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wizard-of-interesting-failure · 5 months ago

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"Yeah it'll just be a woman, probably that evil sorceress we're goin' after. It's old hat at this point. Pretty sure your god is just trolling you."

"Hah, or maybe you trip over your boots and skewer yourself!"

"D'you think that counts?"

"Nah, it's not an act he'd be taking. Common loophole in these things. It'd be, like, gravity or something that did him in."

Chortles and speculation echo into the woods as Greg stomps grumpily off to his tent.

The next morning, a voice booms from the heavens: "NO WOMAN SHALL EVER BEAR RESPONSIBILITY FOR THE DEATH OF GREG THE PALADIN."

---

The camp is dead silent.

Greg buckles himself carefully into his armor, noting the reticence of his companions with what would be satisfaction if paladins were not above such pettiness. Breakfast is eaten. The tents are packed away. The fire is snuffed. Another day on the road begins.

Conversation gradually picks up, though it studiously avoids the topic of prophecy. By the time they reach the town the sorceress has, well, ensorcelled, the previous night is more or less forgotten.

It goes about as well as expected; the wizard has to dispel a few baleful polymorphs, but come nightfall they're all huddled around the campfire again.

"...so he had to have been listening, right?"

"No way. You know how many paladins that guy has?"

"He's not 'that guy', he is the One True-"

"Yeah, we got it, Greg. We all know you're his favourite."

"I am not! He loves all of His children equally."

"Right, because the rest of us all have prophecies guaranteeing immunity from the occupational hazards of adventuring."

"Come on, you know prophecies don't work that way."

"Besides, it's hardly immunity. Isn't the next stop on our sweep that enby warlock who set up shop in the ruins?"

"Man, keep it down, he'll hear us again! Do you want Greg's god to get mad at you?"

"His benevolence would never be so lightly shaken. Nevertheless, I would appreciate a change of topic."

"C'mon, don't be a killjoy, Greg."

"Perhaps we could speculate about the nature of your death instead?"

"Oh man, yeah, I'm bettin' on dire deer."

"You won't even be around to collect!"

"What, you bums ain't gonna raise me?"

"Man you know we ain't got shit. Maybe if it IS dire deer we can afford-"

"Oh! Odds have gotta be way better for Greg now, right? Maybe you should put a few pieces down on this warlock that's comin' up."

"Gambling is a sin, and I have faith that we will weather the trials ahead of us."

"Yaaaaawn."

"Yes, it is getting quite late. I believe I shall retire for the evening."

"Night, Greg, don't let the gender-non-conforming bed bugs bite!"

Greg returns to his tent in silence.

The next morning, a voice booms from the heavens: "NO INDIVIDUAL SHALL EVER BEAR RESPONSIBILITY FOR THE DEATH OF GREG THE PALADIN, REGARDLESS OF GENDER PRESENTATION."

---

The camp is dead silent. Again.

This time, Greg feels a little uncomfortable.

"Fellows," he begins as the morning stew bubbles.

"There's no way he's not listening, Greg."

"I...perhaps I am in the most danger out of all His children right now."

"Prophecies don't work that way! You weren't gonna die regardless of what he said."

"Maybe he's lyin'?"

Greg fixes the rogue with a flat look.

"Hey, I'm just sayin'. Lotsa mythology out there with lyin' gods an' all that."

"Nothing remotely true about Him, I assure you."

"Alright guys, eat up, this warlock isn't going to foil himself and neither are your empty stomachs."

The party digs in, breaking their fast in relative silence.

"...so, dire deer?"

"Yeah, if that's the way I'm gonna go, I figure I may as well get a few bucks."

After a round of groaning, there are no further attempts at conversation. The tents are packed away. The fire is snuffed. Another day on the road begins.

The ruins are several days away, but talk tends toward the upcoming battle. Warlocks are rarely predictable; this one could summon or invoke the magic of almost anything. The most common counters are discussed at length, and eventually the party arrives at the ruins.

The warlock lies dead in a pool of their own blood at the center of a summoning circle, a ritual dagger sprouting from their forehead. A trail of destruction leads into the woods behind them.

"...well that's probably trouble."

The wizard doubles their speed and they hustle through the charred undergrowth; still, they find no sign of the trail's source before night descends. At Greg's urging they light their lanterns and continue the pursuit, but soon grow too tired to go on and wearily fumble around in the darkness for their camping supplies.

"...what if he changes his name?"

"Seriously? It's not the time for this."

"Or some jackass fae steals it or somethin'? I'm pretty sure one of those Unseelie assholes is next after this little detour."

"Prophecies. Do. Not. Work. That. Way!"

"Well maybe it was meant as a warning!"

Greg is uncharacteristically silent.

"You alright, Greg?"

"A paladin does not feel fear."

"That isn't actually an answer, y'know."

"It is. Just not the one you wanted."

Conversation dies quickly after that. Trail rations are scarfed down, and the party retreats to grab what sleep they can.

The next morning, a voice booms from the heavens: "NO INDIVIDUAL SHALL EVER BEAR RESPONSIBILITY FOR THE DEATH OF THE ONE CURRENTLY KNOWN AS GREG THE PALADIN."

---

"Nice to have a fuckin' alarm clock, I guess."

"Do not disparage the greatness of-"

"Hey, I'm bein' thankful for a divine boon, ain't I? You should be all about that, shouldn't ya?"

"I...suppose that's one way to-"

"Alright cool that's settled then. Now what the fuck was he talkin' about?"

"I'm sure I don't know."

"Seriously, you should sit the Unseelie out. You've done more than enough already, we can-"

"A paladin does not shrink from death, and I am insulted by the implication!"

"Alright, man, your funeral."

A beat passes.

"Might be a good time to place a bet..."

Greg turns and prepares to don his armor. Further conversation is swallowed up in the speed at which they must ready themselves for a hard day of pursuit.

They catch up to the demon ransacking a small hamlet mid-afternoon. Greg puts it down with little trouble and uncommon zeal, and the inhabitants offer them lodging in gratitude.

After settling in and packing away their belongings, Greg asks the wizard for a private conversation.

"What's on you mind?" the old woman asks kindly after soundproofing the small parlor.

Greg sits in uncomfortable silence.

"It's all right, take your time."

A few beats pass. The clock on the mantelpiece above the unlit fireplace ticks quietly.

"Do you remember when we infiltrated that gang of lesbian thieves?" he blurts out.

"Oh, how could I forget? Their old battleaxe of a leader had a thing for me, you know."

"We know. She promised to write you from jail as they took her away. Everyone was there."

The wizard titters for a moment, then suddenly stops.

"...why are you bringing this up?" she says in the tone of someone who already knows the answer.

"...well...some of us weren't, ah. Equipped properly for the infiltration. Gang of lesbian thieves and all that."

The wizard waits patiently.

"So...you disguised everyone."

The wizard waits patiently.

"Only we were going to be in there for days, maybe weeks; illusions were bound to wear off or fail eventually."

The wizard leans forward slightly, expression calm but intent.

"So we...I mean, you gave us all potions. So we'd blend in. We had to take a drop every couple of hours or it'd wear off unless we were sleeping, but we managed."

"I do remember all this, yes," she says, expression carefully neutral.

"Well, I wanted to know if, uh...that is, I was wondering..."

A beat passes.

"Is there a permanent version?"

The words tumble out of his mouth, as though trying to escape before it closes and they become trapped again.

The wizard sighs.

"No."

Greg's face falls.

"But there are other options."

"Oh! Good. Um. Is there- I mean do you know- I mean can you-"

"Of course I can, dear," she says. "I can help you with the whole process; I went through it myself not too long ago."

Greg's eyes widen.

"I-I had no idea!"

"Well, I prefer to keep private about it, personally. But just between you and me...you remember that little dragonslaying expedition you went on when you were new to your armor?"

"Not something one generally forgets," Greg notes wryly, "but I don't see what...wait, I don't think I ever told you guys about that."

"Well, do you remember the wizard who went with you?"

"Yeah, sure; average height, stereotypical wizard robes, unnecessarily large staff, magnificent beard...why, do you know him?"

"Her, sweetie."

"No, it was definitely...a..."

Greg trails off, staring.

The wizard winks at him.

"You..."

He doesn't finish his sentence. His expression radiates disbelief, with a glimmer of hope underneath.

A beat passes.

"It might take a while to get started, but I can start preparing tonight. There's no rush; none of the components spoil, we can take it at whatever pace you like. Did you have a name in mind?"

"..."

"If you're not sure yet or you don't want to tell me that's absolutely-"

"Sue."

Something snaps into place.

Another beat passes. The expression of vulnerability on Sue's face reaches a crescendo.

"Well, Sue- ah, if it's alright for me to call you that now-"

Sue nods. "It does feels a little silly, though, what with..." she gestures at herself.

"Nonsense," the wizard says sternly. "We can call you whatever you like. Now what do you want to do about everyone else?"

"Well, I mean, they probably already think I'm going to change my name..."

"Really? Why would they-"

The wizard's expression clouds.

"Ooooooh, that sanctimonious sky bastard OUTED you! None of the Unseelie with access to this plane even have name-stealing! I'm going to go give him a piece of my mind right now!"

"Hey! Don't talk about Him that way!"

"I'll talk about him however I damn well please! He messed up big time and someone needs to dress him down for it."

Her expression softens.

"Ah, I mean...if you really don't want me to...but it's up to you, not him! You shouldn't let him off the hook just because you're his paladin. If anything that just makes it worse! Why..."

The wizard trails off, seeing Sue's conflicted expression. She sits back down in her chair and waits, not entirely able to suppress her anger.

"...I mean, he must have known already."

The wizard nods.

"And he's probably listening in on this conversation."

The wizard scowls thunderously at the air, but nods. Sue shifts uncomfortably in her seat; the wizard's expression softens again, becoming gentle and apologetic.

"I...I'll commune with him tonight. Maybe after that."

The wizard nods.

"Okay, dear. You just let me know if you need my help for anything, alright? Anything at all."

Sue nods. The wizard begins to open her mouth again.

"I think I'd like to be by myself for a little while."

"Oh! Of course. I'll go start preparing for the process; give me a shout if you need anything else."

Sue nods again, face tight. She faces rigidly forward as the wizard walks past her and out the door.

As soon as the latch clicks, she deflates into her chair. She stays that way for a while.

---

"SORRY."

Sue opens her eyes with a start. She's at the table in the well-appointed gazebo that she usually finds herself sitting at, but He has never spoken to her first before.

She looks down. Her astral self remains the same. She sighs.

"I've been thinking about it for a long time, you know."

"I KNOW."

"Right, of course, future and all that."

She sits in uncomfortable silence for a while.

"Why did you say it? Why make any of the prophecies at all?"

"YOUR FRIENDS WERE HALF-RIGHT."

"You were lying??"

"NO."

"...then...?"

"...NOT AS SUCH."

Sue comes the closest she ever has to expressing disapproval of her god. It manifests as a carefully neutral face with a quizzical, ever-so-slight quirk of one eyebrow.

"IT BECOMES TRUE AS I SAY IT."

"You can just...make anything true that you want? Then why-"

"NO. THE PROPHECY IS SELF-FULFILLING; STATING THAT NO MAN WILL EVER KILL YOU MEANS NONE WHO MIGHT SUCCEED EVER TRY. IT IS NEVER UNTRUE AFTER IT IS SPOKEN."

"And the prophecies after?"

"ONE OF THE REASONS GODS HAVE PALADINS IS TO BETTER CONNECT WITH THE DENIZENS OF THE EARTH. WE ARE NOT ALWAYS...UP TO DATE. I WAS NOT AWARE THAT 'MAN' WAS INSUFFICIENT UNTIL YOUR FRIENDS MENTIONED IT. I STILL DO NOT KNOW EXACTLY WHAT AN 'ENBY' IS; ONLY THAT THE WORDING I CHOSE LED THE WARLOCK TO TRY SOMETHING FOOLISH INSTEAD OF CHALLENGING YOU DIRECLY."

"He would have killed me?"

"MAYBE."

A beat passes.

"Alright, fine, you were looking out for me and I appreciate that."

"AS YOU SHOULD, MY PALADIN."

The not-quite-neutral expression crosses her face again.

"And...the one about the name change?"

"YOU HAVE CHANGED YOUR NAME ALREADY. I WAS CLOSING THE LOOPHOLE."

"I only did this now because your prophecy hinted at it and I didn't want anyone jumping to conclusions before I was ready!"

"YES; IT TOO WAS SELF-FULFILLING TO A DEGREE. DO NOT WORRY; NOTHING BAD HAPPENS AS A RESULT."

"That's not the point! I wanted to do it in my own time, the way I felt comfortable!"

"YOU SEEM COMFORTABLE ENOUGH IN THE FUTURE."

"That doesn't give you the right to-"

Thunder rumbles ominously.

"...it doesn't make it the best thing for me."

Silence.

"I thought you cared about that. Not just for me, for everyone! It's why I answered your call! I can believe you didn't know any better. But if you want to learn about people through your paladins, listen to me now: having control over who knows what about us is important to a lot of people. Sometimes that doesn't matter; we exposed that corrupt mayor a few months ago even though I'm sure she'd have preferred we didn't, and that was right and good. But when it's about who we are, when it's not something we're doing to other people..."

A beat passes.

"When it's about safety..."

"NOTHING BAD HAPPENS TO YOU IN THE FUTURE BECAUSE OF THIS. YOU ARE SAFE."

"That doesn't make it okay!"

Thunder rumbles again. Sue stares out at the horizon.

"Let me do what you brought me here to do. What you empowered me in your name to do. Listen to me."

Several seconds pass.

"Why did you apologise if you felt this way, anyway?"

"IT WAS CLEAR THAT I HAD UPSET YOU IN SOME WAY."

"But you didn't know how?"

"NO. I...MIGHT NOW."

The not-quite-neutral expression returns to Sue's face.

"...I AM SORRY. I DID NOT UNDERSTAND. I AM STILL NOT COMPLETELY SURE I DO."

"Just...if it's not to prevent a great evil, don't tell people about each other, alright? Let them do that themselves."

"EVEN IF THE RESULTS ARE GOOD?"

"Yes."

"EVEN IF IT'S SOMETHING SMALL, LIKE A FAVOURITE FOOD?"

"That...might be okay, but it's weird if someone knows that about you without any way that they should."

"EVEN IF-"

"No!"

"DO NOT INTERRUPT ME, CHILD."

"Stop trying to talk your way into doing what you wanted to do anyway, then!"

"I DO NOT NEED TO TALK MY WAY INTO ANYTHING. I AM FREE TO ACT AS I WILL."

"Yeah. But you care. And that sometimes means respecting when people ask you not to act in certain ways, even if you want to or you think it's the right thing to do."

"SO IF EVIL MCWIZARD ASKS ME NOT TO SMITE HIS TOWER, I SHOULD JUST LET HIM RAZE THE EARTH FOR MILES AROUND?"

"No! That hurts people."

"SO IF I CAN SAVE SOMEONE'S LIFE BY TELLING SOMEONE ELSE THEIR FAVOURITE FOOD, I SHOULD?"

"...yes..."

"WHAT IF IT SAVES THEM A LIMB?"

"Yeah, probably!"

"THEIR MOST PRIZED POSSESSION?"

"I guess it depends what it is..."

"THEIR SECOND MOST PRIZED POSSESSION?"

"I don't know, okay? It varies case by case."

"THEN HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO DECIDE?"

"You need to understand why, not just make a list of what's okay and what isn't. People value their autonomy and control over who has access to and information about them. Maybe that's less important than averting the apocalypse or whatever, but it does matter."

"HOW MUCH?"

"You can't really measure it like that. There's nothing about you that you wouldn't want some other god or something to know?"

"NO. ALL ARE IN AWE OF MY MAJESTY, AS IS PROPER."

"Would you want your other worshippers to know that you hurt one of your paladins?"

"WHICH ONE?"

"Me!"

"...AH."

"But maybe I should tell them so they can try to avoid letting you hurt them too, you see? Like with the mayor."

"DO NOT. I WILL NOT HURT THEM."

"You hurt me. Why not them?"

"I DID NOT INTEND TO!"

"I'm sure you won't intend to when it happens again."

"IT DOES NOT! THE FUTURE-"

"According to you. The one who doesn't understand why this matters."

A brief peal of thunder cracks before seemingly cutting itself off half way.

More seconds pass.

"Look, I do believe you, alright? I don't think you will do this again, if only because I have told you specifically that it is not good. But one of the things you're not up to date on is apparently moral complexity."

"MORALITY IS NOT COMPLEX. THERE ARE GOOD THINGS AND BAD THINGS. I AM A GOD OF GOOD, EVEN IF I AM NOT INFALLIBLE. I SPEAK TRUTH. I BRING FREEDOM, SAFETY, AND PROSPERITY. PALADINS LIKE YOU CLEANSE THE LAND OF EVIL IN MY NAME, AND MY PRIESTS PROVIDE SUCCOR TO THE REST. THESE THINGS ARE GOOD. THIS IS HOW IT HAS ALWAYS BEEN, AND HOW IT ALWAYS WILL BE."

"You know that's not quite right anymore."

"IT IS CLOSE ENOUGH."

"Is it? Do you not care enough to try and do better?"

"I AM WHAT I AM!"

"So was I, until I wasn't."

Long seconds pass. Then long minutes.

"...PERHAPS YOU ARE RIGHT."

Sue lets out a breath she didn't realise she'd been holding.

"HOW?"

"How?"

"HOW DO I TRY AND DO BETTER?"

"Well, the whole 'puny mortals' thing isn't helping. You need to listen to what it is people want and need rather than assuming what is best."

"SO IF EVIL MCWIZARD-"

"If he wants to raze the land for miles around and the people living on that land don't want him to, which do you think is more important?"

"AND IF LOTS OF PEOPLE WANT SOMETHING BUT LOTS OF OTHER PEOPLE DON'T?"

"I didn't say it was going to be easy."

Silence.

