#tryin' really hard not to kidnap her again

[cargopantsman]

oxytocin withdrawal is a sonuvabitch

oxytocin is a helluva drug

[ohbo-ohno]

i hate typin long words sometimes its hard to rlly explain but bc of college too i just found it sm more easier to cut out certain vowels w words (it drives my friends insane sometimes esp when i send a message nd its so full of typos bc i thought itd b funny to turn off autocorrect ?? like no.. i am not gna type out certain words.. so used to it by now

on that note, reader ignoring the txts from ghoap bc shes upset at them nd it isn’t even abt getting kidnapping. like they did smth to upset her and they’re jumpin hoops tryin to figure out what they did 😭 can imagine johnny just being pouty bc they’re away at their job and whinin to ghost and ghost just “>:(“ bc how dare u ignore them..

i love it lol. i have like at least one spelling mistake in every message i send to someone, i end up getting texts from friends that are like "wtf did you just try and say" cause im too excited to send the fucking message to bother rereading. you're relatable as hell.

two ways you can go with this in my head

(a) you're mad at both of them, but you absolutely refuse to tell them why. it should be obvious and quite frankly in your mind it's worse that they don't even know. leaves them pulling their hair out. but this is your first argument as a couple that doesn't center around the whole kidnapping thing so they're trying to like actually work through it lmao. ends with johnny laying himself over you and whining while you just stick your nose in the air and cross your arms. simon tries to be all soft, thinks maybe if he's nice it'll tempt you to tell him. strokes up and down your side, nose in your hair, says a whole bunch of pretty words. you are not fooled lol. they get it out of you after a few rounds of frankly exhausting sex that night lol

(b) you're mad at just one of them. if you're mad at just johnny, simon gets sooooooo cocky. tugs you into his arms, mimics all the ways johnny usually touches you just to drive it home in johnny's head that he's not touching you. keeps you glued right to his lap and tells you you can tell me love, we can make sure he apologizes properly together. make sure mean johnny never hurts you again, hm? and johnny is a mix of pouting and pissed across the couch. if you're mad at just simon, johnny will join in with you. he'll throw an arm over your shoulder and just start making shit up lmao, start saying simon's done all this shit that he hasn't just because it's fun to team up with you on something. you're actually mad but johnny is mostly trying to goad ghost into really good sex. this has a very interesting result that night lol

[deniigi]

I love the fic you showed on Luke, Han, Chewie being kidnapped by the trio- I would love to see more! Is there a chance we might see that fic or sections of it? I hope you are having a great day!

You may see more sections of it! It’s like 30k because I have zero self control sometimes, so idk if I will post the whole thing, but snippets I can do!

I wrote a fuckin’ hilarious bit where Han tells Paz that Luke’s got a crush on Din. Paz thinks about Din’s sexuality for .05 seconds and immediately has an anxiety attack that Din feels like he’s got to hide his queerness.

He brings it up with Din, who promptly astral projects in embarrassment.

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

This was a reconnaissance mission now. One which Luke was again having fun on. With Djarin refusing to speak to his comrade, Luke wriggled right into the place he’d left behind and started agitating again. He goaded Djarin and Fett that he could shave hours off the current course time. Han and Chewie hung back and strategically did not back up a damn thing he said.

Paz, uncomfortable to be on any ship that was not his own, clutched at his fingers and watched Luke chasing Djarin like an underfoot puppy in concern.

“What does he want from Din?” he asked Han and Chewie quietly.

Han blinked slowly.

“He’s got a crush,” he said.

Paz’s helmet managed to blanch.

“You’re kidding,” he said.

“Yeah, your boy’s ticking every one of Luke’s boxes, I’m afraid,” Han said while Chewie snickered. “He’s already decided on a destination wedding.”

Paz rubbed a few knuckles under the edge of his helmet and looked away.

“I dunno if the Armorer’s gonna be cool with that,” he said.

Han snorted.

“Armor isn’t strong enough for him, he’s got mind powers,” he said.

Paz’s helmet turned slightly back towards him.

“The Armorer is Din’s parent,” he said. “She leads the teachings at our covert.”

AHA. Orthodox. Han had it now. Djarin was a preacher’s son.

“I don’t know what that means,” Paz said.

“Don’t worry, I got you,” Han told him sympathetically. “It’s okay, though. People are more tolerant than you think.”

“I still don’t know what that means,” Paz repeated.

“You will,” Han soothed, “You will.”

--

 It was an hour before Paz blurted out, “Wait you mean he’s gay?” and Han almost cried, he was laughing so hard.

--

 This was supposed to be a hostage situation, but Paz was making this trip a pleasure cruise. He’d gotten about fourteen thousand times more awkward around both Luke and Djarin anytime they passed by. Luke had caught onto this with interest.

Han did nothing to stop him. He and Chewie finally had entertainment after hours and hours of torture.

Paz inched away.

“I’m happy for you,” he told Luke. “It’s fine.”

Luke cocked his head at him and got closer.

“No, man. Not me, sorry,” Paz said. “You got—you got Din. He’s—well, honestly the last I saw him he was like, fifteen and sort of scrawny, but you know he’s probably grown a couple muscles by now.”

Luke lit up.

“I know, he picked me up,” he said.

Paz vibrated.

“Mm-hm,” he said.

“Do you think he likes me?” Luke asked him.

Paz vibrated so hard his armor nearly started knocking against itself.

“He’s really into ancient Tusken shit,” he said. “Ask him about ancient Tusken shit.”

Luke’s eyes couldn’t get any wider or rounder. Any more of this and his pupils would start dilating, too.

“Copy that,” he said, then vanished.

Chewie whimpered and wiped tears from his eyes. Han leaned into his side and grinned so wide his face hurt.

--

 Luke took to flattening himself against the cockpit door and serenading Djarin in the other side with pleas for information about Ancient Tusken culture. Djarin was understandable baffled. He smelled a rat and refused to be forthcoming with any new knowledge.

That made Luke caterwaul louder until Fett had enough of him and locked Djarin out of the cockpit too, with instructions to ‘silence the Jedi before I do permanently.’

Djarin was now stuck out here with the rest of them. He crouched in front of Luke and they had a staring contest for a good two minutes before Djarin got up and sighed.

“You have so much energy,” he said. “No wonder Grogu likes you.”

Luke rocketed up to stand next to him proudly.

“I don’t sleep most nights,” he said.

Djarin studied him.

“I see that,” he said.

“Han and Leia say that I’m a ‘hostile’ bedpartner when I do,” Luke said with finger quotes for Djarin’s benefit.

Djarin, Han swore, was trying to think of a polite way to say, ‘Sir, I think you’re at breaking point.’ But instead he said, ‘do you like tea?’ to which Luke said, ‘absolutely not.’ Djarin told him that he had a great tea for him to try and was thereafter followed into the Falcon’s kitchenette around the corner.

Paz, in the meantime, was absolutely shitting himself. No longer able to avoid this conversation with Djarin.

“I think it’s cute,” Han goaded with Chewie nudging his ribs the whole time.

“The Armorer will not approve,” Paz insisted.

--

 Djarin had done the impossible: he’d put Luke to sleep. He delicately removed the mug of (possible sleep medication) tea from Luke’s unconscious deathgrip and asked Han where the used dishware went. That was thoughtful. Han told him to just stick it any damn place around the sink and he or Chewie would get to it.

He did and then came back to settle in next to Paz. Paz visibly experienced a rainbow of emotions. Djarin didn’t notice a single one of them. Instead, he crossed his legs and held the orange tips of one hand in the orange tips of the other.

“I wanted to apologize, Paz,” he said. “After what you’ve sacrificed for me and the kid, I should have been more grateful.”

“D—don’t mention it,” Paz stammered. “It’s—it’s the Way.”

“It is the Way,” Djarin agreed. “I think I was afraid of how to face all of you afterwards.”

Han could hear Paz’s internal scream from here.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’ll bet you, uh, did. It—it wasn’t the first time, was it?”

Djarin sat up a little straighter.

“No. How did you know?” he asked.

Paz shivered.

“Just a feeling,” he said. “You know, uh. Din. You don’t have to be ashamed of anything, right? You’re—you’re like my little brother. I wouldn’t let anything happen to you or anyone say anything to you. Okay?”

Awwwwwwwww.

Djarin looked up into Paz’s visor.

“Are you sick?” he asked.

“What? No. I’m. I’m saying, that if you ever had something you wanted to tell me, or you know, any of us. We’re always here to listen,” Paz said. “And to support you.”

Djarin’s silver helmet tilted worriedly.

“I already did,” he said.

“GREAT,” Paz said. “Perfect. You’re doing amazing.”

Djarin pulled back, officially disturbed.

“Right,” he said slowly. “So I’m gonna—”

“Listen, kid,” Paz said, grabbing the strap between Djarin’s chest and back plates and dragging him back down to sitting. “Think about your parent.” He took Djarin’s hand from where he was actively trying to escape and held it in a firm, masculine grip. “She loves you, you know that.”

“Paz, I’m panicking,” Djarin said outloud.

“And she was so happy for you to have a foundling,” Paz carried on like plough. “So she’s gonna be happy for you, no matter what.”

Djarin could not pull his hand out of Paz’s grip, and boy was he trying. He’d started a cool descent to the floor, he was trying so hard.

“I know,” he grated out.

“But a jedi, Din?”

“He can’t help it, man,” Djarin said, still struggling almost on his back now. “You said it yourself. It’s a born-with-it thing.”

Paz stared forcefully at his knuckles.

“You’re right,” he said, letting out a slow breath. “But if that’s how it gonna be, you really should propose first.”

Djarin’s helmet somehow managed to emote ‘shock’ on the ground there.

“I’m sorry, what?” he asked. “I barely knew her.”

“Her?” Paz asked, then caught himself. “Sorry, sorry. Not my business—”

“It was like, a week at most—”

“Not my business.”

“And yeah, she had a great kid and—”

“Wait, wait, hold up,” Paz said. “Who are you talking about?”

Djarin stared.

“My friend? From Sorgen?” he said. “Who are you talking about?”

Paz went very still.

“You’re fuckin’ some gal on Sorgen?” he asked.

“No?” Djarin said. “I mean. She wanted to, and I thought about it, but it was only a week, and I didn’t want her to feel like I’d used her only for—who are you talking about?”

“The jedi,” Paz said, pointing at Luke’s languid, curled up self on the table’s bench.

“Why would I be fucking the jedi?” Djarin asked. “He’s my son’s teacher, Paz.”

“Because he’s crushing on you?” Paz asked, equally upset and confused. “And you’re gay, so?”

“I’m what?”

“Gay????”

“I am??”

Han was crying. Han was sobbing.

These idiots were days of comedy. Look at them go. Look at ‘em spin.

“Din, please. You don’t have to fake it. I support you—”

“I didn’t ask for your support?”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of—”

“I’m not ashamed.”

“Are you sure? Because I’m picking up some strong feelings. And I don’t want you to think that—”

“Paz, what I want more than anything for you to do right now is to stop thinking. I’m not gay.”

Paz pressed a hand against his helmet like he was in physical pain.

“But the way you always looked at Teyo,” he said.

Djarin had a tiny stroke and slammed his fist into Paz’s arm.

“DON’T MENTION—”

“What the FUCK, brat?”

“HOW DARE YOU—”

“Why’re you yellin’ at me now??”

“Why’re you bringing up some childhood shit, haven’t we done enough of that already?”

“Why’re you so mad? I’m tryin’ to be supportive. If you wanna fuck the Jedi, fuck the Jedi. I’m just sayin’ maybe don’t tell the Armorer until after you’ve done it, so she doesn’t think you’re under some kinda mind-trick or somethin’, alright?”

Han no longer needed those helmets. He had these characters down. Djarin was gaping now. In shock and offense.

“Never speak to me again,” he decided.

“Bro,” Paz said.

“NO.”

“Karkin’ hell, Din. What’s your problem?”

“Excuse me, I must drown, where are your facilities?” Djarin asked Han directly.

“Round the corner, on the left,” Han told him.

“No, no, no,” Paz said, grabbing Djarin by the cape and dragging him back. “We gotta talk about this. We gotta process.”

“I’m not processing shit with you,” Djarin said. “I am not fucking the jedi.”

“But you want to,” Paz deduced.

“I—what? Wh—do you want me to have relations with him? Did I miss something?” Djarin asked.

“I want you to feel supported,” Paz said.

“I don’t. I feel targeted,” Djarin said. “Stop targeting me.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll stop.”

“Good. Let go.”

“But if—”

“Paz, I’m going to behead myself.”

“If you do want to have sex with the jedi, later. That’s fine. Or anyone else. That’s fine, too.”

“BOBA.”

Behold. A breaking point.

--

[fire-emblem-drabbles]

Hi, I’d like to request 20 or 16 with a yandere Tibarn if that’s okay!!!

Pairing: Yandere! Tibarn x  fem reader x Yandere! Reyson

Prompt: “I won’t let you run away.”

Description: You really did hate it here. You really did dislike Tibarn too, enough to make you hide whenever the chance arose. When Reyson visits and comes across you, you dare to cling to hope-- a mistake that would end up costing you.

Content Warning: yandere, unhealthy relationships, non con/dub con touching (nothing sexual), mentions of past kidnapping, imprisonment, gaslighting female reader (just use of she/her pronouns), as to tag because I forget

Rating: sfw

Word Count: 1572 2955

Notes: Went with 20! It felt more fitting to me but they both give off a similar vibe! OH WHILE I WAS WRITING THIS AN IDEA HIT ME SO EXCUSE ME AS I ADD SOME YANDERE REYSON IN HERE AS WELL!

Edit, 4/30/22: Oh my god I read this while I came across this while trying to find a working link to my commissions and its a great concept that I executed very poorly so excuse me while I fix this mess. Says I posted this in 2021 which is SAD because it was sooo bad so I went and rewrote pretty much all of it! Hope you guys like this one better!

The steps you took were familiar and careful, silent as you could be. You don’t know if it was out of fear or distaste that the Hawk laguz didn’t look your way but you were thankful for it. It gave you a semblance of being alone even if it was because they feared what may happen if they interacted with you. That was okay. It wasn’t father now, a place you found you could be alone.

It was a little dangerous, at least for a beorc like you living in Phoenicis but it was out of the way and gave you time to think. You looked behind your shoulder, seeing that you were alone. This had been someones home once, you think, but now it was your sanctuary away from Tibarn. The actual home its self was pretty worn down but it had a small storage shed one could get into from the interior of the house. It was hardly bigger than a broom closet but it was your space. No one ever came here and hopefully, no one ever would.

Now alone, you couldn’t help but think back to Tibarn. You had been here for roughly a month and time and time again when you thought you could think of a way to escape, or convince Tibarn to let you have your freedom, you were met with the same response.

“I won’t let you run away from me.”

Just remembering him say the words made you fester with sickness and anger. It was true that you couldn’t escape him, not when Tibarn was so much stronger and faster than you; you were stuck hiding from him in his own kingdom, biding your time and growing bitter over your inability to leave. What made it worse was that here, Tibarn didn’t even try to confine you or hide you away; you had freedom of where ever you could reach. Even more, if you were willing to have his help. Everything about this situation made you sick. Stuck in the kingdom of Hawks, no place for a beorc like yourself and forced by the king of Hawks himself to act as some sort of lover. It twisted your stomach and made you sick.

You didn’t even think the Hawk King could ever grow so infatuated with a beorc such as yourself. While you were formidable in your own right, Tibarn was simply something else. Powerful and beautiful, you’re more than certain other hawks, other laguz (a certain blonde Heron comes to mind) would better fit by his side than you. You can’t help but wonder why he insists on trying to woo you when anyone else certainly would have been easier. It again rises an anger in you that’s hard to snuff out. You were so out of if you didn’t even hear another person enter your hiding place until their voice rang out.

“_____, is that you?” Your breath hitches as you hear a voice call out your name. You thought you were hidden so well though, no one should have known you were hidden here. “I don’t know where you’re hiding… but why are you so scared?” You stop breathing as you hear that, trying to calm your beating heart. “Your thoughts are running a mile a minute, it’s nearly enough to make me sick.” Hearing that you pause-- this man’s voice was familiar, but it wasn’t any of the Hawk’s here in Phoenicis. He speaks again “Calm down and please come out.” You blink in realization.

“...Reyson? Is that you?” You cautiously poke your head out from where you were hiding, looking to see the Heron Prince’s perplexed expression. He was alone, thank goodness, but you couldn’t help but be on your guard as you shuffled out of your home, eyes narrowing as you try to look past him to see if anyone was behind him. “Were you followed?”

“Why were you hiding here?” He completely ignores your question as he poses his own, walking over to you and offering you his hand. You take it and allow him to help you out of your hole as he speaks again. “I though you would be with Tibarn.” You frown at that.

“I don’t really want to see him right now.” You admit to him, sighing. You look to him, shuffling on your feet for a moment. You didn’t think anyone beyond the Hawks knew you now resided in Phoenicis. You wanted to trust Reyson (or perhaps it was because he was a Heron you felt this way) but these days, you didn’t know who was your ally. “...Can I trust you with something kinda heavy?” You ask him.

“...Heavy?” Reyson repeats. “Does it have to do with why you’re here and not somewhere more appealing?” He teases. You can’t help but give a small smile.

“Well… yeah actually.” You sigh, but catch the curious look in his green gaze and decide it would be okay to tell him how you feel. Or rather, what was happening to you here. “I… know you really respect Tibarn, and owe him a lot for what he’s done to you but please believe me when I tell you this…” You take a deep breath and peak back to his face to see that he’s focused all his attention on you. It leaves you feeling uncomfortable so you continue pulling at the edges of your clothing and looking to the ground. “I was taken here against my will, and Tibarn won’t allow me to leave. Obviously, with no wings, I can’t make my own escape so, I’ve been here for… maybe a month or more?” You laugh a little bitterly chancing another glace at him. Reyson’s expression hasn’t changed. “As if that weren’t weird enough,” You hesitant to speak and feel the heat rise to your cheeks. Even if it were against your will, you still didn’t know how to properly say it. “He… he claims he’s in love with me. But Reyson…” You feel tears well in your eyes. “Why did he have to go about it like this?” You hadn’t meant to get all teary but you can hardly stop them now. You reach up to stubbornly rub the tears away but a gentle hand does it before you can. You look up at Reyson in shock.

“I had no clue…” Reyson sighs, shaking his head. “You must be so scared…” He coos out the words and you nod slowly.

“I just don’t know what to do,” You want to say you’re stronger than this, but you’ve been strong for a long time. It’s hard, holding it in. More tears seem to come and you can’t stop them. Still, you’re shocked again as Reyson pulls you into a tender embrace. Once your shock is gone, you cling to him. “Thank you.” You words are muffled but he doesn’t seem to mind.

“Don’t worry, just focus on feeling better.” While one arm holds you, his other gently combs through your hair. “Though I hate to admit it, I’m not strong enough to help you out of here myself but I could help you out another way. Perhaps we could speak to Tibarn together.” You sniffle once, trying to regain your voice to speak again.

“You would do that for me?” Your voice is small now as you look to his. Reyson smiles and your feel lighter from beholding it.

“Of course.” Reyson holds you a little tighter. “I care about you to, and want to make sure you’re happy.” You nod against him, taking time to compose yourself. It takes a few minutes but even then, you don’t want to leave Reyson’s embrace. He’s warm, and the first time you wanted to stay in someones company in a long while. Still, you have a chance now. Something worth looking forward to.

“I guess… we should go face him then.” You sigh as you pull away from Reyson. You can see the way he hesitates to pull from you as well but you dare not dwell on it, lest the funny feeling swirling in your stomach play tricks on your poor battered heart.

“No matter what happens, I’ll be here for you.” Even as the two of you part all the way his hand lingers in yours, and gives you a little squeeze. You give him a smile in return and ready yourself for the coming conversion.

As you leave, this time with Reyson by your side, the few Hawks milling about this time of evening pay you little mind. You don’t feel as heavy this time around as you make your way to Tibarn’s chambers, where you left him mere hours ago. Your heart beat reaches your ears as you two approach the threshold. You drop Reyson’s hand as he enters in after you. Tibarn wordlessly looks up from what he was reading, an unreadable look crossing his features at the two of you.

“Reyson, it’s nice to see you again. Thank you for collecting _____.” Your frown at that, mood only souring at the idea Reyson only sought you out because Tibarn asked. Of course, he would have came here to Tibarn first… “And _____ you seem to be in a better mood—or at least, you did.” He laughs and you huff, trying to compose yourself.

“Tibarn. I wanted to talk to you.” Your words come out much more confident than you feel. Still, you sneak a glance at Reyson. He seems as calm and serene as he always is. You take a deep breath.

“Oh, this again?” Tibarn looks to you, to Reyson, smirk rising to his lips. “What do you think has changed from the last time?” He raises an eyebrow at you. You hate how easily he dismisses you, how he basks in knowing there’s nothing you can do.

“I-” You go to speak, but Reyson speaks first. You look to him, cheeks flushing at having been cut off.

“You really ought to treat her better.” Reyson’s first words are chastising Tibarn, confusing you and causing Tibarn to let out a laugh. “I found her huddled in an abandoned building, hiding in a closet.” You blush darker at having your hiding place been thrown out in the open. You’ve no idea what Reyson is trying to accomplish here but you’re left too confused to speak. “You know you have to treat beorc gently.”

“I have been.” Tibarn frowns. “I don’t intend to coddle. There’s only so long she can reject my advances before she gives in.” You look to them as they argue about you as if you weren’t there. The dawning realization hits you that Reyson doesn’t intend to fight for your departure of Phoenicis.

“Honestly, I should have known better than to let you handle this.” Reyson sighs. You can’t help but look at him with wide eyes. “Had I been here from the start, we might actually have made some progress.” Having heard enough of this conversation, you speak up.

“What the hell?” Your voice crying out catches both of the laguz attention and they turn to you. “Reyson,” You can’t help the way you frown as you look at him. “You knew? You knew I was here?” He looks away in shame for a moment. Tibarn speaks for him in turn.

“Aww, did he have you thinking otherwise?” Tibarn laughs cruelly as you only seem to falter more. Reyson throws him a dirty look as you continue.

