#Confederate gold

[danieldukeauthor]

Jesse James and the Lost Templar Treasure

Discover the intriguing tale of "Jesse James and the Lost Templar Treasure" as Daniel J. Duke, the great-great-grandson of the notorious outlaw, leads readers on a captivating journey through secret diaries, coded maps, and mysterious connections...

Unveiling History’s Enigma: ‘Jesse James and the Lost Templar Treasure‘ Secret Diaries, Coded Maps, and the Knights of the Golden Circle by Daniel J. Duke Discover the intriguing tale of “Jesse James and the Lost Templar Treasure” as Daniel J. Duke, the great-great-grandson of the notorious outlaw, leads readers on a captivating journey through secret diaries, coded maps, and the mysterious…

[nerdfighterwhatevernumbers]

you can and they have justified literally any scooby doo plot existing just by including scooby because he’s a good dog and Velma burned their one get out of jail free card

[kramlabs]

@lincoln59 give it a chance, covers Kentucky confederate gold

https://scholarworks.uttyler.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?referer=&httpsredir=1&article=1002&context=cw_newstopics

:

[santaclaralocalnews]

The Confederation of North, Central America and Caribbean Association Football (Concacaf) today earlier this month the selection of Levi’s Stadium as one of the host venues for the 2023 Concacaf Gold Cup. The 17th edition of Concacaf’s flagship competition for men’s national teams will be played between June 16 – July 16, 2023 and will crown the best national team in the region....Read more news at svvoice.

[facts-i-just-made-up]

The Only Known Photo of Mary Todd Lincoln

Best known as the wife of Abe Lincoln, Mary Todd’s past as a bandit in the American West prior to her marriage to the president is often hidden away and suppressed to showcase her puritan-approved married life.

Seen here at the Siege of Thunderdome in 1830s Nevada, Mary killed seven sheriffs to steal the fabled gold of John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt with her band of sisters, all of whom were literally her sisters. In the end she proved impossible to catch, so Abe married her to join their empires. She and her siblings proved critical in the civil war, destroying numerous Confederate forts, kidnapping Confederate President Jeff Davidson, and burning the South’s entire supply of gingham fabric.

Though she remained more quiet during Abe’s life, her spirit couldn’t be held down after his assassination, upon which she tackled John Wilkes Booth, ripped out his eyes and testicles, and ate his entire trachea on the spot. They won’t teach this is American History class of course, but the photo shows her true vibrant spirit.

[nanshe-of-nina]

Women’s History Meme || Kick-ass Women (6/10) ↬ Tomyris, Queen of the Massagetae (d. c. 520s BCE)

The nomadic Saka-Scythian groups of Central Asia were less familiar with wine, as we can gather from accounts about Queen Tomyris told by Herodotus, Strabo, and Justin. In the sixth century BC, King Cyrus of Persia invaded the land of the Massagetae, a confederation of Saka-Scythian nomads east of the Caspian Sea. Warlike horse people, like their neighbors the Issedonians, the Massagetae were distinguished by gender equality and the sexual freedom of their women. They sacrificed horses to the Sun. Armored in helmets and wide war belts of brass and gold, they fought with bows, lances, and battle-axes. The ruler of the Massagetae at this time was a powerful woman named Tomyris. Like other Scythian tribes, the Massagetae were milk drinkers unused to wine. This fact was exploited by Cyrus. Retreating aſter losing a battle with Tomyris (ca. 530 BC), he resorted to treachery. According to Herodotus’s account, he set out a fancy banquet with large quantities of wine under his Persian tents and withdrew. The pursuing nomads, led by Tomyris’ son, came upon the abandoned feast. They drank the wine and fell into a stupor. The Persians came back and slaughtered the Massagetae; they captured Tomyris’ son, who killed himself as soon as he regained his senses. Enraged, Tomyris sent a message castigating Cyrus. “Glutton for blood! Your weapon was red wine, which you Persians drink until you are so crazy that shameful words float on the liquor’s fumes. This was the poison you used to destroy my army and my son. Leave my land now, or I swear by the Sun I will give you more blood than you can drink.” The mayhem was horrendous in the next battle. Tomyris’ army destroyed the Persians and Cyrus was killed. According to the legend, Tomyris found the king’s corpse, hacked off his head, and plunged it into a wine jug filled with blood drained from Cyrus’ men, crying, “Drink your fill of blood!” — The Amazons: Lives and Legends of Warrior Women across the Ancient World by Adrienne Mayor

[whencyclopedia]

Kingdom of Axum

The African Kingdom of Axum (also Aksum) was located on the northern edge of the highland zone of the Red Sea coast, just above the horn of Africa. It was founded in the 1st century CE, flourished from the 3rd to 6th century CE, and then survived as a much smaller political entity into the 8th century CE.

