#Down til the Dark|Riggs and Beth
Note
[FMK: Reimagined.] Three people, but no names. Someone you've stolen for. Someone you've hurt to help. And someone you'd murder yourself before letting anyone else do it. //Tall dark stranger with a bone condition not matching her vodka shots but probably enabling them... they need to stop meeting like this.//
Three of a Kind || Accepting
{{ tagging: @riggsanity & @mynameisanakin & @lokitheliesmith for reasonsTM }}
The question is almost too softly spoken, and if Beth were inclined, she could have pretended not to have heard it. She doesn't do that often but it is something she's employed to distance herself in the past. This is not the first time she has met her mysterious friend, and likely it will not be the last.
But what memories does her friend dredge up?
"One of the people I miss most, mostly due to being cross country from one another. We used to play all kinds of board and card games. The goal wasn't to win or lose, but to make the other person laugh an' we used to cheat each other elaborately. I really should write or call him sometime. Maybe even give back those little plastic hotels I still have in my undergarment drawer. Not to mention the fact that I've eaten more than half of the fries he ever ordered, even when he got enough to share. And the shirts I took. And the beers he smuggled out of my fridge that I took back late at night while we watched the tide roll back out under the moonlight."
She would swear on this mounting bar tab that her Texas still has at least one of her deeds tucked in his boot or in those curls. She wonders where Martin is. If he's found himself like he needed to so that he wouldn't be swallowed up by his own grief. Some of the light that she'd always held onto had dimmed the day he'd left and she's all the poorer for it.
"One I've hurt to help is my..." apprentice.
The waif of a youth that turned up on her doorstep those few years ago, rattling bones and death in every wet, congested breath. All she has to do is close her eyes and those blue eyes, the golden waves cutting across his sharp bones, he is alive and thriving and smiling at her shyly. It had taken every ounce of her will power to eventually let him go so he could find his place amongst the Traditions. Where she champions Life, he is the other side of the coin and she couldn't teach him how to be a Thanatoic.
"Friend. He's a recovering addict, and he was really sick when he sought my help. There were days where death might have been a mercy, and the curses that rolled off his tongue in that bayou accent of his...I can't even begin to repeat. But I know that transformation was emotionally, physically, an' spiritually excruciating."
She's quiet for a time. Maybe this friend was only going to have two memories from her before they hit last call. Maybe because the third answer is the hardest. For so long it would have been so easy to contemplate patricide. That she'd be the recipient of the Admiral's last undeserved breath. But that would be breaking her own kapu imposed by Teanoi; take no pleasure in killing. and if Beth were being honest? It might be the happiest moment of her existence.
But that puts her in mind of the other road she doesn't ever stop to consider. She'd once used all of her considerable talents and power to make the arduous journey to xer not-quite-native homeland in search for a bloom that would ease xer misery. She'd done it for love. And perhaps this is why she'd been turned back by that realm's all-seeing Guardian. If she could not heal xer one way, then Beth could only offer the second, perhaps lesser choice.
What was it that was said? Only you could kill your God?
"The third...they say...has an adder's tongue, quicksilver and honey in xer lies. They say...Xe is the source of primordial chaos. Nets and spiders and wyrding. But I see xem as... fire and family, of ephemera and stories. Xe is a harbinger of change, of transformation." Of love, hers being enduring, asking nothing of xer but to be.
"If xe has to die? Wishes it after everything? Then I can only resign myself to being xer handmaiden in that, too."
#Mahalo!Slinky <3 <3 <3#Down til the Dark|Riggs and Beth#Like A Memory in Motion|Anakin and Beth#With a Tangled Skein|Loki and Beth#death tw#addiction tw#grief tw
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The Beast in Me - Chapter One
Pairing(s): GN!Reader/Arthur Morgan (Minor: John/Abigail, Kieran/Mary-Beth)
Summary: You never thought you'd be heading home to the ranch but after your father passed away and leaves the ranch to you, that's exactly where you find yourself. Nothing much has changed about Strawberry or the surrounding areas since you left... Apart from the rumours that there's something lurking in the woods. Something that isn't an animal at all...
Tags/triggers: Werewolf AU, Not canon compliant, gender neutral reader, mild gore, mild horror
Notes: All 3 parts available on AO3
The beast in me
Is caged by frail and fragile bars
Restless by day
And by night rants and rages at the stars
****
You had never cared for scary stories, ghosts, ghouls and the like. You weren’t scared of things that go bump in the night and didn’t believe in the local gossip of creatures that would snatch up children who played too far from the town or strange sounds from the mountains.
Ghosts and ghouls didn’t exist. People do.
****
Daddy had never really been the same since mama passed. He took it hard, real hard. You visited him twice a year if you could find the time but he wasn’t the same man who had raised you.
Maybe a part of him died when your mama had. And now the rest of him had died too.
Consumption, the doctor had said over the telephone; he’d hidden it pretty well from you, just telling you that it was the cold getting to his chest and you’d believed him or maybe you had wanted to. You knew he hadn’t wanted to worry you. The doctor said he had passed in his sleep. The ranch hand had found him the next day. It had been peaceful, apparently. You sure hoped so.
So you quit your job in Saint Denis and took the long train ride back home.
Autumn in Lemoyne was very different to that of West Elizabeth. The days were still hot, the sun seemed merciless sometimes but as the train rattled into Riggs Station, it felt like you were in a different country. Night was drawing in already; it always seemed to draw in faster out west. You could feel the chill of wind that swirled around your feet and the few leaves left on the trees rustled melancholically.
There was no one else left on the train by now, most people had gotten off at Valentine so only you headed into the wood cabin that was the station, a far cry from the bustling Saint Denis station.
The clerk was busy lighting lanterns as you had walked in but he greeted you all the same. “Good evenin’. Can I help you?”
“Yeah,” you replied, “do you know when the stagecoach will arrive?”
“Arrive?” The clerk repeated, sounding confused as he went back behind the counter. “Well it just left not fifteen minutes ago.”
You sighed before asking when the next one would come.
“Not til tomorrow mornin’ I’m afraid. Where do you need to go?”
“You know White Bison Ranch?”
“Sure, I know it - out by Little Creek River... Wait! Are you takin’ the place over?”
You nodded. You’d hoped to get there before it got too late but it looked like that wouldn’t be happening now, the sky was already bleeding black, like ink onto parchment.
“Well I’m sorry, there won’t be nothin’ til the mornin’.”
“I could take ya.”
The new voice made you turn, startled. There was a man sitting inside the cabin that you hadn’t noticed. He stood as he spoke to you.
“I can take you as far as Strawberry if that helps?”
“It’s certainly better than sleeping here tonight.” You replied and he smiled. The man was tall and slender, his hair dark and down past his collar, his eyes a glittering hazel and kind. The left side of his face was scarred, as if he had been in an animal attack but it didn't make him any less handsome. He held out his hand to you.
“John Marston.”
You shook his hand and reciprocated his greeting with your name.
“I’m waitin’ on a delivery from Blackwater, shouldn’t take too long now then we can get you to Strawberry.” He told you.
