I wrinkled my nose at her in disgust. “You’re kidding me, right? Did you not hear what I just said? Look, I came here to keep my head down, and you and Sharky both insisted on me coming here—”

“Because we can help you!” Mary May insisted in a hushed tone. “We have your back, Wren. You were in deep shit, and I know you don’t want to admit it, but you needed the help. You can’t do everything on your own.”

I sighed, looking away. She wasn’t wrong, but it wasn’t like I couldn’t help it. You learn quickly to not lean on other people, and Dutch’s way of teaching it…I flinch as flashes of that damn fire flit through my mind. “I’m not used to working with other people, Mary May. And I appreciate the help. I know you didn’t mean for this to happen.” It’s quiet between us, but I paid it no mind as I pop another fry in my mouth. “But that aside, working with John Seed would’ve been a terrible idea. I steal from the rich that don’t deserve the wealth they have. That’s 99% of them, by the way. Working with someone that I would’ve easily made a mark isn’t in my best interest, because I assure you, John Seed is the perfect example as to why I do it.”

Mary May only hummed, but that was fine. It gave me time to eat the burger Casey whipped up for me. It wasn’t fair of me to believe that this was on Mary May and Sharky. I was the one that mis stepped when all they wanted was to help me. The fiasco in L.A. cost me dearly, and I wasn’t about to jump from one mess into another. It was nice to have people on my side for once.

���But they dropped by my apartment before letting me go. Drubman’s men, I mean. Destroyed my apartment and everything. The threat was pretty clear, May. If I stay any longer, I’m either going to die or get thrown in prison. Hurk said that once the Seeds are taken down, I get to walk away and stay out of prison. But I’m not stupid, he wouldn’t let a liability like me walk away. He’ll probably kill me right after, so I don’t have an out. I don’t win in this scenario, and I’m not interested in walking myself to the Devil’s door.”

“So, what do you need?” Mary May asked, finally speaking as she stole a fry.

“I need to know where Sharky went after the shake down. Where has he been laying low?”

She frowned, glancing at me curiously. “Sharky wasn’t approached by anyone. He’s been working at a tattoo parlor a few blocks down. I thought you knew that?”

“I thought he ghosted and went into hiding after I told him the job went sideways. And it kinda made sense after what happened yesterday. They said they shook him down.”

“Yeah, right.” She snorted. “Sharky wouldn’t ever give you away. You know that.”

I smiled, pushing my empty plate towards her. “I know. But I have a bag packed at home. I just need papers and I’m gone.”

“Where you gonna go?”

“Hmm. Maybe Greece. Somewhere nice and relaxing. I think I deserve it.”

Mary May chuckled as she stood, picking up the plate as she went. “Well, you make sure you stop in and say bye before you go. Don’t forgot us little people.”

I watched her walk to the back and disappear. Part of me was disappointed, honestly. I had high hopes for this working out, but things heated up way too quickly, and there was no way out. Running was never my forte, I hated tucking tail. But my game had been off since L.A., and I just needed a damn break. Peace and quiet to help me think over my next move and let things cool off.

Standing, I finally make my way out of the restaurant and into the bright sun. I was ready to get the hell out of here, despite growing a bit fond of the city. I tried hard to not get attached, but sometimes I couldn’t help it. Mary May and Sharky were the only friends, or allies, I allowed myself to have. It went against everything that I had learned from Dutch. No emotions, no attachments. We couldn’t afford it, and that mattered was the job and the family. That was the only concern you should ever have.

Turning, I began my way down the sidewalk, slowing as a red head pushed off a black SUV and stood there, opening the door. Her braids and ponytail gave her a female warrior look that I couldn’t help but admire, but the dark sunglasses shielded her eyes. Unease twisted in my gut as I stopped. White tank top, dark blue jeans, and biker boots that I definitely wouldn’t want against my throat. I turned around and froze, the man from inside standing behind me with his hands in his pockets.

“So, I guess I wasn’t paranoid, then.” I said icily.

He gave the smallest hint of a smile. “No. Good instincts, though. Impressive.”

“Now, we’re going to need you to come with us.” The woman called and I frowned.

“I don’t think so.”

The man cleared his throat. “Ah, I think it would probably be best. We wanted to give you the option to come quietly, rather than jump you. We thought this would be more polite and our boss insisted.” I weighed my options as people went about their day around us. “You won’t be harmed, I assure you.”

Finally, I sighed. “Fuck it. Let’s go.” I stepped in the back of the SUV with a roll of my eyes. I was leaving either way. What was the worst that could happen?

 I eyed the building wearily. I had expected a warehouse, or maybe a strip club. Possibly an auto shop or a fucking marina, at this point. But a dark glass skyscraper wasn’t at all what I was expecting. I kept throwing my new friends weird glances as they escorted me to the building. To say I was underdressed was an understatement, but saying I stood out like a sore thumb was more accurate. Faux leather pants, heeled combat boots, with a loose black tank top stood apart from the suits and dresses of the white collared professionals milling around.

The leather jacket was unorthodox, but it helped hide the knives I had strapped to my forearms. I felt a spike of anxiety as we talked across the shiny floor, the three of us taking our own elevator. Patience wasn’t a virtue I possessed, and once I made a decision, I usually worked actively to make it happen. So, being dragged here was making me feel as if I were about to burst out of my skin. I was ready to leave, to get as far away from this damn city as possible.

The elevator doors opened, showing a private office space. It’s a dark modern style, something of good taste I could appreciate. But it’s completely empty, and I wonder if maybe this is where the CEO spent most of his time, assuming this was one of those kinds of businesses. What the hell did I know? The lack of people wasn’t exactly encouraging though. I follow tall dark and handsome with the woman following close behind as he led me to another room.

It was a conference room with dark windows and a massive tv mounted on the wall. It’s a beautiful contrast of wood, grey, and black. Glass sputnik lights brightened the room just a bit, and taking in the rest of the room, I come to a halt. His blue eyes are watching my every move, and I shiver because I can almost feel the way they travel over me.

“Oh, fuck me.” I muttered, but the room is dead silent, so it travels. John’s lips turn into a coy smirk, and my next step is calculated. My brain is racing, taking in the space, the exits, everything I needed if shit hit the fan. I feel the shift coming over, the calm and calculated mask as I step into a role I knew like the back of my hand. It was like slipping into warm water slowly until you finally went under.

“Oh, darling, I appreciate the offer, and I’ve thought about it. But,” John replied with a click of his tongue. “You’re just not my type.”

I returned his coy smile with one of my own, walking slowly towards the table and deeper in the room. “Never thought for you to have such a good sense of humor, Johnny. It’s hilarious, you believing you ever had a chance to begin with.” My black nails drum against the back of an office chair, and at the opposite head of the table, I caught eyes with none other than Joseph Seed himself.

While John sat to his left, his wife and sister sat closely to his right, as far away from me as possible. Taking a quick note of the oldest brother’s absence, I recalculated as the woman continued to follow me, but the male guard stayed at the door. The only exit I could really find, unless I threw a chair through the glass wall. I squeezed the chair as I smiled at Joseph. Seemed sturdy enough.

“I’m very glad you could join us. Thank you for being so kind to accept the invitation.” His voice is calm, soothing almost, and as gentle as his eyes. It threw me for a loop, because you didn’t ever expect the head of a crime family to be kind or polite.

“With all due respect, I don’t believe I had much of a choice in the matter. But I appreciate you not kidnapping me off the street. Your…colleagues don’t practice in the manners you’ve displayed.”

His brows furrowed as his wife threw him a confused look. I hesitated for a second, catching John’s narrowing eyes as he tilted his head. So, they weren’t very aware of what the Drubman’s had been up to, which meant they probably got tired of me sniffing around. I was about to continue when movement to my right caught my attention.

I go rigid for only a split second, allowing myself just that momentarily slip as Jacob Seed enters the room with Rowan right behind him, a quick brush of her hand against her stomach. Our eyes catch, and this time, I know she recognizes me. It’s ice, at first, that enters my veins, much like that night. But slowly, and surely, it begins to boil.

She smiled at me, soft and sad, but I’m careful. Oh, so careful as the porcelain of my skin shows the same smile that I’ve shown the rest of them as she speaks. “Hello, Wren.”

My eyes don’t leave her for a second, and while I appeared at easy, almost nonchalant, inside my muscles were coiling like a snake, ready to strike at any second. “Rowan.” I keep my voice light, a slight lilt that only barely hides the sickly-sweet venom dripping off the tip of my tongue. It’s a light tread, almost a nudge, to test the waters. This is no longer about the family in the room, its just her and I, in our own dance. “Long time, no see.”

“It has been a while, hasn’t it?” She agreed, slowly making her way down the length of the conference table, both her and Jacob walking towards John. I turn on my heel, walking around the opposite side as I trace my fingers across the tops of the chairs.

“And here I thought you didn’t recognize me.” I slowed as she came to a stop, resting her hands on the back of a chair. She looked good, genuinely. It pissed me off even more, fueling the dark twisting sense of betrayal in the pit of my stomach. She knew, of course, how this game worked. But the 12 years without her gave me the element of surprise. Rowan hadn’t learned my habits, hadn’t learned my tells because she hadn’t been there to see them.

“I would always recognize you.” She breathed out, a glossiness settling in her eyes. “Even though you were still pretty young the last time I saw you.”

There. I come to a complete stop as I feel it, the rip in my chest as my blood pounded in my head. I keep smiling as I move my hand to fidget with the sleeve of my jacket, casual as ever. But there’s a millisecond that feels like minutes, where my eyes finally sharpen on her. The eyes have always been, and always will be, the mirror to the soul, and hers widen when she takes a glimpse of mine, because she knows it’s too late. That my fingers have brushed the cool metal of my knife.

She only has time to take a step back, and that was something I indulged her. Because it’s the next second that knife is gone, and my elbow is smashing the face of the red head behind me. I twist around quickly and grab a handful of hair as Rowan cried out, my knife hitting its mark as I smash Viking Princess’ face against the table. Twisting her arm, pressing and trapping her body with my hip, I pull her Glock out with my right hand.

Rowan’s eyes catch mine once more as she holds her shoulder in shock, blood soaking her shirt as she stares down the barrel of a gun that’s aimed right at her face. Cool and calm as ever, my breathing stays even, but I’m a hurricane on the inside and for the first time, the Seeds see my true self.

“Jane!” a soft cry pierces the air as the little sister rises from her chair, but before she could rush me, Joseph’s wife pulls Faith close to hold her. I glance down quickly, connecting the dots. I realize then why the woman was familiar, and now Faith’s significant other finally had a name. Jane.

Rowan laughed, meeting my eyes with something shining there that I can’t pinpoint. “Ah, there she is. I was wondering when you’d drop the act. Always have been good at changing faces, huh?”

Jacob was at Rowan’s side as she gripped the knife, breathing heavily through the pain as her face pinched. Jacob threw me a dark glare, his blue eyes on fire. “You’re lucky you missed, girlie.”

“No.” Rowan hissed as she pulled the knife out smoothly from her shoulder, eyeing the blood that stained the custom blade. Something crossed over her face, but it was gone when she met my gaze once more. “She didn’t miss.” Rowan her hands in defense, taking a small step forward. “Did you?”

I don’t say a word as I watch her gently place the knife on the table. It’s hard to keep my composure as I seethe, the loathing and hurt oozing out of me like toxic waste. I hated every word that fell from her lips, a nostalgia she had no right to, not anymore. The pain in my chest was worse than I could have imagined and that’s when it hit me just how buried this feeling had been. How it still bothered me…I had never moved past it.

“Never thought of you as a gun person.” She nodded to the Glock I aimed at her.

“People change.” I replied, my voice hard. I could feel his eyes burning into the side of my face, so I spare him a glance.

John is still reclined with his hands folded in front of him, but even I can tell he was more tense than he was minutes ago. There’s a hard edge to his jaw as there’s a burning in the depths of his irises. He takes it in, and for once, I don’t know how to feel. I hate how vulnerable I am, that my mask is gone and there’s no going back. All for the sake of the absolute wrath pumping through my veins for someone I believed I was close to. I hated giving into the instincts, leaning into what Dutch had built me into. And I hear a click of a gun as the hairs on the back of my neck rises, that telling sensation running down my spine as the other guard points his gun at the back of my head.  

Rowan hums as she examines the wound. “They sure do. You’ve improved since I last saw you.”

“And you’ve gotten slower, Rowan. Can’t say I’m exactly shocked.” I sneered. She stops, looking at me with deep regret and I hate the way my heart tugs at it. I hate my hand is beginning to shake the slightest. This was always my problem, why Dutch always told me I would never be like Rowan. I was so emotional, so empathetic that it would almost become a liability. And all their eyes were on me.

Jacob stepped forward. “Drop the fucking gun—”

Rowan placed her bloody hand on his chest, pushing him back. “If she was going to kill me, she would have already, Jake. She wouldn’t need the gun, the knife would have found my throat before Jane got slammed against the conference table.” She sighed heavily before jutting her chin out. “She’s proving a point.”

The way she says it, like I’m a petulant child that didn’t understand the adult’s conversations, made me feel like bursting out of my skin. “No. No, I’m so done with this shit. What’s going to happen is you’re going to tell Lumberjack Steve to back the fuck off, let me walk out of this damn room, and building, and let me get the fuck out of this godforsaken city, because I have had it with this fucking love triangle that you’ve dragged me into.” I snapped.

