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headoverhiddles · 3 years

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The Romance Of A Yellow Rose - Dr. King Schultz x Reader [Smut]

Words: 5.6k

Synopsis: You and King get married, and celebrate your first night together by consummating the marriage.

Commissioned by a friend! Enjoy.

Your eyes open on the rugged planes of the Southern state the three of you had found yourselves in. As you roll over to stretch the sleep out of your body, you find a single yellow rose, native to this area. A smile grows on your face. It’s King’s way of saying good morning to you, as it had been for many months.

For years now, you had been tagging along with Schultz and Django. Having attached yourself to their travels three hot summers ago, the two men had become quite fond of your travelling company; King in particular. Over time, your relationship had evolved from a companionship, through friendship, to having romantic feelings for one another. You were the first to admit to them; King hadn’t wanted to say anything, as he still held a fruitless hope that one day he could return you to the pleasantries of the normal life you once knew, before it had been uprooted. But as the months passed, you getting more and more comfortable and (dare he say) suited to the lifestyle of a bounty hunter, it was becoming apparent that you were going nowhere. Not without him, anyway.

Hildy had decided to stay with some friends in the North while the three of you travelled the country on business. Texas Jack, Turkey Creek and Jack’s wife Camarilla were more than happy to keep her with them. It had put Django at ease at least, knowing they had one less person they had to worry about with them catching a bullet. Hildy was even teaching Camarilla different things she had learned over the years at their home, and the four were getting on fine from what Django took from her letters to him. King wished you had enough sense to stay with them, but where the older bounty hunter went, you went. You had made that quite clear.

Today, a warm day in mid October, you, King and Django were headed to visit a plantation in Conroe, Texas. There an outlaw by the name of Amos “Sly Eye” Little had been posing as an overseer for 3 months, flying under the radar on the small eastern Texan plantation. He wasn’t a particularly dangerous outlaw, only wanted for his habit of skipping out on poker games before paying up. Three months ago, he ended up double crossing the wrong man which led to legal involvement, and now to deter trouble in peaceful towns he was wanted dead or alive by the state. King and Django had discovered upon visiting this plantation that the family who owned it had been dodging the law for a while as well.

After the slaves had been freed by King and Django, this outlaw family just so happened to get in the way of a few bullets. The last man left alive on the property is now Amos.

“Back here!” you call. King dashes toward you, swiping you out of the way as a bullet whizzes by your ear. You sit in shock for a moment, King’s arm still around you. For a man who isn’t very dangerous, this Amos sure is trigger happy.

“Django!” King shouts, but his partner is already far ahead in pursuit. “Never listens,” the doctor mutters, loading his shotgun and aiming. You watch as Django dodges a couple more of the outlaw’s bullets before grabbing Amos by his collar, lifting him up a few feet. The man tries to scramble for his gun, but Django of course is faster. Just as he’s about to fire at close range, King clucks his tongue, looking through his target. “Bullseye.” Your eyes shut briefly as the snap of the bullet leaving the gun jolts you closer to the older man. He pulls you out of sight once more as the bullet hits Amos through the side of his head, out the other side in a bloody deluge. Django jerks his head up your direction, dropping the corpse into the carnage at his feet.

“I was handling it!” he mutters.

King comes out from behind the tree, helping you up with one hand. You brush off your pants as you both approach the other man. “You were being hasty again,” King says.

“I was handling it,” Django insists with a look. You two nudge arms amiably, and King gives you a disapproving look.

“You are encouraging him.” He turns to Django. “And you’re encouraging her.”

“What’s wrong with a little congratulations?” you giggle. “You got your dead cowboy.”

“I would trade a thousand dead cowboys to keep both of you alive. You’re the best things that have ever happened to me, do you know that?” King gives you a meaningful look, before brushing off Django’s jacket and squeezing your hand. “Forget this place. We’d better get the horses and get out of here.”

Taking the initiative, you go off in search of Tony, Fritz and Ida, your mare. Django approaches King, taking off his bloodstained gloves. “You talked to her yet?”

“She doesn’t know, no.” King looks down, nervously stroking one side of his moustache. “I was waiting for the right time.”

“You wait any longer, she’s gonna be burying her husband to be.” King doesn’t bother taking offense—he knows Django is right. He’s much older than you—not one foot in the grave as Django likes to tease, but older. That had been another source of insecurity for him during the burgeoning relationship, but you had made it clear that you didn’t mind; in fact, you liked the difference in age. King’s fellow bounty hunter interrupts his thoughts. “Y’all should get married here. Nice place, no one left in it now.” Schultz looks around the grounds. It is pretty, and it would be nice to marry you in such agreeable weather... but King shakes his head.

“No Django. This place was built on treachery and suffering. It would be not only tasteless, but bad luck to get married here.”

When you three make it to the next town in the state over of Arkansas, something is waiting for King at the inn.

“You Doctor Schultz?” the innkeeper asks, spitting tobacco into a spittoon. King nods, taking out his billfold. The innkeeper sizes him up. “Yep, man who sent this said fella looking like you’d be coming through here. This’s for you.” He takes a letter out from behind the desk in one of the cubbies, and slides it across. King expects it would be from Texas Jack, but it instead it’s from a different friend in the North; a sheriff acquaintance he had written to before about his situation with you. Thanking the man, you all head upstairs, and when King gets to a desk, he slips on his reading glasses.

Thought you’d make your way through this here town, Schultz-

Sounds like a hell of a woman, the one you’ve told me about. You softie. Knew you wanted to settle down, and it’s about damn time, too. What the hell are you doing with her down in the South then? She oughtta be up here. Maybe I’m biased, but there’s a lot more law n order up here. Better people too. I am biased, spose.

You asked me what I thought about asking for her hand. Why wait to marry her? Hell, bring her up, we’ll have a ceremony here! I’m not only a sheriff, but an ordained minister too. Bet you didn’t know that. Wouldn’t kill you to ask. Anyway, no reason why I can’t make things look good, clean up the place nice and host your happy union. Got some more birthday cake here too, for someone to eat. Pretty good.

Come on up when you finally convince yourself she won’t say no.

- G. A.

“You got a letter back from Sheriff Snowy Snow?” Django smirks. King stares at the letter in his hands for a long while, before looking up at him with a smile.

He could do it. He could finally ask for your hand.

“Django, my boy. We’re going to Nebraska.” You overhear, and turn back with the bags.

“Up North? What for?”

“To see an old friend of mine, fraulein,” King says, taking the bags from you to carry inside. “Sheriff Gus Arnett.” You smile. It’ll be nice to get out of all this heat and around some likeminded people—people who King can relax and be himself around.

You had all stopped off to pick up Hildy in Boston after travelling by train through the Southern states and switching back to horsepower as you made your way up through the wintery landscape of barren northern land. It was worth it, of course; King and Django had insisted Hildy come too, and you had been happy for female company.

“Has my troublemaker been behaving himself?” is the first thing Hildy asks you, kissing your cheek in greeting.

“About as much as mine has,” you laugh.

“Coming from the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met. It is you who has been the naughty one,” King chastises you right back.

“Maybe one day, you can teach me a lesson for it.” King blushes as Hildy lets out a loud laugh at the connotations of such a taunt. He knows you’re still virginal, waiting for marriage as you’ve told him before. Once united by matrimony, that’s another wall that could be knocked down between you, if you decided you still wished to give yourself to him.

It was no secret you wanted King, and he had made it plain he would wait for you—he’s a gentleman in every sense of the word. Still, men have needs, and some late nights it had been hard. Many evenings by the fire had ended with you in his lap, grinding down as you kissed him with feverish intensity. It had always ended the same way however, with you heading off to sleep alone and leaving him with nothing but his mind to picture what the next hour may have felt like. This time, King feared he wouldn’t last once he finally got to feel you as he’d wanted to for so long. Either way, he had a silver tongue, and experience in the art of pleasuring a woman. He wouldn’t leave you wanting; whatever you needed he would give you.

Arriving at the snowy lodge some days later, Sheriff Gus Arnett comes out the front door. A couple of minks and rabbits are hanging from the roof over the porch, and two pairs of boots caked with snow are drying outside by a wooden rocking chair that had been collecting frost no doubt since September.

“King Schultz and Django Freeman, in the flesh! Come on in with your little ladies!” he says, opening his arms. You approach first, and he shakes your hand with the assurance of a man who’s not used to gentle handshakes. “I don’t believe we’ve met, ma’am,” he says softly, “But any friend of King’s is a friend of mine. Especially a friend like you.” He winks at you and smirks over at King, who ushers you in out of the cold quickly. Gus tips his hat at Django and Hildy, closing the door after they come in.

“Like I said,” he sighs, “We got some cake. Y’all want some?”

“Perhaps we wait until after dinner?” Schultz proposes.

“I wouldn’t mind some,” Django speaks up, giving King a look. King just chuckles.

“Go ahead, my boy. I was a dentist, remember. Old habits remain, I suppose. Would you like some, (y/n)?”

“I’ll have the piece you didn’t want,” you tease. You lean closer to him to brush your lips against his ear. “When it comes to you, I want everything.” The former dentist swallows. This proposal couldn’t come at a better time, as things between you two are heating up.

That night after dinner of rabbit stew and some leftover cake for dessert for everyone but your beloved, everyone had retired to bed a few hours after the sun had gone down. In your own room, you set your satchel on the bed of clothing you had been travelling with in the South, and just as you’re about to unpack, a knock at the door distracts you from your task. King slowly pushes the door open—he’s dressed in his white shirt and grey vest, his hair freshly combed back. It seems counterproductive to groom that well before bed, but to be fair, you had never personally witnessed King’s nocturnal habits in a place that allows such a luxury. He offers his arm, and when you take it in curiosity, he leads you out the back porch of the lodge home. The wind isn’t too cold tonight, but he still wraps his arm around you. The mountains are beautiful out here, and the snow has stopped for the night to allow for a crystal clear view of the surrounding landscape, snow white on the bottom and starry black on top.

“It’s been a while since we’ve been able to sit together like this,” King says. “Just sit and enjoy one another’s company alone. It’s very rare we get time just the two of us without our faithful hero.” You lean into him, resting your head on his shoulder.

“Mm. We’re usually around a campfire, with Django snoring behind us.”

“At least we don’t have any of that to score our evening. I think Django’s gone to bed with Hildy in there.”

“You should be in bed too,” you fret. “I’ve noticed you haven’t been sleeping well.”

“I never have been very good at that. I’m a light sleeper, fraulein. Especially when I have lots on the mind.”

“You know what helps me when I can’t sleep?” You smile. “Something I learned from you.” King turns to look at you, a soft chilly breeze blowing the silver blonde hair from his eyes.

“What’s that?”

“A story.”

King ducks his head, and pulls you closer to him. “I think that would do the trick. Go on then, my love. Will you regale me?”

“I know a story of a deep running love, where a woman slowly developed feelings for one who she learned to depend on.”

“A common story, no?” King teases.

“Shhh. She loved very freely, but this was different. She not only loved this man, but worried about him when he wasn’t around, yearned for him, desired him in ways that drove her crazy sometimes.” King’s breath audibly quickens.

“And what did our heroine do about this tumultuous situation?”

“Oh, she took care of things. But not like she knew he could.” His breath hitches. You bite your lip as you go on. “The two had been together so long... learning one another’s quirks, laughing at little things and sharing moments others wouldn’t understand. They knew what scared them, what made them smile. At the end of the day, she told the man a million times how she adored him. But she was afraid he still didn’t know how much.”

King rubs down your finger, eyes trained on it before looking up at you. “I think I do.” You forget whatever you were going to say next as King rubs his rough fingers over your knuckles, bringing them up to his lips to kiss them. His beard grazes your skin pleasantly as he opens his mouth. “Will you be my wife?” Your heart skips a beat.

“Truly?”

“True as my love for you.”

“Tomorrow?”

“If you wish.” You lean in to kiss him.

The door bangs open, Gus tosses a pail of water out all over you two. He realizes where you two were sitting, and his eyes widen.

"Gott verdammt."

“Oh, hell. I’m— what are the two of you doing out—?” He can’t even finish his sentence—you’re laughing too hard. King tries to keep up a grumpy facade at the fact that you had both just been drenched in ice water in this weather, but he can’t help it. Your laughter is infectious.

“Please tell me there is enough boiled water for a bath,” he sighs, and you shiver. “For the fraulein, at least.”

Django and Hildy had been up to witness the commotion from the noise of it all, no doubt committing the sight to memory for future teasing. They returned comfortably to bed with one another, which was a comfort you and King couldn’t currently afford in your state.

You get to work drawing the bath as Gus passes you each pails of hot water. King comes in, shedding his dripping fur coat and tugging at his tie. Your eyes drift down to his chest, then back up to his face. King subsequently tries to distract himself so as not to focus too hard on you. You had stripped down to your slip, which was stuck to every curve of your body from the water. The temperature hadn’t done much to help any other evidence of the cold, around your breasts. He tries not to look too long.

“Would you take me out of this?” you ask. It’s a harmless question, but King’s thoughts run wild. He could simply refuse you, but what reason would he give then? That he couldn’t control himself around you, so close to your wedding night?

“Of course,” he sighs softly, and approaches. He takes the back of the slip and undoes the buttons, helping you pull it over your head. He inches it up, the wet material dragging along your skin. He turns to go as you’re revealed, and to his dismay, you don’t stop him. Only one more night, and he could have all of you.

As you step out of the lodge, it’s as if you’ve stepped out into a painting. A light dusting of snow is falling over you, snowflakes catching in your eyelashes and melting tracks down your cheeks like tears of happiness. King is standing there at the end of the pathway shovelled out, just by the small lake. It’s frozen over, reflecting the light of the moon through every little icicle hanging from the branches of trees hanging over top of it. Mountains soar around the group of you, boasting the most beautiful landscape you’d ever seen.

King takes your hand as you approach. Beside him, you see Django dressed in a handsome green winter’s jacket, black leather gloves pristine. On your side, Broomhilda is wearing a beautiful green dress under layers of a form fitting brown jacket. You’re in a beautiful snow white dress with furs covering your shoulders and a fur hat. King is also wearing his grey fur coat. The two of you join hands, and recite vows.

“I know I’m a considerable number of years older than you,” King tells you softly, “But I promise to make up for this. I promise to protect you with my life, cherish you, and support you in every endeavor you wish to pursue.”

“I will stay by your side no matter what,” you tell him, “I’ll be brave when you can’t be. I’ll be strong when you need me to be. I’ll love you as long as my heart beats, and oppose anyone who tries to take you away.” Kindness in his eyes, King smiles down at you, crow’s feet crinkling. He lifts your hand up to kiss.

“Do you take this man?” the sheriff asks.

“I do.”

“Do you take this little lady?” King sighs out through his nose, thumbs rubbing over your knuckles.

“I certainly do,” he breathes.

“Well hell, you may kiss the bride then!”

When King leans forward, you surprise him by taking a step forward and wrapping your arms around him, deepening the kiss. It lasts for an eternity between you, and when you part, King brushes the snow off your rosy cheeks and presses his lips to your forehead.

“Ich liebe dich,” he whispers into your hair, and you slide your arms around his middle in embrace.

Inside the bedroom upstairs, a fire crackles in the hearth. The curtains are open to the snowy view outside, and the frost on the glass only makes you savour the warmth inside. King pours you some bourbon, and comes to sit down beside you in front of the fire. As you cuddle into him, he puts a hand on your back and draws you in for a kiss, his beard pleasantly tickling your face. Bourbon forgotten, the kiss deepens, and you feel his tongue slip into your mouth as you part your lips for more. You pull away, smiling.

“Can I ask you something?”

He looks at you. “Of course. What are you thinking about?”

“How does it feel?”

King looks at you. “You will have to be a little more specific.”

“How does it feel to finally consummate a marriage?”

He stares into the flickering fire. “We don’t have to do it if you’re nervous.”

“I didn’t say that,” you say, crawling over to straddle him. King welcomes you into his lap. “I just wanted to know. You’ll show me?”

“I would love to.”

“You know I’m inexperienced.”

“I do,” King nods.

“Isn’t that undesirable?” King seems offended that you would even suggest such a thing, at the very least ruffled by the idea of it.

“My dear, of course not. Being inexperienced merely means I can show you how to do things.” He hums against your neck, grazing his lips down.

“I’m not completely clueless,” you breathe as you tilt your head back to give him better access. You stand in one smooth movement in front of the fire, leaving King sitting and gazing up at you. “I know what fucking is.” You hear his exhaled breath.

“Yes. I would assume you wouldn’t be entirely in the dark about that.”

“But I’ve never felt it,” you whisper. “I wanna feel it, King.” He doesn’t get a chance to respond. You undo your dress, lace by lace, letting your fingers twine slowly between the hooks. You sigh his name as the corset comes free, recalling how you’d longed for him to do this last night, and you hook the straps of your dress under your thumbs, sliding it down to reveal the slip beneath. You hear his breath hitch, but he doesn’t make a move.

You run your hands down over your ass, letting out a soft noise. You hear him readjust where he’s sitting, and you work now on the cream coloured pants beneath the white gown, sliding them down ever so carefully.

“(y/n),” King whispers.

You let out a moan. “I’ve been wanting to get out of this the entire ceremony just to see how you would look at me, seeing me like this for the first time.” You swing your hips a little, arching your back, and finally wiggle some more as you drop your pants to the floor. King’s breathing is heavier now, and you stretch your arms above your head, sighing again as you let your hair free. “Like I said. I may not have done this before, but I know a lot more than you think I do.”

“I’m not certain I believe that, my feisty little one,” King huffs, averting eye contact. Oh, no. Not tonight he doesn’t. You’re only in your chemise now, and you turn to reveal smooth skin he’s never seen before, bunching the fabric up just enough to give him a peek of the v of your hips.

You can see the visible outline of his hardened cock in his pants, straining against the tight confines and desperate for some kind of relief. You put one leg over his lap to straddle him.

“Touch me?” you whisper, and reach down. He doesn’t stop you, just watches closely as you bring your hands to his pants, untie them, and reach in to take his cock in your hand. He does as you say, returning the touch with his hands up your back, taking the straps of your chemise down. He takes a shallow breath as your fingers come in contact with his warm cock. You grin wickedly, swiping your thumb up to spread his precum around a little. He meets your eyes as you pull him fully out of his pants.

“Oh,” he huffs gently, head falling back a little as you stroke him once.

“Is that good?” you ask softly, pressing a kiss to his ear. “Am I doing it right?” King stutters a little, gasping for air when you swipe over his swollen cockhead again.

“You are doing just fine,” King whispers, lips parting.

“Mmm,” you mumble, pressing a trail of wet kisses down his face and lazily taking his lips between your teeth, leading into a dizzying kiss full of tongue and one another’s slow breath.

“Stop. Wait my love,” King mumbles, stalling your wrist with his hand. You pout.

“What’s wrong?”

He opens his eyes to look at you, pupils blown with lust. “After a show like that, I am at your complete and ready service, not the other way around. Tell me exactly what you want me to do,” he whispers gently, and you get off of him, lying back on the floor like a princess awaiting a treat.

“Could you pleasure me with your mouth?”

Your cheeks heat, but King nods with a smile, dispelling any nerves you might have for such an intimate display of sensuality. He lays you on the floor, pressing kisses down your neck, over your collarbone and across the top of the soft skin of your breasts. His hands come up to gently hold your hips down as they circle upward—he moves your legs so he can brace himself between them, pressing more kisses down over your stomach to the impressions on your hips he’s left with his fingers.

“I want you to have me,” you whisper. King strokes one hand along your thigh.

“It takes time to discover each and every spot that will make you weak for me, lieb,” he mumbles, mouthing at your panties with a practiced finesse. “Be a good girl now for me. Be patient. There is more to come.” The bounty hunter takes the panties down with deft fingers, sliding the fabric down your legs until you’re bare to him. Your cheeks heat, but he reassures you with a starstruck gaze, looking over your body like a lovesick man. He dips his head back down with a soft kiss to your thigh, reaching up to hold your hips as if he’s predicted your body’s reaction already. He presses a reverent kiss to your clit, and his tongue takes a sweep of your folds, making you quiver as his beard scratches the soft skin of your thighs. His prediction proves correct when your hips jerk up as he gives his first lick between your lips. You reach back to grab the carpet, before deciding instead to grip onto his blonde and silver locks where his mouth works between your legs. It’s a surreal pleasure—unlike anything you’ve felt before, and you want more.

“Does that feel good?” King asks. All you can do is nod, but he encourages you to tell him exactly how you feel. “Use your words, fraulein.”

“Yes. Don’t stop,” you sigh.

“My good girl.” King dips back down, swirling his tongue around your bud until you’re shaking. Taking care to hold you close to him, he moves himself up until he’s grinding himself against you. “I want nothing more than to be inside of you,” he whispers.

“Take me as you wish then,” you groan.

“Tonight is about you,” he murmurs against your skin.

“I want it.”

Unbuckling himself, he takes his time slowly working a finger inside of you. He adds another and gently curves them up, before gauging your reaction. Going by the desperation in your face, he slowly replaces his fingers with his cock, pausing every inch to check and see if you’re still alright. You can tell how he’s exercising his restraint—you’re so tight, and all he wants to do is take you until both of you are sweaty and screaming, but he must make this last. You can feel him sliding into you, and his hand comes up to hold yours. Your eyes screw shut as he finally bottoms out, and he presses a kiss to your chest. “Tell me when it is okay to move.” You nod.

“Please.” He starts up a slow pace, covering your body with his as he takes his time with you. Too desperate to take the time King might have in mind to teach you patience, you push your lips harder against him, and roll over on top of him. You kiss the bounty hunter, again and again until your lips are swollen and King is painfully hard inside of you.

“Lift up your shirt for me,” he whispers, his voice gentle. “That’s it.”

“Have me,” you mumble.

“What was that?” King asks, “You must use your words if you would like something, hm?”

You blink up at your older lover. “Please take me King,” you raise your voice, and he smiles.

“Hm.” He gives you an affectionate smile. “I have no choice but to oblige my lady love when she asks as nicely as that. Very well. As you wish.”

He pumps in harder, ripping a groan from you. You’d dreamed of what this would feel like, and it turned out better than you had imagined, King’s soft sighs and the rocking of his body against yours heightening every touch he grazes your sensitive skin with.

A moment later, he pulls out and flips you over gently. He then positions himself between your legs and brings his mouth back down between your legs, suckling around your clit again. “King,” you whisper, breath hitching.

“Louder,” he encourages, and goes back to masterfully taking you apart with his tongue. He soon encourages you to sit on his face, and you do, feeling him lick you perfectly as the pleasant feeling of his beard returns to tantalize your skin. He circles your clit with the tip of his tongue as you reach down to touch his cock. It’s a foreign feeling in your hand, but you soon get the hang of the motions, twisting your fist and using his precum to slick your strokes.

“King... don’t stop,” you groan, his tongue delving just barely inside of you. He moves off of your pussy as you moan, and licks his lips.

“I must admit, I wanted nothing more than to do this all day,” he groans as he moves back up your body, “But I am a gentleman.”

“Too much of one sometimes.”

As if in challenge, he picks up his pace and starts to grunt your name, leaning down every now and then between thrusts to press a kiss to your breastbone as his face scrunches up. You love how uncharacteristically possessive King is getting– it turns you on beyond belief. Your moans grow loud as the bounty hunter’s cock fills you over and over again, satisfying your need for him as your noises blend together into the creak, groan, gasp of making love for the first time.

“K… King…” you groan, breasts bouncing with every thrust. His breath is hot on your neck, and he presses an open mouthed kiss there.

“You are astonishing,” he whispers, “You’re perfect… oh, bitte, bitte Fraulein, you feel so nice… you are my everything.”

“King, just like that, oh god–” you groan, and he makes a noise at your slutty display, reaching up to massage your breasts. You feel your orgasm approach as he continues to touch you, and his hand quickly comes down to rub your clit.

“Ah,” you moan, and clutch his shoulders. King sighs, feeling your pussy squeeze him, and with a stuttered thrust he cums as well, spilling inside you. Soon, you’re crying out his name, and he squeezes your hand tighter as you both finish at the same time, the love you share burning at the height of its passion as your bodies become one. You both rock together to ride out your orgasms until you’re satisfied. Panting breaths mingle as you snuggle close to him.

“Is that what all the fuss was about?” you tease. King frowns at you, and you laugh into his chest.

“Into bed before I take full offense to your jokes, beloved,” he murmurs. You nod, smiling as he helps you up with one hand and carries you bridal style over to the bed covered in furs for a warm night’s sleep together—finally together.

"I am lucky I have such a pretty creature warming my bed tonight," he jokes, "A plucked chicken like me should be very grateful." You huff another laugh, rolling over beside him to finally tuck in with your love.

"I've only ever wanted you. That'll never change, no matter what." You grin. "Tonight only helped solidify that fact."

"So you are with me for my talents in the bedroom, ah!"

"NO--"

"I understand it now."

"King!"

"Shh. Let's sleep now. We will argue like an old married couple in the morning."

The next day, Hildy and Django are already in the living room of the lodge. Gus is in the kitchen making up some breakfast.

“You look radiant this morning,” Broomhilda says, smile wide.

“Yeah. You do look pretty good. Different,” Django nods, narrowing his eyes as if to try and decipher what could have changed about you. Hildy just rolls her eyes, turning back to you from her own husband.

“So. Where’s your significant other?” You grab yourself a cup for the coffee that’s brewing, settling in across from them at the table.

“He’s still sleeping. He worked hard last night.” Tucked in the pocket of your nightgown is a single perfect, yellow rose he had saved you from the South, one King had left his new wife to find upon waking.

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cowboisadness · 3 years

Text

Found You {Arthur Morgan x F!reader}

Summery: She was there for Arthur through everything, being more than good friends but less than partners. They support eachother through the good and bad times, it’s not love tho, no, it’s not love at all.

Rating: M. Basically porn with plot. More plot than i planned i really got carried away with this. SMUT IS HERE! 18+ ONLY!!

—–

Chapter 4 - Together

The next few days were nothing short of torture. Arthur never spoke another word to me, huffing whenever I would say something to him or just walking away from me completely. Everyone else in camp soon noticed something serious had happened between us. Their comforting words and questions on what happened went unanswered and dismissed. I hoped time would help, that I would get a chance to explain myself and apologise for my foolishness and downright stupidity. But as the days passed, the frayed ends of the rope had no chance of being reconnected, no matter how hard I tried and how hard I cried. So I flung myself into as many jobs as I could get. As a distraction.

Robbing homesteads. Stagecoaches that turned into shootouts more often than not. Gambling with fellers that were too drunk to notice me stealing their wears from right under their noses and gone before they realised anything was amiss. Fighting in hidden alleyways with meagre men that thought they could take on a woman with nothing to lose. Just to feel something, another kind of pain that would lessen with time.

It wasn’t until I was sat at the edge of the camp, cleaning my revolver while looking out over the overlook, stars raining bright above. Bottle of whiskey by my side that Hosea came over and sat beside me. Silent at first. Taking in the view.

“You going to explain whats going on?”

“Nothings going on, Hosea.” I shrugged, running the oiled cloth over the same spot mindlessly. “Arthur won’t tell me. I though out of the two of you, you would.” he kept his eyes ahead, not bothering to look at me. I sighed, my shoulders dropping in defeat. I might as well tell him, not like he would be able to change my mind.

“I’m an idiot. I spoke to Mary. Told her to leave Arthur alone and to stop contacting him.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know anymore...Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“You love him.” I could see his grin out of the corner of my eye, albeit a sad on.

“Not you too, Hosea.”

“You two were very close. Closer than you think I realise. I’m not a dumb old man you know”

I didnt reply to that. No point to, my mind was made up now. Instead, I holstered my gun and stood, picking up the bottle as I did. Turning to Hosea to finally look at him.

“I’m leaving, Hosea. Only for a few weeks or a few months. I don’t know.”

“You really think leaving will help?” “Maybe. It might help him if I’m not here. I’ll send money and write to you and Dutch. I’ve already packed.” After a few more words and questions on my plans when I’m out there on my own, we hugged and I said my goodbyes to him, Dutch and a few others. Promising the girls I will see them again, even though I was doubtful. I willed no tears to spill when I gathered my things, leaving my tent bare and hollow. Mounting my horse I left camp without looking back, letting the wind guide me in whatever direction it wanted me to go.

---

Roughly 4 months had passed since leaving. Currently holed up in a now-abandoned cabin in the depths of Grizzlies East by O’Creagh’s run, hiding from the law after robbing the fence in Van Horne. Id wrote letters and sent money to nearby stations as promised. Keeping updated with the gangs coming and goings. The last time I heard from those who would write back, mainly Hosea and Mary-Beth, was when they were held up in a place called Shady Belle. I haven’t heard anything from them since. That was a month ago. I had thought of going there, finding them. But I couldn’t bare having to leave again after realising they had been getting on fine and had left me to my own devices. Coming to the conclusion that I was not returning and that I had abandoned them all. Which was far from the truth. I still cared, which I’m sure was evident from whatever leftover money I had been sending to them. Only, it wasn’t getting picked up from the stations anymore, along with my many letters. I was travelling back to the cabin after an evening hunting for supper and hopeful breakfast. The blanket of trees now behind me, opening up the wondrous starry night, pulling my jacket closed as the cold breeze this time of year began to sting any uncovered skin. I looked around before dismounting, taking my kill of two rabbits stowed on the side of my ever faithful horse and made my way inside. Looking around once more to make sure I hadn’t been followed. Just to be safe. As I began to skin and gut the meat, the warm glow from the lantern lighting my every movement in the otherwise dark cabin, I heard motion outside. Bears and wolves were not uncommon around these parts. I had to shoot my way out of a wolf pack not a week ago, coming away with nothing but a bruise on my hip from being bucked off the horse in her desperate attempt to flee. Nevertheless, I placed down the knife and picked up my rifle propped up against the door. Looking out the window to the right of the door. Seeing nothing and hearing nothing else. I went to the door, preparing my rifle then placing my ear to the door. It was silence for a few moments, then movement again, making its way up the steps. It didn’t sound like an animal. With a hand on the handle and rifle ready to be used, I swung the door open. The rifle now aimed at the unwelcomed guest.

It took a moment for my eyes to adjust in the darkness, but it didnt take long to recognise who it was.

“Arthur?” It was barely a whisper. A question of disbelief. I blinked a few times, surely my eyes were playing tricks on me.

After a few breaths, he finally spoke “I’ve found you.” We just stood there, I released a breath I didnt even know I was holding. How did he find me? Why would he? Months of keeping myself away from people the best I could and staying hidden for long periods of time I was beginning to feel content with being a lone wolf. Not thinking that lone wolves are weakened beings after too long. Often driven out when deemed useless or a weakness to the pack, or leaving to find their own family. Not alone forever, wolves would struggle and go insane.

But he, of all people, found me. The only question now is why. And that was the only thing I could say as I lowered the gun.

“Why?”

He told me everything that happened. The downfall, the betrayal, the heartbreak. Those that we lost. Everyone gone in one way or another. Sean, Kieran, Lenny, Hosea, Molly, Miss Grimshaw. Dead. Saint Denis bank, Guarma, Micah working with the Pinkertons. In the end, Micah had turned Dutch against almost everyone, whispering little worms into his ear until they grew and grew to leave no room for anything else.

Dutch turning his back on Him and John. Leaving John to bleed out and leaving Arthur on that mountain. Where he thought would be his final resting place. But once the sun was up, high in the sky, he found the energy to live. To heal. To find me.

And that’s what he did the last few weeks until he heard whispers of someone fitting my description that caused a bit of hell in Van Horn. He knew he was close.

“But...why did you want to find me?” I asked. Both of us sat around the small table below the window, two empty whiskey glasses before us.

He took in a deep breath, his perfect blue eyes meeting my bloodshot and watery ones. “I wanted to the moment I was told you left,” He leaned over, taking my hands in his.

“I’ve had a lot of time to think these last few months. Especially in the last few weeks. What you did before you left, I understand now why.”

“But I hurt you.” letting a sob escape, my body starting to tremble and I’m sure he could feel it in my hands.

“It did hurt. But losing you hurt even more,” He said, nothing more than a whisper, his eyes never leaving mine and his hold on my hands not faltering as he continued. “I remember what you said to me that night years ago. ‘Bout not knowing how much I mean to you. Well - I - I do. Because I feel the same. Always have. it just took me a while to realise it I guess.”

I couldn’t stop the tears. The damn had busted open. Within seconds he was on me, his arms enveloping me, my hands coming to purchase on his shirt. Neither of us wanted to let go, out of fear the other would disappear into the air like dust in the morning rays. We held each other for what felt like an eternity, my tears slowing and the shaking subsiding. I lifted my head from where it was perched on his chest to look at him, our eyes locked once more. No words were spoken but I could see it in the depths of those pools, the forgiveness and longing. And I was sure my eyes mirrored the same. His hand came up to cradle my face and I instinctively leaned into him, my breathing hitching despite the calmness that washed over me. Then I looked into his eyes again, only to be met with a look I had not seen in many years. I opened my mouth to speak but before I could he surged forward, his lips on mine. It was delicate, more fragile than any other kiss we had shared. It wasn’t long until that fragility turned into desperation, my hands at the nape of his neck, his on my waist. My mind was running a million miles a minute, all thoughts of him and this moment. Feeling like we were young lovers again. His hands roamed my sides as I gripped his hair, keeping each other glued to one another. My body began to burn up, feelings I had repressed for months pushing their way to the surface, refusing to be drowned. We broke apart and he pulled me to stand, his lips now on my neck, trailing wet kisses from below my ear to the hollow of my neck, causing me to moan. He looked at me then, desperation and pleading etched upon his face before I kissed him again. Kissing the scar on his chin that was easily visible within the stubble, his jaw, down to his neck and then his chest. Pushing off his jacket and suspenders with it. My fingers returned to the front of his shirt, undoing the buttons slowly as he pushed me back into the direction of the bed. My legs soon coming into contact with the edge. His hands now making a start on my blouse, pulling it from the confines of my pants and lifting it over my head. My hands roaming his chest and snaking down to his abdomen, stroking the hair there, causing him to tense at my touch. He always was a fine man, built from hard work that I couldn't help but adore. His arms wrapping around to my back to undo the corsets lacing, completely surrounding me and all I could smell was him. Horse, rain, sweat and something that was just so undoubtedly him. Undoing his gun belt was muscle memory, hitting the floor with a thud, my corset following, now both bare from the waist up. We couldn’t wait any longer, our lips on each other once again as we worked on unbuttoning our pants. He leaned me down to lay on the bed, my legs hanging over the sides as he wasted no time to pull off the rest of my clothing. Laying there propped up on my elbows I watched as he raked his eyes over every curve, scar and freckle on my body. Kneeling between my legs he drew kisses from my knee up my thigh, getting oh so close to where I wanted him to be. He looked up at me once more, giving a shuddering breath before his mouth landed between my legs, soft but purposeful strokes easily pulling moans from me. He didn’t let up, devouring me like a man starved as he paid close attention to my little bundle of nerves. My body shaking again but for a whole different reason. It had been too long and I knew I wasn’t going to last if he kept going for a minute longer. My hands fisting the bedsheets I tried to speak but it was useless, squirming from the sensations. Lifting my legs to rest on his shoulders feeling him moan against me, the vibration causing bolts of electricity to fire through my whole body and land at my core. I could feel my orgasm rapidly approaching and my hand flew down to card through his hair, holding him there. My body convulsed as I tipped off the edge, my head rolling back as the blinding pleasure washed over me, moaning his name into the air. Arthur was above kissing me within seconds, tasting myself on his tongue and lips. Catching my breath he pushed me further up the bed until my head hit the plush pillows. Removing his pants and then situating himself between my legs. I could feel him pressed up against my thigh, hot and swollen and begging for attention. And oh how my body craved to give him what he needed. His eyes met mine, hooded and filled with lust. Silently asking for permission. I nodded, placing a kiss on his forehead and placing my hands on his shoulders. Electrifying jolts surged through my core as he strokes himself along my slit tenderly. His skin burning to my touch and looking downright drunk. Completely intoxicated. He sinks into me slowly. My body soon getting accustomed to the memory of him as he bottoms out, his hips meeting my thighs. My breath hitches as he bites back a moan. Both of us taking a moment just to bask in the feeling of one another like this again. It all felt the same but so different. He kissed the scar on my collar bone that he only got to see before when it was fresh. We had been through so much over the years we would need to learn about each other again. But one thing remained the same; my body yeard for him. He pulled out before setting a languid pace, lifting one of my legs to wrap around his waist, allowing him to go deeper, his pace quickening and lifting my hips to meet him, Chasing our pleasure. One hand in my hair, tangled up with my locks as his other hand firmly grasped my hip. The look on his face was evidence that he was holding back, needing to completely lose himself in me. And I felt the same. “Arthur...Please.” I purred, not needing to say anymore. His pace quickened with a grunt, one that was a borderline growl. My moans and the sounds of skin on skin filling the air and our ears as he kept hitting that sweet spot. My nails forming crescents on his shoulders. Pulling him down to crush my lips against his, our teeth clicking and tongues dancing together. Pulling back suddenly with swollen lips as the pressure began to build, my whole body trembling more and more as I got higher and higher. Moaning out his name as his rhythm began to falter. Nuzzling into my neck and mumbling ‘oh, fuck,’ in that gravelly but wanton voice. His hand on my hip made its way between my legs, rubbing in quick circles. I couldn’t hold back. That coil within me growing tighter and tighter before snapping. My back arching as the shockwaves rocked through me. Slowing his pace slightly to ride me through it before picking up his pace again, chasing his pleasure with a few more pumps of his hips and he stilled. His hand like a vice on my thigh as he spent himself inside me with a drawn-out moan. It took us a few moments to get our breath back. Pulling himself from me causing me to whimper from the empty feeling and sensitivity. He moved to lay beside me and pulled me to lay with my head on his shoulder. Neither of us willing to clean ourselves up just yet. My skin now acknowledging the cold air around us. The thin sheen of sweat cooling me. Nothing was said for a while as he held me close until he broke the silence to place a kiss to the top of my head then lifting my chin for my face to meet his. “I love you,” he said. My eyes getting blurry from the confession I never thought I would hear. But looking at him I knew it was true. His eyes shone with adoration. I smiled weakly before kissing him once. Looking back into his eyes and with no hesitation, I said out loud what id only heard myself mutter in my dreams. “I love you too."

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan fanfiction #arthur morgan smut #smut #rdr2 #arthur morgan x fem #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader

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my-brothers-corrupted · 3 years

Text

Book Four - Part 10

Anti brings the others to help him get Dapper back from Dark, leading to an all-out battle with a half-dozen different sides.

Tws for imprisonment, physical fighting, and fire.

Part 10 - the Houses in the Woods

Anonymous asked: Trick? Dok? You going down too?

“Come on,” says Trick, taking his hand.

“Can’t they handle it?” asks Dok nervously.

“Bud, come on, I’m not going to let him hurt anybody.”

Dok looks at him as they head down the stairs together. He doesn’t know when Trick made it his responsibility to stop Anti from hurting them, but, proud as he is that Trick is stepping up, he doesn’t think he likes it.

Anonymous asked: Dok, we need your necklaces Trick we need you to be behind your true family. We're nearing the climax, and the heroes will either win or lose against the beast among them.