Just as he said that, a wagon pulled up and a man hopped down, “Mr Marston? I have the medicines you ordered.”
“Thanks,” John said gruffly, taking the parcel from the man almost furtively. You followed John Marston around the side of the cabin to where his buggy was. He put the parcel in the back then helped you with your luggage and then you got up on the buggy with him.
You made your way to Strawberry, the buggy trundled along the uneven road that you hadn’t been down in such a long time.
“I’m sorry to hear about your father.” John said, “he was a kind man. Me and my boy, Jack helped him out with the lambing just this spring gone by.”
“Thank you... “ you replied.
You felt guilty that you hadn’t been there to help; once upon a time it would have been you to help with the lambing though you remembered being squeamish at the sight when you were younger. You weren't no rancher, at least you thought you weren't. As soon as you had reached eighteen, you had left home in search of a better life and more money than what a dairy could get you. You’d headed for the bright lights if Saint Denis, not only was it as far away from the ranch you’d grown up on physically but in every other sense. The people of Saint Denis were nothing like those of Strawberry or the surrounding areas and you liked that.
You never thought you'd be going back like this but of course you had known your daddy couldn't keep on at it forever. You were the sole benefactor of the ranch and everything he had worked for his entire life… Which wasn’t a lot but it was enough for you to be able to leave your job in Saint Denis and come back home.
Home.
It felt alien. Yet as you neared Strawberry, nothing had changed that you could see. All the buildings and the people… Everything looked the way it had the day you had left.
When you reached the Strawberry hotel, Mr Marston stopped the buggy.
“Here we are. I wish I could extend my hospitality to you more but I have to get home. I got my boy and my wife and my brother… He ain’t a well man and I need to help take care of him... We own the stables just outside o’ Strawberry, maybe when you’re settled in you could stop by?”
“I’d like that very much. You’ve been very kind, thank you Mr Marston.”
You got down from the buggy and so did he, he helped you with your luggage again before tipping his hat to you, bidding you good night and riding away.
The hotel was warm, walls were deep burgundy and a large fire was cracking in the main room, casting large, looming shadows. You weren’t keen on the taxidermied animals that were displayed everywhere, a buck, a mountain lion and most prominently a large grizzly bear that stood behind the main doors, staged reared on its hind legs with a mean look on its face.
The clerk was friendly enough and luckily there was a room available for you.
“You came from Saint Denis, you say?” The clerk asked as he helped you upstairs with your luggage and showed you to your room. “That must have been one hell of a journey. Why don’t I get a bath ready for you?”
“Sounds good,” you smiled.
The bath was hot and just what you needed after a long day’s travel. Once cleaned and dressed, you headed back downstairs to see if the hotel offered food. The clerk told you they did and you ordered and waited towards the back of the main room which now had candles on every table.
Towards the front of the room were two well dressed women sitting across from each other on plush sofas smoking and talking.
“You tell me then, Willamina - What did Mr Jones see when he was out night fishin’ at Owanjila Lake?” One said a little hotly to the other.
The one called Willamina laughed, “Mr Jones was three sheets to the wind, Francesca. He probably saw a wild boar or a buck and tried to save face when he came tearin’ back into town, scared like a little kid to his momma! What was it he said? Eight feet tall? Red eyes? Claws as long as butcher knives?!”
Francesca bristled, “well, you won’t catch me going into the woods on my own, that’s for sure!”
“And rightly so, Miss Alehart,” came a man's drawling voice.
You’d been looking away, staring at the front of a newspaper that had been left on the table pretending to read it but really, listening in on their conversation but now you looked up.
A man you couldn’t say you’d noticed had joined them, hovering by the sofas. He was tall, dressed in black aside from his hat which was cream, maybe in his early forties and had scraggly blond hair.
“You shouldn't go into them woods without precautions.” He told Francesca and Willamina, speaking each syllable of the word precautions quite deliberately as he reached down to his gun belt and drew his revolver quickly, aiming at the taxidermied bear in the foyer and mimed shooting it, “ya never know what's a-lurkin' out there… waitin’ for you…”
“Oh Mr Bell!” Willamina exclaimed, “don’t be so dramatic.”
“Oh I ain’t being dramatic,” Mr Bell replied, his voice low and almost taking on a sultry tone. “The things I’ve seen out there,” he said gesturing to the door of the hotel, “why... It would make your blood run cold. O’ course, I could always help keep you safe… if you ever needed protection’.”
You could feel the atmosphere turning very awkward very quickly. You glanced over again. The two women had gotten to their feet
“We’ll let you know if we ever need a man of your specimen to protect us, Mr Bell. Good evening.” Willamina said coldly. With that, they left the hotel.
Mr Bell didn’t seem too concerned and chuckled to himself. You were aware of his icy blue eyes on you from under the brim of his hat but you ignored him. At that moment, the clerk appeared with your dinner and you made small talk with him to keep Mr Bell at bay.
****
The next morning you took the stagecoach to the ranch where you were due to meet Kieran Duffy, the ranch hand who had been helping your daddy out over the last few years. It felt strange coming back to the ranch after all this time. You remembered the trail as if it were only last week that you had ridden it, even some of the trees seemed the same and the way the trail dipped here and there had a comforting familiarity about it.
The stagecoach pulled up to the mouth of the ranch and Kieran almost ran out to greet you. He was a skinny man, with wide, light eyes peering out beneath the wide brim of his hat.
He shook your hand enthusiastically, “your daddy was always talkin’ bout you. It’s a shame you didn’t get to be with him in the end… proud man your daddy, didn’t even want to accept my help even when he couldn’t walk but three steps without needin’ to rest!”
Maybe Kieran could see that he’d been a little insensitive because his eyes widened further still. “I… I uh… He was peaceful at the end.”
The doctor had told you that much. You smiled weakly at Kieran, aware that it may come off as more of a grimace. He did his best to smile back.
“Why don’t I show you round? Must have changed a bit since you was last here.”
It hadn’t, it really hadn’t. The house and barn still looked the same, even down to the same white paint peeling from the exterior.
Kieran showed you the animals, sheep and a few dairy cows and around the back were chickens. "Mr Watson Jr from the general store comes by on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays to collect eggs and milk,” Kieran explained.
By the side of the house was a small stable with a couple of horses inside, a palomino morgan named Cash and a black and white appaloosa called Domino.
“They’re both fine horses. Cash is better for shorter distances but Domino is better for longer hauls and doesn't scare so easily,” Kieran said, patting them both fondly on the muzzle before giving each a sugar cube.
Sat on the porch was a fawn coloured chesapeake bay retriever who perked up when it saw Kieran approach.
“This is Bran, he’s real good at keepin’ foxes and greedy coyotes away from the chickens.” Bran barked playfully at this, as if he understood what Kieran was saying. Kieran leaned down to scratch the dog behind the ear before looking back up at you and swallowing, “uh… I... Maybe you’d wanna take a look in the house by yourself?”
You nodded at him. “Thank you, Mr Duffy.”
