#i woulda thought i was air and if not air then fire

[tinfoil-jones]

Gravity Falls: For Your Own Good, Ch.20

Summary: A few years after moving to Gravity Falls and having his lab built, Stanford Pines happens upon his estranged twin brother, Stanley. He mentally prepared himself to be suffocated by his brothers neediness all over again - what he wasn't prepared for was Stanley walking right past him like he didn't even notice him.

Rating: M for language, violence, and adult implications

Preface: Dialogue only, but some actions will be annotated for clarity. Cross-Posted on AO3 Here.

Believe it or not a large section of this chapter was actually one of the first things I wrote for this story, it was written out before the first chapter actually and I’ve been really excited to show it. This chapter is super long and has shifting perspectives.

This chapter also mirrors Ch.10. This is a long chapter.

First - Prev - Next

WARNING: T/W implications of past sexual assault. Implied past torture. Character death.

CH.20

“So you’re gonna show me that super off-limits study room?”

“Yes. I only ask that you keep an open mind, and please do not judge me.”

“Alright PhD, I’ll only judge you the normal amount.”

“Come inside.”

“-Woah- ahhh. You really like …Triangles, huh?”

“Stanley, you’re shaking.”

“It uh, it kinda makes me uncomfortable, not gonna to lie. Are you in a cult?”

“No. Come here, follow me to the mat in the center.”

“Okay…”

“Now, what do you think of this? Does it remind you of anything?”

“A newspaper clipping? Uh… That’s a pretty messed up car- oh, wait, yeah it does remind me of something.”

“What does it remind you of?”

“I used to have a car just like that. A red El Diablo.”

“And what happened to it?”

“...I don’t remember, actually. I’m trying to remember but it just makes my brain feel like it's on fire.”

“How did I not see this before…?”

“See what?”

“Stanley, when you were first traveling with Sanchez, were you sick at all?”

“Oh yeah, totally sick. I had this massive chest infection. Kept knocking the air mask off when I was delirious. If Rick didn’t constantly shoot me up with weird sci-fi drugs, it probably woulda killed me.”

“Don’t say things like that.”

“Where’re these questions coming from Doc?”

“I’ll explain soon, but I need to show you something else. Sit down on the floor.”

“Okay…?”

“I’m going to sit back-to-back with you. I need you to fall asleep.”

“You want me to… sleep?”

“Yes.”

“Doc, you know I got problems sleeping.”

“I doubt it will be a problem this time. I’m going to meditate, but I need you to sleep.”

“You’re not setting me up for some ritual sacrifice, right?”

“Do you trust me?”

“...”

“You don’t have to answer that. Either meditate or sleep, whichever comes first. But I’m going to meditate.”

“...Alright. But if you cut my heart out and sacrifice it to the math gods or whatever, I’m haunting you.”

(...)

“Stanley.”

“Huh? Where are we?”

“The dreamscape. Specifically, we are in your dreamscape. You could also call it the mindscape. It’s a metaphysical representation of your mind.”

“You can beam yourself into people's minds?”

“Within limitations, yes. If I were to do so when the person is awake, I could only access their surface thoughts and memories. If the person were asleep, I could go a bit deeper and see their dreams, but I wouldn’t be able to easily traverse, and some deeper, more unconscious memories can’t be accessed.”

“So… Ya brought me here? What for?”

“We can access your mind deeper. But I need your permission to do so.”

“You can un-bury all of my lost memories?”

“Yes, but I don’t want to force it. I want to help you… but I know this is painful; both not knowing, and knowing. Do you want to know your real past? Even if it meant you’d have to remember why you forgot it all in the first place?”

“...Yeah. I think- hey what’s that thing coming out of your chest? Is that a rope?”

“...Yes, how did you-”

“I think I have that same thing, hold on, lemme just-”

“You’ve never been here, how would you-.”

“See, same thing. Is it supposed to do something?”

*Ford in shock suddenly grabs at the severed ends of both ropes and tries desperately to push them back together, but the ends keep repelling each other like magnets with the same charge*

“Hey doc, I don’t think you’re gonna attach ‘em like that.”

“Why isn’t it working? It’s supposed to work. It needs to-.”

“Woah! Calm down, PhD. Aren’t we here to dig up the past?”

“Right, right. We’ll get back to that. Do I want to know why your mindscape resembles a gambling lounge?”

“I spent a lot of time in a place called Lottocron Nine before I was banned from it.”

(...)

“Have you been in my mind before?”

“...Yes, during one of your sessions with Fiddleford.”

“...What kind of session?”

“An interview.”

“Oh, thank god. So ya just… broke into my mind?”

“Stanley, I understand if you are feeling-.”

“That’s really cool.”

“...What? You’re not upset?”

“Pft, I’ve broken into houses, cars, shops, warehouses; and even the Infinetentiary, twice . A persons mind though? That’s hardcore.”

“You’re being awfully candid about your multidimensional adventures with Sanchez.”

“There’s no point in hiding it now. You learned the first time you went into my mind, didn’t ya? That's how you knew who I was talking about when I mentioned Rick.”

“You’re handling this rather well.”

“Doc, we’ve both seen some crazy shit. This dreamwalking stuff isn’t even in the top ten.”

(...)

“FORRESTER!”

“Catch you on the flipside, sucker!”

“God, I hated that guy.”

“That IRS agent… What’s his name?”

“Agent Powers, why?”

“Just putting a name to a face.”

(...)

“I don’t like remembering this.”

“Tell us where your boss is hiding, and maybe we’ll spare that ugly mug of yours.”

“You think anything you do is gonna be worse than what Jimmy will do to me if I rat her out? I’ll take my chances with your sleazy ass.”

“This ‘Jimmy’ is female?”

“Yeah. Jimmy Snakes is just a street name. Other bikers wouldn’t take her seriously if they knew from the bat she was a chick. Her real last name is Jiménez.”

“But the J is pronounced as a-”

“Yeah, but guess how everyone who doesn’t speak Spanish tries to pronounce it when they read it?”

“Tough talk, Alcatraz. But everyone's got a limit.”

*the gangster takes the lit cigarette out of his mouth and brings it closer to Stan*

“Yeah, we don’t needa see this.”

*the memory suddenly blacks out but a sizzling noise is still heard*

(...)

“Stanley, this is a pit memory. These are memories your unconscious mind has been hiding from you.”

“Do we just, ya know, jump in?”

“Yes. In a way, it is like the bottomless pit, we would fall back right where we started, or your mental defenses could forcefully-.”

“Screw that, I’m imagining stairs.”

“You can’t just imagine -”

“Violá. Stairs.”

“...”

“What? This is my mind, anything I can imagine should be possible, right?”

“It should not be this easy for you. It takes months of rigorous meditation to-.”

“Maybe it woulda been easier for you to control what's in your head if it wasn’t so far up your ass all the time.”

(...)

“I don’t remember this.”

“It’s the science fair incident I told you about.”

“This is all your fault, ya dumb machine!”

“And now you’re about to-...”

“Oh no. Oh no, no, what did I do?”

“Man, did I fuck up or what?”

“There. Alright. Good as new. Probably.”

“...Stanley. You- you didn’t ruin my machine on purpose?”

“I don’t see you anywhere, but it looks like it.”

“You only hit the table …”

“Does it matter? The results are the same.”

"Stanley, I haven't been honest with you about this incident. After this, yes we fell out, but our father overheard and-."

"And he kicked me out? Yeah, I know."

"You know?"

"Yeah... I think I always did. Just didn't wanna."

"But... I lied to you about it. I told you that you chose to leave."

"Dude. All I fuckin do is lie. I'm not feeling like being a hypocrite today."

"You're not mad at me? I turned my back on you!"

"Get in line, PhD. Rico outed me to the Aryan Brotherhood. Rick cheated on me with an Alien Hivemind. Jimmy chased me for fifty miles on the interstate on a flaming motorcycle trying to drag out my soul with bottles and chains. You got tired of my shit and told me to buzz off? Big deal!"

"I ruined your life..."

"I ruined my own life. It's kinda my thing, ya know."

(...)

“No- no. Oh, no. We can’t stay here, we need to leave.”

“This looks like the homeless shelter from Glass Shard Beach.”

“Hey- sir? Can ya help me with something?"

"Watcha need, kid?"

"I haven't been to one of these places before and its kinda-"

'Scary - no, I can't say that out loud. He'll think I'm being a baby.'

"It's kinda new to me. I heard there were phones here that don't charge ya?"

'I wanna call ma...'

"There sure is, just follow me."

"We need to leave."

"Stanley, what-?"

"We need to leave we can't stay here we need to-"

"This isn't- wait, what're ya d-? Hey!”

“Brats like you are too damn easy.”

“Back off you piece a-!”

WACK

“Why isn’t this memory blacking out, I’m trying to end it-.”

“Get offa me! Stop!”

“I don’t wanna remember this.”

“Stanley, I’m so sorry. I had no idea-.”

“Cry all you want, it won't help you.”

*the memory blacks out*

(...)

“...Do you want to talk about it?”

“ No. ”

“Okay. I won’t make you.”

“I think this pit over here is the one that… ya know, made me forget everything.”

“You are sure it’s this one?”

“There’s a giant neon sign over there that says ‘Do Not Enter: Everything is Worse’.”

“How considerate of your subconscious.”

“…I don’t think I can go any further. Go on without me.”

“Stanley-.”

“Stanford. I’m giving you permission to see that memory, whatever it is. I’m not going to kick you out of it. Just tell me what you saw after you get out, and we’ll go from there.”

“You are okay with that? Are you sure?”

“You asked me outside if I trusted ya. Here’s your answer.”

(...)

‘Moses, the fog’s getting pretty bad… can’t see shit’

‘Ain’t safe with all the curves ahead’

‘I should take a stop soon and wait for it to clear’

‘Huh? What’s up with my breaks?’

‘WHY ISN’T IT WORKING? WHY?’

‘He didn’t! That son of a-’ 

SCREECH

CRASH

Fwooosh!

‘Fuck! I gotta stay calm- I’ve gotten out of worse’

‘Ugh the smokes getting really thick-.’

‘Why isn’t the seat belt unbuckling? I don’t have a lotta time here.’

‘Where’s my strap cutter? Why isn’t it-!’

‘I’m really lightheaded…’

‘Can’t-’.

‘It’s too hot-.’

‘I’m trapped.’

‘I-I can’t breathe.’

*Stanley reaches up and pulls the picture of himself and Ford, which is on fire, off of the sun visor. It burns up into ash within his hands, which then start shaking*

"That was all I had... Now I have nothing. And I have nobody... I'm… alone."

‘I'm alone…’

‘I'm alone.’

*the memory suddenly blacks up, and then the scene changes and he’s looking at Rick Sanchez as he lies on the floor of his space cruiser. Ricks words are muffled at first*

'Where am I?'

'Who's this guy?'

'He tased me? Is this a cop?'

'Why was I in the woods?'

'Catatonic...?'

“This isn’t going anywhere. Can you tell me your name?”

'I'm alone' 

“It’s…? I... 'm alone . Wait. It’s- Stan.”

“Stan Malone huh? My name’s Rick Sanchez.”

(...)

“I do not understand… I suspected the car accident was the catalyst, but how did he escape? Did Sanchez rescue him and lie about it? What would he gain from that?”

“Nope!”

“Bill?”

“You know you can’t go anywhere without me, Fordsy.”

“Why did you wait until now to show yourself?”

“Dramatic entrance, of course!”

“...Right. Why doesn’t Stanley remember escaping his burning car?

“Because he didn’t. He died of smoke inhalation right there.”

“... What ?”

“Yeah. He died. Ironically, of suffocation. Isn’t that hilarious, Sixer? He used to suffocate you, and that ended up being the thing that killed him.”

“CIPHER! Whatever cruel joke you are trying to-.”

“Joke? I’m hurt Fordsy, I know when to be serious.”

“He didn’t die! We are in his mindscape! He’s asleep right behind me in the waking world!”

“Oh, Sixer… Your mommy was right when she said denial like this isn’t healthy.”

“STOP PLAYING THESE GAMES WITH ME BILL CIPHER.”

“Alright, alright. Here, let me give you a sneak peak of what happened between the scenes; he doesn’t remember, because it happened in his mindscape. So here’s my memory of what happened.”

“Your-?”

SNAP

(...)

“Hey there slick! Things getting too hot to handle?”

“What are you supposed to be?”

“Call me a guardian angel.” 

“Are all angels as geometric as you?”

“I took a form that would be comforting to you. I’m the symbol on the back of the money, you like money right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well there we go! I’m here to help you.”

“... Why?”

“I’m a friend of a friend. And that friend would very much hate it if you burnt to death here. Shake my hand and I can get you out.”

“What’s in it for you?”

“Like I said, friend of a friend. Just shake my hand. I’ll have temporary use of your body, and you’ll get to live.”

“I’d sooner chew up and spit out a gold chain before I fall for some Faustian bargain. No ones ever been nice to me in my entire life; there’s no reason my death would be any different. Leave me alone.”

“What about your family?”

“They won’t be surprised, there’s no way they didn’t see something like this coming. I’m surprised I lasted this long.”

“What about your brother? Your twin? You’re two halves of a whole - are you really going to leave him to live the rest of his life incomplete?”

“I’m the incomplete one, I failed by myself. But he can stand on his own.”

“Don’t you realize this will devastate him?”

“... I know it will.”

“Then why aren’t you taking this deal? Fordsy isn’t going to get over this. I know everything about him, and I’m telling you he never will. This will haunt him the rest of his natural life. The same way it would haunt you if he died.”

“If you’re such a Stanford expert, would he ever think I’d take a deathbed deal with a floating triangle in a top hat and fake eyelashes?”

“The eyelashes were a low blow. But, I’ll give it to you, slick; he does know you would never fall for flattery and trickery. But he’d also agonize why you’d give up like this.”

“There’s giving up, and there’s acceptance. Every decision I’ve ever made has led up to this. And most of them were the wrong ones. The consequences have caught up to me, and there’s nowhere to run anymore.”

“You’re choosing now of all times to accept the consequences of your actions?”

“Might as well, it’s the last chance I can.”

“You are going to die here. Stanley Romanoff Pines, if you don’t take a deal with me in the next minute you will die.”

“Guess I get one whole minute to reflect on everything huh?”

“And what would you reflect on?”

“If you’re really friends with my brother… if he ever asks about me for some reason, could you tell him that I love him?”

*a rope suddenly appears, with one end fading into Stanley’s chest. The other end appears to fade off into the distance*

“What’s this supposed to be?”

“Your twin bond with Sixer.”

“That’s a real thing, no shit?”

“Yes. It’s how I found you, actually. IQ was getting this sinking feeling of dread and didn’t know why, so I just followed it without telling him.”

“Does that mean he’ll feel it when-.”

“Yes.”

*Stanley looks at the rope before grabbing it with both hands, and pulling it in opposite directions until it’s broken into two. The end not connected to him disappears.*

“He doesn’t need to know what dying feels like.”

“...He doesn’t want you dead. He never hated you.”

“I know. But he doesn’t need to worry about supporting all of this dead weight. Ha! Get it? Dead weight! …Dead weight? It’s funny because I’m about to be dea-”

(...)

“-and he died exactly how he lived; making stupid jokes that no one but him finds funny- except for you, I can see even though you’re crying, you’re also trying really hard not to laugh .”

*Ford covers his face with his hands in grief*

“...That was a good one…”

“I waited for his heart to stop before I could take over - I can possess corpses you see, and for those fleeting minutes, he counted as one. I flexed just enough of my power to drag him out of his car - had to wait for that stuck seat belt to burn enough to rip - but all of that activity re-started his heart and brought him back, kicking me out of his body.

I had enough time to change some things - kept enough oxygen in his blood supply to prevent brain damage, deleted his fear of heights so he could climb out of the ravine, and rewired his optic nerves so he didn’t need glasses anymore - he wasn’t going to get any for himself anytime soon, he won’t need them until he gets cataracts at fifty-seven.

Anyways, that’s the real reason he was immune to that green cryptid; his worst nightmare was dying alone, and he already went through that.”

“...Why didn’t you tell me any of this?”

“You didn’t ask. Not me. Not anyone. Not even yourself.”

“...”

“You always pushed your thoughts of him into the corner of your mind, Sixer. In your journals, any mention of him you’d cross out or write in a code. I saved him because I know you care about him. I didn’t tell you what happened because you wanted him out of sight, and out of mind.”

“Bill!”

“It’s true, isn’t it? And look at that, he still made his way back to you. Either that twin bond was magnetically pulling him towards its broken half, or I left just enough of an impression on his mind that the weirdness of Gravity Falls drew him here.”

“You left an impression on my brothers mind?”

“It’s like when you crinkle paper, Sixer. You can try to smooth it out all you want, but there’s still going to be traces that something happened. There’s not pieces of me left in his mind, if that’s what you’re worried about. He didn’t make a deal with me, unlike you. He just picked up some of my tendencies. Definitely explains why he uses nicknames so much, doesn’t it?”

“This is my nightmare.”

“This is the dreamscape.”

“...Why did you repress his memories?”

“You think I did that? Sixer, he died . You don’t come back from that the same way you were before.”

“Then why would he still remember most of the last ten years of his life, but not being kicked out or his entire life before that?”

“Fordsy, you heard his last conscious thoughts, and those became a self-fulfilling prophecy. Before he passed out and then away, all he could focus on was how alone he felt. His brain did that thing all human brains tend to do; hid all the stuff that would hurt him more.”

“...No, he wouldn’t-.”

“Sixer. I know you can see the truth, you can’t hide your thoughts from me; why bother remembering himself, why bother remembering loving people when they didn’t bother to remember him, not even when he needed them the most?”

“...”

“Oh, goody, now you’re crying! Don’t worry, I know exactly what to do in situations like this. I don’t care if you don’t understand the reference, you’re not the one who’s supposed to.”

*Bill conjures up and then starts playing the Nightmare Realms smallest violin*

To be continued…

[ohraicodoll]

PUHLEASE bitter was SO GOOD!! you write angst so well it makes my chest hurt 😭 but what about what happens the next morning when joel decides to keep going with them 👀 how does feral reader react

Thank you all so much! I didn't expect people to really want a part 2! I really appreciate how everyone has really latched onto this character and want to see her react so feel free to always send requests my way! Here's part 2!

Bitter| Part 2 Joel Miller x f!Reader The Last of Us 4.7k Words/ 3rd POV Feral Reader Masterlist Summary: The morning after the blow out. Joel is gone. Part 1

Ellie was still asleep in her arms when she heard the door across the hall open. She listened with her heart in her throat and anger fresh in her blood as familiar footsteps entered the hallway, seemed to pause, then walk down the steps away before the front door shut. Joel was gone and the world seemed a little bit more bleak.

She didn’t go back to sleep, but laid there holding onto the young girl with her thoughts a swirling mess until dawn broke through the thin curtains. The two of them were silent, somber, getting their packs together and dressing again for the rough weather they would have to travel in. She had never liked the cold before and liked it even less now, but it almost seemed to match how she felt all over. She was a coal fire, burning deep in her core but frigid outside. Ellie’s bright disposition had dimmed drastically. There was no snark, not even any bitter comments about their missing companion. The night had broken her in a different way, grief and disappointment almost making her meek. When the knock sounded, Ellie’s tentative “come in” pierced the silence and her heart broke a little more for the girl. Tommy peeked in, looking over his new charge then catching her eye with hesitation. She knew Joel’s brother was cautious with her, hadn’t known how to take her presence and stares and the way she watched everything. But he tried to offer a small sympathetic smile, understanding pulling his lips that he wasn’t the brother they had come to be familiar with but were stuck with all the same. He led them out the way before pointing over to the stables where they would be mounting up for the journey. She kept her hand on Ellie’s pack the whole walk there through the still sleeping streets of Jackson, reassuring them both that they had each other. Even though she was stuck with someone she didn’t know, she was glad to be leaving Jackson and going back out there. Out there she knew how to survive, how to deal with everything. The small town was out of her element and she felt like everyone knew it, would watch her with accusatory eyes. 

Her thoughts tried not to stray to the man who had dumped them there. Found his brother and promptly got rid of them, brushing his hands of the burdens he’d had pushed onto him. If she focused on him, the anger would turn to hurt and hurt didn’t have a place outside the walls of safety. 

With a sigh, she followed Ellie into the stables only to stop short behind her as they reached the first stall.

Joel stood there, checking over a horse that had been prepped already with a saddle and bags. His eyes found hers, then Ellie’s, then his brother’s before going back to preparing the horse. The air was tense and suffocating, the weight of everything between them all occupying the space. She held her breath, clenched her teeth. “You came here to say goodbye or something?” Ellie bit out in anger. The words were mocking, but she could hear the almost underlying hope in them. For all he had said and done to hurt her, the girl wanted him to stay and choose her. “No,” Joel replied and she could see her shoulders fall in disappointment, but he continued, “I came here to steal one of these horses and go.” She wanted to scoff, but bit her tongue, jaw clenching so hard her teeth groaned. Tommy looked between them and shrugged to his brother, ever placating, “Well, I woulda gave you one.” Because Joel only ever had to ask and his brother would always give. At that Joel turned, patted the horse and looked at him with a sigh, “I know.” It was an acknowledgement that Tommy would always be there, always want his approval and love. There was a small smile, tinged in sadness, but Joel only sniffed and turned to the two girls that were his companions, “Anyway…that was thirty minutes ago and I guess…” The words were stilted, awkward, as if he didn’t know what to say but knew if he stopped the words wouldn’t come out at all. He sighed again and walked towards them, licking his lips and decidedly avoiding her eye contact. 

Swallowing, he pulled his bravado back off the floor and looked at Ellie, “You deserve a choice.”

Instantly, she could see Ellie’s eyes light up the moment the words were out in the open, that hope a bright shining beacon even as he continued, “I still think you’d be better off with Tommy-”

She nodded and shoved her bag into his hands quickly and with force, cutting him off with an enthusiastic, “Let’s go.”

He paused with his next words halfway on his tongue, frozen as she simply looked at him and brushed passed to the horse. “Okay,” the words were a hammer, cementing the decision and the path going forward. Joel stared at the empty spot where the girl once stood then his eyes flickered up finally to meet hers. She was stuck in between feeling that boiling anger from the night before and relief. He wasn’t leaving them behind, wasn’t abandoning them. All three were back together, but now she wasn’t sure how to feel.

It was easier to just hate him and never see him again than deal with this rift between them.

Tommy seemed to understand there was still something else at play beyond Joel’s decision. With a small smile, he nodded at them both before shrugging, “I better go get a second horse prepped for y'all. I’ll be back.” He gave his brother a pointed look, patting his shoulder, before quickly exiting further into the stables.

Joel swallowed, dark eyes meeting hers. Nervous. Joel Miller was nervous and she wanted to sink her teeth into that, use it to gain an upper hand because it was better than him making her feel unsure and lesser. He sighed for the thousandth time before calling back to Ellie, “We’ll be right back.” For once, the girl didn’t make a comment or ask for an explanation. She was sure some part of their conversation had been overheard from across the hall and Ellie didn’t protest giving them their space. Walking forward, he nodded to a spot a little bit away but she didn’t move. She didn’t want to be alone with him, didn’t want to talk about what had happened. Joel wasn’t leaving Ellie, that was her only concern. They didn’t have to get along to make this work. If anything, they’d proven that months before when both had hated each other vehemently. It’d only been sex. There were no hurt feelings, couldn’t be because feelings had never been involved. But she found herself turning around and moving, his hand hovering over her back as he guided her a distance away, and the sting of anger still coating her throat along with something that felt like pain. “Listen, last night-” “Don’t,” she hissed, surprised to feel herself slightly shaking and yanked away from him to put space between them, “I don’t need your morning after regret apologies. You said what you had to say and you’re right. My only point is to help Ellie and that’s it. There’s nothing else, we won’t be crossing that boundary line again.” “Red, stop,” he shook his head and took a step closer, wincing, “I- fuck, I didn’t mean-” She scoffed, baring her teeth, “Didn’t mean what? The part where you didn’t want me around? Where I was just a hole for you to fuck? Where you didn’t give a shit what happened to me?” She smiled bitterly, “There’s a long list, Tex, you’re gonna have to be specific.” His brow furrowed and hands went to his hips as he stared down at the ground, lips pressed tightly together. He seemed unable to get the right words out, mouth opening and closing in frustration. He’d never been good at hard discussions, especially about things like emotions, and whatever apology he had planned caught in his throat. So she pushed forward, fueled by the anger she felt burning in her chest and the urge to make herself or him hurt for no reason other than her bruised feelings needed to find a release, “You were right. I’m not Tess. I’m not anything. There is no happy ending for me. We get Ellie to the Fireflies, I make sure she’s safe, and then no one has to deal with me any longer. I’m out. She’s good with you but I’m not going to abandon her mid-journey.” The unspoken “unlike you tried to” settled into the space between them, a live wire. He frowned, teeth clench, and when his eyes met hers they seemed to plead, “I want to fix this.” Joel had to be the one to fix things, no matter how impossible. Protect, fix everyone’s problems, be the savior. But that wasn’t always possible. “You can’t fix everything,” she bit out and turned, walking away, trying to ignore the glimpse she had gotten of his hand reaching out to grab her wrist. _______________________________ She tried to focus that first day. 

