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jrueships · 3 years ago

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What wips do you have rn 👀 elaborate pspspspsp

Too many wips.. thats what I have rn.. too many...

WJBFJEBF so the ones I'm most focusing on rn is the spiderman! Donovan/royce au!! So far I wrote the whole exposition and I'm working on the 'enticing incident' LMFAO it's upgraded from my last summary so I have more to write because I'm insane but yeah! It's the one I want done the most but I'm also gonna go on a trip with my buds to this place without wifi for like? Four days so 😭 I might have to finish it there and wait forever until I can post it! And I'm still unsure about the ending!!! THE STRUGGLE

a shorter fic I have in mind still is the russell waiting for kd at a table for two but he never shows up fic! I just really like writing russell widjsbf but not much action happens there! Many just dialogue and a lot of pg fashion/life roasting from Russell's inner dialogue. He's very judgemental of people who give off douchebag frat bro vibes but can't help but feel intrigued by them JABFJWB oh and he makes fun of pg simping for gold diggers

The fics I have written partly but put back in the burner are my donovan/jaylen fic, marcus/giannis, pg/kawhi jealousy fic, pg/kawhi sm*t fic, pg/kawhi space au, and john/trae patroclus and Achilles au! Mainly because they're super long and I get nervous about writing them too much and wasting all my muse on one thing, so I get scared and back off 😭 but I'll tell u the basic summary of them!!

💙 donovan/jaylen fic is based off the idea of donovan going grocery shopping and getting all mad at the thought of the clippers LMFAO. Basically he's at a grocery store getting flowers for his sports medicine doctor for always putting up with his bullshit (never wanting to sit down and relax so he can actually heal. Playing through the pain). But as he shops, he keeps finding the simplest shit that reminds him of the clippers. Like he sees a claw machine and thinks about Kawhi and how collected that guy is, just chillin in the upper stands, while his team is facing a possible defeat. Donny gets all frustrated because like?? He can't just do that? Just sit back and chill while his team is playing without him? Donny HAS to help, has to GET OUT THERE!! kawhi Doesn't... but kawhi is the one who won a championship. And donovan starts doubting his leadership skills and if he's really good for his team.. if he let them down by being Too pushy and Too in their faces.

+ and then when he's getting a cute card to go with the flowers, he spots one that says "you're the man!!" And he thinks about terance Mann and his great game against them, how proud pg, basically his mentor, was of him. And it makes donovan think about his loss and how he couldn't get that same pride out of Dwyane Wade.

Overall, everything makes him feel useless af and he almost kicks a shelf out of anger. But he calms himself down and goes back to the flowers because he actually only got this little dinky green plant still struggling to bloom? He got it for himself because he felt bad for it LMAO but he still needs to get flowers for his sports medicine doctor. He's goes back to the flower section and who does he see? JAYLEN BROWN all gussied up in his depression fit LMFAO.. but they both are. Jaylen and him try to joke but they're both tired and awkward so it sucks IABDKSBD they basically just ask what the other is doing there. Jaylen is just traveling rn because he got nothin else to do IWBDKS but he bought Deuce a souvenir gift! And he asks Donovan if he can help him put it in his trunk (but really he doesn't need donovan's help. He can pick the toy up himself. He just knows that Donovan is too stubborn to accept help when he needs it but he'll always try helping others out! So he wants donny to think he's helping jaylen but in reality jaylen is trying to help HIm because at the car he invites Donovan to go meet up at a hotel with him where they kiss and have sad *** to make themselves feel better WKBFKSBX) that's basically it!!!! I have literally everything written but the *** scene they're literally my weakness.. I love the emotions they make but I hate.. describing the actions it takes to make them?? Idk I just feel cheesy writing it? It's very tedious and boring to actually crank my brain for a synonym to 'moan' because I'm tired of using that word but it's the only word that really applies to that situation without sounding weird, yknow?? Just very tedious

💙💙💙 OK so marcus/giannis idk bro like... it's just taking so long IWBKENF idk what to say except giannis makes a ton of small jokes at marcus

💙💙 OK so pg/kawhi jealousy fic... BASICALLY the plot is LeBron hosts some big rich guy party for the NBA because I need a reason to write all these people that live far apart interacting together OKAY??? But anyways it takes place after 2020 lakers winning the championship! Pg convince the clippers to come or else they'll look bad for being the only team not coming and they media will have a field day with them, so the clippers join the party. Basically everyone who later team up in 2021 are talking to eachother LMFAO like James hardon+kyrie+kd are talking while russell westbrook and beal are bonding over dance moves with a jealous John wall pouting in the corner. Obligatory Marcus and giannis interactions because I can. Kyle and demar are laughing together. It's all goood until LeBron waltzes over with his weird ass feet and starts talking to kawhi. Hes being all Handsome and Strong and lowkey flexing his win. Its starting to make pg suspicious so he keeps intruding upon the conversation. His inner dialogue is basically a ton of lebron hate KABFKWB. LeBron sometimes comments back to pg but ends up kinda tuning him outta the conversation and sly dissing him to kawhi like "how does it feel talking to someone who doesn't hit the side of the backboard lol"

Pg is starting to get nervous because he's trying to compete against LEBRON over who's the better teammate for kawhi.. and with his current playoff history.. he's not gonna win. He keeps trying to get kawhi out of the conversation, but lebron keeps drawing him back in and pg ends up giving up or he risks looking like an overbearing girlfriend.. So he slinks off in hopes of distracting himself. Originally, pg thought KAWHI would be the one standing all alone awkwardly in the room with no one to talk to, but it's slowly becoming HIM who's the lonely one LMFAO. He tries joining in bradley and Russ's conversation because HEY!! Everybody leaves russ! Russ must be SUUUPER lonely and DESPERATE for someone to talk to him‼ especially when his old ex durant is out there plotting with his two hydra heads!! paul thought, anyways, but finds out russ is actually having the time of his life clowning around with beal !! That just makes pg even more envious and he walks away with zero satisfaction of feeling superior JABDJSB he tries talking to John wall like "this party fuckin sucks bro" but John kinda barks at him and pg gives up. He tries talking to marcus and giannis but that was a mistake because the two smartiest smartasses in the room start roasting him together so he's shunned back to pretending like he's getting 700 thirsty women in his dms, AKA pretending like he got a text on his phone while he leans alone on a wall LMFAO. After glancing up periodically (and casually) to see if kawhi is still talking to lebron, he later gives up on playing popular and goes to hide in the bathroom like a fucking loser WHDJBFJEBD in summary he kinda broods and steams about how much he hates lebron and how he's 'so much better than him' and he's just thinking of petty insults against him to try and convince the kawhi in his mind not to leave him for lebron. He gets really mad and punches a mirror, but thank God lebron is playing bass boosted music so no one at the party hears it.

But, demar ends up knocking on the door. He needs to shit. So pg is like.. what do I do with this broken mirror and my bleeding hand.. so he tries to keep demar out and they banter and eventually demar notices its kinda weird for pg to be huddled up in the bathroom instead of partying.. he must be getting high or smthin. So he's like "that's fucking stupid. He can go get high in one of lebrons 700 rooms. Why The bathroom." So he just opens the door LANKDN and sees The Scene.

At first he's like "are u paying for that.." to which pg responds with "uhhh. I tripped and hit my head on it" (while clutching a bleeding fist) but then he realizes OHHH pg must be ... OH is he.. no.. he can't be limp wristed... blah blah they end up bonding over their funny situations: demar being jealous of kawhi and feeling like kyle thinks he sucks because of him. Pg being jealous of lebron and feeling like kawhi thinks he sucks because of him. Blah blah it's a bittersweet ending pg becomes a little less of a jerk blah blah I haven't finished it because I'm stupid and WEAK

💙💙💙💙 pg/kawhi space au is just too long I have to be in the mood to write it or I end up dismissing good details I could have included if i wasn't in such a burnt out mind!

💙💙💙 pg/kawhi sm*t fic I gotta be in the mood to detail the h*rny right 😭😭

💙💙💙 john/trae patroclus and Achilles is mainly just an idea but with no plot!

But yeah!!! Those are SOME of my wips!! This post is really long tho so I'll just shout out those!!!@ thank u for the interest tho that's so cute 😭😭😭 it helps me write more when I have a plot lined up to look off of and remember ideas so this is really helpful to me too!!! I'll be shocked if u read this far tbh!! But anyways THANK U ALWAYS FOR THE ASKS, ANON!!!!!

#ted asks #this one is so long #ted drabbles

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mythrilhusk · 4 years ago

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Korosensei Never Dies - Chapter 5

Words: 1689 Ao3 Version Chapter 4 (Last)

Chapter 6 (Next)

AN: This is NOT RPF, this story is based solely on the characters of Dream SMP, not the people playing them.

====

It's a hobby some would call obsessive or even creepy. Wilbur Soot doesn't care what anyone thinks, it's his world and everyone else is just living in it. His pencil scrawls on the page, scratching black onto white.

--Tommy needs encouragement. He's latched onto Philza as a fath- role model worryingly fast. Have I not been enough for him? He told me he wants to kill Technoblade, but I could see the lie in his eyes. He's too kind, and now he's being torn in two directions. Should I ease the strain? Or should I see how long it takes for him to break?--

Wilbur doesn't care what others think of him. His sly gaze flickers from person to person, lingering on the bright ray of sunshine that is Tommy.

--Tubbo worries me. He's been mostly silent ever since Technoblade showed up. Is he planning something?--

--Eret wants to kill Technoblade purely for the money. I saw the way their eyes lit up at the bounty. Which brings to mind another question. Why hasn't anyone outside of this class actually tried to kill Technoblade?--

--Ranboo never lets go of that notebook. I could swear it had a different cover. He's creepy. Avoid him.--

--Quackity has an intense grudge against Technoblade. But he's always with his gang, so I haven't been able to talk to him.--

--Hannah Rose started sparring with Foolish and Charlie last week. She's good. Too good. I don't trust her.--

--I can't get a read on Sapnap. He's always with Quackity, so I never have a chance to have a nice little chat, a good old tete-a-tete.--

--Connor wants to kill Technoblade. Boring.--

--Charlie hasn't shown any bent towards one side or another. He goes around with his saccharine "humour" and fails all his quizzes like he doesn't want Philza to train us. Maybe I should get him expelled.--

--Foolish says strange things. I don't like him.--

Wilbur pauses when he's finished silently dissing all his fellow students. The teachers are next.

--Ponk just sort of showed up one day and then stayed as the math teacher. His quizzes are so goddamn annoying. He hasn't shown any signs of wanting to kill Technoblade, though.--

--Punz was here for like a day, and then was sent to the hospital as the result of Techno's completely just and righteous defense of Philza. Unknown if he will find the guts to return or not.--

--Philza. Ah, Philza. Mere words can not convey the sheer respect I have for that man's dedication to chaos. Why, just the other day, I saw him feeding birds as they perched on him. He then used them for target practice. Magnificent. If we all endeavor to succeed in our classes, he will teach us how to kill his friend.--

--Technoblade is an enigma. Seriously. Does this mutant man ever sleep? By all accounts, he should be a terrible teacher, yet somehow he finds the time and tenacious willpower to teach all the subjects in a concise and understandable way. Not to mention his casual sprinkling of anarchy propaganda. I wish to know his secrets. I will drag them out of him if need be.--

"Whatcha writing?" Tommy inquires.

"Nothing!" Grinning innocently, Wilbur snaps his notebook closed.

"Is it about me? Are you writing how good I am at luv?"

"No, Tommy." Wilbur ruffles his friend's fluffy hair, ignoring Tommy's complaints. "I'm writing a diary. You can't read it."

"Fuck off, I'll write my own diary!"

Wilbur smiles and sits back, listening to Tommy rant. It would be interesting, wouldn't it, to see how he deals with the conundrum of looking up to Philza while being pressured to kill Technoblade. Wilbur can't wait to see him break.

++++

Badboyhalo paces in the Duckling's treehouse, wincing with every step. Antfrost binds George's wounds. "This has gone too far, Bad!" George complains.

"Shut up! I know we can think of something!"

"Our reputation is on the line! If anybody looks even slightly deeper into our pasts, we're all screwed."

"Shut up!" Bad screeches. "We are Professional Assassins, that's all we ever have been, and nobody is going to question it unless you two screw up again!"

Antfrost glowers, tightening a bandage on George's arm. "You screwed up, too."

"How was I supposed to know?? He's a highschool student, a teenager, he shouldn't be good at fighting!!"

"He's better than us. You think Dream taught him?" George tries to scratch at his bandages, but Antfrost smacks his hand away.

"I don't know, you muffinheads, but we need to figure something out. Maybe take some martial arts classes."

"You want us to go back to school??"

"No! Yes?? Maybe? I don't know." Bad replies miserably. "We've gotta get outta here before Quackity and his gang show up."

"Too fucking late." Quackity snarls behind Bad, dropping through the window. "Why the fuck didn't your motherfucking special weapons do a single goddamned thing??"

"Language," Bad mutters half-heartedly.

"Why the fuck are you buffoons planning to take classes for fighting?? You said you were professionals!!"

"That is true, we are professionals. But we may have been a teensy bit misleading about our line of work."

Quackity's scowl darkens and he draws his revolver. "I want blood, Bad. I want your blood so motherfucking badly right now. Fucking tell me the truth."

Bad raises his hands, heart in his throat. "Wait, wait! I- we're not actually assassins, okay? We're just, uhh, our business is in, uhh-"

Quackity cocks the gun. His eyes show no hint of mercy.

"Wait-wait-wait-" Bad cries, trembling. "We're just con-men! It's our business! We go around, telling people we can take care of whatever their problem is, then we take the money and dip! Haha!"

"We bit off a bit more than we could chew when President Skeppy paid us to help you kill Technoblade." George sighs. "Go ahead and shoot Bad, he's our leader. It was all his idea."

"N-no!!" Bad screeches, glaring at George. "Don't shoot!! Please!"

"Fuck you." Quackity flicks open the casing and empties the bullets onto the table. "Fuck you and your motherfucking lies. You don't even have a supplier, do you?"

"No, we stole the prototype weapons from HBomb's lab!"

"I'll forgive you on one condition." Quackity gives them a small, hard smile. "Break into the lab and get us actual weapons that'll actually fucking work on Techno. Nothing explosive, just knives and guns."

"Deal." Antfrost says. "Do we still get a cut?"

"Ten percent, but that's only if you don't fuck up again."

"Ten??" Bad cries, forgetting his former fear. "That's only one billion!!"

"That's about a billion times more than you fucking deserve, so don't test me, assholes."

Bad clenches his fists. Quackity is just a kid. He's just one kid. Bad, Antfrost, and George could easily win.

But that's what they thought about Ranboo. Bad huffs. "Deal."

++++

Creeping around in the forest is not exactly what Awesamdude expected his career to lead to. But here he is, laying down a perimeter, alone.

Not quite alone, however. The two kids stalking him could do with some more practice staying silent. He's already learned their names from their hissing whispers.

"Niki, Jack, you shouldn't be here." He straightens after planting another post in the ground.

A girl with violently pink hair drops down from a tree. A boy with clashing heterochromatic sunglasses hops up from behind a stump, brushing the leaves off himself. "How'd you know we were there?" Jack whines.

"You were hardly quiet."

"What're you doing?" Niki crosses her arms, scowling.

"Do you want to die?" Sam asks darkly. He's bluffing, of course. He wouldn't kill innocents.

"Can you kill people?" Jack asks, excited.

"I could, if I wanted to."

"Can you kill Technoblade??"

"No."

"Why isn't anyone else trying?"

"His location was a secret." Sam sighs. "It's not anymore, but I'm going to ensure nobody else interferes."

"How are kids expected to kill an immortal??" Niki cries. "Why is the bounty so high?? Why is he teaching school instead of rotting in a prison??"

"Curious, aren't you." Sam scratches his head. "Well, I suppose I can answer the first two. You're not expected to kill him, you're being used to keep him in line. And the bounty is so high because he wanted it that high."

Niki glares at Sam. Jack's expression is unreadable behind his sunglasses. "Why-"

"Shoo." Sam waves a hand at them. "Go home before I lose my patience."

The two converse for a moment in hushed whispers. Then, simultaneously, they cry, "Teach us to kill Technoblade!"

Sam represses a smile. "No."

"Why not??"

"Because I have a job to do, and that involves not interfering."

"Is President Skeppy stalling??" Niki snaps.

"I can't answer that." Sam raises his crossbow upon hearing cautious footsteps sneaking past in the shadows of the trees. Niki and Jack both leap back into cover, but Sam ignores them. "Show yourself, or I put an arrow through your ribs."

"Please don't." Another teen steps out, raising his hands. The hidden weapons on his person wouldn't be obvious to someone less experienced, but are painfully visible to Sam.

"What are you doing out here?"

"I don't know?" The teen replies plaintively. "I was just taking a walk."

"Hm." Sam lowers the crossbow slightly. He activates the sensors in his false eye with a blink, scanning the teen. The scan glitches and sends a flash of pain through his skull. "Agh!"

"Are you okay, sir?" The teen steps forward. Warning bells chime in the back of Sam's mind, danger, danger, but Sam ignores them. This is just a kid. He's harmless.

"I'm fine. You should go home."

"Oh." The boy lowers his hands and opens the book he was holding. For a moment, Sam's eye glitches again, and the boy's form distorts; scales crawl across the boy's arms, twelve wings fold like fractals- Sam winces at the twinge of pain and the hallucinations fade. "I have a home, now." The boy mutters, and then wanders off.

Sam sighs and continues his job of setting up a fence around the school building for class 3-E. Niki and Jack have scampered off already. He's alone again.

Chapter 6 (Next)

#wilbur soot #tommyinnit #badboyhalo #antfrost #georgenotfound #quackity #awesamdude #niki nihachu #jack manifold #dream smp au #no ship #tw blood #tw threats #tw violence #ranboo

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serararku · 4 years ago

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The Addict’s Edict Finale

Era slowed her breath and flattened her ears against her head, with her bright blue eyes twinkling in the shadows. She crawled on all fours through the foliage and beneath the cover of the bushes. Her heart pounded against her chest and temples as she scanned the area; her prey was as cunning as he was quick, and she couldn't afford the luxury of underestimating his reflexes. So she stalked him from the dark like a ghost in the fog. The time to strike was close. She could sense it.

"Scurryin' about ain’t gonna help you none!" Thalen called out, stepping into view. He balanced his magitech rifle on his shoulder as he searched for her, with pupils so dilated she could barely see the yellow of his eyes. Era lowered herself when his gaze swept across her hiding place, but she released her bated breath when he turned to the side. "Is Isenhart's youngest pupil scared a lil'ol me? You ready to yield and drop this farce?" He jerked his head in the opposite direction. "Can't hide forever, lass. Alls you gotta do is knock me on my ass with that stick. Easy peasy, aye? Come on out n'get your ass-whoopin' while it's hot!" His back was turned and his guard was lowered -- it was now or never!

Era dashed out from the foliage and raced across the pond, as silent as a shadow and as quick as a coeurl. She held her bokuto with one hand, letting the tip of the wooden blade brush against the surface of the water. She saw Thalen’s ears point in her direction just as she almost made it to the other side. The Gunslinger whipped around to fire off a shot, but was blinded by a spray of water when she flicked the sword at him. Thoomp! The burst of aether cut through mist and smoke before diving under the surface of the water.

Era reappeared from above, aiming to give this loudmouth a concussion with a downward swing. Like lightning he whipped his revolver up and pointed it over his shoulder! Thoomp! The bokuto bounced backward in Era's grasp when the aether burst ricocheted! Off balance and airborne, she grit her teeth as she tried to correct herself, but he had already stepped out of harm's way.

Her heart was pounding in her head when she landed, bringing the blade across to bounce his rifle away before he could aim at her! She whipped the bokuto back to smash against the side of his head, but he ducked and leaned back! Era stayed kept on the pressure, swinging high when she tried to knock him out, and low when she tried to throw him off balance; but the bastard was quick -- far quicker than she's ever seen him move in her life! When he spun on his heel to avoid another swing, he scraped his cupped fingers along the ground and threw a handful of dirt at her face. She closed her eyes and sputtered for a full second, and that was enough.

Thalen swung the back of his hand as hard as he could, smacking the bokuto out of her grip. Then he lunged forward, driving the butt of his rifle up and slamming her right in the stomach with a weighty thud!

"Haaugh!" Era buckled over and dropped into the dirt, gasping for air and in the fetal position. Reluctantly she opened her eyes and saw her weapon just a couple yalms away; Thalen once again had his back turned, slinging his rifle over his shoulder and basking in his victory. He was talking but she couldn’t really hear him -- she had one last trick up her sleeve. Clutching her stomach as she crawled, she hurried as fast but as quietly as she could to reach her discarded wooden blade. If she could get to her weapon before he had a chance to noti- BLAM BLAM BLAM!

Dust kicked up by her hand, stopping her dead in her tracks. Dust picked up by live rounds. She turned around to see Thalen pointing his hand cannon at her. She completely forgot about his 'pride n'joy'. "I win, princess." He sneered, spinning the sidearm on his finger before sliding it back into his holster. "I told you a swordsman ain't no match for a bastard with a clear shot."

“Woohoo! Yeah! Way to go Thalen!” Coroh cheered and clapped once it was perfectly clear victory of this duel was going to him. Mizuna on the other hand, who was here purely to ensure no one got seriously hurt, finally let out a breath she had been holding for what felt like forever.

Era rubbed dirt from her face as she sat upright, wallowing in her crushing defeat; eight moons of training under Hadriel and she still couldn’t defeat some drunkard with a spare pistol. “You cheated...”

"Cheated? Heh heh heh..." Thalen repeated, chuckling. "You think honor'll protect you when the chips are down? It won't. How did facin' your foes head on go back in Mor Dhona again? You got shot to hell, aye?"

“A real swordsman wouldn’t be beaten so easily…”

“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong, Era.” He offered his hand to help her to her feet, his eyes still dilated with attentive excitement. “How’d you think Garlemald conquered Doma and wiped out most of them swordmasters in the first place? With bullets, that’s how. Lots n’lots a bullets.”

She was reluctant to accept his offered hand, but she didn’t want to look like a sore loser; she was definitely sore though. “Hadriel can deflect bullets… I’m sure he can.”

“Aye, I’m sure he can too.” Thalen saw the frown on her lips and heard the subtle pout in her voice -- he felt good about today despite his crippling thirst, as it was always a treat to knock a blademonger down a peg or two. A grunt and a heave later and Era was back on her feet. “But that takes a lotta focus n’strain on the body to move that fast. Even the greatest Samurai can only move so fast for so long. They’ll run outta stamina long before I run outta ammunition, I can assure you of that.”

She dusted off her backside and nodded -- she couldn’t argue with that logic. “You think you can take on Hadriel with that peashooter?” Almost immediately he threw his head back and laughed in an exaggerated fashion.

“Of course I could!” Thalen chortled, pretending to wipe a tear from his eye. “And for the record… this is a ceruleum powered magitech mini railgun revolver. I could blow a squirrel’s brains out from twelve-hundred yalms with a clean shot, and at max power I could punch a hole as large as a hrothgar’s head in Garlean black steel. Course… the knockback would shatter my arm. But that’s besides the point! It’s deadly accurate and packs a wallop!”

“All that jargon is worthless against a katana wielded by a real master.” Era yawned, plucking her sword. “If you fought Hadriel, you’d be dead before you could draw your pistol…”

“Say it with me: railgun revolver.” Thalen turned to wave at Mizuna and Coroh, who were at a healthy distance. “Sure, if’n he could get me within swingin’ distance of that blade I’d be minced meat. But gunslingers like me fight at a distance, lass. And I’d be able to know where he’s at long before he can get near me.”

Coroh ran up first, still excited at that display of marksmanship. “Wow! That was really, really cool…! Can you teach me how to shoot like that?”

“Baby steps, darlin’.” He smiled, ruffling her hair. “Learn the bow n’I’ll teach you how to shoot a sidearm, aye. Plenty of folks at the estate are handy with precision guns too, so you’ll never be short a teacher.” He gestured to Era before grinning wickedly. “But show’s over. Let’s go ahead n’get outta here. I got jobs to do, gil to make, n’a thirst to quench.”

“Why don’t you take Coco along with you, S’era?” Mizuna chimed in, casually approaching the group with her hands deep in her lab coat pockets. “I need to speak with K’thalen alone.” Thalen and Era exchanged looks before the Samurai tentatively nodded, gesturing for the gushing Miqo’te girl to follow her to her chocobo Kwehzimoto.

With a lift and a plop, Coroh was in the saddle with the reins in her hands before Era climbed up to sit behind her. “Goodbyyyeee!” Coroh hollered, waving at them both as the two girls took off toward Ul’dah in a cloud of dust.

Mizuna watched them disappear along the horizon, waiting for them to be long gone before she turned to look up at him. “You can see aether.”

“Eh?” Thalen snorted, crossing his arms. “What’s this now?”

“You knew Ms. Rarku was hiding in those bushes. You knew where she would reappear when she vanished in that puff of smoke, and you dodged all of her swings perfectly.” Mizuna dressed him down with her gaze. “Half of those dodges happened when you weren’t even looking at her.”

“That’s just instinct, Doc.” He waved his hand dismissively, turning to make his way to his fenrir motorcycle. “Been sparrin’ with the hothead for moons now. She’s as predictable as the sunrise.”

Mizuna slowly blinked, before pulling a rubber stress ball from her pocket. She said nothing as she watched him wander away, halfway to his bike, before she lifted her arm and chucked it as hard as she could at him; Thalen ducked as soon as it was released from her hand, letting it soar clean over his head to bounce off into the dust and haze of the desert wastes. “I’ve made no indication I would do that. How can you call that instinct?”

He dusted off his hat before sliding it back onto his head. “Pfeh… I never let my guard down ‘round women, that’s why.”

“You can see aether. The only reason you dodged that ball is because it was in my pocket for bells. My aether had rubbed off on it, and you felt it leave my hand.” Mizuna took long strides to reach his side again. “I’ll need to run more tests to be sure you can help me with my problem…”

“A problem?” Never before had Thalen been so confused, and that’s saying something. “What kinda problem?”

“It’s confidential.” Mizuna tucked her hands back into her pockets and quickly changed the subject. “I also wanted to talk to you about your… addiction. If you have a moment to talk with me?”

“Doc, you ain’t comin’ on to me, are you?” He furrowed his brow and straightened his back. “Cause I got this rule where I nev-”

“I’m not hitting on you.” Her tone was curt and annoyed. “I’m referring to your drinking problem.”