Trick and Dok exchange glances as they reach the door. Trick’s eyes flicker to the necklaces on Dok’s throat. Dok squeezes his hand, frowning. After all they’ve been through together, Trick can feel the rift in the air between them like a physical force.

We’re not on the same side, he realizes a little numbly.

Dok pulls away from him to check on Red, crouching down beneath Anti timidly and taking Red’s head into his hands, examining the goose bump forming on the back of his skull. Trick goes to Anti, clutching his hands and pulling him back from Red.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he says. “Can’t be hitting him.”

Anti’s eyes seem to burn, and not just from Blue’s stolen fire. He clutches Trick to his chest and glares around at his siblings, bitter and violent.

“You’ve got fifteen minutes to get ready to go,” he spits at Blue and Red. “We’ll go get Dapper back. If you fail me, maybe I don’t have any use for the two of you little traitors anymore.”

“What am I going to do?” asks Blue, bewildered. “I can barely walk most of the time.”

“Dark’s whole territory is hidden in a mirror dimension, just like that stupid convent where the magicians kept Dok. You have to open the mirror so we can get in.”

“But - I don’t know how,” protests Blue, blinking.

“Well, you better find a way to jog your fucking memory, hadn’t you?” snaps Anti. “Otherwise maybe I’ll have to worm into that head of yours and dig the recollection out.”

Blue and Red exchange looks, alarmed. Anti stalks past them, pulling Trick with him as he goes.

“Whoa, Anti, hold on, I want to talk to - ”

“Dok can have you back when he has those necklaces off his goddamn throat,” spits Anti, yanking him down the hallway.

“But that’s my - ”

“You want to start causing me problems too, Trick?” shouts Anti, whirling on him.

Trick’s lip trembles. He lets Anti lead him back towards their room.

Anonymous asked: You can have your true name soon, Ro. It'll all be okay soon. Hold on for us, Jackie. Losing a small battle doesn't mean you're losing this war.

Red pulls Blue to his feet and they stand together, turning to see Dok padding listlessly after his twin. Blue moves to go after him, but Red pulls him back.

“Do you remember anything about mirror dimensions?” asks Red.

“No,” answers Blue. “No, it’s totally random, out of nowhere. How would I know anything about that?”

“He seems to think you would.”

“Well, if I did, he took the memories from me.”

Red sighs. “Maybe it’s a muscle memory thing? Those are different than memories of actual events or memories of everyday facts. Maybe once we get to the mirror it’ll be an everyday fact thing.”

Blue shakes his head, biting down hard on the nail of his thumb. “He’s going to possess me again if I don’t remember,” he whispers.

“You’ll remember,” Red insists, but even as he says it it doesn’t feel true. If Anti doesn’t know and Blue doesn’t remember, who would?

Anonymous asked: Do you remember the early days Trick? Where you and Dok desperately tried to save the Henrik and Chase within you, having to watch Anti tear the two of you apart day after day. The snake in the rabbit's den. Don't let him steal your heart from your family. Trick, you need to find the Chase within you that you and your twin fought so hard to save in the early days. You need to be their guard, their hero, before Anti kills them or worse.

Trick’s face scrunches up with distress. He pulls on Anti’s hand, looking back at Dok, staring miserably after him from the back of the hallway.

“Let me go with you and the others,” pleads Trick.

“What? No. You could get hurt.”

“So could they!”

“I don’t care about that,” spits Anti, pulling him to his chest. “You’ll stay in your room.”

“I want to be there if something happens to you,” Trick insists, gripping his hands. “I’ll stay back and I’ll cover you with my gun. Anti, you’re upset, you’re getting into a fight, you don’t even trust the others right now. Let me go with you. As a guard. That’s all.”

Anti softens a little, gazing at him. He pushes Trick gently towards the stairs. “I’ll… think about it. Go get dressed. We’ll see.”

Trick obeys, moving to get his gun and some better clothes.

Things are complicated in his head right now, but you’re right about one thing: he needs to be their guard.

scunneredzombie asked: Red, do you remember at all the password that Henrik used when you were sent back in time last time? Or Dok, do you remember anything you were told by the magicians?

Dok frowns, turning back to the others. “I remember… Nina would speak to the mirror? And it would let her step through it. I remember that when you’re in the mirror, it’s like a loop no matter how far you walk.”

Red nods slowly, glancing between the pair of them. “Right. When Dapper and I went back to the - I mean, I remember something. I think we lived in a mirror like that too, one Blue made for us to be safe in. I remember we had to speak to it too to get out. Like a password. ‘Amo, vale.’“

Blue laughs weakly. “That means ‘I love you, goodbye.’ Or almost, anyway.”

“But when Nina left the mirror, she said something in Spanish,” says Dok. “Not ‘te amo’ or anything like that, I don’t think. If it is like a password, I bet it’s unique to every mirror.”

“So how do we figure out the password?”

Anonymous asked: Hey Shep, no idea if you have a camera right now, but you know anything about mirror dimesons by any chance? Just random curiosity!

“Well, I don’t know anything about them, exactly, except that Dark and Wil made one for the houses,” answers Shep.

He’s walking around the forest, still looking for Noodle. Determined.

“It’s cool, I guess. Kind of weird. You can really get stuck in a place like that. And we’re supposed to be really careful with it, because if we break the mirror, you can sever the connection to the real world and lose whatever’s inside.”

Anonymous asked: Is there anything funny Wilford says every time he goes into the mirror? He's always really funny, I'd love to hear more of him! Or something Dark says? I'm really curious about you guys.

“Come on, guys,” laughs Shep. “I know you have to say something to get in there. It’s my home too. I’ll give you a hint… Dark’s told you their password before. Did you think that the only thing it would give you access to was a website? They always wanted you to come and find them. Find the truth, they said.”

Shep steps up onto a log, balancing on one foot. “Oh, yeah. And it’s also a son of a bitch to have to read that out every time I want to go home!”

Anonymous asked: Geez, I'm getting whiplash from your overwhelming favoritism, Anti. Don't want your favorite boy to get hurt? So you'll probably lock him in the room again, all alone and miserable? What will happen to him if you don't come back from Dark's place, uh? If you lose, you're just going to let him pathetically wither away, is that it?

Anti shrugs, glancing at Trick as he walks away. “If I can’t have him, he may as well die.”

Anonymous asked: Lmao sorry Shep, not trying to treat you like you're dumb, we're just used to dealing with a very manipulative demon. I am genuinely curious about you all, and thanks so much for hunting for Noodle, you epic hero man. Big hearts your way!

“I didn’t take any offense, no worries,” answers Shep mildly. “And yeah! Ask me anything anytime. I like talking to you… for a long time I figured nobody was interested and maybe that’s why I got thrown aside. Yes, I’ll look for the cat, and then you’ll have something to remember me by this time!”

Anonymous asked: Jackie, Marvin, this might be a long shot, but when you get to the mirror, try reading out this: Lh3EeEeR9z59YWcUB2b7ViHJ8ALQ637

“What sort of a fucking password?” Blue demands.

“Dok, will you memorize this for us?” asks Red.

Dok turns and reads it over. “Okay, got it.”

“That Dark thing really is cruel if it’s making everybody read that out to get in there,” grins Blue.

Anonymous asked: Oh my god, the heist code is the mirror code? It's so convoluted though! How are you guys not getting locked out with that?

“Wilford never remembers a letter of it,” laughs Shep. “But he can transport in and out anyway. And the twins, they usually come in and out with someone there to help anyway, because they’re developmentally delayed. All the rest of us, we write it in our phones or memorize it. It’s actually only the first eight letters that are the code, so it’s not so bad.

It’s just how Dark does things. They’re obsessive over all of Mark’s projects… they hate him, but they fixate on his videos and stories. When Mark found out they actually gave out the password to our home, he only laughed, though. Dark just wants direct contact with the audience, and Mark will never give it to them, but they try at every turn.”

Shep pauses, glancing at you, the camera tucked into his pocket as he searches for Noodle.

“I don’t care that you know, but just don’t tell Dark you heard anything from me.”

Anonymous asked: Remember guys, it's a tool of gaslighting when your abuser tries to convince you that you're a "traitor" the second you stand up to the abuse. Don't let his manipulation sway your thoughts. You are not traitors. You are escaping an abuser who has pummeled you into dirt for years, years of pain and torture. It is not traitorous to stand up for yourself.

“And he can’t mock me for being autistic like that,” grumbles Red, pushing at his hair. “I struggle with myself enough already.”

“He can’t just take Trick away from me,” agrees Dok, his eyebrows drawn unhappily together. “He’s just being a control freak, punishing me for trying to stay away after he said he would kill me!”

“The only reason Dapper is gone in the first place is because Anti was bargaining with our lives for his and Dark’s entertainment,” adds Blue. “We can’t let this keep happening. He doesn’t really care about anyone but himself. Even his favorites are getting hurt and now Trick is being locked up like Dap. We have to find a way to get all of us away and finish Anti the fuck off.”

Red flinches, still not comfortable with the idea of killing Anti, but Blue and Dok just meet each other’s gazes, steadfast.

Anonymous asked: Jackie, why are you uncomfortable with it, if I can ask? He just confirmed he never loved you, he's threatening to kill all of you, saying Trick is better dead than free, he let Dapper get stolen and taken away from safety and his medicine. He's going to be the death of all of you unless you get to him first. It's looking like it's the only way to save them. Be their warrior, protect them now when they need it most.

Ro turns away from you, a flash of anger in his face. He doesn’t answer.

“Roser,” says Blue.

Red waves him off, stepping out of the room and walking back down the hallway.

Anonymous asked: Also, guys, be very very careful, you can't break the mirror while JJ is in there, or apparently you risk losing everything and everyone inside.

“Oh, fuck, okay,” says Blue, nodding his head. “Yeah, we’ll be real careful. Thanks, guys… I don’t know how this would have worked out without you. I think we’ll go pretty soon. Are we… ready for that? Last words before a big fight?”

He looks at Dok, who looks back, not able to give him a smile. He touches Dok’s head and pulls him to his shoulder, knocking their heads together.

“Nothing’s going to happen to you,” he says.

“You don’t know,” answers Dok frailly.

“I’m going to find a way to get you away from him.”

“We’re still not all on the same page,” murmurs Dok, closing his eyes. “That’s what the magicians told me, again and again. That we have to all be fighting him. And we’re just not, Blue. Trick still loves him. Dapper doesn’t even seem to remember what it’s like to hope for something better. Are the three of us enough to do this?”

Blue sighs, rubbing his shoulder. “We’re just going to see how this turns out, honey.”

Anonymous asked: Trick, sometimes when life is scary, you’ll want to go back to where you understood it. But you can’t go back, whether you want to or not. Understanding will come, but you have to fight tooth and nail for it. Fight through the haze and claim your mind for yourself again.

Trick sits on his bed, staring at Anti as he moves around their room.

Anti plays with his appearance in the mirror for a few minutes, looking pensive, but then you see frustration and pain on his face, and he just transforms back to his usual self - green hair, black tee, ripped jeans. He glitches again and again as he moves, out of control and looking tired and pale, rummaging through the drawers in case there are any weapons he wants to hand out before they go.

“Anti,” says Trick quietly.

“What?” asks Anti.

“You would never really kill one of the others, would you? That’s just your temper.”

Anti plays with a whip, turned away from him. “Sure,” he says flatly.

Trick sighs, rubbing at his head. He gets to his feet and moves to Anti’s side, trying to get his attention. Anti dives back into the drawers. Trick grabs his arm and pulls him back.

“Hey,” he says. “Talk to me. What is going on with you lately?”

Anti sulks, shaking his head, but he doesn’t yank away from Trick’s grip. He plays quietly with the holster on Trick’s waist, tapping at the gun.

“Just angry,” he grumbles.

“Yeah, I’d be angry too if someone I was into started acting like they don’t know who I am, but that doesn’t mean you get to take it out on us.”

“Well, they ran away!” shouts Anti.

Trick grabs his face between his hands and kneels down beside him, drawing his gaze.

“I love you,” he says. “But the reason they ran away is because the way you’re treating them isn’t right.”

Anti wilts a little, glaring at the floor.

“We’ll figure it out afterwards,” he growls, getting to his feet.

Trick sighs. “Go easy on them for my sake if nothing else.”

“Yeah, sure,” mutters Anti. “Whatever.“

Trick squeezes his eyes shut. He doesn’t want to feel like this - like you’re understanding Anti better than he himself is these days. He doesn’t want you to be more true than his brother.

But he also doesn’t want to believe that he’s not thinking for himself anymore. This is what he really feels, isn’t it? This is worth putting up with? This is family?

“Are you sure about this?” he asks.

“About what?”

“Going after Dark? Shouldn’t we maybe, like, talk to them before starting an actual fight?”

“They made the choice they made,” says Anti quietly. “And they took Dap. No more talking unless they’re groveling beneath my heel.”

Anonymous asked: You might not all be on the same page, and hell, maybe a couple of you are in different chapters entirely, but you're all in the same story. The others will have to go at their own pace as best they can to reach a good ending for all of you, okay? It won't be easy and it won't be perfect but the most we can do is try.

“And that’s what we’ve wanted all along, right?” murmurs Blue, touching Dok’s hair. “A chance to try. To get away. To protect each other.”

Dok nods, trying to smile.

“Today,” says Blue softly, reaching down to touch a necklace on Dok’s throat. “I think we might get a chance to use some of these.”

“Okay,” says Dok, nodding again. “Okay. It’s going to be okay.”

He’s scared to be tortured again. He doesn’t know if he could survive that. But Blue is here, gripping his hand, and he knows that at the very least the two of them have each other.

It’s going to have to be enough for now.

Anonymous asked: Anti can and would kill them. He /has/ killed them. He used to kill Red and force Dapper to turn back as punishment. He stabbed Dok in the lungs for trying to protect Dapper. As long as he has time travel, he'll kill them without a second thought just to punish the others.

Trick sits back on the bed and shudders.

“We can’t keep living like this,” you hear him whisper, as Anti busies himself around the room.

Anti steps back towards him. “Ready to go?”

Trick sits up, looking pale.

“Yes, Anti,” he says.

Anonymous asked: Trick, sad to say you'll be living like this for as long as you belong to Anti. Anti will never change, and he will never stop hurting you to make himself feel stronger, locking you in rooms to feel like he owns you, killing and torturing your brothers as punishment. He cannot, and will not ever control his temper. You're going to be stuck here until he's gone. You will not escape abuse unless you leave the abuser.

Anti steps close to Trick on the bed and takes the camera from him, turning with a sudden force to throw it against the wall, smashing it into pieces. Trick flinches and Anti laughs, touching his cheek and leaning down to kiss the side of his face and knock their foreheads together.

“Come on, then,” he says, stroking his hand down green hair as you watch from the camera in the corner of the ceiling. “Let’s go. I need to know I have at least you on my side.”

Trick looks up at him, eyes wide. For a moment, his eyes flicker over to you.

He takes Anti’s hand and they move down the stairs.

The farther they wander, the darker the trees.

“Is this Dark’s doing?” whispers Red. “Or did they just pick the blackest, deadest part of the forest they could find?”

“It’s Dark’s doing,” hisses Anti. “Now shush.”

The trees stare down at them, sunless monoliths looming like gods over their heads. Birds flitter about like rodents through gutters, but not one of them sings, and the buzzing of insects appears only for a moment before a bigger creature comes to snap grasshoppers and flies up like deviled eggs eaten in one mouthful.

“Are we close?” asks Dok, stepping over the ashy graveyard of what was once a great redwood. “Blue is tired.”

“Why are you here again?” snaps Anti.

“Dapper’s sick, Anti,” Trick reminds him. “Dok needs to look after him.”

“I’m sick of the lot of you,” answers Anti, which makes Red snort despite himself, trying not to laugh. Anti raises an amused eyebrow at him.

“Come on,” he sighs. “Here’s the shed.”

Inside a shed in the forest - which Anti has mostly smashed open in the hopes of ticking off Dark - there is a mirror taller than they are standing against the back corner. Anti pushes his way inside and spiders scutter away from the dim light. Dok leaps back, nearly running back the way they came, and stands back from the shed, watching his feet.

“It’s okay, man,” calls Trick, helpfully squashing spiders beneath his heel. “I got it.”

“Go on then,” says Anti, shoving Blue’s shoulder. “Top magician. Jack’s special boy. Didn’t do you much good in the end.”

“Step off, Anti,” Blue spits back, stalking towards the mirror. “You’re just lucky the cameras helped us with this.”

Anti leans against the wall, picking at spiders while Blue and Dok and Red try Dark’s password. After the first eight letters, the mirror changes. There is no longer a reflection of Blue, tired and pale, in the glass - instead, it looks out like a window onto a trio of houses in a grassy field.

Red and Blue exchange glances. Anti and Red exchange glances. Dok sees a spider by his foot and yelps.

Red puts his hand to the mirror, curious. Slowly, his fingers pass through the glass like water. He draws back again, eyebrows raised, and turns to look at Blue.

Blue is gone.

Anti straightens up in his skin, cracking his neck. “Ready?” he asks.

Red gapes, shaking his head.

Anti punches his shoulder and grabs his sleeve. “Come on, so,” he says.

“Go in there? Get Dapper?”

“I should never have reset you. You and I used to go sneak into shit and take what we wanted together. I hate that the violence is gone from you. You were more fun before I gave you Blue. Don’t know when I managed to ruin you so badly.”

Something about his tone makes Red flush, his heart aching. He looks away, mouth taut, and sucks in a breath. Looking up again, he finds Anti looking back at him through his twin’s captive eyes.

“Fine, then,” says Red, straightening. He turns his body towards the mirror and grips his hands into fists. “I will get him, then.”

Anti passes him a fighting staff. Red blinks and takes it into his hand, remembering the weight and feel of it from a time he no longer recalls.

“After you,” says Anti, pulling a knife from Blue’s jacket.

Red moves through the mirror and into Dark’s home.

“Be good,” calls Anti, clucking Trick’s chin once before following after their older brother. “I’ll be back very soon.”

And then Trick and Dok are alone in the twilight forest.

Anonymous asked: Don't let your loyalty become slavery, Trickshot. Know when to let go, know when you're being held back instead of driven forward, know when their desires drown out your own. Never compromise on self-respect.

“All these messages are for you,” mumbles Henrik, sitting down on a rock in the earth and looking the camera over in his hands.

“They’ve been talking to me a lot lately,” Trick answers just as quietly, but he won’t look back at his twin. He waits at the door of the shed. In his hands, Dok’s gun.

“But you don’t listen,” Dok guesses.

Trick doesn’t answer.

“You’re letting Anti treat you like his toy,” says Henrik, turning away from him. “Won’t see the truths they tell you.”

“Dok, let’s not start, not now, c’mon. Been days since I seen you. I thought… maybe Dark had you.”

Anonymous asked: If you don't confront it and talk through it with us now, then when will you, Trick?

“Mhh,” groans Trick, looking away. “We’re busy…”

“You don’t want to ever face it,” says Henrik. “But one day, it will be in front of you, and you will already be too late to act.”

“I won’t fail to protect you again, Dok.”

“You cannot see the things that hurt me. You are blind to them. They will hurt me again. You will watch.”

“I mean it,” says Trick, loud. “I don’t want to talk about this right now. For real.”

Anonymous asked: Be strong Trick, and more importantly be /you/. Be the man who would do anything for his family, the person who lets his twin massage him when he's been guarding for hours on end, the person who whispered secret names across the room to your brother. You need to protect your family, your real family. You have a choice coming up, man. Your brothers, or your abuser.

Henrik watches his brother for a long time. Eventually, Trick glances back at him, eyes uncertain.

Henrik smiles.

Trick relaxes a little and comes to his side, sitting down with him. After a moment, he puts his head on Dok’s shoulder and fixes his eyes on the shed.

Watching. Waiting. Guard dog.

Dok massages his back so he won’t get stiff. Trick smiles. They sit in the wind of the trees together.

“We are making decisions these days, aren’t we, mein zwilling?”

“Not between you and Anti, though,” murmurs Trick. “Not making decisions like that.”

Henrik sighs, his hand around his arm. The distance between them has never gaped quite like this.

“It’s sunset,” says Trick. “Are you going to say the Shema?”

Henrik blinks. “I haven’t said my blessings in a long time.”

“Oh. I thought maybe you still said them in your head. After you stopped saying them with me.”

Henrik shrugs.

“You don’t anymore?”

“I feel far away from the Lord,” he says, very softly, staring down at the earth beneath his feet. “And lately I am not the sort of man who is strong enough to keep my eyes on Him while the valley of the shadow of death is around me. I am dry bones in the desert. The blessings begin to feel pointless. I can’t even keep track of my own holidays. Candles on Hanukah… it’s nothing. Or very little. I can barely remember the inside of a synagogue. I feel far away from my community. I feel far away from everything.”

Trick shuffles, frowning at him. “You didn’t tell me you were feeling like that.”

“No. I guess not.”

“You usually talk to me.”

“You’re not a Jew, my friend.”

“But you tell me things like that. You used to. We would say the blessings together.”

“I feel far away from you too,” whispers Henrik.

Anonymous asked: In abuse there's always a 'honeymoon phase' where the abuser apologizes and makes promises to change. But the tension builds, some false law is disobeyed, and another abusive incident happens. Fish and chips, a warm kitten, treats and gifts and Hanukkah candles are all false apologies for behavior that will never change. One reason it's so hard to leave is because you always want to believe they can change. But all the self-improvement in the world won't fix the way they hurt you in the past.

Trick bites down on his lip, his hands soothing along his gun. He looks between you and Dok. “It’s not a honeymoon phase… Dok-Dok, I’ll talk to Anti about you going to services - ”

“Don’t,” says Henrik dryly. “Don’t, I don’t want you to. They’re right. He doesn’t care.”

Trick shakes his head, putting his chin in his hand as he looks up at his brother on the stone beside him. He doesn’t know if he should say he’s sorry or get angry at him or reassure him or what. He never seems to know lately. Feels cold in the air between them. He hates that. All he’s thought about for days is the things that Dok would do to cheer him up if they were stuck in that bedroom together, and now he can’t even comfort him.

He closes his eyes. For long minutes, they wait.

“I’ll say it for you, then,” says Trick.

Dok looks up. “What?”

“The blessing,” Trick says, mouth set. “If you don’t feel like you can have faith right now, I will.”

Dok’s lips twitch. He shakes his head at Trick, trying not to grin. “You don’t know it without me.”

“I do!”

“No way.”

“Shema, Yisrael,” begins Trick. “Uh.”

Dok laughs. Trick laughs too, but he’s determined. He keeps going.

“We’ve said it together often enough. Shema, Yisrael, Adonai Eloheinu. Adonai echad…. wa-hafta… w… v'ahav'ta eit Adonai Elohekha m'odekha…”

Dok looks at him, beginning to smile.

He doesn’t pronounce all of it right. He might skip a word or two, and, as always, he stammers. But he fumbles through the Hebrew with his mouth full of love for him.

And as he goes he begins to hear Henrik whispering the English alongside him.

“And you shall bind them as a sign on your hands… and between your eyes… and you shall write them on the doorposts of your home and on your gates.”

They are looking at each other. Trick grins. There is sunset light in his eyes.

Henrik puts his arm around him again and they sit side-by-side.

Anonymous asked: I know you can feel the divide between you and Henrik, even as anti-blinded as you are, Trick. You know you'll have to make the choice between them eventually. It isn't a betrayal to escape your abuser. It isn't traitorous to hate the person who's hurt you. The choice will ultimately be yours, but you have to realize and wake up to the distance between you before you can even come to that. Anti won't change, Trick. How many times has he promised to be better, only to hit you the very next day?

“He has hurt you,” says Trick, his voice very low. “Hasn’t he?”

Henrik presses his head against his shoulder, hiding just a little. “And you too.”

“No… not on purpose.”

“If you have to start by believing that he hurts me, then yes,” says Henrik. “Yes, he has, and he will not stop.”

Trick sighs. “Well. Then… I think you should go.”

Henrik sits up straight, staring at him. “What?”

“I think you should go. Like you want to. You’re an adult, Dok. We all are. We should get to choose. Right?”

Henrik touches his hair. Henrik beams.

“Yeah… yes, of course. But not without - ”

“No,” Trick cuts him off. “Not now, bud. Okay? Let’s just… chill for a bit. It’s going to be okay. And if Anti hurts you again, I’ll stop him.”

“That’s not your job,” says Henrik, as though wounded.

Trick squeezes his hand. “Are the others okay?” he asks you.

Anonymous asked: Red, how goes it? Find anything yet? Dapper is in a clinic room with barred windows last time we saw him

“Stay back here,” Red warns Anti, pushing him back into the trees. “You might use him like he’s at a hundred percent, but Blue’s sick. Be gentle with his body.”

“Get the boy back for me and I won’t have to use him rough,” says Anti, stepping back into the shadows.

“Okay,” sighs Red. “Anything I should be worried about?”

“Everyone in there is either an imbecile, a powerhouse, or both,” answers Anti. “Have fun.”

Red turns towards the house, clutching his fists together. Okay. He’s got this.

Red stalks around the house, swift and quiet, darting through the grass and staying out of the sight of windows. There are three houses. On one of them, he can see Dark and Wilford on the porch, talking and playing with an enormous dog. There’s a movie playing in another, and Red can see a man inside driving a toy car around the carpet. The third house is still until a little brown cat slips out of it and darts away. Red will check out all three in turn if he has to.

Anonymous asked: Hey Shep! You should tell us about you guys' houses. Where is everything, and why does everyone live in separate places?

“That’s it, I’m coming home,” laughs Shep, turning back towards the houses. To be fair to him, he’s been out in the heat for hours and he’s a sweaty mess. “Uh, well, Dark lives in their house ‘alone’… we all know Wil sneaks in there half the time and Google spends most of his days guarding the place like a loyal little puppy. He takes so much pride in being Dark’s weapon, he’s nuts. Won’t listen to anyone else, though.

“We come and go with the other houses. They’re damn empty these days. But Host and Google and Wil and I have our house, and sometimes Ippy comes back to stay for a while. Eric and the twins are all that’s left in the other house. Sometimes Illinois, but he’s in Mexico right now. I miss Bing, shit. I miss a lot of them.”

Anonymous asked: Dapper, you awake? Back in the early days of us talking to you, you said you would only be free if all of your brothers were as well. Well, Dapper, we're doing our best for you, because we care for all of you so much. Jackie, Henrik, and Marvin are on the side of freedom so far. We will keep you safe, and we will protect you any way we can. Wish us luck, Jameson.

Dapper is drawing on the walls.

It’s been his favorite pastime for a long time, ever since he realized Anti wouldn’t punish him for making the house his canvas. His biggest piece was in a defunct pen manufacturer in Sweden, where they stayed for about two weeks, during which time he covered an entire industrial wall in an image of the very ugly aliens from A Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.

Today he draws Anti in cheap pencil lead along the wall of Ippy’s clinic, coursing the point along the curve of Anti’s curving smile. He looks happy in the picture. His hands are empty and open.

Dapper turns at the sound of the beeping and smiles at you, though you see a glassy film over his fevered eyes and a tremble in his artist’s fingers. His face softens as he reads.

“I care for you too,” he tells you heartfully, touching his chest. “All of you, thank you - for being here, for keeping me company, for all of it. And you know I’d always wish you luck, my dears.”

Anonymous asked: Hey uh, dapper? Are you feeling alright? You look a little bit... off

“I am not really recovering from this whole sickness thing that is happening,” he answers unhappily, rubbing at his eyes. “I’m tired and hot and my head aches. I can’t keep any food down, including most of my medicine. And Dark was right… Anti helps with my psychosis.”

Anonymous asked: Jackie, methinks you should avoid the house with Dark on the porch unless you can't find Dapper in the other two. Google is guarding, and Silver Shepheard is on his way back. Try to avoid a fight and be sneaky if you can.

“Kinda want to poke the bear, though,” admits Red, narrowing his eyes at Dark. “They have to pay for this, the fucking cock-jockey.”

His own insult gives him a burst of confidence as he slides past Dark’s house. A black and brown cat watch him disdainfully, waving their tails at him.

“I’ll check the other two first. Thanks, guys. I just need to find a way to get in and get him out… or get him out from outside.”

Anonymous asked: Anti helps superficially, but you know what would help more, JJ? Seeing a psychiatrist to get a mood stabilizer to assist your Haldol, seeing a behavioral therapist to help deal with symptoms, and being free from a constantly traumatizing environment. You need stability and the help of doctors. Things are probably extra bad right now due to being a hostage in a strange environment. You're not hopeless without Anti, millions of people like you & I cope and live good lives w/o mind demon's 'help'.

Dapper shrinks in on himself a little, playing with his hands. He stares at Anti’s eyes on the wall.

“I remember… getting better while we were all at home, without him,” he signs quietly. “Even the paranoia - and the paranoia is always the worst - even that was better. And whenever I started talking to my hallucinations, the others would have me go stand in the laundry room, and then after a while I could take ten minutes in the laundry room and come out and the hallucinations would be so much easier to deal with. Just from having that organization in my life. And I took a couple medications and nobody got mad at me if I was delusional or disorganized or acting really weird. And I had a therapist who signed. And I went to church and the priest would give me confession and I didn’t feel like I was going to hell. And nothing ever hurt me.”

He looks down at his hands.

“It was easier.”

The admission seems to have taken a lot out of him. He slips back down onto the bed, sighing.

scunneredzombie asked: Dapper, is there a window or door near you? Red is here to get you, but he needs a way to get you out!

“Yes, there’s a door, but it’s locked, and a big window, but it’s barred.” He frowns at you and makes prayer hands. “Tell him come bust me out. I sure can’t fit through those bars unless someone wants to shrink me and put me in their pocket. Like a little hedgehog…”

He begins sketching a hedgehog by Anti’s foot.

scunneredzombie asked: Rojo, be on the lookout for large, barred windows, probably the second of the houses?

Ro creeps around the first house, narrowing his gaze at Dark, his hands still aching for a fight. For now, though, he’ll have to focus on getting Dap to safety.

He moves around the second house, slipping down beside a cracked window to listen inside. There’s a television playing a loud cartoon. Lifting his head a little, he can see the man with the toy car driving it around the carpet and talking to himself. There is a whole crate of toy cars. On the couch, a second man sorts patiently through them, occasionally holding a little figurine up to the light or racing it along the arm of the couch, making vrooming and beeping noises. Red sits back a little, rubbing his palms together as he thinks. He wants to wreck some havoc, but not in front of a pair of twins who aren’t causing any harm and don’t look like they’d be able to comprehend someone trying to hurt them. They’re all clean and content-looking, playing with their cars. Red sighs. Having innocents around makes things harder.

It always does, he thinks to himself, and he feels more than recalls a memory from two weeks ago - Anti taking him and Dapper to kill the man who owns the house they’re staying in now. His stomach churns and he digs his nails into his palms. He still remembers the blood-craze in Dapper’s eyes as Anti helped him bury a knife in the man’s chest - and then, moments later, the hopelessness.

“Come on, Red, come on,” he mutters to himself, creeping around the back of the house.

He doesn’t see any barred windows. He glances into the clearing between the three houses as he waits for his chance to dart over to the third house.

Dark is on the porch of the first house with another one of his soldiers, someone with a voice so loud and booming Ro can hear it from here. His hand is on Dark’s waist as he chatters at them. Ro remembers the weight of Max’s hand on his waist… the smell of him…

“Goddamn,” he hisses, slapping himself. Lately he can’t focus on anything. He’s just… sad. He pinches his arms until he gets some clarity back, gnawing on his lips.

“Dapper Dapper Dapper,” he chants to himself, and it’s this thought that carries him over to the third house, where, at last, he spots a little barred window in a window well to the basement.

Anonymous asked: Jackie, we believe in you! Hero of the day, the hero of all time!

Ro gives a shaky little laugh, but you’ve put a grin on his mouth. He darts over to the window, feeling sneaky and maybe even a little bit competent, which is nice. Maybe he’s even acting a little like Jackie would act. The thought gives him a strange, nervous satisfaction.

“Dap,” he whispers, tapping his knuckle cautiously against the window. He can get his hands through the bars, but not much further.

Something shifts in the room. He squints his eyes through the dim light of the basement room and sees a nervous pair of big blue eyes looking back at him.

“It’s me, dude,” he whisper-hisses, glancing around.

Dapper’s eyes water with relief. He pushes the window open, leaving only the bars between them. At this angle, Red can only just brush his hand against his shoulder, reaching down into the window well, and he can hardly see his hands.

“Are you okay? Shit, I was worried, Carve. I’m so sorry I wasn’t here.”

Dapper grips his hand and squeezes in forgiveness.

“How do I get you out?”

There’s those big puppy dog eyes. They’re familiar, sure, reassuring and maybe even cute, but not problem-solving. Red squeezes his hand back and tries to think.

“I’ll have to come inside… or get the bars off. Unless you can shrink? Have any Borrower friends in there that could help? Maybe some mice and birds, Cinderella-style?”

Dapper pinches Ro’s hand and he laughs despite his rising heart rate, more and more anxious the longer he crouches here.

Anonymous asked: Dapper was right Anti, you're such a fucking creep. Dying his hair green and roleplaying like he's Jack but still forcing him to love you unconditionally. Touching him like you love him when he's just an object to you. You don't deserve any of the love any of them have given you. You're disgusting.

“He belongs to me,” answers Anti coldly, leaning back against a tree as he keeps an eye on the houses, waiting to see if Red will fuck up or bring Dapper back to him quietly. “I can do what I want with him. Jack never gave me anything but lemons - fine, I’ll make lemonade. Besides, let’s not pretend Chase would be anything at all without me. He’d just be childless and drinking himself to death in the backroom of their house like he was before I kidnapped him. This whole crusade the lot of you have, trying to set them free… pointless. You won’t make them any happier. He’d be miserable with a taste of freedom. You know, if Jack wanted his little protagonist to actually be able to save the day, maybe he shouldn’t have made him so helpless. Huh, like fucking Chase Brody could have ever done anything about me… well, he’s mine now, so there’s your story, Jack. There’s your fucking story.”

Anonymous asked: Hey Anti, this is important. Dapper /needs/ to see a proper psychiatrist, just once or twice, so that he can get a mood stabilizer and other medicines to assist his antipsychotic. You can't neglect him like this, he's schizophrenic/psychotic, treatment and constant medication updates are the only way to truly help him be better. Constant mind manipulation only makes things worse for him if he's away from you even for a short time.

Anti’s eyes flicker over to you and then away again. He’s playing with fire on the ends of Blue’s fingers, eyes flickering from the white light of it.

“Mh,” he shrugs, uncertain. “I don’t think I want him talking to anybody outside of the house. If he needs a mood stabilizer, talk to Dok and have him talk to me. It’s like American health care! You gotta get a referral. Besides, if being away from me makes things worse, then I’ll just have to be better about making sure he isn’t away from me again. Not even for a short amount of time.”

He drops a flame to the earth and then stomps it out with his foot, his gaze watching as though infatuated as even a moment of fire singes a whole patch of earth and sets leaves to blazing. He bets he could burn down this whole forest if he wanted to… maybe set all of California ablaze. Again.

“Letting Dark take Dapper was my fault,” he tells you quietly. “I overestimated how much they cared about me. Let them fool me. It was stupid. It won’t happen again. Not with anyone. Dapper and Trick… they’re reliable. No one else. Almost makes you wonder… if anyone else is even worth trucking with… mh.”

Anonymous asked: Without Blue, you'll have no one to possess: Dapper might snap and Trick can't handle it. Killing Dok would be the worst possible thing you could do if you still want Trick on your side. And like it or not, Red is your watchdog and the others protector. If you kill any of them, the others will turn.

Anti glances at you, his stance softening a little. He shrugs.

“I guess you’re right,” he says. “Just lately feels like more trouble than they’re worth. I think Jack made five to make sure it was too much for me. Maybe it’s just time I started admitting that. Trick and Dap would be cute twins. I could make Trick forget, and I think Dapper would only be sad for a while, cause it’s not like it changes much for him.”

He pauses, digging his heel into the ash of the forest floor.

“No… you’re right, though. I think. Yeah, I can still use them. They all take care of each other - yucky, but necessary.”

Anonymous asked: Anti what will you do if Dapper breaks? And I don't mean just emotionally or mentally because obviously you only see that as minor maintenance. What happens if he can't use his time travel again? Will his loyalty still matter or is it just his power that you use him for? Is he only worth as much as his usefulness to you?

Anti plays with the bark of a tree, picking at it until new growth sprouts from the side of the trunk. He peels it off again and grumbles to himself for a moment.

“I’d still want him around,” says Anti. “I guess. I mean, he’s - like… he’s the only one who… I don’t know. He’s comforting. Fine. But I don’t know if that’s because of the power or because he’s always been mine. I’ve hated not having him with me these last few days. It’s like the whole world is wrong. And when he was in Columbia, I felt like I was going to implode. Like I was going to die. And I was sick at the time, with Blue’s power eating me up. I wondered if maybe I would die before I could ever find him, and not even know if he was okay.”

He plucks apart a leaf from the offshoot he created, tearing it into pieces, which drift towards the forest floor.

“I wasn’t sure if he’d grieve,” he adds. “If he’d grieve if I died.”

Anonymous asked: They don't belong to you, Anti. You don't own them, they're adults that are fully capable of making their own decisions. They have the right to leave you whenever they want, because you abuse them and refuse to learn to control your temper. You're immature and treat them like toys, but they are autonomous human beings that deserve to make their own decisions. Why don't you test it, if you think they love you so much. Just let them go and see if they crawl back like you say they wil. I doubt it.

Anti grits his teeth. The truth is that Red was willing to leave him the moment someone else showed him that he could have a life outside of Anti, and the thought devours him. Blue was only ever here for his siblings.

“Look, I don’t pretend to not be a monster,” he snarls. “Fine, some of them don’t love me. No matter how much I use the hypnosis… it’s not real. But guess what? I don’t care. They still have to belong to me. They’re not getting away from me. Not with air in their lungs.”

Anonymous asked: Dok isn't a psychiatrist, Anti. It's two completely different fields of medicine. JJ needs to see specifically a psychiatrist. Hell, I don't care if you go to the appointment with him, but you need to let him see someone to get his medicine adjusted. Think about it this way, how much use is he to you if you're constantly having to mess with his brain and ward back his psychosis, when you can easily get the same effect with just a few trips to a psychiatrist and a less stressful environment?

“Dok’s supposed to be Jack’s genius. If he can’t handle Dapper’s issues, nobody can. Dapper has always done fine, with only a couple exceptions. Actually, I think the paranoia sometimes makes him sharper, more alert, and the hallucinations keep him scared and confused. He won’t leave me when I make him feel both sane and terrified, when he thinks he’s too much for anyone else to handle. As long as he doesn’t snap completely, his illness is a benefit to me.”

Anonymous asked: Anti, I think you're so insistent that they would never be happy with freedom because you can't stand the thought, the truth, that every single one of them would be better off without you.

“How about you all stop trying to piss me off before I decide maybe you aren’t all worth dealing with either?” snaps Anti, pointing at you in accusation. “Fuckers. All you do is plot against me lately. It’s barely even fun. Maybe I’ll torture the lot of them just to see you whining and begging again.”

Red squeezes Dapper’s hand one more time before sneaking around the back of the house, where a glass-paned door looks into the kitchen.