It was like resettling into an old skin that was slightly too tight. Her eyes would track their surroundings, feel the motion of her horse underneath her, hand on the strap of her rifle but every now and then she would feel his gaze on her. Ellie quickly got back into the groove of being with them, much happier now that her favorite person was back with her. Her hands gripped his waist and she would send small smiles her way as if to say, “Look, he came back to us.” She tried not to openly frown so as to not dim the girl’s spirits and listened to them chat without much input. But it was hard to ignore how he looked over to her every so often, how he seemed more open and relaxed around the kid behind him, even answering whatever questions she had and not once telling her to shut up after her tenth pun. She tried to ignore how he seemed lighter, more at ease, even chuckling and smiling more. The Joel Miller riding the horse with Ellie at his back was different from the one the night before, proclaiming she wasn’t his daughter, that they were parting ways and that was that. And she wasn’t sure what to do with that knowledge. A decision seemed to have settled in his mind. What the question had been, she wasn’t sure, but he’d make a choice. The wall that had been so high, steel and concrete thick, and been so slow to come down and fast to resurrect was almost decimated completely. This was a glimpse of the Joel Miller that he had existed back in Texas and she wasn’t sure what to do with that. She felt more like a stranger than ever. When they stopped to make a fire and eat in the cover of some rocks, he didn’t argue about the smoke, about the placement of their sleeping mats with his in between theirs, and even served her himself, eyes unwavering as they met hers. Ellie wasn’t stupid, she knew that. She could tell the kid was quick to understand some of what had happened between them, what had been going on before Jackson, and that she wasn’t so quick to forgive as the kid was. Ellie was a soft spot for her, both of them, one the kid knew and manipulated often, but she was slower to trust others and it had taken months to let Joel in only for him to blow that up. She wasn’t sure when both the teenager and gruff man next to her had climbed under her skin, but they had and she wasn’t sure she liked it. It made losing so much harder, the thought of leaving them behind a tight knot in her throat. The problem was she wanted to forgive him. She wanted things to go back to how they were because it was so much less complicated. Yes, sex had been involved and even when it wasn’t, she often found herself wrapped around the man in their sleep, but denial was easy to hang on to. She clung to the excuses, like that they still hated each other or there was nothing there but raw need and a means to an end when it came to release. But she had liked the attention she had gotten, his hands on her body and lips on her skin. The late night chats about nothing that somehow meant everything. They’d handed over small pieces of themselves to each other, calling them junk when really they were treasures. He’d been a good southern boy, taking care of his brother. His favorite musician had been Johnny Cash and he’d worked his first job at fifteen so he could buy his own guitar. Little bits of Joel that had been castaway comments, but she’d kept them close to her chest. Now, with his eyes constantly on her, something in those dark irises, she wasn’t sure what to do with this kind of attention. She was used to Joel being on equal or higher footing and now it felt odd to have him almost silently pleading with her, asking for her grace. Like a supplicant asking for forgiveness. She went to sleep first if only to escape, saying she’d take second watch, and could feel his eyes on her as she slipped into darkness. 

When Ellie asked to use the rifle the next day, she expected to hear his usual grumbling in protest. She’d been given her pistol and that was as far as he’d ever let her use a weapon. But she watched now as Joel gave in, watched Ellie’s smile bloom into a huge grin as he told her he was going to teach her how to shoot it properly first. And she continued to watch in uncertainty as this new Joel made a target out of scrap material and walked far out, setting it up a good distance away in the small field they were crossing. The girl was giddy, practically bouncing on her heels, and kept looking to her in celebration. Ellie grinned wide at her as he did so, almost in amazement that he was giving in to her, and she had to smile back though her heart hurt at the childlike excitement. She knew this was Joel’s way of making things up to her. He was bonding with her, teaching her, like most fathers would. And she was unable to keep her eyes off the man as he walked back with an easy step. She sat on the ground a foot or two away from them as he showed her how to hold the rifle, load it, and aim down the scope. A toppled log served as their brace and they both bickered, tucked into each other closely, as he watched through binoculars and she flinched with each shot, bullets going wide. Ellie was stubborn and so desperately wanted to be a natural, wanted to prove herself to the man, thus leading to her blaming the faulty weapon. As time went on, their conversation loosened the tight knot inside her and she found herself relaxing and smiling at them. The thought floated that this must have been how Joel was like when he was a dad, staring down at Ellie with humor and ease.

When they switched and he shot the target centerpoint, she had to swallow a laugh at the dumb face he made at the girl and the wide eyed amazement Ellie tried to disguise. There was a sense of pride about him at that look, like in her eyes he had grown ten feet tall and was capable of anything.

As he turned to look at her, she knew she hadn’t stifled her smile fast enough. She got up and went to the horses, getting them ready to head back out, if only to hide for a bit.

This was a different Joel. Warm and sometimes gentle, patient and reasonable. But she was still the same, rough and sharp and broken edges.

Maybe leaving was for the best before she cut one of them.

Night fell again and they went through the same unwinding process. Ellie was talking in between bites of food, asking questions about what they used to do back in the day as if recognizing that there was no longer a barrier prohibiting it. At least when it came to Joel. She was still tight lipped, keeping the ugliness that was her own history away from the light conversation. She had already given enough of her story to the girl, the good parts, and didn’t want to stain her with the bad.

But Ellie was so smart sometimes and could see the unresolved tension. When the food was done and everything put away for the night, she feigned a yawn, arms stretching high above her head, “Man, I’m pooped. All that shooting really tired me out so I think I’m gonna turn in early. Night!”

And then she’d dragged her sleeping bag to the opposite side of the campfire flames, furthest back into the alcove they’d found, and turned her back on them to sleep. Distance. She’d given them distance to be alone together.

She sighed, feeling the pressing silence between them both now that Ellie’s presence was no longer acting as a buffer. The campfire and the night sky made them feel like they were in their own bubble, sitting at the edges of the light with the darkness at their backs. The small ridge they’d taken shelter in hid them but also trapped her there with him.

Before, she hadn’t ever been good at relationships or feelings. She’d been in her early twenties when the world fell to pieces and had been with Harry for six years. High school sweethearts. A romantic notion back then but now eye rolling in the current state of reality. She hadn’t gotten the chance to experience getting to know other men, to deal with anyone other than meek Harry.

Joel wasn’t him. Joel was all bristles and rough charm, dry humor and hard stares. And twenty years later, decades of being alone, she was even worse at people than before.

She didn’t know how to do this.

“Red-” “I’ll take the first watch,” she cut him off, standing quickly and grabbing the rifle from its spot, “You get some sleep.” She needed to get away from him, get away from his stare and the feeling of rage that was quickly falling away to showcase the pain it had been covering up. The reality of being alone with him, of him bringing up the argument, was a pressing weight that was threatening to suffocate her. It wasn’t anything she could fight. She couldn’t claw or bite or shoot or stab this feeling and needed to get away. But she’d forgotten. Joel was persistent. She would only be able to dodge him for so long when he was determined and that luck seemed to run out already. “Red, stop,” he was quick on her heels as they both walked a bit outside their camping spot, the fire casting faint orange light on their skin, “Please, I’m sorry-” His hand was on her wrist and she tried to shake him off, but couldn’t, “I don’t need your fucking apologies-” “Will you just fucking listen to me?”The pressure was too much, her breath thin rasps from her lungs as it all threatened to choke her. Jackson, the argument, this new easier Joel with his stares, Ellie’s happy smiles, and her like a looming storm cloud behind them. The pressure was mounting and mounting, tearing at her skin, stabbing her heart.

Then it finally erupted. She punched him. It was a quick, hard snap and her knuckles stung, but that anger inside her rose and rose and she couldn’t stop herself. She was hurt and like all wild animals when they were hurt, they lashed out. They were dangerous. Joel stumbled back a couple steps and released her wrist, eyes findings hers in the darkness, and his hand rose to touch his lip. Drops of blood sparkled in the distant firelight. “Starshine-” she swung again and this time met air as he leaned back, dodging. Again and again, she punched wildly, stance forgotten, frustration building as he moved out the way or she only managed to clip skin or clothes. The rifle she’d been holding had dropped to the ground forgotten. He caught her fist and held it in his grip tightly, grabbing her free wrist in his other hand and backing them up to the ridge wall until her back met stone. She bucked and fought against him, knees raising to kick and knee him until he pressed even closer to keep her from being able to lift them. “I- fuck, Red, stop. I’m sorry!” he hissed as she struggled against him like a trapped animal, “I am, I’m sorry for all of it.” “Fuck you,” she snarled in his face. “Come on-” he pleaded and the words were a sad sigh, wincing when she knocked against him particularly hard. “I hate you,” she growled and tugged against his hold, hands trapped between their chests and the heat and smell of him all around her. “I know,” he whispered back softly, remorse dripping into her skin. Everything was a mess inside her, lava filling her blood and bones, his fingers and touch scalding. She didn’t know what to do with everything bubbling inside, didn’t know what to do with herself, but it all felt like too much. This man had hurt her, had comforted her, had fought and raged against her and also raged for her and protected her. He’d left and come back and now she didn’t know how to deal with this version that looked at her with soft eyes and apologies. It was too much.  She needed a release so she took it. 

Her mouth smashed against his, bridging the space between them and catching him off guard. He quickly caught up and sank into her, kissing her back with equal force though not letting go of her. His blood was on her lips, on her tongue, and she dug her fingers into the fabric of his coat with a groan. She wanted to devour him, eat him whole and never let him go. It hurt being with him, never quite knowing how to operate, but the pain made her feel more alive than she’d had in a long time. Her skin hadn’t known touch in so long, lips cold and alone, that she wasn’t sure if she could go without his now and that made her angry. It made her desperate and those small few hours where she thought he’d left them had made her realize that hollowness was a possibility. Finally one of his hands let hers go, but she didn’t pull away. She didn’t take his relaxing as an opportunity to run. So he took that as permission to run his fingers through her hair, twisting the still freshly cleaned strands between them. She bit down on his lower lip, swallowing his groan, and when he opened his mouth her tongue found his. This wasn’t like the other times where it was nothing but gnashing teeth and tongue and lips, almost brutal and bordering on painful. He wanted her, she could feel it in the press of his hips against hers and the eagerness of his mouth, and was so gentle with her. While she took and took, he freely gave and let her take the charge. It wasn’t a battle, but a surrender. Her hand drifted, frustrated at his lack of fight, and went to his belt buckle before working to get it undone. She needed to feel him, to get him to fight and be aggressive and not be so fucking soft with her. It wasn’t something she was ready for, what him being this way towards her meant. But Joel paused, forehead against hers as he broke their kiss, whispering his protests, “Wait, hold on.” She didn’t want to stop because stopping meant talking and she felt rubbed raw, naked before him and the cavity of her chest ripped open. As her hands continued to underdo his belt, his hand came to rest on top of them, stilling her fingers. One hand in her hair, he used it to lift her chin up and meet his eyes, bringing them both back to awareness. His lip was still bleeding, some of it smeared across his chin and beard, eyes so dark in the firelight as he looked her over, “I…you aren’t nothing. Not to Ellie… and not to me.” He sighed, brow furrowed and she wondered if he could feel her shaking, “And…you aren’t Tess-” She pulled back, the name a wound with ripped open stitches, and tried to walk away but he stopped her, “Just wait.” With a hard frown, she whipped back to him, “Were you this bad at apologizing before the world ended or is this a new thing?” “I was bad before,” he huffed out frustrated and paused, the words stuck in his throat and like he was trying to force them out, “Sarah…my daughter used to get after me and feed me the words. I’ve never been good at it.” Pausing herself, the name of his kid felt big between them. An admission, an acknowledgement. He hadn’t ever talked about his kid, but here he was. It was enough to freeze her in place, keep her there and silent so he could continue.

“You aren’t…Tess and I don’t want you to be. You’re not a replacement,” Joel chewed on his lower lip, head bowed, “I like you how you are, rough edges and all, and I shouldn’t have said any of it. I’m sorry. I was angry and I thought you both would be safer with Tommy-” “I don’t care who I’m safer with,” she cut him off, surprised by the adamency behind her own words. “”Well I do,” his own reply was biting, not angry at her, but frustrated at her own lack of care, “I care if you’re safe, both of you. I thought you both would be better off without me and I was trying to pull away…only for you to try and claw me back. I was really fucking stupid and I know yesterday or tonight won’t make up for it.” His thumb caressed her cheekbone and she let out a shaky sigh, biting on the inside of her cheek as he continued softly, “But in the same way I need Ellie, I need you too.” Joel, at his core, was a builder. Before the world tanked, he’d worked with his hands because that’s what he could do. Fix things. That was how he operated. He wasn’t a master strategist, wasn’t a leader. He was good at figuring things out when needed and putting things right. And she could see how desperately he wanted to fix the damage between them. It was just a matter of if she wanted things to be fixed. And maybe she did, even though she knew the path they were going down was going to be so much more complicated. Fixing things also terrified her. “You’re right,” she replied hesitantly, “It doesn’t make up for it.” “I know-” “We’ve got a week until we reach the Fireflies and before I decide if I’m leaving. Guess you have time to work on it,” she let the statement hang along with that dangling hope of forgiveness. In truth, he didn’t have to work hard. If he kept smiling at her, kissing her, she was done for. It was the stubbornness and pain that was clinging on like the last vestiges of a war. She didn’t know if she would actually leave, if she could leave them both.  But they had a week at most to figure that out.

Joel pressed into her, forehead resting against her own once again. She could feel the relief flood him, the way his hands wrapped around her waist in thanks. And this time she didn’t fight him when his lips turned to meet her own, this time with gentleness instead of rage, a whispered apology in each kiss.

Maybe this new Joel wasn’t bad, wasn’t entirely different if he still wanted her.

_________________________________________________ Tag List:

@sunfairyy @oscardopedropascal @intoxicatedapple @faceache111 @beebslebobs @spaacerabbit @hawsx3 @stilldreaming666 @buckywenal24 @sl-ut @kagajgajaguwbeidheubqk @alouise20

[gazsluckyhat]

One- Stallions

Phantom Pains

Masterlist

I've decided that the chapters for this will be shorter than Sarah's House. Just because Sarah's House is dark and takes a lot to write. This is gonna be way lighter in tone and if the chapter's are shorter I can get them out a bit quicker.

I've also re-wrote this chapter because I hated it. So please tell me what you think!

-Bunny

Simon knew he'd messed up. The fire he'd started burning down everything and he didn't stay to pick up the pieces. Now, years later he's back. The place he'd called home for so long the only safe place he could think of, the family inside broken and burned. He think's it might be too late to fix.

or

You can always come back home

Ghost stands in the open area of what used to be his home. He spots several things that had once been his. Several news clippings and mugs. The pictures on the wall make him look twice. It's him and Cece. Ribbons pinned to his button up, Cece's arm around his middle, face looking up at him. He can see the love in her eyes. His chest aches.

"That you?" Ghost nods, Gaz staring at them. There's a lot. Most are at the rodeo and some of from get togethers. Grant must've put them up. He thinks, Cece would've burned them. He feels grief at he thought of the older man. It was him that took the chance on him. Taught him more than his own father. Loved him like a son. He should've been here. Cece and Liz shouldn’t've been alone. Fuck up. The voice is his fathers. The time he spent on this ranch were constant in his memory. He'd learned more here than anywhere else. He felt free here, alive.

"Gonna have to show us." Price said standing beside him. They look at the different pictures. "You looks happy. Really happy." And he was. So damn happy. With Cece on his arm he'd never felt happier. The guilt he now felt almost eclipsed it.

"Maybe it has to do with the girl hanging off his arm." Gaz smirks as he says it. Ghost's cheeks flaming under the mask. It did have to do with the girl hanging on his arm. Price chuckles.

"Think yor' right Sargent." Price claps him on the back as they walk away. Ghost needs some air. Needs to be alone. His chest is aching and he feels like hes gonna vomit. So his feet lead him out the door and to the spot he'd loved forever.

He rips his mask off when he gets there, falling to his knees and gasping. He can't catch his breath. His chest feels like a void, a hole he cant fill. Tears are racing down his cheeks and his throat burns. Panic attack. He'd had them before. They'd haunted him since he was a child. His mom used to hold him and kiss his hair. But he hadn't let anyone see them since. He let the sobs wrack his body, let himself fall apart fully. He couldn't help it. The grief coating his body.

"Thought I'd find ya' here." His eyes caught sigh of the woman who'd been his second mother. Eliza immediately got to her knees and grabbed ahold of him. He flinched slightly but she shushed him as she pulled him into his arms. Her hands rubbing his arms. Ghost let her, didn't fear her touch or worry about his face being shown. Not with Liz, the woman who'd took him in without a thought. She hummed quietly. He knew they looked funny, this tiny older woman holding a much larger crying man. Ghost had been taller than Liz even back then.

"Wanna tell me what's wrong, Beau?" The nickname brought back more feelings of grief and guilt. He couldn't say no to Liz.

"I shoulda been here. Grant- I shoulda stayed." He cries harder. His chest heaving.

"Hush. Nothing woulda stopped him from getting sick." He hears his swallow before she speaks again. "You left for a reason. Grant knew it and so did I. Doesn't change that we love you. He knew you'd come home. And you have."

"But Cece-" She cuts him off.

"Cecelia is too stuck in her head. She stills loves you or she wouldn't hold a grudge. She'll get over it. Use to blush every time her daddy brought you up." He chuckles at that. He sits up and smiles at Liz.

"I missed you. Wanted to call so many times but I couldn’t" She smiles and rubs his cheek.

"You had your reasons, as do we all. Now come on, let's go see if my daughter is making dinner yet." He laughs and stands before helping her up.

Cece has dinner started, Gaz standing beside her as she talks him through what they're doing. Johnny cutting up some veggies while Price works on shucking corn.

"She's just like her father." Liz whispers it to him as he leads her in. Cece turning around when she notices him. She freezes for a seconds, eyes going slightly wide at his maskless face. The boys also stutter when they realize.  They hadn't seen him without it since Las Almas. Liz like always knows when he doesn't want the attention and drawls it to her.

"What's for dinner?" The question shakes Cece from her trance and she nods towards Gaz.

"Dad's favorite." It's all she says as she turns to watch Gaz. Liz pulls him away, needing help to set the table. Cece watches as Gaz stirs the pot, memories and thoughts running through her head. She hadn't seen Simon since she was sixteen. The last imagine she had was him walking away from her. Her screaming and begging him to not leave. Still, he'd left. Her pleas nothing to him.

"What was he like." She shakes her head as she looks at Johnny, or Soap as the captain had said.

"What?" Confusion on her face.

"Ghost or Simon. What was he like." They don't know. She has to remind herself that. They don't know that he'd abandoned her.

"Kind. He was eighteen. Just turned legal actually. Daddy brought him home and he was meek, hardly talked at first. But kind." She smiled as she remembered it.

"Ghost?" Johnny chuckled.

"Daddy showed him the ropes and he just fit. The animals loved him. You'd always find him in the horse pasture next door, taming whatever stallion they'd gotten." They'd spent many evenings in that field, riding and rolling around. "'tis why he was so good at bull riding. Had the magic touch is what mama always said. I've seen him handle barrels heavier than cows so I know he was just holding on."

"Aye' seen 'im handle men bigger than him!" She nods. Wondering what he'd been doing all these years. What'd he been through. Her Simon had always been gentle with her, her family. She'd seen his temper but it'd never been aimed towards her. They'd talked about his family and his past so she knew he'd had issues. Things he needed to work on but she'd always thought they'd do it together. Hand in hand. He'd promised her.

"Think I'm done over here." She breaks away and goes to handle the rest of dinner.

 They gather round the table and of course say grace at Liz's demand. The boys digging in almost instantly. And so they eat, boys asking questions and Liz telling stories that cause Cece and him to blush. It almost feels normal. Like they're not hiding from anything, like he didn't leave. The only thing missing is Grant. He'd be siting right beside Liz, hand on hers in between bites. He'd be beside Cece, hand on her thigh, sneaking glances. But she was beside Johnny, laughing at some joke he'd said. He could feel the jealousy, knew he had not right to be. He'd left. And still he loved her. Had loved her all these years. Seeing her had brought so many feelings to the surface. He'd wanted to grab her, taste her lips once again and just love her. She'd grown, matured. Her body had filled out more. And he couldn't deny the lust he felt towards her.

"Ani't that right Simon." He wasn't listening. His cheeks blushing.

"I'm sorry, what?" The boys chuckled. Seeing him like this was new.

"I was telling them 'bout the time you broke in the Mastons stallion. The one that'd kicked Mr. Maston dumb." Simon nodded and chuckled.

"The old man thought throwing a saddled on 'em would work. Damn thing kicked him so hard he went cold." Cece laughed, her voice sounding so sweet.

"Heard Mary screaming for miles." They all laugh. The memory bittersweet. He had so many memories here. So many good ones. Ones that had filled his nights were grief and guilt. He'd punished himself repeatedly over the years. Spent sleepless nights running the night he left over and over. The image of her screaming and crying tearing him apart. But he was home now. Home. This place had become home so easily. But once again he was running, bringing trouble behind him. Seemed that was his destiny.

[gimmethosedaddymilkers]

Starving in The Dark

Okay another mini thing while I'm struggling to do the other responses rn, these ones I do while im laying down to go to bed lmao, but your requests will get done I promise!

Anyway! This is based on the thing I posted earlier today 😈 if you know you know.

Its very 18+ so minors DNI

WARNINGS!: NSFW, arthur literally devouring you, in general sexy things, chubby reader because I said so and theres not enough chubny reader and chubby arthur in this world

TAGS:@mrsarthurmorgan7 @photo1030 @kieropal @cantchoosejust1 @6kaja9

So lets get started!!!

You feel as though you're gonna loose a finger to the cold around you, even being bigger and retaining heat better than smaller people would, you felt frozen to the core.

After the gang had left the Amberino mountains on your run from the law you didn't figure you'd be back up here so soon, but here you were, shivering and shaking on your horse, even in your heavy coat, as you and Arthur trek through the snow the further you got into the mountains.

Granted the snow that you traveled through now was no where near as bad as it had been the first time the gang had come through here, but it still seemed to sink right into your bones, you could only imagine how cold your horses were.

But you refused to complain. Arthur had told you he wanted to take you somewhere out of camp, far away, just the two of you, so you could finally spend sometime together without being harassed by the others or being pulled apart to do other jobs.

Granted you would have appreciated it if he'd taken you somewhere warmer, but you weren't about to start whining when he was trying to do something sweet and thoughtful for you. It wasn't often the two of you got to sneak away like this.

"We're almost there Darlin' I swear, then I'll get the fire goin' and that cabin'll warm up quick."

Arthur looks over his shoulder at you, his face reflecting a mixture of guilt and apology.

He'd clearly recogonized your freezing state.

"I'm okay!" You lie through your teeth offering a smile, you hate seeing the big guy look so sad. "Just cold!"

"I know, I shoulda just had you ride in the same horse with me, woulda been warmer for ya." He sighs and then nudges his horses sides. "C'mon, pick up the pace, let's get there."

The two of you ride for just a little longer, snowflakes sticking to your eyelashes the further you go, until eventually the two of you come over a hill to see a rather small cabin on what would be a beautiful lake, had it not been frozen over.

You're quick to hitch the horses in a nearby area where they're slightly sheltered, and make your way into the cabin.

It's a little run down, but upon looking at it you realize someone's clearly cleaned it up, and as you look back at Arthur you realize he really has been planning this for a while. The bed is made and the floor's been decently cleaned, a stack of wood decently high is sat against one of the walls and the cuboards are stocked with food.

Arthur moves and closes the door behind him the moment the two of you step over the threshold, he gently kisses the side of your head before beginning to start a fire up for you.

You can't help but watch him as he works, crossing your arms in an attempt to retain your heat.

Even in the cold he keeps his demenor, which around you is a little softer, kinder.

There's a small smile on his face as he does his work and the cold air has caused his cheeks to bloom red.

"You look so cute in the snow." You mumble, taking note of his denim clad jacket, the collar lined with fur. It covers his cheeks a little, but not enough to cover the fact that his face gets slightly redder at your compliment.