“Love triangle?” Faith asked, her soft voice breaking.

There was a clearing of someone’s throat before Joseph’s soothing voice joined the tension. “I believe there was a mentioning of colleagues—”

“Yes,” I snapped, my eyes finding John’s once more. “Hurk Drubman Sr. sends his regards.” I reveled in the slight shock he gave away, the way Joseph leaned back and exchanged glances with Jacob. For once, I felt I had finally been able to shake this arrogant asshole and his family. I had leverage, I had information, and I felt that, for once, I was the one holding the cards.

John clicked his tongue as a look of discontent settled on his features, and he began tapping his fingers against the table. “He hit you?”

I swallowed as his gaze weighed on me, my heart picking up in pace. “His men snatched me off the sidewalk last night for a little conversation. And well,” I gave him a cheeky smile. “You know how charming I can be, John. Except Hurk is a bit less tolerant than you are.”

“Wren, I’m sorry. We had no clue.” Rowan breathed out and my face twisted in disbelief as my eyes pinned her down.

“You’re sorry?”

She closed her eyes momentarily, but it was obvious that this hurt her just as much as it did me. This reunion was nothing short of painful. I was just too angry to care for hers. “You have to understand why I had to—”

“I was 15!” I snapped, my voice rising an octave. The tears began to pool as full on rage began to break through the walls that I had spent so long building to keep her at bay. “I was 15 years old, and you left us behind!”

“I foolishly believed you would be safe with Grace, Wren. I thought you were better off where you were—”

“With him?!” I shrieked. Scoffing, I shook my head at her. “You were the only family we had left, especially after what happened with Eli.”

Rowan paled and I get a sick, dark satisfaction from hurting her. Reminding her of how deep she was before disappearing. “There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t regret what I did.” She whispered.

I swallowed. “I thought you were dead. We all did. He told us you betrayed our family.”

“I always had eyes on the inside. They went silent after a while; I didn’t know what was going on. Grace stopped corresponding—”

“Grace is dead.” I replied, my voice breaking. Her dark brown eyes go wide as she stumbled back. Jacob placed a hand on her lower back, but she doesn’t register him.

“You did it.” Her voice breaks, making her almost squeak out her words. “You passed his test.”

I shook my head, my mouth twisting. “No Rowan. I didn’t.” I swallowed, trying to get rid of the lump in my throat to no avail. “I couldn’t bring myself to do it. She…”

“She what, Wren?”

I’m visibly shaking, the gun quivering in my hands, but I’m too scared to put it down. Too worried that I’ve gone too far to turn back now. I needed to get the fuck out while I still had some semblance of control. “Doesn’t matter.” I ground out. That’s a rabbit hole I can’t afford to go down, the guilt still all-consuming. “I’m packing my shit and I’m leaving.”

“What stuff?” the man behind me asked. “We’ve been by your apartment—”

“Yes, and I’m sure the door was wide open!” I snapped sarcastically. “Hurk made sure his men gave me a nice reminder of the shit I’ve been dragged into.”

Joseph stood, placing his hands on the conference table. “Ms. Blake, I understand that you are in a bind. Please. Put the gun down and let’s talk. I believe there’s a solution for all of us.” I gave an uneasy glance around the room. John’s dark look and Jacob’s murderous glare wasn’t at all reassuring. As if reading my mind, he spoke again. “You won’t be harmed, you have my word.”

I throw a look at Rowan, and she gives me a quick nod, but I don’t know if I could trust them. The thought of getting roughed up again seemed exhausting.

“Randy, stand down.” Joseph called. The man behind me lowered the gun and stepped away. “Whitney, why don’t you take Jane and Rowan to get cleaned up.”

The woman I assumed to be Joseph’s wife stood, nodding and dragging Faith with as she walked towards Rowan. He raised his brow at me, and I looked away, slowly lowering the gun and stepping back. Jane shot up, her hand going to her nose as she glared at me.

“You broke my fucking nose.”

“That’s enough, Jane.” Joseph called.

She whipped around, fire burning in her eyes. “Joseph—”

“Enough.”

His voice sent a chill down my spine, and I’m reminded that this man is dangerous. That he isn’t just someone that has been nothing but kind since I’ve been here. No, he’s someone that I need to keep a distance from. So, when he looks at me again, I feel my walls come back up.

“Please, have a seat.” Joseph gestured to the seat in front of me as he sat back down. Looking down, I wrinkle my nose at the blood on the conference table. Moving down a chair, I pull it out and take my seat as I was left alone with the brothers.

The silence is almost deafening as I try to get comfortable. I finally glance at Joseph. “You wanted me for a reason, I take it?”

“Yes.” Joseph gave a gentle smile. “John spoke rather highly of you.”

“Doubtful.” I muttered, making John throw me a shit eating grin.

“It has come to my attention,” Joseph continued, ignoring John and me. “That you have found yourself in quite the predicament.”

“I suppose you could say that.”

“Hmm, yes. I’m sure the FBI haven’t exactly as been any more gracious.”

I paled immediately, and I have to fight the urge to kick myself. I recalled Hurk Sr. briefly mentioning ties in the police department, but I didn’t stop to consider this a possibility. My heart started to race. “What are you talking about?” I breathed out.

His smile never wavered as his eyes seemed to see straight into my soul. “A friend of ours has brought some…unfortunate news.” His attention shifts from me to the door as he straightens just a bit more. “And he’s finally decided to join us.”

My face pinches in confusion as I turn my head. And for once, I don’t school my expression to hide my shock. He’s nervous, and you can tell by the way he tugs at his cheap suit. His gaze is downward as he walks in. Jacob grips him by the shoulder tightly as his eyes finally find mine.

“Pratt.” My voice is detached and firm, trying hard to recover but failing miserably. I can’t hide my distaste for the detective.

He doesn’t say a word as John gives him a malicious smirk. He clears his throat. “Blake. Didn’t uh…I didn’t know you were going to be here.” He mumbled.

“The feeling is mutual.”

“Detective Pratt has done his job well, informing us that there’s a certain…ploy in place against us.”

I casted him a venomous glare. “Are you fucking kidding me?” I hissed.

He swallowed, shrinking into himself under Jacob’s heavy hand. I fought the urge to lunge across the table. If he had kept his mouth shut, I would’ve been long gone by now. But instead I was here, probably about to get a bullet in my head for fucking with the wrong family. John’s taunting voice warning me over and over to leave his family be made my teeth clinch tightly, wounding my pride. Lovely.

“I’m sure there are some hard feelings here, and I understand. But I’m sure you can understand loyalty, Ms. Blake. You can’t fault him for doing his job.”

His words don’t ease a fucking thing, on the contrary, it made me feel worse. “I understand.” I heard myself say, as if I was on autopilot. Slowly, I was switching into survival mode.

“Good. Now, I appreciate your incentive to move on to another city, and I will be more than willing to help you with that.”

“But?” I asked, meeting his eyes once more, and ignoring John’s intense stare.

Joseph let out a small chuckle. “Nothing gets by you, does it dear?”

“Kind of my job to not let it.”

“Ah, yes, that’s fair. Well,” he took a second to clear his throat before continuing, leaning forward and folding his hands on the table. “I have a proposition for you. I understand that the FBI are circling around you, so to speak. Asking for my family in return for your freedom.”

“Which we know is very unlikely to happen.” John added. I gave him a sharp look, trying to figure out if he was being serious or just an obnoxious ass, but I came up empty. Its weird, watching this man go from a cocky asshole to someone who is serious and all business. It occurred to me that I was finally seeing him in his lawyer role. “Chances are they’re going to use you to get what they want, and then from there, they’ll gather a case against you. You will either go down with us or be thrown in with whatever organization you originated from.”

“And now there’s the issue with the Drubman family.” Joseph cut in, taking back control of the conversation. “Clearly they saw an opportunity.”

“They claim to have ties in the police department.” I replied, eyeing Pratt.

“None of that is shocking in the slightest. Hurk Sr, if nothing else, is resourceful. But you have two groups that are weighing down on you, pressuring you to infiltrate and destroy my family.”

There’s something dangerous in the gentle gaze he gives me, and this is the first time I became truly terrified of Joseph Seed. I fight the urge to glance at John, because why would I? And I hated to admit this, but a part of me naively believed he would protect me from his older brother. It was foolish, because I was the enemy. I was the threat to him and his family, and I was answering for it.

“Then let me leave.” I whispered, finding myself desperate to be relieved of his pointed gaze. “Let me get the hell out of here. It would solve both of our problems.”

“But, unfortunately, it wouldn’t.” I frowned as he sighed, glancing at his hands briefly. “That would only serve one party, and it would be extremely short lived. Burke is very determined to keep you in his pocket. John explained to me that you would not be allowed to leave the city, not risking you disappearing from his radar.”

“Doesn’t take a big-time lawyer to state the obvious.” Pratt muttered.

Joseph and John gave him an unsatisfied look as I whipped around. “No one fucking asked you, asshole.” I snapped and he glared at me. I couldn’t explain my irritation towards the man, but something about him set me off. Maybe it was the fact that he reminded me of a weasel, the little shit. “You have some fucking nerve—”

“Language.” Joseph correct softly as Jacob squeezed a little too hard, making Pratt flinch.

“Quiet, Peaches.”

I couldn’t help the way I smirk or the way I quirk a brow at him. Peaches, huh? His glare at me intensified, but I brush it aside as I brought my attention back to Joseph. “So, Burke isn’t going to let me go easy?”

“Neither of them will.” Joseph corrected. “Not now, after they’ve gotten their hooks in you.” I turned and glared at the table, my skin crawling at his verbiage. I hated the idea of someone pulling the strings to control me. It was infuriating. “Luckily, we can work this to our advantage.”

“What is it that you want from me?” I asked, my irritation barely contained. I knew I wasn’t going to like this, and while they were scheming, I was trying to figure out a way to get the hell out of this alive. Just because I was willing to listen, didn’t mean I was willing to comply.

“I want you to do what you’re supposed to do. Or what you are being told to do, I mean.” Shooting him a look, he continued. “You’re going to work for me, Ms. Blake. John tells me that you are very skilled at keeping up pretenses—”

“You mean working a mark? As a con artist?” I asked with a raised brow.

His mouth twitched before he continued. “Yes, I suppose that’s one way to put it. My offer is that you work for us, pretend to infiltrate our family, while feeding the false information we give you to both the feds and Drubmans. In return, you have our protection from both.”

I scoff as I lean back in the chair with my arms crossed. “I can take care of myself, thank you.”

“Apparently not, darling. Or at least, that’s what it looks like from where I sit.” John taunted. I immediately threw him a death glare, ignoring the sting to my ego. I was ready to claw those pretty eyes of his out.

“John, that’s enough.” Joseph reprimanded, throwing him a pointed look. “It’s not just protection, Ms. Blake. This is only temporary.”

“So you say.” I replied warily. “With all due respect, things like this are never temporary.”

“No, I suppose you’re right. Though, I’m not like most people in this…lifestyle. My family, we keep our word. And I give you my word. You do this, not only will you have protection, but I will personally see to it you find your way out of this city safely. We can set you up somewhere of your choice. You will also be properly compensated for your time and help.”

“That’s awfully generous of you.” I responded suspiciously.

“There’s nothing in this world that’s more important to me than my family, my people, Ms. Blake. What you consider generous, I consider a necessary investment to ensure the future of the people I care about.”

I hesitated, completely baffled by the passion in his eyes. I clearly underestimated this family, because I wasn’t expecting that. “So, I pretend to work for you? Is that it?”

“No,” he leaned back, putting his foot on his knee. “That would be too risky. It puts you in the path of the feds and our competition, and neither of us want that. No, you’re going to become engaged to my brother.”

I stared at him before quickly looking at Jacob. Him? Wait…no, he was married to Rowan, wasn’t he? Did I pick up the vibes wrong? No, that can’t be…

My eyes widened as Jacob’s smirk did the same. I immediately turn to see John staring at Joseph incredulously. Oh. Oh.

“Absolutely not—”

“Oh, there’s no way in hell—”

“Brother, we didn’t discuss—”

“That little shit? Just kill me—"

“This is a bad idea, I assure you—”

“He’s an asshole—”

“Enough.” Joseph spoke out, silencing both of us as he raised his hand, and then turned to John. “You’re the only one of us that this could work with. You’re the only one that isn’t either engaged or already married.” He turned back to me. “I can’t hire you as an assassin, con artist, or anything thing else similar to that. That wouldn’t be infiltrating, not in your style, at least. This needs to be believable, and that’s not the way to do it. You understand, don’t you?”

I open my mouth to protest, but I close it when I realize that everything that he’s saying is right. I avoided violence, so me being added to their ranks wouldn’t make sense. No, my technique was always more subtle, taking a different approach. If I were doing this for real, it wouldn’t have been much different than what he had planned. The difference was the man sitting next to him.

John threw me an icy look, clearly not happy with the turn of events. At least that was something we could both agree on. I couldn’t help but think how much of a shame it was, in a different situation, he could have been charming. The first few minutes of knowing him had been pleasant.

Too bad he was such an arrogant prick.

“Look, I’m not exactly down for an arranged marriage. Especially to him.”

“It wouldn’t be real, obviously. You both will pretend to be in love for the public, the feds and Drubman will believe you’re doing what you agreed to do. Being engaged to John will offer you protection on all fronts, and that’s important with the attention you’ve gathered.”