“Then… you never meant to help me…” Again, you feel tears well in your eyes as your voice crack. “You, you just…” You feel horrible, knowing what Reyson has said to you, the comfort he had given to you was for what…? You can’t even finish your sentence as you start to cry; this time, you don’t even care to be gentle or dainty. You wouldn’t spare them the weight of your full feelings. After all, what did it matter if they would simply do what they want with you anyways? You don’t even have time to move away before Reyson is beside you once more. Tibarn shortly follows him as the two of them now stand beside you. Reyson speaks, attempting to calm you down.

“You have to understand,” Reyson begins speaking and reaches for you. You have no desire to be in his arms anymore and step back, only to run into Tibarn. He rests his large hands on your shoulders and starts to speak.

“We just want what’s best for you.” Now trapped by Tibarn, there’s little you can do to stop Reyson from hugging you. He pulls you close, resting your head against his shoulder as you continue to cry. Tibarn moves to hold the both of you with his larger frame, keeping you trapped between them. You hate how comfortable it is between them. You hate how just being held by Reyson is calming you down. You’re no longer openly wailing, but tears still run down your face. You take a deep breath and speak.

“Why do you guys get to decide what’s best for me? Why did that stop being my choice the moment you two decided you love me?” You know it must be hard to take you seriously, when tears still shine in your eyes and your cheeks are reddened and wet but part of what you said is at least effecting Reyson, from the look on his face.

“Don’t be difficult,” Tibarn sighs, and you can feel the way his heavy breath displaces some of the hair on your head.

“You’re the difficult one,” You counter, huffing and squirming in their shared grip. “And you,” You turn to Reyson, who seems startled by your sudden shift in emotion. “You’re just as bad.”

“Please understand… we only took you here because we want to protect you.” Reyson speaks in a soft tone, trying his best not to test your anger any more.

“Protect me? I could do that just fine if you didn’t take my sword!” You elbow Tibarn in disdain. You doubt it hurt him, but it does cause him to grunt a little.

“I know, you’ve proven you’re plenty fiery.” Tibarn holds you a little tighter as he speaks. “Just get it through your thick skull that we want to be the ones to protect you.” You huff again, quashing the swell of butterflies that fills your stomach at Tibarn’s words.

“We want you by our sides, to be the one to make you happy, to be able to provide for you.” Reyson catches your gaze again, his look pleading. You look anywhere but his face.

“I was never given a choice in the matter,” You again squirm in their grip, uncomfortable with the amount of affection you were receiving form them. “It’s...” You swallow hard, distaste filling your mouth at your next words. “I understand that you think you have the best of intentions, and its sweet that you’re willing to care for me… but I’m not that type of girl. I need a sword in my hand, I want to travel Tellius and fight for what I believe in. I’m not some… some little house spouse for you to dote on. I’m a fighter!” You argue.

“I know you are,” Tibarn laughs. “Just… consider this an adjustment period.” He explains. “If you’re good then maybe we can talk about it more.” You hate how your heart flutters at the prospect of leaving Phoenicis, even if it was under supervision.

“All you have to do is love us in return.” Reyson says it so matter of fact. That sick feeling swirls in your stomach again.

“Why me?” You can’t help the question that falls from your lips. “I mean… you two obviously love one another… why do you need me to?”

“Who really knows.” Tibarn doesn’t offer much an explanation. You should have known.

“There’s something about you… I just can’t place my finger on it.” Reyson doesn’t help much either, to your chagrin. Feeling defeated, you let the two do as they want. “Just let us love you.” You feel Tibarn kiss the crown of your head as Reyson finishes speaking. He then places one on your cheek. “It’ll be easier if you let us.”

“Easier…” You sigh, shaking their head. “Why should I make anything easy for you two?” You offer one last quip.

“Because you haven’t seen the worst of us yet.” Tibarn’s voice is low in your ear. “You don’t want that, do you?” You can see Reyson looking up at Tibarn and scowling.

“Don’t listen to him.” Reyson redirects your attention to himself instead. “What comes first is your comfort.” Funny, coming from the guy who currently has you trapped in his arms. “Love will come… when you’re ready.” Still, the finality of his words leave you just as worried as Tibarn’s threat. The two continue to talk, perhaps to you, or maybe to one another but you can’t find it in you to care. You’re merely left wondering how it all came to this, where it went wrong, and again, how you might get out of this mess.

It seems like you had two choices; comply, and give Reyson and Tibarn what they want; a loving third to their strange relationship that they can dote and protect and do all those strange things they claimed they wanted to do. Or… you could continue fighting. Never settle and always keep them guessing. Make it a chore to keep you around until they don’t love you, or even hate you. Could you really do something like that, though? And were deranged men like them even capable of hating you?

...There’s only one way to find out.

[atangledfate]

Surge took the copies and handed them to Kit, who had a little folder which he placed them in for safe keeping. Of the two he was the most organized and tended to keep anything important in a safe place. But at the request for proper Identification she simply gave Kit a glance, because she knew there was zero information on them in reality. They simply did not exist, and because of that it was an impossible request. Hell there paw print was lasered off so they couldn't even track it. Sad as it was, Starline made sure they'd never find there origins no matter how hard they looked.

Kit Fished around in the folder, as he spoke in a very soft but monotone voice. Like either he didn't want to show emotion or perhaps he struggled with expressing it. Despite his seeming younger age, he was very well spoken and his intellect showed in how he expressed himself. Still tinged with nervousness, and the occasional stutter but all the same it was clear who the smarter of the two was.

" That might be more tricky then we first realized. I tried to find substantial proof we could provide, however do to the status of our world alot of data has just been lost. do to the Phantom War our world is in a state of disarray and reconstruction... Two orphans like us just get overlooked. Not for the lack of trying to find data on ourselves...its been a struggle for Surge and I "

Not a lie, Kit was a smart kid and he had no idea what sort of powers Neera might have. Better to speak truth, and dance around the details then get caught in a blatant lie.

" Here, this is news Article talking about the War. Here is one about Restorations struggle to locate the families of refugees after the war do to the loss of so many data centers. I figured if i couldn't provide documents i could at least provide proof as to why. "

He slide the papers across the desk to her, they were dated though she probably had little ways to know how reputable the sources were. She had zero reason to trust his word on the matter.

" m...m...My initial thought on the matter was that, maybe you had a special statu....status for Refugees. Which i...i--- think we fall under considering the War in our zone. I thought it might circumvent some requirements but i am not familiar with the Laws of your world "

" Surge and I wish i could make this easier on you, i do not know if this will effect our citizenship status... but, it was all i could think to do. Restoration is only managed to restore 23.7% of the damaged cities since its creation after the war.And since 98% of our world was conqured... you can imagine the task Restoration has ahead of it. Even if we tried to contact them in some vain hope they could locate our ID's it could be years before they are in a state to do so..."

" Its why we wanna move here to begin with... its only a matter of time before ol' Eggy decides to wreck the place again. An it ain't like ol' Blue is gonna kill the guy, its against his moral code or some shit... anyway, is anyway we can work around papers? even if it takes longer...Sure Kit coulda forged somethin' but we are tryin' ta be honest with ya... so here i am... bein' honest "

Honest to a point, she was omitting how they got kidnapped and turned into monsters by a madman. But right now she really didn't want to talk about that. It was deeply personal, and painful for her to think about. Having to talk about it would only cause both of them to spiral into depression. She hoped Neera wouldn't press the issue, but if she did--- Surge was ready to send Kit into the Hall and spill the beans.

" I'll tell ya what ever you want to know... anything you wanna know. About Us, our World, what ever it is i gotta do to make this happen, then i'm ready to do that..."

The panda looked at the signature and smiled. "Thank you, Miss Tempest."

She took the pink page off of both papers, sliding them back over to the tenrec and fennec. Her signature would be on both pink pieces of paper--though, it would look lighter it should. Still something one could read easily though.

"These are your copies. I would recommend keeping them safe."

She opened another drawer and placed both signed sheets of paper in them, nodding to herself.

She placed both her hands on the desk and folded them together.

"I do, yes. But, a lot of the more basic questions can be glossed over with a simple proof of identification. Birth certificates, previous IDs, school IDs, work IDs, health insurance cards, any sort of diplomas, anything proving that you two are who you say you are. I imagine a birth certificate would be the easiest and quickest."

[tiredcowpoke]

TITLE: Blank Spots [20] PAIRING: (Somewhat pre-established) Arthur Morgan/Fem!Reader, could be seen as an OC. REQUEST: Unprompted. BLURB: After waking up at the base of a steep incline and nearly freezing to death, you stumble upon a group of strangers who swear up and down that they know you. WARNINGS: Some creative license for amnesia. Violence, kidnapping.  NOTE: Chapter 20, damn. lol I’m not feeling 100% about this chapter but I wanted to get something out this weekend. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy.      TAG LIST: @on-my-way-to-erebor / @otherthingstoreid @ireallyhonestlydontcare @elanisha @darlingsdevil @cirillamylove @bunnyreese12 @rollyjogerjones @callmemythicalminx @r4reland @itsnothingwithoutchaos

You knew there was some conflict in you about how everything turned out, the hurt Arthur caused still lingering somewhat but you knew you had to take that as it were.

Yet, you felt good. It felt good to finally cross that point with him--again. Perhaps things weren’t the same as they were in your memory, how sure you were in your relationship with him. However, things weren’t the same since Blackwater. You knew that even when your memory had been worse than it was currently, struggling to remember names and faces, let alone whole relationships. A part of you felt like you may never fully remember your relationship with Arthur, but you felt like you had finally taken a step in the right direction with your relationship with him currently. 

Admittedly, it had been a little difficult to leave the small privacy of that beach where you had kissed him a couple days ago. To return to camp, to the dilemmas and course of normalcy you had found within. As normal as a group of outlaws could get, at least. For a while, you weren’t sure how Arthur wanted to approach this development, if it was worth telling people. You had realized that it would just be announcing what they already knew, but...well, maybe you were just overthinking that. 

Really, it seemed like Arthur just took it in stride. Too exhausted to make a thing out of it, or if there was a point to doing so. A part of you was relieved. 

Still, you did catch a couple eyes at the added bounce to your step, and the lingering touches when Arthur would seek you out as he was starting to move about on his own a little more frequently. He seemed to avoid outright public affection, something you had caught onto pretty quickly, but the two of you weren’t exactly hiding it. Still, nobody really felt the need to comment on it much outside of the odd question, which you found yourself not really minding. 

It felt like you were allowed to let it go where it may without getting caught up in old expectations. Though, you weren’t too sure on where Arthur’s head was at, but he didn’t seem overly disappointed over that. You’d just have to trust him to tell you if he had an issue with anything. 

Despite everything that happened to him, Arthur eventually seemed to return to his normal self after a while. A little thicker in beard and with a stiffer shoulder, but otherwise he seemed to have gathered himself back up after the whole ordeal with the O’Driscolls. You were greatly relieved at that, as much as you knew he would have to get back to gang business and what that entailed. 

So, you weren’t too surprised to find him approach you one late afternoon with news that he had business in town with Bill and some other gang members. 

“You sure you got the strength for whatever that will be?” you asked, Arthur rolling his previously injured shoulder somewhat. 

“‘Bout as much as I’ll need,” he replied, “Can’t stay here forever, I gotta get back to what needs doin’.” 

“I know,” you replied, giving him a small smile, “I just don’t want you hurting yourself again. I don’t think anybody can take you stuck in bed for another couple weeks.” 

“Myself included,” he returned with a small huff. 

As much as you had tried to cover it with a touch of humor, you really did worry he might injure himself again by getting back out there so soon. At all, really. You knew what type of life he led, what they all led, and the chance of a bullet to the skull was always high. You could remember the way Arthur had fallen off his horse that night, how he barely was able to move his legs to get to his cot. You had struggled with the feeling at the time, but you knew that regardless of how everything had developed after, you didn’t want to see him like that again. 

Yet...well, there was always a chance that you just might. 

“You’ll be safe?” you asked after a moment, glancing at him. Arthur shifted, glancing down for a moment before meeting your gaze. 

“Hate to be the one to say it, but I ain’t afforded that luxury. Not with this life.” 

He did have a point, as much as you didn’t like that answer. 

“Hey, I’m gonna be fine,” Arthur said after a moment, “Bill’s probably just got some lead, nothin’ too complicated.” 

“Because everything lately has been so easy…” you muttered, stepping into his side as Arthur reached out to wrap an arm around your shoulder, a small grin touching your face when you felt him press a kiss to the side of your head. 

“It’s gonna be fine.” 

“Alright,” you replied with a nod, letting out a small sigh as you wrapped an arm around his back somewhat, “You know what you’re doing. Just be careful--for my sake, if anything.” 

“I’ll try,” he replied, squeezing you to his side a little before releasing the embrace. You turned to face him once he had done so, watching as he seemed to glance off toward the horses for a moment before turning back toward you. 

“Been thinkin’ we should head out to get the last of that treasure map,” he said after a moment, pulling a small grin from you, “Get outta here for a bit.” 

“I’d like that,” you said with a nod, “Let all this play out first, though.” 

“Yeah…” he replied, giving you a small grin of his own as you squeezed his arm somewhat before he turned to head out toward the horses. 

You were worried, but you couldn’t fight the inevitable with Arthur turning his attention back to the gang. Perhaps it was a touch selfish, but you also knew everything that had happened had shaken you up some. Still, you were going to have to let that go. Some of it. You knew you had questions and a distrust of Micah that stemmed from what he did to you on that mountain and now what happened with Arthur. 

That was a touch subject to approach, yet one you knew you would have to mention to Arthur eventually. It was just...hard to talk about. There was Micah himself, but even the memory of it filled you with such dread and fear. 

Still, it couldn’t continue to go unsaid. 

“Glad to see that fight you two was havin’ is cleared up,” a familiar voice from behind you said, turning to glance over your shoulder to see Abigail standing there. 

She stood there with a cup of coffee, giving you a small smile as you let out a small huff. 

“Yeah, and then some,” you replied as she walked up to stand beside you as she finished off her beverage. 

“If only I could get John to see some damn sense. Ain’t from lack of tryin’,” she said around a sigh, you giving her a small nod. 

It wasn’t the same screaming matches you heard from Dutch and Molly, and lord had those only gotten worse, but you knew Abigail and John had their moments in camp. Really, when you saw Abigail storming out from that tent they shared, you knew to give her some space. Still, you weren’t witness to the specifics of their relationship--well, if you had, it didn’t matter with your memory now. 

“Grimshaw’s sayin’ Pearson needs a hand with dinner,” Abigail said after a moment, “Figure two hands might get us eatin’ all the quicker.” 

Honestly, that didn’t sound too bad. You would need the distraction. You followed her out toward the food wagon once she had gotten her fill of the moment she had walked in on between you and Arthur. Still, even with the chopping of the vegetables and meat, you still couldn’t really shake this feeling that lingered at your back. You just...well, you were worried. That was what it was, and you were sure you would end up feeling foolish for it when they all returned back to camp. 

Thankfully, your partial absentmindedness didn’t cost you a finger or injury. Though, you were pulled from your thoughts when you felt Abigail touch your shoulder, a look of mild irritation crossing her expression. 

“Think I can wrap up the rest,” she said, “Think you can Jack for me? I think he’s playin’ in the woods near the edge of the river. Maybe the boy’ll listen to you quicker while I finish here.” 

You let out a soft chuckle, passing her the last of the food you had to chop up. “We’ll see, but sure.” 

Rinsing your hands in one of the washbasins nearby, you headed out toward the mouth of the river near the path leading out of camp. You didn’t see any sign of him from where you stood--he wasn’t tossing rocks into the water or drawing in the dirt with a stick like he usually was. You could feel a small twist to your gut, hoping that he was just in the tree line and you wouldn’t have to wander off to find him. 

You dropped down onto the bank, following it along until you were able to step up and into the trees. You paused for a moment, listening for anything before walking further in. 

“Jack?” you called out, pausing in your walk, “Your mama’s looking for you!” 

Silence. More twisting in your gut. You really hoped he was just playing a game not wandered off or…

You moved with more purpose into the trees, calling his name once more before you heard some movement nearby. However, as you did so, you heard a muffled cry that sounded from very close nearby. Yet, as you turned to look in that direction, something very solid and hard jabbed into the centre of your back. The pain radiated up your spine, settling hard in your kidneys as you felt your knees hit the ground. 

“Stay down!” an unknown voice hissed, your eyes lifting as someone stepped out from around a tree. He had his hand pressed against Jack’s mouth as he squirmed in his grasp. Instantly, you tried to stand up but you felt a hard kick to your side in retaliation. 

“I said ‘stay down!’” the voice behind you said, hissing the words between his teeth before the man holding Jack spoke up. 

“The hell’re you doin’?” he demanded, “We was just to get the kid.” 

“What? Have her run back into that camp and tell everybody what happened? We’ll have them all on us ‘fore we can even get anythin’ outta this.” 

What?

“We ain’t got time for this,” the man in front of you replied, “Take ‘em both.” 

You heard Jack let out a cry behind the hand over his mouth, however you didn’t really get the chance to fully process what was happening before you felt a solid hit to the back of your head. Instantly, you heard ringing in your ears, before another hit sent you into darkness. 

                                                            ***

Your head was pounding, feeling the sway of a horse under you as you could feel the strain of your arms tucked behind your back. Blinking open your eyes, you saw the ground under you moving with the quick strides of the horse you were currently slung over the back of. You took in the breath before the events from before flooded into your head, causing you to jerk your head up. You could see passing trees as you were rode down some large pathway, seeing another rider ahead with an arm wrapped around Jack. 

Twisting, you tried to see if you could roll off the horse but the tug at your shoulder told you that you were secured to the back of the saddle. Shit, no. 

You thought about yelling, screaming, trying to see if anybody would catch on but with how fast they were riding up the path and how empty the area seemed to be, you knew it would only just make things worse. 

It wasn’t long before you caught sight of the large structure at the end of the path--a plantation house. You squirmed as they stopped outside the steps, hearing Jack let out a yell as he was pulled from the horse in front of you. The rider of the one you were on the back off slipped off his saddle as the doors to the house opened, your world swaying somewhat as you were pulled to the ground. 

You grunted as your face hit the gravel, likely leaving a couple cuts as you grit your teeth against the sharp and familiar headache. 

“I told you to only get the boy,” a woman’s voice said from the stairs above you. 

“She walked in on us,” you heard the man holding Jack say as you felt a pair of hands grip at your arms, hauling you to your feet. “Guess we’ll have to see what we can do with this one.” 

“Damn useless,” the woman replied, your gaze lifting to see her beckon your captors inside. You nearly tripped over your own feet as you were shoved forward, catching the steps before being dragged up them and into the house. 

You could hear Jack crying, a part of you wanting nothing more than to comfort the kid but you knew it would be only so fleeting if you didn’t get out of here. 

“Bronte’s men are coming within the hour to pick up the boy,” she continued, “I don’t see why they would take her too, but I’ll have to figure something out. Separate them.” 

“What the hell does that mean? Who is that?” you demanded, despite yourself, “H-He’s just a little boy! Please!” 

“Shut her up,” the woman demanded, sounding much like she was done with the situation as Jack called your name. 

“It’s going to be okay, Jack!” you called out as he was carried away from you toward another room. You heard a chuckle behind you, a tug on your arm turning you roughly toward the stairs leading to the upper floors. 

“Sure is,” your captor stated, “Boy’s goin’ to Saint Denis, but you? We’ll get you sorted out.”

[im-in-love-with-pizza-bites]

Oh oh you should do song number 2 (One of Them Girls) for the song fic?? that would be so good

Thank you for the request.. Suggestion idk what it would be but I do hope this is as good as you hoped! Also like first Charlie Fic I've written!!! Though he was actually my original choice for the Owen fic I wrote. Anyway the Songfic,

One Of Them Girls

Charlie Gillespie X Fem!Reader

Summary: You like to make them wonder if you're one of them girls 'cause he's one of them boys who'll trade his whole world, for one of them girls who likes to act all quiet sexy, not even tryin'

Warnings: none really? Mentions teen pregnancy.

Song: One Of Them Girls by Lee Brice

Are you one of them girls? That peels off the Bud-Light label

You were sitting in a booth at a bar and grill, picking at the label on your beer bottle. You were waiting for your childhood best friend, as well as one of his other friends. You looked over at the door, seeing Owen Joyner and his friend walk in. You smiled waving them over.

"Owen! I've missed you!" You said hugging him once he was near the table. "And you must be my replacement as his best friend!" You said turning to the other guy.

"I didn't replace you!"

"Or did you?" You asked laughing. "I'm y/n." You put a hand out to shake.

"Charlie." He smiled shaking your hand.

Just might run a pool table, roll your eyes if I call you an angel ain't you, one of them girls?

"What do you say? Game of pool?" You asked standing up .

"I'm down." Owen said. "Come on Charlie." Charlie up following the pair of you to the pool tables. After a while you won.

"Good job angel." Charlie said smiling. You rolled your eyes.

Ask you to dance, you say, "No" just to see how far I'll go

You walked out of the restaurant with Charlie and Owen behind you.

"Y/n come here." Charlie said pulling you by the hand to Owen's car.

"Owen help! I'm being kidnapped!" You cried out jokingly to your friend, but he just laughed. "Charlie let go of my effing hand." You said glaring at him.

"Sorry." Charlie dropped it before he pulled his phone out, then he started playing music.

"Owen... You replaced me with a dancing monkey." You whispered to Owen as Charlie tried to get you to dance with him.

"One dance. Please angel." Charlie said you huffed but gave in.

Your song comes on and your eyes closed that's when I know, yeah you got your heart on lockdown got a wall I gotta knock down

"Bye!" You gave Owen a hug, before you waved at Charlie and walked to your car.

"Is she single?" Charlie asked.

"Dude! That's my best friend." Owen said.

"It was just a question." Charlie laughed. "But is she?"

"Yeah... Good luck with that." Owen said pushing him gently before he got into the car.

Kinda wanna do a shot now, come on now and you're one of them girls that ain't tryna meet nobody

You walked into your apartment, tossing your purse down onto the floor. You walked in smiling as you heard small feet running to you.

"Mommy!" The little girl exclaimed. You smiled lifting her. Followed by the young girl was, your teenage neighbor.

"Hiya babygirl." You smiled at your daughter, before looking at the teen. "Hi hun, thank you for watching her how much do I owe you?"

"20 bucks." The girl said. You nodded grabbing the money from your wallet and handing it to her. "Bye!"

"Bye, liv say bye."