"Now, I don't even believe you when you call me handsome," he chuckles and continues to throw wood into the stove settled in the center of the small cabin. "What makes you think I'll believe you when you say that?"

"Who says I need you to believe it grumpy?"

He simply offers another small chuckle to you before he starts to attempt to light the fire. Luckily it doesn't take long.

The fire blazes and you find yourself crowding in the front of the stove as soon as Arthur shuts the front of it and opens the vents to allow heat into the room.

He stands behind you, his hands gently grasping your shoulders and his chin resting on rhe crown of your head.

"Sorry it was such a long ride Darlin' and a cold one too." He mumbles under his breath, letting out a long sigh that you feel reverberate through your body.

"It's okay Arthur, really." You smile this time, to yourself, he needed this break more than you did, you were just happy he wanted to take it with you. You'd follow him anywhere he wanted to go, and this included anywhere.

"Hmm." He gives the hum in response and then another sigh before he lets go of you to move towards the bed placed against the wall across frkm where you stand.

You watch as he plops down and begins to take his boots off and his coat soon follows.

He himself is a big man, and even he seemed a little cold, that redness of his face, and the small chatter in his teeth that occasionally appeared, it was no surpise you were so cold.

"I know it's cold," he mutters. "But you should get that heavier stuff off and get under the covers body heat'll be better for the two of us then these cold jackets."

You offer a nod, and then move to meet him, taking your coat off as you move.

It was gonna be a cold night.

.............

You wake up sweating, with the smallness of the cabin and the constant wood going into the stove to keep it that way, plus Arthur's body heat, you felt as though you were absolutely swimming.

The two of you together, both bigger bodies, the heat you both gave off, it was a wonder he wasn't sweating his ass off too.

It's completely dark in the cabin, other than a little bit of fire light from the stove.

You manage to get up out of the bed without waking Arthur, sliding out of his iron grip as quietly and as gently as possible.

You do the only thing you can think of to get to a comfortable temperature and strip out of your night clothes.

Tossing them to the side you feel much better, still warm, but without the extra cotton its a much more comfortable warmth.

You give a quiet sigh and clamber back into bed, getting back under Arthur's arm as quietly as possible.

"Y' good?" His words are slurred agains your neck as you settle back down, and after a moment his hand finds your waist and he seems to wake a little.

"The hell did your clothes go?"

"It's hot in here Arthur-" you hear the whine in your voice and feel awful for a moment, but you realize now laying back under the cover with arthur again that you'll most likely wake up covered in sweat once more.

Arthur's silent for a moment, but then you feel his hand travel over your stomach, going a little lower, reaching your thighs.

He's clearly not thinking about the words you just said.

"Arthur you are not listening-"

"Kinda stopped after I realized your tits were out if 'm honest." He sighs and you feel a hot kiss against your neck. "What I wouldn't give to feel these around my head...."

He squeezes your thigh gently, his fingers crawling towards your inner thigh.

"I'm already warm..." it's a feeble excuse, and you know it, yiu absolutely love it when he gets like this, so despite your discomfort you know that you're more than likely going to go along with him.

"Maybe if you got out from under these covers ...let those pretty tits of yours hit the air..."

"What the hell are you suggesting?"

"Mhmmm...." Arthur's voice comes out as a groan in your ear, and he places a small kiss there, right behind your ear.

"I'm sayin'," he mumbles. "I think you should sit on my face..."

"Arthur!"

You've never done such a thing. Of course you've had him between your legs before, and you'd never deny him that, as he got pleasure out of it just as you did, in fact it was one of his favorite things, but NEVER had you ever sat on his face.

"I'm too big." You mutter. "Too heavy, I sit on your face and I'll sufficate you-"

"Good, a fine way to die." He kisses your neck again.

"Arthur I'm serious!"

"I am too."

You sigh and he simply gets closer to your ear.

"Please Y/n...Please, I want you to do it so badly....please."

He's begging you. How could you tell him no.

"Okay..." You mumble the answer after a few moments of silence. "But you have to promise to stop me if you can't breathe, please?"

"Of course, you're My Girl."

You feel a heat in your cheeks and move, watching as he moves to lay on his back.

He keeps his hands to the sides, lazily awaiting you to sit on your throne.

He motions you towards him with his two middle fingers on each hand.

With just that you're compelled.

You manage to manuver yourself to the right place, and you begin to squat over his face, hovering if you will, and you feel Arthur's hands latch onto your thick thighs.

"I said sit." His voice comes out in a growl and then with a tight squeeze and a single rough pull on his end you find yourself completely sat on Arthur's face.

You can't move, he hold's you tightly against his face, buried in your pussy.

His hands massage your thighs, and you can feel his tongue moving in the best way you can think of.

It sends tingles through your body, the way he seems to nearly devour you, as though he'd never had a meal in his life.

His mouth is warm, and wet as he licks, and licks, and each flick of his tongue that seems expert you can't stop yourself from letting out lewd sounds that make you grateful he's taken you all the way into the mountains.

You reach between your thighs, gripping his hair tightly as he has his snack.

"Arthur...." You doubt he can even hear you from his position, but you hope that he gets the message when you begin to move your hips, riding his face.

His hands move from your thighs to your ass, and he helps guide each thrust of your hips.

You take a moment to look down, meeting his eyes between your thighs.

He's got a look there that you've seen many times, full and utter lust.

You can feel his nost brushing against sensitve areas of your heat, and his tongue still works away at you, lapping like a thirsty animal.

One of his hands moves from your ass, wrapping over your thigh and reaching between your legs, finding your clit easily, as it's nearly second nature for him.

Your breathing is ragged as he continues his assult of pleasure on you.

You know it isn't gonna take much longer for you to come undone, and your grip in his hair gets tighter, he can tell it won't be much longer.

The faster his tongue gets the faster his hand goes, he matches the circular motion just right with everything else until-

"Arthur!"

You feel yourself clench up and your thighs close instinctually against Arthur's head, and he continues to lick, doing his best to help ride out your orgasam.

When you're able to regain your composure he offers a few taps on your thigh and you manage to move off of him, catching the glint of your arousal on his face from the small firelight.

"Next time, when I say sit on my face I mean sit." He swallows and you watch as he licks his lips before placing his hands behind his head. "I want you to smother me."

You simply blink at him, your heart still racing from your high.

He'd just eaten you as though you were his last meal and that's all he could say.

You blink and then look towards his waist.

You had some giving to do.

[cowboys-of-tombstone]

Fixing a Broken Fence (Curly Bill x Rancher!Reader) 1/4

°˖✧Ko-Fi 💖 Patreon✧˖° ☆ Next >

     A roaring red ember brought forth the worn faces of men from the darkness. Along each of their darkened silhouette’s, their bloody red sashes glowed from the fire’s radiating light, making their collective allegiance as apparent as the burning smell from the source that they all centered around.

     And the one closest to this bright burning flame, in the middle of the Arizona desert, almost transmogrified into existence from nothing, was Curly Bill Brocius, the leader of The Cowboys. He circled around the camp’s fire, seemingly attempting to garner a premonition from the fire’s dance. His allies watched weary eyed, when their boss was at a loss for words, something serious had to be on his mind.

      In one last act to bolster himself, Curly Bill spat into the flame, and said, “Well, boys, seems we got ourselves in a hell of a pickle. Those Mexicans finally wised up to us. They gone and locked up their border.”

      The rag-tag posse simply sat in silence, with one of them quietly spitting in the dark.

      “Three times this month we went out to fetch ourselves a good rustle and found the police breathing down our necks. And as many of you know, we lost a few of our own every time. So I gathered y’all here today because I wanna know what y’all think about our problem. How are we going to make us some money, now that rustling in Mexico is drying up?”

      Murmurs broke out amongst the crowd. It wasn’t often that The Cowboys had a round table discussion. More often than not, what Bill said was the final say, so for him to ask for input brought further confusion.

      “Why don’t we get regular jobs?!” Hollered one in the back.

      The crowd erupted into boos and other vile curses, while bottles were flung into the general direction the suggestion came from.

      Curly Bill held his hands up, halting the crowd, “Alright, that’s enough! Now, does anybody have any real ideas?”

      “Is there absolutely no way back in Mexico?” Another faceless Cowboy asked.

      “Not as far as I know, why do you ask?” Curly Bill rubbed his chin.

      “Well, as big as the border is, you don’t think there ain’t some way we could sneak in and out of it?”

      Curly Bill shifted his mustache to one side, “I suppose it’s possible. But that could take weeks of planning, and I know many of you are strapped for cash right now.”

      Another blurted out, “I wanna ask a question. Why don’t we’s just steal them cows from here? That way we never gotta go to Mexico! The trip’s too long anyway, and it’s too damn hot!”

      Whispers continued to whistle throughout the crowd and some even agreed with the idea. Yet, Curly Bill slowly shook his head and rubbed his scalp. After a long pause, he explained, “See, I was hoping nobody woulda said that. The reason we’ve been having it easy, is because our ‘business’ is Mexico’s problem. Whaddya think would happen if we made our business America’s problem?”

     The initial agreement was quickly hushed. They were safe at home, and if they made an enemy of the States, where could they go?

      One man stood up and exclaimed, “Well what’re we gonna do then?! We gotta eat!”

      The crowd began to stir like a hornets nest. Arguments broke out between the gang members without any real reason. Before shoving matches developed into something further, Curly Bill took out his revolver and shot several rounds into the air until the camp was silenced. 

      “Alright, fine! This is what we’re gonna do, since y’all are so keen on having your bellies full, we’ll have a vote. We can’t just go and rustle here like we did in Mexico. But knowing the risks, those of you who reckon we ought to do business here, until we find a way back across the border, say aye.”

      Without a second thought, the crowd erupted into cheers and gunshots. Much to their leader’s dismay. Although The Cowboys had proudly earned their reputation to be brothers to the bone, Curly Bill knew how quickly that would change once money was out of the picture. Even still, despite his worry, he felt confident that they’ll only need a couple of good rustles until a way through the border is found. 

      “It’s settled then.” Curly Bill called out, “In the meantime, we’ll need someone to comb through the border. Juanito, take Billy, Sherm, Charlie, and any others who you’d think will lend a good hand. Everyone else, myself included, are gonna stay here and scout around for some easy money. Any questions? No? Then rest up boys, we ridin’ out first thing tomorrow morning!”

      Instinctually, The Cowboys began to see to their chores around camp. They tossed water on the bonfire, tended to the horses, and checked their supplies.

      Bill watched over their busy bodied work and scratched his neck with doubt. The bond between them all was laced with blood and gold. Bill personally got to know just about all of the members who sat fireside that evening. To lose any more of them than they already had would be such a waste of good men.

      Yet, even still, the solemn faces that had gathered around the bonfire initially, had returned to the life-loving, foolish smiles that Curly Bill always knew. With that, he deeply exhaled and turned himself in for the night.

      The next morning, after breakfast, everything was set to go. Johnny Ringo and his posse set out just before dawn, heading southbound for the Rio Grande. The rest of The Cowboys followed suit, spreading out in all directions like a spider’s web. Many went together in pairs or groups of three. Curly Bill, on the other hand, decided to ride alone as he journeyed eastward.

     Before the sun could stretch far into the sky, Bill came across his first cattle ranch. It was moderately sized with a herd of beefy longhorns lazily chewing in the fields. Although the haul could have fetched a good price, Curly Bill thought to himself that the ranch was far too close to town. Something about maintaining the local economy and trust with the locals. Although The Cowboys were on good terms with the sheriff and marshal, if they fell out of favor, the law could drop on them something fierce. 

      Oh well. There’s always another fish to fry.

      By about noon, a few small, suicidal clouds attempted to cover the sun, only to be torn apart by its ravenous gaze.

      Yet, despite this, a small stream of cool water emerged from the searing desert that kept a few blades of grass alive at its bank. Bill led his horse to it, and as it drank, he looked around as he fanned himself with his hat. 

      A couple of flies zipped past Bill’s ears as he aimlessly wandered the area. The small stream seemed to supplement water to much of the half dead flora. And further down, rows of trees gently settled their roots at the edge of the water. Bill pressed his lips together with curiosity. He looked back to his horse, who continued to drink like a withering camel, and left it to its business. 

      The Cowboy King followed the watery path to the trees. They tightly hugged to the water’s bank, collectively creating an archway of shade that Bill could walk through without feeling the sun’s spite on his neck and shoulders. At the end of the grove, light from the other side shined through blindingly. Yet, when Bill squinted his eyes, as he got closer, he recognized jagged, horizontal lines ran across the opening. 

      “Barbed wire? Way out here?” he mused. Bill’s lazy walk broke into a light jog to feed his curiosity. 

      The light at the end of the tunnel became overwhelming, the closer he came. Bill rubbed his eyes and when they adjusted, sure enough, a barbed wire fence stood as his only opposition to whatever laid ahead. What awaited beyond this rudimentary guardian, was a vast emerald field, littered with bovine of just about every hide Bill had ever seen. 

      Bill’s jaw slowly dropped and he placed a hand over his brow. It was one of the largest  herds he could recall, and was sure there was enough to keep every wallet, of every Cowboy, full for weeks. 

      In the distance, however, the sound of barking dogs sprung him back from his fantasies. Amongst the large groups of domestic beasts, rode a handful of wagons full of cowhands tossing out bundles of hay for them. All of them, with some sort of firearm slung over their shoulders or tucked in their belts. And that didn’t even account for the mangy mutts that aimlessly followed along. Curly Bill was thankful that the air was still, as he was sure they would’ve caught onto his scent otherwise.

      Quietly, he slinked back into the grove, deep in contemplation. Even if he brought every single Cowboy along, those bastards didn’t look the type to take things lying down. The last thing the Cowboys needed was another bout of heavy casualties, even if the spoils of victory were hard won.

      That Red Devil spat into the stream that flowed into the ranch. He hoped that his boys were having better luck at finding some easy money than he did. 

      Back on his well-watered horse, Bill set out to continue his search. Alas, even the bleached bones of oxen seemed to crawl under the shade of cacti in order to escape the rage of the sky’s vengeful star. 

      Sweat leaked from the side of Bill’s face. The canteen he had freshly refilled at the stream already ran low and sizzled against his lips as he drank. He could hear the foam dripping from his horse’s mouth and land on the road with a spongy slap.  

      “Well boy,” Bill noted, licking his leathering lips, “you’ll be no use to me if you keel over! Let’s see if we can find us some shade around here.”

      All around Bill and his horse were endless fields of shifting golden grass, the Arizona mountains almost a mirage in the rippling horizon. Yet, like a deserted island emerging from the golden sea, a hilltop stood above the surrounding land, with a black silhouette of a tree proudly standing atop the middle of it.

      Curly Bill patted the cheek of his horse and pointed towards the hilltop. Initially, it grunted in confusion, but, once it recognized the distant shelter, it eagerly sprinted to its master’s destination.

      The hot air blasted against their face, hardly ceasing once under the tree. Yet, their hides no longer winced from the heat and they both could rest. 

      As Curly Bill slid off his horse, he gave a quick look around from his new slight vantage. He craned his neck in all directions, until finally, he made out something in the distance. Bill dug into his horse’s satchel and pulled out a monocular. On the other end of its tunneled vision, was a humble homestead. 

      A dozen or so fat cows indolently chewed straw while their calves hid underneath their shadows. There was a small barn to store the herd for the night, and an even smaller cottage. And best of all, there was only one lone woman tending to the place, with a herding dog.

      “Huh, where do you think her ol’ man is?” Bill asked his horse, who nickered in reply.

      “Widowed, you say?” Curly Bill continued the imaginary conversation, “A pretty thing like that? It would be a cryin’ shame!” He plopped down onto the cool dirt and flicked his hat onto his back with a grin, “I guess we’ll just have to see.”

      And so, Curly Bill waited. He watched the beautiful woman go about her daily life. All the while, her skin glistened with sweat as she washed clothes, swept her porch, laid feed for her chickens, and even, to Bill’s surprise, made repairs on her barn’s roof.

      All day, into dusk, Bill watched the humble ranch with the eyes of a vulture. And yet, despite his expectations, no one else seemed present. Not another soul came to or from the property, and only the woman herself seemed to tend to the ranch. 

      The sky and sand had turned lavender, the coyotes began their shrill chorus and Curly Bill found it high time to get back to town and see how the rest of his boys fared. The rugged thief took a deep stretch once he stood, “Hoo, boy! I am starving! I wonder what stew they got brewin’ at camp?” Just before Bill got on his horse, he looked back to see the gentle billowing smoke coming from the cottage’s chimney. 

      “Well…” He pondered with a grin as he scratched his chin, “I suppose it would be unneighborly if I didn’t drop by and say hello.”

      As the cottage drew near, Curly Bill could smell the savory scent of buttery soup leaking from the openings of the home. Bill dusted himself off, and quickly combed his hair and stache. He knocked and leaned against the coarse frame, mustering the most toothiest grin he could make. Although it was too late to turn back, he couldn’t help but feel as if he was forgetting something.   

      The door opened and you, the rancher, peeked out from behind it with a dimly lit candle in hand.

      “Yes? Can I help you?” you ask with a hint of worry.

      Watching you with a monocular was nothing compared to looking at you up close. Bill soaked in every detail about you, from the size of your eyes, to the color of your skin, and every other detail that made you uniquely you.

      “Howdy, young Miss, ‘scuse me for the intrusion, I was riding to Tombstone, but it seems I got a little off course. I’d hate to be a bother, but I haven’t eaten all day and I was wonderin’ if you’d allow me to join you for supper?” 

      The timid flame of your candle trembled in the outside air. Its wavering shine barely had any cast upon the stranger’s face, causing it to ripple like a reflection morphed in running water. What of his face you could see was ever shifting, and you wanted to just close the door, and hope he would go away. Yet, you couldn’t deny his warm, friendly voice. What if he was as troubled as he said? 

      You bit the corner of your lip as you peered into the corners of darkness, as if you were expecting an ambush. Bill carefully observed you weigh your options, before you finally relented.

      You sighed as you pulled the door open, “Come on in, then.”

      The splintered door creaked open, revealing your humble home. Inside, the various hides and skulls of wildlife adorned the walls. At the leftmost end of your home was a kitchen complete with a hearth, and multiple potted herb plants that were hung from the ceiling. The rightmost end sat two rotund, heavyset armchairs. It was easy to see that they, along with most of the house, were made by a clumsy hand, but certainly with love. Behind them, Bill noticed, was a set of uneven stairs that lead up to a loft. He pondered what treasures may have lied in wait, just out of his sight.   

      Before Bill stepped in, you briskly walked to your kitchen table, while not so subtly, revealing a shotgun you had on you the whole time. Bill swaggered in, a smile never leaving his lips. He took a seat and made himself at home. Meanwhile, you tightly wrapped your arm around the shotgun as you poured two steaming bowls of soup. You placed both bowls on the table and sat down. Unbeknownst to him, you make sure to lay your gun on your lap and roughly pointed in his direction.

      Bill peered into the bowl of warm, red liquid. Thick chunks of meat and vegetables swirled in the tomato broth. He took a spoonful and it gently burned his tongue. Steam escaped his nostrils as he carefully chewed the tender morsels. Swallowing reminded him of a simpler time, one before violence, before survival, just a warm home. Or at least, so he thought.

      “My, my, my,” Bill began, while soaking some bread in the broth, “I am envious of your husband, Miss. I would kill to have cookin’ like this every night!”

      “Thank you, sir. I try my best.” You replied, earnestly. Occasionally, you attempted to glance over to your unwelcomed guest. However, your gaze always met his, forcing you to turn away. 

      Bill smiled cheekily, “Oh, pardon me, this is your husband’s ranch isn’t it?”

      “It’s my father’s.” you responded sharply.

      “Of course it is! Pardon me. I assumed a lady as… fetchin’ as yourself would’ve had a feller wrapped around her finger. As for your pops, I hope he doesn’t mind a gump, like myself, thrompin’ around his home at this hour.”

      “I reckon he would.”

      His eyes squinted as Bill glanced up to the ceiling. Maybe your old man was sick and resting in the loft. Even still, Bill figured that he and a couple of the boys could wipe this place clean, if it was only you and some sick geezer guarding it.

      Bill tapped his forehead, “Excuse my manners, again. I would’ve thought, then, he would’ve joined us for dinner. He’s in good health, I hope?”

      “He’s just fine.” You answered firmly. 

      “And what a wonderful daughter you must be to help him around his ranch! He doesn’t work a pretty thing, like you, too hard, does he?"

      “I take care of everything around here. You’ll find that I can take care of myself without much help, Mr…?”

      “Please, just call me Bill. Forgive me, and your name is?”

      You tell him your name with an air of reluctance. As handsome and charming as Bill was, you knew with certainty he was up to no good.

      Bill rested his chin in his palm, “A pretty name, for a pretty girl.”

      “You said you were heading to Tombstone, what do you do over there?” you asked suspiciously.

      “Oh, I’m just some ol’ churn twister at the Clanton Ranch. If them or the McLaurys need an extra pair of hands, I’m the guy to do it.”

      “Aren’t both those ranches a front for cattle rustling these days?”

      Slyly smiling, Bill pshawed, “Every bushel has a few bad apples, Miss. Gotta take the good with the bad sometimes.”

      The Cowboy found himself in enjoyable frustration, it was like he was fishing and trying different baits. You, the catch of the day, just weren’t biting, however. But just as patient as a seasoned fisherman, he was sure he’d have you figured out.

      “But,” Bill continued, “It’s a lot easier to work with all of them, than just you and your Pa, I’d assume.”

      “I make it work. There’s enough to keep me busy without crumbling. Don’t need anybody worrying about this place, ‘cept me.” You folded your arms proudly.

      Bingo. In other words, no one will come looking for you.

      Bill sighed contently and leaned back into his chair. He was charmed by your attempts at independence, but he had everything he needed. It was a shame, having to take everything from a pretty thing like yourself and your ol’ man, but that’s the way life is in the West.

      “I’d imagine a dozen cows and some chickens would keep you pretty busy…” Bill ho-hummed as he buffed his nails on his shirt.

      “How’d you know how many cows I had?”

      “Pardon?” he choked.

      “And how’d you know I had chickens? No one could see the coop while it’s dark out.” you answered flatly.

      Click!

      The familiar sound of a shotgun’s hammer cocking, turned Bill’s blood to ice.

      “Now why don’t you tell me why you’re really here?” you squinted sharply.

      The jig was up. Although perspiration collected on his brow, the Red Devil chuckled and shook his head, “I guess you can already tell that I’m not just some random feller at your doorstep, huh?”

      “I reckoned that from your red sash you forgot to tuck in.” You notioned.

      “Dagnabbit.” Bill muttered, looking down to see his sash dragged on the ground. He knew he forgot something, he kicked himself for forgetting such a simple mistake as tucking his sash. Here he thought he was finding the perfect bait for you, when you already had him in the net! His tongue flicked into a smile, without him noticing. His heart thrummed out of his chest, though, it seemed more out of curiosity than fear.

      You rose from your stool, shotgun at your hip, “You’re one of those Cochise Cowboys, aren’t you?”

      “Guilty as charged.” Bill relented, shrugging with his hands in the air, “Got yourself a big fish, Miss. I’m Curly Bill Brocius, King of The Cowboys.”

      Pins ran up your spine and into your neck. If he was just some thief, then you’d have bait to poison the coyote’s with, but now there’s a possibility that you’d have every thief from Cochise County breathing down your neck. And he saw all of that in your eyes.

      “Why don’t we put the gun down, we wouldn’t want to worry your Pa, would we?” Bill reasoned with a nervously, crooked smile.

      “My Pa’s dead, you damn fool!” You snapped and took aim. “This is all I have left of him, only for a snake like you to come and take it away!”

      A grimace squeezed out from under Bill’s mustache as the shotgun hovered inches from his face, “Alright! No need to get hasty, I didn’t pick up that he was dead. Sorry.”

      You continued to weigh your heavy options, with his life and yours in the balance. Finally, it struck you.

      “Did you come here alone?” You asked urgently. 

      “Uuh-” Bill hesitated. 

      “Did you?!”

      “I didn’t! I got four other boys waiting for me under that tree on the hilltop!” Curly Bill insisted, pointing towards the front door.

      “Liar!”

      Although he was lying, Bill took offense to it, “Oh yeah?! Well go ahead then! Once they realize something ain’t right, they’ll burn this place to the ground!”

      His bluff worked and the barrel of your gun lowered, but never left his direction.

      “I suppose only a fool would go into someone’s home without having a way out.” You mused woefully.

      Bill hissed through his teeth, “Yup, not me though!”