That smell. The scent of home knocked all the air out of your lungs and filled you from top to bottom and edge to edge. Autumn leaves, wood shavings, something warm that you couldn’t quite place. Home. Your home. The home you had grown up in and then eventually left.
It was silent inside. Still. You could hear the clock ticking in the kitchen. Outside Bran barked again.
You felt comforted yet also like you shouldn’t be there, like a trespasser. Your fingertips glided along the wooden bannister as you ascended the stairs and looked in your old bedroom. A knot formed in your chest when you saw that it had been left exactly the way it had been when you left for Saint Denis almost six year ago. Your bed was freshly made, as if it had been expecting you to come back some day. And now you had.
You swallowed as you crept back down the corridor and towards your parents room; the room the doctor had informed you that daddy had passed in and the same room mama had passed in eleven years prior to that. For one fleeting second, you thought, maybe you would die in here too. You shook the thought away. Silly.
The windows of the bedroom were open and the cold breeze ripped through the room so much so that you shivered. Folding your arms across your chest, you went back downstairs and outside to Kieran who offered to help you unpack.
You soon discovered that Kieran Duffy was a kind and sweet man. He lived just outside of Strawberry with his wife. He talked about her a lot, real proud of her, said her name was Mary-Beth and that she wrote novels. You were glad of his chatter, the noise filled the house and it felt less empty. Soon enough however, the night was drawing in again and he told you he had to head home.
“I’ll be back tomorrow,” he said, an element of a question in the statement, “that is if you still need me to help out with the animals and such?”
“Mr Duffy, what I know about caring for these animals can be written on a cigarette box. Of course I want you to come back tomorrow!”
Kieran’s boyish face lit up and he smiled, “then I’ll be here bright and early. Good night.”
Kieran mounted his own horse, a flaxen Tennessee Walker and trotted down the path of the ranch and into the woods out of sight.
You managed to get a fire going in hearth in the living room, the crackling was comforting and reminded you of when you were little; you’d sit on daddy’s knee while mama embroidered and he would read to you - all sorts of stories about princesses and princes, about magical fairies or witches and people who lived on the other side of the world who spoke completely different languages. When you settled yourself in front of the fire, Bran padded over and lay down. He gave a big sigh and fell asleep. You smiled, “me too, boy, ” you said to him quietly, “me too.” **** Maybe you’d become too accustomed to the city. The wheels of wagons and horses hooves clattering on stone paths, people shouting and calling to each other and the whistle departing trains was something you could, and regularly did, sleep through but the silence of the woods was too loud. Eerie and almost frightening. You tossed and turned in your old bed, unable to drift off into a sleep that lasted more than fifteen minutes. Outside you could hear elks crying and the creaking of the trees that swayed in the wind. Animals chirped and screamed and you were reminded of those times that you were afraid as a child. You used to go into your parents room and whimper, “I’m scared..!” Your mama would laugh, “don’t be silly, sweet thing. You’re safe in here with mama and daddy.” She’d send you back to your room and you’d curl up under your blanket with your eyes squeezed tight shut, somehow the sounds from outside were louder than before. But you knew your mother must be right, she always was. You were safe inside.
It was around three o’clock in the morning when you awoke to a sound. This time it was different. It wasn’t just the scurrying of an opossum or a racoon, not even a coyote. You found yourself compelled to swing your legs out of bed, bare feet found the cold wooden floor and you walked across the room to look out of the window so you could see the rest of the ranch.
The animals were in the barn so the fields were empty. You could see the fence and the opening of the ranch, you could just make out the trail past that but the looming trees beyond that made it impossible for you to make out anything else. Maybe a flicker between the branches but maybe that was your eyes. You were tired.
You couldn’t hear the noise now, wasn’t even sure what you had thought you might see. Maybe a fox or even a wolf. You remembered there being all sorts of animals when you were younger, you’d even seen a bear running across one of the fields early one morning after daddy forgot to take in some honey mama had ordered from the general store.
Maybe you’d dreamed it. It had been a long few days. You lay back down but didn’t sleep until the sun began to filter its way through the window.
****
Kieran was a great help. You had milked the cows before but even then it was something your daddy and the ranch hands dealt with more than you.
You collected the eggs and fed the chickens while Kieran milked the cows and mucked out the barn. You felt bad but he said he didn’t mind, it’s good honest work and the barn wouldn’t muck itself. You supposed he was right.
“Say, Mr Duffy,” you said to him once he was done and the pair of you sat on the porch together drinking lemonade that you had made that morning for lack of being able to sleep, “you said Bran took care of the foxes, right?”
“He sure does,” Kieran replied.
“Just foxes?”
Kieran half shrugged, half nodded, “sometimes coyotes. He had a cougar once but I think that was a fluke… He’s good with pests, too. Rats and the like.”
“Ever anything… bigger?” You asked cautiously.
Kieran thought for a moment, “I can’t say so.” His large eyes met yours, “you worried about the animals at night?” He asked, “'cause that barn is secure, I swear it. Mr Marston from the stables and his brother came and did a fine job with it. It was half fallen down before then!”
You nodded.
“Well it's comin’ into winter soon,” Kieran said thoughtfully, “so yer won’t have to worry so much ‘bout the likes of bears - not that you see ‘em that often no more down this way. All these new ranches and houses goin’ up... The bears have gone further into the mountains. They’s more scared of us than we is o’ them.”
You nodded. You supposed that much was probably true. You also supposed that you had just been tired the night before.
Even so, it didn’t stop you from taking daddy’s old rifle down from above the fireplace. It was rusted and looked a little worse for wear. You’d never shot a gun before, never really had to but maybe it would give you peace of mind to have a gun ready. Just in case.
The next day, you rode Cash into Strawberry, your daddy’s rifle stowed on the side of Cash’s saddle. You'd forgotten how pretty of a town Strawberry was, like something drawn on a postcard.
You hitched Cash outside the general store, you remembered coming here with your mama when you were younger and buying the groceries. The store had been run by an old man named Mr Watson and sure enough when you entered the store he was standing behind the counter, like he had never left. To say you were surprised to see him was an understatement; he had seemed impossibly old when you still lived in Strawberry and now he seemed even older.
He was speaking to another man who stood at the counter, “here’s everythin’ you ordered Mr Morgan. It’s good to see you out and about again, you feelin’ better now?”
My Morgan, who still had his back to you, shifted awkwardly; he was a tall man, his back and shoulders broad, you could see that he wore his sandy coloured hair long.
“Yeah,” he replied gruffly.
“And how’s the rest of the family? Mr and Mrs Marston? And little Jack?” Mr Watson asked, smiling kindly at Mr Morgan.
“Fine.” Mr Morgan replied rather bluntly.
“Well you take care now,” Mr Watson said as he handed Mr Morgan his items, “come back soon, I do enjoy our chats.”
Mr Morgan permitted himself a laugh at this, short and more of a bark. The effort made him cough, though. He turned from Mr Watson, covering his mouth as he coughed. It sounded bad and you found yourself wincing as a visceral reaction. His eyes met yours, brightest blue, like the skies of your childhood summers. He was handsome enough, his features angular yet not unapproachable.