"Bye!" Your daughter waved at the girl.

You're just here for the party if I'm wrong then stop me, yeah

Owen had invited you and your daughter over to hang out. Owen was one of the few friends who stayed friends with you in high school after you got pregnant with Olive. You were in your senior year, being 18. You held the four-year-old on your hip as you let her knock on the door of Owen's apartment. You were always thankful when he invited both you and Olive over since you couldn't always leave her with a babysitter. The door was opened by Charlie, who you were almost positive didn't know about Olive.

"Whos this?" Charlie asked. You had met him the week prior, he was still in town hanging out with Owen.

"I'm Olive!"

"Hi olive I'm Charlie.

"Whatevwer where uncle Owen? Mommy said Uncle owen lives here!" Olive said pouting. You stepped into the apartment and sat the little girl down, she ran straight to Owen.

"How old is she?" Charlie asked you.

"4."

You're one of them girls that ain't handin' out your number

"Can I get your number?" A guy asked you as you were at the bar and grill with Charlie and this time Olive.

"Solid 3." Your daughter answered for you. You busted out laughing unable to control yourself, Charlie copying.

"You heard the kid get outta here." You said in between laughs. "Good job Baby girl." You high-fived her.

You like to make us want you you like to make us wonder if you're one of them girls 'cause I'm one of them boys who'll trade his whole world, hmm, yeah

In the two weeks Charlie was in Oklahoma visiting Owen, he got close with you. Which led to texting and talking over the phone after he went back to LA.

"Hey angel." Charlie said.

"Stop calling me that!" You said glaring at him through the face time call.

"I don't want to! Now where's the little princess? I want to say Hi to her!" Charlie said smiling. You smiled back.

"She's at preschool." You answered.

"Awe." He said disappointed. You couldn't help but feel happy.

For one of them girls who likes to act all quiet sexy, not even tryin'

"Why are you so quiet Angel?" Charlie asked. You shrugged.

"I don't know." You responded in truth, you were stuck thinking. You never thought about dating again after you broke up with Olive's dad when you were 18, but now being 23 and falling for the Canadian you thought about it a lot. You were almost positive he would never date you though. You had a daughter, you were a teen mom. You've known him almost a year at this point.

"Okay, so did Owen tell you Julie and the phantoms season 2 is coming out soon!" Charlie said smiling at you.

"Ooh olive will be so excited she loves seeing her Uncle Owen on tv." You said.

"What about me?"

"She'll love seeing you on tv too."

Yeah, you know I ain't lyin', damn right you one of them girls broke every heart in your hometown on the day you rode out

You leaned back in bed sighing. You wanted to tell Charlie you wanted to date him, and it seemed like a good time as him and Jeremy were coming to visit Owen, and in turn you. Jeremy hasn't met you yet, but he heard a lot about you from both Owen and Charlie. You lifted Olive from her car seat before you grabbed her hand and walked into the apartment building, and to Owen's apartment. Once there you opened the door which you knew was unlocked because Owen texted you.

"I brought a kid! Keep what ever your doing PG!" You hollered walking in.

"Charlie!" Olive exclaimed running over to Charlie giving him a hug. You smiled softly.

"Hi, I'm y/n." You said to Jeremy. "That is Olive."

"Hi, Jeremy."

"Olive where's my hug?" Owen asked.

"Hi uncle Owen!" Olive smiled.

Got 'em all wishin' on stars now if I find one of them girls that ain't tryna meet nobody

You sat out by your car looking at the starry sky. Olive fell asleep on Owen's lap when the five of you were watching Moana. You just came out for air. You didn't notice Charlie walking up behind you.

"Ah! Oh, you scared me... Hey Charlie." You gave him a smiled.

"Hey whatcha doing?"

"Thinking you?"

"Came to find you." Charlie said. "I wanted to ask you something."

"Go ahead." You nodded looked at him.

"Will you be my girlfriend?" He asked shyly.

"Yeah."

You're just here for the party if I'm wrong them stop me, yeah you're one of them girls that ain't handin' out your number

You smiled at Charlie when he walked into the kitchen of his apartment where he found you and Olive having a impromptu dance party. You were in LA visiting him for a few days, the long-distance relationship was hard but you made it work. Olive absolutely loved Charlie anytime she saw him she got excited.

"Can I join?" Charlie asked taking Olive's hand, spinning her. You smiled watching them dance.

You like to make us want you, you like to make us wonder if you're one of them girls

You took a deep breath as you began packing up the things in your daughter's room. You and Olive we're moving to LA to live with Charlie, you've been dating Charlie for a year, and finally tired of the long distance relationship you decided to move up to LA. Owen was over helping keep a eyes on Olive who is now 6 so you could pack.

"Woah." You sighed looking at the now empty room, you haven't see the room empty like this since you moved in 6 years ago. You moved away from home when you turned 19, going to make a life for you and your daughter, now at twenty five your farther then you ever thought you would be.

"Have you see Olive? We're playing hide and seek." Owen said peaking in the room breaking you from your thoughts.

"No."

Well I'm one of them boys who'll trade his whole world, yeah for one of them girls

You stepped into the new apartment you and Charlie got together. His was nice but it only had the one-bedroom, and Olive would not have been happy if she didn't get her own room.

"This place is nice mommy! Where's my room?"

"I'll show you Princess." Charlie said grabbing the girl's hand before the went down the hallway. You sat the box you had down on the counter smiling softly.

You're one of them girls I wanna put my lips on hold all night long write a little love song

There was movement in the bed before a tiny body found it's self situated comfortably in between you and Charlie.

"Hunny?" You yawned looking down at Olive who was laying there hugging her stuffed bunny.

"Cuddles?" The girl asked. Charlie who has woke up aswell rolled over pulling the girl onto his chest before pulling you into his side.

"Shh go to bed." He whispered.

For one of them girls that ain't tryna meet nobody you're just here for the party

"Olive! I need to asked you something big." Charlie said parking the car at a McDonald's.

"What?" She asked unbuckling. He looked back at her.

"Let's go get food then I'll tell you okay?"

After they got their food and were sitting at a table. He got ready to ask her.

"What would you say if I asked your mommy, to marry me?" Charlie asked before eating a fire.

"That would he so cool! Would that make you my daddy?"

"Yeah." Charlie chuckled.

"Awesome! I'm gonna tell all my friends my daddy is an actor!" Olive said happily.

If I'm wrong then stop me, yeah you're one of them girls that ain't handin' out your number

You were on a date with Charlie, a much more romantic ones then the usual ones you went on together. It was usually a picnic or adventure date, but you were at a fancy restaurant.

Charlie mustered all his courage before he dipped to one knee.

"Will you marry me?"

"Yes!"

You like to make us want you, you like to make us wonder if you're one of them girls well I'm one of them boys who'll trade his whole world (his whole world) for one of them girls hmm, one of them girls

A/n: first off when I was looking for a good name for Olive I kept coming across the names of my brother's crazy exes like I turned down at least 7 options just because of it 🙄 Again thank you for the ask!

[zoryany]

Whumptober Days 2 & 3

IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY || MY WAY OR THE HIGHWAY

“Pick who dies” | Collars | Kidnapped || Manhandled | Forced to Their Knees | Held at Gunpoint

The butt of the blaster connected with the back of his head once again, and Luke tasted blood. Not for the first time, he found his thoughts struggling against the fog that had settled over his mind, panic forcing his heart into overdrive. He was on the ground, kneeling before his captors, and the impact caused him to keel over and land in the dirt. Bound hands had barely stopped him from falling face first into the ground below, but he could feel the sharp bite of the gravel dig into his palms as he braced himself with weak arms.

“Are you an idiot? Answer the question.”

Question? He wasn’t sure he understood much, right now, the drugs still working their way out of his system. He remembered being captured. He remembered being dragged here. He remembered his friends being dragged along as well, screams and shouts and chaos. But he didn’t remember a question.

“I – I’m sorry, I don’t – what question?”

A different sort of pain shot through him this time, a pain that danced across his skin, radiating from his neck down towards the rest of his body. He was convulsing, now, unable to continue supporting his weight and tumbling forward into the dirt after all. The same gravel that had bit into his hands was now grinding against his cheeks. A ragged cry rung through the air, and Luke found himself sympathizing, dimly, with whoever was screaming like that, not realizing it was his own voice that was echoing so loud.

Rough hands grasped at Luke’s hair, tearing his body upwards and his head backwards so his bleary eyes could take in the scene before him. Kneeling, all in a row, was an assortment of beings, some he recognized, some he didn’t. All appeared filthy and pitiful, a sorry sight much like he imagined he looked himself. There was desperation in the eyes of most, defeat in many, and in some… Some bore a defiance that was far more familiar than it had any right to be. The ones wearing defiance were the people he knew best, he was sure, even through the haze that hung heavy over his awareness.

Seeing them – recognizing them – sent a surge through him, and Luke found his awareness perk up just a touch.

“Deaf and an idiot,” another voice scoffed, gruffer and higher pitched than the first. “Really is a good thing we’re here to teach this whelp a lesson before trying to fetch any sort of price for him.”

No… the word price echoed in his head, and he felt a pool of dread gather in his gut. As delirious as he was, there was no doubt who his captors were: slavers. And the people before him were set to be sold off as well.

Gritting his teeth, Luke gathered up as much strength as he could and glared up at his captors, placing as much heat as possible into his expression. All this accomplished was to earn him a condescending smirk and another smack across his cheek.

“Yes, yes, he really is a sorry case,” cooed the first voice. They’d begun circling Luke, clearly not the one still gripping his hair, and he could only catch vague glimpses as they passed in front of him. “I have no idea how someone like this could’ve earned such a significant bounty, but here we are…”

After a few moments of pacing, this particular captor knelt before Luke and offered a toothy grin. They were humanoid, but there was something off about them. Cybernetic enhancements? A different species? He couldn’t quite focus on their specific features, no matter how much of that heat he harnessed, but he knew that, whoever this was, they were not someone he wanted to spend an abundance of time near.

“But perhaps that is not entirely your fault, at the moment.” The gleam in their eyes told Luke that they were fully aware of how dazed and confused he was. “True, you were rather… underwhelming even before we subdued you. But I suppose we should be patient, considering just how addled your mind must be. That particular cocktail we gave you is potent enough to take down a rancor, let alone a wretch like you.”

Harnessing that heat once again, Luke worked to meet the eyes of his captor. They were predominantly green, with a yellowish hue. The pupils were not fully slitted, but neither were they perfectly round. Their features were ambiguous, and he found it hard to get a clear picture of who they could possibly be, but all he knew was that he felt pure, unadulterated anger towards them.

“Go to hell,” he croaked. With all the defiance he had within him, he spit in their face. Feeling satisfied and with his resolve bolstered somewhat, he found a few more words. “What do you want?”

A flash of anger passed through those yellow-green eyes, but it was quickly replaced with a self-satisfied smirk. With a casual swipe, his captor removed the saliva from their face with their sleeve and stepped to the side.

“Y’see the pathetic excuses for people laid out in front of ya?” Anger flared in Luke, but he simply gritted his teeth and bit back his response, nodding stiffly against the grip on his hair. “All folk you wanted to save.” His gaze flickered across them all again, concentrating more on their features, and the pool of dread in the pit of his stomach only grew deeper and heavier. “Too bad you can’t save them all. Cause, see, our transport simply does not have the room for you all. We still get paid for proof of capture, dead or alive, but the journey will end sooner for some of you than for others.”

Panic was beginning to etch itself across the more unfamiliar faces before him. Luke could feel the sentiment reflected in his heart.

“Please…” The word spilled forth unbidden from Luke’s lips. “None of them deserve to die. Or to be captured. Just let them all go. It’s me you want, isn’t it? Just let them go, just take me, and I won’t fight, I promise…”

The pain bloomed once again, briefer this time, but more intense. His head was jerked backwards, and Luke found himself looking up at a very human face, silvery-blue eyes cold as durasteel, bearing an intense dislike for the creature they gazed upon. “He still doesn’t get it, does he, boss?” Long, slender fingers reached to trace across Luke’s neck. “This piece of scum is gonna have to make a decision one way or another, and ain’t nobody getting out of here alive.” Though he felt pressure on his neck, he did not register any sensation on his skin as those fingers continued to drag. And that’s when it hit him – the source of his pain, before, was a collar, set to administer electric shocks, should he disobey.

It took a great deal of self-control to keep from emptying the contents of his stomach right then and there.

What did they want with him? With the others? These didn’t seem like typical bounty hunters or even slavers. There was something far more… sadistic to them that set Luke on edge.

The leader, whoever or whatever they were, met Luke’s gaze again with a sharp-toothed grin. “Ye’ll be comin’ with us regardless, wretch, don’t you worry. And you’re far too valuable to take in dead, so don’t ya go tryin’ to sacrifice yerself. I know that’s how you hero-types operate. But I need yer opinion. See, I just can’t decide who’s gonna be dead weight. One o’ yer Rebellion buddies? Could be a bit more defiant than they’re worth, even if they are skilled. Or maybe one o’ these peasant-type folks. Much more docile, but lacking in skills. So whaddya think… little Jedi?”

His blood turned to ice in his veins, and his eyes flew wide as he gained full awareness of his situation. They knew. Somehow, they knew he had the Force. No wonder they’d called him valuable. (That was stomach churning on its own; comparing his life to others and knowing it was only because he had been born with some talent they lacked made him feel even queasier.) He still didn’t know, fully, how he’d landed himself in this situation, but Luke absolutely didn’t know how he was supposed to get himself out.

Without a miracle – or some very quick thinking he was not capable of summoning at the moment – someone was going to have to suffer because of him.

This realization prominent in his mind, he scanned the faces one last time, eyes finally landing on the familiar features of one of his wingmates, Wedge Antilles. He wore fire in his eyes, a righteous rage against what they were being subjected to, and the heat in that expression was almost enough to make Luke sweat. Wedge’s face slackened when his eyes found Luke, revealing sympathy and care as they exchanged heavy, mournful glances.

In an instant, the fire reignited as Wedge’s gaze flickered from his friend to his captor, and he began to struggle. “Don’t say anything, Luke, they’re just trying to get to you!” He gritted his teeth, a significant look exchanged between them and then – “The bird of prey has already left her nest. You know she always flies true, given the time.”

Bird of prey? Bird of prey… Luke considered that for a moment that felt like an eternity before finally realizing – The Falcon! Of course they’d sent out a distress signal. Han and Chewie (and, maybe, Leia) would know where to find them. There was hope for the lot of them yet. He just had to keep stalling.

Turning his eyes towards the leader, Luke narrowed his eyes. “How do I know,” he croaked, “that you’re telling the truth? About not having enough room? About someone having to die?” He felt the gears in his mind turning so fast he could scarcely keep up, and his mouth seemed to act before his brain could finish processing. “You get more out of taking people alive, you have to, so why wouldn’t you make it work? What is this about? Why are you – ”

The sound of blasterfire cut his words short, and the eyes that had been filled with flames just moments before now stared at him blankly, shock and defiance blending with the unmistakable emptiness that accompanied death.

Wedge was dead.

And…

And it was Luke’s fault.

Perhaps not directly. He hadn’t given the word. He hadn’t pulled the trigger. But they had both been defiant, and now his friend was dead.

The others were crying out in shock, those who dimly registered as fellow Rebels shrieking in outrage, the innocents wailing in horror. Luke was silent. He was in shock. Through everything, he hadn’t expected… this.

“Foolish little Jedi. You have no idea who we are or what we want. Don’t presume to guess. Just know that your fate holds a particular interest to us, and we will see it through. Now, it is time for you to sleep again, and face your new life on the other side. Rest well, little Jedi.”

He didn’t. A bite in his neck pumped him full of drugs once more, and a fitful, restless unconsciousness overtook him. The lifeless expression of his former friend haunted him, the dull eyes still filled with raw emotion burned into his vision, even through his faded awareness. He had no idea what was in store for him, but Luke was certain that this anguish was only the beginning…

[krillin-fanfic]

Revelations

Here we go, my humble submission for K18 Day 2020! The prompt was “Relationship Reveal”*, I believe, so I went with a version of how I think it might have unfolded.   If you prefer to read it on the fic sites, here’s the links:  https://archiveofourown.org/works/12092562/chapters/64659265  https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12652303/15/The-Chestnut-Festival And now, on with the show! 

The first time they told someone, it was an accident. 

Krillin and 18 had been visiting Chi-Chi and her boys that day. It'd been nothing unusual for them; 18 had long ago gotten over her shyness around the other woman due to Krillin's insistence he spend time helping her with her home and her son and 18's reluctance to be left alone anywhere within fifty feet of the old man and the pig. (And being honest? Most humans were just dull or annoyed her) and thus 18 found herself typically in the company of the woman she'd only really known as "Goku's wife". Much to 18's surprise, she was quite outgoing... and surprisingly forgiving of the whole "an evil doctor kidnapped me and turned me into a cyborg to kill your husband" thing. She'd even started inviting 18 to come visit her even without Krillin and had come to greatly enjoy her company. In fact, 18 found herself considering the rather friendly-but-feisty woman to be one of the only two friends she really had. 

A loud whoop and a giggling taunt could be heard from the side yard, and she smiled. The two kids Chi-Chi had certainly didn't hurt, either.18 had been apprehensive around the older boy, Gohan, at first; between not being the most sociable of people and the strangeness of the little bookworm being able to crush a monster as powerful as Cell, one couldn't exactly blame her. But over the past year, she'd found him to be quite friendly and accepting of her, a trait, Krillin had told her, he inherited from his father. 18 found herself enjoying spending time with the lad too, listening along with Krillin and his mother as the boy would ramble on and on about some fascinating new factoid he'd rad, or playing baseball with the boy outside. (She noted with pride that, despite the boy's fearsome strength and blinding speed, he could still never manage to hit her changeup.) 

A tiny squeak and a yawn emanated from the tiny, spiky-haired bundle in 18's arms caught her attention. 18 remembered the day they'd gone to visit after little Goten had been born and being petrified. Being around a kid was something she was just getting used to, but a baby? 18 had been stiff and standoffish for nearly that whole night. And for Chi-Chi to actually ask her to hold him barely a week later? Babies were loud, smelly, delicate, and uncomfortable, there was no way she'd even consider it! 

Until finally, one day, out of necessity... she caved. Chi-Chi had been trying to juggle cooking and caring for a fussy baby, and 18 being unwilling to see this much struggling, took the baby for a moment. And she immediately fell in love with the little bundle. The poofy hair, the tiny hands and feet, that adorable smile and giggle... The little Saiyan had 18 enamored with him in no time flat, and whenever Chi-Chi or Gohan weren't holding him, it seemed 18 or Krillin were. She smiled at the little one as he smacked his lips and drifted back to sleep. 

"You really are so good with him." 18 looked up to see Chi-Chi with a tray of steaming hot tea, smiling. "I haven't seen him sleep this soundly in a little while. He seems to find you quite comforting." 

18 couldn't help but allow herself an amused smirk at the irony. "He's a good little guy," she replied. "Almost hard to believe he's such a loud ball of energy when he's awake." 

Chi-Chi set down her tray and chuckled, taking a seat on the sofa next to her. "He's very much like his father that way." 18 handed the baby over to her and she kissed his forehead gently before laying him in the rocking bed by her feet. "I tell you, that man would sleep like a baby, dead to the world, calm and peaceful as can be. Then the next thing ya know, he's up and bouncing around and eating anything I didn't nail down to the table." She sweatdropped. "That was when I learned wax fruit was a no-no on the decoratin' front." 

18 blew on her cup of tea and raised a brow. "He ate wax fruit Did he not stop when he realized?" 

Chi-Chi picked up her cup and chuckled. "Nope. Just complained they were bitter. Told him it was wax fruit and he said not to pick fruit from the wax trees anymore." She smiled. "But then every morning, it was right over to little Gohan's crib. He was joined at the hip to that baby, I swear." 

18 sipped her tea and smiled. "Had him wrapped around his finger, huh?" 

"Oh gosh, you got no idea, hon. When Gohan was born, he was fascinated by him. Sometimes he'd just sit there staring at him like he was trying to figure him out. But before long, he was holding him constantly, taking naps with him..." her eyes widened "and I can't tell you how many times I had ta stop him from tryin' to share his food with him long before he was ready. Those were some hair-raising moments, I can tell you that." 

Her face softened again. "Even when he'd go trainin' though, he always stayed closer to home, and started taking Gohan on trips with him so he could study the wildlife in the area while he did his workout." She put down her tea and smiled at her sleeping infant. "I'm sure he'd be the same way with Goten too. He wasn't always the best traditional father, but my Goku was a good papa." 

18 traced the rim of her cup with a finger and smiled. "Sounds like it to me. I know my Krillin can be the same way. Absolutely loves kids, especially your boys."  

Chi-Chi raised a brow for a moment, shocked. "O-oh!" she grinned. " Yes! He's been a very big help with Gohan. Can't think of anyone I'd rather have as a role model, ahaha!" 

Now it was 18's turn to raise a brow as she sipped nervously. "Hmm." 

"Jeez, kid, did you really have to throw the ball that hard? I think my hand might be numb for like a week." 

The ladies glanced over in the direction of the opening front door to see Krillin enter the house, shirt and pants covered in grass stains, with an apologetic Gohan in tow, carrying a now-deflated football. 

"I'm sorry, Krillin! Is your hand ok?"

Krillin laughed. "Yeah, I'm fine, relax." He held up a finger. "Your next assignment though: work on your control. Can't be tossing balls so hard they break in people's hands." He looked at Chi-Chi and 18 and smiled. "Sorry we took so long out there. Time kinda got away from us."

Chi-Chi waved her hand dismissively. "Oh, you're fine. We were just having a little girl talk, and I was just about to start making lunch anyhow." She gestured toward the sleeping bundle at her feet. "Gohan, would you please take your brother to his bed and get cleaned up? Seems he's out for the long haul."

"Sure thing, mom." Gohan gently scooped up his baby brother and started down the short hallway as Krillin took a seat on the arm of the sofa by 18.

Chi-Chi smoothed her dress. "Now then," she grinned at the two, "is there anything you'd like to tell me?"

Krillin scratched his head in bewilderment. "Uh... you mean about Gohan? Well, he's at that age, so we did sort of have a puberty talk, but-"

Chi-Chi giggled ."I mean about you two, sillies!" She looked at 18. "I mean, how long have you two been a couple and you didn't even tell me?!"