I’m quiet as I take it in, weighing my options. I couldn’t leave, that was no longer an option. And slowly, piece by piece, everything fell into place. I eyed Pratt, and that’s when it clicked. “I don’t have a choice.”

“You still can say no, of course. But I think you know what will happen if you do.”

I hated his soft voice, hated how polite and gentle he was, because it hid how fucking clever and manipulative he was. Saying no would give me freedom to get the hell out, but that would be my only choice. They knew, so any chances of working myself out a deal with the feds was off the table, and there would be a target on my head from the Drubman’s. And it occured to me the real reason Pratt was here. I swallowed. He would take me in on the spot, with just a word from one of the brothers. Not even that, he would have to for Burke. I clenched my teeth. I’ve been played.

“You promise me a safe way out?” I asked softly, trying my best to keep my rage at bay.

“I promise.”

I sighed, eyeing him with distaste. “Fine. I’ll help you. But I don’t have to actually marry him, do I?”

The look on John’s face told me he had been offended, but Joseph ignored him. “No, not really. If we play everything correctly, this will be over in a few months. We can get away with a simple engagement.”

“Good. I can handle that.” I replied. Anything to keep me from getting thrown in the ocean tied to a concrete block or prison. I could handle a few months cuffed to this idiot to get the hell out.

“Hmm. At least she’s an upgrade from that Holly girl you were running around with.” Jacob muttered. “Kinda gives you a way out, Johnny. Keep the crazy broad off your back.”

John shot him a look. “Shut up, Jacob.”

“Just sayin’ you really know how to pick ‘em.”

“Fuck y—"

I rolled my eyes and stood. “This has been fun and all, but I’m gonna go ahead and go. We’re done here.” Without another word, I turned on my heel and walked out, shooting daggers at Pratt on the way.

I smashed the elevator button repeatedly, becoming more and more impatient by the second as I heard approaching footsteps. “Where are you going?”

The sound of his snobby tone made me groan. “Please go away, I’ve had enough of you for the last 24 hours. I need a break from Your Holiness.” I almost cried as the elevator doors dinged open, desperate for my escape.

“That’s awfully rude of you.” John said with a twist of his mouth. “And don’t you think you should be coming with me?”

“Are you kidding me?” I laughed as I pressed the lobby button. “I’m not staying with you, if that’s what you’re suggesting. As far as I’m concerned, as long as there’s no ring on my finger, I can enjoy my personal space while I still can.”

I smirked as I had the absolute pleasure of watching the doors shot to John’s reddening face. It was short lived, however, because I collapsed against the wall with a heavy sigh. I was exhausted to say the least, and there was nothing I wanted more than to curl up and hide in my trashed apartment.

  “What the hell is going on?!”

To say I was shocked would have been an understatement of the century, but the fury underneath was quickly approaching the surface.  I was absolutely looking forward to falling face first on what was left of my bed. So, it was a bit of a shock when I found movers taking my stuff out of my apartment, piece by piece. Spotting the landlord, I rushed over.

“Hey! Did you hear me? What do you think you’re doing?” I snapped, pointing at the apartment.

She was middle-aged, my landlord. Grey and brown hair in a bun as her bangs brushed her forehead, and no matter the weather, she always wore a shabby sweater. She was the strangest woman I had ever met.

“The tenant gave a notice, so we’re cleaning it out for the next one.” She replied with a frown, eyeing me up and down.

“The tenant…? I am the tenant!” Was she daff? I paid her rent every month, always on time and never short. We weren’t friends, but we were civil and polite enough.

She raised her brow at me before looking at the pages on her clipboard. “So, you’re ‘Duncan’ then?”

I gapped at her like a fish. Duncan? Who the fuck was Duncan? “What? No—”

“Then you’re not the tenant.”

“I’ve been living here for the past six months!”

“Under Duncan’s roof. It’s in his name, dear. Positive side, he’s going to be the one responsible for paying for the damages. But there’s nothing I can do, I’m sorry.” And with that, she turned, walking away with finality.

I tried to take a deep, calming breath. As much as I loved him dearly, I was going to kill Sharky. The only alias he was supposed to use was one of mine, but clearly, he had other plans. Turning to leave with a huff, I stop short. This time I can’t help my fists clench as Randy and Jane stand there by the top of the stairs. I could see the bruising on Jane’s face starting to form and the redness of her nose almost made me feel sheepish.

“You’re supposed to come with us, John sent for you.”

“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me?” I asked, feeling exasperated. But when they didn’t laugh or even crack a smile, I realized John’s men had zero sense of humor and I was officially fucked. I’d never felt so cornered in my life and I had to fight the instinct to run and get the hell out of there. “Of course you’re not. Fucking Christ.” I ran a hand over my face as Jane smirked.

“You’ll learn pretty quick that John usually gets what he wants.”

I scoffed. “Yeah, we’ll see about that.”

[yeenybeanies]

Drunken Cowboy? No, Shrunken Cowboy

hey anon? you know what’s up, pal. this isn’t an actual event that happens in the story canon with devin in the rdr world, but rather an au,, of an au lmao

red dead redemption | arthur morgan & devin clarke ( oc )

1933 words

language warning

reblogs > likes!! feel free to leave comments in the tags!! thanks!!

" Holy sh––Arthur? ” 

The voice jolts the man awake, wrenching him from a very . . . strange and peculiar dream. Weird. He dreamed he was fighting off giant rats and frogs and snakes, and––and Dutch! Dutch was there! But he must’ve been as tall as a damn pine tree! He’d been looking down at Arthur with so much . . . disappointment . . ..

“ Arthur––hello? ” 

Devin. Their voice seems unusually loud. It brings to his attention that, in addition to being a little groggy, he has quite the headache. Did he drink last night? Or is he just having a bad morning? Arthur sits up, shoving off the blankets that now seem to be smothering him. He looks around, feeling the chilly morning air on his bare skin. Hunh. He could have sworn that he’d worn a shirt to bed . . .. Hopefully his bare chest wouldn’t offend or startle the little lady . . ..

“ ‘m up, ‘m up, ”  the gunslinger mumbles, a hand to his forehead. Man, his head is pounding. And his voice sounds a little funny . . .. Arthur grimaces.  “ What’s all the fuss about? Did somethin’ hap–––woah! ”  Woah indeed! Arthur blinks the sleep away and looks up to see Devin, as expected, but she’s not . . . tiny!

“ Arthur! Arthur, are you okay? What the hell happened––– ”  The not-tiny being grabs Arthur’s face and turns his head left, then right, checking him over for any signs of injury.

“ Miss Devin–––? “  Their hands, now big enough to do so, squish his cheeks. Those cheeks, too, run a little pink at the contact and the proximity and his state of dress.  “ M–miss Devin, how’d you get, erm . . . normal-sized? ”

They release him and lean back, dumbfounded, like they don’t believe what they’re seeing. Honestly, a part of them doesn’t.  “ I’m not––I mean . . . I could ask you the same thing. ”

Arthur’s brows furrow, confusion quickly twisting his features. What is that supposed to mean? How is Devin suddenly him-sized? And why does he have this headache? Why is he so damn cold? He looks to his left, towards his table, and finds himself doing a double take.

Oh no . . ..

Oh boy . . ..

“ Arthur, I need you to stay calm . . .. ”  Devin tries to placate, but even they don’t know how to deal with this situation.

The table Arthur is looking at––his table and his tent and everything around him––is fucking huge! It looks like––like he’s in that Jack and the beanstalk story and he’s crossed over into the world of giants, except this is his stuff in his tent!

Vocal cords frozen for the moment, Arthur can only try to stand––only to realize that the blanket he’s tangled in isn’t a blanket at all, but his shirt––his normal-sized shirt that apparently didn’t shrink down with him. And apparently neither did the rest of his clothes. Arthur glances down at himself and quickly pulls the fabric up, covering up to his navel. That pink in his cheeks is now a bright, bright red. Devin has a similar shade on their face, their gaze averted to allow Arthur some modesty.

“ I, um . . . I don’t know . . . what happened to you, but, um, you’re my size . . .. ”  And naked. Devin swallows and takes a breath to steady themself.  “ You’re in my world now. We should probably start by, uh, getting you some clothes. ”  Soon. Not only would it save them both from this embarrassment, but it’d also stop Arthur from getting too cold. Tiny beings don’t retain much body heat.

Arthur’s words still aren’t coming to him. He can’t stop looking around, wondering what fresh hell landed him here, and what exactly it’s going to take to get him back to his normal. His attention snaps back to Devin, though, when he hears a tearing noise. The borrower has their fox tooth knife out, using it to cut through the giant shirt. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Arthur laments that he likes this shirt, but there are far more pressing things afoot right now.

It doesn’t take long for Devin to fashion up some makeshift underwear and a simple toga-like piece for Arthur to put on. They turn around while he changes, and remain as such, even as he seems to struggle to figure out how to dress himself. He gets it eventually. His blush still remains as Devin faces him again, now the both of them at a bit of a loss for what to do.

“ ‘s this, uh . . . ”  now some words are coming back. Arthur can’t stop looking around. Everything is so big. It’s making him dizzy, and doing nothing to help his headache.  “ This is what you see, then . . . all the time, I mean. ” 

“ Yeah. ”  Devin spares a quick glance to their surroundings. They’re at the head of Arthur’s cot, fairly high up, relatively speaking. The clothing he shrank out of spans along the length of it, several times taller than either of them.  “ This is how the world looks to me. We, uh––we should go. ”

“ I gotta be dreamin’ . . .. Naw, I’m definitely dreamin’. I was jus’ seein’ Dutch–––– ”  SMACK! Caught mid-sentence, mid-word, Devin slaps Arthur right across the apple of his cheek. It makes him stumble. He gawks back at the borrower, bewildered. Ow. That was . . . quite the sucker punch.

Devin stares back at Arthur, just as bewildered. The redness had only just started to fade from their face, but now it’s back again full force.  “ I’m sorry, ”  they say quickly.  “ Isn’t that, uh––isn’t that a way to wake someone up from a dream? I’m sorry, I’ve never dealt with anything like this before. ”

“ Shit, Devin. ”  He rubs at the burning spot.  “ If I was dreamin’, I’m definitely awake now. ”  Which means this is actually happening. He’s actually, what? Three, four inches tall? Maybe three and a half, if he’s gauging himself based off of Devin. 

“ I’m sorry. ”  In their defense, they were trying to help. They take a breath and look over their shoulder, to the world beyond the tent.  “ We should . . . we need to go. You probably don’t want to be seen . . .. ”

Right. God, no, the gunslinger would rather die than have one of the others find him like this, all miniature and wearing a god damn toga. He pats his waist, instinctively moving to check for his guns, but, of course, they aren’t on him. No, they’re right where he left them, nestled in their holsters on his belt, which hangs from a post at the head of his bed. There’s no way he’d be able to use them like this.

“ Come on. ”  Devin takes his hand, pulling him from his thoughts. He takes just a moment to actually look at them. It’s never been possible to see them like this . . .. Were he in better spirits, he might chortle at the fact that he’s still taller than them. They lead him by the hand to the edge of the cot, where they previously snagged their hook into a loop in the tough canvas. A line of string hangs down from it, down to the ground far below. Arthur frowns.

“ Er . . . you sure it’ll hold? ”  He takes a knee and gingerly tugs at the line, uncertain.

“ It will. And even if it didn’t, a fall from this high up wouldn’t kill you. Wouldn’t be fun, but you’d be okay. Doubt you’d have more than a bit of bruising, if that. ”  They stomp the heel of their boot onto the hook and lean their weight onto it.  “ You first. Quickly. ”

Oh, Arthur does not like this. He doesn’t like anything about this. Jaw tight, the shrunken man takes the rope, lowers himself over the edge, and starts his descent down to the ground below. It’s surprisingly easy, he finds. He doesn’t ever remember climbing a rope, lifting his own weight, to be anything other than tiring, but he’s hardly breathing heavily by the time he makes it down. And Devin––hoo, they make it look even easier. They descend the rope in a quarter of the time it took Arthur, and they shake it free of the canvas like they’ve been doing it their whole life.

Well, they have been doing it their whole life.

“ This way. ”  Taking his hand again, Devin leads Arthur under the cot, and further under the wagon adjacent to his tent. The grass seems like a forest at this size––hell, it basically is in its own way––yet Devin moves so naturally through it. Arthur has always found it fascinating how Devin navigates their way through a giant world. Up close like this, it’s still just as fascinating.

After a bit of pushing through the grass, the pair come to a little clearing where it’s been pressed down and clipped. Arthur would guess correctly that it’s a miniature, Devin-sized campsite. They have a few bundles of fabric that he assumes is for sleeping, and a ring of stones with charred debris in the center. There’s also a sewn-up swath of burlap, no doubt holding more of Devin’s possessions.

“ This . . . where you live? ”  He isn’t sure what he expected. It looks like a campsite Arthur might make when he’s away from the gang for a few days, minus a tent.

“ I have several different spots that I stay at. I don’t usually spend too much time at any one camp, and travel between them when I need to. ”  They take one of the pieces of fabric, big as a blanket, and drape it over Arthur’s shoulders.  “ I have some clothes at another camp that might fit you. You stay here; I’ll go get them. ”

“ Wha––now hold on, Miss Devin. I don’t––– ”

“ Hup––! ”  Before he can finish his protest, Devin shoves a hand in his face.  “ No. Arthur, this isn’t a discussion. I don’t know how you got here, or how you’re going to get out of here, but, right now, you are in my world. ”  They let their hand fall and render him with a hard stare, holding it for a few extra seconds just to get their point across. Once they release it, though, they let out a breath and untie the wrap around their waist that holds their knife.