The territory Axum once controlled is today occupied by the states of Ethiopia, Eritrea, Djibouti, Somalia, and Somaliland. Prospering thanks to agriculture, cattle herding, and control over trade routes which saw gold and ivory exchanged for foreign luxury goods, the kingdom and its capital of Axum built lasting stone monuments and achieved a number of firsts. It was the first sub-Saharan African state to mint its own coinage and, around 350 CE, the first to officially adopt Christianity. Axum even created its own script, Ge'ez, which is still in use in Ethiopia today. The kingdom went into decline from the 7th century CE due to increased competition from Muslim Arab traders and the rise of rival local peoples such as the Bedja. Surviving as a much smaller territory to the south, the remnants of the once great kingdom of Axum would eventually rise again and form the great kingdom of Abyssinia in the 13th century CE.

Name & Foundation

The name Axum, or Akshum as it is sometimes referred to, may derive from a combination of two words from local languages - the Agew word for water and the Ge'ez word for official, shum. The water reference is probably due to the presence of large ancient rock cisterns in the area of the capital at Axum.

The region had certainly been occupied by agrarian communities similar in culture to those in southern Arabia since the Stone Age, but the ancient kingdom of Axum began to prosper from the 1st century CE thanks to its rich agricultural lands, dependable summer monsoon rains, and control of regional trade. This trade network included links with Egypt to the north and, to the east, along the East African coast and southern Arabia. Wheat, barley, millet, and teff (a high-yield grain) had been grown with success in the region at least as early as the 1st millennium BCE while cattle herding dates back to the 2nd millennium BCE, an endeavour aided by the vast grassland savannah of the Ethiopian plateau. Goats and sheep were also herded and an added advantage for everyone was the absence of the tropical parasitic diseases that have blighted other parts of sub-Saharan Africa. Wealth acquired through trade and military might was added to this prosperous agricultural base and so, in the late 1st century CE, a single king replaced a confederation of chiefdoms and forged a united kingdom that would dominate the Ethiopian highlands for the next six centuries. The kingdom of Axum, one of the greatest in the world at that time, was born.

Continue reading...

[incorrect-maraudersaandco-quotes]

Pandora walks to Slythrins' room (how does she know a password, who knows) and make a B-line straight to Regulus: Here’s the plan. You. Me. We move to Washington DC. We work a minimum wage job, we live in a one bedroom apartment, we make ends meet but it’s okay. We’re happy. You fall in love with a law student, I fall in live with a bartender with daddy issues and a heart of gold. One night we’re out late, we’re at a monument, maybe we’re a little high. We see a carving in the back of the statue. We decide to look into it, why not. The law student gets us into a secret section of the library of congress (he’s doing a report on it). Who bursts in? THE FBI! We’ve uncovered something, we’re scared, we’re confused, we’re in the holding cell and who busts us out through the air vents? The bartender with daddy issues and a heart of gold. We come up with a plan. What do we steal? Not the declaration of independence, the articles of confederation. We take it to the statue and the carving. It’s a cipher, what’s it say? Ben Franklin was homosexual but that’s ok. We been knew.

[tempting-seduction]

Born on 29 December 1953 in Würzburg, Bavaria, West Germany, Thomas Bach is a German lawyer, former foil fencer, and Olympic gold medalist. He has served as the ninth and current president of the International Olympic Committee since 2013, the first ever Olympic champion to be elected to that position. Bach is also a former German individual foil champion, and former member of the German Olympic Sports Confederation's executive board.

[fuckmeyer]

timewarp!twilight: a time travel au

[throughout the series, Bella Swan has prophetic dreams that reveal her future (or present predicament) in cryptic ways. but tho Bella can peek forward in time, her true power lies in the past.]

time first unzips when James sinks his teeth into Bella at the ballet studio.

the burning in her veins overwhelms her. for a delirious moment she seizes from venom & bleeds out on a hospital room's tile floor where her mother is giving birth. to her.

the Cullens barge into the studio. Bella's writhing on the ground. they never see the warp. a stunned James is defeated.

Bella says nothing, chalking it up to a near-death experience. ofc she can't unravel the fabric of time lol like what?? who does that???

over summer, night terrors haunt her when Edward is away.

the "good" dreams give her flashes of the future. wolves. light. cliffs. a stone antechamber. red hair. a casket.

it's the nightmares she fears the most.

her PTSD-fueled flashbacks feel so real, she unzips time to escape James's attack & wakes up in random places as if sleepwalking.

at first they're tiny jumps. a few minutes back. then several months before she meets Edward. then the day Renee leaves Charlie with Bella in tow.

the night after her disastrous birthday party, her nightmare dumps her in the back alley of a neon-lit diner.

this isn't home. not 2006, not 1996, not 1986, even...

disoriented, she stumbles in and sits at the counter. the folded newspaper by the napkin dispenser, the Philadelphia Herald, reads March 3rd, 1950.

oh god.

when she looks up, a familiar pixie-haired vampire stares back at her with moony gold eyes.

"you've kept me waiting a long time," says Alice, pushing a plate of pancakes toward her.

time zips. back in bed. morning. 2006. Bella scrambles to school to tell Edward about the time skips.

ofc, it's hard to speak when you're being sucker-punched in the gut by your first love's painful breakup monologue.

instead of confessing, Bella says goodbye.