18 visibly tensed but her face remained set in stone. "I'm sorry... what are you talking abo-"

"Ah-ah! Nope!" Chi-Chi held up a finger. "No playing dumb with me, miss! I'd been wondering for a little while now. The looks you two shoot each other," she gestured at their seating arrangement. "The way you always have to be close to each other." She winked at 18. "And just now you called him your Krillin. That's not something that 'just happens' when talking about a friend."

Krillin's jaw dropped a little as 18's face flushed a deep red. He put a hand on 18's shoulder. "18... babe, did you tell her?"

18, still tense and red-faced, nodded slowly. "Y-yeah. So what? Maybe I'm just tired of pretending, huh? Maybe I wanna talk to my only other friend about stuff too..."

Krillin hopped off the couch and kneeled in front of her. "Nono, hon, you don't have to defend that decision to me. We discussed this, 'member? Whenever you're ready, right?" 18 nodded and he smiled, his own face flushing as well.

"Uhm... Chi-Chi," he turned to her. "Please, can you just... keep this between us for now? Please." He took 18's hand in his and she gripped it tightly. "18's never really had much privacy in her life, and she was super worried about people trying to pry and being nosy... we agreed to keep this a secret until she was ready to tell people herself. So please, especially not Bulma. You know how she can be..."

Chi-Chi put both hands up. "Oh, of course, of course! I completely understand. Secret's safe with me, honest." She shifted forward and rested her chin in her hand. "But uh... how long? When did it happen?"

"A few weeks ago..." 18 spoke up, finally shifting her gaze from the floor to her friend again, cheeks still red. "We... we were stargazing on the roof when the old man was gone. Like we usually do, and... I dunno what it was, but something just felt different. Like... I felt really happy, y'know? And.. weirdly safe. Like there was nothing in the world that could have touched me in that moment." 18 smiled softly. "And he... told me I looked really pretty in the moonlight. In this way that felt so sincere and honest... I asked to hear it again. And again. And then..."

"She kissed me," Krillin interrupted, a big dopey grin on his face. "Ow!" he rubbed his shoulder where 18 slugged him. "What?"

"Don't interrupt, goon." 18 scowled, but there was a playfulness to her eyes that betrayed her.

"Apologies, miss. I shan't interrupt again." he kissed her hand softly, and 18 blushed even harder, hiding her face behind a shirt sleeve.

Chi-Chi squealed. "Oh my gosh, you two are just too adorable!" She planted a hand on both their shoulders. "Congratulations, you two! Honestly, it was about time you finally pulled the trigger on this. I think I knew before either of you did." She laughed as the two nervously looked away.

"H-how?"

Chi-Chi smirked slyly. "Well it's not as if Krillin kept his feelings a secret, I've known him for years and his emotions are easy to read as a book. But you..." she shook a finger at 18. "You took a bit longer, but it wasn't hard to see he was more than just a friend to you. I'd say it was probably around the time you started asking me to teach you how to cook that I knew for sure." She winked. "These boys are all the same, the way to the heart is through the stomach."

As if on cue, Krillin's stomach growled and 18 chuckled. "Well it was either that or give him food poisoning, I suppose."

Chi-Chi stood and pumped a fist. "Right! Well, I better get lunch going. Gohan's no doubt close to done cleaning up, and I'm sure he'll be starved too." She cast a side-eye at 18. "Be glad you're not cooking for Saiyans, dear. Lemme tell you, it's a full-time job."

She trotted to the kitchen, pulled out a big pot, and started filling it with water, sparing the occasional glance up to see the two lovebirds in their own little world, holding hands, talking happily, and stealing the occasional kiss. She smiled. 'They look so happy.'

18 gripped Krillin's hand just a tiny bit tighter The initial nerves had subsided. She was glad she'd told, to be honest, and happier still that Chi-Chi agreed to keep it a secret, but there was still that lingering sense of paranoia she couldn't quite shake. Her privacy and autonomy were things she highly valued, and the idea of certain people prying and wanting to grill her for information on her personal life still scared her. But...

She smiled.

But now she had Krillin. Her Krillin. Her best friend, her support... and now more.

And somehow, she knew, everything would be alright.

[spookyrobbins]

don’t go (where i can’t follow) 

pairing: catra x adora 

description: 

following shadow weaver's escape, catra's future looks doomed. but with the appearance of her past self and adora, maybe catra can save them and herself.

chapter one. 

time makes you bolder 

links: ao3

Catra let her claws dig idly into the metal walls, a general lack of care permeating her entire being. Everything had crashed down around her. It was only a matter of time before Hordak realized that Shadow Weaver had escaped because Catra was weak, because she was useless. 

She was going to die and nobody would even care to mourn her. Well, maybe Scorpia would. But that was just one more thing that Catra tainted with her darkness. Scorpia represented the only light within the Horde and Catra ruined her. Months ago, she recognized that Scorpia had some silly notion of a crush and she let it continue. It was nice, ya know. To have somebody want you, to look out for you. But she never actively encouraged it. 

No, Catra was too broken for love, too broken for simple affection. Even Scorpia, who was so painfully gentle and thoughtful and kind, elicited a primal response when she touched her. Every fibre of Catra’s being fought against the touch of another. She didn’t deserve anything. 

She veered away from the corridor that would take her directly to her room. Might as well enjoy her last bit of freedom before Hordak inevitably called for her head. 

Would anyone miss her when she was gone? Scorpia would, even though Catra had always kept her at arms’ length. Entrapta barely emerged from her experiments these days long enough to breathe, let alone realize that Catra was gone. 

And Adora, well, that ship sailed long ago. Catra broke their everything. She destroyed it until she thought it would cut into her with every breath. But that only made it worse. Adora hated her. Just like Catra hated her. Adora and her dumb friends would celebrate Catra’s end. Yes, it was for the best. It had to be. Adora could be all bright and shiny and good, while Catra slipped into endless darkness. 

It was just like Shadow Weaver had always said, “You will only drag Adora down.” 

Guess that wouldn’t be a problem anymore. Funny, how Shadow Weaver always won. No matter what Catra did or didn’t do, where she hid, where she ran, Shadow Weaver always got her in the end. Catra never won, ever. She had fleeting moments of victory, but they were always stolen away, be it by Adora or Shadow Weaver or just fucking life. There was no victory for Catra in this lifetime. 

Her chest ached painfully, so much so she paused to lean against a wall, rubbing desperately at her breastbone as if to will the pain away. 

She was going to die today. 

She was never going to see Adora again. 

She would never get to tell Adora- 

“No,” she hissed at herself, anger bubbling over. “No, don’t.” 

But thoughts of Adora pushed their way to the forefront of her mind. Adora’s bright blue eyes that always found hers no matter where they were. Her stupid smile that made Catra’s heart hurt. Her dumb voice and her dumb ideas. Her laugh, her laugh that Catra could just barely remember. All she could hear was Adora’s screams of pain as she raked her claws down her back or her screams when she realized that Catra had kidnapped her new friends. The friends that she clearly valued more than Catra. 

Why couldn’t Catra remember her laugh? It had been perfect. 

But like everything else, it was gone. 

A peal of youthful laughter rang out down a side corridor, causing Catra’s head to snap towards the sound. It sounded almost like, but it wasn’t. 

And there shouldn’t be any cadets in this area. 

Catra moved silently towards the hallway, which she was fairly positive was a dead end. But when she turned the corner, the space was deserted. Her eyes flicked up towards the vent where a small tail curled back into the vent. 

A tail? Who else had a tail like that? 

Casting a furtive glance over her shoulder, Catra hauled herself into the vents. Admittedly, it had been a while since she moved through the vents, but she knew them like the back of her hand. 

A shuffling noise drew her attention forward and she crawled along the vents towards the source. 

“‘Dora, c’mon, focus.” 

“‘m tryin’, kitty, you’re goin’ too fast!”

At the sound of the small voices, Catra’s heart stuttered, her breath catching uncomfortably in her chest. It was just a hallucination. She was going crazy. It was inevitable, of course. Or maybe this was some more magic bullshit like in that stupid temple.

She clearly was projecting voices in her head because she missed Adora. No, she didn’t miss Adora, she missed the memory of Adora. That would explain it. 

Two distinct thuds echoed back up the vents, one barely discernible even with her superior hearing, the other almost masked by the yelp of pain. Catra pushed forward until the top of her head was just hanging out of the vent. 

Sure enough, little her and little Adora huddled together as she checked out a bruise on Adora’s elbow. 

“You’ve just gotta land on your feet next time, ‘Dora.” The little version of her wiped at little Adora’s cheeks, sticking out her tongue in an attempt to make little Adora laugh. The sound of that laugh nearly brought tears to Catra’s eyes. “Hey! What’re you doing here?” A set of mismatched eyes stared up at her, the little one’s mouth falling open as they stared back. 

Catra scrambled back in the vent. A hallucination shouldn’t be able to see her. Not really. Right? Stars, this magic stuff sucked. Had she finally lost it, like Shadow Weaver always said she would? Always said she was no better than an animal. 

“Hey, you look like me.” The little version of her, the hallucination, popped up in the mouth of the vent, her eyes squinted nearly shut. 

“You can see me?” 

“Uh, duh, dummy. Why do you look like me?” 

“Catra! What are you doing?” 

“Talking to the lady in the vents!” The younger Catra yelled back, her voice bouncing loudly. 

“Hordak, keep your voice down, moron,” Catra hissed. “What are you two doing?” 

The little Catra looked away from her for a moment before hauling herself into the vent. “Um, hiding from Shadow Weaver.” 

“No, duh.” 

“Catra!” came Adora’s shrill voice, even louder than before. 

Catra grabbed the little version of her, shoving her behind her. Bracing her feet against the sides of the vents, she let her upper body hang down. “Okay, look, Adora, I need you to keep it down okay. I’ll give you a lift and we’ll sort this out.” 

“Catra?” Adora called warily, taking a half step towards Catra. 

“Don’t trust her! She’s a grown-up!” called back little Catra, who was apparently a total brat. Catra kicked out at her, making solid contact with herself? Well, she kicked the little Catra, who let out an angry hiss. 

Catra motioned with one hand to the little blonde, tamping down her irritation with the older version. “Come here.” Adora shuffled forwards slightly, just beyond Catra’s reach. A noise startled both of them outside the door. There was a quiet tune being whistled and the jangle of keys. “Adora, seriously, come here.” 

“I don’t know you.” 

“I’m a Force Captian and I’m giving you a direct order,” she said in a desperate attempt to appeal to the girl’s intense loyalty and respect for superior officers. Well, the loyalty that existed at that age. 

“Really?” Adora cast a doubtful look her way, one that Catra was all too familiar with. But she could deal with her issues with Adora later. After she dealt with the weird hallucinations that were apparently solid. And there wasn’t really a later for her anyway, so whatever. 

“Yes, really, now come here.” Adora took another half-step forward, which was just enough to allow Catra to grab her shirt and all but toss her up into the vent. She had barely gotten little Adora up when the door swung open and a maintenance woman appeared. 

“Coulda swore I heard something,” the woman muttered to herself before shaking her head and getting back to work. 

Catra exhaled sharply as she dragged little Adora with her. Little Catra, naturally, was less inclined to stay with an unknown adult and had wandered off in the vents. She could faintly smell the girl, but it was hard to distinguish from her own scent. “I’m going to kill myself when I get her, me, whatever,” hissed Catra. “Catra, Catra, this is so not the time for this.” A tail flicked out of sight behind a bend. Glancing over her shoulder to make sure she still had little Adora, Catra took off after the increasingly irritating version of her. 

She managed to snag a fleeing ankle, pulling the girl back towards her. Little Catra dug her claws into the metal, but they weren’t quite strong enough yet to stop her. She kicked out a foot, catching Catra in the ear. 

“Catra, stop, stop.” 

“Let me go! I don’t wanna go to Shadow Weaver! Please!” Catra let the girl roll onto her back but grabbed her shoulders before she could do any more harm. “I’ll be good, I swear.” 

What was left of Catra’s broken heart crumbled in her chest at the look of terror in her younger self’s eyes. How many times had she tried to hide from Shadow Weaver and her magic, only to be caught out and desperately plead to not be turned in. But nobody ever looked out for the weird, scrawny kid with ears. Everyone was infinitely more scared of Shadow Weaver than her and in the Horde, only those with a strong survival instinct make it. 

Hey, hey, I’m not taking you to that bitch. Not in a million years. I’m taking you guys somewhere safe so we can sort this all out.” She hesitated for a moment, relaxing back and giving the girl some space. “I promise I’ll keep you safe, just like Adora.” 

“Promise?” 

“Yeah, kid, I promise.” Catra swallowed against the painful lump forming in her throat. The little girl in front of her just so desperately wanted someone to protect her, to save her. 

“Catra?” 

“Yeah,” both versions answered, moving to look at little Adora. Their heads snapped back to look at each other. 

“I’ll explain later. We need to figure this out. And I’m on a bit of a tight schedule at the moment.” Her breath caught in her chest at the thought of her looming fate. If Hordak knew what had happened, it was only a matter of time before he came after her. And that would be it for her. “Let’s get out of these vents.”

Little Catra dropped down easily, but little Adora refused to move, her tiny hands clutching at the sides of the vent. 

Fighting the urge to roll her eyes, Catra lowered herself down, holding her arms up for Adora. “Adora, just jump into my arms, I’ll catch you, I swear.” 

Little Adora’s eyes flickered between her arms and little Catra before nodding abruptly. “1, 2, 3!” Little Adora launched herself out of the vent, managing to kick Catra in the face in the process, but Catra still managed to steady them. 

“I suppose I kinda deserve that these days,” she mumbled under her breath as she set little Adora down. The two little girls rushed to each others’ side, their hands naturally falling together. Catra gave herself a little shake. It didn’t matter anymore. “Okay, right. We’re gonna go back to my room and we’ll figure out how you guys got here. I need you two to stay as stealthy as possible.” The last thing she needed was Hordak finding these two little girls. An idea surfaced as to keep the girls quiet, but it made her skin crawl. But her issues weren’t important right now. “Stay quiet so Shadow Weaver doesn’t find us, okay?” 

The look of pure terror that appeared in her younger self’s eyes caused a wave of nausea to nearly overtake her, but she pushed it down. She couldn’t even bring herself to watch as little Adora pulled little Catra closer as if her arms could protect them from the world. 

“Alright, follow me.” 

“Yes, Force Captain.” Adora half-heartedly saluted, her bottom lip trembling. 

A smile curved up both Catra’s faces at that. Catra beckoned them forward, moving quietly towards the end of the corridor. 

“D’ya hear that, ‘Dora, I’m a Force Captain!” 

Catra wheeled on them, her eyes flashing dangerously. “What did I just say?” 

“Stealthy as possible, ma’am,” responded little Adora while little Catra just rolled her eyes. Catra bit back a chuckle at that. She couldn’t wait to tell Adora… oh wait, she was most likely going to die. In like an hour. Never mind. No more telling Adora anything.  

“Suck up,” coughed little Catra. 

“Both of you, quiet.” The odd trio moved down another set of corridors before they encountered another person. Little Catra was quick to blend into the shadows, but Adora let out a yelp of fear, freezing in the middle of the hallway. Catra scooped her into her arms, pressing them against the cold steel. Little Catra’s tail wrapped nervously around the older one’s leg while her claws caught against Catra’s trousers. 

Meanwhile, little Adora’s hands clutched at her hair as she pressed her face into Catra’s neck. Catra squeezed her eyes shut as the familiar smell of Adora washed over her. Catra kept them as close to the small corner formed by the thick pipes, providing some cover. If they were lucky, it would just be the typical Horde goons, who were generally clueless anyway. 

Two guards stomped down the hallway, chatting amongst themselves when their radio chimed. “Alert level 3, Hordak wants Force Captain Catra in his chambers. She is not to leave the building.” 

One of the guards spoke into it, “Affirmative, we’ll find the brat.” 

His companion chuckled darkly, “Wonder what Hordak wants with that mongrel?” 

“Fuck if I know. She has it coming.” 

Catra’s claws curled into her free hand, nearly breaking the skin. Another set of claws bit into her legs as her younger self let out an almost feral hiss. She could feel the little girl starting to move out of the shadows, and there was little she could do with Adora in her arms. Desperately, she let out a low, warning trill, hoping the somehow it would make sense to the girl. Little Catra started slightly at the noise, but settled back into the darkness.  

Once the men turned the corner, Catra motioned for her to follow her. She almost set little Adora down before deciding that it would be faster just to carry her. Adora, especially at that age, had an unfortunate habit of stomping around even if she was trying to be stealthy. Catra forced away the slight feeling of relief she got from holding Adora again, even if she was like seven or whatever, as they hurried down the corridors. 

They passed another set of patrols, the three of them crammed in a supply closet. Little Catra had started to sneeze, but Catra covered her mouth and nearly smacked little her when she bit into her hand. 

Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, they made it to her room. Clearly, someone had been looking for her already. Every item was upturned and tossed about, even the files that Scorpia had meticulously organized for her. Because obviously that would be where she was hiding. She rolled her eyes at the incompetence of Hordak’s goons. At least she was intelligent despite what Shadow Weaver had always said. 

Settling the two girls on her destroyed bed, she set about packing a bag. She needed to get out of the Fright Zone, and fast. Hordak didn’t make it a habit of listening to his failed underlings and if he found the little girls, she shuddered to think what he’d do with them. Well, at least do with little her, little Adora might be fine based on the leverage she’d provide. 

“How old are you two right now?” She asked as she stuffed as many blankets into a rucksack. 

The two glanced nervously at each other before Adora answered, “Six, maybe seven? Shadow Weaver only tells me when I’m a year older, so I dunno about Catra.” 

Catra exhaled slowly, trying to balance the panic. Now was not the time to deal with her Shadow Weaver complex. “Did anything weird happen before I found you?” 

“Uh...I don’t think so?” 

“There was a weird popping noise. I heard it. I told you, ‘Dora, I have better ears than you.” 

“They’re just bigger than mine.” 

“Kiddos, now isn’t the time for this. How many ration bars do you two have in your pockets?” 

“None!” Little Catra responded instantly, shoving a sharp elbow into Adora’s side. Catra raised one eyebrow at them. “I’ve got four and ‘Dora’s got two.” 

“Clever girls,” Catra said with a grin. The look on her younger self’s face tugged at her, but she had to stay focused. If she didn’t move quickly, none of them would be getting out of here. 

“Are we going somewhere?” Little Adora asked, her hands twisting in her lap. 

“Uh-huh,” Catra hummed as she stuffed both her and Adora’s Horde-issued knifes into the bag before thinking better of it. “Here, take these.” She handed them to the little girls. 

“Force Captain, we’re not allowed knives.” 

“This is sick!” 

“Shush, both of you, unless you wanna get caught.”

“By Shadow Weaver?” Little Catra asked, her voice wavering. 

Catra let out a shuddering breath. “Worse, Hordak.” 

That seemed to shut them both up quickly. Catra glanced around her room once more. It wasn’t as if she had any belongings of her own anyway. Except for some of the silly pictures and notes Scorpia had left her. Crap, Scorpia. There wasn’t time to find her and she was too conspicuous. 

Grabbing one of her many unfinished reports, she scrawled a note out. 

Sorry, Scorpia. I have to go. I’ll explain later. I’ll see you again. 

She hesitated for a long moment before adding, I’ll miss the super pal trio.  

“You two ready?” The two girls nodded, although little Adora looked terrified that they were leaving while little Catra couldn’t look more thrilled. As they snuck out the room, Catra supposed that this would’ve been her dream at that age. Some mysterious stranger coming and rescuing her from the Horde, taking her away from the darkness. 

After little Adora tripped loudly over a loose screw, Catra picked her up again, hushing her gently as they snuck through the hallways. Adora’s fingers curled around the straps of the rucksack while Catra held her tight with one arm. 

There were even more patrols than before, and if Catra’s instincts were correct, they were all looking for her. She just had to get to the hanger and they’d be fine. Where they’d go after that? She wasn’t sure. 

As they reached the hanger, Catra keyed in her code with her free hand, glancing over her shoulder for any incoming guards. Once the door slid open, she set little Adora down. 

“Okay, I’m going in first and then you two run for the first skiff on the left. Keep quiet and keep to the shadows. Don’t let anyone catch you.” 

“What are you gonna do?” Little Adora stared up at her with those damned blue eyes and Catra’s chest ached. 

Catra let a smirk twist her mouth. “I’m going to make sure nobody can follow us.” 

“Are you sure we should be running away?” 

“Yes, Adora, it’s the only way to keep you two, and me, alive at this point. Don’t worry it’ll be fine.” 

“Yeah, ‘Dora, it’ll be fine,” her younger self mimicked with an eyeroll. 

Catra crouched down to their level. “And, if it looks like I’m not gonna get out of here, you two take the skiff and go. Head towards Brightmoon.” The pair’s eyes went round as saucers. “Ask for She-ra. She’ll take care of you.” 

“Brightmoon? But, but there’s princesses there.” Little Adora’s mouth fell open in abject horror. Catra wished she could’ve gotten a photo just to rub it in her, er, present Adora’s face. 

“It’ll be fine, kiddos.” She winked at them over her shoulder before sneaking into the hanger. Checking briefly to make sure the little ones had actually listened to her, she turned back towards the small number of Horde soldiers hanging about. After watching little her help Adora onto the skiff, Catra made her way to the control office. 

As she suspected, Hordak struggled to control the day-to-day operations without his second-in-command, so no one had removed her credentials from the system. With a few keystrokes, she locked the landing gears on the rest of the skiffs and was in the process of disabling the guidances systems of the larger vessels when the door burst open. 

“Ha! Knew I’d find you in here! Always were a coward, huh, kitty cat?” Octavia loomed in the doorway, her one good eye gleaming with perverse pleasure. 

“Hey, Octavia, how’re things looking these days?” Catra backed off the control panel, but not without tearing at the guidance system with her claws. “Are you sure you want to do this? You’ve only got one eye left.” 

Octavia let out a scream before lunging at Catra. Catra launched herself over the older woman, managing to scrape her claws along the top of her head in the process. She darted out of the control room but found the small group of guards waiting for her with an unfortunate assortment of stun sticks and guns. 

“Aw crap.” 

Her eyes darted around the room, but it was too open. There wasn’t much in the way of barriers to stop a well-placed blaster shot. She was screwed. This was it. 

