#what is it about tumbleweeds that make them hard to draw

[gotta-draw-em-all-daily]

Day nine hundred forty seven 947 Brambleghast

[aggro-my-beloved]

Oh, My Darlin' Sam Collins x Reader Imagine

note: this was meant to be posted a lot sooner, but i struggled to be satisfied with the finished product. I've re-written this 3 different times and still am unsure about it so please let me know if you liked it by reblogging or interacting with me!

pairing: samuel collins x gn!reader

summary: post-quinn, tank has been trying to rebuild their social life and relationships with pack members. little do they know, their is one relationship david has been withholding them from kindling. when they make a surprise visit to solstice bar, however, the alpha's hands become tied...and the attractive bartender with the nice accent catches this wolf's attention — part of the pick your poison series!

warnings: mentions of alcohol, midwest emo band things, and protective alpha davey (he and tank are twins!)

wc: 1.8k

estimated reading time: 8.75 mins

“Sorry, I can’t let you in. We’re full.” David’s palm was inches away from Tank’s face. They suffered a momentary flashback of when they were kids and he would do the very same thing at their attempts to go on a rollercoaster they did not exceed the height requirement for, or trying to sneak into the theater for an R-rated film after buying tickets to a Disney feature. 

“Seriously?” They quirked a brow, going as far as to crane their neck and view the barren parking lot. If not for her vehicle tagging alongside David’s, Milo’s, and one she hadn’t recognized upon her arrival, a tumbleweed blowing past would be fitting for the sight. “It’s 8 o'clock on a Tuesday.” 

“Still busy. Asher’s here trying to kiss up to the staff to let him and Christian’s band play. Private meeting.” He scowls. While Tank enjoyed the live demos played before them, they understood it was not David’s favorite type of music. He doesn’t even label it as that. 

“I’m sorry, but wasn’t it you who said I should stop secluding myself from others?” Their slow-building anger urges some prominent veins to adorn their neck. David’s eyes try not to linger on the piercing bite marks credited to Quinn, the sight of them still makes his insides wrinkle with guilt. 

“I’m here to support the pack’s business. Here, maybe…” they pause for a moment to rifle through the knapsack hanging from their shoulder, “this will change your mind.” David rolls his eyes at their license photo staring back at him. Tank was arguably the worst pick for posing in pictures. If their eyes weren’t closed in the shot, the morsel of food jammed between their teeth was the focal point. 

David merely glances at it and deadpans. “It’s fraudulent.” 

Tank replies, “It’s not.” 

“You’re underage.” He tries.

“We’re twins!” They scoff. “The fact that you’re older by a minute says nothing about my naivety, Davey.” The tips of the bouncer's ears scorching something rosy makes Tank hum in delight. 

“I’ll…I’ll eat it.” 

“David, why are you so set on keeping me from your hard work?” Their brows are furrowed, and much like the siblings' stubborn attitudes, remain unmoving.

The truth is, David would love nothing more than to share his second home with Tank. He and Milo built this place from the ground up and cranked it into a full-fledged business with some help from old connections of Gabe. The only thing stopping him from letting Tank in was…

“Sammy I promise you—“

“Call me that again and the deal is off.” The vampire’s rasp shoots out like venom, coating the room in a tense air. 

“Alrighty, Mr. Collins,” Sam is nonetheless impressed with the alternate name—he releases an exhausted sigh to show it. Nevertheless, he allows Asher to plead his case. The younger of the two momentarily struggles to pull out the compact disc, and finally hands it to the bartender when he does.  “Just give it a couple of spins through this week and see what your customers think. It’ll grow on you, I promise.” 

“What in the hell is this drawing?” Sam brings the CD to his eyes to squint at the black squiggles across it. 

“What drawing? That’s our band’s name!” Asher clarifies with a small laugh. For being known to have sharp senses, this drummer could have him fooled. 

“And that would be…?”

“Howl’s Highway.” Asher flashes him a boasting smile. Sam only lets out an unimpressed grunt. 

“Subtle name. Definitely won’t come back to bite you in the ass.” 

“Sheesh, no wonder you and David get along so well.” Asher still has his roommate’s ten-minute-long speech echoing in his mind about how such an epic name was one step closer to a covert breach. 

“What’s your intermission consist of? Shifting mid-set and running out all our returning customers?” 

“Pfft, no..” Asher rolls his eyes, before shifting them down to the notes app on his phone and pressing the backspace button several times. 

“Hey boys, hate to interrupt your top-secret meeting.” An unfamiliar face draws Sam away from the disc, and he’s enamored by their aura immediately. He can sense they’re a shifter, most likely a wolf by the way David looms behind them with crossed arms. 

“Hey, look who finally emerged from their cave!" Asher chuckles and untucks a free barstool beside him. "Pop a seat, let me introduce you to Sammy--ahem, forgive me--Mr. Collins. This is one of our pack members, Tank."

“There’s no need for that. They’re just here for a plate of fries to go. Milo!” David alerts the chef. He hears a distant clatter, followed by a string of swears, and can only assume his colleague is checking his hair in the stainless steel frying pan yet again.

“On it!” 

“I’d also like a drink for my trip over.” Tank raises a finger and seats themselves beside Asher on the open barstool.“Have you closed the deal yet?” 

“I don’t know. Sam, have I?” Two pairs of eyes turn in the vampire's direction, but he only finds himself lost in one. A glance is enough to entice him, and though he’d never admit it, he’d be trying to recreate the exact shade of Tank’s irises in his dreams tomorrow morning. 

“Yeah, why the hell not?” He mutters, never breaking eye contact with the new acquaintance sitting at his bar. “What can I get for you to drink, darling?” They feel an unfamiliar scorch of their cheeks at the pet name but do nothing to object to it. This newfound sweltering in the pit of their stomach is something they’ve only felt once or twice, and they’d be damned to extinguish it. 

David, however, has different plans.

“It’s all good, Sam. I can make it. Go ahead and take your break.” David slinks behind the bar.

“But I just got here half an hour ago…” his southern drawl becomes even more present with the mild fear lacing his words. He becomes suddenly aware of how tense David’s stature is, and the clenched fists at his side. 

“Go take a break or I'll cut you early. Understood?” David snarls, and Sam takes a step back towards the swing door of the kitchen. A few seconds go by before he concedes.

“Yes, sir.” He retreats behind the kitchen door, both confused and frightened by David’s sudden change in attitude. As he’s wandering the kitchen to find any leftover appetizers from the lunch rush earlier in the day, his ears perk up at the hushed voices from outside. 

“What crawled up your ass?” He hears the Tank ask.

“Yeah, what did Sam do?” Asher jumps in.

“Nothing.” David insists. “What do you want?” Sam can practically hear the sneer in David’s voice, complemented by clinking glasses.

“Ooh, ooh, Bud Lite please!” 

“I wasn’t asking you, Ash,” a few seconds later, the noise of air decompressing and a bottle cap being flicked is heard.

“I want the nice bartender back. He seems less… aggravated.” Hot as fuck, is also another attribute Tank associates with him, but decides not to indulge. 

“Well the nice bartender just went on break, so it looks like you’re stuck with me.” 

“That’s okay, I can wait.” Sam snickers at their persistence. Milo turns his head to see what’s so funny. Sam waves him off and clears his throat. Perhaps the fryer is so loud, or the bar is so slow, Milo couldn’t care less to acknowledge the commotion outside of the kitchen. 

The wolf decides to break the silence when he brings the fryer baskets up from their grease bath and allows the fries to cool down. “Whatcha thinking for dinner? We’re fully stocked on everything from the truck this morning.” 

If he answered honestly and told Milo he’d lost his appetite, that he just wants answers as to why David has a sudden vendetta against him communicating with this pack member, that would only result in more questions. Instead, he eyes the shifter piling a styrofoam box with freshly cooked and seasoned fries and halts him short of his walk out the door. 

“Why don’t I send this out, if you make me a batch of those small hamburgers…the ones with the toothpicks in them?” Milo snorts, and genders:

“You mean sliders, Sam?” 

“Yes, those. I’ll be right back.” He spares him a thankful smile, and cracks open the kitchen door to concentrate back on the trio’s conversation. Sam isn’t sure whether he should feel disappointed that the focal point of their chat was back on Asher’s band. 

“Play track four—that’s my favorite!” The drummer suggests to David, who grumbles as he fiddles with the CD player stowed in one of the bar cabinets.

“What’s the name of the song?” Asks Tank.

“The Voices in the Basement Are Getting Loud Again and the Basement is My Brain.” 

“…oh.” 

“A side of fries to go,” Sam reintroduces himself by swiftly taking a seat beside the empowered person at the bar and offering them their still steaming box of food. 

“Oh,” their tone morphs to something of interest as they readjust their body to face Sam with a pleased smile. “Didn’t you hear?” Without breaking eye contact, they undo the tabs of the styrofoam box and flip the top open with ease. “I’m staying to eat now.”

“Ain’t that somethin’,” says Sam, who harbors a pleased grin. David clears his throat, now towering over the two with folded arms and an unimpressed glaze over his eyes. 

“It’s something alright.” 

“David, come help me with the trash!” Milo’s voice beckons the Alpha to stand down from the bar and retreat to the kitchen, much to his dismay. 

“Saved by the bell.” Sam jokes, before offering Tank a tilt of his head. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but…you seem like you can handle yourself in the face of trouble. Is he always this protective of his pack?” Tank’s fingers drum against the countertop as they ponder how to word their answer. 

“He’s just been wary about me hanging around vamps lately because of…some trouble I got into. Let’s put it this way, the other guy had it coming.” Tank tilts their chin up, unintentionally revealing a few of the remaining marks left by Quinn. Sam doesn’t need to study them hard to figure out the vamp was feeding out of spite, not biting for their equal pleasure. 

“I’m sure he did, messin’ with a member of one of Dahlia’s most reputable packs. Care to share this fella’s name so I can add him to my shit list?” He inquires.

“How about we share a drink first?” Tank smiles, before sliding the plate of fries closer to his direction. Eagerly, Sam plucks one from the platter and bites down on it, his fangs sparkling beneath the dim lights of the bar. 

“I know just the one.”

[gh0st-t0wn3]

Lmk ss edits + headcanons, Part 6 (Azure Lion, Peng, Yellowtusk)

(I originally made my own design of Azure and Yellowtusk but wasn't quite happy with how they turned out so I scrapped them, the designs for those two I used in these edits were made by @/erraday_ on twt, with a few minor changes, but Peng's design is my own :) )

- He/Him

- Pansexual

- Snores so loud, it's insane, Yellowtusk once thought there was an earthquake

- Feels bad whenever he's steps on a ladybug, butterfly etc

- Gives everyone and everything giant bear hugs because he thinks if Yellowtusk can take it, so can everyone else (They cannot)

- Mei once gave him catnip as a joke and he went fucking feral, he's not allowed near catnip anymore

- His hair/fur is actually very soft and curly

- Thought he saw an old friend while out in public and hugged them, it was a stranger

- Wakes up Yellowtusk in the middle of the night to ask stupid questions

- The Brotherhood asked to hear his roar but he got really nervous last second and it ended up being really meek, they never let him forget it

- Coughed up a hairball once and Peng refuses to let him live it down

- Has eaten cat food before and would do it again

- Cannot do the splits and is too scared to try

- Gets really confused by modern slang, MK and Mei abuse the hell out of it because it's funny

- Whenever he's rough housing with people he accidentally hits a bit too hard

- Whenever he walks past anyone playing a game that involves a ball (football, basketball, netball, etc) he somehow always ends up getting hit in the head with it

- If he wasn't sealed away and got a chance to babysit Redson as a kid he wouldn't know what the fuck to do and would be really awkward cause he doesn't know how to interact with children, he'd be able to bond with Redson better when he becomes a teenager though

- No one gossips with him because he always ends up unintentionally outing someone about something

- Ate moldy food once by accident and freaked out, he was absolutely disgusted

- Hates horror movies but loves slashers

- Drinks mouthwash

- Smells like catnip (trust me guys)

- Love language is words of affirmation

- Has horrible bed head, his mane gets tangled really easily and he tosses around a lot at night so his mane takes hours to brush out

- Absolutely refuses to wear shoes, they hurt his feet (paws?)

- The type of person to cry over a movie about a dog getting lost and then finding its owner at the end

- Can somehow eat an entire goddamn buffet and not gain a single pound

- His face always scrunches up when he smiles

- Lost his balance on a hill and fell down like a tumbleweed once, Peng still brings it up

- They/He (Canon, Peng uses They/Them in the show but is exclusively referred to w/ He/Him in the sets)

- Nonbinary (Canon)

- Starts squaking when he laughs too much

- If you throw a blanket over their head he'll immediately fall asleep

- "look behind you but don't make it obvious" Looks behind him in the most exaggerated, obvious way known to mankind

- Stole food from Wukong's private stash for several months when the Brotherhood was all still together, Wukong still doesn't know

- Wukong gave them cooked chicken once as a joke but he actually liked it

- Constantly argues with Wukong about Macaque not being able to hold his own, yes it got physical

- Their wings have a bunch of scars from the amount of weapons and shit they block with them. Has to consistently clean their wings in order to keep them from getting too damaged, yes this includes softening and preening his feathers

- If they weren't sealed away and got a chance to babysit Redson as a kid they would tape him to the wall like that one meme and call it a day

- Bit off a person's finger once just to see if they could

- Doesn't shop, just steals

- "I hate you so fucking much" as he's handing the person a gift

-  Tried to draw on Wukong's face once but got wacked with his tail

- Absolutely HATES beetroot, will actually gag if he smells it

- Kicks over kids sand castles at the beach

- Can't stand small buzzing sounds

- "I'm not that competitive" is that competitive

- Claims you can trust them with anything but will snitch the second they know it will benefit them

- Probably threatened to eat someone's baby once

- Goes to playgrounds to trip kids

- Smells like Lavender, it just feels right

- Love language is words of affirmation and acts of service

- Has tried sleeping upside down like a bat multiple times

- Hardcore wine aunt vibes

- Had a bunch of ducklings accidently imprinted to him and they followed Peng for hours

- You'd have to pin this bird down to get them to eat collyflower

- Jokingly pushed Azure off a cliff once then remembered they're the only member of the Camel Ridge Trio that can fly

- They have full on concerts at like 3 am, has woken up Azure on multiple occasions

- He/Him

- AroAce

- Is the calmest one in the Brotherhood

- He uses Peng's head as an armrest sometimes

- He and DBK were actually quite close, he knew and accepted that DBK was in love with a celestial but was very surprised to see they ended up having a child

- Very poor eyesight but doesn't like wearing his glasses because Peng made a joke about them once saying he looked like a grandma

- Uses ":3" and ":D"

- Loves soap opera's

- Hates seafood

- Peng once tricked him into eating fish nuggets once and he still hasn't fully forgiven them

- If he wasn't sealed away and got a chance to babysit Redson as a kid he would definitely be the most responsible one, and probably Redson's favourite uncle

- Eats a snack then forgets he ate it and will bet frustrated when he can't find it

- The therapist of the Camel Ridge Trio, and probably of the whole Brotherhood in the past as well

- Was the only one who felt bad about imprisoning the Demon Bull Family since he and DBK were very close

- He also reprimanded Peng for when they pinned and scratched Redson with their claws after they left the Demon Bull Palace (he's the protective uncle, trust me guys)

- Hates getting hiccups, he despises the feeling and it gives him heartburn

- Wakes up at ungodly hours just to raid the fridge

- Heard a story about a bug crawling in someone's ear while they slept and has worn earplugs to bed ever since

- Loves apples

- Smells like Lilies

- Love language is gift giving

- Is really big on safety, would be the type of person to make sure everyone is wearing their seat belts before the car is even turned on

- Actually really good at cooking

- Makes the best chocolate chip pancakes ever

- Is the kind of person who assumes everyone tells eachother everything and accidently exposes someone because he thought everyone else knew about it already

- Always hears things wrong but doesn't wanna ask anyone to repeat themselves

- Has the most elegant ass handwriting you will ever see, somehow

- The peacemaker of the Brotherhood,  they all would've disbanded way sooner if it wasn't for him

- Uses his trunk as a snorkle when swimming or sleeping underwater (elephants actually do this irl, I just thought it was cute)

[blood-injections]

Currently thinking some thoughts about the Jet Star and the Kobra Kid traffic report and how ‘killjoys never die’ and how there’s canonical powers. The killjoy’s different powers in national anthem, the girls power, the energy in the desert that Cherri does his weird focus thing with to never miss a shot that he tells her about. If they all have powers, why can’t the Fab Four? Maybe their power is that they never die.