October. November. December. January.

as the wolves shift and Laurent stops in for a visit snack, Forks gets all gunked up with paranormal vibes. Bella warps further back for longer periods. 1935. 1933. 1911. 1863.

luckily, she often crosses paths with the Cullens. as humans, she knows, they won't remember her. it's cathartic to see them, if only for a few moments...but it's never enough.

she pulls increasingly dangerous stunts to keep traveling. motorcycling. chasing wolves. stalking vampires. on & on.

Bella dives off a cliff to chase the visions.

she smacks the water & warps to 1918.

human Edward Masen immediately falls in love with a drenched & shivering Bella Swan. over the evening, she falls in love with him. again. ugh.

but was it a time skip, or a near-death experience? she wakes up coughing water, Jake breathing life into her on the beach.

Alice returns. with a renewed love for Edward (ugh), Bella jets off to Italy to save him & meet the Volturi.

back in forks, the vote ignites a fiery rage she'd buried for months.

how could they do this to her? how could they break her heart & leave her behind when she needed them?? did they even stop to think about Laurent??? the wolves?! VICTORIA?!!

just as she lunges for Edward to rip his stupid face off, time unzips in front of them & she vanishes.

further back than she's ever gone.

London. 1640s.

human Carlisle tries using a silver cross to defend himself against a starving vampire while Bella looks on.

when the vampire's eyes find hers, the horror of what Bella has been doing settles in like a dense fog.

with each time skip, Bella seals their fate.

not only is Bella the thread that ties the Cullens together in time, but Bella aligns the stars for every member to become a vampire.

in the 1640s, she is the scent that pulls the starving vampire away from Carlisle.

in 1863, María sees Bella's warp & pursues her until she finds confederate Jasper Hale on his way to Galveston.

in 1911, her time skip startles 16 y.o. Esme out of a tree, breaking the girl's leg. she is treated by Dr. Cullen.

in 1918, a cold & wet Bella gives Edward the flu.

in 1933, Carlisle spots Bella on his way home from the hospital & finds her so eerily familiar he calls out & rushes to catch up. frightened by the commotion, Royce et al leave a dying Rosalie in the street.

in 1935, warping into a forest pisses off a huge black bear. Emmett saves her & subsequently gets mauled.

in 1950, she listens to Alice tell the story of her only human memory: prophesizing as a little girl about the "lady in the blue jeans" who comes to visit, to the horror & disgust of her superstitious parents. they throw her in an insane asylum.

now, in 2006, she reappears & falls at the Cullens' feet. her face reflects their looks of shock.

it was her. it was always her.

& all because she ditched Alice & Jasper to confront James at the ballet studio.

"oh god," she whispers from the floor in a broken voice. tears blur her vision. Bella looks up at the family of vampires. "i think i've made a terrible mistake."

[witchersmistress]

A guarded walk home

hello darlings, here is a secon part for New Orleans. took me a few days, wanted to make sure i had some historical facts as close to accurate as possible!

Summary: A POV from both Aurora and Syverson, one set in the first year that they met in 1864 and then in the now in present time of their reunion.

Word count: 2.7 K

Trigger warnings: swearing, pda and swoon worth heroics

New Orleans 1864

Slipping on my lace gloves as the cool evening mist curled around my ankles as I made my way down the front steps of my friend Caroline’s home. “Are you sure you can’t wait a few more moments, John will happily walk you home? '' she said as she held her hand on her back and the other one cradling her pregnant stomach. “ I don't want to see you go missing like so many women before you” her face taught with worry “Tsk tsk” i said turn to meet her gaze “ You need John more than I do, it's only a short walk down the road, I’ll be fine, I'll stick to the french quarter, they have those fancy cast iron lights now” I teased her “now remember what I said about the tea and stay off your feet'' she nodded and watched me walk to the end of the walk way, waving one final time as she closed the door.

Father certainly would disapprove of my lack of escorts but after seeing my patients I'd like to go over what we discussed and preparations I may need for next time. As one of the few midwives here in the French quarter, I was always summoned at every hour of the day and night. The sun was well past the horizon but the moon was full, the gas men won't be out tonight to light the street lamps, officials ordered, there was still plenty of light from the moon to guide my way home. Passing shop owners as they closed down for the night, Bourbon Street was rather quiet this evening. The local drunkards started to filter out into the moonlit night with their fallen women of choosing, ducking passed to avoid being insnared in that mess, I made my way across the cobble stone street as a woman let out a horrific shriek, looking back to see her, pinned to the wall as the man rutted into her.

I kept walking but collided with a wall of some sort. Losing my balance, I began to fall back when strong arms encircled my waist to keep me steady. I looked up into the face of my hero and it was the heroic Captain Syverson. In his confederate uniform. The long grey sleeves are lined with red, with a red cuff at the bottom. His three gold stripes on his shoulder blade indicate his status. He looked down at me with those cerulean blue eyes. The corner of his mouth was turned up in a crooked grin. “Well Ms. Hathaway, you need to be more careful where you are walking” he steady me on my feet, reaching down he grabbed my basket and handed it back to me. I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks “Thank.. Thank you Captain "I stutter trying to conceal my blushing face.