“Hands up, traitor,” one of the men yelled, brandishing his gun violently. 

In that split second, Catra decided it would be better to go out fighting than however Hordak wanted to torture her. She started to lunge towards the guards when a tentacle caught her around the neck. She thrashed desperately against Octavia, her claws slashing at whatever she could reach. 

“What are you morons waiting for, shoot her!” Octavia screamed as she pulled Catra into a headlock. “Aw, look, mongrel, there’s no one here to save you now. Your dumb little girlfriend’s not he-” 

Boom! 

The ground shook violently as one of the tanks went off. The shot seemed to land just in the middle of the guards, scattering them. Muffled curses and cries of pain echoed in the hanger. 

Catra sunk her teeth into one of Octavia’s tentacles with as much force as she could muster, causing the woman to drop her. She spat out the chunk of tentacle she had taken with her in disgust. 

“Wooohooo! Told you I could use a tank, ‘Dora!” Catra’s focus snapped to the tank that had fired and sure enough, there the little version of her was peering out of the tank. “Hey, you guys!” She called to the disoriented guards. Those who were still standing turned to face the seven-year-old in the tank only to be immediately hit with another barrage. 

“I swear to whoever, I’m going to kill that girl,” Catra hissed as she bounded across the hanger, avoiding the guards lying prone on the ground. “Catra, get out of the damned tank!” 

“This is so cool!” 

Catra scaled the tank easily, grabbing the little girl by the scruff of her neck and pulling her from the tank. “You can play with tanks when you’re older.” Catra tucked her under her arm and ran as fast as she could towards the skiff, but it was so far away and the kid was slowing her down. 

An impact behind her nearly singed off her tail as she leapt forward to avoid the projectiles from what had to have been a grenade launcher. Searing heat curled up her spine as a skiff she sprinted past caught alight. 

Octavia stumbled forward, a frighteningly large gun in her remaining tentacles. With a fearsome scowl on her face, she aimed it towards Catra. Her heart skipped a beat as she tried to speed up. Then Octavia moved it towards the skiff and Catra’s heart practically stopped. 

“Adora! Get going! Go! Take off!” She screamed, veering off towards where she hoped the skiff would end up. Thankfully, as always, Adora was very prepared and the skiff slightly unsteadily moved out of the hanger. 

It was floating just a few feet out of the hanger, but if Catra mistimed the jump, she and her little self would have a very long drop down and even a cat can’t land on her feet from that height. 

She could vaguely hear her little self whimpering under her arm while Octavia’s gun revved up behind them. With a short inhale, Catra launched herself at the skiff, digging her three sets of remaining claws into the metal with a groan. Barely steadying herself, she let her younger self go and shoved little Adora off the rudder. Pushing all her weight into the rudder, she forced the skiff to drop elevation rapidly in time for Octavia’s projectile to whistle past their heads into the muck of the Fright Zone. 

 The two girls clutched at each other desperately, their eyes shimmering with tears as Catra pressed on the gas. The skiff shuddered momentarily before shooting forward. 

Her breath didn’t even out until they reached the empty green space that divided the Fright Zone from that stupid forest. They just had to get into the forest and then they’d be safe. 

“Old me let me drive a tank! Can you believe it, ‘Dora?” Little Catra was the first to speak as the skiff sped over the land, her hands still clutching at little Adora’s shirt. 

Catra bit her cheek at the memory of saying almost those exact same words to the present day Adora last year. These two were so innocent and happy. And everything would eventually go wrong and they’d want to kill each other. 

While Catra would want to kill Adora, but she wasn’t sure if Adora actually felt the same way. It sure seemed like she did when she went all glowy giant lady, but just plain Adora… that was a different story. Catra shook her head violently. That wasn’t important. What was important was getting the kids away from the Fright Zone. Even the thought of what Hordak might have done if he had discovered the younger versions of his failed second-in-command and the princess who had been tormenting his forces was darker than Catra wanted to let her mind go. He lacked the delicate manipulation of Shadow Weaver, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t cause a world of hurt. 

“I didn’t let you drive a tank, you dummy. You just went ahead and started firing.” 

“Well, Octavia is a dumb face.” 

Catra chuckled, steering the skiff towards the forest, “That she is, kid. That she is.”

[sad-sweet-cowboah]

As We Meet

$10 comission! @la-vide asked for Arthur first appearing in modern!reader’s home/first adjusting to the modern world. This came out to be 2,460 words and fun to write! This actually lingered in the back of my mind for a while, but this gave me an excuse to actually write it!

The sound of fumbling aroused you from a comfortable sleep. Though still dazed, you got up immediately. Your clock flashed 7 am, and you groaned in annoyance. Not how you wanted to wake up on your day off.

“Fucking cat.” You rasped, rubbing your bleary eyes as you padded over to your door. It was ajar, and you saw the little silver kitten dart into your room. “What’d you knock down this time?” You asked her, shooting Artemis a glare as she disappeared underneath your bed.

Yawning widely, you stepped out of your bedroom, expecting to see some sort of decoration knocked over. You’ve only had Artemis for a month and she seemed to be on a mission to destroy anything on high shelves, despite the large cat tree you’d bought when you first got her.

You rounded the corner to your living room, your eyes fixed on your carpet only to find nothing indicating any damage. However, what you saw instead caused you to freeze and slowly back up.

A man stood smack in the middle of your living room. Dressed in all black and facing away from you. Your heart thundered wildly in your chest, wondering if this man was a burglar, or worse. You knew some self defense, and hoped he was slower than you.

You regretted turning down your father’s offer about having a firearm.

You glanced around, hoping that you had anything that could be used as a weapon. Thankfully, a broken floor lamp sat in the corner and you grabbed it, silently thanking yourself that you hadn’t thrown it out yet.

Gripping the lamp hard, you whipped around the corner, ready to swing. The first thing your eye caught was the myriad of weapons decorating his upper torso and his waist, secondly, how broad he was.

He seemed to be alerted by your presence and he turned around immediately. His face was partially hidden by a worn black cowboy hat, and when you got a good look at him, something struck you as familiar.

His arms raised in the air in a sign of surrender. “Easy there…” he drawled in a deep voice, his accent strong.

Wait…

“Who are you and what are you doing in my house?” You demanded, tightening your grip.

“I ain’t lookin’ for trouble. Jus’ tryin’ to figure out where I am.” He explained evenly and warily.

That voice…

“How about you get out then?” You growled, trying to keep yourself focused.

“Can you jus’ tell me where I am, ‘sides your house?” The man asked. He lifted his head, allowing you to see his face fully.

You dropped the lamp in surprise, the bar clattering awkwardly against the carpeted floor. “Arthur Morgan?!”

He frowned. “How do ya know me?”

You must be dreaming. There is no way in hell a video game character would be real, standing right in front of you. You pinched yourself, and held back a small hiss when the stinging pain made its presence. Okay, this was reality. You weren’t sure how to respond to him, every word failing to form coherent phrases. Your mouth made a couple of noises detached from your brain. “Are you real?” You managed to splutter out.

He gave you a look of confusion, and spread his arms out as if to answer you. “Last time I checked…”

You could only stare. Just last night you were sitting on your couch and playing Red Dead Redemption 2, running as Arthur through the cobblestone paths of Saint Denis. Now, that same Arthur stood in your living room. You wordlessly reached out to him, brushing your fingers against his arm. He flinched from your touch, but he was solid. His skin was warm.

“Ma’am,” he said, stepping back from you. “If you could kindly let me know where I am so I can get back home?”

Jesus Christ, he was really real. You pursed your lips and told him the name of your town and your state, only to see his confusion grow.

“Seems far from Lemoyne…” he murmured to himself, and looked around your house. “Ain’t never seen any house like this neither.” He paused when he looked at your TV. “That some fancy new mirror?”

“Uh,” you chewed your bottom lip, thinking of your next few words. You decided to avoid the question. “Do you remember how you got here?”

He looked at you again. “No. Last thing I remember is goin’ to bed. Next thing I know, I wake up on your floor.” He continued to look around the room, seemingly more intrigued by the modern technology. “You didn’t kidnap me, didja?”

“No!” You automatically answered.

“Well, ya know who I am. Can’t be a coincidence that I end up in some stranger’s home that knows my name.” Arthur’s eyes narrowed.

“I…have heard of you,” you lied quickly. “But I don’t know why you’re here either. I promise I didn’t kidnap you.”

He stared at you with scrutiny for a moment, eyes traveling up and down your body. You were only wearing a tank top and shorts, and you felt naked under his gaze. Once he realized your discomfort, he turned his head away. Even in an awkward situation like this, he was respectful.

“I think I should get goin’, you gotta horse I could borrow or somethin’?” He asked, wandering over to a window and peered outside. You caught a glimpse of your car in the driveway, and he stepped back in confusion.”The hell is that?”

How could you explain to him that he was a video game character in the future? Hell, he wouldn’t understand the concept of a video game in the first place. “That’s…a car,” you said carefully. “No one uses horses to get around anymore.”

“Anymore?” He repeated, turning to look at you. “What do ya mean by that?”

“Arthur, what year do you think it is?”

“1899,” he said, though from his expression he seemed unsure. “Ain’t it?”

You shook your head slowly. “It’s 2019.”

“Two thousand…” he trailed off, his brow furrowing in thought. He was silent for a moment, though the frown on his face deepened. “So…I somehow jumped 120 years in the future?”

“I…I think so.” You sighed, scratching your head in plain bewilderment. How in the world did this happen? Why did it happen?

Arthur seemed to be at a loss for words, the exasperated look on his face told you everything that he couldn’t form coherent words for. You weren’t sure what to say to him either.

The awkward silence was broken by the sound of your phone ringing from your bedroom, and Arthur jumped. His eyes widened in surprise.

“Relax,” you said calmly. “I’ll go get that. You don’t go anywhere.”

It was your workplace calling, asking you to come in due to being short staffed today. You were quick to lie; explaining that Artemis needed to go to the emergency vet, feigning concern in your voice as you did. In the middle of the conversation, some movement caught your eye, and you noticed Arthur stood awkwardly at your door.

You hung up, turning to catch his gaze. He seemed to be fixated on your phone. “What’s that contraption?”

“A cell phone,” you said, throwing it against your bed. “You okay?” you asked, noting the troubled look on his face.

He sighed, hanging his head slightly to remove his hat. You’d realized with a jolt that he was just as you designed him in your personal game. The initial shock of his sudden appearance caused you to not notice it previously. That short, slicked back hair was something you favored. It certainly looked much better in real life. “Jus’…worried, I guess. Dunno how to get back to my own time, if I even can.”

Your heart sank for him. As confused as you were, it was even more confusing for him. He technically didn’t exist in this world, so of course there would be nowhere for him to go. You could only hope that this was temporary, and whatever magic sent him here would send him back to the game.

Until then, he would need a place to stay. “Well…Arthur, you can stay here for the time being. I mean at least until you manage to get back.” You offered.

He looked at you, an intense stare from those bright blue eyes shining in the morning light. His lips twitched for a moment before he responded. “That ain’t necessary. I think I put you off enough by bein’ here.”

You shook your head in response. “It’s not your fault that you appeared in my living room. But since you’re here, you need a place to stay. I’m the only person you know so far.”

“Hardly,” He chuckled without humor. “I ain’t even know your name.”

You told him your name. “Better?” you said.

“Miss Y/N,” he repeated thoughtfully. “I still don’t-“

“Listen,” you interjected softly, stepping closer to him. Placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, you continued. “The world’s a lot bigger than much different than what you’re used to. I can promise you that you’ll be better off staying here with me. I don’t mind, really.”

He stared at you silently for a moment, and you kept your gaze even with his. The sunlight highlighted his features; the faint wrinkles and the scar on his chin, his cheeks and jawline decorated with faint stubble.

He certainly was nice to look at.

“I…’spose that would be best.” He finally agreed, looking around your bedroom.

You smiled at that, glad he didn’t put up an argument. A movement by your feet caught your attention, you glanced down to see Artemis had left her hiding spot, and was now rubbing against Arthur’s legs.

---

That night, you went to bed expecting Arthur to be gone by that morning. Instead he was sitting on your couch, writing something in his journal. One day turned into two, two to three, a few days to a week. Whatever had made Arthur come to your world showed no indication of sending him back.

And what an interesting week it’s been.

You first started by introducing Arthur to modern gadgets. His curiosity of everything reminded you of a little kid, though you had to remind him to be gentle with some things.

“So, this thing plays anything you want, whenever you want?” Arthur had asked, gesturing to the TV.

“Mostly. Although with cable, everything is set on a schedule,” you pressed the on button on the remote. The screen came to life, and the first thing shown was a particularly gory scene from The Walking Dead. “Check it out.”

Arthur’s face quickly turned to disgust. “The hell they doin’ to that poor feller?!”

You laughed at his response. “Don’t worry, it’s all fiction. It’s just a show. That blood is all fake. And that guy – he’s undead. They gotta kill him before he kills them.”

Arthur just shook his head. “And this is for entertainment?”

He as certainly intrigued by the microwave, in complete awe that food didn’t have to be cooked over an open fire anymore. You taught him how to use it, making sure he didn’t burn the place down whilst you were at work.

He also loved the shower, mesmerized by the mere concept of having hot water on demand. His first shower lasted around 45 minutes, and you had to pound on the door to tell him that hot water wasn’t free. He walked out wrapped in a towel, as you’d placed his clothes in the wash prior to him getting in.

“That was amazin’,” he sighed, running his hands through his wet hair. “Don’t get cold after sittin’ a while like a bath does.”

You looked at him from head to toe. You’ve seen him shirtless before, for those bath scenes. You had to staunch the sudden desire to reach out and touch that scarred chest.

“Hey, my clothes done yet?” he asked, unaware of your staring.

You blinked and nodded. “Yeah, come on.”

After a few days, it was apparent that he wouldn’t be going back anytime soon. You’d stopped by a local Tractor Supply to buy him some new clothes, instead of wearing the same outfit every day.

He once asked for your phone out of curiosity.

“What’s it called again?” he’d asked, staring at it in his hand.

“A smartphone. It can do a lot more than call people, that’s why it’s called that.” You said, reaching over to scroll through the pages of apps.

When your hand moved, Arthur tried it on his own. He tapped the screen rather hard, opening up the camera that had been set in selfie mode. He let out a small yelp and dropped it in surprise. “It turned into a mirror!”

You laughed, retrieving the phone from his lap. “Nah, it’s the camera.”

He stared at you incredulously. “You’re tellin’ me…that it’s also a camera? The hell else is it, a telegraph?”

“Actually, yeah. Kinda.” You said thoughtfully, watching his eyes widen even further.

Leaving him alone the first day was concerning, however. Though he swore up and down he wasn’t going to venture out, the thought still remained in the back of your mind. You ran down a list of things he could and could not do, as if he were a child staying home alone for the first time. You tried to keep your worries out of the way while working, though it was a prominent thought up until you drove home, and you let out a sigh of relief to find your house wasn’t burned down, nor was he out and about.

After the first week, you were getting used to coming home from work to him. Usually you would find him on the couch, scribbling something in his journal or watching something random on TV. During the second week, he began to cook you microwave meals that were ready for you once you stepped in the door.

You chatted with him over meals, learning a lot more about him than you ever have in the game. He was getting more comfortable with you as well, his hands brushing against you nonchalantly, sitting closer to you on the couch. Those lingering touches would send a flicker of heat to your face, though you had to tell yourself not to get too attached, in case you’d wake up to find him gone.

Before the third week mark, you’d gone to bed with him on your mind, a whirlwind of thoughts cycling back and forth. Somehow in these past few weeks, you’d realized you began to see him in a different light. You fell asleep with his face in your mind’s eye, leaning in for a kiss…

[supernaturalfreewill]

Day 5 You stood helplessly at the front of your car, the snow bank up over the tops of your boots, and stared at the front of your vehicle. The front bumper was wedged into the snow pile on the edge of the road and the front of your car was sitting high on the piles of ice. You were stuck. Worse yet, the snow as still coming down. You swore under your breath at the moron who had almost slid into you on the icy road, causing you to turn sharply and end up with your car stuck in the snow on the side of the road. It was piled high from the snowplows. And the asshole hadn’t even stopped. Another string of expletives left your mouth and you tugged your hat tighter down over your ears and adjusted your scarf over your face. And of course you had no cell service. Dammit. You always carried a shovel and sand for traction in your trunk this time of year, but you already knew that it wouldn’t cut it. You heard tires crunching on the road and looked around your vehicle to see a car stopping. For a moment you were apprehensive--wasn’t this how horror movies start? Good samaritan stops to help a stranded motorist only to kidnap them and murder them later? You clutched your keys in your pocket and eyed the driver who was climbing out of their car and running over to you through the somewhat blinding snow. “Hey, are you okay?” His voice was deep and a little gruff. He had his hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket. And shit. He was hot. Like... really hot.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay. Some asshole driving too fast lost control and almost hit me. I swerved and ended up in the ditch... Didn’t even stop afterwards.” He scoffed and shook his head. “Prick,” he said. He walked around toward the front of your car and took a look. “Damn,” he said. “I think your high-centered up front here. Probably won’t be able to push it out or dig it out.” He stepped back and stared at it. You saw now that his eyes were olive green. The steady falling snowflakes were sticking to his hair and catching on his eyelashes occasionally. He kept blinking them away. “Uhh...” he seemed to be thinking hard for a moment, tryin to solve your problem. “It’s okay,” you said, waving him off. “I’ll figure something out. Someone will come along eventually with a truck or something.” He considered you for a minute. “Yeah...  Yeah. You know what? Hang on a minute. I’ll be back.” He started back toward his car but stopped halfway and looked back at you. “You’re sure you’re okay?” You nodded, squinting in the blowing snow a little. “Yeah. I’m fine.” “Okay. I’ll be right back. I have an idea.” You watched him climb into his car--a vintage Chevy Impala. It was a good looking car but certainly no help in your current situation. The purr of the engine faded and you were again surrounded by the silence, the snow acting as a blanket over all sound. The only thing you could hear was the whispering of the wind past your hat and through the icy tree branches nearby and the soft sound of the falling snow. You had climbed back into your car to warm up when you caught a glimpse of headlights pulling up behind you. A truck was stopping. Yes! You jumped out and stood by your car again. You were surprised when the same handsome guy who had stopped before stepped out and grabbed what was apparently a tow rope from the back seat. You walked over to him and watched as he hooked it to the front of the truck and then bent down to find a place to attach it on the back of your car. “You have a vintage Chevy and a huge truck?” you asked.  He looked up at you from where he was kneeling at the back of your car, hooking the rope on. The snowflakes were landing on his cheeks and nose and melting into his freckles. You felt your cheeks blush as he looked up at you, his attention and those green eyes so fixated. “Uhh... not exactly,” he said, climbing to his feet and dusting the snow from the knees of his jeans.  You tilted your head in an unspoken question. “I--I borrowed the truck,” he said, clearing his throat and heading back around to driver’s side door of your car, and opening it for you.  “Borrowed?” you repeated. Something about the way he said it caught you.  “Yeah,” he nodded. “Okay. I’m gonna back up a little to take up the slack in the rope and then when I start pulling, give her a little gas in reverse and then be ready to brake. Otherwise you’ll going into the front bumper of the truck and between that and your car my money is on the truck winning.” You nodded. “Okay. Thanks for doing this. Really.” “Well, don’t thank me yet. You’re still stuck,” he said. He gave you a crooked, boyish smile and you felt like your heart was melting right then. It worked! Your car was back on the road, dislodged from the snowbank, and you were rushing out of your car to thank the handsome stranger again as he unhooked the tow rope. “Thank you so much. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t stopped. And you really went to a lot of trouble--going to borrow the truck and all... Tell your friend or whoever owns it thanks from me too.” He laughed for some reason as he tossed the tow rope into the back seat. “It was nothing.” It was then that you caught a glimpse through the open driver’s side door and noticed the wires hanging down underneath the steering wheel. You gave him a suddenly sharp look. “Wait--borrow?” you repeated. “Did you--did you hot wire this truck to pull me out?”  He winced a little and brushed the snow from his hair, chancing a glance up at your expression, trying to read how horrified or freaked out you were. “Yeah, well... I said borrow. I’m going to go put it right back.” You stared at him in disbelief. “Who are you?” “I’m Dean,” he said. “Dean Winchester. And you’re--?” “Y/N,” you said, your guard definitely up now. Who hotwires vehicles? Criminals... Criminals hotwire vehicles.  He noticed the sudden distrust in your eyes and glanced back at the truck behind him. “Yeah, okay, maybe the hotwiring was a little much. But you couldn’t just stay stuck here. Someone else could not see you and slide into you and the roads are only getting worse.” You continued to consider him. “Look, I swear I’m going to put the truck right back.” He made a small cross sign over his heart. “Scouts honor,” he said. His green eyes were a little pleading, but with a mischievous spark that was irresistible.  You allowed yourself a small smile. “I have a feeling you’re not a boy scout,” you said. A wide grin grew on his face. “Guilty,” he said. “Look, it’s cold and snowy. The snowplows aren’t going to get out here for a while. Why don’t you at least let me make sure that you get back into town okay without getting stuck?” You raised an eyebrow at him. “I’ll even throw in an apology ‘sorry I hotwired a car to pull your ass out of a snowbank’ hot cocoa. If you’ll have me. Please?” You couldn’t help but smile. “Are you asking me out for a drink?” He leaned back against the truck. “Yes. Yes I am. Look, this is a pretty amazing ‘How we met’ story. You have to admit. In no time we’ll be telling your friends about how I hotwired a truck for you and how you couldn’t resist my rugged good lucks and natural charm.” “Oh really?” you said with a laugh, swiping a mitten over your cheek where a clump of snowflakes had just landed. “Really. Trust me. I can feel it in my gut.” He paused for a moment and his expression turned more sincere. “But really, I just can’t stop thinking about how amazing you look with those snowflakes sticking in your hair and on your eyelashes.” You felt your cheeks grow warm with a blush. “Alright, Dean,” you said. “First, we return the stolen--” “--borrowed,” he emphasized. “--borrowed truck. Then, hot cocoa,” you agreed. He smiled at you. “I told you. Natural charm.” You laughed and shook your head. “We’ll see.”