      Many branching thoughts twisted around in your mind. This man was a Cowboy, for sure, and even you knew that they took care of their own. If you killed him, and he did have backup at the hilltop, your ranch was as good as gone. If he was lying, you figured that the rest of them knew where he was going anyways, and might start crawling all over to find him. If you let him go, he could come back with reinforcements, regardless. But, at least you would have time to prepare. However, perhaps if you reasoned with him, then maybe, just maybe, he’d leave you alone and never come back.

      It was worth a shot.

      “Alright, Cowboy, here’s the deal,” you began as your mind scrambled to form an ultimatum, “ if I let you go, you must never come back. This is all I have and I can’t let you take that away from me. If you do come back, I will make sure that, even if you take my farm, you will look back and say it wasn’t worth it.”

      “Deal.” Bill nodded with ease.

      You pressed your lips together hard. It was almost too easy and he treated it all like some big game. Even still, in that moment, you saw no choice in the matter. With the flick of your head, you motioned for that thieving devil to get to his feet. Slowly, you both tiptoed to your front door.

      “Remember,” you warned as you pushed him out the door, “never come back.”

      He smugly grinned, “Thanks for the warning, and for supper. Have yourself a wonderful evening, ya hear?” Tipping his hat to you, he began walking backwards into the darkness. When he was out of sight, you slammed the door, and began preparing for what you thought was inevitable. 

      Meanwhile, Bill stumbled through the darkness as his eyes adjusted to it. He was giddy, having just gotten away with his life. Laughing and panting up the hill, he finally caught up with his horse that brayed upon his arrival.

      “Aw quiet, you old bag o’ bones! It’s just me.” Bill huffed, leaning against the tree to catch his breath. 

      Realizing it was his master, the horse lowered his head with a snort.

      “It went well, thanks for asking. I almost died too!” Bill laughed while untying his horse and mounting it. “But she let me go, you know the spell I can put on the ladies.”

      His horse shook its head, refusing to further listen to his tall tales, until they made it home.

      “I dunno, I woulda shot me if I was her. But I like her spunk. Real easy on the eyes too, I tell ya. It’s a shame she’ll have to get to farmin’ chickens when I’m done with the place! Hiyah!” Bill snapped his reins and raced for camp.

      Days later, The Cowboys regrouped at camp to go over their findings. As opposed to their last meeting, the boys were rabble roused with excitement. Many were already sharing the places they had found with the rest of the camp. Ringo and his posse also made their return, much to the anticipation of everyone else.

      Curly Bill lit the camp’s center fire, calling for the meeting to begin. He clapped his hands together and bellowed, “Welcome back, boys! Glad to see y’all made it back in one piece. Now, I know that a lot of y’all are excited with sharin’, but our boy, Juanito, has also come back to fill us in on what he found. Tell us what ya got, Johnny!”

      The stoic second in command, rose from his seat and regretfully shook his head, “Nothing yet. We’ll need more time.”

      A few disappointed sighs were uttered from the crowd, until Curly Bill rose up and applauded, “That’s alright, Johnny boy. If anyone is gonna get us back into Mexico, it’ll be you and your boys.”

      The rest of the crowd joined in on his applause. With his ace in the hole laid to rest, Bill switched it over to Plan B. 

      “So, you all know what that means. Any of y’all found a good stake for us to pull out there?”

      Stilwell raised his hand, “Me and Barnes found this big ol’ ranch heading North towards Tucson. I think if we got enough fellas with us-”

      “Alright, Stilwell, hold your horses. I like your enthusiasm, and I’m sure many of you got at least one big score in mind. But the fact of the matter is, if we go around hitting up all the big ranches around here, we’ll have the law breathing down our necks. Instead of thinking big,” Bill explained with his hands shrinking a square shape within them, “we gotta think real small.

      “Let me give y’all for example. After ridin’ around all day, finding a whole bunch of nothing, I found myself a small cattle ranch about a quarter of a day out. The place is ran by a pretty little thang and her pops, at least, until he kicked the bucket.”

      “How’d ya find out about that, Bill?” One of the crowd asked.

      Bill flicked his tongue in anticipation, “Why, it’s like you don’t know me at all! I went up and talked to her, she even invited me for dinner.”

      The Cowboys blew wolf whistles while Bill soaked it all in.

      “This pretty bird only has a dozen cows, give or take. She lives in the middle of nowhere, with no neighbors. Most of all, no one’s gonna be mad if all of her cows are stolen, because everyone’s relying on those big ranches y’all have your sights set on.”

      The men nodded in understanding with a few whispers, mentioning smaller farms that were passed up. 

      “Keep your groups small, so everyone’ll think it’s some other up and coming band of fools. They all know The Cowboys only bring in the big bucks! This’ll be our little secret until we get back on our feet. Now if none of y’all got any questions, find yourself in small bands and get ready to head out tomorrow!”

      The boys eagerly formed war parties with their closest friends and companions. Stilwell and Barnes made their way up to Curly Bill and found Ike tagging along from behind.

      “Heya Bill!” Barnes waved, “Me and Stilwell didn’t find anything like you were talking about. We’s was hopin’ we could help you out with yours.”

      “I’m in too.” Ike nodded, “Billy’s still with Ringo and ‘em, so I’ll head out with y’all.”

      Their boss replied cheerily, “Glad to have y’all comin’ along! Just so you know, I’ll be heading out tonight.”

      “Why’s that?”

      “That girl I was talkin’ about is a persnickety little bird. I’d reckon if I don’t catch her off guard tonight, I won’t have another chance to.” Bill explained while checking the provisions in his horse’s satchel.

      “So, what’re we gonna do when we get there?” Barnes asked as he and the others got on their horses.

      “Don’t worry, I’ll show you.” Bill winked.

      They rode out shortly after, late into the night. The moon was out in full, showering the sands in a white bluish hue. Thanks to the clear skies, there was no humidity in the air and a slight cool wind brushed past their faces. In no time, they passed the first farm that Bill scouted out, and then the creek with the grove. Soon, the dry ocean of grass swallowed up their surroundings. And emerging from it, like a behemoth whale of earth, was the lonely hill and its tree. 

      “Alright boys, we’re getting close. Let’s set up on that hill and I’ll give you everything you need to know.” Bill waved to his men.

      Up on the hilltop, The Cowboys huddled close and peered down to your farm like a pack of coyotes. 

      “That sure is a dinky little farm, ain’t it?” Ike notioned with curiosity.

      “Well, if it’s too small for ya, you can always go back to camp.” Bill slapped Ike on the back. “But something’s better than nothin’. Now quit your belly achin’ and take a look over there.”

      Bill pointed towards your simple home that quietly dreamed of the simple life.

      “All we got to do is break open the barn door and get the cows going. An easy in and out.” Curly Bill explained. 

      “You said there was a cute girl sleepin’ in that house, right? What do we do about her? Why don’t we, uh…” Stilwell asked while dragging a thumb across his neck.

      Barnes nodded, “Yeah, maybe her dad left her a few bucks lyin’ around in a coffee tin.”

      Ike agreed, “It could be worth a look, what do ya say, Bill?”

      Bill’s mouth tightened to one side and his scruffy brows lowered heavily. It felt like such a waste to snuff out a feisty spirit like yours. And for you to have him on the ropes, like you did, was charming to him.

      “I must say, boys, that little darlin’ grew on me a bit with her spunky attitude, havin’ me join her for dinner and such. Let’s just take her bovine and leave it at that.” Bill half confessed, making sure to hide how spunky you had actually been.

      Bill’s men grumbled in agreement, what he said went, after all. 

      They slithered down the hill with their horses close behind. Bill led them to a wooden gate that surrounded your property, but did little more than simply show your cattle how far they could wander. Thick wooden beams were heavy enough to keep cows from knocking it over, but spaces in between them were large enough for foxes, coyotes, and even a couple of Cowboys to squeeze through. The thieves’ combined efforts tore the splintered posts from their foundation, leaving a gaping maw in its place. 

      “If we draw them through here we can make a clean getaway. She won’t even hear us come or go.” Bill whispered.

      There was always a thrill to rustling that never got old. Their footsteps on the soft dirt were silent, reminiscent of a wildcat on the prowl. It was like a primitive game, except the stakes were just a bit higher. The air was still and the occasional cricket chirped his sweet melody, that is, until The Cowboys stepped upon his unassuming stage. 

      It didn’t take long to reach the barn, and from inside, they heard soft mooing. It was the sound of money!

      Bill rubbed his hands together, “Alright, Ike. Let’s get that door open and see what we got!”

      The older Clanton hobbled to the barn door with elation, but as soon as his sandpaper hands reached for the door handle… 

      SNAP!

      Ike’s shrill cry was loud enough to be heard all the way back at camp. And from the cottage, a dog’s baying signaled to everybody of The Cowboy’s presence. The thieves turned in unison to your home as a light flickered on. Barnes and Stilwell scrambled to get a hold of Ike and cover his mouth.

      “What the fuck happened, Ike?!” Bill hissed, “What’s the matter with-” 

      Through Ike’s muffled screams and flailing arms, Bill noticed he was vaguely pointing towards the ground. He squinted through the darkness and saw a bar of metal gleaming on Ike’s foot.

      “Son of a bitch! He’s got a fox trap on him!” Bill gasped. He slid to Ike’s feet and attempted to pry the trap off of him. “Stay still, damn it!” But poor Ike bucked like a freshly caught stallion. A loud bang rang out from the cottage and multiple objects whizzed past The Cowboys.

      “I’ll take care of this.” Stilwell sneered, drawing his pistol.

      “Wait! She could have backup!” Bill exclaimed.

      “I thought you said it was only one girl?”

      “I did, I said it would be easy too, now look what happened!” Bill grunted, still prying at the trap. “Look, we need to get Ike out of here. If you wanna start shootin’ off, take a horse and go distract ‘em for us.”

      Even in the dark, they could glimpse Stilwell’s gnarled smile, ever ready for a taste of bloodshed, “Got it, boss.”

      The twisted Cowboy leaped onto his horse and made a mad dash towards your cottage. Slowly he shrank into the backdrop until he became a black smudge. Blinks of light shot out from his amorphous form, before the reverberation reached the other’s ears.

      From your cottage, came return fire. But then, a string of light was thrown from one of your windows, before splashing down in a bright yellow pool of flame.

      “What is she throwin’, flamin’ liquor bottles?” Barnes squinted.

      Stilwell continued to shoot into the small home, nearly getting showered with the liquid blaze.

      “I don’t know, but…” Curly Bill answered gruffly. Ike finally simmered down enough for Bill to set the trap’s base to the ground. With one swift push, he reset the trap, freeing his friend from its vise. “It’s time we get the hell out of here.”

      The old Clanton tried to rest his foot but his toes pulsed with agony. “I can’t…” Ike shook his head in shame. 

      Bill lifted Ike up from one shoulder as Barnes took the other, “You’re alright, Ike. Let’s get you a beer to sleep that foot off.”

      The trio quickly hobbled to their horses, and once they lifted Ike onto his, Bill whistled to Stilwell. 

      The sadistic lackey’s heart pounded with delight, but hearing his boss’s call was like his reins were to his horse. The party was over and he pulled out to join his comrades again. Soon the group became whole, and they sped off into the night.

      “Hey, Bill!” Stilwell called, “I was lookin’ real hard, and I didn’t see anyone else in there!”

      Bill glared at Stilwell with shock. Could it be that you, alone, gave the four of them such a hard time? But the more Bill thought about it, the more he began to smile. The thought that a humble dairy farmer had made a group of Cowboys fall into a sweat, was hilarious to him. 

      Bill began to chuckle before erupting into a roaring laughter. Barnes and Stilwell looked to each other in confusion, but soon joined him, either through group think or by virtue of having lived another day. Ike on the other hand, could not find such virtue as his foot swelled to fill his entire boot. 

      The night echoed with the eerie combination of Curly Bill’s laughter and the distant sounds of their horses’ hooves kicking up dust as they rode away from your ranch. The moonlit Arizona landscape bore witness to the aftermath of a failed cattle rustling attempt, leaving behind a lone figure standing on the porch, shotgun in hand.

      You, unnerved by the intrusion, watched the retreating Cowboys with a mix of relief and trepidation. The rhythmic thumping of your heart gradually subsided, replaced by the lonely symphony of nocturnal creatures.

      Inside the modest cottage, you tended to the aftermath. The flickering flame danced in the hearth, casting shadows on the walls adorned with the trophies of a life lived close to nature. The night air was tinged with the acrid scent of gunfire and the lingering fear of a confrontation.

      As you nursed your adrenaline-fueled nerves, thoughts swirled in your mind. The sudden intrusion into your quiet life had left an indelible mark. The vulnerability of solitude clashed with the resilience that fueled your resolve. It was as if you were alone, the only conscious being in a land of beasts and devils that were only driven by their instinct and fleeting whims.

      In the distance, the Cowboys rode on, their laughter fading into the vast expanse of the Arizona night. For Curly Bill, the encounter left a bitter but amusing taste – an unexpected twist in the ongoing saga of life in the unforgiving West.

      And so, beneath the vast canopy of stars, the night settled back into its silent vigil, as you, the lone rancher, pondered the events that transpired and prepared for the uncertain challenges that awaited on the horizon.

[staydandy]

Black Knight (2023) - 택배기사 - Whump List

List by StayDandy Synopsis : One legendary Knight called 5-8, meets a young Refugee named Sa Wol who dreams of becoming a Knight. 5-8 trains and mentors Sa Wol, helping him achieve his dream in a dangerous and harsh world. In 2071, toxic air pollution had devastated the world, leaving only 1% of the population alive. People rarely leave their homes and depend on respirator masks to breathe. A strict social stratification has been established in the deserted lands of the Korean Peninsula. Citizens, who have access to housing & amenities; delivery drivers known as Knights, who protect & deliver packages of the precious source of Oxygen; and Refugees who are left on the outskirts to struggle & fight to survive. (MDL) AKA : Courier | Delivery Knight | Delivery Driver

Whumpee : Yoon Sa Wol played by Kang Yoo Seok (left) • 5-8 played by Kim Woo Bin (right)

Country : 🇰🇷 South Korea Genres : Action, Adventure, Sci-Fi

Notes : This is a Full Whump List • Adapted from the webcomic "Taekbaegisa” by Lee Yoon Kyun • It really gives off Mad Max Fury Road vibes (in a good way) • There's a fair number of personal thoughts in the list below, but I think it just goes to show how much I liked the drama • I actually went though the trouble (& possibly causing my old af laptop to crash) of making a gif for a part 😆

Episodes on List : 6 Total Episodes : 6

*Spoilers below*

01 : (@ 1:22, ok, but it'd woulda been cool if this was a live qr code) … Yoon Sa Wol removes his mask & fights a gang alone (wins) … sparring … made to stand on his head as punishment, kicked over, something thrown at him, nosebleed … pushed out a moving truck (comedic) … shot in the head

02 : … continued from previous ep. ... Found, transported … bandaged, wakes, head pain (how TF is he even still alive?!), panicked, held down, knocked out with a shot of drugs (@ 7:12, I'm sorry, the bullet was stopped by his skull??!! how hard headed is he?! - is this kid Wolverine or an android?) … (@ 8:53 you'd think with O2 being scarce they wouldn't use an O2 eater like fire so much) … goes out looking for a fight, beat up with pipes & bats.. hits in the back of the head, collapses, passes out … comatose … pushed off a roof (accidentally - comedic) (@ 36:32 he's a Mutant! X-man! Wolverine for the win!)

03 : [flashback] 5-8 is knocked over by explosions.. in a fight.. shot … (@ 16:54 #O.O# oh my! lol *gif 👀) … [present] 5-8 & Sa Wol spar (Sa Wol gets his ass handed to him) (@ 17:39 he just likes slapping that doesn't he 😆) … Sa Wol is hit with baseballs from a pitching machine … [switching back & forth quickly between various training & competition scenes:] sparring in a boxing ring, in a O2 deprivation room fighting, & dodging baseballs.. [in O2 dep. rm:] heavily bruised, unsteady, O2 at 5%, head pain, ear ringing, traumatic flashbacks, chokehold … car crash

04 : Kickboxing match; bleeding, cut on his forehead

05 : Bruised, head pain, traumatic flashbacks, nosebleed

06 : Hit with the butt of a gun & knocked out … tries to fight, pinned down, knocked out with a shot of drugs … blood drawn … rescued, carried

More Whump Lists for this show: love-me-a-lotta-whump

[midnight-serendipity]

Better than the Fantasy: Chapter Three

 Pairing: Jax Teller x Female OC (AU - Older Man, Younger Woman, College Girl, Secret Identity)

Rating M: (Sexual Content, Violence, Swearing, Mentions of Drugs, Mentions of Alcoholism, Mentions of Marital Issues)

Synopsis: Freshly exonerated and newly-minted president, Jax feels out of touch with everything around him, and somewhere amid the hullaballoos, he lands himself in an online site, enticed with the company of a masked stranger, who unknowingly had closer ties to the club than both of them could have ever guessed.

Word count: 7.7k

Chapter 3: Lace and String

Observant blue eyes rounded the table, taking in the set of somber faces surrounding it. Gone was the jubilant air that swirled around the clubhouse three nights ago. In its stead was a heavier, despondent mood. The club president didn’t need a mirror; he knew he reflected his brothers’ expressions. He sighed, just before his blues passed a not-so-new addition to the table. There, sandwiched between Happy and Juice, and looking a helluva lot like he’s just brought home the gold was Kip. Yeah, Jax heard he got patched while some of them were in Stockton.

That’s some good news for a change. 

He didn’t know how many church meetings the kid had already been to. Judging by the all-too-pleased smile that certainly looked out of place, Jax guessed not much. Stifling a laugh, he moved on with his scrutiny.

Despite the Antarctic treatment from his girlfriend, Jax slept like a baby Friday night. Thanks to Gemma’s pep talk. Feeling like they were all in need of a much-deserved rest, the prez decided to push church further. Not that he reaped any wins from his own good deed. With Tara very much hung-up on her ice throne the whole weekend, Jax decided to shift his sights back to the club. With each new day, the gears of his brain drove themselves to exhaustion as he struggled to weave the threads of his thoughts into something bigger – clearer. And as each day ended, it took with it a little of the bravado he earned Friday night. So much that when he woke up this morning, that air of confidence swirling within his veins was flatter than a popped balloon.

Fuckin’ hell. What do I bring to the table?

And that was when his hopes started spiraling downhill. Down to the cold tiles of his bathroom. Because what kind of president held his very first church with no agenda?

Jax Fuckin’ Teller it seemed.

Although it wasn’t because he didn’t know what he wanted for the club – that was actually the easiest, simplest part. Going back two years ago, it was still clear as day how he had first brought in talks about the club getting out of guns. Not everyone was swayed with the notion. But their then-VP was confident that eventually, he could get the whole table to his side.

That, however, was before the whole of Charming PD swarmed into their clubhouse like bees to honey and had the half of them cuffed. Now, still reeling with the aftermath, Jax was clueless as a newborn bub. Not only did his plans crash and burn to the ground faster than a Boeing gone defunct, but all avenues in his pocket were already as outdated as Unser.

Then, there was the Cartel and he knew a simple sorry ese wasn’t going to cut it with them.

But even if he didn’t know where to begin this time around and even if his ideas kept going in circles, he owed it to everyone in this room to try. Again, his eyes surveyed the room, this time meeting each of his brothers’ gazes. One by one they tipped their chins in silence. In trust. In blind faith.

And that was the fuel to his fire.

He let out an exhale and straightened in his chair, placing his palms on the table. “First thing I wanna say is congratulations to our brother Half-Sack for gettin’ the patch.”

The entire room erupted in cheers. Tig, Chibs, Kozik, Happy and Juice drummed their right hands on the table, while Bobby just reached over and clapped Kip on the back.

“You’re lucky I wasn’t here, you sorry sack o’shit. I woulda voted no.”

Opie’s shoulders shook as he chuckled, while Jax shook his head in amusement at Tig’s declaration. Ever the sport, Kip just waved him off with his hand.

“A’ight, calm down you animals.” Jax called out. “Now each of us here are all aware of what happened the past two years. We’ve all taken hits, all because of the man who used to sit in this chair.”

And just like that the momentary uplift was sucked out of the room. Inevitably, Jax’s gaze was drawn straight forward. He watched as a dark look shadowed Piney’s face and gave him a nod. Everyone knew he and Gemma swallowed the most bitter pill than the rest of them.

“But I want to thank you all, especially – Opie, Chibs, Happy, Piney and Kozik, for lookin’ after the club.” Another round of cheers echoed. “Before some of us went to Stockton, I told the club we should move outta guns. I still feel the same way and after everything that’s happened, I know this is the best time for SAMCRO to finally act on it. The money is great. But givin’ it a closer look, we barely earn anythin’ and with the cartel loomin’, the threat to us is greater than ever. I want us out of guns and if it was up to me SAMCRO woulda been out of it way before.” He paused, meeting each and every single pair of orbs. He caught Bobby’s smirk of smug approval, Piney’s tip of head and the proud tilt of Opie’s mouth.

“But I am not and will never be Clay. Even if I feel this is what’s best for the club, I will never take your right to vote. If you ask me right now how I’m planning to do that, I’m gonna be honest with ya – I don’t have a fucking clue yet. But just because nuthin’s set in stone yet doesn’t mean it’s not gonna happen. Because I really believe we can move past that. But only…only if you all want that as well.” Jax paused just to let all of that sink in. Seeing some gestures that he was sure were sloping towards the affirmative, he took a little breath then went on.

“We can vote on that later on. Now for the cartel,” Jax shifted, right elbow on the arm of his chair and tipped his chin to the left before resting it on his thumb and forefinger. “Bring us up to speed, VP.”

After taking a drag from his stick, Opie motioned for the lone ashtray from his father who was nearest to it and snuffed the light out. “With half of SAMCRO in Stockton, we were forced to honor the cartel’s demands and hauled their cargo. We always made sure we were in twos. Safer that way. None of us liked it, but –”

“Best way to keep the blood out of Charming.”

Opie nodded an agreement to Bobby.

“With only four of us to mule, they okay’d to just half of what Clay had agreed to.”

“How gracious of ‘em,” Tig muttered sarcastically, drawing grins and chuckles of the same nature from ‘round the table.

“But none us ‘ere privy to that agreement.” Chibs aired what was floating on everyone’s mind.

“Oh, they know that brother, they just don’t give a shit.” Opie huffed.

“Because that’s the point, son. None of us are supposed to know.” Piney pointed out.

“Yeah, we know, Pop.” Opie shifted, turning his attention to the head of the table. “Torres ‘n Parada came by last week, knew you were gettin’ out.

Lighting up his own cigarette, Jax stiffened and his brows furrowed. This was news to him. He puffed, letting the smoke billow out of his mouth. “TM?”

It was Happy who answered. “Cara Cara.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah. Spooked Lyla and the girls.” Opie shook his head. Displeasure was evident on his face as he recalled witnessing a smug Parada with an arm around his uncomfortable old lady.

“What they say?”

“They wanna talk to you, go back to the original arrangements.”

“They know this is just a temporary thing for us.” Bobby retorted with a slanted brow.

“That’s why they want to speak with the prez, convince him of a more permanent setting.” Opie answered.

“’S not gonna happen.” Jax spoke with finality and an air of authority that could only come from the holder of the gavel. An action that didn’t go unnoticed by the oldest member of the club. Piney smirked in approval.

Jax rubbed his free hand down his face and took a long pull from his stick. His eyes landed at the middle of their table. They remained silent, giving him a needed moment to gather his thoughts. Then with another breath, he focused on his best friend.

“They finally say who helped Clay mule? The load they want, ain’t no way Clay was movin’ alone.”

“Nah.”

“Our guess is Cacuzza. He’s always wanted to venture on narcotics,” Chibs piped in.

“He answered any of our calls?” At the shake of heads, Jax felt a crippling hit. But he shook the tendrils of disappointment that started to weave in his chest. He needed to unravel the truth first before drawing up conclusions. “How ‘bout the Mayans? Heard anythin’ ‘bout them?”

“They’re in Lodi mostly. They’re wantin’ to branch out.”

Jax released a breath of smoke. “Still? So they haven’t yet?”

Opie smirked. “Darby bailed.”

“Alvarez is damn pissed.” Kozik chuckled, contagious to most of them.

Brows deeply furrowed, Jax shifted in his chair, surprised by this turn of events. Around two months ago, word through the grapevine was Darby had partnered with the Mayans. It stirred things up and caused quite the unrest, particularly with the Chinese and the Niners.

In his mind, this latest move didn’t make sense. Even before his latest imprisonment, he recalled how keen Darby was to associate himself with someone or someones who had quite the pull and weight on the streets. Particularly any that could match SAMCRO in either brains or brawn. The way Darby saw it, this was the guaranteed opening for his inky tentacles to coil inside Charming. This reasoning was what led Jax to anticipate the Mayans with no mistake.