"...I THINK I'D LIKE TO BE BY MYSELF FOR A LITTLE WHILE."

Sue chuckles.

"Oh, sorry, before I go, how do I get my astral self to change?"

"I DO NOT KNOW. BUT IT DOES CHANGE IN THE FUTURE."

"Okay. Thank you."

She turns to leave.

"...good luck," she whispers under her breath like a prayer before stepping out of the gazebo.

She opens her eyes laying in bed, utterly exhausted. Trying to teach her god about the nuances of good and evil was not even remotely what she signed up for, but who else was going to do it? Still, it didn't seem fair.

She soon fell asleep, the scope of the day's events overwhelming her before it could terrify her.

---

"Okay, but what if it was multiple people at once?"

"Well then they'd all be responsible, right?"

"Even if none of them know and there's no plan?"

"Dude, at that point it may as well just be somethin' nobody is responsible for anyway, like a lightning strike or some other crap."

"Well what about- oh hey Greg. Change your name yet?"

"I, er..."

"I'm tellin' ya, it's the faerie thing!"

The wizard bonks the barbarian on the head with her staff.

"Ow! Hey, what was that for?"

"You left raw meat out overnight again and it's gone rancid! Go clean it up!"

"Don't you have a spell that-"

Bonk.

"Wasn't me who mucked it up, now was it?"

The barbarian retreats into the kitchen in a manner that is somehow both grumpy and sheepish.

"You alright, dear?" she asks.

"I think so," Sue replies. "I'm still not sure what to...it was a long night."

"Do what you feel comfortable with, dear."

"...I think I want to keep it between us for now."

"Of course. Whatever you need."

A brief silence passes; for once, it is comfortable.

"...there is one other thing that I could use some help with."

"Lay it on me!"

The sentence sounds so incongruous coming from the wizened old woman that Sue can't help but chuckle.

"Well, I communed with Him last night like you said, and..."

They say that once a wizard has lived long enough, they are impossible to surprise. Apparently they're right; Sue almost feels a twinge of disappointment, but it is overwhelmed by relief at not having to do any of this alone.

The paladin just received a prophecy that no man shall ever kill him. To his annoyance, the party is sitting around the campfire making guesses and creating scenarios on what will actually kill him and why.

#wizardposting #wizard #wizard posting #writeblr

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thiswasinevitableid · 6 years ago

Note

57 with indruck would be the perfect christmas gift! Love your work!

#57: You called me at two in the moring insisting that I come over and help you bake christmas cookies for the party tomorrow because you forgot to make them earlier and need help now.

It’s 1:58 a.m, December 22nd, and Duck Newton should really be in bed.

Instead, he’s aimlessly puttering about his kitchen.

He can’t sleep. He’s tried. But something in his mind won’t settle, and each time he tries to grasp at it, to see what’s troubling him, the thought skitters away into some dark corner of his brain.

Any distraction would be welcome at this point; hell, even if the now-closed gate were to open up with an abomination, that would be an improvement. At least then he’d know what he was worried about.

Ringring

Thank god. Maybe Leo can’t sleep either, maybe Minerva’s decided he needs to do some kind of sudden hero training, maybe Barclay needs help at the lodge.

“Go for Duck.”

“Hello, Duck.” The lilt drifting across the telephone lines is unmistakable.

“Hey, Indrid, everything-”

“-okay? Yes. Or, well, mostly yes. My call is not a matter of life or death, if that’s what you mean. I was calling to ask if you’d be able to help me with something.”

“What kind of somethin?” Duck is already looking for his shoes, partially as a means of distraction from the filthy picture his mind just supplied of how he could help Indrid in the middle of the night.

“I am baking cookies for the party tomor-, ah, well, I suppose it’s technically today now, and I require assistance.”

“I mean, sure, but why call me? Sounds more like Barclay’s kinda thing.”

“True, but the futures showed me that you were going to spend the remainder of your night in a restless funk, and I wanted to prevent that. Also they show Barclay, ah, preoccupied with Agent Stern this evening. Goodness, who knew they-”

“Whoah, god, please do not make me think about my friends doin it. I’ll be over in a few.”

Indrid’s smile is audible, “wonderful. I shall see you soon.”

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

Indrid spends the next fifteen minutes cleaning.

Shoving things into cabinets and under furniture counts as cleaning, right?

Perhaps he should have done this sooner. But there’d only been a 50% chance Duck agreed to join him. In half his visions, the human politely declined, and spent his night simmering in discontent.

A crunch of tires is in new fallen snow means he doesn’t even need to look at the futures to see Duck arrive. He has a minute before he reaches the door.

He glances down at the eggnog stain on his pajama pants, and dashes into the bedroom to change them. Gets to the door two seconds before Duck knocks.

The ranger lowers his hand, smiling gently, “Hey.”

“Hello. Apologies in advance for how warm it is in here.”

“Eh, visited you enough lately that I’m kinda gettin used to it.”

“Oh, good. That’s very good.”

(Why are there futures of them kissing? Where is that coming from?)

Duck steps into the trailer, shutting the door as Indrid heads into the kitchen.

“So, what are we makin’?”

“Sugar cookies. I promised Barclay I would bring some to the potluck tomorrow. I have all the necessary supplies here.”

“Great, what recipe are we usin?”

Indrid looks at the pile of ingredients on the counter. His future vision told him which ones to buy, but isn’t of much use when it comes to predicting a recipe.

“You don’t have a recipe, do you?” Duck says with amused patience.

“No, I do not.”

“Don’t suppose you got any cookbooks layin around.” Duck opens the nearest cabinet, which contains solely Capri Suns.

“I may. I collected various books that seemed useful during my travels. They’re in that cabinet towards the front.”

Duck kneels down, begins searching through the cabinet and pulling out books.

“‘Drid, how the hell are you fittin all these in here? The physics don’t make sense.”

“Mmm? Oh, most of the cabinets and the closet are enchanted to allow for more storage space.” He waves his hand distractedly, trying to parse out the warmth swirling in his chest at the use of the nickname.

“Sewin’ guide, anatomy textbook, uhhhh maybe, nope, that’s a repair manual for the Bago. Didn’t know you worked on it yourself.” Duck leans further into the cabinet and Indrid spends a moment appreciating how his legs and ass look in his jeans before responding.

(Probability of kissing jumps ten percent).

“I can do basic repairs. Though, at this point, my home is held together mainly by magic. And duck tape. A truly excellent human creation.”

“Not fillin me with confidence about the safety of drivin in this there, ‘Drid.” Duck teases. There’s rustling from the cabinet, though no further commentary.

The kissing futures jump even more. What on earth is happening? Yes, he wants to kiss his friend. But as far as he can discern, Duck does not want that, and it takes two for that fantasy to work.

“Aha, got it.” Duck crawls backwards, proudly produces a red and white checkered cookbook, “Bettin this has what we need.”

“Wonderful!” Indrid claps his hands together as Duck flips to a page with a recipe for sugar cookies and hands it to him.

“Oh dear, I do not have a mixer, this is going to take…” He blushes at an oncoming future.

“You also got a friend with chosen strength. Ain’t just good for savin the word.” Duck grins and flexes his arm.

Indrid chirrs appreciatively, then catches himself, “Ahem, in that case, please beat this butter and sugar in that bowl while I measure out our dry ingredients.”

They set to work, side by side. The small kitchen means they bump into each other often, but neither seems to mind. In fact, Duck seems to be bumping into him more than usual.

“How come you waited until now to make these?” Duck cracks an egg into the bowl.

“I didn’t mean to. But as you know, I can be easily distracted by watching futures or trying to stop them.”

“Coulda just bought some at the store in the mornin. Not that I mind helpin you.”

“I...you will think me silly if I tell you.”

“That what the futures show?”

“Half of them, yes.”

“Try me?”

“It has been a long time since I had any kind of connection to my fellow Sylphs. Let alone friendships with both Sylphs and humans. I want to demonstrate that I value those connections, make things to contribute to our time together. It is nice to belong, in a way, and I often fear losing it.”

“‘Drid, you know you don’t gotta earn your place with us. We all care about you. I care about you.” He takes Indrid’s hand from where it’s paused, mid gesture, and squeezes it once.

“Thank you.” Indrid sighs, decides to take the risk of his next words, “I’ve seen the end of things, so many things, so many times. I am used to it, in many ways. But there are times when I struggle to believe that the good things in my life will not be cut short in the same way.”

“I mean, everythin’ ends cause of time and mortality and shit like that.But that don’t mean good things are gonna disappear as soon as you find ‘em.”

Indrid smiles.

(Seventy percent of the timelines show them kissing.)

“Hey, goofus, I see you floatin off into the futures. Stay in the present with me, or I’m eatin all the cookies myself.”

Indrid grins, “ You wouldn’t dare.”

Duck grabs a nearby spoon and scoops out a bite of dough and chews it with an exaggerated “mmmmmm.”

Indrid pouts and makes grabby hands, as humans call them.

“Nope, this is all mine now.”

“Noooo, the raw dough is the best part.” Indrid grabs for the bowl, but in spite of being shorter than him Duck manages to keep it out of reach.

“I’m savin you from yourself, you’re gonna get salmonella.”

“I am not, my Sylph biology prevents such a thing. You, on the other hand, can very much get that illness. So,” he lunges for the bowl playfully. Duck sidesteps him and he stumbles with an undignified chirp. Duck snickers and Indrid giggles

“Okay, okay, I’ll give you some if you tell me one thing.” Duck sets the bowl back on the counter, blocking it with his body, “How come you have a bunch of drawins of me saved in your cabinet?”

“I, ah,” oh goodness, he should have seen this coming, “I save certain drawings if I like them.”

“‘Drid, those were almost all of me.”

“Because I like them. I like you. Seeing futures of you made me feel happy while I was away from Kepler.”

Ducks eyebrows slowly raise.

There’s no point in looking at the futures. Indrid has to do this in the present, has to face the reactions in real time, because that us always what being near Duck does to him; draws him back to earth, to the moment, over and over again because all he wants to focus on is him.

“I am very fond of you, Duck. It has been quite awhile since I had anything resembling a crush on someone, and my feelings for you have grown considerably in that direction. But I understand completely if it is not reciprocated.”

“That’s uh, that’s, fuck, uh-”

Indrid droops; if Duck is trying to lie, it must be to spare his feelings.

“Um, I don’t, uh, oh fuck it.”

Warm hands are suddenly on his upper arms as Duck pulls him into a kiss. Sugar and butter on his lips, strands of dark hair tangling in his fingers as he clasps Ducks head. It’s tentative, a tad awkward because of his glasses, and he never wants it to end. Whimpers when it does, and Duck simply smiles, bumps their noses together.

“I was tryin to come up with some line about how I was surprised. But I ain’t, not really, especially not after findin those drawins. I been fallin for you for awhile, and was gettin the sense you might be doin’ the same. Just didn’t wanna push my luck and scare you off, sugar.”

Indrid grins.

“What?” Duck arches an eyebrow.

“I simply enjoy the nicknames you give me. Most of my aliases are attached to my sometimes unnerving appearance. It is nice to be called something new and sweet.”

Duck kisses him, first on the cheek and then snowflake-light on the lips, “Good to know. Now, c’mon, we can uh, cuddle, more once these are done and I need that real bad. So let’s finish these cookies, sugar.”

#Indruck #indrid cold/duck newton #indruck discord #winter aus

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jenovahh · 5 years ago

Text

The Honey Pot - Ch. 3 - Unnatural

You had thought that as far as shady warehouses went, the Marauder’s headquarters was pretty low (or was it high) on dark, crappy, abandoned buildings.

However, the Rogues seemed determined to have them beat, for the abandoned warehouse before you looked like it might collapse on its occupants at any given time. And with the way you could hear the bass thumping before you could even get near it, you wondered how it hadn’t already.

Idly, you wonder how they cared so little to throw their little party with so little subtlety; it's not as if the pier is totally abandoned. Granted it’s in the old section where the machinery is old and outdated, rusted and falling apart, but you wouldn’t doubt that some teenagers use this as their secret getaway.

You stick close to your two gang members, Hollow Glacier and Swywyda, who dwarf you in height, even for both of them being Roegadyn. Allegedly the Marauders two best fighters, before you had come along. In truth, Maetifyst had also briefed them on just why you all were heading into this tournament, and were there for show and backup than to actually compete.

You received your fair share of questionable looks, looking noticeably less rugged than your counterparts, but apparently they had just enough sway that no one dared approach as you entered the room.

“I don’t think I gotta tell ya to not drink.” Comes Swywyda’s voice, somehow crystal clear over the music that’s so loud you can hardly hear yourself think. “Not because I think they’d poison shit; but the boss has a lot riding on you doing well. Can’t say how well he’ll like you if you fuck this up.”

You casually roll your neck, glancing across the crowd. From what you could see, no one looked, or felt that strong for that matter. This whole shindig would probably be a cake walk, but you didn’t have to let them know that. “Yeah. I’ll do my best.” You answer noncommittally, giving a somewhat firm nod as they turn to lead you further into the building. A few people from other gangs come to greet them, all smiles and rough handshakes. You take the time to quietly drift off, deciding to do a little recon.

In the middle of the warehouse, a rather haphazard fighting ring has been made, looking like a sham of a professional wrestling ring. However it seems to suit its purpose well enough, with some contestants already going at it. The bar sits on the far wall, hosting a decent crowd of people who seem to be getting liquored up before the event starts. Moonlight pours in overhead from smokey windows, though if they are smoky from grime or from all the people smoking, you do not know.

Blue and purple lights flash in time with the music, bright enough that you find yourself angling your head away to keep from looking directly at it lest you get a headache. The crowd seems to give you a respectful berth as you navigate through; perhaps because of who you came in with. It seems the Marauder name carried a bit more weight in the crime underworld than the police originally thought.

Feeling a tad thirsty, you consider worming your way to the bar for a cola, or at the very least a glass of water. Chuckling inwardly, you hope they don’t laugh at you for ordering water like a child as if you can’t hold your liquor. As you make your way over, a chill runs down your spine, your eyes immediately darting to the high walkways that run along the walls. You know you’re being watched, having felt that overwhelming sense of alertness that comes with knowing that someone has it out for you.

Only this time, it is also paired with a jolt of excitement.

You don’t necessarily shrug it off as much as you hold that feeling in the back of your mind; you don’t doubt that some other rival gang has it out for the Marauders and is using this contest as a chance to get at them.

“Hey! Where’d you run off to?”

Turning, you can see Hollow shoving his way through the crowd, though he hardly needs to with his bulk. Swywyda is not far behind him, their expression more annoyed than actually concerned, leaving you to wonder if Maetifyst had tasked them with playing babysitter because you were too valuable to lose, or too high a risk to their name.

“I was heading to the bar.” You answer once they’re in earshot, at least over the loud thrum of the music. Your voice does not carry as well as their does, but they seem used to hearing you over the pump of the steady bass regardless, their eyes drifting to the packed bar instantly before snapping back to you.

“For a drink? When the boss needs you in top shape to fight?” Swywyda’s voice is all reprimand, but Hollow puts a steadying hand on her shoulder.

“For some water, yeah.” You answer simply, crossing your arms across your chest. The roegadame narrows her eyes down at you in suspicion, but Hollow gives her another firm pat before arching a strong eyebrow. “We can get you some if you’re thirsty before your run. Boss needs you in top shape. He’s bettin’ a lot on you grabbing some attention.” While his statement is simply informative on the surface, there’s also a hint of underlying threat in his words.

His threat however, sails right over your head due to your own indifference.

“I’d appreciate it.” Is your reply, rolling your neck casually. Swywyda seems further incensed by your lack of respect, or anxiety, or whatever it is she is looking for. Shoving Hollow’s arm off her, she steps forward in a mean to grab you, but your reflexes move you out of her grasp, hand quickly grabbing her wrist and twisting it painfully. “Look. I don’t know what boss man told you, but I know he told me to come here and kick ass. Do your job, and I’ll do mine.” It is your turn to weave the threat beneath your words, though clearly it has hit its mark as Swywyda’s eyes go wide once she realizes she’s not strong enough to break free of your grasp.

You release her suddenly, causing her to stumble back into Hollow, who she nearly knocks over despite his stocky build. “A-Allright.” She stammers, rubbing where you’d gripped her with a slightly stunned expression. Hollow’s face also shows his own stupor, though he schools it back to neutral far quicker. “Got it. Boss just wanted to make sure we keep you safe and that you do what he told ya. Apologies.”

You give them a silent nod, thankful they might finally stop hovering around you like hawks at the least. “So. How do I keep up with who I face?” You ask, migrating instead toward the center of the floor, the two Marauders tailing you closely, but not nearly as close as they had before. The crowd once again seems to naturally part as you slither through the bodies, averting your eyes from some of the racier things you glance across.

“Everything is handled by the gang runnin’ the joint. All you gotta do is hop in the ring and kick ass.” Hollow answers, muscling one man out of the way who must’ve looked at you wrong. You pay it little mind, considering no one here has given you any reason to be cautious.

Except that feeling from before…

“Simple.” You stare up into the ring at the few people seeming to roughhouse and mess around as they wait for matches to begin. You would hop in yourself to warm up, but decide against it, opting to keep a low profile and hope that your turn isn’t for sometime so you can get an idea of the competition. “Any rules? This feels kinda ‘trial by fire’ so far.” You snicker, watching the poor form of some other gang member in the ring.

“Can’t say I haven’t seen some dirty, underhanded shit before.” Hollow sighs, watching the crowd over your shoulder. “Supposed to be some good, clean fights; but that doesn’t stop someone from sneakin’ a shank or some shit into the ring just to settle a grudge. I won’t tell ya to not be prepared.” Cold, steel presses against your arm underneath Hollow’s large hand, and you quickly take the pocket knife and palm it to hide in your boot.

Standing tall, you shrug your shoulders, feeling a shot of adrenaline race through you as a smirk pulls at your lips unseen. “So, nothing to worry about then.” You chuckle, turning to face the two Roes. Hollow and Swywyda exchange a look before turning back to you. Ruffling your hair, your smirk broadens.