He could try and get in here. He could try and get the bars off Dapper’s window somehow. Or he could ask for help.

It’s as he’s thinking that he notices movement -a figure entering through the front door, their gait thudding and their shoulders set like a statue’s. Red catches a gleam of light through their glasses. Gigi moves like a bear, his every footstep heavy and determined. Ro narrows his eyes.

“Well, then,” he mumbles, tucking you deeper into his pocket. “Do I tangle with that or try something else?”

Anonymous asked: I would try something else instead of trying to tango with Gigi. He's a robot, so he wouldn't go down like a regular human, and the commotion caused by that fight would draw too much attention.

“Oh, boy,” says Ro, drawing back from the door. “A robot, okay. Well…”

He could maybe climb the house. He sees an open window. If he listens, he can even hear a deep, sonorous voice speaking from inside it, as though narrating.

“Mh,” he says. “Could maybe get up there. I can see places to put my feet already. Or maybe… Dok’s necklace? For Dapper?”

Anonymous asked: The voice from the window is a blind man who sees All. Probably not a good idea to try sneaking by him. And... as for the necklaces, if you use it for Dapper, then you won't have it for Anti. Make sure you've exhausted all other options before that, Jackie.

“Okay,” murmurs Jackie. “Well, I think we’re looking at either man-who-sees-all or robo boy. If I have to fuck with one of them, who do I go for?”

Anonymous asked: Dapper's mental health got better when he had both mood stabilizer and other medicines to help with his other symptoms. You need him /healthy/, him being paranoid and hallucinating isn't good for him. You switch so fast between caring about him and tossing aside his issues. Anti, it would take a very simple set of changes in yourself & your personality for them to stop running and conspiring. You can change. You're not incapable of it. Start small, let him see a psychiatrist. Small things first.

“I’ll think about it, alright?” Anti says, turning his head away. “I got bigger fish to fry right now.”

Anonymous asked: Hey, Trick & Dok? Do you think it would ever be possible to get Anti to let Dapper see a psychiatrist and get medicated properly? I know you don't remember, but before Anti took you all away from your home, Dapper was getting better. He wasn't stuck being constantly psychotic and afraid, he was healing. He needs therapy and proper medications. I don't think Anti would ever give him that, he has too much fun abusing him, but... could you try?

“I’ll help convince him,” promises Trick right away, nodding. “If he needs that, then he should have it. You can get his medication fixed, right, Dok?”

“No,” says Dok, exasperated. “I’ve never really known what the hell to do with him.”

“Oh. Well - ”

Something snaps in the forest. Trick is on his feet, gun pointed.

Silence. A flicker of movement. Dok and Trick are taut as the bow of a violin.

Anonymous asked: Shep? Is that you?

You can see Shep on the other side of the trees, frozen as stiff as the twins. His gaze flickers nervously over to you and then back to the twins, his fists clutched. He doesn’t even have his knuckles with him. He didn’t actually think someone would be here. No one’s ever come to their house before. He pulls out his phone, backing away from the trees.

“Who’s there?” shouts a voice. He stills, staring at Trick through the trees.

Red should sneak into Host’s room.

Dec. 12 2020

3 notes

Red should go in through the backdoor with Gigi.

Dec. 12 2020

1 note

Red should try something else.

Dec. 12 2020

2 notes

Anonymous asked: Trick don't shoot. It's someone who lives in Dark's house, but he's unarmed. Just be careful and try to come up with an explanation for why you're there?

Trick lets his gun falter, glancing over at Dok.

“He already knows who you are, right?” signs Dok. “Will he try to kidnap you again? Kidnap us?”

Trick grits his teeth and steps closer to Dok, blocking him from Shep’s view.

“You leave us alone!” he shouts. “You come any closer and I’ll shoot!”

Shep backs away again, nervous. He opens Gigi’s name in his contacts.

Anonymous asked: I dont know if there's anything else you could try, Red. But if there is, def look at it. Otherwise, between Gigi and Host, I think at least Host could possibly be reasoned to/ spoken with? Gigi is a no-go. Hes 100% loyal to Dark, and an android, so he'd be HELLA hard to fight. And also he'd alert Dark. Host, im not quite sure exactly where his loyalties lay, but im sure he's hella powerful. So use your words before you try and fight him.

Ro presses himself against the side of the door and hoists his body up. This isn’t like the house where he and the others are staying, lined in decorative brick to give him footholds. Instead, windows make his only path up. While his hands find a grip on the tops of the windows, he suspends the rest of his body with his side against one jutting windowframe and his feet pressing against another, and slowly leaps and drags himself up the side of the house, his worn sneakers threatening more than once to make his foot slip and his body fall. The black and brown cats are watching him from the ground, blinking up at him as he goes.

But he won’t. Today, he’s Jackie, and he doesn’t think Jackie would fall, so neither will he.

“On another day,” comes that chasm-deep voice from the open window on the second floor, “he might have been fine. The Host is not always looking. Today, he is.”

Ro pauses, hiding against the side of Host’s window, one foot on the side of its sill.

“Is he going to turn back?” asks Host in a murmur. Craning his neck, Ro can see the man bent over braille paper and a recorder “Or will he still try to sneak past him? In a trance this deep, it’s possible Host won’t be able to do anything about it anyway. He does not like to interfere with other people’s stories.”

Anonymous asked: Shep, wait, please don't call anyone who would hurt them. Theyre only here because they're following orders.

“What do you want?” calls Shep, a faint shake in his voice.

“How about the little brother you stole?” spits back Trick. “No, stay back! Stay back there, I swear to God.”

“You need to get out of here before I call Gigi,” says Shep. “Or worse, Dark.”

“No, don’t,” protests Trick. “Please, we just want Dapper. Nobody has to get hurt. We’ve had enough, okay?”

Anonymous asked: Just let Jackieboy Man's story play out, please, Host-we-love-the-most. He deserves to be the hero again after all he's been through.

Directly addressed, Host comes out of his narration a little, brushing scattered hairs out of his face. He runs his fingers over his papers, jerking back a little.

“Fuck, what a mess,” he mumbles. “Too many players in this game. How long have I been writing?”

Ro’s foot slips for a second and he catches himself quickly, thudding against the side of the house. He winces hard, closing his eyes in panic.

Host chuckles inside the house.

“Come in, then,” he says. “I’m not meant to interfere, you know…”

“Who are you?” cries Ro, heart pounding.

“Ignore me,” answers Host. “I’m just the storyteller. You are the action-taker.”

Ro rolls his eyes, biting down hard on his lip. “You’re really not going to snitch if I come in your room right now?”

“No.”

Ro pauses. Scratches at his beard. Glances at the trees, where a pair of squirrels are judging him from a few feet away.

He slips into Host’s room.

Anonymous asked: Trick, should you just take Dok back to the house? Shep can and will call help if you don't leave. I don't want you guys to have to get in unnecessary fights. I'm pretty sure Jackie and Anti can handle it from here, yeah?

“If we go back we’ll be in so much trouble,” breathes Trick, frightened just at the thought of it. “He told me to guard the way, so I can’t let anyone in or out.”

“Why do you have to do what he tells you?” asks Shep.

“Why do you have to do what they tell you?” answers Dok bitterly, standing up beside his brother. “At least Trick doesn’t notice when he’s being used as a pawn. You know you’re that monster’s little soldier and you still do horrible things just because they tell you to. Pathetic. You stole our sick, speechless little brother just because Dark and Anti decided our lives were board game pieces to be played with. You just let yourself be used, no mind control needed.”

“Hey!” snaps Shep. “You better watch your tongue, little man! I make my own goddamn choices. Your brother is the one who would have killed Gigi if he were human just because Dark wouldn’t kiss him.”

“Dark and Anti are not creatures to be trucked with,” says Dok quietly. “But we have yet to find a way to escape our monster. Turn back. We’re smaller than you, but we are far from helpless with or without a firearm.”

“Look,” answers Shep, biting down harsher words. “Nobody wants a big fight here, right? Seems like Dark and, uh. Anti? Seems like they had a misunderstanding themselves. Maybe we can work this out.”

Dok and Trick exchange glances.

Anonymous asked: Trick, if Shep were to promise to not snitch on you being out here to Dark, then would you let him through? And Shep, would you uphold that promise? Both of you have lost things, you're even in bad deeds. Gigi was destroyed and Dark's back was injured, and Dapper was stolen. No one else needs to get hurt if you try compromising with each other, right?

“I won’t tell Dark for now,” says Shep evenly, hands raised in surrender. “But I don’t think you understand. Dark is an essence and those houses belong to them. They’re always creeping around. If your other brothers are in there, the chances that Dark hasn’t spotted them yet - slim to none.”

Trick and Dok frown at each other, worried. Dok shuffles a foot closer to him.

“I’ll let you through the mirror,” says Trick. “If you let us come with you. I have a bad feeling about what comes next… I think maybe it’s better if we can try to work together. You’re right. No one else needs to get hurt today.”

Anonymous asked: Hey Henrik, answer when the time is appropriate, but advice about Dapper from a training pharmacist, I would try prescribing him Depakote or a common antidepressant to work alongside his Haldol if Anti will let you! I know it must be very hard to have to be a psychiatrist when it wasn't your field of study :(

“Oh, thank you, yes,” answers Dok, his shoulders loosening a little. “Yes, well. He wasn’t on anything when I first… remember. And he didn’t do very well. He would smoke to ease his paranoia, but then he would be paranoid about getting cancer every time he’d cough, so it did him little good. He’d stopped trying to fight his own delusions. Anti was most of his treatment plan, but he acts so dreamy and lost when he’s in his head. Honestly I just kept trying medications til they worked, which probably wasn’t very good for him either. But at least I was allowed to see him and Trick then, coming upstairs to check on him everyday. We were in Sweden at the time, I think. Or Denmark? Before Norway. I was not even sure if we were brothers. He doesn’t speak so much when he’s really ill. He was just my little patient in the attic. He was the one who called me Doktor first.”

He rubs his hands together, glancing up. Shep and Trick talk quietly by the mirror, faces tense and hands always waiting for the other to throw the first blow. Dok sighs, though a faint laugh falls from his mouth with it.

“Oh. I would like to see all of them well for once in my life.”

Red steps uncertainly towards the Host.

“Shy?” asks the deep voice, and it seems to echo through his head. It reminds him too much of Anti and Dark. He slinks back against the wall, cowed despite himself.

“Hmm,” hums Host. “You’re not who I thought you were.”

“Who did you think I was?” asks Red quietly.

“I write a lot of stories,” says Host, brushing his fingers across pages and pages of snow-white braille. “I see a lot of stories. It takes only a side glance. A moment of contact. Stories for everyone I meet. Stories for the people who meet the people I meet. Not all true. Not all real. But possible… possible. Alternatives to the reality we survive in now. I saw, once, a story from a young man Mark shares business with. I thought, for a moment, that you were the protector in that story. The strong man… the hero. Not the protagonist, true. But almost as important. The courage to his tired hands. Defender.”

Ro plays with his hands, his eyes flickering around for a way to slip past Host without coming close to him.

“But you are alternate too,” says Host. “You’re not Jackie. Not quite.”

It makes his blood hot, but only for a moment. For the most part, he feels shame. His head drops. He turns away from an unseeing gaze.

“Guess not,” he answers. “But I still have to try to be… that.”

“Jackie?”

“Yes. Jackie.”

“Well, stop,” answers Host dryly, turning away. “Stupid boy.”

“Hey! What is your problem?”

“Stop living in a story you don’t even fucking remember,” spits Host, already striking his typewriter hard enough to fill the room with click-clacking once again. “Pathetic. You’re wasting a perfectly good character arc on trying to be someone you’re not. You have your own part to play. Jackie couldn’t save his family, Ro. Not for lack of trying, but he did fail, in the end, and that’s why he’s dead and you’re not. If you want to give him life again, it’s time to stop wallowing in your doubt and your fear and your shame in yourself and start being Ro like a real hero would. You better start acting like a hero – today, Roser. Too long the five of you have been stuck in the same painful narrative. Take up arms. Stop trying to remember and be.”

Host turns to him again, and Ro has never seen so much expression in a blindfolded face.

“Or lose more than even Jackie did.”

A cat slips in through the door, mewling, and comes weaving her way through Host’s legs, pinning Ro with a yellow gaze. He steps back nervously, staring at the cracked door. His throat bobs in a swallow. He grips his fists, straightening up at Host.

“What if he’s not enough?” he asks quietly.

“Who?” says Host.

“Me,” he answers.

“Of course he’s not enough,” spits Host, shaking his head. “How dull would it be for a character to be enough all on his own.”

Ro opens his mouth to reply, but Host beats it to him.

“Google!” he calls, turning towards the door.

“Fucking snitch!” cries Ro, terrified.

“There’s a closet across the hall. Run inside. You can sneak past him when he comes in to check on me. This is the only help I will give you. Go.”

He’s too frantic to argue. In a flash, he’s leaping out of the door of Host’s room and shoving himself into a closet full of cleaning supplies on the other side of the hall.

“Host?”

Those thudding footsteps move up the stairs. A fist pounds a knock against Host’s door. “Are you stuck in a vision? If you haven’t left your room since I checked on you this morning, you’ve been static for four hours and twenty-three minutes, including our usual breakfast hours and…”

Ro darts out of the closet on near-silent feet, racing down the stairs with his heart pounding. He throws himself against the wall for a second, thinking someone’s coming in the front door, but it’s just the second cat he saw, a big black cat like a shadow against the wall, letting out a hiss at the sight of him. He races down the second set of stairs and through the little hallway that frames Dapper’s door.

“Dapper!” he calls. “It’s me, I’m here.”

Faint whistling from the other side of the door. Red shoves his shoulder against it, tearing at the handle. It will not open.

“Fuck this,” he mumbles, and a moment later he finds himself ducking into a bathroom nearby, tearing the lid off the toilet tank, and slamming the porcelain into the handle of the door until both shatter and give. The door slides open.

“Dapper…”

There’s his little brother, curled up all lonely on the bed. In the light, Ro can see him clearly at last, and the relief of finding him comes charged with a painful nausea for how ill he looks. It’s worse than a hollowness, because Jamie has always been skinny. It’s worse than fatigue, because Dapper has always been tired. It’s worse than shadow, because his youngest brother has long felt alone. Now, he looks chewed up and spat out, cut open and removed from himself, faint and white and exhausted. He does not rise to hold Red. He can barely raise a hand to greet him.

“Bud, no,” says Ro, because his first thought, in that moment, is that Jameson is going to die.

He moves forward to scoop him up for a moment, pressing him to his chest. He can feel the heat on him before he’s even touched him. Sweat beads against Red’s fingers where he cards his hand through Dapper’s mussed brown hair, gone limp and tired, no longer curling at the fringe.

“Can you walk?” asks Ro, drawing back to hold his shoulders in his hands.

“Not sure,” answers Dapper, touching his wrist. “I feel really quite unwell, Red.”

“They haven’t taken care of you.”

“No, they tried,” protests Dapper. “They’ve given me medicine for my fever and things like that. Kept my wrist clean. I’m much better off than I was a few days ago.”

“Fuck… you could have died if that’s true.”

“I think maybe I would have if I stayed with Anti,” says Dapper, lying his head down on his brother’s shoulder and letting his eyes slip shut.

Red hugs him, grateful for the thudding of his heartbeat. As much as he knows they need to go, he needs even more to feel his chest moving with air, if only for a moment.

“You really are just not having a fun life, are you, Dippin’ Dots?” he says, the weight of it sitting on his chest.

“There are parts of it that are nice,” replies his brother, his hand resting on Ro’s shoulder.

“I’m going to get you out of here,” says Ro. “Like I promised.”

“Okay, Reddy. I’m really quite tired.”

“Okay. Okay. Here we go.”

He raises him into his arms, pressing him close against his body. He’s always tried to stay strong no matter how little he had to eat – not always successfully or healthily – but as the months have gone on he’s been finding his old strength. After wasting away in Norway, he built up corded muscle in Peru with long, difficult hikes up the mountain every day, bringing water and medicine and Christmas presents to his family, and in the past few weeks, with both Max and Anti, he has had good food and plenty of time for the exercise his body has craved. Host was right: now is the time to be strong.

He’s stepping out of the clinic room when he sees the big black cat again, darting away from him now, its fluffy back turned to him.

“Hey,” he laughs. “Did you follow me down here?”

And then, at the top of the stairs – black shoes and dress pants. The thud of a cane against the wood of the floor.

Ro back away, mouth taut, and he watches as that black cat, so dark that the light does not shine gold on its fur, dissolves away into the crowd of shadows that swarm like a cloak around Dark’s dead, rotting body.

“Spy cat,” Ro says. “Pretty sure that’s cheating.”

“I could see you the moment you stepped foot into my territory,” answers Dark, in a voice like a wind through cold water. “Your soul is so frantic it burns just to look at it. Even the ocean of silver power from the little one does not wash your color away.”

“Oh, what color?” asks Ro, curious.

“Not red,” comes the dry reply.

Dark takes a step down the stairs. Their body seems to jolt for a second, and then they must sit down, pain tightening their features.

“Heard my other little brother fucked you up pretty good,” says Ro, taking another step back towards the clinic. “Still not fully recovered, huh? I think I’d be a douchebag if I made fun of you for having a broken spine, but I’d like to offer a generalized ‘fuck you’ if that’s alright. You can’t even get down these stairs to get me, can you?”

Dark vanishes back into smoke and bursts into being at the bottom of the stairs, bone shifting in their broken face. Red yelps and puts Dapper on his feet, turning to wrap his body around him.

“Your little monster will pay for his over-powered tantrum,” says Dark.

“You stay the hell away from us!”

“I’ve never seen anyone as simultaneously intriguing and annoying as he is. But no matter. Soon, I’ll snuff his bright lights out and tear up both the natural and the stolen powers inside his chest, and then he will stop haunting me.”

“You take one more step towards me and I’ll call for him!” shouts Red, extending his fighting staff and whirling on Dark. “And this time he’ll fuck up more than just your back!”

“Call for him, then,” sneer a dozen echoing voices at once, and as Dark’s power begins to fill Red with terror and revulsion and confusion and grief, he puts his hands over his ears, opens his mouth, and screams for Anti.

And in the woods, Anti hears.

Anonymous asked: Anti, don't be brash and let your temper control you. Fight with the wit even Jack knew you had.

Wit – wit, yes, well, this at least keeps his gait steady as he moves Blue’s body through the trees, eyes fixed on the house where he can see his oldest gripping his camera. What you say is true, as he was always Jack’s little killer, clever and powerful, manipulative and built with an instinct for fighting more commonly found in a marten who plans to make a porcupine twice its size into dinner. He was patient, in the beginning, and sensational when the time came for him to cut that porcupine open, and it was his wit, yes, that lead him to capture all five of the brothers Jack created, one after the other, remorselessly.

And yes, even Jack knew he had it.

He remembers the sound of his voice the first time he made his eyes bleed. He wiped the sleeve of a black hood across his stained cheek and met his own gaze in the mirror, and he saw Anti more clearly than he ever had before.

“This one’s wild. Already smart enough to try and get through to the audience. Like it knows…”

His fingers touched his reflection in the glass.

“Hey. I see you. I’m here.”

His fond mouth smiled.

“Don’t be scared.”

Anti remembers.

Does Dark not?

Does Jack not?

It hurts to bear the thought of it, the thought that they really and truly forgot him. He hates it. He hates that you mentioned it. That Dapper keeps saying it. That he doesn’t know what’s happening anymore and he feels alone.

That he sometimes wishes he were still just a notion curled, warm, in the back of Jack’s head, listening to him chatter and breathe.

No. No use for nostalgia now. What he wants are the people he can still have – his Trick, his Dapper, his brothers.

He’s done a lot of bad things to them. Cruel, unbearable things, without reason. But if you give him credit for one thing, let it be this –

Oh, Anti taught his boys to be fang-toothed.

“Where’s my little soldiers at, so?” he sings to himself. “Dok, Trick.”

You see the twins perk up and look over as Anti sends his own message through the cameras now.

“Go find your big brother, Trickshot, and start fucking laying waste. And you, Deutsch – get my little Carver, now. And if anyone tries to put their hands on him – teach them why I use you for torture.”

Steel makes their fond mouths harden. They glance at Shep, and then away.

“If that is what it takes,” says Dok.

“Then consider it done,” Trick finishes.

And he touches his reflection in the clear glass of the mirror, and moves.

Anonymous asked: Alright so we're just going in guns blazing. Dok, Trick, you have any idea of where to go?

“Well, I am guessing it is this house which is all shadowy and dramatic,” says Dok, lifting his chin at the third house, where Dark’s power has cast everything in late-night lighting.

“Hey, you’ll regret it if you go rushing in there at Dark,” warns Shep, shoving himself forward. Trick steps up to him before he can reach Dok, raising his head in warning.

“I have left my little brother to rot too many times in his life,” shouts Dok, moving towards the house even as Wilford steps out of Dark’s house to see what’s going on, smoking languidly as darkness curls around his feet. “He asked me to fight for him! So I will.”

“If you’re coming, then come,” says Trick. “But don’t try and stop us getting Dapper.”

“Fine! Just try not to piss Dark off anymore, for all our sakes!”

Anonymous asked: Hey Silver, I think you should probably go with Trick and Doc. If things get crazy (and they probably will, lbr), it'd be good to have someone reasonable around. I know you can't go against Dark, but I also don't think you want to see anyone get hurt. This is admittedly a big step up from asking you to look for a lost cat, but can you do it for us?

Shep stares at the wash of shadow growing over the corners of his home. He runs after Dok and Trick, expression torn, and when Anti glitches into existence in the doorway of his house, you see him fall back in alarm, eyes wide.

“What’s going on?” he hears Gigi shout from somewhere inside. A sudden thrill of fear pours adrenaline into Shep’s blood, remembering all too clearly the way Anti shattered the android last time they met.

But Anti glitches away before Gigi can reach him. Google snarls, slamming his fist against the door and stepping out to look around. Trick and Dok have already hidden, tucked against the side of one of the other houses. They’ll sneak around the back and get in through the door there, hoping to find Dapper. Shep stares around in a mild panic - but eventually, you see him set his mouth and glance at you. He follows after Dok and Trick.

Host trails out onto the porch after Google, lighting a cigarette with a cold grin.

“This,” he says, “is going to be good.”

ari-trash asked: So you're just going to watch the chaos unfold, Host? You're just going to stand back and let it all happen? Well... at the very least I hope it'll be entertaining enough for you

“Been boring as shit lately,” mutters Host, smoke wafting from his mouth as he breathes out. “I been waiting for Dark to bring me home some fucking chaos. Whole reason I stick around. Nobody gets in to as much bullshit as this family. Google, do you remember when Bim hired an assassin to kill you?”

“Host!” shouts Gigi. “Who’s in the house!”

“I’m blind, Inspector Gadget, figure it out for yourself.”

“Dammit, Host!”

Anonymous asked: Ro, you're gonna be okay. Just keep with Dapper okay? Help is coming

“We’re okay, we’re okay, we’re okay,” chants Red like the words are stuck in his mouth, over and over again. He backs away, wrapped around Dapper, hiding his face in his chest. Dark steps towards them with the thud, thud of their cane, eyes white as spoiled milk. “Help is coming, help is coming, help is - ”

“Hey!” shouts Anti.

Dark stops.

Anti stands at the top of the stairs, haloed in his own venomous, glitching light in the midst of Dark’s shadow. Green and red and cold blue light. He is beautiful and hollow. He is a grave waiting to be filled.

“Stop,” he says quietly. “Back off.”

Ro sees Dark’s mouth curve like a planet.

“Hi, handsome,” they taunt softly, inclining their head, gaze still boring into Ro.

Anti does not taunt back. His shoulders are drawn back, his head low. Blue’s eyes are like the broken edges of a piece of shattered glass.

“Done playing,” says Anti. “Get away from them.”

“I just want to talk,” they answer, extending grey hands like a crucifixion.

“Liar,” says Anti.

Dark turns to him.

“What do you want?” asks Anti, revealing just a moment of weakness.

Dark meets his gaze like a predator circling.

“I don’t know anymore,” they tell him. “For you to stop bothering me?”

“Liar,” replies Anti, very quietly. “Liar.”

Dark grits their teeth.

“I would like you to stop being the ghost that follows me everywhere I go.”

Dapper shivers in Red’s grip, his legs giving out slightly. Dark and Anti glance at him as he crumples and Anti reaches for him for a moment, gaze breaking.

“Back off,” says Anti, stepping down the stairs. “That’s mine. Enough. Enough games. Done playing. Why don’t you come pick on someone a little less mortal, you fucking slug?”

Dark extinguishes all light in the room. Red shouts, scooping Dapper right off the ground. In the shadow, only Anti is visible, Blue’s face lit with his myriad of spasming colors.

“Fine then,” comes Dark’s voice, and you hear their echo give a hissing laugh. “As you wish.”

“Red,” says Anti. “Get him out of here.”

And then he is under attack.

Anonymous asked: Trick, Dok, how bad is it looking out there? I think you guys have a chance but you'll have to hurry, maybe ask Shep which house had Dapper. He's still following behind, yeah?

Shep sighs, reaching out to take Trick’s sleeve, pulling him towards his home. “Come on,” he says, hissing to keep his voice low. “We’ll go round through the back door and get your brother. You can take him while Dark and Anti keep each other busy.”

“Into the darkness?” asks Dok.

“Dude, it’s pitch in there,” agrees Trick, eyes wide. “We won’t be able to see.”

“Can’t you call for each other?”

Dok and Trick cross their arms over their chest, glaring.

“Oh, that’s right… uh, well, he can whistle or something, right?”

“We don’t have much other choice,” sighs Dok, letting his arms fall. “He’s probably scared in there. Maybe even having an episode. He could snap.”

“I bet Red’s found him and they’re keeping each other safe. But we need to get them both out - Dark has a pretty strong effect on the both of them.”

Dok bites down on his lip, reaching tentatively for the handle of the back door to Shep’s house, behind which, nothing but darkness awaits. He hears a slam and the telltale buzz of Anti’s power, so loud it almost feels like it’s making his whole head vibrate. Dark shouts and Anti snarls back at him, indecipherable from the other side of the house.

“Okay,” he says. “Let’s go.”

You plunge into shadow together.

Anonymous asked: Duck and run Red, get yourself and Dap out of there

“Come on, bud, let’s go.”

In the darkness, Dapper is almost completely unable to communicate with him. He feels him trying to sign, but they don’t have time to stumble through it, much as he hates to ignore him. He throws Dapper’s arm over his shoulder and moves towards the back door. Black as it is, Ro does not stumble for a moment. He saw the hallway once and that’s all he needs, same way he can take one look at a building before leaping up the side of it like a pine marten or a slightly over-sized squirrel.

There’s only a second where he pauses.

Dapper’s fever-heat warms his shoulder. He can hear his little brother panting in the darkness. Behind them, Anti shouts and snarls, locked in battle, and Red - oh, he can’t place it, much as he wants to, but a part of him knows he’s been here before. Not here, in this house, but… here.

“We were… trying to get away?” he hears himself mutter. “And you were sick… I needed to get you… home. To England.”

Dapper turns his head towards him in the shadows, mouth parted.

“But I couldn’t get away from Anti. Jackie couldn’t get you away from Anti. And then… Red stopped trying.”

And in the darkness, in the pitch black, Ro feels his little brother move his hands against his chest.

“He did not stop trying,” JJ tells him. “He just… needed to forget for a little while. Because he was in pain. He never stopped trying.”

Ro feels something sharp and tight in his chest.

“Here now,” signs Jameson, touching his heart. “You. Here now. Don’t be sorry. No more being sorry.”

No more being sorry.

“Come on,” murmurs Red, pulling him through the darkness again. “I gotta get you out of here.”

No more being sorry. It’s a waste of time. He needed to forget for a little while, but not anymore. Time to be what they need him to be. Doesn’t matter if that’s Jackie or Ro or Red or a little bit of all of them.

He won’t fail again.

Anonymous asked: Red, take Dapper towards the back door, if you remember where it is. Trick and Dok are trying to find you. Escape while Dark is distracted.

Red crashes into Shep headfirst and you hear them both yelp, drawing back from each other, but then Trick is hissing Ro’s name and reaching out blindly for his brother. Ro recoils when his fingers find his face and Trick knows it’s him, letting out a weak laugh. Ro grins at the sound of it, relaxing, and moves towards him.

“I’ve never been so glad to see you,” whispers Trick. Ro grabs his wrist with a grateful squeeze and feels how good it is to be on Trick’s side like they were always meant to be.

“We gotta go,” he says. “Come on, back towards the door.”

“Dark and Anti are going to hurt each other,” protests Shep. “Are we just… not doing anything about that?”

“Let’s just get out of here first,” hisses Dok, pulling them all back towards the door, and moments later, they stumble out into the light with sighs of relief.

aether-mae asked: Maybe you boys should stay out of anti and darks squabble. Let them brawl it out in the dark like the heartbroken lovesick monsters they are

“I think they’re right,” agrees Dok, already taking Dapper’s face in his hands to look him over. “Oh, my poor buddy.”

Dapper smiles wearily at him.

“Let’s get you home, yes?”

“We are far away from home,” signs Dapper, slumping against his shoulder. “But I would like to go back to bed.”

“I’m getting him out of here. Come, we should all go. Better to be far from this.”

Ro glances at Trick, and then at Shep, eyes narrowed. He can’t read Shep’s face at all - it’s never been a talent of his - but Dok and Trick must have let him come along for a reason.

“I just want everyone to be okay,” grumbles Shep, looking away from Red’s intense gaze. “Anti and Dark fighting like this - it’s stupid. And other people are going to get hurt if this keeps up.”

“Then we should run,” insists Ro. “Right?”

“You might be able to get your family clear, but I have friends in all of these houses,” says Shep quietly.

Ro nods, biting down on his lip. He pauses for a moment to meet Trick’s gaze, and if Shep’s expression is a mystery to him, Ro thinks he recognizes the determination in his brother’s face.

“We’ll stay to make sure Dark and Anti don’t hurt anyone,” he says. “They’re both out of control and we’ve let them play games with us for too long.”

“I’ll stay too,” agrees Trick. “Anti asked me to help Ro. But, Dok - here.”

Trick holds out the handgun. Dok blinks, shaking his head. “It’s yours. You might need it.”

Trick shakes his head back at him. “You have to protect Dap. If someone comes after you, he’s too sick to fight back. Take it and keep him safe.”

Dok takes the gun from him, mouth tight with worry. Trick touches his shoulder and then draws back from him, moving to Ro’s side.

“I need to get the twins before they get scared,” says Shep, glancing back at the second house, where a pair of matching faces are staring out at the growing shadow. “I’ll meet up with you back here and we can figure out what to do once they’re safe, okay?”

Red and Trick nod, stood side-by-side.

“Wait,” says Dok. “If I’m taking the gun, then - ”

He unhooks one of his necklaces and wraps it around Red’s neck. His brother startles, eyes wide.

“Dok, this is your - ”

“Break it and re-tie it if you need it,” says Dok quietly. “It will light up the darkness. It’s a weapon too. If you don’t need it, you can give it back to me. Just… take it, okay? I’ll feel better.”

“Why me?” asks Ro. “Use it to keep Dap safe. Or give it to Trick since I’m the stronger fighter.”

But Dok shakes his head.

“It was always for you,” he says. “Take it.”

The raven rests against Ro’s heart.

Anonymous asked: Keep your peepers people-d, lads.

“Bye,” says Trick quietly, meeting Dok’s gaze.

“I love you,” answers Dok.

“I love you too.”

And for a second, Trick just hates it - the memory it evokes in him, the memory of parting with Dok on the shores of a river in South America, the memory of losing him to the magicians and not knowing if he was dead or alive.

“Hey,” laughs Dok warmly, touching his cheek. “I’ll see you in an hour, yes?”

“Yes,” agrees Trick weakly. “Okay. I love you.”

“We already did that.”

“Well, it’s true.”

“I love you too.”

Dok and Dapper move back towards the shed, hand-in-hand, leaving Ro and Trick alone behind the house.

But only for a moment.

“How touching,” sneers a deep, dangerously steady voice. “That you really believe you can leave this place alive after daring to enter.”

Ro turns slowly, standing in front of Trick.

Gigi glares back at him, hands clenched into fists at his side. A terrible glow rises in his deep brown eyes.

“Is that what we were keeping our eyes open for?” asks Trick.

Red extends his fighting staff.

“That would be it, Trickster.”

Inside the house, Anti refuses to tolerate being blinded.

Fire lights up around him in a circle. He burns in the center of it, eyes glowing dangerously with the light of Blue’s flame.

“You can barely even fucking control that,” says Dark quietly. “It isn’t yours. What a fucking parasite you are.”

Anti leaps forward like a snake and strikes at Dark hard, only for his enemy to vanish into smoke. He makes no witty rejoinder and does not taunt Dark anymore. Dark tries to appear from the darkness to grab him, but Anti is lining the floor of the house in flame, illuminating the shadow. Dark flicks his hand and the fire douses. Anti shouts and redoubles his efforts: his fury overcomes Dark’s power and fire grows in the room once more.

“These floors were nice before you got here.”

“I’ll do the same thing to your rotting flesh!” shouts Anti, lashing out again.

Dark blocks his blade with the stern line of a wooden cane, letting Anti score a gash into the side of it and kicking at Anti’s legs, but Anti is swift and vicious and he leaps back with a snarl on his mouth. The speed with which they fight is alarming, so fast that at some points you can’t tell whose strike is slashing forward. Dark vanishes and reappears constantly, and Anti, though solid in Blue’s form, is so coated in glitching and so quick-paced he almost looks to be transporting himself. Dark is stronger, but their back hurts them, and any blow to their spine or chest could down them. Anti is the more savage of the two, but he is bound to Blue’s skin right now, choosing the comfort of incarnation over the freedom of his natural form.

“You look like a demon coated in fire like that,” hisses Dark, circling him for a moment.

Yes, Anti looks like a demon today.

“But you smell like a fairy. And you fight like a human.”

“I’m worse than all three,” whispers back Anti.

“What, then?”

“Nothing,” says Anti. “But that was always what intrigued you, wasn’t it?”

“Stop acting like you’re something irresistible,” snarls Dark.

“You used to tell me I was,” answers Anti, and for a second, you hear something like melancholy through the anger in his voice. A moment later, it’s gone. He lunges forward again and Dark blocks his knife with the cane before striking him hard in the face, sending blood pouring from Blue’s nose. Flowers burst up between the floorboards where the red blood falls.

“Control your fucking power before you tear the house down!” shouts Dark.

“No,” says Anti. “If you want me to stop, kill me.”

“Little monster, it will be my pleasure.”

But it is now that Dark hears Gigi shouting outside, and not just at Trick and Ro. A glance to the window shows them flame growing around the house as well as inside. The fire begins to lick at the trees. Gigi and Trick are hollering at each other, both blaming the other’s master for the damage.

“I’ll burn this whole fucking forest down,” howls Anti. “You think you can act like you forget me?”

Dark vanishes and reappears behind him, shoving him towards the door, and as Anti staggers they gift him a second blow to the face, sending him crashing to the floor. Dark reaches down and puts their hands around Anti’s waist, gripping him too tight as they haul him bodily out the door and over the porch, sending him crashing down onto the stairs that lead up to the porch. Anti lets out a short gasp, touching the back of Blue’s skull, where blood buds up to stain his fingers like ink. He blows out a breath and leaps back to his feet, trying to buy himself time by duplicating – creating false doubles of himself that look real, until Dark is surrounded by a circling trio of Marvins with hatred burning like stars in their eyes.

But Dark doesn’t press their advantage. Their face is flickering again, revealing short glimpses of that same emotion that Anti couldn’t accept when they were in the woods together: confusion, raw and genuine. Their hands are still held out in front of them, remembering Anti’s waist between their palms.

“Get out of my head,” they warn.

“You get out of my heart!” shrieks Anti.

“I’m not manipulating you,” growls Dark, raising their hands slightly – perhaps the beginning of a gesture asking for a pause.

“Well, neither am I. I got enough going on possessing this body for me to be messing around in anybody else’s head,” answers Anti bitingly, setting his three pairs of identical feet.

“Come on,” sighs Dark. “Do you really expect a soul-sight like me to be tricked by your glitches?”

“Which one’s me then?” shouts Anti, stepping forward, all three pairs of himself moving close, into Dark’s space. “And you know I’m not lying if you’ve still got any sight at all! You know that and you’re still – fucking – acting like this!”

A tree behind the house bursts into flame and you hear shouts and the scattering of squirrels.

But Dark doesn’t flinch.

Anti pants in front of them. After a second, his right hand, duplicated three times, reaches out and grabs Dark’s shirt – the shoulder, the back, and the lapel of their fine black suit.

Dark sets their hands on Anti’s waist.

Squeezes.

Hard.

Feels his solidity beneath their fingers.

Anti closes his eyes, a flicker of pain in his face, but, if only for a moment, you see some of the panic drain away from his white face. The double and triple flicker out of existence.

Anti breathes.

He looks up at Dark and he pulls in air, Blue’s heart racing. Ash in his mouth and hands on his waist.

“Asshole,” he chokes, striking Dark’s chest with a faltering fist. “You liar. You do remember me.”

Dark’s gaze breaks, eyes sliding closed. They squeeze his waist again. Loosen. Squeeze. Loosen. Breathe.

“I think… I do.”

“Why’d you pretend?” cries Anti. “Is it true what you said – my soul doesn’t look the same anymore? Can you see Blue’s power instead of mine?”

“I didn’t remember you,” mumbles Dark. “I still… it’s like if I had been a character in a play, and so were you, and then suddenly here you are, telling me to remember the lines we read. But the part of you I remember – you don’t look like yourself at all. You’re not the character. You’re someone else. Someone I know even less.”

Anti grips their wrist, shaking his head. “Don’t say that.”

“You can’t admit it to yourself,” Dark murmurs, withdrawing slightly. Around them, the heat and smoke is only rising. “That I don’t remember all of it. I can see the fear it puts in you.”

“What am I supposed to believe? Who could have done something like this? Not my Dapper. That’s a lie. Not him. The others have already – have already done what they’ve done. But not him and not Trick. Those are mine. You – you were mine, Dark, fuck you!”

He shoves Dark back and grabs their jacket, pulling them close.

“Tell me you remember me! And you were pretending! And you know me and now you’ll start acting like yourself again! Tell me that, now!”

But Dark is pulling away from him, shaking their head.

“Dark! Tell me that and mean it, goddammit!”

“You are a piece of something now far away from me,” says Dark. “But right now, all you are is a threat, and I will play games no longer.”

“Pangur Dubh!” screams Anti, voice breaking. “It’s me!”

“Wilford,” says Dark.

Anti hears the cock of a gun.

He throws Blue’s body back, falling back onto the porch again just in time for the bullet to miss him. Dark vanishes back into shadow and Anti turns his eyes to Wilford, who isn’t even reloading – just looking at him with a sort of strange pity in his eyes.

Anti –

Oh, fuck.

Shit, he –

He’s had enough.

He’s had enough. He’s had it. Humiliation washes over him so hot and loud it almost makes him dizzy, and Blue’s fragile little body aches against his trapped form even as it protects him from the side effects of stealing Marvin’s power, and he’s tired, and he’s scared, and he wants to go home.