So why the hell would Darby turn? Unless…

“Lemme guess, the supplier Darby was supposed to hook ‘em up with was a flake.”

“Aye.”

Jax tilted his head to his SAA. In the dimly lit room, Jax’s eyes glinted and even if he tried, he couldn’t refrain from smirking. A silver lining, if anything. “Good thing we know of a reliable pipeline.”

Chibs stiffened beside him. “Jackie, d’you think that’s a good idea? Mayans have beef with us –”

“Alvarez and Clay had beef. Not the Sons and the Mayans. I think it’s time we reach out to Alvarez, let him know there’s a new regime now.”

“D’you think they’ll meet with us?” Juice asked.

Jax breathed another drag from his stick. “We could always ask Nero to set up the meet.”

“And if he doesn’t agree?”

By the smirk on Tig’s lips, Jax could tell he already knew the answer to his own question. “Then we rope in Gemma.”

“Good luck sayin’ no to the artillery.” Another round of chuckles filled the room at Opie’s statement.

“We could get a feel on where the Mayans land on all these first, then we make the call to the Kings.” Collective nods were directed his way.

“Now before we get to the vote. I need you all to understand, if we do decide to move away from guns, we’re sayin’ goodbye to the club’s bread n’ butter for the past decades and our finances will probably hurt from that. I need you to take that in before we vote. But first, speakin’ of finances, heard our resident weirdo wants to share sumthin’ with the club.” Jax tipped his chin to Kip. Kip stood up and stepped out without question, he was after all, the first one Chucky approached.

Tig rubbed a hand down his face. “Maybe he’s goin’ to tell us he’s part leprechaun.”

Opie brought it to his ear – Chucky wanted to speak to the Club about finances, when he was asked about it however, he said he wanted to wait for the prez and the rest of the club. Jax admittedly had a slew of names reserved for Chucky. But Jax did admire him for his respect for him and the club. The door swung open again, as Kip swept in, followed by Chucky, each of them hauling massive duffle bags.

Jax killed his smoke and looked around. He was met with equally stunned faces. 

Opie stood up, towering over everyone. “What the hell – ”

Zip.

“There are still two bags in my dorm. But each has fifty grand in them, so that’s two hundred in all.”

They were all on their feet even before Chucky finished his explanation. All of them staring at the open bag, with wide disbelieving eyes. Because just as he said, the bag was overflowing with stacks of hundred-dollar bills.

“Jesus, all real,” Bobby passed the wad of cash he fished and inspected. Jax took it with no hesitation and examined it the way Bobby had, Chibs and Tig both curiously looking over his shoulders.

“Yes, it is,” Jax confirmed, awed, passing it to Ope.

“I think you’re wrong, Tig. Chucky’s not part leprechaun. He is THE leprechaun you sonuvabitch! C’mere!” Kozik exclaimed, pulling Chucky into a one-armed hug.

“Hey! Don’t maul him yet. We’re gonna need some answers first.” Jax called out. Kozik immediately let go of Chucky.

“A’ight,” palms on the table, Jax leaned in and eyed Chucky, looking every bit the investigator. “As pleased as I am with cash suddenly sproutin’ in the clubhouse, I need to know where this,” he tilted his head, “came from. And no, I am not buyin’ the leprechaun shit.”

Chucky very visibly gulped and Jax hoped it’s only because of him and the three Reaper kuttes standing closest to their president while they all stared him down, and not because of something else.

“Well, you remember the night Clay left?”

Unintentionally, Jax’s nostrils flared. Of course, he remembered. That was the night leading to the day of their arrest. The night Clay almost, almost got Gemma killed with his bare hands.

“Of course,” Jax replied with venom in his voice. He didn’t mean to. But he understood perfectly why Chucky recoiled a bit at that.

“Hey, don’t worry,” Juice suddenly materialized beside Chucky and drew an arm around him. “We won’t beat you up unless we have to,” Juice grinned.

“That’s…reassuring.”

“What about that night Chucky?” Opie stepped in. He knew he needed to take the reins. Leaving it to Jax might send Chucky straight to a coronary before they could get anything sensible out of him.

“I was in Gemma’s office, finishing an errand for her. I just shut the lights off when I saw her SUV coming back. I assumed it was her, but when I saw Clay got out, I hid. Something didn’t feel right. He went to the garage, came back out with two bags and went inside again for the other two. He just finished loading everything when Gemma arrived.”

Jax straightened up, arms crossed and teeth clenched. He knew what part was coming. He’s heard it many times. Didn’t make it any easier.

They were all supposed to be out for a gun delivery. Clay, claiming his hands made it difficult to ride, said he couldn’t make the four-hour travel. No alarm bells were triggered as he stayed back, they knew his hands had been acting up as of late and Jax easily stepped in as acting president. The cortisone was barely doing anything anymore – at least that was what he said. Unknown to them, he set out for a meet of his own. Borrowed Gemma’s SUV, on the ruse of dropping by Unser’s office.

It took them a couple of days after that to get the truth ironed out. But Gemma was ahead of them. Although her theory was off some points, still she figured out something was amiss before anyone else did. Turned out, he had been borrowing her vehicles quite some time already and her assumption was a mistress. She placed a tracker in all her wheels, and that night, Gemma thought was the perfect timing to confront him, with the sons out and Piney helping Lyla watch over the kids – no blood will be shed.

“They were busy fighting and the trunk was still open, so I took a peek in the bags. With all of you away, I knew it wasn’t club business. And when I found out it was real money, I moved fast, grabbed them and emptied them in the garage.”

“And Clay didn’t notice that the load was much lighter?” Piney asked, unconvinced.

“He didn’t check it again. And…it actually might have been a little heavier. I replaced it with some tools and bike parts –”

“The missing supplies!” Kip exclaimed.

Jax pictured it. He remembered Sack going on about some supplies TM ordered a week prior to that, that had suddenly vanished into thin air. But with Gemma unconscious in the hospital bed and Clay suspiciously MIA – that had been the least of his worries, even more so when David Hale dropped by with his minions, a warrant on hand.

“And Clay never saw you?” Opie pushed, still quite unsold on the idea.

“Well, he was,” his eyes darted to Jax quickly then back to Opie, “busy.”

Jax snarled, making Chucky flinch. “You mean to tell me, that not only did you have this cash lyin’ ‘round for two years, but you also let Clay pound my mom’s face as distraction?”

“Look, Jax, what was I supposed to do? I can’t throw a punch like you guys. If I interfered, I would have been worse off than Gemma. I just thought I could retaliate in a more effective way. Y’know absolute advantage.”

Put like that, Jax did see from his perspective. While not stock thin as Rat, Clay would have definitely snapped him like a toothpick. Besides, what best way to hurt Clay the most than to take what he worked hard for, right under his very nose. He just wished he witnessed Clay’s face when the rug under his feet was pulled.

“Does make sense,” Bobby echoed Jax’s thoughts, then added, “but why are you only telling us now?”

“I did want to tell the club the next day. But – ” Chucky tipped his head side-to-side, reminding Jax of an upside-down pendulum.

“Yeah we get it – ” Jax replied

Chucky nodded, “Then when you guys got framed, I guessed that was cartel money. So, I hid it and decided to show it at a safer time.

“Where yeh hide it?”

“Ah, I may have asked Unser to hold on to it. Said it was a Club favor.”

Again, Jax’s eyebrows jumped. There were whistles – Juice, Opie and Chibs, while Tig slowly shook his head in time with his hands clapping. Chucky smiled and gave out a breath of relief. He knew he was off the hook.

“Chucky, you are turnin’ me on right now.”

This time, it was Chucky’s eyebrows that went through the roof. “I don’t accept that.” He said with a shake of his head.

“Oi, don’t scare ‘im off.”

“What?” Tig asked Chibs with his palms open. “It’s not like I’m not gonna use some lube and I’mma make sure he gets off too.”

Chucky cringed “I still don’t accept that”.

Tig opened his mouth but Jax cut him off easily, with a finger pointed his way. “Knock it off Tiggy. Go rub one out and stop traumatizin’ people.”

“As for you,” Jax went to Chucky and laid his hands on his shoulders. He tipped his chin, “Go tell my mom we’re givin’ you a raise.”

When her eyes crossed while going over one line of the purchase order she was currently reviewing, Gemma knew it was time to call it a day. She dropped the document on her desk, pursing her lips. Despite TM being open all days of the week, Gemma still found truth to Monday being the shittiest.

Gemma removed her glasses and massaged her eyes with the heel of her palms. Fuckin’ piece of shit lighting.

Well, totally her fault for putting it off. Definitely need to have it replaced. She stood up and stretched. Her back echoed with a series of cracks. And this shit of a chair too.

“Dammit is everythin’ here a piece of crap?” Gemma turned around, taking each item in inventory. It had been a while since she put in more than her usual work hours, and definitely more than a while since she observed every little thing in this room. Her musings were disrupted by a loud, unmistakable roar of a Harley Davidson speeding towards the garage. Curious, she turned and opened the door of the office.

The biker still had his back to her while he parked and killed the engine. But he didn’t need to turn around in order for Gemma to know who it was. The blonde streaks peeking underneath the helmet was more than enough of an indicator. Propping her hip against the doorframe, Gemma glanced at her watch.

7:09 PM

Luann was seriously late. But that wasn’t important. No. Right now, what’s essential for her was to figure out what her son was doing back at TM. Jax and the rest of SAMCRO parted ways for the day just around four o’clock this afternoon and with all of them still occupied with their personal shit, she knew his return wasn’t club related. Plus – Gemma’s eyes narrowed into slits – that backpack, that wasn’t there when he left, triggered the alarms in her head. When he finally unfastened his helmet and turned around, spotting her for the first time since his arrival, Jax very visibly groaned, strengthening her theory further. 

Well, glad to see you too shithead.

She tipped her head to the office and turned on her heel.

Jax had to do a double take of the lot. But no, he wasn’t going mental – Gemma’s SUV was indeed nowhere to be found. So why the hell was his mother still here?

Once again, Jax could only groan. After his row with Tara, he didn’t have enough energy to deal with the Russian Roulette incarnate. But he’ll be damned much more if he didn’t follow her. Stepping foot into the small confinement, Jax felt he was heading to his execution as he was met with Gemma leaning onto the table, her arms crossed, and face seemingly carved in stone.

“Where’s your truck?”

“I had Rat and Kip take it home. Luann’s gonna pick me up for dinner.” She tipped her chin, “my assistant manager came in here, sayin’ we’re givin’ him a raise.”

“Yeah,” Jax answered, “fifteen percent seems fair. We can cut five each from TM, Diosa and Cara Cara. Whaddaya think?”

“He’s employed by TM only. He just likes to loiter.” Gemma pointed out.

“So? C’mon, Ma, work your magic. I’m sure it’s just like launderin’,” Jax asked, irritated.

Gemma sighed. Before he pitched the idea to the table, she was the first one he told that he wanted the club out of guns. It made sense. But with this kind of thinking, Gemma wondered how fast these dickheads would make a legit business go belly-up. It seemed she needed to sit them all down for a talk of some sort.

Businesses tend to do that shit.

Jax nodded dropping his pack on the ratty couch. He felt his mom’s eyes on him as he sat down. He propped his elbows on his knees, hands clasping together as he looked up and met Gemma’s stare. She raised an eyebrow.

“Are you gonna tell me, or are you gonna make me ask?”

Jax rubbed his hands over his face then sighed, resuming his previous position. This was the part of the conversation he knew he won’t be able to tiptoe his way around. “Just need to put some distance between me and Tara.”

Gemma huffed, raising both her hands in disbelief, before landing on her hips. She straightened, stepping away from the table, she strutted towards him and left only a few inches in between, forcing Jax to lean back and raise his head.

“Look, Ma, s’not a big deal.”

And maybe those were the wrong words to say as Gemma’s eyes sharpened, and if there was truth to the phrase if looks could kill, they’ll be holding his funeral tomorrow.

“Not a big deal my ass, Jackson!” Gemma exclaimed, completely rebutting his attempts at defusing. “Before you went inside, I watched this happen almost every day. That was two years ago. Are you tellin’ me that’s how it’s gonna be again? –”

“ – ”

“ – ‘Coz if you think that’s in any way normal, I’m tellin’ you it’s not, and it ain’t acceptable either. You haven’t even been back for a week!” Gemma finished in one breath, ignoring his mouth that slid open during her tirade.

“You done? Can I say somethin’?” Jax demanded more than asked, not bothering to mask his annoyance.

It was times like this that had him wondering if his mom was truly one and the same person, because he was having one helluva difficult time believing this tyrant was also the same person who comforted him in the rooftop just a few nights ago. It made him remember a way, way younger version of him asking if his mom’s ability to do a three-sixty in a drop of a hat was normal. The ear-pinch that followed convinced him to never ask that again – at least when she was in hearing range.

“Look, Ma, I know it’s not normal, alright? Why d’you think I choose to stay in my dorm?”

Gemma’s arms crossed, frosty gaze still focused on him. “You tell me, sweetheart. ‘Coz last I checked, I paid half of that house as a gift to you and not to Tara!”

“So what am I s’pposed to do?” Jax asked, arms wide open. “‘Coz I don’t think havin’ her sleep in the clubhouse is the right thing to do here.”

“Then have her check in at a hotel – Jesus Christ, why is this our problem?” Gemma threw her hands up looking way beyond exasperated.

“Because she’s still my girlfriend!” Jax bellowed.

Gemma stilled for a moment and raised an eyebrow. All of a sudden a smile that looked nothing short of triumphant slowly spread on her face, hands on her hips once more “Well, I don’t care sweetheart. In my book you pay for it, it’s yours. S’your right to stay in there and not hers.”

Jax sighed, running a hand through his hair. Gemma was only saying these because she never approved of Tara. If it was any other given day, she and Luann will be preaching how they should be treating their women with more respect. But whatever. The beginning of a throbbing in his temples was a telltale sign of an unforgiving headache if this dragged any longer. He had to switch gears.

He stood up, reaching for Gemma’s shoulders. “Look, Ma, I know you’re only lookin’ out for me, and I really appreciate it. But it’s not helpin’, so why don’t you just let me handle my shit with Tara, a’ight?”

The icy chill that resurfaced on her orbs made it known to him that he should have worded it out much carefully and differently. Shit.

“ – ”

“Knock knock, doll you ready to – Oh, hey Jax,” Luann’s smile dimmed as her eyes slid between the mother-son duo. “Is everythin’ alright? Sorry, am I –”

“Everything’s fine, sweetheart,” Gemma answered, smoothly stepping out of Jax’s hold, taking the time to put a smile on her face as she flipped her bangs with the tips of her fingers.

Jax could only follow her lead, mourning the lost chance of redeeming himself. He’ll try to find it later, preferably with no bystander. No undeserving soul needed to be within Gemma’s sights when on a warpath. He finally turned to Luann, taking her in.

She was wearing fitted jeans and tucked into it was a white – or maybe silver – button down made from a shimmery, silky material. The top few buttons undone. She had a blazer on top of it, and finished the look with a pair of ankle boots. He heard about it from his mom. Apparently, the porn director had been making a fuss about her wardrobe recently, saying she needed to upgrade – whatever the hell that meant – it now that Cara Cara was said to be rising up the ranks in the industry.

But if this was upgrading, Jax had to admit it was doing her wonders.

“Hey, Lu,” Jax motioned to the newcomer with his left hand. Luann took the invitation with gusto, fitting into his side easily as he wrapped an arm around her.

“You look great,” Gemma said.

“Thanks,” Luann smiled.

“Amelia?”

Instantly Luann’s face brightened as she nodded. Jax frowned in curiosity, juggling his memory for an Amelia.

“Who’s Amelia?” he asked in surrender when he didn’t find any.

“Oh, she’s my niece. She’s good with clothes.” She explained with delight.

Jax removed his hold on Luann, crossing both arms on his chest instead as he took a step back, content to be a fly on the wall as the two women talked. With the way her eyes lit up as she proudly talked more about her niece helping with – again – the upgrading of her closet to an interested Gemma, Jax guessed this Amelia was something special to Luann.

“She’s got great taste,” Gemma hummed.

“That she does. Otto’s loving the recent changes with my outfits as well.”

“Oh right, you had your conjugal –”

Jax snorted, and maybe he should have held it in. Because in his opinion once a month was still too few a chance to get laid. Well, not that he was getting much action aside from his own hand lately. But…

Best to leave that detail unannounced.

“What?” Luann asked puzzled.

Jax shook his head. “That’s why you look fresh. You got fertilized.”

Luann’s eyes rounded. “Oh, you are such a prick,” she threw a punch out. But Jax was already anticipating it, moving on reflex he just easily sidestepped and moved out of harm’s way.

“Tell me about it. He seems to be havin’ a field day.” Gemma sassed.

“Oh, c’mon Ma –”

“Hey, Gemma –”

Jesus, was this let’s interrupt Jax day? 

They all looked to the direction of the voice, finding Chucky peeking from the door leading to the garage.

“Yeah?”

“Sorry, I know we’re closed but it’s important,” he said, looking every bit as apologetic as he sounded. “Phone. Wilkins. Subaru.”

“Of course, he calls right now after I waited the whole day,” Gemma fell into step and moved to the side.

“Oh, you can transfer it here Jax and I will just –”

“Nah, it’s okay. You two just keep chattin’ I’ll take it here”

Luann turned around after Gemma disappeared. “What’s that about?”

“Nuthin’”

Luann looked at him pointedly. “Really?”

“Just you know, Gemma bein’ Gemma.”

“Hmm. How’re things at home?”

He should’ve known it was pointless to try to keep Luann at arm’s length. At certain times, the woman was just as bad as his mother when prying. Although a milder version. Thankfully.

“Tense.”

“I guess that’s what you were arguing about?”

“Yeah”

She drew an arm around him and rubbed his back. The same way his mother would. “What’s wrong sweetie?”

He shrugged. “I guess we’re just not seein’ eye to eye lately.”

Luann nodded in understanding. “Y’know, your mother doesn’t like being ignored.”

Jax snorted. “Tell me sumthin’ I don’t know.”

Luann just smiled again and shook her head. “Well, you better get ahead of that ‘coz I’m afraid that’s gonna bite you in the ass sooner than later. But what I’m sayin’ is, maybe your mom has been makin’ a point ‘bout you and Tara, but you haven’t been listening to her. I mean when was the last time you referred to Tara as your old lady?”

Jax stiffened, surprise evident on his features.

It was one of the things that often knocked on his conscience, and honestly still quite a mystery when in particular it happened. But every time he tried, the image of Lyla and Tara tending to a wounded Tig would flit in his mind. Tara with the eyes and hands of a surgeon, was methodical and precise in her approach. He remembered watching from the sides as she worked, impressed. After all if it weren’t for her skill and knowledge, they would’ve certainly needed to rush Tig to the ER. Lyla was her second pair of hands, working under her lead and supervision. She didn’t have the same expertise under her belt, but she certainly made up in instinct, and each of her movement didn’t escape Jax’s eyes – each smile, each word and each pass of her fingers coated with abundant care, grace and empathy.

He looked to Opie then, correctly predicting the proud look he had while observing his wife. Well shit, who wouldn’t be? Then his gaze drifted to his own girl. Maybe if Tara could learn to at least respect the life, she’ll be good enough to be an old lady too.

Immediately, the guilt was like a viper that slithered up his spine – swift and unrelenting.

The life they led was hard, and Jax was only on the cusp of sixteen when he discovered that while the Reaper kuttes took the frontline, much of the heavy lifting were quietly – and often unnoticed – supported by their women. Their unsung heroes. With that thought in mind, he knew it was unfair and unreasonable to ask Tara to fall in love with the kutte on the snap of a finger. But even so, that wasn’t the last time the comparisons between her and Lyla reared its ugly head. Yet he made sure he never shared it with anyone. Not even Opie and especially not Gemma – Oh shit.

Because she’s still my girlfriend.

Talk about a major slip up. To his mother most of all. Jax cringed, “You heard that?”

Luann’s brows pinched, drawing back a little. “Heard what?”

“A while ago, ain’t that what this is about?” Jax asked, now looking equally as lost as Luann.

Luann’s brows jumped to her forehead. “Oh – Christ, no. I didn’t hear anythin’ you and your mom were discussin’ a while ago. Believe me. But t’was easy to tell you two were buttin’ heads again. I guessed it’s ‘bout Tara so I just put my two cents in.” She said with a shrug.

If the open mouth was enough indication, Jax was clearly floored. So Luann took that as her cue to keep quiet, unknown to her the gesture was deeply appreciated. Because right that very moment, Jax felt as stupefied as he looked.

That his and Tara’s relationship status was an open book, was an understatement – and their readers were the whole of SAMCRO and everyone closely affiliated to it. If anyone asked, they could give a rundown of his relationship better than Jax ever could. Because what he was once so sure of, now felt like a thousand-piece puzzle, with some pieces missing. Yet in spite of this – all the noises, the questions and the doubts – he made sure to never share those and just keep them deep within his kutte.

So how, how was it that something he guarded so closely, escape him so casually, and without his knowledge?

“Oh hun,” Luann cooed, resuming the comforting rub she had on his back as she spotted the troubled look shadowing his face, “don’t beat yourself up over it. S’just my opinion and I certainly can’t speak for Tara, but maybe she’s –”

“PMSing.”

Before they knew it, Gemma was in front of them again, focused once more on the papers strewn on the top of her desk and completely oblivious to the disapproving scowl on Luann’s face and Jax’s head tilted to the side, frowning in curiosity. He’s pretty sure he’s heard that term somewhere before.

“What’s PMSing?”

Gemma’s hand froze before looking up. It was brief, but Luann saw it. And maybe Jax didn’t recognize it or maybe he wasn’t as much of an afficionado in decoding all things Gemma as she was. The comment was just offhanded – maybe even meant as a joke – but in just the flash of a second, she was confident a golden egg hatched in Gemma’s mind.

“It’s a condition common to women, comes out when we’re stressed and even hurtin’ over somethin’. You should talk to her ‘bout it. It’ll help.”

To his credit, Jax looked skeptical. But Luann could tell he knew he was in a catch 22. Because who in the club could ever classify as a decent source of PMS information?

“Right,” Jax gave a nod.

“Anyway, we’re ‘bout to head out. You want me to get you anythin’?” Gemma asked, picking up her purse and walked over to him and Luann.

“Nah. You two drive safe, alright?” Jax said, reaching out to give a kiss to his mom’s and Luann’s cheeks.

The two women walked to Luann’s car and just as the blonde, biker president was out of earshot, Luann rounded on Gemma.

“PMS really?”

“What?”

“You know what type of conversation usually occurs when you ask a raging girlfriend that. Besides I thought you agreed not to interfere in their relationship anymore.”

Gemma tsked, heading for the passenger side “’M not interferin’. I think it would do him some good actually. It’s time he learned somethin’ ‘bout the female body aside from fucking it.”

Luann shook her head, sighing as she trailed behind her shit stirring friend. Maybe there was a point to be made in that. But…

Oh well, can’t say I didn’t warn Jax.

When was the last time you referred to Tara as your old lady?

Jesus Christ! Jax sat up, running a hand down his face. 

Upon arriving at his dorm, he removed his kutte and laid down right away. But how the hell was he supposed to sleep when his mind refused to cooperate?

It didn’t help that his gut churned every single time Luann’s question resurfaced. Jax needed to sleep, otherwise he’d be a fucking zombie. He needed something to calm him down. Something mindless. A distraction.

He got up and walked out of his dorm, stalking towards their lone IT person. He was still perched on the barstool, just as he was when Jax saw him earlier.

“Hey, Juice.”

Juice looked away from the screen “Hey Jax, what’s up?”

Jax tipped his chin towards the laptop “You done soon?”

“Nah, Nero asked me to change some stuff on his site. Need sumthin’?”

“Can’t sleep thought I’d check Netflix.”

“Grab the one Chucky’s usin’. He’s still in the garage. Laptop’s in the kitchen.”

“Thanks,” Jax nodded.

“Everythin’ alright, bro?”

Jax was just about to turn around when Juice spoke. “Yeah, everything’s good.”

None of his brothers were stupid, and Juice was definitely no exception. Jax could see the doubt in his face. That he remained silent was appreciated by the club president. Juice just nodded so Jax went on to the kitchen, grabbed the laptop sitting idly on top of the table and went back to his dorm, keen to start with – hopefully – the peaceful part of his night. It didn’t take him long to fire up the beast as it was just in sleep, landing him straight to a paused video.

Curious, Jax hit play. Wonder what this weirdo’s into?

“Oh, Chucky!” A girl moaned.

Jax’s eyebrows jumped to his forehead. What the hell?

She was on a bed, only in her bra, the sheets giving a thin layer of privacy as it covered her from navel to toes. But no rocket science needed, her hand moving beneath the blanket was very straightforward.