“I’ll get to the top with nothing but my fists.”

The contest starts and you are thankfully alotted time to scope out the competition as you had hoped; your match isn’t until much later. The bored expression on your face is by no means an act as you watch each match, easily able to determine who the victor is before the match can even begin. There are hardly any true fighters thus far, the ones who win their matches depending heavily on reflexes or sheer strength to pull them through. There’s no technique, no training.

No challenge.

You sigh as you step into the ring, your name announced over the loudspeakers and boos ringing in your ear. “Honey seems to be fresh meat from the Marauders! A huge surprise to see none of their usuals tonight! Maybe ole’ Maetifyst wanted them to get smacked around a bit as initiation!” The announcer titters, the crowd joining them in laughter. Tutting, you tune out their words easily enough, focusing instead on the Hyur that stands before you. You distantly recall her name being Hilda, though honestly it hardly even matters. This is just a step to getting to what the police want, what your chief wants, and hopefully...what you want.

She’s cute, with her jet black hair, pulled into lengthy ponytail, which bare her slightly pointed ears, hinting at a mixture of Elezen somewhere in her heritage. Her red eyes are fierce and commanding, and from the roar of the crowd when her name is called; a fan favorite. A smirk pulls at her pretty, pink lips, pushing back the sleeves of her jacket as what you guess is the referee steps into the ring to begin the countdown.

Tightening your fighting gloves, you easily slip into a battle stance, legs spread wide, fists clenched as worn leather hugs your skin tight. Controlling your breathing to begin your focus comes easily, closing your eyes for a moment as the referee begins to count.

Hear…

The roar of the crowd becomes almost a quiet hush as you tune them out, turning instead to the steady beat of your heart.

Feel…

The ring rattles from the force of the crowd shaking and banging upon it, the lights despite their cool tones warm your skin. You slowly feel a shift in the air, your opponent has made their first step toward you, fist upraised.

Think…

You don’t need to.

Snapping your eyes open, you can see Hilda’s fist careening straight for your face, her teeth clenched as she clearly throws her entire weight into the punch.

Rookie mistake.

Your muscles do as you instruct, turning your body without hardly moving your feet. Her fist flies ilms past your face as you reach your hands up to grab her arm, laughing at her shocked face as you quickly twist her arm and kick her feet from underneath her. Her own momentum from her earlier punch goes against her, bringing her crashing down to the floor as you quickly dig your knee into her back. She cries out as you twist her arm just painfully enough to where she will not move or risk breaking it herself.

As you bring yourself out of your trance, you wonder for a moment if you have focused a little too hard, for the warehouse seems eerily silent. Looking up, the entire crowd is in shock, mouths agape and eyes wide, even the referee looking dumbstruck before they finally catch themselves. “I, uh...it appears we have a winner!” They shout, but the crowd is still silent as you finally release Hilda, standing back to your full height.

Applause trickles into your ears, slow and quiet, strangely unsure as if the crowd didn’t know what to think. Clearly they were not expecting such an upset, and you could feel the eyes of all in the room on you as you nimbly hopped over the ropes out of the ring. Drifting toward your comrades, they are a little less shocked than the crowd, but somehow still in awe as you stride toward them. Arching an eyebrow, ruffle your hair a bit. “What?”

“Rookie…” Hollow breathe, his voice sounding legitimately breathtaken.

Tilting your head to the side, you give him a confused look, turning to Swywyda for answers. She’s got an equally incredulous expression, hands clutched to her chest. “I knew boss said you were the real deal, but....” She murmurs, and you wonder if it was meant for you to hear.

“I don’t know what the big deal is…” You can’t say you didn’t expect to turn some heads going into this, but the genuine shock everyone seemed to display had you slightly concerned.

“Rookie...that was Hilda. Hilda.” Hollow nearly whispers, still needing to be heard over the thrum of the music. He places a hand on your shoulder to gently urge you out of the thickest part of the crowd, people seeming to give you an especially wide berth as you walk.

“Okay...I think I’m missing something here.” You intone lowly, starting to feel slightly anxious from all the eyes staring at you as if you are some freak of nature.

“Hilda is one of the best fighters out there, kid.” Swywyda finally speaks, her voice rich like brandy. “Clearly not good enough to be in with the Galvuses, but almost. And you took her out in nearly ten seconds flat. Like it was nothing.” She murmurs in a hushed tone, looking at you with newfound respect and...fear?

“Rookie, you put her down so fast it was almost unnatural.” Hollow interjects, glancing across the crowd as the activities seem to resume. “While I’m glad you live up to the talk and all...I think you might’ve just put a huge target on your back.”

Unable to stop your lips from pulling downward, you tap your foot nervously. “Well its a good thing I can fight, huh?” You giggle nervously, turning back to face the ring to distract yourself from the sinking feeling in the pooling in your gut.

Your next matches end much like the first, your enemies untrained and laughable. You don’t have the luxury of becoming the underdog, not with you sailing through the winner’s side of the bracket without breaking a sweat. With each passing match the eyes you feel on you become more malicious, as if the metaphorical target would grow in size with each victory. You stayed on high alert, sticking close to Hollow Glacier and Swywyda not for protection as much as having them as an extra set of eyes. It was one thing to be able to fight one on one, and honestly, you could handle yourself in a crowd.

Of three or four people, anyway.

“You’re up against Nael van Darnus next.” Hollow grunts, still watching closely over the crowd. He makes a mean scowl as soon as anyone looks in your direction too long and you have to say, its admirable in it’s own way. “If you can’t tell from the name, not only is she a Garlean, but she’s also with the Galvuses...Hydaelyn knows I can’t be arsed to remember what all their names mean, but I think she’s pretty high up there. Surprised they sent her instead of one of their own rookies…” He trails off, eyes sliding to you.

“Anything I should know?” You ask, giving a nervous tug to your gloves.

“I’ve only fought her once and I’ll tell ya; the girl can hit like a truck if she wants to. This is your real test, kid. I might know fuck all about those stuffy Garleans, but I know they train their elite ones well.” Swywyda answers, knocking back a glass of beer. “Not gonna lie; I’m pretty excited to see this match. Don’t mean to offend but I placed a nice bet on you winnin’.”

You give her a blank stare before following it up with an exasperated sigh. You suppose you should be flattered considering she thinks you’ll win. “Thanks. I guess…”

Soon enough your name is called over the loud speakers, prompting you to slowly begin making your way through the crowd. A hush has fallen over it once again, eyes upon your every move as Hollow Glacier and Swywyda stay by your flanks until you reach the ring. Hopping in, you shake around to limber yourself up.

“...and her opponent...Nael van Darnus!”

She is as tall as she is fierce, stepping into the ring with an almost elegance to her, as if this whole event is somehow beneath her. Her white hair sits prettily upon her shoulders, red eyes glinting in the moon light. Though she is dressed casually, the material is obviously of high quality. “For once...a challenge.” She purrs, thin lips pulling into a malicious sneer. “Or perhaps, a disappointment.”

Her insult bounces off like you didn’t even hear her. “The silent type, hmm? Very well...you are clearly trained and I’m sure you know that half of the riff raff here bumble around like children. Let me offer you a more...refined experience.” Slipping into her stance, her eyebrows furrow. “I will give you the first move.”

You stare at her for a tad longer before finally taking a deep breath and preparing yourself to fight, cracking your knuckles as you do so. “All right.”

Fast as lightning, you dash at her, swinging your fist for her face. You can tell she barely dodged it by how her hair brushes against the bare parts of your knuckles, her eyes wide for a second before she grits her teeth, doing her best to twist her body out of the way. You’ve already followed the path of her movement however, moving your own body to keep up with hers, landing a solid elbow to her stomach that visibly knocks the wind out of her.

Desperate to recover she shoves you away, nearly throwing you off balance with the force of it as she lands a decent hit to your chest. Swywyda wasn’t lying about her hitting like a truck, your sternum seeming to wail in pain, but you push past it, quick to be on the rebound to go for her once again.

She’s seemed to adjust to your speed now but she’s still a bit too slow to keep up, only able to dodge your first swing for her, but failing to dodge the second. You tut in disappointment as you hardly feel your body giving any effort to keep up, even though sweat drips down her brow and she struggle to move her limbs which are surely screaming in pain. “What...are you?!” She growls, grabbing your hair, making you yelp in pain.

Gritting your teeth, you see red, giving her a solid uppercut hard enough you feel her jaw clamp shut, her hands flying from your head as she clutches her bloody mouth. “Do not...touch my hair.” You hiss, steeling yourself for her attack as she roars in fury. Tiring of this game, you breathe slowly, eyes drifting closed.

Hear…

Nael’s heavy footfalls betray her intentions. Now that she is angry, she has given up control of how she moves her weight, making her easier to topple over.

Feel…

She got a few good hits in on you, but they would heal over night. Nothing to stop you from ending this fight so you could go home.

Think…

Already has your mind sifted through a dozen ways to disarm the woman who is currently charging at you, in only a matter of what feel like moments. Taking a final breath, you open your eyes.

Dodging her initial fist, you strike for her solar plexus, stopping her in her tracks. Another hit to her already bruised jaw to add insult to injury, has her clutching her face once more, her feet guiding her backwards from you out of instinct, which is precisely what you wanted. Sticking your own behind her, she falls flat on her back, hitting the floor hard and you’re standing above her, boot at her throat. You don’t think you’ve seen anyone as angry as she is, glaring up at you. Just as she means to move you press down on her throat, sending her into a coughing fit.

Once again, the crowd is silent, once again in shock. Whispers fill your ears, as a sense of foreboding settles upon your shoulders. Turning to the referree, you stare in confusion as they seem almost afraid. Of you?

Or of something else?

“The winner is....Honey! From the Marauders!” They offer shakily, the crowd offering unsure murmurs in response. Lifting your boot off Nael, you give her one last glance before finally turning your back to her. With Winner’s side done, she would be sent to losers where she could try once again to meet you in grands.

“N-No…” You hear her groan, your leg halfway over the ropes to exit the ring.

Danger zips down your back, multiple things happening at once and all in slow motion.

Turning, you see the referee trying their best to grab for Nael who is brandishing a knife she had stashed away, running straight for you. You can hear Hollow and Swywyda shouting your name in warning, the crowd crying out in horror as it seems like you won’t have enough time to get out of the way.

But you don’t have to, as silver blade impales itself in Nael’s side, slowing her down immediately as you free yourself from the tangle of the ropes. Your eyes widen as blood seeps out of her clothes, the crowd in an uproar as you follow their eyes to the walkway from which the knife flew.

“Nael...perhaps you could have lived if you graciously accepted defeat.”

Your eyes lock with ice blue ones, your heart stopping as you find them staring directly back at you. Framed by golden hair and a strong jawline, you struggle to remember to breathe. Your instincts are screaming at you to flee, to run. Run far away, something terrible comes this way.

But excitement rears its ugly head and keeps you rooted in place, something passing between you and the man who currently holds the entire room’s attention. ================================================

#zenos #zenos yae galvus #ff14 #FFXIV #Final Fantasy XIV #my writings #THP

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criminalmindskink · 6 years ago

Text

I’m Sorry S.R.

Warnings: Just language I believe. Angst/Fluff.

Word Count: 2346

As always, my request and inbox remain open. Enjoy loves.

Work has been absolute hell today. Between the ignorant people and overbearing coworkers, I feel drained. There’s a part of me that knows I should move jobs, find somewhere better for my mental health. The thing is, I’ve become attached to the people there. Certain customers bring a smile to my face while my coworkers have become family to me.

I walk into my apartment and stop with my back against the door. My eyes draw shut as I breathe in the atmosphere; it feels amazing to be home. As I walk through my kitchen I deposit my bag and coat on a chair at the table. I release my hair from its confinement before shaking it loose, feeling a bit more free with every step I take. I begin to unbutton my shirt as a journey to my bedroom, almost drooling at the thought of a hot shower.

As I finish my journey I deposit my shirt into my laundry basket, my pants and undergarments not far behind. A small smile graces my face as I dance the entire way to the bathroom. I start the shower with the hot knob turned to the max, it’s partner only turning a centimeter or two. I back track to my bathroom counter and turn on the speaker I keep there, I’m sure my neighbors wouldn’t mind a good concert.

I pick the current song stuck in my head, hot girl bummer by blackbear, and turn the volume up to max. My smile gets a bit brighter as the song begins to play, my anxieties and stress beginning to leave me. I run my hands through my hair before returning to my shower. I jump in to be greeted by the steaming water falling over my body, beginning to bounce on the balls of my feet as I wash myself clean of the day’s filth. The lyrics are now falling from my lips as I begin to daydream in the shower.

Fuck you, and you, and you

I hate your friends and they hate me too

I'm through, I'm through, I'm through

This that hot girl bummer anthem

Turn it up and throw a tantrum

I’m snapped back to the present as the water runs cold, quickly causing me to run from the freeze storm taking over my body. I chuckled to myself as my teeth chatter, my body feeling much more breathable. I grab a towel from the rack and begin to dry my body as the song Something In Your Mouth by Nickelback begins to play. My feet start to dance around the bathroom as my head begins to rock back and forth to the song. Once my hair is relatively dry I grab my robe from the bathroom door and drape myself with it. I let out a laugh as I continue to headband to the music before reaching to grab my mud mask from the counter.

Crafty little lip tricks

Tattoos on her left hip

She bending as your spending

There's no ending it so baby come on

Dressed up like a princess

Bettin' that her skin smells better

Than the scent of every flower in the desert, come on

I put my hair back with a hair clip before rubbing the mask over my face. As I’m doing this the song changes again, taking my mood with it. It begins to play the song Need Somebody by Xuitcasecity, drawing a memory to the forefront of my mind.

Yeah the taste of love but he fucked up and now your numb,

You said your over and done

Over and done with love,

I know that you can do it all by yourself,

You probably really don't need my help,

But we all need somebody to love,

We all need somebody.

FLASHBACK

Tears fall from my eyes as I look at the man in front of me. How could he do this to me? How could he accuse me of something like this? I run my hands through my hair roughly before shaking my head somberly. “If that’s how you feel Spencer, if that’s how you view me, you can leave.” I cry out while pointing to the door.

His tongue slides between his teeth as his eyes dart from me to the door. “Kouver, listen I’m sorry. I had a bad case, I didn’t mean it” he chokes out, realizing what he’s done.

I broken chuckle leaves me as I rub my face. “No Reid. You come into my house and accuse me of cheating on you? Me! I’ve never done anything but support you. I’ve never betrayed you or sent you away. I’ve placed my entire heart into this relationship and this is what I get in return? What, because you had a bad day? Did you even stop to think about me? About my day or about how I feel? I’m not you’re emotional punching bag! Get the fuck out.” I snarl before giving him a look of pure disgust.

I won’t lie, he looks a mess. His hair is wrecked, bags under his eyes, his suit a bit tattered. It breaks my heart to see him this way, but I can’t let this continue to happen. Him having a bad day doesn’t excuse the way he’s treated me recently. “Please just listen to me baby, I’m sorry. I was wrong, please don’t do this.” He sobs out in return. Tears of his own begin to fall as he begs.

I walked over to him and place my hand on his back, leading him to the door. “Call me when you remember how to treat the people you love Spence. My heart can’t take this every time you have a bad day. I love you and I’ll always support you, but I won’t take being treated like this. I’m sorry.” My voices comes out cracked and broken, showing my true emotions.

I shut the door, placing my back to it, before sliding to the floor as sobs begin to wreck my body. They always say if you love something, let it go. I’ve done that, now I just have to see if he’ll come back.

I shake away the memory before shutting the speaker off. That was two weeks ago, dwelling on it won’t make him return to me. I guess the worst part is that I’m craving to run to him, to drown in his embrace. I had been speaking the truth when I said my heart couldn’t take it. It had begun to kill me when he lashed out that way. I’m not even sure how it began to be honest. In the beginning if a case had gotten to him, he’d come to me. Sometimes we would talk about it, other times we would just cuddle, an odd few times he’d take it out by claiming me. On those nights he would act one of two ways. Sometimes it was love making, sweet nothings and deep thrusts. Other times it was rough, possessive, he’d claim me while constantly reminding me I belonged to him.

Those are the ways I’m all in for. The cuddles, late talks, or late nights; I’d welcome them all. Somehow along the way every single one of those turned to angry screaming and hasty accusations. No matter how hard I tried, I could never calm him. All I ever want to do is heal every single one of his wounds, hell I’d bend myself in half if it meant he could live in peace.

I make my way to my kitchen and grab a bottle of whiskey from the cabinet before padding into my living room. Once I make it to the couch I fall back and heave a deep sigh. My eyes stray to my bag on the counter, wondering if I should check on him. Would he want that? Is he okay? I shake the thought from my mind before taking a long drag from the bottle. Maybe he’s happier without me, maybe he feels a bit more free. He already has so much on his shoulders, who's to say I was nothing more than unwanted stress?

I tilt the bottle to my roof, “here’s to forgetting” I mumble out before draining the rest of bottle in one drag. For half a second I question the fact I’m becoming an alcoholic before shrugging my shoulders. Everyone has different ways of dealing with life, mines just a bit less healthy. I grab the TV remote before bringing Netflix onto the screen and begin prowling for something to watch. Supernatural always gets me out of my funk, come on old faithful make me happy. I press play before grabbing the empty bottle and retreating to the kitchen to trash it.

I opened my freezer to grab a tub of ice cream before grabbing a spoon from the drawer. My nose scrunches as a giggle leaves my mouth, my mood already brightening. Returning to the cabinet I grab another bottle of whiskey, truly planning on forgetting my worries for one night. Taking my treasures back to the living room I open both containers and hit play on the tv.

I’m chuckling as Dean is currently smarting off to a couple of cops attempting to question him. If only I could speak freely to the smart ass cops that come into my work, it would be therapeutic. I take another swig of the bottle before I hear my doorbell go off. My eyebrows come together before I look to the clock on the wall. It’s two o’clock in the morning, who in their right mind is at my door?