“‘Scuse me,” he apologised to you, not making eye contact and moved away from the counter.
Mr Watson greeted you then his eyes widened, “my my! Is that who I think it is? Last time I saw you… Well it’s been years!” He beamed at you, “you back to take over the ranch?” He asked and you nodded. “I am so sorry ‘bout your daddy. Fine man, he was. He’ll be sorely missed.”
“Thank you, Mr Watson.”
“What can I do for you?”
“I was hoping you could help me with this…” You put the rifle on the counter. “It belonged to daddy, I think it’s pretty old but I just need it to shoot.”
Mr Watson’s white eyebrows shot up to his hairline, “my word,” he chuckled, “I don’t think I’ve seen one of these since the war. Sure don’t make ‘em like they used to! You’re right, it certainly is an old rifle indeed… I don’t think I stock the cartridges for this particular model any more, I’m afraid.”
You sighed.
“You could always try the gunsmith over in Valentine,” Mr Watson suggested.
Valentine was at least the best part of a day’s ride away. It seemed like an awfully long way to go in the hope that the gunsmith there might have the right cartridges for daddy’s old rifle…
“Sorry, I couldn’t help overhearin’...” It was Mr Morgan, he had been checking through the parcel Mr Watson had handed him. You turned to look at him, able to search his face now. His complexion was ashen and while his eyes were certainly striking, they were also bleary. He looked exhausted. “Can I see the rifle? I might have what you need.
You passed the rifle to Mr Morgan who inspected it. “Could do with some cleanin’,” he muttered to himself, “but it ain’t in too bad condition…” His voice was low and rough but has a strange kind of softness to it.
He looked up at you, eyes an arresting contrast to his pallid skin. “I reckon I might have some cartridges lyin’ ‘round if you want ‘em?”
“Really? That’d be mighty helpful of you.”
“I’d be glad to help you out. Your daddy was a good man. I’m Arthur Morgan by the way.”
He extended his hand and you shook it, introducing yourself.
“I got a few errands to run but I could always stop by the ranch this afternoon if that’s ok with you?” Arthur suggested.
“I’d really appreciate that, thank you Mr Morgan.”
He smiled at you now and his face changed, he looked lighter, younger, eyes crinkled at the corners. You smiled back.
“Then I’ll see you this afternoon.”
You picked up a few things from the store before leaving. Once outside you packed Cash’s saddle bags and fed him a carrot in preparation for the ride back to the ranch.
“Didn't I see you in the hotel the other night?”
The voice made you start and you couldn’t help but gasp and recoil away at the man who stood behind you; he had blood slicked all over his hands, down his jacket and even some flecks on his face. You recognised the face, the ice blue eyes and the straw-like blond hair.
“Didn’t mean t’ startle ya. The name’s Micah Bell, I was in the hotel the other night and remember seein’ ya. You takin’ over the White Bison ranch?”
You nodded hesitantly.
“I’m sorry.” Micah Bell said though he didn’t sound the least bit apologetic, “I’ve been out huntin’ y’see," gesturing to the blood all over him. “That’s the game, huntin’. You saw the bear in the hotel foyer? I killed that one. Supply almost all the meat here in Strawberry, too.”
You nodded again, not sure what to say to him. You unhitched Cash and began to walk him away from the store, towards the north exit of Strawberry. Micah followed.
“So you’re up at White Bison Ranch, huh?” He asked you, speeding up to match your pace.
You nodded a third time.
“How you findin’ it out there on your own?”
Your brows knitted together slightly into a frown, “just fine.” You replied a little bluntly.
“I’m only askin’ because there’s been a few people round these parts sayin’ that there’s something livin’ in the woods. Something that ain’t no animal.”
Your frown grew deeper. “Not an animal..?” You repeated almost to yourself rather than Micah.
“O’ course, I don’t believe that,” Micah chuckled, “you gotta be insane if you think there’s some beast runnin’ around in these woods. Probably a grizzly or a big cat and I’m gonna be there to get it.”
You stopped a little past the sheriff’s office and looked back at Micah. His eyes were piercing and you couldn’t maintain eye contact with him, feeling like he was looking right through you.
“So what’s the fuss about a bear or a big cat?” You asked, raising an eyebrow at Micah. “There’s been predators out in the woods ever since I was a kid and even since before then… What’s so different now?”
Micah’s lips twisted into a smirk, as if he had been waiting for you to ask that. “Real weird things been happenin’.” He said, a tinge of excitement to his tone now, “first it was animals that started goin’ missin’ a few years back - a chicken here and there or maybe a family dog and everyone just assumed it was coyotes. Then some little housewife over past Diablo Ridge said she saw something a-sneakin’ into the barn one night, took her husband’s shotgun and went to see what it was… She swore it was a monster, at least eight feet tall and covered in thick black hair with glowing red eyes.” Micah laughed at the expression on your face. “Horse shit, of course! But since then, everyone wants to see this creature. Plenty of people claimin’ they have but I’ll believe it when I see it stuffed and mounted on my wall.”
“Well it’s been nice talking to you, Mr Bell.” You lied as you pulled yourself up into Cash’s saddle. “I have to be heading back now.”
Micah’s smirk hadn’t faltered throughout your entire conversation. “If you ever get lonely up there, you can always come and find me.” He said, “or if you just want someone who knows how to handle a gun.”
You hesitated before answering. “I’ll bear that in mind, Mr Bell.”
You rode Cash at a leisurely pace, not wanting to rush back because you wanted to think about what Micah Bell had said to you. You were familiar with people in town gossiping, wild stories spinning out of control like Chinese whispers, usually cautionary tales to stop children wandering too far from their mothers or going into the woods alone. You felt better knowing that Mr Morgan would be coming along later with the rifle cartridges.
Kieran was taking a break when you got back. He stood up when he saw you coming up to the house where he was sitting on the steps eating a sandwich Mary-Beth had no doubt made for him. He waved enthusiastically at you.
“How was town?” He asked you, helping you unload Cash.
“It was… Interesting.”
Kieran laughed, “Strawberry? Interestin’?”
You laughed too and carried the groceries into the house with Kieran behind you. He helped you put things away. “Oh!” You started as you remembered, “Mr Morgan will be coming later on today.”
“Arthur Morgan?”
“Yeah.”
“Kinda… Surly lookin’ feller?”
“Yeah.”
“Hmm.”
You turned to look at Kieran who was looking thoughtfully at the can of beans in his hand.
“Is… Is Mr Morgan… Bad?” You asked, feeling a bit silly to ask such a childish question but you didn’t know how else to ask it.
Kieran chuckled. “No. I don’t think so. He’s just… Not a sociable person, is all.”
You were certain that this was true but it wasn’t always fair to judge a book by it’s cover.
Kieran was busying himself with the horses in the stables while you were going through some of daddy’s things in the house. You had asked Kieran if there was anything you could do to help him but he seemed capable enough of doing it all on his own and if anything, you were more of a hindrance.