Thalen relaxed a bit, his hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck. “I ain’t got no drinkin’ problem. Can’t a man enjoy a drink or two at his leisure?”

“If it was just ‘a drink or two’ we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” Mizuna eyed him up and down before continuing. “You’re a grown man. I can’t force you to change your ways… I don’t know why you drink exactly, but I know you don’t drink because you like to have fun. You’re killing yourself trying to escape something… or someone. But you can’t run from whatever is haunting you forever, K’thalen. Trust me… I’ve seen what trying to drown your sorrows in alcohol can do to a man.”

Thalen wasn’t in the mood for another addiction lecture. He’s suffered through interventions before, from ‘friends’ who wouldn’t or couldn’t understand. The fact that this scaled wannabe mother of his could even suggest she has any idea of what it’s like to deal with his inner demons made his tail bristle, his face scrunch up into a snarl, and words laced with poison leap from the back of his throat. “Like who… you’re husband?”

Her faint smile vanished and she slowly blinked at him. The stone mask slipped onto her face as she slowly inhaled, but Thalen knew better than to trust a blank expression. “Yes. Like my husband.”

“Ah…” He sputtered, still more angry and irritable than embarrassed. “Sorry, Doc. I… didn’t mean it.”

“My husband tried to drown himself in liquor trying to forget the agony of losing not one, not two, but all three of our children. He became an angry, violent drunk, and although he never hit me… I could tell he wanted to. Alcohol has that effect on grief. But the pain can never stop until you face it head on.” She slowly inhaled as her gaze drifted to Ul’dah in the distance. “You’re one of the greatest shots I’ve ever seen. Maybe the fastest quickdraw in Eorzea. Alcohol is not your buddy. If you won’t cut back for your sake, think about the people around you who are concerned for your wellbeing. Their lives are affected too.”

Thalen gulped dryly, the familiar stinging thirst stabbing him in the back of the throat. Mizuna brushed past him and sat down on the backseat of the motorcycle, with the slightest scowl on her face.

“Take me home.”

---

Mentions: @hadriel-ffxiv

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skinks · 5 years ago

Note

mr wentworth yes i help my son with his goofy voices yes i am a dilf tozier has the salt n pepper hair of god (oscar isaac) and the sexy librarian glasses to match

god I had never even considered that... the range of this...

Went starts going gray at 32 when Richie is 5 and it’s all the church women’s group can talk about... indirectly, of course. Oh, but he’s so young. Oh, he’ll be balding next. Oh I don’t know, doesn’t he look... distinguished? Mrs Nash from just down their street sees him doing rock-paper-scissors with his son Richard in the grocery store to determine whether or not Richard is allowed ice cream, and Dr Tozier is laughing because he’s winning, and he’s winning because Richard doesn’t know his father can see his little hidden hand reflected in the freezer cabinet, tucked behind his back. Richard’s laughing too, even though he’s losing, and bleats, “Again! Dad again,” eyes shining big as planets with coke-bottle rings.

“Don’t you know what best two out of three means? That was four draws ago.”

“No! No, I’ll win!” The boy shakes his head so hard his whole body rocks from side to side, then clings up at Dr Tozier’s middle with sticky hands. His very... trim middle. Helen’s own Rory, God love him, he enjoys a sudsy six-pack too much these days to keep a middle like that. “Two outta three! Three ice creams please Dad please please Dad please watch I can count to a hundred—”

“Well, we’re not playing hide-and-go-seek right now, Rich. And I beat you, didnt I?”

“Yeah!”

“Right. So why don’t you go get Dad six apples instead, alright? If you can do a hundred, six’ll be pie.” Dr Tozier claps his big hands gentle to the boy’s round cheeks, until they goldfish.

“Easy as,” they chant together. Helen props herself up with the handles of her own cart, the can of little hotdogs going slack in her hand.

“Six apples, then come right back. You got that, doc? You pick the color.”

Richard nods like he’s trying to detach his own head. Dr Tozier puts one hand just briefly on Richard’s dark mophead hair, like he’s giving the boy a blessing for his apple adventure. His hand is really quite broad, thinks Helen, popped out square at the thumb-joint. Matches that jawline of his, something whispers darkly in her stomach. Then the boy’s off, tearing down the aisle on a squeaking chariot of scuffed-gray sneakers and babbling what sounds like a Bugs Bunny impression, repeated on a loop. What’s up doc what’s up doc what’s up doc, fading around the corner to the fruit. Peculiar. Helen once saw the Tozier boy eat a worm at the park while pushing her youngest on the swings, after another solemn-eyed little boy with a faceful of freckles had carefully presented it to him in the sand box. Most peculiar.

Dr Tozier watches him go, then turns back to the freezer cabinet, and sticks two cartons of ice cream into his shopping cart—the very sugary kind. And the man is a dentist!

Helen puts her hand on her chest to calm the trilling schoolgirl rush of her heart, and then stops herself at the sight of her own wedding ring. Get a hold of yourself, Mrs Nash! For Pete’s sake! She trundles her cart over for some chit-chat. Afternoon, Doctor, she says, lovely weather. A perfect neighbourly opener. It is lovely; bright and warm and clear and golden, like honey outside. She’s quietly smug about her new blowout. Dr Tozier is wearing a crisp shirt with buttons like neat soldiers and short sleeves, exposing lean forearms. Yes, a lovely day. Helen swallows.

“Yes, good for the lawn,” replies Dr Tozier.

“We missed Margaret at book club this week,” Helen hedges.

“Oh, that’s right,” says Dr Tozier, and the fine lines at the corners of his eyes when he grins are even more distracting without the facemask he’s usually wearing, when Helen drops in for her check-ups. He pushes his spectacles up the strong slope of his nose. They’re wiry like him, steely gray to match his eyes. “She meant for me to tell you, or Diana. Maggie’s been in Skowhegan for the week at her mother’s. My mother-in-law is a woman of... nervous disposition, shall we say. Maggie didn’t think she’d cope with two Tozier men at once, now that Richie’s started losing his teeth.”

“Ohhh,” Helen coos. That must explain the ice cream. She puts her hand near to Dr Tozier’s arm, then away, then near, then away again for good. A neighbourly distance. Margaret is a lovely, lucky woman, even if she does wear flared pants. Hippie to yuppie pipeline’s alive ‘n’ flowin’, Rory always grunts whenever the Toziers come up in conversation. Helen imagines a picket fence between their bodies, and calms. “My Wendy was the same, I’m sure you remember.”

“Yes,” says Dr Tozier mildly. “You brought her in six times as I recall it, Mrs Nash.”

Mrs Nash. Honestly, like she’s his schoolteacher. It’s a little rude. Admittedly he does look quite, quite young with his faintly curling weekend-hair, if not for the new gray blazing a trail back from his temples like virgin snow. Helen is undeterred, even if something quivers inside at the thought of the word virgin in conversation with Dr Tozier. Music tinkles tinny through the ceiling speakers, and it puts Helen in mind of potted plants, or elevators. This is a lovely chat. “Well, you hate to see them suffer, don’t you? I’m sure Richard’s the same, lots of tears—”

“No, actually, Richie keeps on finding things to hit himself in the face with and knock out more teeth,” Dr Tozier interjects. He raises his eyebrows and speaks hushed, as if this is a secret for Helen’s ears alone. The thought makes her dizzy. “It’s my fault, I made the mistake of giving him a quarter for the first one. That’s why he’s not invited to Grandma’s. Lot of antiques.”

“Oh,” says Helen, taken aback. She has three girls; little boy behavior is as yet mystifying. “Well.”

“I’m joking, Helen,” Dr Tozier says cheerfully.

“Oh. I—I see. What a relief.”

He opens a freezer chest to examine a bag of frozen peas. “Maggie’s mom is deaf as white cat, she’d never notice.”

Helen tries to wipe her clammy hands on her dress without being obvious. Her face is hot, but she hopes her cardigan conceals the effect that the chill of the freezer aisle is having under her bra. She also hopes that it doesn’t.

He really does have such a slender, pleasant face, always with an air of casual, amused expectancy hanging around him. Haloing him, like that bright yellow light above the chair in his practice, blocked out when he leans over and slips his fingers inside. Helen supposes that’s what graduating medical school must do to a man, what marrying and fathering young and having one’s own practice by the end of such a turbulent decade as the nineteen-seventies must elicit. The ability to put people at ease, to—to say open wide and know the people of Derry trust him enough to comply. To open themselves. Helen’s breathing catches. Dr Tozier idly checks his sensible watch, still smiling the unhurried smile of a man who very rarely does his own grocery shopping anymore. Everyone knows you pick up the ice-cream last.

Helen gathers herself. This is the longest conversation she has entertained with Dr Tozier without children or the squeaking of latex gloves between them, and she’s gripped by the terribly silly need to be interesting. “Speaking of white cats, I couldn’t help noticing your hair, Wentworth—”

“DADDY!”

Dr Tozier blanches, whipping around to scan the end of the aisle. He is a long line of tense instinct tuned to thrum into action at one specific frequency, knuckles white on the cart handle. His cart bumps into Helen’s. It is thrilling.

“Fuck,” Dr Tozier mutters, and that’s thrilling too, he swore, oh, the boy’s probably fine Wentworth, don’t go, why don’t we just stay right here with the frozen goods and—

Then Richard comes barrelling back down the aisle like a colt on new legs covered in old Band-aids, with his arms full. The fluorescent strip-lights gleam white on Dr Tozier’s broad shoulders and he sags, like snow dropping from a branch, with relief.

“Hey, lunkhead,” he says, sounding shaky, but Richard is only five and would never know it. He’s babbling again. Seems to Helen like the boy’s as a hydrant overflowing on a hot day; entertaining and welcomed at first, until it becomes a nuisance when you begin to understand it won’t shut off, and have to call the firemen.

“Nyyeeeeeah,” Richard greets his father, tousled and bug-eyed with clear adoration, breathing hard from his Supermarket Sweep. Then he makes the carrot-noise. Looks like Bugs, Helen thinks of the boy’s new adult front teeth, the beaverish jut of them exacerbated by his missing canines on either side. Then she feels abruptly un-neighbourlike for being jealous of a child for his father’s attention, good grief.

Dr Tozier regards his son for a long moment. Then says, “What’s up, doc?” in a spot-on Mel Blanc whine. Richard giggles so hard his too-big glasses start slipping. “How many apples is that?”

“Gotta apples and I was gonna put ‘em in a bag but I forgot and Dad, Daddy look, s’a dinosaur on the box for my dinner when Mommy’s at Grandma’s—”

Dr Tozier sighs, putting one hand on his hip and dragging the other over his clean-shaven mouth, watching Richard drop his armfuls everywhere, scattering the linoleum. He has two apples, four boxes of brightly colored cereal, a handful of pencils topped with cartoon-character erasers, and a kiwi fruit. For a moment, Helen sees the shining enamel of Dr Tozier’s everything-will-work-out-with-another-cup-of-coffee amusement slip, wear away to worry underneath.

“Rich,” he says, interrupting Richard’s blabbermouth, firm and patient. Helen’s thighs burn suddenly under her skirts at the tone of his voice, and she looks down, rearranging her own groceries. She should leave them to get on. She could offer to help. Margaret’s out of town, poor things, they probably haven’t eaten a cooked meal all week!

“Richie,” Dr Tozier says again. “Listen and pay attention when Mom or me ask you to do something, remember? How many apples did I ask you to get?”

Richard has to crane his neck to meet his father’s eyes. Dr Tozier is one of the tallest fathers in the Derry Elementary catchment zone, Helen has checked. “Six!”

“And how many’ve you got, Elmer Fudd?”

“Um.” Richard’s pale little face creases in thought, then brightens. When he speaks again his voice is strange, accented. “Twooo.”

“Some apple hunter you are, huh.”

“Sorry, Daddy.”

“That’s fine.” Dr Tozier stoops to gather Richard’s detritus, and Helen knows she has something to contribute, watching the boy stick one of the pencils up his nose.

“You know, apples are very good for you,” she says. Richard turns to her, slack-jawed, as if seeing her for the first time. “You should listen to your Daddy, Richard, an apple a day keeps the doctor away.”

Richard stares for another few seconds. Then he bites down on his boogery pencil so that it threads through the gaps in his teeth, and hollers, “MY FRIEND BILL SAID THAT’S A PILE OF BULLSHIT.”

“No shouting indoors, Rich,” says Dr Tozier, still gathering. Helen rocks a step backwards, clinging to her cart like a life-preserver.

“Bill and my’s friend Eddie eats a thousand apples and sees the doctor all the time though Dad, and Miss Spiegel said if we eat apples we don’t have to see the doctors but Eddie eats them and—Bill said—”

“Pile of bullshit, yeah, I liked it. Bill’s an eloquent guy,” says Dr Tozier. This is the second time Helen has ever heard him curse in as many minutes. It comes out easy and amused as everything else does in his pleasant tenor. His legs and his jaw are so lean and angular that Helen can see the suggestion, the shadow of the shape of his perfect, swearing teeth through his cheek as he grins helplessly at his son, the fruit of his loins and someone else’s loins who isn’t Helen, and all of a sudden she feels a slick pulse of wet heat, up between her thighs.

She squeaks. Flutters her hand to her face without knowing why, perhaps to catch the noise before Dr Tozier notices, just another quivering Derry leaf tossed along by his breezy manner. He looks up anyway, with a frown.

“Everything alright, Helen?”

“Just—fine, yes,” she manages. Dr Tozier is still down on one knee, kindly face level with her skirts. She can see right down under his starched collar from this angle, a slivering glimpse of smooth, dark hair. No undershirt. Helen has lain naked against Rory’s nakedness before without feeling this alive, in every part of her body. She feels like a heart, beating.

“Oh, hang on.” Dr Tozier says, eyes widening, and turns Richard by the shoulders to face her. One pencil for each nostril, now. “Apologize to Mrs Nash for cussing, Richie.”

“Sorry!” Richard shouts, sounding less like he’s apologizing and more like he’s just deemed Helen it during a game of tag.

Helen is still floating in a dazed state of mild panic. Like a prey-mouse, bewitched into slack compliance by her own body’s snaking desires. “That’s alright, dear.”

F-word, Dr Tozier had said. Maybe cussing could be quite neighbourly when applied in the right context, thinks Helen.

“You mentioned my hair, earlier,” says Dr Tozier, straightening back up with a knowing sort of arch to his eyebrow as he smiles genially at Helen. He tilts his head down at Richard. “There’s the reason. Every last one, sprinkled onto my head at the tender age of thirty-two by the great salt-and-pepper shaker of fatherhood. Especially this week, with Maggie on sabbatical. Had to bring you to work with me, didn’t I, buckaroo?”

Richard bites and swings and tugs on his father’s long arm, a tearaway kitten with a much obliging scratching post. Dr Tozier hardly seems to notice. “Yeah! Daddy’s got fishes at work!”

Dr Tozier grimaces slightly at Helen, but also as if he’s seeing right through her to some past unnamable horror. “I liked those fish. Calmed down the nervy patients.” He sighs again.

Helen wonders briefly whether or not the residents of Dr Tozier’s waiting-room fish tank suffered the same fate as that worm in the park, and decides she’d rather not know.

“Well, you needn’t worry about it,” she says, gamely. She watches her hand reach towards Dr Tozier’s silver-black brindle, then snatches it back from his bland expression to brush the tips of her own feathered-out hair. “The gray, I mean.”

Dr Tozier blinks.

“It’s very—that is to say, you look, it makes you look, I mean, I think it’s—”

Dr Tozier’s left eyebrow joins his right, raised up high.

A tidy little jet of hysteria shoots up from Helen’s knotting stomach to spin like a top in her chest. She hears herself stutter out the word, “Dashing,” and immediately wishes to flee the store, leaving her cart abandoned like so much collateral damage.

But Dr Tozier only barks a laugh, a short, smooth hah like everything else he says. Entirely unperturbed. “Well, thank you.”

Too unperturbed. Helen is struck by a sudden bolt of terror, at the thought of the things Dr Tozier must surely hear every day, when people are lulled by the hypnotically intimate environment of a dentist’s chair and a touch of the laughing gas. Oh, this is terrible. Her face is on fire.

“But they—they make products for men now,” she says, and why, oh why can’t she stop talking? “Hair dyes, I mean, if it really does bother you? I’ve seen them in Keene’s.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” says Dr Tozier, looking down at Richard then with a soft edge, at his bouncing noise and scabbed knees and gently curling hair like a black spaniel’s. Like his father’s. “I find I’m rather grateful for it, truth be told.”

“Plus,” he continues, as if Helen wasn’t already melting harder than the Tozier’s ice-cream, as if Johnny Kitchener the shop-boy isn’t going to have to come along with a mop and bucket to clean up on aisle seven, “Maggie’d kill me if I got rid of it.”

Then Dr Tozier winks.

Oh Lord, oh Lord, Helen’s whole ribcage is so tight she can’t squeeze out a reply, because who could blame dear, pretty, annoyingly friendly, lucky, lucky, lucky Margaret for that when Dr Wentworth Tozier DMD is so—

So f—

So fffffff—

So fiddlesticksing handsome!

“Well, we’d best not keep you, Helen. This one is in dire need of a bath before his mother sees him, and hands me a divorce on the spot,” Dr Tozier says, when another few moments have passed and all Helen can do is try to desperately smooth the creases from her breathing. He’s humming mild interest at something Richard is saying, knelt back down to the linoleum to tie the boy’s loose-worm laces presumably before he gives himself any more skinned knees, and they’re leaving. Dr Tozier is leaving, and Helen hasn’t done anything but act like a ninny this entire time. She doesn’t want him to think her a ninny, a simpleton. She wants him to leave this bright, liminal church of bold colors and jazzy waiting-room music and return to his lemon-yellow two-storey house thinking my, what a lovely chat I had with Helen Nash.

She wants to linger, as he lingers. Like an amiable spirit hanging over the women’s group at church, waiting to be summoned at a moment’s eager notice. I bumped into Dr Tozier at Palmer’s on Saturday, she’ll say to the other jealous ladies, with triumph, and we had such a nice talk. He called me Helen.

“And when—when does Margaret get home?” she blurts. A very secret part of Helen wants Dr Tozier to leave this conversation with Helen and his wife both, entwined by association in his mind. She tries very hard not to think about the Toziers divorcing, because that is un-neighbourly, and feels least neighbourly of all when a dopey, dreamy look crosses Dr Tozier’s face like a brief sunbeam at her question.

“Ah. Tonight. Not too late, hopefully.” He jerks one of his knuckley thumbs at his shopping cart, licking the other to wipe something unidentifiable from Richard’s grubby face. “That’s why we’re here, stocking up for her miraculous return. Like a couple of noble emperor penguins in Antarctica, eh Rich?”

“Penguins like from Batman! Ka-pow.”

Helen takes a peek into their cart, curiosity getting the better of her now that permission is granted. Dr Tozier might not know it, but looking into another person’s cart is bad grocery etiquette, especially in a town like Derry, where gossip grows like a fungus in every sweaty and close little huddle of people. Not that Helen would know about that. Anyway, there isn’t much to gossip about besides the unfortunately liquefied ice-cream, the severe lack of crunchy vegetables characteristic of a young man in 1981 trying to provide for a tooth-shedding son, and—

A little cardboard box. Tossed unashamedly between the Wonderbread and a magazine about sports. Prophylactics. Rubbers.

36-pack. XL

Helen knows her jaw is hanging open and strains to close it, the back of her neck and her shoulders feeling hot and tight and shuddery. She kneads a fist into her skirts. Crosses her legs at the ankles as demurely as she knows how, because the very last thing she needs is for frank, sensible Dr Tozier to see right through her with that easy doctor-patient-confidentiality smile, and know she’s soaking through her underwear at the sight of his Saturday grocery run, and all it implies.

Dr Tozier is laughing, nudging Richard in the direction of the register, or perhaps the apples. “Ka-pow is right. I’ll make sure to use that on Mom, thanks. Say hello to Rory for us, Helen. Have a nice day,” he says from over his shoulder, startling her. Holds up one long hand in a wave with a grin, and is gone, shadowing the boy’s haphazard attempts to push the cart despite not being able to see where he’s going.

Helen stands amongst the humming freezers, trembling. “You too,” she rasps, but Dr Tozier has rounded the corner, and is evidently going to have a nice day and a much nicer night, regardless of whether Helen wishes it for him or not.

All the bright little branded characters are watching her from their shelves, a silent jury. Helen Nash opens a freezer cabinet with a weak arm, and stands there for a while, staring at a leg of ham and thinking cooling, neighbourly thoughts.

#long post #idk how to do readmores on mobile soz not soz #wentworth tozier #richie tozier #poor sexually unsatisfied helen nash #sometimes you just have to write the DILF went tozier fic you want to see in the world #stephen king: he was a pleasant looking man with a rather thin face #me cracking my knuckles: a l r i g h t #but what if... big dick richie was hereditary... what then 😳🤔👀🤔👀😳😳👀#ficlet

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livesincerely · 4 years ago

Text

take a shot (but how’s your aim?) ch. 1 - not with a bang

Also on Ao3

00000

For the life of him, Jack can’t figure out how the situation went south so quickly.

Tucked underneath his arm, Maggie pushes a bit of corn nervously around her plate and says, “So, how do you all know Jack?”

It’s her fourth attempt at starting a conversation, and it goes about as well as all the others have. The boys remain silent, throwing each other side-along looks or ducking their heads towards the table; Racetrack goes as far as to let out a dismissive snort.

Thoroughly fed up, Jack aims a kick under the table at Albert, who’s closest. Albert grits his teeth but he still doesn’t answer. Jack kicks him again, even harder.

“We’s all Newsies,” Al says shortly. “So we live together and we work together.”

Maggie latches onto this barren statement like a life line.

“And what’s being a Newsie like?” she asks eagerly. “It must be exciting, getting to roam the city, meeting different people everyday—“

“It ain’t exactly fun and games,” Racetrack scornfully interrupts. “It’s workin’ in the sun all day and gettin’ spat at and havin’ta fight for weeks justa get treated decent by folks who should know bett’r.”

“Oh,” Maggie says. “Of course. The strike.” She takes a breath and determinedly continues, “Yeah, it was incredible! The work you all did—you inspired so many people! How did you manage to keep going? It must of been really difficult—“

“I thought ya said ya worked at The World?” Racetrack says, cutting Maggie off again. “You must not be payin’ enough attention��it was front page news.”

“Race,” Jack says in warning.

“I’m just sayin’, it was right there in black and white.”

“Racetrack, I swear to god—“

It’s Davey that saves the day. “So, Maggie,” he forcefully interjects, a smile plastered woodenly across his face. “Tell us a little more about yourself.”

Maggie blinks at the sudden friendliness after a half hour of painful silence and cutting remarks. Tentatively she answers, “I’m one of the type setters in the inking office. It’s a good position—they need girls with small fingers to adjust some of the fiddly bits on the different machines.”

Davey nods. “You must be good with your hands,” he offers. “Is that a knitting project, there in your bag?”

Maggie looks startled, then pleased at the change in topic. “Oh, yes! I’m working on a scarf for my Grandmother.”

“Ain’t it a little hot for a scarf?” Romeo comments loudly, to no one in particular.

“But I’m sure it’s never too early to get started,” Davey firmly redirects before things can turn sour. “You know, Buttons here is really into crafts and such.” Buttons glances up, clearly surprised at being thrown into the conversation. “I’m sure he’d love to hear more about it.”

Buttons mutters something under his breath, too quiet for Jack to make out. Then it looks like Davey pinches him just under the armpit.

“...What kinda needles are you using?” Buttons reluctantly asks.

Maggie answers, her enthusiasm starting to grow as the conversation continues more or less smoothly, and Buttons’ expression turns grudgingly interested.

Jack attempts to throw Davey a grateful smile but can’t quite catch his eye for some reason. He makes a mental note to do something nice for him, as a thanks for not being a complete ass like everyone else.

Speaking of everyone else, Jack uses the moment of calm to look around at the others.

It’s a sea of dissatisfaction: Albert’s wearing a sullen frown, Racetrack’s got his arms crossed over his chest, Specs is doing that thing where he keeps cleaning and re-cleaning his glasses, Crutchie keeps glancing at him like he’s lost his damn mind— what the hell is wrong with everyone? Even Katherine seems to be in a bad mood, though she’s doing a slightly better job at hiding it, lips pursed and fingers drumming against the table’s edge.

Jack’s still trying to figure it all out when the sound of his name catches his attention.

“—I’ll have to see about making something for Jackie too,” Maggie is saying, and she tugs playfully at Jack’s collar. “Maybe some fingerless gloves, so he can wear them while he draws.”

“Aw, you don’t gotta go outta your way for me, Mags,” Jack says.

“It’s not going out of my way,” Maggie says. “I want to do something nice for my boyfriend.”

She leans up and kisses him, a sweet little peck on the lips.

There’s a clatter and the screech of silverware scraping against ceramic. Jack pulls away just in time to watch Davey jump to his feet—it looks like he’s upended his plate all down his front.

“Excuse me,” Davey mumbles to the floor. “I just, I gotta—“ He makes a beeline towards the bathrooms.

Jack leans forward in his chair, his weight shifting to the balls of his feet. Racetrack shoots him a truly venomous look and Jack falls back into his seat before he’d really even begun to stand.

“I’ll go help him,” Racetrack declares, then darts up to follow Davey.

“Is everything alright?” Maggie asks uncertainly.

“I’m sure Racetrack’s got it handled,” Jack says, though he’s not too sure himself.

Without Davey to facilitate, the conversation stutters and stalls. Maggie hesitantly asks Katherine about her latest article; Katherine has the decency to answer her, though her expression is still incredibly pinched around the edges.

Jack lingers for a few minutes, knee bouncing the entire time. He says, “I’m gonna see about gettin’ another glass of water,” then stands up before anyone can stop him. He heads towards the front counter, glances behind him to see if anyone’s watching, then sneaks over to the bathroom.

He lifts a hand to knock, opens his mouth to say, “Are you doin’ alright in there?” but the sound of Racetrack’s voice makes him pause.

“—it’s gotta be hard on ya.”

“Of course it’s fucking hard,” Davey replies, and Jack’s shocked at the bitterness in his tone. “But you all aren’t making it any easier.”

Racetrack again, low and soothing. “We just wantcha to know we’s got your back.”

Davey laughs. It’s not a happy sound. “That wasn’t having my back, Race, that was making me do all the work when I’m the one who shouldn’t have to!”

Silence. Jack cranes his head even closer, ears straining to hear.