But only for a moment.

Because, for a long, long, long time, he has learned one very dangerous skill:

Turn all of that into rage, and let it swallow you whole.

“Anti, you’re going to burn the whole fucking forest down! Dapper can’t reverse right now!”

“There are still people nearby! Dapper and Dok and others who haven’t hurt us!”

“Make him stop, please, please! Dark, do something, Wil, shoot him, make him stop!”

“Dark, you have to stop this. Where did you go?”

Trick and Red and Shep and Gigi’s voices are lost in the pounding of the blood in Anti’s head. Even Host is retreating now, stepping away from the porch and out onto the grass as the fire spreads, the amusement disappearing from his mouth. Anti chokes on his anger, eyes watering with the force of it, and blood gushes from his throat so fast he’s faint. At this point, he doesn’t think he could control the fire if he wanted to. He remembers Blue’s burst of power at the top of the mountain, sending plant life exploding through the rocks and sand.

Now I’m the one who’s out of control, he realizes faintly.

And a voice in his head answers, pleads, begs:

Anti. Give it back to me and I will make it stop.

Marvin, he answers. I wasn’t lying. I don’t know how.

All six of us and all of these people here are going to DIE, Anti.

Anti feels heat on his face. Ash on his white hands. Smoke in the air. Smoke like flame in the air. And he breathes. He breathes.

So be it.

#chapter four

3 notes · View notes

romeulusroy · 4 years

Text

Cerebral Cortex (Thomas Shelby Oneshot)

Character/s: Thomas

Word Count: 1,164

Tag List: @dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt @myriadimagines @lilyswritings @encounterthepast @death-of-a-mermaid @lotsoffandomimagines @woahitslucyylu @obsessedunicorn24 @thedarkqueenofavalon @fangirlsarah16 @theshelbyclan @captivatedbycillianmurphy

A/N: I don't have a lot to say about this. Just an idea I had reading a book about a neurosurgeon :) I know this could have been written better, but it already took so many hours, I don't think I'll be 100% happy with it, if that makes sense? Anyways, feedback is always appreciated 💜💖💜

Gif Credit: @nofckingfighting :)

FIC MASTERLIST PART ONE. / PART TWO.

WANNA BE ADDED TO THE TAG LIST?

You never quite knew what he was thinking, feeling, what played behind those sunken blue eyes. You wished there was a way, though. Something you could do to figure it out, pry it out of him when his voice left him, when words just weren't enough. Dreamed of cracking his skull apart in pieces, a puzzle of bone and brain matter. Pull back skin and muscle instead, something that wasn't so invasive, something that wouldn't leave any more scars that it needed to. You weren't sure what you'd find in there. Scattered letters written, hidden, never sent. Wet ink running, bloody, gory, all the things he kept to himself over the years. All the words left unsaid, all the terrible feelings he harbored to himself. Pictures, images, of all the ghosts he carried with him. Family, friends, strangers he felt a kin to, now resting in their graves. Hums of lullabies he slept to as a baby, echoes of screams and cries men he fought side by side with, all the worst things anyone anyone ever said to him. Whatever you found, whatever nestled in the wrinkles of his mind, scared of the light of day, it would be worth it.

Attention. A man of focus, of devotion, to all the wrong things. One track mind. A gun with a single bullet. Hunched over his desk, elbows on the table, lit by a dim light, the bustle of the outside world quieting, the world growing tired, settling into a warm home and welcomed arms. Stars sparkling, shining, leading the way down the cobblestone cracks to the promise of loose collars, of full pints and bedtime stories, of sleepy goodnight kisses and a hope of seeing the sun rise again. He didn't have that, he didn't get that. Instead, he rubbed his eyes, triple checked numbers, rotted away second by second in a chair that set his back on fire. The car rides home were eerie, unsettling, the sky black, swallowing the galaxy. There were no kisses, there was no welcome, only a dark home of empty rooms where the leaves rustled and branches tapped on the windows, and the mice squeaked in the walls. He'd find you fast asleep in a bed made for two, tucked under the blankets, in his place, clutched against you, a pillow. Again and again, choosing work over you. Regret stuck to his skin no matter how much he scrubbed.

Perception. Biased. Stubborn. Angry. A pessimist, an idealist, a god, among men. There was no changing his mind once it was made up. Unbreakable. Unforgiving. His ideals, his thought process, sharp as razor blades. Slicing through self doubt, through criticism and indifference. He only ever listened to himself. A force to be reckon with. Angry fists, white knuckled, broken and split by the walls of his work, by shattered bottles at the bar, by the cheekbones of any man who dare second guess him. His vision red, pooling, draining, an open wound. You were sent to save him. Talk to him, to hush his cries, hold his face and make him look at you. Not the blood on his desk, not the glass in a puddle of whiskey, nothing else but you. Speak to him softly, quietly, picking your words carefully, thoughtfully. Change his mind. It wasn't a gift, but a curse. To speak the language of the old gods to a man as old as time. You were losing your mother tongue though, letting it slip away, bobbing down the river faster and faster. That was the only dialect he ever spoke.

Thought. Careless. Reckless. Suicidal. Pressing the gun to his head, the knife to his neck. Begging for the tunnels to collapse, for the landmines to explode, for the bullet to hit him instead. Finally. A tragic ending to an unforgettable life. Let the curtains close, the audience applause and cry, mourn the loss of a great man with despicable power. Or, a despicable man with great power. Who's to say? Befriending death, trusting her with his life, his love, his bloodline. The only one who truly understood him these days. Holding him close, arms wrapped around him, there to soothe him in his fits, his anger, replacing you all together. Stepping into the danger with his head held high, his shoulders back, leading with his chest, with a heart that refused to stop no matter how much he prayed. A heavy silence when the boys came treading back. Counting heads, fingers, toes, eyes. Begging an immovable force that he would walk through that door, that he would come back at all. Some didn't, and that was a reality you had to face, one you feared. A nightmare you knew would become reality one of these days.

Memory. Lost. Repressed. Forgotten. Scratched out of every picture. Pushed away, rustling the bones of the skeletons in his closet. Screaming, banging on the door, wanting to claw their way out. Manifesting in his dreams, in his every day life. A sound, a smell, a shadow that followed him, that would follow him until his final days. Others reminisced. Nostalgic of war, missing the chaos, not yet finding their place yet as a civilian. He never spoke a word. Moving too fast, leaving the past to starve, to cry, to die. Never digging too deep into his own actions, looking for reasons, for causes, for his temper, his rage, for his impulsion. Too many times, he'd slip away, pacing the floors, escaping his own tomb, refusing to let his eyes close a second time. Finding him in the morning, a shell of himself, worried sick, searching through the house, the yard, calling his name. He could have been anywhere, doing anything, hurting himself because he could, because that pain was easier to deal with than that of the past.

The Cerebral Cortex. Responsible for all of this, and more. Sometimes you wondered if his was broken. Could someone even have a broken brain? Cracked and glued back together. Patchwork, messy, novice, sewed together to close holes, to mend wear and tear. Smashed the same way glasses were thrown out of rage, bursting into thousands of tiny, dangerous shards ready to kill. Burned just like his bridges, turned to ash, crackling, dancing, hungry for more. This wasn't the relationship you expected to have. It wasn't what it used to be. The years, they changed him, turned him into something, someone, unrecognizable. A rabbit to be chased, a love forgotten, unrecoverable. You were an after thought. Someone placed on the shelf amongst past partners, lovers, strangers that caught his eye. All of you the same. All of you losing him. Slowly, never noticing until it's too late. Too much blood loss. You used to be able to look at him and know exactly what he was feeling, seeing, thinking. That seemed like yesterday. Now, you would do anything to have that back, to have him back.

Do anything to understand him again.

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ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes · 4 years

Text

Blue Eyes Part 7

Summary: After the Garrison is shot up, the youngest Shelby daughter finds a new home in London. She strips herself of her last name and tries to live a peaceful life far away from her brothers’ chaos in Birmingham. But fate leads her right back into it after she runs into Alfie Solomons.

Part 7: Tommy’s heart is ripped out.

The call came late at night. Ella thought she was still dreaming when she heard the words.

“Grace is dead.”

Her sister sounded just as stunned.

Funeral arrangements would be made in due time. She’d be notified when the time came.

Italians. A war was starting.

Ella looked out the open window of her bedroom. She hung up the phone on her sister and in a daze, went to close it. They weren’t safe anymore. Hell, if they had ever known what it meant to feel safe. Ella wondered if she, or any of her siblings, had truly been at peace before.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sunday morning, Ella arrived in Warwickshire. Tommy didn’t even acknowledge her. But she knew it wasn’t because of how tense things were between them. It was shock. It was as if he wasn’t registering the world around him. His piercing eyes looked right through people as if they were ghosts.

He held Charlie through the entirety of the funeral. The boy cried but Tommy merely blankly stared ahead, tormented by silent demons.

Ella had lost before, they all had. But Tommy had suffered significantly. She remembered clearly when her brother lost Greta. He was still the Traveler boy with light in his eyes. He never left her bedside those last few days. When it happened, Ella wasn’t sure if her brother would ever be the same again. He clung to Polly, crying like Ella had never seen him cry before. Then he returned from the war. He stood behind as Arthur and John hugged her, Ada, and Polly. She saw his eyes on that train platform. The light had been snuffed out. From that point on, he would never again be the person she once knew. God never stopped taking from him. Carving out more and more of him, leaving behind all the emotions that drove the gangster.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ella followed him out of the church. The same church where he’d married Grace. It felt like yesterday that had happened. Now Tommy was storming off. He handed Charlie to Ada as he passed her. The toddler wailed and grabbed at the air for his father but he didn’t look back.

“Tommy!” Ella called.

“Leave him.” Her aunt said quietly and touched her shoulder. “He’s not right in the head, he needs some time.”

She didn’t listen and kept following him all the way to the stables. “I know you can hear me.” She continued talking to his back. “Stop and talk to me.”

Her brother didn’t stop. Neither did she.

~~~~~~~~~~~

At the stables, a groom was waiting with Tommy’s favorite horse already tacked up. He’d apparently planned his escape after the funeral. Tommy snatched the reins and mounted the horse in a fluid motion.

“Tom!” Ella watched him spur the horse off towards the pastures. She huffed and turned to the groom. “Get that gray ready for me.” She demanded.

The young man nodded, a little too familiar with Shelby moodiness.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Tommy had a head start on Ella, but she figured it wouldn’t be too hard to find him in the open fields. He wouldn’t travel too far from Arrow House, not without Charlie.

Eventually, she followed a billow of smoke that had begun to climb up to the gray clouds. She found her brother sat beside the fire, his knees pulled to his chest like a child pouting. “Go away.” He muttered. Although he wasn’t surprised she hadn’t let up and continued to follow him. She was never one to take 'no' as an answer.

Ella dismounted and allowed the horse to graze. “You obviously don’t know me very well if you think I’m going to leave you here to sulk alone.”

“Thought you hated me.” He poked at the fire with a stick, causing it to crackle and spew out sparks.

“I could never hate you, pral, I’m just…” She sighed and sat next to her brother. “I think we’ve gotten too caught up in life. We’ve let our emotions rule us.”

Tommy didn’t move an inch. “Maybe.”

Ella stretched out her legs and reached down to take off her shoes and stockings. She reached in her pocket and pulled out a flask filled to the cap with gin. Perfect remedy for sadness. After taking a long sip, she handed it to her brother almost as a peace offering.

Tommy never passed up the opportunity to drink, especially in the state he was in. The siblings passed the flask back and forth a few times. Neither one spoke for quite some time. The simply kept the foggy afternoon at bay with the warm fire.

Ella couldn’t help but miss the memories she had with Tommy, just the two of them. The time he’d taught her how to fish, how to set a rabbit trap, how to gallop on a horse, and how to clean a gun without shooting yourself between the eyes. Although the information was valuable, she recalled how patient he was with her, even as a loud, wild girl who became disgruntled after failing the first time. She treasured the quiet moments they had together. The silence they held as they sat in the forest, listening for any sounds of animals. The peace between them while walking their horses through empty fields.

She sighed and lay back in the long, damp grass. The gin enveloping her in a false sense of calm.

“Do you remember when mum died?” Tommy held the flask, his fingers tapping dully against the metal surface.

She turned her head, her cheek kissed by the dewy grass. “No, not really. I think I remember Polly telling me but I dunno. Can’t even remember what she looked like.”

Tommy pursed his lips for a second before screwing the cap back on the flash and placing it to the side. He slipped off his cap and sighed. “Arthur told me. Sat me down to tell me she wasn’t gonna wake up. You, Ada, and Finn were so little. Even John was too young to understand. Dad wasn’t going to take care of us so Arthur and I made a pact. We said, no matter what, we’d take care of everyone. We’d make sure this world wouldn’t hurt you the way it hurt us.” He shook his head and lifted his eyes to watch the smoke curl up into the air. His blue eyes were full of tears but he didn’t let one spill. “What a shit job we’ve done, aye?”

Ella couldn’t help but laugh despite the sadness in her brother’s eyes. How silly it was that her brothers thought they could take on the entire world. Hold all their siblings up like Atlas holding the Earth. No wonder they were so protective and stressed all the time. “You think it’s easy taking care of four gypsy kids? I think you and Arthur’ve done the best you can. None of us are dead, s’pose that’s something. We ain’t homeless either.”

“Life isn’t about just staying alive. It’s about finding happiness.” He shut his eyes, letting the dull sunlight graze over his face. “I was happy with Grace. Thought I could make it last.” His jaw clenched. “You were right, El, I’m the curse.”

She chewed the inside of her cheek and propped herself up on her elbows. “That’s not true.” She scolded herself for saying something so daft even in the heat of the moment. “You’re the one who’s kept us together all these years.”

“El, I interrupted what made you happy.” Her brother opened his eyes and looked down at her. “Polly and Ada told me but I was too upset to see it. Alfie made you happy. Maybe I’ll never understand why or how but he does. Weren’t right for me to intrude.”

Ella’s heart seized up and she wanted to cry. “S’alright, Tom.” She sat up and rested a hand on his shoulder. “Doesn’t matter anyway. I think I’ve burned that fucking bridge beyond repair.”

“That’s what I thought when Grace left for America. But things have their ways of working out.”

“I wouldn’t count on it.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

“Oi, am I gonna hafta start taking fingers or are you lot going to get the lead outta your shoes and get to work?” Alfie shouted as he stormed through the bakery. The man’s threats were starting to become routine, almost like clockwork. But they weren’t empty threats, much to the dismay of his workers. Plenty of men had faced his wrath even for the littlest things.

Ollie was almost sure the activity would die down but he was starting to think there was no end. Despite being his assistant for so many years, that didn’t give him any sort of job security. Alfie was so hurt it drove him to be irrational. A man who handled heartbreak with anger was never one to be tempted.

So, the younger man treaded cautiously and chose his words with care.

“Sir, Tommy Shelby sent a telegram,” Ollie informed his boss. Any mention of the name Shelby was almost guaranteed to cause a violent reaction. One poor lad had mistakenly mentioned something about the Shelby’s horse at the derby. Alfie hit him so hard with his cane; it was as if he were trying to send him back to 1920.

Alfie grunted with displeasure and waved his assistant into his office. “Yeah? He did, did he? Trying to threaten me more?”

“No, sir, something about business with Russians and a robbery.” Ollie frowned as he double-checked the block letters on the slip of paper. Such a scenario sounded so convoluted but leave it to the Peaky Blinders to get involved with international heists. “He said he wants to speak to you over the phone or in person to discuss details.”

“Really?” He scoffed. “That man puts a gun to me fucking head and suddenly wants me to help him?”

Ollie shrugged. “I’m not sure, sir.” He set the telegram down in front of his boss to read himself. He couldn't answer any questions about the behavior of the Peaky Blinders.

Alfie put on his glasses and scanned over the words. He snorted and shook his head. “Those fucking animals. Fine, he wants to meet, so be it. Question is, should he trust me?” He looked up at his assistant as if looking for an answer.

“Sir?”

“Obviously not, Ollie, fucking hell, lad.” He snapped. “Those fucking gypsies made a mistake by lying to me. They want to trust me now, that’s their own fault. Don’t be daft.”

“What are you going to do then?” Ollie wasn’t sure double-crossing the Blinders was prudent. Alfie had done so before and it never worked out. But the man was hurt enough to be chomping at the bit for revenge.

“Can’t let them get the entire cut from the robbery, then can we?” Alfie tossed the telegram to the side and leaned back in his desk chair. “I’ve got some people who would be interested to know their plan. We can make easy money off of this.” He removed his glasses. At that moment, he wasn’t thinking about Ella. He was hell-bent on making her brothers, specifically Tommy, pay for threatening him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Look at the size of that fucker.” Ella whistled low as they approached the stag. The poor beast had fallen over, its big eyes glazing over with its last breath.

Arthur chuckled. “Ain’t half the size of the last one we hunted, eh, John boy?”

“That thing was fucking huge. Practically the size of a draft horse.” John agreed with a cigar dangling out of his mouth.

Ella rolled her eyes at her brother’s boasting. “Then you won’t have any problem hauling this thing back to camp, then.” She replied. “Won’t need my help at all.”

Tommy chuckled. It had been such a long time since anyone had heard him laugh. But he was in considerably better spirits after consulting with Bethany Boswell and getting rid of the sapphire necklace he’d given Grace. He was starting to heal. Unfortunately, that meant he was back to his plan involving the Russians.

After getting back to camp, it had started to drizzle. Ella wrapped herself up in a blanket as she watched with morbid curiosity while her brothers cut the stag. She chatted idly with Curly, Isaiah, and her Uncle Charlie by the horses. It was a good day, despite the gloomy weather. Ella enjoyed being out with her brothers in the forest doing something they all liked. Being far from London helped her forget about Alfie.

“El.” Tommy waved her over to the fire. “C’mon, having a chat.”

She excused herself and went to sit by Arthur. Her older brother smiled and wrapped an arm around her, squeezing her affectionately.

Tommy cleared his throat and pulled a letter out of the inside of his thick, black coat. “This letter, says dad’s dead.” He announced.

Ella frowned and reached for the letter. “How?” She opened the creased paper and Arthur read over her shoulder.

“He was in Boston, at some bar called the Mickey Free. Two men waiting in an alley, shot twice.” Tommy explained matter-of-factly.

“Who’s Rosie Rice? Some fucking whore?” Arthur muttered in a clipped tone. News of his father never failed to put him in a sour mood.

“She’s the woman that took the time to write to us.”

Ella wasn’t sure whether to be upset or not. She hardly knew her father at all. Just one brief memory of Arthur holding her as their father screamed. His voice like thunder, rattling the entire house. She had no clue what he was saying, but it was followed up with a loud smack and the sound of Tommy yelping in pain. It was a foggy memory but always made Ella sick to her stomach.

“She wanted us to know that while he was dying, he asked for our forgiveness. The only thing he taught us was how to kill and cut a stag.” Tommy continued to summarize the note. “Finn, John, Ella, you won’t remember.”

“I remember,” John looked hurt but kept up a strong act. “Cannock Chase. He got drunk and sang Silver Dagger ‘bout a hundred times.”

“One weekend,” Arthur grumbled and took the letter out of Ella’s hands, folding it back up and passing it to Tommy. He didn't want to read any more of it. “One weekend he was like that.”

“The stag is to remember him.” He nodded. “We eat and we forget, no need to forgive.”

Ella looked down at her hands and trembled from the chill in the air. What a fitting farewell. Another person in the family gone for good. She looked around the fire and for a second, wondered who was next.

~~~~~~~~~~~

When Tommy began talking about the robbery, Ella lagged behind. She passed from horse to horse, idly patting them and sneaking them bits of an apple she’d packed. But it was nearly impossible to tune out the conversation completely. Call it Shelby curiosity but she wanted to hear.

“The rest we take to America to invest in legally acquired property,” Tommy spoke about the direction of the Shelby Company. It was hopeful to hear he wanted to keep his promise to Grace and Linda. But Ella wasn’t sure whether it would ever be possible. Grudges weren’t easy to erase and the Peaky Blinders had made more than enough enemies.

The men returned to the fire to eat after confirming plans. Tommy kept Ella behind for a moment. “Need you to do something.” He said quietly and handed her a sealed envelope.

Ella didn’t take it right away. “What is that?” She asked suspiciously. Although she listened in on the plans, she wasn't keen to get involved in any of it. Her brothers could play their dangerous games, but she wouldn't. She liked to think she was smarter than that, or at least more conscious of the repercussions if things were to go wrong.

“A letter for Alfie Solomons.”

Her nose wrinkled. “Fuck off.” She pushed him away, refusing to even go near the note as if it were an open flame. “That’s what you brought me out here for?”

“Pena, listen.” He insisted in a low voice and rested a firm hand on her shoulder to keep her from running off. “Listen to me, I wouldn't be asking if I could go to someone else. You’ll be safe, I promise.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about, Thomas.” She snarled. “I think I can take care of myself. But I’m not going to speak to him after everything I’ve done. Doubt he would even agree to see me.”

“I need you to do this.” He repeated and pushed the letter towards her again. “We need his help for this job and you’re the only person he wouldn’t harm.”

She scoffed. Whether or not that was the real reason didn't matter to her. “And what the hell do you base that on? You were the one saying he'd try to kill me if I stayed in London” She reminded him with a glare.

Tommy sighed and nodded. “I just know he wouldn't. You’ll get a cut of the money. I promise.”

Ella snatched the envelope from him and stuffed it into her skirt pocket. It was a snap decision and she got a sinking feeling in her stomach the second that letter touched her fingers. She had no clear reason for agreeing. Maybe she wanted to prove she was over Alfie even if she wasn't. Maybe she wanted to prove to Alfie that he hadn't crushed her to bits when he abandoned her. Maybe she wanted to ask for forgiveness. No matter the reason, it was too late to turn back after she took the letter. “You’re foolish to think you’ll ever quit, Tommy.” She told him. “You like doing this too much to turn it into a legitimate company.”

“I promised Grace.” The gangster didn’t disagree with her. Maybe because he knew she was right but had to keep his vow to his late wife. He reached into his coat again. “Bring this with you.” He held out a brand new pistol covered by a handkerchief to hide it from view.

“No thanks, I’ve got my own that I prefer.” If Alfie Solomons wanted to think of her as just another Shelby, then that’s what she would be. Maybe she was stupid to think she could ever turn away from the family business. Some things you could never truly escape.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Pistol holstered at her thigh, letter in hand and heart covered with armor, Ella walked through Camden Town. She kept her chin high. London knew she was a Shelby now. There was no escaping that. Even her friends knew now and were treating her differently. Alone and behind closed doors, she could be hurt about it. But in public, she had to embrace her old identity. The London life she once had would never be returned to her.

Ella arrived at the bakery and pushed through the heavy double doors. Immediately, Ollie stopped her. “S’cuse me…”

“I’ve got a letter from Tommy Shelby.” She interrupted the man before he could even attempt to stop her. “To be hand-delivered to Alfie Solomons.”

Ollie was thrown off by her clipped manner. Before Alfie found out the truth, he’d mentioned Ella a few times. Said she was the nicest woman he’d met, with kind blue eyes and a smile that lit up the room. Instead, Ollie was met with icy eyes and a look that eerily mimicked Tommy’s silent neutrality. It was any wonder how Alfie didn’t recognize her as a Shelby. But love was blind.

“Right…I need to pat you down though.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “You’d frisk a lady then?” There was no way she was giving up her pistol. She usually didn’t like using her gender as an excuse to be treated differently, but sometimes it came in handy.

Ollie’s mouth opened but was gratefully interrupted by his boss. Alfie’s heavy boots shuffling towards the door.

“S’alright Ollie...” Tommy had called Alfie saying he was sending someone to deliver a message. But the Blinder didn’t mention who it was.

Now Alfie was stopped in his tracks, unhappy to see it was the Shelbys' sister. The two stared at each other for a moment. Neither sure what to do for a long moment.

Finally, Alfie broke the tension. “Well, come in then.” He said curtly and waved her down the hall into his office. “Don’t waste me time.”

Ella gritted her teeth, ready to face whatever hell Alfie was about to put her through. She fully expected it seeing as she’d scorned him. She passed by him and walked into the office.

He shut the door and went to sit down at his desk. “Have a seat,” He held a hand out to the chairs across from him.

“I’m not here for a chat, I’m just here to give you this.” She remained standing and held out the envelope to him.

“Right, suit yourself, just trying to be polite.” He muttered and leaned forward to take the letter from her hand. “That all then?”

Ella froze and pursed her lips. It felt as if her entire body was in excruciating pain but she refused to let it show. Her chest tightened, squeezing the air out of her lungs and constricting her heart. Her stomach knotted up and seized with every second that passed by. Her legs were weak, her mouth dry, her throat cramped, her head nothing but a flustered mess of overwhelming thoughts and emotions. It felt like she was trying to keep in a large ball of emotions, holding it in so it wouldn’t explode and lay waste to the world around her. But it was simply too much to handle.

“How was it so easy?” She blurted out.

Alfie raised an eyebrow, turning the envelope over and over in between his fingers. “What you on about?”

“How could you just…just walk away and pretend like you didn’t feel anything?” She demanded. Now that she had begun to speak she couldn’t stop. Aunt Pol said it was something in the Shelby genes. You couldn’t stop a Shelby once they started on something.

Alfie should’ve expected for an argument the second he saw who came into the bakery. It was only a matter of time. “You think I wanted this to happen?” He snapped. Gearing up for battle, ready to cover up his heart and come out with guns blazing. Men with emotions didn’t fare well in battle. He learned in the war that it was far easier to stuff down all emotions. Nothing to distract you while you were storming No-Man’s land. And this was a battle, anything with a Shelby was. “You think it were fucking easy to find out that Tommy was your brother?”

Ella kept her stance. Arms crossed over her chest and chin held high. She learned a few things from her brothers about war. Polly framed a picture of the three Shelby boys, clad in their British military uniform. Such a strange contrast to the wild boys Ella knew her brothers as. She’d asked her aunt why they didn’t look scared. Surely, war must’ve terrified them. Polly merely replied, ‘They can’t be scared if they want to stay alive’.

Never let your opponent see your true emotions. She really tried, but she didn’t want to see Alfie as her enemy. “I don’t understand. My family doesn’t change who I am. And I’m the woman you said you cared about. Then you just act like I’ve dropped off the face of the planet.” She argued, doing everything she could to stay firm. “My family shouldn’t change the way you feel about me.”

“What changed my view of you was how you lied to me.” Alfie stood up, allowing the letter to drop to his desk. He pointed at her with narrow eyes. “You chose not to tell me and chose to let me find out by your brother pointing a fucking gun to me head!”

“I didn’t tell you because I loved you too much!” She shouted.

The word hit the gangster like a brick to the face. He stood as stiff as a board, staring at her, finally at a loss for words. They had now entered dangerous territory. A true war of emotions and no one could escape unscathed.

Tears filled Ella’s eyes but she refused to look away from him. “Yeah, surprised? Did you think that Shelbys couldn’t fall in love? We’re too fucking evil to ever care for someone other than ourselves? Well, you’re wrong. Because I didn’t know what love was until I met you.” She told herself so many times that she didn’t want to cry in front of Alfie. Never wanted to give him the idea that he had finally gotten to her. But it was too difficult to hold the tears back. “Yes, I lied to you. I didn’t tell you about my family. I’m sorry. Alfie, I’m sorry that I chose not to tell you. But I just wanted to be with you, I didn’t want to involve my family or-or have this blow up into the mess it has. I just wanted to be with you.” A tear slipped down her cheek and she dropped her head. Defeated by her own silly feelings. She was just another daft girl who’d been stupid about love. “And you just turned away from me like I never mattered one bit.”

Alfie walked around his desk and stepped in front of her. He sighed heavily and rested a hand on her cheek; his thumb caught the tears and swept them away. He tilted her chin up to look at him. “Lost so much fucking sleep over those blue eyes.” He admitted. The anger in his voice faded away. The grudge he’d been holding fell to the floor between them. Seeing her in such a state was too much to handle. He hadn’t wanted to understand her reason for lying. He wanted to plug his ears and continue telling her she was a liar. But she seemed so genuine, so hurt by everything, and remorseful. She wasn’t his enemy. “Just wish you’d told me.”

“Then you never would’ve even looked at me again.” She replied. “I didn’t want you to see me as just a Shelby.”

“That’s…that’s not how I see you, love.” He kept his hand on her cheek, afraid that if he let go she would disappear. “But this won’t work out. Your brother would fucking cut me into pieces and chuck me in the cut, wouldn’t he? He and I don’t play nice.”

“He doesn’t have to know.” Ella was just desperate to hang on to the shred of chance she had left with him.

Alfie sighed. “That’s what got you into trouble last time, love.” He reminded her. “He’d figure out anyways, gypsy senses.”

She laughed quietly but it faded quickly. “Maybe he wouldn’t care anymore.” She curled her fingers around his shirt and pressed her forehead into his chest. “After Grace died he apologized for what he did. Said he just wants me to be happy.”

It was too tempting to withdraw from her. Alfie hadn’t realized how starving he was for the attention she’d given him. He slipped one hand around to rest on her back and one settled in her curls. His fingers weaving in between her dark hair. “Then the next day he’ll decide I’m a son of a bitch, right, for even going near you.”

“I don’t care.” Ella closed her eyes and picked up on his heartbeat. “Please, Alfie.”

She was testing his resolve. But he was already walking a fine line with the Blinders. Tommy was planning something big and wanted Alfie to have a part in it. It was most certainly a test. Could they trust him after everything that happened with Ella?

“Your brother’s enlisting my help.”

She nodded. “Russians.” Her head lifted to look at him.

“So I’ve heard.” He sighed and suddenly felt exhausted. “He gonna use me as Jewish bait or something?”

“It’s jewelry,” Ella said. “They’re guaranteeing him a reward. He needs you to appraise it all.”

Alfie raised an eyebrow. “That’s all? Seems a little too clean-cut for you lot.”

“Well…” She tilted her head to the side and glanced at the letter on his desk. She didn’t know what was in it but she assumed it laid out the plan so Alfie knew. “They’re going to rob it once he knows what’s inside and what the security’s like.”

“Fucking hell.” Alfie chuckled. “I thought they were just going to flat out rob the joint but they’re getting all cozy with them?”

Ella just shrugged. “I think he wants to trust you.” She said quietly and idly wrapped a finger around the gold necklace he was wearing, retrieving the Star of David charm from under his shirt.

Alfie watched her smooth her thumb over the gold surface. “Do you think he should?” He pressed his tongue into his cheek and thought about how many men would be willing to pay a decent fee for rare Russian jewelry. Men who wouldn’t care if it’d been stolen.

She nodded. “I trust you. And I hope that you’ll be able to trust me in time.”

Guilt sank deep in Alfie’s gut. “El…” He caught another tear that slipped down her cheek. He didn’t know what to say anymore. Rarely was he caught empty-handed in a conversation.

“I know it doesn’t seem like it could work ‘tween us, I know.” She chewed on her lip and looked up at him with those eyes that made his knees weak. “But I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. I-I just don’t feel complete anymore. You changed me.”

Alfie couldn’t even begin to explain the change she’d caused in him. “Love, you need to realize, right, that I ain’t the man you want to be with for the rest of your life. I’m the bad guy.” He forced a smile and tried to play it off like he didn’t care that he was the bad guy. But it didn’t work. He wanted to be better for her. It just didn’t seem feasible.

“Alfie Solomons, you’re speaking to a Shelby.” She reminded him. “I come from a long line of bad guys.” A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “Far longer than yours, I’m sure. We’re not god-fearing.”

He snorted and tilted his head back a bit. “Fucking hell, you’re going to send me to an early grave.” The devious look on her face made his stomach flip-flop. He was fucked.

“Think about it, please.” Ella guided her eyes back to her. “I’ll ask Tommy, I’m sure he’ll be more understanding this time around.”

It was an enticing enough offer for him to nod in agreement. “But you’ll warn me if he’s out for blood? Like to be notified if he wants to rip me head off.”