It was around three o’clock when a silver dapple pinto Missouri foxtrotter made its way up the trail towards the house with Arthur Morgan astride it. You hadn’t forgotten about the handsome stranger who was coming to visit you and went out onto the porch to greet him.
The afternoon had turned colder than the morning despite the sun being high in the sky and Arthur was now wearing a longline olive coloured woollen coat and around his neck, he wore a black neckerchief. As he greeted you, you could see his breath in front of him.
“Mr Morgan, thank you for coming!”
“Of course,” he said to you, he looked a little better than earlier. “Why don’t you show me that rifle again?”
You guided Arthur back into the house, the rifle was lying on the kitchen table. Arthur set a heavy leather satchel down on the table with a clunk and took out a few things - some boxes of cartridges and gun oil.
“It needs a decent clean before you load it up and go shootin’ at muskrats,” Arthur joked and you smiled. He showed you how to take the gun apart and how to clean it. “It needs regular care, think of it like brushin’ your horse.” Arthur pushed the rifle towards you. “Why don’t you try.”
You cleaned the gun carefully and Arthur watched you.
“Heard you met my brother John the other day,” Arthur said.
You hadn’t been sure from the conversation you overheard in the general store whether John was Arthur’s brother or not but this confirmed it. They didn’t look alike at all, John was much leaner compared to Arthur, even their faces were completely different - John had sharp features and suspicious eyes. Arthur, while not the conversationalist had a certain warmth about him that you couldn’t quite put your finger on.
“He really helped me out when I got here,” you replied, “took me to the hotel in Strawberry, otherwise I’d have been stuck at the station all night.”
A smirk tugged at Arthur’s lips, “that sounds like John.”
Once the gun was cleaned, Arthur showed you how to put it back together. “You know how to shoot this thing?”
You felt a faint blush play across your face and you shook your head in response.
Arthur laughed softly, “I got some time before I gotta get back… I could show you, if you wanted?”
“Only if you’re sure.”
There was that smile again. “I’m sure.”
The pair of you walked out to the fields in front of the house.
“You gotta stand straight and hold steady.” Arthur told you, “you gotta focus, breath slow and always pull the trigger on empty lungs.”
“You sound like a seasoned gunman, Mr Morgan.” You said, you felt your heart flutter a little. Were you flirting with him?
“Somethin’ like that,” Arthur murmured. “Here, let me show you how to hold it properly.”
You spent the next hour or so shooting at a few empty bottles that you had found lying around as target practice. You took it in turns, Arthur demonstrating then your turn. By the end of it, you had hit maybe two bottles celebrating each time by hopping around with joy while Arthur chuckled.
The sky had turned a pumpkin orange and the sun had started to dip below the treeline, casting large ominous shadows across the field. Kieran had rounded up the remaining animals into the barn.
Arthur turned to you, blond hair looking golden now in the dwindling sunlight, “I really must be going now.”
“Why- why don’t you stay for dinner?” You found yourself asking and you had no idea why. You had no plans for dinner but you were sure you could rustle something up.
“That’s mighty kind of you but I don’t wanna intrude on your hospitality any longer.”
“You wouldn’t be intruding at all, Mr Morgan. I insist.”
“My brother will be expectin’ me back. I should go but thank you all the same.” Arthur said, his voice soft but also firm.
You suddenly felt very silly very quickly, a hot wave of embarrassment washed over you and you wished you could evaporate.
“Well... Thank you for today. You’ve been very kind and I appreciate it.”
He tipped his hat to you and went to his horse. You watched him mount it, swiftly kick his heels into its side and trot away towards the trail.
You didn’t know how long Kieran had been watching but he smiled weakly at you as you walked dejectedly back towards the house with the gun slung under your arm.
“He ain’t the most sociable,” Kieran said with a hint of ’I told you so’, “but he ain’t a bad man.
You sighed. “Yeah, I guess.”
Soon enough Kieran was telling you that it was time for him to get home, too and you were left to spend another sleepless night in the ranch house.
Completed fic on AO3
#rdr2 fanfic#red dead redemption 2#arthur morgan#reader x arthur morgan#gender neural reader#halloween fic#werewolf au#writing#rdr2
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@riggsanity
#Tin Star|Martin Riggs#Down til the Dark|Riggs and Beth#Thin Blue Lines|Lethal Weapon AU#California Screaming
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"a moment of weakness"
A Moment of Weakness || Not Accepting
13. Your muse has been beaten badly and is in bad shape, mine happens to find them.
“Oh my gen’le Jesus, Mar’in,” the words slip out of her throat in a raspy breath. From anyone else, it might have been blasphemy but when Beth says it? It’s a legitimate prayer, because whatever demons have gotten a hold of Riggs, they’ve won out. There’s so much blood, so much other bodily fluids and yet he’s trying to smile. He’s trying to move and she can’t let him, can she?
“Naw, naw. Hol’ still, ya a real mess righ’ now,” she says, putting a finger to his lips and she’s absolutely he either tried to kiss it or bite it.
The first thing she does is pull out her phone. Calls for a bus to whatever back alley this is, the bar’s name slipping out of her mind as soon as she confirms it. Next she calls Murtaugh and assures him that Martin won’t be at work tomorrow, and neither will she, if he’ll be so kind to pass the message along to both the Captain and to Scorsese. She doesn’t tell him why, lets Martin’s partner think what he likes. That done, she pulls on gloves that come from her back pocket.
She doesn’t know how long he’s been laying here. Doesn’t know the full extent of his injuries but his face looks like chopped sirloin and his hair is wet and sticky. As carefully as she can she starts to unbutton his shirt and rolls her eyes when he tries to make a joke of it, though she isn’t listening to that either. The words ~even with her impairment~ are slurred, there’s a little gurgle at the end that makes her fear that maybe he’s aspirating some of the blood from his nose.
“You’ve been doing so good,” she sighs. He has. Cahill can’t discuss it but she’s been fairly proud of him of late. So why now? Why this? What was he not getting, what was he looking for, picking fights? “Have halfa mind f’ leave ya heah. Make ya fend f’ yaself.”
The anger is only because she can’t let any of the fear show. Any of the terror that Martin needs this agony, that the next time she won’t be lucky enough to stumble across him when he misses one of their taco dates. But it’s there, in the small lines around her mouth, her eyes. In the way her hands shake as they skim over the wide swath of bruising across his ribs and stomach. The way she curses on of those words that almost never come out of her mouth.
“...Shit.”
#riggsanity#Tin Star|Martin Riggs#Down til the Dark|Riggs and Beth#Thin Blue Lines|Lethal Weapon verse#California Screaming
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Another Reason || -
@riggsanity
I. While Beth not only recognises but understands Martin suffers from survivor’s guilt, trauma, and depression, she hates being unable to do much about it sometimes. She knows exactly how lonely and inescapable that feels, how it sucks the life out of you and kicks you when you’re down. She tries her best to accept those moments, offer the support he needs, even if he won’t ask for it. Some days, she’s tempted to corner Cahill. She doesn’t give a damn about confidentiality. Sometimes, Cahill wishes the same thing.