Padding to the front door I look through the peephole finding Spencer standing there looking worse for wear. His shirt is untucked, his eyes are red, his hair standing straight up. His right cheek is cut open and sporting a giant dark purple bruise. A gasps leaves my lips before I throw the door open and dash out to him. My hand grabs his own before dragging him into my apartment, placing him on my couch. I stumble on my feet a bit as I rush to the restroom to grab the first aid kit.

I return to him in a rush before sitting on the coffee table in front of him. His hands come out to rest on my legs, the look on his face showing his attempt to ground himself. I begin to clean up his face as he watches me intently. “Kouver” He gets out before I’m quieting him with a gentle shush. He bites his bottom lip before grabbing my hand that’s doctoring his face. “Please, I miss you. I’m sorry for how I treated you. I don’t know what had gotten into me, truly. I’ve read studies, watched documentaries, and spoken to Garcia trying to find the answer. Every single turn left me more confused. Please just know I will never treat you like that again. I love you. You’re my queen, my soulmate, please take me back.” He all but sobs out to me. Throughout his speech he keeps eye contact with me, his despair showing clear in his eyes.

Placing my hand on his unharmed cheek I lean forward to nuzzle his nose with my own. I stand from the coffee table before placing myself onto his lap, attempting to calm the shakes that have overtaken his body. I resume cleaning up his cheek before his arms wrap around my waist. He quietly accepts the doctoring while he awaits my answer. I finish up his face, placing the materials onto the side table, before wrapping my arms around his neck. My forehead rest upon his while breathing in his scent. “Spencer, I love you. I know you never meant the things you said, but I need you to understand how they affect me. Of course I’ll give you another chance. I couldn’t shut you out for anything, I’ve missed you like hell. Just please, I’m begging, don’t treat me that way. I’m here for you no matter what. I’m your ride or die, but you have to talk to me. Whatever you need baby I’m here.” I say onto his lips, resisting the urge to kiss away his pain. I need him to want this too, to want me.

A smile graces his face before he captures my lips in a passionate kiss. One of his hands come up to the back of my head, gently holding me. His head backs away from the kiss before he shoves his face into my neck. He breathes in deeply there, his embrace tightens a bit as he hugs me. After a moment he backs away as his hands fall to my hips. “I love you Kouver. From now on, every day, I’m going to show you just how much love I have for you.” He begins to pepper kisses all over my face, “I’m going to worship, and love, and shower you with affection. You hear me? You’re a queen and I plan to show you that.” He says with adoration in his eyes. His declaration causes a giggle to leave my mouth as my face hides in his neck.

He laughed out before attempting to bring my face back to his. “Oh ho oh, are you hiding from me? I don’t think so missy!” He shouts out before he begins to tickle me. I begin to wiggle and shriek as he attacks my sides.

My laugh becomes untamable as he flips me to my back and hovers over me. “Spence, stop it you meanie!” I playfully shout before leaning up to nip his neck. His hands stall before coming to rest on both sides of my face. We’re both breathing ruggedly as we grin to each other, truly happy. My hand comes up to gently rub his wounded cheek, “I love you baby” I softly state as I take him in fully.

His smile turns into a cheek splitting grin before he lowers himself to nuzzle my nose again. “I love you baby girl” He returns in a gentle tone before capturing my lips in another sweet kiss. I’m not a hundred percent sure what’s happened to him since our fight, but I’m sure as hell glad to have him back. I missed my genius, and I don’t plan on ever letting him leave again.

“True love doesn't happen right away; it's an ever-growing process. It develops after you've gone through many ups and downs, when you've suffered together, cried together, laughed together.” - Ricardo Montalban

Taglist: @banshee-bitch

#spencer reid imagine #criminal minds imagine #Criminal Minds #spencer reid #my baby kouver

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moody-cowdaddy · 6 years ago

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Friends in Low Places [Part 2 - End]

Arthur Morgan x Reader | Imagine #2

Summary: You finally make it back to Horseshoe Overlook with Arthur.

Category: Action, Fluff, First Meeting.

After riding for a while, Arthur's horse came to a stop in a wooded area that sat on top of a hill. The area surrounding you was lit up by a campfires, along with more than a few tents and wagons that were set up all along the perimeter. He clearly hadn't lied to you about a camp, there had to be at least 20 people here.

"Home sweet home," Arthur said, turning his head back to you.

He threw his leg over the filly before dropping down to the ground. He reached up for you to take his hand. You reached down, wrapping your slender fingers around his, his hands were rough and calloused, with a firm grip. He helped you keep your balance as you dropped to the ground. Clearly, the folks around here didn't miss a beat, as soon as your feet hit the dirt, a tall man with dark hair and mustache came barreling towards the two of you from the raging campfire that sat in the middle of the camp as the rest of the residents looked on, nervously. The man's hands were at his hip, ready to draw his gun at a moment's notice.

[[MORE]]

"Arthur," the man barked, pointing in your direction with a scowl, "Who is this?"

You shot Arthur a nervous glance. He returned a reassuring nod of his head to you before turning his attention back to the man, holding his hands out as he walked forward to separate him from getting over to you. But you peeked over Arthur's shoulder to get a gander at what was going on.

"Calm down, Dutch. It's safe. The girl just needed a place to stay tonight," Arthur gestured to you.

"Safe?" The man he had called Dutch repeated. "Arthur, are you forgettin' that we just barely made it out of Blackwater alive?" He shifted his eyes to you. "She could be workin' with those Pinkertons just like the rest."

Arthur hummed, seemingly in disbelief at the sheer paranoia that the man in front of him was presenting. "Well, she's one hell of an actress then, I'm bettin'."

You took a step forward,"I'm not the law, if that's your concern.. sir"

"Hell, she robbed a man before we high-tailed it outta there." Arthur spoke, throwing his hand up to rest on his gunbelt.

"It's true." You nodded, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

"Is that supposed to ease my mind?" Dutch looked between the two of you, "I told you to keep a low profile, Arthur."

Arthur nodded, "Sure. An' I have been. Fella was gettin' rough with her, so I handled it. All I'm askin' for is the night, Dutch."

Dutch looked at the two of you again before letting out a tiresome breath. "Just the night," he said before turning to you directly, "This ain't no handout camp."

You gave him a thankful expression, "I hadn't expected that it was." You reached down into your pocket to pull out the gold pocketwatch you had lifted off Jack. "How's gold plated sound?" You handed it over to him.

Dutch looked flabergasted at what he was witnessing. You had figured that he thought Arthur's comment about you robbing somebody was bullshit, but this was the thing to prove him wrong. He took the pocketwatch from your grasp, rolling it over and over between his fingers, inspecting it before a pleased expression came over his face as he finally placed it down into his own pocket. He looked down at you and gave you an acknowledging nod.

"We have food if you're hungry, and I'm sure Mr. Morgan will show you where you can lay your head for the night," he said, exchanging glances turning on his heel and walked back over to the others.

"Damn," Arthur whistled as he turned back to his horse, unstrapping the bedroll that was tied to it's saddle. "If I had known a pocketwatch was all it took for Dutch to stop his fussin', I would have tried it years ago."

"The first one's free." You smiled at him.

He smirked and tucked the bedroll under his arm, motioning for you to follow behind him as he led you through the camp. You were still receiving a few odd looks from people as they sat around the campfire, wondering who you were.

"Howdy." you said politely, giving a nod to the few men and women who scanned their eyes over you as you passed by.

A few of them nodded back at you, giving half-hearted smiles. Arthur led you over to a wagon that was setup as a makeshift sleeping tent, complete with a cot and small rickety table beside it.

"This is mine. Ain't much, but it'll keep you from layin' your head in the dirt. Take the cot," he said, unfolding the bedroll and placing it on the ground across from you. "I'll take the ground."

"No, Mister Morgan," you shook your head, "I couldn't possibly."

He held a hand up to stop your protest, "You can," he gestured to the cot, "I insist."

You sighed bemusingly and nodded, knowing he wouldn't take 'no' for an answer. "Just for tonight."

"'Course." he shrugged, pulling his hat off as he lowered himself down to the bedroll.

You sat down on the edge of the cot, checking out your surroundings as you pulled off your coat. You looked over to the small table that was setup beside the cot, your gaze landed on a few odds and ends laying on it, including a picture of a woman.

"Would that be a lucky lady, or family?" You said, staring at the old photo.

Arthur squinted, looking over in your direction. He followed your eyes to the framed photo and gave you a small chuckle. "No such luck. That's my momma. She died when I was a kid."

"Oh," you said, turning back, "I'm sorry to hear that."

He shook his head, "No harm done. It's been years, feels like a lifetime ago."

You hummed, "I never knew my parents. Died when I was around 5."

"Shit," Arthur said, his rough voice going soft, "That's no way for a girl to have to grow up."

You shrugged, "Not so terrible, I reckon. But that's a story for another time, I guess."

You glanced over at the photo one last time before pulling yourself down onto the cot. You pulled your jacket over you as cover. The night air was still cool, and the stars were shining brightly tonight. It was nice to be able to stay outside and see them again. There low mumbling from the few people still around the slowly dying campire, the crackling of it's flames and the various sounds from the wildlife hidden within the dense collection of trees in the forest beyond being the only sound filling the night air.

You watched Arthur as he settled down onto the ground, kicking his feet up as he laid his head down onto a rolled up blanket. Luckily the night air was warm, so there wasn't wasn't a whole lot of need for any cover. You secretly stared at the man for a moment, before lowering yourself down onto the cot. There was something about this man that made you feel safe, even though you had barely known him for two hours, and Lord, he wasn't bad on the eyes either.

"Goodnight, Mr. Morgan," you said, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Night, Ms. (Y/L/N)," he said, tipping his hat to you before pulling it down over his eyes.

It had been quit a while since you had a proper night's rest, and before you knew it you were out like a light.

When you woke up the next morning, there was a cool breeze in the air and the sound of birds chirps echoed from the trees. It had been a long time since you had a good night's rest, and now you were thankful that Arthur lended you his cot for the night.

You cracked your tired eyes open, letting them adjust to the morning sunlight that was now beginning to peek through the tent. Most of everyone in the camp seemed to be up and about already, including Arthur. You sat up on the cot, alone in his tent, rubbing the sleep away from your weary eyes.

After a moment, there was a sound of a throat clearing as you brought your eyes up to the entrance of the tent. Arthur was standing there with two tin cups in his hands, the steam rising up from them gently.

"Mornin'." His lips pulled into a small smile as he stepped forward, offering one of the cups to you. "Figured you might want some coffee."

You nodded silently with a small smile as you took it from his hand. He took a seat across from you in an old wooden chair as he reached down into the breast pocket of the blue button down shirt he was wearing to pull out a pack of cigarettes. He poked one of the hand rolled tobacco cylinders between his lips, swiping a match across the bottom of his boot to light it. You caught yourself sneaking a few peeks at the quiet man as you sipped the hot coffee. The warmth of the tincup on your hands felt comforting on this chilly, spring morning.

You weren't able to get the best look of him lastnight, so seeing him in this early morning light was almost as if you were meeting him all over again. You had to admit that he was a very striking gentleman. He was tall and lean, but he had no shortage of muscles from what you were able to see. He had a fair amount of stubble on his chin, and his hair was almost past his neck. You knew it was wrong to stare, but you couldn't help yourself.

But your admiration for his good looks were cut short once he glanced over to catch you staring at him. You quickly averted your eyes back down your cup of coffee, clearing your throat as you took another quick sip of the hot liquid.

"So, how long have you and your group been here?" You asked, breaking the silence.

"'Bout three weeks, give or take," he said, taking a puff of his cigarette. "Some times we move 'round so much, it can get hard to keep track."

"Travellers, huh?" You asked, jokingly. It wasnt much of a surprise to you what they were doing.

You had travelled with enough outlaws and gunslingers in your time to know what a group of them looked like.

He chuckled, seeming to find amusement in the question. He gave a small shrug, "Yeah, I reckon you could say somethin' like'at."

There was silence for a moment before you finally spoke up again, "how long are y'all sticking around here for?"

"Ehh, probably 'til we get ourselves in trouble," he said honestly. He looked up at you, his piercing blue eyes looking directly at you, as if he could see into your very soul, "How long ya stickin' 'round, miss?"

Your breathe hitched just the slightest when he looked at you, but you were able to shake it off fairly quickly, even if you did stammer on your words just a tad.

"I -I," you trailed off, letting out a breathy chuckle.

You knew you were being silly, and you knew that there really was no need for you to get yourself all flustered, you wouldn't know him long enough to have a reason to. You took a small breath and composed yourself. Arthur waited patiently, seeming to not mind that you were coming off as a right fool, but he probably chalked it up to you being a little nervous after your ordeal lastnight.

"I'll probably be heading out as soon as I get a horse. I figured I'd go out today and see if I can rope me a wild one," you finally finished.

He gave a small nod as he took the last drag off of his cigarette. "Well, I can give you a hand with'at, if ya'd like. Breakin' horses ain't no easy business."

You smiled warmly at him, "I would like that, Mr. Morgan. Thank you."

Later on that morning, you were over by the small makeshift pasture that the camp had to help Arthur get his filly, Athena, saddled up to go. It was a rather quiet morning and you could hear the low humming of voices and talking in the background again as you stood there with Arthur. For what it was worth, this was a rather nice place, and the company you were keeping for the time being wasn't so bad either.

You had already spoken to a few other of the camp members this morning, and most of them were pleasant. Hosea, Lenny, Charles, and Sadie had all introduced themselves when you came out of Arthur's tent. You were even able to get a spare change of clothes from one of the camp women whom said her name was Ms. Grimshaw.

But every place has somehing, or someone, that made everyone miserable and you'd come to find that out way sooner than you had liked.

"Athena, huh?" You hummed at Arthur. "Wouldn't've thought of you as a greek mythology buff, Mr. Morgan."

He scoffed back gruffly as he ran a corse brush over the filly's neck. "No, I reckon most wouldn't. Can't say I'm an expert, but I've done some readin' on them old Gods. Figured a strong horse like this needed a strong name."

"She is a fine animal," you nodded in agreeance, patting the horse on her side.

You weren't much for small talk with most people, but with this man, you genuinely were interested in what he had to say. He didn't didn't seem like the average man who had a whole lot of nothing to talk about. This man was intelligent and kind, which was a rare combination, especially in this neck of the woods.

The conversation was cut short when a long-haired man with a permanent scowl and look that practically screamed he was untrustworthy approached the both you.

"Now Morgan, I know you aren't tryin' to keep our house guest all to yourself," the man taunted.

You could instantly see Arthur's body go tense and stiff when he heard the man's voice sound beside him. His jaw went tight, and you could see the blank stare on his face as you watched his cheeks flair beneath his growing beard as he turned towards the voice.

He gritted down on his teeth with an exaspertlated sigh. "Watchu want, Micah?"

"Oh nothin'," the man held his hands up. His eyes were narrowed and it reminded you of the way a wolf looked when it was stalking it's prey. "I just want to introduce myself to our guest is all."

You looked up at the man with caution as he finally turned to you, holding his hand out for you to take it, and reluctantly, you did. Something seemed very off with this man, and he gave you the goddamn creeps.

"Name's Micah Bell, at your service," he smiled, bowing his head to you, slightly.

"(Y/N)(Y/L/N)." You answered back, forcing yourself to usher as smile through your lips that were pulled tightly into a firm line.

"See, that's how ya communicate, Morgan," Micah gave a smug sounding chuckle.

"There anyhin' in particular you wan't, Micah? 'Less it's orders from Durch, we don't have any business here," Arthur snapped at him. He was clearly pestered by him from the moment he slithered up to the both of you like a rattlesnake.

"Well, fine then," Micah answered. He turned to you, tipping his hat, "lovely to meet you, miss (Y/L/N)."

"Of course," you said, trying to be polite.

Once he walked off and made his way out of sight, Arthur seem to tense up just a little less.

"I take it he's not the camp favorite?" you inquired.

He hummed and nodded. "Sure as shit ain't my favorite. Pigeon-livered sonuvabitch's been ridin' with us for months now. One problem after 'nother. Don't trust him far as I could throw him, which ain't very,"

You shook your head, biting your lip as you tried to hold back the small laugh trying to escape your throat at his comment.

"Find that funny, do ya?" One corner of his lip tugged into half a smirk.

You shook your head, "I do apologize. But I see what you mean, the man seems insufferable."

"He's about as pleasant to be around as a horse with the colic." He shook his head, turning to you, "But enuff'a that. You ready to ride?"

You nodded, "Sure am."

He hopped up onto the filly, holding his hand out for you to take as helped lift you up onto her back with ease.

"Alright, let's go find you a horse," he said, giving Athena a slight tap with his feet, making her move forward.

You and Arthur stood on a small cliff that overlooked the plains. It was a beautiful sight with a clear view of the landscape and the towering mountains in the background. Arthur scanned the area with a pair of binoculars, waiting on a herd of horses to make an appearance.

"So, where ya headed next?" Arthur asked, lowering the binoculars.

You sighed, "I'm not really sure. I've usually just take a train and wherever it stops, that's where I am for a while. But, I figured if I get a horse, I'll just make my own way."

"Sounds like you live quite the adventurous life, miss (Y/L/N)," he remarked, cutting his eyes to you.

You rolled your eyes playfully, "Please, just call me (Y/N)."

"A'right then, (Y/N)," he said in that gravelly tone of his.

You'd be a liar if you said that his tone of voice, or, the man himself in general didn't make you weak in the knees, because he surely did.

"Ah, gotcha," he spoke quickly to himself, pulling the binoculars back up to his face. "We've got a heard of four. Hard to to say what the breeds are. Look like Standardbreds to me."