[m41z13m1n3cr4ft]

damn shawty whoooaaaaaa

pairing?: tommyinnit and original enby oc. not romantic

genre: kinda fluffy, kinda comedy, a wee bit angsty with tommy

trigger warnings: tommy gets in his own thoughts and does a mini brain spiral, not too intense though and i dont think anything else happens so. :} but lemme know!

timeline may be off i ouuhguhgohg listen. im tryin my best BLSKDBF

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It was a hot summer’s day, the sun beating down on Bimbeez’s back. They’d traded their striped sweater and jeans for a white tank top and shorts, they’d been expecting to be working hard that day. Yesterday, Tommy and them had agreed that, despite how much they didn’t want to, they’d go grinding for wood the next day. And now there they both were, chopping and swinging away at the oak trees near the Pogtopia base.

It’d been a couple of hours already and while they both had gathered a significant amount of logs, they still had a long, long way to go. Tommy flopped down against one of the logs they’d yet to drag back to base. He ran a hand across his forehead, slick with sweat and grime. “Beez, we outta stop for a bit.” Bimbeez nodded silently, taking their place next to Tommy. “Too fuckin’ hot to be workin’ like this.”

“You got that right.” Bimbeez let out a groan, spreading their limbs out over the tree and through the soft grass. “Can’t believe we got stuck with this, this sucks.” They used the bottom of their tank top to wipe away the work from their face, hoping to get mostly clean. They took off their heart-shaped glasses, once again using the fabric of their shirt to wipe them clean. Their stark black eyes shimmered with the light reflected off the tinted shades, making the light on their face a bright pink.

“We should get someone else to do it for-” Tommy stopped, his mouth curling into a mischievous grin. “Beez, what if we kidnap someone to do it?”

“Tommy, that’s terrible!! No way.” They placed the glasses back onto their face, breaking into nervous laughter from his suggestion.

“No, c’mon Beez, listen! We’ll take someone, and use them to grind for wood! We’ll take their stuff hostage”

“Tommy, no! We aren’t kidnapping anyone. Plus, Wilbur would, like, kill us.”

“Pfft, what?? Beez, no he wouldn’t, Wil- He’d get it, he’d understand, right?” Tommy tried to stop the peels of laughter that poured from his mouth. He’d turned to Bimbeez at this point and was nudging their arm.

“No he wouldn’t, dude! He wants you to lay low, you’re exiled.” They huffed along playfully. Their tone grew more serious, though. “I mean, if Schlatt found out you’d kidnapped a L’ma- … Manbergian citizen, then…”

Tommy rolled his eyes, clearly NOT having it. “Beez, Schlatt’s a bitch, alright? He- he couldn’t take us if he tried.” He struggled to get the words out, too excited about his new idea.

“Tommy I’m not kidnapping someone with you, I’d be killed.” They shook their head and rested back against the log. The fatigue of their afternoon was starting to settle in their limbs, though, and the idea of someone else taking over for them sounded pretty appealing… No, they decided, it wouldn’t happen. One, there was no way it would work, and two, Schlatt finding out about their involvement would mean exile, or worse. They couldn’t risk it.

Tommy had continued blabbing about his hostage plan when Bimbeez noticed something far off in the woods. They leaned forward, squinted, tried to make out the figure, and they gasped. “TOMMY look!!” Their yell turned quickly to a harsh whisper, as to not scare away the figure. They pointed over to it and bounced where they sat. “It’s a caaat!! Yooo it’s a calico she’s so pretty holy shit.” They spoke quicker, starting to flap their hands.

Tommy, excited now by Bimbeez enthusiasm, also started to flap along with them, beaming. Finally, something fun to do. “Ohhh shit!! Wait, you got fish on you, right?”

“Uhhh. No.” Beez grimaced, thinking. “Wait okay. Okay. Keep an eye on her, okay? I’ll be right back-” They sprang up and started towards the river near the base. Hopefully, they’d find a salmon in there and bring it to the cat. Tommy didn’t even get the chance to object before they were already jumping into the river, their squeals and laughter heard all the way from where Tommy sat. Well, so much for doing something fun.

He sat restlessly, staring hard at the cat sitting so far away. Everytime she moved he tensed himself, ready to get up and give chase, but she never moved. He overheard the splashing of Beez in the river, and their occasional cry of frustration as they worked to catch some fish. Whatever… 

He thought back to what Bimbeez had said before. About Schlatt. He guessed he was lucky to have loyal friends like Tubbo and Bimbeez, friends who’d go against the President’s wishes just to spend some time together. But something felt wrong, really wrong. They were endangering themselves. For him. Well, also for Techno and Wilbur, but they weren’t really around whenever Tubbo, Beez and him went on “adventures.” Bimbeez even said they were kinda glad that Wilbur and Techno weren’t there to bother them while they worked, something he hadn’t noted at first. What if something happened to them? Because of him? He hugged his legs close to his chest, bouncing a foot against the ground. The cat still hadn’t moved. He wondered as to how she’d gotten all the way out here. Unless there was a village or a swamp nearby, there was no reason the cat should be out in an oak forest…. Maybe she was all alone. She’d gotten lost, she’d gotten… shunned away. Maybe she was like him. Exiled. Separated from their friends. Lonely. He sighed out, sprawling out against the wall. At least he had a family. The poor kitty had nothing. Or maybe he was wrong. Maybe it was just a kitty, who didn’t feel alone or upset or abandoned. He envied that mindset. If his thoughts would just stop racing like that…

“Tommy I’m back!!” Bimbeez stamped up to the blonde boy from behind, releasing a handful of slimy, still squirming fish into their original seat.

“DUDE WHAT THE FUCK DON’T TOUCH ME!! WHAT THE- THEY’RE SLIMY!!!” Tommy yelled, torn from his thoughts. Thank God for the distraction. Bimbeez hopped over to Tommy’s side of the long, grabbing one of the fish and spearing it with their sword. They continued this process, ensuring that all of the fish had stopped moving.

“Okay, here’s the plan. You sneak around behind the cat, and I try to take her from the front. You catch her if she tries to run off, got it?” Tommy nodded, a wide grin lined on his lips. “Cool cool! Here, take some of these.” They handed half the fish they’d caught to Tommy, who fake gagged as he took them. “Just in case she escapes.” Bimbeez stood up, crouched to a lower level. Tommy copied the action. Then silently, as if in some great escape, they creeped towards the cat.

Tommy made sure to diverge from Bimbeez’s path, crossing behind a tree and around another, until he was finally behind the cat. Beez was slowly making their way over to the kitty, a decapitated salmon held in their outstretched hands. They whispered and cooed to the cat, hoping to gain her trust. The cat stared at Bimbeez, wide-eyed. She looked ready to bound away at any moment. Bimbeez, once she was only a few feet away from the cat, set the fish down on the ground. “Here kitty, kitty, eat up.” Their voice was a couple octaves higher, they spoke to the cat as if she were a baby. The kitty, still suspicious, creeped a little closer to the fish. Beez looked up to Tommy, beaming proudly, and Tommy gave them a thumbs up back. The cat sniffed at the fish, took the tail into its mouth - and dashed away.

“GET HER!!” Tommy lept after the cat, his long legs aiding him in chasing the kitty. Bimbeez followed soon after. They bounded and weaved through tree roots and rocks and hilly structures, trying their best to keep the cat in sight. But they were no match for the cat. Their previous exhaustion hadn’t left them, hadn’t freed them from its burning grasp, and they were falling fast. Beez was the first to collapse, tripping over a twisted root and completely eating shit. They lay on the ground, too weak to stand, and they called out to Tommy to keep going. He didn’t acknowledge, just kept running. Shortly after, they heard an “oh fuck” and a loud thud. They’d lost the race, and now the cat was gone.

Bimbeez sighed out, solemn from the loss. Somehow, they managed to tug themselves off the grass bed beneath them and make their way over to Tommy. They plopped beside the boy, who still laid on his side from when he’d fallen. “Damn it.” They panted every other word. “We lost her. Jesus, that sucks.” Tommy did nothing but nod in response, completely defeated for all of two seconds. The two sat for a while in silence, trying to catch their breaths and regain the strength to stand.

That is, until they heard movement in the grass. Beez peered up from their moping and let out a small gasp. The calico had returned, padding softly over to the two. Beez was stunned. The kitty sat close to Bimbeez, her tail flicking from side to side. She mewled and Bimbeez covered their mouth with their hands. The meow caused Tommy to look, who gasped upon seeing the cat again. “Holy shit, there she is!!” He tried to keep his voice to a whisper but he just couldn’t contain his excitement. Beez grabbed a fish out from their inventory and handed it to the kitty, shocked into silence. She took the fish from Bimbeez’s hands and began to eat. Beez, taking a leap of faith, stretched their hand out and started to delicately pet the calico. She tensed, stopped her eating at first, then she relaxed and let Beez pet her. Beez sighed out, the happiest they’d been in a while.

“Hi kitty… Let’s get you back to the base, huh?”

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They’d set the calico up on a new bed Bimbeez made just for her. Beez was sitting right by the bed, watching the cat snooze off her meal, despite them desperately needing a bath. Tommy sat behind them, converting half of the wood into planks. He couldn’t get the thoughts out of his head. About Tubbo, Bimbeez, Schlatt… He had to ask, just to get a sense of clarity for himself. “Hey, Beez?” Beez sat up with a hum and looked over at him. “Why do you come out to see me?”

Beez gave a huffy laugh in response. “Well, ‘cuz I think you’re cool, duh.”

“Well I get that, I just-” Tommy paused. He needed a moment to collect his jumbled thoughts. “-I mean, why do you risk so much just to see me?”

This made the enby pause and reflect a little. “Hm. Well, I think that’s pretty obvious too! I like you a lot. I like seein’ you and hangin’ out, I don’t care enough about the law to let it stop me.”

“I’m just so scared,” Tommy regretted the words the second they left his mouth, but it was too late to take them back. He continued. “I mean, if something were to happen to you two… It’d be my fault, right?”

Beez’s mood softened. They curled their legs up to their chest, staying silent for a moment. “Not really. Like, it kinda would be our fault. We were the ones sneakin’ out, you know?”

“But you wouldn’t be sneaking out if it weren’t for me!”

“Tommy, it’s okay, I promise!” Beez sat up a little and held out their hands to the other teen. “I wouldn’t come out here if I was that worried about it. I promise, we’ll be okay. Me and Tubbo.

Tommy couldn’t say anything in return. He wanted to believe them, he wanted to so badly, but he had a terrible gut feeling about all of this. But when he looked at Beez, he saw total confidence in their face, something he wasn’t used to seeing. With a hesitant sigh, he took Beez out-stretched hands. They smiled at him and squeezed gently on his digits. “It’ll be okay. We can fend for ourselves.”

“I know.” Tommy closed his eyes and tried to come to terms with everything once again. He felt someone ruffle his hair and he shooed them away, opening an eye and expecting to see Bimbeez looming over him. But it wasn’t.

“What are you two doing in here?” Wilbur went to his side of the dugout cave home, popping open a chest. “I thought I told you to collect wood.”

“We did,” Bimbeez beamed, and gestured behind them. “We got distracted though.” The cat had woken up by now and was making herself busy, cleaning her back. Wilbur nodded to the cat, humming to acknowledge it. He quickly returned to his work, though. Beez sighed, rolling their eyes. “Disappointing reaction, but that’s fine. We haven’t named her yet, I thought we could all name her together.”

“Well, I’m not gonna be here long, so it’ll be up to you and Tommy.” Wilbur closed the chest, adjusting himself and heading out. Both teens sat in empty silence for a bit. God, this sucked.

“Okay, whatever, forget him.” Beez laid a gentle hand on the kitty and pet her. “We’ll just name her ourselves.” 

“Her name is Shawty.” A cackle came out of Beez mouth. They shook their head.

“No no no, Shawty- Shwawty’s good-”

“SHWAWTY???”

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN, HELLO?”

“YOU SAID SHWAWTY YOU FUCKIN’ IDIOT, OH MY GOD-”

“I DIDN’T!! I SAID SHAWTY YOU KNOW I MEANT SHAWTY-”

The two argued back and forth at increasing volume, interrupting each other and thoroughly pissing each other off. At some point, Beez tried to play-tackle Tommy but was thrown off by number one, his surprising strength for a string bean, and number two, his push that drove Beez away. They took this as a challenge, jumping in for another tackle. The two were full on play fighting, laughing and pulling at each other’s hair and screaming the whole way along. The awkward, dead air of Wilbur’s appearance was gone now, replaced by nothing but unrestrained fun.

Tommy was the first to give. Although a tough fighter, he couldn’t stand up to Beez’s superior bulk over him. They both just flopped to the ground in a heaping pile. The sun was just now beginning to set: setting the sky with orange, pinks, purples, beautiful palettes. It had been a bit of an odd day, but nothing couldn’t be made better with friends, right? That’s how Tommy felt anyways. In this moment, lying on the floor with one of his best friends, he couldn’t have felt more happy.

“Hey, Tommy?”

“Yeah, Beez?”

Beez looked at him, and grinned with glee. “Let’s name her Shawty.”

Tommy grinned back. “Shawty it is.”

A/N: have a good day :] ALSO THIS WAS WRITTEN BEFORE TOMMY RELEVENT MOMENTS SO. :( we’re coping bro

[justsomeartsthings]

Print Me A House And Home

Summary: Sans breaks the lab’s printers while Alphys is away. With a little applied quantum theory, this somehow leads to his boss becoming his flatmate. Pre-Sanster, Sans POV, Fluff (with a sprinkle of Angst).

.

“ya gotta be kiddin’ me.” 

You rap your knuckles on the side of the printer. There’s a click and a foreboding thump from inside. You take a cautious step back, hands raised. 

“uh. hey, doc, is al in today?”

No response. You glance into the empty office behind you.

“boss?”

No dice.

“…i’m stealing your snacks. speak now or forever hold your chisps.”

Nada.

“your loss, dude.”

You snag the bag of popato chisps off of his desk and pop them open. The noise is like a firecracker set off inside your skull.

…Still ix-nay on the eleton-skay.

You toss a few chisps past your teeth and knock on the printer again. No one home. Not even a suspicious ticking noise. Lame.

You’re halfway through the chisps bag, tapping an absent rhythm on the printer, when there’s footsteps and the rustling of papers in the hallway. A few seconds later, Dr. W. D. Gaster strides through the doorway, head bowed. It’s a rare candid moment; he’s too engrossed in the notebook in his hands to notice you.

You watch him for a bit, debating whether to spook him.

“‘sup.”

To his credit, he doesn’t physically startle. He does snap his notebook shut, abruptly alert. “Sans. What are you…?”

“had to use your printer.” You extend the open pop bag. “chisp?”

He doesn’t even check to see if they’re his. He takes one. “The vending machine is two floors down.”

“eh. too far.”

“You could use the elevator.”

“why bother. it’s just gonna let me down.”

“Mm. And I suppose you’ve vetoed the stairs because they are ‘up to something’.”

“hey. don’t knock my jokes. they’re hy-stair-ical.” You crumple the empty chisp bag and toss it at Gaster, who catches it and drops it in the bin. “is alphys clocking in anytime soon?”

“She’s at a seminar in New Home. She won’t be back for another four hours.” He places the notebook on his desk. “Is there something wrong with your own printer?”

“yup. i tried to print a report of some results for an experiment this morning. somethin’ went wrong, think i jammed it. figured i’d use yours.”

His eyelights snap to the printer. “And it’s jammed mine as well?”

You chuckle. Break into the man’s office under printing problem pretenses, and watch him squirm. Give him a printer to fix, he’ll hyperfixate on it so hard he almost seems sane.

“looks like it. same thing happened to al’s printer, too.”

“That would explain why I couldn’t print my notes a few hours ago.” He approaches the machine, huffing. “It’s only Tuesday, and you’ve already managed to break all three of our printers.”

“i call it a magic touch.”

“I find it highly unlikely you would ever employ percussive maintenance. Especially of the bullet pattern variety.”

“heh heh. point taken.” You shrug. “wrong on the first count, though. i gave ‘em a few love taps.”

“Mm. Bandages are on my desk.”

“cute. i can take a printer, old man, and i could take you.”

“That would put you at two counts of theft and one of kidnapping. Tread carefully.” He removes the back panel of the printer and peers inside. “That’s peculiar. This experiment report— was it for the causality trials?”

“just the test run.”

“And your printer has the same kind of jam?”

“same jelly, same jar.”

“It appears to be routine.”

“bread n’butter.”

“It looks fried.”

“that’s probably a doughboy, then.”

“It can’t be a coincidence.”

“i didn’t say coincidence, i said doughboy.”

He snaps out of his thoughts at that. “What? What’s ‘doughboy?’”

“uh, s’like pre-bread? don’t call me ‘boy’.”

“I didn’t—” He shakes his head, baffled. “What in Asgore’s name are you going on about?”

“the printer. you sure you know what you’re doin’?”

He shoots you a glare just before shoving his hands all up in the printer’s mechanical guts. “I’m a highly skilled engineer who just so happened to design and construct the self-sustaining generator which the entire Underground, including this lab, runs on. I can handle a jammed printer.”

“ok, jeez, doc. no point tryin’ to print receipts, the printer’s already doughboy-ed.”

Gaster doesn’t reply, but after a few moments of tinkering, he does squint in a concerning manner. “Hm.”

“hm?”

“Hm.”

“i’m no printer engineer, but ‘hm’ doesn’t sound like a technical term.”

“It is when I say it.” And, well, he’s got you there. “It appears Alphys has been printing Mew Mew Kissy Cutie posters on her work printer.”

“uh,” you say. “what? how do you know?”

In response, Gaster pulls out an impossibly large poster from the back of the printer. It’s slightly crumpled, due to its dimensions being bigger than the printer could ever realistically print, and even laminated, which you’re pretty sure Gaster’s printer can’t do.

“Something tells me we will find your test results in Alphys’ printer, and my notes from this morning in yours.”

“woah. you’re kiddin’. scoot over,” you say, sidling up to him to peer inside the printer’s exposed mechanics. “you think alphys’ printer and my printer are superposed in yours?”

“Potentially.”

“that’s… uh,” you say. “impractical.”

“To say the least.”

“alphys is gonna have a field day with this when she gets back.”

“I’m sure the eventual clutter of dismantled printers will speak for itself.”

“heh. i gotta say, i’m kinda disappointed. i expected superposition to sound a lot more chaotic.”

He makes an assenting noise. You look over at him, and then nearly do a double-take. You didn’t notice before, but he’s as tense as a compressed spring, very intently inspecting the Mew Mew Kissy Cutie poster. Or, more likely, very deliberately not looking at you. 

Upon second glance, you are a lot closer to him than you reasonably need to be.

“heh. whoops. my bad,” you say, stepping to the side. “didn’t mean to crowd you.”

“…Not at all,” he says quietly, then clears his throat. He puts the back panel over the printer again and straightens up. “We should, er, go check the other printers. Just in case.”

“sure,” you say.

“Good,” he says.

“great,” you say.

And you go.

It’s kind of funny, this sort of dance the two of you have fallen into. Stepping on eggshells, tiptoeing around each other at work. Ignoring that you’ve got a crush on him. That he’s got a gigantic crush on you. It’s ridiculous, and hilarious, mainly because he’s centuries old and you’re, well, not.

For whatever reason, whether he’s worried about being deemed a cradle robber or a douchebag boss, or something else entirely, he hasn’t made a move on you yet. But hey, that’s fine by you. You’ve got all the time in the world.

Though you do hope it won’t actually take him that long.

“It will be faster if we split up,” he says, once you reach the intersecting hallway between your office and Alphys’. He starts to take off by himself, leaving you behind.

You reach out and grab his wrist.

“hang on a sec. if you’re right about superposition—”

“It’s very likely that I am.”

“then you realize checking the printers separately could affect the outcome. ‘that which is observed is changed’, n’all that?”

“Well, yes. But it may be an inevitability anyway,” he says. “And even so, the replication of this event is statistically extremely unlikely. This may be our only chance to see whether our theory of personal observation holds true.”

“but it’ll kill the control variable, won’t it? we already saw your printer—”

“Oh, it could, most certainly— but not if our current theories of quantum entanglement hold true.”

“quantum—? for a whole printer? boss, we’re years away from proving that particle entanglement exists on the subatomic scale, never mind above it.”

“Not once we check the printers, we won’t be,” he points out. “There’s a chance the only way to trigger binding entanglement at such a large scale is through unrelated proofs.”

Unrelated—?

And, oh. 

You’re physically incapable of gaping, but the sentiment must show in your eyelights, because he grins down at you, the smug bastard.

“All caught up?”

“we’ll know entanglement can occur if our personal observations affect the outcomes of a superimposed subject— and if it doesn’t, we’ll have potentially disproven three separate quantum theories at once, since each cannot exist without the other. it’s… extremely assumptive and unreliable science—”

“Unless it works.”

“uh, no, i’m pretty sure it’s still unorthodox and totally fallible,” you say. “but hey. personal confirmation’s gotta count for somethin’, right?”

He laughs, bright and clear. “Yes, yes, I suppose. In a sense.”

“well, then, in a sense, it’s genius.”

More than genius, really. And Gaster knows it is, going by the look on his face. For a moment, time slows, and you take in his eyelights, fuzzy and dilated. How his entire silhouette brims with restrained excitement. Riding on the high that comes just before a dramatic breakthrough.

And yeah, maybe there’s more important things at hand, but god, he’s beautiful when he gets like this.

“heh. how ‘bout we save the ego inflation until after we get results,” you say. The cusp of quantum discovery isn’t the time or place for mutual, unspoken workplace crushes.

“Right. Then we’ll meet back here as soon as possible,” Gaster says, and turns to go—

Only to be yanked back by your hand, clasped tightly in his.

Oh.

You stare at your joined hands, soul fluttering. His fingers are intertwined with yours, slender phalanges and thick knuckles complementing each other like a welded whole.

At some point, you must’ve let go of his wrist and taken his hand instead. You hadn’t even noticed.

“uh. eheh. whoops.” You let go and try to pull away. But Gaster’s hand doesn’t budge. “doc?”

He’s as still as a statue, his eyelights focused somewhere over your shoulder. A flighty feeling grows in your bones the longer you have his hand in yours. 

And then he says, quietly: “Have you been sleeping here, Sans?”

Your soul wrenches itself in another direction.

“what?”

Gaster gestures behind you with his other hand, but you don’t turn to look. In a rush, it comes to you, what he must be looking at. 