“I’ll make sure you’re the first to know.” She left a small kiss on his cheek. The piece of her that felt empty was starting to fill back up again.

~~~~~~~~~~

Upon Tommy’s request, Ella returned to her flat in London after delivering the note to Alfie. She had a little skip in her step as she walked down her street. The first thing she did was call Tommy but received no reply. Figuring he was busy, she planned to call back later.

But when night started to fall, Ella’s phone rang and she was met with a panicked Ada on the other end.

“You need to come over here now.” Her older sister demanded before Ella could even get a word in.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Just come over!” She shouted and hung up the phone.

Startled, Ella quickly gathered her coat and ran down the street to Ada’s. The front door was left slightly ajar so she pushed her way in. She was met with a sight that sent her into the same panic Ada projected over the phone.

Tommy was slumped down on the stairs, covered in sweat, and slurring his words.

“Stay with him, I need to get an ambulance,” Ada shouted when she saw her sister come in.

“What’s going on? Tommy, what happened?” Ella ran over to the stairs. She knelt down and took off her brother’s cap.

“Just need a hospital.” He mumbled. “Me fucking head hurts.”

“What happened?” She urged again. “Who did this to you?” Tommy closed his eyes and didn’t answer. “Tommy!” She grabbed his hand. “Stay awake!”

Begrudgingly, he opened them again. “Can’t see.”

“What?”

“Can’t see anything.” His breathing went shallow. “Can’t see you, El.”

“I’m right here, Tom.” Ella began to cry. It was the worst state she’d seen him in. And she’d been there after Black Star day when he was shot. “Tommy, please don’t go anywhere. I need you.”

“Sh…” He hushed her. “Everything will be alright, pena.” He murmured to her in Shelta. Blindly, he reached a hand out to her. He found her shoulder and weakly pulled her close.

Sobbing, Ella pressed herself into his chest, clinging to him as if he would simply fade away. Then he said something that chilled her to the bone.

“I can see you dad. I know you’re there.”

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perfeggso · 4 years

Text

Noir (yutae)

Week II pt. 1

Tokyo – fall of 1983: Nakamoto Yuta is quickly rising in the ranks of one of Japan’s most notorious yakuza families, and he’s poised to climb even further if he can stop himself from being ruined by the pretty Korean boy who’s shown up out of nowhere.

Glossary of Japanese words

Characters: Yuta x Taeyong + NCT ensemble, Twice J-line (for funsies)

Genres: Gang!AU, angst, smut, fluff, 1980s!AU

Warnings: graphic violence, swearing, minor character death, alcohol use, mentions of drugs, period-typical homophobia, xenophobia, BDSM

Rating: 18+

Length: 4.5k (will progressively get way longer)

A “foot soldier,” as it turned out, was the smallest of small fry in the syndicate. They were mostly responsible for manning the many front businesses that Inagawa used for small change, low-level intimidation, and charity work. Taeyong found that he did get to carry a revolver around with him but was forbidden from using it in non-life-threatening situations because he had only been a yakuza for about a week and had only gotten the opportunity to practice firing the thing twice. This was both for his own protection and for the protection of the gang; almost nothing could have been more damaging than the misfiring of an illegal gun by a rookie.

All Taeyong had needed to do to leave his mechanic job was to submit a letter of resignation, which in honesty was the most obvious solution. People were allowed to resign without a specific reason – his boss didn’t own his soul. And Taeyong wasn’t too sad to leave since he hadn’t been close to anyone working there.

After a week, Taeyong found himself leaning over a yellow plastic desk at the entrance to a miscellaneous electronics shop in Akihabara, bored to death and resigned to people-watching. Taeyong usually avoided Akihabara because he wasn’t particularly interested in electronics nor in otaku culture. More than that, he hated how the few times he had come to the neighborhood in the evening he’d been approached by creepy middle-ages men trying to entice him to go “chat” with some “lovely young ladies.”

But now he was here among the neon lights with nothing more to do with himself but try to look inviting to customers. If he was being honest, part of him wanted to sabotage the whole racket by looking purposefully glum and driving people away. Despite his sweet face, Taeyong did have an aggressive streak in him but he always considered himself principled about those who got hit by it. For instance, swindling major corporations out of millions of yen, as he was vaguely aware that Inagawa did, seemed perfectly ethical to him. Selling faulty electronics to innocent working-class people on the other hand…

“Taeyong!” Mark yelled from behind him, forcing him out of his contemplative rabbit hole of Robin Hood ethics.

Taeyong turned around to see Mark walking up to him, a stack of colorful business cards in one hand and a badminton racket and shuttlecock in the other. What a fuckin’ weirdo , thought Taeyong, although he couldn’t help but like the guy.

Mark had been the first person Taeyong had spoken to as an unofficial member, he supposed, of the Inagawa-kai, as he was the one responsible for escorting Taeyong back to his apartment and spending the night there to ensure that he did not try to run away or go to the authorities. Taeyong didn’t sleep that night because his head was full of too many questions, and Mark wasn’t allowed to, so the two instead got to talking – as much as they could given the supreme awkwardness of the situation, anyway.

“What do you need?” Taeyong asked and in response, Mark passed him the stack of cards as if that were an explanation. Before he got around to illustrating his intentions with words, he began bouncing the shuttlecock against his racket, twisting the string bed 180 degrees between each contact.

“I need you to stand on the sidewalk and hand these out to people,” he finally said, still focused on his game. “They say we’re having a promotional sale. It’s supposed to drum up more business which we can handle with the three of us here instead of two. But for this to work, you need to stop scowling. Show off that charming smile of yours.”

Mark was sure a cheeky bugger. If Taeyong did stick around in this gang, he’d eventually use his age advantage to mess with the kid once their gap in experience wasn’t so large.

“Was this your idea?” Taeyong asked.

Mark shook his head no, pausing his game of hand-eye coordination. “It was our Shategashira ’s.”

“Nakamoto?”

“Hasn’t he told you to use his title? Or just Yuta if you want to use his name.”

Taeyong huffed a sigh. This ‘ Shategashira ’ of his had really become an exasperating figure in his life over the past week. They’d barely interacted, but the coolness and ease with which Yuta always addressed him made him feel funny; as if he truly had no control over the trajectory of his life anymore simply because he was dumb enough to follow some sounds in an alley. But who was he kidding? His life might as well lead him to being in a gang. Wasn’t that what he’d always wanted? And anyway, there was a reason the Inagawa-kai had an entire Korean division and some Korean leadership. Taeyong had just imagined more bombastic motorcycle rides and fewer junk computers.

“Yeah I remember now,” Taeyong said, shuffling the business cards in his hands and making his way out from behind his desk. “So how do I get people to take these?”

Mark walked with him to the front of the shop, his hand on the older man’s shoulder. “Just smile and say ‘promotional sale: premium consumer electronics. This week only,' or some shit and try to get these into the hands of everyone who walks near you. I think you can handle it.”

“I will try,” said Taeyong.

He found it was easier to get people to take the cards than he had expected, although his success didn’t seem to go further than that, as most people who took a card only regarded Taeyong with a confused scowl once they had it in their hands. After about an hour, a woman came walking towards Taeyong on his side of the street, and she was truly the first person Taeyong fully noticed his whole shift. He noticed her because no one could have not: she was slightly taller than average, especially in heels, with long black hair blown out, a green bodycon dress, black heels, and a gold chain necklace. Taeyong thought she might have the prettiest face he’d ever seen on a woman. He also noticed her because she was staring right at him as she approached. Taeyong wasn’t fazed because he was used to nice looking girls coming onto him. They would inevitably be put off either by his ethnicity or by his lack of interest in them – whichever they perceived first – and then bad things would happen. However, the intensity in this woman’s gaze felt different as she came to stand just a few feet away.

“Momo-hime??” Taeyong heard Mark yell from somewhere within the store. Huh? Soon enough both he and Jungwoo had emerged and were greeting the gorgeous young woman. Taeyong stayed frozen to his post because he didn’t know what to make of the situation nor of his role in it. She was a ‘princess’ anyway. What business did a street rat have introducing himself to her?

Soon, though, Taeyong found he didn’t have to. She exchanged a few words with his coworkers, and they nodded, pointing her his way.

“Lee Taeyong,” said the woman, bowing once she had finally gotten close enough to greet him. “I’m Hirai Momo. It’s good to meet you. Yuta told me you had been brought on.”

Taeyong was so confused he felt like he was floating, but he bowed back despite himself. “Nice to meet you too.” The name Hirai sounded familiar but Taeyong took a moment to place it. Then, like being slapped in the face, his brain found the missing puzzle piece that allowed him to make an association. The Hirai family ran the entire operation, didn’t they? Shit .

“Why are you here, Neechan ?” asked Jungwoo.

Momo smiled. “Yuta sent me to retrieve you, Taeyong,” she answered, causing Mark and Jungwoo to raise their eyebrows in unison.

Taeyong could feel the blood rush through his veins, and it felt cold. “I – did I do something?”

“Don’t worry,” Momo assured. “Everything’s alright. Yuta-san just wants to make sure you’re adjusting alright and to have you get some more target practice in with your new piece. How does that sound?”

Yuta was turning out to be the most involved boss Taeyong had ever had. He still had no idea what was going on, but at least he wasn’t in trouble and if he was being honest, he liked firing the gun and looked forward to another sanctioned opportunity. Taeyong chided himself as he noticed a piece of his mind wondering churlishly what this girl was to Yuta. That doesn’t pertain to you , he told himself.

“That’s fine,” he said.

“Great,” said Momo, winking like a girl from an animated television show or something. “So, you’ll go to headquarters and meet him right after your shift, got it?”

Got it.

***

The Inagawa-kai Tokyo headquarters was located in a simple, box-shaped black building on the edge of Aoyama. It wasn’t a short structure – it had about seven stories – but compared to much of Tokyo’s architecture it remained strategically unassuming. Once inside the building, a tall man with dark hair and a patchwork of tattoos and scars across his exposed skin approached Taeyong and told him he would escort him to the meeting. At first Taeyong didn’t recognize him because he hadn’t gotten a good look the first time, but he soon realized that his companion was one of the men who had essentially arrested him a week ago, a fact which made his throat tighten. Taeyong also cautiously noted that the man had a fresh stump of a pinky finger on his right hand covered in bandages. Must have gotten in a bad fight.

The man led Taeyong down a series of identical concrete hallways until they reached a sliding door made of oak, at which point he left Taeyong to enter the room by himself. Taeyong hesitated for a moment but was stunned into action when he heard Yuta’s expressive voice anticipate his presence from inside with the simple utterance of two syllables.

“ Douzo .”

Within, Yuta sat at the same desk where Taeyong had first met him, surrounded by expensive Scandinavian furnishings, walls of glass and concrete, and a pristine bonsai tree on a ledge behind him. Yuta himself wore black pants, a silk shirt, and a yellow velvet smoking jacket of all things. Taeyong felt something twist in his gut at the sight of him and his intent gaze but decided to file the feeling away somewhere very deep for the purposes of later contemplation.

“ Shategashira !” Taeyong greeted with a salute, as he was now pretty sure he was expected to. “Would you like me to sit, sir?”

“At ease,” said Yuta, waving him off and letting Taeyong relax a bit. “No need. I’ll accompany you to the range right now, if that’s alright.”

“Of course, Shategashira .”

And with that, Taeyong let himself be led back under the florescent lights of the complex’s maze-like hallways.

“How are you adjusting, Taeyong?” asked Yuta.

Taeyong was constantly surprised that the couple times he had seen Yuta since their initial meeting, he always made sure to check up on him. He didn’t know what to make of this. He guessed it was just standard practice – a measure to make him feel protected and ensure his devotion, or something of the sort.

“It’s alright, I guess,” Taeyong responded. “I like Mark and Jungwoo. Johnny seems like a good guy too. In all honesty, I don’t have a lot to do right now. But I do appreciate having the position at all!” Taeyong’s tone was absolutely all over the place, not knowing where to stand between familiar and deferent. Taeyong thought he saw his little speech provoke a smile in Yuta, and suddenly that knot in his stomach was back. Well, fuck.

Yuta spoke. “I acknowledge that you don’t have the most exciting posting. But that’s partially why I wished to speak with you today. After you.”

Yuta left that tease there. They had come to the end of a hallway to an orange door with chipping paint and a black symbol indicating that protective equipment for eyes and ears was recommended inside. Yuta held it open and Taeyong passed through.

Once in the vestibule of the shooting range, Taeyong set himself up where he was supposed to stand and aimed his revolver at the target on the other end of the room as Yuta leaned against an acid-white wall with his arms crossed and his chin raised slightly.

“Relax your shoulders,” Yuta said, and Taeyong cleared his throat, shimmying his shoulders lower on his back in response. He took a deep breath and focused on the red bull’s eye placed on the heart of a human-shaped target, both hands on the gun. He had to refrain from grinding his teeth.

“Wait until you’re ready,” Yuta coached, voice low and commanding, “then focus your energy and count down from three before you pull the trigger. Simple as that.”

“Yes, Shategashira .” Taeyong did as he was told, steadying himself, focusing his eyes on his target, and counting 3…2…1… BANG!

Taeyong felt himself sway backwards for a moment after firing but regained his balance quickly – something he had not done the first time he had shot the thing. That time, he ended up on his butt, confused and embarrassed as Mark thrashed around on the wall in a fit of performative laughter. The practice he’d had since then had helped, but so did the pressure of Yuta’s gaze.

After a moment, Taeyong heard clapping coming from next to him and he realized he had been closing his eyes. When he opened them, he saw that a chunk of the wooden target was missing on its inner thigh.

“We can work with that,” Yuta remarked, finishing his short round of applause. “Certainly enough to cripple, and that’s important. However, I get the sense you weren’t aiming there, hm?”

Taeyong’s breathing fumbled when Yuta began to stalk towards him. “What we need is to teach you some precision and confidence,” he explained. “We’ve got to work on your kill shot. Do you mind?”

Yuta was asking for the gun, so Taeyong handed it over with an “of course, Shategashira .”

Yuta took a sideways stance, holding the revolver out with one arm, and proceeded to shoot five times in fast succession, obliterating the plywood head of the target cutout until it was nothing more than splinters. Taeyong did not care to imagine it as belonging to a real human. When he had finished, Yuta turned to regard Taeyong, and to Taeyong’s surprise and horror, he broke out into a wide grin. God , thought Taeyong, I’m alone with a psychopath and a gun . Although, once that thought had passed, Taeyong couldn’t help admiring the princely charm of the way the smile had spread like a sunrise over Yuta’s face. What the fuck was going on?

“You see?” said Yuta, ebullient, “you’ll be doing that soon enough.”

Soon enough . Right, Taeyong would need to sort out his future, and soon.

“Let’s try again. Go back to your stance. We’re going to stay with two hands for now.”

Taeyong took the gun back and repositioned himself in his starting position, holding the weapon with his outstretched arms and lining it up with his sternum. Yuta came up beside him and held his hands over Taeyong’s shoulders.

“May I?” he asked, and Taeyong nodded, allowing Yuta to press down onto his shoulders and straighten his spine. Taeyong could feel the other man’s breath and it was sending his nerves into a state he did not need them to be in, heat crawling up his neck.

“Do the countdown again,” Yuta instructed, “deep breath, and then fire. Don’t let your eyes close, alright? And try to stay still as much as possible. You can if you really engage your core.”

Taeyong nodded at all the advice and tried to follow it – attempting also to avoid noticing the watchful smile blooming on Yuta’s face in his peripheral vision. He took in a deep breath of the room’s stale air and counted down again, eyes trained on the cutout’s heart and intent not to shut.

A BANG rang out once more throughout the vestibule.

Taeyong did narrowly refrain from closing his eyes, but they seemed to have gone out of focus. Once he blinked the fuzziness from them, as if erasing an etch-a-sketch, he could see that he’d succeeded in blowing a hole through his target’s crotch.

Yuta giggled and slapped Taeyong over his right shoulder. Taeyong’s head spun. Was he supposed to be scared of this literal mob boss or not?

“I have a hunch you weren’t aiming there either, huh?” Yuta asked, and Taeyong shook his head no. “That’d definitely be an effective shot though, wouldn’t it? Might actually be better than aiming for the heart in some situations because you can make them talk while they bleed out.”

Holy shit. In an instant, Taeyong became painfully aware of his reality. He was practicing shooting because he might be in a situation where he’d need to – where others would be aiming at him the same way he was aiming at this outline of a man. What if it was him who got shot in the heart, or worse, shot in the dick and forced to bleed out horrifically? Taeyong felt lightheaded but managed to squeeze enough air from his lungs to speak.

“Do you mind me asking you a question, if it’s not too forward?”

Yuta raised an eyebrow. “Shoot,” he said, obviously amused by his own word play.

“Why am I here?” asked Taeyong. “What am I doing here now? What am I training for?” That was three questions, but oh well. Taeyong didn’t feel like being measured.

Yuta sighed and cocked his head, eyes fluttering to regard the floor.

“I had a feeling this would come up,�� he said, smiling wryly this time. “Keep practicing and I’ll fill you in.”

Taeyong nodded and prepared to shoot again, hitting the target’s left shoulder this time when he pulled the trigger.

“Getting closer to the heart,” Yuta observed, appreciative. “You see, Taeyong, there are only two favorable outcomes for you now that this ball has gotten rolling.” Taeyong relaxed his arms and watched Yuta begin to pace, his face steeled by caution.

“The first, which would be preferable to the family, is that you stay on with the Inagawa-kai and devote yourself to our line of work. However, I understand that what has happened was not your choosing, and you may want to return to your normal life as soon as possible. Whichever path you choose eventually matters little to what I need you to do for now, so don’t worry about it yet.” Yuta paused, giving Taeyong a moment to recover from the way his emotions had just gone topsy-turvy like his image in a funhouse mirror. Then Yuta gestured towards the gun Taeyong was now pointing at the rubber floor. “Please continue,” he said. Taeyong hit the target in its stomach and caught a hum of approval from Yuta.

“Either way,” Yuta went on, “you will need to establish trust here. Even if you want to leave, you will have to stay on long enough and perform well enough to prove that we can trust you to be an ally even in the civilian world. Does that make sense, Taeyong?”

Bang! Left hip.

“It does,” Taeyong replied, resigned. This was all his own fault anyway. He couldn’t help his curiosity though. “Is this something that happens often?”

Yuta chuckled slightly. Bang! Sternum. Taeyong was quickly gaining enough balance and confidence to keep himself still while firing.

“Similar situations have occurred although we obviously try to avoid them. For instance, the two men who brought you in to me have been duly reprimanded for their carelessness.”

Taeyong was preparing to fire as Yuta said this and was immediately thrown off when his mind returned to the image of his abductor’s freshly severed finger, putting two and two together. Is that what a mistake gets you here? Worse, did Yuta purposefully assign that guy to escort Taeyong as some kind of warning? Taeyong was already pressing down on the trigger when this thought came to him and it caused him to misfire wildly, hitting the wall on the other end of the range a few feet from the target.

“Fuck!”

“Do you need me to stop talking?” Yuta asked.

Taeyong held the gun in his left hand while shaking out the wrist of his right, as if the problem had been purely physiological. “No! Er – sorry, just give me a moment please, Shategashira .”

“That’s alright,” said Yuta. “You’re doing pretty well for a beginner. Take a break for a bit.”

Taeyong nodded, feeling defeated but somewhat relieved.

“Similar situations,” he mused “Like what? If you don’t mind telling me.”

“Take Jungwoo, for example. He worked for a circuitry and computing firm that was under our thumb. He knew nothing about it – he was simply a technician and didn’t have access to the books – but when the small company had defied our understanding with them one too many times, Jungwoo happened to be unlucky enough to witness the consequences. We gave him the option to make it up to us by working for us. It was difficult for him at first, but now his closest friends are in our ranks and he gets to do what he loves while never needing to worry about money. So, it worked out in the end.”

Jungwoo, huh? Taeyong had thought the guy seemed a bit too cheery to be a natural gangster.

“I see. I don’t really have a thing though, that I love doing, you know?”

Yuta shrugged, then smiled in a way that was meant to be reassuring.

“Well, you may not love it, but you know about vehicle mechanics, right? That will be useful to us. However, to be honest I do feel for you, Taeyong, I really do. You caught my attention immediately and have weighed on my conscience. I want to help you make the best of this, and the best thing you can do now is quickly prove your loyalty both to me and to the people I work for. That way, you will get the most flexibility in the least time. That’s why I’m scheming to fast-track you to that point.”

Taeyong was mystified as to why his superior, who had implicitly threatened him into becoming a yakuza in the first place, was being so nice to him; so reasonable.

“What does that mean?” Taeyong asked, eyes going wide in anticipation.

Yuta leaned back against the wall and watched Taeyong from under his bangs. “I’m in the middle of a project that it would be nice if someone helped me with. It’s not inherently dangerous and it’ll give you a good idea of how we operate. If you do a good job you will both understand the world you’re now living in and if you want to stay in it, and hopefully, gain enough trust to be allowed to make that decision when the time comes.”

Taeyong’s thumb skimmed nervously over the textured handle of his revolver, eyes searching the vestibule for some sense of reality. He felt almost dizzy with exhilaration at the idea of helping Yuta out and spending more time with him - studying him. “What’s the project?” he asked.

“An investigation.”

“An investigation…” Taeyong repeated. What did he know about investigations?

“Yes,” said Yuta, “I’m gathering information on a certain executive at one of the nation’s largest companies. For blackmailing purposes.”

Taeyong almost laughed at how upfront Yuta was about this.

“Okay…”

“Is that a yes?”

“Do I have a choice?” Asked Taeyong. Yuta smiled, something almost predatory in his expression. “What would I have to do?”

“Accompany me when I go out following leads, be my lookout and my sounding board for ideas when no one else is free to help. You can be more involved depending on how well you do with that. Think you can handle it?”

That didn’t sound too out of the box for things Taeyong could do. Besides, Yuta had said “lookout” not “bodyguard” or something. Taeyong was used to fighting, but his dustups were usually with hoodlums from Shin-Ōkubo, not with armed career criminals.

Taeyong nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah I can.”

Yuta pushed himself off the wall. “Perfect. Before we finish here though, I’d like to get you to hit your target.”

The way Yuta said it so flatly made it clear to Taeyong that this was a command, not a suggestion.

“Yes, Shategashira .”

“I think I know how to help,” said Yuta, “it’s something I used to do when practicing. Do you have someone you want that to be? Someone you hate so much it makes your toes curl? Makes you want to smell their blood?”

Taeyong pictured the leader of the Specters – the boy who’d beaten him black and blue until he couldn’t hear or think; the boy who had only refrained from dragging Taeyong from a chain on the back of a car when he heard sirens coming for him, and all because Taeyong had dared to be zainichi . Sure, Taeyong wouldn’t mind a little payback. He nodded at Yuta, both men’s eyes going dark and focusing on the target.

“Good,” said Yuta, placing his hands on Taeyong’s shoulders and squeezing. This time, Taeyong’s mind had gone too cold to let the contact affect him. “Now, don’t let them get away with anything less than a bullet to the heart.”

With that, Yuta pushed away and Taeyong imagined his victim, ugly smug face and rising sun headband appearing in his mind’s eye with chilling detail. Relax, breathe out, 3, 2, 1, BANG!

Taeyong was steady as the bullet passed an inch or so from the bullseye and the sight caused a great sense of relief to wash over him, like stepping into a hot tub on a snowy day.

When he turned around, Yuta was watching him with a smirk, arms crossed over his chest.

“When do I start, Shategashira ?” asked Taeyong.

Yuta’s smirk morphed into what Taeyong could only describe as a proud grin. “You start now.”

14 notes · View notes

milwrites · 4 years

Text

Weird that it happened twice, right?

chapter three - masterlist

A/N: this one’s awkward and was my problem child. the pov switches, i think you can see the change the first time and then from then on it’s “narrator / john pov” in normal text and reader in italics.

word count: 3.2k

T/W: swearing? blood/ semi-graphic violence and a single mention of smut, does including the Smiths lyrics count as a trigger?

A week later, and the Grays and Braithwaites were realising Dutch's alliance with the other. The Grays had already launched an offensive upon some of the men while in Rhodes; Sean lucky to escape with his life after a bullet passed clean through his shoulder. As of yet the Braithwaite family seemed to be ignoring the gang.

“Jack, kiddo, listen to me. If you go to sleep now we can play cowboys tomorrow, I promise.” John’s voice was strained as he bargained with the small child, who was obstinately refusing to take off the man’s hat and (empty) gun belt. Both of them looked to me for back up, the boy grabbing at my hand, John waiting for me to speak. I sighed. “Would it help if I took him down the path to see the deer? I’d only be a few minutes.” I spoke to John, who nodded gratefully, before I turned to the eagerly waiting child. “You wanna come with me to see the deer buddy?” Jack’s face lit up and he nodded his head exuberantly, his father’s hat falling to the ground. He set off determinedly to where Bonnie was grazing, stroking the mare with his little hands.

John kissed my forehead as we followed Jack to the horse, I mounted bonnie first with John passing the boy up to me, where he proudly sat in front of me gripping Bonnie’s long mane. I clicked the horse into a slow walk so that Jack could stay balanced and to help the boy settle down from the excitement of being a cowboy. He’d leaned back against me and was watching the trees pass by, occasionally lifting his arm to point at the rabbits that skittered across the forest floor. It wasn’t too long before the woods thinned and the sight of pastures extending down to the lake side pricked Bonnie’s ears and raised her head. “ah ah ah,” I scolded her, knowing exactly that my horse wanted to gallop through the open fields as she tossed her head and tried to bring the bit between her teeth. I sent a warning tug down the reins, her admitting defeat and lowering her head again. Jack had spotted the deer ambling by the lakeside and was bouncing in the saddle to get a better look. I shushed him gently and pointed in the direction of a fawn that was hovering at the water’s edge. He was enthralled by the movements of the tiny doe, more than happy to be lifted from the saddle to sit on my knee while we leaned on a log to watch the deer, who remained unbothered by us. Bonnie settled near, huffing down our necks and looking dangerously close to rolling in the clay mud of the lake. The setting sun cast a warm glow over the scene; Bonnie’s gleaming coat matched by the deer, Jack falling asleep while curled into my sweater, and two armed men approaching us.

“Can I help you?” I spoke coldly, on edge by the closeness at which they had positioned themselves to me and the now sleeping child. They remained silent. I stood up, Jack in my arms, and moved toward my golden horse, my other hand near to my holsters. Empty. I cursed myself as my fingers skated over the leather, finding no trace of cold metal. The men were still watching us from horseback, blocking my exit on either side. I shook her head a little, mortified at what I was going to have to do, and filled my lungs to shout for help - I presumed we were close enough to Clemens Point for someone to hear me. I never got the scream out, as the butt of a revolver hit me square in the back of the head, knocking me cold.

Bonnie wandered into camp hours later. Alone.

She was gone. Had left him. Not two weeks into being with him and she’d fucking upped and left, taking his son with her. He pushed them away, refused to belive his intrusive thoughts, knowing she would never do that to him and yet losing more and more faith in her with every passing moment that she wasn’t there. He didn’t think himself enough to keep her with them, would never assume she would stay for him, but bargained with himself that if she was really gone she would have taken Bonnie with her: that flighty little horse meant the world to her and he knew she would be unable to leave her behind. So he held out hope through the night that she would come and push open the flaps of his tent, jack in tow, with a grin on her face and a wild story to tell and he would have her back in his arms. He swore softly, barely two weeks he’d had her and now he couldn’t last a night without her warming his bed.

Morning broke with a lazy kind of peace, rudely interrupted by a string of expletives from Dutch. he stalked to where John was, for want of a better word, brooding as he cleaned his revolvers with more force than was strictly necessary. “John, son. They have her and Jack.” Dutch’s voice was calm but his anger was audible. John’s jaw clenched, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. “Who.” The word was flat, monotone, ground out from gritted teeth. Dutch wordlessly handed him a letter written on creamy parchment. He read it, his face darkening with every line. It was from Catherine Braithwaite. She had taken (Y/N). She didn’t intend to take the boy, she had written, but “he would serve as collateral should the girl continue to act like a hellcat.” John huffed a humourless laugh at the woman’s description of his girl. “I’m going to get her. Them both.” “We all are.”

He rode to Braithwaite Manor in silence, listening to Arthur and Dutch cursing the old hag and readying himself for the inevitability of a fight. Old Boy seemed equally riled up, snorting and threatening to pull the reins from John’s hands, unused to his rider being so tense on his back. John snapped out of his haze, leaning to pat Old Boy’s neck with a murmured apology. He brought him to a halt near the other horses, and removed his repeater from the saddle - feeding a full magazine of ammunition into it. “I need you to stay calm, John.” Dutch instructed to the man beside him. John said nothing, knowing full well that his voice would either break or betray his anger completely.

I laughed, a delirious little laugh born of the unremitting pain I felt. A trickle of blood ran down my chin, my lip reopened by the blow to the face one of the lackeys had inflicted upon me. It mingled with the drying blood at the corner of my mouth, a gory lipstick that painted them red and stained my teeth. I lay back onto the mattress on the floor, still panting out small laughs, and looked up at my captor. “You hurt a hair. On that boy’s head. And I will kill you all.” I rasped, the lack of water and my screaming having left my voice in tatters. The man watching me strode over, looked me in the eye, and kicked me in the midriff. I groaned from the impact, curling in to protect myself. He walked out.

She wasn’t there. John checked every room in the godforsaken house and she wasn’t in a single one of them. He blindly followed Dutch out the manor, taking no notice of the woman he dragged behind him, or the crackle of the house as it was set on ablaze. He heard the woman say that Angelo Brontë had them, had her, that they were in Saint Denis if they weren’t already on a boat to Italy. He didn’t wait for permission as he drew his revolver, aimed it in the woman’s wretched face and pulled the trigger. He emptied the whole magazine into her skull, then followed Dutch once again back to Old Boy.

“Don’t go too deep into your head. You won’t come out again.” John registered Arthur's voice, the affection masked by a hard exterior that John knew he had crafted for years. He nodded, still unwilling to open up for fear his every anguish and demon escape out of him into existence. So he nodded again. “This ain’t what we should be doing,” he started, “they’ve got my- my son and my (Y/N) and we’re what? Going finding somewhere else to live?” He finished his sentence bitterly. Arthur chided him, John knew that they were moving because the law was closing in on them, and that they were no use to (Y/N) or Jack at the end of a rope. It scared arthur, seeing the man he saw a brother seemingly so broken, and the ferocity with which he now fought. The straggling Lemoyne Raiders at Shady Belle were unable to put up any fight at all, barely raising their weapons before John had cut them down or painted the floor with their brains. Arthur watched his eyes deadening with every hour that his family was missing, and knew that Dutch was taking too long.

They taunted me. Let me listen to Jack’s cries at being alone and hungry for so long, at having heard every wound the men had made on my body, at missing his father. They threatened me. Told me that John had a few days left before they killed me. Before they killed Jack. I offered my life for the boy’s, told them I would die quietly if they let the boy back to his father.

Dutch had charmed his way into Brontë’s home with apparent ease, Arthur having found his whereabouts after a single trip to Saint Denis. John couldn’t stop his leg from bouncing as they sat and drank Italian alcohol in Angelo Brontë’s company. He seemed to be playing along with Dutch’s “this is all a big misunderstanding can we please have the child and the girl back” narrative, portraying himself as a good man who had no idea the people he was housing were hostages. Bullshit. He called for his servants to bring Jack in first. It was a clever move, Jack had been bathed and the clothes he had gone missing in had been cleaned and pressed. He looked for all the world like nothing was wrong as he ran to John and hurled himself into his father’s arms. “Can you make (Y/N)-“ he hiccuped, “-stop crying, papa?” John patted the boy on the back, telling him he’d try his best, before turning to Brontë expectantly. “The girl.” Arthur spoke threateningly before John could open his mouth. Two men left the room at a nod from the Italian.

“You’re back!” I welcomed them sarcastically, raising my head weakly to look at their blank faces. One of them moved to where I was lying on the floor, arms tied behind me, and helped me to my feet. I stared at them in surprise while they led me out of the room. I caught sight of my face in a gilded mirror hung in the hallway and winced, telling myself that John loved me for my winning personality not my face or once pristine body.

Arthur saw her down the hallway and instantly put a warning hand on John’s arm to keep him seated. “Marston.” he growled. “You gotta keep calm or this’ll end bad for her.” She stepped into the room. Saw no one except John, going to him as he moved from his place on the sofa. He wrapped his arms around her protectively, heart breaking as he felt her body rack with sobs.

He held me until they subsided, both blissfully unaware of our surroundings. I pulled away from him, wanting to see his face, and he took me in fully. I was a mess. shirt ripped and bloody, showing welts and bruises across my body; ranging from deep purple to vivid yellow green. My face was beaten, my lip split and still bleeding, heavy bags under my eyes and another bruise forming under my jaw. He noted it all, even as I was admiring how beautiful he was, and tucked me away into his arms again.

Brontë watched us all with beady eyes, waiting for one of them to shoot first. The three men stood up, I was held up by John and Jack was in Arthur’s arms. They all knew that if they tried to exact their revenge now, it would only result in Jack or me being caught in the crossfire. No one hindered our exit from the building, Brontë pleased to have us gone. I greeted Old Boy in a whisper and leaned against him for support. John mounted first, reaching down from the saddle to lift me up as if I were no bigger than Jack. He gave me the reins and held me with both hands, scared I could slip off at any moment. “We gotta mansion now, sweetheart, you’ll love it.” he said, his hands rubbing my side, avoiding bruises as best he could. My voice had regained some strength, having had a drink the moment I’d stepped foot out of the building, my tone lighter and more playful. “That’s good, really good. Almost like home for me. You can bang me against a wall now.”

shady belle - 1899

The long abandoned mansion may have been dilapidated, damp and crawling with pests, but it allowed my wounds to heal, my bruises to fade and my spirit to very much return. John had held me with heart breaking gentleness my first night back, as if scared I would shatter if he gripped me too tight. I had clung to him like a child, taking comfort in his warmth and the safety his arms gave. It had knocked me badly, the stint with Brontë, and for a good week I was reluctant to leave camp without someone with me. I bounced back. I always do. Gradually going further and further away from Shady Belle alone, even managing a trip to Saint Denis one morning, about a fortnight after I had returned.

“I’m ready.” I was close to tears, frustrated and angry with the men around me, all telling me I was in no fit state to rob the city bank with them. No state at all. I looked to John for back up, who refused to meet my eyes, looking instead at the floor as if were of the greatest interest. I chewed the inside of my mouth and turned then to Dutch, eyes imploring but voice steely and determined. “I’m ready. Take me with you, you know I’m good. You know I can rack safes and you know I’m a better shot than half of the people you’re already taking with you.” Dutch caught Hosea’s eye, who shrugged his shoulders and nodded, unable to say no to the girl he saw as the daughter he never had. I reminded him of bessie, he’d told me, and he thought if he’d ever had a child with her, he’d have loved it to turn out like the fiery woman in front of him. My whole demeanour changed, my smile sweet now that I had my own way and my eyes lost their harshness. I left the room humming to myself, heading to the horses.

John refused to talk to me the entire ride to Saint Denis, despite me being right next to him the whole way; Bonnie protesting violently if I tried to move the mare away from Old Boy. I didn’t push him to talk to me, sensing that it wouldn’t go well for either of them. I stole glances at his face once in a while, embarrassed at how attractive I found the anger clearly written across his clenched jaw, hard eyes and hands that were gripping the reins so tightly that every one of his veins stood out from them. I swore under my breath as he spotted me staring, giving me an unimpressed glare, his eyebrows raised slightly and his head inclined to the side. I raised my hands in defence, scowling at him once he was no longer watching me at his apparently unfounded anger. “What the fuck is up with you?” I couldn’t keep it in anymore. He didn’t answer. Choosing instead to shake his head, eyes rolling a little, and kicking Old Boy to move faster. I stopped Bonnie from following, the mare turning to look at me with those piercing ice blue eyes, but I was crushed by how done with me he was acting.

I let myself really enjoy robbing the bank. God knows I deserved it. The rush of adrenaline stopping me from noticing John’s gaze the entire time. I busied myself instead with threatening and charming the bank tellers into submission, and making my way into the vaults. I know he heard my astonishment as I opened the safes from his exasperated sigh, and was somehow shocked at the filth of my language upon seeing the stacks of money within them. He called to me to hurry up and to watch my language - the law was outside and I was swearing too loudly. I hated how happy I was to even hear his voice, and drew my weapons again, grinning beneath my mask.

The first lawman to fall had a handlebar moustache. I remembered noting it before sending a bullet through his brain and another through his neck for good measure. The others were less distinctive, a swathe of blue coated police men giving way to checker print Pinkertons. Dutch shouted to us that it made no difference, keep shooting, he was blowing a hole in the wall and then we’d get out. The sound of breaking glass and police whistles almost drowned out my scream as John was knocked to the floor by a police baton. I fell into a blind rage, no longer taking the time to aim as I shot at anything that moved in my direction; I thought him dead, thought the last thing I’d said to the love of my fucking life was “what the fuck is wrong with you”, thought he’d died angry with me. A heartless hand on my shoulder, pushed and it was over, alabaster crashing down, my hands pulled behind me back into cuffs, my vision so obscured by tears that I only saw the tail of Dutch’s coat as he left me to be dragged into custody.

I awoke groggily. The sound of water and wading birds filling my ears, the smell of kerosene and smoke assaulting my nose. A man was leaning on me, a mop of black hair on my shoulder, and I elbowed them in disgust. He sat up, blinking against the light, and I cried out in relief to see the grey eyes of John Marston looking back into my own. “‘M sorry, I’m so sorry, i-“ “Shut up. I’m sorry too.” He kissed me once, pulling back to look over my face for signs of injury. I was broadly unscathed, a slight black eye but no sign of serious harm. Only then did he look around him to see the island we were headed to, the armed prison guard, the other convicts and the looming silhouette of Sisika Penitentiary. I whispered a single question that I knew the answer to only too well.

“They’re going to hang us?”

#john marston x reader smut #rdr2 #john marston #john marston x reader

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xekstrin · 5 years

Text

Warm-Blooded

Title: Warm-Blooded Fandom: None (Original Work) Genre: Sci-Fi, Romance Tropes: Bodyguard Romance! Warnings: None

Summary: Adhira Kahtri does not need nor want a bodyguard. Her meddlesome, rich, and devastatingly powerful family disagrees. So she does her best to ignore Emilia Roarke, who stares at her just a little too hard, and moves just a little too fast, to be entirely human.

You can also read this story on AO3.

===

The last thing Adhira wanted was a bodyguard. But when the menacing letters escalated to phone calls and eventually an outright bomb threat, her family put their foot down. Enough was enough. The Kahtri family had plenty of enemies even without a daughter who straddled an arbitrary line between ethical and unethical science. If she was going to be assassinated, it would be after they had exhausted all avenues to protect her.

So she got a bodyguard. Or rather, one was foisted upon her.

"Emilia Roarke," she said out loud, and scanned over an impressive resume. Her eyes landed on an accreditation near the top. Lingered there. A fencer was unusual, but not unheard of. Adhira assumed they were mostly for vanity's sake. Of course her family would get a froofy bodyguard with all the bells and whistles. "Miss Roarke. Miss Roarke."

Adhira went over it again with disinterest, lacking any other reading material in the lab. Her new tablet was still being swept through for trackers, bugs, or viruses that might compromise her research, or leak any secrets to the family's enemies. She wouldn't get it back for hours, and while her productivity skyrocketed, she missed three calls from her sister.

That was a shame. She enjoyed their talks.

"It just seems superfluous after I already splurged on a PAA." Adhira told her once she got home. She idled in her kitchen, a cup of hot tea cradled in her hands. "Mother could have asked."

"It's a gift," her sister Trayi said in response. "Don't be ungrateful."

Adhira groaned. "I'm not b— don't start with that. It's just..."

"Extra?" Trayi supplied.

How's that different from superfluous? she wanted to say, irritated. "It's all for show. Once this all calms down and people move on to other subjects to be outraged about, I can fire Miss Roarke."

"You're crazy. If our parents got a private contractor for me I'd keep her as long as I could."

"Well your job comes with that territory. I went into this field hoping to be left alone."

Instead all she got was a reminder that that wasn't happening. Not as long as they shared a surname. The subject moved from Adhira's bodyguard to Trayi's job, and what headaches her children were bringing her this week. Adhira listened attentively until her tea went tepid, neglected in favor of the conversation. Sipping at it anyway, her eyes were drawn to the PAA around her wrist. It was still new enough to be distracting.

"Hard to think a little bracelet can stop a bullet," she said, twisting her hand from side to side.

"It's not a force field," Trayi warned her. Dark black eyes, mirror to her own, honed in. "Some people out there make guns specifically to get past the Affect!"

"No," Adhira said in disbelief.

"Yes!" Trayi countered, leaning forward. Her finger waved in front of the camera. "Technology can only get you so far! Learn to trust another person from time to time!"

Later, morbid curiosity brought her nothing but a sleepless night. The minute she ended the call she started researching if there were any guns with velocities low enough to not be registered by the Personal Anti-artillery Affect she wore when she was in public. Turns out there were many ways to kill someone even through the PAA. Knife wounds, for instance. Blunt force trauma. Poison. She flickered through them all until the health app on her tablet started asking her why she was jogging at two in the morning.