“Davey,” Racetrack starts, and there’s a world of apology in his voice. “Davey you gotta know, if I’da known, if any of us had any clue, we never woulda—“

“I know, Race.” Davey says quietly. “I know, it’s not your fault. It’s not anyone’s fault. We were just... wrong, I guess.” There’s a sound like a sob, then Davey’s voice comes again, quivering and wet. “I just feel like such an idiot—“

“Oh, Davey.”

Jack’s pulse is pounding in his ears. He wants nothing more than to throw the bathroom door open and demand to know what’s wrong, demand to know who he needs to destroy on Davey’s behalf. His hand curls around the door handle, ready to kick the damn thing in if he has to—

But something causes him to hesitate.

His heart hurts as he listens to Davey sobbing on the other side of the door, torn between the instinctual need to comfort him and the growing guilt over eavesdropping on a private conversation. Davey won’t want to make a scene, and as much as Jack wants to, barging in will make a huge fucking scene.

His mind races: Did something happen while he was out? Is that why everyone’s so on edge? Did Jack do something to hurt Davey, and that’s why they’re all pissed at him?

Jack dismisses that last one. He can’t have done something—he hasn’t even seen Davey since last night.

He lingers for one more second, then forces himself to go back to the table. He has to get through the rest of this disastrous lunch, then he can figure out what’s going on.

Racetrack returns just a bit after Jack does, Davey conspicuously absent. He leans down to mutter something in Finch’s ear as he passes him—Finch does a double-take, his expression incredulous. Racetrack shakes his head, insistent.

Jack tries to pretend like he’s not watching Race like a hawk, searching his face for any sign that he needs to take some kind of action. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices a telephone chain of whispers and murmurs moving along the rest of the Newsies; Racetrack must’a told them to pass a message down the line.

It’s gotta be something to do with Davey—the reason he’s so upset or the reason he hasn’t come out yet. It must be.

“Hey, how’s Davey doin’?” Jack asks, as casually as he can.

“What are you, the pissin’ police?” Race mutters as he sits down, still looking mutinous. “He’ll be back when he’s back.”

“I’m just askin’,” Jack says carefully.

“And I’m just answering,” Racetrack shoots back. He meets Jack’s gaze and lifts an eyebrow—almost like he’s daring Jack to keep pursuing the question.

Jack can feel himself starting to lose control of his temper. He tries to remind himself that Race is just worried about Davey, that everyone’s defenses are up because Maggie, as nice as she is, is a stranger to them and not someone they feel comfortable dropping their guard around—especially when one of their own is hurting.

Don’t make it any less irritating though.

Eventually things start winding down. Plates are cleaned and glasses are emptied. Maggie gathers her things and stands, gracing the table with a nervous smile—she gets a series of nods and smiles in return, some more genuine than others, but everyone making an attempt.

Jack blows out a breath. Maybe there’s hope yet.

“Hey, Maggie... I’m real sorry about all this,” Jack says as he walks with Maggie towards the entrance, scrubbing a hand down the back of his neck. “I dunno what’s gotten into them—they ain’t usually like this, I swear. I think somethin’ must’a happened at the distribution center this morning and it’s got ‘em all twisted up in knots.”

Maggie shakes her head, her dark curls swinging around her shoulders. “It’s okay, Jack. Everyone has bad days, we just got unlucky that today was one. But I’m sure I’ll have more chances to get to know them better—some other time when tensions aren’t so high.”

“You’re a gem,” Jack says, relieved at her understanding.

“I try,” Maggie agrees. “Will you walk me back?”

Jack hesitates. He knows he should say yes—it’s the gentlemanly thing to do, especially after the shit show that just went down—but he really wants to check in with the others and really needs to check on Davey.

Katherine comes to his rescue.

“Oh, are you heading back to the World?” she asks Maggie. “I’ll walk with you, I need to speak with my father about an event.”

She loops an arm through one of Maggie’s and pulls her along and out the door before Maggie can even begin to protest.

Jack can barely make himself wait for the door to swing closed behind them before he’s jogging back to the table,

“Okay,” he announces, gazing sweeping over each one of his Newsies. “What the fuck is up with all’a youse?”

There are a few grunts and grumbles, but no one answers.

“Well?” Jack demands. “A whole hour of some’a the meanest remarks I’ve ever heard directed at anyone other than a DeLancey and now you all done lost ya damn tongues?”

“You can save the lecture,” Albert mutters, kicking at one of the table legs. “Davey already told us we was bein’ shitheads.”

“Yeah, I’ll fuckin’ say,” Jack says with a humorless snort. He glares at them for a few seconds longer, then his shoulders soften. “That’s what’s got ya all on edge, right? Somethin’s up with Davey?”

“Oh, sure, now he notices,” someone gripes, though Jack can’t tell who.

“Alright, someone spill,” Jack says. “What happened to Davey?”

More shared glances and sullen silence.

“You’re gonna have to ask him yourself, Jack,” Crutchie finally says. “It’s not our place to tell ya.”

“Fine then,” Jack says. “Where is he? Still in the bathroom?”

“He left,” Racetrack says. “He wasn’t feelin’ good so he went home.”

“What’d ya mean he went home?” Jack asks. “I didn’t see him leave—what’d he do, climb out the bathroom window?”

He doesn’t actually mean it, but Racetrack’s expression flickers and Jack realizes that his guess must be closer to the truth than he thought.

Jack rubs at his face with a sigh. “Okay, I’ll go by his place and check on him. But seriously, you all need to chill out, yeah? Just ‘cause youse upset don’t mean you should take it out the next person ya see—Maggie ain’t done nothin’ to deserve how ya treated her.”

That gets a few strong reactions. Romeo’s nose scrunches up, Finch lets out an incredibly loud huff, and Albert’s expression goes sour, but none of them argue out loud.

“You’re right, Jack,” Racetrack agrees, giving the others a significant look. There’s something strange about his tone. “Next time, we’ll be sure to put the blame where it’s due.”

“...Good,” Jack says, suddenly uneasy, though he can’t quite pinpoint why. “Make sure ya do.”

00000

Chapter two here

#newsies #javid #jack kelly #davey jacobs #*the writing desk #*final cut #*editor's note #take a shot fic #wow i said i would finish this tonight and i actually did #sorry about what is basically a double post #but have another 1.2K words!#this one's gonna hurt a lot y'all i can already tell #lol surprise it's something else that isn't the tie fic

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cosmicbash · 4 years ago

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All these skin care headcanons got me itching to post about some of my own.

However contrary to beauty guru Kelly I raise you all my....

Secret skin care maniac Em

👏👏

Very controversial. I know. But lets be honest. Marshall has the most perfect fucking skin. Like this dude aint EVER slipping and having a bad skin day. Even when he was on drugs.

Also there was a post on one of the old Em forums mentioning how he has peach body soap as a necessity in all of his hotel rooms while touring and that information has crawled up inside my head and never left. Peach scent fanatic Marshall is by far one of my favorite head canons.

So i love the thought of Colson staying overnight for the first time with Marshall at his home and just feeling shellshocked when the guy walks out of the bathroom post hour long shower with a face mask, eye mask and hair cover on, hands working lotion up and down his wrists and arms. All casual like

"What? Nobody looks this good at 47 without putting a LITTLE bit of effort in man-"

And colsons just- "a LITTLE?"

Because Colson is still a baby in regards to skincare. His assistant and Casie are only just now turning him onto the habit. What with preshow facemasks or surprise spa trips, its all still really new and a bit confusing but Colson's happy to give it a shot since he's already getting manicures done and it makes Casie ridiculously happy to go get pampered together. (Though the first few times he forgets and eats the cucumber slices offered to place over his eyes)

So seeing Marshall, the dude who roasted him for pulling his hair up in a bun (for a movie roll, Colson constantly insists) going full luxury spa mode by himself feels super hypocritical.

But in hindsight it does explain alot of the older rapper's habits. Like why at their hotels Marshall refuses to share a shower most times and then takes up the bathroom for what feels like forever and hauls in his duffle bag before he comes out all squeaky clean and soft smelling like peaches. A scent that originally the man had shrugged off as coming from a random hotels soap bar until he finally forgot his special body wash in the shower and was caught.

Colson won't complain though, because he loves snuggling up to Marshall and being surrounded by such a cute sweet scent.

Marshall does end up being the one to drag Colson further into the skincare world though. Helpfully pointing out how his own at home spa days with the girls growing up is actually what turned him onto the whole regimen. Similar to Colson's budding interest thanks to Casie.

It ends up being a very soft way for their relationship to deepen. More and more of Marshall's guard coming down while he explains the products and helps his clueless giant of a partner apply them correctly.

Even if Colson had zero interest in learning about it before all the soft smiles and quiet laughs that the lessons draw out of Marshall would be more than enough to convince him.

A few face masks and under eye serums have taken their shy nervous affection and replaced it with lingering touches, strong hands helping to work lotion into the others, threading their fingers together, their backs, more fingers raking through hair, cupping cheeks. It's provided an outlet for more casual intimacy that neither realized they desperately needed.

Of course, I still headcanon that Colson introduces Marshall to the world of bathbombs. Colson has been and always will be a huge fan of baths.

Marshall isn't thrilled by the prospect of soaking in ones filth, let alone soaking in some pastel colored chemical bubble bath however so it takes alot of ingredient reading and personal research before he even considers climbing into Colson's radioactive like glowing pink pool.

When he finally does convince him though Colson trades out his neat pretty color, only aesthetic, bathbombs for some equally cute colored essential oil infused ones. Making sure he's got the right combination to turn his older partner into absolute jelly the first time they share a bath as a way to seal the deal.

It works of course. Even if Marshall is still suspicious about the milky pink color of the water and the presence of petals. But Colson clambers in first, openly moaning outloud in bliss from the steamy water and brain tickling scents and that is more than enough to convince Marshall to finally dip his toes in and hesitantly settle back against his chest to join him.

And yes, Marshall does quickly get melted down into putty. The heat of the water, the oils, and Colson's overly affectionate massaging lulling him into a drowsy state where he's nothing but relaxed limbs and content hums. Leaving Colson to silently punch the air in success while he enjoys a uncharacterisitcally docile partner for the next hour.

(Wanna also suggest that bath sex is one of those things where Colson is almost guarenteed to be on top. The blonde absolutely constantly takes advantage of Marshall's more submissive state to shower the older man in affection)

And--- I gotta get outta bed to go to work so I'll have to come back to this post eventually with some more stuff but I'll leave it here for now 😊😊

#emgk #self care #headcanons #peach!Marshall #should be a tag I have #yall really havent gotten to see my obsession with it yet #but wait #you will

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thelastspeecher · 5 years ago

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Stanuary ‘20 - Week Three: AUs

I’ve been busy working on my Master’s thesis and thus haven’t been able to do any Stanuary yet. But now that I’m basically done (just gotta drop my thesis off at the thesis library Friday) I’m hoping to do all four weeks. Just....not in chronological order. Anyways, the prompt for week three was practically MADE for me. Not to brag or anything, but I’m basically the non-binary ruler of AUs.

So, to really go whole hog with the AU prompt, I went with a crossover between two of my favorite AUs: the MerGucket AU and the Stay-at-Home Stan AU. I’ve written something for this particular crossover before, so this is a follow-up to that. Basically, Ford does research at sea, and when he has his big blow-up with Bill, jumps overboard, only to be rescued by Stan, who has somehow become a merman during their time apart. Not just a merman, but a father, too. Here’s Stan explaining how that came about.

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

Ford stared intently at the multicolored cuttlefish idly swimming by.

It looks similar to the kraken I saw last month. Do kraken crossbreed? Or do juvenile kraken resemble cuttlefish?

“Uh, Ford?” Stan asked, startling Ford free from his thoughts. Ford looked over.

“Yes?”

“We’re here,” Stan said. He jerked a thumb behind him.

“You live in a cliff?” Ford asked.

“Yeah.” Stan looked over at the cliff. “The door’s hidden, though. Gotta make sure scuba divers or submarines or whatever don’t find us.” Promptly after offering for Ford to stay at his place temporarily, Stan had led Ford into a partially submerged hidden cave, walked into the water, and transformed into a merman. The casual nature of the act was off-putting to Ford, but not as much as the mumbled charm Stan had then cast on Ford to allow him to breathe underwater.

Stan knows spells. Well, at least one spell. How is this reality? How is my high school dropout twin brother a merman with a capacity for magic? Stan’s daughter, Molly, still nestled in his arms, snored loudly. Stan looked down at her with a fond, loving expression. Ford’s stomach turned over. Stan’s not just a merman now. He’s also a father, and a doting one at that. Stan whispered something to Molly in a different language.

“So, um, the door is hidden,” Ford said. “Where is it?” Stan looked up.

“I’ll show you, but I need to get Angie’s brother outta the house, first.”

“Pardon?”

“We can’t just leave the eggs unsupervised,” Stan said.

That’s right. Stan mentioned something about eggs.

“Angie’s older brother offered to watch ‘em while we went on our walk. Swim. Whatever. But he had a bad experience with a human not too long ago, so I don’t think he’d wanna see you. Just hide behind that rock or something.” Stan nodded at a large boulder near Ford. “Once he’s gone, I’ll let you in.”

“Okay, but-” Ford started. Stan ignored him and swam over to the cliff. Ford let out a sigh. He ducked behind the boulder and pulled out his journal, flicking through the pages idly. He landed on the page where he had started a drawing of Stan, before he’d recognized the merman he was observing.

At least I’ll be able to finish this sketch. I wonder if I can get Stan to sit in this pose again.

-----

After about fifteen minutes, which Ford spent writing about this latest development, the sound of voices carried to where Ford was hiding. Stan said something in the same foreign language he’d spoken in before. A second voice, which sounded very familiar to Ford, responded in the same tongue. Ford closed his journal and held it close to his chest. He could make out a flick of a green tail with light yellow fins as Angie’s brother passed the boulder. The merman disappeared quickly into the distance.

“All right, you can come in now,” Stan said, appearing next to Ford so suddenly it startled him. Instead of being carried in Stan’s arms, Molly was now nestled in a sling draped across Stan’s chest. Ford stared. “C’mon, Sixer. I gotta put Molly in her actual bed or she’s not gonna sleep well. She wakes up way too often as it is.” Ford nodded silently. He followed Stan to the cliff face, where Stan, with a practiced motion, slipped his fingers into a crack in the rock and pulled. A portion of rock the size of a door swung open.

“Slick,” Ford said. Stan rolled his eyes.

“Shut up and get inside.” Ford hurriedly swam in. Stan followed, closing the door behind him. Ford looked around in interest.

“How is it so light in here? Do merfolk have lamps?”

“Uh, sorta,” Stan said, already heading off, deeper into the house. “They use, um…I don’t know the English word for it. They grow stuff that glows.”

“Bioluminescent?” Ford suggested. Stan shrugged.

“You can ask Angie. She might not know the English word, but she can explain it better than I can. Anyways, we have some lamps, but we don’t need them right now. Enough light gets through the windows.”

“Windows?” Ford spun in a circle. His eyes widened at the sight of a window above a couch. “I didn’t see this from the outside. Are they specially designed?”

“Nah, stole ‘em from sunken ships,” Stan called from wherever he was. “You can’t see ‘em from the outside ‘cause of an optical illusion thing. If you get close to the cliff, they’re more obvious, but not from a distance.”

“Remarkable,” Ford muttered.

“Ford.” Ford turned around again. Stan’s head was sticking out of a room down the hall. “You’ll wanna see this.”

“Not that I doubt you, but why?”

“Don’t you wanna check out a mer egg?”

“A- yes!” Ford swam over. When he entered the room, his eyes were immediately drawn to the large basket leaning against one wall. The basket held two things: Molly, fast asleep and curled up into a ball, and one large, red fish egg. Ford frowned. “You said eggs. Plural.”

“Slip of the tongue. We haven’t been down to one egg for very long.”

“Why is the basket so large?”

“It’s called a guppy basket,” Stan said. “It’s where eggs go and the baby mers sleep until they outgrow it. Normally, mers have a bare minimum of ten kids at once. But when one of the parents used to be human…” Stan trailed off. Ford looked over at him. Disappointment had settled on Stan’s face. Stan noticed Ford looking and cleared his throat hurriedly, wiping away his saddened expression. “When that happens, there aren’t as many kids. Angie laid fifteen eggs. Usually a clutch has at least twenty. And of those fifteen Angie laid, only two are gonna hatch.”

“What happened to the other eggs?”

“Duds,” Stan said flatly. “Clutches have a lot of duds. That’s why mers have so many eggs at once.” He sighed. “It’s fine, though. I can handle two kids a lot better than I could handle ten.”

“This is…I’m completely astounded,” Ford said, shaking his head. “You- how-”

“They taught me a lot,” Stan said with a shrug. “Even taught me their language, Mermish.”

Oh, that must be the language he was speaking earlier.

“Kinda had to,” Stan continued, “since I was born human, not mer.”

“Yes. You were.” Ford looked at Stan inquisitorially. “How did you become mer?”

“I told you. I fell in love with a mermaid and ate a magic plant.”

“Give me the unabridged version. I feel I’m owed that much.”

“Fine.” Stan looked over at Molly and the last egg. “Let’s talk in the living room. Molly’s a pretty heavy sleeper, but I don’t wanna roll those dice. Babies are the complete monsters when they get woken up.”

-----

Ford settled himself on the couch, attempting to ignore the way his clothes floated upwards, tugging on his skin. Stan sat across from him in an armchair. He snickered.

“What?” Ford asked.

“You’ve got a cape on, like you’re Super Nerd or somethin’. Why did you bother wearing that underwater?”

“I-” Ford looked back. Sure enough, his trench coat was spread out behind him like a wedding train. He scowled and tucked it under him. “Don’t tease me, Stanley. I’ve been too shell-shocked by all of this to act upset with you, but by no means am I going to brush what happened ten years ago under the rug.”

“You’re in no position to make any threats towards me,” Stan said. “I’m the one who cast the spell so you could breathe underwater. I can remove it any time I want.” Ford swallowed. “Anyways, you wanted to know how I turned into a merman.”

“…Yes,” Ford said softly. Stan ignored his brother’s obvious unease.

If he didn’t want me to threaten him, he shouldn’t have threatened me first. So what if what I said had a bit more of a bite than he probably expected? That’s what happens when you mess with merfolk. Stan sighed and settled into his armchair.

“All right. Well, when Pops kicked me out, I took the Stan O’War out to sea. Not my smartest idea. Prob’ly shoulda taken the Stanleymobile. I mean, I sailed into a storm pretty much right away. I kept trying to bail her out, but it was raining buckets. I went overboard. Next thing I knew, I woke up on a beach. My clothes were soaked, I had no idea where I was, but I wasn’t too worried.”

“…Why not?”

“‘Cause one of the prettiest chicks I’ve ever seen had my head in her lap.” Stan grinned at the memory, clear enough to have happened yesterday. “And I just…I just stared at her.”

-----

Stan stared up at the young woman with his head in her lap. She seemed like a personification of the sea, with eyes as blue as the ocean and hair the color of the beach he used to play on with Ford. Faint freckles spilled across her nose and cheeks like she had spilled cinnamon but not bothered to wipe it off. The young woman stared back at him, smiling like she had a secret as she stroked Stan’s hair.

“Hi,” Stan finally croaked. The young woman’s smile broadened.

“Hello. You almost drowned, do you realize that?” Her voice was sweet and melodious, comforting like waves crashing onto the shore.

“Figured. Since I went overboard and woke up on a beach. Did- did you save me?”

“Yep.”

“H-how?”

“I’m a good swimmer.”

“What’s your name?”

“My full name’s awfully long and I ain’t too fond of it. But I go by Angie.”

“Angie. I’m Stan.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet ya, Stan.”

“Your accent…are you from the south?” Stan asked. A twinkle entered Angie’s eye.

“One could say I’m from the deep south, yes.”

“Kinda weird way to say it, but whatever.” Stan began to slowly get up. Angie stopped stroking his hair and scooched to the side, allowing him to sit up on his own. He looked over at her. “So where…” He trailed off, catching side of Angie’s bottom half. Instead of legs, she had a large, ostentatious yellow tail with pink fins. His jaw dropped. “You- you’re-”

“A mermaid, yes,” Angie said softly. Stan continued to gape at her. “I- technically, I wasn’t s’pposed to let you see me, but I wanted to make sure you woke up.” She looked away. “Even more technically, I wasn’t s’pposed to save you in the first place.”

“Then- then why did you?” Stan asked, still trying to wrap his mind around what was happening. Angie looked at him, her eyes soft and compassionate.

“I couldn’t let you just drown when I saw ya go overboard. I mean, yer only my age. Yer fam’ly must be worried sick about you.”

“Not really,” Stan mumbled, looking down at the ground. He idly flicked away a seashell. “They couldn’t care less about me.”

“…Really?” Angie asked. Stan nodded. “What makes you say that?”

“For one thing, they kicked me outta the house.” Angie was silent for a moment.

“They shouldn’t have done that,” she said finally. Stan snorted.

“Yeah. I fucking agree.” He sighed. “Whatever. Uh, thanks for rescuing me, I guess.” He got to his feet and looked around. “Do you have any idea where we are?”

“I don’t know the human name for it.”

Of course she doesn’t.

“But it’s uninhabited.”

“It’s-” Stan stared at the mermaid. “You- this is a desert island?”

“No. It’s got a tropical forest. It’s not a desert.”

“No, not- a desert island is an island that doesn’t have people on it.” Stan ran a hand through his hair. “Shit!”

“Look, it’ll be fine.”

“How?” Stan demanded. “I’m not some survivalist nutjob. I don’t know how to build shelter or kill squirrels or whatever. I can’t-”

“I can help with that,” Angie said, standing up as well. Stan huffed.

“Yeah, right. Like you can help me make a little hut outta sticks. You don’t even…have…legs…” Stan stared at her. Angie grinned cheekily. “Wh-” He looked down. Her tail had been replaced by two slender, pale legs. Stan looked away immediately upon realizing that she was completely nude from the waist down. “How-”

“It’s a long story. But merfolk can shift into a human form if need be.” Angie looked down at the sand and wiggled her toes. “I don’t take a human form often. Don’t really feel the desire to. But I want to help you out.”

“The best way you could help me out would be to…” Stan trailed off. Angie looked at him curiously.

“What?”

“No, that’s stupid.”

“Tell me.”

“Do you- if you can turn human, can I turn into a merman?” Stan asked. Angie eyed him. “I- honestly, I don’t really see a reason to stay on land. I don’t have anyone who cares about me, I don’t have any plans, there’s nothin’ tying me to staying human.” Stan could feel dread and sadness sinking heavily onto his shoulders.

Pops wouldn’t ever let me back, even if I did make a million dollars. And why would I go back anyways? Ford? He’s never gonna forgive me. Shermie and Mom? Mom let Pops kick me out, and the age gap with Shermie was too big for us to get close. I don’t have anyone. I don’t have anywhere.

“It- it might be kinda nice to start over. Somewhere else,” Stan continued. Angie pursed her lips.

“You should sleep on it,” she said finally. Stan stuffed his hands into the pockets of his drenched pants.

“That’s a no, then?”

“Not necessarily. I know there’re ways fer humans to become mer. I don’t know the details, though. I’d have to ask my parents. And I’ll have to explain why I’m asking.” Angie chewed on the inside of her cheek thoughtfully. “It’s- it’s possible. But you’d have to prove yer worthy of becomin’ mer first.”

“How do I do that?” Stan asked. Angie shrugged. “You can’t give me any details? Really?”

“Look, I- yer the first human I’ve ever talked to fer this long. Even if I knew everything about the process of turnin’ humans mer, I’d have a moral obligation to be quiet until you’ve earned our trust.” She looked out to sea. “And like I said, you should sleep on it, first. Givin’ up bein’ human to become mer is not somethin’ you should take lightly. And it’s not somethin’ you should do just ‘cause ya have no other options. You should want to do it fer a stronger reason than that.”

“Like what?”

“Well, my ma did it fer love.”

“Your mom used to be human?” Stan asked, aghast. Angie nodded.

“Yes. She fell in love with my pa and became a mer so they could be together.” Angie looked at Stan. “I ain’t sayin’ ya need to fall in love with a mer, but ya need a reason just as strong.” She shrugged. “Anyways. First things first. I’ll help ya make some shelter, maybe even help ya do some foraging. And tomorrow, I can come back with my folks. They’ll help figure this thing out.”

“Sounds good,” Stan said with a nod, his heart racing.

I can’t believe a mermaid rescued me and might make me a merman. What the actual hell is going on right now? A small smile tugged the corners of Angie’s mouth.

“What?” Stan asked. Angie shook her head.

“Oh, nothin’. Just thinkin’ ‘bout how odd you are.”

“Really? You think I’m odd?”

“You asked to be turned mer within five minutes of meetin’ me.” Angie grinned. “That’s odd.” Stan managed a smile back.

“Fair.”

-----

“That’s how you met your wife?” Ford asked.

“Yeah. But, technically, she’s not my wife. Merfolk don’t really have marriage. Angie and I are mated.”

“Does being mates still involve a union ceremony of some sort?”

“Yes.”

“Well, as far as Mom would be concerned, then, you’re married,” Ford said with a small smile. Stan chuckled. “Stanley, I’m honestly flabbergasted by all of this. It seems…”

“Impossible?” Stan suggested. Ford nodded. “I feel the same way.” He leaned forward and clasped his hands. He saw Ford immediately zero in on the red webbing between his fingers. “Some days I wake up and I can’t believe where I am. I’ve got the most amazing person in the world as my mate, I’ve got a daughter, and I’m gonna have another kid any day now.”

“Also, you’re a merman.”

“That, too.” Stan eyed Ford. “And now, you’re gonna be sleeping on my couch until we figure out how to get Bill off your back.”

“Yes.” Ford paused. “Thank you, by the way.”

“No problem. I’ll take any chance I can get to stick it to a mer hunter. Angie lost one of her aunts to a mer hunter. And I damn near got killed, too.”

“Wait, really?” Ford asked. Stan nodded. He laughed, but it was clearly forced.

“Turns out Carla McCorkle went into that business. My own ex-girlfriend was about to kill me and sell my scales to the highest bidder. Good thing Angie intervened. If she hadn’t threatened to down Carla’s ship, I’d, well. You can figure it out.”

“Sorry, did you say that Angie is capable of sinking an entire ship?” Ford asked, holding up a finger. Stan raised an eyebrow.

“She’s a siren, Sixer. That’s what they do.”

“Are you a-”

“Oh, hell no.” Stan tilted his head. “Well, technically, I’m a siren. That’s the kinda mer I am. But that’s not my job. Sinking ships requires singing, and even magic can’t fix a voice like mine. It made me extra persuasive when I talk, but if I try to sing, I still sound like a frog in a bucket.”