“Jax!”

Jax turned to his door, a panting Chucky obviously in a hurry to reach him.

Jax stood up, running a hand down his face. “You let anyone see your girlfriend like this?” He scowled. Jax knew he didn’t have much leg to stand on here. It wasn’t like he was gunning for boyfriend of the year award but having your girl as a free-for-all was just a different kind of low.

“Oh, Sophie’s not my girl. I’m just a fan – subscriber.”

Having paced away from the direction of his bed, Jax paused mid-step and turned. “What?”

Chucky, collecting the laptop, halted and grinned “OnlyFans. C’mon I’ll show you.”

He seriously had no idea how he got strong-armed into this. All he wanted was a movie. And at one point, everything coming out of Chucky’s mouth was pure gibberish as he schooled him into this OnlyFans thing. His ears only perked up when Chucky started listing down the costs.

“I really think you should try it. C’mon what do you have to lose?”

His brows went to his hairline. “What do I have to lose? Whaddaya think, jackass? My money.”

Immediately Chucky recoiled like a puppy kicked in the gut. Jax’s guilt from earlier resurfaced tenfold, because really? Was this how he was gonna treat the man who went out on a limb for the club?

He sighed and waved a hand. “’M sorry Chucky, it’s just been a long ass day. And I think you’re right, I do need to try this.”

Chucky’s smile returned, megawatt. Jax hoped he wasn’t going to regret this.

“Alright, so first we need to set you up with an account. What username do you want?” Chucky tipped his head. “You can get creative, people often tend to be discreet.”

Well, I wonder why. He could only guess how it would go if Tara found out about this. Tara. Is this alright? Joining this site?

No matter the circumstances, they were still together, and Jax may admittedly have a colorful background, but cheater was one thing he didn’t want to add to that list. He rubbed a hand down his face.

“And if you’re worried about Tara, you can just stay away from the sex workers.”

Jax’s head swiveled to his left, a slow grin spreading on his face. The insightful bastard. “Yeah? So what kind d’you suggest I subscribe to?”

Chucky shrugged. “Influencers, bakers, whatever.”

In other words, things that Jax gave zero fucks about. Yeah, if this was ever unearthed, he could use those as excuses until he was blue in the face. Thing is, he wouldn’t fool even himself into believing it.

Jax almost groaned at the expectant look on Chucky’s face.

“How ‘bout you what’s your username?” He asked, stirring himself away from thoughts of his own grave. He could just give it three days then get outta there.

“Chucky,” Chucky answered.

Again, his eyebrows jumped. There was no telling if Chucky was kidding. Idiot only ever has one expression. “That’s you bein’ discreet?”

“Well, how many Chucky’s you know?”

“Fair enough. But ain’t no way I’m usin’ my own name.”

“Fair enough,” Chucky parroted, drawing an amused chuckle from the SAMCRO president. “How about Mr. Mayhem?”

Jax’s smile slid off his face. “You do know what Mr. Mayhem stands for right?”

Chucky winced. “Sorry, I thought it’d be cool. How about Reaper?”

“Basically, the same thing.”

“Right, how about – I got it!” Chucky’s fingers swept all over the keys, confident he’d thought of something Jax would like. To Chucky’s credit, as he showed the screen to a curious Jax, the blonde biker just gave a nod, impressed.

“Heh, I like it.”

It seemed fairly easy a while ago. Now left to his own devices, Jax was lost navigating this labyrinth of a site. Each damn button looked the same. And what was up with that long ass terms and conditions?

Do people really read that shit?

Jax was just about to give up when a video slid on the top of his screen. Sumthin’ like new videos? New suggestions? Both? Jax tried to recall what Chucky called them. But whatever, his attention was now drawn to the thumbprint.

It was a woman, wearing a sexy piece of lingerie. She was suspended, mid-air, hanging only by a pole, and Jax had absolutely no clue how she got there or how she managed to stay there. It looked like she was sitting, gripping the metal rod only by her thighs.

Strong thighs, he couldn’t help but notice. Her back was to the camera, with one hand idly on her hip, while the other was on the back of her blonde head, hair thrown over her left shoulder. Her head was angled slightly to the side, eyes peeking over her right shoulder, and with a smile for an invitation. She had a mask on, all lace and string. If somebody asked him right at that moment how she looked, he’d say – like a secret you want to unravel.

Unable to tear his eyes off, he clicked it. The video zoomed to the four corners of his screen and Jax’s heart hammered in anticipation. The video was dimly lit, but not of poor quality. The outline of her lithe body was still very visible. This time, as she waited for her cue, she was stood at the floor, then the chords of a familiar song, the inspiration behind her moniker were struck. Not the original, but still a tasteful choice.

She started to move and when her pace and the tempo picked up, it was like she wasn’t even dancing. It looked like she was flowing. And flying and floating – from one movement to the other, as smooth as a breeze, drifting from the floor and all over the pole in the sexiest pair of strappy heels he’s ever seen – that he wondered if there was someone behind holding her by the strings.

The way she moved – hypnotic. Magnetic. Alluring.

So when the prompt for a subscription came up, halting the current video, it was a no-brainer.

“The demarcation between different levels within the fashion market is becoming ever complicated and –”

Buzz.

Drawing a small line on the sentence, Amelia paused and welcomed the much-needed break from her reading. She adjusted her glasses and tapped her phone to life.

Meet your new fan…

Her eyebrows lifted along with the corners of her mouth.

MrPresident. Heh, that’s cute.

A/N: And I’ve been hit with another delay. But here’s chapter three with Amelia and Jax finally (unknowingly) meeting. 

I did as much research as I could for OnlyFans. But I’m not a creator nor a subscriber for the site. I tried to make it as authentic as possible, but if anyone reading this who has been on the site find anything inaccurate, I apologize and I hope it won’t be too much of a bother. 

To anyone who’s read and liked, thank you. Please leave a comment and/or reblog. 

If you want to be added to my taglist, let me know or click here.

Thank you to @lovebarefootblonde for beta-reading for me and for being an awesome friend! 😘 To anyone new to Tumblr and are looking for Jax Teller AUs, go check out her works! 

Taglist: @fullwattpadmusictree

[obiwon-shenobi]

The funniest (laugh else you go crazy haha) thing about Azulon and The Phoenix King of Getting His Butt Whooped™️ is that… they just thought the avatar was dead?

Yall assumed by massacring ALL the airbenders “fixed” your avatar problem? Did it not dawn on them when they weren’t reborn that perhaps, just maybe, the fire nation FAILED its mission?

“But what if the cycle was broken—” you heard useless ass Roku, gotta be in the avatar state to kill Raava. Or as Korra demonstrated—Raava pulled from you.

At no point did it mention killing an infant baby or young child human as ways to break the cycle.

Bigotry makes you forget the avatar is an ever occurring phenomenon. Cuz why did they assume “no airbenders? No avatar!”

Yes ofc they took northern water tribespeople, but not for the expressed purpose of avatar farming.

N the earth kingdom??!! lol. Took em this long to get in, and earth avatar would have BEEN fucking their shit up depending on where they were raised (BSS? No. Omashu? Likely!)

They knew they could go after the air nation, no army, no military strategists, Kelsang the only air bender recorded up till now with the chops to save the air nation. An air avatar? Bet, like screaming mountain lions—a false sense of security washes over the fire nation. 100 years?! Yeah! We MURKED that ever-lasting-

I bet the fire lord was not expecting a 12 year old boy to lay waste to his empire off pure shenanigans and vibes alone.

Bigotry makes you forget the avatar is an ever occurring phenomenon. Cuz why did they assume “no airbenders? No avatar!”

If I were Zuko, like truly, the way I’d defect—like you got me out here searching for a DEAD person? 100 years n you want ME TO FIND HIM?! You must have lost your goddamn mind.

I mean look at Iroh, he treated that shit like a vacation 😂

Gahhhhhhhleeeeeeeee, searching for a 100 year old corpse?

Yeah war over, killed my own genocidal father with my own two hands. No, not for glory, cuz he told me earn my honor back via mythological creature. The abuse is crazy but you’re sending me on a wild goose—I hope you n Azulon are kekeing it down in hell, whew bitch. The mf avatar.

This was way longer than intended, but my black ass gotta lot of feelings about Zuko being tasked with finding a 100 year old man with an unconfirmed living status. 😭 woulda been my last straw.

[askthechronoverse]

The first of three fanfics I have uploaded exclusively to AO3.

Time to go back to where it all began. Unikitty has finally started to settle in to being the princess of the planet Queen Wa'nabi gave her as a gift when a threat long thought to be lost resurfaces: Rex Dangervest. What does his reappearance mean for the universe at large?

Last Chapter •||• Next Chapter

Chapter One: When You Go Chasing Horned Cats

When night fell on the Unikingdom, it didn't actually hit that hard. The lights of the Princess's main city were too bright and too dominant to make nighttime have any weight. It was one of the things that made the people there feel safe, what drove people to move from the other Systarian planets and even the main hub of Syspocalypstar, despite the destruction occasionally wrought by the Princess and her friends and the close proximity to the oppressive feeling Frowntown. It was unusual for clouds to settle in and moreso for a large lightning storm to roll in, causing the population to bunker into their homes until the storm passes.

It was in this unusual weather that a dark clad figure fell from the sky. He was a shadow at first, barely seen in the clouds. Soon, the form gained color and definition until he hit the ground, his body cradled by the plants in the garden of the Princess's castle. His overgrown hair covered the harsh features of his unshaven face, a face that hid boyish charm under the pain of ages. The clothes he wore were fire damaged and torn from the storm that began the sluggish process of clearing to what the people of the Unikingdom were accustomed to. The rain washed soot and dirt from the strange man's surprisingly undamaged body.

It wasn't until around mid-day the next day before the sleeping man was found in the blueberry bushes and before the man stirred from his exhausted slumber. Dark eyes fluttered open to meet… a floating one by three brick. The man bellowed in surprise in time with the brick, who's yelling sounded less enthusiastic. The man tried to back further into the bushes, but seemed to be stopped by either the dense branches or an unseen injury. The grey brick was soon close to the weather worn face of the stranger, expression returning to a resting disinterest.

"You don't belong here." The brick spoke in a tone not unlike uncapped day old seltzer water. The words made the man's left eye twitch from old trauma. "This isn't a person bush." The brick looked the man up and down, eyes stopping at a faded green R that adorned the stranger's right chest. He seemed to move from that identifying mark quickly enough, however, as the sound of running feet filled the air. The man glanced around the brick at the sound and lifted a large eyebrow. A towering figure of a hawk/crocodile chimera with sunglasses quickly loomed behind the brick, glowering at the stranger. The brick simply moved aside, waiting for the creature to speak.

"Rick. Who is this guy?" The being folded his arms. Or were they supposed to be wings? Did it matter?

"I don't know, but he doesn't belong in the bushes. I still have to finish the chores out here before Unikitty ge-!" Before Rick could finish the thought, the stranger moaned.

"Great." His eyes narrowed as he spoke. "I think I woulda been better off in Gotham City." He raised a hand to his head only for the lifted arm to be grabbed by the creature's boxing glove like hand, lifting him out of the bush. "Easy on the arm, big guy. I need it later."

The creature pulled down his glasses and looked the stranger over. As it did with the brick, his eyes stopped at the lime green R. He stared at the emblem, trying to gain meaning from it as to the intentions of these stranger. The dark haired man opened his mouth to speak again, but the creature silenced him with a jerk of his arm. "You. You really don't belong here."

"You more of an authority than a floating piece of plastic?" The man did his best to smirk, to try and gain control over the situation. This failed when the creature threw him over his shoulder like he weighed nothing.

"I'm the bodyguard of Princess Unikitty… and I know who you are, bro. You are wanted on every planet in the known universe." The creature turned as the man on his shoulder squirmed to get out of his grasp. "I'm gonna avoid some real trouble. I just gotta figure out where I'm gonna put you." By this point, the floating brick had left to tend to something else.

"I'm wanted? How flatterin'." The creature's captive sounded completely deadpan. This caused the creature to jostle him. The creature began to walk around the garden, holding his prisoner firmly. "You treat all of your unexpected guests like this or am I just special?"

"You ain't a guest. You're outta here before you get any ideas." The hawklike being was stopped in his tracks before he got to far out of the castle's shadow by a voice calling out. One that both made the man on his shoulder's heart sink.

"Hawkodile! Where are you going?" A cat like creature with a light blue horn on the center of her head practically floated over to them. She didn't seem to grasp the situation at first. Typical.

"I'm just takin' out some trash." Hawkodile bumped the man he held with his shoulder. The unicorn cat looked at the man for what had to be a long time and, eventually, shook her head.

"Hey! He's a friend of mine! Remember that construction worker I told you about?" She spoke with so much certainty that it hurt the man's heart a little. She seemed to mistake him for someone else. "I thought he was back on Syspocalypstar, but he must have come to visit! He's so thoughtful!"

"Princess. This ain't that friend of yours. Didn't ya say he wore an orange vest?" He grabbed his captive and held him out for her to get a better look. "This ain't orange."

"Yeah! You're right! It's kinda the opposite of a safety vest. Like a… danger vest." She whispered the last two words to be more dramatic. She thought for a moment, then shrugged. "Maybe he's my friend's brother!" Hawkodile sighed softly. "Well, the brother of a friend is a friend of mine!" The man chuckled. That was a little too close for comfort.

"I still need to ask him some questions." It was clear Hawkodile was the sensible one. He wasn't out of the woods yet. "I'm taking him to my treehouse."

"Okay! Have fun! I'll have some cookies ready for you guys when you get back!" The Princess headed back into the castle. Hawkodile threw the stranger back on his shoulder and walked to what the man assumed to be the beast's treehouse.

When they got inside, Hawkodile threw the suspicious stranger down in a wooden chair. "Who are you?"

The man straightened out, looking around for a way out of this situation. He had to admit: this was the kind of pad he would have created for himself: it looked like a dojo, clearly built for training. "Nice place ya got."

"Hey thanks. Answer the question."

"Thought you said ya knew. Ya lookin' for a confirmation or didja wanna ask a different question and couldn't get it out?" The man kept his cool, folding his arms to mirror his captor.

"No. I'm asking you who you are. I heard ya died on Undar… or something." This made the stranger laugh. How faulty was this beast's intel? It wasn't bad, but…

"So confirmation. Yeah. I'm Rex Dangervest. No clue how I got here, but I gotta assume I'm in the Systar System. Only way any a this makes sense. Do I get a question now?" Rex's eyes kept searching for something to formulate an exit plan, but nothing that didn't involve his headache getting worse came to mind. Lots of weapons didn't mean he'd have the ability to overpower Hawkodile. The chimera shook his head.

"Right now, I'm asking the questions. Why are you here? What's your plan?" Hawkodile wasn't angry, or if he was he didn't show it. His tone was oddly calm.

"Look, my plan right now is to get outta here an' get back to my ship. This ain't exactly somethin' I planned out. I'm… not supposed to be here." He said this last part softly, his voice losing bravado.

"Then my plan's gonna be to keep you grounded. You on your ship's the last thing this kingdom needs right now. Or ever." Hawkodile looked from Rex to the weapons and equipment around the room. "Until I can figure out where to keep you, you aren't leaving my sight."

"I know Unikitty. You'll lose sight of me in less than a few seconds of leaving this room. Then what?" Rex smirked. He would get his chance to leave this planet in no time.

"You won't be hard to spot with your dark vest and you won't be able to escape the planet easily. Hang on…" Hawkodile searched Rex for a way to call his ship or crew and found nothing. "Yeah. Good. Rockets are hard to come by. You're trapped here, Dangervest."

"I'm a Master Builder. I can build a way out of there, you overgrown chicken."

"Okay, you ain't leaving my sight more now." Hawkodile grabbed Rex and threw him over his shoulder again. "You're staying right there. I gotta go find Princess Unikitty." For someone who was balancing a grown man on his large shoulders, Hawkodile was still agile in his movement as he headed for the castle. Rex didn't fight it. He suspected that any fight with the hybrid creature was going to result in him in a lot of pain.

It wasn't long before Hawkodile with his prisoner in tow found his way to the living room of the admittedly cozy castle. Unikitty sat on a well used couch, flanked by a blue dog with a similar horn to her and a fox in a lab coat. Above her was Rick, who was the first to notice their arrival.

"Hawkodile, I thought you said he didn't belong here. Why is he in the castle?" He continued to speak in the deadpan tone as he had earlier. Was this a character defining trait for this guy?

"I'd throw him in a dungeon if we had one. I don't trust the guy."

"Stop talking about my friend's brother like that!" Unikitty butted into the conversation. "We've got to be nice to him! He's a guest!"

"Princess, he looks dangerous. If Hawkodile doesn't trust him, we really shouldn't trust him either." Rick glanced over at Rex, who made eye contact with him almost immediately.

"He also ain't your friend's brother." Hawkodile adjusted Rex's position on his shoulder. "He's a wanted man. The guy behind the wedding crashing. I know you remember that." The cat's eyes widened in realization.

"Oh. Was that him? I mean I only kinda just heard a name. I never actually saw the guy, so…" Unikitty glanced up at Rex for a moment and tilted her head. "Are you gonna try to end the world again, Mr. Grumpy?" Her blue eyes bored into Rex's soul. He looked away, feeling guilty somehow. "You were, weren't you‽ Well, then I'm gonna fix that! You're gonna stay here in the Unikingdom and get rid of that angry energy!" Her eyes were sparkling as she spoke.

"Princess, if he's as dangerous as Hawkodile says, we really shouldn't have him stay in the Uniking-" Rick was swiftly interrupted by Unikitty, who was trying to pull Rex off of Hawkodile's shoulder.

"If I can change him, he won't be dangerous anymore! It'll be fine! Besides, Hawkodile'll keep an eye on him. Right, Hawkodile?" She gave up after a few tugs of Rex's arms. Her bodyguard replied by keeping a tight grip on his prisoner.

"Where is he going to stay? We don't have a place in the castle to keep him here." Rick said pointedly, but barely. The fox spoke up.

"He can stay in my lab. It's in the basement and I can keep him restrained. Hang on." She shuffled away for a moment and returned with a device Rex didn't realize left her hand and to his wrist until he saw blinking red and blue lights. "That's a tracker. If he leaves the castle, we should know where he went and bring him back." The fox sat back on the couch, pleased with her work. This got a nod from Hawkodile, who roughly threw the space cowboy down to the ground. "That's better, right? Kay, it's time for introductions! I'm Unikitty! You met Hawkodile and Richard. And that's my brother Puppycorn and Doctor Fox is over there!" She pointed to everyone she named with her whole paw. "What's your name?"

Rex watched his host point to the others and felt a sharp pain in his heart when she introduced herself. He knew who she was. She was one of the people who forgot him and made him who he became. The fact she didn't know that just… hit him harder than it probably should have. "It's Rex. Rex Dangervest." He said this weakly. He wasn't sure why it came out like that. He spent so long hardening his heart from these feelings. Did his last encounter with his past self make him go soft? "I thought you heard my name already."

"Well yeah! But now I have a face to put to the name!" Unikitty didn't seem to notice the weakness in her guest's voice. Or how similar it was to her orange clad friend. "Now that we know each other, we can be friends!"

No, Rex thought. They couldn't. He went through this before with her. With all of his past so-called friends. He may have realized his initial machinations were wrong, but the pain he felt was real and still present. He got to his feet and walked to the nearest window, staying silent. Hawkodile was quick to make sure the window was closed. Unikitty moved behind Rex, attune to his emotional shift.

"We can be friends, right?" She reached to put a paw on his hand, but he pulled his hand away. "It's OK! We don't have to be friends right away." The cat put her paw on his shoulder, which Rex brushed away. She didn't miss a beat as she turned to her friends. "What are we gonna do today?"

"We should probably add your friend to the chore list. Then, make sure he has someplace in Doctor Fox's lab to sleep. After that, we-" Richard was cut off again, this time by Puppycorn.

"I wanna go to the skatepark!" This seemed to catch Rex's interest a little. "I've been practicing a cool move and I wanna show you guys!"

"Oo! That sounds like fun! Let's go!" Unikitty was practically out the door with her brother before anyone could say anything else. Rex went to leave, but was grabbed by the collar by Hawkodile.

"You ain't going anywhere." He turned to Richard. "Get him set up in Doctor Fox's lab. I gotta make sure Puppycorn and Unikitty don't hurt themselves again." He rushed off, leaving Rex with the floating brick and the fox.

"Come with me." Richard lead the way to the basement lab, Rex following behind with Doctor Fox behind him. When they got to the lab, Rex scanned the large area. He had to admit, it felt closer to his ship, his home, than any other place in the castle. Doctor Fox rushed in front of Rex and began to help Richard set up a place for their leader's guest to stay. Rex glanced at what he hoped was a willing participant in some unfathomable experiment. When the strange, simple being made eye contact that screamed doubt that they were, he looked away with his face going pale. Who was this fox? He was snapped out of his thoughts by Richard, who called him over to his accommodations.

The cell screamed high tech, for no reason at all. Maybe it was once a part of some experiment, but not any more. It just had a basic bed. That was it. It was clear that the brick and/or the fox were skilled builders and may suspect he was one too with how bare bones it really was. Well, it was better than nothing, he guessed. "Gonna assume ya want me in there now."

"Yes. For the time being. If you need anything, Doctor Fox should be around to help." Richard floated away and the fox went to her work. Rex couldn't follow what she was doing, but took to watching her anyway. After a while, Doctor Fox spoke.

"Did you see that storm last night? I was doing an experiment and I think that had something to do with it." She sounded proud of herself. This earned a lifted eyebrow from Rex. A storm caused by an experiment? Did that have something to do with his return to this timeline? Why he wasn't in Undar?

"What kind of experiment?" He asked, trying to keep cool.

"It was some super impossible science involving time and space. But I didn't see anything come out of that experiment except that storm. I may come back to it later. Although… you did come here after the storm. I need to know: what's the last thing you remember before coming here?" She approached Rex's cell with a pen and a clipboard.

He thought for a moment. Should he be honest? He needed answers.The fox may have them. "The last thing I remember was… disappearing from the timeline. I'm not supposed to be here. I'm not supposed to exist anymore." This limited information was enough to make the fox grin with unbridled delight. "What's so funny, Fox?" His tone did not hide his indignance.

"It's not that I find the situation amusing. You are an example of that super impossible science I was referring to earlier! That's amazing! If what you described is true, that means you are a genuine time paradox! I need to study you! I need to learn how you're being kept to the timeline, if what I did last night not only caused the paradox but is keeping you here! I haven't been this excited since my last experiment!" The fox practically vibrated with her wild glee. "Tell me, how long was it since you disappeared? Relatively speaking, of course. Does it feel like it just happened or like it had been a long time?" She got ready to write Rex's response. Rex looked stunned. Doctor Fox saw him right now as nothing more than an experiment she can interact with. He wasn't sure if he should be disgusted or fearful of what this so-called friend of a so-called friend was capable of. But she could give him answers to his own questions. He knew he needed to play along for the sake of understanding his current paradoxical existence.

"It felt like it happened yesterday, honestly. I was gone an' in the desert planet of Undar. Next thing I know, your brick buddy was floatin' in my face." Rex leaned against the cell bars, arms hanging out of the spaces between the cold steel cylinders. "How long has it really been since I went all Back to the Future?"

The fox hummed and she shuffled to a large super computer. She typed for what felt like forever and nodded at the result. "It's been around twelve months since the Battle for Syspocalypstar, as it is known. I wonder if time was slower for you or if the time depravation cause you to lose your inter clock." Doctor Fox began to write some things down from her computer. "How old are you? Do you remember that?"

He almost laughed at that question. "Thirty-three, Doc. What does that matter?"

"It will help me determine the effect of time deprivation on your body in terms of aging. It's interesting you say you're thirty-three, despite my saying 12 months passed between your last known point in time and now. You would actually be thirty-four, if my calculations are correct. Your date of birth, including year, is listed in the Space Corps database." Doctor Fox scribbled something down, put the clipboard on a rather overloaded desk and pulled a stethoscope and some other medical equipment out of a leatherette bag. "I'm going to let you out for just one moment to give you a physical examination. I ask that you do not try to vacate the premises, or I will have my robots detain you." She pushed a button on the wall near the cell and a few tiny robots floated behind Doctor Fox. Rex rolled his eyes. Even the scientist had a way to keep him at bay. The robots wouldn't last long against a Master Breaker punch, but how many did she have? Right now, it wasn't a risk worth taking. He simply moved aside as she slid the door open. "Please sit down so I can begin the examination." She gestured to a chair by the desk.