A little more research led her down a rabbit hole of videos online, of fencers slicing right through PAA's, the thrust slow but strong enough to not register as a threat. It was hard to find that perfect balance. Even a punch thrown too hard could be caught in the Affect.

Adhira thought if anyone was bold enough to stab her, a bodyguard would not dissuade them. But still, she was suddenly glad Miss Roarke was a fencer.

Ahdira's attention lingered on the hilt little too long during their first introduction.

Since Emilia Roarke had her license, she was allowed to carry the hilt on her hip out in public. She wasn't very tall, which went against what Adhira assumed a bodyguard should look like. But then she supposed height didn't really matter more than skill. She was also very pretty; Adhira hadn't expected that.

"Nice to meet you, Dr. Kahtri."

Her eyes returned up, meeting Emilia's. The bodyguard had green eyes. There was something very intense about them. The way they shone made them seem almost like glass. Adhira assumed there were some kind of enhancements in her irises. "Nice to make your acquaintance as well, Miss Roarke."

The woman took her hand, shaking it swift and firm. "Emilia's fine." With one hand on the pommel of her sword, the bodyguard regarded her coolly. Her shining copper hair was pulled back into a tight, serious ponytail. It made her face look sharp. "Your family must love you a lot. I'm the best in the biz."

"Are you?"

Emilia's eyebrows darted up, a smile playing on her lips. "I'm the best," she repeated with just the right amount of surety and disbelief, as if it were the most obvious thing anyone could have said. She wore a grin that looked freshly-pressed, like her red suit.

Many people had that smile. A few years ago she'd seen a lot during interviews. That was before, though. When others had thought her research was interesting. Before the fringe groups got ahold of misinformation and spread it like wildfire.

They'd painted her as a modern Mengele and the people who had fawned over her suddenly couldn't say her name or meet her eye. Adhira wondered when bacteria gained personhood, or why others were so deadset on preserving them. Regardless, she resumed her studies, which she personally found as controversial as Sudoku, and lost herself in her interests and her work.

Adhira's smile felt tight, but it wasn't feigned. She was genuinely amused, just a little tired and not functioning at 100% social skill. "It would be bad advertising if you had to say you were second-best."

"Gotta protect the brand."

"That's what I thought."

She led Emilia through the labs. The fencer swaggered, loose and slinking like a confident cat.

"Tell you what." Emilia's voice spoke easy, easy like her walk, though her too-bright eyes made Adhira feel distinctly uneasy. She never seemed to blink. "Anybody gets past me, you can fire me."

"Anybody gets past you and I'm dead."

"Nah," Emilia said. "You'd put up a good fight. Unless you're the sort who freezes?"

Adhira had to stop mid-step. Only for a moment, hesitating, before her pace resumed. "Well, the last time someone tried... well, there's a reason my parents think I need protection."

"Oh. Well hey, hey, hey."

The woman reached out and grabbed her. It sent a jolt through Adhira. Not fear, but just as strong. It was a shock to be touched, even as impersonal a touch as Emlia's palm around her wrist.

She went still, looking from the pale hand touching her to Emilia's strange green eyes.

"Nobody's gonna get past me." Emilia gave her a little squeeze. She had a very warm hand. Adhira could feel the heat of her through the palm of her black leather glove. "Okay? Promise."

"Okay," Adhira said.

The rest of the day she worked in gloves as well, sterile blue to Emilia's black. The latex wasn't nearly as thick; she wondered how hot Emilia's touch would feel if there were even less layers between them. Then she pretended she wasn't thinking that.

And Emilia remained a fixture in the labs, day in and day out. On those rare times Adhira went into town, Emilia followed. Occasionally she drove her home, though Emilia never passed the front doors. Just as well. It would have been a terrible disappointment. She merely existed in her home. It wasn't a place to live. It was a place to store her things and sleep and shower. Adhira had her groceries delivered and cooked rarely. Everything else was work. That's how it had been for a very long time and she liked it just like that.

Besides, her home security was up to date as all Kahtri estates had to be, to protect the lineage.

"What do you do during your time off?" Adhira asked, unprompted.

Bacteria floated, suspended in the slide under her scope.

Her bodyguard's loose body language tightened up a bit in confusion. "Huh?"

"When you're not babysitting me." Adhira looked up from her sample to see Emilia standing, even though she'd offered her a stool. Emilia always stood. It was not exactly a lean or a slouch but she was always a little off-kilter. Something about the set of her shoulders was sleepy; it wouldn't have been odd if one day Emilia slid down right onto the floor to take a nap.

She never did, of course.

"Relax. Train. See friends. Read." Emilia shrugged. "I'm boring."

She wondered how Emilia felt, coming to work every day only to do nothing. "You can read in here if you want to bring books in."

"I read on my tablet." Her glass-green eyes shimmered again. "Which I will never bring in here. I know the sweep you all need to do in order to 'okay' portable tech. And I don't want you judging my habits."

"Lots of romance?" Adhira guessed.

"An obscene amount of westerns," Emilia relented. "I like watching westerns, too."

"Contemporary or old-school?"

Emilia took a few steps closer. She relegated herself to that corner near the door, most days. Adhira wondered how she didn't die of boredom. It wasn't like Adhira was a great conversationalist. Even this moment was taking a lot out of her. But she was more curious than socially depleted.

"I like them all." Emilia's carefully unaccented English swapped to a southern drawl. "Pardner."

Without warning, Emilia's hand dropped to the hilt at her waist and she pulled it free. It was a whip-like movement, drawing steel at high noon.

At first Adhira wanted to laugh, then the noise died in her throat as Emilia summoned her weapon. The fiber-thin steel unfolded from the hilt to form a straight, sharp sword. The mechanism was completely silent, but Adhira swore she heard a hummmmm underneath, like raw power made it vibrate in place.

Emilia wasn't smiling, not at all. Her pale face creased with worry as she dashed towards Adhira, shouting her name.

The hum grew louder, and Adhira realized the sword was not the source of the noise.

The bomb hit with the force of a charging animal.

It left the air around them burning. Knocked breathless, Adhira's vision swam through the flames, rippling like coils of smoke rising in the sky.

The impact had been so sudden. An eyeblink. One moment standing and the next, she and Emilia were thrown through one of the thick glass doors of her open-space lab.

"I've got you, Dr. Kahtri." Emilia was holding her, arms solid as cage bars around her. Holding tight onto the lapels of Emilia's jacket, Adhira croaked in fear, all words failing her.

Miraculously, Emilia stood up, and brought Adhira with her. Glass shards clattered around them. Emilia's suit was nothing but bright red ribbons.

Glass-green eyes scanned her up and down. "You okay?"

Through her shaking, Adhira managed to talk. "We have to go. Let's go. Can you walk?" She looked down at their feet. The shards of glass were at least four inches thick. Had the explosion broken them? How could Emilia withstand the kind of force needed to crash right through them? "H-how am I walking?"

Emilia cracked her neck as she twisted it from side to side. "I took most of the hit for you. If wewerk thrhuuwuu— urr— urr— "

Suddenly, her bodyguard started turning away. She held a palm to her face, speaking in a slur. Her head cracked a few more times, a startling clicking noise repeating over and over.

Terror gripped Adhira. She thought Emilia was succumbing to the impact, that she'd only gotten this far out of adrenaline and stubbornness. But Emilia raised a finger for her to wait.

Taking her sword, Emilia started sawing through her own face.

It fell onto the floor in pieces, kicking up puffs of dust from the debris. When she turned back to Adhira, shining circuitry pulsed over Emilia's left cheek, her brow. The rest of her face looked the same, though a little distorted, as if grimacing in pain.

"Come on." Emilia said. "Sorry, my face was acting up."

Emilia reached out for Adhira and the other woman flinched away. Another kind of terror rose up in her, less sharp but so much deeper. The realizations hit her one after the other.

My bodyguard isn't a human.

My bodyguard is one of the six dozen.

I'm working with the most dangerous machine ever built.

Artificial Intelligence.

Everyone knew what they looked like, under the skin masks. The six dozen AI first programmed during that fateful year, before anyone knew the legal and political ramifications the act would spark.

Only six dozen were ever made; after the watershed victory that granted them full rights as living autonomous beings, most of them went into hiding. Trying their best to live among us, like anyone else.

Adhira flinched away from Emilia, who paused there with her hand open and still reaching for her.

"It's just me," Emilia reassured her, gently.

The metal on her face shone.

"I'm taking you somewhere safe. Let me do my job, Dr. Kahtri."

Allowing herself to be guided, Adhira did her best not to look at Emilia as they walked out of the burning building. In the distance she could hear sirens, but the world was spinning. She lost her balance, clutching onto Emilia for support.

The AI's body was firm, but not unnaturally so. The disguise was horribly convincing.

How did it mimic the heat, the weight, of human skin? How did she feel so warm, so good, the simple contact refilling Adhira's social batteries in an instant.

"The people who did this might still be nearby." An arm wrapped around her, carefully. "Stay close to me until the police arrive, hmm?"

Adhira nodded, trembling faintly. All around her sirens spun and wailed, lights flashing blue and red. The noises grew too much to bear; the last thing she remembered was crumpling onto the floor.

===

Her house was safer than any hospital. Adhira's parents called in a physician to do a home visit, as well as a mechanic for Emilia.

Under the ragged skin remaining on her face, a number could be seen.

Each and every one of the six dozen had an identification number. Some of them kept theirs out on display until the day they died, and refused to be turned back on. The public was endlessly fascinated with the Numbers, wikipedia entries and articles written about them, an intense fandom springing up around the functionally immortal robots who could look like anyone they wanted.

Emilia was Number 57. A quick scan through known Numbers pulled up her history before her current face switch. Most of her public personas were 'retired' or 'dead', meaning she didn't wear those faces or go by those names anymore. Legally, she couldn't. Every time a Number changed their face they had to do a mountain of paperwork, but by all accounts a trait all Numbers shared is that they were patient. They had all the time in the world to do paperwork.

Sitting with a bag of ice over her head, Adhira stared through the open-floor plan of her house at Emilia, who was getting patched up. Her last iteration had been a career soldier. She spent an entire lifetime learning how to fight, and in this lifetime, she evidently used it to be a bodyguard for the elite.

"So what's the problem?" her sister asked, bringing Adhira's attention back down her tablet. "Miss Roarke did her job, didn't she? You'd be dead right now if I hadn't hired her."

"I guess I just don't know what to think," Adhira admitted. "Until it happened, I didn't even realize she was different."

"Well yeah. She's got the best fake skin money can buy." A little bit of grumbling. "Probably why her rates are so expensive."

Falling quiet again, Adhira watched the technician slowly seal Emilia's new face on. She stood at ease while they did, one hand on the hilt of her sword, her posture completely relaxed.

What must it be like, Adhira wondered, to be that confident? To never need to rest? To not know fear? To change your appearance on a whim? She appeared so human, but it was literally only skin deep.

Number 57, Emilia, noticed her watching and waved at her cheerfully through the glass. Adhira managed a weak smile in response. From just her profile, the bot looked normal. But when she turned to give Adhira her full attention, she couldn't help but wince. Half of it— her face— was still missing after the attack. Even if her unlucky bodyguard couldn't feel pain, Adhira felt guilty to see the exposed chrome shining under the lamplight.

Once the job was done Emilia tested her jaw with one hand before leveling another thin smile at Adhira, as if she knew exactly what she was thinking. Then Emilia winked.

Cheeks warming up, Adhira averted her gaze.

"She saved you," Trayi warned her, voice and face stern on the tablet. Looking at her sister was like staring into a mirror, where Adhira's reflection was always two degrees prettier and more posh than her. "Be nice."

"I'm always nice."

Her sister rolled her eyes and hung up. Probably on her way to another meeting with the Queen or whatever it was diplomats did in foreign countries when they didn't have science to keep them busy seven days a week.

Later on, with her face fully attached, Emilia came over to check up on her.

"Did something getcha?" she asked, noting the bag of ice. "I'm sorry, I tried to shield you as much as I could."

Adhira grimaced. "I bumped my head when I fainted."

"Ah." Emilia seemed too amused by that, in her opinion. "Sorry. Can't protect you from yourself."

They smiled at each other. Even though Emilia wasn't anywhere close to her personal bubble, Adhira thought she could feel the heat of her skin like a wave, rolling over her and leaving her dizzy. Closing her eyes, she shifted the icepack and sat down.

"Nobody told you about me, did they?" Emilia guessed, sitting down next to her. "Thought you knew."

"No. My parents gave me your superficial ID and resume. None of the— other things."

"I'm pretty public if you know my Number." Emilia's voice was soothing and low. She wondered how long it took to get a voice like that. What actress did they pay to hum and croon consonants and vowels and diphthongs into a box for a year, so that Emilia could string together noises that sounded almost normal? Now that she knew the truth, Adhira could pick out little ticks and buzzes where the replication was imperfect. "You can look me up if you want."

"I already did. You're very talented."

Emilia brightened up. "Thank you! I've been working hard at rounding out my skills. Learning swordsmanship has been especially rewarding."

A million questions sprang to the tip of her tongue. There was so much she didn't know. How often did someone get this opportunity? But all she wanted to know were the mundane things, that she would have asked any other woman. And she didn't want to seem nosy.

And her head still hurt.

"Can you..." Adhira winced, shifting the ice pack again. "Stay here? A while longer?"

Emilia tilted her head to the side, a curious quirk. "Sure."

"I'll pay overtime. I just don't want to go to work alone tomorrow."

Sighing, Emilia tugged a handkerchief from her back pocket. She dabbed it against Adhira's brow, where the ice was starting to melt. "You're not going back to work tomorrow," she said. "Your lab is in shambles."

"We own a few other labs in the area."

"You could own all the labs in the country. You're staying home."

Resentment flared up in her. "On whose orders?"

"Your mother's," Emilia quipped. "She's the one paying me. Not you."

Oh. That made too much sense.

Maybe she'd hit her head harder than she realized. Even if the doctors gave her the all clear, Adhira spent the rest of the day lost in a haze, staring off into the distance or fitfully trying to get some sleep. She checked the locks on every door and window, twice, even though she knew Emilia already had tapped into her home security network. She called Trayi and convinced her, again, that she didn't need to fly overseas just to check on Adhira. She was fine, really.

Most distressing was the loss of her physical samples. She recorded everything she worked on, of course, but so much work would have to begin again from scratch. Adhira wondered if she'd have to go to work past picketers again, as news spread of this attack. Some would be sympathetic, and others would realize she was the ideal sort of target to attack for publicity and notoriety. They'd see her injured and it would trigger that predator instinct so many people seemed to have, where they piled on at the first sign of vulnerability.

She remembered being a girl, driving past crowds of people. Angry about the Numbers, even though they'd already been legal for generations. Every so often things went back and forth in waves, as humans died and forgot and made the same arguments over and over again, and the six dozen bots watched and recorded it all as their numbers slowly dwindled.

Numbers didn't change, it was true. But really, neither did humanity.

Emilia was downstairs, lingering in the kitchen. She had her own tablet out, headphones in. Faintly, Adhira heard pop music wafting out.

Adhira frowned to see it. "How are you going to hear an intruder like that?"

"I have two sets of consciousness," Emilia answered, not looking up. "Another part of me is paying attention while I distract myself. And I don't detect danger audibly, anyway."

She honed in on the first part. "Two sets of... all right, I need to know, how do you get through long days in the lab without getting bored to death? Do you shut off your second brain and let elevator music play in the background?"

"I'm usually playing a backlog of old westerns," Emilia breezily agreed. "Since I can't bring my unscanned tablet inside the lab I just use my memory."

"Have you been scanned? This sounds like a data breach risk waiting to happen."

"I am not interested in your bacteria samples, doctor, nor would I allow anyone to use me as a backdoor to access them." She assured her with a thin smile, finally looking up from her tablet. Coils of copper red hair had peeled out of her bun, messily framing her face. "They're safe with me."

Folding up her tablet, Emilia tucked it into her breast pocket. The technician who fixed her face also brought her a spare set of clothes. No flashy suit today, just a dress shirt and passibly formal pants. Adhira wondered if it was easy to sword fight in those. Maybe Emilia had them especially made.

"Are you bored?" Emilia countered. "Is that why you're wandering around? It's three in the morning and you should be asleep."

"I can't get comfortable." The Affect she wore kept any shrapnel from hitting her, and Emilia took the worst of the blast, but she was still finding bruises all over her body.

"I see."

Now that she knew those eyes were indeed made of glass, they seemed to shine all the brighter. They didn't move like eyes normally did. They bored into her, tunneling deep and uncovering everything she had hidden.

"Then would you..." Emilia started uncertainly. Instead of fidgeting, like a human, she went absolutely still. Strange, how her normal mannerisms shone through. Not idle shifting, but something solid and motionless as steel. Her natural state. "...Like to watch a movie?"

She considered it. "Does it have to be a western?"

"It can be whatever you like. But I'd prefer a good old shoot 'em up with a duel at high noon."

"I guess it can't be helped, then." She ought to do something with that big screen in her living room, after all. Adhira used it once when it was installed and then never again.

She didn't remember anything about the movie. Adhira had perched on the edge of her couch until Emilia landed heavily right next to her, put an arm around her shoulder, and tugged her close. She made a noise of surprise, but didn't pull away. Not when the body close to hers was so warm.

Adhira fell asleep halfway through the film, and woke up in her own bed, the blankets tucked around her.

A robot bodyguard.

Adhira stared up at her bedroom ceiling, arm thrown over her forehead. The repercussions came at her, one after the other. The consequences. The risks. The implications.

"Fuck it," she said after a while. "I'm already in trouble with the fundies."

In for a penny, in for a pound.

===

The size and scope and power of the Kahtri family, with their fingers in every branch of government and law (and one little pinkie in medicine because of Adhira), meant she had an operational lab by the end of the week. Adhira went right back to it, grateful to no longer be idle.

"Most people would have taken a vacation."

In the next few months Emilia became closer than a shadow. No longer keeping to herself by the door, she followed Adhira as she moved about the labs, into her offices. They spoke, but not frequently. More often they listened to audio dramas or music. Adhira uploaded a few of Emilia's favorites onto her own tablet, since the especially soap-operatic ones were cushy enough to not be distracting.

"Most people aren't me."

Emilia's eyes flickered in a way she'd come to recognize as soft agreement. "So your family approves of your research."

"They wish I had gotten into politics like my sister." Adhira stretched. "But I've proven lucrative. And as long as she has her children there will be less pressure on me to keep the family name."

"Don't like kids?"

"I like children just fine." It was the truth. Children were interesting, not fully formed yet. All wobbly, like clay. They spoke unfiltered. And Adhria loved her nieces and nephews. She indulged them endlessly when she got to see them. "I just don't want to have any. I don't suppose you ever plan to adopt?"

It was a rude and personal question, but Adhira figured Emilia had already opened the door. She was just walking through it. There were more than a few Numbers who successfully reared and raised families. The main rival of the Kahtri dynasty was led by one, after all. Having a member of the family who didn't die meant they were a lot more stable than the many branches of siblings and cousins that Adhira had to navigate.

"Seems like an easy way to break my own heart," was Emilia's opinion on the matter.

===

Finally, Emilia decided that Adhira had stared enough.

"Come here."

There was a small courtyard outside the new lab, where other researchers came for cigarette breaks. Instead of that, Emilia drew Adhira closer, standing behind her with both hands on her hips. "Keep it loose. You're too rigid."

Adhira had the hilt in her hand. It was active, blade extended. "I don't know what that means."

"Means you're all tight." Emilia kept one hand on her hip, the other gripping around Adhira's wrist. "You need to relax. Know what happens to steel that doesn't bend?"

"No. What happens?"

Guiding Adhira by the wrist, Emilia had them swing the sword once. It whistled as it sliced nothing but air, cutting through the silence around them. "It breaks."

They ran through some drills together. Adhira had a lot to unlearn about how to wield a sword, by Emilia's estimation. "And the rest is just practice."

"Maybe I should take up fencing myself. I need an excuse to stay physical."

Emilia agreed, and the next day, she came to work with two blunt practice swords.

Tossing one to Adhira, she grinned. "Let's start before lunch, and build up your appetite."

Crossing blades also happened mostly in silence. Nothing but the whistle of steel and the clack of her blunt blade hitting Emilia on her unbreakable body. Adhira appreciated that; Emilia did not talk to fill silence or to alleviate boredom. She respected Adhira's time and energy. Not many people did that. Even those paid to be in her presence.

"Dr. Kahtri," Emilia said, "I think when we graduate to live steel, you will be a force to be reckoned with."

Adhira had never been hungry for praise. She knew when she was doing a good job and didn't need anyone else to inform her. She also was keenly aware of all her failures. So hearing the kind words made her... off-kilter, since she was so new to fencing. She didn't know if she was actually good, or if Emilia was just humoring her.

It became even more complex when Emilia insisted on dropping her off at home every night. Until one night she insisted on walking her all the way to her door. And then one night she lingered by the door, her hand over Adhira's.

"Is it okay if I come inside?"

Dimly aware that the offer was possibly inappropriate, Adhira struggled to find a reason to refuse. She had never been the best at navigating social situations, or the proper protocol to follow during them. She only knew what she liked. "Why?"

"To watch another movie." Emilia's voice had gone softer, soft enough that Adhira strained to catch it.

"I might fall asleep again."

Emilia's hand hadn't left hers. She radiated an incredible amount of heat, more than most people. It had to be how she was built. When she stepped closer, Adhira felt soothed by that warmth the way a weary traveler longs for a hearth fire. "Then I'll carry you to bed again."

"You don't sleep, do you?" Adhira said, just to confirm. Emilia nodded. "That must be so convenient."

"Can't say. I've never known anything else." The pressure on Adhira's hand increased as Emilia's fingers curled over her own. She brought their linked hands up to her mouth, dropping a kiss on her knuckles.

Oh.

Adhira's cheeks grew hot. "You're my employee."

"I'm your mom's employee." Emilia grinned.

"Fine." Adhira pulled free, expecting resistance. But Emilia didn't cling, even if her grip stayed flexed, as if she was still holding on, or maybe she just wished she was still holding on. "But surely between two brains you can string together enough common sense to know why this isn't a good idea."

"Doctor." Emilia's green eyes focused and unfocused, a lens inside adjusting to the setting sun's dying light. "Saying I have 'two brains' is a gross oversimplification of my technology, and undersells exactly how much smarter I am than you."

The flames on her face traveled up from her cheeks to halo her skull. Veins pulsed, anger pounding thickly through them. It was as unfamiliar to her as everything else Emilia made her feel. The intensity of them, if not the emotions themselves.

Emilia was taunting her— trying to get a reaction out of her—

Teasing her?

The glitter in Emilia's eyes said she was amused, not angry, but Adhira didn't know how to feel. "Why are you doing this?"

"Why?" Her grin widened. "Dr. Kahtri, I've been flirting with you since the very first day we met. It's been nearly half a year. If I don't press harder, you'll never get the hint."

Her lips had gone dry. Licking them was worse than tonguing rough leather.

"So." Emilia said it slowly, bracing her arm next to Adhira's head. She was still trapped against her own front door; if she opened it she could escape this situation, but she didn't want to. "We should hang out sometime. Off the clock."

"We're off the clock right now. And you're probably already watching a movie, aren't you?" Adhira scoffed. "With your second brain."

"Maybe I am. You'd never be able to tell." Emilia leaned in closer. "Do you want all my attention even when you can't register the difference?"

"Of course I do." Adhira snapped. "Nobody likes to think someone is with them on auto-pilot." Even if they weren't talking about a robot.

"Why, Dr. Kahtri. I had no idea you were so greedy," Emilia said, and kissed her.

#original #Warm Blooded

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lilithscry · 5 years

Text

i love you; goodbye

pairing: arthur morgan x female!reader

word count: 5.3k

warnings: death, emotional distress, grief.

summary: somethings are better left unsaid.

notes: i listened to you’ll be in my heart from the tarzan soundtrack while writing the ending and it Shows.. i also haven’t written for a while so pls ignore if this Sucks!

Sat on the edge of the campsite, you watched the world surrounding you go by.

Squirrels and rabbits skidded past at the speed of light while the sun slowly fell asleep and the moon dragged herself from her slumber. The earth was starting to be bathed in the blueish glow of the moon, the harsh kisses left by the sun now being soothed. You hadn’t noticed the growing bite of coldness to the air, too far in your own head to realise that goose bumps now littered your arms.

“You good?” The familiar voice that belonged to Charles rang through your ears. He sat himself beside you as you just nodded, trying your best to push down the fear and worry that sat uncomfortably at the pit of your stomach.

“Jus’ fine.” You murmured while avoiding contact with the male. It was a crock of bullcrap and you knew it. He knew it too, but you had to put on a brave face for him and the ones who need help. The Wapiti tribe. Forcibly driven from their home once more, you and Charles realised it was your duty to ensure that they were safe, healthy and happy.

But this was the opposite of what you had planned. You had set to yourself to help Arthur with the rest of the gang, to make sure that everyone else was safe before retreating so that his illness didn’t worsen. He had other plans and it wasn’t until after he had returned to the tribe with Charles and an awfully wounded Eagle Flies that he refused your pleas to go back with him. You still remember being soaked to the bone through your clothes and the sickly-tired look on his face as you argued against him.

Now you were sat in a place unknown to you with no clue or even an idea as to what was happening back down south where everyone else was.

Charles didn’t press any further as he knew that you would soon spill out everything that was weighing you down; but you could tell he was itching to speak about a pressing matter. There was something he wanted to say, and it had to be said now. The way he’d subtly glance over at you is what gave it away really since he was someone who seemed to always be approached rather than do the approaching.

Did you want to know what he wanted to say? No. Were you going to tell him to just say it? Maybe.

The silence between you both wasn’t one bit pleasant, all the while the sing-song tune of the crickets that habituated at the nearby stream of river filled the air; which somehow contrasted the heaviness between you both. You craned your neck to stare up at the clear sky and Charles watched you diligently as though he were about to walk on a pile of burning-hot coal pieces.

“You’ve something to tell me, Charles?” Looking away from the night sky and towards him instead, the expectancy of being told that you were about to move further up north steadily ate away at you. You just wanted to go home.

There was a slight hesitation to Charles’ words, his lips parting to speak before closing right away as he looked for the right words to say. You were on your last few strings of patience, something that rarely happened.

“I heard a few things while in the store earlier.” He started, eyes darkening with blatant worry as his eyebrows furrowed. “News of a shootout near Annesburg a week and a bit ago. Pinkertons were involved.”

You felt your chest tighten and a knot form in your throat. “A…Were…there any deaths?”

“From what I’ve heard, yes.” He saw you went to cut him off, so he held a hand up to stop you. “But I didn’t hear any names being thrown around.”

The air grew heavier by a tonne and your stomach did flips as anxiety made your bones rattle. Your hands shook slightly in fear of who may just be dead back down near Beaver Hollow. It’s not like the Pinkertons cared enough to dispose of the bodies, unless it was Dutch himself. Then they would’ve snatched his cold corpse away in a heartbeat, acting as though it was a trophy. A trophy to show that they took down the deadliest outlaw in the South-West.

“We have t’ go back.”

“Excuse me?”

“We have t’ go back, Charles.” You said with a strict tone while pulling yourself up to your feet. “We need t’ give whoever has died a proper burial.”

Charles followed you suit, reaching out to grab your shoulder as you walked towards the campsite. “That’s suicide, (Name), and you know that. Pinkertons might still be in the area.”

You spun around to face him properly this time. He saw the fire in your eyes and the thick-black smoke from it seething out of your pores on to the dirt below you.

“And do ya think I care? Charles, I need t’ go back there and…” You cut yourself off, too sick to even think about how Arthur may be one of the deceased, let alone say it aloud. So, you regained your posture again and continued. “I need t’ go back there, whether ya like it or not.”

His eyes downcast as you avoided to prompt the idea of Arthur being dead. He felt the same sick feeling grow on him as he started to think about it, but there was unfinished business with Rains Fall and his people. But there was also unfinished business back down south.

“I’m leavin’ tomorrow mornin’, whether ya come with me or not, that’s up to you.” Voice soft, you turned to leave the taller male be in his thoughts.

“Safe to assume I’m letting you ride all that way by yourself.” He mumbled to himself while sitting down to plan out the travel back down.

So, when morning came and you saw Charles talking with Rains Fall by the horses, you couldn’t help but smirk in triumph at the success of convincing him. You plainly left them to speak amongst themselves while you readied your saddle for the long trip back; and it wasn’t until Rains Fall was by your side, thanking you for helping his people, that you finally spoke.

It was painful to say goodbye to the good people of this tribe, but you knew life had a funny way of bringing the past back. Hence, you promised to see them again before kicking your spurs into the sides of your horse, telling her to go.

The trip back past through the Rocky Mountains and thick-luscious forests didn’t feel near as stressful as it was the first-time round, possibly since it was just you and Charles, and not with a posse that included some elderly men and children. However, with every day and moment you grew closer to New Hanover, the fear of what you would find once you reached your destination only caused you to want to retreat.

Would you find the two disgusting men that were known to be Micah’s friends be the ones half eaten by wolves, or would there be the bodies of someone you loved? Would there be a letter left by a certain Tacitus Kilgore, telling you that he had retreated to his getaway home in Mexico?

Many-a night were spent with you and Charles huddled closely to one another, storms passing by after they wreak havoc in their path, simply disappearing as though they’d done nothing wrong. You couldn’t help but allude and imagine your former leader as a storm. Dutch Van de Linde, barging his way through the country like a hurricane, only to rip apart everything and everyone surrounding him; striking lightning down on those who don’t follow him like a lost puppy. Sending whirlwinds and tornadoes to throw away those who had been devotedly loyal to him for years on end.

And as you watched the sixth storm that week wash itself over Emerald Ranch, you could only see what your life used to be like.

“We’re close now, (Name).” Charles spoke from the bonfire of the makeshift camp you both had made, keeping a close eye on the grey clouds that slowly started to hover above. “It looks like the storm’s heading this way.”

Spinning on the balls of your feet, you faced Charles before briefly looking up above you. “Should we wait it out then?”

“It doesn’t look like it’s going away any time soon.”

You nodded, catching on to the idea to stay put and moved to the tent you both were sharing. He followed short and the familiar silence between you both settled in again as it always did. You held your knees close to your chest after placing your hat behind you, and Charles sat cross-legged, cleaning his smaller guns in languid movements.

“Charles…”

“Yeah?”

The neither of you looked at each other, you too busy watching the rainfall start and him starting down at the gun in his lap. “Are ya scared of what we may find?”

That caught his attention and when he finally directed his gaze towards you, he could see the worried look painted across your face. Eyebrows furrowed, corner of lips drooped and eyes glassy with tears that may escape; a look he had never seen you adorn before.

As much as he wanted to ensure you that everything was going to be alright, he couldn’t lie for once. Charles couldn’t form the words to tell you that everything will be fine, and that Arthur is somewhere safe and sound. False hope was a fool’s game and unfortunately, you were a fiery fool that would definitely tamper with a game such as false hope.

“Aren’t we both?” He countered, and in that moment, the silence that fell over you both this time was sickly uncomfortable.

You felt your stomach drop as you looked for any kind of flittering hope, and Charles felt his shoulders weigh down more at the realisation of what was to come the next day.

That night, you didn’t sleep and neither did Charles.

With the bitter taste of burnt-black coffee at the back of your throat, you were set off again to the old gang campsite in the early hours of the morning. The woods of Roanoke Ridge always sent a shiver up your spine as it always felt that someone or something was watching you, whether it be from the canopy of lush leaves above you or the large boulders that were scattered throughout the wilderness. But you spurred and gave your horse reassuring words as the pace increased by tenfold.

However, riding past the familiar areas that you had grown accustomed to while your stay there, you dreaded getting closer and closer to Beaver Hollow. The path leading you up to the small flat-surfaced area was littered with disposed rifles and pistols, and blood was too scattered over the dirt and greenery of the bushes. It was obvious that there had been an intense battle here.

As you dismounted your horse, you noted that equipment that had belonged to the Van de Linde gang was still present, meaning no one had been past since. So, you scurried over to where you and Arthur had shared a tent, searching and searching through boxes and bags in search for anything to lead you to where Arthur may be. Yet to no avail, you found nothing. No note, not even a small clue as to where even his whereabouts might be.

“(Name).” Charles called out, gathering your attention right away and allowing a least a tiny bit of hope to bloom in your chest. You hadn’t even looked at what he was standing over as your body started moving on its own.

“Did ya find a—” All hope had been drained from you as what he had seen finally caught your attention. Your blood ran cold as you stared at the lifeless body of Grimshaw, a large hole sat right in the middle of her stomach which was crawling with bugs that had no right to be using her as their feast.

Turning away, you held your hand to your stomach and choked back a sob. “How…could they just leave her?” You spat in disgust, aforementioned hand balling into a fist. “Leave her here to rot?!”

A sigh left Charles as he too turned away, rubbing his face.

“C’mon, we need to see if anyone else is here and then I’ll go and bury her.”

You nodded and let Charles lead you around the old running grounds. No letter was seen to be anywhere both inside and outside of the cave, serving as a ground for your anxiety to rise. After coming to a mutual agreement that there was nothing else in this general area, you gathered any lasting supplies that remained while Charles took Grimshaw’s body to bury it. By the time he returned, covered in mud and a dreadful look on his face, you then set off to search the general area for anyone else.

It was hard, but eventually traced of a shootout near the border of Roanoke Ridge and the Heartlands were found by Charles. Rifles and pistols once again were scattered here and there, and as well as the wolf-scavenged corpses of two horses. They smelt bad and rotten, something you noted while walking past after hitching your horse to the closest tree.

“They sure got far whoever rode out this way.” You observed and walked up to Charles who looked up at the small mountain before him. “Either that or we’re ‘bout to find the corpse of some other wanted man.”

“These horses have been dead for a while now. Not a recently killing at all.” He responded, motioning for you to follow him up the small mountain before you

The tread up to the mountain was tiring, both physically and emotionally as you felt you were about to be at your wits end. No proper sign of where Arthur was, you started to doubt whether it was a good idea to come back down south. You hadn’t need to come back this way until all the information on what exactly happened was official, but alas you listened to your heart rather than your brain. And here you were, hiking on a mountain with a man who you forced to leave the duty of protecting people so that you could see what happened, as well as also growing rapidly tired and cold within minutes of being on this trek. Charles caught on to it at your quietness, throwing a glance over his shoulder towards you to see how you were. Your eyes were heavy with dark circles surrounding them and you were chattering, pulling your coat closer to your body.

Maybe I should’ve made extra coffee for the trip…

He stopped walking and you bumped into him, too busy in your own head to realise that he had halted completely. Looking up at him, you frowned ever-so slightly and pouted. “Why’re we stoppin’?”

“Because you’re tired.”

“I’m…fine.” Shaking your head, you let out a weak smile. “Let’s just continue looking.”

Charles blinked, staring at you for a few moments before directing his attention to his left, seeing a small flat surface that was large enough to rest. He pointed towards it. “Go rest up there for now. If I haven’t found something soon, I’ll come back and we can set up camp there, okay?”

You paused, the urge to fight back being appealing but with the lacking energy, you rolled your eyes at him. “Fine.”

Parting ways, you trudged up to the area Charles told you to go rest by while rubbing the tiredness from your eyes. Hope on finding Arthur was starting to wither away as new intruding thoughts came to mind. Maybe the Pinkertons grabbed hold of him after all, and this search from him was starting to become an impossible mission. Maybe in the next few days, you’ll see an article in the newspaper about the hanging of Van de Linde gang member Arthur Morgan.

You sat down with your back against the rocky formation and you sighed, keeping your eyes closed. The peaceful sound of birds chirping and eagles gawking in the distance helped you relax, and with a low sigh, you finally opened your eyes to see the evening sky start to set. Hues of orange, pink, purple and blue all blended together, creating a picture so perfect that for a moment you wished you could paint. The clouds stretched across the horizon looked like the bags of cotton candy you’d frequently steal for Jack after news of the new candy made its round through towns and a part of you wished you could just reach out and pluck a piece from it.

With a smile, your eyes then wandered to your close surroundings on the mountain ledge. Rocks, pebbles and stones was all you could see until a large-lumped figure sat near the cliff edge caught your attention. Obviously, a person, they were sat there unmoving and instantly at the sight of them, you felt your heart pound against your chest as though it was trying to escape. There was no movement of the chest, indicating they were no longer breathing.

In a quick-shaky movement, you jumped up to your feet while your hand hovered over your chest to feel your heartbeat. Slowly and steadily, your feet carried you to the body and at the sight of the recognisable mop of blonde hair on top of the corpse, a scream was ripped from your throat.

Albeit it was a little delayed as you stood there in shock, but it caught the attention of Charles fast. You heard him calling out your name loud and clear. You heard his footsteps against the smooth rock paths of the mountain, but you were stood there, frozen and in shock.

It wasn’t until it had really settled that the body of Arthur Morgan was in front of you that you dropped to the ground, long-overdue tears spilling out on to your cheeks. Charles was by your side within seconds of finding you, not needing to ask what was wrong as the first thing he saw was the body.

You felt your stomach twist and turn and do back flips. It made you feel sick. Choking out a loud sob, you turned to your side the best you could and let the bile that’d made its way into your throat out; and it didn’t stop. The pain in your chest burned as though someone had just set it on fire and your stomach was turning itself inside out. Every fibre in your body was in pain yet somehow numb at the same time.

Perhaps it was the cold air that numbed the pain, or maybe that was what was causing you to be in pain. You couldn’t tell, but as soon as you turned to Charles, you gripped on to his shirt and leant your head on to his chest. Tears stained his clothes and your body rattled with each sob that escaped past your lips. One of his hands rested on your shoulder while the other was on the small of your back. He enveloped you in the warmth you needed and stayed quiet, letting you grieve.

And for what felt like eternity, there were no more tears left to cry. You simply didn’t have the energy left to cry no more, and slowly, you felt yourself drift off to sleep in the arms of a man who grieved the loss of his friend in silence.

The next morning you woke up in the comfort of your sleeping bag with the warmth from the large figure sitting next to you. For a moment, you believed you were back in Horseshoe Overlook and you were about to be challenged with whatever drama Grimshaw threw at you while the other girls motioned for you to dismiss her and sneak over to them. You believed the man next to you was Arthur and that he was about to start off your day with a kiss to the forehead and some witty comment about how you put Snow White to a shame.

But reality hit hard when you saw that it was in fact Charles next to you and that you were in a tent near the mountains, not in the beautiful plains of the Heartlands. Arthur was only a few feet away, long dead and never coming back ever again.

Charles noticed you stir awake and glanced over at you, halting his arrow crafting and keeping his gaze on you to see how you were. The distraught expression that painted itself over your face caused him to look back ahead.

“I’ve covered his body.” He spoke with a soft voice, catching your attention right away as you sat up. “So…you don’t have to see…y’know.”

You hummed and mumbled a small thank you before dropping your head to stare at your hands.

Goosebumps had risen on your skin and as you shivered, Charles reached forward to grab a cup and the small percolator that was packed for your trip. Pouring the coffee into the cup, he handed it to you silently which you too accepted in the same manner.

Heavy grief weighed down on to your chest, making you feel as though someone was standing on you. It was hard to swallow and breath, and it was hard to simply even think, knowing that the body of your lover was basically next to you. It was astoundingly ironic, and all you could do was laugh.

So, you did.

A painfully-hearty chuckle rumbled in your chest and as it turned into a laugh, Charles’ attention was drawn back to you. He threw you a look of confusion, but you were too busy laughing to even bother responding to him.

You held on to your stomach before wiping the tears away from your eyes, finally catching on to the look Charles was giving you.

“What was so funny, (Name)?”

You guffawed once again, having to set down the cup of coffee this time so that you could vaguely motion to everything. “This situation we’re in right now. I wasn’t expectin’ to be buryin’ the love of my life this early.”

“I wasn’t expectin’ to be finding him on a mountain ledge, lookin’ like he had the shit beaten out of him and skin grey as fucking old dog shit.”

Your voice wavered as you spoke with every word, the wall that you were desperately trying to build already starting to crumble.

“Isn’t it kinda funny how I can’t breathe properly, and his body is right next to me?”

“(Name)…”

“It’s almost like something is tryna tell me to stop breathin’.”

“(Name).”