They don’t know it yet, though. Maybe Doctor D does, maybe that’s why he drilled that phrase into their brains, maybe that’s why he always tells them that they can end this war, maybe that’s why he entrusted the girl to them, because he knows that they all have something magical in common.

But they don’t know it yet, if he knows he hasn’t told them, none of them have figured it out despite the weird close calls they all seem to have had, like when Fun Ghoul was young in battery city and woke up fine from an overdose that should’ve killed him or when Jet Star was bitten by that rattlesnake when she was a pup and got really sick and swore they couldn’t breathe. She says she must have passed out, because when Doctor D found her out back she was just waking back up and healthy as could be.

And then it happens. Kobra and Jet went on a supply run and didn't come back. Back in the diner, the radio was playing. Party was drawing lazily and Ghoul was fiddling with Kobra’s power glove that had been a bit on the fritz lately while they waited for the pair to return. Instead the song on the radio fizzes out, replaced by static and then Doctor Death’s pebbly voice.

Bad news from the zones, tumbleweeds…

They're frozen in shock but they quickly scramble to their feet, terrified and in denial. Poison makes a beeline for Kobra’s bike and Ghoul can’t make himself speak, a lump of horror lodged in his throat. It’s a silent, terrified ride down route guano for the two of them, keeping their eyes peeled for signs of a fight.

It isn’t hard to spot the bodybags.

They’re a startling black and white contrasting to the orange-brown tones of the desert sand. And there’s two of them.

When they’re unzipped, two familiar faces are revealed, their skin off-coloured, pale and lifeless. Poison shatters and Ghoul tries hard to keep it together for the one friend he has left

They take the bodies up to that one vista that Kobra loved because he could see all around for miles and keep watch over the desert and that Jet loved because it was the best spot to stargaze. The sun is nearing the horizon when they start digging. They work in silence and it isn’t hard to hear when the movement starts.

At first it’s a shifting of fabric that goes unnoticed, then it’s perplexed mumbles and then it’s a zipper sliding open. Poison and Ghoul have both stopped digging to stare at the body bag thats now open and the person that’s sitting up.

“What the fuck.” Jet Star says, looking from the two of them armed with their shovels and then down at themself. She looks at her hands and then at her stomach, where her shirt is matted with dried blood. Her hands press at where she can remember there being a wound but where there’s now no pain, no fresh blood, no nothing.

The other body bag wiggles, muffled curses sounding. All the killjoys turn to stare at it. Poison rushes over, unzipping it and pulling their somehow alive brother up into their arms.

[chimerabytes]

imjust. Thinking abt sixshot slowly coming to the realization that its utterly totally and completely helplessly in love with Raúl... Raúl is willing to sit there and listen to Sixshot talk about its special interests (mail and delivery systems, also pre-war technology, particularly viruses and other harmful malicious things to computing devices) for hours on end. he doesnt mind that theyre not a very personal or touchy feely person. he loves sixshot for who it reveals itself to be, when it can finally let its guard down around others

got long so its under a read more

even if the walls are still super thick, raúl can find his way around them carefully, so as not to completely knock everything down at once. and moreover, finding someone who appreciates him and his talents... who taught him so many things, who helped him learn to love himself... raúl is utterly adorant of sixshot.

raúl also being the one to love six to the point of invention.. of course, he always asks if he can make six something first. he understands that sixshot hates surprises and gifts, and doesnt want to ever make them uncomfortable. he understands his lovely courier has a lot of boundaries and hes willing to work with those boundaries for the sake of his partner's mental and emotional wellbeing.

i think raúl and sixshot do get into fights occasionally- neither of them mean to, but its stressful out in the wasteland, when you think youre carrying the entire world's burdens on your shoulders... being caught up in the midst of a post-nuclear war catastrophe, having to help people pick up the pieces of the past to rebuild towards a better future... yeah, its hard.

six isn't used to being loved so genuinely, so he has a difficult time navigating such a relationship. he often has to fight the urge to just run away from everything like a tumbleweed through a deserted town. he finds love scary .. especially because he spent months believing that raúl's advances were just simply overly friendly gestures. so hes still fighting the part of his brain thats like "no, we're more than just friends, we're dating! we are romantic partners! and he does truly love me for who i am, and not what i could be! not what he wants me to be or thinks i am!"

... nooo i swear im not projecting 😁

anyway, im just. yeag

(image id: A drawing on a white background of a yellow emoji like blob with two black stick legs. Its eyes are huge and its crying. /end id)

[squidproquoclarice]

Yeehawgust Day 7: Lucky Strike

September 1899

Burnt Tavern, Owatonna

The name “Burnt Tavern” was a bit of a pointed reminder of the past of the northwoods of the state of Owatonna, given Sadie had found out its name came from a previous scuffle with the iron miners up here in the hills about ten years earlier.

When a situation with poor working men ended up with one of their few pleasures taken away with a burned-down saloon, things clearly had gotten serious.  The workers didn’t forgive, and they didn’t forget, so apparently Pleasant Pines had become Burnt Tavern, and that was that.

One advantage to being here was that it was far away from St. Denis.  Several states away, in fact.  When the scattered folks started to come back to Shady Belle telling tales about how the job had absolutely gone to shit, the captured and the dead, Charles and Javier having kept everyone together as best they could, she hadn’t waited to see the full scope of the disaster.  Started making plans, started getting everyone to pack up.  Dutch hadn’t come back, which was a problem.  Micah hadn’t come back either, and they really had no problem with that.  Arthur came back last, well after dark, just as the wagons were about to roll out.  He’d told her that he’d made a run for it at the docks as a decoy to draw the law away from off Dutch and let him escape onto a boat.  Of course he had. 

They’d been gone from Shady Belle by midnight, to Lakay.  From there, they’d set their sights far away.  The north of Owatonna was no problem for her after making a living in the Grizzlies in Ambarino.  Doing it with so many people was another thing, but they’d managed.  Found an abandoned logging camp and made the best of it.

Another advantage was that the grim, supposedly inescapable fortress of the former military prison at Kiruna, where the government apparently liked to stash particularly high profile and troublesome prisoners, wasn’t more than a day and a half from here.  It was remote and through thick and wild woods, but Sadie knew that was a problem for another time.  That was where they had sent Hosea.  She could only assume it was due to the sheer multi-state notoriety of the Van Der Lindes, and Hosea’s history of escaping lesser jails and prisons.  After reading that news, their destination became clearer.  They’d go to Owatonna, and from there, figure out how to get Hosea out.

If she knew anything about the gang, it was that they wouldn’t leave one of their own behind–Hosea especially.  Arthur, Tilly, and Abigail especially all just about boiled over with worry and frustration for the man they viewed as a father.

Another, unexpected advantage was that the iron miners just about boiled over with frustrations themselves, and the talk in town was about another possible strike coming.  She wished them every good fortune possible, because they had her sympathies with how the bastards in charge squeezed them.  There was a reason she and Jake had left Tumbleweed to strike out on their own in Ambarino in the end, beholden to nobody but themselves.  

But this would be a lucky strike for her and for the gang.  First, the focus would be there rather than on hunting down the remnants of the Van Der Lindes.  She hoped she and Arthur had managed to throw off pursuit, and the few weeks they’d been here had been relatively quiet.  but they never could be quite certain.  Second, as she understood it, the Pinkertons would be loath to come anywhere near this place given as bloody as the last strike had been, because people in town swore no Pinkerton would ever be allowed to enter their town again unchallenged.

She’d seen some of the women in town, seen the hardness in their eyes and faces that had been etched there by loss and violence, seen the teenagers who’d been children growing up fatherless.  Seen what had been taken from them by cruelty and callousness of men who didn’t give a damn for anyone but themselves, a life and an innocence they could never get back again.  They’d worked hard for everything they’d had, but it had been theirs all the same.  And then it got taken from them in a frenzy of brutality.  

She understood.  Burnt Tavern didn’t forgive, nor forget.  Neither did Sadie Adler.

[lady-o-ren]

THE HUNGER OF MY HEART

//PROLOGUE// //PART ONE// PART TWO

PART THREE

For easier reading here’s the link for ao3 (X)

Jamie stepped into the Lallybroch stables and whistled melodically through his teeth. A wide-browed grey horse poked his head out from the corner stall, hitching his ears forward as he blew excitedly through his nostrils.

"Cobhar, ciamar a tha thu?" Said Jamie fondly, firmly patting the long dappled neck of the horse and scratching behind his ears. "Di' ye miss me, my wee laddie?"

Nothing was wee about Cobhar. He was a good-tempered, but spirited 14-hand gelding that had been the first foal that Jamie's father let him care for when he was a lad, still mourning his mother and needing distraction.

Cobhar's big head came down and mouthed affectionately at Jamie's curls then cheeks in greeting, as he always had done, then descended down to his knuckles, eager for the sweet treat he could smell hiding in his palm. 

"Och, ye miss being spoilt is all then? Didn'a think of me once while I was gone, di' ye?" 

Cobhar huffed impatiently and nudged his head against Jamie's chest, nibbling at the buttons, while swishing his dirt-blonde tail side to side.

"A'right, laddie," Jamie chuckled, patting him again. "Here ye go. No need to knock me over." The stallion's soft velvet lips plucked the whole apple from out his opened palm and devoured it in one loud and juicy crunch.

"Fattening auld Cobhar a'ready, Jamie?"

Jamie grinned ear to ear as he looked aside to see his best friend, and now brother-in-law, Ian, amble up beside him. He was tall and whipcord lean and strong, with an honest, good-natured face about him that had captured his sister, Jenny's heart when they were naught but bairns.

"Ye're one to talk, Ian. My sister didn'a get big as a house on her own, di' she?" 

Face a rich blush, Ian laughed and bashfully scratched his nose, crooked from when Jamie broke it years before, having found him and Jenny in the most compromising of ways.

"Still a wee shite, Fraser. And still redder than a roosters arse," said Ian, as he playfully smacked the back of Jamie's head.

As had everyone else in the family since he arrived back home. His uncle's, aunties and brutally by his beloved godfather, Murtagh, for being away from Lallybroch for so long. But the real blackening had come from Jenny, a feat for a pregnant woman who had once been no bigger than his thumb. Thank Christ, he had a skull made of solid stone (though as predicted she had embraced soon after and kissed him more than what was decent for a sister to).

Rubbing the multitude of throbbing black and blue bumps on his head (but after having given Ian a hard punch to his shoulder), Jamie spotted what looked to be an envelope under his brother-in-law's arm.

"Plan on feeling the bills to the white sow, Ian?"

Ian looked at him quizzically before making an "O" with his mouth and pulled the envelope out.

"It came yesterday, before you di'," said Ian, handing it over to Jamie, who curiously flipped it over.

It was a letter actually. He grinned, almost laughing, as it was addressed to James Alexander Malcom Mackenzie Fraser and had been tied thoughtfully with twine and a sprig of greenery embedded (accidentally?) in its bow that he brushed a blunt forefinger to.

It was from Claire.

Jamie glanced up to see Ian smirking at him and felt his ears blush hot.

"Ye're damn lucky I saw that before yer sister di'. She'd be holding it up to the light and steaming the seams open."

"She'd do no such thing," Jamie retorted, with a glint of humor in his eyes. "Yer wife would tear it open wi' her teeth and wave it in my face."

"That she would," Ian agreed with a chest shaking chuckle. "But our lass is a bloodhound and will find out sooner than not about the puir lass that ye've set yer heart upon."

The last was said almost in question. A hope that maybe Jamie had found a way to balm his wearied heart, knowing that his travels were not just a simple bout of wanderlust and the outlandish reason why. He had the look of a man now awakened, as if he'd been reborn. Something Ian himself had experienced the day Janet Fraser gave him his first kiss at the tender age of six and had never recovered from.

Nor had his nose.

Jamie met Ian's hazel eyed gaze.

"Her name's Claire," he beamed, not bothering to hide the emotion in his voice that rivaled the reverence of a prayer to the creator above. "I met her in London a week ago. Spent every second I could wi' her."

And leaving the woman of his dreams had been like having his heart cleaved in two.

"Then you'll have to write to me," Claire had said, beneath her gates woven green with ivy, having clasped her fingers to his, while her other hand held his arm as if to draw him back to her marvelous world.

"Letters, ye mean?" He gulped, having felt himself sway to her power.

She nodded. "I prefer it. I can't stand the ringing and pinging of a telephone. Will you, Jamie?" Her voice had sounded unsure as if it were indeed possible he could ever refuse her. 

"Who do I address it to?" He had smiled, while grazing a tentative thumb to the back of her palm.  "The funny house no one can see at the end of nowhere street?"

"You're a smart one." She pulled her hand away to tap his nose but had let her caress linger innocently, cluelessly, down his ginger stubbled cheek as he shivered with desire, wanting to kiss the base of her thumb, count her freckles with his mouth. "Address it to this empty lot and your letter will find me. Just don't be forever." 

Jamie had pressed his hand over hers, not knowing if he could ever let her go, feeling his breath stitch tight.

"Then until I see ye again, Sassenach."

She glowed at the name he'd given her the day they'd met. Had told him before it suited her better than even her given one.

Jamie hadn't agreed with that at all and wanted to tell her what Claire was in the Ghàidhlig.

One day he would.

Perhaps strung together with the phrase stirring in his heart.

Tha gaol agam ort

But apparently a day had been far too long for her.

"I think she's the one," Jamie continued on, in almost startling disbelief as he grinned like the lovesick fool he was. "The one that's been calling for me all these years." 

"Christ, man! She's real?!" Ian gripped his shoulder, matching his excitement. "Should we be expecting yer Claire for hogmanay with a wee one of yer own?"

Before Jamie could stutter a heart racing answer to that query, the two were interrupted by Jenny hollering for them. 

“D’ye two want yer dinner, or shall I feed it to the dogs!?” 

Said dogs, Luke and Elphin, Mars and auld Bran, howled in answer while Jamie groaned at his sister's impeccable timing.

Ian slapped his back though and gave his dearest friend and bràthair an encouraging smile and waggle of his dark brows. "Read the damn letter, man. I'll take care of yer sister. Just remember when yer wean's born to name him after me, aye?" 

After watching Ian depart with a wink, Jamie threw a long leg over Cobhar's stall door (shushing the nosey beast with a promise of sugar cubes) and settled himself low in the hay. 

After pocketing the bit of green to his breast pocket with a delicate hand, he carefully untied the twine and opened Claire's letter. The sweet fragrance of elderflowers and chamomile kissed the page where a simple request was written that had Jamie hopping over the stall door and running towards Lallybroch, with his pack of dogs yapping at his heels.

My Dear Jamie,

At the end of the week I'll be in Edinburgh.

Join me?

//

"Are ye ever going to tell me what's in this thing, Sassenach?"

Up and down the winding streets of Edinburgh, past the many sloping buildings and cafes and bitty book shops stacked beside one another, Jamie had been carrying a heavy and ornate wooden chest for Claire as she walked ahead of him, looking for the shop to deliver it to.  

She glanced over her shoulder at him and her young apprentice, Elias, beside him, who'd taken quite a shine to the older Scotsman. He too had been tasked with carrying a package. It was strapped to his back, a long leather cylinder that could've held anything from mundane documents to a treasure map. Jamie wasn't sure at all.

"It's not for me to say. Besides it would only worry your dreams." 