He cocked an eyebrow, “Where is your escort home? It's not safe to be walking the streets late at night "I brush away the imaginary dirt off my skirts “ I was just leaving The Davenports, Caroline is a dear friend and she is nearing the end of her pregnancy and is a nervous wreck.” i said with a slight smile “ I was admit that i would make it home just fine on my own, that she needed John more than I so hear i am” i let out a soft laugh, i seriously sounded so ridiculous, that even Logan was laughing “ My you are a stubborn thing, aren't you?” Straightening to his full height, he adjusted the sword on his side. “ Would you allow me the privilege to escort you the rest of the way home?” I nodded at him as he offered me his elbow, looping my right arm through his as we continued our walk towards my fathers home. We chatted softly amongst ourselves. I've never felt more relaxed in another person’s company, we laugh over the little things. We come upon the gate to my home, far too quickly. He opens the gate and allows me to pass by before closing the gate behind him. He walked me up to my front door.

We stood there for a few silent moments, stepping closer,while he cleared his throat “ Should you ever find that you are in need of an escort, especially at night, please feel free to send for me, no matter how late or how early.” he stepped back as my front door opened, it was Charlotte, our maid, she was a dear friend of mine and so curious about the work I did. The captain smiled up at her “Good evening, just making sure that Ms. Hathway made it home safely, with all these disappearances you can't ever be to safe” she smiled softly and in a soft voice “That is very kind of you Captain, her father would be quiet pleased by this'' she looked over at me “ Your father instructed me to wait for you before heading for home, he was called away on an emergency and will be back as soon as he can.” i nod “Thank you Charlotte, give me just a moment with the Captain, I’ll be right in” she nodded, curtsied and closed the door with a soft click

New Orleans 2023

“ I wanted to thank you again for escorting me home” he gave me a smile, his white canines flashing at me, as i went to turn and open the door, his hand gripping my jaw stopped me. I looked up into those blue eyes, swirling with so many feelings. He leaned in so close that his lips were centimeters from mine “I mean it Aurora, send for me, don't travel alone in the dark '' I nodded as I stared at his plump lips. He leaned forward and placed a soft kiss against my lips before pulling away and walking down the stairs “Have a good night Ms. Hathaway” I’m too stunned to speak as i watched him disappear into the foggy evening, hastily open the door, i let myself in and shut the door with a slam, as my cheeks turn pink, placing my basket and gloves on the table Charlotte rounded the corner, she just raised an eyebrow, she didn't have to say anything but i knew what she was thinking I waved her off “I’m off to bed, incase Caroline needs me” she nodded “Yes ma’am, have a good night” i thank her and make my way up to my room. Still thinking about the feeling of his lips on mine.

I was loading up my truck in the early morning sun, with the help of Gus, when a familiar smell washed over me. The smell of juniper, citrus and rose, I knew that perfume anywhere. It was her. But that was impossible, I lost her so long ago. Sliding the pocket watch out of my pocket, the one she had given so long ago, I opened it to reveal the only photo I possessed of her after that faithful night. I still remember everything about her. The way her porcelain skin flushed a beautiful shade of pink when I said something that caused her to blush. The way she lite up when she talked about something she loved. Her funny and silly demeanor that she fought so hard to hide. Her dedication to her patients, the way she slept on my chest on the night she managed to escape from her duties. With a sad smile I closed the pocket watch and put her back in my pocket. The scent grew stronger with a faint hint of green tea and honey. I tracked the scent across the street to the cafe, but it wasn't there, it was higher up, moving my eyes across the balconies when a flash of red caught my attention, i focused in on the girl, she lifted her gaze from her mug and met mine, those eyes, id recognize anywhere, where looking back at me with a slightly blush to her cheeks.

Syverson’s pov

She was just as beautiful as the last time I saw her, the same night, she died in my arms. That was over 150 years ago and it felt like yesterday I watched her breathe her last breath. She had the same striking green eyes, the freckles that peppered her skin, like a million little kisses from the sun. That same shade of red-hair, down to the middle of her back, where I'm sure she has those two dimples at the bottom of her spine just above the sweet swell of that curvy ass. I chewed on my lip as I took her in like I was seeing her again for the first time.

This first time we had met was at a founders day party. She was absolutely breathe taking in the emerald green gown, with black lace and beading on her bodice. Her black satin gloves up to her elbows. Her hair pinned back in elegant curls and around her neck was a simple silver and gold heart shaped locket, that she had inherited from her grandmother on her 13th birthday, that's what she told me. I starred at her for a few moments before I smiled and waved at her. Her cheeks flushing even more. Throwing my rag in the back of my pick up, I jog to just under her balcony, my body vibrating with the possibility that it was indeed my girl.