“ Hang onto this. I rarely need it anyway, since I know what I’m doing out there. If something does come by, you can use it to protect yourself. ”

Arthur hesitates, and almost turns down the weapon, but Devin’s features harden again. They shove it into his hands. It’s . . . not as heavy as he’d thought it would be. Up this close, Arthur can see the intricate carvings in the enamel more clearly.

“ Devin, I–––– ”

“ Most insects won’t mess with you, nor will mice. Rats can be more aggressive, but I doubt any will come by. They tend to avoid anywhere I’ve been recently. ”  The borrower adjusts their pack and starts for the treeline––grassline?

“ Devin, wait––– ”

“ If anything does come by, you try to hide first. If that doesn’t work, then you run. If that doesn’t work, then you fight. ” 

“ Devin! ”  They pause mid-step at the clearing edge. Arthur sighs.  “ Thank you. I know neither of us expected to, uh, deal with this today, so . . .. ”

They muster up a faint, genuine smile.  “ Of course, Arthur. Just . . . just lie low and stay here. I’ll be back before sundown. We’ll figure this out together. ”

Arthur nods and settles into the pile of fabrics, wrapping himself up a bit more. He watches Devin disappear into the grass, and listens until he can no longer hear them moving, then takes to surveying his surroundings. It's dawning upon him now how small and vulnerable he is. How the hell do borrowers do it?

Devin deserves way more admiration than he already gave them.

[kieranducky]

Alright fellers, here’s the run-down of my punk au (aka this fic)

RDHD, pronounced Road Head: John (vocals), Arthur (guitar), Javier (guitar, bass, and probably keyboard/piano too), Sean (drums) + Kieran is their roadie/driver/mom friend

John and Arthur are childhood friends, who met each other through foster care. John’s father was pretty neglectful, and Arthur was raised by his mother who died when he was young. They knew Sadie because she was around their age and lived in the same neighborhood, and she was one of the starting members of their band but left because of... Plot reasons.

Javier and Arthur are both openly out (Arthur is out as bisexual and Javier identifies as like, generally queer/fluid). Arthur is a very private person when it comes to his personal life and his relationships, and Javier is just a little bit salty because he’s open to talking about his background and identity but no one ever asks him about that stuff.

Everyone has some connection with Dutch, who owns a dive bar where the band started off performing and first picked up traction. He helped all of them out of a difficult situation in some way, so they all feel indebted to him. But he’s also like, a sleazy ex-agent/manager who’s always trying to get them to do lines with him.

And Dutch being an ex-manager: I think he got kicked out of a talent agency for being a sleazeball, and that agency is run by Colm O’Driscoll ;)

Hosea is there too, and he lives with Dutch. He genuinely looks after everyone and tries to steer them in the right direction. Whenever they’re in town he gives them tupperwares full of leftovers and baggies full of toiletries and condoms. He knows Dutch is bad news for them, but they’ve known each other for decades and he’s too deep in love to actually ditch him or directly keep people away from him. They are not in an official, established relationship, but they live together? And might as well be? 

Sean’s dad is in the music industry... Somehow, haha. He’s either another manager or some kind of musician, but he’s an absolutely chaotic, anarchist old Irish man. I think he knew Dutch through the music industry and sent Sean to stay with him so he could go to school, but Dutch directed him towards the band instead. 

Javier is more or less estranged from his family because of his sexuality, and had a really shitty time in between leaving home and being taken in by Dutch. He is definitely the most loyal to Dutch and feels like Dutch saved his life. 

Kieran is a high school dropout who was kicked out by his parents because he couldn’t get a job. Dutch got him a job, and he’s pretty alright at it  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ He’s always really cared about animals and wanted to be a veterinarian, but I think he was going through some really bad mental health stuff in his late teens, which was why he wasn’t able to finish school. He definitely takes care of the guys the same way he’d take care of animals, lmao. 

Abigail, Tilly, Mary Beth, Molly, and Karen are all in a band called Girl Dad. They’re all in the same university (Charles and Lenny go there too!) and are in the same sorority or something, with Susan as their house mom (disclaimer: I know nothing about sororities). I accidentally kind of paired them all up with the guys but I... Promise it improves it. I enjoy the drama of relationship webs a lot, especially in this context which is just. Thoroughly chaotic. 

I mean shit like:

- Mary Beth being so, so in love with so many of her friends, but none of them are available to her.

- The fucking romantic tension between Javier and John; John never having paid any thought to the fact that he likes guys before that (despite on more than one occasion being caught sucking dick when he was drunk or high as hell), and Javier not wanting to force him to confront his sexuality before he’s ready.

- A very similar situation between Sean and Kieran; Sean acknowledges that he likes dudes, but has never been open about it with other people, because it “isn’t a big deal” (aka he doesn’t want his quite progressive, but still very Catholic dad finding out about it), and Kieran who is much more experienced and confident in his sexuality but doesn’t stress over relationships nearly as much as Sean does.

- John and Abigail. Yeaaah

- Javier having a thing going with Tilly but a) bi panic and b) very different goals in life that will inevitably not work out

- Arthur and Charles, but it’s the least dramatic thing on this list by a long shot

- Dutch dating Molly but absolutely taking advantage of her to get closer to her band, and her being too young and naive to care

That’s all I can really think of off the top of my head at this point.  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 

[flamehairedwritings]

The Fire In Your Eyes: Chapter Nine

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 unprotected 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.

Read on AO3

The Fire In Your Eyes Masterlist

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

By The Light of the Silvery Moon

Arthur, John and Dutch were gone for the rest of the day. Nothing to usually be concerned about, but she’d overheard Hosea talking with Abigail, saying they’d gone to see Angelo Bronte to get Jack back.

Angelo fucking Bronte. To fucking get Jack back.

She couldn’t believe Arthur had gone with her. He should have left with John, he should have been running to help them get Jack, but instead he’d gone with her to do something they could’ve done when there were slightly less pressing matters to attend to. Why the hell had he gone with her? No matter what way she thought about it she couldn’t wrap her head around it. One minute she was incensed, the next she was touched, the next she was mortified, the next she was just plain confused. She’d considered that maybe it wasn’t that strong a lead, but immediately shot herself down, almost laughing, with the fact that none of those men would leave without Jack, no matter what.

Sadie found her, almost mumbling to herself, frowning at the water from where she sat on the jetty after dinner.

“Somethin’ on your mind, lady?” Sadie said, taking a seat beside her with a groan.

Ada exhaled a breath and shook her head. “No, just...”

Now hang on a minute...

This was something she could talk with Sadie about without divulging any information about herself.

Thank God because if I don’t talk to someone about it I will go insane.

Licking her lips, she looked at her. “Arthur came with me to visit Sean’s grave earlier.”

“... Yeah?” Sadie prompted when she just stared at her, arching an eyebrow.

Ada shook her head slightly, her hands palms up. “He came with me when he’d just told John that Dutch was in Saint Denis and they were planning on getting Jack, today, now.”

“Yeah?”

“Sadie,” she paused to let out an incredulous laugh, “... He came with me to Sean’s grave instead of going to rescue Jack. He prioritised coming with me rather than getting Jack, it’s insane, I don’t understand it.”

Sadie looked at her. Then she burst into laughter. Ada pulled her head back, staring at her.

Maybe I’m not the only one going insane.

“Excuse me, what the hell is so funny?” she demanded as Sadie grinned, a hand over her stomach.

“Dear Lord, my sweet summer child,” she laughed, rubbing her stomach. “You sweet thing...”

“What?” Ada demanded again.

Her chuckles subsiding, Sadie fixed her gaze on her, amusement dancing across her features. “Annie, that man likes you.”

Ada stared.

Now that was one option she hadn’t quite entertained, because...

“No. No. No.” She shook her head, pulling a slight face as she looked back at the water. “No, that’s... No, he can’t.”

“He ain’t that disgustin’, is he?” Sadie laughed.

“No, no, it’s not that...” Far fucking from it. “It’s just... He can’t.” She nearly implored Sadie as she said it, nearly begged. Because he couldn’t. Any way she thought about it, he just couldn’t. She had an undecided death wish against his adopted father, she was Michael O’Driscoll’s daughter, Colm O’Driscoll’s niece, she, well, she was her, she was just Ada, it didn’t make any sense.

And it completely complicated things.

“Whatever you say, honey,” Sadie chuckled. “But I know infatuation when I see it, so you’re either callin’ me dumb or you’re just in denial.”

“Infatuation...” she breathed the word, half-laughed again.

This wasn’t part of any plan. Not that she had a plan. But this certainly wasn’t part of it. Yes, he was kind to her and he was nice and considerate and he made her laugh and feel safe and respected but he only did that because... Well, there was no sane reason for it. Other than that he... Well, no, there was a sane reason; he was a good man.

Sadie just watched her, smiling. “You think any harder about it I think your brain’s gonna fall out. Just relax, woman. Just take a chance, if you like him, which I think you do. It ain’t no bad thing.”

Oh, but yes it is.

“Hang on, you think I like him?” she asked.

“Like I said, I know infatuation.” Sadie nudged her with her elbow. “Just relax. Live your life. Take all the good things that come, Annie, you know we ain’t been gettin’ many of ‘em.”

Well, she wasn’t wrong there. But a whole lot of catastrophic badness could come from this.

If there was ever a time to start drinking.

“Hey, do you think we—”

A woman screamed. Both of them were on their feet in seconds, staring towards the main path, three riders cantering down it.

Then they realised it was a delighted scream.

Glancing at each other, they ran for the house.

Dutch, John and Arthur came through the darkness, pulling their horses to an abrupt halt, and Susan gave another delighted cry, clapping her hands together, though Ada didn’t quite know why she was so—

“Hey, they’re back!” Uncle called out, rising from the log he’d been sitting on. “I... I think I see Jack!”

Ada’s heart stopped as she and Sadie slowed as the rest of the group convened. And he was right. There the sweet boy was, sat with his father.

“Abigail!” Dutch called out, a wide smile on his face. “Abigail! We got you your son, everything—”

“We got him!” John cut in with a grin as he saw Abigail. “He’s fine!”

“Mama!” Jack shouted, grinning and looking so like his father.

Abigail cried out as she ran through the group, tears falling down her cheeks as she beamed. John dismounted and lifted Jack out of the saddle, putting him on the ground as he continued, “I’m fine, Mama, they fed me good, Italian food. You ever eat that?”

“Come here, you silly boy,” she wept as she fell to her knees and pulled him into her arms.

Ada closed her eyes for a few moments as she listened to them.

Thank God. Thank God.

She didn’t even want to think about what would have happened had something happened to the boy.

“Now let’s celebrate!” Dutch cried, and for once she was happy to obey.

Dismounting, Arthur watched as Abigail cried and cried and held her son as he babbled on about what a great time he’d had while they’d all been pulling their hair out.

Meeting Bronte had been... Well, he was certainly a different kettle of fish. He was a new kind of criminal, one that operated in broad daylight, had a fancy home on a fancy street, everyone knew what he was doing and no one dared to stop him. He’d caught Dutch’s admiring gaze, at both the house and the man who owned it. Arthur didn’t like any of it.

He thought about what he’d written in his journal while he’d waited for them all to join him at Shady Belle.

‘I cannot decide which I like less, the swamps or the city. Both are full of parasites, reptiles and slime. We’re a long way east of land we know, and far from real open country.’

How he longed for fields and wide open spaces where you didn’t meet anyone for miles.

He also didn’t like how easily Bronte had got them to do his bidding, but, well... Then again he did have Jack. But, he was back now and that was all that mattered. For now. Pushing his hands into his pockets, he followed the rest of the group to the main camp fire. Ada, Sadie’s arm looped through her’s as they walked along, looked back at him and gave a wide smile. It warmed his chest as he smiled, inclining his head. He wanted to speak to her but Hosea appeared at his side, clapping him on the back and asking for every detail on Angelo Bronte.

Javier was already tuning his guitar and starting to strum out a tune as people opened crates and passed around beer and whisky bottles, taking seats on whatever they could or standing and swaying to the music. Dropping their arms, Sadie sat on the log as Ada stood, folding her arms and smiling as she watched the group. This was when they were at their best; singing, happy, sharing alcohol, not a care in the world because they had this win, despite what would face them once against tomorrow.

“For you.” Lifting her head, Lenny smiled at her as he offered her an open bottle of whisky.

She raised an eyebrow as she smiled. “You know I don’t drink.”

“Come on, girl,” Uncle chimed in from where he sat beside Sadie. “We’re celebratin’ ain’t we? One won’t hurt.”

Glancing at him, Sadie and Lenny, she sighed and accepted the bottle. “Fine, fine, if it’ll get you all off my back...”

Raising the bottle to her lips, she took a sip... and instantly nearly choked on it. She managed to swallow it down as they laughed, pulling a face and hissing through her teeth as the amber liquid burned down her throat.

“Oh, God... Oh my God, that’s awful...”

Sadie cackled as she took the bottle from her, shaking her head. “Well, hey, at least you tried it.”