"That doesna make me feel any better," Jamie murmured, staring warily at what he held in his arms which amused Claire greatly enough to bite her posey lush lips from laughing.

"Then pretend it's a cake box."

Elias snorted, catching Jamie's attention.

"Ye ken what's in this thing don't ye, mo charaid?" 

"Aye - I mean yes. But -" Elias flicked his round eyes to his mistress's straight back then cupped his hand to his round cheek. "I'll tell you later. It's downright awful and I nearly lost my -" 

"You know I can hear you both? I'm not that old."

"And how old is that?" Jamie asked half teasing, half with genuine curiosity, while Elias pinked, snorting loudly once more.

Claire stopped in her tracks and spun on her heels, cutting a look at the younger lad who quickly cowered behind the much taller man.

"I'm old enough to remember Queen Victoria but not the Bonnie Prince. Is that enough for you?" She replied flatly, crossing her arms.

Jamie went a bit bug-eyed, mentally counting the decades since the little Queen's reign. Then his wide mouth twitched.

"And ye say ye're no' a witch?" 

Claire rolled her eyes and continued walking but a smile had peeked on her lips that encouraged Jamie to tease her more.

"Ye ken," he began, walking beside her now and shifting the weight of the chest as he did so. "There are auld highland tales that say curls wild as yers are the mark of a Ban-druidh, and that the crows favor them to make their nests."

She tugged at her dark locks and watched as they bounced back on release with utter disdain written on her face.

"They're more of a tumbleweed curse if you ask me," she frowned, making Jamie quickly regret his words.

"I didna mean it that way, Sassenach. Truly. Yer curls are lovely. They're like the ripples in a burn when the rain and leaves fall upon it. Luminous as the sky rich in twilight.  And yer eyes, Christ, they're. . ." 

Jamie's voice trailed off when he realized they'd stopped walking and had the wide-eyed attention of both Elias and Claire. 

As well as everyone else on the street alongside them. 

How loudly had he been blabbering?

But then a smile of pure delight broke across Claire's face, reflecting brightly in her eyes, as she tucked an errant curl behind her ear, only for another far more impetuous to take its place.

"How has no one snatched up a charmer like you, Jamie?"

One had. A very oblivious one.

Jamie sheepishly shrugged and found unparalleled interest in the engravings of the wooden box he carried as his face blazed the very color of his beating heart. He looked very much like a schoolboy.

Unnoticed by them though was dear Elias, whose sea-grey eyes darted between them both, grinning sweet as pie.

Walking down another street, Claire finally announced they had arrived, and the men, sore footed and muscle strained, sighed in relief. 

The shop exterior was hard wood and painted coal black while the door was a dark and flaking green. And written in gold on the long framed window beside the door, Jamie read to himself

THE WITHERED BONE 

Potions // Trinkets // Antiques

 & 

The Finest Biscuits This Side of the Black Realm

"Biscuits?" Jamie murmured, knotting his brow. "What kind of shop is this? Like yers, Sassenach?"

"Not necessarily," she said, hand hesitant on the brass doorknob. "For one it's in plain sight. But if you want to call anyone a witch the three who own this place would fit the bill. I think they even have a cauldron."

"They do. I saw it with - uh, nevermind,"  Elias choked at the last, blushing beet red.

Claire arched her brow. "Now Elias -" 

"I know, ma'am," he drawled, fiddling with the strap over his chest. "Stay away from Ms. Annalise and keep to your side."

"And Jamie -"

He looked at her smiling wryly. "Ms. Annalise?"

"Shut up," she said, playfully swatting his arm. "You stay at the front of the shop. There's nothing there that can bite your nose off."

Claire then ushered them both through the door.

Inside, it was a cluttered jumble of anything and everything. An elaborate display of lost treasures from Africa to France and most prominently the Jacobite resistance in all its doomed glory. There was an array of vintage costume jewelry, stacked stop tables against the walls and racks of overflowing clothing a group of young girls were pawing through, where one in particular, all flaxen hair and big doe eyes, was swaying to the melancholy chords of a record that crackled softly in the background.

What makes you think love will end?

When you know that my whole life depends 

On you

It was a tune Jamie remembered his parents dancing to. His mother had been wrapped in his father's arms as he nuzzled her cheek, softly mouthing the words against her skin. The young girl hummed it too as she gazed dreamily at a dress in her hands.

Overhead hung a simple iron chandelier that seemed to have been ripped straight from a castle's dungeon, dripping hot candle wax to a metal bowl placed on the hardwood floors. One burning drop fell down Jamie's neck as he walked beneath them, that had him cursing underbreath as he scrunched his shoulders and knocked his knee into a table, rattling the knickknacks.

"Ye break it ye buy it, laddie," came a voice from the front of the shop. "I'll take cash and the blood of yer first born."

"Oh, Geilie," said Claire and crossed over to the counter, leaning over the glass display of dirks and sgian dhu (with a cookie jar atop) to kiss a rather wicked to the bone looking redhead's cheek. "You are terrible." 

"It wasn'a as if I lied," Geilie snickered, turning her attention first to young Elias who flinched under her unnerving gaze then to Jamie, blatantly raking over his physique before Claire stepped into her view.

"Who's the clumsy stag ye've brought wi' ye, Claire?"

"A friend who I very much like as he is. No twitching your nose or feeding him your biscuits." She then mumbled to Jamie at her shoulder. "Hansel and Gretel, remember?" 

"Ye're never any fun," she pouted, then pointed her chin. "Have ye a name, stag?" 

"Jamie," he replied simply, not at all trusting the unsettling woman before him with more than that.

"Weel then, Jamie, ye can leave that in the corner there and you," she looked at Elias with a devilish grin as she propped her chin on her hand and drummed her fingers to her cheek. "Louise will be waiting downstairs fer ye, Annalise too. But ye kent that aye?"

While the young lad experienced a sudden shortness of breath, Jamie set the delivery down and rather dumbly asked, "What's downstairs?" 

Geilie's eyes shimmered like the feral beast whose blood she probably bathed in, chilling Jamie down to his bones.

"Why? Are ye needin' an ill-wish like the wee lasses over there." She gestured over to the girls taking their leave. "Mebbe something far more entertaining and lethal like a summoning? Those require a blood sacrifice, ken. Nothing so tender as yer sweet lass here wi' her trade of bits and bobs.

She wasn't kidding. 

Jamie glanced at the doorway that led downstairs, carved with cabbalistic symbols. A faint whiff of bitter herbs wafted through a pigeon blood red curtain that shadowed it, mingling with a coppery tang he could taste on his tongue, tainting the air. It churned his wame with sick.

"Or are ye wantin' - Oh!" She quickly shot a strange and startled look over to Claire.

"Leave him be, Geilie," Claire chided, unaware of the questions in her sometimes friend's eyes as she threw all her attention on Jamie.

"We'll only be a minute," she assured him with a hand running down his arm, sending a shock of steadying warmth through him that he knew came from someplace bewitching within her. "And don't worry about Geilie, she won't touch a hair on your head when she knows I can shrivel hers like a prune."

Jamie smiled at his own Ban-druidh. Must've whispered it too, to deserve the pinch she gave him before leaving  with Elias downstairs to the witch's grisly lair.

"I ken what yer after, mo bhalaich," came Geilie's voice, softly speaking to him as if he were a friend. "I can see it festering in ye like hemlock, yer love fer the Sassenach."

Jamie nervously glanced over to the doorway. "I dinna ken what yer on about, woman." 

"Dinna bother hidin' it, no' like she can see it anyhow. She hasn't the heart fer it, ye see. Hers was taken by her old master, the wee frog, who lived in that house of hers before she di'. She hasn'a a clue where it is, doesn'a even ken it's missin', and wi'out it she canna love ye back."

"Why - Why should I believe you?"  Jamie asked haltingly, for his throat was being strangled by his heart, ripped from beneath his ribs.

"Why would I lie, ye puir wee fool? Save yerself, getaway, or that love ye carry will swallow ye whole, heart and soul and breath."

Only when she touched the tender spot on his chest did Jamie realize he was bent over the counter a hair's breadth away from the witch, close enough to see the harsh and earnest truth pooling in her eyes.

 Then she pushed him away. 

"All done," said Claire, coming through the curtain, and cast her gaze between the two in front of her.

"What have you two been doing?" She waved a finger at them both.

"Oh, a little talking is all. Nothing more," grinned Geilie, face a mask of perfect innocence.  

Claire hummed, believing otherwise and tried to make light of whatever she saw troubling Jamie's face. "You should know whatever Geilie told you, it's probably only half as bad or twice as worst,"  

"Och, I'm sure of it, Sassenach. Shall we go?" Jamie said hurriedly, not meeting her eye. Trying to forget what the witch had said. 

She slowly nodded, her face lined with concern, but tucked her slender arm through his and gave Geilie a half-hearted goodbye. Immediately,  Jamie felt the blood in his veins flow to his heart now beating in its proper place and air return to his lungs. 

But somewhere deep inside himself, Jamie could feel the beginnings of a rotting ache bloom and take root. He was already too far gone.

"You didn't eat the biscuits did you." 

He managed a weak chuckle and swallowed. "No lass." But then he swiveled his head. "Where's the wee lad?" 

In five seconds flat, Claire had Elias by his arm like a child, his face a burning fever red and eyes bowed to the ground with Ms. Annalise leaning at the doorway, a beguiling smile on her face.

No time is wasted that makes  two people friends

//

THANK YOU to everyone who reads and comments on this fic. You have no idea how much I appreciate it!!

!!MERRY CHRISTMAS!!

Now Author Notes

*First off sorry for all the messy mistakes and eye gouging writing

*Thanks to @soinspiredbyyou/ @mo-nighean-rouge for help with the line tweaking "Perhaps strung together with the phrase stirring in his heart." Although hers was actually better "Perhaps preceded by a phrase stirring in his heart" but preceded sounded too smart and too good for my dummy words.

*The descriptions of Cobhar are from the book cause I don't know anything about horses.

*The song is Never My Love

*I may come back and fiddle with this chapter but I really wanted to get this done before Christmas.

*Next chapter will be the last

[charm-in-spades]

Nightingale- how does your muse show love, platonic or romantic? What is their love language?

Answered this here for Ric so I’ll provide an answer with an alt! 

From asks ♠ here ♠

POV: The Outlaw - Roman L. Wyld

“Love is flexible, so I try t’be too, I guess. Nature’ve th’relationship dictates what kinda love I give, I reckon.” 

Out of Ammo (OOC): 

Platonic Relationships: ‘Lawrence’ is quick to make friends and enjoys being friendly with people in general despite the fact that he keeps to himself. That’s more a case of ‘Some cowboys have too much tumbleweed in their blood to settle down’. He’s not someone that likes to stick in one place too long. He’s kind of always on the move, and so the people he’ll break him out of that pattern for end up being few and far.  If a friend needs help, he’s there. He’s always willing to offer distractions! Especially if he knows it’s needed. Whiskey and some gambling? Pantsing some Brass Blades? He’ll do crimes with his friends and is always up for something shady. He enjoys conversing with his friends, and taking to cool places he thinks they might like. If he’s really trying to befriend someone, they might notice that he takes interest in what they do. Asks a lot of questions, sticks around longer, or invites them along to some kind of adventure he’s on. He’ll find excuses to pop up on occasion too. While he’s very handy on his own, if his friends have some kind of skill he can support then he’ll bug them. Maybe some saddle repair that’s not all that pertinent, or a refill of potions even if he’s only used like one from the set. Small things like that. 

Note: Because I don’t want this to get long, romantic is below the cut. Also I got a saucy gif on it. 

Romantic Relationships: In my head, he loves deeply. The thing is that up until recently he hasn’t had anyone to fall in that kind of love with. He’s had I think two in-character relationships but he’s never actually said the words ‘I love you’. There’s been people he’s deeply fond of, and people he thought might have loved but as of right now he’s discovering what being ‘In-Love’ actually is. So, he’s going all in. He’s willing to risk it all just to see where things go. At the current, he’s got a partner he likes being close to, and likes having around. They thrill each other, and he’s excited about their future as they’ve pretty much been adventure bound since meeting. She’s welcome in his space, and he’s started to make small changes to accommodate what she likes within it. Things that make her feel comfortable and welcome.  That’s a new experience, as personal space is very important to him! Which basically means he values this person as much as his own comfort. He can be a little handsy. He’s the type to hug from behind, kiss the neck and rest his head on the shoulder. He gazes longingly, draws beautiful sketches of people he’s fond of. He showers them in compliments that border poetry. He pays attention. He gives up his hat. He’s very affectionate, and pines real fucking hard. Admitting he’s ‘in love’ isn’t necessarily a problem, but he hates rejection and has had occasions where he was shot down pretty hard. Not necessarily with people he’s loved, but definitely people he was crushing on. Also, you can tell pretty hard when he’s crushing. He’ll do a lot of the above, to a lesser but noticeable degree. Minus the hat, and the home. He’s only shown two people his place ICly, and only one of them he’s asked to stay. The other he just wanted them to know they were welcome. It’s a big sign of trust and respect, overall. 

Thank you, thank you! @thefreelanceangel

[ladyinbooks]

Ficlet Fridays!

In a bid to make sure I keep writing regularly, I’ve challenged myself to doing ficlet Fridays. So, small little ficlets here on the tumbleweed tumblr every Friday, of any of my current WIPs (or the IB ‘verse).

If anyone would like to throw a prompt into the writing ring, please do feel free!

Today we have some more of poor Severne Pallas, and his (brief) continuing adventures with the royal disaster duo:

Funeral Games

Pairings: Samiel/Jason (hints of Samiel/Pallas/Jason)

Notes: A quick little ficlet, dealing with the Great Kidnap Plan. No major warnings beyond AU!Samiel and Jay (and thank you to Sukka, for making me think about the Samiel/Pallas/Jay dynamic).

It has been three days since the Agapios put his plan into action.

Most of those three days, Pallas has spent pacing in a cell. Beneath him, he can feel the hum of the ship's engine; it's a sensation he still can't get used to. He's spent most of his life with his feet planted firmly on the ground, only travelling when he needed to, and never for this length of time.

“You do get used to it,” the Agapios says, when Pallas tells him.

He's sitting on the only bunk in the room, one leg propped up as he watches Pallas going slowly insane. His presence, Pallas can admit, is a comfort.

It is also a worry.

Right now, Pallas knows, Most Exalted is on his way to them. That's the whole purpose of this exercise. What he is less sure of, is how forgiving his King will be, when Pallas has had to let his husband be kidnapped.

Samiel Callios has killed for less.

“Stop worrying,” the Agapios says, as though he can read Pallas' mind. When Pallas glances at him, startled, he gives a little shrug. “I can hear your thoughts spiralling from here.”

“How do we know this will work?” Pallas blurts out, then winces. He hadn't meant to be so indiscreet. “I mean – ”

The Agapios slides off the bunk, crossing the room in two easy strides. He gets a hand on Pallas's shoulder and gives him a little shake. “Calm down,” he says. “Deep breaths. This is hardly the first time I've been held by a hostile force.”

“Well it's the first time I've had to guard you when you have!” Pallas snaps, then immediately regrets it.

The Agapios' lips twitch once, as though he is suppressing a smile. “You're doing very well.” The grip on Pallas's shoulder tightens reassuringly.

From this close, they are almost eye to eye. Pallas is a little surprised to realise he may even be slightly shorter than Jason Lane. He blinks, then blinks again. The Agapios' eyes are calm; thoughtful. It's like staring into the mist on the foothills outside Maa-Tarek.

For a moment Pallas's heart thumps once, painfully, in his chest.

“Agapios, I – ”

The ship lurches suddenly, an alarm screeching to life in the corridor outside their cell. It is ear-shattering, wailing above the sound of running feet and sharp, concerned voices.

Pallas staggers, and only the Agapios' grip keeps him upright. “What's going on?”

“I believe,” the Agapios says dryly, “my husband has just arrived.”

******************************************************************************************

After, Pallas only remembers their escape in fragments.