You’d had a long night, then a rough morning with Pap. This afternoon, you weren’t as careful as you usually are. You remember leaving your office door open, and, like the idiot you are, you remember leaving out your sleeping bag, your cheap diner food wrappers, your half-sharpied sneakers. And then you got so caught up in causality, your experiment, and printing those results— 

You forgot to hide your mess.

Fuck.

“You’ve been sleeping here overnight.”

“it’s not, uh,” you begin weakly, but it really is what it looks like. And judging by the way Gaster hasn’t torn his eyelights from your mess, he knows it. 

There’s no point making a fool out of yourself by lying. 

But that doesn’t mean you don’t hate the way your voice goes quiet without your consent. 

“…it’s not as bad as it looks.”

“What about your brother— Papyrus? Is he—?”

“no. god, no. trust me, you’d know if pap was loose in this place,” you chuckle a little desperately. “he stays with a couple of friends in new home while i work. temporarily, y’know. just while we’re between houses.”

“Between houses,” Gaster echoes, finally looking down at you again. It’s fine. You’re fine. “I locked down the lab last weekend— were you on the streets for that time?”

“nah, we, uh. heh.” You clear your throat. Look to the wall. Shove your free hand in your pocket. 

Anything to distract from the fact that you can’t keep your voice steady.

You’ve never talked about it to anyone before. Out loud. You didn’t expect it to be this difficult. And it doesn’t help that Gaster doesn’t give you an out. He just stares at you, expectant. You have no idea how to read the expression he’s wearing. 

So you gather yourself and let your mouth run like a loose motor.

“we house-hopped for a while, ‘til we could make it to snowdin. there’s a place out there i’ve been savin’ up for. real spacious, real cheap. y’know. somethin’ decent we can handle the mortgage for with my salary. and the guy who owns it wanted to meet up anyway. so th’ timing worked out.”

“Sans—”

“it’s fine, doc. really. trust me. been doin’ this since i could remember,” And it is fine. The more you talk, the less he’ll hear. You’ll be fine, as long as you don’t let him speak. “listen, i’ll pack it all up when i clock out, i’ve got friends we can bunk with—”

“Absolutely not.”

“—i can make it work, but, uh, y’know, i’m sorry i—”

“Sans.” He squeezes your hand, tight. Your soul scales your throat and smothers your protests. “You’re staying in my apartment until the house is yours.”

You blink up at him, uncomprehending.

“Asgore rents the place out to me, as per our contract. I can assure you, you would not be imposing.”

Slowly, the words start to trickle in. Imposing. In his apartment.

He wants you to stay. With him. In his apartment.

“oh,” you say. Like an idiot.

“It’s fully stocked, and more than big enough to house you, your brother, and I.”

The mention of Papyrus is enough to get your thoughts moving again.

“wh— uh. hang on. slow down, doc. i can’t do that.” He doesn’t reply. You shake your head, even as some part of you starts to settle into the idea. A house, regular meals. Gaster sleeping in the neighboring room. “no, no, c’mon. i’m serious.”

“As am I.”

He is. And you hate that. You hate that he’s serious. 

You hate that you want him to be serious.

Now you can’t stop yourself from considering it. Your thoughts run ahead of you, wondering what you’d be able to do if you weren’t constantly worrying about food on the table or the roof overhead. What a relief it would be to have a stable home life, not in a few years, not in a few months, but now.

No more bed hopping, or borrowing clothes. No more stretches of time spent starving in dank alleyways.

No need to worry about transportation to the lab or to wherever Pap ends up staying during the work day.

And not just that, but someone to secure it for you. Someone you know for a fact won’t toss you out at the drop of a pin, who won’t hold it over your head, or pander ulterior motives. 

Someone who doesn’t think you’re a disgusting excuse for a monster.

It sounds too good to be true.

And to top it all off, here Gaster is, looking at you like he knows he’s offering you dinners and bedtimes and breakfasts and domestic things and stability and a normal life that you could never get on your own merit.

And the only objection you can think of is:

“doesn’t that break some sort of— i dunno, fraternization rule, or something?”

Gaster blinks down at you. You’re slightly relieved to see his expression change into something more familiar.

“We are a collective twenty steps away from an immense scientific discovery that could redefine the way we conceptualize reality itself,” he says, “and you’re worried about fraternization.”

Which, okay, that’s a little unfair.

“doc, we’re twenty steps away from an immense scientific discovery, and you wanna argue about where i sleep at night.”

He takes a breath to argue, then cants his head. “You have a point.”

“don’t i.”

“This can wait.”

“can’t it.”

“I suppose we should… get on with it.”

“uh-huh.” You swallow around the lump in your throat. “as soon as you let go of my hand.”

“Oh. Right. Yes.” He releases your hand a little sheepishly. Centuries, you have to remind yourself. “Apologies.”

“don’t sweat it.”

As soon as he starts moving, you turn heel and make a beeline for your office. 

You shut the door behind you and slide down the back of it until your knees hit your chest. Then you tuck your head between your legs and you breathe.

You’re fine. It’s fine. You just— you need a minute. Just a minute. In a few seconds, you’ll open your eyesockets, and you’ll be fine.

Alone. Safe.

Fine.

You open your eyes.

Your mess awaits you, splayed at your ankles. It spirals far into the room like an extension of yourself. You stare at it with the appropriate amount of disgust.

Strewn wrappers, unwashed laundry. Empty bottles and cans you planned to sell for a couple G apiece. You never left any of it out during the daytime before. Not where the stark laboratory overhead lights strip it of nighttime’s leniency. Right now, it’s all there, laid bare for the world to see.

It’s just things. Fabric and plastic and glass and other meaningless things. 

It is what it is, but it’s not. It’s more than that.

And you know, if it would’ve been Alphys, it would’ve been easier. Because you’re not ashamed of your situation. Really. It sucks, but it happens. You get that. She would get that. It’s just. You just didn’t want anyone to know. You didn’t want Gaster to know. 

You didn’t want Gaster to look at your things and see more than just quirks or weird habits. But he did. Almost too quickly. He saw right through you. 

You wouldn’t have pegged him for a monster who has fallen on hard times. Not like you have.

But it happens. You get that.

So…

So maybe you have less to worry about than you thought.

You swipe at your eyesockets and take to your feet. Either way, you shouldn’t dwell on it, not now. Not when you have work to do. 

...Not when you have three quantum theories to potentially disprove, what in Asgore’s name are you doing?

Your printer is just as you left it on your desk. You loop around the back of it, kicking a stray ketchup bottle out of your way, and take off the panel without a hitch.

No Mew Mew Kissy Cutie poster in sight. Small mercies. You plunge your hand into the printer’s depths.

“yahtzee,” you mutter under your breath, once you’re elbow-deep. 

Anticipation sneaks past your defenses, as you pull out the piece of paper touching your fingertips. Your shambles of a home life aside, this is a big moment. You should be enjoying it.

You shake out the page, flatten it against your desk, and quickly scour its contents.

...It’s Gaster’s notes. In his handwriting, scanned and copied and printed.

Unwittingly, you start to re-crumple the paper between your fingers. The mess in your office melts away, suddenly distant and small in comparison to the realization cresting your thoughts— the mantra ringing through your head over and over like the chiming of the Judgement Hall’s bells— 

He did it.

He was right.

Superposition, entanglement, personal observation— everything. He was right.

You don’t get the chance to bolt out of your office— he meets you at your door. You swing it open, blustered by the draft, and hold up Gaster’s notes. He starts laughing before you even see your experiment report in his hands.

“holy shit,” you breathe.

“Indeed.”

“holy shit.”

“I am treating both you and your brother to dinner tonight,” Gaster pants, slapping the report into your hands. “Until then, we can discuss a more suitable salary for your expenses. Come evening, we’ll pick up Papyrus…”

He keeps talking, but you can’t process a word of what he’s saying. It doesn’t occur to you that you probably just got a raise, or that you won’t be dumpster diving tonight, or even that you’ve somehow completely accepted the fact that you’ll be roommates with your boss for the foreseeable future.

None of it matters, because Gaster is grinning, eyesockets wide, breath stolen from wonder, his hands planted firmly on your shoulders. He looks barely in control of himself.

You can’t believe you thought he was beautiful before. You’ve never seen him look at you like this.

You don’t want him to stop.

Eventually, however, he realizes you aren’t listening to a word he’s saying. So he stops talking, rolls his eyelights, and abruptly turns around to lead the way back to his office.

You blink after his receding outline, still blinded by the afterimage of his expression. Something brushes your side, and you look down.

One of his conjured hands is clutching yours. The asymmetry of the grip is just as perfectly aligned as it was with his real hand. 

You give the mimic a squeeze. It squeezes back.

With one last look at the chaos of your office, you shut your door behind you and drift along in Gaster’s wake, smiling.

.

AO3

[the-awkward-outlaw]

Second Chances - Ch. 16

Reclaiming the Swamps 

Warning: swearing, murder

Word count: ~6700

Masterlist

Read on AO3

The sun sets properly on Clemens Point and camp is deathly still. There is little talk, except to say how worried people are about Jack or how sad they are about Sean’s death. 

Karen’s in rough shape. It’s no secret she and Sean had a complicated relationship. She drinks heavily from her bottle, sitting on the ground near her cot. Susan sits on a crate next to Abigail, patting her hand and whispering to her. Abigail’s completely distraught, her cheeks shining with tears. Cain dutifully sits by her lap, whimpering every now and then. 

You, Tilly and Micah take up the roles of camp lookouts while they’re gone, keeping an eye out for the men and any intruders. You’re doubtful any of the Braithwaites will show up, most likely they’ll all be gathering at their homestead. You’re also doubtful the Grays will try an assault, it sounds like most of them died in Rhodes. 

You stand in the treeline, keeping the campfires in sight. You’re still worried about what might happen and if they’ll find Jack. You hope none of them come back hurt or worse. You stand quietly until you hear a faint rustle. You grip your repeater tighter until you see the stumbling form of Kieran. 

“What are you doing?” you ask, trying not to sound accusatory. 

“Oh, I - I’m sorry, miss,” he stutters, looking sad and scared. “I… I just wanted to make sure things are okay.”

You let out a sigh of relief. “Everything’s fine, Kieran. Everthing’s gonna be fine. You’ll see. Soon, they’ll come in with Jack and… and everything will go back to normal.”

You tell yourself this just as much as you tell him. You still have a tight feeling in your gut as though something is wrong. You tell yourself it’s because of Sean’s death. You remember seeing Jenny and Davey die all those months ago when the gang fled Blackwater. You were still so new to the gang yourself, so their deaths had little effect on you. Sean is different. He was the clown of the gang, the one who could effortlessly lift everyone’s spirits. He was so confident, so sure. And now he’s dead. 

“I hope you’re right, miss,” Kieran says, bringing you out of your thoughts. You see the sadness pulling his lips down. 

“What is it, Kieran?” you ask quietly. 

“It’s my fault them boys got Jack. My fault. I… I saw them boys comin’ in, but I thought they meant to do some business with Hosea or Arthur. Never thought they’d kidnap a boy.”

He rubs his hands over his eyes, sniffing. “I been tryin’ so hard to… to make Dutch and all them fellers see me as one of them. And now I gone and let Jack get taken.” “Hey,” you say, trying to calm him. You put a hand on his shoulder. “That’s not how it is, okay? No one would have guessed them Braithwaites had come to take Jack. That’s the last thing anyone would have figured they were here to do. This isn’t your fault, Kieran.”

You pat his shoulder and release it, feeling slightly awkward. You aren’t used to comforting people, even doing it with Arthur has required some getting used to. Not only that, you hardly know Kieran. You suddenly remember that he was once an O’Driscoll, and you recall what those men did to Arthur. You shake your head, swiping away the thoughts hovering on the edge of your mind. You know Kieran didn’t have anything to do with that, and he doesn’t have anything to do with Jack being stolen. He’s too sweet, too gentle. 

Kieran nods, but you can tell he still feels guilty. You don’t know what more to say to him.

“Just keep working hard, Kieran,” you say, “and don’t take this too hard, okay? Once they get Jack back, none of it is going to matter.” 

He nods again and walks away. You feel slightly guilty yourself, not being able to comfort him. You know how difficult life has been for Kieran since Arthur captured him up in the snow. How hard he works and how little thanks he gets in return. He doesn’t even have a proper sleeping cot. You’ve seen him sleeping against a tree by the chicken coop. The others have been hard on him, as well. Some of them you can understand, like Sadie. Once you witnessed Jack throwing rocks at him until Abigail stopped him and said that was a job for the adults to do. You feel a pang for Kieran. Despite how he’s been treated, he still cares. 

You pass the time by pacing in your section of the trees and naming some of the plants in the vicinity. You constantly look up the path, waiting for signs of the others’ return. The moon comes out, nothing more than a small wedge in the black sky. 

You hear the sound of a horse coming down the path from the direction of camp. You turn and see Josiah Trelawney astride his appaloosa. You’ve spoken little to the man yourself, mostly because he’s hardly been around. He pops into camp every once in a while with a tip on a lucrative job, then disappears without a trace. Nearly a week ago, he’d gotten himself in a spot of trouble with bounty hunters from Blackwater and Arthur and Charles had gone to rescue him. Since then, he’s stuck dutifully close to camp, entertaining you and the other women and Jack with his cheap card tricks. 

He stops when he sees you standing guard on the trail. 

“Hello, Mr. Trelawney,” you say somberly.

He greets you back in his north eastern accent. Despite the late hour, you see he’s already dressed in a fine suit, his thin, long mustache twirled finely into shape.

“Where you headed off to at this hour?” you ask.

“I have some other engagements that need my attention, Ms. Y/L/N,” he says, adjusting his seat in his saddle. “Besides, there’s talk that the camp will likely be moving once those boys return with young Jack.”

You nod. You’d heard Pearson and Grimshaw discussing it not long after the party left to Braithwaite manor. Not that you disagree. Now that the men in camp have so openly feuded with both families, it would be unwise for any of you to remain here. 

“Well, take care of yourself then, Mr. Trelawney.”

“And you as well, miss. Keep an eye out for Arthur. He’s got a talent for getting himself into trouble.” He tips his top hat to you before urging his horse to walk on. 

You return to your watch, eyeing Trelawney’s horse as it vanishes through the tree trunks. You watch as a fox chases a rabbit, growling in delight. An owl hoots somewhere in the distance. You notice the sky’s beginning to get lighter, the stars dimming. It’s then you hear a large troop of horses coming down the path. You grip your repeater just in case. Dutch suddenly appears on the trail, followed by Hosea, Arthur, John and the others. You greet them warmly but don’t see Jack on any of their horses. 

Arthur stops Artemis and offers you his hand. You take it and he swings you up behind him.

“Jack?” you ask, wrapping your arms around his waist. 

“Boy wasn’t there,” he says heavily. He urges Artemis to walk on and he regroups her with the others. You see Abigail dash over to John and Dutch, sobbing. You dismount Artemis, followed by Arthur. 

“He isn’t dead, is he?” you ask, fearing the worst. 

“No. Braithwaites specifically wanted him alive,” Arthur explains. “That Braithwaite woman said she gave him to some Italian feller in Saint Denis.” 

You walk with him over to the table where Dutch and John stand, Abigail sitting on one of the seats completely broken down into sobs. Dutch places a hand on Abigail’s shoulder.

“Try to get some rest, Ms. Roberts. We will find the boy. John, go with her.”

John gives him a look but doesn’t argue. He grabs her hand and leads her to her tent, which she doesn’t refuse. You know, along with everyone else, that she won’t be sleeping. 

You look at Arthur and see he’s exhausted. You know he’s had a very long and hard day. 

“Come on,” you say, taking his hand. “You need to rest too.” 

You lead him to your shared tent and begin taking off your boots. He sits next to you but doesn’t move, his hands resting on his knees.

“You wanna talk about it?” you ask.

“About what?”

“Anything.” 

He sits silent for another moment. “Ain’t really much to talk about, sweetheart. Once we’ve all had some rest, Dutch and Hosea will come up with a plan. We’ll find the boy.”

“And the Braithwaites?”

He looks at you. “They’re dead. All of them. Most of them we shot, and then we… burnt their house down after Catherine told us what she did with Jack. They ain’t a problem anymore.”

“Well,” you sigh. “Guess Rhodes is now freed from these two warring families. Can’t tell you how many times I heard people complaining about them, or about which family they sided with.”

Arthur doesn’t respond. You put a hand on his shoulder and slide the other under his hand resting on his leg. 

“Come on, Arthur,” you say after a moment. “Let’s get some rest.”

He ends up curling behind you on the cot, holding you close. He holds you tighter than usual, almost as though he’s afraid you might slip through his fingers. 

After a few hours, Hosea knocks on the wagon forming your tent, waking you and Arthur. He tells you both to get up, that a plan needs to be made to find Jack. 

Arthur sits up and tucks in the parts of his shirt that came out from under his pants. You both put your boots back on and walk out of your tent. You see Dutch, Hosea and John sitting at the table. Arthur joins them as you walk over to Pearson’s tent to grab some cups of coffee. 

You come back to the table a moment later, offering one of the cups to Arthur who drinks it quickly. He hands you the empty cup back.

“It’s gonna work out, John,” Dutch says as Arthur places a foot on the last remaining crate by the table. You take your cue and head off towards the donation box by Dutch’s tent, planning on putting in some of the trinkets you’ve collected over the past little while inside. 

Just as you open the lid, you hear Lenny call out.

“Hey Dutch! Think we’ve got a problem.”

You peak around the tent’s fabric and see Lenny leading in agents Milton and Ross, the Pinkertons. You, along with most of the others, join into a circle around the table, closing in the agents around you. You stand just behind Arthur, feeling worried.

“Not a problem,” Milton says arrogantly. “Visitors. Good day, fine people.” His eyes travel around the circle, staring hard at everyone. His eyes settle on Dutch, who sits with his back to the agents. “Mr. Van der Linde, Mr. Matthews. And who are you?” he demands of John.

“Rip Van Winkle,” he shoots back.

“Huh,” he says before introducing himself and Ross to the group. Arthur takes a few steps towards him. “Ah, Mr. Morgan, nice to see you again.”

“And to what do we owe the pleasure, Agent Moron?” Dutch says, not looking at Milton. Arthur steps back and you place a hand on the small of his back, trying to keep him calm. You know after everything that happened yesterday, it will take little to set him off. 

“I don’t know if you’re aware,” Milton says, “but this is a civilized land now. We didn’t kill all of them savages only to allow the likes of you to act like human dignity and basic decency was outmoded. This thing of yours, it’s done!”

“This place,” Dutch says, finally standing up and facing Milton, “ain’t no such thing as civilized. It’s man so in love with greed he has forgotten himself and found only appetites.”

“And as a consequence that lets you take what you please when you please?” Milton demands. “Kill whom you please and hang the rest of us? Who made you the messiah to these lost souls you’ve lead so horribly astray?” 

“I’m just a seeker.” 

“You ain’t nothing more than a killer, Mr. Van der Linde. But I came to make a deal. You come with me and I give the rest of you three days to run off,” Milton gestures to everyone in the circle. “Disappear, go and live like human beings someplace else.” 

“You came for me?” Dutch says in a sarcastic tone. “Risked life and limb in this den of lowlives and murderers so that they might live and love? Ain’t that fine.” 

Many of the others chuckle darkly, you don’t. You’re too worried about what might happen. 

Milton just shakes his head. “I don’t wanna kill all these folk, Dutch. Just you.” 

“Well, in that case,” Dutch raises his hands and takes a few small steps towards Milton. “It’d be my honor to join you. Excuse me, friends. I have an appointment to keep with…”

You aren’t the only one to withdraw your pistol from its holster, nearly everyone else in the circle does so. Milton ignores them and stares hard at Dutch.

“I think your new friend should leave now, Dutch,” Susan says as though Milton were nothing more than a pesky neighbor boy who trampled her vegetable garden. 

“You’re making a big mistake, all of you!” Milton says. 

Dutch chuckles. “Yeah, dreadful. We have got something to live and die for here. Mr. Milton, stop following us.”

“I’m afraid I can’t,” he replies. “And when I come back, I’ll have fifty men. All of you will die! Run away from this place, you fools. Run!”

Lenny marches forward and makes to grab his arm. “Come on,” he says.

“Get your damn hands off of me, boy!” Milton snaps, turning away from him. You and the others watch the agents stalk off into the trees, followed closely by Lenny who keeps a firm grip on his repeater. 

“What now, Dutch?” Arthur asks, replacing his pistol into his holster. 

“We need to get outta here, and quick,” Dutch says. “Any ideas?”

“I know a big ol’ house,” Arthur replies, “hidden outside the swamps in Saint Denis. I’m sure they’ll find us eventually but it should buy us a few days.”

“A few days is all we need,” Dutch says confidently.

“It’s a place called Shady Belle. Lenny, Y/N and I got into a dispute with its previous occupants. Place is well hidden.”

Dutch nods for a second and then he gestures to Arthur and John. “You both go and ride out. Make sure no one else has moved in. John?” he says as he and Arthur begin heading off to their horses. “We’ll get Jack back, don’t you worry.”

John nods and walks away to his horse Old Boy. You’re about to head off to your tent to begin packing up when you feel a hand on your shoulder. You turn and find Arthur standing behind you.

“I want you to ride with us,” he says.

“Why? I ain’t too sure Grimshaw’s gonna be happy about me leaving.”

“I don’t care what ol’ Grimshaw thinks, darlin’. I want ya to come. You helped me and Lenny clear out Shady Belle before, should be easy for you to do it again if needs be.”

You nod, grabbing your hat and follow him over to the horses. No one stops you as you mount up on Rannoch, to which you are grateful. You follow John and Arthur out of camp. 

“It’s gonna be a’right, John,” Arthur says from up ahead.

“We should be going for Jack!” he retorts. 

Arthur explains that it will be done, but that camp needs to be moved first before the Pinkertons have a chance to return. 

“We made too much noise once again!” John says. “Lead ‘em right to us. I mean, how many people we killed these past few weeks? It’s Dutch playin’ his games, Hosea too.”

“They thought there was a lot of gold,” Arthur says defensively. 

“Yeah, there always is.”

“Look, Marston, I don’t know what to tell you. Things don’t always work out.”

“Jack’s gone,” John says. You can hear the anger rising in his voice. “We lost Sean, Mac, Davey, Jenny and for what?”