You walked stepped closer to him to take a look in the direction that he pointed out. You hadn't even noticed that you were damn near brushing up again him until he finally lowered the binoculars down for you to take a look. You could feel your face flush red as you took a step back from him, taking the binoculars from his hand. He must have noticed how close you were to him as well when he cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Jus' take a look there. See which one you like," he said, pointing towards them.

You brought the binoculars up to your own face to get a better look. "Yeah, I'm willing to bet those are Standardbreds."

You looked over the heard for a moment, and the one that ended up catching your eye the most was a beautiful, solid black stallion.

"That black stallion," you said confidently. "That's the one."

Arthur sighed a tad, "Sure a stallion ain't gonna be too much for ya?"

Your narrowed your eyes at him slightly as you clocked your head to look at him.

He put his hands up in defense, with an impressed smile, "Okay, okay. C'mon, let's go get 'em."

The two of you mounted Arthur's horse once more, and the two of you took off on the trail that led down from the cliff as the horses came closer into view.

"Grab my lasso, will ya!" Arthur called back to you.

"No need," you said, "Ride up along side the black one."

Even with only one side of his face visible, you could tell this cowboy was questioning what the hell you were even talking about right now.

"Whatchu mean, girl?" He asked, sounding half impressed and half concerned.

"Just do it, Arthur," you called back. "Don't worry, I've done this plenty of times."

He shook his head at you and tapped his heels against the filly's sides again, making her speed up from a gallop to a sprint, until you were right on top of the herd. You could hear the neighing and snorts of the wild stallions and fillies as they darted off in the other direction, trying to put as much distance in between you and them as possible, but it didn't take Athena long to catch up to the black stallion that you had your eyes on. As Arthur guided Athena up beside the wild equine, you threw one of your legs up onto the saddle, hanging tightly onto Arthur's vest as you readied yourself to jump onto the spooked horse's back.

"Ya gonna get yourself killed, woman!" Arthur barked as he swung his head back around to you.

You flashed him a determined smile, "We're all gonna die sometime, Mr. Morgan."

You leapt from Athena to the black stallion as it ran parallel to you. You landed on it's back with an audible thud, you quickly tightened your legs around it's abdomen as tangled your fingers tightly into it's mane as you felt the first few shockwaves of it's bucking as it's gallop faltered and it began to slow down, moving more erratically in circles to try to get you off of it's back. The horse reared up, snorting angrily at you, stomping it's feet aggressively on the ground while kicking it's back feet outward. You did your best to hang on as it slung you around like a ragdoll, giving you more than. a few close calls. But you had your grip locked in tight on it and you knew not to let go for any reason.

Arthur's horse galloped in circles around you with his lasso at the ready as he watched in pure shock and amazement at what he was witnessing you do at this moment. He surely hadn't expected anything like this from you. He had never even known many men to be as bold as this this bold. The only other woman he had seen show fearlessness was Mrs. Adler.

"You crazy woman," he breathed. He was saying it more so to himself than he watched you, his lips parted as he watched you in amazement.

After a few more hard bucks and still failing to throw you off, the stallion slowed up his erratic movements to a few odd rears and kicks here and there as a last ditch effort, until it finally decided to give up all together as it snorted and threw it's head back a few more times. You finally loosened your grip on him enough to fit comfortably atop his back once you felt it was settled down enough. The adrenaline was still coursing through you as you sat there, letting yourself breathe. You gave the stallion a firm pat on the neck.

"Good boy," you praised.

"I think ya might be one'uh the craziest women I've ever met," Arthur's voice broke through the silence.

You were so caught up in what you were doing, you forgotten that he was there watching all of this.

You sighed, guiding the horse over to him, "Perhaps a little."

"So, what'dya do anyway? After last night an' today, I'm guessin' you ain't a church girl," he said bluntly, turning his head curiously at you.

You shook your head, the two of you headed back towards camp at a leisurely pace. "You'd be right about that. I feel like me an' you are probably in the same type of business, Mr. Morgan," you admitted, giving him a knowing glance.

He raised a curious eyebrow, "An' what kind of business might that be?"

"I know a group of gunslingers when I see them. Wouldn't consider myself much of a gunslinger, but you did see me rob a man lastnight," you said, shrugging.

Arthur nodded in agreement. He made no effort to try an deny what you already knew. "Yeah, well, that was deserved on that bastard's part. We do the best we can. We try to live as right as we can. We were all just'a bunch of misfits 'til Dutch found us. We're family more than anythin'."

"He definitely struck me as the leader. How's he likin' that pocketwatch?" you asked Arthur, jokingly.

"Safe to say, I think ya made yourself a friend for life on that'un. Ya know, he was askin' me this mornin' if you're plannin' on stickin' 'round camp," Arthur said, turning his head towards you, waiting for a response.

He said it as if he too wanted to know the answer to that. You couldn't help but smile, surprised by this revelation that Dutch had more or less given you his blessing to stay if you wanted to, and the fact that Arthur himself didn't seem to mind.

"I'd hate to impose on anyone, Arthur."

"Hell, who'd you be imposin' on, darlin?" He retorted.

You could feel yourself go flush again at his words. Hearing him call you darlin' had instantly lit a fire inside of you with an intensity that you weren't even aware that you were capable of experiencing. Your thoughts started to go hazy, and you began to wonder what real harm would come from staying just a little while longer with the group. They all seemed nice enough, except Micah, but you weren't too much worried about him, and you had to admit that Arthur livened up the place, and he definitely sweetened the deal when it came to you sticking around these parts.

You glanced over to Arthur, whose blue eyes met yours at an instant. You could feel the chills running down your spine anytime he looked at you directly like this. He looked as if he had a small smile on his face, like he already knew exactly what your answer to him would be.

You bit your lip absentmindedly as you stared at the handsome cowboy before you. "Maybe I can stay a few more days, if you wouldn't mind having me."

"I wouldn't. It'd be a pleasure, ma'am." He tipped his hat to you as his eyes lingered on yours for a moment more.

Maybe spending some extra time around here wouldn't be so bad after all.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan fanfiction #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan imagine #red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 fanfiction #red dead redemption 2 fanfiction #rdr2 imagine #red dead redemption 2 imagine #roger clark #Dutch van der linde #red dead redemption x reader #authur morgan fanfic

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kyarymell · 6 years ago

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A Little Less “Concern for Demons”, A Little More “Touch Me”

Pairing: V x F!Reader Rating: Explicit Summary: PWP. Following a bet with Nico, you convince V to fuck you in a phonebooth. Note: Art trade fic for the beautiful @mysticalkhfan who drew me an ABSOLUTELY DELECTABLE Erron Black fanart. Hats off to you! I tried to fill in as many requests as possible LOL.

You were a force to be reckoned with.

Equal parts alluring and dangerous, only you could convince him to partake in debauchery in public. The pair of you were on a routine mission, clearing out some demons for a client. When the task was completed, you all but dragged him into a phone booth.

“Not this again! Let’s go, kitty. You too, boulder boy.”

V’s familiars were used to your insatiable desire for their master, already removing themselves from his person. Tattoos faded and hair returned to white, the summoner felt exposed. Unfortunately for him, this was only the beginning.

Pushing him against the glass, he gasped as you pressed heated kisses on his neck. Biting on the soft skin near his collar bone, you moved your hand to palm V through his jeans. Despite the (worry? thrill?) of being caught, he’s getting hard.

How could he not? Even if you’re too much to handle sometimes, you’re still his lover.

…You’re also pretty skilled with your lips.

“Ah-You’re getting lipstick everywhere.”

“That’s the point.”

His concern only rewards him with you kissing him squarely on the mouth, tugging at his soft hair. V yields to your attack, lost in the pleasurable sensations you’re giving him. You only let him go when he’s struggling for breath.

The aim was to have him inside you as soon as possible, lest the two of you get discovered. Leaning forward you distract him with another heated kiss, your nimble fingers working the strings of his vest. Pulling the clasp free, you step back to admire your handiwork.

The flimsy material falls to the ground, revealing more of his pale skin. For a moment he shivers, a slight chill in the air. Lipstick smeared across his mouth and neck, lips glistening with saliva, he’s sure that he’s a mess.

V can already imagine what his other self would say.

“Foolishness. Why would you leave yourself exposed and vulnerable in front of someone?”

Thoughts returning to the present, you’re moving to unzip his pants. V catches your hand, regaining enough sense to take control of the situation.

“Do you really think you’re in charge?”

His eyes are dark, grabbing a hold of you and switching the positions so that you’re in full view if anyone were to walk by. You’re smirking because despite the fact that he’s being more impulsive, you’ve effectively convinced him to get down and dirty with you in public.

Wrapped around your little finger.

Such a prim and proper person he was, never getting involved in the grit of battle. Now, he’s making short work of your button-up shirt to access the skin underneath. Pushing the fabric up and over your head, V immediately presses kisses along your spine.

To think that this all started from a bet- he was so easy to tease.

From the debriefing, you knew it was going to be an easy job. You were busy most days, so this would be an ample opportunity to wear the new skirt you bought last week. Not the most combat-ready gear in the world but you had confidence in your abilities.

Nico left the engine off, the two of you waiting for V to arrive. Cigarette between her lips, you’re both leaning against the side of the van.

“I dunno what you see in Mr. Poetry over there. He seems so uptight- never the type to fuck in an alleyway or anything like that.”

Crossing your arms, you tilted your head curiously.

“Is that supposed to be a normal thing that happens? What brought this up?”

“In all the time we’ve been colleagues, I never thought you interested in them quiet types.”

You shrugged, a moment of silence passing between the both of you. Tapping a finger on your chin, an idea came to mind.

“Wanna make a bet?”

“You know I’m always down to gamble. But what we bettin’ on?”

“Whether or not I can get him to fuck me in public. Fifty bucks.”

Nico’s eyes were blown wide, snorting like she was trying not to laugh. Shaking hands with you, she crushed the cigarette butt under her heel.

“Sure. You’re about to be fifty bucks poorer. That’s a fact!”

When you were finally alone with the summoner, you made sure to take the most forward approach. Reserved as he is, he’s still unable to resist you on attack mode.

It started with subtle things, touching him a lot more in and out of combat. Eventually, you worked up to making flashy moves while killing demons, giving V an eyeful when possible.

All the teasing you did throughout the day seemed to have worked, for V was riled up enough to leave bites along your shoulder and shove you against the glass. His hands are on your breasts, giving them a squeeze.

“Is this what you wanted,” he grinds his hips against your backside, “to be indecent like this?”

A hot tongue presses against your ear and you whimper in response. It’s seldom that he’s rough like this and it satisfies the masochistic side of you deep within. He’s clearly not pleased with your lack of words, for he moves to pull on your hair and pinch one of your nipples.

“Answer me.”

“I…”

V switches tactics, tracing circles around the band of your skirt with his fingers and then moving to stroke the skin at your waist. You’re almost too distracted to answer, he’s touching too lightly for your liking.

How the tables have turned- it was your intention to turn him into a blushing mess, but you’re the one stifling moans against your hand.

The summoner clicks his tongue, lifting the back of your skirt. You shivered, feeling his fingers slide between your thighs. It’s suddenly feeling all too warm in the phone booth, your shaky breaths causing condensation to form on the glass.

“So you want to be stubborn, is that it?”

You closed your eyes, feeling V push aside the delicate lace of your panties. He slides his finger against you, before slipping it in with no resistance. The man hisses, imagining just how easy it would be to shove the entirety of his length inside you. You’re already wet with minimal touching.

“V…”

“I see. This was your intention all along. You wanted this.”

He stroked your insides painfully slow, adding another finger even when he knows you can take much more. It’s polarising, the fact that he can be domineering but still ensuring that you won’t be hurt. Then, he hits your sensitive spot.

“Please-“

He stills his fingers, making you groan in frustration. You wiggle your hips, hoping that it would entice him to continue. V smirks as he barely brushes against the spot once more.

Damn those long fingers of his!

“Please what?”

“Don’t be mean, you know what I want.”

The fingers leave you completely. That was the opposite of what you wanted to happen…!

“You must apologise.”

Pulling his cock free of his jeans, he stroked himself. Taking his turn to tease you, you felt it rub against your entrance, smearing pre-cum on your thighs. You’re trying to get him inside you by pushing backwards but the summoner has you pinned against the glass.

“F-for what?” you hate how your voice is trembling.

“Apologise for being indecent in public and I might just consider your request.”

Play along. Play along. You were the one that got yourself into this.

“I’m sorry for acting… indecent… please V. Please fuck me-“

After what seemed like forever, V finally pushes into you- making you gasp at the sensation. He starts slow, even if you don’t need it. Thoroughly frustrated from the earlier teasing, you turn your head to face him, meeting his lips in a searing kiss.

That was all the encouragement needed, for he set a brutal pace that had you gripping the front of the glass for dear life. You whimpered when he brushed against your sensitive spot with the tip and it had you pushing back and meeting him halfway. It was deeper like this and you found yourself crying out his name…

…until you heard voices not too far away.

“Quiet.”

V pressed his partially gloved fingers in your mouth, trapping your tongue with his fingertips. A cheerful group of teenagers passed by, talking animatedly amongst each other.

The summoner just kept moving.

“Did you see the movie I recommended last week?”

The way the summoner rolls his hips are sinful and all you can do is squeeze your eyes shut.

“Yeah, I guess I cried a little…”

“Aw, really?”

Heat pools in your stomach, almost overwhelming as he nudges your legs apart. V was large despite his slim build, the burn of the stretch sending shivers down your spine.

“Hey, did you hear something?”

You tried desperately to be quiet, V holding you in place with his punishing stokes.

“No way. Don’t scare me like that!”

Please, please let them be gone…

“You did well.”

You could practically hear the smirk on his lips. What a smug bastard. Oh, you were definitely going to get him back for that.

With one particularly hard thrust, you tightened up considerably and the summoner removed his fingers from your mouth. Unable to hold back your voice, you yelped as he spanked you with his other hand, the ring adorning his middle finger cold and leaving a mark.

From there, V timed his thrusts with his palm striking your ass. His gloved hand moved to your hip in order to get a better angle. Not long now until you would come undone, your toes curling in delight. Hair sticking to your face, you whined as he pulled out completely and shoved his cock back in all at once.

“V!”

Snapping your eyes open at the sensation, you arched your back. V was seldom aggressive like this and you felt yourself melting into his embrace. The summoner was breathing heavily now, stopping every so often to leave kisses on the side of your neck.

Completely at his mercy, you felt him pound into your sensitive spot over and over again. Your legs trembled, it was becoming increasingly difficult to hold yourself up. Tears gathering in the corner of your eyes from the over-stimulation, you leaned your forehead on the glass of the phone booth.

The cold surface gives you a short reprieve, until V grips your arms, pulling them back. You’re almost sitting backwards on his lap when you reach your peak, stars bursting in your vision. It was embarrassing how fast he pushed you over the edge.

“Just… a little more…”

“Not inside!” you didn’t want anything dripping out, especially since you were wearing only a skirt.

Becoming more vocal with every thrust, you knew that he was close. Wrenching yourself free from his grasp, you dropped to your knees. Taking his length into your mouth, you swirled your tongue around the tip, hand stroking the underside. V became flustered at the sight of your ruined mascara, tear-streaked cheeks noticeable in the low light.

Losing his confident demeanour, he gently tries to pry you off by tugging on your hair.

Payback is a bitch. You loved seeing V turn suddenly shy- it was seldom that you pleasured him in this way and as a result, it had a huge effect on him. Pushing his hand away you sucked, drawing all sorts of pleased noises from the summoner. He threw his head back, biting on his lip.

Unable to hold back, he starts bucking into your mouth making you choke slightly. He tries to apologise but he’s already so close. Remnants of lipstick smudged on his most intimate parts and you couldn’t help but feel like you owned every part of him.

“Wait, I might dirty you-“

His orgasm hits him unexpectedly when you hum and he subconsciously pulls away, leaving a mess on your cheeks. V is doubled over, leaning on the glass of the phonebooth, legs trembling and breathing erratic. Swiping your tongue across your mouth, you taste his bitterness. Smirking, you couldn’t help but crack a joke.

“Thanks for the meal.”

V runs a hand over his face, sighing. He tucks himself in and goes to wipe your face with the edge of his coat.

“So vulgar. I do not know how you were able to convince me to… do this…”

“But you wouldn’t have anyone else, would you?”

He helps smooth out your clothes, brushing stray hairs away from your face. You understand that it’s difficult for him to put his feelings for you in words, but his actions show how much he cares. Watching you button up your shirt, V holds his hands out, tattoos re-appearing on his skin.

It’s only when his hair returns to black that he runs a hand through the unruly mop to look decent once more. Thankfully, his lust-addled brain hand enough common sense to set his cane against the wall before tangling with you. In turn, you found your weapons resting on top of the phone.

Adjusting your skirt, you attempted to wipe the ruined mascara from your cheeks. It would’ve been nice to have a reflective surface handy but you did what you could. V saw your struggle, licking his thumb and reaching over to assist you. Heart seizing in your chest at how gentle he was, you gave him a quick peck on the lips.

The summoner smiled in return.

Exiting the phone booth together, V twirled his cane around and tapped it on the pavement.

“Let us make haste to the van. We are overdue for a shower.”

“Is that an invitation?”

Griffon chose that moment to appear.

“You two are disgusting, you know that right?”

In a rare show of childishness, V rolled his eyes, opting to not humour his familiar with a response. He didn’t complain when you looped your arm around his, leaning against his side. Griffon scoffed and dissipated into ink once more.

---

Call it woman’s intuition (or the fact that V was bruised and covered in lipstick), because Nico immediately knew what transpired. V went to shower and you sauntered over to the driver’s seat, shooting the gunsmith a smile.

“I gotta hand it to ya, I did not see this coming.”

Leaning over, you held out your hand.

“Looks like I’m fifty bucks richer.”

Waving you off the mechanic frowned, reaching for the glove compartment. Placing a fresh bill in your hand, Nico sighed.

“Really shoulda learned after I kept losin’ to D-Dante in cards.”