He remembers running; remembers too the shouts of startled Drakkia as they encountered the small group of Lenians who had boarded their ship. He thinks he saw Lysander Kyrios, snarling and furious, holding off four soldiers.

There was Most Exalted, blade in hand, carving through Drakkia like they were an afterthought; a nuisance.

Someone put a salzon in Pallas’s hand, and he remembers wanting to do some damage. Three days of frustration and worry boiling under his skin, and he refused to hold back.

The Agapios was the opposite of most of the chaos - calm and precise. Someone had given him a pistol, and he had been picking off Drakkia with disturbing ease. Pallas remembers the way he'd looked – flame-haired and sturdy; a pillar they had rallied around.

After, there are only a few Drakkia left, Kyrios among them. They are being rounded up under the watchful eye of Severne Kleos.

Pallas watches the whole thing, propped up in one corner. Now the adrenaline is wearing off, the stress is catching up with him and he's starting to tire.

“You're alright,” Most Exalted is saying. He has his Agapios by the nape of the neck, their foreheads pressed together as he breathes deeply. “You're really – ”

“I'm perfectly fine,” the Agapios says. “It went exactly as planned. Better, in fact. They were more interested in – ” He's cut off by a kiss, hard and desperate.

For a heartbeat, Pallas can't help but watch the way Most Exalted pulls his Agapios closer; the way the Agapios buries strong fingers in his King's hair, fiercely reassuring. They are dangerous; beautiful.

The scene is intimately shocking, even after so long exposed to the pair of them. It makes Pallas's mouth a little dry; makes his heart beat faster.

He turns his head away.

“Besides,” he hears the Agapios say. “I had Pallas with me.”

And no. No. Pallas does not want to draw the attention of his King right now. He's too tired to answer questions; too strung out to want to deal with that kind of intensity.

He closes his eyes, and hopes he escapes notice.

Footsteps approaching tell him he's not going to be so lucky. He heaves a quiet sigh and waits for the inevitable axe to fall.

“Severne Pallas,” Most Exalted says softly.

When Pallas opens his eyes, Most Exalted is standing in front of him. He's close enough that if Pallas reached out a hand, he could press his palm to his King's chest; could feel his heart beat through his tunic.

Samiel Callios is terrifying and beautiful, and honestly Pallas wishes he would go away right now.

“Most Exalted,” he says instead, drawing himself up and trying to look at least partially confident. He's lost his visor somewhere, and as Most Exalted studies his face, he longs for it with an intensity that he doesn't think he's ever felt before.

“You were imprisoned with Jason.” Most Exalted is watching him. His expression is thoughtful; the faintest of frowns drawing a line between his eyes.

This is it, Pallas thinks. This is the moment he condemns me for not doing enough. He lowers his gaze, ducking his head so he doesn't have to see the disappointment on his King's face.

The cool touch of fingers under his chin makes him flinch, surprised. Pressure makes him tilt his head back up, until he is eye to eye with Most Exalted.

For a moment, something flickers in his King's expression – there and gone so fast, Pallas isn't sure what he's seen.

“Thank you,” Most Exalted says. “I knew we could trust you.” He presses his lips, warm and dry, to the corner of Pallas's mouth.

It is –

It –

It's unheard of, Pallas thinks dizzily. It is absolutely unheard of for the royal couple to show favour in any way, let alone this. It marks him, in the eyes of his fellow Severne, as a higher rank; the King's most intimate bodyguard.

He doesn't deserve this. He doesn't –

Bewildered, he meets the Agapios' gaze over Most Exalted's shoulder.

Lane does not look surprised. He does not look disturbed, or annoyed, or any other emotion Pallas may have been expecting. Rather, there is outright approval on his face as he watches the pair of them.

Pallas sees him approach, and barely flinches when Most Exalted steps back. “I don't – ” he begins, bewildered.

The Agapios touches his cheek briefly; a gentle brush of the thumb that catches on the line of Pallas's jaw.  “Severne Aristeos,” he says quietly. “You have our gratitude.”

The King leans into his beloved, lips pressed close to his ear. He mutters something that Pallas doesn't quite catch. The Agapios' mouth twitches in amusement; his eyes lighting up as he listens to his husband.

“Perhaps another time,” he says, loud enough for Pallas to hear. He takes the King's arm. “At the moment we have work to do.”

“Don't we always?” the King complains, as he lets himself be steered away. “There's always something more with you, mio ades.”

“Well,” the Agapios says, amused. “You know what they say.” He shoots a wink over his shoulder at Pallas. “No rest for the wicked.”

They walk off bickering comfortably, leaving Pallas standing there with his heart pounding, his mouth hanging open.

He's ended up with royal favour. Public royal favour. He doesn't know how this has happened. He's not –

He doesn't –

“Oh gods,” he says softly to no one in particular. “What have I let myself in for?”

[tiredcowpoke]

TITLE: Blank Spots [12] 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, light angst? NOTE: Here’s the twelfth chapter of this. I hope the pacing is alright near the end, I struggled a bit but hopefully it’s good! TAG LIST: @on-my-way-to-erebor / @otherthingstoreid @ireallyhonestlydontcare @elanisha @darlingsdevil @cirillamylove @bunnyreese12 @rollyjogerjones @callmemythicalminx @r4reland

“Well, turns out I was right. We got more places to visit.” 

He hadn’t been gone more than a minute after you had watched him lower himself down onto the ledge, disappearing around the side of it to go find whatever was hidden on the side of it. You still felt shaky on your feet, hands shaking a bit but you were glad that Arthur brought with him a quick distraction. Arthur pulled himself back into the surface of the cliff, holding a worn piece of paper with some jewelry wrapped around his fingers. Letting curiosity try to drown out the tight feeling in your chest, you stepped closer to him as he opened up the map. 

Looking upon the drawing there, the location didn’t stick out to you at all. It appeared to be pointing toward three structures, some sort of water source in the middle. It didn’t appear to be on top of a cliff again, thankfully. 

“I know this place, too,” Arthur remarked after a moment, looking at the drawing again before nodding his head, “Ain’t too far, but it’s still a trek. Probably would have to make a day of it.” 

“How much of this have you explored?” you asked, some amusement sitting in your tone despite that. You knew Arthur was gone from camp a lot, you just assumed it was mostly on jobs for the gang. 

Though, you supposed doing things like this was still working for the gang, considering at least your earnings from this would be going back into their pockets. 

“Not too much,” he replied, shrugging, “Still haven’t been able to see what I make of the new camp.” 

“Still better than me,” you said, stepping back as Arthur tucked the map into his satchel. 

“You wanna go find this second piece?” he asked, causing you to shrug. Noncommittal in nature, but really you were more than willing to keep away from camp for a bit. 

“Sure, it’s not like I have anything pressing to do back there as of yet. Though, if you need to turn back around then I’ll follow. You’re the one with the direction out here anyway, it seems.” 

“I can afford a day for this, I guess,” Arthur replied, shifting to walk back toward the edge you both had climbed up from, “Ain’t got anythin’ pressin’ either. Though, I imagine Dutch’ll find somethin’ soon enough.”

“You still got to get that Micah back to camp?” you asked, causing him to cast you a curious glance. In the moment, you couldn’t help but wonder how much he remembered sharing a couple nights ago after he had leaned into the bottle a bit. 

“Been tryin’ to ignore that for as long as I’m able, but yeah…” he replied around a small sigh, pausing to slip off a small drop. He stopped in walking for a moment, watching as you did the same with a small grunt. Really, you were relieved to be on even ground again, trying to shake off the lingering effects of that memory. 

You accepted that answer from him, deciding not to pry too much into that situation as Arthur pulled himself back up onto his horse. Getting onto your own, you followed after him as you tried to let that odd moment from before slip from your focus. You weren’t too sure if that was confirmation that you had fallen or if that was your anxiety about what happened showing itself again. What about that gunshot, though? You were pretty sure that was in your head. Though, you didn’t have the time to wander down that path or shove it from your mind, it seemed. 

“You okay from what happened up there?” Arthur asked after a few minutes of relatively silent riding, causing you to bite the side of your cheek as you glanced off toward the passing trees for a moment. 

“I just made the mistake of looking down, got scared.” 

“Seemed a little more than just that,” he continued, glancing back toward you over his shoulder somewhat, “Looked like for a moment there you was workin’ up to punch me.” 

Ah, shit. Right. Really, that whole thing felt like you weren’t in control, just acting on the first instinct that crossed your mind. You just felt the hand around your arm and turned around without much thought. 

“...I’m sorry,” you said around a sigh, “I wasn’t really thinking. I remembered myself falling and I just reacted. I was panicking, I guess.” 

“I understand,” Arthur said, waving a hand slightly, “That been happenin’ a lot?”

“Not really, no,” you said, shrugging, “Most of the time things just seem familiar, they usually don’t happen like that. Must have just been the height.” 

You saw Arthur nod his head lightly, seeming to accept the situation at that. Really, you were kind of relieved that he was leaving it be, and really you wanted to move on from it. That embarrassment still burned somewhat in your gut, much as you knew that it shouldn’t. You were just tired of feeling scared and confused about everything, the newness of the situation had been stepping off somewhat. 

Really, with knowing that your remaining family wouldn’t be accepting you back into their lives after that whole debiting business, you figured you would have to step into this life. Again. Though, with the state your memories were in, it might as well have been your first year with them all. Yet, you couldn’t do that and you knew it. Not with what you agreed to do in regards to your relationship with Arthur and memories and feelings that did filter in from somewhere you couldn’t put your finger on most of the time. 

It was what it was. 

You continued on at a steady pace up toward the mountains, the Grizzlies as Arthur had pointed out, heading up toward these springs that he was sure the map was depicting. Considering your unfamiliarity, you would have to take his word for it. Though, you were starting to become more aware as to why Arthur had been quick to point out getting your own horse, considering the work horse you had rode around on for the last while really wasn’t quite fit for the journey. Some guilt sat in your gut over that, making sure to slow down some and not push him too hard unless you had to for the time being. 

By the time you arrived at the springs, the sun was getting a little lower in the sky. It was still warm enough to suggest that it was early evening, but nightfall would be quick to follow. Still, upon riding up into the area, the stone structures on the map were not all that hard to find. Deciding to give your horse a couple moments, you slipped off your horse for a moment to take in the area. 

Much as you wouldn’t be in a hurry to call yourself an adventurer, you couldn’t help but admire the beauty of the scenery. The mountains, the trees. The springs were warm, the water a sharp blue and green as you could feel the warmth coming off the water once you got close enough.

“All I can remember from growing up was the desert. Everything’s a lot more...bright out here,” you commented, almost as an aside to yourself. However, you heard Arthur walk up beside you after presumably getting off his own horse. 

“Yeah…” he muttered in return, causing you to glance toward him a moment. After that hung in the air by itself for a few moments, you assumed he wasn’t going to say much else on that until you heard him continue, a touch of longing in his voice. 

“Really do miss bein’ out west, though. Open country, the heat. Felt...closer to the sky. Less people, less rules…” Arthur let out a small exhale, something close to a bitter chuckle if you could even call it that. “Though, maybe that ain’t all like I’m rememberin’ it.” 

“That sounds a lot nicer than what I remember of it,” you replied, tilting your head as you studied the water in the spring a couple steps off from you. “I remember the relentless heat unless it was raining, dust and sand that would get everywhere. My dad used to complain about it all the time. Though, maybe Tumbleweed isn’t the best example.” 

“It really aint,” he said around a short chuckle, “Would like to get back out there again, but with how far south Dutch has us headed, I ain’t so sure if that’s what I can expect no more.” 

“Maybe he’s just biding his time,” you said with a soft shrug, not too sure what his intentions were yourself. You weren’t in that circle, much as Arthur was. Though, considering his uncertainty, maybe Dutch wasn’t sharing everything with him anyway. 

“Sure.” 

You shifted back, turning to glance over at the rocks you had rode all the way up there for. A good couple hours on horseback, you had some hope that there would be more than just another map and some jewelry. Catching the shift in your attention, Arthur turned around before rummaging around in his satchel for the map again. You moved closer to look at the drawing again, taking a moment to place everything together with the area around you. With a couple of steps backwards, you looked over the rocks for a moment before pointing toward one near the back. 

“Looks like it’s that one.”

“If you’re so sure,” Arthur said, gesturing his head toward it somewhat, “You can do it this time.” 

You gave a soft chuckle and smile at his comment, though you were somewhat grateful at doing something other than just making commentary this whole trip. Much as you had been trying to stop kicking yourself about that cliff, there was that frustration there. So, you walked toward the rock structure in question, moving about it curiously for a moment before you seemed to find an opening. Bending down and sticking your hand in the hole, sure enough you found another map and some bills. 

It wasn’t much--another tease to keep you on the trail. Still, with the jewelry and the money, it would be a good start to getting that debt off your shoulders. At least, once you split it between the two of you. It was only fair. 

“...Think I might know this place, too, but might be a bit too much for this trip,” Arthur muttered, “Looks like it might be near that place Hosea and I tried huntin’ that bear.” 

“Bear?”

“You ain’t heard ‘bout that?” Arthur asked, some amusement in his tone, “Took me out there back at Horseshoe, talkin’ ‘bout some legendary bear. Huge feller. He weren’t wrong, but we didn’t hunt much of anythin’ that trip. Seemed it got the better of him, never seen the old man cower so quick when it came chargin’ at us.”

“Poor Hosea.” 

“Poor me,” Arthur returned around a chuckle, “I were the one havin’ to shoot at the beast for it to take off while he was hidin’ behind some rock. Though, figure I should be the one tellin’ you ‘bout all that before he starts addin’ some twist to that whole thing over a campfire one night.” 

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind so he doesn’t take your glory,” you said around a small chuckle in return. “You think we’ll make it back to camp today?”

“If you’re up to travellin’ through all this in the dark,” Arthur said, turning to glance toward the sky for a moment, “Figure we could set up camp tonight, make it back by afternoon if we leave in the mornin’.” 

“That would probably be easier,” you said with a small shrug. Honestly, the trip was starting to wear on you a bit, in a good way. Much as there was that one hitch earlier. 

“Guess if I get on it right away, I can probably hunt us somethin’ for the night,” Arthur said, accepting that as he turned back toward his horse. 

“I’ll find a spot and get a fire going,” you said, earning a short nod as he removed his bow and you wandered off toward your horse. 

                                                          ***

Nightfall was a lot closer behind than you had been expecting, managing to set up a fire just as the last rays of day started to disappear behind the trees. The air cooled as you managed to build the flames up enough to last for some time, allowing you time to get your horse settled and place your bedroll by the fire. With Arthur gone momentarily, it allowed you to lay back against it, face upturned to the sky. 

You had to admit to some relief at the knowledge that the day was ending, but it was a mixed feeling all the same. Going back to camp, despite it being as safe as it could be, left a strange pit in your stomach. You felt almost lighter out where you were, a set goal in mind that wasn’t washing shirts and refilling basins. Perhaps you needed that while you healed, but…

Hell, you didn’t quite know what else you could do. 

There was also that bit of a memory from earlier that was weighing on you, a part of you wanting to pick it apart. You knew you had done so pretty deeply with the one that resurfaced during Sean’s party, turned it this way and that in your head while trying to figure out if your mind was playing tricks. It had given you enough to know that it was truthful, that it didn’t feel as empty or made up as any other thought you had in trying to continue it. (Which did feel strange sometimes, imaging kissing him and the wandering thoughts on if it would feel different now. A thought that pulled some embarrassment out of you and had been something you pushed out of your head quickly enough.)

You could do the same with the one on the mountain, but...you were scared. You had to admit that to yourself. 

Though, the fact that you were and how overpowering it was seemed to say a lot on its own. 

You let out a small sigh, rubbing your hands over your eyes for a moment before looking back up at the sky. It was darker out, now, and you could make out a few stars. Though, you found your head lifting at the sound of a horse approaching from behind, causing you to sit up. However, you relaxed as you recognized Arthur as he hitched his horse next to yours. 