“We can’t change what’s done. We can only move on,” Arthur replies. 

“We need to start learning from our mistakes. We keep doing this over and over again!”

“Come on, it ain’t all that bad. We’ve had a rocky run, but we’ll be okay.” 

“Oh sure,” John snaps. “Dutch’ll fix it. Dutch will come up with a plan. Every plan of his gets us into worse trouble.”

“Now you can’t put all this on Dutch. You’re worked up and rightly so. Just don’t get too far in your head with all this.” 

“Why you care so much about Jack now anyways, John?” you say from the back. 

He glances back at you briefly. “Ain’t none of your business, Y/N. Why’d you invite her along, Arthur?” 

“Because she’s a good shot and she’s been to Shady Belle with me and Lenny before.” You feel there’s more to his answer than that. John just shakes his head. 

“That poor kid. We chose this life, he didn’t.” “I don’t know, think this life chose us,” Arthur says.

The three of you canter down the trail you know leads to Shady Belle. The house is almost exactly the same as it was the last time you were here. You spot up ahead two men standing by the double doors leading inside the house. They’re obviously Lemoyne Raiders. 

“Oh shit, it’s them again!” one of them yells as the three of you stop your horses just by the small bridge going over the stream cutting through the land. Arthur and John pull out their rifles, but you take one of them down with your Springfield. John kills the other.

“Come on, bet there’s more inside,” Arthur says dismounting. You and John follow him in. John kills another Raider inside the dining room then tells you and Arthur to go clear the upstairs. You jog up the rickety staircase. Arthur takes the back half of the house and you go through another set of double doors leading to the master bedroom. 

Sitting on an old, mildewy bed is an old man with thick, unkempt white hair and a beard to match. 

“I knew you’d come soon enough,” he says in a sharp voice. “You or some other coward like you.” 

You see him grab a pistol beside the bed. You point your rifle at him as he starts loading it. 

“The bounty hunters, the freedmen, the carpetbaggers,” he says as though he can’t see your gun. “I have survived them all.” 

You see him pull the hammer back on the gun and you respond by firing a bullet into his skull. “Survive that,” you say quietly. 

“How’s it lookin’ up there?” John shouts from the lower level.

“Think we’re clear,” Arthur responds, exiting a room from the other end of the hallway with a large hole in the wall. 

“Good. Gimme a hand movin’ these bodies.”

Arthur walks into the room you’re in and sees the dead man on the bed. He pats your shoulder. “I got this one, go help John.” 

You nod and head out of the room and down the stairs. You pick up one of the men by the front door, struggling with the weight. Somehow you manage to heave him onto your shoulder and follow John out to the river. As you approach, the stench of the water grows stronger and you hear the growl of an alligator somewhere nearby. John walks onto a broken boat dock and heaves the corpse on his shoulder into the murky water. You do the same, watching the corpse bob up and down briefly. You turn away, not wanting to watch the alligators enjoy their meal. 

Arthur walks down the front steps, the corpse of the man you killed swaying on his shoulder. 

“Go meet up with the rest, show ‘em how to get here,” Arthur says. “I got the rest o’ this.”

You and John nod and mount your horses again, bolting back up the trail away from Shady Belle.

“Look, John,” you say. “I’m sorry about Jack. And I’m sorry for thinking you didn’t care about him.” 

He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, you figure he’s mad at you. 

“I can see why you think I didn’t care. About him or Abigail. I treated ‘em both bad. I just hope we can find him before it’s too late.”

“Well, hopefully you’ll have an opportunity to try harder and be better. Maybe this is your second chance.”

He quietly agrees, though you can hear the doubt in his voice. The two of you gallop down the trail and meet the caravan just past Braithwaite manor. You look across its fields and see black smoke billowing up from the crumbled wreckage of the manor itself. No one pays it any attention, so you say nothing as you fall in line behind the wagon driven by Pearson and Grimshaw. Grimshaw shoots you a dark look but says nothing. 

You ride with them down the trail until Shady Belle comes into view once more. Now that your adrenaline has calmed, you take notice of the thick, wet air and the nearly overwhelming stench of the river. Even the mossy trees seem to emit an odor. You pull Rannoch up and hitch him just as Arthur walks out of the double doors, holding his arms up above him and smiling as though he were lord of the manor. 

“Welcome home,” he says, “to my humble abode! We got fine living. Ignore the corpses and the alligators it’s paradise.”

“I love it!” Dutch says happily. You feel that you are not the only one who quietly disagrees with Dutch. He instructs everyone to begin getting the place prepared as a camp holdout. “Arthur, take a ride with me.” 

He and Arthur begin mounting up. Molly pushes past you and jogs over to him. “Dutch, can I have a word with ya?”

“Not now,” he says sharply from the back of the Count. He spurs his horse into a gallop, followed by Arthur. You see Molly’s shoulders sag as she stares after them.

“Miss Y/L/N!” Grimshaw suddenly hollers. She marches over to you and grabs you by the ear. “It’s time you work, missy! Stop starin’ after those men and go do your job!”

She pushes you towards the manor, releasing your ear. You dash over to the wagons before she can get a hold of you again. 

Grimshaw doesn’t relent seeking her revenge on you until the sun is nearly set. She marches over to you as you finish helping Pearson set out his supplies and toss the last few ingredients into the pot. 

“A’right, girl. You can stop for the night and join the others for dinner.”

You sigh in relief, dropping the knife with a loud clatter that you had been using to chop carrots. You grab a plate of stew and join Karen and Javier at the round table. As you eat, you continuously look at the path leading out of camp. Dutch had returned some hours ago, stating they found the place where Jack’s likely being held by a man named Angelo Bronte. Arthur wasn’t with him when he returned and you haven’t had the chance to ask Dutch where he is, but you figure he’s probably out on one of his journeys or scouting the city. You overhear Dutch telling John they’ll meet Arthur tomorrow in a park to visit this Bronte fellow and hopefully get Jack back. 

After you put your plate into the wash bin, you sit by the fire and listen to Charles play his harmonica. The camp’s subdued once again. You wish Arthur was here with you. For the first time since your arrival to the gang, you have your own room, mostly thanks to the fact that you’re with Arthur. Earlier, you had unpacked his belongings into one of the rooms on the upper level of the manor, a single rickety and rather uncomfortable bed along with a table and a scratched bookcase were the only furniture inside. You sigh heavily, knowing you’ll be spending the first night alone in that bed. You don’t fancy the idea much. Something about the swamp gives you the creeps. Perhaps it’s the alligators, the dark river water, or maybe it’s the feeling that there’s always something watching. You don’t know, but you hope you and the others won’t be here too long. 

Charles finishes his song and then he bids you a gentle good night before wandering off to his own cot. You sigh once more and resign yourself to the fact you’ll be alone tonight. You stand up and stretch. You walk into the manor and up the stairs, where you hear the sounds of sniffing and sobbing. Peaking through the massive hole in the room across the hall from yours, you spot Abigail sitting on the rusty bed. Karen sits by her side, patting her knee. 

“They’ll find him,” she says. “Your boy will be just fine, you’ll see.”

You go into your room, leaving Abigail and her sobs behind, and close the door. You look around the room, hoping Arthur will approve of the way you’ve designed it. You put all his pictures on the bookcase, including the one of Mary, despite you wanting to leave it in the box it was packed in. You take off your boots quickly and then douse the lantern sitting on the table by Arthur’s map. You lie down in the darkness, listening to the cacophony of insects, alligators, and other night creatures. You’re glad to have four walls and a roof. You certainly wouldn’t want to sleep in the open swamp. 

You wake early in the morning, the horizon just beginning to lighten. You sit up in the empty bed. It’s a strange sensation to wake up alone now. You realize how ironic that is, seeing as how you used to shy away from even sharing a tent with Arthur. Now you struggle to sleep if he isn’t by your side. 

You put your boots back on and stand up with a yawn. When you walk out of your room, you see Abigail standing next to a long window through the hole in the wall. Her crying has stopped, but you wonder if that’s due to her being unable to produce tears at this point. You knock on the wall beside her door. 

“May I come in?” you ask.

She glances back at you and nods, her face red and blotchy. 

Cain lies on the floor near the bed. He gives you a bark in greeting before settling his head on his paws again. 

“How are you holdin’ up?” you ask, aware of how stupid that question is.

“I… I just miss him so much.” She pauses, running a hand over her forehead, her back to you. “What if… what if they don’t…”

“They’ll find him,” you say sternly. “Dutch will find your boy and he’ll be fine. Trust me, this Bronte fella won’t have him killed. What use would he have for a dead boy? And if he’s hurt, well I imagine Dutch will burn that entire city to the ground.” 

Abigail sniffs and nods, but she still doesn’t look at you. You sit in silence for several moments. 

“Come on, let’s get you some coffee,” you say, putting a hand on her shoulder. She seems too weak to disagree, so she lets you steer her towards the door, down the stairs and out onto the grass. You pour her and yourself a cup, but she simply holds the steaming cup in her hand. You steer Abigail over to the round table and gesture to one of the crates. She responds by sitting, though she still doesn’t drink. 

Kieran suddenly marches over. “Miss Abigail,” he says with determination. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry about Jack. When I saw them Braithwaite fellers, I had no idea. They didn’t seem like they were comin’ for him. And I don’t know anyone who would kidnap a boy.”

He pauses, putting his hands on his hips. He finally looks down at the grass beneath his feet. “I feel like a fool. I know it don’t sound like much, but I would gladly give my life for his. Not that it matters or that it works that way. But I just wanted to say that I’m sorry.” 

Clearly feeling awkward, Kieran walks away, looking miserable. Abigail watches him leave but says nothing. After a moment, she stands up and walks away. 

Dutch suddenly walks out of the manor, followed by John. Dutch grabs Abigail’s shoulder as she passes him. “We’re going to get him back, Ms. Roberts. Right now. I swear we won’t return until we have him.” 

He lets her go and continues on to mount his horse. Abigail trades a pleading look with John. The two men canter out of camp on their mounts. You see Abigail disappear around the corner of the house, you follow her. You can tell by her face she isn’t hopeful about their outcome. You find her sitting on a broken set of stairs leading into the manor. 

“Well, at least the waiting’s almost over,” you say, trying to sound optimistic for her sake. You sit next to her and stare out at the dirty river. 

“Pathetic. All of them,” she suddenly snaps. “Whole camp full of goddamn men who can’t even protect a boy!” 

“Like Kieran said, none of us expected them awful folks to steal a boy.”

“Everyone keeps sayin’ that!” she stands up and glares at you. “Everyone keeps sayin’ that and that they’re gonna get Jack back! Yet they just left to get him now and we don’t know if they’ll even find him! For all we know, my son is on a goddamn boat!”

You sit there, partially shocked at her outburst. You know this is just a product of her nerves and fear, so you tell yourself to stay calm. 

“Say something!” she demands. “And don’t tell me that same bullshit everyone’s been spoutin’!” 

You pause. “I’m sorry, Abigail. I don’t know what else to say that hasn’t been said before.”

She waves a hand disappointedly at you and marches away. You let her leave, knowing she needs to be alone. The sinking pit in your own stomach returns. You stay on the stairs for a while until Grimshaw appears in your line of sight. You get up, knowing she’ll probably explode if she sees you sitting around again. 

You’ve kept yourself busy over the day doing chores and finishing setting up camp. Although the mansion’s falling apart, its inner walls turning gray with mold, you and the others do your best to turn it into a survivable fort. Still, there’s a certain ugliness to it you’re not sure could ever be covered up. 

You approach the river late in the afternoon, a bucket in your hand. You hesitantly step onto the bank, eyeing the water carefully. You’re terrified of getting close to it, knowing an alligator could be inches away from the surface, hidden by the murkiness of the water. You suck in your breath and dip the bucket in, filling it as much as possible and then snapping back from the water. Nothing happens luckily and you turn away from the water and dump the bucket into a barrel by Pearson’s wagon. 

Dutch, John and Arthur still have not returned. You’re not the only one who’s worried. Everyone’s tense with the lack of information on Jack. Abigail’s stuck relatively close to Karen, who has been comforting her. You feel somewhat sorry about that, knowing you did less than a mediocre job on that front. She sits now at the round table, her untouched plate of stew in front of her. 

You grab a beer bottle from a crate, not looking forward to spending another night alone in that damp room. The sun sets and a thick fog rolls in, cloaking everything. The stench from the river seems to grow in strength with the fog. Frogs begin to fill the air with their songs, which you actually find yourself enjoying. 

You sit down by the campfire. Uncle and Swanson are there too, but like the past few nights no one sings or plays their music. You wonder how much longer things are going to be like this. 

“They’re back!” Bill suddenly yells from the barracks where he’s been keeping watch. “I think I see Jack!” 

The sounds of horses coming down the trail hit your ears and you glance up. The fog is too thick to see far but then you see their silhouettes come over the bridge. First Dutch, then John with Jack sat in front of him, and then Arthur. For the first time in two days, you let out a sigh of relief. 

“Abigail!” Dutch hollers. “Abigail, we got you your son!” 

“We got him!” John yells behind him. 

Abigail looks up and sees the men along with her son. She hops up and jogs over to them, fresh tears streaming down her face. You stand up and watch her hug Jack, who looks fine and is even wearing new clothes. You look to Arthur, who is talking with John. You see him light a cigarette as Dutch and Abigail walk away from them with Jack.

“I got my son back!” Abigail announces to the gang. 

Hosea, Karen and most of the others go to welcome Jack home. You, however, walk past them straight towards Arthur. 

You wait patiently as Dutch talks with Hosea, John and Arthur. After a moment, he turns away from them. “We got some work to do! But first let’s have a drink.”

You slowly approach John and Arthur, the sinking feeling in your stomach finally lifting. John and Arthur begin slowly walking your way.

“Do as Dutch says,” you hear Arthur say to John. “Go be with your family.” 

John walks to you and gives your shoulder a friendly pat. You smile up at him. “Knew you’d find him, John.”

He says nothing as he continues on. You look at Arthur once more, who gives you a grateful smile. You approach him and immediately loop your arms around his neck. Laying your head on his shoulder, you breathe in that familiar scent of pine and leather, a welcome reprieve from the swamp stench. He clutches you tightly, his arms are warm, steady and familiar. 

After a moment, he pats your back and lets you go. 

“Come on,” he says warmly. “We rarely get an excuse to have a party.” 

You smile at him and take his hand before walking with him to the main campfire. The whole gang has gathered there to celebrate. Javier sits down and grabs his guitar. Abigail and John sit on the log with Jack on Abigail’s lap. Javier begins singing in Spanish and the others join in on the chorus. Not knowing the words yourself, you simply sway with the tune. Arthur stands behind you and wraps his arms around you. You lean into him and wonder if he missed you as much as you missed him. 

When Javier finishes his song with a high flourish, everyone cheers and laughs. Abigail announces that she’s going to take Jack up to bed. Several of the others welcome Jack back, including Kieran. John goes with them, looking happy and relieved. The gang begins to break up into small groups, some go to get drinks, others gather at the round table with Uncle, who starts singing. One of the songs you recognize. You’ve heard Arthur singing it on the trails during your hunting trips. You smile fondly at the memories. 

“Arthur?” you say quietly, his arms still wrapped tightly around you.

“Hmm?”

“We need to go hunting again. Just the two of us.” 

You feel the soft rumble of a laugh in his chest against your back. “I’d like that, sweetheart.” 

He kisses your temple and then releases you so he can grab himself a drink. He sits down on an empty crate, singing to the tune. You go to grab yourself a beer when you spot Kieran, swaying around the camp. You hear him muttering to himself, although his words are so slurred you can’t make them out. You’ve never seen Kieran drunk before. You’re about to go and talk with him when you hear Arthur call your name. 

You turn and approach him. He grabs you by the waist and sits you on his lap as Uncle begins a new song. You join in, drinking your beer. Arthur’s hand doesn’t leave your hip as he mutters the words to the song between sips. 

Uncle finishes the song with a round of laughter, which Lenny and Javier join in on. Arthur gives Lenny a teasing look. 

“Lennaaayyy!” he suddenly yells out.

“Oh God!” Lenny reacts. “It’s all comin’ back to me!” 

Arthur laughs. Suddenly from up above, a flash fills the sky. You flinch a bit and Arthur’s hand slides up your back reassuringly. He looks up and notes the dark clouds above. 

“Come on, sweetheart,” he says, finishing the last of his beer. “Let’s go to bed.”

You stand up and he grabs your hand. You lead him inside the manor and take him upstairs to show him where you’re both sleeping. You open the door and gesture for him to go inside. 

“What do you think?” you ask, wishing it looked nicer. 

“Can’t remember the last time I slept in a house,” he says simply. He then looks at you and smiles. “This is already better.”

“Can’t imagine that,” you say, looking around at the grimy walls and the creaky bed. 

“Sure it is. I got you with me this time.”

You look up at him, expecting him to be wearing his teasing smile. While he is smiling, you see no sign of a joke on his face. You put your hands on his shoulders and reach up to kiss him. 

“Glad you’re home,” you say, finally pulling away. “I missed you last night.”

“I know, I’m sorry, darlin’,” he says, guiding you over to the bed. “I wanted to come back last night, I did. But I had to scout this Bronte feller’s house.”

As he sits down, he tells you about how he and Dutch looked around for clues on where Bronte lived and how he got mugged by two kids. You try not to laugh since you can tell how frustrated he still is about it. Then he tells you of how they met Angelo Bronte, a slippery Italian snake who believed himself to be King of Saint Denis and how he demanded he and John steal from grave robbers in order to get Jack back. 

“I’ll be happy if we never see that snake again,” he says after he removes his boots. 

“Well, you did good. Maybe things can finally start going back to normal.” You take off your boots as well and throw them into the corner. 

“Don’t know if we’ve ever had a normal life, darlin’.”

He takes off his hat and tosses it onto the ammo crates. You bite your lip and look at him.

“What?” he asks.

“Nothing. Like I said, I just missed you last night.”

He chuckles and begins removing his shirt. You watch his hands work on his buttons before you smack them away and take over for him. 

“Let me show you how much I missed you,” you purr into his ear. He groans in response as you lay him down onto the bed. 

[gatticus]

11. drastic

i always wanted to play with how disastrous a troy/becca/johnny mission would be, and heres the answer!

snark snark and more snark, the thrilling prequel, set late sr2!

“Shut up,” Troy hissed out of the side of his mouth. “Are you tryin’ to get us killed?”

This was, by far, one of the most awkward situations she had been in, for a long, long time. She was in the middle, Troy on one side, Johnny on the other, trying to hide from the bloodthirsty mob that they were actively trying to escape from.

They had been stripped of guns, weapons, and left with their fists. All of them could fight, but that didn’t bode well against a crowd.

“We wouldn’t even be here if captain cock and his cop buddies didn’t show up,” Johnny snorted, rolling his eyes. “Nice work, smartass. Except instead of killing ‘em, you got us kidnapped with you.”

“Shut up,” She hissed, repeating Troy. But then he looked entirely too smug. So she turned to him. “And you too. Stop bickering like fuckin’ kids.”

They both swallowed. 

“Seriously though,” Johnny craned his neck to glance through the doors, swathes of people waiting on the other side. “What’s the plan? Wait till they whack us?”

“I’m thinking.”

“In your own time,” Troy replied, and she could see a bead of sweat on his forehead. “Not like these guys wanna kill us, or anything.”

“Thanks for that input.”

Troy was the tactician. She wasn’t. She never had been. She was praying for his logical input, and thankfully, he gave one;

“I’ve got a squad car out back,” He murmured. “If we make it out--and that’s a big if, we can leave that way.”

“Past the crackheads wanting to kill us?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow,” Johnny said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Damn Troy, now I know why they left you to do all the tactics.”

Troy rarely got angry. But she supposed Johnny brought that out of him; “Have you got anything better?”

“I dunno,” Johnny shrugged. “Thought your master plan would be better than ‘lets see if we don’t die’. Just sayin’.”

The door buckled. All three of them paled in unison, as Becca poked her head over the small crate that they were hidden behind.

“Shit!”

The sound of feet against stone made all three of them lunge forward, sprinting towards the door in front of them. The mob was getting louder, jeers from drug abused tongues that she didn’t understand as she sprinted down the stairs, almost tripping over them.

“Johnny?!” She asked, not bothering to turn around.

“Still here!”

“Troy--”

“Fine!”

The door to the exit was essentially in sight, as she ran harder, the adrenaline made her almost soar, pushing ahead of the two men. She had always been faster than them--though this was not the time to gloat on it.

She tried to stall her feet as she tugged at the door, watching it remain closed. 

“No!” She grunted, pulling at it again, panic rising through her veins. “It’s locked!”

Johnny and Troy were both watching her, eyes darting back to the loud jeering, only getting closer as she yanked at the door, over and over, and over. 

“C’mon!”

They were stuck. She yanked at it again, before slowly turning to the crowd that faced them, all three of their shoulders pressed together as Johnny pushed her out of the way.

He booted the door, once, twice, just as Troy got pulled the other way, his feet giving way as he was tugged into the crowd.

“The doors open!” Came somewhere from her left. “C’mon!”

“Troy!”

It was more of a scream than a gasp, as she shoved inbetween grabbing hands and shivs, cuts on her arm as she struck the man that held him. Her fist pummelled his face, as the back of her tank top was yanked  backwards.

Troy had an arm around his neck, as they both flailed, his eyes started to widen, hands blindly grasping at the vice on his skin. He was choking, she couldn’t get to him.

The arm slackened, as Johnny whacked the perpetrator over the head, somehow having found a wrench. With Troy free, and her less so, they stumbled out after Johnny, into the street.

They ran--

“Wrong way!”

Then did a u-turn, following Troy as he ran down the street, black soles of his shoes flying up behind him. Truth be told, she had never been so happy to see a cop car in her life as Troy pushed her in, getting into the drivers seat as Johnny wrenched the door open to the back.

“Brilliant-- a fuckin’ solid getaway!” Johnny snapped as Troy sped into the distance. “Put the sirens on, chief, make ‘em really scared!”

“Does he ever shut up?” Troy asked her, hands braced so tightly on the wheel that it turned white. 

“You know him,” She tried to laugh, but she was still shaking as Troy pulled a hard right. “Let him get it out.”

Troy sped off into the highway, leaving the mess, or whatever the hell that was, jeering behind them into the streetlights.