“Siren is both a type of mer and a career?” Ford asked. Stan nodded. “Hmm. Interesting. If you don’t sink ships, then what do you do? Do merfolk need to have jobs?”

“Usually, yeah. Mine is taking care of Molly. And when the other egg hatches, taking care of Stanley Jr.” Stan grinned. “It’s gonna be a boy, I can tell.”

“You-” Ford stared at Stan. Stan stared back.

“What?”

“You’re a stay-at-home dad?”

“Yep.” Stan stretched languidly. “Best job in the world.” Ford shook his head, trying to hide his astonishment. The front door opened. Stan looked over. “Hey, babe.”

“Hello, darlin’,” Angie crooned, swimming over and kissing the top of his head. Stan grinned up at her. “I stopped by Fidds’ place to check on him and his clutch. He said the egg was movin’ ‘round a lot today?”

“Yep. Stanley Jr. is gonna hatch any day now.”

“Oh, hon. We aren’t namin’-” A small squeak came from the couch. Stan and Angie looked over. Ford was as pale as a sheet. “We have a visitor,” Angie said mildly.

“Yeah, Ford got on the bad side of someone pretty nasty, so he’s gonna stay here for a bit,” Stan said.

“Understood. I’ll go check on Miss Molly. She’s prob’ly hungry.” As if on cue, crying sounded through the house. Angie chuckled. “Speak of the devil.” She nodded politely at Ford. “Pleasure to meet you, Stanford. We’ll have to have a proper introduction once I take care of Molly.”

“Yes,” Ford mumbled. Angie left. Stan looked at Ford, concerned.

“What’s wrong, Sixer? You look like you saw a ghost.”

“I-” Ford took a steadying breath. “Angie is very similar in appearance to my former first mate, who disappeared from my ship a month ago. While we were in the middle of the ocean.”

“Okay…” Stan said slowly.

“He- Angie mentioned someone named ‘Fidds’. My former first mate, he sometimes went by that nickname,” Ford continued. Dread began to build in Stan’s gut. “Angie’s last name wouldn’t happen to be ‘McGucket’, would it?”

“No,” Stan said. Relief broke across Ford’s face. “It’s MerGucket. But when her older brother pretended to be human to work for some researcher, he used McGucket instead.” Ford groaned loudly. He put his head in his hands.

“Oh, no.”

“Took the words right outta my mouth.”

#oof didn't want that long of an intro but I need to Explain lmao #Stanuary #MerGucket AU #Stay at Home Stan AU #Stanford Pines #Stanley Pines #Angie McGucket #Stangie #my writing #my stuff #speecher speaks

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waywardaardvark79 · 5 years ago

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Come Hell or High Water Part 3: What if he’s a Monster?

Summary: Blackwick, Montana was going to be a fresh start for you and your five year old daughter. You moved in across the street from Officer Dean Winchester, and quickly found that you were able to help him. Will Dean be able to help you when your past comes back to haunt you?

Pairing: Dean x reader

Warnings: implied nudity, hurt Dean

Most of your morning was spent in your office, seeing patients and going over discharge instructions. Aj popping into the room at least every 30 minutes asking if it was time to go see Rocky yet. She had talked nonstop about that dog since you had gotten back home yesterday, casually throwing in that she thought Sam was really nice, and Dean was kind of ok.

You felt guilty for shooing her out of your office, but you had to work. You had just ended a call when she burst into the room again, "Is it time?" she asked.

You spun around in your office chair, "Aj, honey, you gotta let me work." you said, your patience beginning to wear thin.

"But you said we could go." she whined.

You took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, reminding yourself that she was only five, and couldn't be expected to entertain herself all day. "We are gonna go, but later." you explained.

"But I want to go now." she pouted.

You stood up and walked over to her, "Why don't you draw them some pictures to take over later." you suggested as you pulled some art supplies from one of the shelves in your office.

You escorted her into the living room, and placed everything on the coffee table. "What should I draw?" she asked.

"Make Dean a get well card." you quickly rushed out, as you heard another call coming in.

"But Mom..." she started.

"Aj just draw. Draw the dog." you said over your shoulder and you rushed back into your office. There was still two and a half weeks until school started and they couldn't come fast enough.

She had managed to interrupt you only a few times, mostly asking you to spell things for her, by the time lunch rolled around. You told her that after you guys ate lunch you could go over to check on Dean. You had never seen Aj eat so fast. You even managed to give her her shot without any fuss. She was too busy talking a million miles a minute about how much they were going to love her pictures. You told her to go get ready and you went into your office to pack a small bag, preferring your supplies over the ones that the hospital had sent. Aj skipped into your office, her little backpack slung over one shoulder, "Let's go." she said as she grabbed your hand and started pulling you towards the door.

You practically jogged down your driveway, across the road, and up Dean's drive, Aj eagerly leading the way. You came to an abrupt stop in front of the door, Aj raising her tiny fist to knock. The sound of Rocky's barking soon sounded through the closed door along with a muffled "Coming."

Sam came to the door a few moments later, soaking wet. "Everything ok?" you asked as he stepped aside to let you in.

"Umm...he wanted to take a shower, but it didn't go so well." Sam said.

"Sam!Sam! I got you a present." Aj excitedly said.

"You did?" he asked, water dripping from his hair.

"Ok, you go change, and when you get back I'll go help Dean." you said. Sam returned a few moments later and pointed you in the direction of the bathroom as he led Aj into the kitchen.

You noticed that the bathroom door wasn't completely closed so you held onto the knob as you knocked, "Dean?" you called out.

"Yeah." he said.

You pushed open the door and kept your gaze straight ahead, expecting to see a naked Dean. You were a little shocked to see him still fully clothed, the lid to the toilet closed, and him sitting on it. "How did Sam get so wet?" you whispered to yourself.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing. You want some help?" you asked.

"I think there still needs to be a little mystery involved. You know, leave something for imagination." he said.

"Are you implying that I have imagined you naked?" you asked. Dean quickly began sputtering, desperately trying to come up with something to say. "Come on, Dean. I've seen a couple penises already today. What's one more?" you joked. Dean blushed and the tips of his ears quickly turned a shade of red. "Unclutch your pearls. I promise I'll keep your modesty in tact." you said. Dean narrowed his eyes at you. "Oh come on. I know you've had the whole nurse, sponge bath fantasy before." you sassed.

"You implying I've imagined you bathing me?" he asked, turning your words against you.

You simply shrugged your shoulders, "Guess so." you said.

Dean's eyes widened in surprise. He was expecting you to get flustered, not a nonchalant reply like you were simply discussing the weather. You snapped your fingers in front of his face pulling him from his thoughts, "You got a shower chair?" you asked.

"A what?" he asked.

"Sit tight. I'll be right back." you said as you turned and left the bathroom.

Sam and Aj were seated on the couch, Aj eagerly explaining all of the pictures she had drawn. "Just gonna grab a chair." you said as you walked by. You grabbed a wooden chair from the table and carried it back to the bathroom.

You sat the chair in the shower, thankful that it was a walk in. "Let's get you out of these clothes." you said as you turned to him.

Dean held up his hand to stop you, "Give me a play by play first."

You rolled your eyes, "I already told you I can do it without seeing anything." you said.

You opened the bathroom closet and started pulling out towels, laying one down in front of the shower. "Look, we'll start with your shirt." you said. You helped him remove his shirt, and wrapped his cast in plastic. You helped him stand up and took in the bare, broad chest in front of you, "Got these freckles everywhere?" you asked with a wink. Dean blushed again, and you laughed, "You're too easy." you said as you grabbed a towel. "Alright I'll hold it up, and you shimmy outta those pants." you instructed as you held the towel in front of him. "I'll even close my eyes." You closed your eyes and waited for him to tell you he was ready.

"What now?" he asked.

You cracked open an eye, keeping it on his face. "Now we're gonna pivot, and you're gonna sit down in the chair." You watched as he nervously looked over at the chair. "You can do it, just hang on to me." you said. You instructed him to throw his bad arm over your shoulder, "Now just lean onto me and pivot a little." you said as you braced yourself to take his bodyweight.

"I don't even know your last name." he grunted out.

"What?" you asked.

"I'm naked and your pressed up against me, and I don't even know your last name." Dean said.

"Y/L/N." you said.

"Winchester." said Dean, offering his own last name as a reply.

"Alright Winchester, you feel the chair?" you asked. He nodded. "Sit." you said as you helped ease him down, while keeping the towel in place. You bent down, and lifted his leg to help him turn so that he was now fully in the shower.

You grabbed the hand held shower head and faced it away from him, as you adjusted the temperature. "Ok, I'll get everything wet." you said before Dean quickly interrupted.

"That's usually my job." he said with a cocky smirk.

You laughed out loud, Dean breaking out in a full smile at the sound. "I'll get YOU wet, and then put the soap in your good hand for you to wash the important bits." you said emphasizing the word you, and then pointing to the towel over his lap.

You had him test the water before you started to slowly rinse over him, avoiding his wrapped casts. "Hold out your hand." you said as you said as held out a bottle of body wash. You poured some in his hand and turned your back to give him some privacy. You washed his hair for him, and rinsed him off. Drying him off and getting him dressed actually went a little quicker, Dean actually trusting that you knew what you were doing.

You had him completely dressed, and you opened the bathroom door to grab his chair. You helped him get in and pushed him down the hall to the living room. "Feel better?" Sam asked when he saw the two of you enter the room.

"Like a new man, Sammy." said Dean.

You pushed him to the couch, and Sam helped him onto it. Dean threw back his head and let out a deep breath. "I'll go grab your meds." you said as you walked into the kitchen, Sam quickly following after you. "I hate to ask, but do you think you could watch him for a little bit while I run to the store? We are kinda running out of things to eat." he said.

"Go ahead." you said as you grabbed some water from the fridge.

"I'll be right back." Sam said as he grabbed his keys and headed for the door.

You started to head in to give Dean his meds when you saw Aj sitting next to him on the couch. You stopped in the doorway and listened to her explain the pictures she had drawn for him. "That one is you and Rocky." she said as she handed him the paper.

"Wow, you're good." he said as he looked it over.

"And this one is me and Rocky." she said.

You watched as he looked the picture over, "Did he catch a rabbit?" asked Dean pointing to the rabbit in front of Rocky.

Aj shook her head and giggled, "No, that's my rabbit, Tom Petty." she explained.

"Tom Petty?" he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice. She nodded her head, "How do you know about Tom Petty?" he asked.

"Momma sings it." she said.

Dean laughed under his breath, "You're a pretty cool kid. So is your Mom." he said.

Aj turned to face him, "I thought you was kind of mean at first, but I guess you're not so bad." she said.

Dean laughed a full body laugh, and then quickly grimaced, the motion upsetting his injuries. You walked over to him and handed him the meds, "Here ya go." you said. He popped them into his mouth, and washed them down with the water you had brought him. "Sam ran to the store, so you're stuck with us for a little bit longer." you said as you sat down next to your daughter.

"Could have worse company." he said.

You and Dean watched as Aj played with Rocky, careful to avoid his still fresh wound, and mostly made small talk. Silence had fallen between the two of you when Dean finally spoke up, "So, your husband ok with you guys being here? I mean, I haven't even met the guy yet." he said.

"Not married." you said, choosing to keep your answer short and sweet, no need to go into detail.

"Boyfriend then?" he asked.

"Don't have one of those either." you said

. Aj, hearing the conversation quickly piped in before Dean could say anything else, "I don't have a dad." she said before turning back to the dog. You felt Dean's eyes on you, knowing that he was itching to ask questions. You sent up a silent thank you when you heard the door open, and Sam announce that he was back. You quickly excused yourself, and headed into the kitchen, thankful for the excuse. You did not want them digging around in your past.

You helped Sam put away the groceries. You watched as he sat aside two Hungry Man tv dinners. "That's what you're eating?" you asked.

Sam looked down at the dinners and shrugged, "It's quick and easy." he said.

You shook your head, "Come over tonight around six. I'm not making anything special, but it's better than that." you said as you gestured to the dinners.

"You don't have to." Sam started, but you quickly waved him off, "It's fine. Remember, I'm an excellent neighbor, and grown men need more to eat anyway." you said.

Sam smiled and thanked you once more. You walked back into the living room, "Let's go, honey." you said to Aj.

"But Mom, I'm busy." she said as she rolled over in the floor next to Rocky.

"Ava." you warned.

"Mooooooooom." she whined.

"Ava Jeane." you sternly said.

"Uh oh, she used the middle name. You better listen." said Dean from the couch.

Aj pouted and sulked as she got up and walked over to you. "See you boys for dinner." you called over your shoulder before ushering Aj out and back home.

You finished your work day a little later than usual, not having planned to stay at Dean's as long as you did. This led to a later start on dinner. You were in the middle of cooking when you heard your doorbell. Aj screaming, "I got it!!!"

You hurried from the kitchen, "Aj, wait!!" you yelled as she pulled the door open to reveal Sam and Dean patiently waiting. Rocky poked his nose in the door and Aj shrieked.

"Hope it's ok." said Dean.

"It's fine. Let me help you guys get in." you said.

Sam helped Dean stand, and basically lifted him up the few small steps and into the door, you following behind with his chair. Rocky was currently sniffing around your living room, Aj hot on his heels. "It's not quite ready yet. Make yourselves at home." you said before excusing yourself back to the kitchen. You knew that Aj would keep them entertained.

About twenty minutes later you poked your head into the living room, "Come eat." you said. You had removed one of the chairs from the kitchen table to make room for Dean and Aj quickly grabbed the seat next to him, Rocky curling up at their feet. Sam offered to help you dish everything up, "Sit down Sam. I got it." you said.

A few moments later you had a plate in front of everyone and took the seat next to Sam. You looked over at Aj and Dean, who were both grimacing at the carrots on their plate, "Eat them, both of you. They're good for you." you said, Sam biting back a smile as Dean stabbed at a carrot with his fork and eyed it.

"You first." said Dean to Aj.

"But you're a grown up. You go first." she argued.

"Together?" he asked.

She nodded and they both took a bite at the same time. "Not so bad is it?" you asked.

"Getting Dean to eat vegetables is like pulling teeth." said Sam.

"It's rabbit food. I'm not a rabbit." Dean sassed back causing Aj to break out in a fit of giggles.

The rest of dinner was spent laughing, and getting to know each other. Dean and Aj both, not so smoothly, slipping Rocky bits of food under the table. Dean kept his focus on you throughout the meal. He noticed how you expertly provided answers to their questions without giving too much away, always just providing the bare minimum before quickly pulling focus back to him or his brother. You did this without breaking a sweat, almost as if you knew what questions would be asked and rehearsed your answers. No matter how hard he tried to casually pry, you always seemed to be one step ahead with a clever redirect. Most people wouldn't have picked up on it, but his years as a cop had taught him a few things. Every instinct he had was screaming at him that you were hiding something, and he was desperate to get to the bottom of it.

Sam clearing his throat pulled him from his thoughts, "Y/N, this was great. We really appreciate it." he said.

You started to clear everyone's plates and carried them to the sink. "I'm no chef, but it's better than t.v. dinners. I'm glad you enjoyed it." you said.

Sam helped you wash and dry dishes, even though you repeatedly told him he didn't have to, and Aj and Dean went into the living room.

Against his better judgement, Dean decided to see if he could get anything out of Aj. Sam had told him about the talk he had with her, and the things she said about "the bad man". "So Ava, do you like this house better than your last one?" he asked.

"Aj." she said as she scratched Rocky's head.

"Sorry, Aj." said Dean, fixing his mistake.

She shrugged her shoulders, "I like this place. It's big, and I like Rocky. I asked momma if we could stay this time." she said.

Dean raised an eyebrow, this was going to be easier than he thought. "Why would you leave?" he asked.

He watched as she took a look around the room before whispering, "If the bad man comes."

Dean leaned down closer to her, "Who is he?" he asked, genuinely concerned.

She shook her head, implying that she couldn't tell him. "You know I'm a cop. I could take him to jail." he bribed.

"What if it's a monster? Could you still get it?" she seriously asked.

"Is the bad man a monster?" Dean asked, his concern growing.

"Sometimes I have bad dreams about monsters. Momma has bad dreams about the bad man. So he's probably a monster." she said.

"How do you know that?" Dean asked.

"I hear her sometimes at night. She thinks I'm sleeping, but I hear her." she said.

"What do you hear?" he asked.

"Sometimes she cries like she is sad, and sometimes she screams like she is hurt. I think the bad man hurts her in her dreams." she explained.

"Have you ever seen him?" asked Dean.

She shook her head, "We always go before he can find us." she said.

Dean was about to ask another question when he heard Sam walk in, "Hey, you ready to head home?" he asked.

Dean nodded and turned to Aj, "I won't say anything, and I promise he won't get you or your mom. We'll keep you safe." he said.

Aj quickly stood up and wrapped her little arms around his neck. You walked in to see Aj hugging Dean, "Careful, honey. Dean has a lot of hurt spots." you said.

You watched as he gently patted her back, "I feel much better now." he said.

Aj finally released him, "I like you, now." she whispered.

He ruffled her hair with his good hand, "Me too, kid." he said.

Aj hugged Sam and Rocky goodbye, and you helped Sam get Dean out the door, telling them you would stop by tomorrow to check in. They thanked you again, and you closed and locked the door behind them.

Once they were down your drive Dean looked up over his shoulder at Sam, "What do you think she's hiding?" he asked.

Sam shrugged his shoulders, "I'm not exactly sure yet." he said.

"So, you think it's something then?" Dean asked.

"I don't know, Dean. Could be nothing." he said.

"Come on, Sam. You know better than that." scolded Dean.

Sam sighed, "I mean, sure I have some questions, but maybe it's nothing. Maybe she is just a private person. We only just met her, maybe she'll open up in time. Most people don't give away their whole backstory to strangers." argued Sam.

Dean thought for a moment, "Maybe." he said. "But the kid is scared of something, and the way she always seemed one step ahead of everything we asked her.....I just....something is going on." he said.

"Let's just give it some time." said Sam.

Dean sighed, deciding not to reply. He turned in his chair and looked at your house, Aj perched in the bay window watching them leave. He tried to tell himself that Sam was right, and that in time you would tell them if something was wrong. He tried to tell himself to drop it, to just leave it alone, and you would talk when you were ready, but his mind kept going back to that scared little girl and he didn't know how long he would be able to ignore his instincts.

#supernatural #supernatural au #supernatural fic #supernatural reader insert #supernatural fanfiction #dean x you #dean x reader #dean winchester #reader insert #dean #cop dean #sam winchester

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missmensis · 6 years ago

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Give us the Wind, Give us the Storm;

pairing: arthur morgan / Fem!Reader summary: slow burn, ‘I owed you’ word count: 6,8k (couldn’t stop myself)

notes: this is my first tumblr fic & I am hella nervous to post this, but cowabunga it is.

this is chapter 1 of many...

A/N: It is a reader POV; however, I chose not to use "Y/N" in the story because I do believe it kind of takes you out of the story if you have to read this and insert your name. So the Reader has been given a name. There are also some nicknames here and there - hope it helps to keep your focus in the narrative!

read it on AO3

The stars were shining as bright as ever. Looking at the stars had always been your favorite thing to do. As you walked outside of the little house and made your way over to the small shed and hitching post, your family horse snorted in greeting.

"Hey, boy. How are you doin'?" You took your brush out and began grooming him gently, humming to yourself as you went. You gazed out at the plains of West Elizabeth, the place you had always called home. The rolling hills had been kind to you and your family, even if the rest of the world hadn't been. You weren't much of a farmer, but you took pride in the small patch of carrots you had started growing in the dirt next to the shed. You knelt down and snagged one from the ground, uprooting it to show your work to the world.

"How about it, boy? You hungry?" You palmed the carrot, offering it to your horse and petting him gently as he sniffed the carrot curiously before taking it gently from your hand. You sighed, breathing in his scent when you heard the sound of loud, rowdy voices coming down the road at an alarming pace.

Panic set in; yours was the only house around for miles. It wasn't much, but it was still a small homestead; robbers usually weren't picky. The only gun your family owned was sitting above the hearth in the house with your older brother, Joshua. He was awake, but it was unlikely that he heard the riders approaching. You peeked over your horses' neck, to see that the men had already reached the front door of the house. You were maybe ten yards from the house; if you could see what they were up to, maybe you could alert Josh.

Trying to stay as quiet as possible, you sprinted around the back of the shed to the other side of the house where you could get a proper view through the window. Taking the sleeve of your shirt, you wiped off some of the grime from the glass. From what you could see, the men were already inside, talking to Josh, and It looked like a group of the O'Driscoll boys. Between the way they were dressed in dark green colors and the lilt of their Irish accents, there was no doubt in your mind.

The sound was a bit muffled through the closed window, and it was difficult to tell what they were saying. Josh had told you about one of the boys reaching out to him recently; something about robbing the local gunsmith in Valentine to get weapons for them in preparation for an upcoming job. Josh wasn't overly fond of the idea, and he had told them so. You narrowed your eyes as you saw one of them casually fingering their pistol in its holster. Josh stood up, brow furrowed and shoulders tense, and suddenly, you could see something was wrong.

Before you could act, the O'Driscoll had whipped his pistol out, a draw quicker than you'd ever seen, and a bullet was precisely placed within the chest of your brother. It was as if he were a target, created merely for practice. You covered your mouth to keep yourself from crying out, and dropped to the ground, out of sight. You were frozen there as you heard the loud thud of a body falling onto the floor. "Josh..." You breathed, tears beginning to stream down your cheeks as you realized your brother was dead, just like that. You heard the laugh of the men, an opening and closing of a door. Your breath sped up, your heart beating faster and faster, your body feeling like it was collapsing in on itself.

The world faded to black as you passed out in the grass, the family horse whinnying in fear was the last thing you heard.

------------ 2 years later -------------

It was a particularly warm night, and you had been tailing a young O'Driscoll who seemed to have gotten sloppy. They weren't the cleverest of men. You had been following him since he left Emerald Ranch, heading southwest toward an unknown destination.

Keeping a safe distance, you noticed a trail of smoke and a couple of small shacks a few miles away. Perfect. You could have a shot at taking out a few of them while also grabbing some needed supplies. Since your brother died, you had taken it upon yourself to kill any O'Driscoll you came across. You had nothing left except your will and fury. You had taken up a couple of small, easy bounties here and there to get food in your stomach and bullets in your gun, but the main focus of your life had become hunting the gang who had killed your brother. It was all you had. You dismounted your horse among some thick bushes a decent distance from the camp. "Be right back, Val," You cooed at your mare, petting her neck as you leaned your forehead against hers, "Stay here."

You pulled your bandanna up to cover the lower part of your face and secured your hat on your head. Bringing out the Schofield you had collected off the last O'Driscoll you killed and taking a deep breath, you stealthily made your way towards the little campsite.

You took cover behind a small shed which, upon further inspection, had a crate filled with guns. You crept in and rummaged through them before you spotted a Lancaster repeater and a bolt action rifle. Your eyes lit up as you took them, swinging both onto your back and shoulder for safe keeping. Voices became louder and you quickly moved back to your spot behind the shed.

"He better hurry up, I don't wanna be here when the law comes for that side of beef," one of the O'Driscoll's groaned, walking by the entrance to what looked like a basement. Money? Gold? There was something in there that was obviously important to them. He came closer to where you were hidden, and, since you didn't see any more of them in the immediate area, you figured this was your chance. You took out your knife and crept up behind him, slitting his throat. Trying to keep the noise down, you muffled his cry and slowly dragged his body behind the shed where you hid. There was one down.

Seeing no other guards near the entrance to the basement, you quickly ran to the open doors and descended the stairs, gun at the ready. As you made your way underground, you saw not money, but a man, hanging upside down from the ceiling, looking like the wrath of hell had been brought upon him. "Oh my god," You whispered, pulling your bandanna down. He opened his bruised eyes and looked at you, confused.

"W-who are you?" He asked, his voice heavy, sounding like it took all of his strength to speak. "I'm gonna get you outta here." You whispered, looking back over your shoulder, praying nobody had seen you slip down the stairs. You slowly made your way over to the man and began to examine the chains that strung him up. Maybe your knife would do the trick. You took it out and began to work it back and forth against the chain. It didn't seem to work as well as you had hoped; you glanced around the room and saw a small metal file sitting on a nearby table. You grabbed it and began to fiddle with the lock.

You realized that, once the chains were released, his full weight would be in your hands, and although he was quite slim, he was muscular as well, and tall to boot. Taking another deep breath and steadying your stance, you continued picking at the lock for a minute or two until you heard a click and it released the man from his bonds and his body collapsed on top of yours. The only good thing was that one person falling on top of another made less noise than a body falling onto the ground. With your legs under the man's frame, you stopped and listen for any commotion outside.

"What the hell was that?" You heard an O'Driscoll ask. Shit. You moved as fast as you could, rolling over the man to free your legs from under his torso. Thankfully, your legs still worked, albeit painfully, as you pulled yourself up and hid behind the wall as you heard someone come down the stairs. "What the-" You interrupted the man before he could make more of a scene by stabbing him in the side of his neck and covering his mouth with your hand as his body collapsed under you. You stabbed him a few more times for good measure. It was quiet above ground, and you decided it was time to try and get the man up and out of this camp.

"Hey, mister, you okay? We gotta go." You whispered, kneeling next to him. He just groaned incoherently. "Oh boy, okay. Here," You grabbed some canned salmon from your satchel and opened it for him, trying to tip it into his mouth. He obviously had been being starved here for at least a day or two while being beaten up by the O'Driscoll's. You gave him some water out of your canteen too, which he gratefully gulped down. After a few minutes, he seemed to regain a shred of strength and croaked, "Thank you." "Don't mention it," You muttered, "Alright, I'm gonna put your shoulder around my neck, okay?" "I-I got a nasty wound here, think I should treat it f-first." Gritting his teeth, he looked at his other shoulder, where you noticed the wound. He was right; it looked deathly. You pulled him over to a small table in the corner and sat him down in the wooden chair. You looked at the file in your hand and figured that it would probably be better than using the knife you had used to kill two people within the last ten minutes. You heated the file against the fire of the lantern and handed it to the man, "You okay to do this yourself?"