“Got a rabbit,” he said, pulling said animal from the side of his saddle, “Ain’t much but it’s enough. Should get somethin’ bigger for Pearson on the way back tomorrow, though.” 

“Rabbit sounds fine,” you replied, leaning back again somewhat as Arthur set about preparing the rabbit he had hunted. 

You watched him while he did so, the evening darkness playing with the light from the fire against his face. Arthur usually looked somewhat tired, and you didn’t need to know him for too long to know that he ran himself ragged for the gang. He was sharp edges and rough, he had a bad side to him and you knew that. Even if you hadn’t experienced that first hand, with Arthur’s own words about it and Dutch’s reliance on him as a strong arm, it wasn’t hard to piece together. Though, you figured it was only a matter of time before you witnessed that. 

There was also this other side to him. The patience and openness he showed you about this whole thing, the protectiveness of the people in camp--much as he had his own gripes with a few of them. That loyalty, even with the threat of death, as you saw at the river with those agents a while ago. There was also the man before you now, more relaxed than you had seen him be yet, even with the concentration he was showing in cooking that rabbit. 

Was this what you saw in him before? 

You had no idea. You had no idea what you were like now in comparison to how you were, having to rely on other people’s word for now on that. You could remember that conversation up in the snow. 

‘...I’ve seen you do more than just threaten with that gun…’

“You keep starin’ holes in the side of my head and I’m goin’ to think there’s somethin’ wrong.” 

You blinked, catching Arthur’s gaze out of the corner of his eye before you let out a somewhat awkward chuckle, bowing your head somewhat to study the toes of your boots. 

“It’s nothing, I’m just thinking. Sorry.” 

“Hell of a thought you must be havin’ if my ugly mug ain’t pullin’ you out.” 

“You’re not ugly,” you remarked so easily that it almost surprised you, “and it’s really nothing.” 

Arthur let out a small grunt, something that you weren’t sure on if it was him accepting that or dismissing it. Considering how quick he had been to put himself down, it might have been the latter. Still, you were somewhat grateful that he let the conversation go, offering you the rabbit once it had cooled from over the fire before setting out roasting his own. 

It was plain and unseasoned, but with how little you had ate that day, it was more than enough. 

“Did we used to do stuff like this?” you asked once you had finished eating, some curiosity getting the better of you. 

“Treasure huntin’? No. Could never find the maps. Though...you was a bit of a wanderer, used to be in and out of camp quite a bit. I’m surprised you lasted this long before askin’ to get out.” 

“Well, I guess that explains a bit,” you said around a small chuckle, “I’m kind of dreading going back to camp.” 

Arthur let out a chuckle, one that seemed warm, less sarcastic or humorless like you had heard before. Though, there was a touch of bitterness. 

“Way things are, I don’t blame you.” 

You let out a small chuckle, taking in a breath to say something more but a loud rumble overhead pulled you from that thought. Arthur shifted, glancing toward the sky off to your left before letting out a quiet curse and rising to his feet. 

“I have no idea where that came from,” you muttered, just able to make out the clouds in the gathering darkness. 

“Well, guess I’m usin’ the tent after all,” Arthur said, moving back toward his horse, “Unless you want to take your chances catchin’ your death by sleepin’ in the rain out here.” 

“No...No, I think I like that better,” you muttered. Already almost froze to death once before. 

The tent didn’t take too long to set up, more thunder rumbling overhead as Arthur did so. So much for falling asleep under the stars to a calm night, though you hoped the rain wouldn’t be too much if it did fall. You gathered up your bedroll from the ground once it was set up, Arthur putting his own in first. The tent was small, but enough to fit the both of you for the night without getting soaked by the rain. 

You crawled in first, laying yourself down somewhat as Arthur sat himself down near the opening in the tent. You watched for a few moments as he pulled out that familiar book you saw him writing in from time to time. Not wanting to seem intrusive, you shifted to lay down on your side facing him, focusing on the sounds of the woods around you and the rumbling thunder. You were trying to ignore the bit of a chill that was creeping in and the smell of wet earth. 

Though, Arthur’s small sigh pulled your attention toward him, glancing over as he spoke. 

“Couple nights ago, when I was drinkin’...” he started, “I...I’m sorry I said that. Weren’t right.” 

“I...I mean, that was rough to hear. I can’t lie about that. Though, I forgive you. Not much to forgive, I wasn’t holding that against you.” 

“Still shouldn’t have said anythin’. It was the whiskey, I always end up sayin’ nonsense.” 

Speaking of not saying anything, you could feel the question bubbling up. A part of you knew you shouldn’t have said anything and yet…

“...So you don’t miss me? That was the whiskey?” 

Arthur paused, glancing toward you to meet your gaze for a moment before glancing back down at his journal. “‘Course I do. Might not make sense, you’re right here, but…” 

“No, that makes sense,” you returned around a small sigh. 

“My feelin’s don’t matter in this situation anyway, so--” 

“No, they do,” you interrupted, sitting up as you tried to piece your words together. “You...you might seem like a stranger to me in some aspects, though maybe not so much as before. Yet, I know that’s not the same for you. We’re not two strangers. It...It hurt to hear, but I do want to know things like that. I have no idea where you’re at half the time. Half the time I’m wondering when you’ll give up the chase.” 

You hadn’t expected the words to come out, a part of you immediately wanting to shut your last sentence back behind your teeth. 

“Give up the chase?” 

“...Here I go, saying things I’m regretting…” you muttered, pressing the heels of your palms against your eyes as you let out a heavy sigh through your nose before dropping them to speak, “I feel so complicated when it comes to you. I...feel something. I don’t know what it is. I don’t want to act on it because of that. That’s why I pushed you away, much as I remember us kissing once.” 

“I wouldn’t push you into anythin’, that’s why I’m apologizin’ for that whole mess. I weren’t thinkin’ straight.” 

“I know you won’t,” you replied with a nod, “I just...I know some people would have left and I...if it happened earlier, I probably wouldn’t have felt much. Yet, with what you told me about Mary, I just…” 

“You want me to leave?”

“...No,” you replied, glancing up to meet his gaze as you swallowed thickly, “There’s that something, now. I just...I know it’s hard. You don’t need to apologize for that.” 

“You feel somethin’ for me?”

Shit, was this even coming out right? It was true. It was the only way you could explain why you were still there. Why you felt so conflicted about leaving when you had the chance, perhaps. Why it hurt to think of him leaving you for that ex-fiancee of his. Yet, you knew it wasn’t something you were ready to act on in any way. 

You found yourself nodding anyway. For a few moments, you were nervous on what you should do or say next. However, there was a weight lifted, like you figured out an answer to a question you weren’t sure you wanted to ask yet. 

That feeling only continued when Arthur just nodded his head, glancing down toward the closed journal in his lap. 

“...Kinda relieved to know that,” he said after a moment, letting out a small huff as he glanced toward you, “What I told you about what happened with Mary, I still mean what I said. I’m tryin’ if you’re tryin’, as complicated as the whole thing with Mary is. This too, I suppose.” 

“...Okay,” you said around a sigh, nodding your head, “I wish I could be more sure, but…” 

“I understand,” Arthur said around a small chuckle. 

That put a small smile to your face, causing you to nod again before you shifted back to lay down again. You could still hear the thunder, the rustling of wind through the trees. Though, the light scratching of pencil against paper also added to the space, eventually lulling you into a sleep as the first drops of rain started to hit the ground. 

[the-awkward-outlaw]

Red Dead Cupid: Friends in Arms

Hello @katerix I’m your Red Dead cupid! I chose your request for Landon Ricketts x f!Reader being best friends, passing time\chilling together, when not busy maintaining an order around. I hope you like it! @rdr-secret-cupid​

I also chose a bit of a different writing POV, just trying something a little different. 

I lean back in my chair, the heat washing over me. It isn’t really much of a bother anymore, I’m long used to the unforgiving sun. It’s a requirement when you live down in Mexico. I take one last drag from my cigarette and then throw it down, pressing it out with my boot. On my left is the small table with my shot glass of whiskey, the chair on the other side empty but expectant for its usual occupant. 

After a moment of watching a hawk lazily circle on the air currents, the chair creaks. I look over and see my most trusted companion and lifelong friend. Landon Ricketts. Yeah, I know what you’re thinking, and yes it is the famed Landon Ricketts, the fastest draw in the West and famed gunslinger. 

He sighs heavily and drinks his shot of whiskey, grimacing at the burn. He looks worn out, but he always looks that way. After all, he hasn’t had a quiet life until recently, if you can really call his life now quiet. I do though, but that may be because I was with him a decent amount of the time he was living wild in the deserts of America. 

“Them Gutierrez boys giving you trouble again?” I ask as he leans back, pulling out a cigarette. 

“When aren’t they?” he says in his gruff voice. 

“I’m surprised you’ve been as patient with them as you have been,” I comment. 

“I’m tired of those days, y/n. And I’ve told you, I wanna give that nonsense up, try for something different. But, guess even in a different country, I can’t escape my past.” 

I sigh, knowing what he means. As a teenager, Landon found me as a wild orphan, threatening anyone and challenging absolutely everyone to a gunfight. It was a dark time for me. I’d lost my family and through the anger that rose from my grief, I tried taking it out on everyone around me. Landon came through town, and how could I not challenge him? The most famous gunslinger. 

I still remember the way he looked at me when I threatened him. He just laughed and turned his back to me, so I shot him. Or tried to. I was a real bad shot and my bullet whizzed right past him. But he turned back to me. Guess I made some kind of impression on him, because after that, he took me in. Taught me how to shoot and fight. 

We ran together for a few years after that, became just as close as two gunslingers could. It wasn’t unusual for people back then to confuse him as my father, which sometimes we played along with if we were robbing someone. But the truth was it bothered me. Landon was never a father figure to me, but he was my friend. He was the only person who recognized my anger in my youth as a plea for help. I trusted him more than anyone. 

In my late twenties, I ended up drifting off from Landon. Not on purpose, but he was always on the move. He had to be with his notoriety. At one point, I didn’t see him for so long I just sort of made my own way and fell into a gang of outlaws. Having a dirty history myself, I fit right in. The leader, Dutch, was a good man at first, but he ended up going crazy when the gang fell apart through a series of tragedies. By that point though, I’d already fallen in love and married his right hand man Arthur Morgan. 

I loved Arthur, more than anything. He was one of the few members in that gang who knew my past with Landon, but he kept my secret. I didn’t tell anyone about Landon because I didn’t always appreciate his fame. Whenever anyone found out I ran with him, they’d bombard me with questions about him. It was always about him. Arthur understood, and he didn’t talk or ask about him much.

But then, Arthur died in 1899 of tuberculosis. His death crushed me. Dutch was so far gone in his madness that I just ended up leaving. Besides, the gang was finished by that point anyways, sometimes I’m amazed I didn’t end up getting killed in the process. I was so lost though when Arthur passed, I don’t remember much from after that period. I buried him and then I remember I stayed near his grave for a long time. 

A couple of months passed after Arthur’s passing. I was still lost in my grief, living near his grave. One day, Landon showed up in the cabin I was living in. He said nothing but he threw down a newspaper at my feet. The top article was about my gang that fell apart. 

“How did you know?” I asked. 

“Because I know you,” Landon said. “I may not have been around much, but I know you. You think I didn’t know about your marriage to Arthur? When I read about him, I knew I needed to find you. I’m very sorry for your loss, y/n.” 

Landon was the first person to comfort you about Arthur. I didn’t want to live like this anymore, in my solitude and kept company by nothing aside from my grief. Although I was still shattered, I considered going with Landon, but I told him I didn’t want to live the wild life of an outlaw anymore. 

“I’ve done that already,” I said, “I don’t wanna do it anymore. It leads to nothing but pain.” 

Landon agreed and said he wanted to do the same. He was also tired of the life, of any man who had even a sliver of confidence challenging him to a duel. He wanted to help people, to make some peace out of the violence he’d sewn. 

So after that, I went with him down southwest. At first, we tried settling in places like Armadillo and Tumbleweed. But Landon’s fame followed him and he couldn’t escape the life he was trying to leave behind. That was when I decided that maybe it would be better to go down to Mexico. After all, everywhere I went reminded me of my husband. I just wanted to escape the memories, not because I regretted my marriage, but because I just wanted relief from my pain. 

Landon agreed to the idea of Mexico, so a few years ago we settled down in the town of Chuparosa. It was a fairly wild town, overrun with gangs and troublemakers. It took some time, but we got it tamed. It was Landon’s idea to sort of make ourselves the equivalent of sheriffs, as the town lacked any real form of law. I half-heartedly agreed, even though being a peacekeeper was the opposite of what I used to do and the kind of person I used to run from. 

But even down here, Landon was chased by his past. Sometimes a vigilante would come, having heard of Landon’s presence and would try to take him on. Luckily those types of men were few and far between.  Every once in a while, one of the gangs we’d chased out would come back and try to cause trouble. But we were more than a match for them. The Gutierrez brothers were the last to not get the hint, until today. 

Landon puts out his cigarette. Just as I’m about to say something, a young woman comes running up to him. I recognize her of course, Luisa Fortuna. A fiery member, and an enthusiastic member of the rebellion going on in Mexico. She’s breathing excitedly. 

“Ricketts! The Guiterrez brothers. They’re back!” 

Landon sighs and leans forward. He checks his pistol before reholstering it. “How long before I end up having to shoot these fools?” he says and stands up. I follow him, telling myself I can help if things get out of hand. Truth is though I just want to see these idiots get what they're owed. They’ve been a problem for too long and getting far too confident.

Just as we’re rounding the corner to the main street, I hear a familiar voice, taunting someone. That voice… it brings the dull pain I’ve sat on for ten years. I jog past Landon and find on the main street one of the Gutierrez brothers facing someone I haven’t seen since my gang fell apart. He’s grown older and he looks far more serious than I’ve ever seen him, but there’s no denying who he is: John Marston. 

As Landon joins your side, John and the Gutierrez brother suddenly draw their weapons and shoot. John’s bullet finds its mark, but the other Gutierrez brothers pull out their guns to avenge their fallen brother. However they’re no match for John. Not that I’m surprised. He learned from some of the best gunslingers. I think the only person who had a better education in shooting is myself thanks to Landon. 

When the last brother falls, Landon saunters forward as John holsters his gun. “I must admit, I’m impressed. Not many men would take on all the Gutierrez brothers and even fewer who could have taken them all down.” 

“Who are you?” John asks, his eyes mean. It’s a bit strange, he always had a light in his eyes. Then again, I haven’t seen him since Arthur died after he sacrificed himself to the Pinkertons to save me and John. I guess it’s really no surprise that he’s changed too since then. 

“Landon Ricketts. This is my town, I been trying to keep these boys under control, obviously not well. But now I’m curious. A fella like you who can take all of them down without hardly blinking an eye, I gotta ask. What you doin’ all the way down here?” 

“I’m lookin’ for… some old friends of mine. One of ‘em came running down here and I think he’s met up with the other.” 

This strikes me. He must be looking for me, but how did he hear I was down here? I walk out of the shadows of the building and look hard at him. John’s eyes widen. 

“Y/n? What you doin’ down here?” 

“Thought you said you was lookin’ for some old friends. I assumed you meant me.” 

He shuffles his feet a bit. “No, I wasn’t. I didn’t even know you were down here.” 

Landon turns to me. “You know this man?” 

I nod. “Yes. He was my husband’s brother. I thought you were dead, John.” 

Over the next few hours, the three of us sit at the saloon and talk. I tell John about my relationship to Landon and why I came down here with him after that whole mess with the gang. John then discloses his past, how he tried to come clean of his outlaw days. He and Abigail ran a ranch outside of Blackwater, but then the Pinkertons, in their determination to get Dutch, took his family hostage in order to get John to hunt down his former gang members. 

When John tells me this, I feel a plummet in my stomach. I lean forward and look at him, daring him. “So these Pinkertons want you to kill your old gang members. That mean you’re gonna kill me?” 