#v x reader #dmc v x reader #devil may cry fanfiction #dmc x reader #dmc fanfiction #my stuff

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the-original-b · 5 years ago

Text

Archangel: Brimstone

Format: Prose / Fiction, one-shot

Word Count: c. 4,200

Summary: Authorities begin to investigate the shootout at the Nyne Circles club, and discover last night’s violence wasn’t the first time the establishment bore witness to mass bloodshed.

Warning(s): blood, violence, implied sex crimes

Nyne Circles club, Monday morning.

A man in a dark suit and white shirt stepped off the lift as the gate opened; his tie loose around his open shirt collar. He strode down the short hallway, stepping over a covered body on his way to a note written in chalk on the wall that separated the entrance from the main atrium. “Abandon all hope, ye who enter,” he read in a gravelly, masculine baritone. He slid his hands into his pockets and snickered to himself as he noted the signs pointing toward the Gomorrah and Sodom levels. “A little on-the-nose with that one,” he noted as he headed down to his right toward Sodom.

He was met by two uniformed police officers watching over the room. “This is a crime scene, sir,” the younger of the two said. “I’m gonna have to see some identification before you come any closer.”

“Sorry, gentlemen,” the newcomer in the dark suit added with a wry smile. “Where are my manners..? I’m Agent Peter Cross,” he said. “United States Government.”

“Is that right, Agent?” The officer put his hands on his hips, challenging the man. “And who are you with exactly? FBI? CIA? Homeland Security?”

“I’m OGA,” Cross replied after a two-second pause. His salt and pepper hair was slicked back, and his jaw sported a manicured pale gray two-week beard accented with black hairs. “And your crime scene here is the latest in a series of interconnected incidents, so I’ll be taking over your investigation of it.”

OGA, as in Other Government Agency. “Yeah? How’s that?”

“Earlier this month, local law enforcement pulls a headless body out of the driver seat of a pickup across the street from Saint Vittorio’s. Fast forward a few weeks, and a poor lady out for her morning jog on the Margaret Pace Park Bywalk stumbles over what’s left of two bodies. And then just yesterday NYPD collects half a dozen more in a Bayside alleyway.” He shifted his weight. “Including this, we’re looking at four acts of extreme gangland violence in three different states. That made this a federal matter even before fire and sulfur destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah here.”

“This is all good and lovely, but I still have no idea if you’re real, Mr. Cross. Do you have ID?”

“What I have, Officer Lindbeck, is a cell phone. I so much as utter a vowel to the right people, and that possession charge that was expunged from little Davey’s record quickly and decisively becomes un-expunged. So if you’re done showing your partner how big your dick is, please let me in so I can do my job.” His lips curled upward into a sly smirk.

“You leave my son out of this, creep,” Officer Lindbeck snarled. “Or I’ll make you regret ever showing your face here.”

Cross retracted his head, raising both his eyebrows and widening his hazel-brown eyes. “Well pardon the shit out of my goddamn French, young man,” he said, “but did you just threaten me?”

Officer Lindbeck’s older and more seasoned partner got between the two men. He had some familiarity with OGA-types and knew exactly what kind of people they were. “Let it go, David,” he suggested. “Go take a walk. Get some air, maybe a coffee.”

Lindbeck eyed his partner, then Cross. He shook his head and cursed under his breath as he walked away from them, toward the lift.

The other officer turned back to Cross. “Forgive David,” he finally said. “He hasn’t been with the Force long enough to know ‘OGA’ is shorthand for stop asking questions… how can I help you, Agent Cross?”

Cross looked over the room briefly. “You can bring me up to speed on what the actual hell happened in here.”

“We’re working on that,” he said, leading him deeper into the area with a head tilt. “All we know for sure is the carnage we see wasn’t planned. If it were,” he noted, “we’d be looking at a lot more DBs than what we got.”

“That counting the one in the lobby?”

“No, there were no gunshot wounds on that one. She was probably just trampled—like the others on this floor. Gunshots are all upstairs.”

Cross turned his gaze up to the mezzanine floor. “What’s your name, Officer?”

“Blake,” he said.

“Well, Officer Blake,” he suggested, a grin tugging at his lip, “why don’t we take a look up there and see what we find?”

Blake followed Cross back toward the lobby and up to the catwalk across from the mezzanine. He stayed behind looking over one of the bodies as Cross proceeded toward the back office, stepping over another corpse to examine the damage done to the wall adjacent to the doorway.

“Blake,” he called, curling his first and second fingers twice and beckoning the other officer. “Come check this out.”

Blake arrived shortly afterward, standing to Cross’s right and bending over to look at what Cross was focused on. “Bullet holes,” he noted. “They came from down the hall and hit the wall at an angle.”

“That they very well did,” Cross agreed. “But they’re different.”

Blake squinted a little to see what it was he was talking about. “Yeah, I see what you mean… calibers aren’t the same.”

“Right you are again. This here looks like a nine millimeter. The other…” Cross shut one eye and inspected the damage. “Forty-five or bigger, if my eyes serve me.”

“So, two different guns?”

“At two different times. Check out the wear in the drywall where the bullets hit,” he noted. “Nine is fresh from last night,” he observed, “Big Boy’s been around for a while.”

Blake looked back at the notches in the wall. “So you’re telling me last night wasn’t the first shootout in this place?”

“That, my friend, is exactly what I’m saying…” Cross stepped away from the wall, peered into the Red Room at the covered bodies on the floor and kept going to find a spot on the catwalk to lean over the handrail. “Do you know what this place used to be?”

“I’ve read reports,” Blake said, standing a few feet from him. “It was some kind of luxury club for criminals.”

Cross nodded. “It was called Brimstone, and it was the crown jewel of the Teller crime syndicate five or six years ago. We all knew it, but no concrete evidence was ever dug up connecting it to Mr. Teller. Everything we had was circumstantial but even I knew it was enough to nail him for this place. Higher-ups didn’t agree, though. They withheld the raid order.” He laced his fingers together as he continued. “Then one night an ex-Special Forces operator-turned-fixer gets a tip from somebody in the loop about a human trafficking operation run out of the place, and he shut that shit down… Couldn’t get Teller himself, so he settled for the wife instead.”

“How do you know all that?” Blake asked, a few feet from the other man.

Cross shot him a look and smirked before looking back across the floor at the mezzanine. “I’ve read reports,” he said. “Keep an eye on this venue, Officer Blake” he advised, straightening back up. “If I were a bettin’ boy, I’d say this place’ll be up and running again in no time at all.”

The Brimstone Lounge (currently known as Cloud Nyne), five or six years ago.

Three men approached the door that one night, and a broad-shouldered fellow in a dark suit and shirt with an open collar knocked on the front door three times, then two more in quick succession. A mail slot slid open for the doorman to look through and accept three invitations from the men outside, and after a few seconds the door swung open to let them in. They checked their coats as they walked in, then made their way toward the main floor, a spot-lit open space with a bar on one end and a stage on the other. Pole dancers on stage moved evocatively to club beats for the entertainment of the patrons there, who watched from a number round tables with their drinks and other mind-altering substances.

The trio stopped to acknowledge the stage performers, but kept moving toward a wide staircase that spiraled upward at concentric 90-degree angles which led to the VIP area upstairs. When they got there, they presented their invitations to the bouncers there—dressed in black suits and shirts with cerulean blue ties—and opened their jackets to show them they were carrying handguns. Such was the understanding; handguns were allowed as long as they were concealed and nobody caused trouble. Since all the staff and most of the patrons were carrying anyway, trouble was seldom started.

After passing a quick search, the trio made their way upstairs and found their seats in the quieter lounge area. At the wall opposite the staircase was a well-appointed bar at which a handful of people enjoyed their drinks, and at the other side of the room was a seating area and smaller stage where a procession of young, specimen men and women dressed in very little would be presented to and bid upon by the seated observers. Behind the bar and around the room were a handful more men in black suits and blue ties.

The auctioneer—a middle-aged woman in a classy off-the-shoulder cerulean blue gown—gave exposition for the merchandise on display and accepted bids before breaking for twenty minutes. She reclaimed her place at the podium. “The intermission has concluded, ladies and gentlemen,” she said into a microphone. “Please find your seats again and we’ll continue with this evening’s auction.”

One of the patrons, an athletically built fair-skinned fellow around the age of forty reclaimed his seat with a gin martini is his hand. His fingers moved absentmindedly around the stainless steel garnish pick as he placed occasional bids, not exactly looking to win but more to maintain the illusion of interest. His tailored black suit, crisp white shirt, rosewood red tie and matching pocket square garnered enough attention; if the staff got the slightest hint he wasn’t there for the same reason as the other patrons, the evening would take a turn too far ahead of schedule.

~~~~

The emcee brought the auction to a close an hour later. “This concludes the evening’s fundraiser, ladies and gentlemen! Congratulations again to our winners; you may claim your prizes at the back entrance. Please enjoy the rest of your evening.”

As the patrons began clearing out, the man in the red tie stood up and made his way to the bathroom, concealing his garnish pick in his closed hand as he moved and holding it between his teeth as he washed his hands. He ran them through his combed-back light brown hair and stroked his graying stubble in the mirror while he waited for all but one of the other men in the room with him to leave. The other one—a staff member identifiable by the cerulean blue tie thrown over his shoulder—was urinating in one of the stalls.

The man in the red tie made his way to the door, undoing his jacket and engaging the bolt-and-barrel lock in the ceiling before turning back to the staff member. He retrieved the pick from between his teeth and reached around to stab the other man in the neck with it, then punched him in the ribs and swept his feet backward to have him fall face first into the toilet, where he held the man’s head in place under the water until he stopped moving.

Then he washed the blood and toilet water from his hands and got to work. He found the air vent mentioned in his briefing and unscrewed three of the cover’s fasteners with his fingertips, letting it hang from the fourth, then reached up to retrieve the box his contact had smuggled there the day earlier. On it was a post-it note that read,

Krueger,

Here’s a little extra firepower, as promised.

Krueger lifted the lid off the case and examined its contents—a loaded SPAS-12 and bandolier with eighteen extra shells, along with earplugs, two spare .45 ACP magazines for his Mk. 23, and a single M84 stun grenade.

“Ausgezeichnet,” he said to himself.

He fastened the ammunition belt to himself under his jacket and unfolded the shotgun’s stock, pressing it against his shoulder and raising it to his eyes to look down the sights and acquire the picture. Then he placed his earplugs in, disengaged the safety, switched the action from pump-operation to semi-auto, and went back towards the door, resting his hand on the bolt lock for a moment. He closed his eyes, exhaled, and released the lock when he opened his eyes again. He swung the door wide and raised the shotgun, acquiring his first target behind the bar.

Krueger dropped the bartender with a single well-aimed blast from his shotgun, and adjusted his angle to find his second target by the stairs who he dispatched just as quickly as the first. Peripherally to his right he spotted a third staff member reach into his jacket, and before he could shoot Krueger half-spun and dropped to one knee to line his shot and fired twice. He rose back up to his feet just as he sighted a fourth staff member and squeezed the trigger a fifth time.

He quickly scanned the room and found no more threats, then made his way to the stars as the music below stopped and the patrons began to evacuate. He descended half of them then vaulted over the banister to land in the lobby, where he targeted the doorman next; he fired before his target could draw his gun.

Krueger got back to his feet and slipped behind a wide load-bearing column, peering over it at the staff members he could see shepherding the patrons out the emergency exit at the back of the space. He took this moment to catch his breath; he turned the shotgun upside down, took four rounds from his ammo belt and slid them into the magazine tube one at a time, then put two more into his gun to top it off.

The room was considerably emptier now, and Krueger could more easily spot the bright blue ties of his targets as he peered around the column again. He knew he had to move soon—the body armor he wore under his shirt would stop anything smaller than a .44 magnum, but it only covered his chest and back. His best bet was to stay mobile and not give them a chance to shoot him.

He stayed low behind the half-wall partition separating the lobby from the main atrium, moving away from the bar area along which he knew the staff would begin their patrol. He knew engaging them in the open would mean his peril, so he readied the stun grenade and took a moment to prepare himself for what it would do to him in an enclosed space.

Krueger laid his shotgun on the floor, then pulled the pin on the bomb and tossed it backward over the half-wall in the direction of the bar. He curled up, turning toward the floor shutting his eyes while he cupped his hands over his plugged ears.

By the time the others realized what was about to happen, it was too late.

“Oh, shit—!”

The deafening boom filled the space, reverberating from the walls and disorienting everyone within direct exposure. Krueger slowly opened his eyes after dealing with the shockwave, and took a second to find his balance again before reaching for his shotgun. Unlike him, his targets were neither trained nor prepared for the concussive device, which put him at a distinct advantage over them.

Krueger stood back up and raised his weapon, dropping each of his dizzied, staggering targets with blasts from his shotgun as he moved out from behind the partition and headed towards the stage. He cleared the weapon, firing nine times before reaching the stage, and drew his Mk. 23 one-handed from inside his jacket as he approached the space behind it.

He held the .45 out in front of him in his right hand while he held onto the shotgun with his left. He peered into the open doors of each room, clearing them quickly until he came across a closed door. He kicked it open and held the handgun out, scaring five dancers hiding there.

Krueger lowered the weapon, knowing they were no threat to him. “Get out,” he ordered.

The dancers wasted no time; they darted past him toward the exit.

As he turned he was ambushed by one staff member in the uniform black suit and blue tie; Krueger slapped the gun in his hand with the shotgun muzzle and shot him twice in the throat with his .45, then once more in the head once he hit the ground. He turned back around to clear the final room before holstering his handgun to reload the shotgun and return to the main atrium.

Krueger raised the shotgun again from behind the backstage corner, looking through the sights at the handful of people left alive in the space with him as they gathered their senses in the wake of the stun bomb. He scanned their outfits for the cerulean blue ties he’d been shooting at all night, and when he found none he stepped out from behind cover and moved toward the emergency exit.

Peripherally he spotted one rise from behind the bar; he and Krueger got their shots off at the same time, but Krueger’s vest saved him while the other man had no such protection. He shot the dying barman again as got back to his feet, cursing as he proceeded onward to the emergency exit.

He stepped through an employees-only door to his left and proceeded down a hallway. In the dim light he spotted the sheen of the auctioneer’s cerulean blue gown. She turned to lock eyes with him; in her left hand was a compact handgun.

Krueger held the shotgun steady, training the sights on the center of her chest. He’d been shooting at that color all night—the staff color—but her gun was lowered. She had a chance to walk away, so he offered it to her.

“Put it down,” he ordered, his finger resting on the trigger.

Her eyes narrowed, and she raised the gun.

Krueger fired before she could take her shot, and lowered the shotgun as life escaped the auctioneer with a sigh, her eyes still open.

He took a step over to her and, recognizing who she was, knelt down beside her. This was Maria Teller—the wife of local mob boss Christopher Teller, the man whose establishment this was and the one he was sent in to kill. He reached over to close her eyelids, then thumbed the blood trickle from the corner of her mouth before continuing down the hallway and reaching a lift to get to the basement level.

He elbowed the switch to activate the lift and placed the last three shells on his bandolier into his shotgun as the lift descended. After them he still had the spare magazines for his handgun—whatever was waiting for him in the basement, he was confident he had enough ammunition to kill it.

~~~~

The lift gates opened, and Krueger raised his shotgun again as he walked forward scanning the dark, dank cellar. Shafts of light permeated downward from stage lighting assemblies hanging from the ceiling, illuminating passing dust. In the quiet he could identify footsteps in the space before him; carefully he approached the far wall. To his left was a set of stairs leading up to a mezzanine floor, and to his right was a walkway that emptied into the open atrium where a dozens of massive plywood boxes were arranged.

Clearing that maze, he knew, would be a nightmare. He moved to his left and quietly ascended the stairs; the moment he crossed a pair of hands took the shotgun by its pump and pulled it away. Krueger managed to get a shot off but hit the wall instead of his target. Immediately he threw his right fist at the man’s jaw, and grabbed hold of his lapel to throw him into and over the banister. He drew his Mk. 23 and peered into the atrium below, firing twice at the fallen man.

Gunfire from two more down in the storage-box maze erupted upward, and Krueger threw himself back into the wall to catch his bearings. He traced the wall back toward the stairwell, holding the handgun close in his left hand for when they inevitably came up to engage him.

He fired twice at the first man to cross the threshold, and kicked him back down the stairs into the other. He fired a third, fourth, and fifth time at the two men to finish them.

Krueger’s vest caught a round meant for his left shoulder blade, spinning him around to face the catwalk opposite the mezzanine. Immediately he raised his handgun and emptied the magazine in the direction the shots came from. One of his shots struck the last staff member in the hip—he lurched backward, retreating deeper down the catwalk and tucking himself behind a doorway.

Krueger swapped the spent magazine for a fresh one from his bandolier, and slowly, methodically approached the catwalk with the gun raised. He spotted the other man as he popped out of cover to fire, but Krueger shot twice, hitting both the other man and the wall near the doorway. The staff member fell backward through the door.

Krueger closed in on the fallen man, kicking his handgun out of reach and keeping his weapon trained on the man lying on the floor.

He mustered the strength to tilt his head and look Krueger in the eye. “T-Teller,” he croaked. Blood came out of his mouth along with the name. “Where’s Missus—”

Krueger shot the man in the head before he could finish his thought. He relaxed his stance and exhaled.

“Better now,” he put forth, holstering his gun again. “Better.”

He moved back down the catwalk to reclaim his shotgun, and started limping as the adrenaline began filtering out of his blood. He bent over to pick the gun up when he heard movement coming from one of the plywood crates below.

He snapped the shotgun back to his eyes and descended the stairs one more time, stepping over the bodies. When he arrived at the crate making the most noise, he fired at two of the hinges at the corners of the crate’s façade , then ripped the front of it off to look inside.

His expression softened as he lowered the shotgun and looked upon a naked woman holding her knees to her chest, her makeup tracing dark lines down her cheeks. She shot a horrified look back up at him, not daring to breathe.