“Yeah, and I’ll never try it again.” Ada coughed, still cringing at the taste. “Does anyone have any water?”

Charles handed her a skin of water, a smile tugging at his lips, as Sadie laughed again.

“You’re all awful,” Ada declared before taking a large sip of water, washing the taste out of her mouth.

“Awh, I’m proud of ya,” Sadie grinned, patting her leg as she handed the skin back to Charles.

“I absolutely despise you.”

Sadie’s cackle was soon drowned out by the sound of Javier striking up a new, rousing tune that they all around the fire began to sing with him. Ada watched them all, folding her arms as she coughed again. She couldn’t help but smile, though. At their very best.

Her gaze travelled them, going from person to person, until it reached Pearson’s wagon, Micah and Bill talking beside it, drinking, and a foot or so away, leaning against a table, Arthur.

“Ay, ay, ay, ay!” the group yelled out, raising their chosen drinks at the apparent chorus of the song, as she moved over to him, smiling lightly.

He raised his eyebrows as she approached, returning her smile.

“Well, that was entertainin’ to witness.”

She snorted. “I’m sure it was. I’m so grateful to have so many friends around for that rite of passage.”

“It grows on you.”

She wrinkled her freckled nose. “I don’t think I want it to.” She looked him over as he chuckled. “How was it, getting him back?” she asked, her voice lowered.

He shrugged, taking a breath. “Easy enough. We just had to sort out somethin’ for Bronte, nothin’ too bad. That was it.”

Her eyebrows rose slightly. “That’s extremely fortunate.”

“Yes, it was.”

She could sense that troubled and perplexed him as much as it did her and she opened her mouth to ask more when Karen’s voice suddenly cut across Javier’s ending song.

“Annie! Come ‘nd sit with me, Annie, c’mere.” Karen, who had started drinking even before Jack had returned home, gestured her over, patting the chair next to her that had just been vacated by Pearson.

Ada met Arthur’s gaze, a smile pulling at her lips. “Excuse me.”

He smiled as he watched her do as she was bade, sweeping her skirt out under herself as she sat. Like a proper lady.

 Karen slapped her hands onto her knees as Ada sat, squinting her eyes a little. “How come you ain’t married, Annie? You’re so pretty, I bet you’ve had suitors at least, you must’ve.”

Ada’s eyebrows rose slightly as she glanced between the women watching her intently and a few of the men taking the time to drink.

“Well, I did have a couple when I was younger, yes, but nothing came of them.”

“Awh, you didn’t love ‘em?”

Ada smiled lightly as she shook her head, her hands in her lap. “No, I didn’t.”

"Are you a romantic, Annie?” Mary-Beth asked with a smile, her lovely face slightly flushed from the alcohol.

“Not particularly.” She shrugged, playing with the material of her skirt. “I declined them more out of practicality, they had nothing to offer.”

Karen released a laugh, raising her bottle to her lips. “That’s my girl.”

“How’d they court you?” Mary-Beth leaned forward slightly.

“Ah,” Ada waved a hand. “The usual, flowers, mediocre poetry, asking to dance with me when we had town dances.”

“Oh, that’s so nice,” Mary-Beth beamed.

 “Not particularly.” She went on as Mary-Beth looked puzzled, “It just made me uncomfortable because I knew it wasn’t real, they didn’t mean it. It felt performative.”

Karen laughed again. “Jesus, God help the man who tries to charm you.”

“Amen to that.” Glancing up, Ada met Sadie’s twinkling gaze, raising her eyebrows.

Ada’s lips twitched as she shook her head, looking into the fire.

Hell... Yeah, God help him.

The conversation seemed to be over when Karen began to sing along with Javier, laughing at nearly every line. She wished she could join in. They always sang songs she’d never heard of, ones that Ada didn’t think anyone would dare write, ones that were gently sweet, and some she couldn’t understand because of the language they were in. But it was entertainment enough to see Karen, Tilly, Mary-Beth, Susan, Uncle and Lenny sing along, as drunk as they were. It was the only time Susan and Karen got along, too.

She laughed and clapped her hands along to the music, though, as Uncle and Mary-Beth danced together to the fast tune, laughing themselves. It tugged at her heart a little, the happiness.

God, I wish Sean was here.

Her throat suddenly dry, she stood and moved behind the chairs to Pearson’s wagon, needing a drink.

“You and I should go out for a drink in Saint Denis sometime, I promise not to lose you this time,” she heard Arthur say to Lenny, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Oh, God, Arthur, I think not,” the young man replied, laughing even as he pulled a face.

Arthur chuckled, patting him on the back before he saw her at the wagon. Moving back over to it, she lifted a skin of water.

“Can I offer you a water, too?”

“Sure.” As joyful as the night was, he just didn’t feel like drinking the hard stuff.

He took the skin from her as they both leaned back against the table, watching the revellers by the fire.

“You’re not going to ask anyone to dance?” she asked, a smile pulling at her lips.

He huffed out a laugh. “I ain’t much of a dancer.”

“Maybe I could teach you sometime.”

Glancing at her and her smirk, he arched an eyebrow as he took a sip of water, handing it back to her. “Oh, you’re that good are you?”

“So I’ve been told.”

“By one of your many suitors?”

Her smirk widened as she shrugged. “Yes. And many others.”

“How lucky we are to have you, Miss Sawyer.”

She laughed, and he looked at her, the little lines that appeared at the corners of her eyes as she did, the curves of her nose and lips, the curls that framed her face.

Ask her to dance.

She looked up at him and opened her mouth to say something when she suddenly looked beyond him, frowning slightly. Following her gaze, he saw Dutch striding out from behind the ladies’ wagon, Molly following close behind him. Neither looked happy.

“Oh, Christ...” he muttered as he straightened, already knowing what was about to come.

“You have ruined my life!” Molly yelled at Dutch, the music and singing luckily keeping the group occupied. Or they were just too polite to stare. Or used to it.

“I see things differently,” Dutch shot back, lighting himself a cigar.

“I’m sure ye do.” Molly sounded drunk, and close to tears. “Ye see everythin’ differently.” She sniffed then shook her head fiercely, halting. “Just leave me alone, ye bastard.”

Dutch just continued on, smiling and joining the group as if nothing was amiss.

"Are they all right?” Ada asked Arthur quietly.

“Nah,” Arthur sighed. “Haven’t been for some time.”

She followed him as he rounded the corner of the house, watching to make sure Molly actually made it inside. She did, tripping on the side-door step slightly, unaware of both of them watching. Shaking his head, Arthur continued to walk along the side of the house, Ada beside him.

“Why doesn’t she leave?” she asked, her voice lowered.

“Where would she go?” He gripped his belt, shaking his head. “She ain’t got nobody else. Like all of us.”

She frowned. “But to be this unhappy, though? Rather than free?”

His jaw moved slightly as he exhaled a breath. “You gotta have money to do that. Molly’s money is Dutch’s money and he don’t give her much if any ‘cause she don’t contribute. Better to be unhappy and secure, she probably thinks.”

“That’s so sad,” she murmured.

“I guess.”

She didn’t want to dwell on the tricky topic, though, not tonight, not when they’d just got Jack back safely. Clasping her hands behind her back as they wandered across the grass at the back of the house, her eyebrows rose a little.

“So, Saint Denis is an interesting place.”

Arthur chuckled, grateful for the change in topic. “Yeah. Could be some business to be made.”

“With street urchins?”

“Christ, don’t bring that up again,” he muttered.

She smiled broadly. “It’s not often I see you flustered, Arthur Morgan—”

“I was not flustered.”

“Rattled, then.”

“I was not rattled—”

“Shaken. Traumatised. Overcome.”

“I was none of those things,” he muttered. “I was just faintly surprised. The kids were a second or two quicker.”

“I think age is catching up to you.”

He snorted. They came to the small fishing shed that sat at the back of the property, Arthur slowing to let her move up the steps first. He followed her along the wooden walkway that wrapped around it and moved out onto the back landing. She exhaled a slow breath as she leaned back against the shed, her arms folding across her chest. The lights of Saint Denis shone in the distance, beckoning and welcoming.

“It’s so bright,” she murmured as Arthur leaned his hip against a barrel, raising his gaze to the lights.

“Yeah, and loud, and busy.”

She smiled. “You just don’t like people at all, do you?”

He glanced at her. “Not particularly.” She was certain he was mocking her earlier words.

“Another sign of age.”

“I am not gettin’ old, I just have my preferences.”

“That’s exactly what an old man would say.”

“Will you shut up? I’m tryin’ to enjoy this joyful night.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “You are a bossy man, Mr Morgan.”

He looked at her, raising his eyebrows. “Am I?”

She lifted her chin, nodding. “Yes. Extremely. Been bossing me around since the moment we met.”

“Why’d you agree to come with me, then, in Strawberry?”

“Lesser of two evils.”

He chuckled, shaking his head.

Her gaze lingered on him as they fell silent, biting at her lower lip. She liked their silences, liked how comfortable they were but... It always gave an opportunity. An opportunity to ask one of the hundreds of questions she had, the comfort and ease they shared in each other’s company making it always seem like the right time to ask.

“Arthur?”

“Yeah?”

His gaze returned to hers. She shifted her position against the shed, her hands behind her back.

“Colm said you were going to leave me. That you tried to escape.”

He blinked, shifting his own stance slightly. Now how long had she been thinking about that? 

“I didn’t know what I was doin’. Half outta my mind, I think.” He inhaled a breath, shaking his head. “I thought I could hear Ophelia close by and I thought if I got to her then I could go to get help, but then I didn’t want to leave you with them.”

She was quiet again, and he could practically see the thoughts rolling around in her mind.

“Why did you come for me after, when we were at that farm, when you’d escaped from the cellar?"

“Ain’t we already talked about this?” He exhaled a laugh. “You really have such a hard time believin’ I can do the right thing sometimes?”

She smiled lightly. “It’s not that, I just... you barely knew me. We meant nothing to each other. You could have gotten yourself away with no trouble at all and not wasted the last of your energy. I would’ve no longer been your responsibility, then.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “You either have a hard time believin’ I can do the right thing, or that someone would do somethin’ right for you.”

She scoffed, opening her mouth and closing it. Well... Now... Agreeing to either one of those... was just going to lead to complicated conversations that she certainly didn’t want to have.

He watched her, slightly flustered as she was. He decided to help her out, shrugging a shoulder as he looked out across the water. 

“Either way, I’d do it again.”

She looked at him, a slight fluttering in her chest. Lord, she needed answers.

“You went with me today, too.”

He glanced at her, pausing. “Yeah.”

She licked her lips. “You went with me instead of going to get Jack.”

She couldn’t read his features. “Yeah?”

God, is anyone sure he and Sadie aren’t related.

She lifted a hand, probably looking as helpless as she felt. “Well, I don’t understand why, Arthur.”

He studied her, silence stretching between them.

“You wanna know why I saved you and why I went with you?”

She nodded a few times, her gaze locked on his. “Yes.”

“Because you’re the most irritatin’ woman I’ve ever met.”

She blinked, her head pulling back slightly. “Excuse me?”

He pushed away from the barrel, beginning to move closer to her.

“You’re irritatin’ and stubborn, difficult to read and understand, sometimes a damn fool and I couldn’t bear the thought of leavin’ you behind. ”

She stared at him, her heart beginning to beat a little faster as he approached, his voice lowering.

“And I can’t stop thinkin’ about you. You make me feel somethin’, Ada. Most of the time it’s annoyance but sometimes it’s somethin’ else.”

She laughed, the sound short and breathy. “You really know how to charm a lady, don’t you?”

He smiled and placed his hand on the wood beside her head, and it made her heart stutter. “You prefer I was like one of your suitors? Bringin’ you flowers and writin’ pretty poetry?”

Her lips twitched at the thought. “I’d like to see you give it a try.”

He tilted his head. “You ain’t one of them girls, though, are you, Miss Adaline? You’re a practical woman, if I remember rightly."

Oh, God, his voice...

“What can you offer me, then, Mr Morgan?” she murmured, her head leaning back against the shed.

“Nothin’.”

She thought she saw his eyes, possibly, briefly, drop down her body.

“Good, because I don’t want anything from a scoundrel like you.”

“Yes, you do,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over one of her curls.

“What could I possibly—”

Dipping his head, he caught her lips in a kiss. Her words vanished with a soft sound as she paused, her eyes automatically falling shut. The sweetness of the kiss caught her more by surprise than the actual act. Maybe because she had wanted him to kiss her.

Just as she went to move her hand to his shoulder, it suddenly ended, and his head was drawing back as she blinked her eyes open.

Gone was the easy, arrogant manner he’d had only seconds before, now he looked entirely apologetic.

“I’m sorry, that—”

She exhaled a sharp breath.

“For Christ’s sake, Arthur...”

Her hand slid around to the back of his neck and she pulled him close again, claiming his lips this time in a firmer kiss. She had to rise up on her toes to actually meet his lips, and her other hand gripped his shoulder to steady herself. He wasn’t moving.

Oh, Lord, had she now made the mistake?

Why—

His arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her tight against him, eliciting a faint sound from the back of her throat that had him pressing his fingers into her side. As his lips moved against hers, he lowered his head and pressed her against the wood, their bodies flush. Her lips parted wider with a gasp when his tongue swept across her lower lip.

Nobody had ever kissed her like this before. Her previous kisses had been, well, like the previous kiss, gentle and sweet, but she didn’t want gentle and sweet.