He nodded, grimacing and rotating the file against the open skin, which made your stomach turn. You dug through your satchel to find some extra gunpowder, which you poured into the wound at the man's signal. To seal the wound, you held the candle at the ready. "Once we do this, someone may hear it," You said, licking your lips in anticipation of a fight, "We're gonna have to fight our way out. Have you got a horse here?" The man nodded, "I hope they've got her here, otherwise I'll just take one of theirs." "I stole this gun from them," You said, taking the repeater off your back, "You take this, I have a rifle and revolver." "I'll get it back to you someday." He said, his voice still weak. He took the gun,"Ready?" Adrenaline filled your veins, "Yeah, let's do this." You cocked your pistol as he thrust the candle into the wound, letting out a small cry of pain. You quickly helped the man up, throwing his shoulder around the back of your neck once again. "When we get out there," You began as you both made your way toward the stairs, "I want you to run to the horses, I'll cover n’ hold them off your back as long as I can. Just ride, don't look back." The man looked at you, his eyes grateful, "Y' sure?" "Yeah, I can get away when I need to. Got a fast horse. I'll be fine." "What's your name?" You paused, "Faraday." "Well, hope I get to see you again, Miss Faraday. Want to repay you for all this." He replied, readying the repeater in one hand. "Just get out of here alive for me, would ya?" You asked with a tight smile.

You both took one final inhale and begun your ascent to the surface. The rest was a blur. You spotted one of the gang patrolmen and shot him in the back of the head, while the man shot another O'Driscoll sitting at the fire near the horses. You covered his back as he whistled and a stunning Missouri Fox Trotter yanked its reigns free from the hitching post and galloped to the man.

"My girl," You heard the man say lovingly as he threw himself on the back of the horse. He looked back at you and you gave him a quick nod before he raced off into the night. You spotted an O'Driscoll on horseback set out behind him and aimed your revolver, praying all the lessons your brother had taught you of distance shooting had paid off. You hadn't hit the rider, but you hit the horse, and that was enough to send them careening to the ground.

Your silent victory was cut short by a bullet whizzing past you. Turning, you saw three O'Driscoll's headed your way from another part of the camp. How many of them were here? Letting out a barrage of bullets in their direction and hitting one of the men in the chest, you took off running to the closest tree cover you could find. While reloading your gun as quickly as possible, you whistled for your horse, and, seconds later, heard the pounding of her hooves as she raced towards you. You readied yourself and jumped onto her back, grabbing for the reigns and shooting blindly behind you. "Run, girl, run as fast as you can," You pleaded with your horse as you looked over your shoulder. They didn't seem to be following you, but you knew better than to think you were in the clear.

As you reached the crossing of a railroad into Lemoyne, you heard whooping and hollering behind you and an unmistakable Irish accent, "GET THAT BITCH, BOYS!" More O'Driscoll's. Looking behind, you spotted four of them. You weren't confident you could take them all down, but even killing one or two might help you escape. You tried to analyze which horses looked faster, which riders were in front; those would be your targets.

Glancing ahead one more time to make sure there were no dangerous obstacles in front of you, you turned your full attention behind you and aimed for the rider in front. You took a couple of shots, and then one landed, knocking him off the back of his horse and into the dirt. You steered your horse towards a woodsy area, hoping the cover of trees and threat of collision would slow them down a bit. Your horse could handle it; she was the fastest horse you'd ever ridden, and she knew the forests well.

Taking another shot at the other front rider, you missed and were grazed by one of his bullets. You cried out and nearly lost your balance, but your horse kept you steady. Your left side aching from the hit, you realized you'd have to reload soon. Emptying the rest of the rounds at the rider, two bullets finally landed their target. The rider and his horse stumbled and crashed into one of the trees. Two were down, and that was enough to get away. You were starting to feel a bit woozy from the bullet graze as you looked down and saw blood. You held your side and focused on applying pressure to the spot as you gripped the sides of your mare with your thighs.

Your mare turned it on and managed to zig-zag enough through the trees that eventually, you no longer heard anyone behind you. Reloading your gun just in case, you peered behind you and saw nobody. The pair of you continued at a high pace until you could be sure you weren't being followed. Before long, you reached the edge of a lake. The moonlight shone brightly against the water and you felt, for a moment, peace. You stopped and dismounted to look at your wound, and it wasn't looking great. Searching through your satchel to check your supplies, you pulled out a bottle of whiskey and poured it over your abdomen. It hurt like hell, but it was the best you could do for now to clean the wound before making a tourniquet. Luckily the bullet had only grazed you and wasn't lodged in your flesh. For now, you were out of the woods, and out of the O'Driscoll's path. A few hours to sleep would help, so you set up your small tent. You opted not to start a fire, in case they were still a couple of miles around. Any smoke would draw them right to you. You took out the other can of salmon you had been saving and remembered the man. You wondered and hoped that he had gotten somewhere safe, away from the O'Driscoll's. He looked like he could certainly handle himself on a good day, but not after starvation and torture. You never even asked his name.

Sleep would be the best remedy for your wound and worries, and you drifted off, your hand on your gun.

You woke up the next morning to the sound of soft waves crashing on the lake shore. The light of the sun was beautiful, radiant on the face of the water. You sat up, staring out of the flap of the tent at the lake, wishing life was simpler than it was right now. You could have let the O'Driscoll's get away with what they did to your brother, but you couldn't just let them go unpunished. You knew revenge wouldn't bring him back, but you couldn't just go live a normal life and just forget about the injustice that was brought upon him. You knew he wasn't a vengeful person, but you were filled with rage on his behalf, and it was unquenchable.

Despite everything, the lake helped you steady your mind as you watched the shallow waves lap up and down on the shoreline. Since there were no signs of O'Driscoll's yet, you decided to stay another few days. You did a little bit of fishing, although you were awful at it. You managed to catch one fish, but it was a small one. Of all the things your brother had taught you, fishing wasn't one of them. He had dreamed of living near the ocean, he vowed to run away to California and find his fortune, but, like all dreams, it was only that. He was your big brother, your protector, your best friend, and the only one in your family who had actually given a damn about your future after your mother passed away.

You sat fiddling with your gun and staring at the water when you heard Val whinny. Whipping around, you were met with a knife in your other side, courtesy of one of the O'Driscoll's that had been chasing you days before. You moved quickly and shot him in the chin with your other hand, crying out as pain ripped through you. He fell backward into the rocky dirt. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," You growled, wincing as you grabbed a spare shirt from your bag and pressed it against your new wound. Blood was seeping through the material and you felt faint. You saw your horse coming towards you in concern, and then heard the sound of more hooves. More O'Driscoll's.

You figured this was when they would finally end you and the trouble you had been causing them, even if it was minuscule in the grand scheme of things. You clung to your pistol with your other hand, sweating and preparing to take as many down with you as you could. "Ma'am, you alright? Heard a gunshot over here." A different voice, not Irish, addressed you. Your vision was getting fuzzy, but the voice sounded familiar to you somehow.

It had to be a dream. The man, the same man you helped escape from the basement, was making his way in front of you on the back of the same fox trotter. "You..." Your voice was breaking, and you were starting to fade out. "My god, you're the one that saved me." He got off his horse and moved toward you quickly. You felt yourself keeling over, and he caught you, kneeling next to you like you had done for him only days prior. "Y-you're okay?" You looked up at him hopelessly, your voice cracking. "I’m gonna get you out of here, get you healed up, okay?" His words filled your ears, but you were barely awake to register anything anymore. Your world faded completely to black.

------------ Sometime later -------------

There was a cool breeze on your face as you inhaled, and your eyes fluttered open. At first, you thought you must have been dead. You weren't much of a believer in heaven or hell, but this certainly felt like heaven. There was classical music playing from somewhere near you and you were incredibly comfortable, partially covered by something soft, feeling the air caressing your skin like a long-lost lover.

You sat up very slowly and put your hand to your abdomen where the O'Driscoll had stabbed you and touched what felt like a thick bandage. You weren't dead; you were somewhere, in what appeared to be a large lean-to, in a cot, covered by a blanket, your wounds completely treated and bandaged. There was a woman standing near you, facing the other way and tinkering with something you couldn't see. "Um, ma'am?" You asked, your voice barely more than a whisper. You felt like you hadn't spoken in days, that scratchy, choked feeling in your throat. Startled, she jumped and turned back to you, "Oh, you're awake! You've been out a few days, dear, I'll go tell Arthur."

Before you could say another word, she bustled away to go find whoever Arthur was and you were left alone to survey your surroundings. It was a camp, a large one by the looks of it, and you saw a wide variety of folks sitting around or doing various tasks around the area. You looked around the small bed where you had been resting; there was a picture of three men nailed into a wooden wall next to the bed. All three men were very handsome; it looked like it had been taken at a portrait studio maybe 10 years ago. There was another picture of a very sweet looking dog, tongue out and looking right at the camera. Before you could look at the third picture, you heard a couple of people walking up to you. Wincing, you sat up fully and positioned yourself on the edge of the bed, your legs hanging off, toes grazing the green grass below.

The woman reappeared, along with two other men. One of them was the man you saved from the O'Driscolls's and, you supposed, was the one who had saved you, too. "Hey there," He said with a smile, "You're lookin’ better."

This was the first time you had really gotten a proper look at the man and wow, was he a sight for sore eyes. It was one thing seeing him beat nearly to death in a basement or riding away in the night during a firefight; it was another to see him in front of you in broad daylight, looking healthy. He was tall, slightly over six feet and looking down curiously at you. His hair was a dark blond, bordering on light brown and, when the sunlight shone on it, glinted gold. His eyes were so vivid, as blue as the sky and as deep as you imagined the sea to be.

You struggled to find your words, especially after laying eyes on him, "I-I feel better. To be truthful, I was pretty sure I was dead n' this was heaven." He snickered, and the third man, taller than the others, with black hair spoke up, "What were you doin' over in this area, miss?" "I was just tryin' to find somewhere to lay low for a few days after a run-in with another gang after I-" You began, but the man who saved you interrupted. "After she saved me, Dutch. She was the one I told you about, she got me outta the O'Driscoll's camp." The men looked at each other before the one named Dutch spoke up again. "I figured that, Arthur, I just wanted to hear it from her. Get her side of the story,"

Dutch looked back at you, "Miss, how rude of us for not introducin' ourselves. My name is Dutch Van Der Linde. This here is Mr. Arthur Morgan, you have obviously met each other, and this fine woman is Ms. Susan Grimshaw, our local healer." Ms. Grimshaw guffawed at Dutch, "I am the local do-everything-'round here. Nevertheless, glad you are doin' better, dear. I'll be off." She left you alone with the two men, as they eyed you. "I'm Jane. Jane Faraday," You replied, "I really appreciate the hospitality-" "So, you, Miss Faraday, saved Arthur from the O'Driscoll's," Dutch interrupted, a slightly suspicious look in his eye, "And then you end up not miles from our camp…seems odd, coincidental." "Well," You sat up straighter, ready to explain yourself, "O'Driscoll's killed my brother years ago, took all I had when they shot him, and I spend most of my days hunting them down. I tailed one of them to that camp, thought I would just steal some supplies from them, but I found Mr. Morgan being held there. He was beaten up real good, so I wanted to help, get him out of there. Got shot running away, and my horse brought me to the lake. Camped a few days, and one of them sneaks up behind me, stabs me, and I shot 'em. A miracle I'm alive, if I'm honest. Mr. Morgan returned the favor. That about sums it up." You looked back and forth between Dutch and Arthur, who then took a glance at each other.

"Well, an enemy of my enemy is certainly a friend, Miss Faraday. An O'Driscoll hunter, who would have thought." Dutch said with a hearty laugh, extending a hand to you, "And you helped get Arthur out of a mighty pinch. I thank you." "Really, was no trouble. I'm alive, Mr. Morgan is alive. And a couple of O'Driscoll's are dead. A win in my book." You said, taking his hand and shaking it, "If anything, I thank you for taking me into your camp and letting me heal up a bit. Don’t think I would’ve made it, if not for ya'll." "It's the least we can do. Rest up, we will celebrate both of your livelihoods tonight." Dutch exclaimed, putting his hands together, "And welcome." Dutch walked away, leaving you and Arthur alone.

"What a crazy couple of days," Arthur said, sitting down at the end of the cot, "How are you holding up?" "All things considered, pretty well. I was stabbed, and yet, here I am, alive." You laughed dryly. "I still can't believe you just stumbled into that O'Driscoll camp," Arthur shook his head, taking a cigarette out of his pocket and lighting it, inhaling deeply, "Right place, right time, I guess."

"I was just there to see if they had any supplies or money in that basement, and instead, I found you." "What a disappointment it must've been to see my ugly mug then," He replied, taking a drag of his cigarette and looking at you from under the brim of his hat. "Quite the opposite." You said, a small smile forming on your face. The corners of his mouth turned up into a wry smile.

There were the sounds of people going about their business in the camp, conversations and laughter, a dog barking, and yet, here in this little makeshift home, all was silent as you and Arthur sat, survivors because of the other one's hand. Curiosity got the better of you as you broke the silence.

"So is this your bed? And is this you?" You asked, pointing to the picture of the three men, "This looks an awful lot like you and Mr. Van Der Linde and…someone else." Arthur cleared his throat, "Yeah, it's mine, figured you needed somewhere comfortable to rest," He looked at the picture, "In our younger, glory years. It's me, Dutch, and Hosea. You'll meet him later. Two o' them practically raised me." He explained everything so earnestly. "It's a nice picture. And your bed, and hospitality, all of it, really," You began, "I can't thank y' enough." He made a motion as if to swat away your gratitude, "It's nothin', I owed you. Oh," He took a quick look outside the tented area, "I got your horse too, she's hitched with the others." You gasped, "Oh, Mr. Morgan, thank you! I was worried I lost her. Can you show me where she is?" You started to get up but felt a sharp pain in your side again - clearly, your wound was not fully healed yet. Arthur moved toward you quickly at your wince of pain and put his hand on your shoulder, "You alright?" "Guess I'm not quite there yet, have to move a little slower than normal," You replied, grimacing, "I'll be okay, just slow down.” He took your arm and slung it around his neck, much like you did for him that night at the O'Driscoll's camp, "How 'bout this? Feels familiar, huh? I'll walk you to her."

Arthur carried most of your weight as he helped you walk over to your horse. Her light brown hair looked glossy in the light of the sun, and she whinnied excitedly when she spotted you approaching with Arthur.

"Hey, Val, hey pretty girl," You cooed as you raised your hand to stroke her golden mane, "How you doin'?" "She was causin' quite a racket when we took you in the tent to fix you up," Arthur commented, giving her a pat on the back, "She's a Turkoman, right? Pretty rare." You nodded, "Yeah, funny enough, I was camped up in New Hanover territory one day. I had seen her runnin' around with some rustlers earlier in the day. I thought maybe they had stolen her. Later that night, she must have gotten free, and she wandered into my little camp. Took a few bucks and rides to get her to fully accept me but in the end, guess she wanted to run with me instead of being sold off to some man who probably wouldn't appreciate her," You explained, leaning your face close to her, "I named her Valkyrie. My brother used to love mythology, he liked to tell me about Vikings and stories about their gods. She really is a warrior, came to me nearly a year ago. I had to sell our family horse to the stables, he was gettin' too old for the road I chose to go down. It was hard to let him go, but I knew, in the end, it was a safer life for him."

You smiled as you recalled the day you found Val and then looked at Arthur's horse, "What's the story with yours? She's absolutely beautiful." "Bought her in Valentine., named her Athena. After my old horse died, I needed a new one, and it just seemed right when I saw her. She wasn't getting along too well with the stable hand, but we took to each other real easy. She's quite a fighter, too, a brave girl indeed." Arthur answered, staring at the beautiful mare. He turned to you then, “I’m really sorry about your brother, Miss Faraday. O’Driscoll’s have a habit of takin’ good things away from good people.” You shrugged, “It still hurts but I’m becoming stronger every day because of it. Besides, I’m not much of a good person, I’ve killed, robbed, all in the name of revenge. Don’t think it makes me much of an angel. And you don’t gotta call me ‘Miss’, by the way.” Arthur snickered but didn’t respond. You two stood there for a while, just looking out at the lake before Arthur suggested you take a small rest before meeting the rest of the gang.

A few hours of sleep had worked miracles on you. You felt not quite perfect, but good enough, and you walked around camp with Arthur, being introduced to the rest of the people who traveled with him and Dutch. You had met everyone rather quickly, but each person was so unique in their own way, you had no trouble remembering all their names.

The girls, Tilly, Karen, and Mary Beth, were very kind and welcoming. Mary Beth gave you a sweet hug when Arthur explained that you had saved his life. "Don't know what we'd do without Arthur," She exclaimed, "Thank you for savin' him!" You beamed, "It was my pleasure. I wouldn't be alive without him either, so we're even." "Well, we hope you'll stick around, Jane," Karen said, clapping a hand on your shoulder.

"Another lady in the camp," A blonde man appeared from out of nowhere, "Who might you be?" You noticed Arthur's nose crinkle in disgust as the man approached you. "What do you want, Micah?" He rolled his eyes as the man put his hands up in mock-surrender. "Lighten up, Morgan, I'm just introducin' myself to your new friend," He sneered at Arthur and then turned to you, extending his hand, "Micah Bell." By the way Arthur was behaving and the girls had slowly started to move away as Micah approached, you had a feeling he wasn't one of the gang members that you should be spending time around. "Jane Faraday," You replied curtly, despite how uncomfortable you felt in his presence. Arthur stepped between you and Micah, who lowered his hand, his blue eyes darting between you and Arthur. "Okay, okay, territory marked, Morgan, I get it," Micah laughed coldly, "See you around, Jane." "Come on, let's get some food, you're probably pretty hungry," Arthur said, putting his hand on the small of your back and guiding you away from Micah. You looked over your shoulder as you walked and saw Micah stalking away, his eyes still on you and Arthur. It made you shiver.

After getting some of Mr. Pearson's stew in your stomach, it was time for drinking and 'celebrating your livelihoods', as Dutch had put it. Being the new person in the camp, naturally, everyone wanted to know your story. You all sat around the fire, while you told the gang about what circumstances had started your harrowing journey.

"My brother, Joshua, practically raised me. He wasn't perfect, but he was a good man. He made a lot of mistakes, but he owned up to them, y' know? He was the only one I had left after my mother got sick, and my dad left. He couldn't bear to live without my mom, didn't give a shit about us at the end. My mama, she had tuberculosis, you see, and," You paused, chewing your lip, "There wasn't much we could do. She lived longer than we thought she would, but it got really bad in the end. My dad pretty much took to the bottle as soon as she got diagnosed. Me and Josh did what we could, but it wasn't enough." "Sorry to hear that, Jane." John piped up, fiddling with the bottle of beer in his hands. You grimaced, "It was a long time ago. A few years ago, Josh was in town, in Valentine, when we met the O'Driscoll's. I was running errands and I think he was at the saloon, and they got to talkin'. My parents came over from Ireland, you see, so they must have realized their common heritage," You took another swill of the whiskey bottle, and then passed it to Lenny next to you, "Every now and then he would mention one or two of them, didn't think nothin' of it. I met them once, didn't like them. We didn't know who they really were, had no idea of their criminality. Then one day, they asked him to steal some guns for them from the gunsmith. They asked him to join them. Josh, well, he said no, and they didn't like that all that much. Came in the night and shot him." "You saw it happen?" Bill asked. "I was out back, feeding my horse. I heard 'em come into the house, rowdy as hell they were, and I hid behind our shed, crept up when I saw them go inside and before I could do anything, they shot him. I could barely breathe, and I think I must've passed out right then and there. Woke up the next morning, and his body was gone, blood on the floor," You paused, "Been huntin' them ever since, trying to make them pay for what they did."

There was a long silence from everyone sitting around the fire, it felt like hours had passed before someone spoke again. "It's very brave of you," Abigail said, tightening her grip on Jack who sat in her lap, "I'd been doin' the same thing if I was you, too." "I understand how you feel. The rest of the gang knows, but the O'Driscoll's killed my husband, just the same. Killed him in cold blood as I watched. Seems like we got a thing in common," Sadie added, "It's been a while now, but still hurts same as when it happened. Seems like it's the only thing I care about, too, seein' those bastards burn." "Thanks, Abigail. Sadie, I'm so sorry about your husband.," You replied, "It's just a damn shame, what those men do. Destroyin' everything in their path. And what it turns us into. Only seeking revenge. I got nothin' else to live for, nowhere I really call home.." You stared at the fire. "Not anymore," Sean exclaimed, the lilt of his accent trying to heighten the dismal mood, "We hate them, and you hate them. You ought to stick with us, lass." "Now hold on just a-" Micah started, but Dutch held up a hand. "Sean's right. She saved Arthur's life, she hunts O'Driscoll's, she is clearly more than capable of handlin' herself and contributing to our way of life. She's not just another mouth to feed," Dutch nodded at you, "You can certainly hold your own."

"I can, but I don't mean to bring my problems onto you folks. I'm happy to move on in the morning. You've been kind and hospitable to me, I won't forget it." You said, your eyes on Arthur. His eyes flicked to meet yours. You had already started to grow attached to some members of the gang, and you couldn't bear putting them into danger on your behalf. They were all quiet at your words.

"Well, why don't you just stay a few more days, see how you feel. If you still think we're a foul bunch, then we'll part ways. If not, you have a place here with us." Hosea suggested with a shrug.

You looked around at the rest of the gang, trying to gauge their reactions to the idea of you staying. From the few hours you had spent there, Lenny, Sean, the girls, Abigail, and Little Jack seemed to have taken a liking to you. A few of them, namely Micah, seemed suspicious of you. Arthur was quiet and hard to read. From the time you had spent with him earlier and, all things considered, it seemed that he really liked you, but now, he just seemed reserved. He had been quiet most of the night after you had met Micah, while the rest of the gang had been asking you questions. He just looked at you while you weighed your options, the flames of the fire dancing in his irises.

"Sure, thank you, everyone. It's really kind of you, and I promise not to be a burden. Willing to help however I can." You said, smiling as Sean ruffled the top of your head and passed the bottle back to you. "Ms. Grimshaw, you mind finding a place for Miss Faraday? I think we've got an extra tent 'round here somewhere." Dutch asked, puffing on his cigar. "She can borrow mine again," Arthur offered, "She’s been sleepin’ in there already and I owe her, after all." Micah snickered at Arthur’s words, and you locked eyes with him again.. "I don't want to put you out, Mr. Morgan, really, you should take your bed back, I'll just sleep on the grass or something." You replied, shrugging. "Oh stop it, you two! You are both still healing and need proper places to rest. I'll put somethin' together for her." Ms. Grimshaw shook her head, getting up and leaving to gather some supplies to put something together for you.

The next few hours were filled with stories, laughing, and drinking. You spent more time getting to know the gang, listening to Javier play the guitar while others sang around him. Sean and Karen sang the loudest and got the drunkest. Charles joined in with his harmonica, as Arthur quietly hummed along. It really did seem like a small, diverse family of outlaws, misfits, and lost people who had been found along the way.

Folks started turning in for the night one by one until it was just you, Arthur, Sean, and Karen left. Sean and Karen began to get touchy with each other, seemingly forgetting you and Arthur were there. In any other situation, you might have felt uncomfortable but instead, it made you laugh; you felt like you already had known them for months and this was a regular occurrence. Arthur looked over at you and nodded his head toward a different area of the camp as if to say, 'let's give them privacy' and you smiled back, getting on your feet.

The two of you walked over to the area where Ms. Grimshaw had kindly set up a tent for you, right next to Arthur's. "You've got an amazing group of people here with you, Mr. Morgan." You said, looking over at Arthur. "Well, you know what they say, can't pick your family," He said with a small laugh, "All things considered, I feel quite lucky, Miss Faraday." "You don't gotta call me Miss, y' know." You stopped walking and looked at him with a smirk. "Well then don't call me Mr. Morgan." He countered, looking back at you with raised brows. His eyes were still so colorful, even in the dark of the night. You had both reached the area where your quarters were set up. "Okay, Arthur," You teased, "Thank you again, for bringing me here. You saved me. And before you say that you 'owed' me, forget it. I really do appreciate it and wanted you to know." "Well, you're welcome, and thank you, Jane," He paused, "Honestly, our luck has been flippin' back and forth lately but it feels like it may be startin' to turn again." "Is that for better or worse?" You asked thoughtfully. His eyes met yours and his lips curled up into a little smile. "For better, I think. G'night, Jane." He answered, and then gave you a small nod before turning toward his bed. "Goodnight, Arthur." You said and knelt down to crawl into your tent.

Somehow, everything seemed a little bit better for you since you arrived.

#arthur morgan #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x oc #rdr #sean macguire #dutch van der linde #john marston #abigail roberts

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fluffy-marshmallow-heart · 6 years ago

Text

Ride or Die ch.15 -Dead End

Colt's POV of chapter 15, when MC crashed her car

Colt x MC (Ellie)

Words: 3557

Warnings: NSFW

This was requested by @i-only-signed-up-for-fanfiction

Colt had spent all day looking for Toby and Ximena, finally finding them and filling them in on what’s been happening. He told them about the plan Ellie came up with, capturing the Brotherhood on video.

“I’m hoping they’ll be too distracted by my attempting to catch them on camera that they won’t even notice there are others. “I bought a burner phone specifically for this, so it really doesn’t matter if anything happens to it.”

“Wow, that…could actually work.” Toby told him

A flash of pride rippled through Colt. That’s because my girl is smart.

After telling them what they need to do, where they need to be, and at what time, they parted ways. I hope Ellie’s right and they pull through.

Colt rode his bike to a random small house in South Central, roaring into the quiet neighborhood, parking behind Ellie’s pink car.

Pink. She had to have pink. So noticeable, so girly girl, so…Ellie.

He gets off his bike and saunters over to where Ellie is standing with Logan. Fucking Logan.

“Is it done?” She asked

Cold nodded. “Green light. We’re just waiting for a call sometime tonight.”

“You’re sure?” Logan had his eyes narrowed, looking at Colt accusingly.

Anger bubbled up inside him. “Yes, I’m sure, you…”

“Guys, we’re on the same side, remember?” Ellie cut in, glaring at the both.

Colt sighed, running a hand through his hair. Fine.

Logan looked at her apologetically. “Let’s just get inside.”

Colt takes Ellie’s hand and holds her back as Logan walks ahead. “Hey, look…I stopped by the old garage earlier, to try to find some things. Anything, really, to remind me of my family’s legacy. And I found this. I guess my pop kept it from my first car. He had it in his desk. And now, well, no place for it on my bike, so…I figure you might as well have it, if you want.”

He hesitantly holds out a little cactus bobble head, complete with a mustache and sombrero. Please don’t laugh. I know it’s lame. I was a kid when I got it and thought it was cool. Something prickly just like me.

“Colt…thank you.” She smiled warmly at him, and butterflies erupted in his stomach.