We bantered for a minute but I couldn't stand to not be this close to her and not have her in my arms. I jumped up and grabbed the railing of the balcony and hauled myself up with ease. She stood there with her mouth agape like a cod fish out of water.

I placed two fingers under her chin gently pushing it up with an audible click as her teeth met. I'm Logan and you are?" She took a few moments "Aurora, but most people call me Rory" I took a step closer and curled a strand of her hair around my finger " I think I prefer Aurora" I drank in her features I never wanted to forget them trailing my eyes down her neck and chest settling on the silver and gold heart shaped necklace that she had worn so many years ago, I gave it to her sister after passed, its what she would have wanted. I looked back up at her inquisitive face, her green orbs sparkled with amusement, and delight but also recognition. Some part of her soul remembered me. "I finally found you" I breathed. She looked at me with a quizzical expression,and one of my men whistled at me "Come on Syverson, we need to get going." I let out a low growl of annoyance at him before looking back up at her. " Till next time sugah" placing a soft kiss on the corner of her plump lips, I dropped down over the balcony and strutted over to my truck.

I looked at the few strands of hair I got off her shirt and looked at Gus " Come on old boy, we have a witch to find" he ground and rolled his head back " No way man you can drop me off, I ain't ever stepping foot in Ms. Freya's house again" I rolled my eyes at him " She isn't that terrifying" he looked at me like I was a edjit. " I swear that woman put some voodoo magic in my house and she always watching me" I belted out a laugh "Fine then you big baby" as I parked the truck I'm her driveway " you can stay here and wait for old Louise, I'm sure he misses you" his eyes widen looking around the property " on second thought going inside doesn't seem like such a bad idea after all" he quickly hopped out of the truck and on to her porch, I laugh at him as I climbed out, and up the stairs to visit an old friend.

Looking up one last time at my shining star, she stood there bewildered, a soft wind blowing her hair behind her. Looking over at my passenger seat, looking at my right hand man, Gus. "Kill joy" he just smirked at me as I drove down the bustling french quarter, looking back at mon cher as she leaned over the edge of her balcony till all I could see was her silhouette.

[aphetaliamessages]

Top 15 Weirdest Shit Alfred F. Jones has Eaten

1. pop rocks and mountain dew

It was an act of protest like "Imma explode and you'll all be sorry!" It just gave him a tummy ache.

2. ketchup on ice cream

Francis can't be in the same room or else he'll puke.

3. a marshmallow while it was still on fire

Spent the rest of the night eating snow.

4. a magnet

He wanted to see if it would still work through his body. It didn't. Thank goodness, cus he would've eaten more if it had—wanted to be Magneto.

5. tea with chocolate milk

Arthur almost disowned him, but then he tried it and changed his mind.

6. random plants

That's all he did during recess as a kid—eat plants.

7. Australia's homework

"What are you, a dog??" Alfred WISHES he were a dog.

8. maple syrup on spaghetti

Matthew strangles him while Alfred laughs like the maniac he is.

9. dog food

He wanted to see if scooby snacks were a real thing.

10. rat poison

"It says RAT POISON, not PEOPLE POISON."

11. a switch cartridge

Was trying to do that thing where people were licking them but accidentally put the whole thing in his mouth. It was Super Smash Bros.

12. gold coins

When Arthur was a pirate, little Alfred found some gold coins and decided to hide them. Arthur had to get those back the gross way.

13. Mattie's weed

He thought that's how edibles worked. Matthew couldn't even be mad because it was entertaining.

14. a pool noodle

No one knows why he did it. ESPECIALLY not him.

15. the Articles of Confederation

The document we know is, uh, the second one.

[verecunda]

‘Clearly it is a mighty heirloom of some sort, and such things do not breed peace among confederates, not if aught may be learned from ancient tales. Do I not hit near the mark?’ ‘Near,’ said Frodo, ‘but not in the gold [...] But be that as it may, ancient tales teach us also the peril of rash words concerning such things as – heirlooms.’

There speak two people who've read the Silmarillion. :P

[uncle-mojave]

Man I love local history.

My small region was home to early fish and sea life 450 million years ago. Silver got trapped in the coral and fossilized. Then it was just like the bayou 150 million years ago hosting a ton of dinosaurs and crocodiles. It saw roaming mastadons, giant sloths and saber cats. Humans were here 14,000 years ago. Then you had the Spanish in this area mining for gold and silver. The Mexicans after indepence. The Mormons. The ex Confederates. Boom mining towns and busts. Biggest source of fruit in the southwest until Phoenix got citrus trees. Fallout zone from the Nevada Test Site and Uranium boom mines that screwed me up. All sorts of craziness in this tiny northeastern corner of the Mojave.