Laughing, you picked up the cup of coffee to take a sip out of it, but you stopped yourself and looked at it bitterly. It was then that you shuffled out the tent and got to your feet, shuffling over to the ledge. You gripped on to the cup tightly before hauling it out into the wilderness, a scream of pain leaving you again – much like the one from the night before.

Then it was quiet, aside from the sad howl of a wolf in the distance. Both you and Charles instantly recognised the cry to be one of a grieving wolf; a wolf that has lost its loved one to the hands of nature.

Charles had made it to his feet, slowly walking over to you in a cautious matter. “(Name)…”

“What is it?” You snapped back, refusing to look at him.

He paused for a brief second before letting out a puff of breath and glancing over at the covered body. “I’m burying him today. In a few hours at most, and I know a place that would be the best for him. A place where he would’ve wanted to be buried.”

“Facing the west?” Your voice grew quiet and he nodded.

“Of course.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat and faced Charles, keeping your gaze glued to the ground. He stared at you while awaiting what you were going to do next. Then you looked up at him, eyes glassy with tears and your bottom lip quivering. You looked broken, oh so broken and not ready to be glued and fixed back together just yet.

“Alright, let’s get packed up then…”

As you packed the tent and bedrolls, you couldn’t gain the courage to face Charles as he carefully wrapped Arthur’s body and stowed it on the back of Taima. The small fire was put out and any signs that showed someone was present was extracted. You agreed with Charles to ride ahead this trip after he showed you where to go on the map, and he obliged. Not a single part of you was ready to look at Arthur just yet.

The ride was completely silent between you and Charles aside from you questioning whether you go left or right at some points in the ride. It gave you a moment to think to yourself. To gather your thoughts and place them out nicely before realising what the hell are you going to do next.

Unless John and the rest have fled across t’ the other side of the country, I might be able t’ track ‘em down.

You just knew that you couldn’t be here in this part of the country for a while. You needed to leave.

Because like an artist, every little thing about this place would be painted with the memory of the downfall of your family, the storm that Dutch unleashed amongst you, and the death of your soulmate. Each paint stroke of the fields of the Heartlands or the swamps of Lemoyne would remind you of painful times, something you know that you’re not ready to face just yet.

You wiped away the tears that you hadn’t even noticed were travelling down the expanse of your cheek and called out to Charles, who directed to go left and then keep going.

“I’ll tell you when to stop.”

As you neared Bacchus station, you saw swarms of workers about with wagons of construction items to fix the broken railway line that was the work of Arthur and John, after all. You held back a small snicker and glanced back at Charles who threw a knowing look in your direction. That was definitely a conversation needed for later.

It wasn’t long after seeing the construction workers that Charles told you to stop. This time he took the lead up to a small ledge of a much larger mountain and rode past a particular looking hill house that you noted to investigate later on. You avoided looking at the lifeless body on the back of Taima, instead occupying yourself by dismounting early and making your way to the other side to overlook New Hanover.

Not one word was said during the process of Arthur’s burial, out of respect and also to avoid any more tearful moments. You sat yourself at the edge of the flat ledge, your legs dangling off and swinging idly back and forth; something that was a habit of yours.

You remembered the first job you’d done with Arthur. It involved robbing the small-town bank of Tumbleweed in New Austin, a job that went relatively easy since you both were still considered rookies to the outlaw life.

(“Y’know,” Arthur started while flicking through the stack of bills to ensure that yours and his share was evenly split. “I must say that ya pretty darn good with a rifle.”

A gasp of false shock and offence slipped past your lips as you sat yourself on the edge of the creaking bridge you were situated at, the blue water of West Elizabeth looking utterly beautiful. “Now, Mr. Morgan, d’ya say that ‘cause I’m a woman?”

The blonde male’s eyes glanced at you as he halted counting, noticing the stability of the bridge not being too reliable.

“No, yer just clumsy which is why I must ask for ya to get off tha’ bridge, Miss (Name).”

Now you laughed, mocking his tone and repeating what he had said all the while you swung your legs, back and forth, back and forth. And it wasn’t until one of the planks of wood next to you snapped all of the sudden, that you’d gotten up quicker than Arthur could say I told you so.)

A peaceful sigh left you as the light Spring breeze filtered through the strands of your hair.

You missed him already. The way he’d roll his eyes when he was proven wrong, or how he would guffaw whenever Micah got the shit taken out of him by one of the girls. Or, how he’d hold you close at night, his arms wrapped around your waist gently yet firmly at the same time. It was almost as if he thought you would disappear in the dead of the night, leaving him and the gang.

Many fond memories flooded you and you couldn’t help but let a bittersweet smile etch itself across your face.

Then the faint sound of hooves against the rocky surface caught your attention. Spinning around slightly to see if the horses were moving, you saw that they were still in their assumed position from beforehand.

Weird.

Facing forward, they only grew louder and louder, and before you knew it the sight of a larger than normal buck approach you. It stood tall, a certain humble regal aura making it seem too human to be a wild animal. You were sat there in silence as it stared back at you before bowing its head to graze on the small patch of grass that was next to you. There was something weird about this animal and as it ate the plant life next to you, it eventually nudged the hand that laid resting next to your leg with its snout, indicating that it wanted to be pet.

So, you followed its instructions, softly petting the space between the eyes of the buck. It was then that you got a good clear look at the eyes of the animal. A piercing blue that seemed all too familiar.

The buck let out a huff, shaking its head in irritation and lowering down so that it was resting next to you. It turned its head after having its moment, looking over at Charles digging the grave for Arthur’s body.

You blinked in confusion, your eyes darting back and force between Charles, Arthur and the buck until it clicked.

Slowly, a wide smile stretched across your face as you looked back at the “wild animal”, a laugh of disbelief bubbling in your stomach and tears welling up in your eyes.

“You stupid-sneaky bastard.” You blubbered, hands reaching out to cup the buck’s head. His ears twitched as you leant your head forward to lean on his and closed your eyes, that laugh of disbelief finally escaping.

After a few moments of sitting there in silence, you pulled away to look at him. To look at Arthur. Stroking and petting down on the tufts of fur on him, you placed a delicate kiss in the same spot you had rested your head before nudging your nose against him.

“I love you, you big-stupid-oaf.”

Meanwhile, Charles stood from a distance, a small smiling tugging at his lips as he saw the reunion unfold.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #red dead redemption #rdr #rdr x reader #rdr fanfic #female!reader #Will Beta Read Soon Dont Worry

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evolutionsbedingt · 4 years

Text

2019 Advent Ficlet Challange

11.12.2019 Chimney

It got long again, but that's also the first (and likely only) original piece I'm ever posting on this blog, sooo... enjoy??

Satan stared at the letter in his hands. Something like this had happened before, once or twice in the last fifty human-years. But this one was a little different. Usually he'd sent one of the winter demons, Krampus for example really liked gifting instead of punishing.

This kid. Well Satan recognised the patronym and the last name. It was registered for one of the seventh circle rooms since the human had been five years old.

And the first name was special as well. Little Lucia was named after the light Satan had once brought when he was still an angel.

"Dear Satan, I want to see you for Xmas, because Tommy in school says you don't exist but I don't believe him. You have to exist. I don't want any presents, Papa wouldn't like that. Please come. Your Lucia Petrovna Zimina."

Satan sighed deeply and snapped his fingers. "Krampus! Get your furry ass in here."

"Sir?" Krampus appeared out of the shadows, his head tilted. "Another kid?"

"Yeah, but this one's different," Satan sighed, still looking at the letter. "She even drew a little Christmas tree in the corner and it has a little kitty."

Krampus nodded sagely. "They like to do that."

"Can you get me a Santa suit?" Satan asked, putting the letter down and standing up to get himself a book from his shelf. "Red and white I believe. Well the red is nice, but why the white?"

"I think it's because of the snow," Krampus said slowly, tapping his chin.

He was going to do his best to convince this child, because she certainly deserved some love and hope in her life.

Satan was prepared for the worst when he entered the home late on the 24th December. He had made sure the Zimins were following American tradition, not the Orthodox one.

He came through the chimney as was custom and arrived in…a wonderfully decorated living room. There were self-made tree ornaments, some clearly made by a small child a long time ago.

"Santa!" The voice of a little girl startled Satan.

Turning around his glamour slipped for a second and the little girl screamed at the same time as he did.

When she calmed down, she said: "You're not Santa." Then she frowned and sighed. "I spelled it wrong again, didn't I?"

Satan slowly went down to his knees. "I'm afraid you did."

"Does Santa not exist?" Lucia asked, sounding morose.

"He does exist," Satan told the little girl with as gentle a voice as he could. "What magic do you think sent your letter to me? The magic of Christmas."

"Really?" Lucia immediately brightened up.

"Really," Satan assured her. "May I ask you something?"

Lucia nodded. "Of course, Satan."

"Does your Papa love you?" Satan asked carefully.

"He's the best!" Lucia exclaimed with a huge smile. "He has been doing my hair every day since Mama got sick! And he always reads me stories and makes rabbit apples!"

Suddenly Satan feels another presence in the apartment. Someone enters the hallway with quiet footsteps. Satan rights himself and steps into the hallway. Within seconds there is a gun in his face and only a quick magic trick keeps Lucia from seeing her father like that.

"Papa! I wrote Santa to come, but I spelled it wrong again so Satan came instead," Lucia quickly told her father. "Please don't be angry, we were just talking. And I told him not to bring any gifts because I know you have something for me already!"

Satan knew that he would blush if he could. This man might have a room reserved in hell. But this little girl was nothing if not loved.

"Mr. Zimin," Satan, remembering mortal manners, stretched out his hand. "A pleasure to meet you. But I'm afraid I must be off, I cannot stray too far from my realm for too long."

"Wait!" Lucia called, running back into the living room. She returned with a plate of cookies and a glass of milk. "That's for you!"

"Well, I believe technically it's for Santa," Satan pointed out, rather charmed by the gesture.

"Take it!" Lucia insisted. "You came and you even got yourself a suit, you deserve some cookies!"

Satan laughed and took the cookies. "Thank you, little light." And with a bow he vanished into a cloud of sulfur planning to look up why the father who was so loving to his little girl was scheduled for a room in the seventh circle. That couldn't be right.

(It wasn't, it was an accounting error. Apparently one of the scribe demons had made a spelling mistake. Detective Peter Zimin did only belong into the first circle, Limbo, because someone upstairs insisted that unbaptized Christians shouldn't get into Heaven. Satan remembered why he fell all those millennia ago. At least limbo wasn't so bad, a bit confusing at first, but so was the real world.)

#2019 advent ficlet challenge #advent fanfiction frenzy #original content #*mine #quite literally #I'm very nervous about posting this

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journal-of-an-outlaw · 5 years

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Price to be Paid - Chapter 10

The Rise of Mrs. Sadie Adler

Words: 4,156

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

AO3 Link

It had taken you and Arthur longer than you had hoped to arrive at camp, but you had to admit everything he said was true. The location was easily defendable on the lake, and the water was blue and sparkling in the evening sun. It was beautiful.

“Ah, Mr. Morgan! Ms. Moore! How did you two get on with those loans?” Dutch wandered over as you hitched your horse in the new area. Eclipse nibbled at the grass and made content noises as you took her heavy saddle off in the heat.

“Well enough, I suppose. Last one didn’t have the money but we got everything else. Here, for the camp,” Arthur handed the older man the cash. “Damn, Dutch. This humidity is awful.”

He laughed but agreed, and motioned you over to Grimshaw. In a softer tone Dutch asked Arthur how things went with you.

“Fine. She’s good on a horse and held her own. Soft spirit, but nearly took a man’s head of by swinging a gun at him. I’d say we start taking her out more and givin’ her responsibilities. She can hunt and fight just fine.” Dutch was happy to hear this and clapped Arthur’s shoulder.

“Mr. Morgan! Your tent, per usual, is near the ammunition and over on the right there. Next to Herr Strauss. Don’t make that face, I know how you feel about the man but space is limited. Miss Moore, you’re by that tree and the lake. We moved your stuff over but don’t know how you like it, so that bit is up to you.” You smiled back at Grimshaw, “Thank you, I appreciate it. I’ll go get all set up then.”

The three nodded and began a new conversation without you, so with your saddle in hand you walked to your new tent.

Lenny, Mary-Beth, and Abigail all called out hellos from across the camp at your return and you filled with happiness inside.

Grimshaw was right about your tent. Situated maybe twenty feet from the water, a cool breeze filtered through the open flaps and felt heavenly. Your few possessions were on your bed and you took your time decorating your new home to your liking before you had to get dinner.

Watching the water reminded you of the times your mother would take you down to Flat Iron Lake as a child. She taught you to swim and would take you for ice cream as a treat after an afternoon in the glowing sun.

She had been crossing your mind more and more lately and you didn’t know why. Cassandra Milton. The only woman to love that bastard father of yours.

The small heart shaped locket she had given you was in the pile on your bed and it opened to her photo. Smiling, you clasped the chain around your neck and tucked it behind your clean white shirt before leaving the tent. It always made you feel close to her when you squeezed it tightly in your hand.

Boxes were scattered around the uncompleted camp acting as chairs and you couldn’t complain as you took a seat and watched the sun finally slip down below the waterline for the day.

The stew Pearson made had some of what you had helped Charles hunt and to you it tasted divine. Of course, it wasn’t canned corn or poorly shot rabbit, so anything at this point was better than what you had eaten recently. Or maybe it was just your recent burst of happiness that flavored the meal to your liking.

Charles joined you after finishing up with Pearson to get his cooking area established.

“How did you and Arthur get on, YN?” He looked tired and ready to relax as he passed you a bottle of beer, and you clinked yours with his lightly.

“Good, feeling better about being here. More established. I really do want to help out, need to go hunting again anytime soon?”

Charles laughed and took a long drink. “No. Too soon from last time, but I’ll let you know. We don’t want to over hunt and have the animals go to waste. Have you seen the town nearby? Rhodes? I’m not familiar with it.”

You hadn’t. Most of your life was spent in Blackwater with few trips outside, although you had heard of many of the cities out east.

“No. Saw the sign on the way in. We ran into some Laymone Raiders last night though, hope they ain’t too common around here.” Out of habit you scanned the wooded area, but nothing was lurking. All your demons were tucked away quietly for the time being.

“Should be perfectly safe here, like I thought. Good land, clean water right there. I have no worries about this place. Feels good to not worry about folks here for a little while.”

You sighed heavily, tearing the label off your beer bottle. “Well Charles, I guess worryin’ is the price you have to pay when you have folks around that you care for.”

He raised his bottle again to yours, and you watched the lake move peacefully back and forth in a calming rhythm that would soon help you fall asleep at night.

Not a week into being at Clemens Point and Sadie Adler broke.

You were helping Abigail feed the chickens, carrying the bags back and forth to spread the food around their area. The morning had been soft so far with a fog rolling in from the lake. Warm rays of the sun were ready to burn it away as it had every morning previously, the heat already creeping across your shoulders and down your back.

“Say whatever you damn well please but I tell you, if I don’t get outta here soon, I’m gonna kill somebody.”

Abigail froze and you watched Arthur approach the widow as she pointed a sharp knife in Pearson’s direction. You can’t imagine the past five months have been easy on Sadie Adler, but she had hardly started living her life again. Coming to some meals, dressing, and putting in minimal help was all she was good for at Horseshoe Overlook. Of course, none of you blamed her. After the trip to Clemens Point her view seemed to change to be more future oriented and finally emerging out of her shell.

Pearson slammed the pot he was holding down on his wooden table and turned to face Mrs. Adler. “If you don’t stop hissing at me, I’m gonna kill you!” He was brandishing a knife sharpener to counter her weapon but it was doing little good.

“You come near me, sailor...and I will slice you up!”

“You put that knife down or you’re going to be missing a hand, lady.”

Arthur stood back a ways letting the two get things out of their system, but finally stepped in as the two got closer and closer. “What is wrong with you two?”

Sadie slammed the tip of the knife into the table with enough force to make it stand on its own, and replied, “I ain’t chopping vegetables for a living.” She stood with her hands on her hips and her shoulders moved with each breath she took.

“Oh, I’m sorry, madam,” Arthur sauntered over. “Are there not sufficient feathers in your pillow?”

Abigail clucked beside you at Arthur. She obviously sided with Sadie and watched the two go back and forth.

“Look, I ain’t lazy Mr. Morgan. I’ll work but not this. My husband and I, we shared the work. All of it. I was out in the fields, I can hunt, carry a knife or use a gun. But I tell you,” you and Abigail scooted closer to eavesdrop as Sadie’s voice lowered. The two of you didn’t even look like you were trying to do chores at this point. “You keep me here, I’ll skin this fat old coot and serve him for dinner!”

“Watch your damn mouth, you crazy goddamn fishwife!”

With a scream, Sadie threw herself at Pearson. Arthur was standing between the two but she struggled to get away and lay her hands on the camp cook. Pearson walked backwards with his hands up but had no fear of her catching him. Arthur threw Sadie back and put his hands between them.

“Enough! Both of you. Well, come with me then. You wanna head out there? Run with the men? So be it. But we do more than just hunting we’re hunted. And them things hunting us they got guns of their own.”

Sadie replied with a simple but resounding remark. “I ain’t afraid of dying.”

Her eyes showed this was absolutely true. Just because she was happy to be living didn’t mean a change in that plan would upset her by any means.

“Mrs. Marston! Ms. Moore! You two look...well, you look guilty of something. What in the hell are you doing with that chicken feed? It’s everywhere!”

You and Abigail had wandered over to the commotion and not even checked the feed in many minutes. The chickens were well outside their area, but well fed if nothing else on their new path through camp.

“Sorry, Arthur. We wanted to see what all the yelling was about,” Abigail spoke up. “You going into town? I need a few things, can you all grab it for me?”

“You don’t wanna come?”

She shrugged back. “Nah, I’ve got too much around here to do. But YN will go! She won’t say it but she’s antsier than anything to get out of camp for awhile.” She lightly shoved you in Arthur’s direction and took off back towards her tent with the two empty feed bags. When no one else was looking she winked over her shoulder at you.

Arthur checked with Pearson if he needed anything from town but all he had was a letter to be sent and a short grocery list. Both were tucked away into Arthur’s satchel and he directed you two over to the wagon to head out of camp, giving a hand up as the jump was too high in your long skirts. As Sadie was the reason you were leaving camp you let her sit in the front with Arthur, and you took the back with your knees tucked up under your chin. The autumn breeze was heavenly and you closed your eyes as the wagon rolled out.

Sadie and Arthur threw witty quips back and forth, testing the limits of their new bond. She was a smart woman who, now that she actually spoke, was someone you could learn a lot from. The few years Sadie had on you showed instantly. Swearing and shooting were not unfamiliar to her from her old life.

“Dear Aunt Cathy.”

The words pulled you out of your head and back to the preset. You had been admiring some clouds on the horizon, but turned and put your arms over the wood separating you and your companions at Sadie’s voice.

“That what I think it is?” you asked. Arthur looked in your direction and rolled his eyes, knowing he had lost. “Leave that poor fool alone then.”

“No,” you giggled. “Continue on, Mrs. Adler.”

Sadie cleared her throat and made a face that resembled Pearson. “I haven’t heard from you in some time, so I prayed to the Lord above that your health has not deteriorated further…blah, blah, blah, that’s boring. Oh! Listen to this. Since we last corresponded I have traveled widely, making no small name for myself. Before you ask, I am still yet to take a wife but I can assure you it’s not for the lack of suitors!”

The three of you laughed so hard Arthur careened the wagon off the path and narrowly avoided hitting a rock. Wiping tears from her eyes, Sadie flipped the letter over.

“What’s this? Return to Tacitus Kilgore.” Arthur went on to explain how Dutch wanted all of the gang’s mail to be sent to one fake name so they would never lose anything even if they traveled from town to town.

Thinking back on your home of Blackwater, you remembered dust. It was stuck between every brick in the road and then some. Rhodes was an entirely new level.

Before the wagon was even parked the dust permeated you. It was in your hair and on your skin and you hadn’t even moved yet. The beating sun only made it worse, and the lack of rain was obvious from the low levels of water in the buckets situated around town. Arthur parked near the entrance of the town and in the shade of the general store.

“So, what’s the plan, I shoot the shopkeeper while you -”

“No!” Arthur lunged at Sadie and swatted the gun out of her hands. It swung wildly for a moment and you dove down below the sight level in the back of the wagon. “You insane?”

“I thought we was outlaws!”

“Outlaws, not idiots. We rob fools that rob other people. These people, they’re just tryin’ get by.”

Sadie marched off to the grocer clearly disappointed she wasn’t going to be shooting anyone on their adventure. Arthur held his arms up and helped you down, his strong hands grabbing your waist and setting you gently on the ground.

“Jesus, that woman is something else.�� he chuckled and guided you to the main street and off to the post office.

A train was arriving full of visitors who ogled the small town through their clean glass windows. All they saw was a main road with shops, trees, and lots and lots of dust. You could have complained about that damn dust all day long, but you had to keep your mouth shut otherwise half of it would end up in your stomach.

Arthur held the peeling green door to the station open for you to pass first. He wanted to go up to the teller alone so you wouldn't be seen, so you mosied around and admired the paintings up on the walls. Most were amateur and just of green landscapes, but one of the ocean caught your attention and your fingers traced the crashing waves on the small canvas. Seeing the ocean in person had always been a dream of yours. The lake was wonderful, sure, but to see the ocean? In person? You had always imagined how the blue water would stretch as far as you could see, and even further in every direction.

As soon as the letter was posted, Arthur walked over to join you. “You ready?” You nodded and followed him back outside, admiring the small garden of grass that surrounded a bell with a plaque laid down. You wondered what it commemorated but didn’t have time to stop, so you mentally added it to the list of things you wanted to see again.

No one was by the wagon so you continued down through the street. A butchers shop, a gunsmith, a saloon, and a few various other shops and buildings made up the whole area.

“Makes you feel like civilization ain’t out here yet. Blackwater was hell, but at least they knew how to pave a road.” The disdain in your voice was obvious and Arthur turned mockingly towards you.

“Why, Ms. Moore! You are a true city slicker. Talking about civilization and roads, makes it sound like you was born in an ivory tower with servants and butlers.”

A laugh burst from your chest at his sarcasm. “An ivory tower! That’s what you think of me. All I wish for was a little but less dust…” as you spoke you shook out your green skirt and a wave of that wretched stuff came off.

“Oh. I thought that was blue.” You didn’t answer him but stared daggers instead, making sure he got the message.

“Nah, I know you ain’t some uppity princess. Just takes awhile to learn how to fit in anywhere like we do, I guess. It’s been, what, five? Six months now? You’re doing just fine, Ms. Moore. I’ve been running with these fools for nearly twenty years, so I figure I can teach you a few things. Just takes time is all.” He smiled down at you, and your heart warmed in your chest.

He may be an outlaw, but something about Arthur Morgan had captured your attention over the past few months. There were rough edges to him, but that wasn’t it. More often than not his blue eyes were crinkling into some sort of a smile,whether sarcastic or serious, and he had a deep, rumbling laugh that was infectious to those in camp. You had seen him turn on a dime into someone ruthless and wild and be completely different if he needed to, but it was never aimed at anyone he cared about. And he was always writing in that journal of his which you would have given just about anything to peek into. The writer had attracted the reader, how poetic.

Someone was barking orders by the wagon and Arthur was suddenly on edge. The two of you neared, and saw Sadie berating the poor delivery boy as he loaded the crates into the back.

“Jesus, kid! My grandma has more strength than you! Lift up them crates.”

A new woman stood before you. Now in a bright yellow top, dark brown pants, suspenders, and a leather gun belt topped with a wide brim hat, Sadie had come into her own. The few minutes you left her alone had allowed her to blossom. And she looked damn fine.

Arthur whistled and walked around as Sadie showed off her new threads. “Damn, Sadie! Who woulda thought.”

“Here, YN. I grabbed you a few things as well.” She handed you a package and you stowed it on the wagon. The heat was enough now that you twisted your long hair up into a bun and used your hand to fan yourself.

“Any chance there’s a new hat in there, Mrs. Adler? I’m dying in this heat.”

Sadie nodded and motioned back towards the wagon. Arthur was impatiently already seated in the front and you climbed in the back again, eagerly ripping into your present.

The first item was blue, your blue. The shade that you wore all the time and loved, and it turned out to be a beautiful long skirt. Luckily the material was light so you could wear it often in the heat. Next Sadie had gotten you a few practical shirts, a bandanna, and at the bottom was your hat. It was more fashion oriented than hers with a rounded dome versus her flat one, but you could have cared less. It was a blessed relief to not have the sun on your face and Sadie flashed a full smile as you put it on and modeled for her.

Mrs. Adler drove the wagon home. It wasn’t as rushed as when Arthur drove for she constantly got distracted by things on the side of the road. She pointed out interesting people and funny buildings to you while Arthur lounged in his seat with his feet up.

They chatted easily, and it was the first time Mrs. Adler had really opened up. She actually joked about what happened in Colter with the O’Driscolls, and Arthur apologized and offered to find her a new harmonica to replace one she had lost years ago. It was clear you both had the same idea of what you wanted in this gang; to be equal. There was certainly differences between you and how you approached it, but it didn’t mean that people should take either of you any less seriously.

As the wagon rolled on, you laid your head on crossed arms and watched the scenery go by. Wild flowers were sprinkled across the fields clouds dotted the bright blue sky. It couldn’t have been a more beautiful country day if it tried.

A man rode up right next to you and hollered, startling all three of you. “Hey there! What are you folks up to?” He eyed the groceries in the back of the wagon, and gave you a one over that made your insides curl. Arthur sat at attention and you were suddenly aware that your guns were all back at camp.

Sadie called back, “Just heading home. Day in town leaves folks real tired.” She casually moved her inside hand to her hip where her new holster sat.

“You’re in Lemoyne Raider country. You need to pay a toll to pass through here.” The horses kept pace with the wagon and your heart started to beat faster.

Arthur called back lazily, ‘’No. I don’t think so. We ain’t pulling over for nobody.”

Sadie reached across to address the main Lemoyne Raider with the business end of her gun. “Hey! How’s about this?” And fired right into his belly.

Arthur reached back and shoved you down as he fired his pistol at the other rider, narrowly missing him as he leaned forward and galloped his horse. The wagon plowed forward across railroad tracks and Sadie grabbed the reins again, yelling at the horses to keep moving as fast as they could.

More riders approached from all sides. “Give me a gun!” Panic laced your voice, and Arthur began to protest but Sadie had no hesitation as she tossed you her rifle. The wagon was gaining speed again and rocking more but you steadied yourself against the boxes and took aim.

“There must be at least four back here!”

After one round, you knew where to aim. The gun felt heavy in your hands but it was a fight or flight response, and damn did you want to fight. Three riders fell as you shot them down, trying not to think too much about it, and you missed as the fourth finally raised his shotgun at you. His shot landed close, but struck the wall of the wagon.

You laughed maniacally and Sadie whooped in encouragement. Arthur had eliminated the riders ahead and swung himself into the back of the wagon to assist you.

“Where’d they all go?” He whipped around confused after hearing you yell.

“Only a few left. Got the other ones with Sadie’s rifle.” He looked over at you impressed, pride showing on his features. Then aimed and the last two riders were dead before they even hit the ground.

After a good few minutes of riding on, Sadie felt safe enough to pull the wagon over to the side of the road.

You put your hands on your knees to catch your breath while Sadie checked the supplies to see if anything had fallen off.

“Told you I could shoot a gun, Arthur.” He stood above you, eyes scanning the horizon to make sure you weren’t followed.

He chuckled lightly. “I don’t remember asking you to prove it, Ms. Moore. You alright there?”

“‘Course. Just the heat and all that excitement. This new hat is wonderful Sadie!” She waved back as you hollered over to her at the wagon.

“You’ve, uh, you’ve got something…” you reached up to Arthur’s face as you noticed the dirt on his cheek, gently wiping it away with the pad of your thumb. He didn’t flinch at the contact this time and it almost seemed like he leaned into your touch. You smiled up at him and let your hand fall back.

“You two ready or what?” Sadie was already at the reins, ready to leave. You pulled yourself up to the back of the wagon as Arthur climbed to the bench and directed the way back to Clemens Point.

“That’s a lot of mess to make near camp. Hope it don’t bring anyone sniffing around.” Arthur shifted in his seat, and the lake finally came into view.

You could see Charles on guard duty and decided to keep him company, so the pair let you jump off and you waved as they rode the rest of the way into camp.

“Don’t go ribbing Pearson about that letter, Sadie.”

“How dare you? I wouldn't dream of it. ‘I have traveled widely making no small name of myself…’” Arthur and Sadie rolled out of view as you approached Charles.

A wide smile and a handful of candies met you. You took the one happily, throwing the mint flavored snack into your mouth.

“Rhodes is just as awful as we feared, Charles. No hope of salvation anywhere!” He stared at your dramatics while you fanned yourself with the new hat from Sadie.

“How is Mrs. Adler?” He asked kindly.

“Better. I think. She seems to be moving in a new direction that’s good for her. Nearly killed us all, but saved our skins as well. I think she’s a complicated woman.”

Charles laughed at this. “Aren’t you all? Complicated, that is?”

You leaned back against a tree and answered, “Only in you don’t speak the language, Charles. Only if you don’t bother to try.”

#the price to be paid #price to be paid #chapter 10 #this was so much fun #red dead redemption 2 #red dead fanfic #red dead redemption #rdr2 #reader fanfic #fanfic #arthur morgan #arthur x reader #arthur morgan x reader #sadie adler #Charles Smith

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chimchiminiekookie · 6 years

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To All the Boys I've Loved Before | 1

Summary: Whenever you have a crush so intense, you write him a love letter, you pour your heart and soul onto that letter as if he'd never ever read it. Because he never does. You've never sent out the letters you've written, every handwritten word filled to the brim with you deepest desires and feeling for the person. They're your most sacred possessions... except the letters are out.

Pariring: Jungkook x reader

Word count: 7,008

Author's note: I'll update the summary and note and word count, I just need a little time, I'm deadass tired. My eyes are literally closing as I type. Alright! So i really love the book series and the movie just pushed me further to get this written. I'm just on an inspiratio binge right now. Lol. Hope you guys love it!

_______________________

When you were younger, you had a habit of collecting. Most people liked collecting rocks, or stamps, and in your little sister’s case, they collected strangely shaped crunchy leaves during the fall season. You weren’t like most people though. You liked to collect memories, and sketches of faces of people who inspired you, you collected strange cookie cutter shapes like one in the shape of a nose. It wasn’t until you were 9 when you decided to start saving the important things instead of collecting a lot of different types of a single object. Now, most people saved whales, the environment (yes to zero waste!), and even people, but that wasn’t you. You liked to save small bells, small glass objects like rabbits or hats, ribbons, and most importantly, love letters.

When you were 8, your mom gave you a teal hatbox, not too small, but not that big either, just the perfect size to put love letters in. Not love letters written to you though, you don’t have anything quite like that, you’ve never received one, but you have wrote them. Whenever you have a crush so intense, you write them as a farewell to your feelings, all your hopes, dreams, and desires for that person is fueled into that love letter, you write them as if the ones the letters are addressed to will never read them, because they never will, you never send them out and you never will. Once you finish the letter, it’s as if the feelings are gone, you’re able to go about your day not wondering what they were doing or who they were with, whether they liked to dip fries into ketchup or squirt ketchup all over them.

Every boy you’ve ever seriously liked in the past has one - there are a total of five boys. Chani from Camp Wakanaka, Kookie from middle school, Park Jimin from Model UN, Hoseok from Freshman Homecoming, and -

“Hey there Poppy, where’s Y/N?” your head pops up in the direction of your closed door.

You rush downstairs, just in time to see your big sister Irene and Namjoon holding hands while walking towards the kitchen. Kim Namjoon is your next door neighbor, but he spends almost every waking moment over at your house. Everyone in this house loves him, your dad who is a gynecologist has been surrounded by girls his whole life, which is why your dad loves him like a long lost son, your youngest sister Poppy, who everyone calls Pop loves him, especially when they play uno, and Namjoon lets her win all she wants without ever getting bored like Irene and I. For your older sister Irene? Well she loves him because everyone at home loves him, especially for that reason.

Everyone sits around the dinner table, as Namjoon passes your spot to get to his directly across from you, he ruffles your hair like a big brother would do to a little sister and gives you a fist bump, your dad who’s made another Korean Delicacy is already trying to saw through the charcoaled ribs. You and your sisters call your dad’s Korean food delicacies because they were just that. You’d never be able to find food quite like that, even in Korea, although you also wouldn’t be able to digest it correctly either.

Irene, ever the competent one, silently stands up to collect the tray and brings it to the kitchen where she fires up the electric knife.

Pop groans, “Ugh, I can’t believe we won’t see her until Thanksgiving.” she pouts.

“Which is why you should do the dishes tonight instead of Rere.” Rere is what you called Irene, pronounced like the singer, “So she doesn’t have to stay up tonight and she can finish all her packing and be ready early tomorrow morning for her flight.”

Pop rolls her eyes at you, “I said I couldn’t believe it, not that I want her to be on time tomorrow.” she takes a sip of her water, “And besides, the only reason I said that was because she’s not gonna be around anymore to give me rides to school, so now I’m stuck with you.”

Of course, in this household, your dad and Irene were the ones everyone counted on to drive. Last year, you and Pop would always catch a rude to school with Irene, but now that she’ll be leaving, you have been given the responsibility to drive Pop to school, and you were a terrible driver.

“Well, you guys could always get a ride with me.” Namjoon offers, “Besides, I’m not going anywhere.” He offers you a wink and you can’t help but smile.

“What I miss?” Irene comes strolling in, tray of cut up pork ribs in her hands and saying that she looks like the perfect stay at home mom would be an understatement, but that isn’t Irene.

Poppy giggles deviously, “We were just talking about how much of a bad driver Y/N is.”

“But we were also talking about your flight and how you won’t be coming home for Thanksgiving this year, so…” He holds up his index finger in anticipation as he dug around his pocket for a folded up piece of paper, handing it over to Irene, “I thought I’d bring a little piece of home to you.” his face and smile is bright, waiting for Irene to run over and hug him, but that never happens.

You look over at Irene who stopped putting pork ribs on your plate, “You already booked the ticket?” her face is dowbcast, her eyebrows knit together and her mouth a thin line, Irene was not happy.

Namjoon’s smile dissipates in realization, “ W-well yeah. I’ve had my google alerts set on for flights to Scotland ever since you decided you’d go to university there.”

The room is tense, so tense, that not even your dad is smiling, just looking between Irene and Namjoon because he’d never know who to side with on this one, and then just when you’re about to excuse yourself to your room to give the two their privacy, Poppy speaks up, “Mmmm, just like how mom used to make.” she gives a fake smile and scrunches her nose slightly, not even trying to make us believe that she’s telling the truth.

You sat at your desk which was propped against the window, and while you had your glue gun in your hand to continue on your scrapbook for Irene, you look past the window right at Irene and Namjoon as they bickered intensely, Irene was mad that Namjoon caught her blandished and embarrassed her in front of the family, while Namjoon was mad because Irene didn’t even seem the least bit happy about his surprise for her. Then that was it. You decide to close your curtain because this was none of your business, it felt intimate, something Irene’s little sisters shouldn’t be seeing, so instead, you go downstairs to bake some snickerdoodles for Irene to bring onto the plane tomorrow.

Whale rolling the dough into small balls in the palm of your hand, Irene comes in, silently closing the door behind her no Namjoon in sight. She sits at the island and starts typing on her already opened laptop. You two continue like that, you silently baking, and her silently typing.

“I broke up with Namjoon.”

The cookie dough ball falls right off your palm as your eyes widen and your mouth is agape, “What?! Wait, what? How? Why? When? Seriously?”

Her voice is straight, steady, not even a quiver of sadness, “It was time.” she shrugs, “Mommy always told me never to go to college with a boyfriend.”

She looked fine, not even a trace of a single tear, no, because that wasn’t Irene. Irene was always fine, she never cried and she always remained calm, and even when she wasn’t fine, she was.

You grab the ball of dough that fell in the sugar bowl earlier, “Well, I don’t see the point, Rere.”

She stops typing on her laptop to look at you, “The point is, Y/N. I’m going to a university thousands of miles away, keeping a relationship with him just isn’t practical. 95% of long distance relationships don’t last, I was just saving him future heartbreak.”

Ah, yes. This was a hundred percent Irene, always thinking with her head and never her heart, “Won’t work out? You can’t be serious, this is Namjoon we’re talking about, there is not a single guy out there who has ever loved a girl as much as he’s loved you.”

She rolls her eyes at that, but it was true, Namjoon loved Irene like no boy has ever loved a girl, in his eyes, there was only Irene, nobody else.

She shuts her laptop, already looking like she’s going to lecture me, “Mommy always said not to have a boyfriend in entering college because she never wants us to be the type of girls who cried to their boyfriends on the phone and say no to things and experiences instead of yes.”

She really thinks Namjoon will hold her back? Looking at Irene now, Was Scotland the first yes? To throw away a two year relationship because she was afraid that saying no to Scotland would be one of her biggest regrets? Were we also sacrifices she had to make for her dreams?

You walk over to sit next to Irene, “It’s just my two cents, but I don’t think Namjoon would ever hold you back. I remember when you ran for student body president and even though Namjoon wanted to run, he supported you throughout and was even here at god knows what time just to make your posters. He’s always supported you, Rere.” You look over at the clock, “If you hurry, it’s still not too late to go over there and take back what you said. I’m a hundred percent sure Namjoon would gladly get back together with you.”

Irene shakes her head, “It’s been done, Y/N. I’ve already decided.” If there’s one thing I know about Irene, it’s that when she makes her mind up about something, that’s it. She never changes her mind.

When you’ve finished up in the kitchen and Irene’s gone to bed, you climb up to your room, you grab your teal hatbox and set it on your desk, you look over at Namjoon’s house, his light was still on. You take the top off of the teal hatbox, the letters were neatly on top of each other from oldest going up, your latest love letter on the top most of the small stack all of them neatly tied together with a silver fabric ribbon that goes beautifully with your teal hatbox, you found it at a yard sale tied to a teddy bear that you gave to Poppy.

In your neat cursive handwriting is ‘Kim Namjoon’ along with his address and zip code below, this Kim Namjoon is the same one next door who was still up trying to make sense of what just happened, he is Irene’s Namjoon, but before that, he was your Namjoon. You smile sadly at the letter just before putting it back in the hatbox and putting the hatbox away on your topmost shelf in your closet. Absolutely nobody knew about your letters, they were your most private and sacred possessions.

___________

“Y/N, hurry up! I have to be at the airport three hours before my flight!” Irene’s obviously already prepared, without a beat.

Meanwhile, you’ve been debating on whether you should wear sunglasses or not for at least 10 minutes, you decide to bring them anyway, and just not wear them if you decide against it.

“Three hours? Honey, I think it’s supposed to be two. What are you gonna do there for three hours?” Your dad loads Irene’s suitcases in the trunk.

You look over at Namjoon’s house, just as Irene gets in, you see him sitting on his car’s opened hood, that pained expression on his face, his eyes red and swollen, he’d been crying over your sister. When you were growing up, Irene always had a Philosophy, if something no longer useful, you either donate it, recycle it, or throw it away. Looking at Namjoon now, you always knew that’s how Irene felt about objects… but you knew thought that she’d feel that way about a person.

At the airport, Irene’s giving her last goodbye hugs, strictly no tears, because Irene hates emotional goodbyes.

She pouts cutely at Poppy, “C’mere kid.” she opens her arms to Pop who’s already in her arms.

She looks over to you, the one standing the farthest away, and opens her arms silently, you want to be mad at Irene, to pick a University thousands of miles away, to leave you all behind, but you don’t think you could handle becoming the no that your mother warned her about, so you walk into her arms, as she gives you an extra tight squeeze.

“Gonna be okay?” she mumbles into your shoulder.

You break apart first, sticking your hands in your pockets, “Did you really have to pick the farthest college you could think of?”

She places her hand on your cheek, slowly caressing it, “You know I’m just a skype call away if you guys need me, Y/N.”

You stare down at your boots, “Yeah, maybe, until you start going to pubs and hanging out with Scottish University students and eating- ugh, Haggis and then you’ve already forgotten about us.”

She give you a tiny smile, a very Irene smile, “Y/N, I can promise you on my grave that I would never ever eat Haggis.” she makes a disgusted face, “You’re in charge now, alright? You the biggest sister now, you need to set a good example for Poppy alright? Also, don’t forget to clean your room when you get home.”