He knelt down before her and placed the shotgun on the floor of the crate, then took his jacket off to gently place around her shoulders. Looking at her again, he recognized her as one of the people Maria Teller was auctioning off just over an hour ago.

“Are the others here as well?” he asked her. His tone was warm, fatherly, even.

Quietly the woman nodded.

Krueger stood up and looked around him at all the plywood crates in the room with him. Who knew how many other people were trapped in crates with them, or for how long they were there? Who could say for sure how many young men and women the Tellers and their associates kidnapped off the streets and sold for the people who bought them to do God-only-knows-what to them? How many more did he save from this; how many didn’t he?

He looked back down at the scared, naked woman. “I was never here,” he told her. Then he turned to head back to the lift.

~~~~

Krueger made his way back up to the top floor restroom to reclaim the case his weapons were stored in after freeing the other young men and women auctioned off earlier that evening. After placing the SPAS-12, Mk. 23, and bandolier back into the box and shutting the lid, he made his way to the ground floor again and stepped behind the bar to make a phone call on the landline there. He hit 9 to reach an outside line and dialed 9-1-1.

“Send police and EMS to the Morrow building on Park Avenue,” he said as soon as the operator picked up the phone. “There are at least two dozen men and women in the basement level who’ll need warm clothes, hot food, and cool water. Find out who they are, whether they have family, and send them home.” He hung the phone up and went back to the front to collect his coat, then headed to the back of the room to leave through the emergency exit and disappear into the night.

(Masterlist)

#fiction #original work #original content #original fiction #prose #creative writing #drama #thriller #action #crime story

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keelywolfe · 6 years ago

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FIC: Blow By Blow ch.3 (baon)

Summary: Set the day after ‘With Brotherly LV’. Jeff is having his first day working at the Embassy, Stretch is having a bad anxiety day, Red is having a bad text day, and Edge is just having a day.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Established Relationship, Prejudice Against Monsters, Angst, Injury Recovery, Hurt/Comfort, LV Issues, Brother issues

Notes: My timeline is getting a little wonky due to a few drabble sets and shorts. So this chapter directly follows With Brotherly LV

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

Chapter One | Chapter Two

~~*~~

Read Chapter 3 on AO3

Read it here!

~~*~~

Two hours and another coffee later, Edge had worked his way through most of the folders and had a brief web conference with the Economics and Global Affairs. He was starting to think absently of lunch when he heard the commotion from the outer room.

It was only raised voices so far, Janice’s sharp and very likely protective. Edge couldn’t make out what she was saying, but the other voice came through the door clearly with, “…my fucking brother!”

Perfect, may as well add to the chaos of the day. It was his brother who’d taught him trying to avoid unpleasantries only led them back to haunt you. Edge pressed the intercom button. “Let him in.”

Of course Red would have to make a grand entrance. He could have teleported in and no one would have been the wiser. That meant he wanted Janice to see him, as well as anyone he passed in the hallways. Trying to fathom Red’s reasoning for the things he did was a fool’s game, but all too often it turned out that he was right.

It didn’t mean Edge couldn’t be aggravated about it.

The door opened allowing Red to shuffle in and Edge frowned. His brother looked tired. His clothes were more rumpled than normal, his jacket pulled close around the same t-shirt he’d been wearing the night before. Dark reddish circles were embedded beneath his sockets, but his endless grin was as wide as ever. That grin had stopped fooling Edge long before he’d been out of striped shirts.

“When did you get in this morning?” Edge kept the question light. It made it more likely for Red to answer than if it were a demand.

True to form, Red only shrugged. “never left last night.”

He bypassed the guest chairs, coming around the side of the desk and when he took Edge’s chin in two sharp fingers, forcibly turning his head, Edge didn’t protest. Using his injury as an excuse to manhandle him was getting to be a habit of the people around him, anyway; his own brother at least should be allowed.

Unlike any of the others, Red only studied the bruises impassively. “got you good, didn’t i. coulda given you a matching crack.”

No apologies and Edge did not expect one. Instead, he pulled away from his brother’s grip with a scoff, saying dismissively, “Not a single one of your attacks came close to the force necessary to break bone.”

“no?” Red wandered back around to flop into one of the chairs with enough force to send skittering back an inch. “might hafta try harder next time.”

It was incredibly difficult to keep from smiling at that. He shouldn’t be as darkly amused as he was; every other person he’d met today was upset by the bruise, including his husband who was likely still fuming at home. But his brother whom Edge knew loved him, who had sacrificed a great deal for him over the years in so many ways, his Underfell brother, only suggested that perhaps he should try to up the damage.

He really did love Red.

But thinking of his husband— “Where is Stretch?”

“hm?” Red’s bland confusion at the question was one of the worst lies he’d ever told. “you askin’ me about your liability? dunno, probably at your place.” His grin widened even as one sharp fingertip scraped over the wooden arm of his chair. Edge stifled a wince as he silently mourned the loss, watching curls of wood shavings fall to the floor. But demanding Red stop might tempt him into dangling answers rather than being direct, if only to be aggravating. “see, that’s a good question because it’s been a helluva morning. first, the honey bun shows up on my porch and when he sees i ain’t there, i start getting these interestin’ texts. dusting off some old threats, if you get my meaning.”

He did, all too well. Edge could have done without knowing Stretch already tried to see Red before Edge secured a promise from him and that sheer chance prevented it. Ah, the barriers against peril this morning were conspicuously thin, weren’t they.

“Let me see them.”

He didn’t hold out much hope on that and it was no surprise that Red only grinned wickedly. “nah. s’between me and him.” Red shifted to lay sideways in the chair, his feet dangling over the newly shredded arm. “your liability has a hell of a mouth on him,” Red said, contemplatively. “or fingers, i guess. does pretty good with those languages, think i learned a coupla new things. his science needs a brush up, though. some of the shit he suggested ain’t physically possible, there’s no way in hell my skull is gonna fit where he wants to shove it.”

And there was a field of landmines to tread carefully over. “He was only worried about me.”

Red slanted a glance his way, his eye lights brightening. "you think i’m mad at him?" He laughed, raucous and loud, pounding his fist on the cushioned seat as if Edge had told a joke filled with offensive references to bodily functions. “for trying to protect you? nah. he’s like a tall version of one of them little weenie dogs who thinks they're a rottweiler. thinks he can do some damage. ‘course they can still give you a hell of an ankle bite. bet your pretty little liability would give it a good ol’ try.”

There was something boastful in that, a sort of pride, Edge realized. Red was terribly smug that Stretch would try to threaten him over his own brother.

Of course he was. He was probably patting himself on the back for ‘helping’ Edge secure such a perfect spouse, the little shit.

Some of Red’s humor faded. “you, now. you might’ve stayed home.” It was mildly said but Edge knew a rebuke when he heard one. “and not just 'cause you look like a walking ad for a new fight club. he’s awful wound up about lizard lady’s tests.”

“I know,” Edge sighed. “I’m not sure why. I’m worried myself, but he’s had lower HP.” And if those thoughts were keeping Edge awake at night, a memory of the last time Stretch had been down to a base of four HP, well, he wasn’t about to bring it up.

Red sucked on his teeth loudly. “wanna know what i think?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“i think that it ain't about the tests. it’s that he thinks all this shit’s his fault.”

Edge stilled. He blinked once, slowly, breathing in against the sudden raw magic thickening in his throat.

“he’s thinkin’ about how stupid he was to use their little machine alone,” Red went on, and each word stung, “and now he’s let you down, let his bro down, let the whole world down. he’s been stewing about it for a while, i’m bettin’. he gets out of the hospital again, starts doing better, then finds out his hp’s dropped. every time he just gets that little voice in his head to shut up, here it pops up again, like some kinda nasty yo-yo remindin’ him how he fucked up.”

“and then we’ve got you here,” Red waved a careless hand at Edge’s face, “lookin’ like i belted you, and his brain latched on to that shit. this's his chance, right? all ready to protect you from your mean ol' big brother, that'll make it up to you, for sure."

"That's ridiculous, he has nothing to make up for."

Red shrugged. "didn’t say it made sense. honey bun has issues, you knew that before you ever saw what he keeps in his pants."

"I'll thank you to not talk about his pants in any capacity." But Red was wrong about one thing; it made an upsetting amount of sense. Stretch had been trying to avoid telling him about his HP from the beginning because of Edge’s reaction at the hospital. Frightening as it was, he’d kept this to himself, even dragging Red and Sans along to keep quiet about it, though that probably hadn’t taken much persuasion. All because he was afraid of making Edge angry. If this was anyone’s fault, it was Edge’s; in trying to protect Stretch from his temper, he’d hurt him deeper than he’d realized and the memory of Stretch begging him not to leave was still painfully sharp.

Enough. Assigning blame wasn’t going to help anything, but now he needed to think about what would. Point blank was not going to be effective for Stretch, that much he knew.

Red was still lying in the chair, his hands folded over his chest as he contemplated the ceiling with unnecessary interest, and the urge to needle that blatantly rude calm was nigh on irresistible. “If only you were as apt at dissecting your own issues as you are others.”

His brother only snorted loudly. “oh, i got myself all dissected, don’t you worry about me, little brother. diagnosis: complete fuck up.”

Edge shook his head, reluctantly amused. “I stand corrected. Have you seen Jeff yet today?”

The chair squeaked as Red turned his skull towards Edge, his sockets narrowed, but he accepted Edge’s reorientation, “not yet.”

“It’s his first day. He was very nervous when we drove in this morning. He’s been through a lot lately. I don’t want him worrying that if he’s a little overwhelmed, his job will be in jeopardy.”

“like you’re gonna fire him?” Red laughed with more honest amusement, “after all the work you put in gettin’ him here?”

Edge allowed a reluctant smile. “Exactly.”

“your side liability is doin’ fine—”

“Don’t call him that!”

“—they’ve had him reviewing press releases all morning, makin’ sure they sound right to a human audience. shit gets lost in the translation, sometimes. he’s not bad, got a decent eye for detail.”

“Good.” Jeff would likely discuss his first day with Stretch later, hopefully with excitement, but it was good to confirm he wasn’t struggling.

“welp, can’t say i enjoyed the chat,” Red sagged out of the chair to his feet, already fumbling into his jacket for a cigar. “fuck me, you all are exhausting.” He paused, the slender cigar clenched unlit in his teeth as he dug around for matches. “paps? you need another workout, you call me.” It was not a question and Red waited until Edge nodded. “i’ll try and avoid that pretty face next time. oh, and maybe check your phone.”

“Brother, don’t you dare…!” Edge started, irritated, as Red lit a match with a flick of his thumb, holding it to the cigar. The first foul curl of odor filled the room even as he shortcutted out, lingering behind him.

“Asshole,” Edge sighed to no one at all. That pointed little reminder would be hanging out for hours. He started to reach for another folder and paused. His phone was sitting where he’d dropped it, dark and inconspicuous, and he picked it up, unlocking the screen. The last text wasn’t from Red as he’d assumed.

i’m sorry

Edge exhaled slowly. That had been over two hours ago, and he could easily picture Stretch curled up miserably on the sofa, waiting for a reply.

His fingers hesitated over the screen, ready to type out an answer. Instead, he opened the phone app to repeat his last call. The line picked up, but there were no words, only a damp, shuddery breath. He’d been crying and Edge closed his sockets, pained.

“You don’t have to say anything, love,” Edge told him quietly. “I’m sorry, too. I know you’re worried about, well, a great deal right now. Listen to me, no matter what Alphys has to say, we’ll handle it together. I love you. We can talk about everything else later, anything you want, and I won’t try to lie about any of it. That’s a promise.”

There was no reply, and Edge considered disconnecting, giving Stretch some time to gather himself. But before he could came a single word, “wait.” Small and soft, almost too low to hear. He did, patiently, listening to hitching breaths and sniffles that ached in his soul, until finally there was a faint, “i love you, too.”

It was enough for now. “I’ll see you tonight.”

“okay.” Still too quiet, too subdued, but this time Edge disconnected the call. He held his phone a moment longer until he could force his fingers to uncurl before he broke the glass. The temptation to go directly home was difficult to resist, but he did it anyway. He needed a little time to think, to settle his thoughts and his soul. Stretch might well still be miserable and worried, but going in without a strategy was only going to make things worse.

And strategy was his strength.

His door suddenly opening caught him off-guard, halfway to forming an attack before he saw it was only Antwan, likely taking advantage of Janice getting coffee to sneak in. “Hey, can we talk a min…what the fuck happened to you!?”

Edge groaned.

~~*~~

tbc

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #by any other name

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rheyninwrites · 6 years ago

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Old Friends Part 2

f!OC Modern AU

I knew the ride with Arthur might be awkward, but not as awkward as having to tell a complete stranger that my boyfriend had left me stranded at a party where I knew no one. As I paced, the minutes ticked by faster than I expected, and soon I felt a buzzing from my back pocket, and checked the screen. Arthur. My stomach began tying itself in knots while my heart decided to flutter off into the night.

Gee thanks, body. As if I didn’t already know that the ride would be nerve wracking.

“So you just got on Whiteacre?”

Ah yes, let’s avoid “Hello” and all that other nonsense. No one needs politeness anyway!

I may joke to myself, but I knew if anyone would be okay with leaving off small talk, it would be Arthur. Like I said- a man of few words, usually only the essential ones.

And swearing.

“Yep. You see my headlights yet?”

“No. Wait! Yes. I think. You still got that bigass redneck truck? With the tilted left headlight?”

“Yeah. But I told you, it ain’t a redneck truck.”

“Darlin’, if it’s big and rusty or big and chrome, it’s a redneck truck.”

Why the fuck did I just call him Darlin’? And why the FUCK do I always go into that Deep South accent to match his when we talk? Is it some bizarre version of Hanahaki disease, where I’m cursed to talk in the same accent as the guy I’ve had a practically lifetime crush on? If that’s the case, it’s a good thing it wasn’t Sean. I’ve lived my whole life in the south, so the accent is bound to pop up occasionally. I think people might notice if I suddenly developed a thick Irish brogue.

About then Arthur pulled up in that big cream truck of his. As old and rusty as it was, he seemed to have a soft spot for it, and treated that old junker better than lots of guys treat brand new trucks. It was kinda sweet to see how well he treated it, even talked to it sometimes. Still, I couldn’t resist ribbing him about it a little as he hopped out to let me into the passenger side.

“You still got this old thing?”

“Woman, the day I get rid of Boadicea is the day she leaves me sitting by the road with no hope of repair.”

I laughed the first real laugh I had in weeks as he stood beside me, lending me his shoulder for balance as I climbed into the beast.

“Yeah, well, I’m bettin’ on that being sooner rather than later.”

He gave the front end a dramatic hug as he made his way around. I couldn’t help but take him in, those broad, strong shoulders, tight beneath his t-shirt. The way his thick brown hair fell against his forehead. The familiar stubble on his chin. The blue eyes that always seemed to look straight through me, tucked beneath the eyebrows that seemed to be always a little furrowed. Still as handsome as ever, making my heart race.

“Aw, girl, she didn’t mean that. You and I are gone be together forever.”

Another laugh out of me as I reached to put the seatbelt on, but he stopped me with a shake of his head.

“Seatbelt there’s broke. Been meaning to fix it, but I ain’t had the chance yet. Wasn’t really too worried about it as I usually don’t have passengers.”

“Well just how do you plan on guaranteeing my safety in this dangerous giant machine?” I asked dramatically, throwing out my arms.

“Jesus, woman, you allergic to me or something? I smell that bad? Just sit in the middle, that belt works. I promise you I took a bath this week.”

Oh. The middle seat. Right beside him. When I’ve just dumped my boyfriend. In the middle of the night. When he’s basically just rescued me, looking practically good enough to eat.

Dammit.

This was like the beginning of a really cliche porn film. I slid over to the middle and went to buckle the belt, but, hey, wouldn’t you know it, it’s trapped under his ass.

A really bad cliche porn film.

“Shit. Sorry about that.”

He worked the latch out from under himself, then grabbed the buckle from me and fastened me in, making me feel much more like a child than I was comfortable with. With that, he turned the truck around and began the drive back toward civilization.The drive went on in complete silence for several minutes. He didn’t usually like to listen to music when he was driving because it gave him some time to work out the thoughts in his head. While I am usually a music listener, for once, I enjoyed having nothing to distract myself. I just zoned out and considered exactly where I was in life, which wasn’t exactly great. A decent job, but not really a career, no house, not kids or pets. Not much of anything but myself. Suddenly I was pulled from my thoughts by Arthur calling my name.

“So, uh, this guy you’re datin’, he just up and left you in the middle of the woods?”

“Yep. Not the first time, either.”

“Jesus, why do you stand for it?”

“Well, I’m not anymore. He’s history. I just gotta make it official and let him know.”

“Bastard like that don’t deserve to know nothing. Leaving his goddamn woman in some shithole in the middle of the woods . . . .” His knuckles were practically white from gripping the steering wheel in his fury.

“Easy, Tiger. You’re gonna break your precious girl, handling her like that.”

“Well it ain’t right! You deserve better. Someone like you, . . . .”