Rex sat in the chair, keeping a close eye on Doctor Fox. He kept his mind on the items around the room, almost going into a trance as he assessed what he could build with the items around him. If he was given the opportunity to escape, there was enough tech here to build a Rex-wing and get out of Dodge. He was snapped out of his thoughts by a cold object on his back. "Watch it!" He growled in shock. This sudden noise made the little fox jump.

"Was that a Master Builder trance? I've heard from Unikitty that the ability to build using parts around you was a more spiritual experience on other planets. We are just able to build what we want around here." Doctor Fox shrugged, leaving Rex to sit in a crestfallen state. Maybe he would have preferred Gotham City now. What made him special wasn't here. Somehow, that hurt more than being the prisoner of a former friend. His silence didn't seem to phase Doctor Fox, who went back to her work. After a while, she began to put her things away. "I'll perform a more specific analysis on your anatomy at a later date." She picked her clipboard up from the desk and wrote, muttering as she did. Rex made out "barely co-operative" and "scarring on body indicating signs of prior physical trauma".

This all felt surreal to him. She spoke like this was all real. He put a hand on his face. He was alive. She was able to see scars on his body. This didn't make sense. He was rejected. His fate was sealed a while ago. He was not supposed to be here. The weight of his paradox was hitting him in full force. Maybe the clinical nature of the whole thing broke Rex's illusions of this being in his head somehow, of this being a nightmare to pass the time of non-existence. It didn't register that the doctor was addressing him and had been before his existential crisis.

"Are you listening? You will need to return to your containment unit. I've finished with the examination for today." Doctor Fox was calm and totally unaware of Rex's mental state, until she finally looked up from her notes. "Are you OK? You look flush. I didn't see any signs of illness on my examination, but I could have missed something." She walked closer to Rex, but the man recoiled at her approach.

"Leave me alone. I gotta think." The words barely escaped his throat. "I gotta… think." The fox used her subject's state to lead him to his bed. After she had him sit on the bed, she wrote some notes. She muttered again, the only words one could make out was "call it delayed temporal shock". She sat on the bed next to Rex and put a paw on his hand.

"In the state of shock you are in, I can't leave you alone. You may be compelled to remain in the castle, but you are helping me conduct some important research and I am a doctor." The fox summoned a robot and had the automation bring her a blue blanket. She wrapped it around Rex's body, the warmth almost instantly felt by the man. "Can you feel the blanket and your feet on the ground?"

"How… how am I alive? He rejected me. He said he would never be me. I can't be here. He can't become me. He has to stick to his guns. Did he… did he change his mind?" Rex continued to ramble along those lines, which only got patience and silence from Doctor Fox. When he too fell silent, she spoke.

"We're going to find a scientific explanation for your reappearance in this timeline. It may take a large period of time, but my theory that your current spontaneous existence and my time experiment are connected still has merit. I'm here for you, Rex. If I can call you that." Her tone was soothing, a grounding force for the troubled time traveler. It felt like a lifetime, but Rex soon took control of his senses. He turned his head to the direction the doctor was sitting and tried to find a further, dark intent written on her face. He couldn't and his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. She was there for him? No, that couldn't be. Not at all.

"I wouldn't say something like that." Rex shook his head slowly. "Never make a promise you can't keep." In the distance, Unikitty's shrill voice cut though the moment like a hot blade. "Looks like your friend is calling you, Doc. Don't forget to lock the door when you leave. Wouldn't want your prisoner to walk out." There was something in his tone that was pained, hidden behind a casual coldness. The fox’s ear twitched, the tone of her current companion troubling. It was clear he was pushing her away, something she could have only expected from someone like Master Frown. What did Unikitty see in this man?

“Alright. I shall take my leave. I’ll return as soon as I can.” She got up and left the man to rest. Given the kind of day he was having, maybe a nap was the best cure she could provide.

[spookyspaghettisundae]

Kicking the Doors Wide Open

No two corridors looked alike. Turning a corner, a claustrophobic old hotel’s hallway connected seamlessly to the wider space of what resembled an unfamiliar school’s hall between classrooms, with doors to every side. Passing through a closet door at the end, that corridor connected to a hall with tall windows on one side, allowing sight into a cavernous area containing a large swimming pool.

All devoid of people. All these places. Empty. Liminal.

All connecting to other corridors, with more doors, leading…

Elsewhere.

Some part of Jericho yearned to rip open the next-best door and flee. Escape. But he resisted that temptation.

He knew better. Knew what havoc any careless movement through this extradimensional space could wreak. This was not his first visit to an Otherworld.

He never prayed because he believed in nothing but a chaotic Earth, a dying rock, hurtling through an uncaring cosmos, scarred by the hands and minds of dirty, greedy men—yet he prayed.

He prayed to nobody and nothing in particular, praying that this would be his final visit to an Otherworld.

Four people’s footfalls echoed through these vacuous and eerily empty spaces. Ahead of them, Tommy Wu led the way, with his heavy pistol lowered to his side—a quiet, yet significant threat of violence exuding from the sleek silvery body of that weapon.

Behind Jericho and Karma, Jolena Ford followed, toting a shotgun loaded with explosive shells—a major threat, whose menacing barrel projected an invisible fire, burning a metaphysical hole into Jericho’s back, where she kept it trained.

He had forgotten their names since their first encounter, but not what these two people were.

Agents of the House of Change.

He would take conventional, non-occult Feds over these “agents” any day.

Karma had reintroduced all four people to one another by name as they walked through a dozen such interconnecting corridors, crossing through this seemingly infinite expanse.

The only conversation they had held since entering the door into this Otherworld.

Her politeness in that brief conversation still unsettled him, thinking back to it. She had never been so soft-spoken before. And she projected a conspiratorial air—one that included Jericho, rather than pushing him away.

For the first time ever in serving together under the Way King, it felt like she was finally working with Jericho, instead of bossing him around—or working actively against him.

Gotta be up to something, he thought to himself, shaking his head.

The psychopathic brunette beauty trailed a few steps ahead of him as they walked. The impossible architecture of this Otherworld evidently absorbed all her attention.

He knew it by name—the Infinite Corridor—even though the House of Change had robbed him of every memory of whatever he had seen inside its deepest, darkest bowels.

Before vomiting him back out into the world, left forever changed.

Warped.

They had stolen his life. His memories. His identity.

Even whatever magick he originally practiced.

“First time?” he asked Karma, attempting to break his spiraling train of grim thoughts. “I woulda thought you know this place better, what, with what you can do.”

“No, yeah. It’s disgraceful to think that I’m popping my Otherworld cherry with you, of all people. Disgusting, even,” she muttered.

Jolena asked from behind Jericho, “Do all of the Way King’s loyal subjects toy with forces they cannot comprehend, or are you two… special?”

“Big talk,” Karma said with forceful volume, “for people who had their brainpans turned inside out just to get a set of crummy keys to some shitty backrooms. Me, I can just go wherever I want, unfettered—”

“Not here, Miss,” Tommy interrupted, “Karma? Do you have a last name? Is that even your real name?”

“Coma,” Jericho said.

Tommy cast a glance over his shoulder, eyebrows cocked with disbelief. “What, for real?”

Jericho snickered.

“No, stupid,” Karma said. “It’s a title the Way King gave me and it’s all you’ll ever need to know. Are you stupid?”

“Enough,” growled Jolena. “We really don’t want bad blood between us.”

Jericho scoffed.

“You are serious about just… wanting to talk? Please. When the House calls, it’s ‘cause one of you jerks is worried about some precious balance bullshit.”

Tommy shook his head while he opened a door.

“What? Am I wrong? Tell me I’m wrong,” Jericho said.

They didn’t answer.

The door connected a hotel hallway to a long prison corridor—hundreds upon hundreds of jail cells, all rowed up. All empty. Clean, as if the prison had just been built.

Abandoned immediately after.

Thousands upon thousands of prison bars. All exuding a desperate sense of isolation.

It sent shivers down Jericho’s spine. He knew he had spent time before his “visit” to the House’s basement. That taste of rust, the feeling of metal cuffs around his wrists, the clatter of chains—flashes from a lost life, one he needn’t revisit, deep-rooted fears they had left inside his mind, buried deep down underneath layers of drinking and depression ever since escaping from this otherworldly space.

Jolena poked Jericho in the back with the muzzle of her shotgun, and he shambled back into motion, following Karma and Tommy into the lifeless prison tract.

“Yeah, you just keep cracking wise about us,” Jolena said. “In the end, this is a joint venture, and you’ll come to see we’re playing on the same team.”

“Our boss,” Tommy said, not turning around to speak, “is not actually one of us, you know?”

Karma asked, “Oh? So he’s got more than your two combined brain cells?” Turning to Jericho, every word dripping with sarcasm, she hissed, “The thought of talkin’ to someone smart is getting me real wet.”

Jolena groaned. “Hey, can I shoot her? We only really need Kane, right?”

Jericho’s gut lurched.

For the first time in his life… he felt like standing up for Karma.

He stopped. Swiveled. The shotgun’s muzzle bumped into his gut. In an unprecedented act of courage and defiance, he stared daggers at Jolena.

“I wasn’t joking earlier. I’m so fuckin’ tired of talking to all you mystic psychos. Please, if you’re gonna pull the trigger, be a good jack-off and catch me in the blast, why won’t cha?”

Jolena squinted at Jericho.

To his surprise, she lowered the gun.

“If you wanted to start raising hell, you would have,” she told him. “But you know better, don’t you? You know you’ll be stuck in this place without us.”

The echoes died. They had all ceased walking.

Tommy shifted his weight and his fingers splayed around the grip of his handgun, while Karma studied both Jericho’s and Jolena’s miens with bated breath.

Jericho and Jolena stared each other down.

Then he folded like a house of cards.

In reality, he was afraid of getting shot. Days ago, he would have been chomping at the bits to die, but he found more and more that he wanted to live.

To get out of this mess, get back to Aria, and maybe sip some margaritas at a beach.

Thus, he averted his gaze and stifled a groan before turning.

“Yeah, I thought so,” Jolena said. “Come on, time’s wasting. You know what this is about, right?”

“Matter o’ fact, we don’t,” Karma said.

Jericho said, “I’m not only tired of talking, I’m absolutely exhausted with this secret society cabal bullshit. Could you please be candid for a change?”

Jolena clicked her tongue. “This is about our common enemy.”

Jericho shrugged.

“Michael Sharpe,” Jolena said.

Jericho threw up his hands. “Way to bury the fuckin’ lead! Why didn’t you just say so?”

“Yeah, fuck that guy,” Karma said. “You really could have led with that, you know—kind of like inviting us to dinner instead of having us think you’re trying to walk us down death row.”

“Right?” Jericho sighed.

“Emphasis on trying,” Karma added.

“Okay, how about we go before we start sucking each other’s dicks?” Tommy asked.

He gestured down the long row of prison cells. A dead camera observed the length of the hall, and a heavy metal door awaited on the wall beneath it.

A red light flashed and the lock buzzed when Tommy opened that door with what looked like one out of a hundred different keys, all attached to an interlocking set of rings.

Jericho swallowed a comment.

Then his blood froze. His body followed along with the group, marching endlessly towards the end of this road.

The prison corridor had made way to a waiting room.

A therapist’s waiting room.

Potted plants, leather chairs, a nice carpet, all expensive and matching each other in decor. The architecture and aged touch of decadence reminded Jericho of everything he hated about the East Coast. It reeked of Old World. Old blood.

Old money.

But it wasn’t that sense that froze his blood. It was because he recognized it.

This particular waiting room.

Flashes of his first unscrambled memories after leaving the House of Change. Escaping those abominable creatures that haunted the other corridors of this Otherworld, and always ending back up in the room beyond that waiting room.

His room.

Jericho could almost picture it—its unnerving elegance and sophistication—

His knees turned to jelly as the waiting room door opened.

A familiar face greeted him.

That familiar face featured angular cheekbones and a clenched jaw that could cut glass, all underlining a cold and stern gaze. Jericho discovered the same familiarity in how this man’s attire—sharply dressed in a dark blue suit, tailored exquisitely to show off the middle-aged man’s broad shoulders and athletic physique.

The unsettlingly familiar man cracked a thin-lipped smile. None of it reached his eyes.

Doctor Wolff. As he lived and breathed.

“Ah, it’s been a while, Mister Kane. And Karma, a pleasure to meet you for the first time. Welcome. I am Simon Wolff, doctor of psychology. Please step into my practice so we may speak.”

Simon Wolff led by example and stepped back inside his office. With a sweeping gesture, he  beckoned them to enter with the theatrics of a lead actor.

The four people filed through the door, and Simon closed it behind Jolena.

Just like Jericho remembered it. All of it.

The motions, the acts of politeness, the room itself.

Wolff found his way to stand behind the desk, where he twisted a pen before putting it back down beside his notes.

The therapist clearly appreciated beauty, the same way anybody with too much money would plaster their home with pointless pomp.

Jericho hated this place on a visceral level, and not just for its interior design.

Ceilings with ornate crown molding loomed high above them. Large Gothic windows posed a barrier to an unfathomable darkness outside, and modern gray wallpaper added a strange texture and warmth to what otherwise felt to Jericho like an oppressive room.

A well-disguised prison cell.

For a split-second, he wondered if it was Wolff’s own prison.

Various overpriced paintings adorned the walls, and busts of crusty old Greek philosophers sat on marble pedestals, breaking up the library shelves that lined the rest of the room’s towering walls.

Everything looked as if an anal-retentive museum curator had carefully arranged it. The orderliness unsettled Jericho almost as much as the thought of monstrous claws scraping over concrete floors in the Infinite Corridor. The haunting memories of shadow-people chasing him through its endless twists and turns.

Karma rounded a sofa and low coffee table, then took a seat on one of two comfortable-looking leather armchairs.

The focal point of the room was the doctor’s desk, positioned in the center, crafted from dark wood with a polished, shiny finish.

Minimalist in its design, the desk featured no personal items, only a silver inkwell for show, a small desk lamp with the same brass finish as the light fixtures in the waiting room, and a small vase of flowers.

Jericho caught himself wondering if Wolff had to bring in a cleaner to keep this place looking like it did, or if it was the reality-warped nature of the Otherworld that suspended its state in time.

Jolena stayed by the door to the waiting room, casually holding the shotgun in one hand now, lowered by her side as their two new guests displayed no threats of physical violence.

While Simon Wolff gathered up his notes and cleanly rapped their edges against the table to straighten out the stack, Tommy approached him and whispered something up close. Wolff made the neat pile of notes disappear into a desk drawer, then nodded in response.

With arms wide open, Doctor Wolff said, “I’m pleased you could make it here without incident. The power of peace is a wondrous force in our world, is it not?”

Jericho plopped down in the chair opposite Karma. The two of them exchanged a bemused glance before giving Wolff their undivided attention.

“Can I get a coffee, or, uh, a beer?” Jericho asked.

Uncomfortable levels of heat were building up fast underneath his collar. He unzipped the top of his jacket.

Wolff smiled again, in that same cold and listless way as he usually did.

“I see you haven’t shed an ounce of that sharp wit of yours, Mister Kane.”

“Doctor Wolff. I see you’re still a, uh, therapist?” Jericho asked. His voice trembled.

He dreaded returning to the House of Change, and here he was again, on the horrid Otherworld’s threshold. He dreaded Simon Wolff even more. The gatekeeper to hell. The ferryman over the River Styx. Whatever he was, he represented pain and despair.

A painful reminder of the Evergreen incident.

A link to his past that he had desired to burn down entirely, still haunting him. The eyes of the dead staring through Wolff’s wise eyes as he stared into Jericho’s soul whenever they made eye contact.

A living ghost.

The smile finally reached Wolff’s eyes, as if he sensed that creeping sense of dread in Jericho. As if he drank it all in with pleasure.

Like a demon.

Karma said, “You two lovebirds can catch up later. What, really, is the occasion here? What do you want to talk about?”

The smile faded from Wolff’s face. He took a seat behind his desk. The two agents remained standing. Tommy holstered his handgun behind his back.

Wolff licked his lips. Spoke in an almost hypnotic monotone. “We’re all being played, are we not? Michael Sharpe, also known as the Oracle of New York, has been playing us all against each other. Do you know why?”

“Yeah,” Karma said. Jericho completed the sentence by adding, “Some stupid fucking book.”

Simon nodded. Steepled his fingers.

“Good, then we need not beat around the bush. The more we investigate, the more we learn that Michael Sharpe has been feeding everybody exactly what they want to hear, orchestrating certain… constellations of people. Letting us clash so he is the only one left over once the dust has settled, with the book in his possession.”

“Yeah, we know,” Jericho said, mustering all his energy to project his honest frustration.

“Even if some of us are slow on the uptake,” Karma said. Sensing Jericho’s glare, she added, “Not naming any names.”

Wolff said, “To our knowledge, Sharpe has given six distinct parties information to either get himself closer to this tome, or to eliminate people who may be interested in it.”

“Six?” Karma asked. “Who the fuck else?”

“A waste of time to bother ourselves with such trifling matters,” Simon said. “Only half remain—that half being your king’s court, and a witch coven from the West Coast.”

“Now, math is not my strong suit,” Karma said, “but half of six is not two.”

Jericho said, “Yeah, or to quote Shakespeare—you’re also tryin’ to feed us horseshit.”

Simon Wolff shook his head.

“I assure you, I am not.”

Karma smirked and shook her head.

Jericho said, “You’re one of the parties who wants it.”

“I assure you, I don’t want the book,” Simon said. Then pointed to Tommy and Jolena each, “Neither does the House. We want to contain it. Or see it destroyed. Whichever way guarantees that it doesn’t fall into the wrong hands.”

“The right hands being yours,” Karma mumbled, rolling her eyes.

Simon replied with the sharpness and precision of a medical doctor wielding a scalpel. “You have my word. I do not want that tome anywhere near me.”

Jericho wanted to get the hell out of there as quickly as possible. He harbored zero interest in sifting through the truth until he found the kernel of deception that Wolff and the House must have been poking at them.

He threw up his arms in surrender and groaned.

“Fine, cool, whatever. So, this is what you got us out here to talk about? Couldn’t you have sent a carrier pigeon or a message in a bottle or something? How do you guys usually communicate with the outside world?”

“Come on,” Tommy said, “you’ve been in the game long enough, Kane. When you want to set up a meet-and-greet between mob bosses, do you arrange that with a text message, or do you use the proper channels? You know, so everybody knows they’re meeting on neutral grounds to work things out?”

“F—”

Jericho had teetered on the brink between an expletive and telling him “fair enough”.

Karma interrupted. Staring intently at Jericho, she said, “You go tell Klemens, just like we had agreed to, just before they showed up to bother us. Warn him about Michael, like you wanted to. I’ll stay here, learn more… show some good will towards our—what did you call it before, Ford? Joint venture?”

Jolena nodded. Tommy nodded.

Karma nodded.

Jericho’s stomach knotted.

What is she up to?

His stomach knotted even tighter when he felt the most alien sentiment towards her—

Concern.

He couldn’t believe he felt concerned about her. Everything about this smelled like a trap to him.

It stank to the high heavens. Even assuming Wolff and the House opposed Michael, they were far from allies of the Way King. If anything, they were diametrically opposed.

The House of Change messed with anybody who they thought was stepping out of line.

The Way King had drawn his own line. A network of lines. THE HIGHWAY.

Not a line they liked.

Jericho’s silent stare must have laid his feelings bare. Karma tilted her head and returned a confused expression, responding to his nonverbal torrent of sentiments with, “I’m a big girl, Jerry Can. Now, do me a solid, be a big boy, get a move on, and get word to our boss. Hm?”

Simon Wolff slapped a fist into his palm and cracked another dishonest smile.

“Excellent. I’m sure we’ll find many things to discuss. I sense there are a lot of unresolved issues you may want to get off your chest while you’re here, Miss Bradshaw,” the doctor said.

She squinted at him. The mention of her last name struck Jericho like lightning—the first time he had ever heard it. And part of him knew he wouldn’t live long if he repeated it out loud.

The knot in his stomach refused to loosen as he rose and approached the waiting room door.

Jolena course-corrected him, guiding him to the next door, “We exit this way.”

Karma got up and approached the desk, extending a hand to shake with Wolff.

“I’m sure we’ll have plenty to talk about, Doctor Wolff,” she said.

Jericho froze mid-motion—the mockery in Karma’s tone had risen to a vicious crescendo— the same kind she sported whenever she threatened to kill him.

The same tone she took on when she felt complete and utter disregard for someone’s life.

Then it all happened so fast. The knot in Jericho’s stomach was undone by a blow to his belly, delivered from the blunt end of Jolena’s shotgun, knocking the wind out of his lungs and sending him gasping for air like a fish on land, sprawled out on the floor.

From there, Jericho witnessed with delay how Karma had snatched Wolff’s pen off the desk, using it to stab Tommy Wu—over and over and over again, turning his skin and suit into a patchwork mess of blood and gore, with such speed that Jericho couldn’t have counted the swift stabs.

Wu only gasped and emitted guttural noises, coughing up blood, as several stabs with the pen had poked through his throat and face, puncturing chest and lungs, and sending the man down, helplessly flopping around on the ground like another fish stranded on land.

Before Jericho could even register what had happened, Karma had seized the powerful-looking Simon Wolff, gripping him like a living shield in front of her, holding Tommy’s pistol to her new hostage’s skin, and staring at Jolena with murder in her eyes.

Jolena, in turn, aimed the shotgun across the room at Karma.

Simon’s eyes were wide next to the cold steel of the muzzle against his skull, teeth clenched from Karma digging her nails into his flesh where she gripped him in her chokehold, while Tommy gurgled on the floor, quickly bleeding out, and Jericho crawled to the opposite side of the room, hoping to get out of the way of a potential shootout between the two women.

“W-what the fuck?” he stammered out.

“No dice,” Karma hissed through gritted teeth, forming a wicked grin. “You fuck-heads want the book for yourselves, or you’re working with Michael, and either way, I’m not letting you get anywhere even remotely close to my King.”

“You are making a huge mistake,” Jolena said, voice cracking with tension and a mounting fury, keeping her gun trained on Karma. “And you are really bad at math.”

Jericho backed farther until he bumped into a bookshelf.

Karma sneered at her. “I don’t know about that, bitch. As far as I can count, the odds just changed. We just went from three versus one to two versus one, and I’m starting to like these odds a lot better.”

When it clicked for Jericho, he exclaimed, “Hey! Also, hey, can we cool our jets real—c-can we just hash this one out? Please?”

Everybody ignored him. In some way, he didn’t mind. Adrenaline took overhand, survival instincts kicked in, and Jericho started to appreciate he was like a fly on the wall while the rest of the world was about to engage in nuclear war.

“What I mean,” Jolena punctuated her words with growls, “is that you miscalculated. We call Simon here our 'boss’, but he is not of the House. He is an ally. And if you understood who—what—he is, you’d know better that I am willing to pull the trig—”

“Please,” Simon said with an eerie calm. Perhaps he harbored some sense of superiority, despite the gun’s muzzle pressed against his temple, wielded by a sadistic serial killer. “You need to reconsider. The book is dangerous. This, I and the House all agree on.”

Karma asked, “Why is it dangerous, Doctor Lecter? And make your explanation snappy, or I’ll bookend this life of yours by repainting the walls with your gray matter.”

With trembling hands, Wolff raised a hand in surrender, more to motion Jolena to stand down as he spoke.

“We must—at all costs—stop Michael Sharpe and FBI Agent Parker from obtaining this book. We… discovered traces of a… gateway that it opened in Kentucky in 1992, and there is something deeply unnatural—something alien from out of this world—that is threatening to enter it. Those fools are on the verge of kicking the doors wide open. You must understand—we must—”

“We must shut the fuck up,” Karma said, shooting another wicked grin at Jolena. “I’ve heard more than enough bullshit for one day.”

“Put the gun down and we can talk this out,” Jolena said, with so much rage quaking in her voice that it became hard to believe.

Jericho’s insides knotted up again, contrasting the pain of the blow to his stomach—some part of him thought back to those claws scratching up concrete, slicing through metal like the hot knife through butter.

Every horror he knew from Earth and Otherworlds had been manmade somehow. Whether they crawled from the darkest recesses of human minds, nightmares made real, or shaped from worldly matter by the forces of human will made manifest.

The thought of something from beyond their world? Something else entirely?

It terrified him. The thought also fascinated him. The thought of it fascinating him nauseated him even more.

His head was spinning. He needed to know more. He hated to know more.

Sitting upright, he raised his hands in defeat and pressed his back against the bookshelves.

Jericho called out, “Yeah, let’s just take a deep breath an—”

Thunderclaps tore through Wolff’s practice. The late Tommy Wu, who had long stopped twitching on the floor, had not been exaggerating.