Your dad and Poppy come back with a small stack of magazines, something you already know Irene wouldn’t read. Knowing her, she’s already packed her favorite series of books for reading on the plane. You all give Irene one lads group hug, before she’s squirming from underneath your small hugging pile.

“Alright, I gotta go.” she grins at the three of you, looking the happiest she’s been in a long while, “See you on Christmas!” she blows kisses to everyone and then all the three of you see is her back.

You put your arm around Pop’s shoulders, “Think she’ll turn around, Y/N?”

You shake your head no quietly, “Nah, that’s not Irene.” you wish you were wrong, but you weren’t. Things with Irene were always definite, no turn backs, no looking behind, and this was one of those moments.

The moment between you three was a tender one, at least until Poppy goes, “Can we have a dog now?” and your dad is in stitches laughing at the great attempt to take advantage of the situation.

For the next week, all you do is scrapbook, try to clean your room, and lay around. No sign of Namjoon at all since he and Irene broke up, and all too soon, it’s already the morning of your first day of class.

You wait outside in front of your house holding up small rectangular chalkboards with your grade number on it, you with a Grade 11 board and Poppy with a Grade 6 board. You dad holds up his phone, and he instantly notices how difficult you were being. Honestly it was because of the thought that you were going to be driving.

He puts the phone down, “Come on, Y/N. It’ll only rake a second, I’m gonna send this to Irene.”

You sigh before giving him a smile, with Poppy next to you, smiling brightly while yelling, “Cheese!”

He puts the phone down after taking a few shots, “I can’t believe it.” He shakes his head fondly, “6th grade and Junior year.”

You put the chalkboard down, “Alright, ready to go?” you turn towards Poppy.

She looks at you, and then to the keys in your hands before she jumps in realization, “Wait just one sec!” she pushes her chalkboard in your hands before rushing inside and coming back outside equally as fast except this time, she had a pink sparkly helmet on.

You dad takes the chalkboard from you hands, getting in his car, “You guys look great! Drive safe alright? I gotta get going. I love you guys!”

You hold a small hand up quietly as a good bye and you turn towards Poppy, frowning, “Very funny.”

She looks at you while adjusting the straps, “Very necessary.” she states in a matter of factly tone.

________

You walk through the hallway, passing by Namjoon’s locker right as he’s unloading his books, your eyes meet, and then he gives you a slight wave that you return while walking backwards, slamming straight into someone’s locker, shutting the metallic door.

“Ow!”

You instantly straighten yourself out, you knew that voice, “Oh my God! Tzuyu!”

She turns to you, eyes wide, already angry and she speaks through gritted teeth, “Excuse you.”

“I-I’m so sorry.” You shake your head, “I was- I wasn’t paying attention.”

She folds her arms across her chest, voice dripping with disgust, “Oh. It’s you.”

Tzuyu. This is Tzuyu, you two used to be best friends, playing together all summer, and her sleeping over at your house for weeks, sharing secrets and telling each other your crushes, but after middle school with reasons having to do with her becoming popular and your lack thereof you two were now decidedly not. Tzuyu was beautiful, most girls in high school are pretty, but Tzuyu’s level of prettiness was top notch even up against college girls, much so that when you asked Namjoon who he thought was the prettiest girl was for each grade level during your freshman year, he picked Tzuyu out of all the Freshman girls, including you.

She stares at you up and down, “Cute boots.” she gives you a smile oozing with plasticity, “Gonna go around stomping on cockroaches with those? I’ll be sure to call you if I find a cockroach in the girls bathroom later.”

Your voice is stuck in your throat, you were always prepared for Tzuyu, but not this time this time around you didn’t even expect to see her on the first day, much less have a confrontation with her. You head starts to lower when an arm finds it way draped around your shoulders.

“And they’re the bomb! Those are definitely hard to pull off, and you, Y/N are definitely pulling them off.” She looks down at Tzuyu’s stiletto clad feet, “Can’t wait to see you in P.E running in those… eye pokers, cous.”

Lalisa. Lisa, Tzuyu’s cousin, your best friend. Practically your only friend, she had a habit of disappearing and sneaking out, usually to go dancing, Lisa loved to dance, but her mom hates it when Lisa does so, saying she’d never have a solid career through dancing. You loved it when Lisa dances though, she looks like a wood nymph in your eyes whenever she dances.

Tzuyu’s eyes fire up, already pissed at seeing her cousin this early in the morning, Lisa’s hatred for Tzuyu was completely mutual, “Oh screw you, Lalisa, at least I don’t hook up with a different guy every other night.”

Ah, yes. Lisa does have that reputation. She never comments on it, but you’ve known her and been with her long enough to know that these rumors were absolutely true. But that’s part of the reason why you two get along so much, you never say anything about it because you didn’t need to, even if that’s how she is, you’ve always accepted her, and all without her needing to say anything.

A voice calls out from the students passing by, “Babe.” and then in front of you, the golden boy himself Jungkook embraces Tzuyu from behind.

Tzuyu never takes her eyes off of you, “oh, hi~” her voice is sing song, taunting that you don’t have what she does, Jeon Jungkook.

She grabs onto his arm draped across her chest that connects with the hand he has on his bicep, “How are you?”

You see the way Jungkook looks at Tzuyu, nothing but affection, but even he can’t be blind at how much of a bitch his girlfriend is.

“I’m good, how are you?” Seeing Tzuyu like this, it made you sick, not in the jealous type of way, much the sickly sweet type of way. Ugh.

He raises his eyebrows, “I’m good.” He turns his sight from Tzuyu to you and Lisa, and gives you a tiny nod.

If you think of your letters in your teal hatbox, second to the bottom of your small stack of letters is for Kookie. This is him now, Jeon Jungkook, golden boy, but back the in middle school, he was just plain old Kookie. By eighth grade, he was finally allowed to play in the soccer club at school and ever since then he’s never been called Kookie, he was either, Jungkook, Kook, J.K., or Jeon, eighth grade was also the year Tzuyu and him started going out.

“I was just asking Y/N here to be a dear and put her boots to good use and squash some stupid cockroaches.” Jungkook’s mouth falls into a thin line, unable to say anything.

You give the couple a practically murderous close mouth smile, afraid that if you open your mouth in anyway, you’d just say something you regret and you exchange a look, the look, with Lisa. She gives you the same one, yeah. She understand completely.

“I see someone we need to say hi to…” she looks over a you and rolls her eyes, “Bye.” and the she’s off.

She didn’t. But that was her way of showing you how much of an outcast you were, she was someone important who needed to say hi to people, and you were nothing. It worked. Jungkook clears his throat.

“She’s on this new no caffeine diet. I think that’s just withdrawal kicking in.” he laughs awkwardly.

You smile at Jungkook, “Are you sure she’s not just psychotic?”

Lisa snorts a laugh, “Yeah or maybe she’s possessed, you know Kook, it you want, I know an exorcist. I’ll send you the number later.” she gives him a cheeky wink.

Come lunch time, you are stuck standing in the middle of the cafeteria. You know, you know. This is a high school cliché, but it’s real. There was no place for you here. The only ones who ate in the cafeteria are the popular kids and groups of friends, and that includes Jungkook with his soccer buddies and Tzuyu’s snotty group of friends, all you had was Lisa, and even then, she’s already ditched you to grab a bite at Subway.

It takes you half of the lunch period to find a place to quietly eat your carrots, and even the you’re unsure if you could go there just because that spot was sacred. It was Namjoon’s and your spot and when Namjoon and Irene got together, it became Namjoon’s, Irene’s, and your lunch spot. You half expect Namjoon to eat somewhere else, like his Comic Club or his movie club room but he’s here with an open bag of chips next to him, and an earphone popped into one ear while he reads Paulo Coelho. You approach him slowly, easily, he looks up, he looks kind of taken aback at your hidden presence, but he puts his earphones away nonetheless.

He gives you a small sad smile, “Hey.”

You inch closer to the bleachers, “This seat taken?”

He scoots just the tiniest bit to his right, “Yeah, well, by you I mean.”

You plop down next to him, it all feels awkward and you’re about to speak up on it, when he lifts his head.

“Sorry.” He places his bookmark in his book, “I gotta ask… Did you know? Like did Ire- Did she tell you she was gonna do it?”

You notice his voice cracks just the tiniest bit at the mention of Irene’s name so he corrects himself and refers to her as ‘she’

He kicks some invisible dust on the ground, “I just- I don’t know. I figured you guys talked about everything, right? So…”

You could hear the pain in his voice. No matter how calm he remained, you could hear the quiver, the nerves he had to go through to ask just this one simple harmless little question. You shake your head, “No, she didn't tell me about this.”

He sighs, looking at the ground and shaking his head, “But, like, we’re still good right?” This makes you smile, “We can still talk, and I can still come over for dinner.”

“Of course you can Namjoon, my dad would probably ball his eyes out if he didn’t see you at least once or twice a week.” you laugh.

He looks back at you, “Heh. Yeah, I guess you’re right. I guess, I just don’t wanna lose you too.”

That’s when you smile disappears, because hearing, ‘I don’t want to lose you.’ and ‘I don’t want to lose you too’ are two largely different statements. One meant he didn’t want to lose you, he couldn’t handling losing you alone, but the other meant he couldn’t lose you and your sister, your sister especially, you were still only second to Irene.

“We’re still cool Namjoon, but I refuse to become a child of divorce from this breakup.” you giggle, opening your bag of carrots, “Want a carrot?”

He nods slowly finally putting the closed book in his hands down beside him, “Yeah, alright, Give me the carrot.” He offers you an earbud, the other already placed on his ear as the two of you munched on carrots.

This may seem like it looks strange, but it was real, it was genuine, the two of you were okay, maybe even better than okay, and whatever feelings you had for Namjoon? Well, that’s the one thing you’d never in a million years do to Irene.

__________

Poppy takes off her helmet upon getting off the car and inside the house, “Y/N, are we having scrambled eggs again for dinner?” she rolls her eyes.

You gulp, one of the things you were avoiding was grocery shopping just because you were still scared of driving, but even you had to admit that eating scrambled eggs for dinner was terrible and frankly? It was very unhealthy, “No, I’ll go get groceries, just do your homework and if anyone knocks, look who it is first before you open the door.” you put your backpack down on the sofa and grab your wallet and keys.

The trip to the grocery store is a nightmare, but you do manage to get there without a scratch, that is enough to put you at ease, enough to have you making different turns at shortcuts that would normally put you off because knew you wouldn’t be able to recognize these street signs and the only thing that would help you get home are the landmarks you pass by, like that doggy playground, when you passed by that, you were still in the middle, not too far from home, but not too close either, probably a ten minute drive, or a twenty minute walk. The moment you see the playground, you are absolutely ecstatic, you grin from ear to ear, unknowingly running a stop sign and just as fast as you got excited over the dog park, you were shell shocked at the sudden impact from a car that crashes straight into the side of your car. You stay in your car, hands and knees shaking, afraid. The other driver pulls over, gets out of his car and knocks on your window. Slowly you roll then down.

“Kid, running a stop sign is dangerous-” he begins his lecture but the moment he sees the tears already welling up in your eyes, he sighs, “Look, my car’s fine, I won’t be able to help you with your car, but if you want I can give you a ride home.”

You quickly shake your head, “No! It’s-it’s fine, I’ll just call my neighbor. Thank you though.” If Irene were here, she’d tell you to never trust strangers and never get in a car with them, but then again, jf Irene was here, you wouldn’t even need to drive in the first place. He gets back in his car and drives off as you stand next to your car, what would your dad think, what would he say? What would Irene say? Oh God, she’ll be so disappointed.

A minute passes before you decide to call Namjoon, on the second ring he answers, and you can’t help but cry.

“Hello? Y/N? What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

You sniffle and try to sound as clearly as possible, “Namjoon? C-c-could you come get me? I’m here at that dog park, I just got in a car-car accident.” you try to choke back the tears.

You hear the intake of breath he makes when you mention ‘car accident’, “Shit, where are you? I’ll come get you.”

You look around, not seeing any street signs, “I-I-I’m by this dog park-”

“That’s like twenty minutes away.” he sighs, “Alright, I’m on my way I’ll have to walk though, so I can drive your car home.”

You sniffle, “Yeah, that’s fine.”

He pauses for a moment, “Want me to stay on the phone while you wait?”

You shake your head before realizing that he couldn’t see you, “No, no, no. It’s okay. I’ll manage. See you in a bit.” you hang up first, because knowing Kim Namjoon, he’d never let you wait by the roadside for him without any company.

A few minutes tick by before you decide to sit on the curb with you head bowed on your knees.

“Y/L/N? Hey. You good?”

You look up. to find Jeon Jungkook, his left elbow placed on his opened window and his right hand on the wheel.

You blink a few times at him, “Yeah, I’m good.” with a tear stained face, you know it looked far from the truth, but what would you expect Jungkook to do about it? You make a hand motion to get him to go on his way and he rolls up the tinted window of his Audi, and goes off, except he only goes forward a few feet and parks his car right in front of yours and gets out of the car, sitting on the curb with you.

“It looks pretty bad.” He takes a look at the dent on the side of the car, is the other driver okay?”

You put your head back on your knees, turning your head to look at him, “No, his car was completely fine.”

He goes back and sits next to you, and places his head on his knees as well, staring back at you, “So, how long have you been crying?”

You quickly wipe at your cheeks with the sleeves of you shirt, “I-I wasn’t crying. You don’t have to keep me company here, you know.”

He looks up, as if he were thinking of something, “Yeah, I know, but I can’t leave you here either.”

This is one of Jeon Jungkook’s charms. Everybody loves him, everybody. Even back in middle school when you, Tzuyu, Jungkook, and Jimin hung out together, he was still the best among everyone there. Of all the boys you had gone to middle school with, Jungkook was the first to grow taller, he was always optimistic, and had this boyish charm about him that he still had to this day.

His phone makes a sound and automatically he unlocks it to find numerous texts from Tzuyu, “You should get going. Tzuyu’ll get mad if you’re late.”

He stands upright, “You good here though, right? You already feel better?”

You nod your head, “Yeah. Thanks for keeping me company, that was really nice of you.”

The grin on Jungkook’s face is unmatched, Jungkook loves positive reinforcement, “See you around, Ace.” and then he’s off.

You smile at the nickname. He gave you that nickname back in the 7th grade when you were able to get all straight A’s even though Mrs. Bae’s Biology was one of the hardest classes to pass and almost everybody got a C or lower, except you.

“Hey.”

You look up and relief washes over you, “Namjoon!”

He gives you a dimpled smile, “Come on, let’s get you home.”

The ride back home is quiet, but not because it’s awkward, but because you were worrying about how you’d tell your dad. You decided that maybe, first telling him not to get mad would be the best choice and then explaining that you aren’t hurt but there’s a huge dent on the car after the accident. That’s probably the one that will make him less angry.

Namjoon chuckles from beside you, “Now that your sister’s broken up with me, you won’t even talk to me?”

You could sense half a truth in his statement, even is he laughs it off like a joke, you don’t answer, but he continues on talking, “You know, me ending up with Irene, surprised me as well.” he shakes his head thinking about it, “Especially since I had a crush on you first.”

You almost gag on air, did he just say he had a crush on me?

He laughs awkwardly, “I mean, when we first moved here, i had a pretty big crush on you, and I even let you borrow my bike, and you were putting on such a show about how you knew how to ride a bike but it turns out you didn’t even know how to use the brakes and when it fell over, you cried so much, and that was the end of my little crush on you.” he laughs, “You looked really ugly when you cried back then.” he teases you.

He pulls to a stop in your driveway, “Want me to come with you to break the news?”

You think back to that whole lecture Irene gave you about being responsible now so you suck it up, and even though you do want Namjoon there just so your dad feels extra happy to see him, you decline, “Nah, I’ll handle it.”

He holds his hands up in surrender, “Whatever you say.” He starts walking away before he looks back, “I’ll come over for dinner tomorrow so tell your dad to make something extra delicious for you guest.” he gives you a wink.

When you break the news to your dad, he isn’t even mad, just relieved that you’re alright, but he does take it to his go to repairman which is at least two to three towns over, that leaves you in charge with Poppy.

So you laze around in the couch, watching 10 Things I Hate About You with Poppy.

“I miss Namjoon.” she sighs.

You shrug, “Yeah, movies don’t feel quite the same without him around, huh?”

Poppy looks over at you, “Yeah! His Heath Ledger impressions are spot on!” she pouts, “By the way, Y/N?”

You sit up, alarmed at the sudden seriousness in Poppy’s voice, “Hm?”

She lays her head in your lap, “Don’t you find it just the ittiest bittiest pathetic that it’s Saturday night, and you’re spending it watching rom coms with your 11 year old sister?”

You brush her hair with your fingers and shrug, “Not at all. I love romcoms and more importantly, I love hanging out with you.”

She lets out a sigh and shuts her eyes, “Alright, well I’m not telling you this to embarrass you or anything, but I’m 11, and I even cancelled a sleepover, to be here tonight, but you’re already 16, and I don’t think you even had anything to do tonight.”

You furrow your eyebrows, “Uh, that is mean, Pop!”

Poppy sits up, shrugging, “The truth hurts, Y/N.”

Come end of the movie, you’ve already fallen fast asleep right after Heath’s big number for Kat.

__________

You run track with Lisa, you’d think her long legs meant that she’d be great at this but you’ve only just started and she’s already wheezing and coughing, but she catches up to you nonetheless probably also because you did slow down just for her sake.

“So… what did… you do last night?” she has to take breaths in between to keep from wheezing anymore than what she was even when she wasn’t talking.

“I watched some movies with Pop.” you shrugs, “James Gordon Levitt is hot.”

She rolls her eyes, “I told you, you should have come with me to that hooping event in the town over, I even got to become a hula hoop girl and everything!” she begins to lag behind you again, “And just so we’re clear, Heath Ledger is hottie in that movie.”

“Hey!” you look behind to find Jungkook already running towards the two of you, “Hey, can I talk to you?”

You look at him incredulously, “Me?”

He nods slowly, “Yeah.”

Lisa takes advantage of the situation so she can stop running, “Hey JK, I hear my cousin dumped you for some college hunk, is that true?”

He scoffs and looks away, ego definitely injured, “Yeah, Lisa, I hurt you have horns, is that true as well?”

Lisa laughs out loud, “Of course it is! I mean the devil’s my cousin afterall.” you can’t help but giggle at that one.

“Alright, well I need to talk to Y/N.”

Lisa has her arm over your shoulder, “Alright, go ahead, we’re listening.”

He places his hands on his hips when Lisa doesn’t move, “Alone please?”

Lisa gets the meaning behind the words slowly, but she still saves face, “Oh, yeah, just uh, if you any one of you need me, I’ll be in the nurse’s office, ogling Taeyong over there, running track shirtless.” she shoots you a wink.

You clasp your hands together, “Alright, sorry about Chris.”

He wrings his hands together, thinking of what he needs to say, “Uh, ehem. I just wanted to that that um. Look, I appreciate it, but it’s never gonna happen. I mean I think it’s pretty cool that you think I have golden specks in my eyes, but Tzuyu and I just broke up.” he even shakes his head in emphasis.

You tilt your head in confusion, genuinely confused at what he was going on about, “Excuse me?”

He claps his hands together when he remembers something else, “That also reminds me!” In a quiet voice, Jungkook clarifies “Just so you know, I really don’t have any STDs. I’m perfectly clean.”

Huh? STD’s when have you ever? You stare at him, your mouth wide open in both shock and confusion, “ I don’t remember ever saying you had an STD!”

He maintains the quietness in his voice but he definitely sounded angry, “Also, I don’t always take the last piece of pizza, at least not when I know somebody wants it.”

Everything Jungkook was saying was news to you, you two have barely talked since eighth grade, what do STDs and Pizzas have to do with anything, “Sorry, but what are you talking about?”

He looks frustrated, “That’s what you put. In your letter. You wrote that I’m this egotistical boy who gives girls STDs. Remember?”

Letter? You haven’t written one in a while, much less, one to Jeon Jungkook, “What letter? I don’t recall ever writing you any letter!” Actually, you did, but he doesn’t know that. It couldn’t be that letter because that letter is stashes safely in your teal hatbox at home.

He chuckles butterly, “Yes. You. Did. It was addressed to me, from you. If you’re gonna write me a letter like that, at least remember what you put into it.”

This isn’t happening. This isn’t reality. You must be dreaming. What Jungkook is doing in your dream? You’ll never know, but this can’t possibly be real.

He starts mumbling to himself, “Alright, you don’t remember, hold on.” he fishes around in his pockets before settling on his back pocket and pulling out a classy looking envelope made of specialty paper, your specialty envelopes for letters and whatnot and oh God, he has his letter. You feel lightheaded and before you lose consciousness, you hear Jungkook yell out before it all goes to black.

“Y/N? Y/N. Hey, are you alright? I think you fainted.” Jungkook’s already kneeling next to you, helping you up when you tell him that you were okay.

His eyebrows are furrowed, “Want me to get someone? Anyone? Maybe get you some water or anything?”

You shake your head, “No, no, I’m good. But I will take that back, you yank the letter out of his grasp, and then you get the impulse to look up at the lunch tables near the grass area, and already making his way towards you was Kim Namjoon, blue envelope in his hand and his messenger bag in the other.

Realization hits you, “Oh my God.” you number as you remember every kiss you witness between him and Irene, all the tiny smiles he gave you, you had to do something about this, and the fact that he wasn’t even stopping and has shifted his sight onto you already has you panicking, “Oh my God!”

In that moment, you do what you can. You grab Jungkook by the shoulders and push him towards the ground, kissing him, he’s in shock but he does end up kissing you back, even securing his hands on your back and waist. You pull apart from him when Coach Sand gets your attention, making you run three extra full laps.

You look at Jungkook, his eyes wide and confused, you pat him on the chest, “Thank you.” you manage to say.

He looks at your retreating figure, his letter clenched tightly in your hand, “You’re welcome!”

#Jungkook #kookie #bts #bangtan #jungkook fic #jungkook fsnfic #jimin #namjoon #taehyung #jin #jhope #yoongi #hoseok #jungkook scenario #inspired by to all the boys ive loved before #mixture of both movie and book

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coeurdastronaute · 7 years

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Either/Or: Single II

More SINGL?

Previously on Single

The apartment was decked in all of the holiday spirit. Lights on every surface, sloppy snowflakes cut and taped on the windows, stockings hung with care and construction paper and cotton ball snowmen on the walls. The tree itself was modest in girth, but laden with ornaments, all kinds of handmade, hot glue gunned and glitter bespeckled entities.

The early evening sun set outside, allowing the balcony to glitter in the dark, the multi-color lights coming inside, strung all around, covering the walls. The modest apartment was all greens and reds and golds and blues and filled with possibilities for merriment that the season lent all moments to having.

Even though it was still three days before Christmas, there were already gifts, much to the joy of the four year old.

“Hey! I can hear you touching those presents!” Kara called from her bedroom.

“I was just looking!”

“Looking is done with the eyes.”

With a growl, the little girl crawled away from the tree, once again taking a seat on the couch and staring intently at the gifts that taunted her. Some movie played on the television, though it was not as interesting as what was hidden in those lead lined boxes.

In the background, she listened as her mother finished getting dressed, and she tugged at the collar of the sweater that itched her neck.

“Lena, if you get this, please call me. I think we should talk. Or at least I hope you still want to,” Kara sighed as she walked back through the living room in search of something in the laundry room behind the kitchen. “I miss you. And I’m sorry. I never meant to… I just. I know you need to process and think-- dang.”

“That’s a bad word.”

“I’m sorry,” Kara mumbled, staring at her phone. She gave herself a deep breath before nodding and deciding that was all she could do. “Are you ready for Uncle J’onn’s Christmas party?”

“Maggie said she was going to make those cookies, with the icing but I could put sprinkles on.”

“Oh wow. I didn’t know that,” Kara smiled wide. “And tonight, what movie would you like to watch?”

“The one with the train.”

Little feet hopped up from the couch and followed her mother as she tried to finish getting ready, which was a feat with an inquisitive little one and presents in the same room.

“What about the Grinch?”

“Oh yeah! I want that one too.”

“Too? We should watch more than one?” Kara held her jaw open in mock surprise. “I don’t know… we might have to make popcorn, and then eat some of those extra Christmas cookies. Maybe stay up past bedtime to watch two movies.”

“Can we please, Mommy?” she asked, crawling up on the bed.

Katie liked watching Kara get ready. She liked sitting on her big bed and imagining she’d be big and strong like her. That was a nice thought.

“We’ll see,” she decided. “Let’s get shoes on. Up up, little one.”

In a move, the little girl braced herself before sprinting out of the room in a blink. Kara just smiled to herself and followed at a human pace.

“Hey, hey, not on the couch,” she chided, pulling on her own shoes and grabbing their coats as the door rang out with a knock. “Coat and mittens and hat or else we aren’t going anywhere.”

She wasn’t expecting anyone, and she certainly wasn’t expecting a man in a suit with bags in his hands.

“Hi,” Kara smiled while a little girl ran around behind her, trying to pull on her mittens before her shoes.

“Ms. Danvers?”

“Yes?”

“Ms. Luthor asked me to drop these off for you. She left to spend the holiday vacation abroad, but wanted you to have them.”

“Did she… is she… I mean. She’s okay?” Kara furrowed.

“She’s skiing with friends in the Alps,” he promised. “Happy Holidays.”

A second later, bags were thrust into her hand and Kar took them carefully. Maybe that was why Lena hadn’t answered calls and been too busy for lunch. That would make sense. For a moment, it was a relief.

“Who’s are these for? Me?”

“Hm? Oh. I don’t know. I think…. Do you remember Lena from the bookstore?” Katie nodded. “She must have sent us presents.”

“That’s nice. We can open them now if you want.”

Still in a bit of a whirlwind, Kara closed the door and looked at the items. She suddenly understood how her daughter could be so eager to open things when she didn’t know what was in them.

Kara as a goner for that look her daughter gave her. That, and her own eagerness to know what Lena could have possibly sent her for the holiday. A little box was wrapped on her dresser for the Luthor, though she wasn’t sure she’d have a chance to give it to her.

“Just this one, and we will write Lena a thank you note, right?”

“Right,” she agreed, eagerly tugging off her mittens.

They were going to be late, but neither Danvers cared at all as they settled on the couch. Gently, Kara handed her daughter the bag with her name on it in the precise, tiny letters she recognized as Lena’s.

“I don’t know Lena and she got me presents.”

“She’s nice.”

Katie thought of the words before pulling things from her Christmas bag. Kara had to move quick to snap a picture of the face that came when a tiny stuffed whale emerged. Excitedly, the little girl rubbed the soft against her cheek before digging into the bag again. A stack of children’s books emerged, all with a distinct theme.

“How did she know I love this?” Katie breathed all joy and eagerness. “Can we read right now?”

“We have to go to the party.”

“Tonight?”

“Of course.”

Kara wanted to stop herself, but she couldn’t. Slowly, she pulled the beautiful notebook from her gift bag, followed by the set of pastels and another of pencils. She smiled to herself at the gift before stilling her heart.

“Now you can color more with me!” Katie observed, crawling across the couch to see what her mother got. “Those are nice things.”

“They are,” Kara agreed. “Should we send Lena a picture of how much we like our things?”

“Yes! Here,” her daughter wiggle to the floor and tried to hold all of her books. “Show her how much I love all of my new stories please!”

Beaming, both smiled so big theirs eyes were closed, and Kara snapped a picture before sending it to Lena.

Christmas came early. Thank you so much. We both are very excited and grateful. Can’t wait to give you yours when you get back.

The entirety of the Christmas party, Kara thought about the gifts, and she thought about Lena, wondering if she hadn’t just ruined something good. And she tried not to, but she couldn’t help it, and so she kept checking her phone for a response from the other side of the world. And she would catch herself looking at the picture she sent, and how her little girl was over the moon to have books about whales.

Because of the strict movie schedule they had for the month, they didn’t stay late at the party. It was all adults anyway, and Katie could only stomach so much of being the cute little girl everyone doted on.

Snug in warm jammies, snuggled in her spaceship themed comforter, beneath the fake constellations on the ceiling, Kara laid beside her sleeping daughter on her single bed and inhaled the smell that was just her, all little and quiet and Katie. She listened to the quiet of her breathing and flipped through a few of the books they didn’t make it to, and she watched her daughter tug the little whale a little tighter as she dreamt. She couldn’t imagine being happier than a moment like that, and yet her mind was asking if it were possible.

Quietly, she turned off the light after gathering the books and leaving them on top of the bookshelf.

Once more, Kara checked her phone.

I don’t know if anything cuter has ever existed than the two of you receiving Christmas gifts, Lena messaged sometime between bath and storytime.

Isn’t it like 4 in the morning where you are?

I’m not a great sleeper.

Kara considered her options for a moment. She looked at the blank drawing book on the coffee table with the expensive tools and colors atop it. Her phone hovered over a name for a minute before she gave up and called.

Each ring made her heart stop over again.

“Hey,” Lena whispered.

“Hi,” Kara grinned.

The best time of the day was when the hurricane that was her daughter was somewhat tired. But to get her to that state took an alarming amount of work. Half-Kryptonian, Half-Daxamite and fully charged, she was just a lot. This meant there were days spent running around the park, and days where Kara would take her flying, just to burn off some of the energy that the after lunch nap seemed to recharge. Kara got good at being creative, hoping to exhaust her daughter physically and mentally in new ways as often as possible. Leaving her to her own devices was dangerous. It led to broken furniture and ceilings covered in crayons.

Nearly five years old, and she was too smart. Kara wondered if she was like that as a kid. Twelve thousand questions per day, some nonsensical and impossible to answer, others that just spiraled into deeper, more complex issues. Katie was her favorite thing on the planet. In the universe.

“Blow on it, but blow gently,” Kara warned as she placed hot chocolate on the counter and her daughter knelt on the stool. Gently was a word they were still learning.

“What are marshmallows made of?”

“You know, I’m not sure.”

“Is there a tree? Do they get picked?” she asked, watching the little candies swirling around as she blew on the cocoa. “Grandma has a orange tree where oranges grow and I can pick them. She let me fly up there to get them.”

“I’m almost certain they don’t grow on trees,” Kara smiled and blew on her own.

“Ask your phone where marshmallows come from please?”

With a tug in her pocket, Kara pulled out her phone and they commenced another round of research. Her daughter was attempting to use Google so much that her search history would surely be the amalgamation of the weirdest queries of all time, with such golden moments as “Do dolphins dream?” and “Who invented alarm clocks?” in good company with “Where do marshmallows come from?”

A few videos and a rabbit hole of links later, and Katie hurried into her room to grab her messy notebook she kept adding to with new information.

“So it does grow on trees,” she asked, pushing it toward Kara, so she could write in the facts.

“It was once made using the roots of a plant,” her mom corrected. “Now, it’s just a lot of sugar and junk mixed very fast.”

“Can you write that marshmallows come from roots sometimes?” she asked, sipping her hot cocoa. “And maybe draw one so I can color it.”

“Sure,” Kara grinned, carefully adding the note on the next open page.

Feet kicking in the air from the stool, Katie watched her mom work and draw and write. She furrowed, as she was prone to do, deep in thought about the newest addition to their encyclopedia.

“I still wish they grew on trees,” she decided.

Kara agreed and drank some of her own once she finished jotting. For good measure, she added a mug of cocoa in the drawing.

“Is it Aunt Alex? Can we go sledding now?”

The notification that buzzed the phone wasn’t her sister, but still, Kara opened it eagerly, smiling at the text from Lena.

“Sorry, it’s just a friend of mine. I’ll call though and hopefully we can go soon.”

“Which friend?”

“Lena.”

“Whale lady,” Katie nodded appreciatively, sipping from her mug quite studiously, earning a chuckle from her mother.

Before she replied, Kara stared at her phone and then again at her daughter. The faintest spot of dimple could be seen, even when she wasn’t smiling. Her eyes were bluer than her own, her hair a lighter blonde. A chocolate mustache completed the look of a wintery Sunday. Sometimes, Kara had trouble even believing she existed.

“Hey, can I ask you a question, Katie?”

“But of course,” she nodded, repeating her Uncle J’onn’s favorite line and accent.

“Do you know how your friends in daycare sometimes have mommies and daddies?”

“Yeah, like Becca. Sometimes they both pick her up.”

“Right, exactly,” Kara nodded. “And you know how Mommy and Daddy don’t live together? And that’s okay, too?”

“Yeah, because Daddy is on another planet,” she nodded, matter-of-a-factly.

“Well, yes. But even if he lived here, we wouldn’t live together. Because we aren’t married, and we aren’t together like Becca’s parents are.”

“Because families are all weird. Like ohana. You can be ohana and be a picked family.”

“Yes. Exactly. Becca lives with her mom and dad, and you live with just your mom. Both are normal and good, right?”

“Sometimes I wish Daddy was on this planet,” Katie confessed between sips.

“Sometimes I do too,” Kara agreed with a sad smile. “But I wanted to know if you would mind if Mommy spent time with someone.”

“How much time?”

“I’m not sure.”

“When?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Why?”

“Okay, um,” she ran her hand along her neck awkwardly and tilted her head slightly, searching for an answer. “So before mommies and daddies have babies, they date. Like, do you remember before Alex married Maggie?”

“No.”

“Right, you were two,” Kara sighed and took another drink of hot chocolate. “This would be easier if you remembered.”

“What is dating?” she asked, cocking her head slightly as she licked her lips of cocoa foam.

“It’s when adults get to know each other and see if they want to get married and have babies. Sometimes you get married when you date, and sometimes you don’t.” Kara winced and wondered how so many words could describe such a simple notion. “Like when you go on playdates. It’s just hanging out with someone else. But when you’re a grown up, it’s a little different.”

“Like you and Daddy.”

“Right! We never got married, we just dated,” Kara nodded, leaning forward. “Our family has always just been me and you, and I love that. But I was wondering if you might not like Mommy bringing someone else around.”

“So it won’t be you and me anymore?” she worried, eyes growing wide at the idea of it.

“No, no no. It is always going to be me and you, love. Always and forever. Just maybe we can have another person who hangs out with us sometimes? Like when Lilo adopted Stitch, and then Stitch joined and they had a new ohana. Remember that?”

“Like when Dylan comes over to play?”

“Um, kind of,” Kara nodded, regretting this conversation immensely. “Mommy met someone she likes a lot. Likes like how Aladdin like Jasmine.”

“To do the kissy stuff with?” Katie squinted up her face at the notion.

“Yes.”

“I don’t have to see the kissy stuff do I?”

“No, honey. You don’t. I just wanted to see if it would bother you, to see me kiss someone who wasn’t Daddy.”

“You kissed Daddy?” she yucked.

“Oh man, this is getting out of control.”

Both resigned themselves to their drinks. Both wanted to forget this conversation. Kara wasn’t sure if she’d accomplished anything at all, or if it was all in her head that it would be a problem. Katie was stuck on the kissing part.

“If you want to kiss kiss someone, I think you should,” Katie decided after finishing the last bit of hot chocolate. “Maggie was sad once when she comes home, and Aunt Alex gave her a kiss and then she smiled. If kisses make someone happy, they should get lots of kisses. We need a Stitch.”

“I agree,” Kara smiled warmly.

“Can you write a note about all of this. I should learn what dating is.”

“Um. Yeah, but we can discuss that in a lot more years away from now,” the mother decided, picking up the pen once again.

“Okay,” Katie decided, waiting for Kara to start writing on the page after Marshmallows. She watched her hesitate and contemplate many things. “Mommy, if you have someone to kiss, will you be happy like Maggie?”

Kara looked up at her daughter and relaxed a little at the innocent question that she’d been asking herself in some form or another for weeks.

“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “But I do know that Katie Kisses are my favorites.”

“That’s me.”

“I think it’s time,” Kara sang, her hands going up wide and tall.

“No! No!” she giggled and tried to crawl off of the stool. “Mama no!”

“Oh yes,” Kara roared and stomped around the kitchen with a big smile. “Monster kisses are coming!”

Squeals and giggles could be heard as she chased her daughter to the couch, pinning her there and tickling her ribs while slobbering on her cheeks and neck. Not one thing would matter more than a moment like that.

Something about coming home after a long time was delicious and sad at the same time. Just three weeks, and already the penthouse felt a little less familiar. There was this eerie feeling to stepping into a quiet place that hadn’t seen life in weeks. Everything was the same but felt as if it came from a dream.

Lena placed her purse on the table beside the door and thanked the doorman for helping her with her luggage as she took in a deep breath of her home.

It took a lot of working over in her head. The vacation was needed, and it turned into something better than expected. When Kara called her in the middle of the night, they talked for hours. And it happened again the second night. And it happened again, every night. It took a lot of working over in her head, but Lena could understand the lie, as much as it hurt. It was the getting over it part that was still difficult.

The Christmas decorations were all gone, and the house looked normal, all white and muted hues, all pristine and unlived in. Quietly, Lena stood there, almost afraid to move, suddenly very alone and awkward in her own house.

Despite the late hour, Lena dug for her laptop and decided work was the best distraction from being in the same city as her… as Kara. It was short lived, as she found a Christmas themed present sitting on her kitchen counter.

‘This was delivered to the office. I thought you might like it when you got home. -Jess.’

Lena smiled at the note and picked up the other piece of paper, a large drawing done in crayon with scribbles and not much else to it. At the bottom, in perfect pen and then traced by messy blue crayon, was the name Katie Danvers.

‘I couldn’t find a real bridge for sale, but we went to the museum and saw this and I thought of you. Merry Christmas, Lena, XoXo Kara.’

As quickly as she could remember opening a present in her life, Lena tore into the delicately wrapped box. Gently, she took out the snow globe with the Justice Bridge in it, gallantly connecting East and West Metropolis. Tall buildings were eclipsed by the exaggerated bridge, and Lena shook it a few times, creating a flurry swirling around it.

She looked at the scribbled picture and she looked at the snow globe and shook her head. It wasn’t possible. She couldn’t do… that. She couldn’t… Kids wouldn’t like her. And to be with Kara meant having a kid attached and that was a lot. How could Lena, the childhoodless child who still needed someone to remind her to eat possibly be involved with someone with a kid? Her earliest memories were hiding under the bed from a stepmother and trying to run away. She wasn’t an example that anyone should want around.

To have Kara meant she had to have Katie. And it wasn’t that the little girl wasn’t cute and surely sweet like her mother, but just that Lena, was, in her own opinion, by far the absolute worst person to be around.

The door knocked with the inevitable arrival of the rest of her luggage. She left her laptop on the counter and took the snow globe with her, toying with it and smiling fondly at the reporter she met on accident.

“Thanks, James,” she smiled as she opened the door, still swirling her toy in her hands.

“You were expecting someone else?”

“Kara,” she breathed, looking up instantly.

“Welcome home.”

The luggage arrived as the elevator dinged. Both stepped aside as it rolled into her living room behind them. The entire time, Lena stared at Kara as if she were an alien, as if she couldn’t believe she was real.

There were still snowflakes melting in the gentle waves of her hair. Her cheeks and the tip of her nose had a pinkness to them because of the January tint in the chilly night. Breathlessly, she just stared back at Lena with a lot of words to say and no way to make them come out of her mouth.

“Thank you, James,” Lena nodded as he politely excused himself. “Would you like to come in?”

“You got your present,” Kara nudged her chin as she unwound her scarf. “Thank you for what you sent us. Katie has had me reading Amos and Boris every night. And I’ve… I really enjoy having an excuse to draw again.”

“What did you think of the museum?”

“What?”

The door closed and Kara unzipped her coat. Lena looked back at the snow globe and smiled, cradling it to her stomach.

“The History Museum. I sponsored the Women in History section. Well, LCorp did.”

“We loved it, actually.”

They were left there, not looking and looking at each other. For the eternity, Kara couldn’t remember why she thought coming over was a good idea. But Lena looked very good, and she smelled good, and she’d missed her greatly.

“Kara, I think we--”

“We should talk,” they both rushed.

“You first,” Lena offered.

“I know we’ve talked a lot, but we haven’t talked about… something. I didn’t mean to lie to you. We met, and just… I wouldn’t let myself consider how I’d feel about you.” She wrung her fingers as she explained, hoping to keep them locked up from waving around as she tried to find the right words. “But I have a daughter, and I thought I was happy. I never thought to be unhappy… But I realized I could be happier, if you were around.”

“We’re friends, Kara.”

“I know, but we’re not, you know? You were right. It’s not just you. There’s always… just… this layer to us,” she shook her head and knit her hand in her hair. “I met you and now I can’t stop thinking that there could always be more happiness.”

“I… Do you… Kara, I don’t know anything about kids. I’m not exactly an expert in normal.”

“Neither are we,” Kara chuckled. “I’ve been so nervous to see you, because this is scary. But I think it takes just a little bit of courage and then you move on from there.”

“I like you,” Lena confessed, looking at the bridge and the snow flurrying around in her hands, afraid to meet her eyes when she admitted it. To say it out loud was a violent kind of rebellion.

She swallowed as Kara’s hands held her own, as they moved to her neck and jaw, making her eyes close at the feeling and closeness. When she finally opened them, she sighed at Kara’s smile.

“You walked up to me at a party, and nothing else really matters,” she promised.

“I don’t know. A lot of things matter.”

“Is it the kid thing?” Kara fret. Her hands were still on Lena. She was still close. “Or is it something else.”

“We do have differing opinions of pizza toppings, and honestly that’s what’s holding me up.”

Lena earned a smile. She did everything she could to get Kara to smile and laugh when they talked late into the night. She wasn’t successful as much as she would have liked, but having it in person was a lot.

“I didn’t want to try because I thought something might change,” she whispered. “But I talked to her, and I don’t think she understands, but I think she knows that having the whale lady around makes her mom happy.”

“The… the whale lady?”

“That’s nowhere close to the weirdest thing out of her mouth.”

“Kara, are you going to kiss me anytime soon?” Lena shook her head, disregarding the many questions she had regarding the entire kid thing. Her thoughts were solely on the girl who bought her a bridge.

“I, um,” she swallowed and searched Lena’s face. “I want to, but… if we’re being honest. There’s one more thing I might have to tell you.”

“If you’re married, I’m retiring and moving to Switzerland.”

“Um, no,” Kara laughed awkwardly. “Never married. But my daughter’s father is an alien.”

“Oh.”

“And so am I.”

“Oh.”

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