[verdemoun]

just finish a short walk in a pretty town not coping so i decided that for gang members who die they experience the afterlife like their very own fix-it au where they don't realize they're dead.

in sean's mind, the bullet whirred past his face so close it didn't just graze but burned the side of his head. he proceeded to help in the shootout against the grays and the gang threw a party to celebrate his near-death experience and how instrumental he was in the fight. arthur told him to his face he was a good kid and a damned fine gun. the few surviving grays abandoned rhodes and the gang let sean live out his manor burning dreams.

in the process he found the mythical pot of confederate gold which turned out to be worth more than the blackwater money. realising the gang would never be safe in america they decided to buy a modest ship and become pirates. they travel the world stealing from the rich and giving to the poor. wherever there is a revolution against corrupt government/monarchy, the ss liberty will appear. they went back to ireland many times and sean excitedly got to show the gang all his favorite places in the homeland. your sean otp happens in a healthy and positive way and every night he gets to curl up in a proper bed in his cabin with his love and listen to all the people he cares about be alive and healthy singing sea shanties

[sednonamoris]

arsonist’s lullaby

Pairing: John Marston x gn!reader

Summary: With Sean dead and the Confederate gold nowhere to be found, the Braithwaites learn exactly why boys are off-limits.

Warnings: Canon-typical violence/gore, canonical character death, arson/fiery deaths, angst, kidnapping, toxic loyaltyyyyy

Word count: 2,777

A/N: Emerging from my absence to post this chapter and fade back into the ether ✌️

Series masterlist • AO3

—

In the end, it’s a perfectly ordinary day when things come to a head.

Midsummer sun has beat down all day, only just now mellowing to a deep orange, early evening glow. Standing halfway up the path to camp on guard duty, nothing remarkable has happened at all, except maybe the number of deerflies you’ve had to fend off. Like the heat alone isn’t enough.

Micah and Sean and Bill rode into town on business earlier. Sean jabbered something about meeting up with Arthur and that Gray sheriff, but he was insistent on keeping the rest a mystery. High profile stuff, you know. Not for old-timers like you to worry about. You just rolled your eyes and sent him on his way.

Other than that, it’s been awfully quiet— Even after Karen and Bill and Lenny and Arthur hit Valentine’s bank the other week. If you were a more suspicious person you might call it too quiet, but it’s been nice to have a bit of a break. You and John have hardly spent a moment apart. Camp chores go quicker together, you tell everyone, but it hardly takes a genius to see you’re more attached at the hip than ever. Moving sacks of cornmeal and haying horses and chopping wood doesn’t usually result in the lovestruck looks stuck on your faces, after all.

Arthur, too, has enjoyed the down time. If he isn’t sharing a cup of morning coffee with his wife then he’s reading storybooks to his surrogate son, complete with ridiculous voices. He puts on a deep, gruff baritone for the bad guys, then pitches higher for a hero that sounds suspiciously like Jack. It’s sweet. The mantle of secondhand fatherhood fits snugly across his broad shoulders, and you can’t help but feel that if anyone ever deserved a second chance at all this, it’s him.

John’s been watching them with the strangest mix of joy and wistfulness and regret and shame. It’s always gone in a blink. You never quite know what to say.

But there’s no time to ruminate further when a slow, steady, thumping lope comes within earshot. You almost miss it, lost in thought.

“Who goes there?”

You’re not sure why you bother asking; the footfalls are too heavy to be anyone but Bill on Brown Jack. When they come into view there’s a tense set to Bill’s shoulders and unease in the whites of Brown Jack’s eyes. You see something slung behind the saddle, unmoving.

A body.

You only register it as Sean when he slows to a stop beside you.

It’s jarring to see the lively young Irishman so horribly, deathly still. His clothes are stained with blood and singed from bullets, but the gaping hole in his head is what turns your stomach and raises your hackles as well as the hairs on the back of your neck. Pulpy brains. Shards of skull. A once-bright eye bulged, crooked and unseeing. A damn good headshot.

Who would be gunning for him? you think. But really, after all the trouble you’ve been stirring down here, who wouldn’t? It’s only been a matter of weeks since you and the boys stole those horses. Less since he and Arthur burned the tobacco fields.

You look up at Bill after a long moment.

“Wanna tell me how the fuck you got the kid killed?” you say, voice low. Simmering. Seething in the summer heat.

Bill’s expression is caught between guilt and resentment. “It was them Gray boys.”

“Them Gray boys?”

“They were waitin’ for us! Arthur… well, he reckons they figured us out. Talked to that Braithwaite woman, I mean.”

“Where is he? Alive?”

“He and Micah ain’t far behind. Don’t expect they’ll be comin’ together.”

You don’t know what to say to that, so you just shake your head and try to think past the blood pounding through your eardrums. Ringing in your skull. “We gotta bury him.”

“I know,” he snaps.

Where would Sean want to be buried? With a view of the water? In the shade of the trees? Certainly not alone, but there’s little choice there. “We gotta— He deserves someplace decent.”

“I know.” Softer, this time. “...There’s a quiet spot up the other side of the path.”

You nod. “Don’t let the girls see.”

—

The air is thick and stagnant even as the afternoon fades into evening. You’ve always hated digging graves, and this heat only makes it worse. Cicadas hum. Flies buzz. Bill picked a good spot out of the dying sun, but sweat still pours down both of your faces and necks, soaking through your shirts. Salt stings your eyes and the tip of your tongue.