He shrugged casually. “It’s nothing. Just a trinket, but…maybe it’ll bring you some luck.”

Taking her hand again, they follow Logan up to the door. He knocked, and a moment later the door swings open to reveal some food truck guy Colt had seen around every now and then.

“Logan! It’s been a minute, cuz.” He steps forward to give Logan a hug but stops short when he sees his expression. “What’s wrong?”

“Can we lay low out here for the day?” Logan asked.

“Course. Come in.”

The guy leads them inside. He takes in Ellie’s prom dress. “You wanna tell me what’s goin on?”

Mother fucker better not be checking her out ever again. I’ll forgive the dress, because it’s odd she’s still in it, but next time…

“The less you know, the better.” Logan informed.

“You at least gonna tell me who this dude is?” He points to Colt, and he fists his hands, agitated. Seriously?

“That’s Kaneko’s kid. And you remember Ellie.”

Kaneko’s kid?? I have a name!!!

“Colt.” He said flatly.

“Hey, Vaughn. Sorry for intruding.” Ellie shot him a Look, and he shrugged slightly. Whatever, it’s my name.

“Nah, it’s cool. Get comfy, change outta those threads…”

“Thanks. We’ve got some planning to do.”

“Well, hang on just one second. You can stay here, but I need something in return.”

Naturally

Logan’s face fell. “You do?”

Vaughn turns away, walking to the kitchen counter. “You might be my cousin, but nothing in life is free. You gotta do me a favor.”

“What?” Logan asked hesitantly.

“You gotta taste test my new dishes for my truck.” He turns back around with a tray of fresh, eclectic street food.

Logan grinned. “I think we can manage that just fine…”

Colt’s mouth immediately started watering, and as they discussed their plan, they scarfed down amazing food.

Hours later, the sun sets outside, and the showdown with the Brotherhood draws nearer. After planning every last detail of the night, the four of them are passing time half-watching TV in Vaughn’s living room.

Ellie keeps looking at the clock. Logan nudges her. “There’s nothing we can do but wait.”

Colt slid his eyes over to her. She looks just as nervous as I feel. I need an outlet. We both do.

Ellie gave a half smile. “I know, I just…I feel like I need to do something now. Get all this anxious energy out so it doesn’t distract me later.”

“I know how you feel.” Colt clenches and unclenches his fist, over and over and over again.

“You can lie down in my spare room for a bit, Ellie.” Vaughn offered.

Right. Mr. Nice Guy. No wonder Logan brought us here.

“Thanks, Vaughn. I think that’ll help.”

“We’ll get you when it’s time.” Logan assured.

She nods, the heads toward the hall, she pauses in the doorway, looking back at them. Colt catches her eye from across the room.

Come on, Ellie, bring me with you, I know exactly how to get out all our frustrations.

“Colt, could I talk to you for a minute?” She asked.

Yesssss. Shove it, Logan. She wants to fuck me, not you. I win.

Colt shrugs, not showing his excitement, and follows her down the hall to the bedroom. He closes the door behind them, then leans against it casually. “Did you actually want to talk, or…?”

“No.” Ellie wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him into a passionate kiss. He pulls back to smirk. “Not even dirty talk?”

“Colt!” She slaps his shoulder playfully, but then he captures her mouth with his. Their embrace is heated, insistent. He walks her back toward the bed, his hands running all over her body, under her clothes…

“Colt…”

He can feel his kisses make her dizzy, his touch alone sets her on fire. Something tells him they’re both barely on the edge of control.

This feeling…what is this feeling….it feels like…I can’t control myself around this woman, I need to consume her. She’s mine and I’m hers and this is forever.

“Ellie, what’re you doing to me?”

“Hopefully making you feel really, really good.”

He groans into her mouth, pulling her flush against his hard body. “Yes…Can you feel how good you make me feel?”

He thrusts his hips into her, letting her feel how hard he is. He wants to plunge his cock inside her. His lips travel down her neck, nipping and licking at her exposed skin. His hands slide under her sweatshirt, and she arches into him.

“Colt…take it off” She says breathlessly.

As you wish. He doesn’t need to be asked twice. He quickly pulls her sweatshirt over her head, then unbuttons her jeans and pushes them down her hips, and she quickly shakes them off. He pulls her back into his arms, her bare skin rubbing against his still-clothed body.

“Not…fair…” She moans as he caresses every inch of her exposed skin.

He licked his lips, unable to stop the smile appearing on his lips. “If you want me outta my clothes, all you gotta do is ask.”

She tugs on his leather jacket, pulling it off one shoulder. “Off. Now.”

Colt pulls back to take off his clothes, throwing them haphazardly across the room. “Better?”

“Much.”

The two of them settle back on the bed together. He pulls her in for another searing kiss, his body flush against hers. He squeezes her ass and knows exactly how he wants her.

“Don’t stop” She begged.

“Wasn’t planning to. Come here.” He nudges her onto all fours, facing away from him. He kisses her spine, making her shiver

“Colt stop teasing…”

“But I love when you moan my name.” And now you’re gonna fucking scream it.

He glides his hands down to her hips with a featherlight touch, a whimper escaping her mouth, then guides himself into her tight, wet slit. He grunted as he began to thrust in and out of her, his need for her consuming them both as she puts a hand on the headboard to steady herself as he moves faster and faster.

“Colt..oh, god…”

So fucking tight. So fucking perfect, This body…I love this body, she feels so good wrapped around my dick. Where the fuck has she been my whole life?

He can no longer contain himself. He swivels his hips just so, pulling on her hair so she leans more backwards and together they fall apart. He shot his hot sperm into her as her sweet pussy drank it up, milking him completely. The two of them collapse on the bed together, a tangle of sweaty limbs.

She snuggled into his arms and he kissed the top of her head gently. After a few minutes, they caught their breaths.

“We’re gonna have to do this soon, aren’t we?” She whispered into his chest.

Colt runs his hands up and down her arm in a soothing pattern. “Whatever the Brotherhood throws at us, we’re ready.”

She flips over to face him. “Promise me you won’t do anything stupid.”

He runs his thumb over her cheek, gazing deep into her eyes. “Only if you promise me the same thing.”

I know you. You’re just like me. Both of us do what needs to be done.

She sighed. “…This whole plan is kinda stupid, isn’t it?”

He kisses her forehead. “Maybe, but it’s the best we’ve got.”

Logan knocks. “We got the call. We’re in. It’s go time.”

Colt kisses her one last time before getting up and pulling on his clothes. “I’ll let you get ready.” She just nods, and he leaves the room.

Joining Logan and Vaughn in the living room, both men were giving him death stares. Alright. Guess Logan told Vaughn I stole her away from him. Which I did, so…fuck off losers.

Steps sound in the hallway and they all look up to see her.

“Oh, damn.” Vaughn’s eyes were wide.

“I’m ready.” She announced.

“You sure look like it. Logan’s jaw was practically on the floor.

Colt eyes her ravenously, soaking in her appearance. He really likes the red leather coat. “I already feel better about our chances.” You look bangin’.

Logan tosses her her keys and she catches them out of the air. “Let’s go.” She pulls out her phone, powering it on for the first time in a while…and dial a number. She presses speakerphone, so they can all hear.

“9-1-1 emergency, what is your location?”

“My name is Ellie Wheeler. I want to turn myself in.” There’s silence on the other end for a moment.

“Alright, what is your location Miss Wheeler? We’ll send someone to come pick you up.”

“There’s only one person I’ll speak to. Detective Wheeler. Have him meet me at the Pacific Division station. I’ll be there soon.”

“Miss, if there’s…”

She hangs up the phone. “Clock’s running.”

They all walk outside to where her car is parked at the curb.

Logan grabs her hands. “You’re sure I can’t convince you to let me go in your place?”

She shook her head. “No. It has to be me.”

Logan’s shoulders slump a little. “I know…but a guy can hope. Just…if anything goes wrong, Ellie, look out for yourself. Run.”

Colt watches from a short distance, arms tensely folded. He just gives her a nod when she looks his way. Yes. Run, and I’ll find you to live out our lives. I promise, Ellie.

“Well. See you on the other side.” She gets into her car, shutting the door. Colt sees her put his old cactus on her dash and his heart feels like it’s going to explode of happiness…until she turns the engine on and drives out into the moonless night up the 405 toward Mar Vista.

His heart sinks as he climbs on his bike and heads for his location. Hardly any time passed when his earpiece went off, Ellie’s voice coming through.

“Logan? Colt? We’ve hooked them. They’re coming up fast in the cars we stole for them off the hauler truck.”

Logan’s voice sounds through next. “Already? Damn, they’re quicker than we thought.”

Colt narrows his eyes in frustration. “It’s too early! They’re gonna catch you before you get to the target! Step on it!”

“They’re almost on me!”

“You’re still a ways out. Hang on. I’ll be there as soon as I can!” Logan shouts into his Bluetooth.

Right. Knight in shining fucking armor. Ugh.

“Hurry up, Logan.” He spat out. “You better not let anything happen to her.”

“I got it, Colt.”

As Colt reaches his destination, he sees her rocket forward, the two cars that were at her side crashing into each other and sending debris flying.

Oh my god…my pop…he trusted her with a NOS system?? He taught her how to use it?? His heart ached at the realization of exactly how much his father cared for her and looked out for her…all because his son did.

Thanks pop. I had no idea. Thank you for keeping her safe.

She dodges another car back and forth across the lanes, barely staying out of reach.

“You’re almost there, Ellie!” He shouts into his speaker.

Come on, come on, you’re gonna make it! Just a couple more miles!

Colt whips out his burner phone and sets it up to record. He hears bare metal and looks back up, gasping. He felt like he was watching everything unfold in slow motion.

Ellie’s car stalls as her tire blows out, sending sparks flying against the pavement. Another car slams into her, sending her spinning.

“Ellie! Can you hear me? I’ll be there in a few seconds! One last go for old times’ sake?” Logan pleaded.

“One last go” It was barely a whisper, but Colt still heard it.

Ellie dodges hard to the side as Logan turns on his high beams directly in front of the Brotherhood cars.

“Ellie, go! I’ll catch up!”

“Hurry! You’re at the off-ramp!” Colt added.

She steps on the gas. “I’m almost there! I can make it…”

One of the cars in pursuit flies ahead of her and skids to a stop, blocking the exit ramp.

His heart began pounding erratically. This is looking…familiar.

Flashes of his father speeding towards the barricade and crashing his car to save the crew, to save him, swam through his head. He felt sick. She’s doing the same thing. Oh my god, please no.

“Dammit! Okay, just stay on the freeway, Ellie!” He could hear his voice but it didn’t sound like his own. It sounded a bit higher, panicked…fearful.

“Colt, I have to get there! If I don’t, all of this was for nothing…” She argued

Colt shook his head violently, his breaths coming faster and his head starting to spin. “There’s gotta be another way.”

“No. This is where I get off.” She said, fury and determination evident in her tone

She floors it straight towards the stopped car, while Colt fell to his knees, bile rising in his throat, shock overtaking him. No, no, no…NO!!!!! NOT AGAIN!!!! THIS CAN’T HAPPEN TO ME AGAIN!!!!

He screamed, yet there was no sound. He didn’t feel attached to his body anymore. He was with his father, whom he didn’t even think loved him and yet gave his life to keep him safe. He was with Ellie, whom he had found love himself and loved him back…and was about to give her life to keep him safe. And he was completely helpless to stop either one of them. For the very first time in his life, he was terrified of losing someone he loves. He never had to think about it before his father died.

Like a missile, she crashes into the car, knocking it aside.

“Ellie!” Logan cried.

Her airbag deploys as gravity abandons her. She goes airborne off the ramp, spinning like a top. She slams down on the pavement of a wide, empty lot fifteen feet down. Colt could practically feel the metal crumpling and denting, unable to handle the impact. Her momentum sends her rolling several times until finally coming to a rest on the car’s roof.

Colt gaped at the heavily damaged car, the glass broken and scattered in all directions.

Oh my god, Ellie, what did you do?? You can’t…I don’t believe…you have to be okay. You’re all I’ve got left

Slowly he realized he was shaking uncontrollably, the phone in his hands had already dropped to the ground, his face the only thing on the screen. He became vaguely aware of Logan’s voice in his ear.

“Ellie! Ellie, can you hear me?”

A weak cough responded. “yeah…I made it to the target”

Oh my god, she’s alive. She made it. She FUCKING MADE IT!!!! MY GIRL MADE IT!!!!

“That was absolutely insane!” He finally found his voice. SHE FUCKING MADE IT!!! SHE’S ALIVE!!!

“Colt, are you in position?”

Taking several deep breaths to slow his still racing heart, he answered. “Ready and waiting by the transformer box. They’re coming up on you now.”

“Okay…*cough*…make sure to get their faces on camera.”

But she sounds so weak. She must be hurt. No has that kind of accident without getting hurt. Not even someone as crazy as her.

Headlights approach and the cars stop, doors opening, masked figures approaching the destroyed car. One of them offers her a hand helps her crawl through the shattered glass.

Jason.

Jason’s helping her to her feet when Logan approaches. Jason draws a gun, putting the muzzle to Ellie’s temple just as Logan comes around the bend. He slams on the brakes, skidding to a stop ten feet away, bathing them in his headlights. Jason’s form casts a long shadow across the lot.

She survived the crash just to take a bullet to the head? I don’t think so. We’ve come too far. Time to end this. Without thinking, Colt started marching forward, ready to kill the Brotherhood. He’s blind with rage, not seeing the woman deftly approaching him.

“Nice phone.” She snarled, snatching it away and wrenching his arms behind his back in a hold.

“Thanks. It’s insured.” He snapped back. FUCK!!!

A walkie-talkie crackled at the woman’s side.

“Hester, it’s Shaw. You find Kaneko’s kid?”

“Bringing him in now.” The lady spoke back.

“I have a fucking name, and it’s not ‘Kaneko’s kid’.” Everyone calling me Kaneko’s kid. I’m not my father, and I never will be.

Crossing the lot, Hester pushes Colt along at gunpoint. “I really don’t care.” She replied, sounding bored. She calls out to Jason. “Caught him over there trying to film us on this.” She tosses Colt’s phone onto the ground and shoots it. It shatters and sparks.

“Trying to get us on tape, huh? Get us locked up? Oh, so close.” Jason teased menacingly.

“Good thing we wore masks. You would’ve had nothing, anyway.” The Brotherhood then peel off their masks.

“But how…did you know?” Ellie asked, her voice feigning disbelief.

Jason smirked, shaking his head. “Ellie…come on…we tapped your phone. Duh. We’re the goddamn police. I thought you would’ve figured that out by now.” He laughed.

“We heard you call 911…we heard you tell Kaneko’s kid what to do, where to be.”

“Colt!” He couldn’t stop himself, the words just slipped out angrily.

Jason rolls his eyes and steps closer to Ellie, the barrel of his gun just inches away from her head. “It’s actually kind of tragic. I thought you would’ve made a good cop, Ellie…but I was wrong. A cop always needs to think one step ahead. And now…now your dad will never know what happened to you.” He aims the gun at her, his face neutral.

“You said you didn’t want to hurt her.”

Mona. Traitor. Never trusted her.

Jason frowned. “I didn’t. But she didn’t learn her lesson. You should know, Ellie, I take no pleasure in this. We really were never that different.”

A slow smile spread on Ellie’s face. “Oh, really? I think we are.”

“How’s that?”

“The difference between you and me? Well, for one, I’m not the dumbass who just walked right into a trap.”

She really is going to be okay. There’s that snarky tone I love so much. Colt let out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding.

“What is she talking about?” Wallace asks nervously.

Jason looks around, anxiousness spreading on his face. He looks far across the lot…to the façade of Mar Vista High, and the dozens of CCTV cameras on the streetlamps.

“Say cheese, asshole.” Logan grinned.

Jason’s eyes went wide. “No…”

Gotcha “Go ahead. Wave to Toby and Ximena.”

Inside the school’s AV club, Ximena grins, her voice ringing loud and clear in the parking lot. “We got ‘em”

“In crystal clear high definition.” Toby agreed.

“Shaw…what just happened?” Hester’s voice raised a few octaves.

“I…”

“Always gotta stay one step ahead, isn’t that right, Jason?” Ellie asked sweetly, winking at Colt. He smiled at her before directing his gaze back at Jason and the other two members of the brotherhood.

That’s right asshole. No one messes with my crew.

@annekebbphotography @gardeningourmet @zigortega4life @eileendannie @thequeenofcronuts @drakewalkerfantasy @friedherringclodthing @coffeebeandragon @drakewalker04 @alesana45 @mfackenthal

@i-only-signed-up-for-fanfiction

@rhymesmenagerie

#colt kaneko #colt x mc #rod colt #colt x ellie #ride or die colt Kaneko #choices ride or die #ride or die a bad boy romance #rod fanfiction #rod fanfic #fluffy-marshmallow-heart #playchoices fanfic #playchoices fanfiction #choices stories you play #playchoices

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conretewings · 6 years ago

Text

No Place For Kids

****Ok, so I thought I posted this forever ago (like, over a year) but I just found it sitting in my drafts and when I went to check my archive...it wasn’t there? I don’t know if I overlooked it or what happened, but here? Enjoy this short Guzma-centric fic)****

A deathly quiet had fallen over the room, the only sounds now coming from the constant, distant drum of rain on the roof and the noise of grunts in other parts of the mansion. Guzma leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees as he stared hard at the nervous-looking young boy in front of him.

“What did you just say, kid?”

The boy swallowed and dared to meet his piercing gray eyes for just a moment before looking back down, “I-I want to j-join Team Skull.”

Guzma abruptly stood from his chair and in two strides was standing over him, the boy gasping and stumbling back a step.

With a mirthless laugh he barked, “Tch! You’re scared to even be near me! You should be, but if yer gonna run with us ya gotta be at least tough enough to look me in the face…” he glared down at the boy, who’s eyes were glued to the floor and frowned, ��Look at me.”

Slowly, trembling the whole time, he raised his head and held Guzma’s gaze, who regarded him critically before reaching out a hand. Instantly the boy yelped and threw up his arms to shield his face and neck.

Startled, Guzma yanked his arm back before snapping, “Yo! Calm the fuck down! I ain’t gonna hit a kid! What the hell-”

He froze as the realization started to creep in; the young man’s stance, half-curled up and trying to protect himself as much as possible, shaking and waiting for the blow’s to come…he knew this scene far too well. He took a couple steps away and lowered his voice a bit.

“Hey kid. What’s your name? And for fuck’s sake how old are you? Y’aint even up to my chest.”

Slowly, the boy stood up again and met his eyes with a bit more confidence, “I’m Arin, and I’m twelve.”

Guzma felt his eye twitch as the rage began to bubble up. Stalking past Arin, he threw open his door and bellowed, “PLUMERIA!!”

A few moments later he heard her voice from downstairs, “What?”

“GET YOUR ASS UP HERE NOW!”

It only took a minute for her to reach his room, which she entered casually as he slammed the door behind her before looming over her and jabbing a finger in Arin’s direction.

“What the fuck is a twelve year-old doing here?! Who let him in and how did he get past you?!” he spat furiously.

Plumeria crossed her arms, unfazed by his attempts at intimidating her and pointedly ignoring it, “He didn’t. I told him to go talk to you.”

“What the fuck Plumes?! He’s twelve! Freakin’ TWELVE! This is a gang not a daycare! We ain’t got no room for brats barely outta diapers what the hell were you thinkin’?!”

“Look G,” she sighed, holding up her hands “He wouldn’t take no for an answer. He wouldn’t listen to me, or Tony, or Kaleb, or Annette, or anyone. I finally figured he might listen to you. Or, at least you could scare him off.”

Guzma whipped his head toward Arin, “That true, kid?”

He nodded, “Everyone kept telling me no, b-but I really wanted to, so…Plumeria, right? She told me that if I wanted in that bad I had to talk to you.”

Guzma slapped a hand over his face and grumbled a string of muffled obscenities while stalking back to his chair and grabbing a half-empty bottle from it’s base. Flopping back down, he drained part of it in one long swallow before glaring at Arin again.

“No. That’s my final say. Now git. If ya can’t remember where the door is, Plumes’ll be happy to kick you out it.”

Arin drew a deep, shaky breath before standing up straight and doing his best glare back at Guzma with a surprising amount of ferocity, “I’m not leaving.”

“Yes you are ya little shit-stain now get outta my face. Go home. This ain’t no place for kids.”

Arin dropped his gaze again, “…I can’t go home.”

“The hell does that mean?”

“It means I can’t go home.”

Guzma slammed his fist on his chair, “Listen, smartass! I will personally throw ya out the nearest window if ya keep it up. Now whattaya mean?”

“It means I can’t go home! I won’t!” the boy was yelling now and holding his head, “I’m not going back to hearing how much of a failure and a retard I am, to being either ignored or screamed at, to-to getting beat whenever I breathe the wrong way!”

That tense quiet settled over the room again, and Plumeria caught Guzma’s gaze, giving him a knowing look as she noticed his pained, livid expression.

Drawing a deep breath, Arin glanced at them both before explaining, “My dad’s always been…hard on me. But when I failed my Island Challenge, things got really awful. I can’t leave my room most of the time and when I do it gets…bad. I…” he swiped a hand across his eyes before squaring his shoulders and raising a fist, “I want to re-take it! I’m stronger now, and I know I could do it. But my folks keep telling me not to bother, that I’ll just screw up again! But I won’t! And-and that’s why I need to join you! To get even more strong so I can win and show everyone who doubted me that I’m not worthless!”

For just a moment, Arin vanished, and Guzma saw himself in the boy’s place; young, angry, disheartened, beaten down but still determined to come out ahead. His eyes flicked to Plumeria, who’s own were with clouded with uncertainty and pity.

She stepped over to Guzma, bending so she could talk quietly into his ear, “G, I know what you’re thinking. This kid is goin’ through some serious shit, but there ain’t no way he’s got any place here. I don’t know what to do. We can’t just send him back to that...”

“We ain’t gonna. I have an idea.” he murmured, giving her hand a quick squeeze.

He stood again, approached Arin and knelt down so they were eye-to-eye. There was nothing he could do for his past self, but maybe he could help this boy in the present.

“Look. Yer not joinin’ us. I meant what I said, this ain’t no place for kids,” he noted how Arin glowered at his feet and clenched his fists, “Ya wanna know why else? ‘Cause you still have a chance. All of us? This is it. This is rock bottom and there ain’t no place to go from that. You? You still got a shot at makin’ somethin’ of yourself. I saw how passionate ya were just then, talkin’ about your dream of completin’ your Island Challenge. Don’t let that kind of spunk and determination flicker out.”

Slowly, Arin looked up at him, his face twisted with despair and anger but touched with surprise at Guzma’s words, “I don’t have anyplace to go, and I am not going home.”

“Yeah, yeah I know. I can’t do anything else to help ya, but I know someone who can.”

-Nanu craned his neck from his spot on his couch to look at his suddenly ringing phone. A couple Meowth looked up in vague interest before going back to grooming or napping. Finally, when he realized it was just going to keep ringing if he didn’t deal with it, he groaned and hauled himself to his feet, absently setting his coffee mug on a nearby desk and picking up the receiver. “Hello?”

“Hey. I uh…I got a favor I need to ask.”

Nanu sighed, “Nice to talk to you too, Guzma. If you’re in jail again I’m not helping.”

“Oh-eat my ass, old man!”

“No thanks, and if you’re looking for a favor, talking to me like that isn’t helping.”

“….The favor ain’t for me.”

-It was nearly a month later when Guzma half-walked, half-stumbled down the road, managing to hold bottles in each hand as he sang loudly and made his way to Nanu’s place.

Reaching the door he leaned against the frame and used his knee to ‘knock’. “Heeeey ya crazy old cat man! It’s ya boy! Lemme in I got beer!”

The door opened and Nanu looked him up and down with his usual tired, morose expression. Guzma’s hair was a complete disaster, covered in glitter and what appeared to be Silly String. A huge, lop-sided grin was plastered on his face as he slumped against the door.

“’Sup?” he slurred.

Nanu sighed, “I’m pretty sure I could hear you guys all the way from here. Well, come in.”

He stepped aside and allowed Guzma to stagger in and flop onto the couch, displacing several hissing Meowth in his wake. Still chuckling, he held up one of the bottles he had.

“Didn’t feel right leavin’ you outta the party so I thought I’d come down and share. C’mon! Have a beer with me! It’s the good stuff!”

Nanu considred the offered bottle for a moment before saying, “I’m not sure it’s a good idea for a police officer to accept stolen goods.”

Guzma looked almost offended, “Yo! I just got paid, and bought these fair and square! I swear!” then his face lit up again, “Heh heh, that rhymed! Even drunk I still got it!”

Nanu’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly; he knew full well where that ‘pay’ had come from, and made a mental note to check up with his contacts within Aether later. For now, he had to admit a beer sounded refreshing, and the fact that it was coming from that woman’s dime made it sound even sweeter.

At last, he shrugged and took it, sitting down next to the gang leader. “Thanks.”

“Eeeyyyyy! There ya go!” crowed Guzma, “Heh, we haven’t had a beer together in ages! A toast! To uh…” he scratched his chin, absently picking some Silly String from his scruff, “To…shit. I had somethin’…”

“How about to your friend, Arin?” Nanu suggested.

“Who? Ain’t none of my crew named Arin.”

“I mean the boy you called in a 'favor’ about a while back.”

Guzma paused with his bottle halfway to his mouth, the realization creeping into his expression. Slowly lowering it, he stared at Nanu briefly before leaning back and turning his gaze to the nearest window, his smirk slowly fading. After a moment he asked, "How’d the little dude make out?"

“Technically I’m not really supposed to discuss these kinds of cases, but considering you’re quite drunk I trust you’re not going to go blabbing it anyway-if you remember anything,” he ignored Guzma’s muttered curses and began to explain, “Child Services was sent to the house and well...you were right. Arin was definitely being abused.”

“I fucking KNEW IT!” snarled Guzma, hurling his empty bottle so hard it cracked into several pieces upon impact with the wall, “The way he acted, the shit he said-fuck,” he whirled toward Nanu, his eyes ablaze, “Please tell me-”

Nanu calmly held up a hand, “It was dealt with. Arin is now living with relatives on another island, and his father is not allowed to see him. I checked in about a week ago, and he’s doing very well. He plans on re-taking his Island Challenge soon.”

Guzma let out a long, deep sigh. His shoulders relaxed and he stood, slowly pacing around the small building, hands shoved in his pockets. He couldn’t help but think; what if someone had noticed his situation? He glanced down at the heavy gold chain around his neck, and suddenly it felt a lot heavier. If things had turned out differently, would he still be wearing this? Standing here? He shook his head, stuffing the darkness back down as he always did. Nanu waited patiently until he turned back to him and spoke.