John looks at you, his brows furrowed. “I don’t know, y/n. I’m not sure the Pinkertons even know you’re down here. I assumed you died shortly after Arthur…”

Landon looks between the two of us but doesn’t interrupt. He knows I need to settle this myself. Landon has never been a man to fight my battles for me. It’s proven a frustration in the past, but at this moment, it’s appreciated. 

“Then John, I don’t know how much I can be of help to you. I ain’t giving those bastards a reason to kill me. If they’re going after Javier and Bill just for their associations with Dutch, they’ll definitely want me dead too. I was married to Dutch’s right hand man, after all.” 

Landon turns to me. “I think you’re making a mistake, y/n.” 

I turn to refute him, but he cuts me off. “You’ve been wasting away with me these past ten years. I haven’t wanted to say it, but whatever happened with that gang broke you. I don’t know what this Arthur Morgan was like, but I’m guessing he didn’t give his life up for you and his brother to see you live like this.” 

“He also hated revenge. Always said it was a fool’s game. I’m not killing Bill and Javier.” 

“You don’t have to,” John says. “I’ll do the killing, but it would sure be helpful if I had you by my side.”

I sigh. Landon’s right, Arthur wouldn’t want me to let John go alone. Not after everything he gave up for us both to live. However I’m sure that the end of this journey will end in one way: my death. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad though. After all, Landon’s right. I’ve been wasting away in liquor and grief down here. I stopped living a long time ago. 

I throw back my shot of tequila. “Alright, John. I’ll help you find Javier and Bill.”

I glance over at Landon and see he’s smiling. Now that I think about it, he’s never wanted this life for me. He used to say I had a fire that could not be doused. He must have known that this life, sitting in this hot, boring town and watching my life go on without me was never for me. That’s why he never searched for me while I was with the gang. I was doing what made me happy.

As I think about it, I realize now how much I’ve missed that life. Running wild and free. No it was never easy, but it was me. Living in this town as a sheriff is not what I want to do. I’m not cut out for it. I realize that John is giving me an opportunity to do what I’m meant to do. Sure, it won’t bring back the glory days from the gang, but it’s the next best thing. And if I die doing it, it’d be better than dying here, old and wishing I could have done things differently. 

Finally resolved, I stand up. “Okay, John. Let’s go find these bastards and get your family back.”

[magical-readathon-diaries]

Djali’s Log 1

So I guess this is the beginning of it? The big adventure I always dreamed of? Braving the Novice Path, heading towards the Academy to meet new people, learn new things, see fantastic places. Wait, should I do an introduction here? Do journals even need introductions? Well, what if one day my journal is saved for posterity for some historical reason? Maybe someone venturing onto the Novice Path in the future could benefit from reading this log and learn how to better navigate it themselves? Yes, yes, then an introduction is in order.

Hello, this is Djali, of the Great Underworld Library of Darkmeadow. I am seventeen years of age, of Iltirian heritage, and tutored in the realms of history, geography, biology, archivism, and certain magics, such as conjuration and illusion. I have spent my entire life beneath Darkmeadow and was raised by the curators of the Library, though my main overseer is, at this moment, Archivist Caddigan. My knowledge of the world and its inhabitants is limited solely to my own personal research, as this log contains my first voyage away from home, so any discrepancies or misunderstandings found within are solely the fault of my own inexperience. That’s a normal thing to put in a journal, right? Okay, focus, time to move forward.

My journey to Orilium was relatively uneventful. Caddigan arranged passage for me on a ship, which carried many other residents of Darkmeadow looking to take on the Path. I was eager to speak with them to learn how they would approach this challenge, knowing that not all who undertake it come out alive. While I did get the usual pleasantries, no one was willing to talk for long. They were still planning, preparing, or fretting for what was ahead of them. Not that I can blame them, of course. With all the stories one hears, it would be foolish not to do everything in one’s power to make sure they were one hundred percent ready. It’s just….I thought things would be different. Less…. solitary. That we would all recognize our common goal and work together, like the stories of heroes long ago. But, those stories are the past, not now, as Caddigan always tries to remind me. Still, why can’t then be now also?

I spent most of the time reacquainting myself with the map of the Path, its general layout, as well as practice some magic that may be of use during the test. I had it all down to the best of my ability, I didn’t think I can take much more of it. My head was so full of what ifs, contingency plans, and just general information it feels like it was going to burst. I think the only time I felt any solace was at night.

Though I was unable to chance a flight that night, I did fly up the mast to sit in the crow’s nest. It was made for crows after all. I haven’t done too much study into nautical topics, so that’s my best assumption. I stared for a while at the stars, still admiring, my mind wanting to focus on a single point, rather than the chaos currently bouncing around my temples. It was a nice moment, one that I will treasure always and take comfort in. Of course, I eventually fell asleep, so the morning after I needed a bit of help getting down since the blasted sun was ruining my eyes again, but we won’t dwell on that.

This was my first time leaving the Library, meaning this was probably the longest time I have been on the surface in a while. I’ve ventured out onto the topside of Darkmeadow a few times, giving Caddigan multiple heart attacks in the process, but those excursions were never that long, not enough for me to get a good sense of the outside. Being on the ship, however, exposed me to what life is like in the open air. Before I left, Caddigan gave me a blindfold, as my eyes are not used to the sun and I really would not like to spend my days in a total blinded stupor. During the day I mostly spent time below deck, just wandering aimlessly. But at night, I emerged to see a sky flooded with stars.

I’ve studied stars in the past, learned their names, positions, and what constellations they create, but actually seeing them was almost indescribable. The light was soft, gentle, unlike the harsh light of day that I unfortunately have to get used to. They were celestial pinpricks in a velvet tarp of night, the world made more beautiful just by their existence. There was no moon unfortunately, but it was still a sky worth looking at. Everything felt so still and quiet, the lap of the waves against the ship making the only noise. A salty breeze tousled my hair and for a moment I was tempted to shift into crow shape just to feel what it would be like to ride it. The captain had expressly told the Iltirian passengers not to do so, something about us “land-dwellers” not knowing how to “bend to these ferocious sea winds,” but I think it may just be his superstition of not wanting too many ‘birds of ill omen” near his ship. Not very logical thinking if you ask me, but we all have our quirks.

It wasn’t too long after that the ship made it to Orilium. Thankfully by that time I could travel fairly well in the day without my blindfold, something I was extremely grateful for as the time to start the Novice Path was drawing near. We disembarked and made our way to the campsite near the entrance to the Path. A good amount of people were already there, setting up tents, getting a lay of the land, writing messages to loved ones should they not make it out. It was honestly depressing to think about, but it was a reality. There was no certainty that we were all going to make it out of here alive. Though we were all looking for adventure, for a chance to prove ourselves worthy, that all came with a price, one that some may have to pay in full.

I don’t think I find myself particularly worried. I think it’s more like I can’t allow for failure, so I can’t even accept the possibility of it. I can’t come to grips with the fact that I may very well die in the near future. Call it the reckless abandon of youth, but It just seems so impossible. That confidence will either be my greatest asset or my ruin. But enough of that! This is supposed to be exciting! That’s what readers like! A dragging down to earth is necessary in certain parts, but only so that we can rise up again!

Clearly the mood was starting to weigh heavily in the air, as an old elf came before us and delivered a well, I think it was intended to be a rousing speech about the merits of having danger in an adventure, which I suppose is true, but doesn’t alone soothe anyone’s worries. The song he performed afterwards did a lot more in stirring up the revelry of the crowd. It’s a song we all know, a song that was practically born in our minds at birth. In that moment, all those feelings of fear, doubt, and anxiety melted away, as we raised our voices as one and came together to celebrate the calm before the storm of our journey.

The night that followed was one I admit that I will be hard pressed to forget. The archivists of the Library are, surprisingly, not the most mirthful of people, so I’ve never actually been to anything resembling a party. It was very..loud to say the least. Lots of drinking, dancing, shenanigans, which I guess is normal? They don’t exactly have any academic material on this subject, though such a text would probably be very helpful to people like me. The utter pandemonium of it all was hard to navigate at first, but I think I managed to fit in rather well. I danced the best I could with some other Iltirians. I’m not much of a dancer, another thing they fail to teach you when you live at the Library, but no one pointed and laughed so I’ll take that as a triumph.

And that has been my journey up until now. Tomorrow I begin my adventure on the Novice Path, along with the others who want to prove their worth to the Academy. It’s hard to believe that the time has finally come, that I’m only one sleep away from the most important day of my life. Here’s hoping that it’s also not the last.

I mingled through the crowd, politely taking a drink now and then. I got a few names, had a couple worthwhile conversations, some a little one-sided, but I don’t think anyone’s eyes completely glazed over as I went on about the magical properties of certain gemstones. I’m not sure if I would call anyone friend just yet, though something in me desperately wants to. There’s still the fear that the people I met tonight may very well be gone tomorrow, but tonight was for enjoying this glorious moment, not dreading the future. So, the night passed thusly, with wine and song and the hope that tomorrow is a guarantee.

When the party died down and people retired to their tents, I rolled out a pack on the ground, completely content to sleep under the sky. The stars were shining bright as ever, the lovely constants of the sky, and now there was a slight sliver of moon to accompany them. Though there was little to see, she sure was beautiful.

I’m sorry, I really can’t end the log like that. So depressing. Uh, what else to end it on?

Well, the moment I wrote that a literal tumbleweed blew past me, perfectly summarizing the emptiness of my mind.

Okay, on that note, this log is complete.

[keelywolfe]

FIC: The Rose and the Thorn: Chapter 10 (Mafia AU)

Summary:  We left off with Edge and Rus on a cliffhanger, let's see where they go from there!

Tags: Spicyhoney, Cherryberry, Mafia AU, Flower Shop AU, Violence, First Meetings

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9

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Read it here!

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Rus knew what he looked like. Tall, gangling skeleton and his bones were thin, almost delicate. Most people probably thought a stiff breeze would send him off like a tumbleweed and they were sort of right. He would’ve had more than a couple scars from a childhood from tripping over his own feet if his brother wasn’t such a good healer.

But if you took his innate clumsiness out of the equation, it was a load of bullshit, really. He’d helped his brother set up their garden, hauled bags of soil and manure, lugged oversized flowerpots, carried fencing and poles. He wasn’t weak, thank you very much, but even he had to admit, holding up a Monster of Edge’s size for any length of time was pushing him to his limits.

Luckily, he didn’t have to manage long. Edge caught his balance quickly, rocked unsteadily back to his feet and once Rus wasn’t completely blanketed by tall skeleton, he got a better view of the Dogs standing on either side of him, helping hold him up. Okay, they were at least part of the reason Edge hadn’t fallen on him, so what, he was pretty sure he did his part.

More Dogs, wow, did they buy these guys by the six pack? They were pretty good at the stoic, almost as good as Edge, but Rus didn’t miss their brief, amused tail wags. Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, watching him trying to catch Edge must’ve been a funny sight, like a meek village fool trying to catch a crumbling mountain.

But watching them immediately school their expressions to bland seriousness when Edge looked at them was even better.

Large hands settled on his shoulders, drawing his attention back to Edge and more to the point, his face, holy fuck—

“I’m all right,” Edge started, and no, just no.

“you certainly don’t look like it!” Rus snapped. He took hold of one of Edge’s sleeves, flinching at sight of the charred fray that was all that remained of his gloves. “come on, for pity’s sake, come sit down!”

Edge didn’t really resist, bemusedly letting Rus lead the way down the hallway. Only for Rus to stop a few steps in, turning back to admit sheepishly. “um. i’m not sure where you were going?”

He hadn’t heard any of the Dogs speak yet, but that wasn’t entirely unusual, some Monsters didn’t use a verbal language. It didn’t stop one of them from letting out a snicker, hastily quelled when Edge slanted him a dour look.

“This way, flower shop.” Edge took the lead and stayed on his feet mostly under his own steam with the occasional steadying hand from one of the Dogs. He led the way to another of the thousand doors, only this one had a panel that opened to reveal a keypad. Rus pointedly didn’t watch as Edge punched in the code and went inside.

But it wasn’t an infirmary of any sort or even a bathroom. Inside was a large bedroom, dominated by an enormous four poster bed that was covered in an fluffy comforter and huge pillows, with actual curtains hung around it, like they’d taken an accidental trip with the Ghost of Gyftmas Past and wandered into the bedroom of Ebeneezer Scrooge. Rus hovered awkwardly by the door as the Dogs helped Edge to one of the wide sofas set in a half-circle in a sort of open-air sitting room.

Once Edge was settled, the Dogs took their leave and Rus didn’t miss the wink one of them sent his way.

Well, it seemed they were expecting him to play nurse, not exactly a role he’d had much experience in. One look at Edge had him setting his shoulders, ready to step up and give it his best shot, though if there were any cracks about him putting on a little white dress, he was out.

Or maybe he was fooling himself, because he couldn’t possibly leave Edge alone like this. His clothes were streaked with burnt marks, the fine suit from that morning looked like it only recently stopped smoldering. Worse of all, the bone all down one side of his face was scorched and blackened, and Rus supposed it was a small mercy that the damage was on the already injured side of his skull.

Just looking at it made nausea lurch up into his throat. Rus swallowed it down and walked over, biting the tip of his tongue and focusing on that tiny hurt while he inspected the damages.

It must be painful, but Edge didn’t flinch from Rus’s timid prodding as he tried to decide if he actually could help or if he needed to find a phone to call for someone more qualified. So much soot and who knew what damage beneath it. Rus blinked hard as sympathetic tears welled; he’d always hated seeing anything hurt, Rus was the one getting teased for rescuing worms from the sidewalks after a storm and giving the pigeons in the park the crusts from his sandwiches. A thumb grazed underneath his socket, wiping away the trickle of tears, and Rus could smell the smoky char on Edge’s ruined gloves.

“It’s not that bad, flower shop,” Edge murmured. “I’m only a little crisp around the edges.” If he were trying for lightness, he failed, and Rus could feel wetness escaping from around his touch, trickling down his cheekbones. “Don’t,” Edge tried, “You don’t need to—"

“this is about us, isn’t it?” Rus interrupted softly. He wasn’t sure what kind of fool Edge thought he was, but he could at least manage to put 2 and 2 together and know that a vengeful fire monster who was prone to kidnappings likely matched up with fresh burns.

Edge said nothing and that was all the answer Rus needed.

“then i think i do.” Rus drew away, wiping impatiently at his damp cheeks bones with his sleeve. “where’s the bathroom?”

He followed where Edge pointed and one step inside was enough to stifle his remaining tears. If he thought his own lavatory was opulent, this one seemed to belong more in a palace than above a strip club in the red-light district, all of it gleaming dark marble streaked with gold. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and sighed. All his efforts to obey his brother’s scold to keep his new clothes clean ruined by smudges of soot streaked all down his shirt and a full set of handprints impressed on his shoulders.

Welp, guess it was a good thing he probably wasn’t going to be doing the laundry.

Under the sink was a basin that he filled halfway with cool water, along with a well-appointed first aid kit. Rus snagged both along with a couple clean washcloths and clumsily carried the lot of it out, only spilling a couple splashes of water to disappear in the lush carpet.

Edge hadn’t moved, only watched him with an intensity that sent an odd prickle down Rus’s spine. Whatever, let him stare. Rus ignored it to set his newfound supplies on the coffee table and sat on the sofa next to him to get to work. First, wetting a washcloth and very gently washing away the layers of soot to reveal the chalky, damaged bone beneath. It actually wasn’t too bad, he was relieved to see, at least Edge was right about that. Most of it was filth, the only real damage seemed to be to the very side of his face, a ragged line that ran from his forehead nearly to his chin. Edge never made a sound even when Rus had to really scrub to clear away the sooty blackness. The friction must have hurt terribly, but he allowed Rus to clean him up as he muttering vague apologies the entire time, because honestly, if he’d been the one hurt, Rus would have been howling for mercy by now.