Once the hole is deep enough, Bill does his best to arrange whatever’s left of Sean with some dignity; arms crossed, a coin over his intact eye. It’s still a sorry sight. You take the pistol from his holster to give to Karen and let its dead weight rest in your belt while you and Bill get to burying. When the work is done, he stutters a few insufficient words over a yet-unmarked grave. He looks to you, then, and you fish your flask off your belt and take a strong swig before pouring a generous amount over the freshly turned earth.

“Cheers, brother,” says a hollow voice that sounds like yours. “Save us a seat.”

You don’t bother saying where.

—

Karen hits you when you tell her. A full arm swing. Open-palmed. Then again when you hand her the pistol.

You let her.

Feels like the least you can do.

—

The evening passes in a haze of numb grief. You don’t know what to do with yourself, so you hide, only emerging from your tent when you hear raised voices outside Dutch’s.

“Where’s my goddamn son?” Abigail demands. “They took him, didn’t they? They took my son!”

And Jesus if this day couldn’t get worse. Your eyes scan the camp, like you’d be able to spot little Jack where his mother couldn’t. The sick feeling that’s been festering in your stomach since Sean’s burial twists and writhes and weighs you down like lead. Everyone knows missing is about as good as dead these days, but you don’t dare say that to Abigail.

“Where is my son, Dutch Van der Linde?!”

More and more begin to crowd around the commotion. The girls lay consoling hands on Abigail’s shoulders that quake with anger and fear. Arthur’s face is grim and drawn beside her. John’s is shadowed behind them, torn between guilt and anger. Hosea pushes past the throng to lay blame on the Braithwaites— at least, he says Kieran saw some boys what looked like Braithwaites not far from camp earlier. After what happened in town today, you have to admit it makes sense. Both families have you figured out, and they’re out for their pound of flesh.

As if Sean wasn’t enough already.

“We will find Jack, we will bring him back to you, and we will kill any fool that had the temerity to touch one hair on that boy’s head,” Dutch vows in answer to Abigail’s frantic questioning. “Right now.”

And he turns on his heel and makes toward The Count to do just that. Everyone follows. Bill calls out asking about extra guns that are accepted readily. Micah and Kieran are ordered to protect the camp while you’re all away. Weapons drawn, eyes blazing, you mount your horses and make off into the night.

This is the warpath. The beating hooves and rushing blood. Moonshine canters steadily beneath you, keeping stride with Old Boy and Arthur’s mount on either side. It’s been a long time since the whole gang has ridden out like this, chomping at the bit for a bloodletting.

“I swear, I’ll kill everyone there!” John snarls. He’s settled into his anger now, quicker on its draw than his pistol.

“Easy, Marston,” Arthur says. His voice is low and dangerous like how he warns off strangers. Not family. Not John. “You don’t check your shots, Jack’ll end up dead too.”

“Don’t tell me to take it easy! That’s my—” but John chokes on the word before he can get it out.

Son, he was going to say. That’s his son.

But Jack is as much Arthur’s as he is John’s anymore, and right now neither one can stand it. You can’t bear to look at the fear nor the anger nor the burning blame in either of their eyes.

—

The oaks that line the path to Braithwaite Manor are always imposing, but here in the dusky nighttime you swear you can feel their ancient eyes watching. Bloody roots gorged on bloodstained grounds; twisted, gnarled branches grasping for a Heaven they’ll never reach. There are few stars that shine through the scattered clouds in the early night sky, but you wish upon every one that Jack is safe, and you vow that no one will make it out of here alive if he isn’t.

Everyone dismounts at the gate. Beside you John and Arthur are tense. Mouths set, trigger fingers twitching, eyes aflame with a primal sort of anger and fear that can only come from losing a child. Dutch, too, is furious. The fact that anyone would touch one of his own is normally enough to have him ranting, almost frothing at the mouth, but he must sense that Arthur and John need him calm.

Calmer than them, anyhow.

Ahead, the manor house is lit with a warm orange glow from its pillared porch. The moon casts strange light across the shadowy night, flickering in and out of cloud cover. There is only the sound of gravel beneath your boots and anticipation.

“Get down here now, you inbred trash!” Dutch bellows at the first sight of the Braithwaite boys.

“What the hell do you want?” they call back, like they don’t know.

John makes to aim his gun and you brush against his shoulder as a comfort and a warning. He snarls but doesn’t shoot. Not yet.

Dutch continues, “We’ve come for the boy. You must’ve known we would.”

Arthur is little better off, glaring holes in the heads of every Braithwaite son and cousin and uncle and friend that emerges from the looming house. There’s more of them by the minute. You feel everyone tense around you. Their guns aren’t lifted - not yet - but all it will take is a sign from Dutch.

Not yet.

“That is a young boy. That is not the way you do things. Hand him over.”

“Get the hell off our land!”

Not yet.

Dutch’s eyes darken in challenge. He doesn’t so much as turn his head toward any of you, but the shift in energy is electric. The whole world holds its breath.