“Yo. Thanks, old man.”

Nanu shrugged casually, secretly enjoying hearing the sincere gratitude, “He’s a good kid. He’ll be alright...” he paused, unsure if he should open this can of worms but deciding it was probably okay in the man’s current state, “I just wish that someone had done the same for you.”

Instantly, the mood in the room changed. Guzma froze, whipping his head toward him, eyes wide, his face an unnerving cross between alarmed and furious, “What’s that mean huh? The fuck does that mean?”

Nanu squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, realizing he’d messed up but knowing there was no backing out, “It means I wish someone had spoken up on your behalf when you were younger and had to go through what Arin has...who knows? Maybe you would-”

“WHO THE FUCK TOLD YOU THAT?!” Guzma exploded so loudly all the the Meowth laying around yowled and scrambled over each other to run out the door, “THAT SHIT AIN’T NO ONE’S FUCKIN’ BUSINESS! I swear when I find the-”

“You did.”

Breathing heavily, fists clenched as if ready to fight an enemy who wasn’t there, or the phantoms of his nightmares, Guzma asked, “What?”

Nanu repeated himself, “You did. I don’t think you realize just how much you talk when you’re drunk. One night, kind of like this one, you came down here and told me all about your life growing up. You talked for what had to have been a couple hours before you passed out on the couch. When I got up you were still sleeping, so I left you some coffee before I took off.”

Guzma was now sitting again, hunched over and hands clenched in his hair, “Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck...I don’t remember tellin’ ya any a’ that...”

“Of course not. You were so hammered I doubt you would.”

He looked up, glaring furiously at the older man, “Ya didn’t repeat none of it right? “Cause I don’t need no one pryin’ into my shit or feelin’ sorry for me.”

“I didn’t. Frankly, what good would it do? You’ve already made yourself the most hated person in Alola. A tragic backstory wouldn’t make people despise you any less.”

Guzma smirked at that, “Heh, guess I have. What about you, old man? Do you despise me too?”

“No,” answered Nanu without hesitation, “You’re a pain in my ass sometimes but I don’t hate you.”

Chin resting in his hands, Guzma regarded him curiously. Though he was still quite hammered, he could tell Nanu was sincere with his words, a notion that both comforted but also greatly confused him; why would anyone not hate him? He could also feel the buzz beginning to wear off and realized he should be getting back before he ended up passing out on the couch again, or worse, blabbing any more about his youth. On the other hand, Nanu didn’t seem to care all that much that he had. Maybe he had found someone he could...

He squeezed his eyes shut. No.

Standing, he put on the biggest, most confident grin he could and gestured to the other two bottles he had brought, “Well, I better get home. Can’t leave the kids too long, ya know? They’ll rip the place apart, worse than it already is. Thanks for havin’ a beer with me.You can keep those. They’re on the house,” his smile faltered for just a second, “And uh, thanks for letting me know Arin’s okay. I’ll keep it to myself if ya keep the shit I said quiet, cool?”

Nanu nodded, “Of course.”

Guzma absently scratched at his neck, “That’s that I guess. Later, old man.”

“Yeah. Later.”

As he passed through the door, he heard Nanu say behind him, “Take care.” Before he could say thanks, it was followed with, “And sober up for Arceus sake.”

“Oh, bite me!” Guzma huffed, nearly slamming the door.

Nanu grinned smugly, gently scratching the Meowth that had come back and jumped into his lap.

#guzma #team skull #fanfiction #pokemon #pokemon sun and moon #pokemon sumo #nanu #plumeria

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cephalo-trio · 5 years ago

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Deepsea Escape Part 6

A Splatoon 2 Story written by Splat-Tendency

Starring: Lexi Camellia (POV)

((Lexi was on her way to deliver the last mail at first, and then she wakes up in the underground subway station. She has no clue where she is or how is she going to get back to the surface. She has no choice, but to venture through this abandoned station alone.))

"Eight. Can ya help me out for a bit?" Cuttlefish asked, after I brought the 2nd thang to that phone guy. He happened to be holding a notepad and a pencil. "We have been traveling through this facility for quite some time. Yet, I still haven't seen Agent 3.."

Agent 3 did say, he was going to investigate a little further after our encounter. "Yeah, sure. What do you want me to help you with?" I got up from my resting bench and approached the captain.

"I need you to describe what he looks like. That way someone might know where he is." Cuttlefish got his pencil ready, waiting for me to describe Agent 3's appearance.

"Fine, I guess.." I nodded. "He's around my age.. His hair is half-shaved, different from the casual hairstyles.." I described to him, specifically as Cuttlefish is scribbling on his notepad. "And his face has a few battle scars.. And his eyes are amber, too.."

I couldn't stop thinking about that iron-willed agent. Then again, he used to be my enemy when I was an elite trooper. ("Why do I care about the agent who got me into this mess...? Then again... he did found me while I was unconcious and gave me some snacks..") I would hate him, but he was a lot kinder when I first met him for 4 years..

"Agent 8? Earth to Agent 8!" I snapped out of my daydreaming as Cuttlefish called me. "Is this what're talking about?" Cuttlefish had drawn a pretty good sketch of Agent 3. How did he draw so fast, I wonder?

"Y-Yeah.. That's him." I nodded as I took a good look at his appearance. He's a lot different than our last encounter, 4 years ago.

"Splendid! You'll post this on the this wacky telephone. If anyone has seen Agent 3, we'll be sure to find him! Right now, there's only 2 left to find! I'm counting on you to get us outta here! Never give up hope!" Hope. This is what Cuttlefish has said to me once we returned to the train.

"Pearl.. Mind if I ask you something?" I asked them while I continue to collect the Mem Cakes. I'm currently in the E-Line in search for the 3rd thang.

"What's up, Eight?" Pearl is the one communicating with me, while Marina is typing away on her personal laptop.

"Earlier, Cuttlefish told me to never give up hope.. What even is 'hope' to you..?" I asked her out of curiosity. I have been fighting my way through a lot of challenges.

"Hope, eh?" Pearl replied. "Well it's like if you're feelin' down, you gotta get back up and go with the flow. Rina over there is the reason, I never give up hope. Ever since we first met and started makin' music"

"Awww.. Pearlie.." Marina was actually blushing.

"Listen, Eight. Don't let anyone bring ya down. We'll be there 100 percent, yo!" Thanks to Pearl, I'm motivated to keep going.

"I see.. Thank you for your time, Pearl.." I hung up after our conversation. When I do escape, I wouldn't mind listening to their music.

A few tests later, I stumbled upon another station between E-12 and F-01. After a lot of struggles, I'll soon have a chance to get home. The more I travel deep into the underground, the more worried I get.

"So, this is the Drop the Bass station..." I read the sign once I arrived at my destination. Something about this battle arena seemed familiar.

"Something seems a bit off, don't you agree Cap'n..?" There was no mistaken it. I have been to this area before. Was it just a coincidence?

"Nothin' familiar to me.. Just that much pile of green gunk on the floor." I shruggged hearing Cuttlefish's response. It could be yet another horde of the Sanitized trying to stop me from clearing a test.

Without delay, I took the launchpad and super jumped into the battlefield. C.Q Cumber has recommended me to use the Dualie Squelchers for this task. I don't pay much attention to the other weapons as of late but this will indeed help me.

As I ventured closer to the huge pile of sanitized ink, I saw a few jolts in the air. Before I could react, something colossal emerged from the ink. It was a huge cube-like enemy with short legs and it happened to be coated with some kind of silver armor. The huge enemy has a huge tentavle like the ones I've seen back in Octo Valley. My jaw dropped as I recognized what that thing is.

"Th-The Octo Stomp..?!" I cried as I stood still like a deer caught in the headlights. "I don't understand..!! Why is one of the Octobosses from the Canyon here..?!" This new form of Octo Stomp is extemely different than the one in Octo Canyon.

"Did you just say the Octo Stomp..? 4 years ago, Agent 3 splatted that thing to a pulp! Isn't he your ally, Eight..?" Cuttlefish remembers one of the Octoweapons all too well.

"Now's not the time for a history lesson, Cap'n..!! It's about to attack me..!" The Octo Stomp Redux charged straight towards me, leaving a huge trail of ink. It was so fast, I managed to get away from his assault.

Suddenly, an Octotrooper appeared on the top of his head. Along with the built-in Splatling, the trooper began shooting at me. With all the bubbles this Octostomp is creating makes it hard to move around. I noticed there was some kind of shield on his nose. That must be a weakpoint.

I made a b-line through the tainted ink, avoiding enemy fire. "Now, take this...!!" I dodge rolled forward to directly shoot at the face guard. That was enough to break open his coat of armor.

"Good going, Eight! It's armor is gone!" Marina was analyzing the enemy's weakness. "Still.. To think there are also a sanitized versions of the Octobosses.."

"I have no idea either, Hyperfresh.. We'll talk about it, later.." After contacting with Marina, I heard a loud roar from the Octostomp. Now that his armor is broken.

"Cry all you want, I'll just keep my distance.." I safely backed up before the Octostomp does another bodyslam. Or so I thought.

Instead, he made a long jump and slammed against me, causing my battle suit to break from the impact. As I shrieked in pain, I was tumbling down to the bottomless pit. Luckily, I quickly grabbed the ledge with one hand. "W-What the hell...?!" I winced from the tainted ink touching my skin. I was careless and didn't the long jump coming.

I thought back to what Pearl just said. To never give up hope and get back up. With all of my might, I climbed back up from certain doom to restore my suit's armor. That impact made me drop my Dualie Squelcher on the floor.

The Octostomp was still on the lookout for me. It seems it'll be pointless to reason with him at this rate. I stepped into the area again to pick up my weapons. That didn't take long to notice me.

The Octostomp got up close and personal and tried to drop his whole weight on me. Now that I'm in range, I can climb up there and up an end to this fight. As the enemy slammed down, it started blowing bubbles from both sides. Without warning, I recklessly climbed up the enemy. The contact from the bubbles does sting as I winced, but I didn't care. This fight will be over soon.

"To think they could duplicate the same boss tentacles in order to create the Octobosses... I bet Marina might analyze this ASAP.." Before I splatted the Octostomp, I took a quick snapshot on my CQ-80 for evidence. To think this device does a lot more than just gather and spend points. I quickly shot the huge tentacle, creating a massive explosion. I morphed into an octopus and jumped out of here safely.

The Octostomp was no more as it bursts into a huge puddle of my ink. My test is complete, but the whole duplication thing was bothering me. "I have to report this to Cap'n and Marina.." I stared at the picture. There's one mystery that needs to be solved.

Meanwhile back on the train, I got an earful from Cuttlefish while he was treating my minor injuries.

"I know you're still eager about gettin' us outta here, but.." Cuttlefish sighed as he patched up my arm from that harsh blow. "Don't go pulling a reckless act in the near future.. Otherwish you'll do more damage than your back.."

"Sorry.." I apologized to Cuttlefish. My back hasn't recovered just yet and it still stings. "There's something I wanna show you and Marina.. It's about the enemy that I fought.." I pulled up chat log and sent the photo of the large sanitized tentacle. "Something's been bothering me after I completed my task.."

Marina and Cuttlefish examined the tentacle, trying to figure out who or what created those sanitized beings. "It looked like the same tentacle that dragged me down in this facility..!!" Cuttlefish cried. "It happened when I was looking for Agent 3!" He points at the image on the holograph.

"Wait.. That's how you ended up here..?" So, he didn't just fall into the hole like I did. That same tentacle tried to attack Cuttlefish. "...Marina. Think you can locate the other bosses on the map..?" I asked Marina since she knows her way around the facility.

"Of course! Give me a sec..." After a few types away, Marina finally revealed the last three bosses's locations. "I've all ready pin point their locations, Eight. You'll be able to find one of the bosses between the F and J line."

Pearl looks over Marina's shoulder and noticed someting interesting. "That ain't all, Eight. There's the 3rd thang in the C line. You can nab that while you're beatin' the carp outta those things!"

I nodded to the two idols. "I'll do my best as always. This time, I'll proceed with caution!" I'm finally halfway there to the end. I'll soon reach to the surface and see the light. My friends must be worried sick about me. I still need to about my father's whereabouts. I guess, escaping the underground comes first.

To Be Continued...

#;;lexi #;;agent 8 #;;plot: deepsea escape

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hysterialevi · 6 years ago

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Abraham - A RDR2 Fanfic

Fanfic summary [NO SPOILERS]: Lyle Morgan and his eleven-year-old son have a conversation about Beatrice’s death, only for the boy to witness a second one.

Warning(s): Mild language

Author’s note: Bear with me if not everything in this story is correct. I’m not entirely sure where Arthur’s originally from (all I’ve heard is that he’s from somewhere in the north), so I just made something up lol. Also, this fic will only be one part. Anyway, hope you enjoy :)

From Lyle’s POV

A FOREST SOMEWHERE IN MONTANA

SUMMER, 1874

Strollin’ through the tall, thick grass, I led my mount around the forest at a casual pace while my son sat on top, consumed by his journal as always. It was an hour or two before midday, and right now, there was a radiant blanket o’ sunshine bathing the entire forest, painting everything with a golden tint. It was beautiful, and I wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of the day out here...but this feeling of annoyance just wouldn’t stop naggin’ me, and I knew exactly why.

I briefly glanced over my shoulder, peering at my son as he scribbled something down in the weathered pages of his journal.

A quick sigh escaped me.

I didn’t know who the hell Arthur got his interest in art from, or why Beatrice even bothered buying him that book, but that child just couldn’t seem to take his eyes away from it. Every time I came across the boy, he was always scratchin’ down some fantasy world of his, or creating images of a utopia I ain’t ever seen. It was pointless.

He spent more time daydreamin’ in that book than he did playing outside, or hunting, or fishing -- hell, he didn’t even know how to read -- and yet, Beatrice seemed perfectly content with it.

Or at least...she did.

Beatrice weren’t around no more. She was killed by bandits a few months ago. Robbed. Left on the side o’ the road for the crows to feed on. But Arthur didn’t know that. Sheriff told him it was a wild animal that took her. A wolf, to be exact. And he believed him.

I dragged a hand down my face, suddenly feelin’ exhausted just thinking about it.

Had I done the right thing, not tellin’ Arthur the truth about his own mother’s death, I wondered? I figured the kid didn’t need to know the morbid details, or even the entire truth, but I still felt like a piece of shit for not revealing the full story -- especially considering that them bandits who killed Beatrice...killed her ‘cause of me.

I had stolen something from them. Somethin’ valuable. And before it fell into their dirty hands, that “something” apparently belonged to a rich plantation owner who really wanted it back. Ended up gettin’ one of the bandits hanged, and left them thirsty for revenge. But they didn’t have the strength to go after the plantation owner. So, they came after me instead.

They chased me for quite a while. They chased me across the mountains, across the swamps, across the goddamned snow...until finally, they came to their senses and realized there were much better, more convenient ways of hurtin’ me. And thus, their paths diverted to my wife and son.

Those bastards managed to corner her while she was ridin’ to town to do some shopping. Found her on some secluded road between here and the nearest settlement, and ensured she would never return. That was when Arthur went lookin’ for help to find his missing mother hours later, and the sheriff assured him a wolf had gotten to Beatrice.

Christ. I really was a terrible father, weren’t I? Not only did I pay more attention to a bottle o’ whiskey than my own wife, I had also neglected Arthur for years on end, and indirectly gotten his mother killed. And the boy was only eleven.

He had spent half of his life not knowing a damned thing about where his daddy was, or even what he did, only to lose the one parent he already had before he could find out.

Lord...there had to be some way to make this up to him.

I looked back at the boy, suddenly feeling an urge to say something -- anything -- to him.

“Arthur,” I called out, catching the kid’s attention as his head perked up from behind the journal’s pages, “put that damned book away for a moment, will you?”

The boy hurriedly marked his place in the journal with a pen and shut it closed, resting the object on the saddle’s surface as he hung his head low in shame.

“...Sorry, sir.” He murmured.

I shook my head, lettin’ out a concerned breath.

“You spend far too much time in that journal. It was a mistake to buy it.”

Arthur’s eyes wandered to the trees towering around us.

“I’m sorry, dad,” he apologized timidly. “But I like drawing.”

I scoffed. “Yeah? Well, I like Poker. But I ain’t got time to play it. Too busy worryin’ about survival, and keeping the both of us fed. You can’t always do what you want, Arthur. You gotta provide. Things like drawing, gambling...they’re frivolous. We got better things to worry about.”

The child quirked a brow. “Friv-uh-less...? What’s that mean?”

“It means we don’t need to do it,” I explained. “What we do need, however, is to eat. So put that journal away and keep an eye out for deer. You was the one who suggested we come out here in the first place.”

Arthur frowned in a discouraged manner. “Yes, sir.”

I gave him a stern nod. “Good boy. Now...you said you seen a big buck out here?”

The boy pointed ahead. “Yeah. It was by the river.”

I gave the reins a little tug, urging my horse to follow me. “Then that’s where we’ll start. C’mon, Boadicea.”

Continuing our little hunting trip, Arthur and I traveled deeper into the lively woods as creatures of all types scurried around us, rustling blades of grass and alerting the tiny insects that hovered above the plants.

There was a rather peaceful mood to the forest today -- a welcome change considerin’ how chaotic my life usually was -- and I had to admit: some part of me enjoyed being here with Arthur. I rarely ever got to see the boy because of my work as an outlaw, and when I did, he always seemed reluctant to leave the house. Whether that was because he was more of an indoors person, or simply ‘cause he weren’t eager to spend time with me -- I didn’t know. But it was good to be with him regardless.

Approaching the large river, I came to a temporary halt as I crouched down and examined the ground, carefully searchin’ for any tracks that could’ve possibly led us to the buck.

The area here appeared undisturbed -- save for the fish flopping in and out of the babbling water -- and as far as I could tell, there weren’t no deer running around this section of the forest. Not at the moment, anyway. Maybe they were at a different part of the river.

I took a closer look at the grass, only to be torn away from my thoughts when Arthur raised a question.

“Dad?” He asked softly. “Can I...can I ask you something? About momma?”

I paused, thrown off-guard by the sudden change in tone.

“Momma?” I repeated, slowly turning towards the boy. “Why you wanna talk about her?”

Arthur’s expression sank with sorrow.

“It’s just...you knew her better than I did. Or longer, I guess. And I don’t remember her that good. ...Do you?”

I gazed at him in a puzzled manner, admittedly still a bit taken aback by the abrupt question.

“...Clear as day,” I replied, unwilling to sift through the painful memories. “But that don’t matter. She’s...she ain’t coming back, Arthur. No one does, once they die. Ain’t no point in lingerin’ in the past when it can only haunt you. All we can do is move on. You understand?”

Clearly a bit hurt by my response, Arthur dropped the subject and averted his eyes from me, peering over at a nearby gathering of flowers instead.

He slouched despondently. “...I understand.”

That wasn’t good enough for me. I took a step towards him.

“Look at me when you say that, Arthur,” I demanded. “It’s important you look people in the eye when you speak to them.”

The boy brought his line of sight back to me, his face veiled behind a very subtle layer of fear.

He straightened his back a bit. “I understand.”

I nodded in approval. “Good. Now...let’s get back to huntin’ this buck. You sure it was around the river?”

Arthur gazed around. “I saw it this morning when I was playing with Copper,” he confirmed. “It was drinkin’ water right here. That’s when I came to get you.”

I observed the dirt underneath me, squinting my eyes as I searched for clues. The grass in these parts was quite thick, so that made it even tougher to spot fur, or dung -- and I still didn’t see any deer tracks -- but it certainly looked like another animal had been around here.

I kneeled down, shuffling the grass outta the way with my hand.

“It looks like some wild horses might’ve passed through this area,” I examined. “But no sign of deer. Oh, well...the day is still young, and we have some time, so we’ll keep looking.” I gestured to a nearby bridge. “Let’s try over there.”

Grabbing my horse’s reins, I continued to guide it through the woods as Arthur scouted the area for me, his big blue eyes scanning the sharp horizon while the sun escalated in the sky. There was a certain determination in his temperament now, and the longer we carried on trying to locate this buck, the more my son seemed to be enjoying himself.

Perhaps there was hope for us, after all.

“...Dad?” The boy called again, making me flick my eyes to the side. “What if there are wolves out here?”

I encouraged him to stay calm. “Now, don’t you go worryin’ about that. If we see wolves out here, we’ll be fine. We’re armed, we’re fast, and we’re smart.”

Arthur wasn’t convinced. “...Momma was smart.”

I sighed in a melancholic tone at that. “Yes...she was. But...Momma was killed by a different type of wolf.”

He tilted his head in a puzzled manner. “What d’you mean?”

I gestured to my rifle. “Not all wolves are the same, Arthur. Some use their teeth, some use their guns, and some use their tongue. You gotta be able to identify them when you see ‘em.”

The kid didn’t say it flat out, but I could tell he knew what I was really talkin’ about.

“Those sound more like people.” He replied. I let out a gentle chuckle.

“People can be worse than wolves, Arthur. In fact, I’d prefer a wolf over some o’ the people I’ve met.”

Arthur leaned forward in the saddle, his body swaying along with Boadicea’s steady speed.

“What kinda people have you met?”

I lowered my voice, thinking back to the bandits who killed Beatrice.

“Killers. Thieves. Deceivers. Men who will constantly betray each other even though they share the same motive: greed.”

I turned to Arthur with a remorseful look, hopin’ to do at least one right thing in my life, and use myself as a cautionary tale that money weren’t as clean as it seemed.

“...Greed,” I told him, “it breaks people, Arthur. They may not realize it, ‘cause greed can get you far in this world...but the reward ain’t worth it. Not compared to the things you have to sacrifice. In the end, you’ll have tons of cash, only to realize that there are luxuries not even millionaires can afford.”

His innocence took over. “Then why do they do it?”

That was a question I asked myself everyday. I shrugged in a disheartened fashion.

“Because they don’t care. So long as their pockets is heavy, and their bellies is full, they’ll keep on going. But like I said, greed poisons you. It kills you. And you won’t even notice until you’re already sittin’ in a grave. So promise me, Arthur, promise me that when you get to my age...you won’t become a wolf.”

Despite evidently bein’ a little confused, the child was able to make some sense of what I just said and agreed to the promise, reassuring me with a small smile.

“I promise.”

“Good boy,” I praised, bringing my mind back to the main reason we came out here. “Anyway, here’s the bridge. Why don’t you hop down and help me find this buck?”

“Okay.”

Sliding down the saddle, Arthur effortlessly climbed down and joined me, scurrying ‘round like a mouse while he searched for any signs of the buck. But so far, there was nothing in sight.

“See anything?” I checked. The boy shook his head.

I wiped some sweat off my brow, letting out a fatigued sigh. This animal was certainly proving to be a challenge to hunt down. We had already been in this forest for a couple hours now, and our efforts still hadn’t paid off. Part o’ me was almost starting to suspect if Arthur even saw a deer in the first place, and not some other kinda animal.

I decided to take a short break, and turned to ask the boy.

“You positive the buck was roamin’ around in these parts? Or that it was a buck at all? I haven’t seen any tracks so far.”

A soft rustle suddenly reached my ears, interrupting my conversation with Arthur as I reached for my gun, only to be stopped by a sound I didn’t expect.

It was a man’s voice.

“...Don’t even think about it,” the stranger warned, cocking his own gun. “I will shoot if necessary.”

Freezing at the intrusion, I remained perfectly still and didn’t utter a single word as a pair of footsteps steadily approached me from behind, followed by two more men coming in from the front on horseback.

They were all dressed in similar outfits donned with Nevada hats, and I couldn’t help but notice the star-shaped badges shimmerin’ blatantly on their chests.

Shit. These were lawmen. What the hell were they doin’ out here? I never expected the law to travel this far into the country. This was definitely odd.

What really puzzled me though, weren’t the fact that there were three lawmen just...waitin’ for us out here -- it was more the fact that Arthur didn’t seem phased by any of this in the slightest. Just what exactly was goin’ on?

Trotting closer to me, one of the mounted men glowered in my direction as he ordered his deputy to restrain me, his firm, steel eyes never wavering.

I recognized him instantly.

“...Sheriff Buchanan.” I muttered through gritted teeth.

He returned the greeting, scowling from under his hat’s rim.

“Lyle Morgan.”

I shrugged at him, unsure of what to make of the situation.

“What is this shit? What’s the sheriff doing all the way out here?”

Buchanan glanced at Arthur, standing in front of him in a protective manner.

“I told you I’d use every option I had to get you behind bars, Morgan...and I meant it. You made the choice not to heed my warning.”

Taking a second to process what he just told me, the realization suddenly hit me like a bullet to the gut as I stared at Arthur with a sense of immense betrayal, unable to believe what was happening.

There never was no goddamned buck.

Things was never gonna work out for me and Arthur.

This was all a trap.

My own...son...had turned me in.

He was the bait, and Buchanan was the true hunter.

I clenched my jaw in rage, doing my absolute best to shield my emotions as the deputy kicked me to my knees.

“...A-Arthur...?” I whispered, my voice trembling.

The boy looked me straight in the eye, standing adamantly beside Buchanan as his deputies tied me up. I threw a glare at the sheriff, damning him till my last moments.

“You bastard, Buchanan...!” I cursed. “You turned my own damned son against me...?!”

The man showed no guilt and tightened his grip on his rifle, silently advising me to stay back.

“No need,” Buchanan denied. “You drove him to me all by yourself.”

He placed a gentle hand on Arthur’s shoulder and guided him towards the second deputy, ordering them to bring him back to town.

“Clayton, bring the boy back to the office. We’ll figure out where to send him later. For now though, just keep him safe, and look after him.”

“Right away, Sheriff.”

Preparing both his horse and mine for departure, the deputy left Arthur next to the sheriff as the boy stood firmly in place, his innocent yet damaged gaze never leavin’ mine.

Despite the hint of remorse clouding the child’s eyes, it was pretty obvious Arthur felt he made the right decision in turning me in. And just as Buchanan’s second deputy started to drag me away, I couldn’t help but notice a beautiful Whitetail buck wanderin’ around in the distance, its majestic antlers standing out like a crown on a monarch’s head as it bathed in the golden sunlight.

The animal swayed its head in my direction, almost as if trying to communicate with me.

“I’m sorry, dad,” Arthur whispered as he walked towards Clayton, blocking the buck in the process. “...But you made me promise.”

Taking his leave, the boy finally mounted up and steadily trotted away from the scene, only to reveal an empty spot where the buck once stood as he left the forest.