She wanted this.

She could faintly taste whisky on his tongue as it stroked against hers, he had possibly had one drink earlier when she hadn’t seen, and he was right... she could grow used to the taste. His grip around her was firm, and his other hand had moved to cup her jaw, his thumb stroking along her cheekbone. And the way he kissed... how did anybody ever learn how to kiss like this? Oh, Christ, she didn’t want to think about that right now.

She just hoped she wasn’t terrible.

What if I am?

Why was she so in her head?

Stop it—

Another gasp was suddenly pulled from her when she felt his hands on the outsides of her thighs, and he lifted her, her skirt rising to her knees, stepping between her parted legs and holding her against the wooden wall. The kiss had broken with the action, and she couldn’t stop the breathless smile that broke across her lips as she gazed down at him, one arm wrapped around his neck, the other hand on his chest. One corner of his mouth lifted higher than the other as he held her gaze.

There was his fire. Blazing brightly, joyfully.

“I told you that smart mouth was gonna get you in trouble, Miss Ada,” he drawled, his voice rougher, lower, and it sent the most delicious of feelings through her.

“You really are a dumb man if you think it was unintentional,” she answered, in barely above a whisper, not quite knowing where her voice had gone.

“Still won’t shut up, huh?”

“I think you made a valiant effort but—”

She was made to break off, once again, when his lips touched her neck. Her breathing halted for a moment as he began to press slow, open-mouthed kisses to her skin, her mouth remaining open as her eyes closed.

Oh, sweet Lord...

Warmth began to pool between her legs and her fingers itched to soothe the slow throbbing that accompanied it.

What would Arthur’s fingers feel like?

She moaned. It was quiet, but it was most definitely a moan; that they could have both agreed upon. They probably could have both agreed upon the fact that he growled in return.

His tongue swept over her skin, briefly, but it caused another moan.

What would his tongue feel like, too?

He shifted his stance slightly, pressing a little closer against her and... She could feel his erection pressing against her thigh.

Oh, my God...

What would his cock feel like?

“Finally got you quiet, huh,” he murmured, just under her jaw, and she inhaled sharply.

“Technically not quiet,” she breathed.

“And I don’t mind at all.”

Her fingers curled into the hair at the nape of his neck as she tilted her head down, prompting him to lift his own.

“Kiss me,” she murmured.

And without another word he did. It was urgent and firm and all she could feel and taste was him. All she wanted was—

“Ring-dang do..."

He had her back on her feet in seconds. Smoothing her blouse down and hoping she didn’t look as flushed as she felt, she turned and moved away from him, before wrapping an arm around her waist as she pressed the fingers of her other hand against her lips.

And she had to fight very hard to stop a smile.

“... ringer-danger... Dang...”

Arthur cleared his throat from somewhere behind her. Not quite able to tear his gaze from her yet, he tugged his waistcoat down, and hoped his hard cock wasn’t showing too prominently through his trousers. Running his hand through his hair, he leaned back against the barrel once more and exhaled a breath, finally looking away.

Kieran rounded the corner, his feet heavy on the wooden boards, his shoulders slumped. Looking up, he stopped singing,

“Oh, hey... Hey, Arthur...” His drunken gaze drifted over to Ada. “... Oh, Annie, hey...”

Ada turned, her arms folded and a light smile on her lips. “Hello.”

“Sorry, I, I thought this was the other shed, I’ve been, I sleep in there, sometimes.”

Arthur pointed behind Kieran, gripping his gun belt. “That’s back that way, pal.”

“Oh, right, thank you...” He looked between them both, then laughed suddenly, and it was the first time she’d ever seen him smile. “I am really drunk,” he continued, grinning.

Arthur couldn’t stop a slightly bemused smile himself, his eyebrows raising. “That you are. Some sleep will do you right.”

Kieran nodded, still laughing even as he turned to head back the way he came. “Yeah... Ring, dang... Dang do~...”

Ada watched Kieran stagger off, hoping he wouldn’t fall down the steps and fall straight into the mud. Then, her gaze returned to Arthur. His eyes were already locked back on her. Her near-giddy smile from before returned.

“Don’t look so pleased with yourself, Arthur Morgan.”

“You bossin’ me about now?”

“Yeah, I think you like it.”

He chuckled. “I think I do.”

They looked at each other, the need and want still there, but the moment gone. She could feel the flush on her cheeks and the wetness between her thighs as she bit at her lower lip. He took a breath and cleared his throat.

“It’s getting late.”

“Yes, it is.”

He nodded towards the house.

“I’ll walk you to your stand.”

“How kind.”

“I heard there’s a scoundrel about.”

She laughed, the giddy, almost nervous energy still spreading through her as she moved across the planks to the stairs. She could practically feel his eyes on her back. A lesser or weaker man would have grabbed her again and just carried right on, but... It was almost more arousing that he didn’t. 

But why wasn’t he? Oh, stop, it’s the sensible thing to do, you idiot.

They walked in silence, Ada playing with her hands and feeling like a teenager, Arthur willing his erection to go away quicker as his hands gripped his belt, hoping that would aid in covering it somewhat should someone pass them. But no one did, all too busy still dancing and drinking and singing or sleeping.

He wanted to kiss her again, to feel her against him once more but he’d already pushed his luck and gotten gold. No, he’d be a damn gentleman and show some restraint.

They slowed as they neared her stand, and she turned to him, a pink flush on her cheeks and a warm twinkle of fire in her eyes, a smile on her lips.

“Goodnight, Arthur.”

“Goodnight, Miss Sawyer.”

He watched her walk the rest of the way to the stand.

God damn. Holy shit.

Running his hand down his mouth, he shook his head at himself, heading towards the house. Tomorrow. Tomorrow, he’d think about the consequences. Now, he’d think about what a damn lucky man he was.

Ada woke slowly, one arm wrapped around her pillow. She guessed it must either be 8 or 9 in the morning, though camp was still quiet, people either sleeping off the alcohol or taking advantage of the general good mood to have a lie-in. Turning onto her back, a smile was instantly tugging at her lips, as if the memory of the night before was just waiting for her to wake up so she could relive it all over again.

  She had never felt like that before. She’d been aroused before, sure, when she’d conjured images in her mind of the brave heroes in her books, but never had it been like last night. Last night had been... She couldn’t even begin to describe it. It had been something good, something that had felt right...

Get some breakfast and coffee in you before you become a giddy girl again.

Pushing her blanket off, she pushed herself up onto her knees and stretched with a gentle groan. To her right at the small camp fire was Charles and Lenny, the former having a cup of coffee, the latter fast asleep. John was stood guard at the front entrance, probably because he was the most sober person to take a watch, surprisingly. Then again, he’d gone straight upstairs with Abigail and Jack once they’d begun to celebrate. She smiled at the thought of their quiet, private reunion as a family. Casting her gaze further along to the main camp fire, she saw the girls were up, probably due to Susan not allowing them a lie-in despite everything. Sadie was there, too, sipping from a cup. Lifting her head, she met Ada’s gaze and waved. Ada waved back, her smile widening.

She’ll laugh so hard she’ll probably choke when I tell her about it. Can’t wait for the ‘I told you so’.

Rising to her feet, she pulled her boots on and made her way over.

Karen sat with her head in her hands, taking long, slow breaths. Mary-Beth looked a bit bedraggled, sipping her coffee every few seconds and staring at the fire. Tilly had her eyes closed, a bowl of uneaten porridge in her hands. Sadie was the only alive looking one, cleaning the rifle that lay across her lap.

“Good mornin’!” she greeted Ada cheerfully, making the other girls snap out of their dazes and look up, smiling weakly.

“Good morning,” Ada replied, just as cheerily.

“Coffee?”

“Yes, please.”

Sadie handed her a full cup as she sat, wrapping her hands around it. “Mmh, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Catching Sadie’s eye, she just smiled as the older woman gave her a very knowing look.

“Where’s Arthur off to in a hurry?” Tilly croaked, her throat stripped dry by alcohol and singing.

Ada’s head whipped to the side and they all watched as he strode down the porch steps, past the fountain and to Ophelia, mounting quickly and urging her onto the road and down the main path. Ada frowned as Karen groaned.

“I hope it’s nothin’, I don’t wanna deal with anythin’ today.”

“Nah, he just got a letter from Mary,” Mary-Beth said, her voice almost as hoarse as Tilly’s.

Ada paused.

A relative?

"How do you know?” Tilly said.

Mary-Beth sniffed, massaging her temple. “Herr Strauss went out early this mornin’ to see if we had any mail. I asked who had mail, I’m expectin’ some nice writin’ paper, and he said Arthur and Pearson did. I recognised Mary’s handwritin’ on the letter.”

“You gotta stop bein’ such a stalker, Mary-Beth.”

“Who’s Mary?” Ada asked as nonchalantly as she could, having had to stop herself from cutting Tilly off.

Mary-Beth dropped her hand into her lap after shooting a look at Tilly. “He and Mary used to be an item years ago, they were engaged at one point. Then it just broke off.”

A coldness prickled down her spine.

“Why?”

“She doesn’t like all of this, wanted him to change, and her daddy didn’t like him. I think he still loves her, though.” Mary-Beth pulled a face. “I think she’s mean for usin’ that, though. Keepin’ pullin’ him back, givin’ him hope whenever she needs help with somethin’.”

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” Karen mumbled, pushing herself up and stumbling towards the nearest tree.

Tilly and Mary-Beth were too busy turning away and tutting at Karen to notice Ada staring at her hands, still. Sadie looked at her, her lips pressed together a little.

“Don’t think anythin’ of it,” she murmured gently so only she could hear.

Ada just nodded, taking a sip of her coffee. It shouldn’t have irked her as much as it did. She didn’t want anything serious from him, that’s what she’d said the night before and that’s what she’d meant, but if she was interfering in something...

Arthur was gone most of the day.

It didn’t bother her.

She told herself that only until the third hour.

Having taken over Javier’s watch, she stood on the outer south edge of the property, slowing pacing up and down the thin dirt path. If she wasn’t thinking about someone’s happiness she could potentially be ruining then she was thinking about the kiss. Should she have allowed it?

Oh, hell, stop lying to yourself, woman, you wanted it.

He’d known it, he’d plain seen it and said it. And she had enjoyed it.

For a man who was often boorish and bad-tempered, his hands had been... gentle. His lips had felt wonderful. What was this man caging inside of himself? Why hadn’t she seen this side of him before? Why wasn’t he wandering off every other night to the nearest saloon like some of the men did? Was he saving himself for this Mary, hoping she’d change her mind, and she and the kiss last night had just been an error? Maybe he had had more whisky than she thought, maybe he’d had quite a few when she hadn’t been looking.

God, she missed Sean. She would have loved to talk with him, or even be distracted, and he would have wanted to distract. He would have made everything seem so simple and that it wasn’t serious and she was a fool for over-thinking it and Arthur was just a fool, besides she was getting ahead of herself, she didn’t even know why he’d gone to see this Mary, maybe it was nothing at all—

She turned and stopped abruptly. Arthur was approaching, his hands on his belt, smiling. It made her heart stop.

“Hello,” she greeted him lightly.

“Hey,” he answered, a knowing smile on his lips. 

God, why did that make her stomach clench in the most delicious of ways.

“You have a nice time in town?” she said swiftly, needing to distract herself.

Arthur blinked slightly in surprise. Shit, she wasn’t really meant to know he was in town.

“Yeah, thanks,” he said after a moment. “I saw an old friend.”

Now that surprised her. She hadn’t expected him to be so open about it. Most men would keep past loves a secret, especially if they’d just been to see them. Especially if they were talking to a woman they’d kissed the night before.

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, but I got a feelin’ you already knew that.”

“Oh?” was all she could think to say.

He nodded, tilting his head. “Yeah.”

She licked her lips then exhaled. “Fine, I do know who you were seeing. Mary-Beth told me and the girls.”

He seemed to consider something. “... Are you jealous?”

She scoffed slightly, looking down at the ground then back to him, a faint smile on her lips. “No, Arthur, I’m not. I just don’t want to be in the middle of something.”

“You ain’t in the middle of anythin’,” he shook his head. “Mary and I, we had our time, and we lost it.”

He didn’t seem too broken about it but... there was definitely an air of sadness. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly.

He shrugged. “Nah, probably for the best.” He rubbed his jaw. “She asked me to run away with her. Then said she knew I wouldn’t. I said I wanted to. That I would, once we got our money but, now...” He let out a humourless laugh and looked away. She had stilled. “Hell, I don’t know what it is about her. When I’m not with her I can see what a terrible idea it would be, that we don’t work. But when I’m with her... it’s like I forget all that.”

Her faint smile returned. “I think that might be love.”

Arthur looked back to her, arching an eyebrow with a faint air of amusement. “Ain’t practical, though, is it.”

Her smile just lingered. “I don’t think love is.”

Arthur just hummed.

 Ada licked her lips and continued, “Maybe you like the idea of being with Mary more than actually being with her.”

His eyebrows rose for a moment as he shrugged. “You might be righ’.”

She was quiet for a moment, watching him. “I guess part of you wants to be free from all this, then.”

His gaze flicked to her. “’Free’... You used that same word when talkin’ about Molly. We ain’t bein’ kept here against our will, Ada.”

"I know, but... all this running constantly, don’t you get tired?”