“If you ain’t gonna be civilized about this…”

Now.

All at once everyone opens fire. It’s a symphony of gunfire, bullets screaming by from every direction. You pull John behind a crate just as one grazes his ear. He snarls out a curse while you kill the man on the balcony who shot at him. The body tumbles over the railing and stains the steps red with blood and brains.

Dutch calls out marching orders, but through the din he’s nearly impossible to hear. John heads inside. You follow suit. The manor doors swing wide open like the unhinged jaw of a snake, welcoming you into the belly of the beast.

“Jack!”

“Where are you, kid?”

“Jack!”

His name echoes off expensive oak floors and through lofted ceilings. You tear through the lower floor like someone possessed, ripping open mahogany chests and finely stained china cabinets and the couch cushions of richly-rugged sitting rooms. Anywhere a little boy might fit. Then plenty of places he wouldn’t just for good measure.

Somewhere in the rush you lose John. Over the gurgling rasp of a Braithwaite son’s last breath you hear him shout something from upstairs. You make to run up the winding staircase but stop dead in your tracks when you see Catherine Braithwaite being kicked down them.

Dutch sneers, his lip curled with generational distaste for a man who preaches against revenge. She’s sobbing, spewing vitriol with every shaky breath. All her sons are dead now. You can see it in the gape of her burnt ash mouth. In the flames that lick the polished wood floors from their dropped torches. In the fire reflected back in Dutch’s eyes.

—

Jack isn’t there. Catherine Braithwaite uses her last breaths to gloat that he’s been sold to a man in the city.

Sold.

You watch Dutch let her go, then watch still as she runs screaming into the flames. The house collapses over a shrieking phantom of the Deep South with a groan and a sigh. By the color of the flames it’ll burn for hours yet.

The trees stare as you leave, gorged on blood and ash.

—

Dawn comes blood red and brutal, streaking through the sky with its first light warning. Dutch, John, Hosea, and Arthur are all gathered around the camp table to discuss your next moves. Whatever those are, though, you can’t imagine. John didn’t sleep a wink last night, just staring at tent canvas and stewing in blame. He looks awful. Everyone does.

You’re sat next to Abigail by the campfire. She says nothing, but the hunch of her shoulders and the blue-hot flame of her eyes tells you there’s nothing to be said. Her boy is gone. Missing.

You brought her a bowl of porridge for breakfast, but neither of you is up for eating much. She stares into the fire while it sits untouched in her lap. You push your oats around with the spoon and pretend not to eavesdrop.

Of course Marston’s scared rotten, Arthur says in hushed tones. I am too. We killed all them people— for what? For nothin’. There ain’t no gold here.

For living, Dutch corrects him, and you can’t help but think it’s a shame that not all of you got to that part. The living. Sean is dead and gone forever. For all you know, Jack might be too.

But all of that is put immediately to rest when Lenny walks into camp with two Pinkerton agents at gunpoint.

Milton and Ross, they call themselves, swaggering through the whole of camp like you’re not all outlaws and thieves. Killers. Everyone stands as they pass, slowly circling in like vultures to the promise of violence.

The matching felt bowler hats on their heads can’t hide the pockmarks on Milton’s face nor the smug, bristling mustache on Ross’. The government is surely paying a pretty penny for your capture if the fineness of their clothes is anything to go by. Their shoes are shined and polished. You can’t help but notice the way the red Rhodes clay oozes up beneath the soles and paints them muddy.

“This thing? It’s done,” Milton announces when he makes his way to Dutch.

Dutch barely bothers to turn and face him. He doesn’t stand. Everyone else slowly, slowly creeps closer. One step at a time. All coming together. Vultures. Violence.

Things like this are never just done.

Never.

Milton calls Dutch a lot of things. A shepherd of lost souls. A messiah. Sarcasm drips from the syllables, and you wonder how he might react if you told him Dutch was the only god to answer a single one of your prayers. Even Swanson lost touch with Christ long ago. Now when he falters he begs Dutch Van der Linde for forgiveness. All of you do.

“I’m nothing but a seeker, Mr. Milton,” Dutch finally says.

Milton’s eyes narrow. There's a faint expression you can’t quite place on his face when he replies, “You ain’t much of anything more than a killer, Mr. Van der Linde.”

He offers freedom, then. Three days to run and hide and live like civilized human beings in exchange for Dutch. It’s almost laughable.

Dutch steps forward and every gun in camp cocks. Agent Milton seems suddenly to remember how very much outnumbered and outgunned he is.

“I think your new friend should leave, Dutch,” Ms. Grimshaw says.

Milton calls it a mistake, calls you all fools, but the only foolish mistake you can see is letting them live.

—

John and Arthur leave together after all that. They make for a place called Shady Belle and promise Abigail it’s close to the city where her son is being held. A good spot to camp while everyone does what they can to bring that little boy home.

Looking at Karen, miserable and bleary-eyed drunk, you can’t help but think it’s awfully far from Sean’s grave.