I don’t know what it was, something about the way he said it, and what he didn’t say. He’d been protective of me since we were kids, but this, somehow, felt a little different. I was probably being foolish as hell, but I felt a little coil of hope unfurling in my stomach.

“Just where am I taking you, anyway?”

Where indeed.

Shit.

“ Uh, honestly, I’m not exactly sure. I mean, I used to live over in Oak Park. My car’s there, some of my stuff, too, though not much- he never was willing to give up room in his space for my stuff. But, to tell the truth, I can’t stand the thought of heading over there right now, and I definitely don’t know what I’m gonna do once I get my stuff.”

I folded my hands in my lap, suddenly feeling ashamed of myself. I’d let some idiot come into my life and make it something I never wanted. He told me what to do, where to go, and when to be there. I had made myself so much smaller, just for him. I had stopped being myself. The realization of exactly what I had done my my eyes burn with tears.

Arthur pulled the truck over on the side of the road and wrapped his arms around me. He just held me for a long time without saying anything, letting my tears fall down his shirt and into his lap. It was a warm and wonderful comfort, one that I felt I didn’t deserve at all. What happened to the strong girl he used to know? The one that nearly broke a guy’s arm in high school when he tried to grab her tits as she walked down the hall? How could she turn into this sobbing mess?

He rubbed slow circles between my shoulder blades, gently soothing me. When he finally spoke it was in a deep, quiet voice that sounded tinged with tears of his own.

“We’ve all been fools for love, sweetheart. At one time or another, we all have.”

Great. Just what I needed on this wonderful evening. More sadness.

The hope that I had felt unfurling earlier shriveled up and hid. I knew exactly what he meant and who he was talking about. Who else could it be?

Mary.

#rdr arthur #modern arthur morgan #rdr2 fandom #arthur morgan fic #arthurmorgan #arthur morgan #writeblr #writing #modern rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic

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piggypaisley · 6 years ago

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"Sir, That Octopus Is Flirting With You..."

AN: This is just a silly, little self indulgent thing I wrote last night when I was suddenly hit with inspiration, and needed a break from a big project I had been working on.

This is based off a small AU i’ve had since the announcement of BUP, and kept it around and toyed with for about a year. It’s not a universe really expanded upon, and honestly I was just pulling a bunch of concepts out of my ass while writing gfdhjs. Enjoy this for what it is. (See the first instance of mermaid Tetrox here.)

Word Count: 1110

"Sir... the octopus appears to be flirting with you..."

Belladonna looked up from her clipboard and eyed the octopus in question. About 20 feet in away from them, there was a... mermaid, (I suppose you could call her..) floating in a large tank about the size of a very large swimming pool. Her hair was a vibrant purple-pink, and she had the legs of an octopus in place of those of a human. Besides those two features (and her razor like teeth) the rest of her looked perfectly human. So much so, one could be easily mistaken that she was... well, besides the aforementioned qualities, of course.

She floated gracefully in the water, top-half resting on the edge of the tank. When she noticed the two people looking at her, gave a cheeky wave, and blew a kiss or two at them both.

Belladonna looked back to her co-worker, fellow marine biologist, Arnick Stilltion, (still new to her division) and simply nodded.

"It appears so."

She said nothing more as she turned back to her clip board and continued with work. Arnick stood there in silence for a moment as well... he was honestly expecting a little more of a response.

"Shouldn't... Shouldn't we... be worried, perhaps?" He asks.

"Nah." Belladonna replies as she shakes her head "It does that with everybody... You should have seen what it did to poor Cyanthia," She chuckles. "Little bugger gave her one hell of a love bite during feeding time, and she whacked it in the face with the feeding rod."

"I was wondering how that got in the tank..."

Belladonna looked down at her purple lab coat, and over to Arnicks with a curious expression, causing him to do the same.

"I think maybe it's the color we're wearing. It's pretty similar to the color used by it's species opposite sex. I'm sure it's just confused."

Arnick pointed her attention back over to the tank "I wouldn't be so sure..."

Belladonna looked up and saw the creature currently playing a sick version of tug of war, with a person in place of an actual rope. She had clung all of her tentacles on to a female worker, no more than an intern, and desperately tried to pull her into the water. Meanwhile, two of what seemed to be the girls friends, held onto her with all their might, keeping her from being dragged away. All three of these girls wore no official lab coats - or any shade of purple at all.

Belladonna stood for a moment "Well, maybe it's just trying to eat that one-"

Before she could finish her sentence, Belladonna and Arnick witness as the octopus manages to successfully win the tug of war, and pulls the poor frightened intern into the water, triumph. ...Not enough to fully submerge or put her head underwater, and with no intention to drown her, but so she could cradle her in her arms... and begins repetitively riddling the girls cheek with fast, harsh kisses.

Boy, is that is one direct octopus.

"Alright then, maybe not..." Belladonna admits.

"You know, you can't just keep letting it do that," he says as he pulls a cigarette and lighter out of nowhere and ignites it. "It could end up seriously attached to one of you. If that happens and we release it back into the wild, it could very well try to make it’s way back to the facility, searching for its ‘mate’. It could even get hurt.”

She eyed the man almost stupidly. He rolled his eyes

"I'm sure you don't need me to remind you how highly intelligent octopuses are —let alone one with a human brain—, or the research findings of animals being attracted to humans. As in the case with emus—”

Belladonna cuts him off

"Yes, yes I'm aware of the all that... it’s just," She trials off.

Arnick raises an eyebrow

"The crew and I have this bet going..."

"Dear lord," he says in disgust

"No, no, It's not whatcha think!" She warns "We're just coming up with different theories on who,what, and or why it'll pull something into it's tank. It makes for great research progress, and has thus far,” Belladonna smacks her thick breast pocket firmly. A smug look crawls across her face. “ made me a shit ton of cash,"

Arnick merely scoffs

"Y’know, you could enter the bettin' pool too, if you like." Belladonna suggests

Arnick scoffs at her again and takes the cigarette out of his mouth temporarily "Absolutely not. Not only is it childish, foolish, and stupid of you, its is also incredibly cruel," he takes a drag of the cigarette and murmurs "Reinforcing this behavior will only end badly..."

Belladonna doesn’t respond. The two say nothing to each other, and just watch the three girls continue struggling to separate their one friend fro the very protestant octopus. It was a very amusing sight, one would have to admit... but the way things were going, someone could wind up drowning if they don’t get some help...

Belladonna delivers a harsh and firm smack to the back of Arnick’s head with her clipboard.

"OW-"

"The hell did I tell you about smoking inside?!" She barks out, before he gets the chance the exclaim his pain any louder.

"What the HELL-"

"I don't want to hear it! Now put out that cigarette, and go help out those poor girls before we have a lawsuit on our hands!" She commands

"What, why me?!" he protests

"Because I bloody said so!"

Before she could deliver another whack to the back of his head, Arnick has already put out his cigarette, and run off towards the large tank storing the octopus. Then a few moments later, Cyanthia walks in. There is a large bandage on her arm. She does not look very pleased...

"Belladonna, I am going to need you to file that report on my-"

She stops mid sentence and stands beside Belladonna, and looks on in shock at Arnick now attempting to help the three girls.

"Why is Arnick near the specimen's tank...."

"Oh, I yelled at him for smoking inside and made him go help retrieve the internt." Belladonna says as she gestures at the sight.

Cyanthia looks to her with a mixture of fear and confusion "But, hasn’t the creature nearly smothered two other male workers already...? "

Belladonna laughs. "Ha ha, yeah..."

Cyanthia says nothing and watches on as they others struggle to rescue the girl from the clingy octopus.

...

"Hey, Cyanthia,"

"Hmm?"

"How much you wanna bet she pulls him into the water, head first?"

"Nothing,"

"Really?"

"20 says she grabs him by the leg,"

#Fandom Barf #Fan Fiction #Belladonna #Arnick #Tetrox #Cyanthia

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inevitably-johnlocked · 7 years ago

Note

For the Johnlock playlist: Criminal by Fiona Apple (Replace pronouns obviously)

youtube

I’ve been a bad bad girlI’ve been carelessWith a delicate manAnd it’s a sad sad worldWhen a girl will break a boyJust because she canDon’t you tell me to deny itI’ve done wrong andI want toSuffer for my sinsI’ve come to you‘Cause I needGuidance to be trueAnd I just don’t knowWhere I can beginWhat I need isA good defense'Cause I’m feelin’Like a criminalAnd I needTo be redeemedTo the oneI’ve sinned againstBecause he’s allI ever knew of loveHeaven help meFor the way I amSave me fromThese evil deedsBefore I get them doneI know tomorrow bringsThe consequence at handBut I keep livin’ this day likeThe next will never comeOh help me butDon’t tell me to deny itI’ve got to cleanse myselfOf all these lies tillI’m good enough for himI’ve got a lot to loseAnd I’m bettin’ highSo I’m beggin’ youBefore it endsJust tell me where to beginWhat I needIs a good defense'Cause I’m feelin’Like a criminalAnd I needTo be redeemedTo the oneI’ve sinned againstBecause he’s allI ever knew of loveLet me know the wayBefore there’s hell to payGive me room to layThe law and let me goI’ve got to make a playTo make my lover staySo what would an angel sayThe devil wants to knowWhat I needIs a good defense'Cause I’m feelin’Like a criminalAnd I needTo be redeemedTo the oneI’ve sinned againstBecause he’s allI ever knew of loveWhat I need isA good defense'Cause I’m feelin’Like a criminalAnd I needTo be redeemedTo the oneI’ve sinned againstBecause he’s allI ever knew of love

(Lyrics from AZ Lyrics)

Hi Lovely!

Ohhh this is a great song, I remember this song!! It’s so good!! WHO IS IT THOUGH? John or Sherlock? Perhaps both, hee hee!! :D Thank you for this suggestion, Lovely! <3 Love adding some classics from my childhood to this list! :D

#steph replies #johnlock playlist #johnlock music #artist fiona apple #song criminal #almost-trilingual

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ghostsandskulls68 · 7 years ago

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The Adventures of Red & Jesse- Ch. 9

A\N: Hello everyone! This chapter is a long one so I’ll put what I can here but I’ll place the link to this chapter on AO3 right here and again the end. I hope you guys enjoy!

Characters: Red (MOC), Lolita (FOC), Louis (MOC), Dwight, Abraham, Eugene, Negan (mention)

Summary: Red and Louis have a few drinks after their fight. Afterwards, Red overhears some men doubting him and reflects on a time when Eugene doubted him.

A New Beginning- Chapter 9: Watch Your Back

-Red, Lolita, and Louis exit the sparing ring as the other Saviors leave, shaking each other’s hands. Red and Louis’ faces are starting to bruise where they hit each other. Red turns to them as he begins to walk toward his room.-

Red: This was awesome. (Grins) I’ll see y’all in the morning.

-As he turns to leave, Louis stops him.-

Louis: Whoa! Where are you goin’?!

Red: Back to my room.

Louis: Nah. Come hang with us for a while! I got whiskey.

Red: (raises an eyebrow) Whiskey? Well I haven’t had a drink in god knows how long...

Louis: Alright then! Let’s go!

-The three walk back to Louis and Lolita’s quarters. Lolita opens the door and Red looks around. Red looks at the shelves. There’s a black and sliver turntable and several vinyl records. Some jazz, some punk, and some heavy metal bands. Red smiles as he too enjoyed those styles. Lolita walks to a small common area with two chairs and a small couch as Louis walks to a cabinet and grabs three glasses. Lolita sits on the first chair and looks to Red.-

Lolita: Sit down! Don’t be shy.

-Red sits on the couch. Lolita smiles as Louis walks to them and sets the glasses down. He then sets a bottle of Jim Bean on the table and pours them each a shot.-

Lolita: Oh Lou! You know I hate whiskey!

Louis: Only because you can’t handle it!

Lolita: (gasps) You jerk! (Punches his arm)

-Red and Louis laugh as they each grab their glasses and hold them up.-

Louis: To outlaws and bandits.

Red & Lolita: Cheers!

-They then drink the whiskey quickly. Red coughs.-

Red: (coughs) Captain Christ!! (Coughs) Shit’s strong!

Louis: (drinks) Ah! Been savin’ it for a while. Want another?

Red: (shrugs) Alright! Why not?

Louis: (Points at Red and looks at Lolita) I like this guy!

-He pours them each another round of shots and they drink. They sit amongst each other laughing and drinking. Red takes another drink as Louis looks at Lolita then back to Red.-

Louis: Alright. I have to ask...what’s with you and Negan?

-Red chokes and spits his drink out, then turns to Louis.-

Red: What??

Lolita: Lou!

Louis: What?! I just asked a question! When we got here we went through a weird initiation trial. He just puts down walkers and gets buddy-buddy with him, I’m just curious.

Lolita: You know he does what he wants. Some of us he’s harder on than others. Despite the ease of his initiation, he’s done the hardest stuff.

Red: Negan is just...Negan...heh.

Lolita: (scoffs) I’ll agree with that. (Pours herself another drink) He does what he wants, when he wants and he treats people that way too.

Louis: Doesn’t really answer the question but I’ll take it. (Looks to the turntable) How bout some tunes?

-He gets up and walks to the turntable and records. He takes a “Misfits- Walk Among Us” record and plays it. Red’s eyes perk as he recognizes the song.-

Red: I love The Misfits.

Louis: (turns back) You do?! (Glares and lifts his head) What song is this?!

Red: “20 Eyes.” Duh.

Louis: What’s your favorite off this album?

Red: Trick question. This whole album is great but if I had to pick, I’d say “Astro Zombies.”

Louis: (grins and nods) You’re alright kid...

-Red smiles and turns back to Lolita who shakes her head at them.-

Lolita: Morons. The both of you!

Red: What’d I do?! (Laughs)

-Red leans back as the door opens and a little girl walks in. She runs to Louis who was still by the turntable shelf.-

Girl: Daddy!

Louis: Diamond! (Kisses her cheek) How was your lesson?

-Louis hugs the girl and they begin to talk as Red looks to Lolita.-

Red: (whispers) Who’s the girl?

Lolita: Oh...that’s Diamond. She’s Lou’s daughter. While we work, one of the ladies here looks after her and tutors her. She’s a bright little girl.

Red: I see.

-Louis returns and sits in his chair as Diamond walks in and looks at Red then back to Louis.-

Diamond: Who’s this?

Lolita: Sweetie, this is Mr. Red. He’s a friend of ours from the docks.

Diamond: (stares at Red) If his name’s “Red” why is his hair black?

-Louis and Lolita burst into laughter. Red blushes and looks at Diamond.-

Red: Ummm...well I’m not Red at the moment because I don’t have any hair dye.

Diamond: Ohhh...so it’s fake!

Lolita: She’s got your number, Red.

Louis: (clears his throat) Diamond, come sit with me for a moment.

-Diamond goes and sits on the chair with Louis. The three take one more drink. Afterwards, Red stands up.-

Red: Ahem...well...I better be getting back now.

Lolita: So soon?

Red: Heh. You guys are awesome. I’ll see y’all in the morning. I promise (grins)

Louis: (Puts Diamond down walks to Red) You son of a bitch! (Glares then laughs) Good fight my friend. I’ll see ya tomorrow!

-They shake hands then Red hugs Lolita and Diamond. He turns back to them.-

Red: I’ll see y’all later.

-They wave and Red closes the door. He begins to walks back toward his room. As he walks by a room, he hears faint talking. He peers in and sees three Saviors from the sparing ring talking.-

Savior #1: ...And he’s back boxing everyone again. It was good time! I won a few points bettin’ with Matt!

Savior #2: That’s why he can’t even keep damn points, because he’s fuckin’ bettin’ on the boxing fights! That’s why him and his little posse are still down there pinning those dead things in the field!

Savior #1: And us? We ain’t exactly living in luxury. Back to that Red kid, maybe we should ally with him. Maybe he can put in a good word for us!

Savior #3: I mean I’ve never met the guy… But I don’t understand why Negan is so obsessed with him! He’s only been here a couple weeks and he’s already living in his own room, while we’re still down in the barracks. And for what? Because some kid managed to escape death on his own with parlor tricks and can take a punch.

Savior #2: Well Matt was saying he saw him earlier, working with the scavenger siblings, Louis and Lolita.

Savior #1: Oh yeah! He fought Red in the ring today. They knocked each other out! It was cool.

-Suddenly a voice speaks.-

Man: The two morons sparred each other huh? I’d have liked to have seen them kill each other.

-Red recognizes the voice as Dwight. He emerges from the shadows.-

Dwight: So he’s working with those two looters now? Hmph. Well trash does attract more trash. He’s only working with those filthy scavengers because they’re DIY guys. They work when and where they want and quit when they want to. Half the time they bring back junk. Nothing valuable.

Savior #3: They probably keep it hidden. At least that’s what Matt says. He watches their trucks.

Dwight: (scoffs) Matt?! He’s worse than those three. His little crew too. They’re too damn lazy to do what they’re supposed to, so they’re doing all the grunt work. (Lights a cigarette) But mark my words, one of them is gonna bite the dust...and personally, I hope it’s Lou. He’s mouthy, cocky, and reckless...not at all like his sister.

-Red glares at Dwight and clenches his fist. Meanwhile, the other men speak up.-

Savior #2: Mmm little Lolita...she’s gorgeous. Her eyes are like hazel gems.

Savior #3: And her hair...damn. She’s got a nice little body on her too!

Savior #1: Hey, I heard she turned down Negan’s proposal!

Savior #2: What??

Dwight: Oh she did. I was there. He was disappointed she said no.

Savior #3: Those ladies have it really easy. Never have to do much of anything. She’d have it all! But she chose to stay working for points with her brother.

Dwight: It’s a damn shame. (Takes a drag) But like I said...trash attracts trash. She’s alright, Lou’s pathetic, and Red is the same. Just a loser who got lucky.

Savior #1: Don’t be salty because he gave you a black eye for a week! How’s your sight by the way?

-All the men laugh as Dwight finishes his cigarette. He flips them off and walks to the door. Red walks and hides down a nearby corridor.-

Dwight: Fuck you guys. I gotta get back. I’ll see ya!

Savior #2: Later D!

-Dwight walks out of the room and down the hall. After he disappears Red continues his walk back to his room. He opens the door and walks to his bed. He kicks his shoes off and lays down, staring once more at the ceiling.-

Red: (Thinking) I didn’t expect everyone to like me...I’m just trying to survive like everyone else here.

[This is the end for now. You can read the rest of the chapter right here. Thank you!]

@i-am-negan-trash @jessegoesrawr1000times @eugenessix @the-negan-fic-club @jdm-imagines @negans-network @neganismyobsession

#ao3fic #twd fanfiction #red oc #slow burn #twd dwight #negan fanfiction #abraham ford #eugene porter

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