II. Beth has also done all the preliminary blood-work and DNA sample-matching required for both a liver and kidney transplant for Martin. She keeps the files in her safety deposit box, updating them periodically so that when the time comes, all Martin has to do is sign them. The information can be quickly copied over on different forms for other organs as needed. She’s signed herself up to be his blood donar.
III. Beth is legitimately afraid of Miranda, or at least the memory of her. The life she built with Martin almost sounds like a fairy tale to Beth, even if it ends in horrific tragedy. Beth knows most fairy tales always end that way. Sometimes she lays awake at night, staring up at the ceiling of his trailer, curled up beside him and dwells on the fact that if they were ever to be more than friends, she can’t replace the things he’s lost. That she can never match up to the life he had before and that alone is enough to keep her from ever trying.
IV. Some day Martin will lose his fight. That might be the same day that Beth gives up.
#riggsanity#Tin Star|Martin Riggs#Down til the Dark|Riggs and Beth#Thin Blue Lines|Lethal Weapon Verse#California Screaming
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@riggsanity
“That’s one thing I don’t have a doubt about. You and those brains of yours at work,” Riggs murmured, his voice barely more than the quiet rumble of thunder in an approaching storm. He closed his eyes and focused on the feel of her brushing against him, surprised at how much his eyes burned from glaring at the file spread out in front of him. His hands covered hers as he hung his head, feeling the weariness creeping in to his bones.
He stayed like that for who knew how long, indulging in her touch, her warmth, her presence before he reluctantly lifted his head again and scooted sideways.”C’m here,” he said softly, patting the seat with one hand while he moved aside his untouched food with the other. “I’m…it’s nothin’ more than a feeling in my gut but I think it’s something more in the injuries than just a signature, you know? Maybe they’re tryin’ to say something?” It still didn’t sound right to his ears and part of the reason he’d held his theory close until now. Unlike some, Beth wouldn’t judge and she’d tell him if he was tilting at windmills.
The photos side by side, he leaned back and ran a hand over his mouth. “They’re startin’ to all blur together though.”
“Dey are kinda sexy. Don’t t’ink I no heah ya braggin’ around da House, all ‘look a’ da brains on my girl’.” She’s going for the easy joke, trying to stir him out of his funk. She hates when he lets a case get so far into his head that is drowns him from the inside. And how when he talks like that she can feel the low vibrations in her bones. Something about it in particular knifes through her and she can at various times give different names to all the feelings it evokes. But currently it just resonates a kind of hurt.
The same sincerity behind the way he holds onto her hands. She tries to will a sense of peace into him from the contact he makes, occasionally brushing his fingers with her thumbs, broken only when he moves. She does as he bids and slides into the bench seat beside him until they’re pressed together, his shoulder to the centre of her chest, one arm automatically wrapping around his bicep so she can tuck her chin over her hand and still provide him with a kind of anchorage that he maybe needs.
She looks down through the lenses of her glasses. It’s hard to look at. The three victims, their outline on the carpet done in tape rather than chalk. The amount of fluids. The brutality of it. Not only does it rouse in her an outrage at the gross loss of life but the fact that it was deliberate. This wasn’t accidental, it wasn’t a crime of passion, it wasn’t anything that she could ascribe as reasonably human. The same three bodies currently sitting in drawers back at the morgue, waiting for her and Scorsese to take their turns at gathering evidence.
She doesn’t know how Martin can keep doing this day after day. “Da appliance wire suggest convenience but... wha’ I wanna know is where da medical tape come from. Don’ see any in da pictures...so...we gonna make a note. You feel like dis person is try f’ say somet’ing. Wha’ we gonna do is put dem back in dere folder. Come t’ bed, we set da alarm for t’ree, mebbe four hour...an’ den we grab some coffee an’ look again wi’ fresh eyes. Wha’yya say, Texas?”
#riggsanity#Tin Star|Martin Riggs#Down til the Dark|Riggs and Beth#Thin Blue Lines|Lethal Weapon Verse#California Screaming#tw: crime scene#tw: cinematic violence#tw: homicide#tw: murder
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The Kids Aren’t Alright || Accepting
@riggsanity
She sits across from him, leaving the last quarter of their Kitchen Sink fries untouched on the table of her deck, maybe a little lost in her own head when his question comes skittering out on shaky legs. It sends a flare of suspicion up through all of her warning systems, soundless klaxons that vibrate along certain specific nerves that immediately kick in a self-protective defensiveness that makes her face completely blank and drops her eyes somewhere in the vicinity of her lap. As if she can somehow make herself less visible, take up less space. Fans out her hands as if the answer is written in her palms, a book listing every deficiency about herself that has been collected from a lifetime of glaring problems.
And up from the cracks they come pouring. Every doubt and fear, every thick-as-mud thing that pulls her down and threatens to drown her in. Something she’s been struggling with for weeks to keep at bay though she’s not really managed to get a good hold of. Makes her feel like a squatter in her own body, with no lands or rights. An alien in an ordered world that should flow so perfectly from one day to the next but she can’t quite find the right rhythm.
There’s a host of physical things; the fact that she’s too short, too thin. Not feminine enough ~You’re built like a twelve year old boy, Elizabeth, no one is going to find you attractive~ for her father to approve. Too ethnic looking. Not ethnic enough. That somewhere her plumbing got messed up and she can’t even do the things that come naturally to literally every other creature on the planet. The limping with she gets tired, the fact that people stare and murmur about the scar she keeps meticulously covered up.
Or she could change tacks and go down the rabbit hole of crossed wires. She knows that she doesn’t hear right and she talks funny. She’s too clingy, too needy, too impulsive most of the time to make people comfortable. The overwhelming sense of grief and sorrow that she doesn’t have any real way to express. The way it puts other thoughts at the back of her mind, that she could slip away and no one would notice. That she’s too dependant on her brother, and that’s creepy and weird. She’s creepy and weird. ~Can’t you just stop being...well... you? You’re making us look bad, Beth.~ Andy says so at least once a month, so that’s got to be true on the most basic level. Her brother isn’t a liar.
Surely some day Martin will notice it all if he hasn’t already and like everyone else, he’s going to try to find the nearest exit.
Wouldn’t blame him if he did, she’d do the same if she could, but she’s kind of stuck with herself.
“Take ya pick, really,” she says softly, not bothering to look right at him. If she thought she could get away with pretending not to have heard him, she would have run with that, but Martin at least deserves to be acknowledged. He’s a good person, after all. “I...I uhm. I’m gonna go inside, grab anoddah drink. You wan’ somet’ing?”
#Mahalo!Martin <33#Tin Star|Martin Riggs#Down til the Dark|Riggs and Beth#Thin Blue Lines|Lethal Weapon Verse#California Screaming#tw: depression#tw: mental health#tw: emotional abuse
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Midnight Oil || Accepting
Long fingers that take such care as to remove her means of avoiding sleep are enough to send adrenaline spiking through her system. More than the coffee ~although four cups is hardly a record~ that she’d been drinking, more than the tiny bits of rest as her head kept dipping as she almost nodded off. She was sure Martin had been asleep. That he hadn’t noticed her slipping away from the nest of blankets they’d concocted on the air mattress, traded in favour of slipping into one of the seats that lined either side of his table.