Arthur sighed. “Ada, you don’t know this life, you don’t—”

She frowned. “I know what this life can do to people, Arthur—”

“So do I,” he cut her off, his voice lowering slightly despite how far from the camp they were. “You think I don’t just want to give it all up? Think I just don’t want a quiet life? That’s what everyone wants but it ain’t real—”

"Running away to Tahiti isn’t real, Arthur,” she implored, ”It’s a fantasy cooked up by a man who fancies himself a king and you all blindly follow him—”

"We don’t blindly follow him, Ada, that ain’t true. He’s saved all those people, he’s cared for us all—”

She scoffed. “Oh, so he’s been kind to you so that means you have to do as he says?”

Arthur hissed out a breath, frowning. “No, of course it don’t, it’s about loyalty—”

 “Loyalty or following out of an obligation, or fear?” she shot back.

“Ada—”

“Help me understand, Arthur,” she implored again, holding her hand out. “Help me to understand why you all adore him. Because he’s good to you all? Because you all have nothing else? Because you all genuinely love him? Are you all just unwilling to see the man that he really is?”

Arthur’s gaze was cold. “He’s the greatest man I’ve ever met.”

She tutted, almost pulling a face as she shook her head. “He has such a hold on you, it’s—”

“You don’t know anythin’. You don’t know shit.”

“I know a bad man and an ignorant follower.”

He pointed a finger at her, his jaw moving. “You need to watch what you’re sayin’—”

"I told you that I saw him standing there,” she hissed. “I told you I saw him kill my father for no reason, a man who was living that quiet life you don’t believe in, he killed him. He took my family’s happiness, he ruined us. I told you all that and you still defend him.”

Arthur’s gaze softened, though only a fraction. “I ain’t sayin’ Dutch ain’t done some bad things but—”

“Always with an excuse—” she started to mutter.

“What he did was wrong,” he cut her off, his tone having risen slightly. “All righ’, that I know, but he’s done some good, too.”

"Good doesn’t negate from bad,” she spat without thinking.

He arched an eyebrow. “Don’t it? We all deserve a chance to make up for our sins, don’t we?”

She looked at him, her jaw clenched. She couldn’t disagree with that. She didn’t, couldn’t back down though.

“So that’s what he’s doing now, is it? Atoning for his sins by stealing from people still?”

"He just wants a better life for all of us.”

She shook her head. "I wish I could see things the way you do, I really wish I could. I wish you could see it my way, too.”

Arthur took a step closer, his tone quiet again. “Ada, I’m tellin’ you this as a friend... You either got to resolve all this in your head or you might have to start thinkin’ about movin’ on.”

A humourless smile pulled briefly at her lips as her heart quietly shattered. “Submit or flee, is that it?”

He pressed his lips together. “Resolve this, or think about movin’ on. You ain’t got any other choice.”

“Don’t I?”

He stared at her, her features blank, her eyes cold.

His jaw moving slightly, he lowered his voice. “Ada... I would stop you.”

She just looked at him.

“It ain’t worth it,” he murmured.

Her gaze shifted to over his shoulder, as if he wasn’t even there.

“My shift is over,” was all she said as she passed him.

He didn’t turn, but he heard her greet Lenny as he approached to take over. Closing his eyes, his head bowed slightly as he placed his hands on his hips.

Dear God, what a damn fuckin’ mess.

—

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[neon-junkie]

I’m not a Monster

Summary: After being rejected yet again, Micah wonders off to the outskirts of camp. His mind wanders, and he questions if he really is as bad as people make him out to be.

Word Count: 1588

Rating: SFW

Tags: Thoughts, Feelings, Redemption.

Notes: you know that camp interaction where Micah asks Mary-Beth to dance, and she rejects him? that line Micah says, 'im not a monster', just hits me right in the feels every time. So this is just some rambling of Micahs thoughts after that event happens.

"I ain't a monster, Miss," Micah tells her, but it's obvious from her body expression and the frown on her face that she isn't interested. Whatever. Micah moves on. This isn't the first time he's dealt with rejection, but something feels different today. He feels off. For the first time in a long time, Micah feels hurt, but it's not Mary-Beth's fault. She hasn't done anything wrong, she's just been honest with him and Micah can't fault her for that. He isn't like those men that won't take no for an answer; Micah knows when he's not wanted, and he's not going to force approval from anybody. That just isn't his style. Micah wanders to the outskirts of camp, a common place for him to linger. He's far enough to be isolated, but not so far that he doesn't feel left out. It doesn't matter anyway, the camp doesn't want him there and he knows that. Micah knows what people say about him, how they feel about him. Yes, Micah's done far too many bad things to never be considered for a redemption arc, but every time he attempts to change, people shut him down before he can even move a muscle. 

He is a monster, isn't he? Micah Bell, the man who first made the newspapers at aged 17, alongside his father and brother. He kept that scrap of newspaper for so many years, only recently discarding it back at his little camp near Strawberry after an embarrassing breakdown. Micah hates guilty emotions, he hates anything that makes him feel like lesser than himself, and he'll do whatever he can to bury those emotions deep enough so that they'll never see the light of day again. He'd spent the night clearing out out Baylock's saddlebags and his coat pockets when he found the piece of paper again. Normally when he reads it, a smile comes to his face, but it didn't this time. Micah had recently tried reaching out to his brother, to try and rekindle those flames but Amos put that spark out fast. His letter back to Micah was harsh, but Micah understood why. He's not surprised that Amos rejected him, Micah would reject himself too if given the chance. Wouldn't he? Micah sighs as he leans against the tree, looking out over the dip of water that surrounded Clemens Point. Would he reject himself? If another Micah was stood before him, would he really bring harm to himself? Is he really that bad? Micah knows the answer simply because he's debating about it. He doesn't quite hate himself, a little less than that. He has pride over the chaos he creates and the bounty over his head, but when it comes down to self-acceptance, Micah just can't accept himself. He truly is his own father's creation, Micah Bell the third. His father and his grandfather were just as ungodly and feral as he is, but Micah's yet to become the worst. He's had his fair share of murders and robberies, but he's still young, and his kill count is still far less than his ancestors. Maybe there is still time for a redemption arc. Maybe Micah will take Amos's letter as a wake-up call to finally change himself. Sure, he's going to miss the adrenaline rush that he gets when he kills another man, and his index fingers will continue to twitch as he misses that high he gets when he pulls the trigger, but maybe a life within civilization isn't that bad. Amos can do it, so why can't he? Would Micah really be happy though? A well-dressed, clean, and friendly Micah, holding down a normal job within the walls of Saint Denis so he can feed his children and wife. Micah pulls a face at the thought of it; that just isn't him. He's always wanted a family, just like most men do, and he's tried over and over but the rejection continues to come, just like tonight. For God's sake, he can't even get a woman to dance with him, let alone take his surname and bear his children. He's hopeless. "Pull yourself together," Micah tells himself as his bottom lip begins to shake. He refuses to let those lesser emotions get the better of him, especially not over a damn woman. He refuses to cry for anybody, even himself. There's nothing worse than allowing another person to have control over your emotions, and if Micah Bell isn't in control of himself at all times, then he isn't Micah Bell. He's said it before and he'll say it again, but if any man allows a woman to tell them what to do and how to feel, then they're no man at all. His father taught him that from day one, and although Amos has rejected that out-dated way of thinking, Micah won't. Micah can't, simply because he's never been given the chance. Maybe one day Micah will come across a woman that leaves him so breathless and turns him into mush, that without realizing it, all his father's teachings go out the window and he simply becomes putty in her hands. Micah won't admit it, not even to himself, but he longs for that. He longs for a woman to break down his walls and build bridges instead, he longs for a woman that will give him the time of day, a woman that looks at him with warm and lustful eyes rather than a scowl on her face. But Micah will never get that. He knows this. He's only on this earth because his father knocked up a prostitute. He knows that men like himself and his father will never find somebody to truely love them, no woman is attracted to chaos. Women like tender things, like flowers and walks in the park. Don't they? Micah isn't too sure because he's never had a conversation with a woman for long enough to even realize what that other sex is really like. The closest he's ever got to anything even remotely loving was a gentle kiss that some prostitute placed on his cheek after he finished his round with her. Ugh. Fuck. Micah waves his hand, dismissing those thoughts. He's disappointed in himself for allowing his mind to trail off on those forbidden subjects: women and feelings. "Just give up," Micah tells himself. Women don't want him, they'll never want him. The camp doesn't want him, regardless of how many times he's tried to be kind to them. The only person who actually tolerates him is Dutch, he's the only one out of the lot that'll actually speak to him in the first place. He's tried to get along with Dutch's closest members, Arthur and Hosea, but oh god, they shot him down before Micah could even open his mouth. Is he really that bad? What is it about him that puts people off? Sure, he doesn't take much care of his appearance other than shaping his facial hair and having a wash every once in a while, but there was clearly something about his aura that screamed 'stay away' to everybody, without Micah intending it to. He only hangs around this lot because it's safer for wolves to roam in packs. It also means Micah has gunmen to spare, he doesn't have to do chores because the women and the other rejects do that for him, and there's guaranteed income because Dutch is as money hungry as he is. Micah's been itching to start his own gang for a while now, and he plans to do so when the time is right. Cleet and Joe are down for it, they just need to plan it properly and find a few lost souls to drag into his posse with the false promise of redemption and security. Dutch does it well, and Micah's already began picking up on how he does it so he can repeat that pattern himself one day. The fact that Micah is already planning to start his own gang clearly shows that he's past the point of saving. He's a bad man, but Micah's never considered himself a monster, regardless of what other people say. Folk are harsh and judge without knowing the facts first, and Micah is sure that if they knew his back story, then they'd know that he's not a monster. He's just a man who was never taught right from wrong. No, he was taught right from wrong, but his father taught everything back to front. Micah sighs once more. Why is he thinking about all this? Why has he allowed these thoughts to cross his mind, all because some woman rejected him? Fuck sake. So be it. Every single person he ever come across think Micahs a monster without even getting to know him. Folk are harsh, and the world is even harsher. It's kill or be killed, and you can either win or lose within this game called life. There's not a single soul out there that'll give Micah the time of day, so why does he bother with dreaming about his own redemption arc so often? Micah gives up. He's not a good man, he'll never be a good man. He'll be exactly what his father taught him to be, and even worse. Everybody makes Micah out to be eviler than he is, so what's the point in trying to make people see that he's really not that bad? If it's a monster they want, then it's a monster they'll get.

[akemiozawa]

Free Writing

Okay, yea, during the games announcement and during my college class time, I had my creative writing go wild, and these are some writing pieces I’ve thought up of. Enjoy!

—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—

Writings no. 1

I glanced around the room, until I stop at my desk. There sat a yellow and red toned apple, the size of a magic 8 ball.

“Hello, what’re you doing here?” I ask aloud. Walking over, I pick it up. The skin felt cool and smooth again at my fingertips.

Hang on. Who put this here? I didn’t even grab one of these when I went to the dining hall. Did Mia put this here?

“Hey Mia!”

“Yea, Charlie?”

“Did you leave this apple in my room?” I turned just as she walked in.

Her teal eyes darted to the object in my hand. Shaking her head, all that spilled from the ratel-hybrid’s lips was, “Nope. Wasn’t me.”

The way her ears tilted to and fro, and eyebrows curled in a confused manner confirmed it.

“Then what the hell-?”

“Beats me, Dude.” She shrugs.

Meanwhile, watching through his ornate mirror, Vil Schoenheit watched the exchange between the two girls. He clenched his hands into fists as he sees Charlie stuff the apple into her bag.

“Let’s go walk around the courtyard till class starts.” The other girl, Mia, requested.

“Sure. Let’s go.” Charlie smiled, and grabbing her bag, fled from the room with the ratel. The mirror warped back to how it was as the scene faded.

“Blast it all! She didn’t bite into it like I hoped!” Vil muttered under his breath. Pacing around his chambers, he let his thoughts fly. “Well, it’s only a matter of time. Besides, it’s in her possession now....and soon will she be, too.” A sly smirk swept onto his lips.

Gaining ahold of his hand mirror, the glass’ reflection wavered and Vil’s face changed into that of Charlotte’s. The latter was smiling and laughing at something Mia said.

“Oh my dearest Charlotte. Very soon, your beauty will be mine for the taking. Enjoy your freedom, little dove. Before you know it, there’ll be no escape from my gilded birdcage of beauty!”

Writings no. 2

The doors clicked open, and I barely managed to slip through the space it made. I quickly sprinted for the staircase as fast as I could with the sandaled feet. My heart kept hammering in my chest. Was it the adrenaline? Maybe fear? Or pure excitement? I couldn’t tell over these black starting to creep in to the corners of my vision. 

“I have to hurry! He’s gonna catch me!” I panicked. The skirt of my gown fluttered against my legs as I hiked up the skirts in order to run faster. If Vil saw me now, he’d be screaming like a banshee at my actions. But he wasn’t here, and I was in a fight to save myself and the others.

I heard a whisper behind me, and out from a cloud of mist, Grim was floating at the same pace I ran.

“You do realize you’re acting like a victim in a horror movie now, right?”

“Not now, Grim!” I spat.

“Hey, I’m just pointing out facts.” He shrugs nonchalantly.

“I gotta find an empty room to hide in until I can get a clear plan going!” I mutter, ignoring him for the time being.

Nothing in the hall so far. But I’ve still got to keep my hopes up.