Well...I may have found the buck like I planned, but it weren’t my job to kill it.

And it certainly weren’t my place to look for it.

I could hunt them down to my heart’s content, and kill ‘em all I wanted for my own desires...but in the end, they would always be able to afford the one luxury I’d never obtained.

Peace.

#red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #arthur morgan #lyle morgan #beatrice morgan #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 story

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iphoenixrising · 7 years ago

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Dr!Tim Drabble: Robin

Well, Babes. You both must have fucking read my mind and shit because really. I kind of started this to be such a teaser when BOOP I got this ask and my fucking heart here. You’re right on the same page when it comes to Dr!Tim getting the real Robin experience, yeah? Lol. So, just a note. B’s bad guy persona is Matches. The dude with the epic porn ‘stache. Dick’s persona is Robbie Malone, which is pretty obscure and I looked it up on a good wiki to make sure.

HOWEVER *ahem* An incredible artist @kaciart did a thing here: http://thingsfortwwings.tumblr.com/post/55338349568/kaciart-it-was-never-made-clear-whether-tim-knew. Which helped the muse.

So… so there’s that. XD Hope it's as good.

The Robin in Gotham that night is just a little bit taller. Not by much. He's hesitant, a newbie to the vigilante game, and even if he's got a grapple on his belt, he only uses it once. Only a drunk or two catch him strafing across rooftops, the flicker of yellow, red, and green against the lamplight.

The rest of the city is asleep. As luck would have it, he stumbles on some baddies with a leg up on him, tossing a pellet in the right spot with knockout gas to make carrying him through the night that much easier. When Robin comes to, the blurry residual clears and behind the whiteouts, his vision is sharp. Being handcuffed in a crummy warehouse in the Narrows is not really the way he'd hoped to spend his first real experience in the tunic.

(And if he embarrasses the name, a certain little demon will probably eviscerate him.

"I allow you one night–"

"To my credit, I really thought those ninjas would go down easier."

"May I remind you–"

"I know, I know. It's not one of my hobbies. No more almost getting killed under your name, I promise.")

But a single dim bulb hangs with enough away to reveal the long, lean line of muscle still half in shadows watching him from behind whiteouts.

"Been a real pain in my nut, Robin." Is more dangerous behind the synths, more casual when the Red Hood, notorious enforcer for the Black Mask, straightens up and starts to move forward. "Gettin' in my fucking business means I gotta make an example outta ya, so’s no one else thinks they can stop the trade, you feel me?" Robin's eyes narrow but his pulse is picking up, his muscles tighten against the ropes.

“Or,” he tries with a bravado he doesn’t necessarily feel, “you could cut this chase short and let me take you in so you don’t make it worse for yourself.”

The sound is probably a snort but the synths make it hard to decipher.

“Mmhm, an’ any other damn day, ya might be right. But since I know the Bat is outta town, and the rest a’ yer little cape n’ cowl crew are busy, n’ yer own yer own, little birdy. Even fucking better, I got me an old friend in Gotham t’night, and I gotta say–” the way Hood moves, hips swaying, something of a swagger, all indications the vigilante has a plan, makes Robin catch a breath with what the hell else?

“Ya might be in over yer head.”

And oh God.

He’s in for it.

(Teasing his boyfriends can have some interesting results, so even with the plan they’d had for him tonight, there were so many things they hadn’t told him.)

Because the shift in the shadows and the crimson slash is just what the bad guy ordered, and the man coming out of the shadows to stand beside Hood is nothing short of mouth-wateringly dangerous– all done in sharp black and red.

Something in Robin’s abdomen goes unbearably tight when Renegade puts the intense focus of those whiteouts right on him, folds his arms over his chest, and his tongue darts out to lick his lips.

Even while he might be melting into a puddle of oh God, please, please, I’ve been a bad Robin, he can maneuver his hands well enough to get into the green gloves for the small lockpick set he’d completely kyped out of B’s utility belt the last time they’d had a little snatch n’ stitch. Since he’s completely used to working with fine instruments wearing gloves, working the small end into the handcuffs is easier than he’d originally calculated.

(So much win going on right now.)

“So nice to know you’ve got friends in town, Hood. I hope you have an itinerary to show him the sights. Robinson Park is really nice this time of year.” He tries to keep the banter, give himself time he needs to work the cuffs.

(Still, watching them walk toward him like a fucking bad ass wet dream is really making the night look up regardless of how things are going to go from here.)

“Too much mouth on ya, Robin,” and the flex of hips and thighs, the glint off the gun in Hood’s hand, the feral-looking smirk on Renegade’s face make him take a pause to work his fingers into the back of the utility belt, bite down on his lower lip to try and get–

Yes.

“Looks like we need to shut him up, Hood,” is Renegade’s deep response, that tone rolling around in the abandoned warehouse, makes a shiver work up his spine.

Which causes him to drop the pellet he’d been holding, the little ball rolling right under his chair.

Fuck. That’s bad.

He tries to think fast, using his weight to throw his chair back, out of the way of the little blast and following plumes of smoke. It’s really nothing more than dumb luck that the chair is probably older than all of them and pretty much breaks into kindling on impact.

It’s even luckier that the small blast is inconsequential but the smoke screen gives him the opportunity to wiggle enough to get his cuffed wrists down far enough to get his feet over them so at least his hands are bound in the front.

Rolling to his feet, he tries to duck away from the chair in the thick smoke, cape hitting him in the back of the ankles, and fucking right, he didn’t even lose the lockpick.

(“Damn. Good one, Baby Bird. Didn’t see that shit coming.”

“This is going to be much better than we thought, Jay.”

“Fuck right, Dickie, now we gedda chase.”

And with that little revelation, Robin is thinking, looking around at the high windows, making plans.)

He flips one of the few bat-a-rangs in his utility belt, awkwardly holding it up to throw with his bound hands. He manages throw far enough to knock it into an empty crate further down than where he’s hiding, but it draws the attention of the “baddies” coming through the dissipating smoke after him.

It does the job and he sees the outline of Hood and Renegade change course, closer to the sound.

“You’re only making it harder on yourself, Robin,” Renegade purrs low, his footsteps not even making a sound when he shares a side-eye with Hood and moves around to take the back for the element of surprise.

“When we catch ya,” Hood is cooing through the synths, popping the clip out of his .45 to make sure again he’s toting blanks (the one in his boot has the rubber rounds should things get dicey and they need ta make with the real crime fighting) before he circles around the smoky pile of old pallets and crates laying in dusty ruin, “we ain’t gonna be nice ‘bout it, you feel me, Robin? Gonna make ya one sorry lil’ bird.”

(But he totally hears, “gonna fuck ya until ya scream for it, Baby. Gonna make ya come ‘til ya can’t even stand up no more.”)

The handcuffs finally pop as the two bad guys jump in their planned strike, coming down on a whole lotta empty pallets with only a bat-a-rang there for them to stare at.

“Little motherfucker,” is all he needs to hear, shoving the handcuffs in his belt (in case he needs to have a plan) and pulling the grapple while his pulse throbs in his mouth and his adrenaline kicks up a notch. He’s got to shoot and reel himself in before they get to him, got to get out the upper windows and climb to the roof, got to at least get a few buildings over before they catch him.

(And he completely has a new appreciation for the reinforced jocks they wear under the suits because the things is literally killing him right now.)

The bang makes him flinch regardless, and with that, the jig is completely up. Two heads swivel toward the sound, trace the line up to the window sill where the hook sinks deep, and the shadow of the cape flares out like wings as the grapple pulls Robin from the ground and away.

“Fuck this is gettin’ good,” Hood breathes out, already pulling his own, watching the flex of Timmy’s thighs in those fucking tights and his ass outlined in Robin Red.

The window breaks with his momentum, and Robin pauses on the broken sill long enough to grin widely down at them, “I really need to be on my way, but we should do this again sometime!”

The cap flaps around the green tights and black boots as Robin scales the ancient fire escape and disappears out of sight.

Renegade puts a hand on his wrist, stills Hood from raising the grapple for the ole’ point-n-shoot. “Let him get a little bit of distance, Jay. He’s putting a hell of a lot into this.”

“Big Wing,” and even with the whiteouts on both sides, he knows how dark Dickies eyes are, is pretty sure his are just as dark. “ we’re gonna destroy that ass, you feel me?”

“You know we are. Damn, he looks cute in that suit.”

“Cute? Nah, ain’t where I’m at right now, yeah? Motherfucking sexy is ‘bout what I’m feelin’.”

“Fuckable, sure, but wow, he wears it so well.”

“Don’t tell Demon. That little shit won’t never let this happen again.”

“Right. We play it out with our boyfriend, fuck him on a safe rooftop, then take him home for a soak in the tub and cuddle-palooza.”

“You better fuckin’ add pancakes ta that list, Dickie. I like seein’ ‘im all full n’ sleepy after we fucked ‘im but good.”

“Done and done.”

In a smooth move, Hood raises the grapple again and loops his free arm around Renegade’s waist, pulling his Baby Boy right into his body.

The two vigilantes pause in the moment, and Renegade raises both hands quick, hits the right spot on the back of the helmet to release the catch, pulls the damn thing off so they can have just a second–

And anyone looking in the dilapidated warehouse down by Dixon Docks in that exact moment would be scandalized to see the Red Hood and Renegade writhing against one another, caught up in the taste of one another, just a tease before the grapple starts to reel.

Robin is panting with the effort, tries not to get tangled in his cape, tries to keep his eyes open to everything around him with the sharp vision he gets behind the whiteouts.

Luckily for him, he’s shaking off the residual of the sedative and this area of the city is one so absolutely familiar, he already knows he’s got an edge.

The same spots from those days when he was a kid with a camera, hiding while he followed the flying vigilantes are obviously still there, could still give him a place to duck if he thinks his pursuers are getting too close. If Dick and Jay had really been paying those old photographs in the shoebox enough attention, they’d probably be able to pick out the majority of his hidey-holes and make this game come to a quick and abrupt end (he’s hoping they don’t because he’s really, really enjoying this).

But, he’s already evaded them three times and he’s still too damn far from his apartment to believe he’s anywhere near home free.

Which is why he’s wasting time ducked down between two massive air conditioning units on the Mylar building instead of in Renegade and Hood’s path. A few feet away is an old bridge the maintenance crew used to get up to the next roof, giving him an out to use the grapple for a swing and give himself away.

He waits until the shadows recede and he can’t see either of them before he darts out and takes the bridge at a run, making a leap that immediately gets his adrenaline back up.

His chest is heaving a little because the climb is about a bitch.

A hard jerk on the suspension bridge takes him by surprise as both “villains” land it on either side of him, effectively boxing him in.

Well, fuck.

He pulls the grapple since, you know, the jig is up, but an escrima stick knocks the damn thing from his hand, and no amount of time he’s spent in the gym or hard-core parkour is going to get him out of this little sitch.

(Dammit. Trapped.)

Renegade clicks his tongue, “tsk, tsk, Robin. Nice try, but you should have tried to stay ahead of us. That might have gotten you home free.” And the two start advancing on him, getting closer. Robin looks from one to the other, bites down on his lower lip–

Until the plan pops into his head.

“Gonna enjoy this, little bird,” Hood drawls out, “after the run ya gave us.”

Panting, Robin tries to make the move subtle enough to miss, back up just a step, tries to make it look like he’s searching for a way out when he looks over the bridge and all the way down.

The action works because both villains jump for him at the same time, trying to keep him from throwing himself over, and it gives Robin just enough of a chance to let his knees give out from under him and fake fall to the wobbly bridge so Renegade can careen over his head at the same time Hood smacks into him, landing the two in a heap right at Robin’s feet.

The knock of Hood’s helmet against Renegade’s forehead gives him a crucial moment to slam the handcuffs he’d kept down on the Red Hood’s left wrist and Renegade’s right one, pushing the sides closed to cuff the two together.

(Oh fuck is he winning here.)

He’s already moving back while they untangle themselves and stare at their cuffed wrists before slowly, ever so slowly, turning to him.

“Well, damn.” And if he didn’t know better, he’d say Hood was, well, impressed.

(I have other hobbies, asshole, remember?)

“The surprises keep coming,” Renegade already climbing to his feet is grinning widely, Hood following in a smooth motion. “Too bad it isn’t going to save you, you know.”

“I just need to keep you two on–”

When he would have finished off the banter portion with on your toes, what he gets is the terrible sighing sound breaking the night, followed right by a sharp twang that is all too fucking familiar.

(Why do bridges have a tendency to break while he’s on them? Seriously now?)

His whole body jerks up, head turning to the sight of the old bridge coming apart and falling from under him, making him gasp in hard enough to hurt, making his knees knock, making a hard reality of Oh God, not again.

But cuffed arms brace under his and the bang of grapples firing shakes him out of breath-stealing panic, Hood and Renegade working in tandem to send the three of them flying through the night while the bridge crumbles to Gotham’s dirty sidewalk below.

Effortlessly, the villains land them on the Mylar, setting the three of them down in the shadows where one side of the building keeps it absolutely hidden away.

“Holy shit,” Robin pants out, held up between Hood and Renegade, his chest heaving under the tunic. “That...was not part of the plan.”

“Good to know,” Renegade lays his forehead against the base of Robin’s neck, exhaling slowly, moving his free hand down to push the cape out from between their bodies, to twist it around his hand for the next step.

“I’ll fuckin’ say,” Hood deactivates the helmet and tosses it down, moves a step closer to sandwich Robin between the two of them. With just a dom, his eyes are dark blue without the flecks of jade which means he’s probably still riding a little bit of the adrenaline from the almost-oops.

Robin looks up and over when Hood holds up his cuffed hand and arches a brow. “Still, ya gonna have ta work on them plans, Rob, if ya wanna get the better of us, yeah? This ain’t bad, but that don’t mean–”

And Robin gasps when his gloves wrists are gathered up by the cuffed hands, pulled over his head to stretch his body taunt.

Renegade is leaning down to talk against his ear, growling low and so fucking dangerous, “–you’re going to get away this time. Sorry, little bird. Looks like we win.”

Apparently things like capes are weapons and should not be used against him.

Or...well, maybe he’s going to re-think that since his wrists are bound together tight before they even worked the tunic open.

Renegade is keeping Robin’s bound arms down with a knee and a gloved hand over his mouth to make sure the noises are nice and quiet, kept between just the three of them. Hood had picked the cuffs in approximately two seconds to give them both a chance to get to work on making sure the young vigilante knew he was fucking around with the real deal.

The utility belt came off, lying just out of reach and Robin’s thighs spread open with less fight than anticipated.

The struggling, the writhing against Hood’s crotch, the straining muscle and taunt hold is just this side of perfect. For a little show, Hood pulls out a wickedly sharp knife, the glint dull in the night, leans down over Robin’s body and slides the sharp end of the blade right over the base of his throat, bare now that his cape is gone.

(But even though Timmy’s is half-assed struggling, he ain’t scared. No fear in those eyes, yeah?)

“Better be a good little bird, Rob. I like ta keep m’ implements nice n’ sharp. Don’t wanna make me slip by accident.”

Renegade’s hand on the younger vigilante’s mouth pulls so the head tilts back, eyes looking up. “I’ve known Hood for a long time, kid. You don’t want to see the master at work.”

When the struggling stops and the only thing Robin is doing is panting against Renegade’s hand, the sharp edge eases up slightly, slides down his chest, the tip fitting right under the tunic’s laces.

“Atta boy. Make it easier on yerself. Ain’t nobody gonna find ya, so don’t gotta have it rough unless ya wanna.”

“He might like it that way, Hood.” The first lace gives without hesitation. “Maybe we should go a little hard on him to find out.”

The second lace.

“But lookit how cute he is, Baby Boy. Gonna show ‘im just how things gotta go down on our side a’ the law, ain’t we? That don’t mean we gotta get nasty ‘bout it long as he behaves himself.”

The third.

Finally, the two villains are finally getting a little skin, and a gloved hands runs down Robin’s collar bone, moves to thumb and tweak until the little nub under is tight.

The hand on Robin’s mouth tightens down when the moan cuts through the stillness.

“He needs to learn, Hood. He can’t mess with business and get away without paying the price.” The thumb on Robin’s face moves over the domino and the whiteouts slide down, showing half-mast eyes, darkening by degrees.

“Mmhm. That’s the thing ‘bout Gotham, ain’t it?” And the hands moving down, pull hard, rip the tunic until there’s nothing in his path except the tights and reinforced jock. “Always got consequences, Rob, and you? You ain’t any different.”

The telltale tremble in his thighs makes the Red Hood grin wide and white (don’t be breaking character yet, Baby Bird. We gotta whole lotta play still left), and he’s nothing but a nasty bastard when he runs both hands up the inside of those thighs, grips tight to make sure there’s gonna be bruises there tomorrow.

Since he and Dickie pretty much engineered this whole thing (and made a suit with strategized weaknesses), the tights give under his hands, ripping open from the waist to the knee. He hands a sizeable strip to Renegade and leans down over Robin’s body, giving a little bit of distraction while his partner in crime moves just long enough to tie the strip in their little vigilante’s mouth.

“Much better.” He palms the grapple in his freed hand, and pulls out the line, throws the hook to catch on the lip of the roof and wrap the other end to keep Robin from going anywhere. Renegade pulls off the head piece, is in just a domino so he can flick the catch of his suit and pull it down to bare a tantalizing v-ee of his chest.

With the suit ripped away, helpless to whatever they planned to do to him on a roof in the middle of Gotham, Robin is gagged and panting, his chest stuttering with it, going pink down his collarbone and upper chest.

(Fingers slide into one of his bound hand, and the metal ball gives a soft jingle. All he has to do is drop it if he needs to stop, all he has to do is give the signal. He’s in control, he’s in control, he’s in control–)

And the feel of Hood’s gloves on his hip bone, tearing the strap on the reinforced jock makes his hips twitch, makes him unconsciously arch into the touch even when his hard cock springs up into the cool Gotham air.

“That’s smart kid. This’ll go easier for you if you try to enjoy it.” Renegade palms the vial in his suit and holds it up where the can both see it, smirks at the muffled noise right beside his thigh.

Hood grins back at him and pops the lid, dribbles lube on his fingers and lifts one of Robin’s calves for Renegade to hold. He hoists the other, runs his slick fingers over Robin’s balls, tugs a little, slides his forefinger up the underside of the vigilante’s straining cock, just a tease.

Getting his suit down far enough with one hand, Renegade shakes Robin’s leg, palms the side of his face to turn him, gets a load of those eyes, “My partner here is going to give you the fuck of a lifetime. And you? Are going to suck me while he does it.”

The jock is gone, and Robin gasps in hard through his nose, those eyes rolling over the length, teeth biting down on the gag in his mouth. He watches, mesmerized, as the gloved hand strokes himself, makes himself harder, gives Robin a preview to what he’s about to get.

When Hood spreads him open wider, slick and blunt finger sliding in, moving fast and hard, making Robin’s spine arch while he watches Renegade jerk off right in front of his face, mouth watering for it, his cock aching, his body clenching when one finger becomes two, and the desperation for more is starting to take over.

Pulling against the zip line isn’t doing anything for him because he can’t move, is caught between them, is already making noises with his body anticipating Hood (Jay) making him utterly senseless while he sucks Renegade’s thick cock to the fucking base.

(This is the best thing to ever happen.)

A jerk of his hips and a third finger slides in, gives him only a few thrusts against his spot, just enough for Hood to smirk and finally pull out.

“Gonna keep ya nice n’ tight fer me, Robin,” and while he’s been prepping the vigilante, he’d pulled himself out, lubed himself up to press right against the prize waiting for him. “But don’t worry. Since yer being a good, little bird, we’ll make sure you get yers.”

And Robin throws his head back, body arching in a clean line as well as he can with his legs caught and hands restrained. His fist tightens on the bell, keening through his gag as Hood pushes in, gives a few slow back-and-forths until he’s balls deep with a long moan.

“Lookit you taking all of his dick on the first go,” Renegade purrs down at him, and thumbs the gag out of his mouth, puts a finger over his lips. “Good for you, little bird. Now you’re going to give me mine. Don’t make me have to tell you to be very good.”

Renegade pulls with fingers on his jaw, and Robin opens up without a fight, taking the wide head in, moaning around it. Hood finally gets the point that he’s sure he isn’t going to come immediately when he moves, changing his hold to fit the bend of Robin’s knee and hoist his hips up higher, makes sure he’s in as far as he can possibly go (just the way Timmy likes it), then pulls back, starts up a few slow-n’-easies before he picks up the pace.

And Robin’s eyes are fluttering behind the domino, sliding his tongue around Renegade’s cock, leaning closer when he can take more, when he can take it deeper--

And suck.

“Holy–” and the villain’s hips twitch, a gloved hand threading into his hair, holds him still as hips twitch and fuck his mouth in shallow thrusts. “Fuck, know what you’re doing, don’t you Robin? Ah, you’re going to love my cock by the time we’re done with you.”

“Ya kiddin’ me, Baby Boy? Fuck him and you’ll be in love with his ass. Like a fucking vice.” And Hood leans over Robin’s body to get a better view of Renegade’s hips twitching, cock sliding in and out of his mouth, of Robin’s cheeks hollowing, of his jaw moving, of the tight nubs they’re both absently working.

In a calculated move, Renegade gives Hood a wink, and they both draw back, leave just the tip in him, gets a low noise for the effort, and fuck back into him with a vengeance.

“That’s right, little birdie. Found yer sweet spot, yeah?” And the strokes inside him are long and firm and fast, his spot abused by each one, making the pressure in his belly start to burn.

Renegade keeps up with a smooth, steady pace, sliding over his tongue, spilling pre-come in his throat, staring down as he pants, watching Robin take every fucking inch.

He’s moaning around the width in his mouth, in his throat, trying to suck, trying to scream while his cock throbs and the R still partly on his chest gleams in the night.

Hood’s balls slapping against his ass, and Renegade panting, groaning out above him, and a gloved hands fists him at the base, starts stroking him in time with the hits to his spot.

And the rhythm is driving, pound, rushing, his pulse racing in his ears, struggling to get a breath, but it’s all toomuchmoremoremore that he can’t think past the need to come, whimpering in his throat when he can, and trying to move his hips up into the fist pumping him and down into the pound thrusts driving him closer and closer to the edge.

“That’s right, give it up, Robin,” Renegade pants, groans down at him, working his hips, fucking into that throat, “you’re gonna take everything we give you, and when you go back to the Bat, you’ll remember just what you get when you stick your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

Hood draws back to fuck in hard, tightening his hand down and speed up. “We’re gonna make sure this lessons sticks, Baby Boy. Fill ‘im up good, make sure he knows what happens ta bad little birdies.”

Robin screams around Renegade’s cock when fingers tease the tip of him and hips ground into deep, trying to move but he’s helplessly caught.

When Renegade leans down over him, talks low and feral, fucking into his mouth with fast, hard jerks, getting harder against his tongue, when it’s those blue eyes with the haze of need and want, (when it’s Dick talking to him), when the words, “come for us, baby,” are breathed so soft and fond, his body lets go, the knot of tension exploding, sending tingling pleasure from his ass to his cock to his nipples and spreads out until his eyes are rolling back in his head and all he can do is suck Renegade’s come down his throat while the pleasure loops around and keeps him going.

“Fuck, baby,” (Is Jay instead of–) Hood yells to the night sky, Robin’s body milking him, tightening down so hard, so fast, so wet, that he comes with a jolt, burying himself deep to fill the vigilante up.

And while Gotham remains completely serene at this time of night, three (two, technically) caped crusaders are laying out on the roof of the Mylar building in a tangle of limbs, panting, and weak, and so amazingly sated.

Boneless and content not to move another inch in his life, Tim manages to slide a gloved hand out of the knot made from the cape, and wipe his mouth, absently keeping track of his heart rate.

Dick is curled around his upper body, idly running fingers through his hair, the Renegade costume zipped half-way up his chest so he doesn’t get a whole lot of roof rash. On his other side, Jay has a heavy arm over his bare hips, a leg thrown over his and the Kevlar feels just as good on bare skin as it always does.

“That? Was fucking amazing,” he murmers, drowsy, shivering slightly now that he realizes he’s pretty much naked on a roof in the middle of the city after being fucked out of his mind, and somehow--

This is his life.

So it’s good when his vigilante boyfriends recover enough to maybe get them the hell off this roof before people like, office staff start coming into the Mylar’s upper floors for work.

Dawn is riding the horizon when he’s pulled to his feet and wrapped in Robin’s cape, rocking a toga to cover the torn suit and tunic, and carried off by his vigilante boyfriends so he can be absolutely lazy and just let Dick then Jay take him flying.

He has to make his body work when maneuvering through the window with shaky legs. Jay gives the helmet a toss in pretty much the direction of the kitchen table before picking Tim up by the back of his thighs, and let their doctor squawk but still flops his upper body flops over Jay’s shoulder.

Dick has the Renegade suit hanging off his hips, moving around the kitchen bare-chested with a domino, making coffee that is desperately, desperately needed.

“I’ll be there in a sec! I was promised cuddles, Jay, and I expect you two to deliver.”

“Bath first, Big Wing. Gotta let Timmy take a soak. Getcha ass in here so’s we can wash ‘im but good.” The abrupt smack and corresponding yelp from the path down the hall toward the direction of the bathroom makes Dick smirk and quickly scoop the grounds in while trying to get a glove off with his teeth.

“‘Sides, we might need ta give Sweets one more go ‘round, you feel me here, Dickie?”

“Wh-what?! How do you even expect me to get hard right now?!”

The bath is running in Tim’s massive tub (the real benefit to the apartment after all), and the sounds of Kevlar and Nomac sliding off of skin a soft sight when Dick comes to join them.

“You know, Timmy,” is a followed up by a very Dick Grayson smile, all full of bedroom eyes and promise, “we do have our ways.”

So if the tub sloshes over, and the neighbors complain about the noise this time of day (again), if maybe there might be...another suit buried in the back of their closet a few days later, if maybe he takes more detours when his boys are on the job and he can have time to scout hiding places and perfectly sized niches, when he can calculate more routes and moves.

He’s going to say, it’s always good to have a plan because of things like bleeding vigilantes—you know, on my fire escape. But in reality, it’s because now that he’s worn the tunic, flown through Gotham, and he’s pretty damn sure he’s got enough skill to make them work a hell of a lot harder–

Next time.

#for 500 Followers!#Post 5 #dr!tim #villain!RedHod #Renegade!Dick #role playing #warning for smut #tim/dick/jay #tim drake #jason todd #dick grayson #my fic #my writing #the post everyone's been waiting for lol

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