The silence grew to be too much, nothing but the splash of water as he wrung out the cloth again and Edge’s crimson eye lights following his every move. Luckily, filling silences with nervous chatter was one of Rus’s greatest skills.

“i’m glad the bathroom was close,” Rus admitted with a self-deprecating laugh, “if it was in the hallway, i would’ve been a while. i’m not sure if i could find anything in this labyrinth.”

“It’s not as big as it seems,” Edge’s sockets fell half-closed as Rus gingerly cleaned around the delicate, damaged rim, showing only a bare gleam of crimson. “You only think it is because of the Dogs.”

That gave Rus a pause. "what do you mean?”

Edge offered him that little half-smile of his, "The hallways are designed like a labyrinth and my brother has the Dogs lead people through the same ones several times. Even the artwork is designed to change the picture when someone walks past it, to make it seem larger and more confusing than it is.”

“seriously? what kind of low-rent james bond villain bullshit is that?" Rus blurted. He winced at his own words, shit, calling Red a villain wasn’t exactly what his brother would call good manners, but Edge's slight smile only widened.

"I prefer the term frugal.”

“hmmph,” Rus huffed, deciding not to argue the point. If Red wanted a subplot of being a cheapskate, that was his problem. “are you going to tell me what happened?” he asked, dabbing gingerly at a particularly darkened spot. The bone beneath was slightly pitted and he could only hiss in sympathy, imagining how much it must hurt.

That little smile faded. “I went to see Blaze in a neutral location, to negotiate.”

“looks like negotiations went south.”

Edge grunted in agreement, closing his sockets entirely as Rus finished cleaning his skull with a last gentle wipe. He dropped the washcloth into the dingy basin water before digging through the first aid kit for burn ointment. With the soot cleaned away, the burns matched Edge’s assessment of not too bad. They should heal fine, probably wouldn’t even scar if Edge kept it clean and well treated. Of course, there was another option.

Rus carefully set the ointment aside, reaching out instead with a cautious bare hand, “you were right, it isn’t too bad. i’m not as good as my brother, but if you let me heal you—”

The hand that caught his wrist moved so quickly Rus barely saw it. He yelped in surprise and automatically tried to pull away. Uselessly, that grip tightened painlessly as Edge said, firmly, “No.”

Even sitting, Edge was taller than him, especially when he wasn’t slumped back on the sofa. Taller than him, larger than him in every way and even sitting here in a ridiculously lavish bedroom in his ruined suit, Edge seemed larger than life, nearly a force of nature. And Rus looked up directly into his hurt face and asked boldly, “why not?”

The flick of his crimson tongue over his teeth nearly distracted Rus from his words. “Because having someone else use their magic on me outside of a fight is entirely too intimate for my tastes.”

Intimate. That was the problem? Considering that Rus was in possession of a shivery memory of Edge’s weight on top of him, pressing him into the cushioned plush of the rug with the heat of the fireplace pouring over them as Edge’s gloved hand skimmed against his bare hip…um…better to stop there. Anyway, considering all that, it seemed silly to him for Edge to suffer through days of discomfort when a little healing magic could ease it.

Exasperated, Rus pointed out, “you were willing to have sex with me but won’t let me heal you?” It was only after he said it that Rus belatedly remembered that actually, Edge hadn’t been willing to have sex with him, that was sort of where their awkwardness this morning came from and he looked away, a miserable blush rising in his cheekbones, like an echo of Edge’s burns.

To his shameful relief, Edge didn’t comment on that, only ran his thumb over the delicate, interlocked bones at the inside of Rus’s wrist. “It’s not the same. Magic involves souls, sex is only as intimate as you allow it to be. Anyone can take your body, flower shop.”

“yes, thank you for that reminder,” Rus muttered unhappily. He couldn’t hold back a shudder, remembering Blaze’s unbearably sweltering hands on him, forcing his touch on Rus as he whispered horrible things, cruelly teasing threats about Rus’s mouth and what he might do to it.

Edge’s voice jarred him from the unpleasant memory, cushioned in gentleness. “You’re safe here. This club is as well protected as it could possibly be. Aside from basic security precautions, we’ve been layering on every sort of protection spell possible over it since we got to the surface.”

That was a comfort to know, for now. But what about when he left, they left, him and Blue heading back to their shop and their lives without an ounce of protection surrounding them.

“i want to go home.” The words slipped out, small and miserable. And true, their home was small and a bit cramped, but it was home.

“I know,” Edge said, softly. He offered no promises about getting Rus there and he wondered wanly if he should be grateful for that honesty. Rus reached up and took hold of the large hand still holding his other wrist as his gaze searched Edge’s face, eye lights skimming from the untouched side to the one stark with darkened burns. With a tug, Edge brought their joined hands to his mouth, pressing a kiss against them and murmuring, “I’m working on it.”

There was something in his voice, something coldly dark beneath that tender touch and Rus swallowed hard, “you’re going to try to kill him, aren’t you.”

“Don’t ask questions that you don’t want answered.”

“aren’t you?” Rus persisted.

Edge let out a small frustrated sound, "It's the only way to end this. The only way you'll get your life back."

Rus shook his head, helplessly. That couldn’t be true, the only answer simply couldn’t be tainting Edge’s soul with XP, racking a LV onto Edge’s conscious in the name of their wellbeing, his and Blue’s and Rus knew without question that his brother would agree. “there has to be another way.”

“Are you willing to bet your life on that, flower shop?” Edge countered, “What about your brother’s?”

“there has to be! i can’t let you—” kill someone. Rus choked on the words, felt the ache of tears welling up again.

Again, that thumb rubbed a soothing little circle against Rus’s wrist. “Why do you care so much?”

“I…” Rus swallowed nervously. “it’s…it’s the right thing to do!”

“Of course,” Edge said wryly. “And you always do the right thing, don’t you.” He let go of Rus’s wrist and sank back into the cushions. “Go on, then.”

“huh?” Rus blinked, confused, ready to argue that he wasn’t about to leave with this debate still between them.

“Go on,” Edge repeated, “Heal me.” A sardonic slash of a smile tipped up the undamaged side of his mouth. “Since it’s the right thing to do.”

Oh. Rus had to kneel up to reach, leaning across Edge’s torso to settle his bare hand lightly against the side of his skull. It was a matter of moments to focus his magic, calling up the tingling warmth of healing and concentrating it on the burns. He certainly didn’t miss Edge’s relieved sigh; it must’ve hurt something awful and honestly, fussing about intimacy when the alternative was days of pain? He really couldn’t understand these people.

When Rus finally stopped, the bone beneath his hand was smooth and unblemished, at least as much as previously cracked bone could be. All signs of any burns were gone and Rus beamed at Edge, pleased.

“there,” he said triumphantly. “isn’t that bett—oh!”

The way Rus was leaning already put him off balance and the sudden, strong arm winding around his waist sent him nearly sprawling into Edge’s lap. A rough chuckle greeted his twisting and squirms until he was sitting across Edge’s femurs, looking up into his newly healed face with wide sockets.

“Yes,” Edge agreed softly, “This is much better.” He lightly bit the tip of one of his fingers, tugging off his glove and spitting it aside before reaching out to brush bare fingertips lightly over Rus’s mouth, cautious of the sharpened tips. Rus sat frozen beneath that touch as it slid lower, broad knuckles curling beneath his chin. “To tell the truth, I’m at a loss,” Edge murmured, low, like a confession. “Even if I deal with Blaze, you’re irrevocably linked to me now. Do I let it be? Or do I embrace it?”

That…that sounded…Rus wasn’t sure, his thoughts were in wild turmoil, caught up between Edge’s words and his embrace, “what about what i want?” he asked, weakly.

A soft chuckle gusted over him like a caress and Edge’s face was close to his own, as he said, “Pretty flower, you’ve wanted me since the day I walked into your shop.”

Rus wanted to deny it, but what was the point? It was true, he couldn’t possibly have been more obvious. He didn’t move as Edge leaned in, every possible protest twittering out of his mind even as Edge said, his deep voice raw with the barest of regrets, “Just remember, I tried to let you go.”

His mouth was achingly gentle, coaxingly sweet and Rus parted his teeth with a watery sigh as he met it with his own. Parted his teeth to timidly meet the slide of a clever tongue with his own. He was surrounded, Edge around him, beneath him, the arms that circled him held Rus close. Safe, he realized, he was safe, and Rus groaned shakily, clinging to Edge’s broad chest as those dizzying kisses deepened, teeth scraping with tantalizingly deliberate roughness as a low growl rumbled out from deep within Edge’s chest.

In the back of his mind, Rus was hyperaware of the enormous bed behind them, equal parts inviting and terrifying to consider Edge carrying him to it the same way as he had to the rug. His heavy weight again between Rus’s femurs, the hard press of his hips, and the senseless magic settling in Rus’s pelvis wanted that, wanted even more. He could feel his magic taking form, embarrassingly eager wetness dampening his undershorts. His mind might well be unsettled, but his body was making its wants known to them both and he couldn’t help wriggling again, already feeling the response of Edge’s body beneath his pelvis.

The door bursting opened shattered any burgeoning arousal and Rus jerked back, scrambling away even as Edge reluctantly let him go.

Red didn’t even seem to notice them yet, kicking the door shut as he groused, “dogs said you and blaze got into it, bro, you okay—” he stopped, staring blankly at his brother, eye lights gliding over where Edge’s joints were flushed and his jaw clenched. Then flicking to Rus who was curled up far on the other side of the sofa with a burning blush high on his cheekbones. Red chewing on the end of his cigar furiously, saying acidly around it, “might need to have a word with ‘em, since they didn’t see fit to mention this lil’ tête-à-tête.”

“Perhaps they thought they didn’t need to,” Edge said, coolly, “There is this charming social construct called knocking, you should consider trying it sometime.”

“uh huh, you know me, all up in the social constructs.” Red turned his sour look back on Rus, who only cringed harder, “sorry to interrupt, but i’m fresh outta social constructs right now. me and my bro need to talk, hit bricks.”

Edge crossed his arms over his chest, “No, he can stay.”

Yeah, because Rus was all about hanging around Red with his magic still uncomfortably roused between his legs. “i really don’t mind, i can go.”

Neither of them paid him any mind, both brother’s glaring. Finally, Red shrugged, “i was gonna talk business, but if you wanna scar your pretty lil’ flower, ain’t no skin off my bones.”

That seemed to give Edge a pause. He frowned, considering, then sighed out, “Go, Rus.”

Rus wobbled to his feet, all ready to head for the door. Only to have Edge catch his wrist, reeling him in. He didn’t try to take a kiss, thankfully, no attempt at a little pda in front of his brother. He only studied Rus’s face as if drinking in the sight of him, then tapped him lightly on the nasal aperture as he said, sternly, “Behave.”

That made him remember that morning, sneaking downstairs to chat with the ladies in the break room. Rus gave him a wobbly nod, and said, “i always do,” hoping his guilt didn’t show on his face as he slipped away and headed towards the door.

He skirted widely around Red and even that didn’t keep Rus from hearing him mutter, “if that’s you behavin’ flower shop, can’t wait to see ya bein’ bad.”

Outside the door one of the Dogs was waiting and Rus was about to ask them to show him back to his room, preferably without the extra mileage, when his eye lights caught on a long line of blistered redness along their muzzle.

“did you get burned, too,” Rus gasped, appalled, “that must hurt, do you want me to heal…it?” He trailed off awkwardly, expecting to be brushed off. But the Dog only whined and lowered their head, their dark brown eyes hopeful.

The little wound was even easier to heal than Edge’s and the Dog heaved a sigh of relief when Rus was finished, offering him a slightly slobbery grin, along with something else that had been sitting unnoticed by their feet. They held it out in offering and Rus took it, uncomprehending at first until the familiar jangle made him look down in disbelief.

It was his backpack, somewhat sooty and Spongebob was more than a little worse for wear, but it was his, with all his pins still attached.

“how did you—” Rus started, dumbly. There was only one answer and Rus glanced at the door speculatively, wondering if he’d gotten the backpack before, after, or during getting burnt to a crisp. Questions for later and he added it to his list as the Dog led him back to his room.

The moment he opened the door, a loud shout almost sent him tumbling head over heels back out.

“Where have you been!?”

Rus sighed to himself and shut the door, bracing himself to face his brother.

Where was a kidnapping when you really needed one.

tbc

[gutterclan]

Sanctuary Pack Stories: The Herbalist [Part Three]

[Eight and Dace continue on their journey to track down an expert herbalist in an effort help cure the illness ravaging The Sanctuary Pack]

It’s good to be on the move again; a blue, brilliant winter morning, the air crisp and clear as glacial runoff. A few stubborn birds perch in the barren trees, trying their songs against the silence.

Dace clears her throat.  "Eight. I wanted to say."

"Hm?" Eight looks up, half-startled. She's been deep in thought all morning; 'hunting clouds', as Saturn would say.

And no wonder. There had been a moment, the night before, when Dace had made a mistake. Had made Eight uncomfortable-- had made things uncomfortable, between them.

Eight’s eyes meeting hers; her breath fogging in the winter air, and Dace had thought, I’ve missed this more than I can say. Something must have showed in her face; Eight had stepped away, fast, turning her head. 

She has been quiet, since.

"Just: last night. If I made you uncomfortable, or something." Dace shrugs,  keeps her eyes fixed forward. "You know-- sorry. Won’t happen again."

"Oh!" Eight shakes her head. "Oh no, Dace, that's-- No, I wasn't. Uncomfortable, I mean! It's fine."

Dace does twist, now, to look over Eight. She's not looking back; has her head craned around, staring with great intensity into the trees.

"Alright," Dace says. Resolves to keep a little more distance, anyway, if Eight’s going to be too polite to admit when she’s wrong-footed. 

The walk on, the loudest sound for miles the crunching of their paws through the crusty snow. The sun creeps its slow way across the sky.

 Eight clears her throat, venture: “Um, so--  how is it?”

Dace looks up.

“Being a-- scout. Or a loner? I mean--” she shrugs, looks briefly at Dace and then away again. “I don’t know. Is it-- fun? I guess? Do you like it?”

Dace nods. “It’s alright. It’s good, actually.” She looks out at the frozen wood: at the towering trees, bark black against the snow, the sharp pine-needle smell. At the sky, a piercing, thorn-sharp blue above. “I do like it. In fact…”

In fact, they're right by that old pond, aren't they? The frogs will be dug into the mud hibernating-- they could dig some out, like that crow had shown Dace last spring, and--

She looks sideways at Eight. Remembers her odd stiffness the night before. Clears her throat. “In fact, though, it can get a little boring.”

“Oh?” Eight cocks her head. 

“Sometimes.” Dace shrugs. “And you? Healing? That seems-- interesting.”

A stiff pause. Eight huffs. “Well, I guess-- a little too interesting, lately. Um.”

Dace winces. “Of course. Scat, Eight, I’m sorry-”

“No--” Eight shakes herself. “No, it’s okay. It is- not just now, I mean- interesting.” She laughs, a little awkwardly.

They walk along for a while. Dace watches her paws; studies the prints she makes, tries not to think about much else. 

After a while, Eight laughs again. “I’m sorry, Dace-- I don’t really know-- there aren't. Sorta, fun anecdotes, I guess? It isn’t--”

“No, you’re fine!” Dace huffs. “Just uh, not used to travelling with someone else. Probably getting too chatty.”

“No.” Eight sighs. “If it was spring- or summer or even fall, really- I could show you plants and stuff? Like herbs? But.” She looks out over the forest; undergrowth buried under months of snow, the trees dormant, roots all locked away beneath the frost.

“Sure,” Dace says, easily. “Bad season for it. Maybe--” I can come by in spring, and you can show me then. She almost says it. Clears her throat. “Maybe this would have been a little more fun in spring,” she settles on instead, trying to keep her voice light.

“Less cold,” Eight says, by way of agreement. 

They walk on-- endlessly, they walk on. 

It’s five more days of travel to reach the bear, and even Dace is starting to get a little footsore. The hard, icy surface of the snow is wearing away at her pawpads, sure as rough stone would.