Writings no. 3

Pushing open the door lightly, I bolt into the empty room. My jaw drops at the sight.

Furniture overturned, smashed windows and shredded curtains, ruined decor littered the entire room. Walls were scratched up and broken. Shit, don’t tell me that’s blood on the floor!

Covering my mouth, I survey the damage that is now the Heartslabyul dorm. If this was what Nerine, Morganna and Xander had done to this place, I’d hate to see how the others turned out.

Crap! The guys! What happened?! I don’t know what I’d do if they died. Just the thought of seeing their lifeless bodies brought tears to my eyes.

“Charlie!”

Wait...that voice... please tell me-

“Where are you?!”

ACE!!!

I smiled when I saw him run through the door with Trey, Deuce, Cater and Riddle in tow. They’re all here! And safe!

“Guys...” I smile, fumbling forward, the tears finally coming down.

Ace was the first to catch me in a hug. I felt small drops on my shoulder, and fierce mutterings of ‘you’re alive!’.

I felt more weight when the others decided to join in on the hug, and Riddle placed a warm hand on my shoulder for reassurance.

Writings No. 4

The entire place was pitch black. Forcing down the ball of spit in my throat with force, I try to keep calm as I walk forward.

A chilled breath runs along my neck. I yelp and swing back around. No one. Brushing a lock of hair behind my ear, I turn back forward.

My footfalls creek with the old floorboards the more I move. So much for trying to be stealthy. 

A Shriek resounds.

Okay scratch that, I can’t stay calm! 

I tried to scream, until two gentle but firm hands grab me by the forearms, dragging me into the shadows.

One hand clamps down on my mouth, to stop my voice from slipping.

“Charlie, it’s me!”

Oh my fucking God. HIM???

My eyes dart to the side, and all I see are Lilia’s blood irises.

“mmmmm?! (Lilia?!)” I shriek, despite my voice being muffled with his hand. 

“Well who else? Mal-Mal? Uh, no! You’re lucky that I saved you before something else did!” He retorted. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

“Mmmm mmm thmmm mmmmrm?!” (Where are the others?!)

“Don’t worry, they’re safe. Mal sent me to find you before trouble sparked up!”

Little too late for that, Lil. I’ve yet to find Vil, Leona, and Riddle! Now that Morganna has the vice heads locked up, who knows where she might be on the hunt for us. 

He seemed to send my distress, thankfully, and releases me from his hold. 

I shook my head rapidly, “I’m fine!” Fine?! Really?! Why’d I choose that word over something else?!

“Now Charlotte, you know better than to lie to me.” He teased. Damnit.

With nothing else, I spilled the beans.

“Well, that’s certainly not good.”

No shit, Sherlock!

“We have to warn Malleus and the other leads. I’ve managed to locate only half of them.”

“I’ll go with you to find the others before Morganna does.” Without resisting, I agree and we run for it.

(Note, these next three include songs. Links are listed underneath. Two are actual songs I know by heart, the last is inspiration from a certain musical)

Writings no. 5

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=oavr9Bj94Vk

Sighing, I clasp the golden pendant around my neck. The cool metal warms up in my palm. The melody of the music box gently tings out the tune. Without missing a beat I lull out,

A gentle breeze from Hush-a-bye Mountain

Softly blows o’er Lullaby Bay.

It fills the sails of boats that are waiting

Waiting to sail your worries away.

The faint memory of my mother singing that same song to me as a child was embrazened within my mind. Her touch...her voice...Her smile...her warmth.....

It isn’t far to Hush-a-bye Mountain and

Your boat waits down by the key.

The winds of night so softly are sighing

Soon they will fly your troubles to sea.

Epel snuggles into me, grasping what warmth I’m emanating from my body. His tears have long since dried and he closes his eyes.

So close your eyes on Hush-a-bye Mountain

Wave goodbye to cares of the day!

Enclosing my own arms around his fragile body, the melody turns into an orchestra of strings and winds. I felt their haunting song play and resound through the hollow air, filling the dead space with a symphony of soothing tones. I held him close to my heart, letting the song lull his soul to sleep.

And watch your boat from Hush-a-bye Mountain

Sail far away from Lullaby Bay.

His breathing grows slow and soon, soundlessly, he succumbs you sleep.

Writings no. 6

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=6D8tPJEyqbI

Walking down the dim halls, my thoughts grew bleak. And yet they keep going back to the same symbol that was embedded in the key, the same key which led to the mirror and matched my necklace.

Am I more connected to this world and what’s led on? Is the headmaster hiding something for me that I shouldn’t know of? Whatever the reason, I’ve yet to know... and I’ll find out for myself if no one’s going to help me!

Without thinking, I start to sing an old tune. A song about a poor wayfaring stranger going back home through so much turmoil and danger, but only for a lifetime of happiness back home.

The stranger and I are the same. We’re trying to find our way back, and will do everything to do so, even suffering ordeals, physically and mentally alike. But there’s a dividing line. Between my world and the one I’m trapped in.

I pass by a mirror and stop. I see my reflection: my dark locks were down, a Dutch braid framed my forehead keeping any stray hairs out of sight. My skin glowed under the candle light, giving off a warm beige halo of health. Pink lips in a soft pout. Yellow-brown eyes vibrantly shined through the golden-yellow glow of fire, and tiny freckles lined the apples of my cheeks.

“Charlotte...” I froze. That’s the same voice that called to me when I first found the mirror.

I started to shake, goosebumps prickled my arms and I felt a shiver go down my spine as I back away slowly. No...not again...anything but that!

I was a good few feet away when I bolted down the hall, never once turning back, the feeling of eyes on my figure continued to prolong.

Writings no. 7

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=PkB7hfC8aYM

Weeping silently, I let the tears fall into my hands. 

Riddle’s words kept stabbing at my heart like daggers. I could only recall his cold stare before he left with a swish of his cape. 

Despite Trey and the others trying to comfort me, all I wanted was to be alone. They left, regarding my wish.

Why was I always like this? Why was I the one to take the fall? Why?

“Poor Lotte.” “Poor sweet Little Lotte.” Two voices rang out. I gasp sharply and turn to where the voices sang creepily. And involuntary shutter flew down my back. I shivered. The atmosphere felt so...eerie now....

“She’s got a very serious problem, doesn’t she, brother?” One sang and a hum followed in agreement.

“If only-” “-there were something-” “-we could do!” “But there is something....!” The voices kept bouncing left and right. My tears have dried as I kept trying to pinpoint where they were coming from. I scanned the area. Not another person was in sight. 

“Who’s there? Who are you?” I call out in the darkness. I was getting a bit tired and pissed now. “I’m not in the mood for games! Now show yourselves!”

Suddenly from out of the shadows, two identical figures had appeared. They wore the same attire, yet while one was done up perfectly, the other was partially loose fitting. What set them apart more were their looks. Teal hair�� with a dark strand framing either the left or right of their faces. An earring with three blue stones were worn on the same sides. The two possessed  heterochromia iridium. One eye a dark beige, the other a gleaming yellow. 

The Leech Twins, Floyd and Jade.

“There’s no need to be hostile.” Jade spoke, smiling lightly.

“We know someone who can help you.” Floyd picked up, showing off sharp teeth in a sly grin.

I back up slightly, my hips hitting a chair, my eyes never leaving them. Yet when I blink, they’re gone. I whip my head behind to see where they’re at.

Then there was an arm around my waist.

I shriek and throw my hand back in a backhanded fist, praying for a clean strike. But got caught midair. By another, white-gloved hand.

“Someone who can help you find what you’ve lost long ago.” Cold lips were on my wrist and pointed teeth gently scratch the surface. I held my breath. Shut my eyes in paranoia.

The same feel of gloved hands take ahold of my other hand, lips gently trace the back.

“Just think of it,” they blended as one. “You and your family....reunited....forever....”

My eyes open, staring at one spot. “I-I don’t really understand.” Why with the stuttering, Charlie?!

“Azul...has extraordinary powers.” A voice coaxes on my right.

My eyes widen at that name. “Your...your lead?!” Riddle told off nearly all the dorm leaders (or more in his case every last one of them) that he can’t stand as soon as he took me in. Then again, he’s always like this.... telling ordering me constantly NEVER go join them. Especially Diasomnia’s.

But he’s not here! Yet...why do I still feel hesitant...?

Oh for the love of god, am I seriously letting that midget’s words get the better of my decisions?! He’s not the boss of me!!

“But that’s...I couldn’t possibly....”

“NO!” I scream, ripping myself away. My heartbeat shot up tenfold when the space was extended. “Doing that would be like selling my soul to a demon! I just couldn’t!” Burying my face in my hands, the tears sprung up again.

They seemed to sense my distress. “Very well.” Jade shrugged one shoulder in surrender. “It was just a suggestion.” Floyd finished. With a small bow and tip of the hat, they slipped back into the shadows.

When I felt they had left, I let my hands fall, but now there was a mirror, tall enough for a self portrait. I see my reflection: tear tracks lined down my cheeks, eyes red and hair ruffled. At least I didn’t look like a complete mess.

My eyes trail down to the necklace. Trey had given me a cleaning cloth for my pendant, to always keep it shiny.

Just one look sent me to my thoughts on my aunt.

Aunt Sam...Mom and Dad...I wonder how they’re doing.

Fuck it. I may or may not regret it, but at this point, what other choice is there?

Without thinking, I blurt out, “Wait a minute!”

“Yes?” I could’ve sworn I saw their eyes glow in the darkness.

Looking them dead on, the only thing that left my lips was what sealed my fate: “When’s the soonest I can see him?”

—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—

That’s what I’ve got 😅. And long story short: Mia was another potential OC of mine alongside Charlie. She’s in Savanaclaw, and a Ratel-Hybrid. I dunno if I should bring her into the fam...

[alexverhage]

    hi! it’s rosalie again, bringing you trashcan numero dos. this is alexander, my grumpy man but is also very kind once you get to know him. literally means no harm but can come off as an asshole when he wakes up on the wrong side of the bed... will probably try to make up for it but fuck it up in the process. again, message me if you’d like to plot ohrose#5907

[ PETER GADIOT, 31, CIS-MALE, HE/HIM ] welcome to nashville! have you met ALEXANDER VERHAGE? i remember seeing them down by CLADDAGH the other night drinking a OLD FASHIONED.  if you need something they work at CLADDAGH as a MANAGER. some people say they can be - IRRATIONAL & - FOUL-MOUTHED, but i always like to say they're +STRAIGHT-FORWARD & TOLERANT you should go say hello and let them know we sent you! [ ROSALIE, 27, SHE/HER, EST]

alexander (aka alex or xander) is known to be walking around town (or riding around town) with nothing but a scowl on his face and as though he woke up on the wrong side of the bed every morning. this is all thanks to his ex-wife (or soon to be ex-wife) and the fact that she’s trying to take everything he has away from him. however before i continue on with the present, we must go to the past.

alexander is mexican and dutch, born to louis and luisa verhage, funny how that works out. (i just lacked creativity) two lawyers who had very little time for him but hell as they were big corporate lawyers; however, they made the best of it whenever they could and hell, did they try to make it work.

he grew up in a middle-class home, never actually missing anything or being in need of anything right until his parents divorce. the divorce basically rocked alexander and he failed out of his first year of college (only 18 at this point), deciding to take a break for a while. it was for his best.

during this break, alexander drank and experimented with drugs all to get that pain away from his parents divorce. it wasn’t until he got into a motorbike accident at the age of 20 that he knew he needed to turn his life back around and he decided to go back to school. this time trying his hand at community college and then finishing his bachelors, law-school and then, a lawyer much like his parents.

while in law school, he met his wife, who dropped out before finishing because she realized law school wasn’t for her and she wanted to instead work from home and raise a family. this was all good to alexander, he was big on families, he loved his own, despite what happened. alex  finished law school at 27, got married shortly thereafter, and then started his job at a corporate law firm.  

the job became too much for him, asking for him everyday and night, asking for hours that he couldn’t give, and jobs that he probably shouldn’t be defending. alex was great at being an attorney, he just didn’t want to defend certain things, certain arguments just sounded wrong and he was suppose to live with that. he tried to talk about it with his wife, whom he believed to be his best friend, but she wouldn’t talk to him, there was no conversations, their relationship practically non-existent.  the man turned to alcohol one more time, becoming more dependent on it than the last time.  he had alcohol with everything, breakfast, lunch, dinner. alcohol basically became his best friend. he ultimately got fired from the firm, and alexander was able to breathe a sigh of relief and found himself a job at claddagh.

at 29, his wife, samantha, ended up pregnant with esme, his now two year old daughter. due to being fired and not seeing the income he usually brought home,  she filed for divorce because “a life with an alcoholic sloth” was not a life she wanted to live. she is now also battling him in court for his life insurance claim, and the money in their savings account, while also claiming full custody of their child for his alcohol abuse saying that the job at claddagh, is only making it worse.  

since she filed, and everyone can attest to this, alex has barely touch a spirit for fear that they’ll take his daughter from him. truth be told, after he was fired from the firm, he slowed down on his drinking, the job at the firm and the lack of ability to discuss the issues with his wife  being the main issues that drove him to be dependent on it.  

now, he’s fighting for his child, his property, and trying to be the best person possible for his daughter.

while he may come off as an asshole by the way he carries himself, (ie. foul mouthed, and hot-tempered, and irrational) this man has got the biggest heart and he considers those of claddagh to be much like his family,