She tried telling herself that she needed to finish her charting so that the data could be entered into the records but it wasn’t really the truth. When she closed her eyes all she could see were the faces of the victims, imagined them before they were so brutally ruined. She’d spent ten minutes before she could even pull the sheets back crying over the waste of life. Marvelled that the younger of the pair was smaller than she was. Maybe ten. Maybe eleven. She doesn’t know how Martin can keep doing this day in and day out and still be a good and decent person who still retains hope.
More surprised that he turns up beside, and despite having gotten as little rest as she, still manages to sound concerned enough that she wants to curl up around him and just wish the world away for a while. Of their own accord, one set of fingers tangle themselves up in the back of his hair and she turns away from what she’d been doing ~words swimming in front of her face~ and with the other, puts her glasses down on the table. After, she slides right to the edge of the booth and presses her face into the side of neck. Breathes him in and exhales a sigh.
“Don’ wanna sleep,” she says, or would, if the words weren’t exactly muffled by his skin. “Too many things all swim around an’ I jus’ no can.”
She knows Martin knows what this is like. That he has those very same issues himself which often lead to 3 am cuddles on his couch and carded fingers through his hair, letting him talk if he wants or just being in the moment if he doesn’t. And it’s one of the reasons she knows in her heart that he won’t press, that he won’t blame her being off her meds ~she isn’t, she’s good about taking them because you have to lead by example~ or a host of other atrocious things.
“I jus’...I dunno...how make it all stop long enough.”
#riggsanity#Tin Star|Martin Riggs#Down til the Dark|Riggs and Beth#Thin Blue Lines|Lethal Weapon Verse#California Screaming
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Beth & Riggs
A Soundtrack | Accepting
opening credits: Going to California | Led Zeppelin
meeting for the first time: Thunder | Imagine Dragons
hey, i kinda like you: Love and Some Verses | Iron And Wine
i’m going to kiss you now: Closing Time | Semisonic
falling in love: Ocean | Lady Antebellum
your place or mine: Eight Second Ride | Jake Owen
naked in bed: Beneath Your Beautiful | Labrinth ft. Emeli Sande
first fight: Thistle and Weeds | Mumford and Sons
maybe we should take a break: It Will Rain | Bruno Mars
i want you back: Highway Don’t Care | Tim McGraw ft Taylor Swift
will you marry me: Mirrors | Justin Timberlake
we’re getting older: Sirens | Pearl Jam
if you die i’ll go with you: Hell and Back | Maren Morris
end credits: God Only Knows | For King & Country
#Mahalo!Klutzy <333#Tin Star|Martin Riggs#Down til the Dark|Riggs and Beth#Thin Blue Lines|Lethal Weapon AU#California Screaming#riggsanity
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What does Beth appreciate most about her job as a medical examiner?
This || Accepting
She’s surprised that it’s taken this long, two years and she can calculate the precise time down to the nanosecond but people don’t like that, including oneself. So she rounds it out to ‘and some’. Two years to ask a question that most people eventually get around to once they get past their own ghoulish curiosity or ignorance about what they see on television. To them, her job is Bones. That forensics science is CSI...enhance, enhance, enhance. But the truth is her job is nothing like those things. Nor any of the police procedurals. Okay, only sometimes.
There is examining the body inside and out, a solemn and thorough affair that she knows is really the very last doctor’s exam any person will ever have. There’s making judgement calls, processing information from not only the person’s body but from the reports, from the death scenes, from a variety of places. It’s a complicated and delicate thing.She takes a swig out of the beer sitting between them, she’s not sure if its his or hers. But it’s cold and its hoppy. She rolls the bottle between her hands slowly and when it comes to a stop, she picks at the label.
“I t’ink mebbe is da need t’ be a book smart doctah. Twelve year of school, pre-med, med, and special pat’ology fellowship. But also bein’ street smart detective.” She breaches the small space to brush his shoulder with her own. “Mebbe like it cause it’s quiet but important, ya know? An’ I guess...”
Her voice lowers and her gaze tracks across the sand to focus on some distant point of the sea’s horizon.
“Is also da kine... t’eraputic. Ya learn t’ suppress ya emotions while doin’ routine tasks; in da morgue, a’ da deat’ scene. So when it come up outside of work, ya can rely on dat skill t’ see you t’rough wha’evah mess ya got goin’ on.”Like dealing with one’s father, or people who think she’s a door mat to be walked on, or when she doesn’t know how to express the things inside which are making her miserable. But it also means having to be careful not to lose her ability to feel. To empathise. Easy to communicate emotional responses with grieving families, with a jury.“T’ confron’ deat’ every day, to see it f’ yaself an keep going, ya goddah love the livin’, ya know?”
Some more than others.
#Mahalo!Martin <33#Tin Star|Martin Riggs#Down til the Dark|Riggs and Beth#Thin Blue Lines|Lethal Weapon Verse#California Screaming
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❛ i’m not a witch! i’m a person possessing magic. big difference. ❜
Here there be... || -
Beth’s brows shoot up and she grabs a pillow, launching it at him in full, silent incredulousness. There’s even a little hurt crawling around the stubborn set of her jaw, in the scrunch of her nose. It’s not that she is angry, she doesn’t really get that way about labels. Well, not from Martin anyway. It’s more that it feels like his distinction makes a statement, separates him from others like it’s some kind of prize, or worse...his specific wording... a disease or disfigurement, something he has to live with and manage, not to be enjoyed and admired in any way.“I’m a witch,” she says softly and there is resentment in her tone. For all that she is Catholic, born and raised and dyed in the wool of religion, she cannot deny the fact that she has this gift, this mana in her veins as much as it belongs to the earth and the heavens and her ancestors.“An’ originally, word mean someone who see, who know. Someone could bend or wind da kine to deir will. Now, dough, people t’ink is some kine t’ make fun of or no take seriously. Commercialise it in da worst ways, make up story, make up history....”She shakes her head and resettles on his couch/bed by drawing her limbs up almost like protective and heavily barked roots of mangrove trees. “But go on, tell me da difference. Why ya t’ink one term mo’ beddah dan da oddah.”