Eight isn’t any better, facing all the same strain of long travel with none of the practice Dace has. She limps up to where Dace has paused on the edge of the forest, and comes to a stop, breath fogging as she catches her breath.

They’ve come to the edge of the forest.

Beyond, the prairie goes on forever. White, flat land, rolling endlessly on until the blue curve of the horizon. It seems very exposed. Dace imagines living there, without shelter of tree or rock, without shadow or undergrowth, and shivers, despite her thick winter coat.

Eight makes a low, uncertain sound in the back of her throat. She’s hunched up into herself; ears flat, tail tucking under, and Dace’s chest squeezes. 

“Pretty weird,” she says, to break the silence. 

And she hasn’t been saying as much, lately. Been trying to give Eight her space. But it’s worth it, now, to see Eight relax, a little. To see her stand up straighter.

“Pretty weird,” she agrees.

And still the prairie stretches on. Beyond the shelter of the trees, a wind kicks up, and a tumbleweed of snow goes skating out across the plain, silver against the brilliant, endless blue of the sky.

“Hoot,” Dace says, and finds her voice comes out a bit hushed. She clears her throat. Tries again. “Hoot used to talk about-- where she came from.”

“Mhm.” Eight can’t seem to find the words to respond; that’s okay.

Dace goes on. “On hunting trips- back when I was hunting- She's say about the ocean. You know?”

“Yes,” Eight says, low.

“About how there was somewhere the land stops. And it’s just water forever, after that. Until the-- the edge. Do you think...”

She doesn’t know how to put it. But Eight nods, eyes still fixed rigidly forward. “Yes,” she says, again. “This is-- it seems like--”

The both look out over the prairie again. Flat land, stretching on. It must end, somewhere. But--

Dace shakes herself. “Well,” she says, sounding just short of upbeat. “Well. Our bear lives out there, somewhere.”

Eight nods. “Yes,” she says. “Right.”

And if she sticks a little closer to Dace’s side, as they step out onto the plains-- Well. Dace can’t blame her, for it. 

It makes her feel better, too.

They reach the bear that evening. A low hill, a copse of cottonwoods, the ceaseless, piercing howling of the wind, unbroken across the whole of the prairie.

“Strange place for a bear to den,” Eight says, her voice very low. “Isn’t it? I mean--”

“Yes,” Dace says. Finds herself speaking very softly, involuntarily. She tries again, clearing her throat. “But from what I’ve heard, he’s a strange bear. He couldn’t help us if he wasn’t.”

Her voice comes out a little more strongly, and Eight straightens up. Nods. 

The cottonwoods grow close together, trunks dark and strangely straight, an unnatural quality to them. The wind breaks as they come through the trees, and leaves an eerie silence- not much better- in its absence. 

Dace’s own breath is loud in her ears. Something brushes her shoulder-- Eight, drawing close. They look at one another for just an instant. Dace lets out a breath, slowly. Is suddenly very glad to have Eight here with her, in this strange place.

The ground is rucked up by the roots of one enormous tree, in the very center of the grove; its bark is nearly black against the snow, the sharp white-blue of the sky. A dark space peeks out between the gnarled roots. 

They have come to the bear’s den, at last. 

Dace thinks, for a wild, stupid moment, of the stories Rover tells to pups; a great Rowan tree, a pack of monstrous wolves. 

She stares up at the giant cottonwood. Shakes herself. “Hello?” Her voice, thankfully, does not waver. “We’ve come from far away, seeking medicine.” She pauses. Looks sideways at Eight. 

Eight looks back at her, ears pulled down in uncertainty. “I’m a healer myself,” she tries, and Dace touches her shoulder, briefly, encouraging. “But I can’t heal this sickness-- we need your help.”

Another pause. The den is all shadow, before them; a deep pit, an open mouth, plunging down into the frozen earth. Dace can’t quite make herself step towards it; shivers at the idea of it, squeezing herself blind and helpless between the roots, towards who knows what.

She tries again, instead. I will go, she tells herself, sternly, if he does not answer this time, I will go in. “Great-- bear healer. May we speak with you?”

Nothing, for a long moment. Dace takes a breath-- wrenches herself away from Eight’s warm side and pads forward to the mouth of the den. Here goes, she thinks, and then--

“Dace!” Eight says, tight with alarm, and at the same time another, deeper voice sounds out.

“Well,” it says. “There’s no need to shout.”

Dace turns, slowly, and there is the bear.

A massive shape, almost unreal. His huge, blunt head dips down beside Eight, nearly the size of her entire torso. His shoulders, humped with muscle, could put pause to a bison. He crouches, peering at Dace, and when he curls his lip up to sniff, his teeth flash long and white.

Eight is stiff as if she’s frozen solid, only a paw’s length away from the creature. The whites of her eyes show, plainly frightened, and Dace wrenches herself into action. 

She folds into a bow, back hunching, tail tucking automatically. They don’t hold with submission much, at Sanctuary, but it is nearly instinctive to do it now. 

“Great bear,” she says, eyes fixed firmly on the ground- on the bear’s immense paws, heavy and clawtipped, digging furrows into the snow. “I have heard of your healing from other creatures--”

“Yes, yes,” the bear says, his deep voice strangely cheerful. “The geese, was it? They do love to gossip.”

Dace looks up at him, startled, for a moment, and then drops her eyes again, hastily. “It-- was the geese, sir.”

If the bear notices her surprise, he says nothing of it. “Hm. Just as well. Follow me, then!” And he shoulders past Dace- a brush of immense strength, something like one of the human’s cars blowing past on their roads- a near miss, an impression of power- and then he is by, lumbering awkwardly down into his den, and there is nothing left to do except to follow. 

[captain-tch]

All That I Can Give

summary: kiko is a struggling business owner, who gets thrown into the chaos of the borderlands. when she makes a mistake that will threaten her life, she learns just how far she will go to keep herself alive. 

TW: DEATH, SUICIDE, MENTAL HEALTH, TOXIC RELATIONSHIPS

chapter 1: damned by ares

The heavy bass thrummed in Kiko’s ears, her fingers absentmindedly flipping through the pages of an aged magazine. She skimmed over the content, eyes jumping over images of celebrities and advice articles that made her want to laugh. One in particular made a chuckle bubble up in the back of her throat - 5 ways to achieve success as a modern woman. 

Kiko glanced up at the deserted shop. The instruments were gathering dust. The vinyl's were begging to be flipped through. Rows upon rows of CDs screamed out to be picked up and taken away from the lonely misery they were currently trapped in. The stage area she had set up in the back was pitiful, the instruments begging to be played and to create melodies long forgotten. 

She had poured over the words of that article so many times. She set up a social media page, advertising music lessons. She paid for posters to be designed and hung up in local shop windows. She tried to make the shop as ‘edgy’ as she could, inviting the younger generation to come and indulge in the atmosphere. And still, Kiko swore she could see tumbleweeds blowing throughout the shop. 

Yeah. 5 ways to achieve success her ass. 

A loud slam shook the walls. Instinctively, Kiko reached for a pair of scissors beneath the counter, gripping them so hard she felt the blood stop circulating there. Her heart pounded as she expected an intruder to thunder their way into her shop. 

Instead, the noise belonged to a lanky man, with sharp features and a cap rested on his head. “Kiko!” 

She let the scissors fall out of her hands. Her brother Riku always knew how to make an entrance. 

Poisonous words were about to spit past her lips. How could he be so careless, to just slam the door open like that? What if he damaged it, what if he’d hit the glass cabinet behind it? Just as she was about to berate him, another figure stepped behind him. 

Her fist tightened around the scissors. 

“Kiko, always a pleasure.” The man’s voice was smooth. If she hadn’t had so many ill encounters with him she would have almost swooned. His velvety voice, coupled with a pair of intense brown eyes and muscular figure made her almost believe that he was blessed by Aphrodite herself. She knew the reality though - he was damned by Ares. 

Kiko forced a smile on her face. “Ryuk. What an unpleasant surprise.” 

“I was just in the neighbourhood, thought I would pass by. My niece is thinking of learning the guitar.” Ryuk moved further into the shop, his hands running over the rack of CD’s. Each step Ryuk made, Riku slid further back into the shop, until he was cowering behind his sister. 

“It is a beautiful instrument.” 

Kiko’s hawk eyed gaze followed Ryuk. He prowled the shelves, hand drifting to his pocket. “I’ve never seen the purpose of music myself. Why create when you can destroy?” 

Riku trembled behind Kiko. She reached a careful hand behind her, feeling her little brother squeeze it. “I tried to warn you,” her brother whispered. “I’m sorry.” 

She sighed. As much as she could try to run from this, she was tired. Her muscles were weary and her mind constantly haunted by what could happen next. She wanted it to end. It was going to end today, even if she didn’t get to see tomorrow. 

“Cut the crap. You’re not here for your niece, and this certainly isn’t a friendly visit. Get what you want and leave.” 

Ryuk tutted. “My, my. You are a feisty one, aren’t you?” 

Kiko stared venomously back. 

He chuckled this time. The hand resting on the inside of his jacket now was withdrawn, a long blade shining in the light. Kiko swallowed. “You see, we’re tired of waiting. My boss, he is a patient man. He understands times are hard - your dad left you with a dying business and mountains of debt. But he grows bored. He wants his yen. Now.” 

The only thing keeping Kiko anchored to reality was the tight grip of her brother squeezing her hand. She hoped he couldn’t feel her racing heart under the skin, or the sweat slowly building. She knew it would come to something like this eventually; she never wanted it to be in front of her brother. He already had lost too much. 

“I have nothing.”

These weren’t the words Ryuk wanted to hear. From the way he was twirling the blade, she believed that he knew this was going to be her answer. “Oh, naïve Kiko, there’s always something to give.” 

Before she could even comprehend what was happening, Ryuk rushed forward, snatching at her body. She didn’t have time to think as she plunged the scissors into his shoulder. He shrieked, stepping backwards and staring down at the stationary lodged in his skin. Kiko didn’t give herself chance to look at it. She snatched her brother from the ground, pushing him from behind her and sending him towards the door. He stumbled through the gap and disappeared into the streets. 

Kiko was on his tail. Her legs pushed her forwards and she reached the doorway. Her body was yanked backwards. She was sent sprawling to the ground. Stars spread across her vision, eyes unfocused as Ryuk stalked closer to her. 

She scrambled backwards, knocking over a rack of CD’s. They scattered to the ground, her palms biting into the plastic as she tried to shimmy over them. 

“Want to know what you can give me, Kiko?” 

Her mind raced with all of the atrocities he would do to her. How he would shower her body in sin and pain and agony, making her beg for the sweet release of death. She tried not to ponder on how he could break her mind, her body, and her soul. 

“You can give me your life.” 

A shiver was sent down her spine. She didn’t want to think of how he would kill her. Of how he would draw it out and make her pay, all because of some fucking yen. God, it seemed so trivial now. Kiko did know one thing for sure - she wasn’t going to die today. 

Her back hit the stage. 

Pouncing to her feet, she snatched up a guitar. Ryuk moved in closer, his blade gleaming and screaming for her blood. 

Letting out an animalistic screech, she swung the guitar as hard as she could. The wood fractured, knocking Ryuk back enough seconds for her to sprint to the entrance, bursting out into the street. 

Only to be met with silence. 

Her steps faltered. Heart pounding in her chest, she spun around, eyes darting in all directions for the slightest sign of life. No revs of a car engine, or the frantic footfall of the public going about their day. 

And no Ryuk. 

“Hello?” 

Nothing answered her call. 

[rubbish78]

funpoison excerpt from my fanfic......

Fun Ghoul was easily Party Poison’s favorite subject to draw because 1.) he was gorgeous (duh) and 2.) because it felt like an extra treat to draw all those tattoos that covered his body. Double the art! Unfortunately, the neon-red haired Killjoy didn’t get much free time to draw.

However, today Fun Ghoul and he managed to find some time to kill since there seemed to be radio silence for once and sneaked out of the base to go on a “date.” Outside in the blazing hot desert of Death Valley, Ghoul and Poison were pretending they were suntanning at the beach. Two large beach umbrellas were shielding them from the straight raw sunlight but Poison had already gotten sunburned, while Ghoul was tanning perfectly in his boxer briefs.  

“That’s what ya get for wearing a fucking thong in the desert,” Ghoul jeered, pushing his aviator sunglasses up past the bridge of his nose. He then reached over to the cooler in between their two camp style lounge chairs and got another beer out. “Fuckin’ tease.” Smirking fondly at his boyfriend’s red ass before he cracked open a cold one and laid back down.

“It’s a speedo,” Poison corrected, rubbing in more suntan lotion on his burnt reddening bum cheeks. “Olympic swimmers wear this.”

“No, they definitely do not!” Ghoul snickered, bemusedly. “They are Show Pony’s, I’ve seen him wear them!” He took a gulp of beer and pointed at them. “You know, he’s gonna be pissed you stole them.”

“Whatever, he has a million of them,” Poison waved, dismissively. After wiping the excess lotion off his hands onto the towel he was laying on, he then stood up and repositioned his lounge chair so it was directly facing Fun Ghoul instead of beside him.

“What are you doing?”

“I need a better view of my subject,” Poison smiled, shyly. He grabbed for his brown saddle bag off the sandy ground and sat back down, pulling his sketchbook and pencils out. He had stolen these drawing pencils at abandoned Walmart and was excited he could finally test them out.

“Whatcha gonna draw? The beautiful landscape?”

A tumbleweed ironically flew by right as Ghoul said that.

Poison was wearing aviator-styled sunglasses too and took them off to wipe the fog away that had built up on the lenses before giggling, “I’m drawing you, stupid.”

“Like one of your French girls?” Frank quickly posed like Rose from the movie,  Titanic  , which earned him lotion bottle to the head. “Ouch, what was that for?”

“You always make fun of me when I quote movies so I’m just returning the favor!” Poison snickered, catching the bottle when Ghoul tried hurling it back at his head too. “You’re just much as a nerd as me, admit it!”

“Oh, I’m not even near your level of nerd!” Ghoul retorted. “I have never collected comic books, weird little statues or swords—HEY!”

Ghoul was cut off when Poison squeezed the bottle and sprayed a large amount of lotion onto Ghoul’s tattooed chest, drenching it. Poison began laughing so hysterically, he clutched his gut and almost fell off his chair.

“HAHAHAHAHAH—it...it looks like cum!”

“Then I’m gonna make you fucking eat it, you ass!” Ghoul growled but couldn't help but laugh along too. Scooping a gob of it off his chest, he threw it at Poison, who dramatically rolled off his chair and dodged it. That was a bad move because now sand and dust was mixed into the spots where Poison had applied lotion on his body earlier, making him look like a dirty dog that had just rolled around in mud.

"You're the stupid one!" Ghoul belted out laughing so hard, tears started forming in his eyes. "What the fuck was that?! Was that you trying to be a spy?!”

“Uh Karate master.”

Poison tried using his towel to rub the dirt off but it did little to help, which made Ghoul laugh even harder. Ghoul was a mess too with all the excess lotion covering his chest, slopping it everywhere. His laughter was so infectious though, Poison couldn't even pretend to pout about it and couldn’t stop smiling.

"YEah keep laughing!" Holding up the suntan lotion bottle as if he was going to splatter more on him.

"Oooooh!!!!" Ghoul continued crackling but let a surprised yelp when Poison suddenly jumped on top of him, straddling him. His crotch directly pressed down on Ghoul’s as he shoved the lotion bottle in his face. Both could feel interested twitching in each other’s shorts.

"Any last words?" Poison laughed in a mock evil cartoon way, threatening to squeeze all the remaining contents on Ghoul’s face.

Ghoul’s laughing died down and beamed up at Poison’s playful hazel eyes. What a nerd, his nerd though. Poison softened his determined look and put the bottle down as Frank lovingly touched Poison’s right cheek.

"Yeah...kiss me, you idiot."

Sandy lips locked together, Poison taking the led and they both ended up surrendering to each other, messy and dirty as can be.