The shotgun’s blast had ripped away the upper half of Wolff’s torso and sprayed the whole desk and floor around him with blood and tiny giblets. The rest of the psychiatrist’s body flopped lifelessly to the ground, with no head that could have ever uttered a response again. One of his arms landed on the floor near Jericho.

Paralyzed with shock, he took stock of the outcome with extreme delay, all flushing his mind in reverse order.

Shredded paper and book cover chunks dusted Jericho where stray handgun bullets had missed him, hitting nearby shelves instead.

Karma must have ducked for cover before she shoved Simon into his desk, exposing him to the shotgun blast that ended his life. She had fired blindly from behind the desk, and the handgun’s high caliber exploded through the polished wood, punching holes that she was staring through now, aiming down the weapon’s sights where she lay on the ground, right between the two dead men’s bodies.

She had returned fire through the desk, which first clipped Jolena’s foot, then her legs, and then her head as the woman was collapsing. Karma’s burst of fire had blown away half of Jolena’s forehead and skull, splattering the Greek philosophers’ busts with brain matter.

The shotgun had clattered onto the floor near Jericho.

He scrambled to get away from the weapon—hoping to signal to Karma that she was in charge.

The serial killer got up onto her feet, completely uninjured, and with the stolen smoking gun still clutched in her fist.

“Was that as good for you as it was for me?” she asked with a satisfied sigh.

Jericho’s words failed him. The shock kept washing back over him in waves. He could only think and speak in stammering cascades. “W-what th—what the f—what the actual fuck? Karma! What the fuck?”

Without looking up to meet his terrified gaze, she prodded the dead body of Tommy Wu with the tip of her white sneaker—now painted crimson—then asked, “What? Don’t tell me you like these assholes.”

“Fucking what the fuck! What the—what the hell were you thinking? They were offering an olive branch!”

She waved the gun around with complete disregard to any safety.

“Fuck that. That was a load of bullshit if I ever heard it. Whether this Doctor Wolff shmuck was just after the book like Michael, or he wanted to tell us this shitty little dime novel story about Cthulhu, it was all bullshit. Even Director Collins was talking about little gray men because—well, because someone planted that idea in our heads.”

Jericho gasped for air and got back up onto his feet. His knees were even more rubbery than before, but now for different reasons. He braced himself against the bookshelf, and one of the shelves cracked and collapsed under pressure, damaged beyond repair by the stray gunfire. Books spilled from it like guts from an eviscerated body.

Absently, he poked a finger into a big hole where one of the .50 AE bullets had bored its way into the wall.

Blazing away to kill Jolena, Karma had missed his head by a few feet.

Only a few feet.

Karma continued, “And that someone is Michael, dipshit. He wasn’t wrong about Michael pitting us against each other, but we figured that out on our own before these ass-clowns showed up to lord it over us. There was no way—no way—I was going to let them get close to Klemens. Every throne has its usurpers. I’d rather die than let them threaten Klem.”

Jericho pawed at his face, wiping away dust and splinters, still shellshocked from the sudden explosion of violence.

Three dead bodies. The therapist’s office trashed.

“Well, good job, asshole,” he muttered. Then he sighed. “Did you spend any time wondering how the fuck we’re supposed to get out of here now?”

“What do you mean? I have an impeccable sense of direction, dumb-dumb. I counted every door, every turn, and every corridor we wandered through on the way in. I know the way back.”

Jericho groaned.

His mien froze somewhere between a furious grimace and a pained grin. He gestured to the door.

Seizing the doorknob to the waiting room with a trembling hand, he somehow knew what to expect.

Not what he would glimpse beyond the door, but knowing well that it would lead somewhere else entirely now.

“That's… not how this shit works,” he said, almost singing out the sentence in frustration. “That’s just not how this fucking place works. You see, first off, I bet you a thousand bucks that your teleportation shit doesn’t work in here. Plus, now, behind door number two, there is—”

He ripped the door open.

It no longer led to the practice’s waiting room.

Instead, it led to a yawning warehouse hall, dingy, poorly lit, and filled with dusty crates. Several shadowy heads turned to gaze back at him.

Tiny white dots glowed where eyes should be.

They glowed with malevolence.

“Ta-da,” Jericho eked out, the syllables strangled out of his throat by mounting dread.

Worse than he expected.

“Well, shit,” Karma said, peering over his shoulder.

The shadow-people charged at the door. Shrieking. Howling. Feral.

Jericho slammed the door shut long before the shadows reached it.

Karma pushed over a bookcase and it crunched against the door, tearing up wallpaper were it skidded along the wall, seconds before angry thumps and pounding resounded through the barricaded door.

They both swiveled and looked for another way out.

The Gothic window, leading into pitch-black darkness outside. Wherever outside even was.

And another door.

Karma and Jericho exchanged a panicked glance.

They ran for that next door.

They’d be running for a long time.

Lost in the House of Change.

[belikethemoon]

A Few Words For The Firing Squad

I woke up early once again, that's four days straight

I didn't wake you, baby, I just watched you lay

In the radiation of the city sun

I am in love with you, it is my only grace (Woo)

You know how everything can seem a little out of place?

All of my life, that seemed to be the only normal state

So feelin' normal never really meant me feelin' sane

And bein' clear about the truth and bein' sane have never really been the same

I used to wanna get the chance to show the world I'm smart (Ha)

Isn't that dumb? I should've focused mostly on the heart

'Cause I seen smarter people trample life like it's an art

So bein' smart ain't what it used to be, that's fuckin' dark

You ever notice that the worst of us have all the chips?

It really kinda takes the sheen off people gettin' rich

Like maybe rich is not the holy, ever-lovin'

King of nothin' fuckers, know we know you're bluffin'

You are dealing with the motherfuckin' money-money runners

It'd be a lie if I told you that I ever disdained the fortune and fame

But the presence of the pleasure never abstained me from any of the pain

When my mother transitioned to another plane, I was sitting on a plane

Tellin' her to hold on, and she tried hard, but she just couldn't hang

Been two years, truth is I'll probably never be the same

Dead serious, it's a chore not to let myself go insane

It's crippling, make you wanna lean on a cup of promethazine

But my queen say she need a king, not another junkie, flunky rapper fiend

Friends tell her, "He could be another Malcolm, he could be another Martin"

She told her partner, "I need a husband more than the world need another martyr"

Made in Atlanta, Georgia, where I use to ride the MARTA

With a empty .22 in the front pocket of my Braves Starter

Tryin' to make it out the mud as a baby father is much harder

The same children that you love and adore, the court'll use to break and rob ya

Circumstance woulda broke a weaker man, but I put it on my mama

I'm a man of honor and the hardship made me a better money runner

This is for the never heard, never even got a motherfuckin' word

This is for my sister, Sarah, honey, I'm so sorry you were hurt (Ayy)

This is for the dawn, mama took a knock, had to change the locks

Dusted up and brushed off and I watched, talk about a boss

For the holders of a shred of heart even when you wanna fall apart

When you're surrounded by the fog, treadin' water in the ice cold dark

When they got you feelin' like a fox runnin' from another pack of dogs

Put the pistol and the fist up in the air, we are there, swear to God

Black child in America, the fact that I made it's magic

Black and beautiful, the world broke my mama heart, and she died an addict

God blessed me to redeem her in my thoughts, words, and my actions

Satisfaction for the devil, goddammit, he'll never, ever have it

This is for the do-gooders that the no-gooders used and then abused

For the truth tellers tied to the whippin' post, left beaten, battered, bruised

For the ones whose body hung from a tree like a piece of strange fruit

Go hard, last words to the firing squad was, "Fuck you too"

Run The Jewels, A Few Words For The Firing Squad

[miraruinada]

A woman steps into Granja's private study. Her steps are quiet, imperceptible. She moves like a ghost that haunted the world, the one she left behind, the one where her created magical machines advanced technology to a post-industrial level at a faster pace than it would had it been through normal scientific means, yet also wrought the empire's dominance to its height and squashed most hope to counter it. The ghost of the era she had created, more materially impactful than the woman sitting with his back to her reading through the daily.

"I told you I hate others coming into my study without my permission," Granja says. He puts the paper down and picks up a cigarette from the ash tray which, in the process of being absorbed by his reading, Granja had neglected and left to die out.

"How did you know I was here?" she asks, forgoing any attempt at stealth and simply threw herself on the couch beside Granja, grabbing an empty glass and pouring herself some whiskey, laying on her side as she watched Granja's hand twirl the cigarette in his fingertips.

"You opened and closed the door. That makes noise." Granja answers, then starts digging through his pockets for a lighter.

"So much for staying hidden. I woulda failed in assassinating you right now," she says with a breezy laugh escaping her lips. Despite being near the same age as Granja, her face and mannerisms exuded vibrancy and youth.

"Why did you do it?" is the only question Granja has. "I heard from Cholu exactly what happened in that town. Conjuring my youth and releasing him in that period. To what end?"

"I wanted to see your brilliance again. The Jorjais that wrote with passion bordering on madness. The Granja with a fire in his pen, almost killing himself again and again over the future of idealism." The woman swirls the drink in her cup, the natural genius who'd uncovered the secrets of magic and then rested on her laurels had a fondness bordering on obsessive admiration over the clever woman who was no natural genius, who poured his heart and soul into his craft until it drove him to the highest stages of subjective destitution.

"Chalchiuhnene," Granja uses her true name, not her title Xochitl Cuicatl, Flower Song, as he lights his cigarette, "The past stays past for a reason. I was an idiot who let my passion drive me to insanity. Still, I have not lost my flame. I was grieving for so long over what I should do, but returning to the capital I found purpose. 'Anything at all could happen to them.' That's when I discovered I love my students. I've already confessed this. You didn't have to do any of that."

"I still miss it. When you'd burn yourself like a falling star. You were so different from the sages and the mystics, happy to pretend that their knowledge hadn't penetrated the unknown because it was impossible, affixed and twinkling without worth like that pox upon the sky. I wrote a raving review of your first book, you know. It almost cost me my title as tlamatini. I said you were to bring the mind into the modern age as I had in bringing the body." She had paired them irreversibly in her mind, the two pioneers of the modern world. Within good reason - she is the most revered and studied of many fields in the sciences.

"Then why didn't you come back to me when I returned?" he asks. The question lingers in the air. He already knew the answer. By that point in time, he'd been marked a madwoman, his philosophy considered a danger to the empire. She'd have lost everything. He knew, the circumstance made it impossible, but an ache remained. He did not wait for an answer she would not give, simply continuing, "I had done what I needed. We are not the last as I had thought in my youth. Our legacies will carry on. They will finish the work left by us. That's the unfolding of history."

"Really, I just wanted to feel your hands around my neck again," she confesses. She drinks the entire glass of whiskey in one go and thinks. "Your students are impressive. Grasping the situation at hand with so little to grasp. They're not stupid."

"Of course not, they're my students," he answers. Then taps out the cigarette in the ash tray. "Lock the door, Nene. I'll indulge your desire."

[delta-pavonis]

Eh, it is about a year later, so let's do this. The ornithologist in me can't resist. Happy Belated Tumblr Mammal Pitch Birthday @elodieunderglass. _____________________________________________________ As you watch the climate reach fever pitch and tops of mountains melt, the raven approaches you with a glint in its brown bottle-glass eye. For a moment you wonder who else remembers brown glass bottles. "It was the endothermy that did it, wasn't it?" The black feathers ruffle to let the heat off its skin. You laugh. "Amongst other things." You go quiet as a distant rumble indicates another avalanche of melting snow and ice above 8500 meters. "I would have put money on the four-chambered heart myself, but hey." You shrug. "Nice work with the hard-shelled egg by the way. I can appreciate the bioengineering there." No where near as reliable as internal gestation, but some credit was due. And you know that the avian phylogenetic tree is starting to look more unstable than it did when the last theropods gave way to birds.

They got a few things quite right, at least for their time. Scales became feathers, hollow bones and air sacs allowed for easy long-distance flight. Of course, the heart and the egg and the endothermy.

The syrinx was just showing off, to be quite honest, some of them harmonizing with themselves, a little one-organism choir that could even mimic some of the most complex machinery sounds your technology could come up with. Smartass little shits.

And then some parrots started learning the concept of zero and for a hot minute there you thought they were in it for the long-haul too.

The sound the raven makes might be a chuckle. If you didn't know that birds weren't generally capable of it, you would have thought it was going to vomit. "The heart woulda done it for more of our branch, but them dumbass crocs were fucking convinced they could leave sex determination up to temperature." It is odd to watch a bird shake its head in pity. "Poor bastards. Made it almost as long as we did, though, eh?"

So close yet so far. Evolution doesn't allow for second place. Not in this environment. Even those terrier-sized dragonflies that had a comeback tour after literal millions of years as evolutionary overextensions couldn't deal with this bananapants landscape. Fuck "red in tooth and claw" this shit was "red in fire and brimstone." You look up to the darkening sky, the stars just beginning to become visible. Perhaps a metaphorical olive branch is in order. "Some of you might be able to make it with us out there." You tilt your head spaceward. "We could care for you."

Now the raven outright cackles, mocking you. A mocking bird (hah). Smartass little shit. "Ah, we can try it. I ain't got much hope though. I know a cracked egg when I see it. How's that artificial gravity tech coming along?"

Oh, right. Gravity. Birds depended on fucking gravity to be able to move water and food into their digestive system. "It is getting better. We have reliable microgravity. Only a matter of time until we get the rest."

"Time we don't have." The raven shakes its head again. "Well, except for one group of us." You look down at your feathered friend with curiosity and delight. Always wonderful to find the exceptions to the biological rules. "But you aren't gonna like it."

"Come on, it is going to be lonely with only us mammals and the few plants and fungi and bacteria we could muster into the second coming of the fucking ark. I mean, dogs might be man's best friend but they say variety is the spice of life. You know we are rooting for you. What is it, like a damned emu or something?" Cassowaries were also asshats, but you could manage a group of ratites on a space station, right? It was for Earth solidarity and all that.

"You wish." The raven leans over in a full-body scream. "HEY VINNY GET YOUR FUCKING BAGS AND THAT SHIT FAMILY OF YOURS. YOUR TICKET IS UP MY DUDE."

There is a rustling from the bushes behind you and you crane (hah) your head around to look.

Nothing flies out. Nothing so elegant as that. Why fly when you can strut out from under the bush looking like you own the entire fucking place?

"Vinny and his mates don't need gravity to swallow, the bastards. Probably why they got along so well with you and your cities." The raven is clearly enjoying your face of horror a bit too much. Smartass little shit.

"How much space youse guys got? Because we can pack 'em in the rafters like fillin' in a facking cannoli if you let us."

You close your eyes and remember that square breathing is a thing. In two three four. Hold two three four. Out two three four...

Because Vinny? Vinny is a fucking pigeon.

“X bodily fluid is just filtered blood!” buddy I hate to break it to you but ALL of the fluids in your body are filtered blood. Your circulatory system is how water gets around your body. It all comes out of the blood (or lymph, which is just filtered blood).

[jaysficarchive]

Villain's Wife Support Group

Chapter 4: Hollow's Eve

Synopsis: A day in the life of Eve.

@mayameanderings @calciumcryptid @floof-ghostie

Eve looked over the results of the day's heists. Jewelry, cash, designer clothing, even a few credit cards. She was proud of how the Railyard Ghouls outdid themselves each time. Who needed a group of elite, experienced henchmen when you had highly creative teenage girls?

"D' y' like it, Miss Eve?" LeighAnne, one of the Ghouls, asked. She was a young girl who had an obsession with vampires to the point where she wore fake teeth. "We worked really hard this time."

"I do. Ya girls did a good job." Eve set the gains aside for later.

It was just her and the girls since Hollow was on the run. Almost a month since his disappearance and authorities had no luck tracking him down. No matter what methods they employed, capturing the elusive fugitive seemed like a fever dream.

Not like Eve would tell them anything, either.

"We woulda got more if it weren't for that one girl that snake hired," Hortencia, another Ghoul, scoffed. She was around the same age as LeighAnne and the others as well as the leader of the Railyard Ghouls. "The hell was her name again?"

"Barracuda?" Eve replied.

"No, she got a new one. I'll think of her name later."

The snake in question was a woman who went by the name Diamondback, one of--if not the biggest--crime bosses in the South.

For years, a feud raged between Hollow and Diamondback. Everything started when she used his railroads to move her products. Diamondback bombed the tracks when the authorities tried to stop her. Hollow didn't like that. Not only was she on his turf, but also destroying tracks he worked so hard to lay.

As revenge, Hollow and the Railyard Ghouls attacked her trains ending in them either destroying or stealing her cargo. It filled him with delight everytime a train of hers went back to her empty.

In retaliation, Diamondback hired a woman named Barracuda, a former vigilante from Oaklahoma, to guard her contraband. Everything about her was more fearsome than her boss. From the way she carried herself to the violence from her hand. Rumor had it she shot her own sister and left her for dead.

Barracuda proved to be trouble for both Hollow and the Ghouls.

The recent battle was the reason he went on the run. Eve remembered it well. The plan was spectacular on paper but in person was even better. It ended with Barracuda getting shot in the chest twice at point blank range, the blown up train on fire, and several cops dead or injured. Better than fireworks in her opinion.

Many thought robberies by the Railyard Ghouls would stop with Hollow's absence. He always allowed them to escape so the police couldn't arrest them. Reporters called them a group of meek little wannabes.

Unfortunately, the Ghouls proved to be a force with or without Hollow. To deepen the wound, those same reporters were some of the Ghouls' latest victims.

"Yall want some seafood boil?"

The girls rushed to the kitchen. They sat at the table excited for Eve's signature dish. Scents of cajun and spicy garlic filled the air, the girls talked among themselves about the latest trends, celebrity gossip, and all the other things teen girls talked about.

"You done anything interesting, Miss Eve?" Gisella, another Ghoul, asked.

"I joined a support group for women married to villains." Eve stirred the pot. "Found them on Facebook."

The girls were interested. Eve never really talked about her personal life beyond her relationship with Hollow so news like this was very welcome.

"Are they also villains?" Hortensia asked.

"Nope. Most of 'em are regular ole ladies. You'd be surprised at some of the names I done heard in the meetings." Eve added the finishing touches to her seafood boil. She let it sit for a few minutes to really let the flavor get in there.

In the meantime, she talked some more about the support group. The girls listened with curiosity as she described a few of the members.

"Then there's Brandice. She's one of them hippies."

"Does she live in a camper?"

"She does sometimes with her husband. And you wanna know who that is?"

"Probably some hippie guy gone bad." LeighAnne giggled. Her joke elicited laughter from the others including Eve herself.

"Or maybe a biker. Hippies used to love those guys." Gisella giggled.

"Close. It's Rainbow Raider." Eve pulled out a big spoon to make each girl a plate. Once done, she handed the Ghouls their dinner before making herself some.

"He fights one of them Justice Leaguers. The red one that goes fast."

Hortensia sucked her teeth as she stood up to get a soda out the fridge. "That ain't too specific, Miss Eve. A lot of 'em are red and go fast."

"Is he a thief?" Tia, the last Ghoul, asked in between eating.

Eve poured herself a cup of sweet tea. "I wouldn't know. All I know is that Brandice seems to be a nice lady. A schoolteacher."

The rest of dinner was spent talking about the Ghouls' personal lives and gossip.

Later that night before Eve went to bed, she decided to go on a walk not too far from her home. Though she'd long gotten used to Hollow's absences, she still missed him. Just because they were frequent didn't make them easier.

Guess I'll see you soon, sugah, Eve thought to herself as she returned.

[scatterplotgrafting]

Characterization Practice

(Gigantic ass momma green water snake we found, we had been finding greenies all night so finding this very healthy and beautiful momma wasn't exactly surprising but was still great to see.)

I wrote this kinda randomly one day, and it ended up being a fun practice in showing character in a short story format, If there's any interest I'd be happy to add an explanation of what I was going for later.

The storm had bled out into a mild drizzle for several hours now in the hot evening sunlight. A stark contrast to the sudden wave that had suddenly swept across the lush green country lane earlier that day, turning the once dusty red clay road into an impassable mire. Any carriages or travelers who had been using the road being forced to suspend their journeys until the last few rays of sunlight returned it to a somewhat usable state in a rising cloud of sweltering and suffocating steam.

He sat just within the protection of a covered bridge, his eyes stared forward from under his long, unwashed hair as his brain drowned in the drone of the flooded creek gurgling and sputtering beneath him. He blinked hard as he heard the sound of an approaching hooves, snapping him out of his trance and bringing him to his feet as he stared down the road at the approaching rider. The details of the horse were ignored by the man as he focused on the face of the rider, the shape of his nose and cheekbones just barely noticeable in the dusk’s glow. These details were enough to make the man’s heart race as he stepped in front of the path to the covered bridge, standing with both his arms outstretched as the rider stopped. Noting the gun on the man’s hip, the rider dismounted and called out tentatively, 

“Can I help you, sir?” He said with an accent that dripped with visions of plantation homes and educated European tutors. This form of speaking caused the man to smile determinedly, his arms lowering as his right hand hovered near the revolver holstered on his hip. 

“You’ve helped me enough just by comin’ along while the sun’s still up.” The man said, the rider could hear the man’s heart race from several paces as he listened to the labored restraint in each syllable. 

 The rider walked slowly in front of his horse and faced the man, his hand hovering in the same perilous manner as he spoke, “I hear the howlin’ of hellhounds just under your breath, but for all that fire you barely hold at bay, I can’t for the life of me recall who you are.” 

“I’da thought a gentleman’s education woulda prepared a venan to meet a tenan.” The man said, his only movement being his lips as he spoke. 

The rider breathed deeply and narrowed his eyes, “What are you thinkin’? I don’t kill for something as pointless as passage through a leakin’ covered bridge.” 

“Well, your record precedes you-” the man said as his hand shot to his hip, before he was able to pull the revolver from its holster, he heard a shot ring out and froze momentarily. Before the man knew what happened the rider had closed the distance between them, the barrel of his gun still smoking from when he fired it wide of his target. Flipping his revolver in the air as he ran, the rider whipped the top of the man’s head, wincing at the scorching pain of the hot barrel burning his palm. The man fell to his knees dazed as the rider slipped the revolver from his enemy’s holster and threw it into the mud down the road. Grabbing the man by his hair he lifted him off his knees and shouted in his ear. 

“I refuse to be used as an expunger of the vacuous miserable, and you’ve no right to try and goad me into taking such a vile role.” 

Still holding the man by his hair, the rider threw him to the side on his back. The man’s throbbing head was worsened by the sweltering steam that surrounded him, making him breathe in agonized gasps which made his head pulse harder in a vicious cycle that continued as he looked up to the rider who had now gotten back onto his horse. The man listened hard through pounding heartbeats to the rider as he began to ride off, “Use that pistol or the creek’s muddled fury if you’re so lost. Otherwise keep your fellow man’s hands clean.”

With that, the rider continued onto the covered bridge, the man listened closely until the rhythmic beating of hooves had faded into the sound of the rushing creek. He turned over slowly and looked down the road as the last of that day faded, he saw the glint of his revolver’s handle shimmering in the mud. Slowly he crawled toward it. 

[karanmatsu]

tag thingy

I got tagged by @lumos-galadriel <3

rules - bold the statements that apply to you, italicize your aspirations, then tag nine people.

AIR

I have small hands • I love the night sky • I watch small animals and birds when I pass them by • I drink herbal tea • I wake to see dawn • The smell of dust is comforting • I’m valued for being wise • I prefer books to music • I meditate • I find joy in learning new truths from the world around me

FIRE

I don’t have straight hair • I like to wear ripped jeans and overalls • I play an organized sport • I love dogs • I’m not afraid of adventure • I love to talk to strangers • I always try new foods • I enjoy road trips • summer is my favorite season • my radio is always playing

WATER

I wear bracelets on my wrists • I love the bustle of the city • I have more than one set of piercings • I read poetry • I love the sound of a thunderstorm • I want to travel the world • I sleep past midday most days • I love dimly lit diners and fluorescent signs • I rewatch kids’ shows out of nostalgia • I see emotions in colors not words

EARTH

I wear glasses/contacts • I enjoy doing the laundry • I am a vegetarian or vegan • I have an excellent sense of time • My humor is very cheerful • I am a valued advisor to my friends • I believe in true love • I love the chill of mountain air • I’m always listening to music • I am highly trusted by the people in my life

AETHER

I go without makeup in my daily life • I make my own artwork • I keep on track of my tasks and time • I always know true north • I see beauty in everything • I can always smell flowers • I smile at everyone I pass by • I always fear history repeating itself • I have recovered from and learned to accept or live with a mental disorder • I can love unconditionally

i tag: @bones-mccoy @spellingnox @twilightcree @cinasauce @targaryen-ravenclaw @frenchpolnareff @winterpoems123 @matchaas @weeping-daleks @ghosted-moondew