#mahalo!Martin <33#Tin Star|Martin Riggs#Down til the Dark|Riggs and Beth#Thin Blue Lines|Lethal Weapon#Round and Round the Cauldron|magical AU#riggsanity
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say three nice things about yourself (three physical and three non-physical)
Softly || -
She lifts her head and glances over her shoulder to look Martin in the eye, curious as to what prompted him to ask her that. Instinctively she wants to deflect in a funny kind of way, or distract him by pushing herself up off the towel where she was soaking heat up from the sand and setting sun. Instead, she crooks a leg up and backward to push at his shoulder, before turning over. Cushions the back of her head with her arms. Face up now but not quite looking at him.She takes a small eternity to ponder the question, picking it apart and pushing it together in different ways, trying to find a comfortable language for the answer. Beth doesn’t really think that much of herself, she never has...and so it’s easier to talk about the more nebulous aspects that can’t exactly be measured, quantified or labelled.“Excellen’ judge of character,” she tells him pointedly, a quirked eyebrow challenging him to gainsay her. And even though she’s complying with his request, she has to wonder what made him ask, what was going on in his own head, as she studies his face.“Uh, I’m really good at board games.” No, no she isn’t but she’s got a competitive streak a mile wide and Martin indulges both that and her lack of shame at being silly. “Oh, oh an’ I coulda been a professional surfer. I’ma beast on a board an’ in da waddah.”
When she gets to the physical portion though, it’s much harder for her. She shifts again uncomfortably, deliberately wrapping the towel around her legs, now acutely aware that he could have been looking at the scar. That he might notice the slight limp from uneven musculature especially when she’s tired. Folds her arms across her chest because even in her favourite bikini she can’t pretend she’s curvaceous by any stretch of the imagination.Her chest tightens as she scrambles for an answer, her pulse incredibly loud in her ears to the point of distraction, and she tries desperately to find something, anywhere to look that isn’t directly at him because she knows beyond a shadow of a doubt she’s a terrible liar.“I...uh.”False start. Five yard penalty, repeat the down.“Uh.” Twist of lips, pinned at the corner of her mouth with her teeth.“Backside, eyes, hands.” It comes out as a rush with nothing to quality it, but she hazards a look to see if that will satisfy him.“We should. Uhm. Get cleaned up, Texas. No can be beach bums all weekend, an’ dat Tiki shack down da boardwalk got a pretty good happy hour an’ tapas.”
#Mahalo!Martin <33#Down til the Dark|Riggs and Beth#Thin Blue Lines|Lethal Weapon Verse#California Screaming#Making Wishes on Passing Cars|Answered Asks#riggsanity
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@riggsanity {{xx}}
{Text: Texas} So I’m guessing the topless pic that came with the please didn’t go through? Pity.
{Text: Texas} Guy’s a producer. Admiral made me do this. I thought he worked for like PBS
{Text: Texas} So Dirk brings me here. Orders me steak tartar and raw oysters and keeps asking me if I’m dtf and I don’t even know what that means.
{Text: Texas} sent you the directions.
{Text: Texas} did you know tartar is like raw meat Martin?!
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🗻 = our characters going on an epic adventure
Music Makes The World Go Round || Accepting
“Stand, by REM,” she says with a smile, and downloads that one. Because of course.
Stand in the place where you liveNow face northThink about direction, wonder why you haven't beforeNow stand in the place where you workNow face west, think about the place where you liveWonder why you haven't beforeIf you are confused, check with the sunCarry a compass to help you alongYour feet are going to be on the groundYour head is there to move you around
But, Beth is a little indecisive, and grins. “Or Don’t Stop Me Now, by Queen!”
Tonight, I'm gonna have myself a real good timeI feel alive and the world I'll turn it inside out, yeahAnd floating around in ecstasySo don't stop me now don't stop me'Cause I'm having a good time, having a good timeI'm a shooting star, leaping through the skyLike a tiger defying the laws of gravityI'm a racing car, passing by like Lady GodivaI'm gonna go, go, goThere's no stopping meI'm burnin' through the sky, yeahTwo hundred degreesThat's why they call me Mister FahrenheitI'm traveling at the speed of light
#Mahalo!Riggs <33#Texas|Martin Riggs#Down til the Dark|Riggs and Beth#Thin Blue Lines|Lethal Weapon#California Screaming#riggsanity
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“ do you regret letting me close ?”
In Vino Veritas || Accepting
“I regret….”
She lifts her head from the counter, wondering how the pot-lid got put on top of the Scrabble board. Every challenged word required shots to be gulped down while the other person looked up the word to make sure it was valid.
“….lettin’ ya pu’ down xiphoid f’ a triple score cause…I dunno what is dat. An…I regret…drinkin’ dis much tu….ta….tequila.”Both things that are absolutely true. Her stomach feels like a mine-field and everything is a little fuzzy at the edges, even as she does her best to grin up at him; it’s a little crooked and a little sloppy but radiantly hers.
“I regret not tell ya how I feel a lot of da time because I’m… dat’s just not m…” Fingers wiggle as if to wave away what she was saying.“I…regret… lettin’ ya close…when ya steal all my hotels an’ replace dem wi’ hale wor’ less. But close close? Like you an’ me an’ how we are. You an’ me an’ how we could be… you an’. You… You’re…. “
She makes a face.“I think I lo… oh….oh my….Mar’in…I don’….I don’….”She bolts from the stool, and for a few seconds it looks like she’s going to face plant the waxed wood floors but doesn’t. Her hands white knuckle the edge of the sink as the tequila and nachos decide to evacuate her system in the most violent way possible.
#Mahalo!Riggs <33#Tin Star|Martin Riggs#Down til the Dark|Riggs and Beth#Thin Blue Lines|Lethal Weapon Verse#California Screaming#riggsanity
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@riggsanity {{xx}}
“...’S’okay. If dey end up firing you, I got a job dats perfect for ya. You can come be my trophy cowboy. We can go do alla stuff dat Andy no want to but dat Da Admiral expect, an’ I’ll dress ya in all da bes’ wranglers an’ lil string ties. You can even wear a hat if ya wan.”
She doesn’t think he’s the devil, or anything remotely of the sort. He’s been too good, too kind, too patient. In a word, he’s been a saint and she’s grateful for Martin, who came into her life and changed it in subtle ways. Even if the red and sparkly horns are quite fetching framed against his dark curls. “Mmm. Depends. Ya got da matchin’ tail an’ fork tongue?”
She’s teasing him because she can and because she knows he started it, which makes everything fair game, now that the lights are dim and most everyone’s gone home except for the dispatch centre and a couple guys huddled around the coffee machine. They don’t normally pay attention to the morgue any way.
She doesn’t mind sharing and waits for him to swallow his illicit goods, and she knows she’s going to offer him a real cup, and not the sludge left by shift’s end. She leans into the kiss, lets the edges of his moustache tickle her skin. But it’s the arm that’s soothing. Presses against her midriff, left bare by the cheer-leader outfit she’s wearing {and had to put on at work}. It’s not her own but close enough. No one really asked her what Sunnydale was.
She leans back into the wall of his chest, chin tilted upward, eyes closed for a minute, and her voice is a little more serious than it ought to be. “No my style, I’m afraid. If anyt’ing li’dat, would wanna be Madam Pele. Chase all da bad away with rivah of fire an’ angry eart’. Leave behind obsidian an’ black sand, remind everyone nevah cross one goddess, ah?”
#riggsanity#Tin Star|Martin Riggs#Down til the Dark|Riggs and Beth#Thin Blue Lines|Lethal Weapon Verse